Call of the Dragon
Author: Jasmine Walt
Date: 2023-03-03 00:00:00+00:00
Description: Zara Kenrook has never wanted to be ordinary. Abandoned at an orphanage, destined for a life in the slums, she's clawed her way to the top and made herself a name as one of the best treasure hunters in Elantia. But Zara hasn't gotten to where she is without making enemies, and when one of them calls in a debt, her entire livelihood is thrown into peril. Suddenly, Zara is faced with two impossible choices--break into a dragon rider's home and steal a priceless artifact, or lose the career she's worked so hard to build. Luckily, Zara has some experience pulling off heists, and she's never been o

Magic and Mayhem

A Fantasy Collection from 21 New York Times, USA Today and International Bestselling Authors

Contents

Magic & Mayhem

Copyright

About this Box Set

Magic & Mayhem Authors

About the Books

Jasmine Walt

Burned by Magic

Emily Goodwin

Unbound

Margo Bond Collins

Legally Undead

J.A. Cipriano

Wardbreaker

Dima Zales & Anna Zaires

The Sorcery Code

D.K. Holmberg

Chased by Fire

Thea Atkinson

Water Witch

Emma L. Adams

Adamant

S C Green

The Sunken

Jack Conner

The Atomic Sea

Gwynn White

Rebel’s Honor

Lindsey Fairleigh

Echo in TIme

Rebecca Hamilton

Come the Dark

Susan Stec

They’re so Vein

K. De Long

Chameleon

Tom Shutt

Brooding City

Erin Hayes

Death is But a Dream

Calinda B

Power Shift

N. R. Larry

Silenced

Laxmi Hariharan

Bound by Destiny

K. N. Lee

Netherworld

Magic & Mayhem

21 Fantasy Novels Packed with Action,Adventure, Magic, Mystery and More!

Magic & Mayhem © copyright 2016 Jasmine Walt

Individual stories copyright by their respective authors

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Created with Vellum

About this Box Set

Magic & Mayhem

Get ready to be swept off into lands filled with magic, mystery, action, adventure and even romance with these 21 full-length fantasy novels!

With over one-million words packed with witches, dragons, pirates, shape shifters, mercenaries, gods and more, these stories will introduce you to some of the most memorable characters and exotic worlds that exist in fantasy today.

22 NY Times, USA Today and International Bestselling authors have banded together to bring you this incredible boxed set.

Magic & Mayhem Authors

Jasmine Walt

Emily Goodwin

Margo Bond Collins

J.A. Cipriano

Dima Zales & Anna Zaires

DK Holmberg

Thea Atkinson

Emma L. Adams

S.C. Green

Jack Conner

Gwynn White

Lindsey Fairleigh

Rebecca Hamilton

Susan Stec

K. De Long

Tom Shutt

Erin Hayes

Calinda B

N. R. Larry

Laxmi Hariharan

K. N. Lee

About the Books

Burned by Magic - Jasmine Walt

A shifter-mage hybrid must master her powers in order to catch the serial killer who murdered her mentor, before she ends up dead herself.

Unbound - Emily Goodwin

The world of ghosts and spirits is nothing new to Anora, but when a group of bounty hunters are sent after her, she realizes she is more than a medium.

Legally Undead - Margo Bond Collins

When she discovers her lawyer fiancé being turned by a vampire, history grad-student Elle Dupree becomes a reluctant hunter, stalking New York City as only a scorned bride can.

Wardbreaker - J.A. Cipriano

Former demon hunter Lillim Callina must decide if staying hidden is more important than saving her new home from the largest vampire infestation she has ever seen.

The Sorcery Code - Dima Zales & Anna Zaires

Blaise's magical creation is not an object of sorcery, but rather a beautiful woman who's unlike anything their world has ever seen.

Chased by Fire - D.K. Holmberg

An ancient artifact that must be found, terrifying creatures from dark and dangerous Incendin, and long-forgotten elementals again unleashed on the world.

Waterwitch - Thea Atkinson

A beautiful and formidable water witch must find the courage to defy the men who control her if she hopes to gain her freedom and protect the ones she loves.

Adamant - Emma L. Adams

A sorceress from another universe blamed for a murder she never committed must join forces with the guard who arrested her, before they become the next targets.

The Sunken - S.C. Green

In an alternate Gerogian London where dinosaurs still walk the earth, Nicholas and his friend – the brilliant engineer Isambard Kingdom Brunel – must stop the king's plot to bathe London in innocent blood.

The Atomic Sea - Jack Conner

In a time of world war, one man will be pressed to unlock the secrets of the Atomic Sea, or the whole world will be plunged into nightmare.

Rebel's Honor - Gwynn White

Forced into an arranged marriage, warrior princess Lynx is on a crusade to destroy her betrothed, his all-powerful guardsmen, and his evil empire, little realizing that he has magic on his side, which could easily end up destroying her.

Echo in Time - Lindsey Fairleigh

When an ancient mystery leads an archaeologist to a millennia-old war between god-like beings, she must choose between the father she's never met and the man she's fated to love.

Come, the Dark - Rebecca Hamilton

Even if Cordovae can banish the spirits in time to return home to her daughter, there’s still one problem: she’s falling in love with a man who can’t return with her.

They're So Vein - Susan Stec

There are rules and a hierarchy for immortal beings, and as five senior women go from depends to thongs, and dentures to newly acquired fangs they tromp stilettos all over them.

Chameleon - K. De Long

When demonic intrigue forces a shifter to hide out as a dog, the woman who "adopts" him will be forced to confront her family's sorcerous past to have a hope of protecting him.

Brooding City - Tom Shutt

Detective Brennan has hung up his hat as a Sleeper, but when a violent drug lord threatens his city, the shadows of Brennan's past catch up to him—and they're looking for blood.

Death is but a Dream - Erin Hayes

In order to be brought back to life, recently-deceased detective Callie Saunders makes a deal with the Greek god Hades to find out who is trying to kill his son.

Power Shift – Calinda B

Haunted by ghosts, tortured by a vampire, Chia Petit intends to save the town shifters, even if it means death – or death to her desires for bounty hunter Hung Durand.

Silenced – N. R. Larry

As a Siren, Pike Richards is used to having women beg him to kill them. What he isn’t used to is refusing to do the act. Tasked with retrieving the cure for a virus that will deprive him of his magic, Pike must choose between saving humankind and killing himself, or silencing them forever.

Bound by Destiny – Laxmi Hariharan

When Tiina accompanies Yudi on a mission to retrieve the Isthmus from the ruthless Shaitan, she seeks more than the end of the tyrant; she seeks herself.

Netherworld – K. N. Lee

Angels protect us, demons seek to destroy the balance, and one half-blood vampire is torn between the two worlds.

Burned by Magic

The Baine Chronicles, Book One

Jasmine Walt

Burned by Magic © copyright 2015 Jasmine Walt

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Created with Vellum

About the Book

Burned by Magic

A shifter-mage hybrid must overcome her hatred of magic to catch a killer.

In the city of Solantha, mages rule absolute, with shifters considered second-class citizens and humans something in between. No one outside the mage families are allowed to have magic, and anyone born with it must agree to have it stripped from them to avoid execution.

Sunaya Baine, a shifter-mage hybrid, has managed to keep her unruly magic under wraps for the last twenty-four years. But while chasing down a shifter-hunting serial killer, she loses control of her magic in front of witnesses, drawing the attention of the dangerous and enigmatic Chief Mage.

Locked up in the Chief Mage’s castle and reduced to little more than a lab rat, Sunaya resists his attempts to analyze and control her at every turn. But she soon realizes that to regain her freedom and catch the killer, she must overcome her hatred of mages and win the most powerful mage in the city to her side.

1

“Hey, shifter girl!” a human with sandy hair shouted as he leaned over the bar counter. He waved his hand as though I were a cab he was trying to flag down. “Can I get another whiskey over here?”

“Coming right up.” Fighting the urge to roll my eyes, I grabbed a glass from beneath the counter and the requisite bottle of liquor. Strobe lights bounced off the dark walls of the club as I splashed a generous amount into the shot glass and slid it across the glossy countertop. The place was in full swing tonight, shifters, humans and mages all clamoring for their shot of liquid courage so they could go rub their bodies all over each other on the dance floor and hopefully take someone home with them tonight.

“Thanks.” The human threw back his shot in one go. His pale cheeks turned bright red, and his wheezing cough told me taking shots was a new pastime.

“Another,” he gasped, slamming his glass down on the counter.

I arched a brow. “Don’t you think you should take it easy?”

The human grimaced. “I need it if I’m going to ask that girl over there for a kiss.”

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, where a brunette in a skin-tight red dress leaned against the wall, her dark orange gaze scanning the crowd. The lack of whites in her eyes combined with the dark orange color of her irises told me she was a tiger shifter, likely here searching for a male to help her get through heat.

“Why her?” I glanced back at the human, taking in his white polo shirt and short, neatly trimmed hair, which was so different from the loud clothing and hairstyles the residents of Rowanville boasted. This boy was from Maintown, the section of Solantha reserved specifically for humans, and I doubted he’d ever set foot into the melting pot of Rowanville in his life.

The boy bit his lip. “I lost a bet, and now I have to get a shifter girl to kiss me. Unless you’d rather do the honors?”

“Ugh. No thanks.” The kid looked all of nineteen years old; at twenty-four I had some pride.

“Aww, c’mon.” The kid leaned forward, desperation in his eyes. “The guys are watching me from across the room right now. If I did it right now I could get out of here.”

“Save it, kid.” I curled my lip, exposing the fangs sliding out behind my gum line. The kid blanched. “I’m not getting involved. My advice, you hightail it outta here and go tell your mother. That girl over in the corner is looking for a lot more than just a kiss. She’ll tear you apart if you lead her on and then try to ditch her later.”

“Fine.” The boy slumped back down into his barstool and gave me a sullen glare. “Just give me the shot.”

Why did I even bother?

“Suit yourself.” I poured him another and watched him down it. He wasn’t the first to come in here on a bet. Most of the human customers were regulars who knew the deal – so long as you were within these walls you treated everyone with the same amount of respect regardless if they were shifter, human or mage. That’s how it was supposed to be in Rowanville – the only neighborhood in Solantha where shifters, humans and mages lived together. But every once in a while someone from one of the segregated neighborhoods wandered in to cause trouble. Usually they got more than they bargained for.

“Thanks.” The kid slapped a coin down on the bar. “Wish me luck.”

Yeah, right. I shook my head as he disappeared into the crowd, then turned back to my work. Tempted as I was to watch the tigress wipe the floor with him, I had a bar to tend, and it was nearly as packed as the dance floor.

I reached for the coin the kid had left for me on the counter, intending to pocket it. But as soon as I touched it, searing pain shot straight through my fingers.

“Oww!” I dropped the coin like it was a hot coal, and shook my smoking hand. Fucking Maintowner. Didn’t he know shifters were allergic to silver? The little bastard had probably left it there on purpose. I had half a mind to drag him back out of the crowd so I could beat on him myself.

“I’ll trade that for you.” Cray, the other bartender, offered. He pocketed the coin, then handed me a pandanum coin of the same value. He was a black-skinned human, and didn’t have any issue handling the silver.

“Thanks.” I smiled at him and tucked the coin into one of my pouches. Most of the humans around here were pretty decent.

“Hey. Can I get a glass of teca with a twist of lime?” a woman with ice-blue shifter eyes asked. My nose told me she was a wolf.

“Coming right up.” I ducked beneath the bar to grab the bottle of liquor. I could use a little teca myself – it was one of the few substances that could actually get shifters drunk. On another night, I could have been that wolf shifter, standing at the bar asking for a drink after a long day chasing bounties. Instead I was here serving them up.

As I reached for the liquor bottle, the inside of my forearm brushed against the crescent knives strapped to my leather-clad thigh. A familiar longing seared the inside of my chest, and I sighed.

All it would take is one blowjob, and you’d be out of here and back to your real job.

I fought the urge to shove my hands into my mass of curly hair and yank on it until I’d come to my senses again. There was no way I was wrapping my lips around that dick’s… well, dick. I’d much rather stay here at The Twilight, even if that did mean dealing with snotty little shits like that Maintowner.

Still, being stuck behind the counter like this sucked. Yeah, I could mix a decent drink, but I wasn’t meant to be a bartender. As a black panther shifter I was a natural hunter, much better suited to chasing down criminals and turning them in like every other licensed Enforcer in the city. That’s what we do – we clean the riffraff off the streets so the mages don’t have to get off their entitled asses and do it themselves. And since we get paid per head, most of us are pretty motivated about the whole affair.

Unfortunately for me, Garius Talcon, the Deputy Captain of the Enforcer’s Guild, was in charge of distributing all the mission dockets. And ever since he found out that I was only half-shifter, he’d been treating me like a lesser being. Recently he’d decided that if I wanted to continue getting jobs I needed to get down on my knees and suck him off.

I’d told him that if I ever got down on my knees in front of him he’d better run like hell because it meant I was going to rip his balls off and feed them to him. And ever since then we’d been at an impasse.

I’d tried going to Captain Galling, but my word was useless against Talcon’s, and there was no one to corroborate my story. Truthfully, it was better not to draw attention, because as far as Talcon and Galling knew I was a shifter-human hybrid. If I gave them a reason to dig deeper, they would find out about my real heritage, and money would be the least of my problems.

Until I figured out a way around Talcon, the only Enforcer jobs I was getting paid for were the ones I brought in by answering the emergency response calls broadcasted by my Enforcer bracelet. As much as I hated to admit it, right now bartending paid the bills.

Turning my attention back to work, I served up the teca with a big, fat smile on my face, and was rewarded with a big, fat coin for my trouble. I nodded my thanks at the she-wolf before she disappeared into the crowd – the shifters here were always my best tippers.

“Sunaya!”

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of my mentor’s voice in my head, calling my name. Heart pounding, I scanned the crowded bar for him, though part of me wanted to simply shrink behind the counter and pretend I didn’t exist. Even though Roanas Tillmore knew about my bartending job, I didn’t like it when he saw me here – after all the time and effort he put into training me it was shameful that I was tending bar for a living. But I caught no sight of him, and weeding through the hundreds of clashing smells, I didn’t catch his scent either.

Shaking my head, I picked up another glass to get started on the next order. Must’ve imagined it. Mindspeech didn’t work well from more than a couple hundred yards away, so if I couldn’t smell him then he wasn’t here.

“Sunaya! Co… quick… need…”

The glass slipped from my fingers as Roanas’s garbled voice echoed inside my ears. It hit the ground and shattered, tiny pieces shooting across the floor, but I hardly noticed as acid-sharp panic filled my lungs – panic I realized wasn’t from me at all, but from Roanas.

As the Shiftertown Inspector, Roanas rarely ran into a situation he couldn’t handle. If he was able to reach me with a mental call from afar, he was in big trouble.

“Hey!” Cray snapped as he tapped me on the shoulder. “What the hell are you doing, standing around with all this broken glass everywhere!”

I whirled on him, baring my fangs. “I have to go,” I growled. He took a step backward, his eyes wide – Cray was a big guy, but as an unarmed human he was no match for me.

Turning away, I slapped my palm on the counter and launched myself over the bar. Patrons yelped as I sailed over their heads, and Cray cursed me, but I hardly heard them over the blood pounding in my ears. I landed in a crouch halfway from the bar to the door, then sprinted outside to where my steambike was parked on the curb. I was going to lose my job over this, but I didn’t care – nothing mattered more to me than Roanas.

With that thought taking up all available real estate in my mind, I hopped onto my bike and shot into the street, leaving a white-hot cloud of steam in my wake.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, I skidded to a halt in front of Roanas’s house in Shiftertown. The lights spilling out from the windows and into the darkness of the street told me he was home. I charged up the steps of the two-story brick townhouse, my veins full of fire as I prepared to face an army of enemies. I fully expected to open the door and find the place wrecked, the furniture splintered and the floor splattered with blood, because nothing short of a fucking army would be able to take down Roanas.

Instead, I found him lying on the red and gold carpet in the living room, his big body splayed next to the coffee table.

“Roanas!” I was at his side in an instant, an icy fist of fear squeezing my heart. He was lying on his back, his skin pale beneath his dark complexion as he shook. Foam spurted from his blue lips, and his tawny lion-shifter eyes rolled.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I chanted as I scrambled for the vial of antidote I kept in one of the pouches strapped around my torso. I knew the signs he was exhibiting all too well. This was silver poisoning.

I carefully positioned Roanas’s head in my lap, then pried open his mouth and poured in some of the antidote. The pale amber liquid trickled right out of his icy lips, but I tried again, doing my best to get it into his mouth despite the tremors. Still nothing. I bit my lip as his cheek came into contact with my hand – his skin was frigid – and then tried a third time. Finally, his throat bobbed and the liquid stayed down.

Instantly the tremors receded to slight vibrations, and his breath came a little easier. A huge wave of relief rushed through me, and I wanted to sag against the couch. Instead, I fed him the rest of the antidote, drop by drop until the entire vial was gone. Even so, the symptoms did not completely subside – his lips were still blue, his skin ice-cold.

“Sunaya,” Roanas croaked in a voice like crushed gravel. He shifted his head in my lap, his black mane of tiny braids sliding against my legs.

“Shhh,” I soothed, sliding my arms beneath him so I could lift him onto the couch. His dark cotton shirt was soaked in sweat. “Don’t speak. You need to conserve your energy.”

“No… point…” he said with a weak chuckle. My leg muscles flexed as I rose to my feet with Roanas cradled in my arms. I carefully deposited him atop the couch, then sat down next to him and pulled his head into my lap again. “I’m dying.”

“No,” I said firmly. I ran my hand through his braids, pushing them back from his clammy forehead. “You just feel like you’re dying. Which is perfectly understandable since you just experienced silver poisoning, but –”

“The antidote… wasn’t enough.” He wrapped his long fingers around mine, and a tremor went through me – his grip, normally so strong, was as weak as a newborn babe’s. “Too much silver… too fast. Not… going to… make it.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I snarled, tightening my grip on his hand. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening. Roanas was only eighty years old – not even close to middle-aged for a shifter. He had a long, full life ahead of him, at least another two hundred years or so. Fuck, he was supposed to meet me tomorrow afternoon for a sparring match. Dying was not on the agenda.

“How could this happen to you?” I choked out as the tears spilled down my cheeks. “You... I… you’d never be so stupid as to accidentally poison yourself with silver!”

Shifters are hypersensitive to silver, so if it’s within fifty yards of us we’ll catch a whiff of it. The only reason I’d been burned by the coin earlier was because I’d been distracted. There was no way Roanas, who could hit a moving target with a chakram a hundred yards away – thirty more than my personal best – would miss such a thing.

But the empty glass lying on its side on the carpet told me that Roanas had done exactly that, and I couldn’t understand why. Leaning over, I picked up the glass and sniffed it, certain I would catch the scent of silver.

But I scented absolutely nothing except the burning stench of liquor and a hint of saliva.

“What… how?” I gaped down at the glass as if it were a foreign species clutched in my palm, and to me, it might as well have been. “Why don’t I smell anything?”

“The silver was mixed… with some kind of chemical… that masked the taste and scent.” Roanas panted the last word, his voice edged with pain. My heart ached at the sight of his pale skin and strained expression. “That’s why none of the others… detected it either.”

“There are others?” My throat tightened. “As if it isn’t bad enough you’re dying.” My voice broke on the last word.

“Please, Sunaya.” Roanas’s fingers curled around my jacket collar, pulling me closer. Even though he was sinking fast, his tawny eyes burned with a ferocious intensity. They cut through the fog of tears and pain in my brain, demanding my attention. “You must find out… who did this. There are other shifters… being targeted. Not just… about me.”

“Targeted?” My eyes narrowed as my brain tried to catch up with the implications of that. “Targeted how? And why?”

“The facts… are in my case file…” Blood spilled over Roanas’s lower lip, and I blinked back tears. “The Enforcers have been slow… to put the different cases together… but they are related.” His voice strengthened. “I was investigating… and so they’ve taken me out. You must connect the dots, Sunaya. Find out who did this. Stop the killings, avenge me, and… and…”

“And what?” Shards of ice scraped along the walls of my insides, the fear inside me painfully sharp. I gripped Roanas’s hand hard enough to grind the bones against each other, holding on for dear life. I never wanted to let him go.

“And… be careful.”

His face went slack then, the life gone from his eyes. And as he slid from this world to the next as silently as the hot tears rolling down my cheeks, I vowed not to rest until I caught the bastard who did this.

2

By the time I left Roanas’s house at seven in the morning, every last tear in my body had been burned away by the seething fury in my heart. I’d called the Enforcer’s Guild using the telephone in Roanas’s kitchen to report the murder, only to have two Enforcers show up at the doorstep – several hours later, the lazy fucks – and start interrogating me.

Yeah, okay, I get it. I was with him when he died, so I couldn’t be ruled out as a suspect. Even though I’ve only worked on homicide cases a handful of times, I’d done enough to know that this was part of procedure. But what really pissed me off was that they’d brushed me off, when I’d asked about similar cases.

“Oh, come on Baine,” Nila, a blond Enforcer, had scoffed as the coroner and the crime scene technicians filed out of the house with Roanas’s body and what pertinent items they’d found in tow. I studiously ignored the covered stretcher as it went past us, but my heart clenched all the same. “You should know better than to believe in conspiracy theory crap like that. We’ll find out who did this to your old man, but don’t be surprised if we drag some rat out of a hole who happened to have a bone to pick with him, rather than a serial murderer.”

“He told me someone was targeting shifters before he died,” I’d said between gritted teeth. “And don’t try to tell me he was just hallucinating or paranoid, because I don’t believe it. Roanas doesn’t make mistakes like that.”

“Didn’t,” Nila corrected me.

“Look,” Brin, the other Enforcer, had interjected before I ripped Nila’s face off. “I’m not going to deny there have been other silver poisonings in Shiftertown recently.” He’d given me a stern glare, as if I were a whelp that needed to be put in her place rather than a fellow Enforcer. But then, Brin and Nila were part of the Main Crew, many of whose members routinely treated the other Enforcers like we were beneath them. “But we don’t have enough evidence to determine whether or not the murders were related. We’ll work to find your friend’s killer, but in the meantime you need to back off and stay out of our way.” He stepped forward and shoved his nose into my face, menace bleeding from every pore in his hulking body. “Have I made myself clear?”

I’d responded by flipping him off, and then I walked out with the case file Roanas had mentioned tucked beneath my leather jacket, which I’d torn the house apart to find while I was waiting for the Enforcer’s Guild to arrive. No way was I turning it over to them. Brin and Nila weren’t exactly known for being thorough – their work was half-assed at best, and more than likely they would end up pinning this on the wrong person just so they could collect their bounty and go home. Besides, they were both humans and didn’t give a rat’s ass about Roanas.

Roanas deserves better than them, I thought as I swung my leg over the seat of my steambike. A few people passing through the streets on foot glanced nervously at my bike and then scurried to the sidewalks as I turned the engine on – steam-powered vehicles were a rather new invention, less than fifty years old, and steambikes in particular were considered dangerous. It didn’t help that mages abhorred technology as a whole, sticking to either magical methods of transportation or the horse-drawn variety.

I took my rage out on the streets of Solantha, whipping around corners at breakneck speeds and leaning the bike so close to the ground my leather jacket scraped against the asphalt. I raced the bike up and down the hilly roads reserved specifically for steam-powered vehicles, zipping past clusters of townhouses huddled together and groupings of small shops where you could get anything from takeout to bridal gowns. My helmet shielded me from most of the scents, but I still caught a few of them – the briny air drifting in from Solantha Bay, freshly baked goods wafting from an open shop window, and the unique burnt-sugar smell that I recognized as magic.

Magic and I have a complicated relationship. I can’t survive without it, but it’s bound and determined to be the death of me. The mages in this country have a monopoly on magic, and use it to beat us into submission. Since they’re the most powerful race in this country, they rule us by default, which really sucks because they don’t care about anyone outside their own ranks.

However, magic isn’t all bad. It’s what gives us shifters the power to change forms and communicate via mindspeech – all useful talents to have, even if they were given to us by the mages experimenting on our human ancestors. And the various charms, amulets and spells for sale on both the black market and the regular one have their uses. Lots of people rely on them, convinced they can’t live without the mages who provide them.

I’m not one of those people. I may use the amulets, but I hate mages more than anyone else. My father was a mage, and he left me before I was even born with a talent I’ve had to hide for years in order to avoid execution. A talent that’s failed me more often than not, and has never worked when I needed it.

The crush of buildings began to thin out as I reached the bay, giving way to wider streets, fancier shops, and luxurious apartment complexes Solanthans paid a premium for so they could sit in their living rooms and enjoy the waterfront view. The scent of brine grew significantly stronger as I approached the shoreline, where the sun had broken over the horizon, painting the stone boathouses at each pier a pale pink and gold. The line of piers stretched in either direction as far as the eye could see, covering the coastline along the bay from end to end.

This section of town was known simply as the Port – but a lot more happened around here, than just ships coming and going to pick up and drop off cargo and passengers. While most of the piers lining the south end of the shore were exclusively devoted to shipping, the ones up north each had their own hubs of activity. I stopped at a corner to allow traffic from the perpendicular street to pass, glancing to the pier on my right that was known as The Fish Market. Even if you didn’t catch the stench from a mile away, you could spot it by the cawing seagulls constantly trying to swoop down and snatch bass or mussels from the vendors. I watched a particularly haggard-looking man waving his wide-brimmed straw hat at a gull who was circling his stall, only to get blindsided as another one swooped in from behind and snatched a silvery-looking fish right from the cart. It made me wonder whether the feathery bastards worked in tag-teams.

The traffic cleared and I sped off, blowing straight past a black steamcar as I headed towards Pier Eighteen – also known as Witches’ End. Here mages and other magic users set up shop, selling charms, amulets, potions and other magical bric-a-brac.

I parked my bike in a nearby lot, stuffed my hands in my pockets and walked briskly down the boardwalk. A bitter sense of irony filled me as I passed by most of the shops, which were owned by witches, seers, healers, psions and more. Very few mages actually operated shops out of the Port, as most of them preferred to work out of The Mages Quarter. The very existence of Witches’ End was proof the rules only exist for us humans and shifters to follow – they don’t apply to the magic wielders who consider themselves above us.

In Solantha, as well as the rest of the country, anyone who is born with the power to wield magic, aside from a mage’s acknowledged offspring, either has their magic stripped from them or is executed. It’s a brutal method of control that’s existed for hundreds of years to ensure the current regime stays firmly in place, and most citizens give in rather than try to circumvent the law because the older you are when you’re found out, the greater risk of mental damage when the mages strip the magic from you.

The law that hung above my neck like a guillotine, however, doesn’t apply to the magic users who run Witches’ End. The residents of Witches End are allowed to practice their craft because they are foreigners who paid a hefty fee in order to obtain a special license to come over here. And because they aren’t actually the local mages we all love to hate, and charge quite a bit less than the ones in the Mage’s Quarter offering the same services, they do a brisk business here at the Port.

My boot-clad feet finally took me near the end of the pier, where my friend’s shop, Over the Hedge, sat nestled in between an apothecary and a fortuneteller’s shack. It was a small brick building with a glass storefront, the company name frosted on the large glass window in simple but charming letters. A small bell tinkled as I opened the door and stepped inside, and something inside me relaxed as I inhaled the scent of herbs, wax, and burnt-sugar magic.

Every piece of furniture and decoration in the place was crafted out of natural materials – from the white cotton curtains hanging in the windows, to the driftwood tables and shelves scattered throughout the shop and laden with merchandise, to the hand-woven and colorfully dyed rugs covering the wooden floorboards. The only machinery in the entire shop was the clock on the wall and the register on the counter.

Behind said register stood my friend Comenius, the shop owner, muttering under his breath and tapping at the keys. At his shoulder was Noria Melcott, a human redhead dressed in denim overalls, a loud t-shirt, and an aviator’s cap. An annoyed scowl was stamped all over her freckled face as she watched Comenius try to ring up a purchase for the customer standing in front of the counter. She was the younger sister of an Enforcer friend of mine named Annia, and a college student who paid her way between a scholarship and the wages she made working at Comenius’s shop.

“Com,” Noria huffed as she rolled her eyes. “Would you please just let me do it?”

“No,” Comenius said, his crisp, throaty Pernian accent tinged with annoyance. He impatiently brushed back his ash-blond bangs with one long-fingered hand that was stained with herb residue, drawing attention to the strong bones of his face. “I’ve been operating this register long before I hired you. I am perfectly capable of ringing up a sale.”

“Not when the machine’s broken, you’re not.”

“Look, can I just come back later and pay for this?” the customer whined. “I’m going to be late for my shift.”

Amused despite my dire mood, I leaned up against the counter and tapped the table to get Comenius’s attention. “Com, let the geeky girl have a go at it. You don’t want to lose a paying customer, do you?”

Comenius’s pale eyebrows shot up as he glanced over at me. “Naya? What are you doing here?” He took a step toward me, and Noria used the opportunity to dart in front of the register and open up the back end to unstick whatever little gears had jammed inside it. He hardly noticed though – his cornflower blue eyes were firmly fixed on mine. “You’re usually asleep this time of day… or did you get the night off?”

“Not exactly,” I muttered. All the dark emotion, which I’d pushed down somewhere behind my lower intestines, came bubbling up into my chest again. “It’s more like I took off.”

“Why would you do that?” Noria asked. The bell jingled as the customer left the shop with his purchase in hand. It had taken her about two seconds to fix the machine and ring him up – which was not surprising, as she had a real bent for machinery. Narrowing her coffee-colored eyes, she hopped up on the counter, placing herself directly between Comenius and me so she couldn’t be ignored – a tactic that was both endearing and annoying. “I can’t imagine that they’d be able to forgive you leaving in the middle of a Friday night crowd.”

“Yeah, well they’re just going to have to deal.” I shoved my hands into my hair, promptly tangling my fingers into the black ringlets. “Roanas was murdered.”

“What?” Comenius and Noria both gasped at the same time, their eyes huge.

“When?” Comenius asked.

“How?” Noria demanded.

I sighed, exhaustion dragging at the edges of my brain. I hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours – it had been nearly midnight when I’d gotten Roanas’s cry for help – and on top of that, I was emotionally exhausted. Comenius, sensing my fatigue, had Noria lock the front door and flip the ‘OPEN’ sign around to ‘CLOSED’, then brought out a pot of his soothing tea and had us all settle into the small sitting area in a corner of the shop so I could tell them the story.

I told them everything between sips of tea, silently thanking Magorah, the All-Creator, as the herbal concoction soothed my ragged nerves and bolstered my flagging energy levels. Comenius was a hedge-witch; all of his spells, amulets, concoctions and devices were created using nature magic, and he made some of the most killer herbal remedies around, amongst other things. Hence why everything in the shop was made out of natural materials, and also the reason Comenius couldn’t operate the cash register to save his life. It was like he had an allergy to anything remotely made of machinery.

“By the Ur-God,” Noria whispered. Her dark eyes shimmered with tears. “I’m so sorry, Naya. That’s terrible.”

“Silver poisoning?” Comenius’s eyes were narrowed as he pondered the issue. “And you say he told you the silver was some kind of solution that was undetectable by scent or taste?”

I nodded. “Do you know any herbs that might be able to do that?” I asked, leaning forward in my chair. I’d hoped his vast knowledge of plant lore might point me in the right direction. And since I was currently an outcast at all my usual haunts, he was the only person I could turn to for help.

Comenius tapped his square chin as he thought. “I might,” he muttered, his gaze scanning a shelf filled with jars of dried leaves and roots. “But most of them wouldn’t meld with silver.” He paused, turning his narrowed gaze back to me. “Are you investigating this in an official capacity?”

“No.” My cheeks flushed, but I stubbornly held his gaze. “The Guild sent two goons from the Main Crew to handle it. You know they wouldn’t let me investigate my own mentor’s murder.”

“Shouldn’t you –”

“Com,” Noria interjected, her brows drawing together as she cut him off. “You don’t really expect Naya to sit back and let those half-assed jerks investigate Roanas’s death, do you?”

“Well, no.” Comenius hesitated, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. “But I can’t say I’m entirely comfortable putting my shop on the line by aiding Naya in an unauthorized investigation either.” He leaned forward to pin me with a gimlet stare. “Haven’t you considered that this might be the reason your mentor was killed? Because he was sticking his nose where someone thought it didn’t belong?”

“Yes,” I said evenly before Noria exploded. While the kid’s outrage on my behalf was admirable, I didn’t need her losing her job over it. “But that isn’t going to stop me from flushing out the bastard who killed him, and bringing them to justice. Brin and Nila care more about getting their bounty than getting actual justice for Roanas, which means that whoever murdered him is going to keep on knocking off other shifters unchecked. This is a lot bigger than a revenge kick, Com. It’s about the safety of the shifter community in general.”

Comenius sighed, running a hand through his pale hair. “I wish that you could go to the Shifter Council about this. That would be much more appropriate, and possibly more effective too.”

I scowled. “You know why I can’t do that.” As a half-shifter, my word was worth significantly less than that of a full-blooded shifter, and on top of that my aunt Mafiela, the head of the Jaguar Clan, was on the Council. Normally that would be an advantage, except that she regarded the shit stains on her underwear more highly than she did me, especially after my mother passed away. There was no way the Council would allow me to participate in an investigation if I initiated one with them, not if she had anything to say about it.

“I know. And that’s why I’ll look into it.” He rose, and the loose fabric of his dark green tunic rippled with the motion. “I’ll be right back.”

“Thank you.” I sighed a little as Comenius disappeared into the back of the shop. This reticence to take action, this stickler attitude about following the rules was the reason Comenius and I hadn’t worked out as a couple a few years back when we’d tried dating. Sure, he had a pretty hot bod beneath those conservative clothes of his, and those long fingers were good for more than enchanting amulets and grinding herbs. But I preferred to live on the edge, whereas Comenius tended toward camping behind the lines. Sometimes it amazed me that a man who made his living by working with the forces of nature could be so rigid… but then again, it took all kinds.

“You know,” Noria interrupted my inner monologue. She leaned back in her wicker chair, a thoughtful expression on her elfin face. “I might have some ideas myself about how the silver could have been masked.”

“Oh yeah?” I leaned forward, hope sparking in my chest. Part of me knew that it was wrong for me to involve Annia’s little sister – she was a smart kid, not yet eighteen years old, with a bright future ahead of her, and I didn’t need to mess it up by dragging her into my bullshit. But I was also desperate and without leads, and I needed all the help I could get. “You think you might be able to track down who did it?”

Noria shrugged. “Sure, if I can figure out how it was done. I’ll jump on investigating how the silver could have been diluted. A couple of my friends at the Academy have done experiments with metals and electricity. It’s very likely that whoever did this was human.”

I nodded. “That makes sense. I couldn’t imagine it being one of our own.” Shifters didn’t use silver to kill other shifters – we preferred to settle things with our fangs and claws.

Comenius came back from around the counter, a bracelet clutched in his fist. “I couldn’t find anything in the books I have here,” he said. “But I’ll check the Mage Guild’s library and see what else I can find. In the meantime, you should wear this.” He held up the hemp bracelet to reveal a small, circular amulet dangling from the center. “It will help quiet the spirits around you and sharpen your focus, so you can concentrate on the investigation.”

“Thanks.” I smiled, touched by his concern, and held out my arm so he could fasten the bracelet around my wrist. Electricity buzzed up the nerve endings in my arm as his long fingers brushed against my skin, and from the way Comenius’s pupils dilated, I could tell the same thing had happened to him. Which wasn’t exactly strange, since we’d tumbled together in the sack before, but it was pretty awkward with Noria sitting right there watching us, so I settled quickly back into my chair, breaking the contact as soon as he was done.

“So,” Noria said. “What now?”

“Now we look at this.” I unzipped my jacket and pulled out the file. Com and Noria’s eyes widened, and they both leaned forward.

“Is… is this a case file?” Comenius said.

“Yep. From Roanas’s house.” It had taken me quite a while to find it, so I hadn’t had a chance to do more than stuff it down the front of my jacket before Brin and Nila arrived. “He told me to get it before he died.”

Comenius looked like he wanted to say something about stealing evidence, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. I flipped open the file, scanning the notes and various newspaper clippings. My eyes smarted at the sight of Roanas’s handwriting – it was a painful reminder that he would never write another word again. But I blinked away the tears, knowing I couldn’t afford them now – there would be time enough to grieve after the killer was caught.

“Naya? Isn’t this about one of your own?”

I glanced down at the article Noria was pointing at. My eyes widened as I took in the photo of the beautiful woman depicted at the top of the article, dressed in leathers and armed with a short sword. It was Sillara, one of the more competent Enforcers, and one I’d been quite fond of.

“I had no idea she’d died of silver poisoning,” I murmured, tracing the outline of her face with the tip of my finger. She’d been part of a crew, whereas I was a solo mercenary, so our paths didn’t really cross. But she’d always struck me as frank and dedicated, one of the true diamonds amongst a sea full of rhinestones. And now she was gone.

Comenius said nothing, simply laying a hand on my shoulder as I read the article. It said that she’d been found in her apartment on a Friday night, dead on her living room floor. The Mage’s Guild was conducting an autopsy, but there was no conclusive evidence pointing to a cause of death, murder weapon or killer, for that matter.

“They wrote her off,” I muttered, my fingers curling so tightly around the edges of the paper that it started to shred. “I remember now. The Guild said she’d died from some kind of fucking heart failure.” Which was incredibly rare amongst shifters, especially one who was as healthy and in shape as Sillara had been. Magorah, why hadn’t I seen it? I should have questioned it, should have suspected something… but of course, I’d been too wrapped up in my own problems, and I hadn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Comenius said gently, rubbing his thumb along the edge of my shoulder. I wanted to lean into him, to sink into the comfort he offered, but I couldn’t – someone was killing off shifters, and I needed to find out who.

“Do you think the mages might be in on this?”

I glanced up at Noria, who’d spoken. “You think the Mage’s Guild is responsible for the murders?”

Noria shrugged, lines bracketing her mouth as she scanned another one of the articles. “I can’t say for sure, but it seems like someone’s definitely trying to keep all of these hush-hush. I mean, usually the papers are quick to connect cases like this, and yet we have six issues here, spread across three months, and not a single peep from the media. What gives?”

“But this is the Shifter Courier,” I argued. “These stories aren’t published by the Mage’s Guild.”

Noria shrugged. “Race doesn’t seem to matter when someone shoves a pouch full of gold in your face. They probably bribed the editor or something.”

Even though as a hybrid I wasn’t fully part of the shifter community, my gut still twisted at the idea one of us was a sell-out. Sure, I’d had to take down my fair share of shifter bounties, but it was still tough to admit we were just as susceptible to the same weaknesses as any other race.

A gloomy silence descended as we all pondered the possibilities. So far, the beginnings of our theory suggested human involvement with mage cover-up, which didn’t make a whole lot of sense because there was no reason I could think of that the mages would want to cover up for humans. I’d searched Roanas’s house for clues while I’d been waiting for the Enforcers to show up and hadn’t found anything helpful, but that didn’t mean nothing was going on. I had a feeling that even if we were on the right trail, we were only scratching the surface, and things were going to get a whole lot messier the deeper we went.

“What about your cousin Rylan?” Comenius asked. “He might have heard some rumors about this underground.”

“Huh.” I hadn’t thought of that. “I haven’t heard from him in a long while, but I should ask.” Rylan was a member of the Resistance, a ragtag band of humans and shifters who lived on the outskirts of civilization and worked tirelessly to overthrow the mages. He was the only one of my cousins I was close to, which was ironic considering that I worked for law enforcement. Unfortunately, his way of life meant I didn’t get to see him much.

“I think that’s a good idea.” Comenius paused. “Are you going to be alright?” he asked, his voice gentling. “I mean, if you lose your job at The Twilight –”

“I’ll be fine,” I cut him off, not wanting him to worry. For all of his self-preservation instincts and tendencies towards conservatism, Comenius could become a freaking mother hen when it came to keeping his friends safe. “I’ll figure out a way to make ends meet.”

“You haven’t come to me for amulets in a long time,” he said quietly. “Which means that you haven’t been going after any new bounties. That Talcon fellow has been giving most of them to the Main Crew, hasn’t he?” His brow darkened.

“Com, stop.” I rose to my feet, agitated now. Most of the Enforcers Guild was made up of small crews – eight to ten people, usually – but there was always a Main Crew of at least forty people who got the best bounties. Unfortunately, since the Main Crew didn’t have to work so hard to get their bounties, they were also pretty half-assed when it came to their job – and Brin and Nila were part of them. “There’s no need to worry about this, because I’m going to change it.”

Comenius sat back, skepticism written all over his face as he crossed his arms and looked up at me. “And just how are you going to do that?”

“By solving these poison murders,” I declared, jabbing my fist in the air like a torch. “If I can show up the current Main Crew by catching this murderer, Galling will add me to the Main Crew roster and I’ll get access to better bounties. Then Talcon will have to show me some respect.” The thought of pressing a proverbial boot to Talcon’s neck brought a fierce grin to my face. He wouldn’t dare mess with me if I was on the Main Crew.

“Hmm.” Comenius appeared to give the matter serious thought. “The idea definitely has merit.”

I was about to roll my eyes when a loud buzzing sound filled the room as my Enforcer bracelet, a tiny bronze shield charm threaded through a brown cord, vibrated against my wrist. “All nearby Enforcers to 228 Garden Street,” a tinny voice blared, projected by the bracelet. “Rogue shifter out of control.”

“Well, shit.” I patted my legs down to make sure my weapons were still strapped on me – chakram pouch on the right leg and crescent knives on the left. “Sounds like there’s trouble in Rowanville. Gotta go!”

I sprinted out the door and down the pier toward my bike, the thrill of the hunt racing through my veins. Emergency calls paid high, and were first come, first served, so if I took down this guy there was no way Talcon could skimp on paying me the bounty. Jumping on my bike, I started up the steam engine and raced out of the pier. My wheels screeched as I skidded onto the main street and blew past two mages coming out of a shop. I laughed as their robes flew up around their ankles and flipped them the bird as they shouted after me.

I didn’t care about them, didn’t care about any of my other troubles right now. All I knew was that I had a bounty to catch, and I was going to cash in on it even if it killed me.

3

I heard the screams long before I skidded to a stop in front of 288 Garden Street, a nice little one-story family house in one of the suburban Rowanville neighborhoods. The high-pitched wails of children curdled my gut, but I sucked in a breath and steeled myself for whatever nightmare I was about to face. I got off my bike and approached the woman sobbing hysterically in the front yard. Her dark hair was a wreck, the once-nice dress she wore shredded in places, and her leg was bent at an odd angle. Inside the house, I could hear loud thumping and crashing; the rogue shifter must be wreaking havoc in there.

Anger bubbled up inside me as I touched the woman’s shoulder to get her attention. Why the fuck was nobody helping her? It had taken me nearly ten minutes to get here from the Port. There had to be an Enforcer in the area who could have gotten here faster.

“Ma’am,” I said as Noria’s bike pulled up behind me – she’d grabbed a protesting Comenius and insisted on following me here. “My name is Sunaya Baine, registered member of the Enforcer’s Guild. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“Please!” the woman shrieked, grabbing my arm with bruising force. Her powder blue shifter eyes were crazed with fear, and my nose told me she was a rabbit shifter. “My babies are still in there! You have to get them out!” Tears poured down her raw cheeks as her body trembled.

“Can you tell me what’s in there with them?” I asked, my heart pounding. “What kind of beast?”

“It’s a rhino shifter,” she sobbed as the house shook behind her. “He charged in, all wild and crazy, and went for me and the children. I couldn’t get to them, so I came out here for help… but…”

“Naya.” Comenius dropped to his knees beside me, his voice urgent. Compassion flickered in his eyes as he took in the sight of the woman. “What’s going on?”

“There’s a rampaging rhino shifter inside the house, and there are children in danger.” I rose to my feet slowly, dread weighing down my movements. I wasn’t equipped to handle a rhino shifter by myself, especially not one who was crazed with anger. But there was no one else around to back me up. “I have to go and get them.”

“Are you crazy?” Noria snapped. “He’ll kill you!”

“There are children in there,” I said firmly, my gaze fixed on the house. “Com, you heal the mother. I’m going in to rescue her cubs.”

“Like hell,” Comenius snapped, rising impatiently to his feet. “You’ll never make it out of there. I’m going in with you.”

“You should help the woman –”

“I have some spells that could calm the rhino down.” I shut my mouth at that. “If you can distract him long enough, I’ll cast a sleeping spell on him that should stop him in his tracks so you can get the children to safety.”

“Fine.” Much as I didn’t want to involve my friends with this, I knew I couldn’t do it alone. I needed magic, and I couldn’t use my own. But there wasn’t any time to dwell on the irony – I needed to rescue the children.

I charged through the door first, my crescent knives clutched in my fists in case the rhino was on the other side. No, they wouldn’t do much good, but I was a little more confident with the weapons in my hands. I brandished them like talismans as I followed the scent of the baby rabbits, creeping through the war-torn living room and down the hallway. The walls had been reduced to little more than rubble, so there wasn’t much cover, and I had a clear sight of the rhino hard at work demolishing what had once been a very nice dining room.

Creeping across the tile floor as silently as I could in my boots, I followed the scent across the room and beneath the remains of a dining room table, where two baby bunnies were huddled together in beast form. They were absolutely adorable, little black fuzz balls the size of sugar melons, their eyes wide with panic above their little chins and pink noses. “Shhh,” I whispered soothingly, reaching for them with outstretched arms. “I’m here to save you.”

I reached for the bunnies, and the rhino shifter chose that moment to swing his head around. I froze in utter terror as his crazed eyes made direct contact with mine – blood was flowing freely from his flared nostrils. What the fuck was going on with this guy?

“Time to go!” I shouted, more to distract the rhino than to tell the bunnies. Thinking fast, I flipped the table in the rhino’s direction, then grabbed both the bunnies by the scruffs of their necks and tossed them out the window and into the backyard.

The rhino bayed so loudly the sound shook the remaining walls of the house and made my eardrums throb. He charged me, his huge horn splintering the glossy dining table I’d thrown up as a makeshift battlement, and I dodged out of the way and raced down the hall, past Comenius who was frantically putting together a spell in the living room. I couldn’t run outside, not while the mother and babies were still on the lawn, but I could lead the bastard on a chase until Comenius finished concocting his sleep spell.

“Any minute now, Com!” I shouted over the deafening sound of the rhino’s crashing footfalls. The sound of crumbling drywall told me that he wasn’t far behind, his huge body knocking down the walls, and I ducked inside the nearest bedroom, hoping that his momentum would carry him straight past me.

I was wrong. Somehow, the hulking bastard managed to make the turn along with me, and his huge snout crashed into the middle of my back. I went flying across a little girl’s room, with lacy curtains at the windows and dolls covering the shelves, and slammed face-first into the pink wall.

Stars burst across my vision as I slid to the floor, flopping onto my back. The whole world felt like it was shaking apart around me, though really it was just the floor rumbling as the rhino charged me again. Fear choked me in its cold, vice-like grip as the beast reared up on his hind legs to trample me, having no other way to attack me in the small space. I threw out my hands instinctively, as if my comparatively twig-like arms had a chance of stopping the rhino’s tree trunk legs.

But just before the rhino’s legs came down on me, a surge of energy ballooned in my chest, rippled down my arms and blasted out of my hands in the form of a huge ball of blue-green fire. It crashed into the rhino, who bayed so loudly that my teeth rattled inside my throbbing head. There was a sizzling sound, like meat cooking, and then the rhino disappeared in a flash.

I lay there as flecks of ash rained down on my face, the edges of my vision darkening. Shouts and footfalls echoed in the hallway, and a horde of people came crashing in through the doorway, Comenius in the lead and Noria close behind.

“Naya!” He skidded to his knees beside me, his eyes wild. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” I wheezed.

“Where’s the rhino?” My fuzzy vision managed to pick out Brin, the Enforcer who’d responded to my call at Roanas’s house, as the source of the question. He stood just inside the door, his burly arms crossed over his chest, a suspicious scowl on his face.

Curling my lips back in a sardonic grin, I slid my hand through some of the ash coating the ground, then lifted a fistful of it into the air. “Right here.”

“Oh Naya,” Comenius whispered miserably, taking my filthy hand in his. “This is so very, very bad.”

He was right, of course. I had just used my magic to kill a shifter. While responding to a distress call. In front of a whole lot of witnesses. I was royally fucked no matter which way you looked at it, and the silver murders didn’t have a chance in hell of being solved if I was executed. But as they all stood over me, arguing about whether I should be jailed, sent to the hospital, or crowned Queen for a Day – Noria’s idea – the last bit of energy that might have allowed me to care left my body, and without it to anchor me there I sank into a blissful sea of darkness.

4

The next time I woke up, I found myself lying on a cot that must’ve been made of concrete, it was so damn uncomfortable. And that wasn’t even counting the aches and pains running through my face and body from being smashed into a wall by a four-ton rhinoceros.

Was I in the hospital? Where was my damned nurse?

Opening my eyes, I twisted my head around and catalogued the iron bars surrounding my little room on three sides and the concrete wall behind me. Fear sprang to life in my gut as I confirmed that I was, in fact, in a jail cell and not a super-shitty hospital room like I’d hoped. Fuck. How was I going to get out of this mess?

“Naya? Are you awake?”

Noria’s voice startled me from my state of semi-awareness, and I jolted upright and looked around for the source. My heart sank as I found it – she was sitting on the cot in the cell next to mine, her pale face pinched and her coffee-colored eyes round with concern.

“Shit,” I muttered. My friend’s little sister was in jail with me and a throbbing tattoo beat against the inside of my skull. “Noria, what are you doing in here?”

Noria smirked a little. “That asshole Brin threw me in here, to teach me a lesson after I punched him in the nose. But don’t worry; I’ll be out on bail in a little bit. I’m just glad you woke up before my family gets here.”

Yeah, well I’m not, I thought grumpily, biting the words back as they would only hurt Noria’s feelings. But by Magorah, I was so not looking forward to having her mother shoot death glares at me through the bars of my cell when she came to pick up her daughter. The idea was almost scarier than the fact that I was in jail.

Almost. After all, there’s little else in this world more terrifying than an impending execution.

“So,” I sighed, slumping against the concrete wall and trying to ignore the panic skirting the edges of my mind. “What’d I miss?”

“Aside from me punching Brin in the face?” Noria said proudly. I sent her a death glare of my own, and she deflated a little. “Oh, alright, alright. Nothing much, really. Com and I tried to argue with those other Enforcers about letting you go on account of the fact that you were just doing your job and you didn’t hurt anyone aside from the rhino. The rabbit shifter lady defended you too. But unfortunately you Enforcers don’t seem to have any respect for each other within the ranks, so they tossed both of us in here.”

I winced at Noria’s cutting words. “Yeah, well unfortunately the Enforcer’s Guild is a highly competitive workplace. The less competition, the better your docket.”

Noria was silent for a long moment as she pondered this. She’d declared a long time ago that she wanted to follow in her sister’s footsteps and become an Enforcer, and I hoped my words would help dissuade her from that treacherous career path. Even though I loved what I did most days, I also didn’t have too many other career options given my skill set and secrets. Noria, with her smarts and techie skills, had the entire world as her oyster. I really, really didn’t want her to end up on the same path I was.

Especially since, at the moment, my path looked like it was coming to an end a lot sooner than I wanted it to.

“Would you do that?” Noria finally asked.

“Do what?” I blinked.

“Turn somebody else in who didn’t deserve it, just so you could eliminate the competition.” She bit her lip as she studied me.

“No. I wouldn’t,” I admitted with a sigh. For the most part I actually believed in justice, true justice. Not the half-assed, corrupted version practiced in society today.

As expected, Noria rewarded me with a huge grin. “That’s exactly what I thought,” she crowed. “You’re way too far above that crap.” The grin faded a little as a troubled look entered her eyes. “Naya?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you really think you’re about to be executed?”

I sat up straight at the sound of her voice, so small and scared and unlike the brash, confident girl I knew. She was clutching the bars, staring at me with wide eyes, and I reached out, wanting to touch her hands and reassure her. But before I could, the door at the end of the hall opened, and a guard marched down the hall with Noria’s mother in tow.

I sighed, slumping back against the mattress again. So much for companionship. I silently endured the expected death glare from Noria’s mother as she collected her daughter, then gingerly lay back on my rock-hard cot. It was wrong, but I missed having Noria in the cell next to me. It was comforting to have a comrade in here to distract me from my fear, especially since I knew that when I next emerged from this cell, I would be walking to my death.

Without Noria to distract me, my aches and pains made themselves known, increasing from a dull ache to sharp, throbbing pains in the bones of my face and my ribcage. Dread pooled in my stomach as I realized that my injuries were more severe than I’d thought. I was going to have to shift to heal them.

Normally, shifting was no problem for me. Because I was half-mage and had more natural magic at my disposal than a regular shifter, I could change forms faster and more frequently. But I’d just used a boatload of magic disintegrating that rhino shifter, and I’d already been short on sleep and food then. I was past the point of exhaustion now.

Is there even any point in healing myself? I thought despondently, my eyes tracing the cracks in the concrete ceiling. If I’m going to be executed tomorrow?

Of course there is, a voice in my head argued fiercely. You’re the only one who gives a fuck about solving the silver murders. You can’t just give up and die. Don’t allow your fear of what could be to put you into an early grave.

Tears sprang to my eyes at that last line – it was something Roanas told me often, especially when coaxing me into trying a new maneuver early on in my training. He’d taken me in when I was still a cub, after my mother died and my aunt had kicked me out of the clan, and of all the things he’d taught me that phrase stuck with me the most. It was his way of saying not to give in to my fear of the unknown – just because something could go wrong didn’t mean that it would, and if you didn’t try at all you’d never reap the rewards.

Magorah, what was I supposed to do now that he was gone?

The door at the end of the hall opened and footsteps rang across the concrete. I sat up, swiping the tears from my face in case I had a visitor. Sure enough, a hulking thug of a human with a bulbous nose and a shock of red hair dressed in leathers stopped in front of my cell. His wide mouth stretched in a grin, displaying the gold tooth that winked where one of his canines should have been.

Oh lucky me. It’s my favorite person in the world.

“Deputy Talcon,” I said coolly, sitting up straight. The pain in my ribs flared, but I ignored it, unwilling to show him any sign of weakness.

“Sunaya.” He dragged the last syllable out, then made tsking sounds as he wagged a meaty finger at me. He was built like a troll, nearly as wide as he was tall, the bulging muscles of his arms displayed by the sleeveless black shirt he wore. “I heard you were cooped up down here, so I thought I’d come down and see how my favorite Enforcer was doing.” He raised a long, paper-wrapped package clutched in his fist. “Want a sandwich?”

I wanted to tell him to fuck off, but my stomach growled so loudly in response to the food that he laughed before chucking the sandwich through the iron bars of the cell. It landed in my lap, and I fell on it greedily, the shame in my gut unable to trump the gnawing hunger in there.

“Good little panther,” he cooed as I ripped open the wrapper and inhaled the sandwich. My nose told me it was safe, a simple if unimaginative combination of turkey and cheese, so I wasted no time in chowing it down. I had to swallow my pride if I wanted to have my strength for tomorrow.

“Got any water to go with that?” I asked nonchalantly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

His eyes narrowed at my blasé response to his goading. “You always were an ungrateful little bitch,” he said darkly, his lower lip curling.

“Sure, and you always were a disgusting, fat fuck.”

His eyes bulged, and he lunged toward me before he remembered that there was a row of iron bars separating us. I watched with satisfaction as he stood there, taking in deep breaths through his flaring nostrils, a vein pulsing in his temple. Good. The bastard deserved to stew a little, especially after all he’d put me through.

“So,” I said, folding my arms across my aching ribs. “What brings you down from your cushy office upstairs? Got tired of jerking off to my ID photo?” I’d been down here enough times to know I was in the holding cells in the basement of the Enforcer’s Guild. Shame burned the lining of my stomach as it occurred to me that my peers had likely all watched Brin and Nila haul my unconscious ass down here, but I forced myself to push it aside. There were more important things to worry about than my bruised pride.

“As a matter of fact, I did.” His lips stretched into a cruel smirk as he regarded me with his beady eyes. “It’s been awhile since you last came in, so when I heard you were in the building I decided to come and see that pretty face of yours in person again.” His eyes gleamed with lust, and a small shiver crawled down my spine. “So much better than a picture.”

“You know,” I drawled, doing my best to cover up the disgust coating my throat, “if you pull out your dick here and try to shoot a load at me now, you might actually be able to hit me since I don’t have an amulet to incinerate you with anymore. Why don’t you try it and see what happens?” I bared my fangs, daring him – if he whipped out his dick now I had a real shot of reaching through the bars and ripping it to shreds with my claws before he could react. After all, it wasn’t like I had anything to lose now, and I partially blamed him for the situation I was in.

Talcon’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You’ve got a real smart mouth for someone who’s facing execution, hybrid.” I flinched as he spat the word, the contempt in his voice so much like my aunt Mafiela’s that my heart shriveled inside my chest. “Don’t pretend that little trinket is what saved your ass today. We both know what really happened, and you’re going down.”

I lifted my chin, refusing to let him see the fear churning inside my gut. “I look forward to seeing the look on your face when the mages test the amulet and are forced to vindicate me.” Not that that was going to happen, of course – in fact, I sincerely hoped the Mage’s Guild decided not to test the amulet when I spun my bogus story for them tomorrow, because if they did I was most definitely toast.

Uncertainty flickered across Talcon’s face for just a moment, and then he scoffed. “Yeah, right. You were always good at bluffing. But you know,” he said, a sly smile curving his lips. “I could help you escape in exchange for a little something-something.”

I arched an eyebrow. “What, you want your sandwich back? I don’t think it’s any good to you at this point, but I’m sure I can figure something out.” I stuck a finger in the back of my throat and pretended to gag.

“Oh, don’t bother with that.” Talcon’s sausage fingers reached for his fly. “I’ve got something much better for you to choke on.”

“Fuck you.” I instinctively reached for the chakram pouch strapped to my thigh, but there was nothing there but my leather-clad leg. Dammit. Was I ever going to get my weapons back?

“I’m not sucking you off for my freedom, Talcon. You probably couldn’t give it to me anyway.”

“You never know,” he purred, wiggling the zipper on his pants.

I rolled my eyes. “Please don’t make me bite that thing off.”

His expression turned downright ugly. “Fine,” he said, baring his teeth. “I was just giving you the opportunity to enjoy a last moment of pleasure before your death.”

“Couldn’t you drag your mind out of the garbage for once and do some actual work?” I threw up my hands, tired of this bullshit. Why the fuck did the Enforcer’s Guild give the deputy position to such a total ass? Just because he came from an old human family with money didn’t mean he deserved the job. “Instead of standing around here holding your dick, you could be out there solving those silver murders and getting some real recognition for a job well done.”

Something flickered in his eyes, and for a moment I thought I’d actually dented his pride. But the look disappeared as quickly as I’d seen it, and he shrugged, a patronizing smile on his thuggish face.

“I never figured you for one to believe in conspiracy theories, Sunaya. Guess it’s a good thing you’re finally getting put down, or I’d have to fire you myself. I look forward to seeing you at your hearing tomorrow, hybrid.”

Fury raced through me like wildfire, but I snapped my mouth shut as Talcon turned and walked back down the hall, wanting him gone more than I wanted to fight. The relief that coursed through me as I listened to his receding footsteps was quickly eclipsed by despair as I slumped back down onto my cot. What the fuck was I supposed to do now? Sit here and wait to die? I’d always imagined being taken out while I was on the job, protecting an innocent or bringing down a criminal. Death by execution, for something I was born with and couldn’t control, had never been part of the plan.

Before I allowed the bitterness coating my tongue to spread throughout the rest of me and sap my strength, I pulled off my clothes and used the bit of energy I’d gotten from Talcon’s sandwich to shift. A hot white light engulfed my body as it stretched and changed shape, and when it faded away I’d transformed from a tall, lean woman into a black panther. Only my bottle-green eyes remained constant, regardless of what shape I was in. I always figured the mages who created us did that on purpose, so shifters would be easily identifiable.

My claws scraped against the ground as I stretched, my sleek form rippling, and I let out a satisfied sigh as the last of my injuries knit themselves back together. Now that I was in beast form and the pain of my injuries had gone, some of the despair and anxiety began to lift from my heart. Curling up on the cold concrete, I rested my chin on top of my paws and allowed sleep to finally take hold of me. Once I got some rest I would focus my mind on getting out of this mess alive. After all, I was twenty-four and had my whole life ahead of me. Not to mention a series of murders to solve.

* * *

“Sunaya Baine?”

The sound of an unfamiliar male voice woke me from a fitful sleep. I cracked an eye open to see a man standing above me, his slim form draped in a long, khaki coat. Though it was dark in the jail at this time of night, my sharp eyes were able to pick out the porkpie hat clutched in his left hand, his slicked-back dirty blond hair, and his horn-rimmed glasses, the last of which sparked a memory.

You’re a reporter, I wanted to say, but then I remembered that I was in my panther form. Yawning, I stretched, my claws producing a scraping sound as they gouged into the concrete floor. The human took a nervous step back, clearly not a fan of my sharp implements. To amuse myself, I rose up on my hind legs, hooking my paws through the bars of my cell as I met his gaze. His eyes widened as his back clanged into the cell bars behind him.

“Y-you are Sunaya Baine, aren’t you?”

Satisfied at the tremor in the man’s voice – I never was much of a fan of reporters – I nosed my clothes into the shadowy portion of my cell and changed back into human form. His sigh of relief and the scent of fresh sweat rolling from his pores were telling – this man was afraid of shifters in general, not just me.

“I am Sunaya Baine,” I said once I’d pulled my clothes back on and stepped back into the dim light. I leaned against the bars and looped my hands through them lazily, affecting a pose of nonchalance. He eyed my hands warily, as if he expected me to claw him at any second, and I found myself annoyed at his skittishness. “Can I help you with something?”

“Yes,” he said, drawing his air of professionalism back around him. He pulled out a notepad and a pen from one of the pockets of his greatcoat and looked up at me with a polite smile over his glasses, his pen poised. “My name is Hanley Fintz, and I’m a journalist for the Herald. I heard about your unfortunate predicament, and would like to interview you.”

I arched a brow. “Bit late for interviews, don’t you think?” Not that I knew what time it was, since Brin and Nila had stripped my body of anything actually useful, such as my watch. The fuckers had even taken my Enforcer bracelet, the symbol of authority I’d worked so hard to earn. But judging by the fact that the lights down here were still dimmed, it must be night above ground.

The reporter shrugged. “From what my sources tell me, your hearing is set for early this morning. Since they’re likely to rule against you, I have to take what opportunities I can get to talk with you before it’s too late.”

In other words, this schmuck had bribed one of the guards upstairs to let him into the jail cell so he could interview me. Did absolutely no one understand the meaning of ‘work ethic’ anymore? Pressing my lips together, I eyed the reporter distastefully, not sure that he didn’t deserve a beating just as much as the guard upstairs, though unlike the guard he was just doing his job.

A long silence stretched. Eventually Fintz cleared his throat. “Come now, surely you can tell me something,” he coaxed. “I would like to paint you in the most positive light possible, which is not very hard. If you have to die, at least you can die a martyr in the fight against the oppressive mages who rule us.”

His voice was low and urgent, infused with passion. But the hungry way he eyed me seemed less sincere. Releasing the bars, I took a step back, holding my hands up defensively.

“Look,” I told him. “If you want to paint me as a martyr or a hero or whatever after I’m six feet under, that’s your business. But I’m not dead yet, and I’d appreciate it if you’d stop looking at me like some vulture waiting for me to gasp my last breath, so you can swoop down and start feasting on me.”

The man recoiled a little, his pointy nose twitching. “Well that’s vulgar.”

“Yeah, well you know what else is vulgar?” I leaned against the bars again to pin him with an accusing stare. “The fact that nobody in this town seems to give a damn about all the shifters who are dying of silver poisoning. If you really wanted a juicy story, you’d be investigating that, starting with my mentor’s murder, not trying to prod me for bullshit quotes about standing up to the system.”

“I would love nothing more than to investigate these poisonings you speak of,” Hanley said sulkily. “But unfortunately, Mr. Yantz decides who and what I investigate and what stories are printed, and he is simply not interested in publishing that story.”

“Of course not.” I bared my fangs in disgust. Petros Yantz, the CEO and Chief Editor of the Herald, had turned the once-prestigious paper into little more than a glorified gossip rag. He was one of the primary reasons I detested reporters. “Why don’t you go and tell your boss to fuck off for me, before I find a reason to break out of this cell and come harass him in the middle of the night.”

“I see.” His eyes glittered as he returned his pad and pen to his pocket. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I suppose I’ll just have to contact your family for quotes instead. Do have a good night.” He placed his hat on his head, then turned and walked away.

I snorted at his parting shot, lying back down on my cot. It was doubtful he would get anything more interesting than a ‘Good Riddance!’ from my aunt Mafiela if he asked her how she felt about my death, and though some of my cousins might have nicer things to say about me, I doubted she would let them speak to the press.

Closing my eyes, I tried to take advantage of whatever time I had left before my hearing to get some sleep. But now that I’d been awakened, my mind kept buzzing with all the thoughts jockeying for position inside my head. The predominant fear, of course, was how the hell to ensure Roanas got avenged and the silver murders got solved. Even if I did manage to avoid execution, which was very unlikely, I would face a long sentence, most likely of hard labor in the mines. Plus I would be stripped of my magic, and at my age that would reduce my mind into a puddle of mush. No matter how the judge decided to punish me, I would have zero opportunity to conduct an investigation myself.

Of course, I could always ask Comenius and Noria to look into it for me... except I didn’t want to risk their lives on this. Comenius had a daughter abroad who he helped support with the money he earned from his shop, and Noria was simply too young to be involved in all this. Even if neither of them were susceptible to silver poisoning, that didn’t mean the killer wouldn’t try to take them out if he – or she – discovered they were hot on his trail.

I guess there’s always Rylan, I thought bitterly, twirling an inky curl of hair around my index finger as I stared up at the ceiling. My cousin would be more than happy to look into the murders, if only so he could point the blame back at the Mage’s Guild and gain one more nail to hammer into the coffin he was trying to create for them. But there was no way for me to get a message to him – mindspeech could only take you so far, and frankly it had been a miracle that Roanas had reached me at all. It was intended to be used in close proximity between shifters while we were in animal form, not as a mental telephone system.

You could probably send him a message if you used your magic.

The thought was almost as intriguing as it was frustrating. If the flashy display of power that landed me in this cell was any indication, I could probably do a whole lot with my magic if I could just figure out how to access it on demand, instead of in a panic. Closing my eyes, I tried to feel for the telltale spark that always lit inside me before an outburst, but there was only a void where it should have been.

My hands clenched into fists as helpless rage overtook me. I wanted to break something, or smash my fists into something satisfying, but I would only break my hands against the concrete walls and then I would have to expend even more energy healing myself. It was so unfair that the mages in this town got to use their magic to elevate themselves above us, while mine only served to drag me down and get me in trouble. The only time it was ever useful was when I was in mortal danger.

Maybe it’ll flare up again when the executioner tries to cut off your head.

A kind of dark hope lit in my chest at the thought. If my magic did come to life, I might be able to direct it long enough to make some kind of escape. And if not, maybe I could at least take a few of the slimy bastards with me before I died. Then I would truly be a martyr, just like the reporter guy said.

With that grim, yet oddly comforting thought clutched to my chest, I closed my eyes and waited for the sun to rise so they could come and take me away.

5

An hour after the sun rose, I was clapped in irons and dragged upstairs to the Hall of Justice, which was located on the third floor of the Enforcer’s Guild. I’d been in this room, with its stark walls, soaring ceiling and cold, unforgiving benches a handful of times – it was where Enforcers were tried and convicted for their crimes, and it wasn’t used often.

Behind the judge’s bench stood Maronas Galling, the Captain of the Enforcer’s Guild, and on the floor, seated at the prosecutor’s bench, were Deputy Talcon and Director Chartis, the Chief Mage’s representative and head of the local chapter of the Mage’s Guild. The guards escorted me none-too-gently toward the defendant’s bench, but not before I saw Comenius and Noria seated in the gallery amongst the handful of people – mostly reporters – who’d chosen to attend. Comenius’s face was grave, whereas Noria’s heart was in her eyes, her hands twisting nervously in her lap as she watched me. I tried to give her an encouraging smile, but she only bit her lip, her eyes shimmering with fear.

Sighing, I turned away from my friends, knowing that looking at them would only make me more anxious. Instead, I glanced down at my shackles, and my heart plummeted at the sight of the shimmering runes carved into the iron. I’d seen such runes used once before on a mage, in order to restrain his magic.

So much for trying to take the executioner down with you.

Finally, the Captain stopped shuffling his papers around and looked down at me. He was a commanding figure, with close-cropped steel hair and a matching beard covering his square jaw. His broad shoulders looked as if they bore the weight of command well enough – which they had before he’d let the Main Crew turn everything to shit. Nevertheless, my heart sank at the look of disappointment that flickered briefly in his dark eyes before hardening.

As the moment passed he called the room to order, then turned toward the prosecutor’s bench. “Deputy Talcon, do you have the list of charges?”

“I do indeed,” Talcon said, rising from his seat. He was dressed in a neatly pressed dark suit, which made me feel inadequate since my hair was a rat’s nest and I was still dressed in yesterday’s clothes.

“Sunaya Baine has been called before this court today on the charges of possessing magic without a license, and of using magic without a license to kill a shifter. These charges are substantiated by witness statements.” I gritted my teeth at his smug tone.

“May I see the statements, please?”

“Of course.” Talcon handed a sheaf of papers to Captain Galling.

Captain Galling read the statements out loud. They were from Brin and Nila. My embarrassment was eclipsed by simmering rage that grew with every word. The bastards hadn’t bothered to show up on time to save those bunnies, but they didn’t have any problem burying me for doing so. Magorah help me, but did they have no sense of decency at all?

“Well?” Galling asked when he’d finished reading the statements. “Do you have anything to say in your defense, Miss Baine?”

I bit back the scathing remark I wanted to say and cleared my throat. “Yes, Captain.” My voice was surprisingly steady despite the adrenaline pumping through my veins. “I’d like to point out that I was wearing a protective amulet on my wrist during the attack. Its magic must have activated in response to the rhino shifter’s attempt to kill me. That is far more logical than the idea that I killed the rhino myself.”

“That’s a very good story,” Director Chartis drawled, drawing my attention toward him. His dark green eyes, which matched the robes he was wearing, assessed me lazily, almost as if he couldn’t be bothered with prosecuting me. Nevertheless, he somehow found the energy to press on. “But unfortunately it does not match the evidence. I tested the amulet myself yesterday, and it held no traces of recent magical residue.” He drew the amulet out of his sleeve, and I gritted my teeth as he dangled it tauntingly at me. “I’m afraid that means, in plain language, that it hasn’t been used recently.”

A murmur spread through the crowd and fear crackled through me like a live current. So much for my shitty cover story.

“Besides,” the Director continued, “the amount of magic required to disintegrate a rhino shifter would have reduced an amulet of this size and strength to ash. As you can all see, it’s quite intact.”

“Alright, settle down, settle down,” the Captain ordered the room. He looked down at me wearily. “I’m afraid that unless you have anything more to say in your defense, I’m going to have to convict you of using illegal magic.”

“The penalty of which,” the Director reminded the room, as if he needed to, “is death.”

The Captain hesitated. “I think under the circumstances we should be able to reduce it to hard labor in the mines, don’t you think? It was self-defense, after all.”

The Director shook his head. “Whether or not it was self-defense is completely irrelevant,” he said dispassionately. “The death penalty is mandatory in such cases, especially since the accused is too old to be trained. She cannot be allowed to run amuck with her magic unchecked.”

Rage boiled up inside me so fast I swore steam came out of my ears. How dare this man stand there and dismiss my life so casually, as if I were a rabid dog that needed to be put down! I opened my mouth to rip him a new one, but I was cut off by a voice in the back.

“Captain Galling, I would like permission to speak.”

The sound of rustling fabric filled the air as everyone, including me, turned around to see Comenius standing in the gallery, his jaw set, determination gleaming in his cornflower blue eyes. The Director and Talcon began to protest at the same time, but Captain Galling held up his hand for silence.

“Speak,” he commanded.

Comenius took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “It is my belief that Miss Baine has committed an act of magic worthy of a mage, due to the fact that she is half-mage herself. Because of this, I believe that she should be allowed to appeal to the Chief Mage himself, rather than simply tried and executed in a courtroom that is strictly meant for Enforcers.”

It was a testament to the strength of my willpower that my jaw didn’t crash straight to the floor. Appeal to the Chief Mage? Was Comenius mad? The Chief Mage wasn’t just the ruler of Solantha – he governed the entire state of Canalo and was one of the most powerful mages in the Federation of Northia. Even if he could help me, I doubted he would have time – he barely ever emerged from his palace, busy with whatever matters of state and magic he was usually concerned with.

Maybe that’s the point. If the Chief Mage is so busy, it’ll be a while before he’s able to see me. Weeks, maybe even months. During that time I’m sure to find a way to escape.

“That’s ridiculous,” Talcon sputtered, his face growing red as he jumped to his feet. His fists clenched at his sides as he faced the Captain. “Sunaya is no more a mage than I am!”

“On the contrary,” the Director said, sounding somewhat reluctant, “she would have to be at least half-mage to have pulled off the display of power the reports suggest, whereas you are a full human, Deputy Talcon.”

I would have laughed at the murderous look Talcon shot Chartis, if the situation hadn’t been so dire. In any case, the Director was completely unruffled by Talcon’s outburst. It dawned on me that he might not actually care about the proceedings either way; he was just here to make sure the Chief Mage’s laws were enforced.

“What are you suggesting, then, Director Chartis?” Captain Galling asked, his brow furrowing. “Should we execute Miss Baine, or allow her to appeal to the Chief Mage?”

The Director sighed, running a hand through his wavy dark hair as if the idea of being tasked with making an actual decision was just too bothersome. “You can certainly order her execution if you want,” he told the Captain. “But if the Chief Mage found out that he was circumvented by not allowing him to respond to an appeal, I imagine he would be most displeased.”

“Very well.” The Captain banged his gavel, and as he looked down at me I swore there was a twinkle in his eye. “We shall refer the matter to the Chief Mage for a final ruling. You are all dismissed.”

* * *

I wasn’t exactly dancing a happy jig when the guards escorted me back to my cell, but my heart did feel significantly lighter now that the Captain had granted me a reprieve. With the way bureaucratic red tape liked to pile up in this city, I was unlikely to get my audience with the Chief Mage for some time, maybe even a month if I was lucky. That was plenty of time for me to figure out how to escape, I thought as the cell door clanged shut behind me.

My best bet, of course, was to contact Rylan and have him get me out of here. He’d happily take me underground in an instant, and since he and the others had already proven successful at evading capture, I was relatively certain that I could, too.

The only drawback was that I would have to pledge myself to the Resistance, something I had been avoiding for as long as Rylan had been trying to recruit me because I was afraid of how they would view me if they found out I was half-mage. But since that cat was out of the bag, there was really nothing to lose now, was there?

Decided, I sat cross-legged atop my cot and waited for Comenius and Noria to come and visit me. We hadn’t had a chance to say more than two words to each other after my hearing, and I knew that they would be anxious to see me. It was only a matter of time before Noria wore the guards down with her insistence.

Sure enough, the door at the end of the hall opened several hours later, and I heard the telltale clop of the heavy uniform shoes the guards wore. But instead of three pairs of feet, as I’d expected, I heard four.

“Time to go, Baine.” Two sets of guards stopped outside my door, dressed in the blue and black uniform that marked all of Privacy Guards’ employees – a security firm that contracted out to a variety of government agencies and businesses, including the Enforcer’s Guild and the Mage’s Guild. The guard who spoke to me held up the same set of rune-protected cuffs from before, and a current of anxiety ran through me as I eyed them.

“Time to go?” I echoed as the cell door opened. I presented my hands and allowed the guards to cuff me – there was little point to fighting back at this stage. “Go where?” I had a feeling he wasn’t referring to the visitors’ room.

“To Solantha Palace, of course. The Chief Mage is expecting you.”

I reeled as the guards pulled me from the cell, two flanking me with their meaty hands clamped firmly around my upper arms, one leading the way, and the other bringing up the rear. Apparently no chances were being taken with me – the guards on either side of me were shifters, and the one up ahead smelled of burnt sugar, indicating that he was one of the low-level mages Privacy Guard employed for situations like this.

“Y-you’re taking me to the Chief Mage now?” I spluttered, digging my heels into the floor like a petulant child. Not that it did me any good as they marched me out into the main hall – the heels of my boots simply screeched against the scuffed tile, drawing the attention of every Enforcer in the hall.

“That’s right.” The mage guard leading the way spoke without turning his head.

“But that’s ridiculous,” I protested as they led me down the front steps and into a horse-drawn carriage waiting at the curb. My heart sank as I saw the Chief Mage’s personal emblem emblazoned on the side of the carriage, a large blue shield with a golden rune composed of a series of interconnected brush strokes – the traditional symbol for magic with a few embellishments added that I imagined were unique to the Chief Mage – painted into the center. “He doesn’t have time to see me now.”

“I wasn’t aware you were so in tune with the Chief Mage’s schedule.” The mage guard arched a brow at me as the two shifter guards escorted me into the cab, which had dark, cushioned seats and was large enough to seat six. I gritted my teeth as all four of them settled into the cab around me, resentment oozing from my pores as the mage guard rapped on the inner roof of the carriage, telling the driver to get moving. The carriage lurched into motion, but I didn’t budge since I was squeezed in between the two hulking shifter guards. I glared up at them both, but they didn’t even deign to look at me – they just stared straight ahead.

Guess a lowly shifter-hybrid like me didn’t merit their attention.

Biting back a sigh, I relaxed against the cushiony seats as much as I was able and settled in for the ride. Solantha Palace was located in the Mage’s Quarter, an affluent neighborhood located in the upper left quadrant of Solantha, a thirty-minute carriage drive from Rowanville. I’d been to the Mage’s Quarter a handful of times on Enforcer business, but I’d never had any cause to visit the Solantha Palace. It was the seat of power for the Mage’s Guild and the residence of the Chief Mage. The idea of stepping behind those magically reinforced castle walls and into the domain of the most powerful mage in Solantha was enough to make the hairs stand up on the back of my neck even on a good day.

As the carriage bumped and jostled over the city streets, I stared out the window and tried to recall what I knew of the Chief Mage. Admittedly, it wasn’t much. He’d only taken up the mantle a few years ago, and I’d been out of town during his inauguration ceremony so I didn’t even get the chance to see him. Dammit, but what was his name?

Iannis ar’Sannin.

Ah. I remembered now – he was from Manuc, a small country thousands of miles from here. I wasn’t sure why he’d come to the Northia Federation or how long he’d been here, but apparently he did the Federation Council some huge favor, which was why they’d appointed him as the Chief Mage of Canalo. There had been a lot of worried talk amongst all the races that he would change things for the worse, but so far the status quo seemed to have held. Since that effectively meant that my taxes still went to supporting a group of selfish mages that didn’t give a rat’s ass about my interests and were a breath away from executing me, I didn’t consider that a good thing.

The cityscape around us changed from small roads between cramped apartment buildings and shopping centers to wide, open streets lined with townhouses. Rows of strange trees with blue trunks and star-shaped flowers that sparkled in the sun drew my eye, but I only scowled at their magically engineered beauty. Similarly, the front lawns of the houses we passed were graced by multi-hued and strangely shaped shrubbery not designed by Mother Nature. I shook my head at the sight of a poplar tree in another yard whose trunk had been dyed a brilliant fuchsia. Instead of blossoms, tiny golden bells hung from its branches, and as we passed the tree actually waved, sending a tinkling of bells through the air. Just another display of mages flaunting their superiority – except this time they were competing against each other instead of us lowly shifters and humans.

Eventually we passed through that neighborhood as well, and into an area where elegant houses and mansions butted up against the coastline, vying for the coveted view of Solantha Bay. I swallowed as I caught sight of Solantha Palace jutting above the others in the distance, and darted my eyes back to my lap, knowing soon enough I’d be seeing it up close and personal.

The journey ended all too soon, and as the guards pulled me from the carriage sweat broke out at the edges of my temples and in the palms of my hands. My eyes darted around, hardly able to appreciate the old, elegant décor of the neighboring houses around me, or the magnificent view of the Firegate Bridge that spanned the length of the bay in the distance. I was far more aware of the late afternoon sun beating against the top of my head, and the palace that loomed directly in front of me – a sprawling white stone edifice with red tile capping the roofs and turrets. The beauty of the ornate carvings in the stone and the sparkling glass windows were lost on me as I was marched through the meticulously trimmed gardens and up a wide stone staircase – all I saw was a monument to the absolute power and greed that had corrupted so many of the mages in this city, and it filled me with a simmering resentment that made me forget about my anxiety.

That resentment only grew as a servant dressed in blue and gold – the Chief Mage’s colors – opened the door to receive us, and the guards led me into a large, elegant foyer. The sun shining in through the large stained glass windows splashed colorful patterns on the wood-inlaid flooring, and tasteful oil paintings of landscapes hung from the walls. The décor was warmer than I expected – my mind had conjured stone and marble and crystal – but it still spoke of a lush extravagance that was undeserved, in my opinion.

There was a reception desk in the center, manned by an old mage, but we didn’t approach it. Another mage dressed in the grey robes of an apprentice was already descending the grand double staircase that curved around the foyer to greet us.

“Hello,” the young mage greeted me in a stiff voice. “My name is Elgarion ar’Manit. I am Director Chartis’s apprentice, and I’ve been sent to escort you to the audience chamber.” His dark eyes glittered with disdain as he took me in. “He will be pleased you’ve arrived so promptly.”

“I was actually thinking I may have arrived too soon,” I responded coolly, lifting my chin to look the mage in the eye. Just because I was quaking in my boots didn’t mean I had to let any of these people know I was intimidated. “Surely the Chief Mage has more important things to do than bother with someone as insignificant as me?”

Elgarion wrinkled his nose. “Yes, that was my opinion too,” he agreed with a hint of annoyance. “But for some reason he’s taken an interest in your case and demanded to see you immediately.”

An interest in my case? Just what the hell was that supposed to mean? A chill went through me as Elgarion turned and led the way up the right side of the staircase. The last thing I needed was the most powerful mage in the city taking more than a passing interest in me, especially when the man was known for holing himself up in this admittedly gorgeous palace to perform magical experiments. I wasn’t interested in escaping my death sentence only to end up as a lab rat.

The apprentice led us down a carpeted hallway, and as we passed by several open doorways I caught glimpses of crystal chandeliers, rich, colorful drapes and carpeting, and parquet floors. The number of rooms bordered on ridiculous – the Chief Mage could house a third of Solantha’s homeless population based on what I’d seen so far.

I bet that would just mess with his magical energy, I sneered inwardly. Having a bunch of humans and shifters running around breathing his sanctified air.

The hallway branched off into a separate wing of the palace, and my nose wrinkled as the scent of magic intensified abruptly. This must be where the Chief Mage does most of his work, I thought apprehensively as Elgarion stopped outside a set of double doors made of dark, heavy wood.

“Prepare yourself,” he told me sternly. “We are about to enter the audience chamber.”

Well la-dee-dah, I thought crossly as he turned to open the doors – and then nearly swallowed my tongue as I was ushered into the room. I was expecting something smaller, like a fancy office, but this chamber was more like a hall. Tall, gleaming mahogany columns held up the soaring ceiling, and the walls, of pale pink granite veined with gold, gleamed in the warm glow of multiple lamps. A long blue and gold carpet carved a path through the center of the parquet floor, and the guards escorted me to the other side of it, where a tall man dressed in dark blue robes awaited us behind a large desk made from the same pale pink granite as the walls. Standing off to his right was Director Chartis, who stared imperiously down at me, his arms tucked into the folds of his dark green robes.

As I was hauled before the Chief Mage, I shoved aside my awe and anxiety and conjured up the simmering resentment from earlier so that I didn’t show weakness. And then I met the eyes of the man who held my fate in his hands.

“Iannis ar’Sannin, the Chief Mage of Solantha,” Elgarion announced, as if the Chief Mage needed any introduction. I fought the urge to roll my eyes as the apprentice bowed low. “Sir, I have brought the prisoner you requested.”

As if, I thought irritably. All you did was meet me at the door and walk me up a flight of stairs. The guards had done most of the work, and as usual, a mage was taking the credit.

The Chief Mage said nothing as he studied me impassively, and I stared back, not knowing what else to do. He’s handsome, I thought, and was immediately annoyed with myself. But it was true. Hair the color of dark cherry wood framed his oblong face, and though his nose was a little too long to qualify as classically handsome, his sharply defined cheekbones and strong jaw still placed him firmly in the good-looking camp. But it was his eyes that were truly arresting – they were an iridescent violet, unlike anything I’d ever seen in my life. The only people I’d heard of who had eyes like this were the Tua, a magical race of beings who lived an ocean away, and were so reclusive they were rarely seen unless they chose to show themselves.

Umm, hello??? You’re standing before a high-level mage who can change his appearance at will. He could make his irises rainbow-colored if he wanted to!

I snorted, both at the image and at myself for getting caught up by the Chief Mage’s looks. Without his magical glamour he probably looked like any other human on the street. This display was just another way of trying to show that mages were better.

The mage in question arched an eyebrow. “Is there something that amuses you about this situation, Miss Baine?”

I bristled at his cool, slightly condescending voice, which carried a whisper of a musical accent. “I’m just wondering why you don’t drop the glamour and show me what your real face looks like.” I shrugged. “No reason to impress the criminal, right?”

A flicker of surprise disturbed the austere expression on his alabaster face, but before I had time to gloat at the reaction I’d caused, the guard on my left punched me in the kidney. Hard. A gasp flew from my lips as the left side of my body exploded with pain.

“Show some respect!” the guard growled.

Like hell. “That. Fucking. Hurt!” I snarled, baring my fangs at him. Before he had a chance to hit me again, I raised my knee high and brought my boot crashing down on his foot, scraping my heel along his shin as I went. The big bastard howled, and I used the opportunity to jump away from him. The guard to my right moved forward, and I swung my right elbow up as he closed in, smashing it under his chin. He staggered back into the third guard, who had to pause mid-rush to catch the guy. The sharp ring of steel caught my attention as the fourth guard drew his sword and aimed it at me, prepared to deliver a killing blow.

Fuck, I thought as I turned to face him. I could really use my crescent knives right now. They were great for catching an opponent’s weapon. I raised my manacled hands, thinking the best I could hope for was that his sword would slice through my chains so I could regain full use of my hands, because my magic sure as hell wasn’t going to step in and save me this time.

“ENOUGH!”

We all froze as the Chief Mage slammed his open palms against the stone desk, the sound reverberating off the granite walls. His violet eyes burned with cold fury as he turned to the Director, who’d stood off to the side next to his gaping apprentice the entire time, watching the fight. “Get them out of here.” His voice was as frigid as Solantha Bay in the middle of a snowstorm.

“Yes sir.” Director Chartis motioned toward the two guards who were still standing to collect me, and I bared my fangs at them, fully prepared to be dragged back to my cell kicking and biting.

“Not her,” the Chief Mage snapped before they could lay a hand on me. “The guards.”

The Director froze. “You want me to remove the guards?” he sputtered. “After that violent display from this… this beastly girl?”

“Are you questioning my ability to defend myself against a hybrid?” The Chief Mage asked coolly. His face had turned to stone again, no hint of the emotion from earlier, but that was okay – I was furious enough for the both of us. How dare he refer to me so dismissively!

“N-no,” Chartis faltered, glancing at me uncertainly as I glared at both of them. “It’s just… this is against protocol.”

“I’ll remind you that I’m in charge here,” the Chief Mage said mildly. “Now have these guards escorted outside, or I will have you escorted out as well. And if that happens, rest assured you will not be coming back.”

The Director’s face paled at the threat. He nodded tightly at his boss, and turned to shoot me a death glare before waving the guards out the door. The sound of the double doors closing behind them echoed through the chamber with an awful sense of finality.

Before the Chief Mage could address me again, a hidden door to his right slid open, and a brown wolf shifter with yellow eyes prowled into the room.

“Ah, Fenris.” The Chief Mage turned to greet him. “You are late.”

I narrowed my eyes as the wolf shifter settled next to the Chief Mage and regarded me balefully. I glared back at him, disgust rising up in me at the sight of a shifter, any shifter, relegating himself to little more than a mage’s pet.

“I would not be so quick to judge a book by its cover.”

I blinked, startled as the wolf shifter’s deep voice echoed in my head. I hadn’t actually expected him to speak to me, and what was he talking about anyway? Was he reading my mind somehow?

“Director Chartis,” the Chief Mage said, drawing my attention away from Fenris. “Please read the charges.”

“With pleasure, sir.” Chartis pulled a sheet of paper from the sleeve of his robe, then listed off the same charges that Talcon had read, back at the earlier hearing. But this time, instead of being filled with anger, a kind of hopelessness stole through me. The Chief Mage didn’t look like he had a single ounce of compassion in his magical bones. What made me think that the outcome of this appeal was going to be any different?

“I see.” The Chief Mage drummed his long fingers on the table as he regarded me with those strangely colored eyes. I fought the urge to squirm beneath his piercing gaze, and instead lifted my chin and stared back at him as if I could see into the depths of his stone heart.

Not that I actually could. But as Talcon had so sweetly informed me yesterday, I was good at bluffing.

“Why was Miss Baine not identified as a magic user during the mandatory school testing?” the Chief Mage asked, never taking his eyes from me. “According to her file she attended a state-run educational facility.”

I blinked. The man had read my file? Maybe he really was interested in me. My insides squirmed uncomfortably at the thought.

Chartis cleared his throat. “She did, sir, and the tests were run. As to why they failed, I cannot say, but her status as a magic user is beyond reasonable doubt now. It’s an open-and-shut case.”

Fenris growled at that, and I glanced down at him, curious as he turned his glare on the Director. Was the Chief Mage’s pet shifter actually on my side?

Maybe he’s not so bad after all.

“I’m not quite so eager to rush to judgment,” the Chief Mage said, giving the Director a mildly disapproving frown for his trouble before turning his violet gaze back on me. “What do you have to say about all this, Miss Baine? Why was your magical talent not discovered during your school years?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” I challenged. Truthfully, though, that question had been burning in the back of my mind for many years. I’d never understood how I had managed to slip past the magic testing even though my magical outbursts, when they happened, were so powerful. Quite frankly it was amazing I’d been able to go undetected all these years from everyone. “It’s your test. I don’t know, and don’t care.”

“I’m not entirely certain I believe you, Miss Baine.” The Chief Mage steepled his fingers. He studied me as if I were an interesting puzzle that had been presented to him as a way to pass the time. “And I find that unlike you, I do care. I don’t like the idea of citizens slipping past the test so easily, especially one with a magical talent as strong as yours. I’ll need to study your case further to determine exactly how it was done and to make sure it does not happen again.”

“Study?” I echoed as images of me being strapped to a metal table under a set of bright lights danced through my mind. “As in, like, an experiment?”

To my surprise, the Chief Mage’s lips curved, a hint of amusement sparkling in his eyes. “Rest assured that no part of your body will be altered. Experimenting on humanoid subjects is a long banned practice, in any case.”

“Right.” I let out a breath. Because I fully expect you to follow the letter of your own laws. However, something about him made me wonder whether or not he really did hold himself to the same standards he was subjecting everyone else to.

“Argon, have her taken to a secure location where she can be kept until I am ready for her,” the Chief Mage ordered the Director. “Also, remove the shackles from her wrists. They won’t be necessary any longer.”

“Sir,” the Director protested, though I wasn’t sure whether he objected to removing my shackles or the fact that the Chief Mage wasn’t calling for my head. But a single frown from the Chief Mage silenced him.

“Very well,” he sighed, coming forward to remove my shackles. I held my wrists out to him with a cheeky grin, and he glared at me as he passed a hand over them, muttering some kind of incantation. The shackles glowed briefly before they dropped from my wrists into his outstretched hand. “Don’t think this is some kind of vacation, Miss Baine. You will be brought to account for your actions soon enough.”

I smirked as he and Elgarion escorted me out of the room to the guards waiting in the hall beyond. Maybe that was true, but I had another day to live, and that was good enough for me. The longer I stayed alive, the greater my chances of escape. And once I was out of this forsaken place, I could solve the poison murders and join the Resistance to overthrow the mages once and for all.

6

I’m not sure why I expected to be led to a five-star chamber instead of a sparse tower room with rough-hewn furniture and iron bars fitted over the single window. Maybe it was because every single room I’d seen in this palace was dripping with wealth and grandeur, and I assumed they could have spared one of those rooms for me. But in any case, there I was, twiddling my thumbs as I sat on my narrow mattress, wondering what I was supposed to do with myself now.

At least I have a nice view, I thought sullenly as I gazed out at the glittering bay. My eyes followed one end of the Firegate Bridge to the other, the metal, which was enchanted to look red, contrasting starkly against the pale blue sky. A mirror to the Bay Bridge on the other side –though that one lacked the gorgeous coloring – it was the pride and joy of Solantha, a feat created through a combination of magic and human engineering, and proof that humans and mages could work together to create things if they really wanted to.

If only mages thought that way all the time, I mused. But they only collaborated with humans when it served their purpose, and from what I’d heard, they’d only collaborated on the bridges because a human engineer had brought up the project and designed the schematics. The long-lived mages were the opposite of innovative, and would have never undertaken such a project without human involvement.

Shaking off my melancholy thoughts, I returned my attention to the beauty of the bridge itself. My eyes traced its sleek line all the way down to the other side, then traveled further along the coast where a small island rested smack dab between the two bridges.

Forget the view, I thought to myself, shuddering a little. At least I’m not over there. That little spot of land was Prison Isle, where Solantha’s convicts were sent to serve their sentences. I’d gone over there once, to question a prisoner regarding a bounty I was chasing, and the memory of the heavy scent of depression combined with filth and squalor suddenly made me appreciate my little room. Sure, it was basically a closet with a bed and a dresser inside it, but it was a hell of a lot safer and cleaner than any of the cells on Prison Isle.

My stomach growled, calling attention to the fact that I hadn’t eaten anything since that sandwich Talcon had given me. I frowned, wondering where I could find the kitchen. Elgarion had informed me that I had free run of the palace and could go into any room that wasn’t locked, but he hadn’t given me a map or explained where anything was. Hell, I didn’t even know where the bathrooms were around here, which would be great to know because I could really use a shower. My hair was getting a little greasy, and I still smelled of alcohol, ash and old sweat.

Stripping off my leather jacket, I left it atop the dresser and wandered down the spiral staircase in my tank top and leather pants. It didn’t take me too long to find a servant, who directed me to the bathroom in the East Wing with a beady eye and a warning not to linger too long.

I quickly found out from peeking into a few of the rooms that the East Wing was where all the nice, well-behaved people got to stay, as it was practically brimming with sumptuous bedrooms. Which must have been why Snappy over there had told me to make it fast, because I wasn’t a guest, but a glorified prisoner.

Then again, most of the rooms were empty, so maybe the Chief Mage really did stick his guests in the tower. It would definitely discourage return visitors, and since he didn’t seem to be interested in entertaining, I wouldn’t put it past him.

Thankfully, even reprobates like me were allowed to use the bathrooms, and I was pleasantly surprised to discover a claw-foot tub with running hot water. I hadn’t been sure there would be hot water, since every single source of light I’d seen in the castle was fueled by spelled candles, indicating a lack of electricity. I figured the mages probably just spelled the water hot themselves when they used the facilities. But even though the Chief Mage, like most of his kind, refused to use technology himself, apparently he wasn’t above using his magic to achieve the same effects to provide hot water for everyone. I frowned, wondering whether he’d enchanted the water pipes himself or if it was something the Mage’s Guild maintained. From what little I understood of magic, using it to run hot water through such a huge place was no mean feat.

My grumbling stomach urged me through my bath faster than I liked, and with a fluffy white robe wrapped around my body I headed back up to my tower room to dress. As I was debating whether or not I should wear the same pair of underwear for the third day in a row, it occurred to me that I should look in the dresser. Maybe the last ‘guest’ had left behind something I could wear.

My eyes nearly popped out of my skull when I opened the top drawer. There was a lot more than just someone’s discarded granny panties inside here – the drawer held several pairs of underwear and tops. A chill went through me as I pulled out a pair of basic white panties and held them up to my hips – they were exactly my size. The black tank top I pulled out was the same, as were the stretchy black cotton pants I pulled out of the second drawer.

What the fuck? Had the Chief Mage ordered clothing for me? There was enough here for at least a week’s worth of outfits. The only reason I could fathom as to why these would be here, was because he’d already been planning to keep me here for an extended length of time.

The thought filled me with a combination of hope and apprehension. Hope, because it meant I had at least a week to figure out how to escape this place, and apprehension because I had no idea what the Chief Mage had planned for me. Maybe he was lying, and he really did plan on using me for one of his experiments. I had no trouble envisioning his face hovering over me while I lay on a table, his cold violet eyes observing me clinically as he used his magic to scramble my intestines or something.

The very thought made me lose my appetite.

I should refuse these clothes, I thought, staring down at the underwear in my hands with disgust. Putting them on would be like accepting a gift, and the last thing I wanted was to be beholden to the Chief Mage in any way.

Never be too proud to take advantage of the resources around you. Roanas’s voice echoed in my ears. A silver rope might burn, but you can still use it to climb out of a pit.

Tears stung the corners of my eyes, and I dressed hurriedly. If I allowed myself to dwell on my thoughts too long, I would lapse into the grief hovering like a dark cloud above my head, just waiting for the right opportunity to burst. I couldn’t allow myself the luxury of a breakdown, so I pushed down the emotion and did my best not to focus on it.

I found a door that led from the East Wing onto the grounds, but as soon as I tried to step across the threshold an invisible barrier pushed me back. I grit my teeth as I tried again, and then a third time, to no success. Wards. I grimaced, noting the runes carved into the molding. It was unlikely they’d been keyed specifically to me, but clearly they wouldn’t let anyone who wasn’t cleared exit the building, and I was definitely on the Not Authorized to Leave list.

Determined, I searched the palace for other exits, but every time I tried to pass through a door or window the same invisible barrier pushed me back. This explained why none of the mages or servants that passed me in the halls seemed to care what I did or where I went – there was no chance of me escaping unless the Chief Mage decided to change the wards. An hour later, I was tired, pissed and hungry, so I decided to wander down to the kitchen and find some food.

Despite the lack of a map, it wasn’t hard to find the kitchen – all I had to do was follow the scent of baking goods down a set of stairs that led from the foyer to a raised basement.

I moved down a stone corridor and took a right, then smiled as I found myself standing in a large, commercial-style kitchen. The space was pretty open, with all of the wood and coal-powered appliances flush against the far wall, and several large counters placed near the front where the kitchen staff chopped, kneaded and mixed various ingredients. The smell of roasting chicken and baking bread filled my nostrils, and I closed my eyes, inhaling greedily.

When I opened them, a woman in a chef’s hat and coat stood in front of me with a scowl, a wooden spoon propped on her wide hip. “Can I help you?”

“Umm, yeah.” My stomach growled, and I gave her my best puppy dog smile. Which, in retrospect, might not have actually worked since I’m a feline. “I haven’t eaten all day and I’m looking for some food. Do you have anything to spare?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed as she looked me up and down. “You’re that hybrid, aren’t you? The one Lord Iannis has under observation?”

I grimaced inwardly, both at her use of the word hybrid and the fact that she’d called the Chief Mage Lord. By Magorah, did that man really need a reason for his head to get more inflated? But then again, it was a proper title for him.

“Yes, that’s me,” I said brightly. If I was going to own it, I might as well wear it proudly.

“Fine. Wait here.”

I frowned as the woman disappeared into the pantry, eyeing the freshly baked bread and roasted chicken sitting on the countertop not ten feet from my elbow. Why was she going to the pantry when there was perfectly good food here?

The answer became obvious when she bustled back out into the kitchen again, a hunk of brown bread in one hand and a wedge of cheese in the other. “Here,” she said, thrusting them both at me as if she couldn’t wait to be rid of them.

“Thanks,” I muttered, testing the bread with a squeeze of my fingers. It was rock hard, and the cheese was liberally speckled with mold. “Didn’t realize I had the words ‘garbage can’ tattooed on my forehead.”

The woman completely ignored me, and I sighed, slinking out of the kitchen with my proverbial tail tucked between my legs. It seemed as though the kitchen staff and servants had all been given the ‘hate on sight’ order when told about my presence, and I wondered whether the Chief Mage himself was to blame for that, or one of his lackeys. Magorah knew I’d pissed off practically everyone in the audience chamber, so it could have been any one of them.

I really have to work on my diplomacy skills.

I sat on the floor in the hall with my back against the wall and nibbled on my five-star fare, my ears alert as I listened to the kitchen staff gossip, hoping to catch any clues about the shifter murders. But all they talked about were their families and friends, tomorrow’s menu – which nearly made me cry because it sounded delicious and would probably be off limits to me – and which of the servants were boinking each other. The latter could have been interesting if I were able to use it as blackmail, but I seriously doubted the Chief Mage could be bothered with that kind of thing.

He’s bothering with you, isn’t he? My heart stuttered a little as I remembered the way he’d looked at me, as if he could actually see beyond my tough shell and into the real me. Sure, the idea scared the shit out of me, but the idea of someone actually knowing my secrets and accepting me instead of writing me off as a failure or a problem was highly appealing.

Then I looked down at what was left of my rock-bread and snorted. The Chief Mage didn’t give a flying fuck about me beyond the puzzle that I presented to him. Clearly my pre-heat hormones were starting to filter in and were addling my brain. I still had several months before I actually went into heat, but my body usually ramped itself up for the occasion, building up so that by the time it came I would be a horny, ravenous monster.

It was one of the only things I hated about being a shifter. The fact that it only happened twice a year was no consolation.

I went back into the kitchen and nagged the cook for some more bread and cheese, and then took my crappy meal back upstairs so I could roam the halls. Eventually I found a deserted storage area full of broken furniture and tools. It didn’t take me long to clear a space. I sat down on the floor and closed my eyes, pulling in slow, deep breaths through my nostrils and exhaling them gently through my mouth. It took longer than usual, but the meditative exercise had the desired effect – my heart rate slowed, my nerves stopped zinging, and the thoughts clamoring in my head gradually faded away, leaving me with a sense of peace.

It was time to train.

I put myself through a set of simple hand-to-hand forms, starting with the basic ones and moving on to lengthier, more complex movements. Doing the forms was as instinctive as breathing – I’d been practicing Kan-Zao, an ancient martial art developed in Garai, ever since Roanas had taken me in. He’d learned the art himself from a Garaian adept while living abroad, and had been a master in his own right.

Finished with the forms, I looked around the storage room for something I could use for weapons practice. My crescent knives or chakrams would have been ideal, but I would settle for any implement that could be fashioned into a staff or blade. If I did find a way to break out, I would likely have to go up against some of the guards, and I needed to be prepared for that.

I was just contemplating the idea of breaking off the legs of an old chair and fashioning them into stakes I could hide in my boots when I heard movement at the door.

“What are you doing in here?” Elgarion asked, stepping into the room. His dark eyes narrowed as he surveyed the space, no doubt noticing that I’d moved things around.

I folded my arms and arched a brow. “I thought I was allowed to go wherever I wanted, so long as the door wasn’t locked?”

Elgarion pressed his lips into a thin line. “That’s true, but it seems like you’re looking for something.”

I blinked. I was still holding the chair in my hands… upside down. I righted it hastily and set it back down on the dusty stone floor. “I was just taking a break from training.”

“You mean self-defense?” A smug look crossed his face as his eyes scanned my form, lingering on the sheen of sweat that marked my forehead and exposed arms. “I wouldn’t waste your time on that, hybrid. You’re not going to live much longer, and any mage could easily best you regardless of your physical skills.”

“Are you interested in my ‘physical skills’?” I purred, closing the distance between us. Elgarion took a step back as I fluttered my eyelashes at him, wanting to wipe the smug look off his face for once. “Is that why you’re following me around?”

“W-what? No!” His pale skin flushed, and I heard his pulse speed up. “I’m just doing my job! I would never have such lascivious thoughts, especially about a hybrid like you.”

I ignored that jab as I leaned in closer to him. It helped that I knew I was getting to him, but I was also getting used to the insult.

“I’m sure you feel better telling yourself that,” I said, giving him a slow wink. “But you know what I think?”

“What?” He sounded slightly out of breath.

I straightened, raking his body with a scathing look. “I think you’re just an untried boy who hides behind his magic and his textbooks and doesn’t know anything about the real world,” I sneered. “If you think magic can protect you from everything, kid, then go ahead and try to beat me. I’ve had to take down a mage or two in my line of work, and I guarantee you’d be child’s play compared to a fully-trained mage.”

His face turned beet red, and I waited with baited breath to see what he would do next. It was true that I’d brought in a few mages, but they had been low-level ones, and I’d been armed with protective amulets and weapons. Not to mention that I didn’t really know how well-trained Elgarion was – since he was born into a mage family he would have been using magic his entire life, unlike me. Right now I had no amulets or weapons, only my natural-born talents, and I was interested in seeing whether or not my magic would work to defend me within the palace walls.

Of course, my magic would only activate if he actually tried to kill me. So maybe this wasn’t the smartest idea.

In the end, he merely bared his teeth at me in an impressive mimicry of my own sneer. “I have better things to do than deal with a lowly hybrid like you,” he said haughtily. I stifled a snicker as he turned on his heel and walked off with his nose in the air. These mages all walked around with sticks up their asses, and all it took was a little poke for them to go rigid.

With a shake of my head, I closed the door behind me, and continued my search for a weapon.

* * *

Six hours later, I wearily trudged back down to the kitchens in search of food. I’d trained until I’d exhausted myself, then dragged my butt back to my tower room to try and sleep, but between the crushing sense of loss that filled me whenever I was left alone with my thoughts and the hunger pangs that gnawed at my stomach, getting shut-eye was impossible. So I waited until I was sure that dinner had been served and cleaned up, then crept back downstairs so I could sneak some food from the larder that wasn’t rock bread and fuzzy cheese.

As I expected, the kitchen was deserted, not even a mouse hanging around to observe my theft. There was no food sitting on the countertops, so I broke into the pantry in search of something palatable. It didn’t take me long to strike gold – a loaf of relatively fresh bread on one of the shelves, and a piece of smoked salmon wrapped in butcher’s paper.

“Who knew fish and bread could make someone so happy,” I muttered as I alternated between stuffing mouthfuls of food into my mouth and into a paper bag I’d found. I could have stayed there all night scarfing down food, but even my damaged sense of self-preservation told me it would be unwise to linger.

I crammed as much food into the bag as it could possibly hold, and walked out of the pantry with a spring in my step and a smile on my face. Sure, this wasn’t a five-star meal, but it was better than stale bread and cheese, and I was looking forward to hightailing it back to my room so I could enjoy it.

Unfortunately, someone was waiting for me in the kitchen.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” the guard leaning against one of the countertops asked. He was the human one who’d escorted me to the audience chamber earlier along with the others, and from his cocky stance and the gleam in his eye, it was clear he was looking for some payback.

“Getting some food.” I pulled the loaf of bread out of the bag so he could see it. “A little bread, a little meat. Why, you want some?”

He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know,” he drawled, drawing his short sword from its sheath. “Seems like you’re stealing to me. I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson for that.”

He charged me, raising the sword up with both hands as he moved in with a slashing strike, obviously thinking he had the upper hand since I was unarmed. But I’d prepared for this. I pulled the brass drawer handles I’d pilfered from one of the broken dressers from my jacket pocket and slipped them around my knuckles as I dodged the blow. He whirled around, tracking my motion, his shoes scuffing loudly against the stone floor, and attempted another slashing strike.

This time, instead of moving away I moved in, bringing up my knuckles so I could catch the blow with my drawer handles, just as I would have done with my crescent knives. Unfortunately the handles didn’t cover my hands as well as the knives did, and I winced inwardly as the blade grazed my fingers, sharp pain slicing into my flesh.

“What the fu–” he began, his eyes wide with confusion, and I wasted no time, pulling one of my makeshift stakes out and stabbing him in the joint where his arm connected to his torso. He fell back screaming as he crashed into one of the counters, his hand flying to the bloody stake embedded in his flesh, and I smirked. Even if he pulled that thing out right now – which wasn’t a good idea – he wouldn’t be able to use his sword arm again to fight me.

“What’s going on down there?” a male voice shouted, and I winced. The sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs outside had me looking around frantically for an escape route, but there wasn’t one, and before I knew it three more guards had filed into the kitchen, their swords drawn.

“So much for showing mercy,” I muttered, glaring at the now-whimpering guard slumped against the counter. If I’d killed him he wouldn’t have screamed, and I wouldn’t be in this mess right now. Served me right.

“You!” the guard in the lead shouted, jabbing the point of his sword at me. “You tried to kill Harry!”

“Are you kidding?” I threw my hands up in the air, fully prepared to argue for my life, but the guards simply rushed me, in no mood to talk. I flung my second stake in their direction to distract them and leapt over the counter where Whiny – or was it Harry? – was still sobbing his delicate little heart out, making a beeline for the exit.

The sound of metal sang through the air, and the tip of a short sword plunged into my upper back. Blood poured from my searing shoulder, and I cried out as one of the guards slammed me into the wall, a dark-haired guy with cold eyes and cruel lips.

“Well, well, well,” the assassin-guard mocked, his cruel lips curving into an even crueler smile as he pressed his body against mine. “Cat got your tongue?”

I bared my teeth at him, which was less intimidating than it sounds because I didn’t even have enough energy to elongate my fangs. I was tapped out in every way possible, and the guard knew it as he pressed his hard chest against mine, wrapping his hand around the blade of his sword. The scent of his coppery blood mingled with mine as the blade cut into his hand, and I swallowed at the manic gleam in his eye. This guy was nuts, and should never have been hired by Privacy Guard, let alone the Chief Mage. I was almost certain that the Chief Mage himself would never have allowed this guy on his payroll if he knew the guy carried around this kind of bloodlust.

“I don’t see why the other guards are so afraid of you,” he sneered, his dark eyes boring into my own. “You’re nothing but a pussy, after all.”

I slammed my knee into his crotch, then smashed my foot into his face when he doubled over and sent him skidding across the stone floor. Battle-fever rushing through my veins, I grabbed the blade and yanked it out of my shoulder, then made another dash for the door. Somehow I cleared the entrance, but I didn’t make it more than two feet into the hallway before the remaining two guards tackled me to the ground. I grunted as my cheek smashed into the stone floor, and several ribs cracked as the weight of both men slammed into me.

“You’re going to pay for that, bitch!” One of the men rolled me over and straddled me – I wasn’t sure which one, because my vision was blurred with tears of pain and fear. I held my arms above my face as he rained blows down upon me, his huge fists smashing into my forearms, my neck, my chest. Tears streamed down my cheeks, from the utter agony of two hundred plus pounds sitting atop broken ribs pounding against my neck and chest so hard I couldn’t breathe. But I clenched my teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of so much as a whimper.

Unbelievable, I thought dimly through the crashing waves of pain. I’m a shifter hybrid who incinerated a rhino yesterday, and I’m going to die in a cold, dark basement at the hands of a human.

Roanas would be disappointed if he knew I’d failed so quickly.

That thought galvanized me, and I reared up, pulling strength from a reserve I didn’t know I had to flex my claws. I wrapped my bloody, torn fingers around the guard’s neck, taking satisfaction as I dug into his meaty flesh. His eyes bulged as I squeezed, my claws tearing into his skin, and I held on tight as the other guard rushed forward to kick me.

If I was going down, at least I was taking this bastard with me.

“What is the meaning of this!” a deep, familiar voice shouted, and the guard who was about to kick me in the head froze. I froze too, my hands still wrapped around my attacker’s neck, as a tall, bearded man dressed in dark clothing descended the basement stairs, his yellow eyes glowing in the darkness of the hall.

It was Fenris, in human form.

The breath I was holding left me in a rush of relief, and I collapsed. Unfortunately, so did the lout I was choking to death, and it didn’t appear that he was going to move any time soon. Groaning, I attempted to shove the guy off me, but my arms might as well have been feathers – they had absolutely no strength left in them.

“Sir,” the guard who was still standing began. “We heard screams and came down here to find the hybrid –”

“Don’t call her that,” Fenris growled, dropping to his knees beside me. He shoved the guard off me carelessly and pressed his fingers against my neck to feel my pulse. “Sunaya, what happened here?”

Tears blurred my vision all over again at the compassion in his voice. Finally, there was someone here in this forsaken place who wanted to help me, who didn’t look at me with suspicion and malice.

“I just came down here for some bread and fish,” I croaked, the tears sliding down my cheeks faster now that nobody was there to beat them out of me. “That’s all I wanted.”

“Resinah forgive me,” Fenris muttered, sliding his hands beneath my shoulders and my knees. “I should have seen to this.”

An alarm bell went off in my head – Resinah was the female goddess mages prayed to, and not one that shifters ever referenced – but then Fenris lifted me into his arms. Pain screamed throughout my entire body, and I forgot about everything except the agony. My vision blurred again, a dull roar filling my ears, and I wasn’t sure what happened after, but the next thing I knew I was being laid out on a table.

By Magorah, I thought, a sharp burst of panic ripping through me as the Chief Mage’s face swam into view. They’re going to experiment on me now!

But when his hands touched me, they were surprisingly gentle. I stilled as a sense of peace stole through me, washing away the panic, and looked up dreamily into Iannis’s face. And as he looked down at me, his brows drawn together, lines bracketed around his mouth, I could almost imagine that he cared.

“Sleep,” he said, his deep, slightly musical voice like a balm to my battered soul, and I went under without another thought.

7

A knock on the door disturbed me from a deep, dreamless sleep. I sat up, disoriented as I looked around the small, round room with its chest of drawers and single, barred window. It took me a moment to remember that I was in Solantha Palace, and that I was kept here so the Chief Mage could study me like a lab rat. My stomach tightened as I scoured my brain for memories of last night, but all I could dredge up was a sense of agony, and the image of the Chief Mage’s face hovering above my head, backlit by a bright, white light. Had he started experimenting on me already?

“Sunaya?” the knocking on the door persisted, and my right ear twitched as I recognized Fenris’s voice. “Are you awake?”

Another memory tickled the back of my mind at the sound. “I’m coming,” I called, swinging my legs from the side of the bed. It was then I noticed I was dressed in a simple white nightgown I’d never seen before in my life.

Someone had definitely tampered with my body last night, even if it had only been to change my clothes.

But if the Chief Mage had drugged or spelled me in some way, my body didn’t know it. Energy sang through my muscles as I got to my feet and crossed the room, and I felt like skipping.

He must have given me some kind of weird pick-me-up spell.

But when I opened the door to see Fenris standing on the other side, the memory of him rushing toward me down the basement steps slammed into my brain.

“Oh.” I clutched the side of my head as I stared at him. He was dressed in dark red instead of black today, but otherwise he was the same tall, muscular man with the dark brown beard and yellow eyes who’d called off my attackers. “You saved me last night.”

“Glad your memory is in working order.” He arched a brow, then lifted the plate of food in his hands. “Hungry?”

“Famished.” The sight of the cold chicken, mashed potatoes and biscuits made my stomach ache so fiercely I thought it might devour itself. I snatched the plate from his hands before I remembered my manners. “Umm, do you want to come in?”

“That was the idea, yes.”

I stepped back to let him enter the room, and that was all of the attention I could spare – I plopped down onto my bed and immediately inhaled the food on my plate.

“Mmm,” I mumbled appreciatively when I was done. “You got any more of this?” The plate of food had taken the edge off my hunger, but I hadn’t eaten a decent meal in forty-eight hours, at least not by shifter standards. Our high metabolisms needed more food than the average human.

Fenris frowned. “I should have thought to bring more. You need the nourishment after your ordeal.”

“Is that why you’re here?” I asked, gesturing to my empty plate. “Have you been assigned as my personal maid or something? Because somehow that kind of task seems beneath you.”

Fenris scowled. “Actually, the Chief Mage sent me here to let you know that he wouldn’t be able to meet with you until later this afternoon. I decided to bring you some food on my way, so that you wouldn’t get yourself in trouble in the kitchens again.”

“What does the Great Lord Iannis have to do that is so pressing he had to push back our morning meeting?” I rolled my eyes. Was I supposed to be grateful to Fenris for rescuing me when it was his master’s fault I’d been nearly beaten to death in the first place?

Fenris arched a brow. “As a matter of fact, he’s still recuperating from last night. He expended a lot of energy healing your injuries, which were rather extensive.”

My jaw dropped as the fragments of memory from last night finally fell into place. “You brought me to the Chief Mage and had him heal me?”

“It seemed the least he could do, since you’d been starved and beaten while under his protection,” Fenris said mildly. “Or at least that’s what I told him when he asked me why I hadn’t brought you to the infirmary instead. Would you rather I had left you lying on the floor?”

He scowled at me, and I flinched, the truth of his words ringing in my ears. “No. But it doesn’t mean that I’m going to grovel at your feet for the supposed ‘favor’ you’ve done me. After all, you’re the pet of the mage who’s keeping me here.”

Fenris’s jaw tightened. “I’m no one’s pet.”

“Well then why are you here with him?” I narrowed my eyes. “You seem like a decent guy, so he must have some kind of hold over you. Do you owe him a debt? Because there are other alternatives to indentured servitude –”

“I am not a slave, Sunaya,” Fenris cut me off, his voice clipped. “I know this might be hard for you to believe, but Iannis and I are good friends. I stand by his side, as he would stand by mine.”

“Is that why you sit at his feet?” I snapped. “Like a dog? Because you two are equal?”

Fenris’s expression turned downright thunderous. “I know that you’re frustrated with your own situation, but believe me when I say from experience that Iannis is not what you think. If I sit by his feet as a wolf, it’s because it’s advantageous to the situation, nothing more. We respect each other, and he has more than earned my loyalty.”

I raised my eyebrows at the conviction that burned in his voice and eyes. He certainly seemed sincere, and yet…“If he’s so great, then why am I still trapped up here in this tower like a prisoner instead of back on the streets? He should have already determined that I’m not a threat to the public.”

“Because you appealed to Iannis directly, and he does nothing by half-measures. He’ll keep you as long as he has to, in order to ensure you’re not a threat and can be released safely back into society.”

Disgust filled me at Fenris’s choice of words. “Yeah, well this isn’t just about me, buddy.” I poked him in the chest. “I was in the middle of investigating a series of shifter murders that no one is taking seriously when I was carted off to jail. If I don’t go free, the murderer is going to keep killing and he’ll never be brought to justice.”

“Murderer?” Fenris’s dark brows winged up. “What murderer?”

I gave him the abbreviated rundown of the situation, and by the time I finished he was frowning again. “I haven’t heard anything about this,” he said, stroking his beard.

“Yeah, well that’s because whoever’s behind all this likely has someone from the media in their pocket.” I scowled. “Surely you don’t think that’s out of the realm of possibility, do you?”

“Well, no,” Fenris admitted, “I suppose I could try looking into it myself, but I’ll need to find more evidence than just your word before bringing it to Iannis.”

“Well take your time then,” I drawled, leaning back against the wall as Fenris turned for the door. “It’s not like lives are at stake or anything.”

Fenris shot a reproving glare at me over his shoulder. “The Chief Mage expects you in his study in the West Wing at one o’clock, so please make sure you are well-fed and ready by then.” His expression softened. “I’ve instructed the kitchen staff that they are to feed you properly. Feel free to mind-message me if you run into any trouble.”

He closed the door on his way out, and I stared at the brass doorknob for a long time. Had I just gained an ally? Or was there an ulterior motive here that I was too blind to pick up on?

* * *

After a long, hot bath, a huge breakfast, and a nice nap, I leisurely made my way over to the Chief Mage’s study in the West Wing. Sure, the kitchen staff might have handed me my stack of pancakes begrudgingly, and the mages who passed me in the halls still looked down at me from their snooty noses as they went about their business, but I was so happy to have a full belly and a clear head that I couldn’t find it in me to be resentful.

Unfortunately my good mood didn’t last – anxiety began to creep in on my sense of contentment as I approached the carved mahogany door that led to the Chief Mage’s study. Though I was mostly disabused of the notion that I was going to be strapped to a table and magically mutated, I was hyper-aware that whatever happened beyond those doors once I stepped through them could very well determine my fate.

I curled my fingers around the cold brass doorknob, then hesitated. I could loiter out here for a few minutes, couldn’t I? I mean, the longer I stayed out here, the longer I could postpone my inevitable death.

Don’t be a scaredy cat, Naya. Put your chin up, shoulders back, and walk in there like you own the place.

Right. I couldn’t let the Chief Mage see that I was intimidated. Taking a deep breath through my nostrils, I followed my own advice, turned the knob and stepped into the Chief Mage’s study.

It was a large room, with plenty of light filtering in through a broad, multi-paned window to the left, the rays of the afternoon sun spilling across the swirling blue-and-gold patterned carpet that covered the length of the floor. To the right, in front of a blue marble hearth with a crackling fire, lay Fenris in wolf form. He rolled to his back and regarded me lazily with one yellow eye, apparently reluctant to move from the hearth, and a smile tugged at the corner of my lips despite myself.

“Miss Baine. You’ve arrived.” The Chief Mage’s voice drew my attention to where he was standing behind a large wooden desk that was clear except for a couple of leather bound books. Shelves filled with more books loomed behind him, and he looked as intimidating as ever, with his cold eyes and enigmatic expression. If I’d expected him to regard me any differently after spending half the night up saving my life, I was wrong – he studied me with the same amount of clinical interest he would one of the books on his desk. And though I knew I shouldn’t be disappointed, I was.

“Unfortunately.” I watched him warily as he came around the desk, a set of dark purple robes flowing around his tall frame. They accentuated the breadth of his shoulders, and the lavender sash that belted them together drew the eye to his trim waistline. Unsure of what to do with myself, I automatically defaulted to parade rest, spreading my legs slightly apart and clasping my hands behind my back, shoulders straight.

“You are a rather rude individual,” the Chief Mage observed, eyeing me up and down critically as if I were a knife on display at a weapons shop rather than a living, breathing person. I caught his scent for the first time – a pleasant combination of sandalwood, musk, and of course, magic – and catalogued it for future reference. “And troublesome, as well.”

“Troublesome?” I glared up at him. “I could say the same of you.”

He arched a brow. “You’re the one who made an appeal to me. I’m simply doing my job.”

That’s a laugh. “I didn’t realize your job consisted of cooping starving, sleep-deprived hybrids up in your palace and siccing psycho assassin-guards on them for daring to pilfer a loaf of bread from the kitchen.”

He frowned. “Psycho assassin-guards?”

“She’s referring to the guard who stabbed her in the shoulder with his sword.” Fenris’s voice echoed in my head, and I assumed Iannis’s too, by the way he glanced over at Fenris.

“I already have one of my staff looking into the matter,” the Chief Mage said dismissively. “Rest assured it will not happen again.”

“Forgive me if I’m less than assured,” I said sarcastically, folding my arms across my chest.

The Chief Mage frowned. “You doubt my ability to keep you safe?”

“I doubt your ability to keep anyone safe,” I challenged, taking a step forward. “Instead of taking an interest in lowering the crime rate in this city, you’re up here enforcing your cruel, antiquated policy against me. Forgive me for not giving you my vote of confidence.”

To his credit, the Chief Mage didn’t react to my aggression; he stood his ground and regarded me with a disapproving frown. “It’s my job to ensure the laws that protect our country are enforced in Solantha,” he said sternly. “Uncontrolled magic wreaked havoc on this country during the Conflict. It is necessary to regulate the use and existence of magic, so as not to have a repeat experience.”

I scoffed at that old party line. “That’s just an excuse you mages use not to share power and influence with anyone else. If you’re so worried about people like me running wild with our magic, why don’t you set up a state-funded program to train us?”

“The amount of resources needed –”

“Don’t even try to tell me there isn’t enough gold.” His eyes widened angrily as I cut him off. I knew I should probably be afraid, but I was too riled up to care. “Magorah knows you and everyone else in the Mage’s Quarter are swimming in it. The real problem is that not one of you actually cares enough to take the time to train us, do you? That’s why you only give us the choice of having our magic wiped, or execution, whenever you find one of us out.”

The Chief Mage’s violet eyes glittered. “It’s a logical approach,” he said stiffly.

“It’s a cruel, heartless approach.” I took another step forward, into his personal space, and his nostrils flared as he looked down his long nose at me. The hair on my arms stood up as magical energy sang through the air, and for the first time real fear crackled through my nerves. But I couldn’t back down, not now. “That’s hardly any choice at all, since nearly all the people who go through the magic wipe end up with permanent mental damage. By the time the mages who perform the wipe are finished, most of the victims would have been better off dead.” Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. “One of my childhood friends, Tanya, failed the test when she was just twelve years old. She was from a human family, and her magical ability was weak, so her family chose to put her through the magic wipe. By the time they were done with her, she could hardly remember her own name, and to this day her family has to care for her because she can’t function in society well enough to hold a job. So don’t tell me how necessary these oppressive laws are. You’re worse than murderers, all of you!”

“How dare you!” the Chief Mage snapped, his cheeks coloring. My eyes widened as he took a step toward me, the folds of his robes brushing against me. Magical energy crackled around us, little blue-white bolts that wriggled like worms in the air. “Your accusations border on the ridiculous; magic wipes don’t cause mental damage when done properly. Your lies –”

He stopped mid-sentence as Fenris, who at some point had shifted to human, laid a hand on his arm. “She’s not lying, Iannis.”

The magical energy around us faded, and I let out a small sigh of relief as the Chief Mage turned his deadly glower from me so he could look at Fenris. “She has to be.”

Fenris shook his head. “Director Chartis handles most of these reports, and it’s unlikely he would have passed anything like that along to you,” he told Iannis. “I researched this recently, and from what I understand, approximately three quarters of all magic-wipes result in permanent damage to the subject.”

The Chief Mage was silent for a several seconds. “Seventy-five percent?” His voice was dangerously frigid now. “That’s intolerable. I’ve performed several magic wipes myself – any properly trained mage should be able to do it without causing permanent harm. Who is performing these spells?”

Fenris eyed him warily. “You’d have to ask Director Chartis. But if I were to guess, it’s likely low-level mages, or even apprentices.”

“Are you kidding me?” I shouted, balling my hands into fists at my sides. I wanted to punch the Chief Mage in the nose, but I settled for shoving my face into his instead. “You’ve been letting inexperienced mages perform mind-altering magic on us? You lazy, incompetent bastard!”

“Enough!” The Chief Mage raised a hand and blasted me with a pulse of magic. I staggered several steps backward before I found my footing and froze as our gazes collided again – his violet eyes glowed with rage. “You are not the only one in this room capable of reducing another being to a pile of ash,” he said in a soft, deadly voice. “I would advise you to remember that when you speak to me, Miss Baine.”

“Fine.” I swallowed hard, then firmed my chin and shoulders, forcing my body not to tremble. As angry as I was, the man standing in front of me was the Chief Mage for a reason, and I did not want to fuck with him if I hoped to make it out of this place alive.

“Good.” The anger abruptly disappeared as his face returned to stone. “I’m going ask you a series of questions. My magic will tell me if you are lying, so I suggest you be truthful.”

I resisted the urge to scoff, unsure whether I believed that. But in the interest of staying alive, I decided to answer his questions truthfully. I could always test his claim later, when he was less likely to want to incinerate me.

“Excellent.” He turned around, reaching for something on his desk, and when he turned back I saw he had a manila file with my name on it open in his hands. “You are the daughter of Saranella Baine, correct?”

“Correct.” A pang went through my heart at the mention of my mother’s name. It had been fourteen years since she’d died, but I still missed her fiercely.

“Did she ever mention your father to you? His name, his rank, his country of origin?”

“Not once.” I swallowed against a lump in my throat. “I think she figured that if I didn’t know my father was a mage, I might not tap into my powers until I was old enough not to be subjected to testing any longer.”

“An interesting theory, but quite incorrect,” the Chief Mage said, almost conversationally. My nails dug into my palms – did he not realize how insensitive he was being? “You were eight years old when you had your first test?”

“Yes,” I murmured, my mind flying back to that day. I remembered how terrified my mother had been, how she’d sobbed and clung to me and wished aloud that she could keep me home from school that day. I’d been scared too, not so much because of the test but because my mother was crying. That was the only time I’d ever seen her shed tears. She’d been a kind and compassionate woman, but tough as nails, and the moment of weakness still shook me even as a memory. “I passed.”

“Obviously.” The Chief Mage flipped a page in my file and scanned it. I gritted my teeth. “Had you shown any signs of magical aptitude before then?”

I frowned, thinking back. “I conjured some rainbow butterflies at my third birthday party,” I recalled. “My cousins thought it was the greatest thing they’d ever seen, and my mother nearly had a heart attack. None of my aunts ever brought their kids back to our house again.” My heart ached for the hurt and bewildered child I had been. Whether I liked it or not, she still lingered as a ghost in my heart, waiting in vain for someone to accept her.

“Were they real butterflies?”

I blinked. “Huh?”

The Chief Mage frowned impatiently at me. “Were they real butterflies, or just an illusion?”

“Oh, they were real,” I insisted. “I caught one in my hand and felt its wings fluttering against my palm.” Happiness burst through the ache of that memory, and I paused, surprised that I actually had a joyful memory of magic in the recesses of my mind.

The Chief Mage’s eyebrows arched. “At only age three? Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Impressive,” he muttered, scanning my file again. Warmth filled my chest at the accidental compliment, but I pushed it down. “And yet you passed the test.”

I sighed. “I don’t understand it either.”

He studied me for a long time. “Your mother died when you were ten years old, correct?”

“Correct.” It had happened so long ago, and yet at the mention of it, I still remembered the way her hand had felt in mine, so weak and clammy as she’d drawn her last breaths. She’d been taken by a rare shifter disease that destroyed the immune system – a true tragedy, as she’d barely reached a hundred years of age, only a third of a shifter’s normal lifespan.

“And you were taken in by Shiftertown Inspector Tillmore after that?”

I cleared my throat. “Not right after. My Aunt Mafiela kept me until I was thirteen. That was about as long as she could stand me before throwing me out in the streets. Roanas caught me stealing bread from a vendor in the town square, and took me in, instead of prosecuting me.”

As a general rule, I tried not to think about those nights I’d spent huddling in cardboard boxes in alleys, scrounging for food wherever I could and staying out of sight as much as possible. Even though I was a child, the other shifters had considered me taboo because of my hybrid status – they all knew that I was only half-shifter, even if they didn’t know I was half-mage rather than half-human. If my aunt Mafiela had chosen to keep me, things might’ve been different, but her throwing me out on the streets was a declaration to all that I was tainted, unworthy.

The Chief Mage’s eyes flickered. “Mafiela Baine… she is the matriarch of the Jaguar Clan, correct?”

I nodded.

“Did she know that your father was a mage when she revoked your status as a clan member?”

“I’m not sure.” I clenched my jaw on the lie. Much as I hated my aunt Mafiela, the fact that she hadn’t immediately reported my shifter-mage hybrid status to the Mage’s Guild was her saving grace. I couldn’t throw her under the train, at least not for this. Iannis stared silently at me for a long moment, and I wondered if he really could tell that I was lying.

“Being a hybrid and born out of wedlock were reason enough for her to give me the boot. She felt no particular loyalty toward me once my mother died.”

“Does Shiftertown not provide any sort of assistance to the needy?”

“Most of the taxes paid by everyone in this city go into your coffers,” I snapped. “What little money Shiftertown gets to keep is used for city maintenance.” The same went for Rowanville and Maintown.

The Chief Mage frowned. “Maintenance? The Mage’s Guild is in charge of civic upkeep. That is one of the reasons why we charge taxes to begin with.”

I laughed. “Yeah, well you ought to take a closer look and see where that money is actually going, because it’s sure not being used for city improvements or welfare.”

“I believe we are going off topic now.” The Chief Mage’s frown deepened. “So Inspector Tillmore took you in. Did he know about your magic?”

I sighed. “Roanas knew everything there was to know about me.” There was no point in hiding it, since he was dead. Grief smarted at my eyes, and I cleared my throat, blinking. The man had taught me everything I needed to know, and it was his recommendation that had gotten me into the Enforcer’s Guild in the first place. “He took me in when I was thirteen years old.”

“Despite your inability to control your magic?” The Chief Mage arched a brow. “A selfless act indeed.”

“Roanas taught me how to defend myself so my magic wouldn’t have to,” I growled. “And I was always safe when I was with him. He did the best he could.”

“I suppose so,” the Chief Mage murmured. His eyes narrowed as he studied me for a long moment, before he set the file aside.

“Hold out your hands.” He stepped toward me, his own hands outstretched.

A shiver rippled down my spine as I eyed him, a sense of déjà vu filling me. This was exactly what the other mages had done when they tested me, and even though I knew there was no harm in having it done again, since everyone in Solantha probably knew I was half-mage, it still made me nervous.

“Your hands,” the Chief Mage repeated, his voice tinged with impatience.

I placed my hands in his reluctantly, watching as his long fingers curled around them. He turned my hands over until my palms rested face up, then stroked my wrists with his thumbs. Another shiver rippled through me, but this one was warm and tingly, and I sucked in a sharp breath through my nostrils. His scent filled my nose, and my cheeks heated as I became incredibly aware of how close we stood together.

If Iannis noticed my sudden discomfort, he said nothing, simply continued to stroke his thumbs across my wrists in small circles. The warm tingles gradually grew stronger as they ran up and down my arms, like an electric current looping between us, and as the scent of burnt sugar thickened around us I realized that current was actually magic.

His eyes opened, and a pang of disappointment went through me as he dropped my hands. “Not a single spark,” he murmured, eyeing me curiously.

“What does that mean?” Fenris, who’d been standing nearby, asked. His brow was furrowed as he studied me.

“It means that someone has put a block on her magic, likely her father.”

“My father?” I echoed. Anger bubbled up in my stomach at the implications. “Why would he do that? So I’d be helpless to defend myself?”

“On the contrary,” the Chief Mage corrected me. “He would have done this to keep you hidden, so you would pass the tests without arousing suspicion.” He sounded intrigued. “Whoever your father is, he must have been a high-level mage to have accomplished such a sophisticated spell.”

“Gee, I’m so proud,” I snapped, folding my arms across my chest.

Annoyance flickered in the Chief Mage’s eyes again, but he ignored my sarcasm as he walked around his desk. I watched, curiously, as he opened a drawer and pulled out a fountain pen. “Hold out your hand.”

Bewildered, I did so, and he placed the pen in the center of my palm. I inspected it to try and see if there was anything special about it, but there were no runes or strange markings of any kind on the surface. “What am I supposed to do with this thing?”

“Make it levitate.”

I scowled at him. “Exactly how am I supposed to do that?”

The Chief Mage shrugged. “The same way you do it every time. Reach for your magic, and direct it.”

Sighing, I closed my eyes and did as he asked, searching for that glowing light in the center of my being that appeared whenever I had a magical outburst. But as usual, there was nothing but a void, and when I opened my eyes the pen was still in my hand.

“It didn’t work.”

The Chief Mage only arched a brow, and reached for my hand as if to take the pen. But instead, he wrapped his fingers around my hand. Instantly, ice crackled up my forearm, spreading rapidly to my shoulder with no signs of stopping. Panic burst in my chest as a deep, painful cold engulfed my arm. I knew that if it reached my heart I would die.

As soon as I had that thought, the magic inside me flared to life. Heat flooded my body, and blue-green flames raced up my arms. The ice melted instantly, water sluicing down to the floor to be absorbed by the expensive carpeting.

“As I suspected.” The Chief Mage dropped my arm, a satisfied look on his face. “Your magic only works when you believe your life to be in danger.”

“I could have told you that!” I balled my hands at my sides, my heart pumping furiously. “You didn’t need to almost kill me!”

The Chief Mage’s lips thinned. “Don’t be silly, Miss Baine. I would have stopped the ice before it reached your heart. It does me no good if you die before I complete my investigation.”

“Not. Re. Assured.”

As I half-expected, the Chief Mage ignored that too, instead leaning forward to peer into my eyes. “Fenris,” he murmured, “Jaguar shifters, they typically have yellow eyes, do they not?”

“They range in color, actually, but a golden color is the norm.” Fenris shrugged. “They’re also one of the few big cat feline species that have melanin coats as well as lighter coloring, explaining why Sunaya’s coat is black when so many of the Baine jaguars are not.”

“I personally prefer the term panther,” I said coolly. It was a misnomer, but it was simpler than identifying myself as a ‘black jaguar’.

“Hmm.” The Chief Mage glanced back at me. “Your father may very well share your eye coloring, then.”

I rolled my eyes. “Are you seriously going to try and identify my father, a mage who can change his appearance, by his eye coloring?”

“Of course not,” the Chief Mage said mildly. “But it’s something we should consider, nevertheless.”

“You know,” Fenris said, “if her father had claimed her at birth, which would have been the honorable thing to do, Sunaya would be a mage in good standing by now.”

Huh. That was interesting. In theory Fenris was correct – the issue of being born illegally with magic mainly applied to humans, which made sense as all mage families originally descended from normal humans. Full-blooded shifters, on the other hand, were never born with magic other than their innate ability to shift, making me an extremely rare case. I gritted my teeth as the realization swept over me that my father could have claimed me as his daughter and I would have been allowed to train as a mage, sparing me years of heartache and difficulty.

The Chief Mage arched a brow in Fenris’s direction. “Your point?”

“My point is, I don’t think it’s just to punish Sunaya for her father’s neglect, which is the only reason she can’t control her magic properly. In my opinion, he is more deserving of punishment than she is. He knew the consequences of leaving her to fend for herself, and yet did nothing aside from putting a spell on her to seal her magic away. A spell that, in the end, did not save her.”

I expected the Chief Mage to scoff at this, but he said nothing for a long moment, simply staring at me. I forced myself not to fidget, wondering what was going on behind those strange violet eyes. Was he actually considering letting me off the hook in favor of pinning responsibility on my father? If that was the case, I would have to give Fenris a good, long smooch for his suggestion.

And maybe I had enough gratitude in my heart to give the Chief Mage a pat on the head, too.

“Your father will not escape justice,” he said finally, and then glanced at the clock on the wall. “Unfortunately our time is up for now, as I have other obligations to meet. Return here at the same time tomorrow, and we will resume our study.”

“Yessir.” I sketched a mocking bow and carted myself back to my room, wondering if the Chief Mage really was going to find my father, and if he did, whether or not I would finally get to meet the bastard face to face.

8

I spent most of the afternoon training, burning off my frustration as best I could with the forms and exercise routines my mentor had taught me. Practice reminded me that I was still missing my crescent knives and chakrams, and I wondered where they had gone off to. I really hoped Brin and Nila hadn’t decided to keep them for themselves, or sold them off to other Enforcers. They were valuable weapons, both gifts from Roanas. The chakrams were especially valuable, because they were spelled to return to my pouch after they’d been thrown.

Perhaps I can ask Fenris to try and get my weapons back for me.

Huh. That might actually be a good idea. Even if he held on to them for me, that was better than leaving them to the Enforcer’s Guild. Heck, I might even be able to get him to convince the Chief Mage to let me wear them – the guards would think twice about messing with me then.

With that thought in mind, I left my makeshift training area and went to find Fenris. A human servant told me he was in the West Wing, so I headed in that direction, passing through the balcony that overlooked the foyer as I did so.

“What do you mean, we can’t see her!”

I froze at the sound of Noria’s strident tones, and looked over the railing to see her standing below, arguing with the mage who served as the receptionist for the palace. Her cloud of red curls bounced around her face in time to her wild gesticulations. Next to her stood Comenius, who looked slightly uncomfortable about her outburst. Both were dressed in white from head to foot – mourning colors – and my heart sank into my toes as I realized what that meant.

Roanas’s funeral.

Rage began to build inside me. Why had nobody told me he was being buried today? Even if I couldn’t have attended the funeral myself, I would have liked to pray for him, perhaps even hold a rite on my own.

“I’m sorry, but Sunaya Baine is a prisoner,” the mage sniffed haughtily. Ire bubbled up inside me as he wrinkled his long, slightly crooked nose. “And as such, she is not cleared for any visitors at this time.”

“That’s preposterous!” Comenius protested, his handsome features tightening into a scowl. “Even Prisoner’s Isle allows their inmates visitors, and Sunaya hasn’t even been sentenced.”

“I don’t know why you’re wasting your time here,” the mage sneered. “With her volatile behavior, it’s only a matter of time before the Chief Mage has her executed –”

The animosity building inside me finally came to a head. I vaulted over the balcony, twisting around in the air before landing in a crouch directly in front of the mage.

“What was that you were saying about my volatile behavior?” I asked, baring my fangs at the snotty old mage. His wrinkly skin turned sallow, his beady eyes widening as much as they were capable.

“Naya!” Comenius and Noria exclaimed at the same time.

The mage’s bushy grey eyebrows quivered as he scowled at me. “Just what is the meaning of this, young lady? Are you threatening me?”

The guards standing by began to close in, and I stepped in front of my friends to shield them, not wanting them to get caught up in another altercation with these brutal bastards.

“Fenris,” I called out mentally. “Could use a little help here.”

“Sir, we apologize for the intrusion,” Comenius said swiftly from behind me. I turned to see him grab Noria around the waist and begin steering her towards the door. “We’ll just be on our way now –”

“No!” Noria actually stamped her foot. “I’m not leaving!” She flung herself at me, and I staggered as she wrapped her arms around my waist like a child would do to a mother who was trying to leave them behind somewhere.

“Noria,” I muttered, trying to extricate myself from her grasp as the guards drew closer, one of them testing the draw on his short sword. I didn’t want to give the guards an excuse to work off some of their aggression on her. “You can tone it down a notch.”

“May I ask what’s going on here?”

Relief sang through my veins at the sound of Fenris’s voice, and I turned to see him standing at the top of the stairs, watching us with a bemused expression.

“Oh hey.” I waved nonchalantly, as if I didn’t have a human girl dangling from my waist and a bevy of guards ready to pounce on us. “I’m just greeting some visitors.”

“This vile hybrid threatened me!” the reception mage shouted, pointing toward me with a trembling finger.

Fenris’s brow darkened as he descended the staircase. “I don’t care for your choice of words, Canter,” he said sternly, the guards backing away as he approached.

“Who is he?” Comenius murmured in my ear, watching wide-eyed at the way Fenris managed to intimidate everyone else in the room. “Isn’t he a shifter?”

“Yeah, but he’s friends with the Chief Mage,” I muttered back. “And also his right-hand man. So everyone seems to listen to him.”

“That’s strange,” Noria mused, also watching with narrowed eyes. “The Chief Mage giving a shifter that kind of power, while oppressing the other shifters under his rule?”

I shrugged, but the words struck me nevertheless. It was strange that Fenris had so much influence over the guards and even some of the mages around here, even if he was a friend of the Chief Mage’s. Moreover, I still didn’t understand why the two of them were friends in the first place, especially since the Chief Mage certainly didn’t show me any kind of preferential treatment. What made Fenris so special?

Canter seemed to recover from his momentary panic attack, and drew his robes around himself imperiously. “I don’t see what business it is of yours what I call her,” he sniffed, “but in any case that’s not the point. These two hooligans,” he jabbed a finger towards Comenius and Noria, “came in demanding to see the prisoner, and I denied them on account of the fact that she isn’t cleared for visitors.”

Fenris simply arched a brow, folding his arms over his broad chest. “I wasn’t aware that anyone had to be ‘cleared’ in order to receive visitors around here. Would you care to show me where such a policy exists?”

Huh. Good point.

Canter’s sallow cheeks reddened. “T-the Chief Mage s-said so,” he stuttered, and Fenris took a threatening step toward him, baring his fangs in a rare show of temper.

“You should know better than to lie to me,” he said in a soft voice. “Even if I couldn’t tell by your scent, it’s a simple enough matter for me to ask the Chief Mage myself. And I’m certain he would tell me that no such policy exists.”

“Huh,” Noria said. “Can shifters really smell when someone is lying?”

I grinned down at her. “It’s one of our many superpowers, kid,” I said, bumping my shoulder playfully into hers. Fenris shot me an annoyed look, but I didn’t care – I was just happy to have my friends with me.

“Your insinuations are insulting,” Canter snapped, but the scent of fresh sweat rolling out from his pores was telling – the man was a liar, and a bad one at that. “I refuse to stand here and be mocked like this.”

Fenris shrugged, gesturing to the chair behind the desk that was stationed in the foyer. “Fine, then sit and be insulted instead,” he said. “But either way, I see no reason why Sunaya can’t have a short visit with her friends.”

In the end, we were taken up to one of the “conference rooms” right off the balcony landing, which was essentially a parlor furnished in gold and green, with low couches and chaises and elegantly carved wooden furniture.

“Don’t think you aren’t under observation,” Fenris warned me, and left us to our own devices.

Suddenly nervous, I grabbed a gold-tasseled pillow and fidgeted with it as I sat. Noria and Comenius sat on the love seat opposite me.

“What?” I finally snapped, noticing the way their eyes brimmed with curiosity and reproach. “Why are you guys staring at me like that?”

“Well –,” Noria began.

“No.” Comenius laid a hand on her knee. “You can’t say it like that.”

“Like what?” Noria protested. “You don’t even know what I’m about to say.”

But I did. It was written clear as day on her freckled face. “You don’t think I’m suffering enough,” I said flatly.

Noria’s shoulders sagged, and she looked at me with a combination of guilt and anger. “Well, yeah.”

“Not that that we’re upset about it,” Comenius rushed to assure me. “It’s just that –”

“Oh who are you kidding?” Noria snapped, shoving Comenius’s hand off her knee. “Of course we’re upset about it. Or at least I am! I’ve been lying awake all night, thinking you’re being magically tortured and interrogated and experimented on, only to find out that you’re clothed and fed and perfectly healthy, and walking around as if you own the damned place.” She leveled a glare at me that was so fierce I actually shrank back a little in my seat.

“Look,” I said, scowling at Noria. “Just because I’m not chained to the wall in a dirty cell somewhere doesn’t mean I’m okay. I can’t set foot outside these walls until the Chief Mage decides to release me, and at the rate he’s going that might not be until next year.”

Noria glanced around at the fancy furnishings of the room. “I’m not entirely sure that’s a bad thing,” she said dubiously, her eyes lingering on the expensive-looking paintings that hung on the walls. “The Chief’s got excellent taste, for a mage.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Yes, well, that didn’t do me much good when I was nearly beaten to death by the guards last night.”

“What!” Comenius shouted as Noria’s face went pale. “What do you mean, nearly beaten to death?”

“And by those guards?” The shock in Noria’s voice was evident. “There must have been an army of them if they were able to take you down.”

“I don’t know about an army,” I said dryly. “But there were a few.” I gave them a quick rundown of the incident, explaining that I’d basically been starved all day and had little energy left when the guards had jumped me in the kitchen. “If it weren’t for Fenris, I’d probably be dead.”

“Verflixt,” Comenius muttered and I blinked – it was rare for him to swear. His pale blue eyes burned with emotion. “I’m sorry, Naya. I should have known, should have done something –”

I shook my head. “There’s nothing you could have done,” I said gently, hating the guilt that was written all over his face. “And remember, had you not thought of appealing to the Chief Mage, I’d likely be dead. It’s okay, anyway. I’m all better now.”

“I can see that.” Noria studied me, her dark eyes glittering with suspicion. “From what you’ve said it sounds like you were injured really badly. Whoever healed you must have been really good.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “It was the Chief Mage, actually.”

Comenius’s jaw dropped. “Iannis ar’Sannin himself healed you?”

I groaned. “It’s not a big deal, guys. Fenris brought my bleeding, broken body up to his room and demanded he do it.”

“Still,” Comenius mused. “He could have simply ordered any one of his mages to do it. This is very interesting.”

“What it is, is concerning,” Noria said, leaning forward. “Naya, you aren’t like, becoming friends with these people, are you? Just because the Chief Mage wiggled his fingers and did some magic mumbo jumbo on you doesn’t mean that he’s your best bud now. If anything, it’s his fault this happened to you in the first place.”

“You think I don’t know that?” I scoffed, leaning back against the cushions and crossing my legs as if my pulse hadn’t suddenly kicked up a notch at Noria’s accusation. “No one knows better than me I’m like a mouse under his paw. He’s a cold, calculating bastard who doesn’t give a flying fuck about me, and I plan on putting as much distance between myself and this place as I can, as soon as possible. We are not friends.”

“Good.” Apparently satisfied with my declaration, Noria sat back. “Now we can get on with the rest of our visit.”

I arched a brow. “And that is?”

“The silver murders.” Comenius pulled a new issue of the Shifter Courier from the inside of his tunic.

I took it from his outstretched hand, my eyes narrowing as I read the front-page article, which was about another shifter death.

“Surely this should spark some kind of investigation, no?” I asked after I’d read the article. The victim was the daughter of a wealthy shifter merchant – surely that had to merit some attention.

Comenius pressed his lips together. “I’m not so sure. I disguised myself as a reporter and attempted to interview the family, but I was ambushed by several thugs not far from the house. I suspect they had been following me.”

“By Magorah.” I reached for Comenius’s hand, but stopped myself. “Are you alright, Com?”

“I have a few tricks up my sleeves.” A small smirk played across his lips, but his expression quickly grew serious again. “I managed to palm this from them.” He drew a tiny cloth pouch from the inside of his sleeve and handed it to me. “Strange, that human drug dealers would be hanging around Shiftertown.”

I opened up the pouch and took a sniff. “This is cerebust. It only works on humans.” Scowling, I sniffed again to see if it was cut with anything, and a few grains of the drug flew up my nostrils. A strange, giddy feeling flew through me, and I dropped the bag, stunned.

Thankfully Comenius snatched it out of the air before it spilled all over the carpet. “Naya? Are you alright?” He peered into my eyes. “Your pupils are dilating.”

“I… I think I’m a little high.” Panic overtook the strange euphoria, and sweat broke out across the line of my brow. “That’s not possible. Shifters don’t get high.” Cerebust was a recreational drug used by humans, but like most drugs it didn’t work on shifters. Our metabolisms run too high – we might get a slight buzz from an actual hit, but a few flecks of cerebust in my nostrils should not have had any effect on me.

“As I thought.” Comenius’s eyes blazed triumphantly as he returned the little pouch to its hiding place up his sleeve. “Someone has treated this drug with a chemical or process that makes shifters susceptible to it.” He folded his arms as he sat back.

My mind reeled at the implications. “But that doesn’t make any sense,” I protested. “Surely I would have heard if there were drug dealers running around Shiftertown? That kind of thing can’t be kept a secret for long.” But my heart sank as I realized that for the last couple of months I’d spent most of my time between tending bar in Rowanville and taking on what few Enforcer jobs I could. It had been many moons since I’d spent any length of time in Shiftertown.

Comenius shrugged. “It could be a relatively new thing,” he said. “Something that’s still being tested on the market. But it is interesting that this is being peddled by humans.”

“Sure,” I said, waving my hand impatiently. “But I don’t see what this has to do with the silver murders.”

“Think about it, Naya.” Noria leaned forward, excitement gleaming in her dark eyes. “You said that when you examined Roanas’s glass, you didn’t detect any silver in it. And yet he died of silver poisoning.”

My jaw dropped as the implications of that dawned on me. “Are… are you saying that you think the cerebust is being laced with silver?”

“That would certainly explain why you were affected by it,” Comenius pointed out. “If it was a small enough dose, the silver would weaken you just enough to allow the drug to affect your system. And since you’d be high, you wouldn’t even notice.”

“So whoever’s manufacturing the drug, could also be behind these poisonings.” My mind was racing now. “That rhino shifter –”

“Could have been overdosing on a silver-laced drug,” Noria finished for me. “Unfortunately we’ll never know since you incinerated him, but Comenius and I have been looking through the papers and have found evidence that Rhino-boy wasn’t the only shifter who’s had a psychotic break like that in the last few months.”

Antsy now, I jumped up and started pacing in front of the fireplace. “I have to get out of here,” I said, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “There’s no way I’m going to be able to solve these murders if I’m stuck behind these walls.”

“Don’t be in such a rush, Naya,” Comenius said hastily. He rose to his feet as well, squaring his shoulders as if prepared to restrain me. “We haven’t conclusively determined whether or not there actually is silver in the cerebust. Noria has an alchemist friend who is going to run some tests –”

“He’s a chemistry student,” Noria corrected, shooting him a testy glare. “Alchemy is magic.”

Comenius snorted. “Well excuse me.”

I couldn’t help it – I laughed. “My incarceration seems to have had a positive influence on you,” I told him. “I’ve never seen you so sassy before.”

He sobered a little. “You haven’t been incarcerated yet, Naya. And if I have my way, you won’t be.”

Tears pricked at the corner of my eyes, and I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “Thanks,” I whispered. “You guys are the best friends I could have.” I threw my arms around Comenius, then reached out and snagged Noria as well for a group hug.

“We know,” Noria said, the grin clear in her voice. “And that’s why I sent a message to Rylan asking him to break you out.”

“Noria!” Scandalized, I broke free of the hug, my eyes darting around wildly. I expected the guards to come rushing in any minute, to cart her away so that she could be questioned about the Resistance’s whereabouts. “You can’t say that shit in here, not when we’re being monitored!”

“Don’t worry,” Noria said, pulling something from her pocket. “As far as they’re concerned, we haven’t been saying anything at all for the last ten minutes of our conversation.”

She tossed the object in her palm to me, and I caught it, then held it up to the light. It was a small, handheld electronic device with a glowing blue light, and it smelled of magic. “What the hell is this thing?”

“It’s a jammer,” Noria said proudly, folding her arms across her chest. “Interferes with magical wavelengths when it’s activated, which I did before we started talking about the murders. Anyone listening to us via a magical spell wouldn’t have been able to hear a damned thing. I’ve already tested it out a few times, so I know it works.”

I gaped at the tiny gadget, amazed. “How the hell did you manage to come up with something like this?”

Comenius scowled at Noria. “She’s been experimenting with combinations of magic and technology with a college friend of hers who happens to be a mage,” he said. But though the disapproval in his voice was clear, I detected a glimmer of admiration in his eyes. “It’s going to get her killed one day, if the Mage’s Guild finds out.”

I arched a brow, impressed. “You actually found a mage who was willing to collaborate with you?”

Noria shrugged. “He’s in my college, so he’s pretty progressive.”

“I’ll say.” Though the Academy was technically open to anyone, it was mostly a human-centric institution, with a few shifters attending as well. Mage students were practically unheard of, as most of them simply moved on from their apprenticeships to positions in the Guild, or as freelancers. Very few cared about taking courses or learning skills outside of magic. “What’s your mage friend taking?”

Noria’s expression turned guilty. “Chemistry.”

“Noria!” Comenius’s head looked like it was going to explode. “You can’t be serious. You’re taking the cerebust to a mage?”

Noria glared at him defensively. “He’s not like the others,” she told him. “He actually believes in equality among the races, which is why he’s willing to work with me. He believes magic should be accessible to everyone.”

“You know that if it’s found out that he’s helping you he could be punished, right?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Noria, I can’t believe you would put someone in danger like that, just to experiment with a few gadgets!”

Noria’s face crumpled under the weight of my disapproval. “I thought you of all people would understand, Naya. We need change, and it’s never going to happen if we don’t pursue things like this. Isn’t that what we’re all after?”

Guilt clawed at me as I took her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye. I was being the biggest hypocrite in the world, and I knew it. “Of course it is, but I can’t stand the idea of you getting hurt. Your sister would murder me.”

Noria frowned. “Why would she do that? This has nothing to do with you – I’m doing this of my own volition.” She shrugged my hands off her shoulders as anger sparked in her dark eyes. “What, you get to take credit for my rebellions now? I have my own thoughts and ideas, Naya, and no one else is responsible for them. You’re not the only one willing to fight, you know.”

“She doesn’t mean it that way, Noria.” Comenius gently placed his hands on the girl’s shoulders, trying to calm her. “She’s just worried about you.”

“Yeah, well she shouldn’t be.” Noria tossed her hair and gave me an imperious look. “I can take care of myself. And for once, I’m going to take care of you, too. It shouldn’t take Rylan long to get my message, and when he breaks you out of here, remember that I’m the one who saved the day.”

“Noria –” I reached for her as she turned away, but she was too quick, and she slipped out of the room in the blink of an eye. I sagged, the weight of guilt and defeat crushing my spine. “By Magorah, Com. What have I done?”

Comenius took me in his arms, and I rested my head on his shoulder, soaking up the comfort he offered. “She just wants to be like you and Annia,” he said softly.

“I know,” I said miserably. “But I want a better life for her than what we have, and instead she keeps pushing herself closer to the edge. And now because I keep trying to push her back, she hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you.” Comenius pulled back, and reached down to grab something off the coffee table – the jammer. “If she did, she wouldn’t have left this for you.” Smiling, he placed it in my palm. A warm tingle spread through my body as he closed my fingers around it. “Keep it with you, for now. I don’t know how it works, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“Don’t go,” I murmured as he stepped back.

His pale eyes shimmered with sadness. “You know I’m needed back at the shop,” he told me. “And besides, I’m reasonably sure the Chief Mage would not be pleased to find he has an additional houseguest.”

I scowled. “Fuck the Chief Mage.”

He arched a brow. “That would be an interesting way to escape your death sentence.”

I sputtered. “I’m not –”

“I know,” he said, squeezing my arm gently. “But I wouldn’t blame you if you took advantage of his interest in you. Think what you want, but there is a reason he hasn’t killed you yet.”

“Yeah, because I’m a puzzle he hasn’t had the chance to solve yet,” I muttered. “As soon as he cracks me, I’m gone.” But I couldn’t help but wonder whether or not there was any truth to Comenius’s words.

Comenius only smiled and shook his head. “Stay safe, Naya.” As he left me alone in the room, my head and my heart were swirling with so many thoughts and emotions I thought I would burst.

9

I spent the rest of the day caught up in a maelstrom of confusion, guilt, and anxiety that made me envy humans for their ability to drink their problems away. I was worried about Noria, worried about Rylan, worried about the shifter murders and my complete inability to do anything about them.

And on top of it all, I was also worried about the Chief Mage’s intentions toward me.

What if Comenius is right? I thought as I flopped down onto my bed, my belly full of beef stew and bread – yesterday’s leftovers by the smell of them, but at least I was getting fed. What if the Chief Mage’s interest is more than clinical? I thought about the fact that even though he was cold and dispassionate, he’d also shown me some kindnesses. I was out of those magic-suppressing shackles, he’d expended his own magical energy to heal me, and he was going out of his way to find my father.

Going out of his way? Are you kidding me? Finding your father is part of his investigation… he’s definitely not doing it for you.

A knock on my door derailed my train of thought, and I sat up as the scent of the visitor reached my nose – it was Elgarion. My heart rate sped as I crossed the room to answer the door – what did the Director’s apprentice want with me now?

I opened the door to see him standing in the hall with a candle in his hand. Ice filled my veins as I caught sight of the two guards standing behind him.

“What do you want?”

“The Chief Mage commands your presence,” Elgarion said stiffly. His dark eyes glittered in the candlelight, and I knew he was still thinking about the way I’d embarrassed him back in the storage chamber the other day. But I could hardly hold onto that thought – I was still stuck on the fact that the Chief Mage had sent for me in the evening, far earlier than I expected to see him again.

“Where?” I demanded as I reached for my jacket. My makeshift crescent knives and stakes were still in the pockets, and I was not going anywhere near those guards without them. “And why?”

“To his quarters,” Elgarion told me. “As for why, I cannot say. But he does not like to be kept waiting.”

As if I give a fuck about that, I wanted to snap, but I kept my mouth shut and followed Elgarion. He led me past the Chief Mage’s study and further back through a maze of corridors until we reached a door near the end of the West Wing.

“The Chief Mage will join you shortly,” Elgarion said, opening the door to reveal a large sitting room.

“Wait.” I hesitated, my foot on the threshold. “There’s no one here?”

“The Chief Mage insisted that this be a private meeting.” Disapproval was stamped all over Elgarion’s stony face.

“Then why did you bring these guards along?” I asked, incredulous.

Elgarion stiffened, then drew his robes around him. “Good night, Miss Baine.”

I gaped as he swept back down the corridor with the guards in tow, as the truth suddenly dawned on me. Elgarion, the apprentice to the Director of the Mage’s Guild, was afraid of me. Feeling smug, I grinned after Elgarion’s retreating shadow before I sauntered into the room.

The smugness faded as I looked around the large, empty chamber, which, while decorated in the Chief Mage’s colors, was cozier than I expected. The wall to my left was lined with bookshelves, and the one on my right was dominated by a large bay window that offered a beautiful view of the Firegate Bridge stretching across Solantha Bay. Couches made of dark, heavy wood and upholstered in blue and gold were grouped around a marble hearth where a roaring fire crackled. The flames illuminated the gold threading woven through the plush blue carpeting covering the floor, which sank under each step I took.

As I wandered over to the window to look out at the view, I realized that there were very few smells beyond the Chief Mage’s own scent and Fenris’s. He probably didn’t invite visitors here often. The realization only made me even more uncomfortable. What was so urgent that he had to call me in the middle of the night to his private chambers, that couldn’t be said in front of the guards?

The thoughts that question sparked caused my cheeks to flush and my palms to grow uncomfortably warm. Which was great timing, because the door to my left, at the far end of the room, opened, and Iannis stepped through.

“Sir.” I turned on my heel to face him, feeling incredibly off-balance. He was still dressed in the same robes from this morning, but his cherry wood hair had been freed from the confines of its queue, flowing freely around his oblong face, the ends flowing over his broad shoulders. The loose waves gleamed in the firelight, and I fought down a sudden urge to reach out and touch them. Was his hair as soft as it looked?

If that’s not the fastest way to get yourself incinerated, I don’t know what is.

“Sir?” He arched a brow as he came to stand next to me. The firelight behind him cast his features into shadow, making him look even more enigmatic and mysterious than usual. “Could it be that your time in the palace is actually teaching you some manners?”

I flushed. “My apologies,” I quipped. “I should have addressed you as Almighty Dictator.”

He frowned, not at all amused by my sarcasm. “I don’t understand why you aren’t fearful of me.”

I scowled, crossing my arms over my chest. “Do you want me to be afraid of you?”

For the first time, hesitation flickered over his features. “I demand respect,” he said firmly. “Respect and order are the only means to ensure a functioning society.”

“Maybe,” I snapped. “But respect still has to be earned, and force alone isn’t enough for you to get it. Perhaps you should try actually empathizing with your people.”

The Chief Mage was silent for so long that my skin started prickling beneath the weight of his stare. What the hell was I doing, telling the Chief Mage how to run his city? Was I trying to get my head chopped off? A bead of sweat rolled down my spine.

“I’m leaving tonight,” he finally said, “which is why I summoned you. I won’t be able to meet with you tomorrow as I originally anticipated.”

“Leaving?” Dread pooled in my stomach at the thought of being cooped up in this palace for who knew how long. I knew I should probably be excited – my chances of escaping increased tenfold with the Chief Mage gone – but the truth was I wanted him to wrap up his ‘investigation’ of me, and if he left that would only drag things out. “Leaving where?”

“That isn’t really any of your business,” he said mildly, “but I’ll only be gone for a day, so you needn’t worry that your stay will be extended too long.”

“Oh.” I let out a sigh of relief before thinking better of it, then flushed as he arched his brow at me again. “So, what’s it gonna be? Are you going to try and turn me into an ice sculpture again?”

“Hardly. Now give me your hands.”

I hesitated as he offered his own, palms up, just as he had last time. With my conflicting hormones and emotions growing stronger by the day, I wasn’t certain that touching him was a great idea. But I also wanted to get this over with, and if that meant he had to hold my hands like we were two toddlers playing a rhyming game, then so be it.

I placed my hands in his, and my pulse sped up as his long fingers curled around them. That same warm tingle spread through me, just as before, but this time it was accompanied by a familiar heat pooling in my lower belly that could only be described as attraction. I struggled against the feeling as he circled his thumbs across the insides of my wrists – didn’t the man know that was an erogenous zone? – and tried to clear my head.

“You need to relax,” he murmured.

My cheeks burned. Did he know? “I d-don’t think I can.” By Magorah, I sounded like a schoolgirl all over again, squirming under the attention of my first crush.

“Close your eyes,” he suggested. “Focus on the magic flowing through you, rather than me.”

I did as he suggested, doing my best to ignore the feel of his skin against mine and his scent, which seemed to grow more intoxicating the more time I spent inhaling it. It took me a moment, but eventually I zeroed in on the current of magic humming through my veins, and began to mentally trace its path through my system.

A sudden shock jolted me from my trance, and I gasped, my eyes flying open as power surged through me. It crackled through my nerves like lightning, and rippled down my arms. Cold fear shot through my veins as our joined hands began to glow, and I braced myself for the Chief Mage to explode into a cloud of ash as the rhino had done.

Iannis’s face tightened, his eyes glued to our hands with fierce intensity, and he sucked in a sharp breath through his nostrils. The glow from our hands dissipated, and the air began crackling around him instead, the way it had when I’d riled him up before.

I took a step back, shock and relief mingling in my veins. “Did… did you just absorb all that magic?”

“For now,” he said through gritted teeth. His voice was edged with pain, and suddenly I was filled with guilt. He shouldn’t be suffering like this, not as a result of helping me –

I paused mid-thought as he grabbed a potted plant sitting on a side table and released the surge of magic he’d taken from me into it. The tiny shrub instantly exploded into a full-blown tree, unfurling rapidly, the roots spreading across the parquet and the tree branches making scraping sounds as they spread across the ceiling. I gaped, open-mouthed as white flowers bloomed from the branches right before my eyes.

“Well.” The Chief Mage regarded the tree wearily. “The servants are going to have an interesting time removing this.”

I gaped at him. “Was that an actual attempt at humor?”

He frowned. “I’m a mage, not an automaton, Miss Baine.”

“Coulda fooled me. I wasn’t aware there was a difference.” I folded my arms, but I didn’t have it in me to glare at him the way I usually did. I couldn’t deny that I’d seen flashes of humanity peek out from beneath his cold exterior, though I’d go to my grave before I’d admit that to him.

“I sometimes wonder whether or not you truly have a death wish, or if you simply can’t help but insult anyone who you perceive as stronger than yourself, in an attempt to make yourself feel less inadequate.”

“Excuse me?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Are you accusing me of being a coward?”

“On the contrary. A coward would never dare to insult and defy me the way you do at every turn.” He advanced on me with a scowl, and I took another step back. My shoulder blades brushed against the wall, and I stiffened. “If not for the fact that you direct so much animosity towards me, I could almost admire it. But it does make me wonder how you’ve managed to survive this long with your attitude. You appear to give very little thought to consequences before you jump into action.”

“Can we move on to the part where you tell me what the point of this ‘experiment’ was?” I was not at all comfortable with his analysis of my personality. “Why exactly did you feel the need to siphon enough magic from me to create a tree in your sitting room?”

“The tree was an unintended side effect,” the Chief Mage admitted. “I should have foreseen the magical surge and brought a more appropriate receptacle for the excess. As it is, I was not ‘siphoning off’ your magic, Miss Baine. I was releasing it from its bonds.”

My eyes widened. “You… you freed my magic?” I mentally groped for that glow of power in my chest, and nearly toppled over in surprise when I actually felt it this time. “By Magorah. You really did!”

“Only partially,” the Chief Mage warned. “So that you can learn to control it.”

I frowned. The glow was weaker than what I experienced during the rare previous outbursts, but I’d chalked that up to the fact that I wasn’t supercharging myself to deliver a death blow to anyone. “Why not give me access to the whole thing?” I protested. “It’s my magic.”

“Again, I want you to be able to control it. If I give you access to all of it at once, you may find yourself overwhelmed, especially since there is no one to teach you how to direct it. With the small amount I’ve given you, you should be able to grasp some rudimentary basics.” His features tightened momentarily. “I did not want to leave you entirely defenseless while I was gone, in view of the incident in the kitchen.”

I softened a little at that, before I remembered that I’d still seen those same guards around the palace, shooting me death glares that promised retribution. “Are you even going to discipline those guards for trying to kill me?”

“Director Chartis is taking care of the matter.”

I rolled my eyes. That meant the guards were going to get away with their outrageous behavior. “I want my weapons back.”

The Chief Mage blinked. “What?”

“My weapons.” I tapped my foot impatiently, though it didn’t have the intended effect as the toe of my boot sank noiselessly into the thick carpet. “They were taken from me when I was arrested, and I want them back so I can defend myself.”

The Chief Mage frowned. “I don’t know anything about your weapons. In any case, that is what I gave you the magic for, so you can defend yourself.”

I growled. “It’s hardly going to be very helpful, since I’ve never been given any instruction on how to use it.”

“And that is only because you haven’t stopped talking long enough to allow me to give you some basic instruction.”

I snapped my jaw shut. He was going to teach me to use my magic? Now?

“I still want them back.”

He regarded me for several seconds as though he were weighing the pros and cons of allowing me access to sharp, deadly implements. “I will consider it. Now, give me your hands again. Time grows short.”

10

Sweat poured down my face as I held my hand palm up in front of me, concentrating with all my might. It was after midnight and I should have been asleep, but instead I sat cross-legged on my bed and focused on the spell the Chief Mage had taught me earlier. Moonlight spilled in through my tiny window, illuminating my palm as I stared at it – I was determined to master this thing before I fell asleep tonight.

Find your center, Iannis had said, and I drew in a deep breath, focusing in on the tiny glow within my chest. I touched the glow, and exhilaration raced through my veins. Magorah, but it felt so good to finally be able to do that! To be able to reach for my magic whenever I wanted –

The magical connection severed.

“Damn it!” I snatched up the pillow on my bed and flung it across the room. This happened almost every time. I got so freaking excited about using my magic that I lost my focus, and then it would disappear.

This wouldn’t happen if Iannis gave you access to all your magic.

I sighed. There was no use thinking about that. Fact was, it was probably better that he didn’t, because I seemed to have a knack for conjuring flame. Iannis said it was because of my fiery disposition – each mage had a natural bent towards certain types of magic based on their personality. Of course, when I’d asked him what his was, he’d told me that if I focused more on my magic and less on him then I might actually conjure a decent flame.

Cantankerous bastard.

Determined to prove that I could conjure a flame without the Chief Mage’s help or the threat of mortal danger, I focused my attention inward again, closing my eyes so I could search for that tiny glow inside my chest. It winked into existence in my mind’s eye, and as I connected with it, I channeled my thoughts into a single idea.

Fire.

Heat exploded above my palm. My eyes flew open, and I laughed at the sight of the dancing red flame. How fucking cool was that? I had a ball of fire bouncing around my hand. Talk about a killer weapon!

“Here, little flamey-flame,” I cooed. The flame seemed to grow even bigger in response – though that was probably just a reaction to my thoughts as I doubted the thing was sentient. Grinning, I bounced it back and forth between my hands, marveling at the fact that though there was heat emanating from the flame, it wasn’t burning me.

Headline: BURNED BY MAGIC: SUNAYA BAINE FOUND DEAD IN SOLANTHA PALACE AS THE RESULT OF UNSUPERVISED EXPERIMENTS WITH MAGICAL FIRE.

I snorted. Both the Herald and the Shifter Courier would have a field day with that one. But Iannis probably knew my own fire wouldn’t burn me, or he wouldn’t have given me this particular spell to practice on.

“Naya!”

Shock burst through me at the sound of my cousin’s voice in my head. The flame in my hand winked out instantly.

“Rylan? What’s going on?” Fuck, fuck, fuck. Was he already here?

“Look outside your window.”

I turned to the window and peered out into the darkness, trying to spot him through the bars. At first I saw nothing but the gardens below and the bay stretching beyond the property, but then I spotted two huge condors heading our way… and there was a small, human form atop one of them.

“Please don’t tell me you’re riding one of those birds.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you. But I am here to rescue you.”

I didn’t think – I simply flew from my bed and straight down the stairs, heading for the nearest exit. Fear for my cousin’s safety trumped the logic that told me there was no way to get past the wards which confined me to the palace. There was no way in hell some mage wasn’t going to see them coming and shoot them down. Iannis wasn’t an idiot – he would ensure that his home was well-defended from intruders.

I flung open the door at the bottom of the tower that led out into the back gardens and sprinted through. The wards gave me some pushback, singing my eyebrows and the hairs on my arms, but a burst of magical energy flared out from inside me, burning a hole through the barrier. The cool, salty evening air rushed across my face as I raced for the edge of the property, but I couldn’t stop to enjoy it – Rylan was approaching far too fast.

“Go back!” I shrieked. I repeated the warning mentally in my head, slashing with my arms to indicate that they should not, under any circumstances, land. But it was too late – the two shifter-birds were already here.

“Don’t worry,” Rylan assured me. “We know about the barrier. We brought amulets that should help get us through.”

I held my breath as they soared over the hedge separating the palace grounds from the street. The amulets that dangled around the birds’ necks flared to life, and for a triumphant moment I thought they were actually going to work. But then they went black, and an energy field buzzed to life, encasing the palace in a glowing blue wall that surrounded the entire perimeter.

My heart plummeted into the soles of my bare feet as my would-be rescue crew squawked and shouted. They writhed frantically, trying to break free, but the energy field only crackled in response, holding them fast.

“Stop!” I shouted at them mentally. “Stop struggling! I… I’ll get you out!”

“How?” Rylan’s voice was tinged with fury and desperation. His yellow eyes blazed down at me as he writhed in the confines of the shield, his long black hair flying around his square face. “They’re coming!”

I didn’t need to turn around to know that – I could hear shouts from the palace, and doors bursting open behind me, no doubt mages coming to confront the intruders. There was no question in my mind that Rylan and his friends would be given a death sentence – they were already wanted for too many crimes against the State.

Not knowing what else to do, I sucked in a deep breath and plunged my hands into the energy field. Pain sizzled up my arms and through my entire body, and I shrieked at the magical backlash, but I couldn’t stop now. Desperation fueled the magical surge that crackled through my arms and into the magical field, and it parted just enough to release Rylan and his friends from its hold. They dropped like stones, the birds snapping out their wings at the last second, but Rylan wasn’t so lucky – he crashed straight into the hard, unforgiving ground just inside the magical field, and my sensitive ears picked up the sound of crunching bones.

“Stop! Intruders!”

Two guards grabbed me as I tried to rush to my cousin’s aid. I fought them furiously, but I’d used up too much magical energy to be effective, and I watched helplessly as two mages darted forward to capture Rylan. Thankfully, one of the shifter birds swooped down to distract, and the other one grabbed Rylan with his claws and hefted him into the air, past the rapidly closing magical field. The mages tried to blast them with energy bolts, but they were too slow, and the bolts were simply absorbed by the field.

I sagged with relief as I watched Rylan and his friends fly off into the distance, and prayed to Magorah that my cousin would be okay. My vision blurred with exhaustion as my adrenaline faded, so I wasn’t quite able to make out the fuzzy figure that stepped in front of me.

“Miss Baine.” Director Chartis’s frigid voice briefly pierced through the fog of exhaustion. He sounded coldly triumphant, probably because he’d caught me in the act of what he saw as an escape attempt… not that he was completely wrong. “You will explain yourself this instant.”

“Fuck you,” I mumbled as the ground slid up toward me, and the guards’ grip tightened on me just before I went under.

* * *

When I awoke, the midday sun was streaming through my window, and hunger clawed so fiercely at my stomach that the ratty pillow beneath my head actually looked appetizing. I struggled up into a sitting position, feeling shaky, and tried to brace myself against the mattress, only to find that my hands were bound.

No, not bound. Shackled. Cold dread filled my stomach as I looked down at the runed shackles clamped around my wrists. Just when I’d finally gotten access to my magic, I’d lost it again.

Rage propelled me from my bed and across the room. I reached for the door handle, intending to break the door open, but the handle scalded me as I curled my fingers around it. I shook my burning hand and scowled at the knob, seeing the glowing blue runes I’d activated with my touch – they’d warded me in here. Locked me up like a common criminal... which in their eyes I was, but that didn’t make me feel any better about it.

“Let me out!” I pounded against the heavy wooden door, shouting until my voice was raw and my hands throbbed. Eventually my rage gave way to exhaustion, and hopeless, bitter tears began to stream down my cheeks. I collapsed back onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling through a haze of defeat. I was locked in this stupid tower, and all because I’d tried to save my well-meaning but idiotic cousin from his botched rescue attempt.

Really, what had Rylan been thinking, charging in here like that? He’d done enough research to know there were wards around the palace, but clearly not enough to know how strong they were or he would have used more potent amulets. Either that, or whoever he’d bought those amulets from – probably someone on the black market – had bilked him. Either way it was sheer carelessness, and when I next saw him I was going to give him a good talking to.

Desperate for help, I mentally called for Fenris, and got no answer. I wondered if he was ignoring me, or if he was too far for me to reach by mind-message. He might have accompanied the Chief Mage on his trip, or was simply out on business of his own. Disappointment filled me, followed by a healthy dose of guilt and shame for even thinking to rely on Fenris in the first place. I’d never been so weak and helpless, not since my aunt Mafiela turned me out on the streets. Fear ballooned in my chest, forcing out all the air in my lungs and I couldn’t draw in a breath.

My mind took me back to that time when I was twelve years old and Aunt Mafiela had locked me in the closet for daring to steal food from her kitchen. She’d ‘taken me in’ shortly after my mother had died, which really meant she’d utilized me for slave labor, clothed me in her daughter Melantha’s stained and too-small castoffs, and fed me meager table scraps. Of course that hadn’t been enough for a growing girl like me, so she’d found me in the larder late at night, stuffing slices of ham into my face. Rather than relenting and giving me more food, she’d had me beaten instead, and then locked me in the small, dank closet beneath the stairs, left to spend the night with the rats.

And that was a light punishment.

I’d been trying hard this whole time not to let myself get lost in those dark memories, but the truth was that even though the conditions were better, being imprisoned in Solantha Palace felt a whole lot like the abuse I’d experienced at Mafiela’s hands as a child. And the same fear I’d felt then dug its icy claws into my chest, dragging me down into the depths of despair.

Stop wallowing in self-pity. You’re better than this!

I knew I was. But I didn’t have the energy to prove it. Tears soaked my pillow as I tried to think of something, anything that would get me out of this place. But all I could envision was my head on the chopping block, the executioner’s ax glinting in the morning sun right before he brought it down on my neck. I had no doubt that Director Chartis was going to do everything in his power to ensure that the death sentence hanging over my head was finally delivered.

Footsteps clopping against the stone floor in the hall drew my attention away from the clouds of misery in my head, and I sat up, hastily wiping the tears and snot from my face with my pillow. The door flew open, and Elgarion marched in along with a bevy of guards, who quickly surrounded me, two of them clamping their hands around my upper arms and dragging me to my feet.

“To the audience chamber,” Elgarion said, tossing me a smug look. “Your judgment is long overdue, and it’s about time someone finally put you out of your misery.”

I tried to struggle as the guards marched me out of the room and down the tower steps, but I barely had the strength to fight off a mouse, never mind a troop of burly men. More tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I held them back with the last of my strength. If I was being taken to the audience chamber, did that mean that the Chief Mage was back, and ready to pass sentence? And that Fenris was there too, and simply ignoring my calls for help?

Elgarion flung the double doors to the audience chamber wide, and I squinted as the bright light assaulted my tear-swollen eyes. But by the time the guards dragged me across the carpet to stand before the Chief Mage’s desk, my eyes had adjusted, and suspicion filled me as I saw that it wasn’t Iannis at all who stood in the Chief Mage’s place, but Director Chartis.

“You!” I pointed an accusing, if shackled, finger at him. “You’re not the Chief Mage. What right do you have to call me here like this?”

Director Chartis splayed his hands on the desk as he leaned forward, leveling me with a stony glare. He was wearing gold and blue robes, the Chief Mage’s colors, which made this whole thing even weirder.

“As the Director of the Mage’s Guild, I have every right to call a hearing in a matter as urgent as this. I act in the Chief Mage’s stead whenever he is away on business.”

“He’s supposed to be back today,” I insisted, though my heart sank at the truth in his words. “Surely he would want to attend to this matter himself.”

Chartis made a slicing motion with his hand, and a buffet of air slapped me in the face. My head snapped to the side, shock running through me as my cheek stung in response.

“Don’t presume that you know the Chief Mage’s mind simply because you’ve spent a few hours with him,” Chartis said coldly. “I am his deputy, and I decide what matters are important enough for him to speak on.”

I frowned. Something didn’t seem right about this. Director Chartis was the one who’d recommended allowing me to appeal the Chief Mage in the first place, because he’d been afraid of the repercussions of not allowing me to speak to him. Yet now he was willing to go behind the Chief Mage’s back?

“This is about the Resistance, isn’t it?” I blurted. “You’re in charge of monitoring their activities in Solantha, and you haven’t gotten very far, have you?” That explained why he was willing to circumvent the Chief Mage – mages did not take failure very well at all.

“Silence!” He air-slapped me again, and my lip split open from the force of the blow. Anger burned in his eyes – the first real emotion other than boredom I’d seen from him, and it shocked me almost as much as the magical blows. “I will ask the questions, and you will answer them.”

I licked my throbbing lower lip, blood coating the tip of my tongue as I eyed him warily. Spots of color rode high on his cheekbones, and his hands on the table were clenched into fists. There must be a lot riding on my answers.

“Who were the three shifters who attempted to breach the wards last night?”

“I have no idea.”

He motioned again, and I staggered back under the force of another slap. “You will answer my questions truthfully.”

“I don’t know them!” I shouted, the anger rushing through my veins giving me renewed strength. “I’m an Enforcer, not a deserter! I don’t know anything about the Resistance!”

Director Chartis walked around the desk slowly, his wintergreen eyes gleaming. “I think you know more than you are letting on,” he said. “Your cousin Rylan is a member of the Resistance. How can you claim to know nothing about them?”

“Rylan and I don’t exactly talk much,” I snapped. “Like I said, I’m an Enforcer. He wouldn’t want to put me in a bad position.”

“Oh really?” the Director sneered. “If you don’t talk much, then how is it that he knew exactly what room you were in when he came to rescue you?”

I opened my mouth, and then shut it again. There was nothing I could tell him that wouldn’t incriminate Rylan. Clenching my hands, I glared at him, wishing I could conjure a fireball so I could melt the self-satisfied expression off his face.

“You can’t prove that Rylan was there last night. The shifters who tried to break in were gone by the time you showed up.”

The Director scoffed. “Please! As if any judge or jury wouldn’t believe my word over his.” He pinned me with a cold glare. “Enough games, Miss Baine. You will tell me what I want to know, or else –”

“And just what is it that you want to know, Argon?”

My knees wobbled at the sound of Iannis’s voice coming from the entrance to the chamber. Relief rushed through me as I turned to see him striding up the carpet, with Fenris in wolf form trotting at his heels. His expression was stony as usual, but the blaze in his violet eyes told a different story – someone was about to get a serious ass kicking.

And for once, it wasn’t me.

“Lord Iannis.” The Director bowed deeply, and I caught the scent of fear rolling off him. “I was simply questioning the prisoner –”

“In the audience chamber? Wearing ceremonial robes?”

Director Chartis flushed, drawing his gold and blue robes around himself, and it dawned on me that perhaps he was being a little too zealous about his Acting Chief Mage status. Was he plotting to steal the coveted title for himself?

“The Resistance made a rescue attempt on the prisoner last night,” Director Chartis said stiffly. “I thought it best to get to the heart of this matter as quickly as possible –”

“Without even informing me that such an attempt occurred?”

“I –”

“No.” The Chief Mage’s voice turned dangerously soft as he took a step forward. “This is my city, my palace, and you do not have leave to make decisions like this without my knowledge. Over the past week I have been made aware of several instances where you have acted on reports without telling me of either the reports or the actions you took. This is unacceptable.”

“My Lord,” Director Chartis protested, “I was simply trying not to burden you with petty matters –”

“The fact that you have been using apprentices and low-level mages to magic-wipe citizens is not a petty matter!” The Chief Mage made a swift motion with his arm, and a wave of magic steamrolled over everyone in the room, forcing us all to our knees. Even Fenris was affected, though there was no terror in his yellow eyes, unlike the others. “And neither is the fact that you have taken no action against the guards who nearly killed my prisoner in the kitchen, yet now you have time to interrogate her. And in my audience chambers, no less.” Magic crackled in the air around him, filling the room with dangerous tension and making it hard to breathe. “You have been undermining my authority at every opportunity, and I won’t stand for it anymore. You are dismissed.”

Chartis’s face reddened as he jerked his gaze up from the floor to the Chief Mage’s head. “You are terminating me from my position? You can’t be serious!”

“I am.” Iannis made another gesture with his hand, and the magic pushing us down to the floor abruptly dissipated. “Guards, remove this mage from the chamber. He is banished from the palace, and his apprentice will be reassigned.”

I got to my feet shakily as the guards dragged a raging Chartis out the doors. Elgarion followed behind his master, but not before shooting me a frigid glance that promised retribution – naturally this whole thing was my fault. But Fenris trotted up to me, rubbing his head against my legs, and I reached down to rub his thick brown pelt.

“You’re alright?”

“Starving and shaky,” I admitted, taking comfort from the warmth in his body, “But alive.”

“I’ll get you some food.”

Nodding, I looked up to meet the Chief Mage’s gaze. If I thought he’d be sympathetic to me, I was wrong – his frigid glare bore into me without mercy, filling me with dread all over again. Was he going to punish me?

“Thanks to a loyal servant who saw fit to send a report to me, your actions from last night have not gone unnoticed.” He snapped his fingers, and Fenris returned to his side. “You will go back to your room and stay there until I tell you otherwise. If I find you wandering around before I summon you, you will be severely punished. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes,” I said, my voice as brittle as the rest of me. As I stood now, I wasn’t sure I would be able to take another blow, physical or mental. So in the interest of self-preservation, I bit back any retort I might have made, executed an about-face, and left the room.

Hopefully Fenris would get me some food before the Chief Mage saw fit to summon me. Otherwise, the guards might come to my chamber and find me in a coma.

11

Servants arrived at my door with food shortly after I was sent to my room, and by the looks of things they were sent by Fenris – they brought in two roasted pheasants, a leg of ham, a heaping plate of potatoes and a bowl of greens that I didn’t examine too closely. I dug into the food with enthusiasm, eager to replenish my energy, and by the time I’d licked every crumb and grease spot from my plates I was full, sleepy, and feeling a lot better about myself.

Sure, I still had no idea what the Chief Mage was going to do when he summoned me, but since he’d had my shackles removed and given me the ability to recharge, at least I wouldn’t be completely weak and defenseless.

It was late afternoon, the sun beginning to dip toward the horizon outside my window, and the industrious part of me wanted to train, or study, or explore the palace – anything that might be useful. But since I wasn’t allowed to do any of those things, I did what any self-respecting feline would do in my situation.

I curled up on my bed and slept.

When the knock on my door awoke me, night had fallen, painting the room with shadows and moonlight. Yawning, I stretched lazily before I opened the door to find a single guard standing outside my room.

“What’s up?” I covered my mouth with my hand to muffle another yawn, blinking at the guard.

“The Chief Mage requests your presence in thirty minutes.” The guard looked me up and down with a disapproving frown. “He sent me to fetch you, so I suggest you make yourself look a little more… presentable.”

“Presentable?” My first instinct was to tell the guard to fuck off, but then it occurred to me that I’d yet to look at myself in the mirror today. I probably had crusts in my eyes and pillow creases all over my face, not to mention bedhead. “Oh alright,” I snapped. “Give me a few minutes.”

I slammed the door in his face, then opened it again after I’d grabbed a robe and a change of clothes and headed down to the bathing room, skipping the bathtub in favor of a quick shower. Ten minutes later, I stood in front of the mirror dressed in a red tee and black sweats, feeling ridiculously inadequate as I finger combed my unruly black curls. Thankfully my face looked decent enough – the food and sleep had been enough to heal the simple cuts and bruises from Chartis’s air slaps, and my bottle-green eyes were bright and alert – but I was woefully underdressed for an audience with the Chief Mage.

Oh please. As if you looked any better the last couple of times you were summoned. If he’d wanted you to wear better clothes, he would have had the servants provide you with some.

True. Clearly I was letting my hormones get the better of me again. Since when did I care what any man I wasn’t trying to fuck thought of me? But I couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped my lips as I studied my reflection. I’d been without my leathers and weapons for so long now, it was like a different person looking back at me.

A knock on the door interrupted my pity-party. “Miss Baine, the Chief Mage is waiting.”

Grumbling, I wrenched the door open and stepped out into the hall. “Take me away, Captain.”

The guard frowned at me, then led me through the torch-lit corridors in silence. He was nothing like the other guards, who’d been more than happy to taunt, glare and leer at me depending on their mood, and it made me wonder whether Fenris or the Chief Mage had specifically chosen him for that reason. I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about it – on the one hand it was nice not to have to put up with that shit, but on the other hand it was weird not to hear it.

Clearly I had masochistic tendencies.

The guard stopped in front of the doors to the Chief Mage’s study, then opened them and stood back to let me in. “They’re waiting for you, Miss Baine.”

Sure enough, I stepped in to see Iannis sitting behind his desk, talking with Fenris who was lounging casually in the visitor’s chair in human form. They both rose at the sight of me, Fenris coming around the back of the desk to stand by the Chief Mage’s side. The sight reminded me of where Fenris’s loyalties lay, regardless of how nice he was to me. The door closed behind me, and I swallowed against the ball of nerves in my throat.

“Hi.” I clasped my hands behind my back so I wouldn’t fidget with them.

“Hi.” Fenris smiled at me reassuringly, but the Chief Mage remained silent and stony as usual. I held my breath, remembering his promise that I would not escape punishment. What was he going to do to me now?

“Right.” I clasped my hands in front of me. “So, would you mind telling me what my punishment’s supposed to be? Or did you call me here so you could study me in the hopes of finding new things to criticize?”

“Punishment?” The Chief Mage waved a hand dismissively. “There is no punishment. I just said that to satisfy our audience. This was simply a test.”

My jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“Why don’t you sit down,” Fenris said gently, indicating the chair he had vacated.

Normally I would have refused, since I’m more comfortable standing, but in my shock I numbly obeyed. “What part of the last twenty-four hours was a test?”

“All of it.” The Chief Mage took a seat as well, and Fenris remained standing next to him. “Your cousin making the rescue attempt, Chartis ordering you to come to a hearing, all of it.”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”

“It had come to my attention that the Director has not been sharing pertinent information with me,” Iannis explained, clasping his hands together and resting them on the blotter covering his desk. “I do have eyes and ears in the city, and I found out through them that your cousin was going to make a rescue attempt last night. I strengthened the wards to make sure that he would fail and left with Fenris to see what would happen during my absence. As I suspected, Director Chartis decided to take matters into his own hands without first alerting me to the problem.”

A sense of foreboding filled me, and I leaned forward again. “Wait a minute. How did you know Rylan was coming?”

Iannis waved his hand dismissively. “As I said, I have spies. But if you’re worried as to whether or not I am going after your cousin, I shall not bother just yet. The Resistance is hardly a concern – they’re little more than a scattering of snakes hiding out in their holes in the desert country. There are more important matters requiring my attention at this time.”

I gritted my teeth as my hands curled into fists in my lap. The way he spoke of the Resistance, as if they were nothing more than a cockroach beneath his boot, made my blood heat, and not in a good way. But I decided against mentioning it – I had to pick my battles, and there was no way I was going to win this one, not now anyway.

Instead, I directed my anger to a more pertinent matter. “You know that both my cousin and I could have been killed last night, right?”

“A possibility, but highly unlikely since I calibrated the wards to ensure they were not set to kill.” His eyes gleamed as he regarded me. “I find it very interesting that you were able to breach the wards at all to free your cousin and his friends. That part of the plan was not anticipated.”

I scowled, crossing my arms over my chest. “Well if you hadn’t wanted me to do that, then maybe you shouldn’t have given me access to my magic.”

The Chief Mage shook his head. “The level of magic I granted you access to should not have been enough to allow you to bypass the reinforced perimeter. It should have barely been enough for you to breach the wards keeping you inside the palace walls.”

I sighed. “So what? We already know that my magic bursts out when I’m in danger. Is it really a stretch that it would do that when someone I care about is in danger too?”

The Chief Mage arched a brow. “Has that ever happened before?”

“Well…” I racked my brain, then deflated when I couldn’t find an example. “No.” Only when my own life was on the line.

“The bond must have weakened more than you realized,” Fenris remarked to Iannis, studying me with a frown of his own. “Either from your interference or because of something her father has done.”

“Great.” I stood up, tired of being peered at like a caged mouse, and beyond sick of hearing about my father. “Now that this is all settled, can I go? Like, as in, back to my actual home?”

“Soon,” the Chief Mage said. “I’m not quite finished studying you.”

“Oh yeah?” I leaned forward, pinning him with a glare. “Well, I’m finished being studied!”

Iannis scowled, rising to his feet so he could tower over me. “I don’t know why you’re so reluctant,” he began. “If I am able to complete my investigation, you could –”

“I don’t care!” I slammed my palms against the table, making it shudder. “While you’ve got me cooped up in here, people are dying out there! There are shifters being murdered by silver poisoning, and nobody is investigating it no matter how loudly I yell, including you!” I poked my finger in his chest.

The Chief Mage’s eyes blazed. “I haven’t heard anything about these shifter murders, and I don’t appreciate –”

“That’s because Chartis and the Enforcer’s Guild haven’t told you about them, just like all the other things they’ve kept from you. You’re corrupt, all of you!” I jabbed a finger in Fenris’s direction as well, and he took a step back, his eyes widening. “And you’re no better than any of them! I told you about these killings days ago, and you never even mentioned the matter to him, did you?”

Guilt flashed across Fenris’s face. “I –”

I threw up my hands in frustration. “You know what, I don’t want to hear about it from either of you. Any excuses you can make are meaningless to those dead shifters and their families. You all disgust me.”

I turned on my heel and stormed out of the room, leaving them gaping after me. Fuck them all. If they weren’t going to let me out of here, then I would figure it out myself, even if it meant I had to dig a hole to Garai in order to escape.

12

I spent the entire evening as well as most of next morning trying to decipher a spell book I had pilfered from the library, hoping I might learn something useful. An invisibility spell or instructions on how to remove or disable wards would have been nice. Unfortunately the book was written almost entirely in Loranian, the language mages used for spell casting, and it was damned near impossible for me to figure out anything it said.

I was drilling holes into the book with my eyes, a raging headache coming on, when Fenris knocked on my door. I thought about denying him entry, but the smell of roast beef and potatoes accompanied him, and I was hungry.

“Come in,” I grumbled.

He entered, dressed in his customary dark tunic and holding the anticipated platter of roast beef. “I brought you lunch,” he said cautiously.

Sighing, I put the textbook aside and took the plate from him. “Thanks,” I muttered, not quite meeting his eyes. Part of me was embarrassed about my outburst yesterday, and the other part of me was still angry that he hadn’t brought up the murders to the Chief Mage. Clearly he didn’t take them seriously at all, which didn’t make any sense since he was a shifter. Didn’t he feel any sort of racial loyalty?

“So,” he said, eyeing the textbook I’d placed on the bed next to me as I shoveled forkfuls of meat and potatoes into my mouth. “What are you reading?”

“I’m learning spells on how to boil peoples’ brains from the inside out.”

Fenris tilted his head sideways so he could read the title on the spine. “Well I imagine that would be quite tough, considering that this is a book on Agricultural Magic.”

The tips of my ears burned in embarrassment… and then it dawned on me. “You can read Loranian?”

Nodding, Fenris reached for the book, then began flipping through it. “There’s a lot of useful stuff in here about using magic to influence the weather, repel certain pests –”

“How do you know Loranian?”

Fenris looked up, a vaguely uncomfortable expression on his face. “I’ve spent quite a bit of time with Iannis these past years. You can’t help but pick up a few things.”

I frowned, sensing he was holding something back, but he broke eye contact, returning to the book, and I decided not to press.

“So are you here to help me bust out of this joint, or to give me more excuses from the Chief Mage as to why I can’t leave?”

Fenris closed the book and set it aside. “I’ve come to inform you that Iannis is hosting a banquet, and that you and I are both required to attend.”

My jaw dropped. “Me? At a banquet?” The Chief Mage must have lost his mind. I had little to no training in etiquette, and besides, I was still considered a criminal. “What is this banquet for? And who’s attending?”

“A variety of Mage Guild members, from Solantha and anywhere else in Canalo who can make it on such short notice,” Fenris said with a shrug. “Iannis needs to choose a new Director for the Mage’s Guild, so he’s gathering the candidates together. It ought to be an interesting night, watching them drool over the position like a pack of wolves gathered around a choice haunch of venison.” His features twisted briefly in disgust.

“Yeah, well you can count me out.” I leaned back against my pillow, placing my hands behind my head and crossing my ankles. “No way am I hobnobbing with a bunch of snobby mages. Besides, I don’t have anything to wear.”

Fenris gave me a wry grin. “You won’t have to worry about either of those things. We’ll both be going in beast form.”

“We will?” I frowned. “Why?”

Fenris shrugged. “I usually come in wolf form because the others underestimate me. It lets me observe and listen in where Iannis can’t do so. As for why you’re coming, I’m not certain, but I suggest you follow my lead and do the same. You might learn some useful things.”

My mood lifted at that idea. Maybe I’d hear something that could give me a more solid lead regarding the shifter murders.

“Alright. I’ll do it. When is the banquet?”

“Tonight.”

* * *

I spent the rest of the day alternating between training and reading the primer on Loranian that Fenris produced for me – a pursuit that was both challenging and rewarding. By the time dusk began to settle over the horizon, I was a third of the way through the book, and had also deciphered a spell from the Agricultural Magic text that, in theory, would allow me to summon a spring rain in the middle of fall to water my crops.

Not that I envisioned ever needing such a thing. But still, the fact that I was even able to read it was a win for me.

Hungry, I wandered down to the kitchen to grab some food before the mages arrived, and then made my way to the banquet hall in panther form after ducking into my makeshift training room to change. It felt good to walk around as a beast, my paws padding silently across the parquet and carpets as I took in the castle using my panther senses. Though in human form my senses of smell and hearing were outstanding, they were even better as a panther – my ability to swivel my ears as well as detect odors through a secondary scent gland located above my upper teeth gave me an edge that my human form did not possess.

Strains of classical music emanated from the banquet hall, and I groaned inwardly, knowing it was going to be a fight to stay awake – classical music always put me to sleep. Hopefully whatever the mages said would be interesting enough to keep me alert. One of the double gilt doors was cracked open, so I nudged it a little wider with my shoulder and slipped inside.

I paused in the middle of the doorway to stare at the banquet hall. It had been transformed from a predictably fancy stateroom into a tropical jungle, replete with old trees with fat trunks and orchids hanging from their gnarly limbs. Dirt crumbled beneath my feet as I stepped, but when I pressed my nose to the ground I smelled nothing aside from the faintly soapy scent of floor cleaner.

It was an illusion, at least partially. A damned good one, too.

“Miss Baine.” Iannis broke away from the center of the room, where he’d been observing the servants as they set up chairs and tables and long, rectangular serving areas with silver trays of food. “Good, you are on time.”

“Sure am.” I did the ol’ stretch and yawn motion, exposing my long, white fangs, which was usually an intimidating maneuver. Iannis didn’t bat an eyelash. “Where do you want me to go?”

Iannis turned and pointed to a sturdy branch that jutted out from one of the trees and hung over the table. “You should find that vantage point sufficient for listening and observation. No doubt it will provide a thrill to some of the guests as well, to look up and see a black panther perched directly above them, ready to pounce.” Dry humor tinged the last sentence.

“I’ll do my best to be scary.”

“Wait.” He crouched down beside me as I turned to leave. “Before you go…”

He spoke a Word, and ran a hand down my sleek pelt from the top of my head to the base of my tail. Magic rippled through my body, and I yowled, springing away from his touch.

“What the fuck was that?” I shook my body like a dog as tingles raced through my nerves.

The left corner of Iannis’s lips curled upward as he rose. “Just a simple glamour, Miss Baine, so the guests won’t pay you undue attention. I suggest you get up in that tree now.”

Huffing, I turned my back on him and did as he ’suggested', walking across the room to where the tree stood. I rose up on my hind legs to dig my claws into the bark, and though I was worried that the tree might prove to be an illusion too, it held steady as I scrambled up it and onto the branch.

Funnily enough, this is one of the ways jaguars like to hunt, I thought to myself as I settled onto the branch. We like to hang out in trees above watering holes and wait for prey to come and drink, then pounce. I crossed my paws beneath my chin and allowed my tail to hang over the side, swishing back and forth slowly enough to be subtle, while obvious enough to alert anyone paying attention that I was up in the tree. I did not need anyone here freaking out… though if I’d been perched above a pond they would have a right to.

I suppose this is as good as a watering hole, I thought to myself as I looked down at the arrangement of round, linen-covered tables being set up below me. From this vantage point I could probably take down just about anyone, though I doubted the Chief Mage would be pleased if I did so.

“Are you doing alright up there?”

I looked across the room to see Fenris standing by the serving tables, wagging his bushy brown tail at me. I swung my own tail back and forth a little faster in greeting, happy to see him.

“Just peachy. Though I wish I’d eaten more before we got here. Whatever’s under those covered trays smells divine.”

“I’m sure we can help ourselves to the leftovers once we’re finished.” Fenris’s mental voice was tinged with a smile. “In the meantime, stay where you are. Company is about to arrive.”

Sure enough, the mages began to file in one by one. Iannis stood by the entrance to greet them, and while he wasn’t exactly the warm, welcoming host, he also wasn’t incredibly cold either. I listened with half an ear as Fenris briefly gave me a rundown on each of the mages, including their name and position. Unfortunately the room was too well-lit for me to get a good look at any of them from a distance – my panther vision worked best in the dark – so I couldn’t tell whether or not any of them had green eyes.

I thought you’d already concluded that you couldn’t determine which one was your father by eye color alone, a snide voice in my head reminded me.

Yeah, okay, maybe. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t still look, just in case my father did happen to be among these men. There was a remote possibility that the mage who sired me resided in Solantha, after all.

Once all the guests were present and seated – approximately three hundred of them, both male and female – the staff started serving dinner. I tried to ignore the delicious smells of chicken cordon bleu, meat pies, roasted suckling pig, and other forms of deliciousness, and instead tuned into what these pompous bastards in their fancy robes were saying to each other.

“… Illusion is quite spectacular… I even think some of these trees are real…”

“I hear Lord Iannis is considering one of us to fill the Mage Commander’s open position…”

“This roast duckling is just perfection. I need to instruct my chef to get the recipe from Lord Iannis’s kitchen…”

“… does he often use beasts as decorations for his parties?”

I fought the urge to sigh, knowing it would draw attention. I was hearing absolutely nothing of interest. Lowering my head onto my paws I closed my eyes and prepared to take a catnap. By Magorah, but this was a colossal waste of time –

“I heard there was a bombing incident in Catharas.”

My eyes popped open at the sound of a man’s voice, and I looked down to see two relatively young mages sitting directly beneath my tree branch, sipping from glasses of wine and discussing bombings as casually as one might talk about the weather. Catharas was a city north of Solantha. While technically it straddled the border between state lines, it was still too close to home for me.

“Yes, well that’s not very surprising,” the other mage, a female, tittered. “The Resistance has been getting more reckless and crude in their attempts. It was a magic shop they bombed, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right.” The first mage took another sip from his glass of white. “From what I understand, quite a few humans died.”

The female mage sniffed. “Well, that can’t bode well for them. The Resistance might be gaining popularity right now, but if they keep getting their sympathizers caught up in the crossfire, they may soon lose public support.”

“True. If they go on like that, perhaps there will be no need to fight off the Resistance, and its base will simply dissipate.”

Their conversation turned toward more mundane topics, and I tuned them out, mulling their words in my head. I couldn’t deny the truth of them, and anger grew inside me at the idea that the Resistance was being careless enough to cause civilian casualties with their strikes. Could it be that Rylan had anything to do with these barbaric acts? I hoped not, but I resolved to have a talk with him about it the next time I saw him.

* * *

I kept my ears open the rest of the night for any more news regarding either the Resistance or the silver murders, but I didn’t hear anything else of interest. Nearly two hours had passed since that last conversation, and my stomach was rumbling in earnest now. If I didn’t get something to eat soon, I was going to crash the serving tables for leftovers, those mages be damned.

“Lord Iannis.” A nasal voice interrupted my train of thought, and my ears swiveled in its direction. “I can’t help but notice that you have yet to make a decision regarding the hybrid Sunaya Baine’s sentence.”

All other conversation in the room seemed to grind to a halt. I turned my head to locate the source of the voice, and saw that it was a bald mage with a handlebar mustache dressed in deep yellow robes. He was seated near the Chief Mage, clearly impossible for him to ignore.

“Yes, I have seen her wandering around the palace quite a bit,” an older mage with a silver beard commented. “Does she not have too much freedom, for a prisoner?”

“I heard that she tried to break out the other night and nearly killed someone,” another mage interjected. “Would that have happened if she were properly confined?”

“Forget confined,” a rotund mage with carrot-red hair and a ruddy complexion chimed in. “She should be executed! Hybrids like her are a danger to society!”

I stiffened as the rest of the mages also began to clamor, tossing politeness to the wind to make their objections about my existence known to the Chief Mage. Who the hell did these pompous assholes think they were? My claws dug into the branch, shredding the tree bark, and wood shavings fell to the ground. The longer Iannis sat there and said nothing, the angrier I got. Was he going to cave to the peer pressure and let these bastards have their way?

“If you are all quite done,” the Chief Mage said at last, raising his voice to be heard amongst the mages, “I would suggest that perhaps all of you are being hasty to dismiss the potential that Miss Baine represents.”

“If you mean potential for disaster, then I don’t think we’re dismissing it at all!” the ruddy-faced mage protested. “In fact, I think you’re taking this too lightly!”

Iannis leveled a glare at the mage, who shrank back slightly. “I don’t take anything lightly, especially when magic is involved.” His violet eyes moved amongst the crowd, meeting the eyes of every single mage present. “It may not have occurred to any of you, but Miss Baine could very well prove to be an asset in her own right if properly trained. There are other countries that allow hybrids, with few problems. A few of the states in our own country are experimenting with more liberal policies, and if Canalo is to keep up with the rest of the country, we need to be more progressive. Naturally, I would expect any mage who I appoint as Guild Director to share my view.”

There was a lot of muttering amongst the mages then, some looking abashed, but many just plain resentful. “So what do you plan on doing with the hybrid, then?” Baldy finally asked. “Are you going to find someone to train her?”

“Yes.” The Chief Mage clasped his hands in front of him. “That is one of the reasons I brought you all here tonight. I expect one of you to take on the task.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“I am,” the Chief Mage said firmly, and my heart sank. He seriously wanted one of these jerks to train me? I doubted I would last a single day with any of them before one of us killed the other. If I happened to be the one who did the killing I would be executed, so it was a lose-lose situation for me either way.

A tense silence filled the room, so thick I could almost swim in it. “Well?” Iannis demanded. “Which one of you is up to the task?”

He called dozens of mages out by name, likely the ones he knew best, asking each one of they would train me. The ball of anxiety in my gut lessened a little bit with each refusal, and when he’d finally finished, I nearly slid off my tree branch as I went boneless with relief. Thank Magorah I wouldn’t be subjected to any of their cruelty.

“Well, I have to say I’m highly disappointed in all of you.” The Chief Mage frowned at the lot of them, and it occurred to me that he should have been angrier than he was. After all, if one of the purposes of hosting this banquet was to find me a trainer, hadn’t this been a colossal waste of time? “I thought that surely one of you would have the fortitude to step up and take on this revolutionary project. It would appear my faith in you was misplaced.”

Seriously? He was going to let them off with this light scolding? With the way he’d treated me, I thought he terrified everyone, but he seemed practically tame here. Maybe he was too easy on his mages, and that’s why they were so irresponsible.

“Oh, very well.” Iannis shrugged his shoulders and let out a small sigh – one of the most expressive things I’d ever seen him do. “I suppose if none of you are willing to train her, then I must take on the task myself.”

I really did fall off the tree branch this time, and had to quickly right myself in the air so I didn’t come crashing down onto my side. I landed on my feet, but nobody noticed my aerial maneuver because the mages had exploded into an uproar.

“A hybrid as your apprentice? That’s preposterous!” the carrot-top mage shouted.

“There are plenty of worthy apprentices waiting for a master who would kill for that position!” This was Baldy, and his face was red with anger.

“What kind of example will this set for Canalo? Will every shifter in the state know that all they have to do is sleep with you in order to curry your favor?”

“SILENCE!”

Iannis’s voice, magically magnified, shook the walls. Everyone clammed up instantly, and I stood stock still, the hairs along my spine standing straight up in the air. I wasn’t sure if the energy crackling through my body was in response to the terror his glare inspired in me, or the fury and embarrassment that burned through my veins from the last mage’s comment.

“Lysander,” the Chief Mage said in a voice like boiling lava, addressing the silver-bearded mage who’d made the remark. “You have been around longer than most of the mages in this room, and know that I do not tolerate gossip and rumormongers, correct?”

“Y-yes, my Lord.” Lysander bowed so low that the tail end of his beard touched the ground.

“Excellent.” The Chief Mage’s icy gaze swept the room. “Then you understand that anyone who repeats such a vile rumor, in my presence or outside, will be struck deaf and dumb for the rest of the year. Short of Miss Baine actually killing someone or causing extreme damage, I do not want to hear any more complaints about her. You are all grown mages and more than capable of defending yourself from a single hybrid shifter. Do I make myself clear?”

The mages all rushed to assure Iannis that he did, their heads bobbing furiously. I noticed that none of them were able to meet his eyes, though I stared openly at him. I should have been relieved at this turn of events, because it officially meant that I wasn’t going to be executed, and was no longer a prisoner. But I was too confused to be grateful. What in the world was he thinking, taking me on as his apprentice? As much as I was loath to admit it, the other mages were right – there were many more apprentices out there who were more deserving of the position. Regardless of what Iannis said, the fact that he was favoring me would only encourage the rumors that we were lovers.

A hot flush spread beneath my fur as I realized what this meant – I would constantly have to endure whispers and speculative looks, not just from the mages but from everyone in Solantha. And what if this didn’t end up working out? What if he dropped me like a piece of garbage, like my family had? I would be known as the scorned lover and the failed apprentice.

“You are all dismissed,” the Chief Mage said, locking eyes with me. One by one, the mages filed out of the banquet hall, muttering and grumbling amongst themselves, until it was just Fenris and Iannis in the hall with me. Them, and my screaming thoughts, telling me to run as far and as fast from this room as I possibly could.

13

Bolting from the room didn’t work. All it took was a single Word from the Chief Mage, and I froze halfway to the door like a fuzzy black ice sculpture.

“As much as I’m certain you’d like to leave my presence and never return, we are not yet finished with this conversation, Miss Baine.” Iannis’s cool tones echoed in the empty hall. “We shall adjourn to my chambers for further discussion.”

“I don’t want to go to your chambers!” I snapped at him mentally. If he heard me, though, he didn’t show it; he simply walked past me, his ornate blue and gold robes brushing against my fur before he disappeared through the doors. The spell dissipated and I growled, the beast inside me interpreting his “accidental” touch as an act of marking territory, which I did not appreciate.

“Come on.” Fenris paused beside me, regarding me with his yellow gaze. “You may as well get this over with.”

Huffing out a breath through my nostrils, I followed Fenris into the hall and back down to the Chief Mage’s chambers. When we got there, Iannis was standing by the fireplace, holding a blue silk robe in his hands.

“Change,” he commanded, his stern eyes on mine.

Heat flooded through my body as I stiffened beneath his gaze. I wasn’t a prude, and had certainly never been shy about my body, but something about getting naked in front of the most powerful man in Canalo made the fur along my spine crackle.

“Miss Baine, I would prefer to have this conversation verbally.” The Chief Mage held the robe aloft again, which shimmered in the firelight. “Please change back into your human form.”

The please – which he’d never used on me before – reached past my embarrassment and softened me up. I did my customary yawn and stretch, then shifted back into human form. White light engulfed me as my legs and arms grew longer and my snout, fur and claws receded. Crouched on the carpet in human form, I reached up and snatched the robe from his grip, incredibly aware of the fact that I was not only naked, but practically kneeling at the Chief Mage’s feet. I stood quickly and shrugged the robe on at the same time, the cool silk fluttering against my skin, and did my best to avoid Iannis’s penetrating gaze. It didn’t help matters that the blue silk smelled like him, and by the time I was done tying it around my waist I was decidedly hot and bothered. Worse, Fenris was in the room with his keen sense of smell, so at least one of these men knew I was hot and bothered.

As if things could get any worse.

“Alright, you boys have had your show,” I said, trying to make light of the situation as best I could. I leaned my hip against the arm of one of the couches and crossed my arms. “Now can I go?”

“I didn’t bring you here because I wanted to look at your body, Miss Baine,” Iannis said mildly. But the gleam in his eyes and the pheromones coming off him told me that he had enjoyed looking. “I brought you here to discuss your apprenticeship.”

That doused my fire as effectively as a hailstorm. “Yeah, I really like how you announced that to the Mage’s Guild without even bothering to consult me first. Has it occurred to you that maybe I don’t want to be your apprentice?”

“Sunaya –” Fenris began, his voice full of reproach, but the Chief Mage held up a hand.

“Has it occurred to you, Miss Baine, that perhaps you’re being childish?”

“Childish?” I shouted as anger scalded my cheeks. “How is my desire to be consulted on matters regarding my future fucking childish? Maybe the problem is that you’re treating me too much like a child, and not that I’m acting like one!”

“You are many things, Miss Baine,” Iannis murmured, his violet eyes traveling up and down my body. “But a child is not one of them.”

The heat in my cheeks spread to the rest of my body, and I wanted to sink into the floor. Thankfully, the Chief Mage blew right past his comment and back to the matter at hand. “Nevertheless, I’d like you to put your emotions aside for the moment and view this rationally. Aside from the fact that I’m bestowing an incredible honor on you –” he ignored my snort of disbelief, “– this is the only way I can grant you your freedom. I cannot simply set you loose in the world without proper training.”

The argument ballooning inside me deflated abruptly. “Hang on. Are you saying that I’ll be allowed to leave the palace?”

“You will be granted certain freedoms, yes,” the Chief Mage confirmed with a nod. “Although, with these freedoms come responsibilities. You will have to work hard and study every day, and in addition you will be expected to conduct yourself like a mage at all times. You will need to observe proper etiquette and curb your overly emotional attitude, and we will need to get you a proper set of robes –”

“Whoa. Hang on there.” I held up a hand and took a deep breath through my nose. “You are out of your fucking mind.”

“I fail to see –”

“Yes, as usual, you fail to see how anyone could possibly have an objection to your viewpoint.” I planted my fists on my hips. “But I do. Just because I was born half-mage doesn’t mean I’m ready to embrace the lifestyle! I’ve lived my entire life as a shifter, and I’m not going to change that overnight because you wave your hand and command it to be so.” I waved my own hands as I spoke, and his eyes narrowed at my mockery. “If being your apprentice means I have to put on robes and walk around like I have a wand up my ass, then you may as well send me straight to the chopping block, because I would rather die than live the emotionless, passionless existence you mages do.”

The Chief Mage’s eyes flashed, and he took a step forward. “The fact I do not display my feelings all the time does not mean I don’t have them,” he said tightly. “Rather, I would say I exhibit remarkable control for not lashing out at you, even though you mock me at every turn.”

Guilt sank its razor sharp claws into my chest, and I fought the urge to shrink back beneath his glare, which held more than simple anger. Could it be that I’d actually hurt his feelings?

That’s ridiculous.

And yet, I couldn’t deny the truth in his words – any other mage would have happily executed me at the first taste of my flippant tongue. But Iannis hadn’t, and I’d refused to give him credit for that.

“L-look,” I stammered, my emotions off balance, “even if I did agree to be your apprentice, I don’t see what the point is, since my magic is too unpredictable to train.”

The Chief Mage scoffed. “That’s nonsense. You’re the daughter of an extremely powerful mage. There is no reason that I wouldn’t be able to cultivate your talents and turn you into a powerful mage in your own right.”

I froze. “How the hell would you know that about my father?”

“Your magical signature is very strong and distinctive, which considerably narrows the field of possibilities.”

“Oh yeah?” My heart jumped with excitement. “Well who’s on the list?”

The Chief Mage folded his arms. “I don’t see why I should divulge any details to you, since you’re not willing to be apprenticed.”

Damn him. “That’s blackmail, and you know it.”

“Blackmail implies that he’s holding damning information over your head, which he is not.”

I glared at Fenris. “I don’t care how you put it, it’s still coercion and I don’t like it.”

The Chief Mage simply shrugged. “Like it or not, that is the situation. If you want to know who your father is, you must complete your apprenticeship first. Or at the very least, make significant progress.”

Fury blazed in my chest, and I took a step forward. Fenris chose that moment to put his body in between us, and shift back into human form.

“I think perhaps we should change the subject,” he told the Chief Mage. I frowned, noticing that Fenris was fully clothed. How did he do that? Did he have some kind of charm that allowed him to retain his clothing? If so, I needed to get my hands on it, stat. “After all, there is still the matter of the poisoning to be dealt with.”

My ears went on full alert. “Poison? What poison?” Was another shifter dead already?

The Chief Mage wrinkled his long nose. “Fenris detected hemlock in a drink that was served to me,” he said, sounding more annoyed than anything else. “A rather amateur assassination attempt, considering that I am immune to most poisons, but it must be punished nonetheless.”

Fenris inclined his head. “I would appreciate if you could lend me your lie detector wand so I may go question the kitchen staff. They might have seen someone or something, or one of them may even be responsible.”

The Chief Mage nodded, drawing out a long, wooden stick from his sleeve. “Report your findings back to me,” he told Fenris.

“Why do you need a stick to tell you whether or not someone’s lying?” I asked. Any shifter worth their salt could smell a liar – no magic necessary.

“The stick is more reliable,” Fenris said lightly, but his face tightened, and I knew I had struck a nerve. He nodded stiffly at both of us and left.

The door closed behind him, and I shifted uncomfortably on the balls of my feet, self-conscious about the fact that I was alone with a man I was attracted to… a man who had just seen me naked. He regarded me silently, his violet eyes glittering, but with the firelight reflected in them he seemed warmer than usual, less dispassionate.

“I like how at the first sign of an assassination attempt on yourself you rush to have Fenris investigate, but you’ve yet to do anything about the silver murders,” I snapped, more to dispel the sexual tension in the room than anything else.

“There you go again,” Iannis said softly, taking a step toward me. His eyes darkened, and I backed up unconsciously to try and maintain some distance. “Throwing barbs and insults in my face, after I’ve extended you an honor that most apprentices would kill for. What do you hope to accomplish by this, I wonder? Can it truly be that you have a death wish?”

“No.” My shoulder blades brushed the tomes on the shelves behind me, and I stopped moving. “I just don’t like being told what to do by someone who thinks he’s better than me.”

Iannis placed a hand on either side of my head, bracing his weight on the shelves as he leaned into me. I sucked in a sharp breath, and my head spun as I inhaled his masculine scent. My heart was pumping so hard I thought it would punch a hole through my chest, and I fisted my hands at my sides to keep from quivering beneath his penetrating and unmistakably hot gaze.

“I would be the first to admit I know nothing about how to fight with crescent knives and chakrams,” he murmured, his warm breath caressing my cheek. “But make no mistake, when it comes to magic, I am your better in every way.”

My breath caught as he lifted a lock of hair from my shoulder, rubbing the glossy black curl between the pads of his thumb and forefinger. “W-what are you doing?”

“Reminding you who is in charge.” He wrapped the curl around his finger, his eyes never leaving mine. “I could twist up the fibers of your being just like this strand of your hair, and you would die a painful death. Instead, I’m struck by this odd compulsion to help you, despite the fact that you push me away at every turn.” His lips curled up at the corners. “Strange that at this moment, we’re the closest we’ve ever been to each other, and yet for once you’re not pushing back.”

My cheeks flushed as a tingle spread up my arms and down my body. Part of me wanted to shove him away, but I was caught up in the strange spell of this moment, fear and desire chasing each other through my veins as if to see which one could overwhelm me first. My lips parted instinctively, and I wet them with my tongue, imagining what it would feel like if his lips were pressed against mine instead. I knew I should fight these feelings, but our bodies were far too close, his masculine scent surrounding me and making it hard to reason. All I could think about was the heat spreading through my lower belly and how the silk of the robe was suddenly harsh against my skin.

His nostrils flared, and for a moment I thought he might actually kiss me. But instead he cleared his throat and took a step back.

“I think it’s best we both retire for the night,” he said, voice clipped. “We’ll adjourn tomorrow evening for your next lesson, so try not to get into too much mischief before then. You are dismissed.”

Nodding, I fled the room, anxious to put some distance between us so I could sort out the confusing jumble of thoughts jockeying for position in my head. It wasn’t until I’d gotten back to my room that I realized I was still wearing his robe. I spent the rest of the night with his scent clinging to me, in and on and all around me, and ached for something I didn’t even think I wanted.

14

It took me most of the night to fall asleep, and I didn’t wake until the early afternoon sunlight struck my eyelids through my bedroom window. I sat up, rubbing my gritty eyelids as I tried to gather my muddled thoughts, and froze at the sensation of cool silk gliding against my skin. Looking down, I groaned as I saw that I’d fallen asleep still wearing Iannis’s blue robe – I was not going to walk around the rest of the day with his scent clinging to me.

I quickly changed into a pair of cotton pants and a loose fitting shirt, and trotted down the winding staircase toward the East Wing so I could grab a bath. On my way down the corridor, I ran into Fenris.

“Sunaya!” Fenris smiled. “I was just coming to find you.”

Dread pooled in my stomach. “What is it now?” Couldn’t I ever have a day to myself?

Fenris chuckled at the pained expression on my face. “Don’t look so sullen, Sunaya. I’ve simply come to show you to your new quarters.”

My eyebrows winged up. “New quarters?”

He nodded. “As the Chief Mage’s apprentice, that dingy tower room isn’t appropriate for you anymore. He instructed me to help you get settled into your new room.”

“Oh. Well then.” I made a grand gesture with my arm. “Please, lead the way.”

I followed Fenris the rest of the way to the East Wing, a bounce in my step. Maybe this whole apprentice gig wasn’t so bad after all. He led me to the end of the wing and showed me into a corner room at least four times the size of my tower cell, with a huge four-poster bed draped in green silk dominating the far side and a sitting area with a fireplace directly in front of me. The room was decorated in pale greens and earthy browns, with a generous amount of light spilling in through three rectangular windows framed with gossamer curtains. The glossy wooden floorboards creaked beneath my weight, covered strategically with plush rugs in certain places, but otherwise left bare to gleam in the natural light.

“Wow.” I couldn’t help the grin that burst across my face. “This is definitely a step up.” I threw open a pair of double doors, then froze at the sight of all my clothes hanging neatly from the racks of the biggest walk-in closet I’d ever seen. My attire took up perhaps a quarter of the available space, and boxes stacked neatly in the center of the room took maybe another quarter.

“By Magorah,” I whispered. “You… you had my stuff delivered?”

Fenris shrugged. “Iannis suggested that I look into it, actually. Good thing, too, because your landlord was preparing to have you evicted. Two servants brought your things over this morning.” He grinned as he produced a set of keys from his sleeve and tossed them to me. “They even managed to recover your steambike.”

Tears stung the corners of my eyes, and I flung my arms around Fenris’s neck. “Thank you so much,” I murmured, so ridiculously grateful to have my things. I would be able to wear my own clothes again, and if the servants had brought over everything, even carry a weapon!

Fenris stiffened briefly, but quickly relaxed and patted me on the back. “It’s no trouble at all,” he said. “I’ll leave you to get acquainted with your room.”

I spent the next few hours organizing my things, unpacking all the stuff in my boxes and rearranging my clothes until they were on the racks the way I liked them. I filled the empty bookcase that stood by one of the windows with my books – a combination of martial arts theory, history texts, and novels that were strictly for pleasure reading – and the second one I filled with my smaller weapons, such as knives and throwing stars. The bigger weapons, such as my staff and swords, had to go in the closet.

Finished at last, I took a long, hot bath, dressed myself in a pair of leather pants and a long-sleeved red top, and tucked two knives into my boots. As an afterthought, I grabbed one of my short swords, similar in style to the ones the guards used, and secured it around my waist with a belt and sheath.

Yep, I thought as I gazed at myself in the full-length mirror installed in the walk-in closet. My curly black hair tumbled around my shoulders, and my tanned skin glowed with good health. I was finally starting to feel like my old self again.

“Going somewhere?”

I nearly stumbled as I walked out of the closet – Fenris had popped his head back in.

“Am I not allowed to?” I demanded, folding my arms across my chest. “Surely now that I’m an apprentice I can come and go from the palace?”

Fenris nodded, stepping into the room. “Iannis has allowed you four hours of free time per day in which you may do whatever you wish outside the palace walls, in addition to any time you may be sent out to run errands.”

I clenched my jaw at that. “So I’m still a prisoner?”

Fenris sighed, running a hand through his thick, dark hair. “Can’t you at least take this one as a win, Sunaya? The Chief Mage doesn’t want you putting yourself at risk until you are properly trained.”

I tossed my hair over my shoulder. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time,” I told him. “But I guess I’ll accept the terms. Still, it would be nice if I could get my lost weapons back. Not to mention my Enforcer bracelet.” I tapped my naked wrist.

Fenris winced. “Yes, about that –”

Dread turned my stomach to lead. “They’re gone?”

Fenris nodded. “Iannis asked me to track them down, but the Enforcer’s Guild doesn’t have them.”

My nails bit into my palms as I clenched my fists. “Brin and Nila. Those bastards.”

“We’re still looking for them,” Fenris insisted. “With enough time, we might –”

“Stop.” I held up a hand, my heart aching. Those weapons had been among my most prized possessions. “You can at least get my Enforcer’s bracelet back, can’t you?” I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of losing that, too. It would mean the end of my livelihood, especially if I ended up not making it as a mage.

Fenris nodded. “That should be possible. If we can’t get the original back, we can order the Enforcer’s Guild to issue you a new one.”

I sighed as a modicum of relief trickled through me, then changed the subject. “Did you find anything out last night with that lie detector wand thingy the Chief Mage gave you?”

Fenris scowled. “Unfortunately not,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “None of the kitchen staff appeared to know anything, and the wand didn’t twitch at all when I questioned them, so they weren’t lying. It could have been one of the mages at the party, or theoretically one of the servants of the dignitaries who are staying here as guests. It’s tough to narrow down.”

“That doesn’t sound very reassuring.” I pursed my lips, wondering how effective that wand really was. Why did Fenris rely on it? Surely his nose was good enough.

“It’s not. I’m going to do some further investigation into it.” He pulled a book from his sleeve and handed it to me. “This is a basic primer on magic, one of the few not written in Loranian. Iannis found it last night and asked me to give it to you, so you could practice in your room when he’s not available. I suggest you be very careful and make sure no one is nearby when you are practicing, especially if you are going to perform a new spell. It wouldn’t do at all if you accidentally hurt someone.”

“Thanks.” A spark of delight lit in my chest as I took the book, something that would not have happened a week ago. Strange how my outlook on magic had changed in such a short time, now that it was more accessible to me.

Fenris showed me how to activate the pre-spelled wards set around the perimeter of my room, which I could use to keep anyone from entering while I was performing magic. He then left me to my own devices. I stared at the book for a little while, tempted to start working now, but the outdoors called me more strongly than the spells did. I slid the book onto one of my shelves, between a paperback on Garaian History and a mystery novel.

It was time to go and see how my city had fared without me.

* * *

I grabbed a few scones from the kitchen, then hopped on my steambike and headed towards the Port. I was in a ridiculously good mood, and it wasn’t just the fresh air on my face or the sights and sounds of the city that surrounded me as I rode through the streets. The staff and guards had all been fairly pleasant to me as I’d left, addressing me as ‘ma’am’ or ‘miss’, and no longer gave me dirty or suspicious looks. The mages, for their part, hadn’t changed their level of animosity, but only the way they expressed it – instead of sneering at me they scowled, beaming hatred or jealousy my way when they thought my back was turned. They thought their bad vibes would bring me down, but instead they only widened my smile and lifted my spirits. Any day I could wiggle the stick up those stuffy bastards’ asses was a good day in my book.

The bell tinkled as I opened the door to Comenius’s shop, which looked exactly the same as it had the last time I’d walked in here. Of course, that had been less than a week ago, so I shouldn’t have expected anything different, but still, the normality brought me comfort.

“Naya!” Noria dropped the coins she’d been counting back into the register and dashed around the counter as she caught sight of me. I laughed as she flung her arms around me and hugged her back, relieved that she wasn’t mad at me. “I’m so glad you’re here! How did you get out? Did Rylan rescue you after all?”

“No.” I clamped my lips shut on the scolding I wanted to give her for sending Rylan into a trap in the first place – she’d only been trying to help, and in the end the Chief Mage had simply used the situation to his advantage. “I was released.”

“Really?” Comenius popped in from the back of the shop, his stern face all smiles. I embraced him as well, inhaling his comforting sage and thyme scent. “How did you manage that?”

I stuck out my tongue at him. “The Chief Mage made me his apprentice.”

“WHAT?”

For the next ten minutes I was peppered by a barrage of questions, which I answered as best I could. Comenius was stunned, but happy, while Noria was flat-out confused.

“But I don’t understand,” she whined plaintively when I’d finished explaining to her that I was going to have to live at the palace until I’d finished my apprenticeship. “He’s the enemy, Naya. How could you?”

“Not all mages are the enemy,” Comenius pointed out mildly. “After all, you’re working with a mage at the Academy right now, are you not?”

Noria pouted. “Yeah, but he’s not the Chief Mage.” She worried her lip for a moment. “He’s still working on analyzing that drug. He’s pretty busy between classes and his own projects right now, but I hope he’ll have something for us by next week.”

I nodded, sobering a little as my mind turned back to the murders. “Has there been any other news?”

Comenius shook his head. “No murders since the last one reported by the Courier.”

I ran my tongue along my upper teeth, frustrated. “That’s supposed to be a good thing, but…”

“You feel like you need more leads, and you don’t have anything,” Comenius finished. His frustrated look told me that he commiserated, which made me feel a little better. “I know what you mean, but until we get an answer back regarding the drug, I don’t have anything concrete to go on.”

“You know,” Noria said, her brow puckering thoughtfully. “You could easily take this chance to run off to the Underground and join up with the Resistance, now that you’re free. I don’t see why you’ve got to be beholden to the Chief Mage.”

I scowled. “Noria, I support the Resistance too but I’ve already had a taste of what it’s like to be a captive criminal, and I don’t like it. I’m much happier on the other side of the table where I get to catch the bad guys, and I can’t do that if I’m a wanted fugitive.”

Brackets formed around the edges of Noria’s mouth. “But what if those bad guys aren’t really bad guys, but just people exercising rights that have been unjustly taken away from them? Like you with your magic?” She jabbed her finger into my chest. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I’m not sure that being an Enforcer is actually a good idea. All I’d be doing is supporting our corrupt regime. When I’m done with college I’m joining the Resistance.”

I bit back a groan at Noria’s defiant look. This is what I got for trying to convince her not to be an Enforcer – an even worse career decision.

“Have you spoken to Annia about this? Or your mother?”

“ Annia’s still out of town on a mission.” Noria wrinkled her nose. “But I don’t have to talk to her. I’m old enough to decide for myself.”

“Yes, but I’m sure she’d still want to hear about it.” I laid a hand on her shoulder, gentling my voice. “She’s your sister and she loves you, just like we all do.”

Noria looked away. I sighed, then continued. “Besides, my reluctance to become a criminal isn’t the only reason I’m sticking around. I’ve got to solve these murders. Not to mention that having inside access to the palace will allow me to pass on useful information to Rylan.”

“Oh.” Noria perked right up. “Well, I guess that’s okay then.”

“Still, though,” I amended, my frown returning at the thought of Rylan. “I can’t say that I’m too happy about the Resistance’s methods of, well, resisting.”

Comenius raised his brows. “What do you mean?”

I relayed the conversation I’d heard from the two mages back at the banquet about the terrorist attacks, and by the time I was finished both Comenius and Noria were scowling.

“There’s no way that’s true,” Noria insisted, her dark eyes burning.

“At the very least we don’t know the full story,” Comenius declared, ever the conservative. “The mages could have been embellishing their story, or even leaving key things out.”

“Exactly!” Noria planted her hands on her hips. “You can’t trust anything they say.”

“Well, that’s definitely possible.” I paused to consider that, thankful that my thick hair hid the tips of my reddening ears. Was it possible that I was succumbing to the brainwashing effects of the mages’ propaganda? “Still, I can’t completely discount what I heard until I know more.”

“Hmph.” Noria wrinkled her nose. “I think you’ve been doing a little too much listening, and not enough looking.” She returned to her post behind the counter. “I’m going to go do something productive. You should too.”

“Yeah,” I said slowly as Comenius shot me an apologetic look. “I guess you’re right.” It was time to do more looking, that was for sure, and not just on my part. I was going to get the Chief Mage involved with this even if it killed me. It was about time someone other than me did something about this whole mess.

* * *

On my way back to Solantha Palace, I stopped by the Shiftertown Cemetery to visit Roanas’s grave. It was located outside the Twenty-First Street Temple, a tall, grey stone building where shifters went to pay their respects to Magorah. I bypassed the temple itself, avoiding the reproachful gazes of the carved animals perched on the corners of the building, and headed to the cemetery in the back.

The cemetery was a wide plot of land that stretched for several acres from the back of the temple. Rows of headstones marked the places where the deceased lay, and I trod lightly over the grass, careful not to step on any flowers or other offerings left for the dead. It didn’t take me long to find Roanas’s grave – it was heaped with offerings from his many Shiftertown admirers, and beneath them lay freshly-turned dirt upon which grass had not yet grown.

I clenched my fist around my own meager offering, a bouquet of dandelions, which I thought a fitting tribute since Roanas had been a lion shifter. I should have been there at the funeral, to say a proper goodbye, to ensure the clerics laid him to rest respectfully and placed a gold coin atop each of his eyelids to pay the Ferryman who would lead him to the afterlife. I should have been there to grieve with his sister, who must have taken a dirigible all the way out from the southwest to see her brother buried. I should have been there to glare holes into my aunt Mafiela and demand that she and the rest of the Council fill Roanas’s shoes with a competent Inspector immediately, one who would pick up where Roanas left off and catch the bastard who was doing all this.

But I hadn’t, because I’d been imprisoned in Solantha Palace due to my own stupidity.

I squeezed my eyelids shut as I dropped to my knees, pressing my forehead to the gravestone. Cool granite rasped against my skin, a stark contrast to the hot tears running down my cheeks. For a long moment I could do nothing except kneel there, my tears dripping on the freshly-tilled earth, a salty offering lost on the body buried six feet beneath. After all, Roanas was no longer in that body to receive them – the tears were more for me, an opportunity to unleash the grief I’d shoved deep into the recesses of my mind since this whole ordeal had started. Tears that I’d not dared show while in the palace, not only because no one would care, but because in enemy territory grief was a luxury I couldn’t afford.

Roanas, I thought silently, praying my thoughts would reach him in the afterlife. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you while you were investigating in the first place. Maybe if I had been, I could have helped you solve these murders before the killer caught on to you. Maybe if I hadn’t been so wrapped up in my own problems, you wouldn’t be dead now.

A soft breeze stirred the hair on the nape of my neck and whispered gently in my ear. There is little point in wishing upon what could have been. Your time is far better spent focusing on what could be, or better yet, what will be.

I chuckled through my tears at the oft-quoted line. I couldn’t say whether or not Roanas had actually spoken to me from beyond the grave, but the words soothed me nonetheless.

“Come to pay your respects?”

My head snapped up at the sound of an unfamiliar male voice. To my right stood a tall man dressed in a long brown leather coat, tight-fitting pants and a pair of boots that looked as though they’d seen a few hundred miles. The breeze tousled his short blond hair, drawing my attention to his raw-boned face. His hawk nose and slightly too-wide mouth pushed him out of the classically handsome category, but he was pleasant enough to look at. There was a certain charm to the way the left corner of his mouth turned up, and his sharp, reddish-yellow shifter eyes commanded attention.

I slowly got to my feet, nose twitching. My hackles rose as I caught his scent – he was a jaguar shifter. Around these parts that could only mean one thing.

“You must be my aunt Mafiela’s latest messenger boy.” I tossed my head, and a sudden gust of wind caught at my hair, streaming the thick black curls out from behind me like a banner. “Did she send you here to taunt me in her stead? Is she so busy she can’t make the time herself?”

The shifter arched a brow. “I am a recent addition to the Baine clan… but no, I’m not the Chieftain’s ‘messenger boy’. I’m Shiftertown Inspector Boon Lakin.”

I froze. The new Shiftertown Inspector? I eyed him up and down again, noting the knives cleverly concealed in his boots. That long coat of his could have many pockets in which to store more weapons and other useful tools…

“Let’s see some I.D. then, Inspector.” I closed the distance between us and held out a hand.

He reached beneath the collar of his coat and pulled out a golden medallion. My heart constricted as I caught sight of the fang symbol stamped into the center, as well as the runes that danced around the edges of the circle – it was the same one Roanas had worn.

“Convinced?”

I stared deep into his eyes. Unlike the other members of my former clan, Inspector Lakin’s eyes held no contempt when he looked at me, and they should have. I was an outsider, an abomination by my aunt Mafiela’s standards, and whatever she said, the rest of the clan followed.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

Inspector Lakin shook his head. “I’m a transplant from the Jaguar clan in Pardas,” he admitted, referring to a capital city in one of the northwestern states. “I used to be the Inspector up there, but I felt like a change of scenery, and I had a deputy who was more than willing to fill my shoes.”

“Must be nice,” I muttered, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets. If I hadn’t been a hybrid, I would have been the one to fill Roanas’s shoes – I was more than capable between the training that I’d received from him and my experience as an Enforcer. “Fresh start, new life.”

I’d thought about that myself once or twice – just packing up and moving somewhere else where nobody knew who I was. Sure, any shifter with a good nose could still tell I was a hybrid, but not that I was a mage if I didn’t use my magic, and there were states, or at least cities, in the Northia Federation where half-human shifters were welcome. But any chance of that happening was gone now that my magic was public knowledge – my case was unique enough that news of my apprentice status would eventually spread across the country, at least amongst mage circles.

“Yeah.” Inspector Lakin stared at me for a long moment. “I’m sorry for your loss. From what I hear, you two were close.”

I snorted. “You’re not sorry for my loss. You’re just exchanging pleasantries while beating around the bush. Why don’t you tell me the real reason you came here to intrude on me while I’m paying my respects?”

Inspector Lakin’s eyes gleamed. “I see the rumors about you having a smart mouth are true.”

I jutted my chin out. “Yeah? You got a problem with that?”

Lakin only shrugged. “The reason I approached you is because I was going through Roanas’s case files and I noticed that he didn’t seem to have a file regarding these silver poisonings.” His eyes narrowed. “From everything I’ve heard of him, he was good at what he did. I don’t see how he would have forgotten to put a file together.”

“Not really sure what this has to do with me.”

“You were the last one to see Roanas alive.”

“I don’t have his case file.” Not a lie. I sent a mental thank-you to Comenius; I’d left the file at his shop before responding to the emergency call that had gotten me into so much trouble.

“But you know where it is.”

I said nothing.

“You know that I could have you brought before the Council for willfully hiding evidence.” His voice lowered into a dangerous growl. “This isn’t just about Roanas, Miss Baine. This is about getting justice for all the shifters who have died at the hands of this monster, and stopping him from hurting anyone else.”

I laughed bitterly. “I belong to no clan, and I’m a quasi-member of the Mage’s Guild now. I don’t think you actually can drag me before the Council.”

Lakin opened his mouth to answer, but the medallion around his neck lit up, bathing his throat in a golden glow. Emergency reported at 1922 Third Street, a metallic voice said. Doctor on scene. Please respond.

Lakin’s face whitened at the same time the blood drained from mine. That was my Aunt Mafiela’s house.

He sprinted for the street, where a sleek silver steambike was parked in front of mine. I hesitated for only a second before racing after him. He peeled out into the road with a shrill whistle from the engine, and I followed right after. If this was connected in any way to the silver poisonings, I had to know.

* * *

Third Street was all the way on the other side of Shiftertown, near the bay where the more affluent shifters lived. Lakin parked in front of my aunt’s residence, a three-story house with grey siding, dark purple roof tiling, and matching purple shutters. A horse-drawn carriage was already parked at the curb in front of the steps. The front door was wide open, and the sound of a woman wailing was clearly audible from the street.

“Stay out here,” Lakin snapped as he ripped off his helmet. He raced up the steps and into the house. I followed after him, knowing he didn’t have the time to stand around and argue with me.

We found the source of the wailing in the parlor, where a veritable party of shifters were gathered, dressed in dinner finery. I recognized them all – this was the shifter Council and their respective families, likely all here at my aunt’s house for some kind of social event. They were gathered in a circle around a low couch, where a man lay with marble skin that looked like death. He had rich, dark brown hair and was wearing a gold waistcoat, white linen shirt and white slacks. I recognized him instantly as Corin Finehorn – the head of the Deer Clan, and one of the five council members.

“No!” Larana, Finehorn’s wife wailed, clutching her mate’s hand. She wore a dark green dress, gold jewelry dripping from her ears and throat. “It can’t be. He can’t be gone!”

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said. He placed a gentle hand on the woman’s slim shoulder. “There’s nothing more I can do for him.”

“By Magorah.” My Aunt Mafiela spoke in a clipped voice. She wore a white dress that highlighted her slim figure, and her wealth of golden hair was piled atop her head in a matronly up-do. Pearls gleamed softly at her ears, throat and wrists, and if not for her yellow shifter eyes, I would have thought her a human socialite. “This is outrageous. Corin was perfectly healthy when he arrived at dinner tonight. How could this happen?”

“He was poisoned, wasn’t he?”

Lakin winced as every single person in the room turned to look at me. Mafiela’s eyes widened in outrage. “What are you doing in my home!” she demanded, her cheeks coloring.

“My apologies, Chieftain Baine.” Lakin took a step forward to deflect attention onto him. “I was questioning your niece when I got the alert, and she followed me here.”

“Well it’s about time,” Mafiela snapped. “We’ve been waiting for ten minutes.”

“Is… is it true that poison is what killed my mate?” Larana rose to her feet from her position beside the couch. Her doe eyes were filled with tears.

“The reaction does seem alarmingly similar to that of someone afflicted with silver poisoning,” the doctor hedged.

Larana’s eyes flashed. “You!” she pointed a trembling finger at my aunt. “You killed my mate!”

“That’s absurd!” Mafiela snapped. “Why would I do such a thing? Corin and I were good friends, fellow council members!”

“He was eating your food.” Larana’s voice wobbled. “Drinking from your glasses.” Her face crumpled as she dissolved into tears again. “He’s gone, and it’s all your fault!”

The woman lunged at my aunt, her eyes wild with grief and rage. Mafiela sidestepped, her own face mottled with fury. She raised her hand to strike Larana, and I darted forward, catching the blow before it could land.

“Don’t you think this poor woman’s gone through enough?” I snarled. “You couldn’t even take a moment to offer her some consolation, and now you’re going to beat her up too?”

Silence froze the room. Mafiela’s yellow eyes glittered at me with pure malice, and for a moment I wondered whether or not she would try to strike me too. I had no illusions about her – she might be dressed up like a lady, but beneath the façade she was all beast, one of the most ruthless people I knew. Part of me wished that she would lash out – I longed for provocation of any kind to take my years of pent-up anger out on her. But my more rational side knew that I could never get away with such behavior in front of the Council, even if I was the Chief Mage’s apprentice.

“Mafiela.” The deep voice of Toras, the Tiger Clan Chieftain, rumbled through the air. “The half-breed is right.”

“Fine.” Sneering, Mafiela wrenched her hand from mine. “I apologize for my behavior. Now get out of my house.”

Trembling with anger, I took a step toward her, intending to give her a piece of my mind.

“Don’t.” Lakin’s hand clamped around my wrist. I whirled on him, a fiery retort on my lips, but the silent plea in his yellow-orange eyes gave me pause. “This isn’t the time.”

Larana’s sobs started up again, and I glanced to where she sat on the floor, her shoulders shaking, her face buried in her hands. The weighty gazes of the crowd standing behind me settled onto my back, and I knew that I was only holding things up.

“Alright.” I pulled my wrist from Lakin’s grasp. “Ask for Comenius over at Witches End,” I muttered as I brushed past him. “He has what you’re looking for.”

Lakin started, but I didn’t wait around – my four hours were up and it was time I got back to the palace before the Chief Mage decided to fry my ass.

15

I threw open the doors to the Chief Mage’s study and stormed over to his desk, where he sat reading a thick, leather-bound book.

He barely looked up as I slapped down a newspaper on his desk, simply flicking his eyes up from the tome he was studying before returning to it. “You’re late.”

I balled my hands into fists, then unclenched them before I did something I would regret. “Sorry. I was a little busy dealing with the aftermath of another murder.”

The Chief Mage lowered the book onto his desk.

Taking that as an invitation to speak, I plowed on. “I was visiting Roanas’s grave when I got the news. Councilman Finehorn was murdered.”

Iannis listened as I recounted the story, his expression unreadable. When I was done, he simply gave me a look. “While alarming, there is no proof of interracial involvement here, or that silver was involved either. In fact, from what I’m hearing, Chieftain Baine sounds like the prime suspect.”

“She didn’t do this.” I ground my teeth. “Believe me, if I thought she did I would be the first to step aside and let the authorities nail her. But I heard the doctor – he said it looked a lot like silver poisoning. You can’t tell me it doesn’t sound like there’s a connection. And if that’s not enough, there’s also this.” I slapped my hand on the desk, drawing his attention back to the newspaper.

A frown creased the Chief Mage’s alabaster face as his eyes flicked down toward the paper, and then back up again. “I saw this headline this morning. Why are you bringing it to me now?”

I grabbed the paper – a copy of the latest issue from the Herald – and shook it in front of his face. “‘Strung-Out Shifters – The Newest Danger in Solantha,’” I recited, the headline burned into my retinas. I’d seen a copy of it fluttering from a newsstand on my way back, and had grabbed it. “Are you seriously saying that this piece of bullshit propaganda means nothing to you?”

Sighing, the Chief Mage picked up the paper, his violet eyes scanning the article. They narrowed as the seconds ticked by. “The Herald is reporting high incidence of drug use among shifters.”

I folded my arms. “Yeah, and you don’t see a problem with that?” I decided not to mention that the Herald had basically painted shifters as irresponsible druggies who were a danger to society and practically outright demanded that the mages annihilate them. The Chief Mage probably wouldn’t care.

“Of course there’s a problem.” The Chief Mage slowly set the paper down. “Shifters aren’t affected by narcotics. We bred you that way specifically so that as soldiers you wouldn’t be susceptible to the drugs and poisons normal humans would die from.”

I decided to pretend he didn’t say that last part – the last thing I needed was to get into another argument with him over the cruelty mages had inflicted upon shifters through the centuries. “Right. And all the shifter deaths in the papers that appear to be poison-related… those shouldn’t be possible either, right?”

The Chief Mage scowled. “This is not the appropriate time for this conversation, Miss Baine. My time is limited, and has been set aside so that we can work on your magical education, not on solving murders.”

“Oh yeah?” I scowled, wanting very much to plow my fist into that superior expression.

And that’s when an idea came to me.

“Why can’t we combine both?” I asked, dropping my scowl in favor of a sly grin.

Iannis looked taken aback. “What exactly are you proposing?”

I propped my hands on my hips. "I'm proposing that you teach me some kind of spell that I can use to drag your stiff ass around the city and show you what's really going on in this town.”

I expected him to snap at me for the comment about his ass, but instead he simply pressed his lips together in thought, saying nothing as a calculating gleam shone in his violet eyes.

"You're proposing some kind of... reconnaissance?” he finally asked. “Where we can observe without being observed ourselves?"

I arched a brow. Did he have to make everything sound so academic?

"Yeah, I guess."

"Very well." His lips curved into a small smile. Electricity skipped through my veins. "I will play your game. This spell is a bit beyond your current skill level, but if you master it, I will do as you ask."

We spent the next two hours struggling through an illusion spell - or rather, I struggled while Iannis stood in front of me and showed off. He made it look easy, the way he flickered from the form of a young girl to a hulking dog to a hunched old man, while I had trouble maintaining the singular form I was trying to recreate. By the time I'd mastered it, I was sweaty, hungry, and had a hell of a headache.

"Well done," the Chief Mage said as I stood there in my new form. I wasn't sure if the admiration in his eyes was due to my magical prowess or because I looked like a curvy redhead. Either way, though, it was gratifying. If I could distract someone as rigid and logical as Iannis with an illusion, then I could do it to lesser-willed people too, which would come in handy as an Enforcer.

"Am I ever going to get my Enforcer's bracelet back?" I asked grumpily, now that I'd been reminded of it.

The Chief Mage arched a brow. "In due time." He flickered from his own form to that of a muscular human with shaggy blond hair, tight red pants and an electric blue shirt that stretched across his broad chest. "For now, I suggest we go and embark upon this adventure of yours... and perhaps get some sustenance for you as well."

I snorted, trying not to stare. For a stuffy old mage he seemed to have a good grip on human fashion sense. "You're going to have to lose the 'holier than thou' dialect if you want to blend in," I told him. "No human looking like you is going to talk like that."

"Alright," he said easily. "Let's go have some fun on the town, huh?"

I blinked. That was a lot easier for him than I'd thought it would be. "Let's," I agreed uncertainly, no longer sure this 'adventure' was going to go quite the way I thought it would.

My steambike would only make us stand out, so we took a cab to the Sycamore, a popular gastro pub in Maintown that served as the local watering hole for humans. The cab let us off on Argent Street, across from the restaurant, and I took a moment to eye the place nervously as Iannis paid the fare. The black-and-red corner building had a line snaking out the door, and every single one of those trendy men and women were one hundred percent human, not a single shifter in sight.

“Alright,” Iannis said as the cab drove off. “Let’s go.”

“Wait.”

He paused, his foot already halfway off the curb.

“What names are we going by? We can’t exactly go in there using our own.” My name was unusual enough as it was, and now it was being printed all over the papers. And I doubted there was a human named after the Chief Mage.

Iannis shrugged. “You can call me Ian for the occasion,” he decided. “And you’ll be Nadia.”

“Nadia?” I grumbled, but then he hooked his arm through mine and I forgot all about complaining about the name, which wouldn’t have been my first choice. A warm current flowed through me as he tucked my body against his and escorted me across the street.

“Umm, what are you doing?” I muttered as we headed for the back of the line.

Iannis didn’t even look down at me. “We’re getting in line. It would be suspicious if I used my rank or my magic to try and bypass all these people to gain entrance.”

I would have rolled my eyes if I hadn’t been so damned uncomfortable. “No, I meant what are you doing here?” I hissed, tugging a little on my arm through his to draw attention to it.

He arched his brow as he looked down at me with pale blue eyes like Comenius’s, and suddenly I wished they were their normal violet hue. I tugged at the collar of my jacket nervously, uncomfortably warm beneath his gaze.

“We’re undercover, aren’t we?” he murmured, knowing that my sensitive ears would catch his words despite the buzz of conversation from the line. “If we’re coming here as a couple we should look the part.”

I gritted my teeth as heat continued to spread throughout my body, and glanced up at the moon as we settled in at the back of the line. It hung bright and round in the inky, star-splattered sky, perilously close to being full, and my hormones surged in response to its magical pull. Shifters were always strongest at the height of the lunar cycle – for some reason it gave us a boost, allowing us to shift more frequently and faster than usual.

“Are you alright?”

I glanced up to see Iannis watching me, once again disconcerted by the fact that I was looking up at a tanned blond rather than a pale redhead. His illusion was so good that even I couldn’t see through it – which boded well for us, as it meant none of the humans in the bar would be able to either.

Unfortunately that thought didn’t do anything to calm my nerves.

“I’m fine,” I told him, giving him a sweet smile I didn’t feel, in case anyone was looking. “Why do you ask?”

He dropped my hand and slipped his arm around my waist, drawing me in against his body. “I sense a lot of tension coming from you,” he murmured into my hair as his big hand rubbed up and down the curve where my hip met my torso. “I’ve seen males do this with their females to offer them comfort in social situations. Is it helping?”

“No,” I hissed, keeping my voice down so the other humans in line wouldn’t hear. I shivered as white-hot sparks skipped up and down my nerve endings. “Probably because you’re not my male and I’m not your female.”

“You are for the purposes of this outing,” he pointed out, but he stopped rubbing his hand up and down my side. “Though perhaps your overly emotional mind can’t make that distinction.”

“That. Is. Not. The. Point.” I sucked in a deep breath through my nostrils to keep from decking him, annoyed by his jab at my race. Shifters were more emotional than the average human as a general rule, but he didn’t have to keep rubbing it in. Unfortunately, taking a breath didn’t help calm my nerves as it only caused me to inhale his musky sandalwood scent. The sparks raced through my body double-time, and I bit my lip.

“You’re right, of course.” He had the grace to look apologetic. “I suppose I’m going off topic.”

Ya think? I turned my attention to the conversations around us and did my best to ignore my unlikely date.

To my annoyance, no one was talking about anything interesting, and we spent the next twenty minutes crawling at a snail’s pace toward the entrance, Iannis’s hard body pressed against mine. My traitorous mind wondered if the muscles moving beneath his t-shirt were his, or if they were just part of the illusion. After all, he’d changed his coloring, outfit and facial features, but his weight-height proportions seemed to be the same…

This is so not helping.

I was saved from my raging hormones by the doorman, who gave us a cursory inspection before allowing us into the bar. The color scheme on the inside was exactly the same as the outside, with burgundy drapes covering the walls and black, glossy countertops and tables everywhere. Light music blended with the buzz of chatter as patrons sat and talked, and the aroma of fried foods made my stomach growl.

Iannis led me to the crowded bar, and we somehow managed to find two burgundy and black barstools near the middle. We ordered drinks from the bartender, who served them up along with two menus for us to look at.

I arched a brow as Iannis raised a beer bottle to his lips, tickled by the incongruity of the sight. “Know what you want?” I asked, noticing that he hadn’t touched the menu.

He nodded. “I’m partial to the pork belly donuts and the beer-battered tilapia.”

My jaw dropped. “You’ve been here before?”

He grinned at me, and my stomach flip-flopped. “You don’t really think I’ve never ventured out into the city, do you?” he asked, leaning in so he could murmur in my ear. I shivered as his warm, beer-scented breath tickled my earlobe. “Perhaps it’s been a while since I’ve been out, but I’m not as stuffy as you might think, Miss Baine.”

He sat back to enjoy his beer, and I snatched up the menu and began perusing the selection to cover my amazement. Sure enough, both the donuts and the tilapia were listed on the menu, along with a slew of other things. I decided on the lamb burger and an order of donuts for myself, and set the menu down so I could focus on the conversations going on around the bar.

“Hey,” Iannis said casually to a pair of young male humans wearing band t-shirts and shredded pants sitting next to us. “You two studying at the Academy?”

“Yeah.” The human closest to us lifted his can of beer in greeting. He was lean as a whip, and sported a bright blue mohawk, a septum piercing, and a days-old shiner on his right eye. “Going for an engineering degree, and my buddy here’s doing music.” He nudged his friend, a muscular guy with shaggy black hair and sunglasses. “How about you?”

Iannis leaned casually against the counter. “I’m majoring in chemistry, and my girlfriend Nadia’s going to culinary school.” He snagged me by the waist, and I swallowed a yelp as he drew me onto his lap. My heart rate skyrocketed as he looped his long, lanky arms around my hips, resting his clasped hands on the tops of my thighs, and my cheeks burned as his lips brushed my cheek before he grinned at the two humans. “She makes a killer lasagna.”

“That’s pretty sweet,” Shaggy Black Hair said, looking me up and down, and I knew he wasn’t just talking about my imagined culinary skills. “My band makes the rounds at a lot of restaurants around here. I could put in a good word if you need one.”

“Thanks.” I smiled sweetly, burying the urge to slam my heel into Iannis’s shin. I had no idea Mr. Ice King would throw himself into his role with such enthusiasm, or I might’ve thought twice about going out with him tonight. “So, how are things going for you two at the Academy?”

“Ugh.” Blue Mohawk rolled his eyes. “Don’t get me started. You’d think that the Mage’s Guild would stick to their own schools and apprenticeships, but a few of ‘em have been dropping in on the humanities classes at the Academy. They thumb their noses at science or engineering, take the best seats and most of them refuse to work with any of us humans.” He curled his lip. “They think that magic is the only viable way to accomplish things.”

“Well that’s just stupid,” Iannis chimed in, surprising me. His muscular thighs shifted beneath me, sending the butterflies in my stomach into a frenzy. “We have an electrical plant in Solantha that powers most areas of the city, including this building.” He waved an arm to indicate the bulbs hanging down from the ceiling.

I twisted in his lap to look down at him, and he simply stared up at me quizzically as if he couldn’t comprehend the skepticism on my face. It threw me off balance that he could understand the argument for technology so well, yet not permit much of it in the castle. Since I couldn’t call him on it, I turned back to the two humans.

“… yeah, and it doesn’t help things that those feckless shifters are always causing trouble, too,” Shaggy Black Hair was saying.

“Excuse me?” I said, a little too sharply, and the humans blinked.

Shaggy scowled at me. “There’ve been a lot of shifter-human fights breaking out on campus recently,” he said. “Some kinda drug’s been going around makin’ em crazy. Now that they’ve finally got a way to get high, they just can’t keep a lid on themselves.”

Blue Mohawk nodded, pointing to the shiner on his face. “Yeah, I got this from a rabbit shifter because I bumped into him in the hallway last week.”

My jaw dropped. “That’s crazy!” Rabbit shifters weren’t known for being particularly aggressive. I couldn’t imagine one getting into a fistfight over a simple accident.

Shaggy gave me the stink eye. “Seems like you’re defending the shifters, pretty lady. Don’t know if that’ll make you very popular around here.”

Iannis tightened his arms around my waist and straightened in his stool. “You’ll have to forgive her – she grew up in Rowanville, and as you know things are different over there.”

The two humans nodded. “I guess so,” Shaggy said suspiciously. “But still, you’d have to be blind not to see what’s been happening these last few days. These violent outbreaks are getting worse.”

Worry began to brew in my gut, and I stiffened. We were going to have to track down the source of these drugs, and soon, or the reputation of shifters as a race would be ruined. I squirmed in Iannis’s lap, suddenly tired of sitting here and making small talk, but he gave my hip a warning squeeze.

“Yeah, and worse, the mages aren’t doing anything about it,” Blue Mohawk added. Despite his shiner, he seemed more blasé about the whole thing, and simply sighed before taking a long drink from his beer bottle. “By the time they get around to it, there’ll probably be a civil war or something between humans and shifters. Lazy bastards are too busy up in their ivory towers, practicing their sacred magic spells, to think about anything else.”

“I’ll drink to that,” I said, raising my glass. I tossed Iannis the stink eye before downing my drink, happy that the hatred had been redirected back to mages again, who were clearly the root of the problem, and not shifters.

“Well, it was nice to meet you guys, but we’re catching a play later tonight with some friends and we’d better get going.” Blue Mohawk slid off his barstool, and Shaggy Black Hair followed suit. “See you around sometime, huh?”

“Yeah, see you.” Iannis lifted his beer to them in salute and took another long pull from it as they walked off.

A mixture of relief and triumph filled my chest as I leaned in to whisper in his ear. “See? I told you things are bad out here. I’m not the only one who hates mages.”

“Yes, and it seems that, at least in Maintown, mages aren’t the only ones who are hated.” He grinned at me.

Heat scalded the tips of my ears. “That’s not fair,” I said hotly.

He held up a long-fingered hand. “I know, I know,” he said. “All of this talk about drugs and shifters is alarming. It will be looked into.”

The gravity of his voice and expression settled me – this was the Iannis I knew. But before I could open my mouth, the bartender finally returned with our food.

“Thank Magorah,” I groaned, hopping back onto my own stool so I could grab my lamb burger. I bit into it, and closed my eyes as the rich flavors burst across my tongue. I’d forgotten how hungry I was.

We ate in silence, Iannis calmly eating his tilapia as I wolfed down my burger. I finished the thing in less than five minutes, and was about to start in on my donuts when a brunette in a slinky black dress inserted herself between us. She leaned her bare shoulders against the counter, smelling of perfume and stale sweat, and I wrinkled my nose.

“Hey sugar,” she said in a high, breathy voice, batting her long lashes at Iannis. “Care to have a drink with me?”

Iannis arched his blond brows, his pale eyes running up and down her body in a way that made my blood boil. “I –”

“We’ve got a play to catch,” I snapped, sliding off my barstool. The girl glared at me, and I gave her a smile that was both sweet and deadly as I snatched Iannis’s hand and pulled him off his own barstool. “Sorry, sweetheart, but go and pick on someone else’s guy.”

“‘Someone else’s guy’?” Iannis murmured as I dragged him out of the club, his voice tinged with amusement. “I thought we’d established that I wasn’t your male and you weren’t my female.”

“You are for the purposes of this outing,” I retorted, tossing his words right back into his face as I hailed a cab. My fingers tightened around his, and for reasons best not examined, I didn’t let go until we were safely headed back to the palace. Maybe I hated it there, but within those walls at least I understood the territory and rules between us.

16

The next morning, a servant knocked on my door and told me that the Chief Mage required my presence in the audience chamber for an important meeting. Groaning, I dragged myself out of bed and made myself as presentable as I could – I’d spent most of the night tossing and turning, my mind replaying my outing with Iannis over and over.

As soon as we’d gotten into the cab, Iannis had dropped the illusion, and along with it the lax, easygoing manner he’d adopted in his human guise. I’d plied him with questions about how he’d blended in with the humans so easily and why, even though he seemed to acknowledge the importance and validity of technology, he didn’t really use it in his palace, but he blew me off and told me to be quiet. He’d spent most of the time staring pensively out the window, and I’d left him alone.

Hopefully, whatever had been going through his mind last night would result in positive action this morning.

When I arrived at the audience chamber, I was surprised to see Captain Galling of the Enforcer’s Guild there, along with three other people I didn’t know. Iannis was standing behind his desk, and I caught a glimpse of Fenris standing next to him in wolf form, his bushy brown tail sticking out from behind the stone desk.

“Miss Baine.” The Chief Mage nodded at me in greeting. “I’d like to introduce you to Lalia Chen, the future Director of the Mage’s Guild, and her apprentice, Benalin Liu.” He gestured to the two mages on his right.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Baine.” Director Chen nodded at me, and I automatically returned the gesture. She was a beautiful woman, with ivory skin and a head full of fine, glossy dark hair that was pulled back from her oval face into a ponytail. Her willowy form was clothed in deep red robes embroidered in gold and tied with a sash at her trim waist. The apprentice, a slender man with close-cropped dark hair, bowed, though hesitantly. The look in his glittering eyes told me he wasn’t at all happy about having to show deference to someone like me.

“And you as well,” I told the Director, too surprised to remember to be snarky. I didn’t recognize either of these mages from the party, which meant they had to be from somewhere outside of Solantha. Their accents placed them as Northian, though they clearly were both of Garaian ancestry. Had Iannis actually intended on picking a replacement from any of the mages who’d been to the banquet? Or was there some other reason he’d called them all together that night that I wasn’t aware of? “I hadn’t realized a replacement had been found so quickly.”

Director Chen smiled slightly. “My appointment is not yet official,” she said in a quiet voice that was like river water flowing over smooth pebbles – deceptively calm with a hidden strength behind it. “Lord Iannis wishes to test me first, before officially instating me.”

“Well, that makes sense.” I turned to the third man, who wore the same blue uniform as all the other Privacy Guard employees, except that he had gold epaulets on his shoulders and the sword swinging from his hip was more fancy than others I’d seen.

“I’m guessing you’re Privacy Guard’s Regional Director for Solantha?” Privacy Guard was a worldwide company, and each branch had a Director that oversaw the operations for that particular location.

“I am.” The Regional Director inclined his shining head of black hair, a little stiffly. His dark blue eyes were as hard as his face, his thin lips showing no emotion. He turned to Iannis. “Are we ready to proceed with this meeting now that the girl is here, my Lord?”

The Chief Mage’s violet eyes flashed. “The ‘girl’, as you so daringly put it, is my apprentice, Mr. Channing,” he said, and the Regional Director’s cheeks flushed. “I expect you to treat her with the respect befitting her station.”

I opened my mouth to protest, not at all sure I liked where this was going – sure, I wanted to be respected just as much as anyone else, but on my own terms and not because of my association with the Chief Mage. But the Regional Director apologized before I could say anything, and Iannis took that as a sign the meeting could get underway.

“It has come to my attention these past few days that the people I depend upon have not all been doing their jobs,” the Chief Mage said. He pinned each person in the room with a penetrating stare, and though not one moved a muscle, the air thickened with tension. “Amongst other things, the last Director was not passing on crucial reports to me, instead choosing to handle things as he saw fit, which is why he is being replaced.” He gestured to Chen, who inclined her head fractionally.

“However,” the Chief Mage continued. “I have been going through the reports myself, and there are still important issues that are not being passed through the correct channels. For example,” he turned his hawk-like gaze on Captain Galling, “I should have found out about this drug issue from you, not the Herald.” He picked up a copy of the paper I’d slapped on his desk yesterday, and something inside me warmed. Finally, someone was taking this seriously!

Captain Galling’s cheeks reddened as his eyes flickered over the headline. “The papers are just speculating,” he argued. “My main crew has been investigating the rumors, and I planned on sending a full report as soon as I had more concrete information –”

“Which would be never,” I interrupted, folding my arms. Captain Galling slashed a glare my way, and I pushed away the tremor of fear in my belly – he might be my boss as an Enforcer, but Iannis outranked him. “The Main Crew only put their attention on jobs that result in bounties, and usually go after the easiest ones. Since investigating rumors pays exactly zilch, I think it’s safe to say I’ll be cold in my grave by the time they get around to it.”

“How dare you –”

“Captain Galling,” the Chief Mage interrupted. “Is this true?”

The Captain snapped his mouth shut and turned his frigid gaze back to Iannis. “It is true that the Main Crew isn’t getting paid for the task,” he said finally. “That isn’t how our reward structure works – we pay per head.”

“Well, it sounds like you need to come up with some better incentives, and perhaps a better Crew,” the Chief Mage said firmly. “I’ll give you one week to sort it out, and I’ll be coming by to inspect things at the Enforcer’s Guild myself. If I don’t like what I see, I’m afraid I’ll have to replace you.”

“Yes, sir.” Captain Galling clenched his jaw. My insides squirmed as he shot me a hateful glare out of the corner of his eye, but I stiffened my shoulders and lifted my chin. I knew well enough that sometimes you had to make enemies in order to get anything done around here – it seemed that was all I was doing these days. Though Captain Galling wasn’t the worst of the lot, things had still fallen down under his watch, and he needed to be held accountable for it.

“Good.” The Chief Mage turned to Director Chen. “I want you and your apprentice to spend the next week gathering intelligence in the city, incognito. I went out myself last night and there is a significant amount of discontent. I want you to adopt different guises to suit whichever communities you are in, and report everything you hear back to me.”

Director Chen blinked, but otherwise managed to cover her surprise. “As you wish,” she said, bowing, and her apprentice followed suit. I was impressed at how graciously she accepted the assignment, which would normally be delegated far below her on the chain of command – but then, she did have to prove herself. “We will leave right away.”

The others filed out of the room, leaving Iannis, Fenris, and myself behind. As the double doors closed, Fenris changed from wolf to human form. He leaned his hip against the desk casually, as if we were in the study or in the Chief Mage’s private chambers rather than the more formal audience room.

Iannis arched a brow. “I assume you have something to say?”

Fenris nodded. “I would like to conduct a parallel investigation myself, with Sunaya’s help.”

The Chief Mage’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not certain that is an appropriate use of my apprentice’s time,” he said. “We already spent a significant amount of time investigating last night.” His eyes flickered as he slanted his gaze toward me. Heat curled in my belly as I remembered how casual he’d been, and the way his body had felt against mine. I broke contact before the warmth spread to my cheeks, not wanting him to know I was still affected by the memory.

“Perhaps, but we both know this situation has been weighing on her mind since before she got here, and her knowledge and connections could be useful,” Fenris insisted. “I will be with her the whole time, so it is not as if she’ll be without protection.”

The Chief Mage pondered this for a long moment before he finally spoke, looking at me. “Give me your hands.”

My pulse spiked. “Why?”

He didn’t answer, just held his hands out, palms up, in a gesture that was becoming familiar. Sighing, I placed my hands in his, wondering what kind of magical diagnostic he was going to run on me this time.

A bolt of energy lanced through me, and I gasped as a current of magic passed through us, like an electrical circuit being completed. Iannis’s eyes glowed as he looked down at me, and I imagined that I was glowing too – the amount of magical energy emanating from my center was so great I could probably power an entire grid block.

Eventually the magical surge died off, but the circle within my chest seemed to burn a little brighter. “Did… did you just increase my power level?” I asked, my voice more breathless than I would have liked.

“I did.” He held my gaze for a long moment, then seemed to remember himself and dropped my hands. “You’re ready, and I want you to be able to defend yourself with your magic if need be.” He hesitated. “Come back safely.”

For once, I actually smiled at him. “Don’t worry,” I said as I followed Fenris out the door. “I’ll make sure to come back in one piece. Someone needs to be around to keep you on your toes.”

As I closed the door behind me, I could swear I caught a glimpse of a smile on his lips.

* * *

“I am not getting on that thing.”

I stared in amazement as Fenris folded his arms across his broad chest and tucked his chin in. There was no other word for it – the man was pouting.

“Yes, you are,” I said calmly, offering him my spare helmet for the third time. “It’ll be faster if we take the steambike.”

His boxy jaw tightened as he glared at my steambike, his yellow eyes scouring every surface of the gleaming black and steel frame as if hoping to find some grave flaw. “Those things are dangerous,” he snapped. “I don’t have any problem taking a few extra minutes between destinations if it means my life.”

I rolled my eyes. “Quit being such a baby.” I shoved my spare helmet into his chest, and he grabbed it instinctively before it fell to the ground. “I’m an excellent rider, so you’ll be fine. If it makes you feel better I’ll make like I’m a little old lady, okay?”

“You’re not a little old lady,” he muttered, but he put on the helmet, which did a lot to cover his scowl. Shaking my head, I put my own helmet on and straddled the bike. I waited until he was in position behind me before I started it up and peeled off into the street.

“Fenris,” I snapped mentally as Fenris’s arms tightened with bruising force around my waist. “You’re crushing my ribs here!”

“You said you were going to drive like an old granny!” Fenris whined as I careened around a corner where a stately villa perched. A female mage in long, pink robes snatched her toddler up from the dirt at the sight of me, her beautiful face pinched in a disapproving scowl. I grinned at her through my visor even though I doubted she could see, and waved at the little girl.

“Clearly you and I have different ideas about what old-granny-driving is like,” I retorted, more to be petty than anything else. But I slowed down a little now that we were approaching traffic and unwieldy steamcars began to clog up the streets.

Ten minutes later, we pulled up outside the Enforcer’s Guild building in Rowanville. I parked the bike outside the tall, stained grey building with its cracked windows, and waited for Fenris to regain his footing before we went inside.

“I’m taking a cab home,” he snapped as we walked through the thick steel double doors. His tanned complexion had gone a little pale. “That was horrific.”

I slapped him on the back. “Aww, c’mon,” I said cheerfully. “You’ll get used to it.” Truthfully, though, I found his reaction a bit strange – we shifters, as a species, don’t fear much, and even though we don’t all ride steambikes, it isn’t because we’re afraid of them. I wasn’t sure what his deal was.

The Enforcer trainees who’d been stuck on front desk duty glanced up as we entered, their eyes widening as they caught sight of me. I ignored their gaping stares, and led Fenris past them and into the waiting room. Our footsteps rang against the cracked tile as we traversed the wide space, past visitors sitting on ratty couches drinking cups of bad coffee and munching on stale sandwiches. Most of these people were here to see an Enforcer about a case regarding a loved one – others, like the tattooed, emaciated human slouched in an armchair, were here to be questioned.

“We’re going to see the Main Crew?” Fenris asked as I strode up to the bank of elevators and punched the call button.

I nodded. “I’m hoping Nila and Brin will be there, at least.” I wanted to knock them around a bit for not working harder on solving Roanas’s murder, and I also wanted to find out what they’d done with my weapons.

We took the rickety elevator up to the third floor, where the Main Crew’s offices were – and by offices, I meant a huge open space with drab grey walls and carpet scattered with cheap plywood desks and chairs that would turn your ass to stone if you sat in them too long.

Since Enforcers hated paperwork, there were few people at their desks, but the ones that were here lifted their heads to stare at me. Some of the stares were curious, some disdainful, and others downright green with jealousy. The jealous gazes were mostly from the few low-level mage Enforcers – they would all kill to be the Chief Mage’s apprentice, I knew, and it wouldn’t matter to them that I hadn’t asked for the position.

I scanned the desks for Brin and Nila, but there was no sign of them. Bastards were probably avoiding me on purpose.

“Hey Baine,” a blond Enforcer in the back sneered. “Nice of you to join us again. You finally tired of living it up in Solantha Place?”

“Fuck off, Widler.” I paused to glare at him. “I’ve been out like, a day and a half now. Sorry if I bruised your tender little heart by not coming to visit right away.”

“Oh I don’t know that my heart’s the one that’s bruised.” Widler rose from his beat up metal chair and leaned his hip on his desk, a snide grin on his handsome face. He stroked the five o’clock shadow dusting his jaw as he regarded me with sharp green eyes that weren’t at all friendly – but then, he was part of the Main Crew. “It’s the Foreman you’ve really stuck it to. You should’ve known better than to go tattling to the Chief Mage about us. He’s gonna make your life a living hell.”

“Now that’s where you’re wrong, Widler.” I stepped right up into his space, shoving my face into his, and his green eyes widened a little. “I’m here to make his life a living hell – in fact, all of your lives a living hell, for sitting here on your lazy asses instead of getting out there on the streets and finding out who’s behind the drug trafficking and the silver murders.” I held up a hand and let a trickle of magic flow into my palm, which burst into crackling blue-green flame. “Wanna know what your flesh smells like when it’s on fire?”

Widler’s nostrils flared in outrage, his green eyes narrowing on me. “You wouldn’t dare,” he hissed as I gave him a fang-toothed grin, but I could smell the beads of sweat trickling from his pores. “Not in front of witnesses.”

I shrugged. “How do you know I can’t do some kind of magic spell to make them all forget?” I reached out with my flaming hand until it was close enough to singe his sideburns. “After all, I’m apprenticed to one of the most powerful mages in the country.”

“F-fuck off.” Widler stumbled back until his hips hit the desk.

“Sunaya.” Fenris’s hand was on my shoulder, a combination of amusement and alarm in his deep voice. “I think you’ve made your point.”

“I dunno. I think he’s still being a dick.” I shrugged, but extinguished the flame. “Truth is, though, I don’t have time to stand around here and shoot the shit with you, Widler. I’m here to see the Foreman… and you’re coming with me,” I decided on the spur of the moment.

I grabbed his ear and dragged him across the room, ignoring his yelps as I made my way to the Crew Foreman’s office – the only real office on this floor, a corner room encased in concrete walls that were newer than the actual building and featured a long, glass door. The blinds were open, so I could see the Foreman was in there, his dark head ducked down as he hunched over his desk, poring over some report. I kicked open the door, and he jerked up, splashing coffee from the mug in his hands all over his desk.

“Baine!” he barked, his swarthy features contorting with fury as he grabbed for a tissue to mop up the spill. His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of Widler, whose ear was still firmly in my grasp. “How dare you show up in my office like this!”

“Oww, oww, oww, oww, oww!” Widler finally yanked his ear from my grip, and scurried to hide behind his Lord and Master. He glared daggers at me from behind the Foreman’s black leather chair, which was a hell of a lot nicer than any of the other chairs outside his office. His desk was solid wood, too, and he had some nice-looking weapons displayed on the walls, along with several paintings of half-naked women in provocative poses. I twisted my mouth at the sight – each time a new crew foreman took the office, they got to redecorate it however they liked, but this definitely crossed a line.

“Foreman Vance.” I propped my hip up on the corner of his desk – something I would have never had the balls to do before. I jerked my thumb to the largest painting on the wall, of a dark-skinned Sandian lying on a bed of rose petals. Her sari was half undone, exposing her nipples, and she stared provocatively out of the painting through long-lashed, half-lidded eyes rimmed with kohl. “This what you jerk off to on your lunch break every afternoon?”

The Foreman’s face turned bright red, and his jaw flexed. He rose slowly to his feet, all six foot two inches of him, and I had to remind myself I had nothing to fear as his imposing bulk filled the space. His position as the Crew Foreman didn’t endanger me anymore, and even though he was huge, he was still a human and I could kick his ass.

“You put my job on the line,” he growled, his meaty hands clenching into fists. “And now you come strolling in here like you own the place, hauling my crew mates around and criticizing my decorations?”

I snorted. “Decorations? Seriously?” The painting hanging to his left was of two half-naked Garaian women kissing each other, draped in nothing but the ivory sheets of the bed they were sprawling on. “I think the term you’re looking for is soft-core porn.”

“Perhaps we’re getting a little off track here.” Fenris, who’d been standing just beyond the door, stepped into the room, drawing all eyes to him.

Foreman Vance raked his black gaze over Fenris’s simple brown tunic. “And just who the hell are you? If you’re looking to get an Enforcer’s license, this sure isn’t the way to do it.”

“My name is Fenris, and I am a close friend of the Chief Mage.” Fenris folded his arms over his broad chest, pinning Vance with a stern gaze. “One of my primary occupations is to serve as eyes and ears to Lord Iannis. I am acting in that capacity today.” His gaze flickered to the paintings on the walls.

Foreman Vance’s ruddy cheeks blanched. “I’ll get rid of those right away –” he began.

“Save it.” I slapped my palm against the desk to get his attention. “I didn’t actually come here to harass you about these paintings – although if you want to keep your job I really suggest you get rid of them.” I smirked, already envisioning the look on Iannis’s face if he ever saw this place. I half hoped Foreman Vance wouldn’t take my warning seriously, just so I could have the pleasure of watching him piss his pants when the Chief Mage came to visit. “We came to question you and your crew about the murders and the drug trafficking.”

Vance sat down in his chair again, lifting his square chin. “Aside from myself and Widler, everyone involved in that is out on assignment. I can’t pull them back in just because you decide to waltz in here unannounced with questions.”

I leaned in and bared my fangs at him. “You all have bracelets, the last time I checked. Call them back.”

“I won’t!” Foreman Vance slammed his fist against the desk, rattling the half-empty coffee cup and the typewriter that sat there. “Captain Galling ordered us to scour the city for information. If he finds out I’ve brought them all in without anything decent to report, he’ll have my hide.”

“Hmph.” I sat back, part of me wanting to push him on it more, but my nose didn’t lie – he was telling the truth about this. “Fine. Then you two need to tell me what you know.”

Vance pressed his fingers to his left temple, his eyes briefly fluttering closed. “Tell her, Widler.”

Widler’s face flushed, and his eyes shifted around the room, looking everywhere but me. “Tell her what?”

I grabbed a fistful of Widler’s shirt and yanked him forward. “I have a pretty good nose,” I snarled, “and it’s especially good at sniffing out rats.”

“I’m not a rat!” Widler growled, yanking himself from my grip. “It’s just… I don’t want to share the gold on this bounty with anyone else.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t care about the money, Widler. Just tell me what you know.”

He scowled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his vest. “We caught a deer shifter chewing on the remains of a raven shifter in an alleyway,” he admitted. “She was pretty fucked in the head.”

“What?” Cold horror curled in my gut, and I stared at Widler in disbelief.

“A deer shifter?” Fenris echoed, shock and disgust evident in his tone as well. “Are you certain?”

Widler snorted. “I’ve been on this job for a long time. I know my shifters, and I know how crazy it sounds, but it’s true.” He shrugged. “Whatever shit she’s on must’ve really fucked with her head. Guess drugs affect shifters differently than humans. I never heard of drugs turning us into cannibals or anything like that.”

I decided not to point out that a deer shifter eating a raven wasn’t cannibalism, mostly because there wasn’t any point – this was just as awful in its way.

“You found drugs on her?” I demanded.

“Yes.”

“I want a sample.”

“This is our investigation –”

“A sample, and I want to question the suspect.” I pinned Foreman Vance with a glare. “Or I take all your porno paintings down and burn them to ashes, so you can’t even enjoy them from the comfort of your home.”

The Crew Foreman blanched again. “Fine.” He shoved up from his chair, and Fenris and I followed him out of the room. Looked like I was calling the shots around here after all.

17

“Well shit,” I muttered as we trotted down the steps of Enforcer’s Guild HQ. “That was a total bust.”

“Not a total bust,” Fenris argued, holding up a little silk bag of powder between his thumb and forefinger – the sample we’d threatened out of Widler and Vance. “We got this, didn’t we?”

I sighed. “True… but I was hoping the suspect would have been more helpful.” She wasn’t, not even remotely. When the guards had brought her into the interrogation room, she’d been limp and glassy-eyed, her body trembling from withdrawal. Hearing about it from Widler and Crew Foreman Vance had been one thing, but seeing it was another, and it shocked the questions right out of me at first. Not that it had mattered – she couldn’t seem to remember much of anything except that she’d gotten the drug from human dealers hanging around the border where Shiftertown and Downtown met.

Part of me itched to go downtown – the slums and the Black Market were located there, and if ever there was a likely place to find drug dealers that was it. But the other part of me wanted to get this drug to Com and Noria, so they could get it analyzed along with the cerebust I’d given them earlier.

“Oh well. At least we managed to get one of these.” I held my wrist up to the light and grinned as my Enforcer bracelet gleamed. I was happy to have that little bronze shield back on my arm again, even if half the Guild did hate me right now. It meant my life was one step closer to normal.

Fenris grinned. “True. Guess it pays to be the Chief Mage’s apprentice.” The grin faded as he noticed we were approaching my steambike. “No. Not happening. I’m calling a cab.”

“Not yet you aren’t. We’ve got one more place to visit.”

Fenris groaned.

By the time I parked the bike outside Comenius’s shop, Fenris’s tan was tinged with green. “Don’t worry,” I said, gingerly patting him on the shoulder – I didn’t want him to hurl all over Com’s storefront. “Comenius’ll fix you right up.”

The shop was crowded, Comenius working double-time by himself to service the customers, so Fenris and I hung off to the side while we waited for the rush to subside. Nearly half an hour passed before everyone finally filed out of the store. By that time Fenris’s nausea had passed, and he was across the room rifling through a basket of handmade bath salts.

“Hmm.” He sniffed it. “Very interesting. You’ve infused these crystals with basil, chamomile, and cloud wort. I imagine the user would feel relaxed, their mind free of clutter, after bathing with these.”

Comenius smiled at Fenris as he came around the counter. “That’s why that particular blend is called ‘Calming Focus’.” He embraced me, and I inhaled his woodsy, herbal scent as his strong arms wrapped around me. “Naya.” He beamed down at me. “I’m still getting used to the fact that you’re a free woman again.”

I grinned. “Business seems to be good,” I remarked, looking around the shop. The shelves normally filled with amulets and charms were practically empty. “There a new trend going around?”

“People have been buying protection amulets and warding charms,” he said, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “In response to all the panic being spread by the Herald regarding shifters.”

“Comenius!” Noria burst into the shop, her red curls flying wild around her wide-eyed, freckled face. Her left cheek was smudged with grease, and she wore a pair of coveralls and black gloves on her hands, indicating that she’d been working on something mechanical. “You’ll never believe what happened in Shiftertown this morning! Some humans –” She stopped short at the sight of me, hesitation crossing her face. “Oh, hey, Naya and, umm, Wolf-guy –”

“Fenris,” Fenris corrected her mildly. She continued to stare at him, uncertainty warring with the excitement and fear in her eyes.

“Go on,” I encouraged, my voice casual despite the cold pit of dread hollowing out my stomach. “What happened in Shiftertown?”

Guilt flashed across Noria’s face. “Some humans decided to go and riot in the Shiftertown Square,” she said. “They came with bats and swords and stuff, and started bashing in windows and looting stores.”

“Fuck.” I collapsed into one of the chairs in the sitting area, overwhelmed. Humans buying magic protection and looting shifter stores… “We’re looking at civil war if something isn’t done.”

Comenius sighed. “That doesn’t necessarily surprise me.”

I glanced up at him. “Why?”

Noria flopped down into the chair across from me. “Com did some divination magic last night, and as usual it gave us a lot more questions than answers.” She rolled her eyes. “But according to him, the tea leaves point to a shit-stirrer in the works.”

“I believe the term I used was ‘provocateur’,” Comenius corrected mildly. “But nonetheless, I’m afraid it’s true. Someone behind the scenes is stirring up this trouble, and it seems their objective is to create strife between humans and shifters.”

I frowned. “Who would want to do that?”

We all turned to look at Fenris at the same time, our brows arched. He took a step back, palms up. “What?”

“I don’t mean to state the obvious here, but –” Noria started.

“The Mage’s Guild would definitely have motive,” I finished for her. “Or at least someone in it. If humans and shifters are united against them, they’d have a harder time controlling us, and we might even be able to overthrow them.”

“That’s outrageous.” Fenris drew himself up, and in that moment he looked a lot like the Chief Mage. “The Mage’s Guild would have much less harmful ways of ensuring obedience. We need the residents of the city to co-exist peacefully in order for everything to continue running smoothly.”

“We?” Noria’s eyes narrowed, and she slowly stood up. “You know, I’ve never heard a shifter refer to himself as ‘we’ in conjunction with mages. Most shifters hate mages.”

Fenris’s yellow gaze hardened. “I am not most shifters.”

Normally I would have told Noria to back off, since Fenris was a friend, but something about her words struck a chord with me. “Still,” I interjected, “you have to admit it’s a little strange that your loyalties seem to lie more with the mages, than with your own people. Don’t you have a clan, or at the very least a family, who deserves your loyalty more?”

Fenris glared imperiously down at me, and my heart shrank a little – he’d never looked at me like that before. “Lord Iannis is the only family I have,” he said stiffly. “I don’t have anyone else, not that my past is any business of yours.”

By Magorah, I felt like the biggest fool in the world. “Fenris, I –”

“It doesn’t seem as though you have any more need of me.” Fenris bowed to us all. “I’m going to catch a cab back to the palace, where I can be more useful. Good day to you all.”

The bell on the door jangled as Fenris left the shop, and my heart sank straight into my shoes.

“I think I just won the award for biggest asshole of the year,” I muttered.

Noria frowned. “I don’t know, Naya,” she said. “He’s clearly hiding something.”

“And who are we to judge him for his secrets?” Comenius laid a hand on Noria’s shoulder, and she looked up at him with a startled expression on her face. His voice was gentle, but his clear blue eyes were stern, filled with that ageless wisdom that tended to grace magic users. “We all have them buried in our past, and Fenris is entitled not to share his secrets if he doesn’t want to, just as the rest of us are.” His gaze swept over me as well. I wondered if there was a spell that would enable me to sink through the cracks in the wooden floor, and if so, why I hadn’t learned it by now.

I ran a hand through my hair, and pain jabbed at my scalp as my fingers caught on some of the more unruly curls. “You’re right, Com. I shouldn’t have pried.”

Noria’s scowl returned. “I don’t think it’s wrong to be suspicious, especially since he’s allied with the enemy.”

I sighed. “It’s not as black-and-white as that, Noria. Actions speak louder than words, and Fenris has been nothing but helpful to me.”

Noria bit her bottom lip. “Maybe now, but when the time comes –”

I held up a hand, suddenly weary of all the “us against them” talk for the first time in my life. Couldn’t we all get along, instead of constantly going at each other’s throats? “Look, this isn’t really why we came here,” I told her, pulling out the little bag of drugs. “The Enforcer’s Guild took in a deer shifter who was super high off something that smells a lot like anticium – a hallucinogenic if I remember correctly.” I handed it to Noria, deciding not to mention the more gruesome details – there was no need for them to know. “I was thinking maybe your mage friend could compare it to the other sample and see if it was tampered with in the same way.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Noria’s eyes lit up as she took the bag. “Elnos says he’s totally cracked the code on how these dealers are sneaking silver into their drugs.”

“Really?” I sat up straight. “How?”

Noria frowned. “I don’t totally understand how it works, but he basically said he isolated some really rare derivative from a plant that only grows in certain countries in Faricia. Tribal warriors use it to cover up poisons, so they can’t be detected by the shifter slaves who have to taste and drink everything before their masters will touch it.”

“Kalois!” Comenius exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “I remember reading about it before – it’s a tropical flower. Brilliant! I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself.”

My grin widened. “Aww, c’mon, Com, you can’t fit everything you’ve learned in that head of yours.” I jumped to my feet. “So, what are we waiting for? Let’s go get your mage friend so he can present his findings to the Chief Mage!”

“Umm, yeah, about that.” Noria shrank back in her seat. “He doesn’t exactly want to.”

I scowled. “Why not?”

“Well, to be honest he doesn’t really want to draw the Chief Mage’s attention toward our magitech experiments, and I have to agree with him.” Noria folded her arms.

I arched an eyebrow. “Magitech?”

“Yeah. You know, magic plus technology equals magitech.” Excitement lit her eyes again. “Speaking of magitech, the Herald and the Academy have partnered to sponsor a contest for magitech inventions. Whoever comes up with the best new technology will win a hundred gold coins!” She rubbed her hands together. “I’ve already come up with that jammer, so it shouldn’t be too hard to create something that’ll do the job. Elnos and I are so going to win.”

“I would be careful who you tell that to,” Comenius warned. “If you come up with something the Mage’s Guild doesn’t approve of, they wouldn’t hesitate to come down on you and Elnos, especially if you started making a profit off it.”

Noria shrugged. “Eh, I’m not worried. We’re just gonna make a prototype so we can earn the prize money. I’m more than happy to let the bigwigs worry about bringing it to mass market.”

The gleam in her eye suggested that she hadn’t completely discounted the idea of capitalizing on the invention herself, but I decided not to press, and instead brought the conversation back on topic. “Noria, if I get the Chief Mage to agree to grant Elnos amnesty in exchange for the information, do you think he would come?”

Noria blinked. “I don’t see why not. But do you really think you can do it?”

I stood up and shrugged my jacket back on. “I dunno. But I’m definitely gonna give it a shot.”

18

I told Comenius to keep an eye out for Inspector Lakin and give him the case file, and then hustled back to Solantha Palace as fast as I could. The plan was to browbeat the Chief Mage with my findings and demand he grant Noria’s friend amnesty, so that we could get our hands on that evidence. Unfortunately, traffic turned out to be horrendous, so I gave up trying to maneuver my steambike through all the cars and parked in Nob Hill, a hoity-toity area of Rowanville where people strolled the sidewalks wearing fancy togs while oohing and aahing over the objects displayed in boutique windows. I looked out of place in my black pants and leather jacket, stepping around two female humans in brightly colored dresses and wide brimmed hats dripping in jewelry, but since I wasn’t here to see and be seen I ducked into a café and ordered some food.

The place was a lot more cutesy than I liked, done in pastel blue and white with owl decorations scattered everywhere, but the bacon cheeseburger with onion rings sounded good enough, so I ordered, forking over some of the few measly coppers I’d found amongst my delivered belongings. As I sat down at the bar to wait for my grub, I noticed someone had left a copy of the Herald on the counter. It looked like the owner had ditched it, so I slid the paper over to my side of the bar and started flipping through the pages.

SHOULD SHIFTERS BE BANNED FROM MAINTOWN? COUNCIL DEBATES.

I froze as the headline on page three caught my eye. Next to it was a black-and-white photograph of a snarling wolf shifter in human form, his fangs and claws extended. Anger bubbled up inside me as I stared at the photograph – likely it was just some shifter teen who’d been asked to pose for a couple of bucks. Fucking sell-outs. My burger arrived on the counter, and I snatched it up and munched on it, bacon grease coating my fingers as I read.

With the recent slew of shifter-human fighting, the Maintown Council is seriously debating whether or not shifters should continue to be allowed to work and interact with our community. Only yesterday, a raven shifter attacked his boss, hardware shop owner Antano Lopkin, simply for asking him to put a broom away. The crazed shifter, who was later discovered to be under the influence of narcotics, reportedly took the broom and proceeded to shove…

I skimmed over the next couple of paragraphs detailing all the recent drug-fueled crimes committed by shifters, knowing that I was liable to start shredding the paper with my claws if I started reading them.

Some have suggested that new shifter drugs hitting the black market are responsible for these outbreaks, rather than the shifters themselves. However, experts suggest that these drugs are merely exposing the inherent weakness of the shifter psyche. It has long been known that shifters are emotionally unstable, hardly surprising when one considers that they originated as a hybrid species several thousand years ago. If this weren’t the case, human crime would be skyrocketing in relation to the amount of drug trafficking as well.

I raked my claws through the paper, furious beyond belief at the writer’s audacity. Human drug addicts committed plenty of crimes while under the influence! I’d dealt with dozens of strung-out addicts during my time as an Enforcer, and knew from experience that these bastards would do anything, and I mean anything, for a hit when they were hard up for drugs. This wasn’t reporting at all, but a hit piece. Whoever had written this article was intentionally trying to paint shifters in a negative light.

I scanned the shredded article for the byline, which had miraculously survived my claws. A tick started in my jaw as I recognized the name – Hanley Fintz. The same reporter who had tried to interview me in my cell the night before my hearing. The man who’d told me he was sympathetic to shifters and would try to paint me in a positive light.

Apparently he’d lied.

* * *

Two human guards jerked to attention as I strode through the revolving door of the Herald’s offices – a large circular white building in the heart of Maintown. Ignoring them, I made a beeline for the white reception desk that stood in the middle of the gleaming white lobby, and slapped my hand down on the counter to get the attention of the curly-haired brunette manning the desk.

Not that I really needed to get her attention – her wide-eyed gaze had been on me the moment I walked through the door.

“C-can I help you?” she stuttered, her oval face pale. Clearly she wasn’t used to seeing shifters in the office much – that, or she was worried that we were all going to come and riot right here in the Herald because of all the shitty propaganda they’d been writing against us.

“You sure can.” I gave her a gamine grin, resisting the urge to show some fang – the guards’ hands were already too close to their swords, and I didn’t need some reporter snapping a picture of me brawling right here in the Herald’s office. “I’m here to see Hanley Fintz.”

“I see.” The receptionist’s plump lips thinned, as if I’d confirmed her suspicions. “I’m afraid he’s not taking any visitors right now –”

“He’ll see me.” I held up my wrist so the woman could see my Enforcer bracelet. “This is regarding an investigation.”

The woman’s face whitened even more as she leaned closer to inspect the bronze shield on my wrist. As she did, my nerves began to itch – I didn’t know how smart it was for me to barge in here by myself, with no backup. As soon as I’d realized that Fintz must be connected to all this bullshit, I’d rushed over right away, wanting to catch the bastard before he left his office.

“Very well,” the receptionist finally said in a clipped voice. She settled back into her chair and pointed to a hallway on my right. “His office is upstairs, five doors down from the elevator. Gerod will escort you.” She nodded to one of the guards, who stepped forward, pinning me with an intimidating glare.

I shrugged, refusing to let a mere human guard bother me. “Fine. Lead the way.”

The elevators, like everything else in this building, were white, with white flooring and walls, and the black call buttons stood out. I rode up to the second floor, then strode down a white-carpeted hallway to the sixth office door, my new pet guard in tow.

I didn’t knock or ask for entry. I just kicked the door open and strode in, ignoring the protesting voice of the guard behind me.

Hanley Fintz was hunched over the typewriter on his desk, no doubt clacking out another slanderous article. He jumped as the door banged against a metal filing cabinet. “What is the meaning of this!” he shouted, his eyes rounding behind his spectacles. Without his large slicker draped over his spindly frame, he looked distinctly unimpressive in his shirtsleeves and slacks.

“I’m here to interrogate you, you slime.” I bared my fangs, fury taking hold as I grabbed him by his flimsy collar.

“Guards!” Fintz squeaked, and the guard who’d accompanied me grabbed my arm.

“Ma’am,” he said sternly, hauling me back. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave –”

I whirled around, using the momentum from his own grip, and slammed my knee into his midsection, hard. The guard crumpled against me with a painful gasp and I let him fall to the floor, then shoved him aside so that anybody passing by wouldn’t be able to see him.

Sure, that might’ve been a little harsher than warranted, but I wasn’t feeling too chummy toward Privacy Guard employees these days.

“There.” I turned back to the reporter, who was quivering in the corner, his back pressed up between two metal bookshelves. “Now, Fintz, you’re going to be a good boy and tell me the truth. Who’s been bribing you?”

“W-what?” His cheeks colored, his eyes narrowing despite his quivering fear. “Nobody! I’m employed by the Herald, just doing my job. Did you really barge into my office and injure a guard just to ask me that?”

“You’re going to have to do a lot better than that.” I snagged him by the collar again and drew him close until we were nose to nose, and bit back a grimace at the acrid stench of fear. “I want to know who’s paying you to write these nasty propaganda articles about shifters.”

“It isn’t propaganda!” Fintz protested, sweat rolling down the sides of his narrow face. His clammy hands pawed ineffectually at my grasp. “What I reported in that article is completely true! You shifters are an emotional and unstable lot! Just look at you! Manhandling me like some kind of wild animal –”

I slammed him into the bookshelf, knocking down several volumes. One of them bounced off the top of his head, and he yelped. “Cut the crap, Fintz.” I kept my voice even. “I’ve been looking at the papers, and the Herald has been using its influence to pit humans and shifters against each other. Tell me, right now, who’s been paying you off for that, and you might not have to spend the rest of the night lounging in the same jail cell that I did.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Fintz’s lower lip wobbled. “Mr. Yantz tells me what to write! He’s my boss!”

“I’m afraid he’s correct, Miss Baine.” The door opened, and Petros Yantz, the Editor-in-Chief of the Herald, strolled in. A tall man with glossy chestnut hair dressed in a sleek, three-piece suit, he was slicker than a puddle of grease, and flashed me a charming smile, ignoring the guard on the floor. “I am the one who ordered those articles. We have to make a living here, and this kind of stuff is pretty sensational.”

“Sensational!” I let go of Fintz and spun toward Yantz. My nose told me that both men were telling the truth… but my gut told me there was still something terribly wrong about all of this. “Your articles are doing more than creating a sensation, Mr. Yantz.”

He arched his brows. “Perhaps instead of terrorizing my poor reporter, you can come with me to my office,” he suggested. “You’re more than welcome to interrogate me all you like.”

I crossed my arms. “Just like that?”

Yantz shrugged. “I’m not aware that printing news is considered a crime.”

Oh, I’ll bet I can dig up something connected to you that is a crime, I thought, but I just gave him a gimlet stare.

“Well? Are you coming?”

I hesitated, feeling this was all way too easy. But I had questions, and he was my best shot at answers. “Fine,” I said, stepping forward. “But no bullshit. I’ll know if you’re lying.”

“Of course not,” he said smoothly. “I assure you I know better than to lie to you.”

“Wait, Miss Baine.”

I turned at the sound of Fintz’s voice. “What is it?” I asked, and that’s when Yantz grabbed my wrist.

I gasped as a needle plunged into my wrist and pain spiked through my arm. I whirled back to face Yantz, yanking my arm away as fast as I could, but not before he’d hit the plunger and sent whatever murky liquid was in there shooting into my veins. A strange, giddy sensation washed over me, and I sank to my knees as the room began to rock. I barely felt the pair of strong, meaty hands that hooked beneath my upper arms, and simply stared at the colors of the room swirling together, until all I could see was blackness.

19

When I came to, the first thing I was aware of was a terrible burning pain, as if someone had pulled irons directly from a forge and clamped them on my wrists. My head throbbed, and my mouth tasted like someone had tried to pour a concoction of vomit and bile down my throat.

What made me open my eyes, however, was the scent of two humans, one of whom I fully expected to be there; the other one, not so much.

I expected to find myself in some dingy basement with a light bulb hovering over my head. Instead, I was sitting in a circle of sofas and chairs in a well-appointed parlor room. Seated across from me, in two separate chairs, were Yantz and Deputy Talcon. The former sat upright, looking grave as if I were a naughty student, and the latter sprawled in his chair, grinning smugly like a schoolyard bully.

“Miss Baine,” Yantz said, leaning forward. He’d draped his suit jacket across the back of his chair, and his cufflinks glinted beneath the chandelier’s light as he rested his hands on his knees. “How nice of you to rejoin us. For a moment I thought I’d given you too much of the drug.”

I gritted my teeth. “What the fuck did you pump into my veins?”

Yantz sat back and waved his hand airily. “Oh, just a hefty dose of liquamine,” he said, referring to an anesthetic that human veterinarians used on their pets. “Nothing your system can’t handle.”

“Yeah, except that you laced it with kalois and silver, didn’t you?” I snarled, leaning forward so I could shove my face into his. But the manacles clamped around my wrists bit into my skin, nearly blinding me with burning pain. I drew back hastily, trying to relieve the agony.

“Ah, yes, those silver manacles do hurt, don’t they?” Yantz arched a dark brow, completely unsympathetic to my plight. “You know, if you didn’t know so much this wouldn’t be necessary. But that you’ve already figured out the compound we’re lacing the drugs with proves you’re far too dangerous to be allowed to run free. Tell me, how did you figure it out?”

“Fuck you.” With no other form of retaliation, I spat in his face.

Yantz recoiled, as I expected, but I didn’t have time to gloat because Talcon rose from his chair and punched me straight in the mouth. Pain exploded through my face as I rocked back, and I cried out as the silver manacles bit into my skin again. The smell of burning flesh laced the air, along with the coppery scent of the blood gushing out of my split lip and down my chin.

“Oh, I knew I was going to have fun when Yantz invited me to this party.” Talcon grinned down at me, and for the first time ever, the sight of his hulking form sent a tremor of fear through me. “I’d suggest you answer his questions, Baine. Or else things are gonna get real painful for you, real fast.”

“Oh yeah, like things are going swell right now.” I glared up at him. “I always knew you were scum, Talcon, but I never expected you to sink this low. You’re an Enforcer, for Magorah’s sake.”

Talcon shrugged. “Yeah, well our boss’s pockets are a lot deeper than the Guild’s,” he said. “The Benefactor pays us well to turn a blind eye.”

“The Benefactor?” I echoed, disbelief flooding through me. “Who the fuck is that?”

“Ah, so you haven’t gotten that far,” Yantz said. His dark eyes glittered coldly as he regarded me.

I bared my fangs at him, trying my best to ignore the pain and sickness ravaging my senses. “I would have, in time.”

Yantz nodded. “I’m well aware of that. Which is why you’re in chains. The Benefactor has big plans for the future of this country, and we can’t allow you to get in the way.”

This country? That sounded a lot bigger than just Solantha. “What kind of plan involves drugging and killing shifters?”

Yantz nodded to Talcon, who delivered another blow to my face. This one I expected, so only my head snapped back. Pain radiated from my cheekbone, and I hoped to Magorah the crack I’d heard was just my neck popping and not a broken bone.

“I ask the questions around here, not you,” Yantz said, his voice soft. “Now tell me, how did you find out about the compound?”

“I paid some Academy student to analyze it,” I half-lied, and spat out a mouthful of blood. Flecks of dark red spattered across Yantz’s shiny black shoes and the thick carpet. “Hope that doesn’t stain.”

Talcon reared back to hit me again, but Yantz held up a hand. “You’ll kill her if you keep hitting her in the head, Garius.”

Talcon’s eyes glittered maliciously down at me, his fist still poised to strike. “I’ve known this bitch for a long time, Petros. She’s pretty hard headed.”

“Nevertheless, stand down for now.” Yantz waited until Talcon reluctantly lowered his arm before turning his gaze back to me. “An Academy student, you say? Which one?”

I lifted my bloody chin. “I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.”

Yantz’s eyes narrowed. “And why would I want to do that?”

I shrugged, and immediately regretted it as more pain lanced through my wrists. “I’m pretty good at putting up with pain, and since you guys are going to kill me anyway, torture isn’t much of an incentive to get me to talk. If you want answers, you’re going to have to give me some first.”

“Let’s just kill her,” Talcon growled, but Yantz leaned back in his chair, stroking his clean-shaven chin with his manicured fingers.

“I can’t imagine any information I’d give you will be much use to you beyond the grave.”

Maybe not, but this conversation was buying me time – time that I was using to heat the shackles around my wrists with tiny flames. I couldn’t use larger flames or they would notice, but if I did this a little bit at a time the silver would eventually melt and fall off.

“Let’s just say it’ll give me closure.” My gaze flickered back and forth between the two of them. “Why don’t you start by telling me why you killed Roanas Tillmore.” I couldn’t die without at least learning that.

Yantz laughed. “Of all the questions you might pick, you ask the most obvious one?” He regarded me with a mixture of amusement and disdain. “I had Tillmore killed for the same reason I’m having you killed now. He was asking too many questions, following the trail of the shifter deaths.”

Rage boiled in my gut at the way he dismissed my mentor’s life so casually. I channeled the fury into my magic, knowing it would do no good to direct it toward Yantz just now.

“Why were you going after those shifters?” I challenged.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Yantz wagged a finger. “It’s my turn to ask the next question. Who is the Academy student who helped you figure out the compound?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but just then the silver around my wrists softened, coming into contact with my skin. I clamped my jaw shut on a shriek as the white-hot metal seared my skin, and blinked my watering eyes.

Yantz’s eyes narrowed. “Why do I smell burning flesh?”

“It’s the silver –” Talcon began, but the cuffs had softened enough to break free, and I wasn’t going to waste time. A surge of adrenaline whipped through me, and I kicked my legs wide. The chair legs snapped from the seat, not quite clearing it, but enough for me to launch myself at Yantz, my claws extended.

“Stop her!” Yantz shrieked, throwing himself back in his chair. He skidded across the room as I landed on my stomach, but before I could scramble to my feet Talcon tackled me. I grunted as the weight of his heavy body crushed me into the carpet.

“I’ve got you now, bitch.” He panted heavily in my ear as I squirmed beneath him. Something hard pressed against my ass, and I gasped. “You’re mine.”

“You sick fuck!” I bucked beneath him, disgust rippling through me. The motion created just enough space for me to bring my knee up and wedge it beneath my torso. He grunted as he tried to squash me back into the ground, but the new position had thrown him off balance, and I was able to twist around beneath him so that my back was on the ground.

“Oh, so you like missionary?” He drew back his arm to punch me again, but I whipped my head to the side and his fist sank into the carpet instead. “Hold still, you bitch, so I can give it to you the way you like it!”

“I’m a feline, not a bitch,” I hissed, and then I reared up and sank my fangs into his neck. A roar echoed from Talcon’s throat, and his fist slammed into my head, over and over, trying to get me to let go. But I held on, my jaws clamped around his neck as firmly as a bulldog’s. He would weaken eventually; he had to, or I was done.

“Sunaya!” A door crashed open, and the sound of running footsteps followed. The Enforcer’s Guild must’ve hired someone new, because whoever it was sounded a hell of a lot like Iannis. Whoever it was though, I would never know, because Talcon’s fist smashed into my head again. The blow was weaker than the last, but it was one hit too many, and I fell into the darkness.

20

The next time I opened my eyes, a pair of shimmering violet irises hovered over me. It took me a moment to remember who they belonged to, and when I did, I shot upright.

“Oww!” Iannis snapped as our skulls collided. He slapped a long-fingered hand over his forehead and glared down at me, the concern and relief I’d glimpsed eclipsed by annoyance. “Miss Baine, do you give no thought toward your actions before making them?”

“Sorry,” I grumbled, rubbing my own forehead. “But you shouldn’t have been hovering over me like that.” I looked around to see that I was back in my room at the palace, sitting up in my green-canopied bed. Heat rose to my cheeks as I realized I wore nothing but a thin tank top and underwear, and that Iannis was alone in the room with me. “Where’s Fenris?”

“Dealing with this disaster, along with Director Chen.” The Chief Mage sat down in a chair that had been pulled up next to my bed, and I wondered just how long he’d been sitting in it, watching me sleep. “He wanted to be here instead, and I don’t blame him. You were quite a mess when we found you.”

The memory of Talcon’s body crushing mine, of his hard-on grinding into me, and of my fangs sunk deep into his neck, made me shudder. “Yeah, I’m not exactly surprised,” I said, quietly.

The Chief Mage’s lips curled downward. “Did he… do anything to you?” he asked, the barest hesitation in his voice.

I arched a brow. “You mean aside from binding my wrists with silver and beating the shit out of me?”

“I...” Iannis’s expression didn’t change, but spots of color appeared high on his cheekbones. “All your clothes were on when we found you, but Captain Galling has reported to me that his Deputy had an interest in you that went beyond professional.”

Yeah, no kidding. I swallowed back the bile rising in my throat. “I’m fine,” I said, not wanting to dwell on it. “What happened to Talcon, though? And Yantz?”

The Chief Mage scowled. “Deputy Talcon bled out before I could heal him, and Petros Yantz was already gone. Fenris found a secret passage that allows escape from his mansion, and from the scent could tell that Yantz used it recently. He’s leading a search party to find him now.”

Hearing that Yantz was missing, and the answers to the questions bouncing around in my head gone with him, galvanized me into action. I swung my legs off the bed. “I need to get out there.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” Iannis was suddenly right in front of me, his hands braced on either side of my hips. My bare legs brushed against his blue robes, and I sucked in a sharp breath as heat raced through my limbs and lit a fire in my core. Once again, I was acutely aware of how little clothing I wore.

“I just finished healing you again, and I’m not going to let you run out this door so soon.” His voice was rough now, his violet eyes blazing down at me.

I should have been outraged that he was pushing me around, but my pulse was pounding too hard for me to think straight. “And just how the hell do you think you’re going to stop me?”

A sharp knock at the door interrupted us. Iannis straightened as I hastily shoved myself backwards, annoyance flashing across his sharp features.

“Who is it?” he demanded.

“Garen, sir. I’m one of the guards.”

I let out a sigh of relief as Iannis answered the door. Saved by the guard. I had no idea what would have happened if he hadn’t knocked on the door… but I had a feeling it was something we both would have regretted later.

“Well? What is it?” he demanded of the guard as I belted a robe around my waist.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir.” The guard bowed hastily. “An important visitor is here to see you.”

“At this time of night? Who is it?”

Garen’s eyes slanted towards me as I joined Iannis at the door, and then back to the Chief Mage.

“It’s Thorgana Mills, the owner of Mills Media and Entertainment. She’s here to see you, and Miss Baine.”

* * *

I had to admit, for once it was nice to be standing next to the Chief Mage on his side of the desk instead of traveling towards him down the never-ending blue carpet. But as I watched Thorgana Mills walk through the doors, I reminded myself she was hardly in the situation I’d been when I was first dragged in here. For one, the two huge men who flanked her were her personal bodyguards, and for two, she was here of her own accord. She looked pretty damn good too, with her shoulder-length ice blonde hair curled, her makeup perfectly applied, and her white skirt suit wrinkle and smudge free – something I myself would never be able to accomplish, given my knack for attracting dirt. And blood.

Neither of which a woman like her knew anything about.

“Lord Iannis,” she greeted, bowing, and her bodyguards bowed briefly as well. Her silvery voice was as cultured as the rest of her, and she used it to great effect while hosting her many garden parties. Though Thorgana was the owner of one of the largest news and entertainment companies in the country – of which the Herald was a mere branch – she’d inherited the company from her father and left most of the management to CEOs and assistants. I had reason to know she was much more comfortable in her role as a socialite, hosting and attending parties and functions and working with charities – she’d hired me as a bodyguard once or twice. While she’d paid well, it had been one of the most boring jobs I’d ever done.

“Lovely to see you again.”

“Mrs. Mills.” The Chief Mage inclined his head. “Welcome back to Solantha.” Thorgana had a summer home here, but she hadn’t been in residence to my knowledge. That, and the fact that she almost never had any dealings with her own paper, made this visit a little strange. “What brings you to my doorstep this late at night?”

Thorgana’s smiling face took on a grave expression. “My husband and I arrived in town this evening, when we heard the news about Petros.” Her lush red mouth curved downwards in a brief expression of regret. “I decided to come here myself, to offer an apology in person. The fact that a serial killer had been hired to run my paper is very embarrassing.”

The Chief Mage arched a brow. “Your embarrassment is the least of our issues, Mrs. Mills. Yantz killed over twenty shifters in the last month, and when we searched his mansion we found a host of illegal bombs and weapons in his basement. We have reason to think that he was allied with a terrorist organization, most likely the Resistance.”

I jolted at this piece of information. Hot anger rushed through me, at the fact that Iannis hadn’t told me, and because he was pointing the finger at the Resistance. But I couldn’t argue with him now, not with Thorgana standing right there, her pretty silver-blue eyes wide with shock.

“Bombs?” Thorgana echoed, placing a dainty hand to her mouth. “Oh my. That is not at all acceptable. And that Petros was going to continue murdering all these shifters…” Tears filled her eyes, and she looked away for a moment. “All this anti-shifter bigotry is very upsetting.” She turned those huge, tear-filled eyes onto me. “That’s the other reason I came here tonight, so that I could apologize to you, Miss Baine. I have heard that you lost your mentor, and nearly lost your own life tonight because of Petros.”

I shifted, uncomfortable beneath her teary gaze. “I appreciate your kind words, Mrs. Mills, but it wasn’t your fault.”

Thorgana lifted her chin. “Nevertheless, I am the owner of the paper, so I do feel responsible.” She turned her gaze back to Iannis. “I will ensure an unexceptionable replacement is found for Petros.”

“That is very well,” the Chief Mage acknowledged. “Just so long as you understand that I shall be vetting this replacement, and that until he is found and approved, your paper is placed under the temporary control of Director Chen.”

Thorgana’s eyes flickered, but whatever emotion I’d glimpsed was gone too quickly for me to get a read. “That sounds like an excellent idea, Lord Iannis. I’m afraid perhaps my lack of experience has caused me to make poor choices in my staff, so I could use the insight.” She bowed again, and I scowled as her scent changed subtly. It didn’t smell like she was lying… and yet, I felt she was holding something back.

She’s probably just irritated that the Mage’s Guild is getting involved with her business, I thought. Just because she didn’t actually run her company, didn’t mean she wanted an outsider doing it. I would feel the same in her place.

“Well, I’m afraid I must be going now.” Thorgana rose smoothly, her practiced smile back in place. “Do have a good evening, and again, I extend my heartfelt apologies to both of you.”

The door to my left opened as Thorgana left the hall, and Fenris walked through the door, looking sweaty and slightly disheveled. “Iannis –” he began, and then stopped when he saw me.

“Fenris.” Guilt bit into my chest as I remembered how we’d parted, and I stepped forward, wanting to apologize. “I –”

He engulfed me in a tight embrace. “I’m so glad you’re alright.” His muscular arms squished my face against his broad chest, but I was so happy he didn’t hate me that I didn’t care. “When Iannis and I found you crushed beneath that disgusting lout, I thought we’d arrived too late.”

“No, you guys were right on time.” I extricated myself from his embrace, and as I looked up into his dark, handsome face, I lamented that I wasn’t attracted to him. We’d developed respect and liking for each other, and I could see us working well together. But instead, my body wanted the most unsuitable man in the universe. “I’m sorry I was such an ass earlier.”

“It’s fine.” Fenris smiled sadly. “I should probably tell you the truth of it sometime –”

“I hate to interrupt,” the Chief Mage said, his voice mild. “But I would really like to know whether or not you’ve apprehended our serial killer.”

Fenris sighed. “We tracked him to the docks and his scent disappeared from there. He probably managed to stow away last minute on some ship.”

The Chief Mage’s face darkened. “You’ve sent word to all appropriate ports telling them to keep a lookout for a man matching Yantz’s description?”

“Of course.” Fenris folded his arms. “We’ll find him yet. With all the eyes and ears we have, he’s bound to turn up in our sights somewhere soon. We should have him apprehended within a week.”

21

“So they still haven’t found Yantz?” Comenius asked, forking up a mouthful of noodles. “I would have thought he’d be apprehended by now.”

I sighed, pushing bits of lasagna around my plate. “Yeah, he’s been pretty elusive so far.” It had been ten days since the night he’d escaped, and though the Chief Mage’s contacts were on full alert, there was no sign of the former editor.

“Maybe, but that’s no reason to look so bummed.” Noria twirled a bunch of spaghetti around her fork and gestured towards Comenius and Annia, who were seated around the large glass patio table with us. I’d invited them all out to dinner at Pomodoro, an Elanian restaurant in Rowanville, so that we could catch up after this whole ordeal. “We’re all here together, alive and well, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, and considering that you’re here with us too, that’s a damned miracle.” Annia lifted her glass of wine to me, her dark eyes sparkling. She was a more sophisticated version of Noria, with wavy, dark red hair, flawless ivory skin and a slender figure. “When Noria sent me that telegram telling me that you’d been arrested for killing with magic, I thought you were a goner for sure. Instead, here you are sitting at this table, and not only do you have your Enforcer’s bracelet back, but you’re a freaking apprentice to the most powerful mage in this city.”

“Hear, hear,” Comenius agreed, and we all lifted our glasses and drank.

“Thanks guys.” I gave them a grin that I didn’t really feel. “I really appreciate you all being here.”

Noria shrugged. “Hey, you’re paying, right? Why wouldn’t we come?”

I plucked a piece of bread from the basket in the center of the table and threw it at her, and she caught it, grinning. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” I said as everyone else snickered. “Just because the Enforcer’s Guild rewarded me with a small fortune for solving the case doesn’t mean I’m filthy rich.”

Noria snorted. “It practically does. Now that you’re the Chief Mage’s apprentice, I’m sure you’ll get the choicest cases. If you play your cards right, you might end up being like all the other hoity-toity mages and never have to work again.”

Annia elbowed Noria in the side, who yelped. “Don’t say nasty things like that,” she scolded her sister. “Naya’s not the kind of person who’d sit back and rest on her laurels.” She grinned at me. “I’m sure we can expect her to continue getting into all kinds of trouble.”

“What are you going to do now though?” Comenius asked. He tapped the Enforcer’s bracelet on my wrist. “Are you going to chase bounties again, or pursue your magical studies full time?”

I sighed, leaning back in my chair. “I’d like to do both in combination,” I said. “But it depends on whether or not the Chief Mage is going to stop giving me the silent treatment.”

Iannis and I hadn’t spoken for four days now, ever since I’d announced to him that I was moving out of the palace. He’d been utterly furious, claiming that I wasn’t ready to be without his protection because I’d barely been able to defend myself against Yantz and Talcon, and that he had a responsibility to look out for me as his apprentice, and he couldn’t do that if I was living outside the palace. I’d told him that I wasn’t a child, that I could take care of myself, and that if I wanted to continue doing work as an Enforcer I needed to put some distance between us so that people would stop treating me so differently.

He’d threatened to take my Enforcer bracelet away, and I’d threatened to publicly refuse his apprenticeship and humiliate him. We’d nearly come to blows, but in the end he’d just given me one of his frigid looks and swept from the room.

I hadn’t heard from him since.

“Do you really need to continue your apprenticeship after all this?” Noria wrinkled her nose. “I mean, it seems like you’ve learned enough to be able to control your magic. If I were you, I’d ditch town and join up with the Resistance.”

I shook my head. “I’m not so sure that my morals align with the Resistance after all.” I told them about the bombs and weapons Fenris found in Yantz’s mansion, as well as his possible ties to the Resistance, and brought up the terrorist attack I’d heard about at the banquet again. “Their methods are starting to sound pretty questionable to me.”

“I don’t know that any of that stuff is true.” Noria scowled. “So far all the data you’ve gotten has been passed down by mages or people allied with mages. You’re just falling for enemy propaganda.”

“I don’t know about that.” I felt guilty raising my doubts, but I couldn’t back down. Something didn’t feel right about this. “I’m going to have to look into it more before I make a decision.”

Noria tossed her fiery mane of curls. “Do what you want, but I’m definitely joining up once I finish my studies.”

“Noria!” Annia punched her in the arm. “Don’t say things like that in public.”

Noria shrugged, pulling a device that looked like a cross between an amulet and a gadget out of her pocket. It reminded me of the jammer she’d given me earlier. “This thing’s been muffling our conversations,” she said. “So I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Comenius’s eyes widened as he leaned forward to get a better look. “Did your friend Elnos help you with that?”

Noria grinned. “Pretty impressive, right?”

“Yes, actually.” He slumped back in his chair. “It makes me wish that I could work with technology.”

Noria patted Comenius’s hand. “Hey, maybe sometime I can bring something by the shop for you to help me with.”

Comenius pursed his lips thoughtfully. “That would be interesting.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Com, you’re a hedge-witch! You and technology don’t go together.”

Comenius frowned. “Maybe, but if any of Noria’s inventions do end up helping the Resistance, I would like to contribute. You know I support the idea of equality amongst the races just as much as you do.”

“Exactly,” Noria chimed in. “Which is why you should ditch the mages, and join the Resistance.”

“Maybe Naya’s got a different plan in mind,” Annia suggested, arching a brow at her little sister. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat, as the saying goes.”

I wrinkled my nose at the uncouth metaphor, and Anna grinned at me.

“Hmph.” Noria jutted out her bottom lip, but she didn’t argue. “I guess so.”

“Besides,” I said, spearing a broccoli floret with my fork, “I want to find out what exactly Yantz was really up to, before anything else, and I’m more useful on my own than in the Resistance. Yantz mentioned that someone called the Benefactor was giving him orders, and I mean to find out who that is.”

“That’s true,” Comenius said. “From what you’ve told us, we still don’t understand why all the shifters who were targeted had to die, or exactly how the poison was delivered to them. I hope the new Shiftertown Inspector finds the answers. There could be other players involved who are still in town.”

That thought nagged at me as I walked the six blocks back to my new apartment in the Heights – a middle-class complex in Rowanville that was a few steps shy of luxury, but still pretty nice. It was on the other side of the artsy district, so the buildings I passed by were covered in New Age murals, and the sidewalks were humming with artists and street performers. I paused briefly as I watched a human caricature artist draw a portrait of a lion shifter child, and felt a pang as I wondered if someone close to this child would be the next victim. It was too soon to tell whether or not Yantz had someone in place to continue the poisonings without him. Then again, according to Yantz the poisonings were part of a grander plan, so maybe they’d already moved on to its next phase. The idea that there was a next phase made my stomach turn – I needed to find out what was going on before things got worse.

I turned the key in the lock on my apartment door, then flopped down on the purple corduroy couch just inside the living room and stretched out. I’d only moved in four days ago, so the walls were still bare of decorations and boxes still needed to be unpacked, but the place was mine and I was happy with it.

I’d briefly considered moving into Roanas’s house, as I’d found out that he’d left it to me in his will. In fact, I’d spent my first two days of real freedom roaming the place, packing up things in boxes, smiling and crying as I looked through photo albums. But in the end I hadn’t been able to do it – the ghost of his presence would have haunted me forever if I’d stayed there, and I’d never be able to move on. I needed my own space, my own life.

“Delivery service!” an unfamiliar voice called, jolting me out of my morose thoughts. I sat up, apprehension and curiosity warring within me. I wasn’t expecting a package from anyone, but the freckled face of a young boy wearing a green and white uniform peered up at me as I peeked through the peephole, confirming that he was from Solantha’s main courier service.

“Hello,” I said as I opened the door. As I moved to take the package, the courier’s scent hit me, and I stiffened.

It was Rylan.

“Hey, cousin.” He tapped a gold pin on the collar of his polo shirt, murmuring a Word, and the illusion faded away, revealing a man with long, black hair, yellow eyes and a square jaw. He was still dressed in the courier uniform, which looked pretty silly with his swarthy complexion, but it was definitely Rylan. “How’s it going?”

“By Magorah,” I hissed, grabbing his arm and pulling him inside the apartment before someone saw him. “What the fuck are you doing here, Rylan?” I didn’t ask him where he’d gotten the illusion charm – they were rare, and unless you found a mage to custom make one for you, only sold on the black market.

He arched a black brow as I slid the deadbolt home, and set the package he was holding on the counter. “I’m just checking up on my baby cousin. Is that a crime now?”

“No,” I muttered, leaning against the door. “But you’ve committed plenty of others you could be arrested for.” Having a wanted fugitive in my home after I’d just been cleared myself was just what I needed – not.

“Yeah, including breaking into Solantha Palace to try and rescue you.” Rylan’s tone was mild, but his yellow eyes blazed, and I resisted the urge to squirm guiltily. “I don’t remember receiving a thank you card.”

“Yeah, well I don’t remember ever getting an address from you to send one to,” I snapped. He was not going to make me feel guilty, especially since his half-baked plan had nearly fucked us all. “Or giving mine out, for that matter.”

Rylan gave me a lopsided grin. “I guess I’ve only got myself to blame for that,” he admitted. “And you know I have my ways of getting information.”

I sighed. I loved my cousin, really, I did, but his recklessness made me feel old and matronly in comparison, even though I was the younger one. I’d always assumed my half-mage heritage was the reason I was more sensible than him.

“Since you’ve decided to risk getting your ass arrested, you must be here for a reason. Mind telling me what it is?”

“Other than delivering this package?” His lopsided smile didn’t change, but his yellow eyes narrowed. “My superiors sent me to offer you a position in the Resistance. They’ve seen what you’re capable of, and having a shifter who can use magic against the enemy would be very valuable.”

My heart sank. It was one thing to tell my friends that I wasn’t interested in joining the Resistance, but another thing entirely to tell my cousin, who’d devoted his life to it.

“Tell your superiors that I appreciate the offer, but I’m not ready to make that leap yet.” I pushed off the door I was leaning on, and walked around the counter to grab some glasses from the kitchen cupboards. “You want anything to drink?”

“Cranberry juice would be great.” Rylan frowned, confusion and hurt on his face. “Why wouldn’t you want to join the Resistance and take down the mages once and for all, after everything the system has put you through, Naya? Don’t you see that things have to change?”

I grabbed the bottle of cranberry juice from the cherry red icebox and poured glasses for both of us. “I see that more than ever,” I told him. “But I’ve realized that I might be of more help effecting change by sticking close to the Chief Mage’s side.” That is, if he ever decides to talk to me again. “I’ve already managed to open his eyes a bit to what’s really going on in this town.”

Rylan took his cranberry juice from me with a scoff. “Please, Naya. Do you really think that the Chief Mage has been blind to everything that’s been happening around here, and he just now woke up because you shoved his nose into it?” He downed his cranberry juice in one go. “He’s just as complicit as the rest of these power-hungry mages, and he’s using his centuries of experience to get you on his side. He knows that with hybrids like you on our side, the Resistance would be too powerful for the mages to control.”

Rylan’s words slapped me in the face. All the mistrust and doubt I’d ever had about mages, which had been pushed to the back of my mind during my time at the palace, came rising up all over again. Dread curdled in my gut, and I felt suddenly ill. Had the Chief Mage been playing me the whole time? Was I really such a fool?

But then other memories flooded into my brain – the way he looked at me sometimes, with concern and admiration in his eyes lurking just behind the annoyance, the way his hands felt against mine as he unlocked the magic inside me, and the way his lips sometimes curled up at the corners when he thought I wasn’t looking. There was more to him than the icy exterior he presented to the world.

“By Magorah.” Rylan’s expression twisted in disgust as he noticed the rising heat in my cheeks. “You’ve slept with him, haven’t you?”

“No!” My cheeks burned. “Why would you say that?”

Rylan’s eyes narrowed. “You’re telling the truth… but I recognize that faraway look in your eye, Naya. Don’t tell me you haven’t at least thought about spending the night in his bed.”

“It’s just hormones.” I gritted my teeth, ready to rip into Rylan if he pushed the matter… and then an idea came to me. “And besides, I can’t deny there is a certain… camaraderie between us. As his apprentice, I can get close to him and learn things that could be of use to the Resistance.”

Rylan arched a brow. “There is merit to what you say,” he said slowly. “But you should know that it’s not going to look good to the Resistance if you stay so close to the Chief Mage. They may mark you as an enemy.”

Anger sparked within me, and I leaned across the counter to pin Rylan with a glare. “Oh yeah? And then what? Should I expect to walk out of a store and have a bomb thrown in my face? Maybe I should stay in my apartment then, so that when you guys come after me, at least no innocent bystanders get killed.”

Rylan stiffened. “Those were accidents,” he growled, his fangs sliding out. “Careless actions by new members. They’ve been reprimanded since.”

“I’m sure the families of those who were killed find that real comforting,” I snarled.

Rylan’s features contorted in fury. “Don’t tell me you’re condemning us for a few small missteps. They’re nothing compared to the damage the mages have wrought on our world.”

“That’s pretty fanatical, even for you.” Sadness dragged at my heart, and I realized that somewhere in the back of my mind, I’d been hoping he would refute my accusations instead of just defending them. “I can’t believe that you’d choose to sacrifice family for the Resistance.”

“The Cause is greater than any single individual,” Rylan said, but guilt flickered in his eyes, and he looked away. “I’ll tell my superiors that you’re gathering intel during your magical training and that you intend to turn it over as an initiation gift when you’ve joined. That should keep them off your backs.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Sounds a hell of a lot like a promise that I’m not sure I plan to keep.”

Rylan shrugged. “It’s the best I can do under these circumstances. I can’t protect you if you decide to throw in your lot with the enemy, Naya. You know that.”

I scowled. Things were so much better when I was neutral… now that I was so closely associated with the Chief Mage, I knew the Resistance couldn’t categorize me as a non-issue anymore. But if they were going to be a thorn in my side, perhaps I could use that.

“Maybe you can do me one better.”

Rylan’s brows flicked up to his hairline. “How so?”

“I’m sure you’ve been following the shifter killings,” I said, “and when I was alone with Yantz and Talcon, they told me they were working for someone called the Benefactor. Any chance you can find out who that is?”

Rylan’s brow furrowed. “The Benefactor… the name sounds familiar. I’ve heard it mentioned amongst Resistance members before.”

Dread pooled in my stomach again. “That doesn’t sound good.”

Rylan gave me a sharp look. “Just because the name was mentioned doesn’t mean it’s connected to us. But if this person is responsible for killing shifters, I’d like to know who he is too. I’ll look into it.”

Relief flooded through me, and I flung my arms around him. “Thanks, cousin,” I murmured into his hair. We might not be standing quite on the same side, but our mutual loyalty towards shifters was something we had in common. I couldn’t trust Rylan to protect me from the Resistance completely, but I could count on him to do this.

“You’re welcome.” He pressed his lips to my forehead, then stepped out of my embrace. “I’ve got to go now.” He tapped the charm on his collar and muttered that Word again, and his freckle-faced illusion slid back into place. “Enjoy whatever’s in that package.” He winked at me before letting himself out of the apartment.

The package. I’d completely forgotten about it. Frowning, I lifted the brown cardboard box and checked the address. My heart rate sped up a little bit as I saw the return address was from the palace, with my name and address written across it in flowing, bold, script. And when I leaned closer to sniff the box, an amalgam of sandalwood, musk and magic tickled my nostrils.

I ripped open the box.

Inside, to my amazement, were my crescent knives and my chakram pouch. It had been so long since I’d seen them that at first I thought I was imagining things, but as I wrapped my hands around the handles of the knives and lifted them up to the afternoon light filtering in through my kitchen window, a burst of joy filled me. Rushing to my room, I found the strap and pouch that I used to hold them and fastened my weapons to my legs. Having them back was like welcoming home two old friends.

I then lifted the note that sat at the bottom of the box, and held it up to the light so I could read it. It was written in the same flowing, bold script that was on the outside of the box.

Miss Baine,

After much searching, I have recovered your weapons from an unsavory pawnshop in Downtown, and enchanted them so that you will not lose them again. Though I am still not convinced letting you live outside the palace walls is the best decision for your wellbeing, I recognize the futility of arguing with you and only ask that you remain armed and aware when you are not under my protection.

I fully expect to see you tomorrow at 1 o’clock sharp for your lessons.

Iannis ar’Sannin

Chief Mage

I grinned as I pocketed the note. Maybe I still had problems, but I had my weapons and my magic and the most powerful mage in the state on my side – who apparently was willing to venture into the slums of the city to ensure I was armed and dangerous. If that wasn’t enough to put a smile on a girl’s face, I don’t know what was.

To be continued...

* * *

Continue the Baine Chronicles Series in book two, Bound by Magic
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About the Author

Jasmine Walt is a devourer of books, chocolate, and all things martial arts. Somehow, those three things melded together in her head and transformed into a desire to write, usually fantastical stuff with a healthy dose of action and romance. Her characters are a little (okay, a lot) on the snarky side, and they swear, but they mean well. Even the villains sometimes.

When Jasmine isn’t chained to her keyboard, you can find her working on her dao sword form, spending time with her family, or binge-watching superhero shows on Netflix.

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Unbound

The Guardian Legacies, Book One

Emily Goodwin

UNBOUND © 2014 Emily Goodwin

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

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About the Book

Unbound

Is following your heart more dangerous than following your destiny?

The world of ghosts and spirits is nothing new to eighteen year old Anora Benson; she’s spent her whole life trying to ignore them, trying to be normal. But when the Pricolici, a group of ancient bounty hunters, are sent after her, Anora realizes she is more than just a medium. As a witch she has power, power she doesn’t know how to use, power that makes her vulnerable to the demons that desire her gifts.

Anora is alone and scared, forced to face the darkness on her own. Then she meets Ethan, a mysterious boy who shows up in her life right along with the magic, and he seems to know quite a bit about her and her legacy Coven. Will she risk everything by trusting him or risk fighting alone?

1

I was almost able to ignore the dead guy standing under the old oak tree as I cantered around the arena on Mystery, my white Arabian.

Almost.

I’d named the apparition Bob, and he randomly showed up under the shady protection of the trees. He was your average residual haunting, stuck in a repetitive pattern of appearing for a brief moment before disappearing again, never noticing anything around him.

I had waved and smiled and said ‘hello,’ but nothing had ever gained his attention. I’d thought about throwing something at him, or through him technically, just to see if he would respond, but I’d resisted the urge, afraid it would somehow hurt his undead feelings. There was always sadness in his eyes, as if he was desperately waiting for something that would never come.

He wasn’t threatening, like some of the other spirits I’d seen, and I’d seen a lot. I’d been a medium for as long as I could remember, being able to see and hear ghosts.

“Bye, Anora!” Leslie, my riding instructor, called from inside her truck as she drove down the barn driveway.

“See you tomorrow!” I said with a wave.

Once Mystery cooled down, I brought him into the barn, removed his saddle and bridle, and put him back in his stall. I moved on to the stall next to him, which contained a pretty buckskin Quarter Horse named Neptune. Technically, she belonged to my twin brother Harrison, but he had lost interest a week after he got her.

I was alone in the barn now, and the silence was peaceful. I ran a stiff bristled brush across Neptune’s short summer fur and sighed happily, a smile settling subconsciously on my face.

A low rumble of a car engine and the crunching of gravel broke the laconism. I gave Neptune a goodbye hug and quickly put my brushes away. I had just opened Mystery’s stall to say bye to him when Mike, the guy I was casually dating, came into the barn.

“You ready yet?” he asked impatiently.

“Almost, and it’s nice to see you too,” I called over my shoulder.

Mike’s face twitched slightly. “Of course it’s nice to see you, Anora.” He stayed in the doorway. Horses and dirt weren’t really Mike’s thing. Dressed in a white polo shirt and khakis, he looked out of place in the stable. I slid the heavy, wooden stall door closed and joined Mike.

“Ready now,” I said with a smile.

“You’re not gonna change?” He eyed me up and down.

“No, what’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I looked down at myself. My tan breeches were new and had miraculously stayed spotless, my tight black tank top showed off my slim figure and matched my tall, black boots and my long, dark hair, which had been in a French braid all day, fell in loose waves around my face. We were going to get ice cream. I didn’t see the need to change out of my riding clothes.

“People are gonna wonder.” He raised an eyebrow.

“That’s fine with me,” I said with a shrug.

“At least you look good in them.” Mike slapped my butt and followed me outside. I opened the passenger door of his Mustang and got in. Mike started the car, blasting rap music from the speakers. A fan of classic rock and alternative myself, I couldn’t stand his choice in music.

Our conversation was sparse to say the least. Since running into each other a few weeks ago at the mall, Mike and I had gone on a few dates. I was skeptical when he asked me out at first. Mike was a grade ahead of me, and he never so much as spoke to me when he was in school. We had nothing in common, and I honestly didn’t understand his sudden interest. After a lot of coaxing from my friend Marie, I agreed to go out with him.

Mike parallel parked on the street downtown, got out, and headed towards Greta’s Frozen Goodies, my favorite ice cream parlor, without waiting for me to get out of the car.

“Can’t you wait?” I asked, jogging to catch up.

“You take too long,” Mike said. He paused for a brief moment and extended his hand toward me. I took it, and we walked the rest of the way together. I ordered my usual cookie dough ice cream and took a seat outside on the sidewalk.

“Want to come to Travis’s tonight?” Mike asked without looking into my eyes.

I shook my head. “It’s a school night. My parents will never let me.” Mike looked away and rolled his eyes. “But I’m coming to his party on Saturday,” I reminded him. My stomach fluttered with nerves thinking about it. Travis had his own apartment near Syracuse University. I had never been to a college party—or any party—before and had no idea what to expect.

Mike faced me, his eyes dropping from my face to my chest. “Right. That’ll be fun.” He smiled and flicked his gaze up, looking into my eyes. I smiled back, ignoring the bad feeling that was forming in the pit of my stomach. I really wasn’t looking forward to Saturday night.

* * *

I noticed the large box on the front porch as soon as Mike dropped me off at my house. My riding boots softly thudded on the cobblestone as I hurried along the sidewalk.

I picked up the box, eyeing the tiny, cursive handwriting. I recognized it as Aunt Estelle’s right away. Every year, my great-aunt Estelle sent birthday presents to Harrison, my twin, and me. And every year, the presents were obscure and borderline inappropriate. I had been expecting her package for days. I gave the box a gentle shake before tucking it under my arm and walked around the house to punch in the code to open the garage door. Since my neat-freak mother wasn’t home, I kept my boots on when I entered the kitchen.

Hunter, my oversized German Shepherd, stood by the counter, wagging his tail so hard his whole body shook. I set the box down and leaned over to pet him. Hunter licked my face, then turned his attention to the box, sniffing it with much curiosity.

“I want to know what’s inside too,” I told him and pulled a knife from the block on the counter. Carefully, I hacked away at the packing tape until I could pry open the box. Several smaller boxes were inside. I picked up one that was wrapped in green paper, knowing it was for Harrison, and set it on the counter.

There were three more presents inside the large box, all wrapped in yellow paper. I grabbed the smallest one first and unwrapped a deck of tarot cards.

“Ohhh, cool,” I said to Hunter and shuffled through the deck. “I’ve always wanted these, but Mom never let me get them.” I set them on the counter and moved onto the next present, unwrapping a wooden box. Stars and moons were engraved into the lid, and the wood was worn along the edges from years of being opened and closed. The box was pretty, and it was probably the most useful thing Aunt Estelle had given me yet. I opened it to see if the cards would fit.

Then I saw the necklace.

I set the box on the counter and reached inside. My fingers graced the cold metal of the round pendant. I brought it out, holding it up to the light. A triple moon was engraved in the center, and something was etched around it in what must have been an ancient language, as the letters were foreign to me. I stared at it for a minute.

There was something familiar about the symbol. I ran my thumb over the engraving, trying to place it. Where had I seen this before? I turned it around, wishing I knew what the inscription said. Hunter nudged me. I looked down at him, then slipped the pendant over my head, tucking it into my shirt.

“There’s one more,” I said and picked up another pendant from inside the little wooden box. Though that one wasn’t attached to a chain. I set it back in the box and put the tarot cards on top. It was a perfect fit. I closed the lid and turned back to the cardboard box on the counter, pulling out another present.

I tore off the paper to discover a glass jar filled with white powder. I raised an eyebrow. Did Aunt Estelle send me a jar of powdered
sugar? I pulled the cork off and held the jar under my nose. Whatever it was smelled like salt. I had no idea what the powder was. I sighed, smirking as I shoved the cork back on.

“Typical Aunt Estelle,” I muttered to Hunter and set the glass jar on the counter.

There was one more gift inside. This wasn’t wrapped in paper. A shimmery midnight blue scarf had been folded around it. Though I didn’t know who the present was intended for, I reached inside and pulled it out anyway.

It was heavy. Carefully, I unwound the scarf and was surprised to see a dagger. I blinked. Out of all the weird things Aunt Estelle had sent me over the years, this one took the cake.

The blue scarf fell to the ground as I slowly pulled the dagger from its sheath. The blade was about seven inches long. I turned it, the light reflecting off the sharp edges. It was made of three different types of metal but was forged together seamlessly.

Golden crossguards curved up, looking like wings. A single Tiger’s Eye gemstone was set into the pommel. I wrapped my fingers around the hilt and turned the dagger over. The same symbol from the pendant was engraved onto the blade.

I held my hand out, watching the setting sunlight flash across the shiny metal. I couldn’t explain it, but holding the dagger felt right.

I wasn’t sure how long I had stood there, admiring the weapon. I startled when the garage door opened behind me. I dropped the dagger inside the box, afraid that if my mom or dad saw it, they’d take it away.

“Hey, Harry,” I said to my brother, my heart slowing down. “How was football practice?”

“Fine,” he said and dropped his gym bag on the floor, immediately going to the fridge.

“Aunt Estelle’s present came today.” I tipped the box on its side and resheathed the dagger.

“Yay, more crap I don’t need,” Harry said dryly and rummaged through the fridge. I wrapped the scarf around it. “What’s for dinner?”

“Fend for yourself,” I said as I gathered up my gifts. “Mom texted me and said she had to perform emergency surgery, and Dad teaches a night class on Thursdays, remember?”

Harrison grumbled. “I would have picked something up if I knew.”

I rolled my eyes. “You did know. Mom group messages us.” I shook my head and held the dagger close to my chest, hurrying up the stairs and into my room before Harrison could question the weapon.

I kicked off my riding boots, tossing them in my closet. I closed my bedroom door and let Romeo out of his cage. I watched the dark sable ferret bounce around the room, thinking that the white mask on his face made him look like a bandit. It was fitting, since the little guy was a notorious troublemaker.

I sat cross-legged on my unmade bed. I wanted to hold the dagger. I didn’t know why, but it seemed to call to me. I disentangled it from the scarf and pulled it from the sheath. The edges were razor sharp. I held it close to my face, examining it. The weapon was in perfect condition, yet at the same time, it looked like an antique. I turned it over and over before wrapping my fingers around the hilt and slashing it through the air.

Energy surged inside of me, and I felt powerful. My lips curved into a smile, and I turned, looking at myself in the mirror. Then I blinked. What was I doing? This was a dagger that I didn’t know how to wield properly. I should probably put it away before I hurt myself.

I set the dagger down on my cluttered desk. I sighed, not wanting to take my eyes off the thing. I shook myself. It was a dagger, just metal and a pretty stone. It couldn’t be anything special, right?

2

“We’re meeting around eight, correct?” my best friend, Laney asked as she brushed her horse, Abra.

I looked through the stall bars and nodded. “Yeah. And then we’re going to Marie’s house for the night.”

Laney gave me a toothy smile. “Our first college party. This should be fun!”

I scrunched up my nose and wished I had her optimism. I’ve always admired it. “I hope so. I get so nervous around that many people.”

Laney tossed her long dark hair over her shoulder. “You’ll be fine. We’ll be there, and you’ll have Mike to hang around with.” Laney stepped out of Abra’s stall. “I gotta go,” she sighed. “I have to babysit Annabelle.”

“Have fun and good luck,” I said with half smile. Laney’s younger sister was a handful.

“Oh yeah, loads.” She shook her head. “See ya later, Annie!”

“Bye!” I called and turned back to Mystery. Saturday mornings were busy at the barn. People milled about, grooming their horses and getting ready to ride. “What do you say, boy? Want to take it easy today and hit the trails?”

Mystery continued to munch on his hay. I reached through the bars and grabbed his halter and lead rope. I slipped the blue halter on and tied the lead rope to the sides as makeshift reins. With a click of my tongue, I got Mystery’s attention and led him down the aisle. I hopped on once we were out of the barn.

Bob the ghost was standing by the arena again. I watched as Henry, Leslie’s horse, spooked as he passed him. Biting my lip, I turned away. No one could make sense of the horses’ fear of that particular spot. Other than Laney, I hadn’t told anyone about Bob. They would think I was crazy.

I squeezed my legs, pushing Mystery into a trot. I took a tangle of mane in my fingers and tipped my head up to the sun, enjoying the bumpy ride. I was hot by the time we reached the woods located behind the barn.

The sun filtered through the leaves, shining down on the dirt path. The air was cooler, fresher in the forest. I rested my hands against Mystery’s withers and let out a deep breath. I didn’t want to think about anything—not the party tonight or the guilt I’d feel if someone got seriously hurt from their horse spooking at Bob.

I closed my eyes, trusting Mystery to plod along the trails as usual, loosely holding onto the lead rope. My feet swung in step with him, and my body relaxed. I loved being out here, alone with my horse. I could let everything bad slip away for a little while.

Suddenly, Mystery’s head shot up, and his body jolted. I opened my eyes and leaned forward to keep my balance. Something moved through the underbrush beside us. I turned, taking a tighter hold on the lead rope. When I didn’t see anything, I urged Mystery forward.

“Come on, boy,” I said in a calm voice. “It’s probably just a bunny. And not the evil killer bunny you got scared of last week,” I added, bringing up the wild rabbit we’d passed in the woods. I rolled my eyes and patted his neck. “Though really, you could totally take that bunny,” I whispered.

Mystery took a few steps forward before he came to a halt. His ears twitched, listening to something that I couldn’t hear. I nudged him forward again, but he didn’t budge. Instead, he sidestepped off the path. Branches crashed into my face. I ducked my head down.

“Mystery, whoa,” I said. He didn’t listen. I yanked back on the lead rope, struggling to direct him onto the path. “Hey,” I tried and pulled on the rope. “Mystery, calm down.”

Branches snapped behind us. I turned my head, my breath catching in my chest when I saw a dog slink through the trees.

“Easy, baby,” I soothed, letting go of the rope with one hand to pet Mystery’s neck. “It’s a dog. We’ve come across them before. Remember, you’re bigger than he is.” I watched the dog slink through the weeds. Nerves shot through me. I hoped the dog wouldn’t go into attack mode. I was fairly confident Mystery could outrun it, but I didn’t want a scuffle. I had seen dogs get kicked by horses before, and it never ended well for the canines.

I felt Mystery tense beneath me. He pawed at the ground and raised his head up, prepared to rear.

“Easy,” I said and pitched forward, momentarily taking my eyes off the dog. “Walk forward, then run,” I panted as I fought against my pulling horse. I flicked my eyes back in time to see the dog slowly step back onto the trail.

The familiar shape of a canine registered in my brain, but something was…off. Its muzzle was twisted and flattened against its face. Gray human-like eyes narrowed as it growled at me, revealing razor-sharp teeth. Its legs were thick and hairless, ending in paws that looked more like talons.

My heart skipped a beat, my eyes widened in terror, and I couldn’t look away. Mystery reared, striking out at the creature. Too scared to move, I felt myself sliding backwards, falling off my horse. The lead rope burned as it yanked free from my hands. At the last minute, I tried to regain my balance but failed, and I twisted as I landed. My hip hit the hard ground first, and my head landed second, right against a large rock.

Pain immediately struck, and then the dizziness set in. Nausea went through me as my vision blackened. I pushed up, blinking away the black spots. Mystery’s white tail swished in my face. The creature inched across the trail, saliva dripping from its yellowed fangs. Its eyes seared into me, and it sniffed the air before hunching down.

I closed my eyes, preparing for the attack. How would I fight it off? Was it going to kill me, drag my body away, and eat my flesh? I raised my arms over my head and turned to the side. With a snort, Mystery reared again, hooves crashing to the ground inches from the creature. He struck out again, clipping the thing on the face. Several inches of fur and skin tore off, hanging off of its cheek.

It snapped at Mystery before turning away, running so fast it was as if it vanished. I stared unblinking at the spot where it had stood. My hands started shaking, and suddenly, I couldn’t catch my breath.

Mystery nudged me, and I jumped, thinking the thing had come back. My hand flew to my chest, and I pushed myself up, holding onto Mystery for support. Standing on trembling legs, I scanned the surrounding trees. My heart was hammering at a million miles an hour.

Leaves rustled a few feet away. Adrenaline surged through me, and I clambered back onto Mystery. Not needing any direction from me, Mystery pushed into a gallop, not stopping until we were in front of the barn.

* * *

I awkwardly slid off Mystery, hands still shaking. I pulled the lead rope over his head and led him inside, wanting to close and lock every single door. I hurried down the barn aisle, hoping to make it to his stall unnoticed, as I knew that my eyes were still wide with terror.

“Anora, what happened?” someone asked.

Shoot. I’d been seen. I swallowed hard and looked over Mystery. Amanda, a shy girl who rarely spoke to anyone, was standing in the grooming area with her horse, Ally.

“Nothing,” I said automatically.

Her brow furrowed. She pushed her brown hair back and shook her head. “You’re bleeding.”

“Oh.” I blinked and felt the pain my fear had pushed away. I gently touched my forehead and winced. I brought my hand back to see that my fingers were covered in shiny blood. “I…uh…I fell,” I mumbled.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly.

I nodded, blinking back the blood that dripped onto my eyelashes. “I think so.”

“Do you want me to call your mom?” She stepped closer, taking Mystery’s lead rope from my trembling hands.

“No, I’m fine,” I said and shook my head. The movement hurt, and dizziness crashed down on me. I held out a hand to steady myself.

“You don’t look fine. You probably shouldn’t drive yourself home.”

I couldn’t argue with that. “I’ll call my brother.”

She nodded. “Where is your phone?”

I had to think. “In my car.”

“I’ll get it for you. I think you should sit down.”

I nodded and took Mystery into his stall. I leaned against the side of the stall and slid down onto a pile of uneaten hay. I blinked, and the image of that…that thing flashed before me. Nervous sweat rolled down between my breasts. I wiped it away, smearing blood all over the place in the process.

Amanda came back with my phone and a first aid kit tucked under her arm. She knelt down and extended her hand. I took the phone and unlocked the screen.

“Here,” she said, popping open the kit. She pulled out a packet of gauze, ripped it open, and handed it to me.

“Thanks,” I said and winced when I pressed it to my head. She stood and took a step back, pressing her lips together. She opened her mouth to say something but suddenly stopped and backed away.

I called Harrison and got his voicemail. I tried two more times before someone answered.

“Hello?” an unfamiliar female voice came over the phone.

“Is Harry there?” I asked, unsure who I was talking to.

“Yeah, he’s sleeping. Who is this?”

“Annie,” I said.

“Annie? Oh, Anora, his sister, right?”

“Yeah,” I said, not bothering to ask who I was talking to. It’d be a different girl in a few weeks anyway. “Wake him up. Tell him it’s an emergency.”

“Will do.”

I heard the girl shuffling around, repeating Harrison’s name many times before my brother took the phone.

“What do you want?” he grumbled.

“I need you to come get me,” I told him, annoyance rising already.

“What the hell, Annie?” he dramatically sighed. “It’s so freaking early.”

“It’s after ten,” I countered. “I’m not arguing with you, Harry. Please come get me. I’m at the barn.” I closed my eyes and leaned against the stall. My hip ached from where I had landed on it.

“Why the hell do I need to get you from the barn?” he yawned.

“I fell off Mystery and hit my head.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m not dying or anything, but I’m bleeding and dizzy.”

Harry took in a sharp breath. “You should call Mom. She’s a neurologist. If you hit your head, she’s the one—”

“No way. She’ll freak out and not let me ride again. Just come get me please?”

“Fine. I’ll be there soon.”

I hung up the phone with a heavy sigh. I flipped the gauze over and thought about what had happened. That was a dog, right? Just a really ugly dog?

“No,” I whispered out loud. It wasn’t a dog. It was something….something else. Were we safe? Was it going to come back?

My stomach flip-flopped. It wasn’t interested in Mystery. It wanted me. And there was something about the way it looked into my eyes as if it was searching for something. No, that wasn’t possible. I must have hit my head harder than I thought. I set the phone down and nervously pulled at the triple moon pendant that was around my neck until Harrison came into the barn twenty minutes later.

“Jesus, Annie!” he said when he saw me.

I pushed myself up. Did I look that bad?

“I think you should go see Mom,” he said seriously and helped me to my feet.

“No. Take me home.”

He ran a hand through his messy blonde hair and nodded. “Don’t get blood all over my seat,” was all he said.

I made a face and followed him out, turning back to look at my horses. I swallowed hard. Usually, I’d let them out in the pasture. Not today. I didn’t want to take any chances…though I didn’t know what I was taking chances with. It was nothing because, well, what else could it be? It was an unfortunately ugly dog. I should feel bad for it, not fear it.

“Thanks, Harry,” I said as I sank down in the passenger seat. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was wearing pajama pants. His t-shirt was inside out, and he had several purple marks on his neck. I rolled my eyes. I didn’t want to know.

I was able to sneak inside the house and into the shower without being seen by my parents. I wrapped my hair in a towel and carefully blotted the wound with a rag. I groaned at my reflection. The cut was above my left eye, near my hairline. It would be scabbed over by the time I had to leave for the party, but no amount of makeup could cover it up. I didn’t want to go to the party in the first place, and now I really didn’t want to go. Part of me wanted to go back into the woods, even though I was terrified.

I waved my hand at my reflection. I’d figure out how to hide the wound later. I grabbed my laptop and sat on my bed.

“You’re not going to believe what happened,” I said to Hunter. He jumped up next to me, gently nuzzling my hand with his nose. I fell back against the pillows, patting the spot next to me. Hunter crawled closer, resting his head against my lap.

I bit my lip and opened a browser, cursor blinking in the bar of a search engine.

“I don’t even know what to type.” I shook my head and began a search for dog-human creatures. Ten minutes later, I was nowhere closer to figuring out what was in the woods. I closed my computer, feeling a little creeped out by all the photoshopped pictures of human hybrids.

I got ready for the party and stayed out of sight in my room until the doorbell rang around six that evening. I hurried down the curved staircase to answer the door.

“Wow,” Mike said when I opened the door. “You look hot.” He eyed me up and down, a hungry smile pulling up his lips.

I was dressed in an uncharacteristic tight, pink dress. The neckline was low and the pushup bra was uncomfortable, but I was happy with how it looked. I’d put on more makeup than I usually wore and had covered up the gash by pulling a section of hair across my forehead.

“Thanks,” I said. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Mike wrapped his arms around me.

“You know, we have time to go upstairs before we leave,” he said and kissed me.

I pulled away. “My parents are home, and we’re having dinner soon.”

He shrugged and eyed the stairs behind us. I knew Mike didn’t want to have dinner with my family. But it was the only way my parents would let me go out with him. “That doesn’t matter.” He pressed his lips to my neck. “Come on, baby. You can’t wear a dress like that and not expect me to want you.” He flashed a devilish smile and raised his eyebrows.

It was flattering to be ogled over, but the vision of the dog-creature loomed in the back of my mind. Regardless, I took Mike’s hand and led him upstairs, carefully opening my door so I wouldn’t hit Romeo. As soon as the door was closed, Mike grabbed me and kissed me. Caught off guard, I froze, letting Mike kiss me but not kissing him back.

“Dinner’s ready!” Dad yelled from downstairs, his voice muffled by the closed door. I turned my head to the side. Mike moved his lips to my neck.

“Mike,” I said, pushing against him. He didn’t move. I pushed again, and this time Mike backed off. I ran my hands through my hair and lead the way downstairs. Dad looked up from the food he was preparing and crossed his arms.

“You seriously think you’re going to be allowed out of the house in that?” he asked.

“I hoped,” I said back.

Dad shook his head. “Go change.”

“Fine,” I grumbled and jogged back up the stairs. Mike followed me; I guess two minutes of conversation with my father was too much for him.

Harrison was sluggishly coming out of his room, rubbing his eyes and still looking tired. He looked at me.

“What the hell are you wearing, Annie?” he said, holding his hand up to shield me from sight. “Are you trying to look like a cheap whore tonight?”

“It’s not that bad,” I said, looking down at myself.

“Yeah, it is. That amount of my sister’s cleavage…cannot be unseen. I want to bleach my eyeballs.” He shook his head. “What are you doing?” he asked quietly.

“Going to a party.”

“No, I mean with him,” he said and tipped his head towards Mike, who was still making his way up the stairs. “I don’t trust that guy, not one bit,” he whispered so only I could hear.

I sighed. “I feel normal hanging out with him.”

“You are normal,” Harrison immediately told me, raising an eyebrow.

I pursed my lips and shook my head. “You know I’m not.”

Mike’s heavy footfalls came up behind me. He wrapped his arm around me. “Hey,” he said to Harrison. My brother straightened up and glared at Mike before saying hello. I hurried back into my room and pulled on a sweater to keep Dad from further commenting on my dress.

“Where is your car, Anora?” Mom asked me as soon as I stepped foot downstairs.

Crap. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Uh,” I started. “At the barn. Laney and I are going there together in the morning, so I thought it would be easier to leave it there.”

Mom nodded and took her place at the table. I filled two glasses with water and sat. Out of habit, I brushed my hair behind my ear. Bad move.

“What happened?” Dad asked, his fork hovering in the air.

My eyes flew to the plate of lasagna in front of me. I hated lying, plus I was bad at it. “I ran into something.” I waved my hand in the air. “I’m fine.” My eyes flitted to Harrison, who mouthed, “Sorry.”

“You ran into something?” Mom questioned, giving me a look that said she didn’t believe a word I was saying. “What on earth did you run into?”

“A rock.” I broke my garlic bread in half. “That was on the ground.”

“Anora—” Mom started.

I took a deep breath. “All right. I fell off Mystery.” That wasn’t a total lie. Just not the whole truth. “He spooked.”

Mom got up and hurried around the table. She took my head in her hands to examine me.

“I’m fine,” I said again.

Mike, who had been too busy looking my boobs, hadn’t noticed the cut.

“You don’t look fine,” he said, eyeing my forehead. I couldn’t tell if he was concerned for my safety or for my looks.

“Thanks,” I told him sarcastically, pulling away from Mom.

“Were you not wearing a helmet?” Mom asked, her face serious. I thought about saying yes, of course I had a helmet on, but I knew she was testing me. A helmet would have prevented this injury.

“No,” I said meekly.

“You’re lucky, Anora. I’ve seen—”

“I know, I know. You’ve seen enough head injuries to last a lifetime. I’m sorry, okay?”

“Anora,” Mom said sternly. “You know better than to ride without a helmet. Do I need to ground you?”

Ground me from riding? I’d die. “No. I learned my lesson, and I won’t do it again.” I fidgeted in my seat and moved my hair over the gash. I picked up my fork and shoved a piece of lasagna into my mouth.

Harrison changed the subject, and I managed to survive the rest of dinner without being lectured on safe riding. Thinking about the fall chased away my appetite. That dog-creature was still so vivid in my mind. I saw it every time I closed my eyes and smelled the dirt and sulfur on its fur like it was right in front of me.

“Hey, look at the time,” Mike said several minutes later. I blinked and looked up, only then realizing my heart was racing. “We’re going to be late. Ready to go?”

I finished my garlic bread and drank the rest of my water. I raced upstairs to brush my teeth and grab my overnight bag. Mom and Dad gave me a hug goodbye, and then I was out the door.

3

Mike and I walked hand in hand up to the front door of the big, white house. I had never been to a frat party before, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. I imagined it would be like something in the movies: loud music, people dancing and laughing, and a keg in the corner.

When we entered the living room, I was surprised at how mellow the atmosphere was in the house. Music was playing, but it was quiet enough to talk over. The house smelled like alcohol and unwashed clothes. I wrinkled my nose, trying to casually bring my hair over my face to block out the smell. Several people sat in the living room, wearing jeans, t-shirts, and flip-flops. I immediately felt overdressed. Their conversations ceased when they saw me. A girl with short bleach-blonde hair ran her eyes over me before raising her eyebrows.

“You must be Anora,” she said with fake charm. She got up and strode over. “I’m Mike’s friend Alix. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

I forced a smiled. Negative energy poured off of her, making me sick. “Yeah, nice to meet you too.”

Alix was very tan, thin, and wore so much perfume that it gagged me. “So Mike tells me you’ve never been to a party before.”

Blood rushed to my cheeks. I didn’t think it was a big deal that I hadn’t, but the way she said it was belittling. “Uh, no.” I stepped closer to Mike. Alix moved in. What did this girl want from me?

“Well, it will be fun. You’re a senior, right?”

“Yeah, I am.”

She tipped her head back. “High school seems like such a long time ago. Come on, I’ll show you around.” She held out her hand. I smiled again and took it, wondering if I should take my shoes off. I wanted to; these heels weren’t very comfortable. Everyone else had their shoes on. I took a breath. I’d leave them on. It was ridiculous stupid shoes could cause this much stress.

Alix led me around the house, introducing me to everyone and telling them that this was my first party. By the time we were back in the living room, a few more people had filtered into the house. I sat on the couch next to Mike.

“Want anything to drink?” Alix asked, perching on the arm of the couch and putting an arm over Mike’s shoulders. He looked up at her and winked.

“No thanks,” I said.

“Aw, you’re so cute,” Alix laughed.

I played with the hem of my dress and felt very out of place when everyone else had a drink in their hand. I leaned back on the couch, wishing I could disappear into the cushions. I brushed my hair back behind my ear.

The guy sitting across from us leaned forward. “What the hell happened to you?”

I blinked, then shook my head when I realized the ugly scab was showing.

“She fell off her horse,” Mike said for me and slowly slid his fingers up the hem of my dress. I put my hands in my lap to stop him from going any higher up my leg.

“You have a horse?” the guy asked.

“Yeah, I have two actually,” I told him, perking up. I could talk about horses all day.

“Cool. My sister wants one. She won’t shut up about it.”

“Oh, well, she should really get one. They’re a lot of work, but they are totally worth it. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have mine. I’d have too much free time for sure.”

He raised his eyebrows and then got up and walked away. Great. Now I felt stupid. I took a breath and looked for a clock. I wanted Laney and Marie to hurry up and get here.

The house slowly began to fill with people as the minutes ticked by, and when two boys walked in carrying a keg, the party turned into what I had imagined.

An hour and a half later, my friends had shown up, and we were having a good time. Marie downed two drinks within five minutes of being there and was already drunk. Laney slowly sipped a beer, and I stuck to water.

I left my friends, who were dancing in the living room, to go find Mike. I pushed through the crowd, making my way to the kitchen where Mike was playing beer pong with Travis. He stopped when he saw me and pulled me close.

“Anora!” someone called excitedly, as if we were best friends. I pulled away from Mike. Natalie and Jill, two popular girls from my school, smiled and waved. I blinked.

“I love that dress,” Jill cooed. “You look amazing in it.”

“Thanks,” I stammered. Natalie and Jill, along with a handful of other cheerleaders, sat at the opposite end of the long lunch table we shared at school. They acted as if Laney, Marie, and I were invisible. I was surprised they even knew my name.

Mike pulled me in again and kissed me. “Want to go to my place? No one is home,” he told me. Mike still lived at home; his parents’ house was close enough to the University for him to easily drive to his classes, and his mom still did his laundry, cooked him dinner, and paid all his bills. I guess I couldn’t blame him for not wanting to move out yet.

I didn’t want to go back to Mike’s house. I knew what he wanted, and I didn’t want to have sex with him. I was still a virgin and wanted my first time to be a bit more meaningful than this. “Let’s stay here a while longer,” I blurted.

“All right,” Mike said with a smile.

I went back to join my friends. Marie pulled me in, dancing with me. I laughed and put my hands on her waist, swaying along with her. Time passed quickly, and soon, my legs were tired. It was hot in the crowded house, and I was thirsty.

Marie broke away from the group, returning with red plastic cups. I took one from her, eyeing the liquid that sloshed inside. It was a vivid blue and smelled like Kool-Aid. I gulped it down before realizing it tasted like alcohol. Oh well. One drink wouldn’t kill me, right?

Dizziness crashed down on me right when I decided to find Mike. I teetered on my heels as I walked around the house. He was nowhere to be found. Spying one of the girls who had been chatting with Alix when I first arrived, I waved to her and asked if she had seen Mike. She said she saw him go upstairs a while ago.

I nodded and smiled before turning on my heel. The stairs were steep and narrow and led up to a long, dark hallway. The effects of the alcohol were settling in, and I had to grip the railing to keep my balance. A sliver of light spilled out of the last room in the hall. I could still hear the thumping base from the music downstairs, but it was quiet enough up here to hear three distinct voices coming from the bedroom.

“Have you banged her yet?” It was Travis.

A girl snorted with laughter. “No. He still hasn’t.” It sounded like Alix.

“What’s taking so long?” Travis again.

“She’s not easy.” Oh my God. It was Mike. I wasn’t aware that I was edging closer and closer to the door. This can’t be happening. “I’m gonna score tonight.”

“You better, or the bet is off,” Travis said.

“I will,” Mike said.

“Don’t get me wrong, man. Anora is probably the hottest girl you’ve ever dated, but she’s weird.”

“Yeah she is. I’m getting tired of listening to her talk about her damn horses all the time,” Mike agreed.

Tears filled my eyes. I felt numb. I could see Alix lying on the bed.

“Suck it up, man. I would totally listen to her talk about horses if it meant I could get my hands on those perfect tits!” Travis said, holding up his hands.

“She’s not even that hot!” Alix sat up.

“Yes, she is!” Mike and Travis said in unison. My hands were shaking. I was hurt, mad, embarrassed, and ashamed of myself for thinking that Mike had really liked me. I wiped the tears out of my eyes, flicking my hand down so fast it hit the doorknob.

Crap. All three of them jumped.

“Anora,” Mike gasped and rushed over. He tried to put his arms around me. Alix began to laugh. Travis stood there, not knowing what to do.

“Get your hands off me!” I shoved him and stumbled away. Why did I have that drink?

“Let me help you.” Mike put his arm around my waist.

“Asshole! Do you seriously think that this is going to work? I heard every word. Get away from me!” I shoved him again, this time with a strength that I didn’t know I had. He fell backwards into the wall, head cracking against the drywall. I ran for the stairs and made it down before he could reach me. Tears pooled in my eyes. I quickly looked around for Marie and Laney and didn’t find them. I didn’t want to be in this house any longer.

“Anora,” Mike called from upstairs. “Wait!”

I grabbed my purse from behind the computer desk where I had stashed it earlier and marched out the door, biting my lip to keep from crying. I kept walking, wobbling on my heels, until the sights and sounds of the party were gone.

The air had a chill to it, but it didn’t bother me. Maybe it was from the drink, or maybe it was from the emotional pit I was in. I felt so stupid that I had let Mike use me like that. I should have seen it coming. He rarely called, he made no effort to like my family or my friends, he never seemed to care if they liked him either. He acted openly bored about the horses, and he hated Romeo! Okay…maybe the last point was a bit off the deep end, but I needed to be angry right now. It certainly beat being sad.

Cars zoomed past me, and I realized I had no idea where I was. Chatter echoed up and down the street. I kept my head down, not wanting to be around anyone. I’d figure out where I was eventually and decide what to do from there.

I paused under a street light, feeling eyes on my back. I angrily wiped tears off my cheeks, too drunk and upset to be scared.

Shoes scuffled on the sidewalk. “It’s not safe to be walking out here alone,” a man said, his voice deep and calm.

“What’s it to you?” I spat before fear crept over me. If that didn’t sound like a line from a horror movie, then I didn’t know what did. I turned slowly, expecting to see a man with a hook arm or a shaggy gray beard or something creepy, but what I saw shocked me even more.

A very attractive man, who I guessed to be in his early twenties, looked at me. His eyebrows were pushed together, and his brown eyes showed concern. A five o’clock shadow covered his defined cheekbones, and his full lips were pulled into a frown. He was tall and muscular, dressed in a dark blue t-shirt, jeans, and a black motorcycle jacket.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“No,” I said before I knew what I was doing. I turned back around and stumbled, feeling the effects of the drink even stronger now. He rushed forward with inhumane speed, catching me at the last minute. I stared at him, feeling dizzier by the second.

“Want to sit?” he asked.

“How do I know you’re not a psycho killer?”

“And how do I know you’re not?” He smiled. Damn it. He looked absolutely charming. I didn’t want to find him—or anyone—attractive right now. “I’m Ethan.”

“I’m Anora,” I said, trying to gather my composure. A car drove by, and the bright lights hurt my head. The world spun around me. Sitting really did seem like a good idea.

Ethan held out a hand, as if he thought I might fall. I held my head up and did my best to walk over the uneven sidewalk. I sank down on the bench. Ethan sat next to me, keeping a respectful distance.

“Anora, what are you doing out here alone, especially dressed like that?” he asked.

Oh geez, he sounded like my mother. “I was at a party. I wanted to leave, so I left.”

“Okay.” He looked behind us, eyes shifting back and forth.

“Expecting someone?” I asked.

His shoulders stiffened for a brief moment. “No, not at all.”

“What are you looking for?”

“I thought I saw…never mind.” He smiled, and his whole face lit up. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself. “Are you cold?” Ethan asked.

“A little.”

He took off his leather jacket and draped it around my shoulders.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” I asked, pulling the jacket around my arms. It was warm from his skin. Maybe he was a psycho killer, and he lured girls in by pretending to be nice to them. It wouldn’t be the first time I fell for a pretty face. Well, except Mike wasn’t a murderer, just a douchebag.

He shrugged. “You looked like you could use some help.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Listen, I don’t think we should be out here.” He looked behind us again nervously. “Want to get some coffee or something? Then you should call a friend to come get you.”

“Yes, but I’m not getting in a car with you. I’m still not convinced you’re not going to kill me.”

He laughed. “Fair enough.” He stood and held out his hand to help me up. I didn’t take it.

“I am capable of doing things myself, you know,” I snapped. “Sorry, that was rude.” I tripped as I stood. “It’s been a long night.” I sighed. “A long day, actually.”

Ethan started walking in the opposite direction that he had come from. I was too drunk to ask him where we were going. I wobbled along next to him for two blocks before I spoke.

“How do you feel about ferrets?” I looked up at him. He raised an eyebrow, looking at me as if I was crazy.

“They’re fun. I had one when I was a kid.”

I smiled. “And what about horses?”

“I’ve never ridden one, but I’d like to.” Ethan still looked a bit confused. “What’s with the twenty questions?”

“It was only two, and I was curious.” I took a deep breath and closed my eyes in a long blink. Before I knew it, we were in a small coffee house, run by college kids. I went to the bathroom while Ethan ordered drinks. My eye makeup had run down my cheeks. I wiped it away and ran my hands through my messy hair. By the time I emerged from the bathroom, Ethan was sitting at a table at the back of the cafe.

His eyes met mine as I walked over. There was something familiar in his gaze, something I had felt many times. Living with a gift—or maybe it was a curse—in a world full of people who didn’t believe in the supernatural isolated me, no matter how many people surrounded me. I was different, separate, not on the same level as the rest of the world. Was he lonely too?

“I thought you could use this,” he said when I sat.

“Thanks,” I said and picked up the muffin. My stomach grumbled in hunger at the sight of it. The barista called Ethan’s name. When he got up to get our drinks, I pulled my phone out of my purse and saw that I had a voicemail from Mike. I didn’t want to hear his lame excuse, but I was curious as to what he would say. I jammed my finger onto the screen, pressing play on his message.

“Annie, baby, I don’t know what you thought you heard, but it’s not like that at all—” I didn’t need to hear the rest.

“Go to hell, you asshole,” I said as I deleted his message.

“Oh, so this is about a guy,” Ethan said, two drinks in hand. He sat down across from me and slid me a coffee.

“Was about a guy.” I picked at the label on my drink. “There is no guy anymore.” I stared at the coffee. I felt tears well up again. I blinked them back. Mike wasn’t worth crying over.

“What happened?” Ethan asked gently.

Maybe it was the alcohol flowing through my system that made me trust him. Or maybe I had reached a breaking point. Either way, I looked up into Ethan’s brown eyes. “This guy, Mike, was using me. He had a bet with his friend on how long it would take to sleep with me. I overheard him talking about it at that party.”

“So that’s why you left?”

I nodded and sipped the coffee. I didn’t like black coffee, or any coffee for that matter, but the warm liquid felt good as it ran down my throat. I took another sip and then took a bite of the muffin. I sighed. “Yeah. I just didn’t want to be there anymore. I feel so stupid, like I’m not worth anything more than…that.”

“I doubt that’s true,” Ethan said.

I shook my head. “I know, but…”

“But right now it’s okay to feel that way,” he said, which surprised me. I was glad he didn’t try to talk me out of wallowing in self-pity.

I took another few bites of the muffin, and after drinking half the coffee, the world wasn’t spinning as fast. I leaned back in the chair and took a deep breath. “Whatever. I’m glad it’s over before I actually slept with him, ya know?”

Ethan nodded. “Yeah. You can move on.” He flashed a smile again.

My phone rang. I glared at it, preparing to hit “ignore” if it was Mike. Luckily, it wasn’t. “It’s my friend,” I told Ethan when I saw Laney’s name and picture pop up. I answered it.

“Annie, where the heck are you?” she asked before I even said hello.

“Um, some little coffee place.”

“We’ve been looking for you for forever. Mike said you guys got into a disagreement, and you took off.”

“A disagreement? Seriously, that’s what he’s calling it?” I rolled my eyes at Mike’s choice in words. “Can you drive?”

“Yeah. Marie is wasted though. I want to take her home.”

“Can you get my stuff from Mike’s car and meet me here?”

“Yeah. We’ll be there soon.”

“Thanks, bye,” I said and hung up. I set my phone down, sighed, and looked up at Ethan. “My friends are gonna take me home. Thanks for helping me out. You didn’t have to.”

Ethan’s eyes met mine. “I’m glad I did.”

I finished the coffee. “So, do you go to school here?”

“No,” he said. “I just moved here from Chicago, actually.”

“Oh, nice. What are you doing at the university?”

“My dad just got a job teaching history. I was helping him move stuff into his office,” Ethan explained.

“My dad teaches at Syracuse University too,” I said. “Do you miss Chicago? I’ve never been there.”

He was telling me about how great the city was when Laney came in. Ethan’s back was to the door, so she couldn’t tell who I was with. She made a beeline for me and stopped in her tracks when she saw him. Her jaw fell open. Gosh, she was so obvious. Ethan followed my gaze to look at her. She smiled and said, “Hi,” in a very flustered manner.

“What’s going on?” she asked me.

“Long story,” I sighed. “I’ll tell you on the way home. Where’s Marie?”

“In the car. I’m glad I have her car because I think she’s gonna puke.”

I made a face and stood, taking off Ethan’s jacket. “Thanks,” I said and handed him the jacket. “For everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” His fingers brushed mine as he took his jacket back. “I hope to run into you again, Anora.”

“Me too,” I said, before I realized that I was agreeing that I wanted to see myself again. Laney grabbed my wrist and pulled me towards the door.

“Tell me everything!” she said as soon as we were outside. I was sure I was going to have to repeat the story to Marie in the morning. I got into the car and told Laney everything I had overheard.

“I’m so sorry, Annie!” Laney said as she pulled into Marie’s driveway. I got out of the passenger’s seat and opened the back door to let Marie out of her little Mazda.

“Mike’s a dick!” She hugged me. “You don’t need him!” I put an arm around her and led her up the porch stairs. I didn’t think she’d have been able to walk on her own. I hoped her parents were fast asleep; there was no way Marie could pretend to be sober tonight.

We helped Marie into her PJs and tucked her in her bed. Laney and I went into the living room to watch TV before we passed out too.

“I just feel so stupid,” I told her. “Like I should have known he was using me.”

Laney looked at me with so much empathy I was afraid she was going to start crying. She put her arms around me and rested her head on my shoulder. I put my head on hers.

“You can’t blame yourself Annie. I’m just glad you found out before you actually slept with him.”

“Me too.”

* * *

I stayed with Laney until I needed to come home and get ready for bed that next day. We had spent the day watching happy movies and riding our horses. Being around friends and horses put me in a good mood, getting rid of all the crap that went down last night.

Now that I was home, those feelings of being used and useless came crashing back. I didn’t want to feel sorry for myself. I tried to remind myself that this wasn’t that bad and others had it much worse. I sighed as I trudged up the stairs to go into my room. Great. Now guilt was the cherry on my self-pity sundae.

I finished my homework, showered, and crawled under the covers. Hunter snuggled next to me, and I quickly fell asleep. It wasn’t a restful sleep though, because I dreamed that the monster dog was chasing me back up the stairs in the frat house. Mike was standing there, and Alix was behind him, laughing like a crazy person. Every time I tried to get away from Mike, the dog showed up. Mike pushed me down on a bed. “It’s the only way,” he said.

I woke up suddenly, feeling the effects of the dream wear off. Harrison was standing over me.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“What are you doing?”

“You were having a nightmare. I was going to wake you up.” He frowned.

“Oh. Did I scream?” I did in the dream.

“No, you were twitching and whimpering.” He sat down. “Laney called me.”

“So you know?”

“Yeah.” He was quiet for a minute. “Want me to beat his ass?”

I sighed. “No. He’s not even worth it. But if you happen to see him and your fist just happens to run into his face, I wouldn’t exactly care.”

Harrison gave me an awkward half hug and turned his attention to his phone. I looked over his shoulder, reading his text messages. “Who’s Jenny?” I asked, reading the name of the sender.

“The girl I went out with last night,” he replied.

“Oh, yeah. How did that go?” I had been so wrapped up in my own problems that I forgot to ask Harrison about the game and his date.

He shrugged again. “Okay, I guess. She’s all right, but predictable.”

“Predictable?” I questioned and hugged my pink stuffed unicorn.

“Yeah.” He sent another message before setting his phone down.

“Care to explain?”

“I can’t really,” he said. “But she is. She’s very typical.”

“All right,” I said since it was obvious Harrison couldn’t explain his own thought process.

“She likes horses,” he added. “If we go to the barn, could you help us ride?”

“Sure. I’m sure any day after school this week will be fine. Especially since I have no boyfriend to waste time with anymore.”

Harrison shot me a half-sympathetic half don’t-do-that-to-yourself look. I smiled to show him I was okay. “I’m really tired,” I said. “See you in the morning.”

“Oh, Annie, I almost forgot. We have an early practice tomorrow. I’m not gonna go home right after school.”

“Okay. I’ll drive myself then. Night, Harry.”

“Night.”

4

Bob wasn’t under the oak tree when I went to the barn after school on Monday. He wasn’t always there, but I couldn’t help but wonder if his absence had anything to do with the dog-creature. I stayed at the barn as late as I could, using every last minute of my curfew. I wasn’t as upset as I had been yesterday, but I wanted to keep myself busy regardless. Horses are good therapy, and I left feeling much better.

I showered and completed my homework before lying in bed. I decided to leave Romeo out since he had been in his cage most of the day. I played with the tarot cards, trying to remember what each one meant. It was a lot to remember, since there were seventy-two cards and each had two meanings, depending on how it was dealt. It could be right side up or upside down. I hid the cards under my pillow, exchanging them for the dagger. I ran my finger up and down the smooth blade until my eyes begged to be closed.

I woke up less than an hour later. Romeo had climbed up in bed with me and was scratching at my feet. Annoyed, I got out of bed, grabbed Romeo, gave him a kiss, and stuck him in his cage. Slight unease crept over me, but I was too tired to think about it. I groggily got back under the covers and fell back asleep.

Not long after, Romeo scratched my feet again. In my sleepy state, I tucked my feet up closer to my body so Romeo couldn’t get them.

Wait…

My eyes flew open, and I shot out of bed when I remembered that I had put Romeo away. I frantically turned on my bedside lamp and looked at Romeo’s cage; the door was shut and locked, and I could see him sleeping in his hammock. My heart was beating a hundred miles an hour.

I shook my head. “I must have been dreaming.” I swallowed hard and lifted up my blankets. There was nothing there. Slowly, I forced myself to look under the bed and saw nothing.

I even checked the closet and my bathroom. Of course, there was nothing. I had to have been dreaming. I sat down on my bed, crossing my legs so they wouldn’t dangle over the edge.

“Hello?” I asked, looking around the room for a spirit. Walls of energy were closing in on me. “Is there anyone here?” I held my breath while I waited, but nothing happened. I buried myself back under the covers, turned off the light, and tried to go back to sleep. As I was about to drift off, Hunter startled awake and barked out the window.

I shot up, too scared to look. I pushed myself over to turn on my lamp again when my fingers brushed the cool metal hilt of the dagger. An uncharacteristic surge of adrenaline rushed through me, and I decided to see what was outside in the back yard.

Hunter growled, and his fur stood on end. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, bringing the dagger with me. I grabbed a zip-up sweatshirt from the floor and put it on before shoving my feet into boots. I opened my bedroom door, letting Hunter race ahead of me.

He was waiting by the sliding glass doors in the breakfast nook with his nose pressed against the glass. I took a deep breath and unlocked the door. I didn’t allow myself time to think. I opened the door and stepped into the night.

I cautiously edged towards the steps of the wooden deck that led to the yard. The lights inside the pool had been accidentally left on, creating an eerie, watery glow over part of the yard. Something moved in the woods that butted up to the cast iron fence that surrounded our yard.

Hunter bolted forward, barking. My heart skipped a beat. I gripped the dagger and moved through the dewy grass. I narrowed my eyes as I crept closer to the trees. Fear prickled down my spine. It was the dog-creature. It had to be.

Then the energy shifted, hitting me and making me dizzy. I shook my head, trying to force the mental shields up. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t block it out.

Red-hot fear shot through me, and my eyes widened in terror. A dark silhouette moved closer. Hunter ran to me, putting himself between me and the apparition. The shadow took on a more human form. Energy buzzed in my ears.

I was frozen, rooted in the same spot, as I watched the dark shape step through the fence as if it wasn’t even there. It reached out, taking electromagnetic energy from my body. The darkness melted away as the ghost took on a human appearance. He was a teenage boy, with scraggly blonde hair that ended above his shoulders.

He looked at me, his eyes pleading. Then he held his arms out to the side and opened his mouth, trying to speak. His dead eyes met mine, and he shook his head. A chill went through me, and I suddenly felt the ghost’s emotions. He was giving me a warning…but I didn’t know why. He looked behind him, fear crinkling his young face, and then disappeared into the night without a trace.

Hunter stopped barking at once. Suddenly, the back porch lights turned on.

“Anora?” Dad called.

Oh crap. I hid the dagger inside my sweatshirt. “What is going on out here?” I turned to look at my dad for a split second before I turned back, making sure that the ghost wasn’t lingering.

“Nothing. Um, Hunter had to go out, and we saw…” Should I tell the truth? No, I wasn’t going through that again with my parents. “We saw a raccoon. He barked and chased it off.”

“It’s late. Come inside.”

“We will in a minute. Hunter hasn’t gone pee yet.” To my relief, Dad went back in. My body hummed with the energy and adrenaline. I hopped onto the deck and waited for Hunter. I dried off his paws when we got inside and hurried to my room.

Harrison was standing in his doorway, his eyes still half closed. “What’s going on?”

“There was a ghost,” I said honestly. I might not be able to tell my parents the truth about spirits, but Harrison could know.

“No, there wasn’t.”

“Yes, there was. He was trying to tell me something.”

Harrison turned to go back into his room. “You were dreaming.”

I rolled my eyes. “I was outside. And Hunter saw him.”

Harrison looked at me and frowned. “You’re stressed. And tired. It was probably a nightmare.” He waved his hands in the air. “I’ve had nightmares before. It’s not a big deal. It’s over.”

I cast my eyes to the floor. “You don’t get it, Harry.”

“What don’t I get?”

I looked back up at him. “That’s the difference between you and me. When you wake up, the nightmare ends.”

Harrison rubbed his eyes. “Tell me about it in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” I said. The adrenaline rush was wearing off, and I felt sluggish. I hated when spirits took my energy. They needed it in order to manifest, but it wore me out. “Night, Harry.”

“Night, Annie.”

5

I could barely keep my eyes open during class the next day. I yawned my way through the morning, shifting in my seat every few minutes to stay awake. I widened my eyes and shook my head. I can make it to lunch.

But econ dragged on and was so boring it could be deemed torture. I was drawing the triple moon symbol from the pendant and dagger when I was hit with a wave of tiredness that I couldn’t fight. My hand slowly slid into my lap, causing my pen to draw a line down my notebook. My head drooped. The next thing I knew, I was dreaming.

The blonde haired ghost from last night was running through the woods, turning around every few seconds to see what was chasing him. There was nothing there. Slick, dewy leaves and slippery moss carpeted the forest floor, slowing him down. Low-hanging branches tore the skin on his cheeks, blood seeped down his pale flesh. He reached a small man-made clearing and stopped to catch his breath.

Everything was silent.

Too silent, he thought, his thoughts and feelings ringing clear in my own mind. He pushed forward, climbing a hill, not stopping until he was at the top. A white barn stood in the center of the hill. Branches snapped behind him, and he ran again, sprinting to the barn. There was something familiar and safe about this place. He knew where the hide-a-key was, and his hands moved frantically through wet, rotten leaves. The cold metal graced his numb fingers when—

“Anora!” Harrison’s friend, Luke, tapped me on the shoulder. I startled awake, feeling a little disoriented. I turned around.

“What?” I blinked in the bright lights.

He looked at the front of the room, indicating that I should follow his gaze. I did and was surprised to see a man dressed in a brown suit standing next to Mrs. Heverly. I didn’t know what this meant…or what to do.

“That guy said he needs to talk to you,” Luke whispered.

“Oh, okay.” Why? Aware the entire class was staring at me, I stood up and started to walk to the front.

“Please, bring your books,” the man said. A knot started to form in my stomach. This could not be good. Had something happened to my parents?

I looked at the man, trying to read his vacant face. He was thin, standing only a few inches taller than me, and had washed out, short brown hair. He turned and walked out of the classroom. I hugged my books to my chest and followed, watching as the stranger checked room numbers as we walked by.

He led me into the main office. My heart fell to the floor. Someone died. Why else would he be bringing me into a conference room?

“Please sit,” he said and closed the door. I put my books down on the table and perched on the edge of the chair. I clenched my jaw. Was he going to tell me my parents died in a fiery car crash?

The man sat down across from me. “My name is James Pearson, please call me James. I was your great-aunt Estelle’s lawyer,” he said with a pressed smile. “I am very sorry to have to be the one to inform you that your aunt has passed.”

“Oh,” I said with a sigh of relief. Better her than my parents, although I felt guilty feeling that way. She was old, and I knew it would happen sooner or later. I just thought it would be later. “Should I get my brother? I mean, she was his great aunt too.”

“No, this doesn’t concern him.”

James opened one of the briefcases and shuffled through it. Why did I get pulled out of class and not Harry? And why would someone come all the way from Indiana to tell me my great aunt died? We weren’t close; a phone call would have sufficed.

James pushed a stack of papers in front of me. I reached out to pull it closer, and he snatched his hand away as if he was afraid I might accidentally touch him. He nervously laughed, like he wanted to cover up the fact that he was nervous.

“I bet you’re like your aunt,” he said curiously.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” I flicked my eyes from the papers to him.

“Ah, right. Of course.” He cleared his throat and went back into lawyer mode. “Estelle left everything she had to you.” He paused and looked at me. I thought he expected me to say something.

“Everything?” What could Aunt Estelle have that would be so valuable that she needed a lawyer to personally tell me? James looked at the papers in front of me then into my eyes. I got the hint and looked down and started to read. “Holy…” I couldn’t finish my sentence.

“She wanted to make this as simple as possible. This is a basic list. I have the formal documents here as well.”

Crazy Aunt Estelle had a house, seventy-five acres, a very large jewelry collection, and an even larger bank account. My mind couldn’t form a coherent thought. I was bewitched by all the zeros that made up the ridiculous sum of money I had inherited.

“How did she have all this?”

James shifted nervously. “Your aunt was, ah, very, wise in her investments.” His eyes pleaded for no further questions. “As you can see, there is enough money for you, your children, and their children to live quite comfortably.” He fumbled in his brief case and slid another paper in front of me. “Stocks,” he said quickly.

That was a subject I knew nothing about. I glanced at the paper anyway. My eyes must have bulged when I saw what was written. It was Aunt Estelle’s handwriting, no doubt, and for the next fifty years it had “predictions” of when and what stock to pull or invest.

“Why me?” Not that I wasn’t grateful, I was, but this didn’t make sense. Certainly Aunt Estelle had someone closer to have left her millions to.

“Your great aunt was very fond of you.” He dove into his brief case again. “In fact, she wrote you this.” He slid an envelope across the table. My name was written in the center in tiny cursive that I recognized at once. I grabbed it and flipped it over. A wax seal kept the envelope closed, and pressed into the wax was the same weird symbol that was on the dagger and the pendants.

I used my nail to break the seal. Carefully, I unfolded the letter.

My dearest Anora,

Unfortunately, if you are reading this, I have gone into the Otherworld. Even more unfortunate is the fact that you are reading this particular letter. This means that I never had the chance to tell you anything and everything. Please don’t be angry with me, my dear. I did it with the best intentions. I wanted a good life for you, and from what I’ve seen, you have had one so far. I should have visited, but again, I thought it would be best to keep some distance. I may be dead, but in time, I will tell you everything.

I’m sure you have already met James. He’s a bit of a coward, but you can trust him. He will assist you with all of the legal doings that neither you nor I know anything about. If you need anything, tell him, and he will gladly do what he can.

Know that I love you and that you have made me proud. You are an amazing and strong young woman. There is nothing you cannot do. Never let anything hold you down.

Love Always,

Estelle

What the hell? I bit my lip and moved my eyes to the top of the letter, needing to read it again. Before I could, James had more papers to carefully push in front of me.

“Your aunt hasn’t lived in the house for over a decade, but I assure you it is in good condition. She has paid special attention that it, uh…be…uh, well preserved. In fact, over the last two years, almost everything has been updated.”

“Is the house old?” I asked.

“Quite. It was built in 1903.”

The bell that signaled the end of fourth period rang. James didn’t seem to have any intentions of letting me go to lunch.

“When is her funeral?” I asked, looking at my name at the top of the letter.

“It was your aunt’s wishes to not have one. Her body was cremated immediately after she died.”

“Oh. When did she die?” I didn’t feel like I was in my body. Was this really happening?

“She had been in bad health for a while now. She slipped into a coma last Friday evening and passed early Saturday morning.”

“Does my mom know?”

James looked at me as if that was a completely irrelevant question.

“It was her aunt,” I clarified.

“Ah, yes. And no, you are the only one I was told to inform.”

Neither of us said anything for a moment. The long silence was awkward. Another bell rang. Lunch had started.

“So where exactly is this house? I know she lived in Indiana, but that’s it,” I said shyly.

James got out a map. Man, he had everything in that briefcase. He unfolded a map of Indiana. Up in the left, top corner was a star.

“Northwest Indiana.” He pointed at the star, as if I couldn’t figure out that was what I was supposed to look. “The mailing address is for Paradise Valley, but the house is out of city limits. It’s a nice town, even has its own university. You’re not too far from Chicago, and you’re even closer to Lake Michigan.”

“Oh,” was all I could think to say.

“Your aunt also had me make arrangements for you to come and see the house. She wanted you to go as soon as possible. I can have a car pick you up tomorrow.”

I started to say, “Okay,” but then I realized that wouldn’t work. “I have school and animals to take care of.”

“I see. Well, how about the weekend then?”

“I really should talk to my parents.”

“Right. Before you go back to class, I have a few things I need you to sign.”

I could have sold my soul to the devil for all I knew. I didn’t read anything, I just signed at the bottom of what seemed like a thousand pages. James went through everything, his formal explanations meaning nothing to me. Aunt Estelle wrote that I could trust him.

But since when did I trust Aunt Estelle?

6

I was rereading the papers the lawyer had given me as I walked into the hospital. Maybe I would finally understand the formal writing after the fourth time I read it. I got in an elevator and pressed the third floor button. My stomach lurched as it always did when I rode in elevators. Please don’t get stuck today.

I diverted my eyes to the letter from Aunt Estelle. She wrote that from what she’d seen, I’d had a good life. Other than sending her a thank you card for the odd gifts, I never had any communication with her. What the hell was she talking about?

I was so distracted with the letter that I didn't even notice Ethan walking down the hall until I ran into him. Literally. I smacked against his firm chest and my nice, neat papers folded on impact.

“Anora,” he exclaimed, putting his hands on my shoulders to help me regain my balance.

“Ethan,” I breathed. “Hi.” I looked up, blushing slightly. My eyes locked with his. An attractive older man who was standing next to Ethan cleared his throat. His face was scraped up, and his right arm in a sling. I looked back to Ethan. He had a bruise under his left eye. I was curious as to what happened but didn’t feel it was my place to ask. “How are you?” I asked, remembering my manners.

“Been better,” Ethan said with a smile. “What are you doing here?” He looked down at my breeches and boots. “I’d guess you were in a horseback riding accident, but you look fine.”

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m here to see my mom.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is she sick?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Actually, she’s a doctor. I have to give her these.” I waved the papers in the air but didn’t explain what they were.

“Oh. I see,” Ethan said. “This is my dad.” He turned towards the man. “Dad, this is Anora.”

“Nice to meet you.” I smiled again. “You work at the University with my dad then. He’s an anatomy professor. Ethan told me you taught history.”

“Yeah, I do.” He gave me a forced smile and shifted his weight. “Nice meeting you,” he said to me before turning to Ethan. “I’ll be in the car.”

He limped down the hall, leaving me alone with Ethan, who was wearing the same black leather jacket he had worn Saturday night. His t-shirt was splattered with blood, and his brown hair was a messy. His black biker boots were comfortably worn in and dirty. He could easily play the rugged, sexy, bad boy in a movie.

“Are you okay?” I asked him, moving my gaze from the blood on this shirt to his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said quickly and smiled. “We were hiking and went off the path. I’m not used to the steep hills and drop off around here. Chicago is pretty flat.”

“Oh,” I said, not sure if I should believe him.

“You have horses?” Ethan asked.

“Yeah, two.” I nervously shuffled the papers around.

“That’s awesome. Do you ride a lot?”

“Every day if I can. I’m surprised you knew these were breeches.” I motioned to my pants. They weren’t the traditional tan; instead they were black with a blue stripe going down the outside seams of each leg. “Most people think I’m some weirdo wearing colored leggings with knee patches and boots.” I smiled. “I think it’s kinda funny when they do, though.”

Ethan smiled back and said, “Well, I like the pants. You look good in them.”

I could feel my cheeks flush. I looked back at the papers, feeling Ethan’s gaze on me.

“Hey, I know you just broke up with a douche bag,“ he started. I winced at the memory of Mike. I’d been so wrapped up in everything, I’d nearly forgotten about him. His betrayal didn’t sting any more. “But do you want to go out sometime?” he asked. I gaped at him for a second.

“Yes,” I finally said, though I wasn’t sure if he even heard me. “Yeah,” I said, voice firm. “I’d love to.” He took a small step closer.

“Great. What are you doing Friday night?”

I opened my mouth to say nothing when I remembered that I might be on a plane to Indiana Friday night. “I…can’t. My great aunt died. That’s actually why I’m here to talk to my mom. I might have to go to Indiana this weekend.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about your aunt.”

“Thanks, and it’s okay. I feel bad saying this, but we weren’t close. I barely knew her. You can’t miss what you didn’t know, right?”

Ethan shrugged in agreement. “I suppose so.”

“What about the next weekend?” I cautiously asked.

“Or before?” he suggested almost shyly.

I couldn’t help but smile. “I’d like that.”

“What are you doing Thursday?”

“Nothing really,” I said. “Just school and then going to the barn. You could meet me there,” I joked.

“I could,” he said seriously. “If you want me to.”

“I do,” I blurted and took another step closer to Ethan. Something about him was drawing me in, something I couldn’t explain, something I wanted more of.

He smiled and my heart fluttered. “I’ll call you on Thursday for directions,” he said, and I gave him my number. “I’m glad you ran into me.”

“Yeah, me too.”

We both stood there, looking at each other for a few seconds. The noise of the busy hospital seemed to fade away.

“Well,” he started. “I should go find my dad. See you Thursday.”

“Bye.”

Dazed, I stood rooted in my spot and watched Ethan leave. I shook myself back to reality and continued down the hall to Mom’s office. She, of course, wasn’t in there. I sat down on one of the two red, padded armchairs that were angled to face her desk. This was where people sat when she told them that they or a loved one had a brain tumor. Echoes of sadness radiated throughout the room. I closed my eyes and forced up my mental shields.

I set the papers on her desk and scrolled through my Facebook feed on my phone, wasting time until Mom came in. I knew she was seeing patients today; I figured she’d be in and out of her office frequently. But fifteen minutes later, I was ready to leave.

I put my hands on the arms of the chair, ready to push myself up to go, when the door opened.

“Anora!” Mom said. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?” Her eyes widened, and she hurried into the room.

I sank back into the chair. “Everything is fine, well kinda. Didn’t that lady tell you I called?”

“What lady? What do you mean by kinda?” she asked.

“Aunt Estelle died.”

Mom’s face relaxed. Then she shook her head. “Well, she was very old. How do you know?”

“Her lawyer came and told me at school. He pulled me out of class and everything.” I smoothed out the papers that wrinkled when I smashed against Ethan. “Aunt Estelle left me all her stuff.” Mom took the papers out of my hand. It felt like an hour passed as she read them over and over.

“I heard rumors,” she said. I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or to herself; I didn’t say anything. “I heard rumors that she had a lot of money. I had no idea it was this much.”

We went over details, and I told the story about James Pearson. Mom said she had only met Aunt Estelle a few times as a child; Estelle kept to herself. I asked her about going to Indiana over the weekend, and she said she’d have to talk to Dad about it.

Finally, I left for home. The extra effort it took to keep my mental shields up were draining, and my head was spinning. I was scared to go to Indiana alone, but something inside of me told me I had to go. It made no sense, and it made me want to go even more. What did Aunt Estelle have waiting for me?

7

“Why is everyone staring at me?” I asked Laney while we walked in to photography class that next day.

“I don’t think they are.” She looked around the room. “Okay, maybe a few of them are, like that guy over there.” She nodded towards a red-headed boy.

“Told you. Is there anything on my face or something?” I subconsciously reached up and ran a hand over my hair.

Laney looked me up and down. “You look fine, I promise.”

We sat down next to each other at a large wooden table. Almost everyone was looking at me, and a few were whispering.

“Now this is weird,” Laney said.

I nodded in agreement. But before we could discuss the cause further, Mr. Jancovich began talking about our photo projects for the rest of the year. We would be graded on our creativity and, of course, the quality of the photos.

My next class was full of whispers and stares too. I was starting to feel like a circus freak. I knew I was different than everyone else, but at least I looked somewhat normal. Why was everyone staring? I worked hard to make sure no one knew about the ghosts. I kept my head down, acting more interested in taking notes that I really was. When the bell rang, I rushed to my locker.

“They know,” Harrison said, running up behind me. I put my books inside and turned to face him.

“Who knows?” I asked.

“Everyone.”

“Now who sounds like the crazy one?” I asked with a smile.

“I’m serious, Annie. Everyone in the whole school knows about you inheriting all that money.”

My mouth fell open. I looked at Laney and saw that she looked as shocked.

“Who did you tell?” he questioned.

“Just you guys, Marie, Leslie, and Mom and Dad, of course.” We all exchanged looked and said, “Marie,” in unison.

“No way,” Laney said. “She wouldn’t do that.”

“Unless she told her new boy-toy,” I suggested. “Marie does have a bad habit of trusting everyone she dates.”

“Well, I doubt she did it purposely to hurt you,” Laney suggested.

“Why are you defending her?” Harrison asked. “She obviously can’t keep a secret.”

“Guys,” I said. “Let’s go talk to her, okay? And it’s really not that big of a deal. So what? The cat’s out of the money-bag. It was only a matter of time anyway.”

* * *

Later, at the barn, I brushed Neptune with lightning speed. I wished I hadn’t wasted so much time arguing with Mom after school about going to Indiana on my own. Now I had to rush to get everything done in time so I could go home and get cleaned up for dinner. Even though I had no reason to want to impress Harrison’s new girlfriend, I wanted to at least make a good impression.

I put my brushes away and walked outside, braving the rain, to look for Bob. He still wasn’t standing under his tree. I closed my eyes and let the shields drop. There were no traces of the spirit. I opened my eyes and stared at his spot. I kind of missed him. I turned around, hurrying in and out of the rain. Had he finally passed on? I wanted to believe he had, but something inside told me otherwise.

I jumped in the shower as soon as I was home. I was rinsing the conditioner out of my hair when something crashed to the floor inside my room. I rolled my eyes and turned the water off, not looking forward to cleaning up the mess Romeo had made.

With only a towel wrapped around my body, I opened the bathroom door and peered into my room. Romeo was curled up at the foot of my bed, and Hunter was downstairs. Water streamed down my hair and puddles formed around my feet.

“Sleeping already?” I asked my ferret. It was possible. I stepped back into the bathroom but left the door open so I could keep an eye on my troublemaker. I quickly got dressed and dried my hair. I grabbed my brush and exited the bathroom, looking around to see what Romeo had knocked over.

Usually, he went for whatever was on my desk. But the chair was pushed out, making it impossible for him to climb onto the surface and knock stuff down. I sat on my bed, convinced I imagined the whole thing, when I noticed that my closet door wasn’t closed. I pushed off the mattress and walked over, slowly opening the door.

A cardboard box of jewelry that Aunt Estelle had given me over the years lay haphazardly on its side. The contents had spilled out. I bent down, scooping the necklaces and gaudy bracelets back into the box. A golden glimmer caught my attention. I sorted through tangled chains until I pulled the Tiger’s Eye necklace out of the box. The stone was smooth and shaped like a teardrop. I ran my finger over it a few times before putting it on and tucking the stone inside my shirt.

I felt a little dizzy when I stood. Must have been from standing too fast or not eating since lunch. I put my hand on the wall and took a breath, feeling better after a few seconds.

I refilled Romeo and Hunter’s water bowls and made it down to the table minutes before Harrison and Jenny walked in.

Jenny was petite, standing just over five feet. Her dark blonde hair, which looked like it was her natural color, was pulled into a ponytail. The green and white ribbons tied around the band told me she was a cheerleader. She smiled as soon as she saw me.

“You must be Annie,” she spoke softly, her voice high pitched and girly.

“Anora,” I automatically corrected before it dawned on me that Harrison only refers to me as Annie. The girl might not have even known that I had a full name. Still, Annie was my nickname, and not anyone could call me by my nickname. That right had to be earned. “Your necklace is really pretty,” I added quickly so I wouldn’t seem rude.

“Thanks.” She reached up and touched the large purple gemstone.

“Amethyst?” I asked.

“Yeah, it is.” She smiled sweetly and put her hand on Harrison’s thigh. Her face twitched ever so slightly when her eyes landed on Hunter. She blinked and shook her head, smiling again when my parents joined us at the table.

The conversation was directed at getting to know Jenny. She seemed like a nice girl, going to church and doing volunteer work, which was a pleasant change from the girls Harrison usually dated.

When I was done eating, I excused myself from the table and went up to my room. I had a lot to do before leaving for Indiana on Friday. I pulled my hair up in a tight ponytail and changed into my pajamas. I decided to finish my homework for the rest of the week tonight so I could pack tomorrow.

After a few hours of staring at my schoolbooks, I was ready for a break. Plus, Hunter needed to go out. On our way down the hall, I could hear Jenny laughing. Hunter growled, which was odd. He wasn’t fond of strangers but didn’t seem bothered by Jenny during dinner. Maybe because she fed him her leftovers?

I grabbed his collar to lead him down the hall. Harrison’s door was closed. Gross. I walked faster, hurrying to get outside. It was still rather warm for fall. I took in a deep breath of fresh air and tried to relax. The stress of leaving for the weekend was starting to make me feel anxious. I always worry about the animals.

I traced my eyes along the back fence, watching the leaves blow in the wind. Part of me wanted that ghost to reappear. He had looked at me like he meant to, like he knew I was there. Being a medium wasn’t how it was in the movies. I could see spirits, but they couldn’t always see me.

I flailed when a moth flew past me, attracted to the porch light. Hunter looked up from the grass he was sniffing to stare at me.

“Moths are vile creatures,” I reminded him. “I’d rather deal with spiders.” I skipped out of the pool of light, shivering in disgust. I hated moths with a passion. I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling like moths were crawling on me, when the energy shifted.

Hunter let out a high-pitched whine. Everything spun around me, and my ears rang. I pitched forward, holding onto the deck railing for support. Hunter raced up the steps and was right there, in front of me. His fur stood up, lips pulling back over sharp fangs. A low growl rumbled from deep inside of him.

I knew he was coming. I could feel it. But my heart still skipped a beat in fear when the blonde-haired ghost appeared feet in front of me.

“I can’t keep you hidden for much longer,” he whispered. He looked at me, his eyes so fearful, he could have been staring death in the face. “She’s not who she says she is.”

Black mist swirled around his feet. He lowered his eyes, horror taking over his face. He said something else, but his words were lost in a maelstrom of dark energy. I stumbled back, throwing my hands out to keep my balance. Hunter barked, and the ghost disappeared.

I tripped over my own feet and thudded to the ground. Dazed, I looked into the darkness. Hunter moved in and licked my face, standing protectively over me. I wrapped my arms around him and let out a breath.

Ghosts never spoke directly to me. Had he meant to? I blinked and shook my head, trying to clear the haze my mind was in. What did he want from me? He had taken a good amount of my energy again. I hated it. Shakily, I pushed myself up and ran up to my room.

I shut my door and opened my laptop. I needed to find a way to repel ghosts. I’d been blocking them from my inner eye my whole life, but I’d never tried to actually keep them out of my house. I entered my search in Google, and a ton of different things came up. Now I had to decipher what was crap and what wasn’t.

Salt was mentioned on several sites. White candles were supposed to create positive energy. I had both of those. I stood at the top of the stairs and listened. I heard exactly what I wanted to hear: nothing. I dashed down to the kitchen to get the salt. I considered grabbing the saltshaker, but I didn’t think that would be enough.

I laughed when I imagined myself shaking salt out all over my room. If anyone saw me, they would think I was crazy for sure. I quickly rooted around through the cupboards until I found the big canister of salt. I lined the entire perimeter of my room with it. Mom would kill me if she found out.

Next, I put a white votive candle at the north, east, south, and west points in my room. I turned off my light and stood in the middle of the room. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine the energy of the candles flowing through the lines of salt.

I felt rather silly when I said, “Elementals, I call on your power to protect this room.” Even with closed eyes, I noticed an increase in light. I opened them, and my jaw dropped. The flames of the candles were three inches high. Power surged through my body. When I finally exhaled, the flames dropped back to normal size.

Was that a coincidence, or had I caused it?

8

I had told Ethan to meet me at the barn at five o’clock, so I was surprised—and mortified since I was singing “Kickstart My Heart” to Mystery— when he showed up fifteen minutes early. A smile pulled up my lips when I saw his Jeep pull into the driveway, any my heart lurched, feeling that same desperation that I felt before. I wanted to be near him. Now.

I stood inside the barn, watching as he got out of a black SUV. He checked his phone, looking nervous, then set his face and walked toward the barn. I walked out in time to greet him halfway.

“Hey, Ethan,” I said and felt my stomach flip-flop.

“Anora, hi,” he said, coming closer. Being near to him calmed me. “How are you?”

“I’m all right. You?”

“I’m good…now,” he said with a grin. God, he was good looking. I could stare into his dark brown eyes forever.

“Want to ride with me?” I asked.

“I’d love to,” he replied and followed me into the barn. I spent a few minutes introducing him to the horses. He stood close to me while I brushed Neptune, trying his hardest to imitate what I was doing. I wanted to lean back into him, to feel his arms wrap around me, and watch the world disappear. I blinked and took a breath. Calm down. You don’t even know him yet.

“She’s clean enough,” I said. “I just have to get her saddle and bridle from the tack room and we can ride,” I told him.

“The what room?” he asked.

“Tack room.” I often forget normal non-horsey people don’t know the lingo. “It’s like a locker room for tack, and tack is like equipment, like the saddle and bridle and stuff.”

Ethan nodded and followed me into the tack room. He offered to carry Neptune’s heavy Western saddle, and he picked it up as if it weighed nothing. I grabbed her pink-and-black plaid saddle pad and bridle. I showed Ethan how to put the saddle on, and he watched intently, which made me smile. He was really trying to care about this. Next was the bridle. After that was on, I handed him the reins and walked out of the stall. He looked from me to the horse and then to me again. “Walk a little in front of her, and she’ll follow,” I instructed and went into Mystery’s stall. He was already saddled up and ready to ride.

I led the way to the arena. I got on Mystery, smile broadening when I saw Bob standing under his tree. In that moment, all seemed right in the world.

* * *

“Your legs are probably going to be sore tomorrow,” I warned him as I swung off of Mystery. We had been riding for a lot longer than I planned.

“Nah, I doubt it,” Ethan said as he dismounted.

“Trust me, that’s what everyone says,” I laughed and led Mystery back into the barn. I hadn’t even noticed that Laney had arrived. She had Abra in the grooming area, and her mouth dropped and her eyes bugged a bit when she saw Ethan leading Neptune. She looked from me to him more than once.

I smiled and nodded, putting Mystery in his stall. Ethan helped me put the tack away and then went into Neptune’s stall to brush her. I crossed the aisle, looking into Abra’s stall at my best friend.

“Isn’t that the guy from Saturday night?” she whispered.

“Yeah. Ethan,” I whispered back.

She gaped at me. “How?”

“I ran into him at the hospital the other night. He asked if I wanted to do something.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So you brought him here?”

I shrugged. “Why not?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She smacked my arm.

“I wasn’t sure if he really would come.”

I heard Neptune’s stall door slide open and then shut. Ethan walked over to join us.

“It’s Laney, right?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m surprised you remembered.” Laney blushed a bit.

“Why wouldn’t I? I wasn’t the drunk one that night.” Ethan made a face at me, and I shot him one right back before I started laughing. He stayed by my side, introducing himself to Leslie when she came in with her horse, Henry.

After we said goodbye to everyone, Ethan and I walked out into the parking lot. He stopped a few feet in front of his car.

“Want to get something to eat?” he asked.

“Yes,” I agreed, pleased he wanted to spend more time with me. Ethan opened his passenger door for me and held his hand out to help me in. “You don’t care that I’m wearing my breeches?” I asked a bit apprehensively when he was in the car.

“Not at all, why would I?” he said and started the SUV. “Where do you want to go?”

“Oh, I don’t care. I’m not a picky eater. I don’t like onions or really spicy stuff, but that’s about it. What about you?”

“Doesn’t matter to me either. Why don’t you choose, though? I don’t know the restaurants around here yet.”

“Hmm, okay.” I thought for a few seconds. “What about Chinese food? There’s a really good place not too far from here, actually.”

“Sounds good.” He drove down the driveway. I pointed in the direction he needed to go. “Want to listen to music?”

“Yeah. Can I?” I asked, reaching for the radio.

“Sure.”

I changed it to my favorite classic rock station.

“You really like this kind of music?” he asked.

“Yes. Why, is that so hard to believe?”

“I don’t know, I guess you don’t seem like someone who would. I would have guessed you to like that annoying hip-hop crap.”

I smiled. “Nope. I think it’s annoying too. My brother and my friends like that stuff though, and we are always fighting about what kind of music to listen to whenever we go somewhere.”

“You have a brother?”

“Yeah. A twin.” Ethan took his eyes off the road for a few seconds to look at me.

“Does he look like you?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Not at all. He’s probably almost as tall as you and is blonde with blue eyes. My mom and dad are both blonde, too. I actually don’t look like anyone in my family.”

Ethan nodded and didn’t say anything. We sat in silence for a few minutes, though it wasn’t awkward in the least.

“Turn left at the next light,” I instructed, and he nodded. “So how long did you live in Chicago?” I decided I’d better break the silence before it did get awkward.

“My whole life, pretty much. I lived in the suburbs growing up, but after college, I decided to stay in the city.”

“Where did you go?”

“University of Chicago.”

“Oh, what did you major in?” I asked.

“Biology.”

I assumed that meant he was smart. “What did you do after you graduated?”

“I was a martial arts instructor, which has nothing to do with my major. But that’s what I’m good at, I guess.”

That explained the muscles. I tipped my head, looking at his biceps. A surge of attraction went through me, and I longed to be close to him again. “I took karate lessons for four months when I was like twelve, but that’s the extent of my kung fu skills. I always wanted to start again but never had the time.”

“I do miss having students.” He looked at me with a smile.

I smiled back, and my heart fluttered.

“Turn into that little plaza; the restaurant’s right in the middle,” I said, smiling until we parked.

As I got out of the car, the glowing red and pink sunset caught my attention. I didn’t even realize I had stopped to admire it until Ethan asked, “What are you staring at?”

“The sunset. It looks like the sky is on fire.”

He walked over and stopped close to me, following my gaze to the sherbet-colored sky. The blazing sun was perfectly centered in a patch of beautiful orange clouds that gradually turned to red and pink. Deep purple wisps disappeared and melted into the darkening periwinkle sky.

“Isn’t it amazing how something so common can be so beautiful?” I asked quietly. I saw Ethan look at me out of the corner of my eye. “I mean, the sun sets every day, so it’s not at all surprising. But still…it’s beautiful.” I looked at him. I couldn’t read his expression, but we locked eyes for a few seconds. His lips curved into a slight smile, and he offered his hand to me. I took it, and we walked side by side into the restaurant.

We were seated right away and got our food rather quickly. It was easy to talk to Ethan. He seemed curious about me; he asked a lot of questions about my horses and friends. He didn’t like to talk about himself. Whenever the conversation turned to him, he quickly asked me another question.

I looked around the restaurant and was surprised to see that we were some of the only few remaining people there. Had we really been there that long?

Right on cue, the waiter brought the bill. Before I could grab the check and pay for what I had eaten, Ethan slid it over in front of himself. I wasn’t sure if I should offer to pay or not. I hated potentially awkward situations.

“I got this, don’t worry,” he said.

“You sure? You don’t have to pay for me if you don’t want to.”

“I’m sure.” Ethan said, chuckling. “Let’s go.”

“What’s the weather like in Chicago this time of year?” I asked on our way back to the barn.

“Very similar to here.”

“Good. I’ll know what to pack for the weekend.” I groaned, “I hate packing, though. Well, the packing isn’t so bad, but the unpacking sucks.”

“Yeah it does,” Ethan agreed. “Do you have a funeral to go to?”

“No, as weird as it sounds I was told my aunt didn’t want one. I actually inherited her house.” And a ton of money, but he didn’t need to know that. Not yet, at least.

“Interesting.”

“Yeah, it’s weird. I don’t really understand why I got it because, like I said, we weren’t close. But, oh well. You can’t look a gift horse in the mouth, right?”

Ethan shot me a sideways glance.

“It’s an old proverb, I think,” I explained. “It means be thankful for what you get.”

“Makes sense,” he said, though I didn’t know if he really got what I meant or not. Back at the barn, Ethan parked next to my car. He got out and met me by my door.

“Oh,” I said, looking at the barn.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just remembered that I left my bag inside. I’ll get it after you leave. It’s no big deal.”

“I can come with you. It’s dark and scary in there,” he said jokingly. “I think you need someone to protect you.”

“You’re right. I’m a defenseless girl. I need your Karate-Kid skills in case of an attack.”

He smiled and followed me in. I didn’t want to turn the lights on and bother the sleeping horses, so I left the door open to cast the security lights into the aisle. I stepped inside and headed for the office to get my bag.

Annn-ieeee.

I whirled around so abruptly it startled Ethan. “Did you say something?” I asked.

“No.” He looked at me incredulously. This is not happening. I felt a wave of familiar panic. Bob, if this is you finally trying to talk to me…I shut my eyes to block it out. Suddenly, Razzle—whose stall we were in front of—spooked. Thunder, in a stall next to him, reared up defensively. As if that set off a chain reaction, all the horses moved nervously around in their stalls.

Ruuunnnn.

The cryptic whisper was close to my ear. I couldn’t block it out. Ethan moved in front of me.

“Why don’t you get your bag now?” His eyes darted around the dark barn, and he held his arms a bit out from his sides, looking like he was ready for a fight. I nodded and ran into the office to grab my bag. Ethan put his hand on my back and ushered me towards the door.

The energy was completely different outside. It was quiet, peaceful, and still. I tried my best to cast off any fear that lingered in my mind. I took a deep breath, slowly letting it out. A few crickets chirped, and the slight breeze rattled the trees. A star studded sky sparkled above us. Ethan fell in step next to me, the heat of his skin warm against mine. I felt safe.

“When are you leaving tomorrow?” Ethan asked as he walked me to my car.

“Right after school,” I said. “You do know that I’m still in high school, right? I mean, you saw me at the university, so you might have thought I was in college.”

Ethan’s face blanked. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen. You?”

“Twenty-one.”

I wrinkled my nose. “You’re old.”

Ethan laughed. “Don’t remind me.”

“But anyway, I leave right after school. I should be back sometime Sunday. I don’t really know what I’m going to do. Probably sign more stupid papers.”

“Sounds fun,” he said with a smile and stepped closer. My heart lurched, and warmth ran through me. “Call me when you get home?” he asked.

I looked into Ethan’s brown eyes, and our gazes locked again. There was something about him, something wild and dangerous and yet so familiar. Whatever it was, I wanted more of it. The energy he gave off was…different. “I will,” I promised. “Bye, Ethan.”

“Bye, Anora.”

I got in my car, smiling the whole way home.

9

All of the sunlight had vanished by the time the plane landed. Nerves raced through my body as I walked through the airport. I called my parents right away to let them know I had landed safely. Mom was still so worried about me, I had to practically hang up on her to get her off the phone. I stopped by the baggage claim, looking for James. To my relief, I easily spotted him. He had on another mud-colored suit and looked strained and anxious again.

“Good evening, Anora. I hope your flight went well,” he said, taking a step back from me.

“It was fine,” I said. It had helped that James had everything arranged for me, from someone picking me up and taking me to the airport to the first class seat he booked. Now he was here to drive me to Aunt Estelle’s house. He even had someone get my bags for me. Though everything he did seemed nice, I couldn’t help but feel like he was trying to avoid spending any more time with me than he had to.

About a half an hour later, we were in a limo driving to Indiana. I eagerly looked out the window but was disappointed when I didn’t see any famous Chicago landmarks nearby. The drive to Aunt Estelle’s—my—house took over an hour. I was surprised at how incredibly flat the land was. In all of our driving, I didn’t think we went over any big hills. Tired, I rested my head against the seat and closed my eyes. I was almost asleep when James spoke.

“This is your street,” he said. I looked out the window and saw absolutely nothing. The moon gave off enough light for me to see that I was surrounded by cornfields on both sides. The limo slowed and made a right turn onto a gravel driveway. A lone porch light loomed in the distance. The driver angled the limo so the lights would illuminate the house.

“Welcome home.” James fished the keys out of his briefcase and tossed them to me. I scrambled out of the limo.

“Oh. My. God.” My jaw dropped. An ostentatious, white Victorian house was in front of us. Its asymmetrical façade was both beautiful and creepy. The front steps led directly to double doors with amazingly detailed stained glass windows of pictures of different types of flowers. The porch ran the entire length of the front of the house, even around a gazebo.

I slowly raised my gaze.

The second story boasted a balcony. Vines of ivy twisted along the railing, clinging to the old wood. To the left was an octagonal tower, raising high above the second floor. A turret was at the top of the balcony. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. The house was both creepy and beautiful, standing before me like an ancient beast, holding its breath and watching me, judging me, making sure I was worthy of entering.

“Shall we?” James motioned towards the house. I let out a breath, breaking my gaze from the house. I shook myself and nodded, then followed James up the pathway and onto the porch. Wood creaked under my feet. My heart skipped a beat at the sound. I’d heard it before, and the groaning of the old wood brought on a sense of comfort, as if the house was welcoming me home.

My hand shook as I held out the key. None of this made sense. It was a house. It had no feelings, no emotions. It was wood and glass, nailed and pieced together.

The key slid into the lock with ease. I inhaled, twisted my wrist, and let out my breath. All that was left was to open the door and step inside. It wasn’t a feat. It was easy, and yet I found myself resisting, thinking that if I stepped into the house, things would forever change.

It had to be haunted. Why the hell else would a house bring on this many emotions?

James cleared his throat and impatiently shifted his weight. I closed my eyes and opened the door. It too creaked as it swung free. A sense of relief washed over me when I lifted my foot and stepped into the dark foyer.

Hardwood clacked under my boots, and I slid my hand up and down the wall, feeling for a light switch. The lights flickered a few times before coming on, spilling a golden glow on the shiny floors.

I stood rooted to the spot, looking inside the large house. The scent of incense and smoke faintly clung to the walls, masked by the smell of new paint and drywall. I took a step forward, then crossed the foyer and entered a dining room.

I expected the house to either be empty or full of ugly old-lady-styled décor. I wasn’t expecting it to look like something out of a historical homes magazine. The room was large and gorgeous, with a long, dark oak table and chairs centered in the room, set up under an ostentatious cast iron chandelier. A hutch full of Victorian-styled china dishes was against the far wall, and floor-length curtains covered the tall windows.

I spun around, looking through the foyer again. The dim light illuminated the room enough for me to see a fireplace and furniture covered with dusty white sheets. My heels echoed throughout the empty house as I made my way into the living room. I stopped a few inches in front of a large couch and pulled the cover off. It made a whoosh, and cloud of dust burst into the air. I coughed and waved my hand in front of my face.

A beautiful settee sat before me. I gently ran a finger over the dark mahogany scrolls that topped the sofa. The ivory velvet cushions were still soft and somewhat firm, leaving me to think that this was not an authentic Victorian piece. Matching armchairs and a love seat filled the rest of the room, centered around an ivory coffee table.

I left the living room through double doors, entering into a library. The breath caught in my chest, and I closed my eyes. The smell of horses—the sweet scent of grain and hay, the fresh wood shavings—brought me instant comfort. The smell of a library full of books did the same.

I pulled my phone from my pocket to use as a flashlight, shining on the wall to find the light switch. A wooden table with four leather chairs sat in the middle of the room, completely surrounded by four walls of bookshelves that went from the floor to the ceiling. A golden rail with a ladder ran the length. I swallowed hard, looking around the room as if the shelves were lined with food and I was a day away from starving to death.

Most of the books were worn and faded, dating back at least a decade. My mind got ahead of me, and I imagined myself filling this room with my own books. I ran my eyes over the titles. Aunt Estelle was a huge romance fan. I turned, prepared to leave the room and come back later, when the shelf closest to the double doors caught my eye.

It will full of anatomy and medical textbooks. The spine of one had rusty stains up and down it. I reached out, carefully touching the blotch. Was that blood? I let my hand drop and blinked a few times, taking another deep breath and inhaling the scent of old paper and ink.

I left the library, crossing through the living room and back into the foyer. There was still so much house left to explore. Using my phone for light, I took a few steps down the foyer, shining the light on the grand staircase. I paused, my foot hovering mid-step, and looked up the stairs.

I shook my head. I’d go up later, after I’d looked through the entire first floor. I went forward down the dark and narrow hall and into a kitchen, the smell of fresh paint growing stronger the closer I got. I turned on a light and blinked at the brightness.

The kitchen surprised me. Not only was it huge, it was completely modern. I remembered James saying that Aunt Estelle had updated the house recently. The counters were granite, and all the appliances were shiny and new.

There was a laundry room and a door leading to the garage off the kitchen, which I knew to be an addition. Everything flowed seamlessly, and I wondered why Aunt Estelle put so much time and effort into restoring and adding onto this house when she didn’t plan to sell it off. An old, red Cadillac was parked in the spot closest to the door. Was the old car mine too?

I closed the garage door, quickly glancing in the laundry room before I went back into the kitchen. The tags were still on the washer and dryer. A new table and chairs were in the breakfast nook off the kitchen, which had large windows that looked out into the dark yard.

I walked into a large family room next. A huge, cast-iron fireplace was centered on one wall. Typical with the Victorian style, this too was incredibly detailed with scrolls and swirls. A big flat-screen TV was mounted on the wall above the fireplace.

There was one more room off the family room. Another set of double doors opened into an octagon-shaped sunroom. The air was cool from all the windows. I spun around, looking at the detailed crown molding. There was a narrow set of stairs at the back of the house. I creaked my way up them and stopped. There was a locked door at the top, and I didn’t have a key.

Back down I went, going through the hall into the foyer, and walked past a renovated bathroom. My heart fluttered again whey I put my hand on the railing of the main staircase.

I stood at the top of the large landing, looking around for a few seconds before looking into the four bedrooms. The room above the garage smelled like new paint and freshly cut wooden floor panels.

Only the master bedroom had furniture with a large, four-post bed, two nightstands, and a dresser. The attached bathroom was huge and also recently redone. True to the Victorian era, the tub had claw feet and the sink had hand-painted pictures of mermaids circling the porcelain base.

An exterior door opened from the master bedroom to a small porch that gave way to another set of stairs leading to the turret. I stared outside but decided against it. Yeah, the house was restored, but climbing three stories up in the dark didn’t seem safe.

At the end of the hall was another door that I assumed was a closet. I opened it and was surprised to see two more doors. One led to a creepy attic—well, I assumed it was creepy at least—and the other was to the second set of stairs that emptied into the family room.

The wind blew, and the house creaked ever so slightly. I went back downstairs wondering why Aunt Estelle had such a big house. It wasn’t like she had children. Mom had told me Aunt Estelle had lived in a nursing home for the last five years. Why update this old house now?

“I trust you like the house,” James said as soon as I emerged into the foyer. He hadn’t moved an inch from where he was standing when we entered the house.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” I said honestly.

“Very well. I was sure you would. Goodnight.” He grabbed his briefcase and hurried to the door. Confused, I started after him. He jumped back, afraid of my touch.

“I’m staying here?” I might have sounded a little abashed.

“This is your house now. You have everything you need.” James looked like he wanted to get the hell out of here. He was gripping his briefcase so tight his knuckles turned white.

“Yeah, but…” I started. What the hell was going on? James’s hand slipped off the doorknob in his hurried attempt to leave. Once he finally got the door open, he scuttled down the porch stairs and jumped into the limo, which peeled out of the driveway.

After a moment of stilled shock, I closed the door, feeling close to tears. I was all alone in this creepy old house. I had no idea what to do, where to sleep, or even what to eat. What the hell did James mean when he said I had everything I needed?

I locked the front door and went into the kitchen. I rummaged around my purse until I found my phone. I unlocked the screen, debated calling Laney, and set the phone down. I looked around the large room, wishing the windows had curtains. My eyes settled on the fridge. Not thinking I would get lucky enough to find it full of food, I was shocked when I opened it.

It was stocked full. I checked the dates; the food was fresh. I opened the other cabinets and found dishes, pots, and pans. I wondered what else was in the house.

I turned, preparing to investigate, when I saw the basement door. I stared at it and shook my head. That could wait. I shivered. I was not going into the basement by myself. At night. In an unfamiliar house. No freaking way.

Taking a knife from a drawer in the kitchen, I walked around the house and made sure all the doors were locked. I also turned on every single light that I could. I was too scared to worry about wasting electricity.

I made myself a sandwich and put my dishes in the dishwasher when I was done eating. I went back upstairs, debating whether or not I should shower. It would really feel good to be clean, but showering would make me feel too vulnerable, and images from Psycho flashed through my brain.

Okay…I’ll just shower in the morning.

I changed into my pajamas, brushed my teeth, and got into the four-post bed in the master bedroom. I lay down and closed my eyes but was unable to relax enough to feel remotely tired. I sat up and called Laney. When she didn’t answer, I tried Marie and got her voicemail. I bit my lip and looked at the phone. There was one more person I could call.

Without letting myself second-guess it, I dialed Ethan’s number. He answered after the first ring.

“Hey, Anora,” he said, sounding like he was smiling. “How are you?”

“I’m pretty good. A bit lonely. But I feel much better talking to you already.”

* * *

“I can’t believe I’m telling you this!” I laughed, two hours later. “But yes, I love wearing costumes. I have like five different ones just for the Renaissance Fair, which I go to at least once every summer, by the way.”

“You’re such a dork.” Ethan laughed too.

“Oh my gosh, do not judge them ‘til you’ve gone! The Ren Fair is so fun!”

“There is no way you’d get me to go to one of those,” he said.

“Oh, you will. And you will wear a costume. And you will love it! Or else.”

“Or else what?” he asked.

“I don’t know…terrible things will happen.”

“Well we can’t have that, so I guess that means I’ll have to go. You are not getting me into a costume, though.”

“Come on, I think you’d look great as Robin Hood. Green tights and all.” I rolled over and pulled the blankets tighter around me; it had gotten really cold. I wasn’t sure if the heater worked in the house, and I was afraid it would catch fire. To be safe, I didn’t mess with it.

We continued talking about the most random things for almost another hour. Ethan promised he’d talk to me until I felt safe or fell asleep—whichever came first. My eyes were finally getting heavy.

“What about Halloween? Do you wear a costume then?” I asked with a yawn.

“Not since I was, oh, eight years old.”

“Psh, you don’t know what you’re missing out on,” I said. “I always dress up. In fact, I have an amazing costume this year.”

“Really? What is it?” Ethan asked.

My words came out slowly, evidence I was drifting to sleep. “A leather Elven Warrior outfit. I got it from the Ren Fair, too.”

“You really are a nerd.”

“ It’s…it’s very…authentic.”

“Is it now?”

“Umm-hmm.”

“You sound tired. Sleep well, Anora.”

“You too. Thanks…for talking…to me.”

“No problem. Goodnight.”

“Night.” I drifted into a deep sleep. I dreamed that I woke up to find Ethan sitting on the foot of my bed. I sat up to greet him, but he pushed me back down and climbed under the covers with me and held me until I fell asleep.

10

A stream of bright sunlight poured in through the uncurtained window, reflecting off of specks of dust that hovered in the air. Though I’d only gotten a little over four hours of sleep, being in an unfamiliar bed made me wide awake. The illumination throughout the house from the cloudless day made me feel considerably safer. I hated admitted the dark scared me.

After breakfast, I went upstairs, showered, and got dressed. Armed with my cell phone, I went up the stairs to the turret. I was standing three stories above the ground, looking out at farmland, over grown fields and trees. It was nothing out of the ordinary, and yet I found it beautiful.

There were several outbuildings in the backyard. The old, white barn looked like it might cave in with the next strong gust of wind. Next to that were a shed, a dilapidated chicken coup, and a newish pole barn. A fence of weather warped wooden planks surrounded it. Did Aunt Estelle used to have horses?

A huge field was behind the outbuildings, and behind that was a dense treeline that stretched along what I assumed was the end of my property. I tried to imagine seventy-five football fields to get an idea of what my property consisted of, but it was too difficult to visualize. I took pictures to show Mom and Dad, then went and looked in all the old buildings, not finding anything of real interest other than old gardening tools, but the wooden handles promised splinters to any hand that tried to use them.

I snapped several pictures as I walked around the front of the house. The inside was beautiful. The outside…not so much. Nothing had been done in terms of lawn and garden for years. The flowerbeds were full of tall weeds and the grass needed cut—badly. Even in bright sunlight, the house gave off an ethereal feel.

“That’s stupid,” I said to myself. It was a house. Nothing more, nothing less. And it wasn’t haunted, which surprised me…and almost disappointed me. A ghost would have at least been some company.

I stopped short on the sidewalk, noticing several boxes on the porch. There was a note taped to one of them.

Anora-

These boxes contain items from your aunt’s apartment at the retirement home that she wanted you to have. The rest of her possessions have been donated to the Salvation Army, as that was her wish.

-James

His handwriting was small and freakishly neat. I picked up the smallest box and was surprised at how heavy it was. When had James stopped by? While I was still sleeping? Maybe while I was showering. Weird…why hadn’t he rang the doorbell? Oh well, it didn’t matter. I lugged the boxes inside and set the smallest box down on the dining room table. I got a knife from the kitchen to slice open the packaging tape.

The box was full of books, which explained why it was so heavy. I was about to push the box aside and look for something more exciting when a title on the top book caught my attention.

Herbs and Their Magical Properties was printed in fading green font on the worn hardcover. I extracted it from the box and thumbed through it. Who knew that basil had so many magical uses?

The next book was about harnessing the magic power of stones and crystals. After that was a thick book called The Witch’s Cookbook. The pages showed signs of usage, stained with ingredients and bits of food.

Three more books sat in the box. They were about numerology, tarot reading, and palmistry. The gears in my head started to turn as I tore open the next box. More books were in there—the most curious one was about psychic self defense—as well as a blue velvet bag of runes, a mortar and pestle, about a dozen glass bottles of labeled herbs, and a box of multi-colored candles.

I also found a piece of folded black material within the box. It was about as thick as a sheet but not nearly as big. I spread it out on the table. A design of stars and moons was embroidered along the edges, with a large pentagram in each corner. In the center was the same emblem of a triple moon surrounded by an ancient language that was on the dagger and the pendant, which I hadn’t taken off. Two sharpened wooden stakes, a leather holder with five very sharp Chinese throwing stars, and a pair of brass knuckles were at the bottom of the box.

“What the…?” I said to myself. Why in the world would little old Aunt Estelle need things like this?

I shook my head and eagerly opened the last box and found more weapons. I pulled out a small crossbow and a set of three black stainless steel throwing knives. A long, black velvet cape was folded under the weapons. I held it up to me; it was the perfect length. Maybe Aunt Estelle wasn’t so little after all.

Next to come out of the box was a round black mirror. With much curiosity, I set it on the table and looked in it. Was it just me, or was there no reflection? I didn’t realize that I was slowly moving my face closer and closer to the mirror. Everything around me began to fade, and the surface of the mirror rippled, as if it was dark water.

I leaned away and blinked. I looked down at the mirror again and saw my reflection. I shook my head.

“This is why I hate looking in mirrors at night,” I said out loud as I wrapped the mirror up in the cape. “Except that it is day, and you are creepy,” I told the mirror as I put it down.

The next item in the box was a black stone bowl. I was pretty sure it was a scrying bowl that was used to peer into when it was full. What was I supposed to see? Visions? People? I was sure there was an answer in one of the books.

Several bundles of dried leaves and incense sticks were in a pretty wooden box with Celtic carvings engraved into the lid. There was another wooden stick-like thing towards the bottom of the box. Having assumed it to be another wooden stake, I was surprised to find otherwise.

I was holding a wand. The body was wooden, with a beautifully carved ivy vine snaking up from the sterling silver handle to the crystal tip. I held it up and half-expected the crystal to light up or glow. Honestly, I was a little disappointed when it didn’t.

A very worn deck of tarot cards was wrapped in a midnight blue scarf. The very last item to come out was the one that excited me the most. It was a large, leather bound journal. The leather was worn and shiny from being handled over and over. Imprinted in the leather was the triple moon symbol again. A metal buckle held the book closed. I pushed it up, and with a click, it snapped open easily.

Careful not to rip the old paper, I slowly turned through the pages. I knew exactly what this was. It was not as detailed as ones from movies, however, and the pages were not elaborately painted with pictures of what was being described. Instead, messy handwriting was scrawled over the paper with the occasional badly drawn diagram.

This was a Book of Shadows.

I set the book down, and the pages fell open to the translated Theban alphabet. The squiggly lines above each English letter matched the ones on my pendant and dagger. I started at it for a second before closing the book to look at the symbol on the cover, using my finger to mark the page. I flipped back and forth, translating the ancient language.

“Coven of the Sacred Guardians,” I whispered to myself. What the hell did that mean?

The doorbell rang, startling me back into reality. Thinking it was James, I set the Book of Shadows down and went to answer it. Instead, there was a young woman, probably in her twenties, standing on the porch. She had thick curly brown hair, which was pulled back in a perfectly smooth bun. That must have taken a long time, since I could barely get my naturally straight hair to lay that flat and even. Her makeup was impressively done as well, and her pristinely pressed black suit made me feel like a slob in my jeans and t-shirt. I absentmindedly ran my hands through my hair. Since I had let the sun and wind dry it, it was messy and a tad bit wavier than usual.

“Hi, you must be Anora,” she said with a smile. I nodded. “I’m Susan Cospan. I’m James’s intern. I’m guessing he didn’t tell you I was coming.”

“No, sorry,” I said, though I didn’t know why I was apologizing.

“I’m not surprised,” she said, almost to herself. “Well, I’m here to take you to the bank and help you finalize everything.”

I knew the polite thing to do was to invite her in, but a quick glance at the dining room table, still covered with weapons and magic supplies, told me not too. Luckily, my shoes were by the front door. “I’m gonna run and get my purse, I’ll be right down,” I said and closed the door. I remembered to lock the back door and grab the house key to lock the front. The old Ford truck parked outside surprised me. There was a horse decal on the back window.

“You have horses?” I asked.

“Yeah, I have a Quarter Horse. James keeps telling me that I need to get a more professional-looking car, but I told him that he needs to give me a raise first because there’s no way I can afford a new car on an intern’s salary.”

She smiled at me, and we talked about horses the entire ride to the bank, which made it hard to pay attention to the roads and where we were going. I was miles away from anyone I could consider a neighbor.

When we left the bank two hours later, I had a headache from everything I had been told. I’ve never had to pay taxes before, so the concept of inheritance tax made no sense to me. Susan and I stopped for lunch before she took me back home. She said if I needed anything, I could call her. I thanked her and got out of her truck, eyeing the large house.

I felt lonely as soon as I walked inside. I put the envelope of papers from the bank on the kitchen counter and realized I had a huge problem when I looked at everything sprawled out on the dining room table. How was I going to get this back home? I could fit some of it in my suitcase—thank God I didn’t over pack this time—but there was absolutely no way I could get the weapons into the airport. The second set of keys James had left were half hidden under the crossbow. Realizing I hadn’t even looked at them yet, I picked them up, rubbing my thumb over the Cadillac symbol. Remembering the old car in the garage, I hurried to see if this was the right key. It was, and the engine started without a hitch. A full tank of gas and a GPS welcomed me to drive around. A note was taped to the GPS.

Anora-

I programmed in some helpful locations.

-James

Wow, he had really done everything he could to be able to avoid me. I grabbed my purse and the house key. I remembered seeing a Wal-Mart on the way to the bank, and I was sure I’d be able to find it on my own, but I decided to use the GPS in case. I used my new debit card that took money from my new bank account to buy packing tape, Sharpies, another suitcase, and a ton of Sour Patch Kids.

I didn’t feel like repacking the items from Estelle’s box yet, so I went all the way upstairs to investigate the attic. It was crammed full like an episode of Hoarders.

I picked my way over the boxes and furniture, and eeny meeny miny mo-ed a decision of which box to open first, finding it to be full of pictures. I sat cross-legged on the dusty attic floor and let myself go back in time. Aunt Estelle had been married, a fact that I had never known. She looked like a model in her wedding pictures, and her husband was just as attractive.

I dug deeper into the box and found pictures with Aunt Estelle on a black horse, a picture of her dressed up like a witch for Halloween— an inside joke for her I was sure—and many more of her as a teenager. At the bottom of the box was a wedding photo album. Aunt Estelle’s long, dark hair looked so pretty against her white princess-style dress. She looked so happy in every picture.

Two old newspaper articles were folded at the end of the album. I carefully opened the old paper, thinking it must be her engagement and wedding announcements.

“Oh, crap,” I said out loud when the words “unexplained death” jumped out oat me. Estelle’s husband, Reilly, died five years after they got married. The small article said that he was found burned to death inside his own home, except the house never caught fire and there were no signs of anything else being burnt inside the house at all, according to the fire marshal.

The next article was his obituary. The ink was blotchy from teardrops. I didn’t want to read it. I folded the papers back and set them down, moving on to another box.

This one had boring regular books in it, nothing that sparked any interest in me. The next had hideous 1980s decorations, and the one after that had old blankets and quilts. I became distracted with a very detailed, handmade dollhouse castle, complete with fancy handmade furniture. The castle was incredibly well decorated and life-like. Yet no matter where I looked, I couldn’t find the royal dolls that lived there.

I opened another box, finding it full of leather pants, corsets, and halter-tops. I should have known better than to think I’d gotten my share of surprises that day. I expected to find a whip and some handcuffs next. Instead, I found matching accessories: belts with metal hooks and loops, gloves, and my favorite, fingerless leather gloves with long spikes on the knuckles. I had actually seen gloves like this at the Ren Fair before. They were designed to act like claws; when you made a fist, the “claws” pointed forward.

I held the pants up and thought they’d fit. I shook them out several times, took off my jeans, and tried them on. They were a little loose on my waist, but other than that, they fit me perfectly. I uncovered an old mirror to check myself out. I laughed, but really I liked them. I had no idea where I’d ever wear them, but these were definitely going home with me.

I wanted to put a top on too, and I couldn’t decide between the corset and the midriff-showing halter. Deciding the corset required more work, I pulled the halter on, topping off my outfit with the claw gloves, even though it made it difficult to go through the rest of the stuff.

I went through five more boxes until I got too bored. They contained little figurines of various animals, more regular books, and other types of house décor. An old sofa and a few mismatched armchairs were also stuffed up here. I could go through the rest of the stuff later…if I ever got to come back here.

I went downstairs and was still bored. The TV wasn’t hooked up to cable and the quiet was getting to me, making me feel lonelier than I already was. I could go look in the basement…nah. I doubted there was anything down there.

I rolled eyes at myself. I shouldn’t be scared of this house. Of my house. I grabbed weapons from the dining room and felt confident enough to explore the basement.

The wooden stairs creaked with every step I took, and dust clouded around my feet. There was a single light bulb at the base of the stairs. My hand closed around the dust-covered string. I pulled on it, and with a click, the light flashed on.

The basement was large, dim, and mostly empty. An old fridge, toolboxes, and a milk crate full of mason jars were pushed up against the far wall. A storage closet was off to the side, the white paint peeled off the splintering door. There was no need for me to go in there. I took a step back. No, definitely didn’t need to look inside. I pulled the string again and rushed up the dark stairs.

I went into the kitchen and tried to eat as much food as possible since I didn’t want anything to go to waste. I sat in the library, reading and playing on my phone, trying to pass the time.

Around seven-thirty, the doorbell rang. I froze, wondering who in the hell would be at the house. It was dark outside, and I hadn’t turned the porch lights on yet. Since none of the windows had curtains, I was sure whoever was outside definitely knew I was home. Damn it. I wanted to run and hide and pretend I hadn’t heard the doorbell.

Apprehensively, I opened the door. A middle-aged couple and two children stood on my porch; the girl looked no older than ten, and the boy was maybe thirteen. They had arrived in an old, beat-up truck.

“Hello!” the women said cheerfully. “You must be—” Her voice faltered, taking in my bizarre outfit that I forgot I was still wearing. At least the table was cleared off, for the most part. “—old Estelle’s niece.”

“Anora. It’s nice to meet you.” I would have offered a hand to shake, but I would have stabbed the nice lady with my claws. I put my hands behind my back and struggled to remove the gloves.

“I’m Donna Campbell. This is my husband Bill and our kids, Stephanie and Max. We live up the road.” She pointed east, a direction I hadn’t yet gone. “We heard talk that someone finally moved in, so we came to welcome you to the community.” She held up a plate of cookies.

“Thanks,” I said. I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t want to spend time with these strangers. But they knew who Aunt Estelle was. Not wanting to be rude, I invited them inside.

Donna gladly stepped in. The children followed, and I thought I saw Bill roll his eyes at the back of Donna’s head. Donna was a short, stout woman with dyed blonde hair with thick brown roots showing. She had on jeans and cowboy boots, and her pale pink button-up shirt was spotless and wrinkle free. Her husband wasn’t much taller, and he also had on jeans and boots, but his were dirty. He had a red flannel shirt unbuttoned over a dirty white t-shirt, complete with oil stains. He looked like a farmer that had come from the fields. The little girl looked like a skinnier and younger version of her mom, and the boy looked like her as well, but he had probably outweighed his mother years ago.

“Oh wow! Just, wow!” Donna said as she walked through the foyer and into the living room. “It’s as big on the inside as it looks on the outside! Beautiful!”

“Thanks,” I said, watching Donna move around, inspecting the woodwork. Bill and the kids stayed in place by the door. Max was eyeing my chest. Oh right. The leather halter-top. I was probably more well endowed than my aunt, and I was wearing a pushup bra, which, combined with the tight leather, made me look horribly cleavagey and slutty. I wished I could dash upstairs and grab my t-shirt. “So, have you guys lived her long?” I asked Bill, wanting to break the silence before it got awkward…well, more awkward.

“Yep,” he said with a nod.

“Oh.” I smiled awkwardly and let out a breath. The kids were still staring at me like I was an alien. I took a step back and went to find Donna. The house didn’t feel like mine yet, but the thought of having this stranger look around like it was a museum bothered me. I called bullshit on her coming to welcome me.

“So,” I started, causing Donna to jump. “Did you know my great aunt?”

“Oh, not too well.” She flicked her eyes to me then back at the house. “She kept to herself most of the time. She was real quiet too, but she was there when you needed her. Never knew how she knew when there was trouble, but boy were we glad for her help more than once. She actually looked a lot like you when she was younger, I remember. It seemed she never aged, then suddenly one day she was a weak, old woman.”

I took the cookies and steered Donna back toward the front door. Her eyes went to the stairs; her husband cleared his throat.

“Well, Anora. It was nice to meet you. Hopefully we will see you again.” Donna’s eyes sparkled with delight.

I smiled and said goodbye, and breathed a sigh of relief when I shut and locked the door. “Don’t worry, they’re gone,” I said to the house. I spent the rest of the evening packing things up in boxes. I decided to ask Susan to have the weapons shipped for me and made up a story about Aunt Estelle collecting antique armor and weapons.

Ethan called me that night. I’d just closed the Book of Shadows when my phone rang.

“Thought you might need some company again,” he said when I picked up.

“Of course I could.” I smiled, wishing he were here with me. We talked for an hour before I was sleepy.

“Call me when you land tomorrow. I want to see you, if it’s okay with you,” he said.

“It’s okay with me,” I said with too much excitement.

“Sweet. See you tomorrow Anora.”

“Annie,” I said, feeling he had earned the right. “You can call me Annie if you want. My friends and brother do.”

“I like Anora. It’s different and pretty, like you.”

I smiled, glad he couldn’t see the grin on my face right now. “Goodnight, Ethan.”

“Goodnight, Annie.”

11

I turned down Laney’s request—for the third time—to join her and her on-again-off-again boyfriend Josh, at the movies that Friday night. She pressed her lips together and looked at me, trying to figure out what I wasn’t saying. I promised I was tired and that I’d join them on the next movie-date, though I truthfully didn’t want to go and be the third wheel.

I hadn’t been able to get a hold of Ethan all week. I’d called him when the plane landed—like he asked—and got his voicemail. I left a message and didn’t hear back from him. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, I called him again Monday night, and still nothing. I wasn’t calling again. It pissed me off that the lack of response caused hurt. Way to pick them, Anora.

I yawned the whole way home from school and was looking forward to taking a nap. What a fun Friday night. I’d had weird dreams about burning bodies and killing monsters ever since I came home from Indiana. I woke up drained, on edge, and unable to go back to sleep. I blamed it on my new slight obsession with reading through the witchcraft books.

After napping and eating dinner with my parents, I went to the barn. Amanda was putting her grooming box away at the same time I was getting mine out. She and I were the only ones at the barn right now; other people had more social things to do on a Friday night. She smiled hello and gave me a tiny wave before sneaking out the door.

I got to work right away, brushing and exercising both of my horses. I looked out the doors every now and then to see if I could spot Bob, but he wasn’t there. Nerves settled in my stomach. What was keeping him from his oak tree?

At nine-thirty, I said goodbye to Mystery and planned to go home and sleep. I stepped out of Mystery’s stall and felt a shift in the energy. Suddenly the barn door flew open, and my heart leaped out of my chest. Ethan burst through and ran straight to me. He put both hands on my shoulders and looked me up and down.

“I’ve been calling you for hours!” he panted, as if he had been running.

“Well, I’ve been calling you for days!” I snapped, looking into his brown eyes.

His brow furrowed, and he leaned away.

“Sorry,” I said. I looked out the open door into the parking lot. I hadn’t heard the gravel crunch, and I didn’t see a car. His shoes and clothes were muddy and blood dripped down his arm. I looked him straight in the eye. “How did you get here?”

“I ran.”

“Ran? From what?”

He cast his gaze down. “I can’t tell you.”

I took a step back, anger flashing across my face “What the hell is going on? You tell me to call you, don’t answer, and then you show up all muddy and bloody and can’t even offer me an explanation!”

Ethan’s brown eyes widened. “Anora…” he started. His head jerked toward the door, and his face tightened. He moved closer. “I didn’t mean to make you mad,” he started, stealing a glance out the door again.

I let out my breath. “I’m not mad at you.”

“You have every right to be mad.” Ethan put his hand on my waist. I resisted the urge to shiver. “I’m glad you’re okay.” I put my hand on his chest. He pulled me to him. My breasts brushed against his firm muscles. My heart skipped a beat, and my lips parted. I stared into his gorgeous eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer. Some…something came up and I, uh, couldn’t.”

I clenched my jaw, not trusting myself to not kiss him. I waited for him to explain. He opened his mouth, closed his eyes, and shook his head.

“Are you all right?” he asked, looking down at me.

I raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shook his head. “Just making sure.”

My hands slid down his chest, settling on the curve of his hip. Ethan relaxed at my touch. Howls floated through the air, spooking the horses. I tensed, thinking of the dog-creature. Get it together. They’re just coyotes.

Ethan broke away, jaw tense. “I won’t bother you,” he said and looked out the door like he expected someone to be there.

“You’re not bothering me,” I said, moving my gaze to the parking lot. I dropped my mental shields a bit. Something dark was lurking. I suddenly wanted to leave.

“Good,” Ethan said with a smile, turning back to me. I took my hands off his waist and gently pulled his right arm to me. Blood stained his sleeve.

“What happened?”

Ethan stiffened. “I fell,” he finally said.

“Sure you did,” I mumbled and lifted the material of his shirt to reveal a long, jagged tear in his skin. The bleeding had slowed so I didn’t think he’d need stitches, just regular first-aid care. “Can I take care of this?” I asked him.

“You’re okay with blood?” Ethan asked, raising his eyebrows incredulously.

“You really should stop stereotyping me, Ethan,” I said with a half smile and went into the tack room to get my horse first aid kit.

“Thanks.” He looked outside nervously again. “Do you want to hang out?” he asked suddenly.

“Yeah,” I said. Ethan was a curious thing. I tipped my head and looked at him. An attractive, curious thing. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, and the scruff looked good on him. “What do you want to do?”

His gaze met mine. “I don’t care. Whatever you want.”

“Want to go back to my house?” I asked.

“Sounds good,” he said as I opened the first aid kit. He looked out the door again. “Listen, can you do that after we leave?”

“Sure,” I said, confused by his behavior. I closed the kit, locked up the barn, and walked with Ethan to my car, making small talk as I drove home.

“So you didn’t answer my calls just because I didn’t answer yours?” Ethan asked suddenly. I turned into my neighborhood.

“Of course not. I left my phone in the car.” I pointed to the backseat. “It’s in my purse. I forgot about it actually. It’s been in here since I got out of school.”

“Oh, good,” Ethan said. I parked and opened the garage door. Thankfully, no one was home yet. Mom, Dad, and Harrison must have gone out to eat after Harry’s football game.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up before you get infected,” I said.

Ethan looked at his arm. “It’s not that bad.”

“Yes it is. It’s packed with dirt.”

He shrugged and followed me in. Hunter ran over to greet me but stopped and barked when he saw Ethan. “It’s okay, sweetie,” I told him. “Ethan is a friend.” Slowly, Ethan crouched down and let Hunter sniff him. After deciding he wasn’t a threat, Hunter wagged his tail and licked Ethan’s face before returning to me.

“I’m no dog expert,” Ethan said as he stood, “but isn’t he a lot bigger than normal?”

I nodded. “Yes. I don’t know why, but he kept growing and growing until he outweighed me. He’s healthy though, and even at his large size, his joints are fine, which is a common problem with Shepherds.”

“He’s cool.” Ethan petted Hunter again. “He looks fierce.”

Ethan curiously looked around as we walked up to my room. He sat on the edge of my bed, next to the first aid kit. I pushed my long hair behind my shoulders and carefully rolled up the hem of his sleeve.

“Oh,” I said out loud. Ethan turned, eyes meeting mine. “You’re all scratched up,” I said, though I was sure he was aware of the claw marks going across his shoulder and down his back. What the hell happened to him?

I cleaned his cut in silence, unable to keep my mind from wandering back to the dog-creature in the woods. Had it attacked Ethan? I couldn’t really ask him about it in the off—okay, great—chance it didn’t.

I disinfected the cut, wrapped it with gauze, and gathered up the dirty bandages to throw away in the bathroom. When I came back into my room, I noticed a tattoo on Ethan’s left arm.

It was pentagram. In between the four outer points of the star were zodiac symbols: Capricorn, Aries, Pisces, and Scorpio. A cryptic eye stared at me from the center of the star. I let my gaze linger on it, deciding I would ask about it later.

I walked past Ethan, closed the bedroom door, and opened Romeo’s cage. “So you really can’t tell me what happened?” I asked as I sat down on my bed next to Ethan. He turned towards me, his beautiful brown eyes staring intently into mine.

“I really wish I could. Please believe me,” he said quietly. His eyes told me he was telling the truth. I closed mine to read his energy: He wasn’t lying.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Thinking.” It wasn’t a total lie. I opened my eyes and found his face inches from mine. With my guard being down and him being so close, I got hit with a wave of his emotions. I felt powerful, yet sad and lonely all at the same time. I hate having to lie all the time, was spoken in my head. Startled, I jumped back. That never happened before.

“You okay?” Ethan asked gently.

“Yeah.” I took a deep breath. “I’m fine. Just tired.” I put my head in my hands. What was going on? I felt Ethan’s warm hand on my shoulder. I raised my head and turned toward him. I wished I could tell him the truth. I wanted to tell someone.

“I’m glad you’re back from Indiana,” Ethan said.

“I’m glad to be back.” I smiled. Though we’d had very little face time, all the hours spent on the phone together made me feel very comfortable around Ethan. He smiled too and reached over to push my bangs out of my face.

Our eyes locked. His hand slid down my back and around my side. He twisted toward me, and I put both of my hands on his waist. He moved his other hand down my cheek and behind my head, gently pulling me towards him. He leaned in as if to kiss me but suddenly stopped an inch from my face.

“You have tarot cards?” I turned to follow his gaze. Sure enough, my cards were sitting on my nightstand.

“Yeah.”

“You any good?”

I wasn’t sure if he was being serious. “Um, I’m not sure yet. I got them for my birthday.”

“Oh.”

I gazed back into Ethan‘s intense eyes. There was something different about him, something I couldn’t place. Ethan snapped his attention to Hunter, who pawed at the door.

“He needs out,” I said, though I was sure it was obvious. I was a little disoriented when I stood; the energy between us was unlike anything I’d experienced before. Silently, Ethan followed me down the stairs, through the house, and out onto the deck. Hunter leaped down the steps and dashed to the back of the yard. A dome of shining stars topped the crystal clear night. Goosebumps broke out over my arms when the breeze blew.

Ethan stepped close behind me. His aura meshed into mine, blanketing me in warmth and comfort. I closed my eyes and relished in the quiet safety. I didn’t even realize I was slowly leaning back into him until my head rested on his firm chest. His arms automatically wrapped around my waist. Everything felt so right.

“Anora,” Ethan began, his voice heavy with longing. I turned to face him, and with his arms still locked around me, I was pressed tightly against his body.

“Yeah?”

He stared unblinking into my eyes. The emotion he was holding back threatened to unravel. His grip on my waist tightened, and he looked away, stoic once again. A gust of cold fall air rustled my hair and made me shiver. Ethan’s strong arms tightened again around me, trying to keep me warm. Feeling his gaze upon me, I looked back into his eyes.

The wind blew my hair into my face, and Ethan gently tucked it behind my ear. Gingerly, he pulled my face towards his. Without needing any direction, I moved closer and let him kiss me.

My heart skipped a beat the moment his lips met mine. Everything faded, and it was just the two of us standing in the night. My arms flew around him, wanting to be as close as possible. His tongue slipped past my lips, and I opened my mouth, wanting more. Tingles of desire wound inside me, warming me. I clung onto Ethan like my life depended on it, kissing him harder and harder. I never wanted to stop.

We didn’t even notice a car pulling into the driveway until a door loudly slammed shut. Startled, I jumped back and saw Harrison, looking annoyed, making his way towards us.

“Annie, you parked in front of my spot again,” he complained. He let himself in through the gate and hesitated slightly when he took in the sight of me with Ethan, who still had one hand resting on my back.

“Harry, Ethan. Ethan, Harry,” I said quickly, looking back and forth from Ethan to my brother. Hunter raced over to greet Harrison.

“You must be her brother,” Ethan said as he took a step in Harrison’s direction.

“Yeah.” Harrison straightened up. To my delight, Ethan introduced himself with perfect ease.

“Where are Mom and Dad?” I asked Harrison.

“Mom got called into the hospital for an emergency. Dad took her.”

I nodded. They might not be home for a while. “Want to go inside?” I asked Ethan, who nodded and followed me in. A crash came from above us. “It’s probably my ferret,” I said before I quickly dashed up the stairs to see what Romeo had knocked over. My can of colored pencils and several books were on the floor. Romeo innocently sniffed at me as I picked them up. I scooped him up and raced back downstairs, hoping Ethan didn’t feel weird around Harrison.

I could hear a conversation going between the two. I slowed to listen. They were talking about football; Harrison was giving Ethan a hard time about being a Chicago Bears fan. I tried to sneak in the kitchen unnoticed, but Hunter ran over to greet me, acting as if I had been gone longer than the few minutes it took to deal with my trouble-making ferret.

“I’m going to a party at Luke’s,” Harrison told us. “Want to come?”

“I think I’ll pass,” I said. “Have fun and try not to get sick this time. And call—”

“—me if you need a ride,” Harrison interrupted, rolling his eyes. He said bye to me and Ethan and went up to his room.

“Who’s your friend?” Ethan asked.

I almost looked behind me to see who he was talking about before I realized he meant Romeo. “Oh,” my cheeks turned slightly red, “Romeo.” I turned and motioned towards the stairs.

I sat on my bed next to Ethan and let Romeo jump out of my arms. Ethan’s eyes met mine, a small smile pulling up his lips. He leaned in and kissed me again. My arms wrapped around him, and we fell back on the bed, making out. He moved between my legs, holding himself up on his elbows. Not even a minute later, his phone rang.

“Just ignore it,” he said as he slid his hand over my thigh.

“Okay,” I panted, bending my knees and wrapping one leg around him. But when his phone rang again, Ethan sighed and pushed off of me, answering his phone.

“Hello? Yeah, I’m fine.” He paused. “Can it wait?” Another pause. “I’ll call you back.” The voice on the other end was a man, and he sounded angry. “Yes, sir,” Ethan said bitterly and hung up. He looked at me apologetically. “It’s my dad; he’s, uh, having some sort of crisis. I have to go help him.”

I knew that was a variation of the truth, but I wasn’t even going to ask. Dammit. I didn’t want him to leave. I ran my hands over my messy hair. Maybe it was a good thing. I didn’t know Ethan that well, and this wild attraction was making me want to do things I’d never done before.

“That’s okay. I’ll drive you,” I offered.

We drove together in silence. Well, not total silence since Motley Crue was playing, but I was enjoying Ethan’s calming presence too much to talk. Ethan lived in a two-story brick house not too far away from the barn. I put the Prius in park.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked me, turning to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“Sleeping in and going to the barn. And maybe seeing my friends.”

“Can I take you out?”

“Sure.” My face lit up. “Where are you taking me?”

“Don’t know. But there will be no mud, blood, or mystery, I promise.”

“But what if I like mud and mystery?”

Ethan smiled and gave me a kiss goodbye. “Call me when you’re done at the barn, and I promise I’ll answer,” he said before he closed the door. I smiled the entire way home.

Too excited to sleep, I sat cross-legged on my bed and opened the Book of Shadows. The first half was filled with magical information. The second half was filled with spells, potions, and charms. I flipped to the latter. My eyes scanned a truth spell. Well, that would be one way to know what was going on with Ethan. No, that would be wrong. Anyway, who knew if this would even work?

There were a few pages of spells involving horses. Before the spells was a little paragraph explaining that horses were considered the most magical of all animals and because of that, “otherworldly beings” were most attracted to them. Luckily, horses were rarely harmed because those same beings highly respected and feared them. Just being around horses was said to enhance one’s psychic powers.

Well, that explained a lot. I skimmed over the horse protection spells, jotting down ingredients in my own journal that I needed to buy. I flipped to a spell titled “Boil Water in 30 Seconds.” Curiously, I read the spell. The first step was to light three yellow candles, which I had hidden in a big box in my closet. I had shipped all of Aunt Estelle’s things back to my house in Indiana. I rooted around in the box of spell and magic items and set the candles on the floor, with each candle representing a corner of a triangle.

Next, I had to put a bowl of water in the center. I took Hunter’s stainless steel water bowl and put it in the middle. The final steps were to put both hands over the water and envision energy flowing from the air around me and into the water, heating up the molecules at a very fast rate. I extended my hands and closed my eyes to help me concentrate. I felt a little silly at first, but through my closed eyes, I started to see flickers of red and purple energy flowing rapidly around me. I imagined that light shooting down into the bowl. I gasped when I opened my eyes and saw the water bubbling. I dipped my finger in the bowl and quickly pulled it out.

“Oh my God,” I said and leaned over the bowl. The water was really boiling.

I put my hands over my mouth and stood up. “No. No way.” I looked at the bubbling water again. “This is so freaking amazing!” I said to Hunter and Romeo, since they were the only ones in the room. I wanted desperately to call Laney and tell her, but what would I say? I would sound crazy for sure. She would have to see this to believe it.

I wrapped a shirt around the hot metal bowl and dumped it in the bathroom sink. I turned the cold water on and let it run over the bowl to cool it down before I refilled it and put it back.

On a magical high, I eagerly flipped through the book. Just when I thought this night couldn’t get any better, I found a spell for banishing nightmares. For this to work, I needed to put lavender—for peace, calming, and help sleeping, basil, bay— both for protection, mugwort—for strength, and Saint John’s Wort —to ward off evil spirits, in a blue sachet and put it under my pillow.

I rooted around through the glass jars of herbs and found what I needed. I didn’t have a real sachet, so I put everything in a light blue sock. The last step was to invoke the powers of the plants. It didn’t say how to do that, but I did a similar process as with the water. I held the makeshift sachet up and envisioned energy radiating from the herbs. I put the sock under my pillow. Underneath the nightmare spell was written, “Just ask your Guardian to watch you.” I wanted to know what a Guardian was.

Feeling kind of hokey, and thinking this could be a bad idea, I said, “Guardian, I invoke you, please watch over me and don’t let me have nightmares.” Nothing happened. Maybe it meant a guardian angel, though I didn’t think Aunt Estelle belonged to the secret Coven of Guardian Angels. No…a Guardian was something else.

What could it be?

12

“Where did you get that necklace?” Ethan asked on our first official date that Saturday. We had just finished a round of miniature golf, which I won, by the way. Ethan swore I cheated because I got four hole-in-ones. I told him I was lucky.

“My aunt gave it to me. Well, Great Aunt technically.”

Ethan’s fingers touched my skin as he picked the pendant up off my chest. “I swear I’ve seen this before. What does it mean?”

“I don’t know.” I felt bad for lying. “I think it means good luck.”

He tipped his head and ran his finger over the triple moon. Then his eyes met mine, and he let the pendant drop back onto my chest. “Want to get something to eat?”

“Of course, I’m starving.” I squeezed his hand and smiled. Hand in hand, we walked back to the black Jeep. Ethan opened the door for me again.

The conversation flowed freely during dinner. Being around Ethan was so easy. It was as if I’d known him for years, well except that I could tell he was hiding something about himself. Then again, I was hiding something as well.

“So, what next?” I asked as we walked back to Ethan’s car.

“Don’t know. Want to see a movie?”

“What? On such a beautiful fall day like today?” I grabbed Ethan’s hand. “I have a better idea.” He pulled his hand back, causing me to stumble towards him. He wrapped his other arm around my waist and dipped me back for a kiss. He straightened me up and twirled me around, then pulled me back in close. He was so different from any guy I had ever met. I loved it.

“What do you have in mind?” He put his hands on my waist and pulled my hips into his.

“Have you been to Green Lake yet?”

“Never even heard of it.”

“Well, you’re in for a nice surprise.” I smiled.

It didn’t take long to get to the State Park. I showed Ethan the best place to park, and we got out, walking toward the water holding hands. Today was turning out to be absolutely perfect.

“Why is the water green?” Ethan asked, staring intently at the lake.

“It has something to do with the minerals, I think. Oh, and the lake is meromictic, which means that the top and bottom layers don’t mix. So anything that sinks to the bottom takes forever to decay. I’m not sure if that has anything to do with the color, though, but it’s kinda cool, I guess.” I picked up the pace. “I want to take you to Dead Man’s Point before it gets dark.” Ethan looked up at the sky. We didn’t have much daylight left.

“Hang on,” he told me and jogged off towards the parking lot. He came back a few minutes later carrying a flashlight and his jacket. “Now we don’t have to rush.” He held up the flashlight. “And I thought you might get cold,” he added, almost sounding embarrassed at his thoughtfulness.

We reached Dead Man’s Point at sunset. I pointed to the bacteria reefs. “Isn’t it cool?”

Ethan took my hand and nodded. We walked as close to the water’s edge as possible. Finding a dry spot, Ethan sat and pulled me on his lap. A slight breeze made me involuntarily shiver; Ethan put the jacket around me. The sun was sinking behind us, and the orange, red, and yellow colors from the sky reflected beautifully off the glass-like surface of the water. I rested my head against Ethan’s broad shoulder. I never wanted this day to end.

* * *

Ethan and I hung out together again Sunday afternoon, but he had to leave suddenly when his dad called with a family emergency. Ethan apologized and rushed off, promising he’d call if he got the chance. I didn’t hear back from him the rest of the day.

I wasn’t worried this time. Somehow, I knew I’d see him again.

My good mood from hanging out with him continued, lasting throughout the entire day of school on Monday. I pushed through the doors at the end of the day, hurrying into the parking lot. I was busy digging around my messy purse to find my keys. I slowed when the energy turned soporific. I looked up, blinking in the bright light, and saw Ethan leaning against my car. He had his hands in his jacket pockets and was looking at the ground, rolling a piece of gravel under his biker boot.

He smiled as soon as he saw me. I walked over, my face lighting up. I dropped my bags on the ground. He wrapped his arms tightly around me and pressed his lips to mine, his tongue going into my mouth. Still aware I was in the school parking lot, I tightened my arms around him and kissed him back just as passionately.

“Anora,” he breathed, coming up for air. He had a bruise on his left cheek. I reached up and gently touched it.

“What happened?”

Ethan looked down. I knew what he was going to say. “I can’t—” he began but cut off suddenly. “I’ll tell you later.” He took hold of both my hands.

“Are you okay?” I asked softly.

A bit of panic flashed across his face. He nodded. “I have to go away for a while, Annie. I really don’t want to, but I have to…and I can’t explain.” He looked up. “God, this sucks,” he said to himself. “Listen, I hate lying to you, but I can’t tell you, okay?” He looked back into my eyes with an expression that pleaded for my understanding. My heart sank. I didn’t want him to leave me. “But before I go, I want to ask you something.”

“Okay,” I said, pulling my hands out of his and putting them on his waist. He took a step in and held me tight.

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?” he asked, voice tight with nerves.

“Of course.” I nodded, unable to keep the broad grin off my face. Ethan’s chest rose and fell in a sigh of relief. He wrapped me tighter in his arms for a moment before he kissed me again.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to call, so don’t worry if you don’t hear from me for a few days,” he told me.

I forced a smile and told him, “It’s okay. Take care of everything and hurry back. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too. Be careful, please?”

“I will,” I agreed, again not really knowing what he was talking about. Ethan took one final look at me, gave me another kiss goodbye, and left.

“Is that your boyfriend?” Jill called from a few cars down, looking at me in disbelief.

“Yes,” I told her, the smile coming back to my face. “It is.”

13

It was a week before Halloween. I’d talked to Ethan almost every day on Skype since he left, but it had been three days since I last had contact with him. Worry and unease grew stronger as each day passed. I needed to distract myself from obsessing over the illogical nagging feeling I had that something terrible had happened.

I got to the barn around ten that Saturday morning. I brought Hunter with me since I hadn’t planned on riding. After brushing and letting the horses out, I went to my car to get something. I checked to make sure no one was looking and buckled a belt around my waist. My dagger hung from it. I clipped Hunter’s leash to his collar and darted to the woods.

I’d become even more obsessed in the last few weeks with reading everything I could from my magical book collection. I stayed up late almost every night practicing different spells. I could now get a bowl of ice cubes to turn to boiling water in under five minutes. I could glamour a different eye color on myself and Romeo, though I couldn’t get it to work on Hunter. I had forgotten to remove the spell one night and almost gave Harry a heart attack. I didn’t study for an econ test, did a spell to help me, and got a 95%. I felt almost of guilty for that. Almost.

Even with my anti-nightmare sachets, I had a hard time keeping the bad dreams away. Last night, I dreamed that I was the blonde ghost again. He was being chased through the woods by one of the dog-creatures. The woods looked freakishly familiar. I was certain it was the woods behind the barn.

I had to find out.

Hunter and I dodged into the forest, sticking to the trail. I thought that we would come across something for sure. But everything was normal. The trees, mostly bare now, housed birds, chirping happily in the fall sunlight. When we reached the end of the trail, I decided to keep walking, not bothering to keep track of the time. I had no idea how far we had ventured from the barn.

After hiking up a rather steep hill, I stopped to catch my breath. Looking down, I could see a large pond with a rickety old dock. I stared at it for a while. I had no idea that was out here. I wondered whose property I was on.

Hunter ran past me through the fallen leaves. Something about the pond looked wrong. There was a slight breeze, but the water was completely still. I was halfway down the dock when I realized a hush had fallen over the woods. Cautiously, I walked to the end of the dock, knelt down, and stuck my hand in the water. I gasped and pulled it out. It felt like I was sticking my hand in a bucket of ice.

“How is this possible?” I asked Hunter as I shook my head. I reached down again, my hand hovering above the glassy surface.

A low growl came from behind me. I yanked my hand up and whirled around, almost losing my balance. My heart skipped a beat, and fear paralyzed me. My eyes widened in terror. Hunter stood at the end of the dock, fur on end and fangs bared.

He circled the horrible dog-creature. Was it the same one from before? It was bigger and its face wasn’t as flat. But it was missing a strip of fur on its muzzle, in the same exact spot where Mystery had clipped it with his hoof. My heart pounded in my ears, and my mouth went dry. I reached for the dagger, ready to rush forward and help my dog.

Before I could, a dark shadow rushed down the dock with inhuman speed. The darkness swirled into the shape of a man. His eyes were dead. The pale blue that they once had been was an echo of gray, bloodshot with thick veins. His skin was tinged brown with decay. Paralyzed with fear, I stood motionless as the old man reached out and put his hands on either side of my head. A high-pitched screech rang in my ears. I thought my heart was going to rip right out of my chest.

My instincts took over. I unsheathed the dagger and shoved it into the man’s chest. A moan escaped his mouth. The dagger felt red hot in my hands. I could feel its power. With one final twist, the man burst into flames. I threw my arms up to shield the flames, stepping back dangerously close to the edge of the dock. The heat was too much. Dizziness crashed down on me and my vision blacked out.

The dagger slipped through my fingers and clanked on the dock. The world around me faded, and I stumbled backwards into the icy water.

14

My mind woke up before I opened my eyes. My head throbbed, and I was really uncomfortable and couldn’t move. Hunter must have been laying on me. I opened my eyes and learned I was wrong. I was laying face down on a sleeping Ethan. I was so tightly wrapped in blankets that I was stuck pressed up against him. My struggling movements woke Ethan up. He untucked me and helped me sit.

I was happy to see him, but I didn’t remember him coming over…or us getting into bed together and falling asleep. Wait—I looked around—I wasn’t in my house. I was lying on a couch that had been pushed next to a fireplace. The walls in this room were painted a soft gold, and boxes full of books and papers cluttered the room. I looked down at Ethan again. He didn’t have a shirt on, or pants I realized as I cast my gaze lower. He had on a pair of navy blue boxers, and that was it. I looked down at myself and saw that I, too, was only in my bra and panties.

“Anora,” he said, sitting up. A sharp pain shot through my head. My hand flew up in reaction to the pain. “Are you okay?” He was suddenly very close to me again, looking right into my eyes.

I took in a breath to answer, but my voice died in my throat. My lungs burned. I wheezed.

“Careful,” Ethan said gently. “You probably inhaled a lot of water.” What on Earth was he talking about? “Are you okay?” he asked again.

“I don’t know.” I was truly confused. “Did we…you know…?”

“No.” Ethan shook his head. “You don’t remember what happened?” Now he looked worried. Great. What the hell was going on? I put my head in my hands again. Ethan wrapped a blanket around me and pulled me to his chest. “What is the last thing you remember?”

“Umm…today is Saturday. I woke up and went to the barn. I went for a walk and—” I gasped. “Hunter!” I panicked. Ethan pointed to a pile of blankets next to the fireplace.

“He’s fine, I promise.”

Hunter too was covered up and looked rather comfy. He opened a tired eye to let me know that he was okay, then went back to sleep.

“How did you find me?” I turned back to Ethan.

“I was hunting the Pricolici.”

“The what?”

“The dog-thing. I had just gotten to the bottom of the hill when I saw you fall into the water.” He pulled me off him so he could look me in the eyes. “Who are you, Anora?”

Time for me to be confused again. I shook my head, not looking away from his eyes. “I’m Anora Paige Benson,” I told him, but he didn’t look satisfied. “I’m eighteen, a senior in high school, I have two horses, a ferret, and a dog…I don’t understand, Ethan.”

“You don’t have to lie to me,” he said softly.

“I’m not lying. I don’t know what you want me to say.” He picked something up off the floor. It was the dagger.

“Not just anyone has this, and not just anyone can turn a demon into a pile of dust like that.”

“A what?” My headache came back. I felt like I was going to puke. I closed my eyes and rested my head against Ethan’s warm skin. He didn’t ask me any more questions for a while; instead, he slowly ran his fingers up and down my back. When I felt like I could open my eyes without barfing, I explained. “I’m a medium. I always have been. I can see and hear ghosts. But what happened today…has never happened before.”

“You have to be more than that,” Ethan said, barely louder than a whisper. “The Pricolici don’t go after just anyone.”

I looked at him in awe. Why was he okay with all this? “Did you kill it?”

Ethan shook his head. “I didn’t have to.” He looked at Hunter. “Your dog ripped its throat out.”

“Oh. Wow.” I felt a newfound sense of respect for my beloved German Shepherd. “Remind me to give him an extra treat.” The magnitude of what happened was really starting to hit me. “So what is a Pricolici?”

“It’s the spirit of a man. An evil, malicious man, brought back from hell to torture and kill the living. The more they kill, the more dog-like they get. And the more dog-like they get, the more powerful they become. They’re often sent after someone by a demon. For different reasons of course, but they don’t stop until they get the kill.” Ethan’s voice had become very sullen. “We need to know why they are after you.”

“I saw that one before,” I said hoarsely.

“What? When? How did you survive?”

“I was riding Mystery, and it spooked him. I fell and the thing, the Pricolici, came after me. Mystery reared up and was going to stomp on it. But it ran away.” Ethan’s face was a mixture of shock and fear. “It looked different then, though. It was smaller.”

Ethan nodded, as if that made sense to him. He looked at my chest. I realized he was looking at the pendant, not my boobs. “Coven of the Sacred Guardians,” he exclaimed. “I knew that Triple Goddess symbol was familiar!” His expression changed once more. “You’re a witch, aren’t you?”

“I don‘t know…maybe.” I smiled my nervous smile. “I really don’t know. Ever since…” Something clicked in my head. “Ever since my aunt died, weird stuff has been happening.”

Ethan thought for a moment. “When did you first see the Pricolici?”

“The same day my aunt died. The day before that party, when I met you.”

“It makes sense now,” Ethan said to himself again.

“What makes sense? What is the Coven, and what is a Sacred Guardian? Why does someone want to kill me?” I pleaded for answers.

“A coven is a group of witches—”

“I know what a coven is,” I interrupted.

“Your coven is a very specific one, one that you can only be born into. I don’t know too much about it, only that for centuries, no one knew it even existed. And for the Sacred Guardians, I think they are some sort of protective spirit.”

I began to feel like I was getting sucked into a whirling vortex of dark confusion. “Like a familiar?”

“I think so, but instead of aiding a witch in her spells, they protect her.”

I looked at Hunter. He had always been sensitive to the paranormal, more so than animals usually are. He’d liked me more than anyone else in the family since he was only a few weeks old. He saved me today. Was he the Guardian I invoked? Ethan looked at me, at Hunter, and then back at me.

“You said you think you are a witch,” he began.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

I wrapped the soft green blanket up over my shoulders. “I found spell books in Aunt Estelle’s house. I brought them home and tried a few, and…and they worked.”

“What can you do?”

“Not much. I can conjure energy and do small glamours. I made an anti-nightmare sachet that seemed to really work, too. Oh, and a while ago I think I did a spell to repel ghosts, which also seemed to really work, well, for a while at least.” I left out the part about cheating on a test.

“That’s pretty impressive, even for an experienced witch.”

“Is it?”

“Conjuring energy is powerful stuff.”

“Oh.” I fell silent and stared into the fire until my vision went blurry. “What’s so special about the dagger?”

“It’s legendary. It can—as we saw—obliterate demons with a single stab.”

“Oh,” I said again, though this time so quietly I doubted Ethan heard me. I looked into the fire again.

“What are you thinking?” Ethan inquired.

“I’m thinking this is all very serious stuff to be talking about in our underwear. Speaking of, why don’t we have clothes on?”

Ethan looked at me like that was something I should know. “That water was freezing, Annie.”

“Yeah, so?”

“I thought you could get hypothermic or something. And you know the best way to fight that is with another person’s body heat. I had to get you out of those wet clothes or you’d really freeze.”

He made quite the Boy Scout. “Why was the water so cold?”

“Spirits and demons can pull energy out of the environment.”

“Like cold spots from ghosts.”

“Exactly.”

“You pulled me out of the water?” I asked, looking into his brown eyes.

“Sort of. Hunter did most of the work.”

With a sudden surge of emotion, tears pricked the corner of my eyes. Careful to keep the blanket around me, I moved down next to my dog. His tail thumped against the wooden floor, and he licked my face. I buried my face into his fur. “I love you, boy,” I whispered in his ear. I stroked his muzzle and gave him a kiss on the top of his furry head.

“How do you feel?” Ethan’s voice came from behind me. “Physically, I mean.”

“My feet are cold, I have to pee, and I’m thirsty. But other than that, I’m peachy.” Ethan came over next to me and extended a hand. I grabbed it, and he pulled me up. After showing me where the bathroom was and getting me a glass of water, Ethan led me up a flight of stairs and down a hall into his room. A navy blue comforter was lazily spread across the bed, and clothes were scattered untidily around the room. A large TV and a Playstation were set up across from the bed, and a laptop sat atop a pile of books. A desk was shoved in a corner, covered in papers. Like the rest of the house, boxes were stacked and no décor had been added. Everything seemed temporary, like they were ready to pack up and move at a moment’s notice.

From the closet, Ethan tossed me a navy blue and orange Bears hoodie and a pair of black sweatpants. Both were way too big, as were the socks I pulled on. I sunk down on his bed while he put on a pair of jeans, a blue t-shirt, and a dark brown flannel button up over top. He sat next to me. From downstairs, I heard Hunter get up and pad his way up the stairs and into the room. He wagged his tail at us and curled up on a pile of laundry.

“What’s it like to be a medium?” Ethan’s question caught me off guard.

“It sucks. I work so hard at being normal, but it’s really, really hard. It’s like there’s a war raging constantly in my head between our world and their world. I have to use so much energy to keep the mental door leading into their world shut. I pick up on spirits’ emotions and they become my own. I remember one time, on a school field trip, we passed this site where a girl got murdered. Of course, no one else knew that, but I was overcome with these powerful emotions of pure sadness. I broke down crying, and everyone thought I was a freak.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You have no idea what it’s like to see someone and not know if it’s a real person or a ghost. You don’t know what it’s like to be sitting in a quiet classroom and hear someone call your name and then turn around and ask who said your name and find out no one said it.” I was speaking faster with every word. “Or what it’s like to have that creepy feeling that someone is watching you and have it turn out to be a ghost the whole time, or to have everyone think you are a freak of nature because you accidentally made contact with Jessie Martin’s dead cousin at her thirteenth birthday party. Or what it’s like to be grabbed at, poked, or touched by ghost hands or—”

Ethan pressed his lips to mine.

“What happened at Jessie Martin’s party?” He kept his face close, like he was studying me. I fidgeted my hands in my lap.

“Someone thought it would be fun to have a séance. We all got in the circle, and Jessie said we should summon her cousin, Jason, who recently died in a fire. Well, I got a vision, I guess you would call it, of him sitting in his bedroom. I described everything in perfect detail, from the color of his eyes to the design of the wallpaper. I even saw his girlfriend, and she was holding onto her necklace. It had two rings on it. Turns out, after he died, she wore his class rings on a chain around her neck. I knew what kind of music he liked and could tell you his hobbies. Needless to say, Jessie never invited me to another party again.”

“You got all that from a vision?”

“Yes and no. I don’t just see pictures, it’s like I download a file or something. I see an image and at the same time know a lot—and sometimes random— information.”

“But that party was years ago.” Ethan obviously didn’t understand why I still wasn’t over it.

“It’s not just that. Things like that happen to me all the time. I’m forced to lie, to fake a smile. I feel so alone, so isolated. I hate being afraid all the time. Until right now, I never told anyone. Harrison would rather not believe than admit to the possibility of something existing that is as complicated as spirits are, and Laney gets scared so easily that I can’t talk to her about it. My parents already think I’m crazy; I can’t bring it up again. So I have to deal alone, like a loser, a social reject.”

“You’re not a loser, and I really don’t think you are a social reject.”

“Thanks.” I gave him a half smile.

“You’re funny, caring, and different. You’re beautiful, and you have an amazing body. If anyone rejects you socially, then they have a serious problem.”

Blood rushed into my cheeks. I wasn’t used to that kind of blunt complimenting. I looked out the window. “What about you? How do you know about all this?”

Ethan shifted so he was facing me. “I belong to a very old group, The Order of the Mystic Realm. Very simply put, we are demon hunters.” He stopped, trying to read my expression, but I kept my face neutral. He spoke slowly, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say. I didn’t think he’d ever explained this before.

“My great-great grandfather on my dad’s side was the first hunter in our family. I guess it runs in families in a way, since not too many people would willingly choose this. I’ve heard the story many times: his wife and children were slain and their corpses stolen on All Hallows Eve, many years ago. My great-grandfather swore he saw a Chichevache take off with them. Of course, no one believed him. He became obsessed with finding the truth. In his search, he stumbled across the Order. He joined, remarried to a young girl whose parents were also Order members, and had my dad’s mom—my grandma—and, well, you can figure out the rest.”

I had no idea what a Chich-whatever was. I’d ask later. “So do you have special powers?” I asked.

Ethan laughed. “No. Most of us are regular people, unlike you.” He said it in a way that it was a compliment. I closed my eyes. This was a lot to take in. I was getting used to the fact that magic existed. Now demons had been tossed into the mix. He put his arms around me and lay down, pulling me with him. “You know, I’ve never told anyone this before.”

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” I knew it did because it felt so good to be able to talk to someone honestly about my own dark past for once. “Why do I feel so weak?”

“You’re not used to using that kind of power. It drained your energy. And from what I saw, that demon was trying to get into your head. He couldn’t though, and it must be from your resistance. I have to tell you, Annie, it takes a powerful witch to block out that kind of dark magic.”

I wanted Ethan to explain the concept of demons and dark magic, but I was too tired. I lazily wiggled closer to him and closed my eyes.

Ethan’s strong arms were wrapped around me when I woke. The fading twilight in the window told me it had to be around six o’clock. Oh crap. I’ve been MIA for hours, and my cell is in my car at the barn. I explained that to Ethan, and we left to go get it.

“You’re taking this all really well,” he said with an undertone of. He looked away from the road long enough to meet my eyes.

“I am?”

“Yeah. Usually when people find out that demons not only exist but want to kill them…well, they tend to panic.”

“Oh.” I looked at the passing road, not quite sure how to explain this. “I guess I’ve always known, somehow. I mean, I’ve always felt like I was a part of something…bigger? I don’t know.” I was stumbling over my words. “I’ve always felt like I have this really important role to play, but I never knew what I was supposed to do or even who I was supposed to be.”

“I think I get what you mean,” Ethan said as we pulled into the barn parking lot. He put the Jeep in park and looked around the parking lot. “Where’s your car?”

I pointed to a brand new, black Chevy Silverado. Ethan looked a little confused. “Did I miss something?”

I nodded. “I bought a truck.”

“Nice. But, why?”

“To pull my new horse trailer with.” I moved my gaze to a brand new three-horse trailer. “I never told you, but when I inherited the house, I inherited a lot of money, too.”

Ethan looked at the truck and then back at me. “You really are full of surprises.”

I smiled at him. “Well, at least you know the biggest one.” I got out of the SUV, Hunter following suit.

“I think you should stay with me tonight,” Ethan said before I got into my truck. “For safety reasons only, of course.”

I smiled. “Of course. Safety first.”

15

“It’s nice to finally meet the girl responsible for making Ethan so happy,” a petite blonde woman told me with a genuine smile as I walked into Ethan’s house. Hunter ran in ahead, eager to sniff everything. “I’ve been wanting to thank you. He’s been in such a good mood lately.”

Ethan kicked off his boots and set the heavy bag of books he was carrying down. “Thanks, Jules. You make it sound like I’m usually awful to be around.”

She made a face and shook her head. “You’re the worst.”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “You should talk.”

The blonde woman laughed. “Hi, I’m Julia.” She seemed motherly to Ethan but could only be a few years older.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m Anora.”

We followed her into the kitchen. A pot of pasta boiled on the stove. “So,” Julia started, turning down the burner. “I hear you’ve got demonic bounty hunters after you.”

I wrapped my arms over my torso. “Yeah, looks like it.”

“Any idea why?” She stirred the pasta and took a dish from the oven. It smelled delicious.

I shook my head and looked at Ethan. “Not at all.”

“We’ll figure it out,” she assured me. How was she so calm about this? Maybe dealing with demonic bounty hunters was just another day on the job for her. “You guys can go ahead and sit. Dinner is almost ready, and your dad will be home any minute,” she told Ethan.

I sat next to Ethan. He put his hand on my thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Only a few minutes later, David, Ethan’s father, arrived at the house. Julia set plates of chicken, pasta, and vegetables on the table. The four of us talked while we ate, going over the details of what had happened to me.

“The door you’ve been holding closed for so long has finally opened,” David told me. “And it’s shining like a beacon for anything supernatural.”

I pushed the last piece of pasta onto my fork. “Nice,” I said quietly. “Is there anyway to dim the light?”

David’s eyes flicked to Julia in an unspoken message before he looked back at me. “Not anything simple.”

Ethan set his fork down, saying he was going to get the books. I helped Julia clear the table.

“You couldn’t do magic before your aunt died?” she asked.

“Well, I never really tried,” I admitted and put a plate in the dishwasher. “But I have always been really lucky. Like, I’ll really want to hear a certain song on the radio, and I’ll randomly choose a station and it will be on. Or I’ll forget to do a homework assignment, and the due date will get pushed back. Oh, and one time I really didn’t want to go to church and somehow, no one’s alarm went off. And other little things like that…I never really thought about it much, but now that I am…there are lots of things that statistically can’t be pure luck.”

“You did magic without meaning to,” Ethan said as he came back into the kitchen with my bag of books. “You really are powerful, Annie.”

I lifted my shoulders in a shrug. “Maybe.”

“Is that the book?” David asked from the table. Ethan sat back down and carefully extracted the Book of Shadows. David leaned forward, curiously staring at the book. He reached out and apprehensively touched it, almost as if he was afraid it would give him a shock when his fingers made contact. “May I?” he asked me.

“Uh, sure.” I watched David open the large book, eyes open wide.

“Your great aunt dies, leaves you a house, lots of money, and a ton of magical supplies…and then you get your powers,” Ethan started. “She has to be the cause of this, somehow.”

I nodded. “I think so, too. She’s involved…but I don’t know how, since she’s dead.”

“The dead are often the most involved,” Ethan mused. I sat back down next to him and picked up the magical herb book. “You’ve been through these books?” he asked me.

I nodded. “I’ve flipped through them all. I haven’t gotten around to reading every page yet. I have to take breaks when I read stuff from the Book of Shadows. Some of the tiny cursive is hard on my eyes. That, and some of it is worded weird.”

“It’s Old English,” David said without looking up.

“Really?” I asked. “Are spells usually written that way?”

“Not anymore. This book is older than you think. Books like this have preservation spells cast on them.”

How old was this book? David closed the book and slid it in front of me. I put my hand on its surface, feeling an odd affection to the old book. So many of my relatives had this in their possession.

The floor creaked behind us. I whirled around, still on edge. A girl who looked about my age walked through the kitchen. Her eyes met mine then flitted to Ethan’s. She smiled broadly at him and flipped her blonde hair behind her shoulder.

“It’s about time you decided to be social,” Ethan said, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, shut up. I was tired.” She stopped behind Ethan’s chair and put a hand on his shoulder. “Who is this?” She looked at me.

“Hi, I’m Anora.” I smiled politely.

“The distraction?” she asked Julia. They had to be sisters; they looked alike. Julia gave her a disapproving look but nodded slightly.

“Sit,” David instructed. The girl let her hand slide across Ethan’s back and sat on the other side of him.

“I’m Sam,” she said with a smile. “Uh, why is there a dog in the living room?”

“That’s Hunter. Anora’s dog,” Ethan explained. Sam still looked perplexed. “He killed a Pricolici.”

She leaned back with wide eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah. He went right for the jugular. He had the thing ripped to shreds in minutes.”

“Neat,” she said, suddenly unimpressed. “Anyway, what are you guys doing?”

“You would know if you hadn’t gone and hid in your room,” David said, a bit of fatherly annoyance in his voice.

“I was tired. I just woke up,” Sam said one more time. She didn’t look like someone who had taken a nap. Her hair was tidy and in place, and her makeup looked freshly applied. It made me feel a little self-conscious since my hair was in a messy French braid and I hadn’t put any makeup on.

Silence fell over the table after we filled Sam in on everything. “What do I do now?” I asked quietly. Ethan slipped his fingers through mine.

“We’ll figure it out,” he promised and squeezed my hand.

David leaned forward. “Do you know anyone who seems suspicious, anyone that has recently tried to get close to you?”

“No. Not that I can think of, except Ethan. Why?”

“Someone, or something, knows who you are.”

“And who am I, exactly?” I said each word slowly. David leaned forward even more, narrowing his eyes as he looked into mine.

“As far as we know, you, Anora, are the only remaining kin of the Coven.”

I felt like someone socked me in the stomach. “What?”

“The Order has always looked for Coven witches, and we’ve never found them.”

“What happened to them?” I asked, my heart in my throat.

“I’d guess demons,” Ethan said softly.

David’s eyes met Julia’s again. She shook her head and cast her eyes down. What weren’t they telling me?

“The purpose of your coven, I believe, is to kill demons,” Ethan went on.

“So of course, demons would kill anyone in the Coven,” I finished. He nodded. “Oh,” was all I could say. Needing a distraction, I flipped through the Book again. “But there are other witches, right?”

“Of course,” David said. “But they are hard to find. Natural witches like you are getting rarer and rarer. You tend to attract a high level of danger.”

“Oh, joy,” I said sarcastically. “What do you mean by natural witch?”

“Some witches get their power from their environment: the elements, the energy contained in nature or animals. More powerful ones get their power from spirits, and above that, from Angels or Demons. But you… you are your own power source.”

“And something evil would love to tap into that source and steal my power, right?”

“You catch on fast.” He smiled. “And of course, you are their enemy.”

“So even if we find out who’s sending the Pricolici and kill them, someone else will probably come after me.”

“Not probably, definitely,” Sam said, not sounding too sorry about it. I absent-mindedly flipped through the pages of the Book. A page felt thick between my fingers. I looked down, discovering that two pages were stuck together. Using my nail, I gently separated the pages. When I looked down, I gasped.

“Ethan!” I exclaimed. He looked at the page.

“Well, that answers a lot of questions.” Everyone else leaned forward to try to see what was in front of me.

“A Binding Spell,” I read aloud. I knew the handwriting was Aunt Estelle’s. “Is it safe to read this?” I asked Ethan, not wanting to accidentally cast a spell.

“Yeah, since you have no intention of casting.”

I took a deep breath and read the words scrawled on the page. “Out of love and pure affection, I bind your powers for your protection. Destiny’s cruel fate will you never face, a normal life you can now embrace. I bind your powers, I bind your powers, I bind your powers. Anora Paige Benson, I bind your powers.” I looked up at Ethan. He nodded for me to keep reading. “Under that it says to do this spell when the moon is at its fullest and to burn Devil’s Shoestring and High John the Conquer, which I believe promote safety and happiness while at the same time repels evil.”

Ethan nodded. Good, I was right.

“That explains why everything spiraled out of control after she died,” Julia’s voice came from behind me. “The spell was broken.”

“But what about the ghosts? Why didn’t the spell protect me against that, too?” I asked.

I waited while everyone exchanged looks. “I guess it doesn’t fall into what she protected you against. Seeing spirits isn’t really a power,” Ethan offered. He didn’t sound too sure, but I thought it made sense.

This was too much to take in right now. My head was spinning. I put my hands on my elbows and stared at the book until the words became blurry. Suddenly, the walls were closing in on me. Everyone’s energy was pushing against me, hot and suffocating. I wanted to get away.

As if he could read my thoughts, Hunter got up from his nap and stood by the door.

“Hunter needs out,” I said, getting up to grab his leash.

“I’ll come with you,” Ethan offered, and I eagerly agreed.

It had cooled off considerably to the point where I could see my breath when I exhaled. Hunter, Ethan, and I walked slowly down the road.

“You know, it’s not gonna be as bad as they make it sound. Sam and my dad can be really dramatic,” he assured me.

“You’re not saying that to be nice?”

Ethan stopped walking and put his hands on my waist. “Look at me, Annie.” He pulled my hips into his. “I promise you. Things will look for you, and you are definitely at the top of many demons’ shit list, but every day is not going to be life or death.”

“Promise?” I whispered.

“Cross my heart.” I let Hunter’s leash slip out of my hand so I could wrap my arms around Ethan’s muscular torso. He dipped me backwards and kissed me. “See, that wasn’t bad, was it?”

“Hmm, I’m not convinced. Better try again.”

He kissed me again, this time harder and more passionately than before. Ethan loosened his grip around me and took my hand. We slowly walked down the street.

“There’s good and there’s evil,” Ethan explained. “And there are humans, caught somewhere in the middle of a constant cosmic battle. You can choose to fight, or you can choose not to.”

“But I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

Ethan stopped abruptly, his shoes skidding on loose pavement. “There is always a choice,” he said roughly. “No matter what the situation, you have the power to act or to not act.” He started forward again. “Yes, you are caught in the crossfire more than the average person, but you still have a choice.”

We turned around in silence, walking just as slowly back to the house.

“I choose to fight,” I said, looking at Ethan.

He smiled. “Good, because I do too.”

We came to a standstill again. I stepped close to Ethan, welcoming his arms around my waist. I tangled myself around him and leaned up to kiss him.

“So how do you know Julia and Sam?” I picked up Hunter’s leash, ready to go back inside.

“They’re longtime family friends. Their parents were killed by demons years ago, and they’ve lived with us ever since. Julia is a psychic; she has visions every once in a while. But what she sees is usually pretty irrelevant. Her mother, I’ve been told, was a very reliable psychic, though.”

“So being psychic doesn’t make you a witch, right?”

“Right. But most the time, people with gifts like that—and being a medium—are witches to begin with.”

“Are only females witches?” We stepped into the house.

“Technically the term ‘witch’ is female. I guess males with power would be called wizards then.”

“Not warlocks?”

“Not unless they’re evil.”

I nodded and went back into the house.

“So what exactly is a demon?” I asked and took off my coat.

“The term is actually misused,” David stated. He was still sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through the Book of Shadows. “Let’s hope to God we never have to face a true Demon. True Demons are direct traces of the Devil himself. In all actuality, it is hard for them to materialize in our world. They appear as shadows, whispers, influential feelings… Anyway, anything evil can be called demons. Kappas, Wendigos, the Pricolici of course, could all be called demons.”

“Things we kill,” Ethan simplified.

“And I’m guessing that they all have to be killed differently,” I said.

Ethan nodded. “Though you’d be surprised how effective cutting of the head can be.” He smiled. “Works almost every time. Well, if the thing is corporeal, that is. If not, that’s an entirely different story.”

* * *

I sat on the edge of Ethan’s bed, waiting for him to get out of the shower. Hunter was sleeping on a folded blanket on the floor. I texted Laney, having almost forgotten, to let her know that my cover for tonight was that Hunter and I were at her house—in case my mom called. When the pipes rattled through out the room as the shower shut off, nerves fluttered through me.

I wasn’t nervous to be with Ethan. Pretty much from the start, I felt comfortable around him. And now that all of our dirty secrets were out on the table, there was nothing to hide. I could be myself, my real self.

I had never spent the night with a boyfriend before. That was what made me nervous. When Ethan came into the room with wet hair and nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, the nerves turned into something else.

I didn’t mean to lick my lips as I gazed over his muscular body. My eyes lingered on his tattoo. I blinked and diverted my eyes to the ground. He was my boyfriend. I was entitled to look. I brought my eyes back up.

“I forgot my clothes,” he said. “I’m not used to having someone in my room while I shower.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Oh, I don’t mind. Not one bit.”

Ethan smiled and pulled a pair of boxers from his dresser. “I usually sleep naked.”

“Still don’t mind.”

He wiggled his eyebrows and grinned, carefully stepping into his boxers. I was tempted to test my powers and make his towel fall before he pulled them up.

“Tired?” he asked and tossed the towel on the ground.

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s been a long day.”

Ethan sank down on the mattress. His arms automatically went around me. We lay down, situated so my head was resting on Ethan’s chest. He turned on the TV, and a reality show about ghost hunting was on. I looked at him and burst into laughter.

Ethan flipped through the channels while running a hand through my hair. I wanted to stay awake and enjoy being alone and in bed with my boyfriend. With everything that happened that day, I couldn’t do it. Nestled next to Ethan, listening to his steady heartbeat, I felt content and safer than I had in a long time.

16

I spent every waking minute possible with Ethan the rest of the weekend. We were afraid of retaliation; whoever sent the Pricolici would probably be really pissed two had been killed. Since Ethan picked me up from school every day, I rode with Harrison in the mornings.

The following Monday, Harrison told me that we needed to get to school fifteen minutes early. He had to meet with one of his teachers about a bad grade he got on a test. I rushed to get out the door. Instead of setting my alarm a few minutes earlier, I decided to forgo doing my makeup and put my hair in a messy braid.

Harrison was really quiet the whole way to school. He must have done really badly on that test. But instead of going the opposite way down the hall to his locker, he followed me to mine. Laney was already there. Uh…what was going on?

“Hey Laney. You sure are here early,” I said brightly. She gave me a weak smile and looked at Harrison. I opened my locker and threw my coat inside. They stood on either side of me, blocking me in.

“Annie,” Laney began. “You know we love you, and that is why we’re doing this. Please don’t be mad.”

“And don’t even try to deny anything,” Harrison said sternly.

“Guys, what is this?” I looked from my brother to my best friend.

“An intervention,” they said in unison.

“What?” I raised my eyebrows and looked at my best friend. Her face was set. “This is ridiculous. I don’t need an intervention.”

“Come on, Annie,” Laney pleaded. “You haven’t hung out with me in like a month, you stopped dressing up, you never wear makeup anymore, and when I do see you, you barely talk to me and you seem so distracted. You’ve even cut down on your barn time.”

“And don’t think I don’t hear you at night. You’ve been up till two AM almost every night for the last few weeks muttering to yourself or Hunter,” Harrison added.

I didn’t say anything, because it was all true.

“Please.” Laney sounded close to tears. “What’s going on?”

I leaned back against my locker and slid down onto my butt. “You guys might want to sit down for this.” I debated what to say in my head. “I know this is going to sound crazy…” I hesitated. “Oh God, please don’t think I’m insane. But, I’m a witch.” Harrison and Laney stared at me without blinking. To my surprise, it was Harrison who spoke first.

“Like a Wiccan witch or…”

I knew what he meant. “Like the other kind.”

He nodded. Laney was looking above me, her face muddled with confusion. “What?”

“A witch,” I repeated. I knew how it sounded. I would have a hard time believing it too, unless— “I can show you.” I looked around for something I could use. “Give me your coffee,” I instructed to Laney. She slowly slid her half-empty coffee cup in front of me. “It’s cold, right?”

She looked at Harrison, hoping to get an answer from him. He mirrored her bewilderment.

“Wait and you’ll see,” I said. “But both of you, feel the temperature.” I made them touch the cup to prove my point. Carefully I popped off the lid and put my hands over the cup. Within seconds, the coffee started to steam. A few seconds more and it was boiling.

“Holy shit!” Harrison exclaimed so loudly that he got a stern look from a passing teacher.

“H-how did you do that?” Laney stammered.

I swallowed my pounding heart. “Magic.” Neither of them said anything, or even moved for that matter, for several seconds.

“What else can you do?” Harrison asked eagerly.

“I don’t really know,” I answered. “I guess anything, as long as I have what I need.”

“How long?” Laney whispered, eyebrows pushing together. “How long have you been a witch? Have you been lying to me for years?”

“No! I promise. I just found out. I guess I’ve been a witch my whole life, but I didn’t know I could actually do magic until recently.”

“So that’s what you’ve been doing at night,” Harrison said, and I nodded.

“Yeah,” I started.

“Hey guys,” Marie called from down the hall. I quickly put the lid back on Laney’s coffee. I shook my head, silently telling them I didn’t want Marie to know. Not yet, at least. “What are you all doing here already?”

“Not telling secrets, that’s for sure!” Laney said with a horrible attempt at a fake laugh. With wide eyes, I looked at Harrison.

“I was asking them for some girl advice. But neither of them were too helpful. Good thing you came, ‘cuz you’re the better one to ask.”

I mouthed, “Thank you,” to Harrison as he stood to ask Marie a made-up question. I turned back to Laney. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I really wanted to, but I wasn’t sure how.”

“It’s okay. I thought you were mad at me or something. This is the longest we’ve gone without hanging out.” She frowned.

“Hey, I know. Why don’t you and Josh come over for dinner tonight? Ethan’s coming over, and you’ve never really had a chance to talk to him. You’ll like him, I’m sure. He’s not at all like you’d think either, he’s surprisingly deep and sensitive.”

“We’d love to!” She beamed. Her face got serious. “Does he know?” she asked in a hushed voice. I nodded.

“He’s had some past experiences with this kind of stuff.” I left it at that. It was his secret to tell, not mine.

* * *

I looked around the table. We rarely ate in the dining room unless it was a holiday. Though today was a regular Monday night, the three extra guests warranted Mom busting out the good dishes and Dad cooking a four-course meal.

I cast a sideways glance at Ethan. This was the first time he met my mother…and the first time he sat down with my dad…and came over for a family dinner. Maybe I shouldn’t have invited Laney and Josh.

But everyone was getting along really well. Ethan was talking to Mom about a research project he did his senior year at the University of Chicago. He lost me when he said “mitotic kinases.” Dad, Josh, and Harrison were talking football. I turned to Laney and smiled, asking when she wanted to ride together.

After dinner, Laney, Josh, Ethan, and I went down into the basement to watch TV. We settled on the couch and Laney lazily flipped through channels until we found something we could agree on. I cuddled next to Ethan, looking forward to spending some alone time with him later that night, although I was tired.

He draped his arm around me, and I was hit with instant sleep. My eyelids closed on their own accord, and suddenly, I was dreaming. I was back in the Victorian. Shattered glass crunched under my feet, and my heart thumped in my ears. My breath clouded around me as I made my way to the basement.

Candlelight flickered against brick walls, and whispers of faint chanting echoed in the darkness. Carefully, I moved off the last step. Three figures huddled around an altar, wearing dark brown hooded robes. One of the hooded figures picked something up from a box nearby and set it on the altar. The one in the middle picked up a decorative knife, and the other grabbed a goblet. Out of the darkness, someone screamed as the hooded creature raised the knife above its head.

“No!” I protested. My heart raced. White fear raced through my body. All three turned to me and let out evil hisses. I screamed in fear. Instead of hands, they had twisted talons. In place of a nose, they each had a sharp beak, black and pointed like a raven’s. Their eyes were sunken inside their heads. The one with the knife ran at me. I stumbled backwards on the stairs, about to get stabbed.

I shot up, wide-awake. Ethan looked startled. “You okay?” he asked quietly. I shook my head. I ran a shaky hand over my face.

“Dream,” I said, just as quietly. He nodded and wrapped his arms tightly around me, kissing the top of my head.

As soon as Josh and Laney left, Ethan and I went up to my room so I could fill Ethan in on the dream.

“You’ve never been to that house before you inherited it, right?” he asked, sitting on my bed.

“Never. I’ve never even been to Indiana until a few weeks ago.” I rested my head against his shoulder.

“Then it might be a weird dream.”

“I’ve had a very similar dream before,” I said, causing Ethan’s concern to double. “It was a while ago, like a few days after I got back, I think. You were in this dream actually. I followed you into the basement, but you disappeared and a ram-headed guy took your place.”

“We need to go through your Book of Shadows and see if we can find anything about that. Maybe it’s all tied to the house somehow.”

“Can we do that tomorrow? I want to lay down with you,” I sighed. That dream zapped my remaining energy.

“Well, when you put it that way…” Ethan grinned and lay down, bringing me with him. I kissed his neck and breathed in the smell of his cologne. Everything about him was so alluring. When his lips touched mine, I suddenly felt wide-awake.

17

“What’s taking so long?” Ethan asked impatiently.

“I need to fix my makeup. I look like a hooker.”

“Isn’t that the point of tonight?”

“No,” I said, sticking my head out of the bathroom to look at him. “Well, maybe for some people. But an Elven warrior is not a hooker. They are very important mythical creatures.”

“If you say so. But hurry up!”

“Oh, be patient. I’m almost done.” I inspected my reflection; I thought I got the right amount of black eyeliner this time. I flipped my head over and choked myself on all the hairspray I used. I fluffed my wavy locks and stepped out of the bathroom.

“Ta-da!” I spun around for Ethan to see. He motioned for me to come over to him. He put his hands on my exposed waist.

“You look so,” he kissed my neck, “hot.”

“Thanks,” I said as I straddled him on the bed. “But we should get going. Laney is already at the Halloween party.” I jumped up and gave my costume another inspection. My top consisted of a midriff-showing leather bodice that laced up the front. The matching leather skirt was short and had a slit along the side. The temperature had dropped, so even though it didn’t really go with the costume, I put on a pair of black leggings. With tall boots and my dagger hanging from my waist, I looked like I was ready to march into battle.

“Let’s just stay here,” Ethan suggested as he pulled me back on top of him.

“Remember that you’re coming back here tonight and that my parents are out of town,” I whispered.

Ethan groaned with want and kissed me again. It took everything in me to stop kissing him and go to the damn party. Resentfully, we broke apart and got into Ethan’s car.

“Is Halloween worse for you?” Ethan asked on the way to the party. I knew exactly what he meant.

“Yes. There are always more spirits around. It’s harder to block them out too.” I shook my head and let out a breath. “Hopefully this party will be a good distraction.”

“And you will get drunk and frisky,” Ethan joked.

“We’ll see about that,” I laughed, not telling him that I didn’t need to get drunk to want to get frisky with him.

The house the party was at wasn’t much further. Harrison, Luke, the girls they came with, Laney, who was dressed as a bee, and Josh, like Ethan not wearing a costume, were already there. Marie and Gavin showed up not too long after we did. They were both dressed up as cops. I was having a blast, talking, drinking, and dancing. My drink was just Sprite for right now. I was having so much fun that I almost didn’t notice Mike and Alix, who was dressed as a slutty cat, walk in. Ethan had left to get me another drink, and they made a beeline for me.

“Annie!” Mike put his hand on my arm. “Lookin’ good!”

I yanked my arm away from him.

“Here by yourself?” Alix asked, her tone mocking.

“No, she’s here with me,” Ethan said from behind, sliding his arm around my waist. He gave me my drink.

“Thanks,” I said, taking the red plastic cup from him. Ethan leaned down and kissed me.

“This is my boyfriend, Ethan,” I said in as sweet a voice as I could manage. Alix ran her eyes over Ethan’s muscular arms. Mike’s face blanked. He shook his head and pushed his shoulders back.

“She’s quite a handful, isn’t she?” he tried to joke, making it seem like he wasn’t bothered by us.

“I’d say she’s more than a handful,” Ethan said, looking down my leather bodice. I gave him an “I-can’t-believe-you-said-that” look and laughed.

“So how’re Hunter and Mystery?” Mike asked, trying to show off his knowledge of personal information about me.

“Great,” I said shortly. “Actually, I want to thank you.”

“Really? For what?” His baby blue eyes widened.

“If you hadn’t been such a grotesque, pathetic, womanizing loser, I never would have left that party and found Ethan.” I smiled sweetly again, but fire burned behind my eyes.

Mike stammered something that didn’t make sense and turned on his heel, pretending that he saw someone he knew. Alix threw a dirty look my way and slinked off after Mike.

Ethan looked across the room again and then back into my eyes. “You know, it surprised me how much it bothered me seeing you upset.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “You are so sweet.”

“No, I’m not,” he said, his voice full of wicked seductiveness. He took my hand and led me back into the party.

Maybe two hours later, Ethan’s phone rang. It was Sam. I set my drink down, grabbed my coat, and went outside with him. I watched the expressions on his face change from annoyed to worried.

“Where are you?” he asked. “I can be there in about twenty minutes.”

“Everything okay?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“No, but it’s not that big of a deal. If I go now, I can probably be back in an hour. You can stay here with your friends.”

“Do you need my help?”

“No, stay with your friends and have fun. I’ll tell you everything when I get back.” He picked me up and twirled me around. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too. Be safe!” He gave me a quick kiss goodbye and took off. I went back in the house and hung out with my friends for a while. I talked and laughed, but as each minute ticked by, an uneasy feeling grew. Laney suggested I have a drink to calm my nerves. I took a few sips, recoiled from the taste, and looked outside the large living room windows that faced the woods. Dim moonlight reflected off yellow eyes. I shivered, feeling like it was watching me.

I took another drink. It could be an animal—a regular, normal, non-demonic animal. The more I drank, the harder it was to keep the mental shields up, and something dark crept in on my thoughts.

An hour later, I couldn’t take it anymore. I tossed my cup and went outside, planning on sitting on the porch until Ethan came back. My breath clouded around me as I exhaled. Several people cluttered the small porch, drinking and smoking.

Wrinkling my nose, I pushed past them, putting a hand around my dagger as I dashed down the steps. I slowly walked through the line of cars parked in the large yard, stopping at the edge of the woods.

My fingers tightened around the dagger. A chill ran through me. Something was lurking in the trees. And I was going to find it.

I pulled the dagger from the sheath. I cast my eyes to the blade, a smile subconsciously coming to my face. Slowly, I walked around a rusty van. Wind rattled bare branches.

Aaaanorrraaaa.

I spun around. “Hello?” I asked the darkness. “Who’s there?”

I held the dagger up. My chest rose and fell. The wind blew again, blowing my hair into my face. I pulled it out of my eyes, taking a step back. My heel landed on a branch. It snapped, the sound echoing into the night.

The feeling of eyes on me intensified. I whirled around. “I know you’re in there!” I shouted to the forest. “I’m not scared of you.” Oh, but I was. I pushed my pounding heart back into my chest.

Ruunnn.

I spun. Run? Was it a warning or a threat?

Run. Noowww.

Where was the voice coming from? A howl came from deep inside the woods. My stomach dropped, and I shivered as fear shot through me. I took a step back, too scared to take my eyes off the dark trees.

Someone scurried through the dry grass behind me. Heart hammering with fear, I moved close to the van. Why did I come out here? This was a stupid idea. I should have waited for Ethan. What if a Pricolici was lurking about? Or worse, one of those bird-creatures from my dream?

Footfalls grew louder. I could do this. I closed my eyes and nodded to myself. Maybe…no. I could. I had to. I press a hand on the cold metal of the van. One, two…I pushed off and jumped around the van, dagger raised.

“What the hell?” Mike shouted, raising his hands over his face and sloshing beer out of the glass bottle he was holding.

“Are you following me?” I asked, lowering my arm.

Mike staggered back. Great, he was drunk. “I saw you leave alone,” he slurred. “I wanted to talk to you.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.” What I wanted was to get back in the house and away from the woods. I took a step forward.

Mike stepped in my way.

“Move, Mike,” I sighed.

“Annie,” he started, reaching out to touch me. I pushed his hand away. Anger burned in his eyes.

“Get out of my way.” I shoved past him.

Mike grabbed my arm. “Don’t walk away from me!” he said, tightening his grip on my arm until it hurt.

“Let me go!” I twisted my arm. Another howl filtered through the woods. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. “Mike!” I shouted. “Get the hell away from me!” Desperate to get inside, I bent my leg and kneed him in the balls.

Mike doubled forward. His pain twisted into rage. He raised his arm back, holding the beer bottle over my head. My eyes widened, and I turned my head as he brought his arm down. The bottle broke into a million pieces. But I never felt any pain.

I opened my eyes, slowly turning my head. Pieces of broken glass were suspended in the air, just inches from my face. My eyes went wide. Did I do that?

Mike stumbled back. Blood dripped down his hand. He held it up in front of him, dumbfounded. He tore his eyes away from his bleeding hand and looked at me. Suddenly, the anger was back, and he came at me fast. He hit an invisible wall, colliding with the broken pieces of glass.

Energy buzzed around me. I could feel it swirling around my feet, rising, and settling in my fingertips. I threw my hand forward, and Mike flew back, landing on his back in the dry grass. I let my hand drop to my side. The broken glass fell to the ground.

“Freak!” Mike said and scrambled to his feet. “I always knew there was something wrong with you,” he stammered.

“If by ‘wrong,’ you mean ‘awesome,’ then yes, that’s true,” I said, fingers curling around the hilt of the dagger. The energy filled me, and I felt on fire. I smiled down at Mike. “If I never see you again, it would be too soon.”

I stepped over him and marched into the woods, not stopping until the lights from the house disappeared from view. My hands trembled, and my heart raced. Taking in that much raw energy was better than several shots of espresso.

The adrenaline soon gave way to fear, and I regretted coming out here. It was dark, so dark. I slowly edged forward. What exactly was I planning to do if the Pricolici showed up? Stab it to death? I looked at the dagger. Ethan said it would make a demon burst into flames. Would I burn too?

I turned around. I had come straight in, right? All I had to do was retrace my steps, and I’d be back in the yard. Then I could rush through the yard, tell Laney about what happened with Mike, and be surrounded by people. The demonic bounty hunters wouldn’t come after me then.

An owl hooted and took off, wings echoing throughout the dark forest. Smart, Annie, really freaking smart to come out here alone. My hands still shook but this time from fear. Another howl came from not that far away. I crept forward. I had to be getting close to the house.

I pushed branches out of my face and stepped into a cold spot. Oh crap. The air left my lungs as if I was being sucked down, faster than gravity could take me, into ice water. Before I could inhale, I was blinded by blue light.

Then I fell, landing hard on the cold ground, and everything around me faded to black.

18

“Anora?”

I tried to open my eyes. Everything hurt. My throat was dry and sore, and my head throbbed.

“Anora?”

I knew that voice. Who was looking for me? What did they want? I had no energy. I wanted to melt into the forest floor and never wake up.

“Anora!” he desperately shouted.

Ethan. That’s who the voice belonged to. I flattened my hand on the ground, leaves crunching under my palm. I couldn’t open my mouth. My body was paralyzed.

Branches rattled as someone crashed through the woods. “Shit, Annie,” Ethan said and knelt down. I could feel the heat radiating off of his body. “Annie? Can you hear me?”

He scooped me up, pressing me close to him. “You’re freezing. What the hell happened?”

I was like a rag doll in his arms. What had happened? I was too tired to even think about that right now. I opened my eyes long enough to see the worry on Ethan’s handsome face. My head rolled back, and I passed out again.

The next time I woke up, I was in my bed. Ethan’s arms were around me, and Harrison and Laney stood by the foot of the bed.

“Anora?” Ethan said when I stirred.

I opened my eyes, and an intense pain shot through my head. I thought I might puke. Ethan helped me sit up. “Hey guys,” I croaked.

“Annie, what happened?” Ethan asked, his voice tight.

I ran my hands through my hair. Little bits of leaves and twigs stuck were stuck in it. “I don’t really know.”

Laney moved to the bed, sitting on the edge “Marie said she saw you talking to Mike. Did he…”

“No,” I said and shook my head. The movement was too much. I closed my eyes and put my hand over my mouth. When the lump of vomit in my throat never came up, I looked at my friends again. “He followed me out. He was drunk and I…I…” My mind was fuzzy. I got a flash of Mike grabbing me and smashing the beer bottle over my head.

But it never hit me. I was surrounded by an invisible force, making me untouchable. The broken glass floated in the air before my eyes. “I pushed him down. Then I…” I trailed off, flicking my eyes to my brother. I heard the howling, I remembered that. And I had gone after it. “I went into the woods. I stepped into a cold spot.” I closed my eyes, remembering what happened. More howling. Feeling like I was going to die. Then the light. It was beautiful and bright, so bright. “That’s all I remember.”

“Cold spot?” Harrison asked.

“From a spirit,” Ethan said. “Right?”

I nodded, feeling sick again. “Yeah.”

Ethan pulled a blanket over me. “Did you have a dream?”

I shook my head. “Not that I can remember. But I don’t think it meant to do me any harm.”

Laney raised her eyebrows and hugged her torso. “Any harm?” she laughed. “It practically killed you!”

I bit my lip. I knew I couldn’t explain it to her. Hell, I could barely explain it to myself. It happened so fast. The icy air. The light came out of nowhere. It wrapped around me, blanketing me. And then I was on the ground, being woken up by Ethan. Something about it was familiar…protective even. And I was still alive. The Pricolici hadn’t gotten me.

My stomach churned. I got out of bed, stumbling into the attached bathroom in time to throw up in the toilet. Laney held my hair back, and I heard Ethan explain that electromagnetic energy in large doses had that effect on people.

I rinsed my mouth and crawled back into bed. Laney helped me change into pajamas, and Ethan tucked me in. Hunter jumped up and lay down next to me, resting his head on my arm.

“You guys can go back to the party,” I told Laney and my brother. Harrison tipped his head to the side, zoning out. He was drunk. I smiled at him, feeling a bit emotional that he cared enough to come home to make sure I was all right.

“I don’t want to go back to that house,” Laney said with a shiver. “Not if there is a ghost lurking that close.”

“You’ll be fine,” I assured her. The ghost wasn’t what she should be worried about.

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. “No way. I will avoid ghosts at all costs, thank you very much.”

I nodded. It was tempting to tell her than her little sister’s invisible friend was really a ghost.

Harrison shuffled forward. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked me. “Mike didn’t touch you?”

“He tried,” I confessed. Both Harrison and Ethan stiffened. “I scared him off.” My eyes landed on the dagger. “Seriously, go back to the party. I want to sleep.”

Harrison nodded, and Laney gave me a hug goodbye. Ethan got under the covers on my other side. Being sandwiched between him and Hunter was comforting. Ethan ran his fingertips and down my back. I zoned out for a while, so close to sleep.

“Ethan?” I asked softly.

“Yeah, Annie?” he replied.

“Just checking. I thought you left.”

“I will never leave you,” he whispered and kissed my cheek. I rolled over, every moment taking an enormous amount of effort, and rested my head on Ethan’s chest. His arms went around me, and he kissed my forehead.

“If vampires were real, do you think stores would stay open later?” I asked.

“Maybe,” he answered with a chuckle.

“But not grocery stores.”

“Why do you ask?”

I shrugged. “Just wondering.”

He hugged me tighter. “Get some sleep, Annie. You need it.”

I closed my eyes. “Sorry. I know we were both looking forward to a night alone. I told you, being me sucks.”

Ethan kissed me. “No it doesn’t. Besides. We still have the morning.”

* * *

“Try again,” Ethan encouraged. It was Sunday morning, and we were still alone in my house.

I closed my eyes, inhaled, and relaxed. I slowly let my breath out and opened my eyes. I put my hands on the table and stared at the bay leaf. It was floating on the still surface of water in a mixing bowl. Move. The tip of the leaf bobbed underwater. Spin. The leaf began to turn clockwise. Faster.

“Holy shit,” Ethan said, running a hand through his brown hair. He shook his head and took a step back. “You’re telekinetic. Annie…” He trailed off, not knowing what to say.

I didn’t take my eyes off the leaf. With my mind, I picked up it and out of the bowl. Water streamed down. I couldn’t help by smile. I mentally let go, and the leaf floated down into the water. I turned to Ethan, expecting him to share my excitement.

“Do you think I’m a freak?” I blurted when I saw the horror on his face.

He blinked, looking from the leaf to me several times. “No. Not at all. It’s just…just…I’ve never seen this before. I didn’t really think it was possible, to be honest. Not by a human at least.”

I blinked. “A human?”

He nodded, staring at the leaf. “I’ve seen demons have active powers. But never humans.”

My shoulders sagged. “You think I’m a freak.”

Ethan laughed, then saw that I was serious. He stepped over and put his arms around me. “No, I don’t. Not at all.”

“Well, why not? I am.”

“Annie, I was raised in the Order. After school, I had weapons training. I’ve been quizzed over demons since I was ten. Instead of studying for the SATs, my dad had me memorize crystals and their magical uses. I went to college against the Order’s will. They thought staying home and training was more important. I am the freak.”

“Okay. You win that one,” I laughed softly. “At least we can be freaks together.”

Ethan kissed me. “Together.”

19

“You look tired,” Marie observed the next morning at school. “You up late with Ethan…or Mike?”

“Mike?” I questioned, twisting the combination lock on my locker. “Why in the world would I be with Mike?”

Her lips curved into a smile. “Maybe you got bored with Ethan.”

Laney raised an eyebrow. “Have you seen Ethan? I don’t think she’s gonna get bored with him anytime soon.” She shook her head and put her bag down.

Marie flipped her hair. “Whatever. I saw you and Mike together at that party.”

I rolled my eyes. “He followed me. And I left with Ethan. You know that.” I pulled open my locker. Why was Marie acting strange? I didn’t like the energy that was coming off of her. It was like she was jealous. Was it me or was she hoping I had been with Mike? She would have loved to catch me doing something I wasn’t supposed to do, wouldn’t she? I hung up my coat. Marie was a friend…I didn’t want to think bad thoughts about her.

With a smile, I turned to her. “So, yes. I was up late with Ethan last night.”

“Did you do it yet?” Marie asked, her tone almost mocking.

“Not yet.”

Marie smirked. “You better hope Ethan doesn’t get bored with you then.”

I took in a deep breath. “I think I made him pretty happy last night,” I said back. Ethan wasn’t like that. We messed around, but he was in no rush to have sex. He respected me, and I liked him even more for that.

“Hey,” Laney said, wanting to break the tension. “Want to take antiquity photos for class this week?” she asked me.

“Sure. It’s not due yet, is it?” I grabbed my books.

“Not till right before Thanksgiving, but I want to get it done.”

Laney and I said bye to Marie and walked down the hall to photography class.

Mr. Jancovich was out sick, so instead of learning about a new photo technique, we had to watch a boring slideshow while the substitute teacher sat at the desk playing on her iPhone. We were being quizzed over the slideshow at the end of class, forcing us to pay attention. I propped my head up on my hands and tried to watch. I had worked my ass off to get good grades—good enough to be on track to graduate a semester early and get the hell away from this place as fast as I could.

Only minutes into the film, my eyelids grew heavy. This whole not-getting-enough-sleep thing was really starting to kick my butt. Darkness enclosed my vision as my eyes shut.

I was lying in a grassy field. I felt happy. I felt safe. I felt free. The sun reflected off a pond in the distance. A warm breeze swayed the tall weeds. No one knew where I was. This was where I went to escape.

But there was something wrong. There was something lurking in the shadows. Only I had no idea I was in danger. It was coming closer, and I was laying there, face turned up to the sun.

Suddenly, Laney elbowed me, waking me up from my dream. “What are you drawing?”

“Huh?” I looked down. When did I pick up my pen?

“That’s really creepy, Annie.” Her eyes were on the notebook in front of me.

“Shh! No talking!” the sub yelled at us. I didn’t care. Fear crept down my spine. Staring up at me from my notebook was the bird-demon from my nightmare.

* * *

“I’m telling you, there is no way I drew this,” I told Ethan as I sat on the couch at his house. “My art skills top out at stick people, hearts, and stars.”

Ethan examined the picture, bringing the notebook close to his face. “This is what they look like?”

“Yeah. Sunken black holes for eyes, that creepy beak with nostrils, and the gross skin.”

Ethan tossed the notebook aside and picked up a stack of dingy books that his family had collected through the years. Some weren’t in English, and most were handwritten journals from Order members. He handed one to me.

“Time to look for the bird-demon?” I asked.

“Unfortunately.” We settled on the living room couch together, leafing through book after boring book.

After half an hour of finding absolutely nothing, Ethan took the book out of my hands and dropped it on the ground. He grabbed my feet and pulled me towards him until I was stretched out on the couch. He moved over top and pressed his lips to mine.

The door that led from the garage to the kitchen opened and slammed closed, rattling the walls. Ethan didn’t stop kissing me. Someone stomped past us and up the stairs, and David loudly cleared his throat, shuffling around in the kitchen.

With a frustrated groan, Ethan broke away and sat up. I ran my hands over my hair. Ethan pulled me into his lap as David walked in, stopping behind the couch. He stared at my notebook on the coffee table.

“This your artwork?” he asked Ethan.

“No, Annie drew it. Well, not completely. She was channeling,” Ethan answered.

“It’s really detailed.” He came around and sat down next to us, picking up the notebook. I wondered if the PDA between Ethan and me offended him. I hoped not, because Ethan wasn’t letting me go…not like I wanted him to.

“I’ve had dreams about them. Bad, creepy dreams,” I informed David.

“What do they do in the dreams?” he asked.

“They’re doing some sort of ritual, and then they try to kill me.”

David nodded. Then he turned and walked out of the room without a word. I grabbed a book from the coffee table and curiously turned the pages of an old leather journal about water demons. I shuddered and shut the book. Swimming wouldn’t ever be the same.

Julia called us in for dinner about half an hour later. Ethan jumped up, extending a hand for me. I took it, allowing him to pull me to my feet.

“After dinner, do…” he asked. I could see his lips moving but his voice kept getting quieter and quieter, like someone was slowly turning down the volume. My heart pounded in my head as the scene changed around me.

I was walking down the basement stairs in the Victorian again. Someone screamed in pain.

“Why are you doing this? No, no, please, no!” Then I heard a sickening crunch, and the person cried out in pain again.

I slowly descended the last stair. Three robed figures were gathered around someone who was chained to the floor. A white light flashed, blinding me. When I could see again, I was the one chained to the floor. The bird-demons were sitting around me, chanting.

My eyes flew open, viewing the room from the floor. Ethan, Julia, and David were looking down at me. I sat up and felt instantly dizzy.

“What happened?” I felt confused.

“You fainted,” Ethan said.

“I don’t faint.” I looked up at him. His eyebrows were pushed together in concern. Everyone looked at me, apparently waiting for an explanation. “I had a dream, I think.” If I could call it that. Didn’t I have to sleep to dream? “About the creepy bird-demons.”

“Were you in the basement again?” Ethan asked. I nodded.

“This needs to be checked out,” David instructed. Julia and Ethan agreed.

“Did you go in the basement at all when you were in Indiana?” Julia asked.

“Yeah, I just looked around. It was empty and boring, so I didn’t spend much time there.” And it had creeped me out, but no one needed to know that.

“You said the attic was full of boxes, right?” Ethan asked.

“Yeah.”

“But you didn’t go through all of them?”

I shook my head. “I didn’t have time.”

He looked at Julia and his dad. “I think we need to go back into the basement, check to see if any sort of ritual has been performed there. And the boxes,” he turned back to me, “there might be something, more books, a journal, something that can give us a clue.”

“Good idea.” David gave an approving nod. “The sooner the better. This quiet before the storm isn’t going to last much longer.”

* * *

Ethan walked me to the front door of my house to make sure I got in safely. But once there, he followed me up the stairs and waited with me while I let Hunter out back. “We should go this weekend,” he said.

“I don’t know if I can,” I said, watching Hunter run to the back of the yard.

“Annie, the Pricolici are one thing, but the way these dreams are taking over…” His voice trailed off. “Remember when I said that sometimes you really will be in danger?”

I looked into his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Well, I think this is one of those times. I can’t see the connection yet, but something is trying to get to you. And they are trying really, really hard since they had to break through all the protective wards laid on our house.”

An unreal sense of fear made me feel like I was floating above my body, watching this conversation happen. “What do I do?”

“Stay vigilant. Keep the dagger close, practice moving things with—” He tapped my forehead. I nodded.

“What about school? Is anything going to attack me there?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. These things tend to not like crowds.”

“You don’t sound too sure of yourself.”

Ethan wrapped his arms around me. “That’s ‘cuz I’m not.”

I closed my eyes and rested my head on his chest. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

I looked up at him, surprised he didn’t know what I was talking about. “For everything. For staying with me, for helping me, for your family not only welcoming me but helping me too. You’ve done so much for me.”

He sat down on the deck and motioned for me to sit too. He positioned me in front of him, between his legs. He gently pulled me to him, so my back was resting on his chest. We intertwined our arms. Being wrapped up in Ethan’s body made me feel warm and safe.

“Annie,” he began. “You do know that I’m not only with you because of the whole supernatural stuff, right?”

“I had hoped.” I looked behind me and up into his eyes. He smiled.

“You are the most amazing girl I’ve ever met. And not that I wish demons upon you, but being able to share my messed up world with you makes us possible.”

I held onto Ethan tighter.

“I’m not helping you because it’s my duty and you’re a job. I’m helping you because I can’t stand the thought of anything bad happening to you. Annie.” He moved my shoulders so I was facing him. “You have no idea how happy I am just to be with you.” He tenderly cupped his hands around my face. “I love you, Anora.”

I gazed into his brown eyes. “I love you too.”

* * *

“Any luck?” I asked Ethan that next day as we walked into the kitchen of my parents’ house.

He shook his head. “Nope. None of my dad’s Order connections have seen that bird-demon before. I had a hell of a time coming up with a believable lie about why I was looking.”

“You didn’t tell them the truth?”

“No,” he said. “My dad said I shouldn’t tell other Order members that you’re a witch. He said they’d pester you too much about the dagger and demons.”

“Oh,” I said, raising my eyebrows. That was a little strange. Wasn’t collaborating and killing demons together worth a little pestering? “Now what?”

“We keep doing what we were doing. Research and be on the lookout. You’re going to talk to your parents about going back to Indiana today, right?”

“I’m gonna try,” I said and looked at the clock. I was hungry, and neither of my parents was home yet. If I wanted dinner, I’d have to make it myself. After a few minutes debating what sounded good versus what was easy to make, I decided on Italian sausage and spaghetti.

I filled a pot with water and set it on the stove. I flicked the burner on but didn’t wait for the water to heat up before dumping a box of noodles in. Ethan stood behind me. He slipped his hands around my waist and kissed my neck. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back.

I extended my hands, conjuring energy to make the water boil. I smiled when I felt the heat and turned around to kiss Ethan. The kitchen door opened, and Mom, wearing a white lab coat, walked into the kitchen.

“Hey, Mom,” I called.

“Hi, honey. Hello…” She trailed off, eyes flicking to Ethan’s arms around me. “…Ethan.”

“Good evening, Mrs. Benson. How are you?” Ethan asked, his arms still around me. I gently elbowed him away.

“Oh, tired as usual.” She took off the lab coat. “Is Anora really making dinner?”

“I can cook, you know,” I told her.

“Of course you can, but you never do. I should get out the camera,” Mom joked.

“Hey, Mom?” I asked, turning to look at my mother. “Is it okay if I go back to my house in Indiana? Ethan will be with me, so I won’t be alone.”

Mom stared blankly into space for a few seconds before answering. “Sure, sounds like fun.”

The look on Ethan’s face was priceless. I turned back to the stove to cover my silent laughter. “You’re okay with me being alone with my incredibly attractive boyfriend all weekend? All alone, just the two of us, right?”

“Of course, sweetie, why wouldn’t I be?”

Ethan looked at me in bewilderment. I crouched down to get a pot from the cabinet under the counter. He knelt down too.

“What did you do?” he whispered.

“Agreeance spell. Pretty awesome, isn’t it?”

20

The sun was rising when we pulled onto the gravel driveway. A sense of belonging filled my heart when I looked at my white Victorian house. We were both exhausted from the long drive. I wanted to get inside and collapse into bed.

“You weren’t kidding when you said this place was big,” Ethan said as he got out of the truck and grabbed two suitcases. I unbuckled Hunter and debated letting him run loose or not. I decided to go ahead and let him and watched him carefully as he ran around, tail wagging wildly as he smelled his new surroundings. I grabbed the remaining bags and joined Ethan on the porch. I set the bags down and patted my pockets.

“Oh my God. I left the key at home!” I said as seriously as I could. Ethan’s eyes widened. “Just kidding!” I pulled it out of my back pocket.

“I would have kicked the door down,” Ethan said. Hunter sprang up the steps and pushed ahead of me as soon as the door was open, wanting to be the first to check everything out. Before Ethan and I lugged the suitcases upstairs, we joined Hunter in making sure the premises were indeed safe.

After using the bathroom, Ethan stripped down to his dark green boxers and collapsed into bed. I hastily washed my makeup off and did the same. I pressed myself close to Ethan’s bare chest. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me. “Love you, Annie,” he whispered.

“Love you, too.”

We both quickly drifted into some much needed sleep, not waking until the afternoon. I woke up first at half-past one. I didn’t realize before how big the bed was; Ethan, Hunter, and I fit comfortably together. Ethan was laying on his stomach with an arm draped over me. I traced my finger over the lines of the pentagram, wondering whose zodiac symbols were inside the circle.

“Morning,” he said, his voice muffled by his pillow. He pulled me closer.

“Morning,” I said back, unable to keep from smiling. “Though technically it’s the afternoon.”

Ethan stretched. “Right. I forgot. We should start our search.” He made no attempt to get up. I ran my fingers through his hair. “Hungry?”

“Starving.” I had brought food for Hunter but didn’t bring anything more than snacks for us. “Want to go out for lunch?”

“Yeah. Do you know your way around town?”

I laughed. “Hardly.”

“But you were here before.”

“Only once.” I wasn’t always certain I could navigate my hometown of Syracuse without getting lost.

After showering and letting Hunter out, Ethan and I headed into town. We ate lunch and stopped at a grocery store on the way back, deciding it would be easier to have food at the house. I went up to the master bedroom and got the dagger from my bag. I turned to see Ethan holding his preferred weapon.

“You brought a gun?” I asked incredulously.

“Uh, yeah. We don’t know what we might be facing.” Ethan seemed totally comfortable with that thing in his hands.

“I thought you couldn’t kill demons that easily.”

“You can’t.” He loaded the gun and stuck it in a holster that hung from his belt. “But shooting them is a good distraction, if all else fails.”

“That’s cheerful.” I pulled the dagger out of its sheath and ran my finger over the cool metals that made up the blade. I remembered something Ethan had told me the day the Pricolici attacked. “This was made for killing demons, wasn’t it?” I asked. He looked over to see what I was talking about.

“Yeah. That’s why you have the three metals: silver, copper, and brass make the blade, and the Coven Seal is inlaid in iron,” he explained.

“What’s so special about that?”

“It was forged with magic.”

No wonder it felt so smooth and seamless. It felt like it belonged in my hands. Was that from the magic too?

Since the basement had appeared in more than one dream, we went downstairs first. Feeling like I was stuck in a rerun of my nightmare, I opened the door and slowly went down the steps. I pulled the string to turn on the single light.

No rituals were going on. No one was being sacrificed. Ethan walked around slowly, looking for anything that could reveal to us what might have happened here. Hunter sniffed along the walls. I closed my eyes and tried to pick up on anything.

It took a great amount of effort to keep my mental shields up all the time, but I was used to it. Letting them drop made me feel naked. I exhaled, becoming completely still, and felt nothing. With my eyes still closed, I turned.

Nothing again.

It was a strange but welcome feeling to not sense a spirit. The dead lingered everywhere, the shadows of their old lives permanently cast even in the brightest of places. But here, there was a void.

Slowly, I pivoted around. Suddenly I got hit with something else, something so strong, it almost knocked me over. The breath caught in my chest, and my eyes flew open. Ethan stood feet from me. He was turned away, jiggling the doorknob to the storage closet.

His emotions swirled inside of me. Determination mixed with fear. But he wasn’t afraid of the basement or what we might find. He was afraid of not being able to protect me, of something slipping past and hurting me. I sharply inhaled right as Ethan opened the closet. It was crazy how in tune I was with him.

“Nothing in here,” he called over his shoulder. “Just some nasty green carpet. It smells like mildew.”

I shook myself. “Great. Does that mean the basement has water damage?”

Ethan shrugged. “It doesn’t look like it does anywhere else. The closet smells.”

Hunter pushed past Ethan, eager to sniff the smelly rug. Ethan reached down and grabbed his collar, gently pulling him back. “You don’t want to go in there,” he told my dog. “It’s too dirty.”

Hunter whined and pushed forward, pulling Ethan.

“Hunter,” I said softly, and he turned around. Ethan let go of his collar and Hunter trotted over, wagging his tail. I knelt down to pet him. “There’s nothing down here.” I sighed and stood. “We should probably start with the attic.” I internally groaned, not looking forward to going up to the cold and drafty attic to sort through boxes of crap.

Ethan ran a hand through his hair and nodded. I bit my lip, watching him turn and walk up the stairs. He filled out his jeans perfectly, and his muscles flexed as he walked. I didn’t want to go in the attic. I wanted to take Ethan back to the bedroom and have some fun.

With a heavy sigh, I buried my desire and followed him up the stairs.

* * *

The sun had set, and we were still digging through boxes. We hadn’t found a freaking useful thing. I shoved a box of dated clothes to the side. Anger was building inside of me.

How could Aunt Estelle do this to me? She knew her spell would wear off when she died. She wrote me that letter, that stupid, ominous letter that didn’t help me in the least bit. She left me all this stuff, her house, a lot of money…and a death sentence.

I slammed a book back on the dusty floor. If she had called me once—just once—it would have saved me a lot of heartache. I spent my life feeling like an outsider, being told I was crazy or delusional for saying I could see spirits. Even my own parents doubted me and worried for my sanity.

And here lived old Estelle, in her big house all alone, never bothering to clue me in on who I really was. I picked up another book and tossed it aside. It bounced open, and something caught my attention.

“I think I found something!” I said, examining it. “Wait, never mind. It says ‘bird demonstrations,’ not bird demons.” I skimmed the page. “Oh, Aunt Estelle was part of a group that worked with endangered species.” Behind the bookshelf were several old birdcages; one had not been cleaned before being shoved in the far corner of the attic. I wrinkled my nose and moved on.

Ethan ran his hands through his hair, making it stick up all crazy in a way that I found to be oddly sexy. “Let’s put these aside for now. I can’t stand being up here anymore. It’s too stuffy.”

“Agreed,” I said, though really I wanted out of this attic and away from Aunt Estelle’s memories.

I let go of my anger as we walked up the stairs that led to the outdoor turret. Wind blew through my hair. I closed my eyes and held onto the railing, tipping my head back.

Ethan stepped close behind, his arms wrapping around me. I smiled and leaned against him. I turned around in his arms and held onto him, standing on my toes to kiss him.

Ethan pulled me in. I moved a hand to his face, running my hand over the stubble on his cheeks. I shivered.

“Cold?” he asked, pulling his mouth back an inch.

“A little,” I said.

“Want to go in?” He ran his lips along my neck before sucking at my skin. I melted into his embrace.

“No, I like it up here.” My hands traveled down his back.

He pulled his head back and smiled. “Hang on a second.” He gave me one more kiss then raced down the steps. Without his body heat, goosebumps broke out along my arms. I held them close to my body, heart thumping.

Ethan came up the stairs as quickly as he ran down, although this time he was carrying the blankets from the bed. He spread one on the ground and draped the other over my shoulders. And then we were kissing again.

We tumbled back, Ethan gently setting me down on the blanket.

“You are so much more than I deserve,” he said, barely louder than a whisper.

“I feel the same about you,” I said.

Ethan ran his fingers through my hair, eyes locked with his. He was so beautiful and so much more than I thought I’d ever have. I loved Ethan, all of him, and accepted him for who he was.

I forgot about everything bad, consumed All I wanted was Ethan.

His lips pressed softly against mine. He pulled his face back, inches from mine.

“I love you,” he told me.

“I love you, too.”

His lips met mine and soon we were tangled together. I forgot about everything bad, and for a moment, Ethan was the only thing that existed.

21

“What does your tattoo mean?” I asked on our drive back to New York.

Ethan took his eyes off the road and gave me a surprised look. “I didn’t tell you?”

“Nope.”

“Oh, it’s the symbol for the Order.”

I nodded. We were already five hours into the drive home. “Whose zodiac symbols are on it?”

“The founders. They represent the elements: earth, air, fire, and water.”

“And the eye?”

“It’s in the center of the pentagram—which is actually a protective symbol, if you didn’t know—and it’s symbolic for the Order watching and knowing about demons and stuff.”

“Makes sense.” I felt stupid for not figuring that out on my own. “Did you have to get it?”

“Not anymore. It used to be required. I’ve even heard that it used to be branded onto the skin.”

I thought about how painful that would be and turned away. I could almost smell the burning skin. Hunter shifted restlessly in the backseat. “Can we stop soon? I think Hunter needs to walk around.”

Ethan nodded. “Walking sounds good. I hate being in the car for this long.”

I did too, though being in a car for that long with Ethan was a different story. We stopped for lunch, taking our food outside in the chilly November air so Hunter wouldn’t have to be alone in the car.

Not wanting to waste any more time than necessary, we got back into the car to start the long drive again. I groaned when I saw that the GPS said we had almost five hours left until we reached our destination.

I took off my shoes and curled my legs up, using my coat as a blanket. Ethan and I talked about anything and everything for about an hour. Then I was too tired to stay awake. We had sex once more the night before, so neither of us had gotten much sleep, but it was worth it. I rested my head against the door and let my eyes close.

I napped for almost half an hour. I stretched my arms over my head and wished we could stop and walk around again.

“Want me to drive?” I yawned.

“Nah, that’s okay,” Ethan said and took a sip of his coffee.

I reached over the center console and took his hand. “Where did you go when you left?” I asked.

“Huh?” he asked, flicking his eyes to mine.

“When you left for a long time in September. Where did you go?”

“Canada.”

“Yeah, I know that. I mean what were you doing?”

It took him a minute to recall what happened. “We were hunting Rusalka.” I opened my mouth to ask what that was, but he kept going. “They are evil water sprites. They trick people, usually men, down to the water’s edge by acting like they are drowning or by sitting naked, washing their hair. They look like beautiful women from far away, but once you get close, you can see their true faces.” His expression showed disgust. “Anyway, once they have you in the water, they torture and kill you.”

“Kinda like a siren?” I asked, rubbing my thumb against his palm.

“In a way, yeah.”

“How did you find it?”

“It wasn’t easy. These things can hide under water and ice for months. But there were reports in the paper about five men drowning in the same lake within two months. The way they died seemed suspicious, and the one man who got away described the Rusalka perfectly. No one believed him, of course.”

“Did you find it?”

He nodded. “And killed it.”

“How?”

“Cut off its head and burned it in a fire infused with wormwood.”

“Fun.”

Ethan shrugged like it was no big deal. That was the life of a demon hunter.

22

I felt a little guilty when I trudged downstairs Monday morning to ask my bewitched father if I could stay home from school. Under the influence of the Agreeance Spell, he cheerfully encouraged me to go back to bed. I slowly forced myself back up the stairs. Hunter ran ahead of me and jumped onto the bed. I lay down next to him and slept until sometime after noon. I called Ethan as soon as I got up.

“What are you doing home?” he asked right away. The sound of his voice made me smile.

“I used the Agreeance Spell to make my dad let me stay home and sleep.”

“Nice. You just get up?”

“Yeah. I still feel tired though,” I sighed.

“Me too.” I could tell he was stretching. “I’m still in bed, actually.”

“You’re so lazy,” I joked.

“Want to come over?”

“I do,” I said with a smile. “I’m gonna shower then head over.”

“Okay. See ya soon. Bye, Annie.”

I showered quickly but thoroughly. I dried my hair and pulled it into a ponytail. Since I never knew what a day with Ethan could entail, I pragmatically dressed in jeans, a black fleece zip-up over a long sleeve, teal shirt, and black Nikes. Seeing my camera on my dresser reminded me that I had a photo project due soon. I shoved it inside my bag and dashed to my car.

I had to remind myself not to speed on the way to Ethan’s. I smiled again as I walked up the steps that led to the house. I had hoped he was home alone, but Julia answered the door.

“Hey, Anora! How are you?” she asked and stepped to the side, welcoming me in.

“I’m all right. You?”

“Oh, the same. It’s been quiet around here, which is nice.” I followed her into the kitchen. “I think he’s still sleeping,” she said, seeing me look around for Ethan. “He really cares about you, you know.”

I tried to hide a smile. “I hope so. I really care about him, too.” Julie picked up a towel to dry the stack of clean dishes on the counter. I grabbed another one and helped.

“I don’t think he’ll ever admit it,” Julie said as she dried a plate, “but I think he really wanted to find someone to settle down with.” She dried off another plate. “Oh, not in a marriage way,” she added quickly. “I mean settle down with in a relationship sort of way. Like to share himself.” She put that cup away too. “Wait, that sounds dirty. And it’s not like he’d never get married. Though you’re too young to think about that. Being in the Order can be very lonely. You’re constantly lying and pretending to be somebody that you’re not.”

“I can relate to that,” I said ruefully. “It’s very tiring to put up that front. Ethan’s a great guy—”

“—he is,” she interrupted.

“—and I just…” I hated talking about my feelings to strangers. My cheeks flushed. “I just feel so lucky to have found him.”

Julia looked at me with sappy eyes. “I’m glad you guys found each other too. Having to move here and being part of the Order again was hard on him. Since he met you, he’s been his old self. No, better than his old self. I’ve never seen him so happy.”

I felt awkward and thrilled at the same time. I wasn’t a share-my-mushy-feelings kind of girl.

“Ethan’s been like a brother to me for the last ten years. I…I guess what I’m trying to say is—”

“You hurt him and I’ll cut you,” Sam added in a voice so stern that Julia and I laughed. She appeared in the doorway.

“Hey, Sam,” I said with a smile.

“Hey,” she replied flatly. “So I heard you guys didn’t find what you were looking for.”

“Not at all.” That frustrated me beyond words. “It doesn’t make sense. In my dreams, I’m very clearly walking down the stairs in the Victorian. But the basement there looks nothing like what I’ve been seeing. In the dreams, the walls are crumbling, red brick, and the floor is dirt. It’s not the same place at all.”

“I know how frustrating it is,” Julia said in her gentle voice, “to see something and not be able to place it. And you want to think you saw it for a reason, but you can’t find one.”

I almost forgot she saw things, too. “What do you do then, when you can’t place it?”

“Keep looking. If there is a reason, you’ll find it.” She set the towel down. “I’m gonna go grocery shopping. I’ll be back in a while. Nice seeing you again, Anora!” she called as she walked to the closet and put on her coat.

Crap. I looked at Sam, feeling awkward. Should I try and talk to her? Or slink upstairs to find Ethan? I wanted to do the latter but didn’t want to be rude. I hated social situations like this.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Ethan,” Sam said flatly.

“Yeah, I really like being with him.” I smiled like I did when I was nervous.

“I can tell. I’m surprised.”

“Surprised about what?” I narrowed my eyes a bit.

“I’m surprised to keep seeing you. You should know that Ethan usually goes through girls really fast. In fact, I don’t recall ever seeing one for more than a month.”

“Oh,” I said, not really buying into what she was saying. But I was curious. The Ethan she was talking about didn’t sound like the one I knew and loved.

“It’s funny, really. Once I asked him how many girls he’s been with, and he couldn’t even remember.” She faked a laugh. “He’s such a player.”

I nodded. I really wanted to go find Ethan now.

“So your trip was pretty useless then?” Sam asked me, going to the fridge.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Ethan said and rounded the corner. Thank God.

“Hey, Ethan!” Sam called merrily.

Ethan came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “Been here long?”

I looked up over my shoulder. “Not too long.”

“Whatcha girls talking about?” Ethan asked.

“You.” I flashed a smile.

“Ethan,” Sam said, causing him to turn slightly to her. “I saw in the paper a small story about a teenage girl found dead from massive blood loss. And the wounds were on her neck. I think we should check it out.”

Ethan shrugged. “Sure. You should find out more info first.” The light in Sam’s eyes dimmed.

“Are vampires real?” I asked, suddenly excited.

“I’ve yet to see one,” Ethan said.

“Oh, well that’s good, I guess.” I think I was a little disappointed there, to be honest. “Want to go to the barn with me? I have a photography project due soon, and I haven’t taken any pictures yet.”

“That’s fine. Can we ride the horses?”

I squeezed Ethan’s hands in excitement. “Do you have to ask?” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sam fume and slam the fridge shut. Without a word, she stormed out of the kitchen.

“What’s up with her?” Ethan wondered.

I stared at the spot where she had stood, reading her energy. “I think I know,” I said. I twisted in Ethan’s arms and looked into his eyes. “Can I ask you something personal?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t think it’s a big deal, but, Sam told me something.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “What did she say?”

“She told me that you go through girls—a lot of girls, for that matter—really quickly, and that basically, she was surprised that you haven’t gotten bored with me yet.”

Ethan’s eyes narrowed, and his lips pressed into a frown. “Do you believe her?” he asked, sounding offended.

“No,” I said weakly. “It’s not you I’m doubting. It’s just…” I trailed off, casting my eyes to the ground. I didn’t know how to say how I felt without offending Ethan. I loved him and he loved me, but I couldn’t help but worry things would backfire because, well, that’s how things seemed to go for me.

“Annie, don’t doubt my feelings for you. I told you I love you, and that’s the truth.” He took my hand and led me to the living room couch. We sat, tangled around each other.

“Want to know something funny?” he asked, and I nodded. “I’ve never had a real girlfriend before.”

I looked at him incredulously. “You? No way.”

Ethan nodded. “I won’t lie, I’ve been with a few women, but because of the Order, I never got close to anyone.”

I wondered what he considered “a few.” I went with my gut and didn’t ask. “So you’re with me for the convenience then, right?”

“Yep. That and you have big boobs,” he said with a smile. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.” I smiled weakly; it wasn’t the first time I’d heard that. “I love you.”

My smile gained strength. “I love you, too.”

“And I’m going to risk sounding like a sap by saying this, but I wish I met you years ago. If I could take back the past, I would. So yeah…I’ve been with a few others, but none of them mattered.”

I ran my hands up and down his muscular arms. “It’s okay,” I said quietly. “I don’t care about all that stuff anyway.”

“Really? Or are you just saying that?”

“I mean it. And anyway, ‘dating’ and ditching girl after girl only shows your attempt to cover up the fact that you were lonely and really wished to have someone to settle down with. You were trying to fill a void.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Okay, Dr. Phil.” He smiled and said, “That is true, I guess.”

“I know,” I said with a smile.

He shrugged and buried his head in my chest, done sharing his feelings. We lounged around on the couch for a while before we went upstairs so Ethan could change.

“See ya later!” Ethan called through Sam’s closed door. No response came back. Puzzlement showed on his face, but he kept walking.

“You said you knew why Sam is in a bad mood.” Ethan looked sideways at me.

“Yeah. She has a huge crush on you.”

“What?” Ethan really had no idea. Typical guy. “N-no. No way. No she doesn’t. She’s like my sister.”

“Only to you. Trust me, she totally has it bad for you.”

“No way.” Baffled, he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “That’s…that’s kinda messed up.”

I shrugged. How could he not have noticed? In a way, I felt bad for her; it would suck no matter what to have the guy you like with someone else. It would be even worse to live with him and have to actually witness it happening.

“How do you know?” Ethan asked, putting on his shoes.

I shrugged. “I can feel it. She’s very possessive of you and doesn’t like me being here. I get a strong sense of jealousy and some other not very nice feelings coming from her.”

“You can sense all that just from being in the room with her?”

I nodded and sighed. “It’s one of my many talents. And I see the way she looks at you. She likes you, trust me.”

Ethan straightened up and put his hands on my butt. He pulled me to him, pressing his hips against mine. “It’s impressive, but I like your other talents much better.”

I bit my lip and leaned into him, wrapping my arms around his neck. “We’ll have to test those out later, won’t we?”

Ethan smiled, his brown eyes smoldering with desire. Suddenly, I didn’t want to go to the barn anymore.

* * *

“What did you want to take pictures of?” Ethan asked when we finally got to the barn.

“You’ll probably think this is crazy, but I thought that old dock would look cool.”

“You mean the one in the woods?” He looked towards the trails. I nodded. “Why is that crazy?”

“I don’t know, because I got attacked there, and it could harbor bad memories?”

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “You are so strange sometimes, Annie.” He pulled me close to him. “I love it.”

I got the camera from the car and debated bringing my dagger. What could it hurt? I’d rather be safe than sorry. Hand in hand, Ethan and I walked through the back pasture and onto the trail.

“How come you had to come back into the Order?” I asked quietly, not sure if this was sore subject or not. Leaves crunched under my feet.

“My dad, Sam, and Julia needed me. My dad had been working with his friend, Greg, while I was at college. But then Greg got killed by a demon. So I quit my job, sold my house, and moved back home.”

“So how did you guys end up in New York?”

“Through Order connections. There was an increase in magical energy in this area. And, as you know, that attracts a certain level of evil.”

“The magic…is that me?”

Ethan squeezed my hand. “Yes.”

I swallowed and shook my head, staring at the dry leaves under my feet. It unnerved me that the Order was watching me, no matter how indirectly it was. “But the binding spell,” I began.

“It must have started to fade. Your aunt wasn’t in good health before she died, was she?”

I shook my head. “I don’t really know too much, to be honest. But I know she got sick and died a short while later.” I sighed. “I feel like I should apologize or something.”

“Apologize? For what?”

“For making you come here,” I offered. “Though at the same time, I’m not sorry I met you.”

Ethan chuckled. “Never apologize for that.”

We reached the top of the hill that over looked the dock. I picked up the camera from around my neck and took a few pictures. Ethan started to descend towards the water. “You coming?” he asked.

“No,” I said as an odd feeling came over me. Something pulled me in the opposite direction. My eyelids grew heavy, and my feet moved on their own accord.

“Where are you going?” Ethan jogged to my side.

“I don’t know. I’m being pulled this way. I want to go this way.”

We carefully picked our way down and then up a ravine. Another small hill was left to climb before the forest leveled out. I stopped suddenly when I saw what was in front of us. “I’ve seen this before.”

“Have you been here before?”

“Never.”

“Then how did you see it?”

“In a dream.” I moved forward into the small, man-made clearing. “I bet I can even get us in without breaking a window.” I rooted around under fallen leaves until I found the key. I stuck in in the rusty lock.

“Annie, I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

But it was too late. I was already inside the big, white barn.

23

Ethan stepped into the barn, moving in front of me. He held his arms out and looked around, eyes darting from side to side of the barn. “Tell me about this dream.”

“I’ve seen the same ghost a few times over the last few weeks. After I saw him for the first time, I had a weird dream. I was seeing things through his eyes, and he came here.”

I looked around, fascinated that I actually was in the barn I had dreamed of. I snapped pictures as I went. We walked down a dirt aisle of stalls. Muted sunlight did its best to shine through the dusty four-pane windows. A room with a cement floor was at the end of the aisle, and a metal holding device was left rusting in a corner.

“I think this is a milking room.” I tapped a hanging part of the old metal, making it creak back and forth. “You know, for cows.”

There were three doors in this room: one that led outside, one to another room, and one that proved to lead only to a closet with a hot water heater. Door number two opened into what must have been an office. There was an overturned desk, and papers were scattered around. The window in this room had been broken, and as a result, the rain had not only washed away the ink on the papers, but it had left most of them curled and moldy.

I took a few pictures before I knelt down and shifted through the papers. At first, I found nothing of significance, like bills, vet papers, and ownership titles. A thought that wasn’t my own popped into my head again, and I was on my feet without realizing what I was doing.

“Can you help me move the desk?” I asked Ethan. It was oak and heavy. Under the protection of the sturdy wood was a collection of photographs. They were faded and yellowing, but their moments captured in time were still visible.

I flipped through them. A girl in a red-checkered tank top stood next to a large brown cow, holding a first place ribbon. A calf drinking milk from its mother was the next. The same girl from the first picture sat bareback on a black and white horse. I looked at the third photo and inhaled quickly.

“That’s him.” I held the photo closer to my face. The blonde boy was smiling back at me, with his arm around the girl in front of a pickup. He looked so happy and so healthy, not at all like the ghost that appeared to me a few weeks ago. No information had been written on the back. I carefully folded it and stuck it in my back pocket.

“I think we should go outside.” I reached for the door.

“Why?”

“I-I don’t know. I really want to go outside right now.”

“Don’t you want to check the hay loft first?” Ethan asked.

“No. There’s nothing there.”

Ethan looked skeptical.

“Go look and meet me around the back,” I said and slipped out the door before he could protest. I needed out of that barn. Something was surrounding me, making me almost manic. The energy flowed through my veins, and my hands shook. I closed my eyes, shaking some of the energy from me. I felt slightly better when I stepped outside.

A crow cawed and took off, the flapping of its wings echoing on the now-silent forest. The breeze picked up, causing my hair to fly around like crazy. The tall weeds were bending in the wind. My brow furrowed. Was that…? I walked closer.

Yes, it was. Two faded doors led down to a root cellar. I stared at them, feeling dizzy. Part of me wanted to run away. The other part wanted to see what was down there. The latter part was louder, and I reached down, wrapping my fingers around the metal handle. Bits of rust flaked off against my skin. I pulled, but it didn’t budge. On further inspection, I saw it had been nailed shut. The crunch of breaking weeds made me snap up.

“Let me guess, you want to go down there?” Ethan asked.

“Of course, but it’s nailed shut.” I stepped aside and let Ethan yank the doors open.

The air that hit us was warm, like it had been trapped down there for years. Once my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I went down the stairs. Ethan stayed close behind. Since neither of us had a flashlight, we stayed in the shallow pool of daylight cast down the narrow stairs. It was hard to see what was around me. The floor was dirt, at least that was obvious. Ethan let go of my hand to get something out of his pocket. There was a click, and suddenly, a tiny flame helped light up this dark place.

“Why do you have a lighter? You don’t smoke.” I was thankful for the light but curious at the same time.

“Habit. You never know when you might have to burn something or break into an old basement.” The fire flickered across his face and illuminated his smile. “Keep close,” he said.

Together, we explored. The red brick walls were covered in mildew and were crumbing apart. The farther away from the stairs we went, the thicker the air felt. I moved closer to Ethan, feeling disturbed.

I squinted in the dark. Something was familiar. The dirt floor…the red, brick walls… A bad feeling expeditiously took over.

This was the end. No one was coming for me. There was nothing I could do. I just wanted the pain to end.

“We need to go.” My voice faltered as nerves raced through my body.

“All right,” Ethan said but took a few more steps ahead.

“No, now. We need to get out of here.” My hands shook, and my breath came out in a ragged huff. Fear that wasn’t my own was threatening to take over. “I need out. I need out!”

Ethan took my trembling hand and led me up the stairs and away from the barn, not stopping until we were several yards away. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into the safety of his chest.

“Breathe,” he softly instructed. My body felt weak from shock. My heart beat a million miles an hour, and my knees threatened to buckle. Ethan gently pulled the band out of my ponytail. I began to relax as he ran his fingers through my hair. “What happened?”

I lifted my head to look him in the eyes. “That’s the basement from my dreams. And I don’t know, really, but suddenly I felt all this fear and panic. It took over.” I closed my eyes and took another deep breath, pushing the fear away as I exhaled. I felt almost like myself again.

“What exactly did you feel?”

“Hopelessness. I knew I was going to die, and there was nothing I could do to change that.”

I hoped Ethan understood. Explaining was the hardest part. I knew I was standing in an empty basement. I knew there were no current threats of danger. But I knew that at one point, someone had been down there, being tortured and God knew what else. Those intensely horrid feelings hung in the air, waiting to be absorbed by a rare type of mind.

“Do you think it was that boy?”

I lifted the camera strap over my head and set it on the ground. “Yes.” That was another thing that was hard to explain. I just knew. “I kept hearing the name Ryan.”

Ethan raised his eyebrows and sighed. He cupped his hand around my face and tilted my chin up to him. “Well, I think we—”

Before he could finish his thoughts, something jumped off the roof of the barn, soaring through the air and landing on Ethan’s back. Clawed hands grasped his shoulders and yanked him away from me. Ethan’s hands slipped off my face as he was shoved to the ground.

Horrified, I watched with wide eyes as my heart pounded in my throat. A cloaked figure turned its back to me, moving in on Ethan. In one graceful movement, Ethan kicked out, hitting the creature’s legs and knocking it to the ground.

In an instant, Ethan got to his feet and kicked the creature in the stomach. He brought his foot up, ready to smash it down on the thing’s face, when his face went tight with shock.

“Annie!” he shouted, but it was too late. Something grabbed a handful of my hair and jerked me back. My feet caught on themselves, and I tripped. As I fell, I saw the face of our attackers.

The bird-demons. Sunken-in eyes, leathery skin, and a nose shaped like a beak, long and sharp.

My breath left me, and time slowed down. The forlorn feeling came back, and I felt like I was going to die again. Everything was hopeless; there was no reason to even try.

Those feelings weren’t mine. I wasn’t going to die. I wasn’t going to give up.

I was going to fight.

Something flashed through me, and before I hit the ground, the dagger was in my hand. I rolled back, scrambling to my feet.

Another bird-demon closed in on Ethan and me, circling us. Ethan stepped close to me, keeping his back pressed to mine. He reached behind him, his fingers gracing my wrist. He had no weapons, and we were surrounded.

The flash of energy turned into a jolt, and I threw a hand out, sending a wave of energy at the nearest bird-demon. It hit it in the chest and sent it flying back, crashing into the side of the barn. My heart raced, and adrenaline pumped through my veins.

I set my face and raised the dagger, staring down the other two demons. They hissed and lurked closer, talons out, waiting to make a move. Ethan struck first, punching one of them so hard, it stumbled back a few steps.

The other rushed me. I held out the dagger but faltered. I closed my eyes in fear, and my wrist weakened. It came at me with inhuman speed, knocking me onto the ground so hard that I couldn’t breathe. The dagger fell from my grasp.

The demon crouched over me, staring into my eyes as if it were searching for something. It lowered its face to mine and ran the end of its beak along my cheek. Panicking, I thrashed under it. I wanted out, I needed out. Oh my God, it was going to kill me!

Its clawed hands pressed against my chest, and I couldn’t breathe. Madly, I slapped the ground in a desperate attempt to find the dagger. Just inches away from my face, the demon opened its beak and let out an ear-piercing screech.

I turned my head, spotting the dagger. Using my mind, I moved it close enough to grab it. My fingers wrapped around the hilt, and I brought my arm up, sending the pointy end into the demon’s stomach.

It screamed and hissed. Smoke billowed out of its empty eyes, choking me. I pushed the dagger in even further, sending sparks deep into the demon. The fire that started in its stomach swirled up, encasing it in flames. The fire pulsed, and with one final harrowing cry, the demon collapsed into a pile of charred skin and bone. I scrambled up, brushing demon ashes off of my clothes.

My heart raced, and I was a little disoriented. Killing the demon gave me a rush, and I wanted to do it again. The demon I had thrown into the barn was on its feet now and coming at me fast. I threw my hand in front of me, putting up a wall of telekinetic energy. The thing pushed against it, unable to break through. I held my ground, keeping my hand outstretched.

I turned my head, frantically looking for Ethan. He was several feet away, fighting off another demon. It swiped its razor-sharp claws at Ethan’s face. He leaned back, out of its reach, and countered with a strike of his own. His fist collided with the side of the demon’s face, and the demon stumbled back.

“Ethan!” I yelled, holding the dagger. He quickly glanced up and extended his hand. I tossed it to him and turned back to the demon in front of me. I narrowed my eyes and sent it flying again.

Ethan rammed the blade into the demon’s chest. Thinking it would burst into flames, he turned to me.

“Annie—” he started. The demon in front of him screamed and, with the dagger still in its chest, launched itself on Ethan. Ethan put both hands on the dagger, sending the blade in even deeper and twisting it at the same time.

Nothing happened.

Taking advantage of his shock, the creature thrashed its talons across Ethan’s chest, tearing through his shirt and skin. It clawed at him again, this time ripping open a gash on his bicep. Anger boiled inside me, and I telekinetically threw the demon backwards. Its head cracked against a rock. Without thinking about what I was doing, I ran toward the demon and drove to the ground, wrapping both hands around the dagger. The hilt became red hot, and the demon burst into flames. I yanked the dagger from the demon’s sternum before it collapsed into a pile of ash. I was at Ethan’s side in two seconds.

“Oh, God.” I pressed my hand to his bleeding chest. “Ethan,” I stammered.

“It’s okay, Annie. I’ve had worse.” He cringed slightly at the pain.

“We need to get you back to the horse barn,” I stammered, afraid he was going to bleed to death.

Carefully, I removed his jacket and pushed the sleeve of his shirt up to inspect the gash on his left arm. It was about three inches long and missed his tattoo by a hair. I pushed his shirt up and looked at his chest. He was bleeding, but the claw marks hadn’t gone as deep, thank God.

Blood trickled down his arm, streaming past his elbow and down his fingers, dripping onto the muddy ground. The wound was deep. Fear for his wellbeing made me sick. I unzipped my jacket and threw it to the ground. I took off my shirt next, and even in pain, Ethan couldn’t help but comment on seeing me shirtless.

“Maybe I should get attacked more often,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Not funny,” I said, shaking my head as I shivered. I stuck my arms through my fleece jacket and zipped it up. Using the dagger, I cut my shirt into strips and tied one around his gushing arm. The teal material quickly became stained with blood. I let out a ragged breath and frantically wrapped more around his arm.

“Stop fussing,” he said, shrugging me off.

“You might bleed to death!” I wiped my blood-covered hands on my jeans.

He looked at his arm. “Nah, not from this.”

I sheathed the dagger and took hold of his right hand. The walk back to the barn was the longest walk of my life. Every time the wind blew and every rustle of the dry leaves and dead branches made us jump, thinking the third bird-demon was behind us.

I was exhausted by the time we finally made it through the back pasture. Music and laughter drifted from the barn. Crap, this was a busy time. It was going to be a challenge to sneak to the car unnoticed. We were about to round the corner into the parking lot when Laney and Abra emerged from the barn.

“Finally! Leslie said you two went for a walk, like, hours ago. Don’t think I don’t know what you guys were do—” Her voice cut off, taking in the blood that stained our clothes. Her eyes widened in alarm. “Oh my God.” Abra’s reins slipped from her hand.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Ethan said with a weak smile.

She covered her mouth with her hands. “What happened?”

“I’ll explain later, Laney, I promise.” I looked from her to Ethan. The front of his shirt was soaked in blood. I needed to get him to the hospital. Now. Laney moved her head up and down, but nothing was sinking in. “Promise me you won’t go on the trails, okay?” I told her.

Again she nodded. “What’s out there, Annie?”

“I’ll tell you later. Just promise me,” I pleaded. Laney’s eyes were full of fear. She inhaled and snapped out of her shock. “Hold Abra. I’ll go get your car. Where are your keys?”

Ethan fished them out of his jacket pocket. I was surprised he hadn’t lost them in the scuffle. Laney pulled the Jeep behind the barn.

“Thanks so much. Please, don’t go out back. I’ll call you tonight,” I promised and opened the passenger door for Ethan.

Laney nodded again, at a loss for words. Ethan sank heavily into the seat. I hurried around and got in, starting the Jeep. I turned left out of the barn drive.

“Where are you going?” Ethan asked.

“The hospital, of course.”

“Why?”

I looked at him in disbelief. “You need stitches.”

“And what are we going to tell them?”

I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Mountain lion?”

“Are there even any around here?” He raised an eyebrow.

“No. How about a bar fight?”

“It’s only four o’clock. And what if your mom finds out?”

“I don’t care, Ethan.”

“Take me home. Julia can patch me up. She’s done it before.”

I bit my lip and let off the gas. “Are you sure?”

“Annie.” Ethan turned to me. “You’re not going to like hearing this, but getting hurt comes with the job. Julia can handle this. I know my limits, I promise. And this,” he said, looking at his arm, “isn’t that bad. I need a few stitches, and I will be fine.”

I nodded and turned around. What the hell had I gotten into?

* * *

“Sit,” Julia told Ethan, pointing to a kitchen chair.

An extensive first aid kit was laid out on the table. I helped Ethan take off his jacket, and I pulled his t-shirt over his head. The three claw marks on his chest had stopped bleeding, and a sticky scab was starting to form. Julia was going to no doubt have to scrub them open to clean. I was sure hand hygiene wasn’t at the top of the demon’s priorities.

She set a bottle of whiskey on the table and stuck her hands in latex gloves. Ethan unscrewed the lid from the alcohol. He put it to his lips, closed his eyes, and gulped a mouthful down. With a sigh, he set the bottle back on the table and nodded to Julia.

She took hold of his arm and washed away the dirt and the blood. Ethan didn’t so much as flinch. He took another swig of whiskey as she threaded a needle to sew the wound closed. Literally, it was a sewing needle and thread. Though I was not a queasy person by any means, seeing the needle repeatedly go in and out of Ethan’s skin made me feel dizzy.

“This went down into the muscle. It would be smart to go see a doctor,” she said as she wrapped a bandage around his arm. “You need to make sure to change this bandage tonight, okay?”

Ethan grumbled in response. Julia turned to me and raised her eyebrows. I nodded, letting her know I’d take care of it.

“These aren’t too bad,” she said as she cleaned the cuts on his chest. Thankfully, she didn’t have to do any more stitches.

“Thanks, Jules.” Ethan stood and yawned.

“You sure you’re okay, Anora?” she asked me.

I nodded. “Yeah. Physically, I’m completely fine.”

“Good.” She seemed surprised, and curiosity narrowed her eyes. “Go upstairs and rest,” she told us. “Then I want to hear the details.”

We slowly walked up to Ethan’s room. Ethan lazily took off his jeans and went to the bathroom to do his best to wash the rest of the blood from his body without getting his stitches wet. I stripped out of my mud- and blood-covered clothes and looked around the room for something to put on. I felt a little invasive going through Ethan’s dresser drawers. There was no order or organization to anything; random items of clothing filled each drawer to the point that they were hard to close. I put on a pair of black boxers and a white t-shirt and lay down in his bed. Every creak in the floor below made me jump. I got up and paced around the room, straightening things and folding laundry.

A light bulb turned on in my head, and I hurried over to my blood-stained jeans. I got the old photograph, unfolding it as I laid it on the desk. I typed “Ryan and murder” into Google.

Okay...that was way too broad. I added “Syracuse” into the search, but there were still too many results. I looked at the truck and guessed a date. Still, nothing shed any light. I bit my lip as I thought.

“Maybe it wasn’t murder,” I whispered out loud.

This time, I typed in “Ryan, Syracuse, and suicide.” I was right. I nervously bounced my leg up and down as I read the article. Ryan’s dad found him in the woods after he had been missing for three days. The boy had always been a bit of an outcast, the article said, as if it was trying to make reason with someone so young taking their own life.

Now I knew the truth, and my heart broke for Ryan. But I still had no idea what he wanted from me.

24

“Tell me again what happened.”

David looked me in the eye so intently that I couldn’t help but squirm under his gaze. We were sitting in the living room. David and Sam rushed home soon after we arrived.

“We went for a walk. I had a feeling to go towards the barn. We found the photos and then discovered the root cellar. I got a really strong feeling of panic, so we left the cellar, and then we were attacked.” It was the third time I’d summed it up.

“And these things, the bird-demons, they just appeared?” David asked.

I shook my head, causing my hair to fall in my face. “No, it was like they came from the roof of the barn.”

He was silent for a minute. “And when you stabbed it, with this,” he held up the dagger, his brown eyes focusing on Ethan, “nothing happened.”

Ethan nodded. “Right. It barely reacted to the pain. But as soon as Annie touched the hilt, the demon burst into flames.”

David set the dagger down on the coffee table and was silent for a few minutes. “I guess we were wrong. For years, this dagger had been believed to kill any demon with a single stab.” He looked at me, discontent in his eyes. “It’s only a medium, a way to direct the power.”

“What do you mean?” I had to ask.

“You are the power that kills the demons. It makes sense now why the dagger has stayed in the hands of the Coven. Only those of the Coven can power the dagger. After all, they did make it.”

“That sucks,” Sam said in a snotty voice from across the room.

“It does,” I agreed. I knew how much easier it would have been for everyone if we could have shared such a powerful weapon. I tugged at my pendant.

“Don’t feel guilty.” Ethan nudged me.

I pushed my eyebrows together. “How did you know?”

He ran his hand down my thigh. “As complicated as you are, I’m starting to figure you out.”

I locked my eyes with his and smiled. He held my gaze for a few seconds before I looked away, realizing that it was sort of an intimate thing to do in front of his family.

“The third demon,” I said to break the silence. “It ran away. Why?”

“Probably to save its ass,” Ethan suggested.

My phone rang, startling everyone. I got up and went into the kitchen to get my purse. It was Laney.

“Are you alive?” She sounded worried.

“No, Laney, you’re talking to my ghost.”

“Shut up, Annie. With you, it could be possible,” she said, her voice edging on a whimper.

“You’re right, sorry. But, yeah, we’re alive.”

“I was worried! You said you’d call and it’s been…okay, it’s only been like two hours. But still, you scared me.”

“I promised I’d explain, and I will. Can I call you back, though?”

“Promise you will?”

“Yes. Hey, why don’t you come over later, and I’ll explain it in person? I’ll call you when I get back to my house.”

“Okay, talk to you later then.”

I put my phone back in my purse. I walked towards the living room. It sounded like Sam was arguing with someone.

“You coddle her too much, Ethan,” she sneered.

“Maybe I want to,” Ethan replied.

“She needs to learn how to deal with this as an everyday occurrence. She never will if you baby her like this. Just tell her to go home and deal with it like the rest of us.”

“Sam,” Julia scolded in a motherly “shut-up” way.

“I have to agree with Ethan on this one,” David said. “That girl is a moving target, and she doesn’t know half as much as we do about any of this. She needs all the protection she can get for the time being.”

“You are making this a bigger deal than it needs to be,” Sam said. “So what, she’s some witch? What makes her any different than anyone else we’ve helped?”

“Sam, that’s enough!” Julia yelled.

“She’s not just any witch, and you know it.” David sounded angry.

“And I care about her. A lot,” Ethan said, his voice thick with anger. “Doesn’t that matter?”

“I think she’s more trouble than she’s worth,” Sam muttered. “Ever since you met her, you’ve been a different person.”

“Yeah, I’ve been happy,” Ethan countered.

“And a sloppy hunter,” Sam retorted back. “You’ve been too distracted. And look at yourself now! You got mauled by demons because of her.”

“That’s enough,” Ethan said coldly. I saw his shadow as he got up. I turned, hurrying back to my purse.

“Anora,” Ethan said softly. “I know you heard her.”

I nodded the tiniest nod ever.

“Come here.” He opened his arms. I went over and he wrapped them around me. I embraced him too, careful to avoid the fresh wounds.

“I love you, Ethan.” I looked up into his intense brown eyes. “I’m sorry I got you hurt.”

He kissed me. “I love you too, Anora. This isn’t your fault. It’s the demon’s fault. And this cut is really nothing. It’s not like I’m in the hospital.”

I groaned. “I still feel bad.”

He kissed my forehead. “I’m gonna stay with you tonight, in case number three shows up.”

“Do you think he will?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. It would have to have tracked you somehow or be intelligent enough to figure out where you live. So I’ll say the chances are low.”

“Good. My mom would have a fit if they wore those dirty robes on her white carpet.”

* * *

“I told Laney I’d explain, but I have no idea what to say,” I confessed to Ethan.

We were back at my house, and Laney would be here any minute.

“The truth?” he suggested, leaning back against the pillows. He drummed his fingers on the mattress, enticing Romeo to jump and play attack.

“Well, of course, but how do I say it? No matter what I think of, it sounds crazy and sorta stupid.”

“It’s hard to explain, I know. It’s best to go with it; don’t plan out a speech.”

I sank down on the bed next to him. “I wish we knew what those demons are. ‘Creepy bird-demon’ lacks how scary they truly are.”

I sighed and raked my fingers through my tangled hair. “I know!” I turned to Ethan. “How about I take a shower, and you explain everything?”

“How about no?” He smiled. “She’s your best friend. She’ll want to hear it from you.”

“Fine. Make me be the one to tell her everything she knows is a lie.”

I sighed and went into the bathroom to brush my hair. I had to pull two more burrs out. Hunter jumped up and ran downstairs, barking upon hearing the front door open. A minute later, he ran back in my room, with Laney a few steps behind him. She rushed over and hugged me.

“What the hell, Annie?” she exclaimed.

“Sit, and I’ll explain.”

I sat next to Ethan on the bed. Laney perched on the edge.

“Uh,” I began, nervous and jittery. “You know about the ghosts and the magic. And you have to know that people other than me can do magic.”

Laney nodded, eyes wide.

“And you also know that regular people can be really, really good.” Again, I got a nod. “And you also know that regular people can be bad, really bad. Well, the same is true for people—or things—with magic powers.” I paused, waiting to go on based on her reaction.

“What are you trying to say, Annie?”

“Remember that creepy picture I drew during the slide show?” I went over to my desk and flipped through a stack of schoolbooks and brought out the notebook. I opened it to the bird-demon and tossed it to Laney. She looked at it for a good minute before she looked back up.

“That attacked us today.”

My words hung heavy in the air, then crashed down on Laney. She opened her mouth, looked at me, then back at the picture.

“Why did it attack you?” she asked.

“I…I don’t know,” I said.

“Anora is actually a pretty powerful witch,” Ethan explained. “Those things, as well as many others, would love to see her dead.”

I couldn’t tell if Laney was going to cry or laugh. “Why do they want to kill her?” she asked quietly.

“Because she has power, and they want it. But, more than that, they don’t want her to have it. She is their enemy,” he explained.

No one spoke for a very long minute. Then, in a shaky voice, Laney said, “I don’t want you to die, Annie.”

I put my hand on hers and gave her a weak smile. “I don’t want to die either.”

Ethan’s phone rang. Seeing it was his father, he got up and went to the hall to talk to his dad without interrupting us.

“So then what happened?” Laney asked. “It attacked you, and then what?”

“I killed it.”

Laney blinked. “You killed it?”

I nodded.

“How?”

“I stabbed it.” Should I tell Laney about the dagger now too? Might as well put everything out on the table at once. Screw being overwhelmed. I got the dagger, which still had dried blood on the blade, and told her everything.

“How does Ethan know about all this?” she asked.

“His family has been in the demon-hunting business for a while,” I told her.

Her mouth dropped. “Well, there’s a career they never told us about in school.”

I laughed and looked out into the hall at Ethan. “Tell me about it.”

“You do love him, don’t you?” Laney asked, following my gaze.

“I really do, and he told me he loves me too,” I said and realized that I hadn’t had a chance to talk to Laney since our trip to Indiana. “Oh, and we had sex. Three times.”

“Annie!” she squealed and hit my arm. “Are you serious?”

My cheeks flushed a bit. I laughed and nodded.

“I knew it would happen when you guys were all alone. How was it?”

I gave her the cliff notes version of our first time, wanting to keep most of the details between Ethan and me. When Ethan came back into the room, Laney wiggled her eyebrows at me. I rolled my eyes. That girl was so obvious.

“Everything okay?” I asked Ethan, though I knew the answer.

“Yeah. My dad’s trying to get a hold of an old friend who knows a lot about Pricolici and who might know something about these guys.” He tapped the notebook.

He looked tired. I knew his injuries weren’t close to being fatal at all, but they had to hurt. And when I was in pain, I liked to sleep.

Thinking of injuries reminded me to check his stitches. Ethan said again that he didn’t think it was necessary, but when I unwrapped the bandage, it became obvious that it was.

His skin around the gash was bruised from the needle jabbing in and out so many times, and the entire area was puffy and swollen. Laney didn’t handle gross things well, so she offered to let Hunter out.

“This looks like something you’d see on Frankenstein,” I told him as I carefully wiped away dried blood. I globbed on ointment and wrapped another bandage around his arm. Laney came back upstairs as I put the first aid supplies away.

“Hunter didn’t want to come in,” she told me as she pulled out my computer chair and sat.

“I’ll bring him in later,” I said. “Anyone else hungry?” I asked. There was still about half an hour before Mom got home and made dinner. I wasn’t sure I could last that long without eating. I grabbed my dagger, and the three of us went downstairs to look through the pantry for a snack.

After eating a banana and half a package of Oreos, I stepped on the deck to bring Hunter in. Panic flashed through me when I didn’t see him right away. I hurried through the cold, stiff grass and found him behind the shed.

“What are you doing?” I asked him, sticking my hand under his collar.

He was staring at the trees behind our fence. I let go of his collar and straightened up.

“Ryan?” I asked. “Is that you?”

When the ghost didn’t appear, I turned and patted my leg. “Come on Hunter, let’s go in.” We got halfway to the house when Hunter stopped. He growled and took off to the back of the yard.

Dagger in hand, I spun around. Lurking in the shadows was a hooded figure. Realizing what real danger I was in, Hunter ran back and stood in front of me, making it impossible for anything to get to me without first having to go through him. The bird-demon silently slid closer and closer. Hunter’s growls turned into ferocious barks. Then he lunged for it, his strong jaws locking around the creature’s arm. It hissed, yanking its arm back. But Hunter didn’t let go.

He dragged it forward, like he was bringing it to me. The bird-demon stumbled along, unable to break free from Hunter’s bite. Adrenaline surged through me. I raised my arm and rushed to the demon.

“Now!” I said to Hunter. He let go, moving out of the way in time for me to push the dagger into the demon’s chest. Smoke poured out of the bird-demon’s mouth and eyes. It let out a final high-pitched shriek and burst into flames. Thinking it was safe to go back in, I turned around but was face to face with someone else.

25

“Harry!” I said to my twin. He was standing on the steps of the deck. His mouth was wide open, and the gym bag he had been holding was on the ground. Ethan, with his gun drawn, and Laney stood on the deck. Laney looked almost as stunned as Harrison.

“W-what?” Harrison stammered.

“I think I have some explaining to do,” I said and walked to the deck stairs. I picked up Harrison’s bag and waved him inside. Ethan moved to the edge of the deck and said he’d be right back. I nodded and opened the sliding glass door and went back inside.

Harrison sat on the edge of a barstool in the kitchen. Laney sat next to him, folding her arms on the island counter. She shivered, but I didn’t think it was from the cold. Confusion muddled Harrison’s blue eyes. He looked like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words to voice his thoughts.

At least I didn’t have to convince him that demons were real. He had seen one first hand. I sat on the floor, stroking Hunter while I repeated to Harrison what I had told Laney. I ended my spiel and waited. Harrison was staring unblinking at the floor. Finally he looked up at me.

“What?” he asked.

“Weren’t you listening?” I asked, a little frustrated.

“Yeah, but…what?”

“Harry, listen. You know I’m a witch, remember?” He nodded. “Remember how I told you that ghosts like people with magical powers?” Another nod. “Well, demons like us even more. Except by ‘like,’ I mean hate and want to kill.”

“What were you saying about the dagger?”

“It was made from magic. It’s the Daryl Dixon of magical weapons; it can kill anything.” I decided simple was best right now. Three gunshots rang in the distance, making all of us jump and Hunter bark.

“Ethan,” I whispered and rushed out of the house and ran to the edge of the yard, pacing back and forth until something moved through the trees. I smiled and breathed a breath of relief. I could sense Ethan’s presence before I could see him.

“Annie?” he called. Moonlight weakly reflected off the metal of his gun.

“Yeah,” I answered.

“Just making sure.”

He easily climbed the fence and landed next to me. I hugged him, feeling something warm and wet on his arm. I pulled my hand away to find it covered in blood.

“You popped your stitches open,” I stated, though I was more than sure he was aware.

“Guess so,” he said as if he didn’t care, but the way he was holding his arm let me know that the pain must have been more than what he was letting on.

I slipped my hand in his, and we went into the house. Once the doors were locked behind us, I asked, “What happened out there?”

“Pricolici.” Ethan set the gun down on the kitchen counter.

The word made my heart skip a beat in fear. Laney and Harrison had moved closer together. Laney turned away quickly when she saw the blood oozing through Ethan’s sleeve.

“Shit!” Harrison said. “What happened?”

Ethan looked at me to take the lead as to what to say.

“Demon,” I said as gently as possible. “This happened earlier. It actually was one of those creeper bird-slash-human things that you saw. We got attacked this afternoon. And someone,” I pushed up Ethan’s sleeve, “doesn’t know how to take it easy.” I unwrapped the bandage. “Can I please take you to the hospital? You really need real stitches.” Again, I knew what he would say.

“No. There might be more out there, and I’m not leaving you. And it’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

Ethan was so freaking stubborn. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “At least come back upstairs so I can re-bandage this.”

“I can do that,” he said with a half smile.

We all went up to my room so I could once again take care of the gash on Ethan’s arm. “Did you kill it?” I asked as I rewrapped gauze around his bicep.

“Shot it three times in the head,” Ethan said steadily, as if he was commenting about the weather.

“What?” Harrison and Laney exclaimed at the same time.

Ethan and I exchanged glances. “Pricolici,” Ethan explained. “They are another type of demon—”

“You mean there is more than one type?” Harrison interrupted.

“Yes,” Ethan said, leaving it at that.

“Anyway, Pricolici look like wolves,” I continued the explanation. “But of course, they’re not. They’re much, much more violent and, well, evil.”

Silence fell over the room. I gently pulled the blood-soaked sleeve back down Ethan’s arm. He was going to have to change before Mom and Dad got home, I realized.

“Are we in danger?” Harrison asked, looking genuinely concerned.

“You two aren’t,” Ethan said, looking from Harrison to Laney. “It’s Annie they want.”

“Because she has power,” Laney said weakly.

“Right.” Ethan got up and looked out the window. “And they know she can use that power to kill them.” Seeing nothing, he turned back towards us. “Plus, demons hate feeling inferior. With power comes control, and they don’t like being told what to do. Annie’s a threat, and they want to eliminate her.”

The headlights of Dad’s Lexus illuminated the driveway. On high alert, I jumped up and grabbed the dagger. “Change out of that blood-stained shirt,” I said to Ethan. “Hunter and I are going on demon patrol until Dad gets in the house. Act natural,” I told Laney and my brother.

I pulled on my soft blue bathrobe as I ran down the stairs and tied it around my waist, completely concealing the dagger that hung from my belt. I quietly slipped out onto the deck and waited until Dad was in the safety of the kitchen to come back in.

“Hi, Daddy,” I said and locked the sliding door.

“Hey, kiddo. Do you have friends over?”

“Yep. Ethan and Laney. We’re playing video games upstairs. Harry too.” I smiled sweetly.

“Sounds fun. Be down in forty-five minutes for dinner.” Dad set his briefcase on the counter. “Maybe send Ethan down now. You’ve been spending a lot of time with him, and I’d like to get to know him better.”

“Dad, no! Please don’t embarrass me like that!” I begged.

Dad raised an eyebrow. “How is your father talking to your boyfriend embarrassing?”

I sighed. “It just is. You can talk to him during dinner, okay?”

Dad laughed. “Deal. But I get to ask him anything.”

“Ugh,” I huffed and shook my head.

Right as I was about to walk up the stairs, Mom came home. I waited until she was in the garage before I dashed up the stairs. I went into my room, closing the door behind me. “Dinner in about forty minutes,” I told my friends and sat on my bed next to Ethan.

“So what do we do now?” Laney asked quietly.

“You guys don’t have to do anything.” I ran my hands over my face. Today had been the longest Monday in the history of my life. I wanted to go to bed and get today over with. “I have to find out what those bird-demons are and try to figure out what they want from me, other than my untimely demise of course.”

“And figure out who’s sending the Pricolici and kill them,” Ethan added.

I was feeling very overwhelmed, but for Laney and Harrison’s sake, I acted like it was no big deal. Ethan, who was to my left, put his arm around my waist and pulled me to him. I rested my head on his shoulder.

“How are you going to do that?” Harrison asked.

“Research.” I made a face. “Boring research and a lot of looking through boring books.” I looked at Ethan. “But I don’t know how to trace back to who’s sending the Pricolici.”

“We have to track them,” he replied. “They come from a source. Simply put, they’re being supplied. Then we go from there.”

“You sound like you’ve done this before,” Harrison said.

“I have with other demons. But not Pricolici.”

There was a knock at the door that caused us all to jump. Mom came in without waiting for me to answer it.

“Anora, you know better than to close your door when your boyfriend is over,” she scolded before saying hello.

“Mom, Laney and Harry are in here,” I said with a shake of my head.

Mom stepped into the room. “Exactly. Who knows what’s going on?”

I put my head in my hands. “Ugh, Mom!”

Ethan laughed and removed his hand from my waist. Harrison looked at Laney with disgust. They’d known each other for years. She was like a sister to him.

Having successfully embarrassed me, Mom smiled and came in the room to chat until dinner was ready.

After dinner, Harrison, Ethan, and my dad watched football. The Bears were playing that night, and Harry was having fun teasing Ethan about their poor defense. Laney and I went back up to my room. I closed the door and let Romeo back out of his cage.

“Can I look at your spell books?” Laney asked nervously.

“Of course!” I said, excited she wanted to learn more about magic. We spent the next hour going through the books. Laney asked a lot of questions, and I gladly answered as best as I could. I still had a lot of learning to do myself.

“Wow.” Laney closed the Book of Shadows. “This is all so, so…” she searched for a word. “…much. This is amazing.” She looked over at the psychic self-defense book I was reading. “Do you think you’re safe for tonight?”

I pushed the book aside. “I don’t know. I’ve been wondering that too. Ethan’s staying, so at least he’ll be able to help defend me, if need be.”

“That’s so romantic,” she swooned.

I raised an eyebrow. “No, it’s not. Being kissed under a star-studded sky is romantic. Being on demon guard is… not romantic at all. Plus, I’ll be worried about getting caught the whole time.” Well…unless I decided to do the Agreeance Spell again. I wondered if bewitching someone so many times could affect them permanently. I wasn’t willing to risk it on my parents.

“Yes it is romantic! He’s like your knight in shining armor.”

“And I’m the defenseless damsel in distress?”

“Of course not, and I say that with certainty after tonight. But it’s romantic in the way that he wants to protect you. Every girl wants that.”

I smiled and swooned a bit myself. “It is nice.”

And it was, wasn’t it? But when that romance came with such a risk to both of us…not so much.

* * *

“Goodnight, Ethan,” Dad said and walked Ethan to the front door. “Tell your father I said hello.”

Ethan nodded. “I will, sir.” He shook Dad’s hand. “Have a goodnight.”

I ignored the stern look Dad gave me and stepped out on the porch to say goodnight to Ethan. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him.

“Text me when your parents are in bed,” he said, running his hands over my arms. The temperature had dropped significantly since the sun had set. “And deactivate the alarm.”

I nodded. “I can let you in,” I offered.

Ethan shrugged. “No need. You don’t have to unlock the door either. You should probably leave it locked, actually.”

I shivered and raised an eyebrow. “You want to break it?”

“I will do no breaking. Trust me, I’ve picked up a lot of interesting skills from being in the Order.”

I pulled Ethan to me. “For some reason, that turns me on.”

“Well in that case,” he kissed me. “Put a sleeping spell on your parents, so I can come over sooner.”

I smiled deviously. “I like that idea.”

We kissed again before Ethan broke away. “You’re shivering, Annie. Go inside before your dad comes out and gets you.”

With a resentful sigh, I went back in the house. Dad was leaning against the stairs, waiting for me. Crap. He couldn’t have heard our conversation, could he? I locked the front door, taking my time in hopes Dad would leave before he said anything.

“Ethan seems like a really nice guy,” he said. I smiled and turned around. “He’s very respectful. I don’t see that too often these days.”

“He’s great, isn’t he?” I smiled even wider.

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself,” Dad said gently. “You haven’t known him for that long.”

No, I hadn’t. But I knew Ethan very well. And he knew me, dark secrets and all. “I’m glad you like him. What exactly did you talk about during that game?”

Dad winked. “I can’t tell you that. I’ll break the man code.”

I shook my head and laughed. “I’m going to bed. Night, Daddy.” I went up to my room, half-assed my homework, cleaned Romeo’s cage, and took a shower. I put on a tank top and pink pajama pants and plopped onto my bed.

I fell asleep watching an episode of Buffy and woke up as the end credits rolled across the screen. I sat up, a bit panicked, and grabbed my phone. With a heavy sigh, I pushed back the covers and went to the top of the stairs.

Everything was silent. I snuck down and turned the alarm off, let Hunter out, and texted Ethan. Hunter and I were back in my room when he slipped through the door.

“You are scary sneaky,” I mumbled, taking my head off the pillow.

“Tired?” Ethan asked.

I nodded and threw the covers back for him to crawl under. Dressed in gray sweatpants and a t-shirt, Ethan kicked off his shoes and got in bed with me. He wrapped me in his embrace and kissed my forehead.

“How’s the arm?” I asked after a few minutes of lying contently in Ethan’s embrace.

“Ah, fine.”

“Liar.” I wrinkled my nose at him and got out of bed.

“What are you doing?” he asked sleepily.

“Changing this.” I unwrapped the bandage on his arm. “And helping it heal.”

“Mmh,” he mumbled and closed his eyes. He lay back down but kept his arm elevated for me. After I put a clean piece of gauze over the wound, which looked as gross as before. I carefully held a quartz crystal over the cut and wrapped another bandage around that, keeping the quartz in place over the gash. Once I was satisfied that the crystal was going to stay in place, I crawled under the covers making sure to be on Ethan’s right side to avoid touching his hurt arm. I put my head back on his chest, and he rewrapped his arms around me.

“Did I tell you I love you?” he mumbled.

“Tell me again.”

“I love you, Anora.”

26

“Did anything else happen last night?” Laney asked as soon as she saw me at school the next day.

“Nothing demonic.”

“How was sleeping next to Ethan all night?”

“Really nice.” I bit my lip to try to keep from smiling. “I felt safe wrapped in his arms.” And the smile I was holding back broke out across my face.

She squealed and grabbed my arm. “I told you it was romantic!”

“What’s romantic?” We turned to see Marie, who had arrived at her locker.

“Ethan stayed the night with Annie last night!” Laney exclaimed.

“Oh!” Marie said, raising her eyebrows. “And did you actually sleep with him?”

“Yes,” I said, feeling like I was under the microscope again. She was one of my best friends. Why was she so judgmental?

“Well, it’s about time!” Marie’s lips were curved into a smile, but her eyes didn’t convey her happiness for me. Was she jealous?

“It was so hard getting up and leaving while Ethan was still asleep,” I groaned.

“He was at your house?” Marie was surprised. “How did you manage that with your parents?”

“Oh, they didn’t know he was there, of course.”

“They didn’t see his car?”

“He didn’t drive over. They assumed he left.”

“Nice. So how was your weekend getaway?” She hung her coat up in her locker. Her shirt was tighter than normal, and she had on a short skirt, even though it was freezing out, and tall black boots. She turned back towards me. Her eyeliner was different too; it was much thicker today. When did she start dressing like that? Have I seriously been that unaware of all the non-paranormalness around me?

“It was relaxing,” I told her, which was sort of true. The first bell rang, so I gathered up my stuff and headed down the hall to mythology.

“What did I miss yesterday?” I asked Josh as I took my seat. He flipped back a page in his notebook.

“Not too much, we learned about Orthrus and Cerberus, you know, the dog monsters.” The last two words made my eyes widen in fear, and an image of Pricolici flash through my brain. Josh cocked his head. “You all right, Anora?”

My nervous smile instantly appeared. “Yeah, just really tired, that’s all. Can I copy your notes?”

“Sure.” He handed me his notebook. It only took a few minutes to copy everything down, and I finished as the bell for class rang. I put Josh’s notebook back on his desk.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” He smiled. “Hey, did Laney ask if you and your boyfriend wanted to go the football game this weekend?”

“Yeah,” I said but couldn’t recall her asking. She might have and I forgot. Actually, that was pretty likely given how distracted I’ve been.

“Sweet, because I have a cousin at Marcellus, and we have a bet going on who will win. Tell your brother he’d better bring his A-game or else I’m out fifty bucks.”

“I’ll let him know.” I smiled again but quickly turned my attention to Mr. Brooks.

He began class by teaching about Harpies. He clicked through slides of information on the PowerPoint presentation he had prepared. After several slides of boring information, a picture of a harpy popped up. I dropped my pen and gasped. Josh, and several other people including Mr. Brooks, stopped to look at me. Josh had that what-is-wrong-with-you look in his eye.

“Is everything all right?” Mr. Brooks asked.

“Yeah, I, uh, I got a paper cut turning the page of my notebook.” I knew my face was bright red. I picked my pen up off the floor and looked down at my notebook. I didn’t look up until Mr. Brooks started talking again.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep or the constant danger that made me startle so easily this morning. I looked at the Harpy again. It was an ugly woman’s head and torso stuck on a bird’s body. Now, it didn’t exactly resemble the bird-demons, but it was close enough to strike some fear in me.

I was jittery the rest of class. I couldn’t help but wonder what mythical creatures weren’t only myths. I grabbed my stuff and was the first one out of the room when class ended.

All my remaining energy was gone by the time I got to econ. I tried really hard to pay attention since I had missed so much. But government policies couldn’t hold my attention. My eyelids were so heavy. It was taking more effort than it should to keep them open.

“Anora,” a voice whispered behind me. I turned around quickly and got a startled look from Mark Glaskow, a dark-haired boy I’d known since elementary school.

“Did you say my name?” I asked.

“Nope.” He looked at me like I was a crazy person.

I sighed and turned back around. It didn’t take long to feel incredibly sleepy again. I was pulled into the darkness. Giving in, I closed my eyes.

The next thing I knew, sunshine was warming my face. Birds chirped above me. I was lying on the forest floor. It had rained yesterday, and the leaves were still wet. My jacket was slowly getting soaked, making me shiver. I wanted to get up and run home to safety, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even move my head or open my eyes. It was hard to breathe.

The life had been sucked out of me, and this was the end. Someone picked up my right arm, gripping my wrist so tightly that it hurt. In one quick swipe, a razor tore through my skin and into my vein. Warm blood trickled out, spilling on the colorful fall leaves. They picked up the other arm and did the same thing. Then something wet and cold was pressed into my hand.

It’s okay, I told myself, at least it’s over now. A light brighter than the sun burned down on me, and a sense of complete peace and calm took over. I let myself move towards the light.

But suddenly, I was violently yanked back. A hundred dark hands pulled me down, down through the earth and into utter darkness. The more I struggled, the darker it got. The darkness didn’t just surround me; it engulfed me inside and out. I was suffocating, trapped, alone and scared for all eternity.

I woke with such a start that I knocked my books off my desk. Once again, everyone looked at me curiously. After my stuff was resituated on my desk, I quickly jotted down every detail from the dream in my notebook.

I gave Laney a cliff notes version of the dream as soon as I met her at our lockers before lunch. I stuck the psychic self-defense book in my purse, grabbed my lunch, and followed Laney to the cafeteria.

“Hey, Anora!” Marie called cheerfully. I smiled back.

Natalie looked up. “So I hear you ditched yesterday to spend the day with your boyfriend.” She giggled.

“Yeah, I totally did.” I tried to sound happy, but I felt like I might get swallowed in infinite darkness at any moment.

“He is so hot!” Jill gushed. “I mean, I only saw him that one time a while ago, but ohmigosh, you are so lucky! If you told me he was a model, I would totally believe you!”

“He’s not a model,” Marie said quickly. Too quickly, because everyone looked at her. “But he definitely could be one!” she said to cover her jealousy.

“So how did you meet him?” Jill asked.

“I just ran into him, and we got to talking, and we got along really well.” I decided to leave out the part where we both subconsciously could sense the otherworldliness about each other.

“How old is he?”

“Twenty-two.”

I liked talking about Ethan, of course it made me happy, but I was a little confused as to why the girls were so interested. Whatever. I took a bite out of my sandwich.

“What does he do?” Jill inquired.

“Teaches martial-arts.” Well, he used too. Now, he was a full-time demon hunter.

“That’s hot,” she said quietly to Natalie. “What do you guys like to do?”

“Normal stuff, I guess,” I said vaguely. “You know, like hang out and stuff. He likes to ride the horses with me.”

“Any other hobbies?”

“Working out. Oh, and hunting,” I said, and Laney choked on her juice. “He really loves a good chase.”

“Oh.”

I didn’t think Jill wanted to hear that. It probably ruined the preppy-model image of him she had created.

The feeling of being sucked into darkness suddenly got stronger and made me feel nauseous. I put my sandwich down and stood, saying I needed to go to the bathroom. Laney said she’d come with me. I grabbed my purse, but it slipped through my fingers and landed on the table, spilling its contents everywhere.

“What is this?” Marie picked up the psychic self-defense book and looked it over. “Um, okay…”

She looked at Natalie, raised her eyebrows, and dropped the book down on the table like it was contaminated with leprosy. Natalie looked at the book—which had a large pentagram on the cover—at me, and then at Jill. They exchanged what-the-hell glances.

I flashed a nervous smile, packed my stuff back up, and high-tailed it out of there.

“She’s always been a little on the weird side,” I heard Marie tell Natalie and Jill before I left. If there was a public humiliation contest going on today, I would have won. Hands freaking down. I didn’t even have to try.

Laney took my hand and led me out of the cafeteria. Harrison saw us and rushed out into the hall after us. I leaned up against the wall and slid down to my butt. I put my head in my hands and took a deep breath. I wiped my eyes and looked up. Harrison knelt down next to me.

“Annie, what’s wrong?” His blue eyes showed genuine concern.

Laney sat next to me and put an arm around my shoulders. I shook my head, not wanting to relive today’s socially murderous moments.

“I’m so tired. I can’t do this.” A tear rolled down my cheek.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Harrison said gently and sat down on my other side. “But what can’t you do?”

“This!” I threw my hands in front of my face.

Harrison looked over me at Laney for a clue as to what I was talking about, but she didn’t know either.

“Be normal,” I explained. “I can’t keep pretending. I lie to myself and everyone else all the time. It’s so exhausting to hold up this front. And it doesn’t even work. Everyone knows that I’m a freak.”

“No, they don’t,” Harrison tried to convince me.

“Yes, they do. I can’t pretend anymore. I’m so tired.”

“So what?” Laney said. “First of all, you’re the one who told me that being normal is overrated. And second, who cares? You are my best friend, and I love you no matter what.”

“That’s right,” Harrison agreed. “Who cares what they think?”

“I care. A lot of people care. This is freaking high school, guys.” I shook my head. They didn’t get it.

“Does this have anything to do with the dream?” Laney asked.

I nodded. “I feel all sad from it.”

“What dream?” Harrison asked, and I quickly explained. “That sounds horrible. I’m sorry, Annie,” he said.

“Don’t be, I’ll get over it. I can’t shake this doom and gloom feeling.” I rubbed my eyes and ran my hands through my hair. “The bell’s gonna ring soon.” We stood.

“You okay now?” Harrison gave me a half smile.

“Yes. Go back to your friends. I’ll see you tonight.”

Laney and I went to the end of the hall, which was as far as we could go without a teacher asking what we were doing. “Do you still feel sick?” she asked.

“No. The icky feelings are fading.” The bell rang, and we were free to walk to our lockers. “What time are you going to the barn?” I asked.

“Probably around five. My mom gets off at four-thirty today, so I don’t have to watch Annabelle. Wanna meet there?”

“Yeah.” I was feeling even better now. “Thanks for being my best friend, Laney.”

She squeezed my hand. “Ditto.”

* * *

Natalie and Jill were close behind me as I walked to the parking lot. I quickened my pace and pretended to not notice them. They were instantly out of my mind when I saw Ethan. He got out of the truck and walked around to the passenger side, opening the door for me. I threw my bags on the seat and let out a deep breath.

“Long day?” he asked and pulled me to him. I rested my head against his muscular chest.

“Yes. I’m so glad it’s over.” I looked into his brown eyes and smiled. “So what did you do all day?”

“Didn’t get up until eleven, worked out, and watched TV.”

“Lucky.”

He kissed me. “Oh, and I got you these.” He reached into the truck and gave me a beautiful bouquet of yellow Asiatic lilies.

My jaw might have dropped a little. “They’re beautiful!” I admired the flowers for a minute before looking back at Ethan.

“You like them?” he asked apprehensively, as if he was afraid I’d say no.

I bet my eyes were sparkling. I didn’t even remember mentioning that these were my favorite flowers. “How did you know?” I asked, figuring he would know what I meant by that.

“You said once before that you thought roses were unoriginal, and your favorite color is yellow, and they looked like flowers you’d like.” He shrugged, again a bit embarrassed by his thoughtfulness.

“I love lilies.” I smelled the sweet petals. “But why?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to. You know, I’ve never bought flowers for anyone before.” He put the lilies back in the truck. I couldn’t stop smiling. I stepped closer to him, and he enveloped me in his arms.

“Hey, Anora!” A cheerful female voice called. I lifted my head from Ethan’s chest enough to see Natalie and Jill walking towards us. They had already changed into their cheerleading outfits and had ditched their coats.

“Hey.”

“Is this your boyfriend?” Jill asked. She was very upbeat with a fake smile plastered on her face. Before I could answer, she introduced herself.

“Hi, I’m Anora’s friend Jill, and this is Natalie.”

“Hi,” Ethan said, stepping back and dropping his gaze to me. I rolled my eyes.

“So what are you two up to tonight?” she asked, looking at Ethan.

“Nothing,” I said right away then regretted it.

Jill put her hand on her waist and leaned back, trying to emphasize her figure in her tight uniform. “A bunch of us are getting together after practice. It would be totally awesome if you joined.” Her eyes were wide, and her smile never faltered. Natalie was trying to look as pleasant, but her gaze was held steadily on the ground.

“No thanks,” I said. I’d never been invited to hang out with her after practice—or ever. What was she getting at?

“Oh, well that’s really too bad. Ethan?” Her voice got high pitched at the end.

Oh, that was what she was getting at. Ethan. He took my hand.

“No,” he said shortly. “I want to spend time with Anora.”

“Well, that’s too bad. If you get bored tonight, we’ll be at Blush,” she said coyly. “Well, we better get off to practice. It was so nice meeting you.” She touched his arm. “See you tomorrow, Anora!”

“The perfect ending to a perfect day,” I said with a sigh as soon as they were out of earshot.

“What happened today?” Ethan asked.

“I’ll explain later. Let’s go. I want to get out of this place.”

Ethan held out his hand to help me into the truck. I saw Natalie and Jill gaping at us as we drove past them. I shook my head. I hated high school.

“What’s Blush?” Ethan asked.

“A lame night club.”

“Ever been?”

“Once.”

“You sure it’s lame?”

“What eighteen-and-under night club isn’t?” I said with a dubious stare.

“True. Do you want to go to the barn now?”

“No, I told Laney I’d meet her there around five. You don’t have to go; I think I’ll be fine on my own for a while.”

Ethan didn’t say anything. I took it as his way of saying that he wasn’t sure if I really would be okay on my own. “So what happened today?” he asked again.

“A lot. First, I successfully managed to make everyone think I am a total freak with weird fear issues, and I had another creepy dream. And when I say creepy, I mean creepy. For all the cryptic dreams I’ve had, this one takes the cake.”

Concern settled on Ethan’s face. “Tell me about it.”

“I was in the woods again, but this time, I knew I was dying. I couldn’t move. It felt like the life had been sucked out of me. Then someone slit my wrists and I really did die. I felt everything. My heart slowed down, I could barely breathe, and it was so cold. And then…then all the pain was gone. I was warm and happy and safe and moving towards the most beautiful light I’ve ever seen. It was yellow and white and so bright, but it didn’t hurt my eyes to look at. And then, I was sucked down, and it felt like being punched in the stomach and dipped into ice water at the same time. Then I felt like I was trapped, forever.”

I shivered. Flashes of the dream played in my mind. I felt like I was in a swirling vacuum of total despair again. My stomach flip-flopped.

“Huh.” Ethan pushed his eyebrows together. “Any idea who you were?”

I nodded. “Ryan. The ghost from the pictures.” I closed my eyes, hoping it would help me get rid of the spinning sensation. It didn’t. “He never killed himself. He was murdered.”

“Do you think that’s why he’s contacting you?”

“Maybe. I mean, it makes sense. I don’t get it; I’ve been seeing spirits and ghosts my entire life, but it’s never like how it is in the movies. No one asks me to help them with their ‘unfinished business,’ they don’t come to me to solve their murders…they rarely even talk to me. For the most part, it’s like they are traces left on Earth, and I see and hear them. But the interaction is very minimal. This is the first time a ghost has tried to get my attention like this.”

“Huh,” Ethan said again.

I was curious about Ryan. Who killed him? Why was he in the woods? Was someone trying to hide his body? And mostly, why was he showing me the last horrible memories he had? Did he want me to find the name of his killer and take it to the police? If I somehow managed to figure all that out, would anyone even believe me?

“Hey!” I twisted towards Ethan. “I have an idea! I can try to channel him! That way I can ask him what he wants!”

“No!” Ethan said sternly, as if I had suggested we stick paper clips into outlets. “You have no idea how dangerous that is, Annie. Especially for someone like you.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. You know how dangerous spirit boards are: they open up a doorway, and you don’t know what the hell you might let out. Channeling is worse because you are the doorway. You don’t know what could get in.”

“Oh.” I probably shouldn’t tell him about the time I channeled the spirit of Laney’s grandfather in sixth grade. “Well, I need a Plan B then.”

Ethan reached over and put his hand on my thigh. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

I put my hand on top of his. Together, right. Together, I could do this.

27

“I should go,” I said to Laney and Leslie as I stood from the table in the heated barn office. We had been sitting, crowded around the heater talking, for over an hour. “I told Ethan I’d be over, like, twenty minutes ago, and I left my phone in the car. He probably called to see where the hell I am.”

“And I better exercise Henry,” Leslie groaned, holding her hands over the space heater. “And Razzle and Shadow.” We walked out of the warm office into the cold barn aisle. Leslie shivered. “Why didn’t I bring a better jacket?” she asked herself and rubbed her arms.

“Here,” I said, tugging my arm through the sleeve of my coat. “Take mine. I’m leaving anyway.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll steal a jacket from Ethan later.”

“Awesome!” Leslie gladly put on my coat. “Have a goodnight! See you guys tomorrow!”

“Bye!” Laney and I said in unison.

“So you’re going to Ethan’s now?” Laney asked as we walked across the dark parking lot to our cars. I was on high alert, checking the shadows for movement.

“Yeah. He said his dad dug up a ton of demon books, and we get to go through them. Ethan said he thinks it could take all night.”

“Sounds fun,” Laney said, but with only a bit of sarcasm. “Need any help?”

“Yeah, actually. We could use an extra set of eyes. You don’t have to, though. It’s not as fun as it sounds.”

“I’ve got nothing else to do. Josh picked up an extra shift, so I’m not hanging out wit him. I have no homework, and I don’t have to watch my sister.”

“If you really want to. I mean, I don’t want you feeling like you’re getting dragged into this craziness.”

“Annie,” Laney opened her car door, “come on, you’re my best friend. What wouldn’t I do for you?”

I got that sappy look in my eyes. “I love you, Laney.”

“I know!” She smiled. “Come on, let’s go!”

“Follow me, he doesn’t live far.”

I was still smiling and feeling the warmth in my heart from my amazing best friend when I called Ethan to let him know Laney was coming to help. We talked the whole ten-minute drive to his house. I hung up when I was parked in the driveway.

“Oh, this is one of those cool, old houses!” Laney said as we walked up the stone steps to the front door. “It’s not haunted, is it?”

“Not at all,” I assured her.

“Good, because I wasn’t sure, since Ethan’s life is about hunting that sort of thing.”

I knocked on the door. “Actually, this is probably the safest place I can think of. Ethan told me a lot of protective wards were put around the house.”

“Really?” I nodded as Ethan answered.

“You know you don’t have to knock. You can come in,” he told me.

I shrugged. I felt like I was close enough to Ethan to just come in, but not his family. Apart from Ethan and Julia, I didn’t always feel the welcome vibe from everyone.

“Hey, Ethan,” Laney said with a small wave.

“Hey. You ready for a night of demon-filled fun?” he joked.

“As long as the demons stay in the books, I’m fine,” Laney said with a serious smile. “They will stay in the books, right?”

“Probably,” Ethan said with a half smile.

Laney laughed nervously, hoping Ethan was joking. She gasped suddenly as Ethan turned.

“How? Yesterday-that-w-what?” Laney stammered.

Ethan looked down at his left arm and smiled. “I can thank Annie for that.”

I hadn’t seen the gash on his arm since yesterday. I pushed his sleeve up to his shoulder and gently ran a finger over it. The wound wasn’t completely healed, but instead of the ugly, puffy, infected gash that tore through his skin, there was a very old-looking scab. The bruises were gone, and there were no signs of it being stitched up. It looked like the injury happened weeks ago.

“It worked!” I whispered in disbelief.

Ethan put his arms around my waist and pulled me in. “I’ll have to thank you later,” he said and gave me a peck on the lips.

“How did you do it?” Laney asked, still bewildered.

“Quartz crystals,” I informed her. “They have healing properties, so I thought if I put some over the cut for the night, it would help it heal. But I had no idea that they would work this well.”

“Can they heal anything?” She cocked her head a bit.

“Uh,” I looked at Ethan. “I’m not sure.”

Ethan took his hands off my middle and said, “No. They can help generate the energy that promotes healing for anything, but anything bigger than this cut would be too much. Or you’d need a ton of crystals. And you’d have to know how to properly charge them.”

“Oh, okay.” Laney nodded, her eyes still wide in amazement.

Ethan sighed. “The books are in the kitchen. Let’s get down to business.”

“‘To defeat the Huns’?” I asked with a smile.

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “What?”

I shook my head. “I guess you’ve never seen that movie.” I waved my hand in the air. “Never mind.”

The three of us went into the kitchen, where I introduced Laney to Julia. We sat around the table and started flipping through books, skimming the pages in hopes of finding a picture or a passage about the bird-demons.

But when the clock struck eight and we still hadn’t found anything useful, we decided to call it a night. I walked Laney to her car and hurried back inside. I had an hour and a half until I had to be home, though Mom and Dad weren’t as strict with my curfew as they were with Harrison’s. I was sure it was because I rarely got into trouble. And Harry was a magnet for that sort of thing.

Ethan and I sat in the living room, cuddled up on the couch in front of a crackling fire. I rested my head on his shoulder, my mind swimming with images of demons I had seen in the books. Ethan brushed my hair back and leaned in to kiss me. His lips softly pressed against mine. I closed my eyes and surrendered to him.

Ethan leaned back, taking me with him. “Want to go upstairs?”

I nodded, though I didn’t want to get up. I wanted to stay right there, making out with Ethan by the firelight. But his family was home. I could hear Sam playing around with a police scanner in the kitchen. I didn’t want anyone to walk in and see us.

Ethan took my hand and led me to his bedroom. We quickly picked up right where we left off. Ethan’s touch was so warm and wonderful, but I couldn’t help the stray thought that entered my head. The kin of the Coven…something had been bothering me about that in a subconscious way for quite a while. A light bulb went on over my head suddenly.

“Harry!” I said, pushing abruptly away from Ethan.

“Uh, no. I’m Ethan.” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m into role-playing, but not like that.”

“Shut up. I had a thought.” I repositioned myself off of Ethan. “I am ‘kin of the Coven,’ right?”

“Yeah,” Ethan said, sounding a bit annoyed that I broke off the action.

“Well, Harry’s my kin, so doesn’t that make him kin of the Coven?”

Ethan looked perplexed. “It would seem so, but I don’t think it works like that. Your mom’s related to the Coven too, but in magical terms, I don’t think ‘kin’ means what it does in normal terms.”

“Oh. It doesn’t make sense.” I let out breath.

“No, it doesn’t,” Ethan agreed and reached for me. He ran his fingers through my hair, knowing that I absolutely loved it. I closed my eyes but tried to focus on my question.

“Why then? Why me and not them?”

“I don’t know,” Ethan said, gently pushing me down. He ran his fingers through my hair again and kissed my neck, another sensation that I loved. My questions could wait. I turned my attention back to Ethan, urging him onto me. For the next hour, I didn’t think about kin of the Coven.

* * *

I put my bra back on and looked around for my pants. I spotted them as my phone rang. I was worried it was my parents, telling me to come home, even though I still had a little over twenty minutes before curfew. I was relieved and surprised to see it was Harrison instead. He never called me.

“Hello?” I said, hoping everything okay. He didn’t answer right away. I could hear music and laughter in the background.

“Anora!” Harrison yelled cheerfully, in a horrible Italian accent.

Seriously? He was drunk on a school night? I rolled my eyes and inhaled slowly to keep my temper.

“Yeah?” I sat on the edge of the bed and put on my jeans one-handed.

“Can you bring me—” He cut off abruptly and said something to someone in the background. “Hello?” he asked, not knowing who he was talking to.

“Harry, what do you want?”

“Annie, it’s you.”

“Of course it is. You called me. What do you want?”

“Right. Keys.”

“Keys for what?” There was another pause. Then Harrison howled with laughter. “Harry!” I yelled into the phone. Ethan raised an eyebrow. I shook my head, telling him it was no big deal.

“My car.”

“Why on earth do you need keys? What happened to yours?” I asked before realizing that I didn’t want him driving anywhere.

“They’re in a tree.”

“Do I even want to know why?” I sighed.

“I was Thomas Edison.”

“Whatever, where are you?”

He gave me an address, and I told him I’d bring him the keys. Really, I was going to take him home.

With a sigh, I got dressed and perched on the bed next to Ethan. I wasn’t sure if he was really listening when I filled him in on what was going on. I was about to get up and leave when he snaked an arm around my waist and pulled me back down onto him.

“I’ll take you,” he offered.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” he said.

“No, you don’t. You worry too much.”

“Only because I love you,” he said, his eyes still closed. I got up and picked up his clothes. A flash of lightning lit up the room, and rain steadily pattered against the window. I tossed his clothes at him and turned on the light.

Ten minutes later and we were out the door, heading to the address Harrison had given me, which turned out to be close to the downtown area. We parked in the street. Ethan took my hand and led me around the back of the house, following the sounds of music and laughter. A large group of people was huddled under a make-shift canopy that consisted of several plastic tarps, umbrellas, and pieces of cardboard. The air smelled of alcohol and smoke, and the energy was chaotic.

With a bit of difficulty, we found my belligerent brother. Even in the dim light, I could tell his eyes were extremely bloodshot. He was sitting inside a shabby living room, on a couch that you couldn’t pay me to sit on. His head was bobbing up and down slowly, like he was resisting sleep.

“Great,” I said under my breath. Harrison’s eyes widened in excitement when he saw me, but only for a split second, and then his head went down again.

“I think he’s gonna need some help,” Ethan told me. I couldn’t agree more. Ethan helped him up and took one side. I went to Harrison’s other side and put his arm over my shoulders. His shirt was soaking wet. Please be from rain water. We slowly made our way back outside. Maybe it was the movement of walking or maybe it was the cold rain on his face, but Harrison perked up. I took this opportunity to ask again about the keys.

Harrison looked up into a tree and said, “They’re there.” I followed his gaze and saw a plastic kite tangled on bare branches.

“Why are they there?” Ethan asked.

“I was being Thomas Edison,” Harrison said again, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I ducked out from Harrison’s hold on me a little too fast, and he stumbled forward. Luckily, Ethan was strong and had quick reflexes.

“First of all, it was Ben Franklin who did the whole keys on a kite thing, and second, you’re an idiot,” I scolded.

I extended my hand towards the kite and telekinetically pulled it down. The keys were tied tightly to it, and I needed Ethan’s pocket-knife to cut them off. I had to suppress the urge to slap Harry upside the head; he’d probably fall right over if I did.

“Ethan, you can go home. I’m driving Harry in his car because I think he’s gonna puke at any second now.”

“I feel fine!” Harrison laughed.

“You sure?” Ethan asked me, not sounding too sure himself.

“Yes,” I promised.

I pressed the automatic start for the BMW. Thank God it had heated seats. The rain soaked through my clothes and the wind had picked up.

“You’ve done so much for me the last few days, and you deserve to sleep tonight. I don’t think Harry will be going to school tomorrow, so I can come right over afterwards, if you want me to.”

A rabbit shot out from under a nearby bush. Upon seeing it, Harrison lunged forward, saying he was going to catch it.

“Oh my God,” I said slowly to myself.

I struggled to hold onto Harrison’s arm. Ethan stepped in and helped me get him into the car. I buckled him in, closed the passenger door, and turned to Ethan. “I think I’m gonna have to do a spell to cover for Harry. Maybe the Agreeance Spell to let him stay home tomorrow.”

“Or you could say he got food poisoning,” Ethan suggested.

“Oh, I guess so.” That was simple and easy, and it hadn’t even crossed my mind. Maybe I was looking for reasons to do spells.

Distant lightning flashed across the dark horizon. I wrapped my arms around Ethan and sighed. He kissed the top of my head. “I love you,” I told him.

“And I love you, Anora,” he said sweetly, making me feel warm inside. He placed his hands on my hips and kissed me that wonderful, passionate kiss, making me want him all over again. “Call me when you get home, so I know you’re okay. I’ll drop your car off later so your parents don’t ask about it.”

“I’ll call, and you don’t have to drop it off if you won’t want to. Thanks for helping me with Drunkey, too.”

“I think you needed it.” Ethan shot a half worried glance at my inebriated twin. He moved his cold hands to under my shirt. “I’ll miss you tonight,” he said, looking over me to survey our surroundings.

“I’ll miss you too. I feel safe when I’m with you,” I confessed.

We kissed again before I got into the BMW and headed towards home. Harrison was rambling about sports…football maybe? I wasn’t really paying attention, and he was talking so fast that I couldn’t keep up.

“What did you take?” I asked him.

When he didn’t answer, I looked over and saw that his eyes were closing again. Suddenly, he gasped.

“I want Doritos!” he exclaimed.

“Okay, I’m sure we have some at the house.”

“No.”

“I think we do.”

“We don’t. I know we don’t.”

“Well, eat something else. I know we have some other kinds of chips.”

“I don’t want chips.” His voice was getting louder. “I want Doritos!”

“You’re acting like a freaking kid right now, Harry.”

“Doritos!” he yelled and reached for the steering wheel. I slapped his hands away.

“If I get your freaking Doritos, will you shut the hell up?” I asked, eyeing the low fuel light. I was going to have to stop for gas before we got home anyway.

“Yes,” he said, laughing.

“Fine.” The rain had subsided a bit. The warm leather seat made me relaxed, and I realized how tired I was. So much had happened in the last few days. It was overwhelming and exhausting…and it was gonna be another long night.

Red and blue flashing lights told me that the turn onto McCool Street was blocked off.

“Shit, the cops!” Harrison said and ducked down. I rolled my eyes and went around the block. I parked, filled up the tank, and opened Harry’s door.

“Stay,” I said firmly, looking right into Harrison’s bloodshot eyes. I didn’t even make it into the gas station before I heard scuffling on the pavement behind me. I stopped and turned around, waiting for Harrison to stumble his way towards me. He stood a foot in front of me and swayed. Sirens echoed a few streets away. I put my arm around Harrison and steered him towards the car.

“I told you to stay in the car!” I yelled in a hushed voice. Two other cars were parked by the pumps. The sirens grew louder, and a police car sped past us. I opened the door and pushed him inside. The last thing I needed were the cops seeing Harrison’s erratic behavior. There was no way he could hide his surfeit of partying.

Harrison flopped down on the seat and bounced right back up. “You’re a good sister, you know?”

“Trust me, I’m the best,” I said, trying to push him down again. Harrison was taller and stronger than me, and he wasn’t budging.

“You are,” he agreed, though I thought he would agree with anything right now…except sitting in the damn car! He patted my shoulder.

“Harry, please sit and I’ll get your Doritos.”

“I need to come with.”

“Why?”

“To make sure you get the right kind.”

“Ugh, whatever, I just want to go home.” I grabbed Harrison’s hand and led him into the mini-mart. I felt like a mother with an oversized toddler going through his terrible twos.

“Rough night?” the cashier asked when he saw our soaking clothes.

“You don’t know the half of it,” I said as I paid for Harrison’s freaking chips. I took Harrison’s hand and led him back to the car, wanting this night to end already.

* * *

I ended up staying awake to take care of Harrison most of the night. Needless to say, I was a zombie the next day at school, too tired to care that my hair was in a messy bun and I had mismatching socks on. The first half of the day dragged on forever. I was grateful when I slumped down at the lunch table, hoping food would refuel me.

I was halfway through my lunch when I saw him. He was sitting across from me like it was a completely normal thing for a ghost to do. He looked better today, no messy hair and no blood. But there was terror in his eyes, and he desperately tried to shout out a warning. I of course wasn’t expecting to see the ghost of Ryan.

When I looked up from my salad, I gasped and dropped my fork. Lettuce covered in ranch dressing splattered all over my lap. Everyone at the table stared at me. I didn’t take my eyes off of Ryan. I could feel his panic and see his mouth move, but I didn’t have any idea what he was trying to say. Then he became completely still and vanished.

Slowly, I turned to face Laney. “Was it?” she asked, not needing to finish the question. I nodded.

“Uh, everything okay?” Marie asked. I kept looking at Laney, not wanting to turn and see the judgment in Marie’s eyes.

“Yeah.” I forced my head in her direction. She, Natalie, Jill, and two other cheerleaders looked warily at me. “Excuse me.” I pushed my chair back forcefully. “Get my stuff?” I asked Laney as I dashed out of the lunchroom.

I ran into the bathroom and put both hands on a sink. Leaning forward to the mirror, I looked into my green eyes.

“What is wrong with me?” I asked my reflection. But the only answer I got back was my own worried expression. A toilet flushed, and a freshman girl came out of a stall, looking at me weird for talking to myself. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. There were footsteps coming from the hall that gradually got louder. The energy felt familiar. I opened my eyes to find Laney two feet away from me.

“What happened?” she asked.

I took my books and lunchbox from her and told her about Ryan.

“He just appeared?” she asked.

I nodded, wiping the last of the ranch dressing off my jeans. “I have no idea what he wants though. Ethan doesn’t think it’s that important, since Ryan hasn’t tried to kill me or anything. He said we will figure that out after we deal with the Pricolici.”

We walked back into the hall. I could see Natalie, Jill, and Marie from where we were standing. A fit of laughter suddenly possessed me, and it took me a minute to regain myself.

“Okay, Annie, now even I will say you are acting weird,” Laney said with one eyebrow raised.

“I’m fine,” I told her. “It just dawned on me how stupid all this is.” I waved my hand at the lunchroom. “All this social ladder bullcrap, worrying what they think of me…it doesn’t really matter. Demons are after me, Laney. Demons. I don’t care what Marie, Natalie, or Jill thinks anymore.”

Laney tipped her head. “That’s true.” She sighed. “I wish I could stop worrying what they think of me.”

“You should. I’m done. Done worrying, done wasting my time. It’s not worth it.” I smiled. “Let’s go back in and finish lunch.”

Laney smiled back and nodded. On the way to my table, Harrison’s friend Luke waved me over. He said he had been texting Harry all night and wanted to make sure my idiot brother hadn’t gotten arrested…or worse. I told him I took Harrison home, and the last I saw, he was still in bed sleeping. I said an awkward goodbye and turned back to my table to see Marie lean close to Jill. Their backs were to me.

“She’s such a freak,” Marie said in a hushed voice. “She talks about ghosts all the time and seriously thinks their real.”

Jill laughed. “How the hell did she land such a hot boyfriend? She has to be a slut to get a man like that.”

I took a slow, steady breath. I didn’t care. I didn’t care. I didn’t care.

“Hah, I know, right?” Marie said. “She is.”

Anger boiled inside of me. Marie knew I was far from a slut. Hadn’t she been teasing me about finally losing my virginity?

“I doubt they’ll last long,” Jill said smugly. “Then I’ll move in.”

She laughed, and I lost it. “Ow!” she cried, bringing her hand to her face, covering her nose.

My shoulders went back, and the scowl disappeared from my face. Uh-oh. Jill brought her hand away from her face. Blood dripped onto the table. She grabbed a napkin to sop up the nosebleed. Had I done that?

Laney looked over, eyes widening at the blood. Then she looked at me, standing behind Marie and Jill. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she turned away. I hurried around the table and sat next to her.

“Oh my God,” she started. “Was that you? Did you curse her?”

“Keep your voice down!” I hissed. “And I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “I overheard her saying some nasty things. It pissed me off, then the next thing I know, she’s bleeding!”

“Oh my God,” she repeated and slowly shook her head. “This is crazy.”

I nodded, unable to take my eyes off Jill’s bloody nose. I didn’t want to hurt anyone, even someone as nasty as Jill. I closed my eyes and inhaled, trying to calm myself before I went full Carrie.

Jill tipped her head back, and the bleeding ceased. Her friends gushed over her, making sure she was okay. I turned my head down, wanting this day to end. Now.

But of course, the remaining hours dragged by. I hastily packed my bag and rushed to the parking lot, surprised to find Ethan waiting by my car. I smiled when I saw him, but he didn’t smile back.

Oh crap.

He took my bag and put it in the car. After a hello hug and kiss, he asked, “Where’s Laney?”

“Probably still inside. She should be out soon. Why?”

“Just wondering,” he said.

“You’re lying.”

He looked into my eyes. “I know.”

“Ethan, what’s wrong?”

“I’ll tell you when we find Laney.” He took my hand and started walking towards the school. I pulled my hand out of his.

“Ethan Joseph Bailey, tell me what’s wrong!” I demanded.

He sighed and stepped closer, slowly sliding his arms around me and pulling me into his chest. “Leslie got attacked.”

28

“What?” My heart stopped beating and plummeted to the floor. I didn’t breathe. I shook my head and pushed away from him so I could look into his eyes.

“Last night, at the barn, she got attacked by Pricolici.”

No, she didn’t. They wouldn’t attack her. Ethan was mistaking. “Is she okay?”

“Yes. She’s in bad shape, but she’ll live.”

My body shook as white-hot fear coursed through my veins. “Are you sure?”

He lifted my chin so I was looking at him. “Yes. As soon as we heard about the attack, Julia went to the hospital. We need to go talk to Leslie and find out what happened.”

I nodded, nerves trembling throughout my body. “I need to tell Laney.”

I got into Ethan’s jeep and waited for Laney to emerge from the school with Josh. I ran over as soon as I saw them and told Laney what happened, blaming the attack on a wild dog instead of a demon for Josh’s sake.

We drove straight to the hospital. My hands shook uncontrollably by the time we walked onto the medical floor. I hated hospitals. They were dripping with depressive energy that swirled around me and threatened to take over.

Ethan linked his fingers with mine and led the way to Leslie’s room. I took a deep breath and knocked on her door before stepping inside.

Leslie was in bed watching TV. She was hooked up to an IV and was covered in bandages. Her left arm was propped up and in a cast.

“Hey guys,” she said weakly, smiling as best she could when she saw us; she had been clawed across the face. Three distinct red cuts ran from her right eye, across her lips and down to the left side of her chin. My knees felt weak, and tears welled in my eyes. This was my fault. The demons were after me, not her.

“How are you holding up?” Laney asked, her voice shaky.

“They gave me Morphine.” Leslie closed her eyes. “So I’m okay right now.”

“A dog did all this?” Josh asked, disbelief in his voice.

“Mmh,” Leslie mumbled. “It was huge.” She opened her eyes, and a flash of panic twitched on her face. “I don’t really remember it. Luckily, right?”

“I’m so sorry, Leslie,” I said and bit my lip. “You don’t remember anything?” I felt bad pushing it.

“Not really. I put Henry away, and it was just there. It knocked me over and sniffed me before…before it bit me. I must have passed out.”

“I’ll take care of Henry for you,” I told her, knowing she would worry about her horse.

“I don’t want him out,” she mumbled. “Too dangerous.”

Laney looked at me, wide-eyed. I turned to Ethan. Was it too dangerous for our horses? We had thought the Pricolici would only attack me, and that turned out to be wrong. Was anyone—or anything—fair game now?

A nurse came in and gave Leslie more pain medication. It made her tired; she could barely keep her eyes open. We said our goodbyes and headed to my house to pick up Hunter, then to the barn to do some investigating.

“Why didn’t it kill her?” I asked Ethan as I buckled my seatbelt. I was glad it hadn’t, but it didn’t make sense. “Why stop?”

Ethan shook his head. “It shouldn’t have attacked her in the first place. From what I know about Pricolici, they are only supposed to go after their target. One thing most demons have in common is they prefer to not draw attention to themselves. Killing someone who wasn’t even targeted is messy.” He ran his hand along the steering wheel. “Maybe the Pricolici got excited and went into attack mode. The master could have called it off at the last second.” He shook his head. “I still don’t know why it would have gone after Leslie in the first place.”

I cast my eyes down, guilt burning a hole inside of me. Then it hit me. “I do.” I hit my head against the seat. “Ugh, how can I be so stupid?”

“What?”

“I gave Leslie my jacket.”

Ethan flicked his eyes to me and nodded. “She did say it sniffed her.”

I put my head in my hands. “She could have been killed because of me.”

“But she wasn’t,” Ethan said gently.

“No, she was just severely mauled.” I exhaled, fighting back tears. “I’m ready to find them and kill them. All of them.”

* * *

Everyone was on edge at the barn. All of the horses were in their stalls, their owners too afraid to let them out into the pasture. Penny, the owner of the barn, suggested no one come alone until the wild dog was caught. Animal control and the local police had started the hunt.

I hoped they wouldn’t get hurt.

Laney and I brushed our horses and Henry. Poor Laney; the girl was terrified. If it weren’t for Ethan, Hunter, and me being here, she wouldn’t have come to the barn at all.

We were getting ready to leave when I felt a shift in the energy. I hurried out of Mystery’s stall and closed the door.

Anora!

I whirled around in direction of the voice. No one was behind me. I turned quickly back to face my friends, but dizziness crashed down on me like a ton of bricks, and I struggled to remain standing. The dizziness got worse, to the point where I felt like I was being sucked down into a pool of icy black water. I couldn’t breathe.

The next thing I knew Ethan was holding me upright. “Anora,” he whispered. Concern muddled his beautiful brown eyes.

“What happened?” I tried to get out of his arms but staggered. He caught me again. Everything around me was fuzzy, and I leaned against Ethan.

“Are you okay?” I heard Ethan ask, but his voice echoed like he was speaking underwater. A figure moved at the end of the aisle. I strained my eyes to make out who it was. A familiar mop of messy blonde hair bobbed up and down.

“Ryan,” I breathed and pointed in his direction. Hunter licked my face and then trotted off towards the ghost. He sniffed the air right before him, let out a high-pitched cry, and lay down at the ghost’s feet. Laney looked from the dog to me, trying to see what we could see.

“Anora, are you okay?” Ethan asked again, sounding stressed.

“Yes.” I snapped back to reality. Hunter ran over and wagged his tail feverishly. Ryan was gone.

“Tell me what happened,” Ethan instructed.

“I heard someone say my name. I’m guessing it was Ryan. And then I felt like I was being sucked backwards again. But that’s all I remember. When I opened my eyes, he was standing there.” I pointed to the spot again. “Now he’s gone.”

Ethan ran his hand through his hair as he thought.

“Is he still there?” Laney asked, her eyes moving all over the aisle.

“Not anymore,” I told her. She turned back to face me.

“What does he look like? I mean, is he transparent and white?”

“Not at all. He looks normal. If I didn’t know he was a ghost, I probably would think he is real. Like Bob, remember? I told you about him.”

“Yeah. Do they always look like that?”

I shook my head. “Not all are strong enough to appear like that; most of the time they appear as shadows or mist. It takes a lot of energy for them to form human-like figures.”

“Where do they get the energy?”

“From batteries, power lines, or other things like that. And in the case of Ryan, from me,” I said.

“So that’s why you passed out?”

“I think so.”

Ethan turned back around and took my hand. “Feeling any better now?”

“Yeah, except for the fact that I have supernatural narcolepsy, I’m back to normal.”

“I’m gonna take you back to my house to get something that will help keep Ryan at bay,” he told me.

“Okay, good,” I said, feeling a little guilty for some reason. Ryan wasn’t hurting me. Why send him away?

“Let’s go.”

“Shouldn’t we wait until everyone is gone?”

Ethan shrugged. “No one is wearing your clothes, are they?” I shook my head. “Then as far as I’m concerned, they’re safe.”

Laney, Ethan, and I walked outside. Hunter trotted ahead, making sure it was safe. I hugged Laney goodbye, promised her I’d call later that night, and got into Ethan’s Jeep.

“We won’t stay long,” Ethan told me when we pulled into his driveway, knowing I was eager to go home and sleep. I unbuckled Hunter and followed Ethan into the house. Julia was washing dishes while Sam sat at the table typing on her laptop.

“Hey guys,” I said.

“Hey, Anora.” Julia looked from the soapy water. “I’m so sorry about your friend.”

“Thanks. I think she’s gonna recover. Physically, at least.” I tried not to think about it; I didn’t want to cry.

“Go ahead and sit.” Ethan motioned to the table. “I’ll go get what we need.” He kissed me and went into the study, a room that was kept locked since it was full of weapons.

I sat down opposite Sam. “How are you?” I asked her, figuring I’d try my hand at a polite conversation. She shrugged one shoulder. Not the response I’d hoped for. I busied myself gushing over Hunter until Ethan came back into the kitchen.

I stood to leave when Sam said, “So, Anora, did you have fun last night?”

Last night…it seemed so long ago. What happened last night? Oh, Harrison’s whole drunk ordeal. But that couldn’t be what she meant. Oh…I mentally cringed. She probably heard Ethan and me in his bedroom. But why would she bring that up? “Uh, sure,” I said, blushing.

“Yeah, it looked like it.”

She might have heard us, but I knew she didn’t see us. I looked at Ethan for help. He shrugged and mouthed, “I don’t know.”

“It did?” I asked her.

“Yeah. I guess you would have fun when you’re cheating on your boyfriend.” She smiled smugly.

“I’m not cheating on Ethan.” I was too confused to be angry.

“Really? I saw you with that good-looking blonde last night. And you two looked pretty close.”

Oh. My. God. Was she for freaking real?

“Oh, yeah, we are really close,” I said slowly. “I’m sorry, Ethan, I should have told you. That good-looking blonde and I are so close, one time we spent nine whole months cuddled close together.”

I stood and shook my head. “That blonde is my twin brother, Harrison.” I grabbed Ethan’s hand. He was scowling at Sam, too angry to speak. “See you later, Julia,” I said as I stomped to the front door.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan said as soon as we were outside.

“Why are you sorry? It’s not your fault.”

He set the bag he was carrying down and hugged me. “I know, but today has been a bad day for you, and I…I don’t like that.”

“Whatever, it’s fine. I just want to go home.” I got into the Jeep. I sighed, making a mental note to check the Book for an anti-drama spell. I could really use one right now.

We arrived home in time for dinner. After filling up on homemade chicken pot-pie, Ethan and I went upstairs to lie down. He rubbed my back like he promised. I was close to falling asleep when Laney called. I didn’t move to pick up the phone, so Ethan answered.

“Hey, Laney. Yeah, everything’s okay here. She’s sleeping. I’ll tell her to call you later.” He put the phone down and got under the covers with me, wrapping his arms tightly around me. I lazily hooked one arm around him and kissed him lightly on the lips.

I was almost asleep again when the bedroom door flew opened, revealing Mom. She looked at me sternly; she didn’t think it was appropriate to be in bed with a boy. And I was under the covers with him, even worse. Oh, and my door was closed. That was three strikes right there.

“Hey, Mom,” I said casually, hoping to blow off my bad behavior.

“Out,” she said. I pulled back the covers and sat up. Ethan did too, and he quickly swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Don’t close your door when your boyfriend is here, Anora. You know better than that.”

“Romeo was out.”

“Put him away next time.”

“Fine.”

Mom sat down on the foot of the bed and smiled at Ethan. “Hello, Ethan. How was everything at the barn?”

Good, she was going to go easy on me tonight. I told her how Penny didn’t want anyone there alone. Mom didn’t want me there at all. Ethan said he’d go with me and told my mom that he and his dad had been hunters—regular game hunters—for years. Mom made a few backhanded comments about guns, but in the end, she agreed that having Ethan and a shotgun with me at the barn was a good idea until that wild dog was caught.

She admired the yellow lilies Ethan got me, chatted with us for a bit more, and threw in, “Good night, Ethan,” three times. We could take the hint that she thought it was time for him to go.

As soon as Mom left, Ethan retrieved the bag he brought and pulled out a handful of stringy dried plants.

“Devil’s Shoestring,” he told me and put the roots down on my dresser. “It’ll help keep Ryan and even the Pricolici away. Actually, next time we go to the barn, we can put some around the place.”

I picked up a piece of Devil’s Shoestring, bending the dried root between my fingers. “So I don’t have to do anything to it?”

“Well, burning it will definitely extend its keep-away powers, especially when dealing with spirits. Just make sure to open your windows. It stinks when it’s burned.”

I remembered reading about it in the Book. “This is a pretty powerful protection root, isn’t it?”

Ethan nodded. “It’s not foolproof, though. I mean, holding a handful of Devil’s Shoestring out in front of you isn’t going to stop something bad from attacking.”

“Makes sense.” I put the root back down, walked Ethan to the door, and slipped out onto the porch.

“I’ll call you later,” he promised. “Love you.”

“I love you too.”

After one more kiss, he jogged through the rain to his car. Feeling more awake, I went back upstairs, mind whirling. I picked up a small piece of Devil’s Shoestring and set it on my incense burner. It took me a while to get it smoldering, but once it did, the smell was obvious. I hurried to turn on my fan and open my windows.

“Sorry, Ryan.” I wafted smoke around my room. “I promise I’ll find you as soon as this whole mess is over.”

I sat on my bed, turning a large piece of the root over in my hands. I didn’t understand why now of all times my ghost-seeing powers were acting up. I still felt a little guilty for putting it on the back burner, but the demons were more of a threat. That, and my new powers were so much cooler.

I sank down on my bed and thought about Leslie. I hated that one of my friends got hurt because of me, no matter how indirect the fault was. I should have been doing something. I was a powerful witch—supposedly—so why was I sitting around at home?

“I’m not staying home,” I said out loud. I jumped off the bed, pulled the Book of Shadows out from the closet, and flipped to the Agreeance Spell. I would need it. There was no way my parents would let me go to the barn this late at night.

29

No one was there. The empty parking lot held back nothing but shadows that jumped and shifted with the blowing wind. The cold, damp air sent a chill throughout my entire body. Every fiber of my being told me to get back in the car, drive home, tuck myself under my comfy blankets, and go to sleep.

With a deep breath, I took a step towards the barn. An odd feeling of empowerment washed over me. Another step and I was feeling brave. I slowly opened the barn door and looked around.

A few horses were laying down, ready for a restful night’s sleep. I closed the door behind me and felt a false sense of security from the familiar setting. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a handful of roots and string. I tied a piece of Devil’s Shoestring to the front of Mystery, Neptune, Henry, and Abra’s stalls and tucked pieces above every door. I went around the back of the barn and scanned the horizon. A loud crack of thunder made me jump. My hand flew up to my chest, and I nearly screamed. My bravado had escaped me already.

I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths as I moved to the door. I threw it open and didn’t want to go outside. I thought of Leslie getting attacked. I wondered how long she laid on the cold, concrete aisle before the ambulance arrived. I opened my eyes, hoping to see a Pricolici. Nothing but darkness and fog stood in front of me. Courage surged again, and I headed towards the woods.

Drops of rain fell from the sky with so much force that they stung my cheeks, making me wish I’d worn a hat. The pitter-patter of rain on the fallen leaves masked the sound of anything lurking about in the dark forest. My courage faded as I pushed through the trees. A cloud of breath swirled around in the cold air as I exhaled.

“Just get it together,” I told myself, unsheathing the dagger.

I picked up the pace to a jog. The end of the horse trails came and went; I didn’t even allow myself to entertain the thought of stopping yet. I continued forward until my lungs began to hurt. Deciding to stop before I became completely out of breath, I shouted, “Okay, you stupid demons! Come and get me!”

I regretted saying that the moment the words escaped from my lips.

A low growl came from a few feet to my left. Heart racing, I whirled unable to see anything through the dark trees. Another growl, this one low and taunting, drifted through a dark tangle of weeds right in front of me. Coming here alone was a stupid idea. I slowly turned to face my insidious enemy. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Lightning flashed across the sky like a strobe light, and in each brief moment of light, I could see a huge, black, wolf-like shape looming closer. My heart pounded in my chest. My eyes widened, and my breath left me. Another boom of thunder rang out above us.

With a warning snarl, the Pricolici lunged at me. I threw out my left hand and sent it flying into a tree. It slumped to the ground. I let out a breath and swallowed. Moving with amazing speed, the Pricolici was on its feet again. It sank down on its haunches and lunged at me.

I wrapped both hands around the dagger, getting ready. Instinct took over, and I thrust my hands forward the same time the Pricolici came at me, the force of its own body working against it. The dagger slid into its chest with ease.

One high-pitched whine was drowned out by a clap of thunder. The Pricolici burst into flames. The fire erupted from its stomach, and a second later, the whole thing exploded, covering me in ash and blood.

“Sick,” I said, standing up and flicking a glob of fur off my coat.

Twigs snapped a few feet in front of me. Adrenaline pumped throughout my body, and I was ready for another attack. My breath quickened, and I braced myself, holding the dagger in front of me. Something felt familiar. I stared into the woods, trying to get a better reading. I exhaled, and I lowered the dagger.

“Anora?” a deep voice called.

“Ethan?” I called back. I recognized his aura as soon as I recognized his voice.

“Thank God.” He rushed over and put his hands on my shoulders. “What the hell are you doing out here?” he barked, his voice quivering with fear. He pulled me close. “Sorry,” he added quickly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, but, h-how did you find me?” I stammered.

“Julia had a vision of you fighting Pricolici in the woods,” he said, looking behind him.

“She knew I was here?”

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “I tracked your location with the GPS on your phone.”

“How did you…?” I started then shook my head. It didn’t matter. Ethan was here with me. I didn’t have to face the demons alone.

Not too far away, a Pricolici howled. “We should go,” he said and extended a hand for me. I linked my fingers through his. “What was that bright light?” His eyes flitted around the forest.

“I killed a Pricolici, and it kind of exploded.”

“That’s…that’s awesome,” Ethan told me. The Pricolici howled again. “It’s coming closer. We need to hurry.”

My fingers tightened around the dagger, and my heart skipped a beat in fear. “I’m glad you’re here,” I told him, feeling selfish for wanting him around such danger.

The rain panged down harder and faster. Something jumped out of a tree and growled. “That is so not the one that just howled,” I nervously pointed out.

“No, it’s not,” Ethan said, gun already drawn. The Pricolici was silver and would have been beautiful save the fact that it was pure evil and wanted nothing other than to rip out my throat. It sniffed the air in front of Ethan and moved on, teeth barred, towards me. Slimy drool dripped from its yellowed fangs.

Ethan put his arm out to block me from harm and fired his gun three times. The thing collapsed. I let out a ragged breath and took Ethan’s extended hand. More eerie howls echoed throughout the silence.

“We’re being surrounded,” I exclaimed in a state of panic. Ethan turned away from me.

“Back to back,” he said, “it allows us to see the most.”

“Okay,” I said weakly. My knees shook. I took a deep breath and swallowed my fear.

A huge gray shape galloped toward me. I held up my hand right as it lunged. It hit the wall of telekinetic energy and crashed to the ground. Angry, it slowly circled us. Lightning flashed again. It was tall, maybe a few inches taller than Hunter. Its long legs ended in huge talon-like paws. Its dark eyes drilled into mine. It moved its gaze to Ethan, snarled, and then lunged.

Ethan fired his gun, the shot echoing throughout the stormy forest. It wasn’t enough to stop the Pricolici. The demon soared through the air, landing on top of Ethan. Ethan staggered back, right into me. I was shoved forward and fell hard on my knees, sliding on the muddy ground.

I frantically scrambled to get up without cutting myself on the dagger’s sharp blade. Wet hair fell into my eyes, and I couldn’t see. Strangled growls came from deep within the Pricolici. I pushed my hair back to see Ethan struggling to hold it away from him.

His gun was on the ground, and he had both hands wrapped around the demon’s neck. Before I could hesitate, I rushed forward, raising my hand high in the air. Ethan closed his eyes and turned his head right as I brought the dagger down into the Pricolici’s back.

Another explosion left us covered in smoldering demon parts. Ethan sat up enough to wrap an arm around me and grabbed his gun.

“Duck!” he yelled and pulled me into his lap. I lowered my head. The shot rang in my ears. I twisted and saw another Pricolici limping away.

“Ethan,” I said as we stood. “If the Pricolici are bounty hunters and there are this many coming after me, does that mean…”

“The demon sending them must be close,” Ethan finished for me. “Yes.” He stood and took my hand. “We need to run, Anora.”

“Run? What about fighting?”

“We have no idea what we are fighting. The Pricolici are nothing compared to their master.”

Terror paralyzed me. If it was bad enough for someone as daring and brave as Ethan to tell me to run for it, then it was bad. Really freaking bad.

A single howl caused my skin to break out in goosebumps. The sound echoed off the tall trees. Rain loudly pattered on the leaves. Another clap of thunder rolled above us. Dozens of howls answered the call, floating through the storm soaked sky.

“Where should we go?” I looked around; I had no idea where we were. Were we too far from safety? No, we couldn’t be. I didn’t come out here to die. And I sure as hell didn’t cause Ethan to come out here and die.

“My house,” Ethan decided. “It’s not too far.”

“Which way?”

Ethan whirled around. “This way.”

We only made it a few steps when another demon dog leapt from the darkness. I threw out my hand to send it flying, but it only staggered back a bit. I was running out of energy. Ethan stepped in front of me and raised his gun.

Then another growl came from behind us. Ethan twitched but didn’t take his eyes off the Pricolici advancing at him.

I slowly turned, putting my back to Ethan’s. Come on…be brave. I needed to find energy somewhere. I had to do this. The Pricolici raised its head, sniffing deeply. It looked more human-like than the others, which meant it was younger, hadn’t killed as many people.

It would never kill again.

I rushed forward, flicking my wrist and sending the dagger into the Pricolici’s neck. I didn’t close my eyes or look away. I watched the blade turn red hot, the magical fire instantly spreading into the demon. It burst into flames. A smiled pulled up my lips.

This was what I was meant to do.

Ethan fired the gun again, but only one bullet shot out before I heard the gun make an empty chink. Crap. I knew from movies what that sound meant.

I turned my head to see a black mass barely moving on the ground. And another not far behind that. I might have been meant to kill demons, but I knew I couldn’t take on a pack of Pricolici by myself.

I looked up, my eyes meeting Ethan’s in the dark. He put his gun in its holster and nodded. He tilted his head in the direction we needed to go. I blinked away raindrops and took off, falling in step behind Ethan. Cold mud splattered under my feet. We pushed forward, struggling over the natural obstacles of the forest.

I slipped as I climbed a ravine. Ethan turned and helped me scramble to my feet. Too out of breath to say “thank you,” I nodded and pushed forward. My lungs burned. Please let us be close to Ethan’s house. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could last before I collapsed onto the ground, gasping for air and exhausted.

Suddenly, Ethan stopped and spun around. He put his hands on my shoulders. “Catch your breath,” he panted.

I nodded, too grateful to wonder how he knew I was dying. I looked into his eyes and gasped for air. Once this was over, I needed to start working out. Well…if I made it out of the woods alive.

A howl came from the woods along with a crackle of thunder. My body tensed, and I sucked in a breath only to quickly let it out, close to hyperventilating.

Ethan stepped over closer and kissed me. Everything disappeared for that small moment – the wind and the rain, the Pricolici, the fact that I was going to always be in danger – it all seemed to melt away with the warmth of Ethan’s kiss.

He pulled back, eyes looking right into mine. “Better?” he asked.

I let out a slow breath. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He nodded and looked behind me. “Close your eyes and breathe,” he whispered.

I nodded and closed my eyes, focusing on my breathing. A few seconds later, I opened my eyes. “Let’s go,” I panted. I hadn’t caught my breath yet, but I didn’t have time to wait. Ethan took my hand and started forward, going slower than before.

When more howls echoed behind us, we sprinted ahead at full speed. My side pinched, and my lungs felt like they were going to collapse on themselves. I found it in me to push forward. Finally, the woods began to thin. The yellow flicker of headlights on the road was one of the best things I’d seen all day.

We slowed as we burst through the woods. I doubled over when we reach the road. Ethan put his hand on my arm. He was out of breath as well, but barely.

“Straighten up,” he said. “You’ll get more air.”

“I…can’t,” I huffed out.

He took the dagger from me and slid it back in the sheath. “Yes, you can.” He took both of my hands in his and gently pulled me up. “Push your shoulders back to open your lungs. And walk. Your heart is racing. It’s not good to just stop.”

If I didn’t just stop, I would probably die. I didn’t think Ethan would believe that. He taught martial arts and had more than one black belt. He knew what he was talking about, right?

“Are…they…?” I started.

“Following us?” Ethan finished. “No. I don’t think they’ll come this close to the road. Too many cars.”

We inched forward. Bright headlights blinded me. I tried to take a slow breath but felt like I was suffocating. Ethan helped me push my shoulders back. By the time we reached the road, I could breathe again. We had a few blocks to walk before we got to Ethan’s house. He put his arm around me, holding me close as we silently made our way down the street. The wind picked up, and the rain came down with fury, whipping my face and making me shiver. My breath clouded around me, and I wondered if it was cold enough for frostbite.

The old brick house never looked as welcoming as it did that night. A yellow glow shone through the front window. Water splashed under our feet as we hurried up the stone stairs. Ethan retrieved the key from his pocket and opened the door.

“Hello?” he called. No answer. I was relieved; I didn’t feel like dealing with Sam right now. I was shivering from head to toe, and really wanted to get out of my wet clothes.

“Can we change?” I asked through chattering teeth.

“That sounds like a brilliant idea,” Ethan said and led me to his room.

“Sorry, I got you into this mess,” I said through chattering teeth as I unzipped my coat. It was dripping with water. I held it in front of me, trying to catch the dropped that pattered onto the hardwood floor.

“Don’t be sorry,” Ethan said and opened his closet. He pulled out a laundry basket. He took his soaking jacket off and tossed it inside.

I put mine on top then struggled with the button on my jeans, my fingers too cold to work right. My cheeks were warm from running, and my body was a horrible mixture of hot and cold. Trembling, I peeled the wet denim from my legs and pulled my sweater over my head.

I was soaked down to my underwear. I unhooked my bra and turned, flicking my eyes to Ethan. He was standing in his boxers.

“Want to take a shower?” he asked.

“That sounds wonderful,” I said. Ethan grabbed my hand and led me into the bathroom. He turned the shower on and pulled the curtain closed. He stuck his hand in, testing the water.

“Ethan,” I started and wrapped my arms around my torso. “I’m so sorry.”

“Anora,” he said, turning to me. “Stop apologizing.”

“But I feel—”

He didn’t let me finish. He rushed up to me, encasing me in his arms. His lips pressed against mine, soft and warm. I melted into him, my rigid body instantly relaxing. Keeping me wrapped in his arms, Ethan stepped into the shower and the warmth quickly came back into my body.

30

I was nearly asleep when someone softly knocked at the door. After stumbling in the dark for some pants and quickly pulling on a pair of light blue boxers, Ethan opened the door about a foot, just enough to see who it was. Julia, with her ever-patient smile, stood a ways back.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt, Ethan, but your dad wants you downstairs,” I heard her say very quietly.

“It’s okay, Jules. Um, let us get dressed, and we’ll be right out.”

He shut the door and turned on the light. I closed my eyes, not ready to get up yet. I felt the mattress sink down next to me as Ethan came back into bed. “We should go. If it wasn’t important, they wouldn’t have woken us.”

I nodded, seeing the worry in his eyes. I pulled him to me. I ran a finger up and down his chest. He shut his eyes and lay down on his side next to me, tracing the outline of my body from my chest, down to my hip, and then up again. Obviously, he didn’t want to get out of bed anymore than I wanted to.

“I need clothes,” I said quietly.

“Nah.” Ethan started to sit up. “You look much better without them.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think Julia would appreciate it.”

“You’re right. She’d take one look at you and be insanely jealous.”

“I don’t take her to be the jealous type.” I sat up, holding the blanket over my chest, though I guess it didn’t matter. It wasn’t anything Ethan hadn’t seen before. “Now Sam, on the other hand, she would be jealous. Maybe I should go downstairs like this,” I said wryly.

Ethan laughed in agreement but shook his head, still disturbed from finding out Sam’s feelings. “Come on.” He sat up. “Let’s find you some clothes.”

Once dressed, I walked down the hall behind Ethan. I felt like a child playing dress up; Ethan’s clothes were so big on me. As soon as I set foot in the living room, I could sense the seriousness of the situation. A swirling gray cloud of confusion hung in the air. Part of it was speckled with resentment. I looked around and, sure enough, Sam was sitting with her arms crossed sulking in the corner. With a deep breath, I tried to push everyone’s emotions out of my head. Steady rain panged against the glass in the windows. Thunder rumbled above us as the storm raged on.

Along with Sam, Julia, and David, an older man with gray hair and a matching beard sat in the living room. He was holding a tarnished silver flask. His clothes were faded, and his face looked tired and worn. He had many wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. Scars that looked very much like they were from giant claws ran the length of the left side of his face. A dirty brown duffle bag was on the floor next to him. He screwed the lid back on the flask when we walked into the room. His face lit up as soon as he saw Ethan. With a bit of difficulty, he stood.

“Ethan, my boy!” he exclaimed and held out his arms. Ethan stepped over, greeting the old man, who clapped him on the back. “It’s been too long. And who is this beauty?”

He pushed Ethan aside to get a better look at me. I smiled politely, and the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra became suddenly very salient to me. I crossed my arms over my chest.

“This is my girlfriend, Anora,” Ethan said, taking a step back. “Annie, this old man is Isaac. He’s knows more about Pricolici than anyone probably should.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said politely.

“Ahh.” Isaac reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a pair of ancient-looking glasses, which he then put on. “You’re the famous Anora Benson then.”

I looked at Ethan nervously.

“Um, I guess, though I wouldn’t call myself famous,” I said with a shrug.

“You are the only known remaining kin of the Coven. That makes you famous to us.”

Not knowing what to say, I just nodded. Ethan linked our fingers and led me to the couch. We sat next to each other, close enough that my leg brushed against his.

Isaac slowly turned toward the couch. Before he sat down, he looked back at Ethan with a wink. “It’s not safe to shower during storms, you know,” he said and flicked his eyes to me, raising his eyebrows.

Oh crap, they had heard us. My face instantly turned red, and Isaac laughed. David and Julia chuckled, and Sam sulked, glaring at me. I wished I could sink down past the cushions and disappear.

“It was worth the risk,” Ethan said, grinning. If it was possible, my cheeks flushed even more.

“Okay, business first,” David said as he walked to the center of the room.

The heat of my embarrassment wore off, and I shivered again. I tucked my legs up under me and leaned on Ethan, who wrapped his arms around me. Julia tossed a blanket over to me and I gladly draped it over myself.

“Tell me what happened,” David instructed.

Ethan quickly explained about Julia’s vision, his leaving to find me, and the attack.

“How many did you kill?” David looked from me to Ethan.

“Uh…” I began; I didn’t exactly keep count, so I had to think about it. “Four, between the two of us. I think.”

Isaac choked on his whiskey. “And there’s not a scratch on you,” he muttered to himself. I felt self-conscious. “How did you do it?”

“Stabbed and shot them,” I said casually. I guess this life was starting to become mine after all.

“And you think you’re nothing special.” He chuckled and took another drink. Ethan’s arm tightened around me. A teapot whistled from in the kitchen, and Julia went in to tend to it.

“And how many more were out there?” David asked, his eyebrows pushed together in concern.

“Oh, gosh, I have no idea.” I looked at Ethan. “A lot.”

He shook his head. “A dozen maybe? We couldn’t really tell.”

David walked over to the window. Was he expecting to see something? I hoped the protective wards on the house would work on the Pricolici. But on the other hand, attacking a house full of hunters might work in our favor. Julia came back into the living room carrying a tray full of mugs.

“Chamomile tea?” she asked.

I took a cup and said, “Thanks.”

“All right.” David sat down in a chair opposite the couch. “Isaac, tell us what you know.”

“I first came across Pricolici when I was a boy.” He screwed the lid back on the flask and stuck it in his vest pocket. He leaned forward and sighed, preparing for a trip down bad memory lane. “I lived on a farm with my parents and three sisters. We were hard working and poor folk, and our cattle were the only thing we had that brought in money. So when the first cow got attacked—by wolves, we thought, of course—Pa got us a couple of ol’ wolfhounds.”

A faint smile settled on his wrinkled face. “Nice hounds they were. They followed me around everywhere. We thought the wolves gave up and moved on to another farm, but we were wrong.” His voice became even gruffer. “A week and a half later, my lil’est sister found the hounds ‘round the shed. She came running and crying saying that someone murdered those dogs. Course we didn’t believe her, but you should have seen the bodies. The heads had been torn off, the stomachs ripped open. They had been tortured and killed for no reason. Looking back now, I should have known. Animals don’t kill for sport. They would have eaten some part of them, but they were mocking us…

“Then everything got worse. Me and Pa took turns watching the herd. The girls stopped playing outside. Another house a few miles down the road lost three cows in one night. And then another farm a few miles past that. The whole town was in a panic. They called a meeting and all the men decided to raid the woods and find what they had decided had to be a bear. I remember begging to go and Pa telling me no and to stay home and guard the family. Ten men, armed with rifles, shot guns, knives, bows and arrows went into the woods that night…and never came back.”

He looked away. The memory, no matter how long ago it took place, was still painful. He took out his flask and drained it. “Two weeks later, lil’ Gracie Anne went skipping by the barn to pick some wildflowers to cheer up our mama. I was watching her. I remember it as clear as day: the sun was shining; the breeze blew through the tall grass, and then she was gone. She screamed and sent me running to her. The biggest, ugliest dog was standing over her mutilated body. I swear the thing laughed before it picked her up and ran off. I went after it, but it was fast. I went running back into town, but nobody believed me.

“I spent the next five years obsessing and searching for the creature that took my sister. I knew it killed those cows, and I knew it killed my father. I swore I wouldn’t stop until the creature was dead.” He nodded towards David. “That’s when I met Ethan and the Order.”

I looked at Ethan, confused. “I’m named after my grandfather,” he whispered.

“Oh.” I nodded in understanding.

Isaac set the empty flask down on the coffee table. “He taught me everything he knew about demons. Through him, I met others in the Order. Finally I met someone who knew what the monsters were. So we started hunting. We tracked, studied, and killed for the next ten years.”

David stood again, striding over to look out the window. “Ethan, you need to stay with Anora until this is taken care of.”

“Not a problem.” Ethan squeezed my thigh. “How do we track them?” he asked Isaac.

“Wound it and wait.” The old man closed his eyes again. “That’s what we always did. It either goes back to its master, or the master comes to it. But don’t do that until you are prepared for the fight of your life.”

The Pricolici were terrifying enough. The thought of their master made my heart race. I didn’t want to meet ever him.

“So,” Isaac leaned towards me. “Do you think these things want to kill you or catch you?”

“Probably kill.”

“Huh.” He scratched his head. “I would guess the latter.” My face might have twitched in doubt because he then said, “David told me about the attack of your friend and how they sniffed her then stopped the attack.” He looked at me and I nodded. “That means they were sent to find you and bring you back to someone—or something.”

“Oh,” was all I managed to say. I took a sip of the tea. It was too hot and burned my tongue. I shifted on the couch. “So what do we do?”

“For now, we will keep you safe. I’ll have Ethan and David track one of those sons of bitches.” He looked behind me at Ethan. “Tomorrow night, so your lover boy can get some rest.” Again, I moved my head up and down. “The last time you killed one, it backed off for a while, right?” Isaac questioned.

“Yeah, this is the first time I’ve dealt with them since around Halloween,” I recalled.

“Huh. That’s their way, usually. Once a plan fails, they regroup for a good while until their master comes up with a new plan. Maybe we won’t be tracking them for a while.” Isaac’s joints cracked as he slowly pushed himself off the couch. “What do you have to eat in this place? I’m starving.”

Julie, David, and Isaac moved into the kitchen. Sam didn’t budge and stared intently into the crackling fire. I leaned against Ethan and listened to his heartbeat. My eyes were heavy. I was so incredibly tired.

“Do you want to stay here or go back to your house?” Ethan asked. “Either way, I’m staying with you.”

“We can stay. I bewitched my parents, so it doesn’t matter what I do,” I said, not wanting to go back out into the chilling wind and rain.

“Go upstairs and lay down,” he said. “I’m gonna talk to Isaac and get some more info. I’ll be up in a bit.”

I took in a deep breath and nodded before I pushed myself off the couch and went up the stairs and in to the bathroom to try to towel dry my hair. Sleeping on wet hair has always annoyed me for some reason. Julia quietly ascended the stairs.

“Hey, Anora,” she said as she walked behind me into the bathroom. “Do you need anything?”

“A toothbrush would be great, if you have an extra,” I said with a smile.

“Yeah, there should be one,” she rummaged through the linen closet. “Ah, right here.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” She smiled and turned to go. “Hey,” she said suddenly, and turned back around. “Ethan was really worried when I told him you went off after the Pricolici.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling immediate guilt for making him upset.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” she said quickly, “I meant it in a he-really-cares-about-you way. I’ve never seen him like that. It was cute, I guess you could say, since now you’re here and safe and all.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“I don’t think I can ever think of a time when I could say I’ve seen Ethan look scared, but he was so worried something bad was going to happen to you. But between you and me,” she lowered her voice, “I think he likes that you are brave enough to do something like that.” She smiled again.

“I didn’t feel very brave once I got out there,” I confessed, remembering how I wanted to desperately go home as soon as I stepped foot outside the car.

“Bravery isn’t about being fearless; it’s about doing what is necessary despite how frightened you are. Don’t doubt yourself,” she said seriously and walked out of the bathroom. “You’ll need clothes for tomorrow, too. Come into my room when you’re done, and I’ll find something for you.”

“Thanks,” I said and turned to the sink to brush my teeth.

Julia’s room was neat and tidy and was the only room in the house that was decorated. Sheer white curtains hung on the window, the light purple bedspread had matching pillows and coordinated with her light purple arm chair, and a picture of a sunset over the ocean hung over her bed.

“My mom painted it,” she said softly when she saw me looking at it.

“It’s beautiful,” I admired.

“Thanks.” She handed me a folded pair of jeans and a light pink t-shirt. “I think Sam is more your size, but I don’t feel like dealing with her brattiness.” She smiled.

A Ziploc bag full of white powder on her nightstand caught my attention. Julia was either a huge coke addict or—

“What is that?” I asked, pointing to the bag.

“Vesta Powder.”

“What does it do?” I carefully picked up the bag.

“Clears the air of negative energy and dispels evil spirits.”

“I think I have some.” I thought of the velvet bag I had hidden in my closet months ago. “I never knew what it was.” I put the bag back down.

She walked over next to me and picked the bag up. “Watch, it’s awesome.” I followed her to the bathroom. She put a small handful of the Vesta Powder in the sink, lit a match, and threw it in. There was a loud bang, and the powder erupted in smoke.

“That is cool,” I said, fanning smoke out of my face.

“As the smoke dispels, so does the negativity,” Julia explained.

“Would it work against the Pricolici?”

“No.” Julia shook her head. “It might stun them for a few seconds at best. This is really for spirits or other non-corporeal beings.”

“Interesting,” I said, an idea already forming in my head. “Hey, thanks again for everything, Julia. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” she said with a smile. We went back into her room; I grabbed the clothes, quickly got ready for bed, and was back under the covers in a matter of minutes.

I was still awake when Ethan came back into the room. He silently stripped down to his boxers and climbed under the covers next to me. I snuggled into his arms and closed my eyes. Things epically sucked right now, but with Ethan, I knew it would be okay.

It had to be.

31

“Spill,” Laney instructed as soon as we sat down in photography class that next morning. She knew something big had happened right away when I showed up late for school wearing someone else’s shoes and clothes. We put several photos in front of us to make it look like we were working on something.

“I decided to go after the Pricolici on my own,” I confessed. “Then Ethan found me, and we killed four.” It was a simple summary, but it worked.

“You are crazy, Annie. I don’t even like to be home alone at night. I could never do that.”

“It probably wasn’t the smartest, but whatever. We made it out alive. Freezing cold and covered in demon blood, but alive.”

I looked up and saw Brent Miller staring at us with his mouth hanging open. “And that is the plot for the movie I’m making,” I said, trying to conceal what we were really discussing.

Laney was confused for a second until she got the hint. “Oh, yeah, that will make a really cool movie, which is all fake, of course,” she said a little too loudly.

Brent shook his head and went back to his own photo project. Much quieter, I told Laney about Isaac and how he wants to track the Pricolici as soon as possible.

“So what do you do until then?” she asked.

“I don’t really know. Ethan’s going to stay with me as much as possible in case they decide to attack again. I want this over with, but…” I looked at Laney. “I’m scared.”

Laney reached over and patted my hand. “I am too, and I’m not even their target.”

There were only a few minutes left, so we packed up our stuff and waited by the door. Jewelry class went by slowly. I was feeling the effects of my not very restful night’s sleep again. Thank goodness tomorrow was Friday. I have to go to bed early tonight. Econ was even worse, and I kept nodding off while taking notes.

I really didn’t want to sit by Marie or Jill at lunch today. In fact, I started to dread lunch so much that the last ten minutes of econ went by faster than expected. My luck—or magic—struck again, and two empty seats were available at Harrison’s table. He said he wanted to talk to me anyway and didn’t mind if Laney and I joined him, at least for today.

“Sneak out last night?” he asked as I sat down across from him. Luke smiled brightly at me, and I weakly returned the smile.

“No, Mom and Dad knew where I was going. I cast a spell on them to make them agree to let me go.”

“And you say I’m the evil twin.”

“You are the evil twin. I had to lie, anyway. It’s not like I can tell Mom and Dad the truth about demons.”

“Keep your voice down!” Harrison glanced around; he didn’t want his buddies to hear his weird sister talking about—God forbid—demons.

“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes.

“So?”

“So what?”

“So what happened last night? With the…you know.”

“Pricolici,” I said, my voice at a normal volume. Harrison shushed me again.

“Oh, like they know what I’m talking about.” I shook my head and sighed.

“You okay?” he asked, blue eyes darkening with concern.

“I’m really tired.”

“I wasn’t gonna say it, but you look like it,” Harrison told me. “You look sick, actually.”

“I do?” I asked, probably sounding a little too happy about that fact.

“Yeah.” Harrison nodded.

Maybe enough to go home sick. It was worth a shot.

* * *

Like Harrison said, I looked sick. So sick that I didn’t have to ham it up much for the nurse. After only fifteen minutes, she called my dad to come get me. Only my dad was in the middle of teaching a class. Reluctantly, the nurse agreed to let me drive myself home.

I called Ethan and told him that I wanted to go home, shower, and get dressed in my own clothes. And maybe nap if I had the chance. He said he’d meet me at my house in an hour. Thinking he’d probably get there sooner and arrive while I was in the shower, I left the garage door unlocked for him. I was almost done rinsing the conditioner out of my hair when I heard Hunter barking.

Oh crap.

Hunter didn’t bark at Ethan anymore. I gave my hair a final rinse and shut off the water, putting on my bathrobe without drying off. Water dripped from my hair as I padded my way downstairs, wet feet slipping on the hardwood floor.

“Hunter?” I called quietly. He had stopped barking and was sitting at the glass doors in the breakfast nook, looking out into the back yard. My heart skipped a beat, and I drew my gaze over the yard. I didn’t see anything.

“What’s out there?” I asked him, hoping it was a raccoon. Hunter let out a low growl and stood, pressing his nose against the glass. I stood there, shivering, for a few minutes. I shook my head, still not seeing anything out of the ordinary. “Keep watch,” I told him and hurried upstairs to get dressed. If demons attacked, I wanted to be fully clothed.

I threw on clothes, then turned on the hairdryer and started to dry my hair, the loud noise masking Hunter’s barking. When I clicked it off and flipped my hair over my back, my blood ran cold. Hunter was barking, growling, snarling, and jumping at the door. I could hear his nails scraping on the cold glass. Ethan! I dropped the hairdryer and sprinted down the stairs.

I slid to a stop in the kitchen, eyes widening in terror. Standing on the deck looking into the house was the biggest Pricolici I’d ever seen. It looked like a Bull Mastiff crossed with a Great Dane crossed with the Devil. Its paws ended in razor-sharp claws, and its eyes were black as night with an eerie yellow iris glowing in the middle.

It looked from Hunter to me, showed its fangs, and took off, jumping onto and over the six-foot fence and disappearing into the woods. Hunter barked until he couldn’t see it anymore. I stood rooted in the spot, shaking. Hunter pressed his nose against me, and I dropped down to his level. I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his fur, taking several deep breaths and trying to calm myself.

I looked up in time to see Ethan pulling into the driveway. I ran to the door and frantically waved him in. Seeing my panic, he ran to me.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Pricolici.” Saying the word caused terror to flash through me.

“Where?” Ethan pulled his gun from his side and looked out the window.

“It ran away. It jumped over the fence. Over it, Ethan.”

Ethan took in the magnitude of what I said and turned back to me. “What did it do?”

“Nothing. It just looked at us—me and Hunter I mean—and took off.” I shuddered. “It seemed like it was leering at me, though.”

“How?”

“It showed its fangs before it left.”

“Were you inside?” Ethan put an arm around me.

“Thank God, yes. Hunter was barking at something, so I came to see what was going on.” I took the gun from Ethan’s hands and looked at it. I’d never fired a gun before. “It was huge, like on steroids huge.”

“The alpha,” Ethan speculated.

“And,” I gave him back his gun before I accidentally shot myself, “it had black and yellow eyes.” Ethan looked out the window again. “Does that mean something to you?”

“No.” He holstered his gun away and wrapped both arms around me. “It might to Isaac, though.”

“Hopefully,” I said, pulling away from him. “I’m starting to really hate these things.”

Ethan laughed. “Me, too.” He kissed me before breaking away. “I got what you asked, but you have to tell me, Annie, why the hell do you want fireworks?”

“I’m going to make a bomb,” I said casually as if I said I was going shopping for shoes.

Ethan looked at me sideways. “And you know how to do that?”

“I have an idea.”

“And you’re making a bomb because…?”

“To ward off Pricolici. It’s not an actual bomb bomb. I need something that will make a small enough of an explosion to ignite Vesta Powder.”

“Like a smoke bomb.”

“I like the way you think,” I said, smiling.

“It’s a genius idea,” Ethan said. “And we can make it. Everything is still in the Jeep.” His eyes flitted to the glass doors.

“Is it going to come back?” I asked quietly.

“I don’t know.”

“Is it safe to leave the house? I mean, can it break in?”

“Nah, probably not,” he said but not before I saw the fear and doubt in his brown eyes.

32

After assembling bombs, waiting to see if the Pricolici would come back, and a quick patrol of the woods, Ethan and I went out for an ice cream pick me up. On the way there, I panicked that we might not get home before Harry or my dad, so Ethan called Sam and Julia to stand guard just in case.

They were sitting in a navy blue Chevy Malibu across the street from my house when we arrived home about an hour later. Ethan said his dad must have left work early because that was his car. It surprised me, for some reason, that David drove such a normal car. I guess I expected an undercover, demon-hunting Order leader to drive something sleek, black, and fast. I also imagined there to be secret compartments to hide weapons in. I would be really disappointed if that turned out to not be true.

Julia waved when we drove past, and Sam purposely looked the other direction. Deciding it would be polite, I invited them in for dinner.

“Your house is really pretty,” Julia said once we were inside.

“Thanks.” I shrugged off my coat and tossed it over the back of a chair in the kitchen. I introduced Sam and Julia to my dad before the four of us went up to my room. “Sorry, it’s kind of a mess,” I said as I pushed a pile of laundry off my desk chair. I’d been slacking on the cleaning since other things took precedence. Ethan and I sat down next to each other near the head of my bed, Julia sat at the foot, and Sam took the chair. I told them about the yellow-eyed Pricolici, and my idea for the Vesta bombs. We suffered through an awkward conversation until Dad called us down for dinner.

I was twirling the last piece of spaghetti around my fork when Ethan, Sam, and Julia all got a text message at the same time. They looked at their phones and then at each other; they all had the same this-is-so-not-good look on their faces. I jumped up and said that Hunter needed to go out. Ethan, Sam, and Julia followed me to the deck.

“What’s going on?” I asked as soon as I closed the sliding glass door.

“We’ve been summoned,” Julia said bleakly.

“You’ve been what?” I asked, feeling a little panicky.

“Summoned,” Ethan said and took my hand. “By the higher-ups in the Order. They summon hunters when something big is going down and they need help.”

“But something big is going on.” I looked into Ethan’s eyes. “Here.”

Ethan pulled me closer. “I’m not leaving you, Anora.” His eyes locked with mine. He meant it.

“But you have to,” Sam interjected.

“I don’t have to do anything,” Ethan said, still not looking away from me.

“Like your dad will let you stay.”

Ethan turned to Sam. “He has no control over me.”

“Did you forget you’re a member of the Order?” Sam spat. “You have a responsibility to us.”

“I’m not leaving,” Ethan said with finality.

“You have to,” Sam repeated, just as stubbornly.

“Sam,” Julia put her hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Drop it. Ethan’s staying. Anora needs him.”

“Whatever,” Sam said and stormed off towards her car.

“Anora, I’m sorry for her,” Julia said sincerely.

“It’s okay,” I sighed.

“Well, I guess we should go say bye to your family so it doesn’t look any weirder.” Julia smiled slightly. We headed back in; Julia and Ethan grabbed their coats and said thanks and good night. Ethan needed to go home and talk to his dad, but he promised he’d be back before it got too late. He gave me a quick kiss goodbye and disappeared out the door. I helped Dad clean up the dishes before going up to my room.

Feeling paranoid, I cracked my window and lit the sage smudge stick. I was so tired, but I couldn’t possibly fall asleep not knowing what was going on with Ethan. What if he really couldn’t stay? I didn’t want to think about it, so I busied myself making more Vesta bombs.

An hour later, I was wishing for a Pricolici to show up so I could test my creation. Carefully, I packed them up and put them in the closet. I showered and put on my PJs. I felt like there was something more I should be doing, but I couldn’t think of anything. Not wanting to sit still, I spent the next forty minutes cleaning my room.

Finally, I lay down next to Hunter and turned on Buffy. Not even five minutes, later, Mom burst through the door.

“Are you burning incense again?”

There was no point in lying; my room reeked of sage. “Yes.”

“What did I tell you?”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

Mom leaned against the doorframe. “Then why did you do it?”

“I had to.”

“Why would you have to?” She raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve told you before; there are spirits in the house.”

“Anora, stop being so ridiculous. There are no such things as spirits, and even if there were, there are none in this house! Do you really want to do this again?”

My chest tightened with hurt. I wanted so much to tell Mom everything and to have her comfort me, to tell me I would figure everything out and it would be okay. But that wasn’t going to happen. I had tried before with the ghosts, and she refused to listen. “You never believe me, but it’s true!” I yelled.

Mom looked at the TV. “Anora,” she said calmly. “You watch too many shows like this.” She waved her hand towards the screen. “It puts ideas in your head.”

“Don’t you think that maybe I like shows like this because I can relate?”

Mom shook her head. “You’re under my roof. If you don’t like the rules, then find somewhere else to live.” I knew she didn’t mean it and that it was supposed to be a threat to make me listen. “Maybe I will,” I said calmly. I did have another place to live. A place that was mine where no one could tell me not to burn incense or that ghosts didn’t exist.

“Put the incense out. Goodnight, Anora. I love you.” Mom turned and walked down the hall. The door slammed shut, startling some anger out of me. I took a deep breath to relax; I didn’t want my telekinesis to go totally out of control.

“It would be so much easier if they knew,” I told Hunter, who moved so he could lick my face and nuzzle his head in my lap. “I love you, boy.” I hugged him and lay back down.

Around ten-thirty, Ethan snuck back into my room. I shot up, smiling when I saw his dark shadow.

“How did you get in? I forgot to turn off the alarm.”

Ethan grinned. “Alarms aren’t that hard to disable,” he told me and took off his shoes. “Breaking and entering is Hunter Training 101.”

“That’s comforting,” I mumbled and pulled the blankets back. Ethan locked the door and got into bed after taking his pants and shirt off.

“Are you leaving me?” I asked as he sunk down next to me.

“I’ll never leave you, Anora.”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble for breaking Order rules.”

His lips brushed against mine. “Some people are worth breaking all the rules for.”

33

Finally.

I walked to the parking lot after school on Friday alongside Laney and Josh. This week was finally over, and I could sleep in and do nothing for the next two days. Well, assuming demons didn’t attack. My heart fluttered, and I smiled as soon as I saw Ethan leaning against the black Jeep. He took my bags from me and tossed them in the back seat.

“So you guys are still coming tonight, right?” Josh asked.

I looked at Ethan, prepared to tell them no, but before I could open my mouth, Ethan said, “Yeah, we need to have some fun.” His hand settled on my waist.

“Great!” Josh said. Laney looked as excited. “I thought we could get something to eat first and then go to the game. Maybe even go out after.”

“Sounds fun,” I said, and I meant it. It had been a long time since I’d actually gone out and done anything that didn’t involve the paranormal.

“Want to meet at my house around five-thirty?” Laney asked.

“Yeah, we’ll be there,” I said.

“See you guys then,” he told them and turned to open the door for me. Right as I put my foot in the car, I saw Harrison walking alongside a few guys from the football team. He looked up, and I waved. He jogged over.

“Hey, Ethan,” he said with a nod. “What’s up, Annie?”

“Oh, nothing. I wanted to tell you that we’re going to watch your game tonight.”

He looked almost disappointed. “Oh.”

“Okay,” I said slowly, a little confused. “Maybe we won’t go.”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, laughing. “I guess I was expecting some cool demon news.”

“There’s nothing cool about demons, Har.”

He shrugged.

“Isn’t Jenny a cheerleader for Marcellus?” I asked him.

Harrison’s blue eyes went blank. “Who?”

“Jenny. The cute little blonde you dated a while ago?” I rolled my eyes.

“Oh, yeah,” Harrison said, but he didn’t seem like he remembered. “I think so.”

“Whatever.” I didn’t want to judge my own brother, but serious? He went through that many girls? “Good luck tonight!”

“Thanks.” He still looked confused. He shook his head and rejoined the team. Ethan and I got into the Jeep.

“So, any news from your family?” I asked somewhat apprehensively. I felt guilty for Ethan staying with me—pointless I knew, but it was how I felt.

“Yeah. It’s nothing they can’t handle. A big CEO hired the Order to clear an office of poltergeists,” he said causally.

“People know about the Order?” I was surprised.

“Not too many. It’s usually they know someone who knows someone who knows someone that’s heard of us. We don’t get asked like this that much anymore, so it’s a big deal for some Order members.”

“And a lot of money,” I added.

“Yes,” he indifferently agreed.

“Sorry I made you miss out on that,” I said quietly. Ethan put his hand on my leg.

“Annie,” he said, turning to look at me. “Losing you would kill me. Your life doesn’t even compare to money. I love you.”

I put my hand on top of Ethan’s, linking our fingers. “I love you too.”

* * *

The rain clouds had completely gone away by the time we left the restaurant, leaving a clear sky that was sure to become completely star studded as the night rolled on. We took seats near the top of the bleachers, and I was so glad Laney remembered to bring blankets. I huddled between her and Ethan, trying to keep warm in the cold November air. I scanned the opposing team’s cheerleaders but didn’t see Jenny. I didn’t really care. And it wasn’t like I would go out of my way to say hi to a girl my brother dumped then completely forgot about.

I turned my attention back to the game. I screamed and cheered and actually had a lot of fun. We were all happy to see our own school win. Ethan said Harrison played really well tonight, but to be honest, I didn’t really think I’d be able to tell any different; my knowledge of football was very limited.

Ethan held my hand as the four of us walked back to the Suburban. Since the game had gone into over time, we decided to go back to Laney’s for dessert. Ethan didn’t say much on the way back, and he said even less once we got to Laney’s. He declined any ice cream, and when he sat next to me on the couch and rested his head on my chest, I realized he was burning up.

“You’re hot!” I set my bowl of ice cream down to fully feel his temperature.

“I know,” Ethan said with a cheeky grin.

“No, seriously. You have a fever.”

“Oh.” Ethan looked a little strained. He put his head back down. “I feel like shit. Kind of. Just a little.”

“Let’s get you home.” I caressed his face. I felt bad for him and wondered how long he’d been ignoring feeling ill for my sake.

“No, you’re having fun.” He closed his eyes.

“Ethan, you’re sick.”

“Nah, I’ll be okay.”

“You need to rest,” I said quietly. “In case we get attacked.”

He sighed. “You’re right. But we can stay a while longer. You haven’t had fun in a while.”

I leaned down and kissed him. “No, you need to get into bed.”

“I can take you home,” Josh said to me. “It’s on my way home.”

“As long as you don’t mind,” I said.

“Not at all,” he said with a smile.

“Thanks.” I smiled back and walked Ethan to the door. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

Ethan put his hands on my waist. “You can play nurse for me tomorrow, sexy outfit and all.” He smiled coyly and kissed me. “Be careful without me.”

“Same to you. Call me when you get home, okay?”

“Will do,” he promised.

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

And then he was gone. I felt a little weird without him, lonely and a bit vulnerable. Josh had to work early the next morning and couldn’t stay too late tonight. About an hour later, we left. I thanked Josh again for taking me home and dashed up to the garage door.

Even though I was tired, I couldn’t fall asleep. I was worried about Ethan. He sounded even worse when he called to let me know he was home safe and sound. It was like he all the sudden got really sick, and that wasn’t right. People don’t just sick like that, right?

I got out the leather-bound journal Aunt Estelle had given me, prepared to write an epic entry on the crazy turn my life has taken. I’d only gotten so far as writing today’s date when a thought entered my mind: for years, Aunt Estelle had been sending me “weird” presents. I wondered if I would find them weird anymore.

Careful to be extra quiet and not wake Mom and Dad, I crept down the stairs into the basement. Hunter followed close behind. It didn’t take long for me to sort through the boxes in the storage room before I found the one I was looking for. It was too big and heavy to carry upstairs, so I dragged it down the hall and into the guest bedroom. I sat cross-legged on the floor, going through the random items.

I gasped when I pulled a huge book out of the box. Tattered and worn, this was exactly what I needed. I slowly opened it and ran my hand across the brittle pages. I was holding an encyclopedia of demons. I vaguely remembered the picture on the front page, an evil pig-thing with twisted fangs and beady, black eyes. I shuddered as the memory came back. I was twelve when I got this as a birthday present from Aunt Estelle. I had just opened the book when Mom took it away from me. I was honestly surprised she kept it.

My hands shook as I flipped through the pages, and my heart skipped a beat. Staring up at me from the yellowing paper was the bird-demon.

“Harvesters,” I read out loud to Hunter. A rush of excitement flooded my veins. I finally knew what the hell these things were. “An ancient, evil being summoned to collect, or ‘harvest,’ powers of other magical creatures. Often seen working alongside a more powerful demon, the Harvesters stop at nothing to obtain their goal. The Harvesters have a special ritual to extract one’s powers, which usually results in the victim’s demise. While these creatures posses the strength of a man, battle is not their domain.” I sat still for a minute, letting that sink in. I wanted to call Ethan, and I picked up my phone to do so before deciding that it was late and he was most likely asleep.

Thinking I should get some sleep myself, I shoved the box back in the storage room and took the demon encyclopedia up to my room. I sat at the foot of my bed, not knowing what to do. Who wanted my powers? Suddenly, darkness encased me. I felt the heavy encyclopedia slide off my lap and onto the floor.

My heart pounded in my head. I leaned against a tree, trying to catch my breath. I didn’t know what they wanted from me. I was so terrified. White-hot fear coursed through my body, making me tremble. The barn was close…I’d be safe when I got there. After another few seconds, I sprinted forward. I could see the dark silhouette of the barn and felt relief wash over my heart. I fell to the muddy ground to find the spare key. It had been so long since I’d used it, but it had to be around here somewhere. Frantically, I turned over stones and rooted through fallen leaves.

The metal brushed my fingers before hands with razor-sharp nails grasped my shoulders and threw me back with such force that it knocked the wind out of me. My head cracked against the root of an oak tree. Once my fuzzy vision cleared, the sick face of a Harvester was looking down at me, hissing in delight.

My eyes flew open. I was back in the basement.

“Oh my God,” I breathed shakily. Hunter was pawing at me, not liking my nightmare. “Ryan!” I sat up. “Ryan,” I said again, this time talking aloud to Hunter. “The Harvesters were after him too!” I put my head in my hands. I felt terrible. Had he been trying to warn me the whole time?

I got the Book of Shadows from my closet. I knew what I had to do, even though Ethan warned me not to do it. I flipped through the pages and quickly read the instructions. I’d alter the spell to make it safer. It didn’t take long for me to come up with my own version.

“You have to sit up here and stay,” I told Hunter as I motioned for him to sit on bed. I tossed him some treats, but he ignored them, looking at me with more worry in his eyes than what was possible for a dog.

I poured a circle of salt on the floor and lit four white candles. I mixed lavender and sandalwood together in a small cast-iron cauldron and set it on fire. The smoke wafted around me. I breathed it in and started reciting my spell.

“Spirits of the in-between, I conjure thee to be seen. You’ve whispered to me in the night, now come to me, be in my sight. Appear before is my command, in my sight is where you’ll stand. When I tell you to depart, go at once and leave no part of your world that can do harm. And hurt no one with this charm.”

A big cloud of smoke blew into my eyes. They watered like crazy. When I opened them, I saw that an eerie grayness had been cast over my room. Was I dreaming? No, I probably wouldn’t think that if I were dreaming, right?

I tried to stand, but there was tremendous pressure pushing down on me. It was like moving through deep sand. The candles in front of me were still, the flames frozen in place. I put my hand over it and felt no heat. Everything was silent. I looked at my bed. Hunter sat there, watching me. His eyes flicked to something in front of me. I heart skipped a beat.

“It’s okay.” I turned back and found myself a few inches from Ryan. I opened my mouth but didn’t know what to say. “Hi,” wouldn’t cut it.

“Anora.” His voice was a little stronger than a whisper. It had been him calling me all this time. “I’m so sorry for what I’ve put you through, but I can only appear here or in dreams. I’ve been trying to warn you.”

“I’m sorry too. I should have listened.” Everything was surreal. “Where are we?”

“The astral plane.”

I could only blink in response.

“I can only appear here,” Ryan said again, apologetically. I would have loved to ask him questions about this strange plane and death and dying, but I knew there wasn’t any time.

“The Harvesters,” I said, and he flinched. “What did they want from you?”

“My powers.” He looked deep into my eyes. I felt like he was reading my soul. “I can magnify the powers of crystals.”

“You healed Ethan,” I said with sudden clarity.

“Yes. And that night when—” He started to fade.

“Ryan!” I reached out for him, but my hand slid right through his arm. It felt like I was sticking my hand in an electrified rain cloud.

“I don’t have much time, Anora.” Fear took over his face. “You are in danger, the same danger I was in.”

I already knew I was in danger, so I waited for him to continue.

“Asaroth collects powers. She hunts people like us and sends her Harvesters to collect them. There’s something special about you, Anora. She was very excited when she found you. She even sent out the Pricolici to make she sure got the right one.” He looked at me as if he was expecting me to tell him why I was so special. I shook my head.

“I’m just a witch. I can barely do anything.” I held Ryan’s gaze. “What do I do?”

“Don’t agree to the ritual.”

“I never would.”

“They can’t take your powers unless you say yes. Surrendering your will is the first part of the ritual.” He looked down. “For me, they promised to stop the torture. But here I am, more than ten years later…”

“They won’t let you move on,” I said, remembering the dream where I got sucked back into total despair.

Ryan nodded. “There are others too. She won’t let us go, and we can’t move on. An aspect of ourselves is locked to this plane.”

“The powers.”

“Right.”

“If she has your powers, then how did you heal Ethan?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“We can still tap into them from time to time, but it’s risky. Asaroth has been too distracted with you.”

“Oh,” I said, again at a loss for words.

“The way you’ve killed everything she’s sent after you is impressive, I have to say.” He almost smiled. “You give us hope.”

“Thanks, I guess.” I looked into Ryan’s lifeless eyes. “The dreams were you too, right?”

“Yes. Again, I’m sorry, but it was the only way I could communicate with you.”

Images from my nightmares flashed through my mind. “But some of the dreams took place in my aunt’s house in Indiana.”

“Your memories filled in what I couldn’t. The basement of the old barn took on the form of the basement of her house because that is what you know.”

Everything was clicking into place. Ryan whirled around. “They know I’m gone. They can’t know we spoke.”

I blinked. When I opened my eyes, Hunter was standing over me, licking my face. I had fallen backwards on the salt circle, missing a candle by a mere few inches.

“Holy crap,” I said and hugged Hunter. That changed everything.

34

I woke up around seven the next morning. I was so tired that I sat up enough to check my phone for missed calls or texts. When I saw that there were none, I collapsed back onto my pillow and slept for another four hours.

I got up, showered, and ate breakfast—or lunch, really—with Mom in the breakfast nook. I tried to hide my anxiety but failed. I blamed it on the nearing end of the semester and stress from keeping my grades up enough to pass my classes and graduate early. Mom gave me a hug and said she was proud of me for working so hard the last four years.

She stood and put her dishes in the sink before going to her room to get ready. She and Dad were going to visit friends that afternoon and wouldn’t be back until after dark. She left money for me to order pizza and have my friends over.

I kept my phone next to me, waiting for Ethan to call. I knew he liked to sleep in, but it was nearing noon, and I still hadn’t heard from him. A bad feeling was forming in the pit of my stomach. I needed to do something to keep me from worrying myself to death. I carefully extracted two Vesta bombs from my closet and padded down the hall to Harrison’s room.

He was still in bed but was awake and watching TV. “Hey, Har.”

“Hey,” he called lazily. I sat at the edge of his bed. “What’s up?”

“I know what those bird-demons are.” That perked his interest.

He sat up. “What are they?”

“Harvesters. They collect powers for other demons.”

Harrison’s eyebrows wrinkled in concern. “They want yours.”

I nodded. “Listen, I’m gonna go to the barn, but,” I handed him a bomb, “just in case something happens, light this and throw it.”

“What the hell?” Harrison’s blue eyes widened. “This looks like a grenade!”

“It is.” My seriousness scared him. “But I don’t think they’re going to come after you. You have nothing they want.”

“Where’s Ethan?” Harrison looked out his door as if he expected Ethan to materialize in the hall.

“Home. He’s sick.”

“So you’re going to the barn alone?”

“Yeah, but I’m sure other people will be there.”

“You said these things are after you and only you. Shouldn’t you stay here?”

“And, what, hide from everything bad the rest of my life? No way.”

“Fine,” Harrison said, knowing it was pointless to argue with me. “Be careful.”

“I will be.” I got up to leave but paused in the doorway. Hunter wagged his tail when he saw me. “I’m going to leave you here to watch Harry, okay boy?” I told him. He stood and pawed at me, as if he was trying to tell me no. “I won’t be gone long, and I’ll bring weapons,” I said to convince him. He sat down and let out a long whine. I kissed his furry head. “It’ll be okay. I’ll be back before you know it.”

I called Ethan on the way to the barn, but I got his voicemail. He must have really been feeling sick if he was still sleeping. Not wanting to disturb his rest, I decided to ride both horses and exercise Henry to keep myself busy. Laney showed up as I was putting Henry back out in the pasture.

“Hey,” she said upon seeing me. “How’s Ethan feeling?”

“I don’t know,” I said as I took Henry’s halter off. “He’s still asleep.”

“Poor boy, he needs nurse Anora to take care of him,” Laney teased. She got Abra and walked back to the barn. I impatiently waited for her to take care of her horse before I told her about the Harvesters and Ryan.

“Oh my God,” she said after I filled her in. We were sitting in the heated office; it had gotten even colder today. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m waiting for Ethan to get up and call me. I should call him again,” I muttered to myself and got my phone. The call went to his voicemail again. Something was wrong. I knew it. I looked at Laney.

“Go,” she said. “Call me and let me know if he’s okay.”

I nodded and ran out of the barn, diving into my Prius. The ten-minute drive from the barn to Ethan’s house took forever. His car was in the driveway. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

I called him again, but this time his phone didn’t even ring. It was turned off or dead or…I couldn’t think like that. I ran up to the door, and of course it was locked. I ran around to the front; also locked. I began to shake. What if a Pricolici was waiting for him to come home? He didn’t feel well and wasn’t on guard.

Why did I let him go home alone? I rang the doorbell and pounded on the door. Not one sound came from inside the house. My heart raced, and I was on the verge of hyperventilating.

“Get a grip,” I said to myself. I put my hands on the locks and closed my eyes, imagining I was on the inside of the house looking out. In my mind, I extended my hand and shot back the deadbolt, then unlocked the little lever on the knob. I heard the clicks in real life and pushed the door open.

“Ethan?” I called, not expecting an answer. I called his phone again, and I listened intently for it to ring. The house was so quiet. I ran up to his room. The door was open and the bed wasn’t exactly made, but the blankets were thrown over it in a way that was obvious that Ethan didn’t sleep here last night. I felt like crying. I took a deep breath and told myself that crying wouldn’t help solve anything right now.

Trembling with fear, I had to grasp the railing on my way down the stairs to keep from falling. I got back in car and held back tears the entire way home.

I burst through the garage door. “Harry!” I bellowed, desperate to talk to someone. He didn’t answer…and Hunter didn’t run to greet me.

Oh crap, this wasn’t good.

I ran up stairs; Harrison wasn’t in his room, and Hunter was nowhere in sight. Not knowing what else to do, I wandered back into the kitchen. I hoped Harrison and Hunter were around the neighborhood somewhere. I took my phone out of my breeches pocket and punched in Harry’s number. Set to vibrate, I jumped when I heard his phone buzzing on the cold granite countertop behind me. He could still be outside somewhere. I prayed I’d find him in the backyard.

“Harry?” I called, stepping onto the deck. My voice cracked with nerves. Something was on the ground near the shed. I hurried over. “No!” I picked up the remains of a Vesta Bomb. It fell from my hands, which had suddenly quit working.

Eyes wide in fear, I went back into the house. I sat down on a bar stool and put my head on the counter, trying to think of what to do.

“Okay,” I said out loud and stood.

Panicking wasn’t going to get them back. I needed to think clearly. It was most likely demons that took Ethan, Harrison, and even Hunter. Ryan warned me that Asaroth thought I was something extra special. I’d seen enough crime shows on TV to know that my friends were probably being held as leverage. Saving them would mean walking right into a trap.

But did I have a choice? Courage slowly seeped over my heart. I ran to my room and buckled the weapon belt around my waist. I shoved three Vesta bombs and a lighter in a black velvet bag and tied it to the left side of the belt. The dagger of course went on my right side, ready for me to grab. I rigged up a holder using a cell phone clip that hooked onto my boots to carry the throwing stars. I looked around my room to see if I should bring anything else.

My eyes settled on Romeo’s cage, and I thanked God he was still sleeping, safe and sound. I turned my cell to silent and put it back in my pocket. I quickly used the bathroom and paused at the mirror. I looked into my eyes trying to see this powerful witch that I was supposed to be.

My vivid, green eyes looked back at me full of fear. Now wasn’t the time to doubt myself. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and exhaled, trying to shed my fear. My heart raced, and my palms sweat. I took another breath and felt a little better.

I knew I needed to drop the mental shields I naturally held up. Using my extra sense would help me find my friends. It was way easier said than done. I worked on relaxing my mind as I walked out to the truck. I got in the cab and closed my eyes. Ryan, I called mentally. Where are they? The image of the old barn flashed with such clarity that it caused me to jump. Of course, it would be the old barn that housed the demons that almost killed me. Yes, it was most definitely a trap.

But if that’s where they were, then that’s where I was going.

35

I was engulfed deep in the woods. White moonlight filtered through the cold, bare trees. Weak wind rattled the trees’ branches enough to make it sound like something was lurking nearby. I had been wandering the woods for what felt like hours. Dejection was sitting heavily on my heart; what if I couldn’t find the old barn before it was too late?

I stumbled my way down a ravine and splashed through a shallow creek. Mist rose from the water’s surface. I slipped on the slick muddy bank and threw my arms out to regain my balance. As soon as I had my footing, a snowy white Pricolici materialized from the fog. Moonlight glinted off its yellowing fangs. Realizing that I was stuck between the steep hillside and the creek, my chances of fighting were limited.

Telekinetically, I threw the Pricolici backwards into a tree as hard as I could and sprinted up the ravine. I reached the top and turned around right as the Pricolici lunged for me.

With both hands, I extended the dagger. The force of the jump knocked me backwards, but the dagger still cut deep into its chest. I scrambled to get out from under the burning corpse.

My sense of direction had been thrown off. If I closed my eyes, Ryan might be able to show me where to go. But if I closed my eyes, I’d be an easy target for another demon dog. I thought of Ethan and my brother and Hunter. My eyelids fell shut, and I took off in the direction that felt correct in my heart.

I leaned against a tree to catch my breath, peering through the dark woods. My breath clouded around me, swirling into the cold air. Goosebumps rose over my arms, and my cheeks were flush from fear. I couldn’t get my teeth to stop chattering.

My heart was pounding. I’d never been so terrified of anything in my life. Every noise made me jump. I could feel eyes on me. I knew there were more Pricolici lurking. Could they see in the dark? I was at a disadvantage, only able to see a few feet ahead of me.

I pushed off the tree and struggled up a hill. A thin layer of ice covered the leaves on the forest floor, and I slipped more than once, almost dropping the dagger each time. Finally, I reached the top and looked around. Something felt familiar. I crept past another tree. The moonlight was brighter ahead of me. I took in a deep breath.

The white barn loomed ahead of me.

Adrenaline coursed my veins as I raced across the field. I slowed ten feet from the old barn and tiptoed my way through the fallen leaves. My sense of logic screamed at me to get the hell out of this place. Pushing through it, I went around the back of the barn to the root cellar. The heavy doors were open, and the staircase disappeared into the dark abyss of the basement. I extracted the little flashlight from my coat pocket and slowly made my way down the stairs, holding the dagger up.

The basement was empty. No one was being tortured; no demons were preparing to perform a ritual. There was no one here.

36

No, this couldn’t be. This was it. I saw it. Ryan confirmed it. This was it. My friends were here, and I came to save them!

I blinked back tears and whirled around to leave. I would have to call Julia or David and pray they could make it home in time. I couldn’t do this on my own.

Then the beam of light from the flashlight dipped. I froze, staring at a dark hole in the ground. I slowly moved toward it and shined the light down. The hole dropped five or six feet into the dirt and gave way to a roughly dug-out tunnel.

I put the dagger in the sheath and jumped down. My ankle gave way when I landed on hard dirt, and the flashlight rolled away. I crawled to it, snatched it up, and was on my feet in seconds.

The hole opened to a tall tunnel. My heart hammered painfully against the confines of my chest as I walked down the narrow path. My breath came out in ragged huffs. I put my hand over my mouth, sure my loud breathing would give me away.

Firelight flickered ahead. I turned off and pocketed the flashlight, not wanting to give myself away. I pressed up against the dirt wall and slowly edged forward. The tunnel turned sharply into a large cavern. Stained and tattered sheets hung on the dirt walls, dividing the large room into little sections.

I slipped behind one of the curtains, shaking, terrified of finding my friends strung up with their throats slit, blood draining into dirty buckets. A large, rusty metal cage held back a huge dog. My heart skipped a beat, and I ran to the cage.

“Hunter!” I cried out softly. He wagged his tail fiercely as I stuck my hands through the rusty bars to pet him. I needed to get him out. I pulled on the door, but the cage was locked. If I rattled it too much, someone would hear. I didn’t know the mechanics of the inside of the padlock, but I tried opening it the same way I had unlocked Ethan’s door.

Hunter growled, and I whirled around. Three Harvesters, the yellow-eyed Pricolici, and a pretty blonde girl stood behind me.

“Jenny!” I screamed, shocked to see the cheerleader. The demons got her too! She narrowed her eyes and sneered.

Oh crap.

“Anora Paige Benson,” she cooed. “How nice for you to come see me.”

“Jen…w-wh-what?” I stammered.

She ran a hand over the Pricolici’s head. “Aw, is the little witch confused?” She took a step closer. Hunter snarled, and someone groaned from behind one of the sheets. “I guess I can see why. I am trapped in this, this disgusting vessel.”

“Asaroth.” My voice shook. Rage burned in Jenny’s eyes. She rushed forward and was in front of me in the blink of an eye.

“How dare you say my name, you filthy, little witch!”

She slapped me, extending her fingers and dragging her nails across my face, making three tears across my cheek. She stepped back and licked the blood off her fingers. “Mmmm.” She closed her eyes. “I can taste the power.” Her eyes flew open, and they weren’t the pretty blue they had once been. Cold, black eyes threatened me. “I want that power.”

“I’ll never give it to you.” I slowly moved my hand to my left side, thinking that if I could throw a Vesta bomb, I could create enough chaos to kill at least one demon. “I’d rather die than let you have my power,” I said, feeling stronger.

Jenny threw her head back in laughter. “That’s what they all say.” Her Pricolici came to her side. “You know, Annie, you were rather hard to find. I haven’t had power like yours in over a century. When I heard that there was new blood in the Coven, I knew I had to have it.” She put her arms out and spun around. “And to think, I thought your idiot brother was the key.” She spun faster. “I didn’t think a measly human girl could possess such greatness.”

“That’s sexist,” I spat out, too offended to be scared. She came to a sudden stop. The Harvesters were watching her, waiting for her command. They don’t attack unless she commands them. I swallowed. If I could take her out first, maybe I’d have a chance.

I thrust my hand forward to send her flying. Her shoulder nudged back, but she didn’t falter. She flashed a smile again before licking her lips.

“Such power!” she said again and was suddenly right in my face. The pretty purple stone pendant she had on before dangled off her chest.

Amethyst.

Amethyst had many properties: courage for travelers, stress relief…and blocking witchcraft. Since she had Ryan’s powers, those properties were magnified. My powers weren’t going to work on her.

Jenny cocked her head, looking intently into my eyes. “Give me your powers Anora.”

“No. You’ll have to kill me first.”

She licked the blood that was dripping down my cheek and shivered in delight. “Well, there’s a problem. Your powers die with you.”

“Then I guess you’re not getting them.”

“I knew you’d say that,” she rushed out. “So I brought insurance.” She motioned for the sheet behind Hunter’s cage to be torn down. I almost screamed when I saw what I did.

Bound and gagged, Ethan was slumped over in a chair, bloody, bruised, and barely conscious. “Ethan!” I screamed and made a move to rush toward him. Jenny threw out her arm, stopping me with unnatural strength. I couldn’t break free from her grasp.

“Can you imagine my luck?” she said and pushed me back. “I almost thought I missed you. You slipped through my fingers. I was at your house. I don’t know what kind of spell you cast to cloak yourself, but it had to be a strong one. I looked and looked and looked but couldn’t find my witch. The stupid Order’s always getting involved. And then to find that one of their own is protecting my witch!”

She danced over to Ethan. “I looked all over for you last night. You weren’t home, and you weren’t at your lover’s house. I was deeply upset. So I thought that if I made your pet sick, you’d come out from hiding. But that didn’t happen, did it, Ethan?” She moved in front of him. “But I got a pretty little Order member instead and, boy, we’ve had fun! We played all night, but he wouldn’t tell me where you were.” She turned back to face me. “Now, give me your power.”

“Don’t say yes,” Ethan yelled, his voice muffled by the dirty gag. Jenny slapped him hard across the face.

“That’s not all, my little witch.” She waved her hand again and two more sheets were torn down. Harrison and Laney huddled close together, bound and gagged as well, on the dirt floor. Laney was crying, and Harrison looked terrified.

“So here’s the deal,” Jenny continued, her voice thick with venom. “You can choose one, just one, for me to let live in exchange for your powers.” She ran her hands over Ethan’s chest. “So who’s it going to be? Your boyfriend, your brother, your best friend, or your precious dog?”

Did she say dog? Just dog? Did she not know? “My dog?”

“Humans…” she trailed off, brow furrowing. “Humans value their pets. I’ve seen you with him. You love this stupid thing.”

Oh my God, she didn’t know.

“But Hunter’s just a dog,” I tested.

Her nostrils flared. “Humans love their pets! Want me to get your horses too, girl? Because I will! Equine blood is a magical thing.” She sprang towards me, hands extended. “Choose!”

My mind raced. I was getting everyone out, no matter what. I refused to believe only one would live. But I couldn’t do it on my own. Ethan would have been the best choice in the who-can-survive-fighting-demons way, but he was in no condition to defend himself, let alone me. Harrison and Laney wouldn’t know what to do. Hunter, on the other hand…Jenny’s hands closed around my throat.

“Hunter!” I croaked. She released my neck. Ethan laughed. Laney made a horrible whimper, and Harrison did his best to scream at me though he was gagged. They didn’t know about Guardians. They thought I was choosing my dog over them. Crap…now wasn’t the time for guilt. They’ll find out soon enough.

Hunter raced from the cage to my side. I bent down and wrapped my arms around him, finding instant comfort in the embrace. He put his head on my shoulder and was completely still for a second, and in that moment, we bonded in a way that transcended time. I saw into his mind, and he saw into mine. Our minds worked as one. He was my Guardian, and I was his witch.

With a smile on my face, I stood and stared down Jenny. Taking his place at my side, Hunter’s fur was on end, and his fangs were showing. Jenny’s evil grin faded.

“Be a good Guardian, and kill her,” I said to Hunter. He started forward.

Jenny’s black eyes widened and she threw her arms up. “Guardian? No, it’s not possible!”

She took a fumbled step back and hissed an order. The yellow-eyed Pricolici sprang toward us. Hunter moved with lightning speed, knocking it to the ground. Taking full advantage of the distraction, I lit and threw a Vesta bomb at the Harvesters. They hissed and shrieked, frantically running around.

“Get the witch!” Jenny screamed. I threw another bomb and lunged at Jenny. She caught me around the shoulders, her fingernails digging into my skin, and shoved me into the dirt wall. I fell down, roots and stones scraping at my skin. Before my butt even hit the ground, her foot landed on my stomach.

I instantly felt a horrible sharp pain in my ribs. She raised her foot to do it again. Expecting it, I grabbed her ankle and pulled her down; it didn’t work to my advantage since she landed on top of me and punched me hard in the face.

Blinded by pain, I extended my hand and grabbed at anything I could. I wasn’t going to lie there and take a beating. I was going to fight, and I was going to win. I had to. My fingers closed around a lock of hair, but it slipped from my fingers as she hit me again.

Jenny screamed in anger. The Vesta smoke was beginning to clear, and the Harvesters would soon be able to attack me or start killing my friends.

I pushed myself up, reaching out, and wrapped my fingers around Jenny’s pendant. I yanked it back until the chain snapped and the stone broke off in my hands. My heart skipped a beat and terror took over Jenny’s face as the gemstone fell to the ground. I looked her right in the eyes and sent her flying as far away from me as possible.

I scrambled to my feet, madly grabbing a throwing star to throw at the Harvester that was barreling toward me. I threw the star, hitting the demon in the arm.

The Harvester looked down, annoyed if anything. It was enough time for me to pull the dagger from the sheath and rush forward. I didn’t allow myself to hesitate. I skidded to a stop a foot in front of the Harvester, raised the dagger, and shoved the blade through its sternum and into its heart. The Harvester erupted in bright blue flames. I dodged its smoldering body to run over to Harrison and Laney. Using the dagger, I sliced through the ropes and freed their arms.

“Are you guys okay?” I asked and helped Laney untie the gag.

“Define ‘okay,’” Harrison said. His voice was shaky, but that was enough of a yes for me.

“Get Ethan out of here,” I instructed and gave him one of the throwing stars. “Hurry!”

I sprang back to my feet. Hunter had gotten the Pricolici to the ground and had his jaws clamped around its throat. Blood dripped down the Pricolici’s muzzle. I looked away as Hunter bit down. With a final yelp, the Pricolici’s body went limp. Hunter galloped back to me.

“Good boy,” I panted. I sucked in air and watched Jenny and the remaining demons run out of the cavern.

That was so not good.

Seeing no point in standing and waiting for her, I raced to Ethan’s side. Harrison was working on getting him untied. Tears filled my eyes as I knelt down in front of Ethan. “Ethan.” I choked back more tears. “I’m so sorry.”

Ethan put a heavy hand on my shoulder and let out a huff. “It’s okay, Annie,” he said.

I looked up, ready to tell him no, it was far from okay. I blinked away the tears and nodded. It wasn’t okay, but I could make it right. I could kill Asaroth.

Howling echoed through the tunnel. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Hunter growled, edging toward the opening of the tunnel. Why had she gone up to the barn’s root cellar? It’s not like she would run away.

There could only be one reason. She was summoning the rest of the Pricolici.

37

She was calling the other Pricolici from the forest. They would come running and then…

I sucked in air so quick I almost choked. I had to get her before she got to them. I could head her off and even close the root cellar doors, keeping the Pricolici away from my friends. Hunter and I could take them…and come back here if we didn’t get ripped to shreds.

My eyes met Ethan’s. I didn’t want to leave him down here while he was under some sort of curse.

“Go,” he said, knowing exactly what I was thinking. He bent down and picked up one of the throwing knives. He tossed it in the air and caught the hilt. “Kill the bitch.”

“I will,” I promised.

Without a second look back, I sprinted away with Hunter close behind. He gracefully jumped out of the hole. If I wasn’t so terrified, I would have taken a minute to be amazed. With much more difficulty, I scrambled my way up and out of the tunnel. I leaped across the hole onto the basement stairs. Chilly night air blew down the basement. Patchy moonlight and a few stars promised the chance of survival.

I had two steps left to go when a hand grasped around my ankle. If there had been a railing, I might have gotten away. But there wasn’t, and I had nothing to hold onto. Claws tightened as I yanked my foot up. Suddenly, it pulled me down. I cried out as I thumped down the old wooden stairs.

Hunter stood protectively over me. My body throbbed in horrible pain. I did a quick check: I could still move my legs and my arms. No serious damage had been done. Wincing with every small movement, I tried to sit up. Hunter nudged me, helping push me upright.

My hand flew to the dagger as I stared into the dark. I couldn’t descry what lurked behind the wooden stairs, but the rattling hiss told me that a Harvester was only a few feet away.

Hunter, no doubt able to see perfectly in the dark, sprang forward. His growls echoed off the crumbling brick walls. I took a deep breath. My ribs hurt — badly— and my right wrist pulsed with pain.

But none of that mattered. I couldn’t see anything around me. Soon I would be in even more pain…and so would my friends. I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t let that happen.

My heart pounded in my throat. I needed a plan. Something—anything—to help me see in the dark. I held my hands out and took a small step away from the stairs.

Suddenly, my vision changed, and I was looking through Hunter’s eyes. The world was shades of green and gray, and I could see everything. I wrapped my fingers around the dagger, pulling it free, and rushed forward. Hunter dragged the Harvester across the root cellar, right next to a broken wooden shelf. I pulled all the energy I could from the air and directed it to the old shelf.

Now!

Hunter let go of the Harvester, and I shoved the dagger into its chest. It threw its hands up to push me away, but it was too late. I twisted the dagger, feeling the heat from the blade. I yanked the dagger out and kicked the Harvester back. It stumbled and crashed into the shelf. Already hot with energy, it ignited when the Harvester burst into flames, lighting up the basement.

Panting, I whirled around the room. Waiting in the shadows were five Pricolici, Jenny, and the last remaining Harvester. Seven on two; the odds weren’t in my favor. I tightened my fingers around the dagger. Yes, the odds were against us, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try. I locked eyes with Jenny.

Bring it, bitch.

They lurked forward, slowly circling us. Jenny crossed her arms and stepped back to watch me get my ass kicked. I pushed aside my fear. Hunter growled and showed his fangs, ready to defend me even if it meant his end. My heart beat a million miles an hour as I tried to see a way out of this.

Should I throw the Pricolici back and go for Jenny? I doubted she would expect that. How long could I keep a telekinetic hold on them? It didn’t matter; they would defend Jenny like Hunter would defend me.

Time stood still. The demons paused in front of us, sizing us up. And then, all hell broke loose. They rushed forward, fangs and claws slashing the air. I jumped out of the way, dodging the jaws of a Pricolici by inches. Hunter leapt through the air, colliding with it and knocking it to the ground.

I scrambled up, turning around to be face to face with the Harvester. I put my hand up, creating a telekinetic shield. The Harvester clawed against it, desperate to get to me and steal my powers.

Another Pricolici sprang at me, saliva foaming at its mouth. I dropped the telekinetic shield and dove to the side and out of the way of the demonic dog’s attack. I slashed the dagger though the air and missed.

The Harvester stepped back, its sunken black eyes triumphant. It held out its taloned hand and hissed. The Pricolici circled it, mocking me.

There was no way that I could fight them all. Not even with Hunter’s help. I was going to die, and it was going to be a painful death. With me gone, Asaroth had no reason to spare the lives of any of my friends.

The root cellar doors slammed shut. The steel gray Pricolici that had been advancing toward me stopped, turning around to see who had shut them. I seized the moment to sink the dagger into his back. He crumbled into ash and dust, but two more were quickly in his place. I took a step back and tripped over my own feet.

Slowly, the Pricolici inched closer, growling and snarling, teasing me. I pushed myself up, wincing at the pain it caused my wrist, so intense it was hard to grasp the dagger. There was no way I was making it out of this.

“Hey!” a familiar male voice shouted. The energy shifted and every creature in the room turned to look. My eyes widened, and I couldn’t help but smile when I saw the pale figure of Ryan standing at the bottom of the stairs. Behind him stood a very young girl, wearing a bright yellow dress, and next to her stood a middle-aged man that looked like he was from another time. They were ghosts, trapped to this earth and this madness by Asaroth’s possession of their powers.

Flickering in movement, Ryan appeared before Jenny. His hands sparked with electricity. Jenny’s face blanked in disbelief as Ryan clamped both hands over her ears, jolting the electricity and causing her to shriek in pain. The other two spirits, also sparking with blue energy, took on the Pricolici that were in front of me.

With the feeling of despair melting away, I jumped up and went for the Harvester. The dagger slid easily into his back, and soon, he was nothing but a pile of smoldering ash.

A dog yelped in pain. The big, black Pricolici had Hunter by the scruff. Going now on pure adrenaline, I darted to his side and stabbed the black dog. The last two Pricolici were fighting against the ghosts. Hunter looked into my eyes, and I nodded. He bounded ahead of me, taking one of the demon dogs around the neck and knocking him to the ground. I killed the other one, leaving only Jenny alone in the basement with us.

Even for a ghost, Ryan looked ragged. Jenny screamed, and her body began to vibrate. The air buzzed with dark, swirling energy. The spirits disappeared.

“Ryan?” I called out, but no one answered.

Then Jenny exploded. The petit cheerleader transformed into a hideous monster, rising out of her human skin into a seven foot tall demon with horns and claws. Drawing from a strength I didn’t know I had, I thrust my left hand forward. Asaroth stumbled back, barely fazed by my powers in her true form.

Ryan reappeared next to me, looking very corporeal. I had a sudden idea. My hand flew up to the agate necklace I was wearing. I ripped the cord off from around my neck and tossed it to him. He looked at the stone and smiled.

“Go back to hell!” he said as he slammed the pendant into Asaroth’s chest. She screamed, echoing a hundred gruff voices at once. I gathered all the energy I could, wrapped both hands around the hilt of the dagger, and shoved it deep into her chest. Not letting go, I leaned forward, pushing the blade even farther into the demon. The hilt felt hot, and the blade glowed a fiery red. Finally, her head flopped unnaturally back. I pulled the dagger out and stepped back, panting and exhausted.

Asaroth let out a final harrowing yell. Fire swirled around her, engulfing her in billowing flames. The dagger slipped from my hand, splattering demon blood on my boots. A mound of smoldering ash was all that was left of Asaroth. I collapsed onto the cold ground, panting.

“It’s over,” I whispered.

Feeling a presence, I looked up. Ryan extended a hand. I took it apprehensively, not knowing if he could actually help. His cold, stiff skin clasped my sweaty hand and pulled me to my feet.

“Thank you, Anora.” He smiled. The little girl and the man appeared behind him again. “We can finally be free.”

“You saved me,” the little girl whispered.

Emotions flooded my heart, and tears stung at my eyes.

“I’ve been waiting for a hundred years,” the man spoke. “No one’s been strong enough to stand up to her.” He came a bit closer. “Now I can be with my wife.” He looked up and let out a deep breath of relief. Slowly, he faded away.

The little girl smiled shyly and faded from sight. Though I couldn’t see them, I could feel the presence of more spirits, grateful to be finally moving on.

Ryan put a hand on my shoulder. “Asaroth was right about one thing; you are a powerful witch.”

“I don’t feel like it,” I blurted, still fighting back my emotions. I barely made it out of this alive.

He placed his other hand on me, stepped closer, and looked square into my eyes. “You saved four lives tonight and set many free. You stopped a demon from continuing a rein of torture and terror. Anora, you are strong.”

“You’re just saying that to be nice,” I said with a half smile, feeling embarrassed by his pride in me.

He shook his head. “We all believe in you.” His touch grew warm. “I’ll see you on the other side someday,” he said with a smile.

“Hopefully, not anytime soon.”

Slowly, his body became more and more transparent until I was looking at the blank wall. For a second, I missed him before I remembered that I should be happy he could finally move on. Breathing hard, I bent over to pick up the dagger. I wiped the sticky blood on my pants and stuck it in the sheath. Hunter padded over and nuzzled my hand.

“You were amazing,” I praised and knelt down to hug him. The fire crackled behind us. I looked around the basement once more before jumping back down the hole to get my friends.

38

Ethan spent two days in the hospital. He needed stitches, had two broken ribs, and had lost a lot of blood. I was battered and bruised, but nothing was more serious than a mildly sprained right wrist. I modified the Agreeance Spell to make the doctors, nurses, and my parents not ask too many questions.

He was home now and on the mend. Harrison avoided me for two days after his kidnapping. He was mad I hadn’t told him about Hunter and even angrier that he had to feel such fear. And he was having a hard time dealing with the fact that he had dated a demon.

I couldn’t say I blamed him.

It was awkward for a mere ten seconds around Laney. She promised she wasn’t mad and was more concerned about Ethan and me. She told me that she knew I would save them all the whole time. Whether she was lying or not, I’d never know. And honestly, I didn’t want to know. I wanted to move on and forget that I inadvertently put the three people I cared about more than anyone in grave danger.

I helped Ethan settle into his bed as soon as he came home from the hospital. The pain medicine he was prescribed knocked him out, so I stayed close to his side, doing anything I could think of to make him more comfortable.

Sam came into his room almost every hour, saying that she was checking on him, but really, all she did was scowl at me and wake Ethan up. I couldn’t blame her for being mad at me either; this was entirely my fault.

Now, I knew that I wasn’t the one who bewitched and beat Ethan, but the demon that did only did so because of me. And Harrison and Laney and Leslie had all felt the effects of my new destiny. Even Hunter, though assigned to me through a destiny of his own, had to be taken to the vet for a few stitches. The people I held most near and dear had been hurt. I didn’t want to risk it anymore. And I shouldn’t. What good was it to be a demon-hunting witch who is supposed to save people when I couldn’t even protect my friends?

* * *

“How does it feel to be a high school graduate?” Mom asked me.

I forced a smile and looked up from my plate of cheese ravioli. “Amazing.” The lie swarmed inside of me. “I feel free,” I blurted.

Just a few weeks had passed since Asaroth’s attack. I flicked my eyes to Ethan, who was still healing. Most of the bruises were gone, but the broken ribs weren’t quite mended yet.

“Lucky,” Harrison mumbled.

“You could have graduated early too,” Dad said, raising an eyebrow. “If you put in the extra work.”

Harrison wrinkled his nose and shrugged. “Nah, the extra semester isn’t a big deal.”

I pushed my food around on my plate, trying to look like I was hungry. I had officially finished my last day and we’d gone out to my favorite Italian restaurant to celebrate, but I wasn’t in a party mood. I’ve been waiting for this day since the demon attack, and now that it was here, dread filled me. I could hardly look at Ethan without crying, and he knew something was going on. I couldn’t tell him; he’d talk me out of it or lock me in his room so I couldn’t carry out my plan.

It had to be done. Yeah, Asaroth was gone. The Harvesters were gone. There were no demonic threats—for now. Living here, being a breathing magical target…it wasn’t right. I understood why Aunt Estelle had a house out in the middle of nowhere and lived alone now.

And that is exactly what I had to do.

39

I cried the first hundred miles. I didn’t even listen to music. Stopping every four hours to check on the horses made the already long trip even longer, and I debated the whole time if I was doing the right thing.

On one hand, I thought leaving was right. Being a witch meant being targeted by demons, and I didn’t want to subject my family and friends to that. On the other hand, I thought I was acting like a martyr and making this more dramatic than it really was. But this was a big deal. People’s lives were at stake, and I happened to care very much about those particular lives. Being a witch changed everything. I couldn’t live my old life anymore.

I stopped for the last time to let Hunter run around and even took Romeo out of his carrying case to make sure he was okay. It was tempting to turn my cellphone back on and see if I had messages from my family and friends. I was sure I did, but part of me feared Harrison and Laney might be glad to not have to deal with me anymore. I left my family and friends notes, telling the truth to everyone but my parents.

Resisting the urge, I sighed and got back into the truck. I had packed everything I could and loaded it into the bed. My horse stuff filled the tack room of the trailer.

Sixteen hours after leaving New York, the truck bumped its way down the driveway of my Indiana home. Frost covered the bare trees and sparkled in the glow of the headlights as if someone had tossed glitter over the landscape. An odd sense of belonging swelled in my heart when the Victorian came into view. I pulled as close to the barn as was possible. Hunter took off as soon as I let him out. I expected him to search the area and then come right back. By the time I retrieved the horses’ lead ropes from inside the trailer tack room, he hadn’t.

“Hunter?” I called, but my Guardian didn’t come running. For some reason, I didn’t feel nervous. I set the lead ropes down and walked toward the house. I heard the jingling of Hunter’s tags on his collar and followed the sound to the front porch. Hunter was busy excitedly greeting someone. His tail wagged like crazy. He ran over to me and then back to him.

Ethan slowly stood. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said with a smile.

Everything felt surreal as I rushed over to him. He caressed my face and kissed me. It was every bit as intoxicating and wonderful as the first time.

“What are you doing here?” I looked into his deep brown eyes.

“I told you you’d never have to be alone, and you‘re not. I‘m staying with you.” His lips met mine and he pulled me to him, encasing me in his embrace. My heart beat against his, and for a second, everything was right in the world.

“I love you,” I whispered.

“I love you too, Anora.”

* * *

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About the Author

Emily Goodwin is the author of the twice banned dark romance, Stay, as well as over a dozen other titles. Emily writes all types of romance, from love stories set in the zombie apocalypse to contemporary romances taking place on a western horse ranch.

Emily lives in Indiana with her husband, children, and many pets, including a German Shepherd named Vader. When she isn't writing, Emily can be found riding her horses, designing and making costumes, and sitting outside with a good book.

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Legally Undead

The Vampirarchy, Book One

Margo Bond Collins

Legally Undead © 2014 Margo Bond Collins

Originally published by World Weaver Press

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

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About the Book

Legally Undead

A reluctant vampire hunter, stalking New York City as only a scorned bride can.

Elle Dupree has her life all figured out: first a wedding, then her Ph.D., then swank faculty parties where she’ll serve wine and cheese and introduce people to her husband the lawyer.

But those plans disintegrate when she walks in on a vampire draining the blood from her fiancé Greg. Horrified, she screams and runs--not away from the vampire, but toward it, brandishing a wooden letter opener.

As she slams the improvised stake into the vampire’s heart, a team of black-clad men bursts into the apartment. Turning around to face them, Elle discovers that Greg’s body is gone—and her perfect life falls apart.

Prologue

The worst thing about vampires is that they’re dead. That whole wanting to suck your blood business runs a close second, but for sheer creepiness, it’s the dead bit that gets me every time. They’re up and walking around and talking and sucking blood, but they’re dead. And then there’s the whole terminology problem—how can you kill something that’s already dead? It’s just wrong.

I was twenty-four the first time I… destroyed? dispatched?… a vampire. That’s when I found out that all the books and movies are wrong. When you stick a wooden stake into their hearts, vampires don’t disintegrate into dust. They don’t explode. They don’t spew blood everywhere. They just look surprised, groan, and collapse into a pile of corpse. But at least they lie still then, like corpses are supposed to.

Since that first kill (I might as well use the word—there really isn’t a better one), I’ve discovered that only if you’re lucky do vampires look surprised before they groan and fall down. If you’re unlucky and miss the heart, they look angry. And then they fight.

There are the other usual ways to kill vampires, of course, but these other ways can get a bit complicated. Vampires are notoriously difficult to trick into sunlight. They have an uncanny ability to sense when there’s any sunlight within miles of them, and they’re awfully good at hiding from it. Holy water doesn’t kill them; it just distracts them for a while, and then they get that angry look again. And it takes a pretty big blade to cut off someone’s head—even an already dead someone—and carrying a great big knife around New York City, even the Bronx, is a sure way to get arrested. Nope, pointy sticks are the best way to go, all around.

My own pointy stick is actually more of a little knife with wood inlay on the blade—the metal makes it slide in easier. I had the knife specially made by an old Italian guy in just about the only ratty part of Westchester, north of the city. I tried to order one off the internet, but it turns out that while it’s easy to find wood-inlay handles, the blades themselves tend to be metal. Fat lot those people know.

But I wasn’t thinking any of this when I pulled the knife out of the body on the ground. I was thinking something more along the lines of “Oh, bloody hell. Not again.”

The problem with killing a vampire, of course, is that then you’ve got a corpse on your hands. A corpse with a hole in its heart. Coroners tend to describe it as a “post-mortem wound.” Usually coroners don’t know quite how post-mortem, of course—all they have to go on are things like rigor mortis and the rate of decomposition, and corpses that are up and walking around and talking simply don’t decompose all that quickly. At least, not on the outside. Apparently the insides can get pretty rotten. Whatever it is about sucking blood that keeps them going, it works on the heart, the blood vessels, and the brain, but not much else. The liver turns to something kind of like pâté, all mushy and spreadable. And you don’t even want to think about the stomach. At least, I don’t.

I didn’t even want to think about the outside of the vampire in the middle of the cement playground right next to Middle School 45 in the Bronx. What I wanted to do was gather up my groceries, currently scattered across the sidewalk on the other side of the chain-link fence behind me, and go home to my brand new satellite TV. A Law and Order re-run was sure to be on. It was always on some channel. I wanted to open a can of Pringles, curl up on the couch with my cat, and stare blankly at the screen while television cops solved big problems in less than an hour. But my apartment, and thus my television, were right across the street from the school. I really didn’t want to listen to the fuss outside my window when someone found the corpse with the post-mortem wound in the heart. The Bronx is loud enough without adding hysterical screaming.

So instead, I pulled my cell phone out of my jacket pocket and scrolled for Nick’s number. That’s when I realized that my hands were shaking. And covered with blood—they left little streaks across the screen.

I managed to find the right number anyway and waited while the line on the other end rang.

“Nick here.”

“Nick?” My voice was shaking almost as much as my hands. “It’s Elle.”

“Hey,” he said. “What’s up?”

“I’ve got a… another problem. I need help again.”

“The usual? Where?”

I hated to think that dead vampires were becoming “the usual” in any sense of the term, but I told him where I was and he said he’d be there in half an hour.

“And Elle?” he said. “See what you can do to hide the body until we get there.”

Hiding a dead body in the middle of a concrete slab of playground is not easy, even in the Bronx, even after dark. The fight had taken place in the darkest corner of the block, at least, so I decided to go for camouflage. I hooked my hands under the body’s armpits and hauled it upright, leaning it against the chain-link fence. I tried to loop one of its arms through the fence to keep it upright, but I couldn’t get more than the forearm through the gaps in the fence chain-links. That looked totally wrong. Finally I used a broken piece of wire hanging off the fence to punch a hole in its shirt collar. Then I twisted the wire through the collar and back through the fence. It wasn’t perfect, but it did keep the top half of the body from slumping over.

Its head kept flopping over in a suspiciously dead way, but there wasn’t anything I could do about that at the moment, so I crossed its legs at the ankles and hoped it looked more passed-out-drunk than propped-up-dead.

By that time I was breathing hard from the exertion of moving around a 200-pound dead guy—it’s called “dead weight” for a reason—but at least my hands had stopped shaking. I gathered up my scattered groceries and pulled an unbroken glass bottle of root beer out of the plastic bag. I wrapped the vampire’s free hand around it, hoping it looked like a regular beer (I’d stopped drinking alcohol after that first kill—these days, it scares me to think of having my judgment hindered in any way). Then I settled down onto the ground next to the big dead vampire corpse to wait for Nick and his squad of vampire killers to come clean up this mess for me.

1

I met Nick for the first time the same night I met—and killed—my first vampire. It was the night my whole life fell apart.

It started out as a perfectly normal Monday: I went to class, I did a little research in the library, and finally, I sorted through the mail as I walked into our shoebox-sized apartment. I dropped most of the envelopes onto the table in our tiny entryway and pulled one of them out to open. It was one of those mail circulars you get when you sign up at any bridal dress store—a “buy your dress here and get a veil for free” kind of deal. I’d gotten about a million of them, but I was still excited every time.

This one was in a white envelope with pink clip-art all over it: pink champagne glasses and hearts and bubbles and doves. Funny the things you remember.

I opened the envelope with Gregory’s letter opener, a pointy teakwood thing his grandmother had sent him as part of a college graduation “desk set” designed to make studying for law school a more organized and aesthetically pleasing task. Greg never used it, but I did—it made me feel somehow more professorial to open my letters with an implement designed for just such a task.

I was looking down at the envelope, talking to Greg, saying something about would he prefer to have people blow bubbles or throw birdseed at us as we left the church, when I heard a gurgle and looked up.

“Gurgle” doesn’t really convey it, though. A gurgle can be the last glug of a soda bottle or a bubble in plumbing pipes settling down for the night. This was neither of those things. I think that as I looked up I knew it was the kind of gurgle that has blood in it, that comes from a throat, that goes along with “last gasp” and “dying breath.”

* * *

I was finishing my fourth year as a graduate student in history at Fordham University in the Bronx, studying the Early Modern period in England (which covers pretty much everything up through the Renaissance), and planning to get a Ph.D. I had my life mapped out: I wanted to teach college history courses, maybe write a few history books, host swank college faculty parties where I would serve wine and cheese and introduce people to my husband the lawyer. My fiancé Gregory Parham and I had met as undergrads in New Orleans and had chosen to move to New York because he got into Fordham Law School and I got into the Fordham history program. We lived in a tiny one-bedroom apartment near Fordham’s Lincoln Center campus in Manhattan, where Greg attended classes. Every day I took the Ram Van, Fordham’s shuttle service, to the Rose Hill campus in the Bronx. We had considered moving, but decided it made sense to stay in Manhattan; Greg had finished law school and was in his first year as a junior member of a law firm on Park Avenue—Forster, Pearson and Sims.

The job wasn’t as posh as it sounded, but after years of living on student loans, scholarships, and grants, his salary seemed astronomical, so we were excitedly planning the small wedding we’d been waiting to have.

All of those plans were destroyed when I looked up to see a tall, thin man dressed in a gray suit who stood in the middle of our living room holding Greg, really dangling Greg, by the back of the neck. Greg’s eyes were open, but not seeing anything. There was blood everywhere—on the front of the man’s suit, smeared across his face, trickling down Greg’s side, dripping onto the carpet below the spot where Greg’s feet barely brushed back and forth as he swung from the man’s grip. The man’s face had been buried in one side of Greg’s neck, and as he looked up his eyes cleared slowly—they were full of a kind of sleepy predatory pleasure, like a cat that’s been drinking from a saucer of cream and has to refocus its attention on the mouse that’s just wandered into its path.

It was like time both sped up and slowed down, all at once. The man dropped Greg, who crumpled into a pile on the coffee table, then slid to the floor. The vampire (I had seen enough crappy horror movies to figure that much out) leapt across the room at me just as I dropped all the mail in my hand and ran screaming wordlessly, not away from him, as a sane person would do, but toward him.

I don’t think of myself as brave. I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t really know what I was doing. I’m not even sure I knew I had a weapon in my hand. But I didn’t drop the teakwood letter opener. Instead, I rammed it into the vampire’s heart. Over and over. Even after he looked surprised, groaned, and fell over dead.

I was still slamming the letter opener into the dead man’s heart moments later, when Nick Calvani and his Band of Merry Men came bursting through the door.

When I looked around at them, I realized that Greg’s body was gone.

* * *

Nick and his guys said things like “nice job” and “good instincts” and “clean kill,” and I think they would have liked to say “welcome aboard,” but I was too busy vomiting into the kitchen sink to listen to them.

At moments like that, you realize that there are things you just don’t want to know. At the top of my list right then were vampires are real and your boyfriend was just eaten by one. Closely followed by when in danger, you go for the heart. With a pointy stick.

But all of those things were pretty quickly shoved down to the bottom of the list by what Nick had to say.

“The fact that he’s gone probably means that he was turned.”

My eyes widened. “Turned as in ‘turned into a vampire’?”

Nick nodded curtly.

Oh, ye gods. My beloved is now a blood-sucking fiend from hell. Go straight to agony, do not pass go, do not collect $200.

“Who are you guys?” My brain was cloudy and my mouth tasted sour, but the fact that four enormous, muscle-bound guys dressed all in black had just come bursting into my home and interrupted me in a killing frenzy wasn’t entirely lost on me. The lead guy, who looked disconcertingly like a bad cross between Stephen King and Sylvester Stallone, all heavy jaw and protruding brow ridge and muscular torso, was popping out orders while he talked to me.

“John, you check the perimeter.” He turned back to me. “Whose name is on the lease for this apartment?”

I dragged the back of my hand across my mouth. “No. You answer me first.”

“The rest of you, clean up in here.” He pointed out several places where blood had splattered across the couch. Suddenly, the Merry Men became the Merry Maids, pulling equipment out of black canvas bags and snapping together a portable vacuum cleaner, for chrissakes. It roared to life and the man wielding it dragged it across the deepest pool of blood, one that had been under the body, as the other two men zipped the dead vampire into a body bag. The vacuum cleaner made a wet sucking sound, and I felt my stomach heave again. Leader-guy turned back to me.

“If only your name is on the lease, we can probably keep lover-boy from coming back in. But if his name is on it, it’s his home and you need to leave.”

The news just got better and better, and my list of Things Not to Know got longer and longer.

And anyway—“Lover-boy? No. Never mind. Just please. Tell me who you are. And what the hell just happened.”

It turned out that Nick and his guys did contract “clean-up work” for the same law firm that Greg worked for. They’d gotten a call from their contact at the firm and he’d told them that there was likely to be a vampire attack that night. He’d told them when and where and that the “incident” needed to be stopped, if possible, and covered up otherwise. No, they hadn’t been told to expect me. And no, Nick and his guys were not about to “cover up” my presence.

“Geez, lady. We’re not murderers. We’re not the bad guys here.” He paused. “But listen. I wouldn’t go around telling anybody about this, either. Not that anyone would believe you.”

And that’s really the problem, isn’t it? If you’ve just killed a vampire, there isn’t anyone you can talk to about it. Not even a therapist. You can’t very well say “My former fiancé is a walking, talking member of the undead.” Not if you want to stay out of mental institutions. And I was sure that I did want to stay out of the psych wards, even though I was equally certain that I needed massive doses of therapy.

That’s when I started to cry. Not ladylike sniffles, but great, huge, heaving, gulping, snorting sobs. Nick’s guys looked nervous and wandered off to the far corners of the apartment, studiously examining the floors and walls for any spots of blood they might have missed. Nick himself looked uncomfortable and patted me on the shoulder awkwardly. He tried to distract me.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Elle,” I said. “Elle Dupree.”

When the weeping storm had passed, he handed me a wad of toilet paper one of his minions brought from the bathroom. He also handed me a bottle of Benadryl allergy pills—from my own bathroom—and said, “Here. Take one of these. It’ll help you… um… sleep.” What he meant was “calm down,” but I swallowed the pill anyway. I wanted me to calm down, too.

Of course Greg’s name was on the lease—he was the one with the real job, after all—so Nick told me he would take me someplace safe.

“I have to take my cat,” I said, after Nick outlined his plan to me.

“Okay,” he said, and waited patiently while I gathered up my pet carrier and supplies, then coaxed Millie out from under the top corner of the bed where she was hiding. Then he helped me get her into the carrier and carried it himself.

We drove to the Mandarin Oriental Hotel and Nick checked me in. He stayed at the hotel just long enough to see me up to my room and tell me he’d be back in the morning. I still don’t know who paid for it, but now that I’ve spent more time around Nick, I suspect that he got Greg’s law firm to cover the costs. If I hadn’t been so miserable, I would have been overawed at the elegant surroundings. Or perhaps humiliated to be whisked up an elevator and out of sight. I’m sure I didn’t do much for the hotel’s image; my jeans and gray t-shirt had suspicious-looking brownish-red stains splattered across them and my face was streaked with tears and snot. I was also yawning hugely as the allergy pill took effect. As it was, I didn’t even register the horrified stares of the other hotel guests until much later, after I’d run a hot bath full of rich-smelling bubbles and climbed in. After a second’s thought, I pulled my clothes in after me and scrubbed at them furiously.

I don’t know how long I sat there with my head on my knees and my clothes floating around me.

By the time I crawled out of the water, the bubbles had all but disappeared and the water was almost cold. I didn’t even dry off before I got into the king-size bed and pulled the Egyptian cotton sheets over me. I pulled a black and gold bolster pillow up to me and wrapped my arms around it. Millie, having thoroughly examined the room, jumped onto the bed and curled up on the pillow next to me.

Sleepily, I thought, Greg would love this, but then my mind skittered away from that subject. Better never to think of Greg again.

But I dreamed of him that night, of the day he’d asked me to marry him. The dream started off just like the day had in reality. We were walking through Corona Park in Flushing Meadows, out in Queens, on a picnic Greg had planned. It was one of those beautiful warm autumn days we sometimes got in New York, bright and sunny and all too rare. We had eaten our lunch near the pavilion, staring up at the spaceship-like towers.

He had laughed and pulled me around the Unisphere, the giant metal globe in the park; the spray from the fountains surrounding it misted across my face.

“There,” he said, pointing at Europe. “I think that’s where we should go.” He grinned at me.

“What is that?” I asked. “France? Why France?”

Greg shrugged. “Or maybe Italy.”

I laughed and shoved at his shoulder. “Fine. Why Italy.”

“Because,” he fished in his pocket, then dropped to one knee. “I think we should go there on our honeymoon. I know I can’t give you the world right now, but someday I will. Elle Dupree, will you marry me?”

When it really happened, I gasped and reached down to kiss him and we had ended up in a laughing, sprawling heap while he put the ring on my finger.

In my dream, though, I couldn’t reach him. I held out my hand and his figure retreated while the sun faded out, and I was left circling the Unisphere, calling his name.

* * *

I woke up the next morning groping across the other side of the bed, wondering where Greg was. My engagement ring sparkled on my finger. I stared at it for a moment, then took it off and set it on the bedside table.

I managed to haul myself out of bed and stagger to the bathroom. One look in the mirror told me that although I was cleaner, I didn’t look any better than I had the night before. My chin-length blonde hair was plastered to one side of my head and stuck straight up on the other. My face was puffy. And my clothes were a sodden heap at the bottom of the bathtub; I hadn’t bothered to take them out the night before.

Luckily, the hotel provided those fluffy white bathrobes—I’m pretty sure most hotels that far out of my price range do, though of course I don’t know for certain because I hardly ever stay in them—so I wrapped one around me and sank down into the deep chair beside the bed, wondering what I was going to do with the rest of my life.

When in doubt, eat.

I picked up the phone, dialed room service, and ordered everything I could think of: coffee, orange juice, pancakes, an omelet, bacon, toast.

I suppose that eating should have been the last thing on my mind. The love of my life had been gnawed on by a monster out of a horror movie, I was stuck in a fancy hotel with no dry clothes, and I had no idea how I was going to deal with the next few hours, much less even begin to ever have a normal life again.

But I was absolutely certain that I was alive. And that no matter what, I wanted to stay that way.

For me, that translated to eating. Everything. Every last bit of it.

Nick showed up just as I was finishing the last bite of pancakes dripping with sugar-laden maple syrup poured from a tiny silver pitcher. I was still chewing when I opened the door. Standing in the open doorway, he peered past me at the jumble of dishes on the small table by the chair.

“Hungry?”

“Not anymore.” I gestured for him to come in. He handed me a small plastic grocery store bag.

Inside were some of my clothes—a clean pair of jeans and a red t-shirt, a bra, underwear, socks.

“I thought you might like to have these.”

“You’ve been back to my apartment?”

“Yeah. When you’re ready, we can go back over there so you can pick up some stuff.”

I had been trying not to think about my life, the one waiting for me outside this lovely hotel room. I gathered up my clothes and moved into the bathroom to change.

Nick talked to me through the door. “You’re not from New York, are you?” he asked.

“Somewhere down south, right?”

I finished zipping up the jeans and opened the bathroom door. “Louisiana,” I said. “Mandeville.

Across the lake from New Orleans.”

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yeah. Do you think Greg’s going to come back to the apartment?”

“I think he already has.”

I picked up my ring from the bedside table and tucked it into my pocket before we left.

Greg had indeed been back—or at least, someone or some thing with a ragingly violent temper had been. The apartment was trashed. The couch was slashed, stuffing spilling out of the cushions.

Books had been pulled out of the bookcases and lay ripped and scattered across the floor. Pieces of broken pottery from the cabinets crunched underfoot. Computer components lay on their sides, the covers ripped off and their electronic innards exposed. A framed picture of the two of us smiling and waving after Greg’s law school graduation rested beneath the coffee table. The glass had shattered and the picture was torn into two pieces.

“Greg didn’t do this,” I whispered.

Nick took my hand gently in his. “He did, Elle. I’m certain of it.”

“No. That’s not what I mean.” I pulled my hand away and sat down on the ripped-up couch cushion. “I mean that whatever did this isn’t Greg anymore.”

I picked up the photograph and shook the glass off the two halves, fitting them back together and pulling them apart again as I spoke.

“Greg’s dead, isn’t he?”

“Yes. Whatever he is now, he’s not the person you knew. That person is gone.”

I took a deep breath. No more crying, I vowed silently. “Okay, then. What’s next?”

Nick nodded—I assumed in approval. “Today you’re going to pack up everything that’s yours.

We’ll find you a new place to live and get you moved in. Then you get on with your life.”

I focused on the only part I could deal with at that moment. “What kind of new place?”

“I’ve got Tony on it right now; he’ll find another apartment for you.”

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

“Because…” Nick paused and looked around at the debris in the living room. “Because no one should have to try to deal with this alone. And because my job is to clean up. Leaving you here could be… messy.”

Anything else he might have said was interrupted by one of the guys from the previous night—the biggest of the three—coming in through the front door carrying a stack of boxes folded flat.

“Thanks, John,” said Nick, taking the boxes and dropping them on the couch next to me. “Elle, you start sorting through this stuff and figuring out what to take. We’ll clean up as you go.”

So that’s what we did. I didn’t have class that day—I was supposed to spend Tuesdays and Thursdays in the library working on my dissertation proposal. Instead, I spent the day sorting through what remained of my apartment and my life. Nick and John rolled in an enormous plastic garbage can and began tossing in everything that was obviously trash: broken dishes, torn books, lamps with the cords ripped out, cracked music CDs. I started in the bedroom. At least half of my clothes had been shredded, so I tossed them into a pile in the hall. What was left I folded into my one undamaged suitcase. I went through Greg’s closet, too, taking what I liked—I figured that even if Vampire-Greg wanted the clothes, he’d lost his claim to them by ruining mine. Then I decided that under the circumstances I didn’t need to justify taking them, even to myself. I took all my favorite soft t-shirts (the ones that Greg always complained about me wearing), two pairs of sweatpants, and a bathrobe to replace the one he’d wrecked. I took all my undestroyed books and DVDs and CDs and most of his, too. I packed up my jewelry, picking earrings out of the carpet. And at the last minute, I grabbed the ripped picture out of the living room and tossed it into a box, as well.

I’d left my purse behind the night before, too rattled to remember to take it. It was in the living room, undamaged. Just about everything in it, however, from my powder compact to my cell phone, had been smashed or ripped. I salvaged my surprisingly intact driver’s license and took the credit cards—I guess I need to have Greg taken off them, I thought.

I even managed to save the couch by super-gluing the edges of the torn fabric back together and flipping the cushions to the other side.

Millie spent her time jumping in and out of boxes, meowing loudly to announce her displeasure at the disruption in her life. “Yeah, well, you’re not the only one,” I told her, taking her out of a box and dropping her onto the floor.

In the middle of all this, Tony showed up and announced that he’d found an apartment near the Rose Hill campus of Fordham, deep in the Bronx. At least I would no longer have to ride the Ram Van every day just to get to school.

The rest of the team was cleaning the new apartment, and it would be ready by two o’clock.

When we finished salvaging what we could, Nick and his guys loaded up all my stuff into a white van.

Nick drove and I rode in the front seat. Neither of us spoke on the way to my new place, a pre-WWI era building with cracked marble in the entryway and faded red carpeting in the hallway.

It turned out that it was a good thing that most of my furniture had been destroyed. The apartment was one room with a small kitchen off to the side in what had probably once been a large closet. The bathroom was tiny, even by New York standards. And there was only one miniature closet. But I could see the entire place from anywhere in the apartment, and that felt oddly comforting.

By the time Nick’s team had helped me unpack, it was nearly dark. The last thing Nick did before he left was hand me a new cell phone and a large wooden crucifix.

“You might want to keep this by your bed.”

“Which one?”

Nick laughed—a short, barking laugh of surprise. “Both of them, I guess. My number’s already programmed into the phone. Seriously, Elle, I don’t think Greg knows where you are. And I don’t know if he’d even care if he did know. I don’t know what vampires care about besides feeding and killing, and I don’t know if they care who they kill.” He paused for a moment. “But after what I saw last night, I do know that you’re tough, and that you can handle yourself in a fight against one of these things. You’re a survivor. I like that. So you just call me if anything else comes up. Okay?”

I nodded, and Nick and his men filed out of the apartment. I took my engagement ring out of my pocket and stared at it for a long time, turning it from side to side to watch it sparkle.

Then I put it away in a shoebox in the closet.

I flopped onto the mattress on the floor—my bedframe was in pieces, probably on its way to the

New York City dump—and stared at the ceiling high above me, contemplating the strange new shape of my life as it stretched out before me.

What I didn’t know then, of course, was exactly how strange that life was going to be.

2

I woke up the next morning determined to find out everything I could about vampires. I called the number Nick had given me, but no one answered, so I left a message.

No Nick today. Okay, then. I’m a researcher, I reasoned. Surely I could learn enough to keep myself safe.

I got up, showered, got dressed, slipped the teak letter opener into my purse, and marched over to the library, making mental plans to skip all my classes for the next few days while I learned everything possible about vampires.

It didn’t take a few days. It took one day.

I had considered starting with the older fiction—Dracula, Carmilla, The Vampyre—the classics of vampire literature. But I didn’t want to know about fictional vampires. I wanted to know about real ones. Turns out that everyone thinks vampires are a myth.

I did discover that Fordham had a copy of an eighteenth-century text about vampires written by a Benedictine monk who actually believed in vampires. So I made my way up to the rare book room and spent some time skimming it. It didn’t tell me anything new—just that vampires were inhabited by the “spirits of the devil.” Great. My ex was a devil spirit.

And at the end of my research, I knew hardly any more than when I started. The few sources I’d found made conflicting claims about vampires’ habits.

So in a way, I was right where I’d been that morning. I knew that vampires existed. I knew that they drank blood because I’d seen one doing it. I’d killed one, so I knew that a stake through the heart was fatal. But I didn’t know why one had picked Greg. I didn’t know how a vampire had “turned” him, or for that matter, if it even really had. For all I knew, another vampire altogether had come back and trashed our apartment because he was irritated with me for killing the first one.

At least, that’s what I told myself. I knew in my heart of hearts that Vampire-Greg existed. I knew he was the one who had torn that picture of the two of us in half. And, no matter what Nick had said, I knew that he was out there somewhere looking for me.

So in some ways, the attack on my way home from the library that night was my own fault. I had planned to get home long before dark. But back in the stacks, far from any windows, I’d lost track of the time. When I came out of the building it was dusk.

I stood just outside the library doors and checked my phone. No messages. And Nick still wasn’t answering.

New York has long twilights in the spring, but this one was ending—the sun was almost completely over the horizon. Although it had been warm that morning, the temperature was dropping along with the sun, and I wished I’d brought a sweater. Shivering with cold, and perhaps more than a touch of fear, I scurried across the lawn to the campus exit, waving to the security guard as I swung out onto Fordham Road. People crowded around the Metro North train station, but the crowd thinned as I headed east along the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the university.

Across the street from me, the ground-level offices had all closed for the day, their doorways cast in shadows. On my side of the road, street lamps cast pools of light separated by long stretches of shadows. Trees overhung the fence for two blocks until the campus gave way to auto supply stores.

But the shadows were clear and seemed unlikely to hide any vampiresque lurkers. I scrabbled in the bottom of my purse for the letter opener, gripped it tightly, and made the decision to stay on the university side of the road.

It was the wrong choice.

I was so busy scanning the shadows and peering behind the tree trunks on the other side of the fence that I forgot to look up.

I thought I was ready for any sort of attack. But I don’t know that you’re ever ready for someone to pluck you up off your feet and haul you into a tree. And that’s what happened. I never even saw it coming. He just reached down from above as I passed and lifted me by the back of my shirt as if I didn’t weigh an ounce, pulling me up over the fence and into the tree with my back against his chest and my legs swinging beneath me.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Greg’s voice whispered into my ear. But it wasn’t exactly Greg’s voice, either. It had more sibilance to it, almost a lisp. Like maybe he was still learning to talk around fangs.

I shuddered.

You know those dreams where you’re running from something horrible and you can’t even scream? It felt like that. All the air had left my lungs and the only sound I could make was a sort of breathless squeak. My legs flailed and I scraped my knees on tree bark, but I couldn’t find any purchase for my feet.

I flashed back to the image of Greg dangling from the first vampire’s grip.

I remembered the letter opener in my hand and stabbed wildly behind me. I felt the tip of it penetrate the skin, but then it scraped up against something—probably a rib—and stopped.

That’s when I found out that if you miss the heart, vampires get angry.

He hissed.

That doesn’t really describe it, of course. Humans can hiss, but not like a vampire hisses. This hiss was like a cross between the sounds made by cats and snakes, with a low growl thrown in for good effect. Human throats can’t make that sound. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up and my skin try to crawl off my body.

He let go of one shoulder and reached up to rip the letter opener out of his chest. Blood streamed out of the wound and dripped hot onto my arm. Does that mean he’s fed recently? Has he killed someone tonight? I wondered frantically. That thought drove me to move, and quickly. He was still holding the back of my shirt, but I twisted my shoulder out of his grip and lifted my arms straight up.

One hand hit the letter opener and it went flying across the lawn; the move was pure accident on my part, but it served to distract Greg long enough for me to do the only thing I could think of to get away.

I was wearing one of the oversized t-shirts I’d taken from the apartment. With one wiggle I slipped out of the shirt altogether.

I’d like to say that I hit the ground running, but that would be a lie. I hit it sprawling and gasping, but my feet were already moving, so I scrambled up and took off across campus.

I heard Greg laugh behind me. It sounded almost as horrible as his hiss, almost as inhuman—much like I would imagine a hyena’s laugh sounds. It was a predatory sound.

Graduate courses in history don’t prepare one for running away from a vampire. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to the gym. “Out of shape” was an understatement. He caught up with me easily, just as I reached the corner of the nearest building. I felt his hand brush the back of my neck, felt his fingernails—claws? something sharp—dig into the top of my back.

With a final burst of speed I didn’t know I had in me, I rounded the corner into a pool of light.

And ran smack into a man walking out the door.

I think “bowled him over” might be an accurate description. He’d been carrying a stack of books, and they went flying everywhere as he and I went down. I think I skidded across him and rolled to a stop—I know I ended up flat on my back on the concrete apron in front of the door, staring up at the sky, just in time to see Greg do some complicated flip over me.

Again, the best comparison I have is to a cat, the way that they flip around in the air and still manage to land on their feet. Vampire-Greg landed on all fours, one knee on the ground, about five feet away from me.

I twisted around and had just enough time to register that he was dressed all in black and that his eyes were also all black—no whites anywhere—before he hissed that awful hiss again, and was gone.

Just like that. I didn’t see him get up, didn’t see him move away. He was just gone.

It was a good thing, too. I don’t think I could have stood up if I’d tried, and I certainly couldn’t have run any farther. And my letter opener was under a tree somewhere behind me.

I sank back to the ground and put my hands over my face, groaning. It’s never easy to see an ex for the first time after you’ve broken up. Seeing an ex for the first time after he’s been turned into a bloodthirsty evil creature of the night is possibly even less easy. Especially if he pulls you into a tree.

Then chases you.

“Um. Hey. Are you okay?” The voice came from somewhere above me. I spread my fingers wide and opened my eyes to peer between them.

The guy I’d flattened was standing over me, looking concerned.

And no wonder. I was wearing athletic shoes, jeans, and a lacy black bra. I had Vampire-Greg’s blood—black and foul-smelling—smeared down one arm, and I suspected I had my own blood welling out of my back where he had grabbed me. My jeans were ripped, my hands and knees were skinned, and I had dirt smudged across my hands, my face, my torso. I was a mess.

And for one insane moment, I was intensely grateful I’d chosen to wear my nice bra that day.

God forbid someone should see me running for my life in a tatty bra. I giggled a little wildly.

The guy frowned and knelt down beside me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to choke off any impending hysteria.

“Yeah. I’m okay. I think,” I said.

“Who was that guy?”

“Um. I don’t know.” Well, that was true enough. I didn’t know him anymore. He certainly wasn’t the man I had agreed to marry. That guy wouldn’t lurk about in trees and chase me across campus.

“Did he hurt you?”

“Not much. No.” I reached behind and touched the scratches on my back. My fingers came away with only a little blood—the scratches hadn’t been too deep.

He held out his hand and I took it. Shakily, I worked my way to my feet. I was shivering.

“Here. Take my jacket.” He wrapped it around me and pulled out a cell phone. “I’m going to call 911.”

“No!” I almost shouted, and he looked at me as though I’d lost my mind. I thought quickly. “I… I just want to go home. I couldn’t really tell the police anything, anyway.”

“Let me at least call campus security. They can make a police report if they want to.”

I could tell that I wasn’t going to get out of this without making some kind of report—and when I thought about it, I realized that thinking some crazed maniac was attacking women on campus might actually make security beef up patrols. That might make the campus a safer place for everyone.

When the security guards showed up half an hour later, I was glad that the guy’s jacket covered up the blood on my arm; that would almost certainly have meant a trip to the police station. I told them as little as possible, but stuck to the truth: some creep dressed in black had grabbed me by the shirt, I’d wiggled out of it, and I’d run. Then this guy had appeared and my attacker had fled. They asked where he had grabbed me.

“Right beside the library, just as I came out,” I lied. What else could I say? From a tree. I was on the sidewalk on the other side of the fence. He was in the branches. Right.

I gave them my name and my phone number, and when they pressed, I gave them my address. I didn’t want to, especially not with a stranger standing next to me. I didn’t trust anyone at night, not even someone who was willing to step in to help a screaming shirtless woman. Even if he was, I suddenly realized, beautiful. Classically beautiful. Model beautiful. Stop-your-breath-in-your-throat beautiful.

I shook my head to clear it and tried to focus on the conversation.

I listened carefully when Mr. Beautiful gave the cops his information. His name was Malcolm Owens, and he was a Ph.D. student in the math department. He lived on the other side of campus. I hoped he was telling the truth and wasn’t connected to Vampire-Greg. I hoped his presence was sheer accident.

When they were done talking to us, the security guards offered to take me to a hospital, and when I refused, to escort me home. I hesitated, then accepted. I was too tired to worry about whether or not Fordham’s security force was in league with vampires. I told Malcolm Owens that I’d drop the jacket off at the math department the next day. He nodded, and I left with the security guards.

* * *

Back in my apartment, I stepped into the tub, turned on the shower, and scrubbed at the gunk on my arm. It rinsed away, and vanilla-scented soap took away the smell of rotten meat, but I kept wiping at it as if perhaps it had penetrated deep into my skin.

I’ve got to think about this logically, I told myself sternly as I wrapped my terrycloth robe around me and curled up on the mattress. Millie came over and sat down on my hip. I stroked her silky back and tried to consider the attack calmly. It worked, for the most part. I ignored the occasional murmur in the back of my mind that told me there was nothing logical or rational about my fiancé becoming a vampire.

I’d gone about this all wrong, I realized. I should have waited for Nick to return my call. I’d gone to the library to learn about vampires, but I already knew about vampires. We all do, really—what is there to know besides they’ll suck your blood, they’ll kill you, they’re evil? Oh, and a stake to the heart will kill them.

But now my undead ex-fiancé was hunting me—not just any available meal, but me, specifically.

I needed to find out about the vampire who had changed Greg, not just vampires in general. I mean, I had half expected Vampire-Greg to come after me in some sick vampirey version of Stalker Ex-Boyfriend. But tonight’s attack had still come as a complete shock. I needed to quit thinking of Greg as my fiancé, once again ignoring the part of me that knew it wasn’t going to be that easy. I stabbed him with a letter opener and he barely flinched, I reminded that part of me. He’s definitely a monster.

I rolled over onto my back and stared at the ceiling, still thinking. Vampire-Greg might be the end result of my problem, but what was the beginning? The law firm. And that brought me back to Nick. He worked for the law firm, had a contact there who had known that Greg was going to be attacked that night. Nick was the place to start. My new phone was on the floor right next to the cross Nick had given me. I picked up the phone and found his number.

This time he answered. “Nick here.”

“Hi, Nick. It’s Elle Dupree.”

“Hey, Elle. What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you. About Greg. He attacked me tonight on campus. I got away, but I need to know more, because he’s after me now.” I felt—and sounded—strangely detached as I spoke.

“Oh.” Nick was silent for a moment. “Not on the phone, okay? I’ll meet you tomorrow. In the city.”

He named a restaurant on Union Square and we agreed to meet for lunch the next day—easy enough to do as it was a Thursday, one of my no-classes days. I stayed awake a long time that night, questions swirling through my head: who had tipped Nick off to the vampire attack? Why? How had the contact known what was coming? What did Vampire-Greg want with me? What did vampires have to do with a Manhattan law firm? Or, perhaps more importantly, what did a Manhattan law firm have to do with vampires?

Three hours later I sat straight up in bed. The letter opener, I thought frantically. It was still somewhere under the tree.

3

I was woken up early the next morning by the sun streaming into my windows.

I didn’t feel like moving, but I decided to face the day. I was determined to start a new life—one in which I was safe from Vampire-Greg.

I turned over, ready to spring out of bed, and instead rolled up into a groaning ball. I hurt all over. Every single muscle. My arms felt like they’d been pulled halfway out of their sockets. My neck was stiff, my calves felt like they were contracting up into my stomach somewhere. The sheets scraped against my battered knees like sandpaper.

From now on, I vowed, I was going to hit the gym every single day. If I was really going to continue to live, I needed to be able to get away from vampires that attacked me, and that meant being able to move. Quickly. And reliably. If I couldn’t trust my body not to go into the fetal position when I tried to move it, I wouldn’t survive long.

I managed to drag myself out of bed and pull on sweatpants and a t-shirt, though. I walked slowly to the tree Greg had grabbed me from and stared up into the branches. It was a warm enough day, but I shivered. I started combing the grass around the tree, trying to remember where the letter opener had landed.

A bloody letter opener with my fingerprints all over it might not be the best thing to leave lying around on campus for anyone to find and turn in. I’d watched enough true crime shows on television to know what the forensic guys could figure out with evidence like that.

Of course, I don’t know if the forensic guys could figure out “vampire” with evidence like that.

But I was actually more afraid of them drawing other conclusions, like “murder weapon” or even just “violent attack,” and then attaching those conclusions to me in any way.

I couldn’t find the letter opener. Naturally. That would have been too easy. Bad enough I had to fret about my vampire ex jumping out of trees and trying to eat me. Now I had to torment myself with the idea of life in prison for fighting off my vampire ex who jumped out of trees and tried to eat me.

Weird didn’t even begin to describe it.

I trudged back to my apartment, muscles aching.

I felt better after I’d dragged myself through a hot shower. I spent an hour in the basement laundry room washing and drying the windbreaker-style jacket Malcolm Owens had loaned me—it seemed rude to return it with vampire ooze all down the inside of one sleeve. It was only 9:00 by then, and most grad students don’t make it to campus that early unless they have class, so I knew that my chances of running into Malcolm were slim. After breakfast at the local diner, I headed to the math department to return the jacket. Just like I had said I would. Of course, the possibility of seeing him again—this time in broad daylight with the sun shining full on him and him not bursting into vampire-induced flames—didn’t hurt, either. It would be nice to be sure he wasn’t a vampire.

The math department was open when I got there. I wrote a quick note thanking Malcolm for his help and left the jacket with the secretary. As I walked down the hall toward the exit, though, Malcolm himself jogged up behind me.

“Hey. Wait up!”

I paused briefly, barely giving him time to catch up with me before moving on. “I left your jacket in the main office,” I said. “Thanks for letting me borrow it.”

“No problem. How are you feeling today?”

“Fine. A little sore, but mostly okay.” I put my hand on the door and walked out into the daylight.

Malcolm followed me, and I silently sent up a thankful little prayer as the sunlight washed over him.

“Listen. I couldn’t stop thinking about last night,” Malcolm said. “And the thing is… that was really weird, you know? I mean, I saw the guy jump over you, and then he was just gone. I didn’t see him leave or anything. Don’t you think that’s weird?”

“Um. I dunno. Maybe you were in shock or something?” I did not need this. I had enough on my mind without having to try to convince some random pretty boy that he hadn’t seen anything bizarre when he clearly had. “Maybe he left when you weren’t looking? Things got pretty hectic. And, you know, I’m sure he didn’t want to stick around until the police got there.”

“Maybe.” Malcolm looked unconvinced—he had a little furrow between his eyebrows as he thought.

“Look, I’ve gotta go—maybe we could talk about this later? I’ve got a train to catch.” I inched away from him.

“Really? I’m headed to the station, too.” He followed me.

With a mental sigh of resignation, I fell into step next to him.

“Okay,” he said. “So the guy grabbed your shirt, right? And you got out of it—and got all bloody, somehow—and took off running. Then you bumped into me, and he jumped over us. And then—”

“Look. I’m sorry, but I really don’t want to relive last night, okay? It was kind of traumatic.” I knew I sounded peevish, but I needed him to quit talking about it. And thinking about it, for that matter.

Malcolm looked like I’d slapped him—first horrified, then miserable. “Oh, geez. I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just have this thing—I have to figure everything out. My mother always says it’s why I’m a mathematician. I need to know how things work. I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just trying to figure out what happened.”

I shook my head. “No. That’s fine. It was just awful and I want to forget it ever happened.”

By that time we’d reached the train station. I bought a ticket to Grand Central from the automated machine and turned to Malcolm. “Where are you headed?”

“Westchester—up to New Rochelle.” He bought his ticket and we stood there in awkward silence for a moment. I cast around for something to say.

Finally I said, “Well, thanks again for the jacket. See you around.”

I was halfway down the stairs to the train platform before he caught up with me.

“Let me make it up to you,” he said. “Let me buy you dinner sometime, or a drink or something.

I promise I won’t bring up what happened last night.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve kind of got a lot going on right now… and I just got out of a relationship.…” The trite phrases—so ludicrous given what had ended that relationship—almost made me want to laugh. Or maybe cry. I wasn’t sure which.

“Hey. No problem.” He scrabbled in his book bag and pulled out a scrap of paper and a pen.

“Here’s my number. If you change your mind, call me.”

He jogged up the stairs and turned around at the top, grinning. “Call me!” With a wave, he was gone.

I was still shaking my head as I boarded the train. My blood-sucking fiend vampire of an ex was hunting me. The last thing I needed was to drag someone else into this. Malcolm seemed like a nice guy. I didn’t want to disrupt his happy little mathematician’s life.

Still, I folded the scrap of paper with his number on it in half and tucked it into my purse.

* * *

I had one errand to run before meeting Nick at Union Square, and I didn’t think it would take long.

Little did I know how difficult it would be to find a wooden letter opener to replace the one I’d lost the night before. Lucky for me I had several hours before our lunch meeting.

I started at the Staples Office Supply store at Fifth Avenue and 44th Street. The only letter openers they had were either plain metal or electric. Who needs an electric letter opener? At any rate, neither of those alternatives were any good for killing vampires, so I had to widen my search.

In the gift shops on Times Square, I found stainless steel letter openers with Statue of Liberty handles and brass letter openers with lovely wooden handles carved with the words “New York City.”

The Barnes and Noble on Fifth Avenue didn’t have any letter openers at all.

With an hour and a half to go before I was supposed to meet Nick, I grabbed a taxi and headed to Chinatown. Surely somewhere in the piles of junk there I could find what I was looking for.

I didn’t, of course. What I did find on the second floor of a two-story emporium on Mott Street, however, were some lovely wooden chopsticks. With very pointy ends. The small Asian man who had led me to them looked a little startled when I started testing the points of all the chopsticks against my palm. He earnestly assured me, in broken English, that the points didn’t matter when eating with chopsticks. He even demonstrated the proper use of chopsticks to illustrate his point. I smiled and nodded, then went on testing the points. He shook his head in irritation and muttered to himself in Chinese when I chose the sharpest of the bunch and bought three pairs of them. I didn’t mind him thinking I was a stupid American tourist if it meant I had heart-impaling chopsticks when I left the store.

I made it to Union Square with fifteen minutes to spare. Nick was already waiting for me when I walked into the restaurant simply labeled “The Coffeehouse.”

The restaurant was much hipper than the ones I tended to frequent. The servers were all tall and willowy, an impression heightened by the all-black uniforms they wore. Most of them sported tattoos and many had nose-rings. Our waitress seemed irritated that she had to wait on us at all.

I picked up the menu that was waiting for me. Most of the food on it was Brazilian. More hipness.

I ordered something saladesque. When the waitress left, I leaned over the table toward Nick.

“So,” I said. “Like I said on the phone, Greg attacked me last night. On campus.” I told him the whole story, lowering my voice to a whisper when I noticed the couple next to us staring.

When I got to the part about Malcolm, Nick stopped me. “Did he see Greg?”

“Yeah. Why? Does it matter?”

“I don’t know yet. Tell me the rest.”

It didn’t take long for me to finish. “So,” I said, concluding the story, “I need to know everything you know. Start with Forster, Pearson and Sims. And how they knew about Greg that night.”

Nick ran a hand across his eyes. “It’s not that simple, Elle. I’m not supposed to talk about it at all.

I’m not entirely sure that meeting you here today was a good idea.”

“I don’t care what’s a good idea and what’s not, Nick. You told me to call you if I ran into trouble. The man who, up until just a few days ago, I planned to spend my life with, attacked me last night.” I emphasized the last four words. “I’m in trouble and I called. I need your help. Talk to me.

What do you know?”

We both leaned back as our waitress brought our food and slapped it down in front of us.

Nick pushed his plate slightly away, then looked up at me. “Okay. I don’t know if I can tell you anything all that helpful, but I guess I need to tell you how I got into this business in the first place.”

I took a bite of my salad and waited for him to begin.

“Alec Pearson is my godfather.”

I stopped chewing and raised my eyebrows.

Nick nodded. “He and my father were college buddies. I was thirteen when my parents both died in a car wreck and Alec took me in. He didn’t have any idea what to do with a teenage boy, and I didn’t have any idea how to deal with losing both parents and leaving behind pretty much everything I’d known to move in with this guy I’d known all my life but never spent much time with.

“Not that we spent much time together after I’d moved in, either. At that point, Alec was still young, trying to prove himself in his grandfather’s firm. He wasn’t around much, so I did just about anything I wanted to. It didn’t take long for me to get myself arrested—it was on a breaking and entering charge, though it could have been any number of things; that was just what I got caught doing.

“So Alec did the only thing he could think of: he sent me away to military school to straighten me out. It worked, too. After I graduated, I went into the Marines as an officer and stayed in the military for twelve years.

“By this time, Alec’s grandfather had died, his father was a partner in the firm and Alec was well on his way to becoming a partner, too. That’s when they got mixed up with the vampires.

“I don’t know exactly what happened. I’m not sure anybody knows. But it had something to do with a real estate transaction—that’s mostly what Alec’s father, Benjamin, dealt in. As best we can figure, some big-honcho vampire hired the firm to negotiate the sale of a building the vampires owned.”

Nick paused to take a bite of his lunch. I realized that my mouth was hanging open.

“Vampires own real estate in Manhattan?” I asked incredulously.

“Apparently,” said Nick. “I don’t know for sure, but I’d guess they own a lot more than just real estate. Wouldn’t you, if you were going to live forever?”

I nodded. “I guess so.”

“Alec says that they all knew something weird was up. Their new client, a Mr. Salvaggi, refused to meet them during the daytime. He refused to meet with anyone other than Benjamin. By all accounts, he was a difficult client.

“But the Pearsons were used to dealing with difficult clients—according to Alec, the very rich are often also the very demanding. So they really didn’t think anything of it.

“At least, not until Benjamin Pearson turned up dead.” Nick paused and took a long drink from his cup of coffee. I had forgotten all about my salad and was leaning forward across the table so as to catch every word.

“Alec was the one who found him, of course. Benjamin had a late-night meeting with his client, and when Alec came into the office the next morning, Benjamin was stretched out behind his desk.

“He called in the police, and they ruled the death a homicide.” Nick laughed that short barking laugh of his. “They never could figure out why there was no blood at the scene—they finally decided Benjamin must’ve been killed somewhere else and dumped back in his office. The body was all carved up; the police assumed that the two puncture wounds in Benjamin’s neck were part of the ‘ritualistic’ murder.

“Alec might have bought the whole ritual murder scenario, too, except for one thing: his father had left detailed records about his dealings with Salvaggi. And his father had figured out the truth.

“By the time Alec brought me in, he’d done some investigating on his own. I would have thought he was crazy—sane people don’t believe in vampires, right?—if he hadn’t managed to capture one of them.

“He had it locked in a walk-in safe when I went up to his office. He’d told me his whole story and shown me a whole bunch of documents, but I was still about to walk out when he opened the curtains in his office and opened the door to the safe. All I saw at first was that some guy was hog-tied and gagged.

“Alec turned around to me and said, ‘This is what we’re dealing with, Nick.’ Then he grabbed the rope and hauled the guy out into the sunlight.

“It was the most horrible thing I’d seen in my life up to that point—and I’d seen some pretty terrible stuff. The guy didn’t burn so much as…. It looked like acid was eating away at his skin from the inside. It started where the sun touched him and spread.”

I pushed the remains of my lunch away, no longer hungry. Nick, intent on his story, had long ago given up on eating.

“I took a little more convincing—it’s not an easy thing to believe, that vampires are hanging around in Manhattan—” I had to agree with him there “—but eventually Alec won me around,” he said. “And the thing is, that whatever else Forster, Pearson, and Sims does—and they do a lot of actual lawyering—they also, because of Alec, spend a lot of time and effort, not to mention money, arranging to kill vampires. And I’m the one who runs that part of the business.”

Great. Lawyers who run a vampire-killing business on the side. My life just kept getting weirder and weirder.

“Okay,” I said slowly, “so what happened the night Greg got attacked?”

“I don’t know. Honest. I got a call from Alec’s assistant, and he gave me the information. Once a vampire is taken out, we don’t necessarily talk about it again. And even though we weren’t the ones who got that kill, the vampire was gone. Problem solved.”

“How much did Greg know about this little sideline in his law firm?”

“Probably nothing—it’s not the sort of thing the partners tell the new hires.”

I should imagine not.

Clearly the next step in saving myself from becoming a vampire treat was to talk to Alec Pearson.

Nick agreed to set up an appointment with his boss for me. “I’ll call you as soon as I have a date and time,” he said, “but give me a few days for us to check into all of this, okay? Maybe we can figure out where Greg is hiding, or if he’s hooked up with any other vampires. And in the meantime, don’t go out at night if you can help it.”

I had no trouble assuring him that I had every intention of staying off the streets at night.

I also showed him my pointy chopsticks. He wasn’t as impressed as I might have hoped.

“I’m not sure they’re sharp enough.” He turned one over and pressed it against his forearm.

“You’d have to have an awful lot of muscle behind one of these for it to actually kill a vampire. But it might do, in a pinch. Keep it on you, anyway, just in case.”

I left the restaurant deep in thought. It was still afternoon when I got back to the Bronx, and I was beginning to feel the effects of having ignored my salad in favor of Nick’s story, so I decided to take a stroll through my neighborhood and get something to eat.

My new apartment was just on the edge of Little Italy—not the one in Manhattan, but what the Bronx locals call the “Real Little Italy.” It stretches along Arthur Avenue and comprises a series of pizza joints, restaurants, bakeries, Italian ice shops, specialty grocery stores, and butchers, interspersed with the more usual Bronx fare of 99-cent stores, drycleaners, and one-hour photo places. I stopped on 187th and picked up an Italian ice—vanilla cream with almonds—and ate it as I walked.

It was a beautiful spring day, and the sidewalks were full of people. Grandmothers sat on the stoops of buildings, watching children play on the sidewalk. Fordham students with low-slung jeans and backpacks strolled across the street. A delivery guy from a Chinese restaurant rushed past, probably hoping to get a big tip. Everywhere I looked, people were turning their faces up to enjoy the sunshine, an almost decadent-feeling treat after a long New York winter spent either cooped up inside or rushing through the cold under a relentlessly gray sky. As I watched all these people just living their lives, I realized that there was a good chance that I was the only person out in Little Italy today—maybe even in all of the Bronx—who knew that vampires existed, who knew that at least one of them had been out hunting last night.

It made me feel awfully lonely. And more than a little scared.

4

Nick called three days later to tell me that Alec Pearson refused to meet with me.

“He says that the attack at Fordham must have been some sort of unlucky accident—he doesn’t believe that it had anything personal to do with you at all.” Nick’s voice sounded strange, tight and stressed.

“Really? And what do you think?” I asked. “You think my ex-boyfriend-turned-vampire just happened to be waiting for me? Do you think it’s all just bad luck in the vampire lottery?”

Nick sounded defeated. “I guess so.”

“Toeing the company line, Nick? That doesn’t really seem your style. I don’t believe that attack was any accident, and I don’t believe that you think it was, either.” My own voice rose to a higher pitch. “Greg was waiting for me. For me, Nick. And you know it.”

There was a little silence at the other end of the line, then Nick sighed.

“Whatever I might believe, Elle, I can’t force Alec to tell me anything he doesn’t want me to know. And I can’t force him to meet with you.”

“So what you’re saying is that I’m on my own?”

“Not exactly. Look, I’ll help you any way I can. But I can’t help you meet with Alec. And I can’t tell you anything or… or help you do anything that might…” he paused again, “run counter to my boss’s orders.”

“I see,” I said slowly. “So if I were to find out anything on my own…”

“I wouldn’t know anything about it. And I wouldn’t want you to tell me about it.”

“But if I happened to discover something entirely by myself, without any help from anyone at the law firm, and I needed to, say, take out a vampire or two just to keep myself safe, what then?”

“Hey. Killing monsters is what I do. If you find out anything on your own, you just give me a call and we’ll go take care of it.” Now I heard a grin in his voice.

“Okay, okay. I got it. I’m on my own until I figure this out. I’ll call you if I need you, Nick.” I was still angry, but I really couldn’t blame Nick too much—especially since I might need his help later. I couldn’t afford to alienate him now.

“And Elle—keep watching your back.”

I hung up the phone. Seconds later, it rang. It was Nick, calling me back.

“It’s not enough,” he said. He sounded almost angry.

“What’s not enough?”

“Just telling you to watch your back. You’re right. If he’s hunting you down, you need help. I still can’t tell you anything without Pearson’s permission, but I can at least help you figure out how to defend yourself against these things.”

I felt a wave of relief wash over me. I don’t think I had realized how terrified I was until that moment.

“Thanks, Nick.”

“No problem. And hey, maybe we can test your chopstick theory.” He gave me an address in Manhattan and we set a date for a training session the following Tuesday.

After we hung up, I stood staring at the floor of my apartment. I couldn’t rely on Nick for information. Don’t get me wrong—I was glad for the impending self-defense lessons. But I had to figure out what Alec Pearson knew. I didn’t want to do it alone, though.

I considered all the people I knew. It’s not like I didn’t have friends—I knew lots of people in the history graduate program, people I sometimes met for lunch or an afternoon drink.

I considered them one by one. Jenna, with her flowing skirts and vegetarianism and neo-hippy-flower-child cheerfulness. Justin, a tall thin gay man with a penchant for suspenders. Lita, who chain-smoked, waving her cigarette around as she intently pronounced the dangers of “allowing the patriarchy to control our actions.” Carla, small and blonde and round, anxious to make sure everyone around her was happy.

Not one of them was the sort of person to whom I could say “Hey, remember Greg? My fiancé?

Well, he’s an evil vampire now. I need help killing him.”

Any one of them would start trying to convince me to seek professional help. And they couldn’t even begin to imagine how much therapy I was going to need when this was all over.

Nope. None of them could help. And I didn’t want to destroy their lives. I was fairly certain that they were safe so long as Vampire-Greg didn’t connect them to me. It should be easy enough. Greg had never been one to hang out with my friends. I doubted he even remembered their names, much less what they looked like. So I could probably keep them all safe by keeping my distance from them.

I closed my eyes. Oh, God, I thought. I can’t face this thing alone.

I opened my eyes again, struck by a sudden thought. There was one person who had already been seen by Vampire-Greg, who had offered his help when I needed it.

Malcolm Owens.

I knew it wasn’t fair to drag him into this. He didn’t have any connection to me. He didn’t have any reason to be willing to help. For all I knew, he was in league with the vampires.

But if he wasn’t connected to the vampires, he might already be in danger—especially if Vampire-Greg had any way of finding out who he was.

Okay. So I knew I was rationalizing.

But I really, really didn’t want to be alone with this stuff any longer.

And if I was going to try to get information about what Greg had been working on when he was attacked, I needed help—I’d met several of the younger lawyers in Greg’s firm when he worked there, so I couldn’t just walk in; someone would almost certainly recognize me. I needed someone else to go undercover for me.

I dug Malcolm’s number out of the inner pocket of my purse without giving myself any more time to think about it.

I was trying to figure out what I’d say when his voicemail picked up, so I left a simple message:

“Hi, Malcolm. This is Elle Dupree. I decided to go ahead and take you up on that offer for lunch. Give me a call when you get a chance.” I left my number and hung up.

* * *

I finally made it back to classes on Monday.

“Hey,” said Jenna as I slipped into the seat next to her. “Where were you last week?”

I looked at her for a long moment. “Greg and I broke up,” I said.

“Oh, honey,” she said, putting her hand out and touching my arm. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said.

“Let’s grab coffee after class,” Jenna whispered as Dr. Sanchez walked into the room.

Coffee turned into lunch as I told Jenna as much of the story as I felt like I could. Minus the vampire bit, of course.

“I walked in on him with someone else,” I said, leaving her to draw her own conclusions.

“Who was she?” Jenna asked. “Did you know her?”

“It was a man,” I said. I stared down at the ground. I probably looked miserable, but I was also trying to hide the pleasure I took from giving her that little detail.

“Oh, no,” Jenna said. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. Well,” she said, settling back into her seat and taking a sip of her coffee. “I know this is hard to hear right now, but if that’s what he wants, it’s better to know it now than after you’re married.”

I nodded in agreement. “I know you’re right. It’s hard, though. But listen,” I leaned forward and held out my scraped palms. “If you see Greg, get away from him. He hit me after I caught him. Pushed me down.”

“Elle!” Jenna said. “You have to make a police report.”

I shook my head. “No. I don’t think he’ll be back. But just in case I’m wrong, don’t let him get close to you. Promise me.”

Jenna looked dubious, but she nodded. “I promise. I still think you should go to the police, though.”

“And will you cover for me if I have to miss class again?” I asked. “I’m having a hard time with this.”

“Of course I will,” she said. She rubbed my arm. “And so will everyone else. I’ll tell them, if you want me to. So that you don’t have to. I know how hard this is for you.”

Oh, if only you did, I thought. But what I said was “Yes. Please. And thank you.”

* * *

The address Nick had given me turned out to be some martial arts training facility in Manhattan. It was in what looked like a regular office building, with a FedEx and a Starbucks on the bottom floor.

Nick was already there, stretching and warming up on the wooden floor. He was awfully flexible for such a muscled man; when I walked through the door, his right leg was forward in split pose, and he was touching the ground with his inner thighs. I don’t know that I had ever before met a man who could do the splits.

As far as I could tell, we were the only two people in the small suite of rooms. When I asked Nick about it, he said, “I’ve rented the dojo out for the next three hours.”

Three hours. I didn’t think my occasional afternoon workouts at the campus gym had really prepared me for this.

I was right. I warmed up with him, stretching out on the floor in a variety of unlikely poses.

Luckily for me, I remembered enough of my childhood dance and gymnastics lessons—the kind that practically every girl my age had taken as a child—to keep up with him. More or less.

Then we got into the lesson itself.

“When you’re fighting vamps,” Nick said, tossing me a sharpened stake, “you really only need to know two things: how to hit them in the heart and how to keep them from grabbing you. We’ll start with staying away from them.”

I spent the next forty-five minutes learning to duck and weave without dropping my pointy stick.

“Vamps are fast,” Nick said, “but even they usually telegraph their next movement. It’s a bad idea to look at their eyes, so you have to watch the way they sway, watch for twitches that might indicate which way they’re going to move next.”

He demonstrated several moves, and I copied them over and over until they felt almost natural. I was again thankful for early dance training.

“Good,” he said. “Now let’s see you do that against an opponent.” He moved across from me and grabbed at me. I ducked and spun away from his hand. He nodded approvingly.

I was still basking in that approval when he reached out and snagged my arm. He twisted it up and behind me until I winced in pain and dropped the stake in my hand. As soon as this was over, I was going to sign up for yoga lessons. I clearly needed to be able to twist my body in unnatural directions.

“You can’t quit watching a vamp, even for a second,” he said.

“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point.” I pulled away from him and rubbed my arm. I was ready the next time he grabbed for me and I twisted away, dropping down to a crouch and sliding away by shifting my weight. This time I didn’t wait for his approval, but danced around behind him. We did this for another half hour, and he rarely caught me.

“Now let’s add the stake,” he finally said. He rummaged around in his black gym bag at the side of the room and pulled out a vest of some sort. When he strapped it on, I saw that it had several red circles painted on it.

“Body armor,” he said when he noticed me watching him. “It’s new—both bullet- and knife-proof. If vamps were smart, they’d start wearing these. It would be almost impossible to kill them if they did. Lucky for us they haven’t figured it out yet.

“These targets,” he said, pointing to the red dots, “are kill zones. If you hit a vamp hard enough with a correctly-angled stake at any of these spots, you’re almost guaranteed a killing strike. So. Hit me.”

I thrust a stake at his chest, hitting slightly below the heart target. Nick reached down and corrected the angle of the stake.

“Don’t hold back. If you can knock the wind out of me, then you’re hitting hard enough to kill a vamp.”

It took me four or five tries to finally hit him in a way he found acceptable.

“You’d be dead by now if I’d really been a vamp,” he said.

“Thanks for the encouragement,” I muttered.

“I’m not here to encourage you. I’m here to teach you to kill vampires.”

After about thirty minutes, I was fairly consistently hitting the kill zones.

“Okay. Let’s put it all together now,” Nick said.

By the end of the three hours, I could dance and spin around Nick as he lunged for me. And about half the time, I could actually kill the “vampire” attacking me.

“Nice work,” he said. He tossed me a towel from a stack by the door. “I always like teaching these techniques to women. They may not have as much upper body strength as the guys on my team, but they tend to be better at the movements.”

I wiped my face on the towel. “You’ve taught this stuff to women before?”

“Used to have a woman on my team,” he said. “Scarlett. Ex-cop. Damn good fighter.”

“What happened to her?” I almost dreaded hearing the answer. If he said she’d been killed by a vampire, I might never leave my apartment again.

“She quit,” he said shortly. I didn’t pursue it—his tone didn’t invite curiosity.

Nick began packing his gear back into his bag. “Okay. Let’s go kill some vamps.”

“What?” My voice squeaked out of me.

“You wanted to learn how to kill vamps. You’ve got the basics. Now let’s put it into practice.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

As we walked out of the building, the last of the sun’s rays stretched out across the sky. We climbed into the van and Nick pulled away from the curb.

“This should be a fairly easy job,” he said. “Just two vamps holed up in an apartment on the upper West side. Normally I’d handle it by myself, so it seems like a good training opportunity.”

I still wasn’t sure I agreed that I was ready, but at least I felt marginally safer with Nick along.

We pulled up in front of a building near Morningside Park on a dark winding street. The buildings of Columbia University glowered over us from the top of a hill, negating what little sunlight filtered down to the streets below. Nick parked the van and got out, swinging his gym bag. As we approached the front entrance, he handed me a couple of stakes. I gripped one in each hand and hoped I wouldn’t need more.

“Stay behind me. Don’t engage with them unless you have to, but be prepared to fight.”

I nodded nervously, and he walked in the main entrance. It had had a buzzer at one time, but the lock had been broken open. The building wasn’t abandoned, though. There were stained welcome mats in front of a few of the apartment doors, and I could smell something cooking, something spicy, like curry. From a floor somewhere up above, I could hear a baby crying.

We made our way up two flights of stairs. Nick walked to a door and without hesitating, kicked it in.

I’d never seen someone kick in a door before. It’s pretty impressive. I guess the vamps inside thought so, too, because when I followed Nick into the apartment, they were cringing against the far wall, hissing and growling.

This was the first really good look I got at a vampire—I’d been too busy killing the first one and running away from the second one to get more than a fleeting impression of what they looked like when they were alive—or undead, anyway. I realized that these vampires didn’t look like the vampires I’d seen in movies. In movies, the vampires look fairly human; they just have some long pointy teeth up top.

These vampires looked fairly human, too, until they opened their mouths. Unlike movie vampires, they had long pointy fangs both top and bottom—upper and lower fangs. Once they opened their mouths, they looked utterly inhuman. They looked like animals. The sort of animals who will eat you for dinner.

Nick stepped slowly across the threshold, and I followed behind him.

Black painted plywood covered the windows, but from the single bulb dangling in the hallway I could see that the apartment was a mess. A yellowed carpet full of small cigarette burns covered the wooden planks of the floor. There were several stained blankets on top of the carpet, but no furniture.

Ashtrays overflowed onto the floor and onto the body of a young woman.

Very young. Sixteen or seventeen, at the most. She lay on her side, as if she’d gone to sleep. But her skin was white and bloodless, and her eyes were open. She was totally naked and had bite marks all over her body. All over. Up and down her arms and legs, on her neck, I could even see one in her armpit. She was thin, with stringy brown hair. In fact, she was thin to the point of emaciation, like she hadn’t eaten well in a long time. Probably a runaway.

A red haze crossed my eyes, and when it cleared, I was furious. I couldn’t stand the thought of these two leeches bringing that poor defenseless girl up here and draining her dry. Her life might not have mattered to anyone else, but suddenly it mattered to me.

Nick had told me to stay behind him.

I had every intention of staying behind him.

Really.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I flew past him in a rage, screaming that same wordless scream I’d howled out when I’d seen Greg dangling from a vampire’s grip.

I wanted them to die. Painfully.

And then they were away from the wall and I was in between them, spinning and dancing and jabbing at them with my stakes.

I don’t think they even ever knew what hit them, really. They had stepped away from the wall to attack us as soon as they realized that the light streaming into the darkened apartment was from a light bulb and not the sun. But instead of jumping us, they found themselves set upon by a screaming banshee with a stake in each hand.

I took the first one out almost instantly. I slammed a stake into his heart, up under the ribcage, just as Nick had shown me. I flipped the other stake from my left hand into my right and turned to face the second vampire.

He grabbed at me, but I swerved away from him and spun back to smash the second stake into his heart, as well.

I stood still for a moment, breathing heavily, looking around for something else to hit with a stake.

The only possible target was Nick, and he was still standing in the doorway, his mouth hanging open in surprise.

I let my hands drop to my sides and stood up straighter.

“They pissed me off,” I said.

“Apparently,” he replied. And then he began to laugh. He laughed so hard that he bent over and held his stomach.

“What?” I growled.

Nick controlled his laughter with some difficulty and looked up at me.

“Yeah,” he said. “You just call me if you ever need backup, okay?”

Nick pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and called his team in to help with the clean-up. When they got there, the three guys looked around.

“Nice place,” Dominick, the shortest of the three, muttered.

“Good kill though,” John said.

“It’s not mine,” Nick said. “It’s hers.” All three of them turned around to stare at me.

“By yourself?” John asked me. “Again?”

“I got angry,” I offered. It sounded lame, even to me.

Dominick let out a low whistle. “Wow.”

Tony didn’t say anything, just looked at me appraisingly.

Nick and I left before the other guys had finished their Merry Maids routine. I wondered what they did with the dead bodies, but I didn’t ask. Nick drove out to the Bronx and dropped me off at my apartment.

“Call me if anything important comes up, okay? See you later, Dixieland.”

“Dixieland?”

“Yeah. You know. New Orleans. Dixieland.” He grinned and waved.

I waved back and went inside, happy to be home. And even happier to know that the first time hadn’t been a complete fluke. I could kill vampires.

It made me feel a little safer.

5

A day and a half later, as I got dressed to meet Malcolm Owens, I reminded myself that I wasn’t going on a date. It had been less than two weeks since Greg had turned all evil. I hadn’t even called my mother yet to tell her that Greg and I were… well, that we weren’t anything any longer. Except maybe mortal enemies.

And even if this were a date, the sorts of things I was considering asking him to do for me weren’t the sorts of things one brought up on a first date. I could just hear it now: My fiancé was attacked by vampires, and now he is one, and I keep getting attacked by vampires, and I think the law firm he worked for may know something about it. So what I want you to do is sneak into the law offices, break into their files, and see if you can find out what they know about vampires and my ex.

Wait! Where are you going? Come back!

Right. Definitely not first-date material. Or any date, for that matter.

So. Not a date.

I nodded firmly to myself, grabbed my handbag, and trotted down stairs to the street.

I’d been going to the gym in the afternoons, and I could already feel a difference as I headed for Arthur Avenue and the restaurant we’d agreed on—I felt stronger, more confident, more able to take care of myself.

The four pointy chopsticks I was carrying in various places—taped to the small of my back under my shirt, slipped into the top of my boot, held by my bra in the cleavage between my breasts, in the back pocket of my purse—didn’t hurt either.

I’d suggested that we meet at Giovanni’s on Arthur. They have the second-best Italian food in the neighborhood, which is saying a lot. The best Italian food is at Roberto’s, but I’d rejected that as too date-like; the tables were small and intimate and the whole place was lit by candles. Giovanni’s back room was big and airy, with plants in the window and red-checkered tablecloths. More “family friendly” than “first date.”

Malcolm was already seated at a table in the back when I got there. He stood up and helped me into my chair. Not a date, I reminded myself.

We both ordered and chatted about inconsequential things as we ate. Everything seemed perfectly friendly, but I was nervous. I knew I wanted to ask him for his help, but I couldn’t figure out how to even begin to bring the conversation around to vampire attacks. I think that perhaps that’s a difficult conversational gambit under any circumstances, and I didn’t want to break the pleasant mood. But I was also beginning to fear that Malcolm did see this as a first date, so I needed to figure out some way to bring it up.

Then, as we drank our after-lunch coffee and shared a piece of cheesecake, Malcolm reached into the backpack he’d carried into the restaurant and brought out an object wrapped in a plastic grocery sack. He placed it on the table between us.

“The other night after the security guards left to take you home, I walked back across campus,” he said, nodding toward the plastic bag. “I found this on the ground over by the fence.”

Watching him warily, I unrolled the bag and looked inside. At the bottom of the sack lay my letter opener, covered in dark brown streaks. Well, I thought, at least the forensic guys don’t have it. I looked back up at Malcolm without responding.

“You want to know what I think?” he asked. I still didn’t respond. Instead, I rolled the bag back up and put it back on the table. “I think,” he continued, “that you were carrying that thing the night you got attacked. I think that you stabbed the guy with it. And I think that’s why you didn’t want me to call 911.”

I sat completely still, not answering him, but not denying what he said, either.

“And what I’m wondering is this: if you stabbed the guy who attacked you, why didn’t you tell the police that? Why didn’t you tell them that this thing existed? They could have gotten a blood sample from it, maybe used the DNA or something to track him down.”

I frantically tried to think of something to say, but Malcolm didn’t give me a chance.

“So what I’m thinking is that you know more about that attack than you’re telling anyone. I think that attack wasn’t random. I think you know who that guy was. And I think that you believe carrying around things like this can help you.” And with that, he reached over and plucked out the chopstick I’d so carefully hidden in the front of my shirt—apparently, it had worked its way up sometime during lunch and part of it was sticking out above the top button.

Conflicting emotions flitted through me: embarrassment that my fabulous wooden-chopstick-turned-stake-hiding technique hadn’t worked out so well, fear that Malcolm might decide to turn the bloody letter opener over to the police, elation that he’d figured part of it out by himself and maybe I wouldn’t have to explain everything to him after all.

All of this was followed by a moment of sheer gut-wrenching humiliation. I’d been working hard to remind myself that this wasn’t a date, but I suddenly realized that it was emphatically not a date; it was an attempt on Malcolm’s part to figure out what had happened—something he’d already told me he was inclined to try to do.

I was on an anti-date.

I felt myself blush a deep red, part embarrassment, part anger.

If my life were a movie, at this point Malcolm would announce that carrying around a bunch of pointy wooden sticks clearly indicated a fear of vampires. But it wasn’t a movie, and he didn’t make any announcement at all. Instead, he just stared at me inquisitively.

“If you’ve had this since the night I was attacked, why didn’t you bring it up when I saw you at the train station?” I asked, narrowing my eyes as I stared at him. “Or turn it in to the police yourself?”

“I don’t know for sure what it is,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m just guessing. I’m hoping you can tell me what’s up.”

I looked at him for a long time, then finally went with an edited version of the truth: I told him that my ex-fiancé had worked for a law firm. That he’d gotten mixed up with some unpleasant people.

That we’d broken up over it (well, we had, sort of) and that now I thought he was possibly stalking me, or maybe those unpleasant people were stalking me for him.

“I don’t know who that guy was,” I said, lying through my teeth. “I just assume he was somehow connected to whatever’s going on with Greg.”

“So why carry chopsticks”—he grinned a little as he said the word—“instead of, say, a knife? Or a gun?”

“Do you know how hard it is for a normally law-abiding person to get a gun in this city? I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Okay. Why not a knife?”

“They scare me.” I knew that didn’t make much sense, but it was all I could come up with.

“So why not call the police and report him?”

“Greg’s a lawyer, Malcolm. He knows his way around the legal system. He’s mixed up with some very scary guys. I don’t want to make myself even more of a target.”

“So he’s mixed up with the mob?”

“Something like that.”

Malcolm still looked suspicious, but he couldn’t really think of anything to say to that, so he just stared at me. I had to fight myself to keep from babbling into the silence.

Finally he spoke again. “So other than carrying around a chopstick, what are you going to do?”

This was my chance. Maybe my only one. I knew that I had to have Malcolm’s help or I might die. But I still didn’t quite know how to broach the subject.

After a long silence, I said, “I guess I’m going to try to find out what exactly he’s gotten himself into. Once I know why those guys are willing to attack me, I’m going to try to figure out what I can do to make them leave me alone.”

“You’re going to blackmail the mob.” He wasn’t asking a question, but I answered him anyway.

“I guess so.” I’m going to blackmail a vampire mob, I amended silently.

“And you think that reporting them to the police will make you more of a target than blackmail?”

Malcolm sounded incredulous.

“I think that reporting them to the police might be less effective.”

Malcolm didn’t say anything for a long time. He sat in his chair tracing the checkerboard pattern on the tablecloth. Finally he looked up.

“How can I help?”

I stared at him for a long time, unable to believe that he’d volunteered. “Why?” I finally asked.

“You barely know me. I tell you that I’m about to start blackmailing the mob, and you want to help?”

His look became more calculating. He opened his mouth and started to say something, then shook his head and closed his mouth again. Finally, he just smiled and said, “Let’s just say I have a savior complex. Along with my need to figure everything out.”

I had met up with Malcolm planning to ask for his help, but now I found myself feeling suspicious. Sure, he could walk around in sunlight, but what if he really was connected to the vampires?

Not that I had much choice if I wasn’t willing to drag my friends into it. And I wasn’t.

So I took a deep breath and said, “Okay. I’m planning to break into a law office and look at files.

Are you ready to do something like that? Something illegal?”

He gave me another thoughtful look. “I’ll bet we can find a way to get them to let us in, completely legally.”

“Legally?”

“Yep. And they’ll never realize why we were really there.”

He told me what he was thinking and we refined the plan over another two cups of coffee each. I had some research to do, but I was ready for it.

I had help.

I left the restaurant buzzed on caffeine and feeling prepared for anything.

* * *

Malcolm and I spent the weekend preparing for our undercover operation, which Malcolm took to calling “The Sting.”

The first thing we needed, of course, was a way to get into the law offices, and Malcolm was in charge of that. The second thing we needed was time to search without being interrupted.

I began by visiting the New York City Department of Records on Chambers Street on Friday morning. I had to show my ID and walk through a metal detector before I was allowed into the building. Good thing they didn’t have a wooden stake detector. As it was, the guard on duty looked at the chopstick in my purse with a certain amount of suspicion.

“What’s that for?”

“I use it to hold my hair back sometimes—I don’t like it in my face while I’m working.” To demonstrate, I quickly twisted the top part of my hair into a knot and stuck the chopstick through it. It held, to my great relief. This might be a great new vampire-repellent hairstyle.

Satisfied, the security guard waved me through.

It was still early, so there were a few microfilm machines left to rent. They quickly filled up, though, so I was glad I’d left the Bronx when I did. If I’d thought about it, I would have realized that lots of people do genealogical research in the Department of Records.

I spent much of the day sorting through microfilm copies of the “docket books” for the building that housed Pearson, Forster, and Sims. By the time the Municipal Archives offices closed at 4:30, I had copies of the building’s blueprints.

I stepped out of the building and turned my face up to the late-spring sunlight, stretching my arms above my head to work out the kinks from spending all day staring into a microfilm screen.

I needed to pick up a few items before I headed back to the Bronx, so I made my way to 14th Street and ducked into the “Wigs and Plus” store. I came out sixty dollars poorer but one long, curly, black wig richer. With my medium-toned skin, it made me look like any of the locals in my neighborhood—vaguely Italian or Puerto Rican or Albanian. I also stopped at a Duane Reed pharmacy and picked up a handful of makeup, all in rich, dark tones that distinctly contrasted my usual neutral palette. The wig and heavy makeup would, I hoped, complete my disguise.

When I got home, I found Malcolm leaning against the brown brick wall that made up one side of my building, his arms crossed in front of him, one booted foot kicked out in front of him, and a plastic Staples bag dangling from his left hand. He looked both completely at ease and anticipatory.

I’m not sure how he managed that combination. It was clear to me that he could hardly wait to show me something but was prepared to wait all day if necessary.

“Hey,” I said as I approached him. “What’s up?”

“I’ve got the website ready to go. And I’ve got something else to show you.” He bounced up and down slightly on the balls of his toes, looking much like a five-year-old waiting to show off his new toys. As I unlocked the double doors leading into the building and headed up the stairs, he followed, digging a t-shirt out of the bag he was carrying. Once we were inside my apartment, he grabbed the shirt by its shoulders and shook it out.

“Voila!” he said, grinning.

The t-shirt itself was an unremarkable blue. On the upper left side of the front, however, it had a small round logo with a red apple and the words “Big Apple Citywide Cleaning Service” around it.

He turned the shirt around to show me a bigger image of the logo on the back.

“I’m impressed.”

“You should be.” He grinned.

“So? Let’s see the website.”

He sat down at the desk and I stood behind him, leaning over his shoulder. I could smell his aftershave—a light, clean, slightly spicy scent.

The website he pulled up was impressively professional-looking.

“So when do we get going with this?” I was almost afraid to hear his answer.

“All we need are the phones. I’ll drop the flyer with the coupon off at the office and see what I can do to sell them on the idea of a free cleaning.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” I could feel my stomach tightening with anxiety.

“We’ll deal with it if it happens.” He put his hand on my shoulder.

* * *

Cell phone stores have proliferated in the Bronx in the last few decades. There’s one or two on virtually every block; we went to one on Fordham Road next to one of the ubiquitous jewelry stores.

Getting a “business” cell phone is remarkably easy.

We were ready for The Sting.

At 2:00 that afternoon, Malcolm left for the city dressed in his new Big Apple Citywide t-shirt and carrying a stack of coupons for a free cleaning. He also carried a battered-looking calendar book that we’d spent part of the night before filling up with “appointments” for Citywide’s services.

I stayed at home with my new cell phone in my hand, pacing around my one room like a caged animal.

I checked over the blueprints again and again. By 5:00, I had almost chewed a hole in my bottom lip worrying about Malcolm. By 6:00, I was certain he’d been caught in his lie and that he was either in jail or had been fed to a group of hungry vampires.

When the cell phone rang at 6:20, I jumped straight up into the air. Breathless, I punched at the keypad wildly before finding the right button. Then I froze, forgetting for a moment what I was supposed to say. Oh. Wait. Right. “Big Apple Citywide. How may I help you?”

“Elle! They went for it! We’re on for Sunday.” Malcolm sounded elated. “I’m on the train right now. I’ll be there in half an hour. We can…”

The line fuzzed and went dead. The train had probably moved him out-of-area, but I immediately thought of all the worst possibilities: vampires had found him, lawyers had gotten him, he’d fallen out of an open window and onto the track below. Okay. That last one was a bit farfetched, I realized, and started to calm down.

By the time Malcolm arrived, I had stopped pacing and was waiting at the door.

“So? How did you manage it?” I asked.

“Easy. I talked to the head secretary. That’s the secret to any business—the secretaries are always in charge, even if the people who own the business don’t realize it.”

“The main secretary? Sheila?”

Malcolm nodded.

“Oh, hell. Sheila knows me. She’s the one who helped Greg get settled in at the firm. I can’t go in on Sunday and talk to Sheila!”

“Don’t worry. I have some more ideas about how to disguise you.” He grinned at me in a way that looked suspiciously like a leer.

“What?”

“I’ll let you know later. In the meantime, let’s figure out where we need to concentrate our search Sunday night.” He sat down and began studying the blueprints as carefully as I had earlier in the day.

The law firm had agreed to let Big Apple Citywide in to clean their offices. Sunday. That gave me five days to consider everything that might go wrong.

I suspected that it was going to be an awfully long list.

6

So how exactly does one spend the days leading up to breaking into one’s vampiric ex-boyfriend’s former bosses’ office? Filling up time before committing a crime—a felony, for all I knew—was something I’d never had to consider before. I’m sure other people could come up with good ideas with practical applications; those people might spend their time learning to pick locks or crack safes.

Or reading up on the New York penal code.

Not me. I spent those days trying to catch up on my classwork. I did a pretty poor job of it, too. I had absolutely zero interest in writing papers about “British Politics and the Exclusion Crisis” or

“The Socio-Political Ramifications of Clandestine Marriage,” but I had even less interest in losing my funding and having to get some sort of job. I was running pretty low on cash as it was, having spent a large portion of what I had remaining from the spring semester’s funding in order to finance The Sting.

Anyway, the unfinished coursework and the missed classes had been weighing on me a bit—I had never been anything but a good student, and my inner critic had begun complaining that I was throwing away my career on a bunch of vampires. I responded by pointing out that if I didn’t focus on the vampires, I might get killed by one. But inner critics are notoriously impervious to logic and mine was no exception, so I dutifully went to class or marched myself over to the library on every one of those days. I participated in class discussions. I read, I took notes, I Xeroxed pages. I even tried to write a bit. But really, all I could do was gather information—my concentration was shot, so I couldn’t even begin to organize the notes I’d come up with. In the end, my inner critic had to settle for “a good start” instead of “completing those papers.”

I’m not sure what Malcolm did with that time. I think he graded some exams from his freshman class. I think he prepared for the next week’s class. He probably went to his own grad classes. But he didn’t call me, and I didn’t call him.

I did get several calls from people wanting to get their homes and offices cleaned, though.

Apparently Malcolm had handed out flyers to every office in the Park Avenue building, just for consistency. And our website had gotten several hits since we’d put it up. If the grad school thing fell through, I could always become a cleaning lady. At any rate, I made “appointments” for everyone who called. I figured I could call them back after Sunday and tell them we’d gone out of business or something. Or I could go clean their offices and start my new business.

* * *

By the time Malcolm showed up on Sunday, I was shaking all over. I wanted a stiff drink to calm my nerves, but I had given up drinking and now didn’t seem like the time to start up again. I would need all my faculties tonight.

Malcolm was carrying a huge, bulging Target bag. He looked irritatingly chipper.

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing at the bag.

“It’s the rest of your disguise.” He grinned and pulled out an enormous pair of panties and matching bra. They were at least four sizes too big for me. Then he pulled out two clear plastic packages labeled “pillow stuffing,” both full of puffy white material. Finally, he produced a pair of blue drawstring pants like the ones nurses wear in hospitals.

“You go put these clothes on, then stuff yourself silly. Especially the panties and bra. Oh. And here’s a pair of pantyhose. You might want to stuff your legs, too.” He looked more pleased with himself than I had imagined possible.

Great. I was going disguised as an opera singer moonlighting as a cleaning lady. And Malcolm got to go disguised as himself.

This was not going to be attractive.

In fact, just getting into the disguise was unattractive. I locked myself in the bathroom, sat on the toilet, and started with the pantyhose—I figured that I would put the underwear on over the hose so as to keep them from pinching in my waist. I wanted to look dumpy, not curvy.

Putting on pantyhose is an unpleasant endeavor at the best of times. They twist and pinch and rip.

At least they do when I put them on. I assume that other women are better at that sort of thing than I am. Shoving pillow stuffing down into the stockings makes the whole process even more irritating. I finally got it done, though I had to go back and re-stuff the left leg after I looked in the mirror. It was only half as large as the right. Dumpy Cleaning Lady, I thought. Not Victim of Elephantitis. The hose were full of runs by that point, but since no one was going to see them, I didn’t care.

The underclothes were easier. The underwear came up over my bellybutton, the kind we called “granny panties” when I was in high school. Using the stuffing, I broadened my hips and gave myself an enormous rear. And by the time I’d finished with the bra, I had breasts a stripper would be proud of. Until she took off her clothes, anyway.

Malcolm had brought a Big Apple Citywide t-shirt for me, size XXL. Once I got it on, I looked like my junior-high math teacher. For a moment, that thought frightened me more than the prospect of breaking into a law firm’s files.

The makeup was easy. I just applied it about five times thicker than usual. When I was done, I looked a little like a has-been country singer, all thick eyelashes and bright red lips.

The wig took a little more doing. I slicked my hair back with gel and pinned it with bobby-pins, just like the guy at the store had suggested. But when I put the wig on, it looked a touch too glamorous, like I was ready to go out to a seedy bar instead of a cleaning gig. So I pulled it up on top of my head with a butterfly clip, letting pieces of it hang down randomly. There. That looked more like I was trying to keep it out of the way so that I could finish cleaning and then go to a seedy bar.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, Malcolm glanced up from the blueprints he was studying once again and did a double take.

I’d never seen anyone do an actual double take before. It was kind of cool. He looked at me, then back at the blueprints, then whipped his head up for a second look—I was afraid he might give himself whiplash. He let out a low whistle.

“Wow,” he said.

“I’m not sure that this is a whistle-appropriate outfit,” I said.

Malcolm laughed. “But it is an effective one. I wouldn’t have recognized you if I hadn’t known you were the only one in the bathroom.”

“Good. That’s what I was going for.”

Malcolm, on the other hand, looked just like himself. I hadn’t been worried about that at first, since no one at the law firm knew him as anyone other than “James Allgood,” the proprietor of Big Apple Citywide.

But Greg had seen him, if only briefly, and I was beginning to worry about that a little. Of course, it was about item number 72 on my List of Things to Worry About. Number 71 was What if Malcolm’s in league with vampires? But there was nothing to be done about either of those things now.

This might be my only shot at getting into the law firm, and I needed to take it.

* * *

Luckily for us, most companies stock their own cleaning supplies, so when we got on the train to head into the city we weren’t burdened with mops and brooms and buckets and such.

We’d decided to actually clean the office in order to give ourselves a bit more lead time. If the offices weren’t cleaned by Monday morning, Sheila the Secretary might notice and realize that she’d been snowed. This way, though, she might attribute anything being out of order to a sloppy cleaning crew rather than a secret raid on her office’s files.

“So tell me again why we have to do this at night?” I asked Malcolm as the train clattered away from the Fordham station. “The law office is closed on Sunday. I know. That was the only free day Greg ever had.”

“Sheila said that some of the lawyers choose to come in on Sunday anyway—what an awful job that would be. Lawyers work too many hours—eighty, ninety hours a week. Yuck.”

“The point, Malcolm.”

“Oh. Yeah. She said that most everybody’s gone by 6:00 or so on Sundays, so we ought to have the place to ourselves; she said that way we wouldn’t have to clean around anyone.”

“And what about the security guards?”

“There’s one at the front desk. He monitors the offices via video cameras.”

“So how are we going to get around those?”

“We’re going to take turns blocking their line of sight.”

“Okay.” I took a deep breath. “I can do this.”

Malcolm smiled. “Of course you can.”

Sheila was waiting to let us into the main office once we got to Forster, Pearson, and Sims.

“There are only two of you?” she asked. “Our regular cleaning team has five.”

Malcolm smiled his most charming smile. “Our free offer turned out to be a lot more popular than we had expected. We’ve had to split up into four crews tonight instead of two—I usually just supervise, but we’re so busy I’m having to clean. I promise we’ll be thorough, though.”

I think it was more the smile than the explanation that did it. And she dismissed me in a single glance.

Malcolm’s pillow stuffing had been a fabulous idea. In Sheila’s eyes, it left me firmly in the category of Below Notice.

Sheila gave us a quick tour of the suite of offices, showed us the cleaning supply closet, then gathered up her bag to leave.

“The door will automatically lock behind you when you leave the suite. Be sure to sign out with security at the front desk before you leave the building—they’ll want to check your bags. Don’t take it personally; we all have to do it.”

Then she was gone, and there we were, alone in the law offices of Forster, Pearson, and Sims.

7

We started in the main office and worked our way back. That meant that we would hit the records room about a third of the way through our work. I was hoping that we’d find what we needed there, but I wanted to be thorough just in case the records relating to vampires weren’t kept with the rest of the files. I know that if I wanted to hide vampire records, I wouldn’t want them out where any one of my colleagues might stumble upon them.

Then again, often the best place to hide something is out in plain sight.

We cleaned the offices one by one, emptying trash cans into a large black plastic bag—we’d sort through it once we got home—then dusting, then vacuuming. We took turns blocking the video cameras in the hallway and the conference rooms in various ways—standing in front of a camera, standing in front of each other—while we quickly searched the contents of the shelves and desks.

Nothing.

When we got to the records room, I wiped down the file cases with a cleaning cloth. The room was small, so I left while Malcolm moved in with the vacuum cleaner. Then he “accidentally” ran the vacuum into the plug against the wall, knocking the video camera’s cord out of the socket. He left the vacuum running and moved to the files, while I moved to another office, hoping to keep any watching security guard’s attention on me, rather than the blacked-out video camera.

We met in the hall a few minutes later.

“Anything interesting?” I whispered.

“Not really. I didn’t have much time, of course, but I flipped through your ex’s file—just the standard contract and W-4 information. I checked payroll, too, to see if there were any unusual names on it. Not much really—your ex is on it, of course, and there’s some guy named Nick Calvani doing an awful lot of expensive contract work for them. Private investigator, maybe?”

“Okay, then. Let’s keep looking.” I headed into the next cubbyhole office, then stopped.

“Wait. What month did you look at?”

“Um. Last month. Why?”

“And Greg was on the payroll? The one for the month that ended three days ago?”

Malcolm nodded. “Yes,” he said slowly, eyeing me.

“For the full month?” I asked.

“Well, yeah. He works here, doesn’t he?”

“Oh. Right. Yeah. Of course he does.” I opened the cubbyhole door and began dusting, my mind racing.

For a moment, I had forgotten that I hadn’t told Malcolm everything. He didn’t know that Greg was technically dead. That he was a vampire. That this was a law firm with a vampire-fighting division, a division that had clear information about Greg getting turned into a vampire. That there was absolutely no way that Greg should still be on their payroll.

And now Malcolm was suspicious. Dammit.

I stuck my head out into the hall where Malcolm had continued vacuuming.

“Did you plug the video camera back in?” I asked.

“Nope. I figured it would look more realistic if we acted as if we noticed it on our way out.”

“Good. I’m going to take a quick look.”

In the records room, I looked under V for vampire, D for dead, U for undead, B for blood.

Nothing.

I came out of the room waving a dust rag as if I’d left it behind and gone back in to find it, just in case anyone was watching. Then I moved as casually as possible into what had been Greg’s tiny office.

Nothing in it had changed since the last time I’d been there. His desk was almost compulsively neat, a small framed picture of the two of us the only thing on display beside his computer. He had always been a lot neater than I was. He’d never even kept papers out on his desk at home.

His wastebasket was full to overflowing, though, so I dumped its contents into the garbage bag.

Then I finally realized what I had only subconsciously noted before: his computer was on his desk.

There were no video cameras in the small offices.

I took a deep breath and sat down in front of the monitor, wondering if he’d been smart enough to change the password he’d used for as long as I could remember.

Nope.

I was in.

And there, right in the “My Documents” file, was exactly what I’d been looking for. An entire sub-file entitled simply “V.” I opened it and began printing out the documents one by one, not stopping to read them.

Not very stealthy for a vampire, I thought. You’d think the Evil Undead would be a bit more subtle. But then, Greg had never been subtle. Smart, a little unpredictable, but never subtle.

And now his lack was my luck.

I had just hit the “print” command for the last document when the vacuum cleaner in the hall shut off and I heard Malcolm’s voice, pitched just a tad too loud for the silent office.

“Hello, sir. Hope we’re not in your way. Just cleaning up here.”

“Not at all. Where’s the regular cleaning crew?” The voice that answered Malcolm was deep, with just a touch of a southern accent. And it made me freeze in my tracks. It was Greg.

I hit the power button on the computer, not even bothering to shut it down first. I also grabbed the printouts from the computer, folded them in half, and shoved them down the front of my pants, under the stuffing in the pantyhose.

I took a deep breath, hoping my disguise would fool the man—now the monster—I’d lived with and loved for the last several years. He didn’t seem to recognize Malcolm as the man I’d knocked over in our chase across campus; I hoped Greg had been too intent on me that night to pay any attention to Malcolm. And vice versa, actually.

Okay, God, I prayed silently, I’ll make you a deal. Let us get out of this and I’ll start going to church. I’ll go every Sunday from now on. I’m not sure God is the sort to make deals, but I was certainly willing to try.

It took all my nerve to walk out into that hallway. I kept my head down and moved straight to the office across the hall.

Greg spared me a brief glance, turning his attention immediately back to Malcolm.

I sighed a tiny, almost silent, sigh of relief.

But then out of the corner of my eye I saw Greg’s nostrils widen. His head snapped up like he’d smelled something odd. Like a predator catching wind of prey.

As he turned his head to look at me again, I slipped into the office and began dusting the desk, carefully picking up objects, wiping them off, and replacing them just as I’d found them.

Greg moved to his own office and leaned against the door frame. He spoke to Malcolm, but I could feel his eyes on me, two stinging spots on my back, as if his mere look carried an evil that could physically burn me.

“So you’re the new cleaning crew?” he asked Malcolm.

“I sure hope so. This is just a trial run. We’re hoping to lure your company away with our lower prices.” I could hear the grin in Malcolm’s voice. He was a surprisingly good actor.

Then again, maybe he really didn’t recognize Greg. He’d had only a glimpse of him on campus.

“I see.” No smile in Greg’s voice. “Well, I’ll let you get on with it. If, that is, you’re done in here?” I knew that last was directed at me, but I didn’t turn around.

“We’ll just finish up in there when you’re done, sir. Or whenever you’re ready for us to,” said Malcolm.

“I’ll let you know.” Greg stepped into his office and shut the door.

My shoulders slumped in relief. I looked up at Malcolm, but he shook his head and indicated that I should just keep on cleaning.

The next twenty minutes were sheer torture. Malcolm kept up a cheerful chatter, all about people I had never heard of and who probably didn’t even exist. In the meantime, we simply cleaned. I didn’t feel safe prying into anything with Greg in the suite. I could feel the papers I’d printed out rubbing against my stomach, and I wondered if vampires really had preternatural hearing like some of the books said. If so, I was doomed; Greg was sure to hear the paper crackling against my skin.

I still don’t know if Malcolm realized who Greg was until I cornered him in the men’s bathroom and hissed “that’s my ex!” to him. He just nodded and went back to wiping down the counter.

We were just about to head into the first of the back offices when the door to Greg’s office opened.

All the fear I’d managed to suppress came rushing back in and I froze with my hand on the doorknob, half turned back toward Greg, half avoiding his gaze.

He stood in the doorway staring at me, his nostrils flaring.

After a long moment he turned to Malcolm.

“I’m done here. You can clean my office now. Be sure to check out with the security guard when you leave.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Malcolm’s voice was all hail-fellow-well-met.

Greg’s voice wasn’t. “And please see that you finish cleaning my office. I don’t believe it’s been thoroughly dusted.” His voice was cold. It had none of the gentle undertones I had loved. This voice sounded of cruelty and anger.

This creature really wasn’t Greg anymore.

With that thought, I turned the handle and walked into the first of the partners’ offices. I sensed more than saw Greg move away from his own doorway as the office door swung shut behind me and

I began dusting.

A few moments later, Malcolm joined me.

“Let’s get this done and get the hell out of here,” he said.

“Sure thing, boss.” I echoed his words to Greg.

Malcolm looked over at me and for the first time all night I saw the fear he’d been covering up.

A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face.

“That was a close call.” Oh, if only he knew. “For a minute there, I thought he’d recognized you.”

“I thought so, too. But apparently not. Are you sure he’s gone?”

“Walked him to the door myself and locked it behind him.”

“Okay, then. I’m finished in here.”

“Did you find anything in Greg’s office?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a bunch of papers. I don’t know what they say. Let’s wait until we get out of here to check them out.”

“Okay. But I still want to check in the bosses’ offices, just in case.”

As Malcolm moved the chairs back into place and began to vacuum the rest of the room, I walked to the next office.

I had just stepped inside the doorway when a hand came down over my mouth. I was jerked backwards, hard up against the body that had been waiting behind the door.

Greg buried his face in my neck and inhaled deeply.

Then he let out one of those creepy vampire hisses, and I could feel his breath brush against my shoulder.

“Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you? You might look different, but you smell exactly the same.”

8

“Don’t scream. Don’t let your new boyfriend out there know I’m still here.” Greg’s whispered instructions seemed more than a little redundant, as he still had his hand clamped firmly down over my mouth. He held me so tightly that I could barely move, but I managed a slight nod. He eased his hand away from my mouth and loosened his grip enough for me to take a step away from him.

I glanced around for something to serve as a weapon, but there wasn’t anything nearby. My letter opener was in the cleaning bucket in the other office. I had a chopstick under my shirt, but it would take some effort to fish it out. I didn’t think I had time. I needed to find better places to hide my weapons.

“Where have you been hiding, Elle? I missed you.” Greg’s voice was cool, slightly mocking.

“Don’t call me Elle. Don’t say my name at all. In fact, don’t talk to me.” I was babbling, my fear was bubbling up and spilling out into words.

“My, my,” Greg laughed softly, “aren’t we defensive? I just asked where you’ve been. I came home and you were just…”—he raised both hands, palms upwards, and gently shrugged—“gone.

Poof. Disappeared. And the next time I came home, all of your things had gone with you. Along with several of mine.” He took a step closer, and I backed toward the desk.

“Then I try to talk to you at school and you run from me. What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He backed me up against the desk and I leaned as far away from him as possible.

This was definitely not the Greg I knew. The Greg I knew wouldn’t have tried to intimidate me.

Maybe other people—he’d always had that streak in him, something slightly aggressive that made him want to win; it was why he’d become a lawyer. But he would never have tried to frighten me.

Vampire-Greg, however, wanted me scared.

I didn’t want to be scared. I was tired of being scared. But I couldn’t seem to help it. I mean, he was a vampire. And vampires are inherently creepy. And he’d talked about smelling me, which had a pretty big ick factor all by itself.

I aimed for bravado, anyway.

“You were dead, Greg. I saw you. I didn’t want to stay in the apartment where my fiancé had just died.”

“I’m not dead, Elle. I’m right here, right in front of you.” His voice had gotten even softer than before. It sent chills up my spine. “You could come home to me, Elle. I miss you.”

Oh, no. Please tell me that my vampiric ex-fiancé was not trying to get back together with me.

Oh, but he was. “Nothing has to change, Elle.”

“You’re a vampire, Greg. You drink blood to stay alive.” Sometimes it’s best to state the obvious, just in case someone has missed its significance.

“So? Diabetics inject human insulin to stay alive.”

“That’s not the same thing!”

“Isn’t it? It’s all about the blood, Elle.”

“So you’re claiming what? That vampirism is a disease?” I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation. This was far too much like a fight we could have had when we lived together—minus the “you’re a vampire” bit, of course.

“You could put it that way. We were good together, Elle. We could be again.” He stared into my eyes. His were brown, just as I remembered them, brown and soft. And warm and inviting. I felt myself leaning toward him. Maybe he was right. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing to just go home together. Forget that all of this had ever happened. Just go home and sit on our couch, staring into his eyes. His eyes. Something about his eyes.

Suddenly his nostrils flared and he jerked his head toward the door, breaking our eye contact.

Just as suddenly, I felt my head clear from the dangerous haze that had enveloped it without my even noticing. I took a step back, farther away from Greg.

He moved back toward the side of the door so that he would be behind it when it opened.

And then he…. Look. I know that “melted into the shadows” is a cliché. But that’s what he did. He stepped backwards, and then the light sort of swirled around him. Like the way sugar crystals disappear in iced tea, he just dissolved.

So. Things I Know For Sure about Vampires: One, they can be killed with a wooden stick. Two, once they’re dead they just lie there. Three, they really can hypnotize you with their eyes. And four, they can dissolve into shadows.

The door opened and Malcolm stuck his head through. “Find anything in here?” he asked.

“Um. No. Not yet.”

“Well, let’s hurry up and finish so we can get the hell out of here.”

“Can’t we just leave now?” I asked, my voice shaking.

“We really ought to finish cleaning. We don’t want to give them any reason to suspect that we were here for anything other than we claimed. I’m going to the next office.”

“I’ll come with you.” My voice fairly squeaked by the end of the sentence and Malcolm gave me a strange look, but I wasn’t about to stay in the room with Greg hiding in the shadows.

I don’t know how I knew that he would leave me alone while I was with Malcolm. I suppose it was a pretty good guess, given the fact that he’d waited until I was alone to try to talk to me. And I could argue that since I knew Greg was a vampire and Malcolm didn’t, I had a better shot at defending us if Greg decided to attack. But I have to admit that I wasn’t thinking about it even that clearly. I just wanted to get away from Greg and I didn’t want to be alone. So I followed Malcolm into the third office.

We cleaned up in there pretty quickly. I realized when I emptied the trash into my big plastic garbage bag that my hands were shaking. Badly. But I managed to do a fairly good job of dusting and even managed to block the camera with my body while Malcolm rummaged through the desk.

That made me think about my exchange with Greg—was it all recorded on the video camera in

Pearson’s office? That thought made me break out into a sweat, but since there really wasn’t anything I could do about it, I finally decided to leave it alone.

In retrospect, I sometimes wonder why I didn’t tell Malcolm that Greg was back in the office. It might have saved us a whole lot of trouble later on. But he’d want to know how Greg had gotten in without attracting our attention, and trying to explain that might have led to some sort of explanation of the whole vampire thing, and I really didn’t want to go there. Not yet.

I should have. I realize that now. But I didn’t.

So when we walked back into Pearson’s office together to finish the cleaning job I hadn’t really started earlier, I was the only one frantically scanning the shadows for any swirly vampirey shapes.

I didn’t see any. What I did see was a piece of paper folded in half sitting on Pearson’s desk. I was certain it hadn’t been there before.

While Malcolm vacuumed, I dusted the room. I waited until his back was to me, then picked up the paper and glanced down at it. I quickly crumpled it into a ball and shoved it into my pocket. My hands were shaking again.

The note was in Greg’s handwriting. It read, “We’re not done talking. I’ll find you. G.”

* * *

“You know, there’s something a little strange about your ex,” Malcolm said.

Tell me about it.

“So,” Malcolm said when I didn’t answer him, “he was the one who was chasing you the other night, right?”

Damn. I was hoping he hadn’t noticed.

“Yeah,” I said.

“So why didn’t you tell me that before we went in?”

“I didn’t think he’d be there.” It sounded lame, even to me, but Malcolm just stared at me thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded.

We hadn’t spoken much on the way from the law offices to the train station. I had been too busy watching out for vampires.

I didn’t know the reason for Malcolm’s silence, and frankly, I didn’t care.

I changed clothes in the bathroom at Grand Central Station. I’d always been amused at the laminated signs up in those bathrooms—they list all the things that one cannot do while in the Grand Central restrooms. The list included things like “bathing.”

Now I wasn’t quite as amused. After hours of scrubbing out law offices and confronting my undead ex, I would have been happy to sluice myself off in the Grand Central sinks. But I had to satisfy myself with unstuffing my cleaning-lady clothes and peeling off the pantyhose, then shimmying into a clean pair of jeans and t-shirt. I shoved the dirty clothes deep into a trash can as I walked out of the bathroom. I wouldn’t be using a disguise again—it clearly didn’t work against Creepy Vampire Senses—and I really didn’t want to wear anything that Greg had touched. My skin still crawled when I thought about the way I had almost fallen into his eyes.

Note to self: Eye contact with vampires, bad.

The files I had printed from Greg’s computer were in a backpack. The note he had left on the desk was in the pocket of my jeans. I had almost thrown it away with the disguise, but at the last minute had decided to fish it out and keep it. I didn’t want it floating around Grand Central.

I’d been intensely watchful on the train, nervously fingering the chopstick I held in my hand all the way home. More and more, enclosed spaces made me uncomfortable.

And now we were back in my apartment. The big black garbage bag full of lawyerly trash sat on my apartment floor in front of us.

But we weren’t sorting through that stuff yet. We were sitting on my couch staring at the wrinkled, sweat-stained printouts from Greg’s computer that lay on my coffee table. I smoothed my hand across them for the fourth or fifth time, trying to flatten out the creases they’d developed when I’d folded them and shoved them down the front of my pants. I think maybe I was hoping they would suddenly say something else. “A little strange” didn’t begin to cover it.

Across the top of the first page in big, bold, black letters read the word “VAMPIRARCHY.”

Under that was a name: Salvaggi.

The rest of the page was divided into five columns. Each of the columns had one of New York’s five boroughs as a heading: Manhattan, Queens, Brooklyn, Bronx, and Staten Island. In each column was a list of names, the top name on the list in bold typeface.

“Vampirarchy? What does that mean?” asked Malcolm.

I leaned over to the bookshelf against the wall and pulled out a dictionary.

“Vampire hierarchy,” I said.

“That’s really a word?”

“Apparently so.” I slid the dictionary back into its space on the shelf.

“I thought you said your ex was mixed up with the mob.”

“I thought he was. Maybe it’s some kind of gang stuff?” I was reaching, but I didn’t think Malcolm was ready for the truth. And more than that, I was getting used to having somebody on my side. I didn’t want him to decide I was crazy and bail on me.

“Hmm. Maybe. You think there’s some gang out there called The Vampires?”

“Geez, Malcolm. I don’t know. I’m not the one who wrote the files. I just printed them out.”

“Okay, okay. I didn’t mean anything by it. Let’s just go on the assumption that this is gang-related. What does this paper tell us?”

“Well, it tells us that there’s some sort of… overlord? Something like that. Named Salvaggi.”

The name was familiar to me, but I couldn’t remember where I’d seen it before.

No. Not seen it, not written down. Maybe heard it?

“Okay. So if Salvaggi is the Big Boss, what does that tell us?”

“That these guys are regional bosses who report to him, maybe.” I looked back at the names more carefully. “So. Augustus runs Manhattan, Deirdre runs Queens, Moshe runs Brooklyn, Santiago runs the Bronx, and Donatello runs Staten Island?”

“Augustus, Deirdre, Moshe, Santiago, and Donatello? That does not sound like a list of gang names to me. Maybe this is about drugs?”

“Maybe.” I knew I sounded distracted, but I had suddenly remembered where I’d heard the name

Salvaggi before. Nick had said it to me. That was the name of the vampire guy who had killed Pearson’s father. So if this really was a vampirarchy, then they were more organized than I would have guessed. I mean, inasmuch as I’d ever considered vampires—which was pretty much never until the last few weeks—I always assumed that they were solitary creatures, more prone to skulking around alone than to setting up corporate-style structures. Then again, the fact that the word “vampirarchy” even existed meant that someone knew about this.

Trust Greg to find the biggest word possible to describe something.

Anyway, back to the point: If Salvaggi was the big guy, then these other people were regional bosses, and the names under them must be—what? My mind was racing, filling in the corporate metaphor. These other guys must be the vampire equivalent of mid-level managers. There were at least ten guys on each list. Fifty managers. With who knows how many “employee” vampires.

Oh, God.

I must have whispered that last part out loud, because Malcolm looked over at me. “What? You okay?”

“Yeah. I think I just realized for the first time exactly how big and bad this thing Greg’s into must be.”

“He tried to kill you and you’re just now realizing how bad it is?”

“Well, yes. I mean, I knew it, but it’s different having it all on paper right there in front of you.”

I flipped to the next page. In the same five-column layout with the same five-borough headings was a list of addresses. There were at least six addresses in each column—eight in the Bronx, seven in Manhattan.

I was guessing that these were vampire hideouts. And at least two of them were disconcertingly close to Fordham and therefore close to my own home address.

Great. I was living in Bronxylvania.

We called it a night after I realized that there were vampire dens all over the city. I needed to think about that fact, and I needed Malcolm to be gone while I thought. Of course, we didn’t stop until we’d looked at all the pages I’d printed out, but the rest of the pages were covered with codes and numbers that made no sense to me. Malcolm offered to take them away to try to make some sense out of them. I agreed—he was the mathematician, after all. Unless they’re dates, numbers just confuse me.

These clearly weren’t dates.

I half wanted Malcolm to stay at my place that night. He hadn’t worn a disguise to the law offices and Greg had seen him. And it’s hard to tell if you’ve been followed home when the guy who might be following you can swirl away into any convenient shadows. So for all I knew, Greg knew exactly where we had gone and would be outside waiting for one of us to leave. The thought gave me chills.

But when I suggested to Malcolm that he might want to stay over on my couch, he gave me a strange, indecipherable look.

“Your couch? No thanks, not the couch. I’d rather go home.”

“I’m worried that someone might figure out what we’ve done and come after us, Malcolm. I don’t want you walking home alone. It scares me.”

“Nobody followed us, Elle. I was watching.”

Yeah. So was I. But I couldn’t tell him why that wasn’t any guarantee that Greg hadn’t followed us home.

We finally compromised. He called a cab and I watched him from behind the locked glass door of my apartment building while the car pulled away.

I don’t know if the whole “invite them into your home” thing about vampires extends to entire apartment buildings. The fact that Nick had hustled me off into a new place indicated that vampires did indeed have to have an invitation to come into individual apartments, but the building itself might be another matter. I mean, my building had locks on both the inner and outer doors and only tenants and their guests were supposed to be able to get in, but I didn’t understand vampire entry rules—so for all I knew, a vampire could be hiding in the elevator waiting for me.

That thought sent me bounding up the four flights to my place. I was breathing heavily by the time I slammed the door behind me and shot the bolt into its slot to lock it.

Millie wound herself around my ankles and mewed at me inquisitively. I picked her up and stroked her. “I know, Mill. I haven’t paid enough attention to you lately. Let’s go snuggle up in bed.”

It was almost 3:00 in the morning by then. I checked out all the darker corners of my apartment (yes, I know, vampires can’t get in without an invitation. But I was scared. I did it more to reassure myself than because I thought there would really be anyone there). And then I crawled into bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

At 8:00 the next morning, a thought came to me as I drifted through my morning sleep haze. I sat bolt upright in bed.

What had Malcolm meant, exactly, when he’d said he didn’t want to stay on my couch?

9

I spent all morning rolling that thought around in my head. I thought about it all the way through class, all the way back to my apartment.

Clearly I was crazy—any sane person would have spent the day worrying about the vampire infestation paperwork we’d discovered last night. But not me. Nope. I was more concerned about why Malcolm had stressed that he didn’t want to sleep on my couch.

I wondered if he would have stayed if I had invited him to sleep in my bed. That thought worried me.

Not that I wasn’t interested, at least hypothetically. Any woman in her right mind would be interested. He was attractive, kind, smart, funny, willing to sneak into law offices under false pretenses and steal files. What more could a woman ask for? But the problems with Malcolm wanting to sleep with me were legion—and I mean that in the Biblical “demonic” sense. There were monsters out to get me. For that matter, there was one monster out to get me back, as in “back into his undead life as his girlfriend.”

I hadn’t realized quite how dangerous this whole thing might be for Malcolm. I’d really only thought about my own need for help. But now I knew that keeping Malcolm involved in this could be just as dangerous for him as it was for me—especially if he had developed a romantic interest in me. I suspected that last bit would piss Greg off. And I didn’t want Greg to focus his attention on Malcolm.

I had let Malcolm take one of the file printouts home last night.

Curses. Blast. Damn. Hell. And those were the mild ones.

I had to get that list of numbers back and I had to get Malcolm off the case. He didn’t know enough about what was really going on. I could get him killed.

And I didn’t want that. I liked him. Which meant that I had to get rid of him.

Have I mentioned how much it sucks (no pun intended) to be hunted by a vampire? Ruins your whole day.

And your whole life, if you’re not careful.

I’d already lost one boyfriend to the vampires. I wasn’t going to lose another, even if he wasn’t actually my boyfriend.

So only one question remained: how do you break up with an un-boyfriend?

I decided to put off answering that question in favor of sorting through the garbage bag. It seemed like the more entertaining option of the two.

Most of the trash was pretty standard working-late-at-the-office stuff: old Starbucks cups, stale doughnut pieces, take-out boxes. I moved those into another bag for disposal. There were a lot of yellow post-it notes, and I saved all of those. In fact, I saved all the paper I found. Some of it had been through a shredder. I didn’t have a lot of confidence in my ability to piece those pages back together, but I saved it anyway.

And somewhere along about the middle of the bag, I found a plain white t-shirt. Men’s size XL.

The front of it was covered in blood from the neckband to the bottom hem.

At least, I assumed it was blood. It was a dark brown crunchy substance that had, when wet, soaked through to the other side of the shirt. And if it was blood, I didn’t see how anyone could have survived losing that much of it.

Of course, I don’t know that much about blood loss. I tend to get dizzy when I donate blood, so clearly I believed that even a pint was too much to lose. And I don’t know how much blood it would take to soak through a t-shirt.

Okay. First things first. I needed to find out if it was even blood.

The internet is an amazing invention. It allows you to find just about any information you may need with a few clicks of a mouse.

If, that is, you know how to correctly word your query.

I knew for a fact that just a few simple chemicals could be combined to show whether or not a substance was blood. I knew this because I’d watched all those crime shows on television.

I just didn’t know what those chemicals were.

An hour of web searches later I found it. Hemastix. The website used terms like “blood reagent material that will turn shades of green if blood is present.”

Okay. Scientific Geek-Speak translation: this stuff tests for blood.

I discovered something even better than that, though. Hemastix are available in pharmacies.

They’re used to test for blood in urine samples. I could pop out to my local CVS and pick some up.

So I did. The t-shirt I shoved into a plastic Ziploc baggie and took with me in my purse. God only knows what someone finding it would make of the fact that I had a bloody t-shirt in my purse, but I didn’t care. I just knew that I didn’t want to leave it behind.

It probably would have been safer in my apartment.

I was halfway to the nearest pharmacy when my phone rang.

“Hey! I think I’ve figured out what those numbers mean. Can I come over?” Malcolm sounded excited. I hated the idea of telling him that I no longer needed his help, but I didn’t know what else to do.

No time like the present. But I wanted to do this face-to-face. Breaking up with a partner-in-crime might not be exactly like breaking up with a boyfriend, but I felt that it deserved at least the same directness.

“I’m on my way to pick something up at the pharmacy. Give me an hour or so?”

“Sure. I’ll see you then.”

It actually took me about an hour and a half. I had to go to three different pharmacies to find the Hemastix. I probably should have called first, but I was too excited about the possibility of figuring out if this stuff really was blood. Don’t ask me why. I knew that it was blood. I wasn’t going to have to prove it in any court. The Hemastix weren’t necessary. I suspect I wanted the Hemastix to prove I was right just because that would make me feel like I was doing something significant, like I was adding to what I knew.

Malcolm was waiting outside my door when I got home. I reached into my purse to pull out my key and—of course—it caught on the baggie full of bloody shirt, ripping the Ziploc bag and spilling it onto the floor.

Malcolm bent to pick it up. “What’s this?”

“Something I found in the trash bag.”

“That looks like blood.”

“I think it is. I got some stuff to test it. What did you figure out about the numbers on that page?”

We moved into the apartment and I locked the door behind us.

“They’re stock exchange numbers. I thought they looked familiar. I think this is information about what the guys on this list have been investing in. And if I’m reading it right, they’re making big piles of money.”

“Big enough to kill for?” I asked.

“More than big enough. Think that’s what happened to the guy who was wearing that shirt?”

“Let’s find out.” I pulled the Hemastix out of the plastic store sack I had been carrying. I also pulled out a bottle of water. The instructions on the internet said to use sterile water. I don’t know if reverse osmosis counts as sterilization, but I figured it was close enough. I wasn’t going to send it off for DNA testing; I just wanted to verify that the shirt was blood-soaked.

It was. Malcolm didn’t say anything until after I had finished my test—dipping a Q-tip (also presumably not sterile, but so what?) into the bottle of water, rubbing it across the bloodstain, then rubbing it across the small strip from the Hemastix bottle.

I peered at the strip. It was a sickly shade of green. Yep. Blood.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Malcolm asked.

“Television. And the internet.”

“So you’re sure it’s blood?”

“I was sure before I did the test.” I sat down on the couch, holding the Hemastix test and staring at it despondently.

“You know,” Malcolm said, “this is beginning to feel a lot more serious than it did a few days ago.”

“No kidding.”

“I mean, it was one thing when we were sneaking around offices because your ex-boyfriend was a stalker or something. But I didn’t ever really expect to find anything.”

“Really? Because I did.” Okay, then. This was my opening. If Malcolm was going to live, I needed either to tell him everything or to find a way to make him go away.

I didn’t really want to do either of those things.

But I knew I had to. So I took a deep breath. “You’re right, Malcolm. This is a lot more serious than even I expected. I’m going to call the police.”

“What are you going to tell them? That we broke into your ex’s law office? They’ll arrest us.”

“Nope. They’re not going to do anything to us. They’re not going to know that an ‘us’ even exists. I’m going to tell them that I was unpacking a box from my old apartment and found a bunch of old papers that belonged to my ex-boyfriend, along with a bloody t-shirt. I’m not going to bring you into it at all.”

“Are you sure? I mean, you could say that I was with you when you found the stuff—” His voice trailed off. “No. I guess not. Okay.”

“So I think maybe you’d better go so I can do that. Okay?” I didn’t look up at him.

“Okay.” He whispered, and I realized he was standing just above me.

Then he leaned over and kissed me.

You know those kisses that send electricity through you—that shoot right through your mouth and end up in your stomach somewhere? This one went straight down to my toes. I got goose bumps.

I forgot where I was for a moment. I think I forgot who I was for a moment. We were both breathing hard when Malcolm finally pulled away from me.

“Call me when you’re done talking to the police, okay?” he whispered.

“I think… I think that maybe I’d better not. I don’t want them to track you down through me.” Oh, God. Surely those words weren’t really coming out of my mouth, were they?

But they were.

“I see.” Malcolm said quietly. He looked hurt and puzzled.

I had to fight myself not to kiss him again, to ask him to stay on my couch, in my bed, on the floor—to do anything other than leave.

But I really did know that this was for the best. I liked him too much to see him get hurt. And as nice as the kiss had been, I wasn’t ready to start seeing someone again. It had only been three weeks since Greg had un-died. So I just let Malcolm leave my apartment.

It was dark outside. I watched him shut the door behind himself, wanting to stop him but knowing I couldn’t. I knew he was hurt. I suspected he’d get angry after the immediate hurt wore off. I guess that’s why I didn’t suspect anything when I didn’t hear from him for six days.

In my own defense, I was distracted—both by Malcolm’s kiss and by what happened after he left.

But I still feel responsible. I should have known that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

10

I didn’t call the police when Malcolm left, of course. Instead, I tried to figure out how to deal with this problem on my own.

I couldn’t think of anything. Malcolm had left the stock exchange information behind when he’d left, but it meant nothing to me. I never could figure out the whole stock exchange thing. People bought shares in stuff. The shares went up or down and people made or lost money. That was the extent of my knowledge.

So I finished sorting through the garbage. I came up with a lot of trash and not much more. I had a bloody t-shirt, a list of the top New York City vampires and their corporate structure, a list of vampire addresses, and some sort of evidence of their financial solvency. Or immense wealth.

Whichever.

The money stuff didn’t surprise me, even if I didn’t fully understand it. If I were going to live forever, I’d figure out a way to be rich, too. I would hate the thought of toiling away at a job for eternity.

Which brought me back to Greg.

Why was he still on the payroll at Forster, Pearson, and Sims? And why did he have all of this information on one of their computers?

With a shrillness that sounded abrupt in my silent apartment, a phone rang. It wasn’t my land line, and it wasn’t my regular cell phone. It was one of the cell phones we’d gotten for The Sting. I picked it up and checked out the caller ID: “Unknown Caller.”

Hoping that maybe it was Malcolm—and equally hoping that it wasn’t—I answered. “Hello?”

“Hello, Elle.”

It was Greg. Just what I needed: another talk with the Undead Ex. “How did you get this number?”

I demanded.

“I pulled it from Sheila’s records.”

Oh. Yeah. Right. The secretary. I hadn’t thought of that possibility. “I see. So what do you want?”

“I want to talk to you. I’ve been looking for you for days, Elle.”

For some reason that comment irritated me, and I responded as I might have to any ex. “That’s odd. Because it seems to me that if you wanted to get in touch with me that badly, you could have left a message with the History department at Fordham. And I never got a message from you, Greg. So I just don’t think that you were looking for me all that hard.”

“Well it’s not like I could just go up some afternoon and leave a note.”

“And whose fault is that?” I asked. I sounded snippy, but hey, I had the moral high ground here. I wasn’t the vampire.

“Who’s the new boyfriend?” he asked.

“He’s not a new boyfriend. He’s a nobody.”

“Really? Because it looked like you two were in my office together.”

Okay. This was getting ridiculous. I was having a fight on the phone with my ex-boyfriend the vampire. I sighed and tried for a less belligerent tone. “Is that why you called?” I asked. “Because if it is, we can hang up now. I don’t have a new boyfriend. That’s it. The end. Goodbye.”

“Then I want to talk about you and me, Elle. I want you to come home.”

“Home? I am home. I have a home. It’s a home that doesn’t have you anywhere near it. I can’t come home to you. I don’t live there anymore.”

“Just get on the train and come over. It could all be just like it used to be.”

“Just like it used to be? No it couldn’t. This isn’t some strange phase you’re going through.

You’re a friggin’ vampire! This isn’t some job with weird hours that you can just quit at any time, Greg. You’re on the permanent night shift now.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m one of the bad guys. I’m on the right side, Elle. I promise.”

“Yeah, right. You’re the good guy bloodsucker. You’re the hero among vampires. You’re doing it all for the greater good of the world.”

“Something like that. I really did do this for the right reasons.”

“Did this? You mean you had some choice in it?” My voice was getting shrill. I could hear it beginning to crack. I had never considered the possibility that Greg had chosen to become a vampire.

I had always assumed that the vampire I killed had turned Greg without Greg’s consent. My knees suddenly buckled and I found myself sitting on my couch without any memory of how I got there.

“This wasn’t an accident?” I was whispering now.

“No. I did it because Pearson asked me to. He wanted an insider, someone who could learn how and where the vampires were meeting. He knew they were more organized than he’d been able to determine. He wanted to know who their leaders were and how to wipe them out completely.”

“So you volunteered.” My voice had gone completely flat. If Greg had been paying attention, he might have realized that I had reached a point almost past emotion. This seemed like more than I could handle. If I’d still been drinking, I would have wanted a stiff shot of something potent.

Something that would burn away all memory of this conversation.

“Pretty much. It was a good career move, Elle.”

“A good career move? That’s the right reason to do something like this?”

“I’m Pearson’s inside guy. I’ve been getting all the information he wanted. I’m on the fast track now.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This Greg wasn’t the one I had known. And worse, I realized that this Greg had been around before he’d been turned into a vampire. He’d made the choice to become a vampire without ever once considering the larger implications, without considering what it would do to our relationship, what it might do to me. The silence on my end of the phone grew longer and longer.

“Elle?”

“I’m still here.”

“Nothing has to change. I promise.”

“Nothing, Greg?” Now I was beginning to get truly angry. “Let’s test that. Hey. I know. Let’s go down to the Jersey shore for a long day at the beach, just like we used to every summer.”

“There’s no need to get sarcastic.”

“You’re the one who said nothing needs to change. Think we can still have a church wedding?

No? Okay. Then how about this: let’s go out to dinner. What do you say? I think I’ll order seafood.

And you can get some veggie primavera. Oh. Wait. No. You don’t eat real food anymore. Tell me, Greg, how many people have you killed since the last time I saw you?”

“None. I don’t have to kill people to feed, Elle.”

“Oh. So you just suck their blood and let them go?”

“There are plenty of people who are willing to donate. I don’t have to force anyone. Some people actually enjoy it.”

“That’s sick.”

“No more sick than killing animals to eat. Think about it. I don’t ever feed without my food’s permission.”

“So people are just food to you now.” It wasn’t a question—I had exhausted all my questions.

“The thing is, Greg, you can’t just be sort of a vampire. It’s either all or nothing. And no matter what you tell me, I don’t believe that vampires are ever the good guys. It doesn’t matter that your victims are willing blood donors. You still have to drink blood to survive. That’s not natural. It’s not okay.

You can’t be one of the vampires but not really one of them. You either drink blood or you don’t. You do. I don’t. And that’s that.”

“But you could.”

“No, I couldn’t. Not willingly. I couldn’t do what you did. I couldn’t choose to become a vampire. I won’t.” And suddenly I couldn’t think of a single thing more to say to him other than goodbye. “This conversation is over. Don’t call me again. I don’t believe you’re one of the good guys. I don’t think you even know what that means, and I’m suddenly not sure you ever did. I’m not coming back to you. It’s over.”

With that, I disconnected the call and turned the phone off.

I sat on the couch holding the cell phone in my hand. I was having a hard time believing what had just happened. Bad enough that the love of my life had been turned into a vampire. Worse that I’d actually had to break up with him three weeks after the fact. For that matter, I had, for all intents and purposes, broken up with two men that night. This was not turning out to be one of my better days.

I couldn’t stop thinking about what Greg had told me—the part about him choosing to become a vampire because he thought it would further his career. Okay. The whole bit about him having to drink blood in order to continue walking around was creepy. But the fact that he’d known what he was getting into before he’d done it was even creepier. I had thought I’d known Greg. But I was suddenly confronted with the possibility that everything I’d known about him had been wrong. He hadn’t always been kind—at least, not to everyone, though he was never deliberately cruel to me—but I’d always thought of him as utterly ethical. But maybe I’d been wrong. The fact that he’d been willing to turn into a creature of the night who preyed on people certainly argued against an inherently ethical nature.

And there was more. He’d been raised Catholic. I was guessing that he no longer went to church.

How could someone who believed in the tenets of Catholicism, as I thought he had, be willing to become a vampire? Hell, I wasn’t Catholic and I was still disturbed by the whole vampire-as-evil thing—though come to think of it, planning a wedding with a formerly-Catholic vampire might have been easier than it had been with a still-Catholic fiancé. If I’d been willing to marry a vampire. If he hadn’t given up on our entire future by letting himself get turned.

But that was the big question, of course: how could he? How could he let that vampire suck his blood? How could he allow himself to be turned? How could he be willing to become a human leech?

How could he put his career above his life, above his soul?

And more than that, how could he be willing to put his career above me? If I were truly honest with myself, that was the question I wanted answered. And the only answer I could come up with horrified me. He ultimately hadn’t cared about me as much as I thought he had.

I had sworn to myself that I wouldn’t cry over Greg ever again. But now I broke that promise.

This time was different, though. Last time I had cried because my love had become a monster.

This time I cried because I realized that my love had always been a monster. I just hadn’t known it until now. Now that felt like a damn good reason to cry.

When my sobs finally subsided, I wiped my eyes and stared at the phone on the coffee table.

The only way I could think of to get rid of my vampire problem was to get rid of the vampire.

And even though I didn’t know which vampires Greg had gotten mixed up with, I did know who to call to put in a vampire extermination order. I picked up my own phone and dialed. “Hey, Nick? It’s Elle. I’ve got some information for you. And a problem I need some help with.”

11

Nick and his guys picked me up outside my building at 2:00 the next afternoon. John was driving the usual van and Nick was in the front passenger seat. I handed Nick the list of addresses as I crawled onto one of the bench seats in the back. Dominick and Tony, the other guys who had helped clean up the apartment in Morningside, were already back there. They nodded hello.

“This is all I’ve got, Nick. Don’t ask where it came from unless you’re sure you want to know.”

“No problem. And you’re sure that these addresses are all vampire hideouts?”

“As sure as I can be given how I got the information.”

“Let me guess—you don’t want me to ask about that, either?”

“Probably better that you don’t know.”

“Sure you want to come with us?”

I nodded. “I want to be part of whatever happens with all of this. I got the information, and I want to see this through.”

“Okay, then.” Nick ran his finger down the list. “Well, we might as well start in the Bronx, since we’re already here.”

He pointed to one of the addresses only a few blocks away from my apartment and showed it to

John, who let out a low whistle. “The Kingsbridge Armory is a vampire den? Damn.” John spoke with a distinct Bronx accent; he was clearly a local boy. “No wonder the city’s never been able to do anything with it.”

“Let’s go check it out.” Nick folded the sheet of addresses and tucked it into his jacket.

John drove for a short time—maybe only ten minutes or so—and we pulled up to the corner of a huge building at Jerome Avenue and West Kingsbridge Road. Weeds surrounded the reddish-brown walls and crawled up the turrets (yes, turrets) on the corners. It looked like someone had dropped a huge medieval castle into the middle of the Bronx. I half expected to see knights in shiny armor ride out on enormous white horses. Of course, to get anywhere they’d have to jump the chain-link fence that surrounded the place. And then fight through New York City traffic. On second thought, I decided that the knights and their horses would probably be happier staying inside. Even if the walls were beginning to crumble.

“What is this place?” I asked. Everyone in the van turned around to stare at me.

“What? I’m supposed to know already?” I said. “Look, I’m a history student from New Orleans.

You want to know where to get the best beignets in the south, I’m your girl. Ask me what happened in England in 1648, and I can tell you. For that matter, ask me just about anything about the Fordham campus, and I can answer it. What I don’t know anything about is Bronx architecture. But I’m willing to learn. So enlighten me.”

John alternately looked at the road and watched me in the rearview mirror as he drove slowly past the enormous building and talked.

“The Kingsbridge Armory was built sometime around World War I. I’m not sure when. Maybe

1915 or so? Anyway, it was used by the National Guard for years and years, but they closed up shop there a few years ago. Now it’s just a huge rotting building. Every few years someone announces they’ve got plans for it, but those plans always fall through—when he was mayor, Guiliani wanted to turn it into a community center. Technically, the state owns it, but can’t afford the upkeep. So there it sits.”

We swung around the corner and I saw the armory stretch out in front of me, all crenellated towers and domed roof.

“How big is this place?” I asked.

“About four blocks,” said John.

Around the back side of the armory, construction trucks idled as workers swarmed up to the roof.

“It looks like they’re doing some sort of work,” I said. “Wouldn’t that make it hard for the vampires to actually use it as a—what did you call it? A nest?”

“A den. Yeah,” said Nick. “It does seem a little odd to have a den in such a public place.”

“Maybe they just use it as a meeting place,” one of the guys from the back suggested. “There can’t be many people working on it at night.”

“If any,” Nick agreed. “The main room on the inside is enormous. There used to be a race track in that room in the sixties.”

“What are the towers used for?” I asked. “Are there rooms up there?”

“I don’t know,” said Nick. John shook his head. “Okay then,” Nick said. “First things first.

Dominick, you’re on surveillance. Watch this place and see what you come up with. John, you’re on research. See if you can find a floor plan of the building. And try to find out the construction crew’s schedule—we don’t want to plan a raid and run into a bunch of roofing guys. Elle can help you with that.” We all nodded.

“Tony, you’re with me. We’re going to start tracking down the rest of these locations. We’ll meet back at the shop tomorrow at noon.”

“The shop?” I asked.

Nick didn’t answer that question. Instead he said, “We’ll meet you at your place tomorrow around five, Elle.”

“Okay,” I said—not because I didn’t really want to know the answer to my question, but because I realized that Nick wasn’t going to give it to me.

* * *

John and I split up that afternoon to do our research. I went back to my apartment to see what I could find on the internet, while he went in search of building blueprints. The easiest thing to do would have been to go back to the Municipal Archives, but there wasn’t time for me to do it that afternoon. John said he’d head over there the next morning if he hadn’t found anything before then.

I spent all afternoon searching, but I didn’t find anything useful—or new, for that matter. John had pretty well covered the history of the Kingsbridge Armory, and that was just about all I found on the web. I hated the fact that I would have no information to offer to Nick and his team the next day, but I consoled myself with the knowledge that I was the one who had gotten the information for them in the first place. I tried not to think about the fact that Malcolm had done as much as I had to get that information. In fact, I tried not to think about Malcolm at all. I was busy pretending not to notice that he hadn’t called all day. I had sent him away, after all, so surely I didn’t expect him to call. Didn’t even want him to. Really.

I went to bed that night both discouraged and excited about the next day. On the one hand, I was convinced that the armory was going to prove to be vampire-free, that no one could hide in that building while workers crawled over it all day. I was almost equally convinced that we would find the place swarming with vampires and get ourselves killed.

I had thought I wouldn’t be able to sleep at all. I was wrong. I slept deeply and without dreaming.

Classes were a breeze that day, too. Odd how impending death can make all one’s lesser worries evaporate.

John was the first to show up at my place that afternoon. Apparently he had already been to “the shop” and spoken to Nick and the other guys about what he’d found. Then he’d gone to do a bit more searching. He had complete blueprints of the armory. He was just unrolling them to show me when Nick arrived with Tony and Dominick.

Dominick was still in his surveillance clothing: baggy blue jeans, white muscle-T, baseball cap, sneakers. He strolled into my apartment with that same slouching swagger that so many of the younger men in the Bronx adopt. He looked like he belonged in a rap video.

“I’m impressed,” I said. “You must have blended in perfectly.”

“Hey, baby, I’m just keeping it real,” he said, then grinned at me and straightened up. “Actually, it was a little harder than I had expected,” he said, falling back into a more military-sounding speech pattern. “People in that neighborhood tend to know each other, so I had to keep moving around to keep from being spotted.”

I grinned back, suddenly pleased to be part of this strange band of vampire hunters. “Did you find out anything?” I asked.

“Yep. I don’t think the place is actually a den. You were right, Tony; it seems like some sort of meeting hall. I saw at least fifteen vampires go into the building last night. They were there for four or five hours. I couldn’t see exactly how they got in and out, but they were moving around the front entrance.”

“Good work, Dom,” said Nick, tossing a black bag toward him. “Here’s your gear for tonight. I suggest you get some sleep between now and then.”

“Mind if I use your couch?” Dominick asked me.

“Go ahead, if you can sleep with all of us in the room.”

“No problem. I can sleep anywhere.”

“You might want to stay awake for this first,” John said, pointing at the blueprint he’d unrolled on my coffee table.

We spent the next half hour perusing the layout of the building. It was fairly simple, really. The largest part of the armory was the open space in the middle. The towers surrounding the castle-like structure all had several rooms each, probably used as offices at one time. At one end of the armory was a large auditorium.

“It could be that they’re using this auditorium for their meetings,” said John.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “One of the sources I found on the web quoted a woman saying that this auditorium is flooded. Apparently the water has been standing there for years. It’s probably pretty foul.”

“Okay then,” said Nick. “We’re probably looking at either the central space or one of the towers.

Any thoughts?”

“I don’t know that they would use the central space,” said Tony. “It’s too open—too easy for someone to walk in on them unexpectedly. I’m guessing they’re using one of the towers. Easier to guard.”

“Agreed.” Nick’s voice got more clipped the longer we talked, more military and commanding.

“Unless anyone has any pertinent objection, we’ll go in tonight. I’ll take point. Elle, you come with me. And try to stay behind me this time. Tony, you’ll cover our backs. Dom and John, you two scout the perimeter. Once we’re in, John will guard the entrance. Dom and Tony will come in for the kill.

Any questions?”

“Nick,” I squeaked, “are you sure you want me to go in first with you?”

“No. I want you to go in behind me. I want you somewhere I can keep an eye on you myself. That means that I go in first, and Tony watches our backs. You wanted in, Elle. You’re in. Or you’re out.

Last chance to back out.”

I took a deep breath. “I’m in.”

“Okay. We’ll head out in two hours. I want everyone geared up and ready to go then.”

* * *

Getting “geared up” meant putting on an all-black outfit and strapping on a variety of weapons.

Luckily, I had lots of black clothes—it’s sort of de rigueur in New York—so I was able to wear a pair of stretchy black pants (the better to move easily over chain link fences) and a long-sleeve black t-shirt. Black shoes were a problem, though. I had a variety of high-heel black pumps and sling-backs. I also had several pairs of black boots, all of them with varying degrees of heel heights and toe points.

All of them either clacked or clumped as I walked. None of them were appropriate for sneaking up on bloodsucking fiends. All of the extra black sneakers in Nick’s bags were far too big—even a size nine woman’s foot is smaller than your average male’s. Finally I hit on the idea of using black shoe polish to paint an old pair of beige Keds, a pair of shoes I had last worn when Greg and I had painted our first apartment in New York.

“What about our faces?” I asked. “Are we going to paint those, too?”

“No,” said Nick. “That would make it too hard to move around in public.”

“So we’re dressing in black to hide ourselves but letting our lovely white faces shine in the moonlight?” I knew I was being sarcastic, but I couldn’t help it; I was nervous.

Tony, who was checking his email at my computer, snorted. “Nope,” he said without looking away from the monitor. “We’re going to put ski masks in our pockets. Then, once we’re ready to go in, we’ll pull them down over our faces. That way we’ll cover our hair and faces, but we won’t look too out of place walking through the Bronx.”

“Don’t you think someone will notice a bunch of people dressed all in black strolling down Kingsbridge Avenue? Especially if we’re all sporting great big weapons?”

“You talk too much when you’re scared,” said John from his seat on the floor by the coffee table.

He was rubbing oil on some sort of medieval-looking crossbow thingy. It looked totally out of place in the middle of my apartment, but I suspected it would look perfect once we got to the gigantic Bronx castle.

“No way, man,” said Dom, who until that moment had appeared to be asleep on the couch.

“That’s not scared, that’s just agitated—she’s just getting that kick-ass energy up. You saw what she did to that vamp in her apartment. She totally trashed his bad self. And she took out those vamps in Morningside, too. That’s what she does when she’s scared.” He opened one eye and grinned at me.

“I’m not sure that I was scared so much as pissed off,” I said. “I don’t think I had enough time to get scared either of those times. I just got angry.”

“Then I’m hoping you get way angry tonight,” laughed Dominick.

“Me, too,” I said. “Me, too.”

12

Two hours later, Nick and I huddled in the shadows of the main entrance to the Kingsbridge Armory.

We had scaled the chain-link fence without any problem, and now stood in the portico between the two guard towers. At least, they would have been guard towers if this had really been a medieval castle.

There also would have been a drawbridge and a moat. Instead, concrete stairs led up to a large wooden door secured with huge chains and an enormous padlock.

The black ski mask over my face was hot and made it difficult to breathe. My hands were sweating, too, but I couldn’t wipe them off because they were encased in latex gloves.

“Here,” Nick had said in the van as he handed the gloves to me. “Wear these.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Fingerprints. Dead vampire bodies look just like dead human bodies. If the police find them, we don’t want to leave behind any extra evidence. The last thing you want is to become a murder suspect.”

“Great. What about hair, fibers, all that stuff? I’ve seen CSI on television. I know what they look for.”

“Our best bet is to hope they don’t find the bodies. They do sometimes, of course. Look, we’re as careful as we can be, and hope for the best. And we’ve got some great lawyers,” he said, flashing a smile at me.

Oh, dear. “Um. Nick?” I said, suddenly remembering what I’d forgotten to tell him in the rush of planning to get inside the armory.

“Yeah?”

“My ex, you know, the vampire?”

“Yes.” He drew the word out.

“He’s still on Pearson’s payroll.”

Nick’s head whipped around toward me. The other guys looked back and forth between us. I held

Nick’s eyes with a steady gaze.

Finally Nick nodded. “Tell me about it when we’re through here.”

“Sure,” I said. If we get out alive. I kept that last thought to myself.

We dropped off John and Dominick, now in all-black rap-boy gear, at the far end of the armory, then circled around it once. Nothing seemed out of place, but who was I to know? Tony got out of the van on Kingsbridge Avenue and sauntered away.

Finally, Nick and I found a place to park the van on Jerome. Before we got out and headed back toward the armory, Nick double-checked all our gear. Underneath my light summer jacket I had deposited several stakes, courtesy of Nick.

“Wouldn’t knives be easier to use?” I asked.

“Not if you want to kill vampires,” Nick answered shortly, checking the small crossbow he had strapped under his own jacket. It made him look bulky, but he was a bulky guy anyway, so the additional lumps didn’t look all that odd. His black gym bag was full of arrows.

“The thing about vamps,” he said, “is that you have to kill them with wood to the heart, fire, or decapitation. Nothing else really works. That’s why all our crossbow bolts are primarily wooden. And some of them have been soaked in alcohol to make them more flammable. Flaming wood to the heart is especially effective.”

“So why do I just get stakes?”

“Do you know how to shoot a crossbow?”

“In theory.”

“Theory doesn’t count tonight. You do know how to kill a vampire with a stake. In practice. I saw it. Twice. Anyway, I’m not planning for you to get too close to the action tonight. If Dom’s vamp count was right, the boys and I ought to be able to take them all out without your help.”

“So why take me at all?”

“Because plans don’t always work out, and it never hurts to have another fighter on our side.”

“That’s not very comforting,” I said drily.

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

* * *

We’d been standing in the doorway for about fifteen minutes when Nick suddenly crouched down in the shadows and became utterly still. I followed his lead, straining to see over his shoulder. The lights from the surrounding neighborhood left a glare in my eyes that ruined my night vision, so it took me a few moments to see what had caused Nick to freeze. But when I finally did, my breath caught in my throat.

First one, then two, then three figures dressed all in black flowed across the top of the chain link fence surrounding the armory. I don’t think I would have noticed them if I hadn’t been watching so intently; they seemed to blend into the shadows, to draw the shadows around them in a way that made my eyes want to glide past them. I was reminded of the way Greg had slipped into the shadows behind the door at the law office. I had wondered how the vampires could get into the armory unseen. Now I knew. They just made themselves virtually invisible. Fabulous. Invisibility: another thing in their favor. I tried not to tally up all of the ways in which they had the advantage over us, but a list kept forming in my mind. Invisibility. Strength. Speed. The ability to hypnotize us with their eyes. Big pointy fangs, the better to suck your blood, my dear.

Damn. I needed to pay attention.

I turned my concentration back to the problem at hand. Okay. Three figures so far. All headed across the grass toward us.

Every muscle in my body tensed. I tried to prepare myself to run if the figures made their way toward the main entrance. But when it comes down to it, I don’t think there’s really any way to prepare to run from the vampires headed your way. Slowly I snaked my hand up from its position on the ground, where it held me in a crouch, toward the stake I had slipped through a belt loop.

Just as my fingers touched the top of the stake, the lead vampire stopped and held his hand up to halt the ones behind him. I froze as his head went up into the air, making that same sniffing motion Greg had made in the office.

Arrgh. Smell. I had forgotten to include “keen sense of smell” in my List of Vampiric Advantages.

But whatever the vampire had sensed, it clearly wasn’t us; he moved on after a moment. Of course, moving on meant that he was coming ever closer to us. I waited for Nick to do something, but he remained utterly still and watchful. The three figures moved toward the wall of the armory tower on the far side of the entrance Nick and I hid in.

Then they were gone. I hadn’t seen them go into the building, but they were no longer on the grass. I cast about frantically, hoping to figure out what had happened to them. Nothing. Perhaps they had moved up to the other side of the tower, around to the wall where I couldn’t see them.

After a moment, Nick stood up slowly and motioned for me to follow him. We stepped out of the portico and moved down the steps quickly but quietly. As soon as we could get close to it, Nick slid up against the wall of the tower, hugging it with his body. His movements were almost as fluid as those of the vampires. I followed him, though I wasn’t nearly so graceful about it. Still, I managed to be fairly silent. I think.

As he slid along the wall and around the tower, Nick’s eyes and hands were constantly in motion.

He didn’t exactly run his hands along every inch, but he did manage to cover a large portion of it.

And then, almost as suddenly as the vampires, Nick was gone. I was only a foot or so behind him, but I had no idea where he’d gone.

Until I stepped up to the point where he’d disappeared. There was a crack between the tower and the wall, a hidden entrance that you had to be right up against to find. It looked like the original crack had been an accident—part of the decaying process of an old building falling into disrepair. But someone had covered it up. It was simple, really. A few pieces of wood placed over the fissure, then plastered and painted to match the surrounding wall, hid the entrance from casual examination. Only if you stood up close to the place where the tower curved around and met the main wall could you tell that the tower itself wasn’t perfectly round; it had a strange lumpiness to it caused by the makeshift entrance.

After only a moment’s hesitation, I followed Nick into the tower. He was standing just far enough inside the entrance to make room for me. After my eyes adjusted to the darkness inside the building, I saw that a short corridor, evidently formed from the same fissure that had cracked the wall, curved away to the right. A faint but steady blue light glowed from around the curve. Nick inched his way forward, again motioning that I should follow him.

I heard a slight scraping from behind me, like a shoe scuffing along the ground. Without thinking, I whirled around and brought up the stake I hadn’t even realized I had in my hand.

Tony stood behind me, leaning back with his hands up in the air in front of him as if to ward off a blow. I froze, then looked up at the stake I had unconsciously pointed directly at his heart. I slowly dropped my hand to my side. Tony smiled at me and gave me a thumbs-up. I almost kill the guy and he approves, I thought. What the hell have I gotten myself mixed up in?

The entire exchange with Tony took only about two seconds, but by the time I turned back around Nick had flattened himself against the wall and was following the curve toward the blue light. I followed his lead, hugging the wall with my back as we peeked around into the room beyond.

One part of my mind noted that we must look like a scene from an old Three Stooges episode, with all of our heads poking around the corner at different levels.

The rest of my mind didn’t think anything at all; it was too busy gibbering in terror.

The room itself was fairly small with high ceilings and small windows. The blue light emanated from a small battery-powered lamp against the far wall.

But the space was full of vampires. I’d known coming in that we were going to fight vampires, so I was expecting it. But I think that anyone who came into the room would have instantly known what they were. Or at least what they weren’t: human. All of the vampires I had seen up to that point had moved more or less like humans. Granted, they’d hissed like animals and done some very un-human things, but they hadn’t looked completely alien.

These things did. I don’t know quite how to describe the movement of preternatural creatures who are built exactly like humans—who used to be humans, in fact. But it’s kind of like what you’d get if you crossed a cat with a snake and made it walk on its hind legs. They slithered upright.

Just looking at them made my skin crawl. I think it was trying to go back the way we had come in, and it was only by sheer force of will that I didn’t follow my skin’s suggestion and get out of there as quickly as possible. These creatures were so patently inhuman that it set off some primal instinct in me, a completely adrenalized “fight or flight” response. I shuddered and pulled back against the wall inside the entryway.

Tony patted my shoulder; I got the feeling that he’d had the same response at some point. It comforted me to be reminded that I wasn’t the only human in the building with all these monsters. I took another stake out from my arsenal and held them two-fisted.

Nick held up his hand behind him, one finger pointed up. Then he raised a second finger, and I realized that he was counting to three. Oh, God. I hadn’t checked to see where all the vampires were. I didn’t know the plan. I couldn’t remember if we had a plan. I couldn’t run out into the middle of all those monsters. I needed more practice!

Then Nick’s third finger went up into the air, and I felt all my muscles tighten and bunch. Before I even had time to think about it, my body had taken me flying out into the room behind Nick, who had starting shooting his crossbow and reloading as quickly as he could. Tony stepped out from behind me and starting shooting as well, and I saw John and Dominick jump down from someplace toward the ceiling.

We took the vampires by surprise. For some reason, I had expected them to be ready for us, maybe because they had all those supernaturally enhanced senses. But I guess even vampires can be lulled into a sense of security. Nick managed to get two of them before they realized something was terribly wrong. Tony and John each got one with a crossbow shot through the heart, but Dom’s shot went wide, thudding into a wall and sticking there.

That was the end of having the element of surprise on our side, though. As soon as they figured out what was going on, the vampires went on the offensive. There were still easily seven or eight of them, and they attacked.

The room filled with those uncanny vampire snarls and hisses, and I looked up just in time to see one jumping down from a windowsill above me. He had his hands out like claws and would have grabbed my neck had I not side-stepped him. As it was, he got his teeth into my shoulder. I felt my jacket rip and two hot points of pain at the top of my left arm.

I was too busy to do anything about it at the moment, though, because another vampire had rushed me when I’d looked up. He, too, aimed at my throat, but I ducked down and came back up under him, slamming my stake into his chest. His eyes got big and he grasped the stake, trying to pull it out as he sank to the floor.

My movement tore the other vampire’s mouth from my arm—and took about half my deltoid with it, if the pain were anything to go by. I spun around to face him and he hissed, my blood flying out of his mouth in a spray of tiny droplets. My left arm felt numb, but I could still move it. I quickly switched the remaining stake to my right hand. The vampire crouched toward the ground and circled around, looking for a weak spot.

I inched backwards, keeping the wall to my back. I didn’t want to get cornered by this guy, but I certainly didn’t want some other vampire sneaking up behind me. The vampire and I watched each other warily.

“You’re going to die, you know,” he said, almost conversationally. I didn’t answer.

“You think you’re tough, but you’re only human. You’re going to die, and I’m going to drink your blood.” His eyes narrowed in pleasure at the thought. “It’ll be hot and salty and will go down smooth.” He drew the last word out in a long, sensuous-sounding syllable.

“You’re disgusting,” I said. He just smiled at me.

I kept moving along the wall, watching for an opportunity to strike. The vampire followed me.

We’d made it about a quarter of the way around the room when something over his shoulder caught my eye. Greg stepped out of the shadows of the entrance Nick and Tony and I had used. He winked at me, then blew me a kiss and faded back out of the room.

The vampire facing me took that moment of inattention as his chance to attack. He sprang from his crouch straight at my throat.

“Damn it!” I said. And more in irritation than anything else, I dodged his leap and hit him with the stake. He stumbled, but I didn’t wait to see what happened next. I jumped past him and sprinted toward the exit.

I almost made it, too. But the vampire I had just staked grabbed my bad arm, spinning me back toward him. Apparently I had missed his heart. Crap.

“I don’t have time for this,” I muttered, reaching up and yanking the stake back out of his chest.

His face contorted in rage as he clutched the gaping wound the stake had left in his chest. He let out a grunt of pain. In retaliation, he grabbed my injured shoulder and squeezed.

The pain sent me almost to my knees and for a moment my head swam.

When the stars had cleared from my eyes, it was as if everything had slowed down. I could almost see my anger flickering around the edges of my vision.

The vampire stood above me victoriously, his eyes completely black and his teeth shining white against the blood drying around his mouth. I leaned my head over as if offering him my neck, and he reared back to strike me with those teeth. At that moment, my right hand came up as if of its own accord, and I felt the wood slide, centimeter by centimeter, under a rib and into a softness at the center of his body.

I swear I could feel his heartbeat reverberating down the wood of the stake and into my hand. It beat once, then twice, then hammered out a tattoo as the vampire recoiled from the weapon that had already killed him.

As his heartbeat faltered to a stop and he crumpled to the ground in front of me, time resumed its normal speed. I had no idea how long the whole thing had taken or if I could even still catch Greg, but I knew I had to try. I stumbled back to my feet and made my way to the hidden entrance. I had to jump over several black-clad bodies along the way. I hoped they were vampires and not our guys, but I didn’t have time to stop and check.

I raced to the end of the small corridor, then squeezed my way out the opening into the night air.

Nothing. Greg was gone. Probably long gone. I considered trying to track him, but I had no idea which way he had gone. Besides, I was wearing blood-soaked clothes. And a ski mask. Not something that would necessarily blend in, though I wouldn’t put it past people scurrying down the sidewalk at night in the Bronx to ignore, if not actively avoid, someone who looked like I must have looked at the moment.

Besides, some of my teammates were still back in that room fighting vampires. I couldn’t very well leave them to go chasing after my ex, even if he was one of those vampires who might need killing.

By the time I made it back to the tower room, though, the fighting had ended. Twelve dead vampires lay stretched out on the floor. Tony and Dom were systematically going around the room driving stakes into every vampiric heart. Nick and John were nowhere to be found.

“Just making sure they’re really dead,” Dom said, looking up at me as I walked back into the room.

“Want some help?” I asked.

“Sure. Grab a stake and a vamp and set to. But first get that shoulder tended to.” He jerked his head toward Tony, who had a small medical kit open in front of him.

“Where have you been?” Tony asked me as he poured some sort of anti-bacterial stuff over my shoulder.

“Chasing the one that got away.” I winced as the liquid bubbled up in the wound.

“Any luck?”

“Nope. He really did get away. Where are the others?”

“Scouting out the rest of the place to make sure we haven’t missed anyone.” He spread some clear goop on my shoulder and taped a large sterile pad over it.

“That’s not as bad as it looks. Or as bad as it probably feels. Keep it clean, change the bandage every day, and keep putting this on it,” he said as he handed me a tube of antibiotic ointment.

“You fixed up?” Dom asked. “Good. Here’s a stake. We haven’t done the three on that side of the room yet.”

Just as we were finishing our post-staking staking job, Nick and John came back in through an interior door that I hadn’t really noticed before.

“All done?” Nick asked.

“Yes, sir,” replied Tony. “What do you want us to do with the bodies?”

Nick handed him a gun. I don’t know much about guns, but this one looked big and mean with an extraordinarily long muzzle.

“Put bullets through all the stake holes; that ought to confuse the issue if there’s ever an autopsy.

We’re going to have to hide the bodies on site. I don’t want to risk taking them to the van,” Nick said.

“Do you think anyone will hear the gunshots?” I asked worriedly.

“That’s a silencer on that piece.”

Tony proved Nick’s point by shooting the first of the vampire’s bodies. The gun made a muffled whump sound and the bullet thwacked into the body with a sickening thump.

“Let’s start moving these vamps,” said Nick, grabbing the body underneath the arms. John took the feet and they moved out of the room through the same door they’d used moments before. I followed them.

The inner room of the armory was enormous; I could believe it used to hold that racetrack Nick had mentioned. We crossed it and moved through a set of doors into what was clearly the flooded auditorium I had read about online.

“Oh,” I said, “this place reeks.” I covered my nose with my hand.

John and Nick swung the body a few times, then heaved it into the murky water where it slowly sank.

“It’ll cover the smell of the rotting bodies,” Nick said.

“Ugh. I think I’ll stay behind to help Tony,” I said as we headed back to the tower room.

“Good,” said John. “That means you can help with the rest of clean-up. I can’t even begin to tell you how tired I am of bleaching floors.”

After the smell of the fetid water, bleach sounded just fine to me.

13

I was almost sorry I’d volunteered to help by the time we were done scrubbing all the blood off of the floors and walls of what we’d taken to calling the “meeting room.”

“More like a slaughter room, if you ask me,” Dom muttered. He was crouched over the last of the blood stains, scrubbing at it with a bleach-soaked sponge.

When we were finished, we changed clothes in the van. All of our blood- and bleach-soaked clothing went into one of Nick’s ubiquitous black gym bags and I realized why he had insisted that I bring a change of clothes.

“I’ll send these through the incinerator at the shop,” he said. The shop again. This time I didn’t ask.

I almost balked at the thought of stripping down in front of four men I didn’t know very well, but I finally decided I was too tired to care. I’ve never been terribly modest, anyway, and surely killing a bunch of vampires together counted for something in the “ways to bond with new people” category.

“Okay, Dixieland,” Nick said, turning around to face me as John pulled away from the curb.

“I’ve changed my mind. I want to know where you got the info. Time to talk.”

I told him everything: sneaking into the law offices, printing out the files, getting caught by Greg, finding the bloody t-shirt, breaking up with my undead ex. Seeing him in the meeting room tonight. All of it. It didn’t take as long in the telling as I had anticipated, and no one interrupted. When I was done, Nick looked off into space over my head for a long time.

“So Pearson’s got a guy on the inside,” he finally said.

“Apparently. But I’m not sure about Greg’s reliability, Nick.”

“Me either. He’s a vampire. You can’t trust vampires. Alec should know that by now.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“You’re not going to do anything yet. I need to think about this some more, check a few things out. Hold tight; if I need your help I’ll let you know.”

“What about us?” Dom asked.

“I’ll let you know, too,” Nick said, his voice sounding distracted.

I felt better for having told him. I was glad to let someone else take over for a while.

“You didn’t tell this Malcolm guy anything about the vampires?” Nick asked me.

“No. I thought he might be safer if he didn’t know.”

He nodded. “You were right—the fewer people who know, the better.” He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. “You think he’s got any connection to the vamps?”

“I really don’t think so, but I could be wrong.”

Nick nodded again and stared out the window thoughtfully.

By the time we pulled up in front of my building and Nick sent John to walk me up to my apartment, I was wiped out, completely exhausted from the night’s events. I fell into bed and was asleep almost instantly.

* * *

A dull ache in my shoulder woke me up the next morning. I got up and took some Advil. Then I took a shower, changed my bandage, made a pot of strong coffee, and considered the shape of my life as I sat on my couch and blew across the top of the cup to cool the hot coffee. I do that a lot in the morning. It’s not the same as staring blankly at a wall until I wake up. Really.

At nine o’clock, I called a vet and made an appointment to take my cat in to get her shots.

Okay, I know it sounds odd: kill some vampires, inoculate a cat. But more than anything, I wanted to try to keep at least some aspects of my life as normal as possible. And continuing to be the sort of Responsible Pet Owner that all the brochures in the vet’s office advertised meant getting Millie’s vaccinations.

So the next two days were perfectly normal. I worked to make them that way. Actually, to be entirely honest, it wasn’t all that hard. I was still floating in some sort of post-killing rush. I felt light, like some enormous weight had been lifted off me. It hadn’t, of course. But I felt better for having enlisted Nick’s help. I went to my classes on Friday. I felt almost normal.

Then Jenna pulled me aside after class. “Hey,” she said. “We’re all going out tonight. Want to come? I think it would be good for you. And we’ve missed you.”

I stared at her blankly for a second before realizing that she didn’t know not to go out at night.

My feeling of normalcy fled and I frowned.

“No thanks,” I finally said. “Maybe some other time.” I tried to think of some way to warn her, but couldn’t.

Jenna stared after me worriedly as I walked away, toward the library.

Still, it wasn’t until day three that I really began to droop. It was one thing to pretend I had a perfectly normal life. It was another thing to spend that life scurrying home before dark just in case the vampires came out in search of me. I suppose I should have felt safer after killing five vampires all on my own. But the first time I had been out of my mind with rage. And I’d had backup on vamps two through five. I wasn’t entirely certain that I could actually take out a vampire all on my own—especially if that vampire happened to take me by surprise.

So I continued to spend my evenings at home alone. Millie pouted for a while about her shots, then resumed her habit of curling up on my lap to sleep.

But even though I adored Millie, she wasn’t quite enough in the way of company. Cats aren’t strong conversationalists. I finally had to admit to myself that I missed Malcolm.

Still, I had broken up with him, at least inasmuch as it’s possible to break up with someone you’re not dating. I knew it wouldn’t be fair to call him, so I resisted the urge.

That lasted all of about twelve hours. And I spent a lot of that time picking the phone up, dialing, and hanging up before the number went through.

I didn’t even get an E for effort.

I finally gave in and let the call go through, but he didn’t answer. I didn’t think much of it when I first heard his voicemail click on. For all I knew he was on campus working and had his ringer off.

But then an electronic voice came on the line and told me that his message box was full. That’s when I started to worry. I called Nick and left a message on his cell phone. Apparently no one was answering tonight.

I was still fretting at midnight when I finally got ready for bed. I had tried to call Malcolm every few minutes, but he had never answered.

I decided that I would spend the next day asking around the math department to see if anyone had heard from him recently. Hard as I tried, though, I couldn’t think of anything useful to do that night.

So I put a DVD in and settled into my bed, hoping that a light comedy would take my mind off Malcolm.

It did. Instead of thinking about Malcolm, I thought about the last time I had watched this movie with Greg, before his Big Vampiric Career move. I heaved a sigh and turned off the television. Maybe a book would help me fall asleep. I pulled Jane Austen’s Emma off my shelf and crawled into bed with it.

I had just snuggled down under the covers when an abrupt rap on my window made me jump.

And scream. Not a big scream—more of a loud squeak. Apparently I don’t scream when I’m surprised. Or scared.

I wanted to ignore it, but the rapping continued. I felt like the guy in Edgar Allan Poe’s poem

“The Raven.” If I opened the curtain and saw a bird on my fire escape, I was going to scream for real.

It wasn’t a raven. It was worse. It was Greg.

As if my thoughts had summoned him, there he was, sitting on the fire escape outside my window, knocking on the glass. I was suddenly glad Nick and his guys had installed window grates.

“Let me in, Elle.” Greg said. He wasn’t yelling, but I could hear his voice clearly through the glass, just as if he were already in the room. Another vampire trick, I guessed.

“No.”

“Then open the window.”

“No. Go away.”

“Look. I can’t come in unless you invite me. Just open the window and let me talk to you.”

“You’re doing fine through the window.”

“It’s harder this way, though. Come on, Elle. I promise not to hurt you.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?”

“I promise. Look, if I’d wanted to hurt you, I could have done it at the office. Or at the armory. I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to talk.”

I finally gave in and walked to the window. I couldn’t figure out how to get him to go away without talking to him. And I couldn’t see myself going to sleep with Greg lurking right outside my window. For that matter, I wasn’t entirely certain that I would ever be able to sleep again now that Greg knew where I lived.

I did, however, pick up the big wooden crucifix Nick had given me.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“Put the cross down, Elle. Believe me, you want to hear what I have to say.”

I set the cross down on the bed next to me but kept my hand on it. I opened the window just a crack. “Is that good enough?”

“I guess.”

“How did you find me?”

“Magic vampire senses.”

I sighed. I never could get a straight answer out of him, even when he was human. “Fine, Greg.

Talk.”

He smiled at me, a slow, malevolent smile, and I involuntarily stepped away from the window. I could see his fangs.

“I know where your boyfriend is,” he said.

I froze. “What boyfriend?”

“The one who helped you break into my office. You got my files, didn’t you? That’s how you and your army buddies knew where to find us.”

“They’re not in the army,” I said absently. “You know where Malcolm is?”

“Yes. And if you’re very, very nice, I might even take you to him.”

“You bastard. What have you done to him? Tell me where he is.”

Greg made a tsk-ing noise and shook his finger at me. “That’s not very nice, Elle. Keep calling me names and I won’t tell you anything else.”

I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. “Okay, Greg. What do I have to do to get you to tell me where he is?”

“Marry me.”

I must have looked as shocked as I felt, because he laughed so hard tears came out of his eyes.

I didn’t say anything, just waited for his laughing fit to pass.

“I’m kidding,” he finally said, wiping the last of the tears away. “Just give me that list you stole from my office.”

I’m just no good at bluffing; my face always gives me away. But I continued trying anyway.

“What list?”

“The one you and your little thug platoon used to find our meeting hall the other night.”

“And if I give it to you, you’ll tell me where Malcolm is?”

“Absolutely.”

“Is he in danger?”

“I’m not telling you anything until I have the paper.”

“You at least have to tell me if he’s alive—and I mean really alive, not vampire-alive—or I’m ending this conversation.” I knew that challenging him that way was a risky move; it could just as easily backfire and cause him to quit talking to me altogether. But I wasn’t about to go somewhere with Greg just to see Malcolm’s corpse. Even the thought of it nearly made my heart stop. I didn’t think I could bear it if I had foolishly gotten Malcolm killed.

“To the very best of my knowledge, he is still alive, still human.”

“But that might change?” I asked.

“The files.”

“And then you’ll tell me?”

“Everything. I promise.”

I started to get up to go for the list. It didn’t matter if I gave it to him; Nick already had the information. But I stopped, suddenly realizing that there was a good chance Greg had some trick up his sleeve.

“If he’s in danger, will you let him go?” I asked.

“Not my call.” He smirked in a way I had always found irritating, even when I had liked him.

“Will you take me to him?”

He shook his head. “That wasn’t in the contract.”

“We don’t have a contract yet; I haven’t agreed to anything. We’re still in negotiations.”

“Hmm. Well, then, I guess that would be okay. Yeah. You give me the file and I’ll take you to him.”

“Will you guarantee my safety?”

“Why should I guarantee your safety? Will you guarantee the safety of any vampires you come across in the process? You’re the big bad vampire killer, after all. Seems to me that they have more to fear from you than you do from them.” He actually sounded bitter as he said this. As if he had any right to be bitter at all. I was the injured party here.

I thought for a moment. He was right. I did know how to kill vampires. Besides, I planned to call Nick in for backup.

“Okay. Fine. But I’m taking all my gear,” I finally said. “And I’m carrying the crucifix. You don’t bite me. You don’t touch me. You don’t even stand too close to me.”

“Agreed,” he said.

I felt like maybe I had just lost that round of negotiations somehow. If Greg the Vampire was anything like Greg the Lawyer—and I was realizing more and more that there was little difference between the two—then he had thought of every contingency and had figured out some way to twist every possible situation to serve his purpose. Whatever that might be.

That was the question of the moment: why was Greg doing this? What could he possibly gain from it?

I didn’t have the answer to that question. What I did have was a friend who was missing and quite possibly in very real danger. I had no other choice, really.

“Okay, then,” I said. “Give me fifteen minutes, then meet me in front of the building. I’ll show you the files, but I get to hang on to them until I see Malcolm. Then I’ll hand them to you. Good enough?”

“Good enough.”

I turned to gather up all the vampire-killing equipment I had in the apartment, expecting Greg to head down to the front of the building. As I straightened from pulling a gym bag out of the closet, however, I saw that he had settled himself on the fire escape. He sat on the top step and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. His hands dangled down in between his legs and he stared across the open courtyard behind the building.

“What are you doing, Greg?”

“Waiting for you.”

“Why don’t you just go ahead and go downstairs; I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Nope. I want to stay right here and watch you get ready. And I think you should know that it’s a bad idea to call your military buddies before we leave.”

I didn’t like the idea of him watching me pull all of my stakes out from their various hiding places, but I didn’t know how I could possibly get rid of him.

I sighed. “Fine. Stay there. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.” I shut the window and moved the crucifix to the windowsill. Just try to get in past that, I thought.

He could sit there if he wanted to, and he could even watch me pull all my weapons out, but I wasn’t about to let him watch me as I changed clothes. Besides, I wasn’t going to let him know where in my clothing I hid all my little vampire-killing sticks; the only way he was going to discover that was if I pulled one out and staked him with it.

I put on an outfit similar to the one I had worn to the armory: black stretchy pants, t-shirt, light jacket. This time, though, I wore tall black boots with flat heels and soft soles. The sneakers might be better for running, but boots were better for hiding stakes.

I ended up strapping on every weapon I could find. There weren’t all that many, really. I had two stakes down each boot, two chopsticks taped to each arm under my jacket, another chopstick taped to my stomach. I had a third stake under my waistband, nestled in the small of my back.

I carried a stake in my hand, too. I didn’t know where we were going, but I did know that I was going out into the night with a vampire. I wasn’t taking any more chances than absolutely necessary.

“I’m ready to go,” I announced. Greg nodded at me through the window and I picked up the crucifix. Stake in one hand, crucifix in the other. I was loaded for vampire.

At the last minute, I grabbed my cell phone from its place on the desk beside the computer. I hoped that Greg was gone, but I didn’t turn around to check; I just tried to angle my body to keep him from seeing what I was doing.

I jammed the cross and the stake into my jacket pockets, then shut the front door of my apartment behind me. With one hand I locked the door. With the other, I scrolled through the electronic phone book and hit Nick’s number.

He didn’t answer. Dammit.

I left another message telling Nick what had happened, probably mostly garbled—I was trying to give him the pertinent information, but I didn’t want Greg to wonder what was taking so long. I ended by saying, “I think I might need help. Please try to find me. I’ll call later if I can.” I turned the ringer to “vibrate.”

I dropped the phone into a jacket pocket, pulled my weapons back out, and headed down the stairs to meet my undead ex so that he could take me to my probably-still-alive sort-of-ex.

14

When I walked out the double glass doors of my building, Greg was leaning against the wall waiting for me, in almost the same spot and pose in which I had found Malcolm the day I had come home with my Hemastix and broken up with him.

I didn’t say anything, just gestured for Greg to lead the way. I used the hand with the crucifix in it.

“A bit aggressive, don’t you think?” He motioned toward the stake and the crucifix. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and headed toward the train station.

Falling into step beside him made me feel almost dizzy. We had walked this way hundreds of times, companionably silent, content merely to be in each other’s presence. Our strides matched almost perfectly; we had always moved in synch. At this moment, I could hardly believe that the past few weeks had really happened.

I couldn’t let the silence continue. It was too easy to fall into old habits of trusting the man beside me. I had to do something to remind myself that he was no longer a man—not in the sense of being human, anyway. I assumed he was still male. I wondered if vampires could have sex. Did they have enough blood in their veins to spare some to make their…. No. I shook my head. That was not an acceptable line of thought.

“Can you move around in daylight?” I blurted.

“What? No. The sun’s a bit of a problem.”

“Not in the sun. I mean, if there isn’t any direct sunlight, can you move around? Or do you go all dead and have to sleep in a coffin or something?”

He laughed. “Coffins are for the dead. I’m not dead.”

“You’re sort of dead.” He started to interrupt me, but I continued. “Anyway, that’s beside the point. If you were, say, underground, would you be able to move around even when the sun is up?”

Greg looked thoughtful—the same look he used when he was working through a legal problem.

“I don’t know,” he said.

We turned the corner onto Fordham Road. There weren’t many people out on the sidewalks this far down, but cars whizzed past us.

“You don’t know? Well, what’s it like when you… when the sun comes up?”

“It’s like getting really sleepy. Combined with anxious, if I’m not someplace safe. That goes away as soon as I’m someplace I know the sun won’t hit me. Then I go to sleep.”

“Do you dream?”

“Sometimes.”

“What about?”

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Fishing for compliments?”

“No. God, no.” My voice sounded harsh. I looked away from him.

“It’s not like it used to be,” he said, pretending I hadn’t spoken. “The dreams are more,” he paused, searching for the right word, “more primal.”

I decided I didn’t want to know any more than that. Talking to him wasn’t helping me feel any better about the situation. Anyway, the closer we got to the train station, the more crowded the sidewalks got. I tucked my hands into my jacket pockets so that no one could see them, but kept a tight grip on the crucifix and the stake.

Instead of talking, I watched the way Greg’s eyes moved across the people around us. He might look human for the most part, but his eyes were the eyes of a predator. He scanned the crowd, then fell on one young woman re-settling a backpack across her shoulders. His gaze moved up and down her body, lingering on her face and then her neck. He actually licked his lips. At that moment, any illusions I’d had about feeling comfortable with him fled.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“To the city, first.”

We crossed Fordham Road and made our way into the train station. Greg stopped at the kiosk and bought two tickets to Grand Central. I didn’t offer to pay my way, and he didn’t ask. As far as I was concerned, this was his party, and he could cover any associated costs. He did still have a job, after all.

The train ride into Grand Central Station was miserable. Greg took a window seat—I wasn’t about to let him get between me and the aisle and any chance of escape. I sat in the same row, but left one seat open between us. I didn’t want to brush up against him at all, even accidentally. The thought of letting him touch me made my skin crawl.

A car met us on 42nd Street outside Grand Central. The car itself was a black Lincoln, much like the livery cabs in the Bronx. Unlike the cabbies, though, this driver wore a dark gray suit. He had dark hair and extraordinarily pale skin. I assumed from the pale skin that he was a vampire, but I had no way of telling for sure. The vampires at the armory had seemed alien, but some vampires seemed to be able to blend in with humans. I needed to figure out some sure way of knowing which was which.

The driver, who had gotten out of the car when he saw us exiting the train station, held the back door open for us. I hesitated before climbing in, but I couldn’t think of any other way to find Malcolm. I had to go. Anyway, as Greg had said, I was the big bad vampire killer. I knew how to take care of myself.

Once again, I seated myself as far from Greg as possible.

I was surprised when I realized that we were headed toward the Midtown Tunnel; I had anticipated a Manhattan destination. I looked over at Greg.

“We’re going to Long Island? Wouldn’t it have been easier to get there from the Bronx?”

“I assumed you wouldn’t want Rafael to know where you live,” he said blandly, gesturing at the driver.

That confused me. Greg the Vampire trying to protect me? It didn’t make sense. I sank back into the seat and decided not to think about it too hard. I was sure that there were plenty of reasons Greg might have for wanting to keep my address a secret—like not wanting any other vampire to get to me before he could. It didn’t have to mean he was protecting me.

I lost track of where we were headed—not surprisingly, as I always get lost when I go to Long

Island. For the most part, it looks like one long, repeating suburb, full of strip malls and middle-class neighborhoods.

Eventually, though, we left suburbia and drove through a winding green—maybe a park or a golf course? We took a left and headed toward a building at the end of a drive.

The building itself had a billowing fountain in front of it, the sort you see in front of wedding reception halls. A circular drive, covered by a sort of portico held up by tall Doric columns, led up to the entrance. A red carpet covered the steps that led to the glass double doors. Rafael stopped the car in front of the steps.

Another pale man, also in a suit, opened the front door for us. It led into an elegant foyer. Inside, men and women in eveningwear clustered in small groups, talking. I could hear the clink of crystal and the shrill of high-pitched feminine laughter. A piano played softly in the background.

Through open doors at the end of the foyer I could see a sort of drawing room with couches and chairs arranged in what the decorating magazines called “conversation groupings.” The colors were dark and muted, elegant.

To the right of the foyer, a wide marble stairway curved both up and down.

To the left another set of doors led to a sort of ballroom with a dance floor in the middle. Tables lined the walls. A few couples were dancing, and more elegantly dressed people sat at the tables.

None of them were eating, but most of them had glasses in their hands. Other men and women dressed in black suits circulated through the crowd carrying silver trays with drinks on them. Some of them I recognized—champagne, white wine—but other glasses held a darker liquid.

Red wine, I told myself. It’s just a dark red wine. I wasn’t convinced, especially after I saw people sipping the viscous fluid.

There were probably two hundred people there.

Holy Mary, Mother of God. I had just allowed Greg to lead me into the mother-lode of vampire dens. And no one else knew where I was.

That’s it, I thought. I’m dead.

My eyes lit on woman in a long red evening gown standing in one of the small knots of people in the foyer. Her long, white-blonde hair curled over her shoulders and halfway down her arms. Her backless dress skimmed her body, and a short train gathered at the small of her back swept the floor in a long fall of shimmering red fabric. Her skin was white and smooth, almost the same color as her hair. As she excused herself from the group and turned, she caught me staring at her and moved toward us purposefully.

From the front, the illusion of perfection crumbled. She was certainly beautiful, without a doubt—her large dark eyes almost seemed to glow with energy and her mouth, outlined in a red lipstick that matched her dress perfectly, was full and sensuous. But her beautiful face was cold and hard. She looked almost plastic.

She approached us with her hands outstretched.

“Gregory, darling, I’m so very glad you could make it.” Her voice was low and smooth with just a trace of an accent. She caught his hand and leaned in to kiss the air by his cheek.

Leaning back from him, she turned toward me. “And this must be Elle. Welcome to my home.”

She eyed me up and down, then turned back to Greg.

“Greg. You bad, bad man. You didn’t tell her you were bringing her to a party, did you?” She directed the next comment to me in a conspiratorial whisper. “Men are so terrible that way; they never know when to tell a woman she’s under-dressed. But then,” she said, looking at Greg in his Friday-casual khakis and dress shirt, “he didn’t do much in the way of dressing up himself, did he? No matter. I have clothing to spare.” She snapped her fingers at the nearest server. “Please see Mr. Parham and Miss Dupree to a dressing room and find appropriate clothing for them both.”

The man she had called over made a short bow and turned, saying, “Follow me.” Greg obediently moved after him, but I stayed where I was. I willed my voice not to shake with the fear I felt.

“I’m fine as I am, thanks, Ms.…?” I paused, waiting for the blonde woman to fill in her name.

“Oh, I am so terribly remiss. Please, call me Deirdre.”

“Deirdre. I see.” And I did. Deirdre was one of the names on the list of New York City vampire leaders. A chill went through me. I was in the home of one of the most powerful vampires in New York and Nick had no idea how to find me. This was not good. I gripped the stake and the crucifix in my pockets more tightly than before.

“And I insist,” said Deirdre, “that you change clothes before joining us again.” Her voice never lost its underlying smoothness, but it became hard and implacable.

“Greg told me that he was bringing me to my friend Malcolm.”

“Of course, of course, my dear. But first you must change. I shall brook no opposition.” She raised her eyebrows at me expectantly.

“Fine,” I muttered. I would dress up if it meant I got to see Malcolm, but I didn’t have to be gracious about it.

The dressing room the servant led us to upstairs was lovely, decorated in white and cream, with a dressing table and full-length mirror against one wall and a folding privacy screen against the other.

A fainting couch upholstered in a cream brocade angled out into the room from the far corner. The servant, a tall black man, eyed me up and down, then said, “Size eight?”

“Ten,” I replied. I could sometimes squeeze into an eight, but I wanted to keep some of my stakes on me. A skintight dress would definitely prohibit that.

Apparently Deirdre’s staff already knew Greg’s clothing size, because nobody had asked him.

When the servant came back into the room, he handed a tuxedo to Greg and an armload of dresses to me. Some of the dresses were size eight, I saw. I handed those back to him, and he accepted them with a bow, then left the room.

I turned around to find Greg already stripped to his underwear.

I stepped behind the privacy screen.

Okay. Greg and I had lived together for years. We’d had sex in our dorm rooms in college, for chrissakes. It’s not like I hadn’t seen him naked before. Or like he hadn’t seen me.

But it was different now. I kept remembering the way he had eyed the young woman on the way to the train station.

He didn’t get to see me naked any more. Or even in my underwear, for that matter. I was going to keep as many of my veins as possible out of his sight.

Most of the dresses were of the skintight sheath variety. Many of them were backless, and a couple of them were strapless. I discarded those.

I finally settled on the most modest dress of the bunch. It fit more loosely than the others; the front of the dress scooped low across my chest then swooped up to tie behind my neck. I tied it slightly tighter, and the front covered my cleavage. Most importantly, though, the dress had sleeves.

They were mostly detached from the shoulders, connecting only at the top and under my armpits, but they fell into a wide hem at the wrist. The skirt of the dress fell away from the fitted waist in a wide A-line that mimicked the shape of the sleeves. The hemline just brushed the floor.

Overall, the dress was both elegant and (more important to me at the moment) good for hiding weapons. I had to take the stake out of my waistband and tuck it into one boot; the one from my jacket pocket went into the other boot. I dropped the cell phone down into the boot as well. I decided to hang onto the crucifix. If I got out of this alive, I was going to sharpen the end of it into a stake so it could do double duty as deterrent and weapon.

A polite knock sounded on the door just as I was stepping out from behind the screen. Greg answered the door and the same servant walked in carrying boxes of shoes.

“What size?” he asked.

“No thanks,” I said. “I’ll just wear what I have.” I wasn’t about to take off the boots and lose four of my weapons and my only means of communication. “The dress covers my feet anyway. And I don’t plan to dance.”

The servant looked nervous, but he nodded and left. Greg turned to me and smiled.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

“Shut up,” I replied. “I don’t care how I look. Let’s go to Malcolm.”

“There’s a fully stocked makeup table here.” He gestured at the dressing table. “And you could put your hair up.”

“I’m not putting on makeup. I’m not fixing my hair. I’m going downstairs now. I really don’t care what you do.” With that, I left the room. Greg followed.

Deirdre was waiting for us at the bottom of the curving staircase. She spoke to us as we descended. “Ah. Much better. Though I must say, the crucifix is a bit much.” She waved her hand at it with a faint smile. “Now, please do come join us in the ballroom. We have a fabulous band this evening, and dinner will be served shortly.”

“Wait,” I said, stopping three steps up from the bottom. “You told me I’d get to see Malcolm.”

“And you shall, very soon.” She stopped a passing waiter and grabbed a champagne glass from his tray. “Here,” she said, handing the glass toward me. “Do have some champagne.”

When I looked at the glass, though, I realized that the bubbly liquid inside it had a suspiciously pink tint.

Deirdre saw me examining the drink and laughed. “It’s raspberry, darling.”

I sniffed the contents; it did smell fruity.

“I promise it has nothing in it that will harm you, provided you don’t drink too much and end up with a hangover in the morning,” she said in her lilting accent.

The ballroom was packed. More people had arrived while we were getting dressed. Women in sequined dresses and men in tuxedos sat around almost all the tables. Some of them were even eating.

Couples crowded the dance floor. The band was indeed very good—they were playing a version of

“You’d Be So Nice to Come Home to” and the lead singer, a tall woman in a slinky black dress, had a deep, smoky-sounding voice.

It would be easy to be charmed by this setting, by all the elegance that surrounded me.

Of course, all the vampires that surrounded me weren’t quite so charming. They were terrifying.

And in a room full of people, I discovered that it was easy to tell which ones were vampires and which ones weren’t. Some of the humans were easy to spot—the ones who were eating food were easy to pick out as humans, of course, and many of them had bandages or fresh wounds on various parts of their bodies. The parts where the veins ran close to the surface: the neck, the crook of the elbow, the wrist.

There were other humans there, too, though, humans who weren’t eating and who didn’t have any visible blood-donation marks. But they were clearly human, just as some of the other people moving around the room were clearly vampires.

The vampires tended toward pallor, of course. And occasionally one flashed a fang here or there, particularly when they laughed—an effect I found chilling. They were mostly extraordinarily beautiful, but then, so were the humans. Deirdre seemed to like surrounding herself with beauty.

It had something to do with the energy the vampires projected, I guess. They seemed strangely brittle, yet almost vibrating with a nervous vitality. I’ve seen a similar thing with people who were on the verge of an emotional breakdown but attempting to hide it. I’ve also seen it in people with bipolar disorder. It’s a sort of forced, manic gaiety verging on hysteria.

But that energy was combined with an indolence of movement. They swayed through the room slowly, languorously, all the while virtually quivering with some suppressed power.

All in all, it was just about the creepiest thing I’d ever seen—toward the top of the list, anyway, right after “Seeing My Beloved Eaten.”

I recognized now some of that same energy in Greg himself. It wasn’t as pronounced, but it was there all the same. Perhaps it grew with age.

That meant that I was in a room full of old—perhaps very old—vampires.

God. I was in big trouble.

Deirdre herself moved with that vibrating slowness as she led us to an otherwise unoccupied table.

“Please, join us for dinner. And then I shall take you to see your lovely friend,” she said, then moved away from our table.

Almost instantly, a waiter—human, I noted—appeared as if from nowhere and set a plate in front of me. It held a gourmet meal of seared salmon and vegetables on a bed of saffron rice; if I had been able to eat anything at all, I’m sure I would have enjoyed it immensely. A second waiter, also human, brought Greg a balloon-shaped wine glass full of the dark red liquid I had noticed earlier. When he took a sip, it traced a thick, viscous path from the bottom of the glass to his mouth. Any hunger I might have had vanished in a surge of nausea. I pushed the plate away from me.

“How long am I going to have to wait?” I demanded, turning to face Greg.

“As long as Deirdre wants us to. I recommend you follow her suggestion and enjoy your dinner.” He took another long drink from his wineglass.

I forced myself not to gag.

I also forced myself to sit utterly still, my arms crossed over my chest and hugging my crucifix to my body. I might not be able to change anything, but I didn’t have to follow Deirdre’s orders, either.

The meal seemed to drag on interminably. After what felt like about an hour, I checked my watch.

Fifteen minutes had passed. I spent every moment tensed for something terrible to happen. I kept twisting in my seat, watching for someone to sneak up behind me. I felt awkward and exposed. Two different women approached our table and asked Greg to dance. Both of them were human. He declined the first offer, and she left, but not before shooting me a dirty look. I wondered if they knew each other. It was an odd feeling, watching other women proposition my ex-fiancé. It had never happened when he was alive and we were together, at least not to the best of my knowledge. He accepted the second offer. The woman had a large bruise on the left side of her neck spreading out from what were clearly two puncture wounds. Someone hadn’t been very neat with his dinner. The other side of her neck was smooth and white.

This was horrible. This was beyond horrible. I was the anti-Cinderella at the Beasts’ Ball. All I wanted to do was gather up my charming non-prince and go home.

Eventually I noticed that the crowd was thinning. Almost all of them left in pairs, some in groups of three or four. There was always at least one human and one vampire in each group.

I decided to see where they were going. Greg still wasn’t back from the dance floor, so no one noticed when I stood up and made my way to the door. I was still clutching the crucifix, but I had almost forgotten about it until I accidentally brushed it against the back of a woman in a long, hunter-green dress. She hissed and turned toward me, baring her fangs. Her dark hair was pulled back tight from her face, and I could see that her fangs were crusted with an ugly brown substance; blood, I assumed. Gross.

In an instant, the veneer of civility, of humanity, was gone, and I was forcibly reminded that this was no ordinary gathering. I took a step back from her and came up against Greg, who had moved up behind me.

“This one’s mine,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder possessively. I flinched, but didn’t move away from him. I was willing to let him protect me until I got out of this freak show.

The other vampire drew a long breath and visibly got her anger under control. I saw her look first at the bandage on my shoulder and then back up at Greg’s face. Great. She thought I was a member of the Blood Donation Brigade.

“Then you should keep her on a shorter leash,” she said, nostrils flaring.

“I think that perhaps you should sit back down, Elle.” Greg spoke to me, but his eyes never left the woman’s face. This was clearly some weird vampire dominance ritual, and there were undertones to it that I couldn’t exactly read. What I could see, though, was the way that strange vibrating energy increased, not only in Greg and his opponent, but in all the vampires who were now standing around us watching the show.

Suddenly the woman laughed—a strangely girlish sound coming after such a display of ferocity—and the tension evaporated so quickly that I could hardly believe it had ever been there.

“You’re not ready to challenge me, young one,” she said to Greg. “Go ahead and take your little pet away. But don’t let her out in public again unless you restrain her.” She waved her hand dismissively and turned back to her group of friends. I heard one of her companions mutter something to her, and she said, “Oh, let it be, Angelica; the newly turned have no sense of propriety.

We must give them time to adjust.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding.

Greg gripped the top of my arm tightly and virtually dragged me back to our table.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he hissed.

“No. I’m trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing here in the middle of this Creature Feature.

Who are these people? Why are they here? And where is Malcolm?” I whispered just as fiercely as Greg had.

That, of course, was the moment that Deirdre showed up again.

“Oh, my. I hate it when my guests are unhappy,” she said, scrunching her mouth up into a little moue of sympathy. I didn’t believe it for a minute.

“Good. Take me to Malcolm and let me take him home. Then I’ll be happy.”

“Take him home?” Deirdre raised her eyebrows and looked at Greg. “Was that part of the agreement?”

“No,” said Greg, “it wasn’t. I just promised to bring her to Malcolm.”

“I see. I couldn’t imagine that you would presume to speak for me; I’m glad to know I was right.

Well, then, dearest,” she said, addressing herself to me again, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to bargain with me if you want to take your friend back home with you.” Her lips curved up into a little half-smile. On anyone else the smile would have been enchanting. On her, it was perfectly blood-curdling.

“What do you mean by ‘bargain’?” I asked suspiciously.

Deirdre laughed—the sort of laugh that under other circumstances might have been described as seductive. “Let’s wait until you’ve seen your friend and then we can talk business.”

I didn’t like the sound of that.

But I still didn’t have any choice; there were far too many vampires here for me to fight alone.

And I wasn’t getting any backup. So I followed Deirdre out of the room.

She led us down the marble staircase this time. Since the ballroom was on the ground level, I assumed that she was leading us to some sort of basement level. Actually, she led us past the first basement level, which had perfectly normal-looking doors—two of them were even marked “Ladies” and “Gentlemen”—and down to a second basement level.

I trailed along behind Deirdre, hoping that I could trust Greg to watch my back but not really counting on it. I ended up doing a sort of sideways step down the stairs that enabled me to see both vampires in our little group and still keep my back to the wall.

This wasn’t the sort of creepy dungeon staircase I’d seen in countless horror movies. It was white marble with an obviously modern railing—light and airy. The chandelier on the first floor dangled just above the stairway and shined its light into all the nooks and crannies.

The bottom step ended in the middle of a long, burgundy-carpeted corridor stretching to the left and right and lined with numbered doors. Some of the doors were standing open, others were closed.

It looked like an upscale hotel, of all things. There was even a cleaning cart in front of one of the open doors.

But it sounded like a down-scale brothel. I could hear people moaning behind the closed doors. I couldn’t tell if the sounds were of pleasure or of pain, but either way, I didn’t want to listen to them.

Deirdre turned to the left. As we passed the rooms, I caught hints of murmured conversations, low laughter, and more than a few screams. The screams made me wince.

We walked all the way to the end of the hall and Deirdre pulled a key out from between her breasts. She caught my look and said, “I don’t want it to be too easy to get to, pet.” Then she turned the key in the lock and opened the door on one of the most horrible scenes I could ever have imagined.

15

Malcolm’s completely naked body hung from chains against the back wall. His knees sagged so that his arms, stretched to their utmost, took most of his weight. His head drooped to one side. His eyes were closed; he didn’t try to see who had entered the room. I wasn’t sure he was even conscious.

The bed in the middle of the room was a tangle of sheets and blankets, all smeared with old bloodstains. The carpet under Malcolm’s body was also darkened with blood.

Worst of all were the wounds. His entire body was covered in bite marks. Big purple bruises spread out from the worst of them, painful looking quarter-inch puncture wounds, white and ragged around the edges. Several wounds ringed his nipples, another one punctured either side of his bellybutton. There was one particularly livid mark on his neck and what looked like the edges of another one on his inner thigh, though I couldn’t see it well enough to tell how bad it actually was. His wrists had been rubbed raw by the shackles holding him, and underneath the chains he was pale.

Instinctively, I started toward him, but Deirdre gestured and a vampire I hadn’t seen stepped out from the shadows beside the door. That hiding in the shadows business was about to get on my nerves.

He was a huge black man, probably the biggest man I’d ever seen. He was bald and shirtless, dressed only in khaki pants, and his muscular upper body gleamed in the reflected light. If he’d been human, I would have said he was beautiful. As it was, he was just scary. He grabbed my arms, pinning them to my side and effectively holding me in place, though I continued to struggle against him.

“Oh,” I breathed out in a long, drawn-out syllable. “Deirdre, you godforsaken bitch. Unchain him right now, or I swear to you—”

“If I were you, I’d be careful what I swore to right now, princess,” she interrupted me, speaking lightly. “It might come back to haunt you.” She lifted her head in that scenting motion that all vampires seem to use when they’re searching for whatever information it is they get from smells.

Whatever it was she detected in the air made her look thoughtful. She cocked her head to one side and looked at me thoughtfully.

“You haven’t yet had sex with this man. I’m surprised,” she said. She sniffed the air again and this time looked quizzical. “And yet you desire him.”

Greg growled at that, a growl that was animalistic, more like a sound an angry dog would make than a sound that might come from a person. Wonderful. My dead ex didn’t like the idea that I might actually consider having sex with someone else.

“My sex life is none of your business,” I ground out through my clenched teeth. “Neither of you. Now let me go to him, dammit.”

She flicked her fingers at the vampire holding me, and he released his grip. I sprinted across the room and wedged myself up against Malcolm’s side, trying to hold him up to take the strain off his arms. A low moan escaped his lips and he shook his head slowly. After a second I realized that he was saying “no” over and over.

“Shh. It’s okay, Malcolm. Everything is going to be just fine,” I whispered. “I promise you, I’ll get you out of here. Whatever it takes. I promise.”

He opened his eyes a crack and turned his head toward me. “Elle?” he whispered. “Oh, God, Elle. Get out of here. You don’t know what they do—”

“Shh. It’s okay. Don’t talk. We’ll get out of here together. You can tell me everything later.” I brushed his hair back from his forehead and he leaned into my hand. His eyes closed and he sagged against me.

I looked up at Deirdre, who had watched all of this from the open doorway with a satisfied smirk. Greg stood beside her, his expression unreadable. I had no idea what I could possibly offer in return for Malcolm’s release, but I knew I had to try.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s deal.” My voice had gone hard.

“Oh, Gregory,” she said, turning to him. “You were right. She is absolutely delightful!” She sounded as excited as a teenager who had been given a car for her birthday.

I turned my glare on him. “You set me up.”

“I don’t know if I’d call it setting you up.”

“You never cared about the papers at all, did you?”

He smiled and shrugged. “I just gave you enough rope to hang yourself with. No pun intended.”

He smirked as he gestured toward Malcolm’s dangling body and it was all I could do not to go for a stake and run him through.

I took a deep breath. Greg doesn’t matter, I told myself. The only thing I have to worry about is getting Malcolm out of here.

I turned back to Deirdre. “You’ve had your fun. Let’s start by taking him down from the wall—consider it a sign of good faith on your part. And I’ll hand over the crucifix in return.” I paused.

“Well, maybe not hand it over, since you couldn’t touch it. But I’ll put it away somewhere of your choice.”

“No need for that,” Deirdre said. “Louis?” She nodded to the black vampire and he stepped out into the hall. No one said anything while he was gone; we just stared at one another as I tried to take Malcolm’s weight off his arms.

After a long, silent interval, he returned with another servant, this one a manifestly human Asian girl with bobbed hair. She carried a tray like the ones the wait staff upstairs had used to serve drinks.

“Put the crucifix on the tray. As soon as you have done so, Louis will unchain your friend and place him on the bed.”

“How do I know I can trust you to actually unchain him?”

Deirdre sighed and rolled her eyes. “Very well. If you feel it necessary, you may place the crucifix on the tray at the same moment that Louis unlocks the final cuff.”

“Fine.” I said.

When Louis unlocked the first cuff, Malcolm’s arm dropped to his side with an audible thwack. I strained to keep him upright. “Be careful!” I snapped.

Louis stepped in close to Malcolm and grabbed him around the waist with one hand in order to catch his limp body when it fell from the chains.

I watched Louis closely and, with the hand I wasn’t using to support Malcolm from behind his back, placed the cross on the tray just as he finished unlocking the manacle on Malcolm’s right wrist.

But I didn’t take my hand entirely off of the crucifix until Louis had Malcolm slung over his shoulder and was carrying him toward the bed. The Asian girl scurried out of the room.

Once Malcolm was stretched out on the bed, I turned to Louis. “Bring me some wet washcloths and a bowl of warm water.” He looked at Deirdre for confirmation and she waved her hand at him.

She did far too much imperious hand waving, I decided. It made me like her even less.

“And a glass of cold water,” I called after Louis as he left the room.

“Satisfied?” Deirdre asked.

“It’s a start.” I sat down on the bed and continued stroking Malcolm’s hair away from his forehead. He moaned again but settled back down when I whispered quietly to him.

“Then we may begin. Gregory, please pull those chairs over here.”

Louis returned and handed me the washcloths, bowl, and glass while Greg was pulling three wingback chairs out of a corner of the room. He arranged the chairs in a semi-circle and stepped back for Deirdre to choose one. Then he sat down in the other. Louis retreated to the corner he’d been standing in when we’d arrived.

“We can begin after I’ve finished with Malcolm,” I said. I didn’t plan to take long, but I wanted a moment to clean out the worst of his wounds. I wished I had Tony’s medical kit with me. I would have liked to run hydrogen peroxide over the lacerations. And I wanted to spread about a pound of antibiotic ointment over his body.

I had to settle for swabbing the wounds with washcloths soaked in the warm water Louis had brought. Malcolm winced and moaned as I gently dabbed at the blood encrusting the edges of the worst wounds. I murmured softly to him, not really paying attention to my words. I think the tone of my voice soothed him, because he quit moaning. He didn’t quit wincing, though, and I found myself wincing in sympathy. These injuries had to hurt like hell.

Deirdre watched my ministrations interestedly, showing no signs of impatience other than that internal vibrating. Greg, on the other hand, tapped his foot on the carpet restlessly. I wondered if her ability to wait me out as compared to his foot-tapping fidgeting had something to do with their relative ages. I guessed that vampires probably learned patience over time, especially since they had all the time the in world. Literally.

I worked my way down the front of Malcolm’s body, cleaning his neck, his chest, and his stomach. I paused for just a second before gently spreading his legs to take a better look at the bruise on his inner thigh.

The wound there was bad, maybe even worse than the one on his neck. It wasn’t just two puncture wounds, either. It looked like maybe several vampires had gone at him in this spot, or maybe one vampire over and over. He cried out in pain and fear when I touched it, so I contented myself with squeezing warm water out of the cloth to run over it. The sheet under him turned a muddy reddish-brown as the blood washed away from the ragged edges of the holes.

I glared up at Deirdre. “It’s going to take a lot to make up for this.”

“Make up for it? No, my dear, I have no intention of ‘making up’ for anything. This is simply a… what shall we call it?” She waved her delicate hand in a circle in the air as she searched for words.

“A warning.” She nodded with finality.

“A warning against what?” I asked harshly.

“Against ever again attacking any of my people.”

“Your people? I thought your people were all in Queens.”

“Yes, well. I’m planning to, shall we say, expand my business.”

“To the Bronx.”

“As a start, yes.”

By this time I had done everything I could for Malcolm—any attack marks on his back would have to wait until I could get him out of here—and the water evaporating from his skin had left him shivering. I gently shifted the wet stain on the sheet out from under him and pulled a blanket up over him. His eyes flickered open as I smoothed the cover over his arms, being careful not to touch any of the tender skin surrounding the lacerations.

“Thank you,” he whispered. His eyelids fluttered down again and his breathing steadied.

“Okay,” I said, standing up and moving to the unoccupied chair. “Let’s talk.”

“It’s about time,” Greg muttered.

“You,” I said, pointing to him, “can shut the hell up. As far as I’m concerned, you have no part in these discussions.”

“Oh, but I’m afraid he does, sweetness,” Deirdre said. She smiled gently at me, almost apologetically. “He’s the one who brought you to my attention. I’ve already agreed to reward him for that, so he does have some say in what happens here.”

I glared at her. I felt furiously impotent. What I wanted to do was pull a stake out of my boot and slam it into her heart, but I knew that I wouldn’t even get close to her before Greg or Louis, or both, stopped me.

“And what, precisely, do you expect to happen here?” I asked her.

“I hope, of course, that we can come to some arrangement that will allow you to take your friend and go.”

“And if we can’t?”

“Then I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill you both.” She said this in the same tone a kind boss might have used when saying “I’m afraid I’m going to have to lay you off.” It brought a whole new dimension to the idea of “termination.”

“Then I guess we’d better get started,” I said. “What would you ask for in return for letting me leave here with Malcolm, safely, and agreeing not to bother us again?”

“My, my. She certainly does get straight to the point, doesn’t she?” Deirdre asked Greg.

“She always has,” he answered.

“Well, I suppose we could of course ask you to take your friend’s place for a while. No,” she said when she saw the expression on my face. “I suppose not. That wouldn’t accord with your idea of safety, I suppose.” She sighed again, prettily. I was getting awfully tired of her sweet, smoky-sounding voice, particularly when it said things like “I’ll have to kill you” or “take your friend’s place.” I wanted my vampires to have creepy accents and say things like “I vant to suck your bloooood.” At least you knew exactly where you stood with those kinds of vampires: they were horrible and they wanted to drain you of your precious bodily fluids. These vampires blended in with humans too easily; they were far too… cosmopolitan. Too slick and poised and far, far too willing to negotiate for what they wanted.

All in all, they were too much like lawyers for my taste.

Oh. Wait. One of them was a lawyer. How convenient for them.

“I guess then that I will have to begin by asking you to hand over your weapons,” Deirdre said.

“What if I don’t have any weapons?” I asked warily.

“I know you have at least one,” she replied. “You were carrying it in your hand when you entered my house.”

Oh. Yeah. That. Oops.

“What do I get in return?” I asked.

“For each weapon you turn over to me, I will allow you and your friend three steps up the staircase and toward the exit, completely unmolested.”

I did some quick calculations in my head.

“Not nearly enough. I want to get us both out of here and all the way home. Completely unmolested.”

“But it is a beginning. And now I know that you do indeed have more than one weapon in your possession.”

Crap. I was too tired for these sorts of mind-games.

She leaned back in her seat with a smile. She was clearly settling in for a long evening of hostage negotiations.

I wasn’t willing to stick around that long.

“Can we just skip to the end? It’s late, I’m tired, and I’m getting frustrated with all things vampire. What do you really want?”

She laughed again with that coffee-and-cream laugh that set my teeth on edge. “Oh, all right. But you’re spoiling all my fun, you know.”

“I really don’t care.”

“Here’s what I want: I want you to turn over all your weapons to Louis. I want to know the location of your military friends’ headquarters. I want your word that you will never attack any of my people again. And finally, I want you, just once, to act as a donor for both Gregory and me. I promise we will take no more than one pint of blood—the same amount you might give at one of your human blood drives.”

I looked over at Greg. His foot had stopped tapping and he was leaning forward eagerly. I looked away quickly—I didn’t want to see him lick his lips the way he did when he saw the young woman on Fordham Road.

I rubbed my hands across my eyes. This was going to take a while after all.

“First of all, I’m not walking completely unarmed through that tangle of vampires upstairs.”

“Kiss,” she said, interrupting me.

“Um. What?” I couldn’t figure out what she meant. She wanted me to kiss her? This was getting freakier by the moment.

“My understanding is that the current collective noun for vampires is ‘kiss,’ as in ‘a kiss of vampires.’ Of course, it used to be ‘slither,’ like a slither of snakes. I rather preferred that term myself. But one must learn to change with the times.”

I sent up a silent little prayer of thanksgiving. I wasn’t going to have to kiss her, after all.

“Whatever. I don’t care what you call yourselves. You’re all bloodsucking fiends, as far as I’m concerned.”

She simply continued to smile at me, so I carried on with my own list.

“Second, I don’t know where the guys have their headquarters; all I know is that they call it ‘the shop.’ And I assume you already know who pays their wages.” I waved my hand in Greg’s general direction.

“Very well.” She nodded at me to continue.

“Third, I can’t promise not to attack if I’m threatened. And fourth, there is no way in hell I’m letting any vampire, especially him, take my blood.”

Deirdre tilted her head.

“I accept your explanation about the military men and thank you for the information about this shop of theirs. Your concerns about self-protection may well be justified. Therefore, you may carry one weapon out of here and I will ensure that you do not come under threat from any of my people. I will assume that you will not attack any of them unprovoked.”

So far, so good, I thought.

“But the taking of blood is absolutely non-negotiable.”

I thought of all the vampires upstairs. No way could I make it out of there alive without Deirdre’s permission.

“How will you take it?” I asked.

“In the usual manner.”

“Usual for you or usual for me? The usual manner for me is to have someone—preferably a nurse or a doctor or a blood drive worker—stick a needle in my arm and have it run into a bag.

That’s generally how we all know when they’ve reached their one-pint limit. If we’re talking ‘usual for vampires’ as in ‘bite me and suck the blood,’ then I have no way of knowing when you’ve taken a pint and have to stop.” I felt pretty good about that argument because I wasn’t sure how she could contradict it. If I was going to have to give my blood to get Malcolm out of this hell hole, I would, but I would much prefer to do it in a more sanitary way than having it leeched out by mouth.

“Perhaps we could perform an experiment that would satisfy your concerns in that regard,”

Deirdre replied. “Louis, please bring one pint of fresh blood and two glasses. Two straws, as well, please.”

Oh. She was going to time their blood drinking. Again, I say: Gross.

That’s exactly what she did, of course. I won’t go into the details—trust me, they were disgusting.

If you’ve never seen someone suck up a wineglass full of blood through a straw, count yourself lucky. Believe me, you don’t want to. Deirdre was fairly matter-of-fact about the whole thing, but Greg enjoyed it far too much for my comfort.

I knew that the test wasn’t perfect—it didn’t take into account the motion of the blood as the heart pumped, and I suspected that the blood in the glasses was slightly cool and likely to have coagulated a bit, so blood-in-a-glass drinking time was probably a bit longer than blood-from-a-body drinking time. But Deirdre countered these issues by offering to cut the time down by a third. It had taken them each roughly fifteen minutes to completely drain a wineglass—about as much time as it would take me to drink a milkshake. So each of them would get ten minutes of my blood. But that meant that in thirty minutes, maybe less, we could be out of this nightmare and on our way home—ignoring for the moment the fact that my home was no longer safe now that Greg knew where I lived.

“Satisfied?” Deirdre finally asked.

“More like nauseated.”

“But you agree to our final requirements?”

I didn’t know what advantage these vampires might gain from drinking my blood, but I knew there had to be something. I hated this. Hated it, hated it, hated it. But, same as since this night had begun, I had no choice. I had over-estimated my ability to deal with vampires, and I was about to pay for it.

“I agree,” I said.

“Then let’s begin.”

At that moment, the cell phone in my boot began to vibrate against my ankle bone. I spoke loudly to cover the slight buzz it made against the leather of the boot.

“First let me go take my weapons off, though.” I looked around. “I’ll need some sort of bathroom or dressing room or something.”

“Very well. Louis?”

I scurried out of the room behind Louis, thankful that apparently no one had heard the phone go off. I made overly loud small talk with Louis as we walked down the hall, throwing every question I could think of at him.

“So. Where are you from? When did you become a vampire? Do you like it? How are the benefits? You get dental with that?” He didn’t bother to answer.

The phone had stopped buzzing against my ankle by the time we made it to the ladies’ room at the end of the hall, but it started back up almost as soon as I shut the door behind me.

I scrabbled around in my boot, almost dropping the phone in my haste to answer.

“Elle!” It was Nick. He sounded frantic. “God! I was so worried. Where are you?”

I locked myself in a stall. “Long Island. In the middle of some vampire party. Things are not good here, Nick. Come get me!” I hissed into the phone.

“A vampire party? Jesus Christ, Elle, you could get yourself killed.”

“You think? Quit talking and find me, dammit!”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Don’t you have some magic GPS equipment or something?”

“No. We don’t.”

“Then try the address list. Under ‘Deirdre.’”

Louis knocked on the door and opened it. “Almost ready, miss?” he asked. It was the first time

I’d heard him speak. His gravelly voice rumbled in his chest.

“Just a minute!” I sang out cheerily. Louis shut the door again.

“Okay. Nick. Just listen. I’m not going to hang up, but I am going to turn the volume on my end all the way down. With any luck, you’ll be able to hear what’s going on. And hurry, okay?”

“I will, Elle.”

I adjusted the volume and shoved the phone back into my boot, praying that Nick would be able to hear through the leather.

Then I pulled a stake out of each boot and ripped off the chopsticks that I had taped to my arms and my stomach. That left me with a stake in each boot and a phone in one.

Yeah, that was one more stake than I had agreed to keep. But I figured I didn’t have to play fair.

They were vampires.

I was slightly breathless when I ripped open the door and stepped back out into the hall. I handed the weapons over to Louis.

“Okay. I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Greg was still sitting in his chair when we re-entered the room at the end of the hall. Deirdre, however, stood up and turned to face me. With a long, slow, languorous smile, she said, “I need you to remove your clothing and lie on the bed.”

16

“Whoa. Wait a minute,” I said, backing up and holding out my hands as if to ward her off physically.

“No one said anything about having me remove my clothing. Or about lying down on the bed. You can take the blood, you can even take it by mouth, but I am not going to be naked at the time. You have to get it from someplace that doesn’t require me to be naked. Or lying down.” No. No, no, no. This was even worse than thinking she might want to kiss me.

“Oh, very well. But you will probably want to be sitting down for this.” She gave me a long, slow look from under her lashes. Her eyes had gone completely black, as if the pupil had swallowed up all of the iris and spread out to take over even the whites of her eyes.

That’s one sure way to tell if it’s a vampire, I thought. Of course, by the time you see the blacks of their eyes, it’s probably too late to do anything about it.

“Fine,” I said. I flopped down into the wingback chair I’d been sitting in to negotiate with her.

“Will this do?”

“That will do beautifully. Gregory, do come closer and watch.”

Greg stepped around to the back of the chair and crossed his arms across the top, leaning his chin on them. I was glad I wasn’t tall enough to quite reach the top of the chair. I would let him take blood in order to save Malcolm, but I didn’t want him to touch me any more than was absolutely necessary.

Deirdre kneeled on the ground in front of me, her back straight, her flat stomach just brushing the front of my knees. The train of her dress trailed out behind her. I couldn’t have gotten my dress to move like that no matter how hard I tried. One of the benefits of wearing dresses for hundreds of years, I guessed.

“I need to get closer.” She spoke in a whisper and gently moved my knees apart. With a smooth motion, she eased her way between them so that she was right up against the seat of the chair.

“Now, give me your arm.”

I moved my left arm toward her, and she turned it over so that the inner parts of the wrist and elbow were exposed.

“The trick, Gregory, to a clean, smooth feeding, is to first make sure you find the vein.” She spoke quietly, and as she spoke, she softly ran her hand across my wrist, brushing the skin lightly with her fingertips as she traced the blue veins up past the inner elbow, over the shoulder, and up my neck to a spot directly behind my ear. Her touch was cool and gentle. I felt my head tilting to the side almost of its own accord.

She used her hand to cup the back of my head so that I turned and looked at her.

“Always remember, Gregory, that the giving of blood is a gift, the taking of it a sacrament. This you already know: there is much joy to be found in pain. Now you must learn to share that joy with those from whom you feed.”

I gazed into her totally black eyes, and there seemed to be a soft swirling to them, as if they were deep pools of water I could fall into. I heard her voice as if from a distance, and it was kind and warm and soothing.

She leaned over my wrist and gently licked at it, following with her tongue the path she had traced with her fingers. Unlike her hands, her mouth felt hot when it passed over my skin. I shivered as her tongue passed across my inner elbow and slid up my arm. She paused at my neck and gently sucked at the skin.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I could hear my own voice screaming “no” over and over, telling me to get up, to run, to save myself. But that voice somehow seemed disconnected from me; and even if it hadn’t, I don’t think I could have obeyed it if I tried. My limbs felt heavy and languorous, like weights keeping me in the chair. I sank even deeper back into the soft cushions. My entire body felt soft and warm.

“That’s good,” Deirdre whispered to me, and moved her mouth back down my arm to the inner elbow. She rested her cheek against it for a moment.

“Listen, Greg,” she said quietly. “Can you hear her heart beating?”

“Yes,” Greg answered, his voice hoarse and uneven.

She raised her head up from my arm and drew her lips back from her teeth to expose her fangs.

At the sight of them, I felt a surge of fear rush through me—but still I couldn’t move.

My heartbeat speeded up and Deirdre whispered, “Oh. Yes.” As if she had been waiting for that moment, she sank her fangs into my arm. I felt them pierce the skin, then felt the upper and lower fangs meet, just for a moment, under the skin, piercing the vein from two sides.

Deirdre drew her teeth out from my arm and fastened her mouth over the four puncture wounds, sucking at them to draw the blood out faster.

There is no adequate way to describe having a vampire feed on you when you are under its spell.

I felt the pain as her sharp fangs entered my skin, but the feeling was as much pleasure as pain. My body reacted as it might react to a lover. My nipples hardened and a dull ache began throbbing deep inside me in time to my heartbeat as it pumped the blood through my veins and into Deirdre’s mouth.

I watched her throat moving as she swallowed and I moaned aloud; I would have thrashed in my chair if I could have moved.

The bite was yearning and fulfillment, desire and orgasm, all in one. My vision swam into darkness, and I closed my eyes, leaned my head back against the chair. Pleasure washed over me in dark waves, leaving me breathless and limp with no energy for thought. Even the screaming inside my head was silenced, or at least drowned out.

I lost track of time almost instantly, so I don’t know how long the feeding lasted—left to my own devices, I probably would have let her drain me dry. Luckily for me, she was a vampire of her word.

The first I knew of reality again was when she slowed the motion of her lips against my skin, then finally pulled away entirely.

She looked up at me and whispered, “Thank you.” Traces of my blood lingered on her lips.

The voice that had been clamoring away in the back of my mind demanding to be heard finally broke through the haze that had enveloped me. I blinked twice and shuddered, horrified at what had just happened. I still wasn’t thinking clearly, just repeating “no, no, no,” over and over in my mind.

And to think I had been disturbed by the possibility that she might want to kiss me. This was infinitely worse. I felt dirty, cheapened by the experience.

And it wasn’t over yet.

If Deirdre’s blood-taking had been a seduction, then Greg’s was the closest thing to rape I hope I ever experience.

At first, Greg tried the same tactics Deirdre had used; he knelt in front of me and ran his fingers up and down my arm and licked at the crook of my neck.

He had never been a clumsy lover. We’d actually been pretty good together. I would have thought that someone who had known my body so well when he was a human would have some sense of how to arouse me when, as a vampire, he took blood from me.

No such luck.

A sense of déjà vu overcame me as his hands touched me, but the only emotion I felt was revulsion. His hands were far too different from what they had been. They were cold instead of hot, awkward instead of gentle. I leaned away from him and turned my head so that I didn’t have to look at him.

He grabbed my chin in his hand and yanked it roughly back toward him. “Look at me,” he ordered. “Look at my eyes.”

I again felt my arms and legs weighing me down, holding me in the chair. But instead of feeling warm and relaxed, I felt panicky. I couldn’t breathe. It was like being pinned down by someone much larger than me.

Greg looked up at Deirdre, who had taken his place behind the chair, but she offered no advice.

With a growl of frustration he stood up and ripped the top of my sleeve away from my shoulder, exposing the bandage underneath it, the one covering the healing wound I’d gotten during the fight at the armory.

I felt a surge of fear again, and again my heartbeat sped up. I tried to move, but my body wouldn’t obey me.

His nostrils flared. With one hand he pushed my head to the side while he ripped the bandage away with the other hand. Placing one knee between my legs on the chair cushion, he leaned his entire body against mine and slammed his mouth down against my shoulder.

There was no pleasure this time as the fangs entered my body—just excruciating pain. A scream ripped itself from my throat and I tried to struggle. His throat moved convulsively as he swallowed the blood he’d drawn to the surface. With every sucking motion of his mouth, white-hot pain shot up my arm and across my vision. My breathing grew ragged. My pain seemed to increase his own pleasure and he sucked harder.

After an eternity of misery, Deirdre put her hand on Greg’s shoulder. “It is enough, my darling,” she said to him. His mouth slowed its movement and he collapsed on top of me. His bloody mouth left smears on the upholstery behind me.

Deirdre gently drew him to his feet and whispered to him, “You mustn’t fret, my dearest boy.

You have time in which to learn.”

Freed from both the weight of his body and the weight of his mind, I felt my gorge rising.

No, I thought. I am not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me throw up. Instead, I put my head between my knees and waited for the world to stop spinning.

Eventually my vision cleared and I looked up to see the two of them leaning forehead to forehead, holding hands and whispering to one another.

“Can I leave now?” I asked.

“Of course,” said Deirdre smoothly, raising her head from Greg’s and giving his hands one last squeeze before turning to face me. That buzzing energy that I had sensed earlier now suffused her entire being. It was as if drinking my blood had strengthened her—and not just her body, but her entire… essence, maybe? She virtually glowed with it.

And I could see the energy rolling off of Greg, too. His skin was brighter. I stared at him with loathing.

“I consider our pact complete,” Deirdre said.

“Here are his clothes,” Greg said, gesturing at Malcolm, who was still stretched out on the bed, unconscious. I didn’t know how he could have slept through the last half-hour or so, but I was grateful that he hadn’t witnessed the scene of my degradation.

Of course, I could only imagine what Malcolm himself had gone through.

“Or at least what’s left of his clothes.” Greg smiled evilly and handed me a pair of dirty, ripped, blood-stained jeans. “Now get out.”

I wanted to take a swing at Greg, but a dizzy spell hit me and I had to sit down on the bed. I put my head in my hands and waited for my vision to clear. I had lost too much blood to pick a fight now.

“Okay,” I finally said blearily to Deirdre. “Take us home now.”

“Oh, no, darling,” Deirdre said, her voice syrupy sweet. She spoke to me over her shoulder as she walked toward the hall. “You didn’t negotiate for that. We’ll allow you to leave, and we won’t bother you again unless you come for us, but I’m certainly not arranging for your travel home.” She stopped at the door and turned around. “I suggest you find a way to call a cab.” And with that last parting shot, she was gone. Malcolm and I were alone in the room.

Or rather, I was alone in the room with Malcolm. He was passed out cold. I pushed myself up out of the chair and stood over him.

Oh, bloody hell. How was I going to get us home?

I picked up the still-full glass of cold water Louis had brought to me—minutes? hours?—some time ago. I downed part of it, then dipped the damp washcloth in it and began wiping Malcolm’s face.

He just whimpered and turned his face away from me. I sat down on the bed next to him.

“No you don’t, Malcolm. Wake up. You’ve got to get up.” I plunged my fingers into the water and splashed a handful onto his face. He opened his eyes.

“Elle?” he said.

“Yep. It’s me. Come on. Get up. We’re leaving.”

He rolled over and pushed himself up on one elbow and looked around. Not for long, though.

His arms were weakened. I had no idea how long he’d been dangling from those chains, but it had left him with little strength.

He groaned, and closed his eyes again.

“Get up,” I said loudly. “Get. Up. Dammit, Malcolm, get up!” I nearly screamed that last at him, and he opened his eyes again.

“I’m up, I’m up.” This time he managed to pull himself to an upright position by swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He leaned his elbows on his knees and put his hands over his eyes.

I pushed myself off the bed and stood in front of him on trembling legs.

“Put these on,” I said, shoving the jeans at him.

He dragged them over his legs, then held his weight on his legs long enough to lift his butt and pull the pants up all the way. He quickly collapsed again without buttoning them.

“I can’t do this,” he said.

“Yes you can,” I said, my voice grim and determined. “You can do it because you have to. Got it?”

Malcolm nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go.”

I leaned into him and let him rest part of his weight on me as he stood up. The extra weight made my thigh muscles tremble. His legs were none too steady, either.

We reeled through the hall like a couple of drunks on Bourbon Street at Mardi Gras—and believe me, I’ve seen enough of them to know. Malcolm’s bare feet scraped against the carpet as if he were too exhausted to even pick them up all the way off the ground at each step. It took us an inordinately long time to make it up the stairs. Malcolm had to stop several times to lean against the wall and rest. I wasn’t totally averse to resting, either, but I wanted to get us out of this house of horrors, and fast.

Word must have spread through Deirdre’s party guests about what was going on, or maybe about who I was and what I’d helped do to the vampires in the armory, because when we finally staggered to the top of the stairs on the first floor, vampires lined the marble foyer. There was just enough room for the two of us to stumble through a cleared path toward the glass doors. None of the vampires ever actually said anything, but they all hissed and growled at us as we lurched our way through them.

They closed ranks behind us, baring their fangs and making that god-awful, inhuman, cat-like growling noise.

They didn’t follow us outside, though. The human attendant at the door opened it for us as if we were any guests leaving—just as if we didn’t have an entire vampire mob behind us growling and lusting for our blood.

The thought made me shiver. So did the early-morning air. It wasn’t light out, but the air had taken on that slight dampness that indicates dawn is approaching. The long, curving driveway stretched out in front of us. We started down it.

I still didn’t know how we were going to get home. No one was going to stop to pick us up; we looked like refugees from an insane asylum. Or worse. My long black dress was wrinkled and stained. Malcolm didn’t even have on a shirt, his jeans were unbuttoned, and the blotches on the pants really couldn’t be taken for anything other than the bloodstains they were.

For that matter, Malcolm wasn’t wearing any shoes. We were only halfway down the driveway and already he was limping. Walking for any length of time on the road would tear his feet up entirely. At least I had my boots.

My boots. I had totally forgotten about my boots, and about the cell phone in them.

“Stop,” I said. “Wait.”

Malcolm didn’t even ask me what I was doing. He just nodded wearily and stood still, swaying slightly on his feet.

I shoved my hand down into my boot and lifted out the phone. Miracle of miracles, it was still on, it still had battery power, and if the minute-counter at the top was any indication, it was still connected to Nick’s cell phone. I turned up the volume and lifted it to my ear. I could hear traffic noises through the receiver.

“Nick?” I asked. “Please tell me you’re still there.”

“Elle?” a voice at the other end said. “Nick! It’s Elle! Hey, Elle. It’s Dom. Where are you? God, we thought you were dying there for a while. We’re coming to get you just as soon as you tell us where you are.”

“Um,” I said in my most intelligent manner. “I don’t know. We’re on a driveway. Hang on. I’ll give you a street name as soon as we get to one.”

I heard a fumbling sound at the other end as the phone changed hands. “Elle? It’s Nick. We’re on our way. Where are you?”

“Don’t you people communicate at all? I already told Dom I don’t know. I’m headed toward a street. Give me a minute.”

We weaved our way to the road and looked left and right.

“Nick? I don’t see a street sign, but there’s some big marble sign out here that says ‘Eisenhower Park’ on it. Ring any bells?”

“I know where it is. Hold on, Elle. We’re on our way.”

Another wave of vertigo washed over me.

“Okay. Hey, Nick?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to sit down now, okay?”

“That’s fine, Dixieland. You do whatever you need to.” His voice was gentler than I’d ever heard it. “Just stay awake until we get there. You hear that?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled. I let go of Malcolm and collapsed on the curb. He joined me a second later, then snaked his hand out to mine. I took it gratefully. I didn’t want to be alone out here in the night, either, even with Nick on the end of the line, even if Deirdre had promised that none of her people would attack me. For all I knew, Deirdre’s vampires weren’t the only ones wandering around Long Island.

“Elle? Elle!” Nick’s voice came to me as from a distance. “Talk to me, Elle!”

Oh. The hand with the phone in it had fallen to the ground, far away from my ear. I lifted it back up. It was like lifting a heavy weight. “What?”

“Elle, is Malcolm there with you?”

“Yeah, he is.”

“Is he okay?”

I peered at Malcolm through the semi-darkness. The sky was begin to lighten in the east.

“I guess. As well as he could be, all things considered.”

“Are you sure they didn’t turn him?”

“Totally.”

I heard John cursing in the background, heard the sound of tires screeching and horns blasting.

“Did you bring the whole crew?” I asked.

“They wouldn’t have had it any other way, Dixieland.”

“I’m glad.” My voice sounded far away.

Malcolm laid his head on my shoulder and closed his eyes. I rested my head against his. I had to fight to resist the urge to close my eyes, too.

“Elle, you’re starting to fade. Don’t do that.”

Damn that man. How did he know, anyway? “I am not, Nick.”

“Ah. That’s better. We’re almost there, girl.”

I saw headlights round the curve of the road and moments later made out the shape of Nick’s van.

I don’t think I was ever so glad to see anything in my life.

The van barreled up to us, then screeched to a halt. Tony threw the back doors open from inside and jumped out to help us in.

“Not me,” I said. “Malcolm first.”

“Elle?” said Nick.

“Yeah?”

“You can put the phone down now. That’s a girl. Hang it up.”

I shook my head and tried to clear my vision.

“Okay. I’m awake now.” With Nick’s help, I dragged myself up into the van.

“Well, you don’t have to stay that way for long.”

“Thanks, Nick.”

“No problem, Dixieland. We always take care of our own.”

He pulled the door closed. “Get us out of here, John,” he said.

“You got it.” John eased the van around in a wide circle and drove away from Deirdre and her unpleasant kiss, slither, whatever of vampires.

Malcolm was seated on one of the bench seats, wrapped in a blanket with his head slumped forward. Tony had already pulled out his medical kit and was tending to the worst of Malcolm’s visible wounds.

“Looks like he’s had it pretty rough,” Dominick commented.

“Yeah. They had him in there for I don’t know how long, maybe five or six days. I think they were taking turns with him.”

Tony let out a low whistle. “Damn,” he said. “That’s rough.”

“What about you, Elle?” asked Nick. “Do you need any medical attention?”

I nodded silently, then pulled up the sleeve of my dress to show him the inside of my elbow. Nick let out a growl surprisingly similar to the ones the vampires had made as Malcolm and I had left Deirdre’s house.

“Is that the only one?” he asked.

“No,” I whispered.

“Can I see the other one?” His voice was almost as quiet as mine had been, but it was shaking.

I peeled away the remains of the sleeve covering the original wound on my shoulder and the new bite mark overlaying it. Nick scowled. Dom hissed in a breath through his teeth.

“Tony,” said Dom. “I think you’d better come take a look at this one.”

“Is it that bad?” I asked.

“I think it’s going to leave a scar,” Dom said.

“Probably so,” Tony said as he peered over Dominick’s shoulder.

“Did Deirdre do this to you?” Nick asked.

“She did the one on my elbow. Greg did this one.”

“Greg your ex?”

“Yeah.” I was whispering again.

“The one who is working for Pearson.”

“That one.”

Tony wiped some sort of disinfectant over my shoulder wound, and this time I was the one who hissed in a breath between my teeth.

“Sorry, Elle,” Tony said quietly. “But it’s got to be done. This may need stitches, too. I’ll know more when we get you home and I can look at it more closely.”

I nodded. “Do whatever you have to, Tony.”

“I’m sorry, Dixieland,” said Nick, shaking his head. “I should have killed Greg as soon as you told me about him.”

“It’s not your fault, Nick. And I’m not sure you can kill him now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I need to tell you something. I may have made a few mistakes tonight.”

Tony finished taping a new bandage over the wound and moved to his own seat in the van.

“Listen, Dixie,” said Nick, “you got out alive, and you got your friend out alive. As far as I’m concerned, the only real mistakes are the ones that get you killed. Whatever happened tonight, we can talk about it later. The sun’s coming up; the vampires won’t do anything more tonight.” He gently wrapped a blanket around me. “You just rest. We’ll go someplace safe, and we’ll talk after you’ve had some sleep.”

I nodded; I could already feel my eyes drifting shut.

“Okay. But don’t let it get dark tomorrow before I talk to you, okay, Nick?”

“I promise.”

And with that, I slept.

17

I didn’t get to sleep for very long, though. It seemed that almost as soon as I had closed my eyes, Nick was pulling me out of the van and carrying me.

I opened my eyes and peered around. We were in a parking garage of some sort. John had pulled up in front of the elevator and Tony was helping Malcolm out of his seat.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“I decided to bring you to the shop instead of taking you home.”

“The shop. Nick, I told Deirdre about the shop.”

“But you didn’t tell her where it was, did you?”

“No. I didn’t know where it was.”

“Right. So don’t worry about it now. We’ll deal with it in the morning. You need to get some rest.”

“But first I need to take another look at that shoulder wound of hers,” Tony said. “I think it might need a couple of stitches.”

Malcolm was silent through all of this, looking around the garage dazedly.

We took the elevator up to the top floor, then walked across a short walkway to what looked at first glance to be an office building. Numbered doors lined the hallway, much as they had in Deirdre’s dungeon. I shuddered at the memory.

Nick gently set me down. Tony led us to a corner suite, number 401, and unlocked the door. The nameplate beside the door read “Anthony J. DeLuca, M.D.” I looked at Tony.

“You’re a doctor?” I asked.

He laughed. “No need to sound so surprised.”

“No. It’s just that you’re so young. And… um… I don’t know. Tough? I guess I just think of doctors as old and kindly looking, not the sort to go chasing after vampires.”

“But chasing after vampires sure does give me a lot of business. You, for example. Come on,” he said, opening the door and flipping on a light switch. “Let’s get you two taken care of.”

The outer room of the suite looked exactly as I would expect any doctor’s office to look. There was a reception desk directly across from the door. Off to the left was a small waiting room, complete with uncomfortable chairs and boring magazines. Tony led us to a closed door at the other end of the waiting room, which led to a long row of small examining rooms. He ushered Malcolm into one, then told me to wait for him in the next one.

“Will you be okay alone?” Nick asked me.

“Sure,” I said. I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t want him to think I was a complete wimp. I sat in the chair in the corner. I could hear a murmur of voices from the other room, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying.

Posters of various body parts and illnesses adorned the walls. I examined a depiction of the workings of the inner ear for a moment.

I think I must have drifted off to sleep again, because the next thing I knew Tony opened the door and said, “Okay. If you’ll get up on the examining table, we’ll get you all fixed up.” His voice had taken on that cheerful professionalism of doctors everywhere.

“How’s Malcolm?” I asked. I stood up and hoisted myself onto the table, with Tony’s help.

“He’ll be okay. I stitched him up and gave him a shot to help him sleep; he’ll need a lot of rest over the next few days, but physically, he’ll be just fine.”

“Physically? Does that mean you think he might not be okay mentally?”

“It’s hard to say. He’s been through a pretty traumatic experience. People process those sorts of things differently. I’d say there’s a good chance he’s going to have some sort of reaction. It’s just the extent of that reaction and how well he’ll handle it that’s in question.”

I nodded. I knew that I’d had a pretty intense reaction after the attack on Greg.

Tony took out a pair of scissors. “How important is this dress to you?” he asked.

“I hate it. You can burn it, for all I care.”

“Good.” He snipped the sleeves off to reveal the elbow and shoulder wounds.

“I’m going to give you a shot to numb this shoulder. It might sting a bit.” Tony made several injections around the wound. I tried not to flinch.

“There,” he said. “We’ll give that some time to take effect. In the meantime, let’s take a look at that elbow.” He took my arm gently in his hand and looked at the crook of my elbow.

“This one’s a lot cleaner than the other one. Neater.” He looked up at me questioningly.

“Deirdre. She was the one in charge out there.”

He nodded. “They seem to learn a lot about how to deal with their dinners effectively as they age.

The younger ones are more likely to rip out a hunk of skin than the older ones. As you learned.” He gestured at my shoulder.

“First I’m going to take some swabs of this so that I can take a look at it in my lab. Then I’m just going to clean it out and cover it; puncture wounds often heal best if they’re left to their own devices.

Have you had a tetanus shot recently?”

“No.”

He rinsed the punctures on the inside of my elbow out with some sort of stinging liquid, then again smeared them with an antibiotic ointment. He finished taping a bandage over it.

“Same instructions as last time. Put this ointment on it every day, then bandage it back up. Let me know if you start to see any signs of infection: if the skin around it swells up or turns red, if you start running a fever, or if you start getting a lot of discharge out of either of the wounds.”

I nodded.

“How does your shoulder feel?”

“Numb,” I said.

“Good. Lean forward just a bit. This might take a little longer.”

I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he cleaned the wound, but I was afraid to really look. I didn’t want to know what had made Dom whistle when he saw it. I turned my head away entirely when he began stitching the skin up.

“Okay, then,” he said as he placed another bandage over the stitches, “Let me just get the tetanus shot ready.” He left for a moment, then returned with three different syringes.

“I’m also going to give you a shot of antibiotics and the same thing I gave to Malcolm to help him rest,” he said, setting the syringes down on the counter that ran against the left wall of the room.

The first shot was fine. I’ve never had the horror of needles that many other people seem to have.

“I think I’m going to hold off on giving you the sedative until we get you set up with a bed,” he said as he pocketed the second syringe.

Then he picked up the third syringe.

“This is the tetanus shot. This one might actually hurt a little.”

The needle going in didn’t hurt much, but I could feel whatever he pumped into my arm as it slid in, and it did more than hurt. It ached abominably.

“And now I’m going to take just a small sample of blood so I can run a few tests on it, as well.”

Wonderful. More blood loss. Just what I needed. He pulled a small kit out of one of the drawers in the room. He did at least take the blood from the otherwise undamaged arm.

“Okay. All done,” Tony said cheerfully. “Now let’s get you to a bed so you can get some sleep.”

I nodded woozily. Tony helped me off the table and led me down the hall, away from the waiting room, and through the last door on the right. We walked through a small storage room with another door in the back. When he opened that door, I realized that it led to yet another hallway much like the first.

“This used to be two different suites of offices,” he explained. “Alec Pearson owns the building.

When I got hooked up with Nick and his gang, Pearson gave us these suites and did a little remodeling. The other office is my public office; I actually have regular patients I see there a couple of days a week. This is the private office—the shop.”

He pointed out various features of the shop as he walked past open and closed doors, including one closed door that he identified as belonging to Nick’s private office. Some of the examination-size rooms had been set up as small bedrooms, “In case anyone ever needs to crash here,” Tony said.

Given the inherently sterile nature of former examining rooms, the bedrooms weren’t too bad. For the most part, they contained single beds, small bedside tables, and televisions mounted on the walls.

A couple of them looked like they might be in more-or-less regular use; those had posters or prints hanging on the walls and books or computers on the built-in cabinets.

One room held what looked like a ridiculously large arsenal of weapons, mostly old-fashioned things like bows and arrows, but also a few more modern and, to my eyes, more lethal-looking guns.

In another room, some of the interior walls had been knocked out and the rooms combined to make enough space to hold a complete, if small, gym. A similar-sized room held a conference table, a dry-erase board, and a video monitor. “We call that the War Room,” Tony said.

“I see you have the requisite Big Board,” I replied. Tony grinned.

He led me all the way to the end of the hall. The door there opened up on a set-up much like the one in the front of the other suite. At the reception desk, however, was a bank of computers and other electronic equipment. Dominic sat at a terminal, typing rapidly. Whereas the waiting room on the other side consisted of typically uncomfortable waiting-room furniture—perfectly functional, but designed to seat a maximum number of people in a limited space—this waiting room held an over-stuffed couch and several cushy chairs. A large-screen TV took up most of one wall.

Nick and John were seated in two of the chairs, deep in conversation. They looked up as I came in.

“Hey, Dixie,” Nick said. “Come have a seat for a minute.”

I wobbled over and collapsed on the sofa. “Yeah?”

Tony quietly left the room.

“I just wanted to check in with you for a minute. You can tell me everything later, but I just wanted to make sure I’m clear on the basics.”

“Okay,” I said.

Tony returned with a small carton of orange juice and handed it to me. “Drink this,” he said.

“You need to keep your blood sugar levels up.”

“Thanks,” I murmured, opening the carton and drinking almost half of it in one swallow.

“What do you want to know?” I asked Nick.

“You said you told Deirdre about the shop,” he said. “Did you tell her anything else about us?

Names? Anything?”

“Nope. I told her I didn’t know anything except that you called your headquarters ‘the shop.’ I figure there’s a pretty good chance she knows some things, though, since she’s got Greg, and he knows Pearson.”

“And you’re absolutely certain that Greg is on her side.”

I shuddered. “Without a doubt.”

Nick looked at me speculatively.

“Look, Nick,” I said. “It was horrible. But I’ll go over every last second of it with you.

Tomorrow.”

Nick nodded and breathed out a sigh. “You’re right. Tomorrow. You go get some rest. Tony?

Show her to her room?”

I made it to the door before I turned around. “Hey.”

Nick looked up again. “Yes?”

“This isn’t anybody’s home, is it?”

“No. Not really.”

“Then how safe are we from vampires? Could they come in here even if no one invited them?”

Nick looked at me levelly for a long time before he answered.

“I don’t know, Elle. Right now, you and Malcolm have spent more time with the vampires than anyone else I know. Anyone alive, anyway.”

I nodded. That was the thing I liked best about Nick: he was always straight with me, even when he knew I wasn’t going to like the answer.

“But hey—don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll all be here while you sleep.”

Make that the second-best thing. My very favorite thing about Nick was that ever since I’d met him, he had been around to help me every single time I’d been in trouble.

* * *

I woke up the next morning—or afternoon, rather—with a start, wondering where I was. It took me a moment to decipher the sterile surroundings. Tiny room, white walls, mounted television. The shop. I remembered Tony showing me to this room the night before and giving me the final shot. He’d also handed me some sweatpants and a t-shirt.

“They’re probably too big,” he said, “but they’re bound to be more comfortable than that dress.”

I’d been glad for them; the thought of sleeping naked made me feel vulnerable. And it would be a long time before I felt comfortable with being vulnerable again.

I padded out of the room on bare feet and followed the smell of coffee out to the waiting room area. A little exploring revealed a small kitchenette off to the right of the reception desk. It held a sink, a coffeepot, a microwave, a one-burner hotplate, and a dorm-room-size refrigerator. Unlike most of the rooms in the suite, this one had a window looking out across the city. I hadn’t even been certain that we were in Manhattan until I saw the view. John stood over the counter with a measuring cup in one hand and a box of pancake batter mix in the other. He was reading the directions.

“Hey,” I said by way of greeting.

“Hey yourself. Sleep well?”

“Much better than I expected to.” I leaned against the edge of the counter. “You making breakfast?”

“Attempting to.” He smiled at me.

“Okay. So Nick’s the boss. Tony’s the doctor, and I’m guessing that Dominick’s the computer guy, right?”

“Right.”

“So what are you? Other than chauffeur. And den mother,” I said, pointing at the pancake mix.

“Chauffeur. Mechanic. Den Mother.” He opened the box and measured out some of the powdered mix. “And weapons specialist,” he added, pulling eggs and milk out of the refrigerator.

“So you’re really the guns guy.”

“Guns, crossbows, longbows, short swords, broadswords; you name it, I’ve probably learned a little bit about it over the years.”

I suspected “a little bit” might be an understatement.

He finished stirring the batter and poured out several pancakes into the skillet.

“I’d offer to help,” I said, “but I’m a total disaster in the kitchen.”

“No problem. Want to serve the coffee as people get up?”

“Sure. How do you take yours?”

“Black. Nick takes sugar only, Dom takes milk only, and Tony won’t touch the stuff. He makes some vile-smelling tea. I suggest you just let him do it; don’t offer to help. You’d only be sorry.”

He pointed out the mugs and sugar and handed me the milk. I poured our two cups and handed John his, then poured a third.

“Know where Malcolm’s room is?” I asked.

“Third door on the right.”

“I’ll be back.”

I walked back down the hall with more than a little trepidation. I was worried about how Malcolm might handle the horrors he’d seen over the last couple of days. I was hoping that he wouldn’t blame me too much for not having told him sooner what we were really up against.

But I wouldn’t be able to hold it against him if he did.

I knocked softly on the door, then went in without waiting for an answer. Malcolm was lying on the bed with his eyes closed, curled up as tightly as possible. I could tell he wasn’t asleep.

“Hey, Malcolm,” I said softly. “I have coffee.”

He just curled tighter.

I sat down on the bed beside him.

“I think you’ll start feeling better if you sit up and drink this.”

There was a long silence. Then he slowly uncurled and gingerly eased himself to an upright position. But he didn’t take the coffee from my hand.

Nor did he look me in the eye. Instead, he stared at the floor.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever feel better again,” he said.

I leaned around so I could see his face.

“But coffee’s a start.”

He didn’t answer.

“Okay. I’m going to set it down on the bedside table here. I’ll be in the common room at the end of the hall. Just follow the smell of pancakes if you want to join us.”

I stood up to go, but he put his hand out and grabbed my wrist to stop me.

“Those really were vampires, weren’t they?”

“Yeah,” I said softly, “they really were.” I sat back down.

“At the end there, when you came in, I thought I was hallucinating. You came for me, right?”

“I did. I’m so sorry it took me so long, Malcolm. I didn’t know they had you.”

“But you knew what they were.” His hands played with the borrowed t-shirt he wore, rubbing the hem between his fingers.

“Yes.”

“Your boyfriend, too.”

“Ex. But yeah, him too.”

He looked up and met my eyes directly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought I was protecting you.” I wanted to say more, but anything else would sound like an attempt to justify myself. I didn’t want to do that. I’d been wrong, and if Malcolm thought so too, I wasn’t about to try to convince him otherwise.

He looked away again and the silence stretched out between us.

Finally, he broke it by saying, “At the end there, I thought I heard… Did you trade your blood for me?”

“Yes.” My voice was barely audible. I didn’t want to answer that, but Malcolm deserved the truth.

“So you know.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“The worst part of it is… the worst part…” his voice broke and be began to cry. “By the end, I was begging them to bite me.”

I wrapped my arms around him and he buried his face in my neck. I rocked him back and forth, whispering over and over, “It’s okay. You’re safe now. Shh. You’re safe.” We sat that way for a long time.

18

Eventually Malcolm fell asleep again, still clutching me tightly. I gently disentangled myself from his grip, pulled a blanket over him, and went in search of Nick.

He was seated in a chair in the common room, sipping coffee and reading a newspaper. I sat down on the sofa across from him and leaned toward him, my elbows on my knees, hands clasped loosely in front of me.

“We are going to kill them, aren’t we?”

He folded the paper and set it aside.

“That’s certainly my plan. You want to join us when we do?”

“Absolutely.”

“How’s your friend?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Pretty shaken up at best. Permanently damaged at worst. I don’t even know how long they had him out there before Greg came to get me.”

“And how are you?” he asked.

I laughed bitterly. “I don’t know. Shaken up at best, damaged at worst. And they only had me for a few hours.”

“I think you’d better tell me everything.”

So I did. Even the parts I wanted to forget. He didn’t say anything, just leaned back against the chair and closed his eyes to listen.

When I got to the part about Deirdre’s bite, I faltered. I think that it would have been easier to tell had a male vampire been the one to elicit such a primal, physical response from me. I had never had any sexual interest in other women. I just wasn’t wired that way. The memory of Deirdre’s hands and mouth on my skin made me shudder. It also made me tremble. And it was the combination of those two things—repulsion and desire—that scared me the most.

In many ways, it was easier to talk about Greg’s bite. A few weeks before, I would have said that nothing could have been worse than being attacked by Greg. Now I knew better. I felt betrayed and violated by Greg, but I felt degraded by Deirdre. Humiliated. Ashamed of my own response.

I hated them both.

When I finally finished talking, Nick opened his eyes and began questioning me about the layout of the house. On one hand, I was relieved that he didn’t want to talk about the bites any more. On the other hand, I had questions that I needed answered.

“Wait.” I said. “I need to know something.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve read Dracula and I’ve seen all the horror movies. Am I going to turn into a vampire?”

“No. As far as we can tell, simply being bitten—even repeatedly—doesn’t turn humans into vampires.”

“Does it require some exchange of blood?”

“We don’t know. None of our people and none of our contacts has ever, to the best of my knowledge, seen a turning.”

“But it must happen quickly—otherwise, how was Greg able to leave the apartment so quickly the night he was turned?”

“Either that, or it’s a process that occurs over a period of several nights,” he said.

I thought for a moment. “That’s entirely possible. Greg often worked late at the office—at least, that’s what he said he was doing.” I felt much more comfortable talking about theoretical turning methods than I did discussing my own experiences of the night before. “So how do we kill them?” I asked.

“You realize, don’t you, that once we start killing them, there’s no stopping until we’ve wiped out every last one? You promised not to attack them. Killing even one of them will be tantamount to a declaration of war.”

My voice was grim. “Then I say we declare war.”

* * *

We spent most of the rest of that afternoon going over everything we knew. But first I took a shower in the converted bathroom in the middle of the hall and changed into yet another borrowed set of sweats. I spent a long time scrubbing every part of me that either Deirdre or Greg had touched.

I wished I could scrub my soul.

When I finally got back to the common room, Nick started by asking me to again tell him everything I remembered about the building Malcolm had been held in. He took notes while I spoke, and after a few minutes he called Dominick into the room.

Dom had some sort of architectural program that set up a blueprint of the building and eventually created a virtual representation of Deirdre’s mansion; we could “walk through” it room by room. I sat beside him and filled in the blank spots. I was amazed at how much I remembered once I saw the space again on the screen.

“No,” I said, “the ballroom wasn’t that close to the front door.”

Dom tapped a few keys and the screen re-loaded.

“Yeah. That’s it,” I said. “And the stairs curved more. Like that.”

“How many floors were there?” Dom asked.

“Three that I saw. There was another set of stairs that went down, though.”

Tony wandered through once to check on me and to give me some more antibiotics.

I kept waiting for Malcolm to come out of his room.

He never did.

At about 4:30, I suddenly remembered Millie.

“My cat!” I said, jumping up out of my chair. “I have to go home and feed my cat!”

“John’s already headed over there,” Nick said from his seat in the common room. “I sent him out to pick up supplies and told him to stop by your place. He’s going to change the locks and bring back some clothes for you. I’ll give him a call and tell him to gather up your pet, too. Anything else?”

“You kept a key to my place?” I asked.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” Nick said.

I wasn’t sure I liked that, but given the fact that my own keys were still in my jacket pocket at Deirdre’s, I didn’t press the issue.

“Yeah. Tell him to bring cat food, litter, a litterbox.”

Dom snorted. “John’s just going to love hauling around kitty litter.”

I told Nick where everything was, including the cat carrier I kept in the top of my closet.

By the time the light outside began to fade, Dom and I had a pretty good virtual reality representation of Deirdre’s house and I was exhausted. Millie, who had spent a good hour sniffing almost every corner of the shop, was curled up on my lap, purring contentedly.

Nick came in from whatever he had been doing in the back part of the shop and pulled up a chair.

“Let me see what we’ve got.”

Dom began walking us through the image of the building from the front door.

“The front foyer has glass doors, so I’m guessing that’s designed for their human friends. This is the ballroom, and Elle says that the wait staff all entered and exited through this door to the right, so I’ve put in a kitchen back here. I’m just guessing at the dimensions, based on the other things Elle told me. Upstairs seems to hold dressing rooms, bathrooms, perhaps a few bedrooms—again, probably for the humans.

“This is where it gets interesting,” he said, leading us back down the virtual staircase. “This floor is set up like a hotel—lots of rooms, lots of privacy. Judging from what Elle heard and saw, I’d say this is where the vamps take their human friends when they want to be alone. I’m guessing it’s a real suck-fest down there.”

“It also seems to function as a make-shift prison, since that’s where they kept Malcolm,” said Nick, “and that means that they don’t have any real dungeon area. They may not be used to having to take prisoners.”

“Which means,” said Dom, “that this floor down here, the one that Elle never saw, is probably their true den.”

“Makes sense,” Nick agreed. “It’s far below the ground, so there’s no chance of any sunlight getting in. And if they’ve got human servants around during the day, it means that they’ve got yet another layer of protection.”

“Do you think their humans will fight for them?” I asked.

“If your experience with Deirdre wasn’t some anomaly, then I’m guessing that some of these people will fight tooth and nail for the vamps. It sounds to me like the sort of thing that could work like an addiction. And addicts will always fight for their fix.”

I considered that. It would make sense; all of the people there had seemed more than willing—even eager—to accompany the vampires. And Malcolm himself had talked about actually wanting the vampires to bite him by the end of his confinement in the mansion. I started to relay that information to Nick, but stopped before I even had the first word out of my mouth. Malcolm hadn’t specifically asked me not to tell anyone what he’d said, but I’d heard the shame in his voice when he’d spoken. It had sounded like my own shame felt.

I did, however, tell Tony about Nick’s surmises about the addictive nature of a vampire’s bite.

He nodded. “So Malcolm might be suffering from some sort of withdrawal symptoms in addition to post-traumatic stress disorder.”

“You think he’s got that?” I asked, suddenly alarmed at the possibility that my own stupidity had led directly to Malcolm ending up with a medically defined disorder.

“It’s almost impossible that he wouldn’t have some PTSD symptoms,” Tony said. “And I won’t be surprised if you show some symptoms of it, too.”

“What can he do about it?” I asked. I didn’t care so much about myself—I knew I’d be okay in the long run. But I wanted to do everything I could to help Malcolm.

“I’ve already started the first step,” Tony said, “and that’s getting him to talk about it.”

“You’ve talked to him today?” I asked.

“For quite a long time, actually. He’s asleep again, though; talking about it pretty much wore him out. It’s going to take him a little while to recover from the physical trauma, too.”

And here I was thinking that Malcolm had been hiding out in his room all day to avoid me. I just hate those moments when I discover that I’ve been completely self-centered.

“So it would be okay if I asked him about it?” I asked Tony.

“Sure. The more he’s willing to talk about it, the better. And if he’s still got any residual reaction to the trauma a few weeks from now, I can prescribe some antidepressants.”

“Do you think it would make him feel better or worse to be involved in our plans to take out Deirdre and her crew?”

“I have no idea. You’ll have to ask him. But wait until tomorrow, okay? I think he’s had enough today.”

I agreed and Tony changed the subject to my own physical wounds.

“How do they feel?” he asked.

“Painful.”

He changed the bandages and let me get back to planning Deirdre’s annihilation, but not before giving me a small package containing several pills.

“Just in case you have any trouble sleeping,” he said.

I took them from him and placed them on my bedside table, but I didn’t plan to use them for the same reason I’d stopped drinking. I wanted to keep my wits about me at all times.

19

“Before we begin,” said Tony, “I’d like to ask your permission to give Nick a report of what you tell me. I won’t give him any information that you might prefer to keep private, but anything that tells us more about how vampires work might prove useful.”

Tony and Malcolm and I were sitting in my room, Tony and Malcolm in chairs we’d brought in from other parts of the shop, me cross-legged on my bed. We were getting ready to “de-brief” Malcolm.

“Okay,” said Malcolm, “but I don’t know how what I can say might help anyone else.”

“We’re planning to go back in,” I said. I watched Malcolm’s face for any reaction—fear, excitement, anger, anything—but I couldn’t read what I saw there. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again.

“You’re going to wipe them out?” he asked.

“Every last one.”

“I want to help.” His voice was quiet but fierce.

I looked at Tony—I didn’t want to agree to anything before I knew what the rest of the group might say.

“We can use all the help we can get,” Tony said. “Just as long as you’re up to it physically by the time we go in. As your doctor, I’m reserving the right to ground you from the mission.”

Malcolm nodded.

“Okay, then. Let’s get started.” Tony pulled out a small notepad and a pen. “Where were you when they first picked you up?”

“On my way home,” Malcolm said. “I’d been at the Jolly Tinker—a bar on Webster Avenue—having a few drinks with some friends. It wasn’t very late, about 10:00 or so. A young woman approached me. She looked young, like a student, maybe a freshman or sophomore. At first I thought that she was going to ask for directions or something. But she was looking at me like she knew me, so then I thought that maybe she’d been in one of my classes. I kept thinking I would figure out who she was when she spoke. But she never said anything.

“Instead, she grabbed my arm and pulled me into the bushes. She caught me off-guard; she was a lot stronger than I would have expected. I lost my balance and stumbled, and I grabbed her shoulder to catch myself. When I did, she looked me in the eye.”

He paused.

“What happened then?” Tony asked quietly.

“It was like I was still falling. Her eyes were completely black, even the parts that should be white. It made me dizzy. I don’t know what happened for a while after that.” He looked up. “Should I be worried about that?” he asked Tony.

“Not necessarily. It’s not uncommon to block traumatic memories. And there’s a good chance that it was something she did to you that made you black out.”

“The next thing I knew, I was chained to that wall.”

I could see sweat beads pop out on Malcolm’s forehead as he got to this part of the story.

Apparently Tony saw them, too, because he switched gears, giving Malcolm a chance to back off the topic for a little bit.

“What night was it that you went out drinking?”

“Friday.”

Two nights after I’d sent him away from my apartment in order to keep him safe. I wondered if Greg had been stalking him that whole time, or if he had found Malcolm right before having him kidnapped.

That meant that the vampires had him chained to that wall for four days before they used him to lure me in. Dear God.

“So what did you see when you woke up?”

“There were three people in the room with me—two women and one man. I figured out later that one of the women was in charge. Deirdre. The other two…”

His voice faltered out.

“What did the other two do, Malcolm?” Tony asked gently.

“They practiced on me. Deirdre would show them how they were supposed to take blood, and then they took turns on me.”

“What was that like?” Tony asked.

“Horrible. Wonderful. Heaven and hell all mixed up.” He paused, looking as if he were casting about for a way to describe the indescribable.

“Deirdre’s bite is sexual, but that’s not all.” I searched for the right words. “It’s like the best sex and the worst pain you’ve ever felt all at the same time.”

“That’s it exactly,” Malcolm said. “But the other two weren’t like that.” He was talking to me now; when I looked at Tony to make sure this was okay, he nodded.

“I know that in my case,” I said, “the second bite, the one from Greg, didn’t have anything like pleasure in it. Was it like that with the other two for you, Malcolm?”

He shook his head. “No. The other two weren’t as good at it. Their bites hurt a lot—a lot more than Deirdre’s—but they weren’t just pain.”

“Did it bother you that one of the vampires was male?” Tony asked.

“I’m not gay. But…” he paused for a long time, then whispered. “But by the last day, I was begging the guy to do me.”

We were all silent for a moment.

“They broke me,” he said.

“Oh, Malcolm,” I said, “you couldn’t help it. Their bites are addictive.”

Malcolm looked at me sorrowfully. “That’s not what I mean,” he said. “It’s not the bites. That’s not the worst of it.” Again, he was silent for a long time. Tony and I just waited for him to speak.

“The worst of it is,” Malcolm finally said, “the worst part of all of it, was that they were trying to get me to tell them where you lived. And I did. I told them. I think I would have done just about anything they asked me to.” With that, he put his head in his hands and began to cry.

I didn’t wait for Tony’s approval; I moved to sit beside Malcolm and put my arms around him.

“It’s not your fault, Malcolm,” I said. “They would have found out somehow. It’s not your fault.”

“She’s right,” Tony said. “This is just like rape, Malcolm, and that’s never the victim’s fault. There is nothing you could have done differently, no way you could have known what might happen to you. And as for telling them where Elle lived, that’s not your fault either. They were torturing you.”

Malcolm set his jaw and wiped his eyes angrily. “I shouldn’t have told them,” he said.

“That’s not true,” I said. “If anyone’s to blame here, it’s me. I’m the one who knew what they were, and I didn’t tell you.”

Tony closed his notepad and tucked it back into his pocket. “I think that’s enough for today,” he said. “Why don’t you two join us out in the common room in an hour or so?”

Tony closed the door behind him. I reached over and rubbed my hand up and down Malcolm’s arm.

“You aren’t angry with me?” he asked.

“No. No and a million times no,” I said. “I meant it; they would have found me eventually, with or without you. This is not your fault,” I said, emphasizing each of the last three words.

Malcolm exhaled heavily, as if he’d been holding his breath while he waited for my answer.

* * *

“Have you ever cleared out an entire den of vampires before?” I asked Nick. He and I were standing outside his office.

“We’ve taken out dens before, but never one as big as this one,” Nick said. “If I’m interpreting what you saw correctly, then my guess is that we’ll be taking out most of the major vampires on Long Island.”

“Does that worry you at all?” I asked.

“Only inasmuch as it might piss off the other vamps in the city.”

“What are we going to do if it sets the rest of them against us?”

“I don’t know yet. I need to talk to Alec Pearson about that.”

“Have you told him about Greg yet?” I asked.

“Yes. I don’t know how much he believes me. I think he wants to continue to trust Greg.”

“That’s really stupid,” I said.

“I agree. I’ll give Alec a call right now, in fact. Why don’t you go wait for me in the common room? I’ll be there in a minute.”

He moved into his office and shut the door, but a few moments later I heard his raised voice through the wall. “Then you can damn well clear your appointments. This is your show, Alec, and what happened to that girl is your responsibility.”

His voice fell again to a murmur behind the door. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear any more, anyway, so I left him to his discussions with his former guardian and made my way back into the common room to snuggle into the sofa not far from Malcolm, who was flipping through the latest issue of Time.

When Nick joined us a few minutes later, he said, “I’m calling a brainstorming session in here.”

The other guys showed up a few minutes later and we spent the next hour discussing vampires—fleshing out our addiction theory and sharing everything we knew, or thought we knew, about vampires.

“It makes sense, biologically,” Tony said. “If being bitten by a vampire creates an addiction, then vampires and humans can form a sort of symbiotic relationship. The vampire needs blood, the human needs the vampire to take that blood.”

“Do you think it’s a physical addiction?” Nick asked.

“I don’t know yet. I’m running tests on the blood samples I took from Malcolm and Elle. And I’m watching them both for signs of physical withdrawal. I’ll know more in a few days. But really, it doesn’t matter whether it’s physical or psychological. Either form of addiction would have the same result.”

“So why was Malcolm more affected by it than I am?” I asked. “Is it just because he was there longer?”

“I’m sure that’s part of it. Increased exposure could certainly play a role in the development of the addiction. So could individual body chemistry and psychological makeup. Some people might form an instant addiction, whereas others might be more resistant to whatever it is that causes the addiction.”

“What do you think that might be?” asked John.

“Maybe something in the vampire’s saliva? Some chemical that gets into the bloodstream? At any rate, it’s almost certainly some sort of chemical compound that works on the brain.”

“And,” said Dom, “the whole addiction thing might explain why there are so many stories about vampires being able to control their victims.”

“I’m not sure about that,” I said. “There’s something else going on with the whole mind-control thing. The first time I saw Greg after he’d been turned, he just about hypnotized me, and I didn’t do anything but look him in the eyes.”

“So it could be a combination of addiction and mind-control that draws humans to vampires,” said John.

“Great,” I said. “We’ve got a bunch of mind-controlled vampire junkies to get through before we can even start to think about killing Deirdre and her vampire gang. Kiss. Slither. Whatever.”

“You know,” said Malcolm slowly, “I’m really not okay with the idea of killing people whose worst crime was to get caught by vampires. Especially if there’s any hope of curing them. I mean, I could just as easily have ended up being one of them.” It was the first time he’d said anything since the conversation started. He spoke quietly, but his comment had the effect of a loud bomb in our midst.

We all sat staring at him, stunned.

“Jesus,” said Nick, and put his head in his hands. “He’s right. We can’t go into this with guns blazing.”

We all nodded, except for John, who said, “The problem with that is that you can’t trust a junkie not to go back to his drug of choice. Leaving them alive as witnesses means that there’s a good chance that some, if not all, of them will go running off to find other vampires and end up telling some big bad vamp who it was that destroyed Deirdre and her group.”

He was right, too. So what it came down to was that we had to find a way to get past the humans without them ever seeing us.

“But that will entail finding out what their schedule is like and figuring out a way to incapacitate them while we finish off the vamps,” said Tony.

We tossed ideas around for a while, but no one could think of anything viable. Our best chance of getting past them was to drug them; we agreed on that. But the problem of getting into Deirdre’s house in order to slip a mickey to every single human servant seemed insurmountable.

Finally Malcolm spoke up again. “I have an idea,” he said. And then he explained it to us.

His idea was brilliant in its simplicity. It also scared the hell out of me.

And out of Nick, too. For that matter, we all tried to talk Malcolm out of it.

“I’m the best choice for this,” Malcolm argued for about the tenth time. “Deirdre will have no trouble believing that I have to come back, that I need to be bitten.” He laughed bitterly. “It’s all but true, anyway,” he said.

“That’s why it scares me, Malcolm,” I said. “You don’t know what might happen to you in there.

And we might not be able to come in and rescue you this time. If you go in, you know she’s going to want some sort of proof of why you’re really there. You’ll get bitten immediately.” He shivered, and I couldn’t tell if it was from horror or desire.

“But at least I’ll be inside and can spike the servant’s drinks. Or food, or whatever.”

“What if you get so deep in that you can’t bring yourself to do that? What if we can’t get you back even if we get you out?”

Nick put his hand on my shoulder. “Malcolm’s right, Elle,” he said. “He’s the only one who can do this. He has to go in.”

“Then we at least have to wait until he’s all healed up,” I said.

“The longer we wait, the less believable it becomes that he’d go back at all,” Dom said.

“As his doctor, I am not allowing him to go anywhere until he’s at least a little more stable,” Tony said. I shot him a grateful look.

“Then how will he explain being gone so long?” Nick asked.

“I’ll tell Deirdre that you guys held me prisoner here and that I got away,” Malcolm said.

“She’ll want to know where the shop is,” I said. “And you’ll have to tell her something.” I couldn’t believe I was actually participating in this conversation. I didn’t think he should go back in at all.

“Tell her the truth. We can be cleared out of here long before she could send anyone to check it out,” Nick said. “And with any luck at all, we’ll get to her hideout before she gets to ours.”

“It might take a few days for Malcolm to get into a position to knock the servants out. How will we know when to move in?” John asked.

“That’s easy,” said Malcolm. “I’ll just walk out the front door and wave at you. The vampires will all be sleeping during the day, right? No problem.”

“But what if you’re locked in and can’t come out?”

Dom answered me. “I can come up with something that will allow him to communicate with us.

Some sort of bug that he can drop at some point. Something that looks innocuous. We’ve got enough time for me to work something out.”

“Why can’t I go in?” I asked.

All of them turned around and stared at me.

“What? I’ve been bitten, too. I could just as easily as Malcolm have an uncontrollable desire to go back to get chewed on. Besides, I wasn’t exposed to it as long as Malcolm was, so it’ll be safer for me.”

They all spoke at once.

“Absolutely not,” said Nick.

“No,” said Tony.

“No way,” said Dom.

“Uh-uh,” said John.

Malcolm just shook his head.

“I am not some innocent little girl who needs to be protected,” I said angrily. “You were all perfectly willing to let me go in and kill vampires with you in the Bronx. What’s changed now?”

“No one said you needed protecting,” said Nick. “And we’re going to take you in with us to kill these vampires, too. But your own argument is exactly the problem. You weren’t exposed to the vamps for as long as Malcolm was. We don’t know enough about the addiction process to know if you had enough exposure to even cause you to become addicted. What we do know is that Malcolm was there longer and is therefore the more believable candidate for going in undercover.”

“And what if we’re wrong altogether? What if a vampire’s bite isn’t addictive at all? We could end up getting Malcolm killed.” My voice shook as I spoke.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take, Elle,” Malcolm said. “I need to do this.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say to that. I had lost the fight before it had even begun. Malcolm was determined to go back into that nightmare of a mansion.

20

That’s when I started looking for a knife with wood inlay on the blade. Not that I hadn’t had perfectly good luck with the wooden stakes, mind you. I mostly felt the need to be out and doing something.

Preferably something productive. And really, what could be more productive than arranging for a special weapon when one’s ex-almost-boyfriend is planning his almost-certain suicide?

The whole thing was horrible. Beyond horrible. And I knew that he was absolutely right: he was the only one who had any chance at all of doing the reconnaissance we needed to make our plan work.

I started out on the internet trying to find precisely what I was looking for. The wooden stakes had worked just fine, but every strike had taken almost all of my upper body strength. I wanted a weapon that would do the work of a stake with the ease of a knife.

Besides, I was beginning to form a few unpleasant suspicions.

I waited until no one else was around and took a break from the internet. I was sitting at one of the several computers in Dom’s bank of equipment in the reception area and I called Nick over to me.

“Hey, Nick? I want to run something by you,” I said.

“Shoot.”

“Okay. I know that we’ve only got my experience—and Malcolm’s—with Deirdre and her gang to go on. I mean, we don’t know if that sort of ‘biting to train the new vamps’ scenario has happened very often.”

“Yeah?”

“But does it seem at all odd to you that she would have to be training all those new vampires?”

“What are you thinking?”

“Just bear with me here for a minute. Have you ever heard of a vampire feeding party like that scene I ended up in the middle of at Deirdre’s?”

“No. But that doesn’t mean that they haven’t been going on. I don’t exactly have a strong connection to the vampire community.”

“Okay. And how many vampires have you killed since you started working for Alec?”

He thought for a minute. “I’m not sure. Maybe a hundred or so?”

“How many dens?”

“Two or three.”

“How hard was it to kill all these vampires?”

He cocked his head to the side and spoke slowly. “It varied.”

“And by comparison, how difficult was it to kill the vampires in the Kingsbridge Armory?”

“They were easy. Very easy.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought. They seemed easier to kill than the first vampire I killed. But I was kind of crazy that night, so I needed to double check.”

“I take it you have a theory about all of this?”

“The beginnings of one, anyway. I haven’t pieced all of it together, but here’s what I’m thinking so far. At first I thought that there’s a good chance that new vampires are easier to kill than old ones.

But then I decided that maybe it’s not age that matters, but experience. So one: the less experienced vamps are easier to kill than the more experienced ones.” I held up my fingers to count off the points as I spoke. “Two: I think that Deirdre is creating a bunch of new vampires to infiltrate the other boroughs, starting with the Bronx. I don’t know why she’s doing it, but I’m happy to go with the relatively simple theory that she’s a power-hungry bitch. Three: she feels like she has to train all these vamps. Four: she’s holding vampire-feeding parties in her well-equipped-for-feeding mansion.”

Nick watched me intently, nodding as I iterated each point.

“And that is the ‘why’ that’s important here. Why does she feel like she has to gather all these vampires together and teach them how to feed off humans? I think it’s because every time a vampire feeds, he gets a little stronger, a little harder to kill. And the more the vampire can control the victim, the more the victim wants the vampire to suck his or her blood, the stronger the vampire gets.

“I think that maybe vampires feed as much off the psychic energy—or sexual energy, or whatever—of their victims as they do off the blood of those victims. I don’t think Deirdre was just holding a little vampire party. I think she was arranging for her vampires to get stronger.

“I think Deirdre is building a vampire army.”

Nick went utterly still and stared at me.

“I’m right about this. I’m a historian, Nick, and a good one, at that. I’m trained to look for patterns in things. I’ve been thinking about this all morning, and this is the pattern I’m seeing.”

“I think it’s time for you to meet with Alec yourself,” Nick said. “He needs to hear your theory, if you’re willing to tell it to him.”

I sighed. This was not going to be fun. But it had to be done.

“Yeah, I’ll tell him.”

Nick left without saying another word, but came back a few moments later. “Tomorrow morning at 10:00,” he said. I nodded in acknowledgment.

* * *

I ended up having to find someone to custom-make my stake knife (pun totally intended, of course).

John was a big help with this. I was still running Google searches when he wandered through and asked what I was looking for. Had I been thinking about it clearly, of course, I would have gone to our in-house weapons specialist first.

I explained what I had in mind and he pursed his lips in thought. “Yeah. That might just work. I know an old guy up in Westchester who might be able to put something like that together for us. You busy with anything else right now?”

The last time I’d seen Malcolm, Tony had been running some sort of medical tests on him, so I didn’t feel any obligation to stick around on his account. Anyway, I was beginning to get a touch of cabin fever from having been cooped up in the shop for two solid days.

“No, I’m not busy. Please. Get me out of here.”

John grinned and headed off to tell Nick where we would be.

We took the van up to Larchmont, a chichi little town north of the Bronx, wending our way through narrow streets lined with two-story colonial-style houses. We passed through the downtown area, where a small section of curving streets sported rows of artsy shops in which one could buy things like lamps imported from Morocco or chairs imported from England. Lots of imports.

We kept going right through that section and into a slightly less reputable part of town. Not that any part of Westchester is all that disreputable, given that it’s one of the richest counties in New York state. But we moved on to the part of town that held the auto body and muffler repair shops.

We finally pulled up in front of a worn-looking shack of a building across the street from a school-bus depot. The store had dusty windows and a hand-lettered sign in front that read “Knives Sharpened Here.”

“Doesn’t look like your guy is terribly prosperous,” I said.

“Looks can be deceiving,” said John, climbing out of the van and slamming the door behind him.

An old-fashioned bell over the door jingled as we walked through. The room smelled of metal and oil. The sound of metal grinding against an electric sharpening wheel rang in from the back room and an additional smell of sparks and smoke drifted into the room.

Behind the counter sat an old man reading the Post. He folded it with a smile when he saw John and came out from the counter with his arms spread in greeting.

“Johnny, my boy,” he said as he took John’s hands and kissed him on both cheeks. “It is so good to see you again.” He had the distinctive accent of a New York Italian, one who had grown up speaking both English and Italian.

“You look good, Marco,” John said. “How’s business?”

“Ah, you know how it goes. Some days are good, others not so good.” He turned to me. “And who is this lovely young lady, Johnny?”

“Marco Ventimiglia, this is Elle Dupree.”

“It’s very nice to meet you,” I said. I held out my hand to shake his. He grabbed it and pulled me into a cheek-kissing greeting. I’d been in New York for years and still hadn’t entirely gotten used to that.

“Welcome, my dear,” said Ventimiglia. He turned back to John. “What can I do for you, my boy?”

“I need a special knife.”

The old man laughed. “Always, you need a special knife. What is so special about this knife that you must come here?”

“I need this knife to have a wood inlay on the blade.”

“What? Oh, Johnny, Johnny, I make knives that cut, not knives to hang on the wall and look pretty. Why ruin the beauty of good steel by covering it up with wood?”

“That’s why I’ve come to you. This knife has to cut, and cut well. The wood must act as part of the blade. This wood is not for decoration. It needs to slide in and back out without splintering or breaking. You’re the only person I know who could design such a knife and have it actually work.”

Ventimiglia looked at John thoughtfully, then walked back around the counter and pulled out a pad of paper with a Henkle Knives logo across the top. He began sketching. After a moment, he spun the pad around to show John.

“Something like this?” he asked.

I moved up to the counter with John to look at the sketch. The knife he had drawn looked something like a Bowie knife with a serrated edge and a wrapped hilt. Ventimiglia had sketched a thin strip of wood inlay running partway down the side of the blade. John looked at me questioningly.

“I think maybe it ought to be sharp on both sides of the blade,” I said.

“Like a stiletto?” John asked.

“I guess,” I said. “And the wood needs to go as far down the blade as possible—the more wood the better.”

“The knife is for you?” Ventimiglia asked.

“Yes,” I said.

Ventimiglia took the pad back and began sketching again, frowning in concentration. When he had finished, he turned the pad around.

The picture on the pad looked like a miniature sword, long and thin and coming to a sharp point.

A strip of wood, also pointed, ran down the center of the blade.

“That’s it,” I said.

Ventimiglia pursed his lips and tilted his head, staring at the paper. Then he wrote down a price next to the sketch.

I felt my eyes grow wide as I realized that he hadn’t written the zeroes down—the last two numbers were not the cents part of that price. They were dollars. A lot of them.

I looked up at John.

“Oh. Um. I don’t think I can afford that,” I whispered, pretending that Ventimiglia couldn’t hear every word I said.

John shook his head. “Not a problem. Put it on Nick’s tab,” he said to Ventimiglia.

“One week,” Ventimiglia said. He didn’t even look at us as he picked up the sketch and walked out of the room, but he was humming as he went.

* * *

Nick and I got to the law offices at 9:55 the next morning. Nick sailed past the reception desk, waving to Sheila as he passed. She waved back at him and gave me a funny look, like she was trying to place me.

I smiled at her and kept going.

I didn’t know what to expect when I walked into that back office. I had, of course, formed a few ideas about the man. He had already been a lawyer when he had become Nick’s guardian and had been Nick’s father’s best friend, so I expected a man in his sixties or so. I was right about that part.

It was just about the only thing I’d been right about.

For some reason, I had apparently decided that sixty-odd-year-old lawyers were inherently portly men who smoked cigars and had big booming voices.

Not so in the case of Alec Pearson. Pearson was a small man with absolutely white hair and an inability to sit still.

“Hello, Nick,” he said, standing up to greet us as we walked into the room.

“Alec,” Nick said. “This is Elle Dupree, the woman I’ve been telling you about.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Dupree,” Pearson said, coming around the edge of his desk and shaking my hand. “Please, have a seat. Could I offer you something to drink before we get started here?”

We took the two seats arranged in front of his desk. Nick requested coffee and I asked for water. I half expected Pearson to call someone to bring the drinks in to us, but instead he left the room for a moment and came back in carrying a cup of coffee and two bottles of water.

“Nick tells me you’ve got quite a story to share with me,” Pearson said, twirling a pen around his fingers after he’d finally handed around the drinks and settled back into the chair behind his desk.

“Actually,” I said. “I have some questions of my own before I tell you anything.”

Pearson stood up and began pacing the room, picking up items on his desk and turning them over in his hands several times before putting them back down. He wore a well-tailored, dark Italian suit and spent a lot of time fiddling with the jacket, buttoning and unbuttoning it as he talked. I wondered if he had many courtroom appearances, and if so, how juries might react to all that barely contained energy.

I had to crane my neck to watch him as he circled around behind me. I didn’t want to take my eyes off him.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“Why exactly did you ask Greg to become a vampire?”

“I didn’t. That was his idea. I just asked him to do some research for me. By the time I found out what he was doing, it was too late.”

Pearson picked up a paperweight from his desk, spun it around, set it back down. “I sent Nick to try to stop him, but clearly, he got there too late.”

I wasn’t sure I believed Pearson. I was beginning to get the feeling that all that movement might be by design, that he might use his hyperkinetic energy to distract his audience from what he was actually saying. And I didn’t like the way that he managed to avoid eye contact by focusing on the objects he picked up to play with.

“So what you’re telling me is that Greg was lying when he said that he got turned because of his job?” I sounded almost as suspicious as I felt. “Then why is he still on your payroll?”

Pearson froze, went completely still for the first time since I’d entered his office. A look of shock—and maybe fear—flitted across his face and was gone. If I hadn’t been watching his face so carefully, I would have missed it.

Apparently Nick hadn’t mentioned The Sting to his boss. I tried not to let my own surprise show.

I very carefully did not look at Nick. I could feel him not-looking back.

Pearson picked up a pen and twirled it across his fingers. “Greg came to me two nights later. I’d been working late on a case, and he just showed up in my office. He offered to continue working for me. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Okay. I definitely didn’t believe that. This guy was too damn smart to keep a vampire on his payroll because it “seemed like a good idea.” And besides, he was afraid of something.

I chewed on my bottom lip for a second, then just came out with it.

“Bullshit,” I said.

Both men stared at me.

“What?” said Pearson.

“I don’t buy it,” I said.

Pearson’s eyes met mine and we stared at each other over his desk. This time when he quit moving it wasn’t out of shock. It wasn’t the freezing of a moment before—this was restraint, not surprise. I was right. All that motion was intentional. I revised my opinion of him. I’d bet that he was brilliant in a courtroom.

He leaned back in his chair, never breaking eye contact with me.

“You’re smarter than I gave you credit for,” he said with a tiny smile.

“That happens to me a lot.” I didn’t smile as I said it.

I could see him trying to decide how much to tell me. He leaned forward and looked into my eyes.

His “earnest” pose, I thought.

“I had Greg researching the financial dealings of a number of groups I suspected of being vampires. What he brought back to me indicated that these vampires were much wealthier than I had at first suspected.”

I nodded. I’d seen those records. I’d stolen them, in fact.

“And a lot of that wealth was being moved around to buy real estate all over the tri-state area. I wanted Greg to find out why. So I told him to research it some more.”

He paused, still not breaking eye contact with me. “The last time I saw him he said he’d found something big, something having to do with the Bronx and Long Island. He didn’t want to give me any of the details until he knew the whole story. He was heading out to see what he could discover. I kept expecting him to come back. He never did.”

“No,” I said. “Instead he joined up with Deirdre’s vamps. And kidnapped my friend and forced me to trade my blood for his freedom.”

“Indeed.” Pearson’s voice was quiet.

“So my question stands. Why is he still on your payroll?”

Pearson shook his head. “It’s your turn now. I want to hear your story. Then I’ll answer you.”

I hate dealing with lawyers. They always want to negotiate. They’re as bad as vampires.

I stood up.

“You know what?” I said. “I’m done here. You’re dancing around, trying to keep from answering me. And at the same time, you’re trying to figure out how much I know.” I walked toward the door.

“I’m sick to death of people trying to suck stuff out of me: information, blood, whatever.”

My hand was on the doorknob when Pearson spoke. “Wait.”

I turned partway around, but I didn’t take my hand off the knob. Pearson and Nick were both standing. Nick was looking back and forth between us. I was having a hard time figuring out what his role in all of this was. He clearly hadn’t told Pearson everything. But he hadn’t spoken up since we’d gotten here, either.

“Sit down,” said Pearson, “and I’ll tell you.”

I took my seat again, but watched Pearson warily as he spoke.

In the end, he still didn’t tell me everything, but at least it was the truth. Or rather, I’m pretty sure it was the truth.

“Greg is still on my payroll because it’s the simplest way to keep giving him money—no tax issues that way.”

“And why did you want to keep giving him money?”

“Because I wanted him to hand it over to Deirdre and her vampires.”

This time I was the one who froze.

“No doubt—” he paused and looked at Nick, “no doubt you have heard how I found out about vampires.”

I didn’t bother to respond; I just kept staring at him.

“I’ve been running Nick’s group for years. And we have yet to get even close to the vampire who killed my father. Salvaggi. He’s the one I want.

“When Greg came back with the information about Deirdre’s plan to start a vampire war, I decided to see if I could use the resultant confusion to get to Salvaggi.”

“So you sent Greg in and pumped money to Deirdre through him.” My voice was flat. “How did you convince him to get himself turned?”

“That was the easy part. I let him come up with the idea himself.”

I let that hang in the air between us.

After a moment, Nick said, “Elle, I think you should tell Alec about your experience at Deirdre’s.”

So I did.

Pearson sat relatively still through my narrative. At least, he didn’t get up. He went back to playing with various items on his desk, though.

I was as graphic as I could possibly be when I described the bloodletting I’d experienced.

Pearson winced when I said that Greg’s bite was something akin to rape. Good. As far as I was concerned, all of this was his fault for getting Greg involved with the vampires in the first place.

When I had finished the story, Pearson looked at Nick. They weren’t speaking, but I could see some sort of communication going on.

Neither of them looked particularly happy.

“Would you excuse us for a moment, Elle?” Nick asked without taking his eyes off of Pearson.

Pearson nodded. “You can have a seat out in the reception room,” he said.

I knew a dismissal when I heard one, and these two men clearly had some things to work out.

Nick and Pearson talked for about a half hour. I spent that time in the front flipping through magazines and avoiding Sheila’s sidelong glances. She spent that same half hour watching me surreptitiously. I knew she was trying to figure out where she’d seen me before.

I wasn’t about to give her any hints.

When Nick emerged from the back room, he looked awfully pleased with himself. He didn’t say anything other than “Let’s go,” though, so I just dropped the magazine back onto the coffee table and smiled a goodbye at the secretary.

I managed to contain my curiosity until we were almost to the subway stop.

“Well?” I asked.

“Pearson’s on board. We’ve got all the financial backing we need to wipe out Deirdre’s little army.”

“So when are we going in?”

“Just as soon as Tony says Malcolm’s ready.”

21

Tony was waiting for us when we got back to the shop.

“Hey, Nick! Come over to the lab for a minute. I’ve got something to show you.”

Tony hadn’t invited me, but I followed the two men into the small lab set up in one of the former examination rooms.

“Take a look at this,” he said, pointing to a microscope. Nick peered through it, then moved out of my way so that I could look, too.

I really don’t remember much from high school biology, and I took geology in college—I thought it would be easier than any of the other science classes. I’d been wrong. All rocks look the same to me, as the D on my college transcript proves.

So all I could tell from looking through the microscope was that I was looking at a bunch of cells. And I only knew that because I’d seen similar things in movies.

“What am I looking at?” I asked Tony.

“I think I’ve managed to isolate the substance that causes the addiction in the victims,” he said. “I found it in the saliva taken from both Elle’s and Malcolm’s wounds.”

The thought of saliva in my wounds made my shoulder itch. Vampire spit. Gross.

“How does it work?” Nick asked.

“The chemical makeup is similar to nicotine. I suspect it works in much the same way as cigarettes work to addict smokers. Actually,” Tony continued, “the presence of something like this in vampire saliva makes sense, if it actually does work like nicotine. We know that nicotine causes a short-term increase in blood pressure and heart rate, and in the flow of blood from the heart. A similar compound injected into a victim’s body might make it easier for the vamp to draw the blood out.”

“Injected through the fangs?” I asked.

“Maybe. I’d have to take a closer look at a vampire’s fangs to see if there’s any actual injection process or if the compound is simply transferred by saliva,” Tony said. “Also, this substance seems to have an anti-coagulant, similar to the one that mosquitoes inject into a wound. That would help the vampire feed as well.”

“What about the euphoric effects that Elle and Malcolm both described?” Nick asked.

“I’m going to have to run some more tests to figure that out. I’m considering a couple of possibilities right now. I suspect that the compound acts on the brain chemistry to increase dopamine and phenylethylamine levels. But that’s just a theory right now.”

“Nice work,” Nick said. “Keep at it and let us know what you find out.”

* * *

It took almost an entire week for Malcolm to heal up enough so that Tony would say he was ready to go back into Deirdre’s mansion.

We spent that week planning our raid.

In the end, we probably could have used less planning and more weapons training. But we didn’t know that then.

And for all the time we spent going over the plan again and again, it was really fairly simple.

Malcolm would go back in. He would take a day or two to figure out a way to drug the servants, then he would signal us. We would go in and kill all the vampires. And then we would leave.

Voila.

There were lots of little details to work out, of course. For example, how would Malcolm sneak in the drug?

“He won’t,” said Nick in the midst of one of our many planning sessions in the common room.

“We’ll hide the drug somewhere nearby—on the grounds, in a nearby mailbox, somewhere we’ll pick out beforehand. Dom and I are going to the neighborhood tomorrow to install the phone system Malcolm will access to call us once the servants are all down for the count. We’ll find a spot then.”

“How will he get away to get the poison?” I asked.

“It’s not a poison; it’s a sedative,” Tony said.

“Whatever. My point is, if he has to go outside to get it, how will he explain to the other servants where he’s going?”

“I’ll figure something out, Elle,” said Malcolm. He was sitting next to me. It was something he’d started doing lately, as if he didn’t want to get too far from me.

“I just hate leaving this much up to chance,” I said.

Malcolm didn’t answer.

* * *

John took me back up to Westchester to pick up my new weapon. It had a wickedly sharp point; it looked dangerous. The metal gleamed and the strips of dark oiled wood inset into each side of the blade made it look as if it were full of shadows.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathed, taking it from Marco Ventimiglia’s hands and holding it reverently up to the light.

“It suits you,” John said. Ventimiglia beamed proudly.

“It’s absolutely perfect, Mr. Ventimiglia,” I said. I leaned over the dusty counter and planted a kiss on his cheek. The old man actually blushed.

In the end, the week passed much more quickly than I ever would have wanted it to. Dom and Nick tapped into a phone line and left a tiny microphone on a telephone pole near Deirdre’s house so that Malcolm could contact us when it was time for us to move in. They also taped a waterproof envelope full of some sort of sedative powder to the bottom of a neighbor’s mailbox so that Malcolm wouldn’t get caught with it when Deirdre had him searched, as we were all certain she would.

Nick drilled Malcolm on what he was to do, over and over and over again. But in the end, we all knew that nothing we said could prepare Malcolm for what might actually happen inside that house.

And then, finally, on a Friday twelve days after Malcolm and I had stumbled down that long driveway and into Nick’s van, we drove him out to Long Island and dropped him off at a train station close to Deirdre’s house. It was late afternoon, and the sun slanted across the parking lot. He would get to the house hours before the sun went down.

I grabbed his hands before he got out of the van.

“Be careful,” I said.

“I will. I’ll call you as soon as everything’s ready.”

I nodded and he stepped out onto the pavement. The last I saw of him, he was hailing a cab.

* * *

Nick had rented a suite of rooms at a hotel only a few miles away from Deirdre’s so that we could move quickly once Malcolm called us.

I spent the first hour pacing back and forth in front of the sliding glass door that led to the pool.

Outside, four children splashed in the turquoise water, screaming with laughter.

“Geez, Elle, sit down. He’s not going to call today,” said John. He was playing cards with Nick and Tony. Dom had a laptop out on the desk and was scrolling through a screen of incomprehensible numbers.

“We don’t know that for sure. Maybe he’ll find a way to drug everyone before the sun goes down.” I didn’t sound convincing, even to myself.

I eventually gave up pacing and threw myself into a chair. I picked up the television remote and started surfing through the channels. I went to the news channels first, hoping that bigger crises than my own would take my mind off the situation. Middle East peace talks had broken down again. The president was promising that the economy would improve. Nothing new. Nothing interesting on the other channels, either. Reruns, mostly, and one bad porn flick that I flipped past as quickly as possible.

I finally settled on an old Bugs Bunny cartoon.

I dug the wooden crucifix Nick had given me to replace the one I’d left behind at Deirdre’s out of the big black purse I had dropped on the floor by the couch. I also pulled out a Swiss Army knife. I had begun sharpening the end of the crucifix so that I could use it as a stake. I worked on it now not so much because it needed more sharpening, but because I hoped that keeping my hands busy would help pass the time.

But I couldn’t quit thinking about what must be happening to Malcolm. He would have gotten to the house about the same time we had checked in at the hotel. What had he done in that time? Had the human servants let him in? Was he just wandering around that elegant drawing room, waiting for the vampires to wake up for the evening? Did the other humans there offer him food, something to drink?

I set the crucifix aside and closed up the Swiss Army knife, dropping it back into my purse. If I was going to obsess, I might as well do so fully, I decided.

Had the human servants let Malcolm walk around at all? Or had they taken him back down to that horrible room with its chains on the wall? Had they held him down, stripped him, and tightened the manacles around his wrists?

“Oh, God,” I moaned, leaning forward and putting my face in my hands.

Nick stood up from the card table. “I’m out. I think maybe it’s time to go pick up some food.

Elle, why don’t you come with me?”

His cell phone rang. We all froze, staring at him. I could hear my heart thudding in my chest.

Nick looked at the screen and shook his head, then answered. We all relaxed. Or rather, the guys all relaxed. What I did was something more like wilting.

Nick moved into one of the bedrooms in the suite, murmuring into his phone. He shut the door behind him.

I stood up and walked back over to the sliding glass door. I rested my forehead against the clear, cool glass. The children were still playing in the pool, but I wasn’t watching them. I was watching the last of the sun’s rays as they faded out. I wondered what exactly constituted “night” to vampires. I knew that sunlight could harm them, but I didn’t know if they could handle reflected light. I mean, did the sunlight have to be direct? Or could they move around during these long spring twilights?

“No clue,” said Dominick when I asked aloud. “The oldest vampire stories don’t say anything about them having to actively avoid the sun. They’re just weaker in the sunlight.”

What I really wanted to know, of course, was how long it would be before Deirdre found out that Malcolm was back.

None of the guys had any answer to that, either.

“For a bunch of vampire hunters, you people don’t know much about vampires,” I said.

“We know at least as much as you do,” said Tony, but his smile took some of the sting out of his words.

“Yeah, but I just sort of fell into this. It’s not my life’s work.”

“And how do you think we all got into it?” Dom asked. “It’s not like any of us had ‘vampire killer ’ as a career objective on our resumes. We just sort of fell into it, too.”

I hadn’t ever considered that. I knew how Nick had ended up in this line of work, but it had never occurred to me to question how the others had ended up working with him.

“Okay, so how did you end up here?” I asked. No one answered.

“John, you first,” I said.

“Vamps got my parents,” he said.

“Oh, God. That’s awful. I’m so sorry,” I said.

“I was five years old, and I saw it. I heard someone come in downstairs, and I hid in my closet. I heard my mother scream, and my father ran into my bedroom. He found me, then he opened a window and threw me out onto the roof of the porch outside. I saw a vampire grab him and bite him. I slid down the roof and hit the ground running. The neighbors found me in their garage the next morning.” He shook his head. “Nobody believed what I told them, but nobody ever saw my parents again, either. I finally learned to shut up about it, but I never forgot.”

“So how did you get hooked up with Nick?” I asked.

“I ended up at the same military school he’d gone to—too many foster parents had passed me around and I didn’t think I had anything to lose, so I’d just stopped caring. My last foster parents, though, they were the real deal—they weren’t willing to give up on me. So they sent me away to boot camp. At the time, I hated them for it. And by then, Nick was volunteering at the school, working with some of the boys. He still does that, sometimes. He offered me the job when I graduated. I thought he was crazy at first, but I didn’t have any place else to go, so I took it.”

“Did you all meet him at that school?” I asked. Dom and Tony shook their heads.

“No,” said Tony. “I met him for the first time when he brought a little girl into the emergency room for treatment. I was doing my rotations during med school. I was still pretty new, and I thought that she had been attacked by a dog. The little girl kept saying that a man bit her, and I thought Nick was trying to protect the owner of the dog by getting her to lie about it. Then it happened again—the same guy brought in a couple more people with the same kinds of bites—and I thought it might even be his dog. Animal control destroys dogs that attack people, so I tried to follow him home one night. I wasn’t the only one following him; he had some vampire following him, too. But Nick wasn’t the one who got caught. I was. If Nick hadn’t heard me yell, the vamp would have drained me and left me for dead.” He unbuttoned the second button of his shirt and showed me an old scar, two tiny round marks at the base of his throat.

“Nick just recruited me,” said Dom. “I answered an ad for a computer specialist.” He saved whatever he was doing on the computer and turned to face us.

“So how exactly did he explain that you were going to be part of a vampire killing team?” I asked.

“He didn’t. I was in ROTC in college, and during the interview, he tells me that had impressed him. Then he tells me that the job is mine if I want it, but he wants me to see the working conditions before I decided whether or not to take it. He’s scheduled this interview after five in the winter, so it’s already dark, right?”

I nodded.

“So we go get in his van and drive to this old warehouse in the middle of nowhere. I’m a little freaked out, but the guy doesn’t seem like a serial killer or anything, so I’m thinking, ‘well, he did say it was a brand new company. Maybe they can’t afford anyplace better.’ We walk into the warehouse, and these four, five vamps jump in outta nowhere, showing those godawful teeth and hissing like they do.

“Nick just lays into them. Then he tosses me a stake and says ‘Go for the heart!’ So I did. And here I am. I figured that I wasn’t gonna find any cooler job than one where I got paid to play with computers and kill vampires.”

He leaned back in his chair and grinned. I had to grin, too.

Nick came out of the back bedroom. “Okay. Elle? Food? Anyone have any requests?”

* * *

The call came two days later. I thought that I had almost stopped listening for it; I had almost convinced myself that it would take at least a week before Deirdre would let Malcolm roam freely—a week that she would spend allowing her younger vampires to train on him, all the while increasing his addiction to their bites.

Still, I jumped every time Nick’s cell phone rang. Then I froze, waiting to see if Nick would tell us to load up. Each time, he would shake his head before answering the call.

This time, he didn’t shake his head. Instead he held up one finger in a “wait a minute” gesture. We all stared at him anxiously. He nodded and said, “uh-huh,” then paused and listened. I bounced on the balls of my feet, anxious to know what was being said at the other end of the line.

“Okay,” said Nick into the receiver, “we’re on our way.”

He ended the call, looked up at us, and said, “We’re on.”

I had always assumed that covert operations involved a lot of tip-toeing up to windows and peeking in. But we didn’t even bother to hide what we were doing. We just drove the van up to the front door and piled out. We were all wearing the jumpsuit uniforms Nick had brought for us, so we looked like some sort of professionals—maybe cable installers or plumbers or exterminators—but no one who might notice us would be likely to believe that it took five technicians to fix whatever the problem inside might be.

Unless that problem was a vampire infestation.

We were all carrying a variety of tools and weapons. I had the special knife Ventimiglia had made for me and a whole bunch of regular stakes hanging from a tool-belt around my waist. I also had my crucifix-stake. If it worked, I was going to make a whole bunch more of them.

John looked most like a regular technician or plumber—he had actual tools dangling from his tool-belt. Of course, he was also carrying a huge crossbow and had an open bag of wooden crossbow bolts slung across his back. That kind of ruined the image.

Dom had a black gym bag full of electronic equipment. I’d seen him pack it up, but I couldn’t have named what was inside it for the life of me. Lots of wires and electrodes and little screen displays. A computer tablet or two. A few smaller electronics.

Nick and Tony just had weapons of various sorts, ranging from crossbows to stakes. Nick even had a gun, though I wasn’t sure what he was planning to do with it. I hoped he didn’t intend to shoot any humans with it, but I was afraid that was the idea.

The entire mansion was creepy-silent when Malcolm opened the door and let us in.

“Where is everyone?” I asked.

“Passed out,” Malcolm said. “Just like we planned it.”

“No. I mean where are they? In their rooms, in the ballroom? Where?” I realized I was whispering when Malcolm answered me in his normal voice.

“Oh. Various places. Some of them are still in bed; I put the drugs in their drinks last night and this morning. I had to sneak up on the guards and inject them, though. They’re pretty much still laying around wherever they fell.”

“Where are the vampires?” Nick asked.

“Bottom basement level,” said Malcolm. “At least, I think that’s where they are. None of the humans are allowed to go down there.”

My head swam as I considered how much danger he’d been in for the last few days.

“Let’s go, then,” said Nick, hefting his crossbow to his shoulder and heading down the stairs.

Dom, John, and Tony followed him. I lingered for a moment to grab Malcolm’s arm.

“How are you doing?” I asked.

“Fine. I’ll be glad when this is over.”

“Was it bad?”

He didn’t look at me. “Let’s just get through this. Then we can talk.” He followed the others down the stairs. I followed him.

It didn’t take us long to catch up. Despite Malcolm’s assurances that no one was awake, the guys were being ultra-cautious. Good for them, I thought. No one was saying it aloud, but we were all concerned about the possibility that the vampires might have gotten to Malcolm.

In fact, I’d been glad to see that he could step out into the sunlight when he let us in the door. One boyfriend had already joined Deirdre’s Night Stalker Brigade. I didn’t want to think about losing another one to the forces of darkness. Not that way.

But being able to stand in the sun didn’t necessarily mean that there weren’t other ways for Malcolm to have betrayed us. I shook my head. I couldn’t keep thinking that way.

Holding my stake knife out in front of me, I crept down the stairs, hugging my back to the wall and looking over my shoulder for anything that might attack us from behind.

We reached the basement where I’d found Malcolm the first time. The long row of hotel-room-like doors stood closed and silent, looking like some scene out of The Shining. I expected a kid on a Big Wheel to come rolling down the hall at any moment. The rest of us waited on the landing while Dom and John moved down the halls opening doors one at a time and checking the rooms.

They started with the ones closest to us. Peering through the now-open doorways, I could see that they were all empty. Some of them were cleaned and made up, just like hotel rooms. In other rooms, the beds were messy and unmade. And I mean messy in the “covered with bloodstains” kind of way.

I didn’t look into the room where Deirdre had first kept Malcolm. I didn’t want to see the chair where I sat while she and Greg took blood from me.

Dom and John came trotting back down the hall, holding their hands in a “thumbs up” sign. All the rooms were clear. I breathed out in relief. Obstacle one, clear.

With Nick again leading, we began our descent into the next basement, the one that we assumed held the sleeping vampires.

The staircase ended in a small landing with a heavy wooden door at the end of it. Locked, of course. With what looked like several deadbolts. Of course.

“This is me,” John said, moving up and pulling what looked like a key ring with a bunch of tiny metal sticks hanging off it out of his tool belt.

“Lock picks,” Dom whispered to me. I nodded.

John fiddled with one of the locks for a minute, peering into the mechanism with a tiny flashlight he’d pulled out of his pocket. He shook his head. “Hey, Dom,” he said. We were all whispering now. “I think maybe this lock has some sort of electronic component to it. Want to check it out?”

Dom moved up and peered at the lock.

“See that?” John said, pointing at something inside the lock itself.

“Hmm. Yeah. Okay.” Dom reached into the black gym bag and pulled out some wires and a black box with a display monitor. He ran one of the wires into the lock, using one of John’s metal strips to maneuver it into place, then attached the other end of the wire to the box. The display monitor began scrolling through a series of numbers.

“Elle,” he whispered tersely.

“Yeah?”

“Could you back off a little? I’m feeling kind of crowded here.”

I realized I was standing practically on top of him. “Oh. Sorry.” I took a step back.

After a few long, silent minutes, the black box beeped.

The sound was loud in the stillness and I jumped.

“Done,” Dom said. “It was an alarm—the standard kind anyone could buy at Radio Shack.

Disarmed now.” He moved aside so John could get back up to the door.

A locked door with an alarm. I frowned in concentration. Why would the vampires put an alarm on their door? To get the humans to come help them if they were in trouble, of course.

But maybe more than that. Maybe…

I started waving my hands in front of me just as John dealt with the final part of the lock.

“Wait,” I said, as he turned the knob and pushed at the door. “Wait! I think that maybe some of the vampires might be…” the door swung open as the last word came out of my mouth “…awake.”

22

A wave of warm air wafted out of the room, carrying with it the smell of vampires.

A room full of sleeping vampires smells like snakes. When I was in college, I had a friend with a pet python. He kept it in a glass tank with a heating lamp over it and fed it baby field mice that he bought from a pet store on Rampart Street, at the edge of the French Quarter. His entire apartment always smelled strange, like hot, damp wood with an overlay of something like blood—it had that metallic tinge of copper—and of something else, something indefinable and predatory and reptilian.

Deirdre’s basement room smelled like that.

It smelled like danger.

But wherever that danger lay, it wasn’t waiting for us just inside the door. If any of the vampires were awake, they were hiding somewhere out of sight.

The room itself was huge, an open space stretching out into darkness, taking up, I assumed, the entire breadth and length of the upper floors. Enormous marble pillars supported the structure above.

The floor was tiled, also in marble, and mirrors lined all the walls, reflecting the shadowy shapes of mattresses that in the mirrors looked mostly empty. We all pulled the tiny flashlights we carried out of our tool belts and turned them on. In the darkness, the mirrors fractured the light, sending it back to us in glaring beams that ruined our night vision and temporarily blinded us.

I blinked to clear the spots from my eyes. There were mattresses scattered as far as I could see.

Some of them were draped in filmy fabric attached to the ceiling with hooks—those looked like a nightmare vision out of some really bad Arabian Nights remake. Others were covered with fluffy comforters in various shades of white or black or red. One had lilac-colored sheets with sprigged flower designs all over it.

Every last one held sleeping vampires and humans. One or two held a single vampire, but most held three or more, huddled together in a pile like sleeping puppies.

No. Not puppies. That was too cute-sounding, and this was far from cute. It was hard to tell, in those confused knots of arms and legs and heads, where one vampire ended and another began. I was drawn back to the snake imagery. They looked like snakes all tangled together. No wonder they used to call it a “slither” of vampires.

I shined my flashlight on the closest mattress and checked the mirror again. A lone human lay reflected, her arms and legs twisted into unnatural shapes, seemingly floating in the air as she slept.

Nick checked the mirror, too, and his eyes met mine.

“Hey, Malcolm?” he asked in a whisper. “Did you drug these humans, too?”

Malcolm looked startled. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m not sure if any of these people were upstairs at any point this morning,” he whispered back.

Nick motioned us slowly back through the door. Dom closed it behind us and we all leaned into a huddle while Nick spoke.

“Okay, guys. This is going to be a mess,” Nick said. “We have actual people in there. You’ll have to check the mirrors before you make each kill. Some of those humans might wake up and try to stop us, so we’re going to need the stun batons, Dom.”

“Right,” said Dom. He unzipped his bag and rummaged around inside it.

“Why would they even have mirrors down there in the first place?” John asked.

“Worry about that later,” said Nick. “Right now, concentrate on killing the vampires and disabling the people.”

“They like to watch their victims in the mirror,” Malcolm said. “It… I don’t know… turns them on or something to see the person’s reaction.” I tried to catch his eye, but he avoided looking at anyone.

Dom handed the batons around. “Just hold it against them and push this button,” he said, pantomiming the motion with his thumb. “It sends out an electric shock that should knock them off their feet. It takes a while for the effects to wear off.”

“Is this a Taser?” I asked.

“It’s like a Taser—works on the same principle.”

“Will it work on vamps?” I asked.

“I don’t know. It might slow them down long enough to give you a chance to stake them.”

I nodded. I didn’t like the idea of going in carrying a vampire-killing weapon in only one hand, but if the Taser-like baton slowed them down, it would be worth it.

“Once we get back in, John’s going to run a perimeter check. There are a lot of shadows in there; I don’t want anything to surprise us.”

We all nodded.

Armed now for both humans and vampires, we once again moved through the door as Dom opened it. This time I was prepared for the weird smell. Nothing had changed.

We waited near the door while John jogged around the room, Taser and crossbow at the ready. I peered into the darkness after him; it didn’t take long for me to lose sight of him in the shadows.

It also didn’t take him long to get back to us.

“All clear,” he said. “Nothing but sleepers here.”

We spread out across the room, working our way toward the back. I noticed that Malcolm chose to begin at the side of the room farthest away from me. I moved to the first mattress against the far left wall and checked the mirror. No humans in this pile.

Lucky for us vampires are such sick bastards, I thought, glad for the mirrors. Then I imagined Deirdre watching Malcolm’s reflection in the mirror while she fed from him, and shuddered.

I picked my first vampire and held my knife with its special wood inlay directly above her heart.

She looked perfectly normal, sleeping there, peaceful and calm and beautiful. Sweat broke out along my upper lip.

Could I actually kill something, someone, when she wasn’t doing anything to hurt me? It’s one thing to put a stake through the heart of a vampire who is snarling and hissing. It’s something altogether different to kill a beautiful young woman as she’s sleeping. In the middle of the day. In a master vampire’s hell-dungeon. On a mattress with a pile of other vampires. None of whom had reflections.

Oh, hell, I thought, and plunged the knife straight down.

I hadn’t been entirely certain that the knife would work, so I brought several regular stakes tucked into my tool belt. I clearly was not going to need them. The knife slid through her chest easily.

I felt it slice past a rib, catching for a millisecond and then sliding all the way in. To the hilt.

She never woke up. She just gasped and arched her back, and then subsided into silence.

But even without opening her eyes, she still managed to seem surprised that she was dying.

The wound I left behind spurted blood when I removed the knife. Some of it landed on my cheek, and I hastily wiped it away with the cuff of the jumpsuit. Nasty. After that, I learned to lean as far away from the corpse as possible when I pulled the knife out. I moved quickly among the mattresses, staking vampires, leaving humans alone. The huge hall was full of a strange rhythm, made up of the thwack and thump of stakes entering hearts, the sighs of the dying vampires, and pop-splurt noises as the stakes were ripped out of the chest wounds. Thwack, thump, sigh, pop-splurt. Over and over again.

So the first several kills were easy, if a tad gruesome. And by the third mattress-full of vampires, I hadn’t even had to Taser any humans.

That thought gave me pause. There was something really wrong here; I just couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

“Hey, Nick,” I called softly.

He finished staking a vampire and pulled his stake out of its chest. I cringed at the sucking noise it made. That noise was beginning to get to me.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Come here for a minute.”

“What’s up, Dixie?”

“Have any of these humans woken up yet?”

He looked around the room. “No,” he said, his forehead crinkling in thought. “They haven’t.”

“Doesn’t that strike you as a little odd?”

“Not really. Malcolm said he may have drugged these guys, too.”

“Okay. As long as you’re sure,” I said.

“I’m not sure,” Nick said, “but I don’t think there’s anything sure in this game. Let’s just keep going and not look this particular gift horse in the mouth.”

So I went back to staking vamps. Thump, thwack, sigh, pop-splurt. My stomach heaved, and I hoped that I would get used to the noise soon.

Our ragged little line of vampire assassins had moved about a quarter of the way into the room when I first noticed the sound underlying the rhythm of our kills. I pulled my knife out of a vampire and stood still, listening.

First Malcolm, then Nick, then John and Dom and Tony all stopped, as well. In the silence left behind, I could hear a sibilant noise rising, like a wind picking up a speed. It came from the shadows in the back of the room.

Almost simultaneously, the six of us shined our flashlights toward the back wall. The light beams picked out the pale faces of vampires, all staring at us, all hissing softly, fangs bared.

“Oh, shit,” I heard one of the guys whisper.

And then the vampires charged.

Actually, “charged” isn’t really the right word, because that implies some sort of force behind the motion. And vampires don’t really move with force. They flow. They slide. They dance across the room with an inhuman animal grace.

These vampires did all of that, but they did it directly toward us. And they kept hissing.

I felt my knife-wielding hand start to shake. I dropped the flashlight and it rolled around on the floor, bouncing light off the mirrors and across the vampires’ faces as they circled around us. The knife felt slippery in my suddenly sweaty palms, and I redoubled my grip on it, then pulled the stun baton out of my belt.

I have no idea how many there were. All I know is that I was cut off from Nick and the others, fighting for my life. I backed up against the mirrored wall, hoping to keep them from circling around behind me. I could see Nick a couple of yards away, reloading his crossbow and firing shots into the darkness. One of the vampires sidled in closer to me, her blonde hair billowing around her shoulders as she bared her teeth and growled at me.

I slammed the end of the Taser into her stomach, hitting the button with my thumb just as Dominick had shown me.

For an instant, I thought it wasn’t going to work. Then her mouth stretched out into a rictus grin, and she collapsed. She wasn’t dead, but she sure wasn’t going anywhere for a while. The rest of the vampires backed off a bit, keeping enough distance between themselves and me that I couldn’t reach them with the Taser.

“Hey, guys!” I yelled across the room, “Tasers work!”

In reply, a crossbow bolt shot out of the darkness and thumped into a vampire standing in front of me. He staggered backwards and fell to the ground. I didn’t know if that crossbow bolt was an answer to my comment, precisely, but it sure made me feel better.

And then I was in the midst of it. I found myself kicking and whirling, hitting vampires with the Taser, stopping to stake them whenever I had a moment free from immediate attack. One after another, I Tasered the four other vampires who had surrounded me. It was a lot easier to fight vampires when I only had to touch them with a Taser to bring them down. I didn’t have to aim at all, I discovered—I just had to make contact with the weapon, and they fell.

With a few seconds to spare before any other vampires were upon me, I knelt down to stake the first who had attacked me. These vampires were harder to stake, I discovered. It took more power, even with the sharp edges of my knife, to get to the heart, almost as if something pushed back against me. But I managed it anyway.

Another crossbow bolt flew out of the darkness, and I spun around in time to see the vampire who had been sneaking up on me drop to his knees.

“Thanks!” I yelled. I saw John give me an acknowledging wave and turn to fire again in the other direction.

That’s when Greg wrapped his arms around me from behind.

“Hello again, sweetheart,” he said. His breath wisped across my ear. “I missed you.”

And then he stuck his tongue in my ear.

I’ve never been a big fan of the tongue-in-ear action, even when the tonguer was someone I liked. And I most emphatically did not like Greg anymore.

He had my arms pinned against my side, presumably to keep me from staking him. So I did the next best thing.

I Tasered him.

It was easy, too. I just spun the little baton thingy in my hand so that it was touching his thigh and I pressed the button. Greg went down hard, completely out for the count.

I could have staked him then. But he just looked so vulnerable, so defenseless—so much like he had always looked when he was alive and I was planning our wedding while he was planning to become a bloodsucking monster—that I just had to Taser him again.

The second jolt made him flop around on the ground like a fish. Watching him gave me a warm feeling inside. So I did it again.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

But watching Greg’s body twitch and jerk on the ground distracted me so much that before I knew it, I had another group of rabid vampires to deal with. So I went back to fighting before I had the chance to properly disembowel him.

I know, I know. Disemboweling doesn’t kill vampires. But I bet it hurts like hell.

And quite frankly, after all that Greg had done to me—from becoming a creature of the night who sucked blood to actually sucking my blood—I felt like a little payback was in order. I’m sure that says something unfortunate about my character—and maybe about my mental health, as well—but that’s the truth. I wanted to see him suffer a little bit before he died.

I should have just staked him right then and there.

I have a lot to atone for.

23

It seemed like there were vampires everywhere. Part of the problem was that the vampires I had jolted with my stun baton earlier were beginning to wake up and re-join the fight. I needed a better system of Tasering and staking—one that would ensure that the stunned vamps stayed down longer. Preferably forever.

I backed up against the mirrored wall again, avoiding the spot where a stray crossbow bolt had shattered the glass. I didn’t want to slice myself on someone’s seven years of bad luck, but I didn’t want anyone else grabbing me from behind, either.

Two vampires, a male dressed all in black and a female in some sort of white shimmery negligee, approached me slowly, slithering across the marble floor in that special vampy way. They stopped just out of reach. I would have to step away from the wall to get either of them. One of them hissed at me.

“Bitch,” he said.

The other one used that instant of distraction to slide up and kick me in the stomach.

“Oof,” I grunted, bending over and clutching my abdomen. They both grabbed at me, one catching an arm, the other my hair. The one holding my hair wrapped her hand around the strands and pulled at it, forcing me to stumble away from the wall.

Okay. That did it. I’d been hit, punched, kicked, and ear-licked all in the past fifteen minutes. But pulling my hair was just beyond the pale. This was not supposed to turn into some sort of cat-fight. I spun the Taser baton into the one holding my arm and flipped the switch. It’s what he got for making the mistake of grabbing that arm in the first place.

I love my Taser baton stun gun thingy. It makes vampires flop.

Unfortunately, this guy’s other involuntary reaction was to tighten his grip on my arm. Dammit. I wanted to Taser the bitch yanking my hair out of my scalp. Oh, well. A simple, straightforward stake knifing would just have to do.

I was still bent forward, my torso hiding my other hand, so she never even saw my free hand coming toward her.

I was learning to love that surprised look almost as much as I loved the flopping about on the floor business.

It was only a matter of seconds before I staked the other guy, too. He was still twitching when I shoved the knife through his chest.

I took the opportunity of a few moments’ breather to scan the rest of the room. A lot more vamps were down, either dead or twitching from an electric Taser shock, than were up and fighting. And none of those were headed my direction.

I began systematically staking the other vampires I had stunned. But when I turned around to deal with Greg, I discovered that he was gone. I didn’t know how he could have possibly gotten up and walked away after a triple dose of the Taser, but his body was no longer lying on the floor twitching in that beautifully amusing way.

I let out a steady stream of low curses.

“Wow. That’s a pretty impressive vocabulary you’ve got there.”

I spun around to see who had spoken, knife and Taser up in front of me and ready to attack. Dom put both his hands in the air in front of him.

“Whoa! Just me, Elle.”

I lowered my weapons.

“I had him. I had him and I didn’t stake him. Dammit!”

“Had who?” Dom asked.

“That son-of-a-bitch ex of mine. He was right here, and I didn’t stake him when I had the chance.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll find him. It’s not like he can go very far while the sun’s still up, right?”

“I guess so.”

“Okay, then. I think we’ve just about cleared this den out.”

I looked around. Dom was right. None of the vampires were fighting any more. Some of them were still alive, but the rest of the guys were walking through the piles of bodies, punching stakes through the hearts of any still-quivering bodies. None of the humans had woken up.

“Want to go back upstairs and help me scout for any survivors?” Dom asked.

“Sure.”

We left the room and headed back up the stairs. Dom went first, loaded crossbow in front of him, ready to fire. I trailed behind him, keeping an eye out over my shoulder for anything behind us.

Especially anything that resembled my ex. I was getting tired of his penchant for grabbing me from behind every chance he got.

The rooms on the next floor up were still empty. I wondered if Deirdre and crew reserved those for special occasions. The main floor was empty, as well.

The top floor, the one where I had changed clothes for Deirdre’s party, was not empty. The rooms up there were full of sleeping humans, maybe twenty-five in all. The curtains upstairs, unlike the ones on the other floors, were thrown wide. The fading sunlight streamed in across the floors. I was surprised to see that so much time had passed. We’d come into the building sometime in the late afternoon. Now the sun was setting.

The sun was setting. Oh, hell.

“Dom,” I said.

“Yeah?”

“Do you know if anyone downstairs actually saw Deirdre?”

“I don’t know. You and Malcolm are the only ones who know what she looks like. I saw a lot of blonde vamps, though.”

“You need to get back downstairs. The sun’s setting. If Deirdre’s not dead, she’ll be able to escape as soon as it’s dark. I’m going to stay up here and search through these rooms. You get Malcolm to check the bodies down there, see if Deirdre’s among them.”

Dom didn’t even bother to answer before racing back down the stairs.

I stopped by the dressing room I’d been in the week before. My clothes were still in a pile on a shelf. They even looked like they’d been laundered. I decided to come back and pick those up on my way out—if Nick burned too many more outfits of mine, I’d soon run out of clothes altogether.

That wasn’t why I went into the dressing room in the first place, though. I picked up a hand mirror from the makeup table and carried it back into the first of the bedrooms. I didn’t think any vampire could withstand the sunlight shining in through the windows, but I wanted to be sure. I held the mirror in one hand and my knife in the other as I checked the people one by one, holding up a hand or a foot or a few strands of hair to see if the mirror reflected them back at me. So far, so good, I thought as I closed one door behind me and stepped across the hall to the next room.

By the time I had searched most of the rooms on the floor, the sun was sinking into the horizon, its last red-orange rays turning the clouds a rosy pink. Two rooms left. I chose the one closest to me, and swung the door open.

Unlike the other rooms, this one was dark; heavy curtains shaded the windows. A small square of sunlight shined in from the hallway and lit up the floor in front of me. The few pieces of furniture in the room—a bed, a lamp, and what looked like a desk—were just shadowy forms, slightly darker than the space around them. I blinked a few times to adjust my eyes.

The light behind me faded, and I saw a shadow on the bed shift. Slowly, the shadow resolved itself into the figure of a woman sitting up in the bed. Reflected light glinted off her golden hair. I dropped the mirror to the floor. I wouldn’t be needing it in here.

“Hello, Deirdre,” I said.

She turned to me and I could see the white oval of her face, though I couldn’t make out her features.

“I thought you might come back,” she said. Her voice was still low and rich, and I shivered involuntarily. “Did you bring your army boys with you?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “But they’re all downstairs. It’s just the two of us right now.”

She laughed, a sweet, resonant sound in the darkness. “Oh, good. I was hoping for some time alone with you.” I saw her swing her legs over the edge of the bed and stand up.

And then she was beside me. I never saw her move, but she was pressed up against my side, her breasts brushing against my arm as she leaned in close to my ear.

“Did you miss me?” she whispered.

A deep, ragged moan escaped me.

I’ve never been addicted to anything. I tried cigarettes a few times as a teenager, but they made me cough and want to vomit. I drank alcohol occasionally—at least until I found out about vampires—but I’d never even tried drugs; I like to be in control, thank you very much. So I didn’t have anything to compare this feeling to.

All I knew was that I wanted to feel Deirdre bite me. I craved the feel of her mouth on my skin like I’ve never wanted anything else, before or since. She terrified me. She made my heart race and my skin crawl, and all I wanted was for her to slide her fangs into my neck, my arm, anywhere.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Good.”

She slid her cheek along mine, her breath gliding along my neck. I bent my head to the side to give her better access. Her mouth gently caressed the skin above my jugular, then slid back up to my ear.

“I missed you, too.”

Then, ever so delicately, she traced the outline of my ear with her tongue.

That made twice in one night that some vampire had licked my ear. Gross.

Looking back on it, I’m ultimately glad that she made that one mistake, because it broke some of her hold over me. I might crave her bite, but that didn’t mean that I would put up with the whole ear-licking business. I knew Greg had to have picked that up from someone else; I certainly didn’t teach him that little trick. Yuck.

I didn’t step away from her, but I reached into the back of my jeans and pulled my crucifix out. I brought it up in front of her face, forcing her to draw back from my neck a little.

She shook her head.

“I’m not Christian, dearest. Your religious icons don’t frighten me.”

“So why did you make me hand over the crucifix I was carrying the first time we met?”

“I told you then, it was a symbol of your willingness to negotiate. Symbols have meaning, sweetness, but only if we give them that meaning.” She smiled.

I didn’t move the crucifix, but I brought the knife up between us, sliding it to a point over her left breast. She glanced down at it, then rested her face in the crook of my neck and laughed.

“Knives can’t hurt me either, darling,” she said.

I shoved it, hard, and it sliced through her skin and into her body.

“Even if it’s got wood on it?” I asked.

She got that surprised look, but she didn’t crumple to the ground. Instead, she took a step backwards and stared down at the hilt sticking out of her chest.

“That hurt,” she said. She sounded more petulant than anything. She plucked the knife out of her body and tossed it on the ground. “You’re going to pay for that,” she said.

I hit her heart. I know I did. I had the right angle on it. I felt the knife slide in and enter the flesh.

I’d just spent all afternoon staking vampires and I knew how it felt when I hit the heart.

She hadn’t reacted to it at all.

I was learning all sorts of new things about vampires today.

I ran. At that moment, I was convinced it was my only option. I wasn’t even halfway down the hall before she caught me, though. Actually, she didn’t so much catch me as suddenly appear directly in front of me, much as if she had teleported there.

Okay. Running: bad idea.

“Elle, sweetest, why are you doing this?” she asked. She sounded sad, almost disappointed. “You know what you want. Why don’t you just let me give it to you?”

I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I was trapped.

“Okay,” I said. My shoulders slumped in defeat. I turned and walked back into the dark bedroom, where I sat down on the edge of the bed.

Deirdre appeared beside me as if by magic. She stroked her hand across mine.

“There. Isn’t that better?” she said soothingly.

“Yeah.” I sounded like a disgruntled teenager.

Deirdre laughed and buried her face in my neck. I arched my back in pleasure as I felt her teeth graze across my skin. The hand that she’d been stroking clutched at her arm.

Just as she sank her fangs into my neck, I brought my other hand across my body and jabbed the

Taser directly into her side, pushing the button as hard as I could.

Modern technology is such a beautiful thing.

Her teeth snapped together convulsively and I screamed as pain coursed through my entire body.

Pulling the Taser away from her, I pried her jaws apart and pushed her away from me. Blood flowed down across my shirt. I grabbed the bedspread and wadded it up against my neck. Hoping that I wouldn’t bleed out and die before I could finish the job, I poked the Taser into Deirdre’s stomach and buzzed her again, just to make sure.

She’d already proven that a stake to the heart wasn’t enough to kill her. The sun had gone down. I didn’t have many options left. So I took the only one I knew.

I beheaded her.

That sounds a lot neater than it really was. It was actually a bloody mess. A stinking-of-rotten-vampire-blood bloody mess. The only thing I had to work with was my little knife. Granted, it was sharp, and that was helpful when I sliced through her neck. But then I reached her spine and I had to use both hands to cut through it. My hands were slippery with blood by that point—my own clean, red blood and her foul-smelling, blackish-red, rotten blood—and I was having a hard time holding onto the knife. I was also finding it difficult to keep the bedspread bunched up against my own neck.

I ended up breaking her neck—again, something that sounds easier than it actually is. I had to grasp the spine in both hands and twist. Even using all my strength, it took three tries before I felt it crunch. By the second try, I was sobbing from frustration and sheer horribleness—my eyes were clouded with tears and I couldn’t wipe them because everything was covered in gore. My hands kept slipping in the blood. And then I had to cut through the spinal cord. It made a snapping noise and I whimpered.

By that time, the bed and I were both covered in the blackish vampire blood. My shirt was so soaked in blood—my own and Deirdre’s—that it clung to my body. I could feel tears making tracks down my face. My arms were streaked with red and black up to the elbows and my hands were beginning to feel glued to my knife. And I smelled even worse than I looked. I smelled of vampire blood, fetid and decayed and decomposing.

I didn’t bother to clean my weapon. I just peeled it away from my fingers and shoved it into a pants pocket. These clothes were ruined anyway.

The bedspread was soaked, too, so I dropped it. I picked up Deirdre’s head by the hair. It dangled from my grasp as I walked out into the hall and stepped into the dressing room. I had planned to take my clothes with me. Instead, I just picked up the shirt I’d left behind last time and held it against my neck. I was beginning to feel dizzy. I moved back into the hall and toward the stairs.

And of course, that’s when I found Greg.

He was backing away, I presume in horror, from the scene in Deirdre’s bedroom. I’m sure it looked pretty gruesome from his perspective in the doorway, what with Deirdre’s limp, headless body leaking blood onto the bed and all. He’d been in the room across the hall from me when I killed Deirdre—the only room on the floor that I hadn’t gotten around to checking.

He literally backed into me as I reeled out into the hall. He spun around, took one look at me, and backed up several paces. I’m sure I looked like a crazy woman, covered in blood, clutching a shirt to my neck with one hand and dangling a severed head in the other.

We stared at each other for a long, silent moment. Neither of us moved. I didn’t think I had the strength left to fight him if it came down to it. But I didn’t want him to know that. Finally, I spoke.

“Okay, Greg,” I said. “Here’s the deal. You. You don’t ever fuck with me again. Ever. Got it?” My voice was harsh and raw. “If you do, I will hunt you down. And this—” I waggled Deirdre’s head at him “—this will look like an easy out. Understand?”

Greg nodded, silently, eyes wide as he stared at the head in my hand.

I took a step backward, toward the stairwell, and he turned and bolted back to the room he’d been hiding in. I heard a lock click as he shut the door.

I turned and trudged down the stairs, still swinging Deirdre’s bloody severed head. That made—what, three times now?—that I’d broken up with Greg.

24

Everyone stopped what they were doing when I stumbled into the basement room; they just stood there staring at me for what seemed like a full minute as I stood in the doorway.

Then Dom starting laughing. Hard. So hard he had to sit down on the floor and hold his stomach.

No one else moved.

For some reason that irritated me.

“When you’re done laughing at me, maybe you could go upstairs and stake my ex-fiancé for me.

Or maybe someone else could do it?” I glared around the room. “He’s locked himself in the last room on the left.”

“I’ll go,” John offered. “I need to get away from that smell.” I could see him trying to hide a grin as he swept past me and trotted up the stairs, taking them three at a time.

“Show-off,” I muttered. Then I leaned my back against the nearest mirrored wall and slowly slid down it until I was sitting with my knees tucked up under my chin.

Tony was by my side in an instant, tugging the t-shirt away from my neck.

“Let me see what you’ve got here.” I recognized his soothing, I’m-a-professional voice.

“Mmm,” he muttered under his breath. “That’s going to need stitches.”

“Great,” I said.

Dom wiped the tears of laughter out of his eyes. “Hey, Elle?”

“What?” I was still angry.

“I take it that’s Deirdre’s head you’ve got over there?”

“Yeah. So?”

“Any particular reason you brought it with you?” He dissolved into laughter again.

Reason? I looked down at the head. I was still clutching it by the hair. I untangled my fingers and peeled them away from the clumps of hair, now sticky with blood.

“I don’t know,” I said slowly, looking back up at Dom. He seemed to swim in my vision, like he was receding into the background. I felt cold suddenly.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Tony said, pushing me over so that my head was between my knees. “You’re not going to pass out on us.”

“Oh, I think I might,” I said.

“Nope. Malcolm, do you know where the kitchen is in this place?”

“Yeah.” Malcolm looked pale. His throat moved convulsively.

“Then go get some juice or something,” said Tony. “And grab a blanket while you’re at it. She’s lost a lot of blood and she’s going into shock.”

Malcolm disappeared from my view.

“He didn’t look so hot,” I said to Tony.

“Yeah, well, neither do you,” he replied.

“I think maybe he was about to throw up.”

“The sight of severed heads will do that to some folks,” Tony said.

I looked back down at the head on the floor beside me.

“I guess it is kind of disgusting,” I said. “You think I should close her eyes? Maybe that would help.”

Dom and Nick stood over me now, looking at me with concern.

Behind them, I saw one of the humans on the mattress start to move. A pale young woman with long brown hair, so long that it almost touched the floor, stood up and stretched her arms above her, yawning.

“Hey, Dom,” I said, jerking my chin toward the woman. The motion made my head spin again so I closed my eyes and dropped my head back down between my knees. When I opened my eyes again, I could see Dom reflected in the mirror, walking toward the woman with his hands out.

“It’s okay, Miss. I just need to talk to you,” he said.

I saw her turn to look at him, and she smiled, and then… then her reflection slowly faded away. I thought for a second that my eyes were playing tricks on me, but then I realized that I could still see Dom, still moving toward her, still talking.

I jerked my head up and yelled, “Dom! Watch out!”

Dom, confused, turned back to look at me. Luckily for Dom, Nick caught on much more quickly, and was already pulling his crossbow up to shoot. The bolt hit the newly-made vamp right in the chest as she leaped at Dom.

I looked in the mirror again and hissed through my teeth as I realized that every single human we had carefully spared earlier either already had awoken or was in the process of waking up. And every last one of them, as they regained consciousness, lost his or her reflection.

And gained a lovely new set of fangs as a parting gift.

“Well, hell.” I muttered. I started struggling to get up.

“No,” said Tony. “You are not going to participate in this one.”

“Fine. But I am going to stand up so that I can at least defend myself if one of those vamps decides to ignore my doctor’s warnings.”

Behind him, Nick and Dom were holding the vampires at bay, Nick by shooting his crossbow every few seconds and Dom by waving a crucifix at them while Nick reloaded.

“Okay,” said Tony. “But unless they come over here, you are to lean against this wall. And that’s it. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

Tony helped me stand up.

“That okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. Now go help them.”

He sprinted off, stopping long enough to bend over and scoop up another crossbow and a bag of wooden bolts from the floor.

I concentrated on retaining my balance.

It really didn’t take the guys very long to finish off most of the new vampires. I had to admire their efficiency. Nick and Tony alternated shooting and reloading the two crossbows. Dom made sure the vampires who were down were really dead by running another stake through them.

Malcolm came back in the middle of the new fight. He walked in and, in his surprise, dropped the glass of orange juice he’d been carrying for me. The liquid splashed across the floor and mingled with the blood that had leaked out from the stump where Deirdre’s neck used to be.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Can I have the blanket, though? I’m really cold.”

“Sure,” he mumbled. He handed me the blanket without looking at me. I don’t think he was looking at anything. I pulled the blanket around my shoulders.

I think he might be in shock, I thought.

And then I passed out.

* * *

When I came to, I was sitting on the last bench seat in the van, leaning against Dom’s shoulder. In fact, we were all in the van, and headed back into the city. By all, I mean me, Nick, John, Dom, Tony, and Malcolm. And a strange young man tied up in the back of the van. Hog-tied. With a gag shoved into his mouth.

“Who’s that?” I asked no one in particular.

“Tony’s lab experiment,” Dom said.

“Yeah? Where you planning to keep him?”

“I’ll lock him in one of the rooms,” Tony said.

“In the shop?”

“You have a better idea?”

“Couldn’t we kill him first?”

“We already went through all this while you were out,” John said from the driver’s seat. “Tony wants to see if he can figure out how the vamps tick—he wants to check out how much poison they’ve got, how they deliver it, and what exactly hurts them. He needs one alive to do that.”

“Oh. Okay. I guess.” I snuggled back down into the blanket that was still wrapped around me.

“Are we going to kill it when you’re done?”

“That’s the plan.”

I nodded and closed my eyes again. They snapped open again a moment later. “What did you guys do with Deirdre’s head?”

“We left it where you dropped it,” Nick said from the front seat. “I didn’t think you needed it any longer.”

“Won’t someone find it?” I asked. “Like the police or something?”

“I’m guessing that at least some of those humans upstairs will stick around long enough to clean up after us. They don’t want the police finding all those dead bodies any more than we do.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Is she okay?” I heard Malcolm whisper to Tony.

“I think so. She’s in shock, and that neck wound needs stitches. But other than that, I think she’s fine.”

“You don’t think that business with the head was a little,” Malcolm paused for a long moment,

“…weird? I mean, you don’t think she’s lost her mind or anything, do you?”

“I heard that,” I said.

“I think she’s going to be just fine,” Tony said. I could hear a smile in his voice.

When we got back to the shop, John helped me climb out of the van and into the elevator. Dom and Nick carried the bound vampire by sliding some sort of stick—it looked like a broom handle—through the ropes and swinging him from it. They looked like the old pictures of people who had gone hunting for boar. When they got to the elevator, they slid him off of the pole and onto the floor.

He bounced and grunted. Malcolm winced.

“Is it really necessary to hurt him?” he asked. The elevator door closed and I felt us begin our ascent.

“He’s a vampire,” Dom said. “Who cares if we hurt him?”

“Yeah, but he used to be a person,” Malcolm said. “I kind of got to know him over the last couple of days.”

“He’s not a person anymore,” Nick said. “And he’s certainly not the person you knew. If we let him, he’d kill every last one of us. Drain us dry. You can’t think of him as a person; he’ll use it against you if he can.”

The vampire glared up at us. His eyes, totally black, promised death. Nick was right. He wasn’t a person.

* * *

I called first dibs on the shower, since I was far and away the filthiest one of the group, but Tony insisted upon stitching up my neck first.

“You’re going to end up with a lot of battle scars,” he commented as he pulled the thread through the numbed skin around the wound.

“I guess I’m just going to have to give up my dream of becoming Miss America,” I said. Tony didn’t laugh.

By the time I got to the shower, much of the blood on my body had dried. I had to stand in the shower for a while to soften up my t-shirt so I could peel it off. I dropped it directly into the trash can.

It took a long time to scrub the encrusted blood out from under my fingernails. And no matter how hard I scoured my skin or how hot I ran the water, I just didn’t feel clean. In the end, I borrowed a bottle of isopropyl alcohol from underneath the sink and poured it directly onto my body. I found a lot of little scrapes I hadn’t noticed until then that way—the alcohol burned like fire.

Cleansing fire.

I stepped out of the bathroom feeling better than I had in weeks. Better than I had since I had come home and found Greg in the arms of a vampire.

In fact, I felt so good that I didn’t even think to wonder about Greg until the next morning. I was pouring coffee in the kitchenette when John wandered in, and suddenly it hit me.

“Hey. John. Did you kill my ex for me last night?”

“Oh, that’s right. You were out when I got back.”

“So?”

“Nope. I didn’t find him. It was pretty much full dark by the time I got up there, so he probably took off. You worried about him finding you?”

I considered that. “You know what? I’m not. I mean, maybe I should be—he does know where I live, after all—but I’m really not. Do you think I should be?”

John laughed. “After last night, I don’t know anyone who should be less worried. I don’t think

I’ll ever forget the sight of you throwing open that basement door and standing there swinging that head at us.”

“Is that really what it looked like?” I asked.

“Yeah. I half expected you to let out some wicked warrior yell.”

I snickered. And before I knew it, John and I were both howling with laughter, holding on to the counter and wiping tears away from our eyes.

It wasn’t even that funny. I think we were laughing more from relief than anything. We had taken on Deirdre and her vampire army, and we had won. It was a fabulous feeling.

Later that day, Nick pulled me aside.

“Elle, Pearson wants to talk to you again,” he said.

“What does he want?”

“I think he wants to offer you a job.”

“Really? What kind of job?” I was honestly confused.

“Here. With us. Killing vampires.”

“Oh,” I said. “I don’t know. I hadn’t considered it.”

Nick just shook his head. “You really don’t understand, do you?”

“Understand what?”

“How rare it is to find someone who is willing to do what it takes to survive in this business.”

“Business?”

“You know what I mean, Elle. Quit stalling.”

And I did know what he meant. I didn’t know if I really did have whatever it was he was looking for in a vampire-killing employee—at least, not in the long term—but I did know that I felt stronger and more alive, right then on that day, having hunted and killed who knew how many vampires the night before, than I had ever felt before in my life.

“I’ll think about it,” I said, my voice serious. “Give me a few days and I’ll get back to you on it.”

Nick nodded.

* * *

Malcolm stopped me in the hall on my way back to my room. “I don’t really know how to put this,” he said.

I frowned and leaned back against the wall. “I can handle whatever you need to say, Malcolm.”

“Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Look, I know we’re not dating or anything. But I think you know how I feel about you. How I felt about you.”

Ouch. I didn’t like the switch to the past tense.

“But after everything that’s happened, I think that maybe…” he paused and took another deep breath. “I think that maybe it would be a good idea if we didn’t see each other for a while. I just don’t know if I can handle all of this.” He waved his hand around. I knew he meant the shop, the guys, all of it.

“I did my part,” he said. “I went back in there. And now I’m out and it’s over and I think I need a break from all of it.” The last sentence came out in a rush of words, and then he was silent. Staring at me. Waiting for me to say something.

Finally I nodded. “Okay,” I said.

“Okay? That’s it? Just okay?”

“I don’t know what else to say, Malcolm. I didn’t want any of this either. But it’s here and I know about it and I can’t do anything about that. And Nick’s offered me a job—a permanent job—with these guys. I don’t know if I’m going to take it, but I am thinking about it.”

Malcolm just stared at me.

“Because the thing is,” I said, “the thing is this: there are monsters out there. Real ones. The ones who eat people up. The kinds that the police won’t find. And nobody knows about it. But I do.”

I took a deep breath. Suddenly I realized that I had already made my decision. “I can make a difference here,” I said. “I can do something that’s real, that’s important. So yeah, if you need to get away from ‘all this’”—I waved my hand around in an imitation of his earlier gesture—“then you’re right; you do need to take a break from seeing me. And the only thing I can think of to say is ‘okay.’”

I pushed myself up from against the wall.

And then I went to find Nick to tell him what I had decided.

* * *

I found Tony before I found Nick. When I pushed open the door to his lab, he was looking down speculatively at the unconscious vampire strapped to the examining table.

“How’s it going?” I asked.

“Fine.” He didn’t even look up.

“Problems?”

“I’m having a hard time figuring out what to use to knock him out tonight. I moved him onto the table this morning while he was still out for the day, but I want to get some work done tonight, and I don’t want to get my hand bitten off.” He didn’t look up at me as I left.

A few seconds later, I opened the door again and tossed him the stun baton I’d taken from the weapons room. Startled, he reached into the air and caught it seconds before it landed on the vampire.

“Stun him,” I said. “It’ll knock him out for at least a few minutes. Any time he gets any ideas about biting you, stun him again. He might eventually get the idea and lie still.”

Grinning at me, Tony said, “Thanks,” and I pulled the door closed behind me.

I was still smiling when I knocked on Nick’s office door and he called out for me to come in.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.”

“Okay. I’ll do it. But we need to talk terms. I still want to finish my doctorate.”

A smile creased Nick’s face. “No problem.” He leaned back and kicked his feet onto his desk.

By the time I headed back to my room, I was an employee of Calvani Investigations, a subsidiary of Forster, Pearson, and Sims, Attorneys at Law.

25

Nick and I decided that I should sign on as a part-timer, at first. And that I would start in the summer, after I had finished the semester.

I decided that if my job was going to be this weird, I wanted to keep the rest of my life as simple as possible. So I started doing all those things I had avoided while being stalked by Greg. I moved out of the shop and back into my own apartment. I invited a group of my grad-school friends over for dinner in the evening and made my favorite New Orleans Cajun food: gumbo and shrimp etouffee—I would have made crawfish etouffee, but I couldn’t find fresh crawfish in New York.

Jenna pulled me aside during the evening and said, “I’m so glad to see that you’re back to your old self. I know that the breakup with Greg and… well, you know, everything that happened, was really hard on you. It’s nice to see that you’ve come out the other side of it and are feeling better.”

And she didn’t even know the half of it.

I went back to all my classes, explained to my professors that I had been absent so much recently because of the breakup. It was a little embarrassing—some of them seemed to think my excuse was thin. But I didn’t care what they thought as long as they let me finish out the semester.

As far as I was concerned, my life was great. None of the other big bad vampires knew where I was, and I was quite certain that I could take out any newbie vamp who came along. Including Greg.

And if I couldn’t handle something on my own, I could always call Nick and the guys.

So that was my state of mind the night I got jumped beside the playground across from Middle

School 45 in the Bronx, three weeks after we had cleaned out Deirdre’s den.

I had walked down to Modern Groceries to pick up a few essentials: milk, eggs, root beer, Pringles—the usual. I was walking back up the street toward my apartment building, swinging the plastic grocery bags and humming tunelessly to myself. I had plans to go home, snuggle up with Millie the cat, and stare at my television all night long.

I didn’t even notice the figure lurking in the shadows behind the fence. Have I mentioned how much I hate it that vampires can hide in shadows?

He jumped out at me from the opening in the fence just as I was passing by. As usual, I didn’t scream—just let out a little squeak. I did, however, drop all my groceries instantly and scrabble for my knife.

This vampire was big and ugly. All the vampires that Deirdre had kept around her had been beautiful. Even Greg was attractive, much as I hate to admit it now. But this guy had squinty little eyes and an enormous nose stuck in the middle of a pock-marked face.

I would just hate to go through eternity with pock-marks.

He moved back inside the fence and I followed him.

We circled each other on the concrete playground, just like those guys who do those cheesy fake wrestling shows, each of us waiting for an opening, a chance to take the other one out.

He lunged at me and I ducked, then spun around to meet him.

I love my knife with its vampire-killing wood inlay on the blade. I adore it. It’s perfect. It’s all sharp and pointy and slides right into vampires’ hearts—especially when they’re new and slow and have the fighting skills of a frog. From the time we entered the schoolyard, it took me about fifteen seconds to slam my lovely knife into his chest. He looked from it to my face, a bemused, almost hurt expression passing through his eyes.

Then he fell over.

I pulled my knife out of his heart and wiped the blade off on his pants leg. A gush of blood followed.

That’s when I called Nick, propped up the dead vampire, and settled in to wait for the guys to come to my rescue.

So there I was, hanging out in the playground where moments ago I had been attacked. The worst part of it was knowing that there were more vamps out there in the dark, maybe even watching me right at that very moment. The hairs on the back of my neck kept tingling in that way that’s supposed to signify that you’re being watched. In my case, I was pretty sure it just signified that I was totally creeped out.

Eventually, though, I moved around so that the big dead vampire was covering my back. And I mean that literally. I spread his legs and plopped myself down right between them so that I was leaning up against his chest, big bloody post-mortem wound and all. Ruining my shirt was the least of my worries. At least this way no one would stab me between the shoulder blades.

And hey, maybe anyone driving by would think we were just a couple of kids sitting in the playground enjoying the late-summer night air. Or making out. Whichever. As long as none of the passers-by thought, “Oh, my God. There’s a woman sitting on the lap of a big dead vampire,” I’d probably be okay.

Truth be told, that was just about the longest half-hour of my life up to that point.

Second longest. Right after the half-hour Deirdre and Greg spent sucking my blood. Anyway, this one was right up there.

Finally, after what seemed like roughly seventy-two years of waiting, John pulled the van up to the curb beside the entrance. All four guys piled out, swinging their black gym bags and laughing and talking.

“Hey, Elle!” said John. “Got another one for us, huh?”

“You are the most vampire-attracting woman I have ever met in my whole entire life,” Dom said.

“I cannot believe how these things are just drawn to you.”

“Okay, okay,” said Nick. “Let’s get to work. Tony, help me get this vamp to the van.” The two of them each grabbed an arm and hauled the vampire upright. Or tried to, anyway. The wire I had used to tie his shirt to the fence caught them off-guard and they almost dropped him.

“Let me get that for you,” said John, and reached down to rip the collar. “There you go.” He turned to survey the playground in the dim reflected light from nearby streetlights.

Dom pulled the portable wet-dry vacuum cleaner out of one of the black bags and put it together.

John took a flashlight, a sponge, and a spray-bottle of bleach diluted with water out of his own bag and started searching for any blood spatter, looking for spots that he could clean up without the vacuum cleaner.

Nick climbed back out of the van and headed toward us. I guess that Tony was still in the van examining the body.

That’s when the rest of the vampires attacked.

They flowed out of the shadows of the buildings around us, pouring onto the playground from every direction.

That’s what it seemed like, at least. Afterwards, when we compared notes, we figured out that there were probably only ten or fifteen of them at the most. But at that moment, with vampires slithering over the fence, moving like snakes up and around and across every obstacle, all I could think was that we were overwhelmed, five against a hundred, a thousand, a million—far too many vampires to count.

We all froze as we realized what was happening. I just had time to think, We’ve been set up, when the first of them hit the ground running. They split up, several of them moving toward each of us, cutting us off from one another. I saw two of them heading toward the van. This was clearly a planned attack. My knife was in its scabbard nestled against the small of my back, the crucifix tucked into the front of my jeans. I grabbed them both and bounced on the balls of my feet, finding my balance as Nick had taught me.

And then I didn’t have any more time to think.

Three of them formed a circle around me, snarling and hissing like animals. I spun around, trying to keep all of them in my line of sight. The scene took on that slow-motion unreality that so often comes upon me in a fight. The last fight, the one we had been cleaning up after only seconds before, hadn’t had that effect on me, maybe because I had felt so confident of my ability to take him.

Now, though, I had plenty of time to see the moonlight flashing on their dripping fangs as they all lunged in toward me at once, as if on cue.

One of them caught both of my arms, holding me in a grip so hard I was sure it would leave bruises. I used his hold to balance me as I kicked both feet up, hard, into the groin of the vamp directly across from me.

He clutched himself and doubled over in pain—as my feet hit the ground, I again realized how lucky I was that vampires could actually feel pain.

The third vampire took a step away from me, leaving me an open space to move into. That didn’t free me from the first vampire’s clasp, though. He was taller than I, so slamming my head into his face wasn’t an option.

Instead, I body-checked him. He was expecting me to struggle, to move forward in an attempt to get away. My sudden thrust backwards threw off his balance and his hold on me loosened for just an instant.

It was enough. I wrenched my arms from his grasp. He scrabbled at them, leaving long bloody scratches from elbow to shoulder where his nails scraped across my skin.

I made a dash for the fence, spinning around so that it was at my back when I got there. It wasn’t perfect cover, of course, but at least it kept these three from forming a circle around me again. The one I had kicked was still limping when he got to me.

I held the crucifix out in front of me, and two of the vampires hissed and cowered. The third, however, the one who had grabbed my arms, just smiled and took a half-step closer.

So not all of these vampires were complete newbies. Okay, then. Him first.

Still waving the crucifix at the others, I turned my knife around so that the hilt balanced on my fingertips. With a flick of my wrist, I threw it at the oldest vampire.

The knife sank into his chest. On the wrong side. “Dammit!” I said aloud. I was going to have to practice that knife-throwing trick some more. At least it hadn’t bounced of his chest entirely and skittered across the playground.

The vampire looked down at the knife sticking up out of his chest and then back up at me. He smiled, wide enough so that his fangs showed. Still gripping the cross, I swung my hand around toward him. He just shook his head as if amazed that I hadn’t yet realized that the crucifix had no effect on him.

But the stake I had whittled on the other end did. He was still gloating over the ineffective crucifix when I slammed the pointy end into his heart.

I don’t know why they’re always so surprised to die. They’re the ones who start it by going after me.

Before he’d even stopped gaping at my hand still holding the crucifix imbedded in his heart, I had grabbed the hilt of my knife with my other hand and yanked them both out.

The motion sent him reeling backwards and he crumpled to the ground.

Apparently the other vampires were just as surprised by his death as he was, because they were standing stock-still, staring at the corpse collapsing onto the pavement, when I spun around to face them again.

One of them snarled and looked at my face, the all-black of his eyes gleaming red in the darkness. I looked away from his face, concentrating on his body, looking for any flicker of motion that might betray which way he would go when he lunged at me, as he was sure to do.

Just then a long, low whistle sounded from somewhere on the other side of the playground. The two vampires I was fighting whipped their heads around at the sound.

And then they were gone. With the same suddenness with which they had entered the playground, all of the vampires left it, flowing back up and over the fence and sliding away into the darkness.

I whirled around in a circle, looking for any stragglers.

There were three.

I still feel responsible. I think we all do. We were taken off-guard. We were far too comfortable with the idea that we could take out any vampires who had the nerve to go after us.

We weren’t paying enough attention to our surroundings. We weren’t watching each other’s backs. Not closely enough.

I still see them sometimes in nightmares, silhouetted against the soft orange glow of a failing streetlight: two of them holding Nick up against the fence, pinning his arms and legs with their entire bodies, like lovers snuggling up in bed against his struggling limbs, holding his head straight up by the hair, the third hanging upside down from the fence, gripping it with fingers and toes as he buries his face in Nick’s neck. The others slide across Nick so that for a moment, I can’t see what they’re doing.

In my dreams, I can’t get there fast enough—the slowing of time and motion that helps me focus in fights works against me as I dash toward the foursome, screaming for the other guys to help me.

Then the third vampire looks up at me and smiles Greg’s smile, the one that used to make my heart thump with joy.

And the worst part of it is always waking up to the knowledge that it wasn’t just a dream.

Greg made eye contact with me for just a second, just long enough to make sure that I knew it was him. Then he nuzzled his face back into Nick’s neck. I heard Nick scream as the fangs slid into his neck. Greg wrenched his face away with a jerking flip of his head, and I saw a spray of blood fly from Nick’s throat. The blood looked almost beautiful, glittering black in the moonlight. The scream gurgled away into nothing, the night filled instead with my own shouts as I raced toward Nick.

The two vampires holding Nick let go and slid up the fence. Greg, his mouth black with blood, kept his eyes on me as he skittered up the fence backwards. He slid over the top feet first, then paused long enough to blow me a kiss before he dropped to the ground and faded into the shadows.

John and I reached Nick at the same time. He lay in a crumpled heap at the foot of the fence, and we knelt on either side of him. Blood still flowed from the front of his throat. I could see muscle and tissue glistening in the wound.

I thought he was dead until I heard a gurgling rattle in his chest, like air trying to force its way through water. I grabbed his hand and stroked the hair away from his forehead. John ripped off his own t-shirt and wadded it up, holding it to Nick’s neck to stanch the bleeding. That awful wet rattling sounded in Nick’s chest again.

“Oh, God, Nick,” I said, “Hold on. We’ll get you to a hospital. Tony’s coming. Hold on.”

“Tony! Get over here!” John yelled. Tony had left his fighting position by the van as soon as the vampires abandoned the fight, but he had almost the entire playground to cross.

I didn’t see where Dom came from; he was suddenly just beside me.

Nick looked into my eyes and smiled.

That smile terrified me. “No, Nick. You hold on. Dammit, Nick!”

But he just kept smiling. He squeezed my hand. Then he mouthed the words, “It’s okay.”

And just like that, he was gone.

26

“Come on, guys, we’ve got to get him back to the van. Now. Move it!” Tony’s voice came to me as if from a distance.

I stood up, still holding Nick’s hand. It had gone limp in mine. Dom, John, and Tony all lifted Nick’s body off the ground and headed toward the van at an awkward trot. This time it wasn’t a vamp looking so surprised by death, it was me. I’d never thought, never really thought, that we’d lose one of the team. I’d feared for Malcolm, of course. Feared that I might screw up and end up dead—wasn’t that what Nick had said? The only mistakes were the fatal ones? But the rest of the team, particularly Nick, they’d seemed unstoppable, invincible, until right now. For a moment, for a very tiny moment, I understood the surprise I’d seen on so many fangy faces.

As I followed them, the sounds of the Bronx slowly filtered back into my consciousness. The Bronx is never silent; there’s always a background hum of traffic, car horns, distant sirens, planes flying overhead. But on top of that there were other sounds, sounds of activity and concern. The noises we had made while fighting, Nick’s scream, our subsequent shouts, had alerted the neighbors.

Lights were flicking on in the row of apartment houses across the street from the playground, and people were beginning to peer out of windows.

The guys maneuvered Nick’s body into the back of van, then jumped in after him. John took the driver’s seat. Dom and Tony took their usual seats on the bench behind him. I followed them and slammed the side door behind me, taking one last look out the window to watch as we pulled away from the playground littered with dead vampire bodies.

The police were going to have a field day with this one. Nick would be furious that we had to leave a scene like that behind.

Would have been furious, I corrected myself silently. Nick’s seat in front of me seemed horribly empty. I stood up in the tiny space and crawled over the bench seat, moving to the back to sit with Nick, cradling his head in my lap so that the ride wouldn’t jar him. It just didn’t seem respectful to leave him back there alone. No one said a word as we drove back to the shop.

* * *

We got back to the shop and Tony took Nick’s body into one of the unused rooms. The rest of us stood in the common room staring at the ground.

Finally, I spoke. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

“Yeah,” Dom muttered.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

John didn’t say anything at all.

In the shower, I scrubbed at the blood on my hands, on my face, in my hair, watching it swirl down the drain in reddish-brown streaks. Some of that was Nick’s blood, I realized. The thought drifted in front of me without really connecting to anything else. When that blood was inside Nick’s body, he was still alive.

I didn’t bother putting on clothes. I just wrapped a towel around me and padded back down the hall to my room, the one I had lived in when I had stayed at the shop just a few weeks ago. I didn’t dry my hair or comb it out or do any of my usual nighttime rituals. I just dropped the towel to the floor and climbed into bed.

It was still dark outside when I woke up early the next morning clutching a pillow. I felt like I hadn’t slept at all.

I rolled over and stared at the ceiling in the dark.

“Hey.”

Malcolm’s voice startled me. I pulled the covers up around me and sat up to find him slouched in the lone chair against the far wall.

“You came back,” I said.

“Yeah. Tony called me and told me what happened.”

“How long have you been there?”

“A while. I didn’t want to wake you.”

I pulled my knees up to my chest and leaned against the wall at the head of the bed.

Malcolm moved to sit beside me. He stretched his legs out in front of himself and rested his hand on my foot. We sat that way for a long time without saying anything. Malcolm’s fingers stroked my ankle and the top of my foot.

Finally I rested my head on my knees and let myself cry those heaving sobs that had been trying to work their way out of my chest ever since I’d seen Nick collapse to the ground.

Malcolm wrapped both arms around me and I turned to him, putting my head on his chest.

Somehow we ended up lying down on the bed, and then we were kissing—not soft kisses, but hard, demanding kisses. Then Malcolm’s hands were under the blanket, roaming across my body.

They felt good—hot and strong and alive.

I struggled to pull his t-shirt off as he lifted his arms and tried to help. I wanted to feel his skin against mine, feel the hair on his chest brush up against my nipples, his stomach pressed against mine.

I threw the t-shirt onto the floor, not caring where it landed.

The blankets tangled around my legs, so I kicked them to the floor. Malcolm’s mouth trailed down my throat. He licked the space between my breasts and I moaned softly. He turned his head to take my nipple into his mouth and rolled it around his tongue. My back arched as hot sparks of excitement trailed down my stomach, following his tongue.

No, no, no. This wasn’t enough. I pulled him back up and rolled over so that I was half on top of him. My hand fumbled at the button of his jeans. He laughed softly, such a deep, sensual sound that I leaned down to kiss him again, my tongue exploring his mouth. This time he moaned, and reached down to help me with his jeans. I tugged, and he skimmed out of them.

“Wait,” he said as I started to toss them onto the floor with his t-shirt. His hand scrabbled around in the back pocket and he pulled out his wallet. Flipping it open, he extracted a wrapped condom from the back compartment.

“Should I ask how old that is?” I smiled as I spoke.

“Probably not.” He set it down on the bedside table and slid his arm around me, pulling me back down to kiss him again. I reached down to hold him, and he was hard, hot and ready.

I sprinkled little kisses across his chest and down his stomach to his groin. As I reached his waist, he suddenly froze.

“Stop,” he said. His voice sounded strangled, like he was having to force it out of his throat. “No. Don’t. Not that.”

I lifted my head and looked up at him questioningly. “Okay,” I said, but I couldn’t keep the confusion out of my voice or my eyes. I let go of him and moved back up to rest my head on his shoulder.

He covered his eyes with his hands. “It’s just… I can’t…. The vampires. They…” His words trailed off.

Oh, no. How could I have been so stupid? I’d seen the wound on his inner thigh. And I knew how much like sex a vampire’s bite could be. Of course they had played up that connection.

“Shh,” I whispered. “It’s okay. I understand.” I moved over him and pulled his hands away from his eyes. I wrapped his arms around me, leaning in to kiss him.

It took a moment, but then he was kissing me again. He rolled me over and pinned me to the bed, holding my hands above me. He let go long enough to unwrap the condom and slide it over the length of him, and then he was inside me. We clung to each other desperately, as if we were trying to crawl inside one another’s skin with every movement, every thrust. I felt all the tension of the last few months building inside me, causing me to whimper and pull Malcolm closer. Malcolm moved faster, rocking us both back and forth on the bed, and I felt the pressure growing. Finally it burst forth, washing over me in wave after wave of ecstatic pleasure. My hands tightened spasmodically on Malcolm’s back, and he groaned my name as he, too, found the release we’d both been looking for.

Afterwards, we lay breathing heavily, still holding on to one another.

And then we slept.

* * *

When I woke up again, Malcolm’s arm was slung across my chest. I eased my way out from under it and slipped on my clothes. I opened the door as quietly as I could, then slipped out into the dimly lit hallway.

The shop had that nobody’s-awake stillness to it; I could feel the presence of other people, but I couldn’t really hear them. I stood outside the room where we had laid out Nick’s body, listening for a moment. I didn’t hear anything inside. I didn’t feel anyone’s presence either.

Of course I wouldn’t, not with the whole “Nick’s dead” thing. I hesitated, unsure whether or not I really wanted to go back in and see his body. But I needed to say goodbye, so I took a deep breath and opened the door.

Nick was gone.

I stood staring at the empty bed a lot longer than I should have. And then I raced down the hallways as silently as possible. If I was wrong, I didn’t want to worry anyone else.

But I wasn’t wrong.

Nick’s body wasn’t in Tony’s lab.

It wasn’t in any of the other empty rooms I checked.

And when I sprinted through the garage, it wasn’t in the van, either—though the back was still covered in his blood.

When I finally left the building entirely, I stood bent with my hands on my knees, gasping, as much from panic as from exertion.

When I looked down at the end of the block, Nick was standing under a streetlight.

I swear to God I saw the light glint off a fang. My hand drifted toward the stake I had automatically shoved into my waistband when I dressed, but it never made contact before falling back down by my side.

Nick waved a sort of salute at me, and then the shadows swirled around him in that vampirey way and my eyes slid off him.

By the time I started running, he was gone. I stumbled to a stop in the pool of light and turned around in circles, peering down the streets that branched off to the sides.

But I knew I wasn’t going to see him, wasn’t going to catch him and stake him.

Not this time, anyway.

Epilogue

Since that night, I’ve wondered if Nick’s last words to me—“it’s okay”—meant that he knew he had been turned, or if he really thought he was dying and was trying to tell me that he was fine with that.

In either case, he was wrong.

It’s not okay.

Nothing is okay. Not really.

I never planned to become a vampire hunter. Then again, I don’t think anyone ever plans on something like that. It’s not usually considered a viable career path.

But with Nick gone, I don’t have much other choice. Alec Pearson says he has a call in to someone to come take Nick’s place—the woman who used to be on Nick’s team, the one he mentioned when we were training. Scarlett. No one will tell me much about her except that things didn’t end well. The guys get all shifty-eyed and evasive when I ask for details and Alec just shook his head and said, “Let’s wait to see if we hear back from her.”

I’m worried, though. Nick trained all of us. He knows everything we know, and more. Some small part of me hopes that just because Nick turned doesn’t mean he’s suddenly on the other side, instantly a bad guy. But the fact that he didn’t stick around to discuss it with us suggests otherwise.

So now I spend my days training with the rest of the team. I took a leave of absence from my graduate program; suddenly, things that happened in England’s history seem much less important to me than the things that are happening right now in New York. Things that I might be able to help change.

Greg turned Nick because of me—to punish me for killing Deirdre. I can’t change that.

And I can’t change the fact that I didn’t kill Greg when I had the chance—any of the times I had the chance.

I will regret that every day for the rest of my life.

So when I’m not training, I’m hunting.

I don’t know where Greg is, but I know that I will find him. And when I do, I will put a stake through his heart.

I know I said that the worst thing about vampires is that they’re already dead. But that’s not strictly true.

The worst thing about vampires is that some of them used to be my friends. One of them used to be my fiancé.

And now I have to hunt him down and kill him.

The End

* * *

Continue the Vampirarchy Series in Ten Things I Hate about Vamps, coming Summer 2016.

http://www.MargoBondCollins.net

* * *

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About the Author

Margo Bond Collins lives in Texas with her daughter and several ridiculous pets. Though writing fiction is her first love, she also teaches college-level English courses online. She enjoys reading and writing urban fantasy and paranormal fiction of any genre and spends most of her free time daydreaming about vampires, ghosts, zombies, werewolves, monsters, and cowboys—and the women who love (and sometimes fight) them.

For more information on Margo:

- @MargoBondCollin

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MargoBondCollins@gmail.com

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Wardbreaker

The Lilim Callina Chronicles

J.A. Cipriano

Wardbreaker © 2015 J.A. Cipriano

Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

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About the Book

Wardbreaker

A city full of vampires. A dark ritual. A runaway determined to stay hidden.

Lillim Callina was still trying to figure out how to live like a normal girl when the vampires attacked. Now, this former demon hunter must decide if staying hidden is more important than saving her new home from the largest vampire infestation she has ever seen.

The only problem is, if she stops the vampires, the people hunting her just may find her, and they aren't too fond of deserters.

1

I shut my eyes as I tried to remember exactly what Professor Smathers had taught me about Earth currencies. It wasn’t that it was particularly complicated, it was more that I wasn’t quite sure what they used in America. Was it euros? Dollars? Pounds?

With a surge of confidence, I opened my eyes and shoved the handful of wadded up dollar bills I’d pulled from my pocket across the counter.

The dull-eyed convenience store clerk stared down at my money and heaved a huge sigh out of his lungs that shook his entire body. Oh no, had I chosen wrong? Damn… it was euros they used here. My cheeks burned as I reached into my pouch, wondering if I’d thought to take any. I hadn’t exactly been picky when I’d grabbed the stash from my mother’s purse. For all I knew, none of the money I had would work…

“That’s not enough,” he said, voice half-bored, half-annoyed as he thumbed through the bills. “You’ll need to pay for the stuff in your pockets as well.”

I froze, my body going as still as a rabbit when it smells a predator. I swallowed, my hands clenching and unclenching as I glanced down at the pocket on my sweatshirt. I’d stuffed things in there while I shopped, had I forgotten something? Did he think I was trying to steal?

Slowly, I snaked one hand down to the pocket and reached in, but feeling nothing, I looked up at him, confused.

“I… um… don’t have anything else.” I pointed to the counter where a small carton of chocolate milk, an apple, and a single string cheese sat there like a depressed trio. I’d picked them because out of all the stuff in here, I sort of recognized them as food. Where I came from, we didn’t have brightly colored things in plastic pouches, but we did have cheese, milk, and fruit…

“Look, I saw you put the candy bar in your back pocket. Just take it out and pay for it, or leave it here. I don’t really care what you do, but you can’t have it for free.” The clerk leaned forward, lips in a tight line. His face was pockmarked with acne and his flame-red hair stuck out at impossible angles.

Had I inadvertently taken some candy? My heart started racing as the realization struck me. Had I been so hungry I’d stuck something in my pocket and forgotten? Surely not… Surely I wouldn’t have done something so stupid…

I reached down, rummaging through the pockets of my jeans but came up with only dryer lint and a piece of black string. Finding nothing else, I pulled the pockets inside out so they hung there like pathetic handles. They were so long that if someone wanted, they could grab onto them and steer me around. It didn’t help that the jeans were a size too big. I’d gotten them from a thrift store down the block, and they didn’t fit as well as they could have. Still, anything was better than the skintight leather jumpsuit I’d been wearing when I escaped to Earth. I’d ditched the uniform the first chance I’d gotten.

“I don’t have any candy,” I said, my stomach making that horrible squealing sound that came with hunger. It’d been a while since I’d last eaten. The stuff on the counter would comprise the first meal I’d have in about three days, and I was starting to go a little wiggy. “Can I just please pay for my stuff and leave?”

“No! I saw you take something,” the clerk boomed. His voice was loud enough to make people turn and look at us.

“Then charge me for the candy and let me have my stuff,” I replied, getting annoyed now. Was he trying to fleece me? Over a candy bar?

“It doesn’t work that way, I have to ring something up.” He pointed to the register beside him as though that made everything make sense.

“Is there a problem here?” The voice behind me was so low it made goosebumps rise on my flesh and my stomach drop into my toes. Great, I’d attracted attention. That was the last thing I wanted to do. I eyed the stuff I’d placed on the counter. Could I swipe them and make a run for it? Maybe I should just leave it behind…

Before I could do anything, the clerk glanced behind me, and his eyes got as big as dinner plates. He swallowed hard enough to make his adam’s apple bob up and down beneath the milk-pale flesh of his throat. He slowly put his hands flat on the counter. They were shaking.

“Um… no, sir,” the clerk said, taking my money in one grubby paw and putting it into the register. He scooped up some coins and practically threw them across the counter at me. “Here you go, miss.”

“Good,” the voice behind me said as I snatched up my groceries and my change and shoved them into the pocket of my sweatshirt. “I’d hate to hear you’re back to picking on young girls again.”

I took a deep breath, not sure what to expect behind me and whirled around to thank the person. Admittedly, part of me wanted to run out of the store as quickly as I could, but that was rude, and if there was one thing my mother had beaten into me, it was good manners.

A guy who looked like he was in his mid-twenties stood there, staring past me at the pimple-faced teen. He was at least six feet tall with a shaved head and skin the color of polished obsidian. Beneath his bomber jacket, he was wearing a long-sleeved, black dress shirt half-tucked into a pair of blue jeans. I could tell it was long-sleeved because as he moved one arm, the sleeve of his jacket slipped down, revealing the cuff of his shirt.

His lips were pulled into a half-snarl that vanished into a sort of part-smile as he glanced from the clerk to me. He raised one enormous hand to his stubble-covered chin and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger as he appraised at me. It was strange because I could see recognition behind his eyes. Did he know what I was? No, that was impossible…

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice so quiet, I wasn’t sure he actually heard me say anything. Not waiting for him to respond, I tried to make my way past him toward the doors of the convenience store, but found myself blocked by his linebacker-sized form as he shuffled in front of me. I took a deep breath, trying to stop myself from freaking out. Surely every person on Earth couldn’t be a crazy person who would accost me given the chance? Surely my mother couldn’t be right about that too? On a long enough timeframe she had to be wrong eventually, right?

“Miss, when is the last time you ate something?” he asked as the customer immediately behind him stepped around him and placed her purchases on the counter. She didn’t even so much as look in our direction as the man placed one large hand on my shoulder and ushered me toward the door.

I wasn’t quite sure how he managed it because I was confident I could have stopped him, but the next thing I knew, we were standing outside the Ye Olde Kwik E Mart and staring at the attached gas station. I shot one last, apprehensive look inside the store as the glass doors shut with a whoosh that made me jump.

The man laughed, a low throaty sound that reminded me of a cartoon bullfrog with a top hat. I took a hesitant step away from him, and as I did so, he watched my feet move. The urge to flee rose up inside me, so strong I could barely think past it. Still, he was just some guy. I could handle him. He wouldn’t make me run away…

“Go away!” I said, trying to make my voice sound as tough as I possibly could. “Just because I look like a teenage girl doesn’t mean I won’t knock your block off.”

He raised his hands, face melting into a laugh that made me want to punch him in his stupid bulbous nose. “There, there, miss. I mean no harm. You just look like someone I used to know a long time ago. She’d visit me from time to time, and whenever she came to town, I always took her out for fish tacos.” He stared far off past me as if remembering something and tears tugged at the corners of his eyes. “She hasn’t been by in a while. I heard she died.”

“Is that so?” I growled, suddenly angry though I didn’t know why. Something about the way he spoke tugged at the very far corners of my memory, but when I tried to pull the fragment in for closer examination, it evaporated.

“Yeah, um sorry,” he replied sheepishly. “I guess I got carried away with myself.” He held out his hand to me. “I’m Jean-Luc, but most people call me Luc. I sort of like that. It makes me feel less French.”

“You’re French?” I asked, taking his hand very carefully, and as I did so, a little nip of magic zipped across his skin like a static shock. What the hell was he? Something preternatural for sure, but whatever it was, I’d never felt it, and that was saying something since I’d been trained to fight Earth’s supernatural monsters from birth.

I jerked my hand away and stepped back into a fighting stance, my hands clenched into fists. I called upon my power. It welled up inside me at once, filling my muscles with strength and setting my cells ablaze. If he tried anything, I’d blast him into a smudge on the ground and worry about the consequences afterward.

“I’m not French. I’m named after a starship captain,” he replied, looking at his shoes like they were the most interesting thing in the world. It was strange because his entire confident demeanor seemed to have vanished. “My parents were idiots.” He looked up at me and his smile died on his face. “Um… what are you doing?”

“You’re some kind of magic user. Whatever you’re trying to do, don’t.” I took a deep breath, and as I exhaled, I held one palm out in front of me, calling upon my magic to make a tiny flame dance on it. The fire was small enough that I wasn’t worried about it showing up on the sensors back home, at least not without someone looking very closely. Thankfully, that was pretty unlikely. It was why I’d chosen this town as my hideout. “Just don’t. Just turn around and walk the hell away from me. This doesn’t have to end with you as a chalk outline on the ground.”

“Miss, I have no idea…” he trailed off as the flame in my hand grew bigger.

“It will take exactly zero effort to toss this fireball at you,” I lied because it would take a lot of energy, especially if I didn’t use any magic words, and since I hadn’t eaten in a few days, the exertion might make me faint, which would be bad. Still, I was betting he didn’t know that. It wasn’t the world’s best bet, per se, but what was that saying about dogs being more scared of you than you are of them? Only I wasn’t sure which of us was the dog in this scenario.

“Okay, look,” he said, holding his hands out palms up. “I know what you are. I know you’re a member of the Dioscuri. Your job is to fight monsters and keep us humans safe, right? Well, I need your help with some vampires before things get out of control. It’s why I followed you from the thrift shop into the gas station convenience store.”

His words shook me to the core. He knew what I was? Impossible… and how the hell had he followed me inside? I’d made sure to look out for anyone. Hell, I’d even woven a tiny spell about myself to warn me of supernatural baddies. The only way it wouldn’t have alerted me to his presence was if he had no magic… but then what had I felt? Was it something residual? Had he just handled a magical object recently… that had been known to happen.

“Lies,” I said, taking a step back from him and willing the fire in my hand to vanish before it could attract attention. Maybe I could run away before he’d catch me and force me to blow up this gas station. Then again, there was always the possibility he could, I don’t know, shape shift into a giant flaming bear and gobble me up. Maybe I should play dead? That works on bears, right?

“I’m a monster hunter,” he said, reaching into his bomber jacket and slowly pulling out a piece of parchment that looked like it had been written a million years ago… and I totally recognized it. What he had in his hand was a writ, and it basically meant he was licensed by my people to hunt down monsters. So he hadn’t been lying about knowing who I was, the jerk. “And I need your help. Please.”

“How’d you get that?” I asked, deciding I needed to run away and find a new town to hold up in. I’d only been on Earth a few days, but if this guy had already identified me, how long could it possibly take for my people to find me? That was something I didn’t want, since they probably wouldn’t be happy I ran away… again. It was too bad because I liked the weather in Orange County, California. Not too hot, not too cold… It was like the Goldilocks of hideaways.

“I applied for it after some vampires killed my friend’s dad. You wouldn’t think you’d need a license to kill the undead, but there you go.” The words came out of his mouth strangely brusque and disconnected, like he hadn’t actually expected to say them out loud. Then again, I doubted monster hunting came up in casual conversation since talking about it with people ‘not in the know’ was pretty much forbidden.

“Uh huh,” I muttered, glancing from the writ to him and back again. Something about this guy was off, I just had no idea what it was, and honestly, I didn’t really want to know. Whatever he was involved in would be trouble, and I’d had enough trouble in my short life to last a couple lifetimes.

Besides, if I helped him, I’d have to use my magic… if I did that, I was sure my people would find me since every time I drew on my power, there’d be a blip on the systems they used back home to track monster activity. If enough blips showed up where there hadn’t previously been any, well, someone would come snooping around. That, I did not want.

“It’s true,” he replied, shoving the writ in his pocket with one hand. “How else would I have gotten it?”

This was an excellent point because writs were magically bound to the owner. If someone else tried to use it, the writ would disintegrate into ash. Damn.

“Who sponsored it?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him as I glanced around. There was no one else here. I could make a break for it and be halfway down the street before he took even two steps. So why hadn’t I run? Why was I even having this conversation?

“Dirge Meilan,” Luc replied, and everything inside me went sort of cold and empty. Of all the Dioscuri he could have known, why did it have to be her? I swallowed as panic crept down my spine like an icy spider. Was that how he’d recognized me? Was it because I looked so much like Dirge had? No… it had to be something else. Surely, it was something else… but even as I had the thought, I knew it was a lie.

“No…” I muttered, and before I could stop myself, I was sprinting across the parking lot of the gas station as fast as I could. I made it about three feet before a loud honk filled my ears. I glanced toward it in time to see an old brown station wagon plow into me at ten miles an hour. It smacked into my ribs so hard I was reminded of the time I’d been punched in the side by a yeti. My breath exploded from my lips as I flopped sideways onto the concrete. The sound of people shouting filled my ears. The vehicle lurched to a stop as I lay there, struggling to breathe.

It’d hurt less than I’d expected, but then again, when you’re used to getting thrown twenty feet through the air by werewolves, well, what was a car? I tried to move, tried to crawl to my feet but everything was sort of hazy and far off. I shut my eyes, pulling in a deep breath, but when I opened them again, everything was still shaky. That wasn’t good. Maybe I’d been hurt worse than I’d thought.

An old woman with hair the color of fresh snow and glasses that made her eyes appear huge and bug-like hobbled over to me, yammering in some language I didn’t understand. Only… only I couldn’t even hear her voice very well. Her lips were moving… how come I couldn’t hear her?

I was about to ask when hands gripped me under my arms and hauled me to my feet like I weighed nothing, which wasn’t exactly true. I might have only been five feet tall, but I was almost a hundred and twenty pounds of muscle. I tried to kick and fight, but before I could land even a single blow, Luc leaned in close and whispered into my ear.

“Let’s get out of here before the police come,” Luc said, and his voice was warm on my neck. “Something tells me that won’t go well for you.”

He smiled at me as he tucked one arm around my shoulder and began hustling me away from the lady. I wasn’t sure where I was going exactly, but it didn’t matter. He was right. I did not want the police finding me. If they did, they’d want all sorts of things I wouldn’t be able to give them, like identification and my parents’ phone numbers.

2

We were sitting in a restaurant I’d never been to before which wasn’t that surprising since I’d never actually eaten in a restaurant on Earth before. I’d tried to tell Luc I didn’t have any money, but he’d insisted. So we were here even though I couldn’t afford anything. Everything smelled so good, I could feel my mouth water. Maybe I could just order water? I’d remembered reading something about water being free in American restaurants, but maybe I wasn’t remembering things correctly? Either way, I’d have to do something or the smell of food was going to drive me insane.

I’d never been the world’s best student, especially when it came to Earth’s studies courses. There were tons of countries, all with their own customs and things. Besides, most of our lessons usually revolved around how to deal with supernatural shenanigans, like say chasing a vampire through a blood bank or paying a mortician to forget a zombie really had tried to eat him. I’d had exactly one hour of class time pertaining to restaurants which isn’t very long when you consider how many countries had restaurants…

“So what will you two be having to drink?” asked a lady with short brown hair and eyes that seemed way older than they should have since she looked only a few years older than I did. She shifted in annoyance, tapping her plastic blue pen against a green pad of paper in her hands as her gaze shifted from Luc to me. Her eyes lingered on my soft lavender hair before she glanced back at Luc and raised an eyebrow at him. The gesture made my cheeks heat up. Was there something wrong with my hair? Even among my people colored hair was pretty rare, so I usually dyed mine, but I hadn’t had time before I’d made my escape. Hopefully, it hadn’t been a huge mistake.

“I’ll have coffee, the whole pot,” Luc said before gesturing at me. “What would you like to drink?”

“Um… water, I think,” I said, looking down at the menu on the table. I had glanced through the drink section, but hadn’t seen water with a price listed next to it. Should I ask how much it was? No, then I’d seem like an idiot. Still, if it cost money, I wouldn’t be able to pay.

“You think?” the lady asked, raising one eyebrow at me.

“Occasionally,” I replied, smiling sweetly. “Though usually I get distracted by shiny objects.”

Luc laughed as the waitress shook her head and walked away, her black tennis shoes squeaking across the dirty linoleum floor. Watching her go made me a little jealous because her jeans fit her way better than mine fit me. Then again, hers probably hadn’t come from a thrift store, so there was that…

“Let’s start this over,” Luc said, grinning as he ran one chocolate-colored hand over his bald head before holding it out toward me. “I’m Luc and you are?”

“I’m Lillim,” I replied, staring at his hand, unsure of what to do. So I copied him. I ran one hand through my short hair before holding it out across the table like he was doing. He glanced at my hand for a second then shifted his gaze back at me and chewed on his lip.

“Are you messing with me?” he asked, staring at my hand like it somehow offended him. I fidgeted and retracted my hand before dropping it into my lap as I looked sheepishly at the table’s brightly-colored top.

“I don’t know what you mean by that,” I whispered as my cheeks burst into flames. “I… um… I was trying to return your gesture.”

“It’s called a handshake,” he said slowly. “It’s how we say hello.” He flung himself back against his seat as he shook his head. Clearly, he didn’t actually want to shake my hand so I retracted it and dropped it into my lap. His eyes followed me, and he flushed slightly, embarrassment clouding his features. “Sorry. I don’t really know much about you guys. Dirge is the only Dioscuri I’ve ever met…” He left the “and she seemed pretty normal” part of his statement unsaid, but at least he had the decency to look like he meant the apology. That was something. I guess.

“It’s okay,” I squeaked, ashamed I didn’t know more as I stared down at my hands. Dirge had been an earthborn after all. She would have known how to act before she’d been recruited to hunt monsters by my people, the Dioscuri. Sometimes it seemed like all the knowledge she’d passed down to me was useless. It sort of pissed me off.

“Look, I’m not trying to make you feel bad,” he said as the waitress came up to us and placed a big glass container filled with black liquid on the table along with two white mugs. Then she put a glass of water with three pathetic looking ice cubes drifting inside of it in front of me.

“Thank you,” I said because good manners never really go out of style.

“You’re welcome.” She smiled, though it didn’t reach her hazel eyes and pursed her lips. “What would you two like for breakfast?”

“Two specials,” Luc said, tapping the menu in front of him with one dark finger. “And a side of pancakes with extra syrup.”

“Anything else?” she asked, writing furiously on her little pad and though I could see the words, they didn’t make any sense to me. Maybe she had her own little code?

“Orange juice. That will be all.”

“Two specials, pancakes with extra syrup, and an orange juice?” she repeated back to him and he nodded.

She turned and walked off without even looking at me which was a little odd. I mean part of me was relieved she hadn’t asked me what I’d wanted because I wouldn’t have known, but still… I smirked in spite of myself and decided to chalk it up to finally accruing some good karma. I’d been spared an opportunity to humiliate myself in front of Luc even further.

I mean, after this meeting, I was going to go to another town stat, but I still didn’t like embarrassing myself if I could help it. I wasn’t sure why since most of my people tended to shrug it off when they did things they weren’t supposed to around normal people, but it’d always bugged me, like something deep inside knew I was behaving incorrectly.

“I took the liberty of ordering for you. I hope you don’t mind,” he said, and when I looked at him, I must have had a strange look on my face because he hastily added. “I didn’t know if you’d know what you wanted and…”

“Thanks,” I said, feeling my cheeks heat up. “I appreciate it, but I don’t have enough money to eat here.” I swallowed, about to say more when he held up one hand. I spoke anyway. “I can’t pay for this.”

“You can work it off. How’s that sound?” He smiled at me, showing a mouthful of white teeth. “Then I wouldn’t be helping you per se, it would be you getting payment for a job. You know, freelancing.”

“I already told you I can’t help you.” I sighed, letting my breath out slowly as I scooted toward the edge of the booth so I could make a run for it if I needed to do so. “I can’t use my magic down here… if I did…” I stopped, trailing off as I realized I was blabbering to this guy. I barely knew him. I didn’t need to tell him anything, let alone spill my life story to him. Besides, he’d known Dirge. If that wasn’t a strike against him, I didn’t know what would be. Then again, he couldn’t have known her very well since I didn’t know a thing about him…

“I don’t need you to do any magic, Lillim,” he replied, pouring the dark liquid into each of the mugs before stirring a bunch of white powder and what looked like milk into one of the cups. Then he slid the mug with the new mixture toward me. “I just need you to give me some information, like a consultant.”

“I don’t know what that is,” I said, glancing at the cup full of steaming brown liquid.

“It’s coffee. It’s the nectar of the gods. It’s pretty much as close to magic as us humans can get.” He smirked at me and picked up the first cup which was black as coal and took a sip. “It has the ability to turn near-corpses into functioning humans with a single sip.”

“I meant, I don’t know what a consultant would do in this circumstance,” I replied, hesitantly lifting the cup and sniffing it. Just the smell was enough to wake me up. Was it some kind of stimulant? “Why did you put stuff in mine and not yours?”

“It takes a while to get used to drinking it black. You’ll like it better that way.” He grinned at me. “And you would just consult on a problem I have.”

“Well, that’s real helpful.” I glowered at him before sipping the drink. It was strangely sweet and acrid at the same time. I plastered a polite smile on my face before setting it down. “Yum,” I added for effect even though I was pretty sure he was trying to poison me.

He watched me set the cup down with his large brown eyes, but something told me he didn’t buy my reaction. “Basically, I need you to teach me about vampires so I can kill the ones who have taken over this town.” He took a swig of his coffee. “Every time it seems like I learn something it turns out to be wrong. That’s why when I saw you, and realized what you were, I decided to follow you.”

“You know following young girls around is not usually an endearing trait,” I muttered and he had the good sense to look sheepish. His mouth opened and closed for a second, trying to assimilate my words into his brain. “Besides, your story doesn’t make a lot of sense. Surely, my people have kept your entire town from being overrun by vampires. We’re magic-wilding demon hunters tasked with keeping Earth safe. That’s our job.”

“If you guys were the only ones fighting monsters, why do I have a writ?” he asked, completely serious, but something about the way he looked at me told me he was having a hard time not yelling at me. Not that it would do him much good. Was that why he didn’t? Points for him. My mother still hadn’t learned yelling at me got her somewhere between nowhere and zilch.

“Fair enough,” I replied. My stomach gurgled, and I glanced back at the coffee so hungry, I was about to down the stuff regardless of the fact it tasted like battery acid. One more sip wouldn’t hurt… but if I started accepting his stuff, I’d be obligated to help him. Still, what harm would a little information do? Besides, I was starving. “What do you want to know?”

The words had barely left my mouth when he reached into his jacket and pulled out a pad of paper with a ratty green cover half torn from its metal spirals. He pulled a blue pen from between the spirals and flipped a few pages over, scanning them before stopping on a specific page.

When he caught me watching him, his cheeks flushed slightly. “Sorry, I’ve been writing down questions for a while. When us hunters meet in the field we trade information, half of which is usually bogus, but I write it all down anyway.”

I waved him off because I already knew generic human monster hunters shared notes. It was a little sad because if we prepared them better, they wouldn’t die as much. Some of the other Dioscuri had argued for better training for hunters with writs because it’d lead to fewer monsters, but we simply didn’t have the resources for that any more. Not since the last civil war had taken the lives of so many Dioscuri, including his sponsor Dirge Meilan. Besides, who wants to teach a monster hunting class? I sure didn’t.

“You know, I haven’t actually agreed to help you yet,” I said even though I was leaning toward it. If what I said got spread out among a lot of hunters, it might save lives both by keeping hunters from getting killed and by helping them stop monsters from harming innocents. I ought to do it, but what if someone found him and asked how he found out what he did?

“You know you want to help me,” he replied. “I can see it in your eyes, Lillim. You’re a good person. Good people don’t let others get killed when all they have to do is eat a nice breakfast for free and share some information.”

I glared at him. How did he know I was a nice person? I wasn’t. None of the Dioscuri were nice people. We were demon hunters, trained from birth to kill. It sounded high and mighty, but I’d done some dark things. No, he had no right to call me good. Still, maybe sharing my knowledge him would help, maybe not a lot, maybe just the barest sliver, but if it did, shouldn’t I try?

“Go ahead and ask your questions, but if anyone asks, tell them you learned it from Dirge,” I said as the waitress came over and slid several plates onto the table before leaving in a huff of annoyance. I got the distinct feeling she wasn’t especially pleased with her job, although I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like she had to contend with werewolves trying to eat her liver on a monthly basis.

The smell of the food made my stomach rumble again, and it was all I could do to keep from tearing into the meal. “But you may need more food.”

He nodded at me as I grabbed a handful of crinkled meat from my plate and shoved it into my mouth. It was like heaven. “What is this?” I asked around the mouthful as he made a note in his book.

“Bacon,” he replied, smirking at me. “Good, eh?”

“Bacon, where have you been all my life?” I said, picking up another piece and chewing on it.

He laughed and shifted in his seat. “Anyway, maybe this would be easier if you could just give me a rundown of very basic supernatural knowledge.”

I shrugged as I stabbed something that looked like an egg with my fork and shoved it into my mouth. I chewed and swallowed before taking a sip of my coffee. The beverage seemed a lot better with food.

“Um… okay.” I shrugged, trying to think of the best way to start. “Let’s begin with vampires since that’s what you claim has invaded your town. There are a couple of kinds, the ones who drink blood and the ones your kind refer to as succubae.”

“How do you kill them?” he asked, staring at me intently. Ah, the million dollar question.

“Cut off their head or light them on fire. That will kill most things. When in doubt, cut off its head and light it on fire.” I was about to say more when a tall, thin man in a green jacket that reminded me of the pictures I’d seen of American military sauntered and casually set one hand on the edge of the table. He had a scraggily beard I was pretty sure had never been combed and long greasy black hair. He sort of reminded me of the homeless people that used to live around the Dioscuri city before the war.

“Jean Luc, why are you here? The master said you weren’t allowed within the city anymore,” the man in green growled, his teeth flashing in the low light of the restaurant as I stared at him, trying to figure out what it was about him that was off. That’s when I realized what it was. He was a vampire. He wasn’t very old, not old enough to have lost his human quirks and gestures like the really old ones had.

I sniffed, and the creature glanced at me before turning back to Luc who had a weird smile on his face. The vampire smelled of death, but not enough for me to think he was even a year old. Usually vampires didn’t come out in the open like this, so what was a young vampire doing here? Was he just too new to know any better? And why did he dislike Luc so much? He seemed nice enough…

“Ralph, I’d like you to meet my friend—” Luc was cut off when the vampire slammed his hand down on the table hard enough to crack the cheap wood. The coffee pot bounced, and my water glass fell over and spilled its contents into my lap. It was cold enough, it almost stifled the rage boiling up inside me.

“Leave,” Ralph the vampire said as he turned and pointed one slender pale finger toward the door. “And take your friend.”

“I’m still eating,” I replied, my voice low and annoyed as cold water soaked into my crotch, making the urge to kill him rise to totally on my sliding scale of death. “I’ve barely eaten a third of my food and there is no way I am leaving it behind. I’ve never eaten anything like it before—”

“I. Don’t. Care,” the vampire snapped, glancing at me and narrowing his eyes. They had a scarlet sheen around the edges. So he’d just fed. Swell. Vampires were always so much more difficult to deal with when they had a belly full of fresh blood.

I sighed. This was exactly the kind of thing I’d wanted to avoid. Somehow, I’d run away from my life as a monster hunter only to wind up trapped in a diner with a vampire within a couple hours of being on my own. It was like karma hated me. Then again, it was always like karma hated me.

“If you keep being a jerk, you’ll ruin my breakfast, and I’ll be forced to kill you,” I said softly and took another bite of my eggs. “As it stands now, it will already be very hard for you to stay alive.” I chewed slowly as I watched his muscles tense beneath his skin.

Ralph snarled like an angry dog, but before he could do more, I drove my fork through his hand and pinned it to the table. He screamed, his inhuman shriek tearing out through the diner and forcing everyone in the immediate vicinity to look over at us. This was a problem for two reasons. One, it would attract attention, which was understandably bad, and two, most people couldn’t actually see monsters as such. They would just see me accosting a normal looking guy because their eyes would glaze over the fact he had fangs and red eyes. Then one of them would get the bright idea to call the police. We needed to be gone before that could happen.

I stood, throwing one last glance at my food before moving past the vampire as he tore his hand free in a spray of blood and gore. He turned his eyes on me and opened his mouth to reveal a fanged maw. Already, the damage I’d done was beginning to heal, and if I gave him enough time, he’d heal the wound entirely.

“Look, Ralph. I don’t want to kill you in front of all these people, but I’ll do it.” I shrugged as he swung at me, and I stepped backward, easily dodging his swipe. He was about fifty years too young to hit me with an attack like that. “I’m not sure why, but it seems like you want me to do just that.”

Instead of responding with words, the vampire’s legs tensed like he was going to spring at me. I let out a sigh and called upon my magic. Energy swirled around me, filling my muscles with strength and speed. As Ralph’s feet left the cheap linoleum, my left fist lashed out, catching him square in the nose. He flopped backward on his butt, clutching his face as dark viscous blood dripped through his fingers.

I took a step toward him and sighed. “Attacking a Dioscuri is punishable by death. You do realize that, right?” I asked, and though I’d been expecting some kind of reaction, I got nothing but hostility from the vampire. Didn’t he know who the Dioscuri were? He should have. The Dioscuri were the monster’s proverbial boogieman. We were what scratched outside their windows in the dark of night, the monster hidden beneath their beds, the shadow creeping across their walls.

“So what!” the vampire snarled as it scrambled to its feet, fangs distending from his mouth in a way that always reminded me of a snake.

“You wanted a lesson on vampires, right? Looks like you’ve found a volunteer,” I whispered, glancing at Jean Luc who stood transfixed on the vampire, his hands gripping the table. “Usually, they don’t want to draw attention to themselves. This one doesn’t seem to be worried about that. He must be some kind of dumbass.” I sighed and muttered a spell under my breath to keep the people inside from freaking out, well, more than they already were given the scene.

A strange calm melted over the denizens of the diner, and they stared off into space in a sort of slack-jawed stupor. It would only last a few moments, so I had to make this quick. As far as they would be concerned, we would just be normal people having a normal argument, which still wasn’t super low key, but better than the whole vampire thing.

The creature lunged at me, and just as its fist was about to make contact with my face, I stepped in past the blow, dodging under it and kicking the inside of his knee. A horrible snap filled the air as the joint broke, and the creature crumpled to the ground. His eyes flashed, the red in his eyes dimming as he started to get back up.

“The first thing to note is their eyes. The redder they are, the more recently they’ve fed.” I reached over and grabbed the steak knife from the table. “I’m not sure how they do it exactly, but blood is used like a fuel source. The more they have, the more magic they can do, like heal and make themselves strong and fast.” I drove the knife into the creature’s gut as it rose, tearing his stomach open. Blood exploded from the wound like I’d popped a water balloon. The creature deflated, his eyes fading to black in an instant as he tripped and fell on his back, clutching his stomach.

“So when you see eyes like that.” I pointed at the creature’s glowing red eyes. “You always try to puncture the stomach, then all the blood they’ve swallowed spills out of them, and they can’t use it.” People were standing now as I gave my lesson, and I wondered what they were seeing. Still, I didn’t hear anyone screaming which was good. I always hated when people screamed during jobs. It made everything so much more difficult. “Are you following?”

“Yeah,” Luc said, glancing around the room for a second before putting his eyes back on me. “Maybe we should continue this outside?”

“It’s your lesson.” I shrugged and reached down, grabbing the vampire by the ankle. I dragged his struggling body toward the door.

“Please,” the creature squealed as is fingers ground into the tile, carving grooves into the soft material. “I didn’t know what you were.”

“Do you know how often I hear that? And yet, somehow, your kind always uses that as an excuse. Like I’m going to forgive you for trying to kill me because you didn’t know you shouldn’t attack me. News flash, fang face, you shouldn’t attack anyone.” I pushed the door open and flung him into the parking lot like a bag of laundry. He hit with a wet smack and lay there unmoving as I stepped out to confront him.

Already the spell I had cast in the diner was starting to thaw. I probably had thirty more seconds at best before people came out to help, called the cops, or worse. Good thing I had magic on my side or that might be a problem. I’d just have to make sure I got the hell out of dodge before the other Dioscuri could find me. On the bright side, I was leaving anyway.

The door behind me chimed as Luc stepped followed me outside, watching me with amused eyes. When he saw me looking at him, he smirked. “Don’t let me stop you.”

“I wasn’t going to let you stop me,” I said as the vampire got slowly to his feet and turned like he was going to run away. Not that it mattered, he wouldn’t get far. “So as I said before, the best way to kill them is decapitation.”

I reached over my shoulder and pulled my magical wakazashi, Set, free from its hidden sling down the center of my back. It was designed to aid me in my monster hunting by acting as both a focus for my spells and a backup battery. With the blade in hand, I could call on more power and wield it better than I could without it. All Dioscuri crafted their weapons as part of their graduation from the academy.

My wakazashi was actually part of a paired set. Its sister was a katana named Isis, but she was way too long to keep on my body without someone noticing, so it was safely stowed away. Yeah, I know, it was dumb to have Japanese swords with Egyptian names, but I hadn’t picked the weapons, Dirge had, and she’d been Japanese. Blame her. I did.

The vampire glanced over his shoulder, probably wondering why I hadn’t chased him down. When he saw my weapon, he tripped and fell to his knees, bloody tears dripping down his cheeks as he held his hands out to me. “Please… I didn’t know,” he repeated like it made any difference at all.

“You were going to kill me for wanting to finish my breakfast. Since I was pretty hungry, that makes you pretty much the worst thing on the planet.” I pointed the magical blade at the creature. “Goodbye.”

An arc of crimson lightning leapt from the tip of the sword and smacked into the creature. It threw him several feet into the air before he hit the ground with a hard thud. Acrid smoke rose from his body as I sprinted over to him and with the same deft movement I’d done a million times before, took his head from his shoulders. I was always a little surprised at how little force it took.

The body began to dissolve into smoke as the symbols etched into the length of my sword glowed with red light. I sighed, turning away from the body because even though he was a vampire, I wasn’t especially fond of killing. The moment his blood had evaporated from my sword, I stuck the wakazashi back into its hidden spine sheath and approached Luc, not super worried about the monster’s remains because anything killed with a Dioscuri weapon would dissolve into the ether within moments.

“That was amazing,” Luc said, wide-eyed. “How did you call lightning, and how did you make the body dissolve? I’ve never seen a monster dissolve before.”

“Being a Dioscuri has a few perks,” I said, grabbing his hand and leading him back toward his car, an old black van that was more rust than metal. “Like being able to cast spells and use magic weapons for instance.”

He nodded dumbly at me, not getting into the vehicle as people started to exit the door and stare at us. “I suppose so…”

“Let’s get out of here before police show up,” I added, already hearing the shrill cry of sirens in the background, though I could have been imagining it for all I knew.

3

“So why exactly was that vampire out in the open like that?” I asked, gesturing back at the diner as it receded into the distance. “Usually they stick to the shadows and dark alleys if they come out during the day at all, but that guy was acting like he owned the place, and he was just a newbie. I bet he hadn’t even joined a caste yet.”

Jean Luc stopped in front of a big red sign with the word “stop” written on it before turning left down a street and gunning his engine. Our van made a half-hearted groan and things inside it sounded like they were grinding together before we lurched forward, and I wondered if it was about to die.

“Do we need to take your van out back and shoot her?” I asked as he shifted a knob with his right hand, the grinding noise stopped, and we drove normally, weaving into traffic as the strobing red and blue lights of law enforcement appeared in front of us. Thankfully, they were going in the opposite direction, but it wouldn’t be long before someone identified our black van.

Then again, with no body to find, I sort of doubted they’d actually look for us anytime soon. More than likely, the cops would just write down a few notes and move along. That’s what they normally did on the occasions I’d stuck around to watch them work. It was one of the reasons why Dioscuri weapons were designed to make corpses dissolve.

The other reason was because it made it easier to kill things if there was no carcass to stare at afterward. I wasn’t quite sure why that was true, but all of our research had shown it to be. Still, I didn’t exactly enjoy killing things even if they evaporated when killed with one of our weapons. It was more of an occupational hazard I’d come to terms with, albeit uncomfortably. And besides, I wasn’t always lucky enough to strike the deathblow with one of my swords. When that didn’t happen, the corpses remained behind, a stunningly horrible reminder of the horrors of our war on the monsters. Let’s just say, killing a werewolf who reverted back into a ten-year-old girl upon death was not one of my fondest memories.

“I told you already,” Luc said, ignoring my comment about shooting his precious van. “The vampires run this town. That’s why I need to kill them.” He smacked his palms hard against the steering wheel, and the suddenness of it made me jump, though I didn’t know why. It wasn’t like I was super worried about him attacking me, after all. I could call upon my magic and throw him from the vehicle with ease if need be. Still, something about his sudden rage was a little unsettling, and I was glad it didn’t seem to be directed at me.

“That’s impossible. While the Dioscuri don’t monitor this area very closely, they observe it enough to keep vampires from taking over the town.” Then again, maybe they didn’t. One of the reasons I’d picked Orange County was because my people barely paid attention to it. Maybe the reports showing it lacking activity were just pencil whipped? A bad feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. Maybe lots of places were infested, and the reports were doctored to make it look like it was better than it was?

The Dioscuri were already stretched thin… and report writing wasn’t exactly high priority since almost every able-bodied warrior was in the field ninety-plus percent of the time.

“Believe what you want, Lillim. I haven’t seen a Dioscuri set foot in the city since Dirge last came here.” Luc glanced at me before turning his eyes back to the road.

“But that would have been years ago,” I said before I could help it.

“Yeah, that’s my point. I’ve even tried to petition for assistance the way she showed me, but my hails have gone unanswered.” He glanced at me. “Then you show up out of the blue and I think, ‘hey, there’s a Dioscuri who can help us,’ and you won’t even do it.”

“I am showing you things right now, aren’t I? Or do you want me to stop?” I asked even though his words made me feel like the worst person in the world. He had a point after all. I hadn’t wanted to help him. I’d been more concerned with staying hidden from my people even though I knew they needed me right now. With me gone, others would have to take up the slack left in my absence… and sadly, there weren’t very many of them. More than likely, it’d mean the monsters would kill more people. I tried not to think about it, tried to hold onto my justification for leaving, but as I did, I suddenly felt responsible for everything happening. The weight of this town’s infestation fell upon my shoulders like a leaden weight. My job was to keep this type of thing from happening. By running away, I was going to cause this to get worse.

“No, I don’t want you to stop.” He sighed. “I just want you, and by you, I mean the Dioscuri, to do more than you are.” He gestured back behind us in the direction of the diner even though it was far out of sight. “That shouldn’t be happening.”

“And that somehow makes this my problem?” I crossed my arms over my chest and looked out the window. “You don’t understand what it’s like. You don’t know what I’ve seen. You don’t know what I’ve done on a daily basis. You’re looking at a very tiny sliver of the world!”

“Is this where you imply my friends and family getting killed off by monsters doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things?” he asked in a voice so low and cold, it almost made me shiver. I’d just pissed him off because that was exactly what I was implying. In fact, it was the main reason I’d run away. Yes, I was tired of going out on missions to fight things so scary they gave me nightmares, but I could have gotten past that. But when every single day someone didn’t come home, and we got smaller and smaller in number… no, I couldn’t stay and watch that happen. I just couldn’t. Call me a coward, it’d fit.

“I was going to say just that, yes.” I hoped he could hear the apology in my words. “I’m sorry for that, Luc. I know you said something about your friend’s parents…”

Luc glanced at me even though he should have been watching the road. Every time he did it, my heart hammered just a little faster than it should have. “It’s fine. Just teach me how to get rid of these vamps, and I’ll forgive you for implying it’s not important for me to lose friends and family to the monsters.” He turned back to the road and slammed hard on the brakes, sending me hurtling into my seatbelt. The force of it hurt my chest as I smacked back into the dirty brown seat.

The black car ahead of us was stopped, though I couldn’t understand why. Another black car pulled up behind us, boxing us in. A bad feeling came over me as I looked around, suddenly claustrophobic. There were tall houses on all sides of us, and judging by the time of day and lack of vehicles in the driveways, I was guessing the people who lived there wouldn’t be home. They’d be out doing whatever things they did. No one would see us if something happened.

“What’s going on?” I asked as the doors to the cars opened and men clad in very nice suits stepped out of the vehicles. They all looked eerily similar though that could have been due to the shaved heads and dark aviator sunglasses.

“We’re about to get paid a visit by our ‘protection,’” Luc said, unbuckling his seatbelt and reaching casually into the spot between the door and his seat and clutching something. “You may want to cover your ears. This may get loud.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked just as one of the suits rapped against the glass, and Jean Luc rolled the window down a couple inches. The guy peered inside, barely glancing at me. It was kind of nice. Normally, people always focused on me, especially back home. With Jean Luc here, I wasn’t noteworthy. Awesome.

“What can I do for you, Dimitri?” Luc said, his voice calm and surprisingly even.

“News is you killed Ralph. You know what the rules are Luc. You aren’t allowed to kill vampires within the city,” Dimitri said, laughter on the edge of his lilting voice.

“But he has a writ. That makes his kills valid anywhere,” I piped up before I could stop myself.

The man’s gaze swiveled to me. He lowered his glasses to peer closer at me, and as he stared at me, I realized the truth. Dimitri was a vampire too. “Writs are not valid here.” He turned back to Luc, about to say something else when I started laughing.

“That’s a joke right?” I said only no one else was even smiling.

“I think we might need to teach you just who is in charge here, girly,” Dimitri said as my door opened, and I felt hands on my shoulders.

I was jerked roughly out of the seat, which took some doing since I’d been seat-belted inside. Pain ripped across my body as I hit the pavement in a heap. Another of the suits stood over me, hands clenched into fists as he placed one leather loafer covered foot onto my chest and pressed. Agony exploded through my ribs.

“You really shouldn’t do that to her,” Luc said from within the car.

“Or what? What will you do, Luc? Use the Vulcan death grip on me?”

Rage filled me as the suit pinning me to the ground started laughing like his friend had made some kind of really funny joke. I wasn’t sure what was so funny. I wouldn’t want any kind of death grip used on me. Still, as the guy stepped off me, I was sort of happy they’d turned most of their attention back to the hunter. Evidently, they didn’t expect me to do much, which was fine by me. You know, since I was planning on killing them.

“Anyway, I think we can make a deal. Ralph wasn’t especially well liked or anything, so I’m willing to let you off easy. Let’s say, $20,000?” Dimitri said, and I heard Luc’s door start to open.

“Dollars?” Luc gasped, the shock in his voice clear.

“No bicycles. Of course dollars.” Dimitri shrugged. “That’s the weekly buy in for my poker games.”

“I don’t have that kind of money,” Luc said as I started to get to my feet. No one seemed to notice me.

Dimitri shoved Luc against the wall of the van. “That’s right. I forget how poor you humans are. Good for only one thing.” Dimitri leaned in and licked Luc’s neck. “Blood money it is.”

A shudder ran through me at the prospect of fighting them all by myself. Six vampires seemed like a lot, even if they didn’t seem very old. For there to be this many newbies around, there had to be a nest nearby, but how could that be? The only masters still alive were old enough to know they should play by the rules. But what if Luc was right? What if there was a breakdown between the information I got back home and what was really happening? If that was true… No, I didn’t want to think about that. If I did, I was going to feel responsible, and I wasn’t. I just wasn’t.

“Who is your master?” I asked, brushing myself off and turning toward the vamp who had pinned me, but even through his sunglasses I could tell he wasn’t quite sure what I was asking him.

“What are you talking about?” Dimitri asked, stopping short of Luc and looking over at me with confusion evident on his features.

“Who is the vampire who created you?” I smiled as best I could as I held up one hand. “You’re clearly just a baby, so I’m guessing you didn’t make all these guys yourself.” I gestured to his compadres. “Unless you have a thing for guys who look just like you.” I smirked. “That’s cool if you do, I don’t judge.”

“What’s she babbling about?” the vampire closest to me asked as he leaned down and smelled me, actually smelled me. Even though lots of supernatural creatures did that, it was always a little unnerving. “She doesn’t smell like food either.”

Dimitri took a step away from Luc and rounded the car in an instant. He was pretty fast for a young vampire, much faster than Ralph had been, and by the look of it, I was guessing he was two, maybe three years old… about how long it’d been since the Dioscuri civil war.

The vampire grabbed me by the collar, his hand twisting my sweatshirt in his fist as he pulled off his sunglasses and gazed into my eyes. As a rule, you weren’t supposed to meet the eyes of a vampire, especially an older one because it could lead to some crazy mind games. Thankfully, this guy was just a baby by vampire standards.

The force of his stare slammed into me, and I smiled back at him as sweetly as I could. “Oh, that sort of tingles. You’re pretty strong…” I shook my head. “For a baby. The one’s we use during our training to withstand a vampire’s gaze are at least ten times your age.”

“What are you?” he asked, letting me go and taking a step backward, horror etched across his features. “When I looked in your eyes… it felt wrong…” I tried not to take his words personally. I’d heard it from vampires before, and like always, it shook me. I wasn’t sure what the vampires saw when they met my gaze, but let’s be real here, a vampire had just looked into my eyes and gotten scared. How could I not shiver at that?

“I am Lillim Callina, Hyas Tyee of the Dioscuri.” I reached up, straightening my sweatshirt. “Hyas Tyee is our highest rank, in case you wondered.”

“Dioscuri…” the one next to me said, rolling the word over in his mouth. He pulled off his glasses, revealing his blood-colored eyes and looked at me like I was some sort of mythological creature. “We’ve heard of you… but our creator said you were all wiped out a few years ago.”

“Well, your creator lied to you.” I turned back toward Luc, ignoring the two vampires. “Get back in the car, Luc. Let’s get out of here. The Owls have a chateau a few cities from here. Let’s pay them a visit. If there’s a bunch of mooks like this,” I jerked my thumb at Dimitri and his counterparts, “doing things like this in broad daylight where they could get discovered by the humans, they will definitely put a stop to it.”

Luc gave me a strange smile before opening his door, presumably to get back inside, when Dimitri put his fist through the hood and tore something important looking free in a shriek of tortured steel. Green fluid spurted into the air as he dropped the hunk of twisted metal to the ground with a thud.

“No one’s going anywhere. We have a right to be here. We have an agreement with the Owls. We keep the wolves, the spooks, and the others out of here, and they let us do what we want.” He grinned at me, baring his fangs. “If you expect them to help you, you’re wrong.”

I believed him because vampires couldn’t flat out lie. They could twist the truth like hell, and for all I knew, what he said wasn’t true, but this guy believed it was. Still, what he’d said made no sense. Why would the Owls, one of the most powerful vampire castes, align themselves with these scrubs?

“Is that so?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at him. “I find it incredibly hard to believe the Owls would make a deal with you or your creator. Most of them would find you less valuable than the gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe.” I looked at him, trying to suck understanding from his eyes and failing. Mostly because there was nothing there. Clearly, intelligence was a mostly foreign concept. “Unless your creator is a member of the Owls?”

“That’s none of your damned business, Dioscuri. Now back the hell off,” Dimitri snapped before turning his attention back to Luc and ignoring me like I didn’t even matter. It was irksome to say the least. I was a Hyas Tyee of the Dioscuri dammit. Did he know how hard it was to climb to that rank? And he was ignoring me? The jerk would pay for that.

“Are you seriously ignoring me?” I asked, and the next thing I knew, a hand was on my shoulder, squeezing hard enough for it to hurt, but not hard enough to break anything.

“I say we find out what happens when we drink a Dioscuri. Remember when we caught that werewolf? That was intense…” the vampire gripping my shoulder trailed off, savoring the memory.

“You die when you drink from a Dioscuri,” I replied, spinning as fast as my magic-fueled muscles would let me. I grabbed the vampire by the back of his shaved head and slammed him face first into the van hard enough to dent the metal. “I mean it isn’t instant or anything. See you drink my blood. I get pissed off and tear your undead heart from your chest and set it on fire.” I shrugged as I let the vampire’s stunned body slump to the floor. “That kind of thing. It’s more cause and effect, I’ll admit.”

The rest of them were upon me in a heartbeat, but I’d sort of expected it after smashing one into the vehicle. I pulled Set from its sheath in one smooth motion and drove it straight through the heart of the closest vampire. He collapsed onto his knees gripping the weapon as it flared with red light. The smell of electrified flesh filled the air.

The creature fell backward in a smoking heap as one of his friends came at me. I ducked the vampire’s swing and drove my elbow into his stomach with as much force as my muscles could generate. It was enough to fling the monster backward and send him skidding across the pavement.

Dimitri leapt, landing on the hood of the van and denting the front, which probably didn’t matter since the vehicle was probably useless. Then he came at me. I was instantly thankful his three friends were still back by their car.

He crashed into me, tackling me to the ground, and my skull smacked against the pavement with a wet thud. His jaws came snapping at my neck, and I instinctively threw my arm up to block. His teeth clamped down on my wrist, and the moment his fangs pierced my flesh, a strange sense of euphoria clouded the edge of my consciousness. He wasn’t old enough for me to totally succumb to his bite, but it was enough to take the edge off my concentration.

Then his head detached from his body, teeth still wrapped around my arm. Luc stood over me, holding my wakazashi. Blue light flared up his hands and arms as he grabbed the still bleeding headless vampire and flung it at the three oncoming creatures. The body hit them like a sack of wet cement, and they all went down in a heap.

How had he done that? And, more importantly, why was his skin glowing like a goddamned sapphire torch? I was about to ask him when he jerked me to my feet and tore the vampire’s head from my arm, ripping my flesh in the process and spattering himself with my blood.

His eyes went golden for a second, and it was then I realized they were ringed with red and silver. How could that be? What was he?

“Get down,” he said, shoving by me and taking the head off the vampire behind me with one swing of my wakazashi. As it hit the ground, Luc spun and actually leapt ten or so feet, landing next to the downed vampires as they flung their headless companion to the side.

Not that it mattered because he pulled a bottle from his pocket and flung its contents on the creatures. The smell of gasoline hit my nose as he flicked open a lighter and tossed it on the vampires. Flame swarmed over them as they fell back to the ground, thrashing and clawing at the fire like they could somehow put it out.

“What are you?” I asked as he walked toward me, the light around his body making him seem like some kind of blue angel.

Instead of replying, he held out my wakazashi to me. “My name is Jean Luc. I thought we were past this part?”

4

“Yeah, so that’s when we decided to steal Dimitri’s car because, well, he doesn’t need it anymore,” Luc said into his silver cellphone as he weaved through traffic. There was noise on the line I couldn’t understand. “Well, I’ve always wanted a Mercedes. Anyway, we’re on our way over. The Dioscuri needs some medical attention.” He shrugged as though the gesture would be visible through the phone. I didn’t think it would be, but then again, what did I know? He pulled the phone from his ear a moment later and tossed it in the cup holder as the screen faded to black.

“Who was that?” I asked, not because I cared exactly, but I’d been sitting in the car bleeding as he drove yammering for the last ten minutes. He hadn’t even asked if I’d minded if he made a phone call. I wasn’t sure if he was supposed to do that, but it seemed like he should have.

Part of me was still pissed off about the fight, but only part of me. I couldn’t believe one of them had bitten me. Granted, it was on my wrist where I’d stupidly blocked his lunge, but it was the principle of the thing. It wasn’t very deep and didn’t even really hurt, but thanks to the anti-coagulant in their blood, it hadn’t actually stopped bleeding yet. It would eventually so I wasn’t that worried. My body was more than strong enough to fight off the effects of their venom.

No, I was angrier about Jean Luc. Apparently, he was some kind of vampire fighting superhero. So why the hell had he been playing dumb and asking me for help? He clearly hadn’t needed it. And furthermore, if he was so strong, why hadn’t the vamps shown him more respect? Something was definitely off with the whole situation. I just didn’t know what. That should have made me curious to find out more, but instead, it just made me want to get as far away from here as possible. Hey, a girl has to have priorities, right? Survival was high on my list.

“Remember my friend with the dead parents? That was her,” he said, face going from cheery to solemn in the space of a moment. “She worries when I’m out working. She’s a nurse though. She’ll have you fixed up in a jiffy.”

“Oh,” I swallowed, suddenly embarrassed though I didn’t know why. “Are you two, like, together?”

He laughed then, glancing at me as the sound bubbled out of him. “Oh, heavens no. She’s like twice my age. She used to watch me when my mom went to nursing school.”

“Ah,” I said because I had no idea what nursing school was. He had also called the lady a nurse and said she could help with my arm. Maybe that meant she was some type of healer?

“Sorry to keep you in the dark about my abilities by the way,” he said as he drove around a girl in a silver car who was too busy putting on lipstick to drive in only one lane. “I’m normally not quite that strong. Most vamps don’t have the power to give me that kind of pick me up unless they’re really old. But just one drop of yours…” He shook his head. “You must be really strong, Lillim.”

“Not so much,” I said a moment later as I stared out at the passing cars. So he was some sort of power absorber, and he did it via blood? I knew some of the Owls could do that, but I didn’t get the impression Luc was a vampire. No, he was most definitely human. “I’ve never seen someone absorb power from blood like that.” I shivered as the memory of his glowing body flitted into my mind. He had dropped those vampires way easier than I could have.

“When we get back to my apartment, I’ll explain everything. I promise,” Luc said, and as I turned to look at him, I realized he was holding the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles were white with strain.

“Okay,” I said because I wasn’t sure what else to say. “So why do you need me at all?”

“You’ve never come up against a threat so big you needed a partner?” he asked, and I got the impression he was really worried about something in particular. Then again, he had said the city was infested… maybe there really were just that many of them?

“Sometimes,” I replied. “But not for normal run-of-the-mill vampires, at least not for a long time. Werewolves, sure, but vampires?” I shook my head. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Let’s just put this on the table right now. I’m not a fan of surprises.”

“They control the police,” Luc said. “It’s simple. All the hunters who come here to help get thrown in jail.”

“Even still…” I shrugged, but I could see how that would be a problem for someone who, you know, actually lived within the city. If the vampires controlled the police, they could route hunters fairly easily. I shifted uncomfortably. Killing that first vampire had been riskier than I’d known. “What are you hiding? It’s something more, isn’t it?”

Luc didn’t say anything, but the silence between us grew tense. I was determined to wait him out, but even still, I was pretty sure he wasn’t going to tell me, which meant it was bad. If it was that bad, I wanted no part of it. No, I was going to disappear given the first opportunity, but maybe I’d throw a hail up first and get some Dioscuri boots on the ground. They could clean this place up in a day, you know, provided they could find time to actually do it. Which they probably couldn’t…

“You should just tell me. Not everything that goes bump in the night is easy to kill, and there’re a lot more of them than there are of us.” I let out a slow breath. “Not all of us are looking forward to dying at the hands of a horde of undead monsters.” I didn’t add the next part of my sentence even though I should have. “Like Dirge had done…”

“I’m not asking you to die for my cause, Lillim,” Luc replied, voice annoyed. “I’m just asking you to do your damned job and help me.”

I glared at him as heat filled my cheeks. He was right after all. It was my job to stop monsters from taking over, and I had tried to abandon it. The thought made me sick to my stomach. I had tried to shirk my duty and foist it on a guy like Luc. It was stupid because at the end of the day, he was just a normal guy with a neat trick up his sleeve. Thinking he could do this without me getting my hands dirty was a laugh.

“I might consider helping you if you told me what the problem really was. Going against an unknown threat is suicide!” I snapped. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll be gone so fast, you’ll see a dust cloud sitting where I am now.”

“So you would just let me die down here? By myself?” he asked, suddenly angry. He smacked the steering wheel again and nearly swerved into a blue jeep on our right. “You’re supposed to be a hero, not some scared little girl.”

I tried my best to ignore the barb, which was really hard, let me tell you, and instead said, “It’s not supposed to be this bad down here,” like it meant anything at all because it clearly was that bad down here.

“I’m glad you feel that way, Lillim Callina of the Dioscuri.” He shook his head. “Where is Dirge Meilan when you need her? She would have just gone and killed all those vampires before teleporting back to her cloud city.” He gestured at me with one hand. “And here I have you, who won’t do anything at all.”

“Don’t compare me to Dirge,” I said, the heat in my voice surprising even me.

“And why shouldn’t I?” he yelled. “She was my friend. She trained me under the table. Helped me hunt down that werewolf who tore up the high school a few years ago…”

“Dirge is dead,” I replied, and my voice was shakier than I’d expected. I thought I’d come to terms with her death, but evidently, I’d been wrong. So very wrong. Tears clouded my vision as Luc turned toward me, and I looked away from him. “She can’t help you. She’s not back from the grave. Sorry I’m not good enough.” The words tumbled out of me before I could stop them. “I’m sorry.”

“Um, what’s going on?” he asked, confusion filling his voice. The car slowed, and I realized he’d pulled off the road.

“Nothing,” I said, pulling off my seatbelt and flinging the door open. I was on the street a moment later, walking away from him and his stupid stolen Mercedes. “I shouldn’t have tried to help.”

“Something is clearly wrong,” Luc said, feet crunching on gravel as he jogged toward me.

I whirled around as he was about to touch me and grabbed his wrist. I squeezed, and he winced. “You keep talking about Dirge being so awesome, but you didn’t mean a damned thing to her,” I snarled, releasing him. He tugged his hand back and rubbed it. “Don’t you get that?”

“We were friends,” he said, looking from his wrist to me and back again. “I don’t understand what just happened.”

“You know how I know you meant nothing to her?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Because I don’t remember you. Not even a little bit.”

“Um, so what? We’ve never met before,” Luc replied, bewilderment filling his face.

“After Dirge died, well, she got reincarnated.” I poked my chest with my thumb. “Into me. Into little Miss Lillim who can’t do anything right and is always told about how awesome Dirge was. So thank you for letting me know once again that I’m not good enough. It’s awesome. I’d almost forgotten for a moment.”

“Even assuming I believe that for a second, how can that even be possible?” he asked, staring at me, pouring over each and every one of my features like people always did when they found out. I didn’t look exactly like Dirge had, but if you’d stood us together, we’d look very closely related. “Dirge only died a few years ago.”

“After I was born, my growth was magically accelerated until I was a teenager.” I waved my hand through the air. “It’s overly complicated to be honest, but suffice to say, I’ve got a whole mess of her memories too. That’s how I know you didn’t matter one bit. I’d remember you.” I wasn’t sure why I was saying what I was. Was it to hurt him? No… no, that wasn’t it, not really. I was just so sick and tired of being compared to Dirge the hero. Couldn’t he understand that?

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “But you should still just go kill the vampires.”

“I told you I’d help you if you just told me what the problem really was!” I snapped. “Even though I’m running away, and it’s against the rules.”

“Sorry…” He moved forward, pulling me into a hug I didn’t understand at all. “The real problem is the Owls have claimed this city like Dimitri said earlier. Every single time we off one of their overseers, well, they kill a hundred people. We need someone like you to step in and tell them that if they don’t stop, the whole might of the Dioscuri will rain down on them like an olden days plague.” He released me and stood back, staring at me with his big brown puppy eyes.

I sighed because he was right. He was one hundred percent right. If the Owls were doing that, the Dioscuri did need to step in… only I wasn’t technically with them anymore. Still, they probably didn’t know that.

“Look,” he added, slowly leading me back to the car by one hand. “If you help, I won’t mention Dirge again. Hell, I’ll tell everyone how much more awesome you are than her.” He winked at me.

“No one cares what you think,” I replied, smiling in spite of myself. It sort of annoyed me because I was going to help him even though it was a bad idea. I sighed. I wasn’t the type of person that could leave an entire city under the yoke of some vampires. I guess in that one tiny aspect, my momma raised me right.

“I get that a lot,” Luc said, opening the door for me. “Now let’s go kill some vampires.”

I stared at him for a moment. Was I really going to help him? It wouldn’t matter much in the end. This was just one man and one city, not much in the grand scope of things, but for him, it would be something, and besides, he’d known Dirge. Maybe… maybe if I helped him, he’d stop comparing me to her? Maybe, maybe he’d think I was better than her. I tried to shove that thought away the moment it entered my brain, but it lingered anyway. Was I really going to help him just to prove I was better than Dirge? And while I hoped not, deep down, I knew it was true.

“Fine,” I grumbled, getting into the seat. “But you need to buy me lunch first. Preferably somewhere the meal doesn’t get interrupted just as I’ve gotten my food.”

“Deal,” he said, slamming my door shut and moving around to the other side of the car. “Then you can share with me why your wrist isn’t bleeding anymore.”

I glanced down at it. He was right. Well, that was neat…

5

“So how was your burger?” Luc asked, tossing a sidelong glance at me as I swallowed the last bite of my cheeseburger and crumpled the wrapper into a ball.

“I’m lovin’ it,” I said, tossing the wrapper at him and hitting him on the side of the head.

“I told you to stop doing that three burgers ago,” he growled, turning his eyes back toward the road. “Hang on!” he screamed, slamming on the brakes and jerking the wheel to the side. The car went into a skid as its tires squealed along the pavement. I was thrown against the seatbelt so hard, my breath whooshed out of me as a shadow filled the sky above us.

The blue Civic slammed into our hood like a metal comet. The back end of our Mercedes lifted from the street in a shriek of twisted metal as the wheels left the pavement before smacking back down. Our car fishtailed as the vampires inside the upside down vehicle punched out the windows and began crawling out of the vehicle, their fingers gouging into the metal like it was tinfoil.

Luc’s hands were a blur of motion as he slammed his foot down on the gas pedal. Our tires skidded, fighting the weight of the vehicle lying across the completely smashed front of our car, and I marveled how it still worked even as the smell of gasoline filled my nostrils. My chest hurt from where the seatbelt had stopped me with a jerk, but it probably didn’t hurt as much as it would have if we’d had, say, a head on collision.

I concentrated on letting my power fuel my strength as the monsters came closer. Luc was still trying to reverse away, but the only thing that seemed to produce was the acrid smell of burning rubber. If the vampires caught us in close confines, it’d be hard for me to fight them all off, there wasn’t enough room to dodge and maneuver. Besides, for all I knew, one of the cars was about to explode.

“We need to get out of here!” I screamed, tearing my seatbelt free and throwing my shoulder against the door. It budged, but not enough. Pain shot through my shoulder as the closest vampire reared back and put his fist through our windshield. The glass didn’t shatter so much as it spider webbed outward, radiating from the hold, but still held in place somehow.

Luc let off the gas, throwing his own seatbelt off as the creature swiped across the entirety of the windshield, sweeping away most of the safety glass. His partner reached in, grabbing Luc by his collar and hauling him out while the first one threw a look at me.

He grinned, his pale face distorted by his extended fangs. As he reached for me, I grabbed his arm and tugged him forward. My spell-enhanced strength was enough to pull him bodily into the car. He shrieked as I drove my elbow into his chest hard enough to snap his ribs. The sound was so loud it rang in my ears even after it faded. He clutched at his chest as I got my feet under me on the seat and launched myself out of the windshield.

The vampire holding Luc tossed him to a couple other vampires. They were sitting by one of those vans used to move prisoners. Only this one was filled with heavy bars instead of screen. I was guessing it was made to house incredibly strong people, which I supposed made sense if the vampires were using it. Maybe they used it on each other? The vampire standing on the flattened remains of our hood turned just as my front kick caught him full on, launching him off the car and onto the pavement below. His back collided with enough force to make the others turn toward me and take notice.

I jerked my wakazashi free from its sheath and glared at the creatures before a screech of steel made me go cold and afraid in the core of my being. The Civic that had landed on our hood lifted into the air.

An enormous vampire with muscles that would make the Hulk jealous hefted the vehicle like it was as light as a kitten. His red eyes glinted as he reared back and hurled it straight at me. I flung myself to the side as the vehicle hit the Mercedes with a sound that made me think horrible car accident. Which, I guess it sort of was.

My shoulder smashed into the concrete, but even as agony electrified my senses, I rolled to my feet. I whirled, pointing my sword at the vampire and muttering under my breath. Red lightning flashed through the air, striking the musclebound behemoth in the center of his black Gold’s Gym tank top and tossing him backward into the street.

I spun, looking for Jean Luc as two vampires struggled to wrestle him into the back of the van. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. I ran toward them, gathering my power up inside me. Normally when I called upon my power, it was in controlled burst to make it last longer, but this time I threw the spigot wide open for extra oomph because I didn’t want him getting back up afterward.

As I reached the closer of the two vampires, I smacked him in the side with my free hand. He tossed a confused look at me and reached toward me. I released everything I had in one titanic burst of energy, crying the name of the spell I used most often in training. “White sparrow!”

A white cylinder of light exploded from the sky, slamming down around the creature. Flames roiled inside the death tube, charring the vampire into ash in the space of a heartbeat, but I was already moving past the spell I’d unleashed.

The remaining vampire dropped Luc and came at me, hands twisted into horrific claws. He hit me with all his weight, knocking me from my feet, but as we fell, I used our momentum to fling him behind myself. It was a good thing too because he hit the muscled vampire with a heavy thwack.

I scrambled to my feet, but I barely made it two steps before 'Muscles' tossed his friend at me, which I guess wasn’t that surprising since he’d thrown a car at me. I took a step forward, planting my feet as I swung my wakazashi in an upward arc with all the strength I could muster. The razor sharp edge of Set caught the flying vampire dead center and sliced through his thrashing body with ease. Blood splattered across my face and clothing as the creature hit the ground behind me in two distinct pieces.

“Don’t see that every day, do you?” I called as the blood on my face turned to crimson smoke.

The vampire shrugged at me. “You obviously have not seen my founder in a fight.” He cracked his neck. “Every single time he swings his famous blades, someone dies.” I barely had time to contemplate what he’d said when the vampire charged at me, bringing his head down in a way that reminded me of a bull. I tried to sidestep, but he was surprisingly fast for a big man. His arm broadsided me. My breath whooshed from my body as I hit the ground hard and little stars flashed across my eyes.

Thankfully, he kept going, moving past me in a rush like a locomotive, and I was glad for the moment to recover. I got slowly to my feet, wishing I hadn’t hidden my katana because it’d been too large to keep on my person. If I had the weapon, I’d have access to even more power. My wakazashi was strong, but what’s that saying, two is better than one?

The big vampire skidded to a halt, his boots throwing up a spray of gravel as I held my sword in front of me with both hands. The symbols along its edge flared, shrouding me in crimson light as he spun and took an angry step toward me, cracking his knuckles in one big hand.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had the opportunity to suck the blood from a Dioscuri,” he said, gesturing at my weapon. The knowing grin that split across his face made my blood run cold. Had this vampire killed Dioscuri before? From his strength and speed, it sort of didn’t surprise me, but still, he seemed too young… unless… no, it couldn’t be.

My eyes widened in shock as I noticed the tattoo of a bear on his right forearm. He saw me looking at it and nodded like it explained everything. Because it did. That meant… that meant when he talked about his founder, he was talking about Bob, the founder of the Bear caste. That wasn’t the millennia old vampire’s actual name, but that’s what my teacher had called him because no one knew his real name. He was that old. Besides, Bob was his name in the song we’d learned about him.

“Bob the Bear

With strength like a beast

The swords Frost and Melt glinting in his fists,

Gifts from the dragons he defeated in contest.

When he steps onto the field all must run,

For this vampire’s strength can blot out the sun.”

“You’re a Bear?” I asked, trying to stop the fear from making my voice squeak. I almost succeeded.

“Yeah,” he said, grinning and revealing a mouth of shark-like teeth. “Didn’t the muscles tip you off? You think this is natural?”

“To be honest, you’re a little small,” I replied, gripping my wakazashi harder as I tried to keep the fear inside me from rising up. Even the weakest vampires in the Bear caste were strong enough to punch a hole in me. If I’d realized what he was earlier, I’d have pressed my advantage and killed him before he could ready himself for a fight. By aligning himself with Bob the Bear, this vampire had gained a small fraction of the founder’s strength. It was why vampires joined castes after all. “And you guys usually don’t leave Europe, what gives?”

“The Owls offered some of us lucrative contracts as enforcers.” He shrugged his shoulder as if to say, “Everyone has to get paid.” Which, I supposed, was a fair point. “Besides, the vampires run this city. Why would I want to leave? More of us show up by the day, Dioscuri. In another couple years, we’ll own the humans.”

“And it doesn’t scare you that the Dioscuri are here?” I asked, stalling for time as I tried to gather more power. Unfortunately, I’d used so much during the fight already what with the fire and super strength, I didn’t have much left. If I over exerted myself, I’d run the risk of fainting or worse. It probably goes without saying, but things tend to get really bad when you fall unconscious fighting a vampire.

“I’ll tell you what I told the last guy before I broke him over my knee and sucked out his juices.” The vampire’s grin widened obscenely. “For a vampire, Dioscuri blood is like the breakfast of champions.”

“The last guy?” I asked, worry filling me as I tried to think back to who this guy could have killed. Then it hit me. We’d lost a Dioscuri named Calvin in Bakersfield a few weeks ago. Had it been to this guy?

“Yeah. Asian fellow, about this high?” he said, putting his hand at about the five foot six mark.

That was Calvin alright. This bastard had killed Calvin. Well, I’d make him pay for that! Without thinking, I charged, calling on everything in me as I crossed the distance between us. My sword flashed through the air, and the vampire blocked it with his wrist. The force of it reverberated down my arm. It felt like I’d just struck solid iron. His flesh had been split open and where there should have been bone, there was a metal rod. Had he replaced his bones with steel somehow? The thought made my blood run cold. The amount of pain involved for something like that would be insane. If this guy had done that, he would probably just keep coming at me until one of us was dead.

Before I got the chance to ask him about his steel bones, Muscles grabbed me by the throat. He exhaled even though he didn’t need to breathe, and the smell of decay nearly made me gag as he hauled me up into the air and flung me into the side of the Mercedes. I hit the car so hard I was pretty sure everything inside me broke. That was the problem with the vampires of the Bear caste. Even the babies were ridiculously strong. This guy seemed to be no exception.

My body slumped to the ground as the vampire laughed and took a step forward. My world went hazy and dark around the edges as I forced myself to stand. The taste of blood filled my mouth as I tried to grip my wakazashi, but I found I could barely make a fist. That seemed bad. Very bad. So what did I do? I lied.

“Come on,” I snapped, raising my empty hand and curling my fingers toward my body. “I’ve had pixies hit me harder than that.”

The vampire smirked at me and took a step forward. His boots crunched on the gravel as he moved toward me. It’d take him a moment to get here, which bought me time. To do what? I wasn’t sure. Then, from the corner of my vision, I saw a halo of blue light.

The vampire must have seen it too because he turned his head in time to catch Luc’s glowing fist with his face. The creature cartwheeled backward across the pavement like he’d been hit by a wrecking ball. Luc stood there, covered in vampire blood and shining like a goddamned star.

As the vampire got to his feet, Luc pulled what looked like a piece of paper from his pocket and drew a symbol on it with one bloody finger. The sheet began to glow violently, throwing off color in every shade of the rainbow. He balled his fist around the sheet as the vampire charged him, fangs bared.

Luc ducked the first swing, but the second one caught him in the stomach, actually lifting him from the air. Spittle exploded from his mouth as he careened backward, the paper slipping from his hands. It fluttered slowly toward the ground as the vampire turned back toward me and licked his lips.

“Ready to die, Dioscuri?” he asked, running his tongue over his oversized fangs. I was about to reply with something snappy like “not really” or “come over here and find out jackass” when the vamp stepped on the crumpled, bloody note.

Silver fire exploded up his leg, reducing it to ash in the space of a second. He screamed, reaching down toward his leg, but as he touched it, the limb actually crumbled to the ground as his fingers swept through it. The motion sent him toppling to the ground, howling.

I wasn’t quite sure what Luc had done to the paper, but I was going to have to find out after this was over. He had way too many secrets for it to be good. I gripped my wakazashi and moved toward the creature, but I’d barely taken a step when Luc waved me off. He was kneeling on the street a little ways away, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

“No,” he wheezed, getting to his feet and wincing as he spat a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the ground. The blue glow had mostly faded from his body, but being that he’d just blown the leg off a vampire with paper, I was inclined to listen to him, for now.

“Why?” I asked, sucking in one wheezing breath. Everything hurt. That wasn’t good. If I was injured badly enough, my body would try and repair itself, and since I didn’t have any energy left, it would start cannibalizing itself to make the needed repairs. The only way I could stop that from happening was by eating, soon.

“If you touch him, it might spread to you,” he replied, leaning against the prison van for support. My gaze swung back to the vampire, and sure enough, the silver flame had spread to the hand that had touched the ash and was traveling down the screaming creature’s arm. I watched in amazement as the vampire was consumed inch by inch until nothing but dust remained. It was the single most horrible thing I’d seen in quite a while. Calvin would be proud.

6

“Don’t take another step,” I screamed, pointing my sword at Luc and wishing I had something more long range like a shotgun or a rocket launcher. He was still leaning against the vampires’ modified prison van, but he’d looked like he was going to start walking toward me at any second. The blue light had faded from his body, but I didn’t much care. He’d just burned a vampire to death with a piece of paper. I wasn’t sure what the hell he was, but it wasn’t normal.

“Lillim, it’s okay. I’m one of the good guys,” he said, trying to smile at me but wound up wincing. No doubt, the Bear’s punch had hurt something inside of him.

“News flash, bad guys think they’re the good guys too,” I snarled, wishing I hadn’t come to this town at all. I’d just wanted somewhere with nice weather and no monsters. Was that too much to ask for?

Luc chuckled, shaking his head. “You make an excellent point, but I did just save you from him.” He gestured vaguely at the pile of ash that had been the vampire.

“Maybe that’s just part of your plan?” I said as a horrible realization came over me. Where had the vampire I’d kicked from the car gone? I looked around, frantically, confident I could ignore Luc for a moment.

“I got him. He’s the one I used to power the spell,” Luc said as my eyes swept over the surroundings. He nodded toward the back of the prison van.

“Okay, you stay there. Just give me a second.” I stumbled toward the spot he’d indicated, walking on limbs that didn’t work quite right. I’d heal from the damage soon enough, especially if I got some food in my stomach, so I wasn’t too worried about it. Even the pain didn’t bother me that much. You don’t become a Hyas Tyee in the Dioscuri without getting the crap kicked out of you once or twice.

Luc moved like he was going to show me something, but I slashed through the air in front of him so the tip of my blade passed within an inch of his throat. “I said don’t move,” I repeated, and the heat in my words sort of scared me. It was the same sort of voice my mother often used around me, and I hadn’t known I could make it.

He nodded, eyes wide at the sight of the wakazashi gripped in my hand which was a little strange since he’d just blown a vampire to ash, but then again, he’d said the spell wore off. I guess that made sense. Most spells used to augment a person’s strength or speed didn’t last terribly long. Still, I didn’t want him near me.

The dismembered vampire, if you could still call it that, was lying in a puddle of blood at the back of the van, mostly hidden by the open doors, which was probably why I hadn’t seen him earlier. He must have tried to get Luc in the back when the others had come at me, but evidently, things had gone wrong.

For one thing, he looked flayed open and his heart had been torn out of his chest. Blood covered the inside of the van’s doors. Was that where all the blood covering Luc had come from? Wait a second...

I spun back around and stared at Luc wide-eyed. “Why aren’t you still covered in blood?” I gestured from him to the corpse and back again.

“I told you already, Lillim. I used up his blood to power the spells.” Luc sighed and began to unbutton the cuff on his black dress shirt.

“Don’t,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him and moving away from the heartless vampire. For all I knew, it was rigged to explode. “I don’t know what you are, and I sure as hell don’t want you undressing in front of me.”

“It’s not like that at all,” he exclaimed, pulling the sleeve of his shirt up to reveal a series of scars on his flesh. Only… only they didn’t look normal. They looked more like someone had carved designs into his skin, but that was impossible. Getting a tattoo was one thing, but carving symbols into your arm so deeply that your skin became a puckered mass of scar tissue? That was crazy!

“What the hell did that to you?” I exclaimed, my mouth going dry as he showed me his other arm. It had more symbols written along it.

“I did it to myself a long time ago.” He reached up and began to unbutton his shirt before pulling it open to reveal a well-muscled chest covered in even more scar tissue. It was way worse than his arms. It was a little weird because there were a couple spots that looked like they’d been done with ink originally. Had he started with tattoos? Why?

My eyes played over the designs. They looked vaguely magical, but unlike anything I’d seen before. Still, when I saw the huge series of concentric circles on his chest, I realized what he had on his skin. Magical symbols.

“You’re covered in magical wards, and they actually work.” I shook my head in amazement. “That shouldn’t be possible… wait, wait. You’re using vampire blood to power them?”

He nodded at me. “We stumbled upon it a few years ago. This vampire had cut me up pretty bad, and after I killed it, I was covered with its blood. My friend tried to staunch the wound by using a healing ward even though it almost never worked.”

“And the ward touched some of the vampire blood and blazed to life…” I finished, and he nodded at me again. “But you’d don’t understand why it worked, do you? You just got lucky and tried it a few times before deciding to carve them into your skin like a crazy person.” I let out a breath. “You don’t have to admit it. The look in your eyes tells me it’s true.” He didn’t respond as I shook my head at him. “A ward is a magical symbol that does something, usually keep bad things away. It’s mostly expulsion magic, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there are others,” I murmured, moving closer to him and running one finger over the markings on his chest. There wasn’t even a faint zing of power to it. “But most people don’t have the power to, well, power up a ward. You certainly don’t have any innate magic of your own, so how’s it work?”

“The vampire blood makes it work,” Luc said, watching me trail my fingers over the muscles on his chest which was pretty much when I realized what I was doing. I backed away from him so quickly I stumbled and fell on my butt. I sat there, unable to look at him as my cheeks blazed from embarrassment. Had I seriously just felt him up? Seriously?

I turned my eyes toward him. He wasn’t watching me. Instead, he was buttoning his shirt back up.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” he said, and the embarrassment in his voice was obvious. Had he thought I’d gotten freaked out by all the scars? Well if he did, he hadn’t seen my father. Imagine having the flesh flayed from your bones by a ravenous pack of demons, and you’d get some idea of the scars my father had. And those were just the ones on the surface. Watching him break down under the strain of fighting more and more each and every day was one of the main reasons I’d left.

“It’s not your scars,” I said, getting slowly to my feet. “I just don’t understand why you’d do it.”

“Tattoos didn’t work. We tried that at first, but the wards lost power for some reason. On a lark, I cut one into my skin, but that didn’t work either.” He pointed at a symbol on the underside of his wrist that looked like a winged scorpion. “During my next vamp hunt, the wound got torn open and the ward blazed to life the second vampire blood touched the open wound.”

“Holy crap,” I said, taking a step backward because he obviously had no idea what that meant. I didn’t either, but it didn’t seem good. That was for sure. “You got vampire blood in a wound?”

“Yeah. It’s how we realized how to make the wards work. I had to cut them into my flesh and douse the fresh wounds with vampire blood. After that, getting a little blood on any of the wards powered all of them.” He shrugged like it made perfect sense even though it didn’t. At least not to me.

“Okay,” I said, swallowing back the desire to murder him where he stood. I wasn’t sure why, but something told me this knowledge could not get out. I wasn’t really worried about normal humans doing it, but there were things far worse than humans. Thing with access to blood way stronger than a vampire’s and with magical knowledge so scary, it made the spells needed to start the apocalypse seem like a good idea.

“So, we’re good?” he asked, staring at me. The look in his eyes reminded me of a puppy who had just destroyed your entire house, knew that you were upset with it, but couldn’t figure out why.

The problem was, I wasn’t sure why either. Part of it was his story, but it was something else. It was more that he shouldn’t have needed to do that. He was just some guy, some human. We were supposed to protect people like him, not make them do this to themselves. It almost made me want to go back home and start yelling at people. It wouldn’t do any good. It never did. I’d just get buried in reams of paperwork while someone took Luc back to base for study before finding him an indiscriminate unmarked grave somewhere.

No… no, the better thing to do was to clean this place up, to ensure people didn’t have to do this. Maybe I couldn’t save the world, but I could sure as hell help with one tiny city. In the grand scheme of things, it wouldn’t be very much at all, but to the people here it would be everything. That had to be worth something, right?

“We’re good,” I replied, glancing around the street, surprised no one had come to help or had called the cops. Another car whizzed by us on the street. It’d happened a few times now. Not super often or anything, but often enough that I’d have expected someone to stop at the scene of an accident. No one had even slowed to gawk.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, Lillim, how come sometimes the vampires dissolve when you kill them and sometimes they don’t?” Luc asked, staring at the body of one of the creatures.

“They only dissolve if the death blow is struck from my swords. If they die in another way, they don’t disappear. It’s kind of lame.” I shrugged.

“Too bad you can’t make ‘em dissolve before they die.” Luc smiled at me, and I just shrugged at him. It wasn’t like I had designed the weapons. I just used them. Still, it’d be awesome if they could do that. Monster hunting would be way easier if all I had to do was nick an opponent.

“I’ll make sure I bring up your thoughts on my weaponry with Dioscuri management,” I replied with a smirk and Luc shook his head at me.

“Let’s get out of here before someone sees the bodies you’ve so carelessly left behind.” Luc pulled open the door to the prison van and laughed a hearty chuckle that made me feel better. “No wonder no one’s come to help.”

I glanced inside the door as he stood back and smirked. There was a ward drawn onto the van’s dashboard that positively glowed with purple light. It was the ward for hiding in plain sight. It was one I knew well because Dioscuri used it all the time to keep humans from finding out about monsters. It was way easier to paint a ward on a door that made everything inside seem normal and take your time killing the monsters within, than having to do it before the cops showed up.

“Looks like lady luck is on our side,” Luc said, moving to close the back doors before sliding into the driver’s seat and pointing at the keys. “Even the keys are in the ignition.”

“Swell,” I muttered, getting into the passenger seat and buckling my seat belt. “So what’s the plan from here?”

“There’s a hive not too far from here. I say we go there, blow them away, and then meet up with my friend for dinner.” He shrugged as he started the van and rolled onto the street. “Unless you’d like to wait until nightfall. You know, when the vampires will be stronger.”

“I’m starting to think you planned this from the start,” I muttered as I watched the corpses of the vampires fade into the distance. “That does not endear me to you. In case you wondered.”

Yet, even as I said the words, I realized it sort of did endear him to me. Okay, he’d tricked me into helping him, but it had been for the right reasons. He wanted to save his town. I could respect that.

7

By the time we pulled up in front of the hive, I’d decided I was a fan of French fries and not because I’d eaten six orders of them. It was more because the combination of salt, carbs, and fat had helped me replenish my magical reserves almost as fast as some of the special concoctions we used back home. Only those tasted way worse.

“Thanks for the fries,” I said, tossing the empty bag on the floor of the van and taking a sip of my soda. It was a little bubbly for my tastes, but it sure was yummy.

“No problem,” Luc said, eyeing me as he backed the van into a parking space beneath a faded white, metal covering. He slipped the vehicle in park. “But I’m starting to get worried that if you keep eating like that—”

“If you’re about to tell me I’ll get fat,” I stated, letting the emotion drain from my voice as I fixed him with the coldest stare I could muster. “I’m going to tell you this right now. I shot the last guy who said something similar in the chest with a shotgun. He was half-demon so it didn’t kill him.” I gestured at Luc with my greasy fingers. “I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you’re less than bulletproof.” I smiled at him.

He threw himself back in his seat like he was trying to get away from me in a hurry and raised his hands in supplication. “I wasn’t going to say anything like that,” he said, and I could tell he was a little worried, like he actually thought I’d shoot him over it.

Truthfully, the guy I’d shot had been my ex-boyfriend. Calling me fat had been one of the least horrible things he’d done. Let’s just say that by the time I’d had the nerve to walk away from that failed relationship, a shotgun blast to the chest was letting him off easy.

I turned away from Luc and stared out the windshield toward what looked like an innocuous office building. Pine trees grew out on either side of the walkway leading to the main entrance which was sort of funny looking because the rest of the perimeter was lined with shrubbery, making it appear like someone had grown a forest green gate.

The building itself was only a couple stories tall and had a lot fewer windows than I’d have expected. Nearly all of them were covered with those thick metal hurricane shutters even though I was reasonably sure there weren’t hurricanes in California. It was a little weird, but then again, it made sense if it was occupied by vampires.

While sunlight didn’t bother them per se, the younger they were, the more sunlight seemed to diminish their innate vampire powers. Even though I’d killed my fair share of the undead at night, I always liked to take them on during the day if at all possible. It was just easier that way since they were weaker.

“You ready to go?” I asked, unbuckling my seatbelt and reaching behind the seat to pull out my swords. This time I wasn’t taking any chances. I’d had Luc stop, and in addition to picking me up a snack, I’d grabbed my katana, Isis from its hiding place.

Now, reunited with her brother, Set, I could feel the twin blades throbbing with energy. Among my people, these weapons were famous, but I never quite trusted them. In fact, the only reason I used them at all was because they had belonged to Dirge Meilan. It made using their mystical powers way easier because whatever connection they’d shared with her had, at least partially, transferred to me.

I’d tried to find my own blade a couple times before, to forge something for myself, but so far, I hadn’t gained the level of connection with other weapons. Part of me suspected it was because I was already connected to Set and Isis. Yes, the rumors were true. This weapon was inhabited by the Set and the Isis. And no, I’d never learned how Dirge managed to get them to aid her. It was one of the memories I couldn’t access.

“Bringing out the big guns, eh?” Luc said as he got out of the car and moved around to my door, opening it for me even though I wasn’t sure why he did it. In fact, now that I thought about it, he almost always opened the door for me. Did he think I couldn’t do it myself?

“Yeah, this time if I find some powerful vampires, I don’t want to be at half strength,” I replied, belting their sheathes around my waist, slightly annoyed the weapons slid low on my hips like they always did. I’d tried tugging the belt tighter, but it never seemed to work. My mother said I just had one of those shapes and to go with it. She didn’t understand because with a body like hers, she had probably never worn anything that didn’t make her look like a goddess. My weapons, on the other hand, made my butt look huge.

“Shirajirashii should do the trick then,” Luc said, gesturing at the weapons, and for a moment, I was surprised he knew the name Dirge had called them. It was mostly because of their color since, loosely translated, Shirajirashii meant pure white in Japanese and their blades were the color of freshly fallen snow. Even still, it seemed like a silly name to give weapons inhabited by Egyptian Gods so I mostly just called them Isis and Set.

“Yeah, I don’t call them that,” I muttered, touching the pommels of the blades with my palms and feeling the familiar energy of the spirits within adding to my confidence. “They seem to like it better when I call them by their names. Besides, it tends to scare people when they know I’m wielding swords powered by Egyptian Gods.” I shrugged. Most other Dioscuri liked to hide who their spirits were, but ever since Dirge had died, everyone knew who hers were anyway. “It was a tip I picked up from my old mentor.”

“What was his spirit called?” Luc asked, moving around the back of the van and swinging the doors open.

“Ymir. You know, the original giant Odin slew? His body was used to create the world,” I said, but the blank look on his face told me he had no idea what I was talking about. “There’s a song…”

“I must have missed that one. I’m more of a classic rock guy myself.” He shook his head at me and pulled a shotgun from the back of the van. While guns weren’t as effective as I’d have liked them to be on vampires, the undead still had to expend energy to heal the damage, and you know, contend with having their bodies ripped to shreds by bullets. I’d seen him load other weapons, but I wasn’t sure where they were hidden since he was wearing a dark blue leather trench coat, presumably to hide all his weaponry.

I sighed and rubbed my temples. “I’m guessing you don’t take classes in Norse history?”

“We call it mythology and… wait. Are you telling me all of that is real?” He paled, which was a little funny because I could see the wheels spinning behind his eyes. Evidently, I’d just thrown his world into a tailspin.

“More or less.” I shrugged. “It’s all real, more or less.” He looked like he was going to ask more, but I held up my hand to silence him before gesturing at the sky. The sun was already getting low in the horizon. It wouldn’t be long before it started to fade completely from the sky. I didn’t want to be inside the building when that happened for obvious reasons. “Now let’s get going. We’re burning daylight.”

Luc cocked his shotgun in response as we headed toward the building. Every step felt sort of foreboding, making the hair stand up on the back of my neck and my teeth chatter. It was always like this when I got ready for a mission. I never really got ahold of myself until I was in the thick of things. Then my training would take over, and I’d be fine, more or less, but the walking in part… well, that always sucked.

“So why haven’t you just burned the building to the ground?” I asked as we approached the twin pine trees. Something about them was even more unnerving on foot, though I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like they were ents and would pull themselves from the ground and try to beat me into oblivion. I mean, that’d happened before, but they tended not to leave the black forest along the border of Germany.

“I’d thought about it originally, but even though that looks like a pretty normal building, most of it is underground. It has these weird hatches inside that seal off and suck the air from rooms to smother fire in addition to a state of the art sprinkler system. That and most of the walls are solid concrete, so well, unless I have a nuclear device, I’m not going to kill much with explosives or fire. I can’t just fling a Molotov cocktail at it and tear away in my low-rider.” Luc shrugged.

“I don’t know what half of the things you just said mean, but I’m going to assume it won’t work,” I replied, giving him a thin smile.

Before he could respond, a branch shot out of the pine tree next to him and wrapped its wooden fingers around his throat. It hoisted him into the air like he was a toothpick. The sound of cracking wood and rustling leaves filled my ears as I threw myself backward, thankful I’d been a few steps behind Luc. A branch flew through the spot I’d just occupied as I landed hard on my shoulders, rolling across the pavement in a way that let me know I’d have bruises in the morning.

I came to my feet and drew my weapons. The pure white blades of Shirajirashii glinted in the sunlight as the tree pulled itself free of the ground and began moving toward me. Its bark was as black as soot and yellow orbs glowed inside its green pine needles. The orbs focused on me, and the giant tree monster took a lumbering step forward, spraying soil across the concrete.

“Why the hell are you here?” I screamed at the ent because they almost never left the forest. Its appearance here was odd to say the least. Instead of replying, the tree monster whipped its body around in a way that made me think of a willow being hit by a heavy gale. Pinecones exploded from its branches, their razor sharp edges more than enough to cut me into twain, you know, provided the poison didn’t kill me first.

I darted to the side, but there was no way I’d get free of the deluge in time. Muttering, I held Isis out in front of me. Blue light filled the space around the katana as a wall of force slammed down in front of me and solidified into an invisible shield. The pinecones hit it with so much strength, I was forced backward along the parking lot, my shoes skidding along the surface.

Sweat trickled down my face as I reached out toward Set, willing it to lend its sister some power. Then the pinecones exploded. The blast threw me backward, shattering my shield as my feet left the ground. I crashed to the ground, but kept a grip on my weapons as the ent shambled forward. It wasn’t fast, thank God, but it was still a living tree. It’d hurt like hell if it hit me.

I crawled to my feet as something exploded behind the creature, throwing bark and other debris into the air and distilling my hearing into an angry whine. The ent coming toward me, turned, shuffling its immense bulk as I ran at the creature. It didn’t even notice me until I landed amid its branches and drove my wakazashi deep into its trunk. Black sap that sort of smelled like fresh maple syrup exploded from the wound, coating me in a sheen of sticky liquid.

A howl tore through the air as it tried to shake me off. I ducked an oncoming branch and focused my will. The smell of pine was overwhelming as I reached out and called upon my magic. Lightning shot from the sky and slammed straight down on the spot where Set was embedded into the creature. The blast tore the living tree asunder in a flash that threw me backward.

Air whooshed out of my lungs as I smacked into the shrubbery. I threw my arms up to cover myself as sticks and other debris pelted me in the face and body. The ent leaned to the side, half blackened. Flames crawled up out of its center as it whirled, evidently not knowing it should stop, drop, and roll.

I ignored the thrashing creature and got to my feet, glad the lightning thing had worked. Set was a storm god after all, but I’d never really been good at storm magic even though both of my parents were masters of the art. It was a little weird since things like that were normally hereditary, but someone had told me Dirge had sucked at it too. Either way, I was more than happy to blame it on her.

“Timber!” Luc called, and as I glanced around for him, I saw the other ent toppling over like someone had sliced it in half. It fell, branches snapping against the pavement as a howl of anguish tore through the air. Black fluid spewed from its bottom in a wave that left the ground covered in sticky sap. Luc stood behind it, brandishing some kind of whirring chain weapon. He gestured at the creature with it and smirked. “That’s why I always carry a chainsaw,” he said, before raising it over his head in triumph.

“Remind me to get one of those things,” I said, making my way toward him.

“They’re on aisle six.” He smirked and did something to the weapon. The blade stopped whirring, and as he watched it slow, he glanced from me to the trees still thrashing in their death throes. “What are those?”

“Ents. Living tree monsters. I’ll be honest, whatever brought them here must be really powerful since they almost never come out of the forest.” I shrugged because I didn’t know what else to do. It was either that or retreat screaming. I wasn’t about to do that because not only would it not help the situation, but I was supposed to be tough. Running away would sort of hurt that image.

Still, the idea of tangling with something strong enough to drag ents out of hiding and use them as perimeter defense scared the bejesus out of me, especially since we were dealing with vampires. It meant the culprit was likely to be really old, and not only that, but whatever was inside that compound would likely be way, way worse than ents. I didn’t even want to think of what would be on the bottom floor.

“Well, let’s go,” Luc said, moving toward the door probably because he didn’t know enough to be scared. Before I could do anything, he rapped on the metal doors at the entrance. “Special delivery!”

8

The door creaked open and a gust of frigid air swept out, making gooseflesh sprout across my skin even though I was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. Luc turned to me and exhaled a breath of foggy air before shining his flashlight into the depths.

It was so dark inside, I couldn’t make out anything aside from white marble floors and what looked like a receptionist’s desk. Only there was no receptionist. As the beam crawled upward along the desk’s sleek metal finish, it revealed an empty chair. Behind it was a painting of the moon shining over a lonely desert, only instead of the night sky being blue, it was crimson.

A bad feeling settled over me because the scene looked strangely familiar though I couldn’t quite place it. Luc took a step forward, and his boots squeaked on the marble. I was glad nothing had blown him to smithereens or tried to eat him, which would have put an end to this adventure right quick. Still, I needed to stop him before he triggered a trap that did just that.

“Let me go first,” I said even though he was the hulking black man with the shotgun and the chainsaw. He gave me a look that told me he’d thought the same thing, and I had to fight the urge to be offended because honestly, I sort of wanted him to go in front of me. Not because he was male, but because the idea of anyone between me and the monsters was appealing.

“Why?” he asked, his light sweeping over the room and revealing nothing more menacing than a kitten calendar.

“Because I’ll probably be able to tell if there’s magic in the air, while your dumbass is likely to just set it off and blow us to kingdom come or get us trapped in a pocket dimension.” I shook my head. “You’re so far out of your league, you might as well be playing on another planet.”

Instead of arguing, he merely nodded and stepped to the side, allowing me to pass in front of him. The darkness was oppressive and overwhelming. The frigid air wasn’t helping matters. It made everything feel cold and dead. Then again, if this place was filled with vampires, that wouldn’t be too far from the truth. Why had I wanted to go first, again?

I muttered a magic word and with a small effort of will sent power thrumming along the lengths of my swords. Red and blue light crept along their respective surfaces, lighting them up like I was using glow sticks at a rave. And yes, I’ve actually been to a rave before. You’d be surprised how many creepy crawlies like to prey on people under the cover of electronic music.

The air had that clean, disinfectant smell that reminded me of hospitals as I moved forward toward one of the doors. I wasn’t sure which door to take so I just picked one at random. I’d asked Luc for building plans before we’d gotten here, but he hadn’t managed to acquire them. Apparently, they weren’t readily available which was par for the course I supposed.

Still, the smell bothered me. It was like they were trying to cover something up, but what could that be? Blood? Maybe, but I was worried it was something worse. I shoved the thought from my brain as I made a sweep of the door, and feeling no magical defenses, pushed on the metal panel inlaid into the door with my elbow. There was resistance at first then something inside it clicked, and the door swung inward.

I shined my sword on the wall just inside the door, looking for some kind of light switch, but as soon as I saw it, something pinged off my senses. I flung myself backward out of the doorway, colliding with Luc in the process. We went down in a heap as the door shuddered closed under the impact of something. The room around us shook and dust fell from the ceiling as I struggled to disentangle myself from the hunter.

“What is it?” Luc asked as the door was torn off its hinges and flung off into the distance. A crash filled my ears as I scrambled to my feet, my blazing swords held in front of me. They’d gotten brighter with my fear, which meant I’d accidentally dumped more power into the twin blades. Great, I was sure I was going to regret that later when I needed the energy for something actually useful like lighting a vampire on fire with my magic.

Still, I was pretty sure nothing had come through the door. I craned my head toward it, listening. Luc was crouched to the side, his shotgun trained on the entrance. His flashlight had spun off behind us, leaving us shrouded in darkness. I’d like to say my swords managed to light the room up like a spotlight, but unfortunately, that just wasn’t the case. It was more like the flickering of a candle in the darkness of a cave.

A low rumbling escaped the doorway, setting my nerves on edge and making my heart thud in my chest. Instead of letting it get to me, I tightened my grip on my swords and took a tentative step forward. Something flew out of the darkness, and the boom of the shotgun tore my hearing asunder. Thick wet fluid spattered across me as something disappeared into a bloody cloud. I blinked, wiping the goop from my eyes as Luc racked another shell into place and stood, still watching the door.

I wasn’t sure what had come out, but I doubted it was whatever had torn the door off. I craned my head forward, trying to peer inside when something grabbed me around the ankle and hoisted me backward into the air. I dangled there for a split second before whatever it was flung me across the room like I was a ragdoll.

My back slammed into the desk and pain shot through me. My swords slipped from my grip, hitting the ground with a lifeless clatter. Their glow went out, pitching us into complete and utter darkness.

The swish of the wind filled my ears as I found my feet, but no sooner had I gotten them under me when my breath was driven from my lungs. It felt like I’d been hit in the chest by a baseball bat. Sadly, I knew what that felt like.

Luc’s shotgun roared again, making it impossible to hear, which was lame. It was one thing to fight without sight, but without hearing as well? That was crap. Still, I’d been in tougher spots thanks to my mother. One time, we had played hide and go seek in a swamp while blindfolded and wearing earplugs. Let me say this right now, I hate frogmen.

My body crashed to the ground, but instead of trying to scramble away, I laid there as still as possible. Just as the barest glimmer of something touched me, I lashed out with everything I had, slamming my palm into whatever it was. “White Sparrow!” I screamed.

The white cylinder of flame burst into being, sealing whatever was attacking me inside. I staggered backward, chest heaving as fire crackled out of my spell, spilling across the ceiling and engulfing it in super-heated flames.

The light of the fire illuminated the room, but it was almost blinding since it’d been so dark. I blinked, trying to see what I’d caught in my spell as I recovered Shirajirashii. Sure, fire killed most things, but this was magical fire. Some things could shake that off. If it could, I wanted to be ready.

When nothing burst from my spell, I grabbed my swords while doing my best to ignore the flames and looked for Luc. He was on his back, his shotgun in front of him. A werewolf had its jaws around the barrel, trying to bite its way through the weapon as the studs in Luc’s coat flared with blue light. So they were made of silver. That was smart.

I got to my feet as water exploded from the ceiling, dousing me in a deluge that extinguished the fire and my spell in an instant. The air whipped around me as I spun in the water in time to duck a swipe from a charbroiled werewolf.

“Hey, Fido, why are you helping vampires?” I asked, lashing out with my blades and spilling its entrails across the floor. Not that it mattered. The creature kept slashing at me like I hadn’t just lit it on fire and disemboweled it. That was the problem with werewolves. In addition to being strong, fast, and having fangs and claws, they healed nearly instantly. Thus, they were used to taking on incredible amounts of damage without stopping, even from magically enchanted swords.

Still, it was weird that they were helping vampires. While they weren’t enemies per se, they didn’t exactly get along. In fact, most werewolves were pretty damned aggressive toward, well, non-werewolves in general.

The werewolf, unsurprisingly, didn’t answer my question. Instead, it lunged, teeth bared. I stepped to the side, driving my knee into the underside of its jaw, snapping its mouth closed and flinging it across the room. It crashed into the wall and slumped to the marble floor dazed.

I spun back toward Luc and leapt. My shoulder crashed into the creature pinning him to the floor. We slid across the slick marble as it whirled on me, feet scrabbling on the surface like a dog on linoleum as I tried to keep my face from getting torn off.

“Down!” Luc screamed, and I dropped just before his shotgun went off. The blast hit the werewolf full in the chest as it struggled for balance. It screamed, a horrible inhuman sound I was sure I’d never forget as silver fire exploded from its wounds. The creature thrashed, falling to its back as it tried to tear the silver pellets from its body. I wasn’t sure why Luc had silver ammunition, but I was sure glad he did. Maybe he was more prepared than I’d given him credit for.

Luc spun as he cocked the shotgun and put a round into the other werewolf as it was getting to its feet. The howl of anguish was enough to almost make me feel bad for it. Almost.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said, making my way through the door and out of the deluge of water. Luc nodded to me, and I was suddenly glad I’d brought the hunter along with me. Most Dioscuri didn’t take on werewolves alone. Two might have been a death sentence, especially without silver weapons. Then again, if I’d had my gear, I’d have had silver. The thought made me grumble.

“Why are there werewolves?” Luc asked, coming up next to me and shining his flashlight into the empty concrete room. Evidently, he had recovered it. “Don’t they normally hate vampires?”

“I was wondering the same thing,” I replied, staring at the room as a horrible thought filled my brain. The walls were absolutely covered with scratches. They filled nearly every square inch of the twenty by twenty space. Had the creatures just been captured? Had they just been attacking us because we were the first people they saw when we opened their prison door? I certainly hoped not. That would make me feel bad, and I really didn’t like feeling bad.

So what did I do? I pushed it out of my mind and made my way across the room toward the only other door. It looked a lot heavier than the one we’d come through originally. Something told me if they’d gone through the trouble of filling this room with hungry, angry werewolves, our target was through that door. Then again, it could just be a trap to trick us. Stranger things had happened.

9

The first thing I noticed upon opening the door was the smell of blood and despair. I shivered as it washed over me like a warm breath and tossed a look back at Luc. I wasn’t sure how he’d managed to pick the lock with his weird little kit, but I was glad he had. Otherwise, I wasn’t sure how we were going to get through a steel-reinforced door set into a concrete wall, especially when it was built to withstand werewolves.

He swallowed hard enough for me to hear the sound, and I tossed another look back at him to see him reloading his shotgun. He gave me a sheepish grin, which seemed ominous in the relative darkness of the room.

“Smells like a bucket of awesome down there,” Luc said sarcastically, glancing over his shoulder toward where the entrance to the room was. “Now, let’s get going before the werewolves come back to eat me.”

“Good plan,” I mumbled, sucking in a deep breath to calm myself but found it doing anything but. “Though I bet those werewolves have already escaped out the front door, otherwise they’d be in here already. I think they were captives.”

“I wonder if the ents were captured too?” Luc said as I stepped through the door and found myself on a small landing above a spiral staircase. The stairwell was so small it bordered on making me claustrophobic. I’d have liked to think being locked in tiny rooms for days at a time had cured me of that, but well, it hadn’t, despite my mother’s instance that I simply needed more practice at it.

“I hope not. If we’re dealing with something powerful enough to capture both ents and werewolves to use as guards we’re probably screwed.” As the words left my mouth, I had to suppress a shiver because I was pretty sure Luc was correct even though I hoped he wasn’t. Normally, I’d have called for backup when the first group of vampires attacked. After the ents and werewolves? Well, I should have a whole platoon with me, and even if it turned out to be coincidence, no one would fault me for wanting the extra resources. But no, here I was with only an in-over-his-head hunter for backup. This was not going to end well.

Still, I’d been in worse spots. Like the time I’d broken my leg on that ogre hunting ground. Now that was a most dangerous game.

I pushed my fears away and shined the light of my weapons down at the steps before making my way as carefully as I could, ears straining to listen for strange sounds. Off in the distance, I could have sworn I heard wailing, but that may have just been my mind playing tricks on me. Either way, it was unnerving.

The steps, thankfully, were pretty sturdy and appeared to have been made from concrete which wasn’t surprising. Vampires tended not to live in places with lots of wood. While stabbing them through the heart with a wooden stake wouldn’t kill them, it’d paralyze them until the stake was removed. Still, since I was more of a cut their heads off kind of girl, I tended not to carry stakes with me. Why bother? If I could get that close, I was all about the slicing and dicing.

I swept Set’s glowing red blade out in front of me and was surprised to find the stairs ended just a few feet down. It had only been about a single story.

“Phew, I was worried we’d have to travel fifty stories underground,” I murmured as I stepped out onto the concrete floor and made my way forward. It was too dark to see much, but the wailing was way louder down here.

“What is that sound?” Luc asked, stepping past me even though I’d asked him to let me lead. He made his way toward the noise because, you know, going toward the horrible moaning was always a good idea. In the Dioscuri, we had a rule. If it wasn’t trying to kill you, ignore it. The rule may have seemed heartless, but I’d heard enough stories about Dioscuri lured to their doom trying to save people from monsters. Somehow, it never dawned on rescuers that the victims in question could be bait, or worse, monsters themselves.

“Stay away, it could be a trap,” I said as Luc put his hand on a steel door with one of those windows with the wire that made it nearly impossible to break if you weren’t packing super strength.

“I’m not going to leave innocent people here to suffer,” he growled over his shoulder before turning the knob. It turned. I wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing. Though I was sure I’d find out in a minute.

“The word 'trap' means nothing to you, huh?” I said as Luc pushed the door open, evidently ignoring my concerns. What a jerk. Well, the next time something tried to eat him, maybe I’d let it.

“Lillim…” Luc called, glancing back at me, his face pale and his lips trembling. “You need to come here…”

“What’s wrong?” I asked as apprehension flooded my senses. Every step I took toward him weighed on me because while I wasn’t sure what I was going to find in that room, I was pretty sure it was going to be really freaking horrible.

I was right. Inside the room was a hole about six feet across. It was too dark to see into its depths, but I knew what it was anyway. A shiver racked my body as I stumbled backward out of the room, trying to catch my breath.

“What is it?” Luc asked, peering over to the edge of the hole as the screams grew louder and more distressed. “I’ve never seen anything like it…”

“A feeding hole,” I whispered, my voice so quiet I wasn’t sure I’d actually said the words aloud.

“What’s a feeding hole?” Luc asked, turning and taking a step toward me.

“It’s what the vampires use when a bunch of them are in an area and trying to stay under the radar. They’ll capture a family all at once and throw them in a hole for safe keeping. It makes the humans last longer since the vampires only take a little blood at a time from each of the people and has the added bonus of not requiring them to go out and hunt as often, reducing the chance they’ll get caught.” I shook my head. “A whole family is a lot less noticeable because most neighbors or whatever, just assume the family went on vacation or something.”

“You mean to tell me there are humans in that hole, and the vampires have been feeding on them for who knows how long?” Luc asked, his voice cold and angry. When I nodded, his eyes blazed, and he spun on his heel and made his way back inside.

Without another word, he pulled some thin cord out of his pocket and tied one end to the door before making his way toward the hole and shining his light into its depths.

“What are you doing?” I asked, walking up next to him.

“Rescuing them,” he replied, shooting me a glance that suggested he wasn’t going to listen to a word I said.

“Don’t…” I swallowed before saying the words that’d been drilled into me. “Even if you take them out of the hole, they’re already dead inside. Very few people can come back from that and be normal. It’s not like there’s anyone for them to talk to about what happened. Hell, some of them might turn into vampires.”

“What are you suggesting we do then, Lillim? Leave them here?” he asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

“Drop a grenade in the hole and move on.” He narrowed his eyes at me as I spoke. “It’s a kindness, I promise.” Just saying the words turned my stomach, but I’d seen those people, hell I had been just like Luc a long time ago. Every Dioscuri I’d talked to said the same thing. No one has ever gone on to be normal afterward. Then again, maybe this would be the time where everyone would be wrong? Was it worth the risk?

Luc turned his back on me without another word and knelt down by the edge before dropping inside. The cord went taught as he shimmied down it. I sighed and turned to watch the door, hoping no vampire showed up looking for a snack, though part of me sort of hoped one did. Seeing things like this always pissed me off. The Dioscuri were supposed to keep monsters from harming innocent people, and we were doing a piss poor job.

Lately though, it seemed like the monsters had gotten bolder and bolder. Hell, there was a veritable hive filled with captured werewolves and who knows what else right in the middle of a city in California. How had that not gotten picked up by the sensors back at the base?

A few minutes later, Luc pulled himself out of the hole carrying a little girl who looked no older than ten. She had greasy black hair and bags under her eyes. Her white dress was covered in grime, filth, and blood. And, of course, her eyes had that vacant far off stare I’d seen across a million battlefields. The one that told me this child had seen too many horrors to count.

“Tell her what you told me,” Luc said to the girl as he walked her up to me and shoved her into me.

“There were five of us originally.” She whispered, voice so quiet, I could barely hear her speak. “The vampires took my whole family, and they pulled us out of one by one. Sometimes, one of us wouldn’t come back, but that wasn’t so bad.”

“Why not?” Luc asked as revulsion rippled up my throat because I knew the horrible answer already.

“Because…” the girl swallowed and looked away, tears filling her eyes. “Because then there’d be more to eat.”

Luc glared at me so hard, it physically hurt. “And you still think you people are doing a good job protecting the innocents, Lillim?” he asked, but it wasn’t so much a question as an accusation. The sad thing was, I didn't really disagree with him. We weren’t doing a good job, not by a long shot. There were a million things we could be doing, but so far, all we’d done was try to rebuild our own ranks from the civil war. Anger flared inside me as I thought about the girl’s family and what had happened to them. Someone was going to pay for this. It might not mean anything in the long run, but it didn’t have to mean anything in the long run. Sometimes you did the right thing because it was the right thing. This was one of those times.

Instead of saying anything, I turned on my heel and walked out of the room. Luc followed me a few minutes later, one hand gripping the child’s hand. I sighed. “You can’t take her with us, Luc. You have two options, you bring her back outside or you leave her here. I’ll admit, neither is ideal, but you can’t take her with us.”

“Or I’ll take her with us, and if you argue with me about it, I’ll shoot you in the face, Lillim,” he said, eyes narrowed.

“Do what you want. It’s not like I’ve been doing this for my past two lives…” I glared at him for a moment before deciding to let it go. He was right after all. We couldn’t just leave the girl alone. Besides, I wasn’t keen on getting shot in the face. “Just make sure she doesn’t give away our position.”

“Whatever,” he said and tightened his grip on the girl’s hand. The look in his eyes told me exactly what he thought of me. He no longer liked me, even a little. My reaction to the situation had told him all he thought he needed to know about the Dioscuri, told him that what he thought was important wasn’t important to me. It made me realize he wasn’t looking at the big picture, but not just that, he didn’t care about the big picture because little girls were getting hurt. And sadly, I sort of agreed with him.

“You don’t have to make me feel heartless,” I said, making my way across the room toward the far wall. There were more doors set into the concrete, and while I was pretty sure some of them probably contained more feeding holes, I was hoping at least one didn’t. The only problem was, I wasn’t sure which one would lead us toward the vampires. “I’m just worried about what happens when something tries to eat her and you’re forced to choose between saving her and stopping the monster.” I took a deep breath, leaving the, “Or if she winds up being a monster…”part of my sentence unsaid.

“That’s not going to happen,” Luc said, voice just a touch softer than it had been a moment before.

“That’s what everyone who ever sacrificed themselves said,” I replied, turning away from him and reaching out with my magic, hoping I could find something that would let me know which door we should open. “And you know what the problem with that is? Not only does no one actually want to get sacrificed for, but you’re dead afterward.”

Luc opened his mouth to say something, but I held up my hand to silence him as power flowed out of me. The smells in the room became more intense as the scene lit up bright scarlet in my mind’s eye, but all I was getting were vague impressions of the place. Damn.

I swiveled my gaze around the room, regretting what I knew I’d have to do. No, there was no other way. It was either open every single door and risk finding something way worse than a feeding hole or use my ethereal sight to narrow down the nature of each door in a blink. The only problem was, I’d have the vision burned into my brain, and I didn’t need more nightmares. I wasn’t quite sure what the true representation of the feeding hole room would be in my ethereal sight, but I wasn’t excited to find out.

“Just put on your big girl pants and do it,” I muttered to myself. My eyes snapped open, and I fought the urge to scream. Blood poured from several of the doors, gushing forth like they were obsidian fountains and surging along the ground like crimson rivers. The door farthest to the left was different though. It looked like the maw of a great beast, reminding me of a yawning dragon with huge jagged fangs.

I shut my eyes, banishing my sight and stood like that for a moment longer as my heartbeat slowly returned to normal. Without even opening them, I pointed toward the dragon door with one shaking finger. “That’s the door we need.” I swallowed and shook my head. “And judging by how it looks like we’re going to be walking into the mouth of a dragon, I’m pretty sure it’s not going to be filled with kitties and cotton candy.”

10

The door opened to reveal a hallway with plush carpet the color of freshly spilled blood. As I stepped foot onto it, I actually sank about half an inch which was a little weird. The white walls were filled with LED torches spaced every few feet to give the appearance of firelight without actually being, you know, fire.

Paintings of old men with strangely birdlike features were displayed prominently between each set of torches, and as I trudged forward, their owlish eyes seemed to follow me. A chill rippled down my spine as I clutched my swords a little tighter. It was creepy in this room, and the paintings weren’t helping any. It was especially unnerving because the rest of the compound looked like it had been designed to get hosed off and sanitized at a moment’s notice. I doubted anyone would be doing that down here, what with the carpet and all.

I barely made it three steps when the little girl gasped. I spun, my swords at the ready to see her practically wrapped around Luc’s leg. He had his shotgun at the ready, but I doubted it would do anything to stop the door from shutting behind us.

It didn’t slam shut of anything, rather it closed with a soft click that seemed to echo within the soundless hallway, reverberating within my brain and making my stomach clench in fear. We were trapped in the dragon room, and while I wasn’t sure what that meant, it didn’t seem good.

“I’m guessing that’s not good,” Luc said, still watching the door.

“Oh no, it’s all part of the plan. You know, get locked in the dragon room with a little girl… That’s like step one.” I shrugged, trying to conceal my fear with snark. “Besides, I’ve never met a dragon before, maybe it’ll be fun. Everything I’d read makes me think they were pretty goddamned horrible, but hopefully this one will be more like the one from Honalee.”

“Like Puff?” he asked, giving me a strange look, and I realized he thought I might be serious.

“Yeah, you know, completely fictional.” A shiver racked me as I spun back around and stared down the hallway, wondering if it was too late to go back. The idea of fighting a dragon filled me with more dread than I could properly explain. It was even more unnerving because the hallway had to be almost fifty feet long. While it was four feet wide, the torches sticking out from the wall made it feel oppressive and narrower than it was.

What looked like a carved marble banister was at the far end, so I was pretty sure we’d be heading downward again. Great, so this place was going to be subterranean after all. I took a deep breath to steel myself and crept forward as carefully as I could. My hands throbbed from clutching the twin blades of Shirajirashii so tightly, but I was reluctant to loosen my grip. Something told me that if I did, they’d be knocked from my hands. Then again, there didn’t appear to be anything down here, and well, I could call them back to me if I needed to do so.

As I neared the banister, the room opened up, flaring outward to reveal a chamber on either side I hadn’t noticed before. A silver grizzly bear statue so lifelike, I could feel the hunger and rage coming off of it stood on our right. Its mouth was open in a snarl and one arm was raised overhead, sharpened claws glittering under a spotlight of crimson light.

The left alcove was no better. An immense gold owl hung suspended from the ceiling, claws extended outward like it was about to snatch an unsuspecting mouse from the earth. Its ruby eyes glinted in the sanguine light. Standing between them was unnerving. I took a deep breath, trying not to freak out and let my mind play tricks on me. While scary, they were just statues.

“What do you make of those?” Luc asked, pointing at the owl with his shotgun. His breath was low, like he was trying to keep the fear out of it. He mostly succeeded.

“I’m guessing some kind of shrine to the two biggest vampire castes. The Owls and the Bears.” I shrugged and took a step toward the stairs. They were as black as soot. Even though I could see more of the LED torches going down, their flickering light made the stairwell seem dark and foreboding. Shadows leapt back and forth in the darkness, and I had the sudden urge to turn back around and run the hell away.

“You’ve mentioned them before,” Luc said, peering closely at the bear. “I didn’t even know there were castes of vampires.”

“There’s more than the two, but the Bears and the Owls are the biggest by far. They have the oldest founders.” I shrugged. “Basically, they were founded so long ago, they’ve pretty much always been there. Others rise from time to time, but they tend to die out…”

“Why is that?” he asked, scooching up next to me and peering down the stairwell. The little girl hung back just a hair, so she was standing behind him. Her eyes looked scared and sort of vacant, like what was present was afraid, but beyond the fear there was nothing.

“The Bears are basically big, strong and fast. You’ve heard the stories about vampires throwing trucks around? Those vamps were probably Bears. It makes sense why they’ve been around forever. There isn’t a lot you can’t kill when you can toss a fire engine at someone.” I smirked. “The Owls though, they’re like magicians. Masters of blood magic. I’ve seen them snap their fingers and open wounds that had been healed for decades. You can see why that’d be particularly devastating among vampires. Imagine a vampire ripping the blood out of another vamp, or worse yet, a victim with a snap of his fingers.”

“It sounds horrible,” Luc replied, glancing at the owl statue and shivering.

“It is horrible,” I said, taking my first step onto the stairs and out of the statues’ combined gazes. “Thankfully, the two clans don’t work together much, but this?” I gestured at the statues. “This seems like they are working together, but what would make them do that?” I shuddered. “And what are they working on?”

“Nothing good, I’m guessing,” Luc sighed before following me down into the darkness below. He was right of course, whatever the two most powerful vampire castes were doing together wasn’t good. I’d seen other, smaller castes work together in the past, but that usually ended when the Dioscuri stepped in and put down the leaders. Dealing with vampires was sort of like dealing with cultists in that way. When you took out the leader, the caste usually fell apart, and the ones that didn’t were typically neutered.

I still wasn’t quite sure why we had let the Bears and the Owls get so powerful. I’d been told it was because they did a good job policing their own kind, and the anarchy caused by the power vacuum would be worse for everyone, especially since the founders of those castes didn’t do much. They were so ancient, nearly everything bored them. I suppose that by the time you’re a few thousand years old, you’ve done virtually everything you ever wanted to do.

That’s what scared me about this. It seemed like the castes were working together, and I doubted that would happen if the founders weren’t involved. Something had drawn the attention of Bob the Bear founder and Ariel the Owl founder. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I was pretty sure we were screwed. If both of them were involved, the only chance we’d have would be to call in the Dioscuri for backup and hope they had enough juice left to stand up to the most powerful vampires on the planet. Sadly, I didn’t like those odds.

“Well, no use wondering,” I grumbled as shadows flittered over the walls. “We should find out for sure what’s going on, you know, before we burn this place to the ground.”

“I can live with that plan,” Luc replied, his footsteps loud on the steps behind me.

The air grew colder and wetter as we moved downward, like we were walking into a deep dark cave filled with chilly ocean water. I shivered despite myself, half-tempted to draw upon some of my power to ward off the chill. I wasn’t going to do that because I might need the power later, but I wanted to do it.

After what felt like miles of stairway, we came to a landing with what looked like horizontal black sliding glass doors. The head of an enormous dragon was etched into the center so if the door opened it would be like entering the maw of the creature’s mouth.

The sight unnerved me because this symbol was out in the open. Before I’d seen it, I could have assumed the dragon was just some kind of ethereal representation of something and didn’t actually refer to anything to do with an actual dragon. This symbol changed everything, and I immediately tried to recall if there were any castes with a dragon as their symbol. I couldn’t think of any, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. Still, I doubted some tiny clan of vampires was going to have a place in a building with both the Bears and the Owls. Then again, tiny didn’t necessarily mean weak. Maybe a really old vampire had awoken? One who could make Bob and Ariel do his bidding? I sure as hell hoped not.

“I really hope this dragon imagery doesn’t mean there’s a real dragon here,” Luc whispered.

“I doubt it,” I said, hoping I was right. “After the greatest, read most evil, of the dragons was slain by his offspring when the earth was young, the dragon wars began. All but one of the remaining dragons had been banished to the farthest magical realms. Since then, only one dragon had ever been present on the earth at a time.”

“What happens if one of them comes back?” Luc asked. “Maybe that’s what has happened here?”

“The moment a new one comes, he or she will fight with the resident dragon for dominance. The loser will be cast back into the magical realms.” I shook my head. “I doubt that’s happened though. If one was around, my old mentor would know about it. After the last usurper was defeated, he swore an oath to protect the dragon currently living here.”

“That doesn’t actually assure me of anything,” Luc replied. “What if he just didn’t tell you about it?”

“Trust me, he’d have mentioned it when I saw him a few days ago. Dragons are a big deal.” As the words left my mouth, a bad feeling settled over me. I was really, really sure there wasn’t a new dragon around, so what was going on here? Why was I getting so much dragon imagery here? It didn’t make any sense. Then again, maybe it was some weird kind of symbolism? Or maybe the vampires had chosen a dragon to represent the combined efforts of both the Owl and Bear castes? I didn’t want to think about the damage they could do as allies.

The Dioscuri had barely survived the last civil war. I doubted they had the strength to hold off the combined forces of the vampires, especially if the Bears and the Owls rallied the other, smaller castes under their war banner. No, part of the reason the Dioscuri had kept the vampires under control was by letting them bicker among themselves. They did not need a common enemy, especially when that common enemy would be my people. And after we fell, who would keep humanity safe?

“Lillim, is everything okay?” Luc asked, and I realized I hadn’t moved in a while. I was just standing there staring at the glass dragon like an idiot.

“Yeah,” I said, exhaling slowly. “I was thinking about how the vampires may be planning on taking over the world and enslaving humanity. You know, vampire politics.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of vampire politics.” Luc’s face paled. “Real politicians already want to bleed you dry.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Unfortunately, my laughter sounded foreign in the emptiness of the dark alcove. It made me pretty sure no one had ever laughed down here, at least not without maniacally stroking a cat.

“Let’s find out what’s through door number one,” Luc said, pointing past me with his shotgun.

“Okay,” I muttered, stepping off the last step and reaching out toward it to feel for any magical traps. I found one, mostly because the floor opened up, and I fell into the darkness below. The irony of having wanted to lead in order to find traps was not lost on me either.

11

“Are you okay?” Luc called from above. He seemed far away and blurry.

I lay on my back struggling to breathe. So I was still alive, that was good. It was a good thing they hadn’t filled the pit with spikes or acid or something.

“Yeah,” I called as the taste of blood filled my mouth. Already, I could feel my magic working within my body, burning my reserves to pull me back into fighting shape. “The concrete broke my fall.”

I didn’t hear Luc’s reply as I sat up and looked around. It wasn’t so dark that I couldn’t see, but there just wasn’t much inside the twenty square foot room. Bones littered the ground, reminding me of the time my mother had taken me into a hyena den. Only this time, I didn’t see any hyenas.

“I’m going to tie the rope off to the banister and lower it down for you,” Luc yelled from above.

“Okay!” I replied, getting to my feet and my ankle twinged like I’d sprained it. Not enough that I wouldn’t be able to walk on it, but it hurt enough to make me think I’d burn a lot of energy healing it. I sighed and let out a low breath. At least it wasn’t broken.

“Oh, a present,” whispered a voice from behind me which was weird because my back was to the wall. I spun around, examining the cinderblocks for clues but wound up finding nothing. Fear rushed through me. What had spoken?

“And she’s jumpy,” hissed another voice. I jumped, whirling around again in fright. My heart hammered in my chest. What the hell was going on here? Where were the voices coming from?

“Luc, hurry with that rope please!” I cried barely keeping the tremor out of my voice. Either he didn’t respond, or I didn’t hear him. I tried to keep from freaking out. Surely he was just tying his rope off, right?

Something brushed against my leg, and I shrieked before I could stop myself. I swung Set at it, casting crimson light across the room and making shadowy forms leap across the mostly unlit room. There wasn’t anything there.

I took a hesitant step forward and my ankle screamed in pain. I bit my lip, focusing on driving the pain deep down inside myself. Warm, wet hair slithered across the back of my neck, making me feel like something was breathing on me. I whirled again, lashing out with my blades at the unseen attacker. Only there wasn’t anything there. My katana struck the wall, throwing up a cascade of blue sparks.

“Feisty ones always taste chewy,” the first voice said from below me. I leapt backward, landing lightly on the ball of my good foot before setting my other one down. I didn’t see anything there, but something had to be. If not, what was talking?

“Maybe we can dip her in chocolate?” the second voice asked, and the temperature in the room fell ten degrees. Gooseflesh sprouted on my arms as I wiped my face with the back of my hand. Despite the chill, I was sweating like crazy.

I shut my eyes and listened, trying to pick out the sounds of movement from where the voice came from, but the only thing I heard was my own frantic heartbeat.

“Lillim, grab the rope!” Luc called from above, and my eyes snapped open to see his paracord dangling there. I let out a little squeak of relief and sheathed my weapons so I could get the hell out of here.

The ground rumbled under me, writhing like I was standing on a wriggling serpent. My legs went out from under me, and I toppled forward onto the hard ground. My vision went a little blurry around the edges as I clung to the ground to keep from slipping off.

The rope swayed above me, and as I tried to reach out for it, a blood curdling scream filled my ears. I dropped to the ground just as a thousand flapping bats came bursting through the room in a flurry of wings, fangs, and claws.

I shut my eyes against the din, hoping with all my might none would get stuck in my hair as I buried my face in my arms. It felt like it lasted forever, but their flight eventually stopped. I opened one hesitant eye to see the space above me clear of bats. It wasn’t that I was afraid of them or anything, but I’d been left alone in one too many dark caves to actually like the creatures. They tended to get tangled in my hair and getting them out was a pain in the ass.

The rope still hung there, drifting along the side, and I took a hesitant step toward it, careful to keep one hand out for balance. My fingers closed around the cord and a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding exploded from me. Relief washed over me as I wrapped it around my hands and braced myself for Luc to pull me up.

“Okay, Luc. I’m ready,” I called up the hole. No response. Not even a tug on the other end.

I focused on keeping the panic inside my stomach from rising up and overwhelming me even as the hair stood on the back of my neck. No… no, he was up there. He was going to pull me up… any second now.

The rope tightened like someone was yanking on it. My heart sang in relief just before the other end came falling toward me. Horror exploded through me as my lifeline smacked emptily to the ground next to me.

“No… no, no, no,” I mumbled, staring at the rope in disbelief as hysteria threatened to overwhelm me. Then I remembered I was supposed to be badass. It helped. A little.

I called upon my magic, forcing it to fill me with strength. It was too high for me to jump straight up, but I could do this another way. I pulled my swords from their sheaths and with one focused effort, leapt as far into the air as I could before driving my wakazashi straight into the stone. The magic-infused blade stabbed into the rock like it was made of soft cheese. I jerked to a stop, hanging there by one arm as my shoulder strained.

With one concentrated effort, I swung my body like it was a pendulum, and as I reached the top of my arc, I drove my katana into the stone. It sank in like my wakazashi had, and for a moment, I hung there, trying to catch my breath as sweat poured down my body. Then a small head poked over the side and grinned at me. It was the same girl Luc had saved, but she looked different now, and not just because her hair had changed from black to blonde. Still, I knew it was her, and the smile on her face told me one thing. She was a vampire, and we should never have saved her.

She dropped Luc’s unconscious body over the edge. I had about half a second to think about what to do before he slammed into me like a sack of wet laundry. My grip slipped from my swords and we both tumbled to the ground. He landed first, and I toppled on top of him which was good for me since he broke my fall. I lay there, staring up at the hole as the lid slowly closed, leaving me shrouded in darkness.

“See, this was why I never save anyone. Or help people. Or am generally a nice person,” I told Luc’s unconscious body with annoyance. I’d been feeling bad about wanting to drop a grenade down the feeding hole, but if we had, that vampire would be dead now. Probably.

He responded with a moan as I shoved myself off of him and tried to see through pitch black darkness. “If I had a nickel for every time I helped someone who wound up betraying me…”

I got up and looked around, not that it did any good. My swords were wedged into the stone above me, but I wasn’t quite sure where exactly in the wall they were and something about leaping up and trying to grab a pair of razor sharp samurai swords in the dark seemed like a recipe for disaster.

Instead, I extended my hand out in front of me and focused my will. I exhaled, breathing into my palm, and as I did so, I willed light to exist. A small sphere of light sprang to life in my palm, casting a soft, effervescent glow around the tiny chamber. I wasn’t sure how, maybe it was the encroaching darkness, but the room seemed much smaller now.

Either way, I had to hurry. While I could use magic without a focus, doing so would drain my energy faster than if I was using an object designed to let me focus my magic through it, you know, like my swords. I held my glowing hand up toward the wall and spied my blades, still stuck there. I made my way over to the wall and jumped with everything I had.

My fingers wrapped around Set’s hilt, and I dangled there for a moment. I shut my eyes, willing the small sphere of light into my weapon, and as I did so, a small strain eased off my mind. When I opened my eyes, my wakazashi was glowing with soft red light, and from up here, it was enough to cast the whole room in reddish haze. There was still nothing here but bones, but unlike before, something about the darkness felt hungry and oppressive.

I needed to find a way out of here. I swung myself around and grabbed my katana before jerking both weapons out of the wall. I landed hard on the ground and agony ripped through my hurt ankle. This time, I didn’t bother to stifle my cry. Who was going to hear anyway?

“Lillim, I think you should look at this,” said a familiar ghostly voice from across the room.

I glanced in its direction to see a man standing there with short, spiked black hair. He was kneeling in front of a grate I hadn’t noticed. His back was to me, but even from here I could tell he was muscular beneath his thin white t-shirt and jeans. The sight of him came as a relief. This particular ghost almost never showed his face when other people were nearby. For him to appear to me now meant we were well and truly alone. And also that Luc was good and truly unconscious, but hey, everything can’t be all lemonade and sunshine.

“Nice of you to show yourself, Mattoc,” I said, ambling toward my ghost, and as I did so, a spot above my left breast throbbed with cold. Yeah, that’s right. I have my own ghostly charge. Hisen Mattoc had been a tough as nails assassin like fifty years ago, and somehow, he had grown rather attached to Dirge. Then, when I was reborn, he came along for the ride.

Now he was anchored to me, and it was just awesome. Especially because since he never really came out around other people, I almost always forgot he was around. When I remembered, it was usually while I was doing something I wouldn’t want him to see me doing. Like showering.

Still, having a ghost around was useful at times, like when you needed someone incorporeal to look through a wall and tell you what was on the other side or to distract a room full of bad guys with machineguns. It went without saying that bullets didn’t hurt him.

Mattoc tossed me a look that told me to ‘deal with it,’ and went back to running his insubstantial fingers along the grate so the tips vanished into the metal. “I think there’s a way out through here,” he said, poking his entire head through the grating so all I could see were his shoulders. His head popped back into view. “It looks like some kind of banquet hall down there.” He glanced around the room and stood up, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he strode over to me.

“What makes you so sure?” I asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“I think you might be where they keep the entrees,” he replied, ignoring me and pointing at the floor. “See how the floor slopes down toward the grate? I bet it’s so they can bleed people out in here, and the blood flows into the grate. It looks like there’s a funnel on the other side for the blood to flow down into one of those fountain things.” He crossed his arms over his chest, and it was then I realized there was writing on his shirt. It read, ‘I’m with stupid.’

I growled and trudged past him toward the grate. “So instead of a champagne fountain, the vampires have a blood fountain? Next you’ll be telling me there’s a whole bunch of empty glasses next to it.”

“You know, when you guess what’s down there before I tell you, it sort of sucks the joy out of it,” Mattoc replied before snapping his fingers at me. “Now get with the manhandling of the grate so we can escape. I’m not fond of the idea of my only anchor to the mortal world being consumed like a hors d’oeuvre.”

“I love you too, Mattoc,” I replied, fixing him with my best acidic stare before sheathing my swords and kneeling down next to the grate. As soon as I touched it, a chill washed through me. I snatched my hand back. “It’s cold…”

“Cold?” Mattoc asked, but before he could say more, the hatch above us opened, and he vanished from sight. I looked up to see the little girl standing there with a wry grin on her face. Next to her were a couple vampires that looked like they’d rather be anywhere else. Great, so she’d brought reinforcements. Here I was trapped in a hole, and she had brought friends. It didn’t seem fair.

The male vampire was barrel-chested with a girlish face. His fat, pudgy fingers played with the red and black beaded necklace around his throat. He clasped and unclasped an object hanging in the center, though I couldn’t quite make out what it was.

The other vampire was a shorter woman with hair so dark it was nearly black and skin the color of milk. Her ruby-red lips were quirked into a disinterested smile as she absently buttoned and unbuttoned the top button on her white button down shirt. So, they both had nervous tics. That wasn’t good since both of them seemed old and powerful. It meant someone was making them uncomfortable, and I was willing to bet it was the little girl vampire. Was she stronger than the two of them?

“See,” the short blonde Luc had rescued cooed, pointing at me like I was exhibit A. “I told you we caught a Dioscuri.” The way she said the words made me think of a little kid catching an insect and wanting to keep it as a pet. An icy shiver crawled down my spine as I stared up at them, hoping she wouldn’t actually try it because something about the look on her face made me think she could do just that if she wanted.

Her companions nodded in unison. “Seems you were right, Ariel.” The voice boomed through the tiny corridor, and before I could do anything, something seized me by the scruff of the neck and hauled me into the air.

“The sooner you realize I’m always right, Bob, the sooner we’ll be done with this business,” the little girl said, and a horrible feeling settled over me. Surely it couldn’t be them. Surely this was two random vampires who shared the names of the two most powerful vampires on the planet. Surely this couldn’t be the Bob and the Ariel. No, there was no way the founders of both castes were here and in the flesh. That was just silliness.

It was the last thought I had before my consciousness faded into inky blackness, and I’ll admit, it was a little naive.

12

I woke up flat on my back with the weight of the world on my chest. I tried to crane my eyes downward to see what was holding me down, but found I couldn’t move at all. Not even an inch. The only thing I could see besides a rather innocuous cement ceiling with a single light embedded into it was a vague outline of glowing purple light.

“Well, this is awesome,” I muttered, somewhat surprised I could speak when I couldn’t even turn my head.

“So you’re awake,” a husky, melodious female voice whispered in my ear. Warmth rippled along my skin as she spoke, and I suddenly had some very uncomfortable thoughts enter my mind. I tried to swallow as my heart started pounding in my chest. I normally wasn’t attracted to girls, especially when I hadn’t so much as seen them so that meant one thing. The woman in here with me was a succubus, and if she was in full charm mode, I was in real trouble here.

“Yes,” I replied, putting as much bite into the words as I could, which admittedly, wasn’t all that much. Normally, I could fend off succubian advances with my magic, but for whatever reason, I couldn’t call upon my powers. I suspected it had to do with whatever was keeping me immobile. Even still, I tried to take a deep breath and concentrate. Sure, I was trapped with a succubus and unable to move or fight back, but things could be worse, right?

“How interesting,” she cooed, and I felt a finger trail along my cheek and settle on my collarbone. “You weren’t out for long. You must be strong.” Her face loomed over mine. It was the same female vampire from earlier. She pursed her ruby-red lips as she studied me with her dark eyes. “I bet you taste delicious.” She licked her lips and a little tremor went through me.

My cheeks burst into flames as I tried to look away, but couldn’t. She grinned at me and shook out her hair so it fell about her shoulders in a dark wave. “I’m going to ask you this once,” she purred, leaning down toward me so her lips were just above my own. “Would you be a doll and answer for me?” Her tongue flicked out of her mouth and touched my lips. Electricity shot through my body, tightening things low in my body.

“Maybe,” I whispered, unable to take my eyes off her lips. The brief touch of her tongue had felt so good, nearly everything in me wanted her to do more. Intellectually, I knew I shouldn’t want that, knew she was using her magic to charm me, but that was the thing with succubae. They could make you do things you didn’t want to do and be happy about it, and when it was over, you’d beg for more.

Even worse, I got the feeling this one was particularly powerful. So what was such a strong vampire doing here?

“Why are you here?” she asked, breathing the words into my slightly parted lips. Her magic rolled over my skin like silk and made me shiver. “What is your objective, Dioscuri? Why do you interfere in our plans?”

I swallowed and shut my eyes. As soon as I did, some of her power over me seemed to diminish. A little shocked gasp exited her throat. Was she surprised? Why? Was I not supposed to be able to shut my eyes? Either way, I was glad because it let me think, at least a little bit.

“The vampires in this city are being too open about their existence. The humans cannot know about the supernatural. That is the first law.” I swallowed again, and as I did so, some of the pressure in the room eased. Well, that was good. If they were less concerned, maybe they wouldn’t try to eat me. “Your kind knows this, but they are not complying. I need to know why.”

“Interesting,” she said, and her voice was very near my ear lobe. “If we agree to stay hidden, to rein in those who would seek to reveal us to the humans, will that be sufficient?” Her words seemed strange to me. Was she using vampire speak and trickery to get me into agreeing with her? It sure seemed like it, but why? Was she trying to get me to sanction what they were doing? Why would she care? Unless… unless they weren’t supposed to be doing whatever it was they were doing?

Was that why they hadn’t just killed me? Were they worried I was just scouting them out? That I was the first in a long line of Dioscuri coming to crush them? If that was true, they were definitely up to no good, and I needed to stop them.

“When I bring my report to the Dioscuri high council, they will have to decide,” I said, and the succubus huffed in frustration. She was so powerful even that tiny sound made me ache with the need to console her.

I slowly opened one eye, risking a glance at her, but she wasn’t looking at me. The vampire was looking beyond me at someone else and part of me was disappointed. She shrugged her shoulders, and her tiny movement made me realize just how sheer her top was. If she’d move just a little to the left…

The male vampire from earlier stepped forward, distracting me from the thoughts I really shouldn’t have been having. His sudden presence was even more unnerving because I hadn’t known he was there.

“Look,” he said, voice strangely scratchy and high-pitched. “By the time your people come here to stop us, we’ll be done.” He waved his hand dismissively. “As for the newbies, we’ll relocate them to Alaska or something. They like it there. It’s cold and dark. All you have to do is let us finish.” He gave me a look that made me realize it was the best deal I was probably going to get.

“I don’t have the authority to make a deal like that,” I replied, hoping the lie wouldn’t make them think I was useless and kill me outright, but would buy me time to think of a plan.

“When you lie to us, it makes me unhappy. Do you want to make me unhappy, Lillim?” the female asked, leaning down and grabbing my chin. She squished my cheeks together so my lips puffed out. “We know who you are Lillim Callina, Hyas Tyee of the Dioscuri. You have more than enough rank to agree to our terms.” Her words sent a chill running through me. So they did know who I was, and if they did and were still holding me here, trying to make an agreement, what they were up to was likely very, very bad.

“Because you’re up to something, and I don’t know what it is.” I tried to nod toward the weight on my chest. “You have me trapped here, and I get the distinct impression you want to drown me like a bag of unwanted kittens.” I exhaled sharply. “Those things make me think I shouldn’t help you. Not even a little. You know, ignoring the fact that you’re monsters.”

“What if we showed you what we were doing?” the male asked, arching one dark eyebrow at me. “Would that be better?”

Honestly, I wasn’t sure. On one hand, they were vampires, but on the other, if they were willing to show me what they were up to, how bad could it be? Maybe not that bad since the Dioscuri had a very low tolerance level for shenanigans. Then again, it could be a trap. They were evil after all.

“It’d be a start—” I started to say when the succubus cut me off.

“We’re not authorized to do that, Logan,” she said, looking up from me and glaring daggers at her compatriot.

“Danae, we don’t have a choice. Ariel wants a signed and delivered contract.” Logan the vampire gestured at me like I was exhibit A. “We have to do what Ariel says, or well, I don’t want to think about what she’ll do.”

“There’s no way…” Danae trailed off and shook her head. “If she gets free, it’s on you.”

Logan gritted his teeth but didn’t say anything else. Instead, he reached down and pulled something off my chest. The weight of the world eased. The necklace he’d been wearing earlier was in his hands, and without another word, he fastened it around his neck and tucked it under the collar of his black button up. Watching him put it away made me uncomfortable. Not just because he’d used his magic to bind me to the table really easily, but because he was making a point of keeping it hidden. What was it?

“Let’s go, Dioscuri.” Logan crooked a smile at me. “Time’s a wasting, and before you get any bright ideas, yes, when I said Ariel, I meant the Ariel.”

I know a name shouldn’t make me shudder and my knees tremble, but that one did. It was stupid. I know. But Ariel was one of the scariest vampires on the planet. She was the founder of a caste of vampires specializing in blood magic, and I’d been out of commission for more than enough time for her to have gotten her hands on some of my blood. If she had, she could turn my blood into acid, or worse. I didn’t even want to think about what the worse would be. Use the blood in my veins to walk me around like a puppet?

“Well, at least she recognizes who is here.” Danae scowled at me and turned away, her fingers playing over her top button again. It was weird because she seemed too old and powerful to still have nervous gestures. Time tended to strip away all human gestures from the creatures, leaving the older ones more like statues than not. Then again, she was a succubus. Maybe having human tics helped her seduce her victims.

“It’s one of the perks of working with the Dioscuri,” Logan replied, taking my hand in his and pulling me into a sitting position. It was weird because his flesh felt cold and clammy even though I was pretty sure vampires didn’t sweat. “They’re all so well educated. It makes it easy to impress upon them the importance of the situation. Imagine how much more difficult this would be if she didn’t know who Ariel was?”

Danae tsked, letting out the sound through clenched teeth. She definitely didn’t like whatever was going on. I wasn’t sure that was a bad thing. If there was strife between the vampires, maybe I could use that to my advantage.

The room they had me in wasn’t much to look at. Aside from the steel table I’d been laying on, it was empty save for a couple of metal folding chairs. There was a doorway to our right, but it didn’t even have a door. I wasn’t quite sure where we were, but the cobblestone walls and floor made me think dungeon. Still, this place was built beneath a modern looking building, so how old could it have really been? Unless, of course, whoever built it had a thing for old fashioned dungeons, but if that was the case, where were the bars?

I was about to ask when Logan pulled me to my feet and led me toward the doorway. The tips of my shoes caught on the cobbles, and I almost slipped, but the vampire held me upright with ease. He smirked at me, and I got the distinct impression he was enjoying himself.

Danae followed behind us, muttering in a language I couldn’t understand though it sounded sort of like French. Near as I could tell, she didn’t actually like me at all, let alone in that way. It made me wonder how far she would have been willing to go with her ‘interrogation.’ The thought made me shiver and not in a good way. She’d probably interrogated lots of people she didn’t particularly care for.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, glancing over my shoulder at her instead of watching where I was going.

She looked up at me, her dark eyes a mixture between curiosity and annoyance. “For what?”

“For you having to pretend to like me.” My cheeks heated up as she quirked one well-manicured eyebrow at me. “You know, in that way…”

“Apology accepted,” she stated mechanically, voice even as she stared at me. For a second, I thought I saw a thought swim through her eyes. Then she shook her head and strode past us, disappearing through the door, her short black skirt swishing around her hips in a way designed to catch the eye. I tried not to watch, but even without effort, the succubus was so strong, I couldn’t keep darker thoughts from running through my mind.

Beside me, Logan chuckled. It was a weird sound because it seemed amused rather than cold and maniacal. “I’m not sure if you pissed her off or impressed her,” Logan said, turning to shrug at me, his lips spread into a wide grin. “She doesn’t actually like…” he waved his hand at me, “you know.”

“Girls?” I asked as we exited the room and found ourselves in the hallway. There appeared to be other rooms like ours every few feet, but otherwise it was just a long hallway for several feet in either direction. Like the room I’d been in earlier, lights were embedded into the ceiling, so instead of feeling dark and dingy, it felt cold and unfeeling.

“Dioscuri,” he replied and the tone of his voice made me incredibly uncomfortable, like he was picturing me and her in his mind. “She doesn’t mind girls so much.”

“Good to know, I guess,” I said, looking around for some clue as to where we were going, but finding none. I had half a mind to try to escape, but what would be the point? Logan had said he’d show me what was up. If that was the case, I ought to let him lead me to it. If it wasn’t, well, I could try to escape then. It was a bad plan because, for all I knew, he could be leading me toward a pit filled with monsters, but I’d ridden that particular rodeo a few times now. The only problem was that I was without my swords. Still, I could tell they were close by.

“It’s not your fault.” Logan shrugged. “Her mate was killed by a Dioscuri.” The way he said the words made me feel a little sad which was crazy because she was a vampire. That meant her mate was probably a vampire too. I was not about to feel bad for killing creatures that literally sucked the life from people. You know, unless it was a really sad story. I had a heart after all.

“What happened?” I asked even though I probably shouldn’t have. I didn’t want to go forming attachments to a creature I might have to kill. We passed by another room, but it was empty inside save for a table and chairs similar to the ones that had been in my own cell.

“She was a human girl hung in Boston a little before the Salem Witch Trials,” Logan said, staring off into space like he was trying to remember something. “A Dioscuri accused her of being a witch, and it worked because people weren’t quite so forgiving of the whole lesbian thing back then. He was trying to use her as bait to lure Danae out of hiding, but she wasn’t even in the state at the time. Needless to say, she was quite enraged when she returned.”

I squinted at him, trying to decide whether or not I believed him. “You’re telling me a Dioscuri accused an innocent person of being a witch to lure out Danae, but she wasn’t even there?”

“Pretty much,” Logan replied, and I suddenly felt sick. The Salem Witch Trials were the example of why it was important to keep the supernatural world secret from the humans because they tended to overreact, and well, kill everything in their path until they felt safe again. To think that the event may have been perpetrated by a Dioscuri was even more unnerving. “I wouldn’t feel too bad about it though. Time heals all wounds…” Logan shrugged.

“You seem like such a caring friend,” I grumbled as he placed his hand on a door at the end of the room. It was shiny and metallic. I got the distinct impression it might actually be made from silver or at least coated with the substance.

“Oh, make no mistake,” Logan replied, glancing at me and narrowing his eyes. “We’re not friends.” With that, he shoved me through the doorway. The threshold felt heavy and warm, sliding over my skin like I was being shoved through a vat of warm raspberry jam. Magic zipped over my skin, and for a moment, it was all I could do to stand there and not feel overwhelmed. Wards flared to life all around me, blue flame bursting from their edges as we stood there, unmoving.

The wards lifted up in the darkness in front of me until they coalesced into a seething mass of light before exploding into a million scintillating shards that cascaded across the ceiling, illuminating the room before me.

We were standing on a marble balcony overlooking a room about the size of a basketball court. The stone floor was made up of darkening shades of red rock so it started off as bright as blood in the far corner of the room and flowed into a sort of black morass beneath where we stood.

A marble altar stood in the center of the room surrounded by acolytes dressed in purple robes with gilded owls embroidered onto their backs. The altar looked like it was big enough to sacrifice a bull on top of it. Only there wasn’t a bull on it at all. Jean Luc lay in its center. He had been stripped down to his underwear and tied to the dais with his hands splayed out to the sides.

One of the acolytes lifted a copper bowl encrusted with glittering gemstones and gestured toward Luc with it. Foul smelling pink liquid sloshed inside as another acolyte produced a jeweled bronze dagger and raised it in the air before sweeping her hood off her head to reveal her blonde hair. The little girl Luc had saved earlier turned and looked up to us, her lips twisted into a smile.

“Hello, Lillim,” she said, eyes twinkling as she gestured at Luc with the dagger. “You’re just in time to watch the show.” The way she spoke made me think she wasn’t worried I’d try to stop her. But why? If she was misbehaving, I’d have to stop her. Then again, it’d be really easy for her to use the blood in my body to turn my brain into mush. Was that why she wasn’t worried, or was it something more?

Logan’s grip tightened on my wrist, and my heart pounded in my chest as she turned back around and raised the dagger over Luc’s chest. I’d been a fool. These vampires were planning on sacrificing Luc, and I’d been almost feeling sorry for them and chatting?

Words in a language I didn’t understand spilled out of the girl’s mouth as Logan removed his necklace and leaned near to me so his lips were nearly touching my ear. “If you want to save your friend from Ariel, now is your chance. Her speech will be almost a full minute long.” Before I could even ask what he was doing, he fastened his necklace around my neck and took half a step to the side.

I glanced from him to Ariel and back again. I wasn’t sure what Logan’s necklace did exactly, but as it rested against my skin, I could feel power emanating from it. So why had he given it to me? And what sort of game was he playing?

He leaned forward on the balcony and clasped the marble like he was enjoying the show and made a shooing motion with his hand. “Move along, little Dioscuri. Times a wasting.”

I glared at him before turning my gaze on the scene below. I didn’t have my weapons, there was an immeasurably strong vampire down there about to sacrifice Luc, and worse still, she was surrounded by several other goons. The odds didn’t look good. But I was Lillim Callina, and I didn’t let little things like impending doom stop me from being stupid.

As she raised her dagger into the air, I leapt over the balcony.

13

The air rushed around me as I fell with my hands outstretched. I gathered as much power as I could in the time it took me to fall from the second story balcony down to the ground. It probably would have hurt, but thankfully, I had a vampire to break my fall. He crumpled against the stone altar as the impact traveled up my body, but I’d been planning for it. The vampire beneath me? Not so much.

Ariel’s eyes opened wide in shock as she turned toward me, but bless her heart, she kept chanting. It made me wonder what would happen if she was interrupted. It was time to find out.

My blood pounded in my ears from the thrum of energy next to the altar as I threw my hands outward, slamming my palms into her pint-sized body. I released all the magic I’d been gathering at once. The surge flung her backward across the floor, slamming her haphazardly into the stone wall at the far end of the room. The wet smack of it was so violent, it almost made me cringe away, but as she slid to the floor, the vampire narrowed her eyes and glared daggers at me. She slowly got to her feet, acting like I’d barely hurt her. That wasn’t good. Not at all.

The closest vampire came at me, but I managed to dodge his clumsy swing and drive my foot into the side of a knee. A horrible crack filled the air as he toppled into the dais, but I was already moving past him. A swipe of claws tore through my sweatshirt and pain shot through me. Scarlet flames leapt from the wound, drowning me in agony as I staggered.

That misstep was all it took for another vampire to wrap his unnaturally strong hands around my throat and hoist me into the air. My legs kicked outward, connecting with something soft and squishy. I fell, slamming backward onto the stone. I lay there, trying to remember how to breathe as my hand instinctively went to my wounded side.

It no longer burned, but there were still four more vampires surrounding me. Their eyes blazed from beneath their hoods as they lunged for me, undead fingers wrapping around my limbs and pulling at me. My sweatshirt tore as I struggled, and for a second, my hands were free. I drew upon my magic and smashed my fist into the vampire with the copper bowl’s face. The blow flung him backward like a ragdoll, and he hit the ground a few feet away. The bowl slipped from his hand and crashed to the ground, spilling the pink goop onto the stone.

The smell of burning rubber filled my nose as the stone began to bubble and crack. I leapt off the dais, landing in the place the vampire had occupied and used one well-placed sidekick to shatter the hip of the vampire who had been standing next to him. He flopped to the side as Ariel’s chanting reached a crescendo. Thunder cracked within the cloudless room, splintering my hearing as her words reverberated through the air and pounded in my ears like bass drums. My stomach clenched in horror as I spun in time to see her striding toward Luc, ritual dagger in hand.

“No!” I screamed, knowing I couldn’t leave Luc tied to the altar. I shifted and brought my elbow down onto the altar with all the force my magic-infused body could muster.

Pain exploded through my limb as power flared across the surface of the stone. Purple light exploded from the spot I’d struck, rippling outward along the surface of the altar and everything went totally silent for a moment. The altar shattered into powder. Luc’s body hit the ground just as Ariel reached us, dagger slashing through where he had been a second before.

“You’re ruining everything!” Ariel cursed, whirling on me and extending her free hand toward me. Everything went sort of black and hazy around the edges as the taste of blood filled my mouth. I toppled forward, falling to my knees across Luc’s body as pain racked me, distilling everything down into indescribable agony. Then all at once, the necklace around my neck went as cold as ice, chilling me to the bone. “We were supposed to have an agreement!” Her voice was an erupting volcano of rage.

Instead of replying, I tried to breathe. Only it felt like my lungs had filled with fluid. Try as I might, I couldn’t draw in any air. Bloody foam sprayed from my lips as the necklace froze my flesh. It was like someone had filled my veins with ice as the necklace throbbed and pulsed, and then, like magic, I could breathe again. How the hell had that happened? Had Logan’s necklace protected me from Ariel’s magic somehow? I was pretty sure it had, but why? Why would he help me stop her? What was in it for him?

Luc twitched beneath me, his body spasming hard enough to knock me off of him. I hit the ground hard, but wasn’t able to do anything more than lay there and bleed. His body was smeared with my blood. Only… only, he was glowing.

I tried to move, tried to get out of the way as every ward on his body burst into silvery flames. Ariel cried out, her shrill voice tearing my hearing asunder, but I could breathe again. I sucked in a merciful breath as I struggled to do more than watch Luc slowly rise. The vampire backed up, her blade held before her, fear plastered across her face. It was weird because I bet she hadn’t felt fear in a very long time. Still, why was she so afraid of Luc? Sure he had magic wards covering his body, but she was Ariel, the millennia old founder of the Owls. That didn’t make any sense at all.

“I thought you needed help,” Luc told the vampire, his voice strained and broken as he rose to his feet and stood there like a living pillar of silver flame. “But it turns out you’re just a very bad girl.”

His hand shot out, and he grabbed the vampire by the throat. He lifted her into the air like she weighed nothing, and she struggled, grasping her throat even though I knew she didn’t need to breathe. Silver fire leapt between them, crawling over her skin and consuming her as she thrashed in Luc’s iron grip.

It was almost enough to make me miss her lashing out with her dagger. The blade slashed open Luc’s chest, filleting him down to the bone. The wards along his torso winked out as his blood poured from the wound. Luc grunted and flung the vampire before she could strike again. She smacked into the wall hard enough to crack it and fell forward onto the stone still burning.

The other vampires were on the move, rushing toward their founder as Luc slumped to his knees, clutching his chest as his silver glow surrounding his body dimmed. I was on my feet in an instant, but as I reached out toward him, he held up one bloody hand.

“Blood,” he said, collapsing to the ground as the glow went out and crimson began to gush between his fingers. “I can heal with more blood.”

I looked toward the vampires and swallowed. Did he want me to pour vampire blood onto his open wound? That was insane, but then again, everything was insane. I hate to say it, but instead of trying to staunch his bleeding, I left him on the ground and sprinted toward the vampires. I grabbed the nearest one by the back of his cowl and jerked him off his feet. He hit the stone with a crash, and before he could recover, I drove my fist into his cloaked face hard enough to shatter his bone beneath my fist.

The other vampires turned toward me, and for a moment, I’d wondered if they would attack me, but Ariel took that moment to grab the closest of her minions and tear into his throat with her teeth. Her face was charred to the point I couldn’t even make out her features, but I wasn’t going to waste time watching her suck her vampires dry because afterward, she’d be coming for me.

Her minions stood there, unsure of what to do as I tightened my grip on my captured vampire and dragged him across the floor toward Luc. He stretched one hand out toward me, and I shoved the broken vampire toward him. He grabbed hold of the creature and pressed the vampire’s still bleeding face into his own torso.

The wards across his body flared with sapphire light, and his wound began to close. An inhuman shriek filled my ears, and I spun to see Ariel reaching out toward us. I felt her power slide off me and strike the vampire Luc was holding. The creature exploded into a cloud of red fog, flinging body parts in every direction. A leg hit me in the side of the head, and I stumbled backward, little tweety birds flapping around my skull.

“How are you avoiding my powers?!” Ariel howled in rage and frustration. Her flesh still had that mottled, burned look like a ham that had fallen into the fire, but it didn’t seem to hinder her movement much as she crossed the distance between her before I could draw a single breath.

“Oh you know, magic,” I said, throwing a punch at her face.

She dodged my blow with ease before slapping me across the face hard enough to rattle my teeth. “No matter, Dioscuri. I am no stranger to fisticuffs. I shall enjoy beating you to death with my bare hands.”

Ariel grabbed me by the hair and slammed my head backward into the stone wall. “Do you know how hard I have worked to catch the Wardbreaker? Now that I have him, I will not let you take him away from me. Not when I am so very close to victory! It’s too bad. I would have let you go if you hadn’t interfered, little Dioscuri. But now… now you will pay for this disruption with blood.” She sank her teeth into my throat. The feeling was indescribable. First there was pain as she tore my flesh open with her teeth, but after that it felt so good, I couldn’t even think beyond the pleasure.

It was a good thing Luc chose that moment to kick her in the face. Her fangs tore free of my body with a spray of her blood. I lay there, unable to move. The only thoughts I had were “why had she stopped biting me?” and “how could I make her do it again?”

Luc stepped over me and grabbed the vampire by the hair before tossing her into the wall. She hit with a sound that made me think broken bones and internal injuries before slumping to the ground amidst the dried up husks of her minions. Had she drained them all?

“Are you okay?” Luc asked, glancing at me as he knelt down and picked something up. The ritual dagger gleamed in his hands.

“Yeah,” I replied, forcing myself to get up. Now that the euphoria of Ariel’s bite had passed, I was left feeling groggy, but otherwise unfazed. “Takes more than a vampire bite to put me down.”

“Good to know,” He turned back toward Ariel as she rose to her feet.

The vampire smiled, her lips twisted into a horrific grin as she raised one hand in front of her face and snapped her fingers. The sound echoed within the room, so loud I was forced to cover my ears. The walls began to bleed. Crimson ichor flooded out from between the stones and splattered across the ground. All of her minions simply dissolved into ooze as her lips quirked into a smile.

“Rise,” Ariel said, and the words thrummed with power. Blood rose up around us as she evaporated into red mist. The room shook as the blood around us coalesced into a huge writhing mass. I swallowed, staggering backward as a winged serpent stepped forth from the slime and wrung its head, splattering us with goo. Luc’s wards flared with blue light for a split second before winking out completely.

Terror filled me as I staggered backward and fell on my butt. How the hell was I supposed to stop a blood dragon? Much less one controlled by the most powerful vampire in existence? It was impossible. There was just no way.

“What’s the matter, Wardbreaker? Dragon got your magic?” Ariel’s laughter filled the air as the creature opened its jaws and roared loud enough to shake the room.

14

A lot of thoughts went through my mind as I stared at the gigantic blood dragon, but none of them were particularly helpful. I mean where exactly was I supposed to hide in an empty room?

I had no idea how to beat something like this because it wasn’t even alive. It was a construct held together by Ariel’s iron will, and she had millennia of practice. Even if I beat it up, it wasn’t like I could stop the thing. The only way to take it down would be to break Ariel’s control over it. The only problem was, I had no idea how to do that either.

The dragon lumbered toward us, its heavy footfalls splattering red liquid across the cobbles as it moved forward, ichor dripping from its jaws.

“So what’s the plan?” I asked, backing away from the creature until my shoulders touched the stone behind me. I instantly wondered if I could somehow phase through the wall. Not that I would because that’d be running away… Oh, who am I kidding, I’d have totally run away from a giant blood dragon with teeth like glittering ruby daggers because it was scary as hell.

“Buy me some time,” Luc whispered, eyes narrowing at the beast. “I think I know what’s going wrong with my wards, why they stopped working despite all the blood and magic.”

Above us, Ariel cackled. It sounded like her voice was everywhere in the room and I shuddered uncontrollably, my knees quaking as I stared at the massive beast. I wasn’t quite sure how she’d managed to create the creature before us, but I was betting it took tremendous focus to keep it manifested. Controlling creations like her dragon was an all consuming task, even if you were a several-thousand-year-old vampire. Maybe I could blast it into ribbons and force her to spend time reforming it? I had to try, right?

“Sure, no problem. I’ll fight the monster while you meditate,” I said, ducking out of the way as a bloody claw cleaved through the air, forcing Luc and I onto opposite sides of the monster. The air was thick and heavy with magic, making it hard to breathe as I whirled around and faced the dragon with my fists clenched.

It turned its head toward Luc, ignoring me as the hunter knelt in the blood and placed his hand on the floor. I wasn’t quite sure why his wards had faded when there was so much blood on the ground, but I hoped he would figure it out soon.

Before the creature could amble its bulk around and smash Luc into twain, I slammed one open hand into its side. The necklace Logan had given me flared like fire against my skin, so hot I knew it was going to leave burns behind. I shrieked as my hand plunged through the dragon’s weird flesh with way less effort than I’d expected. I sank up to my elbow in the crimson goop of its skin. It sort of felt like cold pea soup. Power exploded up my arm, flowing into the necklace as it got hotter and hotter.

“White Sparrow!” I cried, doing my best to redirect all the energy flowing from the dragon and into my necklace. I was never really very good at sucking magic out of the air, let alone redirecting it, but in this particular situation, I didn’t have to be because there was so much of it. Power rampaged through my body, burning inside my veins like molten lead before surging out of my submerged hand.

A column of white fire exploded into being, slamming down inside the creature and cleaving a huge hole out of its center. The dragon snarled and thrashed as the fiery cylinder held it pinned in place. The smell of charred blood filled my nose as Ariel screamed in outrage.

The dragon collapsed into a puddle of goo, and I fell backward onto the stones, my spell winking out in an instant as I sucked a breath into my heaving lungs. I’d killed it. I wasn’t quite sure how or why Logan’s necklace had helped me, but I wasn’t going to question it right now. Instead, I tried to get up and move toward Luc, but before I could, something seized me by the scruff of the neck and hauled me to my feet.

“I’m not sure how you knew to rip the power from the heart of my blood golem,” Ariel hissed in my ears. “But I’ll make you pay for it, Lillim.” She said my name like it was a particularly offensive curse. What can I say? I have an effect on people and monsters. Still, I had half a mind to tell her it was Logan’s necklace and redirect her anger toward him. Something told me that even if she believed me, she wouldn’t do anything about it until after I was dead.

“Well, you know what they say,” I growled, trying to swipe at her with my hands but catching only air. “If at first you don’t succeed, kill it with fire.”

Instead of replying, Ariel flung me across the room. I hit the ground and bounced a couple times as pain ripped through my body and made things hazy and red around the edges. Ariel stalked toward me, eyes narrowed as she raised one hand and gestured at me.

The blood beneath me surged around my limbs, wrapping around my ankles and wrists and locking me to the floor. “You’re just a distraction, Dioscuri. An annoying one, I’ll admit, but a distraction nonetheless. Keep it up and I just may decide the ransom your mother will pay for your safe return isn’t worth it.” The vampire turned toward Luc who was still kneeling there, eyes far off and vacant looking. “You probably don’t even realize who he is.”

What did she mean by that? Luc was just a hunter right? Albeit a weird one with magic scars, but I never got the impression he was anything other than human. If he wasn’t, well, I’d have felt it right? So why was she so insistent seeming. Why had she been about to sacrifice him? And why was she here at all? This was Ariel, the founder of the Owls, after all. Surely, she had better things to do than deal with Luc and me.

Ariel smirked and took a step toward Luc. “I can see from your eyes that I am right.” She shook her head. “How very disappointing. I thought your kind was better informed, but in the end, you’re just like every other monster. Concerned with your own politics and missing the big picture.” Her words made me feel very small and embarrassed. Hadn’t I just accused Luc of the same thing earlier when we were dealing with the feeding holes?

Luc stood, and as he did so, the markings across his chest glowed every color of the rainbow, making the room light up like a disco ball. And yes, I knew what that was. Disco was pretty damned popular where I came from. Don’t ask me why.

“That’s enough, Ariel,” Luc said, his voice cold and even. “Say another word, and I’ll tear your tongue from your mouth.” He cracked his knuckles. “Though I’ll probably do that anyway. You know. For fun.” I’ll be honest, the sight of him standing there like an avenging angel filled me with the hope that maybe, just maybe, we wouldn’t die in the next few moments.

“Whatever,” Ariel said and blood surged around her, engulfing her body in an instant before coalescing into spiked, crimson knight’s armor. She held a bloody two-handed sword in one hand and gestured at Luc with her other. One by one, his wards winked out as a thin, nearly-translucent rivulet of scarlet spun out of his body toward her outstretched hand. “You forget who you are dealing with.”

Luc smirked, fingers tightening around the bronze dagger. “Then I’ll just have to make this quick.” He charged forward, moving so quickly, I saw little more than a blur. He slammed into Ariel hard enough for the reverberation to shake the room. The vampire stumbled backward, mouth twisted in pain as she swung the huge sword at Luc. He blocked the blade with one arm, and it shattered into a thousand droplets of blood that splattered across the room like warm rain.

The bindings around my arms and legs loosened, only a little, but it was enough for me to realize Luc had broken her concentration, at least a little. I squirmed, my muscles cording as I tried to wrench myself free of the bindings. Another titanic blow rocked the vampire and my hands slipped free.

I sat up, watching in amazement as Luc’s hammer blows slammed into the vampire’s exposed torso, mashing her insides into jelly as the wall behind her cracked. But why was he using his fists? What had happened to his dagger? I glanced around, looking for it. He must have lost the weapon because the blade glinted only a few feet away from me. I held my hand out toward it and concentrated.

“Come,” I murmured, pouring magic into the word. The blade jiggled on the ground before flying toward me. I caught it in my outstretched hand, and a surge of energy ran down the length of my body. My eyes opened in shock as I stared open-mouthed at the blade. It sure felt powerful. What was it? I lashed out at the bindings holding my legs. The dagger didn’t cut through the blood so much as dissolve it into scarlet smoke.

Ariel yelled something in what sounded like French, and Luc’s body flew backward through the air. He slammed down hard on the cobbles, and the last of his wards winked out completely. He lay there unmoving, and I got the distinct impression he was unconscious.

The vampire didn’t look very happy. Her face had been busted open, and her bloody armor was cracked and broken which was weird because it looked like it was made from liquid. As she limped toward the fallen hunter, her injuries healed before my eyes. From the look of things, we didn’t have a lot of time before she was back to full strength.

“Stop!” I screamed, hurling the dagger at her with all the force I could muster.

She turned toward me, confusion evident on her face. The blade punctured her left eye, and she screamed. The sound was enough to wake the damned, you know, if she hadn’t already drunk them all dry earlier. Black smoke poured from the socket, filling the air with the scent of rotten eggs as she reached up, clawing at the dagger. She jerked the weapon free in a spray of black ichor and stared at me with her good eye. The wound pulsated, black veins worming outward from the hole in her head, contorting her face into a mask of rage and agony.

I didn’t give her a chance to do more. I tackled her to the ground and unleashed everything I had left. Fire leapt from my fists, lashing her in down with writhing flames as I slammed them into her body over and over again. My chest heaved with exertion as the spell consumed everything inside me. And the sad thing was, I knew it wouldn’t be enough.

Ariel drove the bronze dagger into the fiery bonds. The blade cut through my magic like butter. Heat exploded outward, washing over me and evaporating the blood and sweat clinging to my body. My binding spell shattered completely, and the smoking vampire stood before me, flesh charred almost beyond all recognition.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said, glaring at me with her good eye. “Ransom or not, I’m going to kill you. First.” She grabbed me by the hair and hoisted me into the air. The movement was too quick for me to even try to defend against it. Had she been going easy on me before? Her remaining eye met mine, and I felt myself falling. Usually, I could shrug off a vampire’s gaze, but come on, this was Ariel, the veritable queen of the damned. And besides, she was pissed at me. Fighting her off was like trying to bail out the Titanic with a Dixie cup.

My hands fell to my sides, suddenly leaden and unmovable as her mouth opened wide to reveal fangs too large for her mouth. They glinted in the low light of the room as she leaned forward and sank them into my throat. Only this time, instead of feeling good, it felt like someone had stabbed me with fire. I tried to scream, tried to do anything, but my lips wouldn’t move. That’s when I realized I wasn’t even breathing. Panic surged up inside me as I fought to do anything at all.

The twin blades of Shirajirashii burst through the vampire’s stomach and tore outward, cutting Ariel in two and spilling the blood in her stomach across the cobbles. She screamed into my throat as her grip on me faltered, and she collapsed onto the floor, but instead of striking in two separate pieces, the moment her body struck the stone, it burst like a water balloon filled with red paint. There was no trace of her flesh at all. Somehow, it had all turned into goo.

Logan reached out, catching me in his arms as Ariel’s blood surged together and began to reform back into a vaguely humanoid shape. Well, that was a neat trick. I hadn’t known the blood queen could turn herself into liquid and reform. No wonder she’d been around for so long. With a power like that, she’d be nearly impossible to kill.

“Let’s get out of here before she recovers,” he hissed, pressing Set and Isis into my hands. As soon as my fingers closed around their hilts, their magic surged through me, breaking through the cobwebs of my mind and pulling me back to reality. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

“What are you doing?” I asked as he hurriedly pulled me across the room toward Luc’s fallen body.

“Saving you, obviously,” he growled, grabbing the fallen hunter and slinging him over one shoulder like Luc didn’t weigh a couple hundred pounds. Normally, vampire super strength annoyed me, but in this case, I was willing to make an exception… for now.

“Why?” I asked as a chill swept through the room, setting my teeth chattering and standing the hair on the back of my neck straight up. “Why are you helping me? Why did you give me the necklace?”

“Because I want you to kill crazy pants over there,” Logan said, glancing back over his shoulder. He looked like he’d been about to say more, but instead of doing so, he stopped and stared wide eyed. “That should be obvious.”

I glanced at what he was looking at but wished I hadn’t. Ariel was striding toward us. Her features hadn’t quite solidified, so she sort of looked like a moving statue of molten lead. She reached one hand out toward us, fingers splayed. Logan faltered, clutching his chest with his fingers.

“Leave us alone!” I screamed, drawing upon Set’s power and letting loose a blast of red lightning from my wakazashi. It struck Ariel in the chest and hurled her backward across the floor.

Logan sucked in a breath which was weird because he didn’t need to breathe and surged across the room toward one of the walls. I didn’t quite see what he did exactly, but the next thing I knew, the stone in front of him slid away to reveal stairs. He gestured for me to follow and darted inside.

I did as he suggested and followed. What else was I going to do? Stay here with the blood queen? Screw that. Even though I had Shirajirashii now, I still didn’t want to tangle with her. I mean she’d survived being sliced in half and getting lit on fire after all. Those were my two default methods of dealing with vampires, and I wasn’t quite sure what to try next.

As soon as I stepped into the stairway, Logan looked back at me, already several steps up, and waved his hand at me. The door behind us closed with a thud, and I wondered if it would even hold Ariel back for long. I somehow doubted it, so I double timed it up toward Logan even though he was damned near sprinting up the stairs.

By the time I reached him, I was breathing so hard, I thought my lungs would explode. “Slow down,” I wheezed, not sure if I actually wanted him to because something slammed against the doorway below us and the entire stairwell shook. “You know what, never mind.”

Logan shook his head and moved even faster. The hallway shuddered again and cold flowed up toward us. Was she through? It seemed impossible, but she’d already demonstrated she could turn her body into mist. Maybe she’d just slipped under the door? I sure hoped not.

“We’re here,” Logan said from above and pushed a hatch open above his head, spilling bright light into the room. Another crash echoed below us as Logan turned toward me, silhouetted by the sunlight above and gestured toward me with one hand. “Let’s go,” he called and stepped out into the light.

The street was pretty normal. It even had traffic which wasn’t surprising since by the look of the sun’s position, it was well past noon. How long had I been unconscious? It had to have been a while since we’d gone down before dusk. The thought made my blood run cold as I realized a horrible truth. We had been fighting Ariel during the day… when she was at her weakest. A shudder ran through me.

Logan pulled open the back door to a black town car and shoved Luc inside before shutting it. He swung the passenger door wide, gestured for me to get in, and went around to the driver’s side door. I climbed in as he was buckling his seatbelt.

“Buckle up. It’s about to get fast.” He stepped on the gas, sending us flying down the road before I’d even shut my door which seemed pretty dangerous, but probably less so than getting caught by a vampire strong enough to boil the blood in his body with a thought. “And furious!”

“So why’d you save me?” I asked, rolling my eyes at him as we sped away, Logan using his superhuman vampire reflexes to weave through traffic like he was some kind of racecar driver. Then again, maybe he was. Lots of the more normal looking monsters played professional sports because they tended to be both stronger and faster than the average human. Then again, I wasn’t sure racecar driving even qualified as a sport.

“If I said vampire politics would you drop it?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at me as he came up on the sidewalk and swerved around a blue minivan, narrowly missing a woman pushing a stroller.

“Unlikely,” I replied, pretty sure his driving wouldn’t make my hammering heart actually burst through my chest. It would be just my luck to survive a fight with Ariel only to die in a car accident. “You just assaulted your founder. That’s like a death sentence, right?”

“Yes.” He was silent for a moment as if chewing over his words. “But Ariel won’t be around much longer if my plans are a success.”

“And what plan is that, exactly?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t an integral part of said plan, while at the same time also hoping it wasn’t also worse than whatever Ariel was up to. I mean, she’d been in charge for a couple millennia and nothing that bad had ever happened. It was one of the reasons we hadn’t sent a squad of Hyas Tyees in to carve her into twain, well that and we didn’t exactly have that many Hyas Tyees anymore.

“Succession, obviously.” Logan stared at the road for a moment before huffing in a decidedly human way. “And even if you don’t want me in charge, you don’t want her plan to succeed, either. You just don’t.”

“What are her plans?” I asked just before the manhole cover in front of us shot from the center of the street and came crashing down onto the hood of our car. Logan tried to maneuver the vehicle, but it was too late. Our tire caught the hole, and we jerked to a stop in a squeal of shrieking metal. Then it began to rain. Blood.

15

The acrid smell of melting paint filled my nose as the car began to sizzle. Ariel came flying out of the manhole in a wave of crimson that crashed down on the street in front of us. Her hair had turned scarlet as she surged toward us, one hand clutching a ruby trident. Not only was her eye still a burned out hole, the entire side of her face was covered in black decay. Even from here, the stink of putrefaction was strong enough to make nausea rise in the back of my throat. That dagger had certainly hurt her.

Only now, seeing the look on her face I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. Next time I attacked a founder, I’d make sure I put them down for the count. Assuming, of course, there was a next time.

Ariel held her free hand out toward us, fingers splayed. Power washed over the car, and the ceiling tore backward like someone was rolling up the lid on a sardine tin.

“Oh hell,” Logan muttered under his breath as his entire seat was torn from the frame. With an absent gesture, the blood queen sent him flying off behind her. He struck the ground hard enough to make me think everything inside his body had broken. Still, the vampire tried to move, but he shouldn’t have bothered. Ariel snapped her fingers and blood poured from his mouth, eyes, ears, and every other hole he had. I fought the urge to throw up as he collapsed into a desiccated heap. So much for him helping me. The jerk. Why’d he have to go and get all the blood sucked out of him by the blood queen?

“Get out,” Ariel called, her good eye fixing on me. I averted my gaze at the last second even as her command reverberated through me. Even without direct eye contact, it was enough to make me unbuckle my seat belt and start to open the door.

People were screaming all around us, and the cry of sirens filled my ears. Ariel had to hear it too because vampires had way better hearing than I did. Still, she didn’t seem worried which was odd. Ariel didn’t get to be as old and as powerful as she was by drawing unnecessary attention to herself. No, this was decidedly odd behavior for the founder. She should have let us escape and sent her minions after us. Not come out here in the sunlight to take us on herself. So why was she here?

“Fine, but not because you told me to!” I gripped the hilts of my swords, drawing them as I shoved the passenger door open. Their white blades glinted in the sunlight as I took a step toward Ariel, trying desperately to keep my teeth from chattering and the fear writhing in my belly from rising up to strangle me.

“This is your last chance, Lillim,” Ariel said, nodding at my swords. “Let me have the Wardbreaker, and I will let you live. Not only that, I will remove every vampire from the entire state. It’s a good deal. Take it.”

“No,” I said, tightening my grip on my swords. I knew it was a good deal. No matter who Luc was, he wasn’t worth an entire state’s worth of vampires. For her to offer a trade like that was too much. It made me know deep inside myself I couldn’t let her take him. If I did, something bad was bound to happen. I did not want to be responsible for that, you know, unless she killed me and took him. I could live with that.

“I’d offer more, but I can see from your eyes it won’t matter.” She exhaled sharply as her lips set into a hard line. “Very well then. I shall make you an offer you can’t refuse.” Her lips quirked into a smile. “Death.”

As she raised her hand, I screamed, “Kongounonikutai!” as loud as I could and raised the twin blades of Shirajirashii high in the air, calling upon all the power Set and Isis could give me.

It was another technique Dirge had come up with and loosely translated, meant body of adamantine in Japanese. As soon as I said the words, the spell caused all the color to drain from my body, leaving me as white as alabaster. I took a step forward as power surged over my flesh, forming a thick shield of magic along every square inch of my skin. It was a good thing too because a second later, Ariel’s power slammed into me and flung me backward across the road. I skidded along the pavement, sure I’d have been ripped to shreds if it hadn’t been for my spell. That said, it still hurt like hell.

I gritted my teeth and popped to my feet. I wouldn’t be able to keep Kongounonikutai going for long, so I needed to stop her now. I charged at Ariel who had a strange look on her face.

“Interesting,” she murmured as I lashed out with my swords, swinging one at her neck and the other at her knees. She didn’t even bother to move. Just as the blades were about to cut into her, bloody liquid surged from the ground beneath her feet and coated my swords. My once razor sharp weapons did little more than smack into her.

She grunted, stepping through the blows that should have sliced her into pieces and cracked me across the face with her trident. The blow made my vision blurry even through the shield of Kongounonikutai. I didn’t even want to think it would have done if I hadn’t had my spell up.

“Not as interesting as I’m about to make your face!” I lashed out, battering her body with my edgeless weapons, but it didn’t seem to bother her as she grabbed my right wrist and with a shift of her weight, sent me tumbling behind her. I hit the ground in a roll, but as I came to my feet, a lance of blood struck me in the forehead. My head snapped backward with the impact, and I crashed onto my back.

“You’re way too young to even consider challenging me.” Ariel wasn’t even looking at me anymore. She just twirled her hand in my general direction and made her way toward the car. No, I couldn’t let her get to Luc. I struggled to my feet as the lance shattered into a million shards of bloody glass. They hit me, but my spell was more than enough to ward off some cuts. Or so I thought. Instead of slicing into me, the glass congealed along my flesh like it had done to my weapons.

It writhed up my body as I sprinted toward Ariel. I drove Isis forward as I reached her, stabbing the blade into her spine with all the strength I could muster. And it bounced off. The pain of it reverberated up my arm and into my bones as all of the weird glass blood coating my body swarmed onto my face and covered my mouth and nose. Ariel glanced back at me as I slumped to my knees unable to breathe.

“That’s right, you need to breathe. I almost forgot.” She grinned at me as everything started to go dark. She plucked Luc’s unconscious body from the backseat and tossed him to the ground next to me. “Pity.” She stepped on my chest with one dainty foot and pressed on my ribs. Even through my magic, it felt like she was about to break my ribs which wasn’t good for obvious reasons.

Still, I’ve never let little things like suffocation and being crushed stop me. So what did I do? I blasted the gas tank of the car with lightning. The car exploded violently, flinging all of us across the street.

I slammed backward through the window of a dry cleaner’s shop boasting really good Christmas specials and landed hard on the checkered tile floor with Luc’s body resting on top of me. I sucked in a breath that felt so good, I decided to take another one before I realized how surprised I was to be able to breathe. Evidently, blowing up a car on top of Ariel had broken her concentration. Who would have thought?

I started to crawl to my feet when the sounds of sirens split the air and jackbooted men with guns leapt out of their cars. They came rushing toward me, guns drawn and pointed at me of all things. What the hell? Didn’t they see the vampire?

“She did it. She blew up car!” An older Asian man screamed at the top of his lungs. He gestured at me from behind his cheap countertop. I hadn’t seen him a moment ago. Had he been hiding?

“Put your swords down!” commanded one of the cops, and as I tried to decide if I was going to let them capture me, one of them held up a device I was very familiar with.

“Don’t taze me,” I said, setting down my swords because it was either that or beat them all to pulp, and I was pretty sure they were more or less innocent. Besides, getting arrested had to be better than dealing with the vampires, especially since the vampires probably wouldn’t attack with so many armed humans around. Probably.

“Lay on the ground and put your hands behind your head!” one of them barked, and as I complied, they swarmed over me like ants. A moment later, I was cuffed and being pushed out the door. Paramedics were wheeling Luc’s stretchered body toward an ambulance. Well, at least they were prepared.

Ariel smiled at me from the crowd, waving at me with one red-nailed hand. Then she blew me a kiss. I gritted my teeth, resisting the urge to break free of my cuffs and leap across the space between us. I didn’t because, you know, breaking handcuffs was actually pretty hard. Instead, I glowered at her as they shoved me in the back of the police car. It would have to do. For now.

16

“Get up, Callina. We’re letting you go,” the guard said, walking toward my cage. He was a big guy, with bulging biceps and legs large enough to make me think he never skipped leg day. His short blond hair was trimmed close to his head, but then again, all the guards had haircuts like that. Maybe it was a guard thing?

The door slowly unlocked with a weird whoosh of air and disengaged from the magnetic lock. He gripped the bars with one hand and slid it open, staring at me with bitter blue eyes. “You must have some friends in very high places since we’re supposed to be holding you for a long time after the stunt you pulled.” He looked down at me like he was used to being intimidating. I guess he would have been if I hadn’t fought vampires all night. “Instead, I got a call from the goddamned governor. He told me to release your sorry ass, and not only that, I’m supposed to give you your weapons back and pretend like this never happened.” He smiled at me, but it was really more a baring of his teeth. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

I had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but I wasn’t about to argue. If he was going to let me out of here, I was more than willing to let him. He ushered me out of the room and into a hallway. Everything here was metal and concrete, and for a moment, I almost wondered if it had been built by vampires. Then again, steel and stone kept most things inside. Even I’d have had a hard time escaping since I couldn’t bend iron with my bare hands. Well, not very much at least.

“And I was really looking forward to leaping the wall outside and sprinting to freedom,” I said, glancing at the guard. He seemed to seethe with rage as he turned his stone cold eyes upon me.

“Is that supposed to be funny?” he asked before shaking his head. “I’d like to see you try it.” He leaned down close to me so his lips were very near my ear, which was some feat because he was almost two feet taller than my five foot nothing. It was sort of creepy, but not as much as the feel of his warm breath on my skin. “We had a werewolf try once. He made it six steps.” He stood up and grinned mercilessly at me. “You’d be surprised how few things survive a belt fed machinegun spitting hundreds of silver rounds at them.” He shrugged. “Then again, we’ve never actually had your kind here before. Maybe you’re tougher than a werewolf.”

A shiver ran through me as he spoke. The way this guy was talking, it sure seemed like he knew not only what I was, but how to take out a werewolf. But, but that was impossible. There was no way there would be a supernatural prison, right?

“You’re starting to get it, aren’t you, Hyas Tyee?” The guard spat my title as he pressed his thumb to a keypad beside the door. It flashed with a variety of colors before flashing green. The door hissed open revealing a solid steel room about six feet across. He stepped inside and gestured for me to follow. No sooner had I done so when the door behind me slammed closed and sealed shut.

The guard strode across the room and pressed his thumb to yet another keypad. This one seemed to take a while before flashing green.

“Good. We won’t get gassed.” The guard replied, hissing. “I hate when that happens. Always have to get new lungs afterward.”

“Why would we get gassed?” I asked as the door in front of him opened to reveal a beam of pure sunlight.

“Sometimes, things try to sneak through. When that happens, the room fills with poison gas. And yes, it does kill people, but at the same time, you don’t want anything in here getting out there.” He jerked his thumb toward the sunlight. “Trust me.”

“What the hell is this place?” I asked as I stepped into the sunlight and was forced to shield my eyes.

“Sweetie, you’re on Alcatraz,” the guard said, glancing back at me.

“In San Francisco?” I asked, following him down a long narrow corridor filled with laser beams. They didn’t do anything as he passed through each beam, but then again, maybe that would change. Maybe it would trigger some sort of crazy alarm that would fill the room with fire.

“No. This is the real one.” He shrugged in front of me. “No one escapes from here. Not even demons like yourself.”

“I’m not a demon,” I replied, giving his huge back my angriest stare.

“Whatever you say,” he replied, moving toward what looked like a plain whitewashed wooden door and swinging it open. He gestured for me to leave. “You can claim your things at the front. Good luck and don’t let the door hit you on the ass.”

I grumbled as I moved past him. As soon as I stepped through the door, there was a horrible wrenching sound and my brain physically hurt. My stomach lurched into my throat and nausea swelled up inside me. I fell to my knees, clawing for breath as tears streamed down my face and clouded my vision.

“What was that?” I choked, glancing back toward the guard. He wasn’t there. The door wasn’t there. Nothing but a solid cinderblock wall was there. What the hell?

I turned back toward the room ahead of me, but it seemed perfectly normal. How the hell was that possible? Where had I been? I remembered walking into the police station and being shoved into an empty room to await questioning. I must have fallen asleep in that waiting room because when I’d woken up I’d been in the cell. Had I somehow been transported to a weird interdimensional prison? Sadly, I sort of hoped so. If I hadn’t been, I was going crazy and that wouldn’t be good for anyone, especially me.

“What are you doing on the floor?” Danae asked, and I looked back to see her standing in front of me glaring. She tapped the toe of one black high heel against the ground a few times before shifting her hands onto her hips. She was wearing a modest black suit jacket with a tasteful white blouse and a black skirt that fell to just past her knees. It made me think lawyer.

“I… um…” I muttered, my cheeks heating up as I realized everyone in the room was staring at me. It was only three other people, but it was still weird.

Danae shook her head, stepping back half a step and looking down her pixie nose at me. “We don’t have time for whatever this is.” She gestured at me with one hand. “I’ve already gotten your stuff. It’s in the car.”

“Why are you helping me?” I asked, hoping curiosity wouldn’t kill me. It wasn’t like I had nine lives after all.

“Because I don’t want Ariel to succeed in tapping into the power of the blood moon and turning day into permanent darkness.” Danae shrugged like what she said even made sense. “I may be a vampire, but it’s no fun jogging down the beach at night. There’s not enough people to look. I can’t feed if no one looks.”

“Um… okay,” I said, getting to my feet, and as I did so, she spun on her heel and walked away. “I’m a little confused as to what the hell is going on.”

“You and Logan got yourselves captured by the police. They took your friend, the Wardbreaker to the hospital. That’s where we are going now.” Danae sighed and turned around to glare at me. “What’s not to understand?”

“Okay, firstly where the hell was I because that wasn’t a normal police station. Two, why did they just let me go? Three, how is Logan even still alive? Four, why is Luc still at the hospital? Shouldn’t Ariel have captured him already?” I asked.

Danae narrowed her dark eyes at me, threw her hair over her shoulder and walked out into the parking lot without saying a word. “I dislike you,” she said, approaching a lime green sports car and gesturing at it with a small black box with red buttons on it. It roared to life as she opened the door and got inside. The upholstery appeared to be made of leather, and as I slid inside, I felt the presence of Shirajirashii nearby. I turned and saw the twin blades lying across the backseat.

“To answer your questions. I’m not sure how you got transferred into the supernatural lockup. They let you out because I asked the governor very, very nicely to get you out. It wasn’t super fun, let me tell you. Logan is alive because Ariel hasn’t deigned to kill him yet. Luc is still in the hospital because Ariel has been using the staff to keep him sedated.” Danae wasn’t looking at me as she spoke, rather she seemed to be concentrating on the road which was good enough for me.

“Thanks,” I said, grabbing my swords. Their familiar weight made me feel better.

“Don’t thank me. Just stop Ariel and we’ll be square.”

“Okay,” I replied. “I was going to do that anyway.”

“You have no idea how little that means to me,” Danae said, and tapped a button on her steering wheel. Music began blaring in the cabin, so loud, I could barely think, let alone talk to her, which I suspect might have been the idea.

I sighed and looked out the window as we drove down the crowded street. There was so much traffic. This place was really crowded, and it was sort of unnerving. Where I came from there weren’t many people, and most of them were always gone on a mission of some kind. Let’s just say, I was used to eating in a mess hall designed to fit a thousand people by myself.

“So what’s it like being a succubus?” I called over the music, and if I hadn’t seen her fingers clench around the steering wheel, I’d have assumed she hadn’t heard me.

“It’s not super fun. Usually, I get to seduce gross people for things I don’t really care about.” She waved at me with one hand like I was an example.

“I thought most of you, um… liked your jobs?” I said, feeling the blush rise on my cheeks.

“Some of us do. Those ones mostly work in massage parlors and strip clubs.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“And I’m guessing you don’t do those things?” I asked, worried that this conversation was about to take a train straight into uncomfortable station.

Danae quirked one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me. “No. I don’t.”

“Okay,” I replied, looking away from her so I could stare out the window.

“It’s not like I have anything against those that do,” she continued, and I groaned inside my head. I had no idea where this discussion was about to go or what my part in it would be, but my desire to have a heart to heart with a vampire about her life choices wasn’t exactly large. “It’s just, I mean okay, sex is awesome, and I feed on it, so you might think I was all sorts of slutty, but really…” She glanced at me. “We’re not all that way.”

“I believe you.” I smiled at her, and she nodded.

“Thanks,” she let out a breath. “It’s just weird to explain that I’m a succubus but don’t like sleeping with random people.” She blushed a little bit and looked back out the windshield, which was good because she was driving and there was traffic.

“It is a little odd, but not out of the realm of possibility.” I rubbed my temples with my hand. “I know lots of people who sleep around and lots who don’t. I’m not sure why it would be different for vampires.”

“Most people wouldn’t see it like that. They’re always like, ‘oh, you’re a sex demon? Well feed off this,’ then they whip it out…”

“I feel like you’re going into way more detail than required,” I said as delicately as I could because I did not want to discuss sex with a succubus because, well, it was embarrassing. I hadn’t even had sex and here she was talking about people whipping it out in front of her, which come to think of it… “Who willingly has sex with a succubus?”

“You’d be surprised what people are into,” she said before lowering her voice to a whisper. “I know this one guy… Let’s just say I don’t think his hair has turned back to its normal color ever since he found out about us.”

“You fed on someone enough to drain the color from his hair?” I asked, incredulous. “And not only did he live, but he came back for more?”

“Like I said, some people are into weird stuff.” She flipped on her blinker and pulled onto a side street. Up ahead, a huge hospital stared at me through the window, and even though I hated hospitals with every ounce of my being largely due to the ginormous amount of time I’d spent inside them, I was happy to see it.

“I’m glad we had this talk,” I said as politely as I could when she pulled up in front of the massive building.

“Me too,” she replied. “I know you’re lying and uninterested because I can tell exactly how interested people are in what I’m saying, but it was nice of you to try. I’ll remember that.” A look of horror must have slipped across my face as I looked at her. I’d been trying to be polite, and she’d known I wasn’t concerned in the slightest. It was so embarrassing. “Now get out of my car and go save your friend.”

“And what will you be doing?” I asked as I opened the door and stepped into the brisk air. It always surprised me how cold it was outside when the sun was shining. It was one of the reasons I’d picked Southern California over say Northern Minnesota. I’d have died from the cold in three seconds there.

“I’ll keep the car running for your inevitable escape.” Danae patted her steering wheel. “Try to hurry though. I get bored easily.” With that, she leaned over and pulled a paperback book out of her glove compartment. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting her to read, but it wasn’t a book about sparkly vampires, that’s for sure.

She looked up, catching me staring at her book and grinned. “It was either this or the one about a young girl murdering other teenagers in a game of death. It’s a sad day when the story about fictional vampires has the happy ending.”

17

The hospital smelled like bleach and disinfectant, which I guess was par for the course. Then again that could have been because I was currently hiding in a janitorial closet. I cracked the door an inch to make sure the nurse who had nearly seen me sneak in was gone. Not seeing him, I crept outward.

“You there!” a gruff male voice called, and I spun on my heel, heart hammering. The nurse I’d been trying to avoid stared at me with annoyed grey eyes, his nostrils flaring in annoyance. He took a couple steps toward me, his tight green scrubs pressed against his body as he moved, making it pretty damn obvious he was well built beneath the garments. “What are you doing up here?”

“Visiting a friend?” I offered, sheepishly looking at my feet. It was actually sort of hard because I was wearing Luc’s trench coat. It was so long, it nearly covered my feet completely. I was using it because it was the only thing large enough to hide my swords. I always had half a mind to ward them with symbols that would make them invisible to the casual observer, but I hadn’t. Mostly because those symbols would slowly drain the power from me and my weapons. It would suck to need them at full strength and find them half empty. So I was stuck to hiding them the old fashioned way.

It made me glad she’d had Luc’s coat even though I wasn’t quite sure how Danae had managed to snag it. Then again, she had gotten the governor to let me out of supernatural jail, and I hadn’t even known the governor knew about the supernatural, let alone had a prison for its denizens. This would be exactly the kind of thing I’d have written in a report, you know, if I hadn’t run away.

“If you’re visiting a friend, why did you come out of the janitor’s closet?” he asked, gesturing at the door behind me. He rubbed his stubble covered chin as he watched me carefully. “People don’t usually do that when they’re just visiting a friend. Just saying…”

“Wait,” I said, waving my hand in front of me as I felt my cheeks flush. “We’re allowed to see patients in here?”

“Uh, yeah,” he replied, confusion filling his face as he stared at me. “It’s visiting hours after all. Who are you looking for?”

“Um…” I said because I was a little thrown off by not having needed to sneak around. “I’ve been trying to sneak in here for the better part of an hour, and now I find out I could have just asked to see my friend?”

He gave me a weird look and shrugged his massive shoulders. “That’s how visiting hours work. I should probably turn you in, but I’m inclined not to do that. Besides, what sort of trouble a teenage girl could get into sneaking into a hospital to see her friend?” The words he said sounded ridiculous even to me, which was probably why he gave me a weak smile. If only he knew.

“Yeah, okay,” I replied, trying to figure out what his deal was. “I’m trying to find my friend, Luc. He’s supposed to be here somewhere.”

The nurse pulled a strange gadget from his back pocket and poked at it with one slender finger. “Luc what?”

“Luc what?” I repeated, dumbly.

“What’s his last name?” the nurse asked, staring at me over the top of his device so all I could see of his face were his eyes and salt and pepper hair.

“I have no idea. We just met a couple days ago. We were in a car accident together,” I said, totally realizing how bizarre I sounded. “You know what, I’ll just find him on my own.” And yes, that’s when I began whistling and trying to walk off.

“You expect to find someone here when you don’t know his last name? You’re aware we have quite a lot of rooms, right?” he asked, walking up beside me. Even from here, I could feel the heat coming off his body. He had to be really hot for me to feel his warmth almost a foot away.

“What are you?” I asked, glancing at him as my right hand curled into a fist. I could smash him with a magically infused punch and be down the hall before he pulled himself up from the ground. Probably. Depending on what he was.

“I’m a nurse,” he replied, looking at me like I was totally crazy.

“Yeah, fine, whatever.” I waved my non-clenched hand dismissively. “What type of shifter are you? Wolf? Cocker spaniel?”

He stopped so suddenly, I actually made it several paces past him before he cleared his throat. “How did you know? I’m pretty good at hiding what I am,” he said in a low voice. “Wait, are you a Dioscuri?” His jaw clenched.

“Yes,” I said because what was the point of hiding it?

“Bear,” he said, jogging over to me like it was the most natural thing in the world to admit you were a werebear. It wasn’t like there were only thirty-six of them on the whole planet. “And if you’re a Dioscuri, I’m guessing you’re looking for Jean Luc. What’d he do this time?”

“Wait, you know who he is?” I asked, stopping at staring at the shifter.

“Yeah, I was hired to keep him safe,” the werebear replied, giving me a thin-lipped smile.

“Is that why you’re off the werebear preserve?” I asked, wondering who hired him. “I hear it’s nice there.”

“I’m not going back there,” he growled. His voice had changed to a low rumble as yellow spilled around the edges of his eyes. Great, so he was thinking about shifting. That was exactly what I needed. “You can’t make me.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about taking you back,” I said. “Ariel’s in this goddamned city and you shouldn’t be. I don’t care how much you feel like you owe it to Luc to protect him, you need to be gone. Now.” Normally, I’d be more than willing to let a werebear help me since they were like hell with claws in a fight, but I was not about to be responsible for getting one of the only creatures of his kind left on the planet killed.

He visibly shook at my words like he hadn’t realized one of the most powerful vampires in the world was in town. “Room 237,” he said before spinning on his heel and making his way back down the hallway as quickly as he could. “Make sure you keep Luc safe.”

Well, that was weird. I mean I knew some shifters had integrated into society and all, but it was still a little strange to see a werebear providing guard duty. They were endangered after all. Why had he left the preserve? Why didn’t he want to go back?

Most of them seemed happy to live in what amounted to an all-inclusive Caribbean resort. It had been set up because they had been hunted to near extinction. Besides, what better way to increase the population than with copious amounts of free alcohol?

Many of the Dioscuri had long suspected the reason werebears in particular were nearly gone was because they were solitary. Werewolves tended to form packs, even within the city, but werebears were almost always solo creatures. Sometimes, survival was a numbers game after all.

I watched the werebear disappear down the hallway before glancing at the closest room number. 215. So I was close. I grinned, reached under my borrowed trench coat, and felt the familiar weight of Shirajirashii. Just touching the weapons gave me a surge of confidence as I moved down the hallway toward Luc’s room. I wasn’t sure what would be waiting for me in there, but something told me it wouldn’t be good. If Ariel really was watching Luc, then she’d have guards around here somewhere. Just because I couldn’t see them, wouldn’t mean they weren’t there. Then again, there had been that werebear here. Maybe Luc was all alone inside the room?

Still, the thought of engaging a bunch of vampires inside the hospital wasn’t exactly appealing because magic didn’t exactly play nice with most modern technology. If I started throwing spells around, I’d short out equipment. I most certainly did not want to cause someone’s mechanical lung or dialysis machine to give out.

Which was why instead of using my magic to check for traps or hidden assassins, I held my breath and reached toward the knob on Luc’s door, hoping it wasn’t rigged to blow me to smithereens. As soon as my fingers touched the brass, something smashed into me like a goddamned freight train, flinging me across the cheap laminate floor like I was a broken doll. I bounced, once, twice, three times before smacking into a metal cart filled with towels and other miscellaneous objects. The cart fell over with a horrific crash as I laid there dazed and confused.

“I forgot something,” growled a creature that sort of looked like a fifteen-foot-tall panda, you know, if that panda was hewn from a nightmare realm of indescribable fear, fangs gleaming in the light as its jowls curved into a smile. “I’m supposed to kill you first.” His yellowed toe claws carved gouts in the tile as he raised a paw the size of a tennis racket into the air. “Good bye.”

“Pandemonium,” I murmured, and he seemed ever so pleased that I knew who he was. That was why he hadn’t been on the reservation. Pandemonium was a werebear assassin. He was said to be older than dirt itself because a witch had placed a curse upon him that stopped him from aging until he found true love or something stupid like that. Only he was a soulless killing machine who enjoyed ripping the hearts from people before they died because they tasted better when they were still beating. I wasn’t sure who his true love was supposed to be, but she’d have to be a hell of a beauty to tame this beast. “Let me guess, you’re working for Ariel?”

I flung myself to the side as his claws tore through the cart in a shriek of steel and gouged inch deep holes into the floor where I’d been.

“Yes,” he growled, whirling around and swinging with all his bulk. I scrambled out of the way as his claws cleaved gashes into the wall beside me. The hallway was so narrow it was sort of to my advantage because he couldn’t move that well, but I wasn’t exactly keen on close combat with a freaking bear. I may have been magical and all, but so was he. At the end of the day, it was still me fighting a goddamned bear and that was pretty scary.

Even still, I pushed down my fear before it could bubble over and paralyze me. With a battle cry, I threw myself at the enormous creature and drove my knee into the two-ton monster’s gut. He looked down at me like he had barely even felt the blow. Which was probably because he hadn’t felt it. At all.

Pandemonium tried to wrap his giant arms around me, but I dropped beneath them and slid between his tree-trunk-like legs. I came up behind him as the creature tried to whirl around, but he was too bulky to do it quickly, even with his supernatural speed.

“You know, I always wanted a bear skin rug,” I said, ripping my swords from their sheaths and driving the blades into the backs of the werebear’s knees with authority. The creature howled in agony as I tore them sideways in a spray of blood and cartilage. Pandemonium toppled beneath his own immense weight and hit the floor with a crash.

I knew I didn’t have long before he healed the damage and got back up, so I leapt upon the evil panda’s back and hacked at his spine, trying my best to separate his vertebrae. It wouldn’t paralyze the monster, but it’d sure take a while to get all those nerves back in order, or so I hoped.

Pandemonium screamed in pain as I leapt off his ruined back and sprinted toward the door to Luc’s room. I wasn’t sure how much time I had left, but I was sure it wouldn’t be a lot if the werepanda was working with the vampires. For all I knew, he’d already alerted Ariel to my presence, and her people had already evacuated him through the window or something. There was a thud as I grabbed the knob. I turned in horror to see the werepanda pick itself back up and pop his neck. All the damage I’d just done to him was gone. Just gone. It wasn’t fair.

“That tickled, little girl,” he said and licked his lips with his overly large tongue before rushing straight at me. So much for needing his spine to, you know, do whatever a spine did. Pandemonium was upon me a second later, batting me across the hallway. My teeth snapped together with so much force, I was pretty sure I’d have to see a dentist to repair the damage. I cartwheeled across the floor before crashing into the elevator all the way down the hallway.

The werebear came barreling toward me as I got slowly to my feet. There was a ding, and the elevator doors opened behind me. One quick glance was enough to reveal a woman in crisp pink scrubs. She took one look at the creature and started screaming. I reached in, hit the door closed button, and sprinted toward the Pandemonium, hoping I could reach him before he slammed through the still closing doors and killed the lady inside by accident.

“I’ll see you in hell!” I said, sheathing my katana and pulling Luc’s shotgun from beneath my coat in one smooth motion. I hadn’t been sure how his trench coat seemed to be able to hide so much gear, but I wasn’t about to argue, though I was going to make a point of asking him about it later.

I blasted Pandemonium full in the face from half a foot away, obliterating his snout in a hail of silver buckshot. I cocked the shotgun again as fast as I could, unleashing another five shots into the creature from point blank range. Silver fire erupted from the werebear’s wounds as he staggered backward, roaring in pain.

“You should have stayed on the reservation,” I growled, smashing the superheated barrel of the empty weapon into his groin as hard as I could. I probably shouldn’t have bothered since the werebear was wobbling backward with half of his flesh gone and the other half consumed by silver flames, but it felt right so I did it. Besides, he’d just healed having his spine hacked to pieces. I wasn’t taking any chances.

The creature crashed to the ground with enough force to shake the building. I let out a little whoop of victory, you know, before the door to Luc’s room opened and vampires started shooting at me with machineguns. Which was pretty lame of them, let me tell you.

18

Here’s the thing about bullets. They’re fast. As much as I’d have liked to fling a magic shield in front of myself, it was hard to do with bullets already flying down the hallway toward me. I tried to throw my body out of the way, instinctively covering my head with my hands and bracing myself for the impact.

Agony ripped through my body as bullets slammed into me… and bounced off. I lay there, pain radiating through me from each shot as I crawled the rest of the way into the alcove on my hands and knees. Bullets continued to chew up the wall for a moment before stopping. My ears rang in the sudden silence of it.

I wouldn’t have long before they were down the hallway and blasting me with even more lead. Still, why was I alive? I’d been hit more than enough times to have been turned into Swiss cheese. I looked down at my borrowed trench coat and gasped. It was flaring with light from a billion wards etched into the blue leather. I don’t know how I hadn’t noticed it before, but evidently Luc’s trench coat was somehow spelled to overcome bullets. It still hurt, but not nearly as much as it would have if I’d been shot. Well, that was cool.

“Well, that changes things,” I said, dropping the empty shotgun to the floor. I stood and gripped the twin blades of Shirajirashii. It was time to take this fight to the vampires, and while the trench coat was nice, it wouldn’t exactly keep a bullet from splitting my head like a cassava melon. If I was going to face vampires with machineguns I wanted to be one hundred percent bullet proof.

“Kongounonikutai,” I murmured, unleashing the power of my swords. Like before, my body became sheathed in alabaster. I was still a little worried about my magic short circuiting things, but at the same time, of all my spells, this one was pretty compact, if powerful. The magic was only a few millimeters from my skin. I’d just have to make sure I didn’t bear hug some sensitive equipment.

The vampires came around the corner and fired as soon as they saw me. Bullets pinged off my chest of my trench coat like I was Superman. Evidently, it wasn’t what the creatures expected because fear flashed across their features as I crossed the distance between us and calmly removed the head from the one in front. His body collapsed in a spray of blood as I surged into their group, slashing outward like a deadly ballerina as I spun through them.

Crimson splattered across the walls as I dropped the last vampire and stepped back into the hallway. I sheathed my katana because it was too long to be super effective in the close confines of the room and scooped up one of the vampire’s machineguns. I wasn’t sure what kind it was, but I’d been trained with various weapons so I was pretty certain I could point it at a target and fire.

I sprinted toward Luc’s room, keeping my guard up, but not seeing anyone at the same time, which was a little weird because Pandemonium had been laid out on the floor before. Where was he?

A howl tore through the air as the werebear assassin leapt from the open doorway in front of Luc’s room and slammed into me with bone crushing force. My head smacked against the far wall as my wakazashi slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor.

Pandemonium batted my head like it was a softball, his claws scratching against the magic of my shield. I tumbled across the linoleum before skidding to a stop. Ichor and blood dripped from his flesh as he ran at me, jaws bared. My heart hammered in my chest as I unloaded the machinegun in his direction. It didn’t even slow him. He just kept coming as bullets tore into his flesh. It’d be hard for him to heal the damage around the metal embedded inside him. His flesh would have to push out the bits of metal first. That was something, right?

He leapt the last several feet, intent on bringing his two-ton frame down on my small body. I may have been encased with a magical shield, but I still didn’t want to get pinned if I could help it. Besides, assuming I wasn’t driven through the floor, it would hurt like hell, shield or not.

I rolled to the side as he crashed into the spot where I’d been. The linoleum cracked, and his left foot plunged through the floor. I got to my feet, pulled my katana from my sheath, and set myself into a two-handed fighting stance. The creature roared, tearing himself free of the punctured cement, evidently not caring about the flesh he left behind. Blood ran down his black and white panda fur, but as he turned to face me, the last of the bullet holes puckered and healed over. Great.

“Look, if you leave right now, I won’t kill you,” I said in my best tough girl voice. I was actually impressed because I even kept the tremor out of it.

The giant werepanda regarded me for a moment, head cocked to the side before booming laughter rippled out of its throat. It was loud enough to hurt my ears.

“You’ll spare me?” Pandemonium asked incredulously. “You have sliced me open, shot me with silver, riddled me with bullets. None of that has mattered, and you still think you can kill me?”

“Well, I was barely trying before.” I grinned, tightening my grip on my katana and reaching out toward the blade with my mind, begging it to lend me its power. “You haven’t even seen me use my serious face. It’s a real bear.”

“You think you’re funny?” The werebear snorted. “How about this deal? I eat your heart and mail the rest of you back to your mother in a box.” His lips curled into a strange grin. “I’ll leave your face alone so your parents can enjoy an open casket funeral.” Instead of waiting for a reply, the massive creature came at me, crossing the distance between us in a heartbeat.

I shut my eyes and concentrated on letting Isis do her thing. Air rushed by me as I felt the goddess’s hands on mine, guiding my strike. My katana leapt through the air like it had a mind of its own, blue energy cascading off the blade as I stepped beneath Pandemonium’s first strike, allowing his momentum to carry him into the weapon’s deadly edge. My magic infused muscles screamed as I shifted my hips and swung upward. Blood sprayed across the walls. He moved a few steps past me before collapsing to the ground, a sapphire slash of light burning across his body from crotch to shoulder.

A breath exploded from my throat as it happened. My arms fell to my sides as my magic fled me, and my skin turned back to its normal color. The light on Isis’s edge faded, and the werebear’s eyes grew opaque and glassy. I hadn’t actually dealt him a deathblow, hell, I hadn’t even cut him. I’d just called upon Isis’s power to play a trick on the gargantuan monster. You know, to make him think he’d gotten sliced in half.

Pandemonium laid there, trying to pull himself back together, even though if he thought about it for a second, he’d probably realize all the damage was an illusion. Still, Isis was the goddess of magic, when she cast a spell, it tended to stay cast, at least for a while. That was good because trying to take on a two-ton monster inside a hospital had not been going well at all. It made me wish I had some gasoline and a box of matches to finish the job while I had the chance. Then again, setting a hospital on fire was probably a bad idea. I barely wanted to use my magic in here, so using a fire spell was out too.

“You should have taken my deal,” I said, whipping my katana outward to fling the blood from the blade before collecting my wakazashi. “Now you’re just a sad panda.”

The werebear didn’t even respond as I spoke but that may have been due to the shock of thinking he’d been cut in half. Instead of chopping off his head like I should have, I spun on my heel and left as quickly as I could. Part of me wondered if I should risk it. No… if my next attack didn’t kill him outright, he’d probably realize he wasn’t as hurt as he thought he was.

It was too risky. I’d just have to hope the creature escaped before he realized what happened. With any luck, I’d be long gone by the time he figured it out. Besides, he had to have burned a lot of calories during the fight. He’d have to eat something soon anyway or risk his body metabolizing itself. If I got out of here quickly enough, he’d definitely stop to raid a McDonalds before coming back, no matter how angry he was about being made the fool.

As I stood before the door to Luc’s room, I smirked. I’d been standing in this very spot only a few minutes ago, but it felt like it’d been a lifetime ago. Hopefully, Luc was still inside. I thought about asking my ghost to see what was on the other side, but I didn’t want to spend a ton of time here, what with a monster I’d tricked into thinking he was dying lying on the floor a few yards away. I was cheeky, but not that cheeky.

I kicked the door as hard as my magic-fueled strength would let me. The thin particleboard shattered under my assault, ripping off the hinges before buckling. It crashed against the far wall, knocking over the vampire who had been standing behind it with a machinegun.

His weapon clattered across the floor as I drove Set through his chest, pinning him to the ground like a butterfly. My first inclination had been to kill him, but since Luc wasn’t in the room I wanted to ask him a few questions first.

Yeah, that’s right, not only was Luc not in the room, there wasn’t anything in here at all. It was just bare walls. I gritted my teeth as I realized I’d been set up by Pandemonium. He’d been the one to tell me where Luc was, and I’d been too stupid to realize it was a trick.

“You’re going to tell me where Jean Luc is right now, Mr. Vampire, or I’m going to start cutting off body parts. Unlike the shifter out there,” I jerked my thumb out the door, “I’m not sure how well you heal, so I’ll make sure I cauterize the wounds when I’m done so you won’t be able to repair the damage. How’s that sound?” I asked, smiling sweetly at him as his face contorted in pain. “I’m going to ask you exactly one time. Where is Luc?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he tried to tear my wakazashi out of his chest by the blade, cutting his hands open in the process and spilling his blood along its edge. I snapped my fingers and sent a small surge of will toward the weapon. Set lit up with a crimson glow as the sigils flared like tiny stars. The vampire screamed in pain and dropped his smoking hands to his sides.

“Okay,” I shrugged. “I guess you’ll be spending the next, oh, forever with no legs or arms.” I lifted my katana and aimed at his left arm, touching the crook of his elbow with the edge before raising it above my head. “I’ll be honest, I have bad aim so this might take a couple tries. That’s okay, right?”

“No!” He squealed just before I was going to swing. “I’ll tell you, Dioscuri.”

“Excellent.” I grinned at him and knelt by his side. “I knew we’d see things eye to eye.”

“When Pandemonium gave us the signal, I told my men to move Luc out of here. They’re probably still loading him into the helicopter on the roof. If you hurry, you might be able to catch him.” I stared at him for a moment, trying to decide whether or not I believed him. I really didn’t have much of a choice, which really pissed me off.

“Okay,” I growled, sheathing Isis and tearing Set out of his body. I grabbed him by the collar and hauled him to his feet as gore dripped down the front of his white t-shirt. “Show me. That way if you’re lying, I can throw you off the building. I know it won’t kill you, but it’ll sure make me feel better.” I gave him my best crazy smile, and he shrank away from me before I shoved him into the hallway.

The werebear was gone, but there was a ginormous trail of blood leading toward the elevators. Good, so he still thought he was hurt, and was no doubt frantic about why he hadn’t healed the wound yet. I sure hoped that letting him live didn’t come back to bite me in the ass. Then again, maybe he’d crawled off into an elevator and died. It was possible, right?

We moved toward the elevators as fast as I could reasonably make the vampire go while still keeping my grip on him. Thankfully, he didn’t even try to run. As we reached the elevator, he pressed the up button with his thumb, leaving behind a bloody thumbprint.

“Oh no,” I said, shoving him past the metal deathtraps and toward the stairs. “There is exactly zero chance of me getting into an elevator with you. Assuming it didn’t malfunction and kill us, it is way too enclosed of a space for me to risk it. For all I know, you have the shaft filled with explosives or snake demons. Who knows?”

“And they say I’m paranoid,” the vampire muttered.

“Just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you,” I replied, pushing open the door to the stairwell with his face, smudging the little glass window in the center of the wood in the process. “Go on, tell me I’m being cliché. I dare you.”

He shut his damned trap. Which was good since it took longer than I’d have liked to make it up the stairs, but even though my chest was heaving from dragging the vampire up six floors, I still was calling it a win because I hadn’t died in an elevator. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the giant metal demon boxes, but I didn’t exactly like the idea of someone potentially breaking a few cables and sending me plummeting to my death. Besides, for all I knew, there was a really pissed off werebear inside one of them just waiting for his next meal.

I threw the vampire at the door marked helipad. Instead of breaking through it, he bounced off and collapsed to the ground yowling. “Next time, try turning the knob first, jerk,” the vampire said, reaching up and twisting the silver handle. The door swung open to reveal a helicopter, its rotors already spinning. I caught a glimpse of Ariel standing in the compartment with Luc just before the door closed, leaving me staring at the red cross painted on the white metal.

“No!” I screamed as the helicopter started to leave the ground. I charged forward as fast as I could and leapt. My free hand grabbed onto the skids as we surged high up into the air. As I dangled several hundred feet above the ground, I tried desperately to keep the panic swelling inside me from taking over.

I took a deep breath, finding my center and calming myself before sheathing my wakazashi. I wrapped both of my arms around the skid and with my muscles screaming, pulled myself into a less precarious position. I wasn’t sure if the vampires inside the vehicle had noticed me leap onto their helicopter, but I had a feeling that even if they hadn’t, the vampire I’d left alive on the rooftop would let them know. For all I knew, he’d already radioed them about my position. That thought made my blood run cold as the wind rushed by me.

Still, it was nothing compared to the panic I felt as crimson light exploded from within the helicopter. The smell of blood, like a bucket of rusty nails filled my nose. The surrounding sky darkened as the sun turned sanguine, casting the entire earth in blood.

19

So what did I do? I took a deep breath, grabbed the door, and jerked it open with all the strength I could muster. Its internal mechanisms held for a second before ripping free and sliding backward into the skin of the helicopter. Ariel was nowhere to be found, which was good.

Unfortunately, four vampires surrounded a metal gurney with Luc’s unconscious body strapped to it. Tubes were stuck in his body, feeding some kind of viscous green sludge into him as his wards glowed with faint red light.

While the vampires didn’t look like they had expected me to burst into their helicopter in midflight, they were already starting to come at me with preternatural speed. Before they could throw me from the vehicle, I launched myself inside, screaming incoherently.

My fist lashed out, catching the closest vampire under the chin and snapping his head backward. I spun on the balls of my feet and drove my knee into another’s side, knocking him into his female companion as she tried to grab me from behind. They went down in a heap as I dropped to my knees, avoiding another female vampire’s kick as it whooshed by so close to my head, the wind coming off of it ruffled my hair.

I grabbed onto her leg and jerked her off balance as I came up, slamming her onto her back and making the floor beneath us shudder. The vampire I’d slugged originally came at me fangs wide and glinting as blood streamed from his torn lips. His fist caught me on the shoulder, and my left arm fell numbly to my side. His fingers curled around my trench coat, pulling me toward him. I stumbled as another one grabbed onto my ankle with its vice-like grip.

My body toppled forward into the vampire, throwing him off balance and making him trip over the female I’d body slammed earlier. His hand released me, shooting out to try to catch himself on the door before he fell. He missed the helicopter’s thin wall completely and plummeted through the door. Well, that was one less vampire to worry about.

I crashed to the ground on top of the vampire he’d tripped over as the first female got to her feet and came at me, long nails splayed like talons. I reared back and mule kicked her as hard as I could. My boot connected with her knee. The crack of the shattered joint filled the air. Her scream pierced my ears, loud even over the roar of the helicopter blades. I scrambled forward on my hands and knees, pausing only momentarily to drive my elbow into the vampire beneath me, shattering her nose in a spray of blood. Her eyes went glassy, and her hands fell limply to her sides.

The only male left in the cabin was back up and racing toward me, but there wasn’t anywhere to go. I threw myself to my feet, grabbing onto the metal gurney holding Luc’s body and called upon my magic, summoning everything I had. In an aircraft. Full of sensitive equipment. High above the ground.

An explosion ripped through the air and smoke filled the cabin as magic surged around us. The rotors stalled with a shriek of tortured steel, and the lights on panels all around me caught fire or winked out entirely. The door to the pilot’s chamber swung open, and Ariel stood there, annoyance playing across her delicate features. At first, it looked like she’d been about to scream at her companions, but as soon as she saw me, her face twisted into rage. Behind her, I could see lightning bolts leaping across the pilot’s console as smoke poured from it. His hands scrambled over it, fighting for control against the crippled machine.

“You!” she howled, pointing one red-nailed finger at me and baring her fangs.

“Me,” I replied and threw all my magic outward at her. The spell leapt across the space between us as a bolt of purple energy slammed into her and threw her backward into the cockpit. Her body slammed against the windshield, shattering it beneath her. She drove one hand into the metal skin of the helicopter, her fingers piercing it as she fought to keep from being flung into the distance. I had half a mind to throw another blast at her, but my heaving chest told me I didn’t have much left in me. Damn.

“Are you insane?” she screamed as another explosion ripped through the air above me. Our vehicle plummeted like a stone as bits of metal flew off in every direction. Had we lost the rotor? Oh, that was definitely bad.

“Only according to my ex-boyfriend,” I replied just before the floor slid out from under me, and I was saved from being flung into the abyss by grabbing onto one of the straps lashing Luc to the gurney. The leather snapped tight in my grip, cutting into the callused flesh of my palm.

“Time to go,” I said and reached over with my other hand, unsnapping three of the four straps holding him in place. I grabbed onto him with both arms, unsnapped the strap I’d been using for balance, and kicked off the metal death trap with all the force my tired leg muscles could muster.

We flew backward out the door, leaving the relative safety of the cabin as the helicopter started spinning like a broken top, spiraling toward the ground below in a stream of fire and smoke. I fought the urge to look down and instead concentrated on focusing my will. I’d never done this before, but I’d heard of Dioscuri using magic like a parachute. Maybe it would work?

Before I could gather my magic, the pilot leapt out of the helicopter, a pack on his back. He pulled a strap free, and his parachute exploded behind him, jerking him upward as it caught the wind. I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to turn and threw my hand out toward him. “Come!” I screamed.

Power poured out of me as sweat covered my body in an instant. Spots danced across my eyes as my spell ripped across the distance between us and grabbed onto the vampire. My body jerked to a stop, and I nearly lost my grip on Luc as his dead weight threatened to dislocate my arm and rip him from my grasp. My shoulder shrieked in pain, still aching from where the vampire had struck me earlier.

We fell like that, our bodies slowing as my spell tried to pull the parachuting pilot to me, buoying us both. He stared at me wide-eyed as he fell, like he couldn’t believe what was happening. That made two of us. We jerked in the air, and I felt us fall for a split second before my spell snapped taught again. Spots danced across my vision as I struggled to fight off the exhaustion threatening to overwhelm me. I tossed a look below me, and instead of being totally scared out of my mind, I was relieved to see a high rise building not too far away. If I could make it there…

I threw myself into action, swinging myself into an arc as I released my spell and sent Luc and I careening toward the rooftop. The helicopter slammed into the street below me as I fell and the force of it reverberated through my stomach even from here. A feeling of dread filled me as I realized we weren’t going to hit the roof. I pulled in every last ounce of power I had left as we came careening toward the glass walls of the building.

Just as we were about to hit it, I released everything, not shattering the glass so much as disintegrating it entirely. My vision distilled down into a tiny pinprick of light as I tried vainly to absorb our impact with Luc’s magic trench coat. My breath exploded from my lips in a violent whoosh as we slammed into the well-decorated office hard enough to shatter not only the table in the middle of the room, but the bookshelf on the far wall as well. Orange basketballs fell from the glass cases atop the bookshelf, bouncing all over the room as I lay there staring at the ceiling, not believing I wasn’t dead. Still, I hurt so much, I had to be alive. Death wouldn’t hurt this much.

I wasn’t sure how long it took for me to be able to look around, but I heard the woman screaming before I’d so much as turned my head. She was wearing a cream-colored suit and looked to be in her mid-forties with ginger-colored hair. She backpedaled out of the room, one hand to her mouth. Her high heel caught on a rolling basketball, and she stumbled, falling on her butt.

Luc groaned beneath me, wards no longer glowing sickly red. His body was slick with sweat, but he seemed relatively unscathed for having been flung from a moving helicopter. His eyes fluttered open as I tried to sit up, but even that tiny effort made stars flash in front of my eyes. I felt myself falling, but didn’t feel the impact of my head hitting the carpet. Not good.

“Lillim?” Luc asked, but his voice sounded weak and far away. I tried to respond, tried to make my mouth make words, but as I tried, I found I could barely even think. It was like someone had filled my brain with cotton. “Lillim?” He shook me, like it would do any good. My vision faded to black.

I lost consciousness.

20

I woke up to find myself being dragged out of the office. Luc’s chest was heaving as my feet slid across the carpet, one of my arms draped over his shoulder as his other encircled my waist, holding me against his feverishly warm body. His skin was slick with sweat that stunk of blood and fear.

He must have noticed I was awake because he shot me a look, lips quirked into a strained smile. “You okay?” His words sliced into my brain like a battle axe, and I cringed away. I felt drained of everything, and to be honest, I wasn’t even sure how I was still awake.

I shook my head, and he let loose a loud breath. The moment it touched my skin I felt a little jolt of power. Was he feeding energy into me? If so, how? I tried to ask him, but words failed me as he turned back toward the woman. She was still sitting there gaping at us. Evidently, I hadn’t been out for long, but that was weird. I’d used almost everything in me to escape the helicopter and rescue Luc. I should be unconscious for a lot longer.

“Can you walk?” he asked as my feet found the ground, and surprisingly, they held my weight. “I’m lending you some energy so you ought to be okay as long as you hold my hand.” He squeezed my fingers, and I felt a surge of power flow through me. How the hell was he doing that?

I nodded even though it was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. My vision swayed, and my teeth started chattering before I toppled uselessly against him. He was so warm, I never wanted to let go. That should have scared me. It didn’t. That should have scared me even more.

He gripped me tighter, pulling me toward the exit, and I found myself nuzzling into the warmth of his body. He smelled like pine trees and roses, and as I inhaled his scent, I felt strangely energized by it.

“You know, you don’t have to be tough all the time,” he whispered, his breath kissing my cheek as he spoke. “I’ll get us out of here. Just relax.”

I wanted to argue with him, to tell him I didn’t need his help, but instead, my eyelids started dropping shut. “Okay,” I whispered right before shrieking made my eyes snap open and my heart race.

A giant scarlet tentacle slapped into the side of the building with a wet sounding thwack, its bulbous suckers latching onto the glass and pulsating as it strained to hold something up. Another one smacked into the building, and the glass beneath it shattered, spraying inward across the carpet as the tentacles wrapped around the girders.

“Oh, I wouldn’t make any plans, Wardbreaker,” Ariel said as she stepped daintily through one of the shattered windows. Her octopus-like tentacles writhed around her as she strode toward us. “You’ll be sticking around for quite a while.” One of her blood red appendages lashed out at us, and Luc dropped me in time for it to sail over my head and smack him on the chest. He stumbled backward into the hallway, collapsing onto the ground next to the woman. Why was she still there? Why hadn’t she run? I sure as hell would have if I’d just seen people crash through my window.

I hit the ground, and my whole world swayed, shaking violently as two of her tentacles lashed out, wrapping around my wrists and hoisting me into the air like a broken puppet. They felt slimy and warm, like someone had covered my flesh in snot. Yes, it was that gross.

“But you can go,” she said, discarding me behind her like a piece of garbage. I careened through the broken window and found myself staring down at the ground as it came flying toward me. Fear ripped through me as I started to panic. I was going to die by smashing into the pavement after all. I had nothing left, no more strength.

“You can do it,” the voice of my soulbound ghost Mattoc whispered in my ears. I felt his ghostly hands on mine, guiding them into my trench coat. My fingers wrapped around the hilts of my swords, tightening on the weapons before I pulled them free in a surge of strength. Even that tiny effort made stars flash before my eyes, but it was quickly chased away by adrenaline racing through my body. “I believe in you.”

I stabbed outward, slicing into the glass walled building and praying the windows didn’t just shatter. They didn’t, thank God. The smell of burning plastic filled my nose as my swords sliced through them before driving themselves into the floor. The shock of my sudden stop jolted through my entire body, and it was all I could do to hang there and not let go.

A crash filled my ears, and I looked up to see a desk fly out the window above me with Ariel pinned to one side. She came careening down toward me with the huge antique wooden desk on top of her. Her tentacles lashed outward, slapping against the glass and pulling her out of the way just after she passed me. The desk kept going and slammed down into the parking lot below, crushing a red car flat and causing alarms to blare.

I stared down at the vampire. She didn’t seem like she had noticed me yet. This was my chance. I gritted my teeth, and even though it was officially the worst idea I’d ever had, kicked myself free of the building, spinning my body around until I was facing her. She looked up just as I smashed into her, driving the twin blades of Shirajirashii into her chest with all the force my gravity fueled drop could muster.

Her tentacles came free with a snap, and we plummeted downward like a bloody comet. She lashed out with her bloody appendages, trying to arrest her fall as I released my swords and slugged her in her stupid nose. The crunch beneath my fist was strangely satisfying. We jerked to a stop as her tentacles caught hold of the building once again, and I flopped forward on top of the hilts of my weapons.

A shrill scream exploded from her lips as I wrapped my arms around her body and bear hugged her as hard as I could, pressing the blades deep into her with my own body. My hands were covered in her blood as I smiled at her.

“White sparrow,” I whispered, drawing on her magically infused vampire blood and letting loose the spell with all the power I could pull free of her. Fire exploded from my hands, rippling around us as we were encased in a tube of burning flame that severed the ends of her tentacles.

Flame licked up over my flesh and agony screamed through me as the vampire thrashed and burned beneath me. One of her fists caught my chin, snapping my head backward. I lost my grip on her, and she shoved me backward.

My back smacked against the back of the super-heated tube, and I was instantly glad to realize my spell wasn’t burning me to a crisp even though I was inside with her. Instead, it smoldered against the trench coat, the ward stitched onto the back flaring like a blue sun. Ariel was covered in fire, flames writhing over the entirety of her body as we fell. Even still, I reached in, grabbed the hilts of my swords, and tore them sideways out of her, spilling the contents of her belly as she tried to shove me through the wall of my spell.

The temperature leapt a million degrees as my spell absorbed the power of her blood just before we slammed into the ground. The force of our impact drove my swords through her body, pinning her to the ground as her arms shattered along with my enchantment. I landed on top of her hard enough to break everything inside me, but somehow I didn’t die. We laid there smoking, her broken form pancaked beneath me.

I couldn’t tell you how Ariel did it because I had a hard time believing she could still move at all, but one scorched tentacle wrapped around my throat and slowly pulled me toward her mouth. Her jaws gaped open, and from the look of it, her jawbone was broken along with pretty much all of her other bones. She’d heal from being thrown from a building, but she’d need blood to do it. Unfortunately, I was the only blood bag anywhere near her, and I could barely breathe, let alone escape.

“Oh hell no,” I gasped. My words came out like a dying whisper as I tried to move my arms. They screamed in pain. My vision went dark and hazy around the edges as I flopped uselessly on top of her like a broken fish.

“Yes,” she cooed, the wet sound of her voice washing over me and making my thoughts flee as she tugged me closer. Her lips wrapped around my throat, and the burn of her fangs hurt for a second before euphoria wrapped me up, banishing all of my pain and anger beneath a sea of pleasure. Her throat convulsed, sucking in my blood, and as she did so, her mouth reformed against my flesh. Her lips latched on tighter, and she sucked harder still, drawing my essence out of me one gulp at a time.

The shotgun blast obliterated my hearing, snapping me out of my happy place and filling me with agony. The top of Ariel’s head exploded into a wash of crimson, spraying out across the pavement as she twitched and writhed. Something pushed me off of her, and I flopped onto the pavement staring up at the sun. The sky throbbed, pulsating like a beating heart as crimson clouds gathered and began to swirl toward us like a tornado. Was she trying to absorb the power of the ritual she’d been using Luc’s warded body for? How was that possible given her state? Or had it gone on the entire time and I hadn’t noticed?

Another shotgun blast boomed next to me. The sky bucked as the tornado dissipated just a tiny bit. I tried to roll over, to look and see what was happening, but all I could do was make my head flop uselessly to the side. Still, it was enough for me to make out Logan’s shadowy, hazy form.

The way he clutched the shotgun in his hands gave me the distinct impression he didn’t usually use guns. He blasted the founder of his caste one last time before tossing the gun away and reaching into his sport’s jacket. He pulled out a long wooden stake with symbols etched along its length. Though I couldn’t read them, I could sense the magic in them.

“Time for you to take a long nap, Ariel,” he said and drove the stake straight into her heart. The sky above us shattered, and the clouds ripped open. Bloody rain fell to earth, dousing the land like the tears of a baleful maiden. As they struck me, magic washed over me. My bones straightened, pulling back together, and my wounds closed up. My burns healed. It was amazing.

Ariel’s body lay there, a look of hatred etched onto what was left of her statuesque face. The stake had paralyzed her entirely. Logan reached down and jerked my swords from her body.

“Not bad for Dioscuri craftsmanship.” He smirked, eyeing them casually before offering them to me, bloody rain running down their edges. “But when you want a real weapon, come see me. I’ve been working on something out of this world.” He grinned, and something about the way he said it sent a chill scampering down my spine. Had he really found something stronger than a sword inhabited by an Egyptian deity? I sure as hell hoped not.

“Thanks.” I took my swords, amazed that not only could I move, but I felt freaking fantastic.

“No problem,” Logan replied, bending down and picking up his founder and tossing her broken body over his shoulder. “Do you need a ride?” he asked, glancing back at me as he flung Ariel’s frozen form into the back of a blue pickup truck that looked like it had never been driven before. “I’m going to lock her in a safe and drop her in the ocean.” He glanced at his wrist watch and shrugged. “But I can spare a few moments for the Dioscuri who just made me King of the Owls.”

“What?” I asked, my mouth dropping open as he moved to the driver’s side and grinned at me, revealing his fangs.

“What? You didn’t know I was second in command? I told you succession was my goal.” Logan the vampire shook his head and made a tsking sound as he got inside the pickup. “You Dioscuri always amaze me. Always knowing about the founder but never moving even one step down the line.” His words made me shiver. I’d just participated in a coup, and I didn’t even realize it. Now that I thought about how he’d helped me earlier, it certainly made his actions make sense. He had wanted me to take out Ariel so he could assume control of the clan. The bastard. “Don’t worry though, Lillim. I’ll move all the newbie vampires out of the state. You know, as a good faith gesture.”

“I should kill you where you stand!” I growled, taking a step toward him. “You know for being a devious slime bucket.”

“I do not think slime buckets would enjoy your comparison,” Logan replied, and without another word, slammed his door shut and took off in a squeal of rubber, giving me the distinct impression he wasn’t going to drive me anywhere. The jerk.

Then again, where would I ask Logan to take me? The Dioscuri would be here soon. Even if they hadn’t been watching the area closely, blood rain falling from the sky would merit an investigation, if not more. Once they got down here, there would be no way I’d be able to hide from them. They’d begin sniffing out magic and would zero in on me immediately. Even if they bought that I’d come down here to investigate, the best case scenario was that they’d drag me back home… at worst, well, I didn’t want to think about that.

I wasn’t sure how long I stood there, trying to figure out what to do, when Jean Luc clapped me on the shoulder. I spun, staring at him, somewhat surprised he was standing there, and I had half a mind to yell at him for tricking me and lying to me to get me to help him save his city. Still, Logan had used me to usurp his caste and defeat his founder. Jean Luc, by comparison, was downright noble. He’d only been trying to stop the vampires.

“Do you need a place to stay? Or a meal?” he asked, smiling at me in his puppy dog way. It told me he didn’t even realize why I was mad at him. Luc had guilted me into helping save the town from the vampires, and I’d wound up participating in a coup. For all I knew, he was in league with Logan.

Still, as I stared at him, I somehow doubted it. Something about Luc told me he was, at his core, a good guy and everything he had done was for the right reasons. Even still, I was about to refuse his invitation, partially because I wasn’t sure I could trust him and partially because I needed to get the hell out of here when my stomach grumbled loud enough for us to both hear it. He smirked.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Come on. Let’s get something to eat. You know before we get arrested again.” He grabbed my hand, squeezing my fingers and leading me off toward the street as the sounds of sirens filled the air. We made it about two steps when I looked at him and because I couldn’t help myself, gazed upon him with my magical sight. His body was outlined in gold, and he shimmered with light so bright, I could barely make out his features. My heart hammered in my chest and my breath caught in my throat. I wasn’t sure what he was, but whatever it was… was good.

The sirens shrieked, definitely close now as I shutdown my sight, the vision of Luc burned into my mind for all eternity. Luc grinned, his dark eyes shining mischievously as he wrapped his arm around me, pulling me against the warmth of his body, and I couldn’t stop myself from letting him. What the hell was wrong with me?

“Besides,” he added, still smiling at me like a fool. “I’m much too pretty to go to jail.”

21

I’d been living with him for a week. It seemed like forever and only a moment at the same time. I stared at the steam covered mirror and wiped my hand over it one last time so I could see the reflection of my eyes staring back at me. I was clean and freshly showered after a long night’s rest. Luc had lived up to his word and taken me in. I shut my eyes, remembering the conversation we’d had as we left the fast food restaurant following Ariel’s defeat, greasy bags of cheeseburgery goodness clutched in our hands.

“You know, you can stay with me for as long as you’d like,” he said as we approached his truck, a beat up black Nissan pickup. It was worn and torn enough to make me think he used it for more than driving around town. He set his bag on the roof of the cab and opened the passenger door for me before gesturing for me to enter.

“That’s a great offer,” I said, slipping by him onto the seat and biting my lip as he shut the door. He was being so nice to me, and I didn’t know why. Did he want something from me? But if so, what? I had nothing to give him.

I watched him walk around the front of the vehicle as thunder boomed in the heavens above. Thick drops of rain spattered against the roof as Jean Luc opened the driver’s door and got inside. Fortunately, this was normal rain and not magical rain. It wasn’t that surprising. Rain had a way of coming to wash away magical spells, though I wasn’t sure why.

“It’s a great offer, but?” he asked, putting his key into the ignition and turning. The engine roared to life before he shoved the truck into gear and turned toward me, his dark eyes full of thoughts but spilling none of them.

“But the Dioscuri will find me if I stay here.” I gestured outside to where the smoke was still rising from the downed helicopter. “Someone will come to check on that.”

“They won’t find you with me,” he said, a smile peeling back his lips to reveal his perfect teeth and something inside my chest thawed just a touch.

“You’re wrong—” I started to protest as he cut me off by pressing his finger to my lips.

“My apartment is warded. Even the Dioscuri won’t be able to find you there. You could stay as long as you like and no one will find you.” He pulled his finger away and still smiling, placed his hands at ten and two on the steering wheel. He began driving as I stared at him. He seemed so confident about it, I was almost willing to believe him. It made me hope he was right, but I couldn’t, could I? That would just make it hurt more when he was wrong.

I supposed I could spare a peek, you know, just to see if he was telling the truth. But if he was wrong? I wouldn’t have much time… and if he was right, what was I supposed to do? Play house? With him? And as I had the thought, I realized it didn’t sound as bad as I’d thought it would.

How had that only been a week ago?

I shook my head. Luc had been right about being able to hide me, at least as far as I could tell. The wards lining every inch of his apartment were more than enough to keep even the most ambitious Dioscuri from finding me. So I hadn’t left. For a week. It made me cringe as I stared at myself in the mirror and finger brushed my lavender hair out so it fell around my shoulders. It was longer than it had ever been.

Still, I wasn’t sure why he had been so nice to me. Maybe it was because he felt guilty about tricking me in the beginning? Then again, I still wasn’t sure why he was so special. Every time I’d asked him about why Ariel had needed him specifically or why she called him the Wardbreaker, he’d countered my questions, evading effortlessly.

Staying with him was starting to make me feel uncomfortable. I was starting to, well, to actually like him. I shook the thought away the moment it popped into my head. I mean, I didn’t like him that way. I was more getting used to having him there. I’d even learned to cook, granted I’d burned everything, set off a smoke alarm, and forced us to order Chinese food more than once, but I still counted it as cooking.

No, I was getting too close, too used to him being around. I adjusted my towel and bit my lip, remembering the night before when an old movie made me realize my problem. We’d been sitting on the couch, going through yet another movie marathon because Luc had wanted to show me all the cinematic genius the human world had to offer.

“How can you protect something you don’t understand?” he’d asked me when he’d learned I hadn’t even seen a movie before. The words still reverberated in my ears as the scene from last night’s movie replayed itself in my mind.

The woman on the screen came flying down the stairs, no longer the picture of poise and elegance. “Where shall I go?” she howled as I snuggled against Luc, his arm wrapped around me. “What shall I do?”

The man in the movie turned, a smile playing across his face as he eyed her. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

The words had struck a chord in me because I could see Luc doing the same thing to me. I could see him throwing me out and leaving me on my own. Why shouldn’t he? What did I have to offer him? What could I do to make him keep me? Nothing. I was existing solely because of his kindness. A shudder had run through me. I was depending on the kindness of a stranger.

Luc had gotten up then, leaning forward to grab the remote and move to the next movie like we’d done every night for the whole week. “Classic or action?” he asked, glancing at the half-empty popcorn bowl, probably trying to decide if he wanted to make another batch now or if he could wait for later.

“Um, is it okay if I go to bed?” I asked, extricating myself from the couch and leaping to my feet before he could respond. The sudden lack of his heat made me shiver, and I shut my eyes, making my way away from him. It was harder than it should have been. Damn.

“If you want,” he replied, sitting back down on the couch, and I could feel his gaze on me as I reached the little door that led to the only bedroom in the tiny apartment. His place really wasn’t very big, especially since the kitchen attached to the living room, and the bedroom was really little more than a closet.

He had given me his bed and slept on the couch despite my insistence that the couch was more than I’d ever had back home. It wasn’t true per se, but his couch was infinitely more comfortable than the hard as cement bunks back at base. According to the Dioscuri, soft beds made you, well, soft.

“Action it is,” he said to himself, and I spared a glance over my shoulder to see him settling against the couch to watch the television. His muscles stretched against the confines of his t-shirt as the lights from the parking lot outside shined through the blinds and illuminated him in gold so he looked like a well-muscled angel. My breath caught in my throat as I spun on my heel and flung myself inside the bedroom and slammed the door shut, chest hammering. What was wrong with me? What was I thinking?

I slumped to the ground with my back to the door as I sucked in a deep breath that smelled like pine trees and roses. It was his scent, and instead of comforting me like normal, it made my heart sink into my toes.

This was all going to go away and soon. Even if he didn’t leave me or kick me out, something was going to come and cause problems for us. This life, after all, was a lie. I mean, I was a Dioscuri, trained from birth to stop the preternatural forces of evil from taking over the planet. Every minute I spent with Luc was at best a lie and at worst the cause of untold deaths.

“So was it wrong of me for wanting to stay?” I asked the mirror, shaking away my memories. Everything about him was too good to be true, and as I turned toward the bathroom door, the smell of bacon wafted through the air, making my stomach rumble. He’d fed me, let me stay here, shielded me from the Dioscuri and hadn’t asked for anything in return.

Well… well, this might be wrong, but I had one thing I could give him in return, one thing I could share with him. I swallowed and dropped the towel as I reached out and gripped the door knob with one trembling hand. I stepped out into the cold air. My naked body reacted to the chill instantly. I looked out into the kitchen for him. Only he wasn’t there.

My gaze moved to the couch, but he wasn’t there either. He must be getting dressed. He must have put breakfast on the table and changed while I was showering. He had impeccable timing like that.

Good, that would be a better place anyway. I turned toward the bedroom and ran my fingers through my hair one last time. What if he didn’t like me? I swallowed, perishing the thought before more could spin up into my brain and make my resolve shatter. No, this was decided. I was going to go through with it… if he would have me.

I threw open the door to the bedroom.

He wasn’t there.

Panic leapt up inside me as I looked around furiously. He had to be here somewhere, but where? It wasn’t like this place was very big.

Maybe he stepped out to get the mail or something?

I moved out of the bedroom and ambled into the main room. The television was off and a plate sat on the tiny kitchen table. A single plate. Heaped with bacon and eggs. There was a note next to it. Relief started to wash through me. He’d just gone out. He’d left a note. He’d be back. A smile played across my lips as I sat down on the chair and grabbed the piece of paper. Well, I’d have time to set up a proper surprise then. A grin played at my lips.

“Dear Lillim,

I’m sorry. So very sorry. I can’t stay. I would love to stay with you, but it isn’t part of the plan. Something has come up that I must attend to. I’ll be back, but not for a while. I’m sorry. I should have said something, but you were sleeping so peacefully and then you were in the shower. I know this note is all sorts of cowardly.

Still, I want you to stay here. It’s protected. You’ll be safe. I’ve already shown you all my secret hiding places, where all my artifacts and weapons are hidden. The rent is paid up through the end of the year.

Love,

Luc

P.S. I want you to have my overcoat. I’ve modified it so it’s about your size. Its wards will keep you safe.”

Water spattered against the paper as I held it in my shaking hand. That was weird. I tried to wipe it away but more fell. It was then I realized I was crying. Tears ran down my cheeks and splattered across the page. A cry tore from my throat as I popped to my feet and moved toward the window, pushing the blinds apart. His truck was gone. An empty parking space stared back at me.

He’d left. He’d left me when all I wanted was for him to stay. How… how would I repay him now? No, no, how could he do this to me? Didn’t he realize… didn’t he realize what he’d meant to me?

“He knew,” the ethereal voice of my soulbound ghost, Mattoc said. “I overheard him talking on the phone to someone. If it makes you feel any better, Lillim. If it does, even though I know it doesn’t, he didn’t want to leave. Someone made him go. Someone he couldn’t refuse.”

“It doesn’t make me feel any better,” I said, turning toward the ghost who didn’t so much as look me up and down even though I made no effort to cover myself. What did it matter, he’d probably seen me naked lots of times. “Enjoying the show?” I snapped because I was hurt and angry. I walked through him toward the bedroom so I could grab my things and get the hell out of here.

I don’t know how I had missed it before, but his blue trench coat lay across the bed. It had been one of his most prized possessions, and he’d given it to me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Mattoc asked as I grabbed my thrift store clothes off the floor and pulled them on.

“Leaving,” I snapped, tears still running down my face. “I can’t stay here.”

“Don’t,” he said, reaching out to me like he wanted to comfort me, but his ghostly fingers just passed through my cheek. “Or if you do, give it a few days to make sure you really want to leave.”

“Why would I even consider that?” I asked as I looked around at all Luc’s stuff. Just seeing it hurt in a way I had never expected. My cheeks flushed in embarrassment as I stared at my ghost, knowing he probably knew what I had been planning on doing with Jean Luc. Somehow, that made everything worse.

“Jean Luc wanted you to have this.” He gestured at the apartment. “It’s safe. It’s what you wanted. You can’t even ‘pay’ him for it.” His lips quirked upward for a second before he turned his back on me and made his way into the kitchen. He sat on the table. “We both know that if you leave this place, the Dioscuri will find you, and I know you don’t want that.” He pointed to the still warm food Luc had left for me. “Now eat, and we can spend the rest of the day eating ice cream and watching cartoons. We can watch whatever you want as long as it’s the one with the sparkly ponies.”

I stared at him for a long time, and he kept smiling at me like a dumbass, and somehow, it made me relax. This could be my home, and it was safe… and maybe one day, Luc would come back… I didn’t have high hopes, and his betrayal hurt in a way I knew it’d take a long time to recover from, but well, thanks to him, I had time.

I had all the time in the world.

If I stayed.

* * *

The End

* * *

Continue the Lillim Callina Chronicles in Kill it With Magic.

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About the Author

J.A. Cipriano is not the Batman, but if he was, he'd totally lay down sick flows and fight crime. He is the author of the Lillim Callina Chronicles and the bestselling Thrice Cursed Mage urban fantasy series.

When he isn't out not fighting crime, he is spending time with his wife, three-year-old son, and his cat named Turtle. Oh, and writing. He does that occasionally too.

For more information about J A Cipriano

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The Sorcery Code

The Sorcery Code, Volume 1

Dima Zales & Anna Zaires

The Sorcery Code © copyright 2013 Dima Zales

All rights reserved.

Except for use in a review, no part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

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About the Book

The Sorcery Code

From a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author comes a captivating tale of intrigue, love, and danger in a world where sorcery is entwined with science . . .

Once a respected member of the Sorcerer Council and now an outcast, Blaise has spent the last year of his life working on a special magical object. The goal is to allow anyone to do magic, not just the sorcerer elite. The outcome of his quest is unlike anything he could’ve ever imagined – because, instead of an object, he creates Her.

She is Gala, and she is anything but inanimate. Born in the Spell Realm, she is beautiful and highly intelligent – and nobody knows what she’s capable of. She will do anything to experience the world . . . even leave the man she is beginning to fall for.

Augusta, a powerful sorceress and Blaise’s former fiancée, sees Blaise’s deed as the ultimate hubris and Gala as an abomination that must be destroyed. In her quest to save the human race, Augusta will forge new alliances, becoming tangled in a web of intrigue that stretches further than any of them suspect. She may even have to turn to her new lover Barson, a ruthless warrior who might have an agenda of his own . . .

1

Blaise

There was a naked woman on the floor of Blaise’s study.

A beautiful naked woman.

Stunned, Blaise stared at the gorgeous creature who just appeared out of thin air. She was looking around with a bewildered expression on her face, apparently as shocked to be there as he was to be seeing her. Her wavy blond hair streamed down her back, partially covering a body that appeared to be perfection itself. Blaise tried not to think about that body and to focus on the situation instead.

A woman. A She, not an It. Blaise could hardly believe it. Could it be? Could this girl be the object?

She was sitting with her legs folded underneath her, propping herself up with one slim arm. There was something awkward about that pose, as though she didn’t know what to do with her own limbs. In general, despite the curves that marked her a fully grown woman, there was a child-like innocence in the way she sat there, completely unselfconscious and totally unaware of her own appeal.

Clearing his throat, Blaise tried to think of what to say. In his wildest dreams, he couldn’t have imagined this kind of outcome to the project that had consumed his entire life for the past several months.

Hearing the sound, she turned her head to look at him, and Blaise found himself staring into a pair of unusually clear blue eyes.

She blinked, then cocked her head to the side, studying him with visible curiosity. Blaise wondered what she was seeing. He hadn’t seen the light of day in weeks, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he looked like a mad sorcerer at this point. There was probably a week’s worth of stubble covering his face, and he knew his dark hair was unbrushed and sticking out in every direction. If he’d known he would be facing a beautiful woman today, he would’ve done a grooming spell in the morning.

“Who am I?” she asked, startling Blaise. Her voice was soft and feminine, as alluring as the rest of her. “What is this place?”

“You don’t know?” Blaise was glad he finally managed to string together a semi-coherent sentence. “You don’t know who you are or where you are?”

She shook her head. “No.”

Blaise swallowed. “I see.”

“What am I?” she asked again, staring at him with those incredible eyes.

“Well,” Blaise said slowly, “if you’re not some cruel prankster or a figment of my imagination, then it’s somewhat difficult to explain . . .”

She was watching his mouth as he spoke, and when he stopped, she looked up again, meeting his gaze. “It’s strange,” she said, “hearing words this way. These are the first real words I’ve heard.”

Blaise felt a chill go down his spine. Getting up from his chair, he began to pace, trying to keep his eyes off her nude body. He had been expecting something to appear. A magical object, a thing. He just hadn’t known what form that thing would take. A mirror, perhaps, or a lamp. Maybe even something as unusual as the Life Capture Sphere that sat on his desk like a large round diamond.

But a person? A female person at that?

To be fair, he had been trying to make the object intelligent, to ensure it would have the ability to comprehend human language and convert it into the code. Maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised that the intelligence he invoked took on a human shape.

A beautiful, feminine, sensual shape.

Focus, Blaise, focus.

“Why are you walking like that?” She slowly got to her feet, her movements uncertain and strangely clumsy. “Should I be walking too? Is that how people talk to each other?”

Blaise stopped in front of her, doing his best to keep his eyes above her neck. “I’m sorry. I’m not accustomed to naked women in my study.”

She ran her hands down her body, as though trying to feel it for the first time. Whatever her intent, Blaise found the gesture extremely erotic.

“Is something wrong with the way I look?” she asked. It was such a typical feminine concern that Blaise had to stifle a smile.

“Quite the opposite,” he assured her. “You look unimaginably good.” So good, in fact, that he was having trouble concentrating on anything but her delicate curves. She was of medium height, and so perfectly proportioned that she could’ve been used as a sculptor’s template.

“Why do I look this way?” A small frown creased her smooth forehead. “What am I?” That last part seemed to be puzzling her the most.

Blaise took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing pulse. “I think I can try to venture a guess, but before I do, I want to give you some clothing. Please wait here—I’ll be right back.”

And without waiting for her answer, he hurried out of the room.

* * *

Leaving his study, Blaise briskly walked to the other end of his house, to ‘her room’ as he still thought about the half-empty chamber. This was where Augusta used to keep her things when they were together—a time that now seemed like ages ago. Despite that, entering the dusty room was just as painful now as it had been two years ago. Parting with the woman he’d been with for eight years—the woman he’d been about to marry—had not been easy.

Trying to keep his mind on the task at hand, Blaise approached the closet and surveyed its contents. As he’d hoped, there were a few dozen dresses hanging there. Beautiful long dresses made of silk and velvet, Augusta’s favorite materials. Only sorcerers—the upper echelon of their society—could afford such luxury. The regular people were far too poor to wear anything but rough homespun cloth. It made Blaise sick when he thought about it, the terrible inequality that still permeated every aspect of life in Koldun.

He and Augusta had always argued about that, he remembered. She had never shared his concern about the commoners; instead, she enjoyed the status quo and all the privileges that came with being a respected sorcerer. If Blaise recalled correctly, she’d worn a different dress every day of her life, flaunting her wealth without shame.

Well, at least the dresses she left at his house would come in handy now. Grabbing one of them—a blue silk concoction that undoubtedly cost a fortune—and a pair of finely made black velvet slippers, Blaise exited the room, leaving behind layers of dust and bitter memories.

He ran into the naked being on his way back. She was standing near the entrance of his study, looking at a painting his brother Louie had made. It was of a village in Blaise’s territory, and the scene it depicted was an idyllic one—a festival after a big harvest. Laughing, rosy-cheeked peasants were dancing with each other, a traveling harpist playing in the background. Blaise liked looking at that painting. It reminded him that his subjects had good times too, that their lives were not solely work.

The girl also seemed to like looking at it—and touching it. Her fingers were stroking the frame as though trying to learn its texture. Her nude body looked just as magnificent from the back as it did from the front, and Blaise again found his thoughts straying in inappropriate directions.

“Here,” he said gruffly, entering the study and putting the dress and the shoes down on the dusty couch. “Please put these on.” For the first time since Louie’s death, he was cognizant of the state of his house—and ashamed of it. Augusta’s room was not the only one covered with dust. Even here, where he spent most of his time, the air was musty and stale.

Esther and Maya had repeatedly offered to come over and clean, but he’d refused, not wanting to see anyone. Not even the two peasant women who had been like mothers to him. After the debacle with Louie, all he’d wanted was to be left alone, to hide away from the rest of the world. As far as the other sorcerers were concerned, he was a pariah, an outcast, and that was fine with Blaise. He hated them all now too. Sometimes he thought the bitterness would consume him—and it probably would have, if it hadn’t been for his work.

And now the outcome of that work was lifting the dress and studying it curiously, still as naked as a newborn baby. “How do I put it on?” she asked, looking up at him.

Blaise blinked. He’d had practice taking dresses off women, but putting them on? Still, he probably knew more about clothes than the mysterious being standing in front of him. Taking the dress from her hands, he unlaced the back and held it out to her. “Here. Step into it and pull it up, making sure that your arms go into the sleeves.” Then he turned away, doing his best to control his reaction to her beauty.

He heard some fumbling.

“I might need a little help,” she said.

Turning back, Blaise was relieved to see that all she needed help with was tying the lace on the back. She had already figured out how to put on the shoes. The dress fit her surprisingly well; she and Augusta had to be of similar size, though this girl appeared more delicate somehow. “Lift your hair,” he told her, and she did, holding the long blond locks with unconscious grace. He quickly laced the dress and stepped back, needing to put a little distance between them.

She turned to face him, and their eyes met. Blaise couldn’t help but notice the cool intelligence reflected in her gaze. She might not know anything yet, but she was learning fast—and functioning incredibly well, if what he suspected about her origin was true.

For a few seconds, they just looked at each other, sharing a comfortable silence. She didn’t appear to be in a rush to speak. Instead, she studied him, her eyes roaming over his face, his body. She seemed to find him as fascinating as he found her. And no wonder—Blaise was probably the first human she’d encountered.

Finally, she broke the silence. “Can we talk now?”

“Yes.” Blaise smiled. “We can, and we should.” Walking over to the couch area, he sat down on one of the lounge chairs next to the small round table. The woman followed his example, taking a seat in the chair opposite him.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to work out the answers to your many questions together,” Blaise told her, and she nodded.

“I want to understand,” she said. “What am I?”

Blaise took a deep breath. “Let me start at the beginning,” he said, racking his brain for the best way to go about this. “You see, I have been searching for a long time for a way to make magic more accessible for the commoners—”

“Is it not accessible currently?” she asked, looking at him intently. He could tell she was extremely curious about anything and everything, absorbing her surroundings and every word he said like a sponge.

“No, it’s not. Right now, magic is only possible for a select few—those who have the right predisposition in terms of how analytical and mathematically inclined their minds are. Even those lucky few have to study very hard to be able to cast spells of any complexity.”

She nodded as though it made sense to her. “All right. So what does it have to do with me?”

“Everything,” Blaise said. “You see, it all started with Lenard the Great. He’s the one who first learned how to tap into the Spell Realm—”

“The Spell Realm?”

“Yes. The Spell Realm is what we call the place where spells are formed—the place that enables us to do magic. We don’t know much about it because we live in the Physical Realm—what we think of as the real world.” Blaise paused to see if the woman had any questions. He imagined it must all be overwhelming for her.

She cocked her head to the side. “All right. Please continue.”

“Some two hundred and seventy years ago, Lenard the Great invented the first oral spells—a way for us to interact with the Spell Realm and change the reality of the Physical Realm. These spells were extremely difficult to get right because they involved a specialized arcane language. It had to be spoken and planned very exactly to get the desired result. It wasn’t until recently that a simpler magical language and an easier way to do spells was invented.”

“Who invented it?” the woman asked, looking intrigued.

“Well, Augusta and I did, actually,” Blaise admitted. “She’s my former fiancée. We are what you would call sorcerers—those who have the aptitude for the study of magic. Augusta created a magical object called the Interpreter Stone, and I came up with a simpler magical language to go along with it. So now, instead of reciting a difficult verbal spell, a sorcerer can use the simpler language to write his spell on cards and feed it to the stone.”

She blinked. “I see.”

“Our work was supposed to change society for the better,” Blaise continued, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Or at least that’s what I had hoped. I thought an easier way to do magic would enable more people to do it, but it didn’t turn out that way. The powerful sorcerer class got even more powerful—and even more averse to sharing their knowledge with the common people.”

“Is that bad?” she asked, regarding him with her clear blue gaze.

“It depends on whom you ask,” Blaise said, thinking of Augusta’s casual disregard for the peasants. “I think it’s terrible, but I’m in the minority. Most sorcerers like the status quo. They have wealth and power, and they don’t mind that their subjects live in abject poverty.”

“But you do,” she said perceptively.

“I do,” Blaise confirmed. “And when I left the Sorcerer Council a year ago, I decided to do something about it. You see, I wanted to create a magical object that would understand our normal spoken language—an object that anyone could use. This way, a regular person could do magic. They would just say what they needed, and the object would make it happen.”

Her eyes widened, and Blaise could see the dawning comprehension on her face. “Are you saying—?”

“Yes,” he said, staring at her. “I believe I succeeded in creating that object. I think you are the result of my work.”

They sat there in silence for a few moments.

“I must have the wrong understanding of the word ‘object’,” she finally said.

“You probably don’t. The chair you sit on is a regular object. If you’ll look out the window, you’ll see a chaise in the yard. That’s a magical object; it can fly. Objects are inanimate. I expected you to be something like a talking mirror, but you are something else entirely.”

She frowned a little. “If you created me, does that mean you are my father?”

“No,” Blaise denied immediately, everything inside him rejecting that idea. “I am most certainly not your father.” Somehow it was important to make sure she did not think of him that way. Look at where my mind is going again, he chided himself.

She continued looking confused, so Blaise tried to explain further. “I think it might make more sense to say that I created the basic design for an intelligence—and made sure it had some knowledge to build on—but from there, you must have created yourself.”

He could see a spark of recognition in her gaze. Something about that statement resonated with her, so she had to know more than it seemed at first.

“Can you tell me anything about yourself?” Blaise asked, studying the beautiful creature in front of him. “For starters, what do you call yourself?”

“I don’t call myself anything,” she said. “What do you call yourself?”

“I am Blaise, son of Dasbraw. You would just call me Blaise.”

“Blaise,” she said slowly, as though tasting his name. Her voice was soft and sensual, innocently seductive. It made Blaise painfully aware that it had been two years since he had been this close to a woman.

“Yes, that’s right,” he managed to say calmly. “And we should come up with a name for you as well.”

“Do you have any ideas?” she asked curiously.

“Well, my grandmother’s name was Galina. Would you like to honor my family by taking her name? You can be Galina, daughter of the Spell Realm. I would call you ‘Gala’ for short.” The indomitable old lady had been nothing like the girl sitting in front of him, yet something about the bright intelligence on this woman’s face reminded him of her. He smiled fondly at the memories.

“Gala,” she tried saying. He could see that she liked it because she smiled back at him, showing even white teeth. The smile lit her entire face, making her glow.

“Yes.” Blaise couldn’t tear his eyes away from her luminous beauty. “Gala. It suits you.”

“Gala,” she repeated softly. “Gala. Yes, I agree. It does suit me. But you said that I am daughter of the Spell Realm. Is that my mother or father?” She gave him a hopeful look.

Blaise shook his head. “Not in the traditional sense, no. The Spell Realm is where you developed into what you are now. Do you know anything about the place?” He paused, looking at his unexpected creation. “In general, how much do you recall before you showed up here, on the floor of my study?”

2

Augusta

Augusta slid out of bed and smiled seductively at her lover, enjoying the heated gleam in his eyes as she bent down to pick up her magenta-colored dress from the floor. The beautifully made garment had only one small rip in it—nothing that she wouldn’t be able to fix with a simple verbal spell. Her clothes rarely survived her visits to Barson’s house intact; if there was one thing she enjoyed about the leader of the Sorcerer Guard, it was the rough, urgent hunger with which he always greeted her arrival.

“Is it already time to go?” he asked, propping himself up on one elbow to watch her get dressed.

“Aren’t your men waiting for you?” Augusta wriggled into the dress and reached up to gather her long brown hair into a smooth knot at the back of her neck.

“Let them wait.” He sounded arrogant, as usual. Augusta liked that about Barson—the unshakable confidence that permeated everything he did. He might not be a sorcerer, but he wielded quite a bit of power as the leader of the elite military force that kept law and order in their society.

“The rebels won’t wait, though,” Augusta reminded him. “We need to intercept them before they get any closer to Turingrad.”

“We?” His thick eyebrows arched in surprise. With his short dark hair and olive-toned skin, he was one of the most attractive men she knew—with the possible exception of her former fiancé.

No, don’t think about Blaise now. “Oh yes,” Augusta said nonchalantly. “Did I forget to mention that I’m coming with you?”

Barson sat up in bed, the muscles in his large frame flexing and rippling with each movement. “You know you did,” he growled, but Augusta could tell he was pleased with this development. He had been trying to get her to spend more time with him, to get their relationship out in the open, and Augusta thought it might be time to start giving in a little.

After her painful breakup with Blaise two years ago, all she’d wanted was an uncomplicated affair—an arrangement of mutual desire and nothing more. Her eight-year relationship with Blaise had ended six months before their wedding was to take place, and at the time, she didn’t know if she would ever be able to trust another man again. She’d thought that all she needed was a bed companion, a warm body to make her forget the emptiness within—and she’d chosen the Captain of the Guard for that role.

To her surprise, what started off as a simple dalliance grew and evolved. Over time, Augusta found herself both liking and admiring her new lover. He was not an intellectual, like Blaise, but he was quite intelligent in his own way—and she found that she enjoyed his company outside of the bedroom as well. As a result, when she’d heard about the rebellion in the north, she decided it was the perfect opportunity to witness Barson in action, doing what he did best—protecting their way of life and keeping the peasants in check.

Getting up, he pulled on his armor and turned to face her. “Did the Council ask you to come with us?”

“No,” Augusta reassured him. “I’m coming of my own initiative.” It would be an insult to the Guard if the Council thought them incapable of quelling a minor uprising and asked her to aid them. She was accompanying them solely because she wanted to spend some time with Barson—and because she wanted to see the rebels crushed like the vermin they were.

“In that case,” he said, his dark eyes glittering with anticipation, “let’s go.”

* * *

Augusta rode beside Barson, feeling the rhythmic movements of the horse beneath her. She could see the curious looks she was getting from the other soldiers, but she didn’t care. As a sorceress of the Council, she was used to the attention; she even craved it on some level.

It was strange riding an actual living horse. She had gotten used to the flying chaise—her recent invention that had revolutionized travel for sorcerers—and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone somewhere the old-fashioned way. The only reason why she was doing so now was because Barson refused to get on the chaise with her while on duty, and she didn’t want to hover in the air above the guards all by herself.

“How many rebels are there?” she asked Barson, surprised that there were only about fifty men accompanying them.

“Ganir said there were about three hundred,” Barson replied, and Augusta wrinkled her nose at the mention of the Council Leader’s name. Ganir appeared to have his spies everywhere these days. Under the guise of protecting the Council, the old sorcerer seemed to be growing more and more powerful every day, a development that bothered Augusta. She had always gotten a sense that the old man didn’t like her, and she didn’t want to think about what could happen if he decided to turn on her for any reason.

Bringing her attention back to the subject at hand, she gave Barson a questioning look. “And you took only fifty guards?”

He chuckled. “Only fifty? That’s probably twenty too many. Any one of my men is worth at least ten of these peasants.” Then he added, more seriously, “Besides, given the unrest everywhere, I thought it best not to leave Turingrad and the Tower unprotected without a good reason—and believe me, three hundred peasants are not a good reason.”

Augusta grinned at him, again charmed by his arrogance. “Right, of course. Plus you’ve got me.” Sorcerers rarely used their magic against the common population, but they could certainly do so, particularly if they were in danger. Augusta had no doubt that she could subdue all the rebels singlehandedly, but that wasn’t her job. That’s what the soldiers were for.

This little rebellion, like so many others in the past couple of years, was no doubt motivated by the drought. It was an unfortunate occurrence, and Augusta could understand the peasants’ unhappiness with ruined crops and high food prices—but that didn’t make it acceptable for them to march on Turingrad like Ganir claimed they were doing.

The north of Koldun—where these rebels were coming from—was particularly hard-hit. Augusta’s own territory was further south, but even her subjects were grumbling about the lack of food. They wouldn’t dare do any rioting, of course, but Augusta was not oblivious to the fact that they were unhappy. For almost two years, the rain had been sparse, and grain was becoming increasingly difficult to obtain. Augusta did her best to purchase whatever grain was available and send it to her people, but the ungrateful wretches still complained.

“Who’s ruling over the territory of the rebels? Is it Jandison or Moriner?” she asked, wondering which sorcerer couldn’t control his own peasants.

“Jandison.”

Jandison. Well, that explained it, Augusta thought. Despite his advanced age and position on the Council, Jandison was considered to be something of a weakling. He was good at teleportation (admittedly, a useful skill) and not much else. How he had ended up on the Council—a ruling body consisting of the most powerful sorcerers—Augusta would never understand.

“Some of his peasants ran off to the mountains,” Barson said, looking annoyed with the situation. “And some decided to riot. It’s a mess over there.”

“To the mountains?” Augusta couldn’t suppress her shock. The mountains surrounded the land of Koldun, serving as a natural barrier against the fierce storms that raged beyond them. Only the most intrepid explorers ever ventured out there, given the unpredictable weather and proximity to the dangerous ocean. And these peasants actually went there?

“Yes,” Barson confirmed. “At least twenty of them from Jandison’s northernmost village fled there.”

“They must be suicidal,” Augusta said, shaking her head. “Who in their right mind would do something like that?”

“Someone desperate and hungry, I would imagine.” Her lover gave her an ironic look. “You don’t know hunger, do you?”

“No,” Augusta admitted. Most sorcerers only ate for pleasure; spells to sustain the body’s energy were simple to do—and were one of the first things parents taught their children. Augusta had mastered those spells at the age of three, and she’d never felt hungry since.

Barson smiled in response and reached over to squeeze her knee with his large callused hand.

3

Gala

Gala stared at the tall, broad-shouldered man who was her creator, trying to figure out the best way to answer his question. She found it difficult to focus, her senses overwhelmed by being here, in this place Blaise called the Physical Realm. Her body was reacting to the different stimuli in strange and unpredictable ways, her mind attempting to process all the images, sounds, and smells so she could understand everything.

One particularly strong distraction was Blaise himself. She couldn’t stop looking at him because he was unlike anything she had seen before. Something about the angular symmetry of his face appealed to her, resonating with her in a way she didn’t fully comprehend. She liked everything about it, from the blue color of his eyes to the darkness of the stubble shadowing his firm jaw. She wondered if it would be acceptable to reach out and touch his hair—those short, almost-black locks that looked so different from her own pale strands.

First, though, she wanted to answer his question. Concentrating, she thought back to before, to what had happened prior to her experiencing reality for the first time. “I remember realizing that I exist,” she said slowly, trying to put into words the strange sensations at the beginning.

“You mean you existed for a time without realizing it?” he asked, his dark eyebrows coming together slightly. Gala thought that expression likely meant confusion because her own eyebrows did the same thing when she didn’t understand something.

“It’s like there were two ways I existed,” she tried to explain. “One way would just happen. This went on longer. When I say I realized that I exist—that’s when this other part of me first realized that I am me. These parts are not separate; in fact, they are the same thing. There is a strange looping arrangement between the two parts that I don’t fully understand and don’t know how to put into words—”

“I think I do understand,” he said, leaning forward and staring at her intently. “You became self-aware. At first, you existed on a subconscious level, and then, at some critical threshold, you achieved a conscious state of being.” He appeared excited, Gala thought, somehow finding the right word to describe her creator’s emotional state.

“What is the difference between a conscious and a subconscious state?” she asked, hungering for more information.

“In a human being, the subconscious parts of the mind are in charge of things like breathing or the heart beating,” he said, his eyes gleaming brightly. “When I run, my subconscious figures out the complex trajectories of how my limbs move. Some sorcerers also think dreams form in that part of our minds.”

“I am not a human being,” Gala said, looking at him. That much she knew now. She was something different, and she needed to learn what that something was.

He smiled—an expression that made his face even more fascinating to her. “No,” he said softly, “you’re not. But you definitely seem like one to me.”

“But that was not your intention, right?”

“Right,” he confirmed. “However, the parts of you that I designed are based on how I theorized human minds might work. Lenard the Great is the one who first discovered the conscious-subconscious dynamic, and I’ve always been fascinated by his work. I’ve done spells on people that gave me insight into their states of being, and that was my framework for you. Additionally, I had some help from Lenard’s writings. The spell that created you was supposed to make an interconnected structure of nodes—nodes that can learn. Billions and billions of nodes in the Spell Realm, all magically connected together—”

How interesting, Gala thought, observing the way his face became more animated as he spoke.

“And then, once I performed the spell,” he continued, “I sent dozens of Life Captures to the Spell Realm, as many Life Captures as I could get my hands on—”

“Life Captures?” The term didn’t make sense to Gala.

Blaise nodded, his expression darkening for some reason. “Yes. Life Captures are an example of a magical object. A sorcerer named Ganir recently invented these things. It’s a little hard to explain what they are. Basically, when you take a Life Capture, you see what someone else saw, you smell what they smelled, and you think you are them for the duration of the spell. You have to experience it to truly understand.”

“I think I do understand,” Gala said, thinking back to the strange experiences she’d had prior to coming here. “This probably explains my visions.”

“Your visions?”

“I think I saw glimpses of the Physical Realm,” Gala told him, “and it was like I was in them.” The memories were not pleasant; for the longest time, she’d felt lost, not knowing that she was living other people’s lives.

“Of course.” His eyes widened with understanding. “I should’ve realized that once your mind was sufficiently developed, you would simply experience the Life Captures like we do—except that you had never been in the real world and probably had no idea what was happening to you. I’m sorry about that. It must’ve been terribly confusing for you.”

Gala shrugged, a gesture she’d seen used once or twice in her visions. She had deduced that it indicated uncertainty. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the Life Captures. Seeing the world through them had definitely been confusing, but she had gained a lot of knowledge about the Physical Realm that way. There was still a lot she didn’t know, of course, but she was not nearly as lost now as she would’ve been otherwise.

Blaise smiled at her, and she thought again how much she liked his smile. Such a simple thing, just lips curving upwards and a flash of white teeth, and yet it had an effect on her, warming her on the inside and making her want to smile back at him in return. So she did, mimicking his expression. His eyes gleamed brighter, and Gala sensed that she’d done the right thing, that she’d pleased him in some way.

“So what was the Spell Realm itself like?” he asked, still looking at her with that smile. “I can’t even imagine what it must be like there . . .” His voice trailed off, and Gala understood that he was hoping she’d tell him about it.

She thought about it, trying to figure out the best way to explain. “It’s very . . . different,” she finally said. “I don’t really know how to describe it to you. There wasn’t a lot of time between visions, and when I wasn’t experiencing the visions, I couldn’t use human senses. It’s like there were flashes of light, sound, taste, and smell, but they were coming at me in some other way. I was never able to process them fully before I would get absorbed in another vision. And then I was pulled here—”

“Pulled here?”

“Yes, that’s what it felt like,” Gala said. “It was like something pulled me here, into this place you’re calling the Physical Realm.” She paused for a second. “Pulled me to you.”

4

Blaise

Pulled to him. She had been pulled to him.

It must’ve been that last spell he performed that brought Gala to his study, Blaise realized. He had been trying to do a physical manifestation of the magical object, and instead he’d ended up bringing Gala here, to the Physical Realm.

She was looking at him with her large blue eyes, studying him with that odd mixture of childlike curiosity and sharp intelligence. Blaise wondered what she was thinking. Did she have the same emotions as a regular human being? Did she even understand the concept of emotions? Her reactions seemed to indicate that she did. She had smiled in response to his smile, so, at the very least, she knew facial expressions.

“I want to see it,” she said suddenly, leaning forward. “Blaise, I want to experience more of this world. I want to learn about this place. Can you show it to me, please?”

“Of course,” Blaise said, getting up. He had a million more questions for her, but she was probably even more eager for knowledge than he was. “Let me start by showing you my house.”

He began the tour upstairs, where his study and the bedrooms were located. Gala trailed in his wake, listening attentively as he explained the purpose of each room. Everything seemed to fascinate her, from the closet filled with Augusta’s dresses to the glazed windows in Blaise’s bedroom.

Approaching one particularly large window, she climbed onto the windowsill and stared outside, pressing her nose against the glass. Blaise couldn’t help smiling at that, charmed by the picture she presented.

“What is out there?” she asked, turning her head to look at him. “I want to go down there.”

“It’s my gardens,” Blaise explained, coming closer to help her climb down from the windowsill. “We can go there next.”

Reaching up, he took her hand and carefully guided her down. Her hand was small and warm within his grasp, and Blaise again marveled at the striking beauty of his creation . . . and at the strength of his own reaction to her. He hadn’t been this attracted to a woman in a long time, not since Augusta—

No, don’t think about her, he told himself, feeling the familiar ache in his chest. The fact that his former fiancée still occupied his thoughts to such extent made him furious. After the way she had betrayed him, he had done his best to erase her from memory, but it was not that easy.

He had known Augusta for over a decade, having met her in the Academy when they were both lowly acolytes. He’d always thought she was beautiful, with her dark, sultry looks, but it wasn’t until they began working together on the Interpreter Stone that he found himself falling for her. Young and ambitious, they had seemed like the perfect match, even if they didn’t always see eye-to-eye on certain matters. For years, their passion—both for their work and for each other—had been enough to bridge their differences, and it wasn’t until Louie’s trial that Blaise had found out just how deep the divide between them truly was.

“Here, come with me,” he said, forcing himself to release Gala’s hand. “Let’s go downstairs.”

They walked down the stairs and out through the long hallway. Gala kept touching everything along the way, running her fingers over each new surface she encountered.

Finally, they were outside.

“These are my gardens,” Blaise said, pointing at the wide green expanse in front of them. “They are a little overgrown at this point—”

“They are beautiful,” Gala said slowly, turning in a circle. The look on her face was almost rapturous. “Oh, your Physical Realm is so beautiful, Blaise . . .”

“Yes,” Blaise murmured, mesmerized by her. “You’re right, it is.” Blinking, he forced himself to look away, to stare at something other than her gorgeous features.

She laughed joyously, drawing his gaze back to her, and he saw that she was reaching for a bright-colored butterfly sitting on a white flower. She did feel emotions, he realized, seeing her face glowing with happiness and excitement.

He tried to view the familiar surroundings as Gala must be seeing them, and he had to admit that the gardens had a certain wild beauty to them. His mother had been excellent with plants, judiciously using spells to promote the growth of flowers and fruit trees, and Blaise could still see traces of her magic everywhere.

“Would you like to see something interesting?” he asked impulsively, wanting to see more of that radiant joy on Gala’s face.

“Yes,” she said immediately. “Please.”

“Then watch,” Blaise said, and began a simple verbal spell. Holding out his hand, he concentrated on manipulating the particles of light, directing them to gather above his upturned palm. Each word, each sentence that he spoke, was part of the intricate code that enabled him to do sorcery. When he was satisfied that the logic and instructions of the spell were correct, he used the Interpreter Spell—a complex litany that every verbal spell required at the end—to transmit everything to the Spell Realm. And then he waited.

A few seconds later, the air above his outstretched palm began to shimmer, and a bright, shiny shape began to take place. Before long, there was a rose made entirely of light hovering a couple of inches above his hand.

“It’s so beautiful,” Gala breathed, watching his little demonstration with a look of awe on her perfect face. Reaching out, she touched the rose, her fingers passing right through the cluster of light.

Blaise grinned, glad that he had been able to impress her with something so simple. Given her origins, she would likely be able to do the same and more.

Much, much more, he thought, trying to imagine how powerful someone born in the Spell Realm could be. It was a little too soon to start exploring Gala’s abilities, but Blaise had a feeling they would be unlike anything the world had ever seen.

* * *

After Gala got her fill of the gardens, Blaise took her back inside the house.

“I want to learn more,” she said when they entered the hallway. “Blaise, I want to learn everything. Can you help me?”

He considered her request. He could give her more Life Captures and let her experience the world that way, or he could try introducing her to books. There was a possibility she might understand written language, as well as the spoken one, since some of the Life Captures he’d sent to the Spell Realm—the Life Captures that helped build her existing knowledge base—were from reading teachers.

He decided to go with the second option for now, to let her learn the old-fashioned way at first. As interesting as it was to immerse oneself into other people’s lives, there was still no substitute for the structure of a good book. “Why don’t we head to my library?” he suggested. “I want to see if you’re able to read.”

Gala nodded eagerly, and he led her into the musty room that housed his books. Interspersed with the heavy old tomes, he could see some of Augusta’s books, including a couple of romances his former lover had enjoyed in her spare time. “Here,” he said, picking up one of them and handing it to Gala, “try reading this.”

What she did next seemed very odd to him. She slowly looked over the first page. Then she quickly glanced at the next. And then she started flipping pages with increasing speed, until she was turning them so fast it looked like she was just riffling through the book.

When she was done, Blaise stared at her in astonishment. “Did you just read and understand that whole book?”

“Yes.”

Unable to believe his ears, Blaise took the book from her and opened it to a random page, glancing down to quickly skim a couple of paragraphs. “What was the name of the main hero?”

“Ludvig.”

“And what happened when he told his wife about Lura?”

“Jurila screamed, lashing out at her husband with her riding crop. Her dark eyes flashed with fire and fury, and her beautiful features were distorted by anger. Ludvig tried to calm her, fearing what she could do—”

“Wait a minute,” Blaise said incredulously, listening to her recite the paragraph he’d just read. “Did you just memorize the whole book?”

Gala shrugged. “I think so. It was interesting, but I would like more. Much more.”

Shaking his head in amazement, Blaise reached for another book, this one a thick tome covering the history of scientific advancements from the time of the Sorcery Enlightenment to the modern era. Dense and comprehensive, it was required reading for students at the Academy of Sorcery. Handing it to Gala, he said, “Try this one. It might be a bit more challenging.”

She took the book and started flipping through it. Within two minutes, she was done.

When she looked up at him, her face was glowing. “Blaise, this is so interesting,” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe so little was known before Lenard the Great came along. He discovered all these things about nature and how the mind works, not to mention the Spell Realm—”

Blaise nodded, smiling despite his shock. “Yes, he was a genius. And his students continued his work. That’s what the Enlightenment was about. Lenard and the sorcerers who followed in his footsteps shed light on our world, on the nature and mathematics of reality, on human psychology and physics—”

“Oh, I would’ve loved to meet him,” Gala breathed, her eyes huge with excitement. “He reminds me of you . . .”

“Of me?” Blaise couldn’t help laughing at that. “I’m very flattered, but I could never live up to Lenard’s achievements.”

Gala tilted her head to the side, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know about that,” she said. “You did create me, after all.”

“That’s true.” Blaise had to concede that point. “I’m sure Lenard would’ve loved to meet you as well. It’s too bad he disappeared over two centuries ago. His achievements live on, however, in all these books.” He gestured around the room.

She turned to look at the bookshelves and walked up to one of them, gently running her fingers over the dusty book spines.

“If you’d like to read more, my entire library is yours,” Blaise offered, seeing how she appeared to be drawn to the books. “It’s not as comprehensive as what you’d find in the Tower, but it should occupy even you for a bit.”

“I’ll start with more romances, I think,” she said, turning her head to flash him a dazzling smile. “That first book was more difficult for me.”

“You found the romance more difficult?”

“Of course,” she said seriously. “The second book made so much sense, and it flowed so easily, but the romance was more challenging. I didn’t fully understand all aspects of those people’s actions.”

Blaise stared at her. “I see. Well, read whatever you want. My library is at your disposal.”

Gala grinned at him, as eager as a child, and dove into another book, flipping through it with the same inhuman speed.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Blaise decided to leave her to it and quietly exited the library.

He needed some time to himself to figure out what happened and to think about what to do next.

* * *

Entering his study, Blaise sat down at his desk and pricked his finger, starting a Life Capture session out of habit. He always recorded himself at work these days, just in case he had some kind of a revelation and needed to relive it later.

Of course, he wasn’t expecting to have any kind of revelation about Gala right now. What happened today was so incredible, he could barely begin to process it.

He had created a magical being. A super-intelligent magical being with potential for unimaginable powers.

A being who was also the most beautiful woman Blaise had ever seen.

In hindsight, the fact that Gala took on a human shape made perfect sense. Blaise had been striving to create a mind that was similar to a human’s—a mind that could understand regular spoken language and convert it into the sorcery code directly, without having to use any kind of magical objects or spells. He should’ve considered the possibility that a mind like that would take on a human appearance.

But he hadn’t, focusing instead only on the idea that an intelligent object created in the Spell Realm could be used by anyone, regardless of their aptitude for sorcery. An object like that—particularly if made in large quantities—would’ve been a game changer, forever altering the class dynamics in their society and completing the process started by the Enlightenment.

Gala was not the object he’d meant to create, but it didn’t matter. She was something else—something even more wonderful.

His brother Louie would’ve been proud, Blaise thought, reaching for his journal.

5

Augusta

The sun was beginning to set, and Barson issued the order to stop for the night. Augusta gladly dismounted and stretched, her body aching from unaccustomed exercise. She would have to do a healing spell on herself later; otherwise, she might be sore tomorrow.

“Dinnertime for your men?” she asked, following Barson toward a tent that the soldiers were already setting up for him.

“First practice, then dinner,” he said, courteously lifting the tent flap for her. “You can rest if you’d like. I should be with you in an hour or so.”

“Rest in a tent while your boys play with swords?” Augusta lifted her eyebrows at him. “You’re joking, right? I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

He grinned at her. “Then come and watch.”

They walked together to a small clearing where most of the other guards were gathered. As they approached, Barson’s men respectfully stepped aside, clearing the way for them.

“Why don’t you get on your chaise?” Barson suggested, turning toward her. “It will provide you with a good view and keep you safely out of the way.”

Augusta smiled, charmed by his concern for her. “Sure, let me get it.” Although she’d ridden here on the horse, she’d had the chaise follow them at some distance, just in case it was needed.

Pulling out her Interpreter Stone—a shimmering black rock that resembled a large piece of polished coal with a slot in the middle—Augusta loaded it with a pre-written spell for summoning her chaise and waited. Two minutes later, the chaise arrived, landing softly on the grass. Deep red in color, it was shaped like the piece of furniture it had been named after. However, it was made of a special crystalline material that looked like glass but was warm and soft to the touch, like a plush, padded armchair. Augusta had invented this particular magical object fairly recently, and it had caught on among the sorcerer community immediately. It looked quite incongruous here, among all the trees, and Augusta almost laughed at the looks on the men’s faces as they stared at it.

Climbing onto the chaise, Augusta did a quick verbal spell to get it hovering in the air a little to the right above the clearing. Then, comfortably tucking her feet underneath herself, she leaned on one of the sides and prepared to watch the spectacle that was about to unfold.

* * *

Archery practice was first.

Augusta watched in fascination as one man let loose a strange-looking arrow. Large and covered with extra feathers, it appeared to be flying a little slower than usual, making it easier to see mid-flight.

Before she could wonder about its purpose, she saw the feathery arrow get hit by another arrow—an ordinary one this time. Apparently, the large arrow was the target—a target that some soldier had managed to hit with unbelievable accuracy.

Looking down on the ground, she saw that the men were divided into pairs, with one guard sending up those arrows and his partner shooting them down. Every time the target was reached, there would be cheers from the other soldiers. If Augusta hadn’t seen this herself, she wouldn’t have believed it was possible to perform this feat even once—yet every single one of Barson’s men managed to do this. The mathematics involved were staggering, and Augusta marveled at the ability of the human mind to do something so complicated without any conscious calculations.

Finally, it was Barson’s turn. Looking up, he gave her a wink, then motioned to his soldiers. To Augusta’s shock, not one, but two men sent up the special feathery arrows—and her lover’s arrow pierced them both in one shot. The other soldiers cheered, but not any louder than for any of the others. Apparently, it wasn’t the first time their Captain had done something so impossible.

After archery, the guards sparred with swords. Augusta watched with bated breath as steel clashed against steel, making her flinch every time someone narrowly avoided an injury. Even though this was only practice, the swords used by the men were quite real—and potentially quite deadly.

All of the soldiers appeared to be highly skilled, however, and nobody was getting hurt, causing Augusta to relax a little. Observing the fighters, she couldn’t help but take pleasure in the sight of their strong, fit bodies twisting and turning as they engaged in a kind of macabre dance. There was beauty to war, she thought, watching as they thrust and parried with incredible grace.

Barson was walking around the clearing, giving pointers and instructions to his soldiers. She wondered if he would fight as well—and if so, whether he would be as skilled with the sword as he was with the arrow.

As though in answer to her unspoken question, Barson walked to the middle of the clearing, stopping the fight between the men who were there. “You four,” he said, pointing at them, “I need some warm-up.”

Warm-up? Augusta grinned, realizing that her lover was probably trying to impress her.

The four big men approached Barson gingerly. Were they actually scared to go four against one? Augusta knew the Captain of the Sorcerer Guard was good at what he did, but she had never actually seen him in action.

The four soldiers took their positions, surrounding their leader. What happened next was so amazing, Augusta couldn’t help but gasp.

Barson started moving slowly, in a strange pattern, somehow keeping all four men in his sight at all times. Then he lashed out with lightning speed, apparently spotting an opening, and Augusta saw a droplet of red welling up from a scratch on one of the soldiers’ wrists.

First blood, she thought, mesmerized by what was happening.

The blood seemed to serve as some kind of a signal, and all four guards attacked at once. To Augusta’s untrained eye, there was only a flurry of movement. Barson’s blade seemed to be everywhere, blocking every move his opponents made with a skill and speed that seemed superhuman. There was something hypnotic in the way Barson moved. Every gesture, every move, was perfectly calibrated. He dodged thrusts, while using the same turn to deliver an attack. His deadly proficiency was breathtaking.

“More,” he shouted after a few minutes. “I need more.”

Four more fighters joined in. Augusta directed her chaise to fly closer, because all she could see now was a row of bodies surrounding Barson’s powerful figure.

Suddenly, there was a scream.

Augusta’s heart skipped a beat, but then she saw that one of the other soldiers—not Barson—was on the ground, clutching his thigh. The others stopped fighting, forming a circle around the wounded man.

Landing her chaise, Augusta quickly jumped off and ran toward them. Barson was kneeling beside the man, a look of dismay on his face. The soldiers stepped aside, letting her through, and her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the gushing wound in the man’s leg. To her astonishment, Augusta saw that the man was very young—barely more than a boy.

Barson ripped a strip of cloth from his shirt and tied it around the soldier’s thigh. “This should help the bleeding. I am sorry, Kiam,” he said somberly.

“These things happen in practice,” said Kiam, clearly trying to keep the pain out of his voice.

“No, it’s my fault,” Barson said. “I shouldn’t have taken on so many of you. Like a rookie, I couldn’t control where I aimed my thrust.”

At that point, he seemed to notice Augusta’s presence, and she knew what Barson was going to ask before he even said it.

“Can you help him?” he said, looking up at her.

Augusta nodded and walked back to the chaise, where she’d left her bag. Strictly speaking, using sorcery on non-sorcerers was frowned upon. However, these were special circumstances. Now that she wasn’t so panicked, Augusta recognized the boy. Kiam was the son of Moriner, a Council member from the north. She remembered the Councilor saying that his youngest son didn’t seem to have any aptitude for magic, only for fighting. But even if Kiam had been a nobody, she would’ve still helped him as a favor to Barson.

Grabbing her Interpreter Stone, Augusta carefully chose the cards she needed. The boy was lucky that she and Blaise had come up with this invention. If she’d had to rely on the old oral spells, Kiam would’ve likely bled to death while she planned and chanted something of this complexity. Even Moriner, who was considered the foremost expert on verbal spell casting, would’ve been unable to help his son in time.

Written sorcery was much quicker, especially since Augusta already had some of the components of the spell in her bag. All she had to do now was tailor those components to Kiam’s body weight, height, and the specifics of his injury. When she was ready, she walked back and set the Stone next to Kiam, loading the paper cards into it on the way.

The flow of blood from Kiam’s thigh slowed to a trickle, then stopped. Within a minute, no trace of the injury remained, and Kiam’s face lost its pallor, looking healthy again. The young man got up, as though nothing had happened, and Augusta could see the looks of awe and admiration on the soldiers’ faces. She smiled, glowing with pride at her accomplishment.

Without saying a word, Barson squeezed her shoulder with rough affection, and she grinned at him, looking forward to the night to come.

Practice was over for the day.

6

Barson

Barson watched Augusta as she walked away, her hips swaying with the seductive grace that was as much a part of her as her golden brown eyes. She was a beautiful woman, and he was glad she’d chosen him to be her lover. She still pined for that exiled sorcerer, he knew, but not when she was in Barson’s bed. He’d made certain of that.

“That was not particularly smooth, I have to say,” a voice drawled next to him, interrupting his musings.

Turning his head, Barson saw his right-hand man and soon-to-be brother-in-law. “Shut up, Larn,” he said without much heat. “Kiam will be fine, and he’ll know better than to jump under my sword the next time.”

Larn shook his head. “I don’t know, Barson. That kid is a hothead; I’ve warned you about him before—”

“Yeah, yeah, look who’s talking. You think I don’t remember all the trouble you got into when you were his age?”

Larn snorted. “Oh please, you’re a fine one to talk. How many times did Dara have to plead your case? If it weren’t for your sister, you’d still be grounded to this day.”

Barson grinned at his friend, remembering all the mishaps they’d gotten into as children.

“He reminds me of you quite a bit actually,” Larn said, glancing in the direction of Kiam, who had picked up his sword again, apparently getting ready to practice on his own time. Then, lowering his voice, he said in a more serious tone, “Can she hear us?”

“I don’t think so,” Barson said, though he wasn’t entirely sure. One could never be certain with sorcerers; they were sneaky and had spells that could enhance their eavesdropping abilities. However, Augusta would have no reason to do such a spell right now—not when she was getting ready for bed in his tent. “In any case, it’s far safer to talk here than anywhere in the vicinity of the Tower.”

“That’s probably true,” Larn agreed, still keeping his voice low. “Why did she come along, anyway?”

Barson shrugged.

“Oh, the legendary Barson strikes again.” Larn wiggled his eyebrows lasciviously.

Barson’s hand shot out with the speed of a striking cobra, grabbing Larn’s throat. “You will show her respect,” he ordered, filled with sudden anger.

“Of course, I’m sorry . . .” Larn sounded choked. “I didn’t realize—”

“Well, now you do,” Barson muttered, releasing his friend. “And you better hope she didn’t hear any of this.”

Larn paled. “You said she couldn’t—”

“And she probably can’t,” Barson agreed. “The fact that you’re still alive is evidence of that.” Like all members of the Council, Augusta could be quite dangerous if provoked.

Larn stepped back, rubbing his throat. “Your sorceress aside,” he said in a low, raspy voice, “we have some business to discuss.”

Barson nodded, feeling a small measure of guilt at his lack of control. “Tell me,” he said curtly. Larn was his best friend and his most trusted soldier; soon, he would be family as well. Barson shouldn’t have reacted so strongly to his good-natured ribbing. What did it matter what anyone thought of his relationship with Augusta? He must be feeling particularly violent after the practice fight, he decided, not wanting to analyze his actions too much.

“I made a list of the most likely candidates.” Larn pulled out a small scroll and handed it to Barson. “Before, I could’ve sworn that none of these men could do this, but now I’m not so sure.”

Barson unrolled the scroll and studied the eleven names written on there, his anger growing again. Lifting his head, he pinned Larn with an icy stare. “They all fit the behavior pattern?”

“Yes. All of them. Of course, there could always be some other reason for their actions—a mistress or some such thing.”

“Yes,” Barson agreed. “For ten of them, it’s probably something like that.” His hands clenched into fists, and he forced himself to relax. Every one of the eleven men on that list was like a brother to him, and the thought that one of them could’ve betrayed him was like poison in Barson’s veins.

Taking a deep breath, he glanced at the list again, mentally running through each of the names. One name in particular jumped out at him. “Siur is on there,” he said slowly.

“Yes,” Larn said. “I noticed that, too. He didn’t come with us this time. Did he tell you why?”

“No. He said he needed to stay in Turingrad. It’s Siur, not some rookie, so I didn’t press him for explanations.”

Larn nodded thoughtfully. “All right. I’ll continue working on this list and keeping an eye on the ones already there.”

“Good,” Barson said, turning away to hide the fury on his face.

No matter what it took, he would get to the bottom of this matter—and when he did, the man who betrayed him would pay.

7

Blaise

Wrapping up the Life Capture recording, Blaise came back to the library to check on Gala. To his surprise, he saw her lying on the floor unconscious, in the middle of a huge pile of books.

Worried, he ran to her and crouched down to take a closer look. To his relief, he saw that she looked quite peaceful, her breathing slow and even. She was simply sleeping.

Without thinking too much about it, Blaise picked her up and carried her to one of the guest bedrooms. She was light in his arms, her body soft and feminine, and he found himself enjoying the experience. Reaching the room, he gently placed her on the bed, and as he was covering her with a blanket, she opened her eyes.

For a moment, she seemed confused, then her gaze cleared. “I think I fell asleep,” she said in astonishment.

Blaise smiled. “I would’ve thought you wouldn’t know what sleep was like.”

“I didn’t before, but I learned quite a bit from your books.”

He studied her with fascination, wondering if she’d read all those hundreds of books that were lying on the library floor. “How many books did you get through?” he asked.

She sat up in bed, brushing a few strands of long blond hair off her face. “Three hundred and forty nine.”

Blaise blinked. “That’s very precise. Are you sure it wasn’t three hundred and forty eight?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” she said seriously, then smiled. “In fact, it was 138,902 pages and 32,453,383 words.”

“Are those the exact figures?” He could hardly believe his ears.

Gala nodded, still smiling. In a flash of intuition, Blaise realized that she knew just how much she had impressed him—and that she was enjoying his reaction tremendously.

“All right,” Blaise said slowly. “How do you know this?”

She shrugged. “I just know. As soon as I wanted to tell you, the numbers came to me. I guess I must’ve counted as I was reading, but I don’t remember doing it.”

“I see,” Blaise said, watching her closely. On a hunch, he asked, “What is 2,682 times 5?”

“13,410,” Gala said without hesitation.

Blaise concentrated for a few seconds, doing the calculations in his head. She was right. He was one of the few people he knew who could do this kind of multiplication quickly, but Gala had known the answer almost instantaneously.

“How did you do this so quickly?” he asked, curious about the way her mind worked.

“I took 2,682, halved it to get 1,341, and then multiplied it by 10.”

Blaise thought about it for a second and realized that her method was indeed the easiest way to solve the problem. He was surprised he hadn’t come up with it himself. He would definitely use this shortcut the next time he needed to do some quick calculations for a spell.

Given the purpose of her creation, Gala’s analytical and math skills shouldn’t have surprised him, but still, Blaise was amazed. He couldn’t wait any longer to see what she was capable of. “Gala, can you try to do some magic for me?” he asked, staring at her beautiful face.

She looked surprised by his request. “You mean, like you did earlier, in the gardens?”

“Yes, like that,” Blaise confirmed.

“But I don’t know how you did what you did.” She seemed a little bewildered. “I don’t know all those spells you used.”

“You don’t have to know them,” Blaise explained. “You should be able to do magic directly, without having to learn our methods. Magic should come as easily and naturally to you as breathing does to me.”

She appeared to consider that for a second. “I also breathe,” she said, as though reaching that conclusion after examining herself.

“Of course you do.” Amused, Blaise smiled at her. “I didn’t mean to imply that you don’t.”

Her soft lips curved in an answering smile. “All right,” she murmured, “let me try doing magic.” She closed her eyes, and Blaise could see a look of intense concentration on her face.

He held his breath, waiting, but nothing happened. After a minute, she opened her eyes, looking at Blaise expectantly.

He shook his head regretfully. “I don’t think it worked. What did you try to do?”

“I wanted to make my own version of that beautiful flower you created in the garden.”

“I see. And how did you go about doing it?”

She lifted her shoulders in a graceful shrug. “I don’t know. I replayed the memory of you doing it earlier in my mind and tried to picture myself in your place, but I don’t think it works like that.”

“No, you’re right, that’s probably not how it would work for you.” Frustrated, Blaise ran his fingers through his hair. “The problem is I don’t know exactly how it would work for you. I was hoping you would simply be able to do it, just like you did the math problem earlier.”

Gala closed her eyes again, and that same look of concentration appeared on her face.

Again nothing happened.

“I failed,” she said, opening her eyes. She didn’t seem particularly concerned about that fact.

“What did you try to do?”

“I wanted to raise the temperature in this room by a couple of degrees, but I could feel that it didn’t work.”

Blaise lifted his eyebrows. Her unusual temperature sensitivity aside, it seemed that Gala did have a good intuition for sorcery. Changing the temperature of an object was a very basic spell, something that Blaise could do just by saying a few sentences in the old magical language.

While he was pondering this, Gala jumped off the bed and came up to one of the windows. “I want to go out there,” she said, turning her head to look at him. “I want to see more of this world.”

Blaise tried to hide his disappointment. “You don’t want to try any more magic?”

“No,” Gala said stubbornly. “I don’t. I want to go out and explore.”

Blaise took a deep breath. “Maybe just one more try?”

Her expression darkened, a crease appearing on her smooth forehead. “Blaise,” she said quietly, “you’re making me feel bad right now.”

“What?” Blaise couldn’t keep the shock out of his voice. “Why?”

“Because you’re making me feel used, like that object that you intended me to be,” she said, sounding upset. “What do you want from me? Am I to be some tool that people use to do magic? Is that my purpose in life?”

“No, of course not!” Blaise protested, pushing away an unwelcome tendril of guilt. In a way, that had been exactly what he had originally intended for Gala, but she wasn’t supposed to be a person, with the feelings and emotions of a human being. He had been trying to build an intelligence, yes, but it wasn’t supposed to turn out this way. It was to be a means to an end, a way to address the worst of the inequality in their society. All he had thought about was getting the object to understand regular human language, and he hadn’t considered the fact that anything with that level of intelligence might have its—or her—own thoughts and opinions.

And now he was a victim of his own success. Gala could certainly understand language—maybe even better than Blaise, given her reading prowess. However, she was no more an object to be used than he was. His original plan of creating enough intelligent magical objects for everyone was sheer folly; if successful, it would just transfer the burden of inequality from one group of thinking beings to another—provided that Gala or others of her kind would even go along with something like that.

Besides, it wasn’t like she could even do magic at this point. Or maybe she just didn’t want to, Blaise thought wryly. He would certainly be hesitant to display any kind of magical ability in her situation.

She was still looking upset, so he tried to reassure her, “Gala, listen to me, I didn’t mean to make you feel like an object. What I told you about my original intentions for you is obviously out of the question now. I know you’re not a thing to be used. I’m sorry. It was thoughtless of me not to realize how you felt.” He hoped she could see the truth of his words; the last thing he wanted was for Gala to be afraid of him or to resent him.

She looked away for a second, then turned to meet his gaze. “Well, now you know,” she said softly. “All I want to do right now is learn more about this world. I want to experience everything about it. I want to see for myself what I just read about in your books, and I want to witness those injustices you’re trying to fix. I want to live like a human being, Blaise. Can you understand that?”

8

Gala

Gala watched the play of emotions on her creator’s expressive face. He was disappointed, she could see that, and it hurt, but she needed him to understand that she was a person with her own needs and desires. She wasn’t something to be used to better the lives of people she didn’t know and didn’t care about.

She could see his internal struggle, and then he seemed to come to a conclusion of some kind. “Gala,” he said quietly, looking at her, “I understand what you’re saying, but you don’t know what you’re asking. If anyone found out about you—about what you are—I don’t know what they would do. People fear what they don’t understand—and even I don’t fully understand what you are and what you’re capable of. I can’t let you go out there, not until we know more about you.”

As he spoke, Gala felt the beginnings of something she had never experienced before. It was a strange churning sensation that started low in her stomach and spread upward, making her chest feel unpleasantly tight. She could feel her blood rushing faster in her veins, heating up her face, and she wanted to scream, to lash out in some way. It was anger, she realized, real anger. She hated not being able to do exactly what she wanted.

“Blaise,” she managed to say through tightly clenched teeth, “I. Want. To Go. Out. There.” Her voice seemed to rise with every word.

He appeared taken aback by her temper. “Gala, it’s just too dangerous, can’t you understand that?”

“Too dangerous? Why?” she demanded furiously. “I look human, don’t I? How would anybody guess that I’m not?”

She could see him considering her point. “You’re right,” he said after a moment. “You do appear completely human. But if we go out there together, we’ll attract a lot of attention—mostly because of me, not you.”

“You? Why?” Gala could feel her anger cooling now that Blaise was no longer being so unreasonable.

“Because I quit the Sorcerer Council two years ago,” he explained, “and I’ve been an outcast ever since.”

“An outcast? Why?” Gala had just finished reading about the Sorcerer Council and the power wielded by those who had the aptitude for magic. Blaise seemed to be an unusually good sorcerer—he had to be, in order to create something like herself—and it didn’t make sense to her that he would be an outcast in a world that valued those kinds of skills so much.

“It’s a long story,” Blaise said, and she could hear the bitterness in his voice. “Suffice it to say, I don’t share the views of most on the Council—and neither did my brother.”

“Your brother?” She’d also read about siblings, and she was fascinated by the idea of Blaise having one.

He sighed. “Are you sure you want to hear about this?”

“Definitely.” Gala wanted to learn everything about Blaise. He interested her more than anything else she’d encountered thus far during her short existence.

“All right,” he said slowly, “do you remember what I told you about the Life Captures?”

Gala nodded. Of course she remembered; as far as she could tell, she had a perfect memory. Life Captures were the way she’d initially learned about Blaise’s world.

“Well, as I mentioned earlier, Life Captures were invented by a powerful sorcerer named Ganir a couple of years ago. When they first came out, everyone was very excited about them. A single Life Capture droplet could allow a person to get completely immersed in someone else’s life, allowing him to feel what they felt, learn what they learned. It was also the first magical object that didn’t require knowledge of the sorcery code. All one has to do to record his life is give the Life Capture Sphere a tiny drop of blood. Another drop of blood stops the recording, allowing the Life Capture droplet to form in a special place on top of the Sphere. And then those droplets can be used by anyone, without any special equipment. All one needs to do to experience the Life Capture is put the droplet in his or her mouth.”

Gala nodded again, listening attentively. She wanted to try these Life Captures again, to experience them for the first time in the Physical Realm.

“My brother, who was Ganir’s assistant at the time,” continued Blaise, “was one of the few sorcerers who knew a little bit about how Life Capture magic worked. He saw how it could be used as a learning tool, as a way to teach magic to those who would never be able to gain access to the Academy of Sorcery. He also thought it was a great way for the less fortunate to escape the reality of their everyday life. A regular person could experience what it might be like to be a sorcerer just as easily as the other way around.” He paused to take a breath. “My brother was clearly an idealist. He didn’t foresee the consequences of his actions—both for himself and for the people he wanted to help.”

“What happened?” Gala asked, her heart beating faster as she sensed that this story might not have a happy ending.

“Louie managed to create a large number of Life Capture Spheres in secret and smuggled them out of Turingrad, distributing them throughout all the territories. He thought it might aid the spread of knowledge, improving our society, but that’s not what ended up happening.” Blaise’s voice grew hard, emotionless. “As soon as the Council learned about Louie’s actions, they outlawed the possession and distribution of Life Captures for non-sorcerers, creating a black market and a criminal underclass that specializes in the sale of these objects—thus completely perverting their original purpose.”

“So what happened to Louie?”

“He was punished,” Blaise said, and she could sense the anger burning underneath. “He was tried and found guilty. For giving Life Capture to the commoners, he paid with his life.”

“They killed him?” Gala gasped, horrified at the idea that somebody could lose his life so easily. She was enjoying living so much that she couldn’t imagine ceasing to exist. How could people do this? How could they deny each other the amazing experience of living?

“Yes. They executed him. I left the Council shortly after his death. I could no longer stand to be a part of it.”

Gala swallowed, feeling a painful sensation in her chest. She ached, as though Blaise’s pain was her own. She must be experiencing empathy, she realized, identifying the unfamiliar feeling.

“Could I try more Life Captures, Blaise?” she asked cautiously, hoping she was not causing him additional pain by dwelling on this topic. “I would really like to experience them here, in the Physical Realm.”

To her surprise, his face brightened, like she had said something that made him happy. “That’s a great idea,” he said, giving her a warm smile. “It’s an excellent way for you to experience the world.”

“Yes,” Gala agreed. “I think so.”

She also intended to experience the world in person, but for the moment, the Life Captures would suffice.

9

Augusta

Augusta watched her lover getting ready for the upcoming fight. The supple leather tunic hugged his broad frame, and the armor he put on over it looked heavy enough to fell a smaller man. To Barson, however, it was as light as air. Not because of his strength—which was admittedly impressive—but because the armor of the Sorcerer Guard was special. It was spelled to be almost weightless to the wearer and very nearly impenetrable. That was one of the perks of being a soldier in modern-day Koldun: access to sorcery-enhanced weapons and armor.

Seeing that Barson was almost ready, Augusta got up and took her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. Her red chaise was already waiting outside. She planned to fly above the battle, so she could observe everything from a safe vantage point.

“We’re going to meet them over on that hill,” Barson told her as they walked out of the tent. “It’s a good spot. Our archers will have a clear shot at anyone approaching, and there’s only one road that goes through there, so nobody will be able to sneak up on us.”

Augusta smiled at him. “Sounds good.” Her lover was as obsessed with military strategy as Augusta was with magic, devouring ancient war books in his spare time.

“I will see you in a few hours.” Leaning down, he gave her a brief, hard kiss and walked off, heading toward his soldiers.

Augusta watched his powerful figure for a couple of minutes before climbing onto her chaise. Pulling out her Interpreter Stone, she loaded in a pre-made concealment spell, so that no one on the battlefield would be able to see her or her chaise. Once that was done, she pulled out another spell, a more complicated one this time. It was a way for her to temporarily boost her senses, enabling her to see and hear everything with as much clarity as possible. She’d used it several times before; in the Tower of Sorcery, it paid to hear every whisper.

A quick verbal spell, and she was flying, her chaise far more comfortable than the carpets and dragons of old fairy tales. Rising high above the hill, she saw Barson’s men heading over to their chosen battleground and the narrow road stretching into the far distance. With her enhanced sight, Augusta could see much better than usual, and she marveled at the beauty of this northern part of the land, with its tall sturdy trees and rich dark soil. Even the devastation from the drought was not enough to diminish the beauty of the local forests.

Augusta had never visited this area before, generally splitting her time between Turingrad and her own territory in the southern region. The city was the biggest on Koldun, and it was the epicenter of art, culture, and commerce. In contrast to the peasant-occupied surrounding territories, the majority of Turingrad was populated by sorcerers, members of the Guard, and some particularly prosperous merchants.

Directing her chaise to turn north, Augusta peered at the dark mass in the distance. It was so far away that even with her improved vision, she couldn’t tell what it was. Curious, she flew toward it.

And when she got close enough to see, she could hardly believe her eyes.

Instead of three hundred men, as Ganir’s spies had said, there were at least a couple of thousand.

A couple of thousand peasants . . . versus fifty of Barson’s soldiers.

* * *

Her heart racing, Augusta stared at the approaching horde. She had never seen such a large gathering of commoners in her life.

They were marching up the dirt road, their lean faces hard with anger and their dirty bodies covered with ragged woolen clothes. In addition to the usual pitchforks, many of them were carrying weapons; she saw maces, clubs, and even a few swords. They were still far from Turingrad, but the very fact that they dared to go toward the capital with such numbers was disturbing on many levels. As someone who had grown up with stories of the Revolution, Augusta knew full well what could happen when peasants thought that they deserved better—that they had the right to take what wasn’t given to them.

She had to warn Barson.

Flying back toward the hill, Augusta jumped off the chaise as soon as it landed and ran toward Barson, quickly telling him what she saw. As she spoke, his jaw tightened and his eyes flashed with anger.

“You’re turning back, right?” she asked, although it was clearly a rhetorical question.

“No, of course not.” He stared at her like she had grown two heads. “This changes nothing. We need to contain this rebellion, and we need to do it here, before they get any closer to Turingrad.”

“But they outnumber you by an impossible margin—”

Her lover nodded grimly. “Yes, they do.” The expression on his face was storm-black, and she wondered what he was thinking. Was he truly suicidal enough to attempt to go up against all those peasants? She admired his dedication to duty, but this was something else entirely.

Fighting to remain calm, Augusta tried to think of a solution that would contain the rebels and prevent Barson from getting killed. “Look,” she finally said in frustration, “if you’re determined to do this, then maybe I can help somehow.”

Barson studied her, his gaze dark and inscrutable. “Help us how? Using sorcery?”

“Yes.” Sorcerers rarely did this sort of thing, but she couldn’t let Barson and his soldiers perish in a battle with some peasants.

To her relief, he looked intrigued. “Well,” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps there is something you can do . . . Do you think you can teleport all of us to them, and then teleport us back at an agreed-upon time?”

Augusta considered his request. Teleportation was not an easy spell. It required very precise calculations, as even the smallest error could be deadly. Teleporting many people at once was an even greater challenge. Still, she should be able to do it, since it was only for a short distance and she would be able to see their destination, thus visually confirming that everything was clear. “Yes, I could do it,” she said decisively. “How would that help?”

Barson smiled. “Here is what I have in mind.” And he began telling her his insane plan.

10

Gala

Back in Blaise’s study, Gala examined the Life Capture Sphere. It looked like a large round diamond, and the rest of the room was reflected in it, as though in a mirror. Gala was mesmerized by the elegant mathematics that warped the image of the laboratory, with its arcane bottles and instruments. There was only a single flaw in the spherical shape—an opening with a couple of clear beads inside it.

“Those are the Life Capture droplets,” Blaise explained, walking up to it. ”They are the physical shape Life Captures take when entering this world.”

Taking one of the beads, he put it in her hand. When their hands touched lightly, Gala felt a pleasantly warm sensation in her body—the same strange feeling she experienced every time she was near Blaise. She would have to touch him more when an opportune moment arose, Gala decided, liking the way her body seemed to react to him.

“These appear when the cycle of recording is compete,” he said. “To start the cycle, I touched the Sphere with the blood from my finger, and to stop it, I did it again. See that needle there? That’s what I used to prick my finger. Droplets show up shortly after.”

Gala pricked her finger. The sensation she felt now was most unpleasant. It was pain, she realized. The red substance—blood—started slowly oozing out of the small opening in her finger. She knew that pain was something humans avoided, and she could now understand why.

Reaching out with her bloody finger, she touched the Sphere, waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, she touched it again, wondering what she was doing wrong.

“It’s not working for you, is it?” Blaise asked, watching her efforts. “That’s not surprising.”

“Because I am not human?”

He nodded. “Yes. With time, I suspect you’ll be able to create your own droplets or do anything else you wished without the use of the Sphere.”

Gala examined herself and saw no evidence to support what he said. If she could create these Life Capture droplets, she did not know how. In the meantime, her pricked finger had already healed.

“Why did Ganir tie pain to this?” she asked.

“I think he wanted a small cost to be associated with this part. Also, it must help functionally with the spell. I suspect something small enters the body through the wound, going to the brain and capturing something important there. When you touch the Sphere again, it leaves your body. Ganir is very secretive about this process, but that’s how my brother explained it to me. He was hypothesizing, of course, since only Ganir understands his invention fully.”

Gala focused on her body, wanting to try again. She pricked her other finger. The pain was much less unpleasant this time, since she knew what to expect. When she touched the Sphere, now that she knew what to look for, she actually felt something extremely small entering her flesh through her blood. She could also feel how her body immediately attacked the tiny invaders, preventing them from going further in her bloodstream. And her finger healed again, as quickly as before.

“Why don’t you try just taking one of the droplets?” Blaise said. “Put it under your tongue and see what happens.”

Gala did as he said, and felt like she was being invaded again. It was as though something wanted to take over her brain. This time, she tried to get her body to allow this invasion, but it still didn’t work. Sighing, she looked at Blaise and shook her head. “I didn’t succeed, but I would like to try again,” she said apologetically. “I’m sorry if I’m wasting your precious droplets—”

“It’s quite all right. These ones I made myself in order to document the completion of my spell. It doesn’t matter if you use them up—I can still recall that time quite clearly and write it all up in my journal, if necessary.” He smiled at her reassuringly.

Gala smiled back at him. Knowing that these were Blaise’s Life Captures—that they would allow her to view the world through his eyes—was a very powerful incentive. Closing her eyes, she willed her body not to fight the invasion and focused on letting the substance of the droplets travel through her veins. Suddenly, something within her yielded, and she felt the stuff go up to her head and then into her brain. To her annoyance, however, what worked for the human mind didn’t seem to work for hers. She felt some hint of foreign emotions, but no visions of any kind.

Frustrated, she opened her eyes. “It failed again, but I think I am close,” she told Blaise. “Do you have any less valuable Life Captures?”

“Sure. They’re in storage,” he said, walking out of his study. Gala followed him, and they went into one of the rooms she remembered seeing on her earlier tour of Blaise’s house. Every wall of that room seemed to be covered with wooden furniture—furniture that seemed to consist of dozens of little doors. Cabinets, Gala realized. These were cabinets—miniature closets used for storage purposes.

Bending down, Blaise opened one of the cabinet doors and took out a jar with a few droplets in it. “These are Life Captures of my less important work,” he explained, handing her one of the clear beads. “You should feel free to use up as many of these as you want. I document anything particularly important in writing.” He waved toward another set of doors, indicating where he kept his written legacy.

Taking one droplet from his hand, Gala put it under her tongue. With all her being, she willed the ability to see what was contained in the Life Capture. She thought of her time back in the Spell Realm and how she was able to get visions. Then she tapped into the part of her mind that was able to do this before. After what felt like hours of concentration, she felt something finally giving and a vision coming on . . .

* * *

Blaise was sitting in his study writing code. At times like these, he didn’t mind his self-imposed solitude. Preparing spells required concentration, and distractions could result in significant setbacks. Thankfully, Maya and Esther knew better than to approach his study while he was working. They would simply come, drop off the Life Captures he needed, and quietly leave if he was busy.

He enjoyed coding because it was so exact, so precise. The sorcery code did what you asked it to do. As long as you wrote out the logic of the spell properly, then it was a simple dynamic of ‘if variable A is set to such and such value, action B happens.’ There was something reassuring about it. A certainty in an uncertain world. His mind liked the predictability of it all. He frequently re-used certain patterns, and they produced the same outcome each time.

The spell he was working on now was different, much more challenging than usual. It was based on the work of Lenard the Great himself, and Blaise didn’t fully understand all of its components—and thus couldn’t predict the results. All he knew was that it was his gateway to the Spell Realm—and that it should enable him to send his Life Captures there, shaping the intelligent object he was creating.

Stopping for a second, Blaise wrote down a few things in his journal.

* * *

Gala suddenly became aware that she was Gala and not Blaise. Just a moment ago, she had been him. She had been thinking about sending Life Captures into the Spell Realm to feed the object—the object that was herself. The strangeness of that—of having thoughts about herself prior to her existence—had been jarring. Opening her eyes, Gala looked at Blaise.

“You’re out of it already?” He seemed surprised.

“I stopped it,” she explained. “I didn’t like it. I was not myself. It was the way it had been in the Spell Realm, before I became aware of myself. I felt lost in your mind, and I didn’t like that feeling—although I liked your mind quite a bit.”

Blaise grinned at her, looking pleased. “Thank you. But just so you know, I’ve never heard of anybody being able to exit a Life Capture before it ends. I guess there’s no point in being surprised with you.”

“I am different,” Gala agreed.

“Life Captures tend to be all-consuming,” Blaise said. “That’s what most people like about them. Some are even addicted to the experience. When your own life is lacking, being someone else provides a powerful escape. I, like you, don’t enjoy the feeling of losing myself, but I embrace the chance to learn more about people by seeing life from their perspective.”

“Yes, I could see that. I must admit, I got a chance to learn that you have a beautiful mind,” she told him honestly. “So different, yet similar to my own.” It had been enlightening to witness his thought processes, and Gala felt like she understood her creator better now.

He gave her a warm smile, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Thank you.”

She felt a sudden urge to touch his smiling lips, but she fought the impulse, having gleaned from books that uninvited touches were not socially acceptable. “I would like to see another Life Capture,” she said instead. “From someone who is not you.” As strange as the experience had been, Blaise was right: it gave her a chance to learn.

Blaise gave her an approving look. “I have some left over from the batch that was meant for your learning while you were in the Spell Realm.” Taking out a droplet from a different cabinet, he handed it to Gala.

She put it under her tongue and tried to get her body to use it, like it did the last time. Only this time she focused on not letting it consume her completely, as it did before.

* * *

She was a village girl, working in a garden near a large field of grass. The day was sunny, and the field was beautiful, with wildflowers that were just beginning to bloom. All of this grass would be gone soon, making way for wheat and other grains.

Looking down, she flexed her arms, noticing the play of muscle underneath her smooth skin. She was strong for a girl, her body toned from laboring on the farm her entire life. She enjoyed that part of her life, the endless cycle of planting and harvesting. Now that the spring was here, her family would soon be hard at work—

* * *

Gala stopped the vision. It was difficult to stay detached. For a brief moment, she had been that girl, and the experience was as disorienting as before.

“This person seems familiar,” she told Blaise. “I think I’ve been inside her mind before, in the Spell Realm.”

He smiled at her, no longer startled by her quick exit. “Yes, I’m not surprised you recognize her. I’ve gotten most of my droplets from Maya and Esther, my friends in the village. They have many talents, including natural healing and midwifery. And in exchange for their services, they’ve been requesting Life Captures from women that they help. A payment of sorts, which they’ve been passing on to me . . .” His voice trailed off, and there was now a thoughtful look on his face.

“What is it?” Gala asked, intrigued.

“It just occurred to me why you might have taken that shape,” he said, studying her as though seeing her for the first time.

“What shape?” Gala gave him a questioning look.

“That of a girl.”

“You don’t like it?” she asked, feeling inexplicably disappointed.

“Oh, no,” he reassured her. “I do. Believe me, I like it a little too much.” His eyes darkened, color appearing high on his cheekbones, and Gala smiled, delighted that he liked her appearance. Looks were important to people; she knew that also from her readings.

He cleared his throat, still looking a little uncomfortable. “What I meant to say earlier is I think you look like a girl because so many of the Life Captures I sent to you were from the village women—the majority of them, in fact.”

Gala nodded. That made sense to her. Her subconscious mind had likely chosen the female form based on the visions she experienced through the Life Captures. And since most of the Life Captures were from women, it was only logical that her mind had decided to take that shape.

“So would you like to see one more Life Capture?” Blaise asked. “I smuggled this one from the Tower of Sorcery.”

“Yes, I would love to,” Gala told him.

* * *

The young sorceress was sitting in one of the study rooms in the Tower of Sorcery. For the first time ever, she was writing the sorcery code for her own spell. It was a tremendous milestone in her education, and she wanted to make Master Kelvin proud of her achievements.

This spell was of the more difficult verbal variety, since all students had to learn the old-fashioned way before they could get access to the simpler magical language and the Interpreter Stone. To reduce the possibility of errors, she went over the logic of the spell and verified that everything seemed correct. Of course, she knew that the only way to be certain was to say the spell out loud.

Gathering her courage, she spoke the sentences that she’d prepared, following them up with the arcane words of the Interpreter Spell. Then she watched as a small floating fire sphere appeared in front of her, just as she had coded. She laughed with excitement and exhilaration, feeling like she had just conquered the world.

All of a sudden, there was a flash of bright light in the room and the sphere exploded, shards of glass and burning wood raining everywhere.

The explosion knocked the young woman off her feet, but she managed to remain conscious. The room, however, was nearly destroyed.

Her spell had failed.

* * *

Gala stopped the Life Capture and decided not to do any more for the time being. It was just too unsettling for her. This last girl’s mind had been filled with such deep negative emotions of disappointment and fear that Gala was still feeling some residual effects of that.

“You’re out of it again?” Blaise asked as soon as Gala’s eyes opened.

“I don’t think I want to learn about the world this way,” she told him. “I want to experience everything myself, not through someone else’s eyes.”

“Gala . . .” Blaise sounded unhappy again, his brow furrowing in a frown. “That’s not a good idea. I already explained. If we go out there, everybody is going to be curious about you. The only thing you’ll get to experience is their stares. They’ll want to know where you come from and who you are—”

“Because of you,” Gala said, recalling what he’d told her earlier. “Because you’re an outcast.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“All right,” Gala said, coming to a decision. “Then I’ll go by myself. I don’t want everybody to watch me just because I’m with you. I want to blend in, to live as your regular people.” That last part was important to her. She was different, but she didn’t want to feel different.

“You want to pretend to be one of the peasants?” Blaise gave her an incredulous look.

“Yes,” Gala said firmly. “That’s what I want.”

“That’s not a good idea—” Blaise started again, but Gala held up her hand, interrupting him mid-sentence.

“Am I your prisoner?” she asked quietly, feeling herself starting to get upset again.

“Of course not!”

“Am I your property, a magical object that is yours?”

Blaise shook his head, looking frustrated. “No, Gala, of course you’re not. You’re a thinking being—”

“Yes, I am.” Gala was glad he accepted that fact. “And I know what I want, Blaise. I want to go out there and see the world, to live as a normal person.”

He sighed and ran his hand through his dark hair. “Gala . . .”

She just stared at him, not saying anything. She had made her wishes clear. She was not an object or a pet to be kept in his house—not when there was so much to see and experience here in the Physical Realm.

“All right,” he finally said. “Remember Maya and Esther, the friends I mentioned to you before? They live in the village where I grew up. Esther was my nanny, and I think of her and her friend Maya as my aunts, even though we’re not related by blood. I want them to watch over you, if you don’t mind, to help guide you until you’re more familiar with our world.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Gala said, all negative emotions vanishing in an instant. “I would love to meet both of them.” In general, she wanted to meet more people, and she liked the idea of getting to know those who were important to Blaise.

“One thing, though,” Blaise said, staring at her intently, “you can’t tell anybody about your origins. It could get both of us in trouble.”

Gala nodded. “I understand.” She would do as Blaise asked, especially since she wanted others to see her as a regular human being, not some curiosity of nature.

Her creator looked somewhat reassured. “Good. Then I will take you to the village.”

“Is that a village that’s part of your holdings?” Gala asked, remembering from her readings that most of the land surrounding Turingrad was divided into territories—and that each territory belonged to some sorcerer.

“Yes.” Blaise looked uncomfortable with this topic. “It’s part of my territory.”

“And the people living there belong to you, right?”

Blaise frowned. “Only by the strictest letter of the law. It’s an archaic custom that’s an unfortunate leftover from the feudal times. The Sorcery Revolution was supposed to eradicate it, but it failed in that, as it did in so many other things. Despite the Enlightenment, we still live in the Age of Darkness in some ways. This aspect of our society is something that I would very much like to change.”

Gala nodded again. She’d gathered that much from the fact that he was so focused on helping the common people. “I understand,” she said. “So when can I go there, to your village?”

“How about tomorrow?” Blaise suggested, still looking less than pleased with the idea.

“Tomorrow would be great.” Gala gave him a big smile. And then, unable to contain her excitement, she did something she’d only read about.

She came up to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled his head down to her for a kiss.

11

Augusta

Flying high above the road on her chaise, Augusta observed the shocked looks on peasants’ faces as fifty soldiers suddenly materialized out of thin air in front of them. Few laypeople even knew that teleporting spells existed, much less had ever seen the effects of one.

The peasants in the front abruptly stopped, and the people following them stumbled into them, causing a few to tumble to the ground. The fallen immediately got up, holding out their clubs and pitchforks protectively, but it was too late. They’d shown themselves for the clumsy weaklings that they were.

Knowing what was coming, Augusta smiled. They would get a bigger shock in a moment.

“Who is in charge here?” Barson’s voice boomed at them, hurting Augusta’s enhanced hearing for a moment. She’d used magic to increase the volume of her lover’s voice, and she could see that the spell had had its intended effect. Some of the rebels now looked simply terrified.

At that moment, a giant of a man wearing a smith’s apron walked out of the crowd. In his hand, he was holding a large, heavy-looking sword. A blacksmith, Augusta guessed. His presence explained some of the weapons the rebels were carrying.

“Nobody is in charge,” the giant roared back, trying to match Barson’s deep tones. “We’re all equals here.”

Barson raised his eyebrows. “Well, then, you can tell all your ‘equals’ that we have an army waiting just up this hill.” His voice was at a normal volume now; Augusta’s spell only worked for a short period of time.

The peasant openly sneered. “And we have an army about to march up this hill—”

“More like a bunch of hungry peasants,” Barson interrupted dismissively.

The man’s lip curled in a snarl. “What do you want?”

“It’s more about what I don’t want,” the Captain of the Guard said coolly. “I don’t want unnecessary slaughter.”

The blacksmith laughed, throwing his head back. “We don’t mind killing all of you, and it’s quite necessary.”

Barson didn’t respond, just lifted his eyebrows and continued looking at the man.

“You’re afraid of us,” the peasant sneered again. “What, you think a little sorcery and threats are enough to make us turn back?”

Augusta’s lover gave him an even look. “I would rather not make martyrs out of you. I understand that the drought is making life difficult for everyone, but you are marching on Turingrad. Even if we didn’t kill you—and we will, if you force us—a single sorcerer there could destroy you in a moment.”

The man scowled. “We’ll see about that.”

“No,” Barson said, “we won’t. I will give you a chance to see how futile your rebellion is. Your ten best fighters against one of us—any one of us.”

“Oh, right.” The man snorted. “And if we win?”

“You won’t,” Barson said, his confidence so absolute that for the first time, Augusta could see a glimmer of doubt on the blacksmith’s face.

A moment later, however, the peasant recovered his composure. “This is pointless,” he said, making a move to turn back.

“You’re scared of us!” A taunting voice—surprisingly high-pitched and youthful—seemed to come out of nowhere, causing the peasant to stop in his tracks. Turning, the huge commoner stared at the young soldier who was pushing his way to the front.

It was Kiam, the boy Augusta had healed during practice.

Before the peasant could respond, Kiam yelled out, “Ten to one is not enough for you cowards—you’re still scared! Why don’t you do fifteen to one? Or how about twenty? Think you’d be less scared then?”

The blacksmith visibly swelled with rage, his bearded face turning a dark red color. “Shut your mouth, pup!” he bellowed and, pulling out his sword, charged at Kiam.

Augusta gripped the side of her chaise, tense with anxiety, as the slim youth unsheathed his own sword, preparing to meet the peasant rushing at him like a maddened bull.

The blacksmith lunged at Kiam, and Kiam gracefully dodged to the side, his movements smooth and practiced. Howling, the commoner charged again, and Kiam raised his sword. Before Augusta could even understand what happened, the peasant froze, a red line appearing on his neck. Then he collapsed, his huge bulk hitting the ground with tremendous force. His head, separated from the body, rolled on the ground, coming to a stop a few feet away.

Kiam’s sharp sword had sliced through the man’s thick neck as easily as a knife moving through butter.

For a moment, there was only stunned silence. Then Barson laughed. “I said ten, the boy said fifteen, but you sent only a single man,” he yelled at the shocked peasants.

In response, five other men pushed through the peasant crowd. While none of them were as big as the dead peasant, they all appeared larger and stronger than Kiam. They were also much more cautious than the blacksmith had been, approaching the boy silently, a look of grim determination on their hard faces.

When they reached him, the first man made a lunge for the boy, which Kiam dodged, like before. This time, however, he proceeded to slice at the man’s midsection. Another two peasants attacked at the same time, but Kiam, like a dancer, moved his body away from the blows, and swung his sword. Three more men were on the ground in moments. The last man standing hesitated for a moment, but it was too late for him, too. Without giving the man time to make up his mind, the young soldier jumped and sliced.

The last attacker was no more.

Augusta could hear murmuring in the crowd. This was the critical moment, what Barson had been counting on with this demonstration. One fairly small boy against several large men—there could be no clearer statement of the soldiers’ fighting abilities. If the peasants had any common sense, they would turn back now.

At least, that’s what Barson had been hoping. Augusta had been uncertain about this part of the plan—and she could now see that she’d been right to doubt. The peasants had come too far to be deterred so easily, and instead of retreating, they began to advance, pulling out their weapons. As they got closer to the soldiers, they spread out and started flanking Barson’s men.

This was the point at which Augusta needed to teleport the soldiers back. Her hands shaking, she reached for the pre-written spell, and the card slipped from her fingers, falling off the chaise. She gasped, frantically trying to catch it, but it was futile. As the card flew to the ground, Augusta was overcome by a panic unlike anything she had ever experienced.

If her spell failed, she would be responsible for the deaths of Barson and his men.

12

Blaise

Shocked, Blaise took a step back, staring at Gala. Did she realize what she was doing, kissing him like that?

Despite her startling beauty, he had been trying not to think of her this way. She had just come to this world, and in his eyes, she was as innocent as a child. Her actions, however, belied that idea.

This was getting complicated. Very complicated, very quickly.

Swallowing, Blaise thought about what to say. He could still feel her soft lips pressed against his own, her slim arms embracing him, holding him close. He hadn’t realized that he would react to her so strongly, that it would take all his strength to step away from that kiss.

She took a step toward him. “Um, Blaise?”

“Gala, do you understand what a kiss means?” he asked carefully, trying to control his instinctive reaction to her nearness.

“Of course.” Her blue eyes were large and guileless, looking up at him.

“And what does it mean to you?” Was she just experimenting with him, trying to ‘learn’ about this aspect of life as she tried to learn about everything else?

“The same thing that it means to everyone, I imagine,” she said. “I read about it. There are a lot of stories about men and women kissing if they find each other attractive. And you find me attractive too, right?” There was a questioning look on her delicate face.

Blaise knew he had to tread carefully. Despite his aptitude for sorcery, he was far from an expert when it came to understanding women. The charming creatures had always mystified him, and here was one who was not even human. He might’ve created her, but her mind was as mysterious to him as the depths of the ocean.

“Gala,” he said softly, “I already told you that I find you irresistible—”

She gave him a look that resembled a pout. “But you just resisted me.”

“I had to,” Blaise said patiently. “You’re so new to this world. I’m the first man—the first human—you’ve ever met in person. How can you possibly know how you feel about me?”

“Well, aren’t feelings exactly that? Feelings?” She frowned. “Are you saying that because I haven’t seen the world, my feelings are somehow less real?”

“No, of course not.” Blaise felt like he was digging himself a deeper hole. “I’m not saying that what you’re feeling right now isn’t real. It’s just that it might change in the very near future, as you go out there and see more of the world . . . meet more men.” As he added that last tidbit, he could feel a hot flare of jealousy at the idea, and he squashed it with effort, determined to be noble about this.

Gala’s eyes narrowed. “All right. If that’s your concern, that’s fine. I’ll go out there tomorrow, and I’ll meet other men. And then I’m going to come back and kiss you as much as I want.”

Blaise’s pulse leapt. “Why don’t I take you to the village right now then?” he said, only half-jokingly.

Her eyes lit up, and she practically jumped with eagerness. “Yes, let’s go!”

13

Augusta

Below, Augusta could see the peasants launching their attack.

Barson and his soldiers were expecting to be teleported, but when it didn’t happen, they began fighting with ferocious determination. Soon they were surrounded by corpses. Augusta’s lover seemed particularly inhuman in his battle frenzy. Realizing his strategic value, the rebels came at him, one after another, and he dispatched them all with the brutal swings of his sword.

Seeing that the guards were holding their own, Augusta tried to concentrate. She couldn’t fly down to retrieve her spell card—not with a bloody battle raging below—so she had to write a new one.

Getting her thoughts together, she took out a blank card and the remaining parts of the spell. All she had to do now was re-create from memory the complicated bit of sorcery code she’d written earlier. Luckily, Augusta’s memory was excellent, and it took her only a few minutes to recall what she’d done before.

When the spell was finished, she loaded the cards into the Stone and peered below, holding her breath.

A minute later, Barson and his soldiers disappeared from the battleground, leaving behind dozens of dead bodies and baffled rebels.

* * *

“I am so sorry,” she said when she rendezvoused with Barson and his men back on the hill.

Luckily, no one was hurt; if anything, the fighting seemed to have lifted everyone’s spirits. The soldiers were laughing and slapping each other on the back, like they had just come back from a tournament instead of a bloody battle.

“We held our ground,” Barson told her triumphantly, snatching her up in his strong arms and twirling her around.

Laughing and gasping, Augusta made him put her down. “You’re lucky I was able to replace that card so quickly,” she told him. “If I’d lost some other card, it would’ve taken me more effort to replace it, and you’d have been fighting longer.”

“Perhaps there is something you can do to make up for that blunder,” Barson suggested, looking down at her with a darkly excited smile.

“What?” Augusta asked warily.

“The rebels will be here soon,” he said, his eyes gleaming. “Do you think you could thin their numbers a little?”

Augusta swallowed. “You want me to do a direct spell against them?”

“Is that against the Council rules?”

It wasn’t, exactly, but it was highly frowned upon. In general, the Council preferred to limit displays of magic around the commoners. It was considered poor taste for sorcerers to show their abilities so openly—and it could be potentially dangerous, if it incentivized the peasants to try to learn magic on their own. Offensive spells were particularly discouraged; using sorcery against someone with no aptitude for magic was the equivalent of butchering a chicken with a sword.

“Well, it’s not strictly speaking against the law,” Augusta said slowly, “but it shouldn’t be obvious that I’m doing this.”

Barson appeared to consider the problem for a moment. “What if it looked like natural causes?” he suggested.

“That might work.” Augusta thought about a few spells she could quickly pull together. She hadn’t expected to do anything like this, but she did have the right components for these spells. She’d brought them for different purposes, but they would help her now too.

Digging in her bag, she pulled out a few cards and rapidly wrote some new lines of code. When she was finished, she told Barson to have his men sit or lie on the ground for a few minutes. “It might get a bit . . . shaky here,” she explained.

The peasants were still a distance away when she began feeding the cards into her Interpreter Stone.

For a moment, all was quiet. Augusta held her breath, waiting to see if her spell worked. She’d combined a simple force attack of the kind that might have blown up a house with a clever teleporting idea. Instead of hitting the peasants directly, the spell would be teleported into the ground under the feet of their attacking army. There, beneath the ground, the force would break and shatter rocks, creating the chain reaction she needed—or so Augusta hoped.

For a few nerve-wracking seconds, it seemed like nothing was happening. And then she heard it: a deep, sonorous boom, followed by a powerful vibration under her feet. The earth shook so violently that Augusta had to sit or be knocked to the ground herself. In the distance, she could hear the screams of the peasants as the ground split open under their feet, a deep gash appearing right in the middle of their army. Dozens of men tumbled into the opening, falling to their deaths with frightened yells.

Step one of the plan was complete.

Augusta loaded her next spell. It was one of the deadliest spells she knew—a spell that sought pulsating tissue and applied a powerful electric current to it. It was meant to stop a heart—or multiple hearts, given the width of the radius Augusta had coded.

The spell blasted out, and Augusta could see the peasants who were still on their feet falling, clutching their chests. With her enhanced vision, she could see the looks of shock and pain on their faces, and she swallowed hard, trying to keep down the bile in her stomach. She had never done this before, had never killed so many using sorcery, and she couldn’t help her instinctive reaction.

By the time the spell had run its course, the road and the grassy fields nearby were littered with bodies. Less than half of the original peasant army was left alive.

Still feeling sick, Augusta stared at the results of her work. Now they would run, she thought, desperately wanting this battle to be over.

But to her shock, instead of turning back, the survivors rushed toward the hill, clutching their remaining weapons. They were fearless—or, more likely, desperate, she realized. These men had known from the beginning that their mission was dangerous, but they’d chosen to proceed anyway. She couldn’t help but admire that kind of determination, even though it scared her to death. She imagined the rebels behind the Sorcery Revolution—the ones who had overthrown the old nobility so brutally—had been just as determined in their own way.

All around her, Barson’s soldiers prepared to meet the onslaught, assuming their places and drawing their arrows.

As the peasants got closer to the hill, a hail of arrows rained down, piercing their unshielded bodies. The soldiers hit their targets with the same terrifying precision that Augusta had seen during practice. Every peasant who got within their arrows’ range was dead within seconds. Yet the rebels persisted, continuing on, pushing past their fallen comrades. Lacking any kind of structure or organization, they simply kept going, their faces twisted with bitter rage and their eyes shining with hatred. The futility of all the deaths was overwhelming for Augusta. By the time Barson’s men ran out of arrows, less than a third of the original aggressors remained.

Tossing aside their useless bows, the guards, as one, unsheathed their swords. And then they waited, their expressions hard and impassive.

When the first wave of attackers reached the hill, they were dispatched within seconds, the soldiers’ sorcery-enhanced weapons sharper and deadlier than anything the peasants had ever seen before. Standing off to the side, Augusta watched as waves of attackers came and fell all around the hill.

Her lover was death incarnate, as unstoppable as a force of nature. Half the time, he would singlehandedly tackle the waves of rebels, easily taking on twenty or thirty men. The other soldiers were almost as brutal, and Augusta could see the peasants breaking up into smaller and smaller groups, their ranks diminishing with every minute that passed.

Within an hour, the battle was nearing its morbid conclusion. Staring at the bloody remnants on the field, Augusta knew it was a battle she would never forget.

No, she corrected herself. It was not a battle—it was a slaughter.

14

Gala

“This is spectacular,” Gala told Blaise, looking down at the city below. They were sitting on his chaise, a magical object that she found quite impressive. Light blue in color, it reminded Gala of a narrow, elongated sofa—except that it was made of a strange diamond-like material that looked hard, but was actually quite soft and pleasant to the touch. Blaise was navigating it using verbal spells.

Gala especially liked the fact that she could sit so close to Blaise. She enjoyed his nearness; it made her recall the warm sensations she’d experienced when she’d kissed him earlier. Thinking about that kiss, she tore her eyes away from the view below and glanced at Blaise, studying his strong profile.

It bothered her that he doubted her feelings. She obviously lacked real-world experience, but she’d read enough to understand the mechanics of attraction—and what it meant, to feel like that about someone. She was sure that meeting other people wouldn’t make a difference in how she regarded Blaise. This trip to the village would serve multiple purposes, she thought, turning her attention back to the city below. It would let her see the world, and it would also reassure Blaise that she knew her own mind. She didn’t want to seem ignorant or naive to her creator.

“This is the Town Square,” Blaise said, interrupting her musings. He was pointing at a large open area below. “You can see all the merchant stalls surrounding it. And you see that water fountain in the center?”

“Yes,” Gala said, her excitement increasing. She liked learning, and it was great to see these things with her own eyes, rather than through a Life Capture or the pages of a book.

“Everybody who visits Turingrad comes to this fountain to throw a coin in the water,” Blaise said. “Rich or poor, commoner or sorcerer—they all come here to make a wish.”

“Why? Is that a form of sorcery?”

“No.” Blaise chuckled. “Just an old custom. It was in place long before Lenard the Great and the discovery of the Spell Realm. A superstition, if you will.”

“I see,” Gala said, though the concept confused her a little. Why would humans throw their coins into the fountain like that? If the fountain had nothing to do with sorcery, then it obviously couldn’t grant wishes.

“And that’s the Tower of Sorcery over there,” Blaise said, pointing at an imposing structure sitting on top of a large hill. “That’s where the most powerful sorcerers live and work. The Council holds meetings there as well, and the first few floors are occupied by the Academy of Sorcery, a learning institution for the young. The Sorcerer Guard is also stationed there.”

Gala nodded, studying the Tower with curiosity. It was a large, stately castle, made even more impressive by its location on the mountain. Whoever had built it was clearly making a statement. The building practically screamed ‘power.’

Looking at it, Gala realized that something about the mountain bothered her. The shape of it, the steep cliff at one end—it was just too different from the surrounding flat landscape. “Is the mountain real?” she asked Blaise, turning her head to look at him.

“No.” He gave her a smile. “It was built by the first sorcerer families over two hundred years ago. They wanted the Tower to be unassailable, so they did a spell to make the earth rise up, creating this hill. The building itself is fortified with all manner of sorcery as well.”

“Why did they do this? Was it because they were afraid of the common people?”

“Yes,” Blaise said. “And they still are. It’s unfortunate, but the memory of the Sorcery Revolution is still fresh in most people’s minds.”

Gala nodded again, remembering what she’d read in one of Blaise’s books. Two hundred and fifty years ago, the entire fabric of Koldun society had been ripped apart by a bloody revolution. The old nobility had gotten fat and lazy, disconnected from the brewing discontent of their subjects. The king had been among the worst of the offenders, completely oblivious to the changes taking place as a result of the Enlightenment and one man’s discovery of something called the Spell Realm.

Lenard—or Lenard the Great, as he would later become known—had been a brilliant inventor who, among his other achievements, managed to tap into a strange place that had the power to alter reality in a way that was uncannily similar to fairy-tale magic. It wasn’t a fairy tale, of course, and what was known in the modern era as magic was nothing more than complex and still little-understood interactions between the Spell Realm and the Physical Realm. But his discovery changed everything, resulting in the rise of a new elite: the sorcerers.

It started off as harmless little spells—oral incantations in a complex, arcane language that only the brightest, most mathematically inclined individuals could master. Some of the first sorcerers were from the noble class, but many were not. Anyone, regardless of their lineage, could tap into the Spell Realm, and Lenard encouraged everyone to learn mathematics and the language of magic, to understand the laws of nature. He even went so far as to open a school, a place that later became known as the Academy of Sorcery, where many of the subsequent magical and scientific discoveries took place.

Within a decade, sorcery and knowledge brought about by the Enlightenment began to permeate every aspect of life on Koldun. The sorcerers discovered a way to sustain themselves without food, to move from place to place in a blink of an eye via teleportation, and even to do battle using spells. Before long, the centuries-old feudal system of hereditary nobility began to seem outdated to those who could change the fabric of reality with a few carefully chosen sentences. Notions of fairness and progress, of basic human rights and merit-based societal standing, spread like wildfire, catching the nobles completely off-guard.

By the time the king understood the threat posed by the new sorcerer class, it was too late. The peasants, realizing that their lords were no longer as all-powerful as they once were, grew more demanding, and uprisings erupted all over Koldun as commoners sought to better their quality of life. Most of the sorcerers—though not all—supported the peasants, and those of the lower class who lacked the aptitude for magic banded behind them, seeking the sorcerers’ protection against the nobles who still had the king’s army on their side.

The end result was a revolution—a bloody civil conflict lasting six years. As it progressed, each side grew more brutal and vengeful, and the atrocities perpetuated by the peasants against their former masters ended up being as horrifying as what the barbarians did in the Age of Darkness. It wasn’t until almost every noble family was slaughtered and the king lost his head that the revolution came to an end, leaving the survivors to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives.

It was no wonder that the sorcerers feared the peasants, Gala thought, staring at the Tower. After all, sorcerers were now the new ruling class.

* * *

After several hours of flying, they finally approached their destination. Gala recognized the field below from one of the Life Captures she’d consumed earlier; it was even more beautiful from above. The spring work in her vision must’ve been completed, and tall stalks of wheat populated the landscape.

Off to the side was a cluster of buildings that Gala guessed to be the village. Unlike the rich, elaborate-looking structures in Turingrad, the houses here were much smaller. Simpler, Gala thought. She remembered reading that many peasant homes were made of clay, and it appeared to be the case here as well.

There was a little clearing between two of the bigger houses, and that was where they landed.

As soon as their chaise touched the ground, the door to one of these houses opened, and two older women came out.

Gala stared at them, intrigued. She’d read about the physical changes that occur in humans throughout their lives, and she wondered about these women’s ages. To her, they appeared to be similar to each other, with their grey hair and brown eyes, although Gala found one of them to be more pleasant-looking than the other.

Seeing Blaise, they smiled widely and rushed toward the chaise.

“Blaise, my child, how are you?” the prettier one of the two exclaimed.

“And who is this beautiful girl with you?” the other woman jumped in.

Before Blaise had a chance to answer and Gala could fully register the fact that she had just been called ‘beautiful,’ the woman who spoke first turned toward Gala and announced, “I am Maya. Who might you be, my child?”

“And I am Esther,” said the other one without giving Gala a chance to reply. Her face was creased with a smile that Gala liked very much. In general, despite the woman’s more homely appearance, Gala decided that something about her was quite appealing. Both women had a warmth to them that Gala found pleasant.

“Maya, Esther,” Blaise said, getting off the chaise, “let me introduce Gala to you.”

“Gala? What a pretty name,” said Esther, stepping forward and giving Gala a hug. Maya followed her example, and Gala grinned, pleased to find herself the center of attention. Their hugs were nice, but nothing like what she felt when she touched Blaise.

“Blaise, wasn’t Gala your grandmother’s name as well?” asked Maya.

Blaise nodded and gave Gala a conspiratorial smile. “Yes. A lovely coincidence, isn’t it?”

“Well, come inside, children,” Esther said. “I’ve just made some delicious stew—”

“I’m not so sure about delicious, but it’s definitely stew,” Maya said with a wicked grin, and Gala realized that she was teasing the other woman.

Blaise shook his head. “I’d love to, but I can’t,” he told Esther gently. “Unfortunately, I have to go. However, if you don’t mind, Gala will be staying with you for a few days.”

The women looked taken aback, but Maya recovered quickly. “Of course, we don’t mind,” she said. “Anything for you and your lovely young friend.”

Esther nodded eagerly. “Yes, anything for you, Blaise. How do you two know each other?” she asked, visibly curious.

“It’s a long story,” Blaise said, his tone brooking no further questions on this topic. “Maya, would you mind giving Gala a tour of the village while Esther and I catch up for a minute?”

Esther frowned. “Are you sure you won’t stay? We’d love to have you for a few days. You need some sun, and you should eat something. I bet you lived on magic since our last visit,” she said disapprovingly.

“Blaise has important business to attend to,” Gala said, coming to Blaise’s rescue. She could see that he looked tense, and she sensed that he didn’t want to be here, away from the comforting precision of the code he’d come to depend on so much. From the brief glimpse of his mind she’d gotten in that Life Capture—and from what she’d learned about his brother—she knew that her creator was still hurting, that he wasn’t ready to face the outside world yet.

“Well, I don’t like it one bit,” Esther announced, pursing her lips. “Promise us you’ll come back soon.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I will not leave Gala by herself for long, you can be sure of that,” Blaise said, and Gala felt the warmth in his gaze as he looked upon her.

Gala smiled and took a step toward Blaise. Standing up on tiptoes, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down for another kiss. His lips were warm and soft, and Gala eagerly savored the sensation. To her relief, this time he didn’t step away. Instead, he pulled her deeper into his embrace and kissed her back fiercely, sending shivers of heat down her spine.

When he released her, her heart was beating faster, and she could see the pleased looks on Maya and Esther’s faces. She’d succeeded in reinforcing the impression the two women must’ve already had—that she and Blaise were lovers. It was something that Gala hoped would be a reality at some point, and in the meantime, it provided an explanation for her relationship with Blaise. Not that anyone would ever guess that Gala was Blaise’s creation, she thought wryly. From what she’d learned thus far, nobody could imagine that a person could’ve originated the way Gala did.

Now that it was time for her to part from Blaise, Gala experienced doubt for the first time. All of a sudden, seeing the world was not nearly as appealing, since it meant she would have to be apart from Blaise for the next few days. He hadn’t even left yet, and she already missed him—and wanted more of those kisses. From everything she’d read, she knew people rarely developed strong feelings for each other so quickly, but there were always exceptions. It was also possible that the usual rules didn’t apply to her, since she wasn’t human.

“Bye, Gala,” Blaise said, giving her a smile, and she smiled back, shaking off the brief moment of weakness. The village was beckoning her. This was her chance to experience life here, among the common people. She had a strong suspicion that if she backed out now, she would not be able to talk Blaise into doing this again.

“Bye, Blaise,” she said, determined to be strong about this. Turning, she started walking toward the beautiful field that she could see nearby. Maya followed her, waving a goodbye to Blaise as well.

As Gala approached the field, her pace picked up until she was running as hard as she could. She could feel the wind in her hair and the warmth of the sun on her face, and she turned her face up, laughing from sheer joy.

She was living, and she loved every moment of it.

15

Augusta

“Are you sure you’re going to be all right?” Barson asked, looking down at Augusta with concern. He had just walked her to her quarters, and they were standing in front of her office.

“Of course.” Augusta smiled up at her lover. “I’ll be fine.” She couldn’t deny that she still felt a little shaky after the battle, but the best cure for that was getting right back to her everyday routine—and that meant resuming work on her ongoing projects.

“In that case, I’ll let you get to your spells,” Barson said, leaning down to give her a kiss.

Out of the corner of her eye, Augusta spotted a young sorceress approaching them and pausing deferentially a few feet away.

“Um, excuse me, my lady . . .” The woman appeared uncomfortable, her hands nervously twisting together.

Barson smirked, clearly amused by the girl’s reverent manner, and Augusta turned her head toward him, giving him a narrow-eyed look. “What is it?” she asked the girl, annoyed to be interrupted.

“Master Ganir sent me to look for you,” the sorceress quickly explained. “He is requesting your presence in his office.”

Augusta frowned, unhappy at being summoned like an acolyte. Had Ganir already heard about the battle and her involvement in it? If so, that was fast, even for him.

“Maybe he wants to explain how three hundred peasants became three thousand,” Barson murmured, bending his head so that the girl couldn’t hear him.

Startled, Augusta looked up at him, meeting his coolly mocking gaze. Was Barson implying that Ganir had misinformed them on purpose?

Tucking that thought away for further analysis, she told her lover, “I will see you later,” and walked decisively down the hall, forcing the young woman to jump out of her way.

It was best to get this unpleasantness over with quickly.

16

Barson

As soon as Augusta was out of sight, Barson left the sorcerers’ quarters and headed toward the Guard barracks in the west wing of the Tower. He and Augusta had ridden ahead of his soldiers, and he had less than an hour to do what needed to get done.

Walking in, he saw the familiar hallway with the row of rooms where he and his men lived when they were on duty. His own quarters were nearly as lavish as those of the sorcerers, but even his lowest-ranked soldiers had comfortable accommodations. It was something he’d made sure of when he’d taken over as Captain of the Guard.

Normally, after a hard trip like this one, he would’ve gone straight to his room to take a long bath, but there was no time to waste. He had to confront the traitor—and he had to do it now, while he could still catch him unaware.

Stopping in front of Siur’s room, he paused to listen to the sounds coming from within. It seemed that his trusted lieutenant was engaged in a bit of bed play.

All the better, Barson thought, a thin smile appearing on his lips. There was nothing better than catching your enemy with his pants down—literally.

Without further ado, he pushed open the door and entered Siur’s bedroom.

As he had suspected, there were two naked bodies on the bed. From the moans and the flashes of red hair he could see under Siur’s straining bulk, the woman had to be one of the local whores that frequently visited the guards. The two of them were so occupied with each other, they didn’t even react to Barson’s entry.

Starting to get annoyed, Barson banged his gauntleted fist against the wall. Siur and his bedmate jumped, cursing, and Barson watched with cruel amusement as the woman scrambled out of bed, pulling a sheet around her plump naked body.

“Captain!” Siur gasped, hopping out of bed and swiftly pulling on his britches. “I didn’t see you there . . .” The wide-eyed look of shock on his face was almost comical.

“Surprised to see me?” Barson asked in a silky tone, watching as the whore ran out of the room. “Or just surprised to see me alive?”

“What? No, Captain! I mean, yes—” Siur was clearly caught off-guard. His eyes were shifting from side to side, reminding Barson of a trapped animal.

“Why were you unable to join this mission?” Barson demanded, not giving the man a chance to regain his composure. “Why did you stay behind?”

“Well, I—” Siur clearly wasn’t expecting to be questioned, and Barson could see him frantically trying to come up with a plausible answer. His hesitation was damning.

“Tell me everything,” Barson ordered, looking at the man he’d once regarded as a brother. “Why did you do this?”

Siur blinked, backing away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Don’t lie to me. At least show me that much respect.”

“Captain, Barson, I—” The soldier kept moving backward, and Barson saw what he was after the very second the man’s hand closed around his sword.

Barson unsheathed his own sword. “Tell me the truth,” he said coldly, “and you will die quickly and painlessly.” He was glad the traitor was showing his true colors; up until that moment, he hadn’t been completely sure of the man’s guilt.

With an enraged cry, Siur attacked. His momentum carried him across the room, his sword swinging.

Barson met his fierce attack, parrying every blow and watching carefully for an opening to disarm his opponent. Normally, Siur would’ve already been dead, but Barson didn’t want to kill him yet. He needed information, and the traitor was the only one who could provide it.

Siur fought like a berserker. Faced with the prospect of interrogation, the man was apparently trying to go for a quick, glorious death—something that Barson had no intention of allowing. They fought for what seemed like forever. If Barson hadn’t been so tired from his earlier ordeal, this would’ve been easier. As it was, he had to restrain himself from killing Siur every couple of minutes, while simultaneously preventing the soldier’s deadly blows from reaching his body.

His moment finally came when Siur made a violent thrust at Barson’s shoulder. With one flick of his sword, Barson grazed his opponent’s left side, drawing the first blood. Siur jumped back with a pained hiss, then attacked Barson with even more desperation. The soldier knew he would now grow weaker with every minute that passed, and Barson found it more difficult to restrain himself from dealing the traitor a killing blow.

“You can’t make me talk, no matter what you do,” Siur panted, executing a triple feint attack. Barson easily defended himself; he’d personally taught this maneuver to Siur, and the man had never particularly excelled at it. That Siur used it now was a sign that he was no longer thinking straight.

Silently taking advantage of this opening, Barson slashed the man’s right shoulder, slicing through his naked flesh with ease. It was fortunate the soldier wasn’t wearing armor; otherwise, Barson’s task would’ve been even more difficult. Siur stumbled, letting out a pained cry, but pressed on, his eyes glittering with rage and desperation.

A trickle of sweat ran down Barson’s back, intensifying his longing for a bath. Deciding to bring the fight to its inevitable conclusion, he pretended to favor his right side, leaving his left exposed for a brief moment. Siur immediately took the bait, going for a killing blow to the heart.

At the last moment, Barson twisted his body, letting the man’s sharp sword scrape the side of his armor, cutting through it and leaving a shallow scratch on his skin. At the same time, Barson’s gauntleted fist landed on Siur’s right arm with massive force, causing the traitor’s sword to fly across the room.

“Now we talk,” Barson muttered, punching Siur in the face and knocking him out.

17

Augusta

The wizened old man was working behind his desk when Augusta entered his lavish study. His workspace was nearly the size of her entire quarters in the Tower. Being the head of the Council certainly had its privileges.

“Augusta.” He raised his head, regarding her with a pale blue gaze. Although Ganir’s face was wrinkled and weathered, his white hair was still thick, flowing down to his narrow shoulders in a style that had been popular seven decades ago.

“Master Ganir,” she responded, slightly bowing her head. Despite her dislike of him, she couldn’t help feeling a certain grudging respect for the Council Leader. Ganir was among the oldest and most powerful sorcerers in existence, as well as the inventor of the Life Capture Sphere.

“You need not be so formal with me, child,” he said, surprising her with his warm tone.

“As you wish, Ganir,” Augusta said warily. Why was he being kind to her? This was very much unlike him. She had always gotten the impression that the old sorcerer didn’t care for her. Blaise had once let slip that Ganir thought they didn’t suit each other—an obvious insult to Augusta, since the old man had treated Blaise and his brother with an almost fatherly regard.

In response to her unspoken question, Ganir leaned back in his chair, regarding her with an inscrutable gaze. “I have a delicate matter to discuss with you,” he said, lightly drumming his fingers on his desk.

Augusta raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to continue. She wouldn’t have thought her interference with the rebels was a particularly delicate matter, and she didn’t know why he didn’t just bring up her actions at the next Council meeting. Of course, it was possible he wanted something from her—a possibility that made her uneasy.

“As you know, when you were with Blaise, I did not always act approvingly,” Ganir began, shocking her by echoing her earlier thoughts. “I have since come to regret that attitude.” Pausing, he let her digest his words.

Caught completely off-guard, all Augusta could do was stare at him. She had no idea why he was bringing up ancient history now, but it didn’t seem like a good sign to her.

“I wish I had supported you then, back when you and Blaise were together,” the Council Leader continued, and the sadness in his voice was as unusual as it was surprising. “He was one of our brightest stars . . .”

“Yes, he was,” Augusta said, frowning. They both knew what lay behind Blaise’s self-exile. It was Ganir’s own invention that had led to that disastrous situation with Louie—and to Augusta losing the man she had loved.

Then, with a sudden leap of intuition, she knew. Ganir’s summons had nothing to do with the battle she’d just returned from . . . and everything to do with the man she’d been trying to forget for the past two years.

“What happened to Blaise?” she asked sharply, a sickening coldness spreading through her veins. Even now, despite her growing feelings for Barson, the mere thought of Blaise in danger was enough to send her into panic.

Ganir’s faded gaze held sorrow. “I’m afraid his depression has led him to a new low,” he said quietly. “Augusta, I think Blaise has become a Life Capture addict.”

“What?” This was not at all what she had expected to hear. She wasn’t sure what she did expect, but this was definitely not it. “A Life Capture addict?” She stared at Ganir in disbelief. “That doesn’t sound like Blaise at all. He would consider it a weakness to drown himself in someone else’s memories. In his work, yes, but not in other people’s minds—”

“I had trouble believing this at first as well. The only thing I can think of is perhaps the isolation has broken his spirit . . .” He shrugged sadly.

“No, I don’t see how this could be true,” Augusta said firmly. “If nothing else, he would never abandon his research. What made you decide that he’s an addict?”

“I have someone reporting to me from his village,” Ganir explained. “According to my source, Blaise has been getting enormous amounts of Life Capture droplets. Enough to stay in a dream world all waking hours.”

Augusta’s eyes narrowed. “Are you spying on him?” she asked, unable to keep the accusatory note out of her voice. She hated the way the old man seemed to have his tentacles in everything these days.

“I’m not spying on the boy,” the Council Leader denied, his white eyebrows coming together. “I just want to make sure he’s healthy and well. You know he doesn’t talk to me either, right?”

Augusta nodded. She knew that. As much as she disliked Ganir, she could see that he was hurting, too. He had been close to Dasbraw’s sons, and Blaise’s coldness had to be as upsetting to him as it was to Augusta herself. “All right,” she said in a more conciliatory tone, “so your source is telling you that Blaise acquired a lot of Life Captures?”

“A lot is an understatement. What he got is worth a fortune on the black market.”

Ganir was right; this didn’t sound good. Why would Blaise need so much of that stuff if he was not addicted? Augusta had always considered Life Captures to be dangerous, and she was extremely cautious in how she used the droplets herself. She had even spoken up about the risks of Ganir’s invention in the beginning—a fact that she suspected had something to do with the old sorcerer’s dislike of her.

“What makes you so sure he got them for himself?” she wondered out loud.

“It’s not definitive, of course,” Ganir admitted. “However, no one has seen him for months. He hasn’t even shown up in his village.”

Augusta did not think this was that unusual, but combined with the large quantity of droplets, it did not paint a pretty picture. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked, even though she was beginning to get an inkling of the Council Leader’s intentions.

“I want you to talk to Blaise,” Ganir said. “He will hear you out. I wouldn’t be surprised if he still loves you. Maybe that’s why he’s suffering so much—”

“Blaise left me, not the other way around,” Augusta said sharply. How dare Ganir imply that their parting was to blame for Blaise’s current state? Everyone knew it was the loss of his brother that drove Blaise out of the Council—a tragedy for which they all bore varying degrees of responsibility.

Why hadn’t she voted differently? Augusta wondered bitterly for a thousandth time. Why hadn’t at least one other member of the Council? Every time she thought of that disastrous event, she felt consumed with regret. If she had known that her vote wouldn’t matter—that the entire Council, with the exception of Blaise, would vote to punish Louie—she would’ve gone against her convictions and voted to spare Blaise’s brother. But she hadn’t. What Louie had done—giving a magical object to the commoners—was one of the worst crimes Augusta could imagine, and she’d voted according to her conscience.

It was that vote that had cost her the man she loved. Somehow, Blaise had found out about the breakdown of the votes and learned that Augusta had been one of the Councilors who’d sentenced Louie to death. There had been only one vote against the punishment: that of Blaise himself.

Or so Blaise had told her when he’d yelled at her to get out of his house and never return. She would never forget that day for as long as she lived—the pain and rage had transformed him into someone she couldn’t even recognize. Her normally mild-tempered lover had been truly frightening, and she’d known then that it was over between them, that eight years together had not meant nearly as much to Blaise as they had to her.

Not for the first time, Augusta tried to figure out how Blaise had learned the exact vote count. The voting process was designed to be completely fair and anonymous. Each Councilor possessed a voting stone that he or she would teleport into one of the voting boxes—red box for Yes, blue box for No. The boxes stood on the Scales of Justice in the middle of the Council Chamber. Nobody was supposed to know how many stones were in each box; the scales would simply tip whichever way the vote was leaning. There should have been no way Blaise had known how many stones were in the red box on that fateful day.

“I’m sorry,” Ganir said, interrupting her dark thoughts. “I didn’t mean to imply that you’re to blame. I just think Blaise is still in pain. I would go speak to him myself, but as you probably know, he said he would kill me on sight if I ever approached him again.”

“You don’t think he’d do the same thing to me?” Augusta asked, remembering the black fury on Blaise’s face as he threw her out of his house.

“No,” Ganir said with conviction. “He wouldn’t harm you, not with the way he felt about you once. Just talk to him, make him see reason. Maybe he would like to rejoin our ranks again—he’s been away from the Tower long enough.”

Augusta raised her eyebrows. “You want him back on the Council?”

“Why not?” The Council Leader looked at her. “Like you, he’s one of our best and brightest. It’s a shame that his talents are going to waste.”

“What about Gina? She took his place, so what’s going to happen to her if he comes back?”

“We’ll have fourteen Councilors,” Ganir said. “I wouldn’t want to replace Gina. She’s an asset.”

Augusta stared at him. “It’s been thirteen ever since the Council began. You know that.”

Ganir didn’t look particularly concerned. “Yes. But that doesn’t mean things can’t change. For now, let’s not worry about this. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“Do you really think the others would welcome him back?” Augusta asked dubiously.

“He was never forced out. Blaise left on his own. Besides, if you and I team up, everyone will have to follow.”

Augusta gave him an incredulous look. She and Ganir, team up? That was an idea she’d have to get used to.

“All I can promise is to speak with him,” she said, and then walked out of the old sorcerer’s study.

18

Blaise

“So who is this girl?” Esther asked as soon as she and Blaise were alone. “How did you meet? How long have you two known each other?”

Still reeling from Gala’s kiss, Blaise shook his head at the barrage of questions. “This is not why I wanted to speak to you, Esther,” he said. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Of course, anything,” his former nanny said immediately, though Blaise knew she had been hoping to learn more about Gala and was likely disappointed at the lack of gossip coming her way.

“I want you to look after Gala,” he said, giving Esther a serious look. “I don’t want her to draw any needless attention to herself—and it’s best if her connection to me is kept secret.”

“Why?” The old woman looked puzzled. “Is she a fugitive?”

Blaise shook his head. “No. She’s just . . . different.”

Esther frowned at him. “She seems very young and innocent. Did you involve her in something you shouldn’t have?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Blaise said vaguely. He wasn’t certain how Maya and Esther would react if they knew the truth about Gala’s origins. Even other sorcerers would be shocked to learn what he had done; how would someone with much more rudimentary understanding of magic feel? Even in this enlightened age, most peasants were superstitious, and many still believed the old tales of undead monsters and ghosts. If they knew Gala was not really human, she would never be able to experience the world as a regular person.

Esther continued looking at him, and he sighed, not wanting to lie to the woman who’d raised him after his mother’s death. “Esther,” he said carefully, “Gala has a power that the Council might find . . . threatening.”

His former nanny stared at him, her expression slowly hardening. She hated the Council even more than he did, blaming them for Louie’s death. She’d raised his brother too, nursing him from infancy, and his loss had affected her deeply. “I will watch her,” she promised grimly.

“Good,” Blaise said, relieved. “Also, keep in mind, she’s been somewhat sheltered.” He decided to settle for a half-truth here.

Now Esther seemed confused. “A sheltered young girl who’s a threat to the Council? How did you come across her?” Then she held up her hands. “Never mind. I know you’re not going to tell me.”

Blaise grinned at her. “You’re the best, Nana Esther.”

“Uh-huh,” she responded, giving him a narrow-eyed look. “And don’t you forget it.”

“I won’t,” Blaise said, leaning down to give her an affectionate kiss on the cheek. Straightening, he reached into his pocket. Pulling out a drawstring purse filled with coin, he pressed it into Esther’s hand. “Here is a little something for Gala’s room and board—”

“Blaise, that’s a small fortune!” She stared at him in shock. “You could buy a house with that money. It’s too much for just feeding one skinny girl.”

Blaise was about to tease Esther for always trying to feed everyone, but then he realized something. He’d never asked Gala if she wanted food. In fact, he didn’t even know if she needed to eat like a regular person, or if, like him, she could sustain her body’s energy levels with sorcery. He mentally kicked himself for being so inconsiderate. Of course, he thought with relief, if she did need to eat, he was certain that she wouldn’t starve now—not with Maya and Esther around.

Thinking about food reminded him of the challenging situation the peasants were facing. “How are the crops?” he asked, switching topics. The drought that had begun a couple of years ago was the worst in a generation, affecting the entire land of Koldun from one end of the ocean to another and decimating crops in most territories.

Esther gave him a smile. “Your work really made a difference, child. We’re doing much better here than people elsewhere.”

Blaise nodded, satisfied. When the drought first started, he’d had the crazy idea of doing a spell to strengthen the seeds, imbuing them with resistance to certain pests and reduced need for water. The resulting improvements, as he’d planned, were hereditary, enabling his subjects to grow and harvest healthy crops even during these difficult times. “I’m glad,” he said. “The others in the village don’t know, do they?”

“No.” Esther shook her head. “They know we’re faring better than other regions, and that you’re a good master, but I don’t think they realize the full extent of your help.”

Blaise sighed. He often felt like he wasn’t doing enough to help his people—and certainly not enough for other commoners on Koldun. That was part of the reason he had created Gala, though that hadn’t exactly worked out as planned.

“I will check on her soon,” he said, getting ready to take his leave. “I’m sure everything will be fine, but please, just keep an eye on her.”

The old woman snorted. “If I could keep you and your brother out of trouble when you were boys, I’m sure I’ll be able to manage with that young companion of yours.”

Blaise chuckled. It was true; if it weren’t for Esther, he was sure one of them would’ve lost an arm or an eye long before they reached maturity. He and Louie had been quite adventurous as children. “Goodbye, Esther,” he told her.

And with one final look at the field where Gala was running, he walked toward his chaise.

19

Gala

The wheat was up to Gala’s chest as she ran through the field. She could feel the stalks tickling the skin on the exposed parts of her body, and she loved the sensation. She loved all sensations.

She kept running until she could feel the muscles in her legs getting tired, and then she lay down on the ground, shielding her eyes with her palm as she looked up at the clear blue sky. The sun was bright, and the clouds had so many different shapes . . . Gala felt like she could look at them forever.

She truly loved the Physical Realm, she realized, and was genuinely grateful to Blaise for her existence. Existing was obviously far superior to oblivion. Having read all those books, she knew that humans had only a short span of time during which they could be in existence. It seemed wrong to her, and sad, but that was the way things were. She wondered if the same rules applied to her. Somehow she doubted it; without knowing where the conviction came from, she felt like she might have complete control over how long she could exist. And if that feeling was correct, she intended to never stop existing.

After a while, she got tired of lying there and got up, walking back to where she’d left Maya.

The older woman was standing there with a completely horrified expression on her face.

“Is something wrong?” Gala asked, figuring that was the appropriate response. She was determined to blend into the human society as well as she could. The books and the Life Captures had given her some theoretical foundation for normal behavior, but there was no substitute for real-world experience.

“Oh, my lady, you are ruining that beautiful dress,” Maya said, wringing her hands.

Gala blinked. This seemed to be actually worrying Maya. Quickly analyzing the situation, she came to the conclusion that Maya’s reaction and her form of address made sense. The dress that Blaise had given her had to be unusually nice and expensive. From what she knew, humans divided themselves into social classes—a needlessly complex hierarchy that Gala didn’t think had any good rationale. Because of this dress—and because Maya and Esther had seen Gala in Blaise’s company—they likely assumed she was a sorceress and thus a member of the upper class.

That was not what Gala wanted. “Will everyone in the village call me a lady?” she asked Maya, frowning.

The old woman gave her a reproving look. “For now, in that dress, they will. If you roll on the grass a few more times, they might think you are an orphan homeless girl.” She sounded disgruntled about that last possibility.

“That’s fine,” Gala said. “I wish to be seen as one of the village women.” Going by what the books said, she didn’t think the common people would behave naturally in front of a sorceress. She wanted to fit in, not stand out.

Maya appeared taken aback, but recovered quickly. “In that case,” she said, “let’s go talk to Esther and see what we can do.”

They walked together toward the other woman, who had already finished her conversation with Blaise.

“She wants to play at being a commoner,” Maya said to Esther, gesturing toward Gala.

“How do you know she’s not one?” asked Esther, eying Gala’s dress.

Maya snorted. “Master Blaise would not settle for anything less than a sorceress. You know how smart he is. He would have nothing to talk about with a common girl.”

Esther gave her friend a look that puzzled Gala. “What happened to you and his father is not the lot of every sorcerer-commoner love affair,” she muttered to Maya under her breath.

“Are you Blaise’s mother?” Gala asked Maya, intrigued by this conversation. Although the older woman didn’t look like Blaise, there was a pleasing symmetry to her features that Gala’s creator also possessed.

“No, child,” Esther said, chuckling. “She was his father’s floozy after his mother died.”

“I was his mistress!” Maya straightened to her full height, her eyes flashing with anger.

“Is floozy the same thing as a prostitute?” Gala asked curiously. “And if so, what is the difference between a floozy and a mistress?” In her readings, she had only come across the word ‘prostitute.’ Apparently, it was a profession in which a woman sold sexual services to men. It was frowned upon in Koldun society, although Gala didn’t really understand why. Based on what she’d learned about sex, it seemed like prostitution might be a pleasant—and fun—way to earn a living.

Physical intimacy, in general, was something that was of deep interest to Gala. She knew that the way her and Blaise’s bodies reacted to each other when they kissed was sexual in nature. The feeling was among the more fascinating sensations she had experienced thus far, and she wanted to learn as much as she could about it.

In response to Gala’s blunt question, Esther laughed and Maya flushed a deep red before storming off.

“Oh, no . . . what did I say?” Gala asked Esther, embarrassed at her obvious faux pas. “I didn’t mean to offend . . .” She really needed to learn how to interact with people properly.

“Don’t worry about it, child,” Esther said, still chuckling. “Maya is far too sensitive about the subject. I was just teasing her a bit, and you didn’t do anything wrong. You were just curious.”

“So did Blaise’s father enter into sexual relations with Maya?” Gala persisted, wanting to understand. “And did he pay her for it?”

Esther shrugged, smiling. “Well, yes, my child, he did. But I think old Dasbraw really did love Maya later on. At first, he just needed something to distract him from his wife’s death. He took care of Maya, sure, but she was not sleeping with him for the money or even for his gifts. Still, they didn’t get married, obviously, and the girl is insecure about that. I like to tease her sometimes, get her mad. One of these days she’ll probably strangle me in my sleep.” The old woman grinned, apparently delighted at the prospect of such a dire fate—a reaction that Gala found confusing.

“Can you tell me more about Blaise’s parents?” Gala asked. “You said his mother died?”

“Yes,” Esther confirmed. “She was killed in a sorcery accident when Blaise was a little boy. His father passed away much later. His mother is where Blaise gets his handsome looks, but he inherited his smarts from both of his parents. Both Dasbraw and Samantha were on the Sorcerer Council.” There was a note of pride in her voice, and Gala realized that Esther felt like Blaise’s parents’ accomplishments were her own. It likely had something to do with the prevailing social structure and how each sorcerer had ‘their people,’ Gala decided.

“Louie, his brother, was born right before Samantha died. I took care of the little one all by myself,” Esther continued, her eyes filling up with moisture.

Gala stared at her, realizing that the subject had disturbed the woman emotionally. She had somehow managed to upset the only two human women she’d met.

“I am sorry, child,” said the old woman, wiping away her tears. “I was much attached to those boys. When Louie died, it was as though part of myself died with him.”

Gala nodded, not sure what to say to that. She felt bad that the woman was hurting.

As though sensing her discomfort, Esther gave her a shaky smile and tried to change the topic. “So why hasn’t Blaise told you some of this himself?”

“Blaise and I met quite recently,” Gala explained, hoping that the woman wouldn’t pry further.

Esther didn’t. Instead, she just gave Gala a warm look. “I could tell he cares about you,” she said kindly, “and I’m sure you’ll get to know each other better soon.”

Gala smiled. Hearing what Esther said made her feel good. While it was unlikely that Blaise cared for her all that much, it was still a nice fantasy. From what she knew about human emotions, there needed to be some kind of courtship period, during which humans generally participated in sexual relations—something that hadn’t occurred between herself and Blaise yet, to Gala’s disappointment. Of course, she was also not human, so she didn’t know if Blaise could grow to care about her. She knew he found the form she had assumed appealing, but she was uncertain if his feelings could extend beyond simple physical attraction.

“Why don’t we go into the house, so you can change?” Esther suggested, bringing Gala out of her thoughts.

As soon as they entered the house, Maya greeted them with a dress in her hands.

“I am so sorry,” said Gala, still worried over her earlier misstep. “I didn’t mean any insult—”

“That’s all right,” Maya said, flashing Esther a mean look. “Unlike this one, you didn’t mean to offend me, so you don’t need to apologize. You are just entering adulthood, and you probably haven’t seen much of the world. How old are you, anyway? Eighteen, nineteen?”

Gala considered that question for a second. “I’m twenty-three,” she said, making up a number. She didn’t think telling them how long she had really been in existence would be prudent.

“Oh, of course.” Maya didn’t seem surprised. “Sorcerers always look younger than their true age. Our Blaise doesn’t look a day older than twenty-five, although he’s already in his thirties.”

Gala smiled, glad to learn yet another tidbit about her creator. Then, taking the dress Maya was holding out to her, she studied it critically. “Do you think it will make me look plain?” she asked, hoping that the piece of clothing would enable her to walk around unnoticed.

Esther chuckled. “Making you look plain is something that would require high sorcery, child.”

“It won’t make you look plain,” Maya chimed in, “but it will make you look less like a lady, especially since you’ll be in the company of two old crones like ourselves.”

“If anyone asks, you’re our apprentice,” instructed Esther. “We’re what you’d call village healers, so we do a bit of midwifery, take care of minor injuries, and occasionally look after young ones.”

Gala nodded thoughtfully. She remembered Blaise mentioning that he got his Life Captures from Maya and Esther. Their profession explained how they were able to get so many droplets—and why those had been primarily from women.

Thinking about the Life Captures reminded her of her purpose for coming here. “I would like to go explore the village,” she told them, eager to get started on her plan to see the world.

Esther frowned. “Not so fast. When was the last time you ate? You look like a stick,” she said disapprovingly.

Gala felt insulted. A stick? That didn’t sound good. She had seen sticks; they looked fine to her, but she didn’t think it was a compliment to call a human being that. “I am not hungry,” she said, trying to keep the hurt note out of her voice.

“Ah, so she is a sorceress,” said Maya knowingly. “They can live on the sun, like the trees.”

Esther snorted. “Oh, they can still eat. Even Blaise eats sometimes. Maybe real food will put some meat on those bones of hers.” And without waiting for Gala to say something, she walked determinedly toward the kitchen.

“Do I really resemble a dead piece of wood?” Gala asked Maya, still thinking about the ‘stick’ comment.

“What?” Maya looked shocked. “No, of course not, my lady! You’re beautiful. Esther wants to feed everyone—hell, she thinks I’m too skinny!”

Gala immediately felt better. Maya was much rounder than Gala herself, although she also didn’t have Esther’s plush curves.

“Eat something, my lady,” Maya urged, smiling. “It’ll make that old woman happy.”

“Of course, I would love to eat something,” Gala said honestly. It was yet another new thing for her to try.

A few minutes later, the three of them sat down at the kitchen table.

Gala quickly discovered that the sensation of eating was highly enjoyable. She hadn’t had a single Life Capture experience of it and thus had no idea what to expect. Eating was probably the second most pleasurable thing she’d experienced, Gala decided—the first being those kisses with Blaise.

“Look at her wolfing down that stew,” Esther said with satisfaction. “Not hungry, my foot. That magical sustenance is not food, I tell you.”

“You should teach our young apprentice how to cook, so she can make this stew for Blaise,” Maya told Esther, barely containing her laughter, and winked at Gala.

“I just might do that,” Esther said seriously, giving Maya a frown. “And I’ll show her how to bake bread. His mother used to make food for Blaise sometimes, and I have seen him eat it.”

Gala noticed that the two women paradoxically liked and disliked one another. It was very strange.

“If you are going to teach the lady to cook for Blaise, you should teach her something fancier than this slop,” Maya said derisively, apparently continuing their bickering.

“Oh, I don’t mind learning how to make this wonderful stew,” Gala protested. She loved the rich flavor of the soup on her tongue.

Both women started laughing.

“I think she really means it,” Maya said between bouts of laughter.

Gala was utterly confused. “I would like to learn how to make it,” she insisted.

Maya grinned at her. “Just take onions, garlic, cabbage, potatoes, and some chicken, and put it all in a pot for a couple hours. Oh, and be sure to forget to put enough salt and be too busy to stir it properly—”

“Hey, at least my cooking is better than yours, you old crone,” Esther said, and the two women laughed again, reinforcing Gala’s impression of the strangeness of their relationship.

20

Barson

Pouring a pitcher of cold water on Siur’s face, Barson watched calmly as the traitor regained consciousness, coughing and sputtering.

“Welcome back,” he said, observing with amusement as the man realized that he was in Barson’s room, securely tied to the wooden column that supported the tall, domed ceiling.

“Are you going to torture me now?” Siur sounded bitter. “Is that your plan?”

Barson slowly shook his head. “No, I don’t have to do anything as barbaric as that,” he said, gesturing toward the large, diamond-like sphere sitting in the middle of the chamber.

Siur’s eyes went wide. “Where did you get that?”

“I see you know what it is. That’s good,” Barson said, giving the man a cold smile. Getting up, he took the Life Capture Sphere and rubbed it against Siur’s still-bleeding shoulder before placing it back. “Now every thought—every memory that comes to your mind—will be mine to know.”

Siur stared at him, his face nearly bloodless.

“People will say anything under torture,” Barson explained calmly. “I’ve found this to be a much better way to get real answers. You might as well talk, you know. If I have to pry the information out of your mind, I will make sure you’re known to everyone as the treacherous rat that you are.”

“So if I talk—?” There was a tiny ray of hope on Siur’s broad face.

“Then I will say you died in battle, as an honorable soldier should.”

Siur swallowed, looking mildly relieved. He obviously knew this was the best he could hope for at this point. Dying in battle meant that his family would be taken care of and his name respected. “What do you want to know?” he asked, lifting his eyes to meet Barson’s gaze.

Barson suppressed a satisfied smile. There was a reason he’d studied psychological warfare so thoroughly; now this ordeal would be over with quickly. “Who bought the information from you?” he asked, watching the man carefully. He already knew the answer, but he still wanted to hear it said out loud.

“Ganir,” Siur replied without hesitation.

“Good.” Barson had suspected the old sorcerer was the one behind the disappearances. The irony of using Ganir’s own invention against his spy didn’t escape Barson. “And how long have you been reporting to him?”

“Not long,” Siur answered. “Only for the past few months.”

Barson’s eyes narrowed. “And who reported to him before you?”

“Jule.”

That made sense. Barson remembered the young guard who had been killed in battle less than six months ago. It was far more understandable for Jule to get tempted by Ganir’s coin; to a low-ranking soldier, the money must’ve seemed quite attractive. Siur’s betrayal was much worse; he had been in Barson’s inner circle and thus could’ve done some real damage with his spying.

“How much did you tell Ganir?”

Siur shrugged. “I told him what I knew. That you’d met with those two sorcerers.”

Two? Barson exhaled, trying to conceal his relief. When two of the five sorcerers he’d spoken with disappeared, he had been deeply alarmed, expecting the worst. He had also realized then that there had to be a spy in their midst—someone close to him who could’ve seen or known something.

The fact that Siur didn’t know about the other visitors was a tremendous stroke of luck, as was the fact that none of these sorcerers knew much of value. They had just held preliminary discussions, and Barson had been careful not to show his hand fully. If Ganir succeeded in questioning them, he wouldn’t have come across anything particularly damning. In fact, losing two potential allies was a small price to pay for discovering Siur’s treachery.

“Did Ganir kill them?” Barson asked softly.

“I don’t know,” Siur admitted. “I just know they disappeared.”

Barson gave a short laugh. “Yes, I noticed that much. Went to explore the ocean storms, Ganir said. So tell me, Siur, why did you stay behind on this mission?”

“Ganir told me to.”

“So you knew about the three thousand men instead of three hundred?”

“What?” Siur appeared genuinely shocked. “No, I didn’t. There were three thousand peasants?”

“Yes,” Barson said, unsure if he believed the man.

“I didn’t know,” Siur said. “Captain, I didn’t know, I swear it! I would’ve warned you if I knew.”

Barson looked at him. Perhaps he would have; there was a big difference between selling information and sending all your comrades to their deaths.

Siur held his gaze, his face pale and sweating. “Are you going to kill me now? I told you everything I know.”

Barson didn’t respond. Walking over the Sphere, he brought it back and pressed it against Siur’s wound again, concluding the recording. He had to watch it now, to make sure Siur’s thoughts matched his words. Picking up the droplet that had formed inside the Sphere’s indentation, he gingerly put it under his tongue and let it take over his mind.

When Barson regained his sense of self, he gave Siur a somber look. “You told the truth. Since I’m a man of my word, your good name is safe.”

“Thank you.” Visibly shaking, Siur squeezed his eyes shut.

A swish of Barson’s sword, and the traitor was no more.

* * *

Wiping the blood off his sword, Barson walked toward Augusta’s quarters. He’d found it suspicious that Ganir wanted to talk to her. He doubted the old sorcerer could’ve learned about Augusta’s involvement in the battle so quickly, which left only two possibilities.

Ganir was either using her to spy on Barson as well—or he was suspicious of her, just as he had been of the two sorcerers who’d gone ‘exploring the storms.’

Barson considered the first possibility—a thought that had occurred to him in the past. But somehow he couldn’t see Augusta being a spy. She was fairly open in her dislike for Ganir, and she had far too much pride to let herself be used in such manner. If it came down to it, she’d be the one plotting something, instead of being someone’s pawn.

That left the other option—that of Ganir learning that Augusta was Barson’s lover and taking action against her. Even this seemed unlikely. She was a member of the Council and quite powerful in her own right. Making her disappear would be a significant challenge. In fact, if Ganir did try to take on Augusta, there was a chance that she would make the problem of Ganir disappear instead.

So what had Ganir wanted with Augusta? To his frustration, Barson was no closer to figuring that out.

Entering Augusta’s room, he was relieved to find her there, changing her clothes. And to his surprise, he realized that a small part of him had been worried for her safety. Rationally, he knew she was more than capable of taking care of herself, but the primitive side of him couldn’t help thinking of her as a delicate woman who needed his protection.

“Are you going somewhere?” he asked, noticing that she was putting on one of her special-occasion dresses. Made of a deep red silk, it made her golden complexion glow.

“I just need to run an errand,” she said—somewhat evasively, he thought.

Barson suppressed a flare of anger. He wasn’t stupid; the last time he’d seen her wear a dress like this was at one of the spring celebrations. Was she dressing up for something—or someone? And did this have anything to do with her earlier conversation?

There was only one way to find out.

Coming up to her, Barson wrapped his arms around her narrow waist and bent his head to nuzzle her soft cheek. “What did Ganir want?” he murmured, kissing the outer shell of her ear.

“I don’t have time to discuss it now,” she said, slipping out of his embrace in an uncharacteristic gesture of rejection. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

And in a whirl of silk skirts and jasmine perfume, she walked out of the room, leaving Barson angry and confused.

21

Augusta

Exiting the Tower, Augusta got on her chaise and headed toward Blaise’s house, mentally steeling herself for the upcoming encounter. She could feel her heart beating faster and her palms sweating at the thought of seeing Blaise again—the man who had rejected her, the man whom she still couldn’t forget. Even now that she had found some measure of happiness with Barson, memories of her time with Blaise were like a poorly healed wound—hurting at the least provocation.

Closing her eyes, she let the wind blow through her long dark hair. She loved the sensation of flying, of being high up in the air, above the mundane concerns and small lives of people on the ground. Of all the magic objects, the chaise was her favorite because no commoner could ever operate it. Flying required knowing some basic verbal magic, and non-sorcerers would not be able to do more than slowly float away to their deaths.

Passing by the Town Square, she made an impulsive decision to land in front of one of the merchant shops. Out here among the noise and bustle of the marketplace, on this beautiful day in late spring, it was hard to remain negative. Perhaps there was a good explanation for Blaise’s obsession with Life Capture droplets, she thought hopefully. Perhaps he was running an experiment of some kind. After all, she knew he had always been interested in matters of the human mind.

Walking over to one of the open-air stalls, she bought some plump-looking dates. They were Blaise’s favorite snack, when he deigned to stimulate his taste buds with some sweets. They would make a good peace offering, assuming that Blaise would agree to see her at all. Happy with her purchase—and fully cognizant of the futility of it all—she got back into the air.

Her former fiancé’s house was not far, a walkable distance from the Town Square, in fact. Blaise was one of the few sorcerers who had always maintained a separate residence in Turingrad, as opposed to spending all of his time in the Tower. He had inherited that house from his parents and found it soothing to go there in the evenings instead of remaining in the Tower to socialize with the others. When she and Blaise had been together, she’d spent a lot of time at his house as well—so much, in fact, that she’d even had a room of her own there.

Thinking about his house again brought back those bittersweet memories. They’d taken occasional walks together from his house to this very Town Square, and she remembered how they’d always talked about their latest projects, discussing them with each other in great detail. It was one of the things she missed the most these days—those intellectual conversations, the back-and-forth exchange of ideas. Though Barson was an interesting person in his own right, he would never be able to give her that. Only another sorcerer of Blaise’s caliber could do that—and there were none, as far as Augusta was concerned.

Finally, she was there, in front of Blaise’s house. Despite its location in the center of Turingrad, it looked like a country house—a stately ivory stone mansion surrounded by beautiful gardens.

Approaching cautiously, Augusta came up the steps and politely knocked on the door. Then she held her breath, waiting for a response.

There was none.

She knocked louder.

Still no effect.

Her anxiety starting to grow, Augusta waited another couple of minutes, hoping that Blaise was simply on the top floor and unable to hear her knock.

Still nothing. It was time for more drastic measures.

Recalling a verbal spell she had handy, Augusta began to recite the words, substituting a few variables to avoid scaring the entire town. This particular spell was designed to produce an extremely loud sound—except, with the changes she introduced, it would only be heard inside Blaise’s house. Thankfully, the code for vibrating the air randomly at the right amplitude was relatively easy. Following the simple logic chains with the Interpreter litany, she put her hands against her ears to block out the noise coming from inside the building.

The sound was so powerful, she could practically feel the walls of the house vibrating. There was no way Blaise could ignore this. In fact, if he was anywhere in the house, he would likely be half-deaf from that spell—and quite furious. It was probably not the best way to start their conversation, but it was the only way she could think of to get his attention. She would much rather deal with furious Blaise than the addict she was beginning to be afraid she would find.

The fact that he didn’t respond to the noise spoke volumes. Only someone absorbed in a Life Capture would have been immune to the spell she’d just cast. The alternative—that he’d finally left his house after months of being a hermit—was an unlikely possibility, though Augusta couldn’t help but cling to that small hope.

The scary thing about Life Captures was that people addicted to them sometimes died. They would get so absorbed in living the lives of others, they would neglect their health, forgetting to eat, sleep, and even drink. Although sorcerers could sustain their bodies with magic, they had to do spells in order to keep up their energy levels. A sorcerer Life Capture addict would be nearly as vulnerable as a regular person if he or she forgot to do the appropriate spell.

Standing there in front of the door, Augusta realized that she had a decision to make. She could either report this lack of response to Ganir or she could risk going in.

If this had been a commoner’s house, it would’ve been easy. However, most sorcerers had magical defenses in place against unauthorized entry. In the Tower, they frequently did spells to prevent their locks from being tampered with. From what she could recall, however, Blaise rarely bothered to do that. Trying to unlock his door using sorcery was likely her best bet.

A quick spell later, she was entering the hallway, seeing the familiar furnishings and paintings on the walls.

Looking for either Blaise himself or the evidence of his addiction, Augusta slowly walked through the empty house, her heart aching at the flood of memories. How could this have happened to them? She should’ve fought harder for Blaise; she should’ve tried to explain, to make him understand. Perhaps she should’ve even swallowed her pride and groveled—an idea that had seemed unthinkable at the time.

Starting with the downstairs, Augusta went into the storage area, where she remembered him keeping important magical supplies. Opening the cabinets, she found several jars with Life Capture droplets, but there was nothing extraordinary about that. Most sorcerers—even Augusta herself, to some degree—used the Life Captures to record important events in their lives or their work.

One cupboard drew her attention. In there, she saw more jars that didn’t seem to be sorcery-related. Blaise always labeled everything, so she came closer, trying to see what was written on them.

To her surprise, she saw that all the jars had one word on them: Louie. These were likely Blaise’s memories of his brother, she realized. The fact that he still had them—that he hadn’t consumed them as a hardened addict would—gave her some small measure of hope. One of those jars looked particularly intriguing; it had a skull-and-bone symbol on it, as healers would sometimes put on deadly poisons. She had no idea what it could be.

In the corner of the room, she saw some broken jars on the floor. Amidst pieces of glass, there were more droplets, lying there as though they were trash. Curious, Augusta approached the corner.

To her shock, on a few of the jars, she saw labels with her name on them. Blaise’s memories of her . . . He must’ve thrown them away in a fit of rage. Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep, shuddering breath, trying to keep the tears that were burning her eyes from escaping. She hadn’t expected this visit to be so painful, the memories to be so fresh.

Reaching down, she pocketed one of the droplets, doing her best to avoid cutting her hand on the shards of glass lying all around it. Then, trying to regain her equilibrium, she exited the room and headed upstairs.

All around her, she could see dust-covered windowsills and musty-looking furnishings. Whatever Blaise’s mental state, he clearly wasn’t taking care of his house. Not a good sign, as far as she was concerned.

Going from room to room, she determined that Blaise wasn’t there after all. Relieved, Augusta realized that he must’ve left the house after all. That was a good sign, as addicts rarely came out unnecessarily. Unless they ran out of Life Captures—which Blaise hadn’t, judging by the jars downstairs. Could it be that Ganir was wrong again? After all, his spies had apparently misinformed him about the size of the peasant army Barson’s men would be facing. Why not this also? But if they weren’t wrong, then what did Blaise want with all those Life Captures he’d been getting?

Consumed with curiosity, she entered Blaise’s study again, the familiar surroundings making her chest tighten. They’d spent so much time here together, exploring new spells and coming up with new coding methodologies. This was where they’d invented the Interpreter Stone and the simplified arcane language to go with it—a discovery that had transformed the entire field of sorcery.

Perhaps she should leave now. It was obvious that Blaise wasn’t home, and Augusta no longer felt comfortable invading his privacy in this way.

Turning, she started walking out of the room when an open set of scrolls caught her attention. They were ancient and intricate, reminding her of the type of writings she’d seen in the library of Dania, another Council member. As though her feet had a mind of their own, Augusta found herself approaching the scrolls and picking them up.

To her shock, she saw that they had been written by Lenard the Great himself—except she’d never seen these notes before. She and Blaise had studied everything the great sorcerer had done; without the base of knowledge laid by Lenard and his students, they would’ve never been able to create the Interpreter Stone and the accompanying magical language. She should’ve come across these scrolls before, and the fact that she was seeing them now for the first time was incredible.

Skimming them in disbelief, Augusta comprehended the extent of the wealth of knowledge Blaise had been concealing from the world. These old scrolls contained the theories on which Lenard the Great had based his oral spells—the theories that provided a glimpse into the nature of the Spell Realm itself.

Why had Blaise not told anyone about them? Now even more curious, she reached for another set of notes lying on the desk.

It was a journal, she saw immediately—Blaise’s recording of his work.

Fascinated, Augusta riffled through the papers and began reading.

And as she read, she felt the fine hair on the back of her neck rising. What was contained in these notes was so horrifying she could hardly believe her eyes.

Putting down the journal, she cast a frantic glance around the study, wanting to convince herself that this couldn’t possibly be real—that it was all the ramblings of a madman. Her gaze fell upon the Life Capture Sphere, and she saw a single droplet glittering inside.

Reaching for it with a trembling hand, she put it in her mouth, letting the experience consume her.

* * *

Sitting there in his study, Blaise couldn’t stop thinking about Gala—about his wondrous, beautiful creation. Closing his eyes, he pictured her in his mind—the perfect features of her face, the deep intelligence gleaming in her mysterious blue eyes. He wondered what she would become. Right now, she was like a child, new to everything, but he could already see the potential for her intellect and abilities to surpass anything the world had ever seen.

His attraction to her was as startling as it was worrisome. She was his creation. How could he feel this way about her? Even with Augusta, he hadn’t experienced this kind of immediate connection.

Trying to suppress those thoughts, he turned his attention to the fascinating matter of her origin. The way she’d described the Spell Realm was intriguing; he would’ve given anything to witness its wonders himself.

Perhaps there was a way. After all, Gala’s mind was quite human-like, and she had survived there . . .

* * *

Gasping, Augusta regained her sense of self. Breathing heavily, she stared around the study, reeling from what she’d just seen. What had Blaise done? What kind of monstrosity had he created?

This was a disaster of epic proportions. If Augusta understood correctly, Blaise had made an inhuman intelligence. An unnatural mind that nobody—not even Blaise himself—could comprehend. What would this creature want? What would it be capable of?

Unbidden, an old myth about a sorcerer who had tried to create life entered Augusta’s mind, making her stomach roil. It was the kind of tale that peasants and children believed, and logically, Augusta knew there was no truth to it. But she still couldn’t help thinking about it, remembering the first time she’d read the horror story as a child—and how frightened she had been then, waking up screaming from nightmares of a ghoulish creature that killed its creator and his entire village. Later on, Augusta had learned the truth—that the sorcerer in question had actually been experimenting with cross-breeding various animal species and that one of his creations (a wolf-bear hybrid) had escaped and wreaked havoc on the neighboring town. Still, by then it was too late. The story had left an indelible impression on Augusta’s young mind, and even as an adult, the idea of unnatural life terrified her.

Blaise’s creation, however, was not a myth. She—it—was an artificially created monster with potentially unlimited powers. For all they knew, it could destroy the world and every human being in it.

And Blaise was attracted to it. The thought made Augusta so sick she thought she might throw up.

No. She couldn’t allow this to happen. She had to do something. Grabbing Lenard’s scrolls, Augusta tucked them in her bag. Then, consumed by rage and fear, she channeled her emotions into a cleansing fire spell—and let it loose in the room.

22

Blaise

Flying back home, Blaise tried to convince himself that he’d done the right thing—that Gala needed to see the world on her own, to experience everything she wanted. The fact that he already missed her was not a good reason to limit her freedom.

His trip back was much faster than his flight to the village. He’d purposefully gone slower before, giving Gala a chance to see Turingrad, but now there was no reason to linger. He knew this town like the back of his hand, and there were far too many unpleasant memories associated with this view—especially that of the gloomy silhouette of the Tower.

Passing by the Town Square, he remembered how Esther would yell at him for swimming in the fountain as a child. As a boy, he had enjoyed diving for the coins, and she had always scolded him, saying that it was inappropriate for a sorcerer’s son to be swimming in the dirty fountain water.

Thinking of Esther and watching the people below, he reflected on what he had tried to do for them. He had wanted to give them the power to do magic, to improve their lives. And instead, he’d ended up creating something miraculous—a beautiful, intelligent woman who was as far removed from an inanimate object as anything he could imagine. He might have failed in his original task, but he couldn’t regret having Gala here. Knowing her had already brightened his life immeasurably. For the first time since Louie’s death, Blaise felt some measure of excitement—happiness, even.

Being without her for the next few days would be a challenge. He needed to find something to do to occupy his mind, Blaise decided.

One thing that occurred to him was the challenge of figuring out why Gala couldn’t do magic. By all rights, as an intelligence born in the Spell Realm, she should have the ability to do magic directly, without relying on all the spells and conventions that sorcerers used. It should be as natural to her as breathing—and yet it didn’t seem to be, for now at least.

What would happen if a regular human mind ended up in the Spell Realm? The crazy idea startled Blaise with its simplicity. Would that mind die immediately—or would it be able to return to the Physical Realm, perhaps imbued with new powers and abilities?

The more he thought about it, the more exciting the idea seemed. The way Gala had described the Spell Realm had been wonderful, and it would be amazing if a person—if he himself—could see it (or experience it using whatever sense passed for sight in that place).

Would it be insane for him to try to go there? To enter the Spell Realm himself? Most people would think so, he knew, but most people lacked real vision, rarely taking the kind of risks that led to true greatness.

What would happen if he did succeed in entering the Spell Realm? Would he gain the kind of powers he suspected Gala might have? If so, he would be unstoppable—the most powerful sorcerer who ever lived. He would be Gala’s equal, and if she still didn’t master magic by then, he could even teach her how to harness her inherent abilities. He would be able to do what he’d only dreamed of so far: implement real change, real improvement in the world.

He would be a legend, like Lenard the Great.

Taking a deep breath, Blaise told himself to calm down. This was all great in theory, but he had no idea if this would be feasible or safe in practice. He would have to be careful and methodical in his approach.

After all, he now had something—or rather, someone—very important to live for.

* * *

Landing next to his house, Blaise stared in shock at the red chaise sitting in front of his door.

A very familiar chaise—one that had been the prototype for them all.

Augusta’s chaise.

And it was in front of his house.

What was his former fiancée doing here? Blaise felt his heartbeat quickening and his chest tightening with a mixture of anger and anxiety. Why did she come here today of all days?

Mentally bracing himself, he opened the door and entered the house.

She was walking down the stairs as he entered the large entrance hall. At the sight of her, Blaise felt the familiar sharp ache. She was as stunning as he remembered, her dark brown hair smooth and piled on top of her head, her amber-colored eyes like ancient coins. He couldn’t help comparing her darkly sensual looks to Gala’s pale, otherworldly beauty. When Augusta smiled, she often looked mischievous, but the expression on her face now was that of shock and fear.

“What have you done?” she whispered, staring at him. “Blaise, what have you done?”

Blaise felt his blood turning to ice. Of all the people out there, Augusta was one of the few who could’ve made sense of his notes so quickly. “What are you doing here?” he asked, stalling for time. Perhaps he was wrong; perhaps she didn’t know everything.

“I came by to check on you.” Her voice shook slightly. “I wanted to see if you were all right. But you’re not, are you? You’ve gone completely insane—”

“What are you talking about?” Blaise interrupted.

“I know about the abomination you created.” Her eyes glittered brightly. “I know about this thing you’ve unleashed on the world.”

“Augusta, please, calm down . . .” Blaise tried to inject a soothing note into his voice. “Let’s talk about this. What exactly are you accusing me of?”

Her face flamed with sudden color. “I am accusing you of creating a terrible creature of magic that can think for itself,” she hissed, her hands clenching into fists. “A horror that, to your own surprise, took on a human shape!”

So she knew everything. This was bad. Really bad. Blaise couldn’t let her go to the Council with this information, but how was he supposed to stop her? “Look, Augusta,” he said, thinking on his feet, “I think you misunderstood the situation. It’s true that I tried to create an intelligent object, but I failed. I didn’t succeed—”

“Don’t lie to me!” she yelled, and he was struck by her uncharacteristic loss of composure. He had never seen her in this kind of state before; in all the years that he’d known her, she’d raised her voice only a handful of times.

“I know you had Lenard’s notes, which you hid from everyone,” she said furiously. “You are the ultimate hypocrite. You, who always said knowledge should be shared, even with the common people. Oh, and before you insult me with any more lies, you should know that I used that droplet in your Sphere. I know that you created it and that it took human shape—and I saw your perverted reaction to it.” If looks could kill, the expression on her face would have left him in a pile of dust.

“You’re wrong,” Blaise said heatedly, figuring he had nothing left to lose. “It lived for a while, but it went back to the Spell Realm shortly after I made that recording. Its Physical Realm manifestation was not stable. You saw the notes; you know I left its physical form open-ended.”

She stared at him, her eyes bright with emotion. “Liar. I don’t believe a single word you’re saying. You don’t even know what you’ve done. This thing could lead to the extinction of our entire race—”

“What?” Blaise said incredulously. “How could it lead to the extinction of our race? Even if it was stable, that doesn’t make sense—”

“It’s not human!” Augusta was clearly beside herself. “It’s an unnatural creature with unimaginable powers. You don’t know what it’s capable of; for all you know, it could wipe us out with one blink of its pretty blue eyes!”

“Augusta, listen to me,” Blaise tried to reason with her. “She is intelligent—highly intelligent. She would have no reason to do something so cruel. With intelligence comes benevolence. I have always believed that—”

“Just because you believe it, doesn’t mean it’s true,” she said, her voice shaking with anger. “And even if you’re right, even if this thing doesn’t intend us any harm now, its mere existence puts us all in jeopardy. If it has its own intelligence—an unnatural intelligence that was created, not born—it can spawn more creatures like itself, perhaps even smarter and more powerful. Then those new abominations will create something even more frightening, and this cycle can go on until we are nothing but ants to these beings. They will stomp on us, like we’re nothing more than cockroaches. Mark my words, this will be the beginning of the end.”

Blaise stared at Augusta in shock, struck by the idea of Gala creating others like herself. He hadn’t considered this possibility before, but it made sense in a strange way. Except he didn’t see it as a bad thing, the way Augusta did. In fact, he thought with excitement, this could be the development that would finally change their world for the better. He pictured highly intelligent, all-knowing, all-powerful beings that would view humanity as their parent race . . . and the vision was tremendously appealing.

Then another possibility occurred to him. If he succeeded in his goal of getting to the Spell Realm and gaining powers, then the line between the beings he just envisioned and humans would become blurred anyway. Even if Augusta’s fears had some basis in reality—which he strongly doubted—humans could end up being equals of these marvelous creatures.

Of course, sharing these thoughts with Augusta would not be the smartest move at this point. “Look, Augusta, even if you’re right,” he said instead, “these beings would not want to harm us. They would be too much like us. With higher intelligence, they will surely possess a morality that will be above ours. We don’t have anything to fear—”

“You’re a fool.” Augusta’s expression was full of scorn. “Does morality stop you from squashing a pesky insect?”

“If I knew the little critter was self-aware, I would not kill it.” Blaise was firmly convinced of that fact. “And if I knew it was my creator, I certainly would not.”

“You’re just blinded by lust,” she hissed, her beautiful features twisting into something ugly. “It’s not human! This creature of yours is not real. It’s not going to love you, like you want it to. Did you design it to be capable of emotions? Of love?” And without giving Blaise a chance to respond, she said snidely, “No, of course you didn’t. You didn’t even know it would look like a woman.”

Blaise felt an answering flare of anger, and he suppressed it with effort. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said evenly. “You don’t know her—”

“Oh, and you do?” Her eyes narrowed into slits.

“Are you jealous?” Blaise asked in disbelief. “Is that what this is? You and I are over. We’ve been over ever since you voted to murder my brother!”

“Jealous?” She looked livid now. “Why would I be jealous of this, this . . . thing? It’s nothing more than a few strings of code and life experiences of some dirty peasants. I have a man now—a real man, not some hermit hiding among his books and theories!”

“Good,” Blaise snapped, hanging on to his temper by a thread. “Then you won’t interfere in my life again—”

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t,” she said, her voice low and furious. “It’s not me you’ll be dealing with—it’s the Council.” And she began walking down the stairs, toward Blaise.

“You will not go to those cowards with this!” Blaise felt his own anger starting to spiral out of control. He would not let the Council kill another person he cared about.

“I’m going to do whatever I want,” she said sharply. “And you’re going to face the consequences of your actions, just like Louie did—”

At the mention of his brother, Blaise felt something snap. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said fiercely, physically blocking the stairs.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Way.” Her eyes were blazing like fire. Her hand flashed toward him, slapping him across the face before he realized what she was about to do.

His face stinging and his mind in turmoil, Blaise caught her wrist before she could strike him again. She screamed with rage, yanking her arm out of his grasp and stumbling back a few steps. And before Blaise could do anything, he heard her starting to recite the words of a familiar deadly spell.

Blaise’s blood boiled in his veins. He’d never done battle with another sorcerer like this, but he recognized what she was doing. She was about to hit him with a blast of pure heat energy—a spell that would incinerate him on the spot.

His mind oddly clear despite his heart racing in his chest, he started chanting his own spell. It was what he used to protect himself during particularly dangerous experiments. A few key phrases and an Interpreter litany later, he was surrounded by a magical force structure that embedded nothingness in its walls. And just as he finished and saw the telltale shimmer in the air, Augusta’s spell hit.

It was like the sun had descended into his house. Even through his shield, Blaise felt the unbearable heat. Within seconds, he was covered with sweat. All around him, the walls and furniture were on fire, and thick, acrid smoke filled the staircase.

“Augusta!” he yelled, terrified for her. Without a protective spell of her own, she would be burned to a crisp.

A moment later, however, the smoke began to clear, and Blaise saw her standing on the top of the staircase, still very much alive. The wave of relief that washed over him was strong and immediate; no matter what she’d done, he couldn’t wish his former lover dead—not even if it meant that Gala would be safe.

Of course, right now he had to save his house. Thinking frantically, Blaise recalled a verbal spell he’d used in his youth—a spell that would wash his hands in a matter of seconds. All he needed to do was enhance its potency.

As he began saying the words, he could hear Augusta starting her own verbal coding effort. It distracted him for a second, and he realized that she was working on a teleporting spell for herself. If his own spell failed, Blaise would be the only one to burn.

Shutting out her voice, he focused on his code, changing some parameters to have the soapy water multiplied a thousand fold. Foam started streaming from his hands, covering the blazing fire all around him in a matter of seconds. Now he could pay attention to Augusta—only it was too late.

Just as he started up the stairs, she finished her own spell and disappeared into thin air.

She couldn’t have gotten far—long-distance teleportation was difficult under the best circumstances and required far more precise calculations than what she would’ve had time to do—but all she needed was to get out the door and to her chaise. Still, even knowing the futility of his actions, Blaise rushed down the stairs and out of the house.

And in the distance, he saw a red chaise flying rapidly away. Pursuit at this stage would be pointless and dangerous.

Still shaking with anger in the aftermath of the confrontation, Blaise went back into his house, determined to salvage as much of it as he could. When he entered, he saw that the foam had contained the fire in the hallway and on the stairs. It was only when he went upstairs that he learned the full extent of Augusta’s wrath.

His entire study—all the notes he’d made, all his journals, everything from the past year—was gone.

Somehow she had managed to burn everything.

23

Gala

After the meal, a change of clothing, and numerous instructions on how to appear more like a commoner, Gala was finally on her way to see the rest of the village.

Walking through the streets, she studied the small, cheerful-looking houses and stared at the peasants passing by—who stared right back at her. “Why are they looking at me?” she whispered to Maya after two men almost fell off a horse trying to get a good look at her. “Is it because I look strange and different?”

“Oh, you look different, all right.” Maya chuckled. “Even in that plain dress, you’re probably the prettiest woman they have ever seen. If you didn’t want to be gawked at, we should’ve put a potato sack over your head.”

“I don’t think I would like that,” Gala said absentmindedly, noticing a large gathering up ahead. Stopping, she pointed at the crowd. “What is that?”

“Looks like the court is meeting for judgment,” said the old woman, frowning. She was about to turn away and walk in another direction, but Gala headed toward the gathering and the two women had no choice but to tag along.

“Um, Gala, I don’t think that’s the best place for you,” Esther said, huffing and puffing to keep up with Gala’s brisk pace.

Gala shot her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Esther, but I really want to see this.” She had read a little bit about laws and justice, and she had no intention of passing up this opportunity.

Before her escorts had a chance to voice another objection, Gala walked straight into the gathering, which seemed to be taking place in a miniature version of the Town Square she’d seen in Turingrad.

There was a platform in the middle of the square, and a few people were standing on it. Two bigger men were holding a smaller one, who appeared quite young to Gala’s inexperienced eye. The youngster looked like he wanted to run away, the expression on his round-cheeked face that of fear and distress. Near the platform, Gala could see a group of similar-looking people—a family, she guessed. They looked angry for some reason.

A white-haired older man, who was standing on the platform, began to speak. “You are accused of horse theft,” he said, addressing the lad, and Gala could hear the disapproving murmuring in the crowd. Even Maya and Esther shook their heads, as though chiding the young horse thief. “What have you to say to this charge?” the white-haired man continued, his dark eyes prominent in his weathered face.

“I am sorry,” the young man said, his voice shaking. “I will never to do it again, I promise. I didn’t mean any harm—I just wanted to have some fun . . .”

The white-haired man sighed. “Do you know what they do to horse thieves in other territories?” he asked.

The lad shook his head.

“They hang them in the north, and they chop their heads off in the east,” the old man said, giving the youngster a stern look.

The horse thief visibly paled. “I’m sorry! I truly didn’t mean it—”

“Luckily for you, we do things differently here,” the old man interrupted, cutting off the lad’s pleas. “Master Blaise does not believe in that kind of punishment. Because you admitted your guilt and because the horse was returned to its rightful owners, your punishment is to work on the farm of the people you stole from for the next six months. During that time, you will help them in any way you can. You will clean their stables, repair their house, bring them water from the well, and perform whatever other tasks you are capable of doing.”

A middle-aged man from the family Gala had noticed before stepped forward, addressing the white-haired man. “Mayor, with all due respect, our children would have starved without that horse, with the drought and all—”

The mayor held up his hand, stopping the man’s diatribe. “Indeed. However, fortunately for you and for the accused, you got your horse back safe and sound, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Mayor,” the man admitted sheepishly.

“In that case, the thief will make up for his crime by helping out at your farm. Hopefully, this will teach him the value of hard work.”

The middle-aged man still looked unhappy, but it was obvious that he had no choice. This was the punishment for the horse thief, and he had to accept it.

“And with that,” the mayor announced, “the court is over for today. You can all go forth and enjoy the fair.”

“The fair?” Gala asked, curious about the sudden wave of excitement in the crowd.

“Oh yes,” a young woman to her right replied. “Didn’t you hear? We’ve got the spring fair starting today. It’s right on the other side of the village.” And with that, she flounced off, apparently eager to get to this event.

Gala grinned. The girl’s enthusiasm was contagious. “Let’s go,” she told Maya and Esther, starting to walk in the direction where she saw most people heading.

“What? Wait, Gala, let’s discuss this . . .” Maya hurried after her, looking anxious.

“What is there to discuss?” Gala continued walking, feeling like she would burst from excitement. “Didn’t you hear what that woman said? I’m going to this fair!”

“This is not a good idea,” Esther muttered under her breath. “I’m pretty sure this is not what Blaise meant when he said to make sure she doesn’t draw any attention to herself. Her at the fair—she’s going to get attention galore!”

“Yes, well, how do you intend to stop her?” Maya muttered back, and Gala smiled at their exchange. She liked having the freedom to do what she wanted, and she intended to see and experience as much of this village as she could.

* * *

The fair was as amazing as Gala had thought it might be. There were merchants all over the place, their colorful stalls displaying various goods and interesting-looking food products. Right beside them, there were games and attractions, and Gala could hear laughter, loud voices, and music everywhere. In the center of the fair, there was a big platform where she could see young people dancing.

Gala approached a merchant closest to her. “What are you selling?” she asked him.

“I have the best dried fruit at the fair, for you or your mother and aunt.” He smiled widely, offering Gala a handful of raisins.

She took a couple and put them in her mouth, enjoying the burst of sweet flavor on her tongue. Esther took out a small coin and gave it to the merchant, thanking him, and they continued on their way.

“Ale for the ladies?” a man yelled out from one of the stalls. There were huge barrels stacked on each side of him, and Gala wondered if they contained this ale he was offering.

“I will get some,” she said, curious to try the drink she’d read about.

“No, you won’t,” Esther said immediately, frowning. “I don’t want you drunk on your very first day with us.”

“Oh, come on, let the lass have some fun,” the ale merchant cajoled. “She won’t feel more than a little buzz from just one drink.”

“All right, fine,” Maya grumbled, handing a coin to the man. “Just one drink.”

Gala grinned. She would’ve tried this ale regardless, but she was glad she didn’t have to argue with the two women.

Looking satisfied, the merchant took a mug, walked over to the pile of barrels, and started pouring from one of them into the mug. Gala noticed the way the barrels shook with the man’s movements, as though swaying in the wind.

“Hurry up,” a male voice said behind Gala. Turning around, she saw a young, well-built man standing there. As soon as he saw Gala’s face, his eyes widened, and his cheeks turned red. He mumbled an apology, his gaze traveling from the top of her head all the way down to her toes.

Gala gave him a small smile and turned around to look at the merchant again. She was getting used to these stares.

The merchant handed her the mug, and she took a sip, swirling the drink around her mouth to better taste it. It wasn’t nearly as delicious as the raisins, but it did send a warm feeling down her body. Liking the sensation, Gala downed the mug in several large gulps and heard chuckles from the men standing in line behind her.

“You should pace yourself,” Maya admonished, and Esther gave Gala another frown.

“I’ve never had ale before,” Gala tried to explain, not wanting the two women to worry. “I think I like it even better than your stew.” Turning to the merchant, she asked, “Can I have another one?”

At this, Maya grabbed Gala’s hand and dragged her away from the confused ale merchant and his customers. Gala let herself be led only as far as the next stall and then stood her ground firmly.

“You are strong for one so small,” Maya said, looking impressed when Gala resisted her tugging. “It’s as though she grew roots,” she told Esther. “I can’t make her move another inch.”

“This is just a clown stall,” Esther told Gala, sounding exasperated. “There is nothing for you to see here.”

Gala didn’t agree. To her, the stall was fascinating, surrounded as it was by dozens of children. Children—these miniature humans—were an enigma to Gala. She had never been a child herself, unless one counted her brief stage of development in the Spell Realm. Then again, she reasoned, perhaps she was like a child now compared to the person she would become.

Another thing that interested her was the man with the painted face. He was wearing strange-looking clothing and doing what seemed like sorcery for the children—pulling out coins from their ears and then making those coins disappear. He also seemed to be doing it without any kind of verbal or written spells. When she focused on his hands, however, she saw that he was actually hiding the coins in his palm. A fake sorcerer, she thought, watching his antics with amusement.

Suddenly, there was a loud shout. Startled, Gala looked back toward the ale merchant’s stall, where she heard the sound coming from.

What she saw made her freeze in place.

One of the older children had pushed a younger girl into the stack of barrels at the ale merchant’s stall. The large barrels swayed perilously, and Gala could see the top barrel beginning to fall.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. In Gala’s mind, she saw the chain of events exactly as they would play out. The barrel would fall on top of the girl, crushing her frail human body. Gala could even calculate the precise weight and force of the falling object—and the child’s odds of survival.

The young girl would cease to exist before she’d had a chance to enjoy living.

No. Gala couldn’t stand to see that. Her entire body tensed, and without conscious thought, she raised her hands in the air, pointing them at the barrel. Her mind ran through the necessary calculations with lightning speed, figuring out the exact amount of reverse force necessary to hold the falling object in place.

The barrel stopped falling, floating in the air a few inches above the girl’s head.

The silence was deafening. All around Gala, the fairgoers stood as though frozen in place, staring at the near-accident in morbid fascination. The ale merchant recovered first, jumping toward the shocked child to pull her away from under the barrel.

As soon as the girl was not in danger, Gala felt her focus slipping, and the barrel fell, breaking into little bits of wood and splashing ale all over the place.

The rescued child began to cry, her small frame shaking with sobs, while the spectators seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. Many of them were staring at Gala with awed expressions on their faces, and one woman took a step toward her, addressing her in a quivering voice, “Are you a sorceress, my lady?”

“She had nothing to do with that; it was the clown,” Maya told the woman, lying unconvincingly.

Esther grabbed Gala’s hand. “Let’s go,” she said urgently, dragging Gala away from the crowd.

Gala did not resist, following the old woman docilely. Her mind was in turmoil. She had done it. She had done direct magic, as Blaise had designed her to do. It hadn’t been a spell—certainly she hadn’t said or written anything. Instead, it was as though something deep inside her knew exactly what to do, how to let some hidden part of her mind take over. All she’d known was that she didn’t want the child hurt, and the rest had seemed to just . . . happen.

When they were sufficiently far away from the crowd, she stopped, refusing to go any further. “Wait,” she told Maya and Esther, bending down to pick up a small pebble lying on the ground.

“What are you doing?” Esther hissed. “You just drew a lot of attention to yourself!”

“Just wait, please.” This was too important to Gala. Throwing the pebble in the air, she focused on it, trying to replicate her actions from before. Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall, she mentally chanted, staring at the pebble.

The little rock didn’t react in any way, falling to the ground in a completely normal fashion.

“What are you doing?” Maya was watching her actions with disbelief. “Are you throwing rocks?”

Gala shook her head, disappointed. Why didn’t it work for her again? She’d stopped that barrel, so why not this rock?

Esther approached her, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Come, let’s go home, child,” she said soothingly. “We’ll give you some more stew—”

“No, thanks, I don’t want any stew right now,” Gala said, stepping away. “I’m sorry I drew attention to myself, but I don’t regret that the little girl is unharmed.”

“Of course.” Maya glared at Esther. “You did the right thing. I have no idea how you did it, but it was the right thing to do.”

Gala smiled, relieved that she hadn’t messed up too much. Looking back toward the stalls, she noticed the music again, a lively melody playing in the distance. It called to her, tempting her with the promise of beauty and new sensations. “I’m not ready to go home yet,” she told Esther. “I want to see more of the fair.”

Now even Maya looked alarmed. “My lady . . . Gala, I don’t think you should go back to that fair now—”

“I want to dance,” Gala said, watching the figures in the distance. “I want to dance to that music.”

And without waiting for her chaperones’ reply, she hurried toward the music.

24

Augusta

“Blaise did what?” The expression on Ganir’s face as he sat behind his desk was priceless. If Augusta hadn’t been so distressed herself, she would’ve enjoyed Ganir’s reaction more. As it was, she was still shaking from the aftereffects of the magical battle—and from learning about the horror that Blaise had unleashed on Koldun.

“He created an unnatural being—a thing forged in the Spell Realm,” Augusta repeated, pacing around the room. “And then he attacked me when I tried to reason with him. He’s gone completely insane. It would’ve been far better if he had been an addict—”

Ganir frowned. “Wait, I’m still not clear on this. You’re saying he created an intelligence? How could he have done this?”

“I know exactly how he did it,” Augusta said, remembering the notes she’d found. “He simulated the structure of the human mind in the Spell Realm, and then developed it using Life Captures—the same Life Captures that you thought he was getting for himself.”

Ganir’s eyes widened. “He must’ve used some of my research on the human brain,” he breathed, his voice thick with excitement. “But he had to have gone leaps and bounds beyond what I had discovered in the process of creating the Life Capture Sphere—”

“He also had some help from Lenard’s writings,” Augusta told him, stopping in front of his desk. “He had a secret stash of them that he had never shared with anyone.”

“Lenard’s writings?” Ganir’s eyes lit up. “The boy has them? I heard a rumor once that Dasbraw had something like that, but that wily bastard always denied it.”

“Wasn’t he your good friend?” Augusta asked scornfully. “I thought the two of you were thick as thieves in your youth.”

“We were.” Ganir’s wrinkled face creased into something resembling a smile. “But Dasbraw always liked his secrets when it came to sorcery. I think he resented the fact that he started off as my apprentice . . .” For a moment, there was a faraway look in his eyes, but then he shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. “So you’re saying that Blaise has them? Those writings?”

“He doesn’t have them anymore,” Augusta said with poorly concealed satisfaction. “I had to use a fire spell when he tried to detain me.” She didn’t mention that, at this very moment, the precious writings were sitting inside her bag, safe and sound. In the Tower, it always paid to have some leverage.

“You burned Blaise’s house?” Ganir gaped at her, his mouth falling open in shock.

“I had no choice,” Augusta said sharply, annoyed at the Council Leader’s reaction. “You weren’t there. He refused to listen to reason. You don’t know what he’s become, how obsessed he is with that creature. He’s completely under its control now.” The expression on Blaise’s face as he blocked her way flashed through her mind. He had been determined to keep her from going to the Council, she was sure of that. Would he have killed her to protect that abomination? Once, Augusta would’ve thought such a thing impossible, but not anymore—not after she took that droplet and experienced the depth of his feelings for his horrifying creation.

Ganir looked taken aback. “That doesn’t sound like Blaise,” he said dubiously. “You said he tried to attack you?”

“He wanted to stop me from telling the Council,” Augusta said, a little less certain now. Blaise hadn’t attacked her, exactly, but she had felt threatened nonetheless. “He even tried to lie to me that the creature’s form was unstable, and it was no longer in existence—”

“So, are you going to tell the Council?” Ganir interrupted, staring at her.

“I should, shouldn’t I?” Augusta met the old sorcerer’s gaze. “They need to know about this thing. It’s dangerous, and it needs to be eliminated.”

“What do you think would happen to Blaise if they found out what he had done? They won’t just get rid of his creation and let him be.”

Augusta swallowed. Now that she was thinking more clearly, she realized that Ganir was right—that telling the Council would doom Blaise as well as the abomination he’d created. And she couldn’t let that happen, no matter how upset she was with him. The thought of Blaise dead, gone, was as unbearable as the idea of him being attracted to that monstrosity. “What would be the alternative?” she asked. The old man cared about Blaise, and she doubted he wanted to see him brutally punished any more than she did.

Ganir leaned back in his chair, his face assuming a thoughtful expression. “Well,” he said slowly, “first of all, there is a small chance he didn’t lie to you. If he was surprised that this being took the shape that it did, then he probably doesn’t understand it fully. It’s very possible that she—it—is indeed unstable and gone by now.”

Augusta snorted dismissively. “I wouldn’t hold my breath for that possibility—he was just desperate to save the creature. You think I don’t know after all those years together whether he’s lying or telling the truth?”

“All right,” Ganir conceded, “let’s suppose you’re right. I’m still not convinced, though, that this intelligence is as big of a threat as you think—”

Augusta gripped the edge of his desk. “You’re not convinced?” She could hear her voice rising as the old childhood nightmare reared its ugly head. “I took that droplet—I was in Blaise’s head—and he himself doesn’t know what this creature is capable of! It could have powers that are beyond anything we can imagine. What if it turns against us? What if it decides to wipe us all out?”

Ganir blinked. “What kind of powers does it have? What can it do?”

“I don’t know,” Augusta admitted, taking a step back and drawing in a shaky breath. “And neither does Blaise. That’s the problem. Just because it hasn’t done anything yet, doesn’t mean we’re safe. It’s only been in existence for a short time.”

The old man looked at her. “In that case, why don’t we just let it be? We have never seen anything like it before—an intelligence that was created, not born, a being from the Spell Realm—”

“No.” Augusta shook her head, everything inside her rejecting that idea. “We can’t take that kind of risk. The thing needs to be destroyed now, before it has a chance to destroy us. For all we know, it might be growing more powerful with every moment it’s in existence. This is our chance to contain this situation. If we don’t stop it now, we might never be able to do so in the future. Think about it, Ganir. What if it ends up creating more abominations like itself?”

The old sorcerer looked stunned. He obviously hadn’t considered that angle. Augusta could see him wavering, and she pressed her advantage. “Can you imagine how powerful an entire army of creatures from the Spell Realm might be?”

Ganir’s eyes widened, as though some new thought occurred to him. “You said it took a female shape, right?” he said slowly. “And you said Blaise is attracted to it?”

Augusta nodded, staring at him in horror. Was he implying what she thought he was implying? “Ganir, are you suggesting—?”

“That she and Blaise could reproduce?” He raised his eyebrows. “I have no idea, but I would be curious to find out . . .”

Augusta felt like throwing up. “Curious? About whether the monster could spawn?” Was the old man sick in the head?

The Council Leader appeared inexplicably amused. “If Blaise is attracted to it, it can’t be all that monstrous.”

Augusta squelched the urge to lash out at him with another fire spell. “You’re missing the point,” she said coldly instead. “This is not some sorcery experiment we’re talking about. Blaise created this thing in order to give magic to the commoners. His actions—and his intentions—are dangerous and treasonous. He needs to be stopped. If you’re not going to help me with this, I will have no choice but to go to the Council—and we both know how that would likely end for Blaise.” Augusta was mostly bluffing, but the old man didn’t need to know that.

Ganir’s eyes narrowed. “All right,” he said, staring at her. “We’ll contain the situation ourselves, as you suggested. Where is this creature now?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t find any traces of it in Blaise’s house.”

“In that case, I will send some of my men to look for her. They will be given instructions to report anything strange. If the creature is as powerful as you think, we are bound to learn about it eventually.” He paused for a moment. “And if we don’t hear about any unusual sorcery activity, then Blaise was either telling the truth or the being is not a threat, as far as I’m concerned.”

Augusta didn’t agree with that last bit, but now was not the time to argue. “And when it’s found?”

“Then I will have it captured and brought here, to the Tower, where we can interrogate it and determine if it truly represents a danger to us.”

This time she couldn’t contain herself. “Ganir, it needs to be destroyed—”

The Council Leader leaned forward. “And it will be, if it’s as dangerous as you say,” he said, his tone dangerously soft. “But before we do anything rash, we need to find out more about it. I will study it, and then, if need be, I will destroy it myself.”

We’ll see, Augusta thought, but held her tongue. Right now, they needed Ganir’s spies to locate the thing.

25

Gala

The dance floor was filled with people of all ages, laughing, chatting, and twirling to the music. Pausing on the edge of the floor, Gala took in the sight, her head spinning a little. Her foot tapped to the rhythmic notes, and she wanted to laugh too—at least until she felt mildly disoriented.

The sensation was just different enough that Gala realized she was experiencing something strange. Suddenly it hit her: the ale. This was what people referred to as being drunk.

Frowning, Gala considered the situation. According to what she’d read, drunk people did stupid things and did not act like themselves. She didn’t like the idea of that happening to her.

Closing her eyes, she focused on her body, consciously examining the effects of the drink. Instantly, she felt a reaction similar to the one that had been interfering with her Life Capture immersion earlier; it was as if some part of her body was working to dispose of all traces of alcohol. A few seconds later, she was completely clear-headed.

“May I ask you to dance?” a familiar male voice said, and Gala opened her eyes, surprised to find a man standing no more than two feet away from her.

It was the young man she’d seen at the ale merchant’s stall.

He beamed a bright smile at her, and Gala realized that he probably hadn’t seen the incident with the child. Otherwise, he might act cautiously around her, as some people now appeared to be doing.

Happy to be treated like a regular person, Gala gave him a smile in return. “Sure,” she said. “But you’ll have to teach me how to do it.”

“It will be my honor,” he said, offering her his hand. She took it cautiously. His palm was warm and a little damp, and Gala quickly decided that she didn’t enjoy his touch. Nonetheless, she saw no harm in dancing with him at a distance, as she saw other couples doing.

Walking onto the dance floor, Gala listened closer to the patterns in the music that was playing. She loved the structured aspect of the fast beat, the clever mathematical precision of the sounds. They pleased her ears tremendously.

Watching the other women out of the corner of her eye, Gala did her best to mimic their movements, trying to follow the rhythm of the tune.

“You’re a natural,” the young man said, and there was a note of admiration in his voice. “I don’t think you need any instruction from me.” He was moving his body to the music, but it didn’t seem like he was hearing the same melody as Gala because his version of dancing was much clumsier, almost awkward.

The melody changed, became quicker, and Gala could feel the corresponding increase in her heart rate. “Who wrote this beautiful music?” she asked, marveling that she could be so moved by simple sound.

The young man grinned at her. “It was Master Blaise, of course,” he said. “He’s a prolific composer. You haven’t heard his music before?”

Gala shook her head, her heart beating even faster at the mention of Blaise. She wanted him here with her, instead of this man whom she didn’t like very much. The fact that Blaise could make her feel things without even being there was amazing. Now that she knew he’d composed this melody, she was surprised she hadn’t realized it herself. Writing music likely required the same mathematically inclined mind that would be good at sorcery. Of course, there had to be more to such genius than that, and she doubted that every sorcerer was capable of creating such beauty. In a way, she and this music were alike, both being Blaise’s creations.

While she was pondering this matter, the man she was dancing with stepped closer to her. “What is your name?” he asked, leaning toward her. She could smell ale on his breath and a hint of something that reminded her of Esther’s stew.

“I am Gala,” she told him, moving away just a little.

He gave her a wide smile. “Very nice to meet you, Gala. I am Colin.”

Gala kept following the dancers’ movements, getting better and better with every step. In the meantime, her dancing partner kept fumbling and missing steps. It didn’t matter to her, though; she still found dancing to be a lot of fun. “You’re amazing at this,” Colin exclaimed when she executed a particularly complex move without missing a beat, and she grinned, pleased at the praise.

The song ended.

“Can I have the next dance?” Colin asked.

Gala nodded her head in agreement. The song that was starting next was even nicer than the first, slower and more melodious. However, before she could start moving to the music, her dancing partner stepped closer to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the other dancers doing the same, the men coming up to the women and putting their hands on the women’s sides and shoulders.

Gala frowned, taking a small step back. She didn’t want Colin that close to her. Something about this felt extremely wrong. There was only one person whose hands she wanted on her body, and he was back in Turingrad. “I changed my mind,” she told Colin politely, backing away further.

“Oh, come on, it’s just a dance,” he said, smiling and reaching for her. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, and she could feel the moist heat emanating from his skin. It made her stomach turn.

“Get your hand off me,” Gala ordered, tugging futilely at her wrist. He was physically stronger than her, and she was starting to feel anxious at the dark excitement visible in his eyes.

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that . . .” He was still smiling, but the expression didn’t seem the least bit friendly anymore.

“Let go,” she said a bit louder, and saw some people look their way. Her heart was pounding like it was about to jump out of her chest, and she felt like her skin was crawling from his touch.

“Don’t be such a grouch,” he muttered, pulling her closer. “It’s just a dance—”

At his refusal to let go, the volatile brew of emotions inside Gala seemed to explode, her vision blurring for a second. It was as though something inside her lashed out at Colin, and she could see him stumbling back with a look of shock on his face. A vile smell began to permeate the room, and Colin’s face twisted with something resembling shame and fear.

Her wrist finally free, Gala felt an overwhelming urge to not be there. And as Colin took a confused step toward her, she found herself standing just outside the dance floor, behind Maya and Esther.

“We should go,” she said, still feeling sick from the encounter—and shaking from the knowledge that she’d inadvertently done sorcery again, teleporting herself in full sight of all the dancers.

Esther turned toward her, looking startled. “Where did you come from? You were just there, dancing with that lad—”

“I want to leave,” Gala told her, rubbing her wrist where she could still feel the disgusting sensation of Colin’s touch. “I didn’t want to get close to him, but he grabbed me—”

“He grabbed you?” Maya gasped. “Why, that bastard . . . You should’ve kicked him in the nuts!”

“It looks like she did something to him,” Esther said, staring at the dance floor with a worried frown.

Casting a quick glance in that direction, Gala saw Colin walking off with a strange gait. “Let’s go,” she said, tugging at Esther’s sleeve. “I want to leave. He might be coming this way.” She felt unsettled and disturbed, and she wanted to get away from this place as quickly as possible.

“Of course,” Maya said, throwing a glare at the young man. “Let’s go home, so you can get some rest.”

Gala nodded, wanting nothing more than to experience the sleeping activity again. From what she’d felt before, it was not unlike some of the experiences she’d gone through in the Spell Realm.

26

Barson

Hearing a knock, Barson got up from the chair where he was reading and went to open the door. It was one of the rare times when he got to relax in his quarters, and he was not happy about the interruption.

His mood didn’t improve when he saw Larn standing outside. The expression on his future brother-in-law’s face was rather peculiar.

“Come inside,” Barson said curtly. He could already tell that something was amiss.

Larn stepped into Barson’s room and closed the door behind him.

“Well?” Barson prodded when Larn didn’t seem inclined to speak. “What did you learn?”

“So far, Ganir has not left the Tower,” Larn said. “He’s been mostly in his office, and there have been a number of people going in and out.”

“That’s not really news.” Barson frowned at his best friend. “It’s always that way with the old man.”

“Well, yes,” Larn said, his tone uncharacteristically hesitant. “But one of his visitors this afternoon was, um, Augusta.”

Again? Barson could feel his frown deepening. Why would she see Ganir twice in one day? He knew there was no love lost between them.

“There’s one more thing.” Larn looked increasingly uncomfortable.

“What is it?”

“You won’t like this one . . .”

“Just spit it out,” Barson said, his eyes narrowing. “What is it?”

Larn swallowed. “Remember, I’m just the messenger—”

Barson took a step toward him. “Just say it,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. It had to be something bad if his friend was so afraid to tell him.

“As you requested, I asked a few of our men to keep an eye on Augusta today, after her first meeting with Ganir,” Larn said slowly, “and as it so happened, a couple of them were at the market when her chaise landed there.”

“And?”

“And they were able to follow her when she took off again. She only flew a few blocks and then landed in front of a house.”

“What house?” As far as Barson knew, there were very few houses located so close to the center of Turingrad. It was a highly desirable location, and every house in that area was more like a mansion, owned by the most powerful sorcerer families. One sorcerer in particular came to mind—

“It belongs to Blaise, the man she was supposed to marry,” Larn said, confirming Barson’s hunch. “She landed in front of it and went inside.”

“I see,” Barson said calmly. His insides were boiling, but he didn’t let anything show on his face. “Anything else?”

“No.” Larn looked relieved at Barson’s lack of reaction. “The men couldn’t stay there for long; they had guard duty at the Tower and were only at the Market to pick up a few things. However, I asked one of our new friends to keep an eye on Blaise, just in case.”

Barson nodded, still keeping his expression impassive. “You did well,” he said evenly. “Thank you for that.”

“Of course.” Larn turned to walk out, then looked back at Barson. “Should they continue to follow her as well?”

“Yes,” Barson said quietly. “They should.”

His control lasted long enough for Larn to exit the room. As soon as the door closed behind him, Barson headed to the corner where a sand-filled potato sack was hanging from the ceiling. His hands clenched into massive fists, red-hot jealousy filling every inch of his body. Unable to contain himself any longer, he lashed out, punching the bag over and over again, until his knuckles were sore and sweat ran down his back. Pausing, he ripped off his tunic, and then continued, venting his rage with furious blows.

* * *

A light jasmine scent reached Barson’s nostrils, bringing him out of his mindless state. The bag in front of him was slowly deflating, the sand trickling out through a tear made by one particularly hard strike.

Turning, he saw Augusta sitting on his bed and watching him. She must’ve just entered his room.

“Augusta, what a pleasant surprise.” He forced himself to smile despite the anger still flowing through his veins.

She smiled back, but the expression on her face was strangely distracted. Was she thinking of him, that sorcerer bastard she had been engaged to? Barson drew in a calming breath, reminding himself to tread lightly. Augusta was fiercely independent, and she wouldn’t take kindly to being spied upon or questioned like an errant child.

Oblivious to his dark mood, she was looking around the room now, studying it like she was seeing it for the first time. “Some light reading before exercise?” she asked, gesturing toward the book he’d left lying on the chair.

“Yes,” Barson managed to answer evenly. “I found a new gem in the library archives. It’s about the military exploits of King Rolun, the ancient conqueror who united Koldun.” He was glad for the small talk, as it was enabling him to push aside his jealous fury and think. The fact that Augusta was in his room chatting about books was a good sign. If she had gotten back with Blaise, he doubted she would come here so casually. She didn’t look uncomfortable or guilty, either. Barson considered himself a good judge of people, and he couldn’t feel any duplicitous vibes coming from her. She was distracted, yes, but it was more like she had a lot on her mind.

As though to confirm his thoughts, she turned toward him with a warm smile. “You like those old stories, don’t you? I never pegged you for a scholar before.”

“I like learning about old military tactics,” Barson said, watching her closely. He still couldn’t see any sign of guilt or regret on her face. She was either an amazing actress or her visit to her former lover had been purely platonic.

Augusta’s smile broadened. “Did you know that King Rolun’s blood flows through my veins?” she asked. “Most of the old nobility is descended from him.”

“No,” Barson lied. “I didn’t know that.” Rolun’s blood flowed through his veins, too—not that anyone cared about it these days. Barson had known about Augusta’s lineage from the very beginning; she was one of the few sorcerers whose family was of noble origin, and he could see traces of her heritage in her high cheekbones and regal posture. It was one of the reasons he had been so attracted to her in the first place.

“You’re descended from him, too, aren’t you?” Augusta said, surprising him. “Wasn’t your mother from the Solitin family?”

Barson stared at Augusta, wondering how she had known that. It wasn’t a big secret, but he hadn’t realized she was sufficiently interested in him to study his background. “Yes,” he said, watching her reaction. “That’s right. Back in the day, we would have been a perfect match.”

Her eyes gleamed brighter. “Indeed, oh my noble lord,” she murmured, “we would have been an excellent match . . .” And holding his gaze, she gave him a slow, bewitching smile.

Barson’s blood heated up again, but this time for a different reason. He didn’t know what took place during her visit to Blaise, but it didn’t seem like the sorcerer had satisfied her needs.

It would be Barson’s pleasure to fix that promptly.

Before he had a chance to do anything, however, Augusta rose gracefully to her feet. “I had a horrible day,” she said softly, untying her shiny brown hair and letting it fall to her waist. “I think I may require your unique skills, warrior.”

He didn’t have to be asked twice. Taking a few steps toward her, Barson closed his fist around the bodice of her red dress, pulling her toward him. The fragile silk ripped in his grasp, but neither one of them noticed as Barson channeled the remnants of his fury into a deep, hungry kiss.

27

Blaise

Blaise stared at the devastation in his study in shock and disbelief, his heart still pounding from his encounter with Augusta. She had found out about Gala—she, who had always been against anything she couldn’t easily comprehend, against anything that could upset her way of life. In hindsight, he shouldn’t have been surprised that Augusta had voted for Louie’s punishment. Like the rest of the Council, she had felt threatened by his brother’s actions—and there was no doubt that today she had been terrified by the very idea of Gala.

The floor and walls were black with soot, and Blaise’s desk was nothing more than a pile of ashes, testifying to Augusta’s wrath. But the worst thing about this was not what she had done to his study—it was what he feared she would do to Gala. If the Council believed Augusta’s story, they would be looking for Gala in a matter of hours.

Blaise felt a strong urge to hit something—preferably himself, for letting Gala go off on her own. He should’ve never left her alone at the village, no matter how much she wanted to see the world as an ordinary person. Now she was there unprotected, with only two old women for company.

He needed to be there with her.

Casting a glance around the study, Blaise saw that his Interpreter Stone had survived Augusta’s fire. Picking up the still-warm rock, he rushed downstairs to his archive room, where he kept most of his pre-written spell cards. It was lucky that Augusta had only destroyed his most recent work and the bulk of what he needed was still available.

Taking as many potentially useful spell components as he could, Blaise left the house and got on his chaise. His mind was filled with one thought: getting to Gala before it was too late. Even now Augusta could be talking to the Council, convincing them of the ridiculous idea that Gala was dangerous, and there was no time to waste.

He was flying for a half hour when he noticed something strange behind him. In the far distance, there was a small dot on the horizon—almost like a bird, except it was too large to be one. Blaise cursed under his breath. Was he being followed?

There was only one way to tell. Taking out a few spell cards, he prepared an eyesight-enhancing spell and fed the cards into the Interpreter Stone. When his vision cleared, everything was sharper; it was as though he was an eagle, able to spot even a tiny insect crawling on the ground far away. Turning his head, Blaise peered into the distance.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

There was another chaise flying behind him—a sure sign that he was being pursued by another sorcerer, since no one else could fly these things. However, it wasn’t Augusta, as he’d initially suspected. This particular chaise was grey, and the man sitting in it was someone Blaise didn’t recognize, which meant he couldn’t have been a sorcerer of note. Not that the man’s aptitude for sorcery mattered in this case; if he could fly, then he could also likely handle a Contact spell—and the Council might even now be aware of where Blaise was heading.

Looking away, Blaise stared straight ahead, his mind furiously searching for a solution. He wanted to protect Gala, not lead the Council straight to her. He couldn’t let them follow him to the village—which meant he had to make them think this trip was about something else.

Subtly adjusting his flight path, Blaise directed his chaise toward a famous carpentry shop located on the outskirts of Turingrad. Since a lot of his furniture got destroyed, a new desk and some other items might actually be useful. And if Augusta had told the Council about her fire spell, then ordering new furnishings should hopefully seem like a normal thing for Blaise to do.

* * *

Getting home after the carpentry store, Blaise began to pace, trying to think of what to do next. In a way, it was good that Gala was away from here; the first place the Council would look for her would be his house. Unfortunately, the second place would be the villages in his territory—exactly where she was right now.

The crazy idea of teleporting himself to the village came to mind, but he immediately dismissed it. Writing a spell as complex as that would take a long time, and would be extremely dangerous. If he miscalculated even a tiny bit, he could easily end up materializing in the ground or inside a tree—and then Gala would be left without anyone to protect her.

No, there had to be something else he could do.

To start off, Blaise decided, he needed to warn her and her guardians of the potential danger. They had to leave the village and go some place where the Council would not think to look for them, while he figured out a way to join them there.

Going to the archive room, he pulled out his cards and began working on a Contact spell—a way to send a mental message to someone far away. It was a fairly complicated spell, one that would have been a pain to do verbally. Now, however, with written spell-casting, it should only take him a few minutes to pen a message and the details of the person he wanted to contact.

Sitting down at an old desk, he composed a message to Esther:

“Esther, do not be alarmed. This is Blaise and I am using the Contact spell I told you about once. To prove my identity, as we agreed on that occasion, I am mentioning the time you caught me spying on my father. Now listen to me carefully. I have reason to fear for Gala’s safety. She is in danger from the Council, and I need your help. Please take her to Kelvin’s territory. I know about his reputation, but that’s precisely why Neumanngrad might be the last place they would expect her to be. Please use whatever money you need—I will pay for everything. Stay at the inn on the southwest side of Neumanngrad when you get there, and try to be as inconspicuous as possible. I will hopefully join you soon.”

The next thing he did was compose a message to Gala. He wasn’t sure if the Contact spell would work with her, but he still intended to try. His message to her was shorter:

“Gala, this is Blaise. I am thinking of you. Please listen to Esther when she asks you to go to a different area and try to be discreet.

Yours, Blaise.”

Thus happy with both notes, Blaise fed the cards into the Interpreter Stone. Combining spells like this was efficient, since some of the code for both messages would be shared.

Getting up, he was about to leave the room when he felt something unusual—something he hadn’t experienced in two years.

It was the mildly invasive sensation of another sorcerer sending him a Contact spell.

Surprised, Blaise nonetheless relaxed and let the message come to him, curious to learn who could be reaching out to him.

To his shock, it was Gala.

“Blaise, it’s great to hear from you.” Like all Contact spells, her words came in the form of a voice in his head—a voice that was really his inner voice, but that somehow took on a different tone. “I can’t believe you are speaking in my mind. I miss you, and I hope to see you soon. I have so much I want to talk to you about.

Yours, Gala.”

Blaise listened to her message with awe. How had she managed to do this? When he saw her last, her magical abilities had been virtually nonexistent, and now she was able to do a complex bit of sorcery in less time than it would take to write a basic spell. It could only mean one thing: she was starting to do magic directly, as he’d hoped she would be able to do.

Excited, he sat down to compose a response to Gala. It took him several minutes to prepare the spell. He wrote:

“Gala, I’m so excited you’ve mastered this form of communication. I miss you. How is your time in the village so far? Did Esther explain to you about the trip to Neumanngrad?”

There was no response back. Disappointed, Blaise waited several minutes before admitting to himself that none was coming.

Getting up, he decided to occupy himself by putting his house to rights while he figured out what to do next.

He would not let Augusta and the Council wreck his life again, not if he could help it.

28

Gala

Gala was almost back at Esther and Maya’s house when she heard a strange voice in her head. It was as though she was speaking to herself in some strange way. As she listened, however, she realized it was a message from Blaise.

After she heard everything, she grinned in excitement. Blaise wanted her to travel and see more of the world. And the best part was that he was thinking of her! Filled with delight, Gala felt an overwhelming urge to talk to him, to reach out to him in the same way he had just contacted her. And suddenly, she felt herself responding, even though she didn’t understand how she was doing it.

“Blaise, it is great to hear from you,” she began, her excitement spilling out into the mental message.

To her disappointment, he didn’t respond right away. But she noticed Esther staring at her intently. “Did he get in touch with you too?” the older woman asked.

“If you mean Blaise, then yes,” Gala said, smiling.

“Good,” Esther said. “Then I hopefully don’t need to convince you that we must go.”

“Oh, you don’t have to convince me,” Gala told her earnestly. “I would love to see more of the world.”

And by the time Esther explained to them where they were going, Blaise came back to Gala with his response.

Smiling, she began to think of the answers to his questions, but whatever it was that helped her do this before was no longer there. She couldn’t seem to tap into the part of her mind that made mental communication so easy and effortless before. After several fruitless attempts, Gala gave up in frustration.

“Come, help us pack, child,” Esther said, leading Gala into the house. “We need to get going right away.”

* * *

The trip to Kelvin’s territory took a couple of days, with Gala enjoying every moment of their travels—unlike Esther and Maya, who grumbled about how uncomfortable it was to be stuck on a buggy for such a long time. The two women complained about roadside food (which Gala loved), the scenery (which Gala found most fascinating), the chill at night (which Gala found refreshing), and the heat of the sun during the day (which Gala found pleasant on her skin). Most of all, however, they complained about Gala’s boundless energy and enthusiasm for the simplest things—something they could not even begin to understand, much less relate to.

Unlike her first eventful day at the village, the trip passed without any further incidents. Maya and Esther did their best to keep Gala out of sight of the passersby, and Gala did her best to occupy herself with observing the world around her—and with surreptitious attempts to do magic.

To her great disappointment, she couldn’t replicate anything she’d done before. She couldn’t even get in touch with Blaise. He had contacted her a couple more times, saying how much he missed her, but she had been unable to respond—a form of muteness she found extremely unpleasant. The lack of control over her magical abilities drove her crazy, but there was nothing she could do about it now. She was hoping, however, that her creator would ultimately be able to teach her how to tap into that hidden part of herself. When she saw Blaise again, she was not about to let him out of her sight until she learned to do sorcery at will.

As they left Blaise’s territory and entered Kelvin’s, Gala began to notice a number of differences between the villages and towns belonging to the two sorcerers. The houses they passed now were smaller and shabbier, with signs of neglect everywhere, and the people were leaner and less friendly. Even the plants and animals seemed weaker and more weathered somehow.

When they rode by a large open field with sad-looking remnants of wheat, Gala asked Esther about the differences in their surroundings.

“Master Blaise has enhanced our crops,” Esther explained, “so that we wouldn’t suffer as much in this drought. He’s a great sorcerer, and he cares about helping his people—unlike Kelvin, who doesn’t give a rat’s ass.” That last bit was added in a tone of obvious disgust.

Gala frowned in confusion. “Why don’t all sorcerers do this for their people? Enhance their crops, I mean?”

Esther snorted.“Why not, indeed.”

“They just don’t care enough,” Maya said bitterly. “They’re so out of touch with their people, they might not even understand the concept of hunger. They probably think we can just subsist on spells and air, the way they do.”

“Also,” Esther said, “I don’t know much about sorcery, but I think Master Blaise came up with some very complicated spells to do this for us. I don’t know if every sorcerer could replicate them, even if they were inclined to try.”

“Couldn’t Blaise teach them?” Gala asked.

“He probably could, if those fools would listen to him.” Esther’s nostrils flared with anger. “But they’ve tarred him with the same brush as his brother, and he’s already on thin ice in the Tower. Enhancing crops could be potentially interpreted as giving magic to the people, and that’s the last thing the Council wants.”

“But that’s so unfair.” Gala looked at Esther and Maya in dismay. “People are hungry. They can die from that, right?”

Maya gave her a strange look. “Yes, people can definitely die from hunger—which is something all sorcerers need to realize.”

Gala blinked, taken aback. Was Maya lumping her in with the other sorcerers? It didn’t sound like she meant the word as a compliment, either.

Esther glared at Maya. “Stop it. You know the girl cares—she’s just been sheltered, that’s all.”

“More like born yesterday,” Maya muttered, and Esther purposefully stepped on her foot, eliciting an annoyed grunt from the other woman.

“In any case, child,” Esther said, addressing Gala this time, “Blaise has a plan when it comes to getting his crops to the other territories. He’s letting us trade the seeds in exchange for other necessities. He knows these seeds will take and will provide others with good crops just like our own, since the improvements he made are hereditary.”

Leaving the dying wheat field behind them, they finally reached the inn where Blaise told them to stay. Before they went in, Maya made Gala cover her head with a thick woolen shawl. “So we don’t get attacked by some amorous ruffians at night,” she explained. “The fewer people who know a pretty girl is staying here, the safer it’ll be for us.”

The brown inn building was small and rundown, just like the houses they’d passed on the way. It was difficult to believe it could house more than a dozen travelers. Their room upstairs was dirty, cramped, hot, and disgusting—at least according to Maya. According to Esther, they were also being robbed blind.

Gala didn’t care; she was just excited to be some place new. When they went downstairs for dinner, she asked the innkeeper about the local attractions, being careful to keep the shawl wrapped around her head.

“Oh, you’re lucky,” the burly man told her. “Later this week, we have games at the Coliseum. You’ve heard of our Coliseum, right?”

Gala nodded, not wanting to seem ignorant. In the last couple of days, she’d learned it was best not to ask strangers any questions that could be posed to Maya and Esther instead.

He gave a satisfied grunt. “That’s what I thought. If you want to do something today, the market should still be open.” His eyes went to Maya’s large bosom, and he added, “Be sure to keep your money in hard-to-reach places. Lots of thieves around these days.”

“Thanks,” Maya said caustically, turning away from the innkeeper’s roving gaze. Esther huffed in disdain, shooting him a deadly glare before grabbing Gala’s arm and towing her away.

As soon as they were out of the innkeeper’s earshot, Esther turned to her and said firmly, “No.”

“No way,” Maya added, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Gala stared at them in confusion. “But I didn’t ask the question yet—”

“Can we go to the Coliseum?” Esther said in a higher-pitched voice, mimicking Gala’s typically enthusiastic tones.

“Yes, can we, please?” Maya mocked, her imitation attempt even better than Esther’s.

Gala burst out laughing. She knew she should probably take offense, but she found the whole thing funny instead. The older women were watching her with stoic expressions on their faces, and she finally managed to stop laughing long enough to say, “Why don’t we talk about it tomorrow?”

“The answer is going to be the same tomorrow,” Esther said, giving Gala a narrow-eyed look.

Gala grinned at her, barely able to contain her excitement at the thought of the upcoming event. “Don’t worry about it, Esther—we’ll just wait and see. For now, let’s go to the market.”

And without waiting for their response, she walked out of the inn, going up the road to where she saw a cluster of buildings that typically signified a town center.

29

Blaise

Once his house was restored, Blaise found himself at loose ends, alternating between being furious with Augusta and worrying about Gala. By now, the Council undoubtedly knew about Gala, and they were probably taking measures to find her. Hopefully, Kelvin’s territory would be the last place they would look—assuming Gala did as he asked and kept a low profile.

Still, this was not a sustainable situation. Blaise had to do something to protect her in a more permanent way, and he had to do it soon, before those scared fools mobilized fully. The fact that Gala was not answering his Contact messages worried him a bit, although he guessed that she was not fully in control of her magical abilities yet—something he found mildly reassuring, since it minimized her chances of exposing herself to the world. Nonetheless, he missed her with an intensity he found deeply unsettling. It was as if a bright light had left his life when he dropped her off at the village.

A persistent idea kept nagging at the back of his mind—that of mastering the route to the Spell Realm. It was possible he was obsessing about it as a way to keep his thoughts occupied, he admitted to himself. In a way, that’s what he had done after Louie’s death: he’d focused on his work—on creating the intelligent object that turned out to be Gala—in order to keep himself busy. At the same time, however, he suspected that understanding the Spell Realm better could lead to unimaginable advances in sorcery, potentially enabling him to become powerful enough to protect Gala from the entire Council.

Tired of thinking about it, he began planning. Although Augusta had burned many of his notes, Blaise didn’t feel particularly discouraged. He had frequently used Life Captures over the past year to record many of his particularly useful experiments, and he still had a lot of those droplets. More importantly, however, it seemed as if his mind had been working on the problem of getting to the Spell Realm ever since Gala had first described it to him, and he had some ideas he wanted to try out.

It was time for action.

He decided to start with a small, inanimate object. If he succeeded in sending that to the Spell Realm and having it come back, it would be an important step toward sending an actual person there.

Thus motivated, Blaise headed to his study, eager to take on a new challenge.

* * *

The spells were finally ready.

Blaise had chosen a needle as the object he would send to the Spell Realm. The spell would examine the needle at its deepest level and break it into its most elemental parts. That would destroy the physical needle, causing it to disappear, but those parts would become information, a message that would go to the Spell Realm and come back to change something in the Physical Realm, like all spells did. In this particular case, however, if Blaise succeeded, the manifestation in the Physical Realm should be identical to the original object.

Cognizant of the danger of new, untested spells and not wishing to suffer his mother’s fate, Blaise took precautions. He used the same spell that had protected him during Augusta’s attack—the spell that wrapped him in a shimmering bubble. The protection it granted would not last long, but it should be long enough to shield him from whatever havoc the experiment might cause.

Taking a slow, calming breath, he loaded the cards into his Interpreter Stone and watched the needle disappear, as it was supposed to.

Then he waited.

At first nothing happened. He could see the familiar shimmer of the protection spell, but there was no sign of the needle coming back. Frustrated, Blaise tried to figure out if he had made a mistake. The coming-back part of the spell was the trickiest. He assumed the needle would come back to its original location, but the spot remained empty.

All of a sudden, he heard a loud noise downstairs. It seemed to be coming from the storage room.

Blaise ran there, nearly tripping on the stairs in excitement.

And when he entered the room, he froze, staring at the sight in front of him in disbelief.

The needle had come back . . . in a way. It had returned not to the spot where it lay in his lab, but to the box where he had kept it originally. This return location actually made some sense, unlike the object he was staring at.

Among the shattered pieces of the box and scattered needles on the floor, he saw what he assumed was the original needle—except that now it was more like a sword. A strange, thick sword made of some kind of crystalline material that emitted a faint green glow. Instead of a hilt, this particular sword had a hole at the top.

Blaise carefully picked up the thing that used to be the needle, putting his hand through the hole at the top. It was actually comfortable to hold that way. Despite its size, the sword-like object was impossibly light, no heavier than the original needle. Lifting it, Blaise tried swinging it around the room and discovered that it was both sharp and strong. He was able to cut through his old sofa with ridiculous ease, and the sword-needle didn’t break when he banged it on the stone floor.

Both amused and discouraged, Blaise decided to place the needle as a decoration in his hall downstairs. It would work well with the new furniture he had gotten after the fire, as well as some other trinkets he had on display there.

Heading back to his study, Blaise wondered what he had actually learned from this. On the one hand, he’d been able to do something to the needle—something that had obviously involved the Spell Realm. However, the needle had not come back as the same object. It had changed quite drastically. Would the same thing happen if a person went there? Would the person come back as some kind of a monstrosity, assuming he even survived the spell?

It seemed obvious Blaise had made an error in the spell. He had more work to do.

30

Augusta

“Augusta, this is Colin. He is a blacksmith’s apprentice from Blaise’s territory,” Ganir told her, gesturing toward the young man standing in the middle of the room. The man was a peasant; it was obvious both from his appearance and from the deferential way he held himself.

Augusta raised her eyebrows in surprise. What was this commoner doing in Ganir’s chambers? When the Council Leader summoned her this morning, she had gone eagerly, knowing he likely had news about Blaise’s creation.

“Tell her what you told me,” said Ganir to the young man. As usual, the Council Leader was sitting behind his desk, observing everything with his sharp gaze.

“I was dancing with her, as I told his lordship,” the man said obediently, staring at Augusta with awe and admiration. “Then she just disappeared.”

“The ‘she’ in question sounds like the one we’re looking for,” Ganir told Augusta. “Physically, she’s just as you described—blond, blue-eyed, and quite beautiful. Isn’t that right, Colin?”

The peasant nodded. “Oh yes, quite beautiful.” There was something about how he said the last word that rubbed Augusta the wrong way—aside from the fact that he apparently lusted after the creature.

Augusta’s eyes narrowed. As she had suspected, Blaise had lied about the creature being unstable in the Physical Realm. “Explain what you meant by ‘disappeared’,” she ordered, looking at the commoner.

“One moment she was backing away,” the man said uncertainly, as though embarrassed about something, “then she made me feel awful, and then she was not standing where she was.” His face flushed unbecomingly.

“Tell Augusta exactly what happened,” Ganir commanded, a slightly cruel smile appearing on his face.

“She didn’t want to dance with me, and I was trying to get close to her,” Colin admitted, his face reddening further.

“And what happened next?” Ganir prompted. “If I am forced to repeat this question one more time, you might visit the dungeon of this Tower.”

The peasant paled at the threat. “I soiled myself, my lady,” he admitted, looking like he wanted to disappear through the floor. “She made me feel scared and confused at the same time, and all my muscles involuntarily relaxed. And she just vanished, like she wasn’t even there.”

Augusta wrinkled her nose in disgust. Peasants.

“You are free to go, Colin,” Ganir said, finally taking pity on the man. “When you come out, send in the clown.”

Still visibly embarrassed, the peasant hurried out of the room.

“So it is definitely a she,” Ganir said thoughtfully once they were alone again.

“It is an it.” Augusta didn’t like where Ganir was going with this. “We already knew that it had assumed a feminine shape.”

“It’s one thing to have a feminine shape,” the old sorcerer said, a curious expression appearing on his face, “but it’s quite different when that shape is one that young men want to dance with. And it’s yet another thing altogether when the shape starts acting like a girl and refusing some idiot’s attentions.”

Augusta gave him a sharp look. What he was talking about was the very thing that made her so uneasy. Blaise’s horrible creation was acting human, like it was one of them. “That’s partially what makes this thing so dangerous,” she told Ganir. “It manipulates people with its appearance, and they don’t see it for the horror that it is.” The whole situation was sickening, as far as Augusta was concerned.

The Council Leader shrugged. “Perhaps. The fact that she’s so beautiful does make her more noticeable—and easier to track. All my men had to do was ask about a pretty blond who may or may not have done some strange things.”

“That is a plus,” Augusta agreed, though her stomach clenched with disgust and something resembling jealousy. She hated the idea of this creature out there, seducing other men like she had already seduced Blaise.

“Indeed.” Ganir smiled, looking inexplicably amused.

Augusta thought back to what the young man just told them, her eyebrows coming together in a slight frown. “So it sounds like the thing spontaneously teleported itself after making that peasant sick,” she said, puzzled. “He didn’t say anything about it using an Interperter Stone or doing any verbal spells.”

“Yes.” Ganir looked impressed. “It seems like she doesn’t need any of our tools to connect to the Spell Realm. It makes sense, given her origins.”

At that moment, there was a knock on the door, and another man came in. This one was a bit older, with tired-looking features and thin, greying hair.

“My lord, you summoned me?” His voice shook slightly. It was clear the commoner was terrified to be at the Tower.

“Tell her what happened, clown,” said Ganir, gesturing toward Augusta.

Augusta gave the visitor a small, encouraging smile. The man looked far too frightened; the last thing they needed was for another peasant to soil himself.

Her ploy worked; the man visibly relaxed. “I was at the fair, entertaining children and doing tricks for them,” he began, and Augusta realized that the man was quite literally a clown. “A little girl got pushed into a stack of barrels at the ale merchant’s stall next to mine. A barrel started falling on her, and a beautiful sorceress saved the girl by stopping the barrel. She made it float in mid-air, my lady . . .” His tone was almost reverent.

Augusta got chills down her back. The thing could levitate objects, as well as teleport on a whim. Granted, most sorcerers could do a relatively simple verbal spell and make a barrel float, but no one would’ve been able to do it fast enough to save the child from the falling object.

“Did she utter any words?” she asked, staring at the clown. “Was there anything in her hands?”

“No.” The man shook his head. “I don’t think she uttered a single word, and I didn’t see her holding anything. It all happened so fast.”

“Was she alone?” Augusta asked.

“There were two older women with her.”

“Please describe them for me,” Augusta requested, although she was beginning to guess at their identities.

“It is Maya and Esther, as you would suspect,” Ganir interrupted. Looking at the man, he waved toward the door. “You can go now, clown.”

“Are you sure it’s those old crones?” Augusta asked when the man left the room. She remembered them well. The two old women had constantly meddled in her former fiancé’s life, showing up at his house unannounced and generally fussing over him. Blaise tolerated their attentions with good humor, but Augusta had found them annoying.

“Quite sure,” Ganir confirmed. “I had both witnesses use a Life Capture and recall the event.”

“So what’s next?” Augusta asked, taking a few steps toward his desk. “We now know where the creature is, right?”

“No, actually, we don’t.” Ganir leaned forward, looking at her intently. “Apparently, Esther and Maya’s house is abandoned. No one close to them was able to say where the women went. It seems like we’ll have to wait longer to locate the creature—or we could try reasoning with Blaise again.”

Augusta frowned. Talking to Blaise again sounded like a terrible idea to her. She certainly wasn’t about to confront him by herself. “Do you think he would talk to you?” she asked doubtfully.

Ganir considered that for a moment. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “If I thought he’d talk to me, I would not have gotten you involved in this. But it might be worth a try at this point.”

“Didn’t he vow to kill you on sight?” Augusta asked, recalling Blaise’s fury with the man he’d once regarded as a second father.

“He did indeed.” Ganir’s face darkened with something resembling sorrow. “But we have to get through to him somehow, to contain the situation before the rest of the Council hears about it.”

“Yes.” Augusta could see Ganir’s point. “Something must be done and swiftly, before this creature has a chance to wreak further havoc.”

The Council Leader nodded, but there was a thoughtful expression on his face. “Have you noticed that she saved a child?” he said slowly, cocking his head to the side. “This creation of Blaise’s might not be as monstrous as you imagine.”

“What?” Augusta stared at him in disbelief. “No. That doesn’t mean anything. One act of compassion—if that’s what it was—does not eliminate the threat that this thing poses. You know that as well as I do.”

“Actually, I’m not sure I agree,” Ganir said quietly. “I think we need to study her before we make any rash decisions.”

“Are you saying you no longer wish to destroy it?”

“I never said we would destroy it. I need to know more about her before I do something so irrevocable.”

“You just want to use it,” Augusta said incredulously, the truth beginning to dawn on her. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? You just want to use the creature to gain more power—”

Ganir’s expression hardened, his eyes flashing with anger. “You’re accusing me of grabbing for power? I’m already the head of the Council. Why don’t you take a closer look at your own affairs instead?”

Confused, Augusta took a step back. She had no idea what the old man was talking about.

“Leave me now,” he said, gesturing dismissively toward the door. “I will send word when I hear more.”

31

Gala

The market was disappointing. Gala had been expecting something along the lines of the fair she’d seen the other day, but this was nothing like that. There were fewer products on display, and even the trinkets and jewelry seemed drab and of worse quality than what she’d seen in Blaise’s village. There were also fewer people actually buying the goods; the majority seemed to be simply browsing, often looking at the products with desperate longing on their emaciated faces. Still, Gala was glad to be out of the inn. Yanking off the shawl, she tied it around her waist, enjoying the cooling breeze on her hair.

As they ventured deeper into the market, Gala saw a number of stalls with foodstuffs, including a variety of breads, cheeses, and dried fruit. It was a more popular area of the market; most villagers seemed to be gathered in this section. Esther bought each of them a pastry filled with something rich and sweet, and Gala was greedily consuming the delicious treat when she heard some yelling behind her.

The noise came from the direction of one of the bread stalls. Curious, Gala turned to see what was going on and saw a figure running through the stalls. There were shouts from the merchant, and a tall man dressed in black started chasing after the runner.

Remembering the trial she’d seen at Blaise’s village, Gala wondered if the running person was a thief. She could hear the merchant screaming that he’d been robbed, and she took a few steps in the direction where the figure had been heading. The other market visitors seemed to have the same idea, and Gala quickly found herself swept up by the crowd, everyone pushing and shoving to get to whatever spectacle seemed to be ahead. Casting a glance behind her, Gala saw Esther and Maya hurrying after the crowd with anxious looks on their faces.

Desperate to figure out what was going on, Gala focused on her sense of hearing, and suddenly she could filter out extraneous noise. Now she could hear the sounds of the person running in the distance, as well as the heavier footsteps chasing after it.

“No! Please, let me go!” The high-pitched scream was undoubtedly feminine, and Gala realized that the runner was a young woman—a young woman who had just gotten caught, judging by her hysterical pleas.

As the crowd carried her forward, Gala could hear a harsh male voice speaking of justice, and she managed to break free, now running toward the middle of the market where the screams were coming from.

There were already spectators gathered there, surrounding a small figure huddling on the ground. The black-garbed man was standing over her, holding her arm in an inescapable grip. Looking around, Gala could see fear and pity reflected on many of the faces, as well as gleeful anticipation on a few. She didn’t know what was about to happen, but some kind of intuition gave her a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She wished Esther and Maya were here, so she could ask them about this, but they were far behind her at this point.

Staring at the girl, she noticed that she was thin—far thinner than Gala herself—and that her clothing was in rags. Her long brown hair was tangled, and the expression on her pale face was that of sheer terror.

Another man, this one dressed in richer, more elaborate clothing, pushed his way through the crowd, joining the young woman and her captor. There was a sword in a leather scabbard hanging on his left hip and a cruel smile playing on his lips. “You are going to be honored, thief,” he said, addressing the frightened girl. “I am Davish, the overseer of these lands.”

The thief visibly flinched, the expression on her face changing to that of utter despair. It was as if she had given up all hope, Gala thought, transfixed by the scene in front of her.

“You are being accused of stealing,” the overseer continued. “Do you know the punishment for thievery?”

The young woman nodded, tears running down her face. “My lord, please spare my life . . . I took a loaf of bread to feed my two remaining children. My youngest already passed away from starvation. Please, my lord, don’t do this—”

The overseer looked amused. “You are in luck,” he said. “In honor of the upcoming games at the Coliseum, I am in a good mood and inclined to be merciful.”

Gala exhaled, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She was glad the woman would be spared. Had they been seriously considering killing her for stealing a loaf of bread? The girl had only done it to save the lives of her children, and it seemed incredibly cruel to punish her for that.

The thief sobbed with relief. “I am forever in your debt, my lord—”

“Guard, take her to the execution stone.” The overseer issued the order to the black-clothed man. Looking up at the crowd, he announced, “Because I am merciful, her life will be spared. As punishment, she will simply lose her right hand, so she remembers never to steal again.”

And before Gala could register the full meaning of the man’s words, the guard took action. Holding the girl by her arm, he dragged her, kicking and screaming, toward a slab in the center of the square. Ignoring her struggles, he pressed her forearm against the stone surface, causing her to release the small loaf of bread that she had been clutching in her fist. The evidence of her crime fell to the ground, rolling in the dirt.

Gala instinctively started forward, trying to get through the crowd, but the people around her were packed so tightly that she could hardly move. Her anxiety spiking, Gala squeezed her eyes shut and tried to recall how she had teleported that one time. Nothing came to mind; she simply couldn’t make it work.

Opening her eyes, she stared in helpless horror at the scene unfolding in front of her.

The girl was still screaming, her voice hoarse with terror, and Gala could see Davish unsheathing his sword and approaching the girl.

No, Gala thought in desperation, this could not be happening.

Making one last heroic attempt, she started shoving her way through the crowd, elbowing and kicking to make her way to the front. People were pushing back at her, yelling, but she didn’t care. She needed to get to this girl before it was too late. Up ahead, Davish lifted the sword into the air.

Gala doubled her efforts, heedless of any injury to herself.

The sword swung down with deadly force, and the thief’s agonized scream pierced the air. Bright red blood sprayed everywhere, covering the stone platform and splattering on the overseer’s elaborate clothing. The guard released his hold on the girl’s arm, taking a step back.

Stunned, Gala saw the girl’s severed hand fall to the ground next to the bread—and felt something inside her snap again.

“No!” Every bit of her outrage poured out of Gala in an ear-splitting shout. All around her, the crowd seemed to stumble, most spectators falling to their knees and clutching their heads. All of a sudden, Gala found herself free to move, and she ran toward the bloody slab of rock where the girl was huddled, moaning and crying.

It seemed like there was blood everywhere, the metallic scent permeating the air. How could there be so much blood? Then Gala saw that the girl was not the only one bleeding. Everyone around them was holding their ears, trying to contain the red liquid trickling out.

And Gala realized with sick horror it was her fault—that her shout had somehow caused this awful occurrence.

Dazed, she approached the thief, who was practically bathing in blood at this point and clutching desperately at her stump of a wrist. Driven by some unknown instinct, Gala put her arms around the girl, hugging her gently. And in that moment, it was as though their bodies became one.

With every fiber of her being, Gala reached out with love and kindness to the victim of this unspeakable injustice. She could feel warm energy slowly flowing from her body into the girl’s. Everything inside Gala was focused on one goal and one goal only—to undo the damage that the executioner had caused. She could feel the girl’s pain, and she took it into herself, freeing the young woman of that burden. The feeling was agonizing and illuminating at the same time; until then, Gala had had only a rudimentary, book-learned understanding of pain and suffering. Now, however, it was real to her, and she vowed silently to make it so that there would be less of it in the world.

What was happening now was being done by the part of Gala’s mind that she had no control over; she was vaguely aware of that. But it didn’t matter, because Gala could sense that it was working, that the girl’s pain was slowly dissolving and ebbing away. When there was no more pain left, Gala let go of the girl and stepped back.

The young woman stood there, her dirt-streaked face serene and joyful, showing no trace of pain or fear. The bloody stump of her arm was no longer gushing; instead, as Gala watched, the hand slowly re-grew itself, each bone, muscle, and tendon gradually lengthening and thickening. Soon, the fingers appeared, and the hand was as it had been before, slim and feminine—and very much alive.

When Gala looked back at the crowd, she saw that everybody was kneeling, the expressions on their faces strangely blissful. There was blood on their clothing, but nobody seemed to be bleeding or in pain anymore. She had done this too, Gala realized with relief. She had not only taken away the girl’s pain, but also that of others in the vicinity, undoing the harm she herself had inadvertently caused.

In the distance, she could see Esther and Maya approaching the edge of the crowd, but Gala knew she was not done yet. The guard and the overseer were next to the girl, kneeling in the same position as the rest of the crowd and rapturously staring at Gala. She came up to them, knowing what she had to do.

She started with the overseer, putting her hands on his temples. She needed to understand why he had done something so horrible. “How could you?” she thought, letting the question reverberate in her head, over and over, as she lost herself in what felt like a series of Life Captures.

He was a small child of rich parents—a child who looked nothing like his father, a child who wished daily that he had been born to a different family. The child relived the many cruelties he had suffered, the endless beatings and demeaning words. Time sped forward, and the child was a young man who acted more like his father with every passing day—a young man who needed to lash out at others to cope with the pain left inside. As the young man matured, he found himself becoming someone who craved power, someone who needed to control others so nobody could hurt him again.

Now Gala understood. The cruel man was as damaged in his own way as the unfortunate girl he’d tried to hurt. The warm, sharing feeling from before came over Gala again, and she reached out to the man’s broken mind, trying to mend it as she had healed the girl’s hand. The mind resisted, and Gala understood that by doing this, she would be changing the man fundamentally, making him become someone else. Deep inside, she knew she might not have the right to do this, but the instinct to heal was too strong. She needed to do this so he would not hurt anyone else in the future. Gathering her strength, she pushed harder into the overseer’s mind and felt it finally letting her in.

“Gala! Gala, are you listening to me?” Maya’s voice penetrated the haze surrounding her, bringing Gala out of her mindless state.

Blinking, she stared at Maya and Esther, becoming aware for the first time of the deep exhaustion overtaking her body.

“Come,” Esther said, reaching for Gala. She looked anxious, and Gala let her guide her away, too weary to resist as the two women led her out of the square. All around them, she could see the spectators slowly coming out of their strange bliss-like state and starting to look around with confusion. Maya quickly wrapped the shawl around Gala’s head again, covering her with the thick scratchy material.

When they got back to the inn, Gala collapsed on her bed and was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

32

Blaise

Blaise was analyzing his last spell when he heard knocking at the door. His heart jumped, and a tendril of fury snaked down his spine. Was this the Council making their move?

Rushing down to the storage room, he swiftly grabbed a bunch of cards he had written for just such a confrontation after his brother’s death. It was a mixture of offensive and defensive spells, each optimized for the particular strengths and weaknesses of the Council members.

In the meantime, the knocking continued.

Thinking furiously, Blaise took a generic defense spell and fed it into the Interpreter Stone. It would afford him some protection against both mental and physical attacks, hopefully buying him some time. Approaching the entryway, he called out, “Who is it?”

“Blaise, it’s me, Ganir.”

Blaise’s anger doubled. How dare the old man show his face here after what he’d done to Louie? Ganir’s betrayal was in some way worse than Augusta’s; the old sorcerer had always treated Louie as a son, and nobody had been more shocked than Blaise to learn of Ganir’s vote in favor of his brother’s punishment.

Filled with fury, Blaise began to speak, instinctively resorting to a spell designed to paralyze his opponent. He didn’t think; he just acted. If the spell succeeded, he had no idea what he would do with the unmoving body of the Council Leader, but he didn’t care at the moment, too consumed with anger to be fully rational.

After he was done, Blaise took a deep breath, trying to regain control of his emotions. He didn’t know if the spell had been successful, but there was a chance that he had surprised Ganir. When it came to battle, unanticipated moves were the best, and it was unlikely the old sorcerer would’ve expected him to use such a simple spell.

He felt himself getting calm and clear-headed. Very calm.

Too calm, Blaise realized. Ganir was using a pacifying spell against him—a spell that had partially penetrated Blaise’s mental defenses.

The thought of being manipulated infuriated Blaise again, and he felt the unnatural calm dissipate, bringing back some of the volatile emotions he’d experienced earlier. However, Ganir’s spell must’ve been at least somewhat effective, since he was no longer feeling quite so murderous toward the Council Leader—something that Blaise bitterly, but calmly, resented.

At that moment, he heard Ganir’s sorcery-enhanced voice. It was loud and clear, as if the old man was standing right next to him and shouting. “Blaise, I am extremely disappointed,” the voice said. “I know you hold a grudge, but I thought you were better than this. Attacking me without even looking me in the eye? That’s not the Blaise I remember.”

Blaise felt his fury returning. The old man was a master of mental games, and Blaise hated being manipulated.

“I will give you a second to walk away,” Blaise shouted back, speaking to Ganir for the first time. Tauntingly, he added, “And you’re right—I’m not the Blaise you remember. That Blaise died along with Louie. You remember Louie, don’t you?”

As he was speaking, Blaise scribbled the rough coordinates of where Ganir was standing on a card and added some code before loading the card into the Interpreter Stone. Then he jumped back a few feet, making sure that he wouldn’t be in the radius of the spell.

The spell he unleashed was designed to paralyze his victim mentally—to blast the mind with indecision, fear, shock, and various effects of sleep deprivation. It was far worse than the physical paralysis spell Blaise had used earlier, since this one was an amalgamation of multiple attacks on the mind all rolled into one.

Then he waited.

All seemed quiet. To check if the mental attack worked, Blaise prepared another spell and directed it at the entryway wall, making it as transparent as glass.

Now Blaise could see outside, and he saw Ganir standing there, looking directly at Blaise through the now-see-through wall. It was obvious the old man was unaffected by the spell, but he appeared to be alone. His dark brown chaise stood next to him.

Despite his disappointment, Blaise felt a wave of relief. It didn’t seem like this was a Council ambush; they wouldn’t have sent the Council Leader just by himself.

“You insult me if you think your spells had any chance of success,” Ganir said calmly, his voice still penetrating the walls of the house with ease. In his hands was an Interpreter Stone. He could’ve struck at Blaise with a deadly spell of his own at any time, but he had apparently chosen not to.

Some of his anger fading, Blaise opened the door. “What do you want, Ganir?” he asked wearily, beginning to tire of this confrontation.

“I spoke to Augusta,” Ganir said, looking at him. “The Council does not know of your creation.”

“Why not?” Blaise was genuinely surprised.

“Because I convinced her not to tell them for now. There is still a window of opportunity to untangle this mess. Augusta will go to them eventually. I made sure she did not do so yet, but she is scared of what you have done, scared beyond reason.”

Blaise felt like he could breathe again. The Council didn’t know about Gala. It was only Ganir and Augusta—which was bad enough, but not nearly the disaster it would’ve been if the entire Council got involved. Still, that didn’t mean he had any intention of being civil to Ganir.

“How exactly are you planning to untangle this mess?” he asked, not bothering to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “The same way you did with Louie?”

He could see that his words stung. Ganir flinched, his hand instinctively reaching for the pouch hanging at his waist before dropping to his side. Blaise made a mental note of that pouch—it was likely where the old sorcerer kept his spell cards. Letting the door frame block Ganir’s line of sight, he surreptitiously scribbled a quick spell on one of his own cards and prepared to use it at an opportune moment.

In the meantime, Ganir took a step forward. “Blaise,” he said softly, “your brother was quite open about his crime. Even I could not hide what he had done from the Council. I tried my best to guide the Council toward a lenient resolution, but they would not listen—and your brother’s stubbornness and refusal to even pretend at remorse did not help matters.”

Blaise stared at Ganir, remembering the passionate speech Louie had made in front of the Council about the injustices in their society—a speech that had probably sealed his fate. Blaise had agreed with every word his brother had spoken, but even he had thought it unwise to antagonize the other sorcerers so openly. Ultimately, though, the vote was what mattered—and Ganir had voted in favor of Louie’s execution.

“Don’t lie to me,” Blaise said harshly. “You know as well as I do that you’re no different from them, that you all voted the same way. And you expect me to believe that you tried to speak on Louie’s behalf?”

Ganir looked stunned. “What? I voted against Louie’s death. How could you think otherwise?”

Blaise let out a short, hard laugh. “Oh, is that right? You think you can hide behind the fact that all votes are anonymous and nobody knows the exact count? Well, I learned the truth—I know the breakdown of the voting results. There was only one vote against Louie’s death, and it was my own. All of you—you, Augusta, every single person on that Council—voted for my brother’s execution.”

“That’s not true.” Ganir still appeared shocked. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information from, but your methods must be flawed. I voted against Louie’s death, I swear to you. He was like a son to me, just like you were. And Dania voted the same way—against the punishment.”

He sounded so earnest that Blaise doubted himself for a moment. Could his source have lied? If so, why? Blaise couldn’t think of a reason—which meant that Ganir had to be lying to him now. “Why don’t you just admit it, like she did?” he asked scornfully, remembering how Augusta had been unable to conceal the truth of her betrayal from him. Just thinking about it made him want to kill Ganir on the spot.

“Are you talking about Augusta?” Ganir asked in confusion. “Are you saying she voted for Louie’s execution?”

“Of course she did.” Blaise’s upper lip curled. “And so did you.”

“No, I didn’t,” the Council Leader insisted, frowning. “And I didn’t know about her vote. I had always assumed she supported you and Louie. Is that why the two of you parted, because you found out about the way she voted?”

Blaise felt the old memories bubbling to the surface, poisoning his mind with bitter hatred again. “Don’t,” he said quietly. “Don’t go there, Ganir, or I swear, I will kill you on the spot.”

The old sorcerer ignored Blaise’s threat. “I have to say, that’s low, even for her,” Ganir mused, “though now that I think about it, it makes sense. You know Augusta’s family is from the old nobility. She was raised on stories of the Revolution, and any possibility of societal change terrifies her. She acted out of fear, not reason, when she cast her vote, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she regrets her actions.” Pausing for a second, he added, “You were not the only one suffering after your brother’s death, my son.”

Blaise looked at Ganir, wondering if there could possibly be any truth to what the old man was saying. If so, then his hatred for the Council Leader had been misplaced this whole time.

“Is that why you vowed to kill me?” Ganir asked, echoing his thoughts. “Because you thought I voted in favor of Louie’s execution? I was sure you hated me because I failed to protect your brother—because, even though I was the head of the Council, I couldn’t save him.”

Blaise was almost tempted to believe him. Almost. “You’re an expert when it comes to getting people to do what you want them to do, Ganir,” he said wearily. “If you had truly wanted to save Louie, he would still be alive. If nothing else, you and I could’ve joined forces and fought the others. But you didn’t even try—so don’t lie to me now.”

Ganir looked pained. “Blaise, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t go against the rest of the Council at that point—not when it was my invention that was at the heart of the issue. I tried to convince them to be lenient, I truly did, and I got the impression that most of them would vote as I did—against the punishment. I was as shocked as you when the verdict came through—”

“Stop,” Blaise snapped, losing his patience. “Just stop. Why are you here?”

“I have an offer,” Ganir said, finally getting to the point. “Bring your creation to me, and I will do my best to make sure she is unharmed. I can almost guarantee you will be cleared of any wrongdoing; after all, your spell did not go as planned. Although you intended to do something they disapprove of, you have not succeeded, and that will convince the Council that no crime occurred.” His eyes gleamed with unusual excitement. “In fact, I can even help you regain your rightful place on the Council.”

Blaise laughed sardonically. “Oh, I see,” he said, chuckling at the old man’s transparent intent. “You want Gala for your own purposes. And as for me, does the almighty Ganir need another ally on the Council?”

“I am trying to help you.” Ganir was beginning to look frustrated. “Yes, I do find your creation fascinating and would like to learn more about her, but that’s not what this is all about. The Council needs you right now—far more than any of those stubborn fools realize. I need you. Blaise, please, give up Gala and come back.”

Blaise couldn’t believe his ears. Give up Gala? It was unthinkable. “The answer is no,” he said coldly, reaching for the spell card he had prepared when he’d noticed Ganir’s pouch. It was already next to the Stone he was holding in his other hand, and he swiftly joined the two objects, activating the spell.

A second later, Ganir’s pouch went up in flames, leaving the old sorcerer without ready-made spells and nearly defenseless.

“Leave, old man,” Blaise told Ganir, watching with satisfaction as his opponent threw remnants of the burning pouch on the ground. “I can kill you now, and I will. You have two minutes to get out of my sight.”

The sorcerer’s pale eyes filled with sadness. “If you change your mind, let me know,” he said with quiet dignity. Shuffling over to his chaise, he rose into the air and flew away, leaving Blaise puzzled and disturbed.

33

Barson

Walking into his sister’s house, Barson inhaled the familiar aroma of baking bread and scented candles. It smelled like home, reminding him of when their mother would bake delicious rolls for the entire household. Unlike most other sorcerers, their mother enjoyed working with her hands—something that Dara had inherited from her, along with her aptitude for sorcery.

“Barson! I’m so glad you came by.” Standing at the top of the staircase, his sister gave him a radiant smile before hurrying down toward him.

Barson smiled back, genuinely happy to see her. He missed Dara, though he couldn’t fault her for preferring this comfortable townhouse over cramped quarters back at the Tower. Low-ranking sorcerers received terrible accommodations there, and many of them chose to live outside of the Tower most of the time.

“It’s good to see you, Dara,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Is Larn here also?”

“He should be here soon. He’s passing by the well right now,” she said, grinning up at him mischievously. Her dark eyes were sparkling, making her look extraordinarily pretty.

Barson sighed, knowing what she was up to. “Did you put a Locator spell on him again?”

Dara’s grin widened. “I did indeed. But don’t tell him; it’ll be our secret.”

Amused, Barson shook his head. His sister and his right-hand man had been together for the past two years, and she drove Larn insane with her insistence on using spells in everyday life. For Dara, it was a way to practice sorcery and sharpen her skills, while Larn viewed it as showing off. “All right,” Barson promised, “I won’t.”

“Come,” Dara said, tugging at his arm. “Let me feed you. I bet you’re starved. That sorceress of yours doesn’t cook, I presume?”

“Augusta? No, of course not.” The very idea struck Barson as ridiculous. Augusta was . . . well, Augusta. She was many things, but homemaker was not one of them.

“That’s what I assumed,” Dara huffed. “She does know you need to eat, right?”

“I’m not sure,” Barson admitted, taking a seat at the table. “Most sorcerers—unlike you—rarely think about food or consider that others might need it.”

“Well, I hope she’s good in bed then,” Dara muttered, putting a bread basket and sliced cheese in front of him. “That and some spells is all she seems to be good for.”

Barson burst out laughing. His sister was jealous of Augusta’s position on the Council and was doing a terrible job of hiding it. “I’m not about to discuss my love life with you, sis,” he said after a few seconds, still chuckling.

She sniffed disdainfully, but kept quiet until Barson had a chance to eat some bread with cheese. “So guess what?” she said after Barson ate his second slice. “I was offered a chance to work with Jandison today.”

“Jandison?” Barson frowned. The oldest member of the Council was known for his teleportation skills and not much else. It was not exactly the most promising opportunity for Dara, given her ambitions.

“I know,” she said, understanding his unspoken concern. “But it’s still better than what I do now.”

“Do you think Ganir put him up to it?”

Dara shook her head. “I doubt it. I get the sense Jandison doesn’t like Ganir very much.”

“Oh?” Barson was surprised. He was well-versed in Council politics, but he hadn’t heard of any enmity between the two sorcerers. “What makes you think that?”

“A woman’s intuition, I guess,” Dara said. “It’s just a vibe I got from him when he mentioned Ganir’s name to me once. When I thought about it later, it actually made a lot of sense. Jandison is the oldest sorcerer on the Council, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he thinks he should be the Council Leader instead of Ganir.”

Barson gave his sister a thoughtful look. “You know, you may be right. Are you going to accept Jandison’s offer?”

“I think so.” She smiled. “And yes, I will definitely keep my eyes and ears open.”

At that moment, Larn walked into the kitchen, and Barson got up to greet him.

When Barson had first learned of his best friend’s involvement with Dara, he had been less than pleased. For one thing, being with a non-sorcerer was looked down upon in the Tower, and Barson had been concerned that her relationship with Larn might be detrimental to Dara’s desire to be recognized for her sorcery talent. However, he could see that Larn genuinely loved her, and that ultimately proved to be the most important thing of all. That, and the fact that Larn was one of the few men Barson was not tempted to kill immediately for laying a finger on his older sister.

“So tell me,” Barson said to Larn when the three of them sat down at the table, “do you have any news for me?”

Larn nodded, chewing on a piece of bread. “There has been a lot of activity with Ganir recently. Augusta visited his chambers again, and so did a number of commoners.”

“Commoners? Why?” Barson looked at his friend in surprise.

“We don’t know. Ganir’s spies spirited them out of the Tower before we could learn their identities. They were literally brought in to see Ganir and then were taken away immediately. My man only got a quick look at them.”

“Anything else?”

“We got a report from our source who’s watching Blaise’s house.”

Barson’s hands curled into fists underneath the table. “Did Augusta visit him again?”

Dara shot him a curious look and opened her mouth, but Larn reached over and squeezed her hand in gentle warning. “No,” he said. “It was even stranger than that. It was Ganir.”

“Ganir visited Blaise?” Barson’s temper cooled immeasurably. “I thought they weren’t on speaking terms.”

“Blaise is not on speaking terms with anyone these days,” Dara said. “Once he left the Council, it’s like he disappeared. Why would anyone visit him now?”

“Was our ally able to figure out what Ganir wanted?” Barson asked.

“No,” Larn replied. “He’s petrified of Ganir. They all are. As soon as he saw the old sorcerer arrive, he got out of there as quickly as his chaise could carry him.”

Barson’s lip curled. “Those sorcerers are such cowards. No offense, Dara.”

“None taken.” She grinned. “I fully agree with you, in fact. I would’ve definitely stuck around to learn as much as I could. By the way, speaking of sorcery, I finished working on your armor. It should now be resistant to most of the common spells.”

“Thank you, sis.” Barson smiled at her. “You’re the best.”

“I know,” she said without false modesty. “And soon they will know it, too.”

“Yes, they will,” Barson promised her, and for the next few minutes, they ate in companionable silence, enjoying the meal Dara had prepared for them.

When his stomach was comfortably full, Barson looked up at his friend again. “Any news from outside Turingrad? Any more uprisings anywhere?”

“No,” Larn said, “everything seems quiet for now. There’s just one thing, which is probably nothing.”

“What is it?” Barson asked.

“There have been some curious rumors about a powerful sorceress.” Larn paused to pour himself some ale. “Apparently, she’s beautiful, young, and wise beyond her years . . . They say she heals the sick, brings dead children back to life, and can even make the crops prosper wherever she is.”

Dara laughed. “That’s ridiculous. Bringing back the dead is impossible, even in theory.”

“The common people always make up stories that cast sorcerers in this kind of light,” Barson told her. “They want to believe the elite cares about them, that their overlords simply don’t know they’re suffering.”

Larn snorted. “And I’m sure many of them don’t—because they just don’t care.”

Barson shook his head, thinking about the gullibility of the common people. The peasants had been conditioned to think that the old nobility had been bad, while their new sorcerer masters were an improvement. Of course, with this drought, many of them were starting to see the truth—hence the increasing uprisings throughout Koldun.

Remembering the last rebellion he’d been forced to quell made Barson’s thoughts turn back to Ganir. Why had he met with Blaise? Could it somehow be connected with Augusta’s visit to her former lover? And what about all those commoners coming to the Tower?

Ganir was obviously playing a deep game, and Barson intended to get to the bottom of it.

34

Augusta

Approaching Ganir’s chambers, Augusta knocked decisively on his door. The old man had been avoiding her for the past couple of days, even going so far as to ignore her Contact messages, and she wasn’t about to allow this.

By the time the door swung open, Augusta’s temper was reaching a boiling point. Taking a few deep breaths to calm herself, she entered Ganir’s chambers.

“How are you, my child?” Ganir greeted her calmly. He was sitting behind his desk, apparently looking over some scrolls prior to her arrival.

“You said you would notify me when your men had some information,” she said bluntly. “It has now been several days, and I haven’t heard anything from you. Where do we stand as far as locating this creature? If your spies have been unable to find it, then I’m going to have no choice but to speak about this at the upcoming Council meeting—the one that’s happening on Thursday.”

Ganir sighed. “Augusta, you need to have patience. We can’t act in haste—”

“No, we need to act in haste,” she interrupted. “We need to contain this situation before it gets completely out of control. Did you, or did you not, learn anything thus far?”

He hesitated for a moment, then inclined his head. “Yes,” he said. “There is something that I want to show you.”

“Show me?”

The old man gestured toward a Life Capture droplet sitting in a jar. “It’s from one of my observers in Kelvin’s territory,” he said softly. “Blaise’s creation has been spotted there, at the market in Neumanngrad.”

Augusta’s pulse jumped in excitement. “Did your observer capture it?”

“No,” Ganir said. “That was not his task.”

“All right,” Augusta said, “so what happened? How was he able to find the thing?”

“You better see for yourself.” Ganir picked up the droplet and handed it to her. “Keep in mind, this is from a man who is a sorcerer himself.”

Augusta took the droplet and was about to bring it to her mouth when Ganir held up his hand.

“Wait,” he said. “Before you do that, I want you to start a new recording.” He pointed toward the Sphere sitting on his desk.

“What? Why?” Augusta gave him a confused look.

“I want to keep that Life Capture for more study,” he explained. “By you recording yourself using the Life Capture droplet, I will not lose the information that this droplet contains. Instead, I will get a new droplet that will include a few moments before you took the original droplet and a few moments after, as well as a recording of the original.”

Augusta stared at him in shock and amazement. Why hadn’t she thought of this before? The idea was genius in its simplicity. It was widely believed that the droplets were consumable—gone forever once used. But now it seemed like there was a way to use them over and over again. Why had the old man kept this to himself?

The implications were staggering. If nothing else, it could change the way sorcery was taught. All one needed to do was teach a group of students once and have them record the class via Life Captures. Then the next class could be given those droplets, and their experiences would also be recorded—and so on. This would significantly cut the time each experienced sorcerer had to spend tutoring apprentices—a duty that Augusta particularly disliked.

Of course, now that she thought about it, it was not that surprising Ganir had hoarded this knowledge. Augusta had always suspected the old sorcerer of keeping secrets when it came to some of his discoveries; he took joy in possessing knowledge that no one else had.

Realizing that she was standing there in silence, Augusta approached the Sphere and pricked her finger on a needle lying on the desk. Then she pressed that finger to the magical object and put the droplet she was holding into her mouth.

* * *

Ganir reached for the droplet Vik had brought to him. Carrying it to his mouth, he closed his eyes, letting the droplet consume him.

* * *

Vik was sitting on the roof of a building overlooking the market. The weather was nice, and he was quite content. His only gripe was a large wooden splinter that had gotten stuck in his finger when he was climbing up there.

He could see the whole market from this vantage point, and he made himself comfortable, knowing he was likely in for another boring shift. His job in this territory was to observe public gatherings, which usually meant sitting for several hours and watching people shop. As usual, he was Life-Capturing the experience as Ganir ordered him to do, although Vik honestly didn’t see the point in doing that. Nothing of interest ever happened in this region.

He had an Interpreter Stone and cards with spells written on them, ready to be cast. One particularly useful spell enabled him to enhance his vision, making his job a little bit more bearable. There was nothing quite like watching a woman changing in her bedroom, secure in the knowledge that nobody could see her from the street.

Ganir had supplied Vik with many cards that had the intricate code for the spell. Vik was a lousy coder, and he had to take Ganir’s word for it when the old man assured him that the vision enhancement spell was actually an easy one.

His hearing was also sharpened, and the sound of a young woman’s scream was what first alerted him to the chase happening in the market below. Another thief, he thought lazily. Still, Vik watched the running woman and her pursuer, since he had nothing better to do.

His interest was piqued further when he saw an attractive young woman in the crowd following the usual chase. That she looked like the description of the target barely registered at this point. All they knew of the target was that it was a young maiden with blue eyes and long, wavy blond hair. She was also supposedly very pretty. The woman below definitely fit the description, but so did hundreds of others that Vik had seen in passing—and even a few that he had watched surreptitiously through the windows.

Once the thief was captured, Vik continued to observe the scene. It was certainly more entertaining than watching some old women haggling with the merchants.

He heard Davish speak and was amused at the overseer’s mercy. A poor, starving woman with her right hand chopped off would die just as surely as if she were beheaded—except her death would now be slower and more painful.

Like the rest of the crowd, he watched the girl’s mutilation with a mix of pity and gruesome curiosity.

And then he suddenly heard the Shriek. His ears felt like they exploded.

His head ringing, Vik realized that someone had used a powerful spell designed to deafen and psychologically control a rioting mob—a spell he had learned about but had never seen used in real life. This version in particular seemed more potent than anything Vik had read about. If it weren’t for the defensive shield spell Ganir insisted they all use while on duty, the Shriek would’ve been the last thing Vik heard. As it was, he was in agony. The unprotected people in the square below were falling to their knees, bleeding from their ears.

Only one person remained standing—the young woman Vik had noticed earlier. Dazed, he watched as the beautiful girl walked toward the execution platform and put her arms around the thief huddling in a bloody ball on the ground.

And then Vik felt it—a sense of peace and warmth unlike anything he had ever experienced before. It was beauty, it was love, it was bliss . . . it was indescribable. The wave seemed to emanate from the center of the square, where the two women stood hugging.

A spell, he realized dazedly. He was feeling the effects of some spell—a spell strong enough to penetrate his magical defenses.

His finger tingled, and he looked down, watching as the splinter slowly came out of his flesh and the wound healed itself, all traces of the injury disappearing without a trace. Even his head, which had been pounding just moments earlier from the Shriek, felt completely normal.

On the ground, he could see the crowd still on their knees, staring at the young sorceress with rapture on their faces. Had they felt it too, the euphoria he’d just experienced?

And then he knew that they had—because when the beautiful girl stepped away from the thief, the peasant woman’s hand was whole again. Whatever spell the young sorceress had used, it had been so potent that it had spilled over to the spectators, healing even Vik’s minor wound. “What kind of sorcery is this?” he wondered in terrified awe.

Vik now knew why Ganir had dispatched so many of his men to find this girl. As the sorceress touched Davish, Vik pricked his finger and touched the Life Capture Sphere he was carrying with him.

* * *

His heart racing, Ganir regained his senses. For a brief moment, he wondered if he would ever get used to the disorienting effects of his invention, and then his mind turned to what he had just witnessed.

“What had the boy done?” he thought darkly, pricking his finger and touching the Life Capture Sphere.

* * *

Augusta came back to herself with a gasp. Quickly pricking her finger, she touched the Life Capture Sphere on the table in front of her. The last thing she wanted was to expose her private thoughts to the person who would use this droplet next, as Ganir had just done. It was bad enough that there would still be a moment of her feelings captured for anyone to see—a moment of overwhelming horror and disgust.

Her fears had come true: the thing had unnatural powers.

“What of Davish?” she asked Ganir, trying to remain calm. “In the droplet, the creature was reaching for him.”

The Council Leader hesitated for a moment. “He’s not . . . exactly himself after meeting her, according to Vik.”

“What do you mean?” Augusta gave him a questioning look.

“How much do you know about Davish?”

She frowned. “Not much. I know he’s Kelvin’s overseer and supposedly not much better than our esteemed colleague.”

Kelvin was her least favorite member of the Sorcerer Council. His mistreatment of his people was legendary. Several years ago, Blaise had even petitioned for Kelvin to get kicked off the Council and have his holdings confiscated, but, of course, no one had dared to implement such a precedent against a fellow sorcerer. Instead, Kelvin ended up giving control of his lands to Davish—who turned out to be a mirror image of his master when it came to the treatment of peasants.

Ganir nodded, an expression of disgust appearing on his face. “That’s an understatement. Davish’s reputation has traveled far and wide. That atrocity they call the Coliseum was originally Davish’s idea—”

“What happened to him?” Augusta interrupted.

“Well, apparently after the encounter you just saw, Davish has already begun to change many policies in the territory. He has initiated an aid effort for the families most affected by the drought, and there are rumors that he may close or change the Coliseum games after the upcoming events.” Ganir’s eyes gleamed. “In short, Davish is a changed man. Literally.”

Augusta’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. “The creature changed him? Just like that? How do you even change someone?”

“Well, theoretically, there are ways—”

Augusta stared at him. “You can do this, too?”

“No.” Ganir shook his head. “I wish I could, but I can’t. At most, I could control a commoner’s mind for a short period of time. The mathematics and the complexity of deep fundamental change are beyond human capabilities.”

Beyond human capabilities? “Doesn’t this terrify you?” Augusta asked, sickened by the thought of this thing having such power.

“Probably not as much as it terrifies you,” Ganir said, watching her with his pale gaze, “but yes, the power to make someone lose their essence, their personhood, is a dangerous power indeed. Especially if it is abused.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“I am going to dispatch the Sorcerer Guard,” Ganir said. “They will bring her here. You saw how the defenses protected my observer from the full power of her spells. I will equip the Guard with even better defenses.”

“You are asking them to bring it here alive? You would risk their lives and ours just so that you could study this creature?” Augusta could hear her voice rising in angry disbelief. “Are you insane? It needs to be destroyed!”

“No,” Ganir said implacably. “Not yet. If nothing else, Blaise would never forgive us if we destroy her without just cause.”

“What does it matter? He hates us anyway,” Augusta said bitterly. And turning, she left Ganir’s chambers before she said something she would later regret.

35

Gala

“Did you hear? They said she was shooting fire out of her eyes, and her hair was as white as snow, streaming behind her for a solid five yards.” The pot-bellied man sitting at the corner table burped, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

“Really?” The man’s skinny friend leaned forward. “I heard men were blinded when they looked at her, and then she healed them by waving her hand.”

“Blinded? I didn’t hear that. But they say she brought back the dead. The thief got her head chopped off and then the whole thing regrew.”

The skinny man picked up a tankard of ale. “She wasn’t one of the Council either. Nobody knew where she came from. They say she wore rags, but her beauty was such that her skin glowed.”

Sweeping the floor around the table, Gala listened to the men’s conversation with amusement and disbelief. How had they made up all these stories about her? Nobody at the inn had even been at the market—a fact that helped protect her identity nearly as much as the rough shawl Esther insisted she wear when doing her chores at the inn.

Cleaning the inn turned out to be less fun than Gala had expected. She’d volunteered to help around the inn as a way to get out of the room and experience more of life. Although she had enjoyed knitting and sewing—two activities that Maya and Esther had occupied her with after the market fiasco—she had wanted to do something more active. Of course, Maya and Esther had been less than receptive to the idea of her leaving the room. Their biggest fear was that Gala would be recognized.

Gala had doubted that anyone would recognize her, particularly in the disguise she wore around the inn, and she was right. All day long, she had been cleaning, scrubbing pots in the kitchen, and washing windows, and nobody had paid the least bit of attention to a poorly dressed peasant girl with a thick woolen shawl wrapped around her head. To be extra safe, Maya had even smeared some soot on Gala’s face—a look that Gala didn’t particularly like, but accepted as a necessity in light of what had occurred at the market.

Now, after a full day of physical labor, her back was aching and her hands were beginning to blister from gripping the rough broom handle. Although her injuries healed quickly, she still disliked the feeling of pain. Cleaning was really not fun at all, Gala decided, determined to finish this particular task and then rest. She couldn’t imagine how most common women worked like this day in and day out.

A few times she had tried to do magic again, emboldened by her tremendous success at the market. However, to her unending frustration, it seemed like she still had no control over her abilities. She couldn’t even cast a simple spell to get a pot clean; instead, she’d nearly rubbed her palms raw scrubbing it with all her strength.

“Gala, are you still cleaning?” Esther’s voice interrupted Gala’s thoughts. The old woman had managed to approach Gala without her noticing.

“Almost done,” Gala said wearily. She was exhausted and all she wanted to do was collapse into her bed upstairs.

“Oh, good.” Esther gave her a wide smile. “Are you ready to help prepare dinner?”

Gala felt a trickle of excitement that battled with her exhaustion. She had never cooked before, and was dying to try it. “Of course,” she said, ignoring the way her muscles protested every movement.

“Then come, child, let me introduce you to the cook.”

* * *

By the time Gala got back to the room, she could barely walk. Pausing to wash some of the sweat and grime off her hands and face, she collapsed on her bed.

“So did you enjoy cooking dinner?” Maya was sitting on the cot in the corner, calmly knitting another shawl. “Did you find it as fun and educational as you hoped?”

Staring at the ceiling, Gala considered her question for a minute. “To be honest with you, no,” she admitted. “I was cutting up an onion, and my eyes began tearing up. Then they brought in the dead birds, and I couldn’t look at them. They were plucking out their feathers, and the whole thing was utterly horrible. And then carrying around all those heavy pots and pans . . . I really don’t know how those women in the kitchen do it every day. I don’t think I would be happy doing that my entire life.”

“Most peasants don’t have a choice,” Maya said. “If a woman is pretty, like you, then she has more options. She can find a wealthy man to take care of her. But if she doesn’t have the looks—or the aptitude for sorcery—then life is hard. Maybe not always as hard as cooking dinner at a public inn, but it’s not fun and pleasant. Childbirth alone is brutal. I’m glad I never had to go through that.”

“Do men have it easier?”

“In some ways,” Maya said as Esther entered the room. “In other ways, it’s more difficult. Most commoners have to work very hard to grow their crops, plow their fields, and take care of their livestock. If a job is too difficult for a woman to do, then she can ask her husband to help her. A man, however, can only rely on himself.”

Gala nodded, feeling her eyelids getting heavy. Maya’s words began to blend together, and she felt a familiar lassitude sweeping over her body. She knew it meant she was falling asleep, and she welcomed the relaxing darkness.

* * *

Gala’s mind awakened. Or, more precisely, she became self-aware for the first time.

‘I can think’ was her first fully coherent thought. ‘Where is this?’ was the second one.

She somehow knew that places were supposed to be different from where she found herself. She vaguely recalled visions of a place with colors, shapes, tastes, smells, and other fleeting sensations—sensations that were absent in here. There were other things here, however—things she didn’t have names for. The world around her didn’t seem to match her mind’s expectations. The closest she could describe it was as darkness permeated by bright flashes of light and color. Except it wasn’t light and color; it was something else, something she had no equivalent name for.

There were also thoughts out there. Some belonging to her, some to other things—things that were nothing like her. Only one stream of thought was vaguely similar to her own.

She wasn’t sure, but it seemed like that stream of thought was seeking her, trying to reach out to her.

Waking up with a gasp, Gala sat up in bed, looking around the dark room.

“What happened, child?” Esther asked, putting down the book she had been reading by candle light. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“I don’t think so,” Gala said slowly. “I think I was dreaming of a time right before my birth.”

Esther gave her a strange look and returned to her book.

Gala lay back down and tried to calm her racing heartbeat. This was the first time she had dreamed at all—and she wished Blaise was there, so she could talk to him about it. He would find this dream fascinating, since it had been about the Spell Realm.

Closing her eyes, she drifted off again, hoping her next dream would be about Blaise.

36

Blaise

The confrontation with Ganir left Blaise feeling strangely unsettled. Had the old man been genuine in offering his help? He’d seemed so shocked when Blaise had told him about the vote that Blaise had almost believed his lies.

The Council didn’t know about Gala—unless Ganir had lied about that too. But if he hadn’t, and if the Council was not involved, then who had been following Blaise that day? Thinking about it, Blaise decided that it could just as easily have been one of Ganir’s spies; the old sorcerer was famous for having his tentacles everywhere.

Ganir clearly had some plans for Gala—that much was obvious to Blaise. The Council Leader was far from a fool; he, more than most, would see the potential in an intelligent magical object that had assumed human shape. Of course, Blaise had no intention of letting Gala become Ganir’s tool. No matter what Blaise himself had intended for her originally, she was a person, and he needed to make sure she was treated as such.

Walking back to his study, he sat down at his desk, trying to figure out what to do next. If the Council didn’t know about Gala, then there was still some time. Somehow Blaise had to get to her without leading Ganir there. His experiments with the Spell Realm were clearly not the answer; it would take too long to perfect something so complicated.

Blaise needed some way to evade whoever was watching his house.

Pondering the problem, he wondered if it would be possible to increase the speed of his chaise. If he could go significantly faster than his pursuer, then he could outrun the spy and collect Gala before anyone caught up to them.

Suddenly, a crazy idea occurred to him. What if, instead of flying, he teleported himself part of the way? If the teleportation was over a sufficiently short distance, it would be significantly safer, reducing the odds of materializing someplace unexpected. In fact, he could always teleport to a spot that he could see with enhanced vision—and from there, he could do it again and again. This would make the trip significantly shorter in length, and make him impossible to track.

The only problem would be the complexity of the code he would need to write—but Blaise was up for the challenge.

37

Barson

Walking into Ganir’s chambers, Barson forced himself to keep his face expressionless.

“You summoned me?” He purposefully omitted any honorific due to the head of the Council—a subtle insult that he was sure Ganir would not miss.

“Barson.” Ganir inclined his head, foregoing Barson’s military title as well.

“How may I be of assistance?” Barson asked in an overly polite tone. “Should I put down another small rebellion for you?”

Ganir’s mouth tightened. “About that. I regret that I was misinformed about the situation in the north. The person responsible for this grievous error has been dealt with.”

“Of course. I would’ve expected no less from you.” Barson would’ve done the same thing in Ganir’s place. The old sorcerer clearly didn’t want any witnesses to his treachery.

“I have a small task for you,” the Council Leader said. “There is a sorceress who is causing some disturbances in Kelvin’s territory. I’d like you to take a few of your best men and bring her to me, so we could have a discussion.”

Barson did his best to conceal his surprise. “You wish me to bring in a sorceress?”

“Yes,” Ganir said calmly. “She’s young and shouldn’t present much of a challenge. You can just talk to her and convince her to come to Turingrad. That might be the best way. Of course, if she’s reluctant, then you have my leave to use whatever methods of persuasion you deem necessary.”

Barson inclined his head in agreement. “It shall be done as you wish.”

* * *

Leaving Ganir, Barson walked through the Tower halls, trying to make sense of the Council Leader’s request. The sorceress in Kelvin’s territory had to be the same one Larn had informed him about—the mystery woman who could supposedly perform miracles. Why did Ganir want her detained? And why would he send the Guard to do it? Sorcerers usually dealt with their own affairs, not wanting to seem vulnerable to outsiders—not even to the Guard. The precedent of non-sorcerers subduing one of the elite would be something most in the Tower would find frightening.

There were only two reasons Barson could think of for Ganir’s request: the old sorcerer was either trying to keep this matter hidden from others on the Council, or it was another ploy to send the Sorcerer Guard into a potentially deadly situation. Barson did not for a second believe Ganir’s claim of a ‘grievous error.’ It was obvious the old man had somehow caught wind of Barson’s plans and was doing his best to sabotage him.

Of course, it was also possible that Ganir had staged this whole thing in the hopes that Barson would refuse to follow his orders, thus giving him cause to take up action against Barson at the Council level. No doubt the Council Leader thought that if he eliminated the immediate threat of Barson and his closest lieutenants, the rest of the Guard would return to being the sorcerers’ loyal tool.

Approaching his chambers, Barson was surprised to find Augusta standing by his door, about to knock. She looked beautiful, but surprisingly anxious.

“I need to speak with you,” she said as he got closer.

“Of course.” Barson smiled, his heart beating faster at her nearness. “Come inside. We’ll talk.”

Opening the door, he led her into his room. However, before he could so much as kiss her, she started to pace back and forth in the middle of the room.

Barson leaned against the wall, waiting to see what was on her mind.

She stopped in front of him. “Ganir will summon you,” she said, sounding worried. “He’ll want to send you on a mission to Kelvin’s territory.”

“Oh?” Barson did his best to look mildly interested. Augusta was clearly unaware that he had just seen Ganir, and he was curious to hear what she was about to say.

“It’s a different kind of a mission. He will tell you that you are to apprehend a dangerous sorceress.”

“A sorceress?” Barson continued pretending ignorance. This was a serious stroke of luck. Perhaps Augusta would give him the information he needed.

“Yes,” she said, looking up at him. “A powerful sorceress that Ganir wants to use for his own purposes.”

“And what purposes would those be?”

“He wants to replace me with her on the Council,” Augusta said, giving him a steady look. “As you probably know, Ganir and I don’t get along very well.”

That wasn’t what Barson had been expecting to hear. “Is that right?” he asked softly, lifting his hand to brush a stray lock of hair off her face. Was she lying to him right now? For someone who didn’t get along, she and Ganir had certainly been seeing a lot of each other.

Augusta nodded, reaching up to capture his hand with her own, squeezing it lightly. “It’s the truth. And that’s why I want to ask you for a favor.” She paused, holding his gaze. “I don’t want her brought in alive.”

Barson couldn’t conceal his shock. “You want me to go against the Council Leader and kill a sorceress?”

“She’s not what she seems,” Augusta said, her hand tightening around his palm. “You would be doing the entire world a favor by getting rid of her.” Her voice held a note of fear that startled Barson.

He stared at her, trying to figure out what it all meant. “You are asking me to go against the Council Leader and to commit the greatest crime of all—murdering a sorcerer,” he said slowly. “You do realize the consequences of this?”

She nodded, her eyes burning with some strange emotion. “I know what I am asking you to do. If you do this for me, Barson, I will be forever in your debt.” Her hand still held his own, her tight grip betraying her desperation.

Barson did his best to conceal his reaction to her words. “We will be in this together then, right?” he asked quietly, curving his other palm around her cheek. “If Ganir becomes my enemy as a result, you will be on my side?”

“Always.” Augusta held his gaze without flinching.

“Then consider it done,” Barson said. He could hardly believe this turn of events. He had been wondering how to get Augusta to join his cause, and she just jumped into bed with him herself—figuratively this time.

Her face lightened, and her grip on his hand eased. Standing up on tiptoes, she kissed him softly on the lips. “Be careful,” she murmured, reaching up to stroke the side of his face. “Make it look like she resisted so violently that you and your men had no choice but to kill her. It might even turn out to be true.”

“Just how powerful is this sorceress?” Barson asked, his mind turning to the upcoming quest despite the distraction of Augusta’s touch. He didn’t like the idea of killing a woman, but he suppressed the feeling. A sorceress could be just as powerful as her male counterparts—and potentially deadlier than a hundred of his men. He remembered how useful Augusta had been during the peasant rebellion, and he knew that it would require more than a few swords and arrows to win this fight.

“She’s powerful,” Augusta admitted quietly, looking up at him. “I don’t know just how powerful she is, but I want you to be ready for the worst. I will also prepare some spells to make sure you and your soldiers are well-protected, both physically and mentally, against whatever attacks she might launch against you.”

“That would be helpful,” Barson said. Although Dara had already given him some protective spells, Augusta was a stronger sorceress, and he would welcome the additional protection for his men.

“I also have a gift for you.” Taking a step back, she reached into a pocket in her skirt and took out what looked like a pendant. “This will enable me to see everything that happens in a special mirror,” she said, handing it to him.

Barson took the pendant and put it on his commode. “I will wear it when we depart,” he promised. It would be somewhat limiting to have his lover watching him, but it would also strengthen their alliance.

For now, though, he wanted to reinforce their bond in a different way. Reaching for Augusta, he drew her toward him.

* * *

“You must let me come.” Dara gave him an imploring look. “Barson, let me go with you.”

“For the hundredth time, you’re not going.” Barson knew his tone was sharp, and he softened it a bit before continuing. “It’s too dangerous, sis. If anything were to happen to you . . .” He couldn’t even complete that horrifying thought. “Besides, you know you’re far too important to our cause. If you got hurt, who would continue recruiting for us? You know what happened when Ganir found out I was meeting with those five sorcerers.”

His sister stared at him in frustration. “I would be fine—”

“No, there’s no guarantee of that.” Barson shook his head. “I will not put you in danger like that. Besides, you know that if we are to overtake the Council, we have to be able to fight them. We need to start testing the waters now, to see how my army would fare against one of them. This is a perfect opportunity because we just have one sorceress to deal with, not the entire lot of them.”

She still looked unhappy, but she knew better than to argue further. Once Barson made up his mind, there was very little anyone could do to change it.

“So did you have a chance to look at the defensive spells Augusta put in place?” Barson asked, changing the subject.

Dara nodded. “She did a superb job. She must really care about you. The spell that she put on your armor—and on your men in general—will protect you against most elemental attacks, as well as against many that could tamper with your mind. Her anti-Shriek defense, in particular, is a masterpiece.”

Barson smiled. He liked the idea of Augusta caring about him.

“Why doesn’t she come with you?” Dara asked, looking at him curiously. “If this mission is so important to her, why doesn’t she come along?”

“And openly go against Ganir?” Barson’s smile widened. “No, Augusta is too smart to do that. There is a Council meeting coming up, and if she’s not there, Ganir will know immediately something is going on. My men have explicit orders from the Council Leader to go and capture this sorceress, and if she happens to resist arrest . . .” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Well, these things happen. It would be much tougher to explain a dead sorceress if Augusta were there—or you, for that matter.”

“But you’re bringing almost your entire army,” Dara protested, “not the few men that Ganir suggested. Won’t he be suspicious of that fact?”

Barson chuckled. “How many men I take on a military mission is entirely my prerogative. Ganir doesn’t have any say in that.”

“Do you think he did it on purpose again?” Dara asked. “Telling you to take just a few of your best men while sending you against a powerful sorceress?”

“I’m not sure,” Barson admitted. “It sounds like Ganir genuinely needs this sorceress, but at the same time, I know he’d love to have me and my closest men perish in battle. Maybe it’s a win-win proposition for him. If we bring her, he gets what he wants. And if we die during this mission, he will get rid of what he perceives to be a threat—and there will be other opportunities for him to capture her.”

“I still wonder why he hasn’t killed us all outright,” Dara mused, “or gone to the Council with his suspicions.”

“Because I don’t think he realizes the full extent of our plans,” Barson said. “He probably thinks I’m just an overambitious soldier with fantasies of grandeur—”

“That is what you are,” Dara interrupted, smiling.

“No.” Barson shook his head. “I don’t do fantasies. I make plans. Ganir, like all the rest of them, underestimates us. But even if he does have his suspicions, he’s too smart to act on them openly. He doesn’t know how many supporters we have, or how deep the conspiracy runs. If he openly accuses us of treason, my men will not stand idly by—nor will those we convinced to join our cause. There will be war—a real civil war—and I don’t think Ganir is ready for that.”

Dara frowned, an anxious look appearing on her face.

“What is it, sis? Are you doubting our plans again?”

“I can’t help it,” Dara admitted. “Even with all our allies, going up against the Council sounds like an impossible mission.”

“You’re right.” Barson smiled at her. “We’re not ready yet. However, if we can get Augusta to join us, that would significantly increase our odds of success.”

“Do you really think she would join us? She’s part of the Council.”

“She has already joined us; she just doesn’t realize it yet. Her request goes against my orders—orders that come directly from the Council Leader—which means that we are now both involved in a treasonous conspiracy.”

Dara considered that for a moment. “Yes, I could see that. And with her on our side, things would be different.”

Barson nodded. He could already see it—the aftermath of the eventual power shift. He would be king and Augusta his queen. Both of them of noble blood, as rulers should be.

“Be careful on this mission, Barson.” Dara looked unusually worried. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

Barson gave his sister a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, sis. All will be well. It’s just one sorceress. How bad could it get?”

And walking out of Dara’s house, he headed back to the Tower, where his men were already preparing to depart.

38

Gala

On the day of the Coliseum games, Gala made the decision to venture out of the inn again. Over the past three days, she had done every chore imaginable, from emptying chamber pots (at which point she truly understood the concept of disgust) to making cheese out of the milk that farmers delivered to the inn every morning. While most of the tasks were interesting in their own way—and Gala turned out to be surprisingly good at them—she was beginning to feel caged, a prisoner in the inn where Maya and Esther insisted they stay while waiting for Blaise.

“I am going to attend the games today,” she told Esther, ignoring the anxious expression that immediately appeared on the old woman’s face. “They say the Coliseum is closing after this, and I would like to see the games at least once.”

“I don’t think you’d like those games, child,” Esther said, frowning. “Besides, what if someone recognizes you?”

Gala took a deep breath. “I understand and respect your concern,” she said, determined to allay her guardians’ fears. “I considered it thoroughly, and I think it’s safe. It has been several days since the market, and nobody has recognized me thus far. The disguise you’ve given me is such that nobody even looks at me twice. I’m just a peasant girl working at the inn, and nobody will think anything different if I attend the games today. I’ll wear the shawl to the Coliseum as well.”

Esther sighed. “Child, you are obviously a very talented sorceress and you seem to be getting wiser with every hour that goes by, but Blaise wants us to stay hidden. Here at the inn, we’re just a couple of old women with a young niece who’s trying to earn a little coin by helping out. I worry about you in a public venue, child. Things seem to happen around you that I don’t understand. I don’t know how you do what you do, but we can’t draw any more attention to ourselves.”

“I understand,” Gala said soothingly. “But trust me, I have considered all the positives and negatives, and I strongly feel that it will be worth it for me to go there. This kind of event is a rare opportunity, and I must see it for myself since it’s the last time the games are taking place.”

Esther shook her head in resignation. “Arguing with you is like arguing with Blaise,” she muttered, putting on her own shawl. “You two are impossible with all your smooth talk and reason. I don’t know what all those positives and negatives are, but I do know it’s a bad idea to go. Obviously, I can’t stop you any more than I can stop a force of nature.”

Gala just smiled in response, knowing she’d gotten her way.

As the three of them were walking out of the inn, she wondered how one would literally stop a force of nature. She’d read about the horrible ocean storms that surrounded Koldun, and now she was curious if those could be stopped. The mainland was protected from these storms by a ridge of mountains all around, but on rare occasions, the storms still crossed the mountains and caused many deaths. Of course, if the mountains could stop the storms, a proper—if complex—spell could likely do the same.

“So far, so good,” Maya said as they passed by a crowd of young people and no one paid them any attention. “Maybe you were right, Gala. Just keep your shawl on at all times.”

Gala nodded, pulling the shawl tighter around her head. She didn’t like the feel of the scratchy material, but she accepted the necessity of wearing it. After all, if it hadn’t been for her own actions at the market, she wouldn’t have needed the disguise outside the inn at all.

* * *

The Coliseum was the most majestic structure Gala had ever seen. Maya had managed to get them seats toward the bottom of the huge amphitheater, closer to the stage, and Gala could barely contain her excitement as the start of the games approached.

A drumbeat began at first, followed by some strange, wonderfully energetic music. Gala was mesmerized. A gate slowly opened at the bottom of the amphitheater, and a dozen barrels rolled out, with people balancing on top of them, gripping the barrels with their bare feet. The crowd cheered, and Gala watched in fascination as the acrobats began to perform incredible feats on top of those barrels, coordinating their actions with stunning precision.

More performers came out of the gate, carrying large baskets of fruit that Gala recognized as melons. They threw the melons at the acrobats, and the performers caught the fruit and started juggling it, all the while moving in precise circles all around the arena.

Staring at the intricate flight path of the juggled fruit, Gala felt her mind going into an unusual half-absent, half-euphoric state. She was seeing the exact mathematical patterns that governed the trajectories of the flying melons, along with ones required to keep the barrels balanced, all the while the musical beat and melody had its own harmonious set of vibrations that the jugglers were in sync with. It was so amazing she almost felt like she was one with the acrobats—like she could walk out there, ride a barrel, and juggle a dozen fruits herself to the music.

Grinning, she watched the acrobats performing their tricks, happy that she hadn’t listened to Maya and Esther about attending the event. If she hadn’t seen this, she was sure she would’ve regretted it for life.

By the time the next act came out, Gala was laughing and thoroughly enjoying herself like the rest of the crowd. To her surprise, instead of people, the next performers were bears—wild animals she’d read about in one of Blaise’s books.

Two large beasts rolled out on barrels. It was amusing, and at first, Gala continued laughing—until she saw a man with a thick mustache standing in the middle of the stage. He was cracking a long whip all around the bears, and every time he did so, the animals seemed to flinch, reacting to the sharp sound.

Frowning, Gala realized that the bears didn’t enjoy being there—that, unlike the acrobats, they didn’t thrive on the attention of the crowd. In fact, from what she could tell, all they wanted was to get off those silly barrels and rest, but every time one of them faltered, the ugly crack of the whip sounded, and the animals continued rolling around on stage.

“Why do they make those bears do that?” she whispered to Esther.

“Because it is fun to watch?” Esther whispered back.

“I don’t like it,” Gala muttered under her breath, unhappy that the animals were forced to do something that clearly went against their nature.

“Should we leave then?” Maya asked hopefully.

“No.” Gala shook her head. “I want to see what happens next.”

After the bears left the arena, the next act was that of a man swallowing fire, followed by a group of young women dancing in skimpy, colorful costumes. Gala greatly enjoyed all of it, relieved that no more animals were involved.

And just as she was about to decide that the Coliseum games were the best entertainment she could imagine, a voice echoed throughout the arena, cutting through the excited chatter of the crowd. “Ladies and Gentlemen, now is the moment you have all been waiting for.” There was a drumroll. “I give you . . . the lions!”

The crowd went silent, all their attention focused on the stage. Gala waited to see what would emerge as well, some intuition making her stomach tighten unpleasantly.

The gate opened again, and a dozen men dressed in heavy armor came out, dragging heavy chains behind them. At the other end of those chains were the lions—the most beautiful creatures Gala had ever seen.

The chains were hooked to choking collars with spikes that were digging deeply into the animals’ necks. In obvious pain, roaring and screaming, the lions were forced to walk toward the middle of the arena. Once more than a dozen lions were there, the armored men attached the chains to the hooks in the ground and hurried away, poking the lions with long spears to keep the animals from attacking them. This seemed to infuriate the beasts even more, and their roars grew in volume, causing some women in the crowd to squeal in excitement.

Her horror and disgust growing with every moment, Gala watched as the gates opened yet again, letting in a group of men into the arena. Unlike the guards before, these men were armed with nothing more than a few short, rusty-looking swords. They stumbled out into the arena, several of them tripping over their own feet, and Gala realized that they had been pushed out—that they didn’t want to be there any more than the poor lions. The expressions on the men’s faces were those of fear and panic.

Gala’s heart jumped into her throat as two lions began to stalk one of the men in the arena. He was backing away, waving his sword at them, his motions desperate and clumsy—and Gala realized that this was the entertainment.

The lions and the people were about to fight to the death.

A rage more powerful than anything Gala had ever felt before started building inside her. It filled her until all she could see, all she could focus on, was the terrifying scene about to unfold.

“Stop,” she whispered, barely knowing what she was saying. With the corner of her eye, she could see Maya and Esther looking at her worriedly, feel them tugging at her sleeve, trying to lead her away, but it was as though her feet grew roots. She was frozen in place, unable to do anything but watch the hideous spectacle below.

A loud roar, then a blur of yellow . . . A lion pounced, tackling a man to the ground, and Gala felt the now-familiar sensation of losing control, of letting that other, unknown part of herself take over. She was vaguely aware that something inside her was calculating the distance from her seat to the middle of the arena—and then she was out of her seat, floating toward her destination.

Everything seemed to grow silent. Even the lions stopped roaring, turning their heads to watch the amazing sight of a human girl flying through the air. It was so quiet, Gala could hear the clinking of chains as the lions moved toward the center of the arena where she was about to land, leaving their prey without a second glance.

And then Gala was among them, surrounded by the beautiful, fierce creatures. She knew they could be dangerous, but she didn’t feel any fear. Instead, all she felt was wonder. Without conscious thought, she reached out and touched the gorgeous animal closest to her. His fur felt rough, almost bristly, but underneath, the lion was warm—as warm as Gala herself. In that moment, she knew that they were one and the same—both flesh and bone, a manifestation of thought and matter in the Physical Realm.

Reaching out to the lion with her mind, she tried to reassure him, to tell him she was a friend, here to help them. And the lion seemed to understand. Purring, the beast lay down in front of her, his long whiskers pleasantly tickling her ankle.

Bending down, Gala touched the choker around the lion’s neck. The animal whimpered, and she willed the chains and the choker removed, desperate to free the majestic creature. With a loud clang, all the instruments of feline torture came off, not just on the lion next to her but on all of them.

The lions roared as one, and then the biggest one came up to her. Still dazed and feeling no fear, Gala extended her hand to him, smiling as he licked her palm with his rough tongue.

Slowly beginning to calm down, she became aware of murmuring in the crowd. Looking up, she saw everyone watching her—and realized what she had done. She had lost control again, and she had done it in the most public venue possible.

Her hand instinctively rose to touch her shawl, but she felt her hair blowing in the breeze instead. Her disguise was gone, the shawl lying in a heap on the floor of the arena. It must’ve fallen off at some point without her noticing.

Gala’s breathing quickened. Thousands of eyes were staring at her right now. Blaise had asked her to be discreet, and she’d failed him again and again, in the most spectacular fashion. Her discomfort growing with every moment, Gala cast a frantic glance around her. The lions were calmly standing there, like a wall of animal flesh, and at the far side of the arena were the men who were supposed to fight them, all huddling together and watching her with shock and disbelief.

And Gala knew what she had to do. Her mind went to that place inside herself that she was now beginning to recognize—the place that had enabled her to do sorcery before. It was a far cry from being able to control her abilities, but at least now she recognized when she was about to use them.

As though from a distance, she felt she was about to do exactly what she’d done the other day at the dance. Focusing with all her might on Esther, Maya, and the lions, Gala let the desire to be away overwhelm her. Closing her eyes, she willed them all back to the place that had served as home for the past several days.

She willed them back to the inn.

And when she opened her eyes, that was exactly where they were all standing—she, the lions, and the two elderly women.

Unfortunately, in front of them, on the dead field of wheat, were hundreds of heavily armed soldiers.

They were headed for the inn, and seeing Gala materializing with her strange entourage gave them only the briefest of pauses. Their faces were hard, expressionless, and Gala suddenly knew that they were there for her—that what Blaise had feared had come to pass.

Her heart jumped, and in her desperate panic, her mind succeeded in doing something she had been futilely trying to do for the past several days: it reached out to Gala’s creator.

“Blaise, I think we have been found.”

39

Blaise

Rubbing his eyes, Blaise fought his exhaustion in order to write yet another line of code. His brain was barely functioning, but he was only a few hours away from completing the spell that would take him to Gala in a series of teleporting leaps. His task was complicated by the fact that he’d only had a couple of pre-written spell cards with teleportation code, and that the code would have only applied to one person—not a person and his chaise flying in the air, as Blaise was planning to do. That meant that he was essentially doing the spell from scratch, which always took much longer.

Deep in thought, he got that sensation again, the one that preceded Contact.

“Blaise, I think we have been found.”

As though a glass of cold water had been thrown into his face. Blaise jumped up from his chair, his heart hammering. The voice had been Gala’s, and it had spoken clearly in his head. He was so shocked he didn’t even have a chance to ponder the fact that Gala had somehow altered the Contact spell enough that her actual voice had sounded in his mind.

There was no more time to sit and finish the teleportation spell. He had to get to Gala, and he had to do it now.

Grabbing his Interpreter Stone and the spell cards he had been painstakingly working on, Blaise ran out of the house. He had enough of the spell done by now that he would be able to tele-jump a good portion of the way to Neumanngrad. The rest of the way he would fly. It would be faster than finishing the spell right now.

Jumping onto his chaise, Blaise rose up into the air and quickly fed one of the cards into the Stone. He didn’t even bother to look behind him to see if he was being followed. Now that Gala had been found, it didn’t matter anymore. All he cared about was getting to her as quickly as possible.

When he materialized a few miles away, he looked ahead with his enhanced vision, making sure his path was clear, and quickly scribbled the next set of coordinates onto a pre-written card. Then he fed that into the Stone too.

By the time he ran out of cards, he was still a distance away. Cursing, he tried to get his chaise to go faster, his blood running cold at the thought of Gala being there with only two old women to protect her. He had been a fool to let her go see the world on her own, and he would never make that mistake again. Whatever happened next, they would be together, he mentally vowed to himself.

As he was getting closer to his destination, he heard thunder and saw large clouds forming. The first raindrops hit his skin soon thereafter, quickly turning into a torrential downpour. Below, Blaise could see the parched ground greedily absorbing the water—the first such rain since the drought had begun.

Squinting, he peered through the wall of water, trying to see what lay ahead. And in the distance, he spotted the inn.

What he saw there shook him to the very core of his being.

40

Gala

Cornered. They were cornered.

The word hammered inside Gala’s skull as she stared at the soldiers moving swiftly toward her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Esther and Maya frozen in place, shock and fear reflected on their pale faces. Even the lions seemed dazed, disoriented by being teleported so suddenly from place to place.

She had gotten them out of the Coliseum and brought them into a situation that seemed a thousand times worse.

Closing her eyes, Gala tried to will herself and her companions away, but when she opened them, she was still standing there. Her magical abilities, never reliable, had apparently deserted her again. Though she felt that part of her mind churning, she couldn’t control it enough to teleport them this time.

A surge of panic sharpened her vision. Gala could suddenly see everything, right down to each mole and scar on the soldiers’ faces. Instead of one big formation, they were organized into small groups, each one with archers in the middle and men with large two-handed shields standing in a semi-circle at the front. They looked grim and determined, the archers already drawing their arrows and the swordsmen holding the hilts of their weapons tightly, their muscular forearms tense in anticipation.

They were ready for battle.

No, Gala thought in desperation. She couldn’t let this happen. If the soldiers were there for her, then she needed to face them herself. She couldn’t allow Maya, Esther, or the lions to get pulled into this.

Gathering her courage, she began walking toward the army.

“Gala, wait!”

She could hear Esther yelling behind her, and she picked up the pace, wanting to leave the old women far behind. “Stay there,” she yelled back, turning her head to see the lions following her and Maya and Esther trailing in their wake. Gala willed them to stop, to turn back, but her magic was no more in her control than the dual emotions of fear and desperation that made her whole body shake.

Not knowing what else to do, she began running—running straight at the armed men. It felt liberating in a strange way, to just run as fast as she could, and Gala felt her speed picking up with each step until she was almost flying toward the wheat field, leaving her entourage far behind.

One of the small groups of soldiers stepped forward, putting up their shields as though expecting an attack. At the same time, the archers released their arrows, turning the sky black. Even with her mind in turmoil, Gala could estimate the current path of the deadly sticks, could calculate the trajectory adjusted for gravity and wind. She could tell that many arrows would hit her and a few would even reach her friends.

Still running, she felt a growing fury. It exploded out of her in a blast of fire that covered the sky and the ground all around her. The deadly hail of arrows disintegrated, turning to ash in a matter of seconds, but the soldiers remained standing. Their shields were emitting a faint glow that somehow protected the men from the heat as a cloud of ash settled magnificently over the burning field.

Unfazed, Gala kept running. She felt unstoppable, invincible, and when the group of soldiers loomed in front of her, she couldn’t slow down. Instead she slammed into them at full speed, not even feeling the impact of the metal shields hitting her body.

The shields and the men holding them flew into the air, as though they were made of straw. Their bodies landed heavily several yards away and lay there in a heap of broken bones and bruised flesh.

The realization of what she had done washed over Gala in a terrible wave, breaking through whatever madness had her in its grip. Stopping in her tracks, she stared in horror at the carnage she had caused.

Before she could begin to process it all, she heard a deep, harsh voice barking out orders, and she turned just in time to see a soldier running at her, his sword raised.

“Stop,” Gala whispered, holding out her hand, palm out. “Please stop . . .”

But he didn’t. Instead, he came at Gala, his weapon swinging in a deadly arc.

She jumped back, missing the blade by a hair.

He swung again, and she dodged this, too. His movements were like a strange dance, and she matched him as she would a dancing partner. He swung at her elbow, and she moved back her arm; he swung at her neck, and she dropped down to the ground before springing up again. He moved his foot forward; she moved hers back. He started moving faster, stabbing and slashing at her with lightning speed, and she felt her body adjusting, responding to his speed with increasing quickness of her own. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see more soldiers approaching, though they were still a distance away.

It didn’t seem real, any of it, and Gala could feel her mind going into a new kind of mode. Now it was as though she was watching herself from a distance. Rather than just reacting to the soldier’s movements, it was almost like she was predicting what he would do based on the subtle movements of his muscles and minute changes in his facial expressions.

Still caught up in her deadly dance, she sensed someone approaching her from the back. It was there in the dilation of her opponent’s pupils and a flash of reflection in his eyes. And just as the other soldier took a swing at her, she bent in time to feel the sword swishing through the air where her head had been just a second ago.

Now she was up against two attackers, but it didn’t seem to matter. She was still able to dodge their swords. One swung at her arm and the other at her thigh, and her body contorted in a way she’d never had it bend before. It was uncomfortable for a moment, but effective—the soldiers’ swords missed her again.

That was when she heard the first growl and a scream. A lion jumped at the soldiers, and she felt its agony as some soldier’s sword pierced its paw. At the same time, she heard the pained cry of the soldier whose throat got ripped out by the lion’s sharp teeth.

Yet another soldier joined Gala’s opponents. Now she was up against three, but she was learning their movements and the dance was becoming easier, not harder. It seemed like she could move like them, only better and faster. More efficient.

More lions pounced at the soldiers. Without even knowing how, Gala could feel the animals’ movements. It was as though a strange link was forming between her and the beasts, and suddenly, impossibly, some part of Gala’s brain seemed to be correcting the lions’ movements, making them dodge the soldiers’ swords just as Gala was dodging the attacks that came her way. At the same time, she was keeping the lions contained, preventing them from tearing at the soldiers’ flesh as the animals hungered to do.

Filled with bloodlust, the lions fought her control, and she felt the link between them weakening as more soldiers joined in the fight. She was now dodging five attacks at once. A sword reached one of the lions, brutally slicing through its back, and Gala felt renewed fury—only she couldn’t tell if it was her own or the lion’s.

And at that moment, she heard Maya and Esther screaming in fear.

Her mind exploded with rage.

Gala was through with mere defense.

As the next soldier made his move, she grabbed his sword, wrenching it out of his hand with one swift motion and burying it in his chest. Pulling it out, she dodged the swing of her second attacker, and the sword in her hand went for his throat. She synchronized her deadly movements in such a way that when she dodged the third attacker’s blow, his sword arm continued on, slicing open the shoulder of his comrade. And before the wounded soldier could even scream, Gala caught his falling sword, swinging both weapons in a fatal arc.

Two headless bodies fell to the ground as Gala remained standing, her mind still clouded by white-hot fury. Somewhere out there was a lion in its death throes, its agony maddening her further.

More soldiers attacked, and Gala’s swords sliced through them with brutal precision. She didn’t consciously control how her hands and body were moving; instead, it was almost as if she was someone else. Parry, thrust, slice, dodge—everything blended together as she fought to get to the animal whose pain she could feel. Men fell all around her, dropping like flies, and the ground turned red with blood.

Then four large soldiers loomed in front of her, moving with a speed unlike anyone else she had encountered thus far.

The biggest of them had a pendant around his neck.

41

Barson

Nothing was going according to plan. Barson watched incredulously as the beautiful young woman hacked her way through his men, fighting with superhuman strength and skill.

When he had first seen her appear out of thin air with her strange companions, he had known that the rumors were true—that she was a powerful sorceress indeed. Teleporting so many was an achievement that few, if any, members of the Council could match. How had a young woman he’d never heard of before managed such a feat?

For a moment, he’d hesitated, wondering if he was doing the right thing. To destroy something so beautiful would be a shame, yet he’d made a promise to Augusta—and he needed his lover on his side. Coming to a decision, he had ordered his men to attack.

They were already prepared for a different kind of battle; no army had met a sorcerer this way since the time of the Revolution. Of course, back then, nobody had developed the strategy he was about to test.

Instead of clustering together, he had his soldiers separate into small groups to minimize the chances of any one particular spell working on them all. He would never forget how easily Augusta had decimated the peasants’ army, and he had no intention of letting his men meet the same fate. Unlike those poor souls, his army had protection from elemental spells and detailed instructions on how to handle unusual movements of the earth. Thus, when the girl had unleashed the most powerful fire spell he had ever seen, they had been spared.

What he had not counted on was encountering a master swordsman. Because that’s what the girl had to be, despite her delicate appearance. She fought like a man possessed, like a demon of old fairy tales, with a skill and agility that possibly superseded his own—a skill that increased with every moment that passed. How was she learning so fast? What was she? There was a kind of calculated precision to her graceful movements that seemed almost . . . inhuman.

He noticed only one weakness. She seemed to get distracted when the lions and the old women were in danger. And as distasteful as it was, Barson knew what he had to do.

Giving the order to set the beasts on fire, he moved forward decisively with his best men.

She met them without even a hint of fear. Within moments, Barson and his men were fighting for their lives. The girl was working two swords in her hands, thrusting at any hint of an opening, parrying every blow that came her way. The worst thing of all, however, was that she was adapting with every strike, getting faster and more efficient as the fight went on. If he hadn’t been in mortal danger, Barson would have given anything to study her technique—because at this point, she was perfection itself, a virtuoso with a blade, her every move imbued with deadly purpose.

The first blood in this frantic confrontation came from a strike at Kiam’s shoulder. A minute later, Larn was bleeding from his thigh. Furious, Barson put all his strength into a last desperate assault—and then he smelled the acrid odor of burning lion fur.

The girl shuddered, her concentration broken, and Barson finally saw an opening in her defense. One quick lunge, and his sword sliced open her belly, leaving behind a deep, gushing wound.

She screamed, dropping her weapons and clutching at her stomach.

Barson and his men moved in for the kill.

42

Gala

Gala had experienced pain before, but nothing had prepared her for this.

The agony was debilitating. The man with the pendant—the man who seemed to fight like no other—had sliced her open.

Clutching her stomach, she could feel the warm flow of blood trickling through her fingers, and for the first time, she was struck by the realization that she could actually cease to exist.

No. Gala could not, would not accept that possibility.

Time seemed to slow. In the distance, she could hear the lions roaring and feel the pain of their burning flesh. She could also see the soldiers’ blades moving ever so slowly toward her, ready to end her life.

In that brief moment of time, a million thoughts ran through her mind. The pain in her wounded flesh was terrible, and the realization that she’d hurt the soldiers in a similar way added to her turmoil. Would she die now? Could she die? Thus far, her body did not behave as that of a regular woman, but it still had to be bound by some rules that were at least somewhat based on how human bodies worked. She got tired; she ate and slept. She got scared and happy, felt heat and cold. Would she be killed if those swords that were moving ever so slowly reached her body?

No, Gala decided. She could not risk letting that happen; she could not let them kill her. She loved existing too much. She had too much to see, to experience. She wanted to see Blaise again, to feel his kisses.

She also had the lions, Esther, and Maya to save.

Just as the swords of the four soldiers were about to pierce her flesh, she put all her energy into one last desperate blast. Focusing all her fury on the metal blades that had caused so much pain, she willed them gone with all her might.

And as whatever spell she thus unleashed started working, Gala felt a burst of agony unlike anything she’d known before. The lions roared, and she felt their pain and suffering, the screams of the soldiers adding to the chaos.

Through the haze clouding her mind, she understood what happened. She’d made all the swords on the field explode, driving deadly shards of metal through the soldiers’ armor and into every bit of exposed flesh. Nobody had escaped unscathed—not the soldiers, not the lions, and not even Gala herself. Only Maya and Esther were sufficiently far away to be safe. Here on the field, the smoldering remnants of grass were covered with blood.

Dazed, Gala stared at the metal shards sticking out of her body. Somehow, seeing them made the pain worse. Falling to her knees, she threw back her head with an agonized scream. As though responding to her agony, the shards of metal came out of her body, hanging for a moment in the air before falling to the ground. All around her, the same thing was happening to the soldiers and the lions.

It didn’t help the pain, however. Her vision blurring, Gala struggled to her feet. All she wanted to do now was get away, rise above this terrible field of slaughter before anyone recovered enough to attack her again. And that was when she felt her body slowly floating up from the ground.

Strong hands grabbed her leg as she was rising into the air, and Gala saw the soldier with the pendant—the one who’d wounded her—holding on to her with grim determination. His face and armor were covered in blood, but that didn’t seem to stop him. She was far too weak to shake him off, and they floated up together, rising slowly into the air.

Below, Gala could see the battlefield. It was littered with bodies and soaked with blood. She had done this; she had caused all this pain and suffering. The realization was worse than the agony wracking her body.

Lifting her hands up to the sky, Gala watched the bright blue expanse. A sound escaped her throat, a sound that turned into something else. She couldn’t stand the feel of blood on her hands; she needed to wash this nightmare away.

She began to cry. Sobs escaped her throat and tears ran down her face, her entire body shaking as it rose higher and higher above the ground. The soldier’s hands tightened on her leg, his fingers brutally digging into her skin, but she couldn’t bring herself to care, too consumed by her own horror and bitter regret.

A flash of bright light shocked her vision. It was followed by a loud boom and a rapidly darkening sky. Clouds appeared, veiling the sun, and the wind picked up. Another flash of light, another boom, and Gala realized that it was lightning and thunder. A storm was gathering, a weather phenomenon she’d only read about before.

The skies opened and the rain began, huge drops falling on Gala, soaking her to the skin. The cold wetness felt good on her overheated skin, washing away the blood and grime.

The rain also seemed to reinvigorate the big soldier hanging on to her leg. He let go with one hand and pulled out a dagger from somewhere, holding it against her thigh.

“Take us down,” he ordered harshly. “Right now.”

Gala tried to kick at him, but the dagger dug into her skin, and she could see the murderous intent on the man’s face. He was determined to bring them down at any cost—even if doing so meant losing his own life.

Her body still gripped by unbearable pain, Gala instinctively reached out to the storm, feeling its fury deep in her bones.

Suddenly, there was another flash of light and an explosion of pain. Sparks flew, and Gala realized that a lightning bolt had struck the man’s dagger, its force traveling into both of their bodies. The soldier’s grip on her leg loosened . . . and he plummeted to the ground below.

Shocked and dazed, Gala continued floating for a moment before she found the strength to focus on something other than the pain. Remembering the thief she had healed, she tried to recall the way she felt then—the peace that had permeated every fiber of her being. And then she began to feel it again, the warm sensation that started deep inside her and radiated outward through her outstretched arms, intensifying with every moment that passed, the pain melding into pleasure, into a sense of warmth, light, and happiness.

She wanted to freeze this moment and feel this good forever.

Through the fog of pleasure, she felt unconsciousness slowly creeping in, and she could not fight it anymore.

She would fall into a pleasant dream, Gala thought, and blanked out.

43

Augusta

Exiting the Council meeting, Augusta hurried to her room, walking as fast as she could without actually running. During the best of times, Council meetings were far from her favorite activity, but the one today had been particularly intolerable. Jandison had yammered on and on, and all the while Augusta had been sitting there thinking about the fact that, at that very moment, Barson was probably getting rid of Blaise’s abomination.

She wasn’t afraid for him, exactly. Her lover was a force to be reckoned with on a battlefield, and she had used plenty of protective spells to aid him in his task. It was more that she was anxious to see the creature destroyed, permanently wiped out of existence. For the past two nights, she’d had nightmares, dreams of that thing growing more powerful and the ground turning red with blood from the carnage that it caused. She knew the dreams were just a product of her subconscious mind dwelling on the situation, but they were disturbing nonetheless.

It would be good to know that the issue was taken care of.

Walking into her quarters, Augusta headed straight to the mirror that would show her the battle through Barson’s pendant. Sitting down in front of it, she took off the cover.

The image in front of her was that of a battle in progress. Augusta watched with a sense of gratification as the creature unsuccessfully used a fire spell against Barson’s army. Augusta’s defenses held, as she’d known they would.

However, as the battle continued, Augusta grew increasingly anxious. The thing was moving its body in unnatural ways, learning sword fighting with inhuman speed. Augusta knew of no sorcery that could allow someone to fight like that.

Soon, the battle became a massacre. The creature killed with horrible precision again and again, until all Augusta could see was blood and death. The fact that the monstrosity manifested itself in the form of a delicate young woman made the scene that much more macabre.

As Barson began moving toward the creature, Augusta felt her stomach drop. “No, don’t,” she whispered at the mirror, beginning to realize how much she’d underestimated this unnatural being.

And then Barson succeeded in wounding it. Augusta jumped up, yelling in triumph—until she saw the creature perform its most destructive magic yet. Disregarding its own safety, it made all the swords shatter to bits, sending deadly pieces of metal flying everywhere.

“Barson, stop!” Augusta screamed as her lover—bleeding, but alive—grabbed on to the thing, floating upward with it. “Let go! Please, let go!”

He couldn’t hear her, of course, and Augusta watched in horrified shock as the storm began and a lightning bolt speared through Barson’s body. Her elemental protection spell had likely dampened the full effect of the strike, but the pain must’ve been unbearable, even for Barson. His hands unclasped, and he began falling to his death.

A few seconds later, the image in the mirror broke into a dozen pieces and went dark.

Letting out a scream of agonized rage, Augusta hit the mirror, over and over, until her hands were bleeding and the mirror lay shattered on the floor.

Sobbing, she sank to her knees.

She had done this. She had caused her own lover’s death. If she had gone directly to the Council as soon as she’d learned about the creature, none of this would’ve happened, and Barson would still be alive. Keening in agony, Augusta rocked back and forth.

She had let her feelings for Blaise cloud her judgment, but she would not make that mistake again. Blaise was now dead to her—as dead as his creature would be when the full power of Koldun’s sorcerers got unleashed upon it.

The thing was evil, and evil had to be stopped at all costs.

44

Blaise

His heart pounding in his chest, Blaise flew as fast as he could. Out there, in the middle of the giant storm, was Gala. She was floating in the air, with a man hanging on to her legs. The ground was covered with bodies of soldiers. Blaise couldn’t tell if they were dead or just severely wounded.

His chaise shook as he pushed it to its very limits, trying to go faster and faster. The wind from the storm was hampering his efforts, so he grabbed for his bag, fishing out the Interpreter Stone and a few cards. Frantically adding a few key parameters to the code, he fed the cards into the Stone and waited.

Immediately, a new wind picked up. It was weak compared to the insane forces Blaise assumed Gala had somehow unleashed, but it was blowing in exactly the direction he needed.

Next, Blaise took out a handkerchief. Ignoring the rain and the lightning, he did a verbal spell. When he was done, the handkerchief began to grow until it was more like a sheet. Another spell, and the sheet was attached to the back of the chaise, becoming an impromptu sail of sorts.

The chaise went faster, helped by the wind.

Lightning kept hitting the ground, and Blaise watched in horror as one bolt hit the man holding on to Gala. In the bright flash that followed, Blaise saw the man’s face.

It was Barson, the Captain of the Sorcerer Guard—a man known to be a fighter without equal.

At the lightning strike, Barson’s entire body jerked. Then he let go of Gala and began to fall.

A moment later, Blaise began to feel a strange sensation—a blissful warmth that somehow permeated his body despite the wind and rain lashing at his skin. All the tension drained out of him and was replaced with a kind of unusual calmness, a peace unlike anything he had ever experienced before. It was mesmerizing, hypnotic, and Blaise felt himself starting to drift under, his mind clouding with the intense pleasure.

A healing spell, he realized vaguely, his thoughts slow and sluggish, as though he was falling asleep. A healing spell like his mother used to do, only a thousand times more powerful. A healing spell that would make him forget everything if he allowed it.

No, Blaise thought, his nails digging into his skin. He couldn’t let himself go under. Reaching for the letter opener he always carried in his bag, he pulled it out and stabbed his palm. The pain was sharp and jarring for a moment, and then his flesh sealed itself, as though nothing had happened. He repeated the action, over and over. The bursts of pain prevented him from getting sucked into that mindless, blissful state.

Up ahead, he saw Gala starting to fall and felt the effects of the healing spell beginning to wane. The lightning and thunder eased, though the rain continued pouring at a steady pace.

Angling his chaise toward the ground, Blaise got underneath Gala’s falling body just in time.

She landed on top of him, and Blaise caught her in his arms, pulling her close. She seemed to be unconscious but alive, her slim body soft and warm against his chest. Shaking, Blaise mentally thanked all his teachers, even the bastard Ganir, for encouraging and nurturing his mathematical gifts. Had the angle of his descent been even slightly different, Gala would’ve plummeted to the ground below.

Looking down at her exquisite face, Blaise bent down and gently kissed her lips, tasting the rain and the unique essence that was Gala. He couldn’t believe she was finally here, with him, and he hugged her, trying not to crush her in his arms. Even dressed in a peasant outfit and with dirt marring her cheeks, she was beautiful enough to make him ache.

They descended slowly, and he saw the field fully for the first time. All around them, the soldiers of the Sorcerer Guard were beginning to stir, though many still had shards of metal sticking out of their armor. There were also lions walking around, a sight that would’ve surprised Blaise more if he hadn’t been so overwhelmed with everything else. On the very edge of the field, he could see Maya and Esther. They had their arms around each other and were staring at the field with terrified expressions on their faces.

The chaise touched the ground, and Blaise climbed out, still holding Gala cradled in his arms. She shifted, making a soft noise, and then her eyes fluttered open.

Smiling, Blaise met her gaze.

“Blaise!” Her face lit up with joyous wonder. “You’re here!”

“Yes,” he said softly. “I’m here, and I am not going anywhere.” Bending his head, he kissed her again. Her arms wound around his neck, and she pulled his head down, kissing him back with so much passion that Blaise felt a bolt of heat despite the cold rain that kept coming down. For the first time since Gala left, he felt alive—alive and craving her with every part of his being.

Before he could completely lose his mind, Blaise pulled back. As loath as he was to stop, he needed to take stock of the situation. “What happened here?” he asked, gently placing her on her feet.

Gala blinked, seemingly taken aback for a moment, then frantically looked around. “They’re healed,” she said in amazement, stepping back and pointing at the lions. “Look, Blaise, they are all healed!”

Blaise looked at the wild beasts that now seemed to be heading toward Maya and Esther. “That’s good, I guess,” he said, a bit uncertainly. Around them, he could see some of the soldiers slowly starting to get up.

“They’re healed, too,” Gala said, following his gaze. “I must have done it without meaning to.” She sounded relieved, which struck Blaise as odd.

“I thought they were trying to kill you,” he said. “What happened here today?”

And as they walked toward Maya and Esther through the field of dazed, but slowly recovering soldiers, Gala told him all about the fight and the incidents at the market and Coliseum.

Blaise listened in awe. He had known she would be powerful, but even he couldn’t have imagined some of the things she would do. And she didn’t even seem to have control over her powers yet.

“I’m sorry I left,” Gala said as they were approaching the two older women. Her voice was filled with bitter regret. “I caused so much havoc and suffering . . . I can’t control myself, Blaise. I should’ve stayed with you and tried to learn sorcery like you wanted me to do, instead of going off to see the world. None of this—” she motioned toward the bloody field, “—should’ve happened.”

Blaise took her hand, squeezing it lightly. “Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “I will be with you from now on.” Her hand felt small and cold within his own, and he realized how fragile she was despite her powers.

Gala nodded, and he could see that some of her earlier exuberance was no longer there. Even though only a few days had passed, she seemed different, more mature somehow. As they walked, he could see tears running down her face, mixing with the raindrops.

“Not all of them are moving,” she said, looking at the fallen soldiers. “Blaise, I think I killed some of them.” There was a note of poorly concealed horror in her voice.

Blaise again cursed himself for not being there to protect her. “You were defending yourself.” He stopped, bringing her to a halt as well. Placing his hands on her wet cheeks, he met her grief-stricken gaze. “Gala, listen to me, this was not your fault.”

“Of course it was,” she said bitterly. “I did this. I killed those men.”

“They were trying to kill you,” Blaise said harshly. “They are the ones at fault, not you. If I had been here, I would’ve killed them all. You, at least, healed the survivors. That’s more mercy than they deserve—”

“Gala!” Maya’s shriek interrupted the moment, and they both turned toward the sound. The two women were standing a dozen yards away, surrounded by a circle of lions. “Gala, get these man-eating monsters away from us!”

To Blaise’s surprise, a tiny smile appeared on Gala’s face, and the lions lay down, curling into giant furry balls at Maya and Esther’s feet.

“No,” Esther said frantically, “don’t make them corner us—just make them go away.” Turning to Maya, she said loudly, “And you, don’t you realize that yelling at them might make them feel threatened?” The two women went on to bicker, and the lions merely raised their ears from time to time, content to ignore the humans.

“They seem to be fine,” Blaise said to Gala when she turned her attention back to him. “You saved them, you know. I don’t know what the soldiers would’ve done to them.”

She nodded, her eyes still looking far too shadowed for his liking, and Blaise knew that it was little consolation to her right now, that she would never be able to completely forget the events of this terrible day.

45

Barson

Barson was plummeting toward the ground when he felt the first wave of ecstasy washing over him. This must be what it feels like to die, he thought, as all pain left his body and a blissful peace took its place. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. All his wounds seemed to heal, the remaining shards of metal exiting his body as though pushed out by some invisible force.

Then he slammed into the ground.

The impact knocked all air out of his lungs. Black spots swimming in front of his vision, Barson fought to draw in a breath through the compressed cavity of his chest. He could see the pendant lying on the ground in front of him in pieces. It was right next to his armor-plated arm, which seemed twisted at an odd angle. He had a strange thought that he was broken too, just like the pendant.

Then the pain hit him in one massive wave. It felt like every bone in his body was shattered, every organ bruised and bleeding on the inside. His vision blurred, and hot nausea boiled up in his throat, but he fought the blackness that tried to suck him under. He couldn’t, wouldn’t allow himself to die like this.

And just as Barson felt that he would lose that fight, the pain began to lessen again, disappearing as miraculously as it did before. He could feel his body healing, mending, and it was the most amazing sensation—until that blissful peace hit again, bathing him in the exquisite warmth.

He couldn’t fight the sweetness of the oblivion any longer, and he let the wave of pleasure sweep him under.

46

Gala

“I want to leave this place,” Gala told Blaise after the lions left Maya and Esther alone, curling up a few yards away instead.

Having Blaise here, with her, made her feel better, but she needed to get away from this field of carnage. Guilt, sharp and terrible, was gnawing at her insides. She had killed people today; she had cut short their existence. It was the worst crime Gala could think of, and she had committed it—not once, but many times today.

The different what-if scenarios kept running through her head. What if she had been able to just make them fall asleep? What if she had made their swords disappear instead of shattering into a thousand pieces? If she had been able to control her powers, she could’ve defended herself without resorting to murder.

“Yes,” Blaise agreed. “We need to go. We might be able to hide in one of the other territories—”

“No,” Esther interrupted, coming up to them. “You will be recognized—and now, so will she. No disguise will be able to hide her after this.” She motioned toward the field.

Maya approached as well. “Esther is right. Besides, this one—” she pointed at Gala, “—starts doing insane sorcery whenever she’s upset.”

Gala stared at Maya, struck by the fact that the old woman was right. Her magic—her uncontrollable powers—were very much tied to her emotions. She wanted to kick herself for not making this obvious connection before.

“So what do you suggest instead?” Blaise frowned at Esther. “We can’t go back to the village, and Turingrad is out of the question. As soon as the Council hears about this—and they will—they’re going to be after us. As powerful as Gala is, the two of us don’t stand a chance against the combined might of the Council.”

Esther hesitated for a second. “There is one place they wouldn’t look,” she said slowly. “The mountains. That might be where we need to go.”

A silence followed. Gala had read a little bit about the mountains that surrounded Koldun and protected the land from the brutal ocean storms. At no point did the books describe the mountains as a habitable place.

Blaise looked like he was considering the idea. “Well,” he said finally, “it is just wilderness, but we might be able to survive there. It won’t be comfortable, but I’m sure we’ll manage—”

“I’m not sure if it’s just wilderness,” Maya said, looking frightened. “I’ve heard rumors.”

“What rumors?” Gala asked, her natural curiosity awakening. She could picture herself in the forest with Blaise, surrounded by beautiful plants and animals, and the images were quite appealing. The lions would be happy there, too; she had been wondering how to set the magnificent creatures free without them eating anyone or getting hurt by frightened humans, and this seemed like the perfect solution.

“They say that people live there,” Esther said, leaning in as though afraid someone would overhear her words. “They say that those people are free, that they don’t belong to any sorcerers.”

Blaise appeared surprised. “Why haven’t I heard about this?”

“I imagine most sorcerers haven’t heard about this,” Maya said. “That’s why those people are supposedly free. Rumors say many of them are from the northern territories, where the drought is especially bad, but some come from further south.”

Gala looked at Blaise and the two women. Going to the mountains meant that she would be far away from the soldiers and anyone else seeking to harm her—and that she would never have to harm anyone else in return. “Let’s go there,” she said decisively. “Maybe we could help those people in exchange for their hospitality. Blaise, you could enhance their crops, right?”

Her creator gave her a warm smile. “Yes, indeed. Sounds like we have a plan.”

* * *

Gala watched in fascination as Blaise worked on a spell to expand his chaise. The goal was to make it big enough to accommodate four people and thirteen lions.

When the enlarged object stood there, almost blocking the inn, they all got on, even the lions. Gala mentally guided the animals onto the object, making sure they didn’t panic or growl at Maya and Esther—who were eyeing them quite warily, afraid of having the wild beasts so close. In contrast, Gala liked having the animals near, the proximity of their furry bodies making the chaise feel warm and cozy. Blaise did a quick spell to add a waterproof shield around the chaise, so they were also protected from the steadily falling rain.

As they rose into the air and began heading toward the mountains, Blaise turned to Gala with a strange expression on his face. “Gala,” he said softly. “Are you seeing this?”

“Seeing what?” Gala asked. All she could see were the sheets of rain, coming down hard and turning everything grey. The storm was not as violent as before, but it seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see.

“The rain. It’s rapidly spreading,” Blaise said, reaching out to take her hand. The look on his face as he gazed at her was tender and reverent. “Gala, I think you might have ended the drought.”

The End

* * *

Continue The Sorcery Code series in book two, The Spell Realm.

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Dima Zales is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of science fiction and fantasy. Prior to becoming a writer, he worked in the software development industry in New York as both a programmer and an executive. From high-frequency trading software for big banks to mobile apps for popular magazines, Dima has done it all. In 2013, he left the software industry in order to concentrate on his writing career and moved to Palm Coast, Florida, where he currently resides.

In addition to writing The Sorcery Code series and Mind Dimensions series, Dima has collaborated on a number of romance novels with his wife, Anna Zaires. The Krinar Chronicles, an erotic science fiction series, is an international bestseller and has been recognized by the likes of Marie Claire and Woman's Day. If you like erotic romance with a unique plot, please feel free to check it out, especially since the first book in the series (Close Liaisons) is available for free everywhere.

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Chased by Fire

The Cloud Warrior Saga, Book 1

D.K. Holmberg

Chased by Fire © copyright 2014 DK Holmberg

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

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About the Book

Chased by Fire

An ancient artifact that must be found...

Terrifying creatures from dark and dangerous Incendin...

And long-forgotten elementals again unleashed on the world.

As an earth senser, Tan is tasked with helping guide the king’s servant through the dangerous mountain passes in search for the artifact before Incendin can reach it first. But after losing his father to the war, Tan wants nothing to do with the king’s demands. When everything he knows is lost, he is forced to risk himself to save the one person who can find the artifact, a beautiful girl who has lost as much as Tan. In doing so, power the world hasn’t seen in nearly a thousand years is awoken, and a warrior long thought dead returns to claim the artifact for himself.

1

Tracks and Smoke

The sudden howl sent a shiver through Tan. The terrible sound echoed several times during the day, and each time he reacted the same. He checked his bow reflexively, feeling the reassuring weight of the smooth ash. Whatever was out there didn’t belong in his forest.

“There it is again!” Bal cried. She started up the slope until Tan grabbed her.

He still couldn’t believe he had found her wandering this high up in the mountains alone. “Not the first time I’ve heard it,” he said, wiping an arm across his forehead, smearing away sweat from the unseasonable heat. Tracks piercing the dry earth traced up the slope, winding between massive oaks growing along the steep hillside. Farther up the oaks thinned, leaving the rock bare.

“What do you think it is?”

Tan studied the trees around him. They were mostly oak and pine, but began to thin the higher they climbed. “Not sure. I don’t recognize the tracks.” Bal’s eyes widened. “Not wolves,” he said to reassure her. “I’ve crossed their tracks a couple of times already.”

“You’ve seen wolves?” She looked around, as if the huge mountain wolves were worse than whatever had made that horrible sound.

He pulled her back down the slope, keeping his hand on her wrist. “What were you doing up here anyway?”

Bal glanced over her shoulder before meeting his eyes. “I don’t want to say.”

Tan snorted and shook his head, unable to suppress the smirk coming to his face. Typical response from Bal. He waited for her to answer rather than pressing.

“I…” She bit her lip as she hesitated. “I followed someone,” she finished in a rush.

Tan frowned. Who would Bal have followed into the forest?

The harsh cry came again, keeping him from asking. He listened carefully, stretching out his awareness of the forest as his father had once taught him, focusing on the sounds of the forest, smelling the air. Closer. Much closer than the last.

The sound meant more than one of these creatures.

“We should go,” he said.

The hike back would take most of the day, and Tan dreaded seeing his mother when he returned so late. Since his father’s passing, she was short-tempered any time she couldn’t account for him. The death of his father was the biggest reason he remained in Nor rather than leaving and taking an apprenticeship outside the village.

Bal bit her lip. “What do you think you were tracking?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he admitted. “Maybe Cobin will know.” Cobin had lived at the edge of the forest for longer than Tan had been alive, and if any in town would know, it would be Cobin.

“You think my father will know if you don’t know?”

“Maybe, but even if he doesn’t, we should still head home.”

Tan started off, moving back down the slope. Sweat poured off him and he wished he had brought more than just the single flask of water with him. The upper streams were infrequent here, and with the stifling air, he went through what he brought.

A sudden gust of comforting wind touched his arm, providing a brief relief. Galen was normally a windy land and the heat over the last few weeks was worse for the uncharacteristically stagnant days.

Bal trailed behind him, strangely silent.

“What would you have done had I not found you?” Tan asked, glancing back as they made their way down the slope. No trail worked through this part of the forest and they were far from Nor. Bal could have wandered lost for days.

“Followed my tracks back down.”

Tan sensed the hesitation in her voice. “Bal, who did you follow?”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. They moved much farther downslope before she finally answered. “I didn’t mean to follow him. Just sorta got away from me. I thought it strange he’d come up in the hills. Not like him. Too dirty for his type.”

“Bal?” Tan already thought he knew who she meant.

She looked up at him, defiance in her eyes. “I followed Lins.”

Tan laughed and shook his head. “You know what he’ll do if he knew you followed him?”

“No worse than he does to you. Besides, just because he’s Lord Alles’s son doesn’t mean he can do whatever he wants. If the king knew some of the things he does…”

Tan swung around a stump and pointed so Bal didn’t trip. “The king doesn’t care much what happens in Nor. And Lins…well, Lins will eventually inherit his father’s house, so best we don’t anger him too much.”

“Why do you say that?”

Tan frowned. “About Lins?”

She shook her head. “The king. Why wouldn’t he care? We’re right here next to Incendin. And Ethea likes our iron plenty.”

Tan shook his head. The only time the king seemed to care was to summon them to service. Like his father. “Ever seen a shaper here? If Nor is so important, seems we’d be better protected.”

Bal slipped on some loose dirt and Tan grabbed her wrist to keep her upright. “Wish we had a shaper. Wouldn’t be so blasted hot.”

“It doesn’t work like that, Bal.”

She jerked her arm away from him. “Like you know. You’ve seen exactly as many shapers as I’ve seen.”

Tan laughed and let her get ahead of him. Besides, she was right. Maybe shapers could control the weather. The only help Nor got were sensers, and there weren’t many of them. Fewer since Tan’s father died.

“Did you see what he was doing?” Tan asked. Bal had gotten too far in front of him and he didn’t want her to get lost again. Talking slowed her down a little.

She turned and put one hand on her hip as she glared at him. Dirt somehow stained her brown shirt. “Who?”

“Lins. Did you see what he was doing up there?”

She shook her head. “Just saw flashes of him when he got too far ahead. Then I lost him.”

Tan started to say something, but motion at the edge of his vision startled him. Tan should have sensed it, but his ability was weak. Nothing like his father. He waved a hand at Bal, motioning for her to remain still. He crept forward, his awareness focused like his father had taught him while walking these hills. Doing so made him feel close to him again, however briefly. Long moments passed where he detected nothing.

Then he saw tracks again.

Tan hadn’t followed them down the slope, choosing an easier hike down than the one he took up the mountain, but the tracks appeared anyway. Marked by three toes and in a shape he didn’t recognize, there hadn’t been other signs of these creatures except for the painful cries. Until now.

The forest seemed strangely silent, but Tan didn’t sense anything else in the woods. He had practically grown up wandering the forest and hills of Nor, which made the vague sense of unease settling into his chest even more unnerving.

The odd footprint had initially just sparked his curiosity. The climb had begun as a diversion, a way of avoiding his chores for the day. Several sheep had gone missing and Cobin was convinced the wolves took them. So far, Tan saw no sign of wolves in the valley. It had not taken him long to find other prints as he had made his way upslope. Eventually, even tracking became difficult, forcing him to use his weak sensing to find the next print.

The creatures didn’t follow an easy climb. In some places they moved quickly up sheer rock. Other times he went dozens of paces before finding another print. When he had come across Bal, he took it as a sign to turn back.

“What is it?” Bal whispered, edging up to him.

He stared through the trees. Was there something there? Was it Lins? Tan wouldn’t have any easier a time than Bal if he ran into him up in the mountains, but at least he’d have a reason to be here. “Not sure. Thought I saw something.”

“What?”

Tan studied the ground as he crept forward, searching for the strange print he had been following. “Nothing, I guess.”

Had his mind played tricks on him? He slid forward, eyes focused, ignoring Bal as she spoke to him. There had been something here—he was certain of it. He only had to find proof.

Then he found the next print.

Tan glanced behind him and then turned, looking upslope from where they had come. Bal stared at him, a worried look to her face. Had the creature truly been this close to them? Tan turned, kneeling to look at the print, unable to tell how fresh it was.

“There’s another print.” Tan pushed on Bal’s shoulder, moving her downslope. “I think you should get back to Nor. Follow the tree line to the next stream. You can use it to make your way back to town.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to follow this a little further.”

She shook her head. “Not without me.”

“We don’t know what this is. I’ll have an easier time moving in the woods without…” He trailed off before finishing. Bal didn’t need him to insult her too. And she would take anything he said about her slowing him down as an insult.

“Without what? Me pestering you?”

Tan sighed. “I was going to say without worrying about you.”

“Well I wouldn’t want you worrying about me, Tannen Minden!” She stomped off down the slope, making enough noise to scare away anything he might have been tracking. She glanced back at him once, her eyes flashing anger, before disappearing.

He sighed, hating to anger Bal, but it was for the best. He would worry about her and she would slow him, but it still pained him to upset her. Part of him debated chasing her. Like her, he should return to Nor, but he still hadn’t figured out what made the tracks. It gnawed at him that he hadn’t.

Tan climbed upslope, watching for more prints. After a dozen paces, he saw another. Now that he’d found them, he could clearly follow the tracks. The prints wound across the face of the slope, never moving completely upslope or down. No further howls echoed but the sounds of the forest still didn’t return. Nothing resonated with his senses. Gradually, the sun dipped below the tree line. Soon he would need to abandon his tracking.

Then he found a second set of prints.

They were as unusual as the first, though in a different way. Long, almost as if made by a man, but with a strange dimple near the heel on each. When the print led over a rocky stretch of ground, he realized the dimple came from the nail of a sharp claw that had left scratches along the stone.

The uneasy sensation twisted his stomach and sweat slicked his palms. The original tracks mingled now with the new prints, as if they traveled together.

Was he the hunter or the hunted?

Tan looked around, the area unfamiliar. He focused on slowing his breathing, controlling his emotion, and extending his senses into the forest as his father had long ago taught him. Nothing moved in the forest around him. Something to that feeling bothered him.

Turning toward home, he felt an intrusion upon his senses like an itch at the back of his mind, a sense he’d learned to trust over the years, and froze. Any sudden movement might frighten the animal—either to run or to attack. He didn’t want to take any chances. Starting forward, he moved cautiously, and the sensation intensified. Tan scanned the forest for the source of his unease, but saw nothing.

Then the strange cry suddenly rang out through the forest, nearer than before. Near enough that the sound hurt his ears.

He ran. His steps were careful at first, but after another sharp braying sounded even closer, he tore through the forest. Nearing a rocky outcropping, he climbed up for a better vantage as the terrible howl came again.

It sounded almost upon him. Tan hurried up the rock and scraped his knees in his haste. He swore softly, knowing better than to press his luck tracking so far from home armed with only his bow.

The creature howled again, this time from behind him.

How did it get behind him?

That meant two of the creatures. Or more. Could this be a pack?

The idea terrified him. What of Bal? She should be far down the slope by now, but he knew her well enough to know she might have turned back to check on him. He prayed her anger carried her all the way back to Nor.

He couldn’t run. The steep slope and the treacherous footing made him an easy target. On the rock, he was too visible and could be easily surrounded if facing a pack.

That left up.

The nearest tree was his best option. The huge oak had no low hanging branches that would allow another creature an easy climb. Tan scrambled up the rough trunk, tearing his knees more in the process, before settling into the crook of one of the large branches. He pulled his bow off his shoulder and nocked an arrow, setting it to the string without tension. Nothing moved below him.

Tan listened, sensing the forest. He struggled against his racing heart, but sensed another presence among the trees, one he didn’t recognize. Another cry came, much closer.

A low growl answered, almost below him.

His arms prickled with a chill. They had his scent.

A smoky haze appeared near the base of the tree. With it came a dry heat pressing up at him, like a fire burning. A fetid stench wafted up that he didn’t recognize. A flash of dark fur moved within the haze.

He brought his bow up and aimed, loosing an arrow into the smoke. A snarling yelp told him he’d hit.

Tan waited. Maybe he could scare the creature off. With enough arrows, maybe the creatures would decide he wasn’t worth it.

The heat pressing up the tree increased. Already hot, the day became unbearable. Several distinct voices howled below him, joining in a chorus. Definitely a pack.

The smoke began to obscure the forest floor. Heat left his skin feeling raw. He crawled further up the tree, hoping to get away from the fire, but the heat followed him.

Tan pushed down a rising panic as his father had taught. Steady his breathing. Use his senses. Listen, always listen. The answer would come.

This time it didn’t.

The next tree was too far to offer any hope of jumping. Upper branches wouldn’t support him if he crawled higher. And still the heat pressed toward him. What made the heat?

Each breath became painful. The skin on his arms turned red. If he couldn’t get away, he would burn.

He closed his eyes again, forcing himself to focus. A wave of anxious nausea rolled through him that he ignored. A quiet sound whistled in his ears, slowly intensifying like a howling wind. The steady gust of wind picked up speed as it blew through the tree, a gale like the area’s namesake. It blew faster, tearing through the trees.

Tan clung to his branch.

The heat blew away with it, disappearing like a candle snuffed out. Flashes of fur prowled around the base of the tree. For a moment, it seemed the heat fought the wind, then the animals howled again before streaking up the slope of the mountain and out of view.

The wind continued, its familiar pressure a relief. He shivered uncontrollably.

He climbed down carefully. Near the bottom of the tree, the ground looked darkened and scorched. The air smelled of char and sulfur. Even though the wind had finally returned, heat still clung to the air. Tan didn’t linger and started down the slope toward Nor. His heart didn’t slow until he was back in familiar land.

He found Bal about halfway down the mountain face sitting atop a flat rock, staring upslope. Her jaw fixed in a stern expression and she leaned forward, trying to look fierce.

“I thought you’d be back in Nor by now.” He tried to hide the relief in his voice.

Bal frowned at him, jutting her jaw forward. “Maybe I won’t show you what I discovered, then.”

Tan hesitated, uncertain he could stomach tracking anything else today. Whatever had happened, he felt lucky to survive. He needed to reach Nor and find Cobin. He’d lived here long enough, and he’d know what to do. Whatever creature Tan had found didn’t belong here. The next time, it might not only be sheep missing.

“What did you discover? Something about Lins?” he asked.

Her jaw relaxed and a playful smile slipped onto her face. “Not Lins. Better.” She jumped up from the rock and started back up the mountain. “Come on, Tan!” she shouted as she ran.

Tan looked up the slope. The strange hounds were still up there, and with the fading light they needed to return, not risk running through the woods on another of Bal’s whims. “Bal!”

She didn’t answer. Tan swore to himself and hurried after her, determined to drag her back to town if needed.

She stopped overlooking a slight ravine where two smaller peaks merged and turned back, a smile spreading across her face. “Well?”

Tan stared, uncertain what she wanted him to see. “I don’t see anything.”

She tapped her head and then pointed out toward the ravine, a narrow pass through the mountains. “How can you not see them?”

Tan strained to see through the trees into the ravine. Finally, another sound carried on the wind. A light tinkling, like many tiny bells ringing, carried softly up to them from the pass. Only then did the fear that had been sitting in his chest since he first heard the strange howls finally lift.

Though it had been many years, he recognized the sound and felt a surge of excitement. The Aeta had returned.

2

Glimpse of the Aeta

The caravan slowly rumbled through the lower part of the valley, moving upon a barely visible trail. Brightly colored wagons flashed through the heavy foliage. Men and women sat atop the wagons, steering them through the valley, their clothes as brightly colored as the wagons they drove. Small bells hung from posts and it was their quiet tinkling that preceded them, a distinctive musical sound, and one that sparked memories of the last Aeta visit.

Tan could count on one hand the visits during his lifetime and remembered each vividly, the last nearly five summers ago. How had Bal even known what the Aeta looked like? She couldn’t have been more than four or five at the time.

The Aeta were traders and different than the typical merchants traveling through Nor. Visits were almost festival-like when the Aeta came. People from nearby farmsteads would travel to Nor to trade with the Aeta, visit with friends, or simply come to see what new exotic items the Aeta had for trade.

“Where do you think they travel from?” Bal asked with barely restrained excitement.

Tan stared, imagining the direction of their wagons. “There is nothing but mountains this way.” But that wasn’t quite right. Over the mountains and through the passes lay Incendin, though none in the kingdoms traveled to Incendin. The barrier between the two nations prevented all travel. “And Incendin,” he added.

“Incendin? How would they have come from Incendin? Shapers stopped that long ago. That’s how the war was ended.”

Tan laughed as Bal lectured to him. “I know how the war ended. But no one travels there.” The Aeta made the earlier fear a distant memory.

Bal smiled, the annoyance she’d had with him now gone. They crept closer to the wagons, finding the small path the Aeta followed. Foliage covered it, but enough stone remained to mark the roadway it once had been. Tan didn’t know a path into Incendin ever existed here.

The light tinkling of the Aeta bells grew louder as they neared. They hid among the trees as the caravan rolled closer. The Aeta were a happy people, exuberant traders, and part of the excitement with their visits was the carnival atmosphere they brought with them. But at this vantage, a tight expression strained the dirty faces of the Aeta and a dour mood emanated from them.

“Maybe they were in Doma!” Bal whispered.

Tan shook his head. More than just a mood, but also a darkness seemed to follow them. “If they were, then it was long ago. And I’m not sure how they’d get there from here.”

“How do you know they didn’t just come through Incendin?”

Beyond Incendin lay Doma, with Chenir to the north. The simple geographic barrier Incendin presented kept contact with their people limited in this part of the kingdoms. The kingdoms, once the separate nations of Vatten, Ter, Nara, and Galen, had been bound together nearly a thousand years ago and ruled by the king in the capital of Ethea. Within the kingdoms, the ports of Vatten imported goods from Doma and Chenir, but rarely did they make it this far. When they did, the cost was prohibitive to all but the manor lords. It was the fancy Doman silver Bal wanted to see, but he knew his mother would be more interested in Chenir woolens.

“The barrier,” he reminded her. A shaping so powerful it kept the kingdoms safe from Incendin. Not much was said to be able to pass through, at least not easily. Watching the Aeta, seeing the darkness on their faces, the edge of nervousness he’d felt higher in the hills had returned.

Bal glanced from him to the Aeta before shaking her head. “All I see are Aeta.”

Tan looked away from her, wishing he could see the world through her eyes. As the caravan neared, one of the Aeta caught his eye. A woman sat straight-backed atop a bright red wagon. Her dark eyes darted around the forest. Full lips tilted in a slight frown and pale yellow hair pushed behind her ears, flowing down to her mid back. She was beautiful.

Tan stared and found himself sliding out from behind the trees. Bal grabbed at him too late. He stood openly in view of the caravan. The Aeta woman looked over and locked eyes with him.

She seemed unconcerned that he stared at her, hidden within the forest. Her lips parted slightly and the corners twitched, threatening to smile. One long-fingered hand touched the side of her face delicately.

Tan felt a brief fluttering within his chest. He’d never seen anyone like her.

“Tan?”

Tan shook himself, as if awakening from a dream, and looked over at his friend. “What?”

Bal pulled on his sleeve. “We need to get back.”

He glanced at the sky. By the time they returned it would be getting dark. “Now you want to return?”

“We need to be there when the Aeta arrive!”

The train of wagons continued slowly past them. Tan made little effort to hide. The woman stared until her wagon was no longer visible, turning as she passed to keep her focus on him. When the wagons had finally disappeared, he said, “We should hurry.”

“So we can see the Aeta arrive?”

“So you can. I need to see Cobin first.”

Bal frowned at him, as if disappointed he would not be there with her as the Aeta arrived in town. “Don’t tell him I was up here.”

Tan shook his head and chuckled as Bal started down the slope toward Nor.

Tan followed after her, unable to completely shake the vision of the beautiful Aeta from his mind.

The hike back down the mountain went quickly. The heat of the day slowly faded and a soft breeze filtered through the trees, cooling the sweat upon his face. Weeks had passed since a steady wind had blown through Galen and he welcomed its return. In spite of it, sweat still dripped from his brow.

Tan guided them through the woods downward and to the west, knowing almost instinctively how to find his way back. Occasionally, evidence of the strange creatures he’d tracked triggered a memory of the fear he had felt following them. Each time, he felt a little flash of anxiety, a nervousness in the forest unusual for him. The sight of the strange prints only urged him forward faster.

Bal walked ahead of him, humming as she hurried toward home. Every so often she would dart ahead before returning to him. Tan suspected she searched for the Aeta but they saw no other sign of them. He didn’t know the road they followed, but suspected it led into town. Other than Nor, no other towns were this deep into Galen.

As the sun drifted toward the tops of the trees they saw the first signs of Nor. Areas where the woodcutters had felled the trees opened up the forest and the pale sky flashed through. In the distance to the east, above the mountain peaks, dark clouds threatened rain and occasional lightning flashes streaked across the sky. A slow rumble of thunder followed much later. Given the weather recently, chances were good that Nor would not even see any rain.

The cleared stretches of trees became more frequent. Finally Tan reached the main road. Bal ran ahead, waving as she hurried toward town. Probably to tell some of the other children about the Aeta. He had no doubt she would find him later. Since the time Tan had intervened and kept her from being bullied, she’d clung to him.

Tan continued on to Cobin’s farm, pausing near the sheep pen to examine the prints there. They were the reason he’d ventured up into the mountains in the first place. Now he saw the evidence of the same beast encircling the pen, and probably at least three of them by the different sizes.

“Tan? Any reason you’re crawling on the ground near the sheep?”

Cobin stood behind him. The large man was only ten years his senior but had a weathered face with gray already speckling his dark beard. Tan had known him almost his entire life.

He motioned toward the prints as he stood. “I found these prints this morning.”

Cobin grunted before stepping over to him. A large axe hung loosely in his hand and his face was streaked with dirt. “Wolf?”

“Not these. Look at the toes. Too small for our wolves.”

Cobin squatted and stared at the dusty soil, his dark eyes squinting in concentration. He grunted again. “Then what?”

“I followed them up the mountain—”

Cobin interrupted him with a deep laugh. “That explains it, then.”

“Explains what?”

“The scuttlebutt coming from the lord’s house.”

Tan looked at Cobin before staring off toward Nor, scrubbing his face with his hand. “Mother?” He already knew the answer.

“She’s not pleased,” Cobin answered before laughing again. “Could be someone else drew her ire. Probably too late for you anyway.”

If only Cobin were right that it was someone else. “These tracked several miles up into the mountains before being joined by another type of print. Like this.” He traced the strange print into the dusty soil, remembering the heel spike.

“Did you find anything?”

“They found me.”

Cobin looked up into the mountains and his face went slack for a moment. “They?” he asked. “You mean a pack?” Cobin’s hand squeezed the handle of his axe unconsciously and his knuckles turned white with pressure.

The appearance of the Aeta had pushed away most of the anxiety from his experience with the animals, but enough remained. Tan shivered, thankful that he’d survived the encounter with the creatures. “There were at least three, I think.”

“You didn’t get a good look?”

He shook his head. “I saw only flashes of fur. I got chased and climbed a tree to get away. Everything got smoky, but it was probably dust from as dry as it’s been. I couldn’t see anything.”

Cobin grunted, making it somehow sound like a question.

Tan shrugged, understanding his friend. “Not sure what it was. The wind picked up suddenly and scared them. I didn’t give chase.”

Cobin arched his brow at him. “Glad I don’t have to be there when you tell your ma where you’ve been.”

Since his father’s death, she wanted him anywhere but in the mountains. Preferably in Ethea, studying at the university. Only, the idea of sitting and staring at books all day left him feeling anxious and fidgety.

“Maybe not all of it,” Cobin agreed.

Tan laughed and tapped the ground. “What do you think this is?”

“Not entirely sure.” He looked up at Tan. “But you want to track it again.”

“I think we need to. If it’s come this close to town, we should know what it is.”

Cobin hadn’t taken his eyes off the track, his brow furrowed as he studied it. “You’re probably right. I’ll get Heller to come, as well.” He paused. “Don’t tell your ma.”

A bit of his anxiety eased. Cobin would provide support as they tracked it, and Heller, though nearly fifty, was a crafty old man and knew much about the woods. Plus, he was still one of the best shots with a bow in this part of Galen.

“Tomorrow?” Cobin asked.

“Probably not tomorrow. Might want to give it a day.”

“Too long and we’ll lose the track. You think your ma won’t let you out of her sight once she hears what you were up to?”

Tan grunted, lifting his eyebrows. “There’s that,” he agreed. “And the other thing we found.”

“We? Bal with you?”

Tan debated telling Cobin, but he’d promised Bal he wouldn’t say anything. Cobin wasn’t quite as protective of Bal as his mother was with him, but it was a close competition. “Just the lower hills. She’s the one who found the Aeta.”

“Where’d they come from? Nothing there but Incendin.”

Tan nodded. “Came on an old road I’d never seen.”

Cobin nodded thoughtfully. “An old trader road. Don’t think anyone has used that path in more than twenty years.”

“The Aeta did.”

“I didn’t think they’d be able to cross the barrier. Wonder where they came from?”

Tan remembered the darkness that seemed to follow the Aeta. “Not sure, but they should reach Nor tonight. Figured they’d get set up and trade…”

Cobin laughed. “What, you think you get to trade with the Aeta?”

Tan hadn’t planned on trading anything. Not that he had much anyway. “See you in town?”

Cobin nodded at him absently, and as he left, his friend circled the pen, staring at the tracks, a troubled expression etched onto his face. Every so often he would glance up into the mountains and frown.

What did Cobin know and not share?

3

An Unlikely Threat

Tan would need to face his mother sooner or later, so he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, steeling himself before entering her room.

She looked up from her massive desk and eyed him, noting his dirt-stained face and clothes, before turning back to the stack of papers she was sorting through. A hand reached up and touched the jet-black hair pulled severely back from her face.

She ignored him while she sat stiff-backed, working through the house numbers. Tan waited quietly in front of her desk like all the other house servants she supervised, trying not to rock anxiously on his feet. Nervous energy welled through him at the thought of the visiting Aeta. Even his mother would be interested in their visit, wanting to see the items they had for trade, and he bit at his lip to keep from saying anything that might make his scolding worse.

“You shouldn’t chew your lip,” his mother admonished without looking up.

“I’m not,” he protested weakly, looking away. The walls of his mother’s office were decorated simply, just a sigil of the Great Mother hanging. A large wrought-iron lantern rested on the corner of her desk, giving the room light.

His mother looked up at him and sighed. “Tannen, you know better than to lie to your mother.” She blinked a moment before setting her hands upon her desk and meeting his gaze. “Where have you been?”

Tan resisted the urge to turn away. He couldn’t lie—his mother would see through him easily—so he decided on the truth. “I found some prints near Cobin’s pens and followed them.”

“All day?”

“Not all day. The last hour or so I was with Cobin.”

“You went into the mountains, then.” When he didn’t argue, she went on. “What of the task you were assigned?”

Tan had forgotten about that. She’d asked him to sweep Lord Alles’s barn on the edge of town. He had put it off, thinking he would have time after tracking the prints, but he had gone farther into the mountains than he had expected. Then the Aeta had pushed all thoughts of chores out of mind. “I didn’t do it,” he admitted, “but I saw something you need to know about—”

“I am sure you did. Cobin told Davum it was probably wolves that got into his stock. The men should know how to protect their stock from wolves, especially in this part of the kingdoms. I don’t need you tracking wolves and risking yourself like that while ignoring your chores. There’s a reason Lind allows you to remain in the manor house. If you ignore your responsibilities…”

“I’ll get them done. Wouldn’t want Lord Lind upset that I didn’t sweep the stables.” He sighed and nearly turned away. Cleaning the stables felt like such a waste of his time. Had his father still been alive, he wouldn’t have to do it. Tan didn’t know what he would have ended up doing if his father still lived, but not that. “Besides, it wasn’t a wolf. I don’t know what it was, but it wasn’t a wolf.”

His mother looked up again and pushed her papers away, focusing on him entirely. “What was it, then?”

Tan wasn’t sure if she humored him or if she believed his concern. Cobin hadn’t questioned. And his mother knew he was a skilled tracker and what he’d learned from his father.

“Some kind of hound,” he answered, shaking his head. “I couldn’t see them clearly. There was some kind of smoke or cloud of dust.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, visibly calming herself. “You came upon a pack while tracking an unfamiliar creature.”

There was a heat to her words now. Tan needed to choose his answer carefully. “We needed to know what had attacked the flock. Father would have done the same!” Immediately, he knew that he’d misspoken.

Her eyes flashed with a quick anger. She clenched her fists before slowly relaxing. “Your father,” she began, taking a deep breath before continuing, “is no longer with us.”

Tan knew she intended to say something different. Almost more than him, she still suffered daily from his father’s absence. Before he’d gone, she smiled easily and laughed often. All that changed when he went to war at the king’s bidding. When he didn’t return, neither did his mother’s mirth.

“Tan,” she said quietly. “I cannot lose you, too.”

“I know.” But she still wanted him to leave Nor. She wanted him to go to Ethea, learn at the university like his father had, but Tan wanted something different. Why should he go to the capital when everything he knew and loved was here?

She shook her head, touching a hand to her neck where a small locket hung. “How did you get away?”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

His mother didn’t care what he’d seen, only about his safety. But something about the creatures gnawed at his senses.

He sighed, knowing his father would have understood.

“Sighing won’t bring him back.”

“I know,” he said softly.

She set her hands on either side of her desk and studied him a moment. Then she took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “It’s time for you to think about your studies.”

Tan swallowed before answering. “But I don’t want—”

“You need to understand your gifts, Tannen. Like your father, the Great Mother gifted you as an earth senser. You can learn to master that gift in Ethea.”

“And have to serve like Father?”

She nodded.

After what happened to his father, he didn’t understand why she pushed him to study in Ethea. “The other sensers in Nor never went to the university. Most are like me—too weak to do anything useful anyway.”

“How can you know how strong you can be if you never try?”

He shook his head. His father would have understood. Had he not gone off for the king, he would’ve taught Tan himself. “What can I learn at university that I can’t in Galen?”

“The fact that you ask tells me how much you have to learn.”

He sighed.

“Tannen!”

He blinked and took a deep breath. “King Althem called Father to serve because he’d studied at the university. I’m just a weak earth senser. No use to the king.”

“That’s for King Althem to decide.”

“He’s not my king,” Tan mumbled. He squirmed under the look she shot him. A moment of silence fell between them and he let it settle before speaking again. “There was something else.” She opened her mouth as if to say something, but Tan pressed forward. “Bal saw Aeta.”

“Bal was with you?”

He shook his head. “Not with me,” he said. “I found her. She followed Lins Alles into the upper reaches but got lost. If I hadn’t found her—”

Hopefully telling her about Bal would ease some of his mother’s anger. She knew how impulsive Bal could be.

“And she found Aeta?”

Tan’s frustration continued to rise.

“And where were they traveling from?”

“Came from Incendin direction. An old traders’ road.”

His mother’s sharp eyes closed for a moment, quickly considering what he had told her. “They crossed through Incendin?”

The question took him aback and made him think of the darkness that trailed after them. “Can they cross the barrier?”

His mother frowned at him. “Another reason you need to go to Ethea. The barrier doesn’t prevent all passage. Just some. You’d know that if you studied.” She came around her desk and waved at him. “Come.”

She led him quickly through the manor house and to the lord’s office. The door stood open and she did not knock before entering, walking brusquely into the room. It was a large room with a fireplace in one corner and walls interrupted by large open windows, letting in the warm breeze that smelled of rain. Animal hides adorned most of the remaining wall space, though the horns of an elk were displayed proudly as if Lord Lind had caught the animal himself. The manor lord sat at his desk, poring over a stack of parchments, and looked up at the sound of her entrance, smiling when he realized who entered.

“Ephra,” he said warmly, setting down his pen. A dark red ink smudged his hand, looking almost like blood. “What brings me this honor?”

The quiet snort was such that Tan knew the lord would not have heard it. Lind Alles had been pushing his mother for marriage since she had joined his staff with an insistence that irritated him. He was reassured that it still was obviously so for his mother too.

“My lord,” she answered curtly. Lord Lind only smiled wider. “Tan brings word of the Aeta. Likely traveling from Incendin.” She said the last as if it were important. She didn’t mention the strange beasts that killed Cobin’s sheep.

Lord Lind turned toward him and the smile was still painted across his face, yet his eyes narrowed and his shoulders tensed. “Truly?”

Tan nodded, not wanting to make eye contact but knowing his mother would be angry with him if he did not. “I spied them in the mountains.” Better not to admit to Lord Lind that Bal had been with him.

Lind scratched his chin and a bit of the dark ink stained it. He turned to look out one of the large windows of his office, staring out into Nor as if the caravans would already be arriving. “See that they set up outside of town.”

His mother tilted her head slightly and crossed her arms over her chest. “You know custom allows the Aeta to trade in town.”

Lind turned back and shook his head once. “Not in town. They may set up outside of town only.” When she didn’t move, his face changed. “Do not cross me in this, Ephra.”

“Why?”

Lind looked down to the stack of papers upon his desk. “The king has sent missives,” he began. “There have been skirmishes on the border of Nara. Some of his strongest shapers were sent to investigate.” Lind shivered slightly.

Some didn’t care for the abilities of the shapers and were uncomfortable with them. Usually they had no ability of their own—not even a weak sensing like Tan. He hadn’t known Lind was among them.

“The king didn’t pass along details, only that he worries these aren’t isolated incidents. I was instructed to remain guarded against any possible threat. So I am.”

His mother shook her head. “And you think the Aeta pose a threat?”

Lind shrugged. “Probably not, but I won’t chance some attacker posing as the Aeta and gaining easy access to town.”

“There is little chance someone could imitate the Aeta, my lord,” she chided. “There are few folk like them. And do you really think we have anything in Nor valuable enough to attack?”

Lind turned away and did not disagree.

“That’s not your only reason. What is it?”

He said nothing and she pressed.

“Lind!”

He looked up at her stern tone. Tan was surprised, unaccustomed to the familiar note his mother used with the man, and suddenly uncomfortable with what it meant.

“Why must the Aeta trade outside our walls?”

Lord Lind sighed, closing his eyes as he did before turning to meet Ephra’s gaze. “I don’t trust them,” he said simply. “Trades always seem to work in their favor.”

His mother stifled a smile. “The same could be said about any merchant, my lord,” she answered, her tone softening. “They are traders, and shrewd ones at that.”

Lind sniffed. “There is more to it than that, I think.” He shook his head. “No, Ephra. They are to remain outside of town.”

His mother didn’t argue, instead taking Tan’s arm and leading him from the lord’s chambers. She pulled him along, stepping quickly through the manor house. The occasional servant stepped out of her way, bowing as she passed. His mother didn’t acknowledge them, barely slowing until she reached her quarters. Only then did she release Tan’s arm.

“Why are we hurrying?” He rubbed his arm where her firm grip pinched him.

His mother paced in front of her desk, her long skirt swishing as she did, and one hand clutched the necklace at her neck. “There is something I’m not seeing,” she mumbled to herself.

Tan doubted she meant for him to hear.

She stopped and closed her eyes, focusing inward, and her lips moved as if speaking. She stood like that for long moments before she opened her eyes again and turned to him with a fire in her eyes.

“Mother?”

She frowned, though the angry look in her eyes softened. She shook her head. “He doesn’t know the insult he gives, having the Aeta camp outside our walls. Not that he’d care. I must see if I can soften it somewhat.”

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“You are coming too.”

“Where?”

“To talk to the Aeta.”

4

Greeting Mother

Tan followed his mother out of the sprawling manor house on the north end of Nor and down the cobbled street until they reached the edge of town. She walked with a purposeful stride, her back straight as always, and her hair pulled tight so the light breeze filtering through town didn’t disturb it. She didn’t glance back as she walked, trusting he followed, and Tan dared not defy her now that he saw her mood. There was a quiet intensity about her and an undercurrent of anger, though he didn’t know why.

Reaching the low wall encircling the town, they passed through the open wooden gate. Tan had never known it to be closed. His mother stopped just outside the gate and looked up the road into the mountains. She crossed her arms over her chest. One foot began tapping impatiently while she stood. Otherwise, she stood completely still.

Tan had no choice but to stand with her. “Why won’t Lord Alles let the Aeta into town?”

She didn’t look over. “He’s a fool.”

“And you think to ease the message? Why do you need me here?” He didn’t object, but was surprised his mother had brought him along.

She looked over and her eyes flashed briefly. “You don’t wish to visit with the Aeta?”

He shrugged and pretended to turn away.

She snorted. “You can’t fool me. Not like you did your father.”

“I could never fool Father.”

“He might have been a powerful senser, but he had a blind spot when it came to you.” Gone a year, Tan heard how much she missed him. “Had he not, he would have pushed you to the university two years ago.”

“I was only fifteen then.”

“Old enough. Older than I was when I went.”

Tan wanted to ask more, but his mother never spoke of her time at university other than to say that the one good thing she took away from there was his father. “And in spite of your experience, you want me to go.”

She fixed him with a hard look. “I want you to go because of my experience.” She sighed and turned to look back up the road. “It may be hard for you to believe, but there is more to this world than just Nor. You can experience only so much wandering the woods.”

“What if I don’t want to experience anything more? I like tracking and hunting. I like Galen. It’s my home.”

She looked at him again and didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Since his father died, Galen hadn’t felt the same for either of them. That, more than anything, was why she wanted him to go.

“If I went to Ethea, what would you do?” he asked.

She blinked slowly, her face fixed in a mask. “I would stay and serve.”

“Because of the king?”

She turned her attention on him again. “There is a price to everything, Tan. This is the price I agreed to pay.”

He shook his head. She still didn’t understand. “But it’s not one I’m willing to pay. I won’t blindly go off like Father.”

She smiled at him sadly. “If you think he went off blindly, then…” She trailed off.

“Then what?”

She swallowed and debated her answer. “I wish he were still here to explain.”

“Me too.”

They stood in silence. After what seemed an eternity, the soft tinkling of bells touched the air. Brightly colored wagons drifted out of the shadows and rolled down the lower foothills and rumbled toward town. As they neared, his mother glanced at him, her eyes warning silence, before turning to face the slowing wagons.

She waved a hand in greeting and the nearest wagon driver waved a response. The rolled sleeves of his bright green jacket revealed tattoos on his massive scarred forearms. “Greetings,” his mother called. The man nodded but did not answer. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mother’s mouth. “I hope the winds of Galen have treated you well and welcomed you to Nor.” The man nodded again and remained silent. “We look forward to trading with the fair Aeta, but before we do, I request to speak to the Mother.”

The wagon driver’s eyes widened a moment at the request. There was a creak and the light tinkling of bells as a door opened on a cart further down the line. A tall woman with streaks of silver in her dark hair strode confidently toward them. She wore a bright red dress and large hoops of gold hung from each ear. A wide silver band circled her throat. As she approached them, the lead wagon driver climbed down to stand next to her. He towered over the woman, standing protectively near her. Muscles strained the seams of the jacket he wore.

“Greetings, Mother,” Tan’s mother spoke as the Aeta woman neared. “You are welcome in Nor.”

The Aeta woman smiled and, with it, her face became radiant. “Am I? Yet you meet us along the edge of town.”

Tan’s mother nodded. “I serve the manor lord and the king. While here, I can attend to any needs you may have.”

The Aeta woman tilted her head in a slight bow. “I am the Mother.”

“I am Ephra.”

The Aeta stared at her for a moment before a curious look came to her face. “That is an interesting name,” she said, pausing and considering his mother. “I knew of a woman once, a powerful shaper, similarly named.”

“Oh?” Her arms tensed slightly.

“Similar, though different. She traveled among us for a time. She was not Ephra, though.”

She tilted her head. “And I’m no shaper. Only Ephra.”

The Mother smiled, narrowing her eyes as she nodded. “Still, you serve the king. That makes you a senser of some value.” His mother waited and the Mother smiled. “I thank you for your welcome, Ephra.” Amusement touched her words, mixing with a musical quality.

Another approaching Aeta interrupted her. Tan’s eyes widened in recognition. The girl from atop the wagon. Pale yellow hair fell gently around her face and she brushed back a stray strand. A thin band of silver, like the Mother’s, circled her delicate neck. Wide eyes took everything in. A light smile turned her full lips. She was not as tall as the Mother, though she had similar features. Seeing her in the forest, he had thought her attractive; up close, she was beautiful.

Something about her pulled at him and his heart began to flutter. His mouth went dry and the back of his throat threatened to close. A soft whistling echoed in his ears. He took a deep breath to steady himself, looking toward his mother to avoid staring.

“Mother,” the Aeta said, unconcerned about interrupting.

The Mother turned to her and frowned. “Amia. You were not summoned.”

“I wasn’t?” Amia smiled. “But I must observe.”

The Mother shook her head once and laid a gentle hand upon Amia’s arm, turning her back toward the wagons. “Not this time. Wait until you’re summoned.”

Amia resisted, turning to Tan and smiling. He felt the pounding in his chest anew. Looking back to the Mother, she asked, “How will I learn to be Mother if I can’t observe?”

The Mother ignored the question and pushed her softly back toward the wagons. “We will talk later, Amia.” Her tone brooked no argument. Amia considered a moment before nodding and returning to the wagons. The Mother watched her until satisfied that she was safely back within the lead wagon before she turned her attention back to Tan’s mother.

“She is young,” Tan’s mother commented.

“She is headstrong,” the Mother countered.

His mother laughed. “Probably. The young often are.” His mother stared at the wagon for a moment before facing the Aeta. “It is not often that one so young is named successor.”

The Aeta paused and considered his mother again before smiling tightly. “It is not often one of the kingdoms understands the ways of the Aeta.”

“Perhaps.” The two women stood facing each other for a long moment before his mother spoke again, glancing again to the wagon where Amia had disappeared. “Regardless,” she started, turning her attention back to the Mother, “you are welcome in Nor. If your wagons are burdened, know that you will find us eager traders and helpful hosts. Anything you may need is simply a question away.”

The Mother tilted her head carefully, watching his mother with suspicious eyes, waiting, as if knowing there would be more.

“As you prepare to trade, Lord Lind requests your wagons be set up on the edge of town.”

The Mother sniffed softly and a dark smile crossed her lips, as if expecting the offer his mother had made. Hands moved to her hips and her fingers gripped the cloth belt wrapped around her waist. “It appears we are not welcome in Nor,” she said carefully. “Rather, we are welcome near Nor.”

The large wagon driver frowned as well, looking over at the low wall circling the town.

“I’m very sorry. Lord Lind has received missives from our king warning of attacks along the borders to the south and east. He prefers caution and asks you respect his request.”

The wagon driver laughed, incredulity clear in the low rumble, and shook his head. “He fears the People?” he asked. The Mother looked sharply at him and his laughter died as the man raised his hands in surrender. “It’s an insult, Mother, and you know it. And after everything we’ve been through—”

The Mother shook her head, cutting the man off. “Nonetheless. We’ll respect the request and remain available for trade. Maybe it’s for the best. Our stop will be regrettably brief. We are able to stay only a short time. Tell your lordship we will soon depart from his lands.” Her manor shifted, her demeanor brightening. “But our wagons are burdened and heavy. We’d welcome trade, especially for your Nor steel.”

“You will find the people of Nor eager to trade with the Aeta.”

The Mother nodded once before turning and striding back to her wagon. The large wagon driver paused a moment, staring at Tan and his mother as if about to say something, before he turned and returned to his perch atop the wagon. With a whistle, the caravan started forward, moving off the road to form a wide circle on the edge of Nor.

Tan’s mother watched wordlessly, staring intently at the wagon the Mother had disappeared into, before turning back to Tan and sighing. She shook her head as she did. “He doesn’t know what he’s done,” she said quietly, frowning.

“Who?”

She looked at him as if realizing that he had been there the entire time, shaking her head again. Hair that had been pulled tight did not move with the motion. She lightly touched the locket at her neck before answering, taking a deep breath as she did. “It’s customary to allow the Aeta to trade within the walls of town.”

The only other times the Aeta had visited, their wagons had circled the town square and a weeklong festival had accompanied the trading. The Mother had said the visit would be brief and he wondered now how long the Aeta would stop in Nor.

“They are the wanderers,” his mother continued, “and their history is one marked with much sadness.” She shook her head, staring at the Aeta now departing their wagons. “It’s customary to provide shelter and give them a sense of home, if only briefly.” She sighed, as if thinking of a terrible memory, before turning back to face town. “There is something off here.”

“How do you know?”

She sniffed. “Tannen,” she scolded, “I know you sense it. In spite of their past, the Aeta are a happy people. Something has happened that’s made them somber and careful. I worry what that might be.”

Tan looked back at the Aeta and saw the beautiful Amia staring unabashedly at him from behind one of the wagons. As he turned, his heart started hammering wildly again. He turned away and hurried to catch up to his mother.

She looked over, as if knowing his thoughts. “Finish your chores before you chase that girl.”

“I’m not chasing—” he protested.

“I saw your eyes. And I know how young men think.” A distant note came to her voice as she hurried back to the manor house.

5

A Pig and a Rat

Tan cleaned the stables faster than he had ever managed before. Thoughts of missed opportunities to watch the Aeta hurried his work. But more than just the Aeta, he wanted to see Amia again. Even the thought of her made his palms sweaty.

The moon shone brightly in the cloudless night sky. The sound of laughter and hundreds of voices all talking at the same time echoed from the edge of town. Had he finished the chore he’d promised his mother before tracking the prints into the forest, he would have been free to watch the trading. Now he missed some of the early excitement.

He followed the sounds, passing the small shops at the center of town and the rough stone homes on the edge of town, until he reached the low town wall and passed through. As he did, he realized his mother was right. It felt wrong for the Aeta to camp on the other side of the wall. Why should the wall separate them from Nor, if even for a night?

The scene was much different than it had been earlier in the day. Lanterns blazed bright, illuminating wagons and traders. The wagons formed a circle, and each had a table folded down and stacked with items for sale or trade. The Aeta stood beside each table and called out to passersby, though truly most were already engaged in conversation. A large throng of people moved through the middle of the wagons, most talking and laughing. Some locals pushed carts through the crowd, selling food or crafts. Several fire pits had been erected and their wide flames lit the night.

In spite of the trading, something seemed off. Tan couldn’t quite place what he felt. Most of the Aeta were quick to make a sale or traded easily for the steel local craftsmen were known for. There was not the joy upon the faces of the Aeta he remembered, nor the frantic energy from them as they pressed each transaction.

Tan tripped and bumped into someone as he moved through the circle of wagons. “I’m sorry…” He trailed off as he turned and saw Amia. The thin band of silver at her neck gleamed softly in the lantern light.

She tilted her head, considering him for a moment. “You.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. His mouth suddenly felt dry. He licked his lips, trying to force moisture back onto his lips.

The corner of her mouth tilted slightly in a hint of a smile. “I’ve seen you before.” Her voice was musical and soft, though a hidden vein of steel ran through it. Someone who was accustomed to having her way.

“I’m Ephra’s son and was with her when she met with the Mother earlier today.”

Amia closed her eyes and nodded. “You were, but that wasn’t the first.” The comment was not a question. There was an air of curiosity to what she said.

“In the forest as well,” he acknowledged. He had forgotten the sounds of the trading around him, unable to focus on anything other than Amia.

“You spied upon us as we traveled?”

“I wasn’t—” Tan sputtered. “I was tracking an animal that had killed some of our sheep.”

“What kind of animal?”

Tan shook his head, remembering the unusual tracks upon the ground and the strange beasts that had trapped him in the tree. “I don’t know.”

Disappointment swept through him when Amia frowned. She glanced from him to look back toward the mountains looming behind them, a darkness shadowed against the night. “Were you successful? Did you find your creature?”

“More like they found me.” When she frowned, he went on. “I followed their tracks up the mountain, following their howls.” She winced briefly as he said this and Tan wondered why. “They surrounded me, chasing me into a tree.”

“You’re safe now.” She eyed him up and down, as if appraising a horse.

He nodded. “I am. Something scared them off.”

She frowned again, a sad tip of her full lips, still managing to remain beautiful. “What did you do to scare them off?”

“I didn’t do anything. I shot arrows at them but it didn’t do any good. A gust of wind, I think, scared them.”

“I’m surprised you were able to track them.”

“It wasn’t easy.”

She shook her head and opened her mouth as if to speak, but was interrupted by the sudden appearance of three large figures slowly emerging from the shadows to hover behind Tan.

“Minden,” one sneered, “out of your element, here, don’t you think?”

“Lins,” Tan acknowledged.

Lins Alles was Lord Lind’s son and carried himself as if he were related to King Althem himself, bullying and taking whatever he wanted. It was unfortunate his father never disciplined him. Truth be told, few—if any—of the often cruel and just mean-spirited things he did made it to his father’s ears for discipline. Most were too scared to say anything. Tan had once made the unfortunate decision to complain about Lins to his mother, who promptly spoke to Lord Lind.

Lins never forgave Tan for the insult, ignoring the beating that had been the impetus for Tan’s grumbling. Now Lins and his ever-present friends Rapen and Niles used every opportunity to pick on or humiliate Tan. Usually Tan had the presence of mind to steer clear of the lord’s son, but occasionally he could not be avoided. He closed his eyes, wondering what humiliation Lins would think to bestow upon him tonight, and worse, in the presence of Amia.

“Lord Lins,” Lins said proudly, turning toward the Aeta. Rapen and Niles remained silent, only grunting to note their presence.

“Not yet,” Tan muttered, shaking his head. Maybe by that time he’d finally leave Nor. Or maybe something would happen to Lins, though that seemed too much to hope for.

Lins glared at him and turned to Amia. He offered her a toothy smile. She tilted her head carefully and studied him. Tan felt a sudden pressure behind his ears that passed quickly before she smiled a half-smile.

“And you are?” Lins asked.

Amia shook her head slowly. “No one near as important.”

Lins laughed, a harsh and grating sound. “Nonsense.” His tone gave lie to his words. He turned his attention back to Tan, though remained facing Amia as he did. “Finish cleaning my stable, Minden?”

“It’s your father’s.”

“It’s the same.” He smiled quickly at Amia. “At least my father has something of value to pass on to me.” Rapen and Niles laughed with Lins.

Amia watched him carefully, ignoring the smile Lins offered and the brutish forms of Rapen and Niles. Pressure built behind his ears again that passed quickly. She crossed her arms over her chest and turned suddenly to Lins, returning his smile with an almost feral one.

“And what have you done of value today, my lord?” Her voice retained its musical quality but carried an edge with it.

Lins’s smile faltered. “I aid my father in the running of Nor.”

“Oh?”

Tan suppressed a laugh. If chasing the young women of Nor and bullying the boys helped his father, then Lins indeed aided him. Lins glanced over to him and glared again.

“The horses find value in what Tan has done today,” Amia said.

“The horses?” Lins asked, laughing.

Amia nodded.

“I’m sure the horses care that their manure has been shoveled.”

The Aeta shrugged. “Perhaps, but they enjoyed the hay.” Her smile hardened. “There’s value in such work. I don’t know if there’s value in a pig-faced boy who thinks insulting others makes him appealing. I will ask the Mother.”

Lins wore a look of shock that Amia would dare insult him. Tan felt certain he would not take it well. Rapen and Niles laughed in spite of themselves, stifling it suddenly when Lins glared at them. They both raised their hands in submission before backing away.

Lins looked from Amia, who now smiled innocently, to Tan, who had found the sense to close his mouth, his face reddening with anger. His jaw worked to speak before he finally found his words. “Minden,” he sputtered, focusing his rage upon Tan, as Tan knew he would. “I will leave you with this Aeta rat and will find you later.”

When Lins left, Tan sighed, fearing the truth of the statement. Lins wouldn’t rest until he felt this wrong was righted. Tan was certain it would be a painful correction. “Thank you. I’m not able to speak so freely.”

Amia smiled warmly at him and Tan felt his heart race again. “I sensed that,” she answered simply.

She looked at him again and Tan remembered what she’d said before Lins appeared. “Why were you surprised that I tracked the creatures?”

Amia frowned. “They aren’t easy to track. Few manage to do so.” She paused, tilting her head and staring intently at him. “And I thank you.”

“For what?”

“Tracking them. I think it scared them off.”

“I doubt I scared them,” he began before a question came to him. “What are they?”

“They’re fearsome hounds. They followed us from Incendin.” She stopped at the sudden approach of another shadowed figure that appeared out of the fading light of the lamps and fire pits.

“Amia,” a stern voice said, interrupting the young Aeta as she spoke to Tan.

Tan looked up and recognized the regal features of the Aeta Mother, who stood staring at him while holding firmly to Amia’s arm.

“Mother,” Amia acknowledged.

The Mother smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. “Come, Daughter. You’re needed to observe.”

Amia considered the Mother for a moment and as she did, a rising pressure built within his ears. She glanced to Tan before turning her attention back to the Mother. “I am?”

The Mother nodded curtly. “You are. Come.” The Mother turned to Tan and nodded once. “Son of Ephra,” she said respectfully before turning away and leading Amia off.

Amia looked back as she followed. Tan wondered if he would ever see her again.

6

Stories of the Past

Tan stopped in the manor house after leaving Amia, not wanting to stay and risk seeing Lins again. Lins could be cruel, especially when trying to prove himself to Rapen and Niles. He found the door closed and knocked, waiting for her to answer. When she didn’t, he pushed the door open.

A single lantern burned on her desk. A stack of papers piled neatly nearby. The only thing out of order in her office was the row of books along the wall, remnants or reminders of her time in the capital, now with several hastily shoved back into place, as if she’d recently read through them.

Tan stepped over to her desk and peeked at the papers. Numbers lined the page, some sort of inventory. One of his mother’s duties keeping the manor house running involved purchasing supplies. With as tidy as she used to keep their house, Tan suspected she did it well.

As he turned away, a small, leather-bound book lying open on the desk caught his attention. Written in his mother’s tight scrawl, he read a few lines before realizing that it was a journal of some kind. Two names jumped out as he looked at it.

“Tannen.”

He spun, a flush of embarrassment working through him. He shouldn’t have been looking at his mother’s belongings, not without her permission. “Mother. I was just…”

She waved her hand dismissively. “I thought you’d be with the Aeta all night. Practically all of Nor is there.”

He noticed her hands were empty. She hadn’t done any trading then. “I was there, but had an…issue…with Lins.”

She sniffed and made her way around her desk. She glanced at the small book lying there and flipped it closed. “Lins is a fool. But he’ll inherit his father’s title one day. You’d best not have too many issues with him if you intend to remain in Nor.”

Another dig at him, but he let it slide.

“What did you need, Tannen?” She had turned to the row of books on her shelf and pulled one out. Her voice sounded tight and tired.

He took a deep breath and then sighed. What did it matter if he told her about the hounds? She wouldn’t know anything anyway. Not like his father would have. He nodded toward the book on her desk. “What’s that?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “A journal. From my time in Ethea. Something from a long time ago.”

Tan was even more surprised by the names he’d seen in the book. “What’s in it?”

She offered a tight smile. “Don’t go dancing around your questions, Tannen. Ask what you want to ask.”

He frowned. “Did you know them?”

At first he didn’t think she’d answer. Then she sighed. “Studying at the university, you get to know many people.”

“But the princess?” How had his mother never shared that with him?

A distant look crossed his mother’s face. “She…was a complicated woman. Many were saddened by her death.”

“How did you know her?”

“Like me, she studied at the university.” She took the book off the desk and flipped through the pages. “It’s a different place than others. Everyone is equal. Until you’re not. Skill and experience mean more than titles. Even for royalty.”

“You were friends?”

“Few were friends with her at that time. Had she more friends, perhaps she wouldn’t have died.”

Tan didn’t know much about the princess other than that she’d been assassinated a long time ago. But his mother seemed to know more. “What happened?”

“It was a different time. There were more shapers then. Cloud Warriors too. Not like today.” She flipped open the book and looked at one of the pages.

When she didn’t say anything, Tan pressed her. “Why would shapers matter?”

She looked up. “Because some think a shaper killed her.” She shook her head. “The only sign of foul play was a dark burn across her chest, as if shaped, but her face was said to have been peaceful.” She opened her book and studied one of the pages. Tan wondered what she’d written there. “I don’t know what shaper could have done such a thing. Not Theondar, as the rumors of the time would have you believe.” She seemed offended by the suggestion. “But a priceless heirloom went missing, and who other than Theondar had access to her rooms?” She said the last mostly to herself.

When he was younger, Tan’s father had told stories of the warriors, so the name Theondar meant something to Tan. To most people in the kingdoms, likely. A warrior who’d stopped the Stinnis surge single-handedly. Who’d pushed back the Roke when they threatened invasion. The exploits of Theondar were some of his favorites.

“Did you know him?” Somehow, the idea that she’d known Theondar impressed him more than her knowing the princess.

“No one really knew Theondar. He was…arrogant and stubborn, but talented unlike almost any other shaper save Lacertin. A sad thing we lost them both.”

His father never really spoke of what happened to the warriors after the war. And since they’d come to Nor, he probably didn’t know. “Were they lost in the Incendin war?”

She flipped a few pages, reading for a moment before blinking and shutting the book. “Had they been there, the war might have turned out differently.”

“Wait…you mean Theondar didn’t even fight in the war?” That took something away from the stories his father had told.

“Who’s to know? After Ilianna died”—Tan noted she said “Ilianna” and not “Princess Ilianna”—“Theondar left Ethea. He’d always traveled, always using his shaping for the kingdoms, but he’d always returned to Ethea. After her death, he left for good.”

His mother took a seat and pulled the stack of papers over to her. She looked at the topmost page and let out a slight sigh. “Now, if there’s nothing else…”

Tan hated that she still had work to do. While everyone else in Nor was free to celebrate and trade with the Aeta, his mother had to stay walled off in her office and work the inventory for Lord Lind. Had his father still been alive, that wouldn’t have been necessary.

Tan turned and started for the door. He’d ask Cobin about the hounds rather than his mother. Besides, Cobin had agreed to help him track them. If they were as fearsome as Amia thought, Cobin would want to be a part of it.

At the door he hesitated. Something bothered him about what his mother had said. He turned back.

“Ask your question,” she said before he had the chance to speak. She didn’t look up as she did.

Once, he would have laughed at how she seemed to know what was on his mind, but ever since moving to the manor house, she’d changed so much she wasn’t the same person. “You said both of the warriors were lost.”

She scrawled a note across the page and nodded. “And your point?”

“What happened to Lacertin?” Tan didn’t know much about him other than his name, not like with Theondar.

Her pen paused on the page. “Lacertin was forced to leave the kingdoms.”

“Forced? Why would one of the Cloud Warriors be forced away?” They were unrivaled shapers, supposedly able to shape each of the elements, and were said to have the ability to dance above the clouds.

She looked up and the debate about whether she should answer raged across her face. “Lacertin was found trying to enter King Ilton’s chambers after he died. No one knows his reasons, but it took three warriors and a half-dozen shapers to get him out. He fled Ethea, chased by the warriors and the furious Prince Althem.”

“Why would he enter the king’s mourning chamber?” Tan asked. Custom dictated that the deceased king be left alone, dressed in his robes and goblet, sitting atop his throne for seven days after his passing. According to custom, none should disturb him as the Great Mother prepared for his arrival.

She set both hands on the table and met his eyes. “You have a curious mind, Tan. You always have. With your ability…” She trailed off and shook her head. “I really wish you’d consider going to Ethea, if only to see what it has to offer you. I think you’d be surprised by what you’ll find. There are others like you—others with your talent—”

“I don’t have any special talent,” he snapped. Tan took a steadying breath, controlling his emotions before saying anything more that he might regret. “I’m just a senser. It’s a useful enough skill here in the mountains where I can track, but in the city?” He shook his head. That was one thing he’d never understood about his father—how he could have gone to Ethea to study, taking on the king’s fee for his studies. And dying for it.

His mother sighed and looked back down to her pages. She didn’t bother to hide the disappointment on her face. “Then get some rest tonight so you can get up and complete your responsibilities on time tomorrow.”

Tan left her room without another word, not wanting to disappoint her further.

7

Stranger to the Forest

The Aeta caravan left early the following morning.

Tan rose early, dressing quickly to finish his chores before Lins awoke for the day. If he managed to get everything done, he could be up in the mountains with Cobin tracking the creatures before Lins came looking. And he would come looking.

As he worked setting down hay in the stalls, the light tinkling of bells told him the caravan was moving. The Mother promised their stay would be brief. He hadn’t expected it to be quite so abrupt.

Tan ran out of the stables and hurried to the wall to watch the Aeta depart. The caravan had already circled around the outer wall and slowly rambled south and east. Other than Velminth, there wasn’t anything in that direction for hundreds of miles.

“They’re already leaving.”

Tan turned. Cobin leaned on the wall, scratching his dark beard as he stared after the wagons.

“They told my mother they couldn’t stay long. I figured another day at least.” He prayed for a glimpse of Amia, one last parting shot to remember her by. Only the wagon drivers sat out this early.

A slow smile spread across Cobin’s face. “That why you’re up so early?”

Heat rose in his cheeks. “Did you get to trade?” Tan asked, changing the subject. He hadn’t seen Cobin the night before, though after talking with Amia and running into Lins, he wasn’t sure he’d remember.

“Thought I had more time.” Cobin looked down the road where dust followed the wagons. “Anything interesting?”

“I don’t know. I ran into Lins.”

Cobin grunted and spat. “Best stay clear of him today.”

“That’s the reason I’m up already,” Tan admitted. He didn’t fear Lins—not really—but Amia had embarrassed him in front of Tan. Lins wouldn’t let that go.

“Want to head north? Heller said he’d come.” Cobin paused and considered Tan for a long moment. “Probably ought to check with your ma first.”

“Like she’ll be happier knowing you’re with me?”

Cobin laughed. “I think me and Grethan got into too much trouble together for that. She already thinks I’m trying to corrupt you too.”

Tan forced himself to laugh. Cobin had the chance to know his father much longer than Tan ever had. And now never would. Summoned to serve the king, and for what? To keep the border of Galen free from immigrants from Incendin?

“I wasn’t the only one to see them,” he said. Cobin waited. “The Aeta did too. Some kind of hound out of Incendin.”

Cobin’s face changed, his eyes narrowing and growing hard. “Called them Incendin hounds? You sure?”

Tan tried to remember what Amia said about the hounds before nodding. “Why?”

“Just…there are stories about Incendin hounds.” There was a different edge to his voice. “Not sure how they could slip past the barrier, but if these are Incendin hounds, I need a few other items before we track them again.” He turned and looked up into the mountains. “Actually surprised you managed to follow them.”

“What are they?” It wasn’t like Cobin to be nervous, but something in his tone told Tan he didn’t share everything he knew.

Cobin shook his head. “Talk about it later. I need to find Heller, talk to him again.” He turned back to Tan. “Maybe this is one you should sit out. If your ma finds out I let you track hounds…well, I’m sure I don’t want Ephra’s wrath.”

“I’m old enough to decide for myself.” Tan hated how pouty he sounded, but Cobin sometimes took his view of protecting him too far.

Cobin’s face softened. “I know you are. But after what happened with your father—”

“I know what happened with my father. And it had nothing to do with tracking hounds.”

Cobin sighed. “Tan, believe me when I tell you that if these are Incendin hounds, you are lucky to still be alive.”

Tan started away. Staying would only lead to an argument. After battling with his mother, he didn’t need to argue with Cobin, too. “I’ll find you later.”

“Not sure I’ll change my mind. This one might be more dangerous than I thought.”

“That’s why you need me.”

Cobin grunted. “I need you to stay alive. Promised your father that.” Cobin started off, leaving Tan staring after him.

Questions lingered. Had he more time with Amia, he might have asked other questions about the hounds. Why had it suddenly gotten so hot? Why had he struggled to see them clearly? What scared them off?

Thinking of her left him disappointed he would never see her again.

Or could he?

It was early enough and he had already done the chores he’d neglected the day before. Why couldn’t he follow the Aeta wagons? Maybe he’d even catch another glimpse of Amia. The wagons didn’t move quickly. If he cut through the woods, he could intercept them before they went too far.

Before thinking about it too much, he set off at a slow jog. He kept the winding path of the road in mind as he climbed through the woods. His way took him up steep, rocky inclines and down hazardous ravines. It was nearly midday by the time he heard the distinct sound of their melodic bells.

Tan slowed as he neared the road, careful to remain hidden within the trees. He’d already followed the Aeta once. How offended would they be to see him after them again? When he saw them through the trees, the caravan moved slowly upon the road toward Velminth. The bright wagons rolled past him, flashes of color against the greenery.

As he watched, he worried for a moment he might have missed his chance. And then…there she was, sitting near an open window of the rear wagon. She sat frowning, one hand twirling through her golden hair. Then, as if sensing his presence, she turned to look in his direction, a smile parting her lips.

Tan ducked. She shouldn’t be able to see him through the layers of leaves and branches, yet she had looked right at him. And smiled. His heart fluttered and he dared to lean forward, risking exposure. The wagons disappeared, but he thought she waved.

He sighed, ignoring the pang he felt at her leaving. He barely knew her, yet something about her pulled at him, leaving him with a sense of longing.

A harsh snap broke the silence of the forest.

Tan turned, fear of hounds or wolves jumping to his mind. He hadn’t paid attention as he’d followed the Aeta. Could he have missed their tracks?

Quickly, and without thinking about it, he listened to the forest around him, sensing for anything off. It felt different than yesterday. Alive and as it should. Birds chirped in the trees overhead. Squirrels danced along branches. Wind whispered through the canopy.

That he’d forgotten to bring so much as a knife didn’t make him feel any better.

“Greetings.”

Tan stiffened. A figure emerged from the shadows of a nearby tree. How had he gotten so close without him knowing? Dressed in a heavy cloak covering his face, a sheathed sword hung at his side. One hand hovered over the hilt.

Tan eyed the man’s sword nervously, afraid to say anything. He considered where he could run if needed. The road would be easiest, but it would be the same for the man. Better off through the woods. He knew these woods and had some advantage there.

The figure followed Tan’s gaze down to his sword and pulled the hand away. Raising palms forward, he lowered the hood of his cloak, revealing wavy silver hair and bright eyes. “Just wandering the woods?”

Tan nodded, realizing he still wore his dirty breaches and shirt from his work in the stables. Had Amia seen him this way?

“What villages are near here?”

The question seemed odd. Most traveling through Galen knew it well enough. Near Nor was Velminth, a logging town. Beyond that lay the upper reaches of the Gholund Mountains, deep and twisty mountainous terrain few bothered to travel. The upper passes there would already be seeing the first snow. And beyond the mountains lay the edge of the kingdoms and the border with Incendin.

“Nor,” Tan answered. He positioned himself closer to the road. At least he could move quickly if needed.

The man frowned. “Nor? As in steel?”

He nodded. “Not many bother to work with steel anymore.” There’d been a time when the mines produced enough iron to practically supply the entirety of the kingdoms. That had been long before Tan was born. Now miners managed barely a trickle, though steel made in Nor still had value.

The man patted his sword quickly. “Still useful,” he said. He turned and looked around the woods. “Hunting?” He considered Tan for a moment before shaking off the question. “Not hunting. But not expecting me. Comfortable among the trees.” He spoke mostly to himself.

“The Aeta visited last night. I just watched them leave.”

The man looked up the road, ignoring Tan as he did. “The Aeta?” A curious look crossed his face. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

Tan frowned.

An uncomfortable moment passed before the man turned and smiled again. “I didn’t mean to come upon you like a wild elemental.”

He grinned as if seeing one of the elementals should make sense. From what his father used to say, that might have happened once, but the elementals were even rarer in Galen than shapers.

When Tan didn’t answer, he went on. “I’m looking for a woman from this area. A wind shaper of some strength. She’s gone by many names so I don’t really know what she’s called now.” He shrugged, as if names were unimportant.

Tan shook his head. “We have no shapers in Nor.” Lord Lind would panic if one ever did settle in the area. “We have few enough sensers here.” He said nothing about his ability. What Tan did really couldn’t be considered sensing, not to any real degree. His father had been a senser, but he used as much traditional tracking as he did sensing, combining them more than anything.

The man frowned. “None? There are shapers all along the border.”

“We’re not entirely on the border.”

The man turned and looked to the east, staring into the mountains toward Incendin. “We’re near the mountains. I presumed there would be shapers maintaining the barrier.” The stranger waited for Tan to say something more; when he didn’t, he looked down the slope of the mountain. “Can you lead me to Nor?”

Tan debated briefly. While he could follow the Aeta farther, he’d be doing so without a knife or a bow. Or even a skin of water. And the stranger could just as well follow the road into town. “You won’t find your shaper there. Not much other than a few old smiths and a cranky manor lord.” As soon as he said it, he wished he could take it back.

The man eyed him but thankfully didn’t comment.

They started off. Tan took him on a direct route, bypassing the road. “You said you are searching for a shaper?”

The man nodded.

“What’s she like?”

“Don’t really know anymore. She was lovely when I knew her, but fierce. She had this dark, flowing hair and olive skin…” He trailed off and shook his head. “But it was her laugh that truly made her beautiful.”

“You knew her well?”

The man simply shrugged. “Once.”

“She was a wind shaper?”

The stranger nodded. “One of the strongest I’ve met.”

“You’ve met a lot of shapers?” That meant he likely came from Ter or Vatten. Maybe even Ethea, but if he was from the capital, why had he traveled by himself?

“Many.”

“Where? Ethea?”

They climbed down a steep slope. The man followed him easily, moving with a limber grace that told Tan he wasn’t a stranger to woods like these.

“There. And other places,” he said.

Tan grabbed a thick sapling as he started down another slope. “Ever meet any warriors?” Cloud Warriors, the most prized shapers, could shape all of the elements. That was how the last Incendin war had been won.

The stranger laughed. “There aren’t any warriors. Haven’t been for nearly a decade.”

“Why?” Tan’s father used to tell of how he’d seen some of the great warriors when he’d trained in Ethea, back when they’d been called into battle to defend the kingdoms. Shapers so skilled they could practically walk across the sky, shaping themselves into the clouds.

“Few enough are born sensers. Fewer still can become shapers. Warriors have to master all the elements.”

They fell back into silence for long moments as they drifted toward the edge of the forest. Nor opened up in front of them, spreading far below. The stranger arched a brow at him. Tan shrugged and started down, sliding on his heels as he made his way down the steep embankment. Near the bottom of the hill, he waited. The stranger followed closely behind, not struggling as much as Tan would have expected.

“So how do you know so many shapers?”

The stranger shrugged. “Happens in my line of work.”

Tan laughed. “What line of work is that?”

The man laughed. “You don’t know?”

Tan shook his head.

“Thought you recognized the ring,” he said, pointing to the silver band on his first finger.

Now that he saw it, Tan still didn’t understand. He thought he’d seen it in one of his father’s books before, but couldn’t remember where. He shook his head.

The man grunted. “There was a time when a man recognized the mark of the Athan.”

Athan. That was a term he recognized. Direct servants of the king. They spoke with his word, his voice. Only five Athan served at a time. But why would King Althem send one to Galen?

8

Tainted Name

The Athan was quiet as Tan led him to the manor house. Tan didn’t bother interrupting, especially not now. He shot occasional glances down to the man’s ring, but didn’t dare let his eyes linger.

Once the man caught him looking and smiled. Tan turned away, a hot flush rising in his cheeks, and glanced at the cloudless sky. The sun pressed toward the tops of the trees, unseasonable heat coming with it. No wind whistled through town. Sweat slicked his arms and back.

Bread rising somewhere made Tan’s stomach rumble. He’d been gone most of the day again, though this time not tracking anything as dangerous as the hounds. But atop the scent of bread lingered a sharp stink of sweat. Amia probably had been happy to leave Nor.

Lins Alles emerged from the shadows near the manor house as they approached. His eyes were red and bloodshot and his hair disheveled. Probably just getting up now. He saw Tan and sneered before turning and staggering away, probably still drunk from the night before.

Tan sighed.

“Not a friend?” the man asked.

He shook his head. “Not a friend.” How far would Lins push him now? Tan couldn’t really fight back—not against Lins and certainly not when he was with his friends—but Lins wouldn’t let last night’s insult slide by without additional comment.

“Who is he?”

“Lins Alles.”

The stranger watched Tan as they walked the last few steps in silence before pausing at the doorway to the manor house. As Tan set his hand to the doorknob, the stranger laid his hand atop his. Tan stiffened, fearful of what the Athan might say. The voice of the king could punish him with only a word.

“You empower him when you fear him.”

Tan swallowed. He didn’t fear Lins—not yet—but eventually he would inherit the manor house. “It’s not empowerment.” Tan took his hand from the door. “It’s entitlement.”

The stranger tipped his head, frowning.

“Lins Alles, son of Lord Lind. Manor Lord of Nor.” Tan eyed the Athan, waiting for his response.

“I see.” The stranger’s frown deepened. “But that’s not all.”

Tan shook his head and laughed softly, glancing over to where Lins had disappeared. “Lins thought to impress an Aeta girl by insulting me last night.”

“Did it work?” The man’s tone indicated he knew it wouldn’t.

“She insulted him in kind. He didn’t care for it. I think he blames me.”

The stranger’s silver eyebrows raised and he chuckled. “That young man needs to learn a few lessons about impressing women. Particularly one of the Aeta.”

“Don’t we all,” Tan said.

The stranger’s laugh deepened and he clapped Tan on the shoulder.

Tan pushed open the door and led the man through the hall. From his frequent visits to see his mother, he knew the way toward Lord Lind’s office. At this time of day, he was likely there.

“I’m fortunate you know the house so well.”

“My mother works for Lord Lind. Came here after my father died. Called by the king to fight an Incendin insurgence to the south. He didn’t return.” Tan made a point of looking at the stranger.

“What was his name?”

Tan frowned. Why did this man care? “Grethan Minden.”

The stranger didn’t have the opportunity to question any further and Tan was more than relieved to let the topic drop. As they reached the door to Lord Lind’s room, he knocked firmly, uncertain if the lord would even be in his office at this time of day. Then he’d have to go to his mother to find him. He didn’t look forward to that.

“Enter.”

The door muffled the words. Tan swung it open to reveal Lord Lind’s office, intending to leave the Athan and depart; there was still the matter of the hounds and Cobin might take Heller and leave without him. When he turned to leave, the stranger placed a hand upon his back, pressing him forward.

“Introduce me,” he whispered.

Tan tried to turn but could not. “Lord Lind,” he said as he entered, nodding carefully. Tan had never presented himself to Lind without his mother present and he was uncertain how Lind would react. Lord Lind’s feelings for his mother might not extend to her son.

Lind looked up from his desk and stared at Tan for a long moment. Then he looked at the Athan, eyeing his odd clothing and the sword at his hip. “What is this?”

A nervous sweat beaded upon his back. “This is…” he trailed off, realizing he didn’t even know the man’s name.

“Roine,” the Athan whispered.

Tan licked suddenly dry lips. “Roine,” he continued. “He requested an audience with you.”

Lind sniffed, motioning toward the door. “I don’t have time for this, son.” He spoke with a stern sort of annoyance and waved him away.

The statement bothered Tan more than it should. “My lord—”

Lind shook him off. “If you think my relationship with your mother grants you privilege—”

Tan interrupted, feeling a surge of irritation mixed with anger. Relationship? Tan didn’t think they had more than a passable working rapport, but what if it was more than that? “Lord Lind. He comes from King Althem.”

Lind glared briefly at Tan before turning his attention to the stranger, seeming to consider his dress once more before dismissing him. “And you believed him? Any simpleton could claim the king sent him. You may go.” He turned back to look at his desk.

The stranger set a hand upon his shoulder, pressing him back. “Thank you,” he whispered. There was an unexpected mirth to his tone. Tan suspected the stranger had just learned all he needed to know about Lord Lind.

With a flourish, he pulled a rolled parchment from a hidden pocket, presenting it forward while leaning toward Lind. He cleared his throat to get Lind’s attention. A gold seal was obvious from where Tan stood and from Lind’s expression, he recognized it as well. But it was the ring his eyes lingered on the longest, the mark of the Athan. “I assure you I am sent by Althem,” he said. “He sends his greetings to his loyal manor lord and requests your assistance in this matter.”

Lind stood and took the parchment. Shaking his head as he unsealed it, he quickly read the words within before looking up and eyeing Roine strangely. Finally, he rolled the parchment back up and returned it to Roine. “I don’t have what you seek.”

Roine cocked his head and smiled, more teeth than not. “No, I did not think you would.”

Lind muttered something quietly under his breath.

“What was that, my lord?” Roine asked.

“I said I did not think our king has seen this part of Galen in years.”

Roine shrugged. “Perhaps not. I don’t often know the mind of Althem, but speak as his Voice. He has asked for your service and assistance as I travel through your land.”

Lind stared at Roine, his eyes darting again down to the ring before answering. “Of course I serve the king.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

Lind blinked. “You will not be impeded in your search.”

Roine frowned. “And that wasn’t the request.”

Lord Lind took a slight step back at the admonishment. “You will have what you need.” Lord Lind motioned toward Tan. “Take him to Ephra. She can help him with what he needs.”

It was a dismissal.

The Athan considered Lord Lind with a mixture of amusement and irritation, before following Tan away from the office. “That was unfortunate,” he said as they made their way down the hall.

Tan said nothing. It didn’t pay to get involved in the king’s business.

The Athan looked over at him and chuckled. “You don’t need to fear me. Though your Lord Lind should remember he serves at the king’s leisure.” As they neared his mother’s door, he turned to Tan. “Whom did he send me to? Who’s Ephra?”

Tan knocked and, hearing his mother’s voice inside, paused before entering. “My mother.”

The Athan chuckled again.

His mother sat behind her desk, her pen scratching quickly along a parchment, looking strangely like Lord Lind sitting at his desk. She looked up, glancing at Tan before looking back to her parchment. “A moment, Tan,” she started, then caught herself and looked up again, seeing the Athan as if for the first time. Her eyes skimmed over him, catching on his ring. She raised her brow ever so slightly, such that Tan was not sure he saw it. Had that been recognition in her eyes?

“What is it?” She set her pen down upon the desk and looked at Tan, ignoring the stranger.

“Mother.” Tan glanced at Roine. The Athan wore a blank look, completely unreadable. “This is Roine, Athan to the king.”

“Lord Lind should meet with the Athan, not I.”

“He did. He requested your help.”

His mother frowned. “You have already been to Lind,” she said softly, dropping the formality of the title. “How is it you present him, Tannen?” She looked past Tan and at the Athan as she spoke.

Tan decided to answer quickly. Anything he said now risked angering his mother more. “I met Roine in the forest.” She frowned deeply at him. “I finished my chores this morning and followed the Aeta as they left town. It was along the road to Velminth that I encountered Roine.”

“The Aeta have already left?”

It was not the question Tan expected. “Early this morning.”

“Toward Velminth?”

Tan nodded again.

“And you met Roine along the road?” She said his name with a strange inflection. The stranger smiled.

“My lady,” Roine said, bowing his head slightly. “You son was kind enough to lead me to Nor. I have learned much from him.”

His mother sniffed and then lightly shook her head before finally laughing quietly. “I am sure you have, Roine.” She made a point of pushing his name with the odd inflection. She leaned forward. “What is it you need?”

Roine laughed and stepped inside the door. He tilted his head. “Ephra.” He said her name with the same odd inflection. “Your son has been most helpful. He even secured me an audience with the manor lord.”

“I think as Athan you would have no trouble on your own.”

Roine shrugged. “I didn’t refuse his assistance.”

She snorted. “And what assistance do you require?”

Tan was taken aback by their banter. Like his father, his mother had studied in Ethea. That’s where they’d met. She was a senser, though claimed to have lost much of her ability and never spoke of it. Neither of his parents ever really spoke of their time in the capital, other than to encourage him to go to the university.

Roine smiled at the question. “I came looking for a shaper, one of great power.”

His mother blinked and waited.

“But seeing the Aeta raised a new concern. So it seems I need help.”

“What kind of help?” his mother asked.

Roine pulled the rolled parchment he’d shown Lord Lind and set it on the desk. “I have searched for an item. I thought this shaper I knew could help.” He shrugged. “Perhaps not. But to find it, I need to get through the mountains quickly.”

His mother stared at Roine for a long moment, the silence between them growing slowly palpable. Finally, she took a deep breath. “Why?”

“I was sent by Althem.”

His mother shook her head. “Why?”

“My lady,” Roine began, more to silence her than anything else. His eyes darted briefly to Tan and his mother slowly nodded. Roine shrugged. “There is…an item…that must be found. Everything I can find tells me it will be within Galen.”

His mother unrolled the parchment and smoothed it out. She studied it and then flipped the page over, giving it more attention than Lord Lind had bothered. “This…”

Roine nodded. “You understand the urgency. I need to get through the passes quickly.”

“Why?” She let the parchment roll back up and set it to the side.

“I don’t think I’m the only one searching.”

“The hounds.”

Roine frowned. “Hounds?”

His mother looked to Tan. “He saw them yesterday. Chased the Aeta.”

The Athan studied Tan for a long moment. “Then it is even more urgent than I feared.”

“If Incendin seeks this item and you need to travel quickly, you need someone who knows the mountains well.”

“Better than me, at least.”

His mother nodded, a resolute expression coming across her face. “You will take Tan. He’s the best tracker in Nor and knows the mountains better than any.”

“That’s all?”

“He has some skill with earth sensing,” she added.

Roine smiled. “You didn’t send him to the university? Most go for the chance they may be shapers.”

“I’m not going to the university,” Tan said.

The smile left Roine’s face. “Your father?”

Roine couldn’t understand. More than just losing his father. He knew the terms of study at the university. And he had no interest serving the king after what happened. How he’d simply been summoned. Taken from them.

“Tannen—” His mother met his eyes, pleading with him. “If you won’t go to Ethea, at least do this for your king. You know these mountains better than any and if Incendin searches…”

“Father knew them better,” Tan said.

His mother nodded. “Perhaps. But he is gone. And he went willingly. He understood the need to serve.”

Tan considered refusing but what she asked meant he’d be free to wander the forest. If he could serve the king doing that, would there be any reason not to? At least this way he got away from the city for a while, away from an already-annoyed Lins. Maybe he could stop disappointing his mother, if only briefly.

He sighed. “I’ll go.”

She watched him before finally nodding. Turning to Roine, she asked, “How long?”

Roine shook his head. “I don’t know. A week. Maybe longer.”

“Prepare for longer, Tannen. You will leave in the morning?”

Roine nodded.

His mother stood at her desk. “Then take tonight to gather what you need, Tannen. And be safe.”

He nodded, uncertain how to react.

“Roine, a word?” she asked.

Tan turned and left his mother’s office, pulling the door closed behind him. As he did, a snippet of unexpected conversation wafted through the door. He paused to listen and what he heard left his heart hammering in his chest.

“I know this must be important if you were sent.” The door muffled her voice.

“It is.”

“Your name…Roine?”

Roine said nothing.

“Reminds me of the ancient language. Roinay.”

“Not many know Ishthin.”

She snorted. “It’s no secret I studied at the university. But roinay? Tainted?”

“Your point?”

His mother paused before answering. “No point, then. But with Grethan gone, Tan is the best we have. If what he told me yesterday is true, you face a danger like we’ve not seen in the kingdoms in years.” There was a pause. “Theondar…” She paused again and Tan frowned, wondering why his mother would mention the name of that warrior. “You must protect him.”

“I will do my best, Zephra.”

9

Service and Roots

Tan sat in his small room, staring at the wall. A small lantern sputtered, the oil already burning out. Had he not planned on leaving, he would have collected more lard oil. The stuff smelled foul and burned with a thick, pungent smoke. Nothing like the clean lamp oil Lord Lind used. Probably Lins, too.

The bed was shoved against the wall, but still there wasn’t much space in his room. The place his mother managed to secure for him was in the servant quarters. And even then most of the other rooms had more space. They were certainly warmer in the winter than his room. At least with the heat of the summer, his room finally had some benefit.

A small trunk rested near the end of the bed. Inside was everything else he owned. Not much, really. A few changes of clothes. Some books his father had long ago given him. A necklace given to him when he’d turned sixteen that he never wore. A long hunting knife. His bow hung on a hook he’d worked into the stone, the quiver laying on the floor near it.

Emotions rushed through him. He should be thrilled his mother asked him to lead Roine through the upper reaches, but he couldn’t help but feel hesitation. The only other time he’d traveled that far had been with his father. And he had nothing like his father’s skill. Besides, going with Roine—the Athan to the king—meant serving the king. Did he really want to serve?

A light knock rattled the thin door. Tan jumped off his small bed. Other than his mother, he didn’t have any visitors. Well, Bal sometimes, but she usually got in enough trouble that she spent most evenings in the kitchen cleaning.

Cobin waited for him on the other side. “Gonna let me in?”

Tan pulled the door open and Cobin stepped in. Since he’d moved into the manor house, he didn’t think Cobin ever visited. Once, Cobin had visited often, but that had been before.

“Were you gonna come to me?” he asked.

“About what?”

Cobin grunted and scrubbed a hand across his face. “About what. You think I haven’t heard?”

Tan shook his head. He should have gone to Cobin to tell him about Roine. Might be that Cobin would be better to travel with him than Tan anyway, but a part of him really wanted to get away from Nor for a while, even if only for a week.

“Yeah, I should have said something. When I saw—”

Cobin grunted again. “When you saw them. After what happened yesterday, you’d think you’d know better. Your pa would have, and I don’t mean that to hurt you, but it’s the truth. Didn’t I warn you about the hounds?”

“Hounds? What are you talking about?”

Cobin jabbed him in the shoulder with a thick finger. Tan winced. “You went off on your own and killed three wolves. Thought you said it wasn’t wolves you tracked yesterday. You’re the one who got me fired up about the hounds, and then you leave the wolves. Not sure why you felt the need to burn them.”

“Cobin,” Tan began, backing into the wall, “I didn’t kill any wolves.”

Cobin’s hand froze in the air. “Not you? Then who?”

Tan shrugged.

“Then what were you talking about?”

Tan slumped onto his bed. “I thought you knew.”

Cobin leaned against one wall. As small as the room was, he practically filled it with his bulk. “Knew what?”

“When I went after the Aeta, I met someone.”

Cobin’s eyes narrowed. “Not sure I like the sound of that.”

“One of the Athan. Here on behalf of the king.”

Cobin snorted. “Definitely don’t like the sound of that. Last time we had a messenger from the king—”

Tan nodded. “I know.” He’d tried not to think about the last time. A letter sent, sealed with the king’s own sigil, asking his father to return to service. And his father had gone, giving everything.

Cobin’s face softened. “Of course you do, Tan. I don’t mean to keep throwing that at you. Great Mother knows how hard all this must be on you. Wounds still fresh and all.” He looked as if he wanted to either punch him or hug him. Either seemed awkward with Cobin. “Why did one of the Athan come to Nor?”

Tan shrugged. “Don’t know. He met with Lord Lind and was sent to my mother.”

Cobin coughed. “I’m sure that went over well.”

“It was…strange. Almost like they knew each other.”

“Well, your parents both spent time in Ethea back when they studied at the university. Could be they knew him there. What’s his name?”

“Roine. Gray-haired. Older. Something dark about him, though.”

Cobin frowned. “Can’t say I recognize the name, but not that I would. Darkness probably comes with the job, too.” He paused. “Wait—what did he need from your ma?”

“He needs help getting through the passes quickly. He’s after something—he didn’t say what—and thinks Incendin is after it too.”

Cobin scrubbed a hand across his face. “Incendin?” He shook his head and a pained look pulled at his cheeks. “First the hounds and now this. Can’t help but think they’re tied together, but we haven’t heard anything from Incendin here in over twenty years, and even then the passes kept us pretty protected from the war.”

Tan’s parents spoke rarely about the war with Incendin, other than to say how bloody it had been. Fire shapers from Incendin battling with the warriors of the kingdoms, each pushing against each other. The war was the reason they’d been allowed to study at the university. Anyone with potential had been allowed to study.

Cobin studied him. “Don’t worry. Incendin hasn’t had the strength to fight us in a long time.”

“And we haven’t had the strength to fight back in a long time. There haven’t been any Cloud Warriors since then.”

“We still have plenty of shapers. That’s enough to keep the barrier between the kingdoms and Incendin intact. Not much can cross the barrier.”

“The Aeta did.”

Cobin nodded. “They’re given free reign. That’s how it is with their people. They can travel freely and trade so long as they don’t stay too long or settle.”

“Other traders aren’t given the same freedom.”

“Other traders aren’t the Aeta,” Cobin said.

Tan didn’t push. There was more to the story of the Aeta but he’d never really gotten a clear understanding. Traveling merchants, but more than that. They traveled as families, each caravan connected to the Aeta whole. Most really didn’t understand more than that anyway. Maybe Cobin did. Tan suspected his mother did. But now that the Aeta had departed, it didn’t really matter. It’d be years before they returned.

“So who did your ma send to help?” Cobin asked. When Tan didn’t answer fast enough, Cobin’s eyes widened. “She sent you? Thought she’s been trying to get you to go to Ethea? Now she sends you the opposite way?”

“She wants me to serve the king.”

Cobin took a slow breath and then laughed softly. “That’s what it’s been about with you? Serving? I always thought you just didn’t want to go to the capital. Plenty of folks don’t, especially those who live most of their lives out here, disconnected from everything else. Barely feel like you’re a part of the kingdoms, let alone think you need to go off to the capital to study. But service?” He shook his head. “We all got to serve something. Time you discover what that is.”

Tan hated the way everyone seemed to know what he needed. “And you? What do you serve?”

His face took on a serious expression. “I serve plenty. Since her ma died, I keep Bal fed and sheltered.”

Tan shook his head. Cobin had lost as much as any in Galen. “My mother wants me to study in the university, knowing that doing so puts me in debt to the king. Like my father.”

“And your mother,” Cobin said softly.

Tan rarely thought of that and wondered how she would repay her debt. Or maybe she already had and never told him about it.

Cobin grabbed his shoulder and pulled him off the bed. “I told your pa I’d do what I could to help with you.”

Tan nodded, swallowing the thick knot in his throat. “I’m sorry, Cobin. I shouldn’t argue with you. I know you’re just trying to help. It’s just…”

Cobin shook his head. “Don’t need to explain. Sometimes it takes time to know what you want.”

“That’s just it. I know what I want. And it’s not in Ethea.”

Cobin’s upper lip curled back in a smile. “So you know what you want?”

“I want to stay in Nor. It’s comfortable. Home. And it’s the only thing I have left of him.”

His voice dropped off as he said the last. He hadn’t really been able to put words to it before. Now that he had, he knew it was probably the biggest reason he didn’t want to go anywhere. Once he left, would he start forgetting the lessons his father had taught him? Would he forget how he’d learned to sense the woods around him, to listen to everything from the wind to the groaning of the trees to the sound of the animals—squirrels and birds and mice—working through the forest, to taste the scents in the air and know when deer passed through or wolves had marked the edge of the territory? Every time he walked through the forest, he felt his father. Once he left, he’d be gone for good. At least staying, he could still remember the deep way his voice sounded, the way he praised him when he got a lesson right, chided him when he forgot something simple—never too harsh. No…Tan couldn’t leave Nor.

The smile faded. “Not going to be comfortable forever, Tan. Especially if Alles stays as the manor lord. Once that boy of his takes over…”

Tan shrugged. “Could be years. And by then, maybe I’ll be ready to move on.”

“Or so settled you can’t go anywhere. Once you put down roots, it gets pretty hard to walk.” He shook his head. “Trust me, best to do it while you’re young. At least then you’ll never wonder what you missed.”

“Like you?”

Cobin frowned. “I wonder all the time. It’s worth it, though, if she grows up and can have a life of her own.” Tan had never heard so much regret from Cobin before. Cobin sighed. “So are you going to take him?”

Tan shrugged. “Not much of a choice, is there?”

Cobin laughed and pushed away from the wall. “Probably not. Forget the king, you can’t risk angering your ma too much.”

Tan laughed. “Sorry I won’t be able to help you track the hounds. Tell Heller to leave one for me.”

Cobin’s face darkened. “If Incendin is after the same as the Athan, then you might be seeing more of the hounds than you’d like.” He hesitated, thoughts working across his face. “Maybe you’d like some company along the way. I could go with you. I’ve been through the passes with your father a few times. Might not have your skill with sensing, but I can be plenty useful. Your ma can keep an eye on Bal while I’m gone. She owes me that much.”

Tan laughed. “I’d like that. Not sure she will.” Cobin shrugged. “Shouldn’t be any reason the Athan wouldn’t want extra help. Especially if he really wants to move quickly.”

“And if there are hounds…”

Tan swallowed. He prayed they wouldn’t see hounds again. What he’d gone through the day before had been enough. At least if they faced them again, Cobin might be there. And Roine. He seemed comfortable with his sword. Not that a sword would be any better than a bow, but maybe a pack of hounds would be frightened by more of them.

“Talk to your ma before we go, Tan. Sometimes I think you forget you’re not the only one struggling.”

Cobin was right. He needed to talk to her. All she wanted was for him to find something that made him happy. “I will.”

10

Responsibility

Tan found his mother sitting at the edge of town atop the low wall. A cool breeze gusted out of the north, whipping at his shirt and pants but somehow leaving her alone. The air smelled of rain and lightning, the threat of the earlier heat still hanging on. She stared into the mountains. Tan didn’t have to question to know what she thought.

“We could return,” he said as he approached. “Live in that old house again…”

She turned and smiled. Deep wrinkles at the corners of her eyes faded. Her hair, pulled tight behind her head on most days anymore, now hung loose around her shoulders the way his father had always liked it. She sighed. “Some things you can’t go back to.”

Tan looked over her shoulder, up into the lower hills. Their old home was up there, now left abandoned. Little more than three rooms and built solidly by his father, it had a warmth to it that was missing in Nor. “I could go back.”

“And do what? Spend all day hunting? With your father…”

She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to. His father was a skilled senser. Hunting came easily for him. Tan didn’t have the same skills as his father. “You were happier there too.”

She nodded and turned back to look toward the tree line. Bright silver moonlight shone down. A wolf howled distantly, the sound strangely reassuring. “I miss him.” She said it so softly that he almost couldn’t hear it.

“I think that’s why I don’t want to go anywhere,” Tan said. He climbed over the wall and sat next to her.

She took his hand. Her fingers felt strong and soft, but so small compared to his. At least in that he took after his father. “We have mourned him well, Tan. Now it’s time to move on.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Is that why Lord Lind treats you so well?” The words came out harsher than he intended, but she looked at him and smiled anyway.

“Lind treats me well enough.”

He noticed that she didn’t really answer. They sat in silence for a while longer. Another wolf howled, its cry low and lonesome. Tan let his eyes drift closed and listened to the trees, tracing the presence of the wolf high into the mountains. He thought of what Cobin said about the wolves and wondered who had killed them. The huge mountain wolves mostly left people alone, but when they attacked, they could be deadly. Killing three meant strength. And if something were that powerful, it could just as well have avoided the wolves altogether. Hopefully he and Cobin could keep them away from the Incendin hounds as they made their way to the upper passes with Roine.

“Do you know him?” he asked.

She turned toward him, her face shadowed. “Who?”

“Roine. You sounded as if you knew each other.”

She blinked slowly. A debate worked across her face for a moment and then was gone, blown away by the gusting wind. “I knew him once.” She shook her head, and her hair tossed in the wind. “It was a long time ago. We were different people then.”

“Why’d he call you that name?”

She frowned.

“I overheard you after I left. He called you Zephra. That’s the name the Aeta Mother said, too.”

“That is a conversation for another time, Tannen.”

“Why? You want me to serve the king by leading him to the passes, why shouldn’t I know?”

She held his gaze and something changed in her eyes. “Zephra was my name once. That was how he knew me.”

Something dawned on Tan then, a thought so surprising that he wasn’t certain it could be real, but what other explanation fit? “You’re the wind shaper he sought.” He always knew she could sense the wind, but there wasn’t much use to that skill. Not like his father’s earth sensing. But shaping? That was different.

How could she be a shaper? How could he not have known?

She looked as if she wouldn’t answer. Then she sighed and nodded. “When I was known as Zephra, I served the king as a shaper. That was a long time ago.”

“But he said you were powerful. One of the most powerful shapers he’s ever known. How could that change?” Other questions raced through his head but he didn’t ask them, questions like how she could be a shaper and not tell him, or what it was like to shape the wind, or what could she do? Could she call up a tornado? Could she push away a storm? Some wind shapers were even said to practically fly on the wind; could she do that?

She only shook her head. “Everything changed during the war.”

“You were in the war?”

She nodded. “Your father too. We only settled after. Nor was your father’s home, and with the winds of Galen it always felt comforting to me.”

How could he not have known that she was a shaper? First learning that she knew the dead princess and now this? It was like he was learning a whole new side to his mother, a side she wanted to keep from him. “Why haven’t you told me before?”

“Because it didn’t matter. That’s not who I am now. Now I’m just Ephra.”

“You’re a shaper! Why would you want to hide that?”

A sad smile twisted her lips. “For the longest time, all I wanted was to be a shaper. I struggled even catching the wind. And when called by the king, I served willingly in the war. But it changed. I couldn’t do that anymore. Nor was my reward.”

Tan couldn’t think of anything that would make him not want to be a shaper. His sensing was too weak to ever become anything more. He’d never know the power shapers possessed. But his mother…she was a shaper and chose to abandon it. “What could change that would make you want to give up shaping?”

She squeezed his hand. “We had you.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Is that why you want me to go to the university? Do you think I could be a shaper?” In spite of how he felt about leaving Nor, the idea still gave him a slight thrill. Could he eventually learn to hone his weak earth sensing, turn it into something stronger? Could he become a shaper?

“I always knew I could shape. The wind called me when I was barely seven. It took years before I learned to control it. Some learn later in life. Rarely at your age.”

It was a long way of telling him no. Tan wondered why he felt a hint of disappointment.

“There is more to the university than simply learning how to become a shaper. The Great Mother gifted you as a senser. Your father did what he could to teach you to use that gift, but there are others who could teach you much more about earth sensing.” She sighed again. “But it’s more than that. Had he not died, we still would have wanted you to go to Ethea. You’ve lived your entire life in Nor. There is more to this world than what you’ve seen. After gaining that perspective, if you decide to return, then you won’t ever wonder what else you might have missed.”

It was the same argument they’d had countless times since his father died. Only now he knew she was a shaper. That changed things for him somehow. “Do you miss shaping the wind?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “It’s been so long that I can’t even call it consistently. That’s how it is with wind shaping.”

“If I go,” he started, not really thinking he would ever see Ethea, “would you come with me?”

She patted his hand and sighed. “That’s a journey you must take on your own. If I were to go with you, I’d only hold you back. You can’t worry about your mother when you’re studying at the university.”

Tan sensed there was more. “You don’t want to go back.”

She smiled. “It’s been so long since I’ve been in Ethea that I’m not sure I do. I’m a different person now. Not the shaper I was when I last was there. Everything would be different for me.”

Tan nodded. “And Roine? Who was he when you were there?”

Some of the softness to her face faded. “It doesn’t matter who he was then. It matters who he is now. And he’s Athan to the king. He speaks with his voice.”

“That’s not how you knew him.”

She shook her head. “No. He went by a different name then. But as Athan, you need to lead him where he needs to go as quickly as possible. After that, you can decide what you’ll do. Stay or go on to Ethea. If you stay, you’ll have to begin thinking about what you will do next. You can’t stay living in the servants’ quarters. Lind has allowed it for this long, but I doubt he will permit it forever. Serve your king now, but prepare for a decision.”

Tan nodded slowly. “I will help Roine.”

He sensed she wanted him to say more, but he wasn’t willing to. Not to commit to going to Ethea as she wanted. That meant serving the king. But the idea of staying in Nor felt less appealing than before. What would he do if he stayed?

She stood and pulled him into a tight hug. “Travel safe, Tan. If Roine is right and Incendin seeks the same item as him, there could be more danger than you know.”

“I’ll bring my bow.”

She smiled and nodded. “That’ll be good. But always listen. Trust the lessons your father taught you. If something seems amiss…run. Don’t try to fight off the hounds on your own.”

There was a weight to her words. “You’ve faced the hounds before.”

She flicked her eyes toward the mountains and nodded. “They are dangerous. Like so much else in Incendin, they are deadly. Bred to hunt and kill. Don’t try to face even one.” She took his hands. “And if their masters appear, do all you can to escape.”

“Their masters?”

She shook her head and smiled. “A warning is all. As far as I know, the barrier still stands. Roine would have said if it were otherwise.”

Another low howl echoed high up in the mountains. It ended abruptly.

Tan listened for it to return, sensing the forest, but the distance was too great for him to hear anything other than silence.

After what had happened yesterday, it was the silence that worried him.

11

Shattered Wagons

Morning came quickly.

After the conversation with his mother, Tan rested little that night. He tossed and turned, dreams of his mother shaping interrupting his sleep. At one point he awoke in a cold sweat, wondering why she hadn’t been summoned for the king instead of his father. Another question for later, he realized.

A soft knock on his door woke him from sleep. He stumbled out of bed and pulled it open. Roine looked back at him, his deep blue eyes crisp and alert. His silver hair was slicked back atop his head. The short sword hung at his side. A tightly packed bag was slung over one shoulder. He studied Tan for a moment before realization dawned on his face.

“She told you.”

Tan didn’t ask how he knew as he nodded.

“That was a long time ago. We were different people then.”

The words sounded so much like what his mother had said. “I still don’t understand.”

Roine sniffed and reached a hand out as if to pat him on the shoulder before thinking better of it and dropping his hand. It fell onto the hilt of his sword. He sighed. “Pray that you don’t. But that’s why I need your help. I need to ensure Incendin doesn’t get strong enough to attack again.”

“What you’re looking for could make them strong enough to attack?”

“What I’m looking for could make them strong enough to drop the barrier.”

The barrier. He knew so little about it other than how shapers built it during the war. The construction somehow pushed Incendin back and out of the kingdoms. It was what prevented the worst of Incendin from attacking the kingdoms. “I don’t know anything about that.”

Roine nodded. “Pray that you don’t. Just know your mother—”

“It seems I know very little about my mother.” Tan didn’t mean to spit the last, and it came out angrier than intended.

Roine blinked. “I’m sorry, Tan.”

“Me too.” He turned away and grabbed his bundle and bow. “Are we walking or riding?” he asked without looking at Roine.

“Can we reach the pass by horse?”

He shrugged, still not looking up. “Equally fast either way. By horse we’d have to stick to the road. Slope is too steep otherwise. By foot we can climb straight up.”

“If it’s no faster by foot, then we’ll go by horse. Lord Lind promised any help we needed…”

Tan pushed past Roine and made his way to the stables. At this time of the morning, it was quiet. Horses whinnied softly. The cool air held the scent of hay and dung. He debated which horses to take before settling on a pair of solid brown mares. Then he moved onto a silver dappled stallion, smiling as he did. Lins preferred this horse.

As he saddled the third horse, Roine coughed. “Only two of us going, Tan. No supplies to carry.”

“I invited my friend Cobin.”

Roine frowned. “I never said anything about another person coming with us. We need to move quickly. A third might slow us down.”

He shook his head. “Not Cobin. He used to hunt with my father. He knows these lands better than anyone. If you’re so worried about an extra person, maybe you should just take him.”

“You don’t want to go?”

Tan thought about what he wanted. Leaving Nor for a while, even as briefly as the week it would take to lead Roine into the upper passes, might be time well spent. And he needed that time away from his mother, time to consider what he’d do with his future.

Cobin saved him from answering. He wore thick leathers and a massive axe slung over one shoulder. He carried his bow in hand. When he saw Roine, he frowned.

“Tan said you needed to reach the passes quickly.”

Roine eyed Cobin for a moment and then nodded.

“Seeing as he’s only been there once, he asked me to help. Consider it a bargain. Besides, he told me Incendin hounds made it into the woods. Might be better to have an extra body if they catch our scent.”

A look passed between Roine and Cobin that Tan didn’t understand. Roine finally nodded. Tan kept the dappled stallion for himself and led them from the stables at a steady walk. Cobin glanced at the horse Tan chose before chuckling softly.

As they left Nor and entered the shadows of the forest, he cast a glance back. The road took them above the town and from here, the angle of the path made small houses and low wall look small. Smoke from a few fires drifted into the sky, but otherwise the town was quiet. Before he turned away, he saw Bal watching him from atop the wall. She wore plain gray pants and a loose-fitting shirt—probably Cobin’s—and waved at him. Tan wouldn’t put it past her to follow them.

The road Roine led them on would eventually lead them to Velminth. Usually two days from Nor by horse, if they rode quickly enough. He wondered if they would reach the Aeta again. He doubted Roine would stop. Velminth was farther south than he intended to go.

They made good time riding mostly in silence, stopping around midday to share jerky and bread Cobin had brought. As they ate, a heavy roll of thunder echoed in the distance.

Roine looked skyward, straining to see into the distance. His head cocked as if listening to something only he could hear. Another peal of thunder rumbled, sounding far away but closer than the last. The wind picked up, whipping dust from the road into their faces.

Roine looked at them. “Storms usually come in this quickly?”

Cobin took another bite of bread. “They can. Weather moves over the mountains and seems to just appear.” He shrugged as thunder crashed again. The sky darkened quickly. “Looks to be a bad one. Haven’t had weather like this in a while. Probably should find shelter.”

Roine looked around, his eyes taking in the trees and steady slope of the mountains. “Where do you suggest?”

Cobin looked at Tan. “There’s a couple of places along the road where we could find some protection. Still going to get wet.”

Roine looked up at the sky again and nodded.

Cobin led them along the road quickly. The wind gusted, pushing against them. Thunder rolled regularly overhead and black clouds moved quickly in the sky. As Tan watched, light exploded in the distance, followed by a loud crack.

“These lightning storms can be dangerous,” Tan shouted over the wind.

“That’s why I’m trying to find an old mine shaft,” Cobin said. “Should be one soon.”

There was another bright flash of lightning followed by an ear-splitting crack. Closer now. And then the rain began. It started as slow drops, heavy and warm, but quickly turned into a hard downpour of tiny needles slicing into their skin.

“How much farther?” Roine asked. He’d pulled the hood of his cloak over his head. In spite of the rain drenching him, he rode tall in the saddle.

“Just around this bend,” Cobin answered.

The rain sleeted down and Tan struggled to see through it. As they made their way up the road, he realized something felt off. He listened, sensing the forest around him, before recognizing what bothered him. Nothing else moved in the forest around them.

A scent of char and sulfur bit through the rain. “There’s something—”

He cut off as they rounded the bend.

Broken and charred wreckage scattered across the road. Painted wood was splintered and debris strewn up and down the road, filling a rent in the forest floor. Random pieces of melted and misshapen steel were scattered across the forest.

It took a moment before he realized what he saw.

Roine unsheathed his sword with a soft ringing of steel. Cobin grabbed his axe.

“What happened here?” he whispered. His horse danced nervously beneath him. “What happened to the Aeta?”

Cobin and Roine sat atop their horses and surveyed the road and destruction around them. Neither spoke. Roine held his sword in hand with a white-knuckled grip. Cobin’s axe twitched in his hand.

“What happened?” Tan repeated.

Roine shook his head as if reluctant to answer.

It was Cobin who finally answered. “Incendin.” His voice was hollow and thin and shook more than he’d ever heard from the large man.

“How many wagons?” Roine asked.

“At least a dozen,” Cobin said. “I don’t know how many Aeta were among them.”

“At least three times that.” Tan looked past the debris, searching for any sign of the Aeta. They had to be close to the abandoned mine shaft Cobin had sought. “How far to the mine?”

Cobin looked back at Tan and met his eyes before shaking his head.

“What do you mean?”

“Too far, Tan,” Cobin said. He didn’t look up to meet his eyes.

“Wait…they’re dead?”

Roine nodded slowly. “As good as.”

Tan stared at the slowly smoldering remains of the wagons. The rain had not completely quenched whatever burned them and the now-steady drizzle left the broken fragments of wagon steaming. The small streams of rainwater runoff were lighter in color now. Thunder still rolled around them and the gray sky overhead matched his mood.

“How?” Tan couldn’t fathom how this destruction was possible.

“Incendin knows only one kind of shaping,” Roine answered. “And their fire shapers are quite skilled.”

“Fire shapers? But how would they have crossed the barrier?”

“I don’t know.”

Cobin watched Roine, a different question on his face.

“I don’t understand. Why attack the Aeta? They’re just traders.”

Roine sucked in a soft breath as he shook his head.

“Did hounds do this?” The idea terrified him, but what else made sense? Both his mother and Cobin warned him about the hounds, but how could hounds—even a pack—destroy a caravan of wagons?

“These aren’t hounds. Hounds are…messier.” Roine paused and looked around the destroyed road. “You said you tracked the hounds? That’s where you saw the Aeta at first?” Tan nodded. “How?”

Tan thought of the difficulty he’d had making sense of the tracks. “It wasn’t easy. Especially when they treed me.”

“Not many men can follow their tracks.” Roine paused as he surveyed the remains of the Aeta wagons. “I knew the hounds were already in the kingdoms. Possibly for days.”

“Not just hounds,” Tan said, remembering the other set of prints. “I saw another set mixed with the hounds.”

Cobin looked at him strangely. Tan hadn’t told him about those prints.

“What type of prints?” Roine asked.

A low cry echoing through the forest kept him from answering. The sound made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Tan recognized it; he’d followed the same sound only days before. He understood why he sensed nothing else in the forest around him, the same absence he’d felt while tracking the prints the other day.

The hound cried again, low and closer. Tan shivered, though not because of the rain. The Incendin hounds had returned.

12

An Unusual Storm

When the braying of the hounds finally stopped, Tan looked at Roine. He sat atop his horse, rain dripping from his face, bright blue eyes piercing the gloom of the forest. He’d slipped his sword back into its sheath.

“Where are the Aeta? The survivors?” Tan asked.

Roine shook his head. The sad look in his eyes spoke volumes. “I don’t think there were any survivors. This kind of attack isn’t meant for anything other than destruction.”

“Why the Aeta? Why would Incendin shapers attack the Aeta?”

“This type of attack hasn’t been seen in…” Roine shook his head. “The barrier has prevented this for years. A dark power is needed for this.”

“And they’re still here?” The idea of shapers powerful enough to destroy an entire caravan made him fear for Nor.

Roine shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“But there must be tracks we can use to find them.”

Cobin guided his horse over to him. “I don’t think you wish to find shapers this powerful.”

“So what? We let them roam Galen? I thought you served the king!”

“They will not remain behind. If this is what I fear, then this was a targeted attack. I suspect they returned to Incendin now.”

A crack of lightning split the sky, lighting the growing darkness overhead. A deafening roar of thunder followed. In the flash of light, the clouds overhead had been revealed as thick, dark smears in the sky, heavy and floating low, as if barely skimming the treetops. The lightning had come from behind them. Tan wondered how the worst of the storm had passed them so quickly.

“This is an unusual storm,” Roine said.

“We get heavy rains in Galen,” Cobin said. “Especially this time of year.”

Roine looked at him for a moment. “I think this is strange even for Galen.”

There was another crack of lightning, followed by another in rapid succession. The trailing thunder exploded around them, growing farther in the distance each time. Rain pelted down more urgently. Thankfully, the strange odors lingering on the air began to fade.

Tan listened to the forest. A few birds perched in the trees but otherwise it was silent. Wind whipped around him, tearing at his cloak. His horse danced beneath him.

An edge of frustration crawled through him. Had the rain not come, he could’ve tracked the hounds as he had before. And if he could track them, he could hunt them. Maybe chase them from Galen. But the rain would wash away any tracks, especially as heavy as it fell.

Something caught his eye off the road. Several of the low tree branches had snapped free. Such breaks could have been random—the heavy winds of the storm could easily have caused that damage—but there seemed a pattern to it. Leaves and weeds covered the rest of the forest, leaving no other evidence that anything else passed through here.

Tan jumped from his saddle to investigate, studying the broken branches while letting his eyes follow the disturbance, his focus wandering as he struggled to find meaning to what he saw.

“Tan?” Cobin called.

Tan ignored him. Another strangely twisted branch caught his attention. He followed it, picking his way forward. The bent undergrowth and random changes to the forest guided him farther from the road. Tan was not sure what it was that he followed, but it pulled on him, demanding he do so.

He came to an area of the forest where the ground sloped quickly upward in a jagged rocky climb. There were no branches here, no undergrowth to follow, just the rocks. As he nearly turned back, he saw scratches on the stone. The scratches were spaced evenly and regularly.

Higher up, long prints with a dimple near the heel seemed burned into the stone. The ground was drier here, protected by a rocky overhang. The heavy rain had not washed out the markings. Tan studied them; they were the same tracks he had followed the other day.

What kind of creature could scratch the stone like that? Was this the Incendin shaper Roine mentioned?

“Tan?”

Cobin watched him strangely, relieved to have found him. Roine followed, flickering his eyes as he looked at everything around him.

Tan pointed to the scratches in the rock.

Roine frowned and climbed from his saddle. He knelt next to one of the marks, following them the same way Tan had.

“How did you find these?” he asked softly.

“I followed marks left in the forest,” he said, though knew that wasn’t quite right. Subtle disturbances along the forest led him to the rocky incline.

“You tracked this?”

Tan shrugged. “Sensed it, probably. I’m not as skilled a senser as my father. Mostly a good tracker.”

Cobin smiled at him.

“Your mother said you had some skill. This is—”

He didn’t finish. “You recognize this?” Cobin asked.

Roine glanced at Cobin before nodding. “I haven’t seen these marks in years. Since before the barrier.” He looked down at the prints. “This wasn’t a simple Incendin shaper. Those are bad enough. Even the weakest of them knows shapings our fire shapers do not. But this…” He shook his head. “This is worse. Much worse.”

“What is this, Roine?” Cobin asked.

“I should have suspected when you told me of the Incendin hounds. But why would I? We haven’t seen them in so long.”

“Roine?”

Roine nodded. “To understand, you need to understand Incendin. Hounds are bad enough. They are dark creatures with strange gifts that have never been well understood. When I say you’re lucky to have faced hounds and lived, know that I don’t exaggerate. Once they have your scent, they don’t lose it. They will track you until cornered, and then they slowly tear you apart. That is the nature of the hounds.”

“Can they be killed?” Tan asked.

Roine nodded. “Not easily. It takes shapers usually. A few skilled with the bow or just plain lucky.” He met Tan’s eyes. “Remember when I asked about shapers in Nor?” Tan nodded. “Hounds can cross the barrier, but do so rarely, and at great cost. Most towns are protected by their shapers.”

Had his mother protected Nor? He didn’t think so, especially since she said she had abandoned her ability since settling in Nor. Then who? His father and Cobin often hunted in the woods, but he never heard anything about hounds. And Cobin hadn’t seemed to recognize the prints. “And if there are no shapers?”

“You pray they lose interest.” Roine looked up the rocky slope. “The hounds roam freely throughout Incendin, no different than the wolves of this area. But occasionally they’re directed.”

“Directed?”

Cobin’s eyes went wide. “Lisincend?”

Roine looked over to him and they shared a look. He nodded.

“You lost me. What are the lisincend?” Tan asked. What kind of creature could direct these hounds? How terrible must they be?

“They were men, once,” Roine answered. Cobin raised his eyebrows at the comment. “Long ago, the lisincend were men, fire shapers all, and powerful.” He paused, collecting his thoughts before going on. “Some have said they were all related to the Incendin throne. It’s not known how, but they performed a shaping upon themselves, using fire to alter themselves. Now they serve fire directly, twisted by their own shaping and empowered by it in a way none of our scholars have ever understood. They are powerful shapers, made more powerful by what they have become.” He voice grew more withdrawn as he spoke, and his eyes closed, almost as if remembering. “Even the hounds fear and obey them.”

“And they are here?” Tan asked.

Roine pointed to the tracks and nodded grimly. “It appears so, but I should have felt them.”

“How do you mean?” Cobin asked.

“The lisincend can’t move undetected. Their shaping has turned them into a manifestation of the fire they serve. They radiate heat as they move. This can be felt. This is one of their few weaknesses.”

“You think that a weakness?” Cobin asked.

Roine stared at him. “When you know where your enemy moves, you can either move to attack. Or avoid.”

Cobin grunted but said nothing else.

“Why are they here? Is it the same thing you’re after?”

Roine glanced to the sky. “I hadn’t considered the lisincend would be sent. The barrier should have prevented them. That they’re here…” He looked down at the tracks again before turning to Tan. “Can you follow these? Can you tell me where they went?”

Tan thought he could. Not just following the tracks, but if he focused hard enough he could sense the disturbance in the forest they made as they moved through. “The tracks start here.” He walked over to the rocks and pointed down at the prints evident in the dirt. “They climbed down the rock and jumped down here.” Enough of an indentation remained for him to almost envision the foot that left it.

“How many?” Roine asked.

Tan shrugged. “I can’t tell. It might only be one.”

Roine looked at the rock again, considering. “One is probably more than we can handle. Pray there aren’t others.”

“If it’s the lisincend, where’d it go?” Cobin asked.

He was answered by a series of lightning strikes in quick succession, far in the distance. Heavy waves of thunder followed. Roine turned, looking back down the slope and saying nothing.

Toward Nor, Tan realized.

13

Return to Nor

Roine squeezed the hilt of his sword, his eyes going distant for a moment, and then took off without saying another word. He rode through the forest and back toward Nor.

Cobin looked back at Tan. “Tan…” He trailed off, as if unable to say anything more.

Tan nodded. “I know.” If the lisincend had attacked Nor, what would they find? Would his mother have been able to defend the city or had the wind not answered when she called? Tan knew so little about shaping. Had she told him about what she could do sooner…it wouldn’t have changed a thing.

Would they find Nor looking like the Aeta caravan?

A nauseated knot rose in his stomach and he struggled to swallow against it. He’d already lost his father. Nor was home. His mother was there. Everything he knew was there. And there wasn’t any reason for Incendin to attack Nor. The mines weren’t even really active anymore. It was just a mountain town like so many others.

Cobin watched the struggle play out over his face. “Did your ma tell you what he searches for?”

He grabbed the reigns of his horse from Cobin and shook his head. “Nothing. I’m not sure she knew.”

“Or that she’d tell you if she did?”

Tan sighed. “Or that.”

The rain picked up again when they reached the road, sluicing down, heavy and painful. Gusts of wind from high in the mountains blew at their backs, suddenly cold and biting. The sky crackled with lightning coming in rapid succession. Sharp explosions of thunder split the air. Ripples of rumbling followed, finally fading. Tan felt the silence as much as he heard it.

Roine rode far ahead of them. Tan and Cobin chased after as quickly as possible. No one spoke. The horses seemed to sense their unease and pushed forward. Relief flooded him as the packed path began to widen.

Roine and Cobin pulled up suddenly.

Tan stopped alongside them. “What is it?”

And then he looked past them. His heart seemed to stop.

Nor was no more.

A blackened crater spread out where the town had been. He saw no sign of the low wall that surrounded the town, none of the shops or homes within the town, and nothing of the manor house. The crater steamed like the charred fragments of wood where the Aeta caravan had been destroyed.

The scent of ash and soot filled the air. The stink of sulfur hung overtop everything.

Tan hadn’t known what to expect, but not this.

He looked at Cobin. A pained look pulled at the corners of Cobin’s eyes and mouth. Nor had been his home, too.

“I don’t—” Cobin started. “Bal?” Her name came out as a pained cry.

Tan jumped from his saddle and started forward. Roine held him back with a firm grip. “I need to go see—” Tears welled in his eyes.

Roine shook his head. “Not yet.”

Tan forced back the emotion threatening him. “Why? Why Nor? We’re no threat to Incendin. There’s nothing here…”

“I don’t know,” Roine answered.

“What could do this?” Cobin asked. His voice had gone high and shaky.

Roine sighed. “This…this is the lisincend.”

“But the caravan…”

Roine shook his head. “That was probably a single lisincend. This is what happens when the lisincend work together.” He closed his eyes. “I have seen this only a few times. The last was long ago.”

“Did anyone…survive?” Cobin asked.

“This isn’t meant for surviving. They cover their tracks, obliterating any evidence of anyone who might have seen them pass.” He shook his head. “I’m so sorry.”

When he had first seen the remains of the Aeta caravan, he had thought it a terrible fate for the peaceful people. This was worse. These were people he knew, had loved, and had lived with. People he’d called friends. His mother. Bal. So many others. All gone.

Tan turned away. He could no longer look.

“Is this because of you?” Cobin asked. Something in his voice had changed. A hard edge had come to it. “Did they do this because of what you seek?” Cobin worked to choke back a sob, staring at the emptiness around them.

“I don’t know.”

Anger and rage flashed across Cobin’s face. “You don’t know? You come to Galen…our home…and bring death with you! This,” he started, sweeping his arm around him, “was your fault. You’re the reason my Bal died!” He jabbed his finger at Roine with each word.

To Roine’s credit, he didn’t move, just shook his head. “I’m sorry. Truly, I am. It’s possible they came here searching for me.”

“And King Althem? What will he do?” Cobin asked.

Roine frowned.

“You’re the Athan. What will the king do to Incendin?”

“You’re asking if the king plans to resume the war?” Cobin didn’t answer. “If I don’t manage to reach the passes first, it might not matter. If Incendin manages to get this item first…” He shook his head. “Other places within the kingdoms will face the same fate.”

“What is it? What does Incendin think to find that would let them enter the kingdoms so easily?”

Roine inhaled deeply. “There is an item, an artifact…”

Tan barely listened. Since his father’s death, he’d argued with his mother about leaving Nor. She feared he would settle, never experience the world around him, never understanding that he loved the forests and mountains around his home. But now? Now there was nothing left for him. Even if he wanted to stay, he couldn’t.

He could go to one of the neighboring towns. Velminth. Delth. Maybe as far to the north as Galesh. Towns similar to Nor. But they wouldn’t be the same.

Tears streamed down his face and he didn’t bother to wipe them away. Would his mother finally get what she wanted? Now that she was gone, would he finally have to leave?

A hand on his shoulder startled him. He looked over and saw Roine standing alongside him. “Tan—”

Tan swallowed, understanding the question in Roine’s tone. What would he do?

“I’ll still see you through the mountain pass.”

Relief washed over Roine’s face. “And then what?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. My mother…” He couldn’t finish.

“She said that she wished you would go to Ethea.”

Tan sighed. Ethea. The capital. The university. Going meant he’d owe the king service. Like his father. Seeing the crater that had been Nor, Tan knew he wouldn’t serve, not willingly. What was he in the face of such destruction? A weak senser, nothing more. No…Ethea wasn’t the answer.

Only, he didn’t know what he’d do.

“When this is over, I will bring you there if you choose.”

Cobin watched him. Tan didn’t want to meet his eyes. What would Cobin do? He was as homeless now as Tan. And without Bal, Cobin had nothing left.

“I’ll see you through the pass.”

Beyond that…Cobin needed him now. Tan wouldn’t commit to anything more.

14

Footprints and a Friend

Tan walked into the forest, wanting to look out at Nor one last time before he left. Nor was completely leveled. The earth curved downward in a slope, as if a huge boulder had been dropped onto the town. Everything around it was blackened and covered with ash. Low-lying smoke still hung like a fog over the land. Nothing moved.

Tan didn’t want to go near the crater—something about it just struck him as wrong—and let his feet carry him along the once familiar woods. He paused, listening as his father had long ago taught him. Everything was silent.

He circled the remains of the town before stopping near what had once been Cobin’s farm. The pens had been destroyed. Some of the wooden fencing remained, blackened and charred. There was no sign of the sheep.

Cobin stood in the center of what had been his land, looking around as if in a daze. Tan considered going over to him, but decided to give him space. He mourned just the same as Tan. Tears coursed down his cheeks and Tan turned away.

As he did, marks in the dirt caught his attention. Tan paused, staring for a long while before realizing what it was about the prints that seemed out of place. There was nothing unusual about these tracks; it wasn’t the type of print or the size that caught his attention. Rather it was the direction in which the tracks traveled.

They headed away from Nor.

The ground had been dry for weeks before this recent rain, so he knew these were new tracks, but with the rain, they should be heading toward the safety and shelter of town, not away.

His heart skipped. Could there have been survivors?

He followed the footprints as they led away from Nor, away from the crater of ash and smoke and into the forest. Farther from town, he found another set of tracks.

“Tan?” Roine called.

Tan waved his hand so they knew where he was.

Roine came up behind him. “We should go. I’d like to get as far as we can before night falls.”

They didn’t want to be stuck in the open and Tan wanted to be as far from the crater as he could. Standing near this much destruction felt wrong. “I found tracks. Boots in the mud. Several different sets.”

“Probably your townsmen moving for shelter when the rain began.”

Cobin joined them and knelt in front of the nearest set of prints. “These move away from town.”

“Then they’re from earlier. Nothing could have survived this.”

Tan turned away, intentionally not thinking of what his mother was doing when the lisincend attacked. Had she known? She was a shaper—and powerful, once, from what Roine said. Could she have done anything? Or had she simply died like the rest of the town?

“We should follow them. They’re heading north, like us. If we find any survivors…”

Roine looked from Tan to Cobin. “Can we move quickly?”

“There’s nothing special about these prints,” Tan said. “They should be easy enough to follow.” Knowing that someone—anyone—else from Nor might have survived gave him something to hold onto. Both he and Cobin knew the prints were too big for Bal’s feet, but that didn’t change the hope written on his friend’s face.

Roine seemed to sense that. “I hope we find them, Tan. But if we don’t…”

“Then we’ll get you to the pass.”

They started away from Nor. The tracks led up into the mountains, traveling off the known paths. This was not simply aimless wandering. The prints moved upslope quickly, forcing them to lead the horses. When the ground leveled off, they stopped for a break.

Roine grabbed something from his pack before turning into the woods. Tan caught a flash of gleaming gold before he disappeared.

Cobin frowned as he stared after him. “Tan, if we don’t find anyone…”

“We have to look.”

“Your ma would have fought them. Don’t think she died sitting still.”

Strangely, the thought lifted his spirits. “I know. And Bal…” He looked out into the woods after Roine, trailing off. He crouched in front of the ground, his back facing them. Cobin swallowed loudly. “What do you think he’s searching for?”

“I don’t know. But if it’ll let Incendin cross the barrier, it must be something powerful.”

The barrier again. “Doesn’t seem the barrier does much good, does it?”

“Not sure what changed, but it’s held for years. Shapers made it, back when they were powerful. Your ma once said she thought the elementals aided.”

Tan didn’t know much about the elementals. Didn’t know much about his mother, either. “Was she part of it?” The idea that his mother helped create the barrier between Incendin seemed almost impossible to believe.

“I don’t think so. She was in Nor when the barrier went up. Pregnant with you.”

“I thought the barrier was older than that?”

“There were earlier attempts, but none successful.”

Tan turned. Roine pushed something back into his pack before looking over at them.

“Could the Aeta have crossed the barrier through Incendin?” Tan had been wondering about that since first seeing them. He’d never seen the barrier, but his father always said it wasn’t something you saw. Just felt. Tan wondered what he’d feel if he neared it.

Roine nodded. “It’s not a physical thing. It’s not brick or stone or anything you’d have to climb. It’s meant to hold back Incendin shapers.”

“How do you keep back only Incendin shapers?”

Roine didn’t answer. “The barrier is the reason the lisincend shouldn’t be here. It should have kept them out. If they’ve figured out a way past…well, then all of the kingdoms are at risk again.”

They started off again. Tan led the way, following the tracks made in the soft earth taking them gradually upslope. After a while, they stopped again. Roine grabbed the item from his bag and headed into the woods like he did at the last stop.

Tan saw it this time. A golden box made with five sides cupped in his hands as he left the small clearing.

“What do you think it is?” Tan asked.

“What?”

Tan nodded toward Roine. “Some kind of box. He carries it away when we stop.”

“What did it look like?”

“I didn’t see it any better than that.”

Cobin shrugged and took a swallow from his water skin.

Tan sat and listened to the forest, sensing it. Squirrels slipped along branches, a few deer moved at the edge of what he could sense, but nothing else. Except…something felt off.

Not hounds; that he felt as an absence. This was different.

Tan started into the woods toward where he sensed something off. He held on to his bow, wishing for something more useful like Cobin’s axe or Roine’s sword. He kept his focus on what he sensed, listening.

And then he heard it.

Whimpering.

Tan ran forward. Rocks piled together formed a small cave. He leaned in front of it and listened. The whimpering came from inside.

“Hello?”

A face poked out. Dirt and leaves covered it, but he recognized Bal. Her hair tangled with small branches into knots. “Tan?”

She leapt at him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“What happened, Bal?” If she’d made it, could there be others?

She shook her head. “Nor…”

“I saw it.”

“Huge storm. Lightning blasted it like it was…like it was…”

He cradled her as he carried her back up the slope toward the others. “I know. How’d you get away?”

She sobbed, her mouth and nose pressed up against his chest, huge shivers working through her. “I was stupid, Tan. I saw him leaving again, going up the slope, and thought I’d follow. I should know better.”

“Who? Who did you see?”

“Lins. He started out of town when the rain started. I thought it was strange so I followed…” She sobbed again. “I wasn’t far from town when the lightning hit. I saw it…saw the…the…”

When she couldn’t finish, Tan didn’t push, but questions filled him. Why had Lins left Nor when the storm started? Did he see something?

Did that mean he tracked Lins’s prints?

Tan stumbled as he neared the horses. Cobin ran up to him and grabbed Bal from him. “Bal? Bal!” he sobbed. He looked at Tan, his eyes wide. “How? What?” He shook his head and turned away, cradling her tightly against him as he gently brushed the dirt from her face. He carried her to a fallen log and sat down with her, rocking her as if she were a babe.

Roine came up behind him. “Who’s that?”

“Bal. Cobin’s daughter.” He pointed down the hillside. “I found her holed up. She said she followed Lins from town before the storm struck.” He turned and met Roine’s eyes. “She saw Nor get destroyed.”

A look of sadness washed over Roine. “Lucky she escaped.”

Tan wasn’t sure if it was luck or just Bal being Bal. She’d followed Lins again, but what would Lins have been doing leaving Nor? “If Lins left before the storm, we should see him too.”

Roine seemed to consider for a moment. “What lies in this direction?”

Tan tried to think about where they were. They’d gone mostly upslope since leaving Nor, but somewhat south too. Velminth wouldn’t be too much farther.

“Probably Velminth.” Tan looked back at Roine. “You think the lisincend might have attacked Velminth?”

He shook his head. “Not sure. How much farther until we reach there?”

Before answering, Tan closed his eyes and listened, trying to sense the distance, searching for the void in the forest where the town would be. Just at the edge of his abilities, he felt it. “Probably a few hours still.”

Roine looked over at Cobin. “Then we’ll make for Velminth. Leave them there if the town’s safe.”

They couldn’t bring Bal through the passes, but Tan didn’t like the idea of leaving Cobin and her behind. They were all he had left of Nor. Once they were gone, what did he have left? What would he do?

Cobin looked back at him. Tan didn’t miss the expression of relief on his face as he clung to Bal.

15

A Lost Village

“Roine thinks you should stay in Velminth.”

Tan expected more of an argument with Cobin but there was none.

“Probably best. Not sure Bal should…” He didn’t finish. “Listen, Tan. After everything that’s happened, he’d have to understand if you didn’t want to go. You could stay with us. Not sure what we’ll do once we reach Velminth. Find a place to settle. Start over.” He placed a hand on Tan’s shoulder. “We’ve got to stick together.”

Tan couldn’t deny the idea appealed to him. But a part of him wanted to make sure Roine reached the pass first. Without knowing the way, would he? What would happen if Incendin reached it before him?

“I’m going to see this through.”

Cobin opened his mouth as if to speak before shutting it and nodding. He clapped Tan on the shoulder.

A sudden sound interrupted the growing night.

Echoing through the forest came the call of an Incendin hound. They hadn’t heard from the hounds since finding the destroyed Aeta caravan. Another voice, then another, answered the call. He waited, counting at least a half-dozen distinct cries.

A pack.

“Does that mean the lisincend are still out there?” Tan asked.

“If they are, we will sense them,” Roine said.

Cobin clutched Bal to him. “Like Nor did? Like the Aeta?”

“Besides Zephra, would any in Nor have known what they felt?”

Cobin looked as if he readied a harsh retort, but he bit it off and looked over to Tan. “Probably not.”

“I should, though.”

“But you haven’t,” Cobin said.

“Not so far. But we should be safe still tonight. There’s a limit to their power.”

Cobin glanced down at Bal. “A limit? Didn’t seem like it in Nor.”

“That was a powerful demonstration. They won’t be able to do the same again so soon.”

“Velminth will be safe?” Tan asked.

Roine looked at Cobin and Bal before turning to Tan. “I don’t know. I doubt we’ll see anything like what happened in Nor. Beyond that…”

Tan nodded. For Cobin, they needed to check.

They continued onward. As they made their way forward, following the prints, Tan began to doubt their direction. Tan had never approached Velminth from any direction other than the road. They seemed too high in the mountains for Velminth, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that the small logging town was nearby.

They reached a small stream. Tan waded across, thinking to follow the tracks as they continued to climb, but saw no additional tracks on the other side of the stream. Tan wandered up and down the stream, searching for signs he might have missed, but saw nothing.

“They stop here,” Tan said.

“You see nothing on the other side of the stream?” Roine asked.

Tan shook his head.

“Perhaps they waded through the stream itself,” Cobin offered. He still cradled Bal in his arms, letting Roine lead the horse.

The painful cry of the Incendin hounds broke the silence of the forest, nearer this time. The horses whinnied and stomped their feet, made every bit as uncomfortable by the sound. Thankfully, Bal seemed to be sleeping in Cobin’s arms. There was no answering call.

Tan looked at the darkening sky. The longer they traveled, the more treacherous their footing became. “We should stop for the night. There should be some old mine shafts along the way. We could be safe there.”

Cobin eyed the stream and then looked to Tan, nodding in agreement. “He’s right. And she needs to rest. We’ll all feel better if we sleep.”

Roine sighed. “Won’t do us any good getting hurt tripping over a root.”

They had not gone more than two hundred paces when something in the fading light stopped Tan short.

“What is it?” Roine asked.

Tan pointed to the ground at the small indentation half covered by leaves and debris. “Another print. Hound.”

Roine looked at the stream then up to the sky that had continued to darken. Soon it would be too dark to see much more than the outline of the trees. “How long do you think you could track this still tonight?”

Tan considered the lighting and the tracks. “Not long.”

“Then we’ll go until you can’t see it any longer,” Roine said. He unsheathed his sword and held it ready as they followed the tracks. The fading light caught the blade, revealing symbols etched into the metal.

As the last of the daylight faded and night grew darker around them, Tan became aware of something else. Light, far in the distance, flickered faintly ahead of them. “Could that be Velminth?” he asked aloud.

Roine’s face was an unreadable mask. “We need to be careful here. If there were hounds…”

They approached slowly before realizing stealth wasn’t necessary.

The stream they followed flowed down a steep rocky grade and led to a large clearing. Several fires burned brightly on makeshift pyres. Velminth spread out beneath them, small wooden buildings practically abutting each other in the clearing. Though the mill could barely be seen toward the end of town, the scent of sawdust hung heavy in the air.

Tan became aware of another sensation. The air temperature had risen and a dry heat radiated up from the town. The cool wind that had chased them all the way from Nor faded. Roine grabbed them and jerked them back to the trees.

“Stupid,” he said quietly.

“What?” Tan asked.

“Me.” He shook his head again and his eyes darted around the small clearing around the town. “Can you feel it?”

“It is warmer. Is that what you feel?”

Cobin looked down at Bal, as if suddenly aware of what the others felt. “No…not Velminth.”

Roine nodded slowly.

Tan looked between the two men, waiting for an answer. “What is it?”

“The lisincend. They are here.”

16

A Plan

Tan followed Roine as he crept toward the rocky edge overlooking the town. Cobin stayed back, holding Bal against him. As he looked into the town, Tan wasn’t prepared for what he saw.

Like Nor, Velminth had once been a mining town. Over the years the iron mines in the surrounding mountains had run dry and the people of the town had turned to logging for easier profit. The wide Drestin River ran near the south edge of town, winding slowly out of the mountains, across the plains of Ter, all the way to Ethea and beyond. Loggers used the Drestin to send their bundles of logs downstream.

The haphazard mining town had disappeared when the loggers took control. Now the small sturdy buildings of the town were neatly arranged. The streets of Velminth were wide and straight, making it easy for the logging carts to roll the felled trees toward thesawmill and the river. Tan remembered from his previous visits to Velminth the overwhelming scent of sawdust and the rough hardworking loggers. The people had always been courteous if not overtly friendly, and though he never quite understood why, his mother had always had a special place in her heart for the town.

Now, a few lanterns lit the wide streets, but it was enough to see the strange shadows flickering over the town. A sudden gust of wind from the high mountains set the lanterns shimmering, clearing the shadows briefly. As they moved and danced, Tan saw something he struggled to believe.

A creature stalked near the north edge of town, practically slithering down the street toward the town square. There was no hair on its head and Tan could not make out any sign of ears, either. Its dark skin looked almost scaled and leathery.

Tan gasped. Roine jerked a hand up and covered his mouth, only letting go of him slowly.

“What is that?”

Roine nodded, motioning with his eyes.

“That’s a lisincend?” Tan asked.

Roine pushed them both down. A wave of heat radiated toward them, hot and dry, as if the moisture had been suddenly sucked from his skin. Tan licked his lips, trying to wet them, and painfully blinked his now-dry eyes.

“Careful,” Roine warned. He looked back at Cobin. He sat back away from the edge, the reins of the horses in one hand, Bal propped up on his shoulder with the other.

“What was that?”

“One of their weapons,” Roine answered. “They were fire shapers first.”

The heat gradually faded, though a warmth radiated from the town below, like a bellows fire blowing up to them. Roine crept closer, raising his head carefully to see over the stone ledge. Tan crawled up next to him, mimicking the man’s cautious movements.

As he peaked over, the lisincend was no longer visible. “Where did it go?”

Roine nodded toward the center of town. “Follow the heat haze.”

A smoky haze hovered along the street and moved steadily, thickening. Another quick gust of wind fluttered the lamplight and caused the haze to clear briefly. Again he saw the frightening figure of the lisincend at the center of the haze.

“They can use their shaping to hide.” Roine spoke softly, careful to keep his voice little more than the sounds of the night. “The heat becomes a veil.”

Tan looked back down into Velminth and stared into the darkness. Two more areas appeared to have a haze hanging over them. How many more lisincend hid under the shadows? Between them and the Incendin hounds still roaming the forest, how would they escape? How would Cobin get Bal to safety?

Tan wished another gust of wind would blow over the haze so he might see how many lisincend were out there. A pressure built in his ears and a cold blast of northern wind whipped through the trees. The wind cleared the heat and the haze hanging over the streets of Velminth long enough for him to see two other lisincend.

“Three lisincend,” he breathed softly.

Roine nodded, staring at him, a strange expression on his face. “It’s rare to find lisincend working together. Three together tells me how important this artifact is to Incendin.” He stared at the town, eyes narrowed as he focused. “There’s something else here.”

The wind gusted, lessening the heat radiating up to them from Velminth. Other shapes prowled along the streets. Like an enormous wolf, its large ears flickered at each sound and bright eyes searched the night, scanning it with an uncommon intelligence. Massive jaws twitched and then one of them howled.

Tan counted at least a dozen hounds along the streets. Some paced while others sat relaxed on their haunches. All looked aware. Waiting.

Other figures moved quickly through the town as well. Darkly dressed, they moved almost nervously through the streets, careful to avoid the hounds. They swerved away from where Tan had seen the lisincend, though the shroud of the heat haze covered them.

A large, squat structure cast long shadows near what had been the center of the town. It seemed slatted, like cage or a pen, and several hounds sat watching it. A few men paced around its perimeter.

Clouds shifted overhead, letting in a silver shaft of moonlight. There were people caged within the structure.

“Roine?” he whispered.

“I see it.”

“What is it?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Tan turned to him, waiting. Roine looked back toward the cage and didn’t answer.

A low whistle pierced the night. All the hounds suddenly stood, their stunted tails pointing straight behind them, ears perked. Each hound moved toward the square at the sound. One of the lisincend stalked over to the pen and motioned to a man standing guard, grabbing him roughly by the wrist when he didn’t move fast enough.

The man swung open the gate. The people within crowded back and away from the open door and their captors. Someone shouted but he couldn’t make out anything of the words, only fear and screams like nothing he had ever heard.

“You shouldn’t watch,” Roine cautioned.

“Is this what happened in Nor?”

Roine shook his head. “You saw Nor. What happened there was something else entirely, destroyed before there was a chance for this type of torture.”

Two captors pulled a man from the cage. The lisincend seemed to watch, though with the heat veil Tan could not be entirely certain. The moonlight gleamed across his flesh and Tan saw dark tattoos twining around the man’s arms. Tan’s breath caught as he recognized him.

“He’s Aeta!”

The man kicked and punched at his captors as they dragged him out of the pen. Voices inside screamed, their cries filling the night. Suddenly, the man was thrown toward the open part of the square. Now free, he stood, looking around with uncertainty. The terror in his eyes was plain, even from a distance.

He ran.

A rumble followed him, loud and painful, the roar of a dozen Incendin hounds all growling at once. It was the sound of thunder. Tan cringed, unable to look away.

As if one creature, the hounds throughout Velminth lunged. The Aeta never had a chance.

He cried out as they caught him. The sound died in a flurry of eager howls. Blood exploded out from him as the dozen jaws latched onto him, tearing him apart.

As Tan turned away, Roine watched him. “You were lucky to survive them,” he said.

He remembered how the hounds had treed him. What would have happened had they not been scared away? Would he have suffered a similar fate?

He looked back toward the center of Velminth, unable to help himself. If the wagon driver had survived, had others of the Aeta? Amia?

And what of Nor? Could there be people he knew down in Velminth? Other survivors?

His mother?

Emotion overwhelmed him. “We need to help them.”

Roine shook his head. “There is no help for them.”

“Not if we do nothing,” Cobin said.

He’d crept toward the edge of the rock. Bal rested back near the horses, not moving. Anger twisted Cobin’s face, an expression Tan had never seen from him.

Roine shook his head. “I’ve faced one of the lisincend and barely survived. There are at least three lisincend down there. Anything we tried would only lead to our capture too.” He shook his head. “It would be best if we moved on. Hide for the night. Get Cobin and Bal away from here, down the mountains and to safety. Tan and I will keep going up. We need distance between us and the hounds.”

Tan looked down at Velminth, staring at the barely visible shapes hidden in the cage. The sound of quiet whimpers penetrated the silence of the night. The hounds had finished their meal, leaving little of the Aeta other than a dark stain upon the ground. He couldn’t see the lisincend.

Could he leave the rest of the Aeta to the same fate as the wagon driver? And if there were any survivors from Nor, could he just leave them?

The answer was easy. His father would not have risked leaving anyone he knew and neither could Tan. “I have to try something.”

“Even if all three of us did this, we couldn’t rescue those people from the hounds, let alone the lisincend. What you are suggesting is suicide.” He fixed Tan with a hard stare. “I have to get to the upper pass before Incendin. I can’t do that if I’m dead.” Thunder rolled in the distance, as if in emphasis.

Tan imagined the Aeta trapped in the cage, perhaps Amia among them. Or his mother. He couldn’t live with himself if he did nothing. “We need to try. I’ve got my bow…all we need is a distraction.”

Cobin placed a hand on his shoulder. “I will help.”

“Cobin, Bal needs you.”

A grim look tightened his mouth. “And them? If we do nothing, how do I explain that to her?” He looked from Tan to Roine. “Look, I can be a distraction. Make enough noise that I can draw them off. Bal will be safe.”

“This is foolish—”

Roine said it louder than intended and his voice carried into the quiet night. A low growl from one of the hounds answered.

When the growling died away, Roine turned to both of them. “You can’t hope to rescue those people. Even with a dozen shapers, you couldn’t rescue them.”

“They’re people,” Tan said.

Roine looked at him with a pained expression. Tan could tell he wanted to help, but the desire to reach the mountain pass before Incendin—the lisincend and the hounds—weighed against him.

Another scream from the pen made them all turn. Tan waited, anxious, as he wondered whether the lisincend would feed another Aeta to the hounds. When the sound died off, Roine turned to them.

“If I agree to help, we will do this my way.”

Roine looked at the town and the wind picked up again, revealing the lisincend briefly. Two stood near the edge of the town square. Another waited at the edge of town surrounded by several hounds. The rest of the hounds scattered through the town, prowling after the men not in the pen.

“This will require two diversions. I will provide one.” He stopped and looked over to Cobin. “You will be the other. Take Bal. Head down the slope on horseback. Make some noise as you go, but get her to safety. You just need to distract them long enough for my diversion to be effective.” Roine turned to Tan. “Your role will be to sneak into town and open the cage. Once you do this, you run.”

Cobin looked at Tan and then down into the town. “Tan and I should provide the diversions,” he said. “We know how to move in the forest and—”

Roine cut him off. “My way.”

Cobin watched Tan. “Can you do this?”

What Roine asked was dangerous. Could he sneak into Velminth, all the way into the center of town, past the hounds and the lisincend, and release an unknown number of prisoners?

But he had to try. He couldn’t simply leave these people to die as Roine suggested, not and live with himself later. Even thinking about it left him remembering his mother admonishing him.

A howl erupted, breaking the quiet of the night. The sound was nearby and followed by a harsh throaty growl. The hounds in Velminth all stood, hackles up, and sniffed the air. Ears flicked and turned and their eyes stared into the night, piercing the darkness.

“Great Mother,” Roine swore under his breath. “Go!”

Cobin scooped Bal off the ground. She moaned briefly.

“Are you ready?” Roine asked.

Cobin looked down at Bal. “Just get downhill?”

“Make a little noise. I’ll do the rest.”

“How will I know?”

Roine smiled. “You’ll know.”

The hounds began baying. They had been scented.

Roine met Tan’s eyes. “Wait until the hounds leave. Then do what you can to save the people down there.”

With that, he ran into the darkness, disappearing.

Cobin watched him go. “Tan, if this doesn’t go well—”

Tan didn’t look at his friend. “I have to try.”

“Your pa would be proud.”

Tan swallowed the thick lump in his throat. “Go. Get Bal to safety. I’ll find you when I can.”

Cobin clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll see each other again. I promise you that.”

Tan turned away. He didn’t want Cobin to see him cry twice in one day.

17

Rescue

The rocky slope overlooking Velminth was Tan’s safest option. He scrambled up the slope to reach the small stream, afraid to leave a scent the hounds could follow. The water was colder than it had been earlier in the day, and though his heart was beating wildly, the cold still startled him.

Tan started down, moving carefully in the water, trying to keep his profile low. The farther he climbed, the more he realized it was unnecessary. The rocky slope quickly grew steeper and the stream moved through larger and larger boulders. Tan no longer worried about being seen but rather about being ambushed and caught unaware.

Though he moved as quietly as he could, the howling of the hounds filled the night. Tan stayed hidden along the rocks as he crept lower, slowly moving his way toward the town.

What kind of distraction should he expect from Roine? There hadn’t been time to discuss. How would he know when it was safe to move?

Tan hunched behind smaller rocks. The braying sounded louder here. Tan kept himself tight against the rocks as he moved, inching his feet forward, fearing a rockslide with each step.

Peering over the nearest stone, he was high enough that he stared down into town. Nothing moved along the streets. He saw no sign of the hounds. Or, more importantly, the lisincend.

This close, the heat they radiated was a dry heat, powerful and caustic. His lungs ached as he breathed it in. What sort of distraction would be enough to draw them away?

The distant howling intensified, as if cornering its prey. Then the ground started to shake.

The rumbling started far up the slope, a slow shaking of the ground such that Tan had to steady himself on the nearest rock, and gradually intensified. A deep rumble came with it, vibrating his body. Tan had only once before experienced something like this and that was during a rockslide long ago. A few small rocks slid toward him from up the slope, but nothing larger.

The shaking knocked Tan off of his feet.

He tucked his head to his chest, trying to protect it during the fall, and rolled. When he stopped, he jumped to his feet. The baying hounds cried painfully before falling silent.

Now Tan saw the lisincend clearly, as if the shaking ground disrupted the veil.

It looked around, sniffing the air carefully. The men within Velminth cowered toward the protection of the buildings. A few looked ready to run, staring at the lisincend as if waiting for an opportunity. Finally the lisincend looked down the slope, toward the south, and slid down the road and out of sight. Toward Cobin and Bal. He prayed they would be fine.

Tan moved down the rest of the slope, trying to use the still-sliding rocks as camouflage for any noise he might make. Then he reached the soft ground at the base of the rock.

Tan followed the stream as it wound toward the Drestin. The stink of sulfur and heat filled his nose. Breathing through his mouth didn’t help much. As he reached one of the town’s streets, he snuck quickly along the muddy road, hurrying to a nearby building. The structure was squat and built of huge logs, and Tan pressed his back into the wood, hoping to blend into the shadows.

Already he worried that he had been discovered. His heart pounded wildly and he strained to control his breathing. Any loud sound would give him away.

But nothing moved in the night.

Down in the town, the distance to the pen at the center of town seemed so far away. He moved from building to building, pressing against each as he passed. Constant fear of hounds and lisincend worked through him.

It seemed to take an eternity as he moved through the town. Buildings that had seemed small now loomed large and imposing. Streets that had looked like straight conduits through town were no longer as certain.

And then he saw the square. It was small, more of a grassy opening, a place for the weekly market and somewhere for the townsfolk to gather and conduct meetings, yet on this night and with the strange shadows over everything, it appeared immense.

The cage stood at the center of the square. There was nothing exotic about it; it was constructed of simple stripped lumber and did not look as large as it had from above. People cowered toward the middle of the cage, fearful of getting too close to the open slats. The door opened on this side.

The challenge now was getting to the cage.

Two men made their way around the square, pacing with muted steps. Occasionally, they cast glances at the other or at the cage and the prisoners within. What would it take for someone to work with the lisincend? Fear would drive someone, he knew. But could there really be any sort of reward?

Tan needed his own diversion. Any distraction would do, something to take the men out of the square. Roine couldn’t have planned for this, which meant he’d have to do it on his own.

A sudden crack of lightning sizzled through the air so close it could have been over his shoulder. A clap of thunder followed, a deep rumbling that shook the building where he hid. The men standing within the square looked at each other nervously a moment, then the man closest to Tan walked across the square to the other.

“It could be them,” one said. It was the man who had been closest to Tan. He was shorter than the other and his voice was pitched low.

The other shook his head. “They left to check on the hounds.”

“Not them.”

“You think more?” His voice rose in a moment of fear.

The shorter man shrugged. “Let’s pray it’s not. Perhaps they simply return.”

“Great Mother!” He looked up the street in the direction of the last lightning strike. “We probably should check.”

The men took off at a jog up the street. Tan waited until he couldn’t hear them before peeling away from the building to peer around the square, looking around and searching for signs of men, hounds, or worse—the lisincend.

Nothing moved in town. More importantly, no heat radiated toward him.

So he ran.

Sprinting across the square, he looked around him, keeping his head low. Clouds had shifted, covering the moon and leaving everything in strange, twisting shadows. The run felt like it went on forever, but it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds until he reached the cage.

Someone inside cried out and was quickly shushed. Tan looked between the slats at the people within and saw no more than ten, each wearing the bright colors of the Aeta. Their clothing was stained and covered with ash and mud, yet still unmistakable.

He felt an overwhelming sense of sadness and disappointment. No survivors from Nor.

“I’m here to help,” he whispered.

“Who are you?”

The voice carried more strength than Tan would have been able to muster under the same circumstances. “I’m from Nor. I’m Tan Minden.”

“Son of Ephra?”

He recognized the voice and the authority it carried. The Mother still lived. Could Amia as well? “Is this all of you?”

“All that are left,” the Mother answered.

Tan shivered with the connotation, remembering the caravan of Aeta that had ridden into Nor only a few nights before. So many now lost. Fewer than lost in Nor, but lost just the same.

A heavy iron lock hung on the door, but the rest of the cage and the door were wooden. If he could cut through the wood, he could free the captives. If only he had Cobin’s axe.

The only thing he could find was a large rock laying half buried. He struck at the wood around the lock. He dented it, but the door suffered little other damage.

There were cries within the cage and someone urged him to hurry. He struck harder upon the wood to no avail.

Another crackle of lightning split the sky, briefly blinding him. Clouds seemed to have thickened. Rain would come next. Pressure began building in his ears again, as it had several times throughout the day. Tan ignored it, focusing on the door. Yet the pressure built to a painful level, getting worse with each strike on the wood.

Still he did not stop. He could not stop.

With a sudden explosion, the wood around the door shattered. Lightning burst in the distance and the pressure in his head was gone. Tan pulled the broken door open, leaving the lock in place. The Aeta stumbled out.

“Six?” he asked, counting the Aeta as they left the cage. Amia was among them. She stared at him as she came through the door. “That is all who remain? Where are the rest of your people?”

The Mother shook her head, a pained expression upon her face that quickly passed, replaced with a steely resolve. “Gone. As we should be.”

There was no time to waste. If they made their way back toward the stream and up, they might hide their departure as long as possible. As they reached the edge of the square, a voice in the shadows stopped him.

“I can’t let you do that.”

Tan skidded to a stop. His heart beat rapidly.

A dark shadow stepped forward from the street and Tan felt his stomach drop. His hand went for his hunting knife. He paused, the knife forgotten, as he recognized the person blocking his way.

Lins Alles stood before him. Rain and muck slicked his black hair from his head. A heavy cloak hung over his shoulders. He held an unsheathed sword casually in his hand. In spite of that, a nervous twitch pulled at his eyes and they flicked around him, searching the darkness.

“Lins,” Tan said, completely surprised. After seeing only the Aeta within the cage and no signs of anyone from Nor, he had not expected to see anyone he knew, least of all Lins Alles. Yet here he stood, blocking his way. “What are you doing here?”

Lins sneered at him. “I would ask you the same.” He flickered a glance at the Aeta and a half-smile turned his mouth. “I’d tell you to leave the food alone, but the hounds will only capture them again anyway.”

The Aeta cowered away from him. “What are you doing?” Tan asked, confused. “You’re working with them?”

Lins shrugged. “Incendin will come one way or another,” he answered, his eyes growing distant. “My father didn’t understand. I brought it to him first but he didn’t believe me. Said Incendin’s time had passed. Now…now I’ll rule much more than a manor house.”

Tan didn’t think Lins would live long enough to see that time. “What happened in Nor?”

Lins shook his head and his eyes snapped back into focus. “Does it matter?”

Tan shook his head, unable to wrap his head around what he heard. Lins had betrayed the people of Nor. His friends. His mother. Everyone he had ever known.

“Are you the reason the lisincend crossed the barrier? The reason they destroyed Nor?”

Lins just blinked.

Rage worked through him. The arm holding the knife shook. “Are you, Lins?”

Lins’s face went blank. “Back in the cage. All of you.” He waved his sword.

Amia stepped between them. The rage within Tan simply vanished. Tan looked at Lins and saw an expression of sadness and regret, mixed with fear.

“Go. Now.” She spoke with power and authority. Energy seemed to sizzle in the air.

“The lisincend,” Lins stammered. “I didn’t know. It was only to be Incendin shapers. No hounds. No lisincend. No one was to be hurt.” He shook his head and his eyes bulged, as if surprised by his admission. “I didn’t know.”

Amia frowned, tilting her head as she considered him a moment longer. “No,” she said, agreeing. “I sense that you did not.” She sighed and fixed him with a firm gaze. “Go. You will not forget what you did.” The words rang with command.

Lins started whimpering. Tears streamed down his face. Looking to Tan with terror, he dropped his sword before running from the square. Tan watched him leave, uncertain of what had just happened.

“What was that?” he asked Amia.

She shook her head. “We should go.”

He led them through Velminth toward the stream at the northern edge of town, hugging the shadows of the buildings as much as they could. The muddy streets slowed them. Tan had them step carefully, praying for silence each time the mud sucked his foot into the ground. Finally, the stream was visible.

As they neared the rocks, a terrible sound, like that of hot coals exploding in a fire, came from behind them. Heat rolled over him, enveloping him.

A surge of fear stole through him.

He did not turn, knowing without looking what he’d find.

The lisincend had returned.

18

An Impossible Request

Heat blasted them. Tan ducked, but it made no difference. “Hurry!”

When they were about halfway to the stream leading out of Velminth, the temperature of the air doubled. A dizzying sense of movement spun around him, and the pressure of heat forced him to stop.

“Hand me the girl.” The words were like a crackling fire.

Tan turned. One of the lisincend stood behind them, blocking the road. A shimmer of heat surrounded him, creating a hazy veil.

“I will not.” The Mother stepped forward, straightening her back as she faced the lisincend.

It laughed, the sound like steam hissing. “You have no choice in this.”

The Mother pushed Amia behind Tan, stepping backward as she did. Her eyes darted to the side and fixed briefly on the small stream. “Why do you do this?”

She tried to buy time. There was nothing they could do against the lisincend other than buy time. But for what? No one was coming to help them.

“You are not to question why, Aeta.”

“My people have been nothing but peaceful with Incendin,” the Mother answered.

Another laugh. “Peace is no longer enough. The lost are nothing, will be nothing. Give me the girl.”

The Mother shook her head. “You know I cannot. Why not let us go? You can report that you never found us.” She pressed back a step as she spoke. The rest of the Aeta all moved with her, taking the slow and cautious step deeper into the shadows.

“Report?” the lisincend growled.

There was a sudden flare of heat, scorching. Tan’s throat went dry. His skin felt like it blistered, as if standing in an open flame. He wished for nothing more than the rain to return.

The Mother smiled. “I mean no offense.” She took a slow step to her left. “I assumed Fur commanded the lisincend. If that has changed—”

The creature only laughed again with the strange hissing way that it did. “You cannot play me like you seduce these villagers, Mother of the Lost.”

There was a strange click in its throat.

The Aeta closest to the lisincend burst into flames. Fire engulfed her quickly, burning as if from inside, ripping through her flesh and clothes. Everyone took a step back. Someone cried.

The woman’s scream, a horrible cry splitting the night, ended abruptly as she crumpled to the ground in a pile of char and ash.

Tan struggled not to vomit. How was such a thing even possible?

Pushing Amia before him, he tried to move away, but there was nowhere for them to go.

One of the hounds sat not far from them, blocking escape to the stream. Bright eyes stared at him. Tan almost imagined a hungry smile across its lips. He stopped, turning to see another hound watching them near the edge of town. As if waiting for him to run.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to Amia.

She looked up at him, her wide eyes softening. “You’ve nothing to apologize for, Tan. You did what you could.”

In any other time, he would have melted at the way she said his name. Worse than being unable to do anything, he’d probably hastened her death. He looked away in shame, unable to meet her gaze. “This is my fault.”

She reached a hand up to his face and forced him to meet her eyes. She laughed softly. The sound surprised him, so out of place with the terror he felt. “The fault lies with Incendin. You give us the hope of freedom.”

A knot formed in his throat. Tan couldn’t look away from her.

“Where is the girl?” the lisincend asked again.

The Mother breathed heavily as she looked deliberately at the fallen Aeta. “There is no girl such as you seek.” She took another careful step toward the stream.

The lisincend flared heat again. It was angry. Was that part of the Mother’s plan?

There was another click, followed by a slow hiss. Another Aeta burst into flames.

They screamed and the rest took a quick step back, trying to move across the dark jumble of weeds at the edge of Velminth toward the stream.

The unnatural fire of the immolated Aeta briefly illuminated the night. She writhed in pain until stopping, moving no more.

“How many more of your people will you sacrifice for her?”

“How much longer will you defy the Accords?” One foot touched the stream, barely sinking into the water.

The lisincend laughed again. “How much longer will you cling to them? The day soon comes when the world will see the last of the Lost.” It clicked again. Another of the Aeta shrieked as flames engulfed him.

The lisincend let the fire linger, reveling in his torture of the Aeta, slowly burning the man to a char. The heat around it faded, clearing the haze and the veil. A smile could almost be imagined tugging its lips.

Only three Aeta remained.

“You will leave this town.”

Amia spoke behind him, startling him with the intensity and command in her words. A beautiful anger hung about her. She blazed with energy.

“You will leave these lands.”

Power from her words thrummed through him, past him, and directed at the horrible creature. The lisincend did not answer.

“You will honor the Accords.”

Amia hammered each word in such a way that Tan felt them tear through him. He could not imagine defying her request.

“Get out of my head!” The lisincend flared heat and disappeared behind the shimmering veil.

Another Aeta vanished in a flash of flame and smoke, dying without a word, leaving only the Mother and Amia. Amia flinched behind him and he felt her stagger, nearly falling. He turned to help keep her on her feet.

She stared past him, toward the lisincend. Her eyes flashed fury at the creature. Her forehead was reddened, almost as if slapped, and her hair smelled like it had been singed, as well. Amia took his hand. Tan held it, too afraid to run.

The lisincend turned its rage on the Mother. Heat rose around her. The veil around the lisincend parted, splitting like a curtain in the shimmering haze, and the creature stepped forward, grabbing the Mother and lifting her chin. Her face sizzled and smoked as it touched her. Somehow, she did not flinch. The scent of burnt flesh hung pungent in the air.

“You still deny that she exists?” He stroked a long nail along her cheek, leaving a blistering streak where it touched.

The Mother kept her expression blank and did not meet the lisincend’s gaze. Her mouth mumbled something silently and she stared down at the stream she had barely touched. Amia pressed into his back, her soft hand reaching up to his shoulder and squeezing. Tan felt her shaking.

The lisincend’s lips parted and a long red tongue darted out. “She will help Incendin find great power,” it growled. The lisincend continued the stroking motion along the Mother’s cheek, searing her flesh with each flicker of its nail, leaving blistered and burned skin behind.

“You know nothing of power,” the Mother whispered. “Only fear. Report that to Fur when you grovel at his feet.” She tilted her head back defiantly.

A low rumbling came from deep within the creature. Smoke started at the Mother’s feet. The fire spread gradually, a controlled crawl. Tan couldn’t imagine the agony the Mother felt. Yet she said nothing to the lisincend.

Then she turned. Her eyes met his, growing wide. Her breathing quickened. “Protect her,” she whispered to him.

He felt compelled to answer. The look on her face begged his help, but what could he do? “I can’t do anything.”

The Mother smiled then and a wave of compassion flowed over him, through him, as it surrounded Amia. “You can do more than you know,” she said. Her eyes widened as the fire spread up past her waist. “For the sake of your people and mine, protect her, son of Zephra.”

The last was said so quietly that Tan found himself leaning to hear over the crackling flames rising up her body, enveloping her clothing and spreading to her hair. Heat and smoke and ash filled the air. Tan coughed and leaned away, pressing Amia back with him as he did.

Finally, the Mother screamed. The lisincend’s mouth twisted in a horrible smile.

The Mother fell in a pile of burning ash and bones as the flames consuming her leapt brighter, fed by some invisible fuel. Amia pulled on his shoulder and he turned to look at her.

Her face was a mixture of emotions. Rage. Sadness. And disappointment.

“Give her to me,” the lisincend commanded. “I am no longer amused.”

Tan stepped back, shaking his head. One of the hounds growled, a low threatening rumble. The lisincend laughed, a horrible raspy sound that tore into his ears. The heat around him increased as his feet began to burn. Knowing what would come next terrified him. But he refused to move away from Amia.

“Release us now,” Amia said.

Her words carried an energy to them, a command, and Tan could not imagine the lisincend doing anything but releasing them.

The creature only laughed again. “I know your trick now. You can sacrifice this boy, but he cannot protect you much longer.”

Tan cried out as the heat flared. Fear coursed through him, pounding, paralyzing him. He smelled the leather of his boots burning yet he could do nothing to move.

Amia looked at him. Her eyes pierced his fear. “Protect me.”

Her voice was a soft command in his mind. He could no more ignore her request than the day could ignore the rising sun.

Pressure suddenly flared in his ears, building so quickly that he didn’t know what he could do to release it. It felt as if his eardrums would burst. Tan screamed from the burning at his feet and the pounding pressure building in his head.

Protect me.

The lisincend smiled again.

That was the last thing Tan saw clearly.

As the pressure in his head increased, he felt the growing compulsion from Amia’s words.

The wind whipped into town in a torrent, sending dirt and mud and leaves flying, nearly knocking Tan off his feet. The heat the lisincend radiated was blown away. The creature stared in the direction of the oncoming gusts of wind before turning its fiery gaze upon Tan. Sheets of rain poured down from the sky. Thunder rolled continuously overhead, beating like a drum, almost in time with Tan’s heart.

The pressure behind his ears built even more.

Protect me.

Another gust of wind threw Tan and Amia forward. He had no sense of direction. He couldn’t see streets or buildings through the whipping wind. Mud and flying leaves blasted past his face.

Protect me.

Entwining his fingers into hers, he pulled her along with him. The force of the wind pushed them, sending them practically flying. The hounds howled against the raging wind, growing stronger, and then another powerful gust blew in, drowning out the hounds’ horrible sounds. It nearly lifted Tan and Amia off their feet as it threw them from the town. Tan clung on to Amia.

Protect me.

Another gust sent them airborne. They flew over a small cart. Tan pedaled his legs frantically as he flew, squeezing Amia’s hand so he wouldn’t lose her.

Then they landed in a tumble.

The wind knocked from his lungs and he lay there, only for a moment, before leaping to his feet. Amia came with him and they ran, letting the wind push them.

Then they were within the trees. The wind still whipped and blasted him forward but the intensity had died. They ran blindly, moving as quickly as they could, afraid to rest and with no clear path in mind. Behind them lay death.

Over the noise of the wind and rain came another sound, something unlike Tan had ever heard. An earsplitting roar raged through the night, flaring hot and wild, before dying quickly, drowned by the wind and rain.

The lisincend screamed in rage. And it was targeted at Tan.

He shivered, running hard, clenching Amia’s hand tightly in his own as he ran into the night on exhausted legs. The horrible scream echoed again before it too was put down by the wind and rain. Tan dared not stop.

19

A Chance to Relax

They raced through the thick pines of the forest. Harsh wind whipped around them and a cold from the upper mountains seeped into his bones. Rain came down in icy needles upon his skin. He dared not slow.

Amia clenched his hand tightly. Any other time he would enjoy the sensation of her soft fingers resting on his, but for now, he thought only of taking another step. They ran blindly, moving along the slope. Tan chose not to run them uphill or down, uncertain where he was and not wanting to disorient himself further. They ran from Velminth, and for now it was enough.

Each step grew harder as a growing exhaustion from the day began to settle into him. From Amia’s slowing steps, he realized she felt the same. Still, Tan dared not slow. The words Amia had spoken to him in Velminth still echoed in his head.

Protect me.

The wind gradually lightened as they moved through the forest. Over the sound of the wind he heard the now familiar howl, the ringing call of the hounds. He cringed without thinking about it. Amia squeezed his hand, saying nothing. The gesture provided reassurance.

As he listened, sensing the forest, he realized the hounds were far in the distance. Other voices answered the first, each farther than the next. There seemed an angry edge to their baying.

The wind began to shift, growing colder with the crisp bite of the northern wind, blowing down from the upper slopes and through the tight passes. After the dry radiating heat of the lisincend, the cool northern air was a welcome return and provided a reassurance that they had put distance between themselves and the lisincend.

Amia must have felt the same way. She released his hand as they slowed from running to a fast walk. The downpour changed to a gentle cleansing rain. Tan glanced at Amia. She wore a tight expression and he knew she did not allow herself time to grieve. Yet.

“Do you know where we are?” she asked quietly, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

Tan glanced up at the sky, wishing for a sight of the near full moon. It remained hidden behind the dark and low-lying clouds. “I’m not sure. Probably north of Velminth, but…” He trailed off. The strange wind that had blown them from Velminth left him unable to tell where they were. As far as he knew, they could be anywhere. “I don’t know how we escaped. I don’t think the lisincend are near. Or the hounds.”

A question hung upon her lips left unasked. “Nor I,” she finally said, looking behind her as if wondering whether the hounds and the lisincend were truly gone. “But I’m thankful we did.”

They walked for a while, silent. Fatigue pressed on him, threatening to collapse him under the weight of everything he had experienced. An elevated tree root seemed to reach up and grab his ankle, and he stumbled, righting himself as Amia grabbed his shoulder. She had been lagging behind, each step slowing slightly, and caught up to him in time to prevent him from falling into the detritus along the forest floor.

“We need to stop. Rest for the night.”

Amia nodded. Her eyes drooped, though her head turned at any small sound in the night. “Do you think it safe?”

He felt the pull of the words she had spoken to him earlier in the night. Protect me. “I think so.”

She brushed a hand through her golden hair, pushing it away from her face, and looked around the forest. Even the hounds could not be heard any longer. Finally, she nodded.

Trees thinned in places as the ground became increasingly rocky. Dark, low-hanging clouds had been replaced by gray wisps and the moon occasionally lit the forest with muted light, enough for them to move more safely. Rain finally stopped; only occasional light drops still fell on them.

A large cluster of rocks loomed in the distance. Tan pointed, directing them toward it. The rocks could provide a natural defense for the night. As they climbed toward the rocks, Amia struggled to stay on her feet. She was dressed lightly and not at all for the growing cold. Tan worried how she would tolerate the rest of the night.

“We need to get you warm.” He pulled off his cloak. As he draped it around her, she shook her head as if to push him off, but he persisted. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice earlier.”

“I should be apologizing to you.”

He ignored the comment and led her underneath an overhang of rock where the ground was dry. It formed a small ring of rocks, nearly a cave. They sat and she leaned into him for warmth. Both slipped in and out of sleep in the comfort of the other.

A howl woke them both, splitting the night with its cry. Amia looked at him fearfully, renewed terror on her face. This sound was close. Tan raised a finger to his lips, silencing her, and waited for the call to come again. When it did, it was farther away, and he relaxed again.

“A wolf.” The huge wolves that called these mountains their home were nothing to take lightly, but also were not nearly as terrifying as the hounds. The wolves, he knew, would be scared away by a volley of arrows.

Amia pulled away from him, wrapping her arms around her chest. A distant look came to her eyes. Tan understood her loss; he’d experienced the same today. “I wish I could tell you it will be all right, but there’s nothing I can say that will make it better.”

As she looked at him, a strange sensation fluttered through him. Then she smiled. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Tan shook his head. “The lisincend took my mother from me. Destroyed my town.” He tried to block the memory of the crater that had been Nor.

“I’m sorry,” Amia repeated.

Tan frowned and looked at her. “Not you,” he said. “Incendin. The lisincend.”

She looked away from him. “Only because they followed us,” she began, closing her eyes and shivering. When she reopened them, tears had welled up. “We were making our way across Incendin,” she said, starting slowly. “It’d been years since we traveled their lands, but always we had been welcome, and several of my folk remembered the roads well.”

Letting go of her knees, she leaned back against the cool rock and stared into the darkness. “Mother knew Incendin wares would entice trade, so she pushed us. We traveled deeper into Incendin than even the oldest of our folk were comfortable.” She paused, turning briefly to meet Tan’s gaze before turning away again. “We had gone into unknown areas of Incendin when we first came across them.”

She paused and Tan was uncertain whether she would even continue. “The lisincend?”

Amia shook her head. “Not at first. Hounds.” She shivered again with the memory, as if hearing their harsh and painful cry again. “We have come across the hounds before and know how to avoid them. This time was different.”

“How?”

She shook her head. “Always before we have encountered only a single hound at a time. This time they ran as a pack and chased us.”

She fell silent and Tan let it linger for a moment. “Is that why you left Incendin?”

Amia turned to him and there was a look of fear in her eyes, a haunting he’d not seen before. “No. We were able to evade the hounds. It was as we neared the border to your kingdoms that we began to notice signs of the lisincend. The air drier and hotter. The way the wind died. Mother pushed us hard then, hoping to cross before we came in contact with them.”

“How did you cross the barrier?”

She looked at him strangely. “It’s not meant to keep out Aeta,” she said, as if that answered it.

She fell silent again and Tan didn’t press. When she didn’t speak again, he let the silence settle between them until a question came to him. “The Mother spoke to the lisincend about some Accords.”

“She did,” Amia agreed.

“What Accords?”

Amia tilted her head slightly, considering Tan before answering. “How much do you know of the People?”

Tan thought about the question and realized he knew very little. “The Aeta have visited Nor only a few times during my life. I have nothing but happy memories of the visits, the festivities that accompanied the visits, and the Aeta.” He paused, remembering something his mother had said after meeting with the Mother outside Nor. “My mother once said the Aeta were wanderers with a history filled with sadness.”

Amia nodded slowly and took a deep breath, reaching a hand up and pressing back a strand of stray hair. “We are wanderers,” she agreed. “But it was not always so. Once, our story goes, the People lived in a peaceful land, a place of beauty unlike any other. Then we lived as you do, in cities, off the land, and not out of a wagon.” She closed her eyes, as if imagining. When she opened them, there was a relaxed expression upon her face.

“Something happened. Some great event that forced us from our homeland so long ago that its telling is lost, or protected. The Mothers keep the records, and I have not yet been privy to them.” Her eyes grew moist. “And will not now,” she whispered. Amia fell silent for a moment before continuing. “Since we left our lands, we’ve wandered, always peacefully and carrying no weapon save what we need to hunt.”

“What of the Accords?” Tan asked.

“The Accords grant the People a certain protection,” she answered, turning to meet his gaze. “Written and agreed upon long ago by the men and kings of the earliest nations, places like Ter and Vatten and Galen before these lands were all bound under a single throne, they are a promise of peace and fair trade. They have been honored by all lands since.”

“Even Incendin?”

She nodded. “Always Incendin. Even during the war.”

“Then why would they violate the Accords now?”

Amia shook her head, and started to answer when Tan sensed something nearby. He raised a finger to his lips to silence Amia. She frowned at him and the relaxed expression she’d worn left her eyes, replaced by a wild fear.

The compulsion suddenly flared within his mind, the request Amia had made back in Velminth. Protect me.

Signaling her to wait, he crept quietly from the rocks, moving stealthily. As he moved, he let his focus wander and stretched out with his senses, reaching his awareness out toward the trees whispering soft susurrus from the wind, the quiet hoot of the owl, the steady chirp of the cricket, using any disturbance he could sense to help guide his feet.

The wind picked up, cold and biting. A slow pressure built in his head, the same that he’d felt the last few days. Muscles tensed with subconscious fear, worry about Incendin hounds and the lisincend threatening to break his concentration. He forced away those fears. The hounds never moved quietly and the cool night air made the lisincend unlikely. Ahead he sensed something amiss, a void in what should be the noise of the night. Tan froze.

Moving as quietly as he could muster, he crept toward the nearest tree, hugging its rough trunk, before ducking from tree to tree toward what he sensed.

Then a dark shape was visible. Tan scrambled quietly into the nearest tree and climbed onto the lowest limbs. He held his body away and tight so he wouldn’t be outlined in the night’s shadows.

Protect me.

The thought suddenly surged to the front of his mind and he reached to quietly unsheathe his knife, holding it tightly in his free hand. As the shape passed beneath him, he dropped, shouting a warning while mindless of the harm he placed himself into, only aware of the need to protect Amia.

The figure below turned with amazing speed and blocked his knife, throwing Tan to the ground. He dropped with a hard thud. The wind knocked from his lungs.

Tan’s vision grew hazy. A dark shape loomed over him, holding a sword pointed down at his chest. The figure reached up a free hand and pulled back a hood, holding the sword leveled at Tan’s chest.

Relief flooded through him. Roine had found them.

The only question Tan had was: How?

20

Another Shaper

“Did Cobin make it?” Tan whispered.

Roine shook his head, his dark eyes darting around him, scanning the forest for movement. Tan stretched out his senses yet felt nothing unusual. Roine looked at him quickly, a strange questioning expression to his eyes, but said nothing.

“Did you see him?” Tan asked again.

“No,” Roine answered quickly.

“Do you think the hounds got him?”

Roine shook his head without pausing to consider the question. “I doubt it. I drew them off.” His voice was barely more than the sound of the breeze yet Tan heard it clearly.

Tan stared at the dark stranger for a long moment, thankful that at least Cobin and Bal would reach safety. “The lisincend—” he began, but was cut off.

“Not here,” Roine whispered, motioning for Tan to lead.

Tan nodded, questions crawling through his tired mind, yet he left them unasked and led Roine toward the rock cluster, sensing his way back to the shelter in the fading darkness. Roine said nothing, leading the horses forward. A slight limp slowed him.

Roine nodded upon reaching the rocks, as if giving approval for their shelter. Tan walked him into the crevasse where Amia waited. She sat up quickly as he entered and her gaze flickered nervously to Roine before turning to Tan. A question burned in her dark eyes.

Roine turned upon entering and looked at Tan. “This is it? She was the only captive?”

“There were others.”

Roine exhaled slowly. “What happened?”

“I crept into the town after you and Cobin had ridden off. Only a few men remained. Something happened to the south and even they ran off. The cage held six Aeta—”

“Six?” Roine interrupted, looking over to Amia and considering her for a moment.

Tan nodded.

“None from Nor?”

Tan closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to suppress the surge of emotion that threatened him again. “There was one from Nor,” Tan answered. “Lins Alles, the lord’s son who attacked me.He said he worked with the Incendin.” Tan paused, pushing away the brief anger rising in him at the thought by taking a deep breath. “There were no others from Nor, though.”

Roine watched Tan and reached toward him, as if thinking to reassure him, but Amia was there first and placed a soft hand on his shoulder.

“That’s how they came across, then. They needed someone on this side of the barrier to help. I should have expected that.”

“He said they promised him power.”

Roine shook his head. “He’ll never see it. That’s not the Incendin way.” He paused, cupping his chin as he thought. “You said there were others? How did only you two escape?”

“After I opened the pen, Lins ran and we headed toward the stream. I thought we could follow it out of Velminth and use the water as a way of masking our scent from the hounds.”

Roine nodded. “That might have worked.”

“We never made it to the stream. One of the lisincend caught us.”

Roine frowned. “You were attacked by a lisincend? And you survived?”

“The Mother helped,” Tan answered, then shivered as the memory of the burning Aeta flashed through his mind. “She distracted the lisincend.”

“The Mother?” Roine asked as he nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose she would try. What did she say?”

“She mentioned someone named Fur. The lisincend seemed to fear or respect Fur. That didn’t stop it from killing the other Aeta. It was only because of a sudden storm that we escaped.” Tan looked at Amia, whose expression looked withdrawn as she relived the experience. “Otherwise we would have suffered the same fate.”

Roine looked at Amia for a long moment, staring at her with calculating eyes. The pressure in the air slowly built and Tan felt his ears pop as it quickly disappeared. “Fur?” Roine finally said, and Tan nodded. Roine let out a long sigh. “That…is unfortunate.”

“Who’s Fur?”

Roine motioned Tan to sit. They were cramped now, the small space that had been cozy with just he and Amia was now crowded with another person and two horses. Tan was forced to press close to Amia, and he did so willingly.

“Fur leads the lisincend,” Roine said as they settled. “As much as any can truly lead them. Some think he was the first.”

“First what?” Tan asked.

“Lisincend. So little is truly known about the lisincend. Some think they are immortal, others are not as sure. One thing we know is that Fur has always led the lisincend. And Fur serves the Incendin throne in his own way.”

“What do you mean?”

“The lisincend don’t always serve the king as he would wish. From what I know, they’ve long been felt to have their own agenda, but Fur manages to lead them, to bend them to his will, and it is his will to serve the throne. That makes their chasing of the Aeta especially worrisome.”

Amia stared at Roine and said nothing, but now her eyes widened as an understanding passed through them. Tan looked from her to Roine.

“You think the Incendin king sent the lisincend after the Aeta.”

Roine nodded slowly. “I don’t know.” He hesitated. “I know Incendin wants the same artifact, but the Aeta…that means they know something.” He roughly scrubbed a hand through his hair, fatigue and agitation plain upon his face. “This artifact…it is powerful. Powerful enough to destroy the barrier. Enough to defeat our shapers.”

“What is it?”

Roine sighed. “Well, that’s just it. Only Althem knows for sure. His archivists discovered its existence, and he sent me for it. I know little other than that it’s an ancient item, infused with power by some of the earliest warrior shapers. I don’t even know what it’s called.”

Tan frowned. “How has it never been found?”

“There’s the question, isn’t it? Finding it is more complicated than that.” He reached into his bag and set a golden box in front of Tan, the same box Tan had seen before. “This was also shaped by the ancient warriors, infused with all the elements.” He looked at Amia. She turned away, unwilling to meet his gaze. “From what the archivists have learned, it serves as a compass, guiding the bearer toward the artifact.”

Tan looked at the box. It was shaped with five sides as he had seen before and seemed made of solid gold. There were carvings in the surface and along the sides—he saw leaves and trees and moon and stars—made with incredible detail. Small etchings of vaguely familiar figures were made in each corner. At the center was a raised circle with a five-pointed star, each point of the star pointing toward one of the corners of the box.

“What is it?”

“The box is simply a vessel.” He ran his fingers along its carved surface. “Though a vessel of its own type of power. This power is directed to finding the artifact. Was,” he corrected.

“‘Was?’”

“The archivists think the artifact was intentionally lost and the box was made to help find it.” He paused, considering his words. “They were designed as a set, like a lock and key, but the shaping is imperfect. I can no longer make it work.”

Had Roine just admitted that he was a shaper? If that was the case, why hadn’t he attacked the lisincend? “I don’t understand.”

“The shapers who made this had power unequaled in centuries. They were trained as no shaper has been trained in nearly four centuries, working with the elementals to craft their shapings. Those shapers could call upon power unlike anything seen since.” Roine looked down at the box. “So I must believe the shaping was correct and that I’m not using it correctly. And sometime during the run from Velminth, it took damage.”

“How do you know?”

“This is what guided me toward Galen. Toward Velminth. Always pointing into the mountains. Only…now it no longer points toward anything.”

“Can you fix it?” Tan asked.

Roine eyed the box for long moments. “I wouldn’t know how to begin.”

Tan frowned. “What kind of shaper are you, Roine?”

Roine only smiled in answer, saying nothing as he took the golden box from Tan’s hands and placed it back with his saddlebags. Then he turned and stared openly at Amia. She looked away. The small voice again sang out in his head, like a quiet whisper, yet a command nonetheless.

Protect me.

“How will you find the artifact now? If this device, your key, is broken, how do you expect to find it?”

“When I discovered the device was no longer working, I thought the search would be over. Now I’m no longer certain.”

“Why?”

Roine turned to Amia. “I think she can help.”

Amia looked up, a defiance burning in her eyes. Her hands clenched tightly at her sides, gripping the brightly colored pants she wore. “You’re mistaken,” she answered softly. A hint of strength had returned to her words.

“Am I?” Roine asked.

Amia nodded once, relaxing a hand and bringing it to her still damp hair, smoothing it as she pulled it back from her face before crossing her arms over her chest. “You are.”

“What is this?” Tan demanded, sliding a step closer to Amia. Whatever was happening between them, Tan was not about to let Roine threaten Amia. After everything she’d experienced, he couldn’t shake her request to keep her safe, even if it meant keeping her from Roine.

Roine flicked his gaze to Tan and there was a sense of pressure, almost a weight, which came with it. Tan felt a slow buildup of pressure, could almost hear it, before it whispered away and Roine took a small step back.

“What do you know of the Aeta, Tan?” Roine asked.

Tan turned to look at Amia. The question was nearly the same as the one posed by her earlier, but this time the tone was darker. He decided to answer Roine much the same as he’d answered Amia. “Memories from my childhood. Warnings from my mother to be courteous to them and welcome their arrival. Why?”

Roine chuckled. “She would have warned that. The Aeta are a wandering people. Traders whose visits are welcomed into towns throughout the kingdoms and beyond.”

Tan understood more since speaking with Amia. “The Accords.”

Roine turned to Amia. “She shared that?” Tan nodded, not understanding the significance. “Yes. The Accords grant the Aeta free travel and have long been honored. Did she tell you why the Accords were needed?”

Amia wouldn’t meet his gaze. Tan shook his head. “She did not.”

“I’m not surprised,” Roine continued. “The Aeta aren’t proud of the reasons behind the Accords.”

“Why?”

“The Aeta are sensers.”

“So?” Tan was a senser. And his father before him. “The kingdoms have many sensers. Many shapers, even.” He thought of his mother and how little he knew of her before she’d come to Nor. Now he would never know more about her.

Roine looked at Amia. “They aren’t sensers like we have in the kingdoms. They can’t sense earth, wind, fire, or water.”

Tan frowned again. “Aren’t those the only elements we can sense?”

“You’ve known the Aeta as skilled traders. I’m sure you’ve seen some who feared them for that very reason.”

Tan thought back to Lord Lind’s reaction to the Aeta. “Some.”

“Have you ever wondered why?”

Tan looked at Amia. She didn’t meet his gaze but didn’t turn away. “Why?”

Roine took a deep breath and waited for Amia to answer. When she didn’t, he shook his head. “The Aeta are sensers of spirit.”

“Spirit? How is that possible?”

Roine laughed. “Most scholars think the ancient elementals endowed the earliest shapers with aspects of their abilities. Back then, we had shapers of fire, of earth, of wind, and of water. But also of spirit. For some reason, spirit has been lost.” His eyes lingered on Amia. “But not the Aeta. Many are born sensers of spirit. When the Aeta first left their lands, they were initially welcomed. The Aeta lived peacefully yet apart from their new neighbors. Still, some were allowed to travel among the Aeta and came to know them, noticing that they always had the upper hand in trading. Over time, suspicion grew. Rumors. Some who didn’t understand named the Aeta evil.”

Amia’s face had tightened. “So we left our new settlement,” she continued quietly, “and have wandered since.”

Roine nodded. “The Accords have provided a sort of protection since then. Protection from the Aeta and protection for the Aeta.”

“What does this have to do with why you think Amia can help?”

Roine looked to the Aeta for long moments without speaking. Amia said nothing as well, biting her lip and clenching her fists. “There have long been rumors that some among the Aeta are more than sensers. Rumors of shapers.”

Tan frowned again and looked from Roine to Amia. As he did, a realization came to him of the words that had been imprinted into his mind, a quiet call for help that had stayed with him.

Protect me.

With the command, he knew what Roine said was true.

Amia was a shaper.

21

The Journey Explained

Amia finally met his gaze. Her dark eyes gave away nothing. Tan felt his heart race when she looked at him. Could she have used him? Had she shaped him from the very beginning, from their first meeting? Was that why he had reacted to her the way that he had?

Did she still use him?

Would it have mattered anyway? He’d gone willingly into Velminth. What did it matter if she shaped a command for him to get her to safety?

They shared a look and she nodded, an acknowledgement to him only. At least Tan now understood more of what had happened in Velminth and why Lins Alles had left so quickly. Amia must have worked a shaping on him.

Had she tried it on the lisincend? Is that why it became so angry?

“I must know,” Roine began quietly, breaking the heavy silence that had grown among them. “Can you shape spirit?”

Amia was silent for a long time, long enough that Tan didn’t think she’d answer at all, but finally she turned to them and looked from Tan, meeting his eyes and holding the gaze, to Roine. “The Aeta have many feelers,” she started. “What you would call a senser. This fact has never been hidden. All of the Mothers have been and still remain skilled feelers.”

Roine blinked, taken aback by Amia’s honesty. “Are there feelers among the men of the Aeta as well?”

“Some,” she said with a nod, “though they aren’t as common as women.”

“That’s why your women lead.”

Amia laughed softly. “That’s only a part of it. But true enough.” She paused again, considering her words carefully as if deciding how much to tell. “There are others, born rarely, once or twice to a generation. They are powerful feelers, able to not only sense the emotions of others, but influence them as well, direct them. We say they’re blessed by the Great Mother, infused with her spirit, able to use it to help her people. Once found, these women—they are always women—are raised to lead the Aeta.”

“These are the shapers?” Roine asked.

Amia nodded.

He leaned forward. “And were you blessed by the Great Mother?”

A cloud seemed to pass over her face before she nodded. “I am.”

“They exist,” he said to himself. “All this time we thought we’d lost spirit shaping.” He looked at Amia. “How have the Aeta kept this secret?”

Amia frowned. “It’s not a secret to the Aeta.”

“No? How have you maintained secrecy outside the Aeta?”

“Some things can only be taught to one of the Aeta,” she answered. “There is one truth I have seen on our travels. Every culture has secrets.”

“Some are larger than others,” Roine said.

Amia met Roine’s eyes. “Already I’ve shared more than is right. I would not if not for the son of Zephra. The Mother had great respect for her.” She turned to Tan. “Your mother was well known to the Aeta, though we knew her as Zephra. She stayed with my people for a time. All who knew her had great respect for her.”

“Before recently, I’d never heard my mother called by that name.” Tan looked at Roine. “The first was when she named you Theondar.”

“And you recognized the name Theondar?” Roine asked.

Tan nodded. “Many would, I think.”

“I think you’d be surprised.”

Tan frowned, remembering how his father always used to speak of Theondar. “But he’s one of the greatest warriors!”

“Perhaps he is,” Roine agreed. “Or was.”

“So why would my mother call you by his name?”

“Because it was mine, once.”

The comment came like a jolt of lightning.

Tan shouldn’t have been surprised. Athan to the king, speaking with his voice. More than that, he came to Galen—alone—on a mission for the king. And only one of the warriors could face both hounds and the lisincend without becoming incapacitated by fear.

“You’re a Cloud Warrior?” Tan asked. How much could have gone better had Roine admitted that to them? How much could they have done differently? “Why do you need me to reach the mountain pass?”

“There have been no known warriors in the kingdoms for decades,” he answered. “Those who had remained became targets, hunted by the Incendin and other enemies of the kingdoms until only a few were left. Theondar the warrior is no more. And Roine is no warrior.”

Tan frowned. “But you still serve the king?”

Roine nodded. “As Athan. Not as a warrior.”

Tan leaned back. Roine was Theondar. His mother was Zephra, a powerful wind shaper. And Amia the Aeta could shape spirit. More than ever, he felt lost, worse than he ever felt after learning of his father.

“What do I have to do with your search?” Amia asked. She watched Tan as she spoke, probably sensing the struggle raging through him.

“At first I wasn’t certain. I hadn’t considered the Aeta. It wasn’t until I met Tan and he told me about the Aeta chased from Incendin that I considered the possibility. Then I heard of the hounds and I feared I wasn’t the first to think of it.” He looked from Tan to Amia. “I think a senser of such strength could find the artifact. Such strength would doubtlessly make her a shaper. That’s why they pursued you.”

“It don’t think it’ll work.”

Roine tilted his head. “I’m not certain it will, either. But this device,” he said, pointing toward his saddlebags, “was shaped by those who wield the elementals. All of them.”

Amia shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“Let me try explaining it differently. A shaping carries a certain signature,” he began, “something that can be felt and detected by those who know how and where to look. If you are skilled enough—or strong enough—you can trace the shaping, follow it, either along its course or back to the shaper.”

Amia began to nod a little. “I think I understand.”

Roine smiled. “I hoped you would,” he answered. He turned and went back to his saddlebag and retrieved the golden box once more. “This device amplifies that shaping so that one who is skilled enough can use it to follow its course.”

“You said all the elementals were used in its shaping?” Tan asked.

Roine nodded. “Recent warriors are thought to be able to use all the elementals,” he began, “but there hasn’t been a warrior who can shape spirit in a thousand years.” He shook his head. “It was these warriors who made this box and the reason it has never fully worked for me.”

“Then why do you think I can help?” Amia asked.

“I’m unable to even sense spirit. I could follow the others. Some of the shapings were stronger than others. Wind particularly. Water. I have some strength with earth, not like some, but this device never had much strength with earth.” He swallowed. “And fire had been quite strong—possibly the strongest of them. That’s why Fur thinks he can track the shaping, I suspect. Now none of them work. When the device was damaged, it was no longer safe for me to use.”

“Then why Amia?”

“I don’t know if the spirit thread has been damaged. That’s why she’s needed.”

“What you ask requires a skill I don’t think I have.”

“You have to try.”

“Why must this artifact be found?”

Roine inhaled deeply. “If Incendin reaches it first…not just the barrier will fall. This artifact, if it’s half of what scholars think it might be, can’t reach Incendin. I’d rather see it destroyed than that.”

Amia shook her head. “You haven’t answered the question.”

There was a surge of energy with the words, a directive, and Roine smiled. “You don’t need to shape me.”

Tan felt whatever it was Amia had done. He’d felt it before.

“Many scholars have searched for it. None have succeeded.”

“Why now? Why you?” Tan asked.

Roine sighed. “Shaping is changing.” He shook his head. “I can’t explain it more than that—I’m no archivist—but our shapers have grown weaker. Even sensing is weaker. But this,” he said, tapping the golden box, “if the archivists are right, this could change that.” He sighed. “As to why now? It’s not just now. I’ve been searching for nearly a decade. Even more time before that, trying to understand the damn compass. I don’t know why Incendin suddenly makes a push when I’m finally getting close.”

They sat in silence for a moment. “How is shaping changing?” Tan asked.

“Questions for those who study such things, not me. In the kingdoms, they’re known as archivists, and they have access to records dating back over a thousand years. But what they tell me is that with each generation, our connection to the elementals grows weaker. Once, creatures like the lisincend would not have challenged even a strong shaper. Now full warriors struggle against them. Given enough time, it could be that we will not see another warrior again.”

Roine turned to Amia. “Please. You must try. Focus upon the box, upon the symbol for spirit. Push your focus outward, as if you were performing a shaping, and listen, as if sensing. All I need to know is whether spirit still responds.”

“And if I’m not strong enough?”

Tan touched her arm. She didn’t pull away. “I’ve seen what you can do. I didn’t know what it was I was seeing, but you shaped Lins. And I felt you shaping the lisincend. It was working, if only for a moment.”

“You tried shaping the lisincend?” Roine asked.

Amia nodded.

“It should not work,” Roine said.

She shook her head. “It didn’t.”

“I think it could have,” Tan said. “Whatever you did made it angry. That must mean you’re strong enough to do this.”

Amia stared at the box for long moments before finally nodding. “I’ll try.” She didn’t sound as if she expected it to work.

Roine nodded. “Thank you.”

Amia sat upon the nearest rock with the gold box resting on her lap. She rotated it until one of the points of the star was directed at her. Her face slackened and her eyes lost focus until they closed completely. Tan felt the slow sizzling of energy, a gradual building of pressure in his ears.

As the energy rose to the point where Tan’s hair felt like it would stand on end and the pressure in his ears had grown to a sharp stabbing pain, there was a whooshing release as it shot away from the rocky cavern and up into the mountains.

Tan wondered why he could almost see it.

“It’s done,” Amia said. She sounded more fatigued than she had been at any point since leaving Velminth.

“What happened?” Roine asked.

Roine sensed nothing. How was it that Tan sensed what Amia had done? Was it tied to the shaping she had done on him, the command urging him to protect her? Had she bound him to her somehow?

She shook her head. “This device directed my shaping,” she answered, fumbling with the last word. “Pulling it from me and sending its energy out and up the mountain.”

Roine looked around. “Can you follow it?”

If Tan closed his eyes, he could follow it.

Amia nodded. “Yes.”

“Then we need to go.”

“Let her rest, Roine.” The voice in his mind whispered to him. Protect me. He recognized the shaping now and did not mind the silent reminder; he would have done what he could to protect her anyway. “She’s tired. After everything she’s been through, she deserves that.”

A moment of compassion lingered on Roine’s face. “Can you feel it?” he asked Tan.

Tan listened, thinking Roine asked him to use his earth sense. The night was lightening and the first slivers of daylight had begun to creep through the sky, an orange hue to the clouds. The wind had died at some point and the air that had been so cool earlier in the night had grown warmer. Too warm for the early morn. Then Tan knew what Roine had sensed.

The lisincend were coming.

22

The Lisincend Attack

Roine hurried them toward the horses and he climbed atop his mount, motioning to Tan and Amia to do the same. He started away from the shelter, riding his horse in the direction Amia had indicated.

“Are you going to let me ride with you?” she asked. She seemed genuinely uncertain how he’d answer.

“Can’t you sense my answer?” He tried to sound playful, but came off more abruptly than intended.

“I’d understand if you said no. After what I did…” She sighed. “That’s why we have the Accords. The earliest of my people didn’t hesitate to…shape…others to do what they wanted. That’s not what I wanted with you.”

“I wouldn’t leave you to the lisincend.” Just thinking about it bothered him. And there was still that echo in the back of his mind, the quiet command.

Protect me.

“Only because of what I did.”

Tan held her dark gaze with his eyes and shook his head. “I would have done what I could to rescue you regardless of the shaping. It just serves as a reminder.”

She bit her lip and narrowed her eyes. “It is still with you, the shaping?”

Tan nodded. Like a voice in his head, he could hear it whisper if he closed his eyes, felt its pull and knew he would struggle if he tried to refuse its call. “I can hear it if I try.”

She shook her head. “That should not be. It should disappear and you certainly should not hear anything.”

Tan shrugged. “I do.”

She looked at him a moment before nodding. “If I haven’t said so before, thanks for saving me, Tan, son of Zephra.”

He pulled Amia into the saddle behind him and she placed her arms around his waist, pulling herself into him. She was warm and soft and, in spite of everything she had been through, the destruction of her caravan and imprisonment by the lisincend, she smelled of lavender and lilacs. He was all too aware how Amia clung tightly to him.

She chuckled then. The sound was soft and a hot whisper in his ear.

She sensed him. How much would she know without needing to ask?

He felt exposed…but didn’t mind. At least she couldn’t see him flush.

Roine waited for them as they emerged from the rocky shelter. His eyes were closed and his face locked in concentration. His hands were slack at his side, fingers spread wide, and he breathed deeply. The horse beneath him was completely still.

Tan felt a stirring in the air, like the sizzle of energy he had sensed as Amia had done her shaping, and felt the pressure building in his ears. This was a slow buildup, different than what Amia had done, and there was neither the force nor the pain he had sensed during her shaping. Then Roine inhaled deeply, suddenly exhaling, and the energy was released in a wave outward. Tan had never known anything like it before.

Roine looked at Amia. “Which way?”

Amia removed one hand from his waist and pointed up the slope. “Up.”

Roine looked up the slope and Tan followed his gaze. A trail meandered up the rock, cutting between some of the towering pines and ash trees. He didn’t recognize these lands.

How far had they come running from Velminth?

“We should hurry,” Roine said.

“Did your shaping tell you how far they were?”

Roine looked at him with a strange and curious expression upon his face. His mouth pursed as if he had a question he wanted to ask but did not. Instead, he nodded. “Not a definite distance. More like a vague sense.” He looked down the slope. “Several lisincend.”

“How many hounds?”

Roine looked back to him and smiled. “You’ve faced one of the lisincend and survived, but ask about the hounds?”

“I think we can outrun the lisincend. I’m not as certain about the hounds.”

Amia shivered behind him. “I don’t wish to see either.”

Roine watched them for a moment. “I don’t know how many hounds,” he said, and then turned his horse and spurred it forward. Tan and Amia followed, hurrying the horse up the slope after Roine. The climb was steep, though manageable, and led quickly upward. The sky began to lighten even more. The wind picked back up, sending hot gusts blowing through the trees.

The harsh baying of the hounds startled them when it started. It came as a sudden chorus of calls, howls, and snarls.

“They found where we stopped last night,” he called to Roine.

He’d been riding ahead of them, silent as he rode up the slope. With Tan’s comment, he turned and nodded. “They’ve never really lost us.”

“How’d they find us so easily?” Tan asked.

“The hounds are relentless,” Amia answered. Her voice was soft in his ears yet filled his mind. The words carried to Roine’s ears as well, for the man nodded. “Once they have your scent, they never forget it and rarely give up.”

“So they follow you?” Tan asked.

He felt Amia shake her head behind him. “There were too many of us for them to have a clear scent of me.”

Tan turned to look at her. Amia’s face was pleasantly close to his. “Me?” he asked. Was he the reason Nor had been destroyed? Had he led the hounds to it?

“That’s what I fear,” she answered. “You said they attacked when you tracked them, that you were treed. Something scared them off, but they didn’t forget the scent.”

“You should go with Roine. I won’t be the reason you are captured. Or the reason his mission fails.” Doing so meant certain death, but if he had led the hounds to Nor, didn’t he deserve it?

Roine slowed and looked over to Tan. “Though noble, Tan, it wouldn’t matter. I fear these hounds have my scent, as well.”

“How?”

“The distraction in Velminth,” Roine said. “So it seems it doesn’t matter. We’ll continue forward.”

“You aren’t concerned about the hounds?”

“Hounds I can manage. Their lisincend masters present a different challenge altogether.”

Tan shivered each time he heard the braying of the hounds. The day was fully light, though the clouds threatened rain again. The wind blew, alternating warm and cool. He suspected they managed to stay just ahead of the lisincend.

What would happen when they had to rest? Did the hounds or the lisincend have the same needs?

They stopped at a stream to rest the horses and let them drink. Roine pulled some stale bread from his saddle and passed it around. They each ate in relative silence. The hounds howling behind them were a constant reminder that they were being hunted. The air grew ever warmer as well. They did not stop for long.

“Do you still sense it?” Roine asked.

Amia nodded, closing her eyes and pointing. “Still up.”

Tan felt the energy Amia created during her shaping on the box—could almost see it if he tried. Like a straight line up the mountain face, disappearing from view over the peak. If that was where they traveled, then they had a long climb left before them.

“I don’t know that I’ll be able to find the pass from here,” Tan said.

Roine looked over.

“When we ran from Velminth, I…I lost my bearings,” he admitted.

Roine smiled. “If we follow Amia’s shaping, it shouldn’t matter.”

“If it does?”

“Stick to the trail. It’s faster,” Roine said.

They continued the slow switchback up the mountain. Roine began to look around more frequently, his eyes darting from side to side along the trail.

Not far from the stream, there was a subtle flurry of brown movement, streaking so quickly that Tan wasn’t sure what he saw. Roine raised his hand and the ground trembled. At first just a tremor, but soon the ground on the slope below them started to slip and peel away, tumbling into a rockslide. A howl erupted, a harsh and pained sound, which was silenced as the rockslide moved farther downhill.

“Was that—”

Roine shushed him with a gesture.

Tan had felt a tingling, like a sizzling across his skin, with the shaping.

Roine closed his eyes and Tan again felt the steady buildup of energy quickly released, spreading out from them in a wave. Roine listened for long moment.

“There are several others near,” Roine started, and then closed his eyes again. A low and steady rumbling began again, building like rolling thunder, far down the hill from them. A few pained cries followed. Roine’s mouth turned in a satisfied smile. “That should buy us a little more time.”

As they continued, Tan suspected each shaping taxed Roine more and more. He’d seen how weakened Amia had been with just a single shaping. Roine did several, each enough to trigger a landslide. What would happen if they encountered one of the lisincend? Would Roine still have strength to face it?

“I don’t think we can continue much farther like this,” Amia whispered in his ear.

Was there a sag to Roine’s shoulders that wasn’t there before? Tan wasn’t certain. They paused several more times and each time Tan felt the building pressure before it was released, followed by the low rumble of another rockslide. Roine was slowly eliminating the hounds chasing them, but each time he grew weaker.

Did Roine spend himself too soon? Even if he did, what other choice did they have?

By midday, the clouds thickened and darkened. Thunder started from the north, rolling toward them. With it came a heavy wind. Roine looked up to the sky, staring at it as if expecting something more than rain that never came, before shaking his head.

Not long after, lightning struck. It repeated, loud crackles that fried the air followed by sharp claps of thunder. Roine closed his eyes and Tan felt the building pressure, more quickly this time and not as strong as earlier in the day. When it was released, it was directed up the mountain face, pressing out before fading.

Roine listened for long moments before snapping his eyes open. “Off the path! Now!”

Tan didn’t argue. They hurried into the light underbrush of the forest. Their horses had to move slower to avoid the tangles and roots, but were able to pick up speed across the level ground.

As he wondered what Roine feared, a wave of heat answered his question. His eyes and mouth went dry. His skin felt boiled and tight.

Roine kicked his horse forward, moving in front of Tan. He held his hand out before him. A gust of wind pressed forward, sweeping through the forest.

One of the lisincend stood before them. The creature was horrible and immense, and radiated heat like a raging fire. A smile pulled at its lipless mouth and what Tan saw of the thick and scaled hide seemed as if it was peeling away. Its tongue lashed out quickly as it smiled at them. The creature wore dark black leather. No…that wasn’t quite right. Rather, the leather was so red that it appeared black, the shirt and pants pulled tight across the creature’s muscular frame.

“Theondar,” it hissed. “The girl. That is all. Then you may live.”

Roine eyed the creature for a moment. “That’s all you want? Then you will leave my kingdoms?”

Tan’s heart raced at Roine’s words. Would he give Amia to the lisincend? Tan wouldn’t allow it, realizing it a moment before hearing the echoing command in his head.

Protect me.

Amia clung tightly to him, trying to hide within the folds of his cloak.

“Your kingdoms? You are king now?” The lisincend laughed, a dry crackle. “You have always wanted to rule Theondar.”

Roine shook his head. “You have no idea what I desire, Fur. I would like to know how you penetrated the kingdoms.”

The lisincend appeared to smile again. “You would.”

Roine frowned and the lisincend crackled again with the strange sound that could only be laughter. “I can’t hand over the girl.”

The lisincend hissed again. “Give me the girl. Now.”

“Leave. Now.” Energy sizzled with the words, though nothing like Amia’s commands.

“Then you will die. And I will still have her.”

It raised its arm and a torrent of flame shot from its arm. Roine was ready and brought his own arm up. A surge of water shot as if from his palm. Roine raised his other fist, bringing it down, and the ground rumbled, nearly splitting at the feet of the lisincend. The creature started to stumble, righted itself, and then laughed again.

“Weak, Theondar,” the lisincend hissed. “You spent too much on my hounds. And you have barely injured them.” A chorus of howls cried out in answer.

Tan felt power building moments before he felt the heat that came with it. Roine’s eyes grew wide as he realized what the lisincend prepared.

He had been played.

He thrust one hand in front of him and another toward Tan and Amia. There was a surge of energy, much stronger than any Tan had felt before, building to a near ear-splitting level of pain. It stabbed into his skull like a knife.

The pressure built until he could no longer take the pressure and pain.

He felt it behind his eyes, through his head, and under his skin. It built so quickly that he trembled with the energy, more afraid than ever.

He prayed for some kind of release.

Roine looked over to him. “Hold on to Amia!”

Tan spun, grabbing onto Amia and hugging her. Her body shook and he felt her fear in his mind with the silent command to protect her.

He did not see the explosion.

Tan felt the release of pressure and pain within him like a dam bursting, then heard something loud, a horrible roar, followed by screaming. It was only later he realized it had been him screaming, yelling as he was thrown in the air, caught in a torrent of wind up and over trees and forest, holding Amia as they flew across the sky, propelled by the immense blast.

There was another surge of energy, something foreign and powerful, that caught him, leaving his skin tingling and his ears pulsing with its thunderous energy. It pulled upon them, streaking them higher and farther across the forest, and they sped like a loosed arrow. The wind howled around them. Droplets of glistening water formed on his arms and eyes and he blinked to clear his vision as they streaked through the air.

Then they were coming down. The ground flew up to meet them. Amia met his eyes, a mixture of fear and acceptance written upon her face. Both knew that there was no way they could survive the landing.

Then they crashed through trees and brush. The ground came up quickly and they landed with a splash.

23

Place of Convergence

Tan awoke slowly. He rested against the trunk of a tree and his back ached from the position. His head throbbed, a slow pulsing, and he closed his eyes again, hoping it would help. Pain stretched everywhere in his body and he worked his legs and arms, slowly realizing that nothing was broken.

Opening his eyes, he saw the lake where they had landed. A green film covered the water and his prints led from the water’s edge toward the tree. When had he crawled out of the water? Massive trees, huge roots curling up out of the water, lined most of the lake. Farther down the shore it turned rocky. Stretches of sandy beach interrupted the rocks. A small mountain peak rose up at the far end of the lake.

Amia lay next to him, still breathing but not awake. Tan let her rest and stood carefully to investigate, feeling a wobbling dizziness as he did. At least he still had his bow, though water had seeped through and it would need time to dry. And he still had his hunting knife. Better than nothing.

Near the lake, a small feeder stream flowed slowly enough that the water was still clear. He drank thirstily. The encounter with the lisincend had dried his mouth, and he worked his tongue over his lips to moisten them. Tan sighed as he finished drinking, standing again. Still lightheaded, at least he was a little better and able to stand without holding his hands out for balance.

The lake was set into a small valley in the mountain. Tan didn’t recognize anything around him. How far had they been thrown?

Or pulled? The vague memory of another energy pulling on them echoed in his mind.

What he should do now? Wait for Amia to awaken, but then what? Roine had convinced him of the need to find the artifact. If nothing else, Incendin couldn’t be granted the power Roine thought it possessed.

But how could he do that? Follow Amia’s shaping? Without Roine’s compass, would it even work?

Or did they wait for Roine? If anyone could survive the blast of energy from the lisincend, one of the warriors could.

As he walked along the shore of the lake, he stopped. They couldn’t wait for Roine. This task was his now. Somehow, in spite of everything, he still had to serve the king.

But the alternative—letting Incendin pass easily into the kingdoms—was not acceptable. War would return. Other towns might end up like Nor or Velminth. How many would die?

He closed his eyes and let his focus wander, sensing the forest around him. There was no unusual sound in the forest. There was the underlying buzz and hum of the late summer insects. He heard the quiet burbling of the stream and smelled the pungent algae growing within the lake. Somewhere far in the distance, a lone wolf howled plaintively, a reassuring sound, though Tan sensed that it was very far away. A circling hawk cried overhead before it fell silent. There was a rustle of the wind through the leaves of the trees, cool and steady across his face as well, and the air smelled of crisp pine.

All of this felt reassuring.

Over everything, he felt the shaping Amia had made. It was clear and bright within his mind, like a streamer of light pointing up the nearest peak. He wondered again how it was that he saw it.

He made his way back to Amia. She had sat up and looked around, eyes touching on the lake and the mountain in the distance.

“What happened?” she asked.

Tan shook his head. “I’m not entirely sure. Roine did something and then we were here.” He motioned around him. “Wherever this is.”

“I remember an explosion.”

“There was that,” Tan agreed, laughing softly. “And something else. Do you remember landing?”

She looked at him with her dark eyes and frowned. “No. Why?”

Tan laughed quietly again. “Your body will remember for you.”

“That’s why I am so sore?” Amia looked at him. Pressure built behind his ears, the sign of a sensing or a shaping. “You’re uncertain.” Amia placed a hand on his arm. “But that’s not all. You blame yourself. You think the hounds followed you to Nor.”

“No secrets from you?” he asked and Amia smiled. “They followed my scent. I know I couldn’t help it, but if I hadn’t tracked them into the forest, would they have come after Nor?”

“You lost everyone.”

“So did you.”

A pained look pulled at her face. “We’ve been chased away before. As Aeta, we come to expect that. But what Incendin did…what the lisincend did to my people…the Mother…”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? If not for you, I’d be dead too. What you did gave me a chance.”

“If we don’t find this…artifact, it won’t be much of a chance.”

“You’ll go on without Roine?” Amia asked.

“What choice do we have? If we do nothing, everyone suffers. If we try—”

“Then we might suffer.”

Tan laughed. Considering everything they’d been through, it seemed they’d already suffered enough. “Better that then watching when we could’ve helped.”

“That’s not your real reason. Not all of it.”

Tan sighed. How could he put words to why he wanted to make sure Roine’s task was completed? Amia touched his arm and a wave of relief washed over him. Tan wondered if he’d been shaped, but didn’t really care. “Since my father died, my mother has wanted me to go to Ethea.”

“The university?”

Tan nodded. “You know of it?”

Amia breathed out softly. “Mother always tried to avoid Ethea. She was afraid one of the shapers there would recognize my…gift. You have to understand, not visiting Ethea creates challenges for my people. The trading is always good at the heart of your kingdoms, the prices better than we can get anywhere else, and there are things we just can’t trade for anyplace else. Not visiting Ethea was a sacrifice made for me.”

“Did your people resent you for it?”

Amia smiled. “They understood the reasons. And we followed the Mother where she led. I can’t say I wouldn’t like to visit Ethea some day. I’ve heard the palace is breathtaking. Shaped by your earth shapers in such a way that can’t be replicated by masons.”

Tan shook his head. “I wouldn’t know.”

“You don’t want to visit?”

Tan hesitated before answering. “My place isn’t in Ethea. My place is…was…in Nor.” He looked around. “I’m an earth senser like my father. It’s not a skill with much use anywhere else.” He didn’t say anything about not wanting to serve the king. Not as his father had served. Still, he suspected Amia knew anyway.

“Then why do this?”

Tan looked over at the distant mountain. “It’s the last thing my mother asked of me.”

Amia squeezed his hand and they sat there for a long while. “It’s out there,” she said. “I feel it, trailing into the mountain. Closer than before.”

Tan could practically see the shaping, it pulled so strongly on him. “Will you help?”

“What else can I do? At least this way I can do something to stop Fur.”

Tan felt relief that she would help and pulled her to her feet. “Are you ready or do you need to rest longer?”

She forced a smile. “Resting will only let the pain set in more. Better to move.”

They circled around the lake, following the shore, and moved through soft leaves and detritus. All the recent rain had made the ground soggy and Tan led them away from the shore, toward the trees. Though they didn’t gain any speed, he no longer felt as if the ground was trying to suck him under with each step. The lake was much longer than it was wide, filling much of this part of the valley, and fed by several small streams running down from the mountains.

“There’s a lot of water around here,” he said as they stepped through another small stream.

“Do you know where we are?”

“South and east of Velminth,” he said. That much he’d determined. “Other than that, I can’t say. I’m not certain we’re still in Galen.”

Tan kept expecting to see the edge of the lake as they continued forward but did not. Amia pointed them down the lake. The white-tipped mountains never seemed nearer. The clouds managed to block the sun and they traveled by an overcast light. After everything they’d seen, the dour day fit his mood.

After a time, a distant howl rang out from the forest. He froze, tensing with the sound. It was the unmistakable cry of one of the Incendin hounds.

“If they reach the valley…we won’t be able to outrun them,” Tan said.

“And if there are hounds…” Amia began.

They ran.

Had the air grown warmer? A breeze blew through the valley and across the lake, but had it not been a cool wind? The sky was darkening and the cloud cover made it difficult for him to gauge the time, but he suspected night was coming.

There was another howl, nearer now, and they froze, looking in the direction of the sound, before starting forward at a run. The wet ground slowed them.

“We have to move into the trees,” Amia said.

“Stay near the water,” Tan said. “Lisincend. Fire shapers.” He knew little of shaping, but he knew how sensing was paired. “Fire is tempered by water. Earth by wind.” He struggled for a few more steps to catch his breath. “Safest by water.”

Thick mud and muck clung to their legs as they slogged forward. The harsh cry of the hounds continued to echo through the forest, growing strangely muted as the sound passed across the valley. With each howl, the hounds closed on them.

“We aren’t going to outrun them,” Tan said.

He reached for his knife before thinking better of it and placing it back in its sheath. Instead, he unslung his bow and pulled a few arrows from his quiver. Though wet, he hoped the fletching had dried enough for the arrows to fly true.

Tan looked at Amia. Her face was blank but her eyes flashed with her determination. “We need to slow—” he began. A loud sound almost directly in front of them cut him off.

A dark shape stood outlined against the trees one hundred paces in front of them. The large creature stalked forward, hackles raised, and it growled again.

Tan didn’t think. He raised his bow, sighted, and released. The arrow flew true, striking the hound under its chin. It took a step, cried out weakly, and fell. Tan readied another arrow as Amia grabbed his arm and pulled him forward.

A chorus of howling sounded off to their left, loud and growing louder. Tan listened and counted at least three distinct cries. His grip upon his bow tensed. Amia pulled him along toward a large rock cluster that loomed in the distance.

“If we’re to make a stand,” he said, pointing to the rocks. It would be as good as any and still near the water.

As they reached the rocks, Tan spun, sensing something close. One of the hounds leapt from the shadows, directly at Amia. Tan released his nocked arrow and it caught the hound between the eyes. The creature fell limp nearly at Amia’s feet. Without thinking, Tan grabbed it and slung it out into the lake. It sank with a strange hissing sound.

Two more creatures slid forward from under the cover of the trees, low growls in their throats. They moved more cautiously than the others. A light haziness surrounded them, much like with the lisincend. It reminded him of when he’d been treed after tracking them. A steady heat radiated from them as well.

He fired an arrow toward the nearest creature and heard a low cry, but was not certain that his arrow had struck true. The haze was difficult to see through. Tan reached into his quiver and pulled out his remaining arrows. His stomach dropped as he realized only three remained.

A streak of movement shot toward them. He drew and fired. A satisfying thump came as the arrow struck home. The hound howled and went down thrashing, kicking mud and dirt at them as it fell.

Tan turned away, blocking Amia from its death throes. He barely saw the other hound as it leapt toward them.

With no time to nock an arrow, he grabbed his knife and swung it at the hound, slicing it beneath its throat. Warm blood sprayed down his arm. The hound fell to the ground and crawled away. When it touched water, steam rose from it.

Amia shivered near him. “Two arrows left.”

The air temperature had risen sharply. No wind blew. Through the trees, Tan heard another low rumbling growl, followed by another. It was not the hounds prowling the forest that he feared.

He feared the lisincend that had arrived with them.

“Lisincend,” he whispered.

There came a low, dry laugh, starting like the rustling of leaves, and rising to a loud hiss. “Yes,” a strange voice said. “You are right to feel fear. Now. Where is the girl?”

“There’s no girl here,” Tan answered.

The lisincend laughed again. “I smell her. And her fear. Give her to me.”

Tan shook his head as he answered. “No.”

The lisincend laughed again. “You have been surprising, boy, but you cannot hope to defy me any longer.”

Amia gripped his arm. Tan glanced over. “Run,” he mouthed.

She released his sleeve and he stepped forward, hoping to block the lisincend from seeing her. “You’re Fur?”

The lisincend hissed. “I am Fur.”

“Where is Theondar?” Tan demanded.

“Theondar?” it asked, its dry voice cracking over the name. “Theondar troubles me no longer. And neither will you.”

Tan felt the energy building around the lisincend and knew he should be more afraid than he was, knew that he had only moments remaining. Yet instead of fear, he felt anger. The lisincend had attacked his home. Had killed his friends. And had taken his mother from him.

And under all of that, he heard the soft command, Amia’s shaping from the night, which now seemed so long ago.

Protect me.

Tan could do nothing else except try.

He raised his bow, letting his senses stretch out, sensing the forest around him and listening. He knew where the lisincend stood and fired quickly, grabbing his remaining arrow and loosing it as well. The arrows whistled and hissed through the air before striking.

Tan felt the lisincend begin its shaping, felt the enormous power it used. Time seemed to slow. The hairs on his arm stood on end and sweat dripped from his face as the heat in the air surged. The lisincend began to glow with a reddish light. Whatever it was shaping was more powerful than anything he had seen before.

Had he given Amia enough time? He dared not turn to look, watching the lisincend with morbid fascination, knowing he would soon die. Pressure built like he’d felt with shapings before, but this was different. His head started pounding and a whistling sound whooshed behind his ears. All of this he sensed with a curious detachment.

Streamers of flame burst all around him, leaping from the ground and stretching high into the sky, slowly encircling him. Tan saw this and stepped back, raising his hands instinctively. The wind whipped around him, a cool blast from out over the lake, making the flames flicker and dance though not disappear. Fire pushed back, surging more powerfully, and he took another halting step backward.

The whooshing in his ears increased and it was all he heard, drowning the crackle of the flames and the low, dry laugh of the lisincend, covering even the deep, rumbling growl he felt from the nearby hounds.

Tan wanted to scream. Everything they had been through, everything they had seen, and now he would lose. Amia still wouldn’t be safe.

There came another surge of wind, blowing spray off the lake toward the lisincend. As it mixed with the flames, steam and smoke sizzled away. Still the flames pressed Tan backward. His foot touched water and he sunk, losing his balance, and faltered. Now daring to glance over at the rocks, he looked for Amia and saw her staring at him, her eyes wide and fearful. She had not run as he had asked.

“Stop!” she commanded.

Her words hummed with energy, and Tan froze, unable to do anything except obey her. The flames in front of Tan flickered and faded and the glow around the lisincend went from bright orange to reddish to a dark glow.

“Leave us!” Amia yelled.

Her words were a thunderclap and not to be ignored. The energy behind them rivaled what the lisincend channeled.

One of the hounds hiding within the forest whined. Another ceased growling and simply howled. The lisincend looked from Tan over to Amia. And then laughed.

“Impressive. Though I cannot be so easily swayed.” It started toward Amia. “You will be useful,” it hissed. Raising an arm, it sent a blast of heat toward Tan.

Tan was not prepared for it, could not have prepared for it.

The heat hit him like a hammer, throwing him up and into the air, tossing him roughly into the water. Pain burned across his chest and through him, eating through his flesh. He smelled himself burning as he struck the water. The air had been sucked from his lungs and he couldn’t cry out.

As he sank, he saw a last glimmer of Amia, saw sadness written upon her face, then he faded into the darkness of the water.

24

A Lesser Elemental

Tan didn’t awaken, not truly.

Water flowed around him yet he had the sensation he was sinking. Something told him not to take a breath and he obeyed, though not really sure why. The water was cool and strangely comforting. He drifted, slowly lowering to the soft bed of the lake, before sinking into the sand. It swirled around his arms and legs, holding him gently.

Distantly, he was aware of movement around him. At first it was a simple fluttering, a soft ripple in the water around his face, but it increased in strength and urgency.

Tan opened his eyes and looked around. Somehow he breathed, yet did not. He couldn’t explain it, knowing only that he did not feel the urge to take a breath. Still his chest moved slowly as if he did. The water was murky, dark, and shimmered with a faint light only visible along the floor of the lake, like stars in the night sky.

He was dreaming. Or dying. Tan didn’t know and was no longer sure that he cared.

The rippling water around him ceased and he turned his head, looking for whatever had caused it. Slowly, he became aware of a soft pressure in his ears, now familiar, and wondered who was shaping nearby. This was different, though, a more gentle shaping, a slow buildup, and without the threat of pain like he’d felt so often before.

Something swam past his face, translucent and moving quickly. Tan couldn’t see what it was, having only a sense of great size. He struggled to move but his arms were stuck in the sand and his legs didn’t move. Only his head and neck were his own. The movement came again, flitting past him, more slowly this time, and a trail of glowing pale green slid past.

A fish? An eel? Tan didn’t know what creatures called these deep mountain lakes home, and this one was larger than most, fed by countless springs. What else could swim past him, taunting him as he died?

He should feel fear, should be concerned about this strange creature swimming around him and the fact that he couldn’t move, but all he felt was a sense of peace and serenity.

And then a face appeared in front of him.

Not that of a man or any other animal he had ever seen. Rather, this face seemed formed of the water itself, soft, undulating, and nearly translucent as it shimmered with a faint green. The face flowed with a light energy, hovering in front of him. There was no sign of body, only the face. Only then did he feel the beginnings of nervousness.

The face smiled. What are you?

No lips moved, yet the voice was plainly heard, as if spoken in his head. The voice was foreign and gentle yet there was an underlying command to the question. He sensed a shaping similar to what Amia had used upon him.

Tan tried to open his mouth to answer but found he could not. His lips, like nearly every other part of his body, didn’t respond to his direction. How, then, could he answer?

I am Tan, he thought.

He heard the words clearly. Somehow he knew they carried through the water to the strange creature.

The pressure in his ears piqued gently before easing. It didn’t completely disappear.

What is a Tan?

That’s my name, Tan thought, and again the words carried. How is this possible?

He hadn’t meant to ask the question, only thinking the words, but his thoughts carried like words.

A name? It seemed to smile. Then you are human.

Tan nodded. Of course. It came out quickly, unintentionally, and Tan shook his head. What are you?

The creature appeared to smile. I? Not I. Nymid.

Nymid? That is your name?

The creature seemed to smile again. Not my name.

Suddenly dozens of faces surrounded Tan, each similar to the first, yet with enough differences that he realized they were distinct creatures. The soft pressure increased painlessly. He realized these creatures were shaping.

How was this happening? Was he dreaming? If he dreamt, how did he breathe?

The first nymid smiled again. Breathe?

Humans require air, another of the creatures answered.

Tan looked but could not tell which spoke, though wondered if it mattered. The nymid communicated with thought and what one thought, they all heard.

What are nymid?

Tan felt a sense almost like a smile and then there came the sense of fluttering all around.

Nymid are water.

Water. Did that mean they were elementals?

Most knew so little about the elementals, only that they existed. How else to explain sensing and shaping? Yet he’d never known anyone to actually speak to them. How could he do it now?

He tried moving his arms but, stuck as he was in the sand, he could not. Why can’t I move?

You were injured, one of the nymid said.

Tan looked down but could see nothing of the rest of his body, only the soft sand that covered him. He remembered the blast, the force of the heat that hit him like a physical weapon, and the brief excruciating pain as his flesh burned from him.

He should not have survived.

The soft pressure in his ears told him the nymid had saved him. Were still saving him.

Why help me?

The nymid’s face lost the smile and for the first time, Tan felt something other than peace from the creature. A subtle agitation came from the creature, from all of them. The softly glowing light surrounding the creatures flickered quickly and Tan sensed that they communicated in other ways.

I’m sorry, he thought quickly, feeling a surge of fear. But I don’t understand why you would help me.

The flickering lights around the creatures slowed and the first nymid smiled slightly. Twisted Fire. You oppose Twisted Fire and help the Daughter.

Tan didn’t fully understand. Twisted Fire? he asked as realization came to him. The lisincend. He pictured the creature with the thought. There was a slight shimmering in the water near Tan and the image of the lisincend appeared, hazy but there.

The nymid turned to the picture and a long-fingered arm appeared and wiped the image away, leaving nothing but ripples and a glowing trail in the water. Twisted Fire, it agreed. Fire is natural, is part of the world, exists with it, like water, it said, waving its arm through the water as it spoke. Twisted Fire is unnatural and should not be.

And the hounds? They seemed to share some of the same traits as the lisincend, able to hide themselves in a smoky haze much like the lisincend. Were they born of fire as well?

The water rippled into the shape of one of the hounds before slowly disappearing. Like Twisted Fire, they are unnatural. The other nymid faded then, gradually growing more and more translucent until they were but a trail of faint glowing green.

The first nymid remained, staring at him as if waiting, though Tan had no idea what it would be waiting for.

And the Daughter?

The nymid did not respond but did not need to. Tan suddenly understood.

Amia?

The Great Mother’s hand rests upon her.

The nymid waved a thin arm through the water again, soft glowing ripples following it, and another image formed, this time of Amia held bound and gagged, with a ring of fire around her like a cage. Trapped and captured by the lisincend. One of the hounds rested nearby, watching her.

You must help the Daughter. Twisted Fire must be cleansed from the land.

They are too powerful for me. This happened, he started, thinking of his injuries, the last time I faced them.

He could barely sense his arms and legs trapped beneath the sand. Even if he were able to move, there was nothing he could do against one of the lisincend. The creatures were powerful. He had nothing like their ability.

The nymid stretched its long glowing arm toward Tan and touched him on the forehead with a thin, faintly glowing finger. A warmth seeped into his head, just under the skin, and worked its way around his neck and down, through his chest and into his buried arms and legs. A surge of energy flooded through him. He would have gasped had he been able to open his mouth to do so.

There was something familiar about their presence, their energy. Tan could not quite place what it was, but recognized it.

Unbidden, the memory of Roine’s blast and their flight over the trees came to mind. He recalled the energy that had seemed to pull at them, guiding them.

You?

The nymid did not answer. There was only a flittering of movement, more imagined than real. Instead, the nymid turned to him. You must help the Daughter.

The sand of the lakebed eased and relaxed and his arms were freed. Something squeezed him from below and he was pushed free, oozing forward. As he was released, he looked down at his chest. A large burn had torn his shirt, leaving much of the cloth singed. The skin underneath that should have been burned was instead unmarked.

The water began to buoy him forward, lifting him out of the water. Tan turned to the nymid that had started to fade.

Thank you.

The nymid smiled. There is no need for thanks. The Mother smiles upon you, as well. There was only a trace of the nymid remaining, a faint glow. You will see, it whispered.

Then Tan broke the surface of the water. The night was dark and the clouds hung low and thick, illuminated by a faint glowing across the water. At first he felt nothing, then a sharp burning began in his chest, tearing through him with a pain unlike anything he had known. Had the healing the nymid worked upon him failed? Had it all only been a dream?

Yet when he looked down, he saw his skin unmarked. He heard a soft voice, like a whisper, come up from beneath him, and he strained against the pain in his chest to hear.

Breathe.

And he understood. After his time under the water, he had forgotten to breathe.

Tan opened his mouth and took a deep and painful breath, like a newborn baby taking its first gasp of air. Cool air entered his lungs. Slowly the pain subsided, fading until it was gone. Tan scissored his legs as he reacquainted himself with the concept of breathing, and his body relaxed.

Tan was able to take stock of where he was. Somehow, he had been thrown far into the lake, practically into the middle. He swam, careful not to make too much noise. He needed to reach Amia, the force of her shaping still compelling him.

Tan scanned the shoreline, searching for what the nymid had shown. Across the faintly glowing water, he saw a nearly identical scene. At the edge of the forest, as far away from the lake that it could be, streamers of flame stretched from the ground nearly twenty feet into the air, staggered only a hand’s width apart and forming a fiery cage. Within the cage Amia hunched, hugging her legs, her head down. Tan did not need to see her hands to know they were tied, nor her mouth to know she was gagged.

Outside the cage of fire sat one of the hounds, larger than any Tan had seen before. The beast sat watching Amia. Even from his distance, the hound’s eyes carried a dark intelligence. There was no sign of the lisincend, but Tan knew it must be near.

Protect me.

The words rang needlessly through his head. Amia looked up suddenly, her dark eyes staring out toward the water. Was it his imagination, or did they widen?

She shook her head slowly, as if warning him away, then looked back down toward her feet.

The hound near her growled softly. The sound carried across the water, a throaty rumble. It stood and sniffed the air and Tan ducked under the cover of the lake, fearful the hound could smell him.

He stayed underwater, swimming slowly toward the shore, carefully coming up only long enough to catch a quick breath before diving down again. He was able to hold his breath longer than he remembered, though wasn’t sure whether that was real or imagined. The light from the cage of fire was visible even underwater as Tan made his way toward the flames, toward Amia, still unsure how he would rescue her alone.

The water gradually became shallower. Now he could touch the bottom of the lake. The ground was different than the sand that held him under. Strands of thick green vines grew from the bottom, sending soft fingers toward the surface. The faint green glowing of the water he’d seen was no longer visible.

Tan peeked over the surface of the water, barely enough to get his eyes and his nose above the surface, and took a deep, slow breath. The air was much warmer here. Somewhere nearby the lisincend waited.

The bright light from the flames making up Amia’s prison made it hard for him to see anything else. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, stretching his awareness, sensing the forest as his father had taught him long ago. The warm air smelled of char and soot. There was no real movement in the night, no animals or wind or even insects; yet Tan did feel something where nothing had been seen before. A void, an emptiness that should not be.

They are unnatural.

He heard the words echoed in his mind, like a whisper, or a memory of a whisper. Tan shivered, knowing the truth to the nymid’s words. Opening his eyes, he focused on the spot where he had sensed the void, peering through the darkness and the distracting bright light of the fire. There he saw a dark smudge different than the surrounding darkness.

Tan squinted in an attempt to block the firelight. Pressure built in his ears. A cool breeze blew in from the lake, and Tan took a deep breath, savoring the change. Where the air hit the dark haze hiding the lisincend, the veil shimmered and lifted, if only briefly. Three lisincend stood near the cage of fire. Two spoke to each other while the third stared toward the ring of fire and Amia, as if holding her prison in place. Fur stood larger than the others, taller and wider.

Fur suddenly stopped, twisting and looking out over the water, and sniffed. “He is here.” His words were dry, like tearing parchment.

Tan froze and slipped back under the water, fearful that he’d been discovered. Holding his breath, he peered through the water and out toward the lisincend. He could do nothing for Amia if he was captured.

“Where?”

The question was muffled as the word carried out over the water and down toward him. Tan heard a rumble of thunder and could almost feel it as it echoed through the valley.

“Out there,” Fur answered. “I can smell his shaping.”

Shaping? Not him then, but worse. Someone else.

What else would the lisincend be sensing? What shaper did they expect?

Tan tilted his head back, barely enough to get his mouth out of the water to take a breath. A loud crack of lightning came and was quickly followed by a long peal of thunder. Light split the sky, and Tan looked at the lisincend. Their attention remained on the clouds.

“He will be displeased,” one of the lisincend hissed.

Fur laughed. “He is always displeased.”

Another blast of lightning followed his words, nearer this time.

“At least we have the girl.”

Fur laughed again and it was a frightening sound. “She lives,” he agreed. “For now.”

The first raindrops hit the surface of the water softly but growing harder, sharper, and building to a downpour. The pressure in his ears had built again and held steady, piercing painfully through his head. A powerful shaping was taking place.

One of the lisincend snarled. “He knows not to come with the rain.”

Fur grunted, then stopped, peering into the dark sky and watching as the rain came toward them, growing more violent as it did. The air around the lisincend hissed and sizzled, and steam rose from the creatures where the water struck their skin. The strange fiery cage still burned, and Amia remained trapped inside her hot prison.

“He would not,” Fur said. Heat surged from the lisincend and the air around it popped, turning the rain into a hot blanket of steam.

“He has before.”

Fur turned to the other. His angry eyes seemed like candles flickering. “Only when there was no other way.”

“What then?”

Fur hissed. The sound carried his anger and rage and the night surged again with heat as he did. Tan sensed it clearly from the protection of the water, and felt a swell of its fear.

“Theondar.”

25

Twisted Fire

Tan looked up to the darkening sky. Though he saw nothing but the sheeting rain and darkness above him, his heart leapt in his chest with sudden hope.

The lisincend had said Theondar.

How could Roine have survived the lisincend attack?

Thunder rumbled through the valley in response.

He held his head low and walked along the lake, inching slowly toward where Amia was imprisoned. The hound guarding her paced around the flames, looking from Amia to the night, sniffing the air as it did and growling low in its throat. The streamers of flame stretching from the ground sizzled with the downpour, not weakening even as the rain came harder.

Another crackle of lightning split the sky, followed by the loudest peal of thunder yet. Rain sluiced down and Tan ducked under the water for protection. As he did, a blast of lightning streaked toward the lisincend. It struck the ground in an explosion of earth and water.

Tan pushed his head out of the water and rubbed his eyes. A painful scream, like the splintering of a falling tree, tore through the night as another explosion spewed rocks and spray toward the lisincend.

Theondar?

Was this a warrior in his fury?

Tan needed to reach Amia. Whatever was happening would provide enough of a distraction. If he could slip past the hound, he might reach her.

Another explosion crashed through the night. The lisincend sent blasts of flame and waves of heat at something unseen. The night grew bright with the fury of their attack. Smoke rose from the flames to cover everything in twisting shadows, like the veil of the lisincend.

With his focus on the lisincend attack, Tan almost didn’t see the hound.

It had prowled close to the water, spying him. It sat back on its haunches to stay clear of the water and swiped a long paw at Tan’s face. Wickedly sharp claws whistled too close, almost shaving the surface of his cheek.

He dropped below the surface of the water and grabbed his hunting knife. Determination rolled through him. He had to get rid of the hound to reach Amia.

Tan broke the surface of the water and launched himself forward, the knife held outstretched in his hand. The hound pranced back and Tan landed awkwardly on the ground, nearly at its feet. It surged forward, teeth bared, lunging for his throat.

Tan rolled wildly, struggling to keep his knife in front of him. He came to his feet just as the hound pounced.

Dropping low, Tan hoped to have the hound leap over him, but the hound had timed its jump well. Sharp claws dug painfully into his back as it passed over him, roaring in his ears as it jumped past his head. The hound’s breath smelled of a fetid rot, hot upon his face. Tan stabbed with his knife, frantic. He had less chance of survival the longer the hound attacked.

A pained cry erupted from the hound. The burning on Tan’s back eased.

He spun, clutching tightly to his knife, now slippery with hot blood. The hound backed from him a few steps, the hackles upon its back raised. A long gash along its side oozed blood that steamed as it struck the ground.

The short tail twitched once. Then the hound growled and jumped.

This time, it was not as well timed. Tan turned, thrusting his knife into the hound’s belly as it jumped. He pushed it out and over him, toward the water of the lake.

The hound cried as it struck the water, which bubbled as the hound sank slowly, thrashing and howling wildly.

Tan watched until the beast was no longer visible, fearful that it would spring forward once more. It never did.

He turned to Amia. Pain tore through his back where the hound had gashed his flesh. Warmth and wetness different from the rain ran down his back. Tan ignored the injury. He’d taken too long with the hound. How much longer would the lisincend be distracted?

Amia hunched inside the fiery cage. The rain didn’t seem able to penetrate the cage and she remained dry. Heat unlike anything Tan had ever experienced radiated from the flames and he struggled to near but was pressed back. If he couldn’t pass through the cage, there would be no way he could save her.

“Amia!”

She looked up, a lost and sad expression upon her face. Her eyes were distant, slowly focusing on him. Shaking her head, she spit out the gag. “Tan? How…?”

“There isn’t time. Roine attacked the lisincend. I need to get you out of here.”

She looked over toward the lisincend, knowing immediately where they were. “You can’t,” she said. “This can only be brought down by one of the lisincend. I think Fur himself holds the cage.”

“I need to try!”

Amia shook her head and turned away from him. Her head dropped and she didn’t move.

Taking a careful step forward, he couldn’t do more than that. The heat from the flames pressed him away from the bars of flame, away from Amia.

How could she tolerate the heat, sitting within the center of it all?

Tan paced to the water’s edge, looking for something—anything—to extinguish the flames of the cage. He needed to act quickly.

As he kneeled at the edge of the lake, a faint glowing ran along the shore. He had seen the same glowing earlier, near the nymid. Desperation made him wonder if they could help.

Letting his mind grow blank, he stretched out his senses, not knowing what he would need to reach the water creatures, but he had to try. Tan tried to ignore everything around him: the chaos of the explosions, the crackle of the nearby flames, the pulsating heat threatening to overwhelm him. All of it he pushed out of his mind.

Slowly, hesitantly, he pressed out with his thoughts, remembering like a dream what it had felt like when he had communicated with the nymid. A soft pressure built in his ears and remained.

Nymid. He sent the thought out as a request, focusing a pleading note to the thought. I need your help to save the Daughter.

Tan kept his eyes closed, listening intently, afraid that the noise around him would make him miss any communication from the nymid.

Nothing came. There was only silence within his head.

He opened his eyes and looked out over the water. In spite of the down-pouring rain disturbing the surface, there remained a soft glow toward the middle of the lake, faint and pale and almost imagined. Had Tan not had the memory of his time underwater surrounded by the nymid, he would think nothing of the glowing light. As he stared, the light moved slowly, swimming and undulating almost purposefully through the water.

Tan fixed his focus upon the glowing water, praying quickly to the Great Mother that the nymid would hear him. He had no other idea how to save Amia.

He stretched out his focus toward the light, listening and sensing as his father had taught him, sending his awareness far across the water. Vaguely, he had a distant sense of vertigo. Tan pressed that away, as well.

Nymid! I need your help!

Tan staggered back, exhausted from everything he had been through. The night around him swam and he slumped to the muddy ground, sinking into the muck.

He Who is Tan.

Tan heard the words distantly, an echo in the back of his mind. He looked up, bringing his eyes into focus as he tried to stare at the surface of the water.

The soft glowing light swam toward him, slipping through the water as if unaffected by the pouring rain. Slowly, the light neared, and Tan felt his strength gradually returning as it did, able to regain his footing and pull himself from the mud as he stood.

Nymid, Tan thought again.

They were nearer and it was not as difficult to send the thought as it had been before. Tan felt only a momentary wave of dizziness that passed quickly.

You called us, He Who is Tan.

There was a hint of surprise that Tan felt as much as heard in his thoughts. He tried to structure his thoughts in a way the nymid would understand. I called. I cannot save the Daughter. Twisted Fire has her trapped in such a way I can’t rescue her.

Twisted Fire, the nymid repeated. The water around the faint light rippled and formed the figure of the lisincend before smoothing.

Suddenly, the water surged up, forming a figure as if standing atop the water. Tan recognized the figure as one of the nymid, a physical manifestation of the creature. The nymid glowed more brightly than before and eyes formed on the watery face, peering around at the destruction littering the shore where the lisincend still battled Roine before turning to Amia’s fiery prison.

You must save the Daughter.

Tan looked from Amia to the nymid. I can’t get past the fire.

The nymid sank back into the water. The pale light swimming slowly in the lake moved closer together, clumping. We will help.

An image formed in his mind then and Tan knew what the nymid would do to help, though not how it would help. As he reached toward the water, the light coated his hand in a soft film. Tan took this and rubbed it across his arms and legs, his chest, everywhere on his body, as the nymid directed him.

What now?

Save the Daughter.

How?

You must trust. The Mother smiles upon you.

The last seemed more distant. The remainder of the light atop the lake slowly swam away from the shore as the nymid returned to the depths of the lake.

Save the Daughter, the nymid whispered again.

The soft light of the nymid on his skin felt like a cool kiss, soft and comfortable. He stepped toward the cage. The flames didn’t feel as hot as they had and he was able to move closer than before seeking the nymid.

But how, he wondered, was he to rescue Amia?

Tan took another step closer to the flame, expecting the heat to overwhelm him and push him back. Instead, he was able to move easily, as if the soft nymid light was some sort of armor.

Trust.

He stepped forward again, almost to the edge of the fire. He still could tolerate the heat, if only barely.

Trust.

Then he stepped through the fire.

Tan expected to be burned, or worse—blown back and away from the prison—yet he moved through the flames unharmed, like a curtain parting.

Amia lay unmoving at the center of the circle of fire. Tan worried he was too late. The air within the circle was hot and dry and burned the inside of his mouth and his throat with each breath he took. Still, the nymid armor held.

Holding his breath, he ran to Amia and picked her up. She did not look up or open her eyes as he hefted her. Tan cradled her carefully in his arms, enveloping her as much as possible to shield her with the nymid armor as he stepped back across the flames. Though Tan felt nothing other than a surge of heat as he crossed, Amia moaned softly under his arms.

He needed to get her away from the lisincend but a feeling, an instinct, made him run toward the lake. A slight residual film of the glowing light remained on the surface. He lowered Amia carefully into the water, keeping her mouth above the surface.

She gasped as her body hit the cool water. Her eyes fluttered open.

Protect me.

The thought rang through his mind again, like a tolling bell, and Tan knew he’d done what needed to be done. He lifted her from the water, her clothing dripping and glowing faintly, and ran with her toward the edge of the forest to escape the lisincend.

Once they reached the trees, he paused. A loud explosion rocked the night. Tan held Amia carefully in his arms and looked to see what had caused the explosion.

Not far from him, near where the line of trees thinned and became lakeshore, two of the lisincend lay motionless upon the ground. One was twisted awkwardly; one of the creature’s legs had bent underneath it. Or was simply missing. Tan couldn’t tell, nor did he care.

That left only Fur standing.

Roine stood before Fur, his face alight and nearly glowing. His hair stood on end. Roine was dressed in the same dark green Tan had first seen him in when meeting in the forest what felt like ages ago, yet something about the clothing seemed different, mystical, and exuded a sense of power.

Roine reached his hands toward the dark sky and clenched them tightly into fists and thrust his closed fists toward Fur. The sky overhead darkened before a huge blast of lightning erupted, shooting straight down toward the ground and striking Fur, throwing him toward the water’s edge.

Roine slumped, his shoulders worn and tired. This battle took nearly everything out him.

Fur pulled himself back to his feet, appearing unharmed. He laughed as he stepped toward Roine. “You think to use fire against one of the lisincend?”

Roine smiled then, and though tired, there was a dark malice to the expression. “Only to move you back.” Raising his hand again, this time toward the lake, he made a motion, pulling toward him, and the water in the lake surged forward in a wave.

Fur looked over his shoulder, almost casually, and flicked a finger at the water. The water that had surged toward the lisincend turned to hot steam and the rest of the lake withdrew.

Fur laughed again, a hot and dry sound, and looked back to Roine. “Not all of the lisincend fear water, Theondar.”

Tan felt the building pressure of the shaping Fur readied, the rising heat the lisincend prepared to blast at Roine. Roine looked tired, nearly too tired to fight back.

Roine closed his eyes, almost as if awaiting his fate, motioning again at the water.

A wave, larger than the first, surged toward Fur. The center of the wave started to glow, flickering brightly, and the wave surged higher and stronger. Fur turned to see the approaching wall of water.

Fur made a sharp movement with his wrist, sending a shaping toward the water, but the power of his blast glanced off the wave and shot into the sky.

The wave struck Fur, washing over him in a loud hiss. Swept from his feet, he went sliding across the muddy ground toward Roine.

Tan heard a satisfied sound deep in the back of his head. Twisted Fire, it seemed to say as the water receded.

Roine stood overtop Fur. The lisincend hissed as Roine lifted a booted foot and brought it down quickly, stomping upon the ground. Earth split under his feet. Fur slid into the crack in the earth, screaming a horrible sound. Roine made another quick motion with his hand and the ground closed, sealing overtop the lisincend.

Roine stared at the ground blankly, a mixture of surprise and exhaustion plain on his face. Then he turned and looked at where Tan stood hidden and limped toward him. Roine’s face was bloodied and there were a few small tears in the flesh of his cheeks. His peppered hair, though soaked and sodden, stood nearly straight up.

He fell, landing near Tan. “Surprised to see me?”

Tan laughed softly and shook his head. “Surprised…yes. And relieved. But you need rest,” Tan told him. After Roine’s shapings, he would have to be exhausted.

Roine shook his head and pulled himself to a stand. “We need to keep moving. I was not strong enough to destroy him. That will not hold Fur for long.”

Tan dared not argue. Lifting Amia, he carried her as they walked along the edge of the trees, keeping the lake to one side and the forest to their other. She breathed slowly, but regularly. Tan felt relief that she appeared otherwise unharmed.

After a while, the rain eased as they made their way around the edge of the lake. Tan felt Amia’s shaping, and followed its pull. When the clouds finally parted, the moon hung fat and bright overhead. When it seemed that neither he nor Roine could continue on, he stopped next to a fallen log to rest.

He struggled against his fatigue to keep his eyes open. As tired as he felt, Roine looked ten times worse. The warrior was barely able to stand, keeping upright by the sheer force of his will. When they stopped, he fell forward to his knees. Tan carefully set Amia down and positioned Roine against the log for protection. They could go no further until they had rested.

Tan sat as well and moved Amia so that her head was atop his lap and gently touched her golden hair. It was soft and in spite of all that she had been through today, still smelled of lavender. The tension in his body began to ease. He would not be able to stay awake much longer.

Watch over us. Tan sent his message out and over the lake. He doubted that the nymid would even hear him.

As he drifted to sleep, though, he distantly heard a thought circling in his mind that he should not have been able to hear.

We will.

26

At the Edge of the Lake

Tan opened his eyes slowly, squinting against the light of the sun. Roine crouched nearby, tending to a small, crackling fire, roasting something over the flames. Tan’s mouth salivated at the thought of fresh meat. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d last eaten.

“Good,” Roine said. “You’re awake.”

“How long have you been up?”

Roine shrugged. “Long enough.” He frowned at Tan before turning back to tend the fire. “You know, I’m surprised that you’re alive.”

Tan shrugged, not quite ready to explain the nymid. “I would say the same to you.”

Roine laughed. “I’m not killed as easily as Fur would believe.”

“And you think Fur survived?”

Roine frowned, setting his hands upon his legs and working his fingers for a moment before answering. “Fur is the oldest, and most powerful, of the lisincend. Perhaps once I could have destroyed him. Perhaps. Now I’m no longer strong enough.”

“Why not?”

Roine laughed softly. “There are many answers, probably. The simplest is likely the truest. Strength takes confidence—some would say arrogance—and I’m not the same man.”

Tan watched Roine while he rotated the meat over the fire. “Who are you, then?”

Roine looked up and there was a playful smile about his face and reaching his eyes. “I am Roine.”

“You mean roinay,” Tan said, repeating the word as his mother had said it.

Roine smiled again and shrugged, not offering an explanation.

Tan looked out over the lake. The pull of Amia’s shaping still drew on him. “What of Theondar?”

“Theondar?” Roine said the name comfortably and with a wistful tone. “He is gone, lost to the world almost two decades ago.”

“But you’re Theondar.”

“No,” Roine said, his tone firm. “No longer. Once I claimed that name. Once I thought I could shape the world.” He shook his head. “Years grant wisdom, I think. Now I’m no longer him. Just Roine. That is enough.”

Tan didn’t push, though wished he knew more. “The lisincend feared another shaper,” Tan said instead, changing topics. “When you came, they thought you were someone else.”

Roine turned to him, eyes growing more alert. “How’d you hear this?”

“I was in the water then,” he answered. “Moving to try and save Amia. When the wind came in, the lisincend said they smelled someone, smelled the shaping. Then the rain came and they were surprised.”

Roine looked to the sky and his eyes went blank. He sat motionless like that for a long moment before opening his eyes again and staring at Tan. The sudden tension that had surged through Roine seemed to ease.

“What did they mean?” Tan asked.

Roine shook his head slowly before answering. “I hadn’t expected this. You’re certain?”

Tan nodded.

“There have been rumors,” Roine began. “A warrior, though not of the kingdoms. One who’s never made his alliances known. I’ve long wondered if he could have sided with Incendin.”

A warrior. What was the name he’d read in his mother’s book? “You think it’s Lacertin?”

Roine’s eyes widened. “How is it that you know this name?”

Tan hesitated before answering. “My father,” he said. “There were letters he sent my mother. I…I don’t think he meant for me to see them.”

Roine tilted his head and his face wrinkled. “He mentioned Lacertin in the letters?” he said, speaking the name distastefully.

Tan nodded. He didn’t want to say what else the letters said.

Roine fell silent for a moment. And then he sighed. “Once,” he began, straightening his back and looking out across the water with a distant expression, “there were twelve of us. Twelve Cloud Warriors. We served the kingdoms as the king commanded. There had not always been this twelve. There had been more, many more, long ago, but something changed. A connection lost. The scholars have never been able to learn why.”

He took a deep breath and looked over at Tan. “Lacertin may have been the most powerful. He was certainly the most ambitious. We served the kingdoms, always at the direction of the king. Yet Lacertin did things his own way, defying the king in subtle ways.” Roine shook his head. “I suppose we all did to a certain extent. Probably why we overlooked his faults. For they were faults.

“And then Genan died. The first of the twelve lost. Lacertin and Genan had been fighting off an invasion of the Talin riders to the south when Genan was lost. Lacertin was never able to fully explain what happened. There were many who wondered, even then. It was only later we realized we should have pressed Lacertin further.”

Roine fell silent, his eyes unfocused, as he worked the meat over the flame. After a while, he motioned to Tan and handed him a chunk of steaming meat. Tan took it wordlessly and chewed it slowly, savoring the taste as his stomach rolled with hunger. They ate in silence. Roine saved meat for Amia, who still slept, her breathing slow and easy.

Tan decided to ask the question then, uncertain how Roine would react. But knowing that he was Theondar, he needed to know. “What happened to Ilianna?”

Roine looked away, but there was a pained expression to his eyes, still fresh and raw after all these years. “I had everything to do with her death,” he answered softly.

Tan felt shocked. He’d thought Theondar innocent. “Then why did Lacertin leave the city?”

“Lacertin,” Roine spat. “We should have exiled him long before.” He turned back to face Tan, his eyes welling with restrained tears. “I couldn’t protect her. I should have suspected him. I knew he had ambitions, and I should have protected her.” He stopped and took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” Tan said.

Roine looked at him and sighed. “We’ve all lost much, Tan. Some wounds never fade.” He turned to the fire and Tan thought that would be the end of it. “Ilianna didn’t have to die. That’s the worst part for me. All he wanted was the heirloom.”

“What was it?”

Roine shook his head. “Only the women of her family knew. It was passed down through the years. I still don’t know why Lacertin wanted it. I’ve never been able to learn.”

“I’m sorry,” Tan said again.

Roine offered him a weak smile. “How could you have known? So many years ago, yet I feel it and see it like it was only yesterday. If only I’d been there when he attacked, it might have been different.”

“Could you have stopped him?”

Roine shrugged. “Lacertin was always a powerful shaper, perhaps more than Theondar.”

“Now?”

Roine shook his head. “I’m no longer that man.”

Tan didn’t say anything more.

Slowly, Amia started to awaken. She looked up at Tan and met his eyes. “How?”

Tan wasn’t sure whether she spoke or whether he heard her question in the same manner he heard the nymid speak. “You’re awake.”

Amia pushed herself up, propping against the log as she huddled near Tan. She pressed one hand up to her face, brushing the hair away before looking at Tan and seeing his badly damaged shirt hanging in tatters from his chest. “How?” she asked again.

Roine watched them both. He handed the remaining meat to Amia and she took it carefully, smelling it for a long moment before taking a tentative bite.

Roine walked over and sat facing Tan and Amia, staring at him as if suddenly seeing him for the first time. “How did I not notice?” he asked, reaching out and fingering Tan’s shirt. A calloused hand brushed the tattered remnants of his shirt away and he looked at Tan’s slightly pink chest. “What happened here?”

Amia looked from Tan to Roine, chewing slowly as she did. “I saw the blast Fur aimed at you. You should not have survived.”

Roine’s eyes widened. “Fur did this?” He leaned and smelled the edges of the shirt. “That should have killed you.”

Tan hesitated. For some reason, he was reluctant to speak of the nymid, uncertain they wanted their secret revealed. He suspected that they were water elementals, and powerful enough to heal him. More than that, they had been nothing but helpful, saving his life and providing a means of saving Amia’s life, as well.

“Tan? How is it you survived what should have killed you?”

Tan looked from Roine to Amia. She watched with a question in her eyes. He felt a soft pressure and Amia frowned briefly and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she nodded.

Tan looked out toward the water. The soft reflection of the sun almost made it seem to glow. Would the nymid care if he shared their secret? They wanted Amia saved, likely helping him only so that he could rescue her. But how would they feel about Roine knowing about them? Or Theondar?

“I shouldn’t have survived,” Tan finally said. “I was thrown out into the lake, and sank, and was rescued by creatures of the water.”

Roine’s face tensed. “What kind of creatures?”

Tan paused, feeling another moment of hesitation. Would the nymid care? If only he could speak to them, could hear how they felt about him sharing their secret. Tan didn’t have the energy to try and communicate with them and wasn’t sure whether they would answer this far on shore.

But they wouldn’t care if Amia knew of them. He would just have to trust Roine. “They called themselves the nymid.”

Amia stared at Tan, a strange curiosity and a hint of recognition upon her face, but she said nothing. Her eyes flickered out to the lake, looking from the water and then back to Tan, all while wearing a strange expression.

Roine had a different reaction. “Nymid? How do you know that name?”

“They told me.”

“You spoke to them?”

“I didn’t really speak to them. I think they communicate with thought.” Tan worried for a moment that Roine did not believe him.

Then Roine stood, pacing to the edge of the water. He knelt there and touched the water, swirling a finger through it. “None have seen the nymid in centuries.”

Tan felt surprised. “You know of them?”

“They are water elementals. They are old, thought to be nearly as old as the great elementals, and powerful. I understand now how you survived.” He stared out into the water, a wistful expression upon his face. “I still don’t know how you spoke to them.”

Elementals. At least that much confirmed what Tan suspected. “Why?”

Roine stared out into the lake. “Few have the ability,” he began. “Once, when others knew the nymid, the ability to speak to them was a gift seen only in the most powerful—”

He cut himself off, not finishing his thought. He turned from the peaceful water of the lake and looked carefully at Tan, watching him intently. “No matter,” Roine decided. “What matters is that they healed you. I wish I knew why.”

“They wanted me to save Amia.”

She smiled at him with a hint of amusement though did not appear surprised. “I wish I could thank them.”

“I can try,” Tan offered.

“It won’t work outside the water,” Roine said.

Tan frowned, remembering the attack. Had he been in the water when he called to the nymid, asking for help? He didn’t think he had, and wondered whether that was important.

“How were you able to penetrate the barrier?” Amia asked.

Tan remembered the cage of fire and the strange armor the nymid had given him. He could think of no other word for it. “The nymid helped.”

“The nymid healed you and they helped save Amia?” Roine asked, obviously surprised.

“They healed me to save the Daughter,” he answered.

Amia’s smile deepened.

“You were attacking when I reached the shore. After I killed the hound, I couldn’t get near enough to Amia and called to the nymid. They shaped me some sort of armor,” he said, wondering if he still wore it. “It let me to tolerate the heat to save Amia.”

“You called to them. And they answered.” Roine looked as if he did not believe.

Tan nodded. “They helped another time, as well.”

Roine waited.

“When you were fighting Fur. During the second wave. The nymid helped.”

Roine looked out to the water again. “That makes sense,” he admitted. “I was nearly spent and would not have been strong enough to finish Fur. But why would they help?”

Tan shrugged. “They called the lisincend ‘Twisted Fire,’” he said.

Roine snorted. “Twisted Fire?” A strange smile came to his face. “Fitting. It suits them.”

Tan looked over the lake before turning his attention to the mountain rising overhead. They were nowhere near the mountain pass—the reason he’d left Nor with Roine to begin with—and now he was even more tightly tied to what the king wanted. After everything he’d been through, that should bother him.

Amia sat with her hands holding her head, chewing the strip of meat. She’d lost as much as him. Possibly more. And for no reason other than Incendin wanted more power.

And then there was Roine. How much had he gone through over the years? Whatever happened with Ilianna still troubled him, even years later. Yet he still served the king. Just like his mother even after losing his father.

He sighed. “What now?”

Roine looked at him and seemed to understand the emotions working though him. “We still need to reach the artifact. Fur was slowed, but he’ll come again.”

“Even if we reach it before him, what makes you think we can escape with whatever we find?” Tan asked.

Roine’s eye twitched. “We just have to get to it first.”

Amia pointed down the valley, along the trail of her shaping. How much farther before they reached it? If Fur escaped and followed them, how much longer would they be able to outrun the lisincend? The hounds?

Roine cleared the remains of the fire, carefully burying it. Then they all stood and started down the shore of the lake. The sun overhead was warm and comfortable and a softly blowing breeze drifted across the water and down through the valley.

Tan watched Amia as they walked. She showed no emotion, but Tan didn’t know how she could feel anything other than loss, the same emotion he struggled to suppress. Maybe once they found the artifact they’d be able to mourn.

They stopped a few times, once to eat and another simply for rest and drink. They drank freely from the water of the lake and found it cold and invigorating, and were able to continue onward with faster steps after each stop.

When the sun dipped below the horizon and the moon began to peak above the trees, Roine readied them to stop. Tan was thankful for the break and ready for rest. From what he sensed, they were barely halfway along the length of the beach and probably another day’s walk until they reached the end.

An explosion thundered through the valley far behind them followed by a roaring cry.

Roine sighed. “We shouldn’t rest yet.”

“What was that?” Amia asked.

“That was Fur. He is free.” The fatigue in his voice was clear. The effort of the search drained him more than he admitted.

Tan shivered, wondering what would happen the next time Fur reached them.

27

Tracking a Shaping

They walked through much of the night, crashing late, with the nearly full moon that had been lighting their way now slowly dipping out of view in the night sky. The air was crisp, cool, and each breath was visible. The lake lapped quietly upon the shore, soft murmurs that almost seemed to speak. A faint glowing slid across the middle of the lake could be reflected starlight, but Tan chose to believe the nymid still watched.

Tan caught Roine looking at the lake, his features slack, before shaking his head. Tan suspected he reached out to the nymid, trying to sense them, to speak to the elementals. And they didn’t answer.

He wondered how it was that he could speak to them. Why had the Great Mother gifted him with that ability?

Another thunderous roar split the night, echoing around them. The sound came as they crossed a small stream. There had been dozens of similar streams, some wider than others, that fed into the lake, and they were forced to wade through this stream rather than jump over it. A plume of flame shot high into the sky, briefly lighting the night like the lightning had the night before. A call for help, he suspected, though wondered if that were true.

It was not much later when he heard the harsh, painful call of the hounds. At least half a dozen different cries echoed through the valley. He listened for them, sensing the trees around them, but couldn’t tell how many hounds prowled the forests.

When they couldn’t walk any further, Roine motioned toward a natural shelter where the trees pressed against the waterline, leaving branches exposed, arching up and over the ground, forming a shelter. Inside, the ground was dry and firm, almost as if the rain from last night had missed this spot of land.

Tan plopped down next to Amia. She looked at him and smiled and he stared into her dark eyes, unable to look away. She held his gaze and then slid herself back, resting her head on her arm and staring at Tan before finally closing her eyes. Her breathing slowed almost immediately.

“You should sleep, as well,” Roine said. “I will take watch.”

Tan looked up at the warrior standing under the woody arch, staring into the night. “You need it as well. You well rested is more important than me.”

Roine looked back at him and slowly smiled. “You think so?” He turned to stare at the night again. “I can get by on little sleep. I suspect that you can’t. Not yet. Rest while you can.”

Tan didn’t have the strength to argue. Lying next to Amia, he drifted quickly to sleep. He dreamt of faintly colored creatures swimming around him. He felt safe, watched, and when he awoke, there was the memory of distant conversation in the back of his head.

It was dark when he awoke and Roine still stood in the same spot, staring into the night. Tan moved quietly, careful not to disturb Amia, and stood next to Roine. His eyes were closed though he opened them as he approached.

“Good. You’re up.” He didn’t turn but tossed a dark bundle to Tan. “Try this.”

Tan grabbed the bundle from mid-air and shook it out. It was a shirt, dark green like Roine wore, and the fabric was soft, supple. Tan touched the large hole in his shirt from the blast that should have killed him, running his finger along the singed edge fibers, and decided to pull the shirt Roine gave him overtop the one he wore. Luck, perhaps. Or something else.

“Thanks.” Tan rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He still felt tired, though felt better for the small amount of sleep he had managed. “You should rest now.”

Roine shook his head. “They near.”

Tan didn’t need him to explain who he meant. Instead, he closed his eyes as Roine had done and let his focus wander as his father had taught him years ago when first learning to hunt. He felt along the water’s edge to the trees, listening for any disturbance. Down the shore, within the trees, and closer than he would have expected, Tan sensed the void. Lisincend.

Opening his eyes, he nodded. “We should go then,” he agreed.

Roine frowned at him. “Your mother thought you just a senser.”

“An earth senser.” Tan shrugged. “Not very strong. And usually not very useful. Helps with hunting, but not much else.”

Roine chuckled. “Weak? Great Mother, if you think that’s weak, then I’d hate to think what you consider strong. I have to focus most of my energy to learn what you gathered in moments.”

Tan frowned. “My father was a strong earth senser.”

Roine frowned again. “Is that what he told you when he taught you to sense?” Tan nodded. “I understand now how you were able to follow the hounds in the first place. Or how you discovered the lisincend trail by the Aeta caravan. I’m not a particularly strong earth shaper, but I’ve at least tracked lisincend before.” He patted Tan on the arm. “Nothing weak about your sensing, Tan.” He laughed. “I think your mother knew. Probably why she wanted you to go to Ethea.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s how it begins, at least for me. First a strong senser. If strong enough, you can learn to shape.”

“A shaper? I don’t think I’d ever be strong enough for that.”

Roine laughed again and looked out to the lake. “You spoke to the nymid. Not many shapers can claim the same. I think with training, you could be a powerful shaper.”

Tan looked out at the lake, at the swirling green floating across it. “Like my mother?” He wished there had been time for him to learn more about her shaping. Now that he knew, he had so many questions.

Roine nodded. “The gift is handed down through generations, some stronger than others.”

“But my mother was a wind shaper.”

“And your father was an earth senser. If you choose to go to Ethea, you could learn much about your ability. In time…” He shrugged. “It’s possible you could learn to shape.”

Ethea again. This time the suggestion was different. Could he really learn to become a shaper? Could he pass up the opportunity to try? But doing so meant paying the price with service, and Tan still didn’t know if that’s what he wanted.

“Why the nymid?” he asked. “If I’m an earth senser, why can I speak to the nymid?”

Roine took a deep breath. “You’re asking the wrong person. None remain with the ability to speak to the elementals, but from what I know, it should be paired with your ability. Not always; the archivists claim some speak to the elementals and never shape.”

More reasons for him to go to Ethea. Tan wondered if his mother told Roine how he didn’t want to go. Could Roine answer his questions but chose not to do so?

Roine closed his eyes. Pressure built with his shaping, releasing as a wave washing away from them.

Tan did the same, sensing the forest, and felt it closer this time.

“We should leave,” Roine said.

Tan crawled back under the branches and moved to Amia, shaking her gently. Her eyes fluttered open and she jerked back quickly.

“Time to go,” he whispered.

She looked down the shore with a flash of fear. “Are they—”

Tan nodded once.

Amia looked at Tan a moment and nodded. She pulled herself to her feet a little stiffly and once back outside the shelter she stretched, working her legs and arms quickly. She frowned, looking at the lake.

Roine stood with a nervous energy. “Can you still follow it?”

Roine led them along the edge of the lake, always a dozen or more paces ahead of them, pushing them at a faster and faster pace. After a while of walking in silence, Tan turned to Amia. “Roine thinks I could become a shaper.”

She looked over to him and tilted her head, pressing her hair out of her soft face as she watched him. “And you don’t want to?”

He thought of his father answering the summons from the king without question. Of his mother, and how much she’d changed after his father died. “I don’t want to owe my life to anything.”

Amia looked at him and frowned. “I was five when I was discovered. My people inspect each newborn, always searching for one blessed by the Great Mother. As I said, most are feelers, and they thought me the same. This would have been enough for me to follow my Mother.”

Roine slowed to listen. “You know with the newborns?” Amia nodded. “Is this something your feelers can detect?”

Amia nodded again. “What we have is different than you. You work on the outside, on the world around you. We work on the inside. This is our gift from the Great Mother.”

“When did you know?” Tan asked Roine. “When did you know you were a warrior?”

Roine laughed softly. “I was wind senser first. That is how it works. First a senser. Then a shaper. It was only later I learned I was a warrior.”

“Is that how you knew my mother?”

Roine nodded. “We studied together. Zephra was always so powerful. She had a command of the wind none matched, even the Masters.”

Tan wished he would have known that part of his mother. “And you knew when you were five?” he asked Amia.

“My Mother always suspected something was different. When I was five, we met another family and with them was another blessed by the Great Mother. She was able to see what my Mother could not. She taught me the earliest of my skills.” She looked to Roine. “We don’t have a place like your university. We must learn to understand our gifts on our own. It’s not always easy.”

“Learning shaping with a guide is difficult. Without…” he shook his head. “You’ve done well to learn what you have.”

Amia looked around. “I’ve wondered why the Great Mother blessed me. Maybe had some other been chosen, my people would still be safe.”

“Or not. Perhaps the Mother knew what she gifted,” Roine suggested.

They walked in silence for a few moments. “Why don’t the kingdoms have spirit shapers?” Tan asked.

Roine looked at Amia before answering. “The answer requires a greater understanding of shaping in general,” he said. “The kingdoms have known shapers as long as we’ve existed, long before the separate nations united. Shaping was part of the reason they came together. The university has long studied the origin of shaping, though for a different reason.”

He turned to Tan. “I told you our shapers were once much more potent, more powerful, than they are today?” Tan nodded. “The scholars have searched for the reason it changed. The simplest explanation is that the abilities were simply watered down over time.” He paused, running a hand through his hair. His eyes were drawn and though he had refused sleep, his sagging shoulders and slowly returning limp revealed his need. “We know little about the earliest shapers other than that their shapings were strong and crude. Not until we started seeing warriors did shapings become more complex. Incredibly so. Most of those early warrior shapings can’t be replicated.”

“Where did the first shapers come from, then?” Tan asked.

Roine shrugged. “Some think the earliest shapers were simply born to it as they are today. Others wonder whether shaping was a gift from some of the older elementals.”

“Like the nymid?”

Roine nodded. “Like the nymid, but older.”

“But why do only the Aeta have spirit sensers and shapers?” Tan asked.

“They haven’t always. The ancient warriors, those who created the artifact and the compass, could shape spirit too. But what changed?” He looked out over the lake. “I can’t answer that. Probably the same reason few still speak to the elementals. But none know that answer, either.”

They fell into silence as they walked, following the lakeshore. They crossed several small streams, each flowing down from the mountain as it joined the massive lake. In the distance Tan became aware of two things. The first was that the end of the valley grew gradually closer. The base of the huge mountain shadowing their path loomed finally near. The other was that a large river ran down from the nearby slopes, wider than any of the other streams, and cascaded noisily as it flowed into the lake. They would have to cross the river to continue along their path.

A harsh cry behind them made him jump. Another of the hounds answered the cry, baying in response. Tan closed his eyes, stretching out his senses and listening, sensing the lisincend presence in the forest, following closer than the last time.

Roine quickened their pace.

The river loomed before them, blocking their way. The river looked to feed much of the lake by itself. He looked up the river, searching for a good place to cross, but there was none. They would either have to swim or hike upriver a long distance to find an easy place to ford.

Roine looked back, his face slack as he sensed. “We don’t have time for this.”

“Can you do anything?” he asked.

Roine shook his head. “I’m too weak from before. This is too much for me even when rested.”

“You could blow us across,” Tan said.

Roine shook his head. “Too inexact. I may send us out into the lake. There’s only one way I can travel with precision and you would not be safe.”

“What is it?”

Roine flickered his eyes up to the heavy clouds in the far north as an answer.

Tan followed his eyes. A Cloud Warrior, shapers who could walk the sky. Of course Tan wouldn’t be safe. “Then we have to swim.”

Roine shook his head. “Fur is closing in quickly and the hounds have our scent. We need to buy ourselves some time. We can’t do that swimming this river.”

Roine paced up the river a ways, quickly disappearing from view. Amia looked at Tan and then out to the lake. He knew what she asked.

The nymid.

“I don’t know,” he began. Tan looked out into the lake, not sure with the growing light where the nymid would be, and simply let his mind go blank. He gathered himself, drawing in as much concentration as he could muster, and sent a thought out toward the water.

Nymid. We need your help.

Tan staggered, dizziness and fatigue hitting him. Amia placed a reassuring hand upon his arm to steady him. He tried to keep his mind calm as he waited, uncertain his request would even be heard. Would he need to get into the water? Would it have been easier?

He Who is Tan.

The thought tickled at the back of his mind, making a soft connection, but Tan heard the words clearly.

Nymid. Can you help? Twisted Fire follows, and we cannot cross the river.

Tan was aware of conflicting thought. Nymid anger and repulsion of the lisincend was mixed with curiosity.

Twisted Fire must not have the Daughter. Or He Who is Tan. There was a pause, as if the nymid considered. What can we do?

Tan pictured the river as it entered the lake in his mind, sending that forward as a thought. We must cross. And we must slow Twisted Fire.

The Source, the nymid said.

There was a long pause and Tan thought they had broken off communication. Finally a response came.

We will help.

Tan opened his eyes. The water near the river began to glow with the distinct light of the nymid. Could Amia see it as well? She watched Tan with a curious expression, not turning or following his gaze. The water began to part, peeling back, slowly receding to reveal a sandy path.

You may cross.

“Roine!” he shouted, but needn't have.

Roine appeared behind Tan, looking at the water with a mixture of surprise and awe.

“We should hurry,” Tan said. “I don’t know how long this will last.”

Roine only nodded as he started across, staring at the watery edges that rippled to each side of the pathway. “The nymid?”

“Yes.”

“You were able to call them from shore?”

“Yes.”

Roine looked back then, pausing as he passed through the strange path and stared at Tan for a moment before shaking his head and hurrying through. The water was wide, over five hundred paces here, and when they reached where the other shore had been, the water simply slid back into place as if it had never been disturbed.

Move forward now, the nymid said.

After they had moved a little away from where the river met the lake, the river surged, growing wider, deeper.

Thank you.

Do not thank. Purge Twisted Fire.

Tan nodded. When the Daughter is safe.

The nymid seemed to smile but said nothing more. Their answer was in the widely flowing river now flowing rapidly into the lake, turbulent and frothy.

Roine stared at the water, his face unreadable, before turning to Tan. “It looks like you bought us some time.”

Amia smiled at him, her mouth and eyes tight. She turned to the water and spoke aloud. “Thank you.”

Do not thank.

Tan was sure he was the only one to hear the nymid’s response.

28

A Greater Elemental

The angry roar let them know when Fur reached the river, now far behind them. A loud and angry hiss followed the cry of frustration. The lisincend tried to heat the water, to blast its way through the barrier.

“Do you think it will work?” Tan asked.

Roine shook his head. “Too much water in that river, especially after what the nymid did.”

“How far do you think Fur will have to go to cross?”

Roine shrugged. His shoulders sagged, though somewhat less since they had passed through the nymid path, and his limp was barely noticeable. “Not sure. Depends on how wide the river is farther upstream. We probably bought half a day.”

Tan and Amia shared a glance, neither speaking much. They walked quickly, mostly silently, along the lake, coming across several smaller streams but each passable. The lake was a spider web of the small streams, all coming out of the upper mountains and all leading to the huge lake in the valley.

“What is this place?” Tan asked as they crossed another of the small waterways.

“I’ve been trying to understand that since finding you. With the nymid’s presence and control of the river, I think I understand. Truthfully, I never expected to see a place like this in person.” He looked at Tan. “The scholars would call this a place of convergence. I’ve known they exist…just never thought to see one. They’re rare. Focused energy, natural strength, and rich in the elementals.” Roine looked at the water as he spoke. “It’s also why I struggled finding you. These natural convergences mask themselves, protecting the power they store, protecting their guardians. That makes the nymid’s help all the more surprising. It also tells me that these nymid are more powerful than I’d thought.”

“And there are other places like this?”

“There are, though they can’t be mapped. Any attempt to try always fails. No one has ever understood why.”

Amia smiled. “Perhaps the elementals that guard them are even stronger than you think.”

“Perhaps,” Roine agreed.

“And this…convergence…is tied to your artifact?” Tan asked.

“It would explain why the artifact can’t be found without the compass. Why it’s so difficult to trace. And provide protection for the artifact, as well.”

Amia closed her eyes and tracked her shaping. “Still along the lakeshore,” she said. “Beyond the lake…I can’t tell clearly.”

Roine continued forward, saying little as the day progressed. They stopped briefly to eat a lunch of fruits gathered from some of the nearby trees before continuing. They passed many more small streams. The water grew colder with each one they passed.

The far edge of the lake loomed nearby when Tan saw the first evidence of ice upon the lake. The water was calmer here, and had grown much colder, but even then he hadn’t expected to see ice forming on the surface. When crossing the streams, Tan started to hope they could jump them, no longer wanting to wade through icy water. Some of the smaller feeder streams were completely frozen over.

“This shouldn’t be,” Tan finally said. “We’re too low for this much cold. Even the mountain doesn’t have snow until much higher on the peak.”

Roine took a hesitant step out on the ice of the lake. It groaned and creaked under his weight, but held. He backed off the ice, stepping back upon the cool shore, and looked down the lakeshore. “Not much further.”

With each step, the ice thickened. They no longer had to wade through even the widest of streams, able to simply walk across. Ice stretched across the lake all the way to the far shore, faintly visible in the distance. Ahead, the rocky mountain jutted up, pointing toward the sky like a finger as it framed the lake. A few trees dotted the slope, but for the most part it was too steep to support their growth.

As night neared, they would be forced into a decision. Would they camp along the edge of the lake, hoping they had enough distance between them and the lisincend, or did they press on, into the night, exhausted?

Amia suddenly veered out onto the ice.

At first Tan simply watched her go, figuring curiosity drove her forward, but she continued out onto the ice, venturing farther and farther from shore. She didn’t look back to see if anyone followed.

“Amia?” he called after her.

She did not answer, did not look back.

Tan started after her, his first steps hesitant. The ice groaned with his weight at first and he froze, listening for any sound that it was not tolerating him. Nothing came.

“Amia!” he called again, taking another hesitant step forward.

Finally she looked over at him. Her eyes were drawn and her brow furrowed in an expression of concern. She turned and continued onto the ice, heading toward the center of the lake.

With as warm as the rest of the lake had been, how stable could the ice be that far out in the lake? He ran toward her.

Tan was perhaps twenty paces from shore when he heard Roine yell. “We don’t have time for diversions!”

Tan shook his head. “Amia—”

Roine followed them onto the ice and paused.

“What is it, Roine?”

Roine looked up, though pointed down at his feet, toward the ice. “This ice is shaped,” he said, puzzled. He strode forward, quickly catching Tan.

“What do you mean it’s shaped? Recently?”

Roine shook his head. “I have never seen anything quite like this,” he said. “This is subtle and powerful. Not until I had stepped out onto the ice could I feel the difference.” He looked at Tan. “And it’s immense. Old.”

“How can you tell how old it is?”

“Shapings carry certain qualities, textures, that reveal much about the shaping itself. If skilled, you can learn the identity of the shaper, how many shapers were involved, the age of the shaping, or more. Sometimes much more. Something like this has so many layers I can’t sense them all.” He shook his head. “This is amazing.”

They hurried to Amia. She had stopped near the center of the frozen part of the lake and stared down, looking toward the ice, as if trying to peer through its thick surface. Her eyes closed and her face relaxed. Tan felt the building pressure behind his ears of a shaping. Long moments passed before the pressure finally eased.

“There’s something beneath the ice,” she said. Her voice shook slightly and her eyes still had a bit of a faraway look to them.

Roine frowned, looking down at the ice and closing his eyes. He opened them moments later and shook his head. “I sense nothing.”

“You could not,” Amia agreed.

“Then what is it?” Roine asked.

“Some being. I don’t know.”

“Nymid?” Roine asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t know what the nymid feel like,” she answered, casting a quick glance at Tan, “but this is too large to be nymid.”

“Large? How can you tell?” Roine asked.

“Whatever is down there is immense. Intelligent. They overpower any other sensing I try to do.”

Roine froze. “They?”

She nodded. “At least three.”

“And you can no longer sense the artifact?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’ve been feeling distracted for a while. At first I didn’t know why.” She looked down at the ice. “Then I began feeling them.” She shook her head. “I can’t feel the trail of my shaping anymore. Not while they’re here.”

“What are they?” Tan asked.

Amia looked at him. “I can’t tell.” Anguish crossed her face. “There are some of my people skilled at speaking without words, but that’s not my gift. They’re in pain. And they suffer.” She looked from Tan to Roine. “We must release them.”

“There’s no time to release them now,” Roine said. “The lisincend near. Much longer and they might reach the artifact first. After we find it, we can return. Then we can see what we can do to free them.”

Amia shook her head. “You said convergences are difficult to find. You think we’ll find this place again?”

“Amia—” Roine begged.

Her eyes went wide and her breathing quickened. “I can’t feel anything else now. Whatever is down there keeps me from feeling anything else.” She looked at Tan. “Not even you.”

Roine took a step back and ran his hand through his hair. “We don’t even know what these creatures are,” Roine said, trying to placate her. “And I can’t begin to imagine what would be required to release them from this ice.”

“They suffer,” Amia said. “And they know they suffer.”

While Amia and Roine continued to argue, Tan closed his eyes, setting his feet apart, and straightened his back. He gathered up an effort of will, focusing his attention and clearing his mind as much as possible.

Nymid! He sent the thought as loudly as he could.

They were far from where they had last seen the nymid, far from the warm waters, and he wasn’t sure this would even work. Tan staggered slightly under the energy of sending the thought, but ignored it as he strained for their answer.

Instead of the soft voice of the nymid, something else entered his mind, immense and looming, and carried with it a sense of pain.

Tan bit back a cry as he gained awareness of this other. In a panic, he tried pushing it away from him.

Who disturbs?

The thought was loud and grating and felt as if it tore open parts of his mind as he strained to listen. Nothing like the gentle nymid presence.

Tan frowned. Who is this?

You called the nymid.

You are not the nymid. Of that, he was certain.

Do you speak for the nymid?

I do not. I seek the nymid to learn of the creatures frozen under the surface of their lake.

There came a grating, almost a clawing, at his mind, as this other presence settled into Tan’s thoughts, digging in and holding firm.

What do you know of the capture?

I know nothing.

Tan opened himself up enough so that the creature could sense his honesty. This had not been necessary with the nymid. They had projected only peace and there was no threat to them, but with this creature, Tan felt his mind in danger if he didn’t communicate correctly.

What are you?

I am draasin. We must be freed.

“Draasin?” Tan said aloud, startled. The word rolled off his tongue strangely. The presence in his mind receded a little but was still there. Tan tried to create a barrier, a wall of sorts, to protect his mind, and was uncertain whether he was successful.

Roine turned to him sharply, biting off whatever he had been about to say to Amia, and stared at Tan. “Where did you hear that word?”

“What?”

“You spoke of the draasin. Few know of them.” He watched Tan for a moment. “They were ancient elemental creatures and lived long ago. The last was hunted and killed well over a thousand years ago.”

Tan looked down at the ice. He was certain the creature called itself a draasin. “They were killed?”

“The draasin were wild, savage, and intelligent. Hunters, unafraid of anything. From what is known, there was nothing quite as fearsome as a draasin.” Roine stared at Tan with a deep intensity. “The university keeps the archive referencing draasin restricted. Only a few today even know of them.” He looked at Tan. “Your mother wouldn’t have known of them, and if she had, she certainly wouldn’t have said anything to you. So where did you hear it?”

The hard presence lingered in his mind. Pain stabbed behind his eyes. The creature was aware of his thoughts and through the agony it let Tan feel from it, he sensed a cruel amusement as well. “These creatures are draasin.” He pressed a finger between his eyes to reduce the pain.

“They suffer,” Amia repeated. Tan nodded, able to feel only a fragment of the draasin’s agony. “They must be freed.”

“How do you know?”

He hesitated answering. “I…I can speak to them. I tried reaching the nymid. They should know what lies imprisoned in their waters. The draasin answered.”

“The ability to speak to even one of the elementals is a rare trait,” he began slowly. “The draasin are elementals, as well—fire elementals. And unlike the nymid, they are one of the four great elementals. Powerful. Dangerous. And thought lost. And you can speak to them.”

29

End to a Shaping

Inside Tan’s head came a sudden hard laughter.

Free us!

He felt a flexing within his head. Pressure built and was followed by a sharp pain in his mind, like that of claws raking his brain. Tan grabbed his head and closed his eyes.

I will try. But you must…release…my…mind!

Tan sent a surge of pressure toward the sensation in his head and the draasin released its grip with sudden surprise. The pain in his head eased.

There came the sense of laughter, not nearly as hard and tinged with the agony the draasin endured.

Small. Yet you are fierce. A note of respect entered the thought as well. You must free us.

There was less of a demand this time and the draasin allowed Tan to feel more of its pain, near-eternities of suffering, waiting, frozen in the lake, trapped.

Tan dropped his hands from his head and opened his eyes, knowing what must be done. Their suffering must end. “We must release them.”

Roine shook his head, rubbing his hand through his hair in annoyance. “You know we don’t have the time. And I don’t have the strength. Anything we do now lets the lisincend get closer.”

“I can’t help if they continue to suffer. All I feel is their pain.”

The draasin waited, hurting, yearning to be free once more. Tan didn’t know what would happen to him if they were unable to help them. Would they release his mind or destroy it?

“Roine,” Tan said, turning to him. Honesty would be the only way to sway Roine. “This creature, the draasin, has a hold of my mind. If we do nothing…”

“Tan,” Roine whispered. “You don’t understand what you ask.” His face had taken on a pained expression, nervous. There was a hint of fear to his eyes, as well. “The records we have about the draasin are terrifying, even within the university. It is well they’ve been lost to time. Even one draasin would be fearsome. You tell me there are three?”

Roine turned his back on them and took a step away.

Amia looked at Tan, anxious, before staring into the ice again. Tan felt building pressure and knew Amia was preparing a shaping, though could not fathom what she would shape. The pressure built to a nearly unbearable level, sending pain through Tan’s skull, piercing through his ears until he felt they would burst.

Then there was another voice in his head.

Amia spoke, a command, and he heard her though she directed the words at the draasin. He suspected the link he shared with the draasin enabled him to hear her, to feel the power of her shaping—for it was a shaping.

“You will bring harm to no human,” she commanded.

The words, echoing in Tan’s mind, hummed with her energy. Tan didn’t know if the shaping would hold the draasin or not, but he felt the effort she used in the compulsion. There was great power being spent on this one shaping.

“You will hunt no human. You will find your food elsewhere.”

Then Amia staggered, falling forward, barely staying upright long enough for Tan to lunge under her and scoop her up before she fell upon the ice.

She looked up at him weakly. “Will it work?”

Tan stared, afraid to probe the connection he shared with the draasin, afraid to simply ask whether the shaping would hold, uncertain how to even phrase the question.

I hear the question regardless, the draasin said.

Tan would have jumped had he not been carrying Amia. He strained to keep a barrier, a wall of sorts, up in his mind, separating his thoughts from those of the draasin, and he failed. The draasin was both powerful and skilled at communicating with thought. Tan was neither.

There was almost a chuckle in his mind. Perhaps you should see what I see, little warrior, the draasin said. Free us.

There is one among us who fears what you would do if freed.

As well he should, the draasin rumbled.

Tan let the weak barrier in his mind drop and sent a probing thought toward the draasin, searching its intent. He found a creature that longed for the hunt, for the warmth of the sun upon its skin, and for the taste of hot flesh. There was no malice, yet no regard for where the meal came from. Still, Tan sensed something there, new and puzzling to the draasin, and he recognized it for what it was.

Amia’s shaping.

It had settled in and around the draasin’s mind, holding tight, and the draasin eyed it curiously, uncertain what the shaping was and how the shaping would affect it. Still there was no fear. Only curiosity.

If released, you may not hunt man, Tan informed the draasin.

We hunt what pleases us.

As the draasin sent the thought, Tan sensed it running into Amia’s shaping. There was a sensation of pressure, as if the creature tried to force its way through the shaping, and it struggled wildly for a moment. Finally, a grudging acceptance of the shaping, not pleased or angry. There remained a promise to overcome the shaping hidden deep in the draasin’s mind.

You may not hunt man.

The draasin laughed then, and there was true amusement. You surprise me, little warrior. We will agree. For now.

Tan sent an acknowledgement and turned to Amia to answer her. “I think it worked,” he said. “Though I suspect they’ll struggle against it. They’ll probably find a way around your shaping.”

Roine turned, eyeing Tan with curiosity as he carried Amia. “What has she done?”

“She has forbidden the draasin from hunting man.”

Roine laughed bitterly. “You think that will work? How many spirit shapings have held against the lisincend? And the draasin are more powerful by far!”

Tan shrugged. “I don’t know why the lisincend can resist her shapings, but I can tell you the draasin are compelled by this shaping. They will bring no harm to any human.”

Roine closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before opening. “Tan…” He sighed. “You can be as stubborn as your mother.”

Tan smiled. “I will say thanks to that.”

Roine motioned to Tan to follow and he did, trailing Roine as he walked across the ice, back to the shore. Roine signaled him to set Amia down and Tan laid her along a dry patch of land to keep her as warm as possible. She still wore his cloak and he wrapped it around her. Amia smiled at him.

“Be careful,” she warned.

Tan didn’t need the warning. He felt the threat of the draasin in his mind. The creature didn’t mean him harm personally, but Tan would be attacked in an instant if the draasin thought it could. Yet they needed to be freed. He could not fully explain why. Such a creature shouldn’t be simply trapped like this, especially not one of the elementals.

“I don’t think this is wise,” Roine admitted. “Had the nymid not helped, and had we not needed Amia to sense her shaping, I’m not certain I would have agreed. As it is, I do this for you. Not the draasin. Not the artifact. You, Tan.”

He stared with intent eyes and Tan could not look away. “Thank you, Roine.”

He snorted. “I make no guarantees about this shaping.”

Tan turned and faced the aging warrior and saw wrinkles of fatigue lining his eyes. “You will do what you can.”

“Those who shaped this lake were much more powerful than I,” Roine said. “And I am tired.” His shoulders sagged as he spoke and he lowered his head. “Tannen,” he continued, using his full name, “I am no longer Theondar. What we must do, our task—finding the artifact—is more important than freeing the draasin.”

“Roine, you will always be Theondar.”

The warrior smiled a sad smile. “There is more to Theondar than you know.”

Tan looked over at his shoulder at Amia. She only shook her head, knowing the question needed to be asked. “If the draasin are elementals, they can’t be trapped like this. There is something wrong about it. They are not like the lisincend, they are not twisted.” He said the word, thinking of the nymid. “The draasin are elementals, a natural part of the world. And they suffer, Roine. Amia feels it. I feel it.” He met Roine’s hard eyes. “If you could feel what I feel, could feel the…enormity…of what’s settled into my mind, you’d understand.”

“I’m not sure Theondar could have even done this, Tan,” he said softly. “But I’ll try.” Roine unsheathed his sword and set its point into the ice. “The only advantage we have is that we try to destroy this shaping, not replicate. This is easier.” He grunted. “Slightly.”

Roine reached a hand to the sky and closed his eyes. A slow pressure of a shaping built. Tan’s ears popped as he watched Roine. Roine’s face was peaceful, his mouth slack, and his hair fluttered in wind that only he felt. His left hand held tightly to the hilt of his sword.

Tan had never truly seen Roine’s sword. Carvings upon the blade curled up the flat edge of the sword and continued along the guard and up into the hilt. He recognized a few of the symbols from the golden box Roine had carried, though he did not know their meaning. Strange swirls linked with geometric shapes. Among it all were figures twisting into a flowing shape.

The pressure in Tan’s head pulsed unbearably. His eyes lifted from Roine’s sword and looked at the old warrior. His face had a tight and pained expression now. Roine’s raised right hand formed a fist and energy coursed through him that Tan could almost see.

The pain became unbearable.

Then Roine stumbled. Tan started forward, reaching for him, and put an arm around his waist to prop him up while falling forward himself. Tan put his free hand out and grabbed on to the pommel of Roine’s sword, and was able to stop the fall and push himself upright again.

Sound and color exploded in his head. Tan’s vision blurred, swimming. Nausea incapacitated him. The wind whipped around him, a sudden blast of cold northern air, and the ice beneath his feet heaved. Still the pressure built.

Tan screamed, no longer able to hold it back. A huge crack of lightning streaked from the sky and slammed into the ice at the center of the lake.

Roine slipped again and Tan followed him down. Roine turned his head and looked at Tan, his expression unreadable. “That’s all I can do.” His set his head back and closed his eyes. “Now we must wait.”

The frigid ice beneath them started to melt, turning his backside wet and cold. He felt exhausted, drained inexplicably, but still pushed up and stood, dragging Roine off the ice to lay over by Amia.

Roine mouthed something wordlessly without opening his eyes.

Tan dropped heavily next to Amia. She rolled onto her side and met his gaze. “Something has changed.”

Tan let his focus wander, searching the draasin. A sense of excitement exuded from the creature. A sense of something enormous within his mind stretching, as if no longer confined. He broke the connection and opened his eyes, nodding to Amia.

They waited.

Long moments passed with only the steady cracking of ice. The sun shifted in the sky, dipping toward the horizon as it set, coloring the sky orange and blood red. Wind fluttered from the upper mountains. Roine didn’t move next to them, completely exhausted as he recovered from the energy of his shaping.

Then the ice groaned loudly and split with a thunderous crack.

A dark gash ran across the surface of the lake, splitting wide into an icy cavern. Slowly, steadily, Tan felt something crawling its way to the surface.

He was unsure if he sensed the movement in his mind or if he felt it rumbling through the earth.

The rumbling echoed louder, finally splitting the ice again. The surface exploded outward as an impossibly long, serpent-shaped creature crawled up from the water. Massive spikes steamed from his back. The creature turned and stared at Tan with eyes dancing with fire, before looking away, sliding over the ice and toward the far shore.

Another, weaker crack came as the ice split again. Two smaller creatures crawled forth and followed the first, neither looking at Tan. They disappeared into the growing night onto the far shore. Tan thought that would be the last he would see of the creatures, but moments later they erupted over the treetops, huge wings beating the air, and circled the lake a moment before soaring up and over the nearest mountain and disappearing.

Tan sighed, feeling a sense of peace for the first time since making contact with the draasin, and prayed the connection in his mind had been broken. Amia sighed as she watched the draasin disappear.

Time to hunt, little warrior.

The thought exploded into Tan’s mind, forcing him to cover his ears as if he could actually hear the words. Tan had thought the connection had been broken, yet it had not.

Hunt well.

The creature laughed and his awareness of the creature grew fainter. It did not disappear altogether.

“I don’t know the consequences of what we just did,” Roine said. He had propped himself up and stared after the draasin as well, his face drawn and his eyes wrinkled with concern. “And I am afraid.”

30

Away from the Water

Roine pushed himself to standing and wobbled a moment, leaning on the sword clutched tightly in his fist before steadying enough to sheath it. His eyes watched the horizon, looking up and over the mountain peak the draasin disappeared behind while shaking his head.

“Nothing more we can do.” He blinked quickly to shake whatever thought had been running through his head. “Can you follow it now?”

Amia closed her eyes and focused. A shaping built slowly, released as a soft wave rolling toward the mountain. “There,” she pointed.

Tan followed the direction up along the mountain face. The rock itself was steep and there didn’t appear to be any possible passage or any way to reach the area where she pointed. “How will we get there?”

Roine waved his hands together in front of his eyes, murmuring under his breath. There was a surge of wind and a spray of cold water. He stared for a moment and then turned back to them. “There’s a path about halfway up.”

“How can you tell?” Tan asked.

Roine smiled. “Perhaps my old eyes are stronger than you think, Tan.”

The relaxed comment gave Tan a sense of relief. Each shaping Roine performed obviously exhausted him. Tan didn’t know what would be required once they found the artifact, but suspected additional shaping would be necessary. Then they had to return. The lisincend were still out there. The hounds still hunted.

“Are you ready?” Roine asked, more gently than he had in the past.

Tan offered Amia his hand. She took it and they stood together. She wrapped his cloak around her waist, pulling it tight for warmth. Tan stared, admiring her figure as she did. Amia saw him watching and Tan flushed, turning away. She took his hand, turning him, forcing him to meet her gaze. When she smiled at him, her face glowed. Tan couldn’t help but smile as well.

She pulled him by his hand, holding it tightly. Roine led them forward, his gait slower than it had been and the limp that had been present ever since finding them again noticeable. They tracked along the shoreline and Tan noticed that the ice slowly melted, liquid water returning to the lake once more. Whatever they’d done with the shaping to release the draasin had also given the lake back to the nymid.

Near the end of the lake, the ground turned from soft soil to hard rock. Small boulders littered the shore, forcing them to walk around, and occasionally overtop, the rock. Soon they reached the rocky slope that Roine indicated, reaching nearly straight up from the ground and stretching high into the sky overhead. The rock itself was nearly smooth; it had no cracks or handholds by which they could climb up its steep surface.

“Up?” Roine asked Amia.

Amia released Tan’s hand and he let her go with reluctance. She closed her eyes briefly and when they reopened, she nodded. “I can’t tell any other direction from here,” she said. “I know we’re below it.”

Roine sighed. He turned to the rock and opened his hands, palms facing the rock. With a quick shaping, the rock in front of Roine began to crumble. It cracked first then small pieces fell, tumbling to the ground in a small rockslide. Another section of rock cracked and followed the first, higher, and the trail moved its way down toward the ground. One after another there came small cascades of pebbles and rock fragments, each preceded by a tiny snap. As he watched, divots formed in the rock wall appeared, small and regularly spaced.

Handholds.

Roine expected them to climb the rock.

The snapping and trail of rubble continued for long moments until Roine could either do no more or he was too tired to continue. Either way, he slumped down and sat looking dazedly at the rock. Amia’s mouth was fixed in a tight line of worry.

“I fear that freeing the draasin may have been too much for him,” she said quietly, pitching her words for Tan alone.

Roine looked up slowly, having heard what she said, and shook his head. “Perhaps it was necessary,” he said. “Perhaps too much. Either way, it’s done.” He pushed himself back up, standing again. “And I’ll be fine. That’s not a difficult shaping, just a repetitive one. That by itself is draining.”

Tan looked from Roine to the rock wall. “You want us to climb?”

Roine smiled a half smile. “You can’t fly. I don’t have the strength to call the wind to lift us. So we climb.”

Roine started first, leveraging his weight up the slope. He moved slowly, carefully, and there was a fluidity to his movements. This wasn’t the first time Roine had climbed this way.

He made it about halfway up the face of the rock when he paused. “You coming?”

Tan looked at Amia. “You should go next.”

She craned her neck to stare up the wall of the rock and then turned back to look at Tan. A smile quirked her lips. “You just want to watch me climb.” She turned away before seeing Tan blush again.

She moved at a steady pace, her body hugging the rock tightly and her arms and legs moving steadily. Roine had disappeared from view and Amia was soon high enough that Tan felt compelled to follow. He had to admit that he did enjoy watching her climb. She was graceful and lithe and moved in such a way that he couldn’t help but stare.

Tan wasn’t particularly scared of heights, but the sheer drop made him nervous. There wasn’t anything below him except for rock. He found the handholds to be solid and could move steadily up the face of the rock. He forced himself not to turn or look down, focusing on each handgrip, reaching and pulling himself up as he climbed.

A soft spray of rock sputtered down toward him from higher up and he waited until it passed. Tan heard grunting, then a cry. He looked up to see Amia dangling. Only one hand held the rock.

He heard the shaped command ring loudly in his head. Protect me!

Tan moved quickly, afraid of what would happen were Amia to slip any further. She was too far over for him to have any chance of catching her and high enough up that she wouldn’t survive the fall. He looked for Roine, praying he saw Amia falling and could do something to help her, but he was nowhere.

Tan practically jumped from handhold to handhold. Amia called out. He heard it equally loud in his mind. Through their shaped connection, he felt her panic. Another spray of rock followed.

“No! Roine!”

Time seemed to slow as he saw her fall.

She spun, flailing her arms wildly, reaching for purchase in the rock, and slipping down. Panic struck him. With it came a surge of pressure and pain unlike anything he had ever known.

Pressure exploded in his head. His vision spotted for a moment. The wind gusted up from below, whipping at his clothes and stinging his face, forcing Tan to cling to the rock so that he did not get blown off of it.

And then Amia slowed.

She practically hovered next to him, floating. Another explosion burst behind his ears and he was forced to close his eyes, squeezing tightly to the rock as he did. When he opened them, Amia was gone.

Panicked, he looked down, fearful that she had completed her fall.

He saw no sign of her body.

He scrambled up the rock. The rock split and then opened into the path Roine had seen. Amia lay upon the path, panting. Roine stood over her, a worried look to his face.

Tan hurried off the rock and collapsed next to Amia. She thanked him silently, though she still shook. He took her face in his hands and touched the top of her head. “Are you…” He couldn’t finish.

She allowed herself to be soothed and nodded. “A gust of wind saved me.”

Tan looked up to Roine. He shook his head. “She was saved, but I don’t think I was the one to do it,” he said. “I had wandered down the trail and by the time I saw her, the fall had been slowed.” Roine shook his head again. “I lifted her. That was all.”

“How, then?” Tan asked.

Roine looked at Tan with a strange frown. “I don’t know.”

Tan looked away, turning back to Amia, thankful that she was still alive. He put his arm around her and held her while she shivered. Roine moved up the path, crouching down and leaning his head against the rock and closing his eyes.

One face of the mountain opened to a small path leading up and around the mountain, circling the huge stone peak. A steep drop led off the other side. Tan was thankful the path was at least wide enough for them to walk side by side comfortably.

“Where does this go?”

“I followed it for only a hundred paces or so. Once it twisted around the side of the mountain, I stopped following.”

Amia finally sat up, holding tightly onto Tan’s arm with her free hand. She stared at Tan, watching his face with her dark eyes. After a while, she turned from Tan and looked at Roine.

“There are wind elementals?” she asked.

Roine looked up, his eyes glazed with his fatigue and he shook his head to clear them.

Amia looked toward the mountain edge and shivered roughly before turning back to Roine. “We have met nymid and draasin on this journey. Water and fire.” She tilted her head as she looked at Roine and inhaled deeply. “There are wind and earth elementals?”

He nodded slowly as if finally understanding the line of her questioning. “There are,” he said. “But the fact that you’ve now seen two elementals is itself incredibly rare. Probably tied to the power of the lake, the place of convergence. And, I suspect, tied to the artifact.”

“What are the others?”

“The great elementals? They are udilm, ara, and golud. Water, wind, and earth. But they, like the draasin, have been gone for centuries. When they still spoke to man, it was their teaching that allowed some of the most skilled shapings to exist.”

“But the nymid are water elementals.”

Roine nodded. “The nymid have never disappeared, not really, and never to those who knew how to listen. They’re considered a part of the lesser elementals, more common and weaker than the great elementals. The lesser elementals have never been lost.”

Tan frowned. “The nymid seemed impressive to me.”

“If the draasin still live, does that mean that ara and golud still exist?” Amia asked.

Roine looked at her and frowned. “It’s possible. Though the greatest scholars on the elementals claim they are gone. Much research has gone into this topic, as you can imagine. If they still exist, why have they have broken off contact?”

“Have they?” Tan said. “Maybe we only stopped listening.”

Roine looked out over the lake and shrugged.

“Are all the great elementals as fearsome as the draasin?” Amia asked.

Roine shook his head. “Not from what I’ve read. They served as teachers, guiding the first shapers. The archives are full of accounts of early shapers guided by the elementals, taught the intricacies of their craft.”

“You wish you could have learned from them,” Amia commented, staring at him. Sensing him.

Roine frowned and she turned away. “There hasn’t been a warrior so trained in over five hundred years. That was the last time warriors were truly powerful.”

Tan looked at Roine with surprise. The man’s shaping and skill was impressive enough, but several times he had commented on the fact that the ancient warriors outstripped him in strength and skill. Tan began to wonder how much greater the ancient warriors truly were.

“What is the great elemental for spirit?” Amia asked.

Roine looked at her and shook his head as he answered. “No one has ever discovered an elemental for spirit. Greater or lesser.” He paused, holding Amia’s gaze. “That doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Most of the archivists suspect they exist but have never been seen.”

“Perhaps they have and were made to forget,” she said.

Roine leaned back against the rock and startled them by laughing. “Years of study and you’ve offered the first argument that makes sense.”

As his laughter died, he fell silent.

Tan rested, holding Amia, and neither of them spoke. They sat on the edge of the trail, quiet, drifting in and out of sleep, as darkness crept overhead, passing into night, and on until daylight cracked once more. Tan was not sure how much he truly slept—it was fitful and full of dreams of soaring in the clouds and hunting—yet when he blinked his eyes open to the breaking day, he felt rested.

Roine waited, watching them. “We should be off,” he said quietly when he saw Tan waking.

“The lisincend?” Tan asked. He closed his eyes and searched outward. Within the rock, he felt nothing. There was no disturbance, no sense of the trees or insects, nothing of animals. Just solid stone.

Roine nodded. “They’re back there. Probably trying to figure out the rock. The climb should slow them more than it slowed us. Still, we should hurry.”

Tan woke Amia and she smiled at him sleepily before rubbing her eyes and stretching stiff muscles. “He let us rest.”

“I think we all needed it. Perhaps me most of all.” Roine waited until she stood. “Do we follow the trail?”

Amia closed her eyes briefly and nodded. “We are near.”

They started down the trail and Roine’s limp was less than it had been before. The trail wound around the mountain, presenting them with an amazing view of the trees and rocky slopes below them as it overlooked the lake. The ice that had been there had melted completely. They followed the trail as it twisted, slowly winding up the slope. The path narrowed and, at one point, split. One way led them down the slope of the mountain while the other continued upward. Amia pointed upward.

It was late in the day when the trail ended at a huge cavern in the mountain face. The rock was carved with symbols. Tan recognized many of them from Roine’s sword and others from the golden box he carried. Triangles with lines and squares interspersed with circles and carved figures. Words written in a foreign tongue arched over the opening. Around everything, Tan felt a shimmering energy. This was a place of power.

Amia looked into the cavern and pointed. “We must go in there,” she said.

The darkness loomed and Tan shivered.

Roine looked at the cavern as well; turning to Amia and seeing her confirmation, he nodded. “So we will.”

31

Key to the Artifact

Tan started toward the darkness of the cavern, but Roine grabbed him by the shoulder, holding him back. “This is warded against entrance,” Roine warned.

“Warded? What does that mean?” Tan asked.

Roine shook his head and frowned. “I don’t know what all of these runes mean,” he answered, looking at the carvings on the outer wall, “but I sense the warding. And it is powerful, unlike anything I’ve ever encountered.”

Roine released Tan’s shoulder and Tan stepped away from the entrance, staring at the carvings. He became aware of a low, sizzling energy hanging over the cavern, the rock, everything, and sensed a warning within. “What will happen if you can’t remove the warding?”

“Then we can’t enter,” Roine answered. “Not safely, at least. I don’t know what the warding will do. I sense a protective barrier, but it might be a defensive shaping as well.” He stared at the markings, as if doing so would provide answers.

Roine paced outside the entrance to the cave, eyes locked on the lettering, his face pulled tight as he considered. “There is usually some type of key,” he said, muttering mostly to himself, “but I see nothing in these writings that indicates what it might be.”

“What kind of key?” Tan asked.

“For something like this,” Roine answered, motioning at the cave, “it should be written on the stone. The method to safely bring down the warding. There is nothing. Of what I can read, there is only a warning.”

Amia looked up at the writing, tilted her head, and frowned, but said nothing.

Roine continued pacing, his face drawn in concentration. He scrubbed occasionally at his hair in annoyance. He paused to finger the runes upon the stone, shaking his head as he did, and stepped back to reexamine the writings. At one point, he tossed his bulging pack to the ground near Tan’s feet where it clinked.

Tan hadn’t really paid much attention to the pack since Roine had returned. He toed it open and the gleaming metal box reflected the early morning light.

Amia knelt next to the box and pulled it out from within the pack. She stared at the inscriptions on the surface, then looked up and stared at the writing upon the stone. Her fingers ran over the carvings on the box until reaching a position only she could feel, and then she pressed.

There came a small snick as a lock released and the lid of the box opened.

Amia looked over to Tan, a small smile to her face, and turned back to the box. Roine paced, ignoring them. The interior of the box gleamed just as brightly as the outside did. Carvings were worked on its surface as well.

Tan felt a soft building pressure, the steady pressure of a shaping, realizing that Amia tried shaping something on the golden box. She pressed something else, and suddenly the five-sided box fell apart, lying flat upon the rocky ground with a loud snap.

Roine turned at the sound. He stared down at her with a look of shock. “What did you do? Why would you damage this?”

“Roine!” Amia said. The words surged with energy of a shaping.

He took a quick step back and away from Amia, eyeing her cautiously. “Do not shape me,” he warned, his voice soft and his gaze fixed unblinkingly upon her. “I may not have the strength of the lisincend to defy you, but I warn you. Do not shape me.”

“You need to learn how to remain calm.” The words carried a soft energy and Tan knew she still shaped him. She smiled and Roine blinked slowly as he took a deep breath. “The box is unharmed. There was a switch inside that, when triggered, opened it like this.” She flipped the box sides back up, locking them in place, to demonstrate.

Roine knelt before the golden box. “How did you open the lid?”

Amia shrugged. “There is a switch there, as well.”

“Few have ever learned how to open the box,” he began. “And none have ever realized there was another switch. How did you know?”

“I felt it,” she said simply.

Roine shook his head as if clearing it. “Felt it? Or sensed it?”

“Are they not the same?” she asked.

“Not to me.”

Amia just smiled. “You see the inside is marked much like the outside?”

“The outside of the box doesn’t have much meaning, only symbols and runes for the elementals,” he said, not elaborating. “That’s why when you shaped the box you were able to detect a trail. The markings on the inside have never been clear.”

Amia ran her hands across the inner surface of the box and it snapped open, lying flat once more. “Try again.”

Roine looked at the sides of the box, turning it so that the longest side was first. “Great Mother,” he swore. He looked to Amia and narrowed his eyes. “How did you know?”

She laughed. “I can read.”

“This language is long dead!”

“Not to the Aeta,” she said.

Roine nodded slowly and stood, holding the opened box carefully in his palms, and walked toward the cavern opening. Standing before it, holding the box in his hands, he looked at Amia again. “Then I’ll need your help. Wait until I tell you, then send a shaping into the box.”

Roine turned his attention upon the now flattened box. From the building pressure, he knew this to be a powerful shaping. Roine nodded to Amia. Energy built, this time from Amia.

And then a burst of stale air blew out at them.

Roine staggered back. Tan grabbed him before he could fall and lowered him to the ground. They let Roine sit while Amia snapped the sides of the small golden box back and closed the lid.

“What happened?” he asked.

Roine looked at the cave. “The box was more than a compass. It was also the key to the wardings. There was a shaping that could only be triggered by another shaper.” He paused, looking to Amia. “Shapers.”

Amia didn’t look as spent as Roine, though her eyelids sagged a bit more than usual.

“How’d you know?” Tan asked.

“This writing is still taught to my people. There is the warning Roine mentions,” she said, staring up at the writing overhead, “but there is also instruction interspersed. The warning is only for those who don’t carry the golden key.”

Roine looked at her again and shook his head. “It’s fortunate you’re with us. I don’t think I could’ve taken down these wards alone.” He shook his head again. “The ancient shapers…”

Roine slowly stood and walked toward the entrance to the cavern. There he hesitated, taking a deep breath before stepping into the darkness. Nothing happened.

Roine let out a pent-up breath and motioned for them to follow.

Amia grabbed Tan’s hand and they followed Roine into the cavern. The path widened, hollowed into the hard stone of the mountain, and the walls, at least where still lit by daylight, were unnaturally smooth.

“Was this whole cave shaped?” Tan asked.

“I think so.” He whistled softly. “Great Mother. I can’t imagine the strength required to do this.”

Soon daylight no longer reached far enough to light their way. He squeezed Amia’s hand harder than he intended. She squeezed back, equally nervous.

“How will we see our way?”

“Watch,” Roine said, somewhere in front of them.

Light bloomed all around them in small orbs attached to the wall. They were spaced regularly, like lanterns, and illuminated the cave as it stretched into the rock.

Tan walked over to one of the orbs, expecting heat, but there was none, only light. “How’d you know how to light these?”

Amia stared at the orbs in wonder.

“There are lamps like this in Ethea. And they’re incredibly valuable. They were created by shapers long ago but their design has been lost. What few remain are owned by the greatest shapers.” Roine smiled. “I saw one as we entered. I hadn’t expected so many.”

“How are they lit?” Tan asked.

“Any shaper can light these lamps.”

“Any?” Amia looked away from the orbs on the wall and turned to Roine.

He laughed and nodded. “Any.”

Amia focused on the nearest orb and it went out. She gasped before the light quickly came back on. “Amazing.”

“We need to keep moving. I’ve no idea the length of this cave. Or where it takes us. But the entrance is no longer warded and I’d like to be away before the lisincend trap us here.”

They walked quickly, Roine lighting the orbs as they moved through the cave, letting those behind dim after they passed. Roine’s limp was more pronounced again. How much had the shaping to bring down the wardings cost him? Worse, in order to survive, they might need Roine to become Theondar.

The walls began to open and the ceiling overhead crept farther and farther away until no longer visible, lost in the shadows beyond the edge of the glowing lamps. A faint light glowed in the distance, brighter with every step. Soon the spacing of the lamps along the walls became greater and greater until they disappeared altogether.

Had they walked all the way through the mountain only to emerge on the other side?

But as they reached the light, he saw that it diffused from high overhead. A huge crack in the ceiling of the cave revealed light from the outside.

Thick, dark vines seemed to grow out of the stone and covered the walls of the cave. Tan thought at first that he might be seeing carvings along the wall, out of the stone itself, made to look like vines. Huge leaves sprouted from the vines and the occasional fragrant pale white flower grew on them. As they moved deeper into the cave, the walls progressively widened, opening into a huge cavern.

The vines twisted together, turning into something greater. Small bushes sprouted from the walls, stretching toward the light coming through the split in the rock overhead, reaching tendrils and leaves toward the light. With each step, the vegetation seemed denser, and soon the bushes turned to trees punching up from the rock as they grew toward the light overhead.

Purple and red fruits hung along the branches of the trees. Tan reached toward one, but Roine stopped him.

“Remember,” he warned, “this cave, everything you see here, has been shaped to appear like this. These fruits, these trees,” he said, motioning with his free arm, “may appear succulent, but I’d advise caution.”

The ground itself now had a thin layer of fragrant grass and Tan could swear he heard the rush of wind and the soft burbling of a stream. The air around him was warm and comfortable, like a late spring day, and he felt at peace.

“How can all of this be shaped?”

“I keep telling you the ancient shapers were much more skilled than today. Many learned what they knew from the elementals themselves. A very different education than what I had at the university. I sense the underlying shaping and know this has all been artificially generated and is sustained. Great power was spent creating this.”

Roine led them more carefully, looking from side to side as he moved deeper into the cave. Trees and bushes sprouted from the ground of the cavern as well, growing tall and high, stretching up toward the rock overhead. They blocked the light filtering down as they moved further into the cavern. Tan thought he heard the sound of birds chirping among the trees, but decided that must be imagined.

Roine turned to Amia. “Which way?”

She closed her eyes. “It’s hard to tell. Everything feels different here. I think—there.” She pointed left, off their current path.

Roine allowed Amia to lead and she moved carefully along the soft greenery of the cavern floor. If Tan hadn’t known better, he would have imagined they were in a warm forest, though none of the trees looked familiar. Neither did the flowering plants erupting along their path. The vegetation had the air of familiarity to it, but the trees, the flowers, and even the grass growing under his feet were unlike anything he had ever known. A soft sensation, almost an itch, beat at the edge of his consciousness. It took a while to realize that he sensed the strangeness around him.

Amia led them toward the soft burbling sound. As they approached, the towering trees stopped, opening into a clearing within the cavern. At the center of the clearing was a circular pool of silvery water, bubbling softly. An object hovered in the middle of the pool of liquid, suspended above it.

With absolute certainty, he knew they’d found it. “This is it.” He started toward it.

Roine restrained him and pointed toward a huge stone pillar rising from the ground. Deep etchings marked its perimeter, carvings and runes similar to those on the cave entrance. A suppressed energy emanated from the pillar.

He let his consciousness stretch toward the pillar, trying to sense it. A painful crack within his mind sent his sensing snapping back to him. Tan dropped to his knees with the pain.

Roine reached to help him stand. “Tried to sense it?”

Tan nodded. Everything swam around him and spots danced in front of his eyes.

“It will pass,” Roine said.

“How do you know?”

Roine laughed. “I’ve already done the same. My touch is gentler. Or weaker. So my response was less.”

“What is it?” Tan asked.

Roine shook his head. “Some sort of pure earth, channeled and trapped, almost like an elemental.” Roine stared at the towering pillar, hesitant to approach it. “Perhaps it is an elemental,” he mused.

“Why?” The effects of whatever his sensing had done faded somewhat, but had not cleared completely.

“They create a barrier of some kind.”

“They?” Tan asked.

Roine nodded, pointing to their right. He had been so focused on the pillar of earth that Tan hadn’t looked around the clearing. A flame shot up and out of the ground, reminding Tan all too much of the fiery cage the lisincend used to trap Amia. The fire sizzled quietly, stretching toward the sky. Flames sputtered briefly before spouting higher into the cavern.

In front of the spout of flame, beyond the silvery pool, a wide stream of water poured from the ceiling of the cave, running straight down and out through an unseen opening in the floor of the cavern. There was a faint glow to the water. He knew without sensing there was an elemental power to the water.

Tan looked to the far left corner, expecting to see something there, another pillar of sorts, but saw nothing but the nearby leaves fluttering wildly as if in a heavy wind. Another elemental forming in a different sort of pillar.

Tan shook his head. “How is this possible?”

Roine looked at the four pillars surrounding the silvery liquid. “I would have loved to see the shaping of this.”

“These are elementals, Roine.” Tan felt certain of that.

The faint glowing of the water was almost certainly the nymid from the lake below. Tan began to wonder if the flames were once channeled from the draasin. That didn’t explain the pillar of rock or of air.

Roine shook his head. “Not elementals. They can’t be.” He looked at everything in the cavern with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

“Look at how the water glows and how the fire sputters. I can’t sense the nymid, but I suspect they flow through that water. And the draasin once created that fire,” he said, pointing. “I don’t know golud or ara, but they must be a part of this as well.”

Roine stared, looking at the cascading water and then over to the fire. “They trapped the elementals here?”

Amia shook her head. “I don’t think they were all trapped,” she said. “I can’t speak to them—not like Tan—but I sense the nymid offer themselves freely.” She tilted her head, as if listening. “There is a deep presence within that rock, as well. I don’t sense the anguish I felt with the draasin.” She shivered from the memory. “I sense nothing from the wind.”

“Nor would you,” Roine said quietly.

Amia frowned at him a moment. “I think only the draasin had been forcibly held.”

“Why would the ancient warriors trap the elementals? What could be so valuable to need that kind of protection?” Tan asked.

32

Pillars of Protection

Roine closed his eyes, looking from each of the pillars before finally settling his eyes on the silvery pool at the center. Anguish covered his face, that and another emotion that Tan couldn’t recognize.

“Perhaps there was no other way,” Roine said.

“No other way for what?”

Roine pointed toward the silvery liquid, toward where the object hung suspended at the center. “To protect that.”

“That’s the ancient artifact? Just out in the open?”

Roine shrugged, squinting as he stared out past their barrier, trying to see what it was hovering above the liquid. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “The artifact isn’t described. It’s not even named. There are only vague references to it and what it does. I never thought to actually find it.”

Tan looked from Roine out toward the silvery water. “What now?”

“We get past this barricade.”

“How?” Tan asked. “If this barrier is powered by elementals, how can we get past it?”

“I don’t know. I’m working on it.”

Roine paced along the outer edge of the pillars, walking past each one, moving slowly and stopping, staring, as he came to the next. Tan and Amia followed him, watching, waiting for Roine to come up with the answer, but Tan wondered if an answer might not be had this time.

The power that stood before them was greater than Roine, perhaps even greater than the ancient warriors who crafted this place.

Roine approached the pillar of water and paused, staring at it briefly, before moving on.

Tan started to follow but Amia touched his arm and stopped him. “Can you speak to them?” she asked, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked at the water pouring out from somewhere overhead. It funneled down, hitting the stone without splashing before running out unseen below them. It created no spray, nothing but a solid sheet of water.

“I don’t know. I’m not even sure if this is the nymid.” He looked at the water, at the way it glowed as it flowed down. “What if this is the udilm?”

“Can you speak to them?” she repeated.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, staring at the water, hesitating. The last time he had tried reaching for the nymid, he’d encountered the draasin. What if this was something different than the nymid? What if they were more like the draasin?

And if they couldn’t reach the artifact, then the lisincend probably could not either.

“We don’t even need to do anything. This protects it. Even the lisincend can’t pass.”

She frowned and looked toward the pillar of fire. It sputtered more than before. “Are you certain?”

The draasin likely had powered the pillar. And now that they were free, that connection would fail. Eventually the barrier would fail. Then the lisincend would reach the artifact.

Had they not freed the draasin, it might not even matter. The lisincend wouldn’t have been able to reach the artifact. Now, because of what they’d done—what he’d done—the draasin flew free. And the protection around the artifact failed.

“This is my fault,” he whispered.

Amia took his hand. “They deserved their freedom,” she said, as if reading his thoughts. With the connection formed by her shaping him, perhaps she did.

“What if we fail?”

She looked at Roine as he limped around the outside rim of the pillars, the limp more pronounced than before. His shoulders sagged and his eyes lost some of their luster. Roine would not be able to help if the lisincend appeared.

“Then we fail. At least we’ll have tried. And done right for the lisincend.” Amia let out a soft breath. “These others serve willingly, but they grow tired. They deserve their release too.”

Tan closed his eyes and focused his thoughts as he had when standing along the lake as he reached for the nymid. “I’ll do what I can.”

Nymid!

He sent the thought with as much force and energy as he could muster. He swayed in place. Then he waited.

Long moments passed. For a while, he thought he’d failed. A soft tickle came to the back of his mind, the sense of something else there, fleeting.

Nymid!

He sent the thought again with as much strength as he could manage.

Again the soft tickle came to the back of his mind. Tan felt a definite presence, soft and gentle, settle into his mind. He took a deep breath, easing the tension he’d held.

Who calls the nymid?

I am Tan.

He Who is Tan. You know the nymid?

Tan nodded and then sent the answer. Yes. You helped me once. He held up his arms and lifted the shirt Roine had lent him, revealing the burned and charred shirt below. You healed me once.

You wear our armor. The nymid fell silent for long moments. We know you, He Who is Tan. There was a pause. You released True Fire.

We did. The Daughter felt their pain.

He sensed sadness from the nymid. They felt much. If we had known, we would never have agreed to the plan. They were not to have suffered. Once we knew, there was nothing that could be done.

They are free now.

The nymid seemed pleased. You have done well. Why do you call?

We must reach the artifact. Tan sent an image of the object at the center of the pool.

That is protected by the Mother, the nymid said. Only one blessed by the Mother can touch the object.

Blessed by the Mother? We can’t pass even this barrier. Tan created an image of the pillars for the nymid.

The barrier is weakened, the nymid said.

It may be weak, but we still cannot pass. What is it?

A bargain. And one made freely. There was a pause. Nearly freely. And made to protect these lands, this place.

Why? Tan asked.

There was something more to what the nymid had agreed to than simply protecting the artifact. He got no answer.

The nymid were silent for long moments and Tan worried they were done speaking with him.

What would you do with the object?

We protect it from Twisted Fire.

Twisted Fire cannot reach the object. We protect it well. The Mother protects it well.

There is one among Twisted Fire who is powerful. We fear that in time he might succeed.

Tan sent an image of Fur and his battle with Roine.

The nymid seemed to consider. That cannot happen.

No.

We have protected the object for countless cycles. Those who created the object saw its danger and tasked us with watching over it.

Why?

It provides great power.

What does the object do?

Only the Mother knows for sure.

Tan decided to try a different approach. Did releasing the draasin weaken the barrier? The sputtering pillar of fire had him wondering how much of this he had caused.

It is possible. True Fire did not remain to participate in the protection.

What effect will that have? Can Twisted Fire now pass through the barrier?

You reason well, He Who is Tan, the nymid said. And may be correct. The object must not be possessed by Twisted Fire.

Let us protect it.

The nymid fell silent for long moments and Tan again thought that they had broken off communication. He turned to Amia, uncertain, when he heard the nymid’s soft presence once more in his mind.

You may pass. The armor granted you will allow you to move through the barrier, but know that the object can only be possessed by one blessed by the Mother.

The nymid receded from his mind, leaving him. He shook his head, clearing the sensation, though felt none of the pain as he had with the draasin. Fatigue nearly overwhelmed him, leaving him weakened as Roine after a shaping.

“The nymid state I can pass.”

Roine had come behind him. “We can?”

“They said I can pass. I think that means just me. I’m still protected by the armor they granted me during Amia’s rescue. They said it will let me move through the barrier.”

Roine looked at the water streaming from the ceiling and forming the faintly glowing water pillar. “You still will not be able to reach the artifact.” Roine pointed toward the silvery pool. “I’ve been considering what that liquid represents. If each pillar represents one of the elementals, or is one of the elementals,” he continued, though his tone seemed unconvinced, “together they form this barrier so immense I can’t pass. It’s a protection unlike anything I could have imagined. It might be enough to protect the artifact from the lisincend.”

Tan considered Roine a moment. “Were you going to use it?”

Roine looked toward the center of the silvery liquid where the artifact hung suspended, unmoving. “I don’t even know what it does. But I think we’d have to try.”

“You said great power is trapped inside.”

Roine nodded. “And I could do much good.”

“More than the ancients who created it?” Tan asked. “Why do you think they hid it? Why create such elaborate protection?”

“I don’t know. Few records of that time remain. They suggest the ancient warriors knew a time would come when this artifact would be needed.”

Tan frowned. “They saw the future?”

“Perhaps a prophecy,” he said. “Perhaps nothing so exotic. Many of the ancient shapers were scholars first. Many spent their time studying the world around them.” He looked at Tan. “Many used their ability to speak to the elementals in their studies.” He stared at the pool of silvery liquid. “Though much of their records survived, not everything did. Most who know of this artifact think the ancient warriors anticipated a time when its power would be needed.”

“And you think that time is now?”

“The kingdoms have fewer and fewer shapers. Without this, we might fall. Perhaps to Incendin. Perhaps to someone else, but our greatest weapons have grown scarce.”

“Why don’t you think I’ll be able to reach it?”

“The pool of silver. If that’s spirit, you won’t be able to reach it.”

“But I can,” Amia said.

Roine shook his head. “I’m not sure you can. What if you need to be able to use all the elementals to reach the artifact?”

“If we don’t, the lisincend will try. Fur will try.”

A conflicted expression passed across Roine’s face. “I thought only you would be allowed to pass through the barrier.”

Tan turned to Amia. “Everything the nymid did to help me, they did because of you.” He thought he finally understood. “They know you, don’t they?”

“They knew my Mother,” she answered quietly.

“They pulled us to them,” Tan said, remembering the presence after Roine had sent them on a shaping of wind. “Did your Mother ask them to help?”

Tan couldn’t remember. So much had happened when they first faced the lisincend that he couldn’t be sure. Had she stepped into the stream? Could she have communicated with the nymid?

Amia shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“She could speak to the nymid?” Roine asked.

“She nearly drowned when she was young,” Amia answered. “She, like Tan, was saved. It was then that she learned to speak with them.”

“Where?” Roine asked. “This same lake?”

Amia shook her head. “I don’t think so. You called the lake a place of convergence, a place of power. My people would have felt that power and simply stayed away.” She shook her head again. “But there are many rivers and streams feeding this lake. The nymid follow the water.”

“Could she speak to any of the other elementals?” Roine asked, looking at Tan.

Amia shook her head. “She felt as you did. That the great elementals were gone.”

Tan looked at the pillars forming the barrier. “No. Not gone.” Of that he was certain. “Please, will you help?” he asked Amia.

She looked at the artifact where it hovered above the liquid. A fleeting concern flickered across her eyes and then was gone. She nodded.

They neared the pillar of water when they heard a low humming of energy, so different than the rush of water. Tan removed the shirt Roine had lent him, exposing his burned and ruined shirt beneath. Hope surged through him when he saw a very faint glow from the shirt where he’d rubbed the nymid armor upon him so many nights ago.

Wrapping his arms around Amia, he backed toward where he felt the barrier. Each step slow. Deliberate.

Roine watched. Tan felt a shaping build that went skittering back as it hit some unseen wall. Roine’s face flashed in irritation and he rubbed his temples roughly.

The barrier parted like thick mud. Resistance eased slowly with each step. Amia kept herself stiff as he held her, protecting her as much as he could with his body and praying she would come through the barrier unharmed.

And then, suddenly, the resistance disappeared. Tan went flying past the barrier, holding Amia in his arms.

They fell in a tangle at the very edge of the silvery pool. Thick liquid burbled softly, almost murmuring to them. The edge of the cloak Amia wore—his cloak—had dipped into the liquid. She pulled it out, shaking the liquid from the cloak, but it would not come off.

Where it touched the cloak sizzled. Hazy shimmers of steam rose from the cloak.

Tan rolled back and Amia went with him. “How are we going to get through that?”

“Not ‘we.’” Amia started to pull off her maroon pants and bright blue shirt.

Tan flushed and looked away. “What are you doing, Amia?”

“What must be done.”

He felt her quickly building a shaping as pressure behind his ears. There was no subtlety to how it built, and it was not gentle. The energy raced to a peak, searing into his head, stabbing through his skull with needles. His ears felt like they would explode.

Tan looked at Amia. She stood, breathtaking.

Facing away from him, she stared at the pool of silver liquid, nude. Tan couldn’t look away. Her pale skin nearly glowed from the energy she shaped. The ends of her hair curled outward, as if pressed by the energy swirling through her.

And then she took a step forward.

“No!” Tan lunged toward her.

He couldn’t reach her in time. Her foot touched the surface of the thick liquid and she sank softly into it. Amia did not cry out or make any sound.

Instead, Tan felt a surge in the energy she shaped. She stepped forward, deeper into the strange pool. As she pulled her foot from the liquid, the thick substance clung for a moment before oozing away, dripping back into the pool.

Her skin was unharmed.

His tension eased, if only briefly.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she walked forward. The dark liquid soon reached her knee, then her thigh, and then rolled over her rounded buttocks. Still she pressed forward, never faltering with her steps. The energy she shaped never waned. Soon the liquid reached the middle of her back. She still had a dozen paces to reach the artifact.

Tan couldn’t look away. When it reached her neck he felt a flutter of fear, and, without meaning to do so, sent a warning thought. Careful!

Amia faltered. As she did, she sank a hand’s width deeper into the pool. The energy she shaped fluttered at the same time.

The energy of her shaping roared through his mind again, nearly so painful as to blur his vision. She took another step forward.

He struggled to find calm, to focus on his breathing, to simply watch her, afraid that he might unintentionally startle her again. When the liquid passed over her eyes, Tan almost looked away.

And then her arm reached from the thick liquid and grabbed the artifact.

She clutched it and turned, sliding forward. Tan felt a triumphant surge from her.

Slowly she made her way back. At first only her arm was visible. The thick liquid covered even the top of her head. Then, slowly, her eyes were free, then her face, and then her neck. With each step, the silvery liquid clung to her before oozing away, leaving her unmarked and unharmed. Tan stared unabashedly as her bared breasts were freed and then her belly, and then, slowly, her thighs and legs. She stepped out of the pool, the last of the liquid dripping from her, and fell forward into his arms.

The energy she’d been shaping disappeared suddenly. Tan felt it as a pop in his ears. She held the artifact in one hand, her knuckles white, and shivered.

Tan carried her away from the pool and grabbed her clothes, quickly helping her dress. She was unable to help much, weakened from the effort of whatever she had done to tolerate wading through the pool.

Amia smiled weakly at him. “Did you like watching?”

Tan flushed but did not look away. Through their shaped connection, she’d know how he felt anyway. “Yes,” he answered.

She laughed and handed him the artifact.

It was a long cylinder, about as long as his forearm, and covered in the same carvings and shapes as the golden box and Roine’s sword. Unlike the box, it was not gold. Rather it was nearly black, almost as if made of the same silvery liquid Amia just walked through. It shone dully, absorbing the light of the cavern rather than reflecting it.

Tan helped Amia to stand and she wobbled toward where Roine stood watching, a stunned expression to his face. Tan wrapped his arms around Amia when he felt the barrier and surged through it more confidently this time, knowing that they would come through unharmed.

Roine reached for the artifact. Tan handed it to him and he took it slowly, reverentially. He stared at it, trying to understand the wording written into the strange dark surface.

“So many years,” he whispered. Roine looked up at them. His eyes were haunted. “I’ve spent so many years searching for this. Many were lost. And now I hold it in my hands.”

“What now? What will you do with it?”

“I don’t know. I think once I would have tried to use it. Now,” he shrugged and ran his free hand through his hair. “Now, after seeing what the ancients did to protect it, I don’t think I dare. This must reach Ethea and King Althem.” Roine looked to Amia. “How were you unharmed?”

“I am blessed by the Great Mother.”

Her comment mirrored what the nymid had said. “What now?” Tan asked.

“Now we return to Ethea, somehow keeping ahead of the lisincend and the hounds.”

Tan laughed. “Sounds easy when you say it.”

Roine laughed and started to say something more, but an explosion overhead interrupted him.

The rock around the ceiling fell toward them. A sudden swirling wind tossed debris around the cavern, whipping the leaves and branches of the shaped forest. Then a crack of lightning split the sky overhead, shooting through the rock to end nearly at their feet.

When the dust settled, Tan heard a hard cry.

“Theondar!”

Nearby, Roine closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his hand clenching into a white-knuckled fist. “Lacertin,” he said softly.

33

Chased by Fire

They cowered back from another surge of swirling dust and flying rock. Roine clutched the artifact in his hands. Tan felt the sudden building pressure of Roine shaping.

Roine tried to use the artifact.

A powerful blast of wind hit them, pressing them back. Roine turned to Tan. “Take this,” he said, handing the artifact to him. “I’m not strong enough to use it. You must protect this, get it to Althem. Tell him I sent you. Go! Do whatever it takes.”

Tan took it from him carefully, holding the ancient device gently. “You don’t think you should—”

Roine cut him off. “No. If Lacertin defeats me, he must not have the artifact. The other shapers can help, but only if you reach the capital.” Roine looked over his shoulder and into the buffeting wind now growing with a dry heat as well. “Take this too,” he said, unbuckling his sword and strapping it onto Tan’s waist. “I will not need it for this.” His eyes were intense, fierce, and flashed with a hot anger.

“Roine,” Tan protested.

“Tannen!” he said. “Now is the time when you must serve your king. Take the artifact and get yourself and Amia out of this cave. Head for Ethea.”

He turned away from Tan and called into the blowing wind and dust, standing within the chaos as if unfazed. “Lacertin! Have you come to answer for your treason?”

The wind died briefly and a tall, lean figure stood surrounded in shadows. He was dressed all in black and seemed to crackle with lightning. “Treason?” Lacertin repeated and laughed. “Strange that you would be the one to make such an accusation.”

“You have hidden yourself for nearly twenty years. Now you choose to make your allegiance known?” Roine asked.

Lacertin laughed. “Hidden? No. Prepared, Theondar. Now I am ready to take what is mine.”

“It was never yours!” Roine roared. He raised his arm and a streak of lightning seemed to jump from his hand, racing toward Lacertin. The other warrior made a simple gesture and the lightning turned, arcing overhead, and leapt from the cavern harmlessly.

“Theondar,” Lacertin chided. “How little you have learned.”

Roine raised his other arm and Tan felt the rapid buildup of energy and then a blast of wind and water shot toward Lacertin. Lacertin waved his hand in front of him and this seemed to part, splitting and sparing him, leaving him unharmed.

“Time, it seems, has not changed some things,” Lacertin spoke. “You never were very creative with your shapings.”

He flicked a finger and Roine went rigid, his arms held to his sides. Roine’s mouth worked to speak or scream, but no sound came out.

Another flick and a wire-thin streak of flame raced toward Roine. It swirled around him, pressing toward his flesh. Sweat beaded on Roine’s face with the effort of pushing it back. Flame inched closer and closer. Lacertin laughed.

“At the least I should thank you for finding this. You saved me much searching.” He looked around the cavern. “I must say the ancient warriors, though, were creative. This,” he said, waving his arm around him, “is impressive. I would ask you how you managed to reach the artifact, but you seem predisposed.”

He smiled, watching Roine struggle. The flame sank closer to his flesh.

Roine closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Tan felt the huge surge of energy followed by an explosion. The fire circling him disappeared. His arms were free. Hatred dripped from his gaze as Roine opened his eyes.

Lacertin only smiled.

“Theondar. Perhaps I should give you a bit more credit.”

Roine shook his head. “I would rather you underestimate me.”

Lacertin took a step forward, still cloaked in shadows. “The device. I will have it.”

“You will not be able to use it,” he said. “It was crafted by the ancients and only one with their gifts can access its power. For all that you may be, even you are not gifted like the ancient warriors, Lacertin.”

Lacertin only laughed again. It was a dark sound and haunted. “You cannot begin to know what I am capable of doing, Theondar,” he answered. “Now. Give me the device.”

“You know I will not.”

Lacertin took another step closer. His hands twisted in a complex pattern and Roine fell backward, pinned to the ground. His face twisted in pain as unseen lashes struck him over and over, too fast for him to avoid and too powerful for him to hide the painful effect.

Lacertin stepped closer, nearly upon Roine. “Know, then, that I will simply take it.”

Something changed on Roine’s face. “Come and try,” he whispered.

The cavern erupted in thunder. A huge bolt of lightning streaked down from the sky, striking the ground where Roine lay. When it passed, Roine was gone.

Lacertin looked up through the crack in the cavern exposing the daylight and a dark smile twisted his shadowed mouth. “Theondar,” he whispered. He turned, eyeing Tan and Amia, and then another bolt of lightning shot down from the sky, striking Lacertin, and he disappeared.

Overhead, the sky thundered. Lightning ripped through the bright sky, tearing it apart with repeated blasts. Tan was forced to look away.

“What now?” Amia asked.

As much as he hated it, Roine was right. They needed to get the artifact to the king. Whatever else, Incendin couldn’t have it. He slipped the artifact into one of the pockets of his pants. It was heavy and felt awkward, but he thought it safe. “We need to leave. Make for Ethea.”

They both heard something then. It was a low and quiet, barely more than rustling leaves.

Tan sent out his awareness, questing toward the trees and grasses around them. He could almost see them in his mind and sensed the disturbance, knowing what they’d heard.

“The lisincend,” he said.

Amia’s face showed no sign of fear, just firm resolution. “Then we must go.”

They stepped quickly away from the clearing, sliding away from the pillars and the barrier and into the trees. Tan was vaguely aware that something about the barrier was different, weaker. When they reached the protection of the trees, he turned to look.

The huge stone pillar, the most physically solid of the pillars, sank into the stone, slowly disappearing. Where the pillar of wind had blown, whipping the leaves and branches of the nearby trees, now was very little movement. The pillar of fire had stopped sputtering and was completely silent, blowing itself out at some point during all the commotion.

Only the pillar of water remained. The nymid still held their end of the bargain.

Water flowed from an unseen opening in the ceiling of the cavern, cascading down and through the floor of the cave. The water held just a hint of a pale green light, only noticeable because Tan knew what to look for.

In the center of the clearing, the pool of the thick, silvery liquid also receded, slowly draining away from the edge of the pool. Tan didn’t know where it went.

“What was in that pool?”

“The power of the Mother.”

“How could the ancient warriors trap the power of the Great Mother?” he wondered, not expecting an answer.

“They couldn’t. That power was given freely.” Amia watched the disappearing liquid. “I think it’s but a tiny drop of her power. Maybe no more than a drop of a drop.”

Three lisincend burst into the clearing. Fur was among them, sliding confidently from the trees, radiating heat that made the shaped forest wilt from its presence. In spite of the haze surrounding them, Tan saw them clearly. He wondered if the power of the cavern allowed them to be seen.

They reached what was left of the barrier and paused. Fur sniffed, sensing something amiss, before shoving one of the other lisincend through. The creature slid through the barrier with a hiss, then turned and stared at Fur with fiery eyes.

“Nothing,” it said.

Fur nodded and he and the other lisincend slid across the barrier. Once inside, they looked around, smelling the air. “She was here.”

Then the power of the barrier surged.

Tan was not sure how he knew, but it strengthened. Nothing like it had been before, but enough that the lisincend would be trapped within it.

Could the nymid be helping them again?

With the thought, he heard a soft command whispered in the back of his mind, like a gentle touch, a gentle rain, different than the nymid.

Go, the voice commanded.

Tan pulled Amia and they hurried around the edge of the trees, keeping the clearing in sight as they moved. When they were partway around the clearing, the lisincend saw them.

“There!” one of the creatures hissed.

Tan looked back as Fur threw one of the lisincend forward, into the barrier. The creature hit the unseen wall, pressing forward for a few steps with a triumphant look upon its face. Then, suddenly, it dropped to the ground, screaming and hissing. Steam rose from its thick hide. It crawled forward, trying to get through the barrier. By the time it reached the other side, much of its hide had peeled back, leaving it bloodied.

Fur screamed. The horrible sound echoed off the walls of the cavern.

Fur turned toward the pillar of water. With a furious shaping, he threw energy toward it. The water was no longer a match for the fury of the lisincend. Twisted Fire turned the flowing pillar of water into a trail of steam.

Tan felt the barrier fall.

The injured lisincend staggered back toward Fur, flailing its arms, and tripped, sliding into the remnants of the silvery pool, only to disappear with a loud hiss.

Fur roared in anger, splitting the cavern with his furious cry. “I smell you, girl,” he hollered. “I know your scent and can find you wherever you go. I will enjoy the hunt.”

Amia turned to Tan in fear. He grabbed her hand, not sure where to go. Tan quested out with his mind, searching the cave for the way out. He tracked the cave entrance as he once would have tracked deer or a wolf, letting the subtle changes to the air and wind flow serve as his guide.

They ran. Tan followed what he sensed. Trees thinned and became more stunted the farther they moved, soon growing no taller than shrubs. When he saw the strange vines upon the walls, he knew they went in the right direction.

“They’re behind us.”

Tan let his senses search behind him. The two remaining lisincend were near the edge of the trees and they headed toward them.

“They’re frustrated,” Amia said.

“Can you do anything to make it worse?” he asked.

“I can try. I don’t know if it will work.”

“We only need a delay.”

She nodded and Tan felt the building pressure as she worked her shaping. He felt it slip slowly, subtly, into the trees. He sensed the lisincend struggle, wandering off course a bit.

“They may not even know you did anything.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, biting back a question. “That was my intent,” she said. “How can you tell?”

He led her down the cave at a quick jog. “Since you shaped me,” he started, “I’ve been able to feel it when you perform a shaping. I feel the energy. I don’t understand, not really.” He glanced at her. “With that shaping, I felt you slowly release the energy and knew it was a gentle touch.”

“Can you feel others shaping?”

“It is different. Each shaper has a different energy, almost like a signature. I think it started when you shaped me. Does that mean anything?”

She shook her head softly. “I don’t know. It’s unusual, I think.”

The cave grew darker the farther they got from the cavern. Tan sensed behind him again. The lisincend had found their way once more. Fur tore the strange vines from the wall in his rage and some of his muted shouts echoed through the cave.

“I can’t see anything,” Amia said, reaching toward one of the lamps.

Tan grabbed her wrist. “I don’t think we should let the lisincend see us.”

“They see fine in the dark,” she answered. “They sense our heat. We’ve never known how good their eyesight is during the day, but we’ve always known they have an advantage at night.”

They ran down the cavern with Tan leading, sensing his way through the darkness. He was able to feel the pressure off the walls and the ground and used it to keep them roughly in the middle of the cave. Occasionally he would sense behind them.

The lisincend were gaining.

He said nothing to Amia, only urging her faster.

Then in the distance he saw the hint of light. They were close. They couldn’t follow the same path they’d followed up from the lake. The climb down the sheer rock face would be too slow and the lisincend would be upon them in moments. Which way would they go?

As they emerged into the bright light of day, the sky thundered ceaselessly, like a heavy drum. Frequent bolts of lightning attempted to tear apart the sky. The air sizzled with the energy of the lightning, almost crackling with it.

Roine and Lacertin battled.

Tan could not pause to watch, but wished that he could. Overhead, an epic battle between two powerful Cloud Warriors raged, and he was witness to it.

They reached the split in the trail. Tan hesitated before pulling Amia off the main path, veering to the left and down. If they could reach the lake and the nymid, they might find safety.

Behind him, Fur roared as he left the cave.

They wouldn’t reach the lake in time.

“We need to hide,” he told Amia.

“Fur will find us.”

“You have his sword,” she said, motioning to Roine’s sword hanging from Tan’s waist.

“I’ve never used a sword. And my bow…” Had he not lost it in the lake when Fur nearly killed him, he might be able to try something, anything. Instead, Fur would catch them. They would die.

Amia squeezed his hand. “Neither have I. We make quite a pair.”

Tan laughed in spite of himself.

They half stumbled down the path, practically sliding. The trail was steep and more than once, Tan reached for a handhold to catch himself or Amia as they slipped, sensing danger at the last instant.

At the bottom of the trail they reached a grassy base. A wide river ran through here. Tan hoped it ran around the mountain and into the lake. Maybe even the one the nymid had widened to slow the lisincend. If that was the case, could he reach the nymid?

He glanced back. The lisincend were close. “We have to jump.”

He squeezed her hand and jumped into the river with her. When the cold water hit him, the air left his lungs. Amia flailed in the water, struggling against the current. He pulled her forward with powerful kicks then he dipped underwater, letting the current pull them along.

He sensed the opposite shore close by. Another kick and they reached it.

Tan pressed his head above the surface of the water, turning to look for the lisincend as he did. Amia came up from the water at the same time, gasping for air. They kept low in the water, not daring to show themselves.

The lisincend stood nearly a hundred paces across the river and down the shore. They hadn’t seen them yet. A particularly bright bolt of lightning split the sky. Tan used the distraction to pull Amia from the water and they stumbled toward the trees, moving quickly and keeping as low as possible.

Once hiding in the cover of the trees, he peered out at the lisincend. “The water won’t stop them,” he said, remembering what Fur had said to Roine.

“No,” Amia agreed, “but it may slow them.”

The first lisincend stepped into the water, sniffing the air. Suddenly it motioned in their direction. Fur smiled. It was hideous and unnatural and full of venom.

“You will be mine, girl,” he hissed.

“Tan—” Amia started.

Tan didn’t answer. He closed his eyes, focusing his mind as he reached for the nymid.

We need help!

He sent the thought as a shout, praying the nymid would hear.

No answer came.

Both the lisincend were in the water now, moving toward them, unfazed by the water.

They needed to move—to do something—or else the lisincend would reach them. But even if they ran, it would not matter. Not now. The lisincend were too fast. Too powerful.

Without the nymid for help, they would be caught. Tan would be burned, like Amia’s Mother. And then the lisincend would be free to do whatever they wanted to Amia. The artifact would be theirs.

Please! We need your help.

He sent the plea with the last of his fading energy. His vision blurred from the energy required sending the thought and he sagged toward Amia.

“Just run,” he began weakly, staggering into the trees and falling. “I’ll hold them as long as I can. Take the artifact. Get to safety.”

She shook her head. “I’ll not leave you, Tan.” She squeezed his hand.

He met her eyes, sensing the lisincend nearly upon them.

Protect her, he sent with the last of his energy.

The lisincend were close enough to feel the heat rising from them. Steam rose around them as they walked, the river evaporating in their advance. Fur led the charge and a powerful shaping built as he neared. Tan wouldn’t survive the attack this time; he’d been lucky to have the nymid save him the last time.

And now? He’d failed. He’d failed his mother asking him to help Roine and the king. Now he’d never be able to travel to Ethea as she’d wanted. He’d failed Roine; the lisincend would take the artifact back to Incendin and all that power would be theirs. With it, they would attack the kingdoms and there weren’t shapers enough to stop them.

And he’d failed Amia. The lingering plea to protect her still tickled his mind, only now he couldn’t do anything more to help her. He’d failed.

Amia squeezed his hand again, as if knowing his thoughts. He couldn’t look at her.

And then there was a presence in his mind. Huge and rough, nothing like the nymid. Had it ever really left his mind? Had the connection ever been broken?

Who calls?

The draasin. Tan shook from pain or fear, he did not know.

Tan, he said. Tan, who freed you.

He sensed irritation from the draasin.

We need your help. I need your help.

Why should I help you? I hunt now.

For the freedom you were given.

You took freedom away. You limit what I may hunt.

I released you from the ice and pain. I ended the suffering.

Tan barely had the energy to send the last thought and sagged into Amia.

The draasin was silent. They would not help. Nothing would.

The lisincend stood barely ten paces away. Fur pointed toward them.

Amia pulled at his arm, trying to get him to come with her, but Tan resisted. There was another thing he could try, if only he was strong enough.

Hunt near the river, Tan suggested, sending an image of where they hid, using what was left of his energy.

The draasin finally answered him. You forbid us to hunt man, little warrior.

There is more to hunt than man near the river, Tan said. Come. Help me. Hunt.

I will help. This time, little warrior.

“Tan!” Amia yelled.

Fur was nearly upon them. “I hear you now, girl. I will enjoy tearing you apart. And the other with you, as well.”

“Tan?”

He pulled her back into the trees. They couldn’t move, not fast enough.

The building shaping was earsplitting. Tan could barely tolerate it, shaking with its power.

Then there was a cry like nothing he could imagine. The sound pierced the sky, overpowering the thunder rolling through the air. The sound of a predator the world had not seen in nearly one thousand years. And it hunted.

Instinctively Tan cringed, and he felt a satisfied laugh from the presence in his mind. Tan steeled himself, sending the image of the lisincend.

A huge shape erupted above the trees, blotting out the light, and flying hard and fast toward them. The lisincend stopped to turn and see what was coming.

The draasin attacked the smaller lisincend first, swooping out of the sky. It grabbed the lisincend from where it stood in the river, chewing it quickly and swallowing before twisting and turning skyward again.

Fur moved toward the center of the river, less certain than before. He watched the draasin, his eyes widening. The energy Fur had been building erupted as a huge bolt of fire toward the draasin.

The fire struck the creature in its abdomen and disappeared.

The draasin roared.

Not in pain, Tan realized. Fire would not hurt the draasin. Not a fire elemental.

No, the draasin roared in anger.

Tan shivered at the sound. Amia squeezed his hand. She smiled at the enormous creature hovering above the river, a pleased looked to her face.

You dare use fire against the draasin!

Tan heard the words as a shout within his mind and realized from Fur’s expression that he did as well.

Then the draasin struck. Its head darted toward the water quickly, striking at Fur. Fur grabbed the huge jaw and twisted, thrusting it back and away from him, ducking from underneath a barbed tail darting toward him.

Then Fur ran.

He jumped out of the river in a single leap. Once on the shore, he ran quickly into the trees and disappeared. The draasin flapped its huge wings once and was above the trees, flying low over the treetops. Hunting.

Hunt well, Tan said.

Always, the draasin answered.

Tan felt its mind grow distant as it flew away, following Fur. There was a sense of satisfaction from the creature. Faintly, Tan knew they’d done the right thing in freeing the creature.

Though the draasin’s mind grew distant, Tan was still aware of it.

“Are we safe?”

He looked around the forest. Could they be safe?

But the lisincend were gone. One dead in the cave. Another eaten by the draasin. And Fur, running, hunted by the great elemental. Could the hounds still be out there?

He sent his sensing out and around the forest. Pressure built within his ears and let out slowly as his sensing washed over the forest. Birds and squirrels and even a fox roamed the forest. Cool wind gusted from the north. But nothing else. No sign of the hounds.

He smiled. They’d survived more than they had a right to survive. “I think we are.”

“You protected me,” she said.

“Not me. I needed help.”

She still smiled and squeezed his hand. “We all need help at times.”

Tan looked toward the sky at the small black spot that was the draasin. Overhead, the sky still thundered and lightning crackled.

After resting for a moment, they followed the river, heading south. Toward Ethea. Tan felt the artifact as a heaviness in his pocket. Was everything they’d been through worth it? After losing Nor, the Aeta, and even Velminth, did keeping the artifact away from Incendin matter?

After seeing how little the lisincend cared for others, their fiery violence, he had to think it was. He hoped his mother would have been proud.

Amia touched his arm and a wave of peace washed over him.

Finally, when the thunder died and the last of the lightning went with it, he looked up to the sky. “I wonder who won.”

“There were no winners in any of this.”

“No. But I met you. I spoke to the nymid. And the draasin were freed from ages of suffering. I think some good has come from this.”

Not enough to make up for what was lost, but it was a start.

Amia pulled him close. Then she kissed him. He was startled at first, but he let her full lips envelop his and kissed her back, and felt hope for the future for the first time in as long as he could remember.

Epilogue

They found Roine near the lake.

Tan and Amia had followed the wide river, walking along its shore as it meandered through the forest. Their hands were entwined and he felt reluctant to let her go, enjoying the sensation of her hand in his.

The forest around them gradually returned to life. Insects buzzed, squirrels climbed on trees, and the sun shone brightly overhead. Tan felt more and more relaxed with each step he took, knowing the normalcy of the forest meant the lisincend were truly gone. And the hounds.

He smiled.

Amia looked up at him and smiled back. He sensed her growing ease. There would be grieving later for both of them, but for now, they simply enjoyed each other’s company.

The river crested a small hill before running down and toward the lake. They followed it, moving casually. When they reached the lake, Tan felt a sense of warmth, of welcome, as if the nymid greeted them. He didn’t reach for them.

The bright sun reflected off the calm water of the lake, glittering and reflecting like a thousand stars. They stopped by the edge of the water and took a drink. The water tasted cool and refreshing. Not far down the shore was the cluster of rocks where so many horrible things had happened. The first attack when Tan had nearly died. Roine’s attack on the lisincend. And his rescue of Amia.

Amia saw him staring at the rocks. She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back, letting the sudden tension leave him. Neither spoke.

They found him near the rocks, lying half in the water.

He lay still, motionless, though his chest rose and fell so they knew he still lived. His face was torn and bleeding. His dark green clothes were tattered and stained with blood. The water washed some of it away.

They knelt next to Roine and Tan touched his forehead. Roine opened his eyes, blinking against the bright light.

“Did you defeat Lacertin?” Tan asked.

Roine shook his head weakly. “No.” But he smiled. “I managed better than I thought I could. For now, he’s gone. Chased away. And we have the artifact.” Roine glanced at Tan, closing his eyes when Tan nodded, patting his pocket. “The lisincend?”

“Gone,” Tan answered.

Roine blinked his eyes open again. “Gone? Even Fur?”

“For now,” Tan answered and smiled, baring his teeth. He didn’t know if Fur managed to escape the draasin, but it didn’t matter right now. “The draasin helped. Fur is now the hunted.”

Roine nodded slowly. “Good. I still wonder if we did the right thing freeing them. The world hasn’t seen their kind in centuries. We can’t know what price we’ll pay.”

“They needed to be freed, Roine,” Tan said. “They suffered. And they hadn’t joined the barrier willingly. Not like the others.”

Roine looked at Tan, slowly shaking his head. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said with a sigh.

“What now?” Tan asked.

Roine pushed himself up and looked down at his tattered clothes streaked with his blood, staring out into the lake before turning his attention to the south. “Now we need to reach Althem. Now we travel to Ethea.”

“You think the artifact will help?” Tan asked.

Roine shook his head. “I don’t even know anymore. It wouldn’t work for me. Perhaps too much time has passed since its creation. The ancient warriors are no more.” He shook his head again. “But I have to think we’ve done well. The lisincend are defeated. And Lacertin has been outed. No more can he hide his plans.”

Tan pulled the artifact out of his pocket and thrust it toward Roine. The silver surface was dull, lifeless, and reflected none of the bright sun. “You should carry it.”

Roine took it and, turning it in his hands, he stared at the surface as he ran a finger along the markings. Slowly, he pulled his attention away from the artifact and handed it back to Tan. “No. You carry it. If not for you, none of this would be possible.”

Tan took it back and held it in his hands, feeling the soft weight of the device. The markings on the surface were meticulously done and he ran his finger along them as Roine had done. A soft pressure built and he looked up, wondering why Roine or Amia would be shaping. Neither gave any sign that they were.

Tan stood and Amia followed. They both helped Roine to stand. He trembled for a moment before steadying himself. And then they started off, walking along the shore of the lake, toward Ethea.

Amia took Tan’s hand and her dark eyes studied him. She brushed her pale hair back from her eyes, tucking it behind her ears. He closed his eyes a moment before letting himself be led, feeling the soft breeze on his face, the earthy scent to the ground, the warmth of the sun, and felt a brief spray of water strike him as well. And he smiled.

Tucking the artifact into his pocket, he didn’t see it begin glowing faintly, pulsing, as they started off toward Ethea.

The End

* * *

The Cloud Warrior Saga continues in book two, Bound by Fire.

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About the Author

DK Holmberg lives in Minnesota and is the author of multiple series including The Cloud Warrior Saga, The Dark Ability, The Painter Mage, and The Lost Garden. When he's not writing, he's chasing around his two active children.

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Water Witch

Witches of Etlantium, Book One

Thea Atkinson

Water Witch © copyright 2012 Thea Atkinson

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

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About the Book

Water Witch

A witch who can’t control her power will end up being controlled.

All power has a high price, and no one knows that better than Alaysha, a formidable and beautiful water witch living in the realm of Sarum. As daughter of the most powerful man in the city, she should be free to do as she pleases, but Alaysha lives as an outcast among her people and she’s forced to use her unique abilities as a weapon. Now if she could just learn to control her gifts.

After her tyrannical father forces Alaysha to slaughter an entire village of innocents with her vast elemental power, she starts to question his authority. . .and her blind obedience. Especially, when the charismatic and handsome Yenic somehow manages to escape her deadly ability and reveals that she’s not alone.

If Alaysha hopes to gain her freedom, manage her power, and protect those she loves, she will have to find the courage to defy the nefarious men trying to control her. Yet she soon realizes that there’s much more to her power than Alaysha ever dreamed, and loyalty means far more than just sharing blood.

1

The call of a vulture was the sound that brought Alaysha back to awareness.

It was always the shriek of the carrion bird that brought her around afterwards, like the sacred minerals tribal shamans used to bring a dream-walker back to reality. It wasn't as though she fainted during battle—would to the Deities she could—but rather, she sort of went into herself and hid there, somewhere inside, while the deed was done. After all these years, she supposed her psyche had trained itself to recover only when it heard the sure signs of scavenge and she could know the fighting was over. Like now.

She dreaded the sound of the vulture like a dying man would, except for different reasons: while the dying dreaded the sound of imminent death, it reminded her that she still lived.

With reluctant dread she opened her eyes and let go a gust of breath. Without thinking, she turned in the direction of the bird's call. It was off to the left, circling over a copse of trees. She kept her gaze on the bird, knowing it would circle ever closer to her, bringing with it a brood of others to worry fruitlessly at the bodies littered across the now arid land in front of her. Still, watching the scavenger was far better than facing what she knew was in front of her. Infinitely better, too, than turning to what would wait behind her.

They would be coming soon.

She let her gaze travel from the broad wings of the carrion bird to the grove of trees beneath that were still lush and vibrant. Strange, how a small oasis of vegetation could be left at all, but there it was. She judged the distance to be at least one hundred horse strides away. So, the power still had its limits then. She did some quick calculations: a few hundred paces short of a leagua? Could that be right? If she remembered accurately, the last time she'd done battle, the line of growth had started just short of a kubit. She'd ridden it afterwards and counted the beats of her mount's hooves to be certain: five hundred horse strides at full gallop, so yes, a kubit if anything, but three times that much?

She measured the breadth of the distance with her eyes, imagining herself atop Barruch's back, his mane in her face as he galloped, measuring with breathless counts: one stride, two strides, three. This time the line seemed pressed back, almost a blur on the horizon. So it seemed that, although the power had limits, it was growing.

How long would it be before she couldn't see vegetation at all?

Best not to think about it. They would be here soon, inspecting her work, making sure each enemy and each child, grandchild, and friend of the enemy was gone. And the price of that annihilation was the loss of the very fluid that lent life to the area before she'd come.

She sighed and scanned the few hundred mount strides before her. Nothing but arid sand and crackled, dried out soil. The trees had become tinder on vertical stalks. It wasn't a desert by any stretch, but the vegetation had crinkled to dust and creatures of all sorts had fallen like apples from the trees to their bases. What grass or moss or shrubberies that had padded her bare feet when she'd climbed down from her mount and sent him with a slap back towards her camp, was now dust beneath her soles and dried husks of fiber beside her.

She knew without checking that the destruction went beneath her feet as well. If it stretched out for a leagua in all directions, it certainly went at least a quarter as deep into the ground.

The only thing belying the dryness was the cloud cover. So dense and broodingly heavy with water, it darkened the sky. The rain would come soon; the clouds wouldn't be able to hold themselves together under the weight of the water that fattened them. The lightning, too. Sparking the tinder of trees and shrubs, lighting the area with a blaze fierce, but temporary at best in the face of the inevitable downpour.

And then it would seem as if nothing had ever lived.

It didn't matter she'd been doing this since she'd been old enough to sit in a basket hanging from the side of her father's mount, she could never get over the sense of desolation left in her wake.

Water witch. It was a bastardized term that came from her mother's old tongue that, she had learned somewhere along the way, had originated as temptress of the life blood. She much preferred the original form to the bastardized phrase her father's people had begun to use long before her sixth birthday. That version, and the way they spat it out was filled with contempt. And fear. So much fear, even she began to understand why they ostracized her so.

At first, she'd thought it was because of her mother. Then she thought it was because of her father. Only when she gained her moon's blood in her twelfth season did she realize that both of those things were the most true.

The sound of horse hooves behind her stole her attention from the wasteland and from the memories of a childhood she didn't want to remember. Three riders abreast, one leading her mount, trotted closer. Scouts, of course, come to see if she'd done her job.

"Ho," She called out, and the rider leading her stallion dropped the reins. The horse picked up speed and cleared the distance to her in the time it took for her to take two steps toward him. She reached out for his nose so she could feel the wet. She was starved for fluid, to feel it on her skin, in her lungs. It felt good to have the snot and sweat against her palm. It felt real and grounding. Reins slapped against her other hand as he nuzzled against her, and with a deft movement she had looped them around her wrist so he would stay close.

Without looking at the other rider as he trotted closer, she reached into her saddle bag to feel for her tunic. She knew it was still there. It was a leather thing with sewn-in chips of garnet, a garment lovingly sun-bleached by her nurse so many years ago in anticipation of her wedding. Now, just over a decade later, it was the only thing left that would fit her, and she'd worn it so long nearly all the chips of garnet had long disappeared and the calf suede had softened even more to a nearly decadent linen feel against her skin. Even so, it was also grimy with her sweat. It had been a long trek finding these people.

She'd taken the tunic off, knowing the rain would come as she finished her task, making the leather difficult to wear in the torrent, later drying on her into a hard shell. She always took it off before battle then stood naked as she did her father's bidding, because it seemed the most respectful thing to do when you took the lives of others: to show your own vulnerability. Even so, for some reason this time, she was loath for the leader to see her undressed. He had a way of looking through her as though she didn't stand in front of him, but at the same time, of making her feel as though her nakedness was something abhorrent.

There were times she refused to get dressed just to make him pay for that look. She decided to leave her tunic where it was; he would never see her as a woman anyway. None of them ever did. Ever would. The other riders came up just as the clouds released the first drops of the surge. They kept their distance, but surveyed the battleground with some respect, if not deference.

She held tight to Barruch's rein and he sent a sulking pout her way, wanting his freedom; still, she didn't want to mount just yet. She needed to at least feel her feet on the ground when the rain came, wanted to feel it puddle upon, and then soak into, the gasping earth.

Drahl grunted and nodded at the prostrate form of a man a short distance away. "Was he the first?"

They rarely spoke to her, and she knew his question wasn't idle chitchat. He wanted to know if they'd charged her, if she'd slain them as they ran toward her, or if she'd gotten them from the back as they traveled unaware. Her father would want to know these things. He always wanted to know these things.

"He was the first," she said, and because she knew her father would want even more, added, "they didn't look as though they knew we were coming."

He nodded but didn't seem surprised.

She studied him. "But then, you knew that, didn't you?" She couldn't help the note of accusation she heard in her voice.

Instead of denying it or showing chagrin, he spat a thick globe of mucus that landed just next to his horse's hoof.

"It's not for a witch to question—only to serve."

She sucked in her bottom lip. Serve. Oh yes. She had served. She knew well her value to the tribe. She leveled him with a direct stare that she kept despite his narrowed gaze and threatening brow.

"I'm still thirsty," she told him and was rewarded with a quick, but just as quickly recovered expression of fear.

The sense of pleasure left when she saw it had been replaced with the usual loathing. No matter. She'd gotten as used to the hatred of her father's people as she'd grown of killing.

"Leave me while I collect the seeds," she said, waving him away. She knew this time there would be no herding of slaves; this time, like the last time, and the time before that, it was all about killing.

The rain had become a pelting blanket by now and she would need to collect the dried eyes so her father could count the number of vanquished before the rain washed them away and into the crevices of caked earth as it split apart from itself.

She flipped open the hemp sack hanging from the side of Barruch's saddle and pulled out a leather pouch to tie to the pommel, this she would use to dump in the dried raisins that had once been the fleshy, seeing eyes of the living.

Barruch had been with her long enough to follow without being led as she crossed the cracked earth. He'd grown with her and was the only present her father had ever given her. She'd been thrilled to find the midnight colored foal tied to a stake on her sixth season just outside her nurse's hut outside the confines of the village walls. She'd been less thrilled when she discovered it was only because her father had tired of taking her to war on the back of his horse.

Barruch had been with her when she'd deliberately killed her first man. And he gained a sort of language with her that was entirely delivered through his body language. During his first battle, he'd walked sideways away from each fallen man, trying to get away without actually retreating.

The first man from this battlefield lay face down, and she had to push him with her foot to roll him over. Barruch high stepped around him, showing a dainty disdain for death. Even in the flash of water coming down Alaysha could see the blackened bits of the dead's eyes lying an inch apart on the soil. For some reason, every eye her power contacted dried so badly it snapped from the brittle stems that were once connecting fibers. When she was little, she'd thought of them as the seeds of their souls and worried they'd fall into the cracks of earth she'd created, there to lay down roots as the rain engulfed and nurtured them.

At first, she worried about it enough she suffered terrifying night visions as she slept, but as the years passed and no newly sprouted man came to take his vengeance, she stopped worrying at all and began instead to pray for it.

Now, a dozen years past that time, she merely stooped to retrieve the seeds and tried not to look at the man when she rose to throw his eyes into the pouch. No use. Before she could amble on to the next, a dozen paces away, she had glanced down at the shriveled face and gaping mouth and the sight of it held her gaze captive for long, regretful moments.

She wished it didn't have to be like this.

Desiccated, a human looked like strangely tanned leather; this man was no different. He had a tattau beneath his right arm, that much she could tell; that alone made him different from any other man she'd killed. She paused to trace the line of inked-in soot stretching from tricep to hip in what appeared to be a perfectly straight line—or could have been perfectly straight if not tightened into a warped ribbon of ink.

The tattau made her fidget. She herself had a ribbon of ink stretched into a perfect line. Her’s may have been stretched across her chin, but it was too much of a coincidence to ignore. She leaned in for closer study; it would be far too much coincidence if his tattau also showed stampings of skin through the ribbon, as hers did, mouthing flesh-words in a language she had never learned to decipher.

There, just discernible down the length of his ribcage were the symbols: not the exact same as her own, but similar enough that she knew the ribbon had been tattaued around open symbols. It was a strange mix, uncommon.

She looked up and scanned the grounds, letting the pools of rain drip down her bare shoulders. Through the cascade she saw a dozen other men lying at varying distances from her. She couldn't tell from her vantage point if they too were tattaued, but she could see they'd each been in various pursuits when she'd attacked them. Daily pursuits. Pursuits of regular living. One had a spilled basket of oval stones that had probably once been gathered eggs before she'd psyched the water from them; another lay next to a bundle of kindling, one clutched a spear, another a child. She squeezed her eyes shut at that one. The children always bothered her.

So. It was true, her belief that they had no idea they were about to face the Deities.

Past the dozen men who had been at toil when she'd arrived, sprawled now in unexpected death, squatted what she thought could be a dwelling. From her killing distance, she'd thought it was a hill; from this close, she could tell it had a maw of a door with desiccated thatch atop. A mud house, she thought, something that, in Sarum with its erections of stone and cement, she'd never seen but recognized from early childhood stories her nurse told of, while spinning sleeping tales about where she'd come from.

She lost herself in thought, trying vainly to catch the specter of memory and coax it into the light. What was it Nohma had said? It had something to do with those huts and these tattaus. Something about spirit fires and brown magic.

A crackle through dead brush startled her from her reverie, but she didn't need to turn around to know who it was. She could smell him; the red tobacco on his flesh, the musk of a dozen women, the sourness of a nursing babe that was his new favorite heir.

"It's you," she said and shifted so she could see him. She met her father's blue-eyed gaze with all the courage she could muster. He didn't usually come to witness her work, not since she had been very young and unreliable.

"I hadn't thought to see you, Father."

His gaze slid over her so quickly she doubted he saw her at all. It fell instead on the seeds nestled together in her palm.

"I come to see the battlefield, not to court a witch."

It stung. It always stung, that condescension. She should be used to it by now, but even eighteen years couldn't blunt the edge of that sword.

"A witch was useful enough for you on this battleground."

"Is there another use for a witch?"

She ignored the words. "Who were they, Father?"

He shrugged and rain ran off his shoulder to pool on the top of his boot.

"I see you've let the fluid return." He spread his arms to indicate the gathering storm.

It was her turn to shrug. "It always returns. It has nothing to do with me."

"So you always say." It was a simple statement, but it held a note of accusation. She knew he believed more of her.

Still, this was more than he'd spoken to her in a year and even though she hated herself for it, she pressed forward.

"This was no battlefield."

"A battlefield—a war—has many forms."

"And one of its forms is a peaceful village?"

He cocked his head as his gaze met hers, his hair so like his albino mount's mane, long and thick and tangled, plastered against his skull from the rain. He looked like a vulture then, with his great hooked nose and hooded brow. She should have seen the resemblance before. He was a bird of scavenge, not of prey.

"What were they to you, Father, these peaceful people?"

"Who said they were peaceful? And who said they were people? You know as well as any warrior, targets are things, not people." He turned on his heel in dismissal, kicked the hand of the prone corpse at her feet. "Now collect the seeds of yours and bring them for the count."

He took what she thought were deliberate steps toward his mount, but she caught him stealing a surreptitious glance at the horizon where the vultures were gathering, where the copse of trees was, where the fluid still rested in the fibers of each living thing there, and she saw him worry his bottom lip with his teeth.

And she wondered in that moment what might have Yuri, fierce Leader of a Thousand, Conqueror of Hordes, so concerned.

2

The village was a small, mobile one. If she could name it, she'd have to call it nomadic, except it showed signs of having recently put down roots, and didn't seem to show an inclination of movement for a while. She was right about the mud hut. No community of people would take the time to pile soil into one place and hollow it out and thatch the top just to move on when the food source had thinned. In full view, she could tell that great care had been put into its erection; it could have been perfectly oval with vertical slits for air.

Yet, there were signs of travel too: many dwellings were the stick and skin kind that allowed for easy tear down and set up. And these were scattered in what was once a grassy clearing at the opening mouth of a great forest.

It had taken her father's camp and riders five days from Sarum to find a site close enough to the coming battle she would only have one full day of riding to reach this village. They'd been on campaign for most of the season already, and had stopped in Sarum for a mere five days when his scouts returned. There had been a flurry of activity then; she'd seen it from Barruch's stall as she mucked it out and Barruch watched her with a sense of entitlement she'd come to expect from him. She'd known the men would be moving out again soon; she'd traveled much in her years as Tool to the Emir, and she recognized the appearance of an army about to pull out.

She knew this clearing too and she knew the woods beyond. Both were on the cusp of a great body of water stretching farther than she could see and larger than she could drain. It was a smart place for an innocent village to lay down roots. A foolish spot for a target of annihilation to do so.

Alaysha had collected fifteen sets of eyes by the time she'd reached the hut: ten men, two children, and three women. One of the children had been an infant clutched in a woman's arms. She'd been pregnant, so she supposed she should increase the count to sixteen even though she'd have to explain to her father why she didn't have that many pairs of seeds.

The hut held another three; all settled around a fire pit still smoking from newly spent ashes. She stood next to the pit and peered up. Smoke puddled at the ceiling, trying to make its way out of the small hole left for ventilation so the inhabitants didn't have to worry about falling sick from inhaling smoke-filled air.

She was so weary; she felt like every emotion in her body was somehow trying to do the same thing as the smoke.

Alaysha found herself squatting next to one of the women hunched lifeless next to the fire pit. The old woman stared unseeing at her own eyes that had fallen to the ground in front of her. They were larger than the others she'd collected and were not nearly as shrivelled, but there they lay just the same. About an inch apart, but one slightly offside as if it had rolled after it had fallen.

She reached down to scoop them and said, as much to hear her own voice as to apologize for the disrespect of another, "Sorry, Mother." She palmed the two seeds and tightened her fist around them. "I need to take these from you." She had an insane urge to pat the old woman on the shoulder in condolence, but resisted. Once more she wondered why she had been sent to destroy these people.

The old woman kept her counsel as Alaysha expected, but there was a subtle shifting of the smoke so it seemed to collect itself from the ceiling and the air around her only to snake around the woman's throat. It was so subtle that at first Alaysha didn't realize anything had changed in the hut until she thought to recheck the ceiling and discovered it was clear. She knew then it was no ordinary smoke.

She fixed her attention again on the fire pit. Ashes, yes, and bits of blackened wood, but something else too. She closed her eyes and breathed in: frankincense, rosemary, sage. They could be merely for fragrance to rid the air of the stagnant musk of wet soil. Yes. Perhaps. She inhaled again, this time more deliberately, more focused. Concentrating. Another scent: an older one than mere herbs. The smell of souls roasting, she thought. Brimstone, then.

"Who were you, old crone," she said out loud. "That you could mask that stink?"

Better question might be why she would be burning brimstone in the first place.

She craned her neck, trying to peer under and up at the old woman's face. No eyes, of course; Alaysha had those in her hand. The cheeks were hollowed in from age as well as the leathering of the battle. The mouth hung open, jaws as unhinged as a serpent's, readying for a meal. The chin—

Alaysha scrambled to her feet so fast she fell on her backside twice before she found solid footing. By then, she'd backed into the wall and her palm had contacted the cracks of dry dirt. Her hand went through and half the wall released itself in a shower of earth. It caked at her feet as the rain streamed in and kissed her cheeks with wet.

"Who are you, old crone?"

She stumbled back to the fire pit, afraid the whole wall would cave in and with it the whole hut, and she'd be trapped there under the weight of dry soil getting ever heavier as the rain soaked it.

The old woman remained just as quiet as her death demanded, so too did her companions, both of them hunched forward, their hands stretched out before them on the ground, palms up, supplicating almost. Their eyes also awaited collection.

Alaysha had to steel herself to press closer and reach for the seeds. She had to force herself to peer under and up at their faces too.

Tattaus. Each one just like the first. Stretched in ribbons across their chins and into their hairline. Tattaus filled with symbols of flesh showing through, of an ancient language that seemed familiar but unlearned.

Tattaus even more like hers than the man outside.

She couldn't see the smoke anymore. It must have found its way out of the crumbling hole she'd made in the wall. She shook the seeds around in her palm, staring out the hole and watching the rain collect in the crevices made of the cracked earth. It puddled up through some, collected in holes and started to move like something alive. The gap itself started to melt and the wall to split farther. The torrent would collect in any riverbeds outside and sweep this village and its bodies into outlying areas, scatter everything until it was unrecognizable anymore. And this hut would collapse on her soon if she didn't get out.

Still, these women, these crones—elders they must be—had a secret she desperately wanted to know, and she wasn't leaving without at least one of them.

Without thinking of respect or propriety, she began yanking one by the arm, dragging her along the earth toward the door, and when the rain and dirt had mixed into a slick mud that stole her grip from the leathered arm, she grabbed a foot and buck-yanked until she managed to get the woman halfway through the opening.

Too late, the mud hut collapsed on itself, the weight of the rain turning the caked dirt into a muck that greedily held onto everything beneath it.

She fell backwards onto hard wet ground. It couldn't be. Not this close. Not this close. She'd nearly had her.

A sob got stuck somewhere between her chest and throat. She choked. Even as the torrent plastered her hair and made her limbs immobile from cold, she felt the hot tears mingle on her cheek.

She could have sat there for ten minutes or more, letting the rain course down over her chest, but the sense that she was completely nude and hip deep in a puddle of muddy water tempted her to stand. She swiped her eyes with the back of her forearm. She'd been foolish letting a few dead women bother her so. Hadn't she seen dead women plenty of times? Yes, she told herself—so much it should have made her complacent by now.

If it just hadn't been for those tattaus. That was the trouble. She hated crying, had learned to steel herself against the tears long ago, had learned to steel herself against almost every emotion that could bring the power, but these women, these markings—they discomforted her.

She sighed, frustrated at herself and the pile of mud that had buried all but the feet and shins of the crone. Maybe she'd return in a week when the water ran off and soaked in and dried up. Maybe she'd dig the women out.

For now she was spent. And wet. And cold. She whistled for Barruch and was surprised to hear him blowing air just on the other side of the hut. He clomped out from behind it and ambled over to her. He turned his head, finicky, to the side and showed her his jawline.

"You old fool," she whispered to him and he nickered in response. He was soaked and obviously unhappy as he wasn't one to wait in the open rain while she made her collections. He was either hauling her the length and breadth of the recovery grounds, or he waited patiently somewhere sheltered. This plain wasn't big enough for the first and it lacked the latter.

"It's okay," she told him. "It'll be over soon." She stared past the hut where the trees were. See?" she said. "The sun is shining over there."

He blew irritably, and she couldn't help chuckling. "I'd like to dry off too."

She'd rather a bath and a hot fire, but she knew the longing for those things was about more than just getting clean and warm, and that neither of them would ease her spirit the way she always hoped it would. A truly hot bath was a thing for Sarum, and Sarum was a long way away. There was nothing for it, she knew, so maybe today would be the day she didn't hurry back to that bath in her nearby stream and that fire stoked outside her camp, and later to that inevitable interrogation. Maybe today her father's inquisition could wait.

She flung herself onto Barruch's back, planning to lead him to the copse where she'd dismount and lie on the moss, let the sun warm her. Then she'd pull on her tunic and wait for the rain to stop if it hadn't by then. It had already slowed down enough she didn't have to continually squint against the raindrops to see.

"He'll send someone for me, but we won't care will we?" she said, patting her mount's neck as he plodded toward the copse. With each step, Barruch seemed to pick up his pace and she guessed he was tired of death and wanted to retreat somewhere where he didn't have to put up with it. For a warhorse, he certainly could be fastidious.

She was a few hundred paces out when the rain did stop; the sunshine was so bright on the tree stand ahead of her she had to shield her eyes. The sun felt good on her back. Maybe she'd dry off before she even got there and they could just take the time to relax instead. She already knew the spot where they'd stop. Right there, where the twinkling of sunlight reflected back at her.

Wait. That wasn't right. No light would be twinkling from a focused spot like that in the middle of trees—not even if it was reflecting off water. Not at that height.

"Something isn't right, Old Man." She squeezed Barruch's sides with her knees and he stopped. She studied the area a few seconds more, chewing her lip in thought.

"Best get ready," she told him and he snorted in reply, himself breathing in a large draft after as though he was about to launch himself and needed bracing.

She reached into her side bag and pulled out her tunic then, still seated, pulled it down over her head, stretching her arms into the sleeves. It might be nothing there in the shadow of the trees, but she'd rather face nothing dressed then face something unknown naked.

The leather stuck in places against her skin and she had to hold onto Barruch tighter with her knees so she could pluck the material away and smooth it down.

The light flashed again and disappeared, leaving just the lush greens of trees and vegetation. Right. She was glad she was dressed. She spurred Barruch into a gallop. He was so responsive to her after these years that he was off in seconds. If there was something there, she wasn't giving it time to escape. And she knew something was there. Someone. And someone being there meant at least one person had escaped. Or fled.

And the person was watching her.

She charged the tree stand, lying down against Barruch's back, hugging his neck, becoming part of the horseflesh, letting the scratch of brambles and tree branches caress her arms. There was so much noise from the horse's panting breath, from the sound of him pounding the ground that she'd never hear if someone slipped out through the brush. That didn't mean she was going to give them time anyway. She knew the exact spot where the light flashed, hadn't taken her eyes off it and she went for the stand with all her concentration.

It was a small clearing, big enough for a horse to stand and a young woman to jump down and peer, crouched, into the underbrush.

Nothing.

She should have known that as fast as Barruch could be, he'd never outrun a spy who was watching the approach in the first place. But she had hoped she could at least catch the person running off.

She stood up and scanned the area. She should be able to see where they'd gone. There was a patch of grass that was crushed, a broken tree branch, nothing else. So that was where they'd watched from. She stood in the middle and turned in the direction of the hut. Sure enough, she had a good enough view of what remained of it but nothing was overtly clear. Would the person have been able to make out facial features or count the dead at this distance? She tried. She knew exactly how many dead bodies there were, but at this distance, she couldn't really say she "knew" they were bodies—they just showed as smudges of black against the earth. She couldn't even see the feet she knew were stuck out from beneath the pile of mud.

Barruch neighed from behind her and pressed impatiently into the growth. She watched him peering from behind a few tree limbs he'd managed to hide in. She gave him a warning shush before she turned back to squint into the underbrush ahead of her. The tree limbs behind her made an annoyingly loud crackling sound.

He whinnied in protest.

She'd have to do some training with him on not being so sassy.

"Really, Barruch?" she said, turning to him.

There, not three feet away, stood a youth perhaps a year or two older than she, his leg lifted; ready to swing onto Barruch's back. Barruch was not being overly cooperative and had swung his hind quarters toward a tree so the man was having a hard time getting into place.

"Get away from my mount," she said.

Best to not to let her gaze travel to the sword hanging on Barruch's other side. She was well-trained with sword and knife, even long sticks, but she rarely used the broad steel attached to her saddle—why would she? The great Yuri's witch had no need of a sword to kill, but this boy—this man, actually now that she'd seen him well enough—would surely use it if he could.

"Get away from Barruch," she said again, setting the spring in her lower back just in case she had to lunge.

Instead of obeying, he yanked hard on the reins so Barruch had to move away from the tree. His forearm muscles tightened and with a quick sweep the man's leg was up and over, and adroitly turning Barruch's nose toward her. With one hand he held onto the reins, with the other, he reached out to her. His fingers were long and elegant but for the roughness.

"Get on," he said.

Get on? Oddest kidnap she'd heard of—not that she'd heard of many. Her mother had been the last, but she'd not even been born and had to hear it years later.

"No." She told him.

He shrugged, and flashed a dazzling grin. "You'll miss him."

She stood, letting the tension she'd loaded into her spine relax. "I will not; he won't go with you."

A chuckle then, and a coaxing cluck. Barruch started to move.

She forged forward. "Wait. Barruch. Kneel." It was all she could think of. She'd taught him the trick to go down onto his front legs long ago as a trick to please her father. It always meant a parsnip or two for the beast—something the horse loved more than a free run. It took a second, a heart stopping second when she thought he wouldn't obey, but then, down went one knee and with a laborious groan, down went the other.

She knew the rider would have tried in that second to dig in, so he wouldn't fall, but it wasn't nearly enough time and he pitched forward instead, landing on his side in the grass. Alaysha took the time he was recovering to dash forward and wrestle her sword from Barruch's side. With it, she stood, feet braced apart, sword raised to her right with both hands on the hilt. He'd think twice if he meant to capture her. Or take her horse.

"I wasn't trying to steal him." He hoisted himself to his elbows.

"No?"

"No. Or steal you if that's what you think."

"You couldn't anyway."

"Oh, I see that."

"What do you want?"

He looked her over, his glance lingering a little too long on her chest. She had the horrible feeling that he'd seen her naked as she'd done her father's bidding, while he hid in the trees. He couldn't possibly have seen any real details from this far out, but somehow, she felt as though with him, it was possible. Her neck burned and she had to fight the urge to lower her gaze in shame. Instead, she shifted the blade so it was to her left. Just enough to make a motion to distract him.

"You didn't tell me what you're after. Why are you here?"

He put an innocent hand to his bare chest. "Me? Why are you here?"

She didn't need to answer him; he'd undoubtedly seen everything—or at least enough to know her presence was not mere happenstance. She gave him a dry glare that prompted him to protest.

"Oh, that?" He waved his hand in the direction of the village. "I know all about it. I even know why."

"Then why ask?"

"Because I want to know why you think you're here."

She lifted her shoulder, more to ease the ache beneath its blade than anything else. "I know exactly why I'm here." In fact, she knew all too well. It wasn't a difficult concept, after all.

"Not here." He stamped his foot against the moss and spread his arms. "Here." He gave her an exasperated sigh when she didn't say anything. "You have no idea who you are."

"And you do?" She snorted.

He turned his attention to her sword and nodded at it. "Why don't you put that thing down? I think we both know you don't need it."

She lowered the blade, but let it rest against her thigh. It might be true she didn't need it, but he might, and she wasn't about to make it easy for him to take it from her.

"Good," he said. "Good. Now, come, let's sit."

He settled on his patch of grass, crossed his legs and patted the spot in front of him.

"As though we were old friends?" She gave his hand a wary glance.

"Certainly not," he agreed. "How can we be? I've only known you a few moments. Now your nohma—well, I knew her for a while longer."

Now she gave him an even warier glance. He couldn't possibly know her nohma. She'd been dead at least a dozen years. She met his gaze across the space, his eyes, this close, looked like amber. She'd always liked that stone. She thought she remembered her mother's eyes when she looked into his. For a second she was flustered, then she remembered what he'd said.

"You're lying."

He spread his arms, a gesture of abject innocence, one that made him look even younger than she thought he could be. "Why would I lie?"

She didn't know, but she wasn't foolish enough to say so. Instead she took her time to look him over and she made no attempt to conceal the scrutiny. Let him know she was searching for weakness or ferreting out falsehood. Let him feel nervous.

What she got for her effort was a brush of fingers through his black hair. It wasn't as short as she'd thought at first—rather it was tied back at some point with a leather thong and had come mostly out of its queue, and was hanging over his ears but stopping short at his chin. His wide set eyes watched her watching him, and he leaned back almost arrogantly onto one palm, thrust his chest forward, giving her good study. She could make out markings beneath his arm running vertically down his rib cage.

"Who are you?" She did her best not to stare at the tattaus.

"Someone who knows your nohma obviously."

"You don't know her." Now she had him—anyone who really was telling the truth would not use the present tense.

"I do," he said."

She shuffled her feet, gave them great consideration. "Good ploy."

"How could I be making a ploy?"

"Everyone has a nohma, and so it would be easy to say you knew mine, hoping you would fool me into thinking you do know her."

He chuckled and placed his palms behind his head, leaning back farther against a tree.

"Stop it," she said.

"Stop what?"

"Acting unafraid. Acting as though you have nothing to fear from me." She wasn't sure why, but this bothered her.

"Okay." He sobered and sat at attention. So intent was his amber gaze on hers, so familiar, she had to turn away to avoid the intensity, and the sense of pull it had on her.

She hoisted her sword and slid it back into its sheath on Barruch's sidesaddle, then hoisted her leg onto his back. She didn't care who he was anymore; he wasn't trying to kill her, and if he'd escaped her "mission" so be it. Let him escape.

She was nudging Barruch forward when he spoke again, but it was too late. She was already heading out of the grove, and once her mount had his mind set, she knew there was no changing it.

"It's not everyone who calls her nurse Nohma, though," he said to her back.

Nohma. Grandmother. He was right. She called her nurse something her father's tribe did not use, and so it was possible he did know her—but for the small fact that her nohma was dead. That was how she knew this man was just aiming his arrows into the shadows, hoping to hit a target.

Nohma was dead. Never mind his present tense. She was gone. Alaysha knew it was true because she was the one who had killed her.

3

As it turned out, she left at just the right time. She could see both Drahl on his black mount and her father on his sturdy white one off in the distance, heading toward the decimated village. Looking for her, she supposed, but not from concern. If her father was riding with Drahl it could only be because he'd grown tired of waiting for a report; he hated waiting.

She trotted Barruch to meet him. They didn't see her at first; they kept on such a straight trajectory for the village, and by the time she'd started riding, they were already a breath ahead of her. She came up from behind them and to their left.

"Ho," she hollered.

They reined up short. The village ruin was a few hundred mount strides off yet, but she could easily make out the rubble of the old mud hut. She shifted her gaze away from it and made for her father's horse.

"I have the collection, Father," she told him and lowered her glance to his horse's hooves. No one could keep the intensity of his blue-eyed gaze long—least of all the witch he hated.

His horse snorted as it was forced closer, he and Barruch had been sired by the same stallion and though the speed ran in their veins, so too did the alpha streak. These two horses could not be corralled together and this proximity made them both antsy. Barruch was wont to nip at his brother, and stomp on a stray foot with his. Adding to that fact, it sensed the danger that Alaysha could drain the beast of all fluid. Add also the tension the beast felt from her father's very real, but checked, hostility. The cipher made for dangerous territory.

Yuri reached across both mounts, stretching toward the pouch. "How many?"

She unleashed the sack from Barruch's saddle and pulled out the pouch, handed it by its lashings to her father. "Eighteen pairs."

Yuri's fair face flushed red. "Eighteen?" He grabbed the handle and twisted to shake it at Drahl. "Eighteen pairs."

Drahl hung his head but said nothing. Alaysha wasn't sure what the trouble was.

"I collected them all, Father. Even the children's."

He didn't sound as though he believed her. "All, you say." He opened the top and rooted around within as though he could tell one shriveled eye from another, as though the contents weren't thirty-six eyes at all, but a benign collection of baubles. "All, you say." He withdrew his hand and yanked the pouch closed, then tossed it to Drahl.

"Tell her, Drahl."

"There were to be nineteen dead."

"Nineteen," Her father repeated. "Now tell me, where is the last?"

She swallowed hard. "The last?"

"You counted eighteen and there were to be nineteen. Where is the last?" He enunciated very clearly, very slowly, almost as though he thought she was stupid. But she wasn't stupid. Anxious, maybe. But not stupid.

"One woman was with child, but eighteen is all I killed, Father."

"Don't call me that," he said so matter-of-factly she wasn't aware of the venom in his tone at first. "I may have stolen your mother for my pleasure, but that doesn't make me your father. It makes me your Emir."

"Yes, Fa… yes, Yuri, Conqueror of the Hordes." Best to use his formal name, the one he prided himself on.

"It makes you my tool."

She nodded. She wouldn't react. He was angry, that was all. He always got this way when he was angry. Always trying to hurt her, to goad her. To test her. She would not react.

"Yes, Yuri."

"Where is the nineteenth?"

She wouldn't look at him. He would know if she showed him her eyes. "I killed only eighteen." It was true, wasn't it? He couldn't accuse her of lying.

He swore and pressed his mount closer. Barruch grew agitated. He stomped and writhed under her hold.

"I know you killed eighteen," Yuri said. "For if you had killed one more, I would have nineteen sets of your seeds."

He pressed so close Alaysha could smell the onions on his breath, the cactus wine he drank before each battle. She had to work to keep Barruch from rearing.

He pressed his spur into her bare shin and twisted. She gasped.

"There is no nineteen."

He glared at her, his blue eyes like chunks of hail and for a second she thought she'd like to melt the ice, drain it from him, taste the wet—

"Don't even think it, witch," her father said and she lost the thirst so fast she could taste the desert on her tongue.

"I'm sorry, Father."

He let the title slide, but he seemed to be considering it. Finally, he addressed Drahl, who had dismounted and was standing with his feet apart, the leather riding breeks buckled at the knees.

"Your scouts were wrong."

"I scouted the village myself."

"Then you were wrong."

Drahl kept the flint of his eyes cast downward and his thick lips pressed firmly together, but his posture argued with Yuri in ways his words would never dare. He opened his mouth once and then clamped it shut, considering. Then, he changed tack. "Perhaps the nineteenth was away during the attack."

Yuri rubbed his broad thigh in thought. "Perhaps," he said after a while. "Then we need to find out who was missing." He glanced at the basket of seeds. "That will be useless."

He turned Alaysha. "What of the bodies?"

She relayed what she could remember, leaving out the information of the tattaus and the man in the oasis.

"Three crones you say?" His face lit up at the news. "Three?" He repeated, holding up his fingers. "You're sure?"

She nodded.

It seemed as though his joy was temporary if not tentative, as though he felt relief, but it was combined with wariness.

"And were these crones marked?"

She had to be careful; too much information and he would know she suspected something, too little and he would know she was lying. "There were some markings on the men, Father, but they meant nothing to me."

He wasn't mollified. "What kind of markings were they?"

He was baiting her, she knew. She wasn't sure why. She sensed he knew exactly how the tattaus looked, that they were very close to her own, but she wasn't sure if he understood just how similar they were. She guessed, and made a stab he'd gotten reports but had not actually seen the tattaus. She hoped as she spoke that he couldn't hear the tremble in her voice.

"They were symbols of animals. All across the chest and the backs of the hands." He'd know she was lying if he went to look at the bodies, and she prayed to the Deities he wouldn't. She wasn't sure why she had lied so blatantly when she could be checked up on so easily.

He eyed her critically. "And the crones?"

"The crones had no markings."

"None?"

She shook her head.

Yuri turned to Drahl. "You told me—"

Drahl shrugged as it became obvious to Alaysha that while he'd had been the one sent to do the scouting, he'd sent someone else and so now he couldn't speculate. Thank the Deities for his laziness.

"Markings are markings," he said and nodded at Alaysha. "How would she know what to look for?" The black look he gave her would have shriveled an apple.

"She tells me what she sees."

"Perhaps it is not the crones she saw."

"Perhaps not, but then the number would be wrong." Her father was beginning to lose patience, she could tell; his white brows were furrowed and meeting together over the blue-pink of his eyes. Drahl on the other hand, seemed oblivious.

"The count was correct." He argued. He hoisted himself back onto his mount and spent considerable time wrapping the end of the rein over his fleshy wrist. Alaysha thought he would grow fat when he stopped riding and scouting.

Yuri's eyes narrowed. "Then you have the wrong tribe."

"The crones must have escaped."

"If it's so and it is the correct tribe minus the old women, then the number would be sixteen. If it's the right tribe as you say, and the crones are the right ones, then the number would be nineteen. Either you are right or you are wrong."

It was all terribly confusing. Alaysha cut in. "The crones did not escape."

"But they have no markings."

"They were the only old women in the village."

Yuri dismounted and grabbed the pouch again, then spilled the seeds across the caked dirt. Pick them out," he ordered.

Alaysha knew which were the crones. Each seed had its shape even if that shape was no longer what it had been when it was fully fluid, or if each seed lacked the color it wore in life. A witch does not send her power through tear ducts and pores and not know each fluid membrane it touches. By her very nature, she had a long, long memory, the better to travel the fluid lines of each host and drain the living fluid away. She knew each seed, yes. Intimately.

She sorted out seeds that in life she knew had been bright blue and milky white. Each crone with a mixed set. These not quite so desiccated as the others.

"These," she said, putting them aside from the others.

Yuri inspected them. "And all are buried beneath the mud?"

She nodded.

"And none were marked?"

It was her turn to examine the seeds, but only so she could avoid his eye. "Yes," she said, and found the lie came easier each time she spoke it.

He toed the dirt, flipping dry soil over the seeds. Then he said to Drahl, "It's not the right tribe. Keep looking."

"But the number is right."

Yuri didn't raise his voice, but the threat was clear in the undertones. "The number is wrong. There were eighteen, not the nineteen we're looking for. You counted wrong. The crones were unmarked. It doesn't matter if the others were. Keep looking."

Despite the way Drahl glowered at her and clenched his fat lips into a tight hateful line, Alaysha had to know. "Who are these people, Father?"

He stared at her. "The wrong people." He mounted up and nosed his stallion back towards the camp. Drahl did the same, leaving Alaysha alone.

The wrong people. He thought she'd got it wrong, but she hadn't, and now she needed to know exactly what was going on.

He wanted this village in particular vanquished. That was nothing new, not really, except for the crones. He was specific in asking about the markings too. Tattaus just like hers. But why? What had these people done that set him out from his beloved Sarum hunting for them?

She knew of at least one person besides her father who could answer that.

Number nineteen.

4

Number nineteen was gone by the time Alaysha had returned to the tree line, and in spite of his having wanted her to accompany him, he'd undoubtedly left as soon as he'd seen the mighty Yuri and Drahl ride up to her.

It was the smart thing for him to do, no doubt, but the most frustrating for her. Now she'd never know what he wanted to tell her, and she had the feeling it was the same thing her father didn't want her to know. That meant she could never tell him the crones were actually the ones he was seeking. If the village had been the right one, he'd know number nineteen had escaped. Better he think they had the wrong village and that the survivor was nowhere in the vicinity.

It had been a terribly long day. She was hungry and tired, and worst of all, thirsty. That was never a good thing, but so long as she wasn't afraid, and she was sufficiently exhausted, the power could not creep on her unawares.

So she headed back to camp only to find that same camp being packed up. It was so like her father to break for Sarum without wondering if she had made it back safely or not. She knew the way of things. News just traveled. Drahl would have been given command to break and he would set his men about the task. The sundry womenfolk: laundresses and cooks, the children who cared for the horses and beasts, the hunters and gatherers, all would see the camp going through the motions of packing and would do the same without question.

She dismounted and led Barruch to her own encampment, a cleft of a cave in the side of a mountain about a hundred paces from the actual camp. Yuri's daughter or no, he never allowed her too close to his site. Too dangerous, he'd said. Drahl had merely told her no one wanted to be in close quarters with a witch.

She found it odd her father had been the one to soften the blow of that news.

She had meager belongings to collect: a bowl and a spoon, a bed blanket made of leopard fur and a thatch mat her nohma had woven years earlier with bits of feathers amidst the thatch to soften the grass. It rolled neatly and tied to Barruch easily.

She grabbed her bowl and spoon with the intention of scavenging a few morsels to fill her belly if the cook hadn't finished packing, then she'd take a few minutes to get some water from the stream next to the camp. She would rather the order be switched, but the stream would always be there waiting, while she had her doubts about the cook and his fare.

"Wait here," she told Barruch and gave his rump a pat. "If I'm lucky, there'll be a stray parsnip in it for you."

She left him peering down at the sour grass with disdain, and set out towards the cook's tent, trying not to meet anyone's eye. She needn't worry; most scurried out of her path as she approached.

Once or twice, when she encountered one of Drahl's men, they spat on the ground when she came near enough.

"Drink that, witch," one said, leering and poking at his friend's side.

"Watch it now," his companion said. "She can have you in one swallow."

"Brah," The first muttered, raking her with his gaze. "She's drank already. Killed a hundred men today already and half a dozen babies. Even a water witch can't drink more'n that."

Drink. They really had no idea. The man had been a soldier for as long as she'd been alive, and he'd seen the end of a dozen of her "battles", but he had no idea, still, what it was she did for her father. No one did. And so they assumed she put her lips to another's and drank their liquid away.

Fools. They thought they were safe if she didn't touch them. No one considered how difficult it would be to have to kill one by one and still be successful. Drahl might have had an inkling of what she did; he came upon her first deaths so quickly after battle, knew she hadn't a mark on her, knew she was too far away to touch anyone who died. He might have an inkling, and he might hate her out of fear, but he didn't really know the scope of her power. Most who had seen it used, had died within moments of witnessing it.

Only her father knew the full truth of it—had used her truth since she was old enough to be carried in a basket on his mount's sidesaddle. Had used her for his gain these last eighteen years.

Maybe it was a mercy they had no idea she could drain them even from this distance. And that was the fear of it—she could drain so easily—too easily, but she couldn't control it. Everyone, everything, every drop of water would obey her and gather for her, and move for her to the heavens until the weight of itself needed to be released: rain, hail, once even snow.

And afterwards she would be as thirsty as if she had been drained herself. So she could command the water, but it weakened her. And the more the power grew, the more it drained her when she used it. She'd been much weaker today after battle than she'd been during the last, over six months earlier. It wasn't enough yet to make her sick or helpless, but how long would it be before she collapsed after battle? How long before she fainted dead away?

And that was the secret her father could never know. He thought the draining empowered her, he thought the power came from the thirst.

She intended he always believe it.

Cook was all packed up when she neared his tent. His was the largest in the retinue but for her father's because of all the provisions he was in charge of and how many people milled about throughout the day. At the moment, no one sat near the now-dying fire or queued up for hot acorn mash tea. The old scent of roasted boar hung in the air, mingled with wild onions and the sweet fragrance of honeyed ale from last night's supper.

She knew the smell, sure enough, but she'd not been given a taste of the warrior's meal. She'd had to forage for her own acorns and dig a few wild onions and fern tops to steam over a lonely fire. She'd had no meat.

Cook caught a glance of her as she lurked close to the fire pit, scouring the rocks for stray bits of meat or vegetables. He had the decency, at least, to back away even though he lifted a pot at her—his way of fending her off, she supposed.

"I'm just looking for leftovers," she told him.

"There is none." Cook busied himself with rooting in a rucksack, stashing wooden utensils and tying up the leather thongs at the top. He was trying to avoid meeting her eye, she realized.

Alaysha noticed on the fringe of his stockpile a wooden plate with a short stack of griddle cakes and a few slices of burnt meat: bacon left over the spit too long, she figured, and no one had been interested in charred boar.

"What about that?" She pointed, and he followed her direction.

"That? That's rot, you fool."

"It looks edible enough."

He shrugged. "If you've a mind to eat burnt food, it's no care of mine. Save me from burying it."

Alaysha was headed to salvage the leftovers when a small girl bolted out from behind a stand of brush and made a grab for the griddle cakes with one hand and the bacon with the other.

Far be it for Alaysha to let a girl starve, but she was pretty hungry herself. She took after the scamp, hearing the unmistakable sounds of Cook chortling.

"Come back here," she yelled, trailing the girl past the brush and into the woods. "That's my breakfast."

The girl was fast the way a ferret is fast—she slunk through tiny gaps in trees, over the roots creeping along the forest floor, underneath the lowest hanging branches. She would have outdistanced Alaysha if she hadn't come up against the same hillside that had provided Alaysha a small cleft of sanctuary while they'd been out here.

She drew up to within a few feet of the girl and stopped, panting, as she decided what to do with her.

"That's mine," she decided on.

Up close, the girl looked even grubbier than she'd first seemed. Her long face had a gaunt, underfed appearance, and the smudges beneath her haunted eyes were black as the soot from the fire. The strings of her hair hung down in pigtails held together by mud—no lashing anywhere in sight. It was impossible to tell what color the tresses were through the dirt.

"Mine," Alaysha said again. She didn't care how starved looking this girl was, that food was well-earned spoils of war—her spoils—and she wasn't giving them up.

The girl was panting hard and her gaze never rested in one spot. It seemed as fidgety as a cornered ferret.

"Give it to me."

The girl shook her head and darted to the left, where Alaysha realized she'd tethered Barruch. They both started off at the same time, but Alaysha knew the girl would fetch up into a very large, very hungry, and very annoyed stallion. Sure enough, the sight of the black beast gave the child enough startled pause that Alaysha was able to make a grab for the girl's tunic—or what ragged pieces made up her tunic.

She gripped the edge of the coarse flax-spun as tightly as she could and simultaneously pressed the girl closer to Barruch.

"Give me my supper."

"I thought it was your breakfast," the girl taunted.

"It's both of those things."

The little ferret took one long look at the food still clenched in her hands.

"It's mine," Alaysha whispered, thinking the soft tone might soothe the savage expression on the child's face. "Please." She took hold of the girl's elbow, more to implore her than to hurt her.

And she was rewarded with teeth crunching into her tricep.

"Why you little—"

There was a flash of a dirty smile before the girl crammed the griddlecake into her mouth. Alaysha had to wrestle the bacon from her other hand even as the ferret chomped and swallowed convulsively, frantically. The girl's mouth and throat worked so hard, it was almost a thing of beauty—until, still fighting for the bacon, the girl started to choke.

"The Deities have mercy," Alaysha sputtered, watching the girl's eyes widen.

Instinct made the girl drop the bacon in favour of flailing at her throat.

Faced with a dying child or grabbing for a burnt piece of bacon, Alaysha let go the girl's tunic and made to help dislodge the stuffing of griddlecake that still puffed out the young cheeks and was obviously stuck in her throat.

"Maybe some water—" she started to say, and was frantically searching for a cup to dip some, when the girl whooped triumphantly, grabbed for the bacon, and in a flash tumbled under Barruch's belly and rolled to her feet on the other side.

Just like that, the little ferret was gone.

5

The bats came while she slept under the stars. Alaysha could hear their clicking noises as they navigated in the dark, foraging for gnats and mosquitos. She rolled over on her thatch mat, curled into a ball and shivered. Sometime between her lying down and now, the temperature had dropped, and she hadn't thought to pull a skin over herself before dropping off into the land of shadows.

It had been one long, incredibly long and exhausting day. And the battle—she couldn't call what she'd done to that tribe battle—best she call it what it was—assassination. Yes, after the assassination and the search and the subsequent fight over her supper, she'd been so fatigued when the camp set back on their way to Sarum that she'd fallen asleep on Barruch's back at least three times. When the queue of riders stopped for the night, she hadn't even bothered to find a decent shelter, just unrolled her mat a few sans-kubits from the rest of the camp and fell onto it.

She could see the fire pit from where she sat now, hear Barruch's heavy breaths, feel the heat coming off his flanks as he stood close. She could tell he was sleeping even though he rarely rested for more than a couple of hours. Today must have been equally as tiring for him with all the travel. She'd have to make sure to see the wrangler for oats in the morning to help him build his strength back. He was no friend of Alaysha's but he hated to see a mount suffer. For now she should try to find a skin in her pack. Maybe with warmth, she could sleep ’til morning.

She rubbed her bare arms, hoping to stimulate the circulation and bring a flush of heat to the skin. She got up and leaned against Barruch as she rooted in the pack beneath him. He woke when she touched it and glared at her through unblinking lids. He snorted and moved a step to his left. She had to dig deeper.

Strange; the pack felt empty. No spoon. No bowl. And most definitely, no furred skin.

Someone had undoubtedly stolen the few possessions she owned, and there was only one person she could think of worse off than the water witch. No doubt the little ferret was cozied up somewhere wrapped in the fur and clenching the spoon with hope morning would bring a few meager crumbs to fill the bowl.

Alaysha sighed heavily. It would be a long wait ’til morning. She'd either have to build a fire in the dark without her tinder bundle, or brave the fire in the middle of the camp and its few sentries who kept it fed through the night.

She didn't relish the thought, but she patted Barruch's rump anyway. "Go back to sleep, old man," she whispered and he sent a cloud of hot air in response.

Barefoot, she made her way toward the fire pit in the center of camp. She stumbled a few times on tree roots, and got a twig jammed between her toes, but she knew the shrubbery of the camp fringes would eventually give way to the even, open plain of the main camp, and the going would be easier. She was intent on staring at the ground, trying to discern the way of it when she felt a dry palm clamp over her mouth.

She was already struggling and fighting into the palm bed when a second arm went around her waist and pulled her hard into a muscled torso.

Instinct told her to thirst, and panic came with it, like a hard hit to the stomach. If she drew the water, it would come from everywhere—including the camp. She could already taste the moisture and moldy scent of wet earth. The fear of that made the psyching of the water even stronger.

"Think of your nohma." The command was a hoarse but firm whisper in her ear.

Even though she was pinioned in strange arms, Alaysha was so desperate to keep the power from thirsting the camp dry, she deliberately went still. Through the trees she could see the fire flicker and then blaze higher as whatever water still remaining in the wood hissed into the air. Somewhere, she knew a laundress's linens, hung on outstretched tree limbs, had dried so completely they took the shape of the branches and would be stiff when lifted off and inspected in the morning.

Then, sweet merciful Deities, there was Nohma: her hair hanging in two plaits on her shoulders; blonde, with streaks of white; her hands working Kasha dough into thin pancakes to stretch across the fire. It was such an ordinary image, and yet such a sweet one that Alaysha held onto it.

The taste of leaf mold disappeared and the hiss of water through living wood evaporated into silence. It was all so sudden, she nearly collapsed into the arms of her captor. Never before had she been able to stem the tide of power. It always took flight from her so quickly, did its work so fast, it was impossible to recall before it killed.

She felt the relief, too, in the body of her assailant. His torso melded into her back.

"It's gone," he said to the dark. And because she couldn't speak she nodded.

"I'm going to take my hand away."

She knew the voice now. Number nineteen. He must have followed her to the camp.

"All right," he sounded unsure; she could still feel his body against hers, rigid, braced. She waited until she felt him relax before she eased out of his grip. He let her go in measures: first her mouth, then her waist. She spun around in the darkness, her hands outstretched, aiming for his throat.

There was no connection; just a band of thickened air meeting her grasp, and an amused chuckle in the dark.

"You really are young," he said. "Come with me."

He didn't wait for an answer. She felt him move away from her, heading back in the direction of her site. There was no waiting for her assent or her decision, and she knew she could easily make a break toward the fire and notify the sentries, shout, anything, and he must've known that too. Yet when she caught a glimpse of his back, it was already a good distance away, absorbing errant moonlight, and then it was swallowed by the shadows of trees and shrubs. She watched the blackness for some time before she followed, picking her way through the brush, wincing when she stuck the same toe as before on a rock she didn't see.

He was hunched over the beginnings of a fire when she made it back to her own site. She could just make out her tinder bundle as it rested on his lap, lit by the long, narrow light of a kindled flame. So it hadn't been the ferret after all who'd stolen her things. She wondered how long he'd lurked in the dark, waiting for her to sleep so he could ease the items from her pack. This thievery must have been what woke her, not the cold.

"Why didn't you just tie me up while I slept?"

He ignored the question in favor of blowing air onto the meager flame. It was being stubborn and seemed reluctant to catch. He mumbled a few foreign words at it and pulled the furred skin—her stolen skin—over his shoulders.

"Come," he said.

"You didn't answer me."

"I will, but first you need to sit with me under this fur."

She crossed her arms over her chest and edged closer to Barruch, who shambled nervously in the dark.

"Listen, it's only because you're cold," he said. "And so am I. Besides, if we are both under this, no one in the distance will think there is more than one of us here in the dark, even when the fire catches."

She turned her attention to the stubborn few tendrils of blaze teasing the few bits of wet sticks he'd piled together.

"It won't catch."

"It will."

"It won't last."

"It will last as long as we need it to."

"You sound certain."

"I am. Now, hurry up."

She wanted the heat, it was true. And she wanted more: the answers she hadn't been able to get from her father after the battle. And if she waited too long, someone just might take notice that the water witch had company—and such an oddity would undoubtedly draw attention.

She ran a palm over Barruch's neck and down his side. "All right," she said and made herself take the steps toward her mat and the hunkered-down form on it before she could change her mind.

Her visitor stretched his arms wide so the fur opened up, and she scooted beneath, between his knees, letting go a murmur of pleasure when the fur settled around her shoulders and the heat enveloped her.

"Better?" he asked, his breath against her nape.

"Better."

It was then the fire caught and she felt a flush of warmth on her cheeks.

"So, you followed me," she said, low enough that past their fire, no one would hear her speak.

"I did."

"How could I not have seen you?"

He chuckled, but said nothing.

"You won't tell me."

"I would be a fool to tell secrets to the enemy."

"And yet you cuddle beneath the furs with her as though you were a favored companion."

"You call this a cuddle, this shivering beneath a ragged skin with barely enough fur to hold the heat? You are indeed young."

She didn't like the way he said it. If he'd known how she'd lived these years, how many lives she'd taken, he'd not think her young. She was wise beyond most warriors' years.

"So it's true; we are enemies? It was you my father was searching for?"

"Yes. Me and the others."

"You mean the rest of the village."

"The rest of my tribe."

"So he's done it, then. Conquered your people?"

"Mere conquest is not what the great Yuri is after."

"What, then? What is he after if not the vanquishment of another tribe, the obedience of another horde to keep his boundaries safe?"

His tone turned chiding. "Is that what you think you're doing for him? Keeping his tribe safe?"

"I hadn't thought about it."

"And my enemy, who never once thinks about what she's doing, is expecting answers?"

"You came to me, not the other way around."

"Fair enough."

"So what is my father after, if not conquest?"

"Annihilation. And he very nearly has it. There are only two left from my tribe."

It hit hard, this news that she had decimated almost an entire group of people. She thought of the last battles—no, not battles if she remembered correctly—more plain murder. Yes, some of the first ones, months and seasons ago had been truer battles than these last, with men coming at her with swords and axes and arrows, while the villages they fought for waited hundreds of leaguas away. But these last few had been less so, surprise attacks, even. She thought they were punishments or strategic blows. She'd never given thought to how many might be left.

"We've been travelling," she thought out loud. "Going far and wide to hit the targets."

"Because we're nomadic," he said.

"We've gone into the mountains."

"Our winter home."

"We've killed on the plains."

She felt him shrug. "Summer. Spring."

"I thought he was extending his borders."

"He was getting rid of us, and now he has nearly succeeded."

"But why? What did you do? Yuri is a fierce man, but to decimate an entire tribe—he must have a reason."

"Fear."

"The great Yuri does not fear." She snorted and Barruch clomped closer, trying to nuzzle beneath the blanket to investigate her sounds of derision.

"Yuri had reason to fear when he first conquered one of our villages twenty seasons ago."

"You can't know that."

"Why not?"

"Because you aren't twenty seasons old. How do you know what occurs in battle seasons before your birth—even war stories are filled with lies."

He laughed but there was no mirth in it. "You who are so young school me on age."

There was no sound in the darkness for a while. The fire, despite its meager fuel, burned hot with a blaze that made Alaysha think it was fed from beneath, from an infinite supply of the black sludge that sometimes gurgled to the surface.

She felt the wetness of Barruch's nose as he shoved his muzzle into the mound of blankets. She reached out to touch him.

"It's okay, old man," she whispered. "Everything is fine." In fact she was getting hot beneath the fur, and despite the excitement of being awake, of being with number nineteen, of being on the cusp of knowing things she'd always wondered about, the heat was like a shaman's drug. She had to fight against it. She felt his chin on her shoulder, and they sat for long moments before he spoke again. She had to force her eyes to stay open.

"I was six seasons old when your father came to our summer village."

"Then you do remember."

She felt his shiver against her back. "Yes. I remember."

She thought for a moment, wondering if she should press for more or let him be. She settled for asking the question he had instigated but not pursued.

"So who is this other? This second to last person in your tribe?"

"Haven't you guessed?" He pulled the fur tighter around them both, his right palm resting on her left shoulder. "It's you."

6

Alaysha woke only when she heard birdsong. She expected number nineteen to be long gone, but he was stretched on her mat beside her, curled beneath the fur so only the topmost part of his black hair was visible. She'd expected him to have slipped into the night as quietly as he'd arrived. She expected he'd delivered the news he was meant to, shocked her senseless, refused to say anymore until she wearied herself with protests and slept, finally, to the sound of frogs calling to each other in the trees, and then been off like a shadow disappearing with the sun.

But no. At the moment, he had his hot palm resting beneath her tunic on her bare stomach as though it belonged there.

Face burning, and the clutch of anxiety tightening her throat, she scrambled from beneath the warmth and onto her bare feet where the chill pinched at her skin. She stood looking down at him, arms crossed, thinking of his words from the night before, of his refusal to say more until she was ready to hear it. Ready. What did he think she was now if not prepared to hear the truth?

Young, he'd called her, and here he appeared to have come straight off the blade-sharp edge of new manhood. She'd dislodged the fur when she'd jumped up and now the side of his face was exposed to the newly rising sun. His lashes reminded her of the tendrils of old smoke that still wound about the fire, and his jaw had the same smudge of color. Asleep as he was, he had no arrogance, no sense of danger. She shouldn't have bolted like a hare.

"You didn't seem to mind my hand on you during the night," he said without opening his eyes. "Why run from it now?"

"I was cold last night, obviously."

He pulled the fur higher, covering his chin. "Cold. Right. Come back to the mat. I'm the one who's cold now."

She thought she could feel embarrassment flush her face straight down to her toenails.

"Shouldn't you be disappearing like you appeared?"

"Why should I? I have a lovely mat. A lovely mount to ride. A lovely..." he said no more, merely opened one eye and lifted his hand to thumb his jaw. "Let's just say I find it lovely here."

She threw a harassed glance over her shoulder. The camp would be roused soon, have a quick breakfast and then be back on the road for another day's journey. Three more before they reached Sarum. She intended the camp make it there without discovering she harbored the enemy.

"You have to leave."

"Why?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"What's obvious is you favor Yuri to your own kin." He sat up and wrapped the fur around his knees.

"Yuri is my kin."

He snorted. "Yuri is your conqueror."

"He's my father."

"Is he?" The boulder shifted and poked at the embers of the fire. To her surprise, it leapt to attention.

"You know he's my father."

"A father is more than blood, Alaysha."

She squinted at him suspiciously. They hadn't addressed each other all night. "You know my name."

"Of course. Know thy enemy, my nohma used to say. Well, until you killed her." There was something in his face that made him look different, but then it was gone.

"I didn't—" she started to protest, but realized it was pointless. Of course she'd killed his nohma. She'd probably killed them all.

He grinned at her, and it was such a knowing, patronizing look, she had to stifle the urge to strike him.

"I'm hungry," is what she said instead and made to root out some early, unfolded fern tops and some grain heads for her breakfast. A dove egg or two wouldn't be bad either. She'd use the lovely fire he provided her with and roast them right in their shells. Never mind what happened to him. No doubt he'd get found while she was away and be taken for a thief and stoned right there.

She left him with a decided glare and shuffled off into the underbrush. He knew her name, knew she was part of his tribe, knew her father had ordered them killed...

She stopped short, a green fern clutched in her hand, ready to yield when the thought settled into her psyche like a rat bedding down for the day.

He knew she was part of his tribe. Oh, dear heaven. And Yuri knew it too. That was the secret her father kept. Yuri used her to annihilate everyone of her own tribe right down to the last man.

The realization made her straighten so fast, blackness threatened to overcome her. She felt dizzy. She'd systematically killed every one who had a connection to her. Ignorance was no excuse. She'd been bid to do so, and she'd killed without question.

All but for one. Number nineteen.

And number nineteen, who knew what she didn't, was even now lying exposed on her mat, exposed to view of the camp. If they found him, they would kill him.

She darted back, through bracken and crashing through spindly trees, back into the scented grass, and the light of her camp. She rushed, breathless, toward Barruch and shoved him aside as hard as she could so she could see her mat.

She should have known he'd be gone, but it still deflated her. The mat was rolled up and propped against a tree. The fur spread over a boulder.

The fire was blackened and dead.

She sighed.

"He said to tell you he's got a name—he isn't a number."

Alaysha whirled about to find the dirty little ferret standing with her hand against a tree, balancing on one leg uncertainly. Ready to take flight, she supposed.

She had to be careful.

"You spoke to him?"

The ferret nodded.

"Do you know who he is?"

A shake of the head, a short chew on the bottom lip.

Alaysha relaxed.

"Have you come to steal something else?"

The girl let down her foot, unshod, Alaysha could see. Just like her. She glanced down at her own feet—wiggled the toes.

"Have you eaten?" she asked the girl.

"No."

"Me, either. What say we try the camp this morning?"

The girl fidgeted. "I don't think I should."

Alaysha reached out her hand. "You must be hungry."

The girl bobbed her head in agreement. "But they won't like it."

"I know, but I'm too hungry to care."

They set out, the ferret close at Alaysha's heels but never quite abreast. Alaysha found she had to continually talk to her over her shoulder.

"Have you no family?"

The ferret nearly trod on her heel when Alaysha slowed her pace enough to hear the answer. "Careful," she told the girl.

There was a quick, furtive shake of the ferret's head, her muddied plaits leaving fresh trails of dirt on her tunic front. It made Alaysha wonder if the dirt was applied fresh each morning rather than just being the result of the girl's unwashed state.

"No relatives at all?"

Another shake. A few quick peeks over her shoulder and to the sides. "I had a brother once."

"Once?"

"Yes. A few months ago he left."

Alaysha thought it over for a second. There was something unsaid in the girl's tone. "Escaped, you mean."

The girl stopped a few paces away. She hung her head.

"You're one of the captives of year sixteen, aren't you?"

"Year fifteen by your timeline; we don't—we didn't—measure time the same way."

Alaysha nodded. "I don't imagine." She sidestepped to dodge the round of dogs loosed for their morning forage. The great Yuri never fed his warrior's dogs—only his own—and so each morning they were sent out to hunt for themselves. She watched them run through the bracken and disappear into the underbrush. Their being awake and loosed would mean the camp was up, awake, and setting about the packing routine, ready to travel.

"If you were captured during year fifteen, why are you free? Why aren't you serving in the scouts households?"

Alaysha remembered that campaign; or rather, she remembered the smell of death, the taste of the water she thirsted from every living thing within her killing zone. She thought of the pouch of seeds from that battle, lying nestled in a dirt hole at the back of her room beneath the ground in Sarum, covered over by thatch and then rocks on top of that. She never tried to remember much more than those things. Remembering the people the seeds belonged to was too painful. But that particular battle had been difficult. The village had sent out wave after wave of men, trying to wear her out little by little rather than sending them all at once. She'd had to send the power out over and over again.

"Are you listening?"

Alaysha's gaze refocused. She must have been lost in thought to have missed what the girl was saying. "I'm listening."

The girl shuffled her feet through the turf. "My master—the one who—the one who took us in after the conquest, he worked us hard." She fleeted a look into Alaysha's eyes, and there was a peculiar intelligence within, something pitiful to waste on manual labor, which is what all those from that campaign were used for: kitchen slaves, horse muckers, stone cutters.

"And?"

"Well we didn't mind hard work. Where I come from, labour is not a harsh thing, but it was the—master—of the house more than the needs." The girl let her gaze drop to her feet.

It took a moment to sink in, and the realization made Alaysha's stomach turn.

"You mean the master—"

The girl held up her hand as though she couldn't bear to hear the words.

"Oh, sweet Deities." Alaysha said. "Sweet Deities, you poor thing." She reached out to touch the girl's filthy plaits. "So you ran away. Are you all right? Do you need to see a medicine woman?"

The girl seemed confused. "I'm fine," she said. "Just hungry."

"But you said—"

"I said my brother couldn't take it anymore and we ran away."

"Your brother?" The mosaic was coming together a little tighter, and Alaysha couldn't say the picture was any prettier than what she'd originally thought.

The girl nodded. "At first we went together. But the master is on the trail a lot and we couldn't stay together without fear one of us would be found, and so then, the other. He left nearly a full season ago and told me to stay with the camp when it travels, on the fringes, stealing food, and then when we were back in Sarum, to stay close to his dog's quarters. I could get more scraps from them—you know the dogs are so well fed, they often have most of what's left."

"But how could he leave you like that?"

The girl glanced up sharply and the look she gave Alaysha sent a shiver down her spine. "He hasn't really left forever—he's coming back. And when he does it will be with an army."

Alaysha wanted to say something, but they'd reached the beginnings of the camp and a horrible keening wail had begun that replaced the shiver running down Alaysha's spine with goose pimples. She darted to the left where a small animal skin tent had been erected amidst trees with long horizontal branches. One of the laundresses, obviously. There were always about half a dozen of them each time the camp struck out, always pitched their sites closest to the outer edge so the warriors could strip off their blood-soaked linen armor as soon as possible and leave it at those washes—then pick it up on the way to battle.

Since Alaysha had been going on conquest with her father, those laundresses had less blood-soaked linen and more sweaty tunics to clean. Still, they clung to the old ways with a tenacity borne of needfulness. Should they become extraneous, no doubt the great Yuri would find some other use for them—less favorable, if he found tasks at all. He had said more than once how he hated having to feed an army.

Still, the pile of rags the woman moaned over was so small, so insignificant, it made Alaysha wonder what could possibly be so horrible. It was then she saw the true shape of the rags. Formed around a tiny body. A little flax-spun cap atop its head.

She caught her breath and found she couldn't exhale. She should have known. She should have known she couldn't stop the power.

She cast harried glances around her. Laundry stiff as it hung from branches, stretched-out spruce roots forming a drying line. The ground beneath her feet was crackling moss—dried to straw. The woman herself was un-stooped with age, but her lips were dry and her weeping was horribly tearless.

Oh, sweet Deities. They would know. They would all know.

The strength nearly left her legs; she had to force herself to back up. She knocked into the little ferret.

"And what could they do about it if they did know?"

She hadn't expected the girl to speak. She looked down at her, trying to focus on her mouth. "What?" she asked her.

"I said what would they do?"

"You heard that?"

"I've ears, haven't I?"

"I thought I—"

"You thought you weren't speaking." The girl shrugged. "They'll have figured it out by now." She pointed to the water station where several warriors were tipping clay jugs over and over, finding only puddles of water within to slake their thirst.

"It's why they're afraid of you?"

Yes. It was why they were afraid. Still, this was the tribe that had brought her up. She couldn't stand to see the suffering. She had to do something. Surely she could bring rain. So what if she'd only killed a few and thirsted out only surface water. It wasn't right.

"I have to do something." As much as she wanted to go the other way, she forced her feet toward the laundresses and her dead baby. How old must it have been? Weeks, surely, it was so small.

She stepped close enough to stand over the woman who held the tiny corpse in her arms. Alaysha could tell it hadn't been dried out completely. The eyes were closed, but they were still round beneath the lids. The tiny hands hanging from the swaddling blanket were gray and lifeless, but not brown and leathered.

Maybe she hadn't thirsted the life from it; maybe she wasn't responsible for all of this.

The woman must have felt her presence. She glanced up, pain streaking her features. Within a flash that pain transformed to rage when she saw Alaysha standing there.

"You killed her." The lips, dry and crackled as they were, had a hard time forming the words, but the tone was unmistakable.

"I didn't mean—"

"What good can come from suffering a witch in camp, in the Emir's reach? Living in fear you'll lose control. Well, go on; drink me, too. Send me to my babe."

"I can't."

"You won't." The woman would have spit at her, Alaysha knew; if she could have gathered the fluid.

"You think I don't know you? You think I don't know what you are, about your kind?"

"My kind?"

The woman would say no more. She stared ahead for countless minutes and then went about moaning aloud again, rocking over the form she held. Her grief was so painful, so personal, Alaysha had to hug her stomach to keep from vomiting.

A dry hand took hers, and she looked down into a pair of muddy, concerned eyes.

"Come on," the girl said. "We have to leave her."

A tug, and then a deliberate pull so Alaysha's arm stretched up and out.

"We can't do anything for her," the girl said.

Breaking her fast didn't seem appropriate now. The two staggered to the camp, searching for, and finding subtle notices that the power had indeed begun its work.

Thankfully, however, there were no more deaths: only dry gazes from the tribe and desperate, futile searches for water. The ground was dry—no morning dew—but other than that, it was clear the camp had weathered the worst of the drought.

Alaysha was relieved until she caught sight of Drahl making a deliberate path toward her, his bear skin cloak sailing behind him from the force of his stride. She had a feeling her father's morning brew had been drunk of its liquid, leaving the bitter, psyche-strengthening dregs of herbs behind.

She reached out to grab the girl's hand but clutched at air instead. She wasn't gone exactly, just had wandered aimlessly toward a tent smelling of cinnamon and oats. Probably scouting for fare easier to get than Cook's stomach-fortifying roasted boar slabs.

Drahl stopped a few paces from her, staring sidelong at the woman still wailing over her baby. "The great Yuri, Conqueror of Hordes—"

"Leader of Thousands, yes, I know the title," Alaysha said, sighing. "What does he want?"

"He wants the witch to stand before him." Drahl wouldn't meet her eyes we spoke, but neither would he keep his attention on the mourner.

"Has it to do with a sudden lack of water?"

He did look at her then, and Alaysha could almost taste the spit he would have sent her way if he'd had enough available to do so.

"The witch should ask him," he said.

"The witch will."

His lips worked for a while before they settled into a hard line. Without another word, he turned his back and strode off. Alaysha didn't need to follow him—she knew exactly where her father's camp was even if she'd never been allowed within a hundred horse strides of it.

Her power must have done more damage than she'd thought. She tilted her head upward, to the gathering pinkness of the dawn sky. There were clouds just overhead, thickly white and clumped like clotted goat cream. Not enough water to make them heavy enough to let go, but enough to fatten them. She believed the pitiful stream they'd settled next to the night before was probably dry, and they'd have to journey nearly a day before there was another river large enough to fulfill all the needs of camp. Hopefully, there were a few pools along the way. The skins would need bloating if they were to make it home alive.

7

Drahl left her a few paces from her father's site. It was pitched so his tent was backed into the side of a verdant hill, the more to shade him in the morning while he slept. On all other sides there were smaller tents where his guard intermittently kept watch and slept. His personal cook's tent, a short, flat-topped one made of bear skins, was in the middle of the area, a fire crackling merrily, its flames licking upwards to the rotisserie of sizzling hare. It would be cinnamoned and honeyed, that hare, its belly stuffed with wild apples and dried cranberries from the last season. Bodicca, a tall, wiry woman whose prowess as a warrior was only outmatched by her fame as a savoury cook, stood over the wrought iron, ladling herbed boar fat over the back of the meat.

Alaysha's stomach grumbled.

The woman glanced up sharply, and the circlet of men's teeth she'd stretched around her forearm jangled. Alaysha could make out the weathered look of skin needing fluid. Though the woman was watching her, Alaysha couldn't meet her eyes.

"My father asked for me."

Bodicca said nothing, just set the bowl of fat down and lifted a tankard to her lips, then made a great show of surprise before she upended it over the grass.

Nothing spilled out.

Alaysha wanted to say it was fortunate the food hadn't dried to leather, that it was lucky the honey she was using hadn't crystallized beyond use—that they were all damn lucky to still be alive. But those were all the reasons she'd been ordered here in the first place, and they all knew it—and feared it—and that fear brought anger, not relief. She had no choice but to keep her tongue, and instead settled down onto a log on the very edge of her father's camp, listening to the trembling song of the flute player rousing him to audience.

Her mouth watered at the aromas, but she did her best to seem unaffected while she waited. Under the circumstances, she'd rather not appear vulnerable in any way to her father. The piper's notes grew ever more grim, and Alaysha assumed the time for Yuri's appearance—and her own punishment—was drawing close.

She watched the cook pull out a hammered silver platter and lay the roasted hare on it, then circle it with roasted eggs. Usually they would be boiled, but not this day. She topped the eggs with roasted seeds and then set the plate down next to the tankard she'd upended earlier. It seemed the lack of liquid would be as much part of her father's repast as anything else—and intentionally so. All the better to make him angrier.

Well, his wrath wasn't quite so fearsome as all that. Alaysha would just have to prepare herself for the chastisement as best she could, and remind her father of the things she'd done for him. Certainly, she'd lied about the identity of the village she'd finished, and that meant they would be traveling and searching even longer for nothing, but it also meant he might feel some wariness, thinking those he was hunting were still out there somewhere. Until then, he needed his water witch.

She felt remarkably safe.

The tent flap was flung open and a slave held it aloft so the great Yuri could stretch before he fully exited; Alaysha could tell, even from her distance, he'd chosen to be bare chested, all the better to display the muscled arms and huge girth of his torso. He had his riding leggings on, the ones with sewn-in amethysts that protected him from dishonesty. Around his head, he wore the Circlet of Conquest—a self-designed, hammered-bronze line that had three jagged points on the front.

He was obviously dressed for intimidation.

He strode forth with a wave of his hand to Bodicca. She neither bowed, nor knelt. Not this mighty woman. She was as much a guard as any of the muscled men that shifted their way around camp. She cooked for Yuri because she wanted to, and because she'd earned his complete trust. She picked up the platter and passed it to the slave who carried it towards Alaysha.

She wished she could stop the drool collecting behind her teeth, and had to swallow repeatedly as the platter was carried close enough she could reach out and burn her fingers on the sizzling meat.

Her hand was already midair when the slave dropped to his knees, placed the plate next to him on the ground, and then lowered his palms to the moss.

Yuri was close enough for Alaysha to hear him bid another slave place the platter on the first's back.

Could she really be about to break her fast with Yuri? After all these years? Perhaps it was a ploy. Maybe they'd found number nineteen—maybe even at her site—and now Yuri would ply her with false hospitality to get to the truth and how much she knew of it.

The second servant threw the end of a hemp rope over one tree, and the other end over a second. Between the lines stretched a woven seat that, if pulled taut, could create the perfect rest for a weary warrior without him swinging in the air in an undignified way. Yuri settled into it and flicked a fringe of blond hair from his eyes. He pinned Alaysha to her spot with them, only letting go long enough to push his fingers into the hare's belly.

He scooped stuffing into his mouth and chewed, never taking his eyes from hers. His hand found the rabbit's leg, tore it from its socket and went greasily to his mouth. Time after time, he tore the meat with his teeth, not once reaching for the tankard. Once, he paused long enough to consider a roasted egg. His lean fingers lingered over it, pressed into the seeds instead and went then into his mouth, scraping against his bottom teeth. He smacked loudly, then plucked the egg from its spot and bit into it.

Alaysha knew better than to speak. Best she wait ’til he offered her some food.

The hare was nearly gone, the stuffing spread over the plate messily, his chin shining from the honey and boar fat when she realized he planned to eat the entire thing in front of her. Even so, he had not once lifted the tankard from its spot next to the servant's foot.

He burped once and held onto his stomach as though he was obscenely full. He went even slower then, and Alaysha could see the slave's thighs trembling. There was a rustling in the undergrowth close to the cook's tent, but she didn't dare even look away from her father to see what the noise was about.

Twice her stomach complained in such an undignified manner it made Yuri grin through the mash of stuffing and eggs. He made a great show of swallowing even as he managed to make it appear as though he had no need of water or ale to wash down the meat—it was enough that he willed it move easily down his throat.

He left the last leg on the plate with an egg next to it, and wiped his palm down his mouth and off his chin.

"You did not have my consent," he said.

She knew what he was talking about. "It wasn't intentional. Truly."

"There is no such thing. There is only what I will."

She couldn't keep her eyes from the meat. "I had a fright."

"You have been trained not to fear."

"Yes."

"A witch is to feel nothing. You know this."

"I know."

"You know and yet you allow yourself to put us all at risk."

She couldn't even nod.

He made a derisive sound, one that sounded somewhere between a cough and a snort. "Your nohma made you soft. It's because of her failure that you're weak." He looked at her with an expression of disdain.

Alaysha did her best to still the squirming that wanted to take over her belly. "It's not her fault."

"Then it's yours."

"Yes."

"I let you live even knowing what you were, and you repay me with danger in my own camp? You will never outlive this shame."

She hung her head. "I know."

He sat quiet for a minute letting her feel the weight of what had happened. She saw again the weeping woman, the small babe. She had only to scan the area around her to see how the water had dried up overnight so that no one could slake their thirst. She had only to notice the tankard that still sat empty, next to the plate.

"You need to bring the rain."

"I know that, too."

"Then why do you wait? Why do you do nothing while your tribe suffers?"

"The rain comes of its own power."

"That isn't true."

She knew she'd never convince him.

"What else can I do, Father?" She held her hands out, supplicating. She was as powerless to her thirst as the rest of them. More so, even. She'd had nothing to drink and less to eat, and she was weak. A faint headache throbbed behind her eyes.

He leaned sideways, letting the weave of his seat creak as it relaxed. He noticed the slave's trembling thighs and lifted the platter from his back. "Take this to my night hound," he told him. "She has only had a raw squirrel this morning."

He pushed the slave to his belly and kicked him in the stomach until he got up and retrieved the plate.

Yuri regarded Alaysha coolly. "You don't know everything, witch. You only know pieces, and even with those small bits you would argue that you know better than me."

"Then tell me."

He regarded her with a queer expression. "Why would I tell a tool where it came from, what it is to do, where I choose to put it when I'm done?"

"Is that all I am?" She didn’t believe it. He was just punishing her. He couldn't be so cold; she'd seen him with his new favourite. He did love. He did.

"You are too sharp a blade to be of any good to most men. My tribe would have me believe you're too sharp even for your maker. Are you, Alaysha? Are you too sharp for even your maker to use without danger?"

Encouraged by his use of her name, she dared: "If a man is to wield a weapon, he must know it, Father."

He muttered something unintelligible in answer and picked up the empty tankard. He shook it and peered inside thoughtfully.

"If a blade could score the sky and fill this vessel with rain, it might beg careful tempering."

He got up and passed her the tankard. "’Til then, we have much work to do. The village you ended was not the village of our search and we need to regroup. While I travel to Sarum, you and Drahl will continue the search. If he finds it, do nothing. I want to be sure it is the correct village before we take it."

His attention was taken by a crackle of twigs in the brushes nearby. "And take the vermin girl with you; I'm tired of her stealing my hounds' food. The two of you will stay well away from Drahl and his scouts at night. If you are to kill without intention, better it be something of your own."

He turned from her with a lifted brow of warning and started toward his tent.

She peered into the tankard as her father disappeared beyond his tent flap and the little ferret eased into view from behind a tree. She was chewing on the hare's leg she'd obviously stolen from the hound's dish. She offered Alaysha the half egg Yuri had left with her other hand.

Saying nothing, Alaysha popped it into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. It was incredibly delicious for a simple roasted egg, spiced with something she'd never tasted. The smell of honey and cinnamon was strong; coming as it did from the grease Ferret's hand had left on the egg. Such were the things her father ate every day while she rooted for ferns and boiled her own scavenged eggs. Even in Sarum she'd fared no better.

She had a room, yes; she had food. The first was in the hall that should have been used for dungeons, except there'd been no need to hold captives for years—not since Yuri had been on his latest campaign and had begun to use his daughter to decimate any enemy. Down within the sanctity of dank earth, past the dozens of tunnels hewn by laboring hands, with stone on three sides and torches to light the gloom was her room. She wasn't a prisoner, exactly, but neither was she welcomed. The only time she felt anywhere near normal was on campaign, and the less she was in Sarum, the more sure of herself she grew.

So, no, she fared no better, and yet the best she could do on campaign was to eat the leavings from Yuri's plate and the left-for-dogs.

She deserved more.

"Wait for me here," she told the girl, and headed toward her father's tent.

She got only as far as Bodicca's fire before the cook herself barred the way.

The woman shook her head.

"Get out of my way," Alaysha said.

"You're too young to dispute me, even if you are trained," the woman said.

"I don't mean to try to best you," Alaysha said. "I just forgot to tell him one important detail."

The woman stared at her suspiciously. "I will have him return to you."

Ferret approached then, darting toward the fire and lifting the stick that held Bodicca's meal from the rotisserie: three wild potatoes sandwiching scraps of something that looked like meat. The cook's rage was evident even before the girl had leapt over a fallen log and had pushed her way into the trees and up the hill.

"I'll wait," Alaysha told Bodicca, trying on her best somber expression.

The woman grunted and leapt to pursuit, her long legs traversing the distance in seconds, the jangling of teeth rattling in her wake. If there was to be a time, Alaysha knew it was now.

She knew as soon as she took flight, several more guards would be upon her, so she casually lifted a cauldron from the fire and made a great show of lugging it as if it were laden with food toward Yuri's tent. A foot away, she kicked at the flap and ducked in.

He was seated on the bench to her left, his three-month-old heir lying on his lap, being rocked side to side. Alaysha expected him to show alarm at the sudden intrusion; instead, he smiled slowly.

"You take such unexpected chances with your life."

"Do I?"

He shrugged unconvincingly.

"I want to know," she said. "I have a right to know."

He sighed and passed the boy over to his mother, a frail looking blonde Yuri had rescued from her abusive father. Alaysha couldn't remember if the man's widow still lived. Right then, she didn't care.

"Tell me about those people"

"What do you need to know that would bring them back?"

She kept his eye. She had one good tool, now would be the time to use it.

"Those crones were all marked with tattaus."

Only his lower jaw moved and that so subtly Alaysha could have imagined it.

"Yes?" He said.

"Yes. Just like mine."

He nodded. "And you lied to me."

"I needed to."

"You don't trust me."

"I lied because I knew number nineteen was alive and I was afraid you'd send me to kill him."

"I would have."

"Why?"

Yuri paused a moment to wave away each and every servant. To the mother of his heir, he gave a brief kiss on the forehead and whispered in her ear. She left with the boy pressed against her bosom, and as she brushed past, Alaysha could see the drawn look to the skin of the babe's hands. Dehydrated.

She thought she would be sick.

Yuri caught her staring at the frail boy.

"She has no milk for him," he said, and he looked pained.

"Still, he must be strong," Alaysha told him—not wanting to add that if he'd escaped her power, he certainly had to be so.

"He is his father's son." Yuri turned to the table beside the bench and placed his fingertips on it, spread apart, bracing. "It's time you knew," he said.

Alaysha let go a breath she wasn't sure she had been holding. Finally.

"Those people?"

"Those people are your enemies, make no mistake." He tapped all his fingertips once, twice against the wood. "And they are the enemies of this tribe. They would take my realm and break it back into the tiny fragments I pieced together."

"Is that so bad?"

One bright brow lifted scornfully. "You are young. You wouldn't remember what it was like, and you would never know how it was before you were born."

"So tell me."

He shook his head and eased down onto the bench, put his massive hands in his lap. "No sense to. The story would take too long. No rules, no laws. No respect for life."

He glanced up at her. "It was darker than despair, those times."

"And what of those people? Is this their darkness?"

He chuckled. "Those people were your mother's people. And your mother's people were the worst of the lot. They traveled from place to place, taking what they wanted. Your mother—" he stopped, swallowed. "Your mother was a woman down the line of power, a shaman's daughter not come to her own."

It was painful to hear anything about the woman she'd never known, and thrilling too. Alaysha wanted to prod him, but was afraid he'd lose his train of thought. She waited impatiently for him to continue, drew her toe across the dirt in front of her.

She watched him lick his lips. Considering, it seemed. "Still," he said after a time. "Once I realized that to conquer them was to conquer all, I knew I had to go to war. Both to save the outlying lands from their pillaging and to join the other tribes together."

Alaysha thought of the battles she'd been on with him, the deaths she'd caused. "But they didn't come easily, did they? None of them did."

"I had to continue the campaign to remind them," he said with a deft shrug.

"Ruling by fear," she murmured.

He looked at her, surprised. "Is there a better way?"

"And the shamans?"

"Yes, the crones. They had the power to destroy you, and so me."

It was pale, as stories went. Such base motivation for killing an entire tribe, but then would she have expected anything grander from Yuri, Conqueror of Hordes? Sure, the continuation of the things he built, the ego and pride of simply having been powerful was enough to keep him on the same dogged path for all his days.

He didn't seem so big.

"And number nineteen?"

He shrugged. "The last of his line, and so all hope of the power continuing is gone."

"Except for me."

He searched her eyes for something and seeming not to find it, went on. "Except for you."

"Why not tell me before?"

"An Emir who must explain is a poor leader at best. I rule from fear, remember?"

"And if I refuse to find Number nineteen?" She knew find meant kill, and she knew neither of them would have to say it.

"Drahl will find him."

She didn't want to guess how he knew nineteen was a man. Yuri had his ways. "And what will happen to me?"

His face turned cold and he looked at her without compassion. "You know only pieces, young witch, but I know it all."

She regarded him as coolly, refusing to show emotion either. "You mean you know how to finish me."

He tapped a finger to his temple. "Make no mistake, I am not a mere father; I am Yuri—Conqueror of the Hordes—and of the crones." He grinned, but there was no humor in it. "Men fear me."

She swallowed, and tried not to let her knees shake. "Men might, Father, but Father, you taught this woman not to fear."

She spun on her heel and lifted the flap of the tent. Several of his guards stood around the perimeter, near the fire, close to the tent. Bodicca stood at the center of the guard, right where her spit waited, empty without its roasting stick. They were all expressionless, arms crossed, staring at Alaysha as she stepped into the light.

She lifted her face to the sky, thinking how good a breeze would feel against her flushed skin, and noticed with some relief, it had begun to rain.

Ferret was nearly stepping on her heels as Alaysha did her best to leave her father's camp as sedately as she could. She didn't want him or any of his guard to know how it all had affected her. Ferret, on the other hand, couldn't seem to get away fast enough and when stepping on Alaysha's heels failed to propel her faster, she took to darting in front, running ahead, then having to come all the way back.

At one point, Alaysha tried to wave her off. She really wanted to be alone. She'd always known number nineteen was supposed to die, and she'd always killed for her father without question, but now it seemed wrong. A warrior—man or woman—did as was bid in war; it was what they did. It was their duty. The Emir called them to service and the thing was done. There were no questions, no regrets. Some died in service, some lived, and some retired to teaching the craft to the young. Alaysha had trained the same as the rest, except her lessons had, of necessity, been private. Several skilled men and women went down in service to training while they tried to teach the young witch the ways of offense and defense.

She let Ferret skip ahead, dodging a loose hound returning from the hunt, and watched her halt suddenly, slink to the side, and disappear into the trees.

Several of Drahl's scouts had gathered around the fire pit, lifting their open mouths to the light rain. The fire sizzled next to them, sending puffs of smoke heavenward. Alaysha paused to watch them and to brood over the dozens of people who came from their tents with hollowed gourds to collect the water. They, like Yuri, would think she had brought the rain purposely and they still wouldn't be grateful. And their lack of gratitude was still solidly set in fear.

She'd trained as a warrior over years, and in her first months, she killed daily because she couldn't control the fear that brought the power. Each day in a tilt yard past the South wall she practiced. Two men went down the first day, then two more, the next. Yuri realized after that to tell his warriors to go easy on the six-year-old and they might live.

In the end, none of those early trainers did survive. As her prowess grew, they trained her harder, fiercer. It was only a matter of time before the trainer did something that brought her fear, and then he would just suddenly stop, fall like a limb cut from a tree, and turn to the dust. And Alaysha would pluck the eyes from the soil and hoard them in a pouch she hid in a hole in her room beneath the earth.

It was a memory she would rather not have recalled. Those days when her father was trying to help her learn control, when her power was still in its infancy and confined to a few short paces, Yuri quickly realized he couldn't keep expending his trainers or his warriors, and he soon sent in slaves. They were even fiercer than the warriors, and far less decisive. That made them more frightening.

Only later did she learn they were offered freedom for themselves and their families if they could just kill the witch.

And so they trained more desperately than any trainer or warrior ever could.

She never gained full control of the ever-growing power. She was able to project it, certainly, but not call it back, and if genuinely frightened, it sometimes came upon her unawares. But she did at least learn to become desensitized to fear of attack and death. Yuri had most definitely given her that.

Maybe too much so.

Yuri's threat of her death had no effect on her, but he did not know that. In truth, she thought she'd welcome it after all this time. She had nothing left to live for. Existence was not the same thing as living.

She reached her own campsite and began gathering her things. Better to live alone than to live as a piece of air no more useful than to be inhaled and expelled without thought.

Yuri would believe at first she was off to do his bidding, and that suited her. Later, when she didn't return, he would begin to suspect the truth, and he might send Drahl to search for her.

She would find no real pleasure in killing Drahl, and she might not enjoy killing the others who would certainly come after, but she knew by then her power would have grown enough that Yuri would need an army far larger than he could even dream of.

And how would he get it without the weapon he'd relied on all these years?

So no, she would not kill again for Yuri, but she would kill for herself if she needed to. One thing he had shown her was that she could bear taking lives—so it was time she used that complacency for herself.

She had all her possessions loaded into the two baskets that hung from Barruch's back. She would grieve the loss of her seed pouches, but there was nothing that could be done about that. She would need to find Barruch some oats or grain along the way; until then, he'd have to content himself with the bitter grass he could manage until she could find good plains lands.

His back was slick with rain, and her tunic had sopped up enough water that it felt heavy on her chest. She was mounted, reins in hand, ready to go, when she remembered the girl.

She'd said nothing the entire time and Alaysha had forgotten she was even there, so lost was she in her own thoughts and miseries. She looked to where the girl sat cross-legged on the same boulder number nineteen had stretched her sleeping skin upon earlier that morning. Alaysha couldn't see the girl's skin for the mud running down her face and onto her neck, released as it was, from the plaits. Now that the rain had washed the dirt from her hair, it had loosened into a thick curtain of soft cream.

"You can come or stay," she told the girl. "But if you come, I can't guarantee you food or shelter. I can't even guarantee you safety." She wasn't sure she wanted company, but she did know, now that someone had spent time with her, she felt less lonely.

The girl brightened at once and hopped down from the stone. "I don't have any of that now, so what's the difference?"

She ran to the horse and lifted a knee.

"What of your brother?"

The girl shrugged. "What is an absent brother to a present sister?"

Alaysha reached down, one hand under the girl's armpit, the other beneath the bent knee, and hauled her up. She settled the girl in front and gave Barruch's neck a gentle slap.

"I should call you something," Alaysha told the girl.

"I haven't used my birth name for so long, it wouldn't seem right."

"What did your captor call you?"

The girl leaned against Alaysha's chest; warmth from her back and Alaysha's stomach combined and warmed them both. Even though the rain kept up, neither shivered as Barruch plodded along. After a while, the girl answered her question without emotion and Alaysha's face burned when she heard the words.

"Commander Drahl called me Ferret," she said without emotion.

"Then I shall have to call you by a name you like."

"Let me think about it," the girl said. "It has to be the right one."

"Indeed it does," Alaysha murmured, but at the same time she was already turning over this new piece of information. No wonder the girl had disappeared each time Drahl was near. But in truth, she didn't think the man would even care if he knew his runaway was still close by. She doubted he had ever given thought to the girl and her brother. After all, they were nothing. Maybe less than nothing. Some captors were greedy for slaves, possessing them with a sense of entitlement. Some used their slaves well. Others didn't care one way or the other because to do so would be to place a value on them as a person. Drahl was that way.

Still, she hadn't the heart to hurt the girl, and so she didn't contradict her.

They rode in silence from camp, back in the direction of the village. She and the girl could easily overnight at the oasis for the days it took to dig the old women out from beneath the hut. She doubted Yuri would look for her too soon, and would only grow concerned that his best blade had gotten lost when she didn't return with reports. He would simply assume for a while he'd successfully bullied her once again into doing his bidding.

That meant she had one—maybe two—phases of the moon. She could be well away then and Sarum would be a bitter memory. She could forage as she always did for food for a while, but she hoped to come upon a space she could plant and hunt. She had a sword, but no bow. She didn't have a knife to skin any prey, but perhaps she could find a trader to swap the remaining garnet chips from her tunic.

She was beginning to feel optimistic when the girl interrupted her thoughts.

"Someone is following us."

"How do you know this when I don't?"

"Because I'm used to hiding. The person stays far enough in the trees that you wouldn't think to look, but he stops now and then when he thinks we'll see him. It's almost as though he wants you to know."

"And you know it's a him?"

"Yes."

"Is it Drahl?"

The girl shook her head. "It's the man from this morning."

Indeed. And what should she do, knowing number nineteen was so close? Acknowledge him, call him out, run away from him?

No. Best to stay the course. He'd come out when the time was right. For now, she felt it oddly comforting to have two other souls with her even if one was dodging through the trees. She felt connected in a way she hadn't enjoyed since her nohma died.

Nohma. Yuri had spoken of her as though she was a failure, but Alaysha knew it wasn't true. She'd been the only person who dared live with the witch, feeding her, teaching her. Loving her.

With Nohma's death began Alaysha's life of constant regret. After the only woman to love her succumbed to the power, Alaysha couldn't care who else it took. Until then, she'd done battle for her father half a dozen times. Nohma knew about the seeds and let her keep them. She said it was good and just to ponder over lives taken, that it should never be easy to kill. That each pair of eyes meant a dozen lives, grieving ones, seeping out enough water to flush the bodies back to rights. That Alaysha should never forget the person remaining who had lost loved ones to war.

She'd been six then, a young girl kept apart from her father's people and nursed by a woman who fed her from a garden she planted and fowl she'd raised herself. A goat supplied milk and cheese and at the end of the season, salted meat for the winter. They saw only each other except for the continual guard, the endless stream of trainers, and the people she killed when her father fetched her.

It had been the happiest Alaysha could ever remember being.

"What's got you so tense," the girl asked, sitting straighter. They were coming close enough to the village that Alaysha could see the smudge of the first body on the horizon. The vegetation had stopped like a line had been drawn, and the soil was wet from the rains. She noted the position of the sun. They had been traveling for hours, plodding along, and she was getting hungry.

"I was just thinking," Alaysha said.

"Nothing bad, I hope."

"There is no bad. There just is."

"Will he come out now?"

Alaysha did her best not to turn in the saddle to where she suspected number nineteen lurked. He had followed—Barruch's pace had been easy enough, but he'd not made any attempt to truly hide. She gauged him capable of being invisible when he wanted; and so he must have wanted her to know he was there.

Now she was close to the last stand as she'd begun to think of it, she wasn't sure she was ready to share it with her passenger. Not sure the girl would understand. Alaysha looked to the left and saw the wavering relief of the oasis.

"Looks like the perfect place for us to lie down for the night, what do you think?"

"It would have to be better than what's ahead."

So she had seen the desolation they were moving into. Smart girl. Alaysha kneed Barruch sideways and within moments, excited by the smell of fresh grass and water, he picked up his pace. It wasn't long before they were off his back and picking their way beneath tree limbs and between brambles that turned out to be blackberry bushes.

Alaysha reached into her basket and pulled out her wooden bowl. "Collect what you can," she told the girl. "I'm going to see about a fire and a good spot to set up."

The girl nodded at a tree over Alaysha's shoulder. "Peaches."

How had she missed that before? Already Alaysha's mouth was watering. She noticed more too, that she hadn't on her first visit: wild onions, hazelnut bushes, even a fair sized beehive with liquid gold oozing from the hole in a large beech tree.

"How lucky are we?"

The girl's mouth was filled with berries, her lips purple.

"Never mind answering." Alaysha couldn't help chuckling. They'd have roasted nut mash and onions for supper and honeyed fruit as a treat. Now. All they needed was water.

"Collect some nuts too," she told the girl. "And pull those onions." She pointed to a spiked patch of green, thready leaves. She plucked four peaches from the tree and tossed them to the girl. "Think you can collect some honey without getting stung?"

"Of course."

"Good. We'll eat wonderfully this eve."

The girl thumbed over her shoulder. "What about him?"

Number nineteen stood next to Barruch, his palm against the horse's flank. He wore his black hair tied back, slicked with mud.

Alaysha shook her head. "What is it with you people and dirt?"

He and the girl both shrugged in unison, but it was nineteen who spoke. "Keeps the hair out of my eyes."

Alaysha looked to her girl for confirmation, and the girl nodded. "Me, too. Don't have to worry about not seeing what you need to."

It made a sort of grudging sense, but something within made Alaysha shudder at the thought.

"Do you know where the water is?"

Nineteen grinned. "Of course."

Alaysha waited, but he said no more.

"Well, are you going to show me?"

He stepped into the clearing and bent to the bowl the girl had set on the ground, filled to the brim with berries. He popped two at a time into his mouth, and grimaced. "Got a sour one," he said.

"I'm glad to hear it. Now. The water?"

"Just behind you, through the bushes."

She grunted and stalked off, parting a few thorn bushes, and startling a garter snake that slithered across her instep. She heard a chuckle from behind. "Careful," he said. "There’re snakes."

She guessed he'd done the same when he was here. Rocks were plentiful on the faint path, perfect for nests and warmth. She wasn't scared of serpents, but neither was she overeager to step on one. She paid careful attention as she padded forward, once seeing a writhing mass that must have begun as a clutch of eggs. Well, if snakes chose to nest here, there must be plenty of game. Maybe she'd rouse a quail or two from some hatchlings and be able to roast a few tender chicks. Better yet, an entire family over a spit with some of that honey. More perfect still, two fat, large breasted partridge with meat to fill her belly for days. Her stomach again reminded her it had been at least a day since she'd had anything decent to eat.

She heard the sure sound of rushing water and pushed aside the last of the bracken. To her amazement, what showed itself was a narrow waterfall emptying into a large pool. Blue moss grew on the stones around the edge, and layered on the marsh edges were cattails; large and thick as her arm. Three ducks gurgled to each other in a shallow feeder pool just to the side. A large bullfrog jumped off the rock next to her and plopped into the water to swim and disappear in seconds within the grasses.

The nut mash and onion meal just upgraded to frog legs and roast duck. But first, water.

She lowered her face into the pool and slurped without using her hands. It was sweet and fresh and cold, enough to make her back teeth ache, and still she kept drinking ’til her belly was bloated.

No wonder nineteen had come here when his village was under attack. He had everything he needed to survive.

She scouted the edge of the pool for stray frogs and with each one she found, thwacked it solidly against the stone, then onto a pile while she could forage for the cattail roots. They'd be bitter if boiled alone, but if she could cut them up and mix them with peach slices, the fruit juice might cut the starch enough to make them palatable. She had seven dug and four frogs waiting when she realized number nineteen was foraging on the other side of the pond.

She watched him quietly for a few moments; he was focused as a scavenger, peering just beyond his feet for several seconds before stooping and rising with something in his hands. Then, absorbed in his task, and seeming to choose the spot with specific care, he placed his booty on the ground. She realized she enjoyed watching him, the lithe way his muscles moved as he bent and raised and reached. He had a powerful looking torso, one that held heat like the embers of a fire, if she remembered well. That night beneath her fur, she'd slept sounder than she could remember in ages, and she knew it was because he slept next to her, his legs thrown over hers at night, his palm possessive against her stomach. She touched her belly where his palm had been, and felt a flush fill her cheeks.

She gathered her own treasures and headed over to where he once again bent and straightened. When he caught sight of her, he smiled widely.

"We're in luck," he said.

"We are." She showed him her armload. He looked at it with something akin to tolerance. Not the delight she'd expected. She felt oddly deflated.

"You don't like roast frog legs?"

He shrugged. "In a pinch, maybe."

"And you've done better?"

He grinned again. "Best, not better." He indicated a hollowed gourd filled with writhing fat yellow worms.

The water filling her mouth had nothing to do with hunger. "You're greening me."

He shook his head. "They taste like roast boar and fowl both at the same time."

"You eat them?" She thought if he offered her a wriggling pit of pus, she'd have to end him. "Raw?"

"You can have yours raw, I like mine roasted. Get some of those cattail leaves." He pointed to the crop of tall leaves to her right at the marshy edge.

She trudged over and started pulling on them.

"No, no; not like that." He made a sweeping motion. "Cut them."

Cut them. Well, easy enough if you had a blade to hand, which she didn't. Rather than prolong the discussion, she simply tried to tear them across at the widest end. He clucked at her disapprovingly and came close enough to put his hand on hers. "Like this," he said, and guided her hand to twist as she peeled, and soon, she had the knack. He didn't move away from her, though, even when she got good at it. She could feel him close, hear his breathing. She wanted to turn and step into him. What she did was brandish a bunch of limp fronds at him.

"Good girl," he said, beaming. He touched her fingers when he reached for them and then she was in his arms. She hadn't meant to, just sort of stepped and there he was, his hands full of leaves, holding on to her back, pressing her even closer. He smelled of earth and old smoke. His mouth tasted of berries and she found herself wondering what he would taste like after honeyed peaches.

He broke away with reluctance. "Too bad you have but the one skin to keep us warm. Maybe we can find a way to share it."

She knew she'd like nothing better. "I'm not sure three would fit." She laughed and made to throw the leaves she still had in her hand onto the pile. "Oh no," she said. "Your worms are trying to wriggle away."

He spit out a few words she didn't understand and then was bobbing about, hunched over, weaving this way and that as he tried to catch them.

In the end, they both worked their way back to the clearing to set about preparing the meal. When Ferret saw the grubs, she exclaimed with such glee, Alaysha thought it must have been a silent conspiracy to trick her all along.

"You don't eat those," she said to the girl.

The girl shrugged much as Number Nineteen had. "Of course not."

"Then what's all the excitement for?"

"You've never heard of the magics of the Meroshi?"

Alaysha watched the youth standing beside her. He seemed pretty ignorant too.

"What is it?"

The girl reached for the bowl and set it down next to a prepared fire pit. "Meroshi was our people's shaman before I was born. He was said to be able to see at night and become invisible."

Alaysha set the cattail fronds next to the bowl and noticed a pile of berries and nuts as well. "And? I can see at night. What's so special?"

"He would know his enemies in the dark and it was all because of this worm."

Alaysha looked down at the wriggling mess. "It has special powers?"

The girl nodded.

"It's said to be the only thing that could overtake Meroshi during his most vulnerable hour."

Number Nineteen was growing interested finally. He'd already shifted foot to foot, and now was squatting next to the pile of yellow grubs, his fingers in the middle of the mess, flicking them apart, inspecting them one at a time.

"We've eaten them in my tribe for decades."

The girl shot him a look of disbelief. "And you've not yet learned of their powers?"

He lifted one shoulder offhandedly. "They taste amazing roasted over a smoky flame. I'd say that's a pretty good power."

The girl gave him a wary glance. "You eat them?"

He nodded.

"Well. No wonder you've not witnessed its magics. Meroshi came from a long line of powerful shamans. He could call flame from the sky, make winds howl, and the earth shake."

"Oh." He snorted. "My tribe can do the same."

Alaysha stole a look at him. Was he lying? The girl slapped his hand away from the worms and he chuckled. "So what was this Meroshi's best power if I have shamans who can do the same?"

"Do your shamans have the power to become invisible?"

He scoffed. "In the dark, we are all invisible."

The girl shrugged and sat down next to the fire pit, adding dead leaves to the top. She went silent and absorbed in preparing for a rousing blaze. The tension grew unbearable. Alaysha could tell the girl wanted to be pressed for the remainder of the story, and as equally, Nineteen didn't want to ask. She let them alone, trying to quell her own curiosity by digging for her tinder bundle and setting the fire, but after a few long moments, the curiosity got the best of her.

"Tell us more."

The girl reached for a grub and pinched it between her fingers. The skin of it broke and let loose an oozing mass of white innards. Not yellow as expected, or even green. Just plain white worm meat.

"It was known by our people that the only way to defeat Meroshi was to come at him just before dawn, when it was the darkest and when he was at his most vulnerable."

The girl scraped the carcass on the grass. "This grub would allow the assassin extra sight, far better than any warrior's vision." She looked pointedly at Nineteen. "Mash these down—five or six of them—and paint three stripes of their fluid beneath each eye and you are granted special sight."

"That's ridiculous."

The girl grinned. "Go right ahead and eat them, but save us some just in case we need them." She reached for Alaysha's tinder bundle and added moss to it, blowing on it to get the smoke moving. She spoke to Alaysha. "Would you help me gather the honey? I need a boost into the tree."

Alaysha nodded and uncurled her legs. She stood and reached for the girl's hand. "I can't imagine those peaches and berries without a honey drizzle now I've decided to have it."

The tree wasn't terribly high, but the way the girl made several attempts to climb with no avail set suspicion into Alaysha's spine. She wove her fingers together and bid the girl step into the cup they made. They were well away from hearing, but Alaysha whispered anyway.

"Could your shamans bring rain too?" She had to know. Were these powers more common than she thought; were there others like her?

The girl giggled as she placed her foot into Alaysha's hands. "Meroshi was lucky if he could put food into his own mouth."

"But—"

The girl's eyes caught Alaysha's conspiratorially. "He was a madman in my village. We had no shaman. Only warriors. Cunning warriors." She peered over Alaysha's shoulders. "Don't look, but another Meroshi trap has just been set." She sprang up and clambered into the tree then waved the tinder moss over the hole. Smoke curled in and around and a few bees seeped drowsily from the entrance.

"What will happen then?" Alaysha asked.

The girl cupped her palm and reached slowly into the crevice. "You'll see come nightfall."

"Tell me about your warriors."

"They're fierce. They fear nothing. Care for nothing. They move in the dark and in the light with equal prowess."

The pride in her voice was almost painful to hear, knowing that she was right now running from her captor. Alaysha thought back to battle sixteen. It hadn't seemed particularly fierce. In fact, except that she had to send the power out over and over again to meet the waves of new fighters, it had seemed very easy.

"Then how did Yuri capture such grand warriors?"

The girl looked at her, no emotion in her face. "He didn't capture them. You killed them."

Alaysha found she couldn't keep the girl's gaze. She thought back to that battle and the warriors she'd murdered at her father's behest. She wondered just how much this girl knew of her power—how much she'd seen or heard. It would explain her complacency back at Yuri's camp, when she'd seen the result of the power on that poor babe, when the power had drained the ready water from the pots and skins. And if this girl had some inkling of the power, then how many others?

8

It was a long wait ’til nightfall, but an enjoyable one. Number Nineteen had somehow gotten the fire to a perfect blaze to roast the frog legs and cattail-wrapped worms. With peaches and berries bubbling happily in a syrupy bowl of honey at the edge of the fire, and sliced cattail roots frying on flat rocks, all they had to do was stretch before the flames and relax.

The feast was as grand as anything she'd eaten, and she wasn't sure if it was the food or the chatter and laughter of the other two that put a perpetual smile on her face. It could have been the way her leg touched Number Nineteen every now and then, and the way he made small, but frequent attempts to touch her. All she knew was she was happy, and she'd not felt happy since her nohma died.

No one mentioned or even glanced at the gourd outside the edge of the fire, purposefully hidden between small stones and branches, but Alaysha knew it was filled with a soup of wriggling yellow bodies.

"So, what of your tribe," she asked him. He had licked the last of his fingers clean of honey and lay stretched sideways to the fire, his black hair loose and hanging in his eyes. From where Alaysha sat, those eyes looked like lit honey. She reached out to wipe a bit of peach from his chin.

"Your tribe, you mean," he said.

She shrugged. "So you say."

He rubbed his stomach. "Our tribe is made of four major clans. I am Fire Clan. You are Water. Didn't your nohma tell you this?" He sounded as though he couldn't believe she'd not been taught such a simple thing. She felt stung at the tone, much as she would if a bee had bit her.

When he noticed she wasn't answering, he rolled onto his back.

"You think you have secrets from me," he said to the growing dark.

"It's all I have," she murmured. She and the girl were huddled close together, bracing against the chill at their backs.

"You have less than you think, then. Don't you want to know where you came from?"

"I know enough," she lied.

His low chuckle rumbled with the fire. "Your enough makes you hunger for more, but you're afraid to ask."

"I was trained not to fear."

"Then what was that you felt the night I came to you?"

She couldn't answer. It hadn't been the first time she'd accidentally let loose her power, but it had been the first time in many years. It unnerved her to think her power was getting the better of her, that she couldn't control it.

"I'll tell you what it is, Alaysha," he said. "It's the power growing in you; it's coming to its peak as you mature and it will soon overwhelm you." He craned his neck to look at her across the flame, and as the light danced on his features, she thought she saw fire within him. "You need me," he said.

She looked away, out into the shadows of the trees, and listened for Barruch's breathing in the dark to ground her, to remind her who she was and why she was here. The conversation had gone far too deep into the pits of those things she'd always longed for and been afraid of. He'd touched too far into the hollow spaces she'd spent years trying to fill with her collections.

"I always thought I needed no one," she said. It was true, wasn't it? She'd spent so many years alone, despite the companionship of this fire, she had survived without affection for so long, she knew she could manage without it again if she had to.

As if realizing he'd gone too far, he pointed to the first star winking in the sky, the one high above them, already brighter than the pale moon. "I was named after that light."

Alaysha's attention piqued. She knew what her nohma called that first light of the evening—that brightest purplish light that lasted far into the early morning. It was the Eye of Yenic, she'd said, peering to watch over his beloved Yen, the soft belly of the earth below him, until the sun could care for her properly.

"And here I was calling you nineteen," she said, forcing a laugh.

"Nineteen?"

She hung her head and felt a curtain of hair mercifully cover her face. "Yes. The one that got away."

He thought for a moment. "Nineteen," he said after a time. "After the eighteen you killed."

"Yes," was all she could say.

He shifted to sit cross-legged. "You counted wrong," he murmured. "There were twenty."

She squirmed when she thought about it. "Yes. One woman was pregnant."

"My sister," he said.

Alaysha fell silent, the sense of shame covering her like a fur. It had been war, so she thought. She'd not known the village was filled with citizens. Not until she'd sent the power out, thirsting for whatever water it could find. She'd let it go and traveled the paths with the energy—down to the ground, along the grasses, up bare feet and legs, through tear ducts. When the power got to the unborn, it was already too late.

Its eyes would have been amber, she realized. Were amber.

"I remember her," she whispered.

"My sister?"

"No. Your niece."

Yenic said nothing at that, but he rose from his spot at the fire and kicked the place where the worms rested in their gourd. He reached down with his elegant, but callused fingers and lifted the bowl from its spot and trudged into the underbrush. He disappeared in the cascade of leaves and branches.

The girl beside her shifted. "I feel bad for what's about to happen to him now," she said.

"I feel nothing," Alaysha responded, seeing his reaction. She hadn't wanted to hurt him and now she had, she wanted to take it back. She wanted to return to the sense that those things didn't matter. She couldn't afford to feel anything. It wasn't a warrior's place to question or feel guilt about killing on command. If one did, then a whole life would be spent recovering from a single deed.

"Is he telling the truth about his tribe and yours being the same?"

Alaysha nodded. "I think so. My father told me much the same."

"Is that why we're here?"

Alaysha sighed. She wasn't sure anymore. She'd wanted to know the connection at first, but now she thought all she really wanted was to get away. What did it matter that she belonged to a nearly extinct tribe.

"We're here because we needed a place to rest," she said and pulled the girl closer.

"Did you really kill his people?"

"I did."

"How could you?"

"How could I not?" Alaysha shrugged. "I was not my own. Much as you aren't."

"I ran away, and I am my own now."

Alaysha squeezed her tightly, enjoying the feeling that for once she had the comfort of another body next to hers. Scrawny though it might be, it was a great consolation.

"As I am my own, now, too."

"Maybe I should go stop him."

Alaysha held the girl back when she started to pull away.

"I doubt he wants anyone around at the moment. Whatever it is you've done to him with those worms, it'll keep for a while."

Yenic was gone a long time; Alaysha was startled to find she had fallen asleep and was cushioning the girl's head as she also slept. At times, though she'd felt herself nodding off next to the heat, she hadn't thought she'd actually succumbed to the night. She hadn't remembered feeding the fire either and yet it roared merrily on.

She heard him coming long before she saw him, and Barruch whickered noisily when the bushes rustled.

At first, she wasn't sure what she was seeing, but it looked like fireflies hovering in six straight lines behind the lacy cover of leaves. They lifted and moved together left and right, bobbing up and down, all in unison. Then they shot towards the ground and the stomping racket of feet in too much a hurry to care about making noise rattled across the air.

"Something's wrong," Yenic was saying, his voice a hoarse, pained noise. "What have you done to me?"

Alarmed now, Alaysha pushed the girl's head from her lap and jumped to her feet, taking the strides she needed to grab her sword from her bundle. Yenic broke through the tree cover, the six stripes on his cheeks more obvious now, not fireflies as she'd thought, but the phosphorescent yellow color of the grub's skin. His hands were aloft as he looked at them, the yellow shining brightly in the dark on the tips of his fingers and smeared on his palm.

A low chuckle came from behind her, stopping Alaysha in her tracks. She turned to the girl to see her moving towards Yenic with her hand over her mouth, trying to keep the laughter in.

"Can you still see, Yenic? Can you see in the dark?"

"No better than I did before." He didn't sound impressed.

"Does it burn yet?"

"You mean it's going to burn?"

"And steal your vision once your eyes swell shut."

Yenic made a noise between a groan and a scream, then stumbled about, feeling his way around as though he was already blind. "Shouldn't you at least help me?"

"I can take you to the water. That should prevent the burning."

"And the swelling?"

"Oh, yes. Of course, the swelling." The girl snickered and Alaysha sent her a reproachful look that sent the black eyes downcast so quick it was obvious she realized she'd played a poor game.

"You did this to him; you should help."

"I didn't do anything," came the protest, but the girl minced toward him and reached out for his hand when she was close enough. "Here, I'll help rinse it all off. But we'd better hurry before you start seeing things."

His shouts rose an octave and mixed with words Alaysha had never heard even in her rides with the most swarthy of warriors. The only intelligible thing she could make out were his last, frantic ones.

"Seeing things?"

The dry response was nearly lost in the bushes as the girl answered. "Where do you think Meroshi's power came from? Magic?"

"I believed you," Yenic's tone turned pouting.

"Of course you did. It's a story we tell every outsider, knowing they'll try it. So we can see them coming should they decide to attack, and if they do attack, they fight the shadows of their night terrors rather than any one of us." She guided him away from the fire toward the waterfall and Alaysha could hear Yenic's plaintive protest that he wasn't an outsider.

The girl's matter-of-fact reply came right on its heels. "Maybe not, but how often do you think I get a chance to tell that story? Why even the youngest of us knows better than to play with the dreamer's worm."

Alaysha watched them go and settled back down near the fire. If the girl knew such a use for a grub that Yenic's kind did nothing but eat, then her tribe must know things most didn't. Alaysha had never seen the repugnant thing before, let alone know to eat it.

It was one more thing that reminded her of how ignorant she was. All she'd ever known was battle and loneliness, duty and despair.

She resolved again to find out as much as she could—and to get as far away from her father as she could. Now she'd tasted freedom without the burden of duty, she rather enjoyed it.

As it turned out, Yenic's eyes were sore enough that he lay curled next to the fire when they returned. The girl tried her best to coax conversation with him, but he only grunted at her and rubbed at his eyes.

"Don't worry," she said. "It'll only hurt for a little while. We got it all off in plenty of time."

He said nothing.

"And even if we hadn't, the effects are only temporary. A day or so of hallucinations and swelling, and it's all gone again."

He blinked. "But you got it all off in time," he said blandly.

She smiled brightly. "Right."

"Right," he said and curled farther into an indignant ball and went to sleep without a further word.

She'd made a cozy spot next to the fire with her thatched mat and fur and let the girl crawl into the crook she made with the curve of her body. She heard a small sigh and thought it might have been her own. She might have shared her blanket with Yenic had things gone differently.

"He's angry," Alaysha whispered so not to disturb him.

"Yes, he's angry, but not half so angry as he'll be tomorrow night."

"Why, what happens tomorrow?" Alaysha was almost afraid to ask.

"The sun will gather on his cheeks where the stripes are and store there ’til nighttime."

"And…?"

"And he will glow as brightly tomorrow night as he does tonight."

Alaysha moaned softly. "For how long?"

"It wears off after a couple of days. The longer it stays painted on, the longer it lasts. He should stop glowing in a couple of nights."

"Does he know this?"

The girl shook her head.

Come morning, Alaysha woke to a smoky, dampened fire. She shivered beneath her fur and realized the girl was gone. She lifted her head to peer across the smoke and saw Yenic sitting on a rock, knees up, feet that were filthy from rummaging planted solidly against the stone. He was munching on a handful of what she presumed were nuts, popping one after the other into his mouth and chewing thoroughly.

He was staring straight at her and her heart made an almost audible thunk in her chest.

"Where is the girl?" she asked him.

He shrugged.

"How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough."

"What does that mean?" She wasn't sure anymore what to make of him. Was he still angry at her for killing his sister, for mentioning the unborn child?

He let one foot slide off the rock, and then the other until he stood and stretched. His rib cage lifted and Alaysha could see the way the ribbon of tattaus actually went up underneath his armpit and onto the fleshy, tender spot of his tricep.

"Do all our tribe have these tattaus?"

He shook his head and some of his hair stuck to his cheek and left strands of black beneath the faint glow of green. "Did you see tattaus on all the people you killed back there?" He jerked his head in the direction of the arid piece of land.

She thought about it. The first man had the markings, yes. And a few of the others. The crones did: theirs were identical in placement as her own. The children were clean, though. And most of the women.

"Your sister was marked."

He nodded warily, but it looked like he was trying to keep the wariness from his eyes. They still looked like benign, sweet honey.

"But hers were just open symbols." Alaysha had to think back, let her memory recall the flesh path the power had taken when it had crept over the village. She'd overlooked the detail before because it was insignificant at the time.

"Across her chin," he said.

Alaysha's fingers went involuntarily to her face, wanting to touch the narrow ribbon of ink snaking from earlobe to earlobe and across her chin. She remembered her nohma putting the marks there. It had hurt, but since Nohma had the odd tattaus too, she'd wanted them and put up with the pain. She wanted hers to be exactly the same, but Nohma wouldn't have it.

"Nohma wouldn't put mine on my back where hers were. She told me mine must be on my face."

Yenic stepped closer, as though he were testing the temperature of the water. As he came around the fire pit he lifted his arm and with the fingers of his other hand traced the tattau's path from tricep to hip. When he got close enough that Alaysha could touch him, he took her hand and placed it in the middle of his markings—near the first rib. She felt his skin pimple and laid her palm flat against it.

"I got the first mark when I was four," he told her.

"I was young too," she said.

"The Arms of the Witch are tattaued like this because we are her reach. Her protection. Our arms are in service to her." He met her eyes and held them with his own so intensely, she could barely swallow.

"How many?"

"One for each witch."

"And my Nohma?"

"She shoulders the burden of caring for the witch."

Alaysha nodded. The symbolism made sense. She let her hands search the markings while he stood, silently letting her trace one to the next. They were quite beautiful up close, the way the skin showed through against the black band surrounding them. It must have taken hours to craft such a long line with such intricate detail and symbols. Her fingers reached the base of his armpit and she felt him shudder.

"I'm sorry. That spot tickles, doesn't it?"

His voice sounded as though it came from a dark pit when he answered. "No. Not ticklish at all." He let his arm fall and reached to touch the corner of her mouth, then his fingers trailed the length of her tattau, stopping at her ear. He cupped the back of her head and she thought for a second that the clump of air that had somehow lodged in her chest would keep her from speaking.

"Why are mine on my chin?"

He smiled and leaned forward. The feel of his lips against her forehead made her chest tight.

"Because yours is the burden of swallowing our sins." His hand left her nape and traveled down her back. She felt herself begin to mold against him almost as though she were made of oil and was finding the curves of his body like she was meant to. When his palm pulled her hips closer to his, she let herself step into the embrace and enjoy the warmth of his body against hers.

"It's a difficult burden, Alaysha," he said into her hair. "But you don't have to suffer it alone."

She felt the tension leave at his words and hadn't realized her muscles had been coiled and ready to run. If they'd ever felt relaxed, she was sure it had been during childhood, before her first battle, and it felt good to let them ease into each other, one fiber connecting to the next without worry that they'd need to fight or run. Without thinking, she put her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his bare chest. She could hear his heart beating within like a happy fire sending flames roaring over thick logs.

"I've been alone for so long," she said. "Ever since Nohma…" She didn't want to say it. She couldn't.

He pulled away just enough that he could peer down at her and searched her eyes with his own. "What about your nohma?"

"I killed her."

He looked truly perplexed. "But you couldn't."

She stepped back and leaned to pick up a stick to poke the fire. She'd admitted it, finally, but she didn't think she could take the admonishment. She hadn't meant to, after all. She stirred the ashes and lifted a charred blocks to allow it air so the fire could catch beneath it.

"Alaysha?"

She would answer, but she wouldn't look at him. "I did. I killed her."

"You couldn't." He grasped her by the shoulder and twisted her away from the fire. "Her tattaus, her blood, would have protected her."

Now it was her turn to be confused. "Her blood?"

"Yes. Alaysha. Didn't you know she was your mother's sister? She was your blood witch."

Alaysha ran her memory back as many paths as she could as she stood there. It didn't make sense. She'd killed her, she knew it. She remembered it.

"I don't understand," she said.

"You are young," he said and took the stick from her. In his hands the fire leapt to ready flame.

"How do you do that so easily?"

He grinned at her. "I can't tell you all my secrets."

"It seems you are keeping a good many." She held her hands out to the flame.

"I have a few, yes," he agreed.

There were so many questions already roiling around in her head, she barely knew what to ask. How would she ever find a way to sort them all out? Yet something was bothering her more than anything else. Something he'd said kept trying to creep back into her consciousness.

"Your sister had tattaus across her chin."

He nodded but he wouldn't look into her eyes. "She was being tattaued. We thought she had plenty of time to get them finished."

"I got to her before she could have the black filled in?"

"Yes."

"You said the symbols and their placement were relevant."

Again he nodded.

"So your sister was a witch."

He sighed as though he'd been holding his breath. "Yes. She would have been. But not nearly as powerful as you."

He looked at her so strangely she thought she must have said something wrong. He reached for her and she went to him without thinking and stepped into his embrace.

"You have more power than you can know. I don't blame you, Alaysha."

She thought she heard herself sob but knew it couldn't be true; she'd never once cried over all the lives she had taken. Not once. A warrior did not feel. A warrior did not allow emotion to keep her from her task.

She felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek before she felt his touch. He kissed her just at the rise of each cheek, where she knew tears had pooled, and then he brushed her eyes with his lips, capturing the fluid as it leaked out.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured.

His mouth claimed hers tentatively at first, then took it with such confidence, as if he owned her lips and already knew the way they curved, how they would move against his, when her mouth would gasp in release. She responded so similarly, she felt herself losing the will to stand and even as she thought she would let go, she felt his arms beneath her knees and around her waist and she was laid down, against the fur. His hand roamed her hips and legs, stroked her back. She couldn't stop herself from pressing against him and feeling every inch of his body against hers, and yet it still wasn't close enough.

Barruch made a sound somewhere between a whinny and a snort, and it was enough to remind Alaysha that they were not truly alone; the girl could have returned. She pulled away and scrabbled to her feet, breathless and feeling as though she'd narrowly escaped some danger. Yenic lay on his back with a short grin playing at the corners of his mouth. He put his hands behind his head and for a second, she wanted to strike him for his arrogance but remembered how badly she wanted to feel his mouth on hers again, and ended up scurrying away to hide the blush she knew had taken her cheeks.

Barruch stomped his front feet impatiently, thankfully giving her time to recover and digest all she now knew.

She moved to put her palm on his nose where a small spot of white showed, and he lowered it to avoid her touch. She went to pat his chest and he huffed away.

"Come now, old man, you can't say you're unhappy with me."

He merely blinked and swatted at her with his tail.

Spending time and attention on her horse gave Alaysha a few minutes to gather her thoughts. She'd never once questioned Nohma about her past. True, it was odd, now she thought it, that her nurse treated her so familiarly. But she'd never once indicated they were related. And if it was true that she was protected by blood from Alaysha's young powers, then how was Alaysha able to take her life?

She ran her hand down Barruch's neck, letting her memory take her places she had never forgotten, but had chosen to bury. That night when she was just six, her name day, actually, she'd been allowed to feed her new colt and was so excited she couldn't stop talking. She'd wanted to run to her father and thank him, but Nohma held her back. He wouldn't be interested in gratitude, Nohma told her. He was only interested in getting his own mount back—and safely out of killing distance. She'd already destroyed several of his horses.

That too, was true. Forced to ride in a basket slung off the side of his mount for years, she'd killed plenty, not the least the horse upon which she was saddled when she unleashed her thirst.

"He was tired of walking back to camp with you on his back," Nohma told her. And so in the last battles, she'd been pitched forward with Nohma in the saddle, armed scouts to the left and right, a full armament in the back. Only Nohma, Alaysha, and the poor sacrificial beast riding forward to greet the opposition.

In those days, her power was unpredictable, yes, and far from the mature ability to kill at long distances. She was deprived of food and water for days before battle and sent, afraid, into the perimeter to let loose her primal fear of thirsting to death.

And men fell.

And the horse beneath her fell.

And usually Nohma was left standing to carry her back to the camp while the warriors went in to gather the slaves. But that last time, that last battle when they'd learned to leave the horse far behind the battle lines, with Nohma standing beside her, confident in the history that proved she was the only one capable of living in proximity with the witch, that last battle Nohma fell. And no matter how long Alaysha stood in the rain in the aftermath, the seeds of her eyes never took root and grew back into the woman who loved her.

So the blood hadn't protected her. And the symbols were not strong enough.

She turned to Yenic, wanting to tell him he was wrong, but standing next to him was the girl; she'd come back from her foraging, obviously.

But she was not alone.

9

"This is my brother," the girl said. She looked up to the swarthy man at her side. He was tall, much taller than Yenic and several inches thicker. His hair was matted in mud so that it was all back off his face and temples. His eyes were as green as a wolf pup's and looked to be about as predictable. His arm wasn't slung over the girl's shoulder so much as it was clenching her bicep in a meaty hand.

Yenic looked as though he was about to hurl himself across the few feet and use his own shoulder as a battering ram to the solid wall of stomach that was the brother, and looking at the way the interloper was holding onto the girl, Alaysha couldn't say she blamed him.

"Welcome," she said, not sure what else she should say; after all, the man was this girl's kin.

Rather than act pleased over the hospitality, he sneered at her and pushed the girl forward.

"Tell her," he said.

Alaysha noticed the skinny legs trembling, the furtive way the girl kept looking into the trees. She suspected there was more to the visitor's party than what the youth was letting on.

"Edulph wants to know what you are."

Alaysha had to tear her gaze from the girl's trembling shoulders. "If you've hurt her…"

The boy spat. "Aedus doesn't need pain to be reminded where she comes from."

"Aedus?" So that was the girl's name. Alaysha caught and held the girl's eye. Yes. It was true.

"Where'd you come from?" she asked Aedus.

The girl started to speak, but got shoved from behind. She stumbled forward and had to catch herself from falling. Edulph spoke for her instead.

"Doesn't matter. What does matter is how you're going to help us kill your father."

It would be laughable if he didn't seem so earnest. Alaysha sensed Yenic taking subtle steps toward her and Barruch's breathing had shifted. It was shallower, ready to bolt if need be.

"You want to kill Yuri." Even speaking it didn't make it sound more sensible.

"I want to kill Yuri and enslave his people like he did mine."

"You'll never manage it. Yuri's people would never serve." She didn't think she'd have to add how difficult it would be to assassinate the conqueror of the hordes. He'd not got that way through being a docile man, and did not manage to lead for so long by being accessible. Alaysha thought of Bodicca and the men whose teeth circled her forearms.

She decided to wait out this strangely ambitious brother, reason with him somehow. She didn't care, in the end whether he made war on Yuri or whether he went his own way and forgot about his vengeance. It was no concern of hers. But for the girl. She couldn't stand the way this brother acted as though Aedus was a possession to be used. She glared at him. "I don't care what you do, but you will leave your sister to decide if she wants a part in it or not."

Edulph grabbed Aedus's scrawny arm and twisted her backwards, so she was pinioned next to him.

"Let her go." Heat flooded Alaysha's neck, the anger boiling in her chest and needing out. She took an angry stepped forward, intending to thrash the daylights from this insipid bastard once and for all. She would have stormed the fire's perimeter when she felt Yenic's hand on her shoulder. She gave him a questioning look.

He ignored it and addressed Edulph. "What is it you really want? We have no quarrel with you."

Edulph snorted. "You have a quarrel with Yuri, though."

Yenic nodded. "Maybe, but why do we care that you do? Go your way. Make your war. We have no stake in it."

Edulph inclined his head at Alaysha. "I've seen her. I've seen what she can do. Out there." He jerked his head towards the arid land that was once Yenic's village. "I've been with the scouts, with the warriors over the years. I've seen the desolation she's left behind. Not a single arrow shot. Not a torch put to grass."

Alaysha's stomach began to squirm. She'd been careful never to have anyone witness the things she'd done, but they had certainly witnessed the aftermath. It would be easy for someone to think, to believe, that the massacres were easy.

"You have no idea," she said.

"I have some idea. Enough idea to know you have magic. Aedus has said the same."

It was Yenic's turn to interrupt. "She told us there is no such thing as magic." He shot Aedus a scolding eye. "So why would you believe any exists?"

Alaysha had had enough of the diplomacy. She didn't care what the hooligans believed. "Just let the girl decide and be gone." She stomped over to Barruch to get her sword. A dozen men stepped from the shadows.

"Careful, fools," she said. "I'm trained."

She heard a laugh come from Edulph and she whirled to face him. "It would not do to provoke me."

"Or what? You and your boy will fight my fifty men? Please do. Please show me."

Aedus spoke in a shaking voice. "Please, Edulph. You have no idea."

"Oh, I do have some idea, Aedus. And more since your little stories."

"How much did you tell, Aedus?" Alaysha asked. She traveled the days of memory to see how often and how much the girl might know of her power.

The girl shrugged helplessly, and Alaysha guessed that, excited to see the brother she'd been pining for, she told him everything she knew, never guessing or caring what Edulph's plans would be. And just what were those plans?

"What is it you want, then?" She demanded.

"You."

Yenic was there in a flash, holding his arm against her chest, and for a moment, Alaysha barely cared that his fingers were digging into her shoulder.

"You think I'll kill my entire tribe for you?" She wouldn't think about the irony of it. She just wouldn't.

Edulph grinned. "I don't think. I know." He tapped his temple and made a grab for Aedus's hand. Before Alaysha or Yenic could do anything, he had shoved the whole of her palm deep into the flames.

Alaysha wasn't sure if the piercing scream came from Aedus or not, but she was painfully aware that her own mouth was open wide and that her chest hurt. Her ears hurt. Her throat hurt. And just like that, she tasted the mold of the dampest parts of the ground, the copper tang of blood that she knew in the instant was from a squirrel in a tree nearest her. She felt the moss beneath her feet start to crackle. And then just as those things entered her consciousness, something covered her mouth and her tongue tasted the moistness of another's and she felt arms around her waist and the beat of a thudding heart against her chest.

And the thirst was gone.

Yenic pulled his lips from hers and searched her eyes. She took a deep breath, watched him do the same. She could only give the barest of nods.

He took her hand and turned to face Edulph. "We'll go with you."

Edulph nodded, and he let go of Aedus's arm. But Alaysha noticed he licked his lips, and that when he noticed no moisture could soften their cracked surface, he sent an inspecting glance around the rest of his party. One or two of the men reached for their water skins and couldn't conceal their surprise when they found them empty.

Aedus pulled her burnt hand close and cradled it against her chest. Alaysha expected to hear her whimper, but she made no sound.

Yenic stepped towards her before Alaysha could. "Someone bandage her," he said to no one and Alaysha rushed to beat any who thought to fulfill the task. She needn't have bothered: nobody had taken the steps, instead the shadows that had emerged, crossed into the light of the clearing and followed into the woods behind Edulph's retreating back.

"Are you all right?" Alaysha reached out for the girl, and Aedus let go a sob. "Tell me Aedus, are you all right?" She had to kneel to look into the girl's eyes.

"She could have been worse," Yenic said from behind her.

Alaysha looked back over her shoulder. "What do you mean?" He sounded as though he was scolding her, not blaming Edulph.

"I mean you could have killed her."

"I would never—"

"Not intentionally."

It struck her that yes, she would indeed have killed Aedus. She would have annihilated everyone within a leagua, including Barruch, and Yenic. All unintentionally.

"As long as they have her, she is not safe." Yenic said. "Not from them or from you."

Alaysha nodded.

"Unless you can walk away from her, leave her to the mercy of her brother."

"He shouldn't have to be inclined toward mercy for his own sister."

"And yet it would seem that's not the case."

Alaysha touched the top of the head that was burrowed and whimpering into her chest. "No. It would seem he is not as loving a brother as she is a sister."

"So can you leave her?"

"No."

"Then it would seem you are going to war."

10

At first, Alaysha thought she could merely wait until an opportune moment to steal away. She and Yenic tried hanging back in the riding queue; Yenic behind her on Barruch's back as they left the oasis and headed toward Sarum, but Aedus had been slung over a beast and tied to a pommel, and she wasn't remotely close enough to rescue. The second plan was to wait for nightfall and attempt rescue then.

That was when Alaysha realized how right Aedus had been about the power of the dreamer's worm.

They were sitting a way off from the fire pit when darkness set in the first night. Neither of them spoke to each other, both lost in their own thoughts. Alaysha watched Edulph's men as they lumbered about with gourds full of ale. She thought it was the perfect opportunity. Aedus sat next to the fire, her owlish eyes alight in the roaring blaze. She couldn't have been more than a few second's dash from them.

But for the squat, barrel-chested men next to her, Aedus was unguarded. And that guard seemed more bent on trying to catch the attention of the only woman in the group. She too was short, but broad shouldered with a tangle of mucked hair that could have been blonde or black when clean. Alaysha supposed it hadn't been clean for months.

They seemed the perfect pair to Alaysha. She decided to tell Yenic that they should become matchmakers.

And then she saw, and was reminded of the power of the dreamer's worm—even a full day since application and rinsing off.

"What?" he asked her when he caught her staring.

She shook her head, changing her mind. Best he not know, she supposed. She felt his hand against her back. "Are you cold?"

She tried not to let the green stripes mesmerize her. They danced in the dark as he moved his head, and the darker it became, the more they glowed.

The man next to Aedus let out a bellow of a guffaw. He pointed across the fire at Yenic.

"He's got Meroshi's curse," the filthy warrior shouted. "Look. He's been marked. Greetha, look," he said to the woman and she stood from her spot a few feet away to peer at Yenic.

"Are you mad?" she asked Yenic and laughed. "Do you see night terrors, little man?"

By then everyone was staring. Even Edulph had found a spot next to the fire to gape and laugh. He lifted his gourd in Yenic's direction. "Long live Meroshi's magic," he shouted and everyone with a gourd of ale lifted it and chorused the cheer.

Alaysha wouldn't look at Yenic, trying to save him the shame. Instead she reached for his hand, but he brushed it away and bolted to his feet.

"You think this is magic?" He made a good show of sounding unaffected, but Alaysha could hear something different in his voice. She tried to catch his eye and failed.

He laughed. "You have no idea about magic." He moved toward the fire and it leapt brighter with each step. No one but her seemed to notice the new light to the fire, the radiance of the new heat.

Greetha eased herself up and threaded her way around the blaze and reached out to touch Yenic's face. She was murmuring to herself as she traced the marks. Alaysha could see Yenic stiffen, bracing himself for her touch even as the barrel-chested warrior on the other side braced from anger. He jumped to his feet, hands clenching and unclenching.

"Leave the pup be, Greetha," he shouted. "What would you want with a fool who gets tricked by Meroshi's magic?"

"I think he's pretty, Spate," she said back and looked into Yenic's face. "He has fire behind his eyes."

This infuriated Spate even more, and had several of the men laughing and mocking the thrown-over lover. Yenic seemed to realize the potential for distraction, same as Alaysha had. Without even a word or glance in her direction, she knew he was going to press the issue until Alaysha could sneak away. She was ready, waiting for the opportunity.

Yenic took Greetha's hand and pulled it to the soft spot at the base of his hairline. A quick surge of jealousy fired through Alaysha when she saw Yenic slip his hand onto the woman's back. He murmured in a language Alaysha didn't understand, but in a tone she recognized. Greetha's fingers went to Yenic's ribcage, tracing the tattaus, trailing down the ink line to his hip. Alaysha's mental fingers went with hers as they moved, and she had to fight to keep the envy from tightening her throat. She knew the feel of that skin, how heated it was, how each muscle met the other with the sharpness of a steel blade. She had to pull her gaze away from Yenic and Greetha, seek out Aedus, nod toward the darkness and hope the girl understood.

Then Yenic declared to Greetha in a voice that lifted to the trees that even a pup was better for a bitch than a pig.

It all fell to chaos after that, and Alaysha took the chance to melt into the darkness.

She could hear the arguing, could hear Greetha's taunting, using Yenic as bait to instigate further fury in her spurned lover. Alaysha tried to block it out as she eased her way through the darkness, around the horses, past a few unconscious men.

She heard the clang of metal on metal and supposed the pig had taken enough taunts. She didn't care. She only cared that she get to Aedus. She imagined Yenic could take care of himself. She thought of him letting Greetha's touch and thought it would serve him right anyway.

She glanced at the fire from the shadows, hoping to catch Aedus's eye, hoping even against hope that she had slipped away. Her space was empty. She must be close.

"Aedus sends her regrets," a voice drawled.

Alaysha had been so intent on the fire she hadn't noticed the shadows next to her were too thick. She turned to face Edulph.

"I have a few regrets of my own."

She felt him shift in the darkness, and he was closer to her than she expected. She could smell the oil and mud in his hair, hear the rustling of his beard as he ran his palm down his chin. If he could be measured by his voice alone, it would be pleasant; a person might think him agreeable.

"I've honored my promise," he said.

She felt his breath on her shoulder and rubbed her arm where it touched.

"You mean you haven't held her other hand over the flame"

"To what end would that be useful? You're here with us. We'll be in Sarum in three days, maybe less."

"And so long as I cooperate, she will be fine."

He said nothing for a long while; Alaysha wanted to press his answer, but she knew better. Finally, he spoke again and his tone was harsher than before, more business like.

"Your man has power like you?"

She wasn't sure how to answer that: make him fear or make him wonder? Alaysha said nothing, just turned on her heel and found her way back to the fire, Edulph's annoying chuckle following.

By the time Yenic saw her, Greetha had already found a more accommodating companion than either Spate or Yenic. Several men nursed cuts and a few were clapping Spate on the back.

Yenic sported a good-sized cut on his cheek. He looked at Alaysha and shrugged. "Couldn't let him lose," is all he said, but there was fire still behind his gaze and he glared at Spate as he sat down.

That fire stayed in his eyes for the next two days and even as the glow dissipated, no one in the crew forgot he'd been marked. Each night, Spate found a way to challenge him; each night Yenic suffered through it. Alaysha could see the tension building around the fire.

"What are we going to do?"

"I think we have two choices: we could follow Edulph to Sarum and pray the war he plans to bring causes so much commotion we can steal away with her—"

"Or?" That plan didn't seem very likely, and Alaysha had the uncomfortable image of Edulph doing harm to the girl and forcing Alaysha to use her power. There really seemed no way around it.

"Or we just leave."

"You asked me to do that before, back at the oasis," Alaysha said. "I won't do it."

Yenic lifted a gourd of water to his mouth. One thing they hadn't lacked since joining the rogue tribe was food and drink; they had been fed and watered twice just in the first day. Alaysha didn't want to think about where it might have come from. She glimpsed a few desiccated hands hanging from saddles, the odd cloak made of linen rather than the traditional fur. She guessed they looted and killed in every village they came across, adding the violent outcasts from each to their ragged number.

"I wonder what he promised them to keep them in such good order," she mused aloud.

"Who knows," Yenic said, stretching his legs so the soles of his bare feet reached the fire. Three days slow travel, and she could still see the faint green phosphorescent gleam beneath his eyes; but she wouldn't mention it.

"Do you think Edulph will ever let her go?"

He shrugged. "Would you?"

She gave it consideration and didn't like where her mind went. "I can't keep killing."

"Well, you do make a pretty good threat just by your existence."

"But he'd never be able to know if I would turn on him or not."

"Exactly why you shouldn't have let him know you cared for her. Now she'll never be safe and you will never be free."

"Should I have killed them all in the oasis, is that what you're saying? Because if you are, remember you're the one who stopped me." Her face burned just thinking about how he'd accomplished it.

"I stopped you because I didn't want him to see your full power. Better he believes in it but doesn't yet have evidence. That's why it's taking so long to get to Sarum. I bet Edulph is trying to decide if you're real or not."

"And in the meantime, he won't release Aedus."

"Every day we stay with them proves to him how much you care. She is his weapon against you."

Alaysha thought it over. "So, if we just left?"

"Aedus loses her usefulness."

"He might kill her."

"Yes."

"And you would have us take a chance."

"My duty is to protect the witch. Even if it's from herself."

"I don't need protection."

He said nothing to that, merely took another drink and eased back onto his elbows, face lifted to the night sky. She thought he might say something, as though he needed to unburden himself, but he kept quiet for a long time. She finally had to prod him to speak.

"Maybe you are powerful," he answered. "But you are also young and you are untrained."

She doubted this was what was on his mind, but at least he was speaking again.

"Does that bother you?"

There was a shrug in his tone. "We hoped your nohma would train you to control your power."

"She couldn't. She's been gone these last dozen seasons."

He nodded. "Yes. And you went on killing."

She felt a niggle of shame but pushed it away. A warrior did not feel shame either. "Then why didn't you come for me?"

"We tried." He looked at her. "Plenty of times. We came for you through other villages, but you always arrived with your father and took them. We had to wait until you were old enough to begin to question your father's ways for yourself. We didn't think he'd use you to decimate the whole tribe. And when we did realize, it was too late. The oasis was the best we could do. It was our last stand."

Alaysha thought back to the mud hut and the strangeness of the smoke inside. "Magic," she murmured.

"Our own brand, yes. Those crones you saw, they were the others. They used the last of their powers to protect me. Now they're gone."

He shifted so he was closer to Alaysha, his hip next to hers. The crackle of the fire was the only sound for a while as she ran all he'd said through her mind. That she'd been wanted enough to be searched for. That there were others like her.

Yet the things her father said also echoed through her mind. These people were her people—were they like Edulph and his band, bent on selfish chaos? They might be her mother's people, but that didn't mean she wanted any part of them. She'd struck out on her own, and she meant to be on her own.

"Barruch and I will have gone before dawn," she said finally. "If what you say about Aedus being useless is true, then I'll show them I don't care."

"Good choice," he said. "We'll let the fire go down now so they're uncertain of when we left."

"Not us," she said. "Me."

"You'd go without an Arm?"

She got up and went to her horse, where her blade was, where her fur was tucked into the basket, where her tinder bundle was. "This is my arm," she said, hoisting the blade. "And these are my legs." She patted Barruch's rump. "I've needed nothing but these for years."

He shook his head. "You're young. You need training."

"If it's as you say, the only thing I care about will be safe when I leave."

"You care about only one?" he asked and she had to look away so she could lie easier.

"I can't afford to care about much else. Yuri has been right all these years. My only protection from myself or anyone else is to care for nothing." She kissed Barruch between his eyes and pulled her fur from his basket, thinking that even though she wouldn't sleep, she could pretend, and then she could slip away before dawn.

11

She planned to leave as soon as Yenic fell asleep, but he sat by the fire for hours. Contrary to his initial plan, he didn't let the fire die down at all. She didn't see him feed it, necessarily, but she knew he must have, off and on through the night, because every so often it would blaze brightly.

Twice, she realized she'd fallen asleep and felt herself jerk awake. Each time, she peered beneath Barruch's legs at the fire and the slumped form beside it, waiting to see if it moved or stayed still. Both times, within moments an arm reached out toward the flame seeking warmth.

So he wasn't going to let her creep away after all.

She got up and quietly packed her things plus the provisions she'd tied into her basket before they'd had left the oasis: a comb of honey wrapped in leaves and tucked into a pouch, a few peaches, and the last of the frog legs they'd roasted. She tucked her fur beneath Barruch's saddle and clucked at him to move. She planned to lead him out of camp then climb on and ride as fast as she could. With any luck, she could be far enough they'd only catch up when she was out of range of harming Aedus.

They could send all the scouts they wanted then. A few scouts she could handle.

She had Barruch's reins in her hand when Yenic crept up to her. She felt him close enough in the dark that she could touch him if she wanted.

"I'll try to get her away," he said to her and she nodded even though she knew he'd not see it.

"Only when it's safe," she said. "And only if they decide she has no use after all."

"It's the best chance for her."

She did reach for him then, and his hand found hers. She found comfort in his touch. "I know," she told him. "But if my leaving doesn't do what we hope for, try to get her away from Edulph. Brother or no, I don't trust him."

Yenic squeezed her hand. She looked back towards their fire only to see it had gone much dimmer.

"Don't worry," he said, following her gaze. "I put dirt on it. There's nothing like a bit of earth to temper a flame."

"Or water," she said.

"Or water." The hand that had been in hers moved to her chin and rested there. "If this works, I'll bring Aedus to the oasis. We'll wait for you."

"I don't know how far I need to go before it's safe."

"It's all right. We have enough there to keep us fed and watered until you do come."

"What if I don't?" She stepped away from him. "Come to you, I mean."

His soft chuckle moved through the darkness. "Oh, you'll return eventually."

"You can't know that."

"But I do."

She felt him reach out for her again, and the warmth of his palm on her lower back surprised her. Before she could stop him, he had pulled her close and placed his mouth on hers. It brought all the heat of his kiss from the oasis to mind, and she felt as though her throat was on fire.

"We're bonded. You won't be able to help yourself."

He stepped away to mince back toward the tempered fire. Curiosity urged her to follow him and find out what he meant, but reason won out and she pressed herself through the bushes, pulling Barruch along behind her.

By mid afternoon Barruch had taken her halfway to the oasis. In the light of day, things seemed far more fixable. On his back, with her hair being taken by the breeze, and the rhythm of his gallop, Alaysha could clear her mind and focus. So much had changed in the quarter turn of the moon, so much had shifted. In these seven turns, she had learned more about her life than in the eighteen seasons she'd lived. To discover her nohma, a woman far too young to be a grandmother, had actually been her aunt made sense. She'd always felt close to Nohma—she just always believed it was because the woman was the only replacement for a mother she'd had. Now she knew the truth, and the truth seemed to be a strange jumble of information that melded between Yuri's story and Yenic's.

Now she had a foster sister. One who was in danger. Every instinct told Alaysha to stay and fight for the girl, but she knew to do so would put her in even greater risk.

She didn't care if her father's tribe was a target. They'd no doubt make short work of Edulph's rogue band if they did attempt an attack alone. All the more reason for Alaysha to run; better she not tempt her father with her power. She wouldn't let herself be used as any man's blade ever again.

If only she had the ability to control it completely, she'd not have nearly so much to worry her. In fact, if she could control the thirst, she'd immediately cease to be useful as another man's weapon. And it seemed the only link to her being able to do so, she'd left with that decrepit group of villains.

"Bonded," she shouted to Barruch, just so she could hear her voice over the thunder of his hooves. "What could he mean?" In her father's tribe the word bond meant to vow allegiance. It meant above all others; a warrior would choose an emir to die for. She'd never sworn a bond oath to her father or any other.

She let Barruch slow when she smelled water. He would need to drink and rest; she'd ridden him harder than she'd expected, and in truth, she needed food. The peaches in her pack were probably bruised by now, but that would just make them all the sweeter.

She left off when they came in sight of the stream they'd stop at a day earlier on their way to Sarum. They'd filled their leather sacks there, and then drunk from them the rest of the days when the water within was musky and hot.

The stream was refreshingly cool. She pulled off her tunic and splashed into the water, letting Barruch, who was more finicky, sample his refreshment from the edge. She would be cold for a while when she got out, but she'd be clean and the smell of cowardice would be well behind her.

She hitched herself up on the bank so she could semi-float, semi-recline without the current taking her far. She looked up into the filigree of branches and leaves that made the encroaching dusk even gloomier. The moon brooded on the horizon of treetops, waiting for the sun to blink out and give night its rule.

She supposed she could set up camp right here. There was a mound of earth covered in thatch and dead brush that she could crouch against. Her back would be protected while she slept, and to her front any encroaching enemies would have to splash through water to get to her. It was a forceful enough current she doubted anyone would try at night. That left her sides exposed, but Barruch would nicker and nudge her if he smelled anyone strange.

She eased up out of the water and pulled her fur from beneath Barruch's saddle so she could wrap in it while it was still warm. It smelled of animal sweat but she didn't care; it stopped her shivering.

Upon inspection, the area proved better equipped for an overnight stay than she'd originally thought. Tinder from dead branches littered the ground and stream bank. Probably from trees that drowned when heavy rains came and covered a few feet of their trunks with stream water. Moss too, was abundant, making her tinder bundle catch easily on the bits of scavenged brambles.

Before long, she was sitting in front of a roaring flame, peach juice gathering on her chin, wrapped cozily in her animal fur while the darkness came alive with the sounds of courting frogs.

Except that she missed Aedus and Yenic, she had never felt so content.

"I hope you enjoyed your peach, old man," she said to Barruch, who had begun to break wind in a noisy manner. She resolved not to ever feed him another, even if she found a cache of them.

She knew the oasis had enough on that one tree to fill her basket three times over, and she knew she was mere hours away from reaching it. Something kept her from going there, though. She wasn't even sure if she would stop there tomorrow. The way Yenic had looked at her; certain. The way he'd said they were bonded. Her belly squirmed in a pleasant way and that made her made her feel confused and anxious. She felt such longing that she couldn't identify it until she found herself reliving the way his lips felt against hers and the way she felt her heart tremor madly when it beat next to his.

Better she stay away for a while.

He knew more about her than she knew herself, and that was disconcerting. If he did manage to get Aedus away safely, and find his way back to the oasis, what would happen if no one was waiting?

Aedus would be out of danger—there'd be no reason for her brother to use her. Yenic would probably even take care of her. They'd wait for a while for Alaysha to arrive, but eventually they would have to realize she wasn't coming and head for other ground. The weather would come, and even if the crones had magicked the place safe, they couldn't possibly protect it from snow and hail.

And what of her and Barruch? She knew her father would send Drahl after her, hoping to talk her into returning. He'd die in the attempt, of course, no matter how many men he had with him. They couldn't take her by force, and her father knew by now that she cared about nothing enough to coerce her.

Except for Aedus. But they didn't know about Aedus. No one in camp would have paid any attention to whether or not the witch had a companion. Bodicca wouldn't have seen the girl slinking around the fire, nor would the other warrior guards.

And then she remembered her father did know. He'd even told Alaysha to take the little ferret with her. He might not have guessed they'd grown close, but he would know their first stop would be the oasis where her last battle had been laid.

And he could have Drahl there now, waiting. Yuri knew as much as Yenic. Maybe more, and he was not afraid of her. He knew her weakness, he said.

She assumed it was caring for someone, but what if it was something else?

The night didn't seem so cozy anymore. She shifted within the fur and found no matter how she sat, she couldn't get comfortable.

She tried to run her memory, letting her thoughts slip back through the last days to her final meeting with Yuri.

She tried to conjure him in her mind, get a feel for the way he looked, and sat, and ate. She could smell again the fragrance of honey and roasted hare, taste the rain that fell when she left his tent, but she couldn't focus enough to bring it all clear.

She was too mixed up with the worry over Yenic and Aedus, the memory of his mouth on hers, the way he sounded when he told her to think of her nohma.

She was staring out into the darkness, letting all those images play in her mind, feeling the heat of the fire on her cheeks as it rose higher and blazed brighter, watching the fireflies play with each other through the trees.

Except those fireflies were moving in unison. Except those fireflies were far too large to be a mating pair. Why wasn't Barruch alerting her, knowing a stranger had entered his camp.

"Alaysha?"

The voice was too familiar for her to question who it was. Her heart leapt and then thudded hard down to her stomach.

Something was wrong.

"Yenic."

He came out of the shadows, stumbling awkwardly, feeling his way forward with his feet, his hands hanging down at his sides. Laden, she thought, with sacks: maybe filled with fruit or foodstuffs. At least she hoped so.

"What have you brought?" It was a cautious question, the niggling feeling in the back of her neck that it was something more, something she didn't want to know, creeping to her hairline. She had a terrible feeling he was carrying pieces of Aedus back to be buried.

"What is it? Why are you green again?" She was standing, though she couldn't remember getting to her feet. Barruch shuffled away, loathe, it seemed, to let Yenic near him.

He managed to make his way into the light of the fire and Alaysha could see what he carried—what he had been carrying for what must have been a very long trek on foot. She tried to do the figuring: one hour on horseback for three on foot, tried to assess how long she'd been there, how far she'd come and how far he'd had to walk. But she couldn't make her mind move past his burden.

They were dangling by their hair from his fingers like sacks, all three: two in one hand, one in the other. They all were bloody and ragged looking as though they had been hacked at with an untempered blade. Their eyes stared forward, mouths gaping. But for one. His mouth was closed.

"Who were they?"

Yenic stared ahead as though he wasn't seeing. With effort, he lifted his load, biceps trembling from the weight. At that height, able to catch the fire light, Alaysha could see he wasn't actually holding them by their hair, but by the rope coiled around each wrist that his fingers were tangled within. Yenic's fingers grasped at the rope to keep some of the dead weight from cutting into his circulation.

"What happened?" She dropped the fur and rushed to help him. She led him closer to the fire. "Sit," she said, easing him onto the ground. She tried to untangle the head whose mouth was shut, but Yenic pulled away from her. Instead he thrust his other hand forward.

It was too tangled in the ropes and hair to get free without her blade. She had to get up and pull her tiny dirk from its pouch. "This'll do," she told him and with an awkward motion tried to saw her way through the ropes. It took some doing, but soon she had his first hand and wrist free. She was making for the other when he stopped her.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'll do it." He took the knife from her and felt with his fingers for the ropes. Easing the blade beneath like a blind man would skewer his meat, he worked at it, taking great care to gingerly cut through the lashing.

The head made a sickening thud when it met the earth.

Alaysha tried her best to swallow the bile that rose. She wouldn't ask about Aedus. If she didn't ask, she wouldn't have to hear.

"Who were these men?" she asked instead.

Yenic chuckled in a way that made her skin crawl. "Don't you recognize them?" He kicked at one of the heads to his left. "This was the one Aedus was bound to on horseback."

"And this one," he said, nodding at the other, "this one was Edulph's cousin."

"You killed them?"

He laughed. "I tried. It's tough even for a Witch's Arm to kill without a weapon." He winced as he moved.

She studied him closer and saw he was bleeding, that his rib cage looked swollen, that beneath the green around his eyes, he was bruised purple and the swelling of his lids was obscenely close to shutting off all his vision.

"You're hurt."

"So were they before they were dead."

Alaysha looked at the final head. "And this one?"

He flopped over, his head between his knees, and took a few deep breaths before he lifted it up to look at her. "Spate."

She saw it now. The ugly man who loved Greetha.

"They were all close to Edulph. You saw them laugh together. They became lax once they saw you had gone, Aedus wasn't ill treated. I thought I could easily steal her away."

"And?"

He crossed his arms on his knees. "And when I tried, these three opposed me. I thought I was winning."

"Until?"

"Until Edulph shouted at me. He had Aedus by the hand. Even then, I thought at worst he'd get his lackeys to tie me up. I wasn't expecting what he did do."

The niggling feeling made Alaysha's jaw clench. "Yes?"

He reached for the third head and pried open the mouth. His fingers slipped in and extracted a long, phosphorescent length of flesh. It took a few seconds for Alaysha to realize it was a finger.

"Edulph said each day you delay, he will take another. Tonight can be marked as the first day. These men—" he kicked at the head housing Aedus's index finger. "These men were punished for not fighting well enough. They were tied to me to slow me down."

He put his hand on Alaysha's shoulder, and only then did she realize she was trembling and mostly because she realized the true depth of Edulph's nature. He wanted her to do his bidding, but he couldn't resist trying to make that difficult: and all so he could do further harm.

Yenic held her gaze, and Alaysha wasn't sure what she saw in the depths of his amber eyes. "Aedus is not, nor will she ever be, safe with her brother."

She turned her attention to the lumps of flesh so she wouldn't have to look at Yenic anymore. She knew his eyes were by now burning, that the swelling was keeping him from seeing clearly, that soon the only sight he would have would be terrors from his imagination. She quietly got up and dipped water from the stream, and returned to wash his eyes, hoping the coolness would ease the stinging. If Aedus was telling the truth, she might be able to wash away some of the effects, but the green would stay for days.

He sighed each time she ran cool water over his face. And when the bowl was empty, she would get up and refill it, and return to him to pour more across his eyes.

"You know it's her?"

"Who do you think marked me?" His voice was pained.

She reached out for him, so they could connect in some way that would ease the hurt she felt. He took her hand and they sat together silently for a while.

"I didn't know," he said. "I didn't think."

"I know."

"I shouldn't have counseled you so."

"It's not your fault." She was saying to him, but Alaysha wasn't entirely sure she wasn't trying to tell herself the same thing.

"He's more dangerous than we thought, Alaysha. He's not simply out for revenge. He's lost his mind, and what he has left of it has no humanity." She got up and wrapped the fur around his shoulders, the kind of act a mother would do for a sick child. Or a lover.

"Where you going?"

"Where do you think?" She trudged over to Barruch and started saddling him. She'd leave the tinder bundle, the food.

"You're not leaving me again."

She glanced over at him. "You'll be of no use the way you are."

She could see his anger from where she stood. With some effort, he found his feet. "You're young," he said. "You're making an unwise decision."

"Young? You keep saying that. What kind of decision did you make? I listened to you and look where it got Aedus." She choked on the last words because she knew they weren't fair, and had to clamp her mouth shut so she wouldn't cry. She didn't care that her words stopped him dead.

"I say you're young because you are. You need training yet."

"Then teach me. But teach me while we ride. Aedus will not lose another finger."

He nodded and gathered what he could of their provisions. He picked up the phosphorescent digit and tucked it into Barruch's basket. The heads, he kicked into the bushes for the wild cats or dogs.

"I don't have the knowledge to show you much." He climbed up onto Barruch with her help, wincing as he settled. "But I can tell you one thing."

She gathered the reins and kicked Barruch into slow, plodding movements around the fallen logs and bracken. "And that is?"

"You can stop the power from accelerating by refocusing on someone you love."

"That's it?"

"There's more, but it can be that simple when you have nothing else. It's about balance."

She grunted and braced herself for a flat out gallop. They didn't have time, but at least she had a tool. She needed at least that.

12

It must have been a painfully horrific ride for Yenic, and yet he slept. Alaysha could feel his head bounce against her back. She grabbed his arms and pulled them tight against her waist, holding them with one hand so he wouldn't fall. His body against hers felt fevered and while the heat felt good, she knew it also meant she'd have to look out for him when they reached Edulph's camp. She wasn't sure how he managed to reach her but to do so would have taken all his energy reserves. Laden with the heavy baggage and on foot, ravaged by battle, she wondered how he was even alive.

In truth, she wasn't sure he would stay so. But she didn't want to think about that. She was losing all perspective. All complacency. She pulled him closer and told herself she shouldn't care about not caring.

She couldn't ride Barruch for hours without resting and watering him, but she pushed the beast farther than she normally would, pulling Yenic down and easing him onto the fur after only a couple of hours. She knew they were close to Edulph's camp. She recognized the terrain.

Barruch was sweating. Yenic was sweating. Alaysha's tunic was wet with perspiration. Thank the Deities she hadn't ridden all the way to the oasis. She looked up at the sky. Dawn was coming and she could easily rest for an hour and still slip into the camp by midmorning.

"Rest, old man," she told Barruch. She stripped off her tunic and used it to wipe him down, and then set about gathering fern tops and sweet grass so he could eat without using the energy it took to forage. She needed him as fresh as he could get in a few hours.

She pulled the stinking leather back down over her head and considered making a fire, then realized she was too tired. Yenic lay on the grass beside Barruch, wrapped in the fur. A few hours. No more. Surely she could catch some sleep. Maybe Yenic would feel better after an uninterrupted rest. She hoped so. Looking down at him, she thought she wasn't sure what she'd do if he didn't make it.

She climbed in next to him. His arm went around her, pulling her close. Nestled there, his heated body next to hers, she was asleep in moments.

Once during the night, Alaysha felt shaken awake. It was deep into the night, so dark, even the shadows slept. She peered groggily into the pit of black and tried to orient herself. Even as she was registering that she slept at the bank of a river and that Barruch was snoring somewhere to her left, she felt the tremors again.

Yenic.

She reached for him and touched fire. Her hand came away so wet and clammy, she was surprised when his irregular breathing felt hot and then deathly cold in between.

She knew if she didn't cool him down, he wouldn't live the night. He might not even live the next few moments.

All she could think to do was run with her bowl and water skin to the stream. In her haste, she'd forgotten how close the river was and she fumbled blindly for a few moments before splashing in and feeling the shock of cold. Close, so close. And not yet close enough. She wouldn't be able to keep him cool enough by running back and forth, filling and refilling her bowl.

She dipped both vessels in together and had to guess about how much it would take to fill the skin. A few splashings later and she was on the bank, plodding, nearly blind in the direction she thought her mat waited.

She stubbed her bare toe and cursed. Where was her mat, anyway? Her eyes stung from pain and trying to squint into the shadows. She'd obviously gone in the wrong direction. A low snort came from her right hand. Barruch. "Good boy," she said to the sound.

She waited, poised to sprint. Another low snort and whinny, closer this time.

She smelled horseflesh and reached out, holding the water skin aloft. Barruch's nose ran along her wrist, and she felt the heat of his breath. He turned and Alaysha took careful steps with him. Best to stay calm. Her concern for Yenic was working against her, not helping. Stay calm. Stay focused. One step. Two.

Barruch stopped after a dozen paces. Alaysha peered into the darkness and thought she saw a rounded blacker-than-the-darkness mound.

She rushed to it, hoping she was right, and placed the water down next to what she thought was Yenic's head.

She fumbled for him. The heat came at her in waves before she even touched the skin of his face.

"Yenic," she said.

He moaned and relief flooded her; at least he was alive. She couldn't afford to waste any time. She knew the small amount of water she carried wouldn't be enough. He needed to be bathed in it, submerged. There was only one thing she could think to do.

"I'm sorry," she told him, then grasped him as gently as she could beneath the shoulders. Like she'd done to the crones in the village, she buck-dragged him toward where the water smelled strongest. The sound of the current grew louder with each yank, and she began to believe she could manage it.

The spasms took him when she was at least one hard pull away. The spasm felt different than before. It straightened his legs and stiffened his shoulders. She let go of him and reached for his chest. Her palm rested on his solar plexus, waited impatiently for a rise and fall, for a thump beneath.

Nothing.

Her palm hovered over his mouth, and she waited for a rush of air.

None.

Her finger scrabbled for his throat just behind his earlobe.

A flutter, but not much after it except for a thready, cautious trembling.

She reached for his mouth and pulled his mouth open, easing her own down over his so that no air could escape. She inhaled through her nose and sent a silent plea to the Deities to fill her lungs with sweet air. She exhaled.

It was nothing like the time his mouth had been on hers before. Back then his lips were moist and warm, pleasant in a heart-stopping way. This time those same lips were dry and hot and frightening in a heart-stopping way. This time there was no pleasure, only steely focus. She breathed in, lifted her mouth from his, waited, breathed in again.

Each time she thought the fire within him would ignite her mouth and lungs. Each time she felt her own air rise in temperature when it met his mouth, but she exhaled anyway, hoping the heat wouldn't burn his lungs.

She was near exhaustion when she thought she felt it: a short, rasp against her cheek. She nearly laughed out loud from relief.

"Yenic?"

A louder breath this time, one she couldn't misinterpret. Thank the Deities.

Now if she could just get him to the water.

She grasped him again, and pulled with all she had left, stepped backwards, yanked again. Stepped again, and felt the gasping coldness of the stream. This time she did laugh.

She let her fingers walk to his legs and pulled them so they could find the water. He slipped easily into the stream then; she could hold his head and torso close to the bank, but leave most of his body in the water, could hear the current fetching against him and complaining. It was the sweetest sound she'd heard in days.

She stroked his hair, feeling over and over again for a pulse at his neck, never quite daring to believe it was getting stronger.

The sun was bleeding onto the horizon when his eyes fluttered open. Only then did she pull him back onto the bank, strip him, and with his help, settle him back into the fur. She worked on a small, but passable fire to keep any chill from devouring his body after the rapid cool down of the stream. After, without a word, she settled next to him.

She tried to be gentle when she shook him awake. Exhausted as she was, she'd slept longer than she'd hoped. In the light of full morning, she realized the full extent of his wounds. Both eyes were swollen and a large gash over his right brow had bled and caked overnight. The tattaus on his ribs were distorted from the swelling. She had an incredible urge to feed him, to touch him, to make him feel better.

"Are you hungry?" She thought she had some frog legs left over.

He shook his head. "Thirsty."

She had a water skin she'd filled from the stream. He drank almost all of it.

"You had quite a battle," she said. She couldn't help the pride in her voice when she said it.

He closed his eyes thoughtfully. "So did they."

"Will Edulph let me be if I agree?"

"I don't know. If you had control of such a weapon as a temptress of the life blood, would you relinquish it?"

Her father hadn't, that much she knew. She shook her head. "Probably not. Not if I were one of his kind."

"So we must make you a less valuable weapon," he said, and tried to ease up onto his elbow but had to be content to study her face from a flat-back position.

"How?"

"There are two ways. One is to become so controlling of the power, no one else can control you. I've known a witch to be able to bring lightening to a man and set stones ablaze."

"I can't do that."

"Of course not; you are a temptress of fluid, not of fire." He tried unsuccessfully to get up again and fell back with a groan.

"Everything is spinning." He peered at her. "And you seem to have two noses. Beautiful as they are, it's unnerving."

"You're going to hurt yourself." She was set to help him, all perched on her elbows, leaning forward.

He let go a raspy chuckle. "Already accomplished."

She thought about his words. "Temptress of fire? Is there such a thing?"

"There are more. Earth. Water. Fire. Air. I told you: balance." He pulled the fur beneath his chin and shivered. Alaysha looked down at him. His fever had broken but wasn't gone entirely. He was in no shape to stay alone; he was in no shape to continue.

"You have to stay here."

"No," he said, but he didn't open his eyes.

"Then follow when you're better." She hated leaving him, but she knew if he'd made it through the worst of last night, he had a good chance—even if it was a long recuperation—of making it through these next days.

"I am better."

She slipped out from beneath the blanket and strode toward Barruch who was munching contentedly on grass. He didn't look pleased at his impending journey. "Not long now, old man," she said. "A couple of hours of riding." She stole a look over her shoulder at Yenic to be sure he was still where she'd left him, then she worked at saddling Barruch.

"You're better than last night, but not better enough to come. Aedus and I will go to Sarum. I will bide my time until we can escape."

"Your father?"

The voice came from so close behind her, she startled. She turned and saw he was standing right there, wrapped in the blanket. He was weaving to and fro and blinking repeatedly. Trying to stay awake, probably.

"My father means nothing to me now. What do I care if one more man dies? One more tribe?"

He collapsed onto the ground, the fur puffing out around him. His words were slurred from fatigue and he kept rubbing his eyes. Once, he peered, transfixed, at a spot somewhere beyond Alaysha. "You'll be trading one master for another, I expect." He squinted into the distance.

She shrugged and untied her scabbard and sword from Barruch's pack, then laid it in easy reach should Yenic need to use it. She gave him a long look, then turned, mounted, and pulled the reins tight. Only then would she speak to his comment.

"It's a temporary enslavement. Once Edulph's guard is down, I'll send Aedus to you."

He seemed to accept that. "Mind the huts; take care those within don't see you."

She looked over her shoulder. There were no huts anywhere near. No people. She shrugged. He must be concerned about her going toward the village near the oasis. He'd want that spot protected—wouldn't want Edulph or his men to know that's where they were headed or where they'd end up meeting for fear they'd come and start the thing all over again.

"I'll be careful."

"What are you going to do, Alaysha?"

She couldn't help the grin stealing her face, or the sense of burning anger that spread it. "I plan to suck them all dry."

13

She could tell she was close to the encampment because of the noise. A set-down always owned its share of extraordinary sounds that didn't belong in nature: the low hum of speech, the high-pitch of tempers flaring. Sometimes there was a soft rush of fragrance on the breeze that smelled of new fire and roasted meat. The one thing that gave away a moving camp set down for a short siege was the whine of beasts, and Barruch's ears always perked and twitched at that sound. If Alaysha reached out to test the air for water, she would taste sweat and cooking water in overabundance.

But she didn't need to.

She planned to find Aedus first, to see if she could be squirreled away quietly without Alaysha having to reveal herself. She reckoned she had a few hours until sunset, and she planned to use the time to her advantage. She dismounted and looked around for a good spot to tether Barruch. She had seen a knoll about a half kubit back that had sufficient tree cover. She could walk him back there and hide him by piling branches all around. Perhaps she'd use Aedus's trick of slicking her hair back with mud. Maybe cover herself with it so she'd blend in to the wood cover.

She found a mud hole of considerable size. Left from the last rain, it was dried of liquid, but the hollow left in the land was filled with debris and leaf litter that had rotted there. The combination made a revolting mess that slid easily over her hair, but it also stunk. Barruch backed away from her when she tried to hide him behind tree branches.

The snap of a twig behind her made her jump. Yenic. How had he made it so far in his condition?

I told you to stay put." She turned to scold him.

No one was there.

She squinted into the underbrush, searching for a hare or deer. No other sound came. If it was Yenic, he'd have answered. If it was an animal, it would have moved by now.

She stepped closer to Barruch, thinking to pull her sword from its scabbard, and when she did, remembered she'd left it with Yenic. She contented herself with the small dirk she used to cut fruit, and palmed it quickly, the handle set behind her wrist.

The light shifted enough that she could make out a set of eyes in the trees. Then another. Two, she could manage without her power; three, and she wasn't sure she'd have a chance. So much for sneaking into camp. She just hoped they'd not take another of Aedus's fingers for her subterfuge.

"Is this how you've evaded us, Witch?"

Alaysha peered, leaning into the shadows.

The voice was a familiar one. The speaker shifted from shade to shade and finally out into the light.

"You cover yourself with filth to hide in the shadows. Pitiful for a witch, I'd say."

She knew him now, and she knew as soon as she saw him that all chance of freeing Aedus was gone.

She tried to keep her voice level when she spoke. "You've been looking for me?" She asked Drahl. "Why? I thought Father wanted me to find number nineteen." She'd almost said Yenic, but caught herself just in time.

"It's taking too long. He wants to see the eyes and know it's done."

She shrugged, but a flash of insight came so quickly, she was afraid she'd given herself away. "Number nineteen is with this band. Hiding from us within their ranks."

"Then kill them and be done with it." His gaze narrowed, and she thought she saw suspicion behind his eyes.

"I would have, except I thought I saw your property with them as well. I wanted to be sure before I attacked."

"My property?"

"Yes." She tried to watch his face for reaction without appearing to be studying him. "I believe they have someone who belongs to you."

"I have enough slaves." He waved his hand dismissively, "What do I care for one more?"

She turned away from him. "That makes it easy then." She looked back over her shoulder. "You might want to move back a few kubits." She nodded her head at the other set of eyes. "Him too."

Drahl grunted, apparently satisfied she was about to complete the task she’d been sent out on. He inclined his head toward the trees, and three more men slipped out from behind tree trunks.

She took a decided step in the opposite direction of the rogue’s camp, praying to the Deities that Drahl would move his men toward the camp. She had no doubt about their reception once the sentries caught sight of them.

"Take yourselves at least a couple of kubits in to be safe."

She took a breath and trudged forward, thinking she’d double back when they were out of sight and in the chaos, she was sure to get to Aedus, sure she’d be left unguarded.

Drahl and his men didn’t even bother trying to be quiet, they were so confident the enemy would soon be dead and they'd be well enough away to escape all danger from the witch. She could hear them laughing among themselves, crashing through the thicket. Walking their mounts noisily through the brush.

Good. They’d be noticed. And quickly. That meant she had to hurry. Once she could only hear them from a good distance, she turned to the right and circled. She knew the camp was at the break of the treeline, with sentries posted everywhere in the bushes. The natural sneakiness of a rogue band meant they’d want to disappear quickly and melt into nature. So while they hadn’t given consideration to how smart it would be to camp far enough into a clearing that they couldn’t be taken by surprise, they at least understood the value of escaping should they be come upon. Or they were just stupid, making the wrong assumption that they were the ones with the advantage.

Twice, she caught an overhanging branch in the face in her haste, and once she stumbled over a root she wasn’t watching for. But soon, she was close enough she could almost smell the roasting fire. From her spot in the trees, she could tell the sun hadn’t set yet. Still some time before Edulph took the next digit. If she was lucky. Now all she had to do was wait until the sentries either found Drahl, or Drahl walked unawares into the plain.

She crept closer, close enough she could see the fire. The horses were resting, tied to fallen trees. Just under two dozen still, so she knew they were all close to camp.

She crouched behind a large rock trying to see past the horses, to the fire. Luckily, they were a small enough group that they kept together when they camped and didn’t sprawl out like an army did. She knew she should be looking to count forty or so bodies in all, including Aedus, but there was no telling how many would be in the trees. Some were hunched, cloaked, around the fire. She could make out three of these in the encroaching gloom. Was one of them Edulph? She couldn’t know for sure.

A racket to her left told her Drahl and his party had been spotted. Shouts met her ears, as did the clanging tension of metal in the air. Only the discipline of a dozen battles and hundreds of training sessions let Alaysha keep her attention on the fire.

Several forms lifted from places she’d not noticed: behind trees, crouched next to fallen logs, shadows that were pools on the ground: all lifted, and lighted, grabbing blades and rushing the darkness.

All but one form that no longer crouched at the fire. Aedus. She scrambled, fell, and scrambled again toward the horses, where she fell again and lay still beneath the belly of the largest mount.

Alaysha wasted no time.

She sped into the clearing and threw herself beneath the beast. The feel of the scrawny shoulders beneath her hands was a relief; the frightened eyes peering up at her, a shock.

"You’re not Aedus." Alaysha could hear the disappointment in her own voice.

The girl shook her head.

"Aedus is gone."

"Gone?" Alasha had a hard time keeping her voice down or the despair out of it.

"With Edulph."

The skirmish had escalated into a fully fledged battle. Several men had leaked from the treeline into the clearing and the shouts had turned to the low grumble of grunts that came with the effort of battle. Drahl was a scout, not a warrior. He’d not be able to hold his own for long. Soon it would be over and she still hadn’t found Aedus.

"Where did they go?"

The girl shook her head. "Into the woods."

She pointed toward where Alaysha had come from.

She grabbed the girl’s hand, counted the fingers with her own. Grabbed for the other. All ten were there. She groaned; so it had been Aedus's finger sent with Yenic and not a substitute.

"But why?" Alaysha sat back on her haunches, deflated. It made no sense. Unless he expected her to try and sneak in, but in that case, why not just lay a trap so she wouldn’t succeed?

He was far more unpredictable than she’d thought. It seemed he planned to lure her ever closer to Sarum while he made it impossible to get to Aedus, and made Alaysha’s desperation to get to her all the more urgent.

She huffed and scanned the trees and plain. There were several bodies on the ground and at least a dozen fights still being fought. Those were tiring, however, and a victor would soon be clear.

She heard a gathering shout from a voice she recognized and knew it was Drahl calling his men to retreat. It was clear the rogues would be too tired to follow and were disinclined to finish them off.

She had to get out of there.

The girl gripped her arm. "Don’t leave me here." Her face was white with fear in the dark.

"I can’t take you."

Alaysha studied her, thinking. She could quench this entire fire pit of madness within seconds. And the world of Drahl, and of this fighting. She could safely get away to Barruch and be off to free Aedus without worry of being followed.

But this girl would die.

Did that matter?

She would probably die anyway; either from hunger or at the hands of these ruffians.

"Can you ride?"

The girl nodded.

"Then get on a horse and make your way back to the west. A day straight along, maybe a day and a half past a small stream to a place of unusual desert. You’ll see a grove of trees. Go there. It’s the best I can do." She set to spring off into the undergrowth, hoping she’d not already been seen, when the girl clutched at her arm again.

Alaysah shook her head. "I can’t take you."

"They’ll catch me."

"What do you matter?" It was blunt, but there wasn’t time to play at diplomacy.

"I’m Yuri’s daughter."

The bald statement took the air from Alaysha’s lungs. She knew her father had children besides her, but except for the tiny heir, she’d not been allowed near any. This girl couldn’t be more than eight or nine. Aedus had to be around the same age—maybe a season or two more.

She grabbed the girl by the hand without saying a word to her and pulled her along as she crouched, and ran to the trees.

She couldn’t believe her good fortune that they found shelter behind a copse of trees without being noticed. She turned to the girl, knelt in front of her.

"Tell me."

The girl stammered, and worked at her eyes with her palms, but she managed a few words of nearly unintelligible speech. Alaysha had to be patient. She held onto the small shoulders in the darkness and tried to ease the girl’s shivering.

"Tell me about Aedus."

"I told you, she’s gone."

"Why do they have you? How could they have managed it?"

The girl’s shrug stole Alaysha’s last ounce of patience.

"You know something. If you’re Yuri’s daughter you must know why you’re here."

She could tell the girl was trying to be brave. She could feel the effort the girl made to stop trembling.

"I was playing. A man slipped out of the bushes. We rode for days from Sarum. That’s all I know."

"But you’ve seen Aedus?"

The girl nodded. "We were kept together for the whole day we were here."

"Was she okay?" Alaysha wasn’t sure she could stand the answer.

A voice came from behind her in answer. "She gets less okay each day."

Alaysha froze in her spot. She knew she’d waited too long. Now she was caught. She sensed at least one man behind her. She took her time getting to her feet.

Too bad about the girl, but now that she had her, had met her, she couldn’t let her die the same death as these bastards, she'd have to refrain from using the power.

She turned slowly. Yes. Two. She once more thought of the sword she’d left with Yenic, hoping to be fleeter of foot. Now she wished she’d been smarter.

"Tell me about Aedus," she told the men.

The both looked at her and laughed at the same time. One came forward to wrestle the girl from her arms.

"Don’t touch her," Alaysha had gone to the trouble of getting her safely away from these men, she wasn’t about to give her back to them.

The man didn't back off, but neither did he make a move toward the girl. Alaysha took that as a good sign.

"You were waiting for me," she said.

"Edulph was sure you would come."

"And Aedus?"

"She believes her brother is saving her from us. Stupid girl."

Alaysha looked at the girl—her half-sister—if she could be believed. "Why her? What does she have?"

He snorted. "Questions you should ask Edulph."

"What about Drahl?"

He laughed and his companion slapped his thigh with his palm in warped humor. "That dog? He has slunk back to his den."

He didn't need to say what would happen when he was found. Alaysha sighed. Should Drahl manage to live and return, he would find Alaysha with these people. He would believe, rightly so, that she'd let him walk into a trap. He just wouldn't know why. Had he known about the girl? Surely not, or he wouldn't have ordered their deaths so blithely.

"The girl and I want to sleep by the fire. And we want blankets. And I want a sword. A sharp one."

The sky had turned crimson and the whole campsite looked bathed in blood. She prayed to the Deities they could make it through the night without having to shed any more.

It took a few moments, but the man nodded and shuffled off. He returned when Alaysha and her sister were feeding the fire to make it good and high, it's light casting a few good horse strides in each direction.

She tested the edge of the blade he brought and nodded at him.

"Fine. Now you and your men will sleep beyond where the light rests. If you so much as come within a few steps of it, I will kill you without thought."

He smirked but said nothing. He would test her, she knew that. Maybe him or another, but she would be tested. She hoped she could get through the night without having to use her thirst, but she would use it if she had to. Better the girl died at her hand than be subjected to a horde of callous men.

She spread the bearskin he'd brought as close to the fire as she could and bid the girl crawl beneath it. Then she covered her with the other and sat next to her, sword in hand, facing the fire but painfully aware that her back was unprotected.

"What's your name, girl?"

"Bronwyn."

"Well, Bronwyn, sleep if you can, but if you can't, don't speak to me unless I speak to you first. I need to listen to the night."

There was a short pause, and Alaysha thought her bluntness had hurt the girl, but then her voice came and made Alaysha's eyes sting.

"She was brave," Bronwyn said. "When Edulph took her. She didn't cry at all."

"Thank you," Alaysha whispered.

They came when Alaysha felt the weariness the most. They must have been watching her, waiting for her head to nod, for her shoulders to slump. If she had been cleverer, she would have thought to fake the fatigue while she was still sour enough to add the fury to her fight.

As it was, they got well within the light before she jarred awake, and it took several awkward seconds to get her feet. She swayed once before the adrenaline kicked in and the hesitation gave them the time they needed to bound across the fire.

There were two to begin the attack. The rest, the last seven or eight stood off in the shadows, moving and shuffling there.

The first managed to get close enough to Alaysha that she had to jump back to gain the distance to swing her sword. She had to shout at the girl to find her feet and keep her back as close as she could to Alaysha's.

To her credit, the girl's response was instant and Alaysha could feel the heat of her, dancing with her, sidestepping as she took the measures of the men.

Her mentors had taught her to say nothing when she fought, not to waste a single breath on words. She kept her sword low, but close to conserve the energy it took to hold it aloft. She took long, slow breaths; her skin hummed. She felt the air against the flesh of her eyes, so wide were they, taking in everything she could. She could hear the breathing of the man to her left. It was ragged. Excited. Too sure of his own confidence and the outcome to be even. The other one was measuring his breaths, taking slow inhales like she was.

The one to the left would be dead in seconds; the other would try for her then, she knew. She had to find a way to make both of those things unexpected so the second would not gain from the stupidity of the first. That meant she had to strike and she'd have to strike for the one who was prepared to use his comrade's misfortune to his advantage.

She made no sound, just filled her lungs as best she could and lunged. And swung. And twisted in the circle, prepared to make the loop even if she contacted nothing.

She aimed high. And stepped to the right. The first swing connected with something that caught and held her blade. A stab met pure air. A force struck her legs and rolled her over twice. She barely held onto the hilt, and twisted awkwardly. Hot coppery liquid trailed down her wrist.

So. She'd got the first, but the moron had her on her back. She needed to find her feet or she'd be finished. And the girl would be finished.

She felt a blade against her throat and a clammy hand against the inside of her thigh. "I was glad to see you," he said. "We see so few women."

The blade was so hard against her throat, she could smell her own blood, but she wasn't afraid. She knew he'd lose interest in the knife soon enough. All she had to do was let go the sword where she could grab it again. Let go. Let go. Her fingers finally obeyed her and dropped the hilt noiselessly on the ground. She waited, so patiently, ’til he pressed his hips closer to hers, all his weight going into working at pulling down his breeks.

And she jammed her fingers as hard as she could into his eyes. A scuffling sound came from her left where she'd dropped the blade. She had to get him off her before whoever had the sword could use it.

Too late. She heard the whistling sound of it eating air, and she braced herself to feel it slicing into her.

There was a meaty thunk as his weight went dead on her. Someone in the shadows cursed.

Alaysha pushed at the body atop her and rolled to her side when it fell away. When she gained her feet, she saw Bronwyn standing framed in firelight, the sword hanging at her side, tip pointing to the ground.

"You did good, little one."

Bronwyn nodded, mute. Alaysha took the sword from her. She held it high and shouted at the shadows, watched them disperse.

"Careful, dogs. Yuri's daughters are trained like men to be warriors. You would do well to remember your pitiful lives when next you think they can be used for sport."

She put her hand on the girl's shoulder. "We can sleep now."

The girl gave a lingering look at the blanket. "I don't think I'll ever sleep again."

14

Alaysha suffered dreams that seemed more memory than night visions. In them, she traveled like a drop of water through fibres and muscles and tear ducts. She fell as dried fruit from eye sockets of dying men, laid down roots into arid sand and waited for the whispering song of rain. Once or twice she woke to the sounds of wolves snarling, and in her drowsiness told herself they were just after the man Bronwyn had killed—that they'd leave the camp alone.

When she felt the sun on her face and heard squirrels chattering to each other, she got up and woke Bronwyn who had fallen asleep after all.

None of the men spoke to them. She carried the sword in plain sight anyway.

Alaysha had been given plenty to eat when she and Yenic had traveled with them the first time; this last leg of the journey found the stores wanting. The fire provided heat for those rousing before dawn—and Alaysha watched them with wary eyes—even those men who kept their distance but shot her hateful looks. Some of the men eventually came forward with squirrels that they'd skinned and stuck to the ends of sticks. These they poked into the hottest part of the embers, and Alaysha realized then the full extent of the wear on the stores.

If they'd not been so gluttonous, they might have more to eat among them than a few squirrels, snakes, and overripe gooseberries.

She watched a few of them come and go at the fire, some of them throwing in whole, un-skinned snakes, others large hairy spiders that stank when they cooked. Most squatted and leaned in, avoiding her eye. One man, a thin strip of leathered frame with so much hair she thought he could stand to go a night without a cover, came within spitting distance and threw a handful of yellow wriggling things onto a flat rock at the edge.

She immediately perked up.

"You eat those?" she asked him.

He shrugged. "Never did before, but Edulph said to try it."

"They taste like roast boar," she said.

He watched them sizzle against the stone in the juices from the dying bodies. Once, he even grimaced.

"That's not nearly enough to make a meal," she said, trying on a sympathetic tone. Bronwyn was gagging discreetly as she sat next to her.

He met her eye. "Edulph didn't want to waste many if they weren't edible."

"Oh, they're edible." She tried to smile her encouragement. The real truth was she'd left the entire mess for Yenic back at the oasis because they were too disgusting to think about eating, but if Edulph was down to eating his tribe's dreamer's worm, then she knew their food supply was indeed gone. Not great planning for a potential leader. Maybe not such a potential leader, then. She scanned his crew, who were all either rummaging through the bushes, trying to catch and skin squirrels, or beating the bushes for snakes.

Fierce fighters, maybe, but untried in true campaign.

For the first time in days, she felt the stirrings of hope.

The swarthy fellow scraped stiff grubs into a wooden bowl and Alaysha caught him shivering in disgust.

"I can take that to him if you like."

He gave her a patronizing look across the short flame. "Who else do you think was going to bring it?" The man nodded in the direction of two men who stood at the edge of the tree line. "He's just beyond." He grinned and showed a broken front tooth. "And leave the girl."

She pulled Bronwyn close. "I won't leave her alone."

The man whistled and Greetha rose up from a pile of furs. "Watch the girl," he said and Greetha groaned. "Edulph wants to talk to the witch, and I don't think the witch trusts us with her little girl."

Alaysha didn't trust the woman any more than the men. "Here." She passed the sword to Bronwyn. "Don't be afraid to give that one company." She nodded at the remains of the body from the night before lying on the edge of camp.

Bronwyn clenched the sword in white-knuckled hands and only then, did Alaysha make a move toward the trees.

The man grunted at her. "Don't forget his breakfast."

She took the bowl to where the men waited. Without a word, they ushered her past the pines and spruce into a small clearing devoid of vegetation. The needles on the ground softened any noise.

"You're hungry," she said to the lump at the base of the tree. He was wrapped in fur against the early morning chill. Alaysha scanned the clearing for Aedus.

"She's safe."

Alaysha eased the bowl onto the ground at the statement. There was tension in the air that she could taste in the back of her throat, and she wanted her hands free just in case.

"You say she's safe."

"If I say it, it must be true." He unfolded from the blanket and got up. "She tells me you eat these." He stabbed his finger at the bowl.

Alaysha lifted a shoulder. "Some do."

He grunted and for the first time she noticed his fingers were a wriggling mass of yellow. A handful of them in his hand, came from a pile of roiling grubs on the ground next to his fur.

"Someone's been busy."

"There's a pond near my site," he said. "Aedus and I have been fishing."

"But you caught nothing?"

He sighed. "Just these worms; she seemed fairly excited."

"Have you been feeding her?"

"Of course. She's my sister."

Alaysha was tired of the game. "What do you want?"

He slunk forward, dropping the grubs with a pitter-pat to the earth and reached for a lock of her hair that he then trailed across his fingers. He smelled of old sweat and sour dirt. "Feels nice," he said. "If only you weren't ruined by that hideous tattau." He grimaced in pity.

She jerked away and his expression hardened. "Did you like my present?"

"Present? Those severed heads, Aedus's finger, or Yenic's battered body?"

A smile slithered across his face. "All of them were one large gift."

"I liked it as much as I like you."

"Oh, you're harsh, even for a witch. Do you know how you came to receive those heads?"

"I was there, wasn't I?"

"Not for the first of it, the wrapping of the gift, so to speak."

She refused to encourage him by speaking. He stepped away from her, letting a finger trail down her arm. She had to work at not shuddering in revulsion.

"My best men," he said. "Your Yenic shows such promise as a warrior. Spate—he was the first, my good cousin—he caught the traitor stealing up to Aedus in the early hours, after our meal. We had drunk a fair bit, I must say, and it made us all a little off our play."

"So you only thought it fair to pitch him against three?"

He pooched his bottom lip into the top, making it look like a slug had nestled in his beard.

"Wouldn't you think it fair? One drunken man would never be able to hold his own against a sober one. Although, I must admit also, that Spate kept his grog pretty well. Some have even said it made him that much fiercer a fighter."

He settled down against a tree. "Sit," he told her. "You will hear it all."

She didn't want to hear any of it, and yet she wanted more than anything to. She wouldn't move closer, though, and selected a rock with enough moss on it to add comfort, far enough away that she didn't have to concern herself with accidentally touching him.

"So," she said. "Go on."

He smiled then, and leaned forward as though he were telling an exciting tale to a sleepy child. She thought him completely mad.

"Your Yenic had no weapons at all, poor thing. He had to weave and bob like some thief in the marketplace. He's quite skilled in defense, even without a sword—even against one." He smiled, but there was no humor in it. "Used his body like a battering ram, knocking poor Spate down and crashing his forearms over and over onto his face."

He cocked his head. "I heard his nose break. That's when I knew Spate needed help."

"So you sent the others." She forced her tone to sound unimpressed. "I know this."

"Ah, but do you know your man called for fire?"

She tried not to show interest. "Called for fire?"

"Yes, in the old tongue. The fire pit blazed so bright no one could get near it except your man."

Fire clan, he'd said. He did have an affinity. Alaysha had seen it herself.

"Eventually, my men had to charge through the heat, and they were glistening with the sweat of it—I swear, they looked like their juices were roasting right out of them, but your man never broke a bead."

He looked at her so thoughtfully, almost admirably, that she almost forgot she was conversing with a man who had harmed his own sister.

"I've never seen such a fighter in all my days."

She snorted. "You don't look a day over twenty seasons."

He shrugged. "My thanks to you. But you should know my tribe is taught to fight as soon as the moss is taken from our swaddlings. By the time we're four seasons old, we have contests each year where we're pitted against a fighter two seasons older. We learn to fight or we learn to die."

"And how is it you still live?"

The slug returned to his beard as he chewed the insides of his cheek. "I nearly died. Then I grew smart. And that's why I'm here to tell you. But I'm digressing."

"Your man had no weapon but for the things he found: rocks, tree branches, hot stones from the fire, once even a dead rat he'd somehow come upon." Edulph stared out into the woods as though he was reliving it. "It wasn't clumsy either. It was something almost magical, the way he used his body, how he intercepted their swings."

"Swings? They had swords?"

Edulph snapped back. "Oh, yes. You don't think I'd send my men to battle unarmed?"

Alaysha tried to imagine it and couldn't. Yenic had been beaten and bruised and cut up. She realized then that perhaps he was so battered because his body was the only weapon he had.

"So, how did they come to be the ones who lost their heads?"

He lifted a wiry shoulder. "They weren't winning, so I called them off and sent for Aedus."

"You took her finger, then, didn't you? Because you knew Yenic wouldn't stop fighting for her."

He nodded almost happily. "Worked like any magic I'd ever imagined. Even better. Your man became quite docile then."

"And you killed your men."

He raised a finger in objection. "I delegated their killing. Then I had Greetha ride your man out of camp and dump him."

"How thoughtful."

"Well, we did want him to get to you… eventually. Strong as he is, I doubt he would have made it the whole way in his condition."

She could barely believe what she was hearing. "So why are you telling me this?"

He chuckled. "I tell you all this to tell you this:

"With all his strength and determination, your man still wasn't able to best me. No. In the end, I beat him. I outsmarted him. I out-strategized him."

He pinned her with a stare that didn't move from hers. "You see, not all battles are about physical strength. And if strength isn't enough and it's the last best thing you have, and yet your opponent spares no one the blade—not even beloved warriors or sisters, how do you think you can win?"

He waved his hand in dismissal. "Now go. Collect up your little sister and settle yourself to do what is asked of you and remember who is leading this battle."

She stomped out of the clearing unmolested and with his braying laugher at her back.

She glared at anyone who looked at her and selected a horse to share with Bronwyn. There was no use in hoping Barruch was still at his post. Drahl would have collected him. She hoped he'd be in Sarum when she got there. She reached down to help the girl up.

"Aren't you hungry?" The girl offered Alaysha a burnt piece of squirrel.

"I'll eat when this is over. I don't want to spend any more time with these men than I have to."

Bronwyn murmured agreement and settled in front. Alaysha felt the warmth of her back and the weight of her head.

"Last night you told the man Yuri's daughters were warriors."

"I did."

"Are you, too, Yuri's daughter?"

"I am."

"From which mother?"

"My mother is dead."

Bronwyn went quiet for a moment. "Mine too," she said after a while.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I have many sisters, but only one brother."

"The young babe?"

"Yes. But he won't live the season."

This was news. "Why not?"

"The witch made him ill. He couldn't drink, so the guardsmen say, and when his mother could feed him, he acted as though her milk was sour."

It hurt, this news. It spoke of such malice from her father's tribesmen, the same malice she heard in this girl's voice, that she felt it in her chest. Alaysha spurred the mount closer to the last trailing rider.

"I am the witch," she said.

The girl squirmed against her, awkwardly, but continued speaking as though Alaysha had said nothing.

"They say the witch can drink a man's soul."

"I wouldn't find it so tasty. Most men's souls are bitter."

"They say the witch kills without care."

"I've been trained as a warrior. All warriors are trained to kill without care."

"They say the witch feasts on the eyes of the men she has killed and answers only to Yuri."

"What is left of the eyes when I'm done would make a poor meal, and what daughter does not mind her father, especially if that father is the great Yuri—Conqueror of the Hordes."

The girl fell silent, digesting the information in place of the food her stomach grumbled for. Alaysha had never heard those notions about herself in such condensed terms before, nor had she been given an opportunity to answer to them. Propaganda that had no doubt been spread by Yuri himself.

15

It was midday before Alaysha could see the white stone tower of Sarum's main gate through the trees. Her stomach burned with hunger. All the better to get the deed done, all the quicker. She expected Edulph to show soon. She reined in.

"We stop here," she shouted ahead to the men.

The train halted. Several of the men turned in their saddles, surprised to hear her speak.

The first, the one who appeared to be in charge, trotted back. He reined close to her mount.

"We do as Edulph bids."

"Edulph is not here."

"He wants us at the gates. He wants Yuri to see that one." He nodded at Bronwyn.

"To what end?"

"In case you are not what the tales tell."

"You think Yuri will trade his entire realm for one girl?"

"His daughter."

"A daughter—a thousand daughters—are nothing to Yuri."

"Then you better hope you're all the tales say you are."

Alaysha stared at him directly. "The tales are weak fairy stories told to fiddling children compared to what I am."

He blinked and tried to meet her gaze, but she could tell the vehemence of her tone shook him.

"I want to see Aedus. And then I want Aedus and Bronwyn to be saddled on this horse and sent two leaguas away."

"Edulph will never agree."

"You've gone to all this trouble to balk at one demand? You better find Edulph and see he gets my message."

The man turned his mount and Alaysha got off. She helped Bronwyn down.

"The witch has the spirit of three men, so they say," the girl said.

Alaysha smiled down at her and her throat felt tight. If she couldn't get this girl far enough away, she would never be able to live with herself.

She noticed the men around her had all dismounted and gone quiet. She followed their gazes off into the deep brush. Edulph, filthy from top to bottom with mud, strode from the thickest part. He had a leash of leather wrapped around his companion's neck. She noted Aedus's hair was hanging in her face and that she favored one hand, holding it close to her chest.

Alaysha had to force herself not to run to her. "Aedus," she said.

The girl looked up and the relief in her face was striking and quick and just as rapidly filled with regret.

"I'm sorry, Alaysha," Aedus said.

Edulph strode forward and faced Alaysha. "So. Aedus tells me you can drain a man without touching him. That you can empty the water from sealed vessels. You can bring rain."

She could do so much more, but if this was all he believed, she'd not correct him. She nodded. "All but that one thing. I cannot bring rain. It comes of its own."

"I don't care for the rain anyway." He pulled at the leash and Aedus jolted forward. "You will do this for me?"

"I will do it for Aedus."

He seemed satisfied. "I want my people out first. They're not to be harmed."

"I can't promise that."

"Then I'll have to persuade you." He yanked on the leash again and Aedus fell. She didn't whimper, but she stole a look from beneath her eyelids that bade Alaysha pay attention. The girl made a quick motion with her free hand, making a V with her fingers and sweeping them across her eyes. Alaysha made a quick decision.

"If you want your people safe, then call for them. But first you must get these two girls away from danger."

He took a few minutes to think, and Alaysha assumed he was considering all his options. She tried to make out if he had any strange residue beneath his eyes, but she couldn't tell from where she stood.

"What are you afraid of? That a few of your men can't watch over two young girls while a woman does your killing?"

He punished her by yanking on the leather leash so hard, Aedus bobbed forward, her hand going to her throat. "I fear nothing."

"And yet you need a small girl to protect you." Alaysha shook her head. She looked at him levelly. "I care nothing for Yuri's people or yours. I only care for Aedus and the girl. You have nothing to fear from me; it matters not one whit what happens to the people who enslaved my mother."

"But you wouldn't have killed those slavers unless I forced you?"

She shrugged. "I don't care if they live or die. Why would I care to kill them?"

"And you do have the power?"

"I do."

He turned to his first in command. "Take Yuri's daughter and tell him we have his witch. Deliver the message that if we do not have our people released by sunset, she will kill everyone within. If you are attacked, kill the girl. If you are not back before sunset, we will know you for dead and will attack whether our people are freed or not." He directed his attention to Alaysha.

"If the girl returns, you will do battle at dark."

"And if she doesn't return?"

"You will do battle at dark."

Alaysha nodded. She watched as the man hoisted Bronwyn onto the front of his mount. She knew Bronwyn would get into the gate fine, but whether she would get to Yuri was another matter.

She was about to speak to the girl, to offer her words of comfort if she could, when there was a shout from behind the group and several curses that stopped the riders and caught the crew's attention. The few words Alaysha didn't understand told her exactly who the person was that they'd caught in the bushes.

Yenic was pulled forward out of the underbrush by two men and Alaysha thought her lungs would not expand when she saw him. His hair was still loosed and muddy but with the addition of leaves and twigs stuck here and there. His eyes were no longer swollen, but held the mad look of someone who'd witnessed too many horrors to live through. So. The visions had stolen him after all. She felt incredibly sad.

Edulph found it all very funny. "Ah, the lover returns," he said.

Yenic stared around him, seeming to take in everything, but being able to respond to nothing. Alaysha guessed the visions still had him. She had to smother a groan. Now there would be far too many people she cared about to consider while she tried to end this game. Why couldn't he just have stayed where she left him?

Yenic blabbered a stream of incoherent words. He dodged at the air as though it held a demon trying to strike at him, but the holds his captors had on his arms just made him strain all the harder.

It would have been pathetic if Alaysha didn't feel such pain over his condition.

She looked at Edulph. "Let him go. He's far past harming you now."

Edulph snorted. "He was unable to harm me before." He motioned that the rider and Brownwyn should set out, and Alaysha watched the young girl staring over her captor's shoulder, her mouth agape at the strangeness of this man and the green streaks beneath his eyes. She craned around the man's shoulder until they were both out of sight.

Yenic tried to bolt for the bushes, but Greetha made a grab for him.

Edulph pulled at Aedus's leash. "You certainly smeared a lot of slime worm on him, sister. Thank you."

Alaysha thought she caught a blaze of anger behind Aedus's eyes before her gaze was cast downward and she smirked.

Edulph motioned for Yenic to be released and Alaysha crept over to him to touch his shoulder. "It's me, Yenic, " she cooed. "It's Alaysha. We're back at the oasis, now. Can you see it?"

It took a few seconds while he stared off into the air before he nodded passively. "Meroshi is no longer here."

"Good," she soothed. "Good. Why don't we go gather some peaches for supper. The tree is full." She led him gently away from the gang toward the lofty ditch in front of the city walls, knowing the rest of the men would settle into the shadows of the trees as they waited for dusk.

It would be a long wait before they knew the result of Bronwyn's visit. She found a good-sized tree root to settle on once they were a few kubits from the city's entrance. The rest of the men found their own spots—a good distance from the witch, she noticed.

She smiled to herself.

"What are you doing here?" She demanded of him once they were out of earshot.

He sat cross-legged beside her, making a show of it being awkward and maddened, but she knew better. He smelled of manure and mud and some other thing she couldn't name. Nothing ever smelled as sweet.

"I am the Witch's Arm," he said.

She took him in: his ribcage was less swollen and the cut above his brow had scabbed over, but the bruises were still purple and his breathing was labored. "Some Arm," she said. "How?"

"Barruch found me. I was… quite mad when he did, but I recognized him. I let him bring me to you." He leaned closer so his shoulder touched hers. "Alaysha. You can't kill Yuri."

"I can't now," she said. "If I kill Yuri, I kill you too."

He shook his head and put his hand on hers. She felt a tingle, like a charge of lightening had gone off beneath her skin.

"I mean, you can't kill Yuri. He has your blood. He's protected. Even if you killed everyone, Yuri would still live and he would hunt you for betrayal."

She remembered all the times Yuri was not afraid when she let loose the power. It all made sense now. Not that it mattered.

"I'd have nothing to live for then, anyway."

"Alaysha, you are the most powerful witch of your kind. You have the culmination of dying generations in your blood."

"All the more reason for Yuri to end me."

"You are young," he said. "And ignorant."

She put her arm around him and squeezed, but angrily. "Then tell me, oh, Great Arm. What bits of wisdom do you have that can protect me, even from myself." Her tone and its fury surprised her.

He ignored her anger. "You need to get inside the walls and talk to Yuri."

"I thought Yuri was your enemy."

He gave her a queer look. "I am Yuri's enemy. That's not the same thing."

"It still changes nothing. Aedus, my sister, now you. To protect you, I must kill. To refuse to kill, means you suffer harm. Either from Yuri or Edulph. One is the same as the other. War is war."

"This is not war, Alaysha. It's slaughter." His voice was pleading, and she didn't dare look at him for fear they would give themselves away if she did.

"Who is your worst enemy right now, Alaysha? Your father and his tribe or Edulph? Who is the worst?"

She thought about it. She remembered the way her father touched the heir's head, the fact that he saved its mother from a violent home and brought her to a place where she was revered. He was Yuri, Conqueror of the Hordes: fierce, unapologetic, but he was not evil. Cruel, yes, but not completely black-hearted.

Edulph would not spare his own sister pain to get what he wanted. And that decided her.

"I need to get into the city before dusk—before Edulph can find out what Yuri does to his emissary, Bronwyn or no."

"Yuri would let her die?"

She shrugged. "If they even made it past the gatekeepers and she still lives, Yuri would think first of the whole city."

"Even if it works, Alaysha, Edulph still won't let Aedus go."

"I know that."

He thought for a moment. "I'll get to her then."

"By sunset. I think she marked Edulph; I don’t know how she managed it, but I think she did and he should be about ready to undergo the same hell you just did."

He chuckled. "I suppose everyone has to sleep sometime. Maybe she convinced him to eat some and saved a few to grind down while he wasn't looking."

Alaysha smiled to herself. The girl was clever. She hoped the cleverness stuck with her for a while yet, but if it didn't, and she was gone…

"If you can't get to her in time, run. Don't linger, because I will loose all the power I can to reach to the very pit of Edulph's soul. I swear it."

"I'll wait for you, Alaysha. Until the end of it."

She couldn't kiss him there in front of them all, but she could touch him, and she did. She grasped his hand and prayed to the Deities he wouldn't let her go.

16

Sarum was the largest village within weeks of a horse's full gallop, and it lay in a crevice against a mountain of white stone with a broad river on one side and a dense forest on the other. The only place left open was a funnel of land that was flat and open. The city itself was surrounded by a reverse ditch with several small mottes stretching across it at strategic places and a main gate in the middle. Yuri had designed the village so the main keep lay in the center and wooden buildings created a maze around it. The only reliable way in was through the gate and past the death hole just behind it.

Alaysha found no resistance as she approached the entrance. Any kind of reception, she knew, would be beyond the wall within the death hole. Yuri had used the labor of captives over the last decade to build a dwelling for himself of solid white stone from quarries across his land. The stones were mortared together by a paste of clay mixed with the starchy glue of a sticky grain they threshed in the fall. It wasn't solid so much as it was flexible, letting the stone stand and move against battering rams or scaling ladders. It also meant it was guarded heavily so that the vertical slits could be re-manned by archers as quickly as they went down.

The question was whether Bronwyn had delivered her message and what Yuri had done when she did. That would decide what greeted her when she unwound the gate. There could be a hundred guards ready to burst through, or the entire city could already be retreating through the south gate into the woods beyond. It was even possible Edulph's people were lined up at the gate waiting to be loosed. Possible, but highly unlikely.

She looked up for signs of the guard. Nothing. The sky was still blue, but turning to indigo at the edges. In a few moments, it would begin to bleed to pink and then to crimson, and then the sun would be gone.

She sent her thirst out ahead of her, searching for water. She tasted stagnant well, skins filled with leathery water, the odd bit of moisture within mushrooms hidden in parts of cellars. She searched for sweat next, and tears. Blood. There was precious little of the first two, quite a bit of the last.

She chewed her lip and looked for the handle to open the door. She took a breath and grasped the lever, grunting at the effort and only managing to swing the door open enough to squeeze inside.

What she expected was not what met her. At first quick glance, the death hole was empty and obviously meant to appear so. She turned just to the right where she knew a platform had been erected for archers. It was empty of warriors save one.

Edulph's emissary was dangling by one foot from the top. His eyes stared forward in death.

It was the low hum that really caught her attention and when she looked to the left, there, all piled like refuse, lay hundreds of bodies. All raggedly dressed, filthy. The dregs of the slave quarters. The laborers. The ones who were used to cut trees and lug stones to keep the wall fires fed. All would have been Edulph's people, she knew. Yuri had elected to kill them rather than give in to the demands.

So. It was obvious his message had been received and not been appreciated.

She scanned the area, holding her breath against the smell of defecation and urine that had been the last living task of self-preservation. She refused to look at the two dogs rooting in the pile of bodies or the rat that scuttled from one corner of the wall to burrow beneath. Instead, she turned to the sky. It was turning pink. She hoped Yenic got Edulph by now and had managed to free Aedus. Whether or not he had, it would not matter soon enough.

"They say the witch cares for nothing."

Alaysha couldn't believe she was hearing the voice. She whirled around to see Bronwyn standing next to the well, her hand touching the pail.

"Thank the Deities," she said. It took her a moment to realize the girl didn't seem afraid. "Are you okay?"

Bronwyn nodded.

Alaysha was confused. "What happened here?"

The girl looked at the man hanging from the rafters of the platform. "It would seem our father does care for daughters."

"He had him killed to save you?" Alaysha had to know.

Bronwyn's expression softened. "Maybe. But I think he died because he dared oppose Yuri."

Alaysha waved at the pile of dead laborers. "And these?"

"To show Edulph how we feel about being opposed."

"Where's Yuri?"

At that, Bronwyn cast a nervous glance to her left. It was so quick, Alaysha might doubt she'd seen it except for the shadow that moved in the portico and then stilled.

"Do you oppose your father, Witch?"

Before Alaysha could answer the voice behind her, she felt the air stir, and the hot feeling of wetness streaming down her hip. She looked down at herself. Blood. So much of it. She placed her hand on her waist, looking for the source, and then the pain came, and then the fear came with it.

She thought she heard her father shout, and Bronwyn let go a shriek. She thought she saw Drahl dance in front of her, his sword held aloft, ready to strike again, but it was too late to see more or to assess much else.

The thirst had already come, and her mouth filled with the taste of his sweat. She saw the paths to his moisture and collected it so fast he collapsed in front of her, stiff, hard, a leathered husk without eyes to see what he'd done. She was already tasting the tears from Bronwyn's face, the liquid in the blood that drove from her heart to her throat.

She tried to stop it. She tried to picture her nohma, Aedus, Yenic, anyone she had any real connection to. She worked hard to bring some memory of love to her mind, but all that came was the stagnant water left in the leathered skins, the cold water from the well.

Her stomach was on fire, and all she could think was that she had to put it out, and even as she fell to her knees, she could see the droplets gathering above the well into a cloud of mist, ready to come to her bidding.

She felt someone's hands on her belly, pressing hard. She tried to focus on the face: Bronwyn. Her face working to shed tears that had already been pulled from her. Yuri's stern mouth yelling, his hands beneath her head.

"Stop it," he demanded. "You're killing Bronwyn."

Bronwyn. Aedus. Yenic. Nohma. Nohma and her stories. Nohma sewing garnets into her bridal tunic. Nohma kissing her forehead and singing her to sleep after battle with songs of some place called Etlantium that her mother loved. Her mother. Never known but for that one second when she saw the sea green color of her eyes in that one instant before the memory went black.

Finally, all she could taste was the blood from her own mouth, and she knew she'd been able to stop the power. She hoped it wasn't too late, that her struggles to contain it had at least kept it from accelerating.

"It's over," she heard her father say, and she looked up at the sky to see the crimson edged clouds block out the last of the sun.

She couldn't help a weak smile. Yes. All over soon.

The hands on her stomach had gone and she could make out the scuffling sound of footsteps in the dirt. There was an exclamation of surprise from Yuri and a demand to lower a weapon. Then: Yenic's voice? Cocky. Saying he was not a mere number. Bronwyn begging for a poor madman's life.

Someone pressed again on her stomach.

"She's gone for the shaman." Yuri's voice. Bronwyn, he must mean.

"Don't you dare let her die," she heard. Was it Yenic? Or Yuri? She couldn’t tell anymore, just felt hands on her belly, pressing down hard. She wanted to tell them both it didn't matter. Soon she couldn't be used anymore—not by her father, not by Edulph. Balance could come when she was gone. She couldn't speak and her eyelids felt so heavy, all she wanted to do was close them. She thought of all the seeds she'd collected, hoping someday she could find a way to grow them back into men. It was childish. A fantasy. She should have known the only way she could undo what she'd done was to undo herself.

She felt herself go, and sent a silent thanks to her nohma's deities for taking away the pain of living. She thought she felt the first drops of rain.

17

Yenic's voice, mingled with Yuri's, was the sound she heard when she returned. Arguing. Yenic's patient tone against Yuri's steely cold one.

"He's even madder now than before." She heard Yenic say and in her cloud of confusion, it seemed natural to hear both of those voices in the same proximity.

"If she'd not brought him here, we wouldn't have to concern ourselves." Was Yuri's reply. So he was angry at her for bringing Edulph. She didn’t blame him, but why would he be discussing it with the hated number nineteen?

She rolled her head to the side and breathed. She smelled smoke and boiled poultry. She no longer lay on the earth, but felt the cushion of goose feathers and linen beneath her back, the weight of a soft linen and fur atop her. Her stomach felt numb and she reached down to feel for the wound she knew was there. Her fingers came away sticky.

"It's honey."

With some effort, she was able to open her eyes.

Bronwyn sat next to her. On quick scan, Alaysha could tell they were in one of the wooden buildings mazing the Main Keep; she guessed it was the young wife's home. She sat in the corner cooing to a bundle of linens. So it seemed Alaysha had not killed the heir after all. She was surprised that she felt nothing at the awareness and realized she was probably drugged.

"The shaman sewed you shut and bandaged you," Bronwyn said. "He says the honey will keep away the green death."

"I'm not dead, then."

Bronwyn broke a smile. "Nearly. Drahl wasn't supposed to do that." She hid her eyes behind a fringe of hair as she hung her head. "I'm sorry."

Alaysha tried to pat the girl's hand; she ended up merely poking at the top with weak fingers. It was coming more clearly now. Yuri and Yenic in the same room? These enemies? Someone would die. She tried to get up and intercept the bloodshed she knew would soon come, and a stab of pain shot through her.

"Yenic," she mumbled falling back onto her mattress.

"It's okay," Bronwyn said. "He and Father have a common enemy, it seems."

And so were reluctant allies.

"Aedus?" she asked, but was surprised that the sound was a mere whisper.

"Yenic was able to save her."

The relief stung her eyes and she had to close them to ease the pain.

It seemed her father and Yenic both realized she was awake at the same time, and both faces hovered above hers when she opened them again.

"Alaysha," Yenic said. "You're awake. Do you remember much? Do you feel strong again?"

Her father merely scowled at him. "Never mind if she feels strong." His tone held something that Alaysha might have called suspicion if she had to label it.

"This boy dares tell me you have been badly trained." He'd made some sort of peace with Yenic, but it was obvious he was unhappy about it.

"She does need training," Yenic said to Yuri. "I told you, the best defense is to teach her. Not to leave her ignorant."

Yuri straightened and squared off against Yenic, whose bruises were yellowed now instead of purple. "If it's as dire as you say, then you should be out there, not in here."

"And leave Alaysha alone with you."

"She's been with me her eighteen years," Yuri said. "You see harm in her staying longer?"

Bronwyn hovered over her. "They've been fighting since Father allowed Yenic to live."

Alaysha could only guess why. "Edulph survived."

The girl nodded. "Went mad, according to Aedus, and ran off into the woods shouting at things that weren't there."

"What kinds of things?"

"Witches that breathe fire, that make the earth shake."

Her words caught Yenic's attention and Yuri stood watching his reaction with a narrowed gaze. Yenic rushed to the bedside.

"Witches, Alaysha. Do you know what that means?"

"It means we are in even more danger now," Yuri said. He took in Alaysha's face and made a hard line with his lips. She could only imagine what he was thinking.

Yenic ignored him. "You were made powerful because you received your grandmother and mother's unused power at the same time. It peaks as you age, and wanes too. It collects, waiting to be uncoiled. When your grandmother died, and your mother, you inherited the culmination of all that available waiting power. It doubled, tripled in you." He glared at Yuri. "Your father knew this and used it."

"And you wouldn't?" Yuri said to him and Yenic held the icy gaze until the baby squalled and Yuri rushed to the corner to take it from its mother.

"Nohma?" Alaysha had to know. If she was protected, then why had she died?

Yenic sighed. "No one could know your power was too much for her as you grew older. It seems even a blood witch is not safe when the power coils so tightly or when the blood is too far from the source."

"What of Drahl?" she asked, touching her side.

Yuri stepped forward, all bluster and outrage. He had his hand cupped over the heir's head and Alaysha thought he'd squeeze the poor thing, so fierce was his tone.

"Drahl was a soldier to the last." His white hair was in disarray, as though he'd run greasy fingers through it repeatedly. She'd never seem him so restless.

She knew he wouldn't malign his scout; he'd rather believe he tried to kill in the Great Yuri's service rather than from hatred.

"Drahl is dead," Yenic said. "And Edulph lives. And if he was raving about the witches, then he knows of the others."

Yuri snorted and Alaysha had a hard time keeping him in focus, so much did he begin to pace about the room. She knew her brow was furrowing in confusion, but she didn't have the words to ask what she wanted. Yenic reached for her hand.

"My mother," he murmured. "And the earth witch. The first is powerful, yes, but the last was made as you were, and she is a babe yet."

"You said your tribe was gone."

He sent her a regretful smile. "I have to keep some secrets."

Another snort from Yuri, derisive, disbelieving.

She looked at her father, and said the first thing that came to her mind. "If Edulph finds the child, he'll try to control her." He glowered, but said nothing in his defense. In truth, he had begun to prowl about and went repeatedly to the corner of the room where his young wife sat. He eased the child into her arms and bid her leave.

"We can't let him reach either of the witches," he said, and looked pointedly at Yenic.

She closed her eyes. Everything hurt, and this news made it all seem worse. "I need to go," she said and Yenic put his hand on her shoulder when she tried to get up.

"You need to rest and heal. You're not useful in this shape."

"I'm better."

"Not better enough to be useful."

She sighed and Bronwyn laid a cool linen against her forehead. Alaysha tried to brush it away.

"We have to stop—"

Yuri's voice cut her off. "We will stop him. The bastard nearly had my whole city on the brink of death."

Alaysha took him in, from the long, untethered white hair to his steel blue eyes, and couldn't stop the question no matter how hard she tried. "Is that what has you so angry, Father? How does it feel?"

He glowered at her and turned to Yenic. "I will stop anyone who threatens me. You understand this?"

Yenic gave a brief nod.

"You are only alive because of Edulph. You know that, too?"

"You've already told me three times. If I didn't understand the first and second, surely one more time will help me."

Yuri grunted his satisfaction, but he didn't seem ready to give in. "If you do take Aedus and head out to find him, I want him brought here."

"I should go to my mother first."

"No." Yuri's voice was adamant. "Not alone. Not even with Aedus. You need the witch for that." With a deft movement, he pointed to Alaysha. She thought he'd forgotten she could hear.

"Perhaps I could bring my mother here. Alaysha should be trained."

Alaysha wasn't sure bringing more powerful women into Yuri's domain was a good idea. Yenic nodded as though it wasn't a concern at all. "Yes. First I'll go to my mother. Then we'll return for Alaysha."

Yuri shook his head. "Return for the witch? What does that mean?"

"To take her with us when we search for the babe. I'm sure you would want her properly trained if we find ourselves against an unpredictable and powerful child."

Yuri seemed to be considering and when he'd come to some sort of internal answer to his own raging debate, he spoke with authority. "She's unpredictable enough," he said, nodding toward Alaysha. "So, go. We'll care for her until you return."

She could have been a flank of venison the way he said it. She closed her eyes and felt the warmth of lips on her cheek; without looking, she knew they were Yenic's.

His voice fell to a whisper. "You're safe now. Rest and build your strength."

She burrowed deeper beneath the fur and let sleep take her.

18

She woke to the sound of chirping birds, and the smell of fresh air coming in through an open window. Aedus was toddling around the room, picking items up and shoving them into a leather bag.

"Where have you been?"

The girl spun on her heel and dropped the bundle. "You don't remember."

Alaysha shook her head.

"I've been here since Yenic brought you in—all but for the first day when I was sent to the shaman." She lifted her hand and Alaysha noticed the place where the index finger had been severed had been seared closed and smoothed over. She winced, and Aedus grinned.

"It's okay. They gave me a draft: root of dreams the shaman said, while they cleaned it up. I slept like a dog after a big meal."

"I think I've sampled it myself." Alaysha tried to shift and sent pain streaking across her midsection.

"Don't move," the girl told her. "You don't want to split it open again."

"Again?"

The girl nodded.

"Where's Yenic?"

Aedus chewed her lip. "He's saddling Barruch."

"And you're going with him?"

The girl came closer. "Well, it's not like I was going to leave until I said goodbye."

Alaysha tried to smile, but she felt too lonely all of a sudden to do a good job of it.

"Don't worry, Alaysha. It's just a few days. You need to heal anyway, and we'll be back just when you're well enough to train."

"You sound like Yenic."

"He made me practice the words." The girl smoothed the fur over Alaysha's legs thoughtfully, then she brightened.

"I have a horse. Yenic demanded one for me."

"Yenic is commanding the great Yuri?"

"The great Yuri has become strangely cooperative."

Alaysha grunted at that news. She had wondered herself at the sudden shift in Yuri, and even though he was still surly, his surliness was still not typical.

"I can wait a few days, I suppose," she said.

She was left alone then, and she slept. Until Yuri came.

Like he had done before he left, he took to pacing around the room. Alaysha watched him for a few moments, could see that he was struggling with something. She thought it best to wait until he had formed his thoughts.

He finally turned her. "What did he tell you?"

"Who? Yenic?"

He nodded. "What did he tell you of your past?"

"He told me the truth. That his tribe has four clans. That each has its own powerful woman and each of those has support you never gave me."

"You had your mother's sister."

"Not for long."

"Is that my fault?" He settled next to her and his expression shifted into something she'd never seen on him except for when he looked at his heir. She wanted to believe it had something to do with her being wounded, but she knew better.

"He told me why you wanted him dead."

He chuckled at that. "Did he?"

She watched his face for signs of alarm. She wasn't surprised when he showed nothing but condescension.

She had to retract her statement. "He only told me that I killed his grandmother and his sister and all of the other elders. I killed all of their Arms and all of their blood witches." She met his gaze. "But you know all of that. Because you sent me to do it."

"Did he ever say he was your Arm?" His expression was still unreadable.

She thought back over their time together. "No. He never said it."

"No," he agreed. "Because he isn't."

She was confused. It was true he had never said so, but she had assumed it, and he never corrected her.

"Did he ever protect you that you remember? Did he ever shield you with his body, make magic for you?"

She shook her head.

"It's because he can't. He is his mother's Arm."

His mother's Arm. So that meant he'd intentionally misled her—if her father could be believed.

"Why would he lie to me?"

"Why would I?"

She kept her his gaze until he lowered his first. "Yes," he said. "I do know that I stand to gain. I admit it. But he lied to you. I never did. I've never lied."

If he hadn't lied, it was only because he didn't care enough to pretend for her, she thought. When she didn't respond, he continued, pressing it seemed because he felt he needed to, that he sensed her reluctant belief.

"He didn't tell you about the others. Did he? And yet he knew about them, he knew they were still alive. How did he manage to survive your thirst? How was he able to survive when you were able to kill three fully gifted crones? Have you asked yourself that?"

She couldn't answer. She'd never once given it a thought. One thing stood out to her, though; Yenic's aversion to killing Yuri and slaughtering the innocent people within Sarum. She held to that, she had to keep believing in that. It was the one thing that could dispel her father's reasoning.

"What are you implying?"

"You know what I'm implying."

"But it doesn't make sense; if he wanted Sarum he could have had it."

"Sarum is a small thing really. To you and me, a large thing, but to someone with other motives…" He shrugged.

"But why would he ask me not to attack you, Father? Why would he speak of slaughter rather than war? Why would he defend you?" She felt the warmth of Yenic's words of safety, of his kiss, all slipping away and she was desperate to recover it.

A smile snaked over Yuri's face and for a second, Alaysha believed him far more clever than she’d ever thought.

"Control doesn’t have to be an overt thing," he said, and she had the grey shifting thought that she'd heard it somewhere before. "If I had ever asked you to stay your hand, what would you have thought of me?"

She considered that. She had been willing to let him die because he’d always used her. Would she have been as willing if he’d ever shown kindness to his targets, treated them like people instead of objects? If he’d ever given consideration for how she would feel about killing?

"It would be harder to see you as an object," is what she said.

He nodded. "And an object can be done harm much easier than can a person, no matter how cruel. Isn't that what you were taught? To feel nothing when you killed? To imagine the warriors as targets and not as men?

"What if those old women in the village were not the others," he asked. "Or if they were, what if they were not there of their free will?"

"But--"

"How were you manipulated?"

She considered it. "Aedus. Bronwyn. Yenic too."

He nodded. "What if those crones truly were the real witches who had loved ones held captive somewhere?"

She hadn't considered that either. She tried to picture Yenic with his honeyed gaze and find deception in it. She found all she could do was see him suffering from the dreamer's worm, the swelling he bore from trying to save Aedus, the way his mouth looked when he wanted to kiss her.

That last made her chest tight with anger. If he'd deceived her, he'd used a most vile way to do it.

"He says you're untrained, and maybe in your gift, you are, but I trained you well no matter what he says. Use what I have given you—harden your heart like I taught you so you can't be treated as a tool against your will. It's the best way."

"So, what if he did lie to me, Father; I killed his sister. Her unborn child. All for you." She felt the strength of her argument weakening in the reality of her father's steely stare.

"You are so young, Witch. You see only what's in front of you while other men see far and beyond. Have you thought about what would happen if a man could control all the elements? Water, fire, earth, air? Have you?"

She looked him over, trying to read what was unreadable in him. "It depends on the man."

He sighed. "I didn't get to be Emir of Sarum by trusting anyone, or from being kind."

He passed her a draft of warm liquid: dreamer's root, she supposed, and she took large gulps of it. Everything had seemed so simple before and now it had turned more complex than she could manage. All she wanted was sleep. Her stomach burned. Her mind burned. Worst of all, her chest burned as though someone had reached inside and set fire to a secret place within.

"I don't know if I'm the right man," Yuri said to her, "But at least I can say I wanted to prevent a war that might finish us all off, and if it comes to our threshold anyway, I will fight it." His last words were passion-filled, and Alaysha had to struggle to keep his gaze under the fire of his words.

"And this is what you didn't tell me before. Why you wanted Yenic and Yenic's tribe dead." She could hear the slur in her words as the drug took effect, and she fought to keep her eyes open, her ears capable of hearing his answer.

"Better to have the only witch when you can't have them all, than to let someone else control the most of them."

She wanted to believe Yenic could be trusted, but there were too many questions now to simply believe him on faith. Her stomach squirmed as she thought about him and his touch—how it had felt lying next to him in the dark—and she started to feel the sure pangs of anger and hurt. How could he have done such a thing to her? She'd been foolish and ignorant, and even young, as he'd kept telling her she was. He'd used her more foully than her father had ever done.

But could she trust her father either? Best she do like Yuri: keep her own counsel and trust only her own motives because those were the only ones she could fully know. She would never be used again against her will: not by Yuri, and certainly not by Yenic. Especially not Yenic.

She was so tired, far more tired than weariness or dreamer's draft could ever account for. She watched her father wait for her to close her eyes, and when she did, she heard him move across the cabin and out the door. She fought to open her eyes, to be sure he'd gone and that she was alone. Only then did she feel relieved enough to let go the tears that burned in her eyes, and when she was done, she felt more certain. No matter what came, she knew she could trust herself and herself alone.

For the present, though, she'd lie here and listen to the birds and thank the Deities that for now, that was all they were—songbirds celebrating the day, and not carrion vultures shrieking over an unexpected and unnatural meal. That might come another day, but it wasn't now; it wouldn't be today.

She closed her eyes again and let the birdsong send her to sleep.

The End

* * *

The story continues with Blood Witch.

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* * *

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WHO IS THIS THEA CHICK? Thea writes what she calls left-of-mainstream fiction at her desk in Nova Scotia with her black lab at her feet and miniature gargoyles to protect the space and the muse. She always has a cup of tea going or going cold. No matter what genre she writes in, it's always slightly off kilter from the regular (mainstream) offering.

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Adamant

The Alliance Series: Book One

Emma L. Adams

Adamant © Copyright 2015 Emma L. Adams

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

This book was written, produced and edited in the UK, where some spelling, grammar and word usage will vary from US English.

Created with Vellum

About the Book

Adamant

A sorceress from another universe is accused of murder, but her captors might know the key to her magic.

Ever since a devastating magical war tore apart Ada Fletcher's homeworld, she and her family have lived undercover on the low-magic Earth, where their magic will go undetected. Stuck in a dead-end job in London, Ada has spent her life hiding her true identity while risking her life to help others escape the deadly battle between magic-wielders and the ruling tyrants. Until she loses her job, is chased by a rampaging monster, and is arrested as a prime suspect for a murder she had nothing to do with. It really isn't Ada's day.

Kay Walker, grandson of the Inter-World Alliance's late founder, expects to spend his first week as an Alliance employee hunting rogue monsters, not solving his supervisor's murder or questioning a strange, fierce young woman caught trespassing in the Passages between worlds. Killer or not, her abilities raise questions about the Alliance's history, and the closer he gets to the truth, the higher the body count rises.

The last thing Ada wants to do is help the infuriating Alliance guard who arrested her, but it soon becomes clear that the Alliance knows too much about Ada's homeworld — and her magic. More, in fact, than she knows herself. One thing's certain: she's not the only one keeping secrets, and trusting the wrong person might cost more than her life.

1

Ada

Pulling up my hood to hide my face, I slipped from the fog-shrouded London street into a narrow alleyway between two abandoned buildings, a smile forming at the prospect of breaking the Alliance’s rules. Rule number one: no trespassing in the Passages. Rule number two: no leaving Earth without a permit.

Lucky they didn’t know about this particular door.

I rubbed my arms, the chill from the alley wall penetrating the thin fabric of my coat. Several feet in, the brick gave way to a fake section of wall which wasn’t obvious at first glance. This area was so off-radar, no one would ever come looking for trouble here, not of the magic variety. But my fingers found the familiar cracks between brick and metal, and a gentle push made the fake part of the wall slide away, revealing cold metal.

I didn’t know who’d first discovered the Passage here, nor who’d concealed it. The Alliance had logged every single one, including the handful that existed on Earth, but this was hidden even from them. They’d never guess the biggest illegal offworld operation in the Multiverse was in the same city as Earth’s main Alliance branch.

Nothing was quite like that first thrill when magic made itself known, buzzing under my skin as my fingers brushed the metal wall. It was icy to the touch and functioned like a sliding panel, revealing a dark corridor. Heart beating fast, I stepped over the threshold.

The Passages were always freezing, no matter the time of day. There was no sun here, and on the lowest level, where I was, it felt like the inside of a gigantic refrigerator. The lowest level, or “level zero”, was the most dangerous, which was most likely why the Alliance hadn’t found the door. Even Alliance guards could get eaten alive by the monsters down here.

Luckily, this time it was quiet, though the lingering stench of Cethrax’s swamp followed me through the corridors. That world was not on my list of tourist destinations. But once I’d escaped the warren of the lower levels via a concealed staircase, I was in the Passages for real. The first-level corridor opened before me, branching out into countless others. All identical—high-ceilinged, ten metres wide, and lined with metal doors like the one that led to Earth. All were labelled with numbers in an order only the Alliance knew, to ensure nobody but them could tell which door led to which universe. There were thousands in total, spread throughout these corridors. Maybe even millions—I hadn’t seen them all.

For me, imagining was part of the thrill. Every hum of the wind in the dark whispered promises of worlds beyond imagining, every door held something new behind its cold metal exterior. I’d come here too many times to count, yet I’d never set foot beyond one of those doors. But God, the temptation was so intense I could taste it.

And then there was magic. You couldn’t really see magic on Earth the way I could here, like the shift of a tinted lens, enough to make the world look one degree different. And I could feel it under my skin, like I was plugged into a live wire. Something in the Earth’s atmosphere stifled magic, which was why the Alliance relied so much on their offworld technology. No denying they needed it, seeing as they were the one force standing between Earth and the mercy of a thousand offworld threats. And yet, I’d be at their mercy if they found me here. Using an unregistered Passage to help illegal magic-wielders from another world that the Alliance deemed ‘dangerous’ would mean instant imprisonment, if I was lucky.

I walked swiftly, with the occasional glance behind to make sure I wasn’t being tailed. I had long since figured out the pattern of the Alliance’s patrols and could avoid them, but despite having come here frequently since I was eight years old, I couldn’t pretend I knew all the Passages’ secrets. They’d been set up by the original Alliance. That was about as much as anyone on Earth knew. Not how they’d put the doors in place, not how they found each world. Classified, Nell had said. The Alliance guarded its secrets well.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I fished it out and glanced at the screen. “Level 2, Door 65. You’re late.”

Rolling my eyes, I slid my phone back into my pocket. Delta had been the one to hook up my phone to Inter-World Communications so I’d have a means of contacting him from Earth. A pretty handy extension. Not quite as fancy as the flashy communicators members of the Alliance carried, but it worked for me. I could call anyone within the five neighbouring worlds and the Passages between.

Second level. I suppressed a shiver of unease, and the smile faded from my face. I knew which world I’d be dealing with this time.

The staircase to the top floor was invisible to most people, but I found it, coat whipping behind me in the chill wind of upper level. Shivering, I climbed the twisting staircase and hurried through the corridors, not daring to glance at the doors hidden in the gloom. I couldn’t imagine the horrors on the other side. On the top floor, a place restricted even to Alliance employees, these were worlds torn apart by war, worlds barred from ever joining the Alliance.

One of them was my homeworld.

Reaching the corridor I needed, I paused, looking out for the familiar figure. Delta waved at me from a shadowy corner near door 65.

“You took your time.” Delta faced me with a smile full of elongated teeth.

“Can’t be too careful,” I said, mimicking Nell’s lecturing voice, and he grinned. His hair stood up like the bristles on a toothbrush.

“Right. There’s a family coming through. They should be here any minute now. They’ve been checked over. No magic, and no weapons training.”

I nodded. No magic usually meant it was easier to get away. Not that the Alliance didn’t think we’d all start a magical war anyway, given the chance.

“How’s it going?” he asked. “Is Nell still being paranoid? I thought she’d locked you up.”

“Not going to happen,” I said. “She knows I’d break out and come here anyway. What’s she think will happen? I can hardly go swanning off to Valeria without a permit—though I wouldn’t turn down an invite,” I added, not so subtly.

“Nice try, Red,” he said.

“Ugh. Enough with that stupid nickname already.” Though my dyed dark-red hair had an even more vivid glow in the Passages. Blue light shone from the walls and ceiling, like an alien nightclub. “Seriously, though. Hover boots? Valeria has actual hover boots now?”

“New patent,” said Delta, with another grin. “Not on the market yet, but I’m going to get my hands on some as soon as they are.”

“If you don’t let me have a go in them, I’ll never forgive you,” I said, crossing my arms. Delta and I were like weird cousins… who happened to live in different universes. I’d never met most of his family, and all I really knew about them was that the Campbells worked in magi-technology in Valeria’s capital, trading with other universes. When they weren’t smuggling offworlders through the Passages.

“Sure thing, Red.” He ducked as I pretended to aim a punch at him. “How’s Gary?”

“Long gone, thank God,” I said. “He took issue with my–” I made quotation marks with my fingers–“‘wild lifestyle’. I made the mistake of going over to his place after that fight with the selver and he thought I’d been in some neon orgy or something.”

Delta snickered. “That’s priceless. You went over there with selver drool all over you?”

“I couldn’t help it! That stuff doesn’t clean off easily. I glowed in the dark for a week! I had to throw away my clothes, Delta. The sacrifices I make for you.”

“I’m sure you’ll get over him.”

“Already have.”

Such was the price I paid for a double life. Part-time cashier and part-time assistant at Nell’s home business by day. Owner in chief of an illegal shelter for offworlders by night. Any time between, I spent in the Passages. And none of it could I share with another person. I was surprised my now-ex stuck around that long. For some reason, most guys weren’t particularly enthused when you refused to tell them where you lived or how you spent most of your time. “I know a dozen ways to kill a man with my bare hands” didn’t go down well as a conversation-starter. Even if you followed it with “Wait. I’ve not actually done that.”

There was a slight possibility I needed to work on my conversational skills.

“Good. How’s Nell doing, anyway?”

“Same as ever,” I said. “She’s thinking about expanding our business into offworld markets.”

“Might as well, seeing as you have the connections,” he said. “The Alliance upped their cross-world trade restrictions not too long ago. A lot of people are angry about it. You’d have support.”

“Yeah, not exactly legal, though, is it?” I gave him a meaningful look. We were breaking a dozen laws between the two of us just by standing here talking.

“You could always join the Alliance,” he said with another toothy smile.

My own smile froze. “That was a joke, right?”

“Right.” He gave a rather forced laugh. “Sure. Just, you know, it’d give you an alibi. You could come here more frequently, help more people…”

I bit my lip. I couldn’t pretend it had never crossed my mind, and I knew his family had connections with Valeria’s Alliance. As an Alliance member, I’d have legal access to the Passages without worrying about being intercepted by guards. But I’d also be expected to work for them. And that I couldn’t do. I couldn’t pretend to be one of them. Not even for money to pay the shelter’s bills. Their council, as Nell reminded me on a weekly basis, had left my homeworld to ruin.

“Nell isn’t the ruler of the Multiverse, you know,” said Delta.

I smiled at that. “No, but I reckon she could give the Alliance a run for their money.”

A faint noise sounded behind Door 65.

“Let’s get this sorry business over with,” said Delta. He nodded at me, and then tapped the door once, twice, three times. Safety signal.

The door opened in a silent sliding motion, and I caught a glimpse of a gleaming tunnel beyond, which led to the transition point. Not Enzar itself, of course—all the Passages directly into the war zone were closed off. Instead, the lucky few who managed to escape via hidden tunnels were taken to a between-world transition point before being smuggled out. Earth was an obvious choice because it was so low-magic and innocuous—not to mention right at the Alliance’s centre—that no one would possibly suspect it might be at the heart of an operation like this.

It was a family this time, a mother and two kids. The woman turned in my direction, frightened eyes peering from under layers of sand-coloured scarves. I fixed a reassuring smile on my face. She was a couple of years older than me, by the look of things, early twenties at most. Her face was oval-shaped and delicate with eyes like glittering amethysts—a dead giveaway, if the expression of utter desperation wasn’t enough. Nell always said you could recognise a person from Enzar a mile away. Everything about the Enzarian Empire used to be beautiful.

The little boy broke free of his mother’s grip and ran to me. I smiled at him, too. “You’re going to be safe now,” I said.

“Yeah, Ada will take care of you,” said Delta, stepping back. “You okay from here?”

I nodded. “Sure thing. Take care.”

We parted ways, and I led the family towards the staircase. “Just down here,” I said, with another encouraging smile, as the boy peered warily down into the dark. I held his hand and led the way.

The woman let out a sob, adjusted a grip on the little girl curled into her. “Thank you,” she whispered, in English. I didn’t speak Enzarian, though I’d asked Nell to teach me a dozen times. She’d have learned English at the transition point, like Nell had. There was no going back to Enzar.

It broke my heart every time, but I couldn’t afford to lose my concentration. I tensed at every noise, gaze sweeping into the darkest corners as we made our way downstairs and then back through the Passages. Only the sound of our own footsteps on the metal floor followed us. What they were made of, I didn’t know—certainly nothing found on Earth. The bluish glow was ever-present, as was the shiver of magic, making the hairs stand up on my arms, like it lived in my very skin. Perhaps it did.

All too soon, we climbed the stairs down to the lowest level. The stench of Cethrax was stronger than ever, like a corpse left to rot—and that about summed up Cethrax, which even the Alliance called the cesspool of the Multiverse.

A too-long shadow that appeared to belong to nothing crept along the corridor. Something followed us. I picked up the pace, my heart thudding. I had to get the family out of here, and stop whatever it was before it noticed the door.

There: the way back to London, Earth. The door that had saved my life, and Nell’s, and too many more to count.

“You’d better get through that door, now,” I said to the woman. The little boy clutched her hand, and she nodded. “Wait for me outside.”

Only when I was sure they were safely out of the Passage, on Earth, did I turn around, bracing myself. The shadow crept over the floor like spilled ink.

“You can’t have them anymore,” I told it. “They’re gone.”

A growl answered me. My hand slipped to the dagger concealed in my boot. I’d had a feeling another of these nasties would show up. They never had the guts to interrupt a patrol, but stragglers in the Passages were easy prey. Or so they thought.

Magic crackled beneath my fingers, ever-eager to strike, but I couldn’t use it now. It’d draw too much attention, and I could fight well enough without it. Trouble was, it was always there, as irresistible as a drug, and about as safe as juggling lit matches. So instead, I let my opponent reveal itself to me, layer after layer of shadows peeling away, and three rows of jagged teeth in a wicked smile. Oh, brilliant. A chalder vox. And some moron had stabbed it already—a trail of shadows streamed like blood from its shoulder. Mad, red eyes locked onto me.

They liked pain. Really liked it. It was like tripping on acid for them. I had to kill it.

I held up my left hand and tapped into the magic in the air, the red glow warning it I wasn’t to be messed with. The chalder vox didn’t even blink. It shuffled forwards, and I saw that it had three arms, one sprouting from the middle of its chest and ending in curved claws. Its ears were the same length as its rocklike face. Lovely. Creatures like this one were slow and clumsy, but also six feet of rock-hard skin.

One stonelike fist hit the wall, inches from my face. I dodged, kicking high at the hand that grabbed for me, and my foot connected with something solid. The creature hissed at me, its face stretched in a hideous grin. It was enjoying this.

I backed up and prepared to spring.

The monster’s hand swiped as I jumped, magic flowing through my hand to propel me higher—I’d used it without thinking. Again. Oh, all right, then. Using magic in a closed space was generally a stupid idea, like firing a rocket in a cubicle. It was like any physical force, and if you weren’t careful, the backblast would knock you out.

As it was, I aimed well. My feet connected with the creature’s face, and when I let go of the magic, the backlash bounced off the ceiling and knocked into the back of the chalder vox’s head, driving its teeth into the heel of my padded combat boot. Ouch.

With one hand, I gripped the side of the chalder vox’s elephant-sized ear for balance and pulled myself upright, dagger aimed directly at a dip in the back of the creature’s neck.

It flailed, almost throwing me off, but I held on and stabbed. The blade sank into the monster’s weakest point. There was no blood, but a horrible screech echoed off the walls and the chalder vox fell to its knees. I leaped back quickly. Shadows flowed from the hole in the back of its neck, thick as blood. It went still. Dead.

Talk about an obvious weakness. Replacing the dagger in its sheath, I turned my back and went through the door, back into the foggy London alleyway. The static buzz of magic faded as I stepped back onto Earth. With the low-hanging clouds and tall buildings, it felt more enclosed than the Passages, and the smell of exhaust fumes never really went away. The woman and kids waited for me, looking uncertainly around.

“Sorry,” I said. “We were followed. The Passages are dangerous, as I’m sure my friend Delta told you.”

The woman bowed her head. She understood she’d never be able to go home. The kids wouldn’t even remember it in a few years. I hoped so, anyway. My heart twisted all the same.

“Okay,” I said, slipping a hand into my coat pocket. “You need to wear these all the time,” I said, handing the woman a small packet. “They’re contact lenses,” I explained. “Your eyes will attract attention here. People on Earth don’t have eyes that colour. Take your pick—blue, green, brown, grey. But stick with one colour.” I glanced down at the little boy. His irises were pale grey, almost white, like mine. “They aren’t mageblood?” I asked.

“I’m half mageblood,” the woman whispered, face clouded with sadness. My heart twisted again. Oh, boy. Half magebloods had a death sentence on them from birth in Enzar. She was lucky. Really lucky.

I nodded. “If the kids start developing the pigment, get them more of these lenses. Ask Nell. She runs the shelter. It’s this way,” I added, pointing towards the street at the alleyway’s end. Nell had rented the empty three-floor apartment building for convenience, as it was a short walk away from the alley. No one saw us, but I kept an eye out while I unlocked the door and led the family inside. I didn’t need to tell them to keep quiet.

Nell was still up, waiting in the dark hallway. She looked much younger than her real age, even with her dark brown hair pulled into a bun. Her oval-shaped face hadn’t a single wrinkle, though a jagged scar marked her right cheek. A souvenir from Enzar, she’d told me. More scars marked her strong, tanned arms. Her light blue eyes met mine as she nodded. Her natural eye colour was pale purple and could pass as blue, but she wore the lenses anyway. Even her hair was dyed; most Enzarians were fair. Another reason I’d dyed mine dark red.

“Welcome,” she said to the woman, extending a hand. “I am Nell Fletcher.”

In her typically quiet-but-authoritative manner, she led the family upstairs, leaving me in the dark hallway. I pushed open the door to the kitchen and helped myself to a glass of water.

We lived on the ground floor. Officially, the upper floors were out of use, and no one ever came to check, since we owned the building. No nosy landlords asking questions. Nell had set up this place herself, after she’d come to Earth with me. When I was less than a year old. Our odd family had later added Jeth and Alber, my brothers. None of us were related by blood, but we were as close as real siblings.

Nell came back into the kitchen, having helped the family settle upstairs. We had only a limited number of rooms, but this place was more of a transition point. We’d get the refugees new identities, help them adjust to living on Earth as best we could. We had contacts with other shelters throughout London. All illegal, like ours. Nell would never forgive the Alliance for adopting a noninterference policy twenty years ago that meant there was no legal way to help anyone from the worlds on the second level of the Passages.

Now, she narrowed her eyes at me. “Your coat’s singed,” she said.

I glanced down. She was right, of course, the edge of my black trench coat was smoking slightly. “A chalder vox,” I said. “I got it, though.”

Nell had nailed the disciplinary stare. “Ada. You need to stop challenging those things.”

“I couldn’t let it run around in there. It might have attacked someone. Or got through one of the doors.”

“Then it’s a problem for the Alliance. Not for us.”

The old argument. “Thought you said the Alliance were blind to what’s in front of them,” I said.

“Tell me the three principles of magic.”

I rolled my eyes. “Do we really have to go through this again? Can’t I just go to bed?” I was bone-tired after the fight, though using magic often left me restless and irritable. Like it called to the part of me that belonged to Enzar, my homeworld, even here on Earth.

“Just tell me.”

“Magic is a force which either acts on a person or an object. Every use of magic has an equal backlash effect, and there are three levels of increasing severity. All is tied into the Balance.”

“Good.”

“You know I’m not going to forget,” I said, with a sigh. “Look, I didn’t have a choice. I only used a little.”

“Someone might have seen,” said Nell, pressing her mouth into a thin line. “Magic creates a ripple effect. You know that.”

She was right, of course. But I’d only used level one. It barely registered. It wouldn’t affect the Balance. Only a major magical disturbance would cause the levels of magic across the universes to tip. A major disturbance. It had never happened, not as far as the Alliance knew, and from what Nell had told me, their records went back over a thousand years. Hell, the Alliance guards themselves used magic-based weapons in the Passages. I was careful.

“Yes, I know,” I said. “Can I go and get some sleep now? I’ve got an early morning shift.”

“Make sure you don’t sleep in, then.”

Nell didn’t even like my job—well, there wasn’t much to like about a part-time stint in a supermarket, but it was more than most graduates could get these days, and it had stopped her giving me grief for not going to university. It hadn’t seemed worth adding to our debts with a mile-high stack of student loans I’d never be able to pay back.

I wanted to keep doing what I did: helping people. But I couldn’t live at home forever. Nor did I want to. There was more to the world than this. More to the Multiverse.

Delta had said I should join the Alliance. But I knew better than to mention that aloud to Nell. It’d only set her off again. Yes, I knew that the Alliance’s council had ruled against interference in the war, but sometimes it felt like Nell held them single-handedly responsible for every problem in our lives.

“Night, Nell,” I said instead, and headed to my room.

2

Kay

“Watch out for wyverns.” The text message came through on my brand-new, Alliance-issued communicator as I waited, not-so-patiently, at a red light. Rolling my eyes, I took one hand off the wheel and typed a response to Simon’s version of a Good luck at the new job message: “Watch out for giant rats.”

I could already see the Central Headquarters of the Alliance towering over the surrounding buildings, three sides of obsidian-coloured glass gleaming under the barely-risen sun, as I manoeuvred my car through the narrow streets of south-east London. No wyverns here. At least, I hoped not. It wouldn’t be out of line with my usual luck. Though getting mired in early-morning traffic was torture enough. With all the technology of the Multiverse at their fingertips, you’d think the Alliance would have come up with a way around that.

Simon’s profanity-ridden reply came a minute later. He didn’t appreciate the reminder of our memorable encounter with giant swamp rats in the Passages during the Academy’s final-year test two weeks ago. I grinned, recalling Simon’s exasperation when I’d said, “You haven’t lived if you’ve never taken a wrong turn into Cethrax’s swamp.” I’d decided not to mention that it wasn’t a wrong turn—it was just the better alternative to being eaten by the monster that had chased us all over the first level. Good times.

Even he had to admit it had been worth it. Now we were both Alliance employees. Simon had transferred over to the branch in New York City, while I’d stayed in London. And we both had a lifetime ticket to the Multiverse. Monsters included.

I squinted against the glare, changing gears and making a turn towards the open gates leading into the car park. Words had been engraved into the gate: INTER-WORLD ALLIANCE, EST. 1988. Technically, the Alliance had been around much longer than that, but that was the year they’d gone public. The year my late grandfather had decided to unleash the truth about magic upon an unsuspecting planet Earth.

Back then, of course, there was a real risk of a war between the universes. Now, the black skyscraper looked out of place amongst the grey tower blocks, more like a tourist attraction than the centre of Earth’s defence against offworld threats. The exterior wasn’t made of regular glass, but adamantine, a rare offworld substance impervious to magic and virtually indestructible, which gleamed black even at night. To most people, it was an eyesore that drew attention to itself rather than hiding in the shadows like Alliance guards were supposed to. But Central was just a front—it was offworld where all the action happened.

As I pulled into a parking space, the beep of a horn and an angry shout drew my attention.

“That was my space, you asshole!”

Killing the engine, I climbed out of my car to face the person who’d yelled. A surly face curtained by long black hair poked out the window of a black van behind me.

“I said, that was my space!”

“I don’t see a name on it,” I said. “Tough shit.” For God’s sake, half the car park was empty. He was just being a dick.

“You must be from the Academy,” said the guy in the van, parking alongside me. “Nice manners. Humans.” He gave a derisive snort.

I blinked at the way he said humans. “But you’re…”

The words stopped as a centaur climbed out of the van. He wore a jacket, shirt and tie, but his back half was that of a tan-coloured horse. Easily six and a half feet tall—well, he towered over me, and I was five eleven. It was reason enough that I’d assumed—and I imagined most people would, for that matter—that the few centaurs on Earth didn’t drive. They could kick up speeds of eighty miles an hour on their own four feet. I mean, hooves. Seriously.

“What’re you staring at?”

The centaur’s back foot kicked up, like he intended to knock me down. I met his eyes, indicating he didn’t scare me. Not entirely true, but he didn’t have to know. Come on. Was I really going to get tackled by a centaur before I even stepped into Central? This was ridiculous, even for me.

The centaur moved back onto all four hooves, and laughed—well, more like a neigh, really.

“You didn’t seriously think I was going to hit you, did you?” he said, snorting with laughter. “Priceless. I don’t give a crap where you park your fancy vehicle.”

“Who the hell are you, the welcoming committee?” I said, all thought of good first impressions going clean out the window. “Which department do you work in?” I turned my back to lock my car. I’d never met a centaur in person before, because—no shit—they hated humans and most never left their homeworld of Aglaia.

“First floor. Same place you’re heading, if I’m not mistaken, Academy kid.”

Kid? If he wanted to piss me off, he was going the right way about it. I made for Central’s front entrance instead of replying, but the centaur tailed me across the car park.

“What?” he said, over the sound of clip-clopping hooves. “You’re trying to picture me in an elevator. Am I right? Humans. Making assumptions because I have two more feet than you do.”

I’d been thinking nothing of the sort. But of course, now he’d mentioned it… how in hell did a centaur get into a lift? I hid a smirk at the mental image.

“Speaking of making assumptions,” I said, pulling my key card from my pocket, “don’t call me Academy kid.”

The centaur laughed. “What would you prefer me to call you?”

“My name’s Kay,” I said, over my shoulder, as I swiped the key card and the glass front doors of Central slid open. “And this conversation is over.”

The centaur laughed. “Direct and to the point. You can call me Markos. And seeing as we’re going to be working on the same floor, Kay, we might as well get acquainted with one another.”

I’d already made a mental note of the layout of the entrance hall. Reception desk on the right staffed by a sleepy-looking blond woman, open booths on the left, three gigantic glass elevators at the far end, stairs leading to the guard offices and cells—and everything sparkled like someone had upended a bucket of glitter all over the place. It felt alien, to say the least. But this was where I’d be spending the majority of my time now. The Alliance was more than a job.

“See?” said Markos, cantering ahead of me into the lift. “These things can carry a full centaur patrol.”

“Is that likely?” I asked, resigned to him following me to the first floor. I hit the button, and the doors slid closed. Slowly, with a screeching sound not unlike a wyvern with its tail caught in a door, the lift began to climb. I turned back to the centaur.

“You never know. Wait.” He frowned at my name badge, pinned to the front of my shirt—yeah, enough people worked at Central to make those badges an unfortunate necessity. “Walker? You’re his son—well, that explains it.”

Damn. Should have known even an offworlder would make the connection sooner or later, though no Walker had set foot in Central for over twelve years.

I looked at him will well-practiced blankness. “Is there a problem?”

The centaur gave a self-satisfied nod. “Ha. Now I get it, Academy kid. Nepotism wins every time, even at the Alliance…”

“About not making assumptions,” I said. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

Nepotism? Seriously? At twenty-one, I might have been the youngest in my year, but like the Academy, the Alliance didn’t play favourites. I’d—naively, it seemed—assumed everyone knew that. I was more annoyed with myself than with the centaur.

Markos gave me an appraising look. “Tell me what to assume, then, Academy kid.”

Either he had some issue with the Walker family, or he just wanted to start an argument. “How about we assume that I had my own reasons to join the Alliance?”

“Well, your diplomatic skills leave much to be desired.”

“I don’t pretend to be diplomatic before coffee,” I said. There was a pause, and then he laughed.

The lift stopped without a sound, the glass doors sliding open. In contrast to the glittering entrance hall, the first floor had the appearance of a modern office divided into booths with separate rooms for senior staff. “Office Fifteen” covered one section of the floor, and a sign pointed the way to Mr Sebastian Clark’s office. My new boss had seemed amiable but absent-minded when he’d interviewed me, but at least he hadn’t called me Mr Walker or even commented on the name. Nepotism indeed. Like I wanted everyone to look at me like they’d looked at him, before he’d relocated to another world to help with peace negotiations. They must have had a hell of a long negotiation, because that was five years ago.

“Kay Walker,” said Mr Clark, as I knocked on the half-open office door. He spoke loud enough that everyone in the vicinity turned in my direction. They all knew who I was, all right. Stupid of me to think even for an instant that I could walk in here and not be recognised, name badge or none. Still. It was unlikely that any of them would have spoken to the old council, and the exact same thing had happened at the Academy when I’d first joined. I could handle it.

Mr Clark peered at me from behind a wall of paper, glasses sliding down his nose. “It’s lucky you’re here early. I have something I need to get from the archives, but I can’t really leave the office. I’m expecting a phone call.

“Sure,” I said. “That’s the fifth floor, right?”

“It is.” He disappeared entirely behind the stack of papers. “I need a document on the properties of bloodrock. It should be somewhere in the seventh section, I think. Markos knows the archives backwards. He’ll be able to take you to the right place. There he is.” And sure enough, the centaur appeared behind me, waving at Mr Clark. Guess things were casual in Office Fifteen.

“This should be fun,” said Markos. “I have coffee, by the way.” He handed me a paper cup.

What game was he playing now? I settled for saying, “Thanks”. I wasn’t complaining.

“What’s he got you looking for in the archives?” Markos asked as we rode the elevator to the fifth floor.

“Something on bloodrock. What even is that?”

“I have no idea. Odd. Clark is an odd one, though.”

“You’re one to talk,” I said, downing the rest of the coffee and crumpling the cup in my hand. Through the glass doors, I glimpsed more offices, all identical-looking—the Alliance liked everything to be uniform, apparently. Deceptive in its ordinariness. In those offices, the Law Division resolved offworld issues, the technology department worked on top-secret Alliance-only technologies from simulator tech to weaponry, and the council made statements that swept the Multiverse. But I sure as hell didn’t intend to stay in an office forever.

“It’s fun to wind up you Academy kids,” he said, earning a glare from me. “You are kids,” he said. “I suppose being a Walker would help, but… that reminds me. I’m intrigued to know your thoughts on the Alliance’s current noninterference stance on the war in the Enzarian Empire?”

I blinked. Was this some kind of test? “Enzar’s been off radar for twenty years,” I said. “The council think the war’s none of Earth’s business—we don’t have the resources to interfere in magical warfare.” That was the official statement, signed by one Lawrence Walker. Maybe that was the centaur’s issue? Though Aglaians in general didn’t take an interest in offworld affairs.

“Yes, but I want to know what your opinion is.”

“I’m not intending to be a voice on the council, if that’s what you’re implying,” I said. No way in hell. “But I’d have put out a call for offworld aid, at the very least. With all the magic they’re throwing around, there’s bound to be backlash on the Balance, too. I’d send people—magic-wielders, of course—to try for a peace treaty. That’s what the Alliance is for, right?”

Markos nodded, brow furrowed, like he was trying to figure out why I’d said the stark opposite of my father’s statement. Let him think on that one.

“Okay. Well, that’s an unusual position.”

“Idealistic, maybe,” I admitted. “Any particular reason you wanted to know?” The high-magic worlds were usually kept under close scrutiny, but Enzar was a mystery. Even in the Alliance’s information files logged into my new communicator, that area was glossed over, save for the statement that the Alliance had withdrawn all involvement with that particular world. Seeing as magic was involved, it wasn’t surprising.

“Just curiosity. It’s the one world no one knows anything about, even here, and I’ve worked at Central for ten years.” Well, that explained his fluency in English and familiarity with all things Earth. Centaurs weren’t generally known to adapt to human customs. They stayed well away from humans on their homeworld.

The lift finally dinged to a stop at the archives, and the sound of Markos’s clip-clopping hooves followed me through the aisles. It turned out there was one file on bloodrock, and it was two pages thick.

“What does he want this for?” I said, on the way back down. “Bloodrock. I’m not familiar with the term.” It had to be classified, then.

“When it comes to Clark, I’d assume it’s a whim. Things are pretty quiet at the moment. He’s probably bored and needs something to amuse himself with. Most of the admin supervisors in the past have complained that the novices get to have all the fun, but he doesn’t seem to mind that he doesn’t have to run dangers in the Passages.”

“Hmm.” Not an Academy graduate, though I’d guessed as much. Most tended to want something a little more exciting than admin. Like Alliance Ambassadors, who had free run of the Multiverse when they weren’t on missions. Give it a few months and I’d be there. For now, chasing monsters seemed a decent alternative.

“You, on the other hand… I’m taking a wild guess that’s what you’re thinking of right now.”

He’d got me. “The Passages are where it all happens,” I said.

“So they say. They always put the Academy kids on the late-night shift in the lower levels. Savage creatures down there, or so I’m told. Chalder voxes… the odd wyvern or two… ever been face-to-face with a wyvern?”

“I have, actually,” I said, and then wondered why I’d risen to his bait. It wasn’t something I went around shouting about, though everyone at the Academy had known about the infamous wyvern incident.

Markos raised an eyebrow. “You’re lying.”

“Nope.”

“Prove it.”

Typical. Once centaurs fixated on something, they never let it drop—the phrase “stubborn as a mule” came to mind, not that I’d be saying that aloud unless I had the sudden desire to become part of the interior decorating. Centaurs weren’t easily freaked out, but maybe this would deter him from asking any more questions. I pushed up my shirtsleeve to show the tip of the claw mark scar across the back of my forearm then flipped it over to show the identical mark on the other side.

“Damn,” he said. “Well, that could have come from a wyvern… or a really vicious stinging nettle.”

We reached the first floor, sparing me from having to reply. File in hand, I approached the open door to Mr Clark’s office. Behind all the papers, I saw he was on the phone, so I laid the file down and backed out of the room just as someone else passed by.

“Hey—you’re new here? I’m Ellen.” She read my name badge. “Kay…Walker?”

“Just Kay,” I said.

“Nice to meet you, then, Kay,” said Ellen, brushing dark blond hair from her eyes and smiling at me. “Wait—someone was just talking about you. Aric Conner.”

I stared. “Aric Conner… from the Academy?”

“Yeah, he started this week, too.” She gave me a puzzled look. “You know him?”

Well enough that I’d like to string him up and use him for target practice. “We were in the same class. That’s all.”

Oh, I wished that was all. I’d thought he’d gone to join his sister at London’s West Office, and good riddance, but it seemed the universe wasn’t done screwing with me yet. If ever anyone deserved to be trampled by a wyvern on the first night shift, it was the bastard responsible for the incident which had almost got me and two other students killed. And he’d got away with it.

My communicator buzzed in my pocket.

“That’ll be the patrol rota,” said Ellen. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Sure thing,” I said, skimming down the touch-screen. The rota said I was up tonight. Now that was more like it.

And then I saw Markos’s name next to mine—and Aric’s.

Yeah. The universe definitely wasn’t done screwing with me.

3

Ada

Morning brought the smell of hot chocolate and a certainty that I’d slept through my shift. A glance at my alarm clock confirmed it. Ten thirty. My shift had started two hours ago.

Groaning, I rolled out of bed and gave my clock a shake. Oops, I’d forgotten to set it before I left for the Passages last night. Way to go, Ada.

I unplugged my phone from its charger, trying to think of an excuse I hadn’t already used to text my supervisor. I settled for, “Sorry, I thought I had an afternoon shift”, which would probably have got me fired from any other job. My boss was known for being lenient, even if reliability was not listed on my CV.

I dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved top, leaving my combat boots by the door. I pulled out my dagger from the sheath and put it back with the other knives I’d acquired, stacked on the bedside table. My room was little bigger than a cupboard, a problem when you hoarded the way I did. Books were stacked creatively on every surface, often with trophies from various martial arts classes balanced on top, and “souvenirs” Delta had given me from offworld. When I was twelve, I’d fetched a ladder and painted the ceiling with stars. Not representing the actual stars outside, but the worlds in the Multiverse. Like the doors in the Passages. Close, but distant. Untouchable.

The aroma of hot chocolate beckoned. My legs were stiff from yesterday, but I could still feel the electric tingle of magic in my blood. My bad mood cleared. The lingering aftereffect of using magic meant I’d be able to use it on Earth, at least for a short time. Today was going to be good.

Nell was in the kitchen, washing up. She looked like an innocuous housewife from the back—and people had been known to regret making that assumption. “You must be Ada’s clone, seeing as she’s at work,” she said.

“Ha ha,” I said. “Guess I was more tired than I thought.”

Nell turned around. “Have they fired you yet?”

“They won’t fire me. They like me.” I gave her my most innocent smile.

Nell made a disparaging sound. “Can’t imagine why.”

“Nice to know you care. Is that hot chocolate I smell?”

“On the table. Don’t say I don’t spoil you.”

So it was, and also a stack of toast. I shoved half a slice in my mouth. “You’re amazing,” I said, my voice muffled.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full. You’re lucky Jeth and Alber aren’t around.”

I swallowed the mouthful of toast. “Alber’s not up yet?”

“Hangover. His own fault.”

I grinned. “Hey, you let him go out.” Unlike me, my seventeen-year-old brother Alber fitted in fine with people his own age. He’d got a handle on the double life better than I did.

“And Jeth’s at work.”

Here we go. I could sense a work-related lecture coming a mile off. Jeth was two years older than me, twenty-three, had a ‘real’ job in IT, and was saving to move into his own place. In other words, exactly what Nell wanted me to do. Well, it wasn’t like there was an abundance of affordable flats in London, much less for someone young, single, broke, and who kept a collection of knives in their room. A conventional landlord would kick me out.

“Ada,” said Nell. “The real world won’t go away if you ignore it.”

I glanced up at the flickering light. “I’m not ignoring it. I’m helping people. Same as you.” Okay, I’d left my adult card behind today. But I was tired, and kind of ashamed at myself for sleeping through my shift. As well as being the first time I’d done that in a while, it was a reminder that a double life came with a price.

“Well, I don’t want you to waste your life away. You can’t save everyone.”

Her face clouded. She never really talked much about her life before she’d moved to Earth. All I knew was that she’d taken me to the transition point to be assigned to a new world and was coached on language and customs. I could never wrap my head around the idea that Nell had known nothing about Earth until she’d been there, and had learned English from scratch. Within a couple of years, she’d been able to pass as an Earth native, and nobody had ever doubted the same of me. When I’d asked why she’d never taught me Enzarian, she’d said, We’re never going back. We have to let the past go. She never spoke about how hard it must have been to accept that.

“Duly noted,” I said. “Look, I’ll… find a better job. Honestly, I didn’t plan on spending my whole life stacking shelves.” Pity even a degree wouldn’t qualify me for more. The exception, of course, being the Alliance. They’d interview anyone for an entry-level position, provided they passed their entrance exams. I probably had more practical experience in the Passages than most of their novices, at least, the ones who hadn’t been to the Academy, and could speak three offworld languages to boot.

The one job I might be qualified for was the one Nell despised more than anything in the Multiverse. That figured.

“What’s happening with that family?” I asked. “Do you have their papers sorted out? Need me to get anything?”

“Actually… you’re changing the subject,” Nell said, sternly. “But yes, we’re out of powdered bloodrock.”

I frowned. “I thought you had a ton of the stuff?”

“We burned through most of it three weeks ago.”

Ah. That had been the biggest job of the summer, when a huge group of people from the collapsing world of Zanthar had come through the Passages at once. There was absolutely no way a Zanthan could pass as someone from Earth—they had gills, for one thing—so Nell’s friends, the Knight family, must have used all the bloodrock to make the concealment concoction using Nell’s recipe, a delightful combination of pure bloodrock and human skin tissue. It worked like magic—ha—to completely change a person’s appearance. Permanently, if you kept applying it every year or so. I’d never used it, but it seemed to be some kind of hi-tech illusion – you only needed to dip your hand in it, and the effect would transfer to your entire body. Pretty ingenious. Except there was only one place bloodrock, a highly classified illegal offworld substance, was available.

“I get to break into Central’s stores?” I said, cracking a grin.

Nell turned, hands on her hips. “I never said you had to do it. You’ve been reckless enough this week already.”

“Might as well keep it up,” I said. “Come on, I’m not working. There’s less risk in it for me than the others.”

At that moment, Alber came into the kitchen, yawning. “I’m dead,” he announced.

“You’re walking,” I pointed out.

“This is my reanimated corpse,” he said, opening a cupboard. The door fell off. “This house is literally falling apart,” he announced, propping the door back in place.

“It is a bit,” I admitted, glancing up at the cracked ceiling. The house had been “lived-in”, as Nell put it, when we’d moved here fifteen years ago. Now, it seemed like something broke every day. The kitchen light flickered constantly, shelves fell down with little warning, and the dripping tap was a permanent fixture.

“Well, when you’ve found the universe where money grows on trees, let me know,” said Nell. “I’m going to check on the others upstairs.”

“Sure,” I said. “Enjoy last night, Alber?”

“Never speak of it again,” he muttered, running a hand through his blond, spiky hair and downing a glass of water. “Why is there no food in this house?”

“Because you and Jeth ate it all,” I said. “I have good news, though. I’m breaking into Central tonight.”

Alber’s eyebrows shot up. “You serious?”

“Yeah, Nell’s out of powdered bloodrock. You want in?” Hey, I never said I was a good influence on impressionable teenagers.

“Hell, yeah.” He set the glass down, grinning.

“Great. Today’s Monday, so patrols are every hour until eight, then every two. I think we should set out at ten, to be on the safe side. They’ll be in the Passages when we get there, so there’ll be fewer guards at Central.”

“You know all their patrols by heart?” said Alber. “Wow. That’s dedication to law-breaking, right there. And shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Shouldn’t you be at school?”

“School finished a week ago,” said Alber, rolling his eyes. “Which universe have you been in?”

“Ha ha.” I pushed back from the table. If I had a few hours to kill, might as well do something productive. Like practicing throwing knives in the garden.

Alber followed me out the back door, having swiped the remains of the stack of toast from the table. “Nell’s being a neglectful parent again,” he said, perching on the garden wall. Weeds grew between the cracked paving stones and from the back, the house looked run-down and abandoned. Nell had let the ivy grow out of hand to block the windows, not that anyone ever came back here anyway. A chain-link fence and an alley separated us from the neighbouring house.

“She’s just busy.”

Running both the shelter and a home business was no joke, even if the business was basically all online, selling disguises to offworlders who wanted to build new lives on Earth. Nell might have wanted a normal life for me, but she could never escape her own roots.

The magic still zinged through my veins as I lifted a knife in my right hand, focusing on the target. Usually, I wouldn’t be able to do this, but today magic was on my side.

I gripped the knife and sent a jolt of power into it, letting go as I did so. It struck the target dead centre, and then rebounded. I jumped into the air and caught it by the hilt, exhilaration mingling with the power still surging through me. Nell had lectured me half to death about throwing away my weapon during a fight, seeing as one time I’d done that, I’d ended up missing and almost getting speared through the eye with my own weapon. But using magic’s backlash rule, I could get my dagger back to my hand without the enemy grabbing it. Admittedly, I’d got just as many lectures from Nell for all the times I’d misjudged the recoil and ended up breaking things—messing with magic was like hitting a punch bag at close range. You couldn’t just hope it wouldn’t swing back and hit you in the face. You had to know what you were doing.

Luckily, I knew what I was doing. I caught the dagger again after another throw, this time from a side-angle. Magic was almost invisible here, compared to the Passages, where I had a better chance of judging the recoil because I could actually see where the backlash would hit. Like a sixth sense. But I’d had enough practise.

“Show-off,” said Alber, his violet eyes flashing. He wasn’t wearing his contacts. He jumped back as the knife whizzed past and stuck point first in the target. “And you wonder why Gary was scared of you.”

“Did you have to bring that up?” I said, shuddering at the reference to my ex. “It’s not like I brought knives to our dates. Wait. Okay, there was that one time.”

“I rest my case,” said Alber.

“Oh, don’t you start,” I said. “Thank God Nell’s not the type to want me to settle down and get married. Ugh.”

“No.” He smirked. “Can you imagine her dating anyone? I’m pretty sure she sleeps with three knives under her pillow.”

“See? Makes me look almost normal.”

I handed the knife over to Alber. He was right-handed, but landed a perfect hit with his left hand. Again, the knife soared back at him and he caught it in his right hand, grinning.

“I know all your tricks, Ada,” he said. “You’re not the only mageblood here.”

I smiled, but it felt suddenly like a sharp object caught in my chest. I had no idea why Nell hadn’t told Jeth and Alber what I really was, especially considering I knew everything about them. I knew Jeth’s world, Karthos, was the only world to have ever been kicked out of the Alliance for human rights breaches after a bloodbath. He’d been five when someone had smuggled him to the transition point, and Nell had taken to him immediately. Alber was from Enzar, like me, and Nell had adopted him at three from another shelter. But he was mageblood. He didn’t know I was related to the Royals, the ruling nonmages who’d wrested power from the magebloods on Enzar, forced them into servitude, or killed them outright. He didn’t know Nell had been the Royals’ servant, that she’d risked her own life smuggling me away as the magebloods and Royals alike were swept into a massacre.

That was all she’d told me. I’d only been a year old when I’d left, after all, so I had no memories of Enzar. My blood family might still be alive for all I knew. From the little I’d heard from the survivors brave enough to share their stories, I didn’t want to know their fate.

But I wouldn’t have minded knowing why I had the same magic level as a mageblood when I was supposed to have none at all.

I whiled away the hours until sundown practicing throwing knives and going through self-defence exercises, while Alber lounged on the side-lines, skimming one of my paperbacks. Reading about other worlds might seem a poor substitute for the real thing, but it was all we had and they were good stories besides. Personally, I thought Earth people did a great job compensating for the lack of magic in their own world. Tolkien had the right idea.

Early evening, I decked myself out in standard breaking-and-entering gear, black from head to toe, long black trench coat and combat boots. This summer had been unusually damp and gloomy, and it was cold outside. Mist pressed against the window and a chill seeped through the thin walls. We didn’t have the most reliable heating system and with no money to fix it, winters weren’t fun. Still, it was the best we could get and we were lucky to have it. As I knew all too well. Sure, we might joke around, but it was that or live in a permanent state of despair. Nell always said she’d spent so many years living in fear, she was damned if she let the horrors of what was happening on our homeworld take away our happiness, too. We were the epitome of hope for everyone we helped.

I checked my reflection, slipping my phone into the inner pocket of my coat. My dark red hair was a little conspicuous, but at least it ensured that I’d never in a million years be taken for a refugee from Enzar. None of us went as far as to use bloodrock to hide our appearances—there were others who needed it more than we did—but you could never be too careful.

“Snazzy,” said Alber, appearing from the gloomy hallway. “You’re going for the Alliance guard look? What is it with those guys and tight leather?”

“Technically, it’s not leather,” I said, following him out into the hall. “The guards’ uniform’s made of some kind of magicproof material, isn’t it?”

“Don’t ask me. You’re the one who spends all your time spying on them.”

“I do not.” Okay, I’d followed a patrol… once. A couple of times, then. How else was I supposed to know their patrol routes?

“Uh-huh.”

“Have you got Jeth’s Chameleons?”

“Got it,” he said, tossing one of the small, metal objects to me. I caught it in one hand, checking it was switched on. Jeth, technological genius, had created a set of devices coated in powdered bloodrock, which had once belonged to the Alliance. I had no idea which world it was from, but it was like pure, powdered magical energy—or “fairy dust”, as Jeth sometimes called it—and if you developed it in the right formula, it could change the appearance of anything. Object, person, whatever. In its purest form, it could also be used to create a chameleon effect. Hence the name. Hit a button and they went invisible, and so did anything that came into contact with them, including us. Plus, he’d also developed a set of three-way-communication earpieces, also coated in bloodrock. Alber passed me one of those, too.

I clipped the Bluetooth-style earpiece on, slid the device into my pocket and grinned at my foster brother. “Ready for a little law-breaking?”

“You,” said Nell, appearing at the top of the stairs, “are a terrible influence.”

“Wonder where I get it from? Come on. You said we need the bloodrock. ASAP.”

“Yeah, it’s gathering dust at Central,” said Alber. “What do they even use it for?”

“Nothing. It’s an illegal offworld substance,” said Nell, her eyes narrowing as they always did when someone mentioned the Alliance. So, about twenty times a day.

“See? We have to go there,” I said. There were people who needed our help right now. This was more important than the Alliance’s petty laws.

“Just be careful,” said Nell.

“Always am,” I said.

This time, Alber and I didn’t take the alley to the Passages, but the regular normal-person route to the tube station. Lights from the pubs and twenty-four-hour convenience stores spilled onto the roads, making me feel even more like we were spies or criminals, sneaking through the shadows. A world apart, almost literally.

Thankfully, the public transport system wasn’t too crowded at this time of night. I wished the Passages could transport us right there, but the doors only led to certain points. There were five registered in the UK, two of which were in the London area. Central had, in fact, been constructed near Earth’s main Passage, which had been around longer than London—longer even than humans had walked the Earth. It meant that they’d had to put in a back gate, right by the entrance to their stores, I assumed for a quicker route to the Passages. Prime target for breaking and entering.

The Alliance’s Central Headquarters was visible the instant we exited the tube station at London Bridge. It towered over the Thames, a colossal three-sided skyscraper of gleaming black glass piercing the cloudy sky like a knife. Sleek, but ultimately for show. For all the money they’d invested in their fancy headquarters, I was willing to bet they hadn’t spared a penny to help Enzar. Hypocrites.

Alber and I parted at the gates. He’d keep a lookout and tell me if anything changed, and I was the best at stealth. I crept around the outskirts of the fence.

Magic waited for me, thrumming under my skin. I could feel it pulsing from the fence, too, and I knew that if I as much as put my hand on it, I’d get zapped. The Alliance had ways of harnessing magic like electricity using offworld technology, less damaging than an actual electric fence, but just as much of a deterrent.

Except for me. I reached the back of Central, where the fence gave way to the back gate, and waited in the shadows, checking my watch. Sure enough, a group of four shadowy figures came out of the gate and headed down the back road to where I knew the Alliance’s official entrance to the Passages was located. Few people lived on this road, but the handful of parked cars told me that it wasn’t totally deserted. Some people would risk anything for cheap rent. Not that monsters tended to escape onto Earth. Most of the time. Claw marks on the side of one of the more run-down apartment buildings told me it had happened at least once.

I’d come here before to watch patrols leaving, and to figure out how things operated. Including how to unlock the gate. Turned out it wasn’t magic at all—they never expected anyone to sneak around this way. Complacence at its finest. As for the padlock, I had a small lock pick ready. Nothing fancy, but it worked. I’d had enough practise that it took only a few seconds to open the gate.

Not that I was relaxing. Now I had to get inside the building. The front door was key card operated, not to mention guarded, but at the back, there was always a changeover between patrols. I’d timed it to the minute—and I had to, because the Chameleons had limited battery life. The guards would notice an open door, but a window, I could get away with. Especially one I’d used before, and had wedged a folded piece of paper into it in such a way that it looked closed from the outside. It wasn’t like anyone checked close up; the guards were more focused on potential intruders than a small ground-floor window nobody ever opened. It wouldn’t have surprised me if most guards didn’t even know it was there.

I reached beneath the visible world for the buzz of magic and pushed at the air, hard but carefully. The tiniest crack spiderwebbed across the pavement, but the momentum had already knocked open the window. I shook my hands to stop the buzzing as the adamantine walls of the building objected to the level one hit and then climbed onto the windowsill and pulled myself inside. I pushed the window enough that it looked like it was closed, from a distance, again. No one on patrols had ever come close enough to check. But my heart thudded in my ears all the same. If I failed, I’d cost us everything.

I trod lightly down the corridor, pressing myself flat to the wall when I came in range of the security camera. I reached for the Chameleon and hit the button for cloaking, clipping it to the inside of my sleeve. Its effect depended on skin contact.

It was a bizarre experience to watch my hand fade away, then my arm, then the rest of my body. A shiver ran through me as I looked right through my own body, even though I knew it was still there. Invisibility cloaks, eat your heart out.

Time to go. I moved faster now I couldn’t be seen, racing through the dark corridors until I found the door I was searching for. It was harder to manipulate an invisible lock pick and I fumbled it a couple of times, but within less than a minute, I was inside the store room.

The Alliance kept everything in crates. As usual, it was hard to resist opening some of the others and seeing what mysterious offworld substances they didn’t want the public to know about, but I had ten minutes, tops, before the invisibility wore off. Here on Earth, you could only put a small amount of a magic-based energy source into a device like the Chameleon without risking it backfiring on you. Sadly, no exploring time for me. I opened the crate labelled ‘bloodrock’ and pulled out a handful of small bags, then rearranged the rest so it didn’t look like anything was missing. I backed out of the room, and retraced my steps back to the window I’d come in by.

A group of guards stood a few feet away, engaged in urgent conversation. I went completely still, my heart thudding. Sweat beaded on my forehead. I had to get out silently. Why were so many of them close to the back entrance?

Relax. You’re invisible. And yet, for once, that didn’t reassure me. I quickly pushed the window wider, pulled myself out, and tiptoed around the group, ready to run.

“Hey! YOU!”

Voices. Shouts, echoing in the night. Shock surged through me, and this time I ran for real, coat flaring behind me. I pelted for the gate, which was open, but there were people outside. Too late to slow down. I shot right past the group—was that a centaur?—No time to stop. I didn’t even pause to draw in a breath until I’d reached the street’s end, and then I kicked up speed again. I paid no attention to where I ran, to the ground hitting my feet, the cold nipping through my coat, the sharp pain of my own breath—

I ran smack into someone, who stumbled back. “Jesus, Ada!”

I gasped out, “Alber—thank God—need to go.”

“What happened?” He stared at me, the whites of his eyes bright in the lamplight.

“I’ll tell you on the way back.” Panting, I glanced over my shoulder. I’d lost my pursuers, but the sense of danger persisted. I’d never been spotted before, never messed up.

Only when we stood on the train, alone, did I let the tension seep out of my limbs. I collapsed into a seat, shaking all over. “Crap. Crap.”

“Okay, Ada, you’re really starting to worry me now. Did someone see you?”

I swallowed. “Yeah. There were people outside Central…lots of people. I don’t know what they were doing. The Chameleon just stopped working.” I removed the earpiece and unclipped the Chameleon from my sleeve. Dead battery.

“I swear I charged both of them,” said Alber, frowning. “Did you get the bloodrock, at least?”

“Yeah,” I said, slumping farther back. I didn’t want to mention that they probably knew I’d taken something. I’d done enough damage already.

“I’m going to kill Jeth,” said Alber. “Him and his bloody contraptions.”

“Never mind that,” I said. “I don’t want to end up on the Alliance’s hit list.” For more than one reason. Who else would help the other Enzarians?

“Yeah…I think you should lie low for a bit.”

I gave him an eye roll. I felt a little better. But that didn’t mean I looked forward to Nell’s reaction when we got back.

4

Kay

“Isn’t this fun?” said Markos, smiling around at the group. “I can tell we’re going to make a superb team.”

Yeah, right. The four of us—me, Markos, Aric and a guy named Lenny—stood in the entrance hall of Central, dressed in standard patrol gear made of a material that looked like leather but was magicproof fabric manufactured offworld, designed to protect from both magic and nonmagic damage. Right now, it looked like the damage would most likely come from a fistfight between me and Aric, if he didn’t quit being a smug bastard and sucking up to the supervisors, then making snide comments to the youngest of our patrol. Lenny, a skinny redheaded kid barely out of his teens, stood as far away from the rest of us as possible as though afraid he’d get speared by the intense glaring contest between Aric and me. I figured he was here on an apprenticeship and hadn’t been to the Passages before. If Aric mentioned wyverns one more time…

“Right,” said the night supervisor, Carl, striding over to us. He was late twenties, I guessed, with a ropy scar on the left side of his face. Definitely a claw mark, from an offworld monster, I’d wager. “Three of you are new, right? Damn that idiot Clark. The patrols are supposed to be an even split of novices and experienced assistants. No offence to you, Markos, I know you know what you’re doing.”

“Actually, we ran drills at the Academy,” said Aric, with an air of superiority. “Same format as the patrols. Except keeping quiet and alert with a centaur on the team might be a bit difficult.”

And here comes the bigotry. I was content to let Markos take care of this one, and when he turned on Aric, the blood drained from the idiot’s face. Lenny let out a terrified whimper and backed away so rapidly he tripped over his own feet.

“It might be difficult to move stealthily with both your legs broken,” said Markos. “Want to find out?”

“Enough!” said Carl. “Aric, you’re forgetting the first principle of the Alliance. You never insult a fellow team member if you want to keep your job. Nor do you speak in that manner to a colleague regardless of homeworld, race, whatever. Don’t let it happen again.”

Ha. I gave Aric a scathing look, but he was too busy defending himself to Carl.

“He threatened me!” he protested.

“You deserved it,” said Carl, and I decided I liked him. “Right. You have one hour. You’ll know where the entrance to the Passages is, am I right?”

Carl went through the standard safety lecture, specifically on the use of the knives all guards carried as part of our uniform. The term ‘knife’ was misleading, because they were far from the flimsy, stainless-steel implements carried by morons attempting to look tough. These were the Alliance’s specially developed automatic blades made of adamantine, with hilts of reinforced wyvern hide—an irony that wasn’t lost on me—and could cut through virtually anything, magic reinforced or otherwise.

Of course, they were never, under any circumstances, to be used on another human, if it could be avoided. We were only to incapacitate, not kill. But monsters were fair game. No one could bring down a chalder vox using hand-to-hand combat alone. I’d already learned that lesson at the Academy. I watched Aric out of the corner of my eye, not trusting him in the slightest. True, we had an implicit understanding that neither of us would mention anything of our history at the Academy to anyone at Central, and some things were best left buried, but there was still the chance he’d try to start trouble anyway. Because he couldn’t leave the hell alone.

“That’s all,” Carl finished. “Any questions?”

“There aren’t any monsters, are there?” asked Lenny.

Aric snorted. “Kid, if you can’t handle it, get out.”

“That’s enough,” said Carl. “Markos will lead the way, as he knows the route. Return in an hour and report to me. If you see anything out of place, tell me via communicator. Obviously, there shouldn’t be anyone coming in from offworld at this time, but you’d be amazed how often someone decides to wander this way from Valeria.”

“Absolutely, sir,” said Aric, back into sycophant mode. Carl, however, did not look impressed.

“Whatever the hell you guys have a problem with, I’m not interested. Do your jobs. Keep an eye out for trouble. And no whining. That clear?”

“Sure thing, boss,” said Markos. “As long as that asshole keeps in line.”

Aric started to retaliate, but Carl interrupted. “Enough! Talk to Clark about your patrol preferences, but I have no interest in why you all hate each other so much. Keep your personal opinions out of your work life. Got it?”

“I wouldn’t worry,” I said. “Aric hates everyone with more brain cells than he has. So, everyone.”

Carl actually looked amused. Aric glared at me, but didn’t retaliate. Carl tapped a button on his communicator. “The last patrol has checked in. You’re up.”

“Excellent,” said Markos.

Much as I hated to admit it, Aric had a point about stealth being difficult for a centaur. Aside from his size, the clip-clopping sound of hooves was difficult to mute. Still, it wasn’t like Academy drills, where they sometimes set monsters loose in the Passage to give us a taste of an emergency situation, always obtaining permission from the Alliance first. Except for the wyvern incident, of course.

Even Aric wouldn’t be idiot enough to try any tricks in a real patrol, but I sure as hell didn’t trust him, especially knowing he carried a fully charged stunner. Then again, so did I. It was shaped like a remote control but had only one switch, and I could feel the static charge as I tucked it into my pocket. Three shots were all it could handle, but a level two would still temporarily paralyse anyone or anything that got hit.

“Well, this is a rather frosty atmosphere we have going on here,” said Markos. “Lenny, I don’t believe we’ve met. You’re Mr Clark’s assistant, am I right?”

Lenny made a nervous sound. “Aren’t we supposed to keep quiet?” he asked, tripping over the kerb. His communicator fell out of his pocket with a clang, and he fumbled to pick it up.

“Did you know,” said Markos as we turned away from the gate and headed down the back road behind Central, “there’s supposed to be a ghost in the Passages around here.”

Aric gave a derisive snort.

“It’s true,” said Markos, with a straight face. “There was this guy who thought it’d be funny to shoot a gun in the Passages. The magic didn’t like that. He blew his own head off.”

“That’s bullshit,” said Aric.

“It’s true,” said Lenny. “I mean, I don’t know if the story’s true, but you can’t fire a gun in the Passages, right? The magic interferes with it.”

“Everyone knows that,” said Aric, shooting me a glare. Oh, get over yourself. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be getting a well-placed zap with the stunner.

Markos pressed his hands against the wall of the building facing us. I hadn’t used the Alliance’s official entrance to the Passages before, but I knew that there’d be a sliding panel somewhere, where metal hid beneath the brick facade. The building behind looked like a disused factory, but like other Passage entrances, it was just a cover. Markos stepped back and part of the wall slid aside, revealing a wide metal door-like shape. That, too, slid back, and the cold tunnel of the Passages beckoned us.

Despite the late hour, I was wide awake and ready to face whatever waited ahead. In fact, bring it the hell on. It had been two weeks since the final Academy tests in the Passages, and now, it was almost a disappointment to find a monster-free corridor waiting ahead, lined with doors on either side.

My skin buzzed, like a mild shock from the stunner, as we followed a path through the winding corridors of the first floor, lit by the faint bluish glow from the walls and floor. I didn’t acknowledge the presence of magic even though it pulled at me like a seductive whisper. I had no intention of tempting fate, not again. I’d dreamed of the Multiverse my whole life, since long before I’d known I was a magic-wielder, and I was damned if I let anything wreck my chances of making Ambassador and seeing the worlds on the other side of these doors. Top of my list was Valeria, one of the few worlds which was similar enough to Earth to be easy access for Ambassadors. And okay, maybe I wanted to test-drive one of their premium hover cars.

As a faint shuffling noise came from up ahead, Lenny made a terrified sound and moved closer to Markos.

“Honestly,” Aric muttered, who’d got out a torch regardless of the ever-present blue light, and was aggressively shining it into corners. “I don’t know why the Alliance hired you. You’re useless.”

“Well, they’d filled their dickhead quota,” I said.

“Shut it,” said Aric.

Markos stomped a hoof, so close to Aric he almost fell over.

I smirked. “A little jumpy, Aric?”

“Quit laughing at me, Walker,” he snarled.

“Only when you stop being so entertainingly stupid.”

Aric swiped at me with his stunner, but I’d already moved out of range, my own stunner in hand. It wasn’t like I was planning to use it, but it didn’t hurt to be armed, too.

Markos let out a loud, sudden neigh sound. My heart damn near jumped out of my chest, even though I knew it was only the centaur. Lenny whimpered and backed away, and even Aric didn’t laugh.

“Right!” he bellowed. “As much as I’d dearly love to watch the pair of you kick the crap out of each other, we’re in a restricted area and… insert serious lecture here. I’m done.”

I shot Aric a glare and followed, Lenny stumbling behind us.

No one murdered each other on the way around the corridors, which was some achievement. The buzz of magic was starting to get on my nerves by now. It was always there in the Passages, and no doubt it’d be the same offworld. Especially on high-magic worlds. Some, like the Enzarian Empire, had been torn to pieces by magical warfare. Hell, it had nearly happened on our neighbouring worlds, which was part of the reason the Alliance had revealed itself to the public on Earth. But even the Alliance couldn’t control magic. It was a force all on its own, and on no one’s side.

“Pretty quiet tonight,” Markos commented, as we made our way back. “’Course, this is only the first level. They’ll have you down in the lower-level corridors soon enough.” He threw a glare at Aric, who’d tapped Lenny on the shoulder in the dark and scared him half to death.

“I’m shaking,” said Aric. “Bet you’ve never been down there, seeing as centaurs can’t climb—”

“I wouldn’t finish that thought,” I said. “Did you know when centaurs reach peak speed, they can turn anything they trample on into paste?”

“You’re a liar, Walker,” said Aric, but he took a step or two away from Markos. The centaur grinned at me. Of course he knew I’d made that up.

“You’d be a mess of blood and splintered bones,” said Markos, and Lenny moaned behind me. Really, he’d picked the wrong career.

“Yeah. He almost trampled me earlier,” I said.

“I did. It would have been a shame. He’s pretty, for a human. Pity I can’t say the same for you.”

“Oh, go fuck yourselves, both of you,” said Aric.

The centaur chuckled softly. “Humans. So easy to wind up.”

Lenny gave a weak laugh. Markos tilted his head to face him.

“Please don’t hurt me,” said Lenny.

Markos sighed. “It’s a pain, looking so intimidating. In my world, I would be called majestic. It’s wasted on you people.”

“My heart bleeds for you,” I said, rolling my eyes. Centaurs.

As we came out of the Passage and headed back down the road to Central, I almost dared to think things would pass without a hitch. Then the clamour of urgent voices broke the quiet. Even in the dark, between the fence bars, I could see a crowd had gathered outside the back door.

“There’s never that many people at Central this late,” said Markos, frowning. “Something’s up.”

“No shit,” said Aric. “Get out the way. We have to find out what’s going on.”

Just before we reached the gate, a small figure ran through, turned left and pelted into the night, so fast it appeared a shadowy blur.

“Oi! You!”

Two guards followed, vanishing into the shadows too. Markos cursed under his breath.

“What the hell?” I said. “Was that–?”

“Trespasser, probably,” said the centaur. “Come on. Let’s see what’s up.”

Trespasser? Who the hell would have the nerve to break into Central?

We went through the gate, towards the crowd. The entire night guard had congregated out back, by the look of things. Carl beckoned us over, and he, along with everyone else wore a dead-serious expression… like someone had died.

Oh, shit.

“What happened?” Markos got there first.

“Mr Clark,” said Carl. “He’s been murdered.”

No way. I looked from Markos to Carl and back at the guards. Like someone would reveal this to be an elaborate prank.

“What… how?” I asked.

“Strangled from behind, we think. In his office. You knew he was working late?”

“Yeah. He spoke to us. Before our shift.” Damn—we were the last people to speak to him. “When did this happen?”

“We’re still trying to determine that,” said Carl. “No one has ever been murdered on the premises before. Not in thirty years.”

A shiver went down my spine. “Damn,” I said.

“Who would do that?” Lenny blurted. “He—he was…”

“A supervisor,” Aric cut in. “He wasn’t a higher-up, right?”

A blond woman stepped forwards to glare at him. I recognised her as Ellen, whom I’d met earlier that day. She’d been part of the next shift.

“Might you show a little respect?” she said to Aric. “A man has died. Your supervisor, to be precise.”

It seemed unreal. I’d spoken to Mr Clark that day. Barely an hour before he died. He’d been reading those papers I’d fetched from the archives.

“How could a killer have got in the building?” I asked Carl. “It’s magicproof and there’s no way to climb up the walls, right?”

“Unless it was someone who worked here,” said Aric.

Lenny moved away from him in panic. “No way! None of us are killers.”

“The police are here, but it’s looking like we’ll need the Law Division in on this one,” said Carl. “They’ve never had to investigate a crime within our own headquarters before.”

“It’s messed-up,” said one of the guards. “Who’d strangle Clark? He’s harmless. Never hurt anyone, never really spoke to anyone outside his department.”

“Yeah, that’s why it’s suspicious,” said another guard.

“We saw someone run,” Markos said. “They were being chased down by guards.”

“How the hell did they get in?” I said. “Did anyone see anything odd when we were on patrol? Because the Passages were quiet. Nothing out back, either.”

“That’s the point,” said Carl. “There’s literally no trace. None of the cameras picked anything up until this girl appeared…over there.” He pointed at a spot near the building’s corner. “I did find an open window when I went in the back way, but I figured that was a mistake. Now, though… perhaps that’s how they got in. Glass isn’t magicproof. There should have been a guard there.”

“When was this?” asked Ellen.

“Not long ago. I went right to the back door after these guys left. I saw the window open a bit later, and figured someone had just forgotten to close it. Damn stupid of me, but it’s happened before.”

“So the killer got in through the window?”

“The gate was unlocked when we came back,” Markos said. “It shouldn’t have been, right?”

“I normally check every ten minutes,” said Carl, “but the alarm went off and people started gathering out here. The killer must have run fast, if that’s when they got in.”

“Something’s not right,” Markos said. “That girl we saw. She’s the killer? Did anyone see her face?”

I didn’t even see it was a girl. She’d moved wicked fast.

“Hopefully, the other guards will bring her in,” said Ellen. “We were supposed to be headed for the Passages now.”

A burly guy beside her nodded. “Yeah, we’ve the next shift. Reckon we’d better get a move on.”

“Hold it,” said another guard. “We all have to stay here, wait for the police to come down. They want to speak to everyone who was here.”

A collective groan from everyone. “Seriously,” Aric muttered. “They expect us to stay here all night?”

I glared at him from out of the corner of my eye. If anyone here were capable of committing murder… but of course, he had an alibi. And no motive that I knew of. My mind was already racing through the possibilities, even though I knew there was nothing we could have done.

It was going to be a long night.

5

Ada

“You were foolish,” said Nell for about the fiftieth time, from the other side of the kitchen table. She’d waited up for us, and I’d predicted her reaction dead-on. “Never assume that you’re invulnerable no matter what tricks you have up your sleeve.”

“It’s Jeth’s fault,” said Alber, and our foster brother glared at him. He hated it when one of his treasured technological contraptions failed to do its job. He was fiddling with the Chameleon device and had scattered dismantled bits of metal and wire and God-knew-what all over the table.

“Look, everything glitches sometimes,” he said. “These Chameleons are ninety-nine point nine percent reliable. By that, I mean they’ve never just stopped working before. It should have had at least another hour’s charge in there. I checked them all. Honest.”

“Yes, well, that’s not the important thing,” said Nell. “Ada, you shouldn’t assume that because something has always worked, it will continue to work in the same way.”

“What was I supposed to think?” I said. “Besides, there were a ton of people gathered out back at Central. They have two guards, and they never come near the back entrance. Something must have happened.”

“Let’s hope no one saw your face,” said Nell. “Their cameras, too.”

“I had my hood up,” I said, with more confidence than I felt. I hated feeling vulnerable. “Still, I got the powdered bloodrock, and plenty of it. We won’t need to make another trip there for a while.”

Nell sighed. “Well, that’s good news, at least. I’ll send one of the others to hang about the Alliance for a bit tomorrow, to find out what happened.”

And that was that. Unsurprisingly, I didn’t get much sleep that night, and when I did, it was only to wake sweating and shaking from nightmares of being chased down the Passages. Just as I was finally dozing off, someone banged on my door.

“What?” I groaned. “I’m asleep.”

“It’s midday,” said Alber. “Nell wants to talk to you.”

“I thought she was done lecturing us already.”

“Nope. She’s just getting warmed up. Also, someone died at Central last night.”

I sat bolt upright. “You what?” Sliding my feet into slippers, I went to the door. “You’re joking.”

“Nice pyjamas.” I was wearing the blue rabbit-patterned ones Jeth had bought me as a joke. Idiot older brother. “Seriously, though. Some supervisor or something. He was killed at Central last night. That’s why there were so many people outside.”

“Oh. Shit. We were there.”

“I know. Damn. Hope no one saw you.”

“You and me both.”

I wished I was working. Not that I’d spoken to my boss since missing my shift yesterday. Oh, crap.

On cue, Nell’s voice rang through the hallway: “Ada! Stop hiding in your room. I need to talk to you.”

The dreaded words. I came out into the hallway, still in my rabbit-patterned pyjamas. Nell was in the kitchen, and on the table in front of her was the bag of powdered bloodrock I’d taken from Central. The bag was half-open, revealing the transparent glittering dust.

“Someone was killed last night?” I asked. “For real?”

“Skyla called me this morning,” said Nell. “She heard two Alliance guards talking about it.”

“How did they die?” I asked. “Was it when we were there?” When I was in the building? They wouldn’t have seen my face—I’d moved too quickly—and yet I’d run right past a group of them by the gate. And at least one of those guards could have seen me. I looked at the powdered bloodrock and wondered if it was worth formulating a disguise for myself. But there were others who needed it more than I did.

“I don’t know,” said Nell. “No one knows. This person was working late, alone in the office, and someone went in there and killed them. No clue about motives. Not to mention how they got in there in the first place.”

I thought of the Chameleon and shivered. Jeth was the only person who had those devices, I knew that much, and we’d never shown them to anyone else. It was a fairly major thing to be able to use magic-based technology on Earth and have it actually work how it was meant to. Most people didn’t know much more than the three basic principles, which were broadcast on the news daily because the media thought the public needed a constant reminder. In case they started, I don’t know, waving wands and trying to conjure things. The most even a magic-wielder could do was fire a first level power jolt, no more damaging than a static shock. I’d used it to open the window…

What if the killer got in by the gate I left open?

No. I wasn’t going to feel guilty for the death of a stranger. It had nothing to do with us. The last thing I wanted was to get wrapped up in the Alliance’s business. As horrible as the idea of a murder was, it didn’t affect us. We could just go on as normal. We had to.

“That’s bad and everything,” said Alber, “but we don’t need to go back there again anytime soon. As long as we keep our heads down, we should be fine, right?”

“In theory,” said Nell. “But this gives me a bad feeling. Also, I need someone to take this bloodrock to the other shelters.”

“Thought you didn’t want me running any more risks,” I said, but I brightened at the idea of getting to talk to some of the others. People like us, and the few Nell trusted.

“Jeth’s at work,” said Nell. “Take it to the usual places. Save a third of it to give to the Campbell family. They need a bunch of it, ASAP.”

“Wait, what?” I frowned. “You mean, Delta or one of his brothers? But that would mean going back into the Passages.” Valeria’s citizens were allowed to leave their world as they pleased, which was how Delta and I had met, incidentally. He’d sneaked up on me and I’d almost choked him to death. The start of a beautiful friendship.

“Yes…” said Nell, slowly.

“Taking an illegal substance into the Passages right after what happened? Seems a bit…”

“Don’t you pretend to be concerned about safety, Ada Fletcher. You’re just trying to get in my good books.” She knew me too well. “It’s not ideal, I know, but there’s a big group of Karthos rebels coming through next week and it’s going to be a challenge to get them all in without causing suspicion.”

The doorbell rang, making us all jump.

“I’ll get it,” said Alber, while I hurried back to my room to dress in something a little more dignified than rabbit-patterned pyjamas.

It turned out to be Skyla, who’d come to check up on us. She was about a year younger than me. Her thick dark hair was swept in a high ponytail and she wore a smart shirt and trousers which looked odd on her. In the five years she’d helped at the shelter, I’d never pictured her as the type to work in an office as a secretary. She looked like she should be running gym classes instead.

“I was trying to call you earlier,” said Nell. “Ada’s going to need your help to make a couple of deliveries.”

“Ah, I’m on my lunch break at work, so I can’t stay here long. I wanted to make sure Ada was okay after last night.”

So she’d heard about the whole debacle. I said, “I’m fine. Honestly.”

“Well, if you say so. I’ll give you a hand with those packages of…” Her eyes widened as they landed on the bloodrock. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yeah, that’s what I almost got caught stealing,” I said. “But I only just found out someone was killed. Do you know what happened?”

“No more than anyone else does,” said Skyla. “I listened in on a conversation on the way to work. Guy strangled in an empty office. Total chaos in Central, seeing as it’s the first time someone’s been murdered on the premises. Of course, it’s nothing to do with us, but it might make using the Passages tricky. There’s a chance they could alter their patrols.”

“Dammit,” I said.

“Yeah,” said Skyla. “I’ve never seen them like this. They’re interrogating all their staff. Well, that’s what I heard them talking about, anyway. Wouldn’t wish it on anyone else.”

“I’m more concerned with whether they recognised Ada,” said Nell. “If anyone saw her face…”

Shivers ran down my back. For once in my life, I didn’t want to go outside and deliver the packages, but only Alber and I knew the addresses of all the others who helped the refugees. Nell wouldn’t trust anyone else with that information.

“I can help,” Skyla offered. “Not that I really want to be caught running around with that stuff—also, I have half an hour before I have to be back at the office.”

“I’ll go with Ada,” said Alber.

“Tell you what,” said Skyla, with a glance at her watch. “I’ll meet you after work and come to the Passages. I can be your lookout. Okay?”

Nell’s eyes narrowed. She implicitly trusted Skyla, because she was sensible and didn’t take unnecessary risks, and we’d gone to meet Delta in the Passages together a few times before. But after everything that had gone wrong in the past twenty-four hours, Nell’s barriers had gone up again. She turned back to the bloodrock, contemplating the six heavy bags, and sighed heavily.

“Alber, Ada, you two go make the usual rounds. Save the Passages till last. Skyla, would you have the chance to check if the Alliance are running their usual patrols?”

“Sure, I’ll take a look,” she said. For all her pretence of posh office girl, part of the reason Skyla had interviewed for a job at that particular office was because it’d give her the perfect view of Central, patrols and all. I’d never seen her workplace, but it was on the road facing the Alliance building. “Come on, Ada, Alber. We’d better go deliver this contraband.” She grinned. Like me, she couldn’t resist a challenge.

“Sure, I’ll get my stuff,” I said, heading back to my room.

“It would help if you put socks on,” Skyla called after me. “No shift today?”

“Haven’t talked to my boss yet. Crap.” And sure enough, there were several unread messages on my phone, which I’d not heard when I’d been asleep.

“Ada, I need to talk to you. Come and see me at two p.m.”

“Crap.” This had ‘bad news’ written all over it. Plus, I could hardly show up for a meeting with my boss carrying a ton of bloodrock, even if most people on Earth wouldn’t have a clue what it was. He’d probably think I was trading illegal drugs or something. “Alber, could you hang onto that stuff while I go meet my boss?”

“You couldn’t have picked a better time?”

“I don’t have a choice,” I said. “I’ll be quick as I can.”

“I’ll head back to work, then,” said Skyla. “I’ll message you, okay?”

“Sure.” I’d have to run if I wanted to make the meeting.

“I’ll come for moral support if you buy me a Coke,” said Alber.

I needed more than moral support. I needed a miracle.

* * *

KAY

“This is a disaster,” Markos said.

“No shit,” I said. Markos, Ellen, Lenny and I hovered around the main office the following afternoon, all in varying degrees of tiredness. Markos stood by a filing cabinet and occasionally shuffled papers. Ellen had given up on work entirely and was texting someone. And Lenny hadn’t stopped shaking. He’d been called out for questioning three times already—the rest of us had got off lightly with once each, but Lenny had made the mistake of admitting he’d been the last person to speak to Mr Clark before he’d died. It was obvious he was the least likely candidate to commit murder, but then again, there was no evidence to speak of.

With no one to leave instructions, we were at a complete loose end, turfed out of our old office, and most of the area was under investigation. Nothing was out of place; all the offices had been in the same state we’d left them at the end of the day. That was the last time we’d seen Mr Clark alive.

How could any of us have known that? Death wasn’t uncommon in the Alliance, by any means—the average guard ran into more than their fair share of near-fatal situations, and Ambassadors risked their lives every time they went into hostile offworld territory. The death list was a mile long. But there was a world of difference between that and a brutal murder right here at headquarters.

I’d been too rattled by the murder to sleep in the few hours at my apartment last night and now that I was wired on caffeine, hanging about the office all day was slowly driving me insane. I paced back and forth, counting the seconds to my next patrol shift so I could get the hell out of here and do something useful.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Markos. “Quit your bloody pacing. You’re making my head spin.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” I said. “It’s a waste of time us even being here.”

“Tell me about it,” said Ellen, yawning. “It’s all right for you guys. You have an alibi. I arrived ten minutes before Clark died and they’ve given me a right grilling.”

“It’s awful,” Lenny mumbled. “And that’s just the regular police. The Law Division’s going to be involved later, and then we’ll all be screwed.”

“Your optimism is infectious,” said Markos. “Where’s that idiot Aric?”

Good question. He had zero moral scruples, if the wyvern incident proved anything. But killing our supervisor? Even I thought he’d have to have a damn good reason. Besides, he’d been with us.

“No idea,” said Ellen. “That guy’s the most disrespectful ass I’ve ever met.”

Markos looked at me. “What’s your guys’ problem with each other?” I groaned inwardly. I was not in the mood to discuss Aric. Typically, we were both on the same patrol later. Someone up there was having a really good laugh at my expense.

“We both went to the Academy. He didn’t quite grasp that he needed to actually study and not try to bribe people to do it for him. He scored an ‘A’ in ‘Being a Twat’, of course.” I stopped pacing to open the window. It was too damn stuffy in here.

“Hmm,” said Markos, plainly not satisfied with that explanation. “He needs a reality check. Most offworlders wouldn’t stand for his bullshit.”

“Well, he must have got in on connections,” I said. “His family are offworld technology tycoons with links across three universes.”

“That explains it,” said Markos. “I tried to quiz him on the new restrictions in offworld trade. He didn’t seem to appreciate it.”

“Considering it probably lost his family a crap-ton of money, I’m not surprised,” I said. The Alliance were right to push up barriers on offworld trade, considering the absolute chaos that inevitably resulted when magic-based technology went wrong on worlds like Earth, where knowledge of magic was next to none. It was like time-travelling back to the Stone Age and handing out grenades.

“Most Academy graduates who come in here haven’t a clue how to deal with the reality of non-Earth negotiations,” said Markos.

“The Academy did cover offworld law, believe it or not,” I said, pacing again.

“Thought it was more about chasing monsters,” said the centaur.

“That too,” I said, and Ellen laughed.

“Sounds exciting.”

“Sounds mental,” said Lenny, shuddering.

“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” I said.

“Wow,” said Ellen. “I think I’m glad I went through an apprenticeship instead, but I always wondered.” She was still looking at me. “Did you get to go offworld?”

“Aside from the Passages? No. Guess they didn’t want a bunch of teenagers running amok with hover cars in Valeria.”

Ellen grinned. “Fair point.”

“Never been offworld?” Markos inquired, giving me an assessing look.

“Not yet.” I could have, since I’d turned twenty-one, but the permit application process was so long-winded and tedious that ultimately I’d decided to hold off until I’d graduated and had full access to the Passages and the main allied worlds as an Alliance employee. Now I was regretting that decision.

I paused by the filing cabinets at the office’s end, checking my communicator again. “Law Division’s coming down here this afternoon, by the look of it.”

“Crap,” said Lenny, paling. “They’re not going to arrest me, are they? I didn’t murder anyone. None of us did.”

Ellen sighed. “I think we should do something.” She indicated the walled-off section of the corridor outside, which led to Mr Clark’s office.

“Leave it to the Law Division,” said Lenny. “Can they use magic to track who killed him? Or weren’t there DNA traces or anything?”

“Apparently, the killer hid their tracks,” said Ellen. “Didn’t you hear them?”

“He was being questioned,” Markos reminded her. We’d all eavesdropped on one of the discussions that had taken place among the guards and law enforcement, in which it seemed apparent that the killer had somehow removed their own DNA traces from the victim.

Magic, was my immediate thought. Surely they’d have taken it into consideration. Though I had no idea how many magic-wielders there were at Central. I’d never met another. You couldn’t tell by glancing at someone. That was what made magic so damned unpredictable. I’d expected the question to come up when I’d been interviewed for the job here, but it hadn’t, so I’d played it safe. For all I knew, being a magic-wielder might work to my advantage later on, but I’d also discovered it while breaking the law. Not exactly something I wanted to mention on the job application.

“The Law Division. Christ.” Lenny shuddered.

“I wouldn’t have thought they’d get involved just yet,” said Ellen. “I know it’s murder, but there’s nothing offworld about it, is there?”

“Don’t be so sure,” said Markos. “Clark was strangled, but it could have been done with magic. If they’d had a source. A stunner wouldn’t do it. They should have magic experts on the case soon, I’d assume. In a place like this, sad to say, it’s always a possibility.”

Of course. It had slipped my mind that on Aglaia, Markos’s homeworld, magic was second nature, at least to humans. Centaurs, not so much. But there were bound to be more offworlders here.

“Interesting,” said Ellen, switching off her communicator. “I’ve always been intrigued how it works. Magic, I mean.”

Don’t be, I thought. If I never had anything to do with magic again, it’d be too soon. “Useful interest for a secretary,” said Markos.

“Everyone needs a hobby.”

“Looks like Clark’s cost him his life,” Lenny said, and I glanced in his direction. “He was poking into weird things when he died. So the officers said.”

Weird things. Bloodrock.

“He’s always had odd interests,” said Ellen.

“How long have you worked here?” I asked, out of curiosity.

“Two years,” she said. “It’s going to be weird without Clark here.”

“It is,” said Markos. “He was a good guy. Not that I’d normally say that about a human, but he was.”

It felt like I trespassed on a stranger’s funeral. I’d been here only a day. I hadn’t known Mr Clark, at all. And yet the image of the strange file on bloodrock was never far from the back of my mind. No—I was being paranoid. His death had nothing to do with that. Right?

But it didn’t take a genius to see the wrongness screaming out from the whole situation. Even the police’s interrogations were directed solely at people in the building. No one seemed to take into account the girl who’d broken into Central last night. I hadn’t seen her face, but like the bloodrock file, it kept coming back to me. I guessed the file was back in Clark’s office, and it took all my willpower not to pace in that direction to have a look.

Paranoia. Just paranoia.

Someone rapped on the door, making Lenny jump.

“Are you admin?” A fair-haired man opened the door. His name badge identified him as Alan Gregory.

“Yeah,” said Markos. “You know that, Alan. I’m the only centaur in the building.”

“All right, just checking. Your new supervisor’s been assigned. One Ms Danica Weston.”

Markos’s face pinched inwards. “Ouch.”

“I wouldn’t say that in front of her,” said Alan, withdrawing. “Best of luck.”

“Well, that sounds encouraging,” said Ellen. “Weston… crap. She’s not from this department.”

“She’s transferring over from the Law Division,” said Markos, forehead creased in a frown. “I’ve never heard of that happening before.”

“Well, what’s she like?” I asked, seeing as Lenny didn’t seem inclined to ask the obvious question.

Before anyone could answer, Alan opened the door again. “By the way,” he said, “the Law Division has sent out an official announcement. As of today, all patrols have new privileges, approved by the police… to arrest and apprehend anyone they find acting suspiciously in or around the Passages.”

“Wait, what?” said Markos.

“What I said. Who has a patrol today?”

“I do,” I said. “They’re giving us permission to arrest people?”

“So it would seem,” said Alan. “Good luck.”

“Well, damn,” I said. Okay, I’d been through the drill a hundred times at the Academy, but this had got serious fast. I’d never thought I’d have the authority to make arrests on my second day at Central.

Alan left, and I turned and saw Markos smirking at me. “What?” I said.

“Nothing,” he said. “I just find this amusing. You look so thrilled to be playing at law enforcement.”

“Ecstatic,” I said. I was fully aware of the irony, though there was no reason for the centaur to know I’d been arrested twice before. My record was clean, thanks to the Academy, who’d decided it was in the Alliance’s interests if the rest of the world didn’t find out it had been the youngest Walker who’d burned down the family estate. Besides, murder was a tad more serious than that brief spell of delinquency when I was sixteen. Markos’s questioning had lasted three times longer than mine had. He’d spent the past hour muttering about ‘bloody suspicious humans’.

“I wouldn’t think you’re off the hook,” said a voice from behind a filing cabinet. I recognised it as Aric’s.

“What’re you doing back there?” Markos said. “Eavesdropping?”

“It’s a creepy habit of his,” I said.

“Doing my job.” Aric’s face appeared around the corner, levelled in a glare. “Getting the office ready for our new boss.”

“I thought we weren’t allowed back in the office,” said Ellen, putting her phone away.

“We are now,” said Aric, with an air of superiority. “Which you’d know if you weren’t slacking off over there.”

“Oh, pull your head out your ass, Aric,” I said, earning a neigh of laughter from Markos. “We’re coming.”

“You watch it,” said Aric. “I hear the Law Division thinks it was a rogue magic-wielder who killed Clark. You’d better watch your back on patrol later, Walker.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, scanning the message on my communicator screen to distract from the urge to punch him in the face. Crap. The Law Division really did suspect illicit magical activity. It was more than a theory.

And I knew already that in the Passages, it could be fatal.

6

Ada

“Nell’s going to kill me,” I said to Alber later. We hung out at a coffee shop waiting for Skyla to come and meet us.

“Yes,” he said, ever the supportive sibling. “She is. You really landed yourself in it now.”

Nell would not be happy that I was now officially unemployed. No job, and potentially on the Alliance’s “wanted” list. I’d really screwed up.

“That job was crappy, but at least it was paid.” I stared dismally into my hot chocolate like it could give me answers.

“Yeah. Should have heard Nell ranting the other night, when you were out. We’re in debt.”

“We’ve always been in debt.” I chewed on my lower lip. Stress habit. “I know. I should have… I don’t know. It’s done now. I’ll figure something out when we get home. If Nell doesn’t bury me in the garden.”

“Come on, Nell’s kind enough to give you the dignity of a quick death,” said Alber. “It’ll be painless.”

“What on Earth are you two talking about?” said a voice from behind us, causing me to jump and spill hot chocolate everywhere. Skyla had arrived, clad in leather—actual leather, not guard uniform. Probably meant she was hoping for a fight. For once, I was not.

“Ouch,” I said, dabbing at myself.

“You’re as twitchy as Nell,” said Alber. “Remember when she threw a knife out the window at me when I came home late?”

“Hey. No talking about my murderer. I want to enjoy my last hour on Earth in peace.”

“Do I really want to know where this conversation’s going?” asked Skyla.

“Lost my job,” I said. “As of tonight, I’ll be the first in the Fletcher family’s emporium of stuffed human corpses.”

Alber laughed so hard he knocked his glass of Coke over, too.

“You two,” said Skyla, shaking her head. “We should head out. Who are you meeting again?”

“Delta,” I said, waving my phone. Lucky bugger could leave Valeria whenever he wanted. Delta was always running around other worlds having adventures, or so it seemed to me. Hell, there wasn’t even an age restriction on travelling offworld. Earth’s Alliance was ridiculous in that respect. You had to be twenty-one to even apply for a permit, and all applications were Alliance-scanned, so I’d never have been able to leave Earth legally even if I’d wanted to. Right now, it felt like I’d got the shitty end of the deal. That could easily have been me, if Nell and I had been assigned to Valeria, not Earth. The offworlder population there was high enough that although using a magic-shot was illegal, it was easier to get away with it. And there were hover cars. But then again, I’d brought Delta for a tour of London and he’d been enraptured by the public transport system. Each to his own, I guess.

Still, talking to Skyla raised my spirits a touch. As it was light outside, we took our time getting to the alleyway which housed the entrance to the Passages, waiting to make sure no one was watching. Bruise-coloured clouds crowded over the brick buildings, promising a storm later. The biting air was far too cold for a summer evening.

“Are you sure it’s safe taking that stuff in there?” asked Skyla, with a glance at the bag. “Magic and the Passages don’t mix, do they?”

“This is dormant,” I said, shaking the bag. “Harmless, at least until you use it in a formula. Are you sure the Alliance patrols are running as usual? We can’t really afford anything else to go wrong.”

“I’ll go into the Passages, if you’re worried,” said Skyla. “I don’t mind, honest.”

I hesitated. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her—she was one of maybe five people who’d won my trust over the years—but the idea of handing over the bloodrock made the image of Nell’s stern face rise in my mind.

“I’ll take it,” said Alber. “You can be our lookout, right?”

No, I thought. Yeah, I’d had a close call, but it shouldn’t be this big a deal.

“Come on, we have to go,” said Skyla, and she found the sliding door behind the brick wall.

“See you in a bit, okay?” said Alber, and before I could protest, the two of them had disappeared into the Passages.

And I was left outside, on Earth, alone.

The minutes crawled by. I grew bored contemplating the cracks in the opposite wall and began surfing the Internet on my phone. I sent Delta a quick text warning him he’d not be meeting me, but didn’t get a reply. The magic from behind the door sparked against my skin, and it took supreme effort not to pull on it. It was like an addiction I’d been born with, a craving for something more than the life I had on Earth. It wasn’t fair to Nell at all, or to anyone else, but now, with all the Multiverse a mere foot away, the pull to explore ached within me, even more insistent than usual. It would take only three steps.

A scream rang out from the Passage. I jerked back, heart thumping, hand going for the dagger in my boot. Caution warred with instinct for a brief struggle, and then I ran through the door.

An icy breeze swept over me, and the magic exploded all around me like fireworks. Something had caused a major disturbance, and it definitely hadn’t come from Earth.

I ran, feet striking the stone floor and echoing off the walls. I was sure the scream had been Skyla’s. Skidding around a corner, I collided with Alber, and the two of us fell to the ground. He shook all over, and it was pretty obvious why.

A gigantic reptilian creature towered over us, at least eight feet tall, stooped under the ceiling and perched on two legs like a dinosaur with two short, skeletal wings. It opened its beak and screamed, and frantic scrambling sounds told me Skyla was trapped on its other side.

I recognised it from pictures, though I’d never seen one before. A wyvern. Where in hell had it come from? Stupid question, I thought, as its barbed tail flicked through the air, its deadly stinger aimed for the spot where I’d stood half a second ago. Those stings held enough poison to kill you in less than a minute. Icy fear flowed down my spine.

“Skyla!” I shouted. “Get out of there!” She lay flat on the ground, blood spattered around her, and my heart plummeted—please don’t let her be dead!

She pushed to her feet, breathing heavily. Wait, that wasn’t human blood. The wyvern was hurt, its wings covered in numerous deep cuts. But the monster was heading right for her, its back to me. I couldn’t get to her. Cursing, I let the magic flow to my fingertips and the response vibrated in my bones. I fired a bolt of energy at the ground and then jumped, the energy rebounding and striking the wyvern in its scaly hide. The beast roared, its barbed tail knocking into a nearby door. The resounding sparks of magic burned holes in its skin through gaps where someone had knocked scales off, and it flailed, tail thrashing with enough force to break concrete. The floor shook, and I took a couple of steps back. No amount of magic within my blood could save me from that poison. And its half-metre-long claws were equally deadly. They could tear you to shreds.

Skyla leaped out of the way of its swiping claws, slashing with a dagger. A hideous screech told me she’d hit her mark. Alber slumped against the wall, eyes wide in terror. He’d never been good at dealing with monsters. I made sure he was well out of range, and then ran forwards.

My own dagger ready, I leaped and struck the wyvern from behind. I’d never fought a creature with so much external protection, and most of my strikes simply bounced off its armour. I had to keep withdrawing out of range of its thrashing tail.

Worse, I didn’t dare use magic above level one, otherwise it’d blow the place up. Second level magic might pierce the armour, but I was losing power with every strike I aimed. Burnout? Or was its armour partly magic-proof?

This wasn’t good. Gathering energy in the form of a crackling red orb, I put everything I had behind the dagger in my right hand, and hurled it as the beast bowed its head. If I hit just the right point, it’d pierce through the brain.

I missed, and the dagger clattered away down the Passage, sending sparks of red magic rebounding after it. Cursing, I dodged the tail again and grabbed for my second dagger. The beast swung around, Skyla still clinging to its side and striking it with her weapon. Crap. Now it was between us and the door. A claw swiped and Skyla yelled, letting go. She rolled out of the way of its rampaging feet and came to stand at my side, but we were hopelessly outmatched. And if it moved a few metres to the left, it’d be loose on Earth. Where no one would arrive in time to keep it from attacking other people, because the Alliance didn’t know about that Passage.

Shit.

Skyla grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the way of a claw. The monster reared up to its full height, letting out a roar loud enough to make my eardrums hurt. Claws slashed madly, and the beast drove us farther and farther back, out into another, narrower corridor.

“We’ve got to lure it away,” I gasped, my dagger suddenly a flimsy knife in comparison to those claws.

“This way!” Skyla pulled me down a side tunnel, panting, hair plastered to her face with blood from a cut on her cheek. The wyvern screeched, angry its prey was escaping, and struck out. We backed up down the tunnel. The ceiling was narrow, so I’d hoped the wyvern wouldn’t be able to fit, but it dropped to the ground and began to slither in a rapid, snakelike movement. I knew we’d driven ourselves into a bigger trap. Skyla’s nails dug into my arm. We backed away, and as its teeth snapped, pure panic took over.

We ran, the beast’s cries echoing behind us, faster, faster—claws swiped at our backs and I felt my coat tear, shredded to ribbons. Another swipe, and the dagger clattered from my hand. No!

No time to stop. My heart pounded in tandem with our frantic steps. We ran through corridors even I didn’t know, until I skidded to a halt at a dead end.

Dead. We were dead.

Skyla leaned against the wall, gasping. “Shit. Shit.”

I looked around wildly. Nothing but blank, blue-lit wall… wait. One section of wall didn’t look right. A hidden staircase. I grabbed Skyla’s arm and pulled her towards it just as the wyvern came slithering into the corridor. Cursing, we scrambled up the stairs, higher up into the Passages—the first level.

And the wyvern was still following us. Crap. Crap. The corridor we stood in ended at another dead end. Only one way to turn, and we ran. I’d never been here before, not this part of the first level, I didn’t have a freaking clue where we were going, how we’d ever get back. But the only thing between us and death was running like hell, until we lost the monster. The roaring breath at our heels told me that wasn’t happening anytime soon. I couldn’t run forever. My muscles screamed, my legs ached, Skyla was chalk white and the cut on her face was streaming blood, and we couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t die in this place.

Corridor after corridor. A maze with no way out. And a monster raging behind us, getting closer–

It was too late to stop, to avoid running into the people suddenly up ahead…

Alliance guards.

* * *

KAY

Go time, I thought as we left Central that evening. The Law Division had sent out yet more alerts. London’s West Office had closed their Passage entrance, forbidding even people with permits to travel offworld. The UK Alliance had put Earth’s main corridor, used by people from hundreds of worlds, on lockdown. They really did think there were illegal magic-wielders out there. Carl had given us each a pair of metal handcuffs along with the standard stunners.

“They’re laced with obsidiate and adamantine,” he’d said. “Not that you’re likely to have to use them, but if you do catch a magic-wielder, it’ll incapacitate them. They’re rigged to go up to second level with no more backlash than a gun’s recoil, but just be aware there’s a kick to it.”

I hadn’t missed the significant look Aric gave me. Maybe I should just lock him up in the handcuffs and leave him in a corner somewhere.

“Scared?” he whispered behind me at the door into the Passages. “There might be something dangerous waiting in the dark…”

I stepped back onto his foot. Hard.

“Bastard,” he said, between clenched teeth.

I turned to give him a humourless smile. “Shouldn’t startle me like that,” I said, softly. “It might well be your face next time.”

And then I followed the others, stunner at the ready in case he decided to ambush me from behind.

A clamour echoed from the corridor ahead. “There’s trouble,” said the leading guard.

I was already prepared, but a new tension seared my veins. I recognised that cry.

Wyvern.

I couldn’t help it—I glanced at Aric. If he had anything to do with this… but no. His eyes were stretched wide with terror, his face stark white.

We rounded a corner and met total chaos. Sparks of magic danced off the walls, creating a haze of blinding light, and I swore, flicking the stunner to life in my hand. I couldn’t see more than a few inches in front of me, and running headlong towards a wyvern blinded was the height of stupidity. But the others on our team were already on the case.

“I’m calling backup!” yelled the leader. “We’ll take care of the lizard—stop those magic-wielders!”

Hell. Those sparks were pure, raw magic energy—level two. These were the real deal, all right. Blurred figures moved in the dark, and when one of them pelted towards the exit, I took off after them.

I might have been blinded, but I was faster than they were—faster than she was. My arms locked around her waist and sent us both sprawling to the ground. She kicked and squirmed but I held her pinned down. Screaming curses, she twisted around to glare at me from behind wild dark red hair. She was little more than a kid, I realised—but I couldn’t afford to let her get away.

I went for the handcuffs. And the floor beneath us began to shake.

Damn. She’d hit the ground with magic, and with us both down, the backlash could hit either of us. I had the advantage of magicproof uniform, but she didn’t. An untrained magic-wielder? Dangerous, whoever she was. I dragged her away from the backlash, a ripple that pulsed through the air from the spot that she’d hit. The magic was so thick here, I could see the backlash ripple outwards, strike the wall, and rebound. Swearing, I ducked, and the girl took the opportunity to squirm out of my grip. Oh no, you don’t.

I lunged forward and grabbed for her leg, cursing the lights that blurred my vision. Another cry came from up ahead.

“Get away from me!” she screamed, as my hand locked around her ankle. “Let me go, you bastard–”

The air exploded with magic again. I lay flat and it bounced over my head, and the girl threw herself to the ground, too. She clearly didn’t have a clue what she was doing, and if she didn’t stop, this place could blow sky-high.

“You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep doing that.” I pulled on her ankle, dragging her over the metal floor.

“I’m not doing that, idiot!” she yelled, twisting. I went for her shoulders instead and yanked her upright. We needed to get the hell out of this corridor. I couldn’t see the magic rebounding anymore, as it had disappeared into the general chaos. But it was still out there. I could feel it, the static buzz beneath my skin more pronounced than ever. Pushing magic’s temptation away, I tightened my grip on the girl’s shoulders. She swore at me over and over, kicking and hitting with elbows and knees, but I managed to manoeuvre the stunner to brush against the back of her neck, and flicked the switch.

The bolt had more recoil than I expected, vibrating through my hand and stopping as it hit the magicproof sleeve of my jacket. But it had a worse effect on the girl. She gasped, eyes widening, limbs shaking, and her knees gave out. I caught her before she fell, fighting the bizarre impulse to apologise. I gripped the back of her coat. It had been shredded, by the wyvern’s claws. She’d had a narrow escape.

“What have you done to me?” Her eyes glazed over, her teeth clenched in pain.

I didn’t answer. Where the hell were the other two guards? And Aric, come to that. Maybe that reckless magic shot had been his stunner, or one of the other guards’. No way to tell.

Get on with it, Kay. I took advantage of her weakness to get out the cuffs and clamp them around her wrists. The shock brought her back to life, and she fought every step. I steered her back towards the door outside. Hers were the frantic movements of an animal caught in barbed wire, and although it might have been easy to knock her out, it seemed wrong, somehow. Who was she? Outside the Alliance, the number of people who could use magic here on Earth was hardly worth counting. For all her flailing, I could tell she’d had some kind of combat training—but she’d been trying to get away, not do serious damage.

“Let me go!”

A bolt of magic shot over both our heads. I pulled us both to the ground. Someone else was throwing magic around in here. And judging by the vibrant red colour of the energy stream, it was someone with a stunner. Aric.

Moron. He should know that firing the stunner into empty air in the Passages was a stupid idea if you wanted to get out with all your limbs intact. Not that Aric specialised in common sense, but still. The girl was wriggling away from me again, kicking out with her thick combat boots.

“Dammit, Aric,” I muttered, pulling her to her feet again. “You’re going to draw every magic-eating monster from the lower level.”

“You deserve it,” the girl said through clenched teeth. Her eyes were still glazed. The cuffs were only supposed to have one jolt of magic, so… she had an internal source. Had to be.

Goddammit. I dragged her down the corridor by the hands. She fought me every step of the way, and yet she was weakening.

You wouldn’t find someone with inbuilt magic wandering the streets on Earth. Was she even from Earth? She didn’t look British, but I couldn’t put my finger on what was different about her, what might point to her being offworld. Her skin was tan, and her blue eyes were a shade too bright to be natural. Contacts? Her hair was obviously dyed, but that didn’t tell me much.

“Get these freaking cuffs off me,” she snarled, trying to grab at the edges of the door. One more step and we’d be outside.

And then the Passage behind us exploded. Once again, the two of us were sent flying. After the Passages, the shock of hitting the rock-hard tarmac was jarring as I rolled over to avoid the impact, but it was worse for the girl, who’d been flung sideways into the brick wall.

I twisted around in time to see Aric fall out of the Passage, swearing.

“The hell happened to you?” I said, getting to my feet and walking over to the girl. She lay in a crumpled heap, a bruise swelling on her forehead. I tried not to hurt her any more when I pulled her to her feet again by her cuffed hands.

“Wyvern,” said Aric, not sounding nearly as cocky as usual. “They got it, though—wait, who’s that?”

“Trespasser,” I said. Wow—that was almost a civilised conversation.

The two other guards came out of the Passage, dishevelled and covered in dust.

“There you are,” said the lead guard. “You caught one of them?”

The girl spat blood at them, and the two guards moved out of the way.

Aric said, “I think we need to teach this one respect.”

“We’ll take her into custody,” said the guard. “Good job. Want me to cuff her ankles?”

“Knock her out,” said Aric, looming over her.

“None of that,” I said, stepping between them. “We’ll take her back to Central. Right?” I looked to the others for confirmation.

“Yeah. But at least one other trespasser ran away.”

And the other glared intensely at me. “They’ll kill you,” she said. “You’ll be sorry.”

7

Ada

Captured.

Alliance Guy had a firm grip on my upper arms, just tight enough to tell me there was no chance I was getting away. Bastard. I’d never, ever been overpowered so easily. In the times I’d watched the guards patrolling, I’d never considered how downright terrifying it would be to encounter them up close. From a distance, they’d been a source of fascination to me. I’d wondered what their lives were like, if they lived one step apart from the world like I did, unable to connect with normality. Now, I wished I’d never seen them. In particular, the guy who’d appeared from the shadows like a freaking ninja and presumed to lecture me.

Two other guards walked a few feet in front, a man and a woman, and a second man was behind, the blond, muscular guy who’d threatened me. He kept glaring at me, and though I did my best to glare back, I couldn’t stop shivering. The shock from the handcuffs had left me weak and shaky, and my feet dragged on the ground as Alliance Guy steered me down a road—not the alleyway, but somewhere else. Now the haze of magic from the Passages had faded, I could see the tall dark shape of the Alliance’s Central Headquarters over the rooftops.

Oh, God. No.

No escape. Nowhere to run. I hadn’t seen where Skyla went. Skyla had set off a magic-based firework-type device to distract the guards after the wyvern had fled—whatever the guards had done to it sent it packing. Alber had presumably got away. That was something, at least, but I was still a prisoner.

Hopelessness burrowed in my chest. I had no magic, and they had those freaking Taser-like things. Alliance Guy could have killed me when he’d zapped me. It had been like an electric shock right through my bones. Level two magic, at least. I didn’t think that was even allowed in the Passages. But these guys were the Alliance’s police force, effectively. They could do whatever the hell they wanted.

Nell was right. I should never have assumed I could get away.

I recognised the street now. It was the same one I’d fled down from Central. The gate was locked, but one of the Alliance guys was already unlocking it. I tilted my head to look up at the guy holding me in case his attention had slipped, but it hadn’t. His eyes were such a dark shade of brown they appeared almost as black as his hair, and narrowed when he saw me watching.

The blond guy closed in behind me. “I’ll take her from here.”

“Leave it,” said Alliance Guy, the slightest tension in his voice. Okay, I could tell these two didn’t like each other. Maybe I could use that to my advantage.

I pretended to lose all strength in my legs, going limp.

Alliance Guy tightened his grip in response and held me upright. Well, it was worth a try. Now I paid attention, I realised that my coat was shredded, and there wasn’t a whole lot holding it together. The beginnings of another scheme began to materialise.

I let myself go limper. The other guard finally looked away to follow the others through the gate. My sleeves—or what was left of them—rubbed against the handcuffs. Only Alliance Guy’s eyes were on me now… I slumped my shoulders, and his grip on me slipped. Just for an instant, but it was enough. I moved fast, tearing free of my coat, and sprinted for my life.

“Shit!” Alliance Guy came after me—damn, he was fast—and caught me before I’d moved more than a few metres. I came down on my knees, hard, and clenched my teeth to stop myself making a sound.

Before I knew it, Alliance Guy lifted me off the ground and slung me over his shoulder. If there was one thing I hated, it was being carried. I abandoned all pretence and tried to kick him, but the other guy had already grabbed my legs.

“I’ve got it, Aric!” snapped the first guy. But Aric had already yanked me free of Alliance Guy. I choked as Aric’s hands closed around my throat.

“Stop that,” snapped Alliance Guy. “That’s not necessary.”

“She’s a dangerous criminal,” snarled Aric. “She tried to run.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

Aric’s grip tightened. Spots danced before my eyes. My throat burned.

“Get off her.” The pressure loosened. Alliance Guy’s hand gripped Aric’s, forcing him to loosen his hold. I gasped.

Aric hissed between his teeth. “Get your fucking hands off me, Walker.”

“Stop choking her,” said Alliance Guy and squeezed harder on Aric’s wrist. Aric let go, cursing. There was a scuffle and a yelp of pain, and suddenly, it was Aric pinned to the wall. Instinct took over and I stumbled away—damn these handcuffs!

“She’s getting away!” yelled a voice from ahead. Crap—the other two guards had turned back.

Alliance Guy—Walker?—cursed and spun around, and then both he and Aric were bearing down on me. I tripped over the kerb and fell, knees striking the hard ground again. Hands grabbed me, and I kicked out. My foot connected with someone. I twisted to see who. Oh, crap. I’d hit Walker instead of Aric, my combat boot catching him in the face. Oh, well. They both deserved it. Yeah, he might have stopped Aric strangling me, but he’d put the cuffs on me in the first place.

“Jesus Christ,” said Walker, hauling me to my feet. He ran his free hand over his rapidly bruising face. I couldn’t have responded even if I’d had a clue what to say, as my throat was still raw from Aric’s half strangling me.

“Is there a problem back there?” another guard demanded.

“We’ve got it,” said Walker, apparently oblivious to the blood dripping from his nose. And he didn’t let go of me again.

Aric glared daggers at both of us. If looks could kill… But then, Walker was pretty scary-looking, too, with his face covered in blood. There was absolutely no mercy in his expression now. His pitch-dark eyes were trained on me.

Holy crap. I’d really landed myself in it this time, managing to piss off an entire Alliance guard patrol.

Still. I could glare back. And did so. It was the one defence I had left.

Walker didn’t let go of me until we’d reached Central. Another group of guards had gathered by this point, surrounding us and asking questions. I tuned them all out, concentrating on finding a way I could escape. Opportunity was key, and I had no intention of squandering my chance. Perhaps they’d take the cuffs off when we got in the building.

“Right, we’ll take her from here,” said one of the guards, and Walker handed me over to them. Like a freaking game of pass-the-parcel.

“Sure.” He glanced at me, like he wanted to say something else, then shook his head.

And then I was left alone with the other guards. A sinking feeling descended. Had Alber made it home? Did he know I’d been captured? What about Skyla? Was our house safe—were the refugees safe? Too much to worry about.

And the guards were taking forever. The one who held me had a hand on my back, but relaxed, and he wasn’t looking at me.

I moved, quick as I could, ducking out from under his hand and sprinting through the guards. But I didn’t even make it a metre. A heavy body slammed down on top of me, knocking the wind from my lungs. I gasped for air, blood filling my mouth. I’d bitten my tongue again. Spitting out blood, I kicked blindly at the guard. Without magic, I was useless. I’d never pushed it to its limits before like that, and now I was on Earth, I’d lost my edge. But I had the feeling the cuffs were doing something to me, as well. The burning sensation wasn’t because they were too tight, but it was like a pressure lay on whichever part of me could use magic, making me weak and shaky. I hated it. God, I hated it. It was the stark opposite of the static buzzing of magic in the Passages.

The guards dragged me in through the glass doors at the front of the building, into the biggest entrance hall I’d ever seen in my life. Tall glass elevators waited at the end, while countless doors led off to the sides. Everything gleamed. Adamantine. The cuffs must be made of the same stuff, I realised—antimagic. They were quite literally magicproof.

Damn. I’m screwed.

The guards steered me towards the elevators, but then veered off to a staircase nearby. As they lifted me clean off the ground, blind panic took over. I kicked out at the guards, but there were many of them and only one of me. Two guards carried me downstairs, ignoring my feeble attempts to break free.

Into a corridor lined with rooms. First door on the left—I made sure to memorise the way out. The door led into another corridor with yet more doors. One door was pushed open, and I was carried inside. The guards sat me down on…a bed? The room was bigger than my bedroom at home but with no windows, and bars over the small one in the door. It had only two pieces of furniture—a sink in the corner and the bed I sat on.

“You’ll spend the night here. Your questioning will take place tomorrow.” They said more words, but everything blurred together. Unbearable tiredness descended on me. It was so wrong. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be a prisoner. But I was, and they were removing my boots. They did another weapon search, and when I elbowed the guard—who I was positive was feeling me up—he actually hit me. The sharp pain across my face threw me back onto the bed.

“Don’t hit her!” said another guard. “We’re not supposed to harm her. She’s hurt already.”

The first guard glared at me, and left the room. When one guard remained—I could tell he was senior because of the badge on his jacket, and the long scar on his face told me he’d had a close call with a monster before—he said, “I’m going to remove your handcuffs. If you attempt to fight, I’ll put them back on.”

Yeah, that’s pretty clear. At least this guy—Carl, his badge said—wasn’t as much of an asshole as the other dude. I didn’t fight when he removed the cuffs. The sight of the number of guards crowded outside the door had squashed that notion entirely.

He withdrew from the room, and the door closed.

I was a prisoner of the Alliance now.

I bit my lip. I wasn’t going to break down. Okay, so nothing like this had ever happened to me in my life. And yes, I’d probably deserved to get knocked down a peg for being so convinced I could get away with breaking the Alliance’s rules. But this…

I was powerless to help anyone. Not my family. No one from Enzar, either. And now the Alliance was on full alert. And they might suspect me of murder, too.

I just wished I knew more about the Alliance’s Law Division. I’d broken no overly serious laws, not that they’d seen. I’d trespassed in the Passages, used magic, and brought others into it. That was all. I’d pretend I’d been curious for a glimpse of another world. People had got away with that with a slap on the wrist. Or a night in here. Nell said even some of the Academy kids sneaked into the Passages for a laugh when they weren’t yet at that level. Okay, so the timing wasn’t perfect. But they had no grounds on which to convict me. If Alber and Skyla had got away, they wouldn’t even know about the bloodrock.

But there was a tight feeling in my chest. I flexed my wrists, half-expecting to find burn marks from the handcuffs. I wondered how many people they arrested for using magic. It wasn’t technically a crime—but in the Passages, it was illegal, of course.

You’re going to hurt yourself. I clenched my fists as Walker’s words replayed in my head. Condescending dickhead. Did I know magic was dangerous? Of course I did. The idiot who’d been firing his Taser in the Passages had done more damage than I had. When I recovered the magic that lived under my skin, I’d be out of here.

I hoped.

* * *

I must have fallen asleep, because I jerked awake when someone turned the key in the lock. I sat up, wincing as the bruises all over my body made themselves known. I’d struck the wall pretty hard in the street. Plus, my knees had taken a beating when I’d fallen onto the pavement. I was pretty sure nothing was broken. My eyes stung a little, but I didn’t dare remove the lenses.

I tensed up as the door inched open. A woman came into the room. Japanese, probably about ten years older than me, a badge saying, “Medical Division” pinned to her shirt. She carried a clipboard, and when she met my eyes, her expression wasn’t unkind.

“I just need to check you over,” she said. “I’m Saki.”

I gritted my teeth together, but she was surprisingly gentle when she gave me a once-over. I kept my eye on the unguarded door. When she moved to my left arm, I prepared to run. And then she pulled out a syringe.

“I’m going to take a blood sample…”

No. I stuck out an elbow. Saki let out a squeak of surprise as it connected with her chin, but I was already at the door, opening it–

Crash. Stars winked before my eyes as a sharp object caught me on the skull. Ouch! She’d hit me with the clipboard. My hands scrabbled at the door, but Saki twisted my arm behind my back so hard, and so unexpectedly, I yelped aloud. Running footsteps sounded, and guards came into the room, surrounding me. Hands held mine behind my back, while several others restrained me.

“Get the cuffs!” one of them shouted.

And just like that, I was cuffed again. My hands locked behind my back—and my ankles too to add insult to injury. The energy drain was so intense, I slumped onto the bed, feeling like the life was being sucked from my body. I couldn’t sit up, even when they surrounded me. Someone stuck a syringe in my arm. I managed one last kick, but missed. My legs felt like lead.

“Get…the hell away…from me,” I whispered, as the world faded away.

8

Kay

I paced by the window, which looked out over the car park, the Thames and the glittering skyscrapers beyond, waiting for Ms Weston to call me into her office. Each of us had a mandatory meeting with the new boss. And I felt like the universe had literally kicked me in the face.

“What the hell happened to you?” asked Markos, cantering past with a cup of coffee in each hand.

“Lost a fight with a door,” I said absently, then cursed myself for the stupid lie.

“Looks like it kicked you,” Markos commented.

Crap. Was it really that obvious? On the drive back from Central, the blood on my face had freaked out a few people, who’d probably assumed I was a murderer coming back from burying his latest victims. But I’d been too out of it last night to look at the damage. Not like it was the first time I’d been in a fight.

Now, I glanced at my reflection in the window. Dark circles under my eyes—nothing new there—and the unmistakable, bruise-coloured imprint of a boot across the bridge of my nose. Damn. No getting around this one.

“By the way, you’re up next. Good luck.”

Okay. Time to face the new boss. Hope this one lasts longer than a day, I couldn’t help thinking morbidly, as I headed to her office. They’d already removed the sign with Mr Clark’s name from the door. I knocked, wondering if it wasn’t the tiniest bit unnerving to occupy the room where someone had been murdered not long before.

One glance at Ms Weston told me she wasn’t the type of person to get unnerved at such things. She had the manner of a severe schoolteacher, and her appearance was as impeccable as her desk, some achievement in itself, given what a state it had been in when Mr Clark had been here. I guessed the police, or the Law Division, had taken everything away.

“You’re Kay Walker.” She studied me, indicating I take a seat. “And you started working here recently?”

“Just two days ago.”

She said nothing for a few long moments. I was pretty sure her intense stare was focused on the boot-shaped mark on my face. But she hadn’t commented on my name, which was a surprise.

“I can imagine it’s been quite eventful for you,” she said. “Your supervisor murdered, and you’ve already made your first arrest.”

“Is the girl still here?”

Ms Weston’s eyes narrowed at the question. “She is in the holding cells. I am planning to question her myself, and then we will decide the next step. Can I have your exact account of what happened?”

She didn’t look away once as I recounted the patrol last night, including the wyvern, and the other trespasser.

“The girl has accomplices,” Ms Weston said. “She talked to you?”

“Not really. She was mostly trying to break free.”

“Yes, I gathered she put up quite the fight.” Oh, she was staring at the footprint, all right. I only hoped Aric had kept his mouth shut about our tiny disagreement.

I didn’t say any of this to Ms Weston, who continued to watch me. I could tell she was the type who stared until you backed down. When I still didn’t look away, Ms Weston finally spoke again. “You showed initiative, I’ll give you that. But the situation…it should not have happened. The wyvern’s attack made what should have been a straightforward arrest into a more complicated scenario. I’m going to need you to fill out these forms.” She slammed a stack of papers on the desk. “We need a full account from the person who made the arrest. I’m going to talk to your comrades who were patrolling that night, and to the girl, too. But first, I want you to talk to her.”

What? “I thought you planned to interrogate her.”

“I plan to try different questioning tactics. It may be that she responds better to you, seeing as you showed her…mercy.”

Aric said something to her. Interrogation hadn’t been on the job application, either. Okay, so one of the primary tasks of an Ambassador was effective communication with people from offworld. But interrogating her?

“Sure, I’ll talk to her,” I said. “I don’t think she’ll be inclined to give up information, though.”

“You say you think she has instinctual magic?”

“I can’t think of any other way she could have done what she did. Not without, I don’t know, a talisman or something. A source.”

“You think she’s from offworld.”

“Perhaps.” It bothered me how difficult it had been to tell, considering I could usually discern someone’s homeworld at a glance, or at least if they were from one of the allied worlds. She was a mystery.

“Haven’t you seen her yet?” I couldn’t help asking.

“She has been sedated for most of the morning. She attacked the nurse who went in to check on her injuries.”

I couldn’t say I was surprised. “And you think she’d be willing to have a civilised conversation?”

Her eyes narrowed, registering the touch of sarcasm. “I want to see what you can do, Kay. These are hardly ideal circumstances, but I was intrigued to meet the youngest Walker.”

That was the first time she’d acknowledged my name. And I had the odd sense that she’d done it on purpose. To get a reaction, maybe.

“Then I hope I’m not a disappointment,” I said.

“I hope not, Kay. Take those.” She tapped the pile of papers. “Bring them back to me as soon as you can. Also, this.” She stacked another file on top. “Return it to the archives.”

“Okay,” I said, taking the stack of papers. The Law Division was single-handedly responsible for the destruction of the rainforest, apparently. “When should I speak to the girl?”

“I will send for you when I receive word that she’s woken up,” said Ms Weston, with a dismissive wave.

That went well, I thought, leaving the room. And if there was one thing I hated, it was tedious paperwork.

“What’s all that?” Markos asked, raising his eyebrows at the stack of papers as I set them down on the desk.

“Our new boss decided I have to file a report on last night,” I said. “Or about a hundred of them.”

“She did? Good luck with that. I’m up to my neck in old files.” Papers were scattered all over the standing desk he worked at, too. Central preferred reports to be handwritten, firstly because handwriting was hard to fake, and secondly due to the frequency of technological meltdowns inevitable in a place which had so much contact with magic.

“Have you spoken to her?”

“I have. She didn’t laugh at my jokes.”

“I can’t imagine why,” I said. “Can’t say I know what to think of her. Except I don’t think she accepts any bullshit.”

“Yeah, I got that impression,” said Markos, tapping a pen on the desk. “She scared the hell out of Lenny.”

“Do the police still think he killed Mr Clark?”

“They’ve handed the case over to the Law Division,” said Markos. “I don’t think any of us are under suspicion anymore. Not now that girl’s been caught.”

“You think she’s a killer?” I put down the papers, frowning. However hard she’d fought, she hadn’t drawn her weapons. She’d been desperate, but not enough to use magic above first level, though if she really did have an internal magic source, she’d certainly been capable of it. Even more so with all the level two shots flying around the Passages then. Third level killed in a heartbeat. She could have done it at any point before the cuffs touched her. But she hadn’t.

“I don’t know. I never met the girl. Looks like she gave you a rough time, though.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ll live. I think she was aiming for Aric.” Judging by the guilty look on her face, I’d say so, anyway.

“Bad luck.”

“Ms Weston said I have to go and talk to her. She didn’t say that to you too, did she?”

“No. Is it because you arrested her?”

“I’ve no idea. I doubt she’ll tell me a thing. Most prisoners aren’t inclined to disclose information.”

“Perhaps she thinks you can charm the girl,” the centaur said. “Or perhaps she thinks it’ll be a laugh.”

“I doubt that,” I said, shook my head, and turned back to the files.

After going over the story yet again, I switched to autopilot and began thinking about how odd it all was. Was the girl really linked to the killer? If not, then who was she? And this questioning… it felt like a test. More like she wanted to find out about me than the prisoner. I didn’t care for that at all.

I turned over the last page, and a file fell onto the desk. It was the one Ms Weston had told me to return to the archives–and I recognised it as the same file I’d fetched for Mr Clark. The bloodrock research he’d been reading the day he’d died.

I opened the file. “PROPERTIES OF BLOODROCK” read the page’s header. Below, a standard list for logging offworld substances. I’d seen them before, as it was required to fill out one of these files for everything brought to Earth from offworld. The Alliance were sticklers for keeping paperwork up to date. This particular file was twenty-five years old. And the name of who’d logged the information leaped out like a neon sign.

LAWRENCE WALKER.

I held the paper carefully, willing my hands to stay steady. A creeping feeling crawled up my spine, and I glanced over my shoulder. No one else was here, as Markos had left the office to hand the papers he’d been filling in back to Ms Weston. Calm down, Kay. This didn’t mean anything. My father was one of the eminent members of the Alliance, for God’s sake, even if he’d left Earth years ago. His name was probably on half the files in the archives. Like Markos had said.

Shaking off the momentary unease, I carried on reading.

“SUBSTANCE: POWDERED BLOODROCK (EARTH NAME). ORIGIN WORLD: UNKNOWN. THIS SAMPLE IS FROM ENZAR (L2D63-9), REGISTERED UNSTABLE).”

The word ‘unstable’ was crossed out, replaced with ‘DANGEROUS’.

Enzar. I frowned at the page. That was one world I knew next to nothing about. The Alliance had cut itself off from the Enzarian Empire after a war between those with magic and those without had begun to drag in other nearby worlds, too. It was too dangerous to interfere in full-scale magical warfare. But the nature of that warfare remained a mystery, at least to me. The Alliance hadn’t posted a single notice about it since the declaration of noninterference. Twenty years ago.

Perhaps something had happened to merit a cover-up. It wasn’t uncommon, as far as dangerous offworld substances were concerned—hell, the Alliance worked hard to make sure this kind of information didn’t fall into the wrong hands.

I checked the time on my communicator, tempted to make for the fifth floor and the archives—but Ms Weston had said I had to talk to the prisoner. Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was important.

Later, I told myself, turning back to the file and flipping over the page. It listed the qualities of this bloodrock substance: negligible on Earth, but on high-magic worlds, it could function as a substitute for virtually anything magic-related.

Jesus, I thought. No wonder it was listed as rare and unstable. In conjunction with other magic-based substances, it could act as an energy source. It could destroy whole universes—even knock the entire Balance out of sync.

Why in the Multiverse would the head of admin search out this?

I continued to read. “As the whereabouts and extent of this source are unknown, bloodrock is to be treated with caution and samples are not to be removed from storage.”

Had Ms Weston read this file? It didn’t seem like something a novice should be allowed access to. The Academy sure hadn’t covered offworld magic-based energy sources. The Alliance was understandably paranoid people would get stupid ideas. Even well-meaning scientists looking to save the planet. You couldn’t carry an unknown substance from one world to another and expect it to function the same. I could just picture idiotic teenagers getting hold of this bloodrock and using it to make fireworks or something. Not hard to imagine, because I’d been one of those idiotic teenagers, and hadn’t even known I was a magic-wielder until I’d first set foot in the Passages.

And this is why we don’t teach you about magic, kids. It was unbelievable how many people on Earth still believed in the inaccurate versions of magic popularised by TV and the media, even with the Alliance out in the open the past thirty years. Outside the Alliance and the Academies worldwide, knowledge of magic was minimal, and other worlds guarded their own secrets well enough that I could only imagine what was possible in high-magic worlds. It wasn’t like there was an official guide to magic, even an unauthorised one. The Alliance prized confidentiality above everything else.

Natural magic-wielders rarely surfaced independently. Yet it was possible. In the Alliance, magic-wielders who made Ambassador were often the first picked for missions. I’d prefer to keep it under wraps until then. If Aric kept his stupid mouth shut. Though I never intended to use magic again, I could at least use it to my advantage.

There was one page left in the file, and it was almost blank. Apart from a handwritten scrawl in the corner.

Recognition grabbed me. I knew that handwriting, though I couldn’t read the words—it was just a meaningless string of letters and numbers. But it brought back the reminder that even though he’d been on a distant world locked in stasis for the past five years, my father’s presence still lingered over my shoulder like a goddamned Cethraxian shadow-monster.

I flipped over the page, focusing on calming my breathing. No one had seen this. I never should have opened the file in the first place. It didn’t tell me anything useful. It sure as hell didn’t explain why Mr Clark had been murdered.

I closed the file, suddenly tired beyond belief. Focus. Time to get my head back in the present. I checked all the forms were in the right order—again—and looked up to see a woman glaring at me across the office. I hadn’t met her before, but her badge told me she was called Saki, and she was one of the Alliance’s nurses.

“You’re Kay Walker, right?”

“Yes…” Why did she keep looking at me like I’d drowned a kitten in front of her?

“You arrested the prisoner?”

“I did, yeah.”

“She attacked me.” Oh. “You might have warned me. Your report only said potentially dangerous. She could have killed me.”

“You seem okay.” Wrong thing to say. Her eyes flashed. Well, she didn’t have a freaking footprint across her face, did she?

“Potentially dangerous? She made for the door as soon as her handcuffs came off. I thought she was injured.”

“What?” I blinked at her. “She’s a prisoner. I’d be surprised if she didn’t make an attempt to get out, given the opportunity.”

Saki just glared harder.

“How the hell is it my fault?” I said.

“Someone removed her handcuffs.”

“Not me.” I stood. “Does Ms Weston want me to talk to her now?”

“I don’t have a clue.” Saki’s glare could give the new boss a run for her money. And then she turned her back and stalked out.

What the hell was up with her? I shook my head. Everyone on the first floor of Central had officially gone batshit insane.

I turned back to the file. Stop looking at it as if it’s going to burst into flames. It might not seem to contain any clues, and Ms Weston had told me to return it to the archives… but something about it still nagged at me.

Could there really be a connection between Mr Clark’s research and his death? It just seemed odd that a killer would target someone so innocuous. If they could get into Central undetected, which was supposed to be impossible, then surely they would have gone after a more senior Alliance member. And the killer hadn’t left a trail of bodies behind as they sneaked inside. They’d only targeted one person. There was nothing random about this murder.

Right now, I just wanted the damn file gone, put away, so I didn’t have to carry what felt increasingly like incriminating evidence. I scanned it again to make sure I had it memorised, and my communicator buzzed in my pocket. I found the blunt message: “Prisoner is awake. Please proceed immediately down to lower corridor, first staircase on the right from the entrance hall.”

I sighed. No time to get rid of this thing now. Instead, I left it on the desk with the other files. No reason to get anyone else wrapped up in Kay’s Conspiracy Theories.

Time to talk to the prisoner.

9

Ada

The world was hazy when I woke up. For an instant, I thought I was at home, safe in my box-like room. But then the blank, starless ceiling of the cell confronted me, and the cold, horrible pressure of the handcuffs on my wrists and ankles returned.

I managed to push myself to a sitting position on the bed. My limbs felt floppy, and my depleted energy hadn’t returned. What the hell had they drugged me with? The back of my throat was dry, and my body ached from the battering it had taken yesterday. Would they at least let me change clothes? Blood had soaked through my jeans from where I’d skinned my knees on the pavement, and my T-shirt was spattered with blood too. I wasn’t sure if it was mine or Alliance Guy’s.

Holy hell, I assaulted a guard. I wished I’d paid more attention to Nell’s lectures on the Alliance’s rules. They changed them every so often, and the actual punishment for, say, assaulting someone with magic wasn’t commonly known. I’d spent so much time around offworlders who came from places where one wrong word could lead to execution, it had made me distrust all authority. Whatever the Alliance’s reputation, this was twenty-first-century Britain. There was such a thing as the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Maybe I’d get a trial. But it wasn’t like I had a lawyer or solicitor on standby. Nell and I shouldered all the risks ourselves.

I stretched my neck, assessing my options. Should I say nothing, or tell a modified version of the truth? They hadn’t seen me use the Passages, and it had been so confused in there, they might not have spotted Skyla fleeing. Alber had been miles behind. I could say I’d gone in there alone, looking for a bit of fun. Nell had told me that wasn’t punishable by death. I had no clue where she got her information, but she’d told me that some of the kids at the Academy sneaked in there for thrills when they were too young to be allowed to. She’d learned that from one of our sources a couple of years ago, when the Alliance had upped their patrols near the Academy after something had happened in the lower-level Passages involving students there. That seemed likely, from what I’d heard of Academy students—they were all privileged rich kids who’d been brought up knowing about the Multiverse, probably even getting to travel offworld. Lucky bastards.

It looked like a partial lie might be my only option. Not like there was much else I could do locked up here. The cuffs were loose enough not to rub against my skin on my wrists and ankles, but now I’d slept a little, it was clear that they’d drained the magic out of me. It was something I’d always taken for granted, even if I knew it shouldn’t be here, even if I knew I couldn’t use it to its full extent. Like a sense I’d been half-aware of had been abruptly cut off. It hurt.

I sat bolt upright as the door opened. Alliance Guy—Walker, whoever he was—entered the room. I stared. The image I’d had in my head was of a lean and menacing black-clad Alliance guard with pitiless eyes—this guy, dressed in standard office clothes, a plain dark shirt and trousers, looked surprisingly ordinary. And it threw me off to see the imprint of my own combat boot in vivid bruises across his face. I completely forgot what I planned to say.

“What do you want?” I asked, hoarsely.

He ran a hand through his dark hair. “I’m supposed to question you.”

“Ask away,” I said, shifting against the wall. “I’m not going anywhere.” But my gaze still darted over to the door. He saw and closed it behind him, not taking his eyes off me. To my own annoyance, a part of me couldn’t help noting he was pretty good-looking, under the bruises.

But we were alone in here, and I was cuffed, powerless. A shiver broke out across my skin.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

Sure you aren’t. My entire body went tense, and I fought the urge to shrink back. I couldn’t afford to let him know how intimidating it was to be trapped like this. But he didn’t take a step closer to me. He remained by the door, his gaze steady.

“What were you doing in the Passages?”

Straight to the point, then.

“Like I’m going to tell you, Walker.”

His eyes narrowed, just slightly. “Don’t call me that. My name’s Kay. What’s yours?”

I blinked. So we were exchanging names, now?

“Ada.” And that was all he was getting out of me.

“You’re some kind of natural-born magic-wielder, aren’t you?”

I stared back, unable to hide my surprise. Of all the things to focus on, I hadn’t expected that.

“Is that such a strange question?”

I couldn’t read his expression at all. He was far better than I was at hiding what he was thinking. “Considering Earth’s so low-magic? Yes.”

“I don’t think you’re from Earth,” he said.

My blood ran cold, and I shifted back against the wall.

“I don’t think my life’s any of your business,” I said, and then cursed my own idiocy.

“You are from another world.”

“I didn’t think it mattered,” I said. “You’ve already arrested me.”

“On the contrary, it does matter. If you’re from offworld, then we would need to speak to a representative from your homeworld and refer to the relevant section of the treaty to ensure our disciplinary actions didn’t contradict any of your laws.”

“Are you a lawyer or something?” The offhand way he’d recited all that sounded like someone reading from a textbook. I get it. The sophisticated speech, the total assurance of authority, the way he’d chased me down, hadn’t hesitated for a second before zapping me with that Taser… this was an Academy graduate, all right. And I had reason enough to hate him already.

“No, I’m not. You probably need one, though. How did you come to be on Earth?”

I clamped my mouth shut and gave him my best Death Stare. He didn’t even blink. I guessed Alliance guards were used to hostility.

“Easy way or hard way, Ada. I doubt my boss will be as lenient as me, so the more questions you answer, the easier it’ll be on you.”

“All right!” I snapped. “I get it.”

“So, tell me where you live.”

“Cockfosters,” I snapped.

He raised an eyebrow. “It’d be nice if you took this seriously, Ada.”

“It is a real place.”

“I know that.”

“Then why not believe I lived there?” I hadn’t lied, though technically I lived just outside the area. It’d be worth it to wind up these Alliance guys, though. Because maturity was totally worth it at this point.

Kay took a step back, gaze darting to the door and then back at me. Maybe he thought I was trying to distract him so I could make a run for it. Not like that was happening while I was still chained up.

“All right. Who do you live with? Alone? With parents?”

I turned away, examining the opposite wall.

“Come on, Ada. There was at least one other person with you in the Passages, wasn’t there? You were coming back to Earth. So you’re based here. You sound like you were raised here in the UK, in London… but you’re not originally from Earth. You grew up here, I’d guess. Adopted?”

Damn those cutting eyes. I clenched my jaw, leaning back against the wall.

“I have to admit, I can’t figure out which world you’re from. Your hair’s dyed and you’re wearing contacts, aren’t you?”

I stilled, my heart plummeting. How could he tell? No one had ever questioned whether the pale blue of my contact lenses was my real eye colour. There was no reason for me to worry about it. But if the Alliance knew, if they made me take the lenses out—it was the biggest giveaway of my homeworld.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Which world are you from?”

“You still think I’m going to answer your questions?”

“I hope you will, yes. It’ll save a lot of time and paperwork.” Was that sarcasm now? What next? Sure, he’d said he wouldn’t hurt me, and he hadn’t tried to get me back for kicking him in the face… but that didn’t mean I’d trust him in a million years. Not bloody likely.

“Afraid you’re going to be disappointed,” I said, closing my eyes.

“I’m more than willing to wait.”

I opened my eyes again at the sound of footsteps. But he hadn’t come near me. He was pacing the room, door to wall. Back and forth. He’d pulled out his communicator, though I had no idea what he was doing with it. Surfing the Internet? What right did he have to walk in here like he owned the place? Academy graduates. They thought they owned everything.

“That’s really annoying,” I muttered.

“There’s not much in the way of entertainment in here, is there?” He glanced at the cuffs on my hands. “Hmm. I heard you attacked the nurse.”

What was he doing, guilt-tripping me?

“It was worth a try,” I said, shrugging. “The door was open.”

There was the slightest twitch in his jaw, almost amusement. “I don’t doubt the logic there. But you know you’d be out of here faster if you just answered my questions.” He paused. Slid the communicator back into his pocket. “Did you kill Mr Sebastian Clark?”

I inhaled sharply. “You what? You think I’m a killer?”

“I asked you if you murdered him.” His manner was more serious now. If that was possible.

“No.” I shook my head. “Never. I’ve never killed anyone.” I glared at him. “Bet you have.”

Kay blinked. “I fail to see how that’s relevant.”

He had a point. But I’d taken him by surprise. Maybe I could press my advantage. Talk my way out of here. But I had a feeling Kay Walker would be difficult to trick. He’d got the measure of me in about half a second. As for him, all I could see was that he was younger than I’d first thought. He couldn’t be one of the senior Alliance members. So why had he been sent to question me?

“For the record,” he said. “The Alliance doesn’t kill people. Not from Earth, anyway. You’re under our protection.”

“Yeah, that’s reassuring,” I muttered. “Almost makes up for being locked in here. How long am I stuck here?”

He frowned. “I have no idea. The murder complicates things. Ordinarily, we’d refer to the usual procedure for someone trespassing in the Passages. If that’s all you were doing.”

“Is it so hard to believe it was?” I said.

“Perhaps. You just decided to take a trip into the between-world? Looking for thrills, or a glimpse of another world?”

“You say that like it’s unusual. I bet loads of people have done it.”

“They have,” he said. “But there was a wyvern loose in there. Those things don’t wander in by accident.”

Oh, he knew the Passages all right. Did the Alliance’s guards ever get to have any fun in the between-world, or was it all routine patrols for them?

“I don’t know,” I said. “It was just there. It attacked…me.”

“And your friend.” I glared. “I saw,” he added. “Someone created a diversion, but at least one person was spotted fleeing the Passages. Was it you who pulled the trick with the firework?”

I clenched my teeth together, not responding.

“You know you’re going to have to answer these questions either way, right? If you’re not a killer, there’s no reason to keep you here indefinitely. The faster you cooperate, the faster you get out.”

Damn him for speaking sense.

“Okay. Fine. There were… two of us. It was all my idea. The wyvern wasn’t.”

“Did you see where it came from?” There was something other than detachment in his tone now, like he genuinely wanted to know.

“No idea. Appeared out of nowhere.” Well, it wasn’t like I’d had the chance to ask Skyla or Alber what had happened. At least they’d got away.

“I’m going to have to ask you to give me your friends’ names. And your full name, too. How old are you?”

Oh, he thought I was a minor. Fan-freaking-tastic. Blame my Enzar heritage for ensuring I continually got mistaken for a sixteen-year-old.

“I’m twenty-one,” I snapped.

He raised an eyebrow. That gesture was starting to get on my nerves. “You look younger.”

“Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Just stating a fact. Your name?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Well, it’d make it a tiny bit easier to file your report…”

“I don’t give a crap,” I said. “You think I’m going to turn my friends over to the likes of you?”

“If you’re as innocent as you say you are, then it shouldn’t be a problem,” he said. “That was no normal firework,” he added. “It was magic. You shouldn’t be messing with that.”

“Wait, is this a safety lecture now? I thought it was supposed to be an interrogation.”

“Well, it would be helpful to know who taught you magic. Because they didn’t do a very good job teaching you the risks.”

Don’t even go there. No one insulted Nell and got away with it. “What the hell do you know?” I snapped.

“Well, for one thing, what you were doing is not something an Earth native would know how to do. Not unless they had a connection to the Alliance, or training from an offworlder with an appropriate qualification.”

“Are you trying to talk me to death?” I said.

“Just making sure you’re aware of the facts. Magic is a force, not a toy you can throw around. You could have hurt yourself.”

I glared mutely at him. It had been so chaotic in there, I wasn’t sure what had caused the place to light up, but it sure as hell wasn’t me. He was trying to trick me into admitting how much I knew. Like I’d fall for that one.

He took out his communicator again, tapping the screen.

“Looks like our time’s up,” he said. “It’s been a pleasure talking to you, Ada.” The sarcasm made me blink. Had he been putting on the serious-questioner act the whole time? I really couldn’t tell.

He left without another word. Great. I tried to shift position, but it was impossible to get comfortable with my hands and ankles cuffed. I’d been stuck here for hours. When did they plan on taking these things off?

I jumped as the door slammed against the wall. What now?

A woman came into the room. She was probably around thirty-five or so, with her dark hair clipped to chin-length and an expression on her face that could freeze water.

“Ada Fletcher,” she said.

My blood turned cold. How did she know my last name? I hadn’t told Kay. She approached me, slowly, not staying near the door like Kay had. The hairs rose on my arms. This woman, I had reason to be afraid of.

“You have been accused of a serious crime,” she went on. “A colleague of mine was murdered two days ago. You were sighted trespassing at Central on that same night, and yesterday, you were caught in the Passages, which are strictly off-limits to anyone without a permit who is not an Alliance employee.”

I was kind of tempted to ask if she intended to talk me to death. But I clamped my mouth shut. Insulting this woman would not be a wise choice.

“You are not an Earth native,” she went on. “The deception was quite well done, but we checked this…” And she pulled my provisional driving license from her pocket. Crap. They’d taken my purse from my coat—and my phone, too. How could I have forgotten that?

She saw the understanding in my eyes. “This is a fake,” she said. “Along with all your birth documents, I don’t doubt.”

“You went through my things.” Stupid, Ada. Way to state the obvious.

“Yes. We did. We have not yet managed to unlock your phone, but I’m sure it will tell us more.”

Not likely. I felt a flicker of pride for Jeth’s tech skills. No one could get into that phone but me. Even the Alliance couldn’t crack it, apparently. And if they did, it was programmed to wipe itself clean. They wouldn’t be able to get my contact details, or any of my friends’.

Didn’t mean they had the right to take my freaking phone, though. It was the most expensive thing I owned.

“You have nothing to say to that?”

“When are you going to let me go? I didn’t kill anyone.”

“You have broken several laws, Ada Fletcher. These forgeries are a concern too…but a human on Earth with inherent magical ability—it’s unheard of.”

“So what, it’s illegal for me to exist?”

“I did not say that. In fact, if your innocence was proven, you could be valuable to the Alliance. But there is the matter of your origin world. We don’t want to run up against any problems.”

“Seems like you have plenty of problems on your hands,” I muttered.

She raised an eyebrow, as if to say, “Go on”.

“Well, you haven’t caught the killer. I’m innocent. Maybe it was the same person who set the wyvern loose in the Passages.”

“Wyverns,” she said, “are not native to the Passages. They’re from Cethrax, and only come into the Passages when lured there. And you also used magic in the Passages, Ada. Magic always leaves a trace. We might not be able to pinpoint the user, but it’s plain to see that it was not one of our stunners.”

The Tasers?

I could do no more than sit in silence, hardly daring to breathe.

She continued, “Kay told me that he believes you have an internal magical source. Having examined all the possessions you carried in the Passages, we’ve concluded that the source is not external. On Earth, the low levels of magic in the atmosphere make it a physical impossibility for a person to be born with that ability. The way the cuffs affected you wouldn’t have happened to an Earth-born magic-wielder, so the only explanation is that you were born offworld.”

They knew too much. Far too much.

And then came the punch line: “We are currently testing a sample of your blood to determine your origin world.”

My blood. It was all I could do not to make a sound. I couldn’t meet her eyes anymore.

There was no hiding my own DNA. Soon, the Alliance would know I came from Enzar. And it was one small step from there to the rest of the truth. If I came from Enzar, someone had smuggled me out. Everything that Nell had worked her whole life for, everything we’d risked ourselves a thousand times over, and the countless people we’d saved—would be in danger.

The silence crushed me with its weight, and my skin was clammy all over. I could feel my composure—or what remained of it—cracking like fake glass.

“In the meantime, Ada,” said the woman, “we are not so unkind as to leave you here indefinitely. An escort will take you to the bathrooms in order to clean yourself up. You will also be given new clothes, and your cuffs will be removed. If you attempt to escape, it goes without saying that we’ll be reinstating them.”

That figured. Swallowing, I nodded. The door clicked open again, and I looked up to see two guards enter the room. Neither was familiar to me. I wondered how many employees the Alliance actually had. No matter. I was completely, hopelessly outnumbered.

I hated feeling weak. Hated the way the guards smirked at one another as they hauled me to my feet, and uncuffed my wrists and ankles. I was tempted to use my I know how to kill a man with my bare hands line, but these guys would probably laugh at me.

“Don’t let her out of your sight,” said the woman. I got a glimpse of her name badge under the light, “Ms Danica Weston: Supervisor”. “She’s a magic-wielder. Not from Earth.”

The smirks faded from the guards’ faces. Now they were all business.

Thank God none of them followed me into the bathroom. Not that I had an opportunity to escape either way—there were no windows, and Ms Weston herself stood guard at the door. I had a quick wash in the sink, as I was covered in grime from falling in the road and my knees were a mess of matted blood. Could be worse. The bruises weren’t too painful, anyway. I’d half-expected them to give me black faux leather to change into, but the T-shirt and trousers were made of soft material.

Even without the cuffs, I was still weaker than I’d have liked, though I walked upright amongst the guards as though they didn’t intimidate me. My mind raced every time I saw a gap where I might be able to make a run for it. There had to be a way…

I absently reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and stumbled forwards. The guards moved closer to me like they expected me to run, but I carried on walking obediently. Hoping they couldn’t hear my pounding heart.

My fingers had brushed against something metal behind my ear, something invisible. Something I thought I’d lost.

The earpiece from Jeth’s Chameleon.

10

Kay

Ms Weston cornered me as soon as I came out of Ada’s room. Or cell, really.

“Well?” she demanded. “What did she say?”

“She wasn’t very responsive, but she’s fairly easy to read. Has a temper, but she’s not a killer.”

“She could be a practiced liar,” said Ms Weston. Her expression challenged me.

“I’m sure she is, actually,” I said. “But she gives too much away with her body language. She’s hurt and angry, and not used to being under pressure, I’d guess.” That much I could read. But unless she started talking, we were no closer to finding out what she’d been doing in the Passages.

Ms Weston sighed. “You should have pushed her harder.”

“How so?” Come on, she didn’t seriously expect me to threaten someone who was cuffed and powerless. Or maybe she did. Should’ve sent Aric, then, I thought, and was glad she hadn’t. It was bad enough that they’d left the cuffs on. I didn’t particularly care for the memories it stirred up, of the last night I’d spent in a similar cell. I’d known warning her about magic would get a defiant response, but I’d at least had to try.

Ms Weston muttered something. I caught the word, “disappointing.” I knew it. She’d been testing to see what the youngest Walker was capable of. Well, tough shit. I’d rather be a disappointment than a sadistic bastard who’d get a kick out of tormenting a prisoner, guilty or not.

Using my calmest tone, I told Ms Weston everything Ada had let slip, including my suspicions that she came from offworld.

“Any idiot can see that,” she snapped. “She has inherent magic-wielding abilities—she’s either from one of the outer worlds, or…”

She trailed off. Her eyes cut right through me, and I was seized by a cold, horrible suspicion. I blinked, determined to meet her stare. “Or what?”

It can’t be. She couldn’t know—couldn’t know Earth had once been involved in magic-related experiments. It was impossible. How long ago had she joined the Alliance? Could she really have been there when…?

No. I was still shaken from what I’d read in that file. That was all.

Ms Weston drew in a breath. “I am going to talk to the prisoner. You go and finish filling out those files. Don’t disappoint me again.”

So she was going to interrogate Ada now. I wondered how that would go down. Not that it was any of my business.

* * *

Annoyance at the whole universe made it impossible to concentrate on anything all afternoon. I went in search of a caffeine fix, and took out my frustration on the vending machine.

“Watch out,” said Markos, passing by. “It might hit you back. Like the door.”

“Yeah, very funny,” I said.

“What the hell’s up with you?”

Where to bloody start? “Ms Weston,” I said, retrieving my espresso from the machine and heading back in the direction of Office Fifteen. “Also, the prisoner.” Markos on my heels, I went back into the office. “And Saki. Did someone send out a memo telling every woman in Central to yell at me?”

“I didn’t get it,” Ellen said, glancing up from the paperwork she was filling out. She smiled at me. At least one person wasn’t looking at me like I was the freaking criminal.

“Oh, poor you,” said Markos. “Weston’s terrorised almost everyone on the floor. I could hear her yelling at Aric from all the way over here.”

Well, that was the first bit of good news I’d heard all day.

“It was scary,” Ellen said. “I gathered he attacked the prisoner yesterday or something.”

“Yeah, because he’s a moron,” I said. “He tried to choke her. I stopped him, and that was when she tried to get away.”

“And kicked you,” Markos added.

“I wondered what happened to your face,” said Ellen, wincing. “Ouch.”

Would I never hear the end of this? I shrugged, took a sip of coffee. “We got her back to Central. She’s locked up now.”

“And you talked to her, didn’t you?” asked Ellen, eying me curiously. “Markos told me.” She held my gaze slightly longer than necessary, but not in a particularly unappealing way.

“Yeah. Couldn’t get any answers out of her.”

“It’s suspicious that she was in the Passages,” said Markos. “Right by Central.”

Suspicious. But we couldn’t rule out coincidence.

“She might just have been sneaking onto another world, when that wyvern jumped her.” That didn’t seem right, either. From her defensiveness, I figured she’d had a purpose of some kind. Something to hide.

“Maybe,” said Markos. “I heard Aric talking to Ms Weston about Academy kids sneaking into the Passages, when he could get a word in edgeways.”

Shit. “Yeah, it’s not uncommon,” I said.

“You broke into the Passages?” From Ellen’s tone, I knew what answer she expected. If Aric was putting it about, it was only a matter of time before the whole freaking office knew. Great.

“This is strictly off record,” I said in a mock-conspiratorial voice. “But yeah. A few times.”

“Ha,” said Markos. “Who is the girl, anyway? What’s she like?”

“Her name’s Ada. I don’t think she’s originally from Earth…this is off record too, by the way,” I added. “Ms Weston might not be thrilled to hear us talking about it. We’re supposed to leave it to the Law Division.”

“Oh, screw them,” said Markos. “I think we can do a little investigating of our own.”

I hesitated to share my suspicions with the others—partly because they weren’t based on much more than paranoia. And partly because I wasn’t a freaking detective. I just wanted to do my job. Ever since I’d driven into Central for the first time, it seemed like everything had conspired to prevent that from happening. “What did you have in mind?” I asked.

“I don’t know yet,” said Markos. “But my ideas are spectacular.”

Ellen rolled her eyes. “So modest,” she said.

“Kay Walker?” Alan opened the door to the office.

“Yes?”

“They’ve changed the rota. You’re on the next patrol. And you, Ellen. You’re with Carl and Aric. Oh, and they think there’s a chalder vox on the loose.”

Well, damn. “All right,” I said, and downed the rest of the coffee in one. I was going to bloody need it.

* * *

At least going out on patrol snapped me back onto full alert. There was no long safety lecture from Carl this time, though he did take the opportunity to remind us not to harm any person with the stunners. With a significant look at Aric and me. Clearly, he knew about our little altercation last night. If Ms Weston did, though, she hadn’t mentioned it.

“Right. This is a tricky one, but it’s nothing you Academy graduates can’t handle. The creature’s around the same place the wyvern attacked yesterday—something’s up in Cethrax, I’d wager. But we want to bring the chalder vox down as swiftly as possible. No fancy tricks, and try not to hurt it unless you’re close enough to deal a fatal blow. Remember—they’re pain-tripping masochists. They get stronger the more damage you deal them.”

“We know,” Aric interrupted. “The Academy drilled us on this a hundred times. Both in simulation and real life. I could do it blindfolded.”

I could tell the cocky bastard was trying to rebuild his ego from when Ms Weston had stamped all over it. Moron.

“Arrogance,” said Carl, giving Aric an irritated glance, “is what gets people killed. Your stunners will paralyse it for a moment, use them instead of the daggers, if you can.”

Carl led the way, and I walked alongside Ellen, keeping one eye on Aric. We moved in complete silence this time. Even in the daytime, no one came near this back street, and the sounds of traffic and human noise were a distant hum. When we entered the Passages, any other sound was cut off as the door slid closed behind us. This time, we took a different path, one that led down a sloping corridor with fewer doors but more of a static buzz in the air that usually meant magic was high. Something about that observation struck me as off. Since when could I feel the difference in levels of magic? That was new. And not entirely welcome.

Then came a noise, like a faint breeze. But I picked up on it, and so did the others. Without a word, we moved into formation. This was more like it. A situation I knew how to handle.

Chalder voxes moved stealthily as living shadows, but we were quieter. Stunners in hand, we advanced down the corridor, the faint scraping noise growing louder with every corner we turned. This wasn’t a Passage I’d patrolled before.

One last corner.

Oh, it was a monster, all right. Six feet of concrete-like skin, four stumpy legs and two arms, huge ears, and an ugly, jagged-toothed smile—all materialising from the shadows. And a gaping wound in its shoulder. Great.

We got within two metres when it spotted us. I prepared to sprint after it, but instead it ran towards us, limbs flailing. Damn, it was stoned. Carl hesitated, clearly taken by surprise, but recovered in time to duck its flailing fist and zap it with the stunner.

Then footsteps came out of a side tunnel, loud, hurried steps. There was more than one of them.

Of course—it never would have engaged an entire patrol alone. Stupid assumption to make. I cursed myself for letting the events of the past few days distract me to the extent that I’d forget something as basic as that. The formation broke as Carl jumped at the first monster, stunner in the air. And then the second beast was on us.

I spun to face it, stunner at the ready. Of course, the first instinct was to aim a punch at it, but that would give the monster an advantage—a mistake, the Academy had warned, which had cost more than one guard their life. Tackling it head-on did more damage to you than the enemy, even with the impact-absorbing uniform.

Instead, I jumped. I used its bulky arms for leverage and pulled myself onto its back. Their one weakness was ridiculous, an indentation behind the ear or on the back of the neck, easy to pick out. I held on one-handed, forced to duck as it moved under a lower part of the ceiling. Its discordant bellows echoed around the Passages, magnified by the magic thick in the air. The stunner thrummed in my hand. I could paralyse it… but it was rabid. It’d only wake and go on a rampage later on.

I had to kill it.

I switched the stunner to my left hand and used my right to pull the dagger, flicking out the blade. It was much more streamlined and smoother than the ones used in drills at the Academy, my hand fitting the handle like it was meant to be there. As the monster bucked and tried to throw me off again, I lunged for its weak point. The blade went right in, and shadows flowed out instead of blood. Its knees buckled, and Ellen, who’d been fighting the second beast below, leaped out of the way as it fell to the ground. Carl and Aric were also dodging attacks from the second beast, which was in an even more rabid state than this one, drool hanging from its curved teeth, spittle flying.

My hand twitched on the dagger. No, I’d never killed a person—whatever that girl might have thought of Alliance guards, the Academy trained us to incapacitate, not kill—but I knew too well that that was a line easily crossed. It took more self-control than I’d expected to let Carl finish off the second monster with a stab to the back of the neck. Danger averted.

“Cethrax really needs to keep better control of their pets,” said Carl, referring to the beast’s origin world. The Cethraxians were one of many who’d been denied entry into the Alliance due to their blatant disregard for human or cross-species rights… or any kinds of rights, really. Unfortunately for a world which wanted nothing to do with the rest of the Multiverse, theirs was ridden with entrances to the lower-level Passages and generally anything monster-related could be traced back to them.

“Odd, though,” Carl said, frowning at the chalder vox’s prone form at his feet. “This is nowhere near the doors to Cethrax. They weren’t heading our way, either.”

I glanced at the other monster’s body and the tunnel it had come from. Wait…

Though it had been months since I’d looked at the map, it was imprinted on my memory. And now I thought about it, this particular tunnel wasn’t covered by the Alliance’s patrols. It supposedly dead-ended.

So where was that light coming from? A faint stream of gold light, not at all like the blue radiating from the Passage walls. Like a staircase…

“That tunnel.” I jerked my head in that direction. “Is that to the lower level?” But that didn’t fit right with the map I had in my head. “Because there’s light coming from somewhere down there.”

Carl skirted around the monster’s body and came to stand in the tunnel entrance. “Damn. You’re right.”

There was a pause. Then a high-pitched screech sounded, reverberating through the Passages.

“Shit,” said Aric. “That was a wyvern!”

“Oh, hell,” said Ellen. “Sounded like it came from that way.” She pointed ahead, to where the corridor divided.

“That’s off our route,” said Carl. “We’d never get there before it got through…shit.” He tapped the screen of his communicator. “We need backup. We suspect there’s a wyvern on L1, around the junction of Doors 12B-F.”

A buzz of assent from the other end, and then silence. Carl indicated we follow him, leaving the tunnel with the strange light behind.

“We’re going to do a full search of this area,” he said. “Sounds echo, so it could be anywhere in this sector. We can’t afford to risk it breaking through one of the doors.”

No one dared argue, even Aric. He just nodded, serious for once. And no one spoke as we followed Carl.

I ignored the magic, though it was stronger than ever, like a live current running through my veins. There was definitely more of it in the Passages than before. That must be what attracted the wyverns. But it didn’t happen of its own accord.

The Balance must be tipping. Towards Earth.

* * *

“Well, that was a waste of time,” said Ellen, as soon as Carl was out of earshot. We stood in the Alliance’s entrance hall following our report to the head of the guards—two hours combing the Passages and not so much as a wyvern claw to show for it. The sound had been unmistakable, but nothing appeared.

“You’re telling me,” I said. “There’s not normally this level of activity in the Passages, is there?” And wyverns were the rarest monsters of all, even on the lower level.

Ellen shook her head. “I forgot you’re new here.” Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, a smile playing on her lips. I couldn’t help noticing she’d somehow avoided getting any dirt in her hair. Skill.

“Yeah. Hell of a week.” I smiled back.

“It’s not always this exciting. You were amazing against that chalder vox, by the way.”

And I totally wasn’t checking her out in that tight faux leather uniform despite it being way below the line of ‘professional behaviour’. If I wasn’t mistaken, she’d been doing the same to me. “I don’t suppose you have plans later…?”

She looked startled, but flushed. “Not that I know of. Wow, that makes a change.”

“Sure does.” I laughed softly. I needed a distraction. “How about a drink? I’m not familiar with the local scene—only moved here a week ago.”

“I’ll show you around. Give me time to get ready. I’m covered in tunnel dust and God, do I want a shower. I’ll call you, okay… Kay?” She laughed.

“You’ve no idea how many times I’ve heard that one,” I said.

“I can guess. See you later.”

Today wasn’t a complete bust after all. No reason to dwell on prisoners and murders and hidden Passages…

I spotted Carl coming out of the guard office, and strode over to him. “Did you tell them about that light?” I asked. “Because I know that place backwards, and that tunnel’s supposed to dead-end.”

“How do you… ah. You’re sure about that?”

“Of course. I have a copy of my grandfather’s map, I memorised it.”

Technically, it was my father’s, and I’d stolen it before he’d left five years ago. But Carl didn’t need to know that.

“Right. I’ll pass that onto the others.”

That was one thing taken care of, at least. I was done with it. None of my business.

As I left the building, my communicator vibrated in my pocket. Incoming call from the New York Alliance branch. I crossed the car park to my vehicle, and hit the touch screen to accept the call.

“Who is it? It’s the ever-elusive Kay Walker.”

“Simon,” I said, leaning against my car. It figured my old friend from the Academy would want to know the details. Damn, had it really only been less than two weeks since graduation? “Guess you heard?”

“Heard things went apeshit at Central? The whole world knows. Haven’t you seen the news?”

“Dude, I’ve been living it. I arrested the suspect.”

Simon sucked in a breath. “Well, shit. I can’t say I’m surprised, but damn, Kay. You’ve been there what, three days?”

“You won’t believe it,” I said, “but Aric’s here, too.”

“Thought he was transferring to the States,” said Simon. “Shit. Isn’t Tara…?” He cut himself off, too late. “Sorry, man. Too soon?”

“It’s been two years, Simon,” I said, but my hand strayed to the scar on my left arm just the same. Simon usually knew better than to go poking at the past with a rusty nail. Of the three people who knew what had really gone down at the Academy, he was the only one I was on friendly speaking terms with. Though seeing as the other two were my ex and Aric, that wasn’t saying a whole lot.

“Two years. Jesus. Aric’s still being a conceited dickhead, then?”

“Yeah. He has zero professionalism. I know there must have been bribery involved for him to get in here—but there’s too much going on at the moment for anyone to pay attention. I’m hoping he gets himself fired before…”

Before anything happens like two years ago. Simon could fill in the gaps easily enough. He cleared his throat. “How’s Central, anyway? Apart from all the craziness? They working you as hard as at the Academy? Because no shit, I don’t think I’ve had more than four straight hours of sleep since I transferred here.”

“Yep. Same here. It’s all paperwork and questionings, and occasionally kicking monsters around.”

“You got to fight already? Not fair. Just don’t go tangling with any more wyverns.”

“There was one in the Passages the other day, actually, but it got taken care of.”

“Damn.” Simon whistled. “You do have a knack for getting yourself knee deep in crap, don’t you?”

“You’re telling me.”

“Three days and you’ve got the place in chaos. Well done.”

“What, you’ve not brought a plague of swamp rats down on New York yet?”

“Watch it, you. Anyway. Is Central as swanky inside as outside? What’re the other employees like?”

“All right, I guess.” I glanced up at the building, which gleamed against the surroundings like a particularly potent middle finger.

“Yeah, it’s weird after five years knowing all the same people. Still, the girls here are drooling over my accent. Kind of awesome.”

“Bet it is.”

“What about you? It’s been three days, so I’m predicting you have at least one admirer.”

I rolled my eyes, even though of course he couldn’t see. “Yeah, right.”

“Anyone caught your eye, then? I know you, Kay. Don’t dodge the question.”

“Okay. Maybe.” I meant Ellen, but another face kept intruding. A pretty, stubborn redheaded prisoner, who intrigued me more than I wanted to admit to myself. The way she’d glared at me when she’d asked if I’d murdered anyone… she genuinely thought the Alliance were cold-blooded killers. That I was one. And it bothered me more than it should have.

Quit that. I rested my forehead on my knuckles, holding my communicator with the other hand.

“Well, that’s something,” said Simon. “Man, this place couldn’t be more different from Central. Did you know they have a Passage door right in the middle of the city which is open to the public? Seriously. I mean, it’s a bit dull because there aren’t any monsters, but instead you get to meet people coming in from offworld. It’s pretty cool. They run, like, shelters for people escaping from their homeworlds for whatever reason. London doesn’t have any of those.”

“Yeah, Central needs to get on that,” I said. With Central being Earth’s first Alliance headquarters, they were neck deep in bureaucracy when it came to offworlders wanting to settle on Earth. Some of the other Alliance branches worldwide were more lenient.

“Pity I can’t come back and visit until I get my permit. I already figured out how to get to London’s Passage door from this side. A two-hour walk’s quicker than a flight.”

“True,” I said. The Passages were arranged in such a way that using them as a shortcut across Earth wasn’t usually possible unless you wanted to navigate through ten layers of different worlds’ security, or trek through the lower level and risk getting eaten by one of Cethrax’s monsters. Flying was definitely a safer bet. “London’s under lockdown at the moment, anyway.”

“Crap, I suppose it is. They barred all the Passages?”

“Yeah, otherwise I’d have used my own permit by now. It’s only open to patrols.”

“You be careful. Wait, you’re not going to listen, are you?”

“I can give it a try.”

“Talk to you later, you lunatic.”

“Sure, asshole,” I said, and clicked off the phone icon. I looked up at Central, where a crowd of people had gathered outside. Guards, mostly, but also office workers.

Damn. I crossed the car park quickly, in time to see a pale-looking supervisor raise his communicator and project his voice across the crowd.

“There’s been another murder, this one in the elevator from the fourth floor. Alan Gregory from Office Fourteen.”

11

Ada

I hardly dared breathe as I ran my hand over the device, searching out the button that would put me on speakerphone with Jeth. Even though the guards had left, it was risky. He’d be at work right now, and there was no guarantee he’d have the Chameleon on him. Did he carry it everywhere? I’d never asked. But I had to try.

Now the cuffs were off, I could move around my room. I peered out the door and couldn’t see any guards, but I knew they’d be there somewhere. I drew in a deep breath, and went back over to the bed, the part of the room furthest from the door. Then I flicked the switch.

“Jeth,” I whispered, loudly as I dared. “Can you hear me?”

Silence. I waited, counting to sixty, then flicked the call button again. “Jeth, please. It’s me, Ada.”

Nothing. I tried again, every five minutes. At least it helped me keep time. Though I had to stop and sit back innocuously when the guards brought me food, and then there was another bathroom break. By what must have been late evening, I was starting to give up hope.

“Jeth. Please answer me. It’s Ada.”

Finally, there was a sharp intake of breath. “Ada. Is it really you?”

“Course it is, you idiot,” I said, relief seeping through me. “I’m at Central. The Alliance caught and arrested me.” All the panic and fear bubbled up in my throat again. “They think I’m a murderer, Jeth.”

“Holy shit, Ada.” He paused. “Okay. If the Alliance is on full alert we won’t be able to walk in there and get you out. I’ll think of something.”

“I was so worried. Is Nell okay? Did Alber and Skyla get away?”

“They’re fine,” he said. “Well, Nell’s frantic of course. Skyla knew right away the Alliance must have you, but there was no way we could check.”

Trapped on all sides. “What should I do?” I whispered. “I’m locked in here. I forgot I was still wearing the earpiece. They’re bound to find out soon. For all I know, they’re listening in.”

“Don’t panic. Let me think for a second. They haven’t hurt you, have they?”

“No…some of the guards are pretty rough, though.” Not all of them. “I’m fine.”

“You said they think you’re a murderer? That’s messed up.”

“They’ve no evidence otherwise. It happened while I was here. Two people have questioned me, and… this woman.” I swallowed. “She knows I’m not from Earth—they both know. I have no idea how they figured it out.” And my contacts were starting to hurt my eyes. I couldn’t keep them in forever. But removing them wasn’t an option.

“Hang tight. You had your ID with you, right?”

“Yeah. They saw through it. They know it’s fake. They have my phone. But they couldn’t get into it.”

“Good. Listen, Ada. I’ve got an idea. I’m going to need you to get hold of a communicator.”

“Huh?”

“Any communicator—you know everyone at the Alliance carries one. And I know how to hack into them.”

I exhaled, almost laughed. “Of course you do.”

He recited a short code, and I did my best to commit it to memory.

“Right. That’ll get you emergency access to any device. Every communicator comes fitted with an alert button. Hit that, and it’ll be like breaking the glass on a fire alarm. Everyone will panic, they’ll think they’re being attacked. If you escape then, we can meet you at the back gate. Alber already knows how to get in. Think you can manage that?”

“I’ll have to run fast,” I said. “But yes.”

This was no different from one of our usual schemes. Right? But there was a new tightness in my chest, and it was hard to suppress a shiver. Too much at risk…

“Okay. I’ll call Nell. She’ll probably send Alber, though she might come herself. We’ll have someone watching the place, anyway. Wait for your opportunity, then get hold of a communicator.”

“Right, I will.” But I didn’t know if I could wait too long. The desire to get the hell out of there burned within my very skin. Maybe it was a reaction to the antimagic cuffs…

Wait. I wasn’t wearing the cuffs anymore.

“How quickly can Alber be here?” I asked. “I think—if I use magic, I should be able to escape this room. Within an hour.”

“Perfect,” said Jeth. “Ada, I’m sorry that happened. We’ll get you out. Promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” I swallowed. “See you soon.”

I hoped so. God, I hoped so.

I breathed, in and out, calming myself, reaching for the magic I knew so well. It wasn’t like when I’d come out of the Passages with magic buzzing through my veins like adrenaline. I felt drained. But I could do this. I had to. It was the only way to escape, the only way to get back home… To get back to what I was supposed to be doing. Helping people. I couldn’t be locked up for a murder I’d had nothing to do with.

Shouts rang out from the corridor. My heart leaped in my chest. I ran for the door and pressed my forehead to the window, trying desperately to see what was happening outside. But the bars were in the way. People dashed by, panicked shouts echoed, but I couldn’t see the reason.

Like the panic had kick-started it, magic flooded my veins. I could see, as though through a veil, the faint magic present on Earth. More than there usually would be—and enough for me.

I didn’t hesitate to debate whether I was making a huge error. I pulled on the magic, let it flow into my hand and released it. A stream of purple-red energy hit the floor, and I shifted aside to avoid the rebound striking me. Instead, it sizzled through the lock on the door. The sound was lost in the general confusion. I rammed the door open with my shoulder. I turned left for the way out, headed for the stairs. I had to get a communicator off a guard, before everyone spotted me—they must have all left for the entrance hall.

Thud. I slammed into someone, who grabbed my arm, tight. Damn. Of all the guards to run into, it had to be Kay Walker.

“Going somewhere?” His eyes flashed. I’d have done my best to kick him… were it not for the communicator sticking out of the inside pocket of his faux-leather guard jacket. Inches away.

I feinted a kick, fast, darted forwards and snatched the communicator. His eyes widened as I spun around and ran faster than I ever had in my life. I had the advantage—I was much shorter than most guards, and easily wove in and out of the gathering crowd. I had a decent head start before I heard the shouts of, “Stop that girl!” and “The prisoner’s escaping!”

You won’t catch me this time.

As I ran, I tapped the touch screen of the communicator and put in the key Jeth had given me. I wheeled around a corner, nearly dropping the device when it vibrated in my hand. Following Jeth’s instructions while running for my life was an obstacle I hadn’t seen coming—I was lucky not to trip on the stairs, though the narrow stairwell slowed the guards down, too. At least enough for me to locate the emergency button, and hit it. A high-pitched, siren-like noise reverberated through the air, making my ears ring. I pounded up the last few steps and out into the entrance hall of the Alliance. Too many people to count ran in all directions, came down staircases and poured out of the elevators.

Except for the one at the far end. A gleam of red caught my eyes, reflected in the glass, I couldn’t help glancing in that direction…

The world tilted under my feet. That was blood. A lot of it.

Someone else was killed.

I had to get out of here. I shot towards the exit, but someone barred my way. Kay, white-faced with fury, blocked my path. His hand caught my arm, making me skid to a halt. Cursing, I pushed down the instinct to draw on the magic buzzing under my skin, as it’d be too risky in a place with so many people. But it put me in a major dilemma. Unless…

“I’ll take that back,” he said, snatching the communicator from my outstretched hand, “and I’ll be taking you back downstairs.”

“Like hell,” I said, twisting to free my hand, but only getting my arm locked. I bit back a scream, but he’d already caught my other hand. When I dug my heels into the ground, he lifted me into the air.

“Put me down, you bastard!”

My shout drew attention, and I cursed myself for stupidity. Within seconds, several other guards descended on me. Conflicting orders bounced around the entrance hall, but Kay didn’t let go of me once, no matter how I twisted and kicked. Finally, they agreed that locking me back downstairs was the best option.

I screamed at them, dignity going clean out the window. “I’m not a murderer!” I yelled. “I didn’t kill anyone, I haven’t even committed a crime. You people are a bunch of fucking morons!”

“That’s very flattering,” said Kay, tugging on my hands, “but you’re creating a scene. I did tell my supervisor you were innocent, you know. You’re not helping your own case.”

“Screw you!”

I screamed my throat raw, but he still managed to get me out of the hall and downstairs. Again. There was no chance I was getting that communicator off him now. But he hadn’t zapped me with a stunner. There was a surprise. Wait—was he even armed at the moment? Not that it’d help if he wasn’t, seeing as I wasn’t either.

“You’re locking up the wrong person!”

“Stealing an Alliance member’s communicator is a crime,” he said. “As is breaking out of your room.”

And he shut the door on me. Again.

Helpless tears threatened to intrude, but I furiously blinked them away. Damn him. Damn them all.

* * *

KAY

I shut the door on the girl, noticing that there was a smoking hole where the lock used to be. Hellfire. She’d used magic to break out, all right. I positioned myself in case I needed to hold the door. If I’d had some of those cuffs, I’d have had to use them. But I was unarmed. I’d handed my weapons in. The Alliance really needed to look into that. If employees had been allowed to carry weapons inside Central… then Alan Gregory might not be in bloody pieces all over the inside of an elevator.

What the hell was I supposed to do about Ada? My mind was blank, everything I knew about how to deal with emergencies wiped out by the horror of Alan’s death. I didn’t know him, only that he was one rank above me, from the office next to ours, but whatever attacked him had torn him to pieces. Inside freaking Central. A human couldn’t have done it.

Ada had been running from this corridor when I’d caught her—she definitely wouldn’t have had time to get all the way over to the elevators. She wasn’t the killer, but to have melted the lock off the door like that was second level magic. There either had to be a small crater in that room which I’d missed, or she’d somehow absorbed some of the backlash herself. Which was another matter entirely.

I couldn’t stand guard here forever. But neither could I let her get away again. I studied the lock. She must have used something else to absorb the backlash. The problem with magic was that it was damned impossible to use it safely even if you did know what you were doing. The odds of accidentally hurting or killing another person were too high. You couldn’t stop the backlash, and even if you had the forethought to dodge it yourself, there was no guarantee no innocent bystander wouldn’t walk into it.

I glanced up at the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and my gaze fell on a clipboard discarded on the floor, like someone had dropped it. Ada’s name leaped out from the top of the page, and there were notes clipped underneath. Pages of notes. Whose were these, Ms Weston’s?

Another word leaped out: ENZAR.

Of course. No wonder I hadn’t been able to tell which world she was from—Enzar was listed as out of bounds, and no contact with other worlds was allowed. As far as I knew, the Alliance had started out trying to reach a peace treaty between the two warring sides, but it became clear it’d only get even more people killed, so the council had issued a blanket noninterference statement and closed it off. Plainly, this girl had been smuggled out.

Why? Because she was valuable? She must be mageblood, a magic-wielder, which explained the way she could use magic here on Earth. Not that she’d be able to go above second level—at least, I thought not.

The Alliance wasn’t out to imprison magic-wielders, especially from places like that, despite the council’s statement—hell, it contradicted the Alliance’s first principle, for a start. There had to be a way around it, if I could convince Ms Weston she wasn’t a killer. And convince Ada herself that we weren’t fucking morons. I had to smile at that. The public might view our headquarters as a flashy nuisance, but I’d always had the impression there was a general agreement that the Alliance was a force for good, even if most people didn’t know the extent of it. Ada, though, had clearly been brought up in an environment that had taught her they were something to be feared.

That didn’t have to be the case. Not at all.

I hid the file behind my back as someone came downstairs. Carl.

“There you are. You’re needed upstairs.”

“The prisoner’s in there,” I said, in a low voice. “She melted the lock.” I moved closer to the door again in case I had to brace it shut.

“Damn. Okay.” He paused, glanced up and down the corridor. “Don’t tell anyone you witnessed this.”

And he pulled a stunner from his pocket, jamming it into the hole where the lock used to be. Magic sparked from the tip, but it remained in place.

“She won’t be able to touch it without getting zapped,” he said. “It’s too strong to break through. You can’t unlock it now, but I’ll tell Ms Weston. She’ll have the girl relocated soon as we sort out this mess.” His face was grim. “Alan dead… I’ve never seen anything like it.” He glanced at the lock on the door.

“It wasn’t her,” I said. “She ran into me back there in the main corridor. She was coming from this direction. She wouldn’t have had time to get to the lifts. There’s no other way there apart from the stairs.”

“No,” he said. “Her room was guarded right up until the alert went out, after they found him. I’ll wager she took advantage of the confusion.” He gave the stunner a tap. “That’s coated in antimagic. She won’t be able to blast through that.”

“She shouldn’t have been able to do magic at all here on Earth,” I said, shaking my head. Though he’d reminded me of something. “Why not make the doors out of adamantine?”

“Honestly? I’ve no idea,” he said, eying the steel door. “There’s a limit on importing offworld substances, and we don’t haul magic-wielders in here every week. Besides, antimagic can hurt magic-wielders. Like the handcuffs. It wouldn’t be in our interests if she turned out to be someone important.”

Hmm. Someone important? I didn’t think she was, somehow… but the distinction bugged me all the same. The Alliance’s first mandate was to always help people in a crisis—above everything else. Whatever the girl had done, she must have been in a hell of a crisis to end up running from a wyvern.

Another spark flew from the stunner. Small, but Carl’s eyes followed it, too. “That’s not right,” he muttered. “Never seen the magic level this high on Earth before.”

“You can tell?”

“We magic-wielders are usually asked to keep an eye on it.”

Wait. He was a magic-wielder? Well, shit.

Apparently, he saw something in my expression. “You can use it, too?” he asked.

I nodded. Aric was bound to tell everyone sooner or later, and besides, it was an advantage here, even if I didn’t have any intention of ever using magic again.

“I’ll put that on record. Might get you a promotion.”

That was unexpected. “Cheers,” I said, following him upstairs, all too conscious that we were leaving Ada locked in her room, with no way out.

We have to be certain, I reminded myself. But that didn’t make me feel any better about it.

12

Ada

That night was the longest of my life. I could almost feel the oxygen draining from the room, now that the lock was stuck. Permanently. It was so hard to breathe, I had to sit and put my head between my legs for a good five minutes.

I’d never had a panic attack in my life. But then again, I’d never been magically sealed in a room and left there overnight.

To make things worse, the Chameleon was dead. I thought so, anyway, because I couldn’t get a message through. I tried every hour—no way was I getting any sleep—but never heard Jeth’s voice on the other end. Never heard a single sound.

Morning. I imagined the sun rising over the tower blocks of central London, the hum of traffic picking up, the noises as people went about their days. Ordinary people going to work, school, tourists visiting the sights, others passing through to get to the airports and the rest of the world. Millions of lives, barely aware of the other world standing in their midst, untouchable, all-powerful.

“Jeth.” My voice was a whisper now. My throat hurt from screaming, and my eyes stung and itched with the contacts. I was in so, so much trouble. I let tears fall down my cheeks, knowing no one could see. No one in this stupid building cared enough to even check I was still alive.

“Jeth, please.”

Silence. I hated the quiet. At home, I always had music playing, or there were people around, people to talk to. Strangers to share stories with. Nell. She’d be able to handle this situation. Nell could deal with anything.

By now, Jeth would have told her where I was. Her, and Alber and Skyla, and everyone else who could get me the hell out of here. Maybe even Delta and his family. I hoped they were still helping the refugees. Didn’t look like any of them would be able to come to Earth for a while.

Guilt choked me. I needed to be out there helping them. I was no use to anyone here.

I should be able to get myself out of here, I thought. I’d run without thinking and paid the price, and now I’d acted like a total lunatic in front of those guards, they had even more reason to think of me as a crazy murderer.

I walked back over to the door, another idea taking shape. I’d used magic to bust the lock already. Could I take the hinges off? It was apparent that magic did work in the Alliance’s headquarters—the walls might be magicproofed, but even antimagic wasn’t enough to keep it out altogether. That was how I’d broken in, after all. The door looked like ordinary Earth steel to me. Magic wasn’t supposed to work here at all, and I doubted every inch of the place was equipped to hold a magic-wielder from somewhere like Enzar. Even Alber, an average magic-wielder by Enzar’s standards, couldn’t use magic on Earth… but I could.

The magic wasn’t as potent as in the Passages, but enough for me to break through this door. At least, I hoped.

I focused on the thin film over my vision—it never really went away, though it had dimmed over the past day—and found the place in the room where it was thickest. Then I readied myself to push on it. This confined space was a risky place to try this. But I was all out of options.

Crash. The door opened, and Ms Weston came in again. If it were possible, she looked even more severe than last time, her mouth drawn into such a thin line it almost disappeared.

“Ada Fletcher,” she said. “It seems that prior to last evening’s disturbance, the results of your tests came out. The magic you used to break out of this room confirms our results.

“Your blood tested as originating in Enzar, central world of the Enzarian Empire, and identifies you as a nonmage. However… you have magic. It turns out that the Alliance have a copy of the Royals’ records. Twenty-five years ago, we were in negotiations to make Enzar part of the Alliance, though as you know, that ended badly. However, the records remain. Your blood identifies you as of the Royal line, heirs to the Empire.”

My breath caught in my throat. I knew it already, of course, but it was horrible beyond belief to hear those words coming from the mouth of a stranger. Royal. Did she have any idea how many people had died in that name?

“It seems you were to be one of the potential heirs, and were implanted with magic, in a way. You’re named as… Adamantine.”

Implanted? If breathing had been hard before, now it was like my lungs were caught in a vice. The Royals had done what?

“Implanted?” I said, my voice a hoarse whisper. I’d always known that the Royals were one particular extended family of nonmages who had somehow turned the tables on the magebloods and turned every one of them into slaves for their empire. Nell had never said how they’d done it, when the magebloods were the ones with magic on their side. I’d assumed they’d had some kind of weapon.

And I’d always known there was something odd about how I could use magic when I wasn’t supposed to have any. The one theory I’d had—and Nell had refused to say otherwise—was that I must be part mageblood somewhere. Because magic was mine. Not someone else’s.

Not the Royals’. They hadn’t… implanted something in me.

And if it was true?

Adamantine. My real first name. It was supposed to be a reminder of my true world. To ensure I never forgot. Hearing it from Ms Weston’s mouth… I couldn’t say a word, and I knew she saw every tremble, every moment of weakness. Her words had exposed my very core. The Alliance shouldn’t have known about my blood family. They didn’t have the right to.

“We don’t know how they did this. In any case, it worked. You can use magic the same as a mageblood. I believe this is how the Royals upheld their Empire and ensured that they were the ones who had control of magic. They would have given the Royal-blooded enough magic to overpower regular magebloods.”

Wrong. Wrong. The words coming from her mouth had an unmistakable current of truth. How could this woman know so much? How could she?

The real question was… did Nell know?

I was hardly aware of the door closing until I was alone again. Alone with my thoughts. And my tainted blood.

* * *

KAY

“This is going to be the death of me,” Markos announced, as I walked into the office the next morning. “I swear the Alliance is trying to run us into the ground. How in the name of all gods are you so wide awake?”

“Caffeine and human souls,” I said, with my best deadpan expression. Or, years of pulling all-nighters for Academy drills. Whichever worked.

Markos laughed so loudly everyone in the office looked in our direction. “You’re going to get us all arrested,” he said. “Save the inappropriate humour for after the investigation.”

“At this rate, there won’t be an ‘after’,” I said, checking my communicator for updates. And at this rate, the staff might as well take up permanent residence at Central. If nothing else, it’d save on petrol. I’d barely had time to do more last night than eat, shower and crash. After waking with a killer headache, I had even less patience for a day of being grilled to death by Ms Weston. I could already hear her telling me all the ways I’d mishandled the situation yesterday. Well, I’d done my job. I’d locked up a defenceless girl in a room no one could get out of, and Ms Weston hadn’t deigned to respond to my message asking when they planned to move her to another room.

“The dragon’s gone to breathe fire somewhere else,” said Markos. “Leaving us all this paperwork. Enjoy!”

“I swear this crap multiplies when we’re not here,” I muttered, picking up a sheet of paper. “What even is this?”

“Don’t ask me, I haven’t a clue. It’s probably all our obituaries.”

“Don’t say that,” said Ellen, from the corner. “They should have evacuated the building. Maybe relocated us to West Office.”

“They couldn’t transfer all the staff at Central over there,” said Markos. “Besides, half the council’s offworld. It’s terrible timing.”

“Damn right,” I said. “Two murders—both on this floor.”

“Technically, Alan was halfway between third and fourth… well, bits of him were.”

“Markos!” Ellen’s face went greenish-white. “Cut that out.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Markos went back to the papers.

“I’m going out for a bit,” said Ellen. “I can’t think in here.”

She stood, and I saw her hands trembling as she walked to the door.

“Oh, gods,” said Markos. “See, this is why I was never a good Ambassador.”

“I’ll go talk to her,” I said.

I caught up to her outside. “Sorry about last night,” I said. “Guess our tour of the neighbourhood will have to wait.”

“Not a problem.” She managed to smile back at me. After the crap I’d seen over the past twenty-four hours, it was more than welcome. “I just… I’ve known Alan two years. He was the first person to say hi to me when I came here. It’s surreal. Who’d kill off people in our office?”

“God knows,” I said.

Ellen shook her head. “I’ve got to go anyway—patrolling in an hour.” She yawned. “If I can stay awake. Tempted to take a nap, but I don’t want Weston on my case.”

“I’m surprised she’s not around,” I said. “She can’t still be with the prisoner?”

“I forgot about that. Did she really get out again? I’d literally just left Central when I got the call.”

Like I wanted to remember. “Yeah, she used magic and melted the lock on the door.” I didn’t mention the communicator incident. I had to preserve some dignity.

“Clever,” she said. “Must be a powerful magic-wielder, then.”

Yeah. She is. And I was probably on her hit list. Not that she’d be getting away again.

“Yeah, the timing was pretty crappy. Right after they found Alan. Place was in chaos already.”

“She didn’t kill him?”

“No, she escaped after the alert went out,” I said. “It looks bad, though. You should go get ready for your shift, right?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll see you later.”

“Did I just hear what I think I heard?” said Markos, as soon as she’d disappeared. How in hell had he managed to hide himself behind a cabinet?

“If you were eavesdropping, then probably,” I said, rubbing my temples. Damn headache.

“I feel it is my duty to warn you I saw her talking to Aric earlier, and he was talking about you.”

And there went the brief reprieve from the universe’s crap. “That figures.” I raised my head to face the ceiling, like if I stared hard enough, whoever up there was laughing at me would fall out his seat and get a concussion.

“Using my highly developed intuitive powers, I’ve concluded that something happened at the Academy involving you, Aric, and a girl.”

“And I’ve concluded that you’re a nosy bastard.” Not my best comeback. But damn if I didn’t want the day to be over already.

“I like to know my colleagues.” His expression changed, becoming more serious. “I overhear a lot of things. I saw Alan leave the office before he died. He was carrying a bunch of papers… said he was going to the archives.”

God. No.

“That file,” I said, my throat dry. No—there was no way.

“I reckon so, human.”

“Damn,” I said. “Damn it all to hell.” If I’d been the one to take the file to the archives—if I hadn’t been interrupted—and yet it wasn’t my own life I feared for. Maybe it should have been, but perhaps I hadn’t reached that level of paranoia yet. That, or as Simon had frequently said at the Academy, I had no sense of self-preservation.

How could I walk away from this now? If it wasn’t for Ms Weston’s invisible presence, I was on the brink of heading back to the archives and having a closer look in the section where the bloodrock research had come from. Because that was the one connection between the two deaths. I couldn’t risk telling anyone.

“Don’t go doing anything rash, human.”

I glanced over my shoulder, making sure no one else was close enough to hear.

“I read the file,” I said in a low voice. “There was nothing incriminating in there. Nothing I imagine anyone would murder someone over.” But then, I didn’t know a whole lot about bloodrock. Only as much as the file had said. A substance with the potential for limitless energy. I could see why the Alliance would keep it a secret…

Hell. Did I really just consider that someone in the Alliance might be responsible for the murders?

“Interesting,” said Markos. “Well, I wouldn’t normally get involved, but a notice went out to the higher-ups earlier—I heard them talking on the stairs. Turns out something went missing from the stores the night of the murder.” He paused. “Someone stole a bunch of bloodrock from the Alliance’s storerooms.”

Wait. “Someone… that girl. We saw her.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Bloodrock,” I said. “She stole bloodrock?”

“That’s what went missing. Several bags of it. Carl was talking to the head of the guards. Seems he was supposed to be watching the back door, but the killer threw everyone off.”

“The girl broke in after the murder.” Unless she’d already been here. But I knew how to tell when someone was lying. She’d been angry, defensive, but her body language told the truth. When she said she’d never killed anyone, she’d meant it.

The question was, when we’d caught her in the Passages… what had she been doing?

“So she’s a smuggler. Or an offworld trader. She stole from the Alliance—well, that takes guts.”

“Too true,” I said. “Actually, that makes sense. It fits with what she told me, or didn’t tell me. Well, that changes things. If bloodrock’s valuable, then that’s a whole different ball game to breaking and entering…” I stopped, realising I was thinking aloud.

“Yes, there isn’t a standard protocol for thievery. It just happens so rarely.” The centaur frowned. “I have to admit, I admire the girl for courage, even if her timing was terrible. She’ll get the worst of it, for sure.”

“Yeah.” She would. And yet that just didn’t feel right, even though she was the one who’d broken the law, whatever her reasons. It was my job to stop that from happening.

The bloodrock…

“Where are you going?” said Markos.

I turned back from the entry to the stairs. “I’m going to talk to the prisoner again.”

And I left him staring after me, bemused. Okay, I was definitely acting out now. But if no one else had made the connection… I had to make sure.

On the way downstairs, I saw that someone had cleaned the blood from the left elevator, but it was still out of use. I shook my head to push the image away. It wouldn’t do any good to dwell on the horrific way Alan had died. Not when I could be the next victim. If it really had something to do with the bloodrock, then it wouldn’t be too big a leap to figure that I’d had the file. Unless they went after Ms Weston next. And no one had seen her all morning.

I couldn’t get downstairs fast enough, and only when I’d reached the corridor to the prisoner’s room did I stop. No one seemed to be around, but a door was open farther down. Not the prisoner’s, of course—that was closed, but not locked, and I could hear the muted sound of voices within. Ms Weston.

I hesitated a second, then continued down the corridor like I’d intended to go that way all along. I knew what was behind that other door—it was the nurse’s room, because last night, I’d put Ms Weston’s clipboard back in there before heading back upstairs. Of course, Ms Weston would have all her notes with her, but it couldn’t hurt to take a look.

“You again,” said a voice as I walked in. The nurse, Saki, glanced up from behind a row of test tubes containing what looked like blood. “What do you want?”

I gestured towards the test tubes. “Is that—did you take blood from Ada? The prisoner?”

“Yes, after a fashion,” she snapped. Still angry, then. “What are you doing in here, Walker?”

“Could you please not call me that?”

She blinked. “You know, I don’t think I ever heard old Walker say ‘please’.”

So that’s it. She had some issue with my father. Well, I didn’t need to ask.

“Believe me, the name’s all we have in common,” I said. “Did you work out which world Ada’s from, anyway?”

She blinked again. “Yeah, I did. Never would have guessed, but the tests don’t lie. She’s from Enzar.” She shook her head. “Not mageblood, either.”

I stared. “What? But she can use magic. How can she not be mageblood?”

“I don’t know, but it’s… look, you can’t say a word about this to anyone, Walk… Kay. I shouldn’t even be telling you this. But I’ve never, ever seen anything like this in all the years I’ve worked here. She’s got some sort of anomaly in her blood. Someone… someone tampered with her.”

I stepped back. And again.

Tampered with her.

It hit too close to home.

The image flashed before my eyes before I could push it back—the gleam of a needle, point shining with a black sheen unlike anything on Earth.

I had to get out of there.

Ignoring Saki’s startled expression, I spun around to leave and came within inches of colliding with Ms Weston.

Damn.

13

Kay

“What were you doing in there?”

Words failed, for a moment. It was like listening to a distant recording to hear my own voice say, quite calmly, “I was just curious about the prisoner’s test results. It intrigued me that I couldn’t guess where she was from.”

Her suspicion faded somewhat. Right answer. Not that it helped.

“Yes. Enzar. I never would have thought I’d get to meet an Enzarian, let alone a Royal.”

“She’s… Royal?” I asked.

“So it seems,” said Ms Weston. “It somewhat complicates matters, because royal status would guarantee her protection under our roof, not to mention exemption from the trespassing charges. She’d be acting Ambassador for Enzar.”

“Ambassador?” Damn. I could only imagine what having Enzarian royalty at Central would mean. If nothing else, the Alliance couldn’t ignore Enzar’s conflict any longer, whatever the reasons for blocking all contact.

“Yes, as a non-Alliance world. Blast those antiquated laws. I’ve had her scanned and she doesn’t appear to have brought anything across the borders. It seems she’s lived on Earth her whole life.”

“I heard she stole from the storerooms,” I said.

“You seem to have heard a lot of things, Kay.”

I held her stare. What do you know? Is the bloodrock really connected with the murders? Is someone covering something up?

I had firsthand experience of how quickly the Alliance could fabricate a cover story or just make evidence disappear entirely. Hell, the Alliance itself was founded on secrets—that was how they’d remained hidden from most people’s sight until they’d gone public thirty years ago. Even within the Alliance, certain information was allowed only to the higher-up members, and with good reason. Like whatever was happening on Enzar. Like the details of most Ambassador missions, even the ones where people were killed.

Like…

An image—the gleam of a needle. I pushed it away.

No one knew. But there had to have been others at the Alliance involved, even if the instigator was long gone.

“Let me talk to her again,” I said, surprised how steady my voice sounded. “Is she still resisting questioning?”

“I just told her the truth,” said Ms Weston, not giving any sign of our silent exchange. “That ought to occupy her while I confer with the Law Division. Keeping royalty imprisoned reflects terribly on us, but she’s dangerous, if not the killer we’re looking for.”

“You believe she’s not the killer?”

She inclined her head. “The matter of the theft, we still have to deal with. But we have our suspicions. Carl told me about your report on the other night. It seems we have an unmapped Passage.”

“That staircase,” I said, getting it. “They sent someone back to investigate?”

“Not yet, but we will. I would hazard a guess that this girl and whoever her accomplices are were using it to transport the stolen goods. A clever operation. If you want to talk to her, I’m sure she’ll be more inclined to discuss the matter with you, especially anything concerning illicit activity in the Passages.”

What the hell? How could she possibly know that?

“Your fellow graduate certainly had strong opinions on illegal trespassing,” said Ms Weston. “If it wasn’t for these sorry circumstances… but I need to go and meet with the Law Division. I’ll give you half an hour, then I expect you back upstairs.”

Damn. What the hell had I landed myself in now? So Aric had told my boss about the incident. I couldn’t even wrap my head around that one, not after everything else. I was starting to feel like the world was shifting out from under my feet, slowly, inch by inch.

Dammit, Kay, pull yourself together. I drew in a deep breath, and headed for Ada’s room.

* * *

ADA

The last thing I wanted was to talk to Kay Walker.

“What?” I said hoarsely, as he came into the room. There was no hiding that I’d been crying, and I thought I saw a flash of pity in his eyes before his expression blanked again.

“I wanted to ask you something,” he said. He didn’t say Ms Weston had sent him, but I wasn’t an idiot. What was he, her lapdog?

“I’m not in the mood,” I said. “You locked me in here overnight, sealed the place shut.”

“You didn’t give us an option, Ada!” He seemed edgier than he had before, though I could tell he tried to keep his voice steady.

“Yeah, I don’t want to hear it,” I said. “I am through with this shit.”

“Sorry,” he said, and for once, he met my eyes with something other than blankness. Like a person, not an Alliance guard. “I’m sorry I locked you in.”

I blinked. Was he trying to catch me out by apologising? Implying it was my own fault I’d been locked in?

“Ms Weston—my supervisor—she’s gone to plead your case to the Law Division.”

I stared. “You what?”

“It’s true.”

I shook my head. I’d had it with the mind games here.

“I just wanted to know,” he said, “why you stole bloodrock from the store rooms.”

They know?

Like things weren’t bad enough already. I slumped down, not even caring that he was watching. “They found it was missing.”

“Why did you take it? It’s important.”

He didn’t say to whom. Why would anyone want to know that? Perhaps… perhaps Kay Walker was just genuinely curious. But there was an urgency in his voice now, and although he assumed a casual stance, the tension in his shoulders gave it away.

Something had spooked him.

“I don’t understand why it matters to you,” I said.

“You didn’t have it when I arrested you,” he said. “So where is it? Did you sell it? Is that why you were in the Passages, you’re involved in illicit offworld smuggling? Because bloodrock’s a severely dangerous substance to be taken offworld, especially in the Passages.”

Oh, he was back in condescending dickhead mode again.

“Please. Don’t talk about what you don’t understand. There are people who needed that stuff more than the Alliance does.” Did it matter if he knew? There was no way it could be traced to all the places I’d taken it, least of all offworld.

“Enlighten me,” he said. “Bloodrock is classified as a highly volatile magic-based substance for good reason. You’re aware of the Balance, I’m sure? Even untrained magic-wielders know that there’s a reason for our offworld trade laws.”

“Oh, gods, shut up already,” I said. “Yes, I’m aware of the freaking Balance. I’m not trying to destroy the Multiverse, I’m trying to protect my family.” I stood, hands curling into fists, and glared. “Don’t you have anything you care about? Wait, don’t answer. I honestly couldn’t give a shit. There’s a whole Empire tearing itself to pieces out there and you bastards won’t even lift a finger to help.” I fought back angry tears. “I would do anything to protect my family. If you had a heart, you’d understand that.”

Something flashed in his eyes. Through clenched teeth, he said, “Don’t you assume anything about me, Ada.”

His tone was calm, too calm. A shiver broke out on my arms. I’d really pissed him off.

And then I jumped out of my skin when a sudden vibration pounded against my ear. Kay’s eyes widened. Oh, shit. The earpiece.

“Ada? Are you there?” said Jeth.

I froze and glanced at Kay, panic rising in my chest. He could hear.

My last chance to escape had gone.

“What is that?” he said. “Where did that voice come from?”

“Ada!”

“I’m here, Jeth,” I said, dully. “I couldn’t get out. I’m sorry.”

Kay stared. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Jeth,” I said. “I’m going to make a run for it now. Is there anyone outside?”

“Yeah, Nell is. We’ve been taking turns. Skyla stood out there half the night. Wait a minute and I’ll give her the signal to create a diversion.”

“Sure.” I looked back at Kay, who still stared, completely bemused. “Really sorry about this,” I said to him, and reached for the magic.

Boom.

The blast knocked me off balance before I’d had the chance to attack. The air rippled like someone had thrown a hit of magic and it had come spinning back at them. From Kay’s expression, he hadn’t been responsible, but he went for his communicator all the same. Calling for backup, maybe? It was too late for him, anyway. I was done. He was between me and the door and that was reason enough to hit him with everything I had.

Next thing I knew, I was pinned in a restraining position, flat on my stomach with my hands behind my back. “Stop that!” I gasped. “I use magic, I’ll take out both of us.”

“That’s kind of the idea,” he said, resting his knee on my spine. “Didn’t you hear what I said? Ms Weston’s pleading your case. You won’t have to stay here much longer before you’re free. You won’t have a criminal record. You won’t have to submit to the Alliance, not if you don’t want to. Hell, you don’t even have to tell me why you wanted that bloodrock so badly—but two people have died for it already and I’m not going to let you escape and put more lives in danger.”

The air trembled again. I could see the threads of magic pulsing, purple and red as sunset, which made no sense, because it wasn’t supposed to be visible on Earth.

“What the hell is going on?” Kay said. “Whatever your friends are doing, tell them to stop it before someone gets hurt.”

Then Jeth’s voice in my ear. “Who’s there? Who was that? Is he threatening you?”

“I’m trapped, Jeth,” I said, the side of my face pressed into the carpet. “Look—maybe I was a bit hasty. They know I’m not the killer. I think. Apparently, they might let me go the legal way…”

“I wish you’d told me that before I gave Nell and Skyla the go-ahead to bust you out of there.”

A pause. “Oh,” I said.

Another blast rocked the room. Now I could tell what was happening. Someone had caused such a magical disturbance, it had a ripple effect on all the other magic in the vicinity. But my arms were held above my back and Kay wasn’t budging despite the trembling floor. I wriggled, trying to grab for the communicator still in his hand.

Boom.

This time, the blast shook one of my hands free, and the split-second advantage was enough for me to touch the communicator. My skin buzzed with the magic, so strong it blanked out my thoughts, and before I could hesitate and think about how stupid my plan was, I’d already sent a bolt of magic into the communicator.

Kay swore and let go of me as the magic exploded. The device burst in a shower of bright, purplish sparks and sent both of us flying back. I recovered first and ran for it.

“Ada!” Kay’s shouts followed me as I pelted out the room and upstairs. Again, I found myself weaving through panic. Guards ran everywhere, and with every step, the noise grew louder. Purple sparks flew overhead, and I picked up speed, cursing the stairs for slowing me down—hands grabbed for my feet and I kicked out—like hell was I going to be dragged back now.

And then I was out in the entrance hall. I ran flat out for the exit, my heart lifting when I saw the silhouette of a familiar figure, one I’d missed more than I’d ever thought possible.

Nell.

A beam of red light whizzed over my head, and sparks ignited the air. Skyla. She was throwing magic, and each blast triggered a backlash that made the air vibrate. Hell—that’s second level! Guards ran about, dodging the blasts, and it was easy to strike out a path through the centre—to freedom.

Nell and Skyla stood back to back by the exit, and a few unconscious guards lay around them. I laughed with relief and sprinted the rest of the way out the door.

Nell’s hair straggled loose from its bun and she’d acquired bruises on her face, but appeared otherwise unhurt. “Skyla, that’s enough!”

Skyla laughed. “God, I’ve always wanted to do that. Okay, okay. Let’s run.”

And damn, did we run. Nell must have taken out an entire guard patrol. I recognised one of the fallen guards as Aric. Ha. We skirted the building and made for the gate, while shouts and bangs from Skyla’s magical assault echoed in our wake.

“Thanks,” I gasped between breaths. We turned and headed down the road. “I mean it—thanks.”

“We’re not safe yet,” said Nell, who as usual was several strides ahead of me despite us being the same height. “We need to find a crowded place.”

We aimed for London Bridge, running out of a tangle of side streets, and saw the tube station ahead. Crowds of commuters poured in and out of the station, and the streets were clogged with people. I half-expected Nell to order us to run out into the road.

“I’m not going to get mowed down by a bus!” I said, clutching at a stitch in my side. “At least use the crossing like normal people.”

Nell shot me a glare. “Normal people don’t break out of prison and escape through the middle of London!”

“Fair point.”

Skyla laughed between gasps. “This is the most fun I’ve had in months.”

“I’m glad to hear you two find this amusing!” said Nell. “What you did in there, Skyla, was dangerous—so dangerous—you shouldn’t be playing with second level magic, even on Earth!”

“Lighten up, Nell,” said Skyla. “It was all I could think of to get her out of there.”

“And it was amazing,” I said.

“Thank Jeth,” said Nell. “Did you know you were wearing the earpiece?”

She knew me too well. “Don’t ruin my victory, dammit!”

The lights changed and we hightailed it across the road. I was riding high on adrenaline and though the fear of being followed hadn’t quite dispersed, this was one of the most crowded parts of London. Still, I went tense again as we queued to ride the tube—Nell had had the foresight to bring my Oyster card. It’d be ridiculous to get apprehended for not paying train fare after breaking out of Central.

The train was rammed, so we didn’t get a chance to talk until we’d disembarked and were hurrying from the station, heading home.

Home. I could have cried. At last. I practically skipped to the front door, realising belatedly that I didn’t have my key. In fact, the Alliance still had my purse and ID and phone, too. Good job I’d used a fake address.

“Crap, my stuff’s back at Central,” I said, stepping back to let Nell unlock the door. “Is Jeth around, by the way?”

“The earpiece’s battery ran out,” said Nell. “That’s why it took him so long to answer your call.”

“Glad we got to trounce Central, anyway,” said Skyla, grinning. “That was fun.”

“Holy freaking crap,” said a voice, and I almost tripped over the doorstep as Alber tackle-hugged me.

“Alber—I can’t breathe, you idiot!”

“You’re the idiot,” he said, voice muffled in my shoulder. “I thought—dammit, Ada, don’t you do that to us again!”

Nell shoved me from behind. “Get in the house, people will come outside to see what the racket’s about. Honestly.”

I couldn’t stop smiling. We won, I thought. We beat the Alliance…

But Nell wasn’t smiling. A cold feeling grew, masking the happy buzz. Did she know what the Royals had done to me?

Was that really a conversation I wanted to have with her right now?

Tainted blood. Something had been implanted in me, when I was a baby, back on Enzar. Something that gave me the ability to use magic…

I’d never thought of it as unnatural before, but it chilled me to think of someone doing that to a baby. Even though I knew what the Enzarian Royals were capable of. I’d long since accepted that I could do nothing about my heritage. But now it gave me a bad taste in my mouth. I wished I’d stayed ignorant.

“We need to leave,” Nell said. “As soon as Jeth gets home. Alber, Ada, go and pack a rucksack for a few days away.”

“Wait, what?” I asked.

“We can’t risk staying here. People have seen us, and the Alliance will have circulated our names and faces within the day. All three of us. It’ll only be one step to finding where we live. We’ll go and lie low at one of the shelters.”

Alber, like me, gaped at her. “You can’t be serious,” he said. “They don’t know we live here.”

“They’re clever, and there are far more of them than there are of us. Once our photographs get into circulation… well, it looks like we’ll be needing to get some of that bloodrock back.”

My heart lurched. “You mean, change our own appearances. Like the refugees.”

Nell had never wanted to do that to me. Yes, I had to wear coloured contacts, but nothing else about my appearance screamed offworld. Same with Nell. Obviously, safety came first, but if I was honest with myself, I always wondered what it would be like to be able to walk around without my real eyes hidden. Sometimes I even slept wearing the lenses, and I certainly didn’t remove them anywhere other than home. Most people would run screaming from diamond-white eyes with pitch-black circles around the pupils. I could keep the lenses in for up to a day and not notice, but by now, it was like a constant itch. I had to take them out.

“We don’t have a choice, Ada,” she said quietly. “Every second we waste here gives the Alliance more opportunity to strike. One bag, each. Skyla, can I have a word?”

Skyla was peering through the letterbox. “Sure.”

I could hardly believe this was happening. Would I ever see my comfy box-sized room again? I grabbed a rucksack, giving myself a mental kick, and started filling it. Clothes. A battered sci-fi paperback. All the knives I had (sheathed, of course). After changing from the outfit the Alliance had given me into my own clothes, I stuck one in my boot. Too bad I’d have to leave my last spare pair behind—those combat boots didn’t come cheap. But carrying them would only slow me down.

I ran to the bathroom to pick up other essentials—toothbrush, towel, spare contacts. Getting the old contacts out was a relief to my sore eyes. I’d have liked to leave them out, just for a short time, but I hated even Nell seeing my real eyes. Hated that they marked the difference between me and her, that they were a reminder that she’d been a slave and I’d have been—what? A soldier? I didn’t like to think about it. Magic-wielders tended to have an odd quality to their eyes, like Skyla’s glittering black ones. But mine were practically transparent, while my pupils were like gleaming dark orbs. They’d have creeped me out on anyone else.

I was used to being different. But not like this. Not knowing there was something… alien in my blood. Whatever they’d done, I had no memory of it, but I’d only been a year old when Nell had brought me here.

Nell.

I went back into the hall to find Alber already packed and waiting, and Skyla hovering near the door. A rucksack lay at Nell’s feet, too. My throat closed up with unasked questions.

“Nell,” I said. “Where are we going, exactly?” Coward. But I just couldn’t ask with Alber and Skyla standing right there.

“To the Knight family’s place. It’s the nearest, and they have bloodrock in stores.”

I knew that because I’d been the one to deliver it what felt like a lifetime ago.

Nell’s phone buzzed. “That’ll be Jeth,” she said. “He’s almost home.”

The minutes stretched into awkwardness, no one wanting to acknowledge the humongous elephant in the room. Eventually, Alber asked, “Did they mistreat you? Because I’ll kick the ever-loving shit out of them if they did.”

“No…” I hesitated. “Some of the guards were douches, but I did try to escape a few times.” And then there was Kay Walker. I had no idea what to even think about him. Let’s face it, I’d been a total ass. He might be annoying, but he was only doing his job. He’d said his supervisor was going to try to get me out…

I shook my head. I wasn’t going to think about the Alliance, not now I was free.

“Bet you gave them a run for their money,” said Alber. “Come on, give us the details.”

Nell flashed him a warning look, but the silence was really getting to me, so I gave him a rundown of my capture, and the times I’d tried to escape. I didn’t mention Ms Weston’s assessment of me. I’d confront Nell in private, later.

Skyla listened with detached interest. “Good on you for fighting back,” she said. “Did they really not plan to let you go?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “See, there was another murder when I tried to escape the second time. I couldn’t have done it, and they knew that, but it slowed everything down. The woman who was interrogating me—Ms Weston—she was going to take my case to the Law Division. But then Jeth contacted me.”

“Weston?” said Skyla. “She interrogated you?”

“You know her?”

“I’ve eavesdropped on enough patrols. She has a reputation.”

“That figures,” I said, with a slight shudder. “She’s scarier than you, Nell. No offence.”

Nell glared. I smiled benignly back.

Then there was a click of a key in the lock, and everyone jumped about a foot in the air—Nell ran to the door and slammed the person into the nearest wall.

“It’s only me!” said Jeth, hands raised, as Nell came within inches of getting him in a chokehold. “Jesus Christ, Nell.” As she stepped back, he saw me, and grinned. His fair hair stood on end like he’d been running his hands through it. “Holy shit, Ada. You’re alive.” He wrapped me in a bear hug.

“Cheers, Jeth,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “It’s… it’s good to be home.” Dammit, I’d shed more tears over the past twenty-four hours than in the previous year. I stepped away from Jeth and looked at Nell. “Guess this is it?”

“Gimme a sec to get my stuff,” said Jeth.

“You are not bringing any computers,” Nell shouted after him.

“But my Xbox,” said Alber. “Seriously, Nell, is this really necessary? We just disappear? My friends will wonder what happened to me.”

“And my coworkers,” said Jeth. “But safety first, right? I hoped this wouldn’t happen, but well, you know, we’re in a risky business.”

“You’re not,” I said. “It’s my fault. I brought this on all of us.”

“Don’t you ever say that,” said Alber. “Seriously, stop talking, now. It is not your fault. Blame the dickheads at the Alliance.”

“Yes,” said Skyla. “This is all their doing. If it wasn’t for them making life so difficult for us…”

“Enough,” said Nell. “Jeth, are you ready?”

“Sure.” Jeth emerged from his room wearing a camper-style backpack. “All right. Where to?”

“Tube station. We’ll head west. Pretend we’re tourists.”

“Easy,” said Alber, eyeing Jeth’s backpack. “All right. Let’s go.”

No one was outside, and the street was quiet. We moved in a tight-knit group, not speaking. We passed by the broken-down pub by the alley that led to the Passages.

A whisper sounded—the only warning we got. They came out of the shadows like ghosts, but solid and grey and covered in armoured scales. Nell attacked so quickly her arms became a blur, knocking one to the ground with a series of blows. I spun around and delivered a kick to another that sent it sprawling. The rucksack on my back slowed me down, but I moved to kick another away from Alber. But they kept coming. Dreyvern, or ‘goblins’, were not like the small, crafty creatures from fairy tales. They were vicious killers.

And some had knives. I ducked a blow from one of them and backed into Jeth. The five of us now stood back to back.

A much bigger creature lumbered out of the alleyway, tusks bared and spittle flying madly. Oh, hell. A chalder vox—and high on pain. I screamed a warning. Nell kicked a dreyvern flying, and it got up, its natural armour having absorbed most of the blow. The chalder vox shifted towards us, its heavy body knocking pieces of brick from the alley walls, and I had a brief, stunned moment to wonder how it got out of the Passages before its fist came at my face.

14

Kay

“She did what?” Ms Weston’s shout could have shattered the windows. “You let her escape again?”

“It was that or kill both of us,” I said. “She somehow directed a magical charge into my communicator and destroyed it. The energy in that thing—it was impossible not to let her go. Level two at least.”

Ms Weston stood across from me, behind her desk, wrapped in a thundercloud of rage. I’d already mentally braced myself for those dreaded words, the ones that would exile me from the Multiverse forever.

I didn’t even want to contemplate what came after.

Ms Weston gave an impatient sigh. “I don’t know what to do with you, Kay, to be quite honest. We have lost a valuable prisoner, and if you hadn’t taken it upon yourself to interfere, it might not have happened.”

“She would have escaped sooner or later,” I said, aware that this was no excuse for fucking up like I had. “She had accomplices—and at least one magic-wielder among them.”

“Yes, it seems we might have a group of rogue magic-wielders on our hands. At any rate, there were witnesses, and we know the faces of her two companions.”

“There were more,” I said. “She talked to someone. She had a communication device, an earpiece, but I couldn’t see it. She was stripped down, right?”

“Yes, she was searched quite thoroughly. However, judging by the technology employed to lock her mobile phone, it’s safe to conclude that she has skilled friends out there somewhere.”

As if we didn’t have enough to worry about. After Ada had fled, it was chase her or subdue the smoking communicator, and common sense had won out. I didn’t want the device she’d blasted with second level magic destroying half of Central.

“What she did with the communicator,” I said. “She released pure magical energy into Alliance technology.” Dangerous—and a damn good idea, too. I was kind of impressed, though I’d have been less so if I hadn’t dropped the thing before it burned my hands off.

“That she did,” said Ms Weston. “I’ll arrange for you to receive a new one.”

She’s not firing me. I could breathe easier again.

“However, this situation is out of hand. The murders aside, we have good reason to suspect there might be an underworld of illicit magical activity here in London itself. Even within the Passages.”

The Passages. “The untracked one must be the one she used. If we can find it, it’ll lead us right to her. It must be near where she lives, or at the very least, the place where these illegal immigrants from offworld are sheltering.”

Ms Weston nodded. Her anger had all but evaporated now. “Excellent. We’ll need to send in an investigatory team. Would you be willing to lead?”

I stared. Didn’t expect that, not after I’d been deemed disappointing, let alone the total clusterfuck of Ada’s escape. “Of course,” I said. It was a chance to make up for the fiasco earlier. To redeem my position in the Alliance. And find out what was really going on with Ada. Why she’d stolen bloodrock.

Someone tampered with her.

“Good. Unfortunately, a number of novices were attacked earlier, as I’m sure you know.”

Yeah. Aric had been one of them. It was the shining light in an otherwise-craptacular day. Though it raised the question: who on Earth had the training to kick the crap out of a bunch of Alliance guards? There had only been two of them. I’d missed it all thanks to that communicator and the magic energy flying around the entrance hall. Two people had launched a direct magical assault on Central. What the hell were we up against?

Even two stunners didn’t feel like enough, but it was as many as they’d give novices going into the Passages. My team was assembled in the entrance hall. No one I’d spoken to before. Lenny was hiding in the office, having been taken off the patrol rota, Ellen had left early. I made a mental note to call her later, and then remembered my communicator was fried.

Carl came over to me before I led the team out. “Here,” he said, handing me a new communicator. “This one’s all set up. Just type in a new pass code.”

“Cheers, man,” I said.

“Good luck—you’ll need it.”

Tell me about it. But I gave orders to the novices with as much authority as I could summon. Judging by the looks some of them gave me, the Walker name’s reputation preceded me. Well, at least it’d make it easier.

There’s a whole Empire tearing itself to pieces out there, and you bastards won’t even lift a finger to help. I would do anything to protect my family. If you had a heart, you’d understand that.

Her anger carried a ring of truth. One I understood too well. Damn it all. Ada was beyond reach now. And yet… she’d been dead right that the Alliance had overlooked the war in the Empire for too long. Obviously, interfering in magical warfare was suicide, but it was like I’d said to Markos. There were other options.

And I had reason enough to challenge the noninterference stance. It sure as hell didn’t come from the entire Alliance. Just the council, or one name in particular. Twenty years ago. There were only three council members present at Central right now, and none of them had any ties to the Walker family.

I hadn’t wanted to get involved with them. I’d joined the Alliance intending to stay far away from the politics which had got my mother killed offworld thirteen years ago—not to mention avoid magic at all costs. So far, I’d failed on all counts. But if I could just do this one thing…

A wild scheme was forming in my mind—totally batshit crazy. Like the insanity of the past few days had unhinged me, I thought it might actually work. My name alone would make the council sit up and listen. That much I could count on.

My rational side hoped I wasn’t about to do something I’d regret.

Into the Passages. The same route Carl had led our team around before, down the sloping corridor to the lower level. No one said a word, but we kept in formation ready for an attack. This was the same place we’d found two chalder voxes, after all. My hand twitched on the stunner, the slight buzz of magic against my fingers like a building charge.

The chalder voxes’ bodies were gone, but the stench remained, and so did the green-lit side corridor. I indicated to the others to keep behind me and led the way towards the light. A faint gleam, like sunlight through an open door just out of sight. A staircase, and it led down to the lower level. I led the way, stunner at the ready. This was Cethrax’s stomping ground. Even the Alliance hadn’t mapped out this place. Blood streaked the walls. Wyvern blood. So it had come from down here.

The echo of footsteps was the only noise that sounded in the warren of corridors. And there were no doors, no stairs. Not yet. But the wyvern’s blood must be a clue. Ada had got into the Passages somehow, before she’d been chased. Not through the Alliance’s entrance. Which meant only one thing.

A knife swung through the shadows. I reacted instinctively, grabbing the owner’s hand and snapping the wrist. A squeal of pain, and then the dreyvern fully materialised, howling. Its ugly body was covered in grey scales, and its now-useless arm dropped to its side as I took the knife. It wailed, threatened by its own weapon, and turned to run. I kicked it in the ribs, and it slumped over on the ground—but there were more of them ahead.

And a door, open wide. Unmistakable. On the other side was a brick wall. This was our hidden door, all right. A group of dreyverns was clustered around it—I counted at least twelve of them. My heart rate kicked up, and adrenaline surged through my veins, heightened by the magic.

The obvious thing to do would be to back off as quickly as possible. But the cry of the fallen dreyvern caused the others to turn in our direction. There were eight of us, but we were still outnumbered.

A knife flew towards our group, and pandemonium took over. I prepared to fight for my life.

* * *

ADA

I ducked the punch and grabbed onto the underside of the chalder vox’s massive arm. It roared, trying to shake me off, but I moved fast. As I climbed, I spotted a jagged wound in its side like a knife strike, but since its skin was like concrete, whatever cut it had to be something seriously strong.

My own knife was in my hand. I had to get to the weak point–

“Ada!”

Claws brushed my leg. A dreyvern had followed me, and its claws digging into the chalder vox’s skin sent the monster into a frenzy. I was forced to hold on with both hands, still clutching the dagger, while avoiding swipes from the dreyvern’s own knife. Cursing, I let go before it impaled my leg, rolling as I hit the ground. The chalder vox bellowed and ran back into the alley, hitting the walls on either side, totally out of it.

Jeth was trading blows with another dreyvern, using the massive backpack to absorb its knife strikes, while Alber and Skyla took on another pair of them. And Nell had moved to the front of the group, a blur of strikes and slashes with a dagger. We were no strangers to fighting Cethraxian monsters. But I couldn’t use magic. There were too many of us to risk it.

I kicked the dreyvern into the nearest wall, my thick boot muting the impact of its armour. It slashed back, face stretched in a manic grin, and I kicked at its weapon hand. It moved like a shadow, and I cursed. I’d forgotten they had the same irritating disappearing trick as the chalder voxes.

The knife came down, drawing a line of fire on my arm. I gasped from the pain, my own weapon slipping in my sweaty hand. I stabbed at its arm but missed, and was forced to back up a step—into the path of another dreyvern.

My injured arm moved like it was weighted. Time slowed down. And then Nell was there, delivering a flying kick to the dreyvern’s face. There was a satisfying crunch as the blow connected and the creature fell.

The second dreyvern stabbed at her. I whirled in, ignoring the stinging pain in my arm, and brought my boot down on its clawed foot. It yelped, and I took the opportunity to stab its weapon hand. Blood spurted, and the knife clattered to the ground. I dived to retrieve it.

Another knife came flying out of the shadows, past me, and struck Nell in the shoulder.

Time seemed to slow again. I was aware that several voices screamed, “Nell!” A roaring in my ears drowned all other sound. The dreyvern grinned a crooked smile.

I kicked it, again and again, driving it into the wall. Adrenaline surged in my veins. You hurt Nell. I’ll kill you.

I screamed in pure rage, stabbing my dagger into the dreyvern’s exposed neck.

Blood spurted in a fountain, more than I’d expected. I fell back, weakness pulling at my limbs. Jeth and Skyla fought side by side, three fallen dreyverns at their feet. And Alber was crouched over a fallen body. Nell.

“God, no.” I pulled the dagger out of the monster’s neck, shuddering. I’d never killed so violently before. So much blood… “Nell. Please. Be okay.”

“Holy shit!” Jeth yelled, and I threw myself over Nell as brick exploded above our heads. The chalder vox was back. And raging mad.

I jumped to my feet, willing my legs to stop shaking. Now wasn’t the time to panic. The chalder vox roared and flailed its four branch-like arms, knocking huge chunks out of the alley wall. It saw us, and cold horror seized me—it was preparing to charge.

“Get out of the way!” someone shouted.

My mouth fell open. Kay ran down the alleyway, caught the back of the monster’s arm, and used it to launch himself into the air. He landed on the creature’s back. A dagger flashed, the chalder vox screamed—and fell.

“I said, get out of the way!” shouted Kay, leaping clear of the falling monster. Alber and I pulled Nell aside, and the chalder vox came down like a ton of concrete.

A sudden current of magic made the hairs stand up on my arms, and two dreyverns ran past the fallen monster. Kay swore, reacting to intercept one of them—a snapping sound, and the dreyvern fell. Skyla kicked at the second, her face a mask of fury. She kept kicking it even when it was on the ground.

“Skyla! Stop.” Jeth went over to her. Alber remained by Nell, pale and staring, arms at his sides. “People are watching…”

I turned to where he was pointing. My heart dropped. I should have guessed we’d draw an audience. People had come out of the nearby houses—old and young, teenagers, families—and all wore varied expressions of shock and terror, like a horror movie had played out right in front of them. I supposed it had. None of them knew about the Passage, after all, and most people preferred not to acknowledge the monsters that lived a heartbeat away.

“Where are you going?” Jeth demanded. He was talking to Kay, who’d moved back into the alley entrance.

“I have to check on my team, make sure there aren’t any more dreyverns in the Passage.” He appeared remarkably unruffled for someone who’d just been in a fight, and his dark eyes seemed to shine with contained excitement.

“Oh, shit. He knows.” Alber swallowed, looking sick. “Nell…”

“Is she…?” My voice choked. She lay very still, blood soaking her shoulder.

“She’s breathing.”

I sighed, relief seeping through my aching limbs. My arm throbbed, blood dripping from the wound, but thankfully it was only a shallow cut.

“Come on. We need to get her out of here,” said Jeth, coming back over with Skyla. “Shit. We can’t use the Passages now. We don’t have any of the bloodrock solution, either, we gave the last of it to that Enzar family...” He looked helplessly at Nell. Like it had just hit him how much we depended on her guidance.

“You need to move.” Kay was back. “There’s a full guard patrol back there, and there’s not much I can do to stop them arresting all of you.”

“Then get on with it,” I said, wearily. “You win.” Nell’s injury had shaken the fight out of me.

“I’m not going to do that,” he said, and for a second, I thought I’d misheard. “Your friend needs medical attention.”

“Yes, but our faces will be plastered over half London by now,” I snapped. “Thanks to the Alliance. Besides, we have friends who can help.”

“That’s foolish,” he said. “She’ll die before you get to wherever you’re planning to take her.”

“I’ll call an ambulance, then. Oh, wait, you dickheads stole my phone.”

“I’ll call,” Jeth said quickly, digging in his pocket.

“You can’t be serious.” Skyla shot Kay a look of contempt. “He works for the Alliance. You’re not going to let him order you around?”

“Nell’s in trouble,” said Jeth, dialling. “Hello? We need an ambulance…”

“Where are you going?” Alber said to Kay, who’d half retreated into the alley.

I stood up and followed him. “Wait! You’re running off?”

“I’m ordering my patrol to clear up this mess,” he said, indicating the bodies of the fallen dreyverns and the massive lump that was the chalder vox. Shadows still streamed where he’d stabbed it, and blood spattered the ground. “I think there might be complaints if we leave them here, though they do add a certain character.”

“It’s not funny,” I snapped. Seriously, he chose now to demonstrate a sense of humour? Then again, he was an Alliance guard and an Academy graduate to boot. From what I’d heard about Academy students, they got unimaginably bored unless there was a threat of imminent death.

The image of the dreyvern’s blood spraying out replayed before I could stop it. I shook my head, determined not to dwell on the fight. Nell needed us.

“And then you’re taking me back there. Right?”

He looked at me, hesitating for a moment. “You know you shouldn’t have run, Ada. If you come without a fuss, we might be able to get you a trial. Ms Weston thinks you could be valuable to the Alliance.”

“You’re joking,” I said. “What makes you think I’d ever work for you?”

“You might change your mind.” He pulled his communicator from his pocket, keeping one eye on me like he expected me to grab for it again.

“Is this it? You’re reporting us?”

He glanced down at the communicator, then back at me. “You know I don’t have a choice.” His gaze moved to Nell, just for a second, like he hadn’t been able to help it. Then he flicked the touch screen. Looked like he was typing something. Probably an order.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I said, desperately. “Do we look like career criminals? I told you, I’m protecting my family. You arrest us, that’s it. We lose everything. Nell probably dies. We get deported back to a war zone. Everyone loses, except you, and I hope you’re bloody happy about it.”

“You won’t be deported. You’re under the Alliance’s protection, like I told you. At worst, you’ll have to register as offworld immigrants and maybe pay for damages to headquarters—not that you did much damage. That place is pretty tough. If you tell me why you stole from the Alliance, I can clear your name, too.”

“Yeah. A likely story.”

“It’s true. I’m not trying to trick you, Ada. I don’t know what you’ve heard about the Alliance, but we’re not heartless monsters. It’s our prerogative to help, offworld or otherwise.”

There was the tiniest hint of bitterness in the way he said heartless monsters that puzzled me. Made me pause.

“The bloodrock,” he said. “All we want to know is what you were planning to do with it. I just heard your brother say something about… a bloodrock solution? Something you need. To escape.”

I could see him piecing it together. He’d heard Jeth. But if he knew what bloodrock could do already, why ask? And the guards hadn’t materialised yet. What had he typed into the communicator?

I shook my head. “It’s just a disguise. That’s all we use it for.”

“You’re wearing a disguise?” He frowned.

“Uh. No. It’s for…”

“Enzar. There are more of you.”

No. I took a step back, too stunned, too shaken to hide what I was thinking.

“Ada, I’m not going to arrest anyone. If there’s anyone else in the same situation as you, they’re under the Alliance’s protection by default.”

I gave a humourless laugh. “Nice try.”

“It’s true. Human rights come before the noninterference law. First principle of the Alliance—you must know it.”

I did know it. The Alliance’s mandate. And none of the refugees had broken any laws except running from a world where they’d otherwise have died or been forced to fight in a war.

Exactly what the Alliance worked to prevent from happening.

“Yeah,” I said, finally. “I know the laws.”

“So you make disguises? For people from Enzar?”

Damn him for being so bloody perceptive. “Nell does. The Alliance forbids any contact with that world. There’s no other way to do it.”

“So that’s what you stole the bloodrock for?”

I crossed my arms defensively. “Why’s it so hard for you to believe?”

“People have been killed over it,” he said.

I shook my head again. “That’s… that has nothing to do with us. We only steal the bloodrock because we need it, the refugees need it. Not like there’s a legal shelter anywhere around here.”

“No.” He glanced down at his communicator, looking preoccupied. “There aren’t any in London at all.”

“I know that,” I said. “What’s it to you anyway?”

“Because I know there’s one run by New York’s Alliance branch. They’ve a whole network set up—it wouldn’t be too far out there to link it to Enzar.”

“What?” I couldn’t be hearing this right.

“Honestly, most of the Alliance employees at Central don’t know how bad the situation in the Empire is—even I only know the basics. People are really escaping? Like you?”

I didn’t want to talk about that. He seemed to notice, and said, “Okay. I know how you feel about the Alliance. But I can at least put you in touch with someone who works at US Central. Once this mess is cleared up.”

No freaking way. “Yeah, right. I’m not going back to Central.”

“I’m not tricking you. I can pull strings in the Alliance. Help the others from your homeworld.”

He might as well have sucker punched me in the chest. “That isn’t something to joke about.”

“You think–” He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what more I can do. I’ll talk to the council. You don’t have to believe I will, but I’m not your enemy, Ada. And I don’t lie.”

I gaped. Who the hell was Kay Walker? I didn’t dare believe him. The very idea that the Enzarians could get out legally—could have a genuine chance to build new lives—it was the one thing we could never have. Nell had drilled it into me so often it was inconceivable to assume otherwise. But she was lying on the ground, close to death, the world had upended itself, and never mind the freaking Balance. Reality itself felt like it was out of sync.

I couldn’t deal with it. And I couldn’t even look at the man who’d torn my life apart and then promised me something I’d never, not for a second, conceived of as possible.

A way to keep everyone safe.

If he was lying, I’d tear him to pieces, and yet I knew it would never, ever be enough. If he had any idea what those words meant…

Maybe I should just stop assuming anything. Accept what happened as part of a wacky, stress-induced hallucination. There was no other way it made sense.

Kay was speaking into his communicator. I hadn’t even heard, like the shock had muted all sound. But now he put the device away. “I have to take care of this,” he said, his tone flat. Emotionless again. “We can’t leave corpses in the middle of the street. I doubt the local council will be happy about it.”

“Yeah.” I drew in a shuddering breath. “But if your team comes in, they’ll arrest me—arrest all of us. Right?”

“I delayed them,” he said. “Told them to clean out the dead dreyverns in the Passages. But I can only keep them back for so long. Go in the ambulance. I’ll come and find you later.”

“You know where we’ll—right, the hospital.”

“I’ll find you,” he said. “You go back to your friends, okay?”

This was surreal. He was actually letting us go. What the hell had got into Kay Walker? I didn’t know, and God, I was so scared for Nell, but for a moment, at least, we had a plan.

The ambulance didn’t take long, and Kay, who’d remained at the alley entrance, moved back into the shadows and was gone in an instant.

15

Kay

What had I got myself into?

Once my team had cleared out the monsters’ corpses, I then had to come up with an explanation for Ms Weston as to how Ada had got away. Again.

I’d lost it. I’d really lost it. Helping a former prisoner? And what the hell had I been thinking offering to call Simon? Like anyone else needed to be dragged into this mess. But this was different. Maybe it was proof of my naïve idiot stupidity, but what bugged me most about the way things had gone for me at Central was the sense that it was damned impossible to do anything remotely useful, even to solve the murders that were happening right there in the office. Let alone the crap-ton of problems out there in the Multiverse that Ambassadors like my mother had given their lives trying to solve. It might be idealistic to think I might be able to make the slightest bit of a difference, but I could at least use the blasted Walker name for something decent. For Enzar.

For Ada. I’d seen it in her eyes. She’d not lied. Her story matched the facts. And yet, whether she’d stolen from the Alliance didn’t seem important anymore. We lose everything, she’d said. Because of the Alliance.

Because of me.

She hadn’t believed me about the shelter. I should never have expected her to. Her distrust of the Alliance ran so deep, nothing I said would change her mind. There was a good chance she’d scream the place down tomorrow. She wore a defensive shell I recognised all too clearly.

Idiot, Kay.

So Ada had agreed to come back. The fact remained that I’d let her and four others, walk free, including the two people who’d assaulted half the security team. But I’d known from the look on Ada’s face that the injured woman had been important—like a mother figure. I couldn’t take her away now. I refused to believe that there was no one in the Alliance who would have made the same choice. Ms Weston was just going to have to deal with it.

So I’d given my orders. Cleaned up the Passages, arranged for other teams to come and check out the hidden entrance. There was no clue as to where these other shelters might be. I’d leave that for later.

Back to Central and Ms Weston’s wrath.

But she wasn’t there. Gone home, I guessed. It was late evening by this time. So it’s postponed until tomorrow, I thought, delivering my report to Carl. He didn’t ask too many questions.

“Bring on the weekend,” he said, putting his communicator away. “No bloody overtime pay for dealing with this mess… no matter. You go home.”

“Sure.” Except I wasn’t going back to my apartment, I was driving across London to make sure Ada kept her word, because I’d officially lost it. And tomorrow, I’d probably lose my job. If I brought Ada tomorrow, then maybe…

Like redeeming myself mattered, I thought as I drove through late-evening traffic. The truth was, I’d seen that look before, the total devastation when Ms Weston had dropped the bombshell on her. Even through those coloured contact lenses, I’d seen the fear that whatever had happened to her—had been done to her—had made her something other than human.

And God, did I wish I could have said something. But I could just picture her reaction.

There’s a whole Empire tearing itself to pieces out there and you bastards won’t even lift a finger to help. I would do anything to protect my family. If you had a heart, you’d understand that.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, willing the goddamned traffic to move faster, and switched on the radio to drown out my own thoughts.

* * *

ADA

Nell was taken in for surgery immediately. With nothing else to do, we sat in the waiting room, numb with shock. Alber barely said a word, and Jeth wasn’t very conversational either. Skyla left shortly after Nell went in, saying she had to get home, but she’d call later.

I took the opportunity to check my bag for damage. Somehow my possessions had survived intact, though the bag was clawed up from the dreyvern attack. But my clothes were okay. I hurried off to find the ladies’, unable to stand another minute sitting there covered in blood. Luckily, the cut on my own arm had stopped bleeding. Shallow wound. But when Jeth spotted it, he told the doctor so I could get it bandaged. Few other people were around, and no one else was in the waiting room. It had that hospital-bleach smell I hated, and every time a nurse passed by, I went tense. I looked out the window instead, but there was nothing to see but a car park and the sinking sun. I was worn ragged, and if not for the worry for Nell, I’d have curled up on a chair and fallen asleep. I started shaking all over, whether with the adrenaline drain or the fact that I hadn’t slept or eaten in over a day, I didn’t know. Or maybe it was shock. Too much had happened at once. I just couldn’t process it. I leaned on Jeth’s shoulder and closed my eyes, and he patted my head absently.

“Hang in there, Ada. Nell’s tough. She’ll be fine.”

Alber swallowed. He sat on the opposite seat with his feet up, the colour leached from his face by the harsh fluorescent lights. “I hope so,” he said.

“Why did that Alliance guy let us go?” Jeth asked no one in particular. “I don’t get it. Is he reporting us?”

I lifted my head from Jeth’s shoulder. “I said I’d go back. Listen—the Alliance thinks I’m important. To them.” I paused. The secret was seconds from slipping out.

“Important?” said Jeth, giving me a sidelong look of confusion. “Because you’re a magic-wielder?”

“It’s… more than that.” I glanced at Alber. “They tested my blood. I’m not—I’m not mageblood. I’m Royal. Someone did something to me back on Enzar. I was only a baby, I don’t remember. But it changed me. Somehow. It’s why I can use magic.” I closed my eyes. “I was going to ask—to ask–”

I swallowed against the lump in my throat.

“Nell,” said Jeth, and put an arm around me.

“Did something to you?” said Alber, fists clenching. “Who hurt you?”

“I’m not hurt,” I said. “It’s just—a shock. I’m related to, to…”

“Not another word.” Alber came over and hugged me, too, creating a weird group hug.

And then out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone enter the room. I glanced up.

Kay stared at the three of us like we were aliens. Under normal circumstances, I’d have laughed. His dark Alliance guard uniform made him look out of place under the bright lights.

“You came?” I said, shifting away from the others. Alber stood, fidgeting awkwardly.

“She’s in surgery,” Jeth said flatly. “None of us are going anywhere until we know she’s okay.”

“That’s fine,” said Kay. “I wanted to talk to Ada.”

“Talk away,” said Jeth, glaring.

Kay didn’t look away from me. “We need to discuss matters which are confidential to the Alliance.”

“Good God, you’re a pretentious dickhead, aren’t you?” said Jeth.

He might as well have spoken to a brick wall. “Ada?”

I sighed, standing up. “Sure, whatever.” Jeth and Alber exchanged surprised glances, but I was too tired to argue.

Outside the waiting room, Kay said, “I sent in my report, but I haven’t heard from Ms Weston yet. She’s not likely to be pleased that I let you go.”

“Oh, what a shame,” I said. “Does anything matter more than your job?”

“If it didn’t, I wouldn’t be here,” Kay said quietly. “Any other guard would have brought you in. But what you said—about Enzar—you’re right. The Alliance needs to do something. Half our council’s offworld at the moment, so I can’t promise it’ll happen quickly, but I’ll do what I can.”

What? How could he change the minds of the council who’d ruled noninterference? I didn’t need to hear this. Not with Nell possibly dying in there.

“You–”

“You don’t have to believe me, like I said,” he interrupted. “Just give me a chance.”

Huh? I shook my head. Playing mind games with Kay effing Walker was not what I needed right now.

“I did have one question, actually,” he said. “When you were attacked, the dreyverns came from the hidden Passage entrance. Has that ever happened before?”

I hesitated. Oh, what did it matter? “Never. It’s on the lower level of the Passages and sometimes there are monsters down there, but none of them have come close to getting out. We’re the only people who know about the door.” I drew a ragged breath. “Guess this is it. All the refugees from twenty-odd worlds use that Passage. I’ve been helping people since I was eight years old.”

“You have?”

I bit my lower lip, but it was too late, like I’d switched on a faucet. The words just wouldn’t stop coming. “Yes. Nell brought me to Earth when I was a baby. I don’t remember it. But she built us a life, all of us. And that’s what I want to do. Help people like she did me. I never wanted any of this to happen.”

There was no point in hiding it from him now. I’d never said so much to another person, let alone a stranger. I’m not your enemy, Ada, he’d said. But the Alliance had destroyed my world, almost got Nell killed, and to add insult to injury, strongly implied she’d been lying to me all my life. I didn’t even know how to deal with that. It was too messed up.

Maybe that was why confessing to him felt like part of the horrible weight on my shoulders had lifted, just a little.

“You know, the Alliance does more than police the Passages,” he said. “We help people too. Offworld.”

“Only if their worlds are approved members,” I said. “I get it. The Alliance isn’t all bad. Look, you can’t expect me to just start trusting you people after what you did to me.”

“I don’t expect that,” said Kay. “It’s your decision. You said you’d speak to us, I’ll hold you to that, but if you were to join…” He paused, like he expected me to interrupt with a hell, no. But I didn’t. Call me crazy, but the part of me still clinging onto sanity was curious to know how this would play out.

Join the Alliance. Like Delta had said. Like, up until the Alliance had caught me, I’d dreamed of. I couldn’t deny it. The Multiverse called to me. It was in my blood—literally, as I knew now. But after how they’d treated me? After accusing me of murder?

“Don’t pile this on me now,” I said. “I can’t think straight. Nell doesn’t trust any of you, but I… I always wondered. I want to go offworld. See the Multiverse.”

Kay looked at me for a second. “Same here.”

“You’ve never been?” I assumed he was in a position of authority, but I guessed not everyone at the Alliance got to go offworld.

“Not yet,” he said. “I’ve only technically been employed there four days. And in that time there have been two murders, a trespasser, two chalder voxes—including one getting onto Earth—through an unknown Passage, no less.”

Four days? Seriously?

“Damn,” I said.

He smiled crookedly. “I know, right?”

I didn’t even know how to respond to that. It explained some things, but at the same time, all the questions exploding in my head were drowned out by the urgency of Nell’s being near death. I glanced back at the waiting room.

“Do you normally hire criminals?”

His smile faded. “This isn’t exactly a usual situation. Your friends could have done a lot of damage. Who was using magic in Central?”

Crap. “Not Nell,” I said quickly. “She’s not mageblood. My little brother is, but he’s never broken any laws. Neither’s Jeth.” Aside from the trespassing, which seemed trivial by now. “You’re not going to charge us for criminal damage, are you?”

“I’d be more worried about those guards she knocked out pressing charges.”

I winced. “Nell doesn’t do things by halves. But…” The last thing I wanted was to confess our dire financial situation to someone who could probably buy out Nell’s whole business.

Apparently some of my alarm must have shown on my face, because he said, “We’ll worry about that when we come to it.”

Like I could ever not worry about it.

“I don’t understand what was up with those dreyverns,” I said, scrambling around for something unrelated to talk about. “It’s not like them to work with a chalder vox. Someone set them up. Set them to ambush us.”

“You think that?” he said.

“I don’t know what to think. It seemed so… calculated. They were waiting right there, as if they knew we were coming.”

“There was another chalder vox in the Passages the other day,” he said. “That’s how I found the hidden tunnel.”

“You found it?” I said, whatever curiosity I’d felt swiftly evaporating. “Let me guess. You reported it.”

“If I hadn’t then, I’d have to now,” he said calmly. “When any offworld creature escapes onto Earth, there has to be an inquiry. Though the Alliance is knee-deep in inquiries at the moment already.”

“The murders,” I said. “Honestly, it has nothing to do with any of us.”

“I know that,” he said. “The two victims had one thing in common, and I’m the only person who noticed it. They both got hold of a certain file from the archives, containing information on bloodrock.”

“Bloodrock?” I echoed, wondering why he’d told me that—by the expression on his face, I guessed he was wondering the same.

“It’s dangerous and classified for good reason,” said Kay. “But I can’t see why someone would commit murder over it. You said you use it for disguise?”

“Yeah, Nell makes this formula,” I said. “That’s all we use it for, I swear. So why’s bloodrock classified, then? Seeing as you’re supposed to be the expert.”

“Not on that,” he said. “I’ve read the archives, and there’s barely any information. But it mentioned Enzar.”

“It does?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what it means. I’m guessing it’s connected to the murders. Started as paranoia, to be honest—hell, maybe it still is. Too many coincidences.”

“Or it could be a cover-up,” I said.

For an instant, I swore there was an odd gleam at the back of his eyes, but perhaps it was a trick of the light. “For what?”

I shrugged. “Depends who filed the information, I guess, and who stored the stuff at Central. I did look when I took it, but there wasn’t any record. It was just labelled as bloodrock.”

“How did you even know there was bloodrock in the stores at Central?” asked Kay. “We don’t exactly broadcast offworld substances.”

“I—good question. I’ll have to ask Nell, when she wakes up.” I winced at the tremble in my voice. “I think it has something to do with this family we know. The Campbell family. My friend Delta lives with them on Valeria. They know people in the Alliance there.”

“Valeria? You really do have contacts,” he said.

“Yeah, Delta’s family are like mine. I guess he’s probably worried about me, I haven’t called him in a while.”

“Your phone,” he said. “I’ll get it back for you tomorrow, okay? Who locked it? The tech team couldn’t get into it.”

“Jeth.” I jerked my head in the direction of the waiting room. “He’s a genius.”

“Hmm.”

“What now?” I asked. “We’re sticking here till Nell’s okay, but, well, that could be a while.”

“Then I’ll call Simon at US Central,” said Kay. “See if we can make an arrangement.”

“Now?” My heart beat loudly in my ears. He—he couldn’t be serious.

“Might as well.” He pulled out his communicator. Must have got a new one, I thought, wondering for the first time since this mess had started what life was like for Alliance employees outside office hours. He didn’t have to be here, let alone helping me. To think he’d arrested me a few days ago. It was surreal.

“Simon,” he said into the communicator. “How’re you doing, asshole?”

In answer, I heard something along the lines of “you lunatic.”

Despite everything, I stifled a giggle. Who would have guessed that Kay Walker would turn out to be a normal guy?

I went back into the waiting room while he paced outside, talking to Simon, whoever he was. Jeth and Alber both stared at me as I closed the door behind me.

“What in the world were you two chatting about?” asked Jeth.

I shrugged. “Everything, really. Just making sure we’re on the same page.”

“He works for the Alliance,” said Alber. “Nell’s going to be pissed.”

“Yeah…” Speaking of, there was movement outside the door. I stiffened as a nurse entered the waiting room.

“How is she?” Alber asked immediately.

“She’s fine, the surgery went well. She won’t come round from the anaesthetic for a while yet, but she’ll recover. She’s a survivor.”

I let out a breath, lightheaded with relief, and sank into a chair.

“Thank God,” said Jeth.

That still left the obvious question of where we were going next. Jeth had had the presence of mind to retrieve our packed rucksacks from the carnage of the fight, but none of us had a lot of cash. We could either hole up in a hotel for the night, or risk going home. But we might be attacked again. Was anywhere really safe now?

“I’m not leaving,” said Alber, when I brought this up. “I’m staying with Nell.”

“I’m not letting you stay here alone,” said Jeth. “Look, after visiting hours close, we’ll just have to go home. Nell was being paranoid, but the house is pretty secure. You know it is. Ada, you’re really going to the Alliance tomorrow?”

“I guess so,” I said. My chest tightened at the thought. And yet… it might be my chance to make a difference. For real. I might even find out what had really happened to me on Enzar, too.

At that moment, Kay came back into the room, stowing his communicator in the inside pocket of his leather-style jacket. I wouldn’t have minded owning one of those. It was pretty snazzy, not to mention it didn’t have so much as a mark from the fight earlier.

“What was that about?” Jeth asked, eying him with distrust.

“Just made a phone call,” said Kay. “There’s a safe house run by the New York Alliance. You can get there through the Passages. If you know anyone who needs somewhere to stay, I can just ask.”

My mouth fell open. “You’re serious?”

“Of course.”

“Wait, what is going on?” asked Jeth.

“The Alliance branch over in America has a safe house for offworlders seeking shelter,” said Kay. “I don’t expect you to believe me, but here.” And he handed me his communicator. My eyes practically bugged out, and it took a moment to focus on the screen. Contact details. I scrolled through, disbelief building by the second. Photos. Of… people from offworld. Karthos. Zanthar. This place was legit.

“Thought you might have been listening in,” he said. “I can ask Simon to talk to you directly, if you need any more proof.”

“That’s…”

I jumped when his fingers brushed mine as he took the communicator from my hand before I dropped it. I hadn’t even realised my grip was slipping—hell, I was losing my grip on reality.

“You’re kidding,” said Alber, staring at Kay. “He’s tricking you or something.”

“So little faith,” said Kay. “What are you doing now, anyway?” He directed the question at me.

“I don’t know. Staying here, I guess. Nell needs us. Well, she will when she wakes up.”

“That won’t be for a while,” said Jeth. “They might kick us out first.”

“Then I’ll camp out on the floor,” said Alber. “Ada’s with me, right?”

“Um…” Central was miles away from here, and Kay’s watching me didn’t make it any easier to think clearly. “Maybe we should go home. I’ll catch the train to Central in the morning.”

“The house… I don’t know,” said Jeth. “I’m tempted to be over-cautious and go to the Knights’ place or something. They’re still secure.”

“Yeah, but they’re miles away,” I said. “It’d be a pain to get to Central from there.”

“You could always come back to my place,” said Kay, directing this at me.

Wait, what?

He read my expression before I could speak. “It’s the only place I can think of where we can stay under the radar. Someone attacked you, and if you travel across London on your own, it might well happen again. I can drive you there, and I have authorised access to Central any time. We can get this mess sorted as soon as the council check in, before it draws any more attention—I’m pretty sure you don’t want another spectacle. There are enough rumours already.”

I shook my head. Started to speak, then realised I didn’t have a clue what I intended to say.

“No freaking way,” said Alber. “I bet you’re planning to murder her. Well, she can kill you with her bare hands.”

Kay actually laughed. “I don’t doubt that,” he said. “Just a suggestion, that’s all.”

“Where do you live?” I asked.

“Ten-minute drive from Central.”

I bit my lip. Of course he wasn’t a serial killer, but did that mean I was willing to trust him? He worked for the Alliance.

He’d offered to help me, help the refugees, in a way I’d never thought anyone could, even after I’d acted like a total ass, insulted and attacked him. What the hell was this?

Alber interrupted the silence. “Jesus, Ada, I know you have bad taste in guys, but this is ridiculous.”

My jaw dropped. “You did not just say that.” I punched my brother in the shoulder. Hard.

“Ouch! I was just messing with—gah!” I had him in one of Nell’s infamous headlocks in a heartbeat.

Kay, who hadn’t reacted at all to Alber’s comment, now looked amused. Which made me even more annoyed. “Don’t flatter yourself,” I shot at him. “I’m not interested in Alliance guards. My brother’s a total ass who’s going to apologise right now, aren’t you?”

“Gah—all right! I’m sorry. Jesus.” Alber rubbed his neck. “That was uncalled for.”

“So was that a yes or a no?” Kay inquired. “For the record, I’m not at all interested in magic-wielders.” Huh. I’d expected him to say criminals, not magic-wielders.

“Good.” I glared at him. “What’re you going to do if I say no?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“And if I say yes?”

“What I said. Drive you back with me. Not murder you in your sleep. No offence, but you look like you’re about to crash.”

“That was offensive,” I said. “But all right. Fine.” Maybe I was tripping out from sheer tiredness. I hadn’t slept all night, and it had been a hell of a long day. One freaking bombshell after another.

Maybe I just wanted this whole fiasco dealt with. Like he’d said, I’d made a pretty big spectacle of myself already. Everyone would know who I was, who my family were. They probably thought I was a lunatic, if not a criminal. If I could really clear my name, clear Nell’s, then things could go back to normal. I didn’t have to join the Alliance.

I really did have a choice in the matter.

And okay, maybe one percent of me was the tiniest bit curious to learn about the Alliance guard who’d gone from enemy to possible ally within the space of only a few hours.

* * *

This had to be some bizarre dream. I sat in the front of Kay Walker’s flashy red car as he steered through late-night London traffic. I hadn’t a clue what to say, and Kay seemed content to drive in silence—apart from occasionally cursing at particularly idiotic drivers.

“Damn city drivers,” he muttered, tapping his fingers on the dashboard.

“You’re not from the city?”

“I grew up on the outskirts,” he said, not elaborating.

“The Academy’s… south of London, isn’t it?” I said. “I’ve never been, but Nell used to talk about it.” I bit my lip. Shouldn’t have mentioned Nell. I looked down, but Kay’s eyes were on the road anyway.

He nodded. But didn’t say a word.

Gotta love awkward silences. I fidgeted, watching the traffic instead, the ordinary streets, shops, chattering people boarding red buses, thronging the pavements. People who had no clue what insanity was happening so close by. Outside the Alliance, did anyone know at all? Nell had got all our information from contacts, like Skyla, who relentlessly spied on Central. Back before all this craziness, that was all I’d known—secrecy. I could never tell anyone who, what, I really was.

Kay knew. More than I’d ever intended to tell anyone. And it was only now occurring to me that I knew nothing about him. At all. Including why the hell he’d taken it upon himself to help me, after everything that had happened. I glanced at him out the corner of my eye. He looked… tired? Sad? I couldn’t tell.

Before I could think of anything intelligent to say, he stopped the car next to a row of apartments.

I didn’t know what to expect of Kay’s house. Living in central London wasn’t cheap, and Academy graduates were usually loaded. But his studio flat was pretty modest. Top floor, up four flights of stairs. I was about ready to collapse by the time we reached the room, but I didn’t say a word and followed him into the apartment. First time I’d ever been to a guy’s flat, seeing as most of the guys I’d dated had still lived with their parents. As for my two brothers, Alber’s room was a no-go area, and Jeth’s was the kind of organised chaos only a tech geek could achieve. Kay, though…his one-room apartment was spotless. Almost too clean. The fitted wooden furniture was bare, save for a flat-screen TV on the desk, couch in front. Kitchenette off to the side, bathroom through another door. Nothing lay on the floor, no discarded clothes or anything. No girlfriend, I thought. A handful of boxes were stacked in one corner, next to a punch bag.

“Don’t you have…anything else?” I said, lamely.

“It’s a new apartment,” he said, shrugging off his jacket. “I just moved in a week ago, I’ve been at Central most of the time.”

I felt a rush of homesickness for my own cupboard-sized room, stars on the ceiling and all. Would I ever get to go back?

“Wow,” I said, not sure what else to say. I dropped my rucksack to the floor. “Damn. What a day.”

“I was going to order takeout Chinese. Want some?”

“God. Yes.”

As he dug in his jacket pocket for his communicator, I saw a mark on his left arm that I thought at first glance was a tattoo—but it was a scar, a deep line that ended in a jagged mark on his forearm. What had done that? It wasn’t recent, though it looked painful. As he moved, I saw it was on both sides of his arm, like a sharp claw had stabbed right through it.

Ouch. I turned my back and nosed around some more while he dialled the number, peering into boxes. Books, mostly. Offworld dictionaries? Academy graduation certificate—damn, he really had just graduated. With top grades.

“What are you doing?”

“Being curious,” I said, shamelessly. “About what Alliance guards do when they’re not beating up monsters or arresting people.”

“We’re not that interesting,” said Kay. “Don’t touch that.”

Whoa. “I’m touching nothing.”

“Good. I have those arranged alphabetically.”

I burst out laughing. “Sorry,” I said. “Wait—you’re not serious.”

“Maybe a little.” The slightest smile lifted the corner of his mouth.

I turned back to the boxes. “Tell me that isn’t the collector’s edition of Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings. Because I might just kill you if it is.”

He was the one to laugh this time. “I’m terrified. That’s what I told you not to touch, by the way.”

“Really? Hmm. Didn’t figure it was your thing.”

“Call it a guilty pleasure.”

“I lent my copy to Delta—my friend from Valeria,” I explained. “Most of the stuff he gives me doesn’t work on Earth, though.” I stopped myself before I said anymore. For someone who’d spent her life keeping secrets, I was crap at not letting information slip lately.

“Valeria?” Kay said. “You’ve not been there. No, you said you hadn’t been offworld.”

“Believe me, I’ve tried to persuade him to sneak me in a dozen times,” I said. “I mean, they have freaking hover cars. And hover boots now, too. I’m going there someday, no matter what.”

“How were you planning on doing that?” he asked. “Not to judge or anything. I’m intending to get on a mission to Valeria as soon as I make Ambassador. That is, if this mess doesn’t cost me my job.”

Crap. We were back to that again. Kay looked like he regretted mentioning it. I fell silent, and Kay started pacing the room, like he had in my prison cell—had that really only been yesterday?

I stood, leaving the boxes, and went to check through my bag again.

“You can crash on the bed,” he said. “I don’t mind.”

Well, that was something. And I did feel like crashing. I’d been running on pure adrenaline all day.

I managed to rouse myself when the food arrived, the TV playing some old action flick in the background. Kay looked like he was avoiding my eyes, and gave me privacy to go and clean myself up in the bathroom. I’d acquired more bruises, and my knees were scraped raw, but I’d had worse injuries in Nell’s intense training classes. Thank the gods I’d had the sense not to pack the blue rabbit-patterned pyjamas. Because that really wasn’t a level of embarrassment I was ready to handle—this was awkward enough already.

Naturally, because I was trying not to think about it, I wondered how many other girls he’d brought back home. Wait, new apartment. Where did he live when he was at the Academy, then? It was like a university, so probably campus accommodation. And before then? Who were his parents?

Cut that out, Ada, I told myself. Now was not the time to get overly curious about Kay Walker. We were from different worlds. Though I couldn’t help imagining how Nell would react if I started dating an Alliance employee. She’d interrogated most of my exes, actually scared a couple of them off. Kind of depressing, really. Sign up for an overprotective guardian who assumes everyone’s a murderer in disguise.

Someone who’d defend me to the end of the Multiverse.

That thought sobered me up pretty fast.

Despite the buzz of the TV and Kay’s constant pacing about—seriously, did he ever sit still?—I fell asleep the instant I lay back on the pillow.

* * *

I awoke with a gasp. I’d been dreaming of fighting the dreyverns again, unable to stop the knife flying out and striking Nell. Disoriented, I looked around the darkened room. Kay sat opposite me, back to the wall, eyes closed.

“What in the world are you doing?” I asked. He couldn’t possibly be asleep like that.

One eye half-opened. “Meditating.”

“As opposed to sleeping?”

“I’m an incurable insomniac.” Both eyes opened this time. “Are you okay?”

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You talk in your sleep.”

I flushed. “Oh, God.” I pulled the covers over my head, and he laughed softly.

“You speak Karthonic?”

“Yeah… was I speaking that?” I was about to ask how he recognised it, but he probably knew twice as many offworld languages as I did. Academy graduate.

“Kind of. Didn’t make much sense. Who taught you, anyway?” He hesitated. “This is off record. No one’s gonna come in here and arrest you.”

You know what? I believed him. I let the covers drop from my face. “My foster brother, Jeth. He was originally from Karthos. He wanted to learn from a tutor. I picked up a few phrases.”

“What about your other foster brother? Which world’s he from?”

“Alber’s from Enzar too. But mageblood.” I paused. “What about you? Any siblings?”

A shake of the head. “Just me.”

“Is it not… lonely here on your own?” Now I was definitely prying.

He shrugged. “Not really. I’ve only owned this place a few days, and I’ve been at Central or in the Passages most of that time. Ambassadors don’t really settle on one world, anyway.”

“What about… your parents?”

His eyes narrowed, barely perceptibly. “Dead or otherwise absent.”

I knew it was rude to keep asking questions. “Sorry,” I said. “I was just curious. I don’t know what happened to my real parents. I never met them. But Royals aren’t exactly known for being friendly. They probably started the war in the first place.” I sighed. “It’s a mess.”

“Really?” He paused for an instant. “So who raised you, then?”

“Nell.”

“She kicked Aric’s ass. I wish I’d seen.”

“Me, too,” I said, smiling despite myself. “So… you went to the Academy.”

“Yeah. Graduated nearly two weeks ago.”

How old did that make him, then? A couple of years older than me at most. But he acted older. Not that I was a shining example of maturity, but still. Then again, half the people from my year at school were married and had houses and kids, and the other half spent most of the time drunk and passed out in their own gardens. I’d never really had anyone my age I could relate to, save for my brothers. Even the people who thought the idea of travelling to another universe was awesome would ultimately pick Earth, the familiar, in the end.

Even Nell. I’d lived in a literal shelter all my life, for all the excitement.

“The Academy,” I said. “Was that like pre-Alliance training?”

“Sort of. You don’t have to go there to get a job at the Alliance, but it lets you skip most of training because you already have the experience. But most people go through an apprenticeship instead. Are you at university, or working?”

“Uh. Neither, at the moment. I used to help Nell at the shelter. Now…” I’d no idea. What would happen to the shelters now?

“I’ll talk to the council,” he said. “The Alliance could use the help, if New York Central opens that Passage to the shelter over there.”

“You’re… really going to do that.”

“Of course.”

I shook my head. It still seemed so surreal. For all I knew, I was dreaming now. I absently glanced about the room. “I still don’t get it, you know that?”

“You don’t have to,” he said.

No. Except… now, I kind of wanted to. Pity magic didn’t extend to reading minds.

“If I were you, I’d consider joining the Alliance,” he said. “You’d still get to help people, only in a legal way. And Ambassadors get free run of the Multiverse.”

“Only if I can still help people from Enzar,” I said. “Ambassadors—that’s what you want to do, right?”

He inclined his head.

“All right. Well, I know I grew up here, but Enzar is my homeworld, and so many people have died. If I can help people get away from that place, I will.”

“Enzar,” he said. “The Alliance has kept that one under wraps, which is quite unusual given the scope of the war. I was planning to check their archives in the morning. The connection to bloodrock—it seems too odd a coincidence.”

“Yeah, it does. You can never be too careful with magic.”

“Nell said that, right?”

“How did you know that?”

“I guessed. Judging by what you did with magic, I don’t think safety’s first on your list.”

I fully sat up, arms folded. “Oh, you’re back to lecturing me again? Believe it or not, I know magic’s dangerous. I know what I’m doing.”

“Look, I’m not trying to lecture you… okay, maybe a bit. At the Academy, there was an incident. Several people got hurt because of magic. Nearly died.”

“Ah.” I figured he’d been involved. But the careful blankness on his face could have been the calm before a storm, and as curious as I might be, I didn’t want to push further.

Is he a magic-wielder? There was no way to tell from looking at someone, not if they were from Earth. Though trying to read Kay Walker was an impossibility. The only time I’d got a real reaction from him had been when…

Ah, crap. I shook my head, annoyed at the guilt rising. “I’m sorry I yelled at you before,” I said. “What I said was… awful. I…”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, cutting me off. “Really.”

The guilt didn’t go away. I’d been desperate enough not to care what I said, just to hurt the nearest person, and it happened to be him. And instead of arresting me again, he’d risked his job and helped me. However surreal it seemed, if he’d really intended to help Enzar… I don’t lie, he’d said, and then handed me proof about that shelter. As for the rest? It might be crazy, but it felt like he’d told the truth. Which made me even more of a bitch.

“Dammit,” I muttered. “Why did you have to turn out to be nice?” And why couldn’t I keep my stupid mouth shut?

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Just it was easier to hate the Alliance and blame you for all the crap in my life. Now I don’t know who to blame. And I feel like the world’s biggest idiot.”

“You’re welcome to blame me if it makes it easier,” he said lightly.

“Hmm. Nah, I think I’ll blame the Multiverse in general.”

“Get some sleep.” His mouth curled into a faint smile. But a genuine one.

Yeah. Good idea. No point in thinking about what I couldn’t control. I lay back down, heaviness weighing on my eyelids. Tilting my head, I saw him shift slightly. In fact, now I looked closer, I could tell he was only feigning casualness, and his eyes were open, alert. He sat at a slight angle, so he could see the door. Like a trained soldier. Keeping an eye out? Did he expect an attack?

My eyes ached too much to keep open any longer, and the world faded away.

* * *

My eyes flickered open to the sight of Kay walking past the door, shirtless. I sat bolt upright.

“Holy hell.”

“What?” He smirked. “Like what you see?”

“What the—what the hell happened to you?”

Scars crisscrossed the entire left side of his body—long, deep scars like the one on his left arm, like claw-marks. I gripped the bed convulsively. I couldn’t even imagine the pain.

“I had a disagreement with a wyvern,” he said, absently running his right hand over the mark on his left arm.

“How are you still alive?”

“Lucky.” He said this in an ironic tone.

“You’re insane.” I shook my head. “You’re actually insane. You know that?”

“I did wonder.” He went into the bathroom, leaving me staring. I rubbed my eyes. Damn. Here I was, getting distracted again. It was morning now. I had to get my head together.

Today was our last chance.

16

Kay

“Why bother driving in London?” asked Ada.

“I hate public transport,” I said, amused at her incredulity, as we waited at a red light. She perched on the edge of her seat, short red hair still slightly tousled though she’d dragged a brush through it. She wore black, her own approximation of guard uniform complete with daggers sheathed in those famous boots of hers. Dangerous, and in my book, that equalled “extremely attractive”. And the reflection of her low-cut long-sleeved top in the wing mirror didn’t help. I hadn’t counted on her being so bloody distracting now her defences were lowered around me.

“That figures,” she muttered. “People are too slow, right?”

Despite everything, a smile crept onto my face. She was observant, I gave her that. And fearless. If not for the circumstances, last night could have gone very differently. And if I wasn’t at least fifty per cent sure she still didn’t like me.

That’s enough, Kay. Concentrate.

Ada picked at a loose thread on her coat as the towering shadow of Central Headquarters came into view. “You’re sure they won’t just lock me up again? Because I’m placing a hell of a lot of faith in you at the moment. If you’re lying, I’m gonna drop-kick you into next week.”

“Honestly, the worst that can happen is that we both get put on trial,” I said, only half paying attention. My communicator kept buzzing. The morning guard had sent an alert that all novices were to arrive clad in guard uniform ready for another search of the Passages. I wore the uniform, but no weapons, and right now, even the ordinary streets of London seemed suspect. No one had a clue what was happening. Even in Central, really. I sure as hell hadn’t told anyone I had the prisoner at my freaking apartment. Well, what was I supposed to do? It was plain obvious she was a victim of circumstance, lawbreaker or not, and the same went for her family. She probably thought I’d just wanted to keep an eye on her to make sure she didn’t skive today’s meeting, and maybe the rational part of me had. But like I’d said, she’d been attacked once already. Everything—the killings, the attacks, the threats—hiked my paranoia up to full level. I’d tried my damned hardest not to look at her sleeping when I’d been watching the door, but now she most likely thought I was a creeper on top of everything else. Or a weirdo.

I’d heard worse. I shouldn’t even care what she thought of me, and yet, there it was.

I steered the car past the road that led to the Passages. “Trust me, the Alliance doesn’t arrest people all that often. This week is not typical. By the way, Simon’s going to meet us in the Passages later to talk about Enzar and the shelter. I’ll get your phone back for you and you can contact your friends, okay?”

“I—sure.” She shook her head. “Why are you helping me?”

“Would you rather I didn’t?”

“I don’t have a clue what’s going through your head at the moment.”

Yeah. Neither did I.

As we turned towards the gates of Central, a sharp screech rent the air, and a huge, heavy shape came half-running, half-flying out of the side-street to the Passages. I saw talons, twin membranous wings, thick-scaled body, lashing poison-barbed tail—before it all slammed together into one image.

Wyvern.

“Shit!” I yelled, braking.

Scaled feet slammed down onto the front of my car, claws digging in. I swerved, killing the engine a second before we collided with another vehicle. My car shuddered to a stop—or what was left of it.

I was already unbuckling my seatbelt and diving for the door, snatching up the tire iron I kept under the seat for emergencies. I rolled over on the pavement and Ada tumbled out as the wyvern clawed its way through the front of my car. Bits of metal flew everywhere, and jaws clamped down where we’d been sitting seconds ago.

Swearing, I threw the tire iron as the beast raised its giant scaly head, striking it in the mouth and knocking several teeth flying in a spray of blood. But I hadn’t hit it at the right angle to knock it out, only piss it off even more.

Crap, this was bad. I didn’t have my stunner or any other weapon—it seemed to me the Alliance was seriously misguided on that one, not allowing employees to carry weapons outside patrol hours. But Ada reached for her boot and pulled a dagger.

“You can’t fight it, Ada,” I said, backing up. This wasn’t a fight two people could win.

“Kay!” Ms Weston leaped out from the car I’d almost hit, and the wyvern headed right for her.

“Son of a bitch,” I said, and prepared to kick common sense in the face.

Ms Weston, however, raised her hand and threw her stunner to me. I reacted just in time to catch it, and saw that she had another one of her own and was waving it threateningly.

The wyvern clawed its way through the ruins of my car and spread its bat-like wings wide. It was bleeding, I noticed, from several places its thick armoured scales had been knocked off. But it was still eight feet tall, covered in thick armour, and angry as hell.

I instinctively moved in front of Ada.

“Don’t you dare,” she said. “It’s only fair that I get a crack at the monster, too.” She grinned, and ran at the wyvern.

“Get the tail!” I shouted over my shoulder—we needed to cut off the poison barb otherwise odds were, it was game over for at least one of us. I crossed the road in a zigzag to avoid the thrashing tail, which left dents wherever it struck the tarmac. Ms Weston brandished her stunner, but the wyvern seemed undaunted. It screeched, and the claws swiped out. Ada ran for the tail, dagger in hand. And I aimed at the side, stunner at the ready, and jumped. I managed to get a grip on a patch of loose scales and haul myself up, pressing the stunner to a wound in its side.

Magic sizzled through the beast’s skin, and it cried out, tail lashing wildly—behind it, Ada screamed.

Shaken from the backblast, I climbed sideways and peered around, my heart stopping when I spotted Ada splayed on the ground, but she jumped up again and made another lunge for the tail.

The wyvern swiped for Ms Weston. She let out a stifled yell as her hand was tangled in its claw, but the buzz of static warned me she’d used the opportunity to fire the stunner. I knew the drill, I’d done it in simulation a hundred times. Aim for the weak points, the joints between its armour. Not that it had many of those. I quickly let go and dropped to the ground, the echo of the magic shock vibrating through my body. Ada, meanwhile, had thrown herself flat on the tarmac to avoid the lashing tail and was stabbing wildly with her dagger. I hoped she knew what she was doing. One wrong move could kill her.

Weakened by the double attack, the wyvern staggered sideways. I had a brief glimpse of terrified faces peering from windows of the occupied houses as I readied myself to fire another shot with the stunner.

And did my best to ignore the answering pulse in my veins, the tug of magic that shouldn’t even be present on Earth.

The wyvern swayed, knees buckling, and I jumped clear as its side smashed into the metal fence. The tail came down again, with Ada clinging to the underside, inches away from the poisonous barb. Cursing, I checked on Ms Weston, who’d drawn a knife and was slashing at the wyvern’s flailing claws, ignoring the blood streaming from her own arm.

“Got a spare?” I ran to her side and joined in the attack, firing another shot with the stunner into the palm of its hand. The beast reared back, its scaly hide trembling, drool and blood dripping from its gaping mouth.

To my surprise, Ms Weston handed me her weapon and backed off, allowing me to take the attack. She’d drawn her communicator instead. Calling for backup. I concentrated on the flailing monster, which was beginning to recover from the double attack.

Then it screeched, a grating cry that cracked the glass in several car windows. There was a heavy thud, and its tail struck the ground in a shower of blood. Ada had found her mark. Claws swiped in Ms Weston’s direction, and I slashed back with the knife, severing the end of one claw. I struck again, cutting deep into its arm under the damaged armour. Blood poured from the wound and the wyvern flailed back. Ms Weston rejoined me with another knife in her hand and her face a determined mask.

“Let’s give it hell, Kay,” she said.

Claws swiped, and so did my knife. Several scaled fingers, claws and all, fell to the ground, and before it could rear back, I slammed the stunner into the wounds. This time, the recoil nearly took me off my feet. Magic burned through my veins, and I staggered but kept my balance.

There was a snapping sound, and the wyvern screeched. My eardrums vibrated, and several people screamed inside the houses.

Ada came running around from the spot where the monster’s tail had been. She’d cut it clean off. Blood spattered her dark clothes and streaked her face, but she threw herself back into the fight. The three of us moved to surround the beast. It had nowhere to turn.

Shouts rang out, and several guards ran up to join us. The message had got through. Knives slashed, stunners sent buzzes of magic through the air, and the wyvern fell.

Ms Weston stepped back to let the guards take care of it and beckoned to me before I could jump into the action again. Ada had moved back too, gasping for breath, her face painted with the wyvern’s blood.

“I need you to run to Central,” said Ms Weston. “My communicator’s damaged, but this was a calculated attack. And they’re planning another one.”

I looked from her to the wyvern. “You think–?”

“This would have seemed like an accident, of course. But there are others in danger, too. I want you to go to the medical division and order an evacuation. I think that’s the next target.”

What the hell was I missing? I shook my head, slightly dazed and breathing heavily from the fight.

“You’re absolutely sure?” I said.

“Better to be safe. Go, now.”

“I’ll stay here,” said Ada quickly. “Go on.”

Ms Weston looked in her direction. Damn. There went my plan to clear her name. I had to trust that Ada would stay calm. If people really were in danger at Central, then that had to take priority.

Thanks, universe, I thought, running back towards Central. Guards were still coming out the doors and several people stopped to talk to me as I went in.

“What’s going on?” asked Carl. “We got a call, but no orders.”

“Wyvern attack,” I said breathlessly, pointing over the fence. “Mostly taken care of.”

“Damn.”

I headed downstairs, past the room where Ada had been imprisoned, and saw that the door to Saki’s lab was slightly open.

“You again?” she said from behind her desk, as I pushed the door further in. “What this time?”

“Ms Weston’s ordered an evacuation,” I said, in a low voice. “She thinks the labs are the next target. A wyvern attacked us in the road.”

“You’re kidding me,” she said.

I shook my head. “She really believes it. I don’t know why, but I reckon you ought to get out of here.”

Saki made an impatient noise. “If you’re absolutely sure.” She grabbed a handful of papers and came out of the lab to join me. “Ada’s blood,” I said, as we walked quickly towards the other labs. “You didn’t figure out what was wrong with it, did you?”

“Kind of. It’s quite similar to what Mr Clark was asking about just before he was killed. This old research project was abandoned a while ago—thirteen years ago, I think…”

Shit. I’d suspected, but I hadn’t known for sure. No one in the Alliance was supposed to know about the brief spell of failed experiments. Because the instigator had relocated to London’s West Office immediately afterwards, and had finally disappeared off grid, five years ago, on the closed-off world of Thairon. Leaving his son behind.

His son, who’d also participated in the experiment. Not by choice.

“You have to get out of here,” I said. “Is there anyone else down here?”

“Yeah… hold on.” She rapped on the nearest door, while I pushed open another. Some were locked. One contained Ada’s phone, discarded on the table, and I picked it up.

“Everyone’s out,” said Saki, who was now surrounded by confused-looking doctors.

“What’s happening?” one of them asked.

“Ms Weston’s ordered an evacuation,” I said. “Follow me.”

Though I led the way in silence, the world felt like it was tilting under my feet. Now I had a pretty good idea of the killer’s motives. I hadn’t thought anyone else was involved, that there’d been any other… subjects. But it made sense.

The question was, who was it?

A tense silence followed us upstairs. No one questioned the order, and Saki and I led the group across the entrance hall. Nothing looked out of place, except the unusual lack of people coming into work, and I knew that was down to most of the guards having gone after the wyvern. It still felt wrong.

Outside. I could see the carnage from the battle even from here, a crowd gathering around the hunched, scaly body of the wyvern. It must be dead, or close to. I knew from experience in the Academy’s fight simulations that those bastards were wicked tough to kill. It was probably the same one which had been in the Passages the other day.

Ms Weston crossed the car park towards us. She’d pressed a cloth to her bleeding arm and her usually impeccable uniform was somewhat dishevelled and dust-stained, but she held herself upright. She gave me a tight nod, which I assumed meant “thank you”.

“What’s the problem?” Saki asked. “Why the evacuation—what happened?” Her eyes bugged out at the sight of Ms Weston bleeding, and beyond that, the torn-up street and wrecked cars.

As Ms Weston spoke to them, I spotted Ada just outside the gate. She’d resheathed her dagger and wiped the blood from her face, which relaxed when she saw me. “That’s your boss, right?” she said. “She told me to come back later for questioning.”

“She won’t arrest you again,” I said, pulling her phone from my pocket and handing it to her. “Got this back for you.”

“I—thanks,” she said, a surprised flush lighting her face. She started tapping the touch screen. “Hell. I’ve a ton of messages from Delta.”

“About that,” I said. “This mess is going to take a while to clean up. I can’t promise I’ll be able to help you find the shelter, but I can give you Simon’s details.”

“Sure.” She shook her head, looking a little dazed, and I rattled off Simon’s code number, then mine. She nodded. “Stored. Hang on. There’s a quicker way.” She dug a hand in her pocket and pulled out—nothing. “It’s an earpiece,” she said quickly. “Invisible. My brother invented them. That’s how I talked to him when I was imprisoned.”

I stared at her. “You what?” I’d forgotten all about that, in the wake of everything else. But I reached out and felt something small, metal and solid in my hand. I could see the faint outline if I squinted.

“Clip it to your ear. There’s a switch to activate it on the back.”

I held the tiny object delicately, pushing it into place behind my left ear. “If your brother wants to apply for a job in our tech department, I can ask,” I said.

She smiled grimly. “If we ever get out of this mess, I’ll tell him that.” She glanced at Ms Weston, who was talking urgently to Saki and the medics.

“I don’t understand,” Saki was saying. “What part of our research–?”

“What do you mean, experiments?” someone else said. “I’ve never heard anything about—”

Voices. Dragging it all out, piece by piece. I froze, unable to move away. Even though I knew what was coming. Like it was inevitable.

“That’s the point. It was confidential. The subjects didn’t have any reaction, so it was judged a failure,” said Ms Weston.

She knew. God help me, she knew. The experiment had been a one-off. Earth didn’t usually go in for magic-based research, for obvious reasons, but from what I’d picked up on through listening to his conversations with other Alliance members on the phone, my father had been fascinated with the notion of people with inbuilt magic sources, a rarity even in high-magic worlds. Fascinated enough to convince a handful of scientists at Central to inject people with—I had no idea. Distilled magic sources, like a jacked-up version of the temporary-boost implants used on some of the east-way worlds. They’d gone along with it, of course, because he was a council member, and half-crazed with grief over losing his wife in a failed Ambassador mission. At least, that’s what everyone thought.

I knew better.

I pressed my clenched fist to my mouth, willing my mind to stop replaying those images. Stop. Stop that.

I damn near jumped out of my skin when my communicator buzzed in my pocket. I retrieved it and swiped in the code, seeing there was a new message under Markos’s name.

“Lenny’s dead.”

“Shit,” I said, taking a step back. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” said Ada.

“I have to go. Ms Weston—someone else from Office Fifteen has been killed. Lenny.”

“No,” said Ms Weston, the blood draining from her face. “I thought—I thought they’d go for the labs. We have to make sure everyone else gets out.”

She marched towards Central. I turned back to Ada.

“You’re going?”

“I have to. They’re killing people in my department.”

“But—but you could be their next target.”

Yeah. I knew that. And was she actually worried about me? “I won’t get killed,” I said.

“You bloody better not,” said Ada. “I’ll wait out here.”

I turned and ran back to Central, the buzz of the communicator becoming a roaring in my ears. I flew upstairs and skidded to a halt outside the office. The grey carpet was soaked in blood.

“Fuck,” I said.

Ignoring the instinct to get the hell away, I followed the trail of blood. Then I jumped back as a head appeared over the top of a filing cabinet.

“Only me,” said Markos, moving around the cabinet, tail swishing anxiously. “I just found him—it must have happened in the past few minutes.”

I went into the office. Lenny’s body slumped in a chair, blood pouring from multiple stab wounds in his neck and chest. And discarded on a desk was the murder weapon—an Alliance guard dagger, crusted with blood. My hands clenched into fists.

“We need to get out of here,” I said, turning back to Markos.

“Yes, I can’t say I’m keen on sticking around. But the Law Division will be on our cases if we go wandering off.”

“Fuck the Law Division,” I said. “A wyvern just attacked us. Ms Weston thinks she knows who did it. We’re next.”

The centaur’s mouth fell open. “You what?”

“You think I’d joke about something like that?”

“I think you look slightly mad. Okay, I’m coming.”

“Where’s Ellen? And everyone else?”

“I was the only person here. People think our office is haunted, funnily enough.” But he clip-clopped after me into the corridor.

“Oh, for crying out loud, do you think I’m getting in that bloody elevator after Alan died in there?” I said, seeing which direction he headed in.

“Centaurs,” said Markos, with a great deal of dignity, “don’t get along with stairs.”

That figured.

Someone shouted, “Where the hell are you two going?” Damn. I’d forgotten Aric.

“Out,” I said. “We’re next on the killer’s hit list.”

“A likely story.” Aric stepped in to block our path.

“For God’s sake, we don’t have time for this!” I glanced at Markos. “Lenny’s dead back there. The killer’s targeting our department—hell, they’re probably somewhere in here right now.”

Aric looked around, like he couldn’t help himself. He narrowed his eyes at me. “Like I’m going to fall for that one, Walker.”

“Does the blood and carnage not speak for itself?”

“You know,” said Aric, taking a step towards me so he blocked the exit, “I think you’re the one behaving suspiciously. If anyone has the potential to be the killer, it’s you, Walker.”

That was it. “Out of the way, Aric.”

“What, or you’ll try to kill me again?”

“Are you still not over that? Get a goddamned life.”

“Enough!” Markos’s hooves shot out, sending Aric sprawling to the ground. “I’ll trample both of you if we don’t get the hell out of here.”

Aric got to his feet, glaring at Markos. “You’ll pay for that.”

“He says that a lot,” I said. “C’mon.” And despite it going against all instinct, I followed him into the elevator.

“Well, that wasn’t how I expected to find out the damage,” said Markos, glancing at me, as the glass lift descended. “You tried to kill him?”

“Let’s just say I got a taste of magic, and got burned. He conveniently left out the part where he set a wyvern loose in the Passages and almost got me and my friends killed.”

“Ah,” said Markos. “Magic-wielder, are you?”

“Unfortunately.” But I’d had no choice in the matter, and running away from it hadn’t done me any good lately.

The elevator emitted a screeching sound, and began to slow down.

“Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me,” I said. The screeching continued, until the lift ground to a halt, the entrance hall glittering below, blurred by the glass doors.

“I think we’re in trouble, Kay,” said Markos, tapping a hoof against the glass.

“You don’t say?”

Lights flickered, and the power went out.

17

Ada

I couldn’t believe Ms Weston had let me walk away free. But she was preoccupied talking to the other Alliance members and hardly seemed to see me. I walked towards the gate at first, then broke into a run. I jogged the length of the fence and stopped at the corner to figure out my next move.

“Ada!” someone called from behind me.

I turned around. “Skyla?” She was dressed in her work gear, hair pulled into a messy bun, dishevelled, like she’d run from her office.

“I thought it was you, but... What happened?”

“I—this isn’t a good place.” Around the corner, half the Alliance’s guard was still dealing with the wyvern. “I just left the Alliance, but I was supposed to…” My phone buzzed again. “Delta keeps calling me.”

“He won’t know about the Alliance taking you in, right?”

“Guess not. I need to talk to him anyway.” I answered the call. “Delta?

“Red! You’re alive?”

“I’m okay,” I said, quickly. “I got arrested. The Alliance had my phone. But they couldn’t hack it.”

I gave him a quick rundown of what had happened, for Skyla’s benefit too. But I didn’t mention Kay’s promise to open the New York Alliance’s Passage for offworlders. I still didn’t quite believe it.

“Red, you rock. You know that?”

“I do my best.” I grinned, despite the lingering worry for Kay, who might be in the same building as a killer.

“Wanna come meet me in the Passages now?”

“I—I can’t. There’s someone I have to meet. Later. I’ll come to the Passages later. There’s this guy, Kay, he’s going to help, uh, with the refugees… it’s too hard to explain.”

“What? Who’s Kay?”

“Kay Walker. He works for the Alliance, but well, he helped me.”

“Wait, you met Walker?”

“Yes…” I frowned. “Do you know him?”

“Do I–? Ada, it was someone called Walker who cut Enzar off from the Passages twenty years ago. A high council member. The son of the Alliance’s founder!”

“No.” I stopped, my heart plummeting. “It wasn’t him. Kay’s only been there a week.”

“Must be his son.”

“I don’t…” Walker. Why hadn’t I made the connection before? Nell had probably mentioned the name, but with everything that had happened lately, I hadn’t thought about it. I’d mostly tuned out her rants against the Alliance, really.

Now it came back to hit me. Kay was the son of the eminent council member who’d opposed interference, even to help the millions of people dying.

I didn’t even know what to think about that. But he’d said not to call him “Walker”, I remembered.

“Anyway. Seriously, come to the Passages, if you can. There’s a family coming through. Soon.”

“What?”

“That’s why I’ve been calling. Rumours, man. I didn’t believe you’d really been taken in.”

Skyla mouthed, What?

Someone needs me in the Passages, I mouthed back.

“It’s sort of difficult,” I said. “I’m outside Central, but there’s been a wyvern attack by the road where their Passage entrance is.”

“A wyvern? You serious?”

“Not sure the Passages are the safest place at the moment,” I said. “Is there—is there no other way?”

“I can do it alone, but Valeria’s temporarily closed its borders because of all the spawn of Cethrax rampaging around the Passages lately.”

“Damn.” Guess I should have expected the impact to spill offworld. “Look, half the Alliance’s guard’s gathered in the street. They’re dealing with the wyvern. It’s dead, but there are terrified ordinary people about, and the other Alliance employees.”

“They’re distracted?”

“Yes, but…” I chewed on my bottom lip. This was all too much to process. I needed to think, and there was no time to do that right now.

“I’ll come with you,” said Skyla. “Tell you what. I’ll create a diversion.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Skyla nodded. “It’d be my pleasure.”

There was nothing to do about Kay now and no way to help Nell, either—and this family needed me, especially with the Passages even more dangerous than usual. So I turned and headed back towards Central. The gleaming exterior of the skyscraper revealed nothing of the chaos that was happening inside, but on the outside, the world had ground to a standstill. Traffic had stopped, and people were leaving the offices opposite Central and driving or just running away. Around the corner, the wyvern had been dragged out of the rubble and guards surrounded it, clearly trying to figure out how to get it back into the Passages. I could see the gleam of the open door at the street’s end.

Drawing in a deep breath, I hurried past the guards and the wyvern and the busted, broken-down houses.

I’d almost made it when a shout rang out. “Hey, you can’t go that way!”

I ran, glancing over my shoulder to see where Skyla was. She’d disappeared. But a blond woman was arguing with the guards who’d called after me.

Something seemed odd about that, but I had to take the opportunity. I reached the entrance to the Passages. The magic charge was so strong, the air lit up inside with lightning, red as blood.

“I’m here, Delta,” I said into the phone. “Which door?”

“This door.”

I spun around. There was a door opposite, one that hadn’t been in use—but now it was wide open. Delta stood in the entrance. Smiling.

Two dreyverns stood on either side of him.

“Sorry, Red,” he said.

“Delta,” I said, hardly acknowledging the stupid nickname. “What—what the hell are you doing with them?”

My heart beat loud in my ears, and even the magic seemed to be telling me to get the hell out of there.

“Don’t take it personally,” he said. “But my family needs you.”

The two dreyverns advanced. Two against one, and I had only one weapon.

I turned around, and ran.

Hands grabbed me around the waist and lifted me into the air. Delta locked something metal around my arms. Twisting my head, I saw that my arms were locked onto his hands, and before I could process that, he’d pulled me back through the door and the world dropped away as we soared into a cloudy sky.

I screamed, squirming in his grip. Below, a city unfolded, skyscrapers piercing the heavens, hover cars swarming the roads between like ants. Next to us, a car hovered in midair, on a level with the rooftops, and as we spun around, I saw the door we’d come through, literally at the edge of a skyscraper. We weren’t standing on the ground, but floating. It just had to be effing hover boots, I thought.

Another world. At last. But wrong, so wrong. The grid-like city below, crisscrossed by four-lane roads on three levels, the glass skyscrapers, the monoliths set at the four map points of the biggest city in Valeria—I’d only seen it in photos, pictures Delta had showed me.

“Let me go!” I screamed—possibly a bad idea under the circumstances. But whatever held my arms was like a magnet. It probably was, considering Valeria’s technology—the boots, as Delta had boasted, also came with oxygen shields. We could fly ten thousand feet and still breathe. And scream, as I did when the pair of us shot into the sky, through a damp mass of cloud. The wind rushed past, making my ears pop.

“Stop! Put me down!”

We wove among the skyscrapers, no one looking twice at us from the offices within or the cars on the high skyways, like this was a normal sight. No one heard my screams.

“Sorry, Ada,” Delta said, again, his voice muffled by the roaring wind. “I always wondered what the big deal was with you. Why my family kept sending me out to meet you. I thought it was odd that you could use magic when you weren’t mageblood, but I didn’t know you were a freaking Royal. To be honest, I didn’t know much about Enzar, but my family’s very interested in you.”

“What the hell?” I gasped. We’d slowed down, the cold air stinging my face. “I’m not going anywhere with you!” And how the hell does he know I’m Royal?

“Skyla told me,” he said, like he’d read my mind. “She’s a bug, an implant in the Alliance.”

“You what? Skyla doesn’t work for…”

“The Alliance tried an experiment once,” he said, his voice slamming into me along with the stinging breeze. “They tried injecting dormant magic sources into humans. Stopped after the council beat them down. At first, it looked like they were unsuccessful. None of the experimental subjects responded. They didn’t realise they needed to take the subject into a high-magic world, or the Passages.”

“What the hell does this have to do with anything?”

“Skyla was one of them,” said Delta. “She was an experiment. And when she first came into the Passages, she almost killed herself. Third level magic took her over. But she can control it now. It’s pretty impressive.”

I shook my head, the best I could. Skyla was a magic-wielder, I knew that, but I always assumed she was sensitive to it like some people on Earth were. I’d never had reason to suspect she might be capable of anything more than what I could do—though she had used second level magic to distract the Alliance when I’d broken out…

“You don’t believe me, do you?” He dropped in the air so suddenly that my head spun and windows rushed past in a blur. “That Skyla’s been in the Alliance as a spy? I think she enjoyed it. She’s been working there two years, trying to figure out what they did to her. But she was working for my family, too. She gave us information, in exchange for a shot at revenge. Turns out you were that information. You have a potent magic source inside you, implanted inside you when you were just a baby. You’re what we need. You can give us the Multiverse. Never mind Skyla’s petty revenge plan.”

I was silent. My heart hammered, like I was free-falling all over again.

“Turns out my foster dad’s pretty pissed at the Alliance for putting up restrictions on offworld trade. He thinks they need a reminder that they’re not the only people with power. We needed a weapon, and now we have one. We have you.”

“You don’t have me,” I gasped, my mind roiling. He was mad, totally insane, and so was his father by the sound of it. A weapon? Me? And Skyla—she had a life, a job, she’d helped us for years. She didn’t have anything to do with the Alliance. Sure, I’d always known Delta’s family weren’t exactly law-abiding citizens, but this…

We were slowing down, heading for the ground. We hovered alongside the cars on a crowded street where people swarmed in and out of a glass-fronted shopping arcade alight with bright-coloured holographic images. A few people whistled and waved; clearly, hover boots were still a novelty. Delta waved back. I tried to elbow him, but couldn’t move my arm. I was stuck to him, a reluctant passenger. Let go! Anger burned through me, potent and sizzling. Like static. Like magic.

Wait. Valeria had a higher level of magic than Earth. I braced myself, and pushed. Delta didn’t seem affected by the shot, though it was second level and should have shocked him, but I pitched forwards. Delta swore as my feet hit the pavement. I staggered forwards but kept my balance. Magic tingled through me.

Now I had another weapon.

“Oh no, you don’t!” he shouted after me, as I whirled around and ran. Stupid, stupid idea. I heard Delta curse behind me. There was a whirring sound, then he was at my side. “Super speed, Red. You can’t run away.”

I felt for the magic pulsing in the air. It was thick as smoke here on the main road; they used magic-based engines to power their vehicles. There was no shortage of power to draw on. Problem: too many people, swarming in and out of the arcade, waiting in traffic while a series of lights flashed overhead and every hover car glided to a stop. Our altercation went unnoticed for now, but if I used magic, anyone could get caught in the backlash. Plus, the obvious problem. I had no idea how to get back to Earth, and the Passage Delta had used was miles up in the air.

Delta grabbed for me again, and I punched him in the face. The impact bruised my knuckles, but Delta almost flipped over in the air, his hover boots knocking him off balance into a group of shoppers. As they scattered, exclaiming in shock, I lunged and grabbed his foot.

“Stars, Red!”

I tugged, hard, ducking as he righted himself and tried to hit me back.

“Bastard!”

The boot came free, and I stumbled back, turned, and ran for a gap in the traffic, Delta swearing colourfully as a gleaming blue hover-car zoomed across his path. With only one boot, he was forced to hobble, while I pelted through three lanes of hover cars in a zigzag, feet skidding on the odd metal they used in place of tarmac. I reached the other side of the road, tugging my laces undone, and slid my foot out of my own shoe and into the loose metal-plated hover-boot.

Damn, how does this thing work? I fumbled and found a switch on the back. And screamed as the world dropped away, pavements shrinking to grey rivers, Delta to a tiny dot. I let go of the switch and dropped, my yelp drawing stares from passers-by when I flipped over in midair.

Somehow, I managed to right myself before my foot slipped out of the shoe, and laughed at Delta’s incredulous expression on the other side of the road, past rows of gleaming hover cars. The boot was a couple of sizes too big, but I could feel a switch under the heel. I pressed down, and accelerated. Now this was more like it. I took control, steering myself away from the arcade, past the green expanse of a city park, and into a cluster of towering office buildings. Think, Ada. Swooping around the city at random wasn’t the best plan, but I did have my phone back, and it had built-in offworld GPS. Ironically, that had been Delta’s idea.

I should never have trusted him. Nell trusted no one at all, and no one ever blindsided her. Lesson learned. Even Kay Walker had lied to me. His father had ruled against helping Enzar. I should have made the connection.

Cursing the Multiverse, I slowed enough to fire up the ‘Maps’ tab on my phone and wait for it to connect. A birds-eye view of the city not unlike my own view from the sky appeared on the screen.

Where Delta had brought me in was a platform on the roof of one of the skyscrapers, labelled “Landing Dock.” Odd place for a door to the Passages, I thought, turning in that direction. I flew lopsidedly above the crowded roads, like a particularly ungraceful bird. But at least I was moving. It took everything I had to stay upright, and the boot was so loose around my foot that if I performed any crazy acrobatics, I was pretty sure it’d fall off.

Speaking of birds… several black shapes were rising between the buildings, dots growing bigger by the second. Not birds. People. Flying up. Flying right at me.

I hit the switch on the back and sped up, rising higher. Where the hell is this supersonic switch? I groped with one hand and pressed another indentation in the heel. The world zipped by so fast my ears popped and my hair streamed back, my eyes aching, a scream jammed in my throat. I’d lost all track of the direction, and when my hand fumbled the switch, I stopped so abruptly I nearly went careening into an office window.

Holy shit. I spun around, the wind whipping my hair across my face. I’d barely kept hold of my phone, and the GPS was telling me to head north. I turned that way, using the switch on the back of my heel to readjust the speed. Okay, this would be seriously fun if I had two shoes that fit. And if I wasn’t being chased by men in black.

They surrounded me, dark figures amongst the low clouds. I recognised a couple of them as Delta’s cousins, who I’d met before when he couldn’t meet me in the Passages. What were their names? Gregor and… Josef. Though they wore hover boots, they looked like serious businessmen in pressed suits, a sight that ought to have been ridiculous, but was somehow frightening. Plus the material of the suits had an odd, scaled sheen that gave me the sinking feeling it was magicproof.

No way out. I hit the descent button and they followed me in a circle.

“Come quietly, Ada, and we won’t have to hurt you,” said Josef, smirking. He’d always given me the creeps.

“No way,” I said.

A fist slammed into the side of my head, then another. I yelled, losing control of the boot altogether, dropping like a bullet. But they were dropping, too. A fist caught me in the stomach and knocked the breath out of me. I struck out blindly but I was falling, we were falling, far too fast.

And then we reached the ground. Hands caught me before I could hit the pavement. Held my own hands behind my back while one of the other men struck me across the face. My teeth sank into the inside of my mouth, and I spat blood at him, squirming to escape. Someone pulled the hover boot off my foot.

“Let me go!”

“Cooperate with us, girl, and we won’t hurt you.”

“Like hell.”

The next slap hit me so hard, my brain slammed into my skull. The world went hazy.

“Stop, now,” said one of the men, presumably the leader. He looked the oldest anyway. His neatly combed hair was streaked with grey. “She won’t be any use to us if you hurt her too much.”

“Go fuck yourself,” I said. “I’m not helping you, not for anything in the Multiverse.”

“You don’t get a say. We need a weapon. Skyla isn’t strong enough, though she’s done an admirable job stirring up trouble.” He must be Delta’s father.

“So what was all that about helping the refugees from Enzar?” I asked, stalling for time. “A cover-up? You’re despicable monsters.” Josef smirked at me, fuelling my anger. My nails bit into my palms.

“I expect your guardian concealed the truth from you because she wanted to keep you safe,” said Delta’s father. “As a Royal on Enzar, you’d be a pitiless assassin, or the future ruler of the Multiverse. This isn’t just about revenge for us, Ada, it’s about stopping Enzar. You think the war will stay on the Empire’s worlds forever? They’ll find a way out, and they’ll destroy what’s left of the Alliance. You weren’t alive when the war broke out, Ada, and the Royals decimated ten worlds overnight. The Alliance might well have crumbled, were it not for the council’s quick intervention.”

My heart thudded. I hadn’t known the specifics. Hell, I couldn’t have. It wasn’t like Nell had given a blow-by-blow account of the war. Even Josef’s smirk faded as his father spoke.

“The Alliance think they’re prepared for anything, Ada, but they’re mistaken. The only way to stop Enzar conquering the entire Multiverse is to have an equal force to oppose them. Imagine my surprise when I found out we’ve had one of their own in front of us all along.” Delta’s father’s mouth curled into a grim smile. “The Alliance need a reminder, I think, of the danger of a full-scale magical assault. The current council is incompetent, so we’ll take them out first. Luckily, we already have an implant in the Central Headquarters in London. As a known Earth landmark, a targeted attack will make the worlds pay attention.”

Central. Kay.

“You want me to be your assassin? To kill everyone at Central?”

“I was thinking something a little more dramatic,” said Delta’s father. “Like a bomb.”

Magic. Numb horror pulsed through my veins. He intended to use me as a living bomb. But that level of magic would do more than take out Central. It’d knock the Balance across the Multiverse—magic would go haywire, low-magic worlds like Earth would be overrun, and others would end up like Enzar.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Ada, I am terribly serious. Adamantine? That was a poor choice of name on your guardian’s part.”

“Go to hell.”

I squirmed and kicked at the man who held me. But he anticipated it and drove his knee into my spine. Agony radiated through my body, and my last thought before losing consciousness was that Nell would be seriously pissed.

18

Kay

Lights flashed overhead, and I glanced at Markos. The elevator had halted under the first floor, and the entrance hall glittered below. Too far below. Easily the height of a three-storey apartment building.

“Damn,” I said. “I can’t make that jump if we break the glass.” Not in one piece, anyway. Even I wasn’t idiot enough to try it.

There was a humming sound, subtle at first, but rapidly growing louder. The stunner vibrated in my pocket, and that unmistakable static meant magic was somewhere nearby. On Earth? I scanned the inside of the square glass box, looking for the source.

Sparks jumped out from the corner of the glass box, seemingly from nowhere at all. I took a step back, instinct warning me of a danger I couldn’t see.

“What in all gods’ name is that?” Markos said.

“Magic,” I said, as more sparks danced out. Sparks generally meant a stored energy source. I stepped back, running a hand through my hair, thinking–

“Shit,” I said. My fingers had brushed the invisible device clipped to my ear, the one Ada had given me. Chameleon. “I reckon I know what killed Alan. It’s a disguised magical device.”

“Like a bomb.” The centaur’s face had gone deathly pale. “Like—firing a rocket in an elevator.”

“Or shooting a gun in the Passages,” I said grimly.

Without warning, Markos reared up, and kicked at the front doors with two hooves. I ducked to avoid the shower of glass. But there was still a hell of a drop between us and the entrance hall.

More sparks danced across the ground, and I tingled all over like I’d run headlong into an electric fence.

“God.” What a way to die. I glanced at Markos. “Sadly, my stunt double’s not available. Guess this is it.”

Markos cursed. “Gods, human, if you mention this to anyone, I’ll kill you. Get on my back.”

“I—what?”

“You heard me.” I could almost see the device now, surrounded by a halo of red light. A warning. Markos didn’t have to tell me to get a move on.

“This is fucking weird,” I said, vaulting onto the centaur’s back.

“Hold on tight,” was Markos’s response.

And he jumped, clean through the newly shattered doors. I gritted my teeth and hung on for my life. I’ll bet no human’s ever done this and lived—and that was all I had time to think before we were plunging towards the ground.

“Holy shit,” I gasped, flat against the centaur’s back. Behind, I heard a tremendous, earth-shaking blast, and the static grew to a fever pitch. There was a shattering, several crashes, screams, and we hit the floor of the entrance hall with enough force to send my heart slamming into my ribs. I hung on and half-lay there, gasping out curses.

“Holy fuck.” And I swore in several other languages, too, for good measure.

The centaur shook with laughter. “You can get down now, human.”

“Yeah—thanks,” I added and more fell than climbed off the centaur’s back. I hurt everywhere, like I’d been stuck in a blender.

“I didn’t know you were fluent in Aglaian,” Markos remarked. “We could have had some interesting conversations.”

I mentally tried to pull myself together. Focus. Someone tried to kill you.

“Yeah—now’s not the time.” We had an audience. Faces peered over the balconies a couple of floors up, and several people had gathered near the entrance, too.

“Please excuse me while I bury my dignity,” said Markos.

I shook my head, which felt like it had tried to detach itself from my neck. “Okay. I’m taking a wild guess the killer’s still in the building. We need to send out an alert.” I pulled my communicator out with my still-shaking hand. I managed to open the window for emergencies. “FULL CENTRAL ALERT.” I hit the button.

Sirens rang out. The people on the balconies withdrew, probably heading downstairs—hell, I hoped the other elevators weren’t rigged with bombs like ours.

“Damn,” I said. “I have to tell everyone to use the stairs.”

“You don’t need to.” Ellen stood across from me, surrounded by a halo of shattered glass from the elevator. “I only did two of them.”

There was an infinite heartbeat’s pause.

“You what?” said Markos.

The flicker of a smile crept onto Ellen’s face. “You would keep interfering, wouldn’t you? I really didn’t want to kill you, Kay, but you left me no choice.”

“The hell are you on?” I said, feeling more like I was the one tripping on something. Maybe the fall had done some head damage after all.

“Sorry, I never got to show you around, Kay.” She smiled a sad smile. And then… she changed. Her poker-straight blond hair turned wiry and dark brown. Her face changed too, subtly, but enough that I looked at a completely different person.

“By the gods,” said Markos.

“You used bloodrock.”

“I did.”

“You’re the killer.” You don’t say. Intelligent, Kay.

“I had to stop the information getting out,” she said. “I’m damned if I’m going to let them start their twisted crap again.”

Something pitched inside me. She didn’t mean…

“Their experiments,” she said, and dread seeped through my veins like poison. “They used me. I nearly died when I went into the Passages—the magic was too much. But I learned to control it.” She wore a faint smile. “I’ve enjoyed working here, more than I expected. I didn’t intend to stay this long, only it was convenient to know what was happening in the Alliance.”

“Get to the bloody point already,” said Markos. “I’m about a second from trampling you into a puddle.”

“The point is, I’m sorry, Kay. I admit you threw me off. You’re not like him, not at all. You don’t even look like him. But you’re still a Walker. And I’m in this for revenge.”

What the hell? She was batshit crazy. Small consolation that she’d said I was nothing like him. My hand crept towards the stunner in my pocket. I had one shot left.

“Don’t you dare,” said Ellen, or whoever she really was. She raised a hand, and the charge building in the air fixated itself around her. Hell, there was enough magic in here to power the equivalent of a nuclear weapon.

And she was going to hit me with it. Third level. Almost always fatal. And unavoidable.

“No you don’t,” said Markos. Before I could blink, the centaur charged.

I’d never seen a centaur charge before, but I was bloody glad he was on my side. He reared up and lashed out, and Ellen was sent flying across the hall. She struck the wall and crumpled to the ground.

“I always thought she was a ditzy idiot,” said Markos. “Never liked her.” He glanced at me. “Kay, are you there?”

I shook off the dazed feeling. “Did you kill her?”

“Nope, knocked her out.”

“How could she have been the one?”

“Very good question.” Ms Weston limped into the hall. “We’ll need to conduct an investigation.”

Did this not surprise her at all?

“Law Division are going to have their hands full,” said Markos. “They ought to lump all the investigations together. It’d save time.”

“Ha,” I said, shaking my head. Ellen of all people—the killer? Not that I’d known her at all, really, but…

“What was all that about experiments?” asked Markos.

“It’s classified,” said Ms Weston. “But I suppose the word will get out either way. The Alliance once conducted experiments. It was shut down after concerns about ethics came up. None of the experiments succeeded, anyway. Some scientists within the Alliance believed that they could find a way to inject humans with pure magic in distilled form, to give someone from Earth the same level of ability of a natural-born magic-wielder.”

“That’s twisted,” said Markos, kicking his back foot, face taut with anger.

“On Earth and Aglaia, perhaps, but it’s quite commonplace in high-magic worlds—Klathica, for one, where magic-based implants are sold on the streets. It wouldn’t cause any lasting damage or side effects, and it’s not illegal by any means. The scientists knew what they were doing, and plainly one of the experiments succeeded.” She indicated Ellen’s unmoving body. “We do have a list of the participants, as it happens. In the lab.” She addressed the crowd gathered by the entrance, who were starting to move closer. A mixture of guards and office workers who’d arrived to the chaotic scene. Glass from the shattered lift glittered on the floor, reflecting planes of light. Still more people were coming downstairs and in the other elevators, spilling out into the hall, all staring. The entire force of the Alliance was present; there were easily three hundred people in the entrance hall.

And above everything, magic hung like a red haze. I couldn’t shake it away. And nor could I shake off the raw panic that the whole freaking world was going to hear about this now.

Not illegal. No lasting damage. And they wouldn’t want the instigator’s name to get out. God forbid. The Alliance would cover it up. Reputation won out every time, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do. Who would they believe, the eminent council member and one of the most powerful people in the Multiverse—or his magic-wielder son, who was lucky not to be in jail?

Saki volunteered to go and fetch the notes, and Ms Weston directed a couple of guards to handcuff Ellen. She still hadn’t moved. But I watched as Carl and another guard cuffed her, prepared to step in if she woke up. I didn’t trust her at all, unconscious or not.

“Now the killer is apprehended…” Ms Weston nodded, and I turned to see Saki approaching, clipboard in hand. My heart started drumming in my ears.

Ms Weston flicked through the pages clipped to the board, and nodded. “Three of them—and the other two were listed as missing five years ago. Right. We need to put out a search warrant.” She raised her voice. “There are two other rogue magic-wielders out there, the other experimental subjects were sent to go free. They’d have been children at the time, thirteen years ago. With Earth’s magic levels unnaturally high right now, there’s the chance they could hurt people, assuming they’re still on Earth.”

My heart stopped drumming and plunged instead. I clenched my fists, fought to keep still and not make a run for it. A search warrant? What had happened to the others? What did he do—drag in children off the streets? I doubted they’d been willing participants.

I didn’t run. If it got me fired, arrested, so be it. I’d deserved as much when I’d used magic and nearly killed Aric two years ago—it was a miracle that hadn’t got out, too. Magic-wielder. And I’d fought it so damn hard. I’d never used magic since. Not once.

A tall man in a pressed suit approached Ms Weston and spoke to her. She nodded, and they conversed in low voices.

Hell. That man must be one of the council members. I knew there were only three of them present, but it hadn’t hit home that they’d be here, right now, because I’d sent out an emergency signal to the entire building.

Any hope of not drawing attention to myself had gone clean out the window. I tried to look unobtrusive instead—a little difficult when you stood next to a centaur, surrounded by a mess of broken glass and an unconscious woman. Carl glanced at Ms Weston. “Should I take her downstairs, or is this a full evacuation?”

She shook her head, wearily brushing back her dust-streaked hair.

“Kay raised the alarm,” she said, and turned to me like she expected me to give the order.

I summoned what little authority I could. “I’d say we evacuate just to be on the safe side,” I said. “Ellen—whoever she is—rigged two of the elevators with magic-based bombs. She was killing off anyone who came close to exposing the research, but she was also out for revenge on anyone else involved.” That seemed likely, anyway.

Ms Weston nodded. “Skyla Benson,” she said. “Her real name. She has a distinct magic-wielding style, too—I recognise it from when she used it the other day. And I believe it matches the magic used in the Passages the day we found the intruders.”

“Wait, what?” I said.

“I have this,” said Carl, from beside Ellen, holding up a rectangular metal device. “It can detect traces of magic and see if they match. It wouldn’t be half as effective offworld, of course, but on Earth, it could only have been the same person.”

Damn. She was one of the people who helped Ada escape. Ada couldn’t have known she was the killer—no way—but at the moment, I didn’t know what to think.

“There are other experimental subjects?” the tall man asked Ms Weston, as if he’d read my thoughts.

“Two,” she said. “Twins. They’d be in their late teens—the experiments were on kids, naturally. There’s nothing in the file, they disappeared the same time as Skyla did. We need to consider the possibility that they’re working with her. They wouldn’t be bound by the same rules as other magic-wielders on Earth—even more so now the Balance has been shifted this way.”

I went ice cold all over. She didn’t mention me. She had to know. It was right there in front of her. But she didn’t say it. She didn’t name the last volunteer. No, victim.

At the time, I’d half-assumed my mother’s death had pushed my father over the edge, and the experiment was some twisted new punishment, or a convenient way to dispose of the son he’d never wanted. I’d blocked the memory out, just like everything else. And when I’d first set foot in the Passages two years ago, magic had lured me into its trap and then turned on me and almost destroyed any chance I had of joining the Alliance on my own terms. All because of some sick, pointless experiment. I should have known it would catch up to me.

Get out. I could feel blood dampen my hands where the nails dug in, sweat cold on the back of my neck. I needed to get the hell out of there before I lost it completely.

A buzzing sounded in my ear. I barely stifled my reaction, and backed away from the crowd as Ada’s voice whispered in my ear. “Kay?”

* * *

ADA

My eyes flickered open. Cold metal pressed into my back, and I realised almost immediately that I was freezing. Passages-freezing. I sat on the floor, my back against a wall. Not tied up. Where in the Multiverse was I? Valeria? Earth? Another world entirely? It was dark, but looked like the inside of an empty warehouse, made entirely of cold grey metal.

Locked up again, I thought. It was becoming a bad habit. I pushed myself to my feet, wincing. Should’ve checked my injuries first. Nothing was broken otherwise I’d be in far more pain. But the bruises hurt like a bitch, and I was pretty sure there was a fist-sized lump on the back of my head. I still wore one boot. I sighed, unlacing it. At least I’d have something to use as a weapon, though it was ridiculous that I’d lost two pairs in a week. Then again, this whole situation was ridiculous. I took deep, calming breaths to stifle the growing sense of walls closing in on me. I was imagining things. Of course the walls weren’t moving. I just wasn’t a fan of locked rooms.

I rummaged in the pockets of my coat. Someone had taken my phone away, and the main part of the Chameleon must have fallen out of my pocket at some point. But the earpiece was still in place. I could contact Kay.

First things first. It wouldn’t be much use if I didn’t know where I was. The warehouse seemed to be cube-shaped. At least, the ceiling appeared the same height as the length of the floor, both ways. And there were no windows. I finally spotted the door, hidden like a door to the Passages. But this wasn’t the Passages. I could feel a different kind of magic. More contained, somehow, than the random bursts that came from behind the doors between-worlds. Magic-wielders could tell the difference between levels of magic in the various worlds, I knew, like a sixth sense. It figured that I’d be super attuned to it. Wish I had built in GPS instead.

The door didn’t have any handle. Sliding door, maybe? I dug my fingers into the edges and only got a broken fingernail for my trouble. Hell. I was going to have to call Kay. Like a freaking damsel in distress.

“Kay,” I whispered.

There was a sharp intake of breath. Not me. Then a pause. Seconds passed, more seconds—at least a minute. Then: “Ada?”

“Listen, Kay. You have to get away from the Alliance. There’s a spy, I think they’re going to try to kill you.”

“Already did,” said Kay, in a low voice. “We’ve taken care of it. Turns out my colleague was the killer. Her real name’s Skyla—you know her.”

“I thought I did,” I said. “Delta told me. Skyla was sent there as a spy.”

“For who?”

“Delta’s family, the Campbell lot,” I said. If he knew the Alliance as well as it seemed he did, he’d know that name.

“From Valeria,” he said. “Was this your offworld contact?”

“Yes.” I swallowed. “He betrayed me. For his family. He brought me here.”

“Where are you?”

I drew in a ragged breath, claustrophobia kicking in despite the size of the room. “I’m trapped in a warehouse. It might be on Valeria—I’m not sure. I tried to get away, but his family surrounded me and took me prisoner. They’re planning to use me as a weapon against the Alliance. Because of my blood. They want to—to blow up Central or something. Assassinate the council.”

I could hear Kay swearing in an undertone, in several languages I didn’t recognise. “Shit, Ada. Do you have no idea where you are?”

“No windows. I was in–” I paused, trying to remember the name; Delta had told me enough times—“Neo Greyle. Capital of Valeria.”

“I know where that is. Let me get to the Passages.”

“Yeah, but it’s a whole city,” I said. “This is a warehouse. Hang on.” I turned on the spot. “About twenty feet by twenty. Like a giant cube? Sorry, that’s not much help. The door’s sealed, of course. Looks like it’s a sliding door, Passages-style.”

“Got it. You have nothing on you?”

“Only this headset. It’s not much use on its own. You have your communicator, right?”

“Yeah—tell you what, I’ll put out a couple of calls. Alert everyone. Though the council are giving me the evil eye right now.”

“Huh?”

“I’m in the entrance hall. Ellen, Skyla or whoever she is, tried to kill me. She’s knocked out and in cuffs.”

“Well, that’s something,” I said. My heart beat unnaturally fast. Tried to kill me. We could both die. “You know what, you tell the council to get out of Central, out of London, even. Don’t come for me. When they do whatever they’re going to do with me, I’ll fight them with everything I have.”

“Dammit, Ada. You think I’m going to stay here when you’re…” He cut himself off, cursing. “Right. I’m coming. I can locate the Campbell family’s residence. If you’re not there, then I’ll get the information out of them one way or another.”

A thrill of nervous horror went through me. I was still trapped for the meantime. But I had one weapon in my arsenal: magic.

“Okay,” I said. “I’m going to try to break out, but if not, well, I’m trusting you to kick the shit out of Delta’s family for me. Just don’t kill him. I want to deal with him myself.”

“Got it,” said Kay. “I’ll see you later.” Was I imagining it, or was there something in his tone that suggested he wasn’t only coming to save me for the sake of the Multiverse?

Time to get the hell out. If I could. The lighting was dim, but it was enough that I could see the faint shimmer of magic beneath the surface. I had to be able to break down the door.

I stepped back, getting into position so the backlash wouldn’t hit me.

“Interesting,” said a voice from right in front of me. “Sorry to interrupt. I’ve never seen someone have such an intense conversation with herself before.”

19

Kay

The council member regarded me with a distinct sense of disapproval in his expression. I read his name badge: Wilson Sanders.

“Kay Walker,” he said. “I’m glad to see you’ve decided to rejoin us.”

I ignored the sarcasm. “I have a contact,” I said, “who has just informed me of a terrorist threat to the Alliance. We need to evacuate. In fact, the council needs to get out of the city altogether.”

Mr Sanders’s expression changed to incredulity. “Is that so? Danica, I believe Kay Walker is your charge.”

“Yes, and he speaks the truth,” said Ms Weston, to my surprise. “If Kay says there’s a threat, there is one. Tell us.”

I summed up what Ada had told me as succinctly as I could, well aware I was confessing to keeping contact with a prisoner, and using probably illegal technology besides. But I was far, far past caring by now. If they fired me, on their own heads be it. No matter what happened, I was getting the hell out of here and going to save Ada. Even if it meant breaking Alliance code.

“I see,” said Mr Sanders. “The Campbell family has connections, strong connections, within Alliances both on Valeria and Earth—they provide much of our technology. There will be repercussions if this turns out to be true.”

“We haven’t time for speculation,” said Ms Weston. “A Royal from Enzar is being used against her will. That’s a violation of the Alliance’s basic code. Add in the magical misuse and we have a threat to the Balance itself. One step below declaring a war.”

Damn. “Listen,” I said. “I think I can find Ada. She’s a magic-wielder, and so am I. I’ll get her away from that madman before he turns her into a suicide weapon.”

Mr Sanders shook his head. “That goes against our policy—more than one of them. You know our rules.”

“Backwards,” I said. “All this–” I gestured at the room in general—“is far off Alliance policy. I can stop them.” There was no alternative. I was damned if I was going to stay on Earth.

“This isn’t the time to play the hero, Kay Walker,” said Mr Sanders. “This is not the Academy. Magic-wielder or not.”

“I know that,” I said. And looked him directly in the eyes. Unblinking. Knowing that he would have faced the same stare before, from someone nobody dared disobey.

Something in his expression changed, and he looked away. “We will prepare to evacuate.” He gave orders to the others, while I stood stock-still, instinctive revulsion warring with disbelief that it had actually worked.

“Earth to Kay,” said Markos, tapping a hoof on the floor. “Time to go and be a hero.”

“Don’t say that,” I said. “I know what it looks like. If I die…”

“I’ll keep your secret, magic-wielder.”

I nodded to him, suddenly conscious of the dozens of eyes on me. They knew who I was. This was no surprise to them. And yet…

“Wait,” said Carl, from behind. “You’re not armed, are you?”

Right. This, I could deal with. I had to. “I’ve only one shot left in this stunner,” I said.

Carl handed me a knife. “You don’t need that stunner when you have your own magic,” he said. “Just remember the three rules. Valeria’s high-magic—but I’m sure you know that already. This situation is urgent enough that you’re allowed to use it.”

Magic. Guess there was no avoiding it now. Not that avoidance had done me much good lately. “Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”

I didn’t look back. Once outside, I broke into a run.

The back road was cordoned off, but I vaulted the metal fence they’d hastily put up and headed towards the still-open Passage entrance. The message had gone out to all the guards, and those watching the Passage nodded to me and let me pass. Magic crackled around me like lightning as I entered the between-world. Two doors down, I thought—but the door to Valeria’s major city was already open. Good job I paused first, because it appeared to open into the sky, a hundred-odd feet in the air. Opposite, I could see a platform on the side of a skyscraper, impossible to reach by jumping.

Hell. Most of their Passages opened high in the air—something to do with the ocean levels—but it was pretty effective in making sure no one could get in, while the Valerians, with their hover transport, could still get out. I didn’t have the time to get to the other door and go through security, and I didn’t have a centaur to ride this time. But I did have magic.

Maybe it was the high magic level making me crazy. I knew the three rules. And it sure as hell couldn’t make me fly—but I could use the backlash rule.

This was far and away the most dangerous thing I’d ever done, and that was saying a lot. But I tapped into the magic and fired an experimental shot at the ground. It carried me to the ceiling, and I dropped to the ground, landing on my feet. Before I could lose my nerve, I shot a second blast of magic directly at the back wall. This time, icy air slammed into me, and I barely reacted in time to grab for the edge of the platform and hang there, cursing whoever in the Multiverse had thought this was a good idea for offworld security. Hauling myself up with shaking hands, I surveyed the city below, heart drumming and the cold breeze cutting through my jacket.

That was a damn close call. I wondered how many people had fallen to their deaths from here. I could see the city below, the rows of hover cars clogging the streets and skyways in gleaming lines that reflected the sky, the maze of grey metal buildings. Ada was there somewhere. And I had to get down there, too.

The wind roared in my ears, but along with that, the buzz of magic surrounded me. I spun around, thinking hard. A hundred feet to the ground, and no way into the building from here. A few hover cars were parked below at different levels, by parking signs affixed to the building’s side. This place was probably an offworld transition point. I scanned the hover cars and spotted one that I could jump for, parked beside a balcony open over the street. Valerian hover cars were smaller than Earth cars, made for one or two people, with transparent covers over the roofs. The one below was open, the driver having just climbed out onto the balcony. Perfect.

I had no idea how to operate one of those things, but I couldn’t worry about that now. I jumped, dropping onto the back of the car at a crouch, grabbing onto the back of the headrest to keep from sliding off. Heads turned in my direction from inside the room. I leaped into the front, through the open roof, slamming my foot on what looked like the accelerator.

The hover car dropped so fast, it was all I could do to hang onto the disc-shaped steering wheel. The world rushed past, buildings blurring to grey, the wind striking like a physical force, cold and sharp. I fell back in the seat, lifting my foot from the pedal. The car slowed enough for me to hit the actual accelerator button. Nothing happened.

“Shit,” I said, voice muffled by the raging wind. I was starting to go deaf, and the ground was only a short drop away. The hover car was already drawing attention from the people on the street below. I guessed I was violating some traffic law.

I don’t have time for this. I left the car parked in midair and jumped, hitting the ground running.

“What the hell are you doing?” a guy yelled at me from a floating, wheelless motorcycle-type thing–a hover bike. Damn, I wanted one of those. Except there were two enforcement-type figures on the opposite side of the road, and they’d seen me.

Goddammit. I ran around the corner of the nearest office block and went for my communicator, navigating my way to offworld maps and opening one of the city. I needed to find the Campbell family’s place. They owned a large business, in one of the biggest skyscrapers in the city, shaped like a double helix. First, I had to lose the officers. I made for a main road, weaving in and out of the crowd, and veering into a side street alongside a hover-car transit point. Once I was sure I’d lost them, I stopped at a street corner to check the map again.

There. The Campbell family’s business. Just west of here.

The towering, twisting grey building was unremarkable by Valerian standards, but there was no mistaking it from the map. And nearby, two warehouse-style buildings. Ada. I had a fifty-fifty chance of getting the right one on the first try. Neither had a door at the front, so I aimed for the narrow gap between them.

They came out of nowhere. Two black-clad figures, hulking, and wielding knives. One at either end of the alley.

Stupid mistake! I cursed myself for it. No time to draw a weapon. I had to use magic.

A knife stabbed at me, and the second guy closed in behind. I went for the stunner while grabbing the wrist that held the knife with my other hand and pushing it back, driving the weapon away from my face. The second guy dived for me, but I kicked the knife out of his hand and shot magic at him. He fell down. At the same time, I tightened my grip on the other guy’s wrist and drove a knee into his ribs. The magical backlash hit me at that instant, knocking both of us into the wall. The back of his head slammed against brick and he crumpled. I spun around and kicked the second guy again, before he could get me from behind with the knife. I stamped on his knife hand, hard, and felt bones break. He screamed, going for my ankle with the other hand, but I punched him in the face and he flailed, still screaming. Blood spurted from his broken nose. I kicked him again, crouched beside him and pressed the stunner to his outstretched hand.

I was prepared for the recoil this time. He shuddered and went limp, but I could still feel the charge radiating from the stunner. No, not from the stunner anymore. From me.

I was controlling the magic. Pushing the level higher. He twitched all over with the same convulsive shudder as someone being electrocuted. The stunner broke apart in my hands as the backlash hit, and I dropped it as it seared my hand.

Third level. Fatal.

Somehow, I had time to think that in the endless seconds before his eyes went blank.

The other guy was half-slumped against the wall, blood pooling around his head. I crouched, felt for a pulse. Nothing.

I’d never killed anyone before. Not a human being. I’d always assumed that I’d feel something other than this numbness, a total disconnection from my surroundings. I took another step back. The roaring in my ears was my own heartbeat, like crashing waves.

Breathe. Breathe, Kay. You didn’t have a choice.

I did have a choice. It had been easy. And it had always been easy, because I was a goddamned Walker.

You finally did it, Kay. Stark images quite unrelated to the horror in front of me threatened to break down the walls in my head. The world froze in that moment, the alleyway tilting, like I stood on one side of a gulf with the other side moving farther and farther away by the second, irrecoverable, irreversible. The same, but never the same.

Go. You have to go. Run… no one will know.

Precisely the problem. No one would know.

Ada’s face broke through the numbness. Bet you have, she’d said, pinning me as a murderer.

I had to find her.

I ran.

* * *

ADA

I gaped, looking around for the speaker. There was a soft laugh. And then two people appeared, a metre away from me. I yelped and jumped back.

“Hi,” said one. A girl. The boy at her side must have been her twin. They were that identical. Straight brown hair—the girl’s was cut short—eyes dark as black pits. There was something oddly familiar about those eyes.

Where the hell did they come from?

“Hey,” said the boy. “You’re Ada, right?”

I stared mutely. They’d heard everything. And there was only one way I knew could make something—or someone—invisible. “Chameleons…” I murmured. But they didn’t appear to be wearing any devices.

“That’s what we call ourselves.” The siblings exchanged identical grins. “Pretty neat, right? It was almost worth it. Almost worth what the Alliance did to us.”

I shook my head, slowly. “You what?”

“You’re an experiment, too, aren’t you?” said the girl. “Well, Delta said you were different. Said you were only a baby, and magic was common on your world. You could hide it. We never could.”

“Experiments.” Crap, what had Kay said? “The Alliance? They-”

“Tampered with us,” said the boy dismissively. “This nut-job Alliance-council guy Walker started it. He injected us with pure magic and then threw us out on the streets. It happened when were sixteen.” He glanced at his sister. “Then we went into the Passages for the first time. It was like being reborn. Too bad it nearly got us locked up back here on Valeria when we moved here. They’re not a fan of natural magic-wielders here. But luckily, Delta helped us. His family took us in.”

“Yeah, Delta rocks,” said the girl. “You were his friend? Or something more?”

“God, no,” I said automatically. Didn’t mean the betrayal hurt any less. “So you’re what, his bastard father’s pet magic-wielders?”

The girl burst into delighted laughter. “You’re just like he described you. This is gonna be so much fun.”

“What is?” I glared at both of them. “I reckon I can take on both of you. So don’t try anything.”

The boy laughed. “Yeah, sure you can. We’re here to bring out your potential. Hit us with everything you’ve got.”

I gaped. “You what?”

“Seriously,” said the girl. “It’d be my honour to get beaten up by Adamantine, Royal of Enzar.” She snickered. The siblings grinned at one another again and turned back to face me. Creepy as hell.

“I think we’re freaking her out,” said the boy.

“Brilliant deduction,” I said. “Thing is, you’re between me and the door.” I let magic flow towards me, as a warning. I didn’t want to hit them. They acted like little kids, though I suspected they were about Alber’s age. Not that I was usually averse to violence, but if it was what Delta and his family wanted, they could go to hell.

“Ooh, she’s ready.”

“Well, so are we.” Magic crackled, sending red lightning streaks through the air. I gathered a palm full and threw it at them. First level, enough to knock them off their feet.

But they were quicker. Hands pinned my arms to my sides, and the shot I’d fired bounced harmlessly off the wall. But the backlash caught all three of us. My back slammed into the floor, and the girl laughed delightedly from a few feet away. “Do it again!”

“Shut up,” I hissed through my teeth, climbing to my feet. I gathered magic again and fired it at the floor, angled so the backblast would strike the door. The boy leaped in the way, and the impact sent him sprawling.

“Come on, you can do better than this.”

The girl appeared behind me and kicked me viciously in the knee. I was too slow to react, and pain shot through my leg. Swaying on my feet, I aimed a punch at her, but she’d already moved, and the boy caught my arm. He twisted my wrist, hard.

“Delta didn’t specify what he wanted us to do,” he said. “But you know, being locked up for so long is kind of boring. Delta said your guardian taught you to fight, not to question. Right?”

No. That wasn’t it, at all.

“He hit me, sometimes,” said the girl, and while I gaped at her, eyes streaming from the pain in my leg, she hit me. Agony exploded in my jaw.

I knew how to defend myself in almost every situation—but there was a world of difference between Nell’s lessons and this. They were kids who thought violence was fun, and the shock of it made my attacks clumsy, weak.

The boy kicked my legs out from under me, and I hit the ground again. My head struck metal and I tasted blood at the back of my mouth. Groaning, I tried to sit up, but the boy pressed the heel of his shoe into my stomach. I whimpered.

“Fight back,” the girl hissed, crouching beside me and whispering in my ear. “You’re angry. Fight back.”

The magic responded, crackling around her, reflecting in her pitch-black eyes. It was in the eyes, I thought. Whatever the experiment did had given them that unnatural spark, like my own eyes reflected my Royal status. Like gleaming purple meant mageblood.

And with a thrill of horror, I knew where I’d seen that colour before.

Kay. His eyes were the same unnatural gleaming dark shade as the twins’. There was no mistaking it. I’d spent my life looking out for these “tells”, as Nell called them. Signs that someone was different.

No. It couldn’t be true.

Walker…

Who had orchestrated the experiments? Had he even volunteered his own son?

The girl smiled at me. “Bye, Ada.”

Boy and girl moved in unison, mirrors of one another, twin fists coming at my face. Something snapped inside. I pulled down on the magic, and it came in a swirling mass, unlike it had ever done before. The boy went flying, over to the other side of the room, and hit the wall with a crack. The girl, too, went head over heels. And then came the backlash. I screamed aloud as it flooded my body, expecting it to burn me to cinders.

But it didn’t. It fizzled out, becoming mere sparks, which danced over the floor, over me.

“That’s more like it!” The girl bounded to her feet, clapping. “You just needed an incentive. You have to really want to use it for it to work. I’m surprised you didn’t experiment more.”

So was I. But Nell’s warnings had stayed me, kept me sane. Whether she knew about this or not, she’d done a good job of warning me of the dangers. And I’d done a bloody awful job of repaying her.

“Oh hey, Eddie,” said the girl, calling to her brother. “Rise and shine!”

He didn’t move.

Shit. Shit.

“Eddie!” She threw a blast of magic at him, almost playfully. The magic turned him over, but he didn’t get up.

I wanted to throw up. But everything seemed to be stuck in place, including me. My chest felt like it was caving in. I wanted to scream and sob uncontrollably. But no tears came. Nothing, nothing, like the boy’s, like Eddie’s silence.

Dead silence.

“Eddie?”

The shrill pitch of her voice coaxed my limbs into motion again. I stood, no longer caring if movement got me hit, and grabbed the door, shoving at it. I pulled on magic and used its force to drive me, and the wrenching motion sent me flying backwards.

But the door slid open.

“Eddie!”

I ran, jerkily. Not looking where I was going. Anywhere. There were several other warehouses nearby. And offices beyond that. The city. An alien city. One I’d wanted to visit as long as I’d known Delta.

Keep moving, whispered a Nell-like voice in my ear. Don’t think.

Time passed in stop-start motions. Suddenly, I was in an alley between two warehouses with no recollection how I got there. Two bodies lay prone at the end, one surrounded by a halo of blood. Hell. I didn’t do that, did I?

I didn’t trust my own memory. I didn’t trust myself. Not anymore.

Run. Ada. Run.

And I did. I circled the block and found myself heading east, away from the warehouses, towards the sound of traffic. This was a secure area, I guessed. Important. Delta’s family were important.

Delta’s family had turned me into a murderer.

I stopped running. My heart beat fast, too fast. Don’t pass out. Not now. One foot in front of the other.

“Ada.”

I had to be hallucinating. Kay was approaching me, utter shock stark on his face. The ground swayed under my feet, and it took everything I had to stay in the here and now, not give in to the scream fighting to burst from my chest. I couldn’t say a word. I killed him.

Kay looked papery-white, eyes deep and staring. I must look worse. I steadied myself against a nearby streetlamp before he reached me, hands out like he’d intended to catch me.

“Ada. Come on.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Come on.” Hysterical laughter rose in my throat, and with a wrenching sensation, I shoved it behind a barrier. “Gotta—find the Passages.”

“This way,” he said, indicating a locomotive track over the other side of the bridge. “There’s a ground-level one. We’re going to have to sneak onto a train.”

After everything I’d been through already, I didn’t question it. Kay looked at me with what might have been concern. I walked fast, not speaking, thinking only of the next step. And the next. Ad infinitum.

Kay was speaking again. “We’ll have to jump on here.” We stood on some kind of platform. I had no recollection of climbing up, but I must have done it. And there was a locomotive zooming towards us. Hovering over the gleaming tracks, like everything in this world. A hover train. I giggled, and Kay’s concerned expression deepened.

“Ada, don’t zone out on me now. Jump when I say. Okay?”

“Oh… Kay.” I pressed my hand to my mouth to muffle another giggle. I was losing it, all right.

But I managed to hold myself together. When the train whipped past, the wind buffeting us, Kay shouted, “Jump!” And I did. He’d timed it perfectly. Trains here were windowless and we landed in the middle of a packed carriage. Several people gasped, and most backed away from us. I sprawled on a seat, half-upside down. I righted myself and fell into Kay as the train picked up speed. His arm wrapped around my shoulder, and he steered us into a newly vacated pair of seats.

I closed my eyes, willing the world to disappear. To fade out.

“Breathe, Ada. Concentrate on your breathing.”

Wait, I wasn’t breathing? So that’s why I felt lightheaded. Seemed good advice to me, so I did as Kay said.

“You’re all right. It’s going be all right.” In my half-dazed state, I thought he was talking to himself as much as me.

Breathe.

We were getting out of here, we were free.

20

Kay

Ada’s breathing steadied. What the hell had they done to her? I couldn’t ask, not with all these people around. They probably assumed we were—I cut off the thought before it got to the words criminals and murderers.

“Where are we going?” Ada looked up at me. She’d lost some of the dazedness in her eyes, though I could still feel her trembling against me.

“There’s a Passage entrance in the north of the city,” I said. “Easy to get out, nightmare to get back in, unless you live here. It shouldn’t be a problem for us. I have my Alliance ID, and by now the word ought to be out that the council’s under threat.”

Ada made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob. “You really think of everything, don’t you?”

I shook my head. “If I thought of everything, I’d have seen Ellen for what she was. I could have…” I stopped. “Never mind. It’s done now. We’ll go back to Earth and let the Alliance take care of the rest.”

If it’s not too late. And the Campbell family wouldn’t take our escape lying down. I glanced at Ada, wondering whether it was worth risking a question.

“How were they planning on attacking Central?” I asked. “You said they wanted–” I checked to make sure no one was listening, but the other passengers had done their best to squeeze themselves into the neighbouring carriages, and more than a few had got off at the stop we’d passed—“to use you as a weapon.”

“They didn’t get that far.” She swallowed. “I was supposed to show them what I could do. They tested me—on two other magic-wielders.”

Oh God. I knew what happened. Because I’d almost caused similar carnage myself. When magic took control… anyone who stood in the way could get killed.

There was nothing I could say. Adding my pain to her own wouldn’t help her, anyway.

Instead, I forced out the question, “How did you escape?”

She took a shaky breath. “Turns out they were in the room with me, can you believe it? Two—two of them. They were mad, totally crazy. They wanted me to hurt them.” Her hand gripped mine convulsively, making me jerk back in surprise. Her fingers were icy cold. “They were experiments,” she said. “The Alliance did some kind of experiment on them a few years ago. They could turn invisible. They had magic, like, inside them. Like–like–”

Like Ada. Was it the same thing? It seemed unlikely, unless of course the Alliance had got the substance from Enzar. But I knew my father had connections with other worlds where magic-based sources were commonplace. I wouldn’t put anything past him. He’d just left the other victims to their own devices—let them walk around with a dangerous power and no clue how to use it. No way could he have known the results. He’d never have left me behind otherwise, even though I’d flat-out refused to have anything more to do with him. A magic-wielder with a permanent inbuilt magic source would be a perfect weapon. As was all too clear, someone else had made the connection first.

Ada’s hand held mine, tighter, and I realised I was shaking, too.

“They could turn invisible?” I asked.

She nodded. “Like human Chameleon devices.” She fiddled with something on her ear. The earpiece. “This is only part of it. The devices can turn someone completely invisible, for a few minutes, anyway. I used it to sneak into Central and steal the bloodrock. That effing bloodrock.” She laughed shakily. “It’s what made the Chameleons invisible. Maybe that’s what they injected those kids with. It’s sick, so sick…”

“I know,” I said quietly.

She tilted her head back so our eyes met. And… I knew. She’d found out, all right. But that wasn’t pity in her eyes: it was understanding.

“I could have stopped them. They…” Ada’s grip tightened. I was beginning to lose feeling in my fingers.

“Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault,” I said.

Ada shook her head. “You didn’t… didn’t see…”

“It wasn’t your fault.” I had to repeat that. No one had said it for me. I still didn’t think I’d deserved it. But Ada hadn’t chosen this for herself.

The locomotive slowed and most of the people clustering at the edges of the carriage disembarked. I glanced up. “We’re almost at north-side. One more stop.”

“How in the Multiverse do you know all this? I thought you’d never been offworld.”

“I checked out the directions on my communicator.”

“What, you have like a photographic memory or something?”

“Habit. Never mind that. There’s an entrance to the Passages on the other side of the station. We’ll go through there. And then…”

Then I was going to have to tell her. She couldn’t go back to Earth, not with the Campbell family out looking for her and waiting to destroy the Alliance.

There was only one option.

But I couldn’t say it with her half-lying in my lap, her hand clenched around mine. “Wait, what happened to your shoes?”

“Oh,” she said. “I stole Delta’s hover boot.”

“You did what?” Just when I thought she couldn’t surprise me anymore. I glanced at the few remaining passengers. No point in debating when the Multiverse might be depending on us right now. “Hey, over there,” I called, and several people squeaked in terror, trying to hide behind one another. “For God’s sake, I’m not going to hurt you. We need some shoes. It’s important.”

Ada stared up at me like I’d started speaking another language. But a terrified-looking woman tossed over a pair of shoes. I caught them by the laces and handed them to Ada.

“Thanks,” she whispered. “Gods, this is the weirdest…”

“Tell me about it. We have to get off at the next stop, anyway.”

The locomotive glided into north-side station. I pulled Ada to her feet and she responded by yanking her hand out of mine and saying, “I can get up by myself, you know.”

At least that meant she was recovering from whatever happened back at the warehouse. Good. I needed her to be prepared for what I was about to say to her.

Out into the station, through the sea of commuters, past the ticket machines—ordinarily, I’d have noted everything in case I needed to remember later. But we needed to get out as fast as possible. To the Passages. At least it was signposted. Valeria’s Alliance didn’t live in the shadows, but out in the open.

Finally, we stood before a security guard, who stared as I pulled out my Alliance pass. I caught sight of our reflections in the opposite wall—in Valeria, all buildings seemed to be made of this strange reflective metal, the name escaped me—and I saw why. Ada’s clothes were torn and her face bruised. She was far too pale, dead on her feet, her clothes still spattered with blood from killing the wyvern. As for me… my eyes shone black, even from a distance. A killer’s eyes. I turned away and told the security guard in an undertone that there had been a threat to London’s Alliance branch, and it was imperative that we be allowed back into the Passages now.

For once, luck was on my side. The alert had gone out, and once I’d identified myself by my Alliance codes, he let us through without a fuss. The Passages were all but deserted. I’d never been in this particular area before, but I mentally mapped it out. We were three corridors from the door back to Central. Which made the US branch two corridors the opposite way.

I headed that way, making sure Ada stayed at my side. “I can’t believe you did that,” she muttered. “You can’t go stealing people’s shoes…” She bit her lip. I guessed the impact of the other lawbreaking had hit her again. That was the thing about dealing with a shock, or upheaval—it never stopped hitting you. But then, maybe it was easier when you’d already long since walked out of a hell to which nothing else in the Multiverse could ever compare. Pretending had become second nature. Pretending I could sleep more than two hours at a time without reliving a memory that ought to be long dead. Pretending I could walk out of the shadow of a name other people would kill to have, without the compulsion to glance over my shoulder at every turn.

I don’t lie, I’d said to Ada, but it wasn’t true. There was more than one way to lie. Like omitting the truth, because it was easier than facing the fallout.

I stopped walking. “Ada,” I said.

“Huh?”

“We’re not going back to London. I’d rather not go back to Earth at all, but we don’t have the paperwork. I’m going to call Simon at the New York branch and tell him you’re coming. You’ll have to lie low at the shelter there.”

Her mouth fell open. “You’re joking. I’m not going anywhere. My family’s in London, Kay.”

“I know, but the Campbell family won’t give up. They want to use you to destroy Central, and they’ll be expecting us to go back there. They might have an ambush prepared.”

“What, we hide like cowards?”

“I’d rather that than destroy the Alliance, wouldn’t you?”

“Don’t you patronise me, Kay Walker,” she spat. Her eyes gleamed with fury. “My family are more important to me than anything in the Multiverse. I wouldn’t expect you to get that, seeing as your father volunteered you as an experiment, but–” She stopped, her breath catching. Her eyes said, Oh, hell.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t shout after her as she turned around and ran. The roaring in my ears kicked up again, loud and insistent and in tandem with the magic surging in the air, gathering around me like a swarm of moths drawn to a flame.

* * *

ADA

It was more difficult than I’d expected, running through the Passages in those awkwardly fitting Valeria-style metal-plated shoes. The floor was slippery as hell. Not to mention I’d have a serious disadvantage in a fight if my shoes fell off. Maybe I should have stolen Kay’s shoes, while he stood there staring at me like I’d just…

Said something unforgivable.

I couldn’t think about that right now. Of course, some part of me knew it was stupid to go back to Earth. But… no. That was a line I wouldn’t cross. I could never abandon Nell.

I’d been around this area before, Delta sometimes used that Passage, so I at least knew the way back to the doors to Earth from there. The problem was, of course, there had been a chalder vox and a bunch of dreyverns at one entrance, and a wyvern at the other. Between effing Scylla and Charybdis, I thought, recalling Nell’s reading me Greek mythological tales when I was younger, as much for her own benefit as a non-Earth native as my own.

I had to get to Nell. I had to see if she’d woken up, if Jeth and Alber were okay. So I headed in the direction I’d used too many times to count, when helping people back to Earth. I might not have weapons, but I had magic. If anything attacked me, well, it’d be the worse for them.

Don’t think about that.

And definitely don’t think about Kay.

I half-ran, half-skidded into the right corridor, and found the door. Right where I’d left it. The Alliance had cleaned up the mess from where the dreyverns and chalder vox had attacked. All was eerily quiet. The door slid open without a sound. I drew in a steadying breath and walked out into the alleyway. It was only when I stood on my doorstep that I realised I’d unconsciously walked home. I glanced around, but no one was behind me. I didn’t have a key, of course, but I’d hidden a lock pick under a loose tile in the yard for this very purpose. First step: find weapons.

BANG.

A blast of magic roared through the air, taking me off my feet. I was too startled to cry out as my back slammed into the fence and I slid to the ground. Three people emerged from the house. All were dressed in suits of glittering black. Delta and two of his cousins.

“I suspected you’d come home,” said Delta. “It’s easy to get off Valeria, you know. I can’t believe you were idiot enough to come here alone.”

I jumped to my feet and fired my most expressive curses at him, following up with a bolt of magic. But instead, I was the one who was knocked to the ground again—had he blocked my attack?

“There’s someone here who wants to talk to you,” said Delta’s cousin, Josef. “She’s pretty pissed with you for killing her brother.”

My insides twisted. I stood again, swallowing back nausea.

Delta shook his head, an awed kind of horror in his expression. “Damn, Red. I didn’t know you’d go ahead and do it. That’s messed up.”

Ignore them. They’re trying to distract you.

A footstep behind me. The girl had appeared from thin air, inches away from me. I stepped back instinctively, dread gripping my limbs. Her face was tear-streaked and her jaw set.

“Don’t mess her up too badly,” said Delta’s other cousin, Gregor. “We need her alive. She’s our weapon.”

“Like hell,” I said, and attacked first. The girl didn’t bother to block my strike—but she suddenly wasn’t there anymore. Invisible again. A blow struck me on the back of the head. I whipped around, kicking blindly. No way to tell where she was.

I stilled, frustrated, looking around for any clue where she might be. Any disturbance. Delta’s cousins were both smirking, though Delta himself still watched me, eyes wide.

Fingers touched my face, pressing into the corners of my eyes. I jerked my head away, squeezing my eyes shut, but Delta’s cousins moved in unison, grabbing my arms to stop me lashing out.

“Come on, Ada, cooperate,” said Josef. “We want to see your pretty eyes. Your real eyes. Janice here reckons it’s the key to your magic.”

“Stop!” I yelped as fingers dug into both corners of my eyes. I kicked out blindly and Josef cursed.

“Get the lenses out, girl, and we won’t have to break you.”

“You’re planning to use me as a bomb, you psychos!” I hit out and by the pain that shot through my wrist, I could tell I’d struck him in the face. Now I knew where my target was. I kicked blindly and stuck out an elbow when I sensed Gregor come up behind me.

“This is fun,” said the girl, Janice, “but you killed my brother. I’m not in the mood for screwing around.”

The magic stirred the air a split second before it hit me like an electric current. I was flung onto the ground, and my eyes flew open. Delta’s cousins had been sent flying, too, but Janice merely laughed at them and walked up to me. “You’re stronger than I am, but you don’t know half what you can do.” As I sat up, she aimed a punch at me. I rolled over and she missed wildly—but the magic didn’t. My spine arched, and every hair on my body stood on end as the shock rippled through me.

Earth should never have such high levels.

“You’re going to mess up the whole Balance!” I gasped.

“That’s the plan,” said Delta. “Attacking Central will swing the Balance towards Earth. Right?” He looked to Josef for confirmation. “It’s already happening. When the Balance comes this way, it’s drawn away from high-magic places like Enzar. They won’t stand a chance when we turn our weapon on them next.”

“I’m nobody’s weapon,” I spat at Delta.

“Pretty girl, you were born to be a weapon,” said Josef, and I didn’t care for the hunger in his expression.

“Yeah,” said Janice. “Delta reckons you must have some sort of absorbent in whatever crazy magic’s inside you, ’cause that attack should have really hurt. I kinda want to see what you can do. But we’ve gotta get a move on, right?”

“Yes, we have,” said Gregor. “We need to take her back to Central.”

“You’re not taking me anywhere.”

“Sorry, Ada,” said Delta, “but two of our people are at the hospital right now.” He took out his phone. I couldn’t help notice his hands were shaking slightly as he tapped the screen. “They’re hidden, of course, but one word from me and they’ll go after your brothers. I know your guardian’s seriously hurt.” His voice trembled on the last word, but he nodded to his cousins.

My insides plummeted downwards into icy darkness. “You bastards.”

“We need you, Ada,” said Delta, with another glance at Josef. “You heard my dad, right? You’re a weapon. We can’t let you go now. We need your magic.”

“I don’t,” said Janice. “But you’re gonna die anyway, so I’m happy to let these guys take care of it. You’re gonna kill worlds, Ada. And then, once these guys are done with you, I’m coming for you.”

“I’m not your weapon. It’s suicide, for both of us. If you use me to attack, then I’ll be killed along with everyone else. Is that really what you want?”

“I’m not fussed either way, to be honest,” said Janice.

“Actually–” Delta began, but Josef cut him off.

“You’ll see when we reach Central,” he said. “Don’t give away our secrets now, Delta.”

“We have to go,” said Gregor. “Your choice, girl. If you don’t help us, your family dies. Delta, dial the number.”

“Sure.” Delta looked a touch paler, but he tapped buttons on his phone. Valerian technology hooked up to the offworld network, of course.

There was the unmistakable sound of a dial tone and then a male voice.

“Wait!” I said, scrambling to my feet. “Don’t hurt them.” I bit my lip. I hated begging, but there was absolutely no doubt Delta’s ruthless family would kill Nell, Jeth, and Alber if I didn’t obey. It was hopeless expecting otherwise. I knew Nell would tell me to save my own life first, but I couldn’t do that to my brothers. Not for the world, not for the Multiverse. Delta had known that. It was one of the few parts of my life I’d shared with him.

One of the few certainties in my whole life.

“Excellent,” said Delta’s cousin, taking my arm. “If you’d come with us…”

Janice giggled, but when she looked at me, her eyes were full of malice. I shook with anger all over. Wait till you get to the Passages. The level of magic on Earth was higher than it had ever been, but in the Passages, it’d be even stronger. There was no time for caution. I’d hit them with everything I had.

Delta looked oddly relieved as he led the way, Janice skipping ahead. He turned back to make sure I was following. I had a cousin on either side, and I knew running wasn’t an option. Even if Delta plainly didn’t agree with every detail of the plan, he’d do anything his family asked him to. Since I’d known him, he’d always had to ask permission from his father for the most ridiculous things. I’d never thought it odd. I sure as hell never considered he’d kidnap me and threaten my family.

Every step seemed endless as I followed them back the way I’d come, to the Passages. The door slid open. The instant my foot touched the metal floor, magic flowed over me, and I drew it in and unleashed it in a second level blast that ought to have taken all of them off their feet, at least. But instead, I was the one knocked over. The hard floor grazed my elbows. I gasped, the current making my hands tingle and the hairs rise on my arms.

“Magicproof, baby,” said Delta, indicating the sharp new jacket he wore. “New patent.”

“You look ridiculous,” I said, pushing to my feet. Not my best line, but I was all out of imagination. And patience. I fired magic at the ground, instead. I might not be able to hit them with magic, but I could knock them off balance, and it gave me the chance to get a good punch in. Delta’s head snapped back with a satisfying crack. But I hadn’t put enough power behind it to break his jaw.

“Gods, Ada!” he said, clutching his face. “Don’t shoot the messenger. I’m not the one you should be angry with.”

“You’re joking, right?” I said. “You deserve worse than this.” Magic swirled towards me again, urging me to unleash it, but I held off, knowing it wouldn’t work.

“I can make the call from in here, you know,” said Delta, rubbing the spot where I’d hit him.

“Yes, speaking of calls,” said Josef, “our father’s on his way. We’ll take her to meet him.”

“I have a name,” I said, fully aware that any tenuous grip on the situation was slipping away by the second.

“Adamantine,” said Janice, smirking. “How cute.”

“Yes, and I’m starting to get bored,” said Josef. “We’ve an appointment to keep.”

And he and his brother seized me by a shoulder each. A current ran through me, so sudden that I gasped. I twisted around. They’d clamped a metal plate to each shoulder, and they contained some kind of magic source. A powerful one that made my bones rattle.

“Should we up the voltage, so to speak?” asked Josef. “I think when she meets our uncle again, she ought to show him her real eyes.”

“Yes, that’s true,” said Gregor. “Now.”

I screamed, my back arching, my eyes flying open. Every cell in my body pulsed with the shock. I was aware that I was falling, that the cousins had caught me, that fingers were pressing into my eyes and I couldn’t move, couldn’t stop them sliding the lenses out—the slightest sting—and then everything went blinding white.

21

Kay

Pull yourself together.

There was nothing to do but head back to Central. I had a fairly good idea where Ada had gone, but I needed to make sure the Alliance had spread the message around and the council members, at least, had left London. I knew they had safe houses for these kinds of situations and the other Alliance branches worldwide and maybe even offworld would be preparing themselves for the worst-case scenario. The Alliance would survive.

Magic was thick in this part of the Passages, and grew more potent as I approached the corridor leading to Central, like a blanket over all the senses, so all I could hear was a dull humming sound, and the world was overlaid with red…

Wait. I could hear something else. Distantly. Shouts. Running. Screaming.

Then I turned the corner, and a wall of sound hit me like I’d walked from a soundproofed room out into a battlefield. People ran everywhere—some people, some dreyverns. Blasts of magic shook the air and sent bodies flying. Someone had put up a barrier so no one offworld would be able to see or hear the fighting.

I swore and went for my dagger in time to intercept a dreyvern’s attack. Grinning, it slashed at me with its knife, pit-like eyes glittering. I dodged the blow and went for the weapon hand, broke its wrist almost without thinking, and threw the dagger point first at a second dreyvern who’d spotted me. Right through the throat. The dreyvern went down with a choked yell.

Magic crackled like red lightning, knocking several people flying. I didn’t see who’d used it, but it took me off my feet and slammed me into the wall. Who the hell would use second level magic in here? This was the absolute worst place for magic-based combat, all the worse for the number of people here. Alliance members, and others. Not all the opponents were dreyvern. The people fighting the guards wore an odd, scaled-looking uniform not like anything from Earth. Did they work for the Campbell family? Probably.

I’d got back too late. The Alliance was already under attack. Cursing, I pushed away from the wall and ran through the fighting, knocking aside dreyverns and humans alike. Turning into another corridor, I could see the door to London was wide open, though blocked by a mass of bodies. Now I was in the thick of the battle. I wasn’t armed nearly enough to deal with so many opponents, with the stunner useless and only one dagger, and magic would do more harm than good here in the Passages.

Someone else had no issue with using it, though, judging by the sparks flying out. As I kicked a dreyvern aside, there was a gap in the mass of bodies, and I saw Ellen—no, Skyla—fighting a group of guards, none of whom seemed inclined to go near her. She’d escaped. Or someone had set her free.

Our eyes locked, and she smiled at me. “Finally, a worthy opponent!” she shouted, the magic seeming to amplify her voice and throw it across the corridor at me. “Get over here, Kay Walker.”

And she threw a blast of magic at the writhing crowd, forcing it to part down the middle. Amazingly, the fighting continued, though muted, and behind, I could hear another sound, one that made my blood freeze. A wyvern’s cry. It’s not dead? Not that I could see outside, because Ellen, or Skyla, was in the way of the door.

She grinned. “Pretty good accuracy, right?” She held something in her left hand. Her communicator.

She’d duped us all that day when we’d killed the chalder voxes. To keep us away from her double life’s secret Passage.

Dammit. She wanted a fight, I’d give her one. First step was to get her out of the freaking Passages before she blew us all up.

I ran at her, dodging the blasts of magic she fired in the seconds before I got close enough to hit her with one of my own. One shot—that was all I’d risk. And she didn’t even duck, like she’d wanted to lure me out onto Earth, I thought, tackling her and sending us both tumbling out of the doorway. She smiled as I pinned her to the ground, her face turning into Ellen’s again. Probably an attempt to distract me. It didn’t work.

“Last chance to back out,” I said, feeling the static build in my hands. Like it had wanted to break out the whole time. It shouldn’t be this strong on Earth, but at least I could use it.

“Oh, bring it on,” she goaded, her eyes teasing me. Would I fire pure magic into a human being, knowing what it would do to them? Perhaps she expected me to back down. Perhaps if I hadn’t killed already, I would have done.

She’d killed three innocent people herself, and started a war.

I released the charge.

Boom.

The ground trembled underneath us and Ellen moved suddenly, the bolt of magic striking the tarmac instead. The world flipped over as the backlash struck, sending me flying into a half-crushed car. The impact barely registered as magic slammed into me again, and this time, it was like an electric shock. Fuck! I slid down the car’s side, the tremor shaking every nerve. I tried to stand, but it pushed me back, relentless. Skyla had got to her feet, still wearing Ellen’s face and grinning all over it.

“Knew you had a breaking point somewhere, Kay Walker. I admit, I didn’t really think your father would use you as one of his experiments. He hated magic, from what I heard.”

I could still hear the fighting, the screams from the Passage, but it was like I’d been thrown behind that magic soundproofing shield again. Every sound muted, save a roaring in the back of my head. Obliterating everything else.

“He must have really hated you.”

The roaring became a crescendo. Forks of reddish-purple lightning burst into life, and I stood, raising a hand, gathered the lighting in my palm and sent it, not at Ellen, but at the road in front of her. She laughed a delighted laugh, but her eyes widened as the magic struck, burning a sizzling hole in the tarmac, then rebounded. The ripple effect sent me staggering back, but it was worse for Ellen. She rose up into the air as if lifted by invisible hands, screaming—and then another lightning bolt descended. She screamed louder and raised her hands, the red lightning reflected in her dark, dark eyes…

And then it dissipated. Like someone had flicked a switch, the magic energy crackling in the air, in me, disappeared. I swayed on my feet, drained of the electric rush, and horrified. Ellen dropped from the sky and hit the tarmac with an audible thud I felt even from a distance.

I ran to her, although I already knew she was dead. The roaring in my ears was painful now, more like screaming.

And then I became aware of real voices. Behind me.

“What a shame,” someone remarked. “I liked her.”

Five strangers had come out of the Passages. All wore magicproof suits like the guys I’d killed on Valeria. One was a teenager with spiked hair. The other three were clearly related. A blond girl followed behind.

And between them was a smaller, redheaded figure with eyes like white orbs, dark pupils in the centre.

Ada.

* * *

ADA

Delta’s father was the spitting image of Josef, except his face was more lined and his hair streaked with grey. Unremarkable, anyway. But then, killers weren’t recognisable at a glance, and nor were murdering psychotic businessmen.

“Here we are,” he said. “Central. And we’re just in time.” He laid a hand on my back and pushed me out of the Passages, into the street.

The magic hit me first. It slammed into me with the strength of a boulder, making me sway on the spot. My vision was off-kilter, like I saw the world through distorted glass. Magic pulsed like something living, a cloud covering the houses with their shattered windowpanes, the wrecked cars, the person standing stock-still in the middle of the road—no, now they were running towards a prone body a few feet away.

Oh, God, Kay. And the body was Skyla’s. I wasn’t sorry. I couldn’t afford to be. I needed to get the hell away from Delta and his lunatic family before they used me to blow up Central.

Janice skipped out of the Passages behind me. “What did I miss?” she asked.

“Looks like a magical battle,” Delta said. “Who is that?”

Kay. Get out of here. Please.

“No idea,” said Janice. “That’s the girl who used to visit, though, isn’t it?”

“Skyla,” said Delta. “Hell, I know who that guy is. Walker. He killed her.”

“What a shame,” said Josef. “I liked her.”

Like in slow motion, Kay turned. Looked into my real eyes.

His own widened in shock.

Get out. Please, Kay.

I couldn’t say a word. Not even as Delta’s father shoved me forward, his cousins pinning me on either side. Delta in front. He glanced back at his father. “Are we gonna mow him down, or what?”

“I’d stop there,” said Kay. My heart sank. Of course he’d challenge them. Dammit, Kay.

“Walker, is it?” said Delta’s father.

“Kay, actually,” he answered. Oh, for God’s sake, get out of here!

“I suppose he is a magic-wielder,” said Delta’s father. “And with Skyla dead, we could use the power.”

Where was everyone else? What had happened at Central? Delta’s father had walked through the battle in the Passages like a god through mortals, and no one had dared follow to challenge him. Not when they’d seen my eyes. Not when they’d seen the magic that surrounded me like a deadly cloak of white lightning. Kay could see it, too. But he’d sacrifice his own life before he let them get at Central.

They were going to use me to kill him.

Delta’s father leaned in behind me. He’d strapped a metal-plated contraption to my back. Didn’t take a genius to figure out it was a bomb. No—I was the bomb. And Kay was…

“Get out of here!” I screamed, cracking. “Save yourself! Please…”

Delta’s father backhanded me, knocking me sideways into one of the cousins. Kay swore and took a step forward. Not back. Not away. Oh, God.

“It’s pointless,” he said. “Central’s been evacuated, so’s this whole area. You really want to kill me that badly?”

Was he telling the truth? It was impossible to tell.

“Actually,” Delta’s father said, “We could use some leverage over Walker in case he comes back. Janice? Take him.”

“With pleasure,” said Janice, skipping forward. Kay watched her, and although he was dead still, I knew he was thinking hard.

“She’s a magic-wielder!” I shouted, earning another slap. I barely felt it. The static charge building inside my veins was unbearable, like it had to escape somehow, otherwise I’d burn to a crisp from the inside out. But that seemed a preferable fate to wiping out half London in a magical assault.

Janice attacked, but Kay was faster. He avoided the bolt of magic and the backlash and sent an equal force back—hell, he was using magic? But I was shaking hard, and my vision blurred more by the second.

“Stop this,” I said, through chattering teeth. “If this magic gets out, it’ll obliterate us along with everything else.”

“On the contrary,” said Delta’s father. “You will absorb the backlash yourself. Surely you knew the clue was in your name? Adamantine absorbs magic. I admit, I didn’t know myself, until Janice told me what you did to her brother. You took second level backlash and walked away without a scratch.”

Crap. I did. But… I was antimagic? I gaped at him, heart beating fast. No. Adamantine was the most unbreakable substance in the Multiverse. It couldn’t be inside my blood. The only place I’d seen it was—

Central.

The building could absorb magic. And no one was in Central anymore.

“Ingenious, wasn’t it?” said Delta’s father, obviously noticing my gaze was on Central. “To force the Alliance to leave the one safe place in the city. I doubt they got far enough not to be caught in the blast. We have time enough to watch the outcome of this, anyway.”

Kay had managed to pin Janice down, but by the tremors rocking the magic in the atmosphere, I could tell both were firing magic at one another. In seconds, one or other of them would be dead.

I ran forward, the movement disturbing the magic. I couldn’t intervene without blowing everything sky-high. But the slight disturbance had sent both of them head over heels—Kay slammed into the pavement, and my heart pitched as I saw his hands had taken the backlash and were burned raw red. Janice was in similar condition. Teeth bared in a feral snarl, she leaped at him.

On his feet in a second, Kay raised a hand. His dark eyes gleamed, the pupils disappearing, almost inhuman. And a fork of lightning shot at Janice. She couldn’t avoid it.

She fell.

“More’s the pity,” said Delta’s father, coldly. “Right. Come, now.” He pushed me forwards. The others moved, too.

“What about him?” Delta jerked his head at Kay, who still stood beside Janice’s body, unmoving. As he did, Kay seemed to come to life again. He turned back and strode towards us. Eyes no longer gleaming, but blank.

Delta’s father let out an impatient noise. “Subdue him,” he told Delta’s cousins. “She’s not going anywhere. Not if you threaten him.”

Dammit.

Josef and Gregor advanced on Kay. They actually looked a little frightened. But they had the advantage of the magicproof suits, and Kay was injured besides. A sharp pain pierced my chest as I saw his ruined hands. He didn’t seem to acknowledge it, but I knew it had to really hurt. My heart dipped further. Both cousins carried those magic-charged metal plates they’d used on me.

I couldn’t watch. But I did. It was over so fast—one second Kay had pulled a knife, though it must hurt like a bitch to hold it. Next he was disarmed, and Josef struck him over the head with the metal plate. Then he was on the ground, the antimagic shock vibrating through him. I felt it, the agony ripping open my own bones. The magic. I could feel the magic…

No. That was antimagic I could feel, like magic but its stark opposite. And I’d pulled on it, the same way I did with magic.

That’s what’s in my blood. Antimagic. Adamantine. To block magic required a substance which had magic origins itself. The equivalent of the reverse reaction. I had more antimagic in my blood than they did in those ridiculous suits. My hands were free. They couldn’t have cuffed me, because that would have blocked me from unleashing the source. But that meant I could take in the magic myself. Absorb it. Stop the source strapped to my back from exploding… at the cost of taking the magic into myself instead.

Delta’s cousins whirled on me, staring. They’d felt it, too. And from the look on his father’s face, he’d also figured something was up. I couldn’t hear what he said. The charge had built up to unbearable levels. I could hear swearing—the world had broken into fragments—I blinked, but couldn’t clear the film from my vision. It pulsed black, then white, then black again. There was a cracking sound, like breaking metal. The bomb strapped to my back. It fragmented, the plates encasing the bomb breaking away…

I pulled all the magic, all the antimagic, towards me. Took it all in. They couldn’t use it anymore.

My knees struck concrete. Through the haze, I made out Delta and his father, and cousins, and they were shouting at each other. A meaningless jumble of words I couldn’t make sense of. Delta’s father barked something, and the two cousins turned and strode towards me. They looked scared, but had clearly been given an order.

I lifted my head, held up a hand and the magic gathered in my palm, pure white. Sparks shot out and the charged plates in their hands crumbled. Both cousins yelled as the charge went through them. Building higher. Level three.

They fell.

The charge rippled outwards. I could do nothing about the backlash, not when it rippled through the air and Delta dropped to the ground, when his father took one step towards me and fell, too, screaming…

Everything blurred. Kay. Where was he? I couldn’t see if he’d been hit. No…

The backlash struck me. I cried out, every cell in my body screaming. The world blacked out. Lights burst behind my eyes.

Then… nothing.

22

Kay

Three weeks later

“Dammit, Markos, I can open the bloody door.”

“I beg to differ,” said the centaur, and kicked the door to Ms Weston’s office in with one hoof. Rolling my eyes, I closed the door behind me and faced the boss.

Three weeks on, and I was still surprised I hadn’t been fired yet. It had taken a week for them to clean up Central—I’d actually been right when I’d told the Campbell boss the place had been evacuated. Not that it would have made a difference if he’d really been able to use Ada as a bomb.

London had had a lucky escape. So had the world.

“Kay,” said Ms Weston. “I see the bandages are off.”

I held up my barely scarred hands. “See? Back to normal. Nothing to stop me running patrols.” I was going stir-crazy, and Ms Weston knew it.

I already knew that magic burn didn’t leave marks. Not on the outside.

“I’ll let Carl be the judge of that,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “I hear you want to bring that girl back in. The girl who caused all the trouble.”

That figured. I only had to casually mention it and it was around half Central. Inevitable consequence of being the one witness at Central to the standoff with the Campbell family. Like I needed any more attention.

“Yes,” I said. “I think she’d be an excellent employee. She has the right skill set, and she’s spent her whole life dealing with offworld matters. She’d be an asset.”

Not that I’d told her—or the council—how, exactly, she’d killed the Campbells. That she could absorb any magic, including antimagic, unlike anyone else on Earth. All anyone else knew was that she was a powerful magic-wielder—and the Alliance had no way of knowing what that really meant. I’d been the only witness, and the last thing I wanted to do was spread word of Ada’s capabilities. Even Earth’s council might take advantage.

Ms Weston apparently thought the same applied to me. She hadn’t said a word about the experiments, and as far as everyone else was concerned, I was just a normal magic-wielder who’d taken advantage of the unusually high levels of magic on Earth to use it as a weapon. Not that it came from me, that it was part of me.

“She’s a liability,” said Ms Weston. “We came this close to losing control of the Balance—this close to total annihilation.”

Yeah. I reckoned Central was still in a state of shock. To say nothing of all the ordinary people who’d had be evacuated from central London. The Alliance had spent the best part of the past three weeks clearing up the aftermath. The remainder of the Campbell family had been imprisoned back on Valeria. Pity they didn’t go in for the death penalty there. Those bastards had almost destroyed the Multiverse.

“That may be,” I said, “but if anything like this happens again—like it or not, with magic, it’s always a possibility—then we might need her. Besides, I doubt all the Alliance’s guards could stop her from helping the Enzarian refugees.”

“Yes… about that. You’re very lucky the council was amenable.”

Lucky they hadn’t forgotten the Walker name. And as they were the only people to know exactly what had happened in the standoff with the Campbells—even if I hadn’t been able to give Ada’s side of the story—they listened to me.

No one could deny the situation in the Empire needed looking into, especially after the information about the hidden shelters in London got out. And I knew how my father’s mind worked, so I knew exactly how to get around the noninterference stance and take the offworld transition points under Alliance control before anyone shut them down. That was a matter for the Law Division, seeing as they involved doorways that were listed in the Alliance’s records as defunct. Plainly, someone had tampered with the records to enable the refugees to use doorways the Alliance didn’t know about. Because nobody knew who’d actually done it, they were the Alliance’s property by default. I’d marched into the council office ready to throw the book at them, only to find they’d caved under pressure from the offworlder communities.

I had the feeling part of that was Ada’s guardian, who was a one-woman force of nature. Two guards had come back from a “meeting” with her in a state of absolute terror. Sounded like she’d scared them into dropping the charges against her family and agreeing that saving the Earth from a magical apocalypse probably merited exemption from the usual consequences of breaking out of jail and attacking the Alliance guard team. Not to mention the trespassing.

I couldn’t stop them closing down the shelter, but I’d damn well try to. I owed it to Ada. At the very least, the Offworld Aid Division had agreed to send application forms on so they’d have a shot at reopening legally. And I’d spent half the past week talking to Simon’s superiors at New York’s Alliance about opening the new Passage to the offworld transition points, allowing the refugees still waiting to get through. Arranging that was pretty much the only thing that had stopped me from going batshit insane stuck in the office all the time. And it was about the only thing I’d managed not to fuck up since arriving at Central.

All I’d done to earn their respect was almost die at the hands of a magic-wielder. I didn’t plan to make a habit of it, and I wasn’t naïve enough to think there wouldn’t be hell to pay further down the line if the other allied worlds objected. But God knew the Multiverse owed me one small victory.

I hadn’t seen Ada once. Not since she’d been in the hospital. Her guardian had told me in no uncertain terms to leave them the hell alone, and only family were allowed in to visit her. I knew she was alive, and that had to be enough. After she’d fallen, knocked out by her own backlash, I’d honestly thought she was dead.

I’d got off easy. Especially considering I’d been inches away from being caught in Ada’s final attack. The one that had killed all four of the Campbells. And almost killed her.

The memory of that was hazy. I’d been half-concussed at the time, but I could recall it in flashes. Waking from the magic shock to see Ada, eyes glowing blinding white, surrounded by crackling white lightning. Then black lightning. Then she’d screamed, and the light had pulsed outwards, knocking two of the guys out. The backlash had taken care of the other two. And when it had hit her…

I’d run. Not fast enough. She’d fallen to the ground, and the light had gone out entirely. Next thing I remember, guards had surrounded us, had pulled her out of my arms—when had I picked her up?—and taken her away. I’d tried to stand up but gravity didn’t seem to want to cooperate… tried to reach her but my hands fucking hurt, like fire flared along every nerve. And then I was being hauled off to the hospital while she was God only knew where and I had no idea if she was even alive.

No one was supposed to absorb so much magic energy. What the Campbells had done had nearly destroyed her. But she’d survived. And once I found out she was alive, the first thing that struck me was deep, horrible guilt that I’d been at least partially responsible for her landing in this situation. Because it had been through the Alliance that the enemy had learned about her ability—if we’d just let her go…

Even Ms Weston’s keeping my secret didn’t seem to matter. Ada had reason to hold me in contempt. Logic told me I should stay away from her, not screw her life up further. But I at least had to tell her that the new Passage was ready to open, that she’d finally be able to help everyone from her homeworld. Once I had Simon’s confirmation.

Someone knocked on the office door. “The council want to speak to you,” said Aric. Great.

“Again? For bloody hell’s sake.” Ms Weston shook her head. “Fine, I suppose I’ll have to… you can go now, Kay. Don’t think I’m finished with you yet.”

I almost laughed. In the past few weeks, it had relaxed to the point that being called into her office no longer felt like my career was on the line.

“I’m scared to death.”

Aric glared at me as I came out of the office. “You’re still being an arrogant prick? That’s our boss you’re talking to.”

“Congratulations. I knew you’d learn who everyone is eventually.”

Aric muttered a curse, stifled as Ms Weston marched past, out of the office. “Very funny, Walker.”

“Glad you appreciate it,” I said, turning to leave. “Is there a reason you’re still hanging around out here?”

“I heard what you said.” He took a step towards me, in yet another failed attempt to look menacing. “You’re really going to bring a dangerous magic-wielder here? That girl should be locked up. I can’t believe the Alliance have just let her walk free. She almost killed the fucking planet. And then some.”

“She didn’t,” I corrected. “She was being manipulated.”

“She’s a magic-wielder. She ought to have stopped it, not let it get out of hand like that.”

“When are you going to get it into your head that magic can’t be controlled?” I held up my own hands in demonstration, though the marks had all but healed. “It does whatever the hell it wants. She could only absorb it, not control it. No one can do that.”

“That’s not what you said two years ago.”

“That’s exactly what I said two years ago,” I said, shaking my head. “Magic is a force. It responds to wielders, yeah, but it doesn’t give a crap if there’s someone else standing in the way. We’re like human lightning rods.”

Aric glared. “Then you better stay away from me, Walker.”

“With pleasure.”

I slammed the office door so hard, it actually did hurt, a sharp jolt going through my hands. Goddamned magic burn never let up. At first, it had been like I’d put my hands on an electric fence and then set them on fire. Now it only shocked me every couple of hours instead of every minute. I could deal with pain.

My communicator started beeping. Simon.

“Is that Central’s wyvern-slaying lunatic?”

“Wrong number. This is pest control. Did I hear about gigantic swamp rats?”

“Dammit. And I had some awesome news too. The council have given the plan the go-ahead. We’re opening tomorrow.”

“You are?” I said, gripping the phone harder. Ada.

“Hell, yes. Also, there might be a few people at US Central who want to meet you.”

I sighed. “Don’t tell me you’ve been spreading stories.”

“Only the truth.”

Yeah. Or Simon’s version, which involved heroes fighting monsters and saving the Multiverse. Real life didn’t quite work like that. No one ever wrote about the aftermath.

I closed my eyes. “Guess I have to visit Ada.”

“You don’t have her number?”

“She has mine.” That spoke for itself.

“Ah. Well, she’ll be happy this whole thing’s set up now, right?”

“Yeah. ’Course she will.” Feeling I owed Simon something of an explanation, I said, “You know who stopped the Alliance from helping Enzar in the first place, right?”

I gave him five seconds. It took three. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah.” Yet another reason I hadn’t spoken to Ada. Her family hated me, yes, but knowing she knew what my father had done…

“Well, good luck. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

He hung up. I stared at the communicator for a moment. And then double-checked Ada’s address.

* * *

ADA

Nell was pissed off. Nothing new there.

“Who are you meeting?” she said, after I’d hung up the phone. The call from Simon, whoever he was, had come completely out of nowhere. Lucky I was in the house. Not that I really had anywhere else to go these days, but still. No job, and Nell being overprotective. Not to mention Jeth, who’d appointed himself my bodyguard after quitting his job to help Nell run the business while she recovered.

Now, Nell came out into the hallway, her usual sharp expression back in full force. I was kind of tempted to retreat back into my room. But Alber and Jeth had both poked their heads out of their rooms, wanting to hear the action.

“Kay Walker.” Might as well get it over with.

“Walker.”

“Yes, I know. Not the Walker. His son. He’s setting up this arrangement with US Central so the Enzarian refugees—all the refugees—can get through the Passages to a shelter there. Look, it isn’t as bad as it seems. We can still help people. Just on the legal side. The Alliance… they might be offering me a job.” If that still stood after I’d almost destroyed London. I didn’t dare consider the alternative.

“And if they don’t? We’re running out of money, Ada.”

“We’ll make do. Could always find another supermarket job.”

“This isn’t a joke, Ada!”

“Nell, come on,” said Jeth. “This was bound to go wrong in the end. We stepped on too many toes. Delta’s family were dicks, anyway.”

Everyone winced at the name. No one had dared bring it up for a week after I’d woken up in hospital—not that I was conscious most of the time. It was too painful to think about, so my nightmares did it for me, with feeling. I’d killed five people, including someone who’d once been a friend. Would the Alliance turn me into a hired killer, too? Like Kay… no, that wasn’t fair. He’d killed Skyla, killed Janice, but he hadn’t had a choice in the matter. Magic didn’t give you one.

I wished I could talk to him. Just once. But Nell always seemed to be there, reminding me of what the Walker family had cost us. What the Alliance had cost us. It was a mess. Not least because some Alliance officials had showed up on the doorstep while I was still in a coma and recited a ten-minute-long diatribe about all the laws we’d collectively broken, slapped a formal warning onto us, and then charged Nell for damages on behalf of the guards she and Skyla had knocked out. If not for my being unconscious, I’d have had to give a statement. As it was, Nell had screamed bloody murder about how her daughter had saved the Multiverse and if not for me, everyone in the city would be dead. I kind of wished I’d been awake to watch. At any rate, Nell had managed to convince the guards Skyla had been responsible for the damage, so we’d only been charged for the bloodrock we’d stolen. Too bad “only” had sent us halfway to bankruptcy.

Sometimes being a responsible adult sucked. I’d cleaned out my own bank account and it still wasn’t enough to help. I didn’t think Kay was behind the charges—and from what Nell had told me the Alliance officials said, I was pretty sure it was down to him that the times we’d trespassed in the Passages had been overlooked—but I guessed I didn’t blame Nell for storming about the house breathing fire in the direction of anyone who mentioned the Alliance.

I shook my head. “Let’s worry about that later. I’ve got to go find Kay in the Passages. We’re meeting Simon halfway, so he can show me where the new Passage open to the public is. Want to come?”

“Into the Passages?” said Alber. “Hell, yes.”

“I suppose,” said Jeth. “You need someone to supervise you. You’re not going off to Valeria.”

“But. Hover boots,” said Alber. “Come on.”

“Tell you what, if I get a job at the Alliance, I’ll sneak you with me to Valeria,” I said. “They let you bring one “extra.””

“Seriously?” said Alber. “Oh my God, Ada. You have to get this job!”

I laughed. Nell narrowed her eyes. “Do I need to remind you to be careful, Ada?”

“Absolutely not,” I said. “Are you sure you don’t want to come and see?”

“If I had my way, none of you would have anything to do with those people,” she said. “I know can’t stop you from going. I only wish…”

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry I lied to you, Ada,” she said, softly, her face creased with remorse.

I sucked in a sharp breath. This was the conversation we’d never had, the one we’d danced around for three weeks, each wondering whether the other would be the one to break the silence. But I couldn’t face another bombshell. Not after what I’d been through already.

“I understand,” I said. “I get why you wouldn’t want that information getting out.”

“It was selfish,” said Nell. “I was younger than you are now when they assigned me as your watcher. I saw them do it to you—saw them…” She shook her head. “You don’t want to know the details.”

“I do,” I said quietly. “But later. We’re meeting Kay in half an hour. We should go.”

“Later, then.” She nodded.

The truth weighed heavy on me, heavy as the burden of what I’d done. The deaths I’d caused. And the worlds I’d almost obliterated. I couldn’t sleep without reliving that moment in the warehouse when I realised that the magic I’d coveted all my life was never under my control. It was a lie. I was a walking weapon, and I’d almost destroyed the Earth.

In the long hours awake, I couldn’t help but wonder if Kay was haunted by the same thoughts.

I never called. I couldn’t do it. He’d seen my real eyes. Seen what I was.

Alber and Jeth stood either side of me as we approached the alleyway to the Passages. The road was so torn up, it was a pain to climb over, but at least the Passage entrance still stood. Even if none of us had used it since. I knew that the Cethraxian creatures had been the Campbell family’s doing and the Passages were relatively quiet now, but I kept one eye out for danger all the same. All three of us were armed. I had magic, too, of course. But I hadn’t dared use it since.

My heart climbed into my throat as we got closer to the halfway point. I hadn’t needed to check the map Simon had messaged me, because I knew this part of the Passages backwards.

And I knew the person standing at the other end of the corridor. Lean and dark-haired, dressed in black faux-leather uniform—could he patrol, then? Using third level magic had almost taken his hands off. But I couldn’t picture Kay consenting to sit out on the action for long. Dammit, say something. Stop staring!

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey. These two your new bodyguards?”

“My brothers,” I corrected. “You’ve met Jeth and Alber already.”

“Unfortunately,” Jeth muttered.

“Well, that’s nice,” said Kay, turning to him. “Seeing as I was about to offer you a job.”

Jeth’s mouth dropped open, comically. “You what?”

“The Alliance techs were impressed with your invisible communication device.”

“You bastard. You gave it to them?”

“I thought they’d be impressed.” He shrugged. “Enough to offer you a pretty good starting salary.” And then he named a sum that made my jaw drop as comically as Jeth’s.

“Oh. My God. Okay, let me think on that one.”

Amusement flashing in his eyes, Kay turned to me. “You’re welcome to take the entrance exam for a novice, Ada. Basic probationary period. Ms Weston will tell you the rest, if you come to Central.”

“Let me think about it, too,” I said, a little too quickly. I think he knew I meant I’d discuss it with Nell. “Is Simon here?”

“We’re meeting him. This way.” And he strode off without giving us the chance to keep up.

“Holy freaking hell,” said Alber, as we followed. “You’d be mental not to pass that up.”

“I know,” said Jeth.

“You’d get all the cool gadgets, too.”

“Tell that to Nell,” said Jeth. “What about you, Ada?”

“I think…” I cut myself off before I said something melodramatic, like that joining the Alliance seemed the only option I had left, if I still wanted to explore the Multiverse.

Of course I did. The old dream hadn’t died, even if I’d felt like it had when I’d woken from that coma. The nightmares would stop, eventually. I had to believe that. Somehow.

Magic was the more addictive for the long absence. I could feel it pulling at me, tempting me, and I wondered for the first time if Kay could feel it, too. He was the same as I was, after all.

I recognised the route we took as the one we’d been chased down by the wyvern, through the maze of underground corridors and up the hidden stair to the first level. I guessed the Alliance would map out this part of the Passages now. Kay seemed to know where he was going, anyway. But he didn’t stop, didn’t even look back. Despite everything, a twisting sensation caught at my chest. After everything… did he not even want to talk to me? Hadn’t he been the slightest bit concerned about my being in hospital, in a coma? Nell and my brothers hadn’t mentioned him asking after me, but I supposed they’d made their opinions quite clear. Kay was a Walker, and even if I worked for the Alliance, Nell would never forgive him.

The twisting sense deepened. It wasn’t fair to judge him on that. Even for arresting me. Not now he’d done something we’d never managed to achieve in a lifetime of trying to help people from Enzar. This was actually happening. For real.

I didn’t know whether to skip down the Passages or burst into tears. After this hellish month, I finally dared to hope that things might start to look up.

When we caught up to Kay, we found him at a junction in the maze of endless corridors, talking to a tall blond guy I assumed must be Simon.

“Hey there,” said Simon. “You must be Ada.”

“Hey. These are my brothers, Jeth and Alber,” I said.

Jeth nodded, while Alber muttered, “Hi.” That was about as friendly as I expected, considering.

“Right,” said Simon. “Well, this is the centre junction where you’ll need to direct anyone passing through. That way leads to the upper level—but you know that, don’t you? Kay said you know the Passages pretty well.”

I nodded, but couldn’t help wondering what else he’d told Simon about me. Not that it was any of my business.

“Anyway, we have guards down this path here. They’ll direct them the right way.”

“Maybe they should signpost it?” Alber suggested.

“They tried,” said Simon, grinning at Kay. “But jokers kept rearranging the signs to point the other way. Sounds like something we’d have done, to be honest.”

“Yeah,” said Kay. “Direct people to Monsterville. I’m hearing there’s a disappointing lack of Cethraxian vermin in here these days.”

“You’ve not been back?” I asked. I couldn’t help it. “Wait—your hands.”

Kay looked at me, hands held palm up. Barely marked, aside from a handful of crescent-shaped scars, fading already. “No harm done.”

Simon snorted. “You’d say that, you lunatic. Hell, you’ll probably say it on your deathbed.”

Kay smirked. “If you outlive me, ask that they write it on my grave.”

“Can we not talk about death in this place?” Alber said, glancing behind us.

“I second that,” said Jeth. “Are we done here?”

Kay was still looking at me. “Why don’t you show Ada the shelter, Simon?”

“Sure,” he said, sounding a little surprised. “Ada? I can bring one non-Alliance person. Sorry, guys,” he added to the others.

“I—sure! I’ve always wanted to go to New York.” I turned to Alber and Jeth. “You two can find your way back?”

Jeth nodded. “Sure can. See you later, Ada, okay?”

“Yeah, I won’t be long. Bye.”

“You owe us for this!” Alber called over his shoulder, as he and Jeth departed. Kay had already headed down another pathway, Simon on his heels.

“Hey—wait!” I hurried to catch up. “For God’s sake, stop charging off like that.”

“Terrible, isn’t he?” said Simon. “He’s always running off when you’re trying to talk to him. It’s the most bloody annoying–”

“I can hear you, you know,” said Kay, over his shoulder. But he slowed enough to let us catch up.

“I meant you to,” said Simon. “Seriously. I’d be impressed to hear if you’d found a way to get him to stop chasing after monsters for five minutes.”

“Not likely,” I said, with a sideways glance at Kay. His half-smile didn’t reach his eyes, which now I saw up close, were shadowed. Haunted, I thought, and suddenly wished Simon would leave us to talk alone. The idea made my pulse drum nervously.

“Did you find out what happened to Cethrax, by the way?” Kay asked Simon. “I’ve been asking around, no one seems to know.”

“They’ve been fined a hundred million credits for aiding the Campbell family,” said Simon. “Their Vox leaders aren’t too thrilled about it.”

“Good,” said Kay.

“Yeah. They deserved it.” And worse. Twenty Alliance guards had been killed in the fighting, apparently, not to mention the people Skyla had murdered at Central. I still couldn’t get my head around that. And Delta, too. The two people I’d trusted outside my family. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to it. My life before the Alliance had caught me felt like it belonged to a different person. Someone I didn’t know.

I’d spent years helping people who’d been through hell. But none of that had in any way prepared me for dealing with this crushing, overwhelming guilt. The screaming nightmares. The panic attacks. Even my brothers didn’t know the half of it. And Nell fluctuated between paranoid and distant, depending on her mood. I was used to keeping quiet, the refugees’ problems taking precedence over my own. But now...

I glanced at Kay again. I swore he’d looked in my direction then turned away just as quickly.

Was he avoiding my eyes? Why? Because I hadn’t called? I didn’t think so, somehow. Things like that seemed to bounce right off him.

“Here we are,” said Simon, breaking the silence. “Welcome to the NYC Alliance.” He pushed open the door.

“Do all Passages lead to alleyways?” I asked. It was still daytime here, the midday sun blinding over the glittering skyscrapers piercing the skyline. I could see a street at the end of the alley, and Simon headed that way.

“The Alliance often uses the ones which are easily concealed,” said Simon. “There are five here in the Big Apple. I’d show you the sights, only we’ve got maybe an hour before the next patrol goes into the Passages. And I’m supposed to be on that patrol, so…”

“Dammit,” I said. “I always wanted to come here.”

“Come on, you got to go to Valeria,” said Simon. “And Kay said something about stolen hover boots?”

“One hover boot,” I said. Admittedly, that had been the one fun part of that whole fiasco. I didn’t mind discussing that. “I’d have preferred two. It was a bit lopsided.”

“I wanted to try out one of those hover bikes,” said Kay. “Next time, I’m hiring one.”

“You think the Alliance will let you go back there after you violated half their traffic laws?”

“Considering I just got promoted to Ambassador? I hope so.”

“Shit, Kay. You kept that quiet!” said Simon.

“Only happened today,” he said, with a shrug. “They lost a couple of Ambassadors in the fighting so there was an opening.”

“Wow,” I said. “Guess you get to see the Multiverse?”

“I could kill you right now,” said Simon.

“Well, you already know what to put on my grave.” Now his smile definitely didn’t reach his eyes.

“Damn,” Simon muttered. “That is not fair. Tell me you rubbed it in Aric’s face? Just a little?”

“I’ll send him a postcard.”

“I could send Nell a postcard from here,” I said, making a sweeping gesture at the towering skyscrapers. “It’d probably get there in a week.”

“Ha. You should do that,” said Simon. “Nell’s your foster mother, right?”

“Uh-huh.” I glanced at Kay again, but he didn’t seem to notice. “He told you everything about me?”

“Don’t worry. Your secrets are safe with me,” said Simon. “We’re here,” he added, leading us down a side road.

The apartment building was unremarkable, the same as its neighbours. I could see people inside. Offworlders—even some from Enzar. Children running around. I smiled. Dammit. I would not start crying in the middle of the street.

“Pretty cool, right?” said Simon. “Kay—oh, for God’s sake, he’s off again.”

Kay hadn’t come up to the house with us. He’d wandered down the road instead, looking up at the skyline.

“What’s up with him?” I asked, safe in the knowledge that he couldn’t hear us. “He’s acting… I don’t know.”

“You’re not what I expected,” said Simon, disregarding the question. “Kay said you were… look, I promise I won’t tell anyone this.” He drew in a breath, while I blinked, slightly confused. “I know you’re from Enzar. I know the Walker family gave your world a shitty deal. But Kay had nothing to do with that.”

Huh? Was that the problem? “I know. His father did, right? Did you ever meet him?” I checked again that Kay wasn’t within hearing distance. He wasn’t.

“No.” Simon shook his head. “Got the impression he cleared offworld before Kay came to the Academy. He never said, and I didn’t like to ask. Well, Walker’s reputation precedes him. But Kay, well, he might have been a total overachiever at the Academy, but he never used the Walker name if he could help it. I mean, his family owns properties across three universes, they were amongst the original founders of Earth’s Alliance. They’re billionaires several times over. Everyone at the Academy knew that. But in five years, he never brought it up once. Not a word.”

I stared. “He told me he’d never been offworld,” I said, because I had to say something.

“He hadn’t, until now, I guess,” said Simon. “It’s difficult to get answers out of him.”

“Tell me about it,” I said. “I asked what happened to his parents. He said they were dead or otherwise absent.”

“I thought his mother died. He never talked about that, either,” said Simon. “Nor his life before the Academy. He only ever talked about the future. The Multiverse, and the Alliance.”

Given that his father had volunteered him as a human experiment, I could put two and two together and get a hell of a painful answer. Maybe I didn’t want to know.

“Has he ever mentioned the wyvern incident?” asked Simon.

“Mentioned it,” I said. “What happened there?”

“He saved my life.”

“He did?” I asked, startled.

Simon nodded. “We were kind of idiots. Third year at the Academy, we got bored and decided to explore the Passages. Started out as a competition with Aric and his friends. Sneaking into the Passages, picking fights with offworld creatures. Then, well, it got complicated. Ended up with a wyvern getting loose in there. We never did manage to prove it was Aric who did it, but it must have been. Only Kay would throw himself into the path of a rampaging wyvern. He damn near died, and you know, the first thing the lunatic said when he woke up in the hospital was ask if everyone else was all right. I mean, how many people would do that?”

And now I wanted to cry. I’d been awful to him. The things I’d said—I couldn’t take them back.

“I saw the scars,” I said, instead.

“Wait, you’ve seen?” Simon whistled.

“It’s—it’s not like that.”

“Hmm.”

“Quit it,” I said feebly. “We’re probably going to be colleagues at Central. I’m not going to screw things up before I even start.”

“How do you know you’ll screw it up?”

“I have a terrible track record with relationships.” Why the hell did I tell him that? I couldn’t stop shouting my mouth off lately, apparently. “And an overprotective guardian who hates the Walkers.”

“Well, you’re the first girl he’s paid attention to for longer than a week since the wyvern incident, so that’s a start.” He paused, and I had the feeling that he’d been about to say something else, but had held back. “If I were you, I’d go after him before he gets lost.”

“Is that likely to happen?”

“God, no. Guy has a photographic memory.”

“I thought so,” I said. “All right.”

And I ran after him. I caught up before I reached the street’s end, though the crowded path had slowed him down. Kay stood apart from the crowd, gaze still fixed on the sky—until he saw me and turned his head. And, to my own total surprise, I wrapped my arms around him, tight. I felt him stiffen in shock.

“Ada—what?”

Dammit. I blinked back tears. “I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t seem to let go. The world disappeared around us, reduced to the sound of his fast-beating heart against mine, to the seconds as I tilted my head and our lips met in a surge of electricity infinitely better than magic. And I felt him smile, and I didn’t care that we were blocking the path and people were having to step around us, annoyed. Because I wouldn’t miss this for anything in the Multiverse.

“I think we should get out the way,” Kay said, breaking off the kiss.

“Spoilsport.” But I drew back. The question what now? hovered between us like a tangible presence. I drew in a deep breath. “Yeah. I’m joining the Alliance.” I grinned. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

THE END

* * *

The Alliance Series continues with Nemesis, the second Alliance novel.

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About the Author

Emma writes edgy urban fantasy and young adult novels, including the Changeling Chronicles, the Alliance series, the Darkworld series and the Indestructible trilogy. She lives in the middle of England, but dreams of exploring the Multiverse. When she's not immersed in her own fictional worlds, Emma works as a freelance editor and proofreader and reads an improbable number of books.

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The Sunken

Engine Ward, Book One

S C Green

Copyright © 2014 S. C. Green

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to real persons, living or dead, found within are purely coincidental.

All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Created with Vellum

About the Book

The Sunken

In the heart of London lies the Engine Ward, a district forged in coal and steam, where the great Engineering Sects vie for ultimate control of the country.

For many, the Ward is a forbidding, desolate place, but for Nicholas Thorne, the Ward is a refuge. He has returned to London under a cloud of shadow to work for his childhood friend, the engineer Isambard Kingdom Brunel.

Deep in the Ward's bowels, Nicholas can finally escape his strange affliction – the thoughts of animals that crowd his head. But seeing Brunel interact with his mechanical creations, Nicholas is increasingly concerned that his friend may be succumbing to the allure of his growing power. That power isn't easily cast aside, and the people of London need Brunel to protect the streets from the prehistoric monsters that roam the city.

King George III has approved Brunel's ambitious plan to erect a Wall that would shut out the swamp dragons and protect the city. But in secret, the King cultivates an army of Sunken: men twisted into flesh-eating monsters by a thirst for blood and lead. Only Nicholas and Brunel suspect that something is wrong, that the Wall might play into a more sinister purpose--to keep the people of London trapped inside.

To the Bogans,
for your friendship and unfaltering support.

Prologue

1820

"This beam engine pumps water from the Thames directly into those reservoirs and the water tower. The mains run seven miles to Campden Hill and supplies water to most of West London – Nicholas Thorne, are you listening?"

Master Brunel fixed him with a withering stare. Nicholas, who had just turned fifteen and normally loved watching steam engines at work and hated to disappoint his teacher, shoved his crumpled Navy papers back into his pocket and tried to look interested as the Master led his four pupils into the pump house. But he couldn't think about steam engines today.

Inside the shed, Nicholas followed his teacher and the other three pupils onto the observation floor. He pressed his back against the wall of the thin wooden platform and tried to focus his attention. The beam engine was just approaching full speed, and he clutched his papers even more tightly as the floor and walls vibrated with each rotation. The fifteen-ton beam soared over their heads, crashing down with a sweeping stroke to slam the pistons into the condenser and release great clouds of steam.

"Father says this is the first engine to use a separate condenser," said Isambard, Brunel's son, his face lit up with excitement. "The engineers are really starting to get to grips with reciprocating engines—"

"I'm leaving London, Isambard." Nicholas said.

"I know. Tomorrow."

"I might never see you again. Don't you care?" He frowned at his friend.

Isambard looked hurt. "Of course. You and James are going to earn your fortunes at sea. And I must stay in the Engine Ward with the Stokers and repair furnaces for the rest of my life. But that's not ‘till tomorrow. Today …" He gestured to the beam engine, "I can pretend that maybe, one day, I would be able to create something like this."

"Isambard—"

"No. Just thank Great Conductor you weren't born a Stoker."

James Holman elbowed Nicholas in the ribs. "Isambard's right – we have plenty to be grateful for. We're going to see the world. We'll sail great ships across the ocean and have all sorts of adventures. Don't you want to go?"

"What I want has had no bearing on my life since my father disowned me. If I stay in London, I'll be a pauper. My money will run out sooner or later, and none of the engineering sects will take on an apprentice without family money. I'm not like you, James. I've had quite enough danger and adventure in my life already, thank you very much—"

"Out of my way, Your Lordship." Henry Williams shoved Nicholas into the wall as he pushed past, pulling his dragon Mordred behind him on a thick chain. Nicholas smarted at the nickname – given to him by Henry because Henry couldn't understand why anyone who was the son of a Lord would come to live in the Engine Ward of his own volition.

Henry Williams was also a Stoker – one of the "Dirty Folk," as the Londoners called them – but he was the favourite son of an important Stoker family – a long line of dragon-hunters. Nicholas hadn't met Henry's brothers – the priests Oswald and Peter and Henry's twin, Aaron – but he'd heard enough about the Williams family from Isambard to know he didn't want to.

When the Stokers first moved to London from the swamps, Henry's father had given him the juvenile swamp-dragon as a pet. Henry, who liked the fear the three-foot-high dragon invoked in his fellow Stokers, took Mordred everywhere, including places dragons shouldn't go, like on this field trip.

Mordred looked up at Nicholas with wide eyes, and Nicholas felt the familiar sensation of the creature's thoughts sliding into his own head. The dragon loved Henry, despite the rough treatment he received, and his mind hardened with determination to protect his master from the beam engine, which he perceived as a large, shiny predator. The noise and the steam inside the pump house clouded Mordred's senses, and that terrified the dragon. Every muscle in Mordred's body was poised for danger, and that unease was now mirrored in Nicholas' mind.

Nicholas reached out a hand to pat Mordred's snout, sending a calming thought back to the dragon. He hadn't told anyone in London about his sense, – his ability to hear the thoughts of animals as if they were his own – not even Isambard or James, his closest friends. It had cost him too much already. He'd chosen to come to the city – to cloister himself in the world of machines – to escape the voices and the pain they caused.

"Don't touch my dragon," Henry snapped, yanking Mordred's chain back so hard the creature yelped in protest.

"He's not technically a dragon," said James, clutching his books close to his chest. "Dragons have wings in all the books. And breathe fire."

"Those are make-believe dragons. English swamp-dragons stand on two legs, have cold skin, and could bite you in half with one—"

"Boys." Master Brunel rapped his stick against the metal platform. "The engine is up to full-speed now – six and a half rotations per minute. Would you like to go down and have a closer look at the condenser?"

James shook his head. He didn't share the others' fascination with machinery, especially if it involved descending into the bowels of an unflinching engine.

"Well, if you're too scared to come closer," said Henry, "hold Mordred for me. He won't fit on the platform."

James looked stricken, but he held out his hand, and Henry pressed the lead into it. Mordred stared at his master, confused.

"I want to look at the engine," said Isambard. "Nicholas, you should come down with me."

Reluctantly, Nicholas followed Isambard and Henry down a narrow ladder onto an even narrower platform, suspended just above the main cylinder. Above his head, the beam made another rotation, driving down the piston and sending up a cloud of steam that soaked his clothes in sweat.

He peered over the railing into the bowels of the machine, struck by the elegance of its simple function, and the simple line and symmetry of the frame. Beside him, Isambard leaned even further out, his face alight as he took in every rod, every cylinder, every bolt.

Master Brunel came up behind them. "Now, boys, who can tell me how the condenser works?"

Behind him, James shouted. Something heavy jerked the platform sideways and crashed against Nicholas' ankles, slamming him against the railing. His vision spun, his scream caught in his throat as he swung out, dangerously close to the piston. The platform jerked again, and he fell back against the metal grating beside Isambard. Blood gushed from a cut in his friend's cheek.

"Where's Henry?"

Nicholas spun around, just in time to see Mordred, dragging his chain behind him, leap across the lurching platform, desperate to reach his master. How had he got free? The platform lurched forward as the dragon bowled into Henry, who sailed into the railing and toppled over the edge.

Nicholas grabbed the railing to steady himself as the platform lurched again. He pulled himself along the railing and peered over the edge. Henry, his face white with fear, clung to the outside of the railing.

His arms straining under his weight, Henry managed to pull himself up and hook his feet over the edge of the platform. Nicholas inched along the railing and extended his hand to Henry, just as a stray thought entered his head.

No, Mordred, No!

Nicholas tried to grasp the creature's mind, to stifle Mordred's thoughts with his own, but he was too frightened, too weak. Mordred's mind slipped through his and the dragon bounded across the platform again and leapt at his master, knocking Henry off the platform and sending him sailing onto the piston rod just as the beam came down.

Blood splattered Nicholas' face, clouding his vision. He couldn't hear Henry cry out over the slam and hiss of the engine as it tore the boy to pieces. More blood flowed over the platform, but the machine did not stop, heedless to the cracking of bones and the sizzle of blood and flesh dripping into the condenser.

His mind filled with pain. He let go of the railing and clutched his head, crying out as Mordred's anguish pressed against his skull. It was as though Nicholas himself had knocked Henry off the platform, as though he himself had seen the person he loved most in the world crushed under the great steel beam.

He howled, pressing his head into the grating, trying to force out the horrible thoughts. Hands grabbed him, dragging him back, wiping the gore from his eyes. He was dimly aware of Master Brunel shaking him, calling his name. Over his shoulder, Isambard watched, his face drawn.

"You're all right, boy. You're all right."

Through the haze of steam, Nicholas saw Mordred slumped on the platform beside him. The tendrils of Mordred's thoughts – of the loss and pain and guilt – reached deep within Nicholas, summoning up every memory of his past. He reached across and laid a bloody hand on Mordred's chest, above the creature's heart, and tried to give Mordred some sort of release, tried to pull back the pain, to hold it in himself.

A fog swirled inside his head, and everything went black.

* * *

Nicholas woke up on the cobbles outside the pump house. Master Brunel pulled him to his feet, and they trudged past the pump house and back to the omnibus station. Nicholas had no idea how long he'd been unconscious, but the place already swarmed with constables and journalists and a gaggle of onlookers. He turned away, not wanting to see them removing what remained of Henry.

They caught an omnibus back to the Engine Ward – the industrial heart of London, where the Stokers lived and worked, tending the engines that kept the city running. Each boy sat silent, lost in thought. Nicholas sat on the edge of the bench, his face outside the window where the wind might dry his tears. He cradled Mordred in his arms, pressing his cheek against the creature's cold skin, and tried to push away the pain that threatened to overwhelm them both. Beside him, James, unusually silent, stared at his hands.

"That was amazing," said Isambard, breaking the silence.

"Not the word I would use to describe it," said James, his voice hoarse. "It was all my fault. I didn't hold Mordred tightly enough." Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he turned away.

Isambard carried on talking, oblivious to James’ distress. "Henry was foolish, hanging over the edge like that. You have to respect a machine, especially one as incredible as that beam engine. I never much liked him, anyway. Did you see how the steam inlet valve closed when the piston reached the top of the cylinder?"

Nicholas pushed aside the pain, and stared up at his friend. Isambard's eyes glowed as though a fire had been lit behind them, and he could hear him muttering calculations under his breath. While James and I saw our schoolmate torn to pieces, Isambard sees only the power of the machine.

The thought turned his blood cold. Mordred gazed up at him with warm, frightened eyes, and Nicholas looked from the dragon to his friend, and knew nothing would ever be the same.

Part I

The Vampire King

1830

Dear James

You may have some idea what has become of me since we parted in Portsmouth. If you had followed the papers you'd know the Cleopatra stayed for a year on patrol in English waters before setting out on duties in the Mediterranean. After being in an engagement, she put in at Gibraltar for repairs and her crew was decommissioned. You may have even read of a young lieutenant who killed his superior officer in a brawl and evaded the authorities by escaping into Spain.

I had intended to buy passage home to England and begin life anew as a student of architecture, but I had not counted on Napoleon making a particularly spectacular decision. Blockading England basically drew a line in the sand – with Industrian England on one side, and Christian Europe on the other. There was not one ship that could take me where I so dearly wanted to go, and French hostility toward Industrians forced me into hiding.

I've been in the mountains for nearly three years, studying architecture with some of the foremost European masters, but circumstances permitted that I return to England with haste, and I hope to find work there under a new name. I will not burden you with the details of my illicit journey, lest this letter fall into the wrong hands. Suffice to say that at the time of writing, I am in the North, and it does my heart well to once more walk on English soil.

I arrive in London on Tuesday, and would greatly desire to meet you for dinner, at 6pm at the Butchers Hall Beef House. You must come alone, and tell no one who you are seeing.

You cannot write to me in return, but I shall wait for you on the appointed day.

Yours

Nicholas Rose

* * *

James Holman's Memoirs – Unpublished

The history books – the thick sort written by real historians – will tell you England's troubles began when Isambard Kingdom Brunel knocked Robert Stephenson from the post of Messiah of the Sect of the Great Conductor, and became overnight the most powerful engineer in England. But they do not have the full story.

The true origin began many years before that, with George III – the Vampire King – and the damage wrought by his naval defeats, and his madness. His depravity might have been held in check were it not for a mild spring afternoon in 1830, when a dragon wandered into Kensington Gardens and ate two women and a Grenadier Guard.

I happened to witness this occurrence, although witness, my critics would say, is a word I am not permitted to use, on account of my complete blindness. I had been granted a day's leave from my duties at Windsor Castle to come into the city. In my left hand, I clutched two envelopes. One contained a thick, pleading letter to my publisher, written on my Noctograph in large, loopy letters to arouse their sympathies, humbly requesting a payment for royalties due on my book. The second contained a request for a period of extended leave to travel to Europe, addressed to the Duke and signed by my doctor. In my other hand, I held the brass ball atop my walking stick, rapping the pavement and listening for the echoes whenever I felt myself veer from my path.

I arrived at the offices of F., C., and J. Rivington, my publishers, a little after four, and was surprised to find their offices empty, the door locked, and no one about. I ran my fingers over the door, but could find no notice. Perhaps they had taken an extended luncheon? I sniffed the air, remembering the delicious pie shop on the corner beneath the barbershop. Yes, perhaps I should look for them there.

I had no sooner taken a step across the street, my mouth watering with the anticipation of pie, when coach bells jangled, whistles blew, hooves thundered, and a great commotion rumbled down the street – a carriage speeding over the cobbles, the inhabitants crying out as they were flung back in their seats. I yanked my boot back just as the carriage screamed past and several Bobbies blew their whistles at me. Boots pounded along the street as the usual gaggle of reporters, thrill-seekers, and layabouts chased after the carriage, anxious to see the cause of the commotion.

Of course, being somewhat of a thrill-seeker myself, I shoved the letters into my jacket pocket and followed. I didn't need my stick to follow the sound of the carriage, and I fell in step amongst the crowd and allowed the jostles of the nosy to pull me along. I collected details in my mental map – a right turn here, a left there, the rough cobbles giving way to silken lawn and neat, paved paths. We'd entered Kensington Gardens, tearing through the squared hedges of close-cropped yew and prim holly, cut and shaped to mimic the bastions and fortifications of war. Hydrangea and rose perfumes drifted on the breeze, until the coo of songbirds was interrupted by piercing screams as women scuttled between the hedges, looking for a place to hide.

Then, I heard the roar.

The sound was so low it shook my insides about, so my organs felt as though they had sunk into my socks. The crowd around me, only moments ago hell-bent on moving forward in search of the commotion, scattered in fear, diving into the trees flanking the Round Pond and leaving me in the centre of the path to confront the scene before me.

Though I could only hear and not see what unfolded, the vivid accounts read aloud to me by friends from the papers allow me to picture it now as clearly as anything. A female swamp-dragon (Megalosaurus bucklandii, in the new taxonomy) appeared from nowhere beside the Round Pond, obviously in need of a drink. She bent down, fifteen feet of her, to lap at the water with her thick tongue, her leathery green skin catching the midday sun. The gentlemen who had been preparing to launch their boats on the water scattered, but their women were busy setting up the picnic tables and laying out the tea settings, and did not notice the commotion until the beast was upon them.

A woman cowered under her table, clutching a crying baby and trying to muffle its sobs beneath her skirt. But the dragon – like me – saw the world with her ears. She drove her wide snout under the table and tore at the unfortunate woman, tearing out her pretty arms and staining her dress with blood.

Crème scones and Wedgewood china flew through the air as the beast charged the picnic tables, snapping up morsels of womanly flesh. The screams brought more bystanders – lovers strolling along the Serpentine, the Royal Horticultural Society, who'd been admiring the hydrangea beds, and, finally, a nearby guard on duty with his shiny blunderbuss.

The shots rang in my ears for several moments, and I leaned on my stick, suddenly blinded to the world around me. The ground trembled as feet thundered past, and I turned to move after them, but a voice broke through my panic.

"You sir, don't move!"

I froze. Now I heard the hiss of air escaping the dragon's nostril, and the click of its claws as it stalked across the garden path toward me. The air grew hot, carrying with it the smell of butchery – blood and flesh mingled with the beast's fetid breath. At any moment it would be upon me. The panic rose in my throat, and I fought the urge to run.

"Easy does it, girl." The man murmured, and I heard the footsteps slow. The creature stopped and sniffed the air. It grunted, turned, and thundered off into the trees.

I dared not move, sucking a silent breath and listening for her return. Something grabbed my arm, and I lost my composure, sobbing to be spared.

"Woah, easy, chap!" It was the man's voice, the man who had driven the dragon away. "I don't mean any harm!"

The voice was husky from sucking in coal dust and engine fumes, and his hands were rough. He was a worker, probably a servant of one of the engineering sects. I allowed him to take my hand and lead me to a nearby bench, where I sank to my knees, confounded.

"How did you defeat the monster?" I asked, wiping my sweating face with my kerchief.

"That is a secret of mine," the man said. "But she shant be coming back again, of that I am certain."

I knew he had used no weapon, for I would have heard the shot fired or the slice of steel pulled from a scabbard, and the creature had given no sign of a struggle. It had simply changed its mind. This man had turned the creature away with naught but his own mind.

Interesting.

"Tell me, good fellow," I leaned forward. "Did you think the dragon away?"

"Such a thing is preposterous." There was the hint of a smile in his voice.

"Not so preposterous, especially as you have saved my life. I have a friend, whom I think you should meet. We served as lieutenants together in His Majesty's Royal Navy, and he has just returned to London after spending some years abroad. He too can influence the minds of animals from his own thoughts."

The man leaned forward also, intrigued by my bold statement. But when he spoke, there was hesitation in his voice.

"I should not think any man of your acquaintance would speak to the likes of me. I'm a Stoker, sir, born amongst the rail trenches and boiler boxes of the Engine Ward, a servant of the Great Conductor."

I should have known him a Stoker by the scent of coal on his clothes. Although the Stokers performed one of the most important and dangerous jobs – they were the mechanics of Engine Ward, maintaining the machines and furnaces of London's engineering churches – their dirty, underground work and insular, fanatical society meant Londoners both hated and feared them. "The Dirty Folk" were shunned by polite society and thought to be incapable of innovation until recently. Isambard Kingdom Brunel – the boy I'd left behind in Engine Ward and had not seen for ten years – invented a new type of steam locomotive and took for himself the title of "Engineer", a title protected by law and never before given to a Stoker. Brunel's innovation had ignited the religious and scientific elite, and this man was right to assume most men would prefer not to associate with a Stoker.

"I think you'll find Nicholas and I most accommodating. My mother was a Stoker, although she was fortunate to marry a rich Aetherian so I did not grow up inside the Ward, though it holds a place in my heart. Nicholas sheltered there for a year as a boy, hiding from a cruel father. Both he and I were childhood friends of your engineer, Isambard Kingdom Brunel." I used the word engineer – a word many say Brunel should not be allowed to use – to show I harboured no ill will. I extended my hand. "James Holman, at your service. I am eternally grateful."

He took my hand and gave it a firm tug. "I am Aaron Williams, and it is an honour to meet you. Forgive me, but am I speaking to the James Holman, the celebrated Blind Physician?"

His statement surprised me. Not many Stokers could read, and my book – a treatise on the effectiveness of various "cures" for blindness – was hardly a popular volume. "I wouldn't say celebrated, sir. My book was rubbished by the critics. The Times concluded a blind man had no right to pen a medical treatise."

"Nonsense. Isambard speaks fondly of you, and he cherishes his copy of your book. I know all about you … and Nicholas. Isambard and I became friends after you left, and he always speaks of his schoolmates with reverence. I was never permitted to attend school myself, but I know all your stories as if they were my own."

I beamed at the praise, and clasped his hand. "I cannot allow such an avid fan of my work to escape into the London gloom without buying him a drink. I am meeting Nicholas for dinner, and I'd be honoured if you would join us."

He seemed reluctant, but I insisted, and tugged on his arm ‘till his protests fell silent. I was due to meet Nicholas at the Butchers Hall Beef House at six o'clock. With Aaron leading the way through the busy streets, we made it there shortly after five, so I led Aaron to the end of a long table and paid for three pints of beer. I allowed Aaron to regale me with renditions of his favourite parts of my book ‘till I heard a familiar voice behind me.

"James Holman, it's good to see your face again."

"And to hear your voice, old friend." I rose and shook Nicholas’ hand. I could not see him, of course, so I did not know how his physical features had changed, but his handshake was firm, his fingers rough with the calluses of a seaman. His voice had lost none of its kindness. "It has been a long five years since I left you in Portsmouth."

"You shouldn't have come home so soon, James. The war only got interesting once you left. I have much to tell you – but who's this ragamuffin sitting in my chair?"

His voice betrayed something: Reproach? Fear? I remembered the letter he'd sent me, asking to meet. He'd chosen his words carefully, the tone perfectly congenial – as though he had seen me only yesterday – and explaining nothing. It was as if he were afraid of being followed. Suddenly, I wished I hadn’t brought Aaron along. I should have guessed Nicholas wanted to talk privately.

Aaron must have sensed Nicholas' apprehension, for he spoke kindly. "I am Aaron Williams, sir. Mr. Holman—"

"Call me James," I interjected.

"Mr. Holman invited me here to speak to you, on a … private matter."

"I see he's already plied you with ale, so it must be a very private matter indeed." Nicholas sat down, resting his hat on the back of the chair and grabbing the remaining glass. "Unlike most men, James Holman's tongue clamps shut under the influence of any brew, so one cannot wrestle a secret from his lips even with the liberal application of lubricants."

His words were jovial, but his voice trembled as he spoke. Yes, he was definitely afraid.

I grinned at his words, trying to put him at ease. "I met Aaron in Kensington gardens today—"

"Ah, yes, nasty business, that. I heard the screams all the way from the Society of Architects." Nicholas had spent the years since the war ended training in France as an industrial architect. At least, that's what he'd told me in his mysterious letter. "Trust the Blind Physician to be first on the scene. I see you're not nursing a dragon-tooth-shaped wound?"

"I am fine, thanks to Mr. Williams. Nicholas," I lowered my voice, "he thought the dragon away."

Nicholas drummed his fingers against his glass. I waited for him to digest this. Aaron finished his glass and clattered it on the table.

Finally Nicholas said. "So you hear them, also?" The fear had left his voice, replaced by barely concealed excitement.

"I do, sir. It is a power I inherited from my grandfather. Apart from him, I have never met another who possessed the power."

"Nor I, Mr. Williams," Nicholas smiled. "The sense is a mystery. No one in my own family ever possessed it, or if they did, they kept quiet. You have, it seems, greater control of your power, as you call it, than I, for I would never be able to hold – let alone control – the mind of a fully grown dragon. You must tell me how it felt to enter her thoughts. To loosen your tongue, I'll even buy you another drink."

"It was quite something, sir," said Aaron as Nicholas placed another glass in front of him. "A feat I'd experienced only once before, when I was a boy and my mother took me to see a swamp-dragon in a travelling menagerie. The sadness of the animals, trapped in tiny cages with little food, dying slowly in a land far from their home, drew me in. When my mind grasped the thoughts of the dragon, their ferocity knocked me down. I saw as it saw, smelt as it smelt, and I looked up at my mother's stern face and imagined devouring her flesh. The thought so excited and frightened me that I pushed, heaving with my mind to escape the terrible thoughts, and then my head felt clear, but I had pushed too hard. The dragon and all the animals broke through their cages and tore their cruel master to pieces before the guards finally shot them down.

Aaron's voice grew cold and angry as he spoke. I sensed a deep, smouldering temper behind his placid exterior.

"To be inside the mind of a man-eater … it is both fascinating and wholly repellent. Their thoughts narrow, every thread of their mind coiling, poised for the kill. Today, inside her head, I could smell Mr. Holman as she smelt him; wild and peppery and absolutely delicious. Against the desire to bite his head off, I pushed. I pushed with my whole mind, and she forgot her hunger, and retreated toward the swamps, where a line of constables and Royal Guard waited with blade and blunderbuss."

Silence descended. I did not feel it proper to speak, as I did not share this unique experience. Finally, Nicholas rapped the table and declared another round of ale. He asked Aaron what his grandfather had done with the power.

"My grandfather hunted the dragons in the fens. It was he who first led the Stokers to success as dragon-hunters, before we were brought to London to work in the Engine Ward." He practically spat out the last part of his sentence.

"Hold on," I leaned forward, my heart racing. "Are you in any way related to Henry Williams?"

"He was my twin brother," Aaron said. "He died many years ago, in a—"

"—beam engine accident," whispered Nicholas. "We know. We were there."

We lapsed into silence as the barmaid slammed three pints of beer on the table, followed by three plates of stewed beef. I dug into my food, glad of the distraction. Aaron did not realise he was dining with the man who'd caused his brother's death. I was holding Mordred, but I was so excited about leaving for the Navy that I was barely concentrating. I'd put the chain down – so stupid – wrapped it once around the railing – not tightly enough – so I could check my pocket for my papers again, so I could glance again at the bright drawings of the port of Halifax that would soon become my home. And Mordred had seen Henry out on the platform and leapt across, taking the unsecured chain with him.

The accident had been all my fault. But I hadn't liked Henry anyway, and I certainly didn't want his death to postpone my embarkation, so I left for the Americas without explaining to anyone what I had done.

And Marc Brunel, who'd already been in trouble for innovating without the sanction of the Council, had been blamed for Henry's death, and sentenced to thirty years’ penal servitude in Van Diemen’s Land. Thinking of Henry's death and Marc Brunel's deportation turned my stomach, and the coagulated gravy on the beef stuck to the roof of my mouth.

"Isambard never speaks of that day," said Aaron. "I thought only he had witnessed it."

A fresh wave of guilt coursed through me. Not only had I caused the death of Aaron's brother and Isambard's father's deportation, but I'd left Isambard to bear the pain of it alone. "We left for sea the next day," I said, struggling to keep my voice even. "We were not here when Isambard's father was sentenced."

"No wonder Isambard does not wish to speak to us," said Nicholas.

"What do you mean?"

"I have been away from London for ten years, and for five of those years, I wrote to him every month. He has not answered any of my letters," said Nicholas. "Have you managed to contact him, James?"

A new guilt flared in my stomach, and I clutched my glass to keep my hands from trembling. Even though I'd been living at Windsor Castle for three years and Brunel's profile had been growing in the city, I had never tried to contact him. I could not face him, knowing my carelessness had cost him his father. "I have twice requested an audience with him on my visits to London," I lied, "and he has twice refused."

"Of all us schoolboys, he was the one destined for greatness. And despite everything, look at what he has achieved – an engineer with his own church – the only engineer ever to rise from the Stokers’ ranks." Nicholas smiled. "He was my dearest friend at a time when friends were few. More than anything, I would like to see him again."

"I am still close to Isambard," said Aaron. "Perhaps I could talk to him on your behalf. I am sure there is a reason for his coldness."

* * *

Aaron left around 9pm to begin his shift in the Engine Ward. Reluctant to retire to his desolate lodgings, Nicholas walked with James along the Strand, the Thames to his right and the magnificent city sprawled out in all directions. Watchmen darted in front of them, lighting the streetlamps that twinkled between the buildings like fireflies. Businessmen hurried home to wives and children, or darted through the alleys to the taverns and bawdy houses of Fleet Street and Covent Garden, ducking to avoid the Metic preachers on the street corners, who yelled at the top of their lungs about the evils of Imperial measurement.

Downriver, the London docks lay shrouded in shadow – the once-vibrant port over-run with weeds and vandals. Only one ship waited for cargo, and she was likely moving up-country, rather than across the water. Hardly any ships had crossed from London to Europe in three years – not since Napoleon had blockaded the waters around England and forbade any god-fearing Christian country to trade with Industrians. King George's navy, vastly depleted from his previous losses, had so far failed to dislodge the blockade.

For Nicholas, this was a bittersweet homecoming. After ten years away, he was back in this city, penniless and lost. He'd left England to escape his father's wrath, to make a name for himself, and lose the voices of the animals in the emerging world of warships and industry. Now this Aaron Williams had shown up and in a single night rewritten everything he thought he'd known about himself.

James – his face averted, his eyes sewn shut with golden threads – walked in silence beside Nicholas, his stiff gait betraying the pain in his limbs. Both men wallowed in their uncomfortable thoughts, ‘till Nicholas broke through the silence.

"Thank you for meeting me," he said. "I was afraid I didn't have a friend left in England."

"I'm stuck in that tiny boarding house at the castle with only the six decrepit Naval Knights of Windsor for company. I would've rescued you from France myself if only for a little adventure."

"James Holman, I read your book. You spent four years sneaking into lecture halls and dissecting corpses at midnight using only your fingers as a guide. That's adventure enough for any man, let alone a man in your condition."

"Pfft. Any young gentlemen with a taste for wine and a strong stomach can become a doctor. I have a more lofty ambition." Holman raised his head to the sky, almost as if he could see it in his imagination. "One day, Nicholas, I will circle the globe."

"In a ship?" Nicholas knew from their days in the Navy what time at sea did to James' health.

"Even if an Englishman could still buy passage on one, I cannot afford a ship. I will go on foot, crossing Russia and Siberia and passing over the great land bridge."

"That's suicide!"

"That is the life I seek."

"You haven't changed a bit. Didn't all those years on the Cleopatra teach you that the world's the same no matter where you go? Miles of ocean and endless voices."

"I believe differently," Holman said simply. "I must believe differently."

They wound their way into increasingly poor districts, slipping between crowds of drunks spilling from the public houses and ducking under the outstretched arms of haggard beggars. Nicholas shrugged away a bangtail who'd grabbed hold of his coat.

"There's adventure enough right here, James, if only you thought to look for it." They came out on the edge of the Thames again, and Nicholas stared across the water, watching as the black cloud over the Engine Ward swirled and stretched. Fires crackled and belched within it, creating a maelstrom that churned and circled above the city. Although he was no engineer, but an architect, he felt an inexorable pull toward the place – the only place that had ever been a home to him – the angles and pylons like some intricate tapestry draped across the city. The Gods of Engine Ward working their elemental magic.

"I can no longer look for anything," Holman said cheerfully. "This city has lost her magic since the border closure. If I stay in England, I am doomed to live the remainder of my days in Travers College at Windsor Castle with only twice-daily prayers to Gods I don't believe in to occupy my mind. I have my Royal Society membership, but I've no stomach for politics, and what engineer would hire a blind man? I might have been some use to Isambard, but he does not want me. But if anyone can carve a future for himself in these interesting times, it is you, Nicholas Rose."

Nicholas smiled at the ease with which his old friend had adopted his new name. "You think too much of me, James. I have returned to England with nothing. I am … in danger. I cannot tell you more than that. If I do not find some means of keeping myself, I will be no better than these people." He swept his arm about the street, indicating the unsavoury characters occupying the cobbles, forgetting James couldn't see the gesture.

Holman shook his head. "You have a new name, a clean slate. And you have your mind, and that's more than many can say. You managed to sneak back across the border from France, the country most hostile to England's Gods. That is remarkable, and remarkable men don't go long without work. Isambard always looked to you for guidance, Nicholas, and who knows? Maybe he could now look to you for building design. He's just a minor name now, stirring shit in the Society, but his ideas could transform England forever. He could change what it means to be an engineer, but with you at his side, maybe he will change what it means to be human."

Nicholas stared at the black cloud blotting out the moon. He shivered, wondering if James was right.

* * *

ENGINEERS TO RID LONDON OF DRAGON MENACE

The Times, Friday, 20 July 1830.

HMK George III called an emergency session of the Council of the Royal Society last night, following yesterday's dragon attack in Kensington Gardens, during which two women and a Grenadier Guard were killed and the dragon in question caused hundreds of pounds worth of damage to the hydrangea beds.

Dragons have been sighted in the city with increasing regularity over the last few years, but attacks on the public have begun only recently. So far, twelve Londoners have been killed or seriously injured after meeting with dragons in our public parks and squares.

"The hunting and drainage activities in the swamps have caused irreversible damage to the dragon environment. Now that they're no longer being hunted, the species has been allowed to repopulate, and they are moving south and east in search of new sources of food," said Sir Joseph Banks, biologist, Royal Physician, Prime Minister, Messiah of the Aether Sect, and President of the Royal Society. "The dragons are attracted to London because of the warmth from our fires and factories. There is a high concentration of food here, and no competing predators. They will continue to attack with increasing ferocity unless we do something to stop them."

In the wake of the Kensington Massacre, the Council today declared its intention to solve the problem once and for all. "Clearly," said Banks, "Something must be done. The dragons are a menace to public safety."

The Council of the Royal Society – the nation's foremost religious and civic body – are sponsoring an engineering design competition. Engineers from all over the British Empire are invited to submit proposals for an ingenious solution to London's dragon problem. The prize includes the engineering contract to build the proposed design, the sum of £1200 from the Royal purse, and the rank of Presbyter within their chosen engineering sect, if not already occupying this post.

HMK George, addressing the Royal Society for the first time since his recovery from a bout of illness that has seen him unable to attend his duties for several months, encouraged engineers from all the sects to enter the competition. Engineers can submit their proposals to the Royal Society at their residence in Somerset House. His Majesty and the Council will decide the winner, who will be announced at the next Society meeting.

Meanwhile, the Royal Society has commissioned the printing of a pamphlet to be circulated throughout the populace. This pamphlet explains how to keep your home and family safe from dragon attacks, and includes "There be None of Beauty's Dragons", a poem by Lord Byron and a woodcut of several dragon booby-traps designed by Robert Stephenson. The public is reminded to report any dragon sightings to their nearest Police Office.

* * *

In the deeper recess of the Engine Ward, Aaron Williams pushed a shovel of coal into the furnace, shut the door, and moved onto the next. He had thirty furnaces to monitor on his shift, mostly the Cornish boiler units, which supplied the steam to the traction pulley systems of the churches above.

Only the Stokers – the mechanics of Engine Ward – were permitted into these underground chambers. A year ago, a Morphean engineer had snuck in and sabotaged the furnaces, causing a great fire to engulf the west wing of the Engine Ward and boiling three congregations of Metics in their prayers. That was only days after an Aristotelian boiler "malfunction" roasted an altar to Lord Byron, Messiah of the Church of Isis.

Aaron was perfect for the job, being a little shaky on the subject of religion. He had been on dubious terms with his own god – Great Conductor – ever since his childhood friend became the only living Stoker to invent something. And these days, inventing something didn't just mean you were clever – it meant you were favoured by the Gods. The closer Isambard got to religion, the less it appealed to Aaron, any sense of faith he once carried inside him long since replaced by a cold resentment for the Stoker's position in the city.

One could not have found a less likely religious leader than Isambard Kingdom Brunel. Their friendship had risen from their mutual grief: Aaron had lost a brother who, despite his flaws, he had loved the most of all his rotten family. And Henry's death had been the last straw for the Royal Society in the case of Isambard's father, Marc Brunel. Incensed at his continued breaches of conduct, the religious court had Marc Brunel banished to Van Diemen's Land.

Born a tenth-generation Stoker, Isambard Kingdom Brunel should never have invented anything. After they hunted the swamp-dragons to extinction and had no means of sustaining themselves, King George had allowed the Stokers into the city to work in his newly formed Engine Ward, but the Stokers would never be accepted as part of the engineering elite. They did not mix with folk who weren't their own, nor were they invited to join the Royal Society or speak in the great churches. They had one purpose, and one purpose only – to keep the Engine Ward operational; to oil the great industrial machine of London.

So for Brunel to design and build a new locomotive and create his own church was doubly impressive. Aaron had seen it coming, of course: only a few years before he'd been helping Isambard spy on the lessons of the other engineering schools. He'd stolen books for his friend from the nearby churches of Grandfather Clock and Meticus, he'd pored over Isambard's technical drawings, and marvelled at the intricate designs. Aaron had always known Isambard wouldn't be content to shovel coal in the engine rooms, and nor did he long to return to the swamps – he had none of Aaron's affinity for animals.

After selling his first steam engine to a wealthy industrialist (who used it as a garden ornament), Brunel purchased a scrapped furnace chimney from the Metics and converted it into a functional, albeit modest, church. Soon, he would complete his second and third locomotives.

London society buzzed with news of this "upstart mechanic" who dared to take the name of “engineer” and create locomotives. Brunel had supporters, too: engineers who sought a change from the strict religious confines of the Royal Society, and they glorified Brunel and his locomotive design as the future of British engineering.

And though Aaron stood by Isambard's side and rejoiced in his success, he could sense the attention was affecting Isambard. His ambitions – once grounded by his poverty and standing – reached ever wider as his influence grew within the Engine Ward. Even as they drank together after the workday had finished, Aaron could sense Isambard's mind ticking away like a Dirigire clock, whirring and churning over future possibilities.

Above Aaron’s head, steam hissed through a pipe, blowing a shrill whistle. He shut the last furnace, checked the oil in the pistons, and hung up his shovel for the night.

With his concentration broken, the voices flooded in. It should have been quiet on the lower levels, but of course they got into the pipes and travelled as they pleased. They were compies – the small, lizard-like dragons that had beaten down the rat population to become London's most prolific vermin. Their minds sang like a choir in harmony, for they moved and thought as one. Aaron had become so accustomed to their chorus he could sometimes send out a thought and have them pick up on it, forcing them to change direction or stop in their tracks.

I wonder if Nicholas can do that, Aaron wondered.

Isambard was working on installing steam-driven elevators on every level of the Ward, but he'd been distracted with his locomotives, and the elevator down on the sixth level remained unfinished. Aaron clambered up the stairs, listening to the clang of his boots against the steel grating as it echoed through the machinery.

Bootsteps clanged towards him. He tipped his hat at Quartz, who came to replace him. His grandfather's closest friend since before Aaron was born, Quartz had cared for Aaron after both his parents died. A swamp man from way back, even his years in the city hadn't tamed Quartz's feral spirit. His weathered, greying features suggested an age and wisdom far beyond his years, but from behind his yellowed teeth often burst the most blasphemous profanities. If Aaron was unsure of the gods, Quartz was downright malevolent.

"His Eminence wishes to see you." Quartz's wild eyes glimmered as he clapped his hand on Aaron's back. Aaron staggered forward, but managed to keep his balance.

"Did he say why?"

Quartz shrugged. "He wouldn't presume to tell me, a mere mortal, now would he? He should be finished at the pulpit within the hour if you felt like skinning your knees in his presence."

Like all the engineers of the Ward, Brunel delivered nightly sermons from his church, mostly on matters of locomotion, mathematics and the science of machinery. Tonight, he was speaking on his favourite topic: the advantages of his broad gauge railway design. With Brunel's name gaining notoriety, there would be a crowd for sure. Aaron slapped Quartz on the shoulder as he passed, and clambered up to level two.

Aaron took a shortcut through the tunnels and emerged on a staircase, which he ascended into the shadows at the rear of the Chimney. Brunel had extended the shell of the old chimney into a high circular nave, and had incorporated some of the Stoker workshops into wings that stuck from the structure like the legs of an insect. The rest of the workshops – and the shacks and tenements the Stokers inhabited – were hidden behind the complex. From the street the building was dwarfed by the majestic churches surrounding it, but Brunel had already extended many of the Stoker tunnels deep underground. If the Royal Society ever found out …

Lit by strings of flickering Argand lamps cascading from the vaulted ceiling, and enclosed by the comforting sounds of shuffling feet and subdued coughing, the space seemed homely, a place of solace and learning. As Aaron had suspected, every pew was full. He recognised the faces of many prominent engineers – influential men who wanted to see this upstart Stoker for themselves – and in the far corner, nearly concealed by the shadows, Aaron recognized the gaunt face of Joseph Banks, President of the Royal Society.

What's he doing here? He has done nothing but denounce Isambard to the other sects. If Banks was listening to Isambard's sermon, it meant he must consider the Stoker "engineer" a real threat.

As Isambard spoke – his tone rising and falling with vehemence as he explained why broad gauge railway would be the future of England – Aaron felt the tension in the room rising; a palpable film of outrage and antagonism clung to the air. While Isambard was popular among the workers of Engine Ward, here among the elite, among his true peers, he had few real supporters.

At just twenty-five years of age, Isambard was an imposing presence, even to his childhood friend. Despite his short stature, he carried himself with an air of quiet confidence, his work in the Engine Ward keeping him thin and muscular. His eyes – wide and sparkling – betrayed his boyish enthusiasm. He didn't rest his arms or elbows on the pulpit, as other preachers did, but kept them at his sides, occasionally raising or lowering them to emphasise a point. His voice, clear and animated and tinged with a rasping edge from his time by the furnaces, soared through the vaulted metal nave, so every soul present heard every word, though they would not understand them all. Aaron barely understood anything Isambard said these days.

When the sermon finished, Aaron watched as Banks got up to leave, slipping quietly into the retreating crowd so no one would notice him. A Messiah could not be seen in the church of another sect without arousing suspicion, as the fear of plagiarism was rife. Wealth, status, and prestige followed the men who invented the most useful and brilliant machines, and everyone wanted a part of that. It was not unknown for men to become mercenaries of scientific information, trading ideas and designs between competing engineers, but it was a dangerous profession – one wrongly recounted fact and an experiment could literally destroy an engineer. If Banks was here himself, it meant understanding Brunel's innovation must be worth the risk.

Aaron waited ‘till the church had emptied before approaching the pulpit. Above the altar, a dusty skylight cast a shaft of light down on Isambard's crouched form. He leaned over his notes, furrowing his brow and rubbing his temples, as he always did when he was stressed.

"I took these numbers from a book of algorithms, but I think they're incorrect," he mumbled, scribbling notes in the margin of his page. "It will take me days to correctly compute these sums."

"Charles Babbage is creating a machine that will calculate the equations itself, eliminating the problem of human error," said Aaron, who'd heard gossip about it from Quartz.

"I know, and I wish he'd damn well hurry up about it. I heard he's been charged with blasphemy – not much hope for a counting machine now. Come down to the workshop."

Isambard's workshop mimicked the secret basement room they had used in their youth. He'd built it several storeys below the church, accessible only by a steam-powered lift or a winding staircase guarded by several booby traps. He pushed Aaron inside the tiny lift shaft, and cranked the handle to send them on their way.

"I want to show you something," he said. "You're the first to see it, and I want your honest opinion."

"Is this your entry to the King's competition?"

"Ah, so you saw the article in the Times." He mimicked Joseph Banks' refined voice. "'If the Stokers hadn't killed all the tricorns, the dragons would never come to London and eat all our bonny bangtails.' And how many times can the man say the word ‘engineer’ in one sentence? He would do anything to sour public opinion against me."

"He hardly needs to worry. I don't know why you're bothering, Isambard. They will never vote for a Stoker design, even if it is brilliant."

"And yet, I have made all this," Brunel swept his hand through the air, indicating the clanging elevator, and the Chimney, high above. "The King believes in broad gauge, Aaron. That's why he allowed me to build all this. That's why he sent Banks here tonight to spy on me."

"So you saw him, then?"

Brunel ignored Aaron’s question. "King George created the gods and the churches and the Royal Society, so he can bend them as he wishes. And if I could win—"

"You hope for too much."

But Brunel wasn't listening. "Presbyter!" his eyes danced. "Imagine one of the Dirty Folk being able to jump to the rank of Presbyter! The winner will sit on the Council of the Royal Society – imagine that! The result of this competition could alter the course of Stoker history."

The elevator creaked to a halt, and Brunel pulled the grating open. Aaron followed him across the tiny landing to the heavy iron door, which stood open most of the time (being rather difficult to move) but was now shut and bolted.

"I didn't want any prying eyes to steal my idea," he said. He unlocked the door, slipped off the bolts, and he and Aaron each leaned a shoulder against the door and pushed.

The door creaked open to reveal the high, airy chamber, at odds with its underground location. Ventilation shafts carried fresh air from the city (if any air in London could be defined as fresh), and a system of pipes discharged waste and fumes into rubbish pits behind Engine Ward. Long workbenches lined every wall and stretched across the centre of the room, covered in every manner of contraption imaginable. In the far corner, a furnace flared, sending flickering shadows across the room.

Aaron had visited many times before, but still he found himself in awe of the expansive space. Isambard seemed utterly at home here, as though he had become part of the machinery himself.

Brunel strode across the workshop and pointed to a model spread across the central workspace. "Look!" he cried, his eyes dancing with excitement.

Aaron bent over the model, seeing immediately it represented an exquisite miniature cityscape of London, perfectly rendered in clay and metal. Around the entire boundary of the city proper, a great wall towered, the smooth sides high and imposing even on such a small scale.

"It's a wall," he breathed, at once grasping the simplicity of Brunel's plan. "A wall to keep out the dragons."

"Not just any wall. One-hundred foot high, made of iron, and powered by steam. With controlled entry and exit points, not only will she protect London from further dragon attacks, but she'll help with crowd control and the checking of goods coming in and out of the city. And when the French finally get up the balls to invade, she'll help our army to protect and defend the city. And the best news of all, she'll be wide enough to run a rail line around the city. A broad gauge line."

He showed Aaron the working model of a locomotive and two carriages, which he placed on the rails on top of the wall. Aaron watched in awe as the train wound its way around the model, passing tiny stations in each district.

A wall – so simple, yet so ingenious. A solution employed by cities for thousands of years. Aaron smiled at his friend and said, "You're sure to impress the King with this design, Isambard."

"I pray you speak the truth, friend."

"Do you have any idea what Stephenson plans?"

Isambard spat. The very mention of Stephenson's name induced a deep fury within him. While Brunel toiled in the Engine Ward, building his first locomotive engine from stolen plans and snippets of overheard lectures by the eminent locomotive engineer and Messiah, Richard Trevethick, Stephenson, son of a wealthy civil engineer, had built his locomotives using his "standard gauge" of four feet, eight and a half inches, and had laid down track for a line between Stockton and Darlington in the north of England. With money at his disposal and a ten-year head start, Stephenson was poised to be the man to accomplish Isambard’s greatest dream – to build a cohesive, functioning train line between every city in England.

After Trevethick died, Stephenson's work had earned him – or, as Isambard claimed, bought him – the honour of being declared the Messiah of the Church of Great Conductor, the God of steam machinery whom the Stokers – along with Stephenson's Navvies and some other, smaller churches – worshipped. As Great Conductor's representative on earth, Stephenson had complete power over England's expanding rail network, and he constantly blocked the proposals of smaller engineers and bought up the choice plots of land. Besides this, Stephenson was responsible – in Isambard's mind, at least – for his father's deportation. It was no wonder Isambard grew ever more hateful of the man he deemed his greatest rival.

If the winner of the King's competition were granted the position of Presbyter, then that man would have a vote in the dealings of the entire sect. Stephenson would no longer be able to ignore him, and Isambard wanted that honour more than anything.

If only Isambard could win, which he wouldn’t.

"I shall complete the plans shortly," declared Isambard. "And take them to Somerset House within the week. What do you think, my friend? Do you believe I have a chance?"

"More than a chance," Aaron lied, lifting the tiny locomotive in his fingers and watching the pistons moving the wheels around the shaft. "We'll be building this Wall together by next month, of that I am certain."

"The only problem is the exterior." Brunel threw a set of drawings on the table. "The King favours designs with a strong aesthetic, and I have no eye for such trivialities. My Wall is ugly, and this will count against me. But I won't have someone from the Church of Isis turn it into a Romanesque bauble. I need an industrial architect, someone who cares more for steel pylons than Corinthian columns and acanthus leaves!"

"As fortune would have it, there is an architect just arrived in London," Aaron said. "I met him on Tuesday, after I rescued his friend from the dragon in Kensington Garden. He has trained in France."

"He sounds perfect. What is his name?"

"Nicholas Rose, although you might know him as Nicholas Thorne."

Brunel's face paled. "And his friend you rescued?"

"James Holman, the Blind Physician."

Brunel slumped into his chair. "Both James and Nicholas? In London – together?"

"Nicholas has only just returned from France under strange circumstances. How he got across the blockade he didn't say, but they both asked after you most profusely. They are anxious to meet you, and wonder why you have not answered their letters."

With trembling hands, Brunel reached behind him and withdrew from the desk beside the furnace a small drawer. He tipped a stack of letters into his lap. "All unopened, all unread. I thought they blamed me for Henry's death, for I was the one who dragged them on to the platform. I blamed myself … and then my father was sent away. I just wanted to forget, to throw myself into the world of machines. And so, I could not bring myself to answer either of them. But now it is too late. It has been so long—"

"If they did blame you, that blame has long faded. They express only concern, and pleasure at your success."

Brunel's eyes did not leave the stack of letters in his lap. "They truly do not hate me?"

"They worry that you harbour hatred for them."

He looked up then, and Aaron saw the beginnings of tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. "Tell Nicholas I would be honoured to receive him, and that I have urgent work for him if he requires it."

* * *

Nicholas had seen the paper, too. He'd paid a matron of the guesthouse a small fortune to get him a copy of the Times with his breakfast, and he'd roused himself from his melancholy long enough to flip open the pages. He hadn't seen a British newspaper in several years – they were in short supply on the ships, and they'd been banned in France since George III denounced Christianity. Not that he could've got his hands on one anyway from his mountaintop prison—

He scanned the headlines. The announcement of the engineering competition sounded vaguely interesting – perhaps he could find work with whoever won. Suddenly, a sentence popped out at him.

"Excuse me?" he called to the landlady. She bustled over with her tray of tea things, but he held his hand up to stop her filling his cup. He pointed to the article. "The paper talks about the King recovering from an illness. When did this happen?"

"Gor, you been living under a bridge, sonny?"

"Something like that," he said gravely. "I had no news where I've been. Last thing I'd heard, he'd made a complete recovery from his malady and sent his eldest son to the block."

She snorted. "That nasty business was some years ago, now, though the next two sons is dead too. The King was distraught – he’s only got daughters left now, and he keeps them locked in the castle for their own protection."

"What did the princes die of?"

"Well, that Joseph Banks – he was only the Royal Physician then – said it was venereal disease on account of all the ladies they were having relations with – but both of them within days of each other? Most say 'twas poison, the poor dears. George hasn't married again, and with none of his immediate family still livin’, no one knows who'll be crowned when he dies – I get men in here all fired up over the Council debates, an' they think we're headin' for another Cromwell. But dammit if George ain't ninety years old and no sign of him bein’ infirm ‘till he took ill a few months ago—"

"And that's why Banks—"

"—is now the Prime Minister. You're a clever lad." She patted his shoulders. "More tea?"

He obliged, hoping she didn't charge extra for the tea. His financial situation was already dire. He'd left France with all he had, but that wasn't much. He could only afford a few more nights at this guesthouse – one of the cheapest, seediest ones overlooking Convent Garden – before he'd be on the streets.

Everything must go well with Isambard today, or I am doomed. How fitting that my future now lies in the hands of the schoolboy whose own future had seemed the bleakest of all.

Wringing his fingers in the napkin until the ends turned white, Nicholas stared at the crusts of his toast, his mind unfocused – travelling in endless circles. Another guest entered the dining room, dragging a mangy dog on a chain. The mutt yapped at the table legs, its eyes wide as it took in the room. The dog's thoughts floated into Nicholas' head – the curious smells emanating from every surface, rising like clouds and swirling together into a haze of colour. Nicholas rubbed his neck, feeling the bite of the chain against his skin.

If I return to the Ward, to the machines, perhaps the voices will finally be silenced.

Nicholas retired to his room to prepare for his meeting with Isambard. He spread his things out on his desk. He didn't have much – he had brought only a small satchel from France – some papers, his faded lieutenant's jacket, the cuffs stained with blood, a Lammarchean bible, a tiny switchblade, and a small flask of his favourite whisky. He stuffed the switchblade into his pocket. Clasping the bottle, he unscrewed the lid and swallowed the entire draught.

"You know, most Englishmen drink tea at this time of the morning."

Nicholas jumped, startled. He turned around and saw Aaron leaning against the door to his room, his face and clothing even blacker with coal dust than the previous day. A trail of dirty footprints followed him up the hall.

"Isambard sent me to collect you." Aaron pushed past Nicholas and surveyed the room. "By Great Conductor's lead-soaked testicles, this room is barely better than my Stoker hovel."

"I am capable of walking to the Engine Ward myself."

"Suit yourself, but the place is a madhouse – engineers rushing everywhere, trying to finish their designs for the competition. Everyone is terrified their idea will be stolen. They're not letting anyone in or out without an insignia. Here." Aaron pushed a Stoker pin – the insignia of St. George's cross made of gauge nails adopted by Brunel's church – into Nicholas’ hand. "Put this on."

Nicholas pinned the tiny crossed railway nails to his lapel. Taking his ratty satchel in one hand, he tipped his hat to Aaron. "Ready to go."

* * *

In the muddy London daylight, Nicholas could finally see the Engine Ward in all her glory. For the briefest time he'd once called that neighbourhood of handsome churches and soot-cloaked workhouses home, but now he could only regard her with the awe of an architect confronted with the greatest masterpiece of his time. The Engine Ward had tripled in size since Nicholas had last seen her, her smoky expanse engulfing the surrounding tenement blocks, pushing the bulge of black smoke further out across the city. The surrounding wall – built slapdash of riveted iron plates – did little to hem in the continual hiss and slam of beam engines, the roar of the furnaces or the hammering of metal, but seemed instead to amplify it, so the very streets trembled with a furious energy.

As they walked toward the Ward, the city changed. The streets were empty of people – those who did go out darted between buildings, their faces and clothing stained with soot. They passed block after block of tenements, the windows smudged with a black slime so thick the tenants must live in constant darkness. The usual city noises – hooves clopping against the cobbles, street vendors yelling the daily specials, clerks scribbling away in stifling offices – fell away under the hum and belch of the Engine Ward.

The thoughts drifting in and out of Nicholas' head had been the usual cacophony of city animals – horses thinking about warm hay, pigs wondering what the nice man with the knife would be getting them for lunch, pigeons scouting out the perfect gentleman's hat to use as a convenient latrine. But one by one they too fell away, and he was left with a humming chorus of voices – rodents, all thinking together. Not rats, like in Paris, but something even more intelligent.

As they neared the wall, they passed blocks of abandoned tenements, their crumbling walls streaked with filth and gutted by fires. So thick and poisonous was the air not even the poorest people in London would live in the streets surrounding the Engine Ward. His eyes stinging, Nicholas pulled his kerchief from his pocket and held it to his face.

"Do you hear it?" Aaron asked. "The choir?" Nicholas nodded, instantly understanding. The rodents' voices rose in volume as they neared the gates, the thoughts coming to him in waves, rising and falling in pitch like the chorus of an opera. Their thoughts – harmonious, like a song – sent complex messages, and Nicholas saw maps of the rodents’ tunnels impressed in his thoughts.

"It's the compies – they took over from the rats about five years ago. They're the only creatures who feel at home in the Ward. Besides us Dirty Folk, of course."

As Aaron had said, the towering iron gates were locked tight, and a crowd of engineers and acolytes blocked the street, their brightly coloured robes flapping about their bodies as they banged on the doors and yelled insults at the guards on the wall above. Aaron grabbed Nicholas' hand and began pushing through the crowd.

As people realised it was a Stoker trying to push through, they stepped back, tripping over each other to avoid having to touch him. "Oi, Stoker!" called an Aether engineer. Aaron looked up, and the engineer spat in his face. "You ought to wash your face," the Aetherian smirked. A man wearing the purple robes of the Isis Sect swept his hand along Aaron's arm, then folded it into his sleeve and pretended it had fallen off. His companions sniggered.

Aaron kept his chin high, and did not acknowledge their taunts. Nicholas stared at the Stoker's blackened overalls, his ears burning as the crowd whispered to one another about the shabby gentleman being led by a Stoker.

Once through the crowd Aaron pulled Nicholas into an alleyway, and pushed open the door to an empty tenement block. He motioned for Nicholas to enter.

"Aaron, those engineers back there. They—"

Aaron shook his head. "C'mon Nicholas, you can't have thought things here would be any better? You're lucky – you're a stranger to them. You have freedom men like me can only dream of. You could be anything. Are you sure you want to get in with Isambard and the Stokers?"

Nicholas looked into Aaron's eyes – gleaming against the blackened skin on his face like two orbs of hard, cold marble. He hears the voices. All my life I thought I was the only one. "I am no more free than you are," he said, and ducked inside the tenement. Aaron closed the door behind him.

Aaron led Nicholas down a pitch-black staircase into the cellar. He pulled a rotting doorway off the wall, picked up an Argand lamp that lay abandoned beside the wall, and shone the dim light behind the door, revealing a low stone tunnel. "I presume you remember the existence of these tunnels below the Ward," he said. "The Stokers use them to move between areas of the Ward. Now we have some, like this one, that stretch beyond the Ward – we use it when we need to move outside the Wall without being harassed. If the Council were to discover these tunnels, we'd be in a lot of trouble. So don't be surprised if folk down here aren't friendly to a stranger, do you understand?"

Nicholas nodded. As he peered into the darkness, the chorus of compies turned into a roar, thundering against the sides of his skull with such force he cried out and jammed his fists into his ears.

"It comes in waves," Aaron said. "You get used to it. Follow me. You got that Stoker pin still?"

Nicholas nodded, and followed Aaron into the tunnel, ducking his head to avoid scraping it on the low stone ceiling. The tunnel sloped sharply downward, and Aaron's Argand hardly penetrated the gloom. Nicholas held onto the bare brick walls, trying to keep his footing on the damp slope.

Down they went, ‘till the tunnel widened out into a round antechamber, lit by flickering Argand lamps and a faint shaft of light from a ventilation shaft above. Aaron met a guard, and both he and Nicholas displayed their Stoker pins before being ushered into the hall beyond.

Here the stone walls were barely visible behind bank after bank of machinery. At one end of the long room, four men took turns shovelling coal into two Cornish furnaces, while another stood ready to rake the coal flat over the fire. Hundreds of pipes crisscrossed the expanse of the cavern – nearly more than a hundred feet long in all and sixty wide, with at least twenty men swarming about on two levels, pulling levers, checking gauges, and yelling at each other in an incomprehensible language.

"One-twenty for boiler seventy-two, C Quarter. Better pump her up!"

"Wheel's shot out in D quarter – get Oliver on it!"

'Williams!" a croaking voice called. Nicholas turned to see a hunched man, his face pinched and crumpled with age, leaning over the gangway leading to the upper level of the galley. He gestured for Aaron. "Don't stand there like a useless Navvy. We're losing pressure in seventy-two—"

"Not now, Quartz," Aaron called, his stern face breaking into a smile as he tipped his head at the old man. "I'm on church business."

"Of course you bloody are." The man smiled, revealing a row of rotting teeth, and made a rude gesture at Aaron before returning to his work.

Aaron led Nicholas down another tunnel, pushing past several Stokers jogging in the opposite direction. "Don't mind Quartz," he said. "He's the closest thing to a father I have. We're a little uncivilised down here."

Nicholas noticed how the Stokers in the tunnel moved to the side so everyone could get past without pushing, the men calling friendly insults to each other as they passed. "If you want to see uncivilised," he laughed, "you should visit France."

They ascended a set of metal steps, and Aaron pushed open a heavy iron door. Nicholas, his eyes accustomed to the dimness, squinted as light flooded the stairwell.

He stepped out into an open square, surrounded on each side by the towering cathedrals of the four richest sects: Aether, Isis, Morpheus, and Great Conductor. From the lofty spires of these great edifices the Messiahs worked – Shelley penned his verses, Turner painted his landscapes, and the great plume of smoke and debris spewing from the top of the Aether Church suggested Banks was conducting some kind of chemical experiment. Worshippers crowded the marble steps – the Isis acolytes in floaty dress, setting up their easels and positioning the courtesans they'd hired from Convent Garden, banging elbows with the Aetherians and their chemistry sets, while the Morpheans called insults across the square and scribbled their favourites down in their notebooks. Only one church remained silent, the front doors firmly locked. Stephenson's worshippers had gone north to build his railway, leaving Brunel the most prominent Great Conductor Church in London.

Engineers from every sect crammed the square, their arms laden with plans and supplies as they pushed against the tide of people, dodging the elaborate shrines built by prominent politicians. Along Industry Street – the main thoroughfare for the Ward – drivers yelled obscenities as they attempted to navigate a traffic jam that stretched right back up to the gates. The horses spluttered and neighed in protest as they were forced to stand in the soot-blackened air.

Nicholas gripped Aaron's arm as he was pulled through the surging crowd, ducking into the alley between the Isis and Aether cathedrals and emerging on one of the side streets. Smaller churches crammed the roadside, built leaning up against each other and jutting out at odd angles. These churches didn't have the patronage of wealthy Royal Society members, so they built their houses of worship with what they had available – usually wood, brick and metal salvaged from the now-defunct shipyards. Some of these religions were affiliated with official Gods of Industry, while others, like the Metics and Dirigires, were cults devoted to strange foreign deities. (The Metics – who believed imperial measurement was an affront to the Gods – and the Dirigires – men who flew great balloons and worshipped a goddess of the sky – were both French religions, which meant they'd never found much favour in England.)

Down another side street, only a block from where Nicholas had attended Marc Brunel's school as a boy, Aaron stopped on the corner and pointed up. "Here you are: the Chimney."

He gazed up, unable to believe Isambard had really created this. The Chimney was a modest building, the spire a disused smoke stack that had formed one of the earlier Ward workshops. The Stokers had reshaped the workshop, widening the space and creating a vaulted nave. Short wings protruded from either side, slotting into the gaps between the giant Lord Byron shrine and Joseph Banks’ Aether Church that flanked the structure. The giant iron doors were closed. Engineers wearing the robes of the Great Conductor sat on the steps, and Stokers rushed in and out, attending to various chores.

Aaron rapped his knuckles against the door. A slot opened and two beady eyes peered out suspiciously.

"We've no services today," the mouth belonging to the eyes said.

"Don't pretend you can't see me, Peter. I've brought Nicholas Thorne to see Isambard."

Nicholas paled. "Please don't use that name," he said. "It's Rose now."

"Nicholas Thorne?" The man spat. "The scoundrel who done killed our brother?"

Nicholas stepped away, shocked by the resemblance between Aaron and the priest. Although at least ten years his senior, the priest shared Aaron's piercing eyes, curled black hair, and gaunt features. Nicholas remembered the fearsome reputation of Henry's elder brothers among the Stokers – priests who delighted in finding religious transgressions within the Ward to bring before the Council. They'd been particularly diligent in weeding out troublesome Stokers, and had played a crucial role in convicting Marc Brunel. Nicholas decided it was prudent to keep his mouth shut.

Aaron had no such qualms. "Henry got himself killed with his own stupidity, and you will too if you don't open this door."

Aaron's brother slammed the cover over the slot, and with a hiss of steam, the door swung inward. Peter – who towered over them both in his silk robes – scowled at them. "What's he doing here?"

"Priests don’t ask questions," Aaron said. "That's the price you pay for not ever having to get your hands dirty."

"You'd better watch your tongue, or I'll report you to Oswald." But Peter sloped off into the shadows, leaving them alone in the Nave.

"Oswald?"

"My other brother. He's Head Priest, and not as angry as Peter, but even more dangerous. You'll meet him in time."

"I thought your brothers were priests in Stephenson's church."

"They were – and a fine penny they were making from it, too. But Stephenson refused to take them with him when he left for the north. Being Stokers, he didn't consider them trustworthy." He snorted. "They'll do anything to avoid manual labour, and Oswald was smart enough to realise the priesthood of Isambard's church would incur no wrath from the Stokers. It's less power, less money, but it's an easy life. We take the elevator here."

He pulled aside a panel decorated with a pattern of rivets forming a Stoker cross, and stepped into a metal cage. Nervous at once again entering the darkness, Nicholas stepped in beside him. Aaron closed the panel and leaned his weight against one of the levers sticking out from the floor of the cage. With a jerk, they lurched downward.

Aaron had brought no light with him, and Nicholas had plenty of time, lost with his thoughts in the darkness, to wonder what awaited him at the bottom of that elevator shaft. It occurred to him briefly that maybe he was being set up. Maybe Isambard had used Aaron to lure him here, to exact revenge for Nicholas' part in Marc Brunel's sentence. The knife in his pocket felt heavy, and Nicholas wondered if he would have to use it.

The din of the compies still came upon him in waves, but it was abating. Not even the compies would come this far into the earth.

Finally, the elevator jerked to a stop. Nicholas heard Aaron pull open the grate, and a hand grabbed his sleeve. "Through here," Aaron said, directing him through a low door.

The workshop was dim, lit by a roaring furnace in the far corner and a row of Argand lamps scattered across the benches. Nicholas could barely make out the shapes of the long tables, laden with strange machines and rolls of technical drawings smudged with oily fingerprints. Sheets of metal, half-formed cogs and stacks of miscellaneous parts leaned against one wall.

"Nicholas."

The voice startled him. He whirled around as Brunel stepped out of the darkness and rushed forward to greet him.

His emotions on edge, Nicholas' first instinct was to step back, his hand flying to his pocket. Isambard, seeing his distress, held up his hands in surrender. He extended one, and after a few awkward seconds of staring at it, Nicholas stepped forward and shook.

"It's been too long, my friend," Isambard said, his cold, bony fingers entwining with Nicholas' own. "Please, sit with me."

Isambard pulled a stool in front of the furnace, and Nicholas sat on it gingerly, still nervous in the presence of his old friend. Isambard sank into a wing-backed chair opposite him. Once opulent, its fabric was now blackened with soot and the stitching was unravelling around the arms. Aaron sat on the floor behind Brunel, his thin legs stretching across the floor.

"I'm sorry, I do not have any tea to offer—"

"You did not answer my letters," Nicholas blurted out.

"No, I did not." Isambard stared at his hands. "I treasure them, every one, but I could not bring myself to read them, let alone reply. You have to understand … I felt like a failure. You and James went off on your adventure, but I was trapped in Engine Ward. You would both return as gentlemen, your Stoker heritage forgotten, and our friendship could not continue, for gentlemen do not associate with Dirty Folk. I knew your letters would be filled with new sights, strange smells, great adventures … but I had no stories to tell in return. I woke up, I shovelled coal into the furnaces ‘till my fingers bled, I fell asleep, and I did it all again the next day. I wanted to wait ‘till I had this," he gestured around the room, "to show you, but by then you had stopped writing. But you're here now, and can see it with your own eyes."

"And it is truly amazing, but Isambard, you should have known James and I would not judge you. We knew against what you've fought. You must be the bravest man I know to have built this church right under the nose of Stephenson and the Royal Society."

Isambard's face brightened. "Wait ‘till you see my locomotives. But please … I want to hear about your adventures. Aaron tells me you came to England from France. A border crossing is no easy feat—"

"No, it is not. And you must appreciate that I can't discuss it," Nicholas said, his voice sharper than intended. He didn't mean to offend Isambard, but he had to keep the details of his flight as secret as possible. His survival depended on his presence in London remaining undetected.

"But you have been studying at one of the French schools?" Isambard pressed him.

"I have not sat for a degree," Nicholas answered, not willing to explain any further. "But I have studied under many of the great European architects. My knowledge of architectural principles is sound. Aaron tells me you have a job for me?"

Isambard led him to a table, covered in a grimy cloth. He whipped away the cloth, and Nicholas leaned over to get a better look at the intricate model that spread out across the bench. The model of London city sprang to life, clockwork gears crunching under the table as the figures crossed the narrow streets. Around the perimeter of the city, bisecting many of London's richer suburbs, was a high wall. Atop this structure, a locomotive and two carriages made a lazy circumnavigation of the city.

"This is my design for the engineering competition," said Brunel. "But I am a man of machines, Nicholas. I know how to make something work, but I don't know how to make it appealing to the discerning eye. The poets and artists of the Isis and Morphean sects are going to have something visually stunning, and for my Wall to impress the King, it needs the touch of an architect."

"You want me to—"

"Make my Wall beautiful." He handed Nicholas a sheet of paper. "The fee is modest, I'm afraid, but there will be a permanent job for you with me when we win."

"If we win," Aaron corrected.

Isambard laughed. "Mr. Williams doesn't share my optimism." He circled the table, pointing out details of the design. "Each gate operates with steam-powered doors. These pistons drive the locks. If the French ever think to invade, they’ll have to break through these first. And here." he pointed to the districts of Belgravia and Kensington. "We will build the Wall double height."

"Why?"

"The richest people in London – including the men on the Council – have residences in these suburbs, and they will want to maintain an atmosphere of exclusivity. When I build the railway, it will go through a tunnel in Belgravia, and so their garden parties and croquet games are unspoiled by the soot and steam. We’ll install separate gatehouses and private train platforms, also."

While Brunel explained the various features of the Wall, Nicholas scribbled notes and watched Aaron out of the corner of his eye.

Aaron leaned back against the workbench, closed his eyes, and rested his head against his chest. Within moments, he'd fallen asleep, his head bobbing against his chest as he let out a loud snort.

Brunel noticed him watching Aaron. "He often falls asleep down here. His wife must keep him busy at night," he said, smiling.

Suddenly, Nicholas realised the reason for his friend’s slumber. He'd been so awed by entering the workshop and seeing Isambard again, so thrilled with the prospect of working on the Wall, he hadn't noticed the most remarkable thing of all.

Down there, in the depths of the earth below London’s churning engines, nothing stirred. Not a rat or a compie or even a lowly earthworm. They were down so far, behind so many walls of solid metal, that no animal's thoughts penetrated his skull. Nicholas' mind, for once, was silent.

* * *

Soaking his cloth in the bowl of warm water beside him, Joseph Banks unscrewed the medicine bottle on his lap and tipped a few drops onto the sodden rag. He turned toward His Majesty King George III and motioned for him to remove his clothes.

The King lifted his tunic over his head, and Banks once again marvelled at the results of his treatments. He'd been physician to the King for nearly forty years – for as long as England had been without a Parliament – and his medicine had not only cured the King's madness, but had remarkable effects on his person. At ninety-two years old, George's muscles still retained their firmness. His skin pulled taut around his body, showing none of the telltale brittleness of a man his age. His physique was that of someone forty years his junior, aside from the burns and blotches that marred his once flawless skin – a side effect of Banks’ unusual treatment.

George had barely aged since Banks had begun administering to him. As a wide-eyed youth just out of medical school, Banks had been appalled at the King's rapidly deteriorating condition. The court doctors were stumped, and Queen Charlotte – May Aether protect her soul – had called on him after reading his revolutionary essay about the healing effects of certain lead-based tinctures.

His Majesty had been so incoherent, so close to death, they dragged his son before Parliament and declared him Regent before Banks had even uncorked a medicine bottle. No one expected him to recover, but he did. With remarkable control of his faculties, King George III marched down to Parliament and disbanded it, declaring the Council of the Royal Society the new governing body, and had the Prince Regent – his own son – executed for treason. The other princes died a few months later of an "unknown" illness (brought about by a certain substance Banks added to their brandy), and several of the more outspoken politicians met with a similar fate.

England's new government handled both religious and secular affairs, and proved remarkably effective. The country ran so smoothly that, despite some of his more radical decisions – such as closing the borders of England to foreigners – no one had questioned George's sanity since. At least, not openly.

While Banks tended to his wounds, the King discussed the competition entries. Rolls of drawings, scale models, and intricate moving machetes decorated his private chambers. Whatever entry King George chose, it would be Banks’ job to force this decision on the rest of the Council at their meeting tomorrow. It will take all of my persuasion to convince each Council member not to vote for his own church's designs.

Banks’ hand slipped, knocking a blister off one of the sores. Bright, metallic blood oozed down the King's torso. Banks went to wipe it away, but the King swatted his hand. "Enough of that, Joseph. I have something to show you."

The physician set down the medicine, and the King handed him a roll of drawings. "This is the winning design."

Banks unrolled the first drawing, revealing a detailed map of London, completely encircled in a wide iron wall. His eyes widened as he recognised the hand who had designed it.

"Are you certain, sire?"

"Of course I'm certain." George pulled his tunic on, fastening the buttons with deft fingers. "He couldn't have designed anything better if he were privy to my plans. Since Stephenson refuses to budge, I don't see why Brunel shouldn't be the one to build me what I need."

Panic rose in Banks’ throat. "But sire, it's Brunel. He shouldn't have even been allowed to enter the competition. The Council will never agree—"

"That is why I have you, Joseph. With your powers of persuasion, I'm sure they'll soon see things our way. I knew it was the right decision letting him into the Society."

Banks sighed. "Choosing Brunel will anger the poets, the Aetheriuns, Turner's folk, not to mention Stephenson and his Navvies. This could drive a wedge between the sects that we cannot repair." It will shift even more power into the Great Conductor Sect, was what he didn't say.

"Then it will be time again to purge the Council of my enemies. I want this Wall, Joseph, and any engineer who opposes Brunel also opposes me, is that understood?"

Banks choked back his fear, and opened the plans again. This time, he tried to imagine this monstrosity surrounding the city, the high iron wall crisscrossing the districts, more of a fortress than a city. There had been an attempt, at least, to make it appear less intrusive – the architect had decorated the outer faces with rows of straight Ionic columns supporting a row of decorative arches and pedimental sculpture – homage in iron to the classical motifs so in vogue right now.

George watched Banks scrutinise the plans as he smoothed his clothes. "The design is certainly commendable," Banks managed at last.

"Who is the architect?"

Banks squinted at the name scrawled in the corner. "Nicholas Rose. I've never heard of him. He's certainly not a member of the Royal Society."

"I wouldn't expect Brunel to work with one of the established architects, not with most of them joining Turner's church. You're to bring Brunel to me, Joseph, tomorrow. And I'll see this Nicholas Rose, as well, if you please."

Joseph was about to protest, when a loud crash sounded from across the palace, followed by a long scream, cut haltingly short.

Banks turned to the King, horror in his eyes. "Sir, not again—"

"Attend to that for me, won't you, Joseph?" the King smiled. "It seems another of my children has broken free of the nursery."

* * *

Lieutenant James Holman, Esquire

His Majesty King George, Prime Minister Joseph Banks and the Learned Council of the Royal Society cordially invite you to attend a special meeting of the Royal Society on Thursday the 15th of July. On this illustrious occasion HMK George III will announce the winner of the engineering competition, and following this, Charles Babbage, engineer of the Metic Sect and inventor of the Difference Engine, will answer the charges of treason brought against him by the Council.

Formal dress required. Brandy and light supper provided.

* * *

In the days since they'd handed in the drawings, Nicholas had spent every spare moment in the Chimney with Isambard, returning to the guesthouse only to sleep. Isambard cut him a key, so he could come and go as he pleased, and even offered to let him sleep in the workshop. Nicholas had to admit the idea of spending the night without the voices was tempting, but he did not want to take advantage of his friend. Also, he was afraid Peter might sneak downstairs and kill him in his sleep.

Both Nicholas and Isambard had guarded their thoughts for years, but the more they talked, the more conversation came easily. Nicholas wondered if he could ever trust Isambard enough to tell him the truth about why he'd fled France. Isambard, who had now read all of Nicholas' letters, knew his friend’s story up until the time he left the Navy, and so filled Nicholas in on his own life in a haphazard fashion. He would talk fleetingly of people, of deaths and births and important events, dwelling for hours on revelations in the design of his locomotive – the construction of the chassis, the drive-wheel, the pistons.

Aaron joined them whenever he could, but his work on the furnaces and his wife kept him busy, so mostly they were left alone in Brunel's workshop. The time there passed quickly, and in the gloom it was impossible to tell when one hour ended and the next began.

One day Nicholas inserted the key Brunel had given him into the heavy padlock, hefted off the chain, and swung open the door to the Chimney, to find Brunel sitting at one of the pews, waiting for him. "I want to show you something," he said, standing to greet Nicholas. "Not here – out in the workshops."

Curious, Nicholas followed Brunel behind the pulpit, and down a flight of steps leading out behind the church. Isambard led him past row after row of pitched roofed structures, through which Nicholas could hear all manner of hammerings, whirrings, and men swearing. Finally, Isambard stopped in front of one, nodded to the guard who leaned against the wall, pushed aside a long wooden door, and darted inside.

Nicholas followed him, and stopped short, in awe of the sight that greeted him. Occupying every inch of that shed were the towering forms of two black locomotive engines. He'd seen drawings of these peculiarly English inventions in some of the contraband French journals, but he could not have imagined the sheer scale or raw beauty of them.

Built for Brunel's broader gauge rails, each wide chassis sat on her own bed of track, holding court with the dignity of Egyptian sphinxes. The formidable wheel arches rose at each side, and the open cab gaped from the expanse of iron like the mouth of a dragon, from where a tongue of flame might shoot out at any moment. Stokers crawled over every inch of the engines, fitting parts, taking measurements, welding and shaping raw metal into the zenith of engineering beauty.

"There they are," Brunel whispered, his eyes dancing with delight. "My two darlings. They won't be finished for many months yet, but if I win the engineering competition, they'll be the first locomotives to run in London. In order to meet the demands of broad gauge track, I've had to place the boiler on a separate six-wheeled frame behind the engine itself. The 2-2-2 engine is the Hurricane and that 0-4-0 beauty over there is the Thunderer."

"You built these," Nicholas breathed, awed by their size, their complexity. They seemed to rise up from the earth, beautiful flowers in a garden of machines, as if Isambard had somehow imbued them with his own spirit.

Brunel nodded. "My first engine – the one I sold to pay for this Chimney – was a cruder version of these. Aaron and I built it together, in secret. It took us nearly nine years. Already I'm making improvements."

"And Stephenson's … are they anything like this?"

"Hardly." Isambard snorted. "I've seen his Rocket. A piddling thing, it can barely pull two carriages up a slight incline. Throw a pebble on the track and it derails. Broad gauge is stronger, faster, and more robust. The sooner the Royal Society understands that, the better."

Brunel pointed to the guards stationed at either end of the workshop. "They ensure only Stokers can enter here. Stephenson has Navvy spies all over London, not to mention those in the pay of the Council, who want me prosecuted for engineering. I can't afford to have my ideas compromised."

They walked around the engines, Brunel stopping men in their work to discuss their progress and the problems they'd encountered. He listened as they explained parts that wouldn't fit, questioned flaws in the design, and discussed mechanical processes Nicholas couldn't even begin to understand. Brunel did not dismiss any opinion, but each time offered an answer that seemed to please the men.

"Your men respect you," said Nicholas. "I wager not many engineers can say that."

"The Stokers are clever men," replied Brunel. "They understand a machine intuitively – as if it were an extension of their own bodies. They have only to glance at the plans to tell you what works and what will not. There is no reason – apart from the arrogance of certain powerful men – why Stokers cannot be engineers in their own right, or whatever they wish to be … if given the chance."

"And this is your dream? To have Stokers in the Royal Society? To give them seats on the Council?"

"Freedom is the dream of every man, don't you agree?"

Nicholas said nothing. Brunel stopped walking, and turned to face him, his dark eyes fixed on Nicholas' own, searching relentlessly for an answer.

"We dance around this question," he said. "But we are old friends, and I tire of the dance. I have not heard from you since they closed the borders, and yet, here you are again, returning at great risk to London, changing your name, wanting to work in secret, and with barely a shilling in your purse. Now the best I can figure, the only reason a learned man would want to return to London is if he were running from a woman, from the law, or from someone who was trying to kill him."

Nicholas' mouth went dry. He raked his tongue across his teeth, desperately trying to think of something to say. "You may be right on all three counts," he managed.

"You should tell me what has happened. I could help."

"If I tell you, Isambard, I throw everything you've built here into jeopardy. Someone may come for me at any time, and I will not drag you into my problems, any more than I already have."

"Nicholas—" Brunel stepped toward him.

"Isambard," Aaron's voice interrupted. Nicholas jumped. He hadn't even heard Aaron come down the stairs. How much has he heard? "I don't mean to disturb you, only there's a messenger from the King waiting in the Nave. He wants you and Mr. Rose to accompany him to Windsor Castle promptly."

Isambard's face changed instantly. His conversation with Nicholas forgotten, he dropped the plans onto the table and raced to the elevator. Nicholas jogged behind him, his heart leaping in his chest. The King? He wouldn't concern himself with the affairs of a minor engineer. The only reason he could want to see us would be if he'd got to him, if he'd found me—

Nicholas gulped.

* * *

"—you are not under any circumstances to speak to him on any matter other than that which he requests. You must only answer his questions, and be quick about it. Do not otherwise initiate conversation in any way. There will be some small sandwiches and cakes on the table, but the King will not touch them, and so neither should you. You must raise only the teacup to your mouth, and return it to the saucer after each sip. You must not slurp. If he speaks to you, address him only as 'Your Majesty'. Do not touch him in any way—"

The steward kept up a constant stream of instructions as he frantically tried to brush lint off Nicholas' jacket. The complex protocol and fussing attendants were only serving to make Nicholas more and more nervous. Beside him, Brunel was having his hair plastered into place by two grunting attendants, while a third was trying in vain to steam out the stains on his overalls. He looked utterly unfazed to be standing in Windsor Castle, about to meet the King.

Nicholas and Brunel had arrived at the castle in the messenger's carriage, only to be whisked around the back to a servants' entrance and locked in a small waiting room, where they had remained for the past two hours, subjected to various barbaric beauty treatments in preparation for their audience with King George.

"Is this all really necessary?" Brunel asked, as one of the attendants tied a pair of starched white cuffs around his wrists.

The steward glared at him. "His Majesty has never had an audience with Stokers before. We hadn't anticipated how long it would take to make you presentable. And since you won't co-operate—"

"These overalls are a symbol of my heritage," said Brunel. "I will not remove them, not even for the King."

"—then we've had to do the best we can with what little we have available to us. At this rate, I don't think you'll be able to meet with him at all today—"

There was a knock at the door. "The King will receive them now," a voice called through the panel.

"They are not ready!"

"He won't wait any longer."

"We're perfectly presentable," snapped Brunel, disentangling himself from the attendants. He grabbed Nicholas' hand and pulled him toward to door. Nicholas met his eyes, and Brunel smiled, as if trying to reassure him.

Frowning one last time at the state of them, the steward sighed loudly, and pushed open the door. Brunel stepped out, his face calm, and Nicholas followed him, his legs shaking with nerves. Brunel reached a hand up and ran it through his hair, deliberately messing it up. Nicholas smiled weakly, but the effort just made him feel ill.

They were met by a guard, who looked them up and down with a disapproving scowl. "Are you certain you should wear that—"

Brunel glared at him. The guard shook his head, and beckoned for them to follow him down the hall. They paused outside two ornate wooden doors, which the guard pushed open, revealing an expansive drawing room, the walls and ceiling decorated with exquisite friezes and gilded mouldings. Nicholas gulped, forcing himself to resist the urge to turn on his heel and run.

"Mr. Brunel. Mr. Rose." The King waved them from the doorway. "Please, you may enter and take a seat. I will have the staff fetch you some tea."

Nicholas, his palms shaking and coated with sweat, stared at the chair the king wished him to use, its heavy oak legs carved in the French style, inlaid with delicate details leafed in gold. It probably cost ten years of an engineer's salary. He perched gingerly on one edge and looked up at the King, who stared down his nose at them both with a stern expression. King George's eyes sparkled with intelligence, and neither his posture nor his features betrayed his age. Nicholas tried to read his expression, to see if what he feared were true.

He's found me, he thought, his chest clenched. He's making the King send me back so he can torture me—

Joseph Banks stood behind the throne, his hands floating awkwardly at his sides and a leather satchel stowed between his feet. He pursed his lips, glaring at Brunel with vehemence.

"It is an honour, Your Majesty." Unlike Nicholas, Isambard seemed calm, collected. He sat upright in his chair, mimicking the King's strict posture. "If it pleases His Majesty, I wondered why you have called two lowly engineers into your presence today?"

Nicholas cringed at his easy use of that loaded descriptor. He did not wish to claim any such title for himself, especially not when he knew exactly what the King wanted. Banks' eyes flashed with anger, but King George did not seem to notice.

I'm sorry Isambard. I didn't want to drag you into this.

The King smiled, sending a chill down Nicholas' spine.

"Many of my current ministers," the King shot Banks a filthy look, "have dismissed your broad gauge railway as quackery, but I've been reading your papers with interest. It has not escaped my attention that you've entered my engineering competition, and although I cannot reveal the winner of that contest before Thursday's Royal Society meeting, I would urge you not to miss that meeting."

What? Did he just say … Brunel is …

Not even the presence of royalty could keep the boyish glee from Isambard's face. "Your Majesty, it is an honour."

"It is still not decided," Banks snapped, freezing the smile on Isambard's face. "The Council are not yet in agreement."

The King dismissed Banks with a wave of his hand. "Don't mind Joseph. Eventually, he comes around to seeing things my way. However, the matter I'd like to discuss today is of a different nature. The plans, please Joseph?" The Prime Minister handed the King a set of drawings, who spread them out on the table, positioning weights over the corners to keep them flat. Nicholas squinted at the delicate lines, trying to comprehend.

"I want you to build me a railway," said the King. "Build it as fast and as well as you're able, and if I like it, I shall give you the authority to build railways all over England."

Brunel sucked in his breath, and he grabbed Nicholas' arm as though he might fall over at any moment. Nicholas stared, dumbfounded, from his perch, wondering how such a remarkable fortune could have fallen into Brunel's lap.

"But Your Majesty," Brunel's voice came out high-pitched. "Why?"

"I intend to move my household and affairs of state into Buckingham House, in the heart of the city. I want Windsor Castle to remain a religious centre, a place where I can find respite with my gods, and where pilgrims might travel to give offerings at St. George's Chapel. But my main residence shall be moved to Buckingham, and I need a railway to transport the court and my furnishings between these residences. I intend to run it through these old sewer tunnels," the King rapped his finger against the map. "So they will need widening and reinforcing. And I need the entire length of track to be secure – I don't want any threat of assassination. But most of all, I want it to be fast. So fast I can make the trip to Windsor before a messenger could arrive at Somerset House on horseback."

"No, I mean, why me? Surely choosing me over Stephenson will cause friction on the Council?"

"The nature of this project requires absolute secrecy, Mr. Brunel. Not a single citizen must know of this railway's existence until I declare it so, do you understand me? Stephenson would not comply with this. Also, his standard gauge just won't reach the speeds I require, and I feel he has designs for England that don't comply with my own. I would not worry yourself about Stephenson – despite the animosity on the Council, you have a lot of support in the Royal Society."

Isambard leaned over the table, his eyes taking on that glazed look Nicholas recognised from the pump house all those years ago. Nicholas felt sure the task was impossible, but Brunel, unblinking, took in every inch of the proposed line, all twenty-six miles of track, the tunnels to be constructed and reinforced, the complexities of secrecy on such an ambitious project. Finally, he settled back into his chair, and smiled.

"I will need to make improvements, of course," he said. "Will I be given a workforce?"

"You will pull men from the Stoker workforce – men who can be trusted. I will pay you whatever you need from the Royal Purse. It will fall upon your shoulders to ensure this railway remains hidden."

"What is the completion date?"

"Four months from today."

Nicholas sucked in his breath – that deadline was impossible. But Brunel said nothing, merely bending his head towards the King, and continued the conversation in hushed tones.

Nicholas, who had not even seen a railway before, let alone had any experience of building one, sat back in his chair, trying to calm his thundering heart. You're safe, Nicholas old chum. For now, at least. But you must be more careful. If you're going to work for Isambard, you're going to have to be invisible—

Something interrupted his thoughts. A noise, like a muffled screaming, came from some far-off wing of the castle. He raised his head to the door, straining to hear. There it was again – a short, sharp scream, cut off abruptly by another sound, almost like the snarl of an animal. Banks met his eyes and shook his head, but Nicholas stood up and walked toward the open door, listening intently.

Another sound; closer this time. It came from one of the rooms on the corner of the hall. A snarl, low and menacing, definitely some kind of animal. A dragon, perhaps? But how did one get in here? And why can I not hear its thoughts? He turned to tell the King something was in the hall, when out of the corner of his eye he saw a shadow move across the tapestries. He jumped.

"Nicholas, what's wrong?" Isambard looked up from the table, his eyes concerned.

"I heard a noise." Nicholas turned back to the hall. "A scream … a snarl … like an animal … and when I looked into the hall, I saw—"

Banks frowned. "You're seeing things, Mr. Rose. There's nothing in the hall."

"No, there's definitely something moving—"

A figure dashed across the hall.

His heart pounding, Nicholas stared down the dim hall. "It's a man!"

With lightning speed Banks crossed the room, shoved Nicholas aside, and slammed the doors to the audience chamber shut. "Of course it was a man," he said, his eyes flashing. "You probably saw one of the servants trying to snoop on the King's private audience. They do like their games."

"He was naked," Nicholas insisted. "And that doesn't explain the snarling—"

He was interrupted by the King, who let out a gasping breath and collapsed across the table. Blood splattered across the plans, causing Brunel to leap back in alarm. Banks dived for His Majesty's body, pulling it back onto the couch and bringing his face into the light. As Banks pulled at the King's high collar, Nicholas could see George's eyes – bleak and bloodshot and tinged with green. In fact, his very skin seemed to give off a pallid green tinge. Banks ripped the collar open, and more blood pooled from a large scab that burst in his neck.

"Get out!" Banks screamed, shoving the King across the couch and reaching for his medicine bag. "Both of you!"

Their eyes locked on each other, Brunel and Nicholas did what they were told: they bolted for the door and ran.

* * *

"What was that?" Nicholas asked, his shaking fingers clutched around a chipped teacup.

Brunel had taken the carriage back to London to begin preparations for the King's railway, but Nicholas, still shaken by the events at the castle, now sat with James Holman in the dining room of Travers College, a modest building outside the walls of Windsor Castle that housed Holman and the other Naval Knights of Windsor.

"He has been ill these past months, but I was told he'd made a full recovery. There have been some very peculiar happenings around the castle recently," said Holman, carefully setting down his own teacup and pouring the boiling water. He used a finger hooked over the rim of the cup to check the liquid level.

"You never said anything before."

When Holman had been forced from the Navy after his illness had ravaged his joints and left him blind, he'd returned to England and, not wanting to live the life of a beggar, had applied for a post in the Naval Knights. The order consisted of seven superannuated or disabled Lieutenants, single men without children, "inclined to live a virtuous, studious and devout life." The Naval Knights were expected to live out their days in the modest rooms at Travers College; their only duty was to attend mass at St George’s Chapel twice per day.

At twenty-two years of age – the same age as Nicholas and Isambard – Holman was the youngest of the Naval Knights by a good forty years. Although they were only allowed to absent their duties on medical grounds, he had managed – although how he had done so still remained a mystery – to secure an extended period of leave to attend medical school in Edinburgh, about which he had written his first book.

"There didn't seem much to say. The King stopped conducting the services at St. George's, preferring instead to sit in his wheeled chair beneath the pulpit. I've heard the servants talking about sounds in the castle, screams, skitterings in the halls, and some maids and stable boys have disappeared, although I can't imagine that's out of the ordinary with such a large staff."

"Have you noticed anything else? Wild animal noises, maybe?"

Holman shook his head.

"What do you suppose this all means?"

Holman shrugged. "Whatever secrets the King and this castle are hiding can't remain secret for much longer. He has to give the presentation at the Royal Society meeting. Let us see how he fares then."

* * *

Jacques du Blanc shifted, pulling one cramped leg out from under him and stretching it across the pile of bibles on top of which he crouched. Not allowing himself to show discomfort in his face, he stretched out the other leg, kicking a stack of books over so they scattered across the humming deck of the dirigible gondola.

He watched with interest as the leather-bound volumes slid toward the furnace, following the dip and sway of the flying machine. He didn't bother to pick them up. Let the coal-boy deal with that.

The pilot gestured to him, yelling something Jacques couldn't hear over the roar of the furnace and the howl of the wind. Above his head, the envelope – a huge fabric bag inflated with hydrogen, providing the craft with the means to float high in the air – shaded the deck from the sun, the wind whipping over the edges of the gondola, and tugging at his clothes and hat. The pilot turned the rudder suspended below the envelope, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere on the horizon.

Jacques followed the pilot's gaze over the edge, and saw that they were no longer flying over water. They’d crossed the Channel and now floated over a patchwork of green fields, their bright hue visible through the smoke belching from the exhaust. England; he'd made it to England.

Fields soon gave way to forests, dense with oaks. The dirigible rose over the canopy, heading north along the edge of the valley, ‘till Jacques could see plumes of smoke rising between the clouds. As they dropped through the clouds, the spires of Meliora appeared. The city jutted precariously from the trunks of the ancient oaks, each trunk spliced and threaded with platforms and winches and punctured with mechanical devices.

The Dirigires (The Steerers) – a radical sect who worshipped the goddess Mama Helios and their ballooning Messiah Jean Pierre Blanchard – had fled to England after Catholic France began persecuting worshippers of the Industrian gods. King George had welcomed them, for they brought their skill with clockwork and flying machines. He'd given them land on his private hunting estates so they could build their city, and Meliora had risen up into the clouds.

Now, with England blockaded, the Dirigires were richer than ever. They had fused gondolas and steam engines to their balloons, creating for the first time lighter-than-air craft that could be manoeuvred. With the British navy otherwise engaged with attempting to dislodge the French ships, the Dirigires could now dominate an illicit trade route between England and the rest of Europe. If you wanted it, the Dirigires could get it – bibles and illegal Christian artefacts, French wine, German books, illegal passage between England and Europe – for any man who could afford the fee.

Jacques du Blanc was a man who could afford the fee, and the Dirigires didn't bat an eyelid at his fine clothes and the curved rapier strapped to his belt. They got all types on this crossing.

Even above the splutter of the dirigible's engines, Jacques could hear the seamless tick of the city. Before the purging, he'd fought alongside Dirigire priests at the Battle of the Pyrenees, and they had told him tales of their fantastical city, a shrine to their goddess of the skies. Now, it seemed, he would see her for himself.

The pilot let out the regulator, and the dirigible jerked downward, sending more bibles sailing across the deck. Jacques watched the scene on the landing pads. Workers swarmed around the dirigible, tying down the lead ropes and pulling down the deflating envelope so it didn't catch on anything. If a single spark caught the flammable hydrogen gas inside, the explosion would probably be felt in Paris.

As soon as the envelope was down and the gas pumped away, a crew of men stormed on board to unload the cargo. Bibles, casks of wine, and boxes of holy relics all left the ship to be sent out across the countryside to buyers.

Jacques hugged his portmanteau to his chest and tried to squeeze his way through the workers. A high priest waited on the platform. As Jacques swung his legs over the edge of the gondola and descended the ramp, the priest reached up and steadied him. Jacques tipped his hat in reply, his legs wobbling as he accustomed himself to solid ground once again.

"Don't walk near the edge for a few hours," the priest said. "Your mind and body need time to adjust to the height."

The effort of lifting his portmanteau left him breathless, and his temples throbbed. Jacques gasped, desperately trying to remain upright in the pounding wind, his lungs hungry for air. He’d been some months away from his home in the Pyrenees, and his body had already forgotten the rigors of high-altitude breathing.

"Are there … rooms available … in the city?" he huffed.

"We've prepared one already," the priest replied, reaching for Jacques’ portmanteau. "Your name is known in the city. Many remember you from the Acadamie, before the purgings. We're not often visited by such noteworthy men."

They were joined by the pilot, who thanked Jacques in grating English for flying with him and offered a cigar. The priest drew one from the box, and Jacques followed suit. "We should get out of the wind," he said in French, his legs shaking more than ever.

To Jacques' relief the pilot led them to a tavern two levels below the landing pads. They descended on a staircase that moved of its own accord, a belt that circled around on a series of giant cogs, powered by steam from an engine room far below. Jacques closed his eyes and gripped the balustrade with white knuckles. He knew better than to look out over the expanse of Meliora.

Inside the bar the pilot dropped a crate of champagne on the counter, pulled one bottle out, uncorked it, and poured them all a drink. He lit up the cigars, and leaned back in his chair, scuffed boots on the table, his gaze making Jacques nervous.

"So you're du Blanc," he sneered in that horrid English accent, draining his wine and running his tongue around the rim of his glass. "I never bagged you for a toff, hiding out in the mountains for years while the rest of us risked our necks for liberty. They say you went wild and ate a girl—"

"Show some respect," the priest snapped. "This man's crusade has preserved our rights to worship whom we choose."

The pilot looked unconcerned. "Did you get a lot of crusading done on the top of that mountain?" he asked.

"Tell me," Jacques said, not bothering to answer the pilot's question. "A friend of mine made this journey, not two months ago now, and I'm desperate to find him. An Englishman, though his French would be impeccable. He wouldn't have been carrying much – a portmanteau, maybe? He had sandy hair, probably hidden under a hat or cloak, and grey eyes—"

The pilot shrugged. "Everyone looks the same to me. Ask around in the city – if he stayed a few days or bought passage with one of the traders, someone will remember him. But don't expect to get answers for nothing, even in your fancy clothes. We do a fine trade in secrets here, Mr. du Blanc."

The pilot picked his boots off the table and sauntered toward the door. The priest wiped the table with the edge of his sleeve.

"I apologise," he said, reverting to his native French now the pilot had gone. "Some of the wealthy families insist on sending their boys off to English schools. They all return sounding just like him. I am François, the High Priest of Meliora, and I may be able to help you in your quest."

Jacques set two coins down on the counter. The priest eyed them with interest. "The man," he said. "Did he come here?"

"When a man passes through Meliora, he prefers our folk not knowing the reasons. We'd be a poorer people, sir, if we gave out every slip of information on our passengers. We'd soon find ourselves with none."

Jacques set another coin down on the counter. All three pieces disappeared into the priest’s sleeve in an instant, his eyes never leaving the Frenchman's face.

"He stayed here two nights," the priest offered. "He had nothing with him save a tattered portmanteau. He travelled under the name ’Nicholas Rose’, and I never saw him change clothes. He bought passage with one of the traders, heading for London, though whether he intended to travel the whole distance or not, I cannot say. This was a month ago, now."

"You've been most kind. Where might I find transport to London?"

"No wagons are due for another three days, but if you take the railway, it'll get you as far as Bristol, and that's a traveller town."

The sweet smoke curled around Jacques' head. He lifted his cigar to his lips and took another deep drag, a smile creeping across his thin lips.

I'm coming for you, Nicholas. I'm coming for what's mine.

* * *

James Holman's Memoirs – Unpublished

At precisely eleven minutes past nine on the fifteenth of July I strode across the lobby of Somerset House, Nicholas trailing at my heels. I bowed my observance to the Industrian gods – represented by ten alabaster statues set into two rows of niches flanking the long hall – and entered the vaulted chambers of the Royal Society. As I suspected, our late carriage had conveniently missed the opening prayers (which, with ten Gods, do go on for some time), and the pre-lecture drinks had started in earnest.

When I had been invited to join the Royal Society after the publication of my first book, I had thought it nothing more than a weekly meeting of learned gentlemen interested in pursuing the "natural philosophies". With numerous influential members and centuries of Royal patronage, the Society enjoyed much influence and stocked an impeccable cellar of the world's finest brandy, which I admit somewhat swayed my decision to accept membership.

But it seemed my opinion of the Society had been very much mistaken. Since His Majesty abolished the Church of England and disbanded Parliament, the Royal Society had become the foremost power in England, answerable only to King George himself. The eminent minds of our bright new age chose their gods, started their own congregations, and became as power-hungry and dogmatic as the priests of the church they had outlawed. Inventions became no longer the work of intelligent men, but the manifestations of the Gods of Industry on earth.

The world had given up polytheism centuries ago, and we suddenly had a Parthenon of gods thrust upon us. Fifty years after the change, England still struggled to comprehend it. Learned men clung to the same values that has seen civilisation through thousands of years of history – ignorance, and fear, and intolerance.

The Society continued its weekly meetings, but they had become nothing more than a church service – the forced attendance of hundreds of clever men, going through the motions of religiosity before they could get their hands on the brandy. Placing several gods in a room in the hope that they would jointly think up new and innovative ideas seemed sound in theory, but in practice it led only to competition, suspicion, and, ultimately, outright hostility. Faraday wouldn't talk to Herschel, and Turner secretly had popular artists killed in their sleep. Charles Babbage raised a quantitative error in one of Sir Humphry Davy’s calculations and, combined with his scathing rebuke of the Society’s excesses, managed to displease every member of the Council at once. The man who had once been a shoo-in for Presbyter of the Metic Sect was tonight going to be sentenced for treason.

I pushed the door ajar, tapped my stick on the oak-panelled floor, and listened. Voices rose into the vaulted ceiling, and I caught snippets of hundreds of conversations – half understood mathematical principles, fragments of engineering genius, the first inklings of original thought.

"Marvellous," Nicholas breathed, pushing past me to step into the room.

"Terrifying," I corrected him, thinking of the power wielded by the men present.

To my right I heard the unmistakably fake cough of William Buckland: Oxford biology professor, fossil collector, and longtime friend. Renowned for his work with swamp-dragons, Buckland first discovered the connections between modern creatures and the skeletons of giant ancient reptiles he called "dinosaurs". I moved along the wall toward him, hoping my late entry hadn't caught the attention of any of the Council members.

"You're conveniently late," Buckland whispered in my ear, placing a glass of brandy in my hand.

"Pesky omnibuses. They're so damn unreliable." I sipped my drink. "Has my absence been noted?"

"I informed Prime Minister Banks you were outside getting some air, but I think he's becoming suspicious," Buckland observed. "Perhaps we both ought to show up on time next week."

"Or come up with a different excuse."

Buckland and I had been amusing ourselves by turning up later and later to the regular Royal Society meetings. We'd even established a rotating roster. Every second meeting one of us would be late, and the other would cover for him. We devised a giddy, schoolboyish joy from cheating the Messiahs of our attention.

"I see you've brought another unfortunate along to witness this farce."

"Buckland, this is Nicholas Rose. He and I were in the Navy together. Nicholas is an industrial engineer just arrived in London from his studies in France."

I felt Nicholas' body tense up with my casual mention of his illegal crossing, but Buckland just laughed. "France, eh? How'd you get back across the border?"

"I had help," Nicholas replied evasively. The men shook hands, and I noted that Nicholas quickly shifted the subject to Buckland's work. Buckland, who loved to talk about himself, acquiesced with pleasure, but I wondered – not for the first time – how Nicholas had indeed managed to return to England at all. Our borders have been tightly patrolled ever since Christian Europe united in opposition to our new pantheon of industrial gods, and one cannot simply row across the Channel. If Nicholas had come to England from France, he had come illegally – probably by way of an illicit air crossing. I listened to my friend talk, wondering what had happened to him since I'd left him at Portsmouth.

Nicholas had come to the Society meeting as my guest. He'd been nervous about coming under the public eye, if it was indeed true the prize was being awarded to Isambard (giving further credence to my worries that he'd been involved in ill dealings back in France). Isambard, too, thought it better that Nicholas didn't declare their friendship in public, but for a different reason. "We don't know how the engineers will react to the chosen winner," he'd said. "As much as you think you're a danger to me, Nicholas, it is your association with me, and not what transpired in France, that might lead to your death. Better to have engineering circles know you as an associate of Holman's than as an accomplice to my blasphemous works."

Buckland, flattered by Nicholas' attentions, began asking him for his opinion on the outcome of the engineering competition.

"I heard Shelley's had a team of poets working non-stop on his creation," said Nicholas, who'd been keeping up with the design proposals in the papers. "And Sir Humphry Davy has apparently concocted a most efficient poison. Then, of course, I've heard rumours about the brilliance of Isambard Kingdom Brunel, that young Stoker engineer—"

Nicholas sucked in his breath as he realised what he'd said. I leaned forward, listening to the conversations around us, hoping nobody had heard.

Buckland lowered his voice. "You shouldn't speak that name so freely, Mr. Rose, especially not in present company. But I'm glad to hear you're a Brunel man, also." Buckland patted Nicholas on the shoulder. "Isambard's a good chap. He won't win, of course – the Council won't accept that – but he's got a head full of clever ideas and the tenacity to forget what he ought not to say. I don't take with all this anti-Stoker nonsense. An engineer's an engineer's an engineer, I say. But my dear fellow, I've been talking you ear off and your hands are still empty. Allow me to remedy my oversight!"

Buckland went to fetch Nicholas a drink, and Nicholas and I bent our heads together so he could describe the room to me.

The Society hall – which had always resembled a church with its podium and rows of carved wooden and velvet pews – had been divided into two by the addition of a long wooden stage, covered with exquisite carpets and festooned with bright garlands of flowers and idols of the Gods of Industry. Our pantheon of gods-on-earth – the Messiahs, Presbyters, and other men of rank – strutted around the room, flanked by their high priests wearing various church regalia.

The room was more crowded than usual, and the pews had been pushed aside to make room for all of us. On a raised dais at the edge of the stage sat His Majesty. Banks and the other officers of the Council were seated beside him. A gaggle of contest entrants – would-be engineers, scientists, and architects – clamoured for the King's attention.

"You can tell those men apart from the rest of us," noted Buckland, returning with a glass of brandy for each of us, "by the outright desperation on their faces. Each one dreams he will be the recipient of this most enviable prize, and fame, fortune, and immortality will be his."

Nicholas and Buckland described for me some of the familiar faces. George Combe, the eminent phrenologist of the Church of Morpheus, paced up and down along the wall. Turner, the artist and arrogant Presbyter of the Isis Sect, held court in a private circle in the corner, his trilling, whining voice rising above the clamour. Not wanting his position to be compromised by one of the newer artists or poets, Turner had submitted plans for a mural to be painted across the west-facing walls of each of the city's buildings – scenes of terror and desolation, of hundreds of Redcoats armed with muskets and bayonets, ready to strike at any dragon that dared impose upon the city.

Percy Bysshe Shelley, the dark, brooding "engineer of words" who'd became Messiah of the Isis Sect in Lord Byron's absence, slouched across one of the velvet pews. Shelley had submitted a spectacular design for a high-walled pleasure garden containing plants like garlic and fenugreek, which the dragons found abhorrent. He planned to suspend these gardens or "mobile Eden" across the city, so citizens afflicted by dragons could wait in safety while the beasts were apprehended. I knew his design would find favour with many of the noble men on the Council, and he certainly acted as if he knew the prize was already his. He mocked protocol by bringing his wife, Mary, as his guest, and she sat beside him, dressed in her finery, the subject of many lascivious whispers amongst the learned men.

Brunel stood in the corner of the stage, and Aaron stood behind him, frantically trying to pull the hems of Brunel's too-long formal robe from under the feet of the marauding deities. "Isambard's face betrays nothing," Nicholas said. "His is the only steady gaze in this room of posturing. Do you wish to see him?" he asked me. "Isambard has been so kind to me, James. I'm certain he will welcome you as a long lost brother."

The blood froze in my veins. I shook my head, unable to bear the thought of facing him, of talking to him or Aaron, knowing my actions cost the lives of a brother and a father. "Perhaps another day," I said "Brunel will not want to think of the past when his future may well change forever." Nicholas waited for me to explain further, but I didn't.

"How does the King look?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Strangely fine," Nicholas replied. "He's still sitting in the wheeled chair, but he lifts his head and talks to people – mostly to Banks, who has just slipped him a small bottle of something. The skin on his face shows no signs of the wounds he received. I do not know what to make of it."

"And no sign of Babbage?"

The Council judged cases of state and religious crimes. Babbage was charged with blasphemy, and he'd opted to defend himself rather than accept a Council-appointed lawyer. As far as I knew, he'd found no man willing to speak in his defence.

"He has declined to attend his own trial," Buckland said. "No point, really, is there? They have him under guard in the Engine Ward – his last free night to work on his calculating machine."

Even I could sense the tension in the room. Shuffling my Noctograph from one arm to the other, I flipped back the glass lid on my pocketwatch and felt with my fingers for the engraved watch face. We had been waiting over an hour, but now all the Messiahs – save Robert Stephenson, who often absented himself from Society business, preferring to remain in the north with his railway – were present, we could finally begin.

Sir Joseph Banks called us to order. There was a mad scramble as men rushed toward the front of the room, but we remained in our circle in the corner, our reactions hidden from the scrutiny of the stage. Buckland, who would be reciting the evening's sermon, nervously folded and unfolded his lecture notes. He was a man who secretly (or not so secretly, thanks to Babbage) still worshipped the Christian god, and the presence of so many religious men unnerved him.

There was still no sign of Charles Babbage.

Banks rolled the King's chair across the stage, and released an injector valve, which raised it above the podium with a puff of steam.

"For thousands of years, man has long sought to hold back the natural world." The King's voice held no sign of age or illness. Strong and deep, it soared over the cavernous room. "From the moment of our birth in the great Forge of Creation, we've fought to control fire, pull up the flora, and tame wildlife. And now, as we proceed through the nineteenth century, we are closer than ever before to achieving dominion over all the earth's forces. In this room stand the men who've made this possible – the engineers, physicians, adventurers, scholars, artists, and poets who've shaped this age of iron and industry.

"Our final task lies before us. We must keep this city – the capital of iron and dreams – free from the menace of the dragons, the last great remnant of our barbaric past. We must assert, once and for all, our dominion over the beasts. After a week of deliberation with the committee," he said, "I have decided who among you shall lead this city into the new age of industry. I would like to ask Isambard Kingdom Brunel to join me."

A collective gasp rose from the room, followed by frantic whisperings as tongues wagged. Even though Nicholas had told me what the King had said, I still couldn't believe the Council had chosen Brunel.

"Mr. Brunel's design is composed chiefly of a great Wall, which will encircle all of London like a fortress of old, making her impenetrable to the dragons as well as any other enemy that may present itself. The Wall shall also benefit our local trade and security, as it will monitor the coming and going of people and goods throughout the city, and will one day run passenger trains throughout London. In light of his industry and forward thinking, I present Brunel with this certificate of patronage, and his new Godhead as Presbyter of the Sect of the Great Conductor, replacing William Adams, who will be stepping down immediately."

The applause came in spatters, overwhelmed by cries of protest. "He's not even an engineer!" cried Shelley, leaping from his chair and upsetting his brandy all over his velvet breeches.

"Silence!" boomed the King. "The Council's decision is final. Brunel has won the competition. Need I remind you that questioning my divine authority and insulting church leaders are answerable to charges of blasphemy and treason."

That shut everyone up. In stony silence Brunel walked across the stage, his heavy worker's boots clanging on the oak. He accepted his award and kissed the King's ring.

"He looks rather chuffed," whispered Nicholas.

"Wouldn't you?" Buckland said. "This is an incredible honour. Perhaps the Council is finally allowing men without money or status to pursue the sciences."

"Not likely," Nicholas replied. "Look at Shelley's face. He looks as though he's ready to commit murder."

Banks tapped on the lectern, his fingers rapping against the wood and Brunel's footsteps on the wooden stage as he returned to his seat the only sounds in the room. The King gestured for the ceremony to continue.

"To our second matter," Banks said. "We must address the opinions published by Charles Babbage in the Society Gazette. I know many of you have read this document, but for those of you who have not, Babbage insinuates Sir Humphry Davy, Messiah of the Aristotelian Sect, had not added his calculations correctly, and suggested an alternative equation based on his own calculations. Clearly, you must all be as appalled as I am by Babbage's actions – to accuse a Messiah of erroneous calculations – such a thing is blasphemy! Mr. Babbage's writings have sullied the good name of Mr. Davy, the Gazette editors, the Society, and the deities we serve. When asked to speak in his own defence, Babbage declined: his absence only confirming his guilt."

"Declined, or was kept away?" Nicholas whispered. I nodded. He was beginning to understand the kind of men we were dealing with.

"As you know, the punishment for blasphemy is excommunication. But, as this is an organisation of equals, I would not be so arrogant as to make this decision myself. Is there anyone in this room who would speak for Mr. Babbage? Anyone who would offer an argument for him to remain?"

No one spoke. I knew the thoughts of my friends mirrored my own. If free thought and debate were still welcome within these walls, than why was Charles Babbage being vilified for expressing his?

Banks, however, didn't appear to notice this discrepancy, as he announced the decision had been made. Charles Babbage was no longer a member of the Royal Society and would be stripped of all his royal and church patronage. Any further infractions against the church would be dealt with more harshly.

After that announcement, we heard two sermons – one from Sir Humphry Davy himself, who informed the congregation in a smug tone that his calculations were, in fact, correct; and the second, much longer, from Buckland on some recent fossil discoveries of Great Dragons: the larger, prehistoric ancestors of the very swamp-dragons that continually attacked our city. I took a seat on the edge of a pew and rested my Noctograph in my lap, using the metal and string frame to guide my notes in straight lines across the page.

Normally a compelling, engaging lecturer, Buckland stammered throughout his speech, dropping his papers from the podium and losing his place. I understood his nervousness – his discoveries pointed toward a catastrophic flood wiping out the great dragon population, which, coming from the mouth of a known Christian, sounded even more blasphemous than Babbage. Luckily for Buckland, the Council members had found the brandy stash, and no one paid much attention to his sermon.

The meeting closed and we were free to drink our fill of brandy and talk amongst ourselves. Men – mostly lesser engineers and those from the poorer classes – swarmed around Brunel, offering their congratulations and requesting meetings.

Aaron managed to slip away from the chaos and joined our circle. "He won! Could you ever have imagined such a thing?"

I wondered why Brunel had not told Aaron about the hint that had been given during the meeting at the castle. For friends, we all of us seemed to harbour secrets.

"It's a great day for the Stokers," he said, clinking glasses with us. "With Brunel's appointment, we may finally become an important part of learned society."

"As long as your new Presbyter doesn't let all this religious nonsense go to his head." I gestured to the gaggle of engineers gathering in the centre of the hall, singing the Hymn to Great Conductor and shouting jeers at the leaders of other sects.

"If anyone can keep his head screwed on right, it's Isambard." Aaron replied.

"Pity about Babbage, poor old chap," said Buckland. "He was a bright spark, head of his own little Metic congregation. A brilliant mathematician – Charles had this idea to create a machine that could calculate mathematical tables."

"I bet the computers like that idea," Nicholas smirked, referring to the men who were paid to calculate and write mathematical tables.

"Not one single bit, but that's not why he got expelled." Buckland dropped his voice. "He was a good man, but blinded by his own intelligence. He never thought of the consequences of anything he did. Babbage just wanted the Society back the way it was, back the way it is supposed to be – a stimulating discussion of various scholars."

"I wish they would choose one god and stick to it," Aaron said. "I've grown up with Great Conductor, but I don't mind Morpheus or even that Mama Helios the Dirigires are so fond of. I wouldn't even mind having that Jesus fellow back – after all this nonsense, his claims of transmutation and necromancy seem rather inoffensive."

"You know," Nicholas leaned forward, lowering his voice even lower. "Since this society no longer cares for natural philosophy, we should take our discussions elsewhere."

"You mean … start our own society?"

"Why not? Men are still allowed to meet each other at pubs or in the privacy of our own homes. I don't see why we can't extend a dinner invitation to a select few free-thinkers."

"Leave the invites to me," I said. "Buckland, you're invited, of course, if you're interested."

"Wouldn't such free-thinking inquiry be … blasphemy?" Buckland could barely keep the smile from his voice.

"There's no blasphemy in a few gentlemen getting together over a game of whist to drink brandy and smoke cigars." Nicholas again lowered his voice. "We could each take turns preparing a lecture and a topic for discussion."

"A brilliant idea," Buckland said. "I would love to give a true and accurate account of my discoveries – instead of the bogus lecture I gave this evening, if this new Society would have me."

"We could meet in my rooms at Travers College," I said. "It might be a little crowded, but between the madness and deafness of my roommates, there's little chance we'll be overheard."

"It's settled. The first meeting of the Free-Thinking Men's Blasphemous Brandy and Supper Society will take place in Holman's rooms tomorrow evening." Nicholas' eyes twinkled, and he rubbed his hands together in delight. "Now, I trust Buckland will provide the teacake, but who will bring the brandy?"

* * *

After the meeting had finished, Holman, Aaron, and Nicholas pushed against the tide of engineers and scholars stampeding for the doors, and found Brunel slumped against the edge of the stage. Nicholas handed him a glass of brandy, but he set his glass down on the stage and embraced Nicholas.

"Thank you, my friend." he said. "Without the designs of Nicholas Rose, I would not have won this honour."

As Nicholas stepped aside, Brunel's gaze fell upon Holman, and his expression turned to one of surprise.

"Congratulations, Isambard," Holman said quietly, his face angled toward his feet.

"James Holman, is that you?" Isambard reached across and embraced the blind man. Holman, surprised, dropped his walking stick, and patted Isambard awkwardly on the back.

"Look at you – you haven't changed a bit! Apart from the eyes, of course. You shall have to tell me of your adventures. You are a Member of the Royal Society? How did I not know this?"

"I-I-wrote you letters," Holman stammered.

"I never received them, but let us not worry about that. The old gang, back together at last! Please, will you all walk with me to Engine Ward? I'm afraid I'm rather giddy with excitement."

Isambard led them out of Somerset House and down the Strand toward Waterloo Bridge, pushing his way through crowds of brightly dressed characters from the seedier quarters of the city that spilled over to the riverside at this time of night. Isambard, a spring in his usually measured steps, led the way over the bridge, chattering nonstop, firing question after question at Holman, who answered in halting stammers.

"I cannot believe it," Aaron said, smiling from ear to ear. "Isambard, you've done it! You're a Presbyter! A Stoker Presbyter!"

"Your name will be known throughout the kingdom," said Holman, who walked behind Nicholas, his head turned toward the ground.

"Our fortunes are changing," said Isambard, dodging around two streetwalkers and turning down a narrow alley. "The Stokers will finally have a place—"

"Wait!" Aaron held out his hands, his voice tight and urgent. "Don't move!"

Nicholas' head snapped up, wondering what was wrong. He looked around them, but could see nothing out of the ordinary. A bawd, her face drawn and haggard, chased two of her girls through the alley, while drunks cheered them on, and near the street an Isis priest preached from one of Shelley's books of poems.

Then he felt it – the sinking feeling as a creature's thoughts pushed their way into his head, crushing the other voices and his own thoughts under their intensity. A predator, feeding on flesh – focused on the deliciousness of the meat, its senses on full alert for possible challengers to its meal.

A dragon. And it was close by.

The others couldn't see it, and Brunel opened his mouth to protest. Aaron held up his finger, urging them to remain quiet. The men inched forward, deeper into the alley, Nicholas and Aaron taking the lead, exchanging between them a knowing, frightened glance. Nicholas fumbled in his pocket for his knife.

Aaron has turned a dragon away twice before, he thought. He could do it again.

He could have turned back, sent Isambard and James down another street, but the meat pulled him – the smell of the fresh kill tickling his nostrils. His stomach rumbled, and saliva rolled from the sides of his mouth. So hungry …

The alley ended at the wall of the close-packed tenement blocks. An even narrower path – barely as wide as a man – ran between the tenements and a workhouse. One by one they wriggled inside, their feet splashing in the mud and filth that formed at the bottom of the gutters. The smell of sweet, tender flesh grew stronger, pulling him onward.

"What's going on? What's happening?" James asked, but neither Nicholas nor Aaron had the mind to reply.

The passage widened out, leading them into another alley. They rounded the next corner, the smell of blood filled the air, and Nicholas' mouth watered as the dragon's desires overcame his last human defences, and he seemed to become the beast he was now confronted with.

This dragon, another female, stood as high as a man, her tough brown skin dappled with green spots, and the scar of a burn along her muscular shoulders revealing a previous fight with a hot iron. She bent over the body of a man – a local butcher – her twin rows of serrated teeth making short work of his leather apron. She had dragged the body some way from the street, for the intestines stretched in a tangle down the alley.

In the distance, someone was screaming. The images floated in front of Nicholas' eyes. In one instant he was inside his own head, looking on at the dragon, and in another he was staring down at the corpse from inside her head, the taste of that fresh meat sliding down his throat.

Isambard sucked in his breath. Holman, even though he couldn't see the beast, sensed something was wrong, for he grabbed Nicholas' arm, his fingers digging deep.

The head came up, and the dragon sniffed. Nicholas' breath caught in his throat. He could smell himself and his companions as the dragon smelt them – four men, cornered and frightened. He smelt dessert.

Suddenly, another hand squeezed his. It was Aaron. Nicholas couldn't hear his thoughts, but he could feel the dragon slipping, confused. It wanted to ignore the intruders, but it didn't know why. The dragon's thoughts receded, and his own mind slipped back into his head. Nicholas gathered his senses and concentrated on pushing out one thought, giving it to the dragon. Ignore the people. They're no threat.

Holman, not able to see what was happening, but smelling the blood and the stench of the kill, whimpered.

Ignore them. They're nothing.

The dragon's head whipped around, and her yellow eyes bore into Nicholas. He pushed harder, knowing the dragon could leap at any moment, knowing this was the only way he could save his friends.

Ignore the people. Ignore the people.

The dragon snorted, dipped its head, and returned to feeding.

Aaron glanced at Nicholas, and they pushed Isambard and a terrified Holman around the corner of the building and circled on to the main street. They huddled under a streetlamp and caught their breath.

"That was … that was …" Holman could only stutter. His fingers around his cane were white as bone.

"Two dragons in as many weeks," Aaron teased. "You must smell mighty tempting, James."

Shaken, they pressed on toward Engine Ward, the towering funnel of black smoke growing larger with their every step. As Nicholas walked alongside Aaron, the air between them seemed to sizzle with energy, like lightning bolts flicking between their fingers. Nicholas knew it had been mostly Aaron who had stopped the dragon, but he wondered what they might be able to do, the two of them together, if they could again direct their minds to the same purpose.

The Ward gates stood open, and the usual gaggle of priests and intellectuals passed to and fro, some going to the midnight masses held in the vaulted cathedrals, others leaving to take their pleasures in the bawdy houses and bagnios. Here, progress was slow, for men kept stopping Brunel to congratulate him on his appointment. He chatted with each of them, not scolding them for interrupting, paying as much attention to the ill-mannered rakes as to the sycophantic priests. Nicholas caught the sounds of music and revelry on the breeze, and as they neared the Chimney and the Stoker quarter, he could see Stokers dancing around great bonfires, already celebrating Brunel's appointment.

Brunel didn't go to them straight away, but stood on the steps of the Chimney, his gaze sweeping over the scene. Nicholas and Aaron watched him, and James faced the fire, each man lost in his own thoughts.

Finally, Isambard said. "I cannot get the image of that dragon out of my head. All we have built here – this great city of brick and stone and iron – cannot control, cannot protect those who dwell within her."

Nicholas thought back to that horrific day, ten years ago, when Henry had been crushed in the beam engine and Isambard had regarded the incident with this same rapt curiosity. He shuddered.

"When you finish your Wall," said Holman, "they will no longer be a problem."

"They will always be a problem, as long as we fear them and don't try to understand them," said Isambard. "The Stokers understood them, back before I was born, when they lived in the swamps. Unfortunately, we understood them so much we used their own tactics against them – we hunted them practically to extinction. It seems only fair they should come to this city to kill us."

"Is that why they're in London, do you think?" Aaron asked. The idea seemed to intrigue him.

"I couldn't say. Something is drawing them into the city. Why could it not be revenge? Do we so readily assume vengeance is the sole dominion of man?"

"I wonder why the Royal Society has never sent someone to investigate the dragons," said James. "Surely someone like Buckland could study them in the swamps to ascertain the reason for their exodus."

"Yes," said Isambard. "I don't understand this myself. But now that I'm a Presbyter, perhaps I can begin to unravel this mystery."

"Let's get this wall of yours built first," said Nicholas.

Across the street from the Chimney, a man emerged from one of the warehouses. He bent down, a briefcase bursting with papers clutched tightly to his chest, and fumbled with the lock. Nicholas didn't recognise him, but the moonlight caught the man's face, and he thought his expression almost impossibly sad.

"Would you excuse me for a moment," said Isambard. "There's a matter I need to attend to." Before Nicholas and Aaron could say another word, he broke away and slipped into the street below.

* * *

With a strangled sigh, Charles Babbage dipped his quill into the inkwell and scrawled his signature on the last of Clement's many cheques. He folded the stack inside a crisp envelope, added his seal to the front, and dropped it into his satchel.

He would deliver the cheques tonight, after he closed up the office, and then he would go home and drink all the brandy in the cupboard. And then maybe he'd start on that bottle of port Francesca had bought him on their wedding anniversary. He would drink until he forgot all the trouble he was in, and if he drank so much he didn't wake up in the morning … well, so much the better. He would drink ‘till he forgot Clement, and the Royal Society, and the ridiculous blasphemy charges, and that could take a very, very long time.

Clement, the self-made precision engineer whose detailed drawings had brought Babbage's dream of a Difference Engine to life. Clement, who could fashion a tool for any purpose and create minute parts so similar one could not tell them apart even under a microscope. Clement, the bastard son of a whore and a cheat, who'd been deliberately delaying completion of parts of the Difference Engine to extort more money from their open-ended contract. Clement, the rotten blagger, who'd robbed Babbage of every penny he had, cost him his Royal patronage and turned his congregation and the whole of the Royal Society against him.

Babbage locked the door to his office and stalked down the hall of the old shipping warehouse, now home to several small-scale engineers and their tiny, floundering churches. Some would go on to become great names in the sects of Great Conductor or Morpheus or Aristotle; others had been great once, but their fortunes had waned as new and greater inventions took hold of the people's fickle interests. And some, like Babbage, had never really invented anything at all.

He closed his eyes as he passed by his workshops; dark now, and deserted. He couldn't bear to see his beautiful engine, the racks of numbered wheels lined up against the shelves, ready to be assembled onto the great steel frame. And now they would never turn, would never execute the complex calculations for which he had designed them.

He jammed his hands into his jacket pockets. It wasn't bloody fair. He had devised one of the most singularly useful machines in existence – a calculating engine. No longer would engineers, mathematicians, and astronomers be forced to rely on the erroneous ledgers of equations calculated by the computing men. They could instead crank a handle and receive an accurate answer calculated by the machine.

When he'd first approached the Royal Society with his idea, they had immediately seen the benefit, and offered him a stipend of £1,500 to complete the first prototype. Then Joseph Banks had suggested he hire Clement – the most accomplished precision engineer in the Sect of the Grandfather Clock, and a Society favourite. And that was where everything had gone bloody wrong.

Outside the window, an organ grinder passed by, the high, tinny notes of "Down in the Sally Gardens" sealing his doom. Babbage ground his teeth together. The only thing he hated more than Clement was organ grinders. They knew it, of course, and worked together in teams to follow him all about the city, taunting him with their repeating, off-key tunes.

He turned away, hunching as he pulled the door shut behind him, locked it for the last time, and shoved the key back into his pocket. He turned, and his stomach dropped to his knees as a dark shadow emerged from the buttress of the Metic Church and floated towards him. He fumbled for his pocket knife, but barely had time to draw breath before the figure was upon him.

"Isambard, you startled me!"

"I'm sure many have said the same thing to you in past weeks," Brunel smiled. "You were missed at tonight's meeting, Charles."

"I'm in no mood for mockery, Isambard."

"It's the truth. You're not the only one who thinks the Society should focus more on constructive reasoning and less on robe-kissing. Davy's calculations were wrong – it seemed a simple matter to me."

"Hardly. This simple matter has had me excommunicated. Banks informed me yesterday I shouldn't bother to defend myself." Babbage started walking, briskly, across the courtyard in front of the church, hoping Brunel would take the hint and leave him be. But the Stoker met his stride with ease, his casual demeanour only increasing Babbage's unease.

"A move I'm certain you anticipated with great joy. After all, now you are unbound from their rules and scrutiny. Now you're free to push the limits of your science."

"The limits of my bank balance, more like," Charles sniffed, cutting across the pavilion at the rear of the Church of Grandfather Clock. "This blasted engine is not even a quarter complete, and Clement has taken all his drawings, all my money, and all the precision tools he created to fashion the mechanisms. And without the Royal Society's stipend, I cannot hope to afford the price of another engineer. No, sir, the Difference Engine is doomed for the scrap heap."

"If that's the case, then what I've come to offer will brighten your day."

"What do you want?"

"I want you to renounce your god, assemble what sections and plans remain, and join me in the Chimney."

Charles snorted. "Join the upstart Stoker who plays at engineering? That would do wonders for my reputation."

"That's upstart Presbyter to you."

Babbage stopped. "You didn't—"

"Can't you hear them praising my name?" He gestured behind him at the revellers. "I've been awarded the prize in the engineering competition, and I want you to work for me. It's not as abhorrent as you make out, my friend. Think about it – you have a Difference Engine lying in pieces all over your workshop, an engineer who's run off with your only means to fashion the precision parts, dwindling finances, and a church that's about to desert you for someone less risky. I have a need of your analytical mind and work to occupy you, and what's more I now have the funds and tools to help you complete your masterpiece."

For a second, just a second, Babbage was tempted to accept. But then he looked up, into Brunel's eyes – the eyes of London's newest religious fool – and what he saw stopped him short. Flickering behind the clear surface was that same fanatical gaze he saw in Clement, in Banks, in everyone at the Society. No, Babbage decided. This Industrian nonsense will go to Brunel's head, just like it does to every other learned man, and I'll have no more of it.

He shook his head. "I'm doing just fine on my own, thank you, Isambard."

"As you wish," Brunel tipped his hat. "I must say, I am disappointed. I greatly admire you, Charles, as a man of brilliant intellect who's caught the short end of the Council's stick. You would find plenty of worthwhile endeavours to occupy yourself in my employ."

"I have enough endeavours of my own to employ my intellect for the rest of eternity."

"Very well." Brunel took a thin metal plate from his pocket and threw it at Babbage, who fumbled and dropped it in a puddle. Scrambling to pick it up, he heard the Presbyter say as he departed: "If you change your mind, bring that plate to the Chimney. The offer will still be open to you."

* * *

The walls of the state chambers of Windsor Castle echoed with the sounds of shattering crockery, as King George III of England proceeded to break every bowl in the china cabinet over the head of Alison Cooper, the newest maid.

Brigitte Black hid behind the door and listened, her heart beating hard against her chest. With every shout and scream and smash, silent sobs escaped her, the salty tears blurring her vision. After a while, Alison ceased to scream, but still the tirade raged on.

Finally, the King ran out of plates. But he did not leave Alison. Brigitte pressed herself against the door, struggling to hear what was going on. She could just make out a light sound, like a sucking or … lapping of liquid, before the King let out one final bellow and stormed off to his chambers. Brigitte waved to Cassandra, who tiptoed down the hall to check the way was clear. When Cassandra waved back that the King had gone, Brigitte nudged open the heavy door, and bit back a scream.

Alison lay facedown in a pool of her own blood, her pressed white uniform now stained bright pink. Her arms were spread at either side, the bare skin crisscrossed with weeping gashes, as though she had reached out to embrace the King while he thrust the crockery into her. Ceramic shards stuck out at odd angles from her skin and her matted, tangled hair. Beside her head, a teacup – the only piece of china in the room still intact – sat upright on its saucer, holding a few drops of her blood.

Cassandra let out a great sob, clamping her hands over her mouth as though she might be sick. Brigitte reached out with trembling fingers to touch the girl's shoulder.

"Don't—" Cassandra sobbed. Brigitte didn't blame her. She didn't want to see, either.

As Brigitte’s fingers brushed the raw skin beneath the torn dress, Alison groaned. Perhaps she's still alive. Perhaps we're not too late, after all.

"Alison?" she said, trying to keep her voice even.

Alison groaned again, fainter this time. Brigitte clasped her hand around Alison's shoulder and pulled her back, trying to get her to turn onto her side. Alison's head lolled back, causing some of the shards to fall out and fresh blood to pool from the wounds. Blood dribbled over Brigitte's apron.

But Brigitte barely registered the stain, transfixed as she was by the girl's face. Alison's eyes were half-closed, glassy, and unseeing. The skin on her cheeks hung in torn strips, slivers of Staffordshire sticking out like porcupine quills. Long gashes crisscrossed her neck, as though he’d tried to behead her with the dinnerware. Blood dribbled from cracks in her lips.

Brigitte recoiled in horror. She dropped Alison’s shoulder, and fled to Cassandra’s arms. The two girls met each other's eyes. "Miss Julie," they said in unison.

Brigitte gestured for Cassandra to grab Alison’s legs, and she dug her hands under the girl's shoulders. Shards tinkled on the marble floor. Together, they heaved her off the ground and hobbled into the hall. Between Brigitte's legs, Alison's head flailed back and forth, spraying blood all over the French carpets. Luckily, the maids’ staircase was only down the adjacent hall.

Brigitte held the door open with her back while they manoeuvred Alison's limp body inside. Cassandra bent down to wipe the blood dribbling down her stockings. "This is horrible!" she sobbed.

"He is horrible." Brigitte grunted as she lifted Alison again and started backing down the staircase. "The sickness is making him positively cruel."

"I hoped this time Banks had cured him for good." Cassandra lifted Alison's legs over the corner balustrade. "Do you remember this time last year, when they had to chain him to his chair? Or when he babbled incoherently in the drawing room for fifty-two hours straight? I’d give anything to go back to the babbling. Just last week I overheard two ministers in the drawing room discussing his deplorable behaviour at the Royal Society. Apparently, he sent three Whigs to the Tower for pronouncing the God Morpheus’ name wrong. They fear he won't recover his sanity again."

"As right they should," Brigitte winced as Alison's head knocked against the wall. "At least now maybe they'll talk about a regency, even if the princesses aren't yet old enough. May we all survive long enough to see the end of him."

"May we all." Cassandra looked down at Alison. "Quickly now. Miss Julie will know what to do."

Brigitte kicked open the door at the foot of the stairs, and they dragged Alison's body into the kitchen. A plump, sour-faced woman looked up from the kneading to scold them, but then she saw the blood.

"Out of my way!" She flung the rolling pin over her shoulder, scooped up the unfortunate Alison in one beefy arm, grabbed a wool blanket in the other, and dashed into the sleeping quarters. Brigitte and Cassandra sprinted after her.

Miss Julie flung the blanket over Alison's bed, laid the bleeding girl out upon it, and began picking out the ceramic shards. "Bring me water, a cloth, and the vinegar!" she barked. Cassandra raced off. Brigitte stayed in the doorway, unable to move, her teeth biting down on her fingernails while she watched Miss Julie work.

Cassandra returned with a tub of water, a stack of rags and the bottle of vinegar. Miss Julie soaked one of the rags in the water, rubbed a little vinegar on it, and started mopping up the blood. Alison's eyes fluttered open, and she moaned a little before disappearing again. "It's all right, child," Miss Julie said. "We’ll have that pretty face of yours back in no time."

To Brigitte she said, "most of the cuts are quite shallow, but on her face and neck – these are serious. Tear those rags into bandages."

Her hands numb and shaking, Brigitte picked up one of the rags in the pile and tore jagged, clumsy strips, which Miss Julie soaked in the water and vinegar and wrapped around Alison's head. Alison moaned, lolling her head from side to side. Brigitte knelt beside her, stroked her hand, and whispered her name, but Alison didn’t seem to be aware of her presence.

When Miss Julie had finished, she stood up and wiped her hands on her apron. "I've done all I can, the rest is up to the Gods. Now, what happened?"

"It wasn't her fault, Miss!" Brigitte burst out. "She was dusting the china cabinet, and she slipped from her ladder and dropped a plate. She even managed to rescue it before it smashed on the ground. His Majesty was sleeping in his chair in the corner and she must have startled him awake. He tore from the wheeled chair, tipped the cabinet upside down, and threw all the plates at poor Alison's head, howling all the while. He … he … he—"

"He assailed her even when she was no longer screaming," said Cassandra. "We heard the whole thing from the hall. Oh, Miss Julie, it was horrible!"

Brigitte thought of the strange noises she'd heard, and the blood sloshing at the bottom of that one pristine teacup, and she wondered if she and Cassandra had even grasped the true horror. She hugged her knees to her chest.

"You girls have had a terrible fright." Miss Julie stroked Brigitte’s hair. "And you know what cures the willies – a good run at the wringing machine. There's a load of bedclothes a mile high that needs wringing and hanging, and we’ll be covering Alison’s chores ‘till she recovers, so we’ll need to look lively."

Cassandra sobbed, but Miss Julie would hear none of it. With one last, lingering look at Alison, her head covered in bandages and her tiny body punctured with wounds, Brigitte left the room and returned to her chores.

* * *

When she collapsed into her bed that evening, Brigitte leaned over to watch Alison. Miss Julie had obviously been in to change her bandages, for now only a thin layer covered most of her face. One of her eyes had swollen shut, puffed up like the casing on a mince pie, and the other stared, wide and unblinking, at some spot beyond Brigitte's shoulder.

"Alison?" she whispered.

The eye met hers, wide and frightened. Alison tried to say something, but all that came out was a strangled, hoarse sob. She was the third new maid in as many months, the other two disappearing from the castle in the night, their beds found empty in the morning, and their meagre belongings still stuffed into the pillowcase.

"Hush, it's all right now. You don't have to be afraid. He can't hurt you here—"

Alison screamed, the sound hollow and hoarse, as though she had not the energy to make a sound. But her one eye screwed shut and she opened her mouth again in a gaping, silent screech. Horrified, Brigitte turned away, buried her head under her pillow, and tried to forget.

* * *

For days Alison remained in a state of flux: catatonic one minute, screaming the next. It was as if she lived inside a permanent nightmare, flailing herself against the sheets in a desperate attempt to wake herself up.

Miss Julie had cleaned up the blood and crockery on the third floor. The King hadn’t left his chambers since that horrible morning, though Banks had been attending him night and day. Brigitte hoped he stayed there forever.

After a week, Alison's condition had not changed. Miss Julie took some money from the jar under her bed, and went into the village. She returned with a man in a dark suit, carrying a leather case. They shut the bedroom door while they examined her, so Brigitte could not watch, but she listened through the door and could hear Alison sobbing. Ten minutes later Miss Julie and the man emerged. The housekeeper's usually ruddy complexion had become drawn and white.

"Alison will be going away," she said. Brigitte demanded to know why, but Miss Julie rapped her across the knuckles for insolence. She was sick, Miss Julie said. The man would take her somewhere she could get better.

But Brigitte's mother had gone away with a pale-faced man with a leather case too, and she'd never got better and she'd never come back. Brigitte sobbed and screamed and cursed at Miss Julie, who didn’t scold her this time, but took her in her arms and said it really was for the best. The man returned to the bedroom, bundled the sobbing girl in her sodden sheets, and carried her outside to his waiting carriage. As Brigitte watched through the barred windows, the carriage sped out of the gates and along the castle wall, ‘till it finally disappeared from sight.

Brigitte knew she would never feel safe in the palace again. She and Cassandra cleaned as a pair, one manning the mop or broom or polishing cloth, while the other walked behind, eyes nervously darting into every hall and alcove, checking for signs of the King. Whenever they heard the creaking of the wheeled chair on the bright marble floor they would hide in the nearest room, holding each other and praying to their Gods that he would not find them. Neither wanted to end up as the next victim of the King's rages. Neither wanted her cheeks flayed off like poor Alison.

* * *

"He doesn't want to see no one."

"He'll want to see me." Nicholas stooped down to look through the slot in the door. Peter's face scowled back at him.

"I know it's you, Nicholas. He doesn't want to see you, neither. You could go down if you want, but he's chained an' padlocked the door. Working on something top secret, he is."

"Fine. I'll wait in the church."

Nicholas didn't understand. We have only four months to get the Wall and railway completed. Isambard said we needed to begin immediately, and here I am, ready to work, and Isambard has locked himself away on some whim?

He didn't really know what to do with himself. He had no desire to return to the guesthouse – the compies in the walls were louder than ever – so he lay down on one of the pews at the back of the church, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

He awoke later, to the uneasy feeling of someone standing over his body. The dark shape stood in the shadows just out of view, tall and thin, like a rake leaned against the wall by some careful gardener.

"There you are. I've been waiting for you for hours. What are you messing around with down there? We have a Wall to build—"

"Hello, Nicholas."

It wasn't Brunel. The man stepped out of the shadows and loomed over him, his priestly robes sweeping along the floor and his bulk blocking the light from the gas lamps above. Nicholas sat up and met the man's gaze. The man didn't speak, but simply stared back – his expression hard, his eyes blazing.

Finally, Nicholas said. "And you are—"

"I am Oswald, the eldest son of Henry Williams, Senior. I believe you went to school with my brother."

"However much you blame me for Henry's death," Nicholas said, uneasiness creeping into his head, "I cannot bring him back."

"I'm here to talk about Aaron," Oswald said. "I want you to stay away from him."

"Why?"

"You're not a Stoker, Nicholas, so I don't expect you to understand. Aaron is young, and you—" he gave a sinister smile, "you have not exactly sailed under cover of darkness. Once I heard you had returned I had to know everything there was to know about Nicholas Thorne. You had a brother once, didn't you? But he died in very mysterious circumstances. Very mysterious indeed. And then you came to London, and my brother died, and you conveniently shipped out the very next day. So I looked up the Navy records, and what did I find? You killed a superior officer, and fled into Spain to escape your punishment. But you're in London now, so you've crossed the border illegally, and that can only mean you've left an even bigger mess behind in France than a murdered lieutenant."

He leaned in so close Nicholas could see every lump and furrow of his pock-marked skin. "We're simple folk, us Stokers, but we have our own rules, and we care about our families, Nicholas Thorne. I've already lost one brother because of your presence—"

"Henry's death was an accident—"

"And accidents seem to follow you everywhere, don't they? I won't have Aaron caught up in whatever clandestine dealings you and Brunel have dreamed up." He swept his arm around, indicating the Nave, the Chimney, the flickering lamps, and Brunel's whole operation. "He believes that because I work for him I'm blind to his ambition, but I've seen things, Nicholas Thorne. I've seen. You're planning something, the two of you, and it’s un-Stoker-like, and Aaron will have no part in it."

"But we're not—"

"Also," he added, holding out a thick palm, "I see the bulge of a purse in your pocket. I'll have that, if you please."

"But—"

"If you please, Mr. Rose. I'd hate for the authorities to find out about your presence in this city, and your real name."

Nicholas pulled the purse from his jacket and threw it at the priest. Oswald caught it in midair, pulling it open with eager fingers, and feeling for the coins inside.

"That will do … for now."

"This is absurd. Isambard has done nothing but look out for Aaron. And I hardly intend to—"

But the priest had already turned away. "I trust," Oswald called over his shoulder as he descended the steps towards the priests' cloister, "you won't forget this little meeting."

"Your words, your Holiness, are forever etched into my memory."

"Good." And he was gone, his robes swishing against the stairs.

Nicholas' stomach growled. He thought of the two shillings he'd had in his purse – the last of his money ‘till Brunel could pay him. It will be another night with an empty stomach, another night kept awake with the threats of this new enemy hanging over me. I should have never returned to London.

* * *

James Holman's Memoirs – Unpublished

As declared, the first meeting of the Free-Thinking Men's Blasphemous Brandy and Supper Society took place in my cramped dormitory at Travers College, requiring the members to travel twenty-six miles from London to the grounds of Windsor Castle. I spent some of my meagre savings on a spread of fresh-cut meats and cheese and several varieties of tea, not to mention a fine bottle of brandy.

I raced back and forth between the common room and my quarters, arranging chairs, setting up bowls and spoons and polishing the tea settings. Every time I passed the oak writing desk opposite the door, my fingers brushed the letter that I had leaned against the inlaid drawers. Occasionally I picked it up and fingered it, brushing against the Duke's seal, imagining what it might say.

The letter had arrived that morning, and it could only be a response to my request for extended leave to undertake an adventure. At twenty-two, I was the youngest of the Naval Knights by a good forty years. Although we are only allowed to absent our duties on medical grounds, I had managed, with a recommendation from a doctor friend, to secure a previous extended period of leave to attend medical school in Edinburgh. My new application sought permission to travel extensively across England, though in reality I meant to escape our closed borders and pursue my dream to conduct a circuit of the world.

Of course, I couldn't read the letter, and I didn't want to ask one of the cantankerous Knights to read it for me. So I had been fidgeting in anticipation all afternoon, pacing across the floor and cracking my knuckles in a most un-gentlemanly manner.

Nicholas and Aaron arrived promptly at four, sharing a carriage. Both men handed me their coats – Nicholas' a fine woollen cape in the latest Parisian fashion, worn and thin around the edges; Aaron's the tough canvas of a workmen, reeking of soot – and settled into the mismatched chairs I had placed around the cramped room.

"No Isambard?" I asked, secretly relieved.

Aaron shook his head. "He's been most peculiar these past two days. He's locked himself in his chambers and has not emerged, not even to give orders to begin construction of the Wall. I've no idea what he plans, but he certainly does not wish to leave his workshop for any reason."

"Too bad, he's missing out on this." I presented the brandy to the gentlemen, and poured a glass each for Nicholas, Aaron, and Buckland, who had just arrived by carriage from Oxford.

"It's nothing like the Royal Society lays claim to," I observed, feeling each man's fingers brush mine as they took their glasses. "But I feel our club should enjoy the fineries of intellectual countenance."

"I'll drink to that," said Buckland, raising his glass to his lips. As requested, Buckland's wife had indeed baked a cheesecake, and Nicholas had stolen a box of hot chocolate from the kitchen at his guesthouse. He stirred his brandy into his hot drink and sipped, giving a sigh of contentment.

We exchanged pleasantries while we waited for the final two guests to arrive. When I could no longer contain myself, I slid the envelope across the desk toward Nicholas. "Please?" I said.

Images swam inside my head – images of things I could no longer see but might one day hear, and smell, and feel. Paths unwandered, specimens undiscovered, ingenious peoples whose fascinating customs yearned to be documented …

He slit open the envelope with his bread knife, and read the contents aloud. "… on behalf of His Royal Highness the Duke of Edinburgh, we regret to inform you that—"

I froze, my heart galloping in my chest. I didn't hear the rest of the message. I must have looked horrified, as Nicholas reached across and took my hand.

"I am sorry, James. The current political climate is rather prohibitive to adventuring. Perhaps you will have better luck if you apply again in a few years."

My application had been declined. I would be stuck in Windsor for eternity, my dreams of travel and adventure remaining simply that – dreams.

The food I had so lovingly prepared tasted sour after that loathsome news. Aaron and Nicholas did what they could to keep the conversation light, but my mind returned again and again to my fate, to live out the rest of my days trapped in these infernal chambers with six crotchety old men, the only travel the gruelling hundred steps I must endure twice per day to reach the chapel.

The maid knocked on my door and announced the arrived of my final two guests: Mr. George Lyell, a biologist, and Dr. John Dalton, a chemist currently researching colour-blindness, and the friend whose medical evidence had once succeeded in earning my freedom. Nicholas stood up to introduce himself to the men, and they greeted him warmly, offering their own platters of food for the feast.

When each man had been seated and their glasses filled, Nicholas rapped his knuckles against the chair arm and cried. "I hereby call the first meeting of the Free-Thinking Men's Blasphemous Brandy and Supper Society to order."

"Hear, hear!" Buckland was already halfway through his second glass of brandy.

First, we discussed the problem of keeping minutes of the meetings.

"It's imperative we record our intellectual discussion," said Dalton. "We might well make important observations that need to be recalled. Often, it's when returning to the notes from such discussions that the true nature of a phenomenon becomes apparent."

"But if a written record of our meetings ever fell into the wrong hands …" Buckland's voice trailed off. We all knew what had happened to Babbage.

"The obvious solution," said Aaron, "is some kind of code."

"Aaron is right," said Nicholas. "However, we face the less-common problem that not all of us can read." He paused, and I could feel all eyes in the room fall on my Noctograph – the wooden and string frame I used to guide my hand while I printed – lying unused in my lap.

"Worry not about me, friends," I replied, my cheeks burning despite myself. "I'm used to storing intellectual notes in the recesses of my cranium."

"Nonsense," cried Buckland. "We should not leave any one of our members without access to written notes of our proceedings."

"What about a code printed in raised shapes on a sheet of metal?" said Aaron. "Like rivets on plated steel? That way, Holman could read with his fingers."

"Brilliant!" I beamed.

Nicholas set his glass down on the table. "Aaron, of all of us, you have the most ready access to a workshop of tools. And I have some skill with ciphers from my time in the Navy. Should we two work together to write our code?"

With that decided, Nicholas – who seemed to fall into the role of master of ceremonies – moved on to the main event of the evening. The first member responsible for presenting research was Buckland, who had spent the summer on a caving expedition in Wales where he’d discovered a human female skeleton, stained with red pigment, amongst the bones of the ancient Great Dragons.

Geologists have already established that many large animals from the Dinosauria family – similar to the neckers, iguanodon, compies, swamp dragons, and other creatures abundant in the British Isles today – had died out before the appearance of man. But never before had a human skeleton been found alongside them, and never one who, like Buckland’s, carried unusual rings and amulets made of the bones of the beasts. Buckland was trying to come to terms with the find before he published his paper.

"There is a Roman settlement nearby," said Buckland. "Perhaps she discovered the bones in a nearby cave and carved the jewellery from them."

Lyell shook his head. "The bones would have to be carved when they were still hard. You said the decomposition was the same? It seems your red lady was contemporary with the beast."

"The bestial skeleton is old, probably pre-flood – I mean, pre-catastrophe. I can’t suggest that humans lived then. That's counter to the whole Industrian dogma. You saw what happened to Babbage!"

"Relax, William," said Dalton. "Unlike the Royal Society, it matters not to us what you write in your papers to please the Church. We’ve all written similar plaintive."

Nicholas reached over and topped up Buckland’s brandy glass. "We’re interested in what you, as a scholar of biology and geology, think was going on in that cave."

Buckland sighed. I felt a surge of pity for the man. I too knew what it was like to struggle against the bonds of society.

"The artefacts indicate she lived either before or during the Roman occupation," he finally said. "And when this woman lived, Great Dragons still inhabited England. Not a word of this must leave this room, for it is blasphemy—"

"Great Dragons and humans … together?" Nicholas' voice shuddered. "It is a terrifying thought."

Sensing the panic in Buckland's voice, I changed the subject. "Tell us, Buckland, as the expert on animal behaviour, why do the dragons now come into the city in such force?"

"It's funny that you should ask, James." Buckland shuffled forward in his chair, his voice steadying as he regained control of his emotions. "I've spent the last two days discussing the exact same subject with the new Presbyter."

"Brunel?" Now it was Aaron's turn to lean forward. "What interest does he have in biology?" his voice took on a new urgency.

"I don't rightly know. He spoke little of his own thoughts, only wanting to listen to my theories. Not that I can give a conclusive answer, but I think I may offer the beginnings of an explanation."

"And that is?"

"After the catastrophe that killed off the big dinosaurs – the Great Dragons and the twelve-foot tricorns – the swamp-dragons became the largest and most fierce predators in England. Their skeletons appear uniquely adapted for the fens, explaining why we don't usually see them outside the great swamps. For perhaps fifty years they were hunted near to extinction by the Stokers, their skins and teeth used for expensive clothing and jewellery. My first inference is that since the Stokers moved to the city in 1765, the dragons have been able to rebuild their numbers."

"Makes sense," said Aaron.

"So if the swamps are free to them once more, what would turn them toward the city with such increasing frequency? There could be only two possible explanations. One is that the food in the swamps has become so scarce that they can no longer sustain themselves and so seek to pick off meals in our overpopulated city."

"This doesn't seem likely," said Aaron. "My grandfather used to tell me stories about the swamps. Even when the Stokers left there were plenty of animals and fish the dragons could eat."

"Both Brunel and I thought so, too. The second explanation – and the one that seemed to particularly interest him – is that some other factor – a change in environment, most likely the introduction of another, larger predator – has pushed the dragons from their usual habitat. It was the same in pre-catastrophe times, when tricorn numbers were at their height."

"Because the tricorns ate the trees and reeds, where so many of the dragons’ prey lived?" Dalton asked. Buckland nodded.

"The Great Dragons moved on to other areas. Many of the Great Dragon species found a new niche in the forests of the north, before they too died out."

"But what could be causing the dragons to flee the swamps now?"

Buckland shrugged. "No man of science has cared enough to investigate the swamps. These days, if you want real glory from science, you impress the King by manufacturing a steam-powered shoe-polishing machine, not by venturing knee-deep through England’s bogs."

Aaron spoke up. "My grandfather was the greatest dragon-hunter this country had ever seen, so great, in fact, that it was believed he shot the last dragon in the swamps, and forced the Stokers to come to London to work on the engines. If anybody could figure out what makes the dragons flee the swamps, a Stoker could."

"Are you volunteering, Mr. Williams?" Buckland laughed.

"Maybe I am."

* * *

The discussion of catastrophe-theory, dinosaurs, and Buckland's mysterious red girl continued around him, but Nicholas listened with only half an ear. He watched Aaron, whose intent expression belied the enthusiasm with which he took part in the conversation.

Thinking back to his encounter with Oswald the previous evening made the blood boil in Nicholas' veins. Who is that man to dig up my past? How dare he try to keep me from the one man who understands what I am? After tossing and turning for several hours during the night, replaying the conversation over in his mind, Nicholas had decided to ignore Oswald. After all, the man had no real power. He would tell Isambard of Oswald's threats as soon as he emerged from his workshops, and Isambard would deal with Oswald as any religious leader might deal with a wayward priest.

Inside Nicholas' head, the stray thoughts of animals flicked in and out, as they did every minute of every day. The compies in the basement, the birds sitting on the eaves outside, the sheep grazing on the slope behind the college – these mundane manifestations blurred together in a constant layer of noise that filled his head, pushing aside all other thoughts save the one he chose to concentrate on. He stared across the room at Aaron, knowing he must hear the noises also, knowing he must, at that moment, be exerting great energy to push them down.

Why then could he possibly want to go to the swamps?

Aaron had insisted they share a carriage on the way to Windsor Castle. Nicholas, not seeing Oswald anywhere in the vicinity, did not refuse. He had so many questions, about Aaron, about his grandfather, about his life growing up with Brunel. Oswald's words echoed in his head as he bombarded Aaron with questions, not knowing if he'd ever get another chance.

"My father resented my grandfather," said Aaron. "He was a hunter too, but he didn't have the sense. He felt it was my grandfather's fault we had to leave the swamps. Not one of his children has even seen the swamps – not even Oswald. To a proud Stoker like my father, that's abhorrent. But Grandfather knew he was only doing what was best for the Stokers, for our survival."

"What happened to your grandfather?"

"He died when I was five. The pox got to him. Many Stokers died of it then – it seemed to rise from the swamp mists. Now we die in machinery accidents, of dust in the lungs, but nothing much else has changed. He was the only one who knew—"

"What happened then?"

"My father followed soon after, and my brothers attempted to look after me while Mother drank herself to death. No one much cared for me – Henry was always the favourite. Even though we're twins, we were nothing alike. He was strong, built for hard labour in the furnace rooms, and I was smaller and had a way with animals – a useless skill in Engine Ward. After Henry died, Oswald and Peter turned nasty, especially when they discovered I'd become friends with Isambard. After Mother died, I went to live with Quartz, and good riddance to them."

"They care about you, though, in their own way." If blackmail could ever be construed as caring.

Aaron shook his head. "They care about keeping their priesthood, even if it means working for a man they abhor. They care about our family name, for what it's worth in Stoker society. They don't want me to mess everything up. It would be much better for all concerned if I just went away. But I can't leave Isambard."

He'd changed the subject then, and said no more of it. And now, to hear him talk about the swamps with such reverence, Nicholas began to see the cause of the silent fury that bubbled beneath Aaron's skin. He could discern it, but he didn't understand it.

Nicholas was in London because he was running away … he'd never really stopped running since he'd left his father's estate twelve years ago. But Aaron had lived in London his whole life. He'd known the peace that came from surrounding himself in high walls, but still he yearned for the swamps – a spiritual homeland he'd never even seen. Nicholas could not fathom why Aaron would want to abandon all he had here for the wild, a place which must be torturous to minds like theirs.

We have everything we could ever want, right here in London. Here we can dull the unceasing onslaught of voices. And more than that, you have family. You have work. You have Brunel. What would make you wish to leave all this?

* * *

The carriage dropped Aaron back outside Engine Ward just as the evening's celebrations inside began in earnest. As he picked his way through the darkness of the tunnels, he could hear the talking and laughing filtering down from the streets. The Stokers – joined by some of the other sympathetic factions within Engine Ward – had been celebrating Brunel's victory for three days straight. They dragged wood and rubbish – anything that would burn – into the cooking pits and lit a towering bonfire.

As Aaron emerged from the subterranean world behind the Chimney, a wave of heat washed over his body. He shielded his eyes from the bright inferno that leapt unencumbered from the central courtyard of Engine Ward. The press of people immediately consumed him, bearing him against his will into the joyous crowd.

"Aaron!"

Someone grabbed his arm. It was Quartz, his face flushed with booze. Laughing, Aaron slapped the old man's back and clung to him, allowing Quartz to lead him closer to the blaze, where the women crowded around, balancing cooking pots filled with meats and stews, which they placed in the embers ‘till the smells rose over the whole camp. Aaron waved to his wife, Chloe, who waved back as she leaned her pregnant belly against the pot, lifting the lid on her creation and dishing stew into several outstretched bowls. Generations of working in the swamps or with the machines had rendered most Stokers without smell or taste, yet even the most ancient, hardened worker smelt this particular meal.

Men dragged out musical instruments that had gathered dust for years, and the children skipped and sang the old folk tunes, including at least three renditions of "The Stoker and the Navvy’s Wife". Even Quartz had got into the spirit of things, although Quartz could be guaranteed to get into the spirit of any occasion provided there was a free flow of alcohol.

"It's amazing," said Aaron, helping himself to a mug full of stew and clambering behind Quartz up onto the leaning roof of a nearby shack. "When we first showed the engine, most of the Council wanted to see him hanged for daring to call himself an engineer, and now, he's the most celebrated engineer of all."

"Mmmmph," Quartz didn't look so impressed. He slugged back the dregs of his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Never you mind all this, boy. After the party dies down, then we'll see what Isambard will make of all this attention. And where is old Iron-Bags tonight, eh? I thought he would have shown up for his own party."

"I don't rightly know. He's been locked up in the workshop ever since the announcement. Have you any clue what he's doing?"

"I wouldn't know. Us mere mortals aren't allowed within those hallowed walls." Quartz scowled at the Chimney.

"Isambard's work is good for the Stokers, Quartz."

"Bollocks. Isambard's work is good for Isambard. The sooner you understand that, the better off you'll be. This city embraces him not because he is a Stoker, but because he has overcome us to become one of them. We're not even allowed to work on this new Wall of his, since it stretches outside Engine Ward."

"If you knew him—"

"You've always been in his shadow, Aaron. I never liked that boy – too much thinking. Too many secrets locked up in his scheming head. Three days a Presbyter and he's already as slippery as the rest of the priests," Quartz growled. "No good will come of this, mark my words, lad. He's sending me away, you know."

"What?" Aaron hadn't heard anything about that.

"Back to the swamps. He's building some fan-dangled railway from London to Plymouth, through the worst of the dragon country. It runs on air-pressure or some such nonsense. Bloody stupid idea, if you ask me—"

"The Atmospheric Railway?" It had been one of Isambard's more ambitious schemes, an idea that he'd submitted to the Council for funding on three separate occasions without success. Instead of steam, the trains were propelled by vacuum pressure through tubes running along the centre of the track. The train was controlled by opening and closing flaps within the vacuum tube.

"It's a farce, Aaron. He needs an engineering project to appease the Council, to hide what he's really doing. He wants to find out what's scaring the dragons out of the swamp. He sent for me yesterday evening. Right into his lordly manor I had to go so he could inform me I am to be one of the foremen in charge of overseeing this little venture."

Aaron remembered what Buckland had said earlier that evening about Brunel's sudden interest in his biological theories. He wondered why Isambard hadn't told him about the Atmospheric Railway.

Quartz read his expression. "See, he's not one of us anymore. Stokers belong in swamps, Aaron. Engineers belong in the city. He's getting rid of us to become one of them."

"I'm certain he doesn't mean that. Besides, I thought you wanted to return to the swamps?"

"Not for what he's paying me," Quartz spat. "There are no lodgings for us, nothing left of our old camps. We're expected to build our own from the measly stipend he's granted us. There's no roads to carry in equipment, nor boatmaster that will dare venture that far into dragon-infested waters. And don't you forget, if Buckland is right about the reason the dragons are leaving the swamps, there's something in those swamps so fearsome not even the dragons want to face it. I don't know what I'm going to find out there. At least in the city, I know exactly the nature of the boy who dares to lord it over me like he's the Duke of bloody Gloucester. Out there, your brothers will be in charge."

"Oswald and Peter?"

"Aye, and a horde of their priestly vermin in the bargain. I'd rather take my chances with the dragons here than fall under the command of that lot."

"Be careful around them, Quartz. They may be priests, but they're clever, especially Oswald. Don’t get on their bad side."

Quartz spat in reply. They sipped their soup in silence. Finally Aaron said "When do you leave?"

"Apparently we're waiting for a factory at Swindon to deliver the sleepers so we can start laying the track for this bloody railway through the middle of a dragon-infested swamp. No Navvies are building out that way, His Lordship said. Of course they aren't; they're far too sensible."

"I'll miss you, Quartz."

"Yes, you will." Quartz poured himself another drink.

* * *

His head swimming with too much drink, Aaron clambered down from the roof and pushed his way up the crowded steps to the Chimney. The stern face of his brother Oswald glared at him through the door.

"Stokers are forbidden to enter."

"Open the door, Oswald. I'm in no mood for this."

"I'm under specific orders not to disturb him."

"Then don't disturb him. I'll be the one rapping on his door, not you. If you don't let me pass I'll just go down through the tunnels, and I can't be responsible for who, or what, follows me."

The door swung open, and Aaron brushed past his brother, swinging the grating open on the elevator.

"Aaron," Oswald began. "You can't continue to behave in this manner—"

"In what manner?" Aaron whirled around to face his brother. "In what exact manner are you referring?"

"This exact manner, brother. I'm not your enemy, you know. I'm the head of this family, and it's my duty to keep an eye on you."

"What are you talking about?"

"I've seen you with that Nicholas Thorne, or Rose, as he's calling himself these days. He's dangerous, Aaron."

"Henry's death was an accident. He didn't have that cursed dragon of his under control. You can't blame Nicholas—"

"If he's so innocent, why is he using a fake name on his drawings? Who is this Nicholas Rose? Did he tell you about his brother – the one that died on his father's estate in a most curious manner mere weeks before Nicholas showed up in London without a penny to his name? Did he tell you about his dishonourable discharge from the Navy? Did he tell you about his dealings with French fanatics or his illegal crossing into England—"

"I don't have time for this." Aaron jumped in the elevator, slammed the grating closed and stomped on the lever without another word.

As he wound his way down into the earth, he felt the voices slipping away – the compies and insects and rodents that hid in the corners of the church. His mind calming, becoming clear, made Oswald's protests and Isambard's behaviour seem all the more unusual.

The elevator came to a shuddering stop. Squinting in the darkness, Aaron fumbled for the entrance, and found that – as it had been for three days – the heavy iron door had been pulled shut, locked with three heavy padlocks, and swathed in lengths of chain bolted by yet more padlocks. Aaron picked up one of the chains and slammed it against the metal door, the sound echoing up the elevator shaft.

"Isambard, open up. I need to talk to you!"

Silence. Aaron slammed down the chain again, giving the door a kick for good measure. He was just about to call out again, when a muffled voice called to him from the other side of the door.

"I'm pushing the key under the door," Isambard said. A second later, Aaron heard a small metal object scrape across the floor. He bent down and retrieved a ring of keys. Responding to Isambard's shouted instructions, Aaron fumbled with each lock in turn, finally dropping all three loops of chain to the floor.

Leaning all his weight on his shoulder, and with Brunel pulling from the other side, he finally inched the door open wide enough for him to squeeze through. He found himself in total darkness, save a short flickering of light from the far end of the workbench.

"Nicholas is arriving shortly. There’s a lantern on the shelf to your left. You’ll need it." Brunel pushed the door almost shut, plunging the workshop even deeper into darkness. A thin sliver of light from the lamps in the shaft outside lit up the shelves near the door.

Aaron fumbled for the argand lamp, lit it, and directed it across the floor of the workshop. He saw nothing out of the ordinary – the long benches covered in various metal shapes and protrusions lined each wall. At the far end, Brunel's furnace – usually lit, giving a glowing light and warmth to the room – stood cold, the wingback chair Brunel had pulled in front of it empty of the usual piles of books and drawings.

Aaron squinted into the darkness, a sudden fear seizing his chest. "Isambard, what's going on?"

"Why did you come down here, Aaron?"

The question hung in the damp air, carrying with it a twinge of malice. Aaron shivered, but pressed ahead with his inquiry. "Quartz told me you're sending a crew of Stokers into the swamps to begin building the Atmospheric Railway?"

"That's correct. With the money from the Society and the Royal contract, I can finally afford to realise some of my projects. Once complete, the line will provide a speedy goods route between London and Plymouth. I'm hoping the men will be able to leave within the week."

"Lying doesn't become you, Presbyter." Anger rose in Aaron’s throat. "You've been talking to Buckland."

Isambard smiled. "Buckland talks too much. It's true, Aaron. I want to find out why the dragons are coming to London. It could aid the construction of the Wall, and the Wall absolutely must work. Anything that aids it …" he shrugged. "It's a secret because I don't want to reveal my intentions to the rest of the sects. It will make me appear weak, unsure, especially in front of Stephenson. I don't see what has you so upset—"

"Isambard, you know how much I want to go to the swamps. Why didn't you ask me? Quartz is old. I fear for his health—"

"Quartz's health?" Brunel laughed. "The man has more grog in his system than blood. It's the swamp that best look out for him!"

"You know I'm more comfortable around animals than I've ever been around machines, and I've always wanted to see where my grandfather hunted—"

"Of course. Aaron Williams Senior – the Great Dragon Hunter. Clearly, he wasn't as great as everyone thought, or we wouldn't be building this Wall to keep out the dragons he supposedly hunted to extinction."

Aaron gritted his teeth. "All the same, I'd like to go."

Brunel shook his head. "That's out of the question. I need you here, Aaron. You're the only one I trust. I have another job for you, one that's even more important."

"I don't want your job. You're not listening to me. You only care about what's right for Isambard. I want to be with Quartz, I want to go to the swamps."

Brunel reached out in the darkness and clasped Aaron's hand.

"As always, my friend, you are right. I thought this was what we had been working for. We're on the cusp of creating a better life for the Stokers, and I need you by my side."

Memories flooded Aaron's mind. Peering in the windows of the engineering schools, watching Isambard scrawl complex formulas onto scraps of paper and old bits of tin. The two of them, working away in silence in their secret workshop, building the locomotive that would make Isambard great. The way Isambard had embraced him when they finally got it to work. "This is only the beginning," he'd said. "The beginning of a new life for the Stokers. And you'll be here to live it with me, Aaron. Whatever changes, you'll be here."

Aaron said nothing.

"Aaron?"

He sighed. "Of course, Isambard. I won't leave you, not if you need me. What is this job?"

* * *

His hands shoved deep in his pockets, his face down to avoid eye contact, Nicholas pushed his way through the crowded, rowdy streets behind the Chimney. Here in the Stoker camps, the buildings leaned inward, the tips of the tin roofs pressed up against each other – a precarious maze of well-balanced scrap. Stokers filled every available space, dancing and drinking together as they celebrated the dawn of a new life. Steam rose from raised vents in the pavement, obscuring the narrow alleys with thick, haunting mist. Occasionally, a tongue of flame shot from the sewer gratings, and the revellers jumped back to avoid being singed, laughing all the while.

It was a mistake to come here. He would never find Aaron in this crowd. Someone crashed into him, slamming him against the wall of a shack. The drunk picked himself up, calling an apology with a cackle. His fetid breath wavered past Nicholas' face.

He'd no sooner righted himself when he leapt out of the way, landing on his hands and knees in the mud, having narrowly avoided crashing into a speeding carriage pulled by two cackling youths. Its cargo of two fattened pigs screeched in terror and kicked at their wooden cage. Nicholas was picking himself up when one well-timed kick to his jaw sent him reeling into the mud again.

"Here, let me 'elp you up."

It was a woman. She was young – not a year past eighteen – her eyes sparkling from her soot-caked face. Her clothes, like all Stokers’, were made of rough canvas and leather, patched and repaired in several places. She smiled at him, and her face seemed impossibly kind. He held out a hand and she pulled him to his feet and wiped the mud from his coat and ushered him into a nearby courtyard, less crowded, probably because it was filled with barrels of foul-smelling alcohol. He gripped the wall, his head spinning from the stench, hoping he wouldn't pass out.

His rescuer, who seemed not to mind the smell at all, squinted at him as she wrung out a rag in the well and dabbed at his clothes. "You're dressed awful fine for Engine Ward. You ain't from around here, are you?"

He shook his head. A loud mob of men entered the courtyard, grabbing one of the barrels and rolling it out toward the street, splashing the foul liquid over Nicholas and the woman. "I'm looking for Aaron Williams!" he yelled over the din.

"What?"

"Aaron Williams! He's a Stoker—"

"—and a right bloody pain in the arse" she smiled. "You must be Nicholas. He's talked of little else since he met you. I'm Chloe, his wife. He was talking to Quartz last I saw him, out by the bonfire – apparently he's gone up to the Chimney to have words with Isambard."

"What about?"

She shrugged. "Quartz said he was hopping mad. If you see him, tell him he's not to come home if he's had even a drop o' this." She gestured to the barrels behind her. "I only just cleaned up the mess from his last revels."

"Thank you. I shall look for him there. It's a pleasure, ma'am." He tipped his hat to her. She gave his hand a push.

"Don't you ma'am me. We're Stokers out here, scum the lot of us."

Mounting the Chimney steps three at a time, Nicholas rapped on the door, reeling when he saw the hard eyes of Oswald staring back at him through the door.

"Aaron is down in the workshop," the priest said.

"Isambard is expecting me," Nicholas said, passing a paper through the hole in the door. "He sent this message to my lodgings this morning. If you don't let me in, he will suspect something, and you will be questioned. I can hardly do wrong to Aaron in his presence."

Oswald snatched away the message. Scowling even deeper, he slammed the hatch shut – nearly taking Nicholas' fingers with it – and swung open the door.

"Don't forget our little talk," Oswald growled.

"I couldn't possibly," said Nicholas as he stepped into the elevator.

Once the elevator had creaked into the shaft and he was out of sight of Oswald, Nicholas withdrew his notebook from his coat pocket. Bound in leather and tied up with heavy twine, this book was on his person at all times. In the back, he'd written out a simple code for the Free-Thinking Men's Blasphemous Brandy and Supper Society, and he knew Aaron would want to see it. Tonight might be his only opportunity, while they were together in Brunel's presence.

When he reached the bottom he was surprised to find Isambard's door, which had been locked for the last three days, was ajar. Inside he could hear voices – Aaron's and Isambard's. They sounded as if they were fighting.

"You're not listening to me," Aaron hissed. "You only care about what's right for Isambard. I want to be with Quartz, I want to go to the swamps—"

Nicholas recoiled. Aaron wants to leave the city? He remembered how Aaron talked about the swamps with such reverence. What could possibly be there for you, my friend, besides mud and the unending clamours of the voices? Why would you leave the city now, when we have just met each other?

The voices lowered, and seemed friendly again. He coughed loudly.

"Ah, Nicholas." Brunel called from inside the darkened workshop. "Come in."

The furnace was unlit; the only light a faint glow from an Argand lamp in Aaron's hand. He squinted at his friend in the darkness, saw his face set into a stony expression.

"Isambard was just informing me of his secret project," Aaron said, his tone even.

"You're building the London railway?" asked Nicholas.

"The King wants you to build a railway in London? Isambard, this is—"

"Amazing. Miraculous, Incomprehensible, I know!" Isambard's excitement filled the room. "It's only a small section of track, but it's a start. He wants me to build a railway from Windsor Castle into Buckingham House. It will be the first railway inside the city. Apart from the first mile of track across the castle grounds, the entire railway will be underground. And it must be built in four months."

"That's preposterous!" Aaron said. "You've only built one railway before, and that hardly stretched a mile, and it took a lot longer than four months."

"Especially not when work on the Wall begins next week," added Nicholas. "That too shares that same impossible deadline, and since it stretches outside the Ward and will be in full view of the public, the Stokers are not permitted to work on it. Where are we going to find men?"

"I am aware of both these issues. That's why I've been holed up in here for the last three days, trying to come up with a solution. Now that you're both here, I can show you what I've created."

Brunel reached over and, with fingers that seemed unusually cold as they brushed Nicholas' arm, pushed the light toward the far corner of the room. There stood two machines that made Nicholas recoil in fright.

"Isambard—"

"What is that?" Aaron demanded.

"You can approach them." Brunel grabbed Nicholas by the shoulders and dragged him across the room.

"They look so … so …"

"I know. Aren’t they beautiful?" Brunel reached out and stroked the belly of one of the machines, angling the light to give Nicholas and Aaron a better view. "I call them my Boilers. They will revolutionise the manufacturing process."

Each Boiler stood a little higher than Brunel – round furnace bellies balanced on metal skids, with a complex labyrinth of wheels, tubes and gauges protruding from the top. Their shape appeared too natural, too human, to be made of iron, but iron they were, and ingeniously designed. Clawlike limbs extended from the furnace body, and where one would expect a head, Brunel had given each a double chimney. More dials and gauges protruded from the rear of the furnace, and Nicholas recognised some of the controls from Brunel's steam locomotive designs – a regulator, a water glass. Obviously prototypes, the metal was rough, unfinished, but Nicholas immediately grasped the basic idea.

"They’re … workers?"

Brunel nodded. "There aren’t men enough in England to finish the railway and Wall as soon as the King wants them, but with machines to work day and night, and men like Aaron to run them, we can do it. These are just prototypes, of course, but fifty units are being finished in the workshops as we speak. I plan to have the first Boiler workgang operational by the end of the week. Watch."

He opened the furnace of the nearest one and stoked it up. It spluttered to life, churning steam from its double chimney. Brunel worked the controls from behind the Boiler, stepping aside when it lurched forward. Aaron stumbled back, tripping over Nicholas as the Boiler barrelled toward them, claws outstretched, steam billowing from its mechanical neck.

Panicked, Nicholas rolled out of the Boiler's path, dragging Aaron back with him. But the Boiler wasn't after them. It tore straight past Nicholas and picked up a length of pipe from the bench behind him. Holding the pipe in its clawed hands, it bent the length into a perfect U, fitted a pressure gauge on the end, then fitted it to another pipe protruding from the wall, tightened the whole apparatus, and stood back, awaiting its next instruction.

"See?" Brunel clapped his hands together. "The Boiler will repeat that task, again and again, until he is given new instructions. Aren't they the most amazing invention that ever your eyes did see?"

Aaron grabbed the lamp off the bench and directed the light toward his friend. Nicholas watched Isambard's eyes gleaming with excitement. He knew that look well – the expression of pure glee Isambard always wore when he’d found the solution to a particularly perplexing problem.

"Isambard …" Nicholas' head spun. He hadn't expected this.

Aaron spoke first, his voice dripping with anger. "If these machines can build the railway and the Wall, they could also run the furnaces of Engine Ward, and then what will the Stokers do? Isambard, your own people will no longer have any place in London."

"Nonsense. These are machines, Aaron. They need men to run and manage them. These Boilers merely enable the Stokers to take their rightful place – as overseers, foreman, and innovators in their own right."

"I don't know, Isambard. The men won't be happy to share their work with these … these machines”, replied Aaron.

A note of irritation crept into Isambard's voice. "I thought you’d be happy. You’re the first to see them, of course, apart from the King, who approved the design. He thought them marvellous."

"The King is, it has been firmly established, stark raving mad."

"Well, what do you think, Nicholas?" Isambard snapped.

"I …" Nicholas fought for words. "They are marvellous. I’m simply trying to understand how their use will affect society. Machines that take orders from a master? Nothing like this has ever been conceived before."

"Think of your own people, Isambard," said Aaron. "Their livelihoods depend on the work you and the other engineers give them. With machines to do that work for them, our men cannot feed themselves. How do you expect them to embrace these terrifying metal beasts?"

"That’s where you come in."

"I don’t understand."

"The men listen to you, Aaron. I need you to get them to see the brilliance of the Boilers. You will oversee the construction of the King's new railway. It must be kept secret from everyone – our men, Quartz, the priests, the Royal Society. Everyone. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

"You need to handpick ten Stokers to work on the project and learn the mechanics of the Boilers. Choose the most intelligent and trustworthy men you know. They don't have to be strong – the Boilers will do most of the work."

"But the Stokers can't work outside the Ward. How will we—"

"The King has granted special permission in this instance." Brunel grinned. "Our fortunes are already changing, Aaron."

"I lead men, Isambard, not machines—"

Something tore Nicholas' attention away from the conversation. In the darkness of Nicholas' mind, a voice prickled at the edge of his consciousness, weak and in pain. It was a compie – the tiny mind barely a whisper within Nicholas' jumbled thoughts. He wouldn't have noticed it at all, except that the voices never came to him down here. The workshop was too deep, too well fortified. What's happened to you, little fella? Somehow, it must have found its way into Brunel's workshop and got itself trapped beneath some equipment.

He tried to push aside the little voice and concentrate on his two friends. Isambard was explaining the particulars of the railway to a stony-faced Aaron.

"We're creating a secret branch of the railway line, stretching through the old sewer tunnels below Buckingham Palace. You'll be laying the track in those tunnels, widening them when necessary, and constructing a platform in the specially prepared room under the palace."

"All within four months? I must learn the secrets of these machines and instruct them to build an underground railway all within four months? I don’t have a choice, do I?"

"There’s always a choice, Aaron." Brunel held out his hand. Nicholas watched Aaron take it, feeling odd, as though he were witnessing something private. "You choose our friendship, or you choose to shun me, a Presbyter, which is heresy. You decide."

He said it with lightness, but Aaron's face contorted in anger. Nicholas was stunned by the thinly veiled threat. A feeling of dread settled in his stomach. Brunel continued to talk, his voice rising with excitement as he discussed the Boilers, the new railway, his plans for the Wall. He stroked the barrel of the Boiler again, his eyes betraying a tenderness Nicholas had never seen before.

He seems as I’ve always remembered him: driven, intelligent, excitable. But these Boilers … I don't trust them—

Help me, the tiny mind called, forcing out his own thoughts. Nicholas felt it trying to voice the thought, to scream out to its brothers, but it couldn't. Nicholas' chest clenched as he felt what the compie felt – the terror of dying alone.

Nicholas tried to send a comforting thought back, but it was as if his sense met a wall of iron – he could not push the thought out. Inside his head, the compie screamed.

He watched Isambard tinker with the mechanisms on the back of the Boiler's neck, leaning his whole body over as if embracing the metal worker. Nicholas felt like screaming, too.

* * *

After their meeting with Brunel ended, Nicholas and Aaron took the elevator together. Nicholas patted the faded notebook under his arm. "I was hoping to find you tonight. I've made a draft of our code for you to look at, but Oswald does not want me to see you—"

"So he's been at you, too? I wouldn't worry about him. He won't risk his comfortable life enacting any threats – not that he can do much from the swamps, anyway," said Aaron, his tone dark. "Chloe won't expect me home for many hours yet. Not with all this grog and merrymaking in the streets. I'll take you to a workshop, and we'll look at it together."

"I met her tonight. I went to look for you in the Stoker quarter, which turned out to be a mistake. She saved me from being decapitated by a pig."

Aaron sighed. "She's a good woman. She tolerates my drinking and my temper, and that's no easy task sometimes. She does not know about the voices, but she suspects … something. This is why she worries so. Isambard asks so much of me, and I wish—" He shook his head. "Never mind."

Oswald was waiting in the Nave when they stepped out of the elevator. Neither man said a word to him, but as they crossed the Nave together, Nicholas could feel Oswald’s eyes boring into his back. Aaron pretended not to see him, joking with Nicholas as he pulled open the door and stepped out into the night.

Nicholas followed Aaron through the dark, labyrinthine streets, littered with scrap and moaning bodies – wallowing in the night's libations, or rutting together in full sight of their neighbours. Through the tightly packed warren of Stoker shacks, they emerged in front of a row of low warehouses, their windows cracked and lewd graffiti scrawled across every surface. Pushing open the door to the first, Aaron said, "These have been empty since the Navvies moved up north. We won't be seen in here."

Aaron lit the Argand lamps along the walls, while Nicholas spread his papers out on the long, low bench occupying the centre of the warehouse. "I went to the British Museum today and saw some Sumerian tablets containing a curious, indecipherable script – each glyph made of straight sections and triangles – easy for the ancients to write with a triangular chisel or reed pen. I thought adopting this idea for our code might provide James enough distinction for each letter."

Aaron measured each symbol with his finger. "I think this could work," he said. "Is it a simple substitution cipher or something more complex?"

Nicholas showed him the code sheet. "I've based the key to the code on the name of our club, and have included several shorthand symbols for common words and letter combinations."

Aaron frowned at the page. "Some of these won't work when I emboss the plate. Hand me a pen."

They worked for hours by lamplight, engrossed with the intricacies of the code language. Aaron embossed a series of plates using the code, ready to show to James at the next meeting. As the early rays of sunlight danced on the glass shards in the windows, Aaron said: "Did you know he was creating those … Boilers?" He spat the word, as though it would poison him.

"I knew he was attempting to devise a solution to the King's impossible timeline. But I had no idea of the extent … already his priesthood has changed him."

Aaron shook his head. "He's the same Isambard, all right. He's been waiting, Nicholas, storing up all his cunning for the day he was given that first shred of power. He is relentless, and poverty can no longer curb his ambition."

"Aaron, do you truly wish to leave the city?"

"So you heard my conversation with Isambard." Aaron's voice was hard. "It has been my dream since I was a child to be with the animals in the swamps, like my grandfather. I see no reason to stay in a city that will soon replace me with a machine."

"But why? I grew up in the countryside near Salisbury. The voices beat relentlessly against my skull, and I longed for peace. Every moment I spend in the Engine Ward surrounded by steel is a celebration of clarity."

"It is funny how men always yearn for that which they do not have. I spent my entire life within these walls, yet desire nothing more than to escape to the countryside, to embrace the voices and hold them to me. I stay only because of Isambard." He gave a bitter laugh. "He needs me as much as I need him. At least, he used to."

Something had been bothering Nicholas. "Why have you never told Isambard about the sense?"

"My grandfather told me never to tell a soul, and I honoured his plea. Besides, Isambard would see me differently – I would become a curiosity to him, some natural principle he had to understand. I need his friendship, not his scrutiny. Isambard can see my great affinity for animals, and that is enough. But you did not tell Isambard, either?"

"I was afraid. When I came to London," Nicholas said, "I was a fugitive. I killed … there was an accident on our estate, and my brother died. If my father found me, he would've seen me hanged. I hated myself, hated the power that had caused me so much pain and had cost me my family and my future. I did not want to be anything but a normal boy, and so when Marc Brunel found me and offered to teach me at his school, I saw a chance to forge a new life, one where no one knew what I had done or what I was capable of doing."

"But Mr. Holman—"

"James found out later, when we were stationed together on the Cleopatra. He caught me one night on the prow of the boat, calling up a sea-necker. But that was back when things were different, when things seemed hopeful." He gulped. "But we can trust James – he knows a thing or two about secrets himself."

"And so does Isambard," said Aaron. "But I'm not sure I would trust him with this."

"Isambard has been nothing but a friend to us."

"We've been friends for ten years now, long enough for me to realise he doesn't see friendship the same way you or I do. Isambard sees people – friends, enemies, associates – as parts of a great machine, one he can re-forge and bend to his will. When his face lights up, like it did over the Boilers tonight, that's when he's at his most remarkable, and his most dangerous. We're part of his plan, Nicholas, and our own hopes and dreams matter not. He's sending Quartz away to the swamps – along with Oswald and Peter and some of the other Stokers. Quartz is the old man you met in the tunnels." Aaron paused. "He's looked after me ever since my parents died. Isambard knows how important he is to me, how old and frail he's getting, but he's still sending him away. And Quartz says the Atmospheric Railway is a cover – Isambard wants him to figure out what's made the dragons leave the swamp."

Nicholas leaned forward. "That explains his sudden interest in Buckland's theories."

Aaron nodded. "And these Boilers … they're only the beginning. He's planning something big, and I can't fathom what."

Nicholas shuddered, remembering something. "I heard a voice down there."

"In Isambard's workshop? No animal could find its way down there. Not without us seeing it. Besides, I didn't hear anything."

"I know what I heard," Nicholas said, remembering the suffering that had washed over him. "It was a compie, and it was in great pain. But it was faint, as though I were hearing it through water. I could not return thoughts to it. I could not calm it—" His voice cracked. "It was dying, Aaron. And I know we both hear animals die all the time, but it was in so much pain, terrible pain, and just hearing the one voice, isolated like that—"

"It doesn't make any sense," said Aaron, pulling the door shut behind them.

"No," said Nicholas. "It doesn't. Since Isambard was made Presbyter, nothing makes any sense at all."

* * *

The train chugged through green hills, rolling across the countryside and through green woods. Here, apart from the heathen priests in their bright robes pushing engineering tracts into grubby hands, and the shrines to Great Conductor overlooking every station, the north of England seemed barely affected by the country's Industrian fanaticism. At times, the locomotive pulled them into forests so dense and wild Jacques could swear they were back in the foothills of Mount Canigou, where he'd been hiding for the past four years.

For most of the day, he was the only person in the first-class cabin. This pleased him, for he didn't much care to converse with the uncouth English and give his origin away. A Frenchman outside of Meliora would find few friends in England. He passed his time by staring out the window and imagining how he might like to kill Nicholas when he finally found him.

At the tenth stop, a large man, his jacket buttons stretched tightly across his belly, clambered on board, lifted his nose at the four empty benches and settled himself in the bench opposite Jacques, placing his satchel down on the cushion beside him. He tugged a tin from his pocket and popped several mints into his mouth, smacking them against his cheeks in an undignified fashion.

He leaned over and offered the sticky tin to Jacques, who declined with the shake of his head, hoping the rotund man would get the hint.

But the man seemed anxious to talk. "Do you come by train often?" he asked, his accent betraying his northern roots.

Jacques shook his head. "This is my first time," he said in English, hoping the man wouldn't question him about his obvious French accent.

But the man seemed more interested in talking about the train. "She's a beauty, yes? She is my Rocket – every piston and rivet is of my design. She'll have you in Liverpool before suppertime, for she's the fastest way to travel in all the Empire. Not that we have much of an empire, anymore."

"You made this train? We had no such transportation in France."

"Nothing like this in all the world, my friend." The man extended a hand. "But soon there will be. I see no reason why France, or Spain or even Norway can't have their own locomotives, just as soon as our blasted King gets over his rudding religious bollocks and allows us to trade with Europe again. But forgive me – I've not introduced myself. Robert Stephenson, at your service. I run the only railway company in England, servicing the mills at Manchester, the northern mines, right down to the Liverpool port, and we're hoping to get a line in all the way to London by the end of next year."

"Pity. I'm travelling to London. I would have liked to go all the way by train."

"I'm going to London also. I could share a coach with you, if you wish, after we disembark. Not that either of us look like men who need to share, but I could do with the company." He paused. "Do you pay much attention to church politics?"

"Not I," replied Jacques, who had long since given up hope of a silent journey, but wasn’t about to reveal his identity to this portly stranger. "Too many churches, too many gods and Messiahs and priests – I can't wrap my head around it. I'd rather admire the machines without worshipping the men, if you don't mind my saying."

"Not at all. It all seems a load of Oxford poppycock to me, and I'm the Messiah of one of the bloody things. The churches run a false economy right out of the heart of London. Out here where the real industry is, it's business that matters, not any of this religious nonsense. It's when you start mixing the two you get into trouble. But try telling that to my men."

"Your men?"

"A Messiah has got to have men, sir. Mine are the Navvies – they're good workers, but too damned superstitious." He sighed. "A young upstart has just been made Presbyter of my church. A Stoker, even – they're nothing but London's furnace fodder – and it's set my men off something awful. I thought Stokers couldn't innovate their way out of a grog barrel, but here's this Brunel character, trying to make a locomotive of his own, shouting in Royal Society meetings that I've no right to turn a profit from my own investments. So I'm going back down to that cursed city to put a stop to it."

"But surely this Brunel would need patronage to fund his locomotive? I would think a man of your ample—" he cringed as Stephenson sucked back another candy, "—means would have nothing to fear from an imitator."

"That's just the problem – he's won some renown in the city, and the potty King's given him a lucrative contract. He's hired this architect, Nicholas Rose, who no one's ever heard of—"

Jacques jumped. He couldn't believe his luck. "Did you say Nicholas Rose?"

"Aye, that was his name. Have you heard of him?"

Jacques laughed bitterly. "A man – a guest in my household – murdered my wife. He's fled, and I've reason to suspect he's gone to London. He is using the name Nicholas Rose."

"If he's a murderer, you should simply hire a thief-taker to find him for you.”

“I haven’t the coin for that.”

Stephenson clicked his tongue sympathetically. “I hear they've established a Metropolitan Police Force in London now – very French, tsk tsk. They can circulate his likeness in the papers. He won't hide for long."

"This is …" Jacques searched for the right words, "a delicate matter. I'd rather authorities weren't involved."

"Dear me," Stephenson dabbed at his face with a kerchief. "Come to my offices when we arrive in London. I can put you in touch with some men who may be able to help you."

* * *

Six days after he was granted the contract to build a Wall and a railway in just four months, Isambard Kingdom Brunel commenced the construction of his Wall on the edge of the Belgravia district by driving in the first rivet. A crowd had gathered to watch, and they cheered and hooted as Isambard held up the hammer in triumph. Nicholas clapped too, smiling up at his friend, but his stomach fluttered with anxiety.

Aaron was not in the crowd, nor were any other Stokers save the priests. They were all occupied in Engine Ward preparing the Boiler workshops for production. Oswald scowled down at Nicholas from his position of honour behind Isambard. He'd been watching Nicholas with hawklike eyes ever since Isambard had emerged from his workshop. Nicholas stayed close to Isambard, only leaving the Ward well after midnight and carrying his knife in his pocket.

But the crowd was mostly made up of engineers, priests, and officials of other sects and churches, wishing to show their support for the new Presbyter. Among them were many from the smaller Great Conductor churches – congregations led by engineers whose ideas hadn’t yet gained notoriety. But there was the artist Turner with a number of his men, as well as priests from Banks’ Aether Church – Isambard's most vocal enemies on the Council.

Nicholas stood near the back of the crowd, his ears pricked to hear the words of these men.

"I'll not bow to a Stoker, no matter his rank. I'll not!"

"This Wall is preposterous! I don't understand what the King was thinking when he commissioned it."

"He wasn't thinking – that's the problem. If ever we needed more solid evidence that he's not of sound mind, we now have it."

"I wouldn't worry about Brunel," said Turner, twirling the corner of his moustache around his fingers. "The King has given him an impossible deadline. Four months – he'll never finish, and then the Council can dismiss him from his post. I heard Stephenson's coming down from the north. He'll soon put a stop to Brunel's nonsense."

The crowd dissipated, leaving the workers to the serious task of building a Wall and a railway. Nicholas, who had no experience of actual construction projects, planned to simply observe from a distance, but Isambard climbed off the scaffold and gestured for him to follow.

"I've made you foreman of Team D," he said.

"Isambard, I can't. I'm no engineer. And I can't be seen in such public view like this. What if I am recognised? What if one of the men were to give me up?"

"Seen by whom? All who knew you in a past life have already welcomed you home again. Whoever you're running from is all the way across the Channel in France, and if a constable were to walk through this site right now, none of these men would be sober enough to say their own names, let alone yours. "

He couldn't talk Brunel out of it, so he scrambled into some overalls and had a lesson from Isambard on handling steel, then spent the remainder of the day up in the scaffolding in the pouring rain, helping the men to raise the struts and clip or rivet them in place.

He was just coming down the ladder for a cup of tea when he felt the familiar, dreaded creep of a creature's mind forcing its way into his own.

He turned, and saw the dragon's tail flicker behind the stacks of iron supports. It crouched low, silent, watching. Two men leapt off their ladders and moved toward the stacks, chatting idly as they bent to pick up a heavy beam. He called out a warning, but they couldn't hear him over the din of the construction crew. With the beam supported on their shoulders they set off back toward the Wall.

As Nicholas watched, horrified, the dragon pounced, knocking down the first man and snapping his neck in one swift movement, slamming the iron strut down with such force it flung the other man into one of the smelting fires. The worker lay there a moment, stunned into silence, before he noticed his skin clinging to the hot iron plate. He screamed, high and terrified, and it was that that alerted the other workers on the Wall to the presence of the dragon.

Someone threw their chisel at her, and this bounced off her head, leaving a shallow gash across her cheek, which she didn't seem to notice. She held down the man's body with her thin forearms and tore off a chunk of flesh in her teeth. Blood pooled into deep puddles. Crying out in anger, the men at the top of the ladders threw their tools down upon her. Nicholas yelled at them to stop, but their anger had caught hold of them.

Now enraged, the dragon tore through the site, crashing through the skeleton of the Wall and sending ladders tumbling down and men flying for cover. One man swung down off his ladder with one hand, and pressed his torch against her leathery skin, singeing a bright welt across her back. Nicholas' vision flared into red dots, and he saw the man's face through the dragon's eyes as she swung around and snapped off his arm.

Bang! Bang!

Gunshots rang out, ricocheting through the iron skeleton. One caught the dragon’s belly as it reared up, and Nicholas felt a new pain, white-hot as it stabbed at his stomach, arch through his entire body. He looked down and saw he wasn't hit – it was the dragon's pain, and it slipped away as the constable put another bullet into her head.

The men refused to return to work, and Nicholas had to close the construction site early. The first day, and two men had died, several had been injured, and only a few skeletal yards of the expansive Wall had been erected.

If Isambard doesn't get those Boilers running soon, there won't be a man left in London willing to work on the Wall.

* * *

From the ledge above the water tower at the back of the Stoker workcamp, Aaron and Quartz had a clear view of the Wall construction site. They shared a bottle of whisky as they watched the men clamber up the scaffold to secure the steel struts. Unlike the Stokers, who had an intricate knowledge of industrial buildings and machines, these men were labourers who worked on farms during summer and spring and came to the city when the cold weather set in. They were thick as engine oil and lazy besides.

"We should be out there," said Aaron, anger bubbling inside him.

Quartz dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. "Let Brunel solve his own problems. There's work enough in here for all the Stokers, for now."

It was true – they'd never been so busy. Isambard had ordered every Stoker that could be spared to work in the Boiler workshops – he wanted them operational within the week. He'd secured some rusting factory machines from the old Navvy sheds, and they needed pulling apart and refitting to engineer and fit the precise parts of the Boilers, and new, precision parts custom-built for each specific task. With overtime pay on offer, Stokers rushed from one shift in the furnace rooms to another in the workshops, and there had never been such a great bustle of activity in the Engine Ward. But soon it would be quiet again, for when the workshops were operational, Quartz and two hundred Stokers would leave for the swamps.

"I don't understand Isambard's thinking," said Aaron. "There's a Wall over there that needs to be built quick as lightning, and here's Isambard occupying his own workforce in making cursed Boilers and frolicking in the swamps."

Quartz drained the final drops of whisky, threw the bottle into the scrap heap below, and pulled a fresh one from the pocket of his greatcoat.

From outside the Ward, in the direction of the new Wall construction, Aaron heard screaming. From this distance he could not hear the creature, but he could guess.

"Dragons," said Aaron. He saw the workers scrambling off the scaffold. I hope Nicholas is all right, he thought.

"All this over a couple of dragons," said Quartz.

"People just want to feel safe, I guess. I wish I felt safe here. But everything is changing so fast; Isambard becoming Presbyter, you going away …" meeting another who shares the sense.

He took another swig from the bottle, and the roar of the compies in his ears became fainter, as though he were listening through a layer of mud. He thought about what Nicholas had said last time he'd seen him – about the voice he'd heard down in Isambard's workshop. "It was a compie, and it was in great pain."

But if Nicholas heard something and I didn't, what does that mean? Is my sense somehow broken? Is his?

* * *

Nicholas paced the length of the opulent receiving room, waiting to be admitted to the King's private audience hall. His fingers drummed nervously against his leather document case.

Brunel, far from showing any sign of nerves, seated himself on an overstuffed French chair, folded his hands in his lap, and whistled "The Stoker and the Navvy’s Wife". Nicholas shot him a murderous stare.

"I don't see what you're all worked up about," Brunel remarked. "Your plans are brilliant, and with my new Boilers, I have the means to bring them to fruition."

"The King wants a Wall and a railroad built in four months! And your plan … your only plan … involves a machine that exists as two heaps of scrap-metal in your workshop. We should be spending this time pressing as many men as possible into service, not sending the Stokers away to the swamps and trying to fund yet another engineering experiment."

"I have every confidence in the ability of my Boilers." Brunel smiled. "Just you wait."

The outer door creaked open, and a maid entered, wheeling a tea-trolley and dressed in austere black skirts and a white apron. She can’t have been much older than eighteen, and was possessed of a rare natural beauty – porcelain skin, bright, intelligent eyes, and pert, delicate lips.

"Sorry to disturb you, sirs," she said, giving a short curtsey, "but His Majesty thought perhaps you would like refreshments while you wait for him to prepare for your meeting." She smiled at Nicholas, a warm, dazzling smile that made his head feel fuzzy.

Nicholas gratefully accepted a cup of steaming tea and a tiny scone, which she pushed into his hands with such delicate grace his nerves rather got the better of him, and they jerked uncontrollably, splashing scalding tea on the seat of his trousers and all over the French chair.

A flush crept across the maid's cheeks. "I’m so sorry. Allow me to clean this for you, sir."

"No, no, it was my fault. You don't have to—" But she was already dabbing at the stain with a white handkerchief, her eyes downcast, concentrating on her work.

A few strands of her hair escaped from her bonnet in a tangle of brown curls, cascading down her face as she dabbed at his trousers. He fought the sudden, unbecoming urge to grab her by her beautiful hair and press her face to his.

No, Nicholas. Concentrate. You're here to visit with the King.

His own cheeks flushed, and, as he leaned forward to help her up, his fingers brushed against her arm. That simple touch of soft, warm skin sent a shiver through his entire body. She leapt away, averting her gaze once more, fussing with the items on the tea-trolley.

She set a teacup and saucer down on the ornate oak end table beside him, and dabbed a spoonful of clotted cream onto a scone. He watched her intently, not caring how rude he must seem. He saw her sneak a glance at him through her pretty curls, and quickly look away again. Behind him, Brunel gave an ungentlemanly snort.

A guard entered from the inner door, his rifle resting against his shoulder. "The King will see you now." He addressed the girl. "Bring his tea." The girl followed with the laden tray.

Nicholas had expected exactly what he saw – an opulent chamber, dimly lit, and festooned with exotic silks and damasks. What he hadn't expected was to see the King lying facedown upon an oak couch of German design, while a waifish girl wearing a thin chiton kneaded his back. The last time they'd visited Windsor Castle, George had been immaculately presented, receiving his guests in the stately drawing rooms, his clothing perfectly pressed, his wig and makeup flawless. Even at the Royal Society when he was confined to his chair, the King still maintained a dignified air.

Compared to this earlier image, his current state was deplorable. The King's wig was askew, hanging over one eye and revealing the thin, matted hair beneath. His bloodshot eyes blinked rapidly in the dim light, the skin around them drawn up so they bugged out of his skull like an insect.

"The Presbyter Isambard Brunel and his architect Nicholas Rose to see you, Your Majesty." The guard darted away, as though he couldn’t bear to remain inside that chamber a moment longer.

"Your Majesty?"

King George raised his head, ever so slightly, and regarded them with his bulging, wild eyes; the pupils dark and slanted like an animal. Pushing himself onto his hands, he rolled over and faced the two visitors. Nicholas struggled to tear his gaze away from the blisters covering the King's cheeks, from the skin that pulled around his mouth, revealing his long, blackened teeth and gums. As he stared, the King's robe fell open, revealing a cluster of fresh, bulging pustules, and dark scars crisscrossing his chest. Nicholas averted his eyes, ashamed to see the monarch in such a state.

"Sit, sit." His voice, calm and strong, seemed at odds with his deplorable condition. The King waved them to a formal couch. "You bring me the finalised plans, I see."

Brunel unrolled the drawings and set them out on the table. "Mr Rose and I have been puzzling over how to meet your Majesty’s request to have the Windsor/Buckingham railway completed within your timeframe, to coincide with the completion of the shell of the Wall. We believe we've finally come up with a solution that will satisfy all parties."

The King leaned over the table, his eyes poring over the drawings. The girl shuffled forward, trying to continue her work. He growled and pushed her away. Pouting, she flounced into the darker recesses of the chamber. As she turned, Nicholas caught the same crisscrossed scars and puncture wounds on her shoulders and back as he’d seen on the King only moments before.

Behind the King’s couch, the beautiful maid hunched over her tea-trolley. The King sat up and she handed him a cup of tea – a strange brew that appeared reddish in the dim light. As she straightened herself, King George’s eyes swept over her body, and he licked his lips. She backed away and returned to her tea-trolley. Nicholas’ eyes met hers, and he was surprised to see terror there.

"Four months," the King murmured. "It is not enough. I need it sooner. Two months."

Nicholas blanched, but Brunel simply nodded. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

"You are certain these … machines … will complete my railway on time?"

"Oh yes, sir," Brunel said. "I am certain."

"Very well." The King pushed the drawings aside. "You shall have as much money as needed to complete the job. Show me the latest designs for the Wall."

Brunel unrolled the next drawing. "There she is, higher and wider than has ever been attempted before. As you can see, sir, we'll be building new stations in Belgravia—"

"There are too many gates." The King frowned.

"People still need to move freely about the city. Otherwise, the Wall would disrupt commerce. The gates are controlled using my unique steam-driven turbines. Once closed, only a command to the control room in Engine Ward will open them again."

"And this will seal off the city?" The King's voice rose in pitch.

Brunel nodded. "No men or dragons will be able to penetrate those walls."

"Good," the King nodded, rubbing his thin, hooked nose. "That's good."

The King's eyes shifted erratically, and his head lolled to the side. As he moved, the wounds across his chest wept blood. He didn't dismiss the maid, and so she stayed, crouching quietly in the corner so as not to be noticed. Nicholas met her eye, and smiled. She gave a little wave, and smiled back, though her eyes darted back and forth between the King and the bangtail at the back of the chamber. She was terrified. He didn’t blame her. The King was acting in a most peculiar manner.

Nicholas shifted in his chair, and accepted another scone from the tray in an effort to calm his shaking hands.

Brunel and King George bent their heads together and continued their discussion in low whispers. Pretending to be fascinated with some detail in the plans, Nicholas leaned over the table, tore a new page from his journal, and scribbled a note. Discreetly, while Brunel was demonstrating the positions of the new railway stations, he folded it and slipped it up the sleeve of his jacket.

The King nodded his satisfaction. Brunel held up his page of notes. "I shall see His Majesty's requests worked into the final plans," he said. The King waved them away, and called for his nymph to return. The girl in the chiton skulked from the shadows and draped herself over his couch. Nicholas looked away, not wishing to see.

As they rose and moved toward the reception room, he passed the tea-trolley and slipped the note into the pocket of the girl's apron. She looked up at him, her eyes wide. He gave a tight smile, and left.

I should not have done that. But his steps felt lighter as he walked with Brunel back to the Engine Ward, his mind awash with the memory of her sweet smile.

* * *

After Brigitte put the tea things away, Miss Julie rattled off a long list of chores for her to finish. She rushed through the washing and the dusting, the note burning a hole in her pocket. Even so, it was well past dinner before Brigitte could extract herself from Miss Julie's clutches and hurry to her chamber. She unfolded the note with shaking fingers, and laid it flat on her pillow, smoothing out the corners and admiring the gently sloping, elegantly curled handwriting of the handsome gentleman.

She couldn't read it, of course, for she had never learned to read. Her mind raced with myriad imaginings of what it could say. She thought of the man who'd passed it to her: his soft features, the curl of his hair over his ears, his kind grey eyes tinged with sorrow. Her stomach fluttered.

A crash started her. Crying out, she dropped the note and turned to see Cassandra hobbling across the floor clutching her foot. "Hurt me toe," she gasped, collapsing onto her bunk.

"You might be more quiet about it."

"Why? You're not sleepin' or nothin'. Hey, what's that?" Cassandra's eyes fell upon Brigitte's pillow.

"It's nothing." Brigitte shoved the note under her pillow. Her answer seemed to satisfy Cassandra, who rolled over, kicked off her stockings, blew out the candle, and fell promptly asleep.

Brigitte rolled onto her side and listened to Cassandra's snores, her mind reeling with the events of two weeks: the King's attack on Alison, his strange temperament and the peculiar marks all over his skin, the screams and snarls echoing through the castle halls, and now a gentleman was giving her notes. Finally, her eyelids fluttered closed, her hand feeling under the pillow for the note, and her dreams filled with visions of a certain grey-eyed gentleman.

* * *

"—and don't go chasing after dragons. And listen to what the priests say, even though they're idiots, they're in charge, and they have the power to make your life miserable, and—"

Aaron and Quartz stood together under the giant iron arches that formed the gates of Engine Ward. A row of carts lined the street, some to carry the large crew of men, others stacked high with supplies – sleepers, building materials, tools, and chests of food and drink. Peter and Oswald and the other priests stood under the gates, their faces stony as they directed the workers. They didn't look happy to be leaving the city.

Aaron clasped Quartz's shoulders, rattling off long lists of instructions and platitudes, babbling so he would not have to face the silence of his own thoughts.

"—come back to London if you're in any trouble—"

"Aaron," Quartz grinned. "I aim to make trouble."

"That's what worries me."

Quartz nodded his head in Aaron's direction, and climbed aboard the cart. At least twenty men crowded in after him, so Aaron could no longer see his jolly, wrinkled face. He turned away, slinking back through the Ward before the carriages even pulled away.

His shack felt enormous, empty, without Quartz. He lay down on the bed and pulled Chloe close, hoping to lose himself in sleep, but he would not get his wish. After an hour of tossing and turning, he got up again, and opened the cabinet to find a bottle of whisky, only to discover Quartz had left it bare. Sighing, he looked under the bed, found a bottle with a few drops left in it, and took this outside with him. He went up to the top of the boiler tower, where he had sat with Isambard only a few years previously, and gazed out across the Ward and the city of London stretching on into eternity beyond her walls.

For the first time in his life, he was suddenly, inescapably alone.

* * *

They disembarked at Liverpool, and Stephenson went off to procure a carriage while Jacques relieved himself in the public latrine. The Frenchman sat by the platform and watched the men loading and unloading the wagons, marvelling at the weight of cargo the locomotive could transport. At the edge of the platform was a small stone shrine containing a votive statue of Stephenson that seemed to lurch under the weight of the floral wreaths that covered it.

These locomotives could make England rich, he realised. The richest country in the world, if only they had a king who wasn't mad.

Someone called his name. He saw Stephenson waving at him from beside a comfortable carriage, while the footman helped two women settle into the carriage and tied their portmanteaus to the roof.

The woman introduced herself as Annabelle Milbanke, and, upon hearing his accent, insisted on addressing him in flawless French. Her daughter Ada, who must have been fifteen or so, tugged at her dresses and flipped through a notebook open on her lap.

He knew who she was, of course. One couldn't go a day in Paris without mention of the famed poet-turned-Messiah Lord Byron and his tumultuous marriage to and divorce from Miss Milbanke, followed shortly thereafter by his daring escape across the closed English border into Greece.

He settled into the sliver of space left on the bench beside Stephenson, and as the carriage pulled away from the station, he addressed Miss Milbanke.

"What sends you fine ladies to London?"

"Why, the first sermon of Robert's new Presbyter, of course," said Miss Milbanke. "Ada writes often to eminent members of the Society, and we've been sent transcriptions of his lectures, which we've studied with great interest. He's got some remarkable ideas about locomotion, Robert. He thinks you're going about it all wrong."

Stephenson's face darkened. "He's got this fandangled idea that a wider rail gauge will make the trains run faster. But my trains run plenty fast enough, don't they, Mr. du Blanc?"

Jacques nodded.

"I've even heard he's got the notion of a railway that doesn't run on steam at all! And his Wall design is preposterous – ridiculously expensive and an inefficient use of men and resources. I don't know what the Council was thinking. If you've come to London all the way from Kirkby Mallory for Brunel's lecture," Stephenson continued, "I'm afraid you're going to be horribly disappointed."

"Don't forget, Mother. We're also visiting Mister Babbage!" Ada piped up in a singsong tone, never looking up from her study.

"Now there's a thing," Stephenson said. "There's not many who would admit such an acquaintance in public, young Ada."

Miss Milbanke sniffed. "Ada and Charles have kept up quite a correspondence. She helps him with his calculations, you know. I myself am not sure he's an appropriate companion for her, not since that business with the corrections and his disgraceful excommunication. But try telling that to a headstrong girl."

"Mother!" Ada huffed.

"See, now, Babbage I approve of," said Stephenson. "Smart man, and probably right about the calculations, but he got caught up in the politics. That's all the city is good for, is politics. That's why I left as soon as they gave me the jewels." He gestured at the emerald-encrusted medallion – the mark of a Messiah – hanging around his neck. "In the north there ain't no politics getting in the way of good engineering. Babbage would have done fine if he'd been in a university, but he wanted to start a church—"

They chatted on about church politics and famous engineers, and though he found their talk fascinating, Jacques' thoughts wandered back to his own mission. If he had the protection of a Presbyter, finding Nicholas in London wouldn't be easy. He patted the hilt of his sword, resting reassuringly against his thigh. Somewhere in this world of engineering priests and mechanical gods, you're hiding, Nicholas, but I will find you.

* * *

By the third morning Brigitte was desperate. She could no longer keep the note secret if she hoped to discover what it said. It was barely light outside their grubby window when she dug the note – now much crumpled and torn in the corner – from under the pillow.

The roosters in the kitchen garden outside began their morning call, and Cassandra rolled over and groaned. "My feet are killing me. And I've another day polishing the armoury to look forward to. I don't never want to see another ceremonial sword again – Brigitte, what you starin' at?"

"Cassandra, can you read?" Brigitte held up the note.

Cassandra snatched the paper from under her nose. "Cor, you got an admirer?"

"No," Brigitte blushed. "At least, I don't believe so. The gentleman who visited the King with Mr. Brunel, he gave it to me."

"Oooooh, a gentleman! Was he rakishly handsome?"

"I'll give you rakishly handsome in a minute if you don't tell me what it says."

"I dunno," Cassandra threw the note back into Brigitte's hands. "I can’t read it. Ask Miss Julie."

"And have her find out a gentleman friend of the King has been slipping me notes? No, I don't think I'll be doing that. I'll have to find someone else to read it to me."

"What was your gentleman meeting His Majesty about?"

"He's not my gentleman." Brigitte felt her cheeks grow hot. "The King was approving Mr. Brunel’s plans for the Dragon Wall. At least, when he wasn’t doing something unsavoury to that bangtail he brought in last week." Brigitte wrinkled her nose.

"Better her than us."

Brigitte nodded, remembering the scars crisscrossing the woman’s skin, and Alison’s face, the flesh barely hanging from the bones.

"So who's gonna read yer note for you?"

"I think I know just the person." Brigitte swung herself down from her bed and tucked the note into her pocket. "If Miss Julie asks after me, tell her I’m helping with the gardening."

* * *

Maxwell – a stooped, wind-beaten man with a face marred with liver spots but possessed of a jolly laugh – squinted at the scrap of paper, turning it every which way and rubbing his grubby beard in concentration.

Brigitte leaned forward, her hands wringing her skirt. "What does it say?"

Maxwell turned it upside down, squinted again, and burst out laughing.

"Maxwell, this is not funny!"

Wiping his dirty hand across his brow, the castle gardener held out the note, his grey eyes twinkling, that laugh booming from somewhere deep in his chest. She grabbed it from his thick fingers, scowling at him as she folded it reverently, and replaced it in the secret pocket of her apron.

"He wants to meet you, Miss Brigitte, in Kensington Gardens this afternoon."

"This afternoon?" Her eyes grew wide. "But that’s … today!"

"It surely is. You'd best make it down to London quick smart."

Brigitte ran her hands through her hair, strewn with straw from helping Maxwell in the barn. Her hands, rough from the week's polishing, caught in the tangles. She knew her face must be smudged with dirt.

"I’m hopeless," she moaned.

"Nonsense." Maxwell patted her shoulder, leaving a smear of dirt across the ribbon. Brigitte sighed.

"You best show this to Miss Julie," he said. "She’ll know what to do."

"But she’ll forbid me from going. She’ll—"

He put his finger to his lips. "Best you not go underestimating Miss Julie. Now, go. Land yourself a gentleman."

* * *

When Miss Julie saw the note, her eyes grew wide and she pressed her hand to her chest, as though she might pass out at any moment.

"He handed it to me as he left the King’s chamber, Miss. I swear I didn’t—"

Miss Julie yanked her arms above her head.

"Off with that dress," she commanded.

"Wha—"

"Stop arguing, Brigitte. We have precious little time and lots of work to do. Cassandra!" she bellowed. "We need a tub of warm water and my wire brush!"

* * *

"With the salary Isambard's giving you, you could afford something much more ostentatious than this." Aaron puffed as he manoeuvred an old oak desk – Nicholas' only new purchase for the austere rooms he'd rented – across the landing of the boardinghouse stairs and into the office.

"I like this place just fine," said Nicholas, sharper than intended.

Aaron shrugged, and kept on pushing.

The truth was, Nicholas had chosen the apartment because the landlady didn't require papers to sign the lease. He wanted to stay Nicholas Rose as long as possible, in case someone from France showed up in the city. Brunel had offered him a private room in the new wing he was planning to add to the Chimney, and Nicholas was sorely tempted by the prospect, but if Jacques ever came for him, the Engine Ward would be the first place he'd look.

After Aaron had wrestled the desk into place, Nicholas invited him to stay for tea. The cupboards in his larder were bare, save a half-eaten loaf and a small square of cheese left over from his breakfast, but he – being a proper Englishman – had already purchased a lovely tea set.

"What do you hear now?" he asked Aaron as he set the cup in front of him.

Aaron knew instantly what he meant. "I hear compies under the floor, scrabbling in the gap between the floorboards. They have a hole into number sixteen that they're patrolling, waiting for the family to leave so they can sneak in and steal the ham. I hear worms in the dirt, their thoughts singular, based on instinct."

"What about birds?"

"Their thoughts flicker; predatory, maternal, hunger, joy. I see London as they see it, from the air, a hodgepodge of warrens and labyrinths. They have traps – dead ends into which they funnel their prey. Thankfully, I don't hear any dragons nearby." Aaron set down his cup. "It is so strange to talk freely about the sense. I haven't been able to do this since my grandfather was alive."

"I was there when the dragon attacked. I couldn't stop it." He stared at the table, the image of the man's skin burning against the iron floating through his mind.

"We could've stopped it together, if I were allowed to work outside the Ward. This whole situation is ridiculous, Nicholas, and you've got to tell him so. We've got a high-profile project upon which Isambard's entire career hangs that must be built within four months—"

"Two months."

"What?"

"I was at Windsor yesterday, and the King has decided it must be built in two months."

Aaron threw up his hands. "Then what are we to do? The finest industrial workers in the country are not able to work on the Wall. Instead of figuring out a way to get the Stokers on the Wall, he's building mechanical workers and shipping us off across the country on a wild dragon chase."

"Aaron, if you told Isambard about the sense, he would let you go into the swamps, too."

"I've already explained – it's out of the question. And don't you tell him, either. You'll live to regret it."

They lapsed into silence after that, each lost in their own thoughts. Nicholas knew he should be worried about Isambard's decisions, about the new deadline for the Wall, but every thought was occupied by the image of a timid maid and her head of shimmering curls.

You fool! What were you thinking?

He would go to the gardens this afternoon, and he would wait, but she would not show up. It would be imprudent of her, especially given whatever mysterious circumstances prevailed at the castle. So he would wait, and she would not show, and he could return to his life devoid of brightness.

* * *

An hour later, Brigitte held up a bronze mirror to her face and gasped aloud. Miss Julie had worked a miracle. Brigitte's hair stood in a firm bun, demure but attractive, with two ringlets peeking mischievously from under her bonnet and secured with a pretty brass pin, also taken from a box of the princess' things. She’d pulled a dress from the box hidden at the back of the scullery.

"This used to belong to Princess Amelia," said Miss Julie, measuring it against Brigitte's trim frame. "When King George took the princesses away for safe-keeping, he left all their pretty things behind, gathering dust. He ordered Maxwell to burn most of it, but I saved a few things. Such fine tailoring – I couldn’t just throw this away."

The dress fit Brigitte perfectly, draping across her shoulders, the blue bodice giving her a beautiful waistline, the crisp skirts swaying about her feet. She hoped no one would notice her grubby boots peeking out from under the fine silk.

"Hurry, child. You're already running late!"

Maxwell bustled her into a carriage, and Cassandra and Miss Julie waved from the servants' entrance as she clattered toward the gate at high speed. Her heart raced even faster than the horses. She hadn't set foot outside the castle for two years now, and to be leaving for Kensington Gardens to meet a rakishly handsome gentleman, dressed in a frock last worn by a princess, seemed like a dream.

With Maxwell driving the countryside passed by in a blur. Brigitte could hear the coach's axles wobbling in their stays, and she had to grip the edge of the door tightly to keep from slipping off her seat. As the carriage passed through the towns, people stopped on the street and waved to her, perhaps thinking her an eccentric courtesan out for a ride in the country. Not knowing what else to do, she waved back, her cheeks flashing red.

They hit traffic coming into London along the Strand, but Maxwell ducked and swerved with a tenacity Brigitte had never seen in the old gardener. By the time they pulled up outside Kensington Gardens, she was only a few minutes late.

She leapt from the coach, Maxwell circling her, wiping dust from her sleeves and smoothing the hem of her dress. Then she scanned the park for a sign of him. Maybe this is some kind of joke. Maybe—

Her heart leapt into her chest as she recognised him.

He was waiting on a bench by the pond, and as she walked toward him – her legs shaking so much that each step was a challenge – he turned and saw her, and his whole face lit up.

She froze, her eyes locked with his, searching out every detail of him, as though she expected him to turn to dust at any moment. He stood a head taller than her, his back straight and posture proud. His clothes – the same as he had worn at the castle, she recalled – were of fine quality, but worn and threadbare. His hands – the skin smooth, the fingers long – fell at his sides. She knew she was being frightfully rude, but seeing him again in such extraordinary circumstances had robbed her of the power of speech.

Finally, he smiled. "Hello, again," he said. She nodded. That was all she could manage.

He shook hands with Maxwell, who would act as her escort, and bent to kiss her hand. As his fingers touched hers, a shock ran through her hand and all the way up her arm. His eyes met hers and danced with delight, and her stomach churned.

"Would you like to stroll among the garden?" he asked, offering his hand.

She could hardly speak, he was so handsome. Maxwell nudged her forward with his boot, and she stumbled over the hem of her dress and grabbed his arm to steady herself. Nicholas caught her, placing his other hand on her hip to keep her steady, the warmth making her stomach squirm even more.

She gave a nervous laugh, and he laughed also. She took his arm and he led her along the path at the edge of the pond. Maxwell followed at a short distance, just within earshot of their conversation.

"I hope you will forgive me for the forthright nature of my note," he said. "I do not know what came over me. I do not even know your name."

"Brigitte," she choked. "My name is Brigitte."

He smiled, melting her heart a little more. "Then that is at least something. I am Nicholas Rose, and I am pleased you could meet me today, Brigitte. You’ve been foremost in my thoughts since I first saw you."

Her stomach flipped. "I—"

"Please don't be nervous. I want nothing from you other than your company. Did you read my note yourself?"

"Maxwell—" she pointed to the figure behind them. "He read it for me. I cannot read."

"That is no matter. Many who can are not as beautiful as you. If I may be so forthright, tell me about yourself; how did you come to be a maid in the palace?"

"It's not a very interesting story."

"It's interesting to me."

She took a deep breath, found her voice, and steadied herself against his warm, strong arm. "I was born in Whitechapel. My father worked at the docks, and my mother ran the kitchen at a public house. We didn't have much money, but we could afford rooms and food most days. That is, until my parents died. First my father caught a plague from the foreign sailors coming off the ships. At first, he complained of throbbing aches throughout his body. After a few days, he couldn't stand. He lay in the blankets we used as a bed and coughed up blood … so much blood. It splattered over all our clothes, our cooking pots, my mother's books. Then, one morning he didn't cough anymore. I helped my mother carry him downstairs for the man to collect. A few weeks later, my mother went mad, shivering and babbling. She broke all the windows in the doss house in one of her rages, and a man came and took her away to a sanatorium. I was eight years old.

"When it became clear I could no longer pay the rent, the landlord dumped me at an orphanage. The puritan nuns resented my presence – another mouth to feed. They beat us most nights, locked me in a dark cupboard for days at a time, and once forced me to eat leather as a punishment. I hated them, and I realised that if I were to ever escape from their cruelty, I would have to find myself a profession. So I started cleaning. First, I cleaned the pub next door in exchange for fresh bread. Then, I cleaned the homes of the publicans. I listened to the gossip at the tables and realised many well-to-do Londoners came to Whitechapel to taste the ladies of ill-repute, so I made sure to bring them their drinks and make myself known to them."

"My first wealthy client, Joseph Banks, was so pleased with my efforts that he recommended me to his entire social circle, and I came to the attention of the King's staff. At £6 a year the job offered more money than I'd ever earned before, with food and board included. Without telling the nuns where I was going, I packed what little things I owned, and came to the castle."

"Do you enjoy your work?"

She paused, wondering if he was asking about the King. He nodded for her to continue. "Sometimes. I enjoy touching the fine things, making them shine. But I hate the futility of it all; rooms and rooms of exquisite artwork, precious metals, and dazzling jewels, all of it dusty and unseen. You can spend hours polishing, but really, you're just moving the emptiness around. If I ever own beautiful things, I shall enjoy them every day."

He turned off onto a divergent path, leading her through the rose bushes toward a covered gazebo. He said, "It's a curse of the rich to covet such beautiful things and yet to never truly enjoy them."

"Are you a lord?"

He laughed. "I could have been, Miss Brigitte, but instead I am an architect. I designed the exterior of Brunel's Dragon Wall. If you look toward the river you can see the shape of the first section being erected now."

They sat on a bench beside the gazebo, watching the pigeons pecking at scraps along the edges of the path and the gardeners repairing the flower beds damaged in the dragon attack. He asked her more questions: her favourite flower (water lily), her favourite foods (mutton and minted peas). Had she ever travelled outside London? (Once, to the country, when she was younger.) Which God did she worship? (She always liked Isis – she was the prettiest, and all the artists whose work hung in the castle worshipped her, too.) She wanted to ask him something of himself, but he avoided all questions, simply turning each inquiry back upon her.

The world around her disappeared, and she was lost in him, in the sound of his voice, the movement of his lips, the gentle creases at the corners of his eyes as he laughed at one of her tales.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder, startling her out of her trance. "It's time to return to the castle, Miss Brigitte." Maxwell held up his pocket watch for her to see.

Nicholas stood and offered her his hand. "Will I see you again?"

He wants to see me again! This can't be right. It must be some kind of cruel joke. Perhaps he is dangerous—

"I must go." She gathered her skirts, eyes downcast, suddenly afraid. The spell had been shattered, and now she wanted to get away.

"But will I see you?"

"I … I don't know."

"You will come to the palace again?" Maxwell asked.

Nicholas nodded. "Brunel will meet with the King and the Council members next Friday to give an update on the Wall's progress."

"After your meeting with the King, you will go to the courtyard outside the Curfew Tower. Brigitte will be waiting there."

Nicholas pressed a handful of coins into the gardener's hand. Maxwell tried to push them back, but the architect held up his hands. "For your kindness," he said, "and your silence."

He held her hand out and kissed it, his warm lips lingering for an eternity, his vivid grey eyes boring into hers. She trembled, though she was not cold. Finally, he tore himself away. "Good day, my Lady."

"G— g— good day," she choked. He turned and strolled away. She waited ‘till he was out of sight before sinking back into the park bench. Maxwell had to grab her and lead her to the carriage.

Only when the carriage pulled out onto West Carriage Drive did she let out the breath she was holding. Maxwell smirked.

"Why, Miss Brigitte, I've never seen your face so flushed."

"It's the heat. This dress is awfully stuffy."

"Of course," he laughed. "The dress."

* * *

While Nicholas met Brigitte in the park, Aaron took his two deputies out to Windsor to lay down the survey pegs for the site of the Windsor platform of the King's secret railway.

He'd wanted to take more men, but there was not a Stoker to spare. A skeleton crew ran the furnaces – men working sixteen-hour shifts just to keep the Ward functioning – and even the women were assembling Boiler mechanisms. Work on Brunel's two new locomotives had ground to a halt, and he'd had to go into the sheds at 6am and drag out two of the best men – William Stone and his son Benjamin – for this cursed job. Aaron hated leaving the Ward with so much work that needed doing, but since Brunel still believed they could make the King's impossible deadline, they had to press on with haste.

He'd never even been outside London, let alone to the imposing Windsor Castle, looming over the Berkshire countryside. He hung his head out the window and drank it all in – the tiny cottages, the towering barns, and the cacophony of thoughts from a myriad of animals. Sheep and cows grazed in the paddocks, birds and raptors circled the trees, horses pulled carriages and coaches that passed them on the narrow road, and neckers, those long-necked beasts bred in Scotland, pulled huge wagons of goods toward London for market.

He enjoyed the slow thoughts of the neckers the most: they'd walked the same stretch of road many times before, and they knew each turn by heart. He relished seeing this world – so new to him – through their knowing gaze.

The trip was over all too soon, and they introduced themselves to the guard at the castle gates, using the story Brunel had coached them on: the King had commissioned them to build a new shrine in the garden. The guards had evidently been given the same story, for they opened the gates and directed them to the edge of the terraced garden without further questions.

Aaron unfolded the plans and, being the only one of the three men who could read, directed the placement of the stakes and recorded the measurements. Hidden behind the high garden wall and located at the bottom of a steep terrace, the station would be invisible to anyone outside the castle or walking through the garden from the main path. It was to be a simple structure – a wooden platform, a shed to keep the locomotive and two carriages dry (which would probably be scrapped from the plans due to time constraints), and the trackbed itself, disappearing down into the natural valley of a dry stream bed that ran along the outskirts of the township toward London.

Aaron wanted to get the basic structure of the platform built today, so he and William unloaded the shovels and thick lengths of wood and steel, while Benjamin, a young lad with a strong back, began ripping up the lawn to dig the post holes. They worked for three solid hours in the biting cold wind, with only the sounds of the birds and their voices for company. William and Benjamin had many questions about the railway and its purpose, none of which Aaron could answer.

After lunch, William went up to the castle workshops to borrow a set square, and came back screaming, "The King is coming!"

"Don't be ridiculous. The King wouldn't—"

William dragged Aaron up over the edge of the terrace and pointed toward the castle. Aaron raised his head, squinting. He saw a line of tiny figures emerging from the inner gate and descending down the hill toward them. The procession was flanked on both sides by men carrying the Union Jack flag.

"By Great Conductor's steam-driven testicles, it is the King! Quick, William, clean up those tools! Benjamin, stack up the beams—"

They scrambled around, frantically trying to make their work area look less like a work area. When Aaron looked up again, the procession had reached the crest of the hill.

The King slumped forward in his wheeled chair, as though the leather straps around his arms and legs were the only things holding him up. Joseph Banks stood behind the King, his thin hands clasped so tightly around the handles of the wheelchair his knuckles were white. Flanked by his guards with their towering helmets dwarfing the figures of his retinue, the King seemed impossibly frail.

As they stopped on the slope of the hill, Aaron, William, and Benjamin bowed. Banks snapped his fingers and ordered them to rise. The King didn't acknowledge them, flapping his head against his shoulder and mumbling something unintelligible. Aaron saw his cheeks and the skin of his forearms were covered with dark, blistering marks. And his eyes, they were the most frightening of all – they were not the listless, unfocused eyes of a sickly man, but contained the fierce, rapacious gaze of an animal, a predator zeroing in on his prey.

"You are Isambard Brunel's men?" Banks barked.

"We are, sir." Aaron stepped forward. "I'm Aaron Williams. This is William—"

"I don't care who you are. The King wishes to inspect your progress on his railway."

"As you can see," Aaron gestured behind him, "there is not much progress for His Majesty to inspect. Today we're marking out the position of the trackbed and erecting the posts to support the platform."

"And how long will it take you to finish the entire railway line?"

"I'm not yet privy to all the plans, sir, but we're working with haste to have it ready within His Majesty's two-month deadline."

"That's not nearly soon enough. The King needs the railway completed within the month."

"That's impossible, sir. Laying the rails alone will take six weeks—"

"Then lay them faster," Banks snapped. "Your king has commanded his railway be built within the month, and so you shall build it. Brunel's a clever engineer – he will work it out."

"With all due respect, sir—"

In a matter of moments Banks thrust the handles of the wheelchair into the hands of a waiting steward, crossed the lawn, and grabbed Aaron by the collar.

"Tell him," Banks whispered, his eyes bulging. "If this railway isn't completed by the end of the month, all the titles and renown in London won't save him from the King's wrath. Tell him, that he has thirty days to finish this railway, or I'll hang him with my own hands, to save him the agony of what the King will do to him."

* * *

The journey back to London passed in silence, each man staring out the window, lost in his own thoughts. Aaron's mind was dark – the sounds that had so delighted him that morning were nothing but a muddy blur.

A month to finish the railway was preposterous. He would laugh at the notion, had it not been for the menace in Banks' voice. It was as if they were treating Isambard and the Stokers to some great practical joke. He wondered if Banks and the King were laughing over their teacups as they watched Aaron, William, and Ben work at record speed to drive in all the piles.

As the carriage passed over London Bridge, Aaron caught a glimpse of the first section of the Wall, a few yards of scaffolding and steel pylons mounted in the ground. It seemed woefully small – just looking out across the great expanse of London's skyline brought home the fruitlessness of the whole task. This angered Aaron beyond all measure, and he balled his hands into fists.

As their carriage pulled up alongside the Boiler factory, Isambard was already outside, waving at them.

"Successful trip?" Brunel asked, after he'd shooed the Stone Brothers inside and practically dragged Aaron from the carriage.

Aaron snorted, and told Isambard what had happened at the castle. "It's over, Isambard. You won the prize, you built the Wall, but it's all a joke at the Stokers’ expense. We were never going to change anything."

"There must be another explanation."

"What other possible explanation could there be? I'm afraid we've been set up to fail by Joseph Banks. The King is clearly too far gone to have any say in the construction. Think about it – you said yourself he's become increasingly unintelligible in your meetings with him, and Nicholas said his entire body is covered in burns and cuts. But Banks is always with him, speaking for him. And he never wanted you to win in the first place, did he?"

Isambard was silent for a moment. Slowly he nodded his head. "You're right. But it's not over, Aaron. We're going to build the Wall, and that railway."

"In a month? Don't be ridiculous."

Brunel threw open the door of the shed. Inside, Aaron saw at least fifty Stokers working along an assembly line, some shifting raw materials and slag into huge furnaces, others manoeuvring parts into place or watching the progress of the new high-pressure engine as it shaped and hollowed lumps of metal. Along the front of the workshop, their unseeing eyes surveying the work, ten shiny Boiler units stood to attention.

"Another ten will be finished tomorrow," said Brunel. "And ten each day thereafter ‘till the job is done. By the end of the week we shall have fifty units, and that should be more than enough to lay the sleepers and rails on twenty-six miles within a few days. A Wall and a railway in a month, Aaron! If we can do it, can you imagine?"

Aaron stared into the cold, flat faces of the Boilers, and the anger in his belly turned to fear. "Yes," he said. "It's my imagination that worries me."

* * *

When Isambard told Nicholas over breakfast that the schedule had been moved from two months to one, he spat tea across the table in a most ungentlemanly manner.

"That's impossible!"

Isambard frowned, gesturing for the priest who hovered at the door of the chamber to clean up the stain. "Aaron thinks it's a plot by Banks and the Council to discredit me, to prove I'm no engineer. I'm rather afraid he's correct."

"What are you going to do?"

"The only thing I know how to do. I'm going to work, Nicholas. I'm going to pull out every trick I can think of, and a few I haven't yet dreamed up, and I'm going to get the Wall and railway finished if it kills me. But I need your help."

"How? Isambard, I am no engineer."

"I have a month," Isambard said, his voice grave. "I don't know why the King is in such a hurry, but I do know to disappoint him would mean my death, and the death of hope for the Stokers along with it. It is in both our interests," he said pointedly, his eyes fixed on Nicholas, "to complete this Wall on time. If I were you, I'd finish that cup of tea as quickly as I were able, and report to the workshops—"

He was interrupted by a young acolyte, who raced into the chamber and leaned against the table. "Presbyter," he gasped, "a package has arrived for you from the swamps."

Nicholas' ears pricked up. The Stokers have sent something to Isambard?

The Presbyter didn't seem surprised by the news. He shovelled another forkful of egg into his mouth. "Well, bring it here, then!"

"It's arrived on a wagon, sir. A large wagon."

Brunel leapt to his feet and dashed from the room. Nicholas and the acolyte followed close behind. What could be so large it needed an entire wagon?

The wagon had been parked outside the Boiler workshops, practically blocking the door. It was as wide as the roads would allow, and needed four horses to pull it. The six axles sagged under the weight of the crate – as long as the wagon and higher than a man – roped to the back of the wagon.

"Special delivery," said the grizzled man who sat on the footplate, the reins of the tired horses clutched in his shaking hand. He lifted the corner of his hood up and met Nicholas' eye – it was Quartz.

He's back. This will please Aaron—

The thoughts hit him like a wave smashing against a rocky shore, fracturing his own thoughts and sending him reeling against the wall of the Chimney. He rubbed his temple, not understanding at first. Through the haze, his mind clutched on to the truth.

There was something alive inside that crate. It was large – larger than the biggest creature he'd ever seen – and it was dangerous.

What does Isambard want with an animal?

It can't be. But it was. The way the thoughts narrowed, the hunger in his belly, the insatiable malice that crawled over his skin. His sense told him that inside that crate was a dragon, bigger and more frightening than any of the dragons he'd encountered in London. But why?

He watched Isambard lean in and exchange a few words with Quartz, then waved him onward, in the direction of the Boiler workshops and the entrance to the underground service tunnels. Pushing the horses to their last, painful trot, the old man leaned in toward Nicholas as he passed.

"Don't tell Aaron I was here," he said, pulling his hood low over his face. Nicholas could see a fresh cut running across Quartz’s face. "And don't let him go to the swamps, neither. I won't have him become a part of this."

Nicholas nodded, watching the wagon wind its way through the Stoker camp toward the service entrance to the tunnels, the hunger of the dragon settling in his stomach, and the frightening thoughts of the creature slipping from his mind.

Now what is going on?

* * *

Aaron watched, transfixed with awe, as the Boilers whirred away, flinging down the sleepers, bending and cutting the rails to fit, driving down the nails and compacting the ballast, then rolling forward to begin on the next section. They used no tools, their mechanical arms completing each assigned task with frightening speed. Under Aaron's feet, a length of perfectly straight, perfectly laid broad gauge railway track stretched back into the darkness.

"They've laid ten miles of track in two days," he breathed, unable to believe it.

"And it's straighter and more accurate than we could've ever done." William stared at the pristine sleepers below his boots, his mouth agape in bewilderment.

Aaron had spent all day Monday with Nicholas and other workers, getting to grips with the Boiler controls. After several false starts and a couple of disastrous hours where the Boilers laid half a mile of sleepers on top of the rail, they were running through their tasks faultlessly. Aaron had programmed ten of the machines to machines to widen the old sewer tunnel ready for the locomotive, and another five carried away the debris. He set a twenty-four-hour guard on the machines, but after two days and nights of endless work, his men reported no difficulties.

It's easy, he thought, coughing as the Boilers discharged a cloud of soot from their chimneys. It's too easy.

"Well," William dusted his hands on his overalls. "If that's all the work that needs doing, I'm going home."

"But, you can't—"

"I can, Aaron. My shift is over. I've done my job. There's nothing I can do here that the Boilers can't do faster and better." He yawned. "All this standing around watching machines work has made me awfully sleepy. You can tell Brunel for me that these Boilers are the greatest invention ever. He's gonna make a fortune."

"I will. Goodnight, William."

The greatest invention ever. Aaron wondered whether William was right. They are remarkable. We'll be able to finish projects at lightening speed. Every engineer in England will want their own Boiler workforce.

He watched the machines bang, slap, bend, drill, and hammer with their eerie, remarkable precision. They did not talk and joke with each other, as men did. They did not drop tools or curse or misread the measurements.

They're the perfect workers.

So where does that leave me?

* * *

Nicholas had taken over foreman duties on the Chelsea section of the Wall, which now stretched five miles across the district, thanks to the speed and efficiency of the Boilers. He was thankful to escape the Engine Ward, knowing that Isambard had brought in a dragon.

He hadn't seen Aaron, and was grateful, for he didn't know how he could keep the whole affair from him. Had Aaron heard the dragon, or had Isambard taken it too far away? What was it even doing here? Why did Quartz not want Aaron to know about it?

As foreman, his main task was to oversee operation of the Boilers. The Boilers operated using what Brunel called a "program", an experimental term coined by Charles Babbage to mean a series of commands that the machine repeated over and over. Using a panel of switches and gears, Nicholas could make the Boilers twist, bend, secure, rivet, hold, and stack objects. He'd practised for half the night in the Boiler sheds, ‘till he could program precise movements without mistakes. The units needed men watching them constantly, for they sometimes malfunctioned. But as Nicholas watched in amazement, in less than two hours, ten Boilers erected the skeleton of the next half-mile of Wall.

As construction raced forward, onlookers lined the streets to gawp at the Boilers. "What be those?" asked the greengrocer as he huffed under the weight of a cart heaped with vegetables.

Nicholas explained how the Boilers worked, and his face lit up. "Gor, that Brunel is a clever chap. I'd buy one for meownself, so I didn't have to push this cart no more."

By lunchtime they'd run out of iron, and with the next shipment not due ‘till the following day, the men packed up their tools and wheeled the Boilers – their fires still stoked – onto the wooden wagons, strapped them down, and drove them across the city for demolition work. Hundreds of buildings had to be torn down and streets pulled up to made way for the Wall, but the Boilers made light work of such an impossible chore.

"These here contraptions are all right," said one worker, giving the nearest Boiler an affectionate pat. "I wouldn't mind one in me own home, make light work of the woodpile, wouldn't ye?"

The Boiler, of course, made no reply, staring forward with an unseeing gaze. For the first time, Nicholas felt the knot of fear in his stomach untie itself. Maybe Isambard really had found a way to build the Wall on time. Maybe the Boilers would save all their lives.

* * *

The breakneck pace of construction had not escaped notice. What should have taken months was completed in days, and already the skeleton of the Wall stretched from the Engine Ward right across the Thames to Paddington. In Chelsea, whole blocks of residences were demolished to make way for an ornate gatehouse. Tongues wagged – just who did this Brunel think he was?

Each day, the Wall's growth increased exponentially as more and more Boilers poured from the factory sheds. Soon more than a hundred Boilers worked the Wall, each one doing the work of fifty men without food or drink or pay.

As the shell took shape and the men grew confident with the machines, Nicholas gave up his job as overseer and got to work on the exterior design. He commissioned a team of craftsmen from the Isis Sect to construct the pediments and steel arches that made up the classically inspired exterior.

The Free-Thinking Men's Blasphemous Brandy and Supper Society met at their regular time. Aaron and Nicholas presented their code to James, who thanked them gratefully and set about committing it to memory.

Discussion quickly turned to the speed and efficiency of the Boilers, and other applications for the machines. Buckland saw them as great earthmovers, able to shift tons of dirt or rock to reveal the hidden stories of the biological past. Holman pointed to their application as mechanical servants, eliminating the need for men and women to perform chores about the house. Even Dalton could see uses for the machines in his medical practice. Aaron remained silent, but his surly expression gave his opinion away.

"Brunel must be careful," Buckland warned. "Powerful men are watching this Wall, and they're not as easily impressed as the London mob."

Nicholas barely contributed to the discussion. He watched Aaron carefully, worried about his state of mind, wondering if he too had heard the voice of Brunel's dragon. Twice, he almost blurted out what he knew about Quartz, but he didn't want to anger Aaron further.

The Royal Society met on its usual night, but when Isambard and Nicholas entered the room all conversation died away. The faces that met Isambard’s gaze did not show awe or admiration, but rather suspicion and fear. If he noticed the mood in the room, he cared not, and he carried on his sermons as if nothing were amiss. Nicholas knew the Council – who did not know of the King's secret railway – would not continue to allow Isambard such free rein.

* * *

Nicholas' suspicions proved correct. Ten days into the assigned month, Brunel received a summons from the Council. He was to report to Windsor Castle the very next day to answer questions by Council members on the alarming progress of the Wall.

"This is perfect," he said, folding the letter precisely and tucking it into his pocket.

"As always, friend, I am confused by your enthusiasm,” replied Nicholas. “Surely the Council means to curtail your progress on the Wall, maybe even prosecute you?"

"Prosecute me for what? I've done nothing wrong. The Council members have not seen my Boilers in action, so they are right to hold my methods under suspicion. But tomorrow I can win their support." A Boiler unit stood silent and un-stoked in the corner of Brunel’s workshop. Isambard walked over, took a rag soaked in oil, and began to lovingly rub away the dust that had accumulated on its surface. "Once they see my beauties operating, they'll all want one for themselves. Servants that don't have to be paid or whipped, workers that never tire – politicians are, above all else, greedy, lazy men. They would keep as much of their money in their own pockets as possible, and they will see the use in my Boilers, of that I am certain."

Nicholas had other things to think about. Tomorrow he would have his chance to see Brigitte again. With nerves wound tight as engine coils, he tried to formulate a plan to slip out of the meeting; perhaps when Brunel began his speech? He obtained his map of the castle and went over Maxwell's instructions ‘till he had them memorized.

That night he tossed and turned, unable to sleep for his fears. What if I am caught sneaking around the castle? What if Brigitte is caught and punished? What if she has changed her mind about me?

Early the following morning, Nicholas arrived, bleary eyed, outside the Boiler factory, where Isambard waited for him beside a private carriage. A small crowd of Stokers peeked from inside the factory, curious about the commotion.

He had never seen the Presbyter so excited; Isambard jiggled back and forth on his feet, practically dancing while the men manoeuvred a Boiler inside a tall wooden crate, nailed it shut, and heaved it onto the back of the carriage. The two men climbed aboard and the driver sped toward Windsor.

Isambard kept up a stream of conversation about his Boilers and the Council and the progress on the Wall. Nicholas tried to listen, but his mind was on Brigitte. He shoved his hands into his pockets and balled them into fists, hoping Isambard hadn't noticed the sweat pouring down his forehead.

Once at Windsor, Nicholas walked beside Brunel across the quadrangle toward the official entrance of the state apartments, one arm clutching his rolls of drawings, the other fingering a delicate porcelain figurine of a duck – a present for Brigitte.

The castle loomed before them. Some of the most influential men in England loitered in the courtyard, the robes of the Councilmen flapping in the wind as they huddled in tight circles. Politicians in their smart tailored suits passed around cigars. Eyes landed on Isambard and Nicholas and quickly looked away. Nicholas shuddered. Isambard will have a difficult time impressing this lot.

Brunel wrung his hands together, his brow creased in concern. He stopped to address two men, politicians and lesser priests of the Isis sect who proudly wore Stoker pins in support of Brunel. They fell into quiet discussion and Nicholas tuned out, his mind on Brigitte.

A maid. He'd fallen for a maid. All hope of avoiding the pain of love, of re-integrating himself in his father's favour had died the moment he’d laid eyes on that beautiful face.

I do not care. My father gave up on me a long time ago. But lovely Brigitte, she is my future.

The minutes passed and the men congregated on the lawn began to move toward the castle entrance, walking a wide circle around Isambard as if he might poison them with his presence. Nicholas felt their eyes boring into him and wondered if he'd even be able to sneak away.

They passed through the entrance and into the Crimson Drawing Room. Many members of the Council had already gathered, huddled in groups of threes and fours and talking in hushed voices, scuttling around the King like compies over a fresh carcass. The King slumped against his throne, his head lolling to the side, a thin line of drool extending from his mouth across the fine velvet upholstery. His wheeled chair had been placed just out of sight behind a heavy velvet curtain, and Sir Joseph Banks, his loyal Prime Minister, stood behind him, his face impassive as he tried to gently pull His Majesty back to a sitting position.

"Silence!" Banks barked. "His Majesty requires order in this room."

Men scrambled for the available seats. Isambard tried to pull Nicholas toward the front of the room, but he sat down in the back corner, closest to the open door, and shook his head.

"Please do not ask me to sit up there," he said. "In all these important men – there might be one who recognises my face. I will be here if you should need my help, but you do not need my help." He shoved the rolls of drawings into Brunel's arms.

Isambard nodded, and marched toward the front of the room. He straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and stepped forward to greet King George. After some official fanfare, the Council members took their seats, and Brunel spread out the plans and began pointing out the various features of the Wall. On their feet in no time, the Council members crowded around, jostling each other to squint at the complex drawings.

Forgetting his nerves, Brunel was in his element. His hands flew around his head, and his voice rose and fell with each point made. He stabbed the drawing with his fingers, stamped his foot, and stared every man directly in the eye. He wore no religious regalia; only a Stoker pin attached to his freshly pressed collar gave away his standing.

When he called for the crate containing the Boiler to be wheeled in, Nicholas knew it was now or never. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a dark shape ducking between the curtains at the edge of the room. He looked again. Maxwell waved at him from behind an arrangement of geraniums. Nicholas ducked away from the gaggle of Council members and approached the gardener.

"This is dangerous. I shouldn’t wander off—"

"Tosh," Maxwell flapped his hand. "The King is bonkers and that lot are too interested in your master's preaching to notice your disappearance."

Nicholas looked back. Sure enough, Brunel had the entire room in his thrall. He had the crate open, and while the Boiler steamed up, he moved his hands over it, illustrating functions of various components, while the Council members pressed against each other to get a closer look.

"You're correct. Let's go."

He followed Maxwell down a labyrinth of high, vaulted halls, covered walkways and colonnades, across the North Terrace, and through another wing of residences, ‘till they emerged in the oldest part of the castle, in front of the Curfew Tower, an ancient edifice of rough stone and impressive height. Shadowed by the Horseshoe Cloister, anything taking place in the courtyard could not be seen from the nearby St. George's Chapel. Wisteria crept up the stone walls, entwining themselves around the window lintels and arches. He stood on the steps and waited, heart pounding.

Maxwell disappeared and, a moment later, Brigitte stepped out from behind a holly bush, and his breath caught in his throat. She looked even more lovely than she had before, dressed in a simple blue dress, her unruly brown hair lovingly tamed into a fashionable style, a few stray curls framing her smiling, heart-shaped face.

She walked slowly, her steps controlled. He swallowed, resisting the urge to run to her.

"My lady," he took her hand and kissed it.

"It is good to see you again, Mr. Rose," she replied, her voice husky, quiet.

They remained like this, his lips frozen on her fingers, for several moments, the wind swirling around them. Finally, reluctantly, he dropped her hand.

"I have something for you," he said, pressing the duck into her hands. "To remind you of our last meeting by the pond."

She turned it over and over, bringing it close to her face to admire the exquisite detail, running her finger along the tiny golden beak. "It's beautiful," she whispered, her voice choking. "You shouldn't have."

"Hey. why are you crying?" He wiped a glistening tear from the corner of her eye.

"No one has ever been so kind to me before."

He kissed her hand again. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Maxwell gesturing frantically.

"Get down!" he cried.

Grabbing Brigitte's hand, Nicholas yanked her below the planter box, just as Brunel and two of the Council members stormed through the courtyard, followed by Joseph Banks wheeling a screaming King George.

"You!" Brunel bellowed at the gardener. "Have you seen my companion, Nicholas Rose? He disappeared from our meeting some minutes ago, but he can't have gone far."

"He cannot be allowed to wander the castle alone," Joseph Banks snapped over the King's anguished screams.

Nicholas squeezed Brigitte's hand. She covered her mouth with her hand and stared at him with wide, frightened eyes. If they catch her here, with me, wearing that beautiful dress, she'll be punished and will lose her job, and it will be my fault. He wouldn't be responsible for that. He pulled her tighter to him, straining to hear what was going on over the King's cries.

Why do they seem so anxious to find me? And why is the King screaming like that?

He peeked around the edge of the planter. Maxwell lay prostrate on the flagstones, mumbling that he didn't know where Nicholas was. Brunel and Banks towered over him. Banks’ hands balled into fists and his face formed a shadow of rage. The Council members bent their heads together, whispering as they glanced from the King to Brunel to Maxwell, unsure of what was transpiring.

"Joseph, take him away," one of the Councillors demanded. Banks ignored him, and kicked Maxwell in the head.

"Tell me where he is, you snivelling blackguard!" he howled.

He kicked Maxwell again. This time, the King screeched, snapping the leather straps holding him into the chair and clawing from the grip of the two Council members. He pounced on Maxwell, who cried out and tried to roll to safety, but the King straddled him, clawing at his back with his long fingernails, shrieking like an animal. As Nicholas watched, horrified, his Majesty King George III bent down and tore a chunk of skin right from Maxwell's outstretched arm.

Maxwell howled. The men grabbed the King under his shoulders and dragged him off Maxwell. Guards rushed in from the castle and carried him – still shrieking and chewing on a chunk of Maxwell's arm – back into the castle.

"Clean this mess up," Banks hissed at Maxwell, stomping away.

Brigitte whimpered. Nicholas, heart pounding, pulled her to his breast, pressing his finger against her lips to stop her crying out.

Brunel did not follow the others back inside. Even though he could no longer see Isambard, Nicholas could feel his gaze searching the flower beds, his boot tapping against the paving stones.

"I know you're there, Nicholas," he said. "I don't understand why you left the meeting and upset His Majesty like this. I'm very disappointed in you."

He turned on his heels and disappeared into the castle.

Brigitte let out a sob and rushed to help Maxwell. He lay on his side, clutching his arm where the King had bitten him, holding the jagged flaps of skin together in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Blood pooled beneath him, seeping between the cracks in the cobbles.

"Miss Julie will fix you right up, Maxwell," Brigitte said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and hoisting him to his feet. He moaned as blood splattered the front of her dress. Nicholas grabbed his other arm, meaning to steady him, but Brigitte pushed him away.

"I can manage, Nicholas. You must go to Brunel. Tell him you were lost wandering the gardens." She pointed to the southern entrance to the courtyard. "Head toward the round tower, quickly now, and find the gateway into the Upper Ward. You should come out near the South Wing in the Quadrangle. That way, it will look as if you went to look at the Norman gatehouse and got lost."

"Brigitte, I—"

"Go!" Maxwell stared up at him with pleading eyes. She turned away and began hobbling toward the entrance.

What could he do but go?

* * *

Her heart pounding, Brigitte helped the shaking gardener to his feet. Clutching his wound, he rested his weight against her, and she shuffled him toward the entrance to the servants' chambers.

"I must—" he wheezed, gesturing to the bloodstain on the flagstones.

"Leave it, you silly old fool. I'll send Cassandra to clean it off." She glanced over her shoulder, but Nicholas had gone.

She brought him to Miss Julie in the kitchens, who dropped her rolling pin in surprise. "You're dripping blood in the clotted cream!"

Maxwell responded by slumping hard against Brigitte's shoulder. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed on the floor with a mighty thud. Brigitte screamed.

Miss Julie grabbed one of his limp arms and heaved him into a sitting position, propping him up with a flour sack. She fanned his face while glaring at Brigitte. "What on earth happened, child?"

"The King, he bit Maxwell." Brigitte clamped down on her lower lip to keep from crying. "It was awful."

Miss Julie frowned as she inspected the wound. When she touched the edge, Maxwell shuddered. Blood pooled under his breeches and spread across the floor.

"Cassandra!" Miss Julie called. The girl came running in from the wash-house next door, skidding to a stop when she saw Maxwell.

"Maxwell will need some whisky. Bring us the whole bottle from the shelf."

"And then go out to the Curfew Tower courtyard and clean up the mess," Brigitte added.

Her face pale, Cassandra rushed off.

Miss Julie got out her sewing kit and threaded up a needle. When Cassandra returned with the whisky, she ordered Brigitte to wet Maxwell's lips with the dark liquid, and hold it under his nose ‘till he came round. Miss Julie worked quickly, her deft fingers stitching together the gaping wound. She was wrapping his arm in a bandage when Maxwell opened his eyes.

"What … what happened?"

"The King bit you, in the courtyard, do you remember?" Miss Julie smoothed back his hair. "You'll be right now."

"If only it was that simple, Miss Julie. I fear this is the end for me."

"Nonsense, it's just a bite. I'll have you right in no time."

"You don't understand. The King, he …"

"What, Maxwell, what?" Brigitte grabbed his shoulder and shook him, but his eyes glazed over and he slumped forward, collapsing against the floor.

* * *

Brunel didn't say a word to Nicholas in the carriage back to the Engine Ward, which made Nicholas apprehensive. He tried to meet the Presbyter's eyes, but Brunel seemed thoroughly engaged scribbling neat rows of sums down one margin of his ledger.

Finally, the carriage passed through the gates of Engine Ward and pulled up outside the Chimney. Brunel set his top hat astride his head and said to Nicholas, "Won't you join me at the pulpit?" It wasn't a question.

Nicholas followed Brunel into the empty church. Brunel ascended the stairs at a leisurely pace, lighting the candles from his Argand lamp on the way. He hummed a tune under his breath, knowing his easy presence was making Nicholas more nervous than ever.

Sweat poured down Nicholas’ face. His stomach knotted in on itself. He caught his boot on the steps and stumbled, knocking a candle over and spilling a trail of hot wax down the narrow steps.

Brunel turned around and saw the upset candle. "Tsk," he said. "You are upsetting the order of things tonight."

Nicholas had never been to the pulpit before. They stood on a thin platform, twenty feet above the church, surrounded on four sides by a low shelf containing metalworking tools, worn leather journals and rolls of drawings, all jammed in together in lackadaisical fashion. Brunel paced the length of the pulpit three times. Silence fell, the only sound his footsteps on the grating, and the murmurs of far-off animals.

Finally Brunel spoke, gesturing with his hand to the church below. "Do you see all this?"

"Yes—"

"You're not looking!" Brunel grabbed Nicholas behind the neck, whirled him around, and shoved his head far out of the side of the platform. His arms pinned beneath him, Nicholas had no way of pulling himself back. Brunel pushed him out even further, ‘till his feet flailed in the air and he was completely at the mercy of the Presbyter. Two coded plates – notes from the last Supper Club meeting – fell from his pocket and clattered across the grate. His head spun as he watched the floor of the church – the pews, the altar filled with candles and offerings – dance around him. His heart pounded in his throat. Please, Isambard, don't let go!

"I can fill this room to bursting with people, Nicholas. My people. They love me, worship me, and they will do whatever I ask of them. Many of them would gladly kill for the privileges I now show you, Nicholas."

"I—I—"

"No. Don't talk." Brunel dug his nails into Nicholas' arm. "I don't know what you thought you were doing, going off with that gardener, but you were at the castle by my grace, and what you did makes me look untrustworthy. A lot of those Councillors don’t believe I should have been allowed a church at all, let alone become a Presbyter or be in charge of this Wall. When you strolled away, when they had to break up the meeting to search the castle grounds for you, they think, ‘Brunel can't even control those in his employ. He's not cut out to control a church.’ They could strip me of my power at any moment, and doom the Stokers to a life of toil. Do you see? Do you understand why you can't do this?"

"Y—yes." Nicholas' ears pounded, as the blood rushed through his head, pounding against his skull. His vision swayed and blurred.

"Good." Brunel pulled him back. Dizzy, Nicholas tripped over his own foot and fell to his knees on the grating. Brunel reached down a hand to help him up.

"We've worked so hard for all this," he said. "Not just myself, but you, and Aaron, and all the Stokers. I couldn't bear to see it stripped away now."

"I understand, and I apologise. I don't know what's come over me." He did know, of course, but he couldn't tell Brunel about Brigitte. The engineer would not understand.

Brunel bent down and picked up the two plates, running his fingers over the cold metal. "What are these?"

"It's … a code." Nicholas thought it wise not to lie to Brunel. "Aaron and I worked on it together. We host these monthly dinner parties—"

"The Free-Thinking Men's Blasphemous Brandy and Supper Society?"

"How do you know about that?"

Brunel squinted at the plates. "Buckland is not a man easily given to concealing secrets. It is no matter; I see no reason to report your club to the Royal Society. But why print the code on plates like this?"

"So James can read them with his fingers."

"Genius." Brunel stuffed both plates into his pocket. "You will teach me this code, Nicholas, but not now. You've been distracted this past week. You should rest for a few days. Maybe call a doctor. The Boilers will finish the Wall, but we have much work still to do, and I can't have my favourite architect ill. Go home, and return to me when you feel clear again."

He dismissed Nicholas, swinging open the heavy church door. A biting cold swooped inside, and as Nicholas stepped out, and tipped his hat to Brunel, he felt the hairs on his arms stand up.

Pulling his coat tightly around him, he stepped into the waiting carriage and told the driver to take him home. He pulled down his sleeve and fingered the welts on his arms. I was selfish, he realised. I should never have left the meeting. I would not forgive myself if I destroy everything Brunel and Aaron have worked for.

Brigitte and I must be more careful.

* * *

LONDON WALL TO BE COMPLETED IN TIME FOR 1830 SEASON

The Times, London, 17 August, 1830

Isambard Kingdom Brunel, the engineer charged with the task of ridding London of the dragon menace, should like to inform all interested parties that the London Wall will be completed on Tuesday 24 August, 1830, in seven days’ time, several months ahead of schedule.

Construction of the Wall began only three weeks ago, and has moved at an unprecedented pace. Brunel credits the speed of construction to his newest innovation. "The Boiler is a simple machine – a worker who does not eat, sleep or rest. Powered by a fire within the belly, the Boiler can be set upon some specific task, which it then pursues with relentless precision until it is told to cease or runs out of fuel. One hundred of these units have done in three weeks what five hundred men could not complete in a year."

The Great Conductor Presbyter has been beset by requests to purchase Boilers. So far, he has turned away all engineers and manufactures offering money. "I have not yet perfected the Boiler unit," he said. "But when the Wall is complete, I shall have time to improve their workings, and my machines shall be made available on the open market."

Celebrations to mark the completion of the Dragon Wall will begin with a Sermon by Presbyter Brunel in Stephenson's Cathedral, followed by a Grand Supper at the Royal Society and a street parade. Although the internal railroad loop and gatehouses are not yet complete, London residents can expect to be riding across the city in their own luxurious broad gauge carriages by the end of the season.

* * *

Brigitte crawled under the ornate oak table on hands and knees, pulling her bucket into the awkward space between the footrests. Water sloshed over the sides, soaking the front of her pinafore. She sighed, and went back to scrubbing at the muddy footprints that criss-crossed the marble floors. Even though there hadn't been an official banquet in weeks, the room had evidently been in use recently. Brigitte stared at the neat path of brown splotches running from the door to the table to the corners of the tapestry and back, wondering how someone could have dined in this hall and forgotten to wash their shoes.

The King hadn't left his chambers in several days, and not one of the servants had been allowed past the guarded doors of his private wing. After what he did to Maxwell, Brigitte constantly looked over her shoulder, expecting at any moment to see his wheeled chair looming down on her, his face inches from her own, teeth bared, ready to strike. And Nicholas … Nicholas …

The way he threw me behind that bush, shielded me with his own body so they couldn't see me, lied to his friend Brunel to protect me and—

—that's odd.

She stood up, dropping the sponge back into the bucket, barely noticing the water splashing against her legs. She'd cleaned away the muddy prints from under the table to where they stopped in the corner – just beneath the plinth holding one of the two six-foot high lead candelabras. Here the prints grew confused, as men – at least two – had crossed and circled each other. But that wasn't what had caught Brigitte's attention.

The candelabrum was gone.

A glance to the other corner of the room revealed the second candelabrum was also missing. Heart pounding, she raced down the stairs to the kitchens, anxious to report the disappearance as soon as possible, lest she be accused of stealing them herself.

"Miss Julie. Miss Julie?"

The portly woman looked up from kneading bread with a sour look, and before she could reprimand her from returning from her duties so prematurely, Brigitte blurted out. "The lead candelabras in the south dining hall have disappeared."

"Nonsense, those weigh a pretty ton. A grown man would struggle to carry one of those from the castle, and to do so without being noticed—"

"There are muddy footprints everywhere, and I swear the candlesticks are no longer there! You must look for yourself. This is awful big trouble, isn't it?"

"Trouble indeed, child, if what you say is true. The last time a piece of silverware disappeared, we all had our wages docked for a month. Turns out Betty Oxtrot had put a dish back in with the terrines by accident."

"We didn't find it ‘till the Christmas feast! Miss Julie was fuming," giggled Cassandra. "She didn't half give her an earful."

"Belted that little strumpet right side of the head," said Miss Julie sternly. "Not that it knocked any sense into her. One ought to be less concerned about the contents of the porter's trousers and more concerned about one's duties."

Brigitte thought of Nicholas, and the beautiful china duck hiding beneath her pillow, and felt her ears flush red.

"Fetch Maxwell." Miss Julie turned back to the kneading. "And we'll investigate."

Brigitte found the gnarled gardener tidying the hedges around the pleasure gardens. He worked slowly, his left arm tied in a sling. His recovery from the bite had been swift, thanks to Miss Julie's intervention, but since the incident he'd seemed different – distant, lifeless, a shade of the Maxwell she'd loved.

She tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned. The skin on his face pulled around his eyes, stretched and thin. Strange blisters marked his cheeks. She recoiled in surprise. Such a change over only a week.

"How are you feeling?"

"Never better, Miss Brigitte." He gave a forced smile, leaning the shovel against his leg and wiping sweat from his forehead with his free hand. When his fingers passed over his skin, they left red welts behind.

"You seem … out of sorts. Maybe we should—"

"No!" She jumped at the anger in his voice. "I mean, it's nothing to worry about. I'm just feeling a little lifeless. Misbalanced humours from all the blood loss. I'll be right within the week. Now, what did you come running out here to tell me?"

"Miss Julie needs you in the castle," she said. "Someone's stolen the lead candlesticks, and we need your help to investigate."

"No help needed," he bent over his shovel. "I know who did it."

"Who?"

"The King. Or, more precisely, the King's men, on orders of the King. I saw five of them struggling down the hall with one last night."

"Whatever for?"

He shrugged. "Who am I to understand the mind of a king?" His gaze fell on the sling on his arm, and he sighed.

As he turned back to the garden, his eyes met hers, and she saw a deep fear there. Even though it was a warm day, and she was wearing her cloak, Brigitte shivered.

* * *

At precisely eleven minutes past midnight, the bell rang in the servants’ quarters. Brigitte rubbed sleep from her eyes, and went to Miss Julie's room, to find her still snoring. She shook Miss Julie awake.

"It's the King again, Miss. Do you think he's found out about the candelabras?"

”If you must find out, you can answer him yourself, and let me return to my dreams of saucy French soldiers." Miss Julie folded the pillow over her head.

As Brigitte tiptoed from the room, she could make out Miss Julie mumbling "Oh, Roberto …."

She tiptoed through the maze of corridors, toward the King's chamber in the western wing. Her footsteps echoed through the high arches and cavern-like spaces. The walls seemed to lean inward, closing around her as if they were going to swallow her up. The castle frightened her at night. The beautiful objects cast eerie shadows and every footstep groaned and creaked ominously.

Tonight, the darkness was positively terrifying. Over the shudders of the old castle was the faint, muffled sound of a woman screaming. Brigitte's pulse pounded in her ears.

As she neared the corridor, she passed through the outer doors, guarded by three guards, one snoring loudly, the other two playing whist. They looked up, their faces guilty, as she approached.

"He rang for housekeeping," she declared.

"I'm might sure he did," the younger of the two whist players winced. "Been ringing for all sorts during the dead of night, has His Majesty."

Voices echoed from the hall behind her. A woman screamed, loudly and frightfully close, the piercing sound quickly muffled. Brigitte felt a lump rise in her throat.

"If you want my advice," the younger guard said, "don't enter his chamber, and don't look at anything, lest you wish your eyes be struck from your head."

They waved her through, and she tiptoed down the hall, wishing she could muffle the clap-clap of her shoes against the polished Italian marble. She heard another sound, more like a howl than a scream, so high and piercing. It shook the chandeliers suspended from the ceiling. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and tried to calm her racing heart as she pushed the door to the King's chamber open a crack.

"Excuse me, Your Majesty, you rang for—"

"Lead!" the King screamed. "Bring me lead, now!" She heard scuffling, and the sound of a woman's cries muffled. She dared to peek through the crack, and saw a pair of naked, feminine legs twitching against the red silks of the royal bed. Hands reached and scratched at the flesh, raising thick cuts and gashes which sprayed blood onto the carpet. Brigitte gasped and turned away.

"Lead? Sir, I don't understand—"

"You'll be next!" King George roared. "Soon, you'll all taste the lead! Now, bring me a metallic treat, woman!"

Frightened, Brigitte turned away, slammed the door and dashed back down the hall, her eyes scanning every surface for a lead object. It was then she noticed something strange: every lead object in the opulent hall had been removed – the wall sconces, the candlesticks, even the lion's heads inlaid into the sideboard had been gouged from their settings.

She spied the doorway to the King's dressing room and remembered he kept a lead hat stand in the corner. Trembling, she reached for the door handle, only to discover that, too had been removed.

"You shouldn't go in there, Miss."

Brigitte jumped. "Maxwell! You didn't half give me a fright. What are you doing here?"

The hunched gardener grabbed her by the shoulders. "Did he bite you?"

"What? Maxwell, get your hands off me—"

"Did he bite you? Miss, it's very important." The moonlight in the windows above lit his features, gaunt and twisted, his cheeks and lips now pocketed with blisters and his teeth stained black.

"The King? He didn't lay a hand on me, but he was acting frightfully odd. He had a woman with him, and I saw—" she shuddered. "He has sent me to fetch him something made of lead. I remembered the old hat stand."

"He ate that a month ago, Miss Brigitte. Come with me." He hobbled off down the hall.

"He ate it? You're not making any sense. Maxwell, what's going on?" He tugged on her sleeve. "Maxwell, I can't. I have to get back—" He turned again, raised his finger to his lips, and gestured for her to follow.

They crept past the door to the King's chamber, still alive with scufflings and snarlings, and rounded another corner. Maxwell threw open the doors to the private reception hall and hobbled across the pristine marble floor, leaving a trail of grubby boot prints in his wake. Brigitte hurried after him, her eyes scanning every surface for a small scrap of lead.

They passed through a series of ornate receiving rooms, and at last Maxwell pulled back a velvet curtain to reveal a long, narrow corridor. Horrible sounds issued from within – unsavoury creatures demanding to be free.

Before she could protest, he grabbed her arm and yanked her inside. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw the corridor was boarded on both sides with rows of thick, barred doors. From behind each door, something howled and pounded and screeched.

"What are they?" she breathed.

"Look for yourself."

Handing her his lantern, he cupped his hands and she stood on them, and he lifted her up ‘till she was eye level with the thin slit at the top of the door. She stared down into a cell, resting the lantern on the ledge and directing the light downward. She gasped at the full magnitude of what presented itself.

It was a man. At least, it had once been a man. Now it circled and snarled and hissed like a monster, crawling on all fours in an ocean of its own foulness. Filth and blood caked the walls, and as she watched, paralysed in terror, it reared up toward her, screaming as it clawed at the door in its desperation to reach her. Blood flowed from its cracked fingernails, and it snapped and gashed its burnt, blackened teeth.

It was naked, save the blisters and burns that caked every inch of its body, and the strange metal protrusions which glowed through its cracked skin.

It lunged for her again, clawing at the door just below the slit. She screamed in terror and jerked back, losing her balance and toppling to the ground. Maxwell bent down to pick her up, steadying her with his good hand as she tried to stop shaking.

"What are they?"

"I call them the Sunken, but they were like us once. Gardeners, servants, women of the night. That one down here—", he pointed at the door, "was the ambassador of China. Now they are monsters."

"But, how?"

"The King, Miss Brigitte. They enter his private chambers as humans, and they emerge … as these – these aberrations! They crave anything made of blood or lead. He feeds them lumps of heated metal that scorch their skin and burn their insides, but they do not care. The more they consume the stronger and less human they become. The King calls them his lead children. And his lust grows stronger. Night after night he calls for more, more blood, more lead." He hung his head. "I have found women in the village for him … I have done horrible things …."

"But tonight you saved me."

"Yes, one life I have saved," Maxwell said, letting out a wretched sigh, "for all those I've helped ruin. For the ruin I've done to myself."

"Maxwell, no—"

He lifted his cast off his shoulder and unwound the bandages. When Brigitte saw what had become of the bite, her stomach turned.

His arm was completely black. The skin was no longer soft, but burnt and flaking away in crispy chunks. Miss Julie's careful stitches had been ripped out, and the hole stuffed with balls of lead, the leathery, blackened skin growing over the top of them, sealing them inside his body. She covered her mouth, struggling to keep back the bile rising in her throat.

"The King's Physician," he said, giving a wan smile. "He fixed me up good and proper."

"Maxwell, no." Tears steamed down her cheeks. She reached out a shaking hand to touch the protrusion, but he slapped her away.

"Tis fitting, Miss Brigitte. For my crimes."

"You weren't to know, Maxwell." She touched his shoulder. "Can we help them?"

"These … they are beyond help. They will gnaw their own arms off to taste the blood again. They are never full, never sated. The King has more such chambers, and every week the dungeon swells with more of their number. Soon, there will be no one left in Windsor Castle who does not crave the taste of metal or the blood of the living."

"And you, Maxwell?"

He laughed bitterly. "Do not fear for me, Miss Brigitte. You have done me kindness enough."

"I can't just do nothing!"

"You must go to your man, Miss Brigitte – your handsome gentleman who writes the notes. You must go away with him, far away from the castle, and never return. If the King lays eyes on you, young and pretty and trembling in fear, I will find you locked away in one of these rooms, and that is more than I can bear."

"But Miss Julie, and Cassandra and … and you? What will become of you, Maxwell? I cannot leave the castle without you."

"I will help them. I will try … but your man, he will know what to do." Maxwell said. "I've seen him with the engineer, Brunel. An important man is Brunel. The King trusts him, but Brunel has power over him. Brunel has been in secret to the King's chambers, late at night, many times, but he has not become one of the Sunken. And whenever he leaves the castle, the King is silent. He does not seek the blood. He sleeps. It is the only time he sleeps."

"I can't leave!"

"You must. Immediately. Tonight. Before he calls for you again."

* * *

She didn't even have time to return to her room to pack her things. Maxwell led her to a staircase she'd never seen before, hidden behind a painting in the Crimson Drawing Room. "This leads down to the cellar," he said. "From there, take the south tunnel toward the gate. It's locked, but you should be able to break through easily enough. Once you're outside, go to the town – there should still be someone at the pub – and find a coach into London."

"My money is back in my room."

"Here." He pressed some coins into the pocket of her nightdress. "It's not much, but should see you safely to London. Be careful, Miss Brigitte."

"I will. Maxwell, don't—" Tears stung her eyes.

He gave her a gruff pat on the shoulder, then pushed her onto the stairway. "None of that now." He slammed the door shut behind her, plunging her into darkness.

She placed a hand on each wall and felt her way with her feet. The stone steps, more crooked and sharp than the other servants' passages in the castle, which had been worn smooth with centuries of constant use, coiled around in a tight spiral. As she descended, threads of a spider's web caught on her face, and something fluttered past her shoulder. She cried out, her foot slipping on the step. She grabbed the wall and regained her balance, her heart pounding against her chest.

Finally, the floor levelled out, and she walked into a heavy wooden door. Feeling around for the latch, she discovered it unlocked, and pushed the bolt through and hurried into the cellar.

And then she heard the howling.

She ran. Past the stacks of beer and wine barrels, past the storerooms of grain, barley, and brandy, past the dark corners concealing nests of compies. Blindly, she criss-crossed through the maze of corridors, surrounded by the shrieks of the Sunken.

She careened around a corner, knowing that she was now completely lost, and found herself in the dungeon. "No!" she screamed, sinking to her knees in horror.

Maxwell had spoken the truth. The Sunken filled every cell, their charred faces snarling from the depths. Blackened limbs flailed through the bars, pawing at the air in their desperate attempt to devour her. They shook the bars with such ferocity she was certain they would tear the castle down.

They can smell me, she realised. They know I'm not one of them, and they're baying for my blood.

But the most horrific thing of all was the sound. The high, inhuman wail, the desperate scraping as they gnashed their teeth against the iron bars, the cracking of bones as they crushed one another in their frenzy.

But surely, they can't—

Something clattered against the stone floor. A section of the rotting door to one of the older cells had fallen away. Footsteps pounded down the hall, and two of the Sunken, spittle dribbling from their gaping, blackened mouths, raced down the corridor toward her.

Sobbing, she whirled from the frightful sight, and fled back up the corridor.

I'm dead. I'm going to die and they're going to eat me and turn me into one of them—

She poured on speed. The south tunnel – she would have to reach it before they caught her. You can lock it behind you.

Think, Brigitte, think. You know where the south tunnel is.

Back to the cellar. Left, right, left. Where is it? She scrambled along another passage, her hands scraping along the bare stone walls. Not this way. She doubled back, dove into the right corridor, and there, before her, was the door to the south tunnel. It was blocked with a heavy wooden door.

Yes, yes!

She grabbed the handle and pulled. Nothing. It wouldn’t budge. She fumbled around the rotting edges, found the latch, and pulled it across. Still nothing.

Behind her, the Sunken flung themselves around the corner, scraping their long fingernails against the stone walls. They saw her and sprinted down the tunnel, pulling each other back in a desperate attempt to be the first to devour her.

She screamed, leaned against the door, and fell backward.

Crying in relief, she heaved the door shut and slid the bolt through, just as the Sunken crashed against it.

She ran on, one hand on the ceiling, one on the wall, feeling her way. She couldn't see a thing. These tunnels had been dug many centuries before, as an escape route for the King should the castle walls be breached. Unlike the rest of the cellar, the walls were rough rock, which scraped her hands raw. Still she ran, not knowing how long that door would hold the Sunken back.

Her foot kicked something hard, and it screeched and scuttled away. Something warm fluttered past her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, pushing down the panic.

She slammed into something at full speed, sending her sprawling across the tunnel floor and knocking the wind out of her. Gasping for breath, she reached with both hands to feel out the obstacle. Wood, iron hinges, a heavy lock. It was the door. The door to freedom!

She lifted the padlock and dropped it against the wood, the heavy clatter echoing down the tunnel. Locked, just as Maxwell said. He'd also said she'd be able to get through, but how? I can't go back. Think, Brigitte – there must be a way through this door.

Feeling with her hands, she searched the hinges for signs of weakness. They had rusted at the edges, but were still solidly attached to the wood and the rock. Next, she checked the lock. Sure enough, it, too, had rusted, and, although the bolt still remained solid, a deep gash had been gouged in the rock where it bit into the wall. She pressed her weight against the door, and the whole bolt slid back and forth.

She emptied the pockets of her apron. Please let it be here … yes! She held a single brass hairpin, the one she'd worn on her first date with Nicholas.

Bending back the pin, she went to work, scraping the rust from the edge of the lock and widening that gap between it and the rock as much as she could.

She pushed and pulled the door some more, relishing the scrape of rusted metal against the soft rock. She nearly had it. More chipping, more wriggling, and it popped free and swung open, revealing a short stone staircase and a shaft of brilliant moonlight.

She raced up the stairs, and along a path that wound through the forested area to the south of the castle. Lights twinkled on the horizon, just visible between the trees. She headed toward them, hoping the villagers would be well-disposed toward her.

Part II

The Engine

1820

Boys lined both sides of the dock, some with parents or nannies in tow. Some who'd purchased commissions into the higher ranks wore new uniforms, pressed and neat. Others, like Nicholas, stood alone in their skivvies, folding and unfolding their papers and staring up at the tall ships with worried expressions. The new English flag flew from every mast – that amorphous hodge-podge of symbols representing the ten new sects earning scowls of disapproval from the older veterans.

Overhead, seagulls circled, their thoughts flitting in and out of his head. They'd been summoned by the commotion on the docks – they knew tall ships and crowds of people meant food.

Beside him, James was so excited he could hardly stand still. His mother kept bending down to smooth his shirt. A stout, stern-faced woman, she'd dealt with a lot in recent years. She was a rarity among Stokers, for she'd married outside the sect and made a good life for herself in the city, until tragedy struck. Her husband – James' father – was an officer in the King's Royal Guard, and had been killed during a raid of an underground Anglican service. His family, who had opposed the marriage to one of the "Dirty Folk", had sent her packing back to the Engine Ward, but not before securing a commission for James as a Naval Volunteer – a fast-track post to an officer's rank. All he'd had to do was survive two years in the Engine Ward, two years under Marc Brunel's tutelage, until he was old enough to go to sea. And now here he was, buttons all shiny, about to be an adventurer for real.

Nicholas – who would have to work his way up from the bottom if he had any hope of becoming an officer – watched her fuss over James, and he longed for his own family. His father had thought him unfit for service, being the scrawnier of the two sons, but he would have bought Nicholas a military commission anyway; not in the Navy, but with the 62nd Wiltshire (his father's own regiment), had he asked for it. But now he would have to make his way without his father's money and influence.

He gazed up, and up, and up at his new home – the flagship HMS Euryalus, her imposing hull looming overhead – a solid wall of wood and iron, a veritable floating fortress with four decks of guns. He had to lean right back to catch a glimpse of the tangles of rope and sails jutting at all angles from the masts. Fear gripped his chest. I know nothing about sailing. What if I fall?

Isambard stood beside him, hands in the pockets of his green Stoker overalls, his face and sleeves stained with coal. Master Brunel was still being held for questioning regarding Henry's death, and Nicholas wouldn't even get the chance to say goodbye, or thank you. But Isambard stood on the side of the dock to see them off, his lithe frame jostled in the careless pushing of the more well-to-do children.

"Look at him." He pointed to James, who had pulled his sketchbook out and was scribbling a drawing of the nearest frigate. "I've never seen him so happy."

"All he’s ever wanted is to be an adventurer." Nicholas smiled up at the ships that would bear them across the ocean to America. "At least one of us will have a dream come true."

Isambard looked away. "Will you write?" he asked, staring at his shoes.

"As often as I am able." Nicholas wanted to reach out, to embrace Isambard, to cry the tears that threatened to leak from his eyes. But Isambard would not look at him, and Nicholas knew the bond between them stood on a razor's edge. He wanted to offer some kindness, some words of encouragement about Isambard's father, but he could find none that bridged the gap that now widened between them. Instead, he too stared at his boots, the guilt in his heart widening ever further.

"Are you ready?" James reached across and squeezed Nicholas' hand. "They're calling for us to board. I'm over there on the Cambrian. She's smaller than yours, but she'll see plenty of action, I'm sure."

Nicholas gathered up his small rucksack, as heavy on his shoulders as a boulder, and, with a last forlorn wave to Isambard and James, he clambered up the gangway to meet his new destiny.

* * *

"Just a little to the left," Isambard hissed, the tread of his boot shifting uncomfortably into Aaron's shoulder.

Aaron gritted his teeth. Bracing his shaking legs against the brick schoolhouse, he shuffled a few inches left, his shoulders screaming under the full impact of his friend's weight.

"Steady!" Droplets of ink splashed onto Aaron's shirt. He sighed, a strangled sound, his lungs carrying no air. His mother would hang him when she saw the stains.

"I can't hold much longer," Aaron winced. The skin on his right shoulder pinched between his collarbone and Isambard's boot. He leaned his whole body into the wall of the schoolhouse, hoping the lesson wouldn’t go overtime.

As Stokers, they were expected to learn their duties from their parents, and weren't permitted into the engineering schools. That was how they had met – Aaron used to sit on the overpass behind the Stoker camp and watch the children of the other sects lining up for classes, their satchels and slates tucked under their skinny arms. One day, he showed up to his usual spot, only to find it occupied by a boy a little older than he, his gaze fixated on the students, tears running unnoticed down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," said Aaron. "I didn't mean to disturb you." He turned to depart, but the boy spoke.

"Why did you come here? To watch the students?"

Aaron backed away, not wanting to answer. He didn't want to get in trouble. But the boy didn't scold him. Instead, he sighed. "That's why I come here, sometimes. I used to go to school, you know."

Aaron glanced at the boy's green overalls, two sizes too big and identical to his own, wondering how he'd been able to attend a school. Suddenly, he understood. "You were one of Master Brunel's students? My brother Henry went to his school. I wanted to go too, one day, but Henry has gone and got himself killed and they locked Master Brunel away—"

"Marc Brunel is my father." The boy looked away.

"Oh." Aaron didn't know what to say to that. The boy patted the space on the girder beside him, and Aaron sat down. "I'm Isambard," the boy said, offering his hand.

"I'm Aaron. I work in the western furnaces." He didn't mention that he was still only a coal-boy – he was so clumsy around machines he couldn't be trusted with any other task.

"I'm on maintenance team C. Stephenson's church." Isambard spat out the Messiah's name as if it were poison in his mouth. "Sometimes I hide in the broom cupboard and listen to his lectures."

"Why would you do that?"

Isambard stared at him, his gaze fixed and unnerving. "You cannot tell a soul, Aaron."

"I won't."

"I'm going to make a locomotive, just like Stephenson. Only I aim to make mine better."

Afterward, the pair found each other on the overbridge each day, and they would sit and watch and talk and dream. As much as Aaron wished he could cast aside his coal shovel and enter those walls to learn about arithmetic and biology and geography, Isambard wished it more. He cursed his lineage with such ferocity that Aaron at times feared he hated their people.

It was not the Stokers, but the church for which Isambard reserved his ire. After all, it was the conservatism of Great Conductor's priests – appalled at Marc Brunel's radical school – that had demanded his father's arrest. And the church certainly treated the two boys like a pair of pariahs: Aaron with his head in the clouds and his clumsy hands would have made a better farmer than a Stoker; and Isambard, with his surly indifference and unflattering habit of pointing out the mistakes of priests much older and more powerful than himself … well, no one quite knew what to do with Isambard. Even the Stoker children avoided them, when they weren't chasing after them, hurling rocks and cruel words.

And so, they found comfort in each other, though in many ways they didn't understand each other at all. Isambard – like his father – tested the boundaries of Stoker society. His mind connected ideas, toyed with tangents of thought, and although he knew he wasn't supposed to and he was constantly being beaten for it, he couldn't help inventing. He would take a machine apart, figure out how it worked, and put it back together so it worked more efficiently than before. He had a natural way with machines, as if his very mind worked on gears and pistons.

Aaron, on the other hand, spent his youth trying to stay as far from machines as possible. He had only to glance at a mechanism for it to seize and break down. He found the heat and steel stifling, pushing in on him so he couldn't breathe. Sometimes with Isambard, but often alone, he would slip unnoticed through the fences and wander through the city. He often found himself meandering around the many public gardens, ducking between the rose bushes at Kensington or sitting by the duck pond in Hyde Park.

It was here, in these parks, when he first heard – truly heard – the voices of the animals. He spent hours following the ducks inside his head, mapping their relationships and thoughts. Far from crowding his head, the voices calmed him. They eased the headaches caused by the constant pounding of pistons and roaring of furnaces.

With the exception of a few chittering compies – tiny feathered dragons who swarmed around food scraps and loved to steal bolts from the workshop floor – the only animals that entered the Engine Ward were already dead – the pigs and cattle put to the flame for dinner. Out here, Aaron felt for the first time as though the world were truly alive.

Despite their differences, the two boys had one thing in common. More than anything, they both desired to escape from Engine Ward forever. And that was why Aaron found himself teetering precariously under the window of a Metic Engineering School with a heavy future Presbyter standing on his shoulders, frantically scribbling down the lessons from the blackboard inside.

"Isambard? My shoulders are separating."

The scribbling intensified. "Got it!" Isambard jumped down, landing on his feet in the damp garden. Aaron slumped against the wall and rubbed his aching shoulders.

"Go on, let's see it, then."

With a smile as wide as a furnace door, Isambard held up the sketch. A crude drawing of a steam locomotive occupied the entire page; every inch of white paper covered in scribbled calculations and scrawled notations. Aaron squinted, wondering how Isambard planned to make sense of it.

"This is what we're going to make," Isambard said, his smile growing wide. "Except we're going to make it better."

* * *

Aaron didn't doubt Isambard's determination. If his friend set his mind to something, he would find a way to accomplish it, rules and consequences be dammed. He inherited this trait from his father, who flouted convention at every turn.

Marc Brunel had a reputation. And no Stoker alive wanted one of those. Isambard's father's troubles had begun when he'd lost his foreman job four years earlier after a blasphemous machine had been discovered.

He'd created a tunnelling shield for the Stokers who dug the networks of tunnels under Engine Ward. Though the Stokers now had enormous steam-driven tunnelling and earth-lifting machines, their operation required whole teams of men crowding into tight spaces. The tunnel work was dangerous – rock and debris fell in all directions. One wrong step in the cramped space and a man could find himself sawn clean through by the tunnelling arms.

The shield acted like a giant rain umbrella, protecting the men from falling debris and offering a barrier between the dangerous machinery. Grateful for any concession to their safety, the work crew made no mention of Marc's invention to the clergy, knowing what trouble it would cause.

But a surprise visit to the tunnels by Messiah Stephenson revealed Marc's folly. Appalled that Stokers were creating inventions without the sanction of their church or the Royal Society, he reported the infraction to the Council, and Marc was forbidden to work with machines ever again. Since no other work was open to a Stoker, Marc opened a school.

Marc's punishment outraged the Stokers, who knew that inventions were needed every day to keep the men safe and the works from failing. Surely, they cried, the church can't expect them to seek permission for every single innovation? Stephenson stood his ground – the Stokers were not to innovate without his explicit permission. Discontent between the workers and the clergy escalated: priests found their churches vandalised, indecipherable graffiti scrawled across the walls. Fires soon broke out across the Engine Ward, destroying two churches and severely damaging many more.

"We've as much right to invent as any other Englishman!" was the talk around the Stoker fires.

"Those Stokers have more rights than us, and we're the bloody followers of Stephenson," grumbled the Navvies.

"This Marc Brunel is dangerous, " said the priests, who would never dream of working in the tunnels where they might get their robes filthy. "He blasphemes against Great Conductor and mocks our King's laws."

"But we can't risk making him a martyr for the Stokers," said the Council, who knew the Engine Ward could not function without the Dirty Folk. "How do we make him go away?"

Then, of course, Henry had gone and got himself killed, and the Council and the priests finally had their chance to be rid of Marc Brunel once and for all. So they locked him away while they gathered evidence for his trial.

All of this was known to Aaron, and it made him nervous. But Isambard vowed to succeed where his father had failed, and convinced Aaron to help him construct the design for the locomotive engine in secret.

"When it's finished, the Council will be so amazed, they won't care that it was a Stoker who invented it," he said.

"That doesn't seem the likely reaction of any counsellor I know," said Aaron, once again trying to temper his friend's enthusiasms. "They'd sooner hang us for blasphemy than admit they were wrong."

"So we shall sell it to one of the other sects. Even the Navvies can have it. I don't care, as long as we build it and it is ours."

Once Isambard had perfected the design, they began to scrounge the parts they needed to begin the engine, picking through the detritus left in the scrap yards behind the Engine Ward. They worked in secret, during the few scant hours they could escape from work and chores and their families. Less and less Aaron found himself able to slip away and visit the parks, and Isambard never joined him anymore. His mind was always focused on the engine.

They found an abandoned workshop in the bowels of an old Morpheus church – the abode of a lesser artist whose cult had died with him – and there they dragged their hoard of scrap metal and worked tirelessly for months. Aaron – who barely understood the plans and couldn't fathom the complex nature of the machine – banged and hammered and welded and fitted. Isambard tinkered with the finer mechanisms – the condenser, the valves, the superheater. He stole chalk sticks from the nearby engineering school and drew columns of equations on the dirty walls.

And so they toiled, in the few hours they could escape from the workgangs, with the constant fear of discovery hanging over their heads.

And in the midst of this Isambard's father's trial began. Isambard was forbidden to visit his father in the Tower of London, and his mother – a spiteful, hate-filled woman – increased his sufferings by bringing home a retinue of men, each more despicable than the last. Priests and acolytes spent their nights in her bed, joining her in jeering at her son as he waited outside the door of their shack for her to finish. At her insistence, they would take off their tightly wound horsehair belts and beat him ‘till he wept.

Aaron worried for his friend, and for the damning evidence of their own innovations, still lying unfinished in the cellar of the abandoned church. He worried even more when Isambard threw himself into the project with abandon, channelling all his hatred and anger toward finishing the locomotive. He became careless, walking away from his duties as though he didn't care who followed him.

The entire Ward crackled with tension. Every engineer lectured about Marc Brunel from their pulpit – many supported the Council of the Royal Society in punishing Isambard’s father for flouting the King’s most sacred laws, but others saw the true genius of his invention, and rallied for his immediate release.

But in the end, it was Robert Stephenson, who served as prime witness for the prosecution and spoke with grace and conviction in his Royal Society sermons about the importance of upholding the King's laws, who turned the tide of popular opinion against Marc Brunel. The Council needed to retain control over the unwieldy religious system, and could not back down, especially not for one of the Dirty Folk. But neither could they execute him and risk him becoming a martyr, and so Marc Brunel was sentenced to deportation.

Isambard didn’t cry when the priests and their supporters poured out into the streets of Engine Ward in celebration, falling in behind Stephenson's carriage, waving incense in the air and singing songs of praise; nor when he and Aaron snuck out and watched his father being marched on board a convict ship; nor when his mother slapped him about the face for staring and ordered him back to work. When Aaron looked into his friend's eyes, all he saw was hatred, and this worried him even more.

Later, while Isambard and Aaron worked by candlelight in their secret workshop, the priests held a great feast at the church. The scent of roasting meat and the sounds of music and laughter carried across the chilly night, and found their way underground to the boys’ workshop. And suddenly, the space seemed very, very small.

Isambard put down his hammer, leaned his face against the cold stone wall, and screamed. Aaron, frightened by the sound of his friend’s heart finally breaking, and by the fact that Isambard’s screams might at any moment bring the priests running to their hiding place, crawled under the engine and hid there.

A little while later, when Isambard had slumped against the wall and fallen silent, Aaron heard shouts outside. But it wasn’t the priests. The shouting grew louder. And now it was joined by screams.

Aaron crawled out from under the engine and grabbed Isambard’s hand. "Something’s wrong," he said, dragging his silent, shaking friend outside.

Outside, Stephenson's church was alight. Stokers raced through the narrow streets, carrying torches and calling for the blood of the man responsible for condemning Marc Brunel.

As Aaron and Isambard watched in horror, the Stokers surrounded the Navvy workcamp and ordered those inside to bring out Robert Stephenson, to be hanged in revenge for Brunel's banishment. The Navvies, of course, refused, so the Stokers put their camp to the torch.

Aaron and Isambard watched, silent, disbelieving, as the fire spread quickly through the shacks and workshops. Women ran screaming into the streets, their hair and clothes alight. Men trapped inside their homes cried from their windows as the flames engulfed them. Many threw themselves from the burning buildings, dashing their brains out on the streets below. The smoke blew over the whole Engine Ward, bringing with it the smell of burning flesh.

Aaron buried his face in Isambard’s shoulder.

As the alarms went up constables and Redcoats poured through the gates of the Engine Ward, and within minutes, they had rounded up most of the troublemakers and shot them, right there in the streets. Aaron dragged Isambard to the pumps, ready to help quench the flames, but a constable shooed them away. "You Stokers have done enough tonight," he growled.

So instead they clambered up the water tower and shared a bottle of whisky Aaron had stashed there. It took several hours to extinguish the flames, and it was only in the light of dawn that Aaron could gaze upon the true devastation to the Ward. The Navvy camp had been completely destroyed, and Stephenson's grand church stood gutted, a blackened skeleton in the early-morning sun. The fire had spread to parts of the Metic and Morpheus districts, but the Stoker camp remained unharmed.

"We will pay for this," Aaron whispered as he stared in horror at the destruction. Isambard nodded, but his expression betrayed his pleasure at the sight.

* * *

During his first few weeks on board the Euryalus, Nicholas hardly thought of Isambard at all. He spent every waking moment clutching the rigging for dear life every time the ship lurched on a wave, and learning the skills of a sailor: splicing and knotting ropes, folding sails, keeping time, and ringing the ship's bell every half-hour.

His small frame made him the perfect size for a sailor, and soon he was swinging from the rigging with the midshipmen. His hands tore and bled as he hauled in the ropes – the boys at night compared their wounds and watched with fascination as their scabs healed into calluses.

And he listened. He had hoped being on the ocean might offer him some relief from the voices, but he had been wrong. He could not ignore them, for they were so different from anything he'd ever heard before: schools of fish who thought like compies – one mind with a thousand vessels; molluscs with thoughts like treacle – thick and syrupy as they clung to the rocks for dear life. And far below the surface, in cracks and crevices that stretched right down to the centre of the earth, flickerings of much older creatures, whose thoughts seemed to stretch across eons, alien, and indiscernible.

The Euryalus, a 36-gun Apollo-class frigate, was one of the few English ships not destroyed in the Battle of Trafalgar, that terrible day in 1805 where Britain suffered such heavy losses to the French and Spanish fleets that her naval power had been crippled ever since. The Euryalus' orders were to patrol the Channel in a squadron with four other frigates, and engage the French ships that were disrupting trade between England and her colonies.

It was five months before he had his first taste of battle. He was on the foredeck when the call went up; a strange sail was sighted on the southwest, bearing up the coast toward them. She must've spotted them, because she gave tack, running away toward Ostend. The captain ordered the crew to raise sail, and they gave chase.

Nicholas was with the gunners. His job was to spread the sand on the deck – it would absorb the blood and water that pooled on the deck during an engagement and prevent the men and guns from sliding on the slick surface. He watched the men rolling out the guns – twenty-six eighteen pounders on the upper deck, where he was stationed. The more experienced sailors laughed and joked with each other as they prepared the guns, but the young boys exchanged worried glances. Nicholas knew he should feel scared, but he was excited at the prospect of meeting the French in battle and seeing the guns in action.

With the wind behind, Euryalus quickly drew ahead and the Captain gave the order to tack in front of the French vessel, a 31-gun frigate. She fired a broadside. Nicholas ducked as splinters exploded all around him, and the deck beneath him shuddered. He glanced around, but apart from a couple of boys cowering behind the mizzen, no one seemed that concerned. The French ship had tacked away in an attempt to escape, but Nicholas could already see they had made a fatal mistake. The Euryalus swung round and, with the favourable wind, was able to cross their line and the Captain gave the order to fire.

All along the decks, the cannons went off. Nicholas' ears rang from the sound, and the acrid smoke clouding the deck quickly extinguished his vision. He coughed, and crawled forward to the bulwark to try to see if they had hit.

When the smoke cleared, he could just make out the deck of the French ship. Her sails had been shredded by their shot, and she was dead in the water. He could see her crew scrambling to ready their guns. The Captain was yelling orders, but Nicholas could barely hear him over the ringing in his ears and the shouts of the men around him as they loaded the guns again.

Another broadside rocked Euryalus, splintering the mast above his head and showering the deck in wooden shards. Nicholas leaned against the bulwark and covered his head. The deck shook violently as the guns fired again, spewing powder into the air. Nicholas rolled out of the way as one of his crewmates fell off the arm and crashed onto the deck beside him, blood pouring from his mouth.

A cheer rang out along the deck. The enemy ship had been sighted, and she was in bad shape. Euryalus made another pass with the guns, and the French surrendered. The Captain ordered a boarding party over, and Nicholas was chosen to help carry spoil back across to the Euryalus. At barely sixteen years of age, he stood for the first time on the deck of a naval prize and felt something like pride for his country, like he might finally have found where he belonged. It was a small victory in an ongoing war that the English were losing, but it filled Nicholas with hope for his future.

Weeks turned into months, and the months faded into a year. Nicholas' voice broke and stubble appeared on his chin and his skin cracked and blistered. He began to feel at home on the sea and with the new voices that inhabited his head. Now that he knew his duties by heart, he spent his days learning about navigation and repairing sails from the midshipmen and officers. While on watch at night he would lean over the edge of the deck and call dolphins to dance alongside the ship. He even tried to summon up one of those monsters of the deep. But as soon as he grabbed a mind, it would push him out again. But he kept trying.

Euryalus travelled down the coast of Europe, chasing down several Spanish privateers along the way, and finally put in at Gibraltar – her first time in port in fourteen months. The crew were let loose on the dockside to stretch their sea-weary legs. While the rest of the men headed to the taverns and bawdy-houses along the docks, Nicholas found the post office to deliver his letters to Isambard. He'd written several while on board, and these he stuffed into an envelope with some sketches he thought would interest his friend.

As he waited in line to buy stamps, he noticed a stand of British newspapers for sale – a few months old, but he hadn't heard news of England in even longer. He picked up a copy of the Times and leafed through it while he waited for the line to move.

STOKERS TO BLAME FOR ENGINE WARD FIRE

Following the deportation of Stoker Marc Brunel for causing the death of a child at his school, a gang of Stokers armed with torches attacked the Navvy district in the Engine Ward, killing thirty-seven and razing most of the buildings, including a wing of Stephenson's Cathedral, to the ground …

Marc Brunel – Isambard's father, his beloved teacher and the only person ever to encourage Nicholas' love of architecture – had been deported. Nicholas checked the date on the paper. He'll probably in Van Diemen's Land by now. He skimmed the rest of the article. The Navvies had left London, and anti-Stoker sentiment seemed at an all-time high.

Isambard. His heart ached for his friend, now truly alone.

* * *

James Holman's Memoirs – Unpublished

My ship, the HMS Cambrian, was heading to the Americas to join an English force to attempt to win back some of her lost territory. The excitement of finally being on board a vessel and bound for adventure soon wore off when I realised I had months of nothing to look forward to but miles and miles of ocean. I concentrated instead on working hard, taking regular exercise to prevent illness, and earning a good reputation on board, and so it was that by the time we put in at the port of New York, I had earned the esteem of the senior officers and was well on my way to making midshipman on board the Cambrian, a fifth-rate frigate in His Majesty's Navy.

Without a huge English naval presence in the Americas, the French and Spanish had been systematically gaining control of the ports, and were exercising monopolies on some of the most sought-after goods; Venezuelan coffee, Cuban sugar, and South American indigo. King George wanted to re-establish a viable trade route, which meant first taking back, and then holding, the strategic port of New York.

After nine months at sea, I was itching to set foot on foreign soil and explore a country completely foreign to me. But it was not to be. The hard work of returning the port to British control had been done before we arrived, so we had entirely missed our chance for glory. Our orders were to patrol the mouth of the port, inspecting the crew and cargo of the vessels entering to ensure they weren't French or Spanish. "Reflagging" of ships (forging their papers) was common practice, so any ship we deemed suspicious was sent to Halifax in Nova Scotia, where its goods could be seized and any American men found on board was impressed into the British Navy.

While the whole operation sounds terribly cloak and dagger, an adventurer couldn't have asked for a worse posting. Since we inspected vessels as they came into harbour, we remained at the harbour entrance and after five further months, we had still not put in on dry land. I saw the ruddy peaks of the new land, of America, jutting up from the horizon, but she was as impossible to reach now as she was from England, and the sight of her taunted me so.

I wished Nicholas were here with me.

* * *

The Stokers and the Navvies had never trusted one another, but after the fire they were the bitterest of enemies. Stephenson's response to the disaster was quick and devastating. Rather than rebuilding the Navvy camp, he simply moved his entire operation to Manchester, depriving the Engine Ward and the City of London of one of her most profitable businesses. And every time an engineer wondered why there was a lack of skilled workers, or the Royal Society lamented the loss of great minds to lesser cities, they had only to look to that charred patch of the Engine Ward to see where to lay the blame.

And during all this uproar, when the Stokers became overnight the most hated of all men in London, Isambard and Aaron toiled away on their engine, on their own private protest against the loss of Marc Brunel.

Isambard's life took a turn for the worse after the protests. Aaron's own unpleasant home life distracted him from his friend's increasingly manic state, but he couldn't fail to notice Isambard wincing as he worked. No matter how uncomfortable the temperature in the cellar, Isambard pulled his shirtsleeves down, attempting to cover dark bruises and burns on his arms and shoulders.

One day, about a year after they started work on the engine, Aaron entered their secret workshop to find his friend hunched over the bench, his face in his hands.

"Isambard?" Aaron reached out his hand, tentatively brushing his friend's shoulder.

Isambard shrugged his hand away. He lowered his hands from his face, revealing a swollen black eye.

"What happened?" Aaron asked, no longer able to hide his concern.

"Mother has taken up with a new suitor," said Isambard, his voice bitter. "The priest Merrick. He's a brute of a man, more animal than priest. They are to be married next week."

"Do you want to—"

"I want," Isambard growled, "to finish this engine."

* * *

In a rare moment of maternal kindness, Aaron's mother took him and his older bothers Oswald and Peter to see a menagerie in Regents Park. Perhaps she'd simply wished to escape the tension of the Engine Ward for an afternoon, or perhaps she hoped the fresh air would wash away the stench of alcohol and sadness that pervaded her body.

Since Aaron’s father, Henry Williams Senior, had been killed by a falling pylon five years previously, his mother had raised the boys alone, although Aaron often joked with Isambard that whisky had been his real father. After losing her husband and favourite son, she'd found solace in spirits. Her dull eyes barely strayed from the bottle at her side, and her listless voice could scarcely exert any kind of authority over her home. Since Oswald and Peter had both enrolled in the Great Conductor's seminary, Aaron looked after the home, made the meals, brought in a meagre wage from the scrap pits.

Although the Stokers were forbidden from working outside the Engine Ward, and the populace made it clear they wanted nothing to do with the "Dirty Folk", they could not be prevented from otherwise enjoying the pleasures of the city. Being poor, mostly illiterate, and mistrusted by the majority of the populace, the Stokers found that most of London's attractions – the lecture halls, the British Museum, the teahouses and bakeries – were out of reach, but the menagerie cost only a penny, and the proprietor wasn’t too fussed about who came in, so long as they paid up.

Aaron had to rise at 4am in order to finish the day's work before lunch. He arrived back at the house to find his brothers, dressed in their black robes, helping their mother outside. She clutched their arms as though they were all that held her upright. They set off, not talking, slipping through the Ward's high double gates and wandering toward the park. Aaron walked ahead, amusing himself by reciting the names of all the animals they would see. For once, their mother didn't seem to mind.

"… llamas and monkeys and ostriches …"

Aaron heard from another boy that this menagerie included a swamp-dragon, and it was this he most wanted to see. His grandfather had always talked about the dragons – their stealth, their strength, their intelligence. Quartz loved to tell him tales about his grandfather battling with the fearsome creatures. Aaron could barely control his excitement.

As they crossed the city, the familiar thoughts of birds and horses and compies passed through his head. He revelled in their presence, not listening for their individual thoughts but enjoying the sensation of flitting in and out of their consciousness. His mood lifted. Today will be a special day.

The menagerie was set up in a corner of the Regents Park. Two wagons stood against an ornate wooden gazebo, and makeshift wooden fences divided off separate open enclosures. Children tugged their parents between the wagons, exclaiming over each exotic beast.

At once, Aaron’s head churned with activity, as these large, exotic creatures pushed aside the thoughts of his usual animals. He raced toward the wagons, not heeding Oswald’s command to stop. More and more animals pounded against his skull – memories of far-off lands, deserts and jungles and watery swamps. He could see the head of a giraffe above the wagon roof—

And then, he felt it. The dragon.

"Look!" Peter cried, running up behind him and pointing at the cage on the back of the wagon.

It loped in circles, its mouth open, its tongue slapping against rows of razor-sharp teeth. Aaron leaned closer, staring into the dragon’s eyes. In his mind, the dragon stared back, regarding him with a mixture of revulsion and hunger. It hadn’t had a proper meal for several days. A girl threw her sandwich scraps through the bars. The dragon sniffed the corner of bread, its mind torn between hunger and its desire to simply break through the bars and devour the girl. In the end, it nudged the sandwich with its nose, checking it was dead, and gobbled it up. The girl squealed, clapping her hands.

A rough hand grabbed Aaron’s shoulder, and his mother pulled him back. "Don’t lean over like that, you stupid boy. He'll eat you right up, an' you'll join your brother in the Station of Life."

Aaron shrugged her off, and walked to the next cage, where three monkeys sat on the stump of a tree, huddled together, picking and scratching at reddened sores that covered their rusty fur. He listened to them, felt their sadness, mourned the loss of their homeland.

These animals are so sad.

They lay in their cages, utterly defeated. Many had come from tropical lands, and they were suffocating in the cold. The dragon raised its nostrils and sniffed the air, its mind reaching, longing to race through the trees or sink its teeth into the compies hiding in the flowerbeds.

This isn’t fair.

The anger welled up inside Aaron, fuelled by the animals, whose aching desire to break free permeated his every thought. He knew how it felt to be trapped. Raw emotion welled up inside him, a rage building inside his chest, inside his head, pushing against his skull, growing larger and larger, until the emotions flooded from him, escaping from his body like a great cloud of steam from a smoke stack. He bent double, the breath knocked out of him.

And suddenly, they were free. Cages overturned. Fences collapsed. Monkeys ran under his legs. The giraffe galloped gracefully across the lawn. Children screamed. Mothers screamed. Men grabbed their families and ran across the lawns, chased by gleeful monkeys. Two ostriches and a small, feathered dinosaur raced for the pond, chased by the red-faced menagerie proprietor waving his whip.

Aaron froze, unable to tear himself away as the dragon, its eyes no longer sad but fierce with anger, strained against its bars. Aaron felt its mind wheeling, straining for its one chance for freedom.

Snap!

The dragon reached through the bars, grabbed the bolts between its arms, clasped them in its claws, and pulled, a motion it must have seen the proprietor perform many times. And now it, too, was free, but it didn’t go for the trees, as it perhaps should have, but bounded across the lawn with a grace and power that held Aaron in awe, and with a leap and a slash of its hind leg, tore the tendon in the proprietor’s foot.

"No," Aaron whispered. "I didn’t mean—"

The proprietor fell, screaming, as the dragon pounced. It tore at his face, spraying blood over the flower garden. The proprietor, still screaming, raised his hands to defend himself, to grab in vain at the meat of his ruined face, but the dragon bent down and with a quick snap of his powerful jaw, tore the man’s left arm clean away.

"Aaron!" His mother grabbed him by the shoulders and tugged him away. His brothers were already halfway across the field, their robes flapping with indignity as they ran toward the gate.

Aaron ran after her, his mind strangely empty. All around him, animals and people fled across the park. Screams followed him, high-pitched and terrified. Behind them, the proprietor’s cries cut off. As they raced through the gate, they passed a regiment of Redcoats on their way to contain the mess.

His mother wouldn’t stop crying. Oswald tugged her to his breast, stroking her hair and speaking in soft, soothing tones. Aaron leaned against the fence and watched the monkeys clamber up one of the oak trees. His body numb, his mind empty, devoid of thought. Silent.

I did this.

Aaron started to cry. Peter looked like he might slap him. Their mother, all business now, brushed off her skirt and pulled them along behind her, her head down, her face red with fear.

She saw a man selling boiled toffees beside the gate, and she bought a bag and handed it to Aaron. Oswald and Peter eagerly grabbed handfuls of toffees, the incident at the zoo instantly forgotten, but Aaron tucked the rest into his trouser pocket to share with Isambard. He couldn't think about sweets now. He needed his friend.

* * *

Aaron found his friend on top of the boiler tower, furiously kicking a steel pylon. He didn't stop when Aaron approached, just went on kicking, his hands balled into fists and his face wet with sweat and tears. He winced when Aaron grabbed his arm, and rolled his sleeve up to show him the enormous welts dotted with cigar burns.

"Merrick again," he said. "I wasn't even doing anything, just sitting in the corner, pretending to be invisible. Evidently I didn't try hard enough."

Aaron sat down beside him, and removed the paper bag from his trousers. The toffees had melted a little next to his skin, and stuck together in a big clump. He pulled it into two pieces and proffered one to his friend.

"Oswald and Peter ate most of them already, but I wanted to save some for you."

Isambard looked down at the sugary pile and then looked away. When he spoke, his voice sounded choked. "Please, you eat them, Aaron. You've earned them."

"For what? Leaving you here to suffer while I go away on a nice outing?" He wanted so badly to tell Isambard about the dragon and the proprietor, but he didn't want to give his friend anything else to be upset about. "Hardly deserving at all. I want you to have some."

He pushed the biggest piece into Isambard's hand, and he accepted it without another word. They sat for a while, chewing toffee in silence, each lost in their own dark thoughts.

"I have this idea," Isambard said, biting off a chunk of toffee. "I think we need to change the width of our locomotive track."

"What?"

"I've been working on some calculations, see?" He fumbled in his pocket and produced a faded leaf of paper, printed on one side with an advertisement for cigar leaves. He smoothed it out across his knee and pointed to the rows of scrawled numbers. "The current speed of locomotives is limited by the width of the axle. If I made the track wider, say with an eight-foot gauge, a boarder, heavier engine could operate, effectively able to carry more cargo at greater speed than the current trains."

"I'm not sure you can go around changing rail width and such. Didn't Stephenson standardise it for a reason?"

"I'm not beholden to Stephenson. I can do whatever I want," Isambard insisted. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

"Mine. Because we've spent nearly two years working on that engine, and I'm the one who'll have to re-cut all the pieces of the chassis to fit this new design."

"Don't be such a whiner, Williams." Isambard crunched down on his toffee. "This will revolutionise locomotion. I'm sure you can handle a little remodelling."

* * *

James Holman's Memoirs – Unpublished

My eighteenth birthday passed at sea with little incident. I still hadn't set foot on American soil, and the adventurer within me was slowly withering away. But with a new first lieutenant on board anxious to prove himself, we were seizing more and more ships, pressing any men we could find with British ancestry (including deserters and nationalised Americans) and many without into the sadly-depleted British Navy. My fellow midshipman and friend Colebrook used to joke that he shouldn't be in the British Navy, as he had no Yankee blood.

All those seized ships presented a problem – what were we to do with them? We couldn't very well keep them at New York – they'd crowd the port and become a target for pirates. Instead, we had to sail each vessel to Halifax through a bitterly cold stretch of ocean, with only a skeleton crew of men, usually in biting fog.

The duty of captaining these vessels – called being the 'prizemaster' – had hitherto been a great honour, but was being passed out with such regularity mere midshipmen were accepting command of their own vessels.

And this was how, at eighteen years of age, I found myself a prizemaster of a confiscated ship. With a broad smile, I waved goodbye to Colebrook, and climbed aboard my vessel. My ship.

This auspicious day in my blossoming naval career was marred by a slight ache in my joints, which I ignored as best as I was able, walking with a stiff foot and setting my boots heavily on deck to minimise the flexing of my ankles. I hoped it would stop bothering me soon.

I hoped in vain.

* * *

The aches persisted for the entire journey, coming in shooting pangs and settling in for hours – a dull, throbbing pain no amount of exercise could shake off. I endured it as best I could, and we made it to Nova Scotia with the ship still intact.

Once I arrived at Halifax, I sat my officer examination and, with my lieutenancy papers still wet with ink, I switched to a naval flagship – the Cleopatra, a British frigate recaptured from the French at Bermuda – with the aim of impressing the Commander with my skills in order to move up in the ranks … and maybe, maybe, land a position that involved some actual adventuring.

It seemed the first lieutenant of the Cleopatra, Jacob McFadden, had the same designs, for when I tried to introduce myself, he brushed me aside.

"What are you, fourteen?" he demanded, his cheeks flashing red.

"Eighteen, sir."

"By Isis, but they must be desperate for officers! Listen boy, I don't care who you are. I am not your friend. I am not your mother, and I don't want to hear one word out of your mouth that ain't ’yes, sir,’ or ’thank you, sir.’ I'm going to be Captain when Old McNeash dies, mark my words, and you'll want to be on my good side, yes?"

I nodded, too surprised to speak.

He kicked me, hard, in the side of the head as I bent to put my things on my bunk. "You’re a scrawny little shitter. You won't last long on this ship. As if it wasn't bad enough when O'Reilly took a swim and they brought in that Thorne boy as second lieutenant, all gangly legs and buck teeth and no clue about real sailing, and now you're third lieutenant and I'm a bloody nanny—"

"James? James Holman? Is that you?"

Ignoring the pain in my legs, I spun around, and there in the doorway, stooping to fit his height through the low door, was Nicholas.

The years at sea had been good to him. He'd gained a foot of height on me, and his shoulders had broadened – his muscles rounding out so they pulled at the seams in his jacket. He'd grown out his hair, and it curled into sandy ringlets at the corners of his face, giving his usual angelic features a slightly roguish look. We embraced, and for the first time since I'd began experiencing the pain, I felt the warmth of joy spread through my whole body. Behind us, Jacob snorted, and made some rude remark neither of us cared to acknowledge.

"But you – how did you?" I cried. "You've been in the Navy only three years, and you started as a mere cabin boy. How do you now outrank me?"

"A combination of hard work and luck," he smiled. "Our fleet came to blows with the French in the waters off Calais, and we managed to board one of their ships. The Captain, foolhardy as he was, got himself into a spot of bother, and I managed to rescue him. The Navy is quite grateful for that sort of thing, so I was hastily promoted. Six months ago I transferred to the Cleopatra out of Halifax, where I made the acquaintance of our dear friend Jacob here."

From that day onward we were inseparable, as much as two men could be on board a busy vessel. Starved of friendly conversation for the last year, we never stopped talking – first the swapping of news (including the sad story of the fate of Marc Brunel), then the discussion of all our common interests. We spent every mess debating passages of Plato’s Republic, or recalling what we could remember of our favourite poetry. We bored the other officers quite silly and after a time they refused to converse with us at all.

I had been dabbling with poetry while at sea, in an effort to take my mind from the increasing pain. Nicholas was the first person I invited to read my work, and I did so with trepidation, knowing he would not hesitate to tell me if he thought it terrible.

"Your poetry longs for freedom," he said, setting my notebook down on the quarter galley table with reverence. "You speak not of love for women, as most poets do, but of love for the world and all of her numerous wonders. Yet there is such a great sense of longing."

"I want to see the world," I said. "I have travelled halfway across the globe, and yet my world has shrunk to the size of this ship. I've been away nearly four years, and have spent a total of fifteen days on foreign soil. I feel as though I've seen nothing at all."

"But your advancement has been swift enough, and you have the respect of the Captain and at least one of your fellow officers," he smiled. "You cannot be too impatient, James. A naval career will give you money enough to travel as you wish, if you live simply and contain your enthusiasm for a few more years."

I suspected my legs would not give me a few more years, but I did not wish him to press me, so I merely nodded. I had not told him about the pain – it was mine to bear as best I could manage. "What of you, Nicholas? What is your greatest wish?"

"I too wish for freedom," said he. "But it's freedom of a different sort. It's freedom from myself, from the voices in my head. I had hoped that perhaps the ocean would grant me that much – a quiet space, where I would be free to think. But so far, it’s as noisy as ever."

I didn't understand what he spoke of, and he didn't elaborate. Our discussion turned to other matters. That night as I raised myself up from my chair and shuffled toward my cabin, the pains sizzling up and down my legs, he reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

* * *

I stood the last watch from the helm, correcting the course (southward, through a squall, with no sign of the rest of the squadron), calling sail trim instructions and hailing the lookouts every fifteen minutes.

During calmer nights this was one of the more pleasant duties, offering respite from the crowded confines of ship life. It could be lonely, too, nothing but you and the ocean for miles around, but tonight the thought of my friend Nicholas snoring below decks gave me comfort.

And that comfort was much needed, as the pains shot up my legs and every minute of the watch was agony. The rain assailed the boat in sheets, knocking down men, and tearing the sails. I wore an oilskin over my woollen cloak, which prevented exactly no water whatsoever from soaking through my clothes. I never felt warm, never felt dry, and the aches in my legs grew even more intense.

* * *

Months passed in agony. The pain now haunted me at rest, so I could no longer lie in peace but thrashed about, tormented by the unending fire.

One night I tired of tossing and turning and listening to Jacob's snores in the cabin next door. I rose and stumbled on deck to see Nicholas, who was on watch, wrapping my collar tightly around my neck to keep out the icy spray. As I made my way gingerly across the pitching deck, I saw his shadow slumped over the railing on the bow, leaning over the edge.

Ignoring the shooting spasms in my legs, I ran to him, thinking he must have collapsed in the cold. He spun around when he felt my hands on his back, and grinned when he recognised me. "Do you want to see a wonder, James?" he asked. "Lean out. I have something to show you."

Gripping the rigging with both hands, I took a deep breath and leaned out over the edge. When I saw what he’d found, I screamed and jumped back.

"That’s a—a—a—"

Nicholas nodded. "She won’t hurt you."

She was a sea-necker, or Plesiosaur in Buckland's taxonomy. Her elongated neck stretched from the water up the side of the boat, and she rested her head on the gun port and stared up at us with narrowed eyes. From the water below, one of her flippers rose from the water below and slapped against the side of the boat, rattling the railing and causing another cry to escape my lips.

To my horror, Nicholas leaned out again, stretching out his hand and rubbing the nose of the creature. She closed her eyes and leaned back into his touch, opening and shutting her mouth so I could see the twin rows of sharp, pointed teeth.

I choked back a scream. "You … you …"

He laughed again. "I suppose there's no harm in you knowing the truth," he said. "I called her here to visit me in the solitude of my watch. She will not hurt me, because as far as she knows, she wanted to come to me. I hear animals, James. Only I hear their minds, and they are inside my head. Their thoughts bounce constantly around in my skull. I feel what they feel – the smells, the tastes, the sounds of nature come to me through their thoughts. And sometimes, like tonight, if I send out thoughts of my own, they will obey me."

I backed away from this remarkable scene, struggling to grasp what he'd told me. "That's impossible. You're not making any sense, Nicholas."

"I hardly understand it myself. As far as I know, I'm the only man in the world who possesses this curse. I've learned to control it, to some degree, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to call on this beauty." He patted the sea-necker's head affectionately, and she gave a snort and flopped back down in the water. I finally let out the breath I’d been holding.

He continued. "I thought, perhaps, if I could take to the sea, I could escape the constant chattering of birds and bugs and beasts. But the ocean teams with life, James, more even than the forests on my father’s estate. I must accept that I will never be at peace."

"But how did you—"

He looked down at the great long-necked beast. "Sometimes, I can push with my mind, and I can give an animal thoughts that aren't its own. I can say ’there's a nice man on that ship who will give you a few strips of salted pork if you ease up alongside’, and here she is. Usually, I can't influence the thoughts of larger animals at all, but for some reason, ocean-bound creatures are more receptive, their minds more open. Perhaps it is because they haven't yet learned to fear man."

"Nicholas, that’s incredible!"

"It’s a curse," he said bitterly. "That is why I keep it secret. Men would hate me and women would fear me. In a different time, I would be burnt as a witch."

"I do not hate you."

"There is nothing within you capable of hate." He stared out to sea. "I grew up on my father’s estate in Wiltshire, not far from the mysterious chalk horse. My father – a minor Lord – was a shrewd businessman, and although we had family fortunes he more than doubled that amount through local industrial projects. I used to go with him to inspect his properties – huge warehouses that seemed to stretch for miles, mines and wells and a bridge designed to complement the nearby medieval abbey. I adored that bridge, the way the graceful steel beams curved upward into ecclesiastical arches, supporting an intricate lattice of fluted crossbeams. I would sit for hours on my horse and stare in wonder at that magnificent work of engineering art.

"From a very young age, I knew I wanted to be an architect, so I could one day realise such magnificent creations. But I unwittingly destroyed my future the first day I called the animals."

I leaned hard against the railing, ignoring the pain in my ankles as I watched the sea-necker keep stroke alongside the boat. Her neck bent upward, regarding me with those cold, intelligent eyes.

"I loved my father, despite his coldness, and wanted so badly to please him. I was the second of four children – my older brother, Robert, my senior by eight years, and my two younger sisters. Robert would take over the estate one day, so he was of course the favourite. He would torment me relentlessly – pulling my hair, making my horse bolt, putting snakes in my bed – and I could do naught about it, for my father always took his side. My father would take him fox hunting on the estate, and they would always return laughing and joking. He never joked with me.

"I’d always heard the voices. As a child my mother would hit me if I told her what the cat was thinking. My father would whip his horse and I would shake and cry, and he would look at me with such distaste and loathing, it was unbearable. So I quickly learned to keep my secret. But one day, shortly after my thirteenth birthday, I was playing in the courtyard with my sisters. Robert entered with a swagger and announced in a haughty voice that father had given him his first business dealing. He, Robert, now owned the beautiful medieval-inspired bridge that I loved so much.

"I must confess I forgot myself. In my anger, I threw aside the chess set, and drew up my fists, not sure what I intended to do, only that I hated the unfairness of it. The bridge I loved so much was now in the hands of my loathsome brother. He saw me approach him and laughed, and said he planned on levelling the bridge as soon as possible. He said it was dreadfully ugly, and my sisters laughed, and I felt a great wall of anger push against my skull, and suddenly, the anger was gone. It fell out of me and I collapsed on the ground. My head felt light, as though it might fall off my shoulders and roll away, and my ears rang. I could no longer hear the voices of the animals. I was so scared, I started to scream, and my sisters – not understanding what was happening – screamed too.

"Robert turned away from me in disgust and strolled back across the lawn, when a rumbling from the garden caught his attention. The ground shook and growled beneath me, and I rolled over to see what was going on. And I screamed even louder. But not as loud as Robert. They closed the field in seconds – the horses racing at high gallop, their mouths frothing, followed by the hunting dogs, teeth bared, sweat glistening on their necks, and the loping draft-neckers, and hundreds of foxes and woodland creatures, which must have come from miles around. The sound they made was the most terrifying thing I’d ever heard – a cacophony of growls, squawks, hisses, and barks. But inside my head – nothing. Not a sound.

"Robert barely had time to turn on his heel when they set upon him, and he was pulled down into the stampede. They churned around him, closing in like a whirlpool, and I could no longer see him or hear him scream.

"My sisters and I scurried under the table and crouched low, and I covered my eyes so I wouldn’t have to look at the mangled body of my brother, and I prayed they wouldn’t turn on us. But they disappeared again, churning the lawn to mud as they charged back toward the forest. The spell had broken. The voices returned, slipping into my head. They had no clue what they had done, or why they had done it.

"My father rushed from his study as soon as he heard the screaming. He came running across the lawn, and he saw the horses bolting away and Robert lying there, his head bent at an impossible angle. He cradled his son in his arms and waited with him while he died."

Nicholas sighed. "He banished me after that. Somehow, he knew I'd caused the horses to bolt. He said I was an abhorrence upon nature and he didn’t care if he never saw me again. He said he would throttle me with his own hands if I ever set foot on his lands again. So I came to London. I figured if there were any hope of losing the voices, it would be on the streets of the Engine Ward. So that is where I ended up, and I met Marc Brunel, and he agreed to teach me what he could until I was old enough to join the Navy and try to make a name for myself. But the voices followed, of course."

"Henry?"

"I tried to save him. I sensed Mordred's thoughts, saw he meant to follow his master onto the platform. But I acted too late, and so another person died."

"If the guilt of Henry's death belongs to anyone," I said, my heart clenching upon my own secret, a secret I'd never voiced until now, "it belongs to me. I let go of Mordred's chain. I was looking at my papers again, and—"

"He would've broken free anyway. I heard the desperation in his thoughts. Henry was down there, in the bowels of that machine, so Mordred would go down there also." He dropped his gaze, and the sea-necker slumped back down into the water. "But I alone had the chance to save him, but I … I did not push, I did not reach for him. I hated Henry, and I wanted to see him hurt." He gulped. "I am so ashamed. My cruelty cost a boy’s life, and the life of Master Brunel."

He gave the sea-necker a forlorn wave, and she heaved herself backward and slammed into the water, diving under the churning waves and disappearing from sight. "So you see, James, it is a curse."

"Then, we are both cursed."

He nodded. "I have seen how you walk, and you cry out in your sleep."

I looked up in alarm. He smiled. "It annoys Jacob something terrible," he said. "Don’t stop. But James, what is wrong?"

"I don't know. I’ve never known pain like this before," I said, wheezing as I tried to stretch out my aching legs. "Look at us. Two wretched men blessed by each other’s company."

"That we are, James. That we are."

* * *

It was the drink that took Aaron's mother in the end, of course. She lay in her chair by the doorway with her final bottle, empty, clasped on her lap. She had been dead some hours, and was already stiffening, her skin cold and waxy, tinged with green on her fingers, when he returned from the secret workshop and found her. He pulled a blanket over her and went to find Quartz.

The old man was drinking in his shack, but then, he was always drinking. It never seemed to alter his mood, as it did Aaron’s mother. When Aaron told him what happened, he put down his glass, and let Aaron lead him back to his shack. Quartz brought two men along with him, and they lifted Aaron’s mother and carried her away.

"It’s all right if you want to cry," he told Aaron, straightening her chair and tossing the empty bottle out on the street.

"I know." Aaron didn’t want to cry. He felt nothing, no sadness, no anger. He felt numb. He was twenty years old, and an orphan.

Quartz glanced around the room – his eyes taking in the neat pile of blankets in the corner, the candle and worn ledger book propped up against the stove, the pots and pans, clean and stacked on wooden shelves. He walked over to the ledger book and flipped it open, running his fingers over the rows of clumsily printed letters. "You can write?"

Aaron blushed. "Isambard and I taught ourselves. We spied through the windows of the engineer schools. I found that book in one of the scrap heaps. It’s what I use to practise."

"You can cook, boy?"

Aaron nodded. "I do most of the work around here. Oswald and Peter are no use."

"Ain't that the truth." Quartz slumped down in Aaron’s mother’s chair. "You have everything in hand, boy. Pity, I thought you might have needed an extra pair of hands. But you have no need of an old drunk like me messing things up."

"You want to move in here?"

"If you’ll have me." Quartz looked up. "With your brothers in the priesthood, it’s your house now, Aaron. No one can tell you what to do anymore. I’m getting on a bit, my home’s a tad small and infested with rats, and I could do with a young back to chop the firewood. And you could do with someone to help out with things, someone to keep you out of mischief. And," he smiled, "I can teach you your letters, all proper like. And more things besides."

Quartz sold his own shack to one of his drinking buddies and moved in the next day. Aaron warmed to his presence immediately. They spent hours each evening sitting across from each other at the small table, telling stories, drinking, playing cards, and reading books Quartz had kept hidden in his shack.

Finally, life in Engine Ward seemed less unbearable. But, just as Aaron’s life finally took a turn for the better, Isambard decided it was time to mess everything up again.

* * *

James Holman's Memoirs – Unpublished

As if my body was doggedly determined to ruin any chance of winning favour on the Cleopatra, the pain persisted. First, the dull ache in my legs grew to an agonising drone, a pain that screamed so loud it rung in my ears. I walked stiffly, moving my ankles as little as possible, and praying each hour for the respite of my bed. At night when I kept watch, I paced the deck in agony, silent screams echoing from my lips.

On a naval frigate, an officer does not report to the physician unless he is in rather dire circumstances. If I could not perform my duties, the responsibility would pass to the other lieutenants – Nicholas and Jacob – or worse, to the Captain himself. This was not conducive to the future of my naval career, and I needed that career to facilitate adventuring, and so I pressed on as best I could, my stiff gait the only clue to the searing pains that echoed up my legs.

The day came when my ankles swelled to such proportions I could no longer put on my own boots, and I dragged myself with tears streaming down my cheeks to the office of Dr. Nesbitt, the ship's physician, who confined me to bed at once.

"Rheumatism," he pronounced with an air of confidence after inspecting my swollen legs. "It's common in officers of your age – caused by the sudden temperature changes, hot then cold, cold than hot. Soaking clothes and cramped conditions don't help, either."

"Can we cure it?" I asked, fearing the answer.

"Yes. Many of my colleagues have had much success with fresh fruit, horse-back riding, and plenty of wine-whey."

But, of course, we were at sea, far from fresh produce, horses, and wine-whey. Not surprisingly, as I lay tossing and turning in agony, Nesbitt changed his diagnosis to something he could cure – gout. I knew I didn't have gout, which is a disease of the old, the overweight, and the sedentary, none of which I could be accused of. But Nesbitt needed something he could treat (even if unsuccessfully), and the only thing that cures gout is bed rest.

So they let me rest.

* * *

After two weeks, the pain subsided into a dull, throbbing ache, and after a further twelve days, faded completely. I dared to hope maybe I did have gout, after all. With great delight I thanked the good doctor and resumed my duties.

It was not to be. The pain returned worse than ever. I confided in no one, save Nicholas, who watched my agonised movements with growing concern. After the forth week of torment, when he saw me refuse a meal for the third day in a row, he led me aside and told me to report to sick duty.

"I cannot," I winced, pushing his arm away. "I must endure this, or all my years of work will be for naught."

He insisted on taking the evening watch with me, even though he would perform his own afterward and would get no sleep at all. He sat on the bowsprit and called a pod of dolphins to the ship, and we watched them dive and prance over the waves. A sea-necker joined them, slapping her giant fins against the side of the boat.

"She's the same one," he said. "She follows us. She's the only one of her kind left in all these waters."

"What happened to the others?"

"Fished up and eaten, mostly. Many others died when they choked on debris from the skirmishes on the coast."

The ship hit the crest of a wave, and lurched sideways. I grabbed for the rail, and missed, my hands grasping at air. The sudden tilt of the deck forced my weakened legs to give way, and I toppled forward, pitching over the rail and watching the waves and the churning fins of the sea-necker hurtle towards me. Black spots swarmed in my eyes, before finally enveloping me completely.

* * *

My eyes fluttered open. Nicholas stared down at me, his face furrowed in concern. My head banged against something hard, and I cried out.

"You're awake," he whispered, he voice wavering, He was carrying me, struggling to fit us both down the narrow steps below deck. "You passed out, James, and nearly fell overboard. The sea-necker saved you. She caught you on her fin. As I dragged you back, you hit your head against the anchor chain, and you've been asleep ever since."

That explained the throbbing, and why my clothes seemed wetter than usual. I slowly registered other objects: the spare rigging and sails stacked against the wall, the barrels of pickled beef and wine on which we subsisted. Nicholas eased open the door of my cabin, and heaved me inside.

We must've woken Jacob, for he lurched into the galley, leaning against the frame of my cabin door and rubbing his eyes. "Is that Holman causing trouble again?" he mumbled. "If he goes back to sick bay one more time, the Captain will have him off the ship."

Nicholas ignored him. As he lay me down on my bunk and wrapped my swollen legs in a blanket, a tear crept from the corner of my eye. Relief washed over me, and fear for my future, and gratitude for Nicholas' kindness.

"Sleep well, my friend." Nicholas lit a fresh lantern and clambered back on deck to finish the watch.

But I did not sleep; the searing pain and my wretched thoughts kept me awake. I thought of my father, who'd scrimped and saved every penny in his life that his only son might have the chance of becoming a gentleman. I thought of the life I longed for – the adventure and freedom that could only come with the prestige and steady salary of an officer. I thought of Jacob, snoring away in his own cabin right next door, hell-bent on making me out to be the worst kind of officer. I knew – pain or no pain – my entire naval career depended on me performing my duties the following morning.

I prayed to the gods for a miracle. Old gods, new gods, forbidden gods – every deity I could think of received a prayer and a pledge of obedience if only they would strike away the pain. But they either could not hear me, or thought my plight a terrible lark, for no relief came.

When his bell rang, Jacob rose, smirking as he lit a candle and dressed himself. "Enjoy your rest," he sneered at me from the galley as he fumbled with his buttons. I had a witty retort all figured out, but the pain rode so great I could not summon the strength to utter it.

When the tenth bell sounded and his watch finished, Nicholas clambered down into the cabin and spooned half his breakfast gruel into a chipped enamel cup. "You'll need to eat if you're to report to watch today," he said. He knew as well as I that I had no choice but to return to my post.

Somehow, I managed to pull my boots on over my swollen ankles and stumble on deck, gripping the railing so tightly my fingers bled and swapping my weight from one leg to the other to give each a brief respite. I bit my tongue and tore shreds of skin from my lips with my teeth, and the food in my belly rumbled and squirmed as the pain caused my stomach muscles to cramp and convulse. I trained my eyes out to sea, and counted back from a hundred, then a thousand. Thankfully, the wind caught my agonised tears and whipped them away before any of the men could see.

* * *

But it was no use – my valiant effort came to nothing. A week more of this torture and I was in the sick bay again, unable to walk. Nicholas brought me food and water and gave me his single threadbare blanket, and he helped me to my feet to endure my hurried return to service. But after three days I could not bear it – my legs no longer support my weight.

The Captain came to speak to me in my convalescence. Jacob had no doubt told him I was merely being lazy, shirking my duties. As he stood over my bed and stared gape-mouthed at my ankles the size of cannonballs and the tears of shame and agony running down my cheeks, his manner changed to one of pity. He had been a lieutenant once – he knew what my position meant.

"We'll be putting in at Portsmouth in a few weeks," said he. "And I expect you off this ship."

"But sir—"

"You're in no state to serve on board my ship, Lieutenant Holman. You're a good officer; you'll recover from this setback. Go to Bath, get this taken care of, and I’ll put in the good word with the Admiralty, see if I can't get you another commission, maybe closer to home this time."

When we finally put in on English soil, I had to be carried off the boat in a stretcher. Nicholas lent me seven shillings for the coach ride to Bath, and a purse of coins to help pay the doctors. I rode on forthwith, my supine body banging and clattering about the carriage, much to the annoyance of the other passengers.

I thought the pain the worst horror of my life, but I was not prepared for what awaited me at Bath.

* * *

Of all the disciplines to suffer under King George's Gods of Industry, the medical profession has bore the brunt of the damage. Perhaps, if the Church of England's medical colleges had been allowed to continue unhampered, we might have avoided the human atrocity that was the "Heroic Medicines."

A romantic notion popularised by the Morpheus Church, heroic medicine deals with a new methodology for balancing the humours: forcing the malady from the body by subjecting it to various levels of medieval torture.

In the resort town of Bath, where medical men gather in the thousands to hawk their trade amongst the ancient healing springs, I placed myself at the mercy of these barbarians. They rewarded my dwindling savings with the most imaginative torments. They pumped me so full of purgatives I swear at one point I excreted my own viscera. They took so much blood through the lancet and the leech I practically became a vampire. And when this did not ease the pains, they began with the blistering – a most unpleasant treatment where they would strip me naked and flick burning acid upon my skin, so that it would burn and blister and sting so violently it might cast out the gout or rheumatism or whatever they said I had this week. And all of this did not one whit of good. The pain remained.

I quit of them all, and prescribed myself long walks around the city and several hours of daily soaking in the healing waters of the bathhouse, which seemed to slowly loosen the vices upon my legs. I closed my eyes and dreamed I might return to service in a month. With a speedy recovery, there was still a chance my career would not be completely ruined.

And then I discovered a new kind of pain.

I have never before experienced vision problems, and luckily too, because perfect eyesight is essential for naval officers. So on this particular day, as I took up my usual spot in one of the restored Roman baths, I was quite surprised to feel a sharp pressure behind my eyes, as though my skull had shrunk around them.

I rubbed my temples, threw my head back, and lay in the water to wash them out, but the pressure only intensified. Red welts appeared in my vision, and with reluctance and a good degree of fear, I hoisted myself out of the pool and took myself to a nearby doctor.

"Pain behind the eyes has been known to occur, especially following some kind of trauma to the head," he said. "Have you fallen or bumped your head in recent months?"

I nodded, thinking of my fall on the Cleopatra, and how Nicholas knocked my head pulling me back on board.

The doctor – one of the Morpheus Sect – wanted to couch the eye immediately. His theory was that the humours in the lens of my eye were imbalanced, forming an invisible cataract.

"And what does this couching involve?" I asked, preparing myself for another excruciating treatment.

"Well, sir, I take this needle, and I thrust it directly into—"

I didn’t stick around to hear the rest. Back at my lodgings, I made myself a cold compress, lay on my bed, and closed my eyes, and tried to will the pain to go away. My heart pounded against my chest as I contemplated the ramifications of this new torture. Sometime later, I drifted into an uneasy sleep.

I awoke again, opened my eyes, and found the world eternally dark.

Fear clung to my chest. I was a lieutenant – a rank that had cost all my mother's money and all my efforts to obtain. It was enough of a disgrace to retire at age twenty as a cripple, but blinded? I would be a beggar. I would never accomplish my greatest dream, to see the world in all her multitudes of splendours.

The days dragged on in unending sadness, and still my vision remained shrouded by darkness. I visited every doctor in the city of healers, trying everything from leeches under the eye, shaving my hair three times weekly, and submerging my bald scalp in icy water, to bleeding via a lancet through my neck and poultices made of diluted brandy and vinegar. Nothing brought back my sight.

And when I could find no more doctors, I turned to those I had scorned – the soothsayers and witch doctors of the engineering sects. The Metics took precise measurements of my face and drew mathematical sigils on my body with hot ash. I subjected myself to brutal psychological experiments by two German Mesmerists. I even saw a phrenologist from the Church of Isis, in the hope he could discern my recovery from the bumps on my head. I met a Dirigire priest in secret in a chamber under the Roman ruins outside the city, who I gave the last of Nicholas' money in exchange for a clockwork device I fitted to my temple, which shot sparks of fire into my cheek every few minutes, causing my face to contort and spasm in pain. But to no avail.

I had to face reality. Not a single doctor, soothsayer, or engineer in Bath can help me. I was doomed to remain a blind man, with no money, no prospects, and no hope.

* * *

After James' dismissal, life on the Cleopatra grew progressively unbearable. After their stop in Portsmouth to discard James, the Cleopatra had been reassigned to duties closer to home. King George had lost interest in the Americas, and had his sights set on re-establishing Naval supremacy in Europe, and strengthening the few Industrian strongholds in Europe. Despite his bold plans, however, the French were gaining the upper hand along the coast, and Spanish privateers had been raiding many of the British ports around the Mediterranean. Several British ships had already been destroyed or captured, and morale was low by the time the Cleopatra joined the fray. In their first engagement with a French frigate, their prey escaped and they suffered heavy loses, which put the Captain in an ill temper.

Jacob, having got rid of Holman seemingly without any effort, set his sights on Nicholas. Joined by Harold – the new lieutenant brought on board to replace James – Jacob watched Nicholas day and night, reporting even the most minor infractions to the Captain. If his eyes fluttered shut for a moment while on watch, the next day he was summoned to account for his slothful behaviour. His punishments flowed into each other, so his back burned constantly with the bite of the lash and there didn't seem to be a waking moment when he was not engaged in some unpleasant task.

Even accounting for the money he'd given James, if he could survive another year on a lieutenant's wage Nicholas would have saved enough to enter university as an architect, but with hostilities brewing he was likely chained to the Navy ‘till death or dismemberment rendered him useless. He thought of the Engine Ward – those high walls of iron and that soot-soaked hovel that had been more of a home than his father's estates. More than anything, he wanted to return there.

The King was sending troops to reinforce the garrisons stationed in the English colonies around the Mediterranean, and the Cleopatra was assigned to play escort to a number of vessels landing in Malta and the Ionian Islands with soldiers, supplies and Industrian missionaries off to spread the word of science throughout Europe. This meant ample stops in port, and a chance, one day, if he ever worked up the courage to do it, of jumping ship. He'd have to change his name, of course, and go into hiding. But perhaps he could find an architecture school …

It was a foolish idea, of course, but he was lonely and desperate, and he couldn't help but entertain it. Perhaps his desperation could be read on his face, or Jacob suspected his intentions and had alerted the Captain; for whenever they put in at port, Nicholas was ordered to remain on board as a guard.

So he waited, and he drilled every day on deck with sword and dagger and fist, until his muscles tightened and his senses sharpened. He did not know if he would ever attempt to escape, but he knew if he did, he would need all his strength and wits about him.

The following summer, Cleopatra engaged three French frigates off the coast of Italy and suffered a serious defeat. Nicholas was on the quarterdeck when the French guns blew a hole in the hull on the waterline and took out the mast. A wood splinter lodged itself into his shoulder, knocking him off his feet. His men weren't so lucky – eight of them died when another shot went through the deck, and two more died from infected wounds from the splinters flying through the air.

Cleopatra was adrift, and started taking on water at an alarming rate. Clutching his shoulder and gritting his teeth against the pain, Nicholas organised a chain of men to plug the hole. On-deck, Jacob and Harold attempted to raise a Jury mast – if they didn't get back under sail, the French would board and take the ship as a prize.

Luckily, at that moment an English ship of the line, HMS Friday, was sighted. The French moved on, and the Friday towed Cleopatra back to Gibraltar.

As Cleopatra limped into port, the Captain called the officers to his cabin and delivered a grim sermon. With forty-six men lost and the vessel in need of significant repairs, the Cleopatra was being decommissioned. Hope swelled in Nicholas' chest. I could go home to England and start my education—

But the Captain had other ideas. Their orders were to stay with the garrison in Gibraltar until a new commission could be found for them. The English fleet was under heavy fire by the French and there was a constant need for more men. Nicholas thanked the captain and asked to be excused to pack his things; he didn't want to give Jacob the pleasure of reading the disappointment on his face.

The ship needed to be careened for repairs, so everyone, including the Captain and officers, would need to find lodgings for a number of days. The barracks were completely full, but Nicholas easily found a cheap room in town. Thousands of soldiers were stationed at the fortress, and more men came off the ships every day – the town was well stocked with amenities to tickle a sailor's fancy.

After hiding his money and belongings in his room, Nicholas followed the crowds of men as they practically skipped off the docks toward the doss-houses. He pushed his way into a crowded tavern, bought a draught at the bar and slipped toward the back of the room. He didn't want to play dice or cards with the other men, or flirt with one of the doxies making the rounds of the room. He wanted to drink ‘till the memories of London faded into a dream.

Leaning against the wall, he tipped his head back and poured his drink down his throat. He closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth washing over his body.

Isambard. James. I wonder what you're doing right now. I wish I could be with you, instead of in the middle of this ridiculous war being shot at by the French every day—

Across the room, something shattered. Nicholas looked up from his drink. Jacob and Harold had entered the bar, and were exchanging some heated words with a group of officers from another ship. One of the officers had smashed a bottle against the table and was pointing it at Jacob. Nicholas could see by the way Harold was leaning against Jacob and Jacob's bloodshot eyes were darting about that they were already very drunk, and ready for a fight.

I have to leave, before they notice me. He couldn't go out the front, as Jacob and Harold stood near the entrance and would certainly see him. Nicholas surveyed the tavern. Stairs behind the bar led up to sleeping quarters above, and men swung in and out of a door into a storage area beyond. Nicholas craned his neck to get a look inside the storeroom, and saw a large space stacked high with barrels and another door beyond, leading into the alley behind the tavern. He set down his drink, inched his way nonchalantly toward the door, and slipped through into the storage room.

"You can't go back there!" someone yelled behind him.

His heart pounding, Nicholas ducked behind the barrels, racing for the second door. Footsteps followed him, and he heard the proprietor yell for some help. He must think I stole something, he realised, grabbing the bolt on the door. It was stuck. Panic rose in his belly. He jiggled the bolt, but it wouldn't budge.

"I said, get out of here!" He heard more men shouting behind him. In a moment they'd be on him.

The bolt slid through Nicholas' fingers, and he pushed open the door and slipped out into the alley. He bolted around the corner and down the alley just as he heard the proprietor and his men crash through the door and race after him.

Nicholas ducked around another corner, stumbling into the street and narrowly avoiding being churned under the wheels of a wagon. Heavy footfalls thundered toward him. He dodged through the pedestrians and tore into another alley. He was about to cut through a courtyard when a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Oh no you don't, Stoker," said Jacob, stepping out of the shadows. "You're coming with us."

"What's the punishment for desertion, Jacob?" Harold, who held his shoulders in a vice-like grip, asked.

"Why, that would be seventy lashes," said Jacob, a cruel smile plastered across his face. "Followed by death."

"The Captain will hang you right on the dock," Harold cried. "I cannot wait to wield the cat on your treacherous back myself."

"I'm not deserting, you idiots." Nicholas snapped, fumbling for the sword at his belt. Jacob loomed over him, his face twisted into a sadistic smile. Jacob pulled back his fist and punched Nicholas in the jaw, followed by another hit in the temple. The pain blinded him, and he stumbled back across the courtyard, his boots slipping on the cobbles. Rough hands grabbed him, pinning his arms at his side, squeezing the wound in Nicholas' shoulder ‘till he let go of his sword. He could smell Harold's rotting breath on his neck. This is bad. Very, very bad.

Through his swimming vision, he could just make out the figure of Jacob, his body blocking the entrance to the courtyard and the alley beyond. Nicholas knew he was trapped. I am going to die right here in an alley, like a criminal. I'll never see London again.

Desperate, Nicholas did the only thing he could think of – he slammed his elbow back, knocking the wind from Harold and loosening his grip. With a swift kick to the shin, Harold crumpled to the ground and Nicholas dislodged himself. He swung his body around and grabbed his sword from the ground. He whirled around to face the two men.

"I don't want any trouble. Let me go and I won't report this. " Nicholas' voice came out calmer than he felt. Blood ran down his face, obscuring his view. If they rushed him together, he would be done for.

"You struck a superior officer," Harold wheezed. "We don't have to kill you here, you know. When we deliver you to headquarters, they'll hang you on the spot."

Smiling, Jacob drew his own sabre, and took a step forward. Nicholas had seen him duelling on deck and knew he was a skilled swordsman. He regretted his boldness.

Harold was picking himself up, and Nicholas needed to move quickly before the pair overwhelmed him. Jacob advanced a step, and Nicholas backed up, trying to buy himself time to think. He tried to wipe the blood from his eye, but it kept flowing down his face.

Jacob let out a chuckle. He stepped forward again, his blade glinting in the moonlight. Nicholas braced himself for a painful death—

Isambard, I'm sorry. I miss you.

A man barrelled down the alley and, in his haste to enter the courtyard, he slammed into Jacob's shoulder, spinning him off-balance. Yelling something in French, the black-clad man shifted a small package from arm to arm and tore off across the courtyard.

At that exact moment, a soldier passed by on the street. He shouted at the men to lower their swords and rushed toward the confrontation, but not before another man pushed past Harold, knocking him aside.

Seeing his chance, Nicholas leapt forward, easily parrying Jacob's off-balance cut and ducking behind him, sweeping his foot out as he did so and sending Jacob sprawling across the cobbles. Nicholas didn't think twice; he rushed forward and drove the point of his sword into Jacob's belly.

Nicholas yanked his blade free. Jacob made a strangled sound as his blood bubbled from the wound. He stared at the blood on his hands, his face dark with pain and surprise. Then his head flopped back, and he didn't move. Four more officers and a fearsome man wearing the garb of a strange priesthood rushed around the corner and stampeded down the alley toward them. Nicholas tore across the courtyard and dived into the alley, which split off into three directions. He took the left and started running.

He had killed a superior officer. If they caught him, he would be hanged.

"De cette façon!" a voice cried in French. He looked down, and there was the man in the black cloak, only his head visible from the black hole of a sewer. "Ici-bas!" Down here!

Nicholas swung himself inside and scrambled down the ladder as the black-robed man pulled the cover closed, plunging them into utter darkness. He heard a match striking, and within seconds the man had lit a candle. "De cette façon, s'il vous plaît!" he said, grabbing Nicholas' hand.

The stench rolled over Nicholas, and he gagged. The black-robed man held a putrid hand up to his mouth, ordering him to be silent. Gulping, Nicholas managed to get hold of himself, and he followed the man along the slippery ledge that ran alongside the brown, soupy river. Chittering insects crawled through the slime that coated the walls and crunched under his feet. He tried not to look at the water.

The only sounds were their feet slapping on the wet brick, the drone of the insects, and the splash of discharge as it joined the main flow. His eyes watered, and bile rose in his throat; he swallowed, forcing himself to be silent. After what seemed like an eternity, the man led him off into a smaller tunnel. The river didn't run here, and after a short uphill climb they came to a trapdoor. The man pushed it aside and dragged Nicholas into a small room, stacked high with sacks and barrels – a storeroom of some kind, similar to the one in the bar through which he'd escaped.

Nicholas rolled on the bare floor, couching and retching, his lungs gasping at the fresh air. After a time, he wiped his sweaty face and looked up at his rescuer.

The man was older than Nicholas, perhaps in his late thirties. His face was crisscrossed with fine lines and fading scars, and his eyes blazed with fiery intensity. His black robes were edged with a gold design; Nicholas gasped as he recognised symbols from the Morpheus Church. What is a French Morpheus priest doing in Gibraltar?

The man pulled a package from beneath his robes – a parcel of brown paper, about the size of a book, tied up with string – and inspected it. Satisfied it was still in one piece, he replaced the package in the folds of his robe, and turned to Nicholas.

"Qui êtes-vous cachez?" said the stranger. Who are you hiding from?

"D'après les soldats. De l'anglais," replied Nicholas. From the soldiers. From the English.

The stranger was taken aback. For the first time he seemed to notice Nicholas' uniform. "Anglais?" he murmured, staring at Nicholas' feet. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers and grabbed Nicholas' wrist, dragging him toward the door of the storeroom.

"Où m'emmenez-vous?" Where are you taking me?

"You won't last two minutes in this town with those clothes," said the stranger, in English. "You killed an officer. They will have the whole garrison looking for you. I will find you some proper attire."

"You mean like yours? No wonder they were chasing us, you dressing as a Catholic in an English port—"

"This is a disguise. I had an errand to run at the local church, when an old priest cruelly interrupted me. You are lucky you found me," he said. "I am Jacques du Blanc. What God do you serve?"

"Great Conductor, but—"

"Then you will come with me. I will get you out of the city; take you to a safe place."

"Thank y—"

Jacques was no longer listening. He rapped three times on the door of the storeroom, and pressed his ear against the wood to listen. Nicholas heard the sound of a bolt being drawn, and a woman's face appeared. Jacques spoke to her in low tones and she left, reappearing a few minutes later with a bowl of brackish water and two bundles of clothes. Jacques handed one to Nicholas. "Put this on."

They were peasant's clothes – breeches and a tunic, and a cloak made of coarse wool. He pulled them on, bundling his uniform under his arm. She stared at him, her pretty brown eyes lingering as she swept her knotted black hair from her cheek. Jacques shooed her away into the room, slamming the door shut behind her. He hid away his robes and dressed himself, too, washing his face in the water and bundling Nicholas' clothes and his parcel into a hollowed-out bale of hay. He opened the door again and led Nicholas through the building – it was a large, derelict warehouse, reeking of old fish and stacked with supplies. The warehouse seemed to be home to several people who crouched in the shadows and hid their faces as they passed. Where am I?

Jacques threw open the door and Nicholas followed him into the narrow street. He could see the rear of the port, surrounded by shops and warehouses. Several carriages and wagons loaded with goods rolled past, heading toward the port. One broke away from the line and came to a stop beside them.

"Our ride," said Jacques.

As he settled himself into the carriage, the black-haired girl slipped up behind him and settled herself among the hay bales. She slipped him an apple from inside her dress. He took it gratefully, smiling at her, and she dared a modest smile back.

Jacques took the reins from the driver, who jumped off and slipped away into the crowd. Jacques coaxed the horses into the crowded street, and they were off. Nicholas glanced about nervously, wary of the gendarmerie posted on every corner. He hid his face in his cloak, but Jacques slapped his arm away.

"You will call attention to us, Monsieur. You must be bold. This is how I elude them every time." He winked.

And so, with heart in his chest, Nicholas rode with the strange man with the wild eyes and the silent, black-haired girl out of the town, and across the craggy landscape of Spain, toward the looming shadow of the Pyrenean mountains.

* * *

They passed into increasingly barren countryside, the towns becoming poorer, and the faces they passed on the roadside more hardened and rueful. Several times Nicholas asked where they were heading, but Jacques did not answer. Nicholas did not fear the man who had saved him, but kept his scabbard beneath the bench seat, pressed firmly against the heel of his boots, for reassurance.

They stopped often, and each time Jacques ordered Nicholas and the girl – whose name he learned from Jacques was Julianna – to remain in the wagon while he held council with various informants. Nicholas was beginning to understand that he had fallen in with a unique individual. He asked Julianna in his best French where they were going, but she only shook her head.

Once, while Jacques was occupied with his informers, Nicholas opened the corner of the parcel Jacques had taken from the Morpheus church. It contained six thick books on various subjects; chemistry, machinery, medicine, architecture. Curious.

On the fifth day of their journey they ascended into the mountains along a crumbling, deserted pass, and camped that night in a cold wood, devoid of warmth, for Jacques would allow no fire. For two days Jacques drove the horses at full speed, ‘till at last he stopped on the edge of a ridge and pointed to the other side.

"Bienvenue!" he said. "This will be your home."

Nicholas sucked in his breath, taking in the high walls banked with thick buttresses that seem hewn of the rock itself, the crumbling internal structures, and the precarious stone bridge that marked their path. "What is this place?"

"It was a monastery – a place of learning and worship many hundreds of years ago. But it has been forgotten, except by us." Jacques urged the horses forward, and Nicholas shut his eyes as they bumped over the high stone bridge, barely wider than the wagon.

"You may open your eyes now, Monsieur Thorne."

They had parked the wagon in a small, derelict courtyard. The crumbling walls offered some shelter from the biting wind, but most of the verandah roofs and lintels had fallen, strewn in weed-matted lumps across the open space. Doorways lined the crumbling walls, leading into dark spaces beyond. Not a soul stirred. Nervous, Nicholas jumped down from the carriage, his senses on high alert.

A man – dressed in faded black robes bearing the embroidered sigils of the Morphean sect – dashed from a nearby colonnade and began unhitching the horses. He spoke harshly to Jacques in a dialect Nicholas didn't understand, shooting furious glances at Nicholas. Finally, he and Jacques seemed to reach an agreement, and he grabbed the reins and dragged the horses away across the courtyard.

"Auguste keeps the animals in good health. It's hard on them, up here in the mountains. We lose many, but Auguste looks after them. Auguste, this is Nicholas Thorne," announced Jacques.

The man glared at Nicholas, and he saw only hatred in those eyes. His gaze never leaving Nicholas' face, Auguste snarled at Jacques. This time he used English.

"You said there would be no more men. We can barely feed those who we have. And he is an Anglaise – how do we know he won't betray us?"

Jacques didn't reply; instead, he stared down at the man and smiled. That smile carried something – Nicholas wasn't sure what – but it made Auguste look away, his face flushed. He hurried the horses away. "Do not mind him," said Jacques, placing a hand on Nicholas' shoulder. "He will come around to you. Come. You meet the others."

He followed Jacques and Julianna through one of the monastery doors, pushing aside a tangle of weeds to stoop through the low door. The monastery continued into the bare stone of the mountain, a series of low tunnels leading down into the darkness. Jacques carried no light, but Nicholas saw flickers at the end of the passage. Voices wafted up to greet them. There are people down here?

They emerged into a bright, cavernous room, lit by a faded light from two ventilation shafts carved into the vaulted ceiling. But most astonishing of all were the thirty people gathered in this old chapel, divided into groups of threes and fours, each group occupied with a different intellectual pursuit. One man instructed his pairs on the construction of a model bridge, another poured chemicals between glass vials while two men wrote down the results, while many others copied passages from thick, leather-bound books. Dominating the room was a wide stone altar, covered in a stained white cloth and dotted with burning candles, providing the flickering light Nicholas had spied earlier. Where once a Christian crucifix would have stood, there was a golden statue of the God Morpheus.

"This is our sanctuary," said Jacques. "Here we may worship and learn in peace. We have food and shelter, and fresh water from a mountain spring. And we are safe here from discovery and persecution. We are fifty-eight men, and three women – Julianna here, and you will meet Danielle and Marie later. You may stay with us for as long as you wish."

"This is – I don't understand – why have you brought me here?"

"You are a student of Great Conductor, yes? You will find many of your Industrian peers here. We worship together, for we have no other place to go."

"Thank you for your kindness, Jacques, but I cannot remain here. I must return to England as soon as I can buy passage on a ship—"

Jacques laughed. "You will find no such ship leaving from French ports."

"Pardon?"

The Frenchman laughed harder, slapping his hand against his thigh. "You fool! You silly English fool! You picked the worst time to run away. The Emperor Napoleon has blockaded England. He aims to stamp out Industrian influence in Europe completely. His constables travel the countryside, drawing out and destroying the remaining Industrian churches. They hanged two Morpheans in the market square at Marseilles just last week. That is why we live and study here in secret. And now you live here as well." He laughed again. "Even if a ship could get through the blockade, no one would dare take an Industrian on board. No, Mr Thorne, you're a Frenchman now."

The news turned Nicholas cold. He slumped to the floor, his face in his hands. He was a fugitive with no way home. His chances of seeing London and Isambard again shrank to a tiny fleck.

* * *

Life in the monastery was modest and quiet, but not without its dangers. French troops patrolled the roads leading to the mountain pass, and Jacques said they would sometimes ride up to the ruins to check for refugees. When that happened, the Morpheans would retreat into the lower tunnels, and they had not yet been discovered. They could not have fires at night, nor could they take prolonged exercise on the slopes.

But as days turned into weeks, Nicholas found himself settling into the place. The men – no doubt at Jacques' insistence – accepted him well enough, though they would not resort to speaking English in his presence. His French had much improved, and he was beginning to understand the idioms of the local dialect. It didn't hurt that around every corner he saw Julianna staring back at him through a curtain of tangled black hair. She still did not speak, but for a girl of only nineteen or so her grim expression betrayed her hardship.

His days faded into one another. In the early morning, just as the sunlight appeared between the mountain peaks, Jacques called everyone to the chapel and conducted a church service – daily prayers intoned in his clear, rumbling voice, his conviction apparent as he lovingly removed the statues from their niches and bathed them. The men came from a variety of Industrian religions, and all risked persecution by hiding in the mountains with Jacques.

After church, Julianna and the other women handed around breakfast – a sparse meal of barley gruel seasoned with wild berries that grew in clusters on the slopes of the mountain. Nicholas ate it hungrily, for it might be the only meal he got that day. After breakfast they performed chores – sweeping, cleaning, gathering food and wood for the fires – and finally Jacques called them back into the tunnels to continue their studies.

They had little in the way of tools and provisions, but they had books – some found in the storehouses of the old monastery, the rest smuggled from across Europe by a growing network of Industrian dissenters – and paper and ink. Each man studied according to his own interests, and so it was that Nicholas quickly found books by Étienne-Louis Boullée and François-Joseph Bélanger, great masters of architecture and industrial design. These he devoured again and again, ‘till he could quote whole passages by heart.

He shared his studies with three other students. Joseph Ramée – who had been an eminent Parisian architect and outspoken Morphean until the Emperor's reforms had sent him underground – and Auguste, who made no attempt to disguise his hatred of Nicholas. They were joined often by Julianna. She still had not spoken, but read over her notes with a ferocious intensity. Sometimes she would lean over his shoulder as he read, tracing the drawings with delicate fingers. Her hair brushed his face, and all his thoughts and calculations escaped from his head.

* * *

As his mother and her new lover continued to torment him, Isambard's fervour for his machine only grew. He began to openly flout their rules, returning late, stinking of grease, filling his bunk with minuscule workings of engine parts and crude clockwork mechanisms. He seemed to take the beatings as his personal triumphs, each rasp of his stepfather's whip against his skin only hardening his determination to reveal the machine and prove once and for all that Stokers could be engineers.

"It will avenge my father's banishment." he said. "It will be the locomotive to end all locomotives. Faster than anything Stephenson has ever built. When we are done, I can show the King, and he’ll see he was wrong to send my father away."

Every day, Aaron worried about what Isambard would do once he finished tinkering with the locomotive. Did he plan to sell the engine, or use it to incite the workers to rebellion, or to simply buy his way into another sect? They never discussed the subject, and Aaron – knowing the engine was not really theirs, but Isambard’s – felt asking was somehow sacrilegious.

Most of all, he worried about being discovered. He worried his love for his friend would soon see his own neck in the hangman's noose.

But as the months and years went by, neither Isambard's mother nor the priests discovered their secret hideout under the church. It was not for want of trying. Merrick paid boys in the village to follow Isambard, but he would weave and duck and lose them in the madness of the underground passages, before emerging and sneaking away to the church. The workers, who still remembered his father and knew Isambard was up to something, covered his shifts and stamped his attendance in the logbook. And though they made a terrible racket, no one noticed the hammerings of two boys amidst the banging and smelting and hissing and whirring of the day-to-day activities of the Ward.

They should have finished the engine a year ago, but at Isambard’s insistence, they had pulled the chassis apart and widened her, setting the bearings further apart. Now she was a different kind of beast entirely.

Finally, the day came when they hammered on the last sheet of iron over the boiler, and stood back to admire their work. Their adjustments gave the engine a squat, pygmy appearance – the round boiler casing jutting like a long nose from the high drive wheels. The cab was open to the elements, with barely enough room for two men to pass each other.

"She's beautiful." Aaron breathed, hardly able to believe they had built such an enormous engine themselves.

"Let's fire her up." said Isambard.

They ran down into the tunnels and carried sacks of coal up to their secret workshop. Aaron filled the coal store and spread a thin layer on the floor of the boiler while Isambard knotted rags to the end of a wooden pole, dunked it in oil, lit it, and shoved it in the firebox. They checked the water tank was full, wiped the grime from the pressure dials, and sat against the bare brick walls, waiting for the temperature to climb up.

"The festival of steam will be held in London in the summer," Aaron said. The feast day of Great Conductor and the biggest religious festival on the Stoker calendar would see the Engine Ward filled to bursting with Conductor engineers, their priests, and followers. The streets would throng with food and drink and dancing, and the Great Conductor churches would be packed with worshippers making their pilgrimage during this auspicious time. The Royal Society was holding an exhibition of Stephenson's work that would attract many people to the city, and rumour had it Stephenson himself might even make an appearance.

"The fact has not escaped my attention," Isambard replied.

"Are you planning something foolhardy?"

Isambard laughed. "You know me too well, Aaron. But we're not finished with her yet. She must work perfectly on the day she is discovered; otherwise, all our work will come to naught. Even if everything works perfectly today—"

On the engine, something shot off and clattered on the brick wall above their heads, and the engine belched a cloud of black steam. Isambard grinned.

"—which we knew was too much to hope for, we still haven't run her on a track. That will be our next test."

"But we don't have a track to run her on," said Aaron, a feeling of dread settling in his belly. "The only railway in Engine Ward is built in Stephenson's standard gauge."

"Precisely." The thick, steam-filled air could not mask the gleeful expression on Isambard's face. "So we shall have to build one."

* * *

Nicholas tossed in his bed, unable to sleep. Above his head, the carnal pleasures of Auguste and Danielle could clearly be heard, and his mind created images to accompany their cries. He felt his solitude more keenly than ever, and his thoughts cast a dark shadow in his heart. I am an outlaw, a deserter, hiding in the mountain. I shall never have a wife.

He could measure his achievements to date by the state of his lodgings. Down in the tunnels, each man had a space of his own, and his was an old storage battery two storeys beneath the chapel, empty save his blankets and a small wooden table on rotting legs. A narrow door led into the passage beyond. The bare rock walls had been carved with crucifixes and other markings by the ancient occupants.

Nothing. I have nothing.

He balled his jacket – on which he rested his head – into a tighter pillow, pulling the blanket around his head to block out the sound. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ease his mind into gentle thoughts – thoughts of bridges and factory designs – but they kept being pushed aside by the image of a black-haired face and a life he had lost forever.

The air around him suddenly grew thick. He opened one eye and found that very face staring back at him, her nose only inches from his.

He leapt back in fright. "Julianna, what are you doing here?"

She, of course, did not answer, but lifted up his blankets and slipped underneath. Her skirts brushed against his legs, and a tongue of fire shot up his spine. Instinctively he shuffled away.

"You can't remain here. The men will say—"

"I do not care what they say," she declared suddenly, pulling the blankets tightly around her.

He sat up in surprise. "You can speak?"

"Of course. I—I—I choose not to. I do not want him to hear my thoughts."

"Who?"

"Jacques." She spat out his name.

"You speak with such venom, has he done something to hurt you?" Nicholas paused. "I'm sure it was a misunderstanding. He is not a cruel man."

"You do not understand. I did not choose to come here like you and the other men. I am a prisoner. I come from a village near Marseilles. We had one of the finest Morphean churches in the country, and scholars came from miles around to visit our library and hear the great scholars teach. But the Emperor's men rode in on horses, hacking and shooting and setting fire to our buildings. The church burnt down, and they executed many – including my brothers – as heretics. The village had no money, and no one would help us, because they were afraid of the soldiers.

"My father needed money. No one would hire a known Morphean, and my younger broker was sickly, so he sold the only thing he had left – me. I've been with Jacques for four years now, and every year his passions grow more insidious."

"You are his … wife?"

She laughed. "Hardly. He's tried his hand at me, certainly, but I would not let him near me. No, I do the work he deems beneath him – the dangerous work. I deliver messages; I steal from ravaged churches and neglected libraries. Once, I even killed a man." She shuddered at the memory. "You do not know the things he's done. The things he plans to do."

"These men would all be dead if it weren't for him. I would be dead if not for his intervention. And here I have access to books, and some of the most learned men in France—"

"Do you think our studies are for the worship of our gods?" she laughed bitterly. "Jacques has a plan in mind for us, Nicholas, and it is diabolical."

She rolled over, pulling his jacket under her head, her black tresses fanning out across the cold floor. Soon, he could hear her breathing heavily, but he did not sleep; the warmth of her body, mere inches away, sending his head spinning with impossible dreams.

* * *

Julianna came to his chamber most nights, when she felt she could sneak away from her usual bed without attracting notice. She huffed derisively at the sounds of lovemaking from above, ‘till Nicholas could only conclude that she had no interest in him in that way, or if she did, she hid it well. Instead, she wanted to learn about architecture.

Huddled around the stub of a candle in a dark corner of his room, they whispered their lessons to each other. She had an astounding aptitude for mathematics; as Nicholas described an engineering concept to her, she could perceive it in time and space without needing it drawn for her. When she struggled with an idea, he would take her hands and form a picture in the darkness.

Snow fell on the mountain, first as a fluffy, flaky sprinkling, and then in a great dumping that iced shut the doors and froze up the monastery's well. Now that the bridge to the monastery was impassable, Jacques sent Nicholas out with the other men to clamber down to the forest and collect wood for their fires.

While he gathered branches to drag back up the cliff, he stuffed his pockets with handfuls of twigs, always choosing the straightest. Back at the camp, he dried them by the fire, and tied them together with twine to form the bridges and factories he saw in his imagination.

As his knowledge grew, he began to fill his room with these creations. It was now more than two years since he'd left the Cleopatra in Gibraltar, and the monotony of the monastery had begun to wear on him. He longed again for the freedom and opportunity of a huge, industrial city.

He expressed his desire to Julianna one night, while they huddled together in the light of the candle. To his surprise, she leapt into his arms and planted a kiss on his cheek, sending that familiar fire through his whole body.

"I knew you'd change your mind about this place one day," she exclaimed, forgetting to whisper in her excitement. "We will leave within the month – he'll not follow us down the mountain in winter—"

"No, no, I do not wish—" Her expression froze. "I mean, I have not finished my studies."

"This isn't a university," she snapped. "You have memorised all the books. You have exhausted Jacques' and Monsieur Ramée's knowledge. You cannot live forever in the mountains, drawing cities in your imagination. We must leave soon, before the Spring breaks. We will go north – I've heard the Dirigires will fly people across the border—"

"I'm sure if we ask Jacques, he will drop us near the coast when he next returns there."

Her eyes flashed. "You must not breathe a word to him. How many times must I tell you, Nicholas? He is not to be trusted."

"But—"

"Do you remember I told you I killed a man?" Her voice sounded far away. "He was Louis – the last man who tried to leave here. He snuck out in the dead of night, jumped the fence, and headed east into the mountains. But Auguste was on guard, and saw something moving across the rocks. He chased Louis down and hit him with the flat of his blade. Then he came to find Jacques.

"Jacques has some knowledge of my character, given the arrangement that transpires between us. He wanted to warn me what would happen if I tried to escape. So he roused me from sleep and dragged me up with him. When he found Louis as Auguste had left him, Jacques pressed a pistol into my hand, and ordered me to kill him. He made me straddle the body, wrapping his fingers around mine as he showed me how to pull back the hammer and squeeze the trigger. He said, if I didn't do it, he would, and then he would kill me. And I … forgive me." She looked away, tears sliding down her smooth cheeks.

"He laughed, Nicholas, he laughed as that man's brains spread out across the cobbles. I scrubbed and I scrubbed for days afterward, but still the cobbles in the courtyard are stained with his blood. Look for yourself. Look at my skirts." She lifted the hem, bringing it into the light so he could see the dark stains.

"Julianna—" The sight of her tears made him feel helpless. He reached for her, but she recoiled.

"We will escape together," she said. "You and I. And if we make it to London alive, I should like to marry you."

* * *

Three days after she made this proclamation and Nicholas had promised he would find a way for them to escape, Julianna stopped attending Jacques' morning sermons. At first, Nicholas thought perhaps she was feeling ill, or had been sidetracked with business in the kitchens, but on her fifth absence from the sermons, he excused himself to look for her, and found her in the courtyard. Snowflakes settled on her cloak as she scuffed at the snow with her foot to reveal the discoloured stones.

"I am in private worship," she replied fiercely when Nicholas confronted her. "There's no blasphemy in that. He's not even a real priest. He cannot force me to attend his church."

Surprised by the malice in her voice, he left her alone, and returned to the chapel. Jacques looked up as he came in, nodding as he took his seat alone. Something in Jacques' expression flickered, and Nicholas wondered what had really transpired between him and Julianna.

She returned after the sermon to serve the breakfast with Danielle and Marie. As she shoved Jacques' bowl in front of him, he grabbed her by the wrist and leapt to his feet, sending the gruel across the floor.

"If I may have your attention, please?" he yelled.

The room fell instantly silent. Nicholas lowered his bowl, his stomach knotting. His eyes met Jacques’, and he was surprised at the intensity there. Julianna didn't attempt to extract her hand, but her face pleaded with Nicholas to do something. He shook his head, not understanding what was happening.

"I have an announcement to make." Jacques clasped her tiny hand to his breast. "After many years as part of my household, Julianna has finally agreed to be my wife. The wedding will be here, in this very chapel, within the week. It will be conducted in the true Morphean manner."

He left the room, dragging Julianna by the wrist, to raucous applause. A wedding meant a feast, a night to ease the monotony of the long winter. Nicholas remained seated, staring at the departing couple in open-mouthed horror. This can't be real. Only a few days ago she said she would marry me. She said he had never … surely Jacques does not mean this?

As Jacques shoved her toward his quarters, Julianna looked over her shoulder, and the terror in her face told Nicholas all he needed to know.

* * *

Nicholas retired after the evening meal to be alone with his thoughts. He hadn't seen Julianna or Jacques for the rest of the day, their absence causing all manner of unsettling thoughts to pass through his head. Surely Julianna has not agreed to this? Jacques is an educated man – surely he would not resort to such barbarity? The question plagued him long into the evening, ‘till he finally drifted into a fitful sleep.

He awoke with a start, his mind awash with images from his nightmares. Something scraped against the stone in the doorway. Someone was in his room.

He could see nothing in the darkness. "Who's there?" he called, reaching for his gun.

"Nicholas?" she whispered, her skirts swishing against the stone. "Are you awake?"

He bolted upright, closed the distance between them in a single stride and embraced her. "I was so worried about you. Are you all right?"

"I shall never be all right again. I could not get away to talk to you," she said. "But now, finally, he is asleep, and I could sneak away. I had to see you."

"What are we to do?" he whispered, pressing her head against his chest.

"We must leave before I am bound to him. It will not be easy. He knows of our … meetings. He is jealous. He will guard me with all his powers."

He pulled her under the blankets with him, and together they formed a plan of escape. She said nothing about what had gone on earlier, her indifference disarming, but he sensed she was fragile, broken somehow. He reached out to touch her face, but she shied away.

What has Jacques done to you?

When the grunting and screaming of Auguste and Danielle interrupted their scheming, Julianna crawled closer to Nicholas and pulled his arms tightly around her. She sobbed; great silent sobs that wrenched her whole body. He ached with need of her, but could not bring himself to do anything more than hold her.

* * *

The back of the church sloped into a generous garden – now an overgrown mess of weeds and debris, hidden from street view behind one of the tallest scrap heaps. It had once been the burial ground of prominent Christian engineers, but had fallen into disuse with the King's militant stance against the banned religion. Most of the gravestones had been pulled up to decorate the churches of other engineers, but here and there Aaron tripped over the flat corners of a marker. Thinking what might lay only a few feet underground gave him a cold feeling all over.

They didn't have enough space to create a complete loop, so Isambard designed a long test track that extended along the western edge of the graveyard, directly behind the scrap heap, and executed a tight curve, continued in a straight line for fifty feet (just enough time to brake, according to Isambard), and ended abruptly just before the brick wall of a mausoleum. He even built a special machine that moulded and cut the rails to uniform thickness.

But Aaron was the one who had to painstakingly lay each rail according to Isambard's precise instructions. They worked outside in the cover of night – Isambard laid out pegs, while Aaron huffed and sweated as he dragged the heavy rails across the weed-choked cemetery and hammered in the nails to hold them in place. Every night they had to cover their progress with rubbish from the heap, and uncover the previous night's work before they could continue.

Quartz didn't ask Aaron where he went every night, but Aaron could feel the old man's eyes on him as he climbed into bed in the early hours of the morning.

"That Isambard is trouble," he said over breakfast one morning.

"Huh?" Aaron looked up from his bread.

"He's got ideas," said Quartz, "in his head. Ideas Stokers ought not to have. And look at you – he's got you out at all hours, burns and bruises all up your arms. I admired Marc Brunel as much as the next man, but I've no desire to join him, and I don't want you shipping out to Van Dieman's Land, either."

"We are careful," said Aaron. "And what Isambard's doing is important. I think he could really change things for the Stokers, this time for the better." He kissed Quartz on the forehead as he pulled on his coat. "I'm in Boiler C this morning, and I'll be back late again tonight. Don't wait up."

"If you get deported, I'm keeping the shack!" Quartz yelled after him.

* * *

They could not risk testing the engine in daylight, for men would sometimes hunt through the scrap heap for salvageable materials. But nor could they test it late at night, where the hiss of the steam and the clanging of the tracks would rouse even Quartz from his grog-soaked dreams. The only time they had available to test the engine was when everyone in the Engine Ward was occupied – during the evening sermons.

So when the bells began to toll the hour, calling people to their prayers, and the churches flung open their doors to accept the waiting hordes of scholars, acolytes, and workmen, Aaron slipped away from the Stoker camp and made his way to the abandoned churchyard.

Isambard waited for him. He'd fired the boiler the night before, so the engine was hot and ready to go, and he'd cleared the debris from the rails, leaving the full length of the track visible. Isambard's smile was almost as wide as his seven-foot gauge track.

"We don't have much time," he said, ushering Aaron inside. They crowded into the cab, which was really a footplate with barely enough room for the two of them to squeeze past each other. Aaron fell to his knees and took up the small coal shovel, while Isambard checked the gauges.

"The pressure is at one-sixty." He released the brake and gave the regulator a squeeze. "Let’s go."

And they went. With surprising smoothness they rolled out of the workshop and over the churchyard. Aaron added another shovelful of coal, pushing it right into the corners of the firebox to give an even spread, then looked up at his friend. Isambard leaned against the regulator, whooping as their engine clattered over the track, the heat from the firebox casting dancing shadows over his face.

Down the straight she flew, steam hissing from her pistons, and Isambard pulled in the regulator, slowing her around the corner. Aaron held his breath as they came at it too fast. The wheels slipped on the track, and the whole engine lurched dangerously to the left.

Down they slammed, and the wheels found the rails again, and Isambard closed the regulator and pulled on the brake. Aaron closed the firebox door, and with a screech they lurched to a stop.

Isambard pulled him to his feet. "We've done it!" he cried, embracing Aaron. "We've built a locomotive and she goes! She really goes!"

Aaron couldn't help but beam back at him. They laughed together, hugging each other, patting the engine like she were a housecat, reliving over and over again the joy of that short ride. Suddenly, they were startled from their celebration by the tolling of a bell.

"The sermons are finished," said Isambard, staring in the direction of the churches. "We must get her back inside before anyone sees her."

He pulled on the regulator, taking the corner more slowly this time. The engine, which would have to cool overnight, did not need any more coal, so Aaron leaned against the coal buckets and enjoyed the rush of cool evening wind past his face.

"She's beautiful," he cried as they pulled her back into the workshop, shut her off, and opened the firebox door to cool the engine.

Isambard nodded. "A few minor adjustments and she will be ready for the grand unveiling."

The now-familiar rumble of fear settled in Aaron's stomach. He could not name his fear exactly, but it felt as though he stood at the edge of a swirling black ocean, the waves ready to swallow him at any moment, and Isambard was paddling a boat through the maelstrom, calling for him to pull up an oar.

"What are we going to do, Isambard? We can’t simply wheel her out by the cooking fires and expect the priests to hand you a medal."

"You worry too much. I have it all figured out."

"That's precisely what I'm worried about."

* * *

Isambard had given as much thought to how he would reveal the engine as he had to its design. He knew he had the support of the workers, whose discontent still bubbled just below the surface of the current calm state of affairs. They dwarfed the priesthood in number, but not in influence, and the success of his unveiling depended on his ability to convince at least some of the church authorities – people on the Council of the Royal Society – that he should be allowed to innovate.

The night before the Festival of Steam, Isambard had Aaron drive the engine out onto their makeshift track. They had managed to extend it for quite some distance along the edge of the scrap heap by covering their progress with piles of old, twisted iron. In the early hours of the morning they uncovered the track and cleared away any debris that might impede her journey. They fired up the engine, oiled the mechanisms, and made a few last-minute adjustments to the drive shaft. Isambard hummed while he worked.

In his heart, Aaron had never truly expected the engine to be completed, much less be revealed to the Industrian priests. Now they were on the eve of the reveal, and he was terrified. In the shadow of Marc Brunel's deportation, they'd flouted too many laws and created something too revolutionary to be accepted by the wider religious population. He pictured himself walking on board a vessel bound for Van Diemen's land, his hands in shackles, or worse, standing on the wooden stage of a hangman's porch.

"This isn’t going to work," he said aloud, adding fresh coal to the buckets for tomorrow's performance.

"Nonsense. The engine works perfectly."

"You know I don't speak of the engine. Isambard, I know you miss your father, but there's no reason for us to join him—"

"We won't share his fate, I promise. If you’re so worried about it, I won’t let on that you helped with the engine. I will take all of the blame if it goes wrong, but I’ll also take all of the credit for whatever transpires."

"Is that a promise?"

Isambard only smiled.

Aaron slept poorly that night, tossing and turning as he thought of what tomorrow might bring. Even if Isambard took the blame, it would be easy for the Council to figure out he had had Aaron’s help. Besides, Aaron didn’t want to see Isambard hanged or deported as a traitor. When he finally slept, dreams assailed him, fretful nightmares of burning buildings, of an England, years from now, ruled by fiery engines, and of Isambard, wearing the crown of England and smiling from a tall iron tower while the streets below ran red with blood.

Finally, he could take it no more, and pulled himself out of bed. As he dressed, he glanced at the first rays of sunlight pricking the window, dulled by the fog of steam and soot that blanketed the air. He pulled on his coat and, leaving Quartz snoring away on his bunk, went outside to watch the preparations.

As the feast day of one of the Gods of Industry, the Festival of Steam attracted engineers and their followers from all over the empire. Sects who worshipped the Great Conductor travelled hundreds of miles to London to offer up their inventions to his grace. At the centre of the festival, a replica of Richard Trevethick's Puffing Devil, the first locomotive ever built, stood on a plinth, its base crowded with offerings.

Worshippers crowded the streets, jostling Aaron out of the way as they hurried to the dawn service at Stephenson's church. The Festival of Steam opened with public honours being given to Trevethick, the church's first Messiah, and to all the church elders and their inventions. Stephenson's cathedral was already filled to bursting, and people crammed into the corrals set up on the street outside. As Messiah, Stephenson should be performing the ceremony, but he'd declined to attend the festival this year, preferring to remain in Manchester. He had, however, sent a contingent of Navvies, who camped on the northern edge of Engine Ward, as far from the Stokers as it was possible to get.

Aaron gazed up to see a regiment of Dirigires, the fanatical followers of Jean-Pierre Blanchard, the first man to fly a balloon across the channel, float across the sunrise. They had arrived the day before, to much fanfare, bobbing over the city in their black-bellied flying balloons, smoke spluttering from their steam engines, before touching down on the great promenade of the Engine Ward.

Aaron skirted around the edge of the promenade, where a parade of all the different sects in Engine Ward was in full swing, the steam rising from their showy inventions shrouding the marketplace in thick mist. Keeping to the early-morning shadows, he scrambled to the top of the scrap heap and looked down. Isambard was there already, running through the final preparations. He looked up, saw Aaron watching, and gave him a casual wave.

Aaron gave a little flap of his hand in reply, not wanting to appear too enthusiastic. He scrambled back down the scrap heap and took a deep breath.

It was now or never.

The parade had just passed by, and the crowd milled about on the street, waiting for the next amusement to begin. Aaron started running, pushing through conversations, using his elbows and heavy boots to dislodge anyone who stood in his way. Men grumbled, women cried out in alarm, and several faces turned from the parade to see what was going on.

"Quick!" Aaron yelled. "There's a fire behind the slag heaps! A church is burning!"

Everyone ran. Isambard was right – each party assumed it was their own church in danger. A great plume of black smoke curled up above the spires, and the crowd panicked. The priests waddled as fast as they could in their constricting robes, quickly overtaken by the tide of people, led by the Stokers and other work groups. They tore over the scrap heap, legs churning, voices raised in surprise, as they discovered just what was going on.

Aaron – who'd been given no explanation of the plan by Isambard – expected to see the spire of the old Morpheus church alight, but when he gazed down he saw it was the church next door, an elaborate shrine to Trevethick – built by the Navvies when they'd resided in the Ward – which was ablaze. Two Navvy priests banged on the glass windows, trapped inside. What has Isambard done? Those men could die if the engine fails. That isn't part of the plan!

While men shouted for water to be sent, another plume of smoke approached from the left. With a hiss, Isambard’s engine trundled along the final stretch of rail, which stopped alongside the shrine, dragging a wagon containing a small water pump. He pulled on the brakes, and, when he rolled close enough, directed the hoses at the source of the fire. Within a few moments it was over, and he jumped down from the cab, clambered inside the soot-choked building and pulled the Navvies to safety.

Astonishment rippled through the crowd. No one could believe what they'd just witnessed. The men clattered across the tracks and surrounded Isambard's locomotive.

"He saved these two men!"

"That's Isambard Brunel. He's a Stoker. But look at that contraption!"

"Brunel? You mean that chap we had in court a few years back—"

"It may very well have saved them, but what is it?"

"And why is a Stoker driving it?"

Oswald pushed through the crowd, and gazed up at Isambard on the footplate with a sneer. "Well, Isambard, you really do take after your father, and you'll soon die like him." He turned back to the crowd. "Rest assured, ladies and gentlemen, this man will be dealt with to the sternest measure of church law."

"There ain't no law against it!" a voice called from the back of the crowd.

"What was that?" Oswald snapped.

Stokers – William Stone and Matthew Harris and, of course, Quartz – pushed through the crowd. Ladies fell over each other to move out of their way, lest the soot on the overalls rub off on their dresses.

"I said," Quartz growled, "there ain't no law against Isambard creatin' an engine, if he so wishes." Grumbles of assent rippled through the crowd.

"Stokers are followers of Great Conductor, same as Navvies and Newconens and James Watt's crew. Day in and day out we work under these very streets, keeping the cogs oiled and the furnaces stoked. And if one of our own has the mind of an engineer," he folded his arms as a gasp went through the crowd, "then I say, he knows his craft better than most men."

"How do we know this infernal contraption is safe? How do we know it's not some kind of weapon—"

"It saved the lives of two men."

"You don’t even know what it is," roared Oswald.

"I think I can explain that."

Every head turned toward Isambard, who disentangled himself from the grasp of a grateful Navvy woman and stalked toward them.

"This is a locomotive engine, built by my hands and my hands alone." His eyes met Aaron’s pointedly as he spoke. "She is of a similar design to those run by the Messiah Robert Stephenson, but she runs on a broader gauge track – seven and a quarter inches, to be precise. This gives her a unique advantage. She can ride faster over long distances than any of Stephenson’s engines. And she carries a heavier load – like this double-sized water tanker I carry today – and more carriages. When she carries passenger cars, they will be wider and fit more seats in them."

"This is preposterous!" cried a Metic priest. "He dares to argue with the Messiah's own designs!"

"If every Stoker were off inventing locomotives, who would operate the Engine Ward—"

"He should be thrown in the tower!" Oswald cried. "Look at how he flaunts his invention with no regard for his position. He thinks himself among equals here. He should be sent away, like his traitorous father."

"I simply do not see," said Isambard, "why a man's sect should determine his ability to invent something for the good of England, especially when the machine can save the lives of others and improve efficiency and performance."

"You staged this, you rotten—"

"I set a Navvy shrine on fire and then put it out again? Does that sound like the kind of thing a Stoker would do?"

The men looked at each other. Finally, Joseph Locke, the Presbyter of the Great Conductor Sect and a staunch Navvy, stepped forward, shook Isambard's hand, and squinted at the engine.

"Thank you for saving my men." he said.

"You're welcome," said Isambard, smiling broadly.

"As to your engine, I don't believe the validity of your claim this broad gauge will produce superior speed. In order to determine what should be done with you, we must first determine if you speak the truth about your locomotive. We shall have to see what she can do."

* * *

He floated on a mountaintop, high in the Pyrenees, trapped in the swirling blindness of a snowstorm. Julianna was screaming, her dress covered in blood. He fumbled across the snow, trying to reach her, but with every step, she seemed even further from him. He took another step, but his foot never found solid ground. He toppled over the edge of a chasm and fell, the sheer rocks hurtling past him, Julianna's screams ripping apart the night …

Nicholas woke with a start, finding himself not hurtling toward his death, but safe in his cold bed in the empty battery beneath the monastery, his blankets soaked with sweat. It was only a dream. It wasn't real.

The screaming, however, was real.

The sound pounded against the rocks above, striking him with the force of a physical blow. Julianna! Upstairs, somewhere, something was hurting her. He fumbled in the dark for a candle and, lighting it, drew his sword from its sheath and crept silently up the stairs.

It didn't take long to locate the source of the screaming. Julianna's cries faded to a whimper, but they led him directly to the chapel. The door was locked, but he kicked at the bolt with his boot ‘till it gave way.

The sight that greeted him froze his blood. Julianna – her hands bound before her and tied to the heavy legs of the altar – was spread naked across their place of worship, her body contorted in pain. Thick red welts crossed her chest where someone had pawed at her, and ribbons of blood cascaded over her breasts and down her face. Jacques loomed over her, naked below the waist, a great grin on his face as he thrust harder and harder into her, while her blood splattered across his thighs.

"Nicholas!" he called cheerfully. "Do you care for a ride after me? I've warmed her up for you!"

Julianna met his eyes, wide with horror and shame. She tried to speak, but Jacques held his hand tightly over her mouth.

Nicholas’ stomach lurched. He coughed violently, and his anger rose along with the bile, welling up from the pit of his belly and coursing through every limb in his body. Remembering the sword in his hand, he held it in front of him and took a step forward.

"I wouldn't." said Jacques cheerfully, reaching behind the altar and grabbing his own sword. He withdrew from Julianna and took at step toward Nicholas. "Do you think the other men don't know what goes on in here? Why, they've many of them had their turns with pretty Julianna while you've slept unawares. If you strike me, Nicholas, you'll have thirty Morpheans upon you in an instant."

"You— you—"

"I am the priest here. I rescued you – all of you – from a life of servitude to the false Christian gods. I gave you what you so ardently desired, Monsieur Nicholas – books, and learning, and great scholars who could test your skills. Should I not have something in return?"

"You hide behind the trappings of a learned man, Jacques, but you are a barbarian."

"It is no different to the world you left on that boat. Locked up here as we are, with little diversion from our study, a man has urges. And I know you'll agree – Danielle and Marie aren't to everyone's tastes. I have seen the way you look at Julianna – can you say with honesty you have not felt the same compulsion I exercise now? As an honest man, I do not deny my compulsions."

"I am nothing like you." Nicholas spat.

"And yet, you point a sword at me and ask who is the barbarian in this room?"

Nicholas sprang forward, striking at Jacques' chest. But his thrust was wild, driven by anger, and Jacques blocked him easily. He knew as he flung out another thrust that soon he would slip, and Jacques would slit him open.

"I've married her, you know." said Jacques, expertly parrying another swing. "I've performed the Morphean rituals, and we are in every sense man and wife. But this is no Catholic church – I'm a generous man, and I'll share my wife with my brothers. Auguste has his turn this evening, but you may have tomorrow, if you wish—"

Nicholas feigned left and thrust for Jacques' chest, but Jacques stepped back and directed his blow down, throwing Nicholas' shoulder and head forward. Up flicked Jacques' blade, slicing through the skin on his cheek. Blood gushed from the wound, blocking his vision, and pain filled his head. He lost his balance and lurched forward.

Jacques caught him, twisting him upward so Nicholas could see the thin point of Jacques' rapier pointing at his throat. His head swam, the pain stinging like a bee, draining him of strength.

"Very well." Jacques' face twisted into a grin. "Unfortunately, you must understand that I cannot allow you to remain a free scholar here, for if you managed to escape down the mountains, you could easily report our position to the authorities." He snapped his fingers, and Auguste stepped forward and grabbed Nicholas under the arms. "Perhaps you may think about my offer in your confinement, yes?"

* * *

Auguste dragged him down a flight of narrow, poorly fashioned stairs, much deeper into the mountain than his battery. At the foot of the staircase was a single dark room. Auguste shoved him inside and slammed the door. "Sometimes the monks would go mad up here in the mountains with nothing but their prayers. This is where they kept those men – some dangerous, some simply pathetic." He laughed as he slid the bolts shut. "I know which one you are."

His footsteps disappeared up the stairs, leaving Nicholas alone in the darkness. They'd given him a blanket and a stale loaf, but he had no appetite. He touched the cut on his cheek, sending a wave of pain through his head. It was a clean cut, but he had nothing to cauterize it. He tore the sleeve from his shirt and held this against his face in an effort to stop the bleeding.

The darkness pushed against him, silence embracing him like a wild river, rolling over him and tossing him about, so he didn't know where was up and down. He slept fitfully, waking covered in sweat, his cheek stinging. He tried to pace out the room, but it wasn't even high enough from him to stand without stooping, and if he stretched his arms out wide, his fingers scraped the stone walls.

He passed time in the gloom – it might have been days, or only hours. Twice more, bread was pushed through a slot in the door, the faint glimmer of a torch casting a thin shadow on the rough stone floor. He hammered on the door ‘till blood dribbled down his fists, calling for someone to help him, but no one came.

He listened to the voices of the mountain, hoping he might find a mind he could use to help him escape. But all he could hear so deep in the earth were worms and creatures of the dirt and rocks. He hadn't the energy, the power, to form a plan.

He slept and woke again, nightmares clinging to his body. Sweat clung to his clammy skin. There was a noise outside the door.

Footsteps – not slow and careful, but rushed – slipped on the steep steps leading down into the stone passage. A key turned in the lock, and to his surprise, the door swung open and a bright light thrust itself inside his prison.

He closed his eyes against the glare and the imposing shadow that towered over him. I hope they kill me quickly. I hope Jacques has no use for torture—

"Nicholas?"

I must truly be ready to die, for I can hear the voices of angels.

"Nicholas!" The angel sounded impatient. He rubbed his eyes, squinting against the bright light as his eyes adjusted. The figure came into focus, hazy at first, a mere shadow. But the light illuminated her height, the curve of her hip, and, finally, her face – scarred and bloody, but utterly beautiful.

"Julianna!" he collapsed at her feet, touching the hem of her dress. "You're alive. Alive! How did you—"

"Ssshh." She knelt down beside him, her delicate fingers wiping his matted hair back from his face. Tracing the wound on his cheek, she pulled his chin up so he could look at her face, and she held her finger to her lips. "I have killed Auguste, so it was nothing to take the dagger from his belt and the key from his pocket. Look at you – you're weak and starving."

He pulled her down, breathing in the scent of her. Her skin felt cold and clammy, as though she were not a woman at all. He ran his fingers over her cheeks, laced with abrasions. When she pulled away, wincing, he saw the bright pink bloodstain splashed across the front of her dress.

"You are hurt?"

"Yes." It came out as a croak. "But this blood is not all mine. We must leave now."

"But how – how long have I been here?"

"Five days, though it feels like centuries," she said darkly, and a shadow passed over her face as she recalled her own horrors. She pressed a bottle against his lips. "For strength. Please, we must hurry, before Jacques discovers what I've done."

He gulped hungrily, the warm alcohol returning some strength to his bones. "But how did you—"

She put her arms under his shoulders and pulled him upright, swinging his arm over her neck and leading him, hobbling, to the stairs. "There was a fight amongst the men for who would be the next to defile me, and Auguste broke the mirror above the altar. Shards of glass rained down on me. I hid one in my hand and later, when the men had retired, I used it to cut the rope. Auguste was charged with guarding me, but the brute was snoring, and I had no trouble at all slitting his throat. I'm going to kill Jacques, too, before this night is done, and I am not ashamed to say I will enjoy it."

The climb seemed to stretch on for days, each lurch of his body sending fresh pains through his aching limbs. Julianna, he knew, was in even worse condition – her dress torn right up the middle, and her legs caked in blood. But she set her face firm and pushed him onward, her determination fuelling his own returning strength.

"We will escape." he whispered to her. "We'll go quietly into the night, Julianna. No more blood. No more death. We'll go away somewhere—"

"Where?" She sagged against him as her bloodlust left her body. She shivered against his coat, and pulled him upward, toward the thin shaft of light that marked the hall leading to the chapel.

"We'll go to the Dirigires in the north, and work passage to England, somehow. The north is the stronghold of Catholic France, so he will not follow us there, not wanted as he is."

"But if we leave—" she shuddered. "He will do this again. It will be some other girl. You have seen his charisma – he will soon have more men. He will turn this church into something evil."

"Men always do. Look – I can see the light of the tunnel above. We must be silent now, and move with haste. We don't have much time."

No one stirred as they crept through the tunnels toward the staircase leading to the courtyard above. Julianna sucked in her breath as they passed Jacques' chamber, but the heavy snores emitting from within didn't change as Nicholas pushed Julianna up the stairs.

They took the steps as quickly and quietly as they could, knowing a guard would also be stationed in the courtyard. When they reached the top they stood in the dark chamber for a few moments, catching their breath.

Moonlight streamed in through the gaps in the crumbling walls, and the harsh pinch of winter cold tore at him through his tattered coat. He gripped Julianna's trembling hand and passed into the shadow of the porch that framed the eastern edge of the courtyard.

"Who's there?" a voice called. It was Ramée. Nicholas froze.

He was close, only a few feet away, leaning against one of the upright columns. In the stillness of the night he couldn't have missed their footsteps on the stone.

"Is that you, Auguste?" He turned his head toward them, and Nicholas saw a flutter out of the corner of his eye. Julianna was upon him before he could blink. Nicholas saw the glint of a dagger in the moonlight, and he rushed to her aid.

She stood back, panting. Ramée slumped against the wall. In the darkness Nicholas could not see any blood, but as he reached down to remove the man's sword, a warm, metallic-smelling substance washed over his fingers.

Julianna was already running across the courtyard. Nicholas stood to follow her, and caught a snatch of sound coming up the stairway. They've discovered we're missing, he realised. He ran after Julianna and grabbed her hand, pulling her down the path to the bridge.

Winds whipped up from the valley below and circled the bridge, and the ice and snow had piled up on the surface, making their crossing a dangerous affair. But it was the only way. He went first, plunging into the ice on all fours, keeping as low as possible. The winds curled up around him, driving him sideways, trying to suck him below.

"Be careful!" he called back to Julianna, but the wind tossed his words into the maelstrom below.

Inch by inch he crawled across that perilous structure, every muscle taut, fighting against the force of the wind. He wanted to turn around, to see if Julianna was safe, but if he moved his neck he'd be spun off into the abyss below. His muscles screamed as he pulled himself onto the road, collapsing against the side of the mountain to recover his breath. The frigid wind bit into his skin. Julianna fell down beside him.

He glanced back over his shoulder, and caught a glint of light in the darkened courtyard. He rubbed his eyes, straining to see. Yes, there it was again. They had been discovered!

Julianna saw it, too. "Into the forest!" she cried, her words lost in the wind. He pulled her up, and they dashed into the trees. Snow pummelled them from all sides, and Nicholas could hardly see a foot in front of himself. He kept a tight grip on Julianna's hand, fearing that to let her go would be to lose her forever. The wind howled in his ears, the cold stinging the raw wound on his face. He felt certain at any moment they would plunge over a cliff or be shot from behind by one of Jacques' men.

The ground sloped away downhill, and the pitch beneath their feet became steeper. "Look out," Julianna cried, throwing out her arm just as he nearly sent them hurtling forward down a steep slope.

"Where now?" His whole face felt numb from cold, and his breath came out in ragged gasps. Julianna didn't seem to be faring any better. He knew they were lost, that they wouldn't last long out here without food or shelter.

She yelled something back, but he couldn't hear it. The next thing he knew she had thrown herself down the steep slope, her skirts flapping wildly behind her. He gathered his breath and hurtled down after her.

Immediately, his legs were swept from under him, and he tumbled down the slope, battering his arms against the branches and rolling over the roots ‘till the ground drew even and he sailed to a stop, every bone in his body aching as if it had just gone through a grinder.

He opened one eye and saw Julianna a few feet away, dusting off her skirt. She stumbled over and helped him to his feet.

"I know where we are." said Julianna. "If we follow the river, we'll make it down to the pass. That is, if they don't catch us first."

"Even if they ride after us," said Nicholas, "it will take them time to get the horses across the bridge. The wind has erased our footprints, and even if they managed to track us, they couldn't follow us down that slope."

"You mean we are safe?"

"I'm hopeful." Nicholas replied, "but we need to find food and shelter soon. We're not clear of him yet."

"Nor shall you be."

That booming voice sliced through the biting air. Nicholas whirled around and saw Jacques, a silhouette against the moonlight. He stood with two of his men on the edge of the valley, blocking their exit. The men each pointed a pistol at them.

"You forget," he said. "I know every inch of the tunnels under this hill. The old monks created escape routes in case they were overrun, and one emerges not a mile to the west. Your crashing about in the forest made it almost too easy to find you. And now—"

He took a step toward them, drawing his rapier from its scabbard, a broad smile across his face.

Nicholas stepped back, pushing Julianna behind him, and fumbled for Ramée's blade. It slipped through his numb fingers and stuck in the snow.

Jacques laughed, gesturing with his blade for Nicholas to pick it up. "I fancy a bit of sport, Anglaise."

Nicholas stepped forward, losing his balance on the ice, and scrambled for his blade. He gripped it at last, and stood to face Jacques, who took another step toward him, closing the distance.

Snow flew in thick clumps from the trees high above, and great gusts of wind circled around them as they sized each other up, neither daring to make the first move. He is smiling because he knows he has beaten me. My only chance is my strength. If I can disarm him, I could overpower him, perhaps get a hand on his throat.

Jacques came at him with a high cut. Nicholas parried, bottling up Jacques' blade. They battled, pressing against each other, ‘till Nicholas saw an opening and took it, winding his blade around and opening a long cut over Jacques’ right eye. The Frenchman's head snapped back, and blood obscured his vision.

Nicholas feigned left, thrusting for Jacques' belly, but despite his injury, the Frenchman parried him easily, laughing as Nicholas stumbled off balance once again. "Your walk in the snow has weakened you," he said. "You will die soon, Anglaise."

Jacques attacked – a lazy cut to the shoulder. Nicholas parried easily, but now he was on the defensive, blocking cut after cut as they came thick and fast. His swung wildly, blocking too high on Jacques' blade, and the mistake compounded with each subsequent parry, ‘till Jacques caught him in a bind, bent his sword arm back behind him, and pulled Nicholas' head into his chest. He pressed the thin blade of his rapier against Nicholas’ throat.

"You Englishmen, you steal our wealth, you steal our gods, but this is not enough? You must have our women too! I will enjoy very much slitting your throat—"

"Jacques, arrêtez-vous!"

Jacques whirled around, wrenching Nicholas' neck around so he too could see Julianna. She stood on the other side of the valley, out of pistol range. She held Auguste's dagger in both hands, the tip pointing inward, aimed at her belly.

"If you hurt Nicholas," she cried, "I shall kill your child."

The winds gusted through the valley, pushing a bitter cold deep inside Nicholas' bones. He felt the shock of this statement descend down Jacques' arm, and he pressed against the jolt, hoping Jacques might loosen his grip enough for him to pivot underneath. But Jacques regained composure quickly, and when he spoke, his voice was cold and firm.

"You can't do that," said Jacques. "I forbid it."

"You are not my husband," she said. "You're a charlatan. A liar."

"Please, Julianna," said Nicholas. "Run! Save yourself!"

She stared at him, and her eyes too were cold. "Let him go, Jacques. Let him run into the forest behind me, and do not chase after him, and you shall have me and the baby. This is what you want, isn't it?"

"You are the one who is lying," Jacques spat. "You have said so yourself. You do not want me."

"What I wanted has never mattered to you before. If you allow Monsieur Thorne to go free, I will marry you in front of the men. I will live as your wife, your slave. If you kill him now, I kill the baby, and myself too."

"Julianna, no!"

But Jacques had already made up his mind. He broke the hold on Nicholas' neck and shoved him forward. Nicholas pulled himself to his feet.

"Run," said Jacques. "Run like the cowardly Englishman you are."

He staggered to his feet, his rapier still gripped in his fingers. His eyes met Julianna's as he trudged toward her on the other side of the valley, toward the freedom that had been so bitterly bought. She looked up at him, tears running down her pale skin shimmering in the moonlight, and a cold determination in her eyes. As her gaze locked on his, he realised what she planned to do.

Julianna … my beautiful Julianna …

He made to pass her on her left, and as he did so, he leaned in, whispered "Je t'amie." and flicked out his wrist, driving his sword up into her chest, straight into her heart.

She gasped, a horrible, wet, gurgling sound that welled up from inside her. As she went down, her eyes met his, and the hiss of her final breath passed through the air, carrying with it the trace of her words: Thank you.

Now he ran.

Up the slope and into the forest, shot falling uselessly in the snow behind him. If they shouted after him, he could not hear them over the roar of the wind and the pounding of his heart in his ears. His chest burning, he reached the crest of the slope and leaned against a tree, resting for a moment. He watched the lamps below – little daubs of light like fireflies dancing as Jacques’ men carried Julianna's body back to the monastery.

As they carried her far away from him.

Tears stung in his eyes. He had done what she asked – what her eyes had burnt into him. She would not have allowed herself or the baby – if there even was a baby – to suffer in Jacques' hands any longer. She would have killed herself anyway – plunging that knife into her own belly, sacrificing herself in a great ocean of agony, condemning herself according to Morphean law to an eternity of torment.

Now she was free, and so was he, though how he could go on living, knowing the price of his freedom, he didn't yet know.

He ran. Like a coward, he ran on into the darkness.

* * *

The Council didn't want to take any chances with Isambard, so they locked him in a cell below Stephenson's church while the broad gauge test track was constructed. Of course, they made the Stokers do it, for no extra pay, on top of their regular duties. But the men toiled happily, clearing the ground and laying the wide track alongside Stephenson's line, which ran from one side of the Engine Ward to the other.

"Do you think Brunel's lad will really beat Stephenson?" William Stone asked Aaron as he held the rails in place for William to hammer the nails through.

"His calculations are sound enough," Aaron replied. "But he told me he's never brought it up to speed before. We – that is, he – doesn't know how fast it truly runs."

Aaron was allowed to visit Isambard down in his cell, but he had to wait in line while Stoker after Stoker dropped in, each bearing gifts – blankets and food and drink to make Isambard comfortable. He accepted them all gratefully, and stayed chatting and laughing ‘till his guards got annoyed and threw in the next visitor. Finally, Aaron was allowed to enter.

"We'll complete the track within the week—"

Isambard sighed. "You're upset."

Aaron gulped. "If Stephenson's locomotive is faster—"

"For the last time, it won't be faster. And besides, I've kept my promise," Isambard said. "I've told no one of your involvement. You have nothing to fear."

"You are my friend. I fear for you."

"Your fear is unnecessary. I have done the calculations. There's no way Stephenson will win." Isambard sighed again. "I shall like very much to get out of here. I'm frightfully bored. I've asked that you accompany me on the footplate."

Aaron tried to mask his dismay, but his conversation with Isambard took on a stilted feel, as though they were both going through the motions. Staring at his friend through the bars as he paced his cell in excitement only made Aaron keenly aware of how different they were – of how their very natures divided them.

The Festival of Steam was over, but most of the engineers and their men remained behind, anxious to see what this magnificent engine, built by a boy and seemingly too squat and ugly to be much use, could really do. Stephenson's newest engine – the Rocket – was rushed down to the city from Manchester, with the Messiah himself as the conductor. An entire regiment of Navvies marched after him, eager to see their master beat the Stokers once and for all. If Isambard's theory was proven to be false, his punishment would be swift and severe. The promise of a hanging clung to the air, and no one liked to miss a good hanging.

On the day of the trials, a throng of people crowded the streets of Engine Ward. The Council members – draped in all their religious and scholarly robes – gave morning lectures in the great cathedrals, most railing against this upstart engineer, but some showing support for healthy competition. Never had so many come to the Ward to hear the engineers speak or see the result of a public experiment. The city erected a grandstand along one edge of the track near the start/finish line for the engineers, Council members, and other privileged citizens, while the Stokers jostled with the ordinary folk for a view behind a heavy iron fence. Constables patrolled the length of the track, ready with batons in case the crowd got out of hand. Coaches and omnibuses blocked the streets all the way back to the gates – their passengers were forced to exit and walk the rest of the way.

King George III sat on a platform festooned with flowers overlooking the track. He beamed with happiness as he waved at his subjects. As a symbol of his patronage, the workers usually threw bolts and nails at his feet, but the police, worried about injuries and the integrity of the track, were walking up and down with sacks to collect these offerings (which they would no doubt sell later for scrap). Already, four sacks were stacked up against the platform, brimming with loot.

Brunel and Aaron waited together on the edge of the track, while Joseph Banks and two men from the Royal Society checked over both engines for any mechanical tinkerings that might give one locomotive an unfair advantage. Brunel sought out fellow Stokers in the crowd and waved to them, while Aaron hopped nervously from foot to foot.

Only a few feet away, Stephenson waited, surrounded by a crew of Navvies in shiny green overalls. The Messiah had squeezed his wide frame into a frock coat of the latest fashion, the buttons straining under the pressure, and puffed on a cigarette as he exchanged pleasantries with other Council members. He barely even glanced at Isambard's engine, though its broad frame dwarfed his precious Rocket.

As the church bells punctuated the day with fearsome gongs, signalling the start of the trials, Isambard helped Aaron up onto the footplate of their squat engine. He waved to the King, and the King nodded in return. Despite the unease settling in his gut, Aaron beamed too, and waved at Quartz. It was a proud day to be a Stoker.

The King gave the signal, and Stephenson stepped on board the Rocket, while the Navvies yelled and stamped their feet. The ground vibrated with their adoration, and Aaron felt his gloom sink deeper. How can Isambard possibly defeat all this?

Stephenson's fireman stoked the boiler, and soon puffs of steam rose from the engine and floated across the sky like clouds. The timekeeper held up his pocket watch, and at the King's signal, Joseph Banks waved the flag, and the Rocket lurched away.

To Aaron's eyes she seemed impossibly fast, much faster than he'd ever seen a locomotive travel when Stephenson used to run them in Engine Ward. She leapt along the track, disappearing from view, save the tip of her smokestack belching black clouds over the cheering populace.

The roar of the crowd grew to such a height he couldn't hear the Rocket returning. Instead, he saw her great black face bearing down on them, careening toward the finish line with Stephenson waving his hat in triumph. They screeched to a halt, belched one final cloud of black steam over the wailing crowd, and the time keeper announced their result: "Seventeen minutes and thirty-one seconds!"

A calculating man from the Metic Sect stood by, furiously scribbling sums on his paper. Within a few minutes he announced Stephenson's average speed at 28mph. Aaron gulped.

Stephenson didn't even acknowledge Isambard as he strolled alongside their carriage toward his place of honour on the bleachers. Isambard didn't seem bothered by the snub – he turned to Aaron, grinning from ear to ear.

"Whatever happens," he said, "you have my sincere and greatest thanks."

"As long as I keep my head, you can keep your thanks."

"Just remember, keep the distribution even." he said, handing Aaron the shovel. "Don't forget the corners of the firebox, and don't give her everything ‘till she's warmed up a bit. We don't want to drop the fire before we've even begun."

Together, they stoked the boiler – watching the puffs of smoke trotting across the sky – and checked the pressure. Aaron knelt down and took his place in front of the firebox. Easing off the brake and taking hold of the regulator, Isambard tipped his hat to signal he was ready. Banks waved the flag; Isambard pulled the whistle and leaned on the regulator. The train juddered forward, launching itself down the track.

Immediately, they had a problem. Water squirted from one of the hoses, soaking the deck and causing the pressure to drop dramatically. Struggling to find purchase on the slippery deck, Aaron pushed shovel after shovel of coke into the firebox, spreading it out to keep the fire even. His field of vision narrowed, becoming only his shovel and the tiny door of the firebox, and his shoulders heaved with the effort. Sparks flew back at him as he tossed in another shovelful, checked the pressure gauge, and dug for more coke.

Soaked in water and smeared with soot, Isambard threw back his head and laughed gleefully as he let out the regulator even further, and the whole world fell away into a blur of wind and coke and steam. Aaron's fear evaporated, replaced by exhilaration.

Come on, we can do it!

The locomotive thundered across the broader track. His knees wobbled in different directions as they clattered down the straight, accelerating as she dove into the corner. They poured on speed, the rivets and panels rattling with the building pressure. Suddenly, Isambard let off the regulator and slammed on the brakes. They shuddered to a stop, a mere foot before they ran out of track.

"Quick, more coke." Isambard threw her in reverse, released the brake, and let out the regulator, pulling it further and further ‘till the whole locomotive shook from the speed.

Now the pressure gauge shot up. Aaron added more water, watching her drop to normal, then quickly shoot up again. The deck shook so violently he had to hold on to the boiler mount with one hand to keep from being thrown. From the corner of his eye he saw the Engine Ward hurtle past, a blur of grey and black. "More!" Isambard yelled over the din. "Faster!"

His teeth chattering, Aaron crouched low, steadying himself against the boiler mount as he flung in another shovel of coke. The pressure gauge shot up again, then down. Two rivets popped from the boiler, sailing across the deck.

"Isambard," Aaron screamed. "We're going to drop the fire!"

In response, Isambard hauled on the regulator as hard as it would go, rocketing the locomotive through the final straight. More rivets popped off as they shot past the bleachers, the boiler belching black smoke from every outlet and the pressure gauge dangerously close to exploding.

Finally, Brunel pulled on the brakes. Aaron dived onto the deck and covered his head just as all three gauges exploded. The engine juddered to a stop, black steam choking the air. The air gushed through the firebox, sucking the fire out through the chimney and depositing it on the side of the track. Firefighters rushed in with buckets to fight the blaze.

Aaron could only just make out Isambard's features through the steam and smoke. He was grinning from ear to ear. His eyes stinging, Aaron fumbled for his friend's hand, grabbed it and squeezed tight.

"Whatever happens now," Isambard said, "I can say I ran my engine through the Ward."

"You won't say nothing if you're dead," Aaron heaved, wiping sweat from his brow.

Suddenly, they were surrounded. Rough hands dragged them from the cab and hoisted them in the air. Stokers, a great crowd of them, singing and yelling and carrying them away on their shoulders. In the madness, Aaron lost sight of Isambard. All around him, people were yelling, and reporters fired a barrage of questions at him, their voices blending together in the din. "What happened?" he yelled between coughs, but no one answered him.

His ears ringing and his eyes full of smoke, Aaron searched the crowd for a familiar face. Someone reached up and tore him from the Stokers' grasp, setting his wobbling legs down on solid ground. "Nine minutes twenty-three!" Quartz jabbed at his watch. "You pulled her through in nine minutes twenty-three seconds!"

"What?"

"We did it!" Brunel cried, throwing his arms around Aaron. "We beat Stephenson's time by nearly half!"

More Stokers broke over the barrier, and they whipped Isambard away again, hoisting him up on their shoulders and carrying him into the steamy haze ‘till Aaron lost sight of him. He heard the King speak, but the words were lost in the roar of the crowd. Quartz stood beside him, and William Stone, but even they were swept up in the madness, talking about the great church they would build for the first ever Stoker engineer.

Aaron slumped against the engine, his hands on his temples, trying to make sense of it. His childhood friend was now the head of a religion.

* * *

James Holman's Memoirs – Unpublished

The letter I received – from the one and same Nicholas Thorne, whom I'd last seen on board the Cleopatra as they pulled me to shore for treatment – contained no apologies for his lack of communication, or platitudes or inquiries after my health. Any other gentleman might think this rude, but Nicholas was too dear a friend for me to bother with formalities.

I had just returned to Travers College following my medical studies, and I was desperate for any distraction from my monotonous lifestyle. I longed still to travel, but my dreams seemed impossible, stifled by the constraints of the very institution that had saved me from poverty. The envelope – bearing no return address and what the maid described as "a most peculiar postmark" – did ignite in me such a terrific hope for adventure that I immediately leapt from my chair, the flaring pains in my legs completely forgotten, and paced the length of the room.

I could smell the road on the letter as soon as I slit open the envelope. That damp, sulphurous scent of rain and dirt and soot clung to the paper, telling me a story more evocative than words. Another smell – familiar, but indiscernible – reached my nostrils, and I knew this to be a letter from someone I knew – one of my friends in a far-flung place. I called in a maid to read to me. If I could not have adventures of my own, I would hear tales of someone else's.

"It's written on fine paper, and there's a watermark along the right side – it looks like some sort of flying machine," said the maid, pulling out the letter. She knew well how to describe every detail to me. "Shall I read it for you, Mr. Holman?"

"If you please, Rose, and I trust you to keep its contents entirely confidential."

The letter I destroyed as soon as I had committed it to memory, for he was right to be cautious of such evidence against him, but as my journals are kept secure in the locked deposit box in my private rooms, I felt it safe enough to record a copy of it here.

Dear James

You may have some idea what has become of me since we parted in Portsmouth. If you had followed the papers you'd know the Cleopatra stayed for a year on patrol in English waters before setting out on duties in the Mediterranean. After being in an engagement, she put in at Gibraltar for repairs and her crew was decommissioned. You may have even read of a young lieutenant who killed his superior officer in a brawl and evaded the authorities by escaping into Spain.

I had intended to buy passage home to England and begin life anew as a student of architecture, but I had not counted on Napoleon making a particularly spectacular decision. Blockading England basically drew a line in the sand – with Industrian England on one side, and Christian Europe on the other. There was not one ship that could take me where I so dearly wanted to go, and French hostility toward Industrians forced me into hiding.

I've been in the mountains for nearly three years, studying architecture with some of the foremost European masters, but circumstances permitted that I return to England with haste, and I hope to find work there under a new name. I will not burden you with the details of my illicit journey, lest this letter fall into the wrong hands. Suffice to say that at the time of writing, I am in the North, and it does my heart well to once more walk on English soil.

I arrive in London on Tuesday, and would greatly desire to meet you for dinner, at 6pm at the Butchers Hall Beef House. You must come alone, and tell no one who you are seeing.

You cannot write to me in return, but I shall wait for you on the appointed day.

Yours

Nicholas Rose

Part III

The Metal Messiah

1830

"You want to what?"

"Find a coach to take me to London. Tonight, if that's possible."

The barkeeper shook his head. "Ain't no coaches travelling that road for three more days. I will give ye another drink, though."

She took it, the strong taste burning her throat. She swallowed, struggling to hold back tears. "It's of the utmost urgency that I get to London as soon as possible."

"Listen, girlie," the barkeeper said, leaning over the counter, "my job is to serve up the poison, not to organise transport for every pretty stranger who wanders through those doors. I'll tell you what – every week a blind gentleman comes down from the castle, Thursdays at 4pm, has a drink right over there" he said, pointing to a stool at the end of the bar, "and takes a private taxicab into the city. Tomorrow is your lucky day. If you wait around ‘till then, you may be able to persuade him to give you a lift."

Mr. Holman? Brigitte knew the blind man, for she sometimes cleaned the Naval Knights' residence at Travers College. She'd noticed him immediately, as he was younger than the other Naval Knights by some years and moved about with such an affable ease it was difficult at first to discern his blindness. She'd never spoken to him, and hoped he'd be kindly disposed to her.

For all his gruff talk, the barkeeper took pity on her, and offered her a room for half price. She took it, not knowing what else to do, but she could not sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she saw visions of the Sunken, snarling and snapping, or the woman in the King's chamber, blood running from the gashes in her legs, or Maxwell's sagging, weary face as he showed her his wound.

She awoke to find sunlight streaming in through a tiny window. Not wanting to show her face in the village lest her disappearance had been discovered, she stayed in her room, pacing back and forth and trying to figure out what she should do next. The barkeeper brought her a tray of fresh bread and soup, and, at one o'clock, told her to come and wait downstairs with him.

He put her to work behind the bar, filling glasses and helping in the kitchen. The hours passed quickly, and no one seemed to recognise her. At one point, the barkeeper nudged her with his elbow.

"Your escort has arrived, Missy."

Holman sat on the stool at the end of the bar and ordered a glass of brandy. Brigitte brought it to him and watched while he sipped it, his youthful features serene and untroubled. Finally, she worked up the courage to speak.

"Mr. Holman, sir?"

He turned his head toward her. "You're from the castle, aren't you Miss? One of the maids?"

She nodded, forgetting he couldn't see her. "I am – or rather, I was. How did you guess?"

"Tis no guess, Miss. I recognise your voice. When one cannot tell their friends apart by their faces, one must look to other clues. Do you have a name, or shall I simply call you ’she of the gentle tone’?"

She blushed. "I am Brigitte Black. I need to travel to London for an urgent matter, but I'm told no carriage save yours leaves for several days. I wondered if you would do me the honour of allowing me to share your taxi?"

"Anything for the lady who delivers my brandy," he said, flashing her a charming smile. Finishing his drink, he climbed down from his stool and offered her his arm. She took it, marvelling at how he navigated across the crowded bar, out the door, down the steps, and along the road to where his taxi waited. He did not steady himself against her, and he did not sweep the road with his stick the way she'd seen other blind men do. Instead, he moved with a casual grace, occasionally tapping his short walking stick against the cobbles. He explained, when she asked, that he used the echoes produced by the tap to discern obstacles, and by careful listening he built a picture of the world in his mind, and could therefore find his way.

As he helped her up into the carriage, Brigitte looked over her shoulder; certain she'd see the castle guard coming to arrest her. But there was no one, only the dark outline of the imposing castle looming over the town. She stared up at the ramparts, and shivered, tears welling in her eyes again as she thought of Maxwell and Miss Julie and Cassandra and everyone trapped inside.

Only once they had settled into their seats, and the carriage had pulled away and begun the long and clattering journey to London, did Brigitte let out the breath she was holding. She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve.

"Is something the matter, Miss Brigitte?"

Her head snapped up. "What makes you think that?"

"You fidget with your dress, and you are crying. I can smell the saltiness of your tears. Forgive me for embarrassing you so, I had hoped a journey with me would not have left you so distraught."

"No, no," she laughed, taking the handkerchief he offered and blowing her nose. "It has been … a traumatic night. Forgive me, you've been too kind, and I've been a horrid travelling companion."

"I've had much worse. In my studies at Edinburgh, I would sometimes journey into the countryside with a friend from the Navy who had gone completely deaf. Can you imagine what a pair we made, Miss Brigitte? A blind man and a deaf man." He chuckled at the memory.

"Are you off on another adventure today?"

"Only an adventure of the mind. Every second Thursday I meet with a select few individuals – scholars, engineers, doctors, and friends – to discuss matters of the mind in a forthright and unencumbered manner. It's a sort of secret supper society. This week, we're learning about some of William Buckland's biological discoveries, and Nicholas has promised us a wonderful roast pheasant."

She leaned forward. "Who was that again?"

"Nicholas Rose. He's the industrial architect for Brunel's Wall—"

"Mr. Holman," she lowered her voice. "Can you take me to him?"

His face broke into a sudden grin, and he too leaned forward and whispered. "So you are the woman he's smitten with?"

She blushed. "He has spoken of me?"

"Not by name, but he told me of the beautiful maid he met at the castle who has quite stolen his heart. I'd be delighted to take you to him."

The time passed quickly after that. Away from the castle and the frightful events of the night before, her pulse returned to normal. She stretched her muscles – stiff and aching from all the running – across the carriage, wriggling her toes and revelling in her freedom. Holman told her stories of his time in the Navy and at medical school, his yearning for adventure and travel, and of his friendship with Nicholas and how he came to lose his sight. She was so engrossed in his tales she didn't even notice they had passed into London until the familiar tang hit her nostrils. The accumulated filth of thousands of people living atop one another in crowded tenements, the dribbling remnants of rotted meat baked into greasy pork pies and sold cold on the street corners, the ditches overflowing with sewage … she pulled her collar tightly around her, remembering the horrid conditions at the orphanage.

Holman removed a pocket watch from his pocket and ran his fingers over the raised digits. "We're late," he murmured, "but when Nicholas sees what treasure I've brought him, he won't worry."

It took Brigitte a couple of moments to realise he was referring to her. An even redder blush crept across her cheeks.

Her old orphanage was in Whitechapel, one of the poorest and most notorious areas in London. But she had cleaned houses in Belgravia, Kensington, and Chelsea, and glimpsed the life of easy comfort afforded to the rich. It came as no surprise to her that the carriage stopped in front of the fourth in a row of pleasant terraced boarding houses on the edge of Upper Clapton. She'd cleaned for a doctor and his wife who'd lived just around the corner. Her heart beat against her chest, and she fidgeted with her dress as Holman helped her down and knocked on the door.

"If that's you, James, you are the last to arrive." a voice boomed from behind the door. She heard the latch turn in the lock. "I hope you've brought the brandy—" The door flew open, and Nicholas stood there, a carefree smile on his handsome face. His face sagged when he saw her and he fixed her with an intense stare.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I didn't mean to upset you. I shouldn't have come. I'll leave you alone."

He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close, and she stared into his narrowed eyes and felt his hand tighten around her arm. After everything she'd seen it was too much, too much and she opened her mouth to scream but found he had covered it with his. The ferocity of the kiss tore the air from her lungs. Her chest burst, sending shivers down her arms. Her hands gripped his back, holding her to him.

I'm being kissed, she realised, her pulse dancing. A beautiful man is kissing me.

"Well, I'm mighty pleased my findings interested you so much, Nicholas, that you'd break the rules of our supper club to sneak in a woman."

She leapt back, startled by the unfamiliar voice. A man stood on the staircase, one hand gripping the railing, the other smoothing the pocket of his waistcoat. His comment would have been cruel if not for the grin on his face.

"Of course." Nicholas' mouth twitched into a smile. "Brigitte, this is William Buckland, an eminent professor of geology at Oxford. He was just beginning a lecture on his most recent studies of Ichyosuarus skeletons when you arrived. Buckland, this is my … this is Brigitte."

"Oh, I've interrupted you." Brigitte looked away, hoping the man wouldn't notice how red her face had become. "I'm so terribly sorry! I can leave—"

"Nonsense," Buckland interrupted. "It is no night for a woman to be wandering outside on her own. We have enough bacon sandwiches upstairs to feed an army, and Nicholas might even break open his best brandy now we have a lady present."

"Oh, but I shouldn't intrude—"

"It's no intrusion," Holman said. "A lady adds rather an air of sophistication to our affairs. And besides, I gather your situation is one of great urgency, so you might want to discuss it with Nicholas before he kisses you again."

If possible, Brigitte's ears turned an even darker shade of red.

* * *

They escorted her upstairs and settled her into the most comfortable chair in the parlour – an over-stuffed wingback upholstered in faded damask. If Nicholas noticed the shabby state of her appearance and the dried mud on her shoes, he did not draw attention to it, but merely wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and handed her a glass of brandy. Holman passed over the platter of sandwiches, accidentally knocking it against the chair arm and spilling a couple on the floor. Without a word, Buckland picked them up and threw them in the fire.

Nicholas introduced the other men in the room, starting with a dark-haired man named Aaron Williams. Dressed in faded trousers and a green tunic, with black soot smeared over his cheeks, he was clearly one of the Dirty Folk, a Stoker. She'd seen them once or twice – soot-caked faces glaring at her from the shadows when she'd gone to church with the other orphans – but never outside the Engine Ward. I do not want a Stoker to hear my story. Surely Nicholas will ask him to leave, she thought, but caught herself. He must be special, for Nicholas and this learned crowd to associate with him. She smiled at him, but he only stared back at her with brooding, intelligent eyes.

The others were all scholars of one sort or another – a doctor, an artist, a young biologist named Charles something, and a historian. "I can trust these men?" she whispered, her eyes locked on the Stoker. Nicholas nodded.

And so, in a small voice, staring at her muddy boots and clutching her brandy glass as though it were the only thing holding her upright, she explained what had occurred in the castle – from the lead objects disappearing, to the King's inhuman pallor and increasingly erratic behaviour, to the Sunken rattling their cages and tearing at their own skin and all that Maxwell had said. She retold the story of her escape, how they'd chewed through the wooden door in their desperation to devour her, and her chance meeting with Holman. They remained silent while she talked, waiting ‘till she had recounted her tale up until she'd arrived at Nicholas' door, and even then they reserved their questions ‘till after Nicholas had refilled her glass and she'd had another bite of her sandwich.

"The situation is much worse than we feared," Holman said, tapping his stick against the toe of his boot. Brigitte looked up – she could not understand how these gentlemen, who did not know her and must regard her maid's uniform, soiled and odorous, with disgust, could believe her. But they had already known?

"You knew about this?" Buckland stared from Holman to Nicholas.

"I knew something was not right with the King," said Nicholas, who stood behind her, his gentle hands on her shoulder sending shivers of warmth through her body. "When I'd gone to the castle with Isambard, his manner seemed out of place for a monarch, even one just out of convalescence. He walked about in his nightclothes, so that I could see the fresh scars crisscrossing his chest. He drank a red tea—"

"It was blood," Brigitte said, her eyes wide. "I make it for him with blood from the castle abattoir."

"—and his eyes would not focus. They darted to every corner of the room, coming to rest only on the flesh of his youthful servants. When last I was there I saw him bite a man, tearing a chunk of flesh away like a wild animal. We have all noted his absence from the affairs of the Royal Society – or rather, most of us noted, and described it to James." The blind man gave a low chuckle. "And his dereliction of his duties to his own Gods—"

"He hasn't attended services at St. George's Chapel for nearly three months," Holman said.

"—Holman and I wondered if perhaps he'd gone the way of many kings, falling in with the ladies or gents down on the dockside and contracting syphilis, but this … this is something else entirely. "

"He is less a man than I," declared Brigitte. "He is a monster."

"A Vampire King," said Aaron.

"The question is," said Holman, "what can we do about it?"

"Without knowing his mind," declared Nicholas, "we can do nothing."

"The castle bursts with the Sunken, his children of lead," Brigitte said. "There are hundreds in the cellar and dungeon, and I know not how many more hidden throughout the castle. Perhaps he means to create an army."

This opened the discussion at great length, and it continued for many hours, each man putting forth a dashing plot which was summarily torn to pieces by his brothers. Brigitte tried to listen, but her eyelids fluttered shut, and she found her head flopping against her chest.

She awoke to the grandfather clock striking three, and felt her body lurch forward as a warm presence carried her up the stairs, bundled her in blankets, and placed her into a warm, soft bed. She slept peacefully, still dressed in her torn pinafore.

* * *

On this very same night, in a comfortable residence not far from Nicholas' home, Charles Babbage and his wife, Francesca, received two most unlikely visitors.

Annabella Milbanke, heiress and once wife to the gallivanting poet and previous Messiah of the Isis Sect Lord Byron, and a recent convert to the Church of the Great Conductor, was on pilgrimage in London. She'd come from her manor in Kirkby Mallory to see the completion of the Wall, and had brought her fifteen-year-old daughter Ada to see, firsthand, the wonders of Babbage's counting machine.

Babbage had been corresponding with Annabella for some years, and he had advised her upon many texts for Ada's schooling. In contrast to her wild ex-husband, Annabella had pursued a life of order and piety, slavishly devoting herself to exterminating every facet of Byronic psyche from Ada by way of the study of mathematics. It was this very desire to stamp out impulsivity and imagination that had drawn her to Byron, a tumultuous hurricane of a man whom she'd sought to tame with reason and logic. But chaos, of course, had won in the end, and Byron left England forever after an unspeakable sexual scandal involving his half-sister, leaving the Isis Church in the hands of Shelley, his Presbyter, and his daughter in the care of Annabella.

Annabella had spent the years since his departure trying to absolve herself in the eyes of her social circle for any part in their marital breakup. Despite Babbage’s fall from grace, she remained a loyal friend, and Babbage secretly hoped her support might one day lead him back into intellectual circles.

Ada, a young woman of exceptional intelligence cursed with Byronic impulses, became Annabella's greatest source of grief. But as Ada and her mother grew apart, Ada and Babbage corresponded with increasing fervour, together extrapolating the intricacies of various mathematical puzzles.

He had not seen Annabella or Ada since his excommunication, and welcomed the sour-faced woman and sprightly beauty into his home with trepidation. He had supported Annabella when her husband's scandals hit the papers, and he hoped she would remember this now, when he asked for her aid in helping him secure some kind of secular, non-engineering livelihood. Without the support of Annabella, he and Francesca would be on the streets within three months, never mind continuing his research on calculating engines.

He knew this visit was vital to their future. Despite their dwindling savings, Francesca decorated the drawing room with fresh flowers and set out a fine feast. Babbage chased away the organ grinders on the street outside with his garden fork and wheeled out his working model of a section of the Difference Engine, the only thing he had to show for his years of work.

While Francesca served tea, Annabella kept up a steady stream of chatter about recent scandals and events, particularly their journey to London with the Messiah Stephenson and Brunel's sermon. Babbage listened with half an ear, his attention focused on Ada. She sat like a proper lady, nibbling on her teacake. Her eyes betrayed a wit and intelligence far beyond her years. Far from a Byronic terror, this girl seemed mild and well-behaved, if prone to interrupt polite conversation with outbursts of chatter.

"Mother tells me you have been excommunicated," she blurted out. Annabella shot her a filthy look.

"Ada. Mr. Babbage will not want to discuss it—"

He sighed. "On the contrary, ma'am. It is a matter that very urgently needs to be discussed." Annabella's mouth formed a tiny O as he laid out his plans and implored her to reach out to her influential circle of friends and find him something, anything, to save them from ruin.

She closed her eyes, and didn't speak for several minutes. Charles studied her prim, drawn face, hoping to glimpse a clue to her thoughts, but he could find none. Instinctively, he reached across the arm of his chair and clasped his wife's hand.

When she opened her eyes again, he could see they were cold. "You must understand, Charles, I cannot do what you ask. I'm already in a precarious position socially, thanks to that rascal of a husband, may he rot forever in Isis' rancid milk. To offer open support for you would be social suicide, and I have Ada's future to think of. What chance have I of finding her a decent husband if it becomes known I'm a supporter of blasphemers? Why, that would be as harmful as declaring myself a Protestant!"

His stomach tightened as desperation sank in. "Annabella, please, remember when Byron left and I—"

She waved her hand in the air. "That was different. In the public eye, I was the victim of Byron's lust. Your support for me opened doors for you. If I support you now, do you think it will open doors for me? Do you think—"

"Is that the Difference Engine?" Ada asked, cutting off her mother mid-sentence.

Annabella frowned, but Babbage was secretly delighted. He was sensing himself dangerously close to falling upon his knees and begging this sour woman for her help. He needed to step away, to collect himself and plan his next move. With a smile, he sat Ada on a stool next to the machine and explained to her how it worked.

"Ada, can you tell me what finite differences are?"

"Adding and subtracting simple equations in sequence to produce new sequences, like square roots or prime numbers. Mathematical tables are computed using finite differences, although sometimes I find mistakes," Ada explained in a breathless rush.

"That’s right. You have a keen eye to find those mistakes. They occur because the people who write out the tables, the computers, aren’t mathematicians like us. They use the simple method of finite differences because they don’t understand anything else, and sometimes they make mistakes. And even if they calculated the numbers perfectly, typesetting errors creep in at the printers. But what if you could use a machine to calculate and print the tables?"

"The machine won’t make errors. The tables would be perfect."

"Precisely. One of the great advantages which we may derive from machinery is the check which it affords against the inattention, the idleness or the dishonesty of human agents."

"Can a machine really compute finite differences?"

"It can, and more. Watch." Babbage cranked the handle. The figure wheels wound and dropped and produced the first result.

"Two," Ada read off. Babbage cranked the handle again, producing a four, then a six, then eight, ten, twelve … Ada read off each number with enthusiasm, enthralled with the idea of the machine performing this simple calculation.

When the machine reached fifty, it suddenly jumped up to ninety-two.

"Oh, no!" cried Ada, frowning at the erroneous number. "It's broken." Annabella frowned at him, concerned Babbage had been teaching her daughter on a flawed machine.

Babbage smiled. "It's not broken at all, Ada. You see, I programmed the Difference Engine to add in multiples of two for twenty-five rotations, then to add forty-two before continuing to add in multiples of two."

Ada clapped her hands in delight. Even Annabella, usually severe to the point of indifference, appeared impressed. Babbage, smitten with the child, offered to show her around his workshop.

Having lost his rooms in the Engine Ward, he'd converted the drawing room at the rear of the house into his workshop. Francesca had begged him to give up on the engine after he was thrown out of the Royal Society. "It's over, Charles," she'd said, gently clasping his shaking hands. But he could not let it go.

The few tools he'd salvaged from Clement lay neatly on the bookshelves. His desk remained hidden, buried beneath a mountain of paper – his notes, designs and journals. Academic periodicals – their pages dog-eared and notes and corrections scribbled in the margins – lay stacked in every corner.

Ada went about the workshop in a curious frenzy, her deft fingers tracing the outlines of the counting rods on his plans. She climbed up on his chair and stared at the drawings on his desk.

"What's this? It's not the same as the Difference Engine?"

"That's right. You are really very clever, Ada. This is the Analytical Engine. While the Difference Engine calculates finite difference, the Analytical Engine can calculate many different types of equations."

"How?" Ada picked up the drawing and turned it upside down.

He spread out some plans on the table. "The key is that the machine can remember sequences of numbers and apply them to equations at a later point. Here are the banks of number wheels which function as the machine's memory, and here's the printer that produces the tables. With this technology a machine could perform any number of complex mathematical equations."

"It could do other things, too," said Ada. "It could store information, as a kind of code. You could assign tasks to certain combinations of numbers, and the machine could produce anything you wished."

Babbage, who'd never thought of such a possibility before, couldn't help but be enchanted by the girl, her tiny bonnet bouncing about as she scribbled some notations on a blank leaf, folded it, and tucked it into her dress.

"I shall call on you again next week," she declared, "after Mother has had her fill of Walls and lectures, and you shall explain to me the inner workings of this extraordinary machine."

Babbage smiled in delight, thinking that another week would give him time to come up with a new strategy for winning Annabella's support. Annabella frowned at her daughter's forthrightness and ushered her away, back into the reception room. Francesca kept the conversation flowing, while Babbage mused silently, turning over Ada's observations in his head. There are so many possibilities … so many avenues of inquiry I have yet to explore …

"Who would have thought," Babbage mused to his wife as she put away the tea settings after Annabella and Ada left. "The only person in all the world to understand the use of my machines would be Lord Byron's fifteen-year-old daughter."

* * *

Brigitte awoke to find herself in that same soft bed covered in thick blankets. The dim light that marked a London morning peeked through the curtains, and a mug of tea sat beside the bed, steam still rising from the cup.

"Ah," a gentle voice said. "You're awake."

She jumped. Nicholas laughed. He sat in the corner of the room, his tall frame reclining in a faded easy chair, his long legs stretched across the rug. He had dressed himself, and combed his hair, and neither his face nor his demeanour showed signs of the copious consumption of brandy from the night before. "Drink your tea," he said.

She sipped, her mind – fuzzy from tiredness and the effects of the brandy – drifting back to what she could remember of the previous two nights. The King's erratic manner, the Sunken tearing at their cages and chasing her through the cellar, the tavern, her arrival at Nicholas' house, the men, the drink, and someone carrying her to bed. Panic seized her.

"I— I can't remember—"

He reached over and flicked her hair from her face, his touch like fire on her skin. "I slept in the guestroom downstairs, if that is your concern."

She nodded, taking a gulp of tea. She glanced out the window again. Voices called from the street. "What time is it?"

"Nearly midday," he replied. "I wanted to let you sleep. I've had Isabella – that's my maid – prepare lunch for us. James and Aaron will be joining us. You remember Aaron from last night?"

She nodded. The sullen one.

He stood, his fingers tracing the outline of her jaw, lingering over her lips before reluctantly receding. "I shall leave you to dress. Come downstairs when you're ready."

She glanced across the bed. Someone had laid out clothes for her – a beautiful dress and woollen coat in dark burgundy, lined with black lace along the sleeves and bustle. She held the fabric to her nose and sniffed. It smelt fresh, clean. Brand new. She'd never worn a brand new dress before. She pulled her threadbare maid's dress over her head and stepped into the skirts, fastening the buttons along the front before struggling with the lacings. She finally managed to tie a crooked knot at the back of the bustier, slipped into her shoes, and went downstairs.

She found the men in the kitchen, sipping tea and picking at the selection of bread, meats, and cheeses laid across the table. Nicholas smiled when he saw her, and she blushed.

"I take no credit for that dress," he said. "Holman picked it out." The blind man nodded at her from over his sandwich.

"You have fine taste," she managed, balancing delicately on a stool and surveying the table. Nicholas gestured that she should eat, but she felt awkward, as though she was an intruder on this pleasant world of masculine affairs.

"Look at this." Aaron – the dark-haired man with the penetrating eyes – gestured to an article in the paper. Nicholas leaned across to read over his shoulder, but Holman and Brigitte waited to be told of the contents.

"The King has announced he'll be moving the royal residence to Buckingham Palace," Nicholas declared.

Holman leaned forward. "This is the first I've heard of it."

"That's because you're hardly ever a resident at Travers, James. If you spent half as much time fulfilling your knightly duties as you did studying medicine, gallivanting across the city, and drinking all my brandy, you'd have a better ear towards court affairs."

"Maxwell said this would happen," Brigitte spoke up. "He said the King would run out of room to house his lead-soaked children. But how will he move them?"

"By locomotive," Aaron burst out abruptly. Brigitte jumped at the harsh tone in his voice. "Brunel has had me working in secret for the last two weeks on an underground London/Windsor line, running from the castle right into the heart of Buckingham Palace."

"And you didn't think to mention this last night?"

"I wasn't sure how it related to the trouble at the castle ‘till now," Aaron replied. "Besides, Isambard swore me to secrecy—"

"But why Buckingham?" Nicholas said. "Surely Windsor is a larger castle, and more ideally situated for whatever debaucheries the King wishes to indulge in next?"

Aaron slammed his fist on the table. "I can't believe I didn't see it earlier. The King wants the Sunken in the city. He intends to house them inside the Wall."

They fell silent as each pondered the implication of this announcement.

"It would explain why he chose Brunel's competition entry, despite its audacious nature and insurmountable cost. It would explain his insistence in simultaneously constructing the London/Windsor railway and the Wall. He knew Brunel was the only engineer clever enough to build both so quickly and with such secrecy."

"And he knew Isambard would be so grateful for the promotion he would not question the King's motives," Holman added.

"But why the hurry?" asked Nicholas. "Why constantly push forward the completion date?"

"Perhaps he is losing control of his children," said Holman. "He has made too many of them, and he needs to move them for his own safety. They have no familial feeling remaining – he knows if they were to escape their cages, they would devour him, same as any man. Perhaps his own condition is deteriorating faster than he realised, and he wants to remain in control of himself so he can partake of the carnage."

Brigitte felt sick. The men nodded to each other.

"What can we do?" Nicholas asked.

"Probably nothing," Aaron replied. "I'll return to the Engine Ward and see if I can't get Isambard to divulge something. He's bound to be privy to this decision."

"I have inspections to carry out on the Wall today," said Nicholas. "Perhaps I may find some clue in the structure itself."

"And I'd best return to Windsor," said Holman, "lest my knightly station be wrested from me in my absence. I shall send word as soon as I know more details."

"Tell no one you've seen me!" Brigitte cried. Holman squeezed her hand and smiled in reply.

"Don't go investigating, blind man," Nicholas warned. "I know you. You'll want to see the Sunken with your own unseeing eyes. I'm warning you – don't go inside the castle, or we'll never see you again."

"Nicholas, I'm shocked." Holman clutched his stick to his chest and trembled his lip in mock-hurt. "To suggest that I, a most honourable Naval Knight of Windsor, could be so villainous as to break my sacred vows and enter the palace of my king with the sole intention of proving the existence of flesh-eating lead monsters."

"Just don't do it," Nicholas said. "If what we suspect is true, we've trouble enough ahead without worrying about rescuing you, too."

* * *

James Holman's Memoirs – Unpublished

Nicholas was right, of course. I intended to break into the castle and see what I could uncover.

I returned to my lodgings by lunchtime to find the usually quiet boarding rooms a hubbub of activity. The other Naval Knights paced about the common room, wringing their hands and yelling over each other while the maids packed their suitcases and straightened their rooms. No one could tell me anything, save that the whole royal household would move within the week, and until then we would not be allowed out of the castle grounds.

The complaints of disagreeable old men grew tiresome, so I slipped away to my private rooms. Far from fearing the task before me, my mind raced with the pleasure of anticipation. Imagine – a secret army of maniacal lead men created by King George III, the mad Vampire King! And me, the Blind Physician, right in the thick of it!

I began my investigations that very evening by donning my walking shoes, gripping the metal tip of my stick firmly, and beginning the slow, arduous ascent of the Hundred Steps. The chapel stood at the top of the steps, away from the main castle, which we were forbidden to enter. Even I, curious as I was, had always obeyed that rule.

The chapel had – like every other religious building in the King's possession – been remodelled to reflect the new Industrian pantheon. The traditional Christian altarpiece had been torn down and replaced with ten niches, each holding a statue of one of the Gods of Industry. I settled into my stall overlooking the altar, pushing aside the knightly miscellanea – swords, helmets, and wreaths that had accumulated there over the centuries – so I could sit down. The high priest began the usual mass, but I was surprised to hear him joined by the booming voice of the King.

George III had not come to any services for several weeks, and after hearing of his deplorable condition from Nicholas and Brigitte, I could understand why, so to hear him read the prayers in a clear, forceful voice caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. This was a man in possession of his own mind, in complete control of his body, and far more dangerous than the erratic madman he'd been mistaken for.

Beside me, the other Knights murmured to each other, and I caught snippets of their whispered conversations that filled me with dread. "… his face covered by a red cloth … hands tremble … arms strapped to chair … Banks holding him upright …"

What do you have in store for us, George? Is this visit to the chapel to convince us of your frailty, or to frighten us?

After mass had finished, Banks bade the Naval Knights march in single file past the altar, so the King could shake our hands and speak to us personally. When my turn came, and his cold hand slipped into mine, I felt the rough outline of lesions and burn marks across his palm, and I knew Brigitte and Nicholas spoke the truth.

"The Blind Physician," he said, pronouncing each word with care, as though they came to him with difficulty. "Our humble country life must seem quaint compared to your worldly experience."

"It is an honour to serve you, Your Majesty, wherever I may reside."

"You are packed, then, for our little move to Buckingham? I'm tired of living so far from London, tired of travelling so far to attend Council sessions. Now that the shell of my Wall has been completed, the city is safe for kings once again. Buckingham House might not be as grand as this castle, but do not worry, I'll see to it you receive fine accommodations. The finest." He chuckled, and I felt a shiver of fear run down my spine.

"Whatever His Majesty has arranged," I said, trying to keep my voice pleasant and even, "I am but a humble servant."

"Yes, Blind Physician, yes you are." Banks hurried me on, and I hobbled out of the chapel, snuck around the back of the building, and headed toward the castle.

I wanted to see the Sunken for myself.

* * *

Nicholas hailed a coach to Belgravia, arriving at a quarter past eleven just in time to see the Boilers riveting the last of the steel plate on the double-height Wall. He relieved the night foreman and set about conducting his final structural tests and inspections, while two men cooled the Boilers and loaded them on heavy wagons ready to be returned to the Engine Ward.

A crowd of residents gathered, resplendent in silk pantaloons and fashionable hats, eager to see the completed Wall and the machines that had built it. Nicholas gave them a demonstration of the Boiler's capabilities, showing how it could be used to nail rivets in a pattern.

A well-dressed lady stepped forward. "I am the owner of Lady Vivian's Millenary over on Cross Street, and I'd like to purchase this Boiler to make hats for my store. The two young ladies I employ are lazy and their stitching is crooked—"

"I'd take one for the butchery," said a man in a leather apron at the back of the crowd. "I could use a hand at the chopping block now my shoulder's seizing up."

"These Boilers are even more ingenious than his locomotive design," declared a banker. "I could use one to guard the safe."

"I'll take two!"

"I'll have seven!"

Fists clenched wads of pound notes under his nose. People threw purses down at his feet. Nicholas raised his hands and backed away.

"I'm sorry! The Boilers are not for sale."

"That Presbyter of yours ain't right in the head," said the butcher angrily. "What good's a great invention if ain't no one able to use it?"

Others grumbled their assent.

"The Presbyter says …" Nicholas thought fast. "He says to spread the word that anyone wanting to know more about the Boilers should come to Engine Ward tonight to hear his sermon."

That seemed to satisfy most of the people, who walked off back toward their homes, clutching their purses and kerchiefs and talking in excited voices ; all save one man, who leaned his impressive bulk against an ornate walking stick as he beckoned Nicholas over. His features – the smooth cheeks, unruly whiskers, and top hat with bright sash – seemed unnervingly familiar. Where have I seen you before? Nicholas wondered.

"Excuse me," the man asked, shaking Nicholas' extended hand with a firm grasp. "If I may ask some questions, Mr—"

"Rose," Nicholas replied. "I'm the architect of the Wall. Well, the outer shell, at any rate. And you would be?"

The portly man smiled, ignoring Nicholas' question. "A pleasure, Mr. Rose. And a fine job you have done as far, I see. You must work for this Brunel, then? He's done a fine job, a fine job. And I understand a locomotive will run through the Wall at some later date? Can you tell me what he's done to compensate for the friction in the rails—"

He fired question after question at Nicholas, hardly giving him time to think. Nicholas, who had only a rudimentary understanding of Brunel's engine, could not give any satisfactory answer, and so the interrogation continued. The man clearly possessed a great engineering knowledge, especially about locomotion, but still his identity remained a mystery. Who are you? Nicholas racked his brain, but could come up with no answer.

"I am sorry," he said at last. "I am not possessed of much knowledge about locomotion. But if you come to Brunel's sermon this evening, you will learn many of your answers there. Perhaps the Presbyter will even grant a private audience to a learned man such as yourself."

"Oh," the man smiled. "I doubt very much he would do that. But thank you anyway." He gave Nicholas an odd sort of smile. "Our paths shall cross again, Mr. Rose."

Nicholas returned to his coach and rode the entire length of the Wall, staring up in awe at the towering metal edifice that now enclosed the city. The rows of columns, angular and elegant like ancient temples, stretched between the houses, over the streets, as far as the eye could see. His design sheltered the city, wrapping London in an iron embrace. If only Father could see what I have achieved ...

But he knew he could share his triumph with no one, save Aaron and James and Isambard. And Isambard had a far greater triumph to celebrate. To think that four weeks ago such a structure did not even exist … Isambard has singlehandedly transformed industry as we know it. And he knew, better than anyone, that the Wall was a success. He had heard not a peep from a dragon within the city for the past two weeks, including that dragon Quartz had brought in from the swamps. Perhaps I was mistaken about the contents of that crate. After all, Aaron never mentioned hearing any dragons inside the Ward.

He stopped at each of the ten iron gates, checking the guards were on duty, and found the steam-powered lock mechanisms working perfectly. Traffic in and out of the city was already being monitored, and a long line of coaches carrying tourists from the countryside to see the Wall backed up for miles.

Finally, satisfied that everything was in order and the shell of the Wall was finally complete, he returned to the Engine Ward to give Isambard his final report. As they crept toward the black clouds of the Industrian district, traffic slowed, and finally ground to a halt four miles from the gates, where omnibuses, coaches, wagons, and food carts blocked the streets while frustrated drivers yelled insults at each other. It started to rain. Sighing, Nicholas grabbed his coat and umbrella, paid his driver, and made his way down the crowded footpath toward the Ward.

All about him, voices rose over the rain, talking excitedly about the Wall. He rubbed shoulders with priests in coloured robes as they slapped waterlogged tracts into outstretched hands, loudly extolling this and that theorem. Newspapermen in wide-brimmed hats dragged pedestrians from the fray, pens fluttering across cheap paper as they jotted down quotes for the daily editions. The press of people was so intense Nicholas got caught in a crowd outside Stephenson's cathedral and didn’t move for several minutes. While he waited, rain pounding against his umbrella and rolling down his trouser legs, he glanced up at the statue of Stephenson adorning the courtyard of the cathedral, and gasped.

You fool, he cursed himself as his eyes sought out every feature of the statue. The rounded figure, the soft hands, the small eyes, and lofty chin were all identical to the man who'd spoken to him earlier about the Boilers. How could you not have known?

Robert Stephenson was in the city. And that could only mean one thing – if he'd come all this way to see the Wall and the Boilers for himself, he considered Isambard's presence a very real threat.

* * *

James Holman's Memoirs – Unpublished

Naval Knights are not supposed to enter the castle grounds, but despite the late hour, such a bustle of activity greeted me that it was easy to slip through the hubbub unnoticed. Twice only did a guard stop me and ask my business, and I resorted to pretending I was lost, a trick which evokes only pity when employed by a blind man.

At first, I stuck to the outer courtyards, each step building a map of the grounds in my mind. Growing bolder, I began turning into some of the lofty hallways and drawing rooms, listening for clues to discern the purpose of each room. I cursed myself for not thinking to attempt this before now. The physical exertion and mental challenge it presented gave me a renewed vigour – if I couldn't embark upon adventures outside England, I could at least have one within the confines of the castle.

I passed through a maze of winding corridors, and found myself in an internal courtyard, surrounded on all sides by a covered colonnade leading off into a series of lofty, opulent halls. I stood still and listened. Maids bustled by, pulling down drapes and packing away boxes of fine china. Workmen hauled giant wooden crates onto wagons parked in the centre of the courtyard – these would be taken to the station Aaron had built at the bottom of the gardens.

In the madness, no one paid me any heed as I slipped into an antechamber and pressed on, further and further into the depths of the castle. I laid my feet down carefully, making as little noise as I could on the polished marble floors, listening to the echoes in the cavernous rooms, finding my way to doors and archways by sound. I passed by a doorway, and heard a familiar voice boom from within.

Isambard? What is he doing here?

I flattened myself against the wall and inched my way toward the frame of the door, straining to hear the conversation.

"The first of your children have been loaded onto the carriages, Your Majesty. We will be moving those in the cellars at intervals over the next two days to avoid detection. There will be twenty wagons in all."

The reply came not as words, but as an animalian hiss that stood my hairs on end. Remembering what Miss Brigitte had said about the hundreds of Sunken locked in the cellars, I gulped down my fear and inched closer.

"And we have your guarantee they cannot possibly escape from the wagons? It's vitally important their movement remains secret." That voice belonged to Joseph Banks.

"Of course," Brunel answered. "All the wagons are secured with thick bolts and my own steam-release system. We will move the children only after every last soul has gone from this castle. All the public will see of the train is a brief glimpse of it churning across the countryside, and a few puffs of steam rising from the sewers in London. I've arranged a separate lift shaft to move the children from the underground station to their prepared chambers. My men have laid out a feast of scrap lead for them upon their arrival."

"And your men?"

"When the work is complete, they will be seen to, as per Your Majesty's orders."

"Good." I heard footsteps echo across the room and Banks’ voice again, from the furthermost corner. I then heard the sound of liquid falling into a glass. "If the next few days go smoothly, your reward will be handsome."

"I wish only to serve His Majesty and the Industrian Gods. Consideration of wealth and power do not occupy me," Brunel said modestly. "When I have completed the Wall to His Majesty's satisfaction, then and only then is it time to talk of such things."

"The Wall stands, upright and gleaming, after less than a month of construction. It is truly a miracle of engineering. The Royal Society has every confidence in your abilities, Isambard," Banks said, "and in your new thinking machines. If all this goes successfully, you'll be receiving an order for several Boiler units from the Council, and the sum offered will make you very rich indeed."

Their conversation was broken by a snarl, like a hound sniffing out a tasty fox, followed by a shout and something smashing against the marble floor. Banks sighed, and said, "A pity! He was so placid this morning, too. The madness comes more frequently now, and he grows more violent and erratic each time. I am hoping his children will calm him again. Maybe it is the only thing. Will we see you at the palace?"

"No. I will be busy with arrangements in the Engine Ward."

"As you wish." Wheels creaked across the marble floor, coming towards me. Forgetting my silence, I bolted, the echo of my shoes against the tiles alerting Banks to my presence.

He shouted and gave chase, but he had the King with him, confined to a wheelchair, and he had no hope of catching me. I ducked through room after room, down one corridor, then the next, ‘till at last I could smell the fragrance of the flower beds. Not far now. I slowed, panting, searching with my ears for the sound of Banks’ footsteps.

Nothing but the songs of nightingales and the gentle rustle of the flowers fluttering in the breeze. I had lost him.

What is Isambard doing at the castle? Although the boy I'd known was a stranger to me now, thanks in large part to my own simmering guilt, I could not imagine Isambard allowing such a blasphemy to continue. But my ears did not deceive me – Isambard not only knew of the Sunken's existence, he was implicated in their relocation to London.

My thoughts turned to Nicholas, who worked with the Presbyter day after day, and had not even entertained the possibility that Isambard might be tied up in this madness. Aaron had suspected something, and I had heard with my own ears the proof that he was right – Isambard had built the Wall and the underground railway in full knowledge of their intended purpose.

Nicholas will not believe me. He quarrels with Aaron over Isambard's motives, and every day he seems to fall deeper under the Presbyter's spell. If I tell him what I've heard, I will only drive him away, force him closer to Isambard, closer to danger.

One thing I could be sure of: they were moving the Sunken into London in two days’ time. I had to do something. I must find Aaron. He will believe me. He will know what to do.

I hurried through the gardens, vaulting over the low stone wall that marked the edge of the hundred steps, and found myself once again under the porch of Travers College. I stood outside, waiting for my heart to cease pounding and my ragged breath to return to normal before entering the residence. My mind whirred through the possible actions open to me. The castle gates were locked and every exit guarded day and night. I had only one course of action open to me. If I hoped to escape the castle in time to warn the others, I would have to take the same passage Brigitte took – down in the cellars, with the Sunken.

* * *

"Isambard. Open up!"

Aaron hammered on the internal door. It'd taken him all day to find his way back through the crowds to the Engine Ward from Nicholas’ boarding house, and when he'd finally entered the Stoker camp, William Stone informed him the last rivets had been driven in on the Wall, and the Boilers had finished laying the London/Windsor track and building the platforms. All that was left was to test the train in the tunnel and the railway would be operational.

He was running out of time; he had to know the truth.

He knocked again, yelling at Brunel to grant him entry. Finally, he heard the bolts sliding free and the heavy door scraping against the floor. Aaron slipped through before Isambard could change his mind, but the Presbyter seemed to have already forgotten him, turning back to his bench and muttering under his breath.

"Is this important, Aaron? The King kept me late at Windsor and I'm behind with these Boiler repairs—"

Aaron stared at his friend's back and yelled his accusation.

"Have I been building a secret railway to transport the King's lead-soaked, vampiric children into London?"

Brunel whirled around. "How do you know all this? You haven't seen—"

"Never mind how I know. Is it true? Is it true?"

"Aaron, it's not what you think—"

Red spots flashed in front of Aaron's eyes. He grabbed Brunel by the collar, dragging him up, forcing Isambard to look him in the eye. "How could you do this? How could you? Our whole lives I've supported you, helped you bring your dreams to life. How could you let me work on that railway, knowing what it would bring into London?"

"I didn't have a choice—"

"You said so yourself, Isambard. There is always a choice. You must stop that train. If the Sunken are allowed to enter London—"

"Is that what you call them? An apt name – the Sunken. I think I shall adopt it."

"—if you shut the gates on the Wall, and no one can get out, and no one can get in—"

"Do you think I don't know this? Do you think I'm so blinded by the favour the mad King has shown me that I would endanger the whole city? Do you think I've not put measures in place to prevent such a tragedy?"

"I don't believe you."

"No, clearly you do not. What's happened to you, Aaron? Have all these years of friendship meant nothing to you?"

"What's happened to me? You are the one who has changed, Isambard, and not for the better. This power has corrupted you, however much you think otherwise. You've never kept secrets from me before. The Isambard I knew would have given up his church and his power before he agreed to build such a reprehensible device."

"And then done what, exactly? King George would have found another engineer willing enough to build him his trap. It is only because of this power I stand any chance of stopping him!"

"Oh, and what a fine job you're doing! Cutting it a little close, aren't we, Presbyter?"

Anger flared in Isambard's eyes. "I know what this is about. You're jealous of me."

"What?"

"You heard me. All these years you've been second to me. Aaron the labourer. Aaron the dogsbody. You hated that I got the credit for the broad gauge locomotive you helped build. You hate that I am the one who is held up and revered by our people. And most of all, you hate that I am Presbyter and not you."

"Don't be so quick to presume my thoughts. I've never wanted to be you, Isambard. I've never wanted to be an arrogant, self-righteous quack who thinks he is above the gods—"

"You can't stand that I can innovate and you cannot! You hated the Boilers from the moment you saw them."

"You're right about that. I hate the Boilers. They terrify me. Just because you can create something, doesn't mean you should. You've gone too far, Isambard. You're creating machines to do the tasks that should be left to men. If you have your way, we will soon have no men at all!"

Brunel balled his hands into fists. "Get out," he hissed.

"Excuse me?"

"Get out of my church, Aaron. You're no longer welcome here. You're no longer part of my crew. You have until tomorrow to pack your things and leave Engine Ward."

* * *

A priest tried to intercept him as he fled the Chimney, but Aaron pushed the man roughly aside. As he flung open the door a torrent of water assailed him – the rain came in sheets, tearing at his clothes and matting his hair across his eyes. He flew down the stairs, forcing back the urge to scream as he came upon a great swell of people waiting to meet the revered Presbyter. His rage bubbling up inside him, he practically knocked the first man down as he pushed his way past. A woman scolded him, and he barked something so offensive at her that she fainted and had to be carried back to her carriage.

Unheeding, Aaron ducked through the gate at the side of the Chimney, picked up a curved iron bar from the pile of tools outside the locomotive shed, and moved toward the Stoker camp. The rain came so thickly everything seemed hazy, coated in a shroud of water. People moved about him, carrying boxes of supplies, moving equipment indoors, out of the weather. He wiped his hair from his eyes and searched for a familiar face.

"Aaron!" It was William Stone. He grabbed Aaron's arm. "Is something the matter?"

"Quartz was right," said Aaron through gritted teeth. "Isambard Brunel is not to be trusted. The Stokers are doomed, William. The whole city is doomed, and we're the ones responsible."

"You're not talking any sense." William grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him roughly. Men walking between the locomotive shed and the camp gathered around them, shouting over the rain that something was amiss.

"That railway we've been building – it's secret because the King is bringing something horrible into London – an army of monsters that lust for human flesh." The men murmured to each other. William looked stricken. "It's the honest truth. Isambard himself confirmed it. It'll take me too long to explain how I know this, but we can't let that locomotive run." He held up the iron bar. "If I can disable the locomotive, then we can buy some time—"

"You'll do nothing of the sort."

Aaron heard the ominous click of the hammer of a pistol being pulled back. He whirled around and saw his brother, his robes heavy with water and his face impassive behind the barrel of his barker.

"Oswald."

"Little brother." He didn't move the gun away.

"Aren't you supposed to be in the swamps?"

"Brunel called me back. He needs me to oversee the service for the Grand Opening of the Wall. And I see discipline has grown lax in my absence. Drop the crowbar, Aaron. I'd hate to be forced to shoot my own brother."

Aaron twisted, slowly, to face Oswald, the bar falling from his hands and landing in a puddle. He stared into his brother's eyes, hatred burning inside him. You've been greedy, Oswald, greedy for power, greedy for the easiest job. I hope the Sunken devour you.

"Don't be a fool, Oswald," said William. "Put your barker down. We can't have Stokers killin' Stokers, now."

"I don't want any trouble—" Oswald began.

"Well, you're the only one here waving your irons around," Aaron snapped.

"You were given an order. I'm here to ensure it's carried out."

Aaron spat on the ground. "Look at you, a ridiculous man in your sodden robes. Isambard gives you a sup of power and suddenly you forget how much you once bullied him. He's still the same little boy, still tinkering with machines, only now he's put all our lives in danger. And you – you don't even bother to ask questions, Oswald. You follow him blindly. You don't even try to understand. I'm ashamed to call you my brother."

"And you!" Oswald snarled in return, the arm holding the barker twitching. "You think you know everything, don't you? Aaron bloody Williams – you think you're so bloody clever because you have some kind of magical, special friendship with our Presbyter. Did you ever think that maybe he's been using your loyalty all along? You're his lackey, Aaron. Nothing more—"

Oswald's words died as a scream pierced the evening. It came from the maze of Stoker shacks, stacked one atop the other in the blocks behind the Chimney. It startled Oswald, who fumbled with the barker. Aaron saw his chance and broke away, running toward the Stoker camp.

A shot rang out behind him, but he kept on running, William Stone and a growing crowd of Stokers close at his heels. Oswald was a lousy aim, anyway.

He found the source of the screaming soon enough. William's wife, Mary Stone, knelt in the mud in a small courtyard, a pot of stew upset beside her and a body stretched at an impossible angle on the ground before her. A river of reddened water spilled along the narrow alley, sloshing over Aaron's boots as he ran to investigate. She wailed, her screams cutting through the roar of the torrents of water that cascaded from the pitched roofs above.

William gathered Mary into his arms, stroking her hair in an attempt to calm her sobs. Aaron bent down and turned over the body. It was Benjamin Stone, his face bloody and bruised. The bone in his arm stuck out from a jagged cut in his elbow. Aaron felt for a pulse, watched for signs of life, but could find none.

"I— I— I was just takin' this soup over to the fires, when all o' a sudden he comes hurtlin' down like a sack o' potatoes an' lands right there." Mary covered her eyes with her hands.

"He came from where?" Aaron followed Mary's gaze upward, to the precarious pitched roofs that abutted each other along the edges of the courtyard. Water poured from the one of the corners and splashed across his face.

"In this weather? What was he doing up there?"

William shook his head, his face frozen in shock. One of the men piped up. "Maybe he was fixing a leak, an' fell."

"Benjamin wouldn't have fallen," said William, looking over the boy's mangled face. "Even in this weather he was as spry as a compie."

Aaron glanced up at the roof again, but this time he saw a silhouette against the misty London sky – the flash of a dark cloak flapping in the wind. Someone else was up there! He squinted, shielding his eyes from the rain with one hand. The figure – if there even was a figure – had disappeared.

A crowd of Stokers had gathered, blocking all entry points to the square. Many of the women were crying as they recognised the body of Benjamin, and Aaron could hear Oswald toward the back, yelling for reinforcements, trying to get everyone to return to their homes.

"You're all in danger!" Aaron yelled, as heads turned toward him.

"Listen to me! Benjamin Stone didn't fall from this roof. He was pushed, and by one of Brunel's own priests." A ripple of disbelief coursed through the crowd, while Oswald, hemmed in by the press of people, roared his defiance. "It's true – and more Stokers will die if we allow that locomotive to run!"

William grabbed his wrist. "Aaron, you're scaring them."

"They should be scared. William, you have to listen to me. We're in danger – all the Stokers who worked on the railway, the locomotives, and probably the Boiler teams, too. Oswald will return with reinforcements – maybe constables, maybe Redcoats – and if they catch you, you'll end up like Benjamin. We need to gather the men and their families and hide them outside the Ward, or in the deepest, darkest tunnels. Warn everyone they're not to trust the priests, or any of the authorities. Gather what weapons you can."

"What about you? Where are you going?"

"Isambard threw me out of the Ward, and he'll not allow me to live much longer if I remain, but I have friends outside who can help us. I'll be back as soon as I can, and I need you to be ready."

"What will you do?"

Aaron's face was dark. "I need to find out how deep this goes."

* * *

"Aaron, I don't understand what this is about. Why have we left Engine Ward? What happened to poor Benjamin Stone? And why in Great Conductor's name are we disturbing this man in the middle of his supper? Aaron, answer me!"

Ignoring Chloe's protests, Aaron dragged his wife up the steps to Nicholas' house and hammered his fists against the door. His blood pounded behind his eyes.

Chloe tugged at his coat. "He's probably already left for the sermon, and besides, he won't hear us over the rain. We could return tomorrow—"

"What is the meaning of this?" Nicholas flung open the door. One sleeve of his pressed white shirt dangled, armless, from the neck of his half-buttoned frock coat. With his free hand he thrust out a candle, his mouth turned up in surprise. "Aaron? What are you doing here? The sermon starts in an hour—"

"That's exactly what I said," Chloe muttered, forgetting her manners. Aaron shot her a filthy look.

"We've been thrown out of Engine Ward."

"We have?"

"Quiet, woman! Nicholas, I need to speak with you about Isambard."

Nicholas gestured to his dangling sleeve. "I'll speak to you later. I'm already running late."

"This cannot wait. One of my men has been murdered."

His face grave, Nicholas ushered them inside, took their coats, and hurried them upstairs. Brigitte passed them in the hall, her hands tangled in her hair as she forced it into place with pins. She cried out as Aaron barrelled past, pressing herself up against the wall so he wouldn't upset her dress. Her eyes met Nicholas', and he shrugged.

Nicholas ushered them all into the dressing room. As he held open the door for Chloe, he met her eyes and gave her a sympathetic look.

"I welcome the pleasure of your company once again, Mrs. Williams," he said. "Even if it is under such perplexing circumstances."

"The honour is all mine, Mr. Rose. It is good that we acquainted ourselves on a previous occasion, since Aaron has not been so kind as to introduce us. And this must be Brigitte—"

"No time for that," Aaron snapped, marching back and forth across the dark room. Nicholas used his candle to light the lamps dotting the side-table, throwing an eerie, flickering light over his sparse furnishings.

"I don’t understand," Nicholas said, finally managing to pull his arm through his shirtsleeve. He set a bottle of brandy on the table. Aaron grabbed for it before Brigitte had even fetched a glass. "What has made you so upset?’

"Isambard. He's … you won't believe it—" Nicholas fixed him with a murderous stare. Aaron poured a mouthful of liquor down his throat, swallowed, and said, "He knew about the Sunken all along. He told me so himself."

Nicholas paled. "Aaron, this is your oldest and closet friend you're talking about. Are you certain?"

"He threw me out of Engine Ward! At best, he's a coward, and at worst, he's … inhuman. He knows the King plans to move the Sunken into the city. He has a plan to stop them, he says, but if it were true he would not have let it get so far. He knew, and he built the railway anyway. He let us both become a part of this. He made me build the railway with his cursed Boilers, and now Benjamin's blood is on my hands—"

"You must slow down. I can barely understand you. Have another drink. There, now, who is Benjamin?"

"One of my workers. He fell from a roof this evening, and died."

"So not a murder, then?" Nicholas leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "In this weather, anyone could—"

"He was pushed. I saw a man up there with him." Aaron wiped his mouth, and caught Nicholas and Chloe exchanging a meaningful look.

"You don't believe me?" He leapt to his feet, throwing one of the glasses down on the table. Brigitte screamed as the shards rained down on the rug. Aaron balled his hands into fists, anger pulsing through his body as he stared down at his wife and friend. "My oldest friend evicts me from my home, my own brother points a gun at my head, one of my workers dies and you choose this moment to doubt my word." He glared at his wife. "Ask Mary Stone. Ask any of the Stokers. They all saw Benjamin die. There'll be trouble tonight, Nicholas, because word is spreading, and there won't be a Stoker alive who turns up to his post tonight."

"But that would mean—"

"—the entire Engine Ward will be unmanned, and unsafe. Isambard will have to call off his sermon. And maybe, maybe we can stop that locomotive leaving the Ward."

"You do realise how crazy you sound. You're talking about going on strike."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about. It's high time all the engineers – Isambard included – realised the importance of the Stokers. Without us, the machines of this city will grind to a halt, and that's exactly what we intend to do. If Isambard won't stop the King from destroying this city, then I will. And you might think I'm as mad as George, but take these words to heart: if that train leaves the Ward tonight, you must flee the city, with or without Isambard."

From the look on Nicholas' face, Aaron knew he hadn't convinced him. "Well," he said, slowly, measuring his words. "I see that you've set your fate in motion. If you'll excuse me, Aaron, Chloe, we have a sermon to attend." He gave Aaron one last, cold stare, and left the room.

* * *

"Slow down, Aaron. I can't—" Chloe tripped over her skirts again, stumbling across the thin gangway and narrowly missing colliding with one of the overhead pumps.

"We have to act before Nicholas tells Isambard of our plans." Aaron didn't stop, couldn't stop. He dropped her hand so he could run faster, but sure enough, as he bolted across the gangway that bridged the next bank of pumps, he heard the clatter of Chloe's footsteps behind him. That's why I married you, he thought. Because you never give up.

The day shift men were still at their posts, preparing the fires of the evening's work. Voices filtered down through the air shafts – the muffled conversations of the men and women who crowded the streets above, with no idea what was stirring below their feet. Some of the men called out to Aaron as he flew past, but he didn't answer. He had to reach William, had to find the other men, to get them to safety.

Another pair of footsteps clanged behind him, and a rough hand clamped down on his shoulder. "It's too late," said William. "You're too late."

Aaron whirled around. "What do you mean?"

"Five of the lads worked the day shift down in C Deck. I thought it odd when Oswald swapped them all to work together, but I never questioned—" He shook his head.

"They're dead?"

William nodded. "Pipe burst – not half an hour after you left. We've got some lads down there putting the fire out, but the men working there, they can't have survived—" He choked on his words.

"It might have been an accident," said Chloe.

"Aye, it might've been. But I checked those pipes myself but yesterday. And not one of them had a crack. The only thing that could cause one to burst like that was—"

"—if it had been sabotaged," Aaron finished. William nodded again.

"It's just you, me, and the two Nichols boys left from the railroad crew, an' all the men who worked on the locomotive. I've gathered who I could find an' hid 'em in the battery. Word is spreading through all the teams, and ain't no one man who wants to stoke the fires tonight."

"And no man should have to."

"What do you mean? What do you propose we do?" asked William.

"The only thing we can do," said Aaron. "The Stokers are going on strike."

* * *

Nicholas didn't know Aaron's secret passages into the Engine Ward, so he and Brigitte had to navigate through the crowded streets. After an hour of frantic shoving and squeezing, they were barely inside the gates. Nicholas looked up at Stephenson's cathedral to check the time, and at that moment, every street lamp in the Engine Ward flickered and went out.

The crowd erupted into confusion. Women screamed. Brigitte squeezed his hand, and Nicholas pulled her closer to him as the panic swelled around him.

We're too late.

Nicholas knew all the lamps in the Ward worked on a centralised system. A pump fed oil through a series of pipes strung between each lamp. The lamps were lit at the beginning of the evening and would, as long as the oil pump was maintained, burn all night long. The Stokers were in charge of monitoring the oil.

All around him he heard machinery crunching and seizing. The ground below him shook as pumps shuddered to a stop. Two of the chimneys behind the Cathedral belched out great clouds of black smoke, and a fire erupted from a nearby sewer grate, causing the crowd to surge back in alarm.

The panic spread through the crowd in moments, and the situation quickly became dangerous as the people pressed in on all sides, moving back toward the gates. Nicholas wrapped Brigitte in his arms and turned with the crowd – he could do nothing except move with the surge.

On their right, another fire burst from the vents, engulfing a Metic priest in yellow flames. He screamed and tore into the crowd, the flames leaping from wool coat to wool coat and singeing hair and blistering skin. A gap opened as people struggled to get away from the blazing man. Brigitte screamed, but Nicholas saw his chance.

He made a beeline for the Chimney, pulling Brigitte along behind him. Even in the darkness and confusion he could find it easily, for he had been there many times before, and it was lit with strings of flickering candles that still glowed brightly.

He strode up the steps and charged through the open door, startling the crowd of people huddled inside. He pushed through them ‘till he saw Buckland, and he dragged Brigitte over to his friend and flung her into his arms.

"Brigitte, Nicholas? Is something the matter?" the biologist said, resting his hand on Brigitte’s hair. She let out a great sob, and Nicholas felt his heart breaking. He wanted so badly to stay with her.

"A man caught on fire right in front of us," he explained. "The scene has left Brigitte quite shaken."

"A fire? I'm told something is amiss outside in the Ward."

"It's Aaron. He's done something stupid. Could you take Brigitte, please, and keep her close to you? Don't go outside – in fact, the safest place to be is probably right inside this church. I have to find Isambard."

"I saw him behind the altar not two minutes ago."

Pushing through the crowds of nobles and Council members, Nicholas ducked behind the altar and slammed his shoulder into the heavy door. Isambard, Oswald, Peter, and the other priests looked up from where they had been praying.

"Nicholas." Isambard stood. "You're early. We were just—"

"How dare you—" Oswald spluttered.

Nicholas crossed the room in two strides, ducked behind the tapestry of Great Conductor, and located the hidden lever there. He pulled it back, and the metal panel obscuring the window slid back, revealing the darkness beyond.

"The lights are out!" cried Oswald.

"And the gate mechanisms, too," said Nicholas. "And every engine and pump room from one end of the Ward to the other."

"By Great Conductor's steam-driven testicles," Isambard swore. "What has happened?"

Nicholas opened his mouth to explain, but the door flew open and an acolyte slumped against the frame, struggling to catch his breath. "The men, sir," he said. "They're all gone."

"What?"

"I've checked the locomotive shed, the Boiler factory, the engine rooms. There's not a Stoker in sight. Old Foxy who looks after the Metic shrine says Aaron told him the Stokers were going on strike. He said they won't work while they mourn those who died last night."

"Aaron? He's not meant to be inside the Ward!"

"Apparently, that message wasn't clear enough," growled Oswald.

"And that burst pipe in C deck hasn't helped matters." Added the acolyte. "The pressure in furnace rooms C and D is already critical. I've shut the fire doors, but that'll only force the fires up the ventilation shafts. There are blockages in most of the western conduits. If we don't get the Stokers down there soon, the whole Ward's going to be an inferno—"

"Stokers? No, Stokers are useless. We don't need men," Brunel growled. "Nicholas, Peter, go to the Boiler sheds and get as many stoked up as you can. Send them down to the furnace rooms. Oswald, I saw Stephenson arrive with a regiment of Navvies. Go and talk to them. Tell them there's a half guinea per man for any they can spare. And keep quiet – the King shall be here tonight, and I don't want a word about this getting out!"

* * *

In the 1780s, when construction of the network of tunnels beneath Engine Ward began, the design included a series of "safe rooms" – small magazines equipped with stores of food, water, blankets, and lamps, where the workers might go during a cave-in or other disaster to await rescue. As the tunnels expanded, many of these old magazines had been forgotten, save by the Stokers, who made it their business to know every inch of the Ward.

It was in these magazines that Aaron hid the men, women, and children who had dropped their tools and followed him into hiding. As they descended the levels, more and more workers raced from the furnace rooms and joined the exodus. They'd already packed as many as could fit into the magazines under furnace rooms F, G, and K, and Aaron was settling the remaining people into the deepest magazine, under the westernmost corner of the Ward.

The constant vibrating of the walls subsided as men abandoned their posts and streamed into the magazine, coming up from the furthest furnace bays under the Metic churches and the abandoned Navvy camps. The lanterns flickered and went off, but Chloe found a box of Argands and a few matches, and passed those around. Aaron found a crate of salted meat and a few bottles of some foul-smelling concoction, and shared those around, too.

"Are you certain we should hide here?" asked William as he fell in step beside Aaron. "We don't have enough food or water for all of us."

"Each magazine has enough food for thirty men for ten days," said Aaron. "We have many times this number, but we're not trying to last for weeks down here – we're making a point."

"Shouldn't we be marching through Engine Ward instead of hiding under it, and waving signs about and such?" asked Chloe. "When the Metics wanted to be recognised as an official English church they marched around Somerset House for a month, with signs and banners and all sorts—"

"—and the King had his guards open fire on that crowd," said Aaron. "If they want to dispel our protest, they'll have to find us first."

"And what if they simply lock us down here?" William asked. "Shut up all the entrances, block the vents, and suffocate us to death?"

"I know Isambard. He wouldn't allow it." But even as he said that, Aaron felt a chill run down his spine.

* * *

As Nicholas ran after Peter toward the Boiler sheds, an avalanche of voices seemed to fall inside his head. Each individual voice was faint, as if the animal were reaching out from behind walls of iron, but together the whispers formed a cacophony like none he'd ever heard. Get out! He yelled silently back at them. I've no time to worry about you now.

Nicholas flung open the door to the Boiler workshops, and was taken aback by the rows of flat metal faces that glared back at him, unmoving, like dolls waiting to be dragged away by children. The deeper into the shed he ran, the louder and more frantic were the voices in his head. The pain of these animals was so intense that he slowed his step, his vision dotted with red as though he himself suffered the same torture.

Why are you calling me from such a distance? Why are you in such great pain? He guessed one of the furnace rooms deep below the workshops had already been compromised, perhaps engulfing a compie nest. Maybe the creatures were running through the pipes, inhaling smoke and losing their way in the flames. He tried to focus on one voice, to see through its eyes, but they were too far away, too faint.

Shaking his head in a vain effort to dislodge the voices, he searched the shed for the tools he needed. "Hurry!" he yelled at Peter. "Grab shovels and wood."

Like any furnace, the Boilers needed a long time to heat up to full capacity. Luckily, Brunel had ordered that several be kept stoked up constantly at a low temperature, in case they were needed for an urgent job. Forty-five units lined the sloping metal belts in front of the coal pit, steam rising from their twin chimneys and snaking along the iron rafters. The shed held a further two hundred Boilers, a number that had never made Nicholas feel uneasy until he was forced to look into the rows of their unseeing faces. Shoving his hands into thick gloves, Nicholas flung open the belly of the first Boiler and began to shovel in more coal.

As the flames climbed higher, licking the edges of the belly, he slammed the door shut, pumped the injector, and set the dials at the back to send the Boiler to furnace room B. With a lurch, the machine set off across the workshop and disappeared down one of the specially constructed Boiler shafts. Peter's unit soon followed it.

He flung open another Boiler and began tossing the coal inside. Bringing them to heat so quickly put intense pressure on their iron bellies – and Nicholas saw a crack appear, radiating out from the hinge of the firebox door. He slammed the door shut, grabbed Peter by the collar, and pushed him to the ground, flattening his body on top of the priest as the Boiler skidded toward the shaft, sparks streaming from the crack along its belly.

After an hour of shovelling his hands were raw and bloody, his face soaked with sweat from staring into the flames, and his eyes screwed shut against the soot and debris. But worst of all, his head throbbed as a different kind of fire consumed it. The sound of so many animals, caught in so much pain, burnt the sides of Nicholas' skull.

They sent all forty-five Boiler units down to the furnace rooms. A team of Navvies, the sleeves of their dress uniforms rolled up past the elbows, arrived and got to work firing up the cold units. Nicholas tossed aside his gloves and walked outside. The lights were back on, and the familiar vibration of the earth under his feet told him the pumps were working again.

Walking back toward the Chimney, he met Isambard, dressed in the robes of his priesthood and surveying the lit-up streets with satisfaction. He waved Nicholas over to him.

"You did it," he said. "The pressure is back down to normal, and the fire in C is being dealt to."

"The Boilers did it," said Nicholas. Isambard laughed.

"Isambard, is it safe to go down?"

Brunel nodded, his attention diverted by Peter, who was dragging him back toward the Chimney. Nicholas heard trumpets, and could see the King's carriage – bedecked in flowers and followed by a regiment of Royal Guards – entering the gates of the Ward. He had only a little time before he had to be at the sermon. He located a nearby entrance to the underground tunnels and clambered down the stairs.

He headed straight for Pump Deck F, located directly below the Boiler workshops. If the voices came from anywhere, they must have come from there, he reasoned. As he climbed lower, their intensity increased. He could still not pick out individual animals, but could discern different species – an unceasing cacophony of rodents and compies and even – were those pigeons – all in excruciating pain, and all pounding at his skull, calling for help, for freedom.

The fire doors were shut. He rammed them open with his shoulders, and barged into the furnace room, not sure what he expected to see, but anticipating a horror that must accompany the pain of the voices.

But as he slammed open the door to Pump Deck F, he was confronted with something quite different. There was not an animal in sight.

Boilers crowded the tiny space, each one doing the work of five men, stoking and firing and checking the pressure gauges, watching with unseeing eyes as the beam engines creaked and swung through their rotations, adding water to the condensers. Nicholas peered under their feet, watching for the skitterings of compies between their skids. He checked every corner of the room, watching for shadows along the pipes that ran the length of the room, but he could find nothing.

I'm going mad, he thought, pressing his palms against his temples. The voices assailed him, calling through their pain ‘till he could take no more, and fled back up the tunnel. He stumbled through the fire door, pushed it shut behind him, and whirled around as another wave of pain shot through his head. More voices, more animals crying out in agony. But where did they come from? Where?

His legs gave way and he slumped to the floor, his hands clawing at the iron grating. What's happening to me? Is the sense somehow broken? The animals didn't answer, of course. They only sang their sorrows louder, the pain slicing across his temples.

He thrashed about, his hands clamped on his skull, reality and his nightmares becoming one. Sweat poured down his face, and somewhere in his torture he heard himself calling to Aaron, as if by some miraculous occurrence he might be hiding nearby, and would understand his distress and come to him, say that he too heard the voices so deep within the iron, and offer a logical, rational explanation. One that didn't lead to the most obvious conclusion – that Nicholas was going mad.

But Aaron didn't come. Alone in the darkness, Nicholas lost himself. Hours may have passed, or days, but to him they were but one unending spiral of torture.

Hands grabbed him under the arms. Someone lifted him to his feet. He slumped, falling again. More hands steadied him, and voices, real human voices, called him back from a dark place.

"Here you are," Buckland said. "Brigitte was worrying herself sick about you."

"I should be preparing for the sermon, not chasing after wayward architects." Brunel pulled Nicholas' arm over his shoulder and began dragging him back toward the entrance. "Nicholas, is something the matter? You look in a dreadful state."

"You were calling for Aaron." Buckland had Nicholas' other arm over his shoulders. "That was how we found you."

He felt tempted to tell them the truth, but he remembered hanging over the edge of the church pulpit with Isambard's hands clasped on his throat. He remembered struggling for breath and seeing the Presbyter's face contorted with – what? Not anger, but a kind of serene indifference. No, he wanted Isambard to remain in the dark about the voices – just in case. Besides, telling Isambard meant revealing Aaron's secret, and that wasn't right by Aaron.

"I'm fine," he managed. "I was looking for Aaron … worried about him, and I must've … tripped and fallen …."

"The church is filling with people, and the King has settled on his balcony. Your woman is waiting for you, and I wanted to see your face as I read my sermon," said Brunel. "You picked a fine time to run off on a fool's errand."

"So you haven't found Aaron?"

Isambard shook his head. "Let him hide. After tonight, I have no use for Aaron, or the Stokers."

* * *

It was strange being down in the tunnels and not feeling the ache of an evening's work in your shoulders or the blast of hot air across your face. Down this deep there were hardly any animals, save the worms in the ground and an occasional wayward compie. Aaron's mind felt clear.

He hoped the clarity would last, for the lights and machines would've ceased working in Engine Ward, and that familiar hum under the streets had changed to an erratic shudder. Isambard would know by now what he had done, and Aaron wondered nervously what his response would be.

His thoughts were interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. He turned to see a man, about Quartz's age, with thin grey hair and a face scarred by burns. "Excuse me, sir. I don't mean to bother you, but I've just come from the central boilers. The pressure is still unstable in room C." The man paused, as if he were debating something in his mind. After a few moments, he said: "I know we're meant to be on strike, Mr. Williams, but I'd hate for all those people up there to burn, an' it be my fault n' all."

Aaron agreed. He sent William Stone and two other men back up to check on things. "If it's critical, I want you to bring the pressure down to under one-sixty. But you're to touch nothing else. It's Isambard's responsibility now."

William nodded, and raced away. Chloe nestled up against him.

"Some of the women wish to sleep now," she said. "The children are beginning to fuss. I've sent them all to K magazine with orders to send the men back here, but you'll want to have some men keep watch."

He embraced her, pulling her to him, and pressed her warm hands tight against his chest. "Thank you," he said, his voice cracking. "Thank you for everything."

They sat in silence, holding each other, for several minutes. Chloe said, "I'm scared, Aaron. I don't feel safe down here."

"It's the safest place we have. We're Stokers, if we leave the Ward and go out into London, who do you think will hide us? We're much safer in our own tunnels, where we know every secret place and every—"

Above their heads, the lights flickered on. The walls gave a great shudder, and began humming again.

Aaron swore. "I told them to get the pressure back to normal and come straight back. How can we have a strike if they keep fixing things."

William sprinted around the corner and collapsed against Aaron's shoulder, his breath coming out in ragged gasps.

"What are you doing?" Aaron yelled. "You were only meant to check the pressure, not get all the lights—"

"Boilers," huffed William. "Boilers … took over. They're manning the Engine Room … and repairing the furnaces …"

"Who's operating them? Who set their controls?"

"No one … I can't see … I don't know." William covered his face with his hands. "There's no one there."

Aaron bolted from his chair. Chloe grabbed at his shirt sleeve, but he wrenched himself away and stomped down the corridor.

The sight that greeted him turned the rage in his veins to ice. Three Boilers blocked the gangways running across the Engine Room, steam curling from their smoke stacks as they opened the firebox doors, shovelling coal inside, and watched the pressure gauges with unseeing eyes.

Everything I feared is coming true.

To keep the Engine Ward running in the absence of the Stokers, to ensure his sermon went ahead without delay, Brunel had done what he promised Aaron he would never do – he'd given the Boilers men’s jobs. And Aaron could already see that they were better than the Stokers could ever hope to be – three units were doing the work of eight men, and they were fast – their hose-like arms stretching and bending in ways no human could ever dream of. They would never need food, never get tired, never make mistakes.

They are the perfect workers, and I've just given Brunel the chance to prove it. Everything we've achieved today has been for naught – the Stokers have been replaced.

* * *

It was standing room only inside the Chimney, as engineers, Council members, and the high society of London jostled for space. Women decked out in their finest clothing and weighed down by heavy jewels and clockwork parasols huddled together in tight circles, their mouths moving like steam-driven pistons as they shared the latest gossip. The whole room throbbed with anticipation.

The doors had been shut and bolted, for outside thousands of people crowded the streets, corralled behind barriers by the constables but clambering over each other for a good spot. Isambard had rigged two giant gramophones to project the sermon over the whole of Engine Ward, and it seemed every man, woman, and child in the whole of England had turned out to hear the Presbyter speak.

Sandwiched between Buckland and Brigitte, who had not let go of his arm since he'd returned, Nicholas watched Oswald and Peter – the hems of their robes stained with peat from the swamps – make the final preparations on the altar. Isambard had disappeared up into his pulpit, that iron platform suspended fifty feet over the congregation. He wanted to make an entrance.

Nicholas scanned the crowd for Aaron, but could not see him anywhere. He saw Robert Stephenson – the man who'd spoken to him most peculiarly beside the Wall yesterday – as he took his place of honour beside the other Messiahs at the front of the church. His retinue followed behind him, Navvies all dressed in their formal coats, pushing the lesser dignitaries and their wives toward the back of the room. Nicholas watched them filing past, his gaze flicking over all the faces in the room, looking for Aaron.

Wait, it can't be—

His stomach churned, and he jerked his head down so hard his neck cracked. Heart thumping against his ribs, he shuffled closer to Buckland and dared a peek across the room. Has he seen me?

The man hadn't turned around. Behind the altar, Peter turned a handle, and the lamps dimmed. The crowd fell silent; the only sound the shuffling of feet and someone coughing. Nicholas leaned over further, watching the man as he faced the altar, his head bent towards Stephenson as though they whispered to each other.

It can't be. It simply cannot be.

There was meant to be a choir of Stoker boys to begin the ceremony, but Nicholas guessed their mothers had dragged them down into the tunnels to join the strike, so instead the crowd watched in silence as Joseph Banks rolled the King behind the altar, the squeaking wheels of his chair echoing through the vaulted room. The King wore a turban of silk scarves, entwined together like coiled snakes, that covered his entire head. More scarves were wrapped around his hands, so none of his skin was visible.

"Let us pray," he said, in his heavy, clear voice. He bowed his head, and so did everyone in the room, and he spoke the prayers to the Gods of Industry, his voice never wavering, his fingers clutching the arms of his chair like talons, twisting and contorting as he recited the ritual. Nicholas watched one of the scarves slip, and he saw the leather straps around the King's wrists.

The room seemed searingly hot to Nicholas, and beads of sweat rolled down his neck. He dared to shift his gaze from the King back to the figure, whose head was still inclined toward Stephenson. The King's voice – rising as his prayer grew more fervent – faded in Nicholas' mind, replaced by the frantic beating of his heart. Maybe it's not him. Maybe I'm mistaken.

The man whipped his head around, and Nicholas had no time to look away as their eyes met. He lifted his hat from his head, revealing the long scar running from his ear across his forehead – the scar Nicholas had given him in a cold mountain valley two years ago – and smiled.

Terror clamped down on Nicholas' chest. His head snapped back, as if he'd been slapped, and blood rushed to his head so fast he had to reach out for Buckland's arm to steady himself.

Brigitte looked at him, worry crossing her face. He shook his head at her, unable to explain without bringing further attention to himself. "William," he whispered, tugging on his friend's sleeve.

"Sshhh!" Buckland silenced him with a flick of his wrist. "The sermon is beginning, and I don't want to miss it. He might acknowledge my work."

Nicholas followed Buckland's gaze toward the altar, where the King was being wheeled away, his hand once again covered by the silken scarves. Soft, eerie music flowed from a series of vacuum tubes positioned along the wall. The lamps glowed brighter, and, as the music rose and filled the lofty space, Isambard appeared on the edge of his high metal pulpit and threw his hands in the air. The room fell silent.

"The Wall is complete, and London is safe from the dragons," he said, his voice amplified by the vacuum tubes sailing out into every corner of the church, so no one would miss his words. "When the King first set me this task, he gave me a timeframe believed to be impossible, but through Great Conductor's wisdom and guidance, I was able to discern a solution and erect the largest man-made structure in England in a mere twenty-nine days. My means of completing this task – the Boiler unit – will be the subject of my sermon."

Nicholas sat numb, Isambard's words falling from the ceiling without sense or meaning. His eyes burnt into the back of Jacques’ neck. He didn't realise he was still gripping Buckland's hand ‘till the biologist cried out and wrenched it free, wincing as he flexed the fingers.

"Jesus Chr— I mean, by the Gods, man, what is the matter?"

"There's a man, perhaps twenty feet away, standing with Messiah Stephenson. He's—" Nicholas gulped. "He wants to kill me."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"I cannot allow him to find me, or Brigitte. He's right down near the front of the room, so he can't leave without causing a scene, and he won't want that. I need to leave the Chimney before the sermon ends. I can find a safe place—"

The woman beside Buckland turned around and snarled at them. "Will you be quiet?"

Buckland didn't flinch, but he did lower his voice. "I can get you out of here," he said. "And I even know somewhere you can hide. But he will see us leave," he said, gesturing to Isambard, high in the pulpit above, "and with everything that has already gone on tonight, he will be furious."

Nicholas flinched, watching Isambard lean over the edge of the pulpit and remembering how he had dangled over that same edge only a week previously. "If you can bring him to me, in secret, so that he is not followed. I will explain everything. But we must—"

Brigitte let out a yelp as Buckland tossed his glass – full nearly to the brim with dark brandy – at her. It bounced off her shoulder and splashed bright red stains down the front of her dress. Some of the liquid caught.

"Deary me," said Buckland loudly, "that was awfully clumsy of me. Come, let me help you wash up." Grabbing a surprised Brigitte by the hand, he began pushing through the crowd toward one of the side chambers. Nicholas followed, mumbling "excuses me" and "my apologies" as he tried to avoid stepping on the hems of dresses or the heels of boots, while keeping an eye on the back of Jacques' head. Maybe we can reach the door before he turns around, and he won't notice our absence ‘till the end of the sermon.

Brigitte, still holding on to Buckland's hand, tripped on her skirts and fell into another lady, who stepped back in surprise, knocking the fan from the hand of the lady behind her. The wooden handle clattered against the stone floor, and several heads whipped around to see what was going on.

Although Isambard didn't miss a word, his voice ringing clear and true through the Nave, Nicholas could feel the Presbyter’s eyes upon him, his disapproval burning Nicholas’ back. I'm sorry, Isambard. I'm sorry. My past has come back, and I must run again.

Jacques turned, and his eyes flashed with anger as he saw Nicholas beside the door. He grabbed for his coat and bolted into the crowd. Women cried out in surprise as he pushed them roughly aside. Two of the Royal Guard who stood beside the King rushed forward, swords drawn, yelling for him to stop.

Buckland wrenched a lantern from its socket on the wall and grabbed Nicholas' shoulder, dragging him back into the chamber. "Come on, boy! You don't have much time!"

* * *

It was no use. By the time Jacques reached the door to the chamber, Nicholas had disappeared, escaping through one of three doors hidden at the back of the darkened room. Jacques tried each of them – locked, of course. He swore and bolted toward the main doors just as two giant hands clamped down on his shoulders and slammed him against the wall.

"What's this all about, then?" A thick English voice, the breath foul with beer, barked in his ear.

"Mrs. Milbanke, is this the one?" another voice called. Jacques was pulled away from the wall and swung around to face a sour-looking woman who was trying to smooth her skirts.

"That's him," she sniffed. "Running through the crowd, shoving people aside with no regard for propriety. He travelled in the same carriage from Liverpool as I. That's how I recognised him. French, isn't he? I might've known."

"You a Froggie, then?" The guard shook him. "You a Metic, snuck in here to hurl abuse at the Presbyter? Or are you an illegal? You know what we do to the likes of them?"

Jacques said nothing.

"I expect you'll take him to gaol immediately," said Mrs. Milbanke. "It would not be wise to have such an unsavoury figure roaming the Ward at night."

"Quite right, M'lady." The officer tightened his grip. Jacques shut his eyes as he felt the rapier blade pressed against his neck. "He's a tight-lipped one, in’t he? We might loosen him up—"

"What seems to be the matter here?" a voice boomed. Jacques opened one eye and saw, to his relief, the broad figure of Robert Stephenson looming over the arresting party.

"N-n-n-nothing that need concern you, Messiah," the guard answered. "This man has been causing trouble, running through the crowd, knocking the ladies about. Poor Mrs. Milbanke here was practically knocked over—"

"And as regrettable as that is, I hardly think it worthy of a night in gaol. After all, Mr. du Blanc has apologised, has he not?"

"No," the woman sniffed, "he has not."

"Then allow me to do so, on his behalf." Stephenson reached into his wallet and withdrew a small bag. Handing it to the lady, he said softly, "This will go some way to replacing that fine dress, ma'am, with our sincerest apologies. Jacques truly means no disrespect, he is on a mission of the utmost importance."

Annabella Milbanke grabbed the purse and stormed away into the crowd, Ada following close behind. The guards let Jacques go, and Stephenson gave him his arm while he regained his balance.

"He ran through one of these doors," Jacques said. "I've no hope of catching him now."

"Don’t be silly," said Stephenson. "You have every hope of catching him. You are in the house of his new master, yes?"

Jacques nodded, staring up at the wiry figure of Brunel, suspended in the pulpit high above a rapt congregation. On the altar, a live Boiler unit rotated slowly, steam hissing as it bent pipe after pipe to form the crest of His Majesty King George III. Something in Brunel’s expression unnerved Jacques – the way he lifted his chin, the way he spoke of the machine as though it were a beloved son. The way he loomed over his audience, his eyes meeting every gaze as he continued with perfect clarity, perfect calm.

"Maybe you need to speak to him, master to master, about your wayward slave."

* * *

When the sermon was finished and Isambard descended the metal steps from his pulpit, a wave of people surged forward to meet him. The question on everyone's lips was "are the Boilers for sale?" Every one of the rich lords and ladies wanted one, or three, or ten, to run their factory or tidy their home or show up their neighbours. Jacques listened to the praise echoing around him, as Stephenson scowled into his drink.

"I don't like it," Stephenson said, gesturing toward the Boiler with his elbow. "It isn't natural."

Isambard made his rounds of the room, and stopped before Stephenson. He smiled, but his eyes were like coal. "Messiah," he said, giving a shallow bow.

"Presbyter."

"I hope my sermon was to your liking."

Stephenson pointed to the Boiler, which was now demonstrating how it could tie a lady's corset. "That," he said, "is debatable. But at least you're no longer dabbling in locomotives."

Brunel's face was impassive, but his eyes remained hard. "If you remember, sir, it is my engine that will run the first commuter service in London—"

"Yes, yes," Stephenson interrupted. "If you'd be so kind, my friend Jacques has come a long way, and is most desirous to speak with you."

Brunel turned to him. "With all due respect, sir, many people in this room wish to speak to me, and I cannot possibly acquiesce to every reques—-"

"It is about your architect, Mr. Nicholas Thorne."

That got a reaction out of him. He leaned in toward Jacques, so close their noses were practically touching. His eyes were unreadable, his face like stone. In a low voice he said. "He is not here. I saw him leave this building some hours ago, escorted by Mr. Buckland."

"It is you I wish to speak to, Presbyter. Might we have a few words alone? It is of a most delicate matter."

Brunel threw a furious glance at Stephenson, who pretended he hadn't seen it. "Very well then," the Presbyter said through gritted teeth. He placed his arm on Jacques' shoulder and pushed him toward another side-chamber. He lifted a lantern from the wall, slipped into a room, and gestured for Jacques to sit. The Frenchman settled himself into a chair, staring suspiciously at the long table stretching across the centre of the room – three deep grooves cut into its metal surface – and the strange symbols engraved upon the walls. Isambard closed the heavy door and slid the bolt across.

"This is the baptismal," Brunel said. "Worshippers of Great Conductor are brought here to be consecrated in coal and steam. Your Stephenson has a much grander chamber in his cathedral, but I suspect after this evening, it will be emptier than ever. Now," he said, pulling out his own chair, and leaning in closely, "what is it you know about Nicholas? You are the first man in many months to speak his real name."

"He was in my employ, back in France. He owed a debt to me, but he did not finish paying it. I am an important man, Presbyter Brunel, and I have friends in many influential positions. I do not look kindly upon men who cheat me. I have come to take back what is mine."

"Thorne is mine. He'll not work for another – he is valuable to me. I shall pay you what you're owed, and that will settle the matter."

"I do not want money. I want Thorne."

"And I say you will not have him." The lamplight flickered across Brunel's cold eyes.

"He ran from your sermon tonight," said Jacques. "He is a coward – always running from his duty, from his punishment. Death follows him wherever he goes. He murdered my wife, did he tell you that? The French authorities look unkindly upon men who brutalise women and then escape across the border to England. Even your English courts will not spare such a man. And think what such a scandal would do to your newfound reputation—"

"Why are you here?" Brunel's eyes narrowed. "If you're as important and influential as you say, why not simply send French soldiers, or your own private ships, to exact the justice you seek?"

Jacques laughed. "I am a philosopher, not a mad-man. My sect is unpopular in France. If I were to send a ship to Industrian England, I would be assumed a traitor and dealt with in the usual way. But I am one man, Presbyter Brunel, and one man can go where an army cannot. I must again command you to deliver to me Nicholas Thorne."

"And I again state that you will not have him. We are done here." Brunel pushed his chair back, but Jacques reached over and clasped his wrist.

"You still protect him, after he has left you in your greatest hour? He has not even told you the nature of his crime, for if he had, you would not hesitate to hand him over."

"I trust him," said Brunel. "If Nicholas committed any crime, he would have reason, and I would not betray him, even if I knew where to find him, which I do not."

"Then you are unwise, Presbyter. Nicholas Thorne is not to be trusted."

"You dare to come in here, a follower of Stephenson, and make demands of me?"

"I follow no man," Jacques said. "And certainly not an Englishman. I am here, at great personal peril, to look after my own interests, and to avenge the death of my wife, whom Nicholas Thorne stabbed right through the heart as she stood before me. I have not yet gone to the authorities on this matter, Mr. Brunel, but I could. And when I do, the brutal nature of Mr. Thorne's crime will be made public. The press – not to mention your fellow priests and Councillors – will use the story to crucify you." He gazed up at the low ceiling of the chamber, sweeping his arm in a circle to encapsulate the whole of the Chimney. "You have to ask yourself if you're willing to risk everything you've created here for the sake of a man who has walked from your church without apology, for a man who has kept secrets from you and fed you lies and falsehoods, for a cold-blooded murderer?"

He watched Brunel's face for a sign, the twitch of a muscle, the flicker of emotion that might tell him if he'd achieved his goal. The Presbyter stared into the flames of the lamp, and his face never changed. He remained silent so long Jacques became uneasy, wondering if he'd drifted into some sort of trance.

Finally, in a low voice, so quiet Jacques had to lean forward to hear him, Brunel said, "What do you want me to do?"

* * *

Buckland ran ahead, the faint light of his lamp bobbing down the winding staircase. Brigitte followed, her arm sore from where he pinched it between his enormous hands, her slippered feet sliding across the slick stone as she tried desperately to keep her balance.

"Nicholas! What on earth is the matter? Why are we running? Is it Isambard? Is it—"

"Ah hah," cried Buckland in delight. "Here it is! I was worried I wouldn't find it – I've never come this way before."

They crowded onto a landing, facing the stone wall. Buckland held his light up and examined the stones. Nicholas squeezed Brigitte’s hand. She opened her mouth to ask again what was going on, but Buckland gave a cry of triumph and leaned his weight against a particular stone. With a groan, he pressed his whole body into the wall, and to Brigitte's great surprise a whole section of it slid inward, revealing a low, dark passage.

"After you." Buckland gestured to Nicholas.

"Thank you, friend." Nicholas clasped the man's shoulders. "Please take Brigitte and find her a room in the city. He won't come after her – it's me he wants, but she should not go back to my lodgings—"

"Excuse me," she cut in, her patience finally run dry. "But I have been dragged from a sermon I was quite enjoying, sent running after you two all night, stained my dress and ruined these slippers, and now you're sending me from your presence with not a word of explanation. I demand to know what's going on, "

"Brigitte, please—"

She folded her arms and leaned back against the stone wall. "I'll not move from this spot ‘till you tell me why we've left the Chimney to crawl around in dark tunnels in the middle of the night—"

"Someone's trying to kill me," Nicholas said, his face slick with sweat. "And I'll be damned to the Great Conductor's fiery furnace before I let him get you, too."

"Nicholas—" she reached out, wanting to comfort him.

"Keep away from me!" He slunk back, hiding in the shadows. "You must go with Buckland. Please, Brigitte."

Tears brimmed in her eyes. She shot out her elbow and knocked Buckland's arm aside, ducking into the dark passage next to him. "I'm not leaving you," she said.

"Don't be absurd, Brigitte. You are safer if you return to the city, pretend you don't know me—"

She shook her head. "I'll pretend nothing of the sort. I gave up my livelihood for you. Don't think for one moment I'm leaving."

"You don't understand. If he catches you with me—"

"Then we had better make sure this man, whoever he is, doesn't catch you," she said firmly, taking another step into the dark passage. "I've decided, Nicholas, and I'll not hear another word to the contrary. We don't have time to argue about it anyway, by all accounts. Now, where does this tunnel lead?"

"Into the Wall," Buckland answered, stepping in beside them and pulling the stone door back into place. "The structure isn't solid inside, but contains many rooms and chambers for Brunel's use. I've been working here on a project for Brunel, and I've had a chance to explore some of the tunnels and rooms around my workshop. I know a place you can hide."

"What project?" asked Nicholas. Brigitte detected a note of suspicion in his voice.

"I cannot say. Ah, here we are. Watch your head, Miss Brigitte." She had to get on her hands and knees to crawl under the banks of lead piping that criss-crossed over their heads. The air here felt warmer, and everything around her hummed and vibrated beneath her hands as though it were alive. Warm air moved under the pipes, caressing her bare arms, and in the distance she could hear a strange, regular whoosh.

Buckland stood, and helped her to her feet. She dusted off her dress and saw by the dim light of a lantern they were at one end of a long metal walkway, suspended over a floor of beam engines, all turning in unison, the rise and fall of their arms creating the whooshing sound.

Buckland stepped out on the gangway, and Brigitte followed, her eyes falling to the machines below, each one rising and dipping with the grace of a dancer. She saw the faint glow of fires moving between the machines – Boilers, keeping the engines running. But what do all these engines power?

On the other side of the gangway, Buckland pulled down a steel ladder and motioned for Brigitte for ascend. "When you reach the top, lean down and I'll hand you the light," he said. "When Nicholas is up there with you, I will push up the ladder and close the gate on the other side. Only Brunel and I have the key, so it should be impossible for anyone to find you."

Brigitte gathered her skirts in one hand and clambered up the ladder, pulling herself onto a cold metal floor. She reached down, and Buckland placed the heavy old lamp in her hands. She hauled it up and set it in the centre of what was a low, square room, barely ten foot from end to end. It was devoid of furniture and decoration, save the square grating of a ventilation shaft in the corner.

Nicholas heaved himself up the ladder, and knelt beside her. He looked back at Buckland. "Please," said Nicholas. "Explain to Isambard what has happened. He saw me leave, and he will not be pleased. And do inform the other Blasphemous Men, if you should cross paths with them."

With a cheerful wave, Buckland hurried back across the gangway. Brigitte heard a steady creak as he drew shut a metal gate on the other side. The clang of his boots against the metal faded into the darkness, and she was left alone with Nicholas and his secrets.

* * *

Brigitte set in with persistent questions, but Nicholas, so weary from the day's activities and their flight he could no longer stand, begged for time to rest before he told his story.

"I deserve to know."

"Yes," he sighed. "You do, but, please … not now. We are out of immediate danger, and it is a long tale, cruel in the telling, and I have not the strength to tell it." He slumped against the wall, and lifted up his arm.

Brigitte snuggled under it, and fell asleep quickly, her warm cheek pressed hard against his chest. But every time Nicholas' eyes seemed to be closing, he would hear a noise or sense an animal or see an image of Julianna dancing under his eyelids, and he would be jolted awake again.

The Wall was not nearly as secure as the tunnels under Engine Ward, and Nicholas' mind jumped from compie to compie as they raced along the pipes. Through their eyes he could see where they'd already gnawed through the metal structure in places, creating for themselves a network of secret tunnels. If he lived through this night, he'd need to have Brunel dispatch a crew to tidy up the gaps.

The compies spoke a complex language of scents, sounds, and signals, which he was only just beginning to decipher, but he'd learned enough to know that they had sensed the presence of the humans in this room. Used to the company of Boilers, these compies were wary of humans, and their scent signal leapt from body to body. Be alert.

But they were wary of something else, too. Some great and terrible shadow lurked in the corner of their minds. They could not see it in the dark, but they had heard it, smelt it. It worried them.

Nicholas could feel this shadow also, a looming presence on the periphery of his sense. He was too weak to hold onto it, and it was too great and dark for him to sense properly, but he knew whatever it was, it was nearby, and it was hungry, and very, very angry. But he had enough to worry about now without succumbing to a nameless fear in the darkness. He tried to ignore the presence and follow the compies in his mind, skipping from one to the other as they made their rounds of the tunnels. He knew if they sensed more humans in the tunnels, so would he.

Hours drifted by, and their lamp – the oil already low – gave a final flicker and went out, plunging them into total darkness. Sometime later – when, he could not tell, for no light penetrated their cell, and he had lost his pocket watch somewhere in the tunnels – the compies did indeed sense a human presence. This man came by a different route, down from the official entrances above. The compies knew his smell instantly, and so did Nicholas. It was Isambard.

He heard the gate swing open, and the Presbyter's footsteps across the gangway, and he prayed to the Gods that Isambard had not come to give him over to Jacques.

"Nicholas!"

The voice rang out like a battle cry in the silent darkness. Brigitte shuddered away and gripped Nicholas' hand as they listened to Isambard climbing the ladder into their hiding place. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Nicholas opened and closed his mouth, his throat dry and his words dying on his lips.

"Nicholas?" The voice was softer, but so close Brigitte screamed and leapt back. A second later, a match struck, and a shaft of light penetrated the room. Isambard's face appeared at the top of the stairs. He held up a lantern and a parcel.

"Buckland said you had no food, so I have brought some. And some oil for your lamp." He crawled in beside them and set the package down on the floor. "Nicholas … why didn't you tell me?"

"You are not angry with me?" Nicholas leaned away from him, remembering Isambard's face when he'd threatened him on the pulpit.

"If I am to understand correctly, a threat has been made on your life. I am concerned for you, and determined to keep you safe, at least as long as I am able." Isambard opened the parcel and spread out a bounty of bread and butter, jam, and a draught of beer. Nicholas could not bring himself to eat, but Brigitte ate hungrily, stuffing bread into her mouth faster than she could chew. "I am saddened you did not come to me earlier. I have power now, and what good is such power if I can't use it to help my friends?"

"There is a good reason for my silence. The man that follows me does not simply intend to kill me – he will hurt anyone in my life if he knew their deaths would wound me. I intended to keep a low profile, to claim friendship with no one, to extract myself with little disruption from London if he did find me here. But you two—" he said, glancing from Isambard to Brigitte, and sighing. "You have destroyed my hope of this, for I care about you too deeply. Now that he has found me I must once again go underground, for I cannot have him catch me and destroy your lives in the process. Brigitte has, against my protestations, decided to go with me, but I'll not have you forsake your own life for my mistakes."

"This man hates you so much?" Tears streamed down Brigitte's face.

"If you knew my crime, you would not be so quick to side against him."

"Nicholas." Brigitte's voice seemed firm, large in the darkness. "I am hiding in a tiny box in the deepest reaches of an iron wall. I am cold and I am frightened. Your friend Isambard has come down here to tend to you when he should be celebrating. It's time you told us what is going on."

"We cannot help you until we understand the nature of the man we're up against," Brunel added.

Nicholas sighed. "Very well, but when you hear what I have done, you will change your mind and cast me forever from your life, and you will be all the happier for it."

So he told them the tale of his escape from the Navy, of his meeting with Jacques and the beguiling black-haired woman named Julianna, of his days spent studying, of his nights holding her while she cried, of how the atmosphere at the monastery had slowly turned poisonous, of his discovery of Jacques' brutality, and of their desperate flight that ended in him driving his sword into the heart of the woman he loved.

When he finished, he was weeping, the tears hot against his cheeks. Isambard pressed the beer into his hands, and he drank, long and heavy, ‘till the rawness of the memories floated away.

All three were silent for a long time, the only sound in the room the steady dripping of water somewhere in the distance and Nicholas’ wretched sobs.

Brigitte spoke, her soft voice cutting the air like a dagger. "I could not ask you to do this."

"Brigitte—"

"She was selfish, this Julianna. She wanted you to do this for her, knowing you loved her so, knowing what it would do to you thereafter."

"It wasn't like that—" He caught himself. "Perhaps she didn't expect me to live much longer."

"But live you did. And now you're in a world of mess, and it's her fault."

Nicholas felt a strong sense that he should be defending Julianna, but he said instead, "You do not hate me?"

"Why should I? You fulfilled the last wish of a dying woman, a woman who was already numb and dead inside, and you've carried the guilt of that memory like a shroud ever since. Do you think me so fickle that my love for you could be extinguished by some past crime? Do you think you alone own all the sorrow of the world?"

Love … she had spoken that word. He'd not thought about it, not dared to utter it, since that night in the valley. And here she was before him, this maid who knew nothing about him save his one greatest secret, and yet she professed her love for him.

"I do not think you fickle," he choked, trying to keep his voice steady. "But you should not profess such things, for they cannot be taken back, and you may yet meet the same fate as the last person to utter those words to me."

"She will not," said Isambard. "Buckland has done right to hide you here, for du Blanc cannot possibly find you. As soon as Buckland told me of your flight, I sent a guard to your home. He saw Jacques arrive there but three hours ago, with two Navvies in tow. They broke the front window and stirred your papers into frightful disarray, but they left soon after. He tracked them back to Stephenson's London residence, but they have not emerged since."

"He aims to make my death look like a simple Stoker/Navvy rivalry," Nicholas said.

"That is my guess, too. It was probably Stephenson's idea. It will take all my cunning to design a solution to this dilemma. I do not know when next I can return to you, but when I do, it will be with your salvation."

"Could you send someone else? What about Aaron?"

"He's still playing hero with the Stokers. I'll not trust him again," Isambard said. "Apart from Buckland, I'm the only one who knows about these tunnels and this room, and I intend to keep it that way. But just in case, I have brought you this." He drew from the darkness a long, thin object: Nicholas' sword.

He took it gratefully. "Thank you, Isambard. For everything."

With a nod of his head, Isambard retraced his steps back down the ladder, and Nicholas listened to his footsteps fading into the gloom. He reached across and clasped Brigitte's hand.

"Brigitte?"

"Mmhmmm?"

"If we make it out of this alive, would you object to marrying me?"

"Nothing would make me happier."

* * *

James Holman's Memoirs – Unpublished

A night and a day had passed since Brunel's sermon, and I was no closer to London. I had been ready to sneak off toward the castle after the night mass, when another Knight took it upon himself to be unusually talkative, and I was unable to slip away. I had already heard one carriage clatter away into the darkness – no doubt laden with a cargo of Sunken – and I knew I could not remain here much longer with the King's disturbing secret weighing heavy upon me.

I made sure to leave Travers College at the earliest possible hour, and upon reaching St. George’s Chapel, some thirty-five minutes before service was due to begin, I took up a stall closest to the exit. I needn't have bothered, for as the minutes drew out and the priests at last began their incantations, not a single other Knight appeared. They'd all decided to absent themselves from duty. Maybe luck would be with me tonight.

After the service had finished, I slipped around the side of the church, hid in a flower bed, and listened as the priests locked the chapel for the night. When I was certain the courtyard was empty, I slipped from my hiding place and crept toward the servants’ quarters.

Brigitte had said there was an entrance to the cellars in the castle kitchen, and although I'd never been there before, I'd have no trouble locating it. A short walk through the northern wing of the castle revealed a sharp scent of fresh herbs on the breeze. I'd found the kitchen gardens. From here it was a simple task to feel my way along the wall ‘till I found the door to the kitchen. It was unlocked. I pushed it open and crept inside.

The door to the cellar could probably be found in the larder. I stood in the doorway of this unfamiliar room and rapped my knuckles against the wooden bench, once, twice … I listened, the echoes creating an image in my mind. The shapes and positions of objects – though not their form or function – became clear to me. I took a cautious step forward, careful to avoid knocking any pans from the overhanging rack.

A blind man builds his image of a room in a very different way from a man with eyes. While the sighted man can take in the basics of a room in a single glance, I build my perception in layers – first, the position, density, and relationships of objects, then the intricacies of the space that surrounds them, and finally a complex map of textures, scents, and sounds. Normally, I would build this "image" over weeks, visiting a room many times to familiarise myself with every detail, but this night I didn't have the luxury. I stepped to the right to avoid the wooden table, my hands at my sides, fingers running across the surface of the object. Slowly. Methodically. Every sense on high alert.

I took another step.

On the other side of the room, a door creaked.

I froze, listening hard. There was a window beside the door, just behind where I stood. If the moon was high in the sky tonight, my silhouette would be illuminated to anyone looking in on the room.

I held my breath.

After several moments, I could detect no further movement, no other human presence. Satisfied it was just a draught, I took another step into the room.

A woman cried out, and a heavy object slammed into the side of my head. Pain arced across my eyes, and I felt my knees wobble and give way. I pitched forward and hit the side of the table with a thud, and everything around me passed into silence.

* * *

I came to and found myself propped up awkwardly in a hard wooden chair. A harsh female voice barked orders at another girl, and some smelling salts passed under my nose. I pushed the hand away.

"My head hurts," I said.

"An' that's no one's fault but your own," snapped the rough voice. "Fancy sneaking in here in the middle of the night, frightening two helpless young women and all."

The voice sounded neither helpless nor young, so I concluded there were at least three women regarding me from around the table. The matron cleared her throat. Clearly, I was required to furnish an explanation for my intrusion.

"Forgive me, ladies. I had hoped to navigate the kitchens without rousing you from your beds. I am Lieutenant Holman, one of the Naval Knights of Windsor, and I am trying to escape the castle before we're forced onto those trains."

"What do you know of it?" The woman sounded suspicious.

"I know that unholy creatures haunt this castle, and I know that tomorrow we're being moved to a new residence in London, but the creatures are moving with us, secretly, so no one in London can glimpse them. I know our residence is behind a high iron Wall that promised to keep the dragons out, but will instead lock the citizens in."

The matron and her companions – their voices belonging to young girls – gasped.

"And I know that tonight is my last and only chance to escape that fate, so I might find my way to London and send up some warning, perhaps stop Presbyter Brunel from closing every exit through his Wall—"

"Travers College is all the way down the other end of the garden. How do you know of the Sunken?" the woman cut in.

"Brigitte Black told me of them. She used to be a maid in the castle, but—"

"—she left," a girl's voice, high and musical, interrupted. "She had a gentlemanly sweetheart, and so she left. And not a moment too soon, for the very next day the King was calling her to his chambers."

The matron's voice remained hard. "You know of Brigitte? She is safe?"

"Safer than any of us. Her sweetheart, Nicholas Rose, is my very dear friend, and he is architect to Presbyter Brunel. He is, at this very moment, working to avert this crisis."

"Maxwell the gardener's gone, too," the first girl piped up.

"Cassandra."

"Well, he has," she sniffed. "Last we saw him was the night Brigitte disappeared. He'd been so ill—"

"He helped Brigitte escape through the cellars," I said. "This is where I am going. She told me about a door—"

"There's no escaping that way," the woman said. "Them creatures have overrun every inch of the cellars. If you put your ear to the door you can hear 'em, chomping and snarling. You won't get ten feet before they tear you apart."

"What are we to do, then?"

"We?" the second girl asked, her voice trembling.

"I can hardly leave you ladies here alone now, can I? Not when you've shown me such hospitality." I smiled, rubbing the lump on my head.

"Me an' Cassandra an' Rebecca have our escape all figured out. There is perhaps room for one more, but you must listen carefully to all we say and follow us without question. It will not be easy for a blind man."

"Nothing ever is. When?"

"Tomorrow. You will remain here with us, and we make our escape early in the morning. You will sleep here, in the scullery, and you'll not," she said sternly, "move or make so much as a sound, or that frying pan will be the least of your worries."

* * *

"I'm worried about Holman. And Isambard." Nicholas hunched forward, folding his arms across his chest, then letting them fall at his sides, then clasping them together. If the room were tall enough to stand up in, he would be pacing, but it wasn't, so he folded his arms again.

Brigitte leaned against the other wall, spreading her skirts over her knees. "Why? Is someone trying to kill them, too?"

"The Sunken—"

"—are not our biggest concern of the minute, Nicholas—" She stopped mid-sentence. He started to speak, but she hushed him. Then he heard it, too. A clank, like someone trying to open the gate on the other side of the gangway.

"It could be a compie," he said, straining his ears and his sense to listen. He heard it again – more scrapes and clangs in the gangway below. They were definitely footsteps – someone was coming.

"It must be Isambard. I hope he's brought some more food and oil." Nicholas stood up, picking up the lantern – which was running low again – from beside her. "I'll help him—"

"Please?" she tugged on his trousers, her eyes large in the glimmer of the lamplight. "I don’t want to be left in the darkness."

Sighing, he stroked her hair and placed the lantern back on the floor beside her. Lowering his feet over the edge of the ladder, he climbed down onto the platform at the end of the gangway. He could see the faint glow of a lantern bobbing toward him, the figure shrouded in the shadow of a heavy cloak.

"Isambard?"

"You are mistaken," a voice rasped close to his ear. Nicholas leapt back, just as Jacques brought up his lantern and slammed the metal bracket across his face. Reeling, Nicholas cracked his spine against the metal ladder. He kicked out with his boot, but he was disoriented and the blow glanced off Jacques' shoulder.

"You'll have to do better than that," said Jacques, and Nicholas heard the slice of a rapier being drawn.

He had no time to fetch his own sword, still sitting on the floor next to Brigitte, so Nicholas let go of the ladder and flung himself at Jacques. The Frenchman fell backward, hitting the grating with a crack, Nicholas' full weight bearing down on top of him. Jacques' lantern clattered across the grating.

Nicholas pinned Jacques' sword arm with his knee and slammed his fist into the Frenchman's face. He felt no fear at all, no anger, only an odd sense of calm, as if he were merely a spectator to the fight instead of a participant. Jacques tried to rock his body over to free his arm, but Nicholas landed another blow to the side of his head and he slumped back down.

Something moved behind Nicholas on the grating. "I'll grab the sword!" Brigitte cried, rushing to his side and grabbing Jacques' arm.

"No! Go back!"

He turned and saw her prying Jacques' fingers from the hilt, but as he turned, his weight shifted, allowing Jacques to free his left arm and land a blow on Nicholas' cheek.

Brigitte stomped on Jacques’ wrist with the heel of her boot, and he howled. Nicholas felt his arm slacken and knew without turning that Brigitte had freed the sword. He pinned both Jacques' arms again, and landed another blow across his face before he heard more footsteps clanging across the grating.

How foolish I've been. Of course Jacques wouldn't come here alone.

Hands grabbed him, pulled him up, away from Jacques, whose cries of pain turned into peals of laughter. He shouted a warning to Brigitte. She stood her ground, sword raised, eyes defiant, but though she swung and thrust and opened a deep cut across a man's cheek, other men closed in around her and overpowered her with ease.

Nicholas struggled against his captors, but it was no use. They wrenched his arms tightly around him, and he watched, helpless, as Jacques – blood gushing from his nose – yanked the sword from Brigitte's grasp and held it to her throat. She whimpered as the blade pressed against her skin.

"Leave her be," Nicholas cried. "She has no part in this. It's me you want."

"Ah," said Jacques, smiling, and Nicholas' blood turned cold. "And by your very admission, Monsieur Thorne, I conclude she is exactly the person I want. Does not our situation here seem familiar to you? It does to me. Two years ago you murdered my wife – the woman who was carrying my child. I held her in my arms and felt the life drain out of her, while you ran into the forest like the coward you are. And so, tonight, I will murder the woman you love, and you too will know the pain I've lived with ever since."

He spoke to his men in French, and they grabbed Brigitte's limbs and pinned her to the grating, her arms and legs spread wide. With a slash of his blade Jacques split open her dress. Brigitte screamed, but he silenced her with a slap so hard it jerked her head right back. Nicholas' eyes met hers, and he saw his own fear reflected there.

Nicholas gathered his strength, kicking and thrashing against the men who held him, but they did not loosen their grip. Memories flashed before him – another woman he loved, another life he had not been able to save. Jacques raised the sword high above his head, the blade glinting in the dim lamplight.

"No!" Rage burnt in Nicholas’ limbs, and his vision darkened with spots of red. His anger welled in his stomach, growing larger until it took over every limb, every pore, until it pushed out all other thoughts.

And, when his mind was clear, the mind of something else entered his body.

The thoughts slammed into his with such force his whole body jerked forward. The rage disappeared, replaced by a burning hunger that seemed to squeeze his muscles, wringing every shred of strength from him. His vision swirled and changed, the colours disappearing, replaced by a flowing, bubbling mass of wafting scents and energy. As he looked again at Jacques, he no longer saw the man who had hunted him for two years, a man who at this moment raised a sword to his beloved Brigitte.

He saw dinner.

Nicholas could only stare through the eyes that weren't his, a stranger in his own body, as the mind inside him pushed, pressed against some invisible force. Jacques drew the sword higher. Brigitte screamed.

The gangway lurched to the right, and Jacques – arm in the air, mouth open in silent surprise – fell back against the railing. Two giant rows of teeth clamped around his body, as a dragon rose up from the depths of the Wall to meet him. His leg exploded in a geyser of blood, and his sword clattered over the edge.

Jacques' scream echoed from every metal surface. The men holding Nicholas cried out, slackening their grip as they took in the horrid scene.

As quickly as it had come upon him, the dragon's mind left Nicholas, expelling with it the gleeful rapture to hunt. He fell to his knees, his head devoid of thought, his body without sensation.

The dragon swung his head up again, bones cracked, and the scream was cut off abruptly. The men seemed frozen, unsure of what to do. With a final heave, Nicholas freed himself and took a step across the swinging platform toward Brigitte.

Brigitte got on her knees and crawled across the grating – now slick with Jacques’ blood – to collect Nicholas in her arms. The scent of her – warm with sweat, and very much alive – slowly brought him back from the blur of his thoughtlessness. He clasped her to him and pulled her down, shielding her body with his in case the dragon should return for another meal.

Jacques’ men, their confusion giving way to terror, fled back the way they'd come, only to find the corridor blocked with Isambard and two of his Boilers, short hoses attached to their blow-off valves. Isambard reached behind and pulled a lever, and a shower of scalding water met the men, sending two of them sailing over the crumpled railings to meet their deaths twenty feet below. The dragon growled, snapped its teeth, and the men no longer screamed.

One man remained twitching on the grating, his chest, arms, and the right side of his face turning as the scalding water worked its way through his skin. His screams resonated around the chamber, like some horrifying spectacle of industrial worship. Isambard stepped over his writhing body, and the Boilers simply rolled over him, mangling his corpse into a bloody pulp.

The Presbyter's face appeared before Nicholas, his mouth drawn in concern. Isambard's hand – always impossibly cold, despite the heat in the room – cupped Nicholas' forearm. "Go back up the ladder to the room," he said. "The Boilers will take care of our friends here."

After helping a shaking Brigitte up the ladder, Nicholas clambered back up himself, his thoughts slowly returning, and the full horror of what he'd just seen finally reaching him. The way that dragon had risen up from deep in the Wall, filling his mind and body with its malice. The sensation of feeling what it felt as it closed in on its meal. The sound it made as its teeth closed around Jacques.

"Great Conductor be praised you both are safe," said Isambard, swinging himself up the ladder after them. "I'm only sorry I didn't arrive sooner."

"You arrived perfectly on time," Brigitte said, gathering her torn skirts around herself and burying her head in Nicholas' chest.

"I brought you that blade for a reason," Isambard said, pointing to the rapier still lying in its scabbard against the wall of the room. "You should've guessed he'd come down here after you."

"But how could he know we were here?"

The Presbyter's eyes darkened. "Stephenson has been helping him, which means Jacques had access to the extensive network of Navvy spies operating throughout London. One of them would've seen Buckland bring you here, or me coming to find you."

"And the dragon? Why are you keeping a dragon inside the Wall?"

"He was a present from Quartz and the Stokers in the swamps. The King wishes only to keep the dragons out of the city. But I wanted to understand why they desired to come here in the first place. If the Council caught wind of my experiments, it would be the end of me, so I hired Buckland and set up workshops inside the Wall, so he might conduct his experiments without interruption—"

"What experiments? Why the sudden interest in biology?"

Isambard smiled. "Your friend Buckland once said something that stuck with me – that if man ever wanted to create the perfect machine, he had only to look toward a living body. The intricate workings of vessels and veins, the heart like a great bellows, pumping blood around the body, the reactions and behaviours of the four humours … these are machines created by the Gods. If I can understand them, think of what I too can create."

Nicholas crossed the room and shone the lamp into the corner. "There's a vent here," he said. "And this goes out across the gangway and down to the floors below. Your dragon must have caught the scent of men from his pen." He pressed his hand against his temple, remembering the sensation of the dragon inside him, but one look at Brigitte's tearful face and Isambard's glazed, faraway look told him it was not yet time to reveal his secret.

A bang and crash outside revealed the dragon was still wandering around under the gangway. Isambard picked up the sword and made to return down the ladder. "I must see to my dragon," he said. "The cages will need reinforcing."

"I mean no disrespect, Presbyter," sniffed Brigitte. "But we've had quite a fright, between our fight with Jacques and that dragon … all that blood .… But now there's no question Jacques is gone. I wonder if you think it safe for Nicholas to return to his home?"

"Of course," he offered his hand to her. "I forget, sometimes, that there are more pressing matters than my engineering projects. With Jacques dead, Stephenson has no argument against you – at least, not one that will hold up in court. He certainly won't risk the lives of any of his Navvies. I will have two Boilers watch your lodgings – did I tell you they can now be set to perform basic guard duties? – and you should be safe in the city."

* * *

James Holman's Memoirs – Unpublished

I crouched in one of the sculpted flower beds that lined the road leading to the King Henry VIII gate. The sun hadn't yet risen, and a crisp breeze rustled through the leaves. Fresh dew dripped onto my trousers, much rumpled from my night's sleep on the scullery floor. Beside me, little Cassandra held my hand tightly, her breath coming out in nervous gasps. Rebecca clutched my other hand, her warm fingers stroking my palm.

"I see him," Miss Julie said, from the branches on the other side of me. "Quiet now, we mustn't alert him to our presence."

A night sleeping next to the cellar door and listening to the snarling below had convinced me I could not have escaped that way, but Miss Julie's plan was no less foolhardy. "A farmer from the village comes every morning at 5am," she explained as she roused me from my fitful sleep. "He brings a delivery of fresh blood from the abattoir, stored in barrels to prevent suspicion. The blood feeds the Sunken, though they are never sated. That is why they snap and snarl so, all day and night. The farmer unloads the barrels and loads the empties, then leaves by the same entrance. But tomorrow when he passes through the gates, we shall all be hiding inside the barrels."

"But why would they feed the Sunken on this, of all mornings?"

"You don't know the strength of them! If they're not fed before they're moved to the train, they'll tear apart the carriages before they're even out of the station," Miss Julie said. "I heard the Prime Minister place this morning's order with my own ears. Hurry, we don't want to be late!"

Her original plan had relied on her either bribing or threatening the man into allowing them to hide amongst the barrels. Having met Miss Julie, I could immediately see that she had great skill in both these areas. But with me joining their party, we now had another option.

"Here he comes," Cassandra whispered, squeezing my hand.

The wheels rolled past, slowing as they rounded the corner toward the castle. Miss Julie sprang up, and raced after him.

Seconds later, I heard the thud of a familiar rolling pin, and something warm and heavy was pushed down beside me. Miss Julie and her girls worked quickly, tossing the unfortunate man's garments into my arms. "Quickly now." Hands yanked at my sleeves and grabbed at my buttons.

I pulled on the man's coarse clothing, bundling my lieutenant's jacket into his satchel and covering it with his paper-wrapped lunch. I left my other clothing items in the garden, and climbed up on the footplate. My three passengers had already concealed themselves inside the barrels. It was up to me to drive them from the grounds without attracting suspicion.

And therein lay the plan's greatest flaw. I'd never driven a carriage in my life, nor indeed even ridden a horse, and to begin now, a blind man charged with rescuing not just himself but three plucky ladies who'd placed their lives in his charge, had me paralysed in fear. I sat for some minutes, the reins slack in my hands, the horses snorting in impatience, wondering how I could possibly manoeuvre the carriage through the garden complex without attracting suspicion.

"Mr. Holman, you really must get a move on." The muffled voice of Miss Julie from the barrel behind me jolted me out of my stupor.

"Of course, of course." I clenched my fists over the reins and pulled them toward me. The horses sprang to life, jerking the carriage forward so hard I nearly slipped from the bench. Steadying myself, I held the reins loose in my fingers, focusing on the tugging as the horses trotted away.

"Steady now," said Miss Julie from inside her barrel. "If we dash away the guards will think something's amiss."

I found the clop of the horses' hooves against the wide path served the same purpose as the tap of my walking stick, and I managed to navigate down the path toward the gate without running over the flowerbeds. I was just beginning to enjoy myself when Miss Julie hissed at me to stop the carriage.

"We've reached the gate," she said. "A guard is approaching on your right."

Panic rose in my throat as I pulled the reins up, bringing the horses to an abrupt halt. Heavy footsteps approached the carriage, and I felt the weight shift on the axles as a man leaned against the footplate.

"What do you think you're doing, aye, chappy?" barked a Royal Guard. Stray droplets of spittle splattered against my cheek. I fought to keep my voice calm as I spoke my answer. "I'm returning these barrels to the abattoir—"

"Not today you ain't. No one leaves the castle grounds. That's a direct order."

"But—"

"I'll draw this sword on ye if I have to."

"Lieutenant Robbins, what seems to be the trouble?"

All the swagger left his voice as he replied, "Nothing, sir. This man, sir, he wants to leave the castle grounds."

"Well, is he a servant of the King or isn't he?"

"I'm a farmer," I cut in. "I deliver barrels from the abattoir every morning, and I'm returning—"

"Let him through," the officer barked. I let out the breath I was holding.

As I bent down to pick up the reins, the officer's voice rasped close to my ear. "When you're outside, give those horses hell, do y'hear? Don't stop no matter who comes after ye. I aim to save one life at least today."

"Thank you, sir." I picked up the reins and drove the horses forward, listening to the clop of their hooves against the cobbles. I sensed the great arch of the gate and we drove under it, then the turn in the road as we passed over the threshold of the castle and continued down the hill.

"Are we outside?" came a muffled voice from behind me.

"Ssssh!" I strained my ears to listen. The gate hadn't been locked. I could hear the soldiers arguing. I drove the horses into a trot.

"We need to turn right at the—"

The thunder of hooves erupted from the gate behind me, followed by the clap of a cannon that landed on the road beside the carriage, cracking the cobbles and starting the horses into a run. I grabbed the reins and gripped them tightly, and behind me Cassandra screamed as the carriage tore around the corner at speed. Two of the empty barrels tumbled out and crashed against the ground.

Hooves beat toward us, single riders, probably cavalrymen with rifles and sabres. They would overtake us easily. Another cannonball buckled the ground beside us, and my own horses squealed in protest and careened off the path. We bounced over green lawn, and I gripped the reins as tightly as I could. I had lost all control – we were completely at the mercy of the horses.

Miss Julie threw off the lid of her barrel. "They're gaining on us!" she cried. "Quick, toward the village. If we dump the carriage we may lose them in the crowds. Cassandra, Rebecca, get out of those barrels."

My teeth clattered together as we rumbled over the rough ground. We rattled over a steep drop and landed hard on a cobbled road, the wagon groaning in protest. Men yelled obscenities at us as they swerved their vehicles to avoid a collision. Miss Julie clambered in next to me and tore the reins from my hands.

Hooves pounded on either side of the carriage. I heard a swoosh as a blade hissed through the air, missing my head by inches. I pulled myself down, pressing my head against the dasher, hoping Miss Julie could keep us on the road.

Our carriage swerved hard right, and a horse cried out in pain as our wheels collided with its flanks. I heard the crunch as the rider was thrown to the ground. "Sterling work, Miss Julie!" I cried. That only left one more soldier, the man who swung his sword wildly, and who now drew up beside us for another swing.

"Use this!" Cassandra passed something flat and heavy to me – a barrel lid. I flung it at the man, and heard him yelp, but he didn't give up his pursuit. "Hand me another." I cried. She dumped another in my hands and I lobbed it in the direction of the man, hoping to knock him off his horse.

I heard a crunch, followed by the sound of splintering wood, and our entire carriage pitched violently to the left, toppling me bottom over bootstraps onto the hard ground. I landed on top of Miss Julie, and the wooden ash of our flipped carriage landed on top of me, pinning us to the earth.

"What do we have here?" It was the voice of the young lieutenant. "I recognise both your faces. You're the kitchen maid, and you're one of them Windsor Knights. Well, your escape attempt didn't fool me. It's back to the castle for all of you."

I cried out in protest, begged them to take me and spare the girls, but they heard none of it. Rough hands grabbed me, bound my arms, threw me into the back of a carriage and sent us all back up the hill. Miss Julie lay beside me, warm blood from a wound in her face trickling onto my sleeves. Neither she nor Rebecca uttered a word. Cassandra wailed, clutching her hand, which they had broken.

They took us in through King Henry's Gate, but instead of returning us to the castle proper, they took a meandering path through the garden, down toward the southern corner, ‘till I had no doubt in my mind where we were headed.

The carriage stopped. I knew at once we were in grave danger.

The smell hung thick in the air – blood and piss and excrement, and the unmistakable tang of rotting flesh. But it was the sound that turned my blood cold – a chorus of animals, snarling, hissing, barking, fingers clawing at each other in their frantic attempt to crawl closer to us.

"What have you brought me, Lewis?" a familiar voice asked. Joseph Banks, the Prime Minister, leaned against the carriage and rapped his stick across my back.

"We found these four trying to escape, sir. I figured you'd best know what to do with 'em."

"Right you are, Lewis. Bring them down to the pit."

Hands grabbed us again, and pulled us out, threw us on the ground. I tried to stand, but the butt of a rifle slapped me across the face, and I fell to my knees, whimpering. I could hear them, smell them. The Sunken – hundreds of them, in a pit only a few feet from me. Each one had once been a person, but the sounds the emanated from that hellish pit were not the sounds of men. Miss Julie landed beside me, and she reached out and felt for my hand.

"The girls first," said Banks, as his men wrenched Cassandra and Rebecca high in the air and tossed them, screaming, into the pit.

I tried to stopper my ears, to take my mind far away, but I could not turn away from the screams of those girls as they were thrown down to the beasts. The Sunken pounced, and their howls enveloped the screams as they supped their full. Cassandra's scream rang out. Every tear of her flesh, every squelch of her innards pierced by their bony fingers, every snarl as they fought over the morsels of her body reverberated off the sides of my skull. I forgot myself in my panic, giving my body over to my terror. Something warm ran down the side of my leg, and from my mouth spewed forth an incoherent stream of delirium.

Someone kicked me in the head, and I toppled over, unable to bear up my own feeble weight. Miss Julie's hand was torn from mine, and she yelled at me to be brave as they heaved her over the side. The Sunken took much longer on her, as if the delights of her ample body should be savoured.

One of the soldiers leaned over beside me. "They're not clawing the sides anymore," he said, puzzled.

"That's what the flesh does to them," Banks said. "They get lethargic once they've had their full. I remember the day I came down with the body of the Crown Prince and two of His Majesty's other children. They could hardly move at all after that feast!"

"That won't do," said Lewis. "We're meant to keep 'em somewhat stimulated before they go on the train. I don't want my own self to be thrown in there amongst them for disobeying orders."

"Very true, very true," said Banks, thinking. Behind us, up at the castle, a horn sounded.

"Time to move out, lads," Banks said.

"What about this one? Shouldn't we—"

"Toss him in the train with the others," said Banks. "He'll be in the hands of the Sunken soon enough."

* * *

Chloe watched Aaron pacing the length of the magazine, his face twisted into a ferocious scowl. She sat at the table beside William Stone, her shoulders knitted with tension, watching her husband as he made that silent trek from one end of the narrow room to the other. Above their heads, the engines purred, the familiar vibrations punctuated with a new sound – the low rumble of more Boilers entering the tunnels, making their way to the workstations abandoned by the Stokers.

She was prepared to admit to herself that she was afraid of Aaron. Ever since Brunel had been made Presbyter, her husband drank more than ever. He came home with wild eyes and strange ideas. His advances, which had once been tender, were now fuelled by a kind of inner fury that made her dread their nights together.

After only a night of self-imposed imprisonment, he seemed ready to snap at any moment. She feared he had become utterly lost to her – his mind consumed by hatred for Brunel. William met her eyes across the table and she knew he shared her fears.

"Aaron." William addressed him, quietly, questioningly. "We can't remain down here forever."

Aaron spoke nothing in reply.

"We will run out of food in two days," said William. "And every hour we remain away from our posts, and those Boilers stoke our fires and tend our furnaces, is an hour closer to the end of the Stokers. We are proving nothing, except that those machines can do our jobs better than we ever could.

"Today they have taken over our jobs, but who is to say they aren't capable of expelling us from this place by force." Chloe shivered at the thought. "Isn't it time we returned to the Ward and tried to salvage what we can of our livelihood?"

"We are in the Ward." Aaron hissed his reply through clenched teeth. "We are in the heart of the Ward – the very soul of this cursed place."

"Our homes are up there—"

"I said no!" Aaron spun around and kicked the table across the room. Chloe shrieked and buried her face in William's shoulder.

"By Great Conductor's steam-driven testicles, Aaron, you're scaring your wife," William snapped. "You're scaring everyone. What do you expect? That we will stay down here forever?"

"We don't even know what's happened up there," said Chloe. "What about the Sunken? What about Nicholas and James and—"

"They threw their lot in with Isambard. What happens to them is not my concern. As for the Sunken – if they even do exist, let them feast upon this ungrateful city ‘till her streets are piled high with bones. Why should we care for them—"

"This isn't you. This isn't my husband talking … the man who has such empathy for every living being. What's happened to you?" Chloe angrily wiped fresh tears from her cheeks.

"Isambard happened to me. He turned his back on the Stokers, and on me, the minute he fired the first Boiler. He—"

"But he was your friend, your oldest and dearest friend, and you abandoned him when you could have been his one voice of sanity. You could've saved the Stokers, Aaron. You could have stopped Isambard, but instead of showing him a better way, you let your anger overcome you, and you hid down here and sulked—"

"I'll not be talked to like that—"

"Enough." William pushed his chair back. "I will go to Isambard myself, and I will see if I can make him understand the Stokers' position."

"No. I will go," Aaron said. He pulled his shoulders back, and took a deep breath. Chloe caught his expression; saw him battling the anger, pressing down his temper so it did not impair his decision. She stepped back, wiping her tear-stained face. Aaron would not let his anger override his concern for the Stokers. He would do what was needed. He was still the man she loved. "It was my idea to strike, to hide down here, and it was our leaving that has caused Isambard to issue forth the Boilers. No Stoker will be put in danger because of me."

"You will talk to Isambard?" Chloe asked. "You will find a way to end this?"

"I will," he pulled his coat close around his face. "But first I shall find Nicholas." Chloe glared at him. "No, you don't understand. I have treated him poorly, but I must show him what we're up against. I must help him understand what I've done here, why I did it. And together we might be able to stop Isambard before he destroys the Stokers, and London, and everything we hold dear."

* * *

James Holman's Memoirs – Unpublished

The carriages were closed on all sides, without windows to let in air or light. Anyone who might see the train as she made her clandestine journey would not know the contents of her cargo – would not see the fear that spread like a fire through every inch of the claustrophobic space.

It was standing-room only – maids and Knights and footmen and cooks pressed up against each other in the darkness. I had secured myself a spot in the furthest corner, my back against the wall, hemmed in on both sides by the stooped shoulders of my fellow Knights. The other carriage – longer still, but no less cramped – contained the courtiers, priests, handmaidens and the King's private staff. No one knew what was happening or why they were being moved to the new court like cattle on the way to market.

No one except me.

My mind raced with the memory of those horrid creatures, trying to discern a way out of this mess. Nicholas and Aaron must learn what I'd heard – they needed to know that Brunel could not be trusted. I knew if I reached Buckingham Palace, I would not be able to leave again, but the door to the carriage had been padlocked behind us. Besides which, I didn't fancy leaping from a moving train at this speed.

The train rocketed over a rough stretch of track, and everyone lurched backward, slamming me against the wooden wall of the carriage. I heard a crunch and felt a cold breeze blow past my elbow.

A breeze …

I felt along the wooden struts, hardly daring to hope … but my fingers slipped through a gap in the wood. When building the wagons the Boilers must've malfunctioned – or a programming error had caused them to miss adding the rivets on three planks in this corner. Now, the clattering of the train at high speed had forced the planks apart.

Twisting around in my crevice, I grabbed the planks and began wriggling them free. The first flew off in my hands, sending me stumbling backward into a fresh round of grumbles from my fellow Knights.

With a swift punch of my walking stick, the second plank clattered onto the tracks below. Another couple of whacks dislodged the final plank, and a cold gust of wind hit my bruised face. I felt the edges of the gap I'd created, ensuring it would be large enough for me to escape through.

Aaron had told me that the locomotive would slow when it reached the city, for too much speed in the underground tunnels could cause a cave-in. Judging from the smell of soot and excrement on the breeze, we were passing through the outer boroughs of London. Sure enough, the train began to slow, the clattering of the rails spreading out, and the whisper of buildings whooshing by less discernable.

Paying no heed to the protests behind me, I dropped to my knees, creeping forward and ducking my head under the limber so I crouched, like a frog, on the edge of the wagon. I manoeuvred my stick through the hole and clutched it tightly in my hand, and listened to the pace of the train, trying to gauge a speed that would ensure my survival.

The wind on my face grew suddenly colder, and the sound of the train changed, becoming hollow and amplified, as if it bounced back from a surface close by. We must have entered the tunnel. Now was my chance.

I took a deep breath and launched myself from the carriage, landing hard on the track and rolling clear as the train clattered away into the darkness. The shock jolted up my legs and back, and I lay in a crumpled heap between the rails for many minutes, trying to calm my racing heart. Slowly, I pulled myself up to a sitting position, my fingers tracing every inch of my body, looking for cuts or broken bones, but I could find none.

Standing on shaking legs, I realised I could only just hear the low rumble of the train as it disappeared deeper into the tunnel. I had to hurry. Thrusting my stick in front of me and tapping it against the rails to hear my way, I set off toward the entrance at a brisk pace.

After a few hundred yards I found it, emerging into a damp ditch between two rows of tenements on the edges of metropolitan London. I slipped into the street and found my way to a coach house, where I dug out two shillings and paid for a cab to Nicholas' residence.

When I arrived Brigitte answered the door, her voice registering her surprise. "James? By the Gods, what's happened to you? I thought you—"

"I need to speak to Nicholas. Immediately."

"Of course. Come in. Aaron is here also. He just arrived." She held open the door, and I stomped upstairs to Nicholas' study while she fetched Nicholas. He entered the room soon afterward, followed by Aaron. He told Brigitte to wait in the kitchen, and shut and bolted the door behind her.

"James Holman, just look at your face, all battered and bleeding! I'm not even going to ask if you went snooping in the castle, because I already know the answer. The question is, what did you find?"

"More than I ever wished for, and I barely escaped with my life. Brunel was there," I said. "And Banks." Quickly I recounted the conversation as I remembered it. I told them of my foiled escape, the pit of Sunken, and my subsequent ride on the train. As I described the deaths of Miss Julie and Rebecca and Cassandra, I thought I heard a sob come from the hallway, but no one else acknowledged it.

"See?" Aaron said. "We've been blind, Nicholas. We both believed Isambard had no part in this."

"He could merely be referring to the safe transport of some other royal children," Nicholas replied. "I don't see how this proves any of your crazy notions—"

"There are no other children," I said. "Banks had them thrown to the Sunken. I heard that, too."

"And what about my men?" I heard a crash as Aaron leapt from his chair. "Benjamin Stone thrown from a building, and five others burnt to death—"

"This is ludicrous," Nicholas shouted. "We have no proof. Perhaps Brunel had no choice."

"I know what I heard, Nicholas. For whatever reason, Brunel is helping Banks smuggle the Sunken into London," I said. "And if we're all agreed the King bringing his lead children into the city would be a bad thing, perhaps we should stop debating the motives behind Brunel's involvement in it, and come up with a way to stop them."

"Have any of us even seen the Sunken?" Nicholas yelled. "Perhaps they're not what we assume them to be. We have the testimony of James and Brigitte, but James is blind, and his observations cannot be given full weighting in this matter—"

His words hit me with the force of a blow.

"—and Brigitte is young and vulnerable and afraid. She could have mistaken what she saw."

"You're mistaken, Nicholas, if you insist on blindly believing Isambard means well for England! The only person he's looking out for is Isambard!" Snarling, Aaron yanked open the door, and Brigitte, who had been standing behind it, eavesdropping, shrieked as he stomped past. Nicholas called after him, but the front door slammed. Aaron had already gone.

"You doubt my word?" Brigitte addressed Nicholas, her voice rising with every syllable. "You claim to love me and then call me weak?"

"Brigitte, I—"

"Don't bother." She stomped down the stairs. Another door slammed.

"Nicholas, perhaps you should sit down."

"I've had just about enough of this!" Nicholas thundered. "Isambard is a brilliant man who's brought this country naught but greatness. Why must you and Aaron be determined to drag his name into the sewers?"

"I'm not denying his contributions to engineering, Nicholas, merely reporting what I know. And what I know is that Brunel’s transporting the Sunken – dangerous, blood-starved creatures – into this city, a city now surrounded by a high iron wall. What I heard was Brunel making a deal with Banks, the very scoundrel responsible for popularising all this religious fervour and making himself filthy stinking rich into the bargain!"

"And I say Brunel is a good man, without malice or corruption. If he has done such a thing, it could only be without the full knowledge of its consequences, or because he had no other choice. But we could sit here all night and argue, or we could settle this once and for all."

"How?"

"I'm going to speak to Isambard." He rose from his chair and collected his things.

"What, right now?"

"No time like the present. Do you wish to join me?"

"Someone should remain here to watch over Brigitte. It's a dangerous city out there tonight, and she's rather distraught."

Nicholas sighed in exasperation. "If you must." And without a further word, he too was gone.

I went downstairs and knocked on each door ‘till I found one that answered, "Go away!" in angry, strangled sobs.

"This is James. You can let me in. Nicholas has left."

"Of course he has," she sobbed, opening the door and collapsing into my arms. "He's left me, because I am weak and vulnerable, and apparently, a liar."

"I do not believe he truly thinks those things."

She snorted. "He said them, didn't he? And after all we've been through. Oh, James, this man came to kill him, and he had a sword and Isambard rescued us and Nicholas said … he said—"

"You must understand how difficult this is for Nicholas. Tonight he has heard proof that his oldest friend and most admired colleague, the man who gave him work, sheltered him from harm, who saved his life, is involved somehow in the most heinous of crimes. He wishes so badly not to believe it that he seeks any way possible to invalidate the evidence before him, even if it means hurting those he loves the most."

"Including me?"

"Especially you. But he'll come around." I tried to suppress the tight fear gripping my chest.

"Where has he gone?"

"To confront Brunel. He needs to know, tonight, of his master's part in this plot."

She bolted upright. "If what you say about the Sunken is true, he'll be killed. We must go after him, James. You must talk him out of such madness."

"I have sworn to stay here and protect you, and protect you I shall. Besides, what chance would a blind man and a weak woman have that an armed man would not?"

"He took his barker?"

"I heard him slip it from its holster and stuff it into the pocket of his coat as he left. Evidently, even Nicholas Thorne, Brunel's most ardent follower, believes I might be right, and his master is up to no good."

* * *

"Isambard?"

Brunel looked up from his workbench, and he recoiled in surprise to see Nicholas leaning against the pylon, his features drawn into a worried frown. One of the Boilers had been moving crates from Brunel's workshop to the upper floors, and Nicholas had snuck down on the elevator as it returned for another load.

"I understand you're busy, but if I could have a moment of your time."

Brunel nodded, gesturing for Nicholas to have a seat.

"I'd rather stand, if it’s all the same. I must ask you something, and I beg you not to take offence."

"Speak freely, Nicholas, but make it quick. I have urgent business."

"I have … friends, who have informed me about the situation at Windsor, of the King's lead-soaked children. I trust you know of them?"

Brunel nodded.

"My friends, they say these creatures – dangerous creatures – are being moved into Buckingham Palace in secret. They say that you are responsible for this, that you built the Wall not to keep the dragons out, but the people in. They say … you have a deal with Banks, that you will be named Messiah if you deliver these creatures safely into London, and ensure no one escapes. Is that true?"

Brunel stared at him, unblinking.

Nicholas slammed his fist down on the workbench. "Is that true?"

Brunel held up his hands. "Yes, Nicholas, it is true, and yet also not true, for there is much you do not know."

"I would really prefer to know now."

"Yes, the lead children, the Sunken, they are real, and they are terrible. Ask Dr. Joseph Banks, and he will tell you how several years ago, back when he was a regular doctor and not the Royal Physician or the Prime Minister or the head of the Council or any of his other titles, he was called to treat the King for acute syphilis – you know of his indulgences down at the dockside. He prescribed a tincture of lead, twice a day, ‘till the pain subsided. But the King had an unusual reaction to the lead, and became as the opium addict, feral and crazed, desperate for greater doses of the metal. And it came to pass that he no longer craved food, or wine, but only the acrid taste of lead. You saw his condition with your own eyes – the sunken skin, the boiling welts upon his flesh, the snarled teeth and the bulging, monstrous eyes. And this fetish led to another, even more unthinkable, abomination: the taste for human flesh."

Nicholas recoiled, his mouth agape.

"The King took unfortunates into his chamber – at first, he sought street walkers and homeless men, cripples and condemned prisoners, starved and weak. But then, he began to take those of his own household – footmen, soldiers, maids. Some he tore limb from limb, their screams muffled in his darkest chambers, and the bodies buried by his guards. Others he took as his own, feeding them on lead and flesh and locking them away until they became as mad as he. The Sunken is an apt name for these unfortunates – the children of the Vampire King."

Nicholas thought of Brigitte, all alone in that castle, her pretty features marked for that fate. Anger bubbled within him. "And how did you become embroiled in this madness?"

"Because of the Wall. I was so pleased to win the contract; I ignored the signs of his approaching madness until it was too late. And with Banks' power to make or break my career, I admit I made several ill-advised decisions. By the time I had grasped the situation and had seen the King's lead children with my own eyes, I had made a contract from which I could not extract myself.

"Yes, I constructed the underground railway for a nefarious purpose. Yes, today we have moved the Sunken into Buckingham Palace. But if you were in my position, you would have done exactly the same thing. By earning the King's trust, I've been able to remain in favour, and thus, I have access to Buckingham Palace via my own underground passages. I have the means – should I wish it – to commit the ultimate treasonable act."

"You mean—"

"If I wished it. We are, of course, speaking hypothetically." He moved down his workbench, inserted a fresh plate into his press, and arranged the symbols of the code Nicholas and Aaron had invented. He pulled down the handle and handed the newly inscribed plate to Nicholas.

Nicholas stared at the message, his heart pounding. Brunel outlined his plan in the coded message. What they were about to do was treason, and Brunel wasn't taking a chance that one of the King's men might be listening to their conversation.

"When will this—"

"Tonight. It must be tonight. Go out to the streets and find us a cab. I'll meet you outside the Chimney in a few minutes."

Nicholas tucked the plate in his pocket, shook Brunel's outstretched hand, and left the chamber.

As he walked back through the Engine Ward, he sensed a change in the air. Fires flared from the sewer grilles, and the crisp evening breeze carried the sound of women crying.

"Nicholas!"

He turned, recognising Aaron’s voice, who ran towards him, a stricken look on his face. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I came to talk to Brunel," said Nicholas. "Where's Chloe?"

"Safe with the other Stokers in the tunnels. I'll be joining them after I wring Brunel's neck with my own hands."

The dark tone in Aaron's voice frightened Nicholas. "You intend to kill him?"

"Five of my men died," said Aaron, his voice choking. "Killed when a pressure valve burst in one of the Boiler rooms – a valve that was in perfect working order only the previous day. Someone has to stop him—"

"Look." Nicholas handed Aaron the plate.

"Did Brunel write this? How does he know about the code—"

"Just read it."

As Aaron's fingers danced over the letters, his expression changed.

"You shouldn't be so quick to think ill of your friend. He has been manipulated into this, and he admits he hasn't navigated it in quite the best way. But he plans to fix it, tonight. And I shall go with him."

"You're going to the Palace? After what Brigitte said?"

"If nothing else, I must know the truth."

"I should come with you."

"No, Aaron. Think of how that would look. Go to your wife. Go to your people, and keep them safe. They need you."

"You're a foolish man, Nicholas. You're walking into your doom."

"Maybe so, but if returning to this city has taught me anything, it's that you have a duty to do something with the knowledge you've obtained. If I can save London from the Sunken," he shrugged, "perhaps I'll finally be at peace with my crimes."

* * *

James Holman's Memoirs – Unpublished

"What do you mean, I can't leave the city?"

"My apologies, Mr. Holman, sir." The constable adjusted his nightstick from one hand to the other, his voice betraying just how sorry he felt. Behind him, a row of surly-looking guards protected the heavy iron gate, which had been drawn shut and barred. "Boss' orders, sir. No one is to leave the city tonight. Best you go home and have a mug of cocoa, sir."

We'd already had our cocoa, and our brandy, and an entire plate of cream biscuits. Hours had passed and Nicholas had not yet returned, and we feared the worst, and Brigitte declared she could no longer remain inside the house. So we'd taken to the streets, securing the last ride at the coach house and proceeding at a snail's pace toward the gate, where we'd met this cheery fellow.

"And just who exactly is your boss?"

"My, Joseph Banks, sir. Thousand apologies, sir."

"And did he say why we are to endure this forced imprisonment?"

"No, sir. Said I had permission to shoot anyone who disobeyed. Present company excepting, of course, sir."

I sighed. In the carriage behind mine, a man yelled obscenities at another constable, obviously anxious to escape the city. A crowd of foot traffic swarmed around us, shouting in indignant surprise. Our coachman grumbled and reined in the horses, which were becoming agitated with the thickening press of people. The air crackled with tension, and it wouldn't be long before anger gave way to violence. I clasped my hand over Brigitte's, in case the horses should bolt and surprise her.

"There's nothing else for it," I said. "We shall have to find another way."

I jumped as a shot rang out in front of us, and the crowd screamed and swarmed back. I clenched Brigitte's hand as the horses squirmed. The driver yanked back the reins, turned the horses around, and asked me what I wished to do next. I told him to try the next gate.

When we arrived at the Stamford Hill gatehouse, we found the story much the same. A great horde of people were trying to escape the city and had found the road blocked. Farmers from the neighbouring villages returning from the market with empty wagons growled in gruff voices about this imprisonment. Lords and ladies attempting to flee to their country residences huffed and spluttered their indignation. The unfortunates, used to the whims of the rich affecting every aspect of their lives, said nothing at all, sloping away again into the night.

Smoke billowed from the blow-off valves positioned at intervals along the Wall, and the London air – which had never been exactly aromatic – now stank with burning coal, stinging my eyes, nose, and throat.

We got caught in a traffic jam along Holloway Road and sat next to a carriage of country ladies who had been shopping in the city while their men attended a Council meeting. They seemed unperturbed by the delays, gossiping together about the latest court scandal. I spoke to them through the window and learned that the Oxford gate entrance had been closed, too. "I don't understand what's the trouble," sniffed one of the ladies. "No one in the accursed city seems to know what's going on."

Someone knew all right, but I had a feeling he was tucked up in his Chimney, safe behind an impenetrable wall of iron.

We tried the next gate, and the next, each teaming with disgruntled commuters and backed-up coaches. The news passed from carriage to carriage. Every gate in the city had been shut on the King's orders, and we were advised to return to our residences at once. When my spirits and my pockets could take no more, I bid the driver return to Nicholas' residence, where he could collect his not insubstantial fee.

We had barely made it past Birdcage Walk in the crawling traffic when we noticed something else wasn't right. Traffic ground to a halt as every passenger, driver, and coachman turned his or her eyes toward Buckingham Palace, which Brigitte informed me had been lit by thousands of glimmering lanterns. "It shimmers like a star," she said. "And all the gardens have been strung with streamers and bright red flags. People stream from the palace doors. It looks as though the King is hosting a grand ball."

The street was now dangerously crowded. Onlookers packed the narrow footpath, pressing against each other in a desperate attempt to see inside the palace grounds.

"It seems odd word of such an occasion hasn't appeared in the papers," I said. I couldn't read the papers, of course, but the other Knights discussed them constantly.

Brigitte gripped my arm. "I'm certain there is an explanation for all this. We should find—"

She was interrupted by the ripple of panic that darted along the crowd, passed from soul to soul by some invisible force. It swept the people into a frenzy, and as one they bolted toward Westminster. Several horses reared up, and our driver expertly swung us into a side street as soon as a gap opened up. Brigitte caught a glimpse of the palace grounds as we hurtled along the fence, and cried out. "That's no party! Something is terribly wrong!"

And then the screaming began.

* * *

Aaron watched Nicholas and Isambard climb into a cab together and speed off toward Stephenson's church. Nicholas' final words to him echoed in his mind. If I can save London from the Sunken, perhaps I'll finally be at peace with my crimes. Peace. Aaron longed for peace, longed to be free of the anger that gripped his chest.

When he was certain the Ward was again deserted, he dashed across the empty Stoker workcamp to the lifts. Down he went, down past the Boilers toiling on levels C and D, down to the darkest places, where the Stokers waited for him.

He heard them as soon as the elevator clanged to a stop, drinking and talking in low, solemn voices. He stood awhile on the darkened gangway, listening, hoping to catch a smatter of conversation, to understand the sentiment of the men he would call upon tonight. Have I done right by them? Would they still follow me?

But he could hear nothing over the hum of the engines above. He stepped into the first magazine, unnoticed by the men huddled in groups on the floor, heads pressed together as they whispered to each other. Aaron touched one on the shoulder.

"Willy?"

William Stone whirled around, splashing his drink across his overalls. "Aaron? Is that you? I can hardly see in this gloom."

Aaron stepped into the light of the lantern.

"Did you find him? Is everything going to be all right?" William asked.

Aaron paused. "I don't know. William, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry you lost your son. I'm sorry I didn't figure this out sooner. I hated it from the start, but I didn't have a—" He stopped. There's always a choice. "I did the cowardly thing, and it cost us all dearly. I didn't know what to do. That makes a man angry, do you see?"

William nodded.

"Do you still trust me?"

William nodded again.

"Something terrible will strike in London tonight, and I'm damned if I'm going to stand by and watch it destroy this city. I need you to round up every able-bodied man willing to return to the surface with me, and any weapon you can find, and meet me outside the South Gate in thirty minutes."

"What are we—" But Aaron had already left him.

He found Chloe in the second battery, with the other women, fast asleep with her back leaning up against the wall and her hands clasped tightly around his battered barker. Aaron ran his hand over her soft hair and eased the weapon from her grip. "Sleep well, my wife," he said. "I am sorry. For everything."

He met William on the gangway, with forty men in tow, each man carrying weapons of varying levels of effectiveness. The sight of them made Aaron's chest swell with pride.

"I know you've never been taught to equate the word ’Stoker’ with bravery," he said, "but in the last three days you've all proved your worth a thousand times over. When Isambard was accepted into the engineering elite, we all held him up as a model Stoker, the man we could all aspire to be. But Isambard isn't one of us, not really, not anymore. And he makes mistakes, just like any of us – the trouble is, when a great man makes mistakes, the consequences are hundredfold, spreading out into the world and infecting those around him. When that happens, when the great men of this world fall into darkness, it's up to ordinary men like us to bring them back to the light.

"If we don't do something, this city will burn tonight, and vile creatures the likes of which you cannot even fathom will be set loose upon her streets. London has never been kind to us, and I, like many of you, would rather hide down here and let them suffer, but these creatures … they will find us. And it will be your women and your children who will be defiled and devoured. The army will not stand against them … the Metropolitan Police are useless, but we Dirty Folk, we Stokers, we will be the ones to save this city."

The men yelled their approval, and crowded into the stairwell and lift shafts in their haste to get to the surface. William looked at Aaron, tears in his eyes. Aaron smiled back.

If Nicholas wants to throw in his lot with Brunel, that's his business, but we have a city to save.

* * *

Deep below Stephenson's church, Nicholas followed Brunel down a long tunnel; his back bent double to prevent scraping himself on the roof. The barrel of his pistol jammed in his hip, and once again, he bent down to adjust the belt.

Brunel kept up a vigorous pace, despite the heavy rucksack of equipment on his back. He would not look back or wait for Nicholas, who at times had to sprint to catch up.

Suddenly, Brunel stopped. Nicholas stumbled over him, fumbling wildly to keep the lamp from smashing against the stone floor. "What did you—"

Brunel held up his hand, and Nicholas fell silent. "Can you hear that?"

He could. If he closed his eyes, he could hear faint sounds from the city above: carriage wheels bouncing over the cobbles, the clank and grind of London's great machines. And over this, faint but unmistakable, he heard screaming. Women and men screaming, and heavy footfalls as hordes of Londoners rushed back and forth, shrieking all the while.

"We're late," whispered Brunel. "It's already begun."

Nicholas thought of Brigitte, and Holman, shut up at his home. Please, Great Conductor, let them be safe there.

"We're nearly there," Brunel said. "The station is right underneath the Palace."

After a time, the tunnel narrowed, pressing against Nicholas' shoulder, so he had to squeeze through sideways. He tried not to think of Aaron's men, holed up in tunnels such as these, mourning the deaths of five of their number. He followed Brunel up a narrow staircase and found himself on the platform at an underground station.

The whole structure glowed with eerie yellow light, illuminated by wall sconces and moonlight shining through grates in the ceiling. An opulent, tiled platform stretched on into the distance, much longer and wider than Nicholas expected. Surely Aaron was wrong … surely machines didn't create all this?

A huge, black locomotive waited at the platform, steam still curling around her. She had not long been used. Several carriages waited behind her, and as Nicholas walked past them, he could see dark smudges across the walls. Blood.

"It's not perfect," whispered Brunel, stretching out his fingers to touch the locomotive. "I designed it myself, but Banks insisted on letting Stephenson look it over. He installed the vents to carry the steam and smoke out of the tunnel, but they don't work as efficiently as I'd hoped. Actually, they don't seem to work at all. When you exit the train, it feels as though you are walking into the smoky pits of hell."

Nicholas nodded, too stunned to speak.

A grand staircase wound up into the palace proper, but Brunel led him through a nondescript wooden door down a stairwell and up into a steep vertical shaft. A ladder made of iron pins mounted into the stone served as the means of ascent.

"I had this built secretly, while we constructed the platform," said Brunel, heaving his broad figure up onto the first rung. "When I first laid eyes on those deplorable creatures and was given the job of constructing this railway, I knew the time would come when I would need it."

"How far must we go?" Nicholas asked, slipping his hand through the metal handle of the lantern and grabbing the first rung.

"Not too far," answered Brunel, in a tone that implied he climbed precarious ladders up thin ventilation shafts every other day.

Up and up they climbed, Nicholas holding his breath and trying to ignore the heat from the lantern as it banged against his arm. Brunel stopped, pushed open a tiny trapdoor, and wriggled his way through. Nicholas followed, squeezing his shoulders together and thrusting himself through on a jaunty angle. He slammed his shoulders on cold stone and slid a few feet down a winding staircase.

"Servants’ access," Brunel whispered. "We must hurry."

A strange noise penetrated Nicholas' ears, a kind of buzzing, almost like a swarm of insects trapped behind the walls. From somewhere within the palace, more screams echoed, and the fear tightened in his chest. As quietly and quickly as they could, they descended the steps into a long, low hall, with thin wooden doors on either side, probably leading to more halls – a maze of passages extending throughout the palace grounds, to allow servants ease of access to every room without being a nuisance to the royal family and their guests.

Brunel led the way, strangely confident of his path for someone who should never have spent much time wandering through servants' passages. The sound was even louder here, and Nicholas thought perhaps he heard individual voices, hissing and crying, producing the hideous cacophony. He remembered what Aaron had said, and wondered if Aaron had been correct in no longer trusting Brunel.

Maybe I'm being led into a trap … he remembered how frightened he'd been when Brunel held him aloft over the pulpit. No. He shook his head, trying to shake off the thoughts. No. Brunel was angry with me, and rightly so. He is placing himself at great risk to save the city. I trust him.

They rounded a corner, and thumped down a flight of small steps. At the bottom, Brunel stopped abruptly, and Nicholas crashed into him, sending the pair of them into the stone wall.

"Arch!" Nicholas cried as his head scraped against bare stone. His vision blurred, and pain shot through his skull. From somewhere outside the pain he became aware that Brunel had picked himself up, and was facing away from him, his back rigid.

And then he heard the animalian snarl from somewhere in the darkness, and his chest tightened in fear.

"Nicholas," Brunel said, his voice strained. "You need to get up and run back down the passage. You need to go now!"

Seizing every ounce of courage, Nicholas heaved himself to his feet. His vision swam and he toppled forward, grabbing the edge of the stone staircase, and scrambled away, barely able to tell if he were going up or down. He heard Brunel cry out behind him, but he couldn't look back. He ran, his feet sliding out from under him on the slippery stone.

Down the corridor he stumbled, around one corner and the next, not sure where he was going. Footsteps thundered behind him. "Nicholas!" Brunel called out. "Not that way!"

He reeled around, the hallway spinning in a whirlpool of shadows. He stumbled into the wall, banging his temple against a protruding candle sconce. Black dots appeared in his vision. The creature hissed, so close now, he could hear it breathing, panting, and salivating for his flesh. I'm going to die, he thought. I'm going to die here in the palace and I'll never see Brigitte again.

Brunel grabbed his shoulder and shoved him forward. Nicholas stumbled over his feet, falling forward, spinning out of control. Rough hands yanked him back, and Brunel groped for the pistol on his belt. The creature hissed again, and pounced. Nicholas caught a blurry glimpse of that horrid, disfigured face and bulging eyes as it tore at his shirt with emaciated fingers. He shut his eyes and waited for the pain.

The gun went off, and the creature screamed. Its hands tore from Nicholas' chest as it bounced against the wall. It crashed in a heap, squirming and screaming as it clutched at the wound. Brunel leaned over it, and stomped on its neck. Once, twice … Nicholas heard the bones crunch … and it was dead.

"Are you all right? Did it bite you?" It was Brunel's voice in his ear, softer now. He pulled Nicholas to the ground and inspected his chest.

"No … I don't think so."

Brunel untied the powder horn from Nicholas' belt and refilled the barrel, using the ramrod to pat it down. He wrapped a ball in wadding and dropped that in on top, then handed the pistol back to Nicholas.

His vision stopped swimming, and the dim world came into focus once more. His head throbbed, but he thought he might be over the worst of it. In front of him, on the stone ground, the creature twitched, groaning as it sank into death. Nicholas leaned over, straining his eyes for a look.

It had once been a man, and wore a tattered tunic and trousers much like Nicholas' own, but the resemblance ended there. The skin on its face and arms hung from the bones like wet sailcloth, slick with sweat and mucus that oozed from the hundreds of weeping boils that covered its skin. The eyes bulged from the skull like a reptile, and Nicholas recoiled as these blinked once before rolling back in the creature’s head. Where the mouth had once been was now a gaping hole, surrounded by charred flesh. The jawbone protruded, stained green by a diet of lead, and a metal protrusion extended from the cheeks and chest, like unholy surgeries gone wrong, surrounded by more patches of charred, broken skin.

"This is madness."

Brunel tugged his jacket. "More will be coming for us soon, if we don't get to the King's private chamber. Are you able to walk?"

"I think so. My head hurts, but the dizziness has subsided."

"Good."

Something skittered along the corridor. They both whipped their heads around, but couldn't see anything. Brunel tightened his fingers around Nicholas' arm.

"We need to leave these tunnels, immediately," said Brunel. "Follow me, and for Great Conductor's sake, don't fall again."

* * *

James Holman's Memoirs – Unpublished

It was not party guests who swarmed from the palace gates, but hundreds of hissing, snapping creatures. They fanned out across the street and ducked and weaved around the carriages. I heard the unmistakable sound of teeth tearing flesh, of bones being crushed as the creatures tore down their first victims. Two vehicles careened down the street beside us, a pair of snarling creatures in hot pursuit.

The Sunken were not locked away inside the palace, but had been let loose here, on the streets, to tear the population of London limb from limb.

"Nicholas!" Brigitte grabbed my hand. "He wanted to stop them. James, what if he went into the palace? We must go to him!"

Before I could dissuade her, she ordered the coachman to turn the carriage around and drive with all speed toward the palace. "Bugger that, you're a madwoman!" he cried, slowing the coach, leaping off and sprinting away into the night. A sensible lad, if ever I saw one.

Brigitte pulled herself onto the coachman's bench and gathered up the reins. "Holman, I need help!"

"Hand me the reins," I said, clambering onto the bench beside her, "but you'll need to direct us."

And for the second time that day I found myself, a blind man, on the footplate of a carriage, navigating a horse and cart through London's narrow streets when they swarmed with terrified citizens and lead-soaked vampires. We turned off the main road and careened through the smaller, narrower streets at a pace I wasn't entirely comfortable with, Brigitte calling out directions and me trying frantically to learn the right signals for left, right, stop, about turn. All around us, bedlam reigned. Terrified people ran in all directions, throwing themselves to the road to be crushed by the carriage wheels rather than succumb to the tortures that awaited them.

Phantom hands groped at my legs, crying out to be let on the carriage, but I knew if I stopped we'd share the same fate as Miss Julie and Rebecca and poor, sweet Cassandra. Men shouted at me, women sobbed, bodies pressed against the wheels before being dragged under. I felt their bones breaking as we wheeled over the top, but we could not stop. And over it all, that inhuman sound of the Sunken hissing, snarling, and tearing apart their victims in their frenzy.

* * *

Through the gates of Engine Ward they rolled, two abreast, like an army spilling forth from a fortress of steel. Some carried weapons – hoses and blades and crude bludgeoning devices. But all carried a fire in their belly. All carried a message from their master.

The Boilers fanned out across the city, placing themselves at strategic points around the palace, spreading out across the boulevards, weaving around the traffic, smashing their way through roadblocks and buildings, relentless in their haste to carry out their mission.

Their instructions were explicit; destroy the lead creatures. Destroy them all.

* * *

Charles and Francesca Babbage had just seen the last of their dinner guests to the door. Francesca pulled the downstairs curtains while Charles lovingly carried his miniature Difference Engine back to the study and locked it in the cabinet under his desk.

He was just replacing the key in the spring-loaded secret drawer behind his typewriter, when Francesca called him from the hallway. He went to see what was the matter and found his wife with her head pressed against the front window.

"Something's happening out on the street," she said. "I heard a woman screaming. I'm worried about the Faradays. We only just sent them on their way – what if they're being mugged right at this very moment!"

Charles stared into the dark street, but could see nothing amiss, save the outline of a lone organ grinder pacing the curb in front of the house. He gritted his teeth in irritation, and was just about to tell his wife it must have been the wind when a piercing shriek cut through his thoughts.

"See?" said Francesca. "What if that's Mrs. Faraday?"

The song of the organ grinder – a tuneless version of "The Stoker and the Navvy's Wife" – suddenly ceased.

Babbage threw open the door. "Hand me that lantern," he ordered his wife.

He stood on the stoop, still in his evening finery, and shone the lantern into the darkness. It was no good. The city hadn't got around to installing street lamps in their neighbourhood yet, and the houses on either side of him had their lights off, so he could barely see across the street. He descended the steps, straining in the darkness to see if the Faradays’ carriage was anywhere in sight.

He heard a scream again, from the eastern end of the street, probably the organ grinder trying to lure him out into the street. But no, the organ lay on its side at the bottom of the steps, the grinder nowhere in sight. He squinted at the cobbles. Is that blood? He stepped onto the road, thinking to walk as far as the corner to investigate.

Something hissed as it brushed past him and leapt up the steps.

He whirled around in time to see a blur of movement as the intruder disappeared through the open door. He heaved himself up the steps, and pushed the door open just as Francesca let out a wail.

He shone the light into the dim hall and froze. The sight that greeted him cooled his blood. His wife, backed up against the bookshelf, faced a creature so loathsome it must have come from the very pits of hell. It walked like a man, but hissed and snarled like a predator, gnashing its teeth against its puckered, blackened jaws.

"Hey, demon, over here!" The creature whirled around, its bulging eyes narrowing on Babbage. He inched along the wall toward the hat stand, where his walking cane rested in the basket. Inside was concealed a thin, retractable blade.

The creature took a tentative step towards him, a dry hiss emitting from its puckered, burnt mouth. Not daring to take his eyes off the creature, Babbage fumbled with his fingers and grasped the handle of his cane. He gestured to his wife to move toward the staircase.

He pulled the cane to his chest and pressed the spring-loaded catch. Francesca bolted for the staircase. The creature's eyes darted between the two of them, then sprang onto the balustrade and lunged for Francesca.

Her scream tore Babbage's heart. The creature caught her by the throat and bit her, tearing the flesh from her cheek. Babbage raced across the hall, knife poised for the kill, but by the time he reached her, it was too late. With a twist of its head, the creature tore out her throat, and his beautiful wife fell silent and sagged against the staircase, her blood cascading over the creature like a waterfall.

Babbage howled as he bore down on the beast, slashing with the knife and tearing at it with his bare hands. He dug his fingers into those bulging eyes and felt the hatred surge. The creature squirmed and screamed for escape. With a final bellow of triumph, he thrust the knife deep into the creature's chest, driving it through the ribcage and into the heart, if it even had a heart. He twisted the blade, and the creature sagged.

He threw the beast to the floor, his rage unquenched. With tears clouding his eyes, he kicked the body, stomped on the head. He screamed as he pummelled the fiend with his best leather boots, trampling its oozing viscera into the hallway carpet.

In defeat and disgust, he turned away.

"Francesca," he knelt beside her. The creature had torn open her bodice, ripping the buttons from her favourite dress. It had also torn off most of her face, leaving her beautiful visage a pooling mess of veins and muscle. Her eyes, still intact, stared at the ceiling. He cradled her in his arms, pressing his face to her chest and hoping to hear the faint beat of her heart.

Outside, in the street, the organ grinder started up again, tuneless and ugly. His shoulders shuddered with sobs, and he threw himself down next to her and howled with pain.

* * *

Brunel pushed open a wooden door leading into one of the opulent connecting halls of the southern wing of the palace. Although they could hear screaming from the palace staff while the Sunken feasted on what they fancied, the sounds were muted, confined to the Georgian wing.

Nicholas followed Brunel through a series of halls and drawing rooms, each more opulent than the last. The sounds of the madness faded, ‘till he could almost pretend the horror was all in his imagination.

Outside the entrance to the King's private wing, Brunel dragged him behind a door and gestured to the pistol on his belt. Nicholas drew the barker, and Isambard silently slid his sword from its sheath. Isambard gestured for Nicholas to go ahead.

Nicholas sucked in his breath, held the pistol against his shoulder, and crept up to the heavy doors. He wondered, briefly, why the door was bolted on the outside. As silently as he could, he slid the bolts across, leaned his shoulder against the carved wood, and pushed inward. The door opened, revealing a dark, empty reception hall.

I am going to kill the King of England.

The thought stopped Nicholas cold. He'd been so worried about the Sunken, so concerned for the welfare of the city and for Brigitte's safety, that he hadn't contemplated the deed ‘till now. If he killed the King, he would be a traitor. He would be a murderer. He could be put on trial and hanged, and he'd deserve it, too, for betraying his King and country.

"Isambard?" he whispered, hearing his mentor step behind him. "We can't kill the King."

"Shhhh!"

"It's treason. We will hang for this."

"It needs to be done, Nicholas. He cannot be allowed to live. Trust me. I will look after you."

Nicholas made to protest some more, but Brunel held his finger to his lips.

Around the corner, Brunel pushed open a wide double door, and the horrible stench of raw, rotting meat invaded Nicholas' nostrils. He gagged, covering his mouth with his hand to try and keep out the smell.

More doors, more empty rooms. They passed into the inner sanctum – the private chambers of His Majesty King George III. As Nicholas' eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could see what made the horrid smell.

Scattered about the room, piled on the bed, hunched by the curtains, lay the torn, twisted bodies of several young girls. Naked and sprawled in vulgar positions, their limbs scattered about them, their bellies torn open and organs strewn across the floor, tangled about the satin pillows and Turkish rugs.

Hunched over the broken corpses, more women – their naked backs puckered with pustules and scars – chewed on discarded limbs, digging their long, thin fingers into the bellies and stuffing whatever delicacies they could find into their gaping mouths.

Nicholas pressed his hand to his mouth, forcing himself to follow Brunel, ignoring the bile rising in his throat. The smell made his head spin – the putrid stench of a slaughterhouse and a public urinal washed over him.

Look at your boots. Just don't look at them. He followed at Brunel's heels, his hand pressed tightly against his mouth, as they moved, unnoticed, through this monstrous feast, out through the doors onto the King's private balcony.

And there he stood – George III, the maker of this madness, the Vampire King. He hunched over the railing, sickly, but strong enough to stand. His thin fingers gripped the wrought iron lattice, and he stared out into the night, drinking in the chaos he had wrought. His wheeled-chair lay in pieces, strewn across the balcony, the axles bent at unnatural angles and great chunks of flesh hanging limply from the torn ribbons of its upholstery.

The screams from the city rolled over them, wave after wave of terror that rocked Nicholas on his feet. In the courtyard below, soldiers fought against the Sunken, wrestling the loathsome creatures to the ground and slitting their throats with their curved rapiers. But they were few, and they would soon be overpowered. The battle had long been won.

"Your Majesty." Brunel spoke.

The King whirled around, and Nicholas cried out and staggered back. Where his face should have been was nothing but a raw, blistering, bloody pulp, the eyes grey and bulging, the lips burnt away to reveal jagged, rotting teeth. The skin was pulled from the bones and hung in bulbous clumps under his cheeks, and through the mess ran ribbons of cold lead, solid bars nailed right through his bones, as if those protrusions were all that kept his body strung together.

The thing that had once been the King of England opened its jaw, and Nicholas thought it would snarl like the Sunken, but instead, it spoke, in the rough, commanding tone of a ruler whose time had only just begun.

"Have you seen my city, Presbyter? She has never been as beautiful as she is tonight, with her streets bedecked in red ribbons and the song of her people arching across the skies."

Isambard said nothing. He took a tentative step forward, and unsheathed his sword.

The King threw back his head, and laughed.

"Don't point that needle at me," he said. "I have drunk the blood of hundreds of men. I am immortal. You will not kill me."

Before Nicholas could cry out or turn away, Brunel flicked the blade up, and sliced clean through the King's neck.

The head balanced in mid-air for a moment, as though suspended on strings like a balloon. And then it fell, bouncing on the balustrade and toppling into the courtyard below, landing with a splat upon the tiles and strewing across the pavement. The King's body crumpled against the railing.

Brunel lowered the sword, his eyes downcast, expressionless. "It's over," he said.

"No." Nicholas whirled around, raising his pistol. "It's not."

Noticing at last the two intruders and the crumpled body of their master, the Sunken had discarded their morsels and rushed towards the balcony door, clawing the air with their sharpened nails, eager to be the first to devour the murderers.

Isambard sized up the horde in one glance, and flung himself over the balcony.

Nicholas leaned out over the balustrade, horrified he might see his friend sprawled across the courtyard in a pool of his own blood. Instead, Brunel swung from a window cornice, his right coat arm pulled back to reveal a remarkable device strapped to his skin – a metallic claw which had extended and gripped the edge of the cornice, supporting the engineer's full weight while he fumbled, one-handed, with a rope.

"Isambard!"

"Only a few moments more," Brunel called up, securing the rope with a knot. He swung the end up, and Nicholas reached out. Missed. Something grazed his back. He swung up his shoulder and knocked the creature across the face, the force of his blow sending it flying over the balustrade.

He fired his pistol into the approaching horde, knocking another to the ground. The others, wary now, stepped back. He reached out, Brunel swung the rope again, and this time he caught it.

Without stopping to look down Nicholas leapt off the balcony and swung out toward Brunel. The rope sliced through his fingers and he slipped down, crying out as the palace wall careened into view. Suddenly, the rope pulled taut, and the shock released his hands, and he fell backward.

"Oh no, you don't." Something cold grabbed the top of his arm. He dared to look up. Brunel gripped his shoulder with his strange metal claw, the mechanism somehow supporting his entire weight.

"The rope, on your left – grab it!"

Nicholas reached for it, gripped it with both hands, and swung across. Brunel unlocked the claw from his shoulder and retracted it into his sleeve. He hung from the windowsill, his weight on the rope allowing Nicholas to plant his feet against the wall and guide himself down. When his feet landed in the soft earth of the flower beds, he tied the rope around his waist and sat back, allowing Brunel to climb down.

Isambard landed beside Nicholas in the flower bed, stopping to untangle the rope from his waist, and wiped the sweat from his brow. As Nicholas struggled to calm his frenzied stomach, he noticed his friend didn't even seem out of breath.

"What was that?"

"What was what?" Brunel jumped down from the flower bed, unsheathed his sword, and held out a hand to help Nicholas, who still felt shaky on his feet.

"That … thing that came out of your shoulder. That machine that saved my life."

"Oh," Brunel replied, flashing him a wicked smile. "You'll learn all about that soon, Nicholas. I promise. At this moment," he pointed across the courtyard to where a horde of Sunken had gathered, swarming over the bodies of the guards on duty, "we have more pressing issues at hand."

Nicholas gripped Brunel's arm, his nails digging into his friend's flesh. Guards screamed as the creatures pounced on them, tearing the flesh from their faces with their teeth. One wrenched a guard's arm so hard Nicholas heard the snap as the bone broke in two. The man howled as the Sunken gnawed at his wound.

Run. Get out. He tried to force his body to move, but he was frozen in place, unable to tear his eyes away from the horror before him. His heart thundered in his chest, and blood rushed to his head.

"They should be here." Brunel whispered beside him. "Why aren't they here?"

Nicholas wanted to ask what he was talking about, but his tongue had frozen to the roof of his mouth.

One of the Sunken raised his head, sniffing the air. He turned, and his cold, hungry eyes found Nicholas. The creature snarled, and leapt forward, racing across the courtyard toward them.

Paralysed by his fear, Nicholas could only stare at the animal eyes of the creature as it closed the distance between them. At any moment it would pounce, and his life would be over. I'm sorry, Brigitte. I hope you are safe—

At the corner of the courtyard, Nicholas saw something flash; a glint of metal under the lamps. Suddenly, a jet of water shot across his vision, catching the creature on the head and knocking it down. The Sunken screamed, pawing at its face with clawed fingers, crying in agony as its skin fell away under the stream of boiling water.

"Let's go." Brunel tugged on Nicholas' arm, but he still couldn't move. He watched, horrified, as more Boilers poured into the courtyard and set upon the Sunken. The creatures dropped their victims and raced to deal with this new threat, leaping and crawling over the machines as they swung with pipes and blades.

One Sunken tried to sink his teeth into a Boiler's belly, but the Boiler swatted it away. The creature sailed through the air, landing in a marble fountain. It slumped in the water, not moving, a pool of red spreading out from its body and a stream of blood pouring from the broken teeth in its mouth.

Another Boiler picked a creature off his shoulder and flung it into the palace wall. Its skull cracked open, leaving a red stain across the stone as it fell to the ground.

The Sunken began to hang back, confused. They didn't understand why they couldn't eat the Boilers. Their hungry eyes darted anxiously between the units, searching for escape. But the Boilers soon had them surrounded, and began to roll forward as one unit, weapons raised, faceless soldiers moving in for the kill.

They used to be men. I am watching the Boilers ruthlessly, mechanically, killing men.

"How did the Boilers know to come here?" Nicholas asked.

"Because, I told them to," Brunel met his eyes. "I figured we would need their help. We must go, Nicholas. There is nothing left to do here."

With a last look over his shoulder at the carnage, Nicholas allowed Brunel to lead him away to the edge of the courtyard.

* * *

"William, there's another one!"

Lead pipe raised above his head, William let out a roar and swung it down hard on the creature's head. Its skull split in two with a sickening crack, spewing blood and gore across William's already filthy face. He swung again, flinging the limp body into the window of a ladies’ hat shop, where it slid down the glass and rolled into the gutter.

"That's for my son, you filthy leadbag," William growled.

They charged along Oxford Street, dodging crowds of scattering citizens. Out of the corner of his eye, Aaron saw two of his boys bring down another of the Sunken, hacking it with their axes ‘till it was reduced to a bloody puddle.

They'd barely run a block when they heard more screams, and turned off Oxford, following the sounds of shrieking women ‘till they stood outside the British Museum. Two Sunken circled a crowd of tourists, pouncing whenever someone tried to dash away. They huddled in a protective circle in the corner of the courtyard – women and children in the middle, men facing the beasts, their stricken faces betraying their terror.

Panicked scholars poured from the ramshackle Montagu House, only to be met by this monstrous pair. Men ran across the courtyard, letters flying everywhere, pursued by the Sunken, who had the instincts of true predators – pick off and corner the weak and the slow. They pounced on two men hobbling along on walking canes, slashing and gnashing with their terrible teeth, ‘till the men went down in a fury of blood.

While they were feasting, Aaron and William charged them with their axes, hacking their heads off from behind the neck. His blood boiling, Aaron cried as he swung, like a medieval warrior clamouring for blood. Again and again he hacked, the creature's blood splattering across his face and overalls,’ till well after the creature was dead. William had to pull him away.

"Plenty more where that came from, boyo!"

Aaron turned away, wiped the blood from his eyes, and followed William down to Fleet Street. They chased the screams along the Strand, toward Somerset House, the imposing residence of the Royal Society. Several Sunken crowded around the grand entrance, crawling over each other in a great pile, snarling and snipping at their comrades as they lunged at their prey.

"Holy Conductor's Turds," breathed William.

A shout from behind Aaron tore his gaze away. A group of men approached him, their fine coats stained with blood. Londoners from the nearby well-to-do neighbourhoods, these men carried fine swords and loaded pistols. Their leader signalled that they wished to help, and Aaron called his men back. They stood, gasping for breath, allowing these fresh-faced chaps the honour of hacking down the monsters.

They attacked with gusto, flinging each corpse aside and pulling out the next one, bellowing praises to their various gods as they swung and slashed and stabbed. The swords, thin and flimsy, sang as they sliced through the air, removing limbs and heads as though they were slicing fruit fresh from a tree.

At the centre of the horde, they saw what the Sunken had been scrabbling for: Joseph Banks, or what was left of him. One of his hands still clutched the ornate door handle of Somerset House, but his hand was no longer attached to any other part of his body. He must've been trying to escape when they set upon him. His body slumped forward, and his face twisted around his neck so he faced the sky, his mouth open in a silent, terrible scream. His flesh, muscles, and organs had been torn away, leaving only cracked bones dripping with gore.

Aaron turned away, his stomach heaving. He bent over, trying to calm himself. William grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him away.

"You can stop this now. They're saying the King is dead!" he cried. "They are shouting it from rooftop to rooftop. Listen!"

Aaron gazed up. Sure enough, a cry had been taken up, passed from citizen to citizen. "The King is dead! The King is dead!" The sound of those four words was as sweet as a symphony to Aaron's ears.

"We did it, William," Aaron huffed, as two Stokers pulled down another creature and stabbed it through the chest. "The Stokers saved London."

William shook his head. "Not the Stokers. Look."

He pointed up the street. Aaron squinted, and could just make out a horde of Sunken running into an alley, screaming as they fell over each other in an attempt to flee their pursuers. He heard the sound of steam rushing through chimneys, of gears turning and wheels clanking. He knew before he saw them what pursued the Sunken so relentlessly. Boilers. Boilers chased the Sunken into the alley, surrounded them, and hacked them down with blades already slick with blood. One creature leapt over the wall of iron soldiers, only to be hit with a stream of boiling water from one of the Boiler's hoses. It fell to the ground, screaming as its skin was scorched away. A great cheer rose up from the people crowding the streets. "Long live Brunel!" They cried. "Long live the Metal Messiah!"

Aaron slumped to the ground. Of course. Brunel had set everything up so neatly. He had laid the trap, he had set the Sunken loose within the Walls, and then he sent his mechanical army into battle to reclaim the city. Now the king was dead and all of London was praising his name.

Brunel and his machines had saved the city. And Aaron had made the Stokers into Brunel's enemies.

I've doomed us all.

* * *

James Holman's Memoirs – Unpublished

With no regard for propriety or London's traffic laws, Brigitte ordered me to swing the carriage through the palace gates. We careened up the drive, the horse snorting in protest as I drove them onward at a frantic pace. The Sunken, aroused by the scent of fresh meat, raced from every corner of the lawn to circle our carriage. I heard them snarling around us, and felt the carriage judder as one flung itself at the canopy, its hands swiping at our heads. Brigitte screamed, and I ducked, yanking the reins. The horses swerved, flinging the Sunken off the carriage into the screaming horde.

"Over there!" she cried, tugging my arm. "Oh, James, it's Nicholas. He's alive!"

I turned hard left, dashing several sculpted flowerbeds under the horse's hooves, and pushed the horses at full speed across the lawn. The heavy stone palace raced alongside, and the Sunken still circled, teeth snapping in anticipation of a fresh meal.

"James!"

It is Nicholas. I slowed, wondering how I would make it to him without having the carriage overrun by Sunken. A heavy object thudded on the roof of the canopy, followed by another. "Go, man, go!" Nicholas screamed, and I took off, flying those horses for all they were worth.

"They're everywhere!" Brigitte cried.

"I'm aware of that," I snapped, trying to focus on getting the carriage safely outside the palace gates.

"No, not the Sunken. Boilers! They are chasing down the creatures."

I focused my hearing. She was right. The sounds around me had changed. Before, we had been surrounded by the snarling, snapping creatures. Now, the hiss of steam and the clang of metal hitting metal punctuated the air, broken only by the screams of the Sunken as the Boilers took them down.

We hurtled through the gate at top speed, and tore out into the street, leaving those horrible animalian screams behind us. Only when we were back on the street and Brigitte reported no Sunken in sight did I slow the horses and allow Nicholas and his companion to climb down into the carriage.

"James Holman, you bloody scoundrel. You were meant to remain in my home to protect Brigitte, not take her on a midnight carriage ride through a blood-soaked city! And why are you, of all people, driving this carriage?"

"Needs must be met, when a woman is distraught and the city is overrun with lead-soaked vampires," I answered. "Where to, gentlemen?"

"To Engine Ward, please," said a familiar voice – grating and controlled. Isambard. I nodded, and pulled back out into the empty streets.

"For once, James had nothing to do with this," said Brigitte. "It was all my idea. I couldn't bear the thought of you out here trying to save the city singlehandedly."

"Woman, you are incorrigible. I may as well marry Holman here for all the grief you cause me."

"What happened, Nicholas? What have you done?" Brigitte demanded.

Isambard answered. "Nicholas and I have … solved the problem. My Boilers will take care of the rest." He leaned forward, clasping his hand over my shoulder. "A real pleasure to see you again, James. I see you have not lost your bold spirit."

"Even my lust for adventure has been tested tonight," I said, shuddering under the touch of his cold hand. "People have been shouting that Somerset House is overrun with the Sunken – you are very lucky to be alive. I would pay you the correct observances, Presbyter, but under the circumstances I think we can both agree that would be unwise."

"Indeed. Drive on, Mr. Holman. And call me Isambard."

The news of the King's death had spread through the streets. All around us we heard people shouting from window to window, their voices rising with joy as they passed on the happy news. The Sunken had all but disappeared from the main streets, butchered or chased away by the Boilers. Only scattered screams in the distance reminded us the fight still continued.

Inside the carriage, however, all remained quiet. Beside me, Brigitte still gripped my hand, speaking only to give me directions in a small, frightened voice. Finally, she broke the silence.

"Forgive me for what I am about to say, but … won't you be … is the … will you be punished for what you have done?" she directed the question at everyone, but it was clear she worried for Nicholas. I worried also, knowing full well the penalty for such an act as they had committed.

"That remains to be seen," Brunel answered. "Is it treason to kill someone who was already dead? Most of the King's supporters on the Council died alongside him tonight, and he has no immediate heirs. We have done England a great service, Miss Brigitte, and she will look after us."

"But—"

"Don't fear, my love." Nicholas leaned over, placing his hand on top of Brigitte's and mine. "The worst is behind us. From now on, every day will be filled with promise. Nothing approaching this scale of horror could ever be repeated."

How wrong he turned out to be.

* * *

They poured down the street like a river, their furnace bellies glowing in the moonlight, their blades slicing the air like a siren's song, calling the Sunken to their doom. They fell into formation with languid ease, as if they had fought off hordes of once-human-lead-vampires hundreds of times before. Descending upon the city with immaculate precision, they finished what the Stokers had begun – sweeping the streets clean of the Sunken.

Aaron could only pull the Stokers back, well clear of the carnage, and watch the Boilers with a mixture of reverence and disgust. Wiping the blood from his face, the full horror of what he'd fought against came crashing down on him. Watching the Boilers at work – the ease with which they mowed down their enemy, the ruthlessness of their mechanical blows – forced him to see them as something other than a mechanical workforce; they were a true killing machine, answering only to one master. The notion struck his heart with a deeper feeling of fear and unease than he'd felt all night.

William patted his shoulder. "Time to go home," he said.

Home. Aaron shuddered. We have no home anymore.

They trudged back toward Engine Ward, the only place they could go, their spirits broken, their bodies shaking off the thrill of the killing and taking up the burden of their belated terror. All around them, the night's horror forced itself upon them. The dead littered the streets, piled up in the doorways, draped across the gutters and sprawled in mangled heaps under the wheels of wrecked carriages. Blood mixed with raindrops and flooded through the cobbles, collecting in the drains and forming scarlet ponds that glimmered in the moonlight.

So many dead, and for what? What could drive a king to this madness, and what made Isambard allow him to do so? He could have stopped this. He should have stopped this. So many have died so he could be the saviour of London.

They marched through the gates of Engine Ward, wishing only to sink back down into their tunnels and sleep off the horrors of the night. But the madness on the streets outside had penetrated the high walls of the Ward, for men and women ran through the streets, torches blazing, drums beating, voices screaming and cackling as they rushed in and out of narrow streets and ramshackle buildings.

Aaron pulled his men into an alley. "It seems we're not out of danger yet. If the Sunken have penetrated Engine Ward—"

"But why is the Chimney ablaze with light?"

"And why is everyone singing?"

"Singing?"

William peeked around the corner. "I don't believe it."

Aaron leaned out, and he couldn't believe it, either.

It wasn't a massacre, but a celebration, and it was attracting a great crowd of people, who poured in through the main entrance. Priests from the Metic and Isis churches rolled barrels of wine from their cellars into the streets and pried them open, while eager hands dived in, bottles and tankards at the ready. Men dragged instruments from their homes – strange devices made from steel pipes, broken steam valves, and empty drums. A great cacophony rose up – grating at first, but as the musicians found their places, it became melodious, a dance to lift the heart of the Engine Ward. Multi-coloured robes of every sect intermingled, twirling and weaving through the streets, dancing together, the wearers laughing with each other.

As they walked, awestruck, toward the Chimney, hands reached out to embrace them, voices calling blessings and thanks. Their praises brought smiles to Aaron’s men, and as they neared the Chimney, he saw the lanterns had been flicked on, and a group of revellers congregated on the steps, dressed in dirty overalls, but welcomed by all and wrapped up in the frenzy of the dance. They were led by a familiar figure, draped in grey and handing out candies to laughing children. He bolted into the street before William could grab him.

"Chloe, what are you doing up here?"

"You left me all alone in that hovel," she snapped. "We could hear the screaming through the vents. What was I supposed to do, Aaron? Wait for them to break into the Engine Ward and devour us? I heard them, everywhere I heard their horrible snarls, and you were gone, so I came here – we all came up here – to see what could be done."

"What has happened here?" Aaron grabbed his wife by the shoulders. "Why is everyone celebrating? The Sunken are not yet defeated. We've lost two men, and the city is drowning under the weight of the dead. What could there possibly be to celebrate?"

"Haven't you heard? The King is dead," she answered, her face breaking into a smile. "Brunel has killed him. The Council has seized control of England. The Boilers are rounding up the rest of the Lead Children as we speak."

"I heard, but—" But what about the Stokers? What about all we did?

"Long live Brunel!" The shout rang out from the horde of Stokers.

"Long live Brunel!" The cry was taken up by the other men congregating in the streets – Metics, Morpheans, Dirigires, all chanting praise to Brunel. Aaron stepped back, his stomach tight with horror.

"Long live Brunel, the Metal Messiah!"

Everyone – his people, his enemies, even his wife – was under Brunel's spell.

Epilogue

Nicholas watched from his place of honour behind the altar in the Chimney as Robert Stephenson, who could barely disguise his disgust, placed a new sceptre, forged of steel, into Isambard's hands. Isambard repeated an oath, spoke in Latin, containing his promise to watch over all the peoples of England and her Empire, to uphold the laws of her Council and the will of her Gods. He raised the sceptre high in the air, and the whole Nave erupted with applause. Nicholas stood and clapped loudest of all, a genuine smile on his face.

After the Redcoats had cleaned the streets of the Sunken, and the remains of the dead were piled up in the market square in Engine Ward, a public funeral was held and hundreds reported to collect what body parts they could recognise as belonging to loved ones. All that remained were buried under a memorial stone in Kensington Gardens. The bodies of the Sunken were deposited on the lawn of Buckingham Palace, and set alight.

The Council of the Royal Society convened an emergency meeting and confirmed what the populace of London knew already – in the absence of any immediate heirs to the throne, there was only one man fit to rule the Kingdom, and that man was Isambard Kingdom Brunel.

He took the title of Lord Protector, and would not wear a crown. He was given other honours – he would take over from Stephenson as Messiah of the Sect of the Great Conductor, and would replace Joseph Banks as President of the Royal Society. There were only two men in all of England who opposed the changes: Robert Stephenson, now demoted to the mere rank of priest, and Aaron Williams, who had disappeared into the tunnels and hadn't been seen for days.

Brigitte squeezed Nicholas’ hand. "You were right," she said, leaning into his shoulder. "Isambard is a brilliant engineer, and a truly great man. What better leader for this country than he?"

Nicholas smiled back, but in the back of his mind, questions swarmed. An engineer instead of a king – what does this mean for England? More importantly, what does it mean for Isambard? He'd not been near Isambard since the night they entered the palace. Isambard had been swept up in the affairs of state, but Nicholas wondered if the new responsibilities sat well with his friend – if the adoration of the populace, the responsibility of running a country, the title "Metal Messiah" being hailed from every corner affected him. Nicholas wondered too if Aaron knew of Isambard's appointment, and how he would be taking the news.

"And now," said Buckland, the new Prime Minister, "the Lord Protector Sir Isambard Kingdom Brunel will give his first sermon: On the Adoption of Boilers and the Nationwide Adoption of Broad Gauge Rail."

A great cheer rose up. Brunel stepped up to the podium, the grand sceptre out of proportion with his wiry frame. As he waited for the applause to die down, he turned around, searching the crowd. Brunel met Nicholas' gaze, his eyes shining with delight and humility, and he smiled.

Nicholas smiled back. He had nothing to worry about, after all. Isambard was perfectly fine.

* * *

Within the Engine Ward, every bell chimed, every whistle blew. Breathless messengers rushed from street corner to street corner, passing the word through the huddled crowds.

The Metal Messiah, the Metal Messiah is about to speak …

The Stokers had gathered around the rear of the Chimney, confined to stalls – a corral of high fences set up especially to keep the Stokers away from the populace of London, as though they carried some kind of disease. Aaron frowned as Chloe tapped her fingers impatiently against the high bars. "This is a fine way for heroes to be treated. After all this, we're still the ‘Dirty Folk'."

"Hush, husband," Chloe laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "No one saw what you did. They only saw the Boilers. Give Isambard a chance to work his magic on them. He knows he would be nothing if not for the Stokers. He will lift us up as he has been lifted."

All around them, Stokers chattered about Brunel's sermon, certain it would honour their efforts in the battle. "Do you think he'll announce a new engineering project, now that the Wall is finished?"

"Maybe he's had a message from Great Conductor?"

"I hope he's giving us a pay-rise."

Aaron remained silent, not wishing to destroy the mood with his suspicions. Below his feet, the engines whirred away, safe under the watchful eye of their Boiler furnace masters.

A loud buzzing emitted from the row of horns protruding from above the grand entrance, startling the crowd and causing Aaron to jump. This was followed by a sound like an elephant's trumpet, and then Brunel's voice grated across Aaron’s temples.

"Despite the tragedies of recent weeks, progress must continue unhindered if London is to thrive and move on from this tragedy. The success of my most recent Boiler prototypes has inspired me to create a new model, which will begin production immediately. The Boiler Version 3 … an iron machine that can be programmed to perform any mundane task. Thanks to a generous gift from the Royal Society, we will begin immediately constructing the new Boiler workshops. These new buildings – designed by the brilliant Nicholas Thorne – will occupy the western quarter of the Engine Ward, behind my Chimney—"

"That's where our homes are!" cried Chloe.

"—and from right here in the Engine Ward, I can produce Boilers to order for all your engineering needs. With my machines stoking the fires of Engine Ward, we'll work with an efficiency never before experienced, and this city's legacy of innovation will be unparalleled. London will be known across the globe as the city that engineered the world."

A cheer rose up from all around – the people clapped and screamed their applause for Brunel's vision for the city, but the Stokers remained silent, too shocked to utter a word.

Finally, someone spoke.

"Drop my balls in sulphur and call me a Navvy!" William swore. "I bloody knew that pox-ridden scallywag was up to no good. He's gonna flatten our homes to build more of them rotten machines. Oi, Williams, get your lead-puckered arse back here!"

Aaron vaulted the railing of the stalls, pushed past the Stoker guard who, used to seeing him walk where he pleased, didn't attempt to hold him back. He shoved his shoulder into the riveted door and swung it inwards, stalking through the Nave, where the gentry seated inside clamoured with the exciting news. The gentlemen talked with ardent gesticulations as they ran their hands over the shining Boilers that rolled up and down the aisle. Aaron saw Holman and Nicholas and Brigitte standing in the far corner, and they called to him, but he ignored them, stormed past the ranks of priests, and ascended the stairs to the pulpit.

"You can't go up there—" A young Stoker priest grabbed for his arm, but Aaron jerked it away.

"Someone has to stop him, Johnny Ringley," Aaron hissed. "Someone has to tell him that with our homes flattened and these metal beasts at the fires, the Stokers will be ruined. Someone has to tell him he's ruined his own people. How will your daddy pay for that fancy priest school now, Johnny?" The kid let go of his arm.

Aaron grabbed the chain and pulled, and the collapsible metal staircase – a trademark of Nicholas' industrial designs – slid down from the ceiling and uncoiled into an ecclesiastical spiral. Aaron raced up the stairs, three at a time, and fell, panting, onto the platform in front of Brunel's pulpit. He banged on the door of the hatch.

"How dare you disturb me—" Brunel flung the hatch open. "Aaron?"

"How dare I? How dare you!" Aaron's rage flew from his mouth. He grabbed Brunel's collar and pulled him onto the platform. "Have you no concept of what you have done? You've made us redundant. You're turning our homes into workshops for those abominable machines."

Brunel smiled, and in that instant, Aaron knew what he'd suspected for many months; Isambard was forever lost to him.

"You misunderstand me," Brunel said, his voice calm. "I know exactly what I'm doing. I'm sending the Stokers back to the swamps, to hunt once again."

"You're sending … us … away?"

"Yes, as you have pointed out, the Stokers are useless here in London," Brunel said. "I have no need of them anymore. But I do have a job for them, one my Boilers cannot do. I need them to hunt in the swamps, to send as many live specimens back to London as possible. The larger the animal, the better."

"Why?"

"My experiments are of no concern to you. You will be the foreman, of course, and you will lead the hunters, just like your grandfather. Isn't that just what you wanted, to live with the mud and the animals?"

"You … you …." Aaron had no words. He balled his hands into fists.

"You can thank me for this boon later." Brunel shoved him back toward the staircase. "But right now, I have a congregation to address. You'll receive your new instructions tomorrow." He clambered back into the hatch, pulled the door shut, and locked it from the inside.

Aaron beat his fists against the grating, barely noticing the rough steel cutting his hands. He buried his face in his hands, slivers of blood mixing with his tears as he wept for the friend he had lost and the doom of his people.

* * *

"Nicholas! Open this door!"

The window on the upper story flew open. "Aaron? What are you doing? It's three in the morning, again—"

"Now you see what your beloved Messiah has done?" Aaron roared, beating his fists against Nicholas' door. "He's no friend of mine!"

"You'll wake the whole neighbourhood!"

"He's sending the Stokers away! We finally have the opportunity to make a good life for ourselves here in the city and he's sending us away!"

"Stop yelling. I'll be right down." Nicholas' head disappeared from the window. Aaron paced across the stoop, his rage boiling, until he heard the bolt slide across the lock and saw Nicholas open the door.

"He's a rotten scoundrel and I hate him!" Aaron yelled in his friend's face, painfully aware he was being uncouth and vile, but too drunk and angry to stop himself.

"You need to calm down." Nicholas grabbed his shoulders and shook him roughly. "You're drunk, aren't you? By Great Conductor's steam-powered faeces, man, we'd best get you inside before you wake the whole neighbourhood."

He pulled Aaron into the downstairs drawing room and settled him into a chair. "I saw you in Mass today, climbing up to the pulpit like a drunken fool," he said sternly. "I can see you've further inebriated yourself."

Brigitte appeared at the doorway, clutching a candle, her nightcap askew. "Aaron? Nicholas, what's the matter?"

"He's just a little upset. Could you fetch us some water, love? And perhaps a bread roll for Aaron." She disappeared across the hall.

"Do you want to stay in the city, Aaron?" asked Nicholas, holding his friend's face upright. "Is that what you want? Because I can talk to Brunel for you and see if he'll let you stay—"

"No!" Aaron bolted upright, his eyes flashing. "My people need me, and I will be stronger in the swamps. Every day I live inside that Ward, surrounded by iron and without the comfort of the voices, I feel the press of my own madness, Nicholas. Even if there are no tricorns anymore, I want to walk where my grandfather walked, hunt with the dogs, feel the breath of the dragons on the back of my neck."

"If this is what you wanted, why are you so upset?"

"Brunel has sent the Stokers to a death trap. Those swamps are swarming with dragons, and no one knows how to hunt anymore. When Stephenson hears Brunel intends to connect London and Bristol, he'll descend with force. Even though he's not a Messiah anymore, the Navvies still outnumber us five to one, and they'll fight us to the death to keep the southwest free of broad gauge. I won't allow my son or my wife to die in the mud, not while I still have breath in my veins."

"Blood in your veins, Aaron. Breath in your lungs, blood in your veins, although I think yours might be well supped with alcohol."

Nicholas remembered Quartz' warning, not to allow Aaron to return to the swamps. He brushed the thought aside. That was the last thing Aaron needed to hear right now.

Brigitte returned with a roll and a pitcher of water. She set them down on the table in front of Aaron. He stared at her with reproach, then leaned over and snatched up the roll.

"I think you misunderstand Brunel's intentions—"

"I think you misunderstand," Aaron cried, globs of sticky bread dribbling down his shirt. "Did you know these new Boiler workshops would be built over our homes?"

"No, of course not—"

"I know how his mind works, and he's consumed by those machines. His entire being is focused on their creation, on their perfection. He doesn't care about the Stokers – he never has. He doesn't care about you, Nicholas. I'm his oldest friend, and look what he's made of me." He gestured to his bedraggled frame.

"You did this to yourself," Nicholas said. "He cares for you very much. He thought this was what you wanted."

"Is that what he told you? No, Nicholas, he stopped caring about me when that first Boiler rolled out of the factory. He—" Aaron fell back into the chair, his eyes glazing over and his head flopping onto his shoulder. He started to snore.

Nicholas patted Aaron's hand, and together, he and Brigitte stretched him out across the couch, placed the pitcher of water beside him, and left him be.

* * *

Nicholas stood outside the door of Isambard's workshop, peering through the gap, just wide enough for a thin man to squeeze through, into the gloom beyond. Brunel sat in his wingback chair by the roaring furnace, the spidery apparatus that had sprung from his sleeve on the night they'd killed the King now holding a teacup to his lips. "May I come in? I want to talk to you about Aaron—"

"I don't want to talk about Aaron," Brunel snapped.

"He thinks you hate him. He thinks you're sending him away."

"Don't I? Aren't I?" Brunel smiled. "Pull up a seat, Nicholas. Let me tell you about Aaron Williams."

Nicholas squeezed through the door, found an empty crate under the workbench, tipped it over, and sat facing Brunel. The mechanical arm held out a teacup for him, but he waved it away.

"Don't you like it? Without this arm, I couldn't have saved your life, remember?"

"I remember, but why do you wear it?"

"I like it. A man can never have too many arms." He extended the limb to its full length. "Besides, it has more strength, more flexibility, and more functionality than both my real arms put together."

"Is it painful?" Nicholas saw parts of the machine – gears and rods – extended under Brunel's shirt, into his skin.

"Not at all. It is partly my own design, partly made with Dirigire technology. Those Frogs understand fine clockwork better than I understand steam. Now, I was going to tell you why I sent Aaron away."

Nicholas leaned forward.

"He's not taking this very well." Brunel gestured around himself, at the Chimney, the Boilers, and his mechanical hand. "When we made the engine all those years ago, he told me he didn't want any credit. He didn't want to hang if anything went wrong, and so he left me, alone, to live or die by the whim of the priests. Things could have gone very differently for me, and Aaron knows it. He knows if I had died, it would have been on his hands. He feels guilty, because he deserted me when I needed him most. And over the years, that guilt has turned to resentment, that resentment, to jealousy, and that jealousy to his current rage. He hates me, Nicholas, and has hated me for a long time. Here in the city, hemmed in by my success, he's falling apart. He's drinking more than ever, haven't you noticed? And Chloe …." He frowned, leaning forward and lowering his voice, even though there was no one else to hear. "I've seen her, Nicholas, walking through the Ward with bruises on her face and arms. The men fear his temper. He's cracking up. He needs to leave the city as soon as possible. I had to send him away. Do you understand?"

Nicholas felt ill.

Aaron loved his wife, he would never … but Nicholas remembered how rough he'd been with her when they'd shown up at his home, how he'd dismissed her, how his eyes shone with hatred, how he saw fault in everything Brunel did.

"Yes," he nodded. "Perhaps you're right."

* * *

Holman and Nicholas saw Aaron off at the train station. They were two of only a handful of non-Stokers present, for the Stokers' work and insular society afforded them few friends in the city. Brunel, the Metal Messiah himself, was not in attendance.

The train they piled into was barely functional. The carriages had no walls, only wiry metal frames secured with chains. The locomotive itself spluttered, spewing sickly gases through a cracking blowpipe. Aaron knew his men could have done a better job, but men hadn’t made this locomotive – Boilers had. He’d seen them churning away in their new workshops for the past two weeks, putting together this prototype to send the Stokers away.

Aaron settled Chloe into one of the forward carriages, then rushed up and down the length of the platform, checking the supplies and machinery had been correctly loaded and secured. He was the last to board the train when the whistle blew.

His friends waited for him, and he faced them both, shrugging off his exile with his usual bravado. It was Holman who broke the silence first, extending his hand a little from his body in the habit of a blind person, and Aaron reached over and shook it.

"Goodbye, friend." Holman's voice was kind. "I trust you to be safe and look after this sorry lot."

Aaron smiled. "As well as I'm able, James. And you stay out of trouble."

"You know that's too much to ask." Holman let go of his hand, and Aaron turned to Nicholas, the only other man who understood the voices, the man whose peace he'd shattered and whose drawing room he'd thrown up in.

"Goodbye, Nicholas, and good luck with everything."

"Thank you, Aaron, and … I'm sorry."

"I know."

Nicholas leaned forward and embraced him, patting his shoulders. Aaron returned the embrace, savouring the texture of his friend's wool coat and that familiar smell of fresh aftershave.

"How will we contact you?" asked Holman.

From the hidden pocket inside his greatcoat, Aaron pulled a thin metal plate, which he pressed into Holman's hand. "There's a woman in this village. You can trust her, but to be on the safe side, you should use the code."

He shook each of them by the hand again, his eyes imparting more than his lips could say. He collected his bag and climbed the steps onto the train. Setting down his rucksack, he leaned out against the railing and gave one final wave just as the whistle blew and the train lurched forward. For the last time, he stared at the soot-stained London cityscape, her regal buildings and lush pleasure gardens whizzing by in a blur, the great Engine Ward far in the distance – a black smudge on the skyline. He knew he would never set foot inside the city again.

He was going home.

THE END

* * *

To be continued in The Gauge War

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About the Author

S. C. Green lives in an off-grid home in rural New Zealand with her husband, a menagerie of animals, and their medieval sword collection. She's the author of the Engine Ward series, and she also writes paranormal romance under the name Steffanie Holmes, as well as humorous fantasy under Steff Metal. Find out more about her work on her website: www.steffmetal.com.

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The Atomic Sea

The Atomic Sea, Volume I

Jack Conner

Copyright 2014 Jack Conner

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Created with Vellum

For Eddie

The World of the Atomic Sea

For a larger version of the map, go to the world of the Atomic Sea.

Part I

From the Depths

1

Whale songs groaned through the hull of the ship as Dr. Avery and the sailors played cards. The cabin reverberated to the sounds—long, tapering peals that stood hairs on end—and alchemical lanterns threw drunken green shadows against the walls. Sailors glanced around uneasily.

Avery tossed his cards face-down and said, “Well, then, lads, if no one will match me, I believe that pot is mine.”

The seamen muttered as he raked in his winnings. Some were big men, whalers, hairy and covered in tattoos. The Navy men and women tended to be slimmer, neater. The room smelled of oil, leather and cigar smoke, some of which curled up from Avery’s own cigar clamped between his teeth. He was not a large man, but somehow that made him stand out all the more. His smoke drifted around his balding head with its black comb-over and joined the cloud that stirred against the ceiling.

“That’s your fourth haul tonight,” said Janx, one of the whalers, tall and rawboned. His nose had been torn off in a whaling catastrophe years ago, and a piece of leather covered the hole where it had been, held in place by straps that went round his head. “And three without showin’ your cards.”

“Feel free to match my bet next time,” Avery said. “It has been an unusually good night, I must admit.”

It was Janx’s turn to deal, and the cards fluttered with surprising grace through his rough, scarred hands. Scars and tattoos seemed to mark every inch of his body. His shaven head gleamed in the light.

“Your luck’ll turn, Doc,” he said. “See if it don’t.”

Avery raised his eyebrows. After a look at his cards, he said, “I think not.”

“You’re bluff—”

The door burst open. Lt. Hinis stormed in, dressed in her environment suit, huge and bulky with its bronze helmet and grilled visor. “Doctor, come quick, we need your help. There’s been a killing.”

“Another one?” Janx said. “Damn.”

“Has the killer been caught?” Avery asked.

“No,” Hinis said. “But the patrols are out. The murder happened outside.”

Avery crossed to the wall, where with Hinis’s assistance he donned an environment suit of his own. Like hers, it resembled a diving suit of antiquity, all treated canvas, brass joinings and big brass helm. There were no true diving suits anymore, of course; no one was insane enough to use one, not for a thousand years. In the background, the whale songs bellowed louder—closer—and whalers glanced at each other soberly.

As Avery reached the door, Janx grunted, and the doctor looked back to see that Janx had flipped over Avery’s cards. A two of jades nestled against a three of fates.

Janx shook his head. “Never saw a worse hand.” He hesitated, then said, “Y’know, Doc, the killer could still be out there. Might be I should come with you.”

Avery waited while Janx shrugged on an environment suit, and they followed Hinis out into the night.

* * *

Avery braced himself against the wind. Shouldn’t have had that second bourbon, he thought as the wind battered him, dragging at his legs, tugging at his arms. It gusted up from the south, whipping mist off the waves that pitched and flung the ship like a cork. Huge and metal-hulled, a fully-armed warship in a time of war, the GS Maul plowed the dark waters, and the ocean responded with fury.

As Avery inched his way toward the stern behind Lt. Hinis, their life-lines connecting them to the gunwale, he gazed out over the sea—the eerie sea, the infamous sea. The Atomic Sea. Ever since research had begun into atomic energy some twenty years ago, people had slapped that label on it, accurate or not. Finally, more than a thousand years after the sea’s transformation, people had a name for it that wasn’t mired in superstition. And the ocean did emit radiation, at least in certain quarters. But that wasn’t why people had named it what they had. One glance explained it.

Lightning blasted from wave-top to wave-top, some bolts arcing high into the night, lancing the very clouds overhead. The whole sea roiled and bubbled, as if someone had turned up a giant stove burner on the sea floor. Occasionally a bubble as big as a boat would burst from the depths. The gas alone was enough to kill, but sometimes a stab of lightning would hit a pocket and the whole thing would go up like an Uracuth candle. It was a frothing, mad, electric sea, and the things that plied its waters were strange and dangerous.

“Look at that,” Janx said, pointing to something in the distance.

Far off, the geyser-like plumes of whales expelling water caught the star-light—beautiful, strange, and too close for Avery’s liking.

“Gorgeous, ain’t they?” said Janx. “You’d never guess what terrors they are.”

“I can imagine.”

“I remember one time years ago when one big bastard smashed me ship—killed everyone aboard, but me. I was thrown up on a strange beach, and, oh, it was a sight. Glittering black rocks far as you could see, great big mountains stretching off into the distance.”

“An island?” Avery almost smiled. Half of Janx’s stories began with him being washed up on some island.

“Aye,” Janx said. “Well, right off a band of fish-folk seizes me and drags me to their village. Dead in the center of it—”

“Almost there,” Hinis interrupted.

“Another time,” Avery promised Janx. To Hinis, he said, “Has the Captain been notified?”

Hinis nodded. “She or the X.O.’ll likely be taking a look, same as you.”

“This will be the second murder in two weeks,” Avery said. “You’re sure it wasn’t accidental?”

“Take a look for yourself.”

They rounded the last of the three great chimney stacks, and Hinis raised her lantern as she staggered up the ladder onto the poop deck. Avery’s feet slipped on the wet surface as he followed, and he looked down to see that he’d stepped on a starfish-like encrustation growing over the side of the ship. Around his foot something spurted—moved. Though it had the texture of a starfish, it was shapeless and ingrown into the deck. He didn’t pause—he was used to the various things that came up from the sea—but yanked his foot free and forced himself to go slower, reeling out the line behind him.

As they crossed toward the rearmost section of gunwale, Hinis’s lantern threw back the shadows to reveal a body lying twisted on the deck.

Avery crouched over it, having to balance himself carefully in the environment suit. The body laid on its side, back arched, blood weeping through holes in the suit and thinning in the water that pooled all around.

Avery rolled the body over and looked at the face-plate for signs of breathing, just to be sure. Nothing. Then his own breath caught in his throat.

“Paul,” he said.

The dead man stared back at him: broad-featured, clean-shaven, and familiar.

“Shit,” Hinis said. “Should have told you. I forgot you two were friends.”

“Sorry, Doc,” said Janx.

Avery tried to cover the sudden swell of grief that rose in him. He blinked his eyes rapidly. Damn it, Paul.

Taking refuge in his profession, Avery studied the holes in the suit to either side and beneath Sgt. Paul Bercka’s canister of compressed air.

“Stabbed,” he said. “Something double-sided, maybe an inch-and-a-half wide. A ... A modified fleshing knife, perhaps. Looks like the killer cut the air line first, probably to disorient him. He locked him about the neck with one arm and stabbed him with the other.” Avery sucked down a deep breath, smelling metal, canvas and stale sweat—what Paul’s final gulp of air would’ve smelled like. I'm so sorry, my friend. You deserved better than this. "The murderer must be a strong man to have overpowered him," Avery added. "I wouldn’t be surprised if the knife thrusts severed the spine. I expect that’s what I’ll find when I perform the autopsy.”

“You’ll perform an autopsy?”

Avery turned. The speaker was not Hinis or Janx but the Executive Officer, Commander Lucas Hambry, tall and strange in his suit; some sort of barnacle-like growth clung to the side of his helmet. Captain Sheridan must have sent him in her stead.

“Of course,” Avery said. “Protocol demands it.”

“You didn’t perform an autopsy on the first body,” Hambry said.

“Actually, I tried, but there wasn’t enough left of Lt. Nyers to determine much.” The sea will do that, X.O. With a sigh, Avery rose to his feet. “This time I’m afraid the cause of death is obvious.”

Commander Hambry stared down at Paul’s remains. “So it’s murder.”

“As was the case with Nyers, I’m sure of it.”

“Why?”

“Her lifeline was unhooked, not severed by strain. Someone unclipped it.” Something pounded behind Avery’s right temple. He needed a drink.

Janx moved to the gunwale and examined the torn lifeline. “A clean cut,” he said. “I’ve seen my share of torn lines, and this one was slashed by a blade. No fraying.”

“Perhaps the killer meant to make this one more realistic,” Avery said, “but was disturbed before he could finish.”

“It was Privates Barris and Wathin, Doctor, who found the body,” said Hinis. “They were on patrol. The sergeant had come out to check on ‘em and make the rounds. He’d already spoken with them and moved on. Wasn’t till they finished their tour of the starboard boats—some drift-jellies had been nesting in ‘em again, you know how it is; sometimes their poisons can eat through the metal—that they headed back to stern and found ...”

She gestured to Paul.

“Did they see any sign of the killer?”

“No, Doctor. I was there when they gave their report.”

Suddenly, bells tolled throughout the ship. Avery’s head snapped up. His first horrified thought was that Octunggen submarines had found them.

The ship’s intercom blared: “ALL MEN TO YOUR STATIONS. THE WHALE MEET IS BREAKING UP. REPEAT, THE WHALE MEET IS BREAKING UP. WHALERS PREPARE. GREATEST LEVIATHAN BEARING PORT. TURNING BROADSIDE TO PORT. BOATS AWAY IN THREE MINUTES. REPEAT: BOATS AWAY IN THREE MINUTES.”

“I better get goin’,” said Janx, and lumbered off.

“Be careful,” Avery called after him.

Hinis flashed an excited smile. “Finally! We bag one of these bastards and we can go home.”

“If there’s any home left,” Commander Hambry said. “The Octunggen were advancing through the Pass last we heard, remember.”

“There’s still a home,” she insisted.

“I’m sure there is,” Avery said. “And if we can bring back a whale, it’ll be there for a little while longer. Lieutenant, I need you to move Sgt. Bercka to the medical bay. I’ll perform the autopsy as soon as I can, but at present I need to be on hand in case of injury.”

“Of course, Doctor.”

Avery set off toward amidships, Commander Hambry at his side.

“About damned time, don’t you think?” Hambry said. “I thought that whale meet would never end. How long can they sing their stupid songs to each other, anyway?”

In his mind’s eye, Avery still saw the broad face and friendly eyes of Paul Bercka. The eyes stared, glassy and still. He shook himself.

“Too long,” he said.

The Maul and its sister ships had been following the gathering of whales for weeks, waiting for them to disband so as to make hunting one or more easier. Normally the whales that plied the Atomic Sea were vicious and mad, driven by pain and fury, too irascible even to tolerate members of their own species. But, every now and then, they would congregate. They would sing, they would mate, and the bulls would fight each other for the females, sometimes to the death. Avery knew Captain Sheridan had been hoping to pick up just such a casualty in the meet’s wake, but the whales had not been accommodating. The rest of the whaling fleet had followed along, too, vultures after carrion. Part of Avery still found it strange that the Navy would devote so much time and so many resources to whale hunting when Ghenisa was on the verge of being overrun by Octung, but Octung’s advance was precisely why harvesting a whale—and its precious energy-filled lard—was so important.

Hustling whalers beset Avery and Hambry as they reached amidships, the whalers crossing to the harpoon racks to retrieve their instruments. Janx, tall and broad even among the other whalers, selected his own personal harpoon, the notorious Nancy, which boasted what looked like but could not possibly be a bronze head. Its shaft had been shattered and replaced countless times, but that head had slain dozens of whales; their bones had chipped and pitted every bit of it. Dead by Nancy was such a common phrase in the navy that in recent months it had extended to every walk of a sailor’s life, not just on the Maul but the fleet as a whole. Whether grievously tired, sore or hung-over, a sailor might say “I’m dead by Nancy” or “Nancy take me”.

Avery saw Janx touch the spear to his helmet and hold it there for a moment, as if communing, before moving off with the others.

The sailors readied the boats and affixed the whalers’ life-lines. Despite himself, Avery felt a smile creep across his face as the boats, laden with cursing whalers, lowered to the toxic black waters. Lightning arced from wave-top to wave-top, one bolt striking a boat—sparks flew high over the sea—but the specially-wrought craft splashed down unharmed. A hiss of steam coiled up from its hull. The sailors gave a hurrah.

Avery hurrahed, too. For a moment, he wished he were down there, adrenaline coursing through his veins, seaspray splashing his face-plate, right in the middle of all that excitement and importance. The lard from a single good-sized whale could stave off the army of Octung for a day or more.

The whalers manned the oars, and the little boats bobbed up and over the heaving waves, headed away from the Maul. Ship-to-whale projectiles could be used in an emergency, but only then, as a whale would be drawn to any vessel that fired on it. In the distance, the animals’ occasional plumes of mist shot high up into the night, geysers of steam and poisons, the plumes growing further apart as the whales separated. The pilot had aimed the Maul at the largest animal and then turned sideways to it.

It was very close.

The whale barreled straight toward the boats. Avery’s desire to be down there vanished in an instant, and he uttered a prayer under his breath for the men’s safety.

The whale slipped beneath the surface. The boats slowed, and the whalers stood and coiled their arms, ready to hurl their harpoons. Where had the animal gone? The whalers remained steady, but Avery could imagine their sweat, their fear, their rapid breaths fogging their face-plates.

The whale erupted right under one of the central boats. It flung the craft high into the air and the men inside it flew in all directions, lifelines moored now only to splinters. The men struck the water and sank. Their heavy suits dragged them down. Only two managed to fling their lifelines to nearby boats in time to save them.

Before the whale submerged, Avery saw it, and he felt the blood drain from his face.

The whale had blossomed from the sea like a dark god, a mountain, mist spraying everywhere, its great jaws open, sharp teeth gleaming. Several whalers vanished between those jaws along with what was left of the boat. As the spray spread away from it, the light of the two visible moons shown down on the whale, revealing a horror covered in boils and stalks, milky blind eyes staring out from its sides. Its fins sprouted many and jagged, at odd places from its body, some ending in things that might be teeth. Sharp protrusions jutted from its flanks along with curling, groping tendril-like appendages. Some actually grew through the milky eyes. The whale’s real, functional eyes glared madly, rimmed in pustules and scars and barnacles.

Then, with a huge splash that rocked the nearby boats, the leviathan vanished from sight—but not before three or four harpoons sailed through the night and embedded in its sides and underbelly.

For several breathless minutes the boats bobbed up and down on the waves. The men that had been flung from their destroyed craft reeled themselves in and with help from their mates scrambled aboard the boats. Avery hoped their suits hadn’t ruptured.

The whale returned. It opened its huge, tooth-lined maw and shot toward another boat—the one Janx occupied. Avery felt suddenly cold. Janx had become something of a mascot to the Maul, and the crew adored him. Were he to die so would the ship’s morale. Not only that, but Avery liked the big whaler.

Visible from far away, Janx stared up at the whale, harpoon cocked and ready. He did not throw, although the men to either side of him hurled theirs right into the whale’s oncoming head.

It drove on.

With a thunderous crack, it smashed the boat to splinters, devouring several of the whalers instantly and plunging beneath the waves with such force that one of the nearby boats capsized in the swell. There was no sign of Janx or the other whalers that had been on the destroyed boat.

“Damn,” Avery said.

Hambry snorted. “Maybe he’ll find his nose in the afterlife.”

Mist blew across the sea, and somewhere a few leagues off a burst of lightning must have struck a gas bubble, as a furious ball of orange and white expanded over the water. Expanded, then faded. By its light Avery saw one of the other ships of the line, several leagues to the east, he couldn’t tell which one. The night was too dark for him to see any of the other ship’s boats, though they must be out there, too, hunting, hunting. The whole fleet would be scrambling.

The whale emerged from the depths.

This time it breached more slowly, and for a moment Avery thought it had grown arrogant, that it would leisurely move to destroy the remaining boats. As if it had heard his thoughts, it swam toward the nearest one, and the men there braced themselves, ready to throw their harpoons.

The whale closed in, mouth agape, but for some reason the men didn’t throw. As it neared them, its mouth began to close, and its tail slowed.

Limp, the whale drifted, carried by momentum, until finally it reached an utter stop.

A ragged cheer drifted across the waves.

Only then did Avery see, as one of the moons came out from behind a cloud, that a tall, broad figure stood on the whale’s head, leaning on a harpoon—Nancy, it must be Nancy—driven deep into the creature’s skull.

Avery laughed and clapped Hambry on the shoulder. “It’s Janx!” he said. “He’s alive! He’s alive! The bloody idiot! He must have ridden it as it went under! Ha!”

The others on the deck—there was quite a crowd—laughed and cheered. Out on the water, the whalers ringed the animal and Janx climbed down its sides to much slapping on the back.

Hooked ropes sliced the air. Sharp steel sunk deep into fatty flesh. The boats began to haul their catch back toward the Maul, the boats small and puny against the vast blackness of the whale. They searched for survivors as they went, but there were none. The whale had slain perhaps ten men.

And yet Avery could not help but feel an enormous sense of relief. With the amount of hot lard that would be harvested from the monster, the machines that powered Ghenisa’s defenses could be fueled for dozens of hours. Though other substances were used, few were as readily (if not easily) obtainable as the lard of a whale from the Atomic Sea—hot lard. Not radioactive in the traditional sense, but holding powerful concentrations of energy just the same. With the whale slain, the army of Octung might be staved off, at least for a time. Hopefully the other ships of the fleet would make kills, as well.

The whaling boats drew their prize to the Maul, and whalers and sailors coordinated tying it to the sides. A celebration broke out. Avery wasn’t sure if Captain Sheridan had called for it or not, but she certainly seemed to allow it. Janx clambered aboard and was instantly surrounded by admirers. With him in their center, men and women retreated inside, removed their suits, and were passed double rations of grog. Avery followed. Somewhere around a corner, he heard Janx toasting the dead. “Tonight they dance in the deep!” Others echoed him.

Before Avery could remove his suit and pour a glass of his finer officer’s whiskey, Ensign Tapor ran up to him. Her breath masked her face-plate, and he could just see her wide eyes behind it.

“Doctor, you must come quickly.”

Avery had just been in the process of taking off his helm. “Is it necessary?” he said. “I was just about to—”

“It’s an emergency.”

She sounds odd. “Show me,” he said.

He snapped his helmet back on, and the ensign hurried him through the air-lock and outside again. Assaulted anew by wind and mist, he grumped. He’d been looking forward to warmth and whiskey, to toasting Paul’s memory and Janx’s victory.

Overhead a great gas-squid floated against the stars, tentacles squirming, moonslight filtering through its half-translucent flesh, making it seem to glow in places with a ghostly sheen. Celebrating sailors near the bow took pot-shots at it, laughing.

Ensign Tapor led Avery to the port gunwale amidships. Ropes strained and creaked, and when Avery looked over the side, he saw that they ran from the ship to the whale, which had been tied off snugly—a huge, misshapen, cancerous growth sprouting from the Maul, its sides slip-slapping against the ship. Avery had thought all the boats had been raised and secured, but to his surprise he saw that one remained on the water directly below. It bobbed, oddly, in front of the whale’s mouth, which sagged open. Something was being lifted from the boat toward the ship’s deck in a canvas sling.

Avery’s frown deepened. “I don’t ... Did that thing come from the whale’s mouth?”

He glanced sideways. Ensign Tapor stared downward at the ascending shape, but she turned to look at him, a mix of fear and wonder in her eyes. “Yes, Doctor. She did.”

“She?” Avery frowned. “A woman?” When Tapor didn’t answer, he said, “A crewwoman from one of the other ships of the line?”

“I don’t think so, Doctor.”

The body reached the gunwale, and Avery rushed over to assist the sailors in setting it down. Only then did he step back, away from it, and see it for the first time.

Impossible.

It was a woman, naked, breathing, with hair too long for her to be Navy, and showing no obvious signs of sickness.

“Amazing,” he said. “She should be dead. No one could survive those waters, uninfected, without a suit ...”

Thunder rolled, and lightning lit up the seas. Avery hardly noticed.

2

The woman was alive, but injured. She had suffered burns on her legs, buttocks and lower back. For a moment Avery thought she might have been on a ship attacked by an Octunggen sub, that a fire or the explosion of a torpedo had burned her. But then, as he bent to study her, he saw that the burns were acidic. It should have been obvious, but it took him a moment to realize they could only have come from the stomach of the whale. She had been eaten. It must have been when the whale opened its throat to swallow one of the whalers that she had dragged herself out of its stomach.

Which of course was ridiculous. The gastric gasses alone should have killed her, not to mention the obvious acids.

And then, the sea ...

“Come,” he told two of the crewmen. “Help me bring her to sick bay.”

In awe—no one had ever been known to survive the sea without immediate and obvious sickness before—they complied. Avery washed her off in the buffer chamber at the same time they rinsed their suits, using his hands to cup the water and then pouring it over her, a cupful at a time, so as not to aggravate her wounds. Once they were all clean and had hung up their suits, Avery led the men and their charge out of the buffer chamber into the ship proper.

Around them the ship groaned. Great pipes snarled along the ceiling, banging and rattling. The whole place stank of oil and sweat. Avery had never gotten used to it, even though he’d been at sea for three months at the current stretch. Before that, he’d served the Navy on and off since the war began, some four years ago, but life aboard was still foreign to him.

“Don’t spread word of this,” he instructed the two crewmen in regards to the woman. “The last thing she needs is gawkers, understood?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

When they reached the medical bay, he sent for his assistants. They arrived and fussed over the woman, cleaning her of any remaining acids, hooking her up to an IV drip, pumping out the poison from her lungs, while Avery dismissed the sailors who’d carried her, warning them one last time to keep their mouths closed. He knew such a warning to be futile, but it might slow the spread of gossip.

He checked the woman’s vitals and made some adjustments, then pondered what to do with her. He briefly considered administering adrenaline to rouse her, if only to be able to question her, but decided that would be more for his benefit than hers. Better to ensure that she was well rested and let her begin to heal. Answers would wait.

His fingers shook, his head pounded, and he knew he needed a drink. Just a little more, he thought. I can go a little longer.

While his assistants saw to the woman, Avery checked on Paul.

Paul had already been brought to the bay, and he occupied a table behind a thin operating curtain. Avery saw that he was secured and took a moment to catch his breath. Paul V. Bercka, career enlisted man and widower (a circumstance which Avery shared, and something that had helped them bond), did not look peaceful in death. His eyes were closed, but his face had locked in a terrible grimace, his lips pulled back, his teeth bared and specked with blood. Avery wished there was something he could do to relax his friend’s facial muscles, but he was no mortician, and Paul would have to be given to the sea with an animal snarl on his face. At least you went down defiant.

After unstrapping him, Avery rolled Paul over with help from one of his assistants, Nurse Reynolds, who’d disrobed and cleaned the sergeant, and studied the wounds on Paul’s back: inch-and-a-half gashes angled upward below the tank and at a reduced angle along the sides. As he’d supposed, Avery saw that one of the strikes had cut halfway through the fourth vertebrae. The killer’s arm had been strong, the knife thick. The spine severance probably hadn’t killed Paul, though. From the frothed blood in his mouth Avery knew that his lungs were filled with fluid; one of the knife strokes had punctured the bottom lining of a lung sac. Paul had drowned in his own blood.

Something heavy settled on Avery.

“Who could have done it?” Nurse Reynolds said. He was a big, good-looking young man with blond hair, a strong jaw but weak green eyes. They made him look soft somehow, though the rest of him was of heroic proportions.

Strong enough to be the killer, Avery thought, hating himself for it. He wondered if he would ever feel comfortable around another large man for the rest of the voyage.

“And why would anyone want to kill Paul?” Avery heard himself add. Bercka had been a good man, respected by those under him, depended on by those above him.

Reynolds had no answer.

“Go,” Avery told him. “Check on our new patient.”

The nurse studied him quietly for a moment, then nodded and left.

Avery moved to his desk and retrieved a flask of bourbon. He stared at it, unscrewed the cap and knocked back a long swig. Healing waves of warmth coursed down his throat. He downed another. Slowly, the pounding in his head began to fade, and he returned to Paul’s side. The purple bruises around the sergeant’s throat where the killer had held him showed lividly against his pale flesh. Avery checked Paul’s elbows. Sure enough, they were scraped raw. He’d been elbowing his attacker, trying to break free, even as the killer had stabbed him. That meant the killer might have bruises on his chest, belly and arms. If Avery could find the man with those wounds ...

He took a last slip, screwed the cap back on and returned the flask to his desk.

The nurses and junior doctors were gathered around the young woman when he reemerged. One was administering salve to her burns. The rest just stared. The woman had blond hair and was not unattractive, and her body was lean, athletic, well-proportioned ...

“Fetch her some clothes,” Avery said, and they leapt to obey. For a moment, there was silence, save the distant sound of revelry in the background. Somewhere someone toasted Janx, and bawdy laughter trickled down the halls.

“Now find something to do or go back to bed,” Avery told them, and his assistants hastily occupied themselves, willing to sacrifice sleep for the chance at solving this medical mystery.

Avery assisted in coating salve on the woman’s burns, which were extensive. The alchemical agents in the salve would help her heal and reduce her scarring, but they could not erase the scars completely. All Avery could hope for was that the treatments he would administer over the coming days would allow her skin to heal well enough so that she could bend and flex her legs normally, not hampered by tightened skin; she would not be crippled if he could help it.

A throat cleared behind him. Feeling suddenly hot, Avery turned to find Captain Jessryl Sheridan looking at him pointedly.

“Bagged yourself a mermaid, I see,” she said, speaking with her upper-class drawl.

He made himself smile. “I’d prefer not to start calling her that.”

“Then what is she?”

“I have no idea, but she needs peace and quiet, not the sort of attention from the crew she’d get if we start calling her names.”

“Perhaps you prefer to keep her to yourself.”

“Far from it,” he said. “We need for her to recover fully and quickly. Ideally she can tell us where she came from and how she was able to survive the waters.”

Capt. Sheridan approached, rolling her shoulders as she moved. Though not tall, she was solidly muscular and was said to be one of the finest fencers in the Navy. She had steel gray eyes, short auburn hair, and her jaw was slightly squared. Her nose had been broken in some battle years ago, and it still had a small scar right on the bridge. Another scar started over her left eyebrow and cut across her high forehead. Her lips were full and might have been sensuous with lipstick and a smile, but she never wore make-up and her smiles were never sensuous—predatory, more like.

Sheridan grabbed the young woman’s chin and turned her head as if inspecting a dog.

“Doesn’t look Ghenisan to me,” she said. “Nor Octunggen. She’s probably from the north, one of the Yorish States perhaps.”

“She’s not Yori.”

“True,” Sheridan said. “She has no braids, and her skin’s too smooth. She didn’t come from a nearby ship—they’re all ours—and she couldn’t have come from far away, either. The whale she was inside of has been in our sights for the last several weeks.”

“And all without a suit.”

“I’ll have to hand her over to the Navy Science Division when we get back.”

“They’ll dissect her!”

“They’ll do what they must,” Sheridan said. “If she’s immune to the sea, as unlikely as that sounds, perhaps we can use her blood to devise some sort of vaccine ...”

“As chief medical appointment of this ship, she’s my charge, and I will decide where she goes.” Avery tried to lighten his voice. “Besides, she could wake up at any time. She can answer our questions.”

“We’ll see.” Sheridan seemed to have lost interest in the topic, though she had acquired an interest in something else. Avery’s moment of rebellion had triggered sparks in her eyes.

“Why don’t we discuss it ... in private?”

Damn her.

“Well?” she said.

Slicking the hair on the side of his head over his bald spot, he said, “Very well. Captain.”

Her smile widened, but not with warmth, and she turned smartly on her heel and departed. Avery cast a glance back over his shoulder at Paul, dead on his slab, and at the mystery woman, who might be dissected shortly, and followed in his captain’s wake.

“Sergeant Bercka was a friend of mine,” he said as they passed down the corridors, their way lit by flickering electric light in spots, but the rest illuminated by candles, both conventional and alchemical, evidence of the struggling generators.

“Let’s not talk about it in public,” she said. “Keep ship morale high.”

She led him down bustling halls, through the officer’s quarters and finally into her cabin, shutting the door behind them.

“Now. About Paul,” he said, squinting in the darkness. “We have a major problem. It appears we have a serial murderer aboard.”

Click. An alchemical light flared. The lantern smelled of smoke and cinnamon, and its red light pulsed on the walls in regular beats. The glowing liquid moved slowly in the thick rounded glass of the lantern, making it seem as if Avery and Sheridan were underwater—red, slowly moving water. She’d had the metal surfaces and ceiling mounted with oaken covers, and the tusk of a sea elephant hung from the port bulkhead. She’d shot the creature herself. Among other things, she was a renowned markswoman.

She stripped off her jacket and threw it on a hanger. Her eyes stayed on Avery. Her stare was flat and gray, but there was something under it, something that smoldered. He thought of a fiery sun masked by smog and clouds.

“Sgt. Bercka’s death will be addressed,” she assured him. “We’ll catch the murderer, serial or not. I’m sorry. I know you were close. But dwelling on it won’t help. Let me ... distract you.”

“Captain, this is important.”

“So is this.”

Pushing her would only backfire on him, he realized. Hiding a sigh, he began to unbutton his jacket.

Their lovemaking, if it could be called that, exhausted him as always. Ghenisa was a country whose culture valued athleticism and physical contests greatly, and the captain was Ghenisan to a fault. There was not an ounce of wasted flesh on her body, which could have been sculpted from rock and was nearly as hard. Despite her fitness, however, she was not a good lover. Perhaps she could have been had she wanted to be, perhaps she was with others, but her single goal while she was with Avery was to climax, and after she did she would roll quickly off him, as she did now. She’d never allowed him to finish inside her, and as ever he was forced to finish himself by hand. At least she provided a towel.

Afterward, bruised and sweaty, he flopped back in bed, panting, while Sheridan strode naked to the red-lit bar and poured herself a thick finger of bourbon. She didn’t ask him if he wanted any. Avery stared at her rippling, muscular body, gleaming with sweat as she stood at the bar, and marveled that she could look so calm and in control naked.

She eyed him over the rim of her glass. “You’ve gotten flabby,” she said. “You need exercise. Look at you, you can hardly breathe.”

“I think that’s more ... your fault ... than mine.”

“You’ve gone soft, Doctor.”

“Ha.”

She was right, though, of course. Back on land he enjoyed taking hikes through the mountains that were so important to his country. Sometimes he would hike for days, pitching tents in the forests, careful to keep to the safe areas. At sea, however, he had little to do but drink and brood, and brood and drink. He admitted to himself that he’d done quite a lot of both.

“I’ll start taking walks along the decks,” he said.

She rattled the ice in her glass. “Not outside, I hope.”

“Oh, no. The inner decks should do fine. I’ll take a drink, if you don’t mind.”

“I think you’ve had enough of those. And too many while on duty. One’s enough to get you hanged.”

“Jess, you know I’d never—”

“Don’t call me that.” She tensed, then softened. “Get it yourself if you must. It’ll give you some exercise.”

Grumbling, he rose from bed, threw on his pants and approached the bar. She edged away from him. She never liked to be close, except when they were amorously occupied, and even then she would not let him kiss her on the mouth and sternly guarded where he placed his hands.

He poured himself two fingers of bourbon and sipped it neat, savoring the expensive liquor.

She seemed to notice his enjoyment. “If you gave a shit about your life, Doctor, you’d have money to buy your own.”

He drank. “My life ended some time ago.” He said it more to himself than to her.

“So, what are you now, a ghost?” She glanced away for a moment, and a hint of something that might be sadness flickered in her eyes. In a smaller voice, she said, “We’ve all had tragedies, Francis.”

He started. She rarely called him by his first name.

Washing herself with a wet cloth, she said, “At least you’re a decent doctor.”

Avery smiled and peered at the bed. “Apparently I have my uses.”

“True. You make my other lovers look good.”

He felt a small flash of something that could not possibly be jealousy. He wanted little more than to be out of this relationship, if that’s what it was. It was no surprise to him that she had other lovers. It was well known that she had conquests scattered throughout the fleet.

Buttoning his shirt, he said, “I think I’ll go check on my new patient.”

“See that she reaches shore alive, Doctor.” Sheridan began pulling her uniform back on, piece by piece. “The scientists will want her breathing, at least at first. She could be very valuable.”

“To your career, you mean.”

She didn’t deny it. “I won’t be a captain forever. Someday I’ll be admiral. Then fleet admiral. Then ... who knows?” She smiled, and it was not a little predatory.

He drained his glass. “Well, if that’s all ...”

Her face changed, as if she realized that she’d made a mistake. He didn’t give her time to fix it, but made for the door.

“Doctor,” she said.

Don’t turn. He turned. Sheridan was eyeing him strangely. She sucked in a breath, strode to the nearest bulkhead and removed a painting; it depicted the famous landing of Captain Devorre on the shores of Apolli. A safe gleamed where the painting had been. Sheridan spun the dial and opened it, retrieving a small, lacquered wooden box from the safe’s interior.

“Here.”

Frowning, Avery stepped forward. “What is it?”

“Look.”

She opened the box to reveal the empty casing of a shotgun shell. It sat on black velvet, snug inside a little depression shaped just for it.

He raised his eyebrows.

“Winter of ’57,” she said. “One of my first wins. The shell that casing belongs to won me more than just a medal.” She did not explain what she meant by that but pressed the box into his hands. “Keep it for me.”

He didn’t know what to say. Skeet shooting contests were an ancient tradition of the Navy and were always practiced on the bow of a ship. He knew that giving him a memento from an early win was a peace offering, maybe something more. Surely it wasn’t a gesture of affection. She would consider that a weakness. And yet ...

“I will,” Avery said.

He slipped the box into a pocket and ran his fingers over it as he made his way back through the halls. He wondered what it signified, if anything. Don’t read too much into it. This is Sheridan. He half suspected the only reason she slept with him was because unlike everyone else aboard he had some measure of independence. She liked someone that could stand up to her—to an extent, anyway. As for why he allowed the trysts, he supposed it was mainly to avoid friction. Plus, he admitted to himself, it was nice to have at least one real human connection left, uncomfortable though it was.

He returned to the medical bay to find it deserted save one dozing nurse. He made straight for his new patient, the mysterious woman from the sea, in her curtained-off corner.

She blinked up at him.

* * *

Her eyes were the blue of mountain rivers, swift and plunging. They stared at him coolly, and he was struck by the force of personality in them. The rest of her remained fevered and sweaty, and even as he approached her eyes began to close.

“Don’t sleep!” he said. “Stay conscious.”

He found a syringe, filled it with a stimulant and injected her. Now that she was awake, he had to keep her from lapsing into a coma. He massaged the flesh of her upper arm to help the stimulant pass through, surprised by how hot her skin was.

She stirred and mumbled something.

“What?” he said. “What is it?”

He leaned forward to hear her better, and she spoke again.

“Gedden es un ... ?”

Dismay washed over him. He staggered back, nearly knocking over a tray. It can’t be.

He forced his eyes to meet hers. It doesn’t matter. She was a patient, first and foremost.

Still, he tasted something bitter on his tongue as, cobbling together the Octunggen he’d learned over the years, he answered her question. “You’re on a Ghenisan whaling ship. You were found ... believe it or not ... in the belly of a whale. Can you ...” He heard his voice creak and cleared his throat. “Please, tell me how you got there, how you were able to survive the waters—the whale?”

Sweat beaded her cheeks and forehead. She said nothing.

“Please,” he repeated. “Does Octung have some way to fight the effects of the water?” Octung, he was all too aware, possessed many sophisticated and strange technologies; it would not surprise him.

She seized his arm. Again the warmth of her skin surprised him.

“I ... am not ... Octunggen.”

“But you speak it.”

She trembled, and her eyes rolled up.

“No! No!” He shook her. “Don’t go to sleep!” He slapped her face.

Her eyes opened. “Ghenisa ...”

“Yes, this is a Ghenisan ship.” He took a breath. “My captain will want to talk to you.”

Her face, which had been red from fever, visibly paled. “No ... no ... there are spies. Agents of Octung. All throughout the continent. Ghenisa ... is riddled with them. If you ... tell anyone about me ... I will die.”

“What? Why?”

“I ...” She started to shake again. Before she lost lucidity, she said, “I am on a ... mission ... to stop them.”

“Who?”

Her eyes started to roll up in her head, and he shook her again, almost desperate.

“Stop what?”

“Stop ... Octung.”

He stared at her, speechless.

The fever took her, and she collapsed into the bed. He tried to rouse her, but without success. She slept on, tossing and turning, sweating and red. He realized that he was trembling.

A noise behind him. “Did I miss something?”

He turned to see the nurse, Jennifer, yawning, her eyes on the patient.

Avery opened his mouth to tell her what had happened, but hesitated. The mystery woman had said Ghenisa was plagued—riddled—with spies. He didn’t necessarily believe her, of course, and Jennifer surely couldn’t be a spy even if there were such creatures about, but if he told Jennifer what had happened, and she told others, and there were spies, how long would it be before they moved against the mystery woman? He supposed he owed her claims some thought, if nothing else.

“She came to briefly,” he said. “She said nothing and went right back into sleep.”

“I thought I heard voices.”

“Just me, trying to get her to stay awake.”

“I—”

Alarms blared. They were not the long, slow beats that signaled a whale sighting, but fast, urgent, teeth-rattling peals. They could mean only one thing.

“Octunggen,” Jennifer breathed.

It was as if her words were a cue. Before Avery could even think the word torpedo, a great roar rose up from deep in the ship. Something exploded. Metal squealed. The floor pitched beneath Avery’s feet and flung him against a bulkhead. He struck his head and tasted blood on his tongue. Blackness overcame him.

When it parted, he found himself on the floor. Other things joined him, various objects of the bay, a bottle of painkiller, a canister of anesthesia gas, a metal tray, rolling and sliding about. Jennifer was picking herself up, shaking her head. Screams issued from down the hall.

She staggered over to Avery and offered her hand. Shakily, he grasped it and hauled himself to his feet.

“Are you all right, Doctor?”

“We’ve been hit,” he said. He heard the shock in his voice and forced himself to push past it. “We have work to do.”

3

Blood dripped from Avery’s elbows onto his apron. A spray splashed his mask and dotted his glasses. He clamped off his patient’s artery and began to sew, as other doctors and nurses hovered over their own patients, bloody and burned. The torpedo had struck one of the furnace rooms, and the results had been catastrophic. Fortunately the sub had only hit them once before Sheridan had sunk it.

“New mask,” Avery said, having difficulty breathing through the blood-soaked cotton. After his nurse replaced it and cleaned his glasses, Avery continued sealing up the artery. The sailor’s leg had been badly damaged, both by shrapnel and by fire. At first Avery had been convinced that he’d have to amputate, but he’d found a way to save it.

“Done,” he said at last.

“It looks good, Doctor,” the nurse told him.

Exhausted, Avery let a junior doctor sew up the incision while he slumped back and made himself take some deep breaths. The last few hours had passed in a blur. His team of doctors and nurses had rushed to the furnace room and the surrounding chambers, found the injured men and women, some trapped behind flames and debris in the lower levels, helped unearth them, then seen them carried safely to the sickbay, where the doctors had a full range of medical equipment to aid them, as opposed to establishing a triage on-site. After long, weary hours of blood and screams, Avery’s eyes had drooped and his arms had sagged. Having no choice, he’d fortified himself with an injection of stimulants.

Now he leaned against a bulkhead, tired and with blood dripping from him. The reek of viscera and antiseptic permeated everything. Around him, men and women were piled up, beds squeezed together in confusion, pipes tapping a beat overhead. The medical bay had only been built large enough to hold twenty patients, but twice that number had been wounded in the attack. The remainder cluttered the floor in the adjoining halls. And those were the lucky ones. The torpedo had killed thirty for certain, and there were still several men and women unaccounted for. There would barely be enough functioning sailors left to crew the Maul.

At least they’d had their revenge, and with the submarine downed Captain Sheridan was shoring up the hull breaches and pumping out water. Avery hoped she’d acted quickly enough to prevent infection from spreading among the crew or some creature from the sea getting inside; he wasn’t sure which was worse. At least the torpedo that had struck them had been conventional, not one of the acid-explosives or purported time-warps or what-not the Octunggen delighted in using.

Avery’s gaze strayed over the dead, the wounded, the weary doctors, exhausted nurses, finally to alight on the woman he had come to think of as Patient X. My mermaid. Mostly hidden behind a curtain, she lay still.

He glanced around once more to make sure his attentions weren’t needed elsewhere and moved toward her.

She was hot to the touch, and still asleep. Avery withdrew his smelling salts and tried to rouse her. When that failed, he shot her up with adrenaline; whatever risks it held were minor compared to letting the Navy scientists dissect her.

“Come on, wake up, wake up.”

Of course, if she did, what would happen to her when the others found out she spoke Octunggen? Neither waking nor sleeping held much hope for her.

The woman slumbered on, her chest rising and falling, and Avery frowned. With a sigh, he checked her dressings. It was then, as he shifted the bandage on her right leg, that he saw it. At first he thought he was hallucinating, but no, there could be no mistake: the woman was half healed.

The massive, deep purple scar tissue that had wrapped around her upper left thigh just hours ago was now normal, healthy skin, albeit red and enflamed.

He heard a gasp and turned to see Nurse Reynolds staring at the burn. “I don’t believe it.”

Avery inspected her other wounds. All showed the same signs of recovery.

“Amazing,” he said.

“How is this possible?” Reynolds said.

“I don’t know, but this is the woman that survived the Atomic Sea. Hell, she even survived the belly of a whale.”

A young enlisted man entered the bay, sweaty and frantic. He approached one group of junior doctors, whispered something to them, and moved on to a pair of patients. Gasps of incredulity and horror followed him. At last he approached Avery.

“Doctor, have you heard the news? Captain Sheridan—she’s cutting the whale loose!”

* * *

As soon as Avery emerged onto the deck, he swore.

Sheridan strode back and forth before the gunwale while sailors hacked through the stout hemp ropes that bound the whale. A crowd of depressed-looking whalers and sailors, Janx among them, had gathered on deck, and they watched as the ropes sprang free, one by one. In disbelief, Avery pushed his way through the crowd, coming to stand before Captain Sheridan.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he said. He realized he’d misspoken as soon as the words were out.

Sheridan stared at him through the brass grill that covered her face-plate. “Watch your tone, Doctor. I’ll excuse it this time, but don’t address me like that again or I’ll keelhaul you.”

He blinked. “Captain, please ... I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?”

Commander Hambry, who’d been cutting the ropes, approached. With breathing that sounded labored, he said, “It’s not your place to question the Captain, Doctor.”

Sheridan shoved Hambry back. Raising her voice, she said, “I’ll say this one more time, to all of you. We have no choice. Octunggen subs are hunting us. A patrol has found us and destroyed three ships of the line already—and crippled the Maul. It’s all we can do just to keep the engines going and the bilges pumping. We’ll be lucky if we can make port. There is no way we can haul this carcass back with us.”

“But the lard—” Janx started.

Captain Sheridan glared at him. “We have to hope the other ships manage to bring something back.”

The last rope was cut.

Dejectedly, Avery made his way to the rail and watched the tortured mass of the whale drift away. Black fins approached it, then tangled the water around it. Avery imagined the unholy feast going on below the waves, the ripping of flesh, the gobbling of lard. His throat felt tight. The men and women of the Maul stood around him, staring out at the whale. Small gas-squid, drawn by the stench of rot and now undeterred by the ship, bobbed through the sky and alit on the mound. They slithered over its barnacle-covered hide, ripping at it with their beaks, gripping it with their tentacles. As the ship drew further and further away, they became impossible to see.

“Gods below,” Janx said. “It’s still got some of my mates rotting in its belly, and she’s let it go.”

If Sheridan heard him, she gave no sign.

“I’m sorry,” Avery told him.

Janx kicked the gunwale. In disgust, he turned about and stormed away. Several whalers followed. The Captain ordered the remaining men and women back to their stations, and with lowered heads they slunk off. Avery remained, intending to see the whale off.

Seemingly hesitant, Sheridan approached him. He did not turn to look at her.

“How could you?” It was all he could say.

Sheridan stared out at the sea. Perhaps accidentally, her arm brushed his.

“We all do what we have to,” she said. For a long moment, neither said anything. A burst of orange and red on the horizon signaled an exploding gas pocket. At last she said, “Now your patient’s more important than ever.”

“How is that?”

“As of now, she’s our most precious cargo.”

“She’s not cargo.”

“She is what I say she is.” Sheridan shot him a warning look. “Take good care of her, Doctor. She could be very significant.”

She said she could stop Octung.

The Captain pulled back to confer with Hambry, then returned. “Tend to the Commander. A gas tank blew while he was helping some of our men trapped in the explosion. He was hurt.”

Avery led the X.O. inside. Hambry moved in odd jerks, and he favored one side. When Avery got him to the medical bay and out of the suit, he saw why. Shrapnel from the exploding gas tank had caught Hambry on the upper right chest. Some of the pieces must have penetrated deep and were likely close to the lung. Every time he breathed, they cut deeper. He was not coughing blood yet, but he was close.

It was then, as Hambry lay half-naked on the surgical table and Avery stood over him with gleaming surgical instruments at hand, that Avery noticed the wounds he had been looking for. With every patient he’d seen to over the last few hours, he had kept an eye out for the bruises Paul’s elbows would have left in his last moments.

In addition to the bruising and discoloration around the shrapnel entry points, other bruises showed on Hambry’s torso and arms. They were small, and the wounds corresponded precisely to where Paul’s elbows would have struck, mostly along the sides and arms, avoiding the middle—and low. Paul had been a shorter man than Hambry, and the bruises were grouped above Hambry’s waist, exactly where they should have been if Hambry committed the murder.

At the sight, the pain behind Avery’s right eye returned, throbbing in full force. He had to clutch at the bed to steady himself.

“Are you all right, Doctor?”

“I’m ... fine.” But you won’t be.

It took all of Avery’s will not to kill Hambry during the surgery to remove the pieces of shrapnel. It would have been so easy. A slice here, a nick there, and Commander Hambry would die of complications to his wounds. Avery himself would perform the autopsy and certify the cause of death. No questions asked. A quick, effortless murder. Even neater and cleaner than Paul’s.

Avery knew he could never prove Hambry had done it, not in a court of law. So the Commander had odd bruises, that didn’t prove anything.

Avery’s fingers itched as he held the scalpel, but he held himself back. He needed proof. He needed to be sure. Also, and just as importantly, he needed to know why the Commander had killed Paul. And if he had killed Paul, Hambry had almost certainly been the one that murdered Lt. Nyers two weeks ago. The killings were just too similar.

Avery’s craving for a drink doubled and trebled during the procedure, and afterwards he allowed himself to sneak a few swigs. He did not take care to keep the stitching particularly neat or straight.

Hambry would recover. And when he did, Avery would have his answers.

* * *

With all the injured men and women seen to, Avery shrugged off his white coat, said goodbye to Paul and left the bay to return to his private cabin. It was dark, rusty and stank of mold, but it was home. After the stimulant come-down, he felt exhausted, both in mind and body.

“At last,” he muttered, taking out a bottle from a cabinet, then a second. He knocked down a shot of bourbon with a chaser of brandy, and sat on his narrow bed. He gulped down deep breaths and tried to let his mind calm.

His gaze wandered where it always did, almost against his will, to a small framed picture mounted to the wall opposite the bed. He felt something twist inside him at the sight. In the picture a smiling woman with long black hair stood before a modest stone house, and a girl with short, equally dark hair and an impish grin held her hand. Moss grew in the house’s cracks, and a crowded flowerbed ran along its windows. Muted sunlight shone down on them.

Avery stared at the picture until his eyes burned. He felt suddenly unsteady, as though his sense of equilibrium had been taken away, and the world moved around him.

He knocked back another sip of bourbon, and the world calmed.

Visions of fire, blood and screaming men chased him through his dreams that night, but other, older haunts were there, too. Memories. He dreamed of walking through a dead city, bodies lying scattered all around, some still twitching. He was dressed in a bulky environment suit, hot and cumbersome. A desperate need spurred him on, and he heard himself screaming out two names, again and again. He staggered through the streets, over bodies, around stopped cars, vaguely aware of a bright light flaring from one of the mountains that reared ahead—a red, terrible light. At last he came to a simple cobbled house, the same one from the picture, and time seemed to slow. He screamed, exhausted, tears caking his cheeks, but even though he knew he was running toward the house it never seemed to get any closer. It loomed before him, beautiful and horrible, and he found himself terrified and at the same time desperate to see what waited inside. But the house came no closer, and the red light flared even more brightly from the mountaintop. Fires raged behind him, and somewhere planes droned. The house ... Mari ... Ani ... please, let it have spared them. Let it—

He woke with a gasp. Sweat beaded his brow. Shakily, he dressed and performed his necessary functions. He tried not to let his gaze linger on the picture.

Before he left, he found a cigar in his top cabinet drawer. It was the last one Paul had given him. Together they had often sat in this cabin of an evening, smoking and bullshitting about legends from the L’ohen Empire, or heroes of the Revolution—both men were history buffs—while whale songs groaned outside and lightning lit the portholes. And sometimes, just sometimes, they would talk about their lost families. Only then could Avery speak of his wife and daughter. Of Mari and Ani.

After studying the cigar a moment, he replaced it in the drawer. Perhaps he’d smoke it when Hambry was dead.

With leaden feet, Avery returned to the medical bay. Paul’s autopsy held no surprises. He had ultimately died by drowning in his own blood, coupled with severe bodily trauma after being stabbed half a dozen times. Avery had expected it, but he had owed his friend nothing less than a full post-mortem.

In a fit of perversion, he placed Commander Hambry in the bed adjoining Paul’s corpse—not that Paul would stay there long, of course. The group funeral that was to be held for the slain whalers would include him, too. The dead from the submarine attack had yet to be tallied, and there were some who had yet to be found or identified, so the group funeral for them would be delayed. At today’s funeral, only one of the caskets would be occupied. Paul would enter the next life, if there was such a thing, alone.

* * *

Subs hunted them.

Along with the other ships of the whaling fleet, the GS Maul limped toward safety. Several of the ships had been attacked by Octunggen subs the same night the Maul had, and three had gone down. Every few hours a report of a new submarine contact came from one of the ships, and the entire fleet would veer sharply away.

They made for a passing naval convoy, where a fleet of Ghenisan warships shepherded a large number of cargo vessels bound for Hissig, capital of Ghenisa. The cargo was being transferred from Vlakresk, an ally that lay across the Atomic Sea to the east. The Vlakreskin had not yet been drawn into the war waged by Octung and its vassal states, the war which had engulfed the continents of Urslin and Consur, so they still possessed the resources to be philanthropic—not that they had given the cargo away, of course. They’d sold it for a shiny tzan, Avery was sure. But they were bitter foes of Octung and knew that prolonging the war across the sea would delay the arrival of Octung’s forces in their own land.

If the Maul and her sister ships could reach the convoy, they would be reasonably safe from marauding submarines. Until then they were at the subs’ mercy. They could not even radio for assistance, as the Octunggen had triggered some device of theirs, one of their mysterious pieces of technology, which limited the reach of radio signals or blocked them altogether. The ships could communicate with each other if they did not stray beyond a certain range, but the outside world was off-limits. They existed in their own bubble, a limbo between life and death.

It would take a week to reach the convoy.

An Octunggen submarine could come upon them at any time.

The race was on.

* * *

“Good as ever,” said Lt. Orin, wrinkling her face as she took a bite. They were eating tinned beef and potatoes tonight, and neither tasted particularly fresh, unless one counted the tang of metal.

“At least it’s better than what the whalers and enlisted men get,” said Lt. Mason, which got a round of groans.

Avery ate without comment. Though he usually dined with the officers in their private mess as was expected of him, he’d never felt a part of their group, always feeling more at home for some reason among the enlisted men and whalers—though he doubted they reciprocated the feeling.

“We’re just lucky to be alive,” someone said. “After the last few days ... I mean, my gods.”

Murmured assent greeted this. The days since the attack had been rough for the whaling fleet, with one ship being attacked after another. Two that had survived the initial assault had broken up, and privately Avery wondered if the Maul would be the next to go—and if there would be any ships left to aid them if it did.

“We’ll reach the convoy in another two days,” Avery said, if only for something to say.

Lt. Orin started to respond, but the blare of the ship’s intercom interrupted her. The voice of Captain Sheridan, made metallic by the speaker, rang out:

“ALL HANDS TO YOUR STATIONS. THE AGARA HAS JUST BEEN HIT. REPEAT, THE AGARA HAS BEEN HIT. WE’RE UNDER WAY TO ASSIST HER. PREPARE YOURSELVES.”

Sheridan clicked off.

Instantly Avery and the rest of the diners quit their meals and joined the press of people in the hallways leading outside. Avery went first to the medical bay, which he ordered prepped for immediate use, then rejoined the traffic in the halls. He donned an environment suit and with a group of nervous sailors emerged onto the outer deck. Rain and wind lashed him, and he staggered to clip himself in.

“Bumpy night, ain’t it?” said a voice beside him.

Janx.

“What are you doing out here?” Avery asked. Technically the whalers were not part of the Navy but were civilian contractors that lived and worked apart, held in reserve to hunt whales.

“Thought I’d see what’s what,” Janx said. “Hell, maybe I could pitch in. Gets awful restless down in the Pen.”

Around them the sailors readied themselves to board the Agara and help shore up the damage, possibly even take on as much of the crew as the Maul would hold if it appeared the ship would sink. Avery secured one group’s services if he needed them to transport wounded to the medical bay.

Sheridan emerged onto the deck surrounded by officers. From the forward gunwale, she stared out at the night through binoculars, and Avery was close enough to hear her say to her officers, “There it is. Get ready.”

Avery strained his eyes and made out the dim bulk of the Agara, its thick chimney towers blocking out the stars.

“There’s no lights,” Janx said.

He was right. The Agara was simply a wall of blackness on the sea.

“Perhaps their generators were hit,” Avery said.

Janx said nothing.

Sheridan ordered searchlights to illuminate the Agara, and the beams played over the other ship’s decks at her direction. When Avery saw people there, he smiled.

The smile vanished instantly.

“Dear gods,” he muttered. “They’re not wearing suits ...”

Though the decks of the Agara swarmed with activity, Avery couldn’t see a single person wearing an environment suit.

“The idiots,” Janx said. “They’ll get infected.”

“Perhaps a fire forced them outside.”

The Maul neared the distressed ship, which was riding low in the water, surely due to the torpedo strike, and Avery couldn’t help but feel a wave of grief at all the people being infected right in front of him. To see a whole ship-full of people sicken and die ... or change ... As a doctor, it offended him to be so impotent. There was nothing he could do for them.

“Hells,” Janx said.

“What?”

Then Avery saw it, too. The people on the decks of the Agara acted strangely. As the Maul drew closer, Avery saw Agarans crawling over each other, biting and ripping at one another, some even hurling their crewmates overboard. It was as if a madness had possessed them. Every one of them. They were raving. Foam gathered at their mouths. Blood dappled their bodies. Some ripped at their chests and faces with their fingernails, as if so eager to cause pain that even their own would do. As the Maul approached, the Agarans turned their bloody, shredded faces toward the Maulers, and their eyes gleamed like embers. As one, a terrible howl rose up from the Agarans’ throats.

It was almost too late. The Maul had pulled alongside the Agara and sailors were preparing to throw across ropes and boarding ramps. At a sudden shout from Sheridan, the crew of the Maul abandoned the boarding ramps and took up arms instead.

One of the Agarans leapt across the gap that separated the ships and, before the Maulers could stop him, grabbed a sailor and hurled him over the side. As the madman reached for another victim, Captain Sheridan shot the man through the head. He toppled backward over the gunwale.

Other Agarans leapt over, screaming and tearing at the Maulers. One landed near Avery. Janx smashed him over the head and threw him over the side.

While Avery fought for breath, Janx crossed to a rack of harpoons, grabbed one and returned.

“Shove away!” he bellowed to all nearby, and demonstrated by pushing against the hull of the Agara with the butt of the harpoon.

Others followed suit, and soon the ships were separating. Meanwhile, Sheridan orchestrated the effort to destroy any Agarans that had made the leap.

Avery helped reel in the sailor who’d been flung overboard; the man’s lifeline had saved him. By the time Avery pulled him over, with some assistance from nearby sailors, the Maul had pulled away, and the howls of the Agarans were fading into the mist. As he bent over the sailor, Avery noticed blood.

“Damn,” he said.

The man’s suit had been ruptured. A bloody bite showed under the right nipple.

Avery steeled himself to deliver the bad news. “I’m very sorry, sir. I’m afraid your suit has—”

The man seized Avery. His eyes were bloodshot and the pupils had shrunk to pinpricks. The man’s teeth chomped, and spittle sprayed from chewed lips. The man brought Avery in close as if to bite him, but their helms simply knocked against each other. Spittle sprayed the inside of the man’s helm.

Sailors grabbed the fellow and pulled him away from Avery. It was quickly determined that whatever contagion had swept through the crew of the Agara had been passed onto the Mauler through the bite. Sweating, Avery made his way to Sheridan, who stared at the receding bulk of the Agara grimly.

“We have a problem,” he told her, and outlined what had happened.

Surprisingly, she said, “I know.”

“You know?”

“As soon as I saw the Agara’s decks, the people there, I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“The Octunggen must have hit the Agara with a plague torpedo. The Agarans were able to shore up the damage, evidently, but they couldn’t stop the gas. It contaminated them all. Turned them into ... well, you saw.”

Avery stared at the Agara, at the still-swarming masses there, just dim shapes in the mist.

“A plague torpedo ...” he said. He’d heard of them, of course, but he hadn’t known what they did exactly. He wished he still didn’t. “What should we do with the contaminated man?”

She shook her head. “There’s only one thing.”

She strode up to the raving man and, after some words to Avery and the others to mollify them, shot the man through the head. Along with the other corpses, the man was flung overboard and the deck hosed where he’d lain.

“Scrub the deck well,” Sheridan instructed her crew. “Use the strongest cleansers you have.”

“I need a drink,” Avery said.

Sheridan sighed. “Come with me. We’ll drink together.” She paused, then said, not without a trace of sadness, “But first I must scuttle the Agara. We can’t let the contagion spread. I don’t know what bothers me more—scuttling it or the fact that we’ll have to use one of our last torpedoes to do it.”

* * *

On the eight day, the Grengas, the only ship of the fleet not crippled, had had enough. It broke off from the others who’d been slowing it down and made a run for the convoy. Just before the Grengas passed through the radio silence bubble, its captain sent a frantic communiqué to the ships it had abandoned: “... am turning around now ... full speed ... blockade ... repeat, submarine blockade ahead ... have been spotted and am going full thrott—”

It never returned to the others. A great conflagration was seen just over the horizon to the south, the direction it had vanished in.

News spread throughout the ships. The Octunggen lay in wait, sealing off the convoy from the surviving whaling ships. There was no way around, not with the other subs out hunting them. They were all doomed. Everyone was dead already.

* * *

“And how are we doing today?” Avery asked, making his rounds in the medical bay.

Lt. Hinis grimaced and fingered the bandages that wrapped the stump of her right arm, which had been severed just below the elbow. “I’d be doin’ fuckin’ better, Doc, if you could grow back my arm.”

“Well, while I work on that, you should be up and about by tomorrow.”

She snorted. “We’ll hit the blockade by then.”

“I’m sure Captain Sheridan knows what she’s doing.”

“Yeah? Then why doesn’t she go another way? Why’s she goin’ into the blockade?”

“There’s no other way. We’re low on fuel—the Grengas was our remaining fuel storage ship—and we wouldn’t be able to make a detour wide enough to avoid the subs.”

From his bed across the aisle, Ensign Cashim said, “So we’re just going to commit suicide?”

“I believe the hope is that the convoy will draw so close that the Octunggen will break up their blockade and scatter,” Avery said.

“Hope Sheridan’s right, Doc,” Hinis said. “We won’t survive another hit.”

From the bed nearest her, a man named Myers, who’d been badly burned in the attack, said in his raspy voice, “I just wish I knew what it was all for—the war, I mean.”

“World domination, what else?” Hinis said. “Octung’s ‘Forever Empire’. Fucking idiots.”

The man grimaced, his mutilated flesh pulling back to reveal white teeth. “They’re doing it for their gods. It’s a holy war.”

Cashim adjusted his stump of a leg, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “Don’t talk about, well, you know.”

For some reason, Avery felt an uncomfortable flutter in his own belly. The gods of Octung ...

“It’s bad luck,” Cashim added.

“Bullshit,” said Hinis, spitting a wad of tobacco juice, but even she didn’t look convinced.

“Is it?” rasped Myers. “It’s not about world domination, don’t you get it? It’s about ... them.” He looked around significantly and added in a low, awful voice: “The Collossum.”

Avery tried to wave it away. “The Collossum might be the deities of our enemies, but that doesn’t mean we should treat them with any greater respect or fear than any other gods. They’re just as—well, not to sound anti-religious, but they’re just as insubstantial.”

“Maybe, Doctor,” said Cashim, and then violated his earlier warning by adding, “But what I heard is, after the Octs conquer a country, they burn all the temples to the local gods and set up new ones to the Collossum. Those that refuse to attend—” He drew a line across his throat. “Of course, they kill enough in their purgings that what do a few more matter?”

“I heard they practice human sacrifice,” Myers said.

“Surely not,” Avery said. “If nothing else, Octung is a civilized country.”

“Civilized!” Hinis said. “They’ve slaughtered half the continent!”

“Don’t worry so much. It’s bad for your recovery.” He made himself smile. “We’ll stop them.”

“Yeah. We’re doin’ a real bang-up job of it so far, Doc. What’s that the Ungraessotti say? We’ve got one foot in the Soul Door already. And by dawn it looks like we’ll have the other through.”

Avery continued performing his rounds, conscious that he was avoiding a certain patient. Finally, after he had finished checking on everyone else, he realized he couldn’t put it off any longer and approached Commander Hambry’s bedside.

“How are we feeling today?” Avery asked. In grievous pain, hopefully.

Hambry appeared all too healthy. He shrugged and winced. “Tugs.”

“Don’t move your shoulder. That’s why your arm is in a sling.”

“When can I get out of here?”

“Soon. Very soon.” As soon as I figure out what to do with you.

“Soon would be appreciated, Doctor,” said a new voice.

Avery swiveled to see Captain Sheridan. “Good day, Captain.”

She tipped her head. “Good day, Doctor.” Her tone was frosty. She had only requested his personal attentions once in the last week. Avery wasn’t sure if it was because she was too busy, too stressed, or if his presence simply embarrassed her now that she was acting fleet admiral. With all the higher-ranking officers dead, she had finally realized her dream, at least temporarily.

“How’s the Commander?” she asked.

“As well as can be expected. He nearly punctured a lung.”

“But his legs are fine. And he’s still got one arm.”

“She’s right, Doctor,” Hambry said. “I should be up and out of here.”

“One of your sutures could rupture,” Avery said.

“Then give him checkups,” Sheridan said. “But get him out of here.”

Avery sighed. “One more day, if you would.”

Sheridan started to say something, but held it back. “Leave me and the Commander for a moment, would you, Doctor.”

Hambry occupied a curtained-off corner of the medical bay, and the two had plenty of privacy. Despite that, Avery heard them speak in whispers as he walked away. What could they need to talk about so confidentially? Without really thinking about it, he tried to listen in, but they spoke too softly and soon he was out of earshot.

He busied himself by checking on Patient X. She continued in her coma—that’s what it was, he had come to acknowledge—unmoving, unspeaking. Her fever lingered.

Ensign Cashim went into cardiac arrest at eighteen hundred hours. Avery performed emergency open-heart surgery, but the ship suffered a power failure halfway through, plunging the operating room into darkness. Worse, the machines pumping out the ensign’s lungs went still. Cashim died with Avery still massaging his heart. Power resumed, but too late for the ensign.

The generators had been failing more often every day. Avery didn’t know if the Maul was going to make it much further.

Infuriated, needing a drink, he washed himself of Cashim’s blood and marched through the medical bay, searching for Commander Hambry, looking for someone to vent on, though he wasn’t sure what he would say when he found Hambry. He tore aside the curtains surrounding the X.O.’s cot and stared at Hambry’s bed—at empty sheets and a pillow.

Hambry was gone.

* * *

“He can’t have gone far,” Avery told Dr. Murragne, one of his junior doctors.

“Surely you don’t mean to go after him,” protested Murragne, as Avery walked toward the door.

“That’s precisely what I mean to do.”

“But, Doctor—”

Avery patted his shoulder. “See to things while I’m away. I won’t be long.”

Without another word, he left the medical bay.

Where could the commander have gone? Despite Hambry’s putting on appearances in front of Sheridan, Avery knew the man must be in considerable pain. Moving about the ship would be agonizing for him—hell, he could barely breathe. Avery relished the thought of that, of course, but the reason behind Hambry’s disappearance worried him. Hambry had killed Paul and Nyers, Avery was certain of it, and now he was acting suspiciously. Avery needed to know why.

He scoured the halls, from the mess to the bunks to the furnace, questioning sailors as he went. Bangs and rattles passed along the snarls of metal pipes overhead as if the ship were sending signals to distant parts of itself, and Avery wished it would let him in on its secrets. One by one the sailors Avery came across shrugged and said they hadn’t seen Hambry, until Avery happened upon Lieutenant Second Class Garun, just coming from the third-deck mess.

“Are you sure?” Avery asked him, after Garun had told him what he’d seen.

Garun nodded, his acne-riddled face tight. “Yes, Doctor. He went through the mid-port lock, I swear. He was coming from the officers’ quarters.”

“That makes no sense. He wouldn’t be going outside.”

Garun swallowed. “Could be wrong, Doctor. But I remember him leaning against a bulkhead—had half an environment suit on but didn’t seem to have the strength to put the other half on. He ordered me to help him. Then he said something peculiar.”

“Yes?”

“He said I’d just done the fleet a great service. That make any sense to you, sir?”

“No. It doesn’t.”

“Probably out of his mind. The Commander was wounded. Blood was seeping on his chest.”

“Yes, it would be ...” Hambry must be quite desperate, Avery thought. But desperate to do what?

“I wanted to get him to the medical bay, but he wouldn’t hear it, and he is the X.O.,” Garun went on.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I’m sure you did all you could.”

Avery struggled with himself, then marched to the nearest airlock and donned an environment suit. The suit was heavy, and he could not imagine a man in Hambry’s condition putting one on. Even with Garun’s assistance, it would have been difficult, not to mention painful to operate. Nothing about this was making any sense.

A question gnawed at Avery, but he tried to dismiss it. Surely Captain Sheridan could have no part of this.

He gulped down a breath, stepped outside and slammed the metal door behind him. As always, the violence of the Atomic Sea shocked him. Sea spray spattered his face-place and he saw the burst of upward-flinging lightning through prisms of droplets. Thunder boomed across the waves, and the Maul pitched beneath his feet. The sea was even stormier than usual, and he had to fight to clip his safety line into place. Once locked in, he looked first one way, then the other, searching for a dark bulk limping into the night. Nothing.

Up above, two figures huddled in the crow’s nest jutting from the middle chimney stack, braced under their canopy. Stars and smog-like clouds drifted overhead, and a school of frangelets, violet, phosphorescent anemone-like creatures, floated above the waves to port. There was no one on deck, at least that Avery could see.

Which direction had Hambry gone? Avery remembered Paul. And before that, Lt. Nyers. One had been seen falling from aft of amidships, one had died at the stern. Neither had been found forward. Presuming Hambry was about whatever business he’d been about on those two occasions—if it had been him—he would not have gone forward.

Avery squared his shoulders and lurched off toward the stern.

A great wave smashed the hull and broke over the gunwale. Sent him reeling back. Foam sizzled around him. At the last moment he jerked his lifeline and righted himself. Water sloughed between his feet as he stepped over a fish that flopped along the deck. It snapped its mandibles and electricity coursed along its spines.

Breathing the metallic air inside the helmet, Avery moved on, drawing closer and closer to the stern. What am I doing? I’m not some private eye in a picture show.

Paul. He thought of Paul and pressed on.

Avery rounded the stern chimney and saw the poop deck. Right where Sgt. Bercka had been killed—murdered, choked in his own blood—stood a figure trudging toward the stern gunwale. From the size of the man, to the way he struggled just to walk, Avery knew it could only be Hambry.

Avery drew back into the shadow of the chimney, with the deck pitching and rolling beneath his feet, and pondered what he should do now.

Hambry limped toward the gunwale, awkwardly unbuttoning a pouch in the utility belt around his waist. The movement forced him to move both arms and stretch his shoulders. Here and there he paused, as if sucking in a sharp breath, then continued on. At last he pulled something from the pouch and held it up.

By the light of the moons and the lightning, Avery saw a plastic tube, perhaps a foot long and five inches in diameter. A device on its tip emitted regular bursts of light, right beside what looked like a radio antenna.

With the tube in one hand, Hambry limped toward the gunwale, while his other hand wrapped securely around his lifeline, reeling him in.

Avery didn’t know what the tube was, not exactly, but in that moment he was prepared to guess. It was obviously something that floated, something that was meant to be found in the wake of the Maul, something which might contain a message. But a message for whom?

There was only one answer.

Avery’s mystery patient had been right. It seemed incredible, but the proof was before his eyes. Hambry was a spy, and he was delivering a message to the Octunggen submarines. That was why Paul had died, and why Nyers had died, because they had caught the X.O. in the act.

Hambry neared the gunwale. He moved slowly, his shoulders rising and falling in rhythm to his labored breaths.

Avery, as if in a dream, stepped forward. Amazed at himself, wondering what the hell he thought he was doing, he clambered up the ladder to the poop deck.

Hambry reached the gunwale and braced against it, taking a moment to recover. Water glistened on his huge brass helmet, on the barnacle-like growths there, making him look for a moment like a monstrous toad, silhouetted against the lightning that flickered up from the water. He clutched the message tube in one fist and the gunwale in the other.

He began to raise the fist. Just a simple flick and the tube would spin into the dark sea below, bearing whatever message it contained.

“NO!” Avery shouted.

In one sudden movement, Hambry spun about. He turned with greater dexterity and speed than Avery would have thought possible given his condition, and once more Avery wondered what he was doing out here. Even in Hambry’s weakened state, he was still a match for the doctor. More than a match. But there was no one else. If Avery didn’t stop him, no one would.

Hambry stared in his direction. There was still time to back out, to run away.

Avery rushed the commander across the deck.

Hambry braced himself.

Avery struck him at full speed and knocked him back against the gunwale. The message tube spun from the commander’s fingers, and for an instant it hung in the air, right over the railing.

It struck the gunwale. Bounced. If it bounced one way, it would soar out over the water. If it bounced the other—

It hit the deck and went rolling.

A powerful fist socked Avery in the stomach. As infirm as he was, Hambry still delivered a blow that doubled Avery over and shot the taste of bile into his mouth. As he hunched over, Hambry’s knee came up and smashed his face-plate. The blow flung Avery backward, off his feet and onto his back. His air tank drove into his spine. Breath exploded from his mouth.

Avery’s head swam, and something buzzed behind his ears. His abdomen ached, his back flared, and his lungs burned where the air had been driven from them.

A powerful force slammed him in the ribs—once, twice, a third time. Hambry was kicking him. The blows were so powerful that Avery’s stomach spasmed and he vomited into the helmet.

Gasping, groaning, breathing in the smell of his own stink, he flopped about on deck not unlike the fish he’d stepped over minutes ago.

In the distance, he heard—perhaps felt—footsteps retreating, and along with them the sound of Hambry cursing.

Through puke-streaked glass, Avery saw Hambry striding back and forth over the deck, searching for the message tube. At last it rolled from its position half-concealed by a lifeline-fastening station. Its lighted tip blinked in the darkness.

Hambry lurched toward it.

Avery forced himself to all fours and climbed to his feet. The world tilted around him.

Hambry bent over to pick up the tube.

Avery stood very close to where Hambry’s lifeline passed. Holding his breath, he grabbed it with both hands—and pulled.

Hambry made a comical choking sound as he toppled backward. Avery wanted to let out a whoop of victory, but then he saw the tube clutched firmly in Hambry’s fist.

The commander rocked back and forth, trying to right himself turtle-fashion. Avery staggered over to him. The deck pitched up suddenly, and Avery wavered but kept his footing.

Hambry found his knees. Started to rise.

With one clean, economic strike, Avery punched Hambry in his upper chest. Right over the surgical incision.

Hambry howled in agony and fell back. He managed to prop himself up with his left hand. Avery stepped forward and punched the spot again. Hambry screamed. Avery grinned, surprised at the bloodlust that welled up in him.

With an animal growl, Hambry launched himself to his feet and barreled into the doctor. By a burst of wave-to-wave lightning, Avery saw a glimpse of his face. Hambry was half-mad with pain and desperation, his veins protruding, his eyes bloodshot and bulged-out, his lips pulled back from large, strong white teeth. In a fury, he drove Avery back and back, slamming him with punches as he went. If Avery had had anything left in his stomach, he would have retched again. Every punch cost Hambry, and by the time they crashed up against the gunwale, he was all but spent.

Avery tried to strike the X.O.’s shoulder again, but Hambry’s left hand grabbed his wrist, shoving his right arm up and back.

Hambry hit at Avery with the tube, but Avery grabbed his wrist. Pressed against the gunwale, they struggled against each other. To starboard, lightning flashed up from the sea.

“Why?” Hambry said. “Why won’t ... you just ... let me ... be?”

“You’re a traitor! Murderer!”

“You have ... no idea ... what we’re trying to do,” Hambry wheezed. It was a small slip, and Avery barely noticed it at the time. “... trying to ... save us all.”

Hambry brought his knee up, hard and fast. It slammed right into Avery’s crotch. Avery’s grip loosened, just enough.

Hambry tore his right hand free. His arm went back, cocked, ready to launch. With one final burst of strength, he shoved Avery aside and—

—threw.

The tube sailed up and out, out over the glimmering waves.

“No!” Avery said. What had Hambry just done? What had that message contained? If it relayed the coordinates of the Maul, its bearing, or the strength of the convoy ahead—

Anger filled him.

He wheeled on Hambry, who slouched against the gunwale, breathing in shuddering, pain-filled breaths, and grabbed him by the seat of his suit and by the top of his tank. In a rage, he strained as hard as he could, tipping the Commander over the side. Surprised, Hambry flailed and cursed.

At the last second, as Hambry teetered on the gunwale, Avery wondered how it had come to this, how he, a man who’d devoted his whole life to the aid of others, had come to the brink of murder, and he hesitated.

Then he thought of Paul, of Nyers, of the Octunggen submarines just waiting for Hambry’s message, and he shoved.

With grim satisfaction, he shoved, and Hambry fell.

With speed he didn’t even know he had, Avery reached out and unclipped the commander’s lifeline, and just in time. The line whipped up and away, whirling above Hambry as he plummeted, its clip nearly striking Avery in the faceplate.

Far below, Hambry dwindled against the sea. At last he hit the waves and vanished from sight.

Panting, Avery stared down at the white mark in the dark water where the Commander had gone. He imagined Hambry plunging down, screaming into the helm which dragged him like an anchor, until at last the pressure of the sea burst the faceplate and shattered glass sprayed his eyes. Water would fill his mouth and lungs, and he would drown, just like Paul had drowned. Panic and fear would grip him, then coldness and darkness, and then nothing.

Waves of satisfaction swept through Avery. Then his fingers started to tremble. Next his legs. Soon he found himself shaking all over. He sank to his knees and dry-heaved into his helm.

* * *

Some time later, Avery didn’t know how long, the hourly patrol found him. As fate would have it, it was Privates Barris and Wathin, the same pair who had found Paul’s body, who came upon him.

“Why’re you out here, Doctor?” said Barris.

Avery, still sitting propped up against the gunwale, wanted to tell the men the truth, but paused. The fact was that he had killed a man, and there was no evidence Avery knew of to prove that Hambry had been a spy or murderer. The only such evidence, the tube, was lost to the sea.

“I tried to stop him,” Avery said. “I tried ...”

“Stop who, sir?”

“Hambry. I went out looking for him after he disappeared. Someone told me he’d come outside, and so ... but I was too late. He fell before I could stop him.”

Wathin crouched down next to him. The young man wore a look of perplexity and horror, but not suspicion. “The X.O... fell?”

Avery couldn’t meet his eyes. “Yes,” he said. “He leaned out over the gunwale—he didn’t have a safety line attached—lost his footing and went over.” Everyone knew such a thing was a death sentence. “Gods know what he was doing out here.”

“Come on, Doctor,” Barris said. “Let’s get you indoors. It’s a nasty night.”

It was only then, as the two privates helped him inside, that Avery remembered the last thing Hambry had said to him. Hambry had used the word we. If Avery had understood him correctly, there was another spy aboard the Maul.

4

The sun shone bright overhead, turning the fog a dazzling white. It gleamed dully off the huge ships that loomed in all directions. Sailors, only half visible in the white-gray roils, stood on their decks staring across at the Maul and its sisters, some waving, some calling out. The remains of the whaling fleet had just reached the supply convoy, and jubilation rang from ship to ship.

The convoy cruised east, toward Ghenisa. Sheridan had led the Maul and its two surviving sisters through the place where the Octunggen blockade was supposed to have been, but there had been no sign of the enemy. Many speculated that they had broken up due to the proximity of the convoy, frightened off like birds at the approach of a dog, just as Sheridan had said they would.

Avery knew differently.

It had been three days since he’d killed Commander Hambry. He’d thought his sense of guilt would have faded by now, but instead it seemed to increase every day, so much that he hadn’t even partaken of the last cigar Paul had given him. He’d thought avenging the sergeant would bring about some sense of closure, but instead he felt worse, plagued by nightmares. He kept seeing the commander, hearing his voice. Sometimes he feared he was going mad. He’d begun drinking even more heavily. He didn’t know what else to do. Alcohol seemed to be the only thing keeping his mind dull enough to stay sane, and it was certainly his only recourse to sleep.

If only Hambry hadn’t actually done what he’d claimed.

If only he hadn’t saved them all.

Staring up at the ships of the convoy, some of which were much larger than the Maul, Avery tried for the thousandth time to tell himself it was a coincidence. But for the thousandth time he knew better. Hambry had indeed been a spy, and he had indeed delivered a message to the Octunggen, but, inexplicably, that message had been to spare the Maul and the whaling fleet. It was the only explanation for the sudden break-up of the Octunggen blockade. It made no sense, but there it was.

Wind stirred over the deck, unexpectedly strong, and Avery leaned against it. He longed to feel the touch of naked sunlight on his skin, to feel the wind through what remained of his hair, but it would have to wait. He fidgeted with his gloves, tugging at the fingers as he mulled things over.

Who can the other spy be? He eyed the sailors around him. There was Maslyn, the slim, swarthy whaler with the tattoo of a dragon coiling around his neck, invisible under the suit. There was Lt. Bithelhaut, handsome but always ill at ease. Or maybe it was Second Lieutenant Sulley, the plain, freckled young woman with the too-bright eyes.

And then there was Sheridan.

Around Avery the men and women of the Maul hallooed the ships of the convoy, who offered them protection and safe passage to Ghenisa. It would take another three weeks to reach home, allowing for the brief stop along the way at Es’hem, an island nation that was said to be beautiful and was one of the last vestiges of the Imperial Republic of L’oh. Avery, a lover of history and in particular of L’oh, pictured Es’hem with magnificent towers and white marble domes. He looked forward to shore leave.

A large hand clapped him on the shoulder. Coughing, he stared up into the face-plate of Janx, and the nose-less whaler grinned down at him.

“You’ve looked better,” Janx said.

“I’ve felt better. I ... miss fresh air.”

Janx inclined his head. “Took me awhile to get used to it, too, years ago. Now if I breathe in and the air don’t taste of metal, I get anxious.”

It was hard to imagine the big man anxious. The picture amused Avery. “So you wouldn’t be looking forward to land, then.”

“I’d be happier if we still had a whale.”

“Perhaps now that we’re safe ...”

Janx shook his head. “The Maul’s in no condition to hunt, and this bunch o’ ships’d just scare off the levvies. Ain’t why I stopped by.”

Avery raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“Me and some’a the boys’re havin’ another game’a cards tonight, now things’re lookin’ up a bit.”

“Is that why there have been no games recently? I’d begun to think I wasn’t invited.”

Janx barked a laugh. “Games were canceled because everyone thought they were ‘bout to fuckin’ die, Doc. Bets got kinda hinky. After Bonner bet his peg and then Mare and Hath had to haul his ass around till Strop gave it back ... well, we had to re-think the whole thing.”

“But it’s back on.”

“It’s back on.”

“I’ll see you there,” Avery said.

Janx gave a hard grin. “Bring your money, Doc. I’m feelin’ lucky tonight, and your bluffs ain’t gonna stop me this time.” Whistling, Janx turned about and strode off, likely to recruit more suckers for the game.

Strangely, the idea of poker put a jounce in Avery’s step, and he was tempted to whistle himself as he continued his walk around the deck. The surface heaved gently, and even the Atomic Sea seemed mellow. Only the occasional burst of lightning flared up from the waves, and some winged clam-things skimmed the sea to port, their wing-flaps sounding wet and meaty and rapid, wack-wack-wack. A haze hung over the water through which the many ships drifted like vast ghosts. The calling of the men and the slap of the waves on hulls sounded muted and eerie, lending even this joyous day a repellent quality.

Nevertheless, Avery felt of lighter heart when the Maul drew abreast to the flagship of the convoy, the GS Indomitable. Boarding ramps were thrown across and Avery watched from afar as Sheridan and half a dozen of her surviving officers, to the blare of distant fanfare, marched onto the Indomitable to meet its captain, Admiral Jons. Avery wished their meeting well. As he passed, he could see the lowered heads and shuffling gaits of the Maulers as they gazed upon the shining, intact ships of the convoy. To be aboard the beaten wreck of the Maul and the others would be humbling and humiliating to career sailors. Avery felt no such humility, however, only relief. At long last, they were safe.

Tired and sweaty, he retreated indoors. It had seemed like a good idea to take a walk outside and enjoy the sights of the convoy, but wearing the suit had tired him out too soon, and he was hot and stank like metal, canvas, and other men’s sweat as he trudged toward the medical bay. He took a quick shower in the patients’ washing area, then donned fresh garb and performed a round of check-ups.

Patient X was stable if slightly feverish, but still unconscious. Frustration mounted in Avery. If she were really on a mission to stop Octung, whatever that meant, Avery could not risk it by telling anyone about her—she’d been right about that—yet if she remained asleep she would be cut open by Navy scientists. If Avery couldn’t rouse her before they reached the mainland ...

Bootsteps thundered outside the bay. The wheel spun, and the door flew open, framing Captain Sheridan and a crowd of officers.

“Captain, I didn’t expect—”

Ignoring Avery, she stepped inside. Behind her followed several of her company. One particularly tall old man boasted a short silver beard and a tanned, leathery face. Hooded eyes stared out of that mask of leather.

“Admiral Jons, meet our chief surgeon, Dr. Francis Avery. Dr. Avery, Fleet Admiral Jons.”

Avery straightened. Jons peered at him shortly, but his eyes—which were, as the shadows shifted, revealed as a startling blue—quickly roved to the woman on the table. Her looks seemed to have increased with her health. Blond hair pillowed her head, and her full lips continued to expel deep, even breaths.

With practiced ease, the Admiral grabbed the clipboard at the base of the bed and scanned through it. “Amazing,” he said. “It’s just as you described, Captain. And you think she could be an asset?”

“Yes, Admiral,” Sheridan said. “With her remarkable abilities, frankly she shouldn’t exist. She’s clearly braindead, or close enough that it doesn’t matter. However, I fully expect that when she can be transported to our main lab at Fort Brunt that the doctors there will be able to solve her mysteries.”

Jons rubbed his chin. “Yes. If we could achieve immunity from the Sea ...”

Avery cleared his throat. “She’s not braindead, Captain, Admiral. I’ve, ah, witnessed her dream. She will toss and turn. Mutter things in her sleep.”

Jons raised his eyebrows. “In what language does she mutter?”

“I don’t know. She mumbles too low for me to hear.”

“She must be examined,” Jons said. “If the doctors at Brunt find it necessary to dissect her, then she will be. Either way we must have whatever abilities she does. The Octunggen wish to drive us into the sea, Doctor. If we were able to survive the journey ...” He turned to Sheridan. “You did well bringing this woman to my attention. All and all, you’ve handled your stint as admiral skillfully. Sacrificing that whale was a big risk, and powering through the blockage took balls.”

“Thank you, Admiral.”

“I think it may be possible to make your promotion permanent.”

He swept from the room, taking his retainers with him. A very pleased Sheridan paused beside Avery.

“Don’t chastise me, Doctor. I do what I must.”

“But, Captain—”

“Join me tonight. I’m hosting a skeet shoot. The captains of several ships are coming aboard to celebrate—my way of thanking the convoy.”

“And you want me there? Why, in case someone’s shot?”

She laughed, then followed the Admiral, leaving Avery staring after her. With a sigh, he turned back to the woman from the sea.

“Wake up soon,” he said.

* * *

“I haven’t seen so much loot since my thievin’ days,” Janx said. Grinning around his cigar, he dragged in his gleaming winnings from the middle of the table. A haze of smoke hung overhead. Sheep-oil candles stuck out from candelabras on the walls, contributing their slightly musky odor to the proceedings. Whitish wax pooled in the brass bases and spilled over, hardening as they did and creating little stalactites. The candlelight threw slow shadows across the walls.

“When were you a thief?” asked Avery.

There was a chorus of groans from the others.

“Don’t get him started,” said Sydney, who was shuffling the cards with his seven remaining fingers and doing a better job of it than Avery could with his ten.

“He’ll be tellin’ lies all night if you let him,” agreed Salussa, the only female whaler aboard. Nearly as large as Janx, she was big-boned and blunt-featured, but her eyes shone with intelligence. A ragged scar ran from the right corner of her mouth to her ear, and she was so proud of it that she had decorated it with a line of gold piercings that glittered in the candlelight.

Ignoring the others, Janx said, “What, Doc, ya thought I was born a-ship?”

Avery shrugged. Smiled. “More or less.”

“Ha! I had a life, shit, maybe a dozen lives, afore I come a-courtin’ the sea. I was a sacker, a fighter, a pimp, a bodyguard, a smuggler—”

“I told you,” muttered Salussa.

“—and yeah, a thief,” finished Janx, shooting her a glare. “An’ some other things mixed in. But it was thievin’ what brought me to the sea. Oh, I remember it well. I’d just stolen the treasure of Lord Baracus of Helinmnot—”

Salussa sighed.

“—when I met the beautiful Lady Clara. How was I to know she was the Lord’s daughter?”

Avery half-smiled as he listened. He figured he could do with some entertainment.

“Well, after scrapin’ the walrus for the tenth or eleventh times, I forget, she betrays me, steals back the treasure, and leaves me tied to the bed for her assassins to kill. Well, naturally, I break free, kill them all, and this is me naked and with me bare hands, mind. I actually used one poor bastard’s guts as a whip, and—” At Salussa’s scowl, Janx cleared his throat. “Well, I escape out the window and steal the lady’s suit and yacht—this was at her winter palace, y’know, an island—then sail away into the night, clean as a ten-dollar whore. I saw Clara on the docks, cryin’ because I was still alive and cryin’ to see me go.” He grinned broadly, showing three silver teeth and one gold.

Avery eyed his cards as Sydney passed them around. “There are no lords anymore, Janx. Not for fifty years. Not since the Revolution.”

“He’s got you, Janx,” Salussa laughed.

Janx grunted. “This wasn’t Ghenisa. This was in the Ysstrals.”

“Bullshit. Since when did you speak Ysstran?”

Janx replied nonchalantly as he anted up. “A mazen ed cun bizt.”

Avery, who spoke a smattering of Ysstran, was impressed. And mildly offended.

Salussa’s eyes narrowed. “You better be lucky I don’t know what that means, you son of a bitch.”

“Probably for the best,” Avery agreed.

Janx gave a lazy smile, then shifted his gaze to his cards.

“A fivepenny,” Millen said, throwing in his bet.

“Match,” said Cudreq, throwing his coin in.

“Match,” Avery said. “And up another five.”

“Anyway, so the Count puts out a bounty on me head,” Janx said, tossing out a coin. “Tweren’t safe for me in the whole Empire, so I lit out, joined a merchant vessel, hopped ship in the Jade Isles, joined a mercenary fleet and, well, one thing led to another ...”

“Don’t give us your pirate crap again,” Salussa said.

“What can I say, I was a restless youth.” The betting continued, as did Janx. In time, he said, “Anyway, my days as a pirate captain came to an end when Segrul the Gray took over the fleet. He was a mutie, y’know, and he started purgin’ the fleet o’ true-bloods. Wanted to create a mutant navy, scour the seas. He’d slit men’s throats and perform weird rituals at night when only one moon was high. Said there were things in the deep, things what he worshipped. Once I saw him row a boat out, all alone, some distance away, and this weird, white thing, maybe some great albino squid, I dunno, come right under him. They stayed that way fer hours, those white tentacles flailin’ around the boat, Segrul with his hand on the kraken’s huge head. Well, I figured twas time to look fer a safer gig.”

“So you chose whaling,” Avery said. “Sensible.”

Janx shook his head. “No, that came later. See, for a while I was king of the Othric Islands. Oh, it’s a great story. Lissen well ...”

Janx rambled on, and the night grew blacker outside the portholes. The candles burned low, and so did Avery’s cash. Janx hadn’t been lying. He’d been feeling lucky. Finally Avery stood and said, “That’s it for me, lads. I know when to quit. Sadly, I should have quit then.”

Some chuckling.

“Ya can’t go,” said Janx. “I was just gettin’ to the good part. After getting bombed out of me castle and havin’ to flee the Othrics, the Ysstrals right on my heels, me and Count Baracus, we got swallowed by the same whale, see, a monster he was ...”

Avery grinned tiredly. “I’ll have to hear it some other time.” Besides, he had an appointment with the captain to keep.

He returned to his suite, donned his official clothes—not that anyone would be able to see them—then ventured to an airlock and pulled on an environment suit. The Atomic Sea roiled and heaved as he stepped outside, and the skeet shoot had already begun. A dozen captains and their retainers had gathered on the bow, and one at a time the captains fired at skeet launched overhead. Avery arrived to find Sheridan flushed and smiling. Perhaps the officers had had a few drinks before the shoot.

“Doctor!” she said. “What took you so long?”

“I had things to do,” he said. “I’m a busy man.”

That amused her. She turned as a chuckling captain, who shook his head ruefully at his poor marksmanship, marched up to her and held out a shotgun.

“May you have better luck than me,” he said.

“We’ll see. It’s been a windy night.”

She stepped to the gunwale, where the captains cleared a space for her. The deck pitched gently underfoot, and lightning flickered up from the sea to the stern. The skeet was launched, and Sheridan’s gun cracked once, twice, then she reached for a fresh gun and fired again. Shattered pieces of skeet sailed over the sea, and the captains clapped their hands and whistled. Several patted Sheridan on the back.

“I got lucky,” she said, and Avery was surprised at her graciousness.

After handing over the shotgun to the next captain, she stepped back beside Avery and looked at him with unexpected warmth.

“You seem in an awfully good mood,” he commented.

“Why shouldn’t I be? We’re safe and Admiral Jons is talking about promoting me.”

He took a breath and asked the question that he’d been dreading: “Any news on the war?” He hadn’t heard anything since the beginning of the submarine gauntlet and was starved for news.

She seemed reluctant. “Some. I have it fresh from the Admiral. Are you sure you want to hear?”

“Tell me.”

“Octung has taken Heigelmas.”

He swore. Heigelmas was a large nation of craggy hills somewhat to the southwest of Ghenisa, once famous for the poet shepherds that roamed its slopes. Now it was an industrial country of brick houses and cobbled streets.

“You’ve been?” she asked, reading his reaction.

“When I was younger.” He waited for the crack of a shotgun before continuing. “Mari and I backpacked through it a few times. Beautiful. Great big slopes, steep and rocky. Lots of sheep, of course. The shepherds were sort of a disappointment. There was this one that liked to dance and play a pipe, and he dressed up in the traditional clothes you see in the picture books and overcharged for photos. For a while Mari and I corresponded with friends we met there.” Another shotgun crack, and he pitched his voice to say, “I think she still did, right up until the end. I ... I wonder if any survived the invasion ... the purgings.”

“There’s more news. You might find this more agreeable. The Black Sect just assassinated another Collossum priest last week, right in Lusterqal.”

He smiled at the thought of rebellion in the capital of Octung. “I wonder who they are, the Black Sect.”

“You and everyone else.”

“Some say they’re blasphemers or heretics against the Collossum.”

“They’re saboteurs, anyway. And apparently assassins.”

“Any enemy of Octung is a friend of ours, I suppose, even if they’re other Octunggen,” he said.

The skeet shoot went on, and Avery allowed himself to enjoy it. He especially enjoyed a more festive Sheridan. He rarely got to see her like this.

In time, they returned to her cabin, and to his surprise she pounced on him as soon as he closed the door. She kissed him frantically on the neck and began tearing off his shirt almost before it shut. Without speaking, she flung him down on the bed and climbed astride him. He’d never seen her so energetic or ... well, passionate. She sweated and cursed as she ground her hips against his, and as she whipped her head her short sweaty hair streamed out to catch the light. She was so impassioned that for a moment he entertained the hope that she would let him finish inside her. But no. After she flung herself off him she handed him the customary towel.

Not long after that she dismissed him. Buttoning his torn shirt as he made his way through the officer’s quarters, his gaze strayed to a certain locked door. Hambry’s chambers.

The officer’s main room was dark and quiet, but Lt. Hinis threw darts at a board with her one remaining arm, her left, cursing as she did. She was evidently trying to relearn basic coordination.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant, but could you tell me who occupies Commander Hambry’s quarters now?” Avery asked.

She threw one more dart and grimaced. “No one’s there, Doc,” she said. “Cap’n’s orders are to leave it be, and what with half the officers dead there’s no one needs it anyway.”

“And yet she specifically requested it be left alone?”

Hinis nodded, bored. She crossed to the dart board and jerked out her widely-scattered projectiles one by one.

“That seems odd to me,” Avery said. “Almost ... sentimental.”

Hinis chuckled. “The Captain’s about as sentimental as a boot.”

“That’s what worries me.”

Hinis wasn’t worried. She offered him half the darts. “Wanna game?”

“Maybe later.”

Frowning, Avery departed the officers’ quarters. His mind flashed back to that fateful day, remembering how Hambry had only ventured outside after his conversation with the captain. It can’t be, Avery thought. Sheridan was as loyal as they came. If anything, she was too loyal. Hambry had been acting on his own, it must be. It must.

And yet ...

Three days passed, and repair work progressed round-the-clock on the Maul and her sisters so that they wouldn’t slow the convoy down. On the third day, Sheridan came to Avery, this time while he was taking a walk on deck, surveying the work being done.

“Join me tonight,” she said.

“So soon?” He allowed a hint of self-satisfaction to enter his voice.

She only smiled and continued down the deck, leaving him with the sea. Her insatiability puzzled him. She rarely requested two trysts in so short a time. Of course, it did make sense if—

“Damn,” he said.

He descended into the whalers’ quarters, which stank and were strewn with filthy clothes, beer bottles and various debris.

“Where’s Janx?” he asked Corlus.

Corlus, the oldest whaler aboard at fifty-five, was grooming his long silver beard with a crusty whale-bone comb. He flicked his head to a certain door. “In ‘is cabin. But I wouldn’t advise goin’ in.”

Avery banged on the door. No one answered. He kept banging. At last the door cracked, and a sweaty and red-faced Salussa glared at him.

“Yeah, what?” Sweat dripped from the gold rings that decorated her cheek-scar.

Avery blinked. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Hells, I didn’t think you even liked Janx.”

“Who says I do? But he’s got the biggest—”

“Who is it, Sal?” barked someone from deeper in the cabin.

“See for yourself.” A naked Salussa opened the door wider, affording Avery an all-too-complete view of her. She was solidly packed, with meaty arms and tight pectorals. Her waist was like a tree-trunk, but with more scars. A white scar bisected her right nipple. Tattoos swirled around her navel.

Over her shoulder Avery could see an equally naked Janx lumbering into view. He was even more muscled, scarred and tattooed than Salussa, and he did not look pleased to see Avery.

“What is it, Doc?”

Avery looked from Salussa to Janx, then back. “Madam, I would like to speak with Janx alone.”

She opened her mouth. “How dare you—”

“It’ll only be for a moment.”

“You gonna let him get away with this?” she asked Janx.

Janx shifted his glower from her to Avery. “What the hell ya think you’re doin’, Doc? We were kinda in the middle of somethin’.”

“Again, it will only take a moment.” Pushing past Salussa, Avery stepped into the cabin to give his words more weight. “Ship’s business, I’m afraid.”

Fuming, Salussa gathered her clothes. “Don’t ever think of callin’ me again, you son of a bitch,” she called over her shoulder. She slammed the door behind her with such force that Avery jumped.

He turned to Janx. “I am sorry—”

Janx laughed. “You did me a favor, Doc.”

Avery tried not to look at Janx’s member as the huge whaler turned about and meandered to his tangled bed. The cabin stank of sweat, filthy laundry, alcohol and illegal chemicals. “How so?” Avery asked, not sure he wanted to know.

Janx found some drawers and pulled them on, for which Avery was grateful. “If I’d-a finished her off, I’d never gotten ridda her.”

Avery nodded sagely. “It was all I could do.”

Janx’s good humor dropped as soon as he turned about. “This had better be good, Doc.”

Avery tugged at his mustache absently. For a moment he pondered how to phrase what he needed to say.

Janx collapsed on the bed, located a bottle and commenced drinking. “Go on,” he said, punctuating the command with a burp. “Spit it out or get out. If I hurry, I can still flail the whale before it sounds, if’n ya get me meaning.”

Avery forced himself to smile. “Yes. Now. Um. Is any of what you said the other night true? Even the littlest bit?”

Janx smiled broadly. “Every word of it, Doc. I’d stake me life on it.”

“Be that as it may. Do you actually have any experience ... burgling?”

“What, thievin’? Sure as shit. I stole more loot from more lords than the government.”

Avery sighed. “Good. Because I need you to teach me how to pick a lock.”

* * *

Gasping, Captain Sheridan flopped back on the bed. A lazy smile stretched across her face. “I’m impressed,” she said. “All those walks must really be doing you some good.”

Avery knew his energy had little to do with exercise. It was fear that drove him. Fear at what he would find in Commander Hambry’s cabin. Fear at getting caught.

For once she did not rise for her customary glass of post-coital whiskey, and despite himself Avery felt a flush of pride. A moment of silence passed, and the ship creaked and settled around them. The crimson lights that issued from the fluid of the alchemical lantern swayed slowly, making the cabin seem as though it were plunged underwater in some hellish otherworld.

“You know,” Sheridan said, speaking thoughtfully, “if I were made Admiral ... I could promote you. You would not be a simple ship’s doctor but the medical officer for an entire fleet.”

That caught him by surprise. “We would be on the flagship together.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Is that not agreeable to you?”

“No. Captain. Certainly, it is. It just caught me off-guard. I did not think you and I ...”

She laughed. “Don’t take it the wrong way, Doctor.”

“Yes. Of course.” The thought of being the captain’s pet lover disgusted Avery, or at least part of him. Still, there was another part that was warmed by the intention behind her words, or what he supposed was behind them. Might the captain not be a touch sentimental after all?

She rose from the bed and strode, naked and shining with sweat, to the bar. Unasked, he joined her there, and they shared a drink in silence. The silence became awkward. And yet she didn’t draw away from him. He could almost imagine there was some sort of connection between them, a connection beyond the physical.

He knew the second drink was his invitation to leave, but she didn’t suggest his withdrawal.

The whiskey still burning his throat, he dressed slowly, and she watched him with an unreadable expression. “You know, Doctor, things will be different when we reach home. As an admiral, I’ll be expected to operate with a certain amount of discretion.”

“I understand.”

“But that doesn’t mean I won’t see you. Until I’m given a ship, it’s possible I could get you assigned to the care of your mermaid, or at least appointed to the committee tasked with studying her.”

He had been lacing his shoes. Now he stopped in mid-lace. “I would like that.”

“Of course,” she went on, fetching a half-smoked cigar and lighting up, “that would mean you need to be open to studying her ... in whatever manner necessary.”

His chest felt tight. “Yes,” he managed. “I understand.”

“Good,” she said. “Think about that as you go.”

That was his dismissal. Half chagrined, half relieved at the captain’s return to form, he finished dressing and left her cabin. He turned one last time before he did. He saw Sheridan lit by lantern-light, naked and gleaming, cigar clenched in her jaws, grab a fencing sword from the wall and slice it experimentally through the air, surely as a prelude to practice. The swish-swish of the sword reached his ears, and the door slammed shut.

Feeling strange—about the captain, about everything—Avery moved through the darkness of the officers’ quarters blindly, stumbling as he went. Alchemical lanterns lit the gloom, but he had always found that alchemical lamps did not spread light normally. Their sort of light burned brightly but in a contained sphere, as if hoarding the light against the darkness. The lanterns burned in different colors—red, green, blue—creating different pockets of illumination. This late at night, with the rocking of the ship beneath his feet and with no one else about, it felt to Avery that he moved through a different world—a deserted ship, perhaps, or one of Janx’s ghost ships.

Bumping his shins and stubbing his toes, he found the door to Hambry’s cabin. He removed the two picks Janx had given him—the whaler said he never went anywhere without them—and knelt before the lock.

Janx had told him that this sort of lock, a simple cabin keyhole, was among the easiest in the world to open, and yet Avery fumbled and fumbled with it, scraping the lock so that it squealed, which sent shudders down his spine, dropping a pick, until at last, miraculously, as if delivered by one of the kraken-gods of the deep, the door swung open. Avery wiped sweat from his brow, took a steadying breath, stood, his knees creaking, and entered the darkness that had been Hambry’s living quarters.

He located a lantern and lit it. Purplish light flooded out, lazily probing at the dark corners of the cabin.

Avery didn’t know what he was looking for exactly, so he looked through everything. Going as quietly as he could, he tossed the bed, searched the insides of the mattress, tore through the cabinets, checked the bottoms of drawers, hunted for secret compartments to chests.

Nothing.

“Shit.” His heart beat fast. He had to hurry. At any moment some officer wandering to the head would see light beneath Hambry’s door, and that could only end badly.

He checked behind paintings, checked under the rug, peeled off the labels from the two wine bottles to eye the backs of them. Nothing.

What was he looking for?

Some connection, he reminded himself, some concrete connection between Hambry and Sheridan, something that would prove they were both traitors and spies, something that would prove Sheridan had dispatched Hambry to deliver the floating message-in-a-tube to the black waters of the Atomic Sea, there to be scooped up by Octunggen mariners and deciphered. It was the only explanation. If Hambry was a spy, then Sheridan must be, too. Hambry would not have ventured out onto the raging deck in his condition, not unless he’d been ordered to by a captain whose presence would be too obvious, would be remarked upon. She could not do it herself, so she needed him to. That’s why she had come to Hambry in the medical bay, why she had whispered urgently to him in the privacy of their corner. They were traitors. They had to be. Spies for Octung.

And, in the unlikely event that Avery was wrong, something he actually hoped for, there could be evidence linking Hambry with someone besides the captain, exonerating Sheridan and implicating the true traitor. Either way, somewhere in this cabin there must be files, tubes, decryption keys, incriminating evidence of some sort ... something.

There was nothing. Avery looked everywhere he could think of, but Hambry, or Sheridan, had been too careful.

Frustrated, Avery made his way to the sink and splashed water on his face. He had to get out of here. He’d been in Hambry’s cabin too long. And even if he’d found evidence, who could he tell? Surely Sheridan, or whoever the traitor was, would dispose of it before they reached land—and dispose of him along with it.

Just as he started to leave, his eyes fell on something, and he let out a startled breath.

A wave of disappointment took him, along with something else. Fingers shaking, he reached through the thick purple light and picked up the small box that rested in its mounting, in plain sight, in a place of honor, on Hambry’s sink, where his gaze would fall on it every day and remind him of his place.

Avery blinked sweat out of his eyes and opened the box. And there, lying on black velvet, just as he’d known it would be, was the connection he was looking for, if not the proof, and the explanation why Sheridan had called on him more than usual since Hambry’s death.

It was an empty shotgun cartridge, the sort Sheridan kept as mementoes of her skeet competitions, and the sort of thing, evidently, that she gifted to lovers.

Avery cursed. It was true. Sheridan was a spy. There was no reason for her and Hambry to keep their affair secret. It was well known that Sheridan had numerous lovers, and nothing was considered amiss about that. No one would have lifted an eyebrow had their affair been known. No, the only reason Avery could think of for the deception was that if people didn’t know, they wouldn’t associate the two together in any way other than professional. Such secrecy could only mean Sheridan didn’t want to draw attention to their affair, and that meant she and Hambry had something to hide.

Damn you, Jessryl. Why? How did they turn you?

Sweating, certain now, he renewed his search. There must be something, Hambry had to have missed something. If Avery didn’t find proof, Sheridan would continue—

He found it in Hambry’s shoes. The Commander’s small shoe rack contained a pair of dress shoes, and Avery, noticing a weight difference between the two, inspected them carefully, then used one of the Commander’s knives to pry the soles open, revealing hidden compartments in both.

Tightly-folded letters crammed the spaces, stained by age and time and water that had leaked in through the cracks. Quickly Avery scanned the letters, seeing loose, neat handwriting, snatching a purple phrase here and there—It has been too long, my dearest—Why must we keep this fire between us in the shadows?—and finally settled on one. Breathless, he read, surprised at Hambry’s gushing pen: My dear Jessryl, I know you said to write nothing down, but I cannot keep this inside me any longer. I must get it out or burst. I pray you will forgive me. Trust that I will make sure it is never discovered. Yet this thing we do, this mission, this holy quest, it fires my mind and body. It is the aether on which I thrive, on which I live, just like your kisses and your hot breaths on my neck. When you told me of my divine blood, how I was pure and must cleave to the old ways, the old gods, I felt struck by lightning, like I had been blind from birth till that one shining day. Now I live only to prove the worthiness of my blood, our blood, and to give glory to the Collossum.

Avery stared, and his hands shook.

Blinking sweat out of his eyes, he folded the papers and replaced them in the hidden compartments. He felt both elated and crushed. It was true. Captain Jessryl Sheridan was a traitor. He wanted to vomit.

What should he do now? He couldn’t risk taking the letters back to his cabin, where someone might find them. And what if they were found by someone loyal to Sheridan? If she had one agent on the Maul, she might have others. Also, he couldn’t stash them in some obscure location around the ship for the same reason, as well as for the reasons that they might be ruined by weather or nested in by some creature.

With a groan, he realized what he would have to do. He would have to leave the letters here. Of course, if he did that there was the possibility Sheridan would discover and remove them, but he supposed it was a risk he would have to take. Once on land, he would have the authorities here instantly, and Sheridan’s charade would be over.

* * *

Distant gunfire jerked Avery from bed—loud, forceful and heavy. The guns of warships.

Battle.

Feeling his skin draw tight across his body, Avery slipped on his clothes and picked his way toward the medical bay. Sailors jostled all around him, frantic and pale. He reached the med bay and ordered it prepped for use.

“Situation,” he said. “How many are attacking?”

Dr. Fallon looked grim. “You haven’t heard? We’ve reached Es’hem.”

Avery blinked. “Es’hem? Then why ... no, don’t tell me ...”

“Yes. The Octunggen arrived first.”

Avery swore. “Finish prepping. I’m going to see what’s happening on deck.”

He pressed through the packed halls, found an environment suit and shrugged it on, side by side with dozens of sailors doing the same, helping each other shove helmets down and zip up seams. Their faces were set, their mouths hard, and they moved with speed and efficiency. With them, Avery emerged onto the deck. The night flung rain down from a cloud-covered sky, and great electric tongues licked at each other, some from above, some from below. The sound of heavy gunfire rolled across the water, but it had to compete with the constant thunder, and there were times when Avery couldn’t tell which was which.

Short of breath, he latched his lifeline into place, then leaned over the gunwale, straining his eyes to make out the shifting forms in the darkness and rain. The convoy’s warships loomed all around him, pitching up and down on the waves. They had formed a perimeter with their starboards facing west. The massive guns pointed into the night, and through the rain and wind and lightning Avery couldn’t tell what they fired at. But then he realized that many of the bright flashes he saw in the distance were not caused by lightning or exploding gas but came instead from enemy warships.

The bright flashes seemed to stretch forever, in both directions.

Dear gods. What had to be over a hundred Octunggen warships spat flame and smoke at the Ghenisan convoy. The deck of one of the ships near Avery exploded, the fire startlingly bright and close. Something else exploded belowdecks. Fire mushroomed out, and flaming sailors leapt overboard to thrash amid fiery pools that glimmered on the water. Firefighting teams poured up from the inner decks, hosing down the flames. Other ships, all up and down the line, were similarly bombarded.

The Octunggen did not fight with normal weapons alone, though. A single shell struck a ship to Avery’s right—and the ship began to dissolve. It wilted in the middle as though its steel had turned to gel. An Octunggen acid-bomb. Avery had never seen one put to use, only heard about them, and the sight made him ill. The ship’s middle melted, turning into a gray glue-like substance, which spread and spread, encountering sailors as it went, all of whom screamed in horror as the substance ate through their suits and gnawed away their flesh and bones. They didn’t even survive long enough to pitch themselves overboard. The middle of the ship simply bowed down—and down—until finally it sank below the water. By that time the acid had spread to both ends, and they collapsed into the sea, as well.

A blue beam of light fell on a ship to port. It disappeared completely, then reappeared an instant later, but when it rematerialized it appeared to be made of glass and all hands aboard with it. When the next wave smashed against it, the whole thing shattered into a million pieces that glittered like a hailstorm in the light of the fires. Shards of glass blew across the Maul’s deck, and Avery hunkered low to avoid them. One chipped his face-plate.

The warships of the convoy fired back at the Octunggen with more conventional weapons, the booms of their guns making Avery’s eardrums vibrate even through the helm. For a moment he just stood there, awed. But then he saw something beyond the enemy fleet and came back to himself with a start.

On the far side of the Octunggen warships blazed an inferno. Avery clearly saw flames silhouetting a city on a hill. He saw domes, towers, and magnificent, graceful arches, all limned by fire.

“Es’hem ...”

The last remnant of the L’ohen Empire save one, an empire which had once encompassed all of Urslin and beyond, the island of Es’hem burned brightly. Avery knew that in its palace a L’ohen emperor still reigned, a direct blood descendent of the old lords. Perhaps he stood on some high terrace right now, watching destruction rage all about him. Paul, it’s good you didn’t have to see this, Avery thought. Hambry spared you that, if nothing else.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, gripping the gunwale so tightly he lost all feeling in his hands, staring at the devastation, but finally he realized the gunfire was growing more infrequent and that the Octunggen ships were diminishing into the distance, as was the funeral pyre of Es’hem. The convoy was, as hard as it was for him to believe, abandoning the island.

He stormed forward, pushed past the sentries outside the Control Room—as was his right as chief surgeon—and passed through the airlock onto the bridge.

Captain Sheridan strode back and forth before bleeping screens and grim-faced officers. Her expression barely flickered as Avery approached. “Doctor,” she said by way of greeting.

“We’re just leaving them! How can you let this happen?”

Her face did not change. “Orders from Admiral Jons. It’s the only way, Doctor. The Octunggen number over a hundred and thirty warships, and us forty. They came to conquer Es’hem. We only came to trade with it.”

“But—”

“That will be all, Doctor. We’re departing, as swiftly as possible. With any luck, the Octs will be so focused on Es’hem that they won’t follow us.”

“But to let them destroy ...”

She averted her eyes. “Yes. It is regrettable.”

She probably loves this. Which other officers had she turned? He glanced around, searching faces. He tasted something bitter on his tongue.

“Our next port of call will be home,” she said.

Part II

SECRETS

5

Lightning stabbed at the crowded, baroque skyline of Hissig, capital of Ghenisa.

Avery stood at the bow of the Maul, staring at the thick spires and squat domes of the metropolis as it crouched like a fat, filthy cat reeling in a ball of yarn. Sickly yellow glows emanated from the tower tips above the fog, illuminating the maze of twisted narrow streets. A cloud of chitterbats swept past the alchemical tower of Gethys, then flew higher, skirling about the peaks of the Parliament Building on its mountain.

Avery frowned. Memories of what had happened here, in this city, had not let him go even far out at sea, and just seeing Hissig made his mouth go dry.

Mari ... Ani ...

Sailors and whalers stood all around him, and they cheered as the convoy entered Illynmarc Harbor, passing between the Bookends, the twin light-houses on either side built by King Sacran IV (before his assassination by mold poison), then veering to port, far to the port, not toward the endless and tangled docks civilians used but to the somber, more orderly Navy docks that extended from the base of Fort Brunt.

The fortress reared grim and black, huge and primeval. It had been built many centuries ago by the Ysstral Empire. The arrogance and skill of the Ysstral lords showed in every graceful line, in every sinister fold of architecture. The towers with their jagged lines reminded Avery of a child’s drawing of pine trees, tall and pointed with downward-facing jags, and yet there was little childlike about them; they were thick, severe and commanding, dripping in moisture from the fog. Thousands, millions of inset gemstones shone from the black stone that composed the fortress, glittering and twinkling. They had always reminded Avery of spiders’ eyes, and the spindly, segmented arches of the flying buttresses had always reminded him of spider legs.

If being oppressive and cruel wasn’t sufficient reason for breaking away from the Ysstrals, their creepy architecture would have been more than enough. Ghenisa was full of it. Especially Hissig. A stranger might never know Ghenisa had revolted against the Ysstrals four hundred years ago.

The ships of the convoy docked and began to unload. It was a long, wearying process, and Avery occupied himself with moving the injured and various medical equipment.

The mystery woman’s coma held. Avery suspected her fever was the reason she hadn’t come out of it, and he hoped that when he had her in his main office in Fort Brunt, with the full array of his equipment to aid him, he would be able to wake her. Of course, all of his efforts would be for nothing if Sheridan had her dissected. All the more reason why he wished to be assigned to the team tasked with studying her. If what Patient X had told him was true, even in part, he would do anything to help her. He wished he could confide in someone, but he didn’t know whom he could trust. Unless—

When he finally stepped from the docks onto dry land, he felt the urge to sink to the muddy, rocky ground and kiss it. A lieutenant was monitoring the air with a beeping sensor, and he held everyone’s attention. At last he nodded and said, “It’s safe, people. You can take off your helms.”

Avery did just that. He breathed in a deep lung-full of fresh air, relishing the wind that rustled his hair and dried the sweat against his scalp. It’s been too long. In the background, he heard the whirring of the cleansers, the machines that processed the air and made it breathable this close to the sea. The result tasted slightly like grease and metal, but it was heaven. The cleansers ran partly on the hot lard that the whaling fleets provided and partly on other compounds and derivatives of the sea. Further up the docks, the catch from a more successful hunt—two medium-sized whales, one male and one female—sat like deflated mountains as teams of Navy personnel hovered over them, slicing and cutting, stripping the meat from the bone and the priceless lard from the meat. Carts full of quivering fat were being filled, and they would soon be taken to plants that would convert the lard into fuel for the many instruments Ghenisa used to counter Octung’s weapons, as well as the effects of the sea.

Avery noticed large machines, each the size of a bus and covered in a shell of steel, sitting along the shore. They hunched silent and dark, each one over a hundred yards from the other. These were not the air purifiers, he knew, but something new. The Navy had been installing them at the time the Maul had set sail, and now it seemed as if the installation was complete. They arced around the harbor, waiting for some unseen trigger.

As Captain Sheridan gave a speech to her officers and crew, Avery simply enjoyed the sights of land. The fortress occupied most of his field of vision. High up amid its crags and gargoyles, gray crabs scuttled amid the intricate architecture. One bore a pigeon in its claw; the bird hung limp and broken. The crabs vanished into a drainage hole, likely to find their nest. Higher up, a three-foot-long hunter snail slithered up and over a crenellation, on the prowl for food. The great snails would happily eat crab, bird and mouse, and they could grow to immense size. Avery had even heard of drunks falling asleep in alleys only to wake up with a man-sized slug shoving a proboscis at them.

The harbor, docks and sea stretched to the side. The sun lowered over the hazy, noxious horizon to the west, over the clustered towers of Hissig. The stained glass of the Parliament dome glittered of orange and red, webbed by inlaid black. Prime Minister Denaris dwelt in her tower there, handsome but stern, warm but reserved. She had been holding the country together almost through sheer force of will lately, it seemed, and her attitude—tough, unwavering, wry—had earned her many admirers. Avery was one.

At last Sheridan wrapped up her speech, and the officers, crew and whalers broke up, said their farewells and followed their various leaders into the fortress. Avery led the medical staff, patients and equipment through a high archway of layered black, triangular projections, and the halls echoed to the sounds of sailors and personnel, but they still seemed cold and still. They gleamed blackly and were decorated with beautiful oil paintings of frowning heroes and austere landscapes. Anything more cheerful would have looked out of place in this building, and Avery wished, not for the first time, that they would just raze the thing and start from scratch.

He marched directly to the medical wing, which occupied a large portion of the ground floor, and continued overseeing the move. Often he itched for a drink, but just as often he held himself back. He needed to be clear. He needed to think. He had a patient who claimed to be able to stop Octung, but unless he could wake her up she would be dissected—and if he did wake her up, she would be taken prisoner or simply assassinated by an Octunggen spy.

With a sigh, Avery remembered what he had found two nights ago. He’d returned to Hambry’s cabin, just to make sure everything was still in place, so that he could bring the authorities to the evidence as soon as the ship reached shore.

Hambry’s letters, of course, had been gone. Even the shotgun shell had vanished.

* * *

“So what the hell?”

They hunched in the back of a stinking cab, jostling through the streets. Avery was almost glad it was wintertime, even though he had to huddle in his thick coat, which had been expensive when he bought it but was now patched and, if looked at in broad daylight, somewhat ragged. The cabbage-and-clove stench of the cab nauseated him, though, and it would have been worse in summer.

“You gonna answer me?”

Avery glanced to his side. Janx, huge and scarred, sat draped in the shadows of the cab, with now and then light from a shop striping his nose-less face. Despite the frigid rain, it was a surprisingly busy night, and Hissigites teemed to the sides of the streets, under overhangs and canopies. Taverns emitted music and light, and couples sat under umbrellas in courtyard cafés. Prayers drifted from small, weathered temples. Some of the temples’ foundations ran deep, merging with the remains of older, stranger buildings below. Other people poured into and out of the several motion picture theaters, one of which bore a sign boasting a color projector.

“All in good time,” Avery assured him.

Janx bunched his jaws. “Godsdamnit, Doc, you better not go mute on me. You told me you’d tell me why the fuck I taught you how to lock-pick once we hit land. Well, shit, it’s been a week and—nothin’.” His voice lowered, became a growl. “I don’t like bein’ put off.”

“I am not ... putting you off.” Avery turned away. The truth was that he hadn’t contacted Janx to tell him about the lock-picking, though that was certainly part of it. There were bigger issues involved. Of course, now Avery wasn’t even sure Janx had come in response to Avery’s summons or for his own reasons. The big man wanted answers, that much was clear. But Janx had bad timing. “I simply have my mind ... somewhere else.”

Janx stared at him, then sat back. His expression softened, or at least suggested softening. “I won’t leave till I know. When the ship’s doctor is spyin’ on the officers, I need to fuckin’ know what’s goin’ on. You some kinda spy or somethin’?” His voice hardened at the end, and he tensed in the shadows. Avery could see the stiffening of his limbs. Janx could rip Avery limb from limb if he wanted.

Avery let out a breath. “No. I am not. If I were, I likely would already know how to pick a lock, wouldn’t I? But ... someone is.”

“Who?”

Wheels spun on asphalt, and rain pattered on the roof. Outside, cars honked, the sound muted by the weather. Droplets prismed the colored lights from a passing tavern.

“Who?” Janx demanded again. Avery was aware of the tension beside him as a mouse is aware of a circling owl, by the prickling of his neck.

Avery kept his gaze forward, not deigning to look at the whaler. “I will tell you ... but, for the love of the Three, hold your questions. Let me do this. We’ll speak when it’s done.”

Janx groaned. “But it’s a fuckin’ lake out there!”

“Nevertheless.”

The cab rolled forward, and a sullen silence descended over the passengers. From somewhere outside the national anthem blared from a faltering speaker. Banners depicting Prime Minister Denaris, with her cleft chin and cool green eyes, flapped in the breeze. Slogans exclaimed We will prevail! and Freedom will not bow! Other signs mounted on building facades gave instructions in case of bombing and pointed to the nearest bomb shelter.

The cabbie, a dark-haired man who must hail from Nalakith to the northwest, cursed and honked. Avery hadn’t even been aware that Octung had begun invading Nalakith, but he wasn’t surprised. The Octunggen had been quite active while he’d been away, and Hissig (and Ghenisa as a whole) was even more overburdened with refugees than before. Avery saw them huddled under canvas overhangs in alleys, shivering in groups around barrel fires. Grime-smirched children stood close to the flames, eating what was likely charred rat, or possibly fish. Please let it be rat.

He strained his eyes into the dark, searching for certain signs among the refugees under their leaking overhangs, in their grimy alleys. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before he saw hunched backs and black scale-like growths on cheeks and hands. He saw what looked like hands fusing together, or noses disappearing, and more, stranger mutations, bulges on cheekbones, the widening of one leg over the other. We’re failing them. These people had been forced to eat black market seafood, food that had not been processed and so was cheap—and contaminated. Avery knew there was nothing to be done for those who’d eaten it. Neither medicine nor alchemy could help, and the Octunggen technology stolen by spies over the years had not included machines or medicines to heal the infected, if there were such things. No one even knew how Octung had gotten its hands on its strange, otherworldly technologies in the first place.

Avery tried not to think about it as the cab wound throughout the dark, dripping city. Huge, massively encrusted domes hunched between squat towers, leftovers of the Ysstrals, later occupied by Ghenisan royals. The former palaces and mansions of the aristocracy still reared, their gargoyles and serpentine dragons spitting water, the stained-glass windows gleaming, but their stonework showed cracks, their insides signs of fire from the Revolution half a century ago. Many sagged in disrepair or ruin, home to the refugees that now crowded their halls.

Janx seemed to feel it, too. “It’s all comin’ apart, ain’t it, Doc?”

Avery didn’t want to own up to his own dismal thoughts and said nothing.

A sort of whistling noise escaped around the leather patch over Janx’s nose hole. “Worst part is, things were gettin’ better, weren’t they? Before the war.”

Avery nodded reluctantly, not wanting to dwell on it. As the cab drove on, they passed museums, art galleries, ancient halls of philosophy, the Gethys School of Alchemy, and more. For centuries Hissig had been renowned as a hub for art and music and learning. After the Revolution and the numerous failed governments that had replaced the aristocracy, that had changed, enlightenment taking a backseat to survival, but before Octung had launched its first attacks, Ghenisa had finally been coming into its own again, shedding the bloody history of the Unsettled Times with its executions, coups and paranoia. A new age had come about, spearheaded by Prime Minister Denaris and a stable, respected government—a time of renewal and renaissance, of art and poetry. The New Dawn.

“Perhaps we can get it back,” Avery said. “If the war ends.”

“The only way it’ll end is with Octung’s boot on our throat, and you know it. They’ve conquered near everyone else from sea to sea. We won’t be any different.”

Avery looked at him. “Then why fight? Why do you risk your life to stop them?”

Janx glanced off. “Why do you?”

The cab wound through the twisting streets, struggled up alternately cobbled and paved roads, ascending to one of the peaks of the foothills, Mount Ibrignon. The houses grew larger and more elaborate the higher they went.

Avery braced himself. They were very close now. He felt his nails digging into the palms of his hands. The thorns of the roses he carried pricked him.

When he finally saw the wrought-iron archway of the cemetery, his heart sped up. Beads of sweat swelled on his forehead. I shouldn’t have put this off, he thought. It had been too painful, and he’d kept finding things that demanded attention at Fort Brunt. At last, when he’d forced himself to come, not even Janx’s arrival could deter him.

“I won’t go any further,” the cabbie said, drawing the vehicle to a halt before the archway.

Ibrignon Peace and Love, the archway read. Its rusted, pitted surface glistened in the rain, the letters bleak and false to Avery’s eyes. A road led into the little cemetery, but evidently the cabbie dared not take it.

“Fine,” Avery said. “Wait here.” He cracked the door.

Janx touched his arm. “Want some company, Doc?”

Avery forced himself to smile. “No. Thank you, no.”

Janx sat back.

Avery stepped out into the night. Rain spattered his face for a moment before the umbrella blossomed, and he enjoyed it. Cold wind whipped at him, billowing his clothes, tearing at the umbrella. He squared his shoulders and marched through the archway. The purring of the cab’s engine dwindled behind him.

During daytime and in good weather the little cemetery on the hill afforded a magnificent view of the panorama of Hissig, with temples and domes and former palaces marching to the sea, in between handsome modern spires bristling with gargoyles and ornamentation. One could almost imagine what the city must have looked like in its heyday, before the Revolution, before the spread of that terrible notion of democracy. When a person was down below, in the folds of the city, he could see all the scars, all the defects, but from up here Hissig looked pristine, new, glorious.

Night hid much of the glory. Now all Avery could see was rain and darkness, with two of the pale, ivory moons wrestling to illuminate the city with a ghostly sheen, and even the sheen was mostly hidden in the rain.

Tombs and mausoleums surrounded him. Angels, devils and gargoyles leered down, rain dancing in their eyes, making their mouths seem to move, their fangs to slaver. A giant statue of a many-limbed goddess reared before him, holding in each of her twelve hands a broken urn. On this rocky promontory, most of the dead had not been buried but interred in tombs and mausoleums. Only the wealthy slept here, mainly descendents of the old noble families.

Avery’s throat tightened as he wound through the dripping tombs, seeking his family out. The rain blew colder. It soaked into his camel-hair jacket and hemp shirt, and from above he heard a rolling crack.

Avery pushed forward, clutching the flowers to his chest with one hand and holding off the rain with the other. He rounded a tomb whose visitors had left alchemical lanterns burning, impervious to the rain, before the names of their loved ones, along with old, scattered flowers and a figure made of wax ... and at last he arrived at the small but beautiful mausoleum where his wife and daughter had been interred. Rain dripped from its sides, shone on the faces of its angels, and glistened on the door which sealed Mari and Ani from the world of the living.

Avery felt pain and looked down to see that his hands had made fists and that his fingernails were driving deep into his palms. He slowly unclenched. His chest hitched, great racking sobs that shook him like a baby’s rattle. Suddenly losing all strength, he sank to his knees and wept, hard, and stayed that way for a long time.

When at last he was done, he stood and straightened.

He was ready.

Now for Sheridan.

* * *

The Headless Drake, the apartment building Avery lived in, stood on Clower Blvd. near Graeslyn Park. Avery had once enjoyed strolling through the park on his visits to Hissig, city of his childhood. It had been wide and beautiful, and he remembered the times when, as a boy, he and his father—a tall, vigorous man with a shock of red hair, who had fought in the Revolution but would never talk about it—would sail their model boats on the duck-filled lake which was surrounded by tall, arching trees whose roots crept down to the water. They would spend days, weeks, crafting those little boats, and to see them sail on the lake was the culmination of many hours of labor and dreams. To this day whenever Avery saw a model toy he thought of his father, and felt something bittersweet inside.

Now refugees from the war filled the park. They huddled under the skeletal branches of trees, their ragged tents pitched along the water, and any ducks that had remained during the winter were long since eaten. Now the only reasons any native Hissigite ventured to the park were illicit—drugs, sex, vices of all descriptions. As Avery passed the park, he stared out over the endless rows of shabby tents and took a deep breath. This war had to end soon or Ghenisa would collapse under the strain.

The Headless Drake waited, rain bubbling over its cracks and stains, cascading from its peaked roofs and dribbling from its gables. Once it had been a beautiful building, the palace of a duke, but the duke had been lynched and butchered into thirteen infamous parts during the Revolution. The building’s red-brick towers still stood proud and elegant, but their bricks were chipped and stained, many replaced entirely with different colored substitutes or simply not replaced at all. Cracks showed in the windows. Shutters sagged at odd angles.

Avery saw movement high up. A land octopus crawled over the building’s façade, rain dripping off the animal’s tangled fur, its body bunching and lengthening as its tentacles dragged it along. Luckily Avery saw no open windows for the animal to slip through, there to feast on leftovers, pets, even infants. He hoped some refugee made a meal out of it before the night was over.

The cab jerked to a stop before the Drake’s entrance, and Avery paid and disembarked. With a grunt, Janx followed. Rain pelted them as they ran up the steps to the doorway, and with some heaving the great wooden monstrosity swung to. After the Revolution this building had at first been converted to a hotel, and the lobby was a large, high-ceilinged affair of smoky wood with brick only showing here and there. A long counter mounted with ancient, cobwebbed cash registers ran the length of the rear wall. A huge wooden bas-relief of a wingless, serpentine dragon, its head hacked off, was etched into the wall behind it. The dragon had been the symbol of the old royal family and was why people often referred to them as Drakes.

“Nice place,” Janx said, staring around at the gloom and cobwebs.

Avery shrugged, droplets of water spraying from his coat to the elaborate carpet. Gold and crimson and purple, it was the carpet of kings, or had been. Now it was frayed and torn, and Avery suspected that if it were moved it would disintegrate entirely.

“Did you know, they say the ghosts of those hanged here still haunt the building?” he said.

“This place don’t need ghosts to be haunted.”

Off that vague pronouncement, Avery led the way up the wooden staircase, and they wound up into the palace proper. The brick walls were barren of the beautiful oil paintings that had once adorned them, the handsomely-wrought windows were cracked, paint peeling around the edges, and the high arched ceilings were spanned by webs and inhabited with many-eyed scuttling things that set their webs to shuddering with the passage of travelers below.

Avery’s apartment was on the fourth floor, and he felt a weight lift off his shoulders when he stepped inside. It was medium-sized, sparsely furnished, and paneled in dark, chipped wood. Sagging bookshelves lined the walls, filled with historical books, romances from the L’ohen Empire, adventures set during the War of the Severance, and all manner of others. Drooping couches and chairs slouched in the living room, grouped around a sad coffee table and a soot-stained fireplace that seemed to radiate cold, not heat. Just as many webs spanned the arched ceilings as the hallways outside.

Avery flipped on the electric lights. A few dim bulbs buzzed. The building’s wiring had long since gone south, and the frequent blackouts had only destabilized it further. Thus Avery had a collection of alternate lighting, from tallow candles to alchemical lamps, to the fireplace that could roar with flame but rarely seemed to emit warmth.

He went around the rooms, lighting candle and lantern, throwing strange and different-hued illuminations into the suite. The bubbles of lighting struggled against each other, red with green, white with yellow. Weird shadows reigned.

Janx grunted, running a finger along a dusty surface. He seemed more amused than disgusted, and Avery wondered about the whaler’s own quarters. Avery’s suite simply seemed lonely. Draped in darkness and need.

He moved quickly to the dilapidated kitchen. His prize stood on the counter, its amber glass gleaming. There wasn’t as much whiskey left as he remembered.

“Give me a moment,” he said.

Avery tried his two-piece phone. He was in luck: a dial tone greeted him. Half smiling, he rang a number and waited till a voice on the other end snapped, “Yeah? Who’s this?” The tinny sound of a radio bleating a news report hissed in the background.

“Your upstairs neighbor.” Avery pitched his voice high. He could barely hear Martin over the radio. From the tone of the news reporter’s voice in the background, it sounded like Ghenisa was losing whatever battle was being covered.

Martin’s voice lightened somewhat. “Whaddaya want?”

“More of the same if you’ve got it.”

“Yeah, I got more. But it’ll cost ya. Supply’s runnin’ low, and gods know when there’ll be more ...”

“How much?”

Martin told him.

Avery whistled. “You’d better hope you don’t need any medical services in the near future. I might not be feeling generous.”

Martin chuckled. “Healthy as a myrcock, Doc. Be right up.”

Avery hung up and crossed the living room to start a fire in the fireplace. While he tended to that, Janx sparked a cigar and leaned against the mantle. Dripping candles crammed most of its surface, and here and there were wedged pictures of Mari and Ani, Avery’s own little shrine to his family. Janx frowned as he eyed the pictures, then turned back to Avery, poking logs into place.

“So what happened to ‘em, anyway?” Janx asked. When Avery didn’t answer immediately, he seemed undeterred. “And that graveyard! What a place! I don’t imagine the heavens’ll look much posher. How’d you manage to meet such a rich broad?”

“She wasn’t a broad.” Avery lit a long match and touched it to the kindling beneath the pyramid of logs. Sparks danced up. He stood back, admiring the glow.

“Well, how’d you meet her?” Janx said.

Hearing his own voice as if it came from far away, Avery said, “They were nobles, her family—”

“Shit! I didn’t know there were any of ‘em left. After the Revolution ...”

“Yes. But some made it into hiding. Mari’s parents did, and she was born that way. Raised in hiding. Living under false names, pretending to be normal, trying not to flinch whenever a fellow noble was ferreted out and hanged or butchered. Well.” Avery waved a hand, putting that to the side. “So her family was in hiding in Benical. I was a young medical student there, unable to afford a school in Hissig. Mari’s mother, a low duchess by birthright—though I didn’t know this at the time—she fell ill, and they came to the hospital where I studied. I assisted in her mother’s care, and Mari visited every day. We ...” He swallowed.

Janx gave him a moment. The big man’s eyes went to the picture of Mari standing under the olive tree. “She was pretty.”

For a moment, Avery could say nothing. Words were born and died in his throat. “She was beautiful.”

Knocking came from the wall.

“What the hell?” Janx said. He pushed himself off from the mantle and made fists of his hands.

Avery pulled the secret panel aside. The original fortress of the duke, a distant cousin of Mari’s, had been honeycombed with secret passages, and some had remained in place after the remodeling. There in the dark tunnel stood Martin, weary and gray and stubbled, huddling in his sealskin coat and wearing one of his threadbare black sweaters underneath.

He grinned an evil grin and shoved a bottle into Avery’s hands. “That’ll be twenty high-notes, Doc.”

“Twenty highs!” Janx said.

Avery reached into a pocket. Sheridan had chastised him for not indulging himself, and he had decided to do something about that. Ever since he’d returned to port, he’d allowed himself a bit of luxury. He had a new bonus, after all. He forked over the money and said, “Thanks, Martin. But remember, if you start feeling ill—”

“Don’t call you!” Martin chuckled and vanished into the darkness.

Avery shut the panel and poured both he and Janx a glass. When Janx eyed the label on the bottle, he whistled. “Valyankan! But—” He stared at Avery with new respect.

Avery nodded, smiling a little. “That’s why I was willing to pay for it.”

“But how? Valyanka’s overrun. There’s no more of this stuff even being made ...”

Avery sipped his glass. The whiskey burned his throat and warmed his belly. The fire spread outward, numbing him, lightening him. Finding a chair overlooking the fireplace, he collapsed into it and sipped some more. “Old stores, I suppose, or else the last batch ever made. Possibly the last batch ever to be made. Isn’t that a sobering thought? That Valyanka could cease to be? At least, as we know it.”

Janx muttered sounds of appreciation as he drank. He lowered himself onto the drooping couch, which drooped even further under his weight. Dust billowed up.

“Best shit I’ve had in years.”

For a moment, they sipped their drinks in silence, and the fire crackled in the background. At last Janx said, “So, you were sayin’, what happened to ‘em. Your family?”

“You really want to know?”

Janx shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’d like to know the story, if it ain’t too long.”

Avery’s gaze strayed to the fire. A log popped, and sparks flared up. “When the war came to Ghenisa, before our hot lard processors were complete, there was an Octunggen raiding party in the mountains. One of many, I suppose. They carried the Deathlight.”

“Gods below. Yeah, Benical. I remember now.”

Avery nodded. “It’s against the mountains, you know. The Octunggen made it past the ngvandi, past our sentries, and crept up on us. I don’t know how long it took them to set up their equipment, but ... they did. I was at the hospital when I saw that strong red light shining from the mountaintop. I was able to get to an environment suit in time. Mari and Ani weren’t so lucky. I remember coming home ... through a city of the dead and dying, that red light shining ... I remember walking up to our cabin ... approaching it, slowly, knowing what I would find inside ... I still dream of it, every night ... and in the dream I’m walking up to the cabin, and I know, I know, what’s waiting in there, but there’s always a little doubt ... maybe this time it will be different ...” He closed his eyes. “I found them there, at home, in each other’s arms.”

“Dead?”

Avery shook his head. Ice rattled in his glass, and he realized his hand was trembling. “But almost. I spent every last penny I had. Nearly every last penny Mari’s family had. She was the sole surviving child, and by that time her parents had passed. She was all that was left. She would whisper to me her dreams that, if the war caused the splintering of the Ghenisan government, then people might look toward the old aristocracy. The Drakes. She said maybe she was the highest royal still alive, and she would be the queen, and Ani the princess. The queen and princess for a new age. Well, I protected my little princess, my little Drake-let, and her mother. I used all my skills as a doctor, meager as they are. I prolonged their lives, spent our last resources bringing them to Hissig to seek the best help money could buy ...”

“Musta been hard. Bein’ a doctor, not bein’ able to heal your kin.”

Avery didn’t have to answer. “We sought help, but ...”

He drained his glass. He saw that Janx had finished his, too, and rose to refill them both. From the kitchen, he said, “A light that can kill, cause plague—we had nothing that could fight that, not before the processors were complete, maybe not even now. When I think of Hissig, I still remember those days, of tending to Mari and Ani as they faded, day after day ...” He heard his voice grow thick. “I had just enough money left for their alchemical preservation, internment and mausoleum.”

“I’m sorry,” Janx said.

Avery nodded, unable for the moment to do anything else.

When he could, he rejoined the whaler, and they sipped their whiskeys and watched the fire.

The time had come.

Avery turned to the whaler. “So. You want to know about Captain Sheridan and Commander Hambry. About why I needed to know how to pick a lock. Very well, then. Here is the story. Afterward, I’ll need your help to devise some plan of action. It’s why I contacted you. We need proof, and I think you’re the man to help me get it.”

* * *

After Avery had told the tale of Sheridan’s and Hambry’s espionage, he and Janx sat there in silence, logs popping in the background. Eventually Janx said, “That’s a hell of a story, Doc.”

“I know it’s a lot to take in.”

Janx’s eyes speared Avery. “So how did it feel?”

“How did what feel?”

“You know.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

Janx looked at him in exasperation. “Killing Hambry. How’d it feel?”

“Ah.” Avery found it interesting that of everything he had told the whaler, Janx would fix on that. “I was sick.”

“But how did you feel?”

Avery started to answer, then saw Janx lean forward in his seat. As he did, the shadows shifted around him, and his eyes fell into a dark pool. Still, they glittered. He said nothing, but Avery could feel some strain coming off of him. Obviously the question was important. Perhaps some test.

Avery remembered watching Hambry plummet to his death, remembered him falling, falling. He remembered Paul’s corpse, his staring eyes.

“It felt ... good,” Avery said.

Janx nodded. He drained his glass and stood. To Avery’s surprise, the whaler poured a drink for them both. “It was your first?” he asked.

“Well ...” Avery started to say that he had seen many deaths as a doctor, but that wasn’t what Janx had meant. “Yes.”

Janx passed him the glass, then made a toast. “To your first.” He drank.

Avery hesitated. To your first. The words sounded ominous. After a moment, he tipped his glass. The drink burned his throat. “Hopefully my last.”

“We’ll see. If you really want to begin this business, though, I don’t think it will be. You prepared for that, Doc?”

Avery studied him. Janx was serious but no longer tense.

“I would prefer not to kill anyone,” Avery said.

Janx sat down. “How d’you intend to start it, then? What exactly is it you want done? Sheridan’s a traitor, you say. A spy. There may be others. If you’re right, and say I believe you, moving against them will be tricky.”

“That’s exactly why I need your help. First we need proof. If we can get that, we can hand the evidence over to the authorities. I was hoping with your connections—if you’re as plugged into the underground as you claim—we might arrange for Sheridan to be ... tailed. Those that did it would follow her and gather evidence. We’ll need professionals.”

Janx grinned, and it was not an entirely reassuring grin. “I know just the people.”

“Excellent. We’ll find who she’s meeting—the other spies, of course, but most important is her handler. The spymaster. If we can find him, or her, we can bring down the whole network.” If they could do that, he thought, his mermaid would be safe.

Janx rubbed his forehead. “She may not go to her handler much, if at all, Doc, from what I know about spies. How’re we gonna make sure she sees him?”

“Leave that to me.”

6

“You see yourself the improvement in her,” said Doctor Wasnair, stabbing at the woman’s medical chart. He, Avery and three of the other committee members stood over Patient X’s bed. She looked quite well today, attractive and healthy, yet she slumbered on, unaware of their discussion.

“Her fever’s lower,” Avery allowed. “But how can she ever get better in this place?” He gestured around them.

The subbasement the lab was located in was dank and dark. Composed like the rest of Fort Brunt of huge stone blocks, the room stank of mold and strange chemicals, and Avery constantly feared that some nasty infection would creep into his patient. Yet the committee would not move her. This was one of the Navy’s secret labs, and it was covered in work benches, instruments, crammed with cold storage units, festooned with weird things in jars and huddling under dangerous substances in innumerable vials. Avery hated just to step foot in here, and yet the committee would see no change despite his repeated attempts.

“Nonsense,” Wasnair said. “This place is having no ill effect on her. Quite the reverse, I think—and that is what you want, isn’t it? Hasn’t it been you that’s led the charge in bringing her back, as opposed to studying her anatomy?”

Avery nodded as tolerantly as he could. “Yes, but it is in spite of this place that she’s improved. I say her recovery would accelerate if she were moved, perhaps to a place with fresh air, a view of the sun.”

Dr. Wasnair sniffed. He was a tall, skinny man, with spotted skin, a thin nose, and a worse comb-over than Avery’s. “The sun! The sun will not cure her. Only our treatments will, and we cannot house her in the main hospital.”

Avery sighed. He knew he could not win this battle. Best to let it go for now so as not to endanger his standing with the others, who did not appreciate his obstinacy on the matter. The men and women of the committee were secretive and mysterious, used to conducting strange and likely unethical experiments far away from prying eyes. In theory their studies were intended to help win the war or at least stave off defeat for a while longer. Rumors spoke of dark, desperate research being conducted on lower sublevels, resurrection projects, alchemical plagues, but Avery’s clearance wasn’t high enough for him to venture down there.

“Very well,” he said. “She stays. Now—if we can move on to discussing the change in the antibody solution. I think increasing the levels is a mis—”

Alarms blared throughout the lab. Sharp, heavy blades of sound.

The doctors and scientists stopped what they were doing and stared up at the ceiling, as if trying to see through the heavy stone. It wouldn’t surprise Avery if a few of them could. Gods alone knew what they had done to themselves. Some barely looked human, with translucent skin and colorless eyes, some with veins that glowed slightly, sometimes red, sometimes purple. Rumors maintained that some of them were over a century old, that they had even performed research for the Drakes themselves.

“An attack,” hissed Dr. Evra Sayd, a squat woman with thick lips and bulging eyes. Too-visible veins ran beneath her grayish, papery skin. Hair like a mop haloed her large head.

“Damn it all,” said Dr. Wasnair. “I’d hoped conquering Es’hem would have delayed them more.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dr. Ragund said. “Battle’s not our place. Let the grunts handle it.”

“It matters if we lose,” Dr. Sayd snapped, looking suddenly afraid.

“We should send a member up to be our eyes,” Dr. Sayd said. “If the battle goes ill for us, we need to prepare.”

“A junior member,” added Sharra Winegold, swiveling her bespectacled gaze to Avery.

All eyes turned to him.

“Very well,” Avery said. “I’ll go. Just don’t make any decisions regarding our patient while I’m away.”

Dr. Wasnair smiled thinly. “We wouldn’t think of it, Doctor. Now go. I want a full report when you return.”

Alarms blared overhead as Avery made his way through the reinforced subbasement tunnels and up through the bowels of the fortress, and he felt a flutter in his belly with every strident peal. Periodically he passed through checkpoints and had to sign out. He rose up through four levels before finally reaching the ground floor, where he found himself surrounded by soldiers tugging on jackets and helmets, following shouting commanders toward the main entrances. The soldiers looked especially grim, and Avery didn’t wonder why. If Octung had decided to launch its navy against the Hissig-based fleet at last, then the end was finally upon them. Avery tasted bile in the back of his throat and hoped he didn’t embarrass himself by throwing up.

Following a phalanx of soldiers, he emerged from the fortress into the night. The wind off the sea braced him, and as he breathed in the acrid, electric taste he felt his eyes water. Lightning blasted across the dark waves, and foaming crests broke against the black rocks of the beach. Hundreds of military ships heaved up and down on the swells. Some swarmed with sailors readying for battle.

Avery stood on the broad stoop of the fortress, staring out over the sea, shoulders hunched, hands shoved into jacket pockets. He saw no sign of the enemy. No warships, no shells exploding. He could not even hear gunfire. When the next phalanx of soldiers jogged past, he called out, “Where’s the enemy?”

The soldiers did not reply. Numerous units mustered in formations on the shore as if awaiting an enemy landing party. They loaded guns and mounted machine gun emplacements, took positions behind barricades built long ago, and dropped into trenches that had been cut into the hard rock of the beach for just such a day. And still there was no sign of an enemy.

The knots in Avery’s belly began to unwind. It was a relief to be out of the labs. If only it weren’t so damned cold. Shivering, feeling his sinuses begin to run, he waited.

A familiar shape hurried by, then paused when it noticed him. “Look at you, out of the labs. I thought you’d turned into a mole like the rest.”

Avery smiled, or tried to. “Not yet,” he said.

“Well, stay safe,” Lt. Hinis said. She had adjusted well to life on land, Avery thought. In times of peace she would have been allowed to retire from military life after her injury, but at the moment a well-trained woman with one good arm was better than nothing.

“Can I ask where the enemy is?” he asked, before she could rush off.

“They’re comin’ from the water.”

“Submarines? The harbor’s too shallow.”

“Shit, I wish it was subs. I wish it were anything but what we’re getting.”

“I don’t—”

“Gotta go. ‘luck, Doc.”

She hurried up the beach and dropped into a trench swarming with activity, and he frowned, staring out over the water, waiting. His legs began to ache. He was just about to retreat indoors for a cup of coffee when, without warning, it happened. The whole world seemed to stop. All his attention riveted on that one insane thing.

Water burst on the beach directly before a certain phalanx of soldiers, not far from Lt. Hinis’s trench. Spray glittered under the moonlight, and some awesome, monstrous form exploded from the surf. Time may have slowed for Avery, but the soldiers were prepared for it. Commanders screamed orders, and gunfire sounded. Tracer rounds flickered through the dark and punched into the shape that had materialized from the harbor.

Undeterred, it clambered up the beach toward the soldiers, claws snapping with cracks like thunder. At the sight, Avery felt the strength sap from his limbs.

At first he was not sure what he was seeing. It was simply some nightmare given substance, all claws and weird insectile limbs sticking out at odd angles, mandibles snapping, sparks flashing. But then, when the water sloughed away from its scaled armor, and the lights along the beach picked it out a little bit more, he realized what it was, and a part of him wanted to laugh.

It was, quite simply, a lobster. Or rather its distant ancestors had been lobsters. This abomination had been spawned by the far-flung descendents of the first lobsters to survive the encroaching foulness that had gripped the ocean a millennium ago. Over twenty feet tall, perhaps a hundred long, the creature was not a thing of the sane world. Mutated and made strange by the sea, it was a horror, with too many claws, eyes sticking out at odd places, some with antennae growing through them. Slabs of armor overgrew each other, creating odd mounds. Lightning arced from claw to claw, from claw to antennae, from twisted legs to gnashing mouthparts. It was a mad thing, an electric thing, a true scion of the Atomic Sea.

It clambered up the beach, pincers clacking, and gunfire slammed into it from half a dozen positions. Lightning flashed from one of its strange claws into a group of soldiers. White fire exploded, and screaming men and women flew through the air. The atomic lobster clacked its claws again, and another burst of electricity skewered the man operating the machine gun. The gun and its heavy shells erupted, spraying fire and shrapnel into the soldiers behind the barricade. Those in the trench, some on fire, scrambled out, howling in agony. One was Lt. Hinis.

In a rage, half a dozen troops ran at the decapod, guns spitting. To his shock, Avery realized that one of them was Hinis, slapping at the flames on her right stump with a hand that held an automatic rifle. Her one-armed silhouette was easily recognizable.

When she and the others in her group drew within ten yards of the decapod, it opened its mandibles and did the strangest thing of all.

It screamed.

It was a high, weird wail, one that reminded Avery of nails across a chalkboard, but amplified immeasurably. The wall of horrible, teeth-rattling sound hit Hinis and the others, and it had an effect Avery never would have believed had he not seen it firsthand. The lobster screamed—and the soldiers melted.

Like candles with a flame set too high, Hinis and the others wilted under the blast of sound and melted from the tops of their heads to their feet. The flesh and bones, brain and muscle, it all dissolved into fluid, and like heated wax the soldiers’ bodies puddled at their feet, which liquefied as well.

“No!” Avery shouted, but of course there was nothing he could do, nothing anyone could do.

The crustacean scuttled over the melted figures toward the men and women in the trenches and behind the barricades. Already it was weakening under the hail of bullets, but it still struggled up the beach relentlessly.

Before it reached the barricades, more bursts of foam and water erupted from the shore behind it, and more decapods scuttled up out of the water, claws snapping, lightning arcing. Half a dozen at first, then a dozen, then two dozen of the crustaceans picked their way across the beach toward the soldiers. The men and women fought back, firing with everything they had. The decapods’ shells absorbed all but the largest-caliber weapons, and their lightning blasts destroyed the machine gunners and their guns. Commanders shouted for heavy artillery to be brought to bear, but the huge pieces took time to maneuver, and the battle could be over by then.

Breathless, shivering, fearing that the end had come at last and wondering how it had happened, how the Octunggen had manipulated these nightmares, perhaps even bred them in the cauldron of the sea, Avery took stock. He had no guns, no weapons of any sort, and they were all but useless against the creatures anyway.

The lobsters swarmed up the beach, snapping men in two with their claws, spearing them with bolts of electricity, and, when they deemed it prudent, melting them with unearthly screams.

The crustaceans overran the troops’ positions. Men and women fell back, and back. Melted flesh ran across the stones.

Several of the soldiers had been injured, and they lay on the ground bleeding—from shrapnel wounds mainly, caused by exploding machine gun mounts. The doctor in Avery could not sit by. Summoning what was left of his courage, he rushed down the beach. Other medics, embedded in the phalanxes, crouched over the injured, giving what aid they could, but there were too few of them.

Just as Avery approached the nearest injured soldier, three decapods broke through directly before him.

Claws snapping, they rushed in. He could smell their mineral reek, see the barnacles hugging their armored sides, hear the rasp as sections of their carapaces scraped against others. Lightning crackled from claw and mandible. The lead crustacean drew near and towered over him, stalks waving above its head, mouthparts gnashing.

Avery jumped back. The crustacean drove on. Avery retreated, knowing as long as he drew the creature’s attention it wouldn’t attack the soldier he’d been coming to help. The other two crustaceans found other targets.

The decapod followed Avery, who backed away all the way to the façade of Fort Brunt. Heart thumping, pores streaming with sweat, Avery threaded his way through the columns before the massive main doors. At last he tripped over a dead man that had been torn apart and flung against a pillar. The decapod advanced toward him implacably.

Avery tried to rise and flee, but he slipped in blood and fell.

The decapod opened its mouthparts to scream.

SNAP.

Avery heard the tremendous, metallic sound, then another, and another, and all at once a strange hum. The hum grew into a great wall of noise that washed over him and the beach, filling him with pain. He clapped his hands over his ears. On the beach soldiers covered their ears, too.

The lobster over Avery paused, its antennae twitching.

Vaguely Avery realized what must be happening. He had noted the strange blocky, bus-sized machines that stood along the beach when he’d first arrived, and over the last few weeks he had inquired about them and been told that they were defensive weapons powered by the same hot lard the other machines and processors that protected Ghenisa from the unworldly weapons of the Octunggen were.

Now he found out what they did.

At first the machines simply clicked on. The click was like a giant mousetrap snapping. Each one clicked in turn, from the ones near the fortress all the way up the beach to the civilian marina to the north, a domino chain of monstrous mousetraps. Next the machines began to hum. The hum grew louder and louder until at last it drowned out the sound of gunfire, burnings and decapod screams. The sound grew so loud it wedged Avery’s skull like a hot shovel through his brain. He saw others all up and down the beach drop their weapons and clutch at their heads. Some fell to the ground and rolled about, driven mad by the noise.

The great crustacean that had been advancing on him had stopped. The stalks on its head stood still.

Three of the lobsters had fallen under the barrage of gunfire, and their dying bodies floundered horrifically on the beach. The rest that had been sweeping the men’s positions halted, seeming to hesitate. The sound bothered them, possibly, or else the noise was simply a by-product of the machines’ true purpose. Either way, the lobsters ceased their advance.

Then, gradually, as the humming grew in intensity, one of the crustaceans turned back. It clacked across the beach and slipped beneath the surface of the sea. Moments later four others followed. Then more. And more. At last, the lobster towering over Avery turned about and retreated. Avery trembled in relief.

Encouraged, some of the men and women that could still bring themselves to function trained their weapons on the remaining decapods, who were evidently unsure what to do, and opened fire. That broke the creatures’ indecision. Hailed by heavy gunfire, they turned around and slipped beneath the waves.

The soldiers hurrahed. Even Avery hurrahed, screaming into the buzzing hum of the machines, though he could barely hear his own voice.

The machines continued sounding for some time after the retreat of the crustaceans, then began to taper off, finally ceasing altogether, though Avery’s head still rang. He realized he’d been holding his breath and took a deep one. All up and down the beach soldiers were looking at each other strangely, relief mixed with confusion and fear. Many spontaneously embraced and clapped each other on the back. Others fingered their ears and shook their heads. Many retched. Avery almost did. A few who had received their earplugs in time to use them—this had not been so unexpected, after all—merely removed the plugs and looked around, dazed but sensible.

Yawning to pop his ears, Avery stared at the giant crustacean carcasses, one of which still clutched dead men and women in its claws. Bodies littered the beach around them. Avery wondered if what was left of Lt. Hinis’s body could be identified. If so, at least her ashes could be returned to her family.

He heard a laugh and turned to see none other than Jessryl Sheridan.

“Impressive, aren’t they?” she said. “The machines, I mean. When I heard the sonar readings, I had to see them in action.”

“Captain—I mean, Admiral—”

“Come to me in an hour.” From the tone of her voice, she did not have to say for what. It was the first time she’d requested his attentions since they’d reached Hissig. Evidently battle got her blood going.

Not waiting for a reply, she walked down the steps toward the recovering soldiers, leaving Avery popping his ears and staring after her. His heart still beat rapidly, and his limbs still trembled. How could she possibly be in the mood after what had just happened? Then he realized it.

This is it, he thought. This is my chance.

He dusted himself off and made his way down the beach to help the injured.

* * *

“That was quite something,” Avery said, pouring himself a glass of brandy. He’d recovered (somewhat) from the shock of battle, though he was certain he’d be dreaming of giant crustaceans for some time to come. He and Sheridan stood on a high terrace of Fort Brunt, staring out over the sea. The terrace jutted from Sheridan’s apartment, which was wide and luxurious compared to the simple quarters occupied by most soldiers. All admirals based out of Hissig lived at Fort Brunt, and Avery understood that Sheridan’s quarters were nothing compared to the high admirals who lived on the top level. Still, they were impressive. As was the view.

The dark waters of the harbor frothed below, and electricity flared up from the waves. No sign of another attack.

“You mean, the repellers?” Sheridan stretched herself out on a chair. She wore only a towel wrapped around her middle, and her skin still glowed from sex and shower. “Yes, they worked sensationally.”

“Is that what they’re called? Repellers?”

She lit one of her thin black cigars. “Developed among other things to break Octunggen hold of their pet monsters. They breed them on the Vursulan coast, near the seat of their navy.” Octung was a landlocked country, Avery knew, but it had essentially purchased the government of the poor, corrupt Vursul decades ago—Vursul being a relatively large country occupying an entire peninsula unto itself—and Octung’s navy had grown into a mighty armada. “Our agents reported that the Octunggen were finally prepared to use them, so we made provisions to defend ourselves. Sadly, the repellers drain our stores of lard quite rapidly.”

“And we had to let the one whale go ...”

“You still hold that against me?”

Avery leaned against the wrought-iron railing and stared out over the harbor. “We need the lard. We can’t have much left in our stores.”

Her cigar crackled. “No. And Octung knows it. It doesn’t have to succeed in its attacks, merely drain our stores until we’re vulnerable enough, then deliver the killing blow.”

Which you’re helping it deliver. “Surely there’s something we can do.”

“It’s not for us to decide.” Ice clinked in her glass. “Yet.”

“You still plan on climbing the ladder, then?”

“And why not? War makes for rapid promotion. And, I think, with the war headed the way it is, people will grow tired of the Prime Minister’s handling of things.”

That caught him by surprise. “You can’t mean ...”

She chuckled. “Surely you’re not that loyal to Denaris. You, whose own wife had to live on the run for so many years, whose family was hounded by the government.”

“That was different. What you’re talking about ... a military coup ...”

“Obviously I wasn’t talking about a coup. That would be idiotic. I just think the people will tire of Denaris’s bungling.”

“Some say she’s all that’s holding the country together.”

“No, that would be the military, and that is run by our own Admiral Haggarty.”

Avery raised his eyebrows. He knew there was a very public rift between the Admiral and the Prime Minister. The Admiral supported sealing off the borders, admitting no refugees, ousting those already here, and declaring neutrality in the war.

Sheridan seemed to see his understanding. “The people will soon see that the war cannot be won,” she said. “Not by us. They’ll gravitate toward Haggarty, I’m sure of it. And here I am in the perfect position to achieve influence.”

Ah. It began to make sense, her plan. She wanted Ghenisa to back out of the war, to make it easier on Octung. When Octung had defeated the surrounding countries, it could come back and subdue Ghenisa at its leisure. Clever. But he didn’t have to make it easy on her.

“To what end?” he said. “Neutrality will only delay the inevitable, and it’ll mean we stop aiding our allies. Then they’ll fall, and we’ll be picked off all the sooner.”

“So what do you advocate?”

It was time for it, he supposed. He made his voice uncertain. “We must fight. It’s just that ...”

“Yes?”

“What can we do against them? We’re nearly out of hot lard, our navy’s broken, our army’s outmatched, our allies are falling one by one, and the only thing saving us from total destruction is the fact that the mountains block the Octunggen off on two sides, and Cumnal blocks them to the south. But they’re coming through the Pass soon, and Cumnal can’t last forever ...” He made a noise of frustration, then gestured toward the right, to the dark shore beyond. “We’re teeming with refugees we can’t feed. Soon we won’t even be able to supply them with pollution pills, and what then? The very air will kill or change them. And meanwhile they’re succumbing to the temptations of the black market, diseased food and the like. I’ve heard some are even selling themselves into slavery overseas, giving their families the money and letting criminals take them away, to who knows where?”

She nodded, eyeing him with interest. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so animated, Doctor. I think this battle’s brought you out of your shell. If you’ll forgive my choice of words.”

He leaned against the railing. “It all just seems so ... pointless.”

Something passed across her face. “And yet you would defend the government that’s led you here?”

He glanced up at her, careful to keep his expression impartial, curious. This is what he’d wanted, for her to reveal herself to him, to try to seduce him into her games.

“Do you know of an alternative?”

She stared at him for a long moment, weighing, judging. At last she looked away and inhaled on her cigar.

“I’ll think on it,” she said.

He let out a breath. Nodded. It wouldn’t do to appear overeager. “I think it’s time for me to go.” It was three in the morning, and he needed to get what sleep he could.

“It’s a long trip back to the Drake,” she commented, seemingly off-hand.

“Are you ... are you offering me a bed for the night?”

He couldn’t read the expression in her eyes as she said, “Captain Marsh just died today, melted by one of the crustaceans. His room’s on the next level down. Just say the word and ... it’s yours.”

He rubbed his head. Her offer was tempting, certainly, and it revealed something in her that almost smacked of tenderness. On the other hand, he did not want to be her pet lover, living just a beck and call away, under her constant supervision and sufferance.

“Thank you. But no. I need the comforts of home to get to sleep these days, now that I’m back on land. Suppose I’m getting old.”

She shrugged, but—and he might be imagining this—he thought he saw something sad rise behind her eyes, then quickly be dragged away.

“Very well,” she said.

* * *

He dressed in the living room. Clothes were strewn everywhere, draped over plush couches, sprawled at the roots of antique chairs. Candlelight glimmered on the brass fixtures of the marble fireplace.

Sheridan’s bagrith chittered at him, and he tried to hide his shudder. He’d always hated batkin. He couldn’t understand why anyone would want one as a pet, though he knew it had pained Sheridan to leave the thing behind while at sea.

Criggred was the size of a dog, but he still possessed the nightmarish form and face of a bat. His front claws, trailing their vestigial wings, scraped at the ground.

The vile thing hissed at him, then, wanting to gain some height, climbed one of the ornate pillars monkey-like and lifted its lips at him, affording Avery a good glimpse of needle teeth. He had heard there were batkin that lived in the Borghese that had grown to the size of men and drank blood, but he suspected these were just rumors.

He buttoned the last button on his shirt, snapped his pants up, and left Sheridan’s apartment. She remained on the balcony, smoking and staring out into the night. He wondered if he could really convince her to trust him, to take him into her confidence and engage him in her espionage. Part of him still hoped he might be wrong about her, that Hambry’s letters had been the ravings of a lunatic. If only she would just smile, he thought. A real, human smile.

He descended the many levels of the fortress, eschewing the sometimes-functioning lifts that had been installed some thirty years ago. He wanted to walk. He wanted to sweat. Making whatever he had been making with Sheridan had not been enough. His knees protested after a few levels, his heart pounded, and before long he was sweaty and laboring for breath—his body reminding him of his age. The pleasant buzz the brandy had given him began to recede.

Down a hallway, he heard the crackle and hiss of a radio. Some announcer rattled off a series of casualty figures, detailing the costs of a recent battle. Octung was advancing through the mountains. Nothing surprising there. One interesting item caught Avery’s ears, though, and he paused in the hallway to listen: “... and our agents report conflict in Lusterqal tonight. That’s right, violence erupts in the capital of Octung. What is the cause? We can’t know for sure, but sources tell us that the mysterious Black Sect have struck again, this time against the priests of the Collossum. The backlash has locked the city down. What the Black Sect is still remains a mystery, but at this juncture ...”

Avery moved on. A few dead priests weren’t going to help anything. Still, it was reassuring to know there were saboteurs working the other side.

When he reached the ground level, he hesitated. Sheridan had been right. It was too far to the Headless Drake and there were only a few hours before he was due to report in for the morning shift at any rate.

He descended into the subbasements. Night guards scanned his ID as he passed through the various checkpoints.

“Late night, Doc?” one asked.

He nodded tiredly. “Or an early day.”

In Laboratory Eleven he found to his mild surprise the gargantuan corpse of one of the lobsters. It towered in the center of the room, rust-colored, barnacle-encrusted, massive claws draped across the floor. It still stank of the sea, accented with the strange mineral odor he had noticed before and a lingering trace of ozone.

Dr. Wasnair and a team of scientists stood near its head, just beyond its thick, bump-covered stalks. A clutch of black, unblinking eyes stared at them, glassy in the artificial lights that flickered overhead. The men and women poked and prodded at it, occasionally snapping pictures or writing things down in notebooks.

Dr. Wasnair smiled in delight as he saw Avery approach. “Doctor, you simply must come here. Isn’t it fabulous?”

Avery reached them and stared at the huge blunt head, the inhuman eyes, the complicated mouthparts.

“Beautiful,” he said.

Wasnair laughed, clapping his hands in glee. “Yes, isn’t it? The Octunggen produce them, you know, but I can’t help but wonder if they grow naturally or if the Octunggen have found ways to manipulate their maturation, or some combination of the two. In any case, they’re lovely.”

“They’d make great pets.”

“Just think of the possibilities. This amazing creature can melt people with a sound. What if we could discover the apparatus that allows that? What if we could amplify it, melt entire Octunggen legions with a device modeled after it? Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

Avery nodded guardedly. “Yes.” It sounded very much like an Octunggen weapon, he thought—very much, in fact, like the one that had killed his wife and child, even if the effects were different. “But what if you happen upon its electrical organs instead and end up frying yourself?” He laughed. “I’d let the junior doctors handle it.”

Wasnair relaxed a bit and chuckled. “But then who would get the glory?” He seemed to really notice Avery for the first time. “What are you doing here at this hour, anyway?”

Avery didn’t want to say he’d come to find a corner to curl up in. “I wanted to check on Patient X before retiring.”

Wasnair nodded doubtfully, obviously curious about where Avery had been for the last two hours. “You never did report back to us after the battle.”

Avery kicked at a huge, barnacle-encrusted claw. “It seems you found out what you needed to.”

He turned away, and Wasnair and the others returned their attention to the lobster. For the sake of appearances, Avery strode toward the curtained-off quarter of the room where the mystery woman slumbered. He grabbed a chart and pretended to review it as he slipped behind the curtain. The curtains were only drawn at night, as during the daytime when the investigative committee was on duty she had to be viewable.

Yawning, Avery sat the notebook down and collapsed in the hard metal chair near the woman’s bed. Now, finally, he could get some rest. Wasnair and the others would be so consumed with their new find that they wouldn’t even notice his absence.

Before he closed his eyes, his gaze drifted toward the mystery patient, as it had a thousand times before.

She stared back at him.

7

Once again, Avery was struck by how blue her eyes were, like the sea after a storm. Slowly, tiredly, they blinked. She shifted and stirred, turning her gaze from him to the drapes, the ceiling, taking it all in. She didn’t seem surprised by her surroundings. Perhaps she had been awake for some time, or at least in the process of waking.

He sat there, riveted. His breath came fast and shallow, and he felt all traces of sleep evaporate.

“Damn,” he whispered, unable to help himself.

The woman’s eyes returned to him. She was more beautiful than he had remembered. Then again, he had only once before seen her with her eyes open. The difference it made was incalculable. She was lovely.

“Gedden es unkul rae?”

The Octunggen chilled his blood, as it had the first time. “You are in a hospital,” he replied in the same language, though not with the same fluidity. “How long have you been awake?”

“Some time. I did not like the look of the others. I hoped you would come.”

“You did? Why?”

“You did not betray me last time.” Her words came out slightly slurred. She was still weak.

“How do you know?”

“I still live.” She let him process that, then said, “I should not have confided in you then, but I was weak. I needed someone. This ... it does not look like ... a hospital.” Her eyes dared him to lie.

He nodded slowly. “It’s a military hospital.”

“You are ... a soldier?”

He tried on a smile. It felt false. “I’m a doctor, as you know. You ... you’ve been sick. For a long time.”

Suddenly she looked uneasy. “For how long?”

“Months. You’ve been in a coma. We found you ...” He sucked in a breath. Now, finally, he would get the answers he had waited so long for. Sudden anticipation made him sit up straighter, made him lick his lips and straighten his jacket. “We found you at sea. In the belly ... in the belly of a great whale.” He could hardly contain himself. “Could you please tell me how you arrived there, if you know? How you survived the sea in the first place? You were naked, without protection.”

The woman stared at him. Pain filled her eyes. She wrenched her head away, whispered something in bitter tones that he did not catch and wiped at a tear in the corner of her eye. “Months ...”

“Yes. Not to harp on this, but how did you wind up in the whale?” He heard the desperation in his voice but couldn’t help it. He had to know.

She continued to stare upward. “Hizven!” she said, an Octunggen curse word. Her hands balled into fists, and her fists shook at her sides. In the background Avery heard the laughter of the scientists and the whine of a bone saw. He need not fear being overheard.

He leaned forward. The movement earned him the woman’s attention, but her eyes narrowed as they fell on him, and suddenly he felt cold. Whoever she was, she possessed a powerful personality. He could feel the weight of it whenever she looked at him, and the absence of it when she didn’t.

“And you healed,” he heard himself say. “You healed unnaturally fast. I ... I’ve never seen anything like it, in all my medical career. Or heard of anything like it. It’s almost ... inhuman.”

She hardly seemed to be paying attention. Suddenly she started to sit up, apparently impatient to be on her way, but even her amazing body had experienced muscle atrophy over the two months of her coma. She groaned in pain and collapsed to the bed, gasping. Sweat beaded her brow.

He patted her forearm. She wrenched her arm away.

Clearing his throat in embarrassment, he said, “It’ll take some time before you regain your strength. Of course, with your regenerative abilities, this might be accelerated now that you can exercise, but ... it will still be some time.” He indicated the intravenous tubes that connected to her arms, pumping her full of medical and alchemical substances. “I think eating proper food again will help. We’ve been feeding you through the tubes, but I must confess I wouldn’t want to eat what comes through there.” He had to struggle with the words, and he knew he must sound like a fool to a native Octunggen.

Perhaps he was right, as she glared at him haughtily. Then, slowly, she softened, and her body sort of sagged. She breathed out a long breath. He supposed she must be realizing that she needed him for the moment, that for now she was helpless.

“I must leave here,” she said. “It’s urgent.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s impossible.” He imagined what would happen if Dr. Wasnair and the others discovered that the woman was Octunggen. People like them had invented most of the torture techniques used during the time of the Drakes, and the ancient torture chambers were said to be conveniently located the next level down, home now to secret research—the resurrection projects and the like—but easily cleared for special guests, Avery was sure.

Yet what could he do with her? He’d pondered the matter for months and hadn’t come up with anything satisfactory.

His silence and evident brooding seemed to intrigue or disturb the woman. She went from sulking and staring at the ceiling to reluctantly looking at him. He could see her out of the corner of his eyes grudgingly begin to view him as an actual person, a person with an agenda of his own.

“What ails you, Doctor?” she said. Still he said nothing. It seemed to worry her. “You are enemies of the Lightning Crown.”

Still not looking at her, this time deliberately, he said, “Of Octung, yes. Rather it is the enemy, if it is not too theatrical to say, of the world.”

No longer were her eyes haughty. They were blue and mysterious, and they gazed at him beseechingly, latching into him like hooks. “You must help me, Doctor. I can’t tell you all, but I am on a mission.”

“Yes, you said before.”

“I don’t remember.”

“You said you were on a mission to stop Octung. It’s the only reason why I haven’t spoken of you to anyone. Please, tell me more.”

“Get me out of here and I’ll tell you everything.”

“Again, that’s impossible. The others consider you property of the Navy. I’m afraid they’ll never let you go, especially if they learn you’re Octunggen. Not everyone is as gullible as I am.”

Her face was tight. “You are not gullible. I’m telling the truth. And I’m not Octunggen. Fine, if they won’t let me go, then you must, Doctor.”

“Tell me how you plan to stop Octung.”

“No. I ... I cannot. Just know I will, that I will end the war.”

He studied her. There was nothing deceitful in her manner, only earnestness and urgency. Could she possibly be telling the truth? It was absurd. And yet ...

“It’s not that easy,” he said.

Her voice became leaden. “Then Ghenisa will burn. Octung will raze it and set up shrines to the Collossum in its ashes.”

“Who are you?”

“I am ... have you heard of the Black Sect?”

“Yes. Yes, of course. Heretics and saboteurs.”

“We’re a lot more than that. We’re enemies of the Collossum.”

“But they’re just gods. Myth ... superstition ...”

She sank back, looking tired. “You would not believe.”

“Why don’t you let me decide what I’d believe?”

She didn’t answer.

“Fine,” he said. “If you’re part of the Black Sect, you should be an ally of Ghenisa. I could bring in the others.”

“No! Spies would find out. Assassins. They would kill me as soon as anyone knew who I was. You can say nothing, Doctor. To anyone. If you do, it will mean my death.”

She was right, of course. If she could truly harm Octung, Sheridan would kill her or have someone do it for her.

“Can you speak anything other than Octunggen?” he asked.

Slowly, haltingly, she said in Ghenisan but with a strong Octunggen accent, “Speak me small volume languages many.”

He winced. “You must pretend, in front of the other doctors, to still be asleep.”

Her eyes widened. “I must leave. I will never—”

The bone saw escalated in the background as it drilled through a particularly thick section of carapace, and Avery imagined what other uses Wasnair might find for it.

“You must,” he said. At last he looked her in the eyes again, but this time firmly, asserting the power of his own personality. “If you don’t, you will die.”

Her chin jutted out, but she did not argue.

Reluctantly, he stood. She had no more answers to give, not yet, and now that she was awake he couldn’t afford to draw attention to her by staying here. Sooner or later, Dr. Wasnair would surely draw him aside to admire some anatomical feature of the crustacean before letting him go back to sleep.

“Say you’ll pretend to still be comatose,” he said.

Frustration showed in her face, and she made a growling sound. “But I must grow strong again! How can I become well enough to finish my mission if I’m bed-ridden?”

“I’m your doctor. I’ll help you get well. However, I still haven’t decided what to do with you once you are well.”

She started to say something, but she was obviously exhausted from talking so long. “I can stop ... Octung ...”

“Close your eyes. Get some sleep.”

With obvious reluctance, she obeyed. Within moments her breathing became regular, and her eyes rolled under her eyelids.

Wondering at himself, he reached out and tucked her in. He said not one word to Dr. Wasnair and the others as he left the lab to find a quiet spot to sleep in.

* * *

Avery visited her the next night, and the night after that. Every night he helped her exercise. He fed her real food, for which she seemed grateful. He worked throughout the days, running blood tests and developing cultures, keeping up his pretense of trying to find out what and who she was. Privately he’d given up on such experiments. He’d found a better, easier way to get his answers. Yet she refused to give away her secrets, only hinted at vast agendas. He still wasn’t sure he believed her, but he’d decided to win her trust and go from there. If nothing else, she was a good actress during the days, playing her part as coma patient well.

Between his work during the day and his labors during the night, he found little time for sleep, and it also meant that he had less time for the commute to his apartment. He hadn’t been this exhausted since his days as an intern in Benical. Reluctantly, he took Admiral Sheridan up on her offer and bunked in the late Captain Marsh’s quarters on the floor below hers. This naturally led to more frequent trysts with the admiral herself, which further spent him. He honestly didn’t know how long he could keep this up. At forty-two, he was not a young man.

Added to this pressure were the reports that flooded in daily regarding the war. Octung had finally subjugated Asrakad and was bringing its full powers to bear on Cumnal, which was immediately to the south of Ghenisa and a close ally. To get to Cumnal, the Octunggen first must plow through the highlands of Ungraessot, land of the God-Emperor, home of the Soul Door, but with its might freed from the mire of Asrakad this was less problematic, and Ungraessot was half crushed beneath the boot heel of Octung already. At the same time, Octung also waged war on a host of other nations—the Confederation of Sorwed to the south, Hygaerd with its famous and wealth-producing inland sea, the Illith, and, trampling over the ruins of Asrakad and its brother countries Nalakath and Mureen, drove into the eastern regions of the Ysstral Empire to the north, just across the Borghese Mountains from Ghenisa. And everywhere they went the Octunggen set up their temples to the Collossum and purged the populations of ethnicities and religions disagreeable to them. Rumors spread of strange and horrific experiments being conducted on the prisoners, and on facilities to which prisoners were brought healthy but left either dead or ... inhuman.

Ghenisa, even though sheltered by the Borghese, was not safe. Octung had already tried to strike through the Korwen Pass, through which Ghenisa had historically traded with Ungraessot, but Ghenisa had collapsed two mountains into it, stymieing the Octunggen advance. Not to be put off, Octunggen engineers worked day and night at removing and destroying the debris, aided by their strange technologies, while aerial, dirigible-mounted patrols sought for ways around the pass.

No one knew where Octung had acquired such technology, nor could any other country even build similar machines on their own. Some scientists claimed that the devices used what they called extradimensional capabilities. In any event, the only way to counter the otherworldly weapons was by stealing information related to them (and sometimes parts) to produce similar weapons. Thus it was a war of spies and counter-spies, and Avery knew he must stop Sheridan before she disclosed something vital to Octung, if it was not too late already.

He didn’t push her. He didn’t want her becoming suspicious of him. Still, he was eager for her to take him into her confidence. She didn’t follow up on their discussion the night of the crustacean attack, not immediately, but sometimes he would catch her staring at him, eyeing him as a man might eye a dog that he wanted for his own yet was afraid might bite.

Meanwhile, Dr. Wasnair and his cabal continued their research into the crustacean, and in a magnanimous display he bade Avery to assist. This was Avery’s invitation to join a wider world of scientific pursuit and a possible step on the ladder of promotion.

On the morning of the eighth day after the attack, Dr. Sharra Winegold and three assistants—or at least their remains—were found as puddles of rotting flesh on the floor beside the great decapod. Winegold’s distinct puddle was identified by her horn-rimmed spectacles, whose frames had remained mostly solid.

Instead of being saddened or intimidated, Dr. Wasnair rejoiced, exclaiming that the gland that caused melting could not only be located but was still operable. Sadly Dr. Winegold’s notes were ruined by her own dissolved flesh and so much of the carapace had been cut open that it was impossible to determine what anatomical feature she and her assistants had been studying at the time of their accident.

Piles of carapace were stacked in the corner, carefully photographed and analyzed. One by one they were sent to the incinerator. So went the remains of Dr. Winegold and her assistants once they had been scraped off the floor.

Avery, when his time came to investigate the crustacean, limited his researches to familiar-looking organs.

From all this, he gained an idea.

* * *

“Dr. Wasnair thinks he’s hit upon something,” he said. He and Sheridan lay in bed together.

Sheridan, lighting a cigar, seemed only half-interested. “Yes?”

Strictly speaking, Avery was not supposed to divulge any information related to his research to anyone not in the scientific strata of the Navy. In fact, he was only supposed to report to the investigative committee and its immediate supervisors. Just by saying anything, he was technically committing treason. He hoped Sheridan appreciated this.

“The crustaceans’ ability to melt enemies,” he said. “He thinks he’s discovered the apparatus responsible.” This was nonsense, of course. Even if Wasnair ever located the organ, Avery knew it would be years before he could use it to create weapons. And Ghenisa did not have years.

Smoke drifted up from Sheridan’s thin black cigar. She turned her gaze toward him. “Oh?”

“He plans to develop a device to amplify the ability. Destroy entire Octunggen legions at once with just a sound.”

Flame crackled on the tip of her cigar. “Why are you telling me this?”

He interlocked his fingers behind his head. “No reason. It’s just interesting, that’s all.”

She said nothing, but he could feel her gaze on him. At last she said, “Is this machine ... in development?”

How far should he go? “Not yet,” he said. He could almost feel her breathe easier. “But soon.” She tensed. “Certain engineering principles must be worked out. This technology is all quite alien, you know. It reminds me very much of the weapons Octung has been using against us, in fact.”

With an unladylike grunt, she leapt up from the bed and strode to the bar. The muscles of her shoulder-blades and buttocks flexed and rolled as she walked. Criggred, her hideous bagrith, chittered and approached her. As she poured herself a drink, she tossed him a cube of ice. Criggred caught it and crushed the cube between his rear teeth with a snap like breaking bone. Avery winced.

Sheridan sipped her drink at the bar with one hand, smoked with the other, and a thoughtful look came over her. For some reason, Avery felt his skin tighten, his hairs prickle. Had he gone too far—pressed her too obviously?

Her bedroom was large and opulent. Made of oak, her sturdy bed hunkered beneath white fur blankets, and sealskin carpets draped the stone floors. The barnacled head of a whale calf jutted from one wall, fangs curling out, and a pair of crossed fencing blades hung from the other. Two tall tallow lamps burned with warm light, making the five eyes of the whale calf seem to move.

Sheridan, in a sudden series of motions, sat down her drink, jammed her cigar between her jaws, crossed to the fencing blades, ripped one loose—

—and sprang tiger-like onto the bed.

The mattress bounced under Avery. Shocked, he stared up at Sheridan, gleaming with sweat, standing-straddling him, the point of her blade pressed lightly into his neck, but not so lightly that he didn’t feel it prick. A thin trickle of blood welled out.

“Um, Admiral, I don’t think ...”

She kicked the furs away. He was utterly naked, and his scrotum contracted. Her voice came, as sharp and hard as her blade: “Commander Hambry’s cabin was searched.”

Shit. “That’s interesting, but—”

“Silence!” She pressed the blade deeper. He gasped. He felt the warmth as more blood trickled down his throat. “I know it was you. You were seen in the officers’ quarters late that night, after we reached the convoy. Lt. Ambrum was on the way to the head and recognized you. She said you looked nervous.” Sheridan grinned hard around the cigar. “I bet you look more nervous now.”

Avery licked his lips. For a moment, he thought of lying. However, Sheridan knew enough that a lie, at least the wrong lie, could get him killed. Hearing the stammer in his voice, he said, “Y-yes. I ... I admit it. I searched his cabin.”

“Ha! I knew it.” She lifted one foot and shoved it down on his chest, pushing him into the mattress, making it hard for him to breathe. At least it had the effect of lessening the blade’s pressure on his neck. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips turned into a thin line. “Why?”

He swallowed. “Because—”

“No lies!”

“I suspected you two were seeing each other. I wanted proof.”

One side of her lips curled up. “You expect me to believe that? You, a jilted, jealous lover?”

His mouth was very dry. “I know it’s true. I found the shotgun shell. You can’t deny it.”

Her foot eased on his chest. He swallowed a deep breath.

“You’re full of shit, Doctor. Fortunately for you, it’s a brand I find amusing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She stared down at him for a long moment. “You can’t be working with anyone,” she said. “You must be independent.”

She eased the blade away from his neck and stepped back. Leaping down from the bed, she paced back and forth, reminding him of a jungle cat. She seemed to be thinking. Perhaps picking up on her feelings, Criggred arched his back and hissed at Avery.

Sheridan spun to the doctor. The suddenness of it startled him. “What exactly do you want?” she said. “Why did you tell me of Dr. Wasnair’s plans?”

Carefully, Avery sat up. The movement caused Criggred to hiss louder. He tried to ignore it. Slowly, staring Sheridan in the eyes, he said, “I only want to help.”

“How?”

Her body tensed, and her breathing stopped. She fixed him with a look that he knew to be lethal. If he answered wrong, that was it. He would never be seen again. Perhaps she would say Criggred had gone mad and ripped him apart. Perhaps he would have taken a suicidal plunge off the terrace. Or perhaps she had other, subtler ways of disposing of enemies.

Sweat popped out on his forehead. “I want the war to end, as soon as possible,” he said. “Should this sound weapon be developed, it will only delay the inevitable. I think ... in the end, if the war is prolonged ... even more will die.”

“And if certain information were passed on to Octung, and Octung was able to build a defense against the weapon? Or if the efforts here were simply sabotaged?”

He shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. “Octung would prevail that much quicker, and peace would be restored to the world. I may hate Octung, but I hate the war more.”

“But the purgings ... You’re against them.”

“The purgings are inevitable. Octung will win, that much is certain. The only thing that remains in doubt is how many die between now and then. I mean to see that as many survive the war as possible. I want peace, no matter what.”

“And the man that helped Octung achieve that peace would be rewarded, I suppose. And spared from any purgings.”

“Or woman.”

“Hmph.”

“And yes, that is an interesting point,” he said. “But that should not be a primary motivator. And I am, of course, simply thinking out loud here. I don’t mean anything by it.”

“Of course,” she said. “Neither do I.”

A long silence passed. She stared at him, then her sword. At last she let out a breath, and he could see the tension leaving her.

They exchanged a look. For a moment she almost appraised him with warmth. And Janx said he couldn’t bluff!

She flicked the blood off the end of her blade, placed the sword back on the wall, and said, “I’ll think on it. Meanwhile, would you like a drink?”

He laughed. “After you, of course.”

She smiled grimly and poured. “Wise man.”

8

Two days later he found Janx’s message. It had become Avery’s habit to return to the Headless Drake every few days for fresh clothes, supplies, and to make sure no squatters had moved in. Just as importantly, he felt it necessary to tend to his expensive bottle of Valyankan bourbon.

But there was another reason.

He and Janx had arranged a drop-spot behind a loose brick near his door, and he checked it every visit. Generally either Janx or one of his cronies would leave a crumpled slip of paper, usually saying that there was nothing to report. Avery had just been on the cusp of thinking the whaler wasn’t taking this as seriously as he should; Janx had agreed to have Sheridan tailed, yes, but so far neither he nor any of his agents had turned up anything.

This time was different. The note ran: Intercepted message from S to handlers. Read and replaced. S requests meeting Vruth Eve. Will try n eavesdrop.

Elation filled Avery. Finally! Sheridan had left a message at her own drop-spot, and either Janx or his people had found it. Now Sheridan was going to meet with her handler, surely to relate the information Avery had let slip regarding Dr. Wasnair’s theoretical device. He grinned.

“I’ll make a spy of you yet,” he told himself.

He tossed the note in the fireplace and helped himself to an extra finger of bourbon. Now all he had to do was sit back and wait.

He settled in and read a book for a time, one of his many historical adventures, this one about the Ysstral-Ghenisa War, while the fire crackled in the background. Spiders wove their webs in the darkness above, and the night wind howled outside.

In his book, a Ghenisan princess had been captured by a ruthless Ysstral lord in the Borghese Mountains, where most of the War of the Severance had taken place hundreds of years ago. The Ysstral lord held the princess captive in a high tower of the infamous Maar Keep. Little did Lord Hyssmyr know that the rival Ysstral prince he had walled up alive in the catacombs still lived, subsisting on rats and vermin and scuttling about like those he preyed on behind the walls and in secret passages of the Maar. Naturally the handsome Prince Cort found and rescued the beautiful Princess Syra, but as they fled through the secret passages she informed him that in order to make it to the carriages, they would need to pass through the masked ball taking place even then in the ballroom below. They could waylay a couple of guests, disguise themselves—

Avery sat up.

Vruth Eve, he thought. Shit.

He stood, threw on his jacket and left his apartment, but not before one last sip of Valyankan.

Outside, cold wind shivered through the city streets. It didn’t seem to deter Avery’s fellow Ghenisans, however, and his blood was warm enough from the drink. The streets thronged with natives and refugees alike. Brightly-colored lamps hung from icy stone walls. Glowing alchemical orbs had been shoved into gargoyles’ mouths, and strings of lights hung from the horns of serpentine dragons. People wandered the sidewalks, tramping from tavern to tavern, from vaudeville theater to picture show, some festively costumed over their coats and jackets. They dressed as the Three Sisters themselves, the Sun King, or the innumerable Star-Lords whose stories populated myth and fable.

This was the traditional three-day holiday of Vruthaen, when two of the Sisters eclipsed. Looking up past the clouds, Avery could see all three moons wheeling through the stars between long ribbons of cloud. The eclipse was to be tomorrow, Vruth Eve, when the Mother passed over the Waif. It was supposed to be a symbol of birth and rebirth for those who belonged to the Trinity faith. Massive orgies and drunken revelries during the time of the Drakes had helped popularize the holiday and now it was officially celebrated every eclipse, though these days with less debauchery. That had been one good thing about the Drakes, Avery supposed. They had known how to celebrate.

Huddling in a cab with a broken heater, he watched the gaily-costumed revelers totter through the streets, and he thought their red, laughing faces and ribald calls showed a certain strain. After all, they had been forced to endure rations, blackouts and general declarations of coming doom for months, years. The holiday was a time when they could release their tensions, but it seemed to Avery that it only expressed their fears more nakedly. Their laughter was too shrill, their dancing too frantic, their passion too obsessive.

Still, it was hard not to be moved by all the men singing drunkenly on street corners, children eating candied apples (however old and shrunken), women strutting in slinky, furred costumes, and bright lights blazing everywhere.

The revelry grew even more raucous in the direction Avery went: the Tangle. In the Tangle, heaping tenements stacked up like fungi, some huge, some listing dangerously, many mashed up against each other. Tiny hovels squeezed between monoliths, permanently in shadow. Streets wove nearly at random through the mad buildings: winding, dead-ending, doubling back, merging with tiny tributaries that wove and forked and ended in sinister cul-de-sacs. Factories belched smoke into the sky over the crumbling roofs of tenements, blocking out the stars. It was a seedy labyrinth, known for danger and seduction.

Avery disembarked briefly at several pubs and street corners, asking the whereabouts of Janx. The whaler was a well-known figure in the community and it wasn’t long before someone told Avery where to find him. Avery thanked the prostitute with a few coins and was on his way once more.

The cabbie dropped him off at the Blazing Tiger. Once the building had been a small factory that made ship parts, and its chimney stacks could still be seen rearing above, but competition with larger companies had closed it down long ago. Now a huge neon sign over the doorway depicted a flaming tiger leaping through the air. The lights flashed in such a way that the tiger, Kaugen, seemed to move, flames crackling off him. Kaugen was an ancient god of war and sex, belonging to a cult from Laisha. Appropriate to the building, naturally.

Avery waited in the short line and paid the bouncer the cover. As he stepped through the huge metal doors, Avery entered a bastion of warmth and noise, and he smiled gratefully. Spice and grease and ale and cigarette smoke and roasting meat filled the air, but they had to compete with the stench of thousands of people and the sweat of the men they watched. Sailors and roustabouts and criminals and factory workers and a myriad of others pressed close against each other, shouting and jostling, placing bets, laughing and cursing. Vendors sold hot dogs and fried, mutton-filled peppers, flatbread and mushrooms, boiled turtle on a stick. And beer. Lots of beer. Everything was drastically overpriced, of course—food was still rationed, and much of this was black market stuff—and the victuals’ presence alone seemed opulent in these meager days. But there were evidently plenty here with money to spend, which was encouraging.

Avery, not as flush as he would like, ignored the vendors that besieged him as he shoved his way through the crowd. He wished some of the patrons had washed more thoroughly. Their layered clothing didn’t help, especially now that they were indoors. He felt more than one weasely denizen of the Tangle brush up against him and was glad he’d hidden his wallet in an inside pocket of his jacket. The thieves wouldn’t have gotten much, but these days even a little was a lot. He walked through a cloud of cigar smoke, then a pocket of spice.

At last he reached the periphery of the ring and stared up in awe at the bare-chested titans battling it out on the boxing platform. The crowd roared, and the huge, awesome form of the taller one smashed his bare-knuckled fist into the face of his opponent, who grunted and staggered back.

Sweating and fighting for breath after delivering the blow, Janx looked like something Kaugen would approve of, covered in scars, tattoos and blood, a great primal creature built of slabs of muscle and steely sinews. Hard eyes, one half closed under a bruise, glared out to either side of the leather patch that covered his nasal cavity, and spittle sprayed from his broken lips.

His opponent, a man nearly as tall as he and possibly even more muscular, with a livid tattoo of a winged serpent coiling across his back and disappearing under his red trunks, recovered from the blow and launched himself at Janx. He ducked Janx’s swing and pummeled the whaler in the abdomen, one hit after another, driving him back. Avery could hear the slap of fists on flesh even over the screaming crowd. Janx’s opponent forced him up against the ropes. His fists beat against the whaler in a flurry, a meaty slap-slap-slap that reminded Avery of something he might hear in a butcher shop.

At last Janx, almost leisurely, shoved his opponent away with one hand and smashed him under the jaw with the other. The vicious uppercut actually lifted the man off the ground, sweat flying, and flung him to the mat with a thud. The crowd roared. Janx prodded the man’s ribs with a foot, but the man didn’t move, save to breathe in and out. The referee counted to ten, then raised Janx’s arm, with Janx’s help. Bells rang. The crowd roared louder. Janx grinned a bloody grin at his worshippers.

While the audience members collected on their bets and ordered more food and beer, Avery pushed his way into the clearing around the ring. Two bouncers moved to stop him, but he flashed his medical ID. “I’m Janx’s doctor!” he called. That seemed to confuse them, since Janx’s doctor was busy patching up the big man’s eye.

Fortunately Janx saw the activity. Avery heard his booming laugh over the murmur of the crowd. “Let ‘im through!” Janx demanded, spitting out his mouthpiece, then slumped back in his chair. The doctor swabbed at his bad eye.

Grateful, Avery approached. “That was quite a fight,” he said, staring up at the mountain of blood and muscle and ink that was Janx. He supposed it shouldn’t surprise him that the whaler would prizefight when he wasn’t whaling. He was a man of action, of violence, and if he did nothing between voyages but drink and whore he would likely go mad. Of course, Avery was sure there was plenty of drinking and whoring, too.

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Doc,” Janx said, wincing as the other doctor taped up his eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you’re fighting again.”

Janx chuckled. “Fight till ya drop. That’s the game. Ya get paid by the round as well as the win.”

Avery eyed the whaler’s mass of bruises and cuts. Fighting bare-knuckled had obviously taken a lot out of him. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“I don’t think that’s what it’s about, Doc.”

“I’d like to talk to you about that other matter. About that note you left. You see, I’ve been thinking, and—well this should probably be done behind closed doors—”

The bells rang.

The attention of the crowd returned to the ring. The announcer, clad in a gaudy tuxedo and flanked by two half-naked women, strode across the stage bellowing: “AND NOW FOR YOUR VIEWING PLEASURE, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I BRING YOU OUR NEXT CHALLENGER, ONE OF YOUR FAVORITES AND MINE, THE TITAN OF TERROR, THE FANTASY OF FREAKISHNESS, THE REIGNING SULTAN OF THE UNHOLY, THE UNMATCHABLE HORROR OF ...” Somewhere there was a drum roll “... MUIRBLAAG THE MON-STERRR!!”

On the other side of the ring the crowd parted and a huge form emerged draped in a shiny black robe. Large bouncers escorted him, but he dwarfed them in comparison. Avery had to stop his jaw from falling open. The next challenger was not simply big but inhuman.

Pulling himself up with a half-claw, half-flipper, Muirblaag the Monster climbed into the ring.

He was not poorly named. However, at first Avery wasn’t quite sure what he was looking at. There were certainly non-human intelligent life-forms in the world—the amphibians of Talis, the goat-people of Naderhorn, the lizard men of Qerwig—though members of these races tended to stay among their own cultures. Avery had only met a few humans who’d even claimed to have encountered one. Muirblaag didn’t seem to fall into any of these racial categories, however. He was, Avery realized belatedly, a mutant human, someone infected from contact with the Atomic Sea. It was the only explanation, unless—

But no. Avery wouldn’t think of it. None of them would dare descend down here.

Still ... most infected victims’ deformations were ragged, incomplete, unfinished, like the refugees he’d seen on the way to the cemetery. They did not look like whole beings.

Muirblaag looked whole. From universally scaly skin to two fully-formed webbed hands, to the straight crest that adorned his hairless head and ran down his broad back, he looked all of a piece, a complete and perfect specimen of ... well, he was undeniably piscine. His eyes shown completely black, with no whites or visible irises, his lips bulged, he had nearly as little nose as Janx. A glittering silver earring that looked suspiciously like a fish hook dangled from the bony ear hole on the right side of his thick head. His scales glistened blue-gray. The suggestion of gills quivered on his neck immediately below his jaws.

Muirblaag may have been human once—or perhaps not if Avery’s suspicion was correct—but in any case he wasn’t human now. Poisoned food or possibly even birth (from infected parents, as Avery suspected) had transformed him into a fish-man of monstrous dimensions. His shoulders were broad and powerful, his arms thick and knotted as tree trunks. Scars criss-crossed his body. An alchemical tattoo on his bicep glowed in the shape of a reverse mermaid, with her upper half piscine and her lower half a naked woman. A cigarette jutted from her wide lips and, thanks to the alchemy involved, the smoke seemed to writhe about her head.

Wearing only a pair of gray trunks, Muirblaag strode on webbed feet toward the center of the ring, dripping water as he went. He had either come from a bath, shower or dowsing. Perhaps like a fish he must stay moist.

Janx met him at the center of the ring, and Avery saw to his astonishment that the fish-man stood a full head taller than Janx.

Janx glared up at him, and Muirblaag glared down at Janx. Avery sensed the lingering trace of some old animosity. The announcer shouted more inducements to the crowd to get excited—hardly necessary, for they seemed in a rare state of exultation; this was evidently a famous rivalry—and shouted for the fight to begin.

Bells rang. The two titans flew at each other.

Janx struck first. He punched at Muirblaag’s face, but the fish-man wove with surprising speed and sent a scaly fist into Janx’s belly. An explosion of air from Janx’s lips bathed Muirblaag’s face. Janx reeled back, cocked his arm, and sent a mean right hook to the fish-man’s ribs with an audible slapping of meat. Muirblaag staggered, growled and leapt at him.

It was a colossal battle. Huge fists flew and slammed into glowering faces. Blood sprayed through the air, some red, some inky blue. The titans roared and smashed at each other, and it seemed the ground shook with every impact. The crowd went mad, shrieking at the fighters, waving cash over their heads for bookies to collect, jostling each other for better spots. Vendors sold roasted peanuts and beer by the armload.

Despite himself, Avery found himself enjoying it all, even though he winced every time Janx took a punch. He decided a beer would help, then two, then, why not, a box of peanuts.

At last the fight ended. With one mighty punch in the sixth round, Muirblaag sprawled Janx across the mat. The whaler fell with a terrific thud; Avery could see the mat jump at the impact, see Janx’s cheeks warble.

Bells rang, scantily-clad women strutted, and Muirblaag was declared the winner. After slapping him conscious, Janx’s doctor/trainer led him out of the ring.

Still munching peanuts, Avery followed. “I’m with him,” Avery told the bouncers, and Janx grunted agreement. Staggering, the big man led the way into the dressing room. There he showered, dried off and dressed while a few fans waited outside. Avery finished his peanuts. The dressing room stank of sweat and mold.

When Janx emerged from the shower, he looked like he’d been through a meat grinder. Cuts and bruises covered every bump and curve of his body.

“You should find a better hobby,” Avery said.

Janx grunted and pulled on his pants. “I like this just fine.”

“He’s a star,” growled the doctor/trainer, who had taken out his medical bag and was looking through it. He was a tall man with a flat, broken nose and iron-gray hair. He’d obviously been a fighter in his youth. “Can’t you see that?”

Avery could hear a fan arguing with the bouncers outside. “I suppose. Is that what it’s about then, the attention?”

Janx grinned slowly. “What do you think it’s about, Doc?”

Avery nodded. “Women. I should have known. Well, about what I was saying earlier—”

Janx shook his head, curtly, just once, obviously warning Avery to silence. Did he not trust his own coach?

“I’ll talk to you about it later, then,” Avery said.

“Yeah.” Janx winced as his trainer dabbed alcohol on a wound. “Later.”

The older man smiled a hard, sadistic smile as he applied more alcohol. “This could take a while.”

It did. Afterwards, Janx signed a few autographs for children. Apparently he was quite the big man in the Tangle, and the kids looked up to him as a hero. However, just as Janx had indicated, or at least Avery thought he had, there were several shapely women waiting for him as well, and they did not seem to be the boys’ mothers. He whispered in each one’s ear, and they giggled and left, one at a time.

“What did you tell them?” Avery asked when he, Janx and the trainer were under way, making toward a rear exit.

Janx produced a cigar and began unwrapping it. “I just made plans for the week.”

“You scheduled dates with them every day of the week?”

Janx grinned. “I wouldn’t call ‘em dates, Doc.”

Avery had to admire the man, at least a little. “Quite.”

Janx lit up his cigar, looking smug.

Outside, he and his trainer split up, and Avery walked with Janx through the cold night. There were still plenty of revelers on the streets, but it was well after midnight and the celebration had begun to wind down for the evening. Crushed glass from lights, glitter and streams of ribbon from costumes littered the streets. Avery felt glass crunch beneath his feet as he walked.

“Now,” said Avery, “I’d really like—”

“Hold that thought,” Janx said. “Wait till we have some privacy.”

The whaler led him to a tenement, and then up the wrought-iron fire escape whose ladder had conveniently been left down. The fire escape trembled and squealed under their weight, and Avery felt a swell of nausea.

They reached the roof, and wind howled all around them. Avery felt his jacket flutter and billow, and he had to shove his hat down low on his head. Janx didn’t pause but led Avery to the edge of the roof, which butted up against another building. The big man found a doorway and led inside. Janx ushered Avery to the roof of this second building, then over a bridge constructed of bolted-together pipes to the roof of another. From one roof to another Janx led, from time to time singing some obscene ballad under his breath but for the most part silent and thoughtful. They climbed mountains of stone, brick and crumbling mortar, then descended into cold valleys, then back up and around again. They passed through rooftop taverns and secret gardens. Along the way, Avery filled Janx in on what he’d learned.

“You really think Sheridan wants to break up Ghenisa?” Janx said, when Avery had finished. “How?”

“I think she wants to encourage the rift between Admiral Haggarty and Prime Minister Denaris. I don’t know how exactly—maybe she plans to manufacture evidence against Denaris, blackmail her—it doesn’t matter. Sheridan wants Haggarty to take over.”

“Haggarty’d let the Octs roll right over us—after he worked out a cozy deal for himself, that is.”

“Exactly. Sheridan might be working on that as we speak. And there’s more. A patient of mine, she claims to be able to hurt Octung. She even claims to be able to end the war. If Sheridan found out about her, she’d have the patient killed, I’m sure of it.”

“That’s some serious shit,” Janx said. “Is that what you came to see me for?”

“No. I—”

“Hold on.”

He and Avery clattered down a certain metal ramp and into a secluded courtyard on top of a building. They were between high walls of buildings on three sides, with a view of the panorama of the city to the fourth. In the distance, the lights on the harbor glittered. It was immediately obvious to Avery that this rooftop courtyard had been in use for some time. Rusty chairs crouched in a ragged circle before the huge, sagging water tower, and faded pennants of favored sports teams streamed from the pigeon coop. The pigeons squawked and ruffled their feathers, but the occupants of the roof paid them no mind.

A disparate band sprawled across the chairs or leaned against the water tower or gazed off at the horizon smoking hashish. There were half a dozen of them, and they looked rough and hard, scarred by lives of crime and marginalization. A crest of red hair stood up on one man’s head, a chittering monkey scampered up a woman’s arm, a small man in a black leather jacket sharpened a knife, a fat black man ate mutton wrapped in flatbread.

And, in the center of them all, hunched in his chair and counting a thick wad of cash, waited Muirblaag.

Avery started upon seeing the fish-man, and at first he thought this must be an ambush, that Janx’s enemies had lain in wait for him. Then Muirblaag glanced up, saw Janx and laughed. Janx, chuckling, stepped forward and the two embraced, wincing as they did. Each was still sore.

“Glad to see you made it,” said Muirblaag.

“Wouldn’t miss the fucker, would I?” said Janx. “This is my party.”

“Ours.”

The others crowded around, clamoring at Janx and Muirblaag, ignoring Avery entirely. He was beginning to get used to it.

“You’re late,” said the woman with the monkey, glaring at Janx. She wore a top hat and ratty formal jacket. The monkey hopped up and down on her shoulder. A silver hook gleamed where her left hand should be.

Janx shrugged. “Had to satisfy the mob, now, didn’t I?”

Muirblaag thrust a wad of money at him. “That’s your cut.”

Janx thumbed through it. With a raised eyebrow, he told Avery, “This is what it’s about.”

“Wait,” Avery said. “You mean to tell me it was all a set-up? That fight was a sham?”

“Fight was real enough,” Janx said. “At least, till the end it was. Mu and I’d figured when I needed to take the dive beforehand. Just had to make sure each other lasted till then.”

Muirblaag rubbed his bandaged jaw. “Almost didn’t.”

“Let’s drink,” said the scurvy little man with the knife.

Avery hadn’t noticed, but there was a barrel wedged beneath the water tower, and as he watched each of the ruffians put a crusty glass under the tap and filled up a mug with beer, one by one. Janx gestured for Avery to do likewise.

“No thanks,” Avery said.

He frowned as the others talked loudly, drinking, cursing, occasionally engaging in some ribald song as they waved mugs at the moons, only two of which were visible. Folk music drifted over the rooftops from an apartment, and some of the ruffians danced. The small man put away his knife and produced a violin. He played and jigged, and the others danced around him. It was quite a merry scene, or would have been if Avery had been in a better mood. Besides, it was obvious to him that this was a close-knit group. He was an outsider here. He didn’t even know the words to their ridiculous songs.

At last he took Janx aside and said, “Damn it, man. We have business to discuss.”

Janx burped. “Then speak up.”

The crew glanced up expectantly. The monkey chattered, and the woman in the top hat fed it a date.

“Privately,” Avery said.

“Doc, this is private.”

“What ... ?”

Janx waved a hand at the others. “These are your spies, Doc. Who d’ya think’s been followin’ our fair wee admiral around, eh?”

Avery stared at them, feeling suddenly cold. “But ... I thought you were going to use professionals ... I paid good money for professionals ...” He’d used all that was left of his new bonus to do it, too, and that had just been a down payment.

“We are professionals,” Muirblaag said, sounding mildly offended.

The black man said, “We’ve been hired on jobs too numerous and varied to relate. And we couldn’t anyway, because they’re confidential.”

Avery forced himself to silence for a moment, then said, “So you’re thieves?”

“Entrepreneurs, more like,” said Muirblaag.

“With some thievin’ thrown in,” said the woman with the monkey.

“Who do you think placed the bets tonight?” Janx said. “Mu and I couldn’t do it, now, could we? Not without lookin’ queer. See, we’ve worked many jobs together, the lot o’ us. You said you wanted the best. Ya came to the right place.”

Avery passed a hand over his face. This is all wrong. “How can I trust you? You’re criminals! Do you know what’s at stake here? It could be ... well, it could be everything.”

Muirblaag lifted his hairless eyebrows. “Everything?”

Briefly, and to Avery’s horror, Janx related what Avery had just told him, with a quick aside to Avery: “They’re riskin’ their lives. They need to know.”

Afterwards, there was some swearing and shaking of heads.

“This is big,” said the woman with the monkey. “Fuck me.”

“Exactly,” said Avery. “What we’re doing is not only important, it may determine whether Ghenisa stands or falls. And even whether Octung is stopped or not.”

The little man spat. “Damn.”

Concerned, Avery drew Janx to the side once more. “I don’t think they’re up to the job, frankly,” he said.

“They’re up for it,” Janx said, sounding very sober. “But since you’re payin’ for this, I can see why you’d want to be sure.”

“It’s not about the money, although I have precious little of it. It’s—”

Janx broke off and conferred with his group in low tones. Several cursed. The woman with the monkey shrugged. Muirblaag said, “We ain’t gettin’ paid enough.”

“It ain’t always about money,” Janx said. “’sides, I think we got that part covered.” He tapped his bulging pocket.

Muirblaag frowned. “I’m in if you are. We’ve already started the damned job, anyway. Why not see it through?”

“Binding, you mean?” said the black man.

“I think that should cost more,” said the woman with the monkey.

“Fine,” Avery said. “I’ll double your fee.” This was a bald-faced lie, of course, since he had nothing more to give. He could pay in installments forever and not pay what he would owe. But if whatever this binding was made them take the assignment more seriously, it was well worth the lie. “Payable after it’s done.”

“All right, then,” said the woman. “I’m in.” She considered. “Shit, I don’t need double. Tell you what, bones, I’ll do it for just twenty percent more. I mean, if it’s that all-fired important, if we can really throw a wrench into Octung’s plans.”

“Thank you,” Avery said, and meant it.

“You’re a sweetheart, Hildra,” Janx said. “Alright, twenty percent more. Now, if that’s settled, I’ll be right back.”

“Where’s he going?” Avery asked, as the whaler disappeared up a fire escape. “What did I just pay for?”

“He went to get some things,” Muirblaag said.

“What things?”

“It’s just somethin’ we do from time to time, like when some richer hires us to do a job, steal somethin’ or whatnot, but doesn’t trust us. Well, we started this little thing you’re about to see. It keeps us true, like it or not—and it’s helped us get many a job.”

Shortly Janx returned, a sack slung over his back. He extracted some wood, built a small pile on the rooftop, then squirted it with lighter fluid. The strike of a match, and fire blazed loudly, throwing sparks high into the night.

The others grumbled but meandered over. They seemed willing to follow whatever lead Janx and Muirblaag provided, if halfheartedly. All grouped around the fire.

Janx produced a heavy, aged volume and read a passage in what sounded like ancient L’ohen—Avery was shocked—and the criminals recited the passage, then another. At first they spoke listlessly, but their enthusiasm gained substance as they went on. During one particular passage, Janx tossed something that looked like dust into the fire. The fire blazed up, brighter than before, and turned, to Avery’s surprise, green.

The criminals grew quiet, and the eerie green light bathed their faces. Muirblaag, assisting Janx, took out a hunting knife from the sack. He closed his eyes, muttered something in L’ohen, and slit his palm over the fire. Inky blood fell into flames. He wiped the knife blade clean, using alcohol, then passed it to Janx, who said something himself, it sounded like some sort of private prayer, used the knife himself and passed it on. So it went, from criminal to criminal, each swearing some oath and bleeding into the fire. At last Janx looked up and said, “Your turn, Doc.”

“Me?”

Janx inclined his head. All the others turned to watch Avery.

Swallowing, he stepped forward. “I don’t normally pray,” he said.

“That’s fine,” Muirblaag said. “Just call to whatever gods you believe in, bind our oaths to you.”

“And what are they?”

“Whattaya think?” Janx said. “To follow your orders. To finish the job.”

“But don’t get fuckity,” said the small man. “You can only bind us to what we’ve already agreed to.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Avery said. “What you might be swearing yourselves into? What you’ve already sworn yourselves to?”

“Do you?” said Janx.

Avery hesitated, then joined the circle around the fire. Someone passed him the knife. Without a second thought, he raised his hand over the fire and prepared to cut. He paused for a moment, then, only because he had no gods to pray to. Generally when he prayed it was to the fates, or to whatever god might be listening. Then he thought of Mari and Ani, and he slit his palm. As his blood fell into the crackling green flames, he said, “I swear to the Three Sisters to lead these men and this woman against Sheridan, to collect evidence that she’s a spy, to stop her at whatever cost, to protect my patient and to help her save Ghenisa.”

Wind howled around him as he passed the knife back, and the burning in his palm hardly bothered him. Someone passed him a flask, and he drank from it gladly.

“So,” Janx said, “you trust us now?”

Avery peered around at them, somehow feeling closer to them. This could work, he told himself. It has to. “Yes,” he said. “I believe I do.”

“Good.”

Avery sucked in a breath. Time to say what he’d come all this way to say. “I want to speak to you all.” They were listening. “I gave Sheridan some information I knew she would be compelled to pass on to her handler. Tomorrow apparently she’s going to meet him or her. When I got your note, I was elated. Finally, I can get proof that she’s a spy.”

“We’ve got the equipment ready,” Muirblaag said.

“Good. I’ll help you use it. You see, I’m coming with you.”

9

“Are you sure this is wise?” Janx asked as he and Avery walked down the street. It was Vruth Eve, and the sun shone brightly overhead.

Avery, his head still pounding from the night before, forced a smile. “Isn’t that what I said to you last night?”

“Yeah, but spyin’s different from boxin’.”

“I know.” The image of Paul’s corpse flashed briefly before him.

To Avery’s irritation, Janx’s head didn’t seem to bother him as much as it should. He seemed quite comfortable, in fact.

“You could get made,” Janx said. “I don’t plan to be there, and that’s why. That’s why the others’ve been following the Admiral, not me. She knows me.”

“I told you, I’ll wear a disguise.”

“You ain’t exactly a spook, Doc.”

Avery stopped and stared up at the towering immensity of Janx. The whaler’s bruises looked even more livid today, and the bright daylight didn’t help. Half his face was covered in bandages. People passed all around them, the conversation and babble loud. As long as Avery kept his words general and his tone low, he didn’t care what others heard.

“Listen,” he said, “I didn’t want to say this in front of your friends, but an oath doesn’t make them spies. I certainly trust them more now, but after getting a look at them, I just don’t see them catching the Admiral.” He continued on his way. He had the day off and intended to make good use of it.

“It’s your dime,” Janx said. “Of course, you know I’m not doin’ this for the money. I could get better paid elsewhere. But we had to get somethin’ out of it or most of the others would have turned it down flat—let alone swear to you.”

“I appreciate that.”

“The others want to help. I mean, the Octs’re comin’ through the Pass any time now, and when that happens we’re screwed. My guys know that, and they’re not against trying to stop it. But they’re survivors. Food in their belly trumps heroics every time.”

“I can see that.”

“Still can’t believe Sheridan’s a fuckin’ spy! My own fuckin’ captain. I take that personal, you know.”

Avery didn’t rebuke him for using her name. “I know,” he said.

“Guess we’ll get her tonight.”

“Yes.” Avery spoke softly, distracted. Louder, he added, “Yes, I’m sure we will. We’ll overhear something that will lead to real, concrete evidence. We’ll get an idea of her network, something Parliament can corroborate. That should be enough.”

“You don’t need to be there, though.”

Avery stopped before a certain shop: MAZZY’S THREADS.

“This should do,” he said.

Smiling, he entered the shop, and Janx followed behind him. It was good to lead the big man around for a change.

“I still say this is a mistake,” Janx said.

Avery shot him a hard look. “It’s necessary. It occurred to me last night while I was reading. Tonight’s Vruth Eve. Wherever Sheridan goes, she’ll be in costume. In all likelihood, your band won’t recognize her. But I will. I would recognize her anywhere.” He paused, and Janx gave a reluctant nod. “Now come, let’s get ready.”

* * *

Water bubbled in the grotto, the sound echoing off the twisting stone walls like a monstrous heart murmur. Avery carefully walked along the ledge, then over a sloppily-made cement bridge which looked like it had been put together with slabs of melting glue. Graffiti marked the walls. Gevris sucks cock. Marya loves Jason. The occasional pile of trash heaped on the walkways. Torches set in brackets illuminated the dark, watery halls with red, uncertain light, so that Avery and Hildra walked through pools of shadow into warm firelight, then back into shadow again.

Dark figures moved through the tunnels with them, and Avery was glad for Hildra’s pistol. She kept her one remaining hand on it at all times, hidden in a coat pocket, and she jutted it menacingly toward any shape that approached them. Once the approaching shape had not backed off but had come forward. She’d lifted her left arm, the one that ended in a silver hook, and with her right cocked her gun so that it clicked audibly. “Which’ll it be,” she said, “the hook or the gun?” The shape dissolved back into the darkness.

“Are you sure this is the best way to get there?” Avery asked her.

She shrugged. Her monkey Hildebrand hooted on her shoulder. “It’s the way I like,” she said. “Maybe because I’m from Marog.”

“Ah.” Marog was an underground city at the foot of the Borghese in Cumnal. “Your Ghenisan is perfect. I would never have known you were Cumnalan.”

“I can speak half a dozen languages. ‘Course, I wouldn’t really call Marog Cumnalese. It’s kinda its own little world. We do a lot of business with the Suulm.”

“The salamander people? Really?”

“They’ve got their own city in some godsforsaken black lake not far from Marog. They just come down the river. Queer lot, they are. Dripping wet, black, and they smell like minerals and fungus.”

“Charming.”

“They’re stand-offish, though. Don’t let humans into their city. Not that I’d want to see it for more’n a minute, anyway.” She cast him a strange look. “You know, people say ...”

“Yes?”

“People say they don’t even come from this world. You think that’s possible, that they come from ... somewhere else?”

“I suppose. There are innumerable planets in the universe, after all. Why couldn’t there be life out there?” He shrugged. “Why did you leave?”

“I have the sun in me. Couldn’t keep down in the undercity. ‘Course, now that I’m gone, I miss it.”

“Hence our route.”

She nodded. Tonight she wore more elegant evening wear suited to Vruth Eve, though she still insisted on her infernal top hat. At least it was white tonight, in keeping with the rest of her outfit. Hildebrand hopped up and down on the towel she’d flung over her shoulder. From time to time he would clamber down her hook arm and venture off into the grotto ahead of them. Once he came back playing with an albino fish that still flopped in his grasp. Hildra made him put it down and wipe his hands on the towel before she allowed him on her shoulder again.

At last she led the way up out of the grotto. First Avery heard the noise of human activity ahead, and then they came upon the underground entrance to one of the more exciting cantinas in Hissig. Hildra set Hildebrand down and told him to wait for her there. “They don’t let monkeys into Claver’s,” she said, patting him on the head. “Don’t worry, I won’t be long.” The little creature looked forlorn.

Avery and Hildra passed a pair of bouncers and entered the establishment. Rough limestone archways spread over them. Turquoise and colored stone embedded the archways themselves, glinting in the shaded electric lights that blazed from thick columns and expensive lanterns. Colorful bead curtains spanned some of the arches, creating privacy. In one smoky room Avery saw a woman singing on stage, and he stopped and stared. The woman glowed. She must have injected herself with an alchemical compound, and she shone like a firefly. Her ghostly light filled the room as her voice filled it with song. She seemed to pulse, growing brighter as she reached a high note, then fading mercifully. Avery was transfixed.

Hildra dragged him away, and he had to shake his head to clear the image. Claver’s was a large, multi-level joint, and he was impressed that each level seemed cozy and natural.

Most of the cantina’s patrons sat tensely at tables, talking heatedly in hushed tones. They wore formal costumes but did not seem festive. Claver’s boasted a backroom casino, and this attracted the desperate looking to buy passage on an outbound ship. Everywhere Avery looked he saw refugees smoking anxiously, arguing, drinking tall drinks in gulps. Most wanted out of Ghenisa. They knew the country was about to be overrun by Octung and wanted to flee over the sea to safety. Some were willing to do anything to achieve it, and this was the place they went to arrange that anything. Some offered to sell themselves into indentured servitude, offered themselves as mistresses, even prostitutes, or made deals to kill, steal, ransom—and worse. Desperation and need hung on the air, thick as the smoke which clogged it. It was a natural place for underworld types to meet.

Avery and Hildra ascended a set of stairs carved out of the living stone. The lower levels of Claver’s grew out of the grotto, and in the main room a waterfall roared into a basin fifty feet below. A major-domo found their reservations under false names—Muirblaag had arranged it for them—and a waiter showed them to a table overlooking the grand waterfall.

“Damn it,” Avery said, staring over the railing toward the pounding falls. The rock they fell over glistened with moss, and the little creek bed the water channeled off from flowed between white tables below.

“What’s wrong?” Hildra said.

“The listening devices you brought—can they hear over the falls?”

She chuckled smokily. It was a strangely endearing sound. “It can hear over a fucking bomb. Made in Octung, you know.”

“Perfect.”

She lifted the menu and eyed it. The yellow candles mounted to the table cast flickering, waxy light on the menus, and on Hildra herself. She was younger than Avery had originally guessed, perhaps late twenties, and at one point she had even been pretty. The life of a rogue had left its marks, however. Various small scars showed on her face and hand. A scar twisted up from the corner of her mouth, giving her the impression of a permanent leer. There was a burn on her neck that looked like it had been caused by the mean end of a cigar, and half of her left eyebrow was missing. The rest of her was attractive, however. She was lean and athletic, her short flaxen hair swept back from a high forehead, and her nose ran straight and fine. Her white garments were supposed to costume her as Lady Nithala, one of the Star Lords.

Avery himself wore a black mask over his eyes and had dressed himself in a black cape and an outfit completely covered in black feathers. He had costumed himself as Sgavka, the Bandit Lord who could transform into a crow and fly away at a moment’s notice, which came in handy since, according to myth, he was always stealing something from the other Lords. A wig covered Avery’s head, and his glasses fitted awkwardly over his mask. He doubted Mari herself would have recognized him, let alone Sheridan.

He began scanning for the admiral as Hildra studied the menu. The waiter came, accepted their drink orders—Avery chose the house wine since he was paying—and by the time the drinks were served Avery had spotted movement below.

A woman that had to be Sheridan stalked over the lacy wrought-iron bridge and wound between white tables toward a figure who sat alone, fat and decadent, sipping something in a coffee mug.

“There,” Avery said, flicking his eyes toward Sheridan. “Just move your eyes.”

“Your first time doing this and you’re giving me advice?” said Hildra. “That’s her, uh? I’ve been followin’ her odd days and I don’t recognize her.”

“That’s her.” Sheridan moved like a tigress, same as always. She was dressed as a man, though a man wearing purple velvet. A red velvet mask covered her eyes and the upper half of her head.

“Kasven, eh?” Hildra said, arching her good eyebrow wryly. “She must think a lot of herself. Not just everybody can pull off the Star-Spinner.”

“I think she’s doing just fine.”

“Yeah. But who’s that she’s meeting? Fuck, don’t tell me ...”

“You recognize him?”

Hildra tried to calm herself with a sip of wine, but instead she choked on it. After coughing several times, she said, “That’s Gaescruhd. Took me a moment with the distance, but ... it’s him. Shit.”

“Gaescruhd?” Avery had heard the name, but for the moment it eluded him. “Isn’t he some underworld figure?”

“Some?” Hildra looked ill. “They don’t come much bigger than him. Hails from Ungraessot. Sells drugs, sex, even slaves.”

“In Ghenisa? You must be mistaken.”

She shook her head. “They’re around. Because of bastards like him. Lately he’s made a mint off a bunch of ships he bought. Some old fishing company, I think, goin’ belly up because of the war, couldn’t afford hot lard anymore for their processors. Well, ol’ Gaescruhd comes along, buys the ships, an’ now he’s runnin’ a refugee racket. Pity the poor fuckers that take refuge on one of his ships. Slavery’s just the start of it.”

Avery felt something twist in his gut. “Could he possibly be Sheridan’s contact?”

“He’s got no scruples. Why not let himself be hired out by Octung? Probably why his ships never go missing at sea. Wouldn’t surprise me if he took money from refugees, put them on a ship, then delivered them straight to the Octs.”

Avery nodded, sipping his wine. It was truly unpleasant. Still, it was wine. Things started to feel better, steadier, around him.

Below, Sheridan had sat herself at the table with Gaescruhd and was ordering drinks.

“You have the devices?” Avery asked.

Hildra pulled out what looked like two pairs of earmuffs from the inside of her jacket and passed him one.

“Put it on, twist the dial on the side till you hear the right table,” she said. “Just try to look casual.”

He placed his set over his ears and surreptitiously fidgeted with his earpieces while Hildra did likewise. If this had been anywhere else they might have gotten odd stares, but this was Claver’s. Conversation after conversation fluttered into Avery’s ears, and he overheard snatches of desperate pleading, stern warnings, sinister negotiations. At last, bursting through the static, came Sheridan’s familiar drawl.

“... not bad, better than last time ...”

“I told you 1340 was a poor year for the Versaigne, couplet.” Gaescruhd’s voice was throaty and self-satisfied. Avery watched the two out of the corner of his eye sip drinks near the babbling creek. Gaescruhd was a huge, corpulent man, whiskered and oozing debauchery. His hair was black, wavy, uncombed and unwashed, and it swept back from a red, sweaty forehead. His lips were full, sensual, and he constantly touched them, patting them with a napkin, licking them, smacking them. He was the only person in the entire cantina that wore no costume. Instead, he wore stained formal wear with no tie and with the shirt opened halfway down his chest. Graying, silvery curls thrust out; Avery could almost see a nipple. Still, no one corrected the man. No one said a word. Fear showed in the waiter’s stance when he came to check on the table, and when he had finished he didn’t so much leave the table as flee it.

Sheridan leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. She looked quite comfortable, despite being in as precarious a situation—moreso—than anyone here. One good photo of her sitting with Gaescruhd and she might be hanged on general principles.

“Haven’t heard much from you in a while,” Gaescruhd said.

“Been busy with paperwork. The wheels are in motion for me to take land duties.”

“Interesting.”

“There’s no ships left for me to commandeer. We’re trying to buy some used ones from Looris, but till then, well. And since the invasion’s coming through the Pass any time now, all units are being rearranged. Haggarty’s pushing for the Navy to take the lead. It’s the biggest military structure in the country, it’s the one that’s expanding. Denaris is fighting it, but she won’t win. And with what I’m doing for Haggarty, soon no one will be able to stand against him.”

“Oh, I’m painfully aware. He’s not cheap, is he?”

“Anyway, it works out for our purposes. The more land-based I am, the more influence I’ll be able to wield.”

“True. And that is the point, I suppose.”

“Well, one point.” A note of pique entered her voice. “By the way, thanks for the heads up about the crustaceans.”

Gaescruhd raised his hands defensively. “It was not my decision, couplet. You know that.” A smile twisted through his whiskers. “They are cute little things, though, aren’t they?”

“Whatever idiots decided to send them should be shot. They’ve got the lab monkeys trying to reverse-engineer them.”

He sat his wine glass down. “I’m listening.”

“I have a source that says Ghenisan scientists are trying to find a way to use your pets’ anatomy to build some infernal device that could slaughter legions of our troops at a time.”

Finally. It was the first time Sheridan had admitted openly that she considered Octung her side. Avery wished these listening devices had a recording feature, but of course adding such a thing would make them too heavy and cumbersome to use.

“That is upsetting,” Gaescruhd admitted. “I’ll have to get someone to look into it.”

“Please do.” She paused. “I have an inside man that might help us, the one who gave me this information. He—ah, here’s the waiter.”

They gave their order, and Gaescruhd rattled off a list of succulent dishes, ending with, “and the lobster bisque, if you would.”

“That’s not as amusing as you think,” Sheridan said. To the waiter, she said, “I’ll have steak—the most expensive you have. My friend is paying.”

Gaescruhd grinned as the waiter all but ran from the table. “Haven’t lost your spark, I see.”

“You haven’t lost your disgusting appetites. Why should anything change?”

“Oh, I believe in gaining more disgusting appetites over time, not shedding them. I support acquisition, not loss. On that subject, something has come to my attention—something I think you’ll find most interesting.” He paused, then said with an air of significance, “We think some of the Black Sect might still be on the run.”

“You’re kidding. I thought the Council had suppressed them all.”

“Oh, those at home are in hiding or dead, certainly, but I’m talking abroad.”

“Still? I was told they’d been destroyed. You mean ...”

“Yes. He, she or they could be here in Ghenisa. We’re not sure how many of them are still alive. Possibly just one. The Collossum have detected an extradimensional signature—maybe signatures—but cannot pinpoint a location, though they’re thought to be in this general region.”

Avery frowned. They were talking about his patient, he was certain, as she was of the Black Sect. But why would a saboteur emit an extradimensional signature? As far as he knew, such phenomena were related only to the Atomic Sea and Octunggen weaponry. He listened closely.

“Interesting,” Sheridan said. “What would he, she or they look like?”

“I thought you had been to temple.”

“Once or twice. But never one with a Collossum in residence.”

“They look like what they are—gods! As close to gods as a human can look and not stand out, anyway. Tall, beautiful, often blond. They’ve been living in Octung for many years, of course, so they will either only speak Octunggen or else with an Octunggen accent.”

Avery had to force himself to put his wineglass down without spilling it.

“What is it?” Hildra said.

He gaped, unable to speak. Finally, he managed, “I don’t know. She’s one of the Black Sect, I knew that, but ... a god? One of the Collossum?” He shook his head. “Listen.”

Down below, Sheridan was staring at Gaescruhd.

The fat man shifted uncomfortably. “Something on your mind, couplet?”

Shit, Avery thought. She’s put it together, too, only she knows what it means.

“If this missing Black Secter were found, what would be the orders?”

Gaescruhd watched her in astonishment. “Don’t tell me. Can it be?” He laughed. “Brilliant! There could be a big bonus in this for us—for you, I mean.”

“Don’t get too excited. I can’t say for sure.” She rubbed her jaw, looking pensive. “It never occurred to me that one might just fall into my lap like this. I thought she must be some mutant, some infected woman, but ... yes, maybe, just maybe ...”

“Where is this godlike personage?”

“She’s a specimen of the scientists. In one of the sublevels.”

“Can you get to her?”

“I ... perhaps. There is a man, the one I mentioned, a doctor. I can turn him.”

“Not a ringing endorsement, couplet. That last one didn’t work out so well. What was his name, Hambry, Hampsted? Went overboard while delivering a message? I do hope your other recruits have better footing.”

She ignored him. “I can turn this doctor. He can get to her.”

Avery swallowed.

“And if he doesn’t, someone else will,” Sheridan added.

There are others. Avery remembered what she had said earlier. Even Admiral Haggarty was somehow corrupted. Avery realized he could trust no one in the Navy.

Gaescruhd frowned. Suddenly he seemed very sober, even anxious. “I must ... make a phone call. Not to home, obviously, but there is someone here in Hissig that I report to. He will know what to do about your little runaway. I have a feeling he will want your doctor friend to take out his scalpel, but I can’t give the order myself. Not regarding one of them.” Indeed, his voice sounded tense, and even through the distance Avery thought the fat man had paled somewhat.

“Wait here,” Gaescruhd said. He wiped his mouth, stood and lurched from the table.

Avery felt as though he’d been bathed in ice. Gaescruhd was about to ask permission to kill Patient X. My mermaid. Slowly, Avery turned from the scene below to Hildra. She looked worried, confused.

Avery stood.

She reached over and grabbed his arm with her good hand. Her one hand. “What in the hells do you think you’re doing, Doc?”

“If that man returns to the table, he’ll order Sheridan to have her killed. To have me kill her. I’ve got to keep him from making that phone call.”

“You’re out of your mind!”

“Give me your gun.”

“What?” Hildra’s eyes bulged. “I’d never—to him—that could be death—worse than death ...”

Avery made his voice hard, his eyes flinty. “I’m your boss—you took an oath!—and I’m giving you an order. Give. Me. Your. Gun.”

She gazed up at him in amazement and horror. Slowly, as if in a dream, she reached into her jacket and passed him the pistol behind a menu, not that anyone cared in this place.

“Thanks,” he said. “I won’t be long.”

“Take your time. I won’t be here. I can’t—I’m sorry, but I can’t be associated with this.” Shakily, she drained her glass and stood up. “Keep the gun. It’s unregistered. And don’t forget the bill.”

She saluted him with her hook, turned and left.

Avery threw a few bills down on the table and departed, too. He’d marked the direction Gaescruhd had vanished in and found a stairwell leading down that way. He passed through a main room and then slipped into tight, rounded tunnels. Water beaded the limestone, and patches of moss and lichen adorned it. Somewhere he could hear a watery murmur. The tunnels honeycombed the spaces between the cantina’s main areas, dark and seemingly cut off from the cantina proper. Figures congregated in dark alcoves and shot him nasty looks as he passed them. At last, in one of the chambers where several corridors intersected, he saw Gaescruhd. The mobster marched from one hall and into another, presumably on the way to a payphone.

Two huge men flanked him. Avery hadn’t noticed them before. They must have hung back, waiting on their employer. They were giants, rolling mountains of muscle beneath expensive suits and hats, and Avery had no doubt they carried guns and moved like lightning.

He gripped his own weapon tightly. Just one shot, he thought. It doesn’t have to be a mortal wound. Hit him and run. There was still a chance Avery could get out of this alive.

The sounds of the cantina seemed very far away. It was as if he passed through another area of the grotto. At one point, he was even obliged to cross a cement bridge. Muddy water ran under him, and an albino fish splashed in an eddy.

Gaescruhd wove ahead of him, always seeming to slip around a corner just as Avery caught sight of him. Avery knew there were other members of Janx’s crew here, scattered throughout Claver’s in case Sheridan and her handler had not met in the room indicated in her note, but he didn’t know where they were and there was no way to contact them in any case. As Avery followed, the darkness seemed to gather around him like a living thing, cold and gurgling.

A shadowy figure stepped out from behind a corner directly into his path.

A gun clicked.

Avery stepped back. Water splashed under his heel. From the uncertain light spilling from down a connecting hallway, he couldn’t be sure who stood before him. His heart beat fast, and he shifted the gun in his pocket.

“Do it and die,” the figure said, and he recognized Sheridan’s voice.

He tensed, then eased off the gun.

“Hands out of your pockets. Now.” To emphasize her point, she took an aggressive step forward, and the muzzle of her gun entered a shaft of light. It glittered like death itself.

Swallowing nervously, Avery obeyed.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he said. “I was just going for—”

“Cut the shit,” she snapped. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Going to find a cigarette machine, what else?”

She advanced another step, her gun gleaming. The entire world seemed to consist of that one object.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”

“Fine. I knew you were up to something, so I followed you. I wanted to listen in on Gaescruhd’s phone call. I know what you’re doing now, or part of it. I ... I want in.”

“In on what?”

“Now it’s you who’s bullshitting. There’s no need. I’m on your side. I want the war to end as soon as possible.”

“I should put a bullet in your brain,” she said.

“Then why don’t you?”

She hesitated. He could see her eyes now, vague gray gleams behind her gun. After a long, uncomfortable moment, she said, “Convince me. How can you help?”

He spread his hands disarmingly. “I know about the girl. I was listening. I don’t know what she is, but I can verify she speaks Octunggen. I’ve overheard her talk in her sleep.”

Sheridan hissed in a breath. “Amazing ...” She lowered her gun, just fractionally.

“Is she really a Collossum?” Avery asked.

Sheridan didn’t answer. Water dripped in the background, and Avery’s heart went from a pounding jackhammer to a rapid-fire drum. Sweat beaded his brow.

In a low voice, Sheridan said, “She must be killed.”

Avery nodded, as if this were sensible. “Then let me do it.”

10

Thunder boomed outside the windows of the Headless Drake, and Avery jumped at the doomsday crack. He sat huddled in his dilapidated armchair, staring at the fire that roared in the hearth. He cradled his bottle of bourbon in his hands and draped a once-fine blanket over himself, feeling unbearably cold. His hands shivered as they gripped the bottle.

A sudden explosion of sound made him gasp and sit up.

When he realized what the noise was, he chuckled at himself—a strained, nervous chuckle.

“I’ll be right there.”

Setting the empty bottle down and climbing out of the chair, he made for the secret compartment that connected to his suite. He’d requested another bottle from Martin, and Martin had delivered, right on time.

Avery slid the panel back, and darkness gaped. For a moment, that’s all he could see, and then, suddenly, figures stepped out of the dark.

Avery flinched. It wasn’t just Martin that stood in the opening. Looming behind him, massive and scowling, was Janx.

“Pay me later,” Martin said, shoving the bottle into Avery’s hands. Shooting the doctor a significant look, he disappeared down the tunnel.

Janx lumbered forward, slamming the panel behind him, never once taking his eyes off Avery.

The doctor stepped back, staring up at Janx’s scowl. “Well, hello, my friend, it’s good to see you’re making new—”

Janx grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. “Don’t give me that crap. I ain’t makin’ new friends.” He seemed to get hold of himself and released Avery.

Avery stumbled back, sucked in a breath, and made for the kitchen.

“Where the hell have you been?” Janx demanded. “You won’t answer notes, calls, letters. Won’t even answer the fuckin’ door!”

Avery set the bottle down and began working the cap off. Tremulously, he said, “You received my note, didn’t you?”

“You mean your little scrawl? Yeah, I got it. It didn’t tell me much. Shit, till then we all thought you were dead. Hildra says the last she saw of you you were goin’ off to fucking murder Gaescruhd—and I’ll tell you right now, you bastard, that ain’t the kinda thing we do. Killing a man like him, or more likely fucking it up, would bring no end of misery down on our heads—for however fucking long we kept ‘em.” He kicked a chair angrily.

With shaking hands, Avery poured two glasses of bourbon. He sipped his gratefully, feeling the whiskey’s soothing, fiery burn warm his throat. With a sigh, he reentered the main room and gave Janx a glass. The big man examined it doubtfully.

“You’ve been goin’ at this stuff too hard, bones.”

“I’ve needed it.”

Janx said nothing as Avery plopped back down in his chair and stared at the fire.

Silent, brooding, Janx moved to stand over him, blocking out his view of the flames. Janx was just a black silhouette against the glow.

Avery closed his eyes and sipped. Better. Much better. His shaking continued to subside.

Janx, seeming to realize that Avery would speak when he was ready, waited. Glowering—Avery could feel it—he waited.

When Avery finished his glass, he glanced up. “I haven’t been making contact with you and your people because ... well, I didn’t know what to say. For a while I considered fleeing, for a time I considered leaping out a window. But now I’ve realized what I must do.”

“Keep going.”

Avery strained a smile. “I’m going to do something very stupid. And I’m going to need your help to do it.”

“What?”

“My patient is an enemy of Octung, it seems. I still don’t know what she is, not really, but she claims to want to end the war.”

“Welcome to the club, sweetheart.”

“She claims to be able to do it. What’s more, the Octunggen fear her. Why? The only thing that makes sense is because she can hurt them.”

“Hildra said something about a Collossum.”

Avery hesitated. Would Janx help him if the whaler knew just how big this whole thing could truly be?

“I think she misheard,” Avery said, wincing at the lie. “At any rate, if my patient can hurt Octung, we should help her.” Avery looked to the shrine of his family, lit by candlelight and mounted in solidified wax.

“That may be too big for just us, Doc.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Avery refilled his glass and downed a sip. For some reason, now that he had finally reached this decision, he felt oddly relaxed. His hands only shook a little now. “She can hurt them, Janx. She’s one of the Black Sect. And the Sect, it’s more than we thought.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

“I’m still not sure exactly. According to what Sheridan and her handler said, they’re powerful. Not Collossum, that’s crazy, but more than just saboteurs. Maybe she can actually do what she claims. But right now she’s at the mercy of the Navy, and that’s run by Haggarty, who’s been corrupted by Sheridan.” Avery grimaced ruefully. “I know Sheridan’s a traitor, but there’s no way I can prove it, and those I proved it to might be traitors, too. Don’t you see, Janx? It goes all the way to the top. Now, unless I do something about it, Sheridan’s going to kill the one person that may be able to stop Octung. The only thing that’s prevented Sheridan from killing her so far is that she thinks I’m the one that’s going to do it.”

“Are you saying what I think you are?”

Avery sucked down a deep breath. Once I start this, there’s no going back.

“We have to help her escape,” he said.

* * *

Heart pounding, Avery sawed off a section of the giant lobster carapace. It stank of decay, salt and nameless minerals. The whine of the saw filled his ears, and fine dust from the sawing bathed his face. Fortunately he wore a mask and goggles, but even so the air stank of pulverized lobster shell and rot. Avery had walked along beaches where he’d come across the putrid bodies of conventional crustaceans and jellyfish, and their stink was nauseating enough, but this was exponentially worse.

He finished sawing off the carapace section and, with the help of his junior doctors, carted the shell over to the mound of similar sections. Some were quite massive, ten feet long or more. Dr. Wasnair and his crew had wanted whole pieces so that they could study the carapace from the inside out, the better to understand the lightning phenomenon. All the pieces were tagged and photographed.

Wiping sweat and shell dust from his forehead, Avery turned back to the gargantuan mound of rotting crustacean and said, “We’re free to probe the area now. Who wants the honors?”

The junior scientists gazed at each other nervously.

One raised a reluctant hand. “I drew the short straw.”

With a lowered head, the young man approached the monstrosity, and the others backed away. He took out his instruments and set to work, eyes wide, forehead bathed in sweat. Very gingerly, he carved into the flesh, while the others held their breath. When he didn’t dissolve instantly into a steaming puddle, they exhaled, but didn’t relax. The young man said a prayer under his breath and continued working.

Over the next hour, each young scientist went at it, none of them willing to spend more than fifteen minutes at a stretch.

Several more researchers had died grisly, nightmarish deaths following the melting of Dr. Winegold and her assistants. Three had pierced something that looked like a spleen that had emitted a black gas that ate their lungs like acid; they had died vomiting blood. Four more had been poisoned by some substance that squirted at them from a piece of anatomy. Their eyes had boiled in their sockets and their brains had run out their ears. The current death tally hovered somewhere around fourteen. Hence the reason Avery had insisted on sawing into the shell. After that wearying task, he could claim he’d done his duty for the moment and needed time to recover. Of course, his assistants had quickly caught on, and at the beginning of every shift they gambled for who got to saw. Avery, who had learned a few tricks over the years, almost always won.

Counting the minutes till the end of the shift, the young scientists worked, sweating buckets as they did. They examined the backside of the lobster today, the safer side, but did not seem relieved. The pitiful monster itself looked shabby and naked, half its shell torn away and its salmon-colored flesh (not white like a normal lobster) revealed for all to see. Much of its meat had also been sawn away to give the researchers better access to its organs. The problem now seemed to be that organs were too accessible, which is why Avery’s assistants had pleaded to work on the backside.

Even this, apparently, was still too dangerous. Half an hour before the shift was over, one of his assistants came up to him sweaty and pale. “Dr. Avery, come, see this.”

Putting down his paperwork, Avery approached. Carved flesh gaped on the lobster’s back.

“There,” said one of the assistants. “Do you see it?”

They pointed, and with a start Avery noticed a glistening black thing poking through folds of flesh.

“It’s the spleen,” he marveled. Of course, only the gods knew what the organ actually was, but the researchers had taken to calling it the spleen because it vaguely resembled the human version of the organ. After killing Dr. Nayed and his assistants, it seemed to have migrated, vanishing entirely from the area of study.

“You’ve found it,” Avery said.

They looked wan and nervous, but excited. As much as they wanted to avoid danger, they also wanted the recognition and possible advancement that studying the organ might achieve. “What shall we do, Doctor?”

“Clamp off any connecting veins, arteries or tissues and remove it.”

Their eyes widened.

“Remove it?”

“That sounds ... dangerous,” another added.

“Wrap it in plastic,” Avery said. “Make it airtight. Then remove it. Place it on Table 3. Go. Now. We don’t have all night.”

Sweating, they turned back to the specimen and did as instructed. With the plastic sheeting in place, they appeared somewhat relieved, and they managed to remove the organ without any fatalities. Avery was quite pleased. Now he had an excuse to dismiss them early. When it was ten minutes till shift’s end, he said, “Well done, doctors. For your efforts, I’ll let you knock off for the night.”

They breathed deeply and wiped sweaty foreheads. The young woman currently investigating the spleen hastily quit, stepping back gratefully.

“Are you sure, Doctor?” one asked. “There’s still a few loads bound for the incinerator.”

“That’s fine. Just place it on the cart for me. Start with that big piece, there, no to the right, yes that’s the one. Just put it on the cart—yes, like that. Careful now. And a few hunks of flesh, too. It does stink an awful lot, doesn’t it? All right there, that will be fine. Have a good evening.”

“You too, Doctor.”

They gathered their things and fled, filing out without a look back. They stood straighter and easier with every step they took. Then they were gone.

Avery, very slowly, turned to his mystery patient.

“And now you.”

He had to be fast. The next shift would come on duty in just a few minutes. It was late, though, well after midnight, and often the later shifts straggled in to work. With any luck they would be tardy. And if they’re early? What then?

He yanked back the curtains.

The woman looked mostly the same as she always did, blond and attractive, though there was an extra flush in her cheeks now, and she looked healthier overall due to a week of fresh food and exercise. Dr. Wasnair and the others had noticed it, too, and exclaimed that she must be healing; Avery let them believe what they wanted.

“Come on,” he whispered in Octunggen. “It’s time.”

Warily, she opened her eyes. When she saw that he was the only one around, she said, “At last.”

Groggily, she sat up, and he helped her.

“Let’s just get these,” he said, reaching for the needles in her arms. In a few quick movements, he had removed them and slapped bandages over the wounds.

She rubbed them and grit her teeth. “Itches.”

“You’ve had them in for a long time. It will itch.”

She started to get up from the bed, but he placed a restraining hand on her shoulder. Curious, she stared up at him.

“What?”

“Before I do this, before I go through with it, I need to hear it. What’s your plan? We’ll be risking our lives because of you. I’m leaving everything. My home, my position, my life. I’ll be a hunted fugitive for the rest of my days for this.”

“We don’t have time for this, Doctor.” She started to rise again.

He shoved her down. “You will answer me.”

She stared up at him but stubbornly said nothing.

He studied her for long moment, seeking truth, seeking answers. It was painful to realize that though he had been growing more attached to her all this time, his whole life revolving around her in a sense, she had been unconscious, unaware and uncaring of his efforts.

She still said nothing, and at last he surrendered. For the moment, he would have to trust her.

“Very well,” he said. “Come.”

He took her arm as she climbed gingerly out of bed and hobbled across the floor. She was still weak and unused to activity.

“One more thing,” he said. “I need something to call you.”

He saw her hesitate, unsure how much of herself she should give away.

“Very well,” she said. “In Octung I am called Layanna. Layanna of the House of Uul.”

He pushed his glasses further up his nose, taking that in. “It’s good to meet you, Layanna. I’m Dr. Francis Avery. Of the House of Avery.”

They reached the long low metal cart. A huge section of the lobster carapace arched atop it. Beneath and around heaped rotting chunks of flesh.

“Your chariot,” he said.

Layanna did not look as disgusted as he would have thought. “It will do. Oh, yes.”

Frowning, Avery helped her fold back a sheet of flesh and crawl underneath the great ribbed length of carapace. When she was in place, he threw a tarp over the cart and with some effort wheeled it out of the laboratory. Tires squealed, and the cart listed to the right. The massed flesh and armor was heavy, which is why he typically sent his assistants in pairs to dispose of the waste. Grunting and straining, he shoved it down one dark, metallic hall after another. The halls stank of mold and cleanser.

At an intersection stood one of the checkpoints, attended by four guards. One stepped forward as Avery approached.

“Another load, eh?” said the guard. “You’ve got the forms, Doctor?”

Avery handed over the paperwork, and the man scanned it. Avery tried not to sweat, tried to get his heartbeat under control.

“Looks in order,” the guard said.

“I saw something move in the cart,” a female guard said. “Under the tarp.”

“The rotting flesh,” Avery said. “It’s settling.”

The female eyed him. “Just get rid of it. It stinks.”

Avery forced a smile. “Will do.”

“Night, Doctor,” said the first guard.

Avery grunted and shoved the cart forward. He rode the lift upwards to the groan of chains and bang of metal. On the level just below the ground floor, he stopped and shoved the cart down another hallway, enduring one more checkpoint before reaching the large metal doors of the incinerator room. Located conveniently to both the sub-levels and the hospital in the wing of the fortress above, it should be unoccupied at this time of night.

Sure enough, Avery found the large, dark room empty save for the roaring flames of the furnace. The room stank of metal and smoke. Shadows clung to great pipes and bulbous machinery.

He maneuvered the cart forward, toward the metal bed that was used to place objects over the fire, and threw back the tarp.

“Come now,” he whispered. “Quickly.”

He dug through mounds of flesh, wincing as the bloody stuff enveloped his hands. It was probably his imagination, but he thought he could feel it gnawing away at him like acid.

He hauled out the last chunk with a groan. There, in the darkness under the carapace, Layanna lay in wait. At the sight of her, Avery sucked in a breath.

“Dear gods, what do you think you’re doing?”

Like a wild animal, she crouched in the rancid shadows, gnawing on a hunk of crustacean flesh as if she had been starved for weeks. Blood coated her mouth and chin, her hands, and it pasted her hospital gown to her breasts. She looked up at him, almost growling.

“You’ve gone mad,” he said.

She ripped another strip of flesh free with her teeth, chewed it and then—with obvious reluctance—set her meal down. Like an insolent little girl, she wiped the blood off her mouth with the back of her hand. She burped.

“That was good,” she said.

“How can you ... ? Never mind. Just hurry up, for love of the Three.”

To Avery’s relief, she climbed out from under the carapace, and he backed away as she unfolded. She seemed stronger now. Her eyes blazed. Her skin was flushed. Firelight from the furnace shone on the gobs of flesh and blood that clung to her cheeks, her dress and hair.

“I don’t understand it,” Avery said. “That flesh is contaminated.”

“To you, yes. To me it contains extradimensional elements that are compatible with my own.” She smiled, and it was a ghastly smile, so much white in all that redness. “It is tasty.”

“But I’ve fed you ...”

“Only food that nourishes this.” She touched her belly, indicating herself. “But there’s more to me than this.”

He shook his head. “Explain later. The next shift will discover your absence any minute, and then we can expect a full lockdown. There, in that corner, you’ll find a new set of clothes, a doctor’s uniform. Yes, that’s it. Use that bucket and sponge. I’d expected you to be dirty from the cart. Not that dirty, but ... yes ... ah—”

Without paying him any attention, she tore off her gown and bathed herself. He caught a brief glimpse of firm breasts and buttocks, and then he hastily turned away. He felt his face grow hot, and tried to think of his escape plans.

“I’m ready,” she said shortly, and he turned.

She looked as professionally dressed as him, although her hair was a little wet, her clothes a little wrinkled. He had hidden them in a dark, dusty corner, and they had suffered accordingly. Still, to look at her one would never know that she had been a feral beast just moments before. Her cheeks were a bit flushed, but that was all.

“Let’s go,” he said.

Walking quickly, they left the incinerator room and made for a stairwell. They needn’t worry about the checkpoint, which was set up to monitor comings and goings from the sublevels. He had already passed it and was considered in the upper portion of the building.

“Don’t say anything to anyone,” Avery warned her in a whisper. “Even in Ghenisan. Your accent will give you away.”

They rose to ground level and entered the medical wing of Fort Brunt. The sleepy bustle of a nighttime military hospital surrounded them. Nurses checked up on patients injured during the lobster attack or some battle at sea. Wounded soldiers called for more morphine or made weary banter with each other. Most slept. The air smelled the familiar odor of rot and antiseptic and offal from bedpans. Layanna eyed the patients with an inscrutable expression. If she had spent as much time in Octung as Avery thought she had, it must be quite a shock to see the results of Octung’s war. Then again, she was trying to stop it, so the results had obviously distressed her before.

They exited the building and cold wind gusted around them, bringing with it the salty, electric scent of the Atomic Sea. A few patrols prowled the grounds, and gnarled trees swayed to the wind. Even at night, bright lights blazed from the exterior of the fortress, illuminating the compound. Avery and Layanna wound through ornamental hedges and statues of Navy heroes, bound for the street that trickled past the fort, bordering its west-facing wall. The walls of the fort’s compound rose high and thick, and to Avery at that moment they appeared impassable.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “The walls are designed to keep people out, not in. This isn’t a prison.”

They passed the parking lot that facilitated people like Avery who worked at the fort but did not live there, and he wished at that moment that he owned a car. A taxi would be waiting for them, though. He had everything arranged.

The guards at the entry checkpoint knew him by sight and waved him through. He wasn’t worried that they would ask for Layanna’s ID. They only checked ID on the way in. Of course, that might change after today.

Avery held his breath as they passed through the heavy archway, under the thick wall. Leering gargoyles laughed down at them. Avery knew in medieval times those gargoyles’ mouths had gushed with burning oil or boiling water during invasions. How many people had died right where he was walking? At any moment he expected the blare of alarms to sound behind him, for the metal gates to slam closed ahead. He had to grit his teeth to keep them from rattling.

Then, miraculously, they were out. He hadn’t noticed the wind’s absence till it reappeared, busily gusting through his thin hair, billowing his coat out behind him. Even Layanna seemed to relax.

The taxi idled just where he had instructed it to, sulking along the curb on Hangman’s Blvd. just beyond Brunt’s walls. Smoke from the exhaust roiled up into the night, and the cab’s engine made a chugging, purring noise. Somehow it reminded Avery of a great cat.

“Almost there,” he said, hearing the tightness of his voice.

He reached the cab, opened the rear door and gestured for Layanna to get in—

Alarms blared behind them. Avery spun to see activity at the gate. The guard captain reached for a ringing telephone. The peals of the alarm made hairs prickle along Avery’s spine.

“Get in!” he said.

Layanna swung inside the cab, but before Avery could follow the panicked cab-driver screamed, “Get out! Get out!”

“Grab him,” Avery told Layanna.

He didn’t pause to see if she complied—although the cabbie’s screams hinted that she had—but hurried around to the driver’s door and jerked it open; Layanna’s distraction had prevented the cabbie from locking it. Avery seized the man by the jacket front, physically hauled him out of the vehicle and deposited him on the city street. Without hesitation, Avery slid behind the wheel and locked the door.

“You! Stop!” shouted the guards at the entry checkpoint. Avery saw them take out their guns and run toward the cab. Their captain barked something. One of them fired.

The bullet punched a hole in the rear window of the auto. Glass exploded. Shrapnel hit Avery’s ear.

He stomped on the gas. The car jerked forward, its owner beating on the window, then falling away. At the next street, Avery swung the wheel hard left and caromed around a corner. Cars honked at him, and one bumped his rear. He shot forward, teeth set, back hunched.

Just before he passed out of sight of the fortress, black vans barreled out from another gateway, lights flashing from their roofs.

“This could get rough,” Avery said.

Layanna said nothing, merely fastened her seatbelt. Then: “Go faster.”

He obeyed. He swerved down a broad street, smashed against another taxi, and scraped forward. Sirens screamed behind him. He cut hard, swinging into the next side street. Lights flashed on shop windows in his rearview mirror. He mashed the gas pedal.

He wound down one street, then another. He took alleys, back roads, main roads when he had to. Always he avoided the flashing lights that reflected off buildings behind him. When he saw them, he veered away.

Finally he bundled up an alley and jerked the car to a stop. Shattered glass tinkled in the back.

“The police will be on the lookout for this car by now, and the Navy certainly knows it,” Avery said. “We need another.”

He climbed out and looked around. Crumbling tenements reared over them, and the car crouched in shadow. At any time a gang of criminals or desperate refugees could happen upon them.

Joining him, Layanna said, “I’m sorry for all this, Doctor.”

“I knew what I was getting in for.” But Janx’s crew doesn’t.

He grabbed her hand and led her down a grimy alley. He wasn’t even sure what part of town they were in. The Rickles, he thought, but wasn’t sure. He’d been driving too recklessly, randomly.

Noises ahead. Shouting, laughs, singing, young boys playing, people haggling over prices. Music.

Avery and Layanna emerged from the alley into a crowded courtyard. To his surprise, he found himself in the midst of a bazaar. Lights like creeping vines overgrew the stalls, and children in tattered jackets danced around fireworks that snapped in the intersections. Avery could not help but stare even as he hurried along.

Refugees filled the bazaar, people from all over the continent. Exotic clothes swished and jangled. A tall man with thick eyebrows wore a crown-like circlet made of brass coins. A gaggle of women walked by sporting colorful dresses—red, green, turquoise-and-gold—that had seen better days. A little person leant against a post, wearing a proud scarlet tallhat. Priests from Myzkrai begged and prayed in their purple silk robes; square jade buttons flashing on their fronts. Prostitutes from Getsyr shivered in thin jackets yet allowed their long legs to protrude from dresses slit to the hip. Strutting violinists from Ungraessot bore tattoos of the God-Emperor’s crest and symbols of the Tunnels of Ard.

And there were mutants. Many, many mutants. Avery was shocked to see them all. He had never seen so many in one place.

Sirens wailed in the distance, and he picked up his pace.

“We have to find a car,” he said, and Layanna nodded, but her eyes were on their surroundings. So were Avery’s.

A fish-faced man hawked spices. A woman with tentacles where her breasts should be sold doubtful-looking flour to a young boy with the arm of a crab. An old man with shark-like teeth and all-black eyes stood behind him. An otherwise beautiful woman had the mouth of a fish, and she occupied a small stage singing to a rapt crowd some strange and fishy song. Avery and Layanna passed a stall lined with glowing squids in strange glass jars. He saw monkeys chained to posts, dogs being roasted over spits, belly dancers from Icai working the crowd. Greedy merchants offered positions of indentured servitude to desperate refugees.

Mounds and mounds of diseased-looking fish heaped in stalls and were being sold by the pound to willing customers. A man with scales all over his body and secreting a viscous fluid forked over a handful of cash and shambled away with a bag of runny flashfish. A hunched woman with the carapace of a stone crab and the tongue of a sea anemone bought an octopus with a riot of misshapen and misplaced limbs, some of which had eyes growing where the suckers should be.

“I don’t understand,” Avery said. “They’re knowingly eating diseased food. Why would they do this to themselves?”

Layanna didn’t seem bothered by it. “They don’t think it can get any worse. So why starve? They’ve already survived the disease, after all, so they’re not worried about that.”

“But the risk of further mutations ...”

It took him a moment to realize she’d spoken Octunggen. Fortunately the bazaar was too noisy for anyone to have overheard, and amid the many accents and languages he doubted anyone would care. There were other countries besides Octung that spoke dialects of Octunggen. Nevertheless, he warned her to watch what she said.

To his surprise, she seemed relaxed, at ease. To his questioning look, she said, “These are my people. People of the sea. Oh, there! I must.”

She was staring at a fishmonger who sold long, diseased eelfish that bristled with catfish-like tendrils jutting from irregular points along their bodies. Avery knew the creatures emitted bursts of electricity along those tendrils to scare away predators. Of course, in a healthy fish the tendrils would be more evenly spaced and they would not still be moving about, however sluggishly, after death.

Layanna scampered over to the stall, giddy as a girl of eight.

The fishmonger, a stout man whose flesh had the look and texture of a seahorse’s, smiled at her and said, “And what may I help you with, young lady?” His eyes lit up as he studied her.

“I take two,” she said, pointing at the eelfish.

The fishmonger did not raise an eyebrow at her Octunggen accent. “Best ones in Hissig. And I should know. I hail from Wirzal, home of the best fishing in the Axid Isles. All overrun now, of course.”

“I didn’t know,” she said. “I’m sorry.” She sounded sincere. “You pay,” she told Avery, as she accepted the sacked eelfish. Reluctantly, he did, and she beamed like a happy child. To his disgust, she grabbed a wooden fork, impaled one of the eelfish, and began eating it raw.

People around them stared at her, horrified. Even the most heavily diseased of them would clean and cook the things first, and she showed no signs of infection.

“Come on,” Avery growled, taking her arm. “We don’t have time for this—and you’re attracting attention.”

Eel slime smeared her lips and chin as they emerged from the market. To Avery’s great relief, he saw that a fleet of taxis idled on the main road, waiting for custom. He and Layanna climbed in the first one, Avery told the driver their destination, and they shot off into the night. Layanna continued eating her foul meal there in the back of the cab, and Avery felt his gorge rise. The eelfish stank like a mixture of seaweed and tainted mustard.

The cabdriver stared at her in his rear-view mirror. “Hells, mister, you sure she should be eating that?”

“No.”

Layanna lowered the eelfish. Belched. “I grow strong. Too long without.”

Avery saw the driver’s face frown at her accent, but he did not try to excuse it. The less said the better. Let the driver invent his own reasons.

The cab swung into an artery and suddenly hit a nest of stalled cars, each honking its horn loudly.

“Shit,” said the driver. “What’s this?” Angrily he honked his own horn.

The lines of stopped cars did not move.

“I might know what it is,” Avery muttered, feeling his stomach clench. He grabbed Layanna’s hand, opened the door and hauled her out. The eelfish dropped to the seats, slicking it with mucus. The tendrils still writhed.

“Hey!” the driver said.

“Sorry about the mess. We can’t wait.” Avery threw a couple of dollars at him, turned and set off, tugging Layanna along behind him. Sure enough, when Avery looked up the street he saw that police cars had blocked off the intersection. Cops strolled up the lines of stopped cars, flashing lights into the interiors and showing the occupants pictures.

“They didn’t waste any time,” Avery said. Sheridan must be using her admiralship to orchestrate the manhunt. Well, she can’t have shut the city down entirely.

Layanna no longer looked so childish. Indeed, the abrupt change to adultness was startling. “What next?” she said.

He scratched his cheek. “There’s an L line a few blocks away. Come on.”

Avoiding the main roads, he took her to the elevated train station, which was more or less where he’d thought it would be. That was one piece of luck, at least. In silence they rode the rattling L over the city, and Avery tried not to meet the eyes of his fellow passengers. As they disembarked and made their way through the endpoint station, he heard a loud radio blare through the high, graffiti-covered halls:

“... and if you’ve seen this man and woman, you are to report immediately to the police. Again, their descriptions are as follows. The woman is blond and slim, with blue eyes and ...”

Avery’s blood ran cold. He lowered his head as he walked. Layanna’s hand tightened on his. After what seemed like an eternity, they stepped out into the night.

“Too close,” he breathed.

She had taken a break between her first eelfish and her second, but now she removed the second half of her feast from its sack and began tearing into it. Watching her, he felt sickened all over again.

“You know where going?” she said between chews.

“We’re in the Tangle now. Almost there. Just a little more and we can rest.”

“No need rest. Am strong now.”

He nodded, sweat beading his brow, his breath coming in labored gasps. “You may not need it, but you’re not the only one here.”

He led the way down narrow streets and alleys, wishing he had some weapon, any weapon. He hadn’t wanted to take a chance on sneaking a gun past Brunt security. Now he was defenseless. And there was another worry, too. What will Janx and the others say when they realize how important Layanna is? Avery had not told them what he believed her to be: he couldn’t afford for them to balk. But there was no hiding it now, not with the city shut down. What would they do?

The alleys stank of rot and refuse, and though there were buildings to all sides somehow the chill wind found the channels between and howled down them, driving against Avery and tugging him backward. Composed and flushed, Layanna finished her grisly meal and tossed the eelfish remains in a metal trashcan. Feral cats and batkin hissed at each other for the scraps.

Finally they reached the rear entrance to Janx’s tenement. Inside the wind couldn’t get at them, and Avery breathed easier. When he did he tasted onions and cabbage heavy on the air, along with mold and mildew. They made their way through leaning, sagging corridors with paint peeling in strips off the walls, past heavily bolted doors, or doors that were open and dark and sinister, past apartments thumping with music or the screech of fighting families. Behind a too-thin door, a couple rutted noisily. Roaches crawled across chipped cement floors, and bare electric bulbs flickered when they weren’t out altogether.

Janx’s rooms waited on the eleventh floor. When Avery at last knocked on the door, which was more massive, metal, and heavily fortified than any of the others he’d seen, he was breathless and drenched in sweat, his clothes sticking to him. Why couldn’t this building have a functioning lift? Layanna, by contrast, appeared perfectly at ease, only mildly winded. Perhaps he should try diseased eelfish.

Locks scraped and shot. Janx’s door swung open with a metal creak.

“Finally,” a voice said. “We were beginning to worry about you.”

Muirblaag, newly moistened and glimmering, ushered them into Janx’s room. He wore only boxing trunks and shoes. Layanna eyed him with interest, his crested head, fishy skin, whitish mouth, symmetrical design.

Muirblaag returned her look, but it was not idle curiosity in his eyes. “Well, hello there.”

“Hello.”

Muirblaag closed the door behind them and bolted some of its many bolts, somehow contriving not to take his eyes off her for a moment.

Avery didn’t care. “I need a drink.”

Janx’s large quarters sprawled in every direction, both dismal and regal. Shabby walls with mortared-up cracks were hung with priceless pictures, some oils, some abstracts, many originals by prominent artists, none of them matching. Plush, expensive chairs perched beside rotting, sagging ones. Massive urns squatted against idols and statues inset with gems and diamonds. One particularly vulgar statue depicted two nymphs cavorting with a satyr; the water issued from a very lewd place. Against the wall, an antique cabinet bar hunched under a thousand cheap and gaudy knickknacks collected from countless ports. Janx displayed some of the best taste and absolute worst taste that Avery had ever seen, all side by side. How much of the loot had been stolen, how much bought with stolen or conned money, and how much with Janx’s considerable semi-legitimate earnings through whaling and prizefighting Avery couldn’t guess. Judging by the excess, he was quite sure Janx could have afforded a penthouse somewhere, but he knew just as certainly that Janx would never be comfortable or happy there. Here in the Tangle he was a hero, a champion, and though he lived in a bleak, murky warren, it was a bleak, murky warren adorned with the treasure of kings.

Movement in a shadowy region that Avery thought must be the kitchen, redolent of spices and garlic.

Janx himself stepped out, smiling boldly. Light from a dozen expensive lanterns lit his thousand tattoos, bald head, and scarred, nose-less face. “You made it!” To Avery’s shock, the big man embraced him in a crushing hug.

“I—well—thanks—”

The hug may have been a ruse, however, to allow Janx to grip Layanna in an even more clinging embrace. She accepted it, raising her eyebrows at Avery.

“We need to leave—” Avery began.

Janx wasn’t paying attention. Still laughing, he guided them to dusty but expensive chairs and supplied them with fluids. It was beer, not whisky, but it was an excellent porter, thick and black, and Avery sipped his gratefully.

Hildra paced, smoking, her monkey jumping up and down in shared agitation. Byron the little violinist leaned against the wall, arms folded. Holdren, the large black man, shot balls in a desultory fashion at the billiards table.

All shifted their attention to the red-headed Jaimesyn when he stood up from the radio. Screwdriver in hand, he said, “There, that should—”

A burst of static filled the room, then a voice.

All leaned tensely forward, listening:

“... and the manhunt will continue through the night until these fugitives are caught. New details are just now emerging. A high official in the Navy has declared that an Octunggen spy embedded in the naval science community has broken loose an Octunggen prisoner. The woman is actually a secret Octunggen project recovered by our intelligence operatives. She has been contaminated by poisons that could, if released, wipe out the city. ‘If they are not found and returned to the Navy posthaste, Octung will have a new source of mass violence to wage against us’, says Minister Sorqin, head of the Navy Expenditures Subcommittee.”

“One of Sheridan’s agents, no doubt,” Avery said. “She’s obviously colored information, or perhaps—”

Holdren shushed him.

“The Navy is hard on the hunt,” crackled the voice on the radio. “When found, the fugitives shall be dealt with severely. To aid the hunt, here are their descriptions once again ...”

Avery rose and turned the radio off. “I think we get the idea.”

For a long moment there was silence. Avery could almost feel the tension radiating off those in the room, and he knew it was his fault. Now it comes, he thought. I should have been honest with them from the beginning. But what if they’d refused to help?

From outside screeched a siren. It rose in volume, and those in the apartment tensed further. The siren faded, but they did not relax.

“We’re in deep shit, Doctor,” said Hildra.

“I didn’t sign on for this,” Byron said. “No one did.”

Janx stepped forward, frowning, severe. “This isn’t how it was supposed to go, Doc. You said we were only supposed to hide out a saboteur—”

“I never actually said she was only a—” Avery said.

“The shitting Navy’s after us!” said Byron. “Admiral Haggarty!”

“This is bullshit,” said Jaimesyn. “We were just supposed to hide out some fugitive, not bring down the wrath of the whole fucking country.”

“Should we even be in the same room with her?” Byron edged backward, away from Layanna. “I mean, if she’s some kinda poison bomb, we shouldn’t even be breathing the same air.”

Avery raised his hands, placating. “That was just a cover story. They obviously don’t want to say that she was their secret project, not Octung’s. She is not a poison bomb.”

“Then what is she?” Janx bunched his jaws. His hard eyes swung to Layanna. “It’s time.”

“No. It’s not,” Avery said. “In fact, we—”

“Quiet,” Janx said, shooting him a stern look. The whaler returned his attention to Layanna, and so did everyone else, staring at her expectantly. Beads of sweat clung to their brows. Their faces drew tight. Byron looked on the verge of snapping.

Layanna gazed back at them mildly, impossible to read.

“Tell us who you are, woman,” Janx said, in a voice that could have leveled mountains. “I mean now.”

“Come on,” said Muirblaag gently. “We’re all friends here.”

“I ain’t friends with nobody who brings the Navy down on my head,” Janx said. “Don’t you realize what this means? It means if they connect the Doc to us, our lives are over.” In a rage, he kicked a kingly lamp, and it smashed into glittering fragments. Electric sparks flared, then died. Seething, Janx balled his fists at his sides and looked as if he were trying to find something else to smash. His eyes settled on Layanna. “Who are you?”

“Yeah,” said Hildra.

“Fuckin’ aye,” said Holdren, setting the pool cue down and slapping a fist into the palm of his hand. A revolver showed in a holster under his armpit.

“We don’t have time—”Avery started.

The others exclaimed loudly, drowning him out, demanding explanations, demanding to know what they had gotten into.

Silently, Layanna met each gaze in turn. At first she didn’t seem inclined to speak, but then she gathered herself and said, in garbled Ghenisan, “Dr. Avery you should to listen. We now go. I cannot tell whole story. Later.”

“Godsdamn you, you better start talking,” growled Janx.

She knitted her brow. Taking a deep breath, she said, “You know what is extradimensional, yes? Ultra-planar?”

They exchanged looks.

“Why?” Byron said.

“I am ... you will believe this not, is why I would say nothing ... but I am extradimensional being.”

“What?” said Jaimesyn.

“There are ... others. My friends. We are hunted. We can stop war.”

Janx scowled deeply, throwing his face into shadow. He threw a glance at Avery, who nodded.

“How?” Janx said.

“No time,” Layanna said. “But can it we do. With help.”

“Now this is some major shit,” said Holdren.

“See?” Muirblaag drawled, coming to stand beside her. “I knew there was a good explanation.”

“Fuck the explanation,” Byron said, pushing himself off from the wall. “Fuck the war. Our lives are ruined.”

“They will be ruined worse if we don’t get a move on,” Avery said quietly. “While we’ve been arguing, the Navy will have been tracking us. We encountered many people on the way here. Some have doubtlessly heard our descriptions and called in. I suggest we leave as soon as possible. Now. Right now.”

Janx glared from him to Layanna. “I—”

The door exploded inwards, and a phalanx of armored troops burst in.

11

Avery wheeled to see the troopers enter, shields carried before them, a moving wall of barricades and weapons. They were Navy shock troops.

It all happened very fast.

Byron scampered for the window, presumably to crawl out to a fire escape. A gun roared, blood sprayed from his thigh, and he collapsed screaming.

Both Jaimesyn and Holdren carried guns, and apparently on instinct they drew them, ducked behind furniture—Jaimesyn behind the couch, Holdren behind the billiards table—and fired. Sparks flashed on police shields and whined off helmets. Troopers leveled automatic weapons at couch and table—and fired. And fired. Bullets drilled through furniture and riddled Jaimesyn and Holdren, flinging them back like rag dolls, broken and ravaged and spraying blood. They fell amidst red pools and twitched mindlessly, dead or dying.

“Don’t move!” the unit captain shouted to the others. “Raise your hands and don’t fucking move!”

The troops swarmed into the apartment and surrounded them.

Despite the warnings, Janx grabbed a lantern and tried to smash it over a trooper’s head, but half a dozen others slammed electric prods into his ribs and rifle butts into his skull. Screaming insults, he fell under their blows. Muirblaag succeeded in smashing two of the troopers’ heads together and rendering them unconscious before he was driven to the floor.

Avery raised his hands and kept quiet. So did Hildra and Layanna. Hildra’s monkey screeched in fear and huddled tightly against her back, shaking.

Police surrounded them, shoving guns in their faces. Someone secured Byron.

“Nice goin’, Doc,” Hildra said.

Avery couldn’t meet her eyes. He tried to contain the beating of his heart, the swelling and shrinking of his lungs. Then he heard a familiar voice and glanced up to see the tides of troops parting like a black sea, light glinting on shields and helmets. And, there between the parting waves, Admiral Sheridan strolled toward him, polished and gleaming in her official uniform, peaked beret slanted rakishly.

“Thought you could escape, did you, you traitor?” she said.

He found his voice, but it was thin and tight. “I’m not the traitor.”

“Do tell.”

He started to say more, but knew it would make no difference. Sheridan would just have him silenced, and painfully.

She marched lion-like back and forth, eyeing her prisoners as they were dragged into line before her, even bleeding and mewling Byron. Janx and Muirblaag were hauled up, as well. They prodded at their swollen faces and bruised ribs. Janx spat out a silver tooth.

At last Sheridan’s eyes settled on Layanna. “I very much look forward to speaking with you later.”

Surprisingly, Layanna did not look intimidated. “I do not think so, you bitch,” she said in Octunggen.

Sheridan’s eyes widened slightly, and she started to respond, but then thought better of it. Likely she didn’t want to reveal how fluent she was in the enemy language.

“Why don’t we continue the conversation at Fort Brunt?” she said. Her eyes lingered on Avery’s, looking almost apologetic. “This was ... unnecessary, Doctor.”

“You don’t have to do this,” he said.

“I wish that were so.” Her voice sounded genuinely sad. “The only solace I can offer is that you won’t suffer long.”

Because you fear what I might say. Good. Then there were still decent people in the Navy. They hadn’t all been corrupted. And at least it meant he’d die quickly. But Layanna ... Avery had no doubt Sheridan would get her own men to interrogate Layanna. If Layanna had any secrets, Sheridan would get them.

“Take them,” Sheridan told the troop captain. He nodded and barked orders to his people, who took out handcuffs and electric prods and closed in.

This is where it ends, Avery thought. He and the others would be dragged into black pits beneath Fort Brunt, tortured and put to ignominious death. But he had not reckoned on one thing, which was the entire reason for the whole affair in the first place.

Layanna was not a normal woman.

And, as soldiers laid their hands on her, she revealed exactly how.

She tried to be nice about it.

Her eyes narrowed, her voice hardened, and she said, in Ghenisan so that the troops could understand her, “Get. Hands. Off.”

They laughed. Handcuffs caught the light.

“Touch. And. Die,” she growled.

They forced her hands behind her back and tried to shove her to her knees. Her face screwed up in anger and effort. It turned red, and sweat popped out on her cheeks and brow. The very air around her seemed to change, to ripple, and kneeling nearby, Avery felt an electric charge. His hair lifted.

Sheridan, frowning, stepped back. Her hand reached for the pistol at her hip.

“Don’t do it,” she said, jerking her gun free. It was longer than it should have been, strange and bulbous. Avery, long accustomed to Navy side-arms, knew this was no normal service piece. “I’m prepared.”

Layanna did not give her the chance to use the weapon, whatever it was, for, just then, the air around Layanna blossomed with strange colors, scents and sounds, ammonia and purple and the flash of sunlight on alien waters. Suddenly, the strangeness exploded outward with an oceanic roar, and as if a great wind had struck them everyone standing around Layanna flew backward and hit the floor sliding.

Sheridan, too, struck the floor, and when she did her gun leapt from her hand and spun across the cement.

Avery, gasping, found a chair and struggled to pull himself to his feet. As he did, he turned back to Layanna to see that she was only getting started. With the air around her rippling in strange colors, lavender, purple, white, she ceased to be the woman he thought he knew. Her shape remained the same, but overlapping it, superimposing the image of her standing there—arms flung out, face uplifted—spread the shape of some thing very much like an amoeba. Shapeless and horrible, yet beautiful at the same time, it oozed out from her, with her in the center, bathed in jellyfish-white. Toward the edges the form superimposing her turned purplish and lavender. Its thrusting pseudopods ended in starfish-like tips, and from these tips writhed fringes of beautiful tentacles and flagella, slightly white, slightly pink. As the pseudopods spread out, sometimes brushing up against walls, toppling furniture, sometimes passing through material objects altogether, the fringing tentacles coiled and grasped with great dexterity.

One lassoed about Avery’s chest and picked him up. The reek of ammonia and ozone filled his nose, making him dizzy. Other tentacles gathered up Byron and Hildra. Janx and Muirblaag grabbed up lamps or broken chair legs and leapt back, away from it. Layanna’s amoeba form swelled ... and swelled ... filling up the room.

Sheridan scrabbled toward her gun, which lay in a corner. She had to scramble around her troops, who had been flung back, and over toppled furniture.

The troops picked themselves up, turned to the monstrous amoeba spreading outward from Layanna and enveloping the room—and fired. Guns roared, and troopers cursed, sweated and ducked behind furniture. Bullets punched into the amoeba-form but seemed to have no impact. More and more bullets hit it with the same lack of result.

Avery, struggling and gasping in the grip of the lacy, pinkish tentacle, stared at Layanna, who now floated in the midst of the beautiful, horrible being as if it buoyed her up, her eyes closed, her face serene, otherworldly light bathing her and streaming her hair out behind her. Organelles bobbed amid the amoeba, green and purple and turquoise. Avery knew this was the result of the crustacean’s meat, and the meat of the eelfish; Layanna had told him such food nurtured parts of herself, extradimensional parts, that he couldn’t see. Now I can.

Tentacles whipped toward Sheridan, but she dodged and ducked, eerily adroit. The attacks only delayed her in her progress toward the gun.

Other tentacles wrapped around armored troops and hauled them screaming off the floor. Some passed electric current into the men so that they jerked and spasmed. Some tore the men and women open in geysers of blood, ripping them violently in half and flinging their pieces across the room. Some stung them with what might be jellyfish-like venom, or brought them, kicking and cursing, through the purplish wall of the amoeba’s sac and into the thing itself. There the substance of the being ate them like acid, dissolving their flesh and bones slowly and creating majestic swirls of blood that trickled throughout the being’s body, running through amoebic veins and tingeing organelles.

“No!” Avery yelled at Layanna. “Don’t kill them. They’re just following orders.”

She slew one soldier after another.

Avery told himself that it was necessary, that despite being good men and women the soldiers would have followed orders to have him and the others tortured and killed, that they would have prevented the good Layanna might be capable of, that simply by following orders they would only hasten the collapse of Ghenisa and the deaths of countless millions. Yet, as they screamed and were torn apart, their blood spattering the walls, Avery thought, I’m helping a monster.

Sheridan reached her gun. With a victorious shout, she wrapped her hands about it and turned toward Layanna.

A pinkish tentacle wrapped around the admiral’s foot. She screamed. It hauled her up into the air, dangling her upside down. Some excruciating poison must have passed into her, as she threw back her head and screeched in agony. Veins stood out on her forehead. Her body writhed and jerked.

She almost—almost—let go of the pistol.

But then, even through her misery, she seemed to gain control over herself. Avery saw her jaw clamp shut, her eyes narrow, and her gun arm raise toward Layanna.

“Watch out!” Avery said.

Too late. Even as Layanna stretched out another pseudopod toward Sheridan, Sheridan pointed her strange gun directly at Layanna and fired.

The shot distorted the air immediately around the gun, and for a moment Avery thought he saw odd colors and lights.

The bullet punched through the phantasmagoric substance of the amoeba form, barreled straight toward Layanna, through swirling clouds of blood and fantastic organelles, and struck Layanna in the abdomen.

Immediately, Layanna’s eyes opened, and her expression of serenity became one of pain. Just as immediately, the amoeba form shrank, dwindling and dwindling, seeming to be drawn directly into Layanna’s body, and Avery heard a vast, wet sucking noise. A weird reek lingered on the air, a smell of sulfur and ammonia, seaweed and rot.

The weird lights and smells vanished, as did the amoeba form. Layanna collapsed to the ground.

Sheridan, suddenly not dangled upside-down by the tentacle, dropped to the floor and groaned.

Avery, also no longer supported, fell on the ruins of an old couch. He rolled off, hitting his head on the floor.

Bodies and parts lay everywhere, strewn about the room along with wrecked furniture, priceless antiques that were now rubbish, a dozen shattered lanterns, broken sculptures, and assorted expensive debris. Blood rolled down oil paintings on the wall that would have fetched a fortune at an art auction.

When he recovered, Avery found himself next to the upper half of a soldier’s body. The man stared glassily. Blood drooled from his mouth.

Out of the corner of his eye Avery saw Sheridan reach the door and slip outside. Avery grabbed up the soldier’s side-arm, climbed to his feet and, a bit unsteadily, pointed his weapon at the door, but it was too late. Sheridan was gone.

“What the fuck just happened?” Janx roared.

“I-I can’t believe it,” stuttered Byron, clutching his bleeding leg and staring about at the wreckage. All the troops were dead—in pieces, poisoned, dissolved.

Avery’s gaze settled on Layanna.

He dropped his gun and ran toward where she lay, bleeding and unconscious, on the floor. The air still rippled vaguely about her and smelled of ammonia, but as the seconds passed this faded too. He checked her pulse and examined her wound, a red hole in her side just below her ribs.

He spun to Janx. “You’re got a first aid kit, don’t you? For sparring?”

Janx nodded and vanished down the hall, saying over his shoulder, “We don’t have time for this.” Moments later he returned with a far more advanced kit than Avery had hoped for. He remembered the big man’s criminal operations and the need to avoid certified doctors that might be duty-bound to report certain wounds, and thought he understood.

“We need to go,” Hildra said. Her monkey hunkered low and subdued on her shoulder, eyes darting all around.

“She’s right,” Janx said. “That bitch’ll have armored transports on the street, with more men, and they’ll be up here soon.”

Avery nodded. “Very well. Come then.”

And, very carefully, he gathered Layanna in his arms and followed the others out the window to the fire escape.

* * *

Wind howled around them, and Layanna seemed to grow heavier against Avery as they ascended, the fire escape rattling and scraping against the brick sides of the tenement. Soon they reached the roof. With Janx in the lead, they found a makeshift bridge composed of wooden planks nailed together with rusting iron that spanned the gap to the next roof. They crossed over, found a bridge to the adjacent building, then the next.

They climbed mountains and descended valleys of brick and stucco and concrete and wood, and at times Avery heard shouting in the distance and twice the crack of guns. Desperate, they ran, and ran, sometimes disappearing inside buildings, sometimes plunging down into basements and taking tunnels that connected to basements in other buildings, then ascending to the rooftops once more. This was the Tangle, and Janx’s band knew it inside and out, surely better than their pursuers. Byron cursed and complained with every step, and not without reason; blood pumped through the gauze Avery had hastily tied around his thigh, and he must be in considerable pain. Still, he showed remarkable fortitude in forcing himself on. Avery had to shift the burden of Layanna to Janx eventually, who carried her for a ways, then transferred her to Muirblaag, who seemed to enjoy it a bit too much.

Avery tried not to think about what he had seen in Janx’s hotel room. Tried not to think about her.

At last, close to dawn, they paused for a breather atop a certain rooftop garden, and Avery checked on Layanna’s wounds.

“I think we lost them,” Hildra said, gasping for air. Her monkey Hildebrand climbed down, investigated a patch of vegetables, then the water tank.

“Yeah,” said Byron. “’less they send out rays.”

They looked at each other uneasily.

“Depends on Sheridan,” Avery said, wiping his patient’s bullet wound with alcohol. The pain didn’t rouse her. “Whether she can convince the higher-ups that Layanna’s that important. Of course, she’s already convinced them to lie to the populace, to conduct road-blocks, raids and what-have-you. From what I understand, she’s controlling Haggarty himself.”

“That her name?” Muirblaag asked, staring down at the unconscious woman. “Layanna?” At Avery’s nod, Muirblaag’s wide, fishy mouth turned downward at the corners. “What is she?”

Avery sighed. “I don’t know.”

“I have to get to my stash,” Janx said.

“Come again?”

“I’ve got bolt-holes all over. Stashes of cash and gear in case I have to light out. We’ll need money, and one of my stashes is near. I’ll go to it while you play doctor.”

Janx disappeared over the next roof as Avery prepared for surgery. Hildra helped during the procedure, handing him necessary tools and restraining Layanna when a spasm seized her. The operation proceeded slowly, handicapped by instruments, conditions and even Layanna herself, who jerked in pain. At last Avery removed the bullet and carefully sewed Layanna back up.

“She should be healing better,” Avery said when it was done. “Now that she’s fed.”

They had all been quiet about what had happened in Janx’s apartment. Stunned by their friends’ deaths and the manner of Layanna’s transformation, if it was a transformation, everyone seemed afraid to bring it up. Nobody wanted to poke it for fear of waking it. But the dam had to break at some point.

“What the fuck did she do, anyway?” Byron said.

As soon as he spoke, the others erupted in questions. Avery looked at them warily. Janx was just returning, a money belt slung over his shoulders, a revolver strapped under his arm, and he heard the chorus of questions, too.

“Come on, Doc,” he said, throwing down the belt with a grunt and leaning against a wall that contained a riot of winter greenery. “It’s past time we knew what we’ve gotten ourselves into. Tell us. What by Thog’s cancerous cock happened down there?”

Avery leaned back and looked up at the stars and moons. “She told me that this ... her physical body ... was only part of her. She’s an extradimensional being, as you heard her say, and part of her, perhaps most of her, exists outside.” He let that sink in. “I think we saw a glimpse of what the rest of her looks like. She brought it over to save us. But it cost her.”

“The bullet, you mean?” asked Muirblaag.

“That too. She has extraordinary healing abilities. I’ve seen them in action. I saw her heal herself from terrible burns inflicted on her by the gastric juices of a whale, and from the sea itself. I think she could heal now if she hadn’t spent so much of herself bridging the dimensional gulf, bringing the amoeba-facet over.” He saw them staring at him in awe, as if he knew what he was talking about. “Of course, I don’t really know. I’m just guessing, putting what I do know together. But I think if we brought her some unprocessed seafood she would be able to regain her strength, maybe recover.”

They exchanged secret glances amongst each other, and he let them. They were a closed group, a wounded group, with two of their members down. They needed to maintain their exclusionary status to maintain any status at all. If they opened to him, they might just dissolve.

Finally Muirblaag stood. “I’ll go. I know all the finest rotgrub in the city.”

The others agreed wordlessly. While he was gone, Avery tended to Byron, who had drunk himself into such a stupor from his flask that he almost didn’t seem to mind. The bullet had passed clean through the meat of his thigh, but it had nicked an artery, just barely, and done considerable damage to the muscle. He was lucky to be alive, and it was possible he would be crippled for life. Avery patched him up as best he could, but he knew it was not his best work. He had neither the proper instruments nor resources.

The pain seemed to provoke Byron enough that he regained a semblance of sobriety by the time Avery finished. “Thanks for the patch,” he muttered, grimacing. He tipped his flask to take another sip, but only a drop came out. A sly look entered his eyes. “Hey, Doc. Got any painkillers?”

“Any painkillers I gave you would render you incapable of flight.” Avery held Byron’s gaze to make sure he understood. “Do you want me to give you one, or would you rather live?”

Byron sulked a bit, and Avery knew the pain must be extreme and felt a bit bad about his tone. It worked, though.

“Alright,” Byron said. “But I want double later.”

“We’ll see.”

When Muirblaag returned, he carried an assortment of dodgy seafood, from mutant squid to clams with teeth to iridescent, faintly glowing spinefish. Layanna, still unconscious, had to be hand-fed. Avery twisted the clam, wringing its juices into her mouth. He gutted the spinefish and let its liquids fall past her lips. He placed a small, rubbery piece of squid onto her tongue, helped her chew and coaxed her to swallow. It worked. She seemed to stir, and her temperature decreased.

Her eyes opened.

Avery couldn’t help but laugh. He hadn’t realized how nervous he’d been, not just for her sake but for his and the others. It would have been farcical if they had destroyed their lives to aid a dead woman. For him it almost would have been worse if she’d remained unconscious, if he had to tend her through another coma.

When he saw her eyes open, however, something ran through him, and he knew there was something more to it than that. Perhaps tending to her for so long reminded him of caring for Mari. He didn’t know. But there was a tightness in his chest that lifted when he saw her wake.

“Can you hear me?” he said.

She nodded, and the others crowded around, murmuring.

Janx crouched next to Avery and stared down at her. “You sure got us into a heap of shit, darlin’. Two of my friends died ‘cause of you.”

Pain creased her brow. “Many more will die, I’m afraid,” she said in Octunggen, and Avery translated. She could understand Ghenisan better than she could speak it.

“You mean the war?” Hildra said.

Layanna nodded again. She tried to rise, but her face screwed up and she collapsed, trembling. “The war will sweep the world,” she said, then continued in a smaller voice: “All who don’t bow before the Lightning Crown will die. It’s why we gifted our technologies to them, so that none could stand against them. Octung will dominate the world, and through it the Collossum will exercise their will. And that will be the beginning of the end of all you know.”

Wind hissed around them, blowing soot and soil and splinters of cement. It grew colder.

“What makes you the authority?” Byron said.

“You have seen it,” Layanna said. “You saw that I am not ... like you.”

The small man eyed her, both in disgust and fear. “You’re not human.”

Avery started to speak, then hesitated. But these people had risked their lives. Their friends had died for this. They deserved to know whatever he did.

“She’s part of the Black Sect, the Octunggen saboteurs,” he said. “And there’s more. I think ... from what Sheridan said, it sounded like Layanna may be one of the Collossum. I’m sorry, Janx. I lied to you.”

As one, they stiffened. Some backed away. All stared at Layanna as though they’d received a bucket of ice water in the face.

“Is this true?” Janx said. “You some kinda Octunggen god, darlin’?”

She studied them for a long moment. At last she said, “I am one of the Collossum.”

Shocked silence greeted this. Wind hissed and howled.

“Well, shit,” Hildra said, visibly trembling.

“And the others,” Janx said. “The other Collossum. Are they all like you? Can they all do ... what you did back there?”

“I did not do anything. It’s what I am. And some of them, some of the other Collossum, are much more powerful than I am. Much older, stronger, steeped in the energies of the Outer Lords. And now they’re hunting me.”

“Holy fucking shit,” Byron said.

“I can stop it,” she said. “The war. At least ... I think I can.” She opened her mouth to say something, then grimaced and stopped. Her eyes were dimming. She didn’t have much strength left.

“Tell us quickly,” Avery said.

She gripped his hand. Her voice shook as she lifted her head and stared into his eyes.

“The Black Sect has broken from the Collossum. We have ... gone against them. We wish to preserve humanity, not destroy it.”

“How?”

“I need to reach the others. The surviving members of the Sect that set out with me. Most are in Lusterqal, but some ... we set out on a mission ...”

“Where ... ? Where did you go?” Avery knew that Lusterqal was the capital of Octung, where the Great Temple of the Collossum was located.

Breath shuddered from her lips. “Just know—those that went with me on the mission, there may still be some living. We were attacked, but ... there is a presence, in the mountains. If there are any still alive, that is where they would be. Take me there and I will ask no more of you.”

“Why? What will you do there?”

“Once I rejoin the others, together my friends and I will have strength enough ... to venture to an ... altar.”

“Like, to a god?” Hildra said, when Avery had translated.

“To the Collossum,” Layanna replied.

“You won’t find one of those outside Octung, blondie,” Hildra said. “Or places they’ve taken over, anyway.”

“No. There are some. Scattered groups outside Octung worship the Collossum, too, but where ... I don’t know. But the presence in the mountains can help us find one, and when we do, my friends and I can use the altar to transmit information to the Black Sect hiding in Lusterqal. If I can send them the plans ... the design I made, based on what we learned on our mission ... I can stop the war.”

“What plans?” Avery asked.

“A device ... the Device, as we call it; it is that important ... they’ll build it from my plans. The reason we made our journey was to research how to design it. It’s why so many died. Why I almost died.” Her voice caught, then went on. “The Device will disrupt the extradimensional frequencies of Octung’s weaponry. It will render them useless.”

When Avery had translated this, Janx and the others blinked, and some of them looked at each other in shock—and appreciation.

“Like, disrupt their weapons forever?” Hildra asked.

“For long enough,” Layanna said. “If the Black Sect can build and activate the Device, the Octunggen will no longer be able to use Collossum technology in the war.”

“But without those weapons, we could beat the fuckers,” Hildra said. She sounded surprised.

“The Octs are spread thin,” Janx agreed. “Everyone knows it. Only thing keeping ‘em on the warpath is their damned weird tech. Without it they’re meat on a stick. We could drive ‘em back. Crush ‘em.”

Layanna looked like she needed rest, and soon. “Take me to the presence, and I will be able to make my way to an altar with my friends, where we can transmit the plans—send them to the Black Sect in Lusterqal. There they’ll build it. The Device.”

“Can’t you just pick up a phone?” Hildra said.

“Can you transmit the plans for a skyscraper over the phone? And the Device is infinitely more complicated than any skyscraper. I need to reach a functioning altar. Only from there ... can I communicate with the Black Sect on extra-planar levels.”

“Tell us what we need to do,” Avery said, seeing that she was fading.

The others leaned forward, eager to hear what she had to say.

Layanna spoke in Ghenisan, in a soft, ragged whisper. “Take me,” she said, “into the Borghese. Now need some ... rest.” She closed her eyes.

The water tank rattled as someone took a shower down below. Hildebrand scampered away from it, screeching.

No one said anything. Then:

“Fuck.” This came from Byron. He said it in such a way that it sounded profound, expressing the opinion of them all. “The mountains ...”

The members of the band appeared pained, perhaps ready to quit. No sane person wanted to venture very far into the Borghese.

Avery made his voice stern. “You swore an oath.”

“I swore to fight that bitch Sheridan,” Byron said.

“You swore to stop her,” Avery reminded him. “And her goal is to kill Layanna. Thus the only way to stop Sheridan is to save Layanna—and make sure she accomplishes her mission.”

Byron looked as though he had swallowed something bitter.

“Actually,” Hildra said, sounding crafty, “I think we really only swore to help the doc on his mission of stopping Sheridan ...”

Byron’s eyes lit up. “That’s right! Doc! You’ve gotta quit this fucking ride. Don’t do what that bitch wants. Take us into the Borghese? She’s mad! Just say no, Doc. Maybe we can end all this right here. Turn her in, the cops’ll let us go. Hells, there may even be a reward.”

Avery stared at him as coldly as he could, and at last Byron dropped his gaze. “I’m going on,” Avery said. “If you can break your oaths with your gods, that’s between you and them. But as for me, I’m holding you to them. I’m going to help end this war if I can—and to hell with anyone that doesn’t follow.”

Thunder rolled in the distance.

Hildra looked up. Sudden worry lined her face. “We’ve got more pressing problems, boys,” she said. “It’s a fucking ray.”

12

Startled, Avery turned. His breath caught in his throat. Sure enough, a ray arced across the sky—huge, magnificent, and terrible.

The band rushed to the roof wall and stared out at it, transfixed. Only Avery stayed, unwilling to leave Layanna. His eyes moved across the thing, spellbound and horrified. He’d heard of them, of course. They had originally been bred by the Octunggen on some island, but the Ghenisan Navy had captured the island in the early days of the war—a rare victory—and put the creatures to use. Mostly they patrolled the sea. But not today.

It was a living thing, an animal, and in aspect it resembled something like a manta ray, if a manta ray could stretch a mile wide, a mile long. A huge delta shape, black and gray by the dawn light creeping over the haze of the horizon, it boasted a great, broad, flat head, with an obscene mouth gaping, seemingly unable to close, fringed at each corner by a tendril. The massive, broad wings trailed away to either side, of one piece with the rest of the creature. And the tail—the long, spiny, razor sharp tail—trailed out behind it for what seemed like miles.

“Gods below,” breathed Janx. “There’s three of ‘em. I didn’t even know there were three of ‘em near Hissig.”

Indeed, sweeping in from the south, two more rays slowly glided out over the city, their shadows devouring entire blocks. They were things that should not exist, much less fly, and yet there they were, their bodies spanning dimensions (so it was said) as they arced across the sky and blurring the air around them.

It was not thunder Avery had heard, but the sound of their wings, slowly fanning up, then down. As he watched, the sound came again, battering the air around him, shaking the leaves of the plants in the garden. Upon each ray’s broad back would be an assortment of crack troops, as well as snipers, commanders, and, most deadly of all, the psychics who controlled the creatures. The psychics could use the rays to amplify their abilities, like a man shouting through a bullhorn, and they could wield those magnified abilities to sow terror into the hearts of an enemy host, to confuse and disorient them and make it easier for Ghenisan soldiers to prevail. But if used against an individual ... if three were used against an individual ...

Avery frowned. He peered down at Layanna.

“We have to go,” he said, raising his voice over the sound of false thunder.

Reluctantly, still transfixed by the rays, the others gave him their attention.

He patted Layanna’s hand. “Our charge here will give off a powerful extradimensional signature. Hildra and I overheard Gaescruhd say as much at Claver’s. The psychics should be able to detect her easily when they get close enough. That’s probably what they’re trying to do.”

“We’d better set off, then,” Janx agreed. “I’ve got the cash, Doc’s got the girl. Anybody got a plan?”

“We need to get out of the city,” Avery said. “As soon as possible.”

The monkey chittered. Hildra bent down and it clambered onto her shoulder. “We really gonna take her into the mountains?”

“You wanna crap out, that’s your business,” Janx said. “But I don’t think any of us can afford to stay here. The mountains are our best bet out.”

“He’s right,” Avery said. “They won’t expect us to go there.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Hildra said.

“It’s where Layanna needs to go.”

* * *

They descended from the heights, quickly and quietly. Janx and Muirblaag left to fetch some basic supplies while Hildra stole a vehicle for them. It was a rusty pickup, mustard yellow paint flaking off it. When Janx and Muirblaag returned, the band piled in, Avery and Layanna and Muirblaag in back. The morning sun caressed their skins and coaxed little beads of sweat from them.

As they lurched off into the streets, Janx driving, Avery remembered to take his daily pollution pill. He’d thought to bring enough for himself and the others, but he only had a supply for another few days. By then he hoped to be far enough away from the sea that it wouldn’t matter.

“Wow,” said Muirblaag.

They’d reached a high place, and he was facing back, toward the city, which was now unobstructed by buildings or smaller peaks. Avery, who’d been drowsing, opened his eyes and felt a touch of awe.

Silently, in sync with each other, the three massive rays glided through the sky over Hissig, morning sun beating down on their charcoal flesh, on their huge broad wings, on their long, trailing, barb-tipped tails. They swept over towers and domes, parks and apartments, searching, searching. The air crackled and shifted around them. Avery’s eyes hurt, but it was hard to look away.

“They think we’ve gone to ground somewhere in the city,” Avery said. “That should buy us some time.”

Muirblaag regarded him levelly. “We’re really going into the Borghese?”

“It’s what she wants.” Avery nodded to Layanna, who slept fitfully, at times stirring or rolling her eyes. Hopefully that meant she would wake soon. “Is that a problem for you?”

The fish-man looked wary. “You know what I am. You’ve guessed.”

Avery nodded. When he’d first seen Muirblaag, he’d noticed the mutant’s unusual degree of symmetry and wholeness. Most mutants were either cobbled together variations, or ostensibly human with deformities. Muirblaag looked like a complete specimen of some unknown species.

“You’re ngvandi,” Avery said. The word meant feral in L’ohen. It was also translated in Ghenisan as monster or barbarian.

Muirblaag turned his head to stare at the looming peaks. “The Borghese are my home.” Bleakly, he added, “I left them for a reason.”

Avery understood. Long ago when the Atomic Sea had widened to encompass the coasts of Urslin, it had spread infection among the countries there, among peoples who had not been prepared for it. Millions had died or been mutated. The rest fled the coasts, and for the three hundred years of the Withdrawal they stayed away, abandoning the cities along the shore to the infected. At last scientists and alchemists devised means of counteracting the poisons, and people returned—the Resettling—only to find mutants occupying the cities.

The infected had thrived there, in a bloody and savage chaos, worshipping strange gods of the sea and practicing human sacrifice. They refused to relinquish control to the new settlers, and a series of wars began—street to street, house to house—until eventually the mutants that did not surrender were killed or driven off. In Ghenisa, the mutants found sanctuary in the vast and rugged Borghese Mountains, where they lived to this day, the stuff of myth and nightmare, known as the ngvandi.

“It’s the last place I want to go,” Muirblaag said.

“Are you full-blooded?”

“No. They got my mother in a raid on a goat ranch, but most ngvandi half-breeds take after their fishy side. Shit, I can’t believe I’m actually going back.”

“It won’t be for long,” Avery promised. “We’ll just deliver Layanna to her friends and be on our way. We’ll have to relocate afterwards, of course, find new identities, but in the chaos of the war, and with your sort of contacts, it should be achievable.”

“You really think it’ll be that simple?”

Avery’s gaze wandered to Layanna. Please be the right thing to do. He knew that without his leadership and commitment to making them keep their vows, the others would likely quit.

“Sure,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“And you think she can really do what she says—end the war?”

“If she can truly build this Device of hers and disrupt Octung’s weapons, then yes. We just need to bring her to her friends and they can go on from there by themselves.”

“But why would her friends be in the Borghese? Trust me, I’m from there, and there’s nothin’ good that way.”

“It will work,” Avery assured him.

Carried on the wind, the false thunder of the rays’ wings reached Avery’s ears, and he felt hounded and out of his depth.

“I need a drink,” he said, half under his breath.

Muirblaag surprised him. “You mean, like this?” He revealed a flask he’d been hiding, twisted the cap off, and offered it.

Avery hesitated. Long years of conditioning had instilled in him a fear of contact with infected people. Science, however, had taught him that the disease could only live outside of the body for a few moments.

He wiped the lip, counted to ten, and knocked back a sip.

He whistled.

Muirblaag laughed. “Strong shit, ain’t it?”

“I’ll say.” Coughing, Avery took another. The liquid burned his throat, but it was divine fire. He handed the flask back. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask. ‘Muirblaag’—is that your real name? It sounds ...”

“Bullshit?” Muirblaag laughed. “Yeah, it’s a stage name.” The fish-man swigged deeply of the flask, grimacing. “Naw, the bastards that raised me called me Czan. When I broke out and took Mom back to Hissig—she was old and diseased by then and wanted to die at home—I asked her what she’d wanted to name me. She said Frank. I guess that’s my name. But shit, Doc, I’ve been Mu now too long to be anything else. It fits. It’s a self-invented name for a self-invented man. Muirblaag the Monster.” He raised his flask to the sun, a toast. “World, watch out.” And he drank.

* * *

The roads ended. Mountainous frontier beckoned.

“From here on out it gets rocky,” Janx said as they left the truck behind. “’least our leg muscles’ll get a working.”

“Great,” said Byron. Avery had found some alchemical pills in a first aid kit and administered a couple to Byron; they would aid his recovery given time, but for now he was uncertain on his feet. With Avery and Hildra taking turns helping him, the group set out. Janx and Muirblaag had procured some rudimentary camping and climbing supplies along with the rest, but they weren’t much, and no one besides Avery had any experience hiking anyway.

It was late afternoon the day after they’d stolen the truck. They’d wound through mountain roads that grew increasingly primitive, and fortified frontier settlements perched among the rocks and pines periodically. The people that lived up here had to hold out against ngvandi, and they tended to be strange, stand-offish and insular.

The air was colder here, and thin; Avery felt winded quickly. He scanned the forest around him, alert for ngvandi, and it almost amused him that he was more worried about mutant savages than Octunggen. Octunggen soldiers would be here, too, navigating through the peaks, the ngvandi and the frontier families. They would be in small, dirigible-mounted raiding parties but no less dangerous for that. Octung itself was not overly large and yet it had subdued two entire continents and was not done yet.

The band passed ruined fortresses overgrown with trees, vines and vegetation. Stone walls piled in moss-covered heaps. Arches sagged and ruptured. Leafy canopies of live oaks and pines thrust through the spaces where ceilings of great halls had given way. Other trees grew from rearing bulwarks of stone, their roots penetrating soil-filled cracks. Avery saw a batkin of unusual size crouching on a broken tower, gnawing something with noisy rips and tears.

“Amazing,” he muttered. “We’re passing through history.”

“Fuck history,” Byron said.

“You should show more interest. I’m something of a student of the past—L’ohen’s, especially, and our own. Ghenisa was forged right here, you know. How many men and women died to win our freedom from the Ysstrals? The War of the Severance lasted for centuries.”

“They didn’t die for freedom,” Janx said. “The revvies died for that fifty years ago.”

“So what did they die for?”

“Independence.”

Avery nodded judiciously. “So they did.”

“Whatever,” said Byron. “What does it matter what a bunch of old dead people died for? They’re not even bones anymore.”

Hildra glanced up at the trees, at the light shining down, and she wore a strange smile. Even her monkey seemed subdued and respectful. “I think it’s romantic,” she said. “All those princes, all those counts and dukes, building hundreds of fortresses, warring against each other over great canyons and high peaks, princesses getting kidnapped, princes becoming heroes. My favorite tale is the one about Prince Cort and Princess Syra.”

Avery smiled. “I was just reading one account of their adventures before I left. Sadly, I was forced to abandon my books.”

“It’s a great story.”

“One of my wife’s favorites, too. Of course, there are so many different versions of the tale, it’s hard to know what really happened. Some scholars don’t even think Prince Cort and Princess Syra existed at all.”

“Oh, they did.” Hildra sounded certain. “I know it. They say the war never would have ended without them.”

“That is the legend,” Avery agreed.

“Well, I don’t like the legends,” Muirblaag said. In his arms he held the sleeping Layanna. “They all make my folk out to be savages. Mindless killers.”

Hildra looked at him apologetically, and they lapsed into silence.

They walked throughout the day and into the night, shining flashlights before them when needed. Janx had bought several. At last Avery prevailed upon them to quit using the lights for fear of alerting enemies to their presence, and they found the ruin of what looked like an old mill that moldered beside a trickling stream, lichen and moss covering its sides. Huge batkin roosted within and had to be forcefully evicted. As Avery and the band settled in, the batkin wheeled through the sky overhead, chittering angrily.

“Won’t they ever shut up?” Byron said as he shook out a blanket. The air stank of bat offal and musk.

“They’ll move on,” Janx said. “Best post a watch. Don’t want anyone sneakin’ up on us.”

“I’ll take first watch,” Avery said. Staring up at the huge bat-like creatures that swarmed against the stars, he added, “I doubt I’ll sleep anyway.”

They didn’t retire immediately, though. For a long time the band sat together over a fire that Avery tried to convince them not to light, telling stories of their lost mates, Jaimesyn and Holdren. Then, to Avery’s considerable surprise, and after generous amounts of the cheap liquor they had brought along, Muirblaag revealed some inking equipment. The others seemed to have expected it, and at their request he tattooed stylized versions of Jaimesyn’s and Holdren’s names into their arms, backs or chests. With blood still weeping down his arm, Janx returned the favor for Muirblaag, who grimaced and drank.

Studying their tattoos, Avery noticed other names mixed in among the pictures of dragons, hellspawn and sea nymphs. In those names he saw a reflection of a shadowy network of friends, allies and accomplices, some dead, some possibly still living, some likely in prison, stretching across years and geography, their friendships forged in blood and danger and lawlessness. For a moment, despite himself, Avery felt jealous. He could only sit and watch as they grieved, as they bonded. Layanna, still unconscious, lay in her blankets.

Avery wrestled with himself. At last he cleared his throat. When the others looked to him, he rolled up his left sleeve.

“They died because of me,” he said. “I would be honored to bear their names.”

The others glanced at each other, apparently uncomfortable. Maybe by being marked with their friends’ names he would become one of them, and they did not want to open their group up—not to him, not tonight, even if he was the person they had sworn to follow. Come on, he thought. He needed this. It frightened him how much he needed this. Mari and Ani were long gone. Sheridan was a traitor. He had no one, not one person in this world. He didn’t even have a home, or a bed to curl up in.

Finally Janx nodded his huge head and came to sit beside him. Lifting his needle, he said, “You ever had a tat before?”

“No,” Avery admitted.

“This’ll hurt.”

“I’m ready.”

Hildra and Muirblaag came forward. Hildebrand chattered loudly.

“It’ll hurt less with this,” Hildra said, and shoved a bottle into Avery’s hands. He drank. Muirblaag clapped him on the back, and he coughed.

“You ready?” Janx said.

Avery sucked in a breath and nodded.

Janx hadn’t lied. It hurt like hell.

* * *

His arm itching, Avery traipsed through the forest the next day, right behind Muirblaag. Between them they carried Layanna on a makeshift stretcher. Avery’s arm burned, but he held on tight. Sometimes Layanna slept, sometimes not. Avery would catch her staring up at him, or the sky overhead, and he felt oddly self-conscious. He felt closer to the others than he had before, and it may have been his imagination, but he thought they acted more openly around him, too.

Toward afternoon, Layanna climbed out of the stretcher and walked a ways by herself, limping along with the help of a wooden stick Muirblaag carved for her. She could only walk for a short period before she needed the stretcher again, but in another hour she was once more afoot. The periods of walking grew longer and the periods of resting shorter. Avery was amazed again at her recuperative abilities. He reflected that nothing about her should shock him after seeing her turn into an amoeba monster. He still remembered the screams of the soldiers dying in her stinging tentacles or engulfed in her otherworldly acids.

That night the band came across the ruins of a small village that crept up a mountainside. Stone houses jutted like crumbling teeth through undergrowth, and large spiders wove webs between half-collapsed walls. After burning out the spiders, the band made camp for the evening. The mountain winds blew very chill that night, and Avery only protested a little as Janx and Hildra made a fire in the shelter of a wall. Layanna was placed near it and fed with the meager foodstuffs they possessed. She tore into the jerky and gulped water like a fish.

Avery smiled. “You have a healthy appetite.”

Smacking her lips, Layanna glanced up at them. “What I need now is something from the sea.” She’d spoken in Octunggen and Avery had to translate for the others.

Hildra smirked. “The only thing fishy we have is Mu.” She slapped him on the shoulder. “Eat him with my blessing.”

Layanna’s gaze moved to Muirblaag as if sizing him up, and the fish-man shifted uncomfortably.

“Hildra was joking,” he said.

“Good for you,” Layanna said in her thickly-accented Ghenisan.

The others chuckled nervously.

“Why don’t we get some shut-eye?” Janx suggested. “We’ve gotta go down into the valley tomorrow, or find a way across to the next mountain. We need our sleep.”

“Fuck that,” said Byron. He was staring at Layanna. “It’s been long enough. She’s awake now and I want answers. For starters, what the hell is a Collossum, honey?”

“I don’t think that now is the time,” Avery said.

“Not human,” said Layanna, surprising him.

The others leaned forward. “Where are you from, sunshine?” Hildra asked.

“Not here.”

“Did the Octunggen make you in some lab?”

“No,” Layanna said. “I say further nothing about that.”

She doesn’t trust us with the truth, Avery realized. The thought that she couldn’t even tell them what she was, after all they’d been through already, disturbed him more than he wanted to admit.

She yawned, and Avery said, “I think that’s it for tonight. Let her rest.”

“No,” Byron pressed. “One more thing. She hasn’t even told us where we’re going. Some presence, she said. Well, what presence?”

The others murmured agreement, and Layanna returned their gazes quietly. She seemed about to say something, then hesitated. At last she yawned again and said, “I am tired much.”

She closed her eyes and stretched out, and the others stared at each other. Avery shivered in a sudden mountain wind.

“She won’t even tell us where we’re going,” Byron said. “Not what she is, not where we’re going. Gods damn, but I don’t like this.”

* * *

They began seeing rays.

At first it was simply one, far off, a black wedge against the sky drifting over the mountains. A few days later, they spotted a second. They were far apart, miles and miles to either side of the band. After a week, three rays cut the sky. They circled closer, then closer.

Pressing on, the group crossed the shoulder of one mountain to another. They ascended through a pass, then picked their way down into a tangled, dark valley, littered with recent bones and ruins. The smell of rot was thick on the air. The trek up the next mountain was arduous, and as they climbed toward its summit cold winds howled around them, sometimes pocked with snow. Winter began to set in with a vengeance, worse with the elevation. Snow-covered fortresses hunkered from cliff sides, austere and beautiful. Avery huddled in his coat.

He showed the others how to camp and find trails. They were city-bred, unused to nature, but his father had taken him camping often growing up. Avery remembered the long nights of listening to the creatures of the forest outside his tent as his father told him a story. Avery’s memories stirred as they went deeper into the mountains.

He tended to Layanna often. Her wound had become infected, and he cleaned and dressed it with care. She would have been at risk for severe fever, even death, but after feeding her extra-planar facets in Hissig her uncanny recuperative abilities were able to help her, along with Avery’s attentions. His small medical supply dwindled, and he tried to use it sparingly. As they pushed even deeper into the mountains, and Layanna grew better, she guided them; she said she could sense where to go. On previous hikes, Avery had stuck to the foothills, to the relatively safe frontier, the areas where ngvandi typically did not go, but now he might as well have been on a different planet. He could no longer see Hissig save the lights of the city reflected off clouds to the east, and that only at night.

They pressed deeper, and deeper. Mountains piled up around them.

The rays followed.

THE END of Volume One

* * *

The Atomic Sea series continues with Part Two, now available from:

http://jackconnerbooks.com/books/the-atomic-sea-part-two/

* * *

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About the Author

Amazon bestselling author Jack Conner lives in Austin, Texas, a city of sunshine, live music and great Mexican food. He’s been reading and writing all his life, always gravitating toward the fantastic. Inspired by the great fantasy writers, from Howard to Tolkien to Martin, he writes stories of constant tension, unrestrained longing, looming darkness and danger.

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Rebel’s Honor

Book One In The Crown Of Blood Series

Gwynn White

Published by 4xOverland LTD

England
www.4xoverland.com

Publishing enquiries: gwynn@4xoverland.com

First published in 2015

This book is the intellectual property of the copyright owners. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, including duplication, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Copyright © 2015 Gwynn White

All rights reserved.

Created with Vellum

About the Book

Rebel’s Honor

A marriage she didn’t want. A prophecy that could change the world.

Lynx of Norin is a proud warrior who always does what’s right for her people. When an ancient treaty and a thousand superhuman guards force her to leave her land for an arranged marriage, she knows it’s her duty. Lynx begrudgingly travels to wed her sworn enemy, the supernaturally powerful Lukan Avanov.

Lukan grows to love his bride-to-be, but he wasn’t prepared for a second mysterious visitor to ruin his plans. A curse that has been prophesied for ages may come true on Lukan’s watch, and it could bring down his entire family.

As Lynx seeks to destroy the Avanovs from the inside, Lukan fights to keep his empire from falling apart. Lives and civilization are on the line. Who will come out on top and who will fall to the deadly curse?

Rebel’s Honor is an epic steampunk fantasy set in a world where anything is possible. If you like page-turning action, captivating stories, and vivid steampunk imagery, then you’ll love this story.

Join the fight for freedom today!

1

A dozen white eggs gleamed in the weak autumn sunshine, unguarded, as Lynx crouched in the tawny grass. It wouldn’t be long before an angry parent returned to defend the precious hoard. She pulled out a machete—one of two stored in sheaths strapped across her back—and held it ready in case the bird attacked.

Only the bravest of the brave stole from a breeding ostrich.

Her younger brother, Clay, squatted next to her. His blue eyes, so like her own, glistened with excitement for this egg raid, his once-in-a-lifetime rite-of-passage into the Norin tribe.

Spotted!

Lynx brushed Clay’s arm, clad in a worn leather tunic similar to hers, and nodded toward a male ostrich striding toward them. More dangerous than females, ostrich cocks increased the risk of death or injury, making the prize so much more valuable.

Black wings flapping, the ostrich bayed a warning, a thrilling roar that always reminded Lynx of the distant call of hunting lions. It was appropriate. An angry ostrich was every bit as vicious as any lion. She had seen friends disemboweled by ostrich kicks.

Sweat beaded Clay’s face and his fist clenched around his machete whitened.

Lynx tried but failed to ignore the shimmy of doubt rippling through her. She liked to believe her bravery was tempered by intelligence—most of the time, at least—but people in the rest of the empire would call her and Clay insane for what they were planning.

They’d be right.

The next few minutes would decide the course of her little brother’s life. And destroy hers, too, if anything went wrong.

At just fifteen, if Clay returned home today with an egg, he would pass into adulthood. With that, he’d earn the right to braid ostrich feathers and beads made from the eggshell in his hair. Best of all, he’d join Lynx in the raiders. Revered above all in Norin, raiders rode on the outskirts of the caravan, defending their people and their flock of ostriches from attack by their superhuman Chenayan masters.

But if Clay failed—and survived the encounter—he would be nothing more than a server, performing the menial tasks needed to keep the Norin caravan moving across their vassal country.

Her brother had accepted the risk. Lynx had one last chance to ensure he was truly committed. She leaned closer and stared at him.

“You don’t have to do this. You’re not yet sixteen. I won’t judge you if you say you’re not ready.”

Clay scowled at her. “I’ve been ready for months. Only he stopped me.”

He: their father, King Thorn, leader of the Norin.

Lynx understood her brother’s resentment; she had been only thirteen when she sneaked off to raid her egg. At the time, if anyone had known she planned to raid, she would have been chained to a post to stop her risking her life. But, as silent as an owl’s wing, she had slipped away from camp to face her ostrich. Now, at twenty, her father was training her to take over leadership of the raiders when he died and her oldest brother became king.

Who was she to deprive Clay of his chance to raid?

She squeezed his leg, encased in black leather trousers. “Then let’s focus on that ostrich. It’s not going to hand you its egg, you know.”

A smile quirked Clay’s lips, filling Lynx with pleasure.

The ostrich gave them the full treatment, trying to lure them away from the nest with a display of piteous limping. His one wing drooped at his side, skimming the dusty ground as he lumbered away from them. The invitation was clear: I’m wounded, easy prey. Come and get me rather than my eggs.

But Lynx understood ostriches too well to be conned. The bird would stagger away, leading them on if they fell for the trick. Then, a safe distance from the clutch, he would rear up, slashing out his lethal talons. Surviving the attack would tax Clay’s fighting skills.

Clay leaned forward, ready to sprint to the nest.

Lynx gripped his thigh, whispering, “Not yet. Remember, an ostrich can outrun you. Let it move farther away, or it will be on you in seconds.”

Clay swallowed hard and then brushed away the sweat dripping in his eyes. “Don’t forget your promise, Lynx.”

“I won’t. Today is all about you. Live, die—I won’t interfere.”

The ostrich hobbled as far away as she’d anticipated. Soon, it would guess its mock dance had failed, and it would bound toward them to attack.

“Go! May the Winds be with you.” Lynx pushed Clay as he darted to his feet. When he sprinted forward, Lynx stood, too. Although bound by both her promise and Norin law not to interfere, she pulled her second machete from its sheath.

Speed was everything. Lynx had drummed into Clay that he must forget the ostrich, grab an egg, and secure it in his satchel before the bird reached him. Then his hands—and his mind—would be free for the fight of his life.

As she expected, the ostrich stopped. Its limping play forgotten, it spun to peer at Clay through sharp, beady eyes. Then it pulled itself up to its full height—nine majestic feet of muscle, bone, and feathers—and let out a booming cry. Wings like giant shields, it sprinted toward Clay, kicking up great clouds of dust behind it.

Lynx’s heart sank as Clay looked back at it. Clay, no! Run!

Clay’s eyes widened, and his pace slowed. His foot caught in an uneven patch of ground, and he stumbled. By the time he found his feet, the bird was bearing down on him, beating at him with its powerful wings.

Winds, please help him, Lynx pleaded. She tightened her grip on her weapons, her body rigid with tension. She didn’t need the Winds to whisper that Clay’s only hope was to forget the eggs and tackle the ostrich.

Contrary to Norin wisdom, Clay stood in front of the bird. She guessed in his panic, he forgot his training. She longed to scream to him to get beside the ostrich, out of reach of its legs, and to go for its head.

Instead, she bit her lip until it bled. The other Norin might not know they were raiding today, but she, Clay, and the Winds did. Neither of them would cheat.

She expected to see fear in Clay’s eyes, but determination blazed on his face, and his machete remained rock steady in his hands. Then, as graceful as a dancer, he veered to the side, avoiding a kicking leg, and darted behind the giant bird.

Lynx heart clenched; she understood his strange tactics.

He had ignored her sensible training, learning instead from the stories she had told him about her egg raid. This was how she had defeated her ostrich, attacking it from behind as a lion would. It was the most dangerous thing Clay could do. Her brother was making a point today that he was man enough to win against the toughest odds.

With a screech, Clay leaped up onto the ostrich’s back. The ostrich whipped its beak around, jabbing and tearing at Clay hanging off its tail feather. Clay slipped, and again, Lynx longed to scream advice, but it wasn’t necessary. Blood streaming from his face and arms, Clay stabbed his blade into the ostrich’s shoulder. The machete lodged deep into the muscle.

Eyes wild with rage, the ostrich rolled on the ground, taking Clay down with it. For a moment, all Lynx saw was her brother’s boot sticking out from under a mass of quivering feathers. Baying, the bird clambered back to its feet. Still hanging onto the machete, Clay used the blade as an anchor and heaved himself up until he mounted the ostrich like a horse.

A joyous smile spread across Lynx’s face as Clay wrenched the machete free and swung it hard at the bird’s neck.

With a sickening rasp, the blade severed skin and muscle. Beak gaping and eyes wide with surprise, the head tumbled as a spray of blood arched through the air. One of the ostrich’s legs collapsed, and the dying bird fell on its side, trapping Clay beneath its bulk.

Lynx held her breath.

Nothing moved but the swirling dust and the ostrich’s blood seeping into the sand.

The bird’s wing shuddered, then stopped.

Get up, Clay, Lynx pleaded, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. It’s not over yet.

Clay heaved the massive bird aside, emerging blood-soaked and shaking. Although his grimace betrayed his pain, he gave the air a victory punch.

Lynx wanted to yell and leap with relief and pride, but Clay had yet to bring her an egg. Hand pressed against a wound slashed open on his thigh, Clay hobbled to the eggs.

A clatter of hooves came from behind.

Lynx spun. A horse and rider streaked toward them. She wanted to shout a warning, but that would constitute interference. So, unable to breathe, she prayed the rider would swerve in time.

Clay had also seen the horse. He screamed, waving his arms, and pointed at the nest. The rider seemed not to hear—or to care—because she aimed for the clutch.

Lynx knew who she was. Only one Norin girl wore a veil as a fashion statement: their sister, Kestrel. Lynx suspected it was designed to hide the lack of feathers and beads in her blond hair. Unlike the rest of their family, Kestrel had never been brave enough to raid an egg, settling instead for a life as a server. She wore her ostrich-skin apron, the servers’ badge of honor, begrudgingly.

Swearing, Clay broke into a run, but before he could reach the clutch, the horse cantered to the nest. Kestrel wheeled the horse around and then pranced it over the eggs. Its hooves cracked every shell. Without a perfect egg, Clay had failed. He would never be given another chance to raid. Keening, he fell to his knees, burying his head in his hands.

Lynx sheathed her machetes, dove forward, and grabbed the horse’s harness. “Kestrel, by all the Winds! What’s the matter with you? Couldn’t you see the dead ostrich? Didn’t you see Clay going for the clutch?”

“You know I don’t care about wind or ostrich eggs!” Kestrel yelled as her horse reared.

Lynx tumbled to the ground. Kestrel rewarded her with a contemptuous flick of her veils.

Screaming at the top of his lungs, Clay snatched up his bloodied machete and raced toward his sister and her prancing horse. “I’ll kill you, Kestrel!”

Kestrel shrieked and spurred her horse, sending it shooting forward. Safely out of reach, she called out, “Lynx, maybe I didn’t want my little brother copying you. Not every member of this family has to be a raider, you know.”

“I never said they did!” Lynx screamed, scrambling to her feet. “But those wanting to should get a fair chance. Just like no one stopped you choosing not to raid.”

“A fair chance? Try not raiding and see how it feels! Everyone treats me like dirt because I chose not to have feathers and beads in my hair!”

“That’s in your head. And even if it were true, it’s not Clay’s fault. Why punish him?” Lynx shouted straight back at her sister.

Kestrel scorned the code of honor, bravery, and fealty to the Norin king that set their tribe apart from the rest of the Chenayan empire. Her sister believed they should embrace Chenayan culture, not something any Norin in their right mind would ever consider doing. And as for Lynx, street sweeper or emperor, she despised all Chenayans equally.

“Oh, what does it matter?” Kestrel asked. “Father sent me to find you both. Lynx, you’re to come home, now. The imperial steam carriage brought a letter from the emperor.”

The blood drained from Lynx’s face, and she sucked in a panicked breath.

“Yes, that letter,” Kestrel yelled over her shoulder as her horse bolted away. “You’re to marry Prince Lukan! I hope you enjoy becoming a Chenayan!”

2

Lynx watched her sister until the horse veered around a craggy butte and vanished from view. But no matter how long Lynx stood staring after her, Kestrel’s words refused to connect in her mind.

How was it possible she had been chosen to marry Lukan? Kestrel was, by far, the better candidate to marry the crown prince. Her sister would have known that, too. Lynx guessed Kestrel had secretly anticipated the marriage—looked forward to it, even.

As for Lynx, the idea of marrying Lukan made her skin crawl. He was a Chenayan. She, a Norin. He was her conqueror. She, his conquered. He had been born and raised to lord over her. She had been born and raised to hate him. They might as well have been different species.

There was no winning here.

But fighting the summons was impossible. Emperor Mott, Lukan’s father, was too powerful to be denied. Emperor Mott and his Chenayan empire ruled two-thirds of the world, and no one could do a damn thing about it. He even had the Unity behind him, the ancient marriage treaty between their two nations, which stipulated that a Norin princess would marry the Chenayan crown prince. The marriage was unavoidable.

Still, the chances of her father sharing the letter’s content with Kestrel first, if Lynx had been the one chosen, were nil. It was possible her sister had been mistaken. Or had lied. Lynx wouldn’t put it past Kestrel.

Sighing, Lynx reached for the satchel hanging from her shoulder, containing her medical supplies. Then, a thought struck. She frowned, considering the idea from all angles.

Risky and manipulative, it would make her as unpopular with her family as Kestrel was right now. But it was too good an opportunity to pass up. If she had to marry Lukan, then she could use that marriage to manipulate her father into agreeing to let Clay raid again.

She grimaced. If her trade-off worked, she would be honor-bound to marry Lukan. To sleep with him. To bear his children. Could she? Her hand found her braided hair and feathers. She twirled them, deep in thought.

Marriage to Lukan would bring the title of Chenayan crown princess, followed by empress when Lukan came to power. He would expect her to relinquish her loyalty to Norin—and to her king, to whom she’d sworn fealty.

Lynx’s stomach contracted at the very notion, sending shafts of pain and nausea through her. The day she had come home with an egg, she had gone on bended knee, swearing fealty to her father, King Thorn. The wind, which had moaned softly around her as she knelt, picked up as she had uttered her oath. Without doubt, the Winds had delivered her pledge to the skies.

Since then, she had walked a tight line between defying her father and obeying her king. Now, thanks to Kestrel, she was trapped between filial responsibility and her oath of allegiance. It would take some careful crafting to traverse this potential snake pit. For a Norin, breaking an oath was a grievous sin, equal to murder, with a punishment equally harsh. At worst, the oathbreaker could be condemned to death, if the person wronged chose to inflict the ultimate penalty. At best, every Norin would know of the perfidy and would shun the culprit. In Lynx’s mind, death would be better than banishment from her home and the people she loved.

Clay’s voice broke into thoughts. “I’ll never wear the feathers and beads now.” He slumped in the dust next to the dead ostrich and the broken eggs, his head resting on his knees.

Lynx swallowed hard. With his infectious laughter and determined bravery, Clay was one of the most important people in her world.

Mindful of his wounds, she knelt down and gently embraced him. “It’s okay. The Winds will bring us a plan.”

“And if they don’t? I’ll be a server for the rest of my life . . . picking up ostrich dung for the fires.”

“Not if I have anything to do with it. I’ll—” She bit her tongue; it was premature to share her nascent plan with him. “I’ll plead with Father for you.”

Clay lifted his head to look at her, his eyes wrought with pain and sorrow. “I don’t know, Lynx . . . he’ll be furious that I raided without permission.”

“Leave him to me. I give you my oath that I’ll do my best to fix this.” She sucked in a breath. There was no going back now.

The muscles in Clay’s face relaxed, and she knew she’d said the right thing, even if it trapped her into a marriage with Lukan. There’s no guarantee Kestrel was right about me marrying him, she reminded herself.

Lynx cracked a wry smile as she reached for her antiseptic tincture. “Now, come, let me patch you up. Father will be less mad if he doesn’t know how badly that ostrich tore you up.”

Clay sniggered. “It’s going to sting, isn’t it?”

“About as bad as sticking your head in a bee hive.”

“Great.” Clay winced as she gently rubbed the gash on his thigh with the clove-scented ointment.

The larger of the planet’s twin moons nudged the sky by the time Lynx had finished dressing Clay’s wounds.

“Wait here. I’ll get your horse,” Lynx said as he creaked to his feet. She trotted through the tuffet grass to the thorn tree where they had tethered their horses. Holding both bridles, she walked back to him.

Only when he was seated did she mount her own horse. They rode across the arid terrain, picking their way through clumps of dry grass and scrub as they headed back to the Norin encampment.

Lynx twirled her braid and feathers. Her mind was on her upcoming negotiations with her father. She caught Clay watching her.

“Did I hear the bitch correctly?” Clay asked. “Are you to marry Lukan?”

“Apparently so.”

Clay grunted. “You don’t sound convinced.”

“The Unity says a daughter of the Norin king will marry the Chenayan crown prince, not the eldest daughter. We all know Kestrel’s the better candidate. Mad as he is, Mott would be an idiot to choose me.”

Clay snorted a laugh. “Unless he likes the idea of you knocking Lukan’s teeth out.” He shot her a sideways look. “If what you told us about your meeting with Lukan is true, that’s how your marriage will go.”

“Oh, it was true all right. Father will vouch for me.” She grimaced at the memory of her first and only meeting with Crown Prince Lukan Avanov and his father.

That summer, she and her father had been summoned, along with the other leaders of Chenaya’s vassal states, to attend a meeting in the Chenayan capital, Cian. All started off well enough. Lynx had enjoyed her first train journey, a seven-day trip on the public steam train that dissected the empire. Matters had gone downhill quickly when she arrived at the palace.

To the blaring of trumpets, Mott had appeared, accompanied by Crown Prince Lukan and his brother, Prince Tao. Lynx had studied Lukan as he took his seat on the dais below his father’s throne. She grudgingly admitted he was good-looking, if one liked angular faces with blunt chins.

Lukan had noticed her scrutiny. His dark eyes had swept over her body, clad in her leather tunic, leather trousers, and boots, as if she were a wench serving beer in some low-rent tavern. A wench he could tumble for a handful of coins. His lust was so obvious, the other leaders in the hall had turned to stare at her. A few of them had even laughed.

The humiliation still made her cheeks burn.

Not only was she a Norin princess, her blood every bit as royal as his, she was also a warrior. The men she led and fought beside would never dream of looking at her with such disrespect. She had loathed Lukan ever since.

Only her father’s steadying hand had stopped her from marching up the dais to hit Lukan. Her father had dragged her from the hall before Mott even started his speech.

She knew the emperor was furious at their defiance. Both she and her father came away from the meeting convinced that Mott would never choose her to be a future empress. From that moment, Lynx had thought the whole encounter a roaring success.

Seems she was wrong.

“The whole idea of a Norin marrying a Chenayan is sick,” Clay said, spitting out the words like poison. “They’re our enemies and will be until we kick them out of Norin.”

“While I share your sentiment, I’m not holding my breath that we will be kicking them out anytime soon.”

Clay turned fiery eyes on her. “How can you say that? You, of all people?”

Four hundred years of Chenayan domination had made her cynical. Give Clay a year or two, and he would end up feeling the same way, too.

“Nothing would give me greater joy than to be free of our masters, but we have to be realistic. Even at our most ferocious, our rebellions against them are no more effective than ticks biting an elephant.” Lynx straightened her back and set her face in a hard line. “Still, we can’t stop fighting. To do so would be to lose . . . forever.”

They reached the signal fires protecting the outer ring of the Norin tents.

“Who goes there?” a voice called.

Lynx nodded with satisfaction; at least five crossbow quarrels were aimed at them in the darkness. “Heron, it’s me, with Clay.”

Heron stepped out of the shadows, crossbow hanging at his side. He strode toward their horses, his long, braided hair swinging as he walked. “You’re late, Lynx. I hate it when you’re out at night without another raider.”

Lynx sensed Clay bristling next to her.

“Clay’s with me, so I had all the help I needed,” Lynx said, loud enough for the raiders patrolling close-by to hear.

Clay grunted, but she could see from the way his shoulders straightened that he appreciated her effort.

They intercepted Heron at the edge of the tents. Blue eyes fixed on her, he brushed his hand along her leg.

“There was a letter from Mott today,” Lynx said.

“I heard.” Heron’s voice sounded strangled.

She squeezed his hand. “There’s a dead ostrich at Pinion Point. Please send out some servers and raiders to bring it in.” The bird would be butchered and preserved for Norin cooking pots. She looked over at Clay. “I need to get him home. And my father and I have to talk.”

Heron’s eyes flickered to Clay expectantly. “An egg?”

Clay shook his head.

A mix of sorrow and sympathy flitted across Heron’s face, and he stood aside to let them pass.

Lynx was about to knee her horse forward. A scream cut the air, and galloping hooves pounded nearer.

Hare, one of Lynx’s best friends, skidded past them, and wheeled her horse around. “The Chenayans are attacking! North gate. About fifteen guardsmen.”

3

Lynx stood in her stirrups and peered toward the northern gate. Above the steeple of Norin tents, smoke swirled in the air against livid flames. Something, probably a tent, exploded in a flurry of orange sparks. She swore.

“Clay, get home. Tell Father we’re safe and that I’ve joined the defense.” Heart pounding, she forced the façade of control expected of her as commander-in-training and turned to Heron. “How many raiders do you have here?”

“Six. With me, seven.”

“You come with me,” she said to Heron and then called to the rest of her troops. “The rest of you, hold this position. Do not let the bastards through if they attack here.”

Six raiders could do little to repel the Chenayans if they attacked this gate in numbers, but she had to appear confident.

Heron swept up behind her on her horse. He wrapped his arms around her waist—strong, protective arms she knew well. She started wheeling her horse around when she realized Clay was still there.

“I said go home. Now go.”

Clay fixed her with a hard stare. “If I were holding an egg, would you send me home?”

No, she wouldn’t. Damaged as he was, she would send him into battle to protect their people. But he hadn’t come home with an egg.

Another explosion rocked the sky.

“Clay, there isn’t time for this. Go.”

“No, Lynx. Please let me fight. Just this once.” Clay’s eyes were beseeching, his voice desperate.

It broke her heart, but Lynx shook her head. “You’re not a raider. Mother will kill me if anything happens to you.”

Heron snorted a laugh. “Happens to him? It’s a bit late for that, Lynxie. Judging by the bandages, the kid’s already in tatters.”

High-pitched screaming—a child’s voice—pulled Lynx’s attention back to the fighting.

“There’s no time to waste.” She shot Clay a beseeching look of her own. “Get killed, and I will never forgive you.”

Clay gave a wild whoop and kicked his horse into action.

Lynx led them at a full gallop around the outer ring of tents toward the fires. Amid the screams and shouting, steel clashed on steel. There were only two official entrances to the Norin campsite, both guarded. The rest of the raiders on duty would be circling the perimeter of the encampment. Once through the barricades and into the camp, the Chenayans would find little resistance until the off-duty raiders rallied. Even then, it would be a rout.

Imperial guardsmen were unlike ordinary Chenayan foot soldiers: they had an extra edge no training or weaponry could give; they moved faster than any Norin; they never seemed to tire; their crossbow quarrels never seemed to miss; and—even more frightening—Lynx was convinced they felt no fear.

Twenty feet from the battle, she pulled up her horse to assess the situation.

The guardsmen had broken through the line of raiders at the barricade. Despite being shot at, they systematically torched tents. Not everyone escaped the inferno, given the nauseating stench of charred flesh that hung in the air. Bodies of the dead and wounded, all Norin, lay trodden underfoot, making fighting treacherous.

Screaming battle cries, raiders armed with machetes and axes converged to meet the enemy. The guardsmen surged forward, their steps unnaturally quick and light, their short-handled battle axes flashing faster than any Norin could move. The first line of raiders fell to deadly strokes. Still, the raiders came.

It was only a matter of time, and they would be cut down, too.

She shook her head in despair and whispered to Heron and Clay, “Attacking them from the front is futile. We need to flank them.”

“We need more raiders,” Heron said.

Lynx was about to reply when, in the blink of an eye, the guardsman closest to her sliced through a young raider with a sword. The girl’s battle cry stilled as her severed body crumpled into the dust.

Hare. Bile bubbled into Lynx’s mouth. All she wanted was to join her voice to the battle cries and to rip the Chenayans to pieces with her machete. But a rash move like that would cost Lynx her life.

She gestured to Clay and Heron. “Dismount and bring your crossbows.”

Lynx, Clay, and Heron slipped away from the fires. She led them to a grove of trees and tussock grass opposite the fighting. Hiding from the light of the two moons, she hunkered down into the grass and lifted her crossbow. Heron and Clay lay on either side.

It was the perfect spot for sniper attacks. As long as the raiders in the camp kept the guardsmen pinned at the gate, they could pick the Chenayans off with poison-tipped quarrels. She had no compunction about shooting people in the back. Stealth and poison were the only way the Norin held their own against the Chenayans. Even in moonlight, the Chenayans, with their dark hair, bronze-colored skin, and mail armor, were easily distinguishable from the fair-haired Norin.

“How many murghi-tipped quarrels do you have?” she whispered to Heron.

“Five.”

Between them, she and Clay also had five. Not enough. She gritted her teeth. “Fire at will and then get out of here. The bastards will rush us as soon as they figure out where the attack is coming from.”

They let fly a barrage of quarrels. Their bolts hit with precision, born of years of training and cold-blooded hatred. Eye lined up to her crossbow sights, Lynx fired into the back of the guardsman who had killed Hare. It ripped through his armor and struck him in the shoulder. The air oomphed out of him, and he staggered forward, only to collapse on his knees. Seconds later, he tumbled to the ground.

Lynx marred her face with a harsh, ugly smile. Thanks to the murghi, the Norin poison, within minutes, he would be delirious and unable to move. Within days, a slow, agonizing death would claim him, befitting a man who dared slaughter her friend.

By the time the Chenayans figured where the quarrels were coming from, ten of their number lay dead or dying. En masse, the raiders at the gate swarmed the remaining five. Still, the Chenayan axes flailed, until finally, sheer weight of numbers brought them to their knees.

Lynx stood and raced to the camp. “Attend to our injured!”

She unsheathed a machete and made for Hare’s killer.

Heron grabbed her wrist. “Wait. He’s still conscious.”

“Then he will feel my machete,” she replied, voice like ice.

Heron let her go, and he and Clay fell into step with her. She nudged her boot under the guardsman’s shoulder and tossed the man over. His lips were already turning blue from the murghi, and his eyes were glassy. But that was not what held her attention. A pea-sized chunk of jasper, lodged in his nose next to his right eye, gleamed in the moonlight.

Ignoring his inane ramblings—the effect of the poison—she knelt and poked the tip of her machete under the stone.

He cried out in pain.

She ignored that, too.

With a grimace, she drove the tip of the blade deeper and deeper under the gem until it finally broke free in a spurt of blood. The guardsman groaned, and his body jerked. Before long, even those halting movements would cease as the poison tightened its grip. Then, for three or four days, he would linger in agony between death and despair as each of his organs shut down. Death, when it came, would be a mercy.

Lynx picked up the jasper and held it up to the moonlight. She breathed out a disappointed sigh.

“Nothing,” Heron said.

Clay looked on, his face contorted with morbid interest.

“Just a piece of rock.” Heron narrowed his eyes.

“I had to check.” Lynx tossed the bloody stone onto the guardsman’s chest. “Something gives these bastards their supernatural powers.” She stood, calling to the servers, who had now emerged and battled fires with water buckets. “As soon as that’s done, stake the Chenayans out in the desert. They will either die of murghi, or the vultures will get them.”

“Yes, Princess Lynx,” someone called.

Lynx knelt next to Hare. Tears of sorrow and anger spilled down her cheeks as she brushed Hare’s braids away from her face.

A hand landed on her shoulder, and she looked up into familiar blue eyes. King Thorn. Her breath caught.

“Father.” She stood. “We killed them all . . . but at what cost?”

“At what cost, indeed.”

She and her father stood side by side as raiders and servers scurried around them. The servers—Clay included—attended the Norin dead and injured while Heron led the raiders carrying the Chenayans out into the desert to die.

Lynx tucked her hand under her father’s arm. “Why? That’s what I want to know. They harry us, poach our ostriches, make life hell, but they’ve never done anything as suicidal as this.”

Her father raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Suicidal? Is that what you think?”

Lynx nodded. “Every Chenayan died tonight. What was the point? If they wanted to slaughter us, why only send fifteen men?”

A server ran up to her father and thumped his fist to his heart. “King Thorn, sir, we lost twenty-six people and have forty injured.”

Her father shook his head. “Thank you, Lizard.” He turned to Lynx. “As future Commander of the Norin raiders, what message do you think Mad Mott sent us tonight?”

From his tone, her father had some definite ideas. Sixty-six Norin dead or injured, with just fifteen Chenayan casualties. Despite the cool autumn evening, Lynx rubbed her arms against a sudden chill.

“I wish I knew,” she replied. “You tell me.”

“Tomorrow,” her father said, “after the funeral. We have much to talk about.” His blue eyes turned flinty. “Not least of all, Clay’s failed egg raid.”

Lynx’s stomach clenched at that disaster, sidelined by the battle. “You heard?”

“Kestrel told me.”

“Did she also say she destroyed Clay’s eggs?”

Her father ran a scarred hand across his face. “She did. I should have known the day could only get worse when she babbled that at me.” A sigh escaped his chest. “Find your brothers. We need to plan for tomorrow’s funeral.”

* * *

A sharp wind whipped around Lynx as she played a soft, melancholy tune on her fiddle in front of the unlit funeral pyre.

The Norin did not leave their corpses languishing. All night, servers had scoured the plains for scarce firewood to build a pyre tall enough to consume the bodies of twenty-six men, women, and children. By morning, the pyramid of bodies and wood had been ready. Lynx’s nose burned with the reek of precious kerosene, used to soak the wood to speed the burning.

As she played, Lynx spotted Heron pushing his way through the gathering crowds. Everyone who could be spared from guard duty had collected on the dusty plain outside the camp for this send-off. Heron’s sun-bronzed face broke into a sad smile as he joined her. She smiled back as he stopped next to her. He stood so close, her elbow knocked into his side as she played. She didn’t mind. He was her best friend, and it was comforting to have him here.

The royal family always took the lead at public events. Clay, dressed in a server’s apron, and her older brother, Wolf, braids and feathers rimming his face, stood to her left. Wolf was her father’s heir and would inherit the throne on his death. Wolf’s wife, Aloe, wearing a server’s apron, flanked his side. She held their young son. Lynx looked around for Kestrel. Instead of joining the younger generation, she stood behind their parents, seated on the other side of the pyre. As king and queen, they presided over this somber affair.

Typical of Kestrel to grab the center spot. She frowned, more at herself than at Kestrel, because such thoughts were churlish on this sorry day. She concentrated on her fiddle playing and studied the funeral pyre.

It was the first time in living memory that so many Norin had lost their lives in a single Chenayan attack. If this was the new order of things, Lynx feared for her tribe’s very existence.

And yet, under the guise of the Unity, Emperor Mott still demanded a Norin bride for his son. It was inexplicable to her.

In the turmoil, she had yet to speak to her father about whom Mott had selected for Lukan. Trembling with pent-up emotion, Lynx swept her bow across her fiddle strings, sending an angry caterwaul over the gathering.

Her father stood, fixing her with a piercing stare. “On that note, I think we should begin.”

“Sorry.” Lynx dropped her fiddle to her side.

Heron took her other hand, holding it tight in his callused fingers.

King Thorn cleared his throat, and then his voice rang out in the silence. “May the Winds be with you all! For four hundred years, we have borne Chenayan brutality. That will not stop just because today we weep for our family and friends. Treacherous bastards that they are, their guardsmen will be back. It behooves us to remain vigilant, to remember who we are and what our friends died to preserve.”

King Thorn’s face blazed anger and hatred. He took a deep breath. “Despite being a signatory to the Treaty of Hope with the other surviving nations of the Burning, the Chenayans rebuilt their armies in violation of that accord. Norin was the first country they attacked.”

Although familiar, hearing this history still had the power to raise goose bumps on Lynx’s arms. Twenty years before the Chenayan leader Thurban invaded Norin, the nations of the world had reached a pinnacle, creating vile weapons of mass destruction. Old conflicts between nations turned to war, and in a few short months, the planet had been left desolate by the Burning. Even now, there were lands where no living thing grew.

The survivors of the Burning swore to never let war on that scale ravage their world again. To that end, all weapons and the technology that made them possible were destroyed per the terms of the Treaty of Hope.

Thurban Avanov of Chenaya had stepped into that chaos when he attacked Norin. They had begun to rebuild their schools and universities, but Avanov claimed they were in violation of the peace. He argued that book learning had been banned by the accord, that no one was ever to read again.

Within weeks, Thurban and his guardsmen had kidnapped the Norin professors, destroyed their fledgling schools, and shattered their society for a second time. With Norin on its knees, Thurban placed a vassal king on the Norin throne and forced him to sign the Unity. As part of the agreement, the Norin monarch promised that a Norin princess would marry the Chenayan crown prince. Then Thurban set the survivors adrift to roam their land as ostrich herders.

Four hundred years on, little had changed for the Norin people. Every emperor, Mad Mott included, used their guardsmen to keep them moving, never letting them settle long enough to build a stone hut, let alone a proper school. In retaliation, true Norin kings decreed that, at the very least, parents were to teach their children to read, write, and do basic arithmetic.

Lynx leaned forward as her father continued.

“Why did Avanov and his Chenayan army attack us all those centuries ago? For the same reason Mott’s guardsmen attacked us last night. They seek to control us because we are powerful. They fear us like no other nation on this windswept planet.” King Thorn raised his fist, shaking it to the sky. “Our masters call us low-born savages and cut us down like vermin, but they know we are the only educated people in the empire. And it is that which makes them fear us.”

Lynx felt her father’s eyes alight on her before moving on to drill the faces of other mourners.

“Would you relinquish that freedom for false promises of respite from Chenayan attack?” He pointed to the funeral pyre. “Would they?”

A murmur of noes ran through the crowd.

“I thought not. Our education and our egg raids make Norin great—the greatest thorn in our enemy’s hoof.”

Lynx nodded in agreement. Thurban’s destruction of the old Norin had marked the beginning of the egg raid tradition; if Norin could no longer build places of learning, they would be warriors, fighting to be free from Chenayan bondage. That, coupled with their education, made them a source of constant aggravation for their overlords.

“Today,” King Thorn continued, “we not only mourn their deaths, but we also celebrate the triumph of their lives, lives built on honor, learning, and pride.” He hefted a burning torch from a wrought iron stand next to him and held it high. “They did not die in vain. May the Winds receive their souls and carry them to their reward.” Slowly, he walked around the pyre, brushing the kerosene-soaked wood with fire. Within minutes, the pyramid was ablaze, a giant beacon of flame and heat shimmering in the midday sun.

Face like stone, Lynx watched it burn. “This cannot go unchallenged,” she whispered to the wind that moaned around her.

She knew the Winds had heard her. What the answer would be, Lynx could only guess.

4

Nothing but ash and smoke remained of the funeral pyre as the sun set, red and angry, over the camp. Her back and legs aching from her day-long vigil, Lynx was more than ready to collapse into her bedroll. She forced her muscles to move as the crowd drifted away from the place of mourning.

Her father tapped her shoulder. “Come to the council tent. We have things to discuss.”

Lynx suppressed a sigh, knowing sleep was now a dream. “Of course.”

Clay hissed in a breath. Only raiders were permitted to enter the council tent. When his step fell softly behind her, Lynx gripped his hand and found his face desperate with longing.

She whispered, “Trust me. Remember, I made you an oath that I would plead with Father for you. You will raid again.”

Clay’s shoulders and face relaxed.

Her father stopped at the tent entrance. “Clay, come. You too, Kestrel. This is family business. Nothing concerning the other Norin yet.”

Lynx stared at her father in astonishment. Before she could say anything about his strange invitation, Kestrel, who had also never entered this hallowed space, darted past her into the tent. Irritated, Lynx stepped under the tent flap. Kestrel was usually scathing about Norin traditions like the exclusivity of the council tent.

Lynx’s breath caught, all thoughts of Kestrel’s animosity toward her Norin heritage forgotten.

The spicy tang of ostrich and chickpeas filled the dimly lit space. In one corner, Dove, her mother stooped over a makeshift kitchen, stirring a stew pot. Cooking was Mother’s passion, but seeing a kitchen in this tent was as unheard of as her father inviting Clay and Kestrel to join them. Every Norin tradition screamed that this was wrong. Before Lynx could question it, her stomach rumbled.

“Come. Sit.” Mother gestured to the plump leather cushions circling the fire pit in the center of the tent. Strands of blond hair spilled out of her bun, and her server’s apron was stained with cooking juices. “Lynx, your stomach speaks for all of us. Everyone in this family needs a hot meal after the trauma of these last two days.”

Lynx gave her mother a quick hug. “Food smells great. So this is why you left the funeral early?”

Mother nodded. “There is so much to discuss tonight, and I know my family. Hard discussions always go better with good food.”

Hard discussions. This had to be about Mott’s demand for a wife for Lukan.

Please let it not be me. Lynx’s stomach knotted as she sat on her usual cushion around the fire pit. A prime spot, it afforded her a view of the entire tent, made from hundreds of ostrich skins cobbled together.

Clay slumped on the cushion next to her.

Mother clicked her tongue and then said to Kestrel, “Dish up food for your brother. And don’t be stingy.” She tousled Clay’s hair. “For Lynx, too, while you’re at it.”

“But Clay’s a server now,” Kestrel protested. “Why should I wait on him?”

“Just do it,” Mother snapped.

Their mother didn’t allow other servers to attend to them during their private family time. That meant Kestrel was always called on to help.

Scowling, Kestrel pulled her hands out of her apron pockets and bent over the cooking pots. She shoved earthenware bowls at both Clay and Lynx.

Too hungry to care about her rudeness, Lynx was about to spoon stew into her mouth when Wolf burst into the tent. Aloe and their young son, Raven, trailed behind him. Neither of them had ever been in the council tent before. Her expression nonchalant, Aloe ran her fingers through her mass of blond hair, unfettered by braids or feathers. Raven wasn’t so coy. The little boy stared around in wide-eyed wonder.

Lynx smiled at him, patting the other cushion beside her. “Come, Raven. You’ve wanted to peek inside this tent for ages now.”

With a shriek of delight, Raven leaped onto the ostrich skin cushions and snuggled up against Lynx’s side.

“Hey, Lynxie,” Wolf said. “I shouldn’t trust you with my son. Look what you did to Clay. Poor kid’s wrapped in bandages.” This was typical Wolf, doing his best to lighten the mood. He smacked them both lightly on the back, jolting Lynx’s spoon and spilling her stew.

“Wolf,” Lynx moaned. She scooped meat and gravy off her leather trousers, then sucked her fingers, relishing the spicy taste.

Wolf whisked his son up, handed him to Aloe, and threw himself down next to Lynx. He leaned against her arm. “You’ll need to brush up on your table manners when you get to Cian. I hear tell Lukan likes his girls compliant and sweet.”

The confirmation that she was Lukan’s bride of choice made her freeze.

“Wolf.” Mother shoved his shoulder. “By the four Winds, did you have to blurt it out? You’re an insensitive—”

“Mother, there’s no sensitive way of saying Mott chose my sister for Lukan.” Wolf squeezed Lynx’s hand. “I’m sorry, Lynxie.” He turned to Clay. “I’m sorry for both of you. Really, I am.”

Her father clapped Wolf on the shoulder. “That bastard Mott may have signed the letter, but he didn’t do the choosing.” A scowl darkened his face. “I’m convinced that was Lukan. He sees your sister as nothing more than a plaything.”

“Yes. A whore for him to tumble.” Lynx leapt to her feet, scowling. “Winds! Is he in for a shock.”

Kestrel stepped forward, hands on her hips. “A whore? Really, Lynx, he is the crown prince. I hardly think he spends his time with harlots. Girls are probably lining up to oblige him. You should feel honored he chose you.”

“Honored? That some Chenayan pig wants me?” Lynx laughed bitterly. “Kestrel, as I’ve always said, you and I have very different ideas about honor.”

Kestrel rolled her eyes. “Don’t get me started. And anyway, it’s not like marrying Lukan is news to this family. Norin princesses have been marrying Chenayan crown princes for centuries. And I’d already told Lynx she’d been picked, so I don’t know why she’s acting so shocked.”

A clang of dropping pot lids sounded. “And just how did you know that she had been chosen?” Mother demanded.

Kestrel’s eyes widened. “I—I overheard you talking to Father and Wolf about the letter.”

“So now we add eavesdropping to your other crime.”

Kestrel looked at her hands, unable to meet the anger and disappointment in her mother’s eyes. Mother flicked her dishcloth out, snapping Kestrel on the arm. Kestrel winced. Her sister and her mother were close, so her reaction was even more startling.

“So, in all your snooping, did you hear that Mott wants you, too? For Tao.”

“What?” Lynx and Kestrel gasped simultaneously.

“Dove, please.” Her father stood, a commanding figure looming over the family. “I’ll handle this.” He gestured to the cushions. “Now sit. All of you.” When Lynx hesitated, he added, “That includes you.”

Reluctantly, Lynx sat next to Clay. He took her hand and squeezed it.

“Is it not enough that I had to burn twenty-six of my people today?” her father asked. “Do I also have to deal with insanity in my own family?” He turned to Clay. “Care to explain why you sneaked off to raid without telling me?”

Clay’s face bloomed red.

Her father shook his head. “I’ve known for months you were ready, but I’ve been waiting for you to ask me to sponsor you. Do you think I’d refuse you something so important?” His eyes bored into Clay’s. “Such a waste. You’d have made a formidable raider.”

Lynx’s heart soared with pride as Clay held their father’s gaze, never flinching.

Her father turned his attention to Kestrel. “And you? What were you thinking?”

Kestrel stared into the fire pit. “I hate egg raids and raiders.”

Lynx shot her head around to see her father’s reaction to that heresy, but it was their mother who spoke.

“My child, we know you detest the way we live. The old Norin is where you belong. You would have—”

“Studying painting at one of the universities,” Kestrel burst out, looking at Mother with tears brimming in her eyes. “I’m good enough. But instead I’m forced to spend my time scraping up ostrich dung because I don’t see the point of risking my life in a stupid egg raid.”

“How dare you!” Her father’s hand slapped down hard on his thigh. “It’s thanks to egg raids and raiders that you were spared a place on that funeral pyre today. And as for what you did to Clay? It was malicious and cruel. The only thing saving you from a month of shunning is your marriage to Tao.”

Kestrel gulped. Shunning—an entire month of being ignored by the tribe as if invisible—was no minor punishment. She croaked, “Clay, I’m sorry.”

Lynx suppressed a disparaging snort, wishing she believed her sister’s contrition.

“Can’t he try again?” Kestrel asked.

Hope gleamed on Clay’s face.

It was driven away by a shake of her father’s head. “No, he can’t.”

“But, Father—” Clay began.

“Clay, enough. The law applies to everyone. I will not change a statute that has been in place for centuries to suit my family.” Her father’s face was hard, uncompromising. “You had your chance. These are the consequences of your actions.”

Clay picked at a fleck of dried blood on his trousers. Aloe, sitting on his other side, took his hand. Clay pulled away, obviously embarrassed by her comfort.

It was time for Lynx to start her campaign. Praying to every Wind that blew that her family would not end up shunning her for what she was about to do, Lynx sat forward, catching her father’s eye. “But those weren’t his actions. He’s being punished for what Kestrel did. He’d done the hard part before she destroyed his eggs.”

“I’m painfully aware of that. But there’s a reason for the law. Raiding is dangerous. If a raider fails and walks away with his life, then it’s my duty to protect him from trying again. Next time, he may not be so lucky. You only get one chance in battle against a guardsman. If you are not the best, you die.”

Tears sparkled in Clay’s eyes. He brushed them away. Like Lynx, he, too, seemed to be working on his stoicism and bravery. It made Lynx even more determined not to fail.

Kestrel’s chin dropped to her chest. “I was wrong, so I accept my punishment. I’ll go to Chenaya to marry Tao.”

Only Mother reacted to Kestrel’s comment. She wrapped her arm around Kestrel’s shoulder, squeezing her tight. Time was needed for the rest of the family to forgive Kestrel for what she’d done to Clay.

Finally, Wolf leaned forward and patted Kestrel’s knee. “You’re always telling us we should embrace Chenayan culture, so you should be happy at the Chenayan court. And I’m sure if you’re nice to Tao, he’ll let you paint.”

Kestrel gave him a rueful smile. “What you mean is, if I’m nicer to him than I am to my family, he may let me paint.”

“That’s your interpretation,” Wolf said. “But remember where your loyalties lie, Kestrel. As much as you despise our way of life, you’ll always be a—”

“I don’t hate us,” Kestrel’s voice shrilled. “I just think there is more to life than what we have in Norin. There is good in the empire, too, you know.”

Lynx wasn’t the only member of the family to glare at her.

Wolf cleared his throat. “Stand by Lynx. She’s your true family in that place.”

Lynx took a deep breath before throwing down her challenge. “Not so fast, Wolfie-boy. I haven’t said I’m going.”

Wolf’s mouth dropped, and Lynx knew he hadn’t expected that. He quickly replaced his shocked expression with one of mock outrage—and changed the subject. “Hey, Father, how about scolding Lynx? Look at how she returned our little brother.”

“I’ve been trying to control Lynx’s defiance for twenty years. Never done any good, so why waste my breath now?” Her father’s lighthearted reply belied his steely eyes boring into her, telling her he’d brook no challenge on her marriage to Lukan.

It was now or never.

Lynx swept her feathers and braids over her shoulder. “Surely, after their attack on us, you don’t expect me to go?”

“It’s precisely because of the attack that you will go. You asked why they would sacrifice fifteen guardsmen, yet you see the damage those fifteen men did. The attack was a warning of worse to come if you refuse to marry Lukan. Disobeying Mott would be suicide for all of us. Men, women”—he gestured to Raven sitting next to Lynx—“even children.”

Mother sucked in a breath. Aloe and Kestrel exchanged panicked looks, and Wolf’s hand tightened on Lynx’s. Clay wore a puzzled expression. Lynx wondered if he realized it was all part of her plan to help him.

“I don’t doubt that,” Lynx said. “For weeks now, we’ve wondered about the Chenayan troop buildup at Tanamre. Now we know. If I refuse to go, a thousand guardsmen will arrive at our tent flaps. We will all be dead in a matter of minutes.”

Aloe cradled Raven’s shoulders. “Lynx, I understand you don’t want to marry Lukan. Honestly, I do. But how can you risk our lives? You adore Raven. How can you condemn him to death?”

The accusation in Aloe’s voice made Lynx grimace with guilt. She steeled herself against it and continued to work her plan. “Death is preferable to a life of servitude. No matter whom one serves.”

Kestrel hissed. “And you wonder why I can’t stand you and the other raiders.” She leaped to her feet, stumbling over cushions until she stood opposite Lynx. “All you can think about is death and honor.” She shoved Lynx in the chest.

A tide of anger engulfed Lynx. She rose and said to her father, “Control your daughter before I do something I won’t regret.”

He shook his head. “There’s a reason I invited the family here tonight. Their anger will be nothing compared to the fury of our people if you break the Unity with Chenaya. You will be declared a traitor. I will have no choice but to put you to death.”

The shock of hearing the word made Lynx’s face flush and then chill. Bluffing her way through this plan was becoming one of the hardest things she’d ever done.

Her discomfort didn’t stop Kestrel. “Yes, you’re so filled with self-righteous anger at me for spoiling Clay’s stupid eggs, but you’re willing to see us destroyed. How does that work, Lynx?”

Wolf stepped between his sisters. “Sit. Both of you.”

Lynx obeyed, settling back on the cushions, eyeing her father.

Kestrel hesitated, then flicked her veiled hair over her shoulder. “What do I care what Lynx does? I’ll be at the palace, married to Tao.” She settled on the cushions and folded her arms.

Lynx snorted. “So, Wolfie-boy, do you honestly believe she’ll support me in Cian?”

Wolf opened his mouth, but Mother interrupted anything he intended to say. “My child, does that mean you’ll go?”

Lynx didn’t reply. She was still focused on her father. He met her gaze, ice on ice. A heavy silence settled on the gathering, broken only by the rustling of the tent in the wind and the hiss of the fire. Still, Lynx and her father stared at each other.

Finally, her father laughed. “Lynx, we’ve had too many arguments over the years for me not to recognize what you’re doing. Be careful. I am not just your father. I am your king, too.”

Lynx’s pulse sped up, but she forced herself to remain calm, her face resolute. “Right now, I am not speaking to my king, to whom I owe fealty. I am speaking to my father. My father, who I believe cares for me . . . and those I care about.”

Her father’s lips quirked. “Death versus servitude.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “It’s not your life—or death—you’re worrying about, is it?” He turned to Clay and slapped him on the shoulder. “Son, it seems we are discussing your future. Aren’t we, Lynx?”

“Let him raid again, and I will go to Cian without a fight.”

Clay jumped to his feet. “No!”

Lynx sprang up and grabbed his arm. She ignored his cry of pain. “I made you an oath.”

“But—”

“No buts.” Lynx shoved him, sending him spinning onto the cushion by her father. “Father, that is my condition. Clay raids again, or I refuse to go.” She swallowed hard, thinking of the funeral pyre. “And damn the consequences.” There would be no one left to burn the dead if her father forced her to push through with this.

Her father half-rose to his feet. “As your father, I could say you have no choice, that I will drag you to Cian myself.” He settled back, sighing. “But we both know that will not guarantee a marriage. As your king, I could command you, and you will be honor-bound to obey. I will do neither because I have no wish to condemn my daughter to a life of misery. My conscience would not stand it. Lynx, only you can choose to do this for us.”

Lynx licked her lips. At all costs, she had to keep him wearing his loving father hat because he was right—if he gave her a royal command, she would obey without question. That’s what fealty to the Norin throne meant. It was yet another reason why Chenayan emperors had always hated them. The Norin knew that no man could serve two masters.

“Father, I’m not trying to be difficult. Please, just let him raid again.”

“I’ve told you why that’s impossible, Lynx. Isn’t it enough that your mother and I are giving up both our daughters? Your mother will probably never see either of you again once you go to Chenaya. I’m not willing to risk losing our youngest son as well.” He paused, then whispered, “Work with me here, child.”

Lynx put her hands on her hips. “Death is better than servitude.” She turned to Clay. “Tell him that.”

Clay bit his torn lip, tears glistening in his eyes. When he spoke, his voice cracked. “Please don’t make me trade you off, Lynx.”

Seeing her brother’s anguish, Lynx dropped her shoulders. She sank to her knees in front of Clay and took his hand. “If I go without you trying again, you will spend your whole life dying slowly. Those were your words, not mine. That’s how you convinced me to sponsor you. Remember?”

Sorrow and regret wracked Clay’s face.

“But,” Lynx continued, “if I refuse to go, you will also die—along with the rest of us. Only it will be a swift death at the hands of our enemies. Which must I choose?”

Clay gripped Lynx’s face in his two hands. He rested his forehead against hers. “You had this all worked out, didn’t you?”

“No, I hadn’t. I fully expected you to come home with an egg.” Lynx glared at Kestrel. “Clay, this is our last chance to put this right.” She turned to her father. “Father, I won’t give in until we’ve succeeded. How does that make your conscience feel?”

No one in the tent moved.

Finally, her father spoke. “You drive a hard bargain, Lynx. I wonder if Lukan knows what he’s getting himself into?”

Lynx’s laugh was ugly and cruel. “I will marry him, but he’ll pay every day for choosing me. That’s my revenge for everything they have ever done to us.” She sucked in a breath, realizing she had exposed too much of her hand. To cover up, she skewered her father with another glare. “Am I to be declared a traitor, or will Clay raid again?”

Her father pulled himself up and walked to the open tent flap. He stared out across the sea of tents. Lynx guessed what he was thinking. In each of them lived families, their friends, or blood relatives. Children huddled in their leather homes, wrapped in blankets of antelope and lion skins hunted by their fathers. Teens—both boys and girls—dreamed of love or egg raids, many of them longing for the day they could fight the Chenayans, too. Adults busied themselves with the endless chores that came with caring for a family. They trusted her father implicitly. Up until yesterday, under his leadership, they had found peace—of a sort, given their hostile masters—and now, she threatened that peace.

No, she corrected. Lukan and Kestrel did this to us. Determined to see this through, she waited for him to speak. After an eternity, her father faced her.

Sorrow engulfed Lynx, and she stifled a groan. His eyes seemed to have sunk into his head, and his face had an unhealthy gray cast. Even his back looked stooped under the weight of his decision. These last two days had truly aged him. She wanted to throw her arms around his shoulders and cry that she was sorry, that if she could change it, she would. But that wouldn’t help Clay—and some good had to come of all this misery. She dug deep for her fiercest expression and willed it to remain.

“Lynx, I speak to you as your king,” her father said, his voice firm. “You cannot begin to imagine how difficult it is for me when the needs of my family conflict with the interests of my people. Still, I recognize a compromise when offered.” His eyes roved the tent, stopping to look at each face. “Since the start of autumn, three youths tried and failed to raid eggs. They each have one week to try again, and then the offer closes. Forever.”

Lynx’s shoulders sagged with relief.

A stifled snort escaped Clay’s mouth, but her father held up his hand to stop him speaking. “We will make a celebration of it. It will be our way of . . . of acknowledging Lynx’s and Kestrel’s marriages. As such, it will take place at the same time as those events.”

“But,” Wolf burst out, looking both pleased and confused, “who will sponsor Clay if both you and Lynx are in Cian for the wedding? I mean, I could, I suppose, but—” His voice trailed off, leaving his doubtful expression to finish his sentence.

“How you survived your raid is still a mystery,” Lynx said with both sadness and joy as she patted Wolf’s shoulder.

“I marvel daily at the miracle of it.” Tension marred Wolf’s laughter. “So, I don’t think we want to risk Clay training with me.”

“And we won’t,” her father said, taking back the discussion. “I will be here to sponsor him. And his mother will provide a feast when he wins.” He fixed his eyes first on Kestrel and then on Lynx. “Mott has not extended an invitation to us to attend your weddings.”

Kestrel burst into tears.

Lynx barely heard her wails. She had won, but at what price? Her father’s sorrow and a wedding to Lukan Avanov she now had to honor.

And what came after that wedding? Lukan would pay in every way possible for what he had done to her king, her family, and her tribe.

5

It had been a miserable day, filled with hugs and commiseration on Lynx’s upcoming nuptials. At sunset, she escaped with her fiddle to the same grove of acacia trees near the northern gate where she, Clay, and Heron had repelled the Chenayans.

Heron had offered to keep her company, but she had waved him off with a sad smile. Her chest ached with sorrow every time she thought of leaving him. He was her best friend, the person she shared her triumphs and disasters with. Spending time with him now would only make parting harder—for both of them.

It was after midnight, and the strains of her fiddle still floated over the camp. She didn’t care. By agreeing to marry Lukan, she had made the ultimate sacrifice for her people. The least they could do was put up with her music.

A week had passed since she and her family had gathered in the council tent. Clay’s wounds were on the mend, and she had no doubt he’d be ready for his next raid by the time she and Kestrel arrived in Cian. Heron and three other raiders would accompany her and Kestrel to the Chenayan military base in Tanamre. A general and a priestess would meet them there, and together, she and Kestrel would travel by train to Cian. Heron and the other raiders would return home.

And I will never see them again.

As for the thousands of troops at Tanamre? Mott had made it clear that they would be a permanent fixture on Norin soil.

A sudden lull in the chirping of crickets and nightjars alerted her to someone watching. She spun and saw her father standing in the shadows.

“I know you want to be alone,” he said, “but you and I need to talk.”

Lynx lowered her fiddle and bow. “Why do I break out into a panic when you say that?” She grinned. “Oh, yes, maybe it’s because you will then proceed to tell me that I have to marry Lukan.”

“And you will threaten to have us all killed if I don’t give into your blackmail. I think we’re quits on that one, my Lynxie.” He gestured to the coarse grass. “Can we sit?”

Can we sit? He was obviously wearing his father hat tonight. Lynx adjusted her thoughts accordingly. She plunked herself down, sitting cross-legged in her leather trousers, and laid her fiddle and bow across her lap.

He took a deep breath, finally blowing it out of pursed lips. When he spoke, his voice was heavy. “We would be idiots not to take advantage of your presence at the palace, Lynx.”

“Intelligence gathering, you mean?” Lynx asked, going for a lighter tone. “I already have a list.” She gave a wry smile. “Number one, find out what gives the Chenayans superhuman powers. Number two, check out why they wear those stupid rocks in their faces—I’m sure there is a correlation. Number three, fulfill my oath to you by marrying that moron Lukan, though I make you no promises that I won’t stick a knife in him on our wedding night.”

Her father didn’t even smile. He took her hands in his. “Be careful, my Lynxie. I know you. You embody all that is best . . . and worst about the Norin. You shout your mouth off like you own the world. You’re defiant, prideful, and arrogant—”

“Whoa!” Lynx held up her hands. “You say all that like it’s a bad thing.”

Her father snorted. “The trouble is that I’ve indulged it. Encouraged it, even, because I never, not for a minute, believed that Mott would choose you, when Kestrel would make such a perfect Chenayan empress.” He rubbed his hands across his face. “You know how confident I was that you would never be chosen.”

Lynx nodded. He would never have started training her to take over the raiders if he had believed her destined for Lukan’s bed.

“That was my mistake and my deepest regret. I have not prepared you well—” He snorted again, this time filled with self-loathing. “I have not prepared you at all for the Chenayan court.” His hand brushed her face. “My Lynxie, Mott and Lukan won’t be as tolerant as I have been.” He fixed her with a stare, the same look he always used when extracting oaths from people. “Swear me an oath that you will do nothing to antagonize them.”

That she couldn’t do, not when she knew, by her very nature, that it would be impossible to keep. Even if her father wasn’t at the palace to police and enforce the oath, part of her would die if she wasn’t true to him and herself. She could never live with that.

After a long silence, her father sighed. “We are obligated by the Unity to marry our daughters off to them, but the Chenayans have never welcomed their Norin brides. It is not just bad manners that stopped Mott from inviting your mother and me to your and Kestrel’s wedding. Watch your back, Lynx.”

Lynx twirled her feathers and hair. Despite her bravado, what her father said was true. There were many tales told of Norin brides who vanished after providing a couple of heirs.

“Stay close to Bear. I have arranged with Mott that you and Kestrel are to stay at his home in Cian until the wedding.”

Uncle Bear was her father’s brother and emissary at the palace in Cian. Her father scowled, she guessed more at himself than at her.

“I have charged him with doing what I should have done—teaching you court protocol. It is very different than how we do things. More formal. Constricting. You will be under constant scrutiny. Bear will use the time at his home to educate you. Mind well what he says to you.”

From Lynx’s brief visit to the palace, she knew just how suffocating the place was. Fear itched at her, a thousand imaginary ants biting her skin. “I won’t let you down, Father.”

“I know you won’t. But perhaps my best advice, Lynxie, is to tell you to trust no one. At least until you have learned your way through their politics.”

Lynx sighed. “Why they still enforce the Unity is a total mystery. You’d think they’d be tired of blond-haired, blue-eyed emperors.”

In reality, enough emperors had ended up heirless, which meant other dark-haired, dark-eyed Avanovs had filled the throne. It was from one of these lines that Lukan got his dark looks. It was some consolation, then, that she and Lukan were not related by blood.

“Generations of Norin have wondered why the Avanovs keep the treaty alive, and generations of Norin have come up with the same answer—they just do.”

“Maybe I can add that bit of intelligence gathering to my list.” Lynx tried for a smile, but her lips wouldn’t cooperate.

“As if you don’t have enough to worry about.” Her father’s face hardened, taking on a regal air.

Was he changing hats? Would he now demand—and get—an oath that she wouldn’t antagonize Lukan?

“Lynx, I must—”

Lynx interrupted quickly, “The only way we will ever truly defend ourselves against them is if we know what gives their guardsmen superhuman powers. As you said, it would be stupid if I didn’t use my position at the court to dig around. I make you an oath, sir,” her fist thumped her heart in salute, “that I will do everything in my power to find that information for you.” She smothered a wince. It had been an expensive week for oaths, but it could not be helped. This was a promise she stood a chance of keeping. She would go to Chenaya, as bound to marry Lukan and be his empress as she was to find the key to overthrowing his empire.

Her father’s face remained inscrutable. Then he smiled, a weary one. “I’ve wrestled this past week with this dilemma—to use my daughter for the good of the tribe or to protect her from harm. On this occasion the needs of my tribe won out over my duty to my family. That’s why I came to talk to you tonight. I’m grateful you spared me the indignity of having to ask.”

He had never intended to bind her to blind obedience to Lukan and the emperor? She shook her head in admiration at how skillfully her father had played her. Her manipulative skills were definitely something she’d inherited from him.

She grinned in acknowledgement. “You know I will do anything for Norin.”

Her father cupped her cheek. “I hope life always looks so black and white for you, Lynx. It’s so easy to get lost in the gray.”

Lynx let his hand linger for a moment and then shrugged. It was time to get practical. “Letters home? Surely they’ll be read? Isn’t that what you and Uncle Bear always say, that Felix checks your mail?”

Her father nodded. “Over the years, Bear and I have worked out a code, of sorts. Thus far, it seems to have gotten past Felix.”

Lord Felix Avanov, Mott’s brother, was in charge of empire security. As an Avanov, he was one of the few people in the empire who could read.

“I don’t want you writing compromising letters. Whatever you find out, tell Bear. He will find a way to relay the information to me.”

Lynx picked at the strings of her fiddle. How easy would it be, finding this information? It was unlikely to be lying in the open, waiting for her to stumble upon it. That meant she would have to ask questions, calling attention to her quest. But if she didn’t take risks to learn their secrets and the Chenayans attacked again, how would she forgive herself? The image of Hare’s butchered body floated before her mind’s eye, making her shiver—and steeling her resolve. That would never happen again, not while she drew breath.

She looked up at her father. “I am bound so tight by oaths that I feel like a fly in a spider’s web. All I can do is use every resource I have before the spider strikes.”

6

General Axel Avanov strode across the expansive balcony of his command pavilion, gripped the mahogany railing, and glared out across the parade ground.

The carriage carrying the Norin princesses was late.

He kicked the wooden balustrade rhythmically with his knee-high black boot. He’d already wasted a month of his precious time here at Tanamre, preparing a suitable welcoming party for them. Welcoming party—that was one way of describing a regiment of bloodthirsty imperial guardsmen.

He cracked his crooked smile too sardonic to be considered attractive. Not that his looks mattered. He’d never needed his powerful body or striking face to open doors for him. As Emperor Mott’s nephew, birth alone had done that, catapulting him to third in line for the throne.

Third place.

Axel rubbed the gemstone embedded next to his right eye. Rare as the ruby was, it would always be second to the diamonds worn by Mott and his sons. He dropped his hand from his eye to the railing, his fingers tapping out the same rhythm as his boot. Regardless of the gemstone, everyone who mattered knew he’d be the true power behind the throne when Lukan became emperor. He could live with that.

Even his few decriers admitted that it wasn’t just his arrogance talking either. He was only twenty-four, but he’d already proved to be a daring military strategist. Some said, one of the best Chenaya had ever sired. No small achievement, given he was up against four hundred years of stiff competition. In a world where military prowess was worshiped, many considered him a god.

He was more disparaging about both the gods and himself.

The rasp of boots across the polished wooden floor made him turn. “Ah, Colonel Zarot, you have news about our elusive princesses?”

The officer bowed, then saluted. “My outriders report that they’ll reach us in about five minutes, General.” Even in the midday sun, the emerald next to Zarot’s eye looked dull against his olive skin. Still, its message was clear: Stefan Zarot came from a high-born Chenayan family that had supported the Avanovs for generations.

Axel sighed. “You can always rely on the Norin to infuriate.” He locked eyes onto four soldiers in the center of the pavilion. They were poring over a large wooden table spread with a map used to display troop movements. “Dismissed.”

The guardsmen dropped their plotters and pencils, bowed low, and then saluted him and the colonel. Boots pounding on the wooden floor, they marched to the steps.

Axel turned to Stefan. “You do realize that, thanks to Norin inability to keep to a simple schedule, your replacement will arrive about the same time as they do? Not good, not good at all. King Thorn is undoubtedly hoping to use this opportunity to get his raiders to do some intelligence scouting.”

“The timing is awkward, General,” Stefan replied, face as inscrutable as his voice, “but at least it will give me an opportunity to brief him in person before I leave my regiment to accompany you and the princesses to Cian.”

“You instructed him to break up this camp and to redeploy to Treven as I commanded?”

“Of course, sir. That was in my original brief to him.”

The guardsmen clomped down the stairs.

When the sound of their leaving faded, the colonel slouched against the railing. “Axel, I still don’t feel right about it, though.”

This wasn’t news to Axel. “Stefan, despite the Unity, Thorn made it clear when he and Lynx were in Cian that he wouldn’t easily give up his precious princess to our illustrious crown prince. That’s why Mott insisted we attack the Norin camp. A not-so-subtle warning of what will happen if Lynx and her sister don’t pitch up here today.”

Axel scowled. Emperor Mott’s decision to sacrifice fifteen guardsmen by sending them into the Norin camp infuriated him. It was a waste of human life and did nothing to build confidence in Avanov leadership amongst his men.

Nor did it do much for Chenayan–Norin relationships, always fragile at best.

Axel had argued to send in fifty troops. Fifteen men to precision-kill the equivalent number of Norin raiders—not servers, and certainly not children—as a warning to King Thorn. The remainder of the men would watch their backs. With his troops’ enhanced fighting skills, both Chenayan and Norin casualties would have been minimal.

Mad Mott had overruled him. The result had been a bloodbath for both Chenaya and Norin.

Axel had been tempted to disobey the order, but he was planning another, more important, rebellion and didn’t want to risk the emperor’s ire unless it served his overall battle strategy. Still, squandering troops in ill-planned military adventures went against everything he believed.

In his musings, Axel noticed Stefan’s eyebrow twitch. Axel grunted; he understood the colonel well enough to recognize it as a frown. He and Stefan had been friends for years, having grown up together at the palace in Cian.

“Now what?” Axel demanded. “You do know I’m supposed to be the general here, the one giving the orders?”

“Yes, but you always listen to your men. It’s part of what makes you great.”

Axel didn’t deny it. He’d never believed in throwing his weight around to get things done. His men obeyed him because he was the best, not because he was royalty.

Stefan’s dark eyes flitted across the parade ground to where hundreds of his troops drilled. “What’s to prevent the Norin finding out we redeployed the regiment after the train leaves? With no troops left here to attack them, Thorn and his raiders could sabotage it to rescue the princesses.”

“That would lead to war, the last thing we need now. That is precisely why I don’t want raiders hanging about here.” Axel walked to the map on the table. He picked up a pushing stick and nudged a block representing the regiment stationed at Tanamre west to Treven.

Until a month ago, when Emperor Mott invaded the country, Treven had been one of the Free Nations that skirted the empire. The emperor tolerated the existence of these disjointed nations as long as they didn’t get in the way of Avanov objectives, the way Treven had.

“The sooner this regiment gets to Treven, the better.”

Colonel Zarot’s eyebrows twitched again. “So it’s true?” he whispered. “The invasion hasn’t gone so well?”

“Don’t bother whispering. Why do you think I’m so disgruntled today? I got a message from Mott this morning burning my ear off about the Treven campaign. Like it’s my fault he and my father chose that idiot Azan to lead the invasion.”

“You said yourself, the emperor believes getting the princesses to Cian the more critical task.”

Axel frowned at Stefan. “In Mad Mott’s mind, yes. But since when is babysitting silly girls more important than protecting the lives of thousands of men in Treven?” He took a swipe at the table leg with his boot, making it rock. “If the number of casualties ever leaks out, the whole empire will know a regiment of Chenayan grunts was virtually annihilated by the psychotic King Chad.”

Axel slapped his hand on the map, making the blocks jump. “If I’d been in charge, it never would have happened. Clean precision, that’s how I would have handled it. Chad and his heirs would be dead, and their ice crystal mines ours.”

“But we both know the truth about casualties will never leak out.”

“No, of course it won’t. We’ll just have more pointless deaths.” Axel sighed. “And to think, with all this going on, we still have to waste seven days on a train when we could do the trip in three days in an airship.”

A shout from the parade ground caught Axel’s attention. A dilapidated horse cart lumbered down the well-worn road leading to the camp. He snorted. “Just as well the Norin refuse to travel under the Chenayan flag. Can you imagine our Dragon on that scrap heap?”

Stefan glanced sideways at Axel. “Anything to defy the emperor.”

“The Norin happen to be very good at that.” Axel picked up a spyglass from the pavilion railing to get a closer look at the princesses. Light footsteps snaking their way up the wooden stairs distracted him, and he put it back down.

A woman dressed in a floor-length white robe appeared on the platform. Her gem was a moonstone, the stone worn by all Chenayan priestesses.

Axel’s heart sank. His day had just gotten worse.

7

“Welcome, Mother Saskia,” Stefan said to the white-clad woman. “The general and I are delighted to see you.” He gestured to the Norin wagon. “It seems the princesses have arrived.”

Axel folded his arms over his chest, grinning. Stefan welcomed Mother Saskia like the pox.

“About time, too.” Mother Saskia eased an errant lock of black hair streaked with silver back into her bun. She then pulled her white veil into place over her head with white-gloved hands. Finally, she bobbed a knee at Axel. It was the closest he’d ever get to a curtsy from the Great High Priestess, spiritual mother of All Chenaya and the Conquered Territories.

He didn’t like her much, either.

Chenayans—Axel excluded—worshiped the Dragon, a being of power and majesty who, it was believed, had kept the Avanovs in power for centuries. Axel knew the Dragon was nothing more than heraldry.

Saskia glided to the balustrade. “They should have been here hours ago. It’s an affront to our dear Crown Prince Lukan, Dragon’s blessing upon him.” She picked up his spyglass and leveled it to her eye. That was presumptuous, even for her.

Axel grabbed it, wiped the eyepieces on the sleeve of his black uniform shirt and placed it back on the railing. “Mother, I wish to leave within the hour. You and the Norin had better be ready.” He turned to leave.

He had only taken a few steps when Mother Saskia spoke. “That all depends on the state of the princesses, my lord. They are reputed to be a wild lot. It’s doubtful they even bathe. Our crown prince and his brother deserve better than that.”

Axel didn’t bother to face her. “As the crown prince and his brother are a week away in Cian, I hardly think that matters. I’m sure that will give you plenty of time to correct any faults the Norin princesses may have.”

“In that case, I think Mother Saskia has her work cut out for her.”

Axel spun at the incredulity in Stefan’s voice.

The wagon had stopped at the stable block, and Axel had a clear view of the occupants as they hopped down onto the cobblestones.

Kestrel, the shorter of the two princesses, wore a corseted, flouncy floor-length dress with a large bustle. The kind Mother Saskia would have stipulated on her list of approved attire for Chenayan women. Her bustle looked about as comfortable, and as out of place, as a barrel strapped to her backside. Still, it did nothing to detract from her beauty—if one considered Norin fair hair, fair skin, and blue eyes attractive. He generally preferred Chenayan brunettes, with their warm bronze skin and dark eyes.

Princess Lynx was anything but compliant to Chenayan dress codes. Leather trousers hugged her long, shapely legs while a hip-length leather tunic accentuated her rangy figure. Two machetes in leather scabbards were strapped to her back. Locks of silvery blond hair braided with black ostrich feathers and white beads ringed her face. The rest of her hair cascaded down her back like an icy waterfall.

Stefan’s meticulous control gave way at the sight of her, dropping his jaw.

Axel smiled at him. “Those leathers certainly set her apart. No wonder Lukan’s drooling for her.” Axel gave a bemused head shake and then glanced over at Mother Saskia, wondering if she’d heard his comments about her precious crown prince.

She hadn’t.

The Great High Priestess staggered forward, clutching her veil. “Dragon’s curses,” she moaned. “You cannot be serious. That . . . that feral thing with the knives is intended for our crown prince? Ugh! Can you imagine the lice crawling on those feathers?” Desperation in her eyes, she turned to Axel as if he could do something to prevent the marriage. “She’s as wild as her name. What were her parents thinking? You cannot call a girl after a ferocious beast and expect her to turn into a kitten.”

“I doubt the crown prince had a kitten in mind when he saw her.” Axel grinned.

Mother Saskia glared at him. “At least the younger one obeyed the dress instructions I sent to Thorn. I can probably make something of her before we get to Cian.” Her glare morphed into a grimace. “But to call a girl after a bird of prey? It’s outrageous.”

Axel had seen—and heard—enough. It was time to get moving.

He gripped Mother Saskia’s arm. “As you are well aware, Mother, the Norin stopped giving their children real names after we invaded them. It’s just another act of rebellion designed to annoy us. Who the hell wants an empress named after a predator? Still, four centuries worth of Great High Priestesses have borne this indignity well. No doubt you will, too.” He made a show of looking at his wristwatch. “One hour, and then I’m leaving, whether the Norin have bathed or not.”

Mother Saskia pulled herself up to her full five feet and four inches. “My lord, as much as I respect your wishes, that savage will never be ready in an hour.” She gestured to Lynx, who stood with her arms folded across her chest, scowling up at the pavilion and clearly questioning her unfriendly welcome. “I cannot travel into the Heartland with a creature who looks like that.”

Axel sighed. Although it annoyed him to admit it, Saskia was right. The emperor would be furious if Lynx crossed into Chenaya dressed in leathers. Mott still frothed at the mouth when anyone mentioned Lynx appearing at court in her Norin gear during her summer visit. Her weapons would have to go, too.

But since hearing the Treven casualty figures that morning, Axel had urgent business in Cian that didn’t include wasting time while Mother Saskia titivated with the princesses. If he didn’t step in to save lives in Treven, who would? No one in Mott’s palace, that was for sure.

Axel scowled at Mother Saskia. “Then I suggest you begin. I’m leaving in one hour.”

Mother Saskia opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

“Enough. Go greet your charges.” Axel gestured to Stefan. “Come, Colonel. Command the controllers to get that Norin scrap heap out of here.”

Stefan fell into step with him, and they strode across the pavilion.

Axel had just gripped the banister at the stairs when Mother Saskia called out, “Please, my lord, wait. You can see for yourself how ferocious the feathered girl looks. Do you honestly think she’ll submit to me bathing her? This will take time. Tact. She is, after all, our future empress.”

He turned to face her. She hadn’t moved an inch. In fact, with her arms folded across her chest, she reminded him of Lynx.

His patience snapped.

In seconds, Axel crossed the pavilion, stopping an inch from her nose. Mother Saskia staggered back as he towered over her.

“Do I have to remind you, Mother, that you are a priestess of Chenaya? You have enough power in your little finger to bring a seven-foot giant to his knees if you so choose. If Lynx complains about my schedule, then use some of it on her.”

Mother Saskia steadied herself. “I assume, Lord Avanov, that you will take full responsibility if the girl dies at my hands.”

Axel dragged the tattered remains of his patience together. “Mother, how old are you?”

The Great High Priestess’s eyes widened, but she answered, “Old enough to be your grandmother, my lord. I was born fifty summers ago.”

“Fifty years? Hmm . . . you look good. I’d never have guessed.” Axel cracked his crooked smile and changed his tone. “And you mean to tell me that, in all that time, you haven’t learned to control the power in your fingers enough to blast our future empress without killing her?”

“Of course I can control my power,” Mother Saskia hissed, sloughing off a glove. Her hand stretched out, fingers extended toward him. “Would you like to test my control?”

Acknowledging he’d been out-maneuvered, Axel laughed, jumping back. “That won’t be necessary. Just get the job done so we can get out of this rat hole.”

Mother Saskia bobbed a curtsy. “That, my lord, is why I tolerate your arrogance. You take your defeats relatively well.” She swept past him and Stefan, headed toward Lynx and Kestrel.

8

The sun grilled Lynx’s eyes. She held her hand up to her face, squinting at a pavilion on the other side of the parade ground. The massive canvas and wood structure was grand. She sighed at this irrefutable evidence that she’d left home far behind. No one in Norin would tolerate an over-engineered monstrosity like that. Although similar in size to their council tent, this thing would take an entire battalion to move.

Not that they were short of men.

Her eyes darted across the parade ground to where hundreds of imperial guardsmen drilled. Lynx made no secret of staring at them, but not one soldier broke ranks by glancing back.

It was unnerving.

But then, these guardsmen weren’t here to welcome her. As they had proved just days ago, their purpose was far more sinister. She shivered, dreading the ongoing threat they presented to her people. While this regiment was based at Tanamre, Norin would never be safe. And so, before they’d arrived here, she’d ordered three raiders to reconnoiter the area. If the Chenayans planned any more attacks, her father would be prepared. Heron was to rendezvous with them after leaving her and Kestrel here.

“Where are the people who are supposed to welcome us?” Kestrel’s voice pulled Lynx away from her fears. “Father said a general and a priestess would be waiting.”

Lynx gestured to the pavilion. “I guess they’re there. Watching us.” She rubbed her arms for comfort, hating being at such a disadvantage in the heart of the enemy camp.

“But I’m going to be Prince Tao’s wife.” Kestrel clutched her dress. “How can they treat me like this?”

“It’s Chenaya. Get used to it.”

Heron hopped from the driver’s seat of their cart. He drew close to Lynx and slipped something around her wrist: a battered gold windup wristwatch with a scratched glass lens. It had been in his family for generations—a rare artifact that had survived the Burning.

Lynx’s eyes pricked with tears. “I can’t take this, Heron. It’s too precious.”

He stroked her cheek with a finger. “No. You are. But I’m losing you now, so I want you to have it. Think of me when you check the time.”

“I will. Always.” She hugged Heron, cursing the eyes she guessed were watching them.

Heron surprised her by tilting her face up and brushing her lips with his. His mouth was softer than she had ever imagined, warm and tender on hers. She had known for some time that his feelings for her had deepened beyond friendship. Until Mott’s letter had arrived, she would have welcomed his advances. Her stomach clenched with sorrow at all their lost possibilities.

“Lynx. Stop it,” Kestrel hissed. “Someone’s coming.”

Face flushing, Lynx pulled away from him.

A woman sailed across the parade ground toward them, her white robes billowing behind her. “Princess Lynx,” she screeched. “You are betrothed to the Crown Prince of Chenaya!”

King Thorn had insisted that all Norin learn to speak Chenayan. He called it knowing your enemy. At that moment, Lynx wished she’d never learned the horrible, guttural language.

The woman gestured around the parade ground. “Do you want every guardsman here to know you’re a hussy?”

Heron swore and darted forward, no doubt to defend her honor.

Lynx held up her hand to stop him and then said to the Chenayan, “By all the Winds, what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t kiss other men.” The woman sucked in a sharp breath. “Dragon’s curses. As if our crown prince doesn’t have enough to contend with in this marriage.”

“Saying goodbye to my friend does not classify me as anything other than caring.”

The rumble of an approaching steam carriage drowned out Lynx’s words.

A worried frown flitted across the woman’s face as the metal contraption chugged onto the road leading to a coal stop close-by. She grabbed Lynx’s arm, digging her nails into her flesh.

“Come with me. And you,” she shouted at Heron, “get going before the other carriage stops.”

“Why?” Heron demanded, gesturing to the expansive space between the cart and the coal stop where the carriage could park. “I still have to water and feed my horses.”

“I understand there is a river outside Tanamre. You can tend your horses there. Now go.” The woman dug her nails deeper into Lynx’s arm.

Lynx tugged away from her and skittered back. Unable to hide her shock and anger, she demanded, “Is this how you Chenayans welcome visitors to your empire?”

“It’s your empire, too, Princess,” a male voice said, “or haven’t you noticed we conquered Norin a few centuries ago?”

Lynx spun to see the speaker.

He was a typical Chenayan: olive skin, dark hair, brown eyes, arrogance. Young. That surprised her. Even though he could only have been a few years older than her, he carried the general’s insignia of five red dragons with swagger.

Then she saw the blood-red ruby next to his eye, and it all made sense.

This was General Axel Avanov: strategic mastermind, third in line to the throne, Lukan’s cousin, and a man she despised on principle.

“How dare you mock the conquest of my country?”

If Axel Avanov was here, then he was very likely the man who had given the order to attack the Norin camp. The machetes on her back screamed for use, to slash him open the way Hare had been killed.

That was a risk not even she could take.

Kestrel threw her shoulders back, standing tall. “And . . . and is this the welcome we’re going to get? We are marrying the heirs to the throne, you know.”

It struck Lynx that Kestrel had no idea who Axel Avanov was. Why should she? Her sister took no interest in military or political matters. Lynx couldn’t help but wonder if Kestrel still thought Chenaya and Chenayans so marvelous.

“Mother Saskia,” Axel Avanov said, patently ignoring them both. “We have a steam carriage arriving.” He pointed to Lynx and Kestrel. “Get them out of here.”

So she was the priestess. Of course, she was. Why hadn’t Lynx connected the white clothes with her rank? Maybe because she’d never seen a Chenayan priestess before.

The priestess bobbed a curtsy. “Of course, my lord.” She grabbed Lynx’s and Kestrel’s arms and tried to drag them away.

“Get your hands off them!” Heron yelled, as Lynx dug in her heels, refusing to budge. “These are Norin princesses you’re manhandling.”

Heron fell under Avanov’s imperious gaze.

“Raider. Get out. Now.” Avanov strode over to Heron’s cart and slapped the closest horse hard on the rump.

It bucked, and Heron had to fight to bring it under control.

Face infused with rage, Heron opened his mouth and then snapped it closed with an audible click.

Lynx was grateful. King Thorn had made it clear that Heron wasn’t to antagonize the Chenayans. Winds knew, his kiss was provocative enough. The Chenayans could easily kill him and confiscate the Norin horses and cart. His death would be more than Lynx could bear. Norin’s meager coffers couldn’t handle the loss of horses and a cart, either.

The only way of smoothing over this situation was to submit to the priestess.

Lynx turned to Heron and said in a soft voice, “Go. May the Winds be with you.” Heart aching at this cruel parting, she turned her back on her dearest friend and allowed herself to be pulled along. Her clenched jaw ached as Heron’s cart took off across the parade ground. Fighting tears, she prayed he would understand she had done it to protect him and not because she wanted to submit to the enemy.

The priestess interrupted her painful musing. Face contorted with a malicious smile, Mother Saskia pulled out a stumpy dagger from a pocket in her robes. Quick as lightning, she snatched a braid of Lynx’s hair and feathers and slashed through it. “A future Chenayan empress does not wear braids crawling with lice.”

Even Kestrel gasped as the priestess flung Lynx’s hair onto the flagstones and ground her heel into it.

The air escaped Lynx’s lungs. Instinctively, she grabbed a machete, ready to protect her surviving braid.

Someone misread her intent. A hand clamped around her wrist, restraining her with an iron grip.

“I warned you,” Axel Avanov said.

Lynx looked over her shoulder at his face. It was about as hard as the ruby next to his eye.

“Now take control of the situation.”

Clearly, he wasn’t talking to her, so Lynx shot her head around to see what the priestess was up to.

“Of course, my lord.” Mother Saskia’s tongue did a quick circuit of her lips, lapping up sweat. “I will immobilize her now. Mark my words, she’ll not be giving anyone any trouble again.”

Immobilize? What did that mean? Nothing good, to be sure. Lynx pulled out her second machete and jerked it down, driving the tip into the general’s thigh as a warning to leave her alone. She heard fabric rip and relished the satisfaction of metal slicing into flesh. It wasn’t a deep wound—she couldn’t risk that, not with an heir to the throne—but the message to both him and the priestess was clear: she would not be quietly “immobilized.”

“Lynx!” Kestrel shouted. “What are you doing?”

Axel Avanov jumped back, letting go of her hand. “You cut me!”

He sounded so surprised that Lynx assumed no one had ever challenged him.

“My lord!” the priestess gasped, lunging forward like a bodyguard.

Lynx ignored both the priestess and her sister, all focus on him because he was the one giving the orders.

“Nicely done, Princess.” He smirked. “So your weapons aren’t just for show?”

“Try to ‘immobilize’ me, and I’ll show you exactly what I use them for.”

He glanced at something over her shoulder, then shouted, “Mother, no—”

Lynx turned to see the priestess’s gloveless hand extended toward her. The moonstone next to her eye pulsed just as the priestess touched her fingers to the bare skin on Lynx’s arm.

A burst of pain, more exquisite than anything Lynx had ever experienced, shot through her arm and up into her chest. Gasping for air, tongue lolling as if gripped in a massive seizure, her knees collapsed, and she crumpled to the ground. Lynx writhed as Kestrel screamed, the sound muffled and distant. The priestess leaned over her, her face blurring around the edges.

Then everything went black.

9

Lynx groaned. An incessant clattering throbbed through her head, and the world rocked from side to side. Nausea curdled her stomach. She was lying face down on—what? A cushion? Slowly, she unclenched her fingers, feeling the surface beneath her. A padded bench.

Where was she? The sound and motion suggested a train, but that was impossible. Only moments before, she had collapsed in the stable yard. To find out, she would have to open her eyes. The idea made her head pound even more.

“Are you awake?” Kestrel’s voice.

Lynx forced her lips to move. “Barely.”

“Like I said, you shouldn’t have kissed Heron. Let alone stabbed that general. He’s an heir to the throne, you know. After Tao.”

Lynx groaned. I’ve woken up to this! “Where are we?”

“If you would sit up, you’d see.”

Lynx shifted, easing life back into her frozen muscles. Every inch of her body ached, but she’d be damned if she told Kestrel that. Even her skin felt different—heavy and constricting, it pressed down on her like it didn’t belong on her body. She sank back onto the seat.

A tide of dizziness swamped her as she opened her eyes. When the million dancing spots cleared, she saw she was lying in a compartment of a railroad car, lined with red and gold silk. One side even had a black dragon embroidered on the fabric. A small window gleamed next to her, making her eyes throb too much to even consider looking out of it.

“We’re on the train? How did I get here?”

Kestrel sat opposite her, reading a book. “The priestess commanded some guardsmen to carry you on.” She didn’t look up. “General Avanov and Colonel Zarot are also on board.”

Lynx had no idea who Colonel Zarot was. It didn’t look like Kestrel would explain, either.

“Last I knew, I was defending my braid. Then some she-witch grilled me with her fingers.”

“Like I said, you shouldn’t have knifed him. Or kissed Heron.”

She hadn’t kissed Heron! He had kissed her! But it was pointless. Right now, as annoying as Kestrel was, she needed her sister too much to fight.

“Who knew priestesses had those kinds of powers?” Lynx asked to change the subject.

Her dealings with the Chenayan religion were non-existent. But she had learned something from the miserable experience: the moment the priestess had touched her, her moonstone had pulsed. There had to be a connection. That, at least, was gratifying, making the painful experience worthwhile.

“Axel Avanov . . . did he tell the priestess not to hurt me? Or did I imagine that?”

“He said ‘no.’ I don’t think he was pleased.”

“Hmm . . . that surprises me.” Lynx wished Kestrel would engage in this discussion so she didn’t have to drag it out of her.

But, head averted, her sister’s fingernails picked at the worn cover of her novel. Ownership of books was forbidden in the empire—a ban Kestrel was happy to flaunt for the pleasure of reading romance novels.

Once a year, the Norin caravan brushed Lapis, a Free Nation. There, steam-printed books were produced in small numbers—not enough to risk the ire of the Chenayans who might decide to quash such rebellion by their independent neighbor. With a passing knowledge of Lapisian, Kestrel saved her money for books. King Thorn knew it was risky, letting his people breach the poorly guarded border, but he said the pursuit of the written word outweighed possible reprisals.

The spinning in Lynx’s head had subsided enough for her to risk looking out the window. The track they were following ran parallel to a soft, white beach lapped by azure waters. It had to be the shores of the Izmodo Sea. The sun, not yet tipping the ocean, lay low in the sky.

“How far are we from the checkpoint at Final Gate?”

Kestrel shrugged. “I don’t know. I wondered myself. I was hoping to look out the window before—” Her sister’s voice faltered.

Lynx guessed at what Kestrel wasn’t saying. She wanted a last look at Norin before they crossed the narrow land bridge; it jutted two miles across the sea that divided Norin from the Chenayan heartland.

That Kestrel cared softened Lynx’s heart. “If you tell me how long we’ve traveled, I’ll tell you when we’re likely to get there.”

Kestrel cleared her throat. “We were in Tanamre for about an hour. And we’ve been traveling for about four, I guess, given how the sun has shifted.”

That made five hours.

She’d been unconscious that long? The she-witch hadn’t been joking when she said she would immobilize her.

“We should get to our side of the land bridge in less than an hour.” Lynx remembered the wristwatch Heron had given her and forced her frozen arm to move so she could look at it—and gasped.

Not only was her precious watch gone, but so was her leather tunic. A lacy white cuff dangled delicately over her hand, attached to a tight-fitting, pale pink taffeta sleeve. She leaped to her feet and bashed her head against the wood-lined roof, hardly aware of the impact.

“No wonder I feel so terrible I can barely move!” she shrieked. “That bitch put me in a dress. With a stupid bustle.”

“I know.” Kestrel wailed. “I can’t believe what she’s done to you. You look so . . . unnatural, I can’t bear to look at you.” She launched out of her seat and threw herself at Lynx, locking her arms around her waist. “And your other braid—” Kestrel actually sobbed.

Lynx understood why Kestrel had been so reticent. Her sister may not have wanted feathers and beads in her hair, but she knew how much Lynx cherished them. Her hand darted to her face. The feathers and beads were gone and the braid teased out of her hair.

“I tried to stop her. I even told her what they mean to a Norin. Honestly, I did,” Kestrel cried.

Lynx wasn’t listening. Her hands shot to her back, feeling for her weapons. Unsurprisingly, they were missing. With Kestrel clinging to her, she plopped onto the bench and yanked up the dress to expose her boot, where she always kept a blade hidden. But her boots were gone, too. Instead, she wore a pair of matching pink satin slippers.

They were trying to turn her into a Chenayan! Changing her clothes was the first step. Who knew what would come next?

A scream of rage tore from her chest, and she kicked her feet, sending the slippers shooting across the compartment. Kestrel tumbled off her lap, landing in a heap of green and black brocade on the floor.

“Dragon’s curses! What is going on in here?”

A door Lynx hadn’t noticed slid open, and Mother Saskia’s head poked into the tiny space.

“Oh. You’re awake.” She glared at Lynx. “But still full of defiance, I see.” She held out a warning hand. “This has got to stop, Princess. Such behavior is hardly becoming from our crown prince’s betrothed.”

Scraping all her dignity together, Lynx faced the priestess. “My clothes and weapons. Where are they?”

“You dare ask about your weapons after attacking Lord Axel!”

“I was provoked.”

“Nonsense, and as for those leather rags,” Mother Saskia’s gloved hands tugged and straightened the pink ruffled corset of Lynx’s dress, “this is what a lady wears. Thankfully, I packed a few trunks of gowns for you.”

Lynx knocked her hands away. “My weapons? Where are they, you evil witch?”

“A witch?” Mother Saskia pulled herself straight. “I am the Great High Priestess of All Chenaya and the Conquered Territories. My power comes directly from the Dragon.”

Lynx opened her mouth to tell Mother Saskia to shove her Dragon, preferably somewhere painful, when the priestess’s lips curled into a scowl.

“What is this?” She thrust Lynx aside and pounced on Kestrel’s book. She held it up as if it were a rat. “I searched your luggage before we left Tanamre. This was not in it.”

Kestrel lunged for the book. “It’s mine. You can’t destroy it like you destroyed everything else.”

“Not anymore. We do not tolerate Free Nation propaganda here in the Heartland.”

“But I am marrying Tao, and I know he can read.”

Her words had no effect on the priestess. Mother Saskia pulled a hand from its glove and flicked her finger at the edge of the pages. The smell of burnt ozone after a lightning strike filled the cabin. The parchment blackened, curled, and then ignited. Kestrel gaped as the novel burst into flames. The she-witch dropped it into the aisle outside the compartment’s door.

Lynx watched it burn until nothing remained but the smoldering leather cover. Even as she clenched her fists, she knew how impotent she was against a woman who could shoot lightning from her fingers.

It was a truth not lost on Mother Saskia, either. A triumphant glint gleamed in her eye. “Princess Lynx, now you know what happened to your disgusting feathers, tatty wristwatch, hideous rags, and puny weapons.”

Icy water seemed to flush through Lynx’s veins. “My watch? You destroyed it? It belonged to Heron. He gave it me to remember him.”

“How many times must I tell you, Princess? There is no room for other men in your life.” The she-witch scooped up Lynx’s pink slippers and thrust them into her hand. “We will arrive at Final Gate in half an hour. There, we will collect your father’s brother. Unlike the rest of you Norin, he seems to know how to behave. Don’t embarrass him with your wild behavior.” Mother Saskia picked up her skirt and sailed from the compartment.

Kestrel slumped onto her seat, fighting her bustle, which insisted on shooting up behind her. “Did you see what she did to my book?”

Lynx figured it was a rhetorical question, but she was still proud of her sister for trying to put one past the priestess. “Good for you.”

A strategy was needed for dealing with the she-witch, but first Lynx’s bustle had to go. She raised her dress high enough to expose the fastenings tying it to her corset. “Help me loosen this stupid thing, and then I’ll do yours. We can toss them out the window.”

Kestrel didn’t move as Lynx wriggled into position in front of her. “Do you think we should risk it?”

Lynx looked at Kestrel over her shoulder. “If you think I’m going to wear a bustle, then you’re as crazy as she is. Come, we don’t have much time before we pick up Uncle Bear.” She waggled her hips, making the bustle sway. “The last thing in the world I want is for him to see me dressed in this.”

“I don’t intend on getting fried.” Kestrel shoved Lynx away. “And I like my dress. Uncle Bear has lived in the palace for years. I bet he also dresses like they do.”

Lynx stumbled forward, gripping the wall for support. Kestrel’s uncharacteristic burst of bravery had fizzled out with her book. And of course she liked Chenayan clothing—it wasn’t Norin. That made discussing a strategy of rebellion with her moot.

“As Father’s emissary in Cian, Uncle Bear has to. That doesn’t mean he likes it.” Lynx fumbled with the ties, wishing she had her knife. It would have made short work of the lacings.

“Lynx, Wolf said I was to support you, so I’m telling you right now that this is a bad idea.”

“Submitting to their dress code is the first step in becoming like them. I am a Norin, and I’ll remain one until I die.”

“Then your life probably won’t be very long, given what that woman can do.”

“Oh, stop being so negative. She’s just the priestess. Lukan is the one whose opinion counts, and his mother was a Norin. He knows how we dress. This is a compromise he can make toward our marriage. It’s not as if he’s put himself out in any other way.”

Kestrel grabbed Lynx’s hands, pulling them away from her bustle. “Stop! I won’t let you put us both at risk like this. It’s stupid and reckless.”

Lynx’s instinctive reaction was to argue, but her father’s face, pleading for her to take care, flashed before her. It flushed her rebellion. She slumped down onto the bench. To hide her embarrassment, she poked her head out the window and looked up at the terrain ahead. “We’ve reached the land bridge.”

Kestrel shot to the window. But, Lynx noted with sadness, despite all that had happened, her sister’s eyes were not fixed on the south where Norin lay. It was to the Chenayan Heartland in the north that she looked with bright expectation.

Eager to escape from her, Lynx tugged open the door and stepped into the aisle. To her right, the passageway ended in a padlocked steel door. She turned left toward a door with an image of the Dragon etched into its glass panel. The hideous creature was clearly going to become a permanent fixture in her life.

Through the glass, she could see another car with an elegant sitting area. She took a couple of steps toward the door, but her unfamiliar dress knotted around her ankles. She grabbed an armful, pushed the door open, and stepped barefoot onto a highly polished hardwood floor.

Axel Avanov slouched in a plush armchair, one long, booted leg sprawled over the armrest. Although he had changed out of his torn, bloody trousers, she noted with some satisfaction that it was the leg she had sliced. She wondered if he would say anything about her attack. If he didn’t, she figured it would be better if she didn’t say anything, either.

A colonel—the one Kestrel had mentioned?—relaxed in a chair opposite him. They were playing dice. Three piles of mycek lay on the low table between them. From the size of the pile of notes in front of Axel Avanov, she guessed he was winning. He laughed at something the colonel said.

Across the expansive compartment, the she-witch’s white robes contrasted sharply against the opulent red, black, and gold furnishings. She knelt in apparent prayer at the foot of a black dragon effigy. The Dragon’s red eyes glared across the compartment, chilling the atmosphere, making Lynx feel as welcome as the she-witch’s shock treatment had.

She shivered and considered returning to Kestrel, but this sitting area was probably where she’d be spending most of her time until reaching Cian. She took a deep breath and straightened her back. No one would intimidate her.

Lynx dropped her dress so she could use her hands to defend herself, if necessary, and stepped purposefully into the room—only to trip over her skirt. She stumbled forward, bashing her knee on a table, rattling a candlestick.

“Winds!”

Every eye turned to her. Face as pink as her dress, Lynx found her balance and tried to glide gracefully to the closest chair. It happened to be at Avanov’s table. Her feet tangled again in the hated taffeta.

“Having some trouble, Princess?” Avanov asked.

Mother Saskia stood to face her. Unsurprisingly, she didn’t look amused—or sympathetic.

“No trouble at all, General.” She’d rot in hell before she’d call a Chenayan “my lord.” Quickly, she picked up the skirt, found a seam, and ripped it open to her thigh; Mother Saskia started to move, so she tugged the dress and petticoats to her side and tied them into a knot. “Now that I’ve solved the problem of the ridiculous clothing you all wear.”

Heart racing, feigning nonchalance, Lynx sauntered to Avanov’s table and dropped into a chair. As her bustle connected, the chair jerked out behind her, skittering across the wooden floor. She collapsed in a heap. Both Avanov and the colonel burst into laughter.

Avanov started to stand—to help her?—but she leaped up, grabbed the chair and pulled it back to the table before he was on his feet. He held the back of the confounded thing as she sat, this time with more care.

Humiliated beyond measure—a cushion on the floor would never have sabotaged her like that—she tried to draw attention from her flaming face by plunking her feet on the table. “So, General, are you going to invite me to play?”

He scorched her with his wicked smile. “If you’ve got the mycek, why not?”

Lynx resisted the urge to kick him. Norin was not overly supplied with paper money. They used ostrich feathers and hides to barter for what they needed, and he would know that. She tilted her chin up to reply just as Mother Saskia reached the table. Lynx braced herself for pain. She started to pull her skirt down when Axel surprised her by frowning at the priestess.

The priestess hesitated, her eyes locked on Lynx’s thighs. “But, my lord—”

“Go back to your prayers,” Axel commanded, waving dismissively at her. “Colonel Zarot and I happen to enjoy looking at the princess’s legs.”

Scowling, the she-witch retreated to her post at the Dragon’s feet.

He turned to the colonel. “Don’t we, Stefan?”

“It’s certainly not something we see every day.”

Lynx writhed as the colonel’s impassive face twitched with a grin. All she wanted was to slink away and never return, but she had as much right to be here as they had.

Flaunting her legs was a totally alien experience, but she couldn’t let these Chenayan scum know how much their mocking laughter rattled her. Now was not the time to be coy. She took a deep breath and stared at Avanov.

“In that case, General, the view of my legs buys me into the game.” Willing her hands to stop shaking, she picked up the three dice. “Bet what you think the view of them is worth.”

Dice was the only game of chance she had ever had any luck with, so as long as these weren’t loaded, she was confident she could win.

Avanov grunted. Or maybe it was a laugh. Then, his hand slipped into a pocket of his black breeches and pulled out a wad of notes. With a lazy flick of his wrist, he tossed a pair of thousand mycek bills onto the table.

Lynx tried, and failed, to stop her eyes from widening. That was more money than she would have seen in her whole life if she’d stayed in Norin.

The colonel must have agreed it was an outrageous amount because he was a tad slow in matching Axel’s bet.

Sudden, unexpected sympathy for the man flashed through Lynx. The Avanovs were the richest family in the empire, and two thousand mycek would probably be pocket change for the general. For the rest of the population—and, more specifically, the Norin tribe—it was life-changing money. Playing for that kind of cash called for some nervous hair twirling, but when her fingers reached for her favorite lock, she remembered the priestess had chopped it off.

Dice clenched at a fresh burst of anger, she called, “A six, a one, and a four.”

She didn’t get to roll the dice. The screeching of the train’s brakes told her they had reached the control point at Final Gate.

Avanov swept up his two notes, leaving the rest of the money on the table. “Sorry, Princess,” he said, “but duty calls.”

Both he and the colonel walked to a door at the opposite end of the compartment from where Lynx had entered.

Lynx’s face flamed; Avanov must have known they were seconds away from the checkpoint when he made his outrageous bid. Clearly, he had no intention of risking that much money for a view of her legs.

Why it mattered, she couldn’t say.

10

Axel slouched in his chair in the salon and smiled at Bear, King Thorn’s brother and emissary in Cian. The man could not have looked less like his namesake if he tried. Tall, rangy, thin-lipped, and aquiline-faced, Bear would have been better named after some raptor. A bad-tempered one. But then, Axel figured, twenty years in Cian dealing with Mad Mott was enough to put anyone out of humor.

Still, the two princesses seemed pleased to see their uncle—Lynx particularly.

Wild Lynx sat on a small sofa next to Bear, her hand clasped in his. Kestrel perched on a second sofa next to Stefan. That completed their after-dinner drinks circle.

Given they were enemies joined by conquest and marriage, no one had much to offer in the way of conversation. Dinner had been stilted, too, with Bear the only one making any real effort. Now, even he seemed to have exhausted his supply of small talk.

The recent attack on the Norin camp probably wasn’t helping, either. But there was nothing Axel could do about that. If the Norin weren’t so bent on rebellion, it would not have been necessary.

So, Axel watched Lynx over the rim of his crystal goblet of chenna. Even though he preferred brunettes, he had to admit she was beautiful.

And bold. Very bold. As her antics with the machete attested.

He rubbed his bandaged thigh, marveling at how coolly she had jabbed him. It had caught him totally off guard. The women he knew didn’t carry weapons other than, perhaps, a small dagger tucked in a bodice or pocket, and they certainly didn’t attack members of the royal family.

It was refreshing.

Almost as enchanting as Lynx’s legs, in fact.

Sadly, the knot in her dress had come undone, and the hideous pink froth now hid her assets. Perhaps I should invite her for another round of dice. He smirked. He’d have given a lot—okay, two thousand mycek—to see her face if she’d won their little bet. No doubt she’d have found a way to brazen her way through that, too.

Her courage did more than just thrill him; he could use information like that. Perhaps Lynx was just the bargaining chip he needed in his upcoming negotiations with his father and his uncle about solving the war in Treven. The question was, would she be tough enough to endure the inevitable fallout if he played her?

He had seven days on a boring train to find out.

Bear placed his drink on the table. “Princess Lynx, I had a seamstress run up a few items for you. Some dresses to ease you into the new style before you reach the palace. Once there, I’m sure you will have a better idea of what to order from the royal seamstress.” Turning to Axel, he added, “Perhaps, my lord, you will arrange for one of your guardsmen to transfer the trunk to the princess’s compartment?”

Lynx jumped in before Axel could reply. “Clothes? For me? Where did you get that idea?”

“And where are mine?” Kestrel demanded.

Bear picked up a knife and sawed off a chunk of cheese on a board in front of him.

“Uncle Bear?” Lynx demanded.

Bear cleared his throat. “Er . . . your mother may have mentioned something in her last letter.” He gave Kestrel a thin smile. “She also said your wardrobe was complete.” When Kestrel scowled, he added, “And you do look quite lovely in that gown, my dear.”

Kestrel smoothed her skirt. “It is very fine silk, isn’t it? Are the dresses you’ve brought for Lynx as pretty?”

Axel rolled his eyes, then noticed Lynx’s hand dart to her hair, feeling for something. Probably her feathers and beads, cut off by that idiot Saskia.

For a raider, losing braids was probably the equivalent to ripping out his ruby. Painful in ways impossible to express. It intensified his dislike for the priestess. He glared over at her, kneeling below the Dragon.

Lynx’s fingers drumming her armrest called his attention back to her. Clearly, she liked the idea of her new Chenayan wardrobe as little as he did.

They would both have to put up with it.

Still, that didn’t mean Axel couldn’t have some fun with Lynx. It was payback for the wound that burned on his thigh. “Of course, Lord Emissary. Pity, though. The princess promised to stake her legs on a game of dice. That was after she impaled me with her machete.”

Axel suppressed a laugh as Bear’s thin lips almost disappeared into his mouth along with his cheese. The emissary coughed, looking aghast at Lynx. She ignored him, focusing her attention on Axel.

The intensity of her glare was almost enough to make him squirm. He straightened in his chair and accepted her unspoken challenge. For the first time in his life, he was the first to break eye contact.

Axel cracked a smile. “You win that round, Princess. But two against nil is a challenge I now cannot ignore.” He pulled the two thousand mycek out of his pocket and held them out to her.

Her face puckered at his offering, making it almost worth conceding defeat. Then a troubling thought struck—even if she was Lukan’s betrothed, displaying every emotion without censure was not a recipe for a long life in Cian. Like her defiant machete wielding, it would be sad to see her candor go, but go it must if she were to survive the Avanov palace. Maybe if she stopped glaring at him, he might take the trouble to clue her in.

He waggled the money at her. “Take it. We’re traveling on a military line, the most boring place to be if you aren’t heading off to conquer someone.”

Lynx’s eyes flashed. Coming so soon after the attack on the camp, Axel regretted his comment. Not that he would ever tell her that.

Her sister was not so reticent about accepting the cash. Kestrel smiled, holding out her hand. “I’ll have it, if she doesn’t want it.”

Axel threw a smile Kestrel’s way and then addressed Lynx. “Our only excitement will be dodging Mother Saskia and playing dice. The food’s not too bad, either,” he admitted as an afterthought. “As your uncle disapproves of using your legs as chips, you will need cash.”

Lynx’s face flushed. With a small swagger, she snatched the money and dropped it onto her lap. “I love a challenge. And don’t for a minute think I will let you even that score, General.” A shimmer of a smile played on her perfect lips, pulling his eyes from her reddened cheeks. “So, anytime you’re ready.”

His stomach flipped unexpectedly. Startled, he brushed the sensation away by challenging, “A one, a six, and a four. That was your last call, if my memory serves.” He tossed three dice onto the table and followed up with a hundred mycek bill to start the bidding.

Lynx’s eyebrows shot up. “How typically Chenayan. You expect me to counter your measly hundred with one of my thousands?”

Axel ramped up his sardonic smile, ignoring her slight that Chenayans always took more than they gave. It was true, but he wasn’t getting into a political debate with a Norin. They were unwinnable. “It seems you have a problem, Princess. How’s that scoreboard looking now?”

“Unchanged, General.” Her voice was hard, leaving him in no doubt that Norin hatred of Chenayans ran deep in Lynx’s veins. “I don’t have problems. I have solutions.” She jerked her skirt to the side, bunching folds of hideous pink onto her lap. With a thunk, she hoicked a foot onto the table, exposing her thigh. “Care to raise me? Or would it be easier to get your priestess to ‘immobilize’ the problem? Fifteen guardsmen sent to my compartment while I’m sleeping might also work.”

Axel’s mouth dropped. She wasn’t exactly holding back, was she? He wondered if she was always this volatile. Something told him she was.

A glance at Bear. Even the emissary, trained to keep a straight face regardless of the circumstances, looked aggrieved at the mention of the Norin massacre. Axel sent up a silent curse at Mott for the ordering the attack just days before he had to spend a week on a train with three outraged Norin.

Still, it would not serve him to expose his niggling conscience that the attack had been wrong on so many levels. He tossed another hundred into the center.

Lynx responded by sliding her other foot onto the table. Her fair skin, golden in the lamplight, sent a shiver of desire shooting through him. For a moment, he toyed with raising the ante, but he didn’t trust Lynx.

Or Mother Saskia.

Drawn to their tussle, he sensed the priestess watching them from the other side of the room.

It was time to end this.

Axel flicked another hundred onto the table. Grinning at the unintended pun, he said, “I see you.”

Lynx fisted the dice, brought them to her mouth, and blew on them for luck. Her pouted lips sent another blast of want through him. He rubbed the stubble on his jaw, unable to recall when last a woman had affected him like this. Teased, he corrected, since Lukan would be the only one who would ever get to sleep with her.

Face taut, Lynx threw the dice onto the table. Axel leaned forward to see how they’d fallen at exactly the same moment Lynx did. They bumped heads. He pulled back, laughing, but she scowled at him.

Crazy as it was, her reaction stung.

He quickly followed with a wicked smile and pointed to the dice. A three, a two, and a five gleamed up at him. “Looks like I’ve won, Princess.” He pocketed his bet. “Two to one on the scoreboard.”

“Don’t let it go to your head, General. I have many more tricks up my sleeve.”

He snorted a laugh, relishing her fire. “I bet you do, Princess. Any time you want to play, just bring it on.”

Bear cleared his throat noisily.

Lynx’s face flushed bright red, and her feet thudded to the floor. She yanked her skirt down, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

Axel glanced around. Stefan looked at him with a slightly raised eyebrow—a riot of expression from him. Kestrel’s mouth hung open.

Had his standoff with Lynx been that interesting?

“Perhaps this would be a good time to confirm the arrangements for when we reach Cian.” After another round of throat clearing, Bear said, “I have the emperor’s assurance that the princesses will stay with me until the wedding.”

Axel faced him, refusing to appear flustered. “Then you hardly need worry about my compliance.”

“Forgive me, my lord, but I would be pleased to hear it from your own lips.” Bear looked anything but mollified.

Axel grunted. The emissary must have learned through bitter experience that it was never wise to take a Chenayan assurance at face value—especially not one issued by Emperor Mott.

From the way Lynx leaned forward, he guessed she shared her uncle’s concerns.

It was on the tip of his tongue to joke with her, but the two of them had already caused a stir. “You can rest assured, Lord Emissary. The emperor has given me my orders.” Axel gestured to Stefan. “Now, if you’ll forgive us, the colonel and I have matters of business to discuss.” He stood, trusting Stefan’s inscrutable face not to betray his surprise at the summons.

Stefan didn’t fail him.

The skin on Axel’s back tingled as he sensed Lynx watching him leave the compartment.

She belonged to Lukan, he told himself firmly. Unless—

Time, he told himself. He needed time to work out exactly what he and Princess Lynx of Norin could do for each other.

11

Under the guise of exercise, Lynx sauntered the length of guard car, her destination on her twice-daily march down the train. Conscious of a dozen guardsmen watching her, she stopped at the open window in the locked steel door at the end of the car. Her tongue worked in her mouth, building up a juicy blob of saliva.

A shiver of satisfaction trilled through her at the thought of lobbing it at the railway tracks. It would be a small protest—but one that clearly showed her disapproval of the Chenayan Heartland through which the train now traveled.

But she didn’t.

She needed something these troops had, and offending them wasn’t going to help her cause, even though, not so long ago, she was shooting arrows into the backs of men just like them.

A voice spoke. “It’s wonderful to see you again, Highness. Make our day, your visits do.”

Lynx gritted her teeth and then turned to face the speaker.

He was a young sergeant with a pleasant face, marred by the pea-sized chunk of jasper next to his right eye.

She smiled like she was delighted to see him, too. “You have a way with words, Sergeant Pasha.” She had made a conscious effort to remember as many names and ranks as possible, going as far as to start a cryptic dossier on Axel Avanov and Stefan Zarot. Every bit of information she gleaned could prove valuable to her father. “No one has welcomed me to Chenaya quite like you and your men.”

Before arriving on this train, it had never occurred to Lynx to use her “assets” to get what she wanted in life, but she’d seen and learned from Axel and Stefan’s reactions to her legs. If showing a bit of skin bamboozled these doltish Chenayans enough to get her what she needed to protect herself, her family, and her people, then so be it. Painfully aware of her blush of embarrassment, she leaned back against the door and extended her leg, making sure each soldier got a good look at its curves.

Some of them blushed, too; others looked down at their feet. All sneaked longing peeks at her flesh.

It helped that she wore one of her uncle’s “training dresses.”

The back was designed to accommodate the stupid bustle, with the fine black cotton and lace fabric skirting her ankles. Up top, she wore a black corset, which showed off more of her breasts than she would ever have dreamed of revealing at home. The lacy black skirt in front of the dress stopped just above the knee—a sight rarely, if ever, seen in Chenaya. Once at her uncle’s home in Cian, the training dresses would be destroyed, and her hemline would plummet to her ankles.

With the soldiers’ focus blown, it was time to get to the real purpose of this visit.

Lynx quickly scanned the room for a stray weapon she could filch before leaving. As usual, no axe or sword lay neglected on a table, waiting to be scooped up into her cloak. She sighed. How was she supposed to re-arm herself if they insisted on being so meticulous?

“Like I’ve said every day since you first arrived, ma’am, it builds the men’s morale to have our future crown princess visit us,” a ragged-toothed lieutenant added. “Maybe you’ll even remember us when you are empress. Dragon’s blessing on our great emperor, Mott the Magnificent.”

“Dragon’s blessing,” all the other men murmured, giving full salutes at the mention of Mott’s name.

Lynx resisted the urge to make a vomiting sound. As soon as the rumble died down, she said, “Visiting with you helps us pass the time, Lieutenant Olec. You have to admit the last five days have been mind-bendingly dull.” She pointed to the jasper next to Olec’s eye. “Your stone is so . . . striking. What does it signify? You all wear them, so it can’t just mean rank, the way General Avanov’s ruby does.”

Lieutenant Olec rubbed the jasper. “No, indeed, Your Highness. Our stones give—”

A guardsman poked his head around the door. “Ah! Here you are, Your Highness.” He stepped into the room and bowed. “Lunch has been served. I will accompany you to the dining car.”

Lynx sighed, barely hiding her frustration. “Thank you, Corporal Telev. Yet another meal. It’s all we seem to do.”

“Better than starving, ma’am,” Lieutenant Olec grinned, showing his terrible teeth.

“I can always rely on you to see the bright side, Lieutenant.” Lynx nodded at the men. “Until later, then.”

* * *

Lynx slid open the door to the dining car. Only Kestrel, her uncle, and the priestess had gathered for the meal. She wondered if Avanov and Zarot would deign to join them.

Unlikely.

They seemed to find other things to do during the day, only appearing at dinner. Avanov hadn’t renewed his invitation to play dice with her.

Her uncle beamed when he saw her. “Lynx! Come, join us, please do.” He patted the chair next to him.

What were the she-witch and Kestrel talking about that he was so eager for her company? She sat next to him to listen and pulled a serving bowl of food over to her plate.

“—amazed when you see the palace,” the priestess said to Kestrel. “It has over a thousand rooms! Each magnificently decorated with the finest furnishings and silk—”

“You mean more red, gold, and black,” Lynx interrupted. She waved a serving spoon covered in mashed potatoes at the walls to make her point.

Mother Saskia took a moment to glare at Lynx and turned back to Kestrel. “Through the ages, great artists like Gustave, Taim, and Naxor have all had a hand in beautifying your new home. I can assure you, their tastes include more than red, black, and gold.”

Lynx smiled at Kestrel’s blank expression as she helped herself to a dollop of stewed venison with vegetables. The names, obviously hallowed in Chenayan art circles, meant nothing to her sister, despite her claims to be an artist.

The priestess clicked her tongue. “Oh, there is so much for you to learn, Princess.” She tucked a strand of Kestrel’s hair behind her ear.

Despite the she-witch torching her book, Kestrel didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “I—I might not know the names of all your artists, but I can paint. I do, all the time. Animals and birds, mainly. It’s one of the reasons I’m so excited to get to the palace.”

“A talent! How wonderful. I’ll inform the relevant people as soon as we arrive. I promise it won’t take long until you’re given all the materials you need to create your masterpieces.”

Lynx glanced at her uncle and wondered what else would be revealed about her and Kestrel at that debriefing. He raised his eyebrows and nodded. Perhaps he understood her silent communication.

“Oh, Mother, that would be perfect.” Kestrel’s face flushed, and her voice trilled with anticipation. “And a master painter to teach me? Would that be possible? Nothing would make me happier.”

Lynx leaned forward. “Those thousand rooms . . . who lives in them? I didn’t stay at the palace long enough to find out.”

It took Mother Saskia a minute to grasp the gist of her question. “The high-born, of course. All the elite and their children are privileged to live at the palace. Emperor Mott, Dragon’s blessing upon him, insists they live with him, so he can lavish them with luxury and comfort.”

A gilded cage. Mott kept them there to stop them from plotting against him. Lynx studied the she-witch through hooded lids. Do you believe your own propaganda?

The priestess’s face betrayed none of her thoughts.

“A thousand rooms stuffed with Chenayans,” Lynx said, the offense intentional. “That sounds cloying and unpleasant.”

The priestess’s throat bobbed, and her fingers gripping the table whitened. “Hardly, my dear princess. As I’m sure you are aware, there are only fifteen families that matter in the empire. Apart from the Avanovs, of course. They are the high-born, the men who serve on the High Council, assisting the emperor with the running of the empire. We call them the Fifteen, and it is they and their families who occupy those apartments.”

“That seems like a lot of rooms to go around,” Kestrel squealed, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Mother Saskia had excluded her own family from the families that mattered. “And Prince Tao, does he have a large—”

“Do you belong to one of the Fifteen, Mother Saskia?” Lynx drowned out Kestrel’s question.

Now Kestrel glared at her. Lynx ignored it, sickened at how quickly her sister adjusted to the promise of Chenayan luxury.

The priestess repositioned her perfectly positioned veil before replying. “Of course not, Princess Lynx. No priestess can claim to come from a high-born family.”

“Then how do you become a priestess? You’ve mentioned, repeatedly, that you hold an elevated position in Chenaya.”

A flicker of pride darted across Mother Saskia’s face. “I was blessed by birth to be a priestess. Just like my eldest brother was privileged to serve in the military. My current position is the result of my devotion to the Dragon.” She swallowed hard. “My brother recently lost his life, leading a platoon of troops in Treven. We were close.”

Lynx was aware Mott had invaded Treven. Due to the usual dearth of news from Cian, she had no idea how the conflict was going. She supposed she should offer the woman some condolences, but nothing in their interaction inclined her to sprout platitudes. “Was he a foot soldier?”

“Of course not, Princess! He wasn’t a common grunt. That’s the lot of third- and fourth-born sons. My eldest brother wore an imperial guardsman’s jasper, just as I was given the priestess’s moonstone at birth.”

“Yes. I was wondering about your stone. I saw it pulse when you shocked me. Was that just my imagination?”

The priestess’s pursed lips resembled a prune. “Our stones are a blessing bestowed by our beloved emperor. It is very bad form to question people about them.”

“So I didn’t imagine it. How did it shock me?”

Uncle Bear’s hand drifted to her knee and squeezed it. She flashed him a smile and looked expectantly at the she-witch.

Someone cleared his throat, making Lynx look up.

Colonel Stefan Zarot stood next to Mother Saskia’s chair.

Lynx hadn’t seen or heard him approach. She cursed inwardly at yet another interruption just as she was getting somewhere with her investigation.

“Colonel,” Mother Saskia tittered, her relief evident. “You require me?”

“I do.” He pulled back the she-witch’s chair.

Mother Saskia almost danced after him.

“Oh, that’s sad,” Kestrel said. “I was enjoying talking to her.” She dropped her knife and fork on her plate. “Everything on this train is so boring.”

Lynx suddenly saw the bright side to the priestess’s desertion. “I think it’s just livened up.” She gestured around the dining car, deserted except for the three of them. “We can finally have a private discussion with Uncle Bear. I am sure you must have questions for him.”

“I hardly think Uncle Bear will be able to satisfy my concerns.” Kestrel giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. “Sorry, but I don’t suppose you’re interested in dresses and palace gossip.”

Uncle Bear gave her a thin smile. “My dear, I am an emissary. I live and breathe palace gossip.”

“Ooh. Then tell me about Tao. Is he handsome? I love dark hair. Please, please, please tell me he takes after the Chenayan side of his family and has dark hair.”

A flicker of worry darted across Uncle Bear’s face. “Prince Tao is a very respectable young man. He is known for his kindness and generosity to the low-born. I’m sure you will find him most pleasing.” He turned to Lynx. “You have questions.”

“A million, so I hardly know where to start.”

“Let me help you, then.” Uncle Bear waved his hand at Kestrel and Lynx, drawing them in. When the three of them were huddled close, he whispered in Norin, “I must tell you about the Dreaded. They’re—”

The door slid open.

12

It was Avanov. He fixed his honey-brown eyes on Lynx, and a sardonic smile quickly followed.

Lynx didn’t smile back.

“You’re needing something, my lord?” Uncle Bear asked, reverting to Chenayan.

Although his voice was mild, Lynx felt his leg next to hers stiffen. He was no more pleased to see Axel Avanov than she was.

“Some space. That’s all.”

It didn’t seem to worry Avanov that the three of them were huddled together, obviously whispering. He disengaged his eyes from Lynx’s and sauntered to the far end of the dining table.

With one hand, he unbuckled his weapons belt and dumped it on the table. A sword and a short-handled hand axe clattered onto the glossy surface. In his other hand, he carried a whetstone and a bottle of sharpening oil that he also tossed down.

Nimble fingers unclipped his steel vambraces, letting them fall next to his weapons. Then, he rolled his black sleeves above his elbows. That done, he unhooked the hand axe from the belt and ran a scarred finger down one of the blades. The edge looked wickedly sharp—but obviously not sharp enough to satisfy the general. He squeezed a drop of oil onto the whetstone and honed the blade.

The rasp of metal on stone destroyed the silence.

Why he needed to do this job in here, when the guardsmen had a whole car, complete with a sharpening bench, was a mystery.

Unless he was here to take over vigil from Mother Saskia. Lynx scowled. “So, General, your priestess was telling us about her moonstone. Maybe you want to tell us about your ruby?”

“I hardly think you’d be interested in anything I have to say, Princess.” He gave her a cocky smile. “At least not on such a dull subject. But I’m sure you and your uncle have a great deal to talk about.”

Sure, while you eavesdrop.

Kestrel pushed back her chair and stood. “Talk, talk, talk. That’s all we do on this train.” She glared at Uncle Bear. “But when I bring up a subject important to me, no one wants to answer. So, if you excuse me, I’m going to find Mother Saskia. Maybe she’ll answer my questions about Prince Tao.”

“My dear—” Uncle Bear called as Kestrel flounced out. He sighed.

Avanov shook his head and bent to his sharpening. Lynx slouched back in her chair. Pretty much an expert at knife honing, she could at least compare skills. Axel’s privileged upbringing had not precluded such basic chores as weapon maintenance. The muscles of his forearms bulged beneath his sun-bronzed skin as he coaxed an even keener edge onto the blade. Even the sinews in his hands stood out in stark relief.

Watching him work was positively erotic.

Lynx swallowed hard, reaching for her lock of hair. Not finding it, her fingers hung limp next to her head.

The girls she’d grown up with had always swooned over abs or butts. She had been unique in seeking out forearms and hands to drool over. As handsome as Heron was, she had always lamented his blunt fingers.

Now, here, on this Chenayan, she’d found the most beautiful hands she’d ever seen. The irony wasn’t lost on her. She leaned closer for a better look just as Uncle Bear cleared his throat.

The sound bumped her back to reality. A wave of self-disgust flooded through her. What would Heron think if he knew she ogled Chenayans just days after parting from him? What would her father think, for that matter?

Her face hot as a pot-bellied stove, she turned to her uncle, praying to the Winds that Axel hadn’t seen, or sensed, her gawping at him.

Uncle Bear watched her with an intrigued expression.

It was mortifying. Lynx didn’t do mortifying. Not well at least. A change of direction was vital, so at the risk of Axel eavesdropping, she leaned in close, whispering in Norin, “You were saying something about the Dreaded.”

Her uncle’s thin lips looked in danger of vanishing. Then his head turned—deliberately as any raptor’s—and he studied Axel.

Axel seemed totally lost in his work.

Uncle Bear closed his eyes and pursed his lips—an action Lynx recognized. Her uncle was thinking hard about something. Finally, he sighed and then gestured to Lynx with a bony finger to come closer. She angled her chair toward him.

His mouth pressed to her ear, he whispered, “I don’t trust Mott to honor the agreement to have you stay with me until the wedding, so despite my better judgment, I must grab this chance to speak to you.”

Back in command of her faculties, Lynx whispered, “But would they understand Norin?”

“Who knows? I doubt Avanov does, but still—”

“Perhaps it would be wiser if we exchanged notes. Did you bring parchment and quills?”

“The priestess didn’t limit her search to only your and Kestrel’s luggage. For the sake of peace, I relinquished my writing materials.” His voice dropped. “The risk of speaking is high, but I must warn you of a few things.”

Lynx glanced at Avanov, who whistled softly, his head still bent over his work. She took her uncle’s hand and leaned in even closer. “I’m listening.”

After a short pause, Uncle Bear said, “Every emperor lives in terror of the day someone destroys the empire. They have done everything in their power to prevent that happening. The palace writhes with informers—be careful whom you trust. But, although insidious, informers are not the greatest threat. Beware the Dreaded. Did you see them when you were at the palace?”

“I don’t think so. But I was only there for a couple of hours.” She frowned, uncertain. “I’m not even sure what the Dreaded are.”

Her uncle leaned in closer. “Spirits of the dead.”

“Oh.” A chill flushed through Lynx. “H-have you ever seen one?”

Uncle Bear nodded, tickling her ear with the stubble around his mouth. “I’ve seen images of hideous apparitions in the palace and on the streets of Cian. They appear out of nothing, flash, and disappear.”

“What are they for?”

“They watch everyone. It is whispered the Dreaded even report those who disobey Avanov rule to the guardsmen. Every Chenayan knows someone who vanished after seeing an apparition. Guard that tongue of yours, Lynx, so that you don’t become one of them.”

Lynx laughed nervously, hating his echo of her father’s words. “They’d kill me? Aren’t I supposed to be Lukan’s new toy?”

Her uncle grunted. “Quicker than the Winds blow. The history of Norin princesses in Chenaya has not been a happy one.”

“I know. Father and I were talking about that before I left Norin.” Lynx glared at Avanov.

His hand axe lay on the table, gleaming in the sunlight streaming into the car. He had started on his sword.

She leaned in and whispered, “Father wants me to find out about the gemstones and their superhuman powers.”

Her uncle’s brow furrowed. “I’m sure he does. I’ve been working on that for years, but it is no easy matter, as an outsider.”

“I recently killed a guardsman and prized the jasper out of his face, but it told me nothing.”

His hot breath warmed her ear. “It’s that kind of stomach that makes you so ideal for this job. You will need to be more subtle in Cian, though. Even admitting to killing guardsmen will earn you a swift execution. So, I will help you spy. Together, we’ll unravel this secret. But we’ll discuss more of this next time we’re alone.”

A wave of relief flooded through Lynx that she didn’t have to do this almost impossible thing alone. She relaxed and sat back, letting the legs of her chair clatter onto the wooden floor.

Avanov looked up. “Just because you don’t like the furniture, Princess, doesn’t mean you get to break it.”

“Huh. That’s rich, coming from someone who just flung his weapons on the table,” Lynx shot back. “And as mine were stolen from me, I don’t have the privilege of sharpening them.”

“My, we are in a grumpy mood.” Axel strapped his belt around his narrow waist. “You proved yourself unreliable with weapons, Princess, so you have only yourself to blame.” A derisive smile. “I can show you the scab to prove it, if you like.”

Completely ignoring the humor in his voice, Lynx leaped to her feet, sending her chair scooting back. “I was protecting my sole surviving braid from that she-witch you call a priestess. It’s not my fault you were stupid enough to get in the way.”

Her uncle covered his face with his hands, then groaned.

This was probably just the kind of thing he—and her father—had had in mind when he told her to guard her tongue. She grimaced. For a girl who was used to saying her piece, adapting to Chenaya was going to be much tougher than she’d anticipated.

“‘She-witch’?” Axel burst into laughter. He pulled his hand axe off his belt and sauntered over to her. “Your description of our glorious Great High Priestess has won you another shot at playing with sharp objects. So, at the risk of repeating my stupidity, I give you full permission to attack the furniture—and nothing else. If the she-witch complains, blame me.” He cocked his head. “Or maybe not. She might just fry me.”

Lynx snatched the axe from him and ran her fingers down the twin blades, engraved with dragons’ heads. Both edges were sharp enough to make matchsticks of the furniture. The black hilt, resembling an elongated dragon’s body, tapered down to four sharpened claws, ideal for ripping flesh. The words Axel Avanov were engraved on the dragon’s belly.

As ugly as the axe was, she acknowledged the brilliance of the craftsmanship. And it was a weapon—the one thing she had sought since leaving Tanamre. She had to filch it because she’d never sleep easy again if she didn’t have something sharp and deadly under her pillow.

Despite her uncle’s warning, she asked in her sweetest voice, “What makes you think I wouldn’t use it on you?”

“This time, you’d have to catch me first.” Avanov’s hand moved to the ruby next to his eye.

So he had enhanced powers, too.

Lynx frowned, strangely saddened by that fact. Why would Axel Avanov, a man endowed with a strong and lean body, a rough but handsome face, natural agility, and superior intelligence, need to deface himself?

With no answers, she took her frustration out on the nearest chair.

With one swing of the axe, she shaved the wooden arm rest in two. “Winds, your axe has a lovely balance.” She swiped again, this time slicing the wood and upholstery. The two halves of the chair clattered to the floor. “I love the feel in my hand.”

Axel watched her with open appreciation.

It sent a flutter of . . . of something totally unexpected and unmentionable coursing through her stomach.

A reaction too horrible to consider.

How can I find him attractive? He’s an Avanov! The bastard who sent guardsmen to attack Norin. To kill Hare!

Needing to be rid of him, she took a chance and said, “Thanks for the gift.” She held up the axe. “I’ll just take it to my compartment.”

A chortle. “Nice try, Princess, but I still need both my legs.” He held out his hand for the weapon.

Lynx pretended not to notice and sauntered toward the door. He grabbed her flapping skirt—that would never happen with trousers and a tunic—and tugged her to a halt. “Not so fast, Princess. Hand it over.”

With a sigh, Lynx slapped the handle down on his open palm.

Her dice roll should have taught her she’d never be lucky enough to score a weapon so easily.

The door opened, revealing Mother Saskia.

Axel groaned. “Well, there’s my cue to leave.”

Had he said that because he was no longer required to monitor them? Or was it because he so obviously disliked the priestess and what she stood for? Although she doubted it, Lynx hoped it was the latter.

Her eyes fluttered closed, angry with herself for caring.

13

It was past midnight on the last night of Lynx’s train journey. In the salon car, the she-witch knelt at the feet of her Dragon and Colonel Stefan Zarot leafed through some official-looking papers while Lynx sat with her uncle. She yawned, ready for bed. She was about to wish her uncle sweet dreams when the priestess excused herself.

The moment the door closed behind her, Stefan Zarot rose from his seat and strode across the car. He pulled out a chair and sat next to Lynx. The act was so unusual, she settled back to see what he wanted.

“Ah, Colonel Zarot.” Uncle Bear smiled his thin smile. “Please, feel free to join us.”

Zarot didn’t acknowledge her uncle’s sarcasm—although who could tell with his inscrutable face? “So, tell me, Princess Lynx, are you ready to take on your responsibilities as Crown Princess of All Chenaya and the Conquered Territories?”

Lynx narrowed her eyes. “I assumed that lofty title only comes after my marriage to the crown prince.”

“Yes, an event set to take place in a couple of days.” Zarot tapped his fingers against his thigh.

Lynx frowned, wondering what had him so riled.

“Life in the Heartland will be very different than what you have known.”

Lynx glanced at her uncle before answering, but his face had become as impassive as Zarot’s. With no support forthcoming, she decided to prod the Dragon with a sharp comment, just to gauge Zarot’s reaction. Maybe that way, she could understand his unusual behavior. “The Heartland is indeed a fascinating place for those of us who come from the outer edges of the empire. We have no witches to manipulate us with superpowers there.”

Uncle Bear blinked once. “Colonel, I’m sure what Princess Lynx means—”

Zarot surprised Lynx by holding up his hand to her uncle. “By late afternoon tomorrow, we will be in Cian.” He fixed his dark eyes on her. “There will be a special welcome for you. I hope you will prepare for it.” He stood, gave her a shallow bow—nothing too respectful—and left the car.

Lynx turned to her uncle. “And that?”

“I have my suspicions.” He fixed her with a disapproving glare.

She smiled wryly. “I’m just trying to understand the man.”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that honey works better than vinegar? Or, in your case, a sweet smile and a flutter of eyelashes.”

Lynx waved her hand, glad to finally be alone so she and her uncle could talk frankly. “I missed that lesson. I was too busy learning the best machete moves to take down a guar—”

“I get the picture,” her uncle interrupted quickly. “I would gladly kick your father’s arse for leaving you so unprepared.”

Despite the impropriety of speaking about her king like that, Lynx sniggered. Not in her wildest dreams could she imagine her prim and proper uncle kicking anyone anywhere, least of all in the arse.

“He has total faith in your ability to redeem me.” Her laughter faded, and her fear returned. “Should we be expecting trouble tomorrow? I didn’t exactly get a warm welcome when I arrived.”

“A word of advice when dealing with Chenayans: Always expect trouble. In that way, you’ll never be disappointed.”

Lynx bit her lip. If Stefan Zarot was right, her time with Uncle Bear could be over very soon. With thousands of guardsmen stationed at Tanamre, she needed information too desperately to be reticent. “Perhaps now would be a good time to plan our spying expeditions.”

“No, Lynx!” Uncle Bear gripped her arm. “These are not things we discuss in the open.”

Lynx’s mouth gaped. “But we’re finally alone. No one can hear us.”

Her uncle’s eyes swept the car. “No one is ever alone in Chenaya.” He stood. “Save your questions for when we get to my home. Hopefully, I will be able to answer them then. At least the ones that won’t get us killed.”

* * *

At first, Lynx couldn’t decide what had woken her. After lying still for a moment, she realized the train had stopped. She hopped out of bed, padded to the window, and looked out into the darkness.

An unfamiliar grunt and hiss came from in front of the locomotive.

She poked her head out. The lights of two additional locomotives winked at her through clouds of soot and steam. The behemoths edged toward their engine.

They must have finally reached the outskirts of the formidable Serreti Mountains.

The soaring peaks and precipitous gorges of the range stretched north and south for thousands of miles, nearly cutting the continent in half. It was the final bastion protecting Cian, the ventricle of the Heartland, from the rest of the empire.

Job done, the guardsmen hopped back on board. The lead locomotive let out a piercing whistle, and the train juddered forward, gradually picking up speed as the wheels sliced their way across the tracks.

Lynx crawled back to bed, nestling under her comforter. Her thoughts turned first to Uncle Bear’s cryptic comments about never being alone in Chenaya. Fear filled her, driving away all hope of sleep. She firmly shifted her mind to happier things.

Home. Clay’s egg raid she’d traded her happiness for. And bound myself with more oaths than any normal person could bear. That was not a sleep-inducing thought, either, so she pushed it away.

She rubbed her wrist, where Heron’s watch had been. She pulled her hand away. No! There is no point in hanging on to what may have been. That won’t help either of us. In time, he will move on, and I—

She didn’t want to think about what time would bring to her.

* * *

Lynx’s second wake-up call came from a sharp jerk of the train. A solid line of rock blocked the view, and much of the light, from her window. She guessed it was close to breakfast time. Although a plains girl, she knew the sun always rose later in the mountains.

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that dinner had been served a long time ago. She rose, flung off her pajamas, and rummaged through her trunk for a dress from her uncle’s collection. Her hand brushed two silver bracelets Heron had given her when she had first won her egg. That gift had been the start of their friendship. Determined that no Chenayan would ever get their hands on those treasures, she wrapped them carefully in a sock and shoved them into a pocket of a jacket at the bottom of the trunk. She dressed quickly into another black bustled dress.

Her fingers reached instinctively for her missing braids and feathers.

She sighed in frustration. “What I look like doesn’t change who I am.”

She turned on the tap perched over the tiny metal basin, splashed water on her face, and brushed her teeth. After yanking a comb through her hair, she wriggled her toes into her shoes and stepped out into the aisle.

The car swayed precariously. She looked out the window as the train rumbled around a switchback. Another loomed, no more than two hundred yards ahead of them. Grateful she’d never suffered from motion sickness, she lurched toward the dining car.

She was the only one who had slept in.

Uncle Bear sat in front of an empty place setting at the table. His sweat-glazed face was green in the sunshine streaking through the window. Kestrel held a sick bag to her mouth. Even the she-witch looked wan. Only Avanov and Zarot indulged in the roast duck and array of roasted vegetables spread on the table. It looked more like lunch than breakfast.

Lynx’s stomach betrayed her by rumbling, and her mouth watered at the orangey aroma coming from the duck.

Avanov kicked out a chair next to him for her. “Glad to see you aren’t looking as green as the rest of this lot, Princess. Come eat before we hit the tunnel.”

“Tunnel?” Kestrel moaned into her sick bag.

“’Fraid so, Princess.” Avanov waved his fork at the jagged rock face flying past the window. “Fifty miles of track carved out under thousands of feet of rock. An engineering feat second to none. It’ll lead us right to the hub under the palace.”

Kestrel promptly threw up into her bag.

“What?” Avanov asked. “You could hardly expect a train carrying current and future members of the royal family to pull up at the bug-infested station in downtown Cian. We’re not that popular, you know. Someone might get it into their head to take potshots at us.”

“Ever wondered why that is, General?” Lynx picked her way across the yawing car.

“Oh, I’m under no illusions, Princess. We’re about as popular as a,” he cracked his mocking smile, “quarrel through the skull.”

Lynx grabbed the chair, but before she could sit, the world outside the train plunged into darkness.

Kestrel screamed.

A rush of claustrophobia hit Lynx at the tons of rock above her head. She dug her nails into the chair back, praying to the Winds to protect them from the Chenayan insanity that had people traveling like moles under the ground.

Avanov suddenly gripped her hand, dragging her down to sit next to him. “I guess someone should have lit the candles,” he drawled. His casual tone made her wonder if he’d planned for the darkness in the car. The way his thumb caressed her palm certainly confirmed it.

Why was another matter altogether.

The tingles of desire his callused thumb sent up her arm and into her stomach were reminiscent of the she-witch’s lightning bolt.

Lynx gasped, then pulled her hand away.

He released her.

“Is that another one for the scoreboard?” she asked, trying to fathom his motives and cover up her shock at her outrageous reaction to his touch. “Because if it was, I’m still winning.”

“That all depends on what I got from my . . . maneuver, doesn’t it?” he answered, way too smugly.

Lynx noted that he hadn’t announced to everyone in the dining car that he’d held her hand. She narrowed her eyes with confusion. What was his game?

In a casual tone, she said, “Maneuvers are something officers do when planning war strategies. Does that mean you and I are at war, General?”

“You tell me, Princess. After all, I’m not the one who attacked you.”

Lynx hesitated and then couldn’t resist asking, “So are you claiming that you didn’t send those guardsmen to my front gate? I assume you’re aware that their bones are now littering the desert beyond my tent flaps.” Lynx stared in his general direction, wishing she could see his face in the darkness.

She heard him suck in a breath and knew she’d scored a hit.

It gave her no satisfaction. In fact, instead of filling her with anger, all she felt was heart-wringing sorrow.

“It seems I have my answer, General. It really doesn’t matter what benefit your . . . maneuver and your attack gave you, I will always outrank you on the scoreboard.”

A guardsman holding a lighted taper barreled into the room. “Apologies, General.” In the pale light cast by his candle, Lynx saw him bow low to a laughing Axel Avanov. He headed to the nearest sconce to light the candle.

Taking advantage of the light, Axel dished Lynx up a plate of food. “Eat, Princess. I may not be at the head of the scoreboard, but I do know that it’ll be hours before you see your next meal. I’d hate for you to starve. Who would I have to banter with, then?”

14

As the train shunted through the tunnel, Axel sat back in his chair at the dining table, watching Lynx stab the vegetables on her dinner plate. Despite her bravado about scoreboards, he read sorrow in her eyes at the death of her people, some of whom must have been her family or friends.

Part of him wanted to apologize for her loss—that was his heart talking, as he well knew. His head, which he kept firmly in charge of his heart, understood that nothing could get in the way of battle objectives. Soldiers went to war when objectives required it. People died. His job was to ensure that those objectives were met cleanly and with minimal waste. If Mad Mott had listened to his counsel to send in more guardsmen, he would have achieved that objective in Norin. Lynx would still probably be heartbroken over the deaths of fifteen raiders, but she wouldn’t be mourning the loss of children and servers, too.

But, she wasn’t the only one suffering due to the wasteful loss of her people. He, too, had lost a great deal of sleep this week, fretting about the families and friends of the thousands of soldiers being slaughtered in the carnage in Treven. Part of that lost sleep had been devoted to devising a plan with Stefan to solve the crisis. They called it Operation Treven.

It involved Lynx.

Mouthy, aggressive, and beautiful, Lynx was the perfect candidate for him to use to blackmail his father and his uncle. Maybe then they’d see reason about how badly they were conducting the war in Treven. A little flirting with Lynx, a few kisses perhaps, would be enough to get him sent to Treven without further argument. It was a low, sneaky plan to poach his cousin’s betrothed to meet a battle objective, he freely admitted, but all other reason had failed with his father.

Lukan may have been his cousin, but Axel had no regard for him. Mad Mott had been brutal when Axel, Lukan, and Tao were growing up. Coward that Lukan was, he had hidden behind Axel and Tao whenever Mott went on a rampage. Axel had willingly protected Lukan from Mott’s fists—until the day he realized his cousin was letting him take his beatings. And not because he was scared and defenceless, but because Axel was his future subject, a mere tool to be used to save Lukan’s skin. That’s when all respect—and liking—died. So Lukan’s feelings in this matter were irrelevant.

It was time to blackmail his way to victory.

Axel lifted up a fork and picked his teeth, lost in thought. When the idea of involving her first surfaced, he had rejected it. It was too dangerous—for Lynx. Unlike her, he had no doubt that he would not only survive but would benefit from the plan.

For her it would be different. In the short time he had known her, he had developed a fondness for the feisty princess. He would hate to see her harmed.

But with the passing of the week, his doubts faded. If anyone could handle being used to achieve a higher goal, she could.

Her twice daily visits to the guard car—undoubtedly searching for weapons—won over every guardsman on the train. That included crusty officers like Lieutenant Olec, not known for a sense of humor. None of those guardsmen were idiots; Axel didn’t use fools in his personal command. Stefan had handpicked soldiers who had proved strangely immune to the brain-numbing effects of the jasper ice crystals for this trip. They knew exactly what she meant by her red-faced flaunting of her wares. Yet, they warmed to her, playing along with her game. Lynx knew how to make allies from enemies. That impressed him. Even more than her legs had.

Still not convinced she would survive being embroiled in Chenayan politics, Axel devised a couple of tests for her. One involved giving her his hand axe, something he knew she had sought. Her slender hand had gripped it as though it had been made for her. Then she had tried to steal it from him. The woman had nerve.

She’d need that nerve for what he envisaged over the next few days.

His next test came with ignoring her. Instead of inviting her to play dice with him and Stefan, he pretended she didn’t exist. How would she take rejection? The outcome had been less than pleasing.

She seemed delighted by his absence.

Hmm. Not what he was used to when dealing with women.

But he didn’t doubt that the charm he was about to turn on her would win her over. His smile turned dangerous. He’d seen her drooling over him while he’d sharpened his axe. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.

His final test involved holding her hand.

Her skin bore the evidence of years of work with weapons. She was not some pretty princess who had spent her life being waited on. Every intelligence report he had ever encountered about her was therefore true. Princess Lynx of Norin, commander-in-training of Thorn’s raiders, was a fighter who had won the respect and obedience of men.

She would more than survive the fallout from Operation Treven.

He tossed the fork onto the table and sighed.

Steeped in Chenayan tradition that said only men waged war, playing Lynx didn’t sit comfortably with him. Thankfully, he was known at court for being both unorthodox and sardonic, so if anyone could pull off using a woman as a military asset, he could. With aplomb, too, if he really set his mind to it.

But, no matter which way he spun it, he couldn’t claim any honor here. He certainly wouldn’t feel like much of a hero when he won the upcoming battle with his father. Still, the reward would be great—Chenayan victory in Treven.

He shifted in his seat, trying to escape his nagging conscience.

In his defense, he had tried to prepare her for the battle, within the constraints of being enemies. After Saskia had chopped off Lynx’s braid and then zapped her, Lynx wouldn’t listen to anything the priestess had to say.

That was concerning because a major part of Saskia’s job was to teach the princesses palace protocol. With Lynx’s obstinacy, those lessons weren’t happening.

So, in response, he and Stefan had concocted a scheme to give her some Saskia-free time with her uncle. Axel hoped Bear had used it to explain things Axel could never tell her, things that obviously didn’t matter in Norin—like bowing to superiors. Simple, life-saving tricks like that. Without them, she would be vulnerable in a palace where bowing and scraping were everything, and that would treble her risk in the blackmail.

Axel thumped his feet onto the surface of the dining table, wishing he spoke Norin so he could be sure of what Bear told her.

“Do you mind?” Lynx shoved his boots away from her plate, sending one of his feet clattering to the floor.

He grinned at her, dropping his other foot off the table. “Just relaxing before we hit the pomp and ceremony in Cian.”

“Well, do it somewhere else.”

Axel canted his head to look at her, and a rush of something even more powerful than conscience ran like lightning through his veins.

Desire.

It happened without fail every time he looked at her. Pity she’s betrothed to Lukan. He turned to Stefan. “Time for yet another round of dice before we leave this rolling prison?”

Stefan groaned.

If Stefan felt like Axel did, then if they both never saw another set of dice again, it would not be long enough.

Still, Stefan reached into his pocket and pulled out the ivory cubes. “We really should have brought some tiles or cards along as well.”

“Yes, you were singularly unprepared.” Axel glanced at Lynx, wondering if he should finally extend an invitation to her to play. He decided against it.

She had thrown down her knife and fork and paced the dining car, as she was wont to do when bored. Watching her naked legs and swaying hips would be far more entertaining than playing dice with her.

Lynx had finished her tenth circuit when Stefan whispered, “Life will soon be more interesting than she likes.”

Axel nodded, adding just as quietly, “Bear’s not going to like our little surprise much, either.”

Despite the emperor’s promise to Bear that his nieces were to stay with him until the wedding, Axel had different orders.

Cruel, deceitful ones he didn’t approve of.

Orders he knew would drive an even deeper wedge between him and Lynx at a time when he needed her to continue their banter.

Stefan’s face remained expressionless. He didn’t agree with the emperor’s orders, either. That had made it easier for Axel to send Stefan to warn Lynx and Bear to be on the alert when they arrived in Cian. He doubted how much it would help, but at least he had tried.

Irked to be nothing more than a badly used tool in Mad Mott’s hand, Axel stood. “I think I’ve done my bit for dice. I’ll join you when we reach the hub.”

He strode to the guard car, ignoring the off-duty men who leaped up from their games to salute him. Grunting with frustration, he grabbed his hand axe and flung it hard at a target someone had set up on the wall. But not even the solid thud of steel against wood could quiet his whining conscience about all that lay ahead of him.

Then he remembered Operation Treven.

It was time to kick it into motion.

* * *

After an hour of darkness in the tunnel, light filtered through the windows. They had reached the hub. The light burned in sconces mounted to the walls. In a few minutes, they would stop under the palace.

Axel leaned against a wall in the salon, where everyone was gathered and caught Stefan’s eye.

His friend nodded, knowing exactly what Axel expected of him to launch Operation Treven.

“Here we are, at last,” Mother Saskia chimed, removing her glove. She slipped her glove into her pocket and strode across the car toward Lynx and Kestrel.

Stefan’s warning to Bear seemed to have worked, because the emissary leaped to his feet, standing in front of his nieces.

It would buy Axel time.

He pushed himself away from the wall and strode across the car, intercepting Mother Saskia before her fingers could find the bare skin on Lynx’s arm. “You take care of the Emissary, Mother,” he commanded, “and I’ll look after the princesses.”

The priestess looked at him in surprise, mouth open to challenge him. These were not the orders he had originally given her.

“Or rather, Colonel Zarot will take care of Bear,” Axel said, having second thoughts about letting her loose on Lynx’s uncle.

A faint smile skirted Stefan’s face. Without fuss or flurry, he slid between Mother Saskia and Bear. He gripped Bear’s shoulder, pulling him aside so Axel had access to the two princesses.

Despite Bear’s yelp of protest and Saskia’s hiss of surprise, Axel wasted no time in grabbing both women by the arm.

Lynx tensed, probably preparing to resist him.

Hoping she’d connect his action to Stefan’s warning, he pleaded in a voice so low only she would hear it, “Don’t fight me, Princess.”

She looked at Bear, her face questioning. Thankfully, Bear nodded to her, and Lynx relaxed—slightly. Axel propelled her toward the door while Kestrel followed without a murmur.

The train stopped, and the doors slid open.

Axel leaped down onto the platform, dragging his captives with him. Once he had them safely away from the train, he shouted to Stefan, “The door. Get it.”

Easing away from Bear, Stefan hit an override switch, and the door sealed closed.

Kestrel gasped but seemed too shocked to act.

Whatever Lynx may have suspected, she took exception at being separated from her uncle. She ripped free from Axel, ran to the door, and slammed her hands against the glass, shouting Bear’s name. When the doors didn’t magically open, she spun around to face Axel, hands clenched into fists. He reckoned she could pack quite a punch if she set her mind on it.

Not in the mood for a black eye, Axel said, “Relax, Princess. This was the only way it could work.”

“Relax?” she yelled. “Give me one good reason why. That bitch is about to fry my uncle!”

Axel glanced at the car. Mother Saskia’s hand was just inches away from Bear’s face. Axel knew Stefan would never let her touch him. “He’s in no danger—if you cooperate with me.”

Lynx turned angry eyes on him. “You bastard!”

Axel’s stomach knotted; her reaction was just what he’d feared. Not a great start to the flirting part of Operation Treven. But protecting the Norin princesses from Saskia would at least alert his father that something was going on. That was a positive score.

“I told you, I had my orders. But trust me, it could have been a lot worse.”

“What about the emperor’s promise to let us stay with Uncle Bear until the wedding?” Kestrel squeaked.

Axel directed his answer at Lynx. “The emperor changed his mind.” He followed it up with the tiniest shrug and his least sardonic smile.

Emperor Mott had no intention of letting Lynx get comfortable at her uncle’s home in Cian. By separating her from Bear’s guidance, Mott could keep her isolated—and make sure she was suitably monitored.

“Now, I suggest we get moving. The emperor and his sons are expecting you.” Axel started toward a sweeping set of red-carpeted stairs at the end of the platform.

Kestrel dutifully trailed behind him. He glanced back to see Lynx still frozen to the spot, watching Stefan propel Bear away from Saskia.

Axel had just lost the upper hand.

With her uncle out of harm’s way, Lynx demanded, “You mean they would have met us while we were unconscious?” Her hands had now found her hips. But her face was most telling. She leaned forward, eyes pleading with him to deny that Saskia intended to shock her and Kestrel.

He had no choice but to dash her hopes. “They’d have waited for you to revive.”

At least she’d figured out he’d spared her the indignity of being fried.

“Now come, Princess. We’re on a schedule here.” Axel moved forward.

Lynx didn’t budge.

Axel sighed. “Now what?”

“The least you could have done was tell me you planned to abduct me. After all, where was I supposed to escape to?”

Mentally scrambling around for patience, he said, “Now why would I have done that, Princess?”

“Dragon’s bloody testicles!” Lynx stamped her foot. “Stop calling me ‘Princess.’”

Axel glanced at Kestrel to see how she was taking her sister’s tantrum. Kestrel looked bored.

He suppressed a smile. “So what am I supposed to call you, then?”

“I have a name. Use it.”

“Okay, Lynx. But you call me ‘General’ once more, and I’ll feed you to the wolves.”

“Wolves?” Kestrel asked.

“Instead of a moat, our new home comes complete with an enclosure filled with half-starved wolves,” Lynx said to her sister in a brittle voice, “or did the she-witch forget to mention that little fact during all your discussions on how wonderful life would be?”

Kestrel raised her eyebrows at Axel. “Is that true?”

“Yes. They chomp anyone who dares enter the palace precinct without an invitation. Lynx, Kestrel, let’s go.”

“You can call me ‘Princess,’” Kestrel said pertly, without moving.

Axel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The whole situation had taken on a surreal quality. “Okay, ladies, titles and wolves aside, can we please get going?”

“No.” Lynx took a threatening step toward him, tugging at her knee-length black dress. “I still want to know why the hell you didn’t warn me, so I could change out of my training dress?”

Training dress?

Then Axel understood. His shoulders slumped. This was definitely not how Lynx was supposed to appear in front of the emperor.

If he hadn’t interfered, Saskia would have knocked Lynx unconscious and dressed her in yet another hideous monstrosity she had arranged for the princess. He looked toward the train car, where the crates of Lynx’s discarded clothing were stored. It was useless even thinking about getting them. The moment the door opened, Saskia would be on Lynx like a lightning storm. The only way he could stop her would be to fight with her. A shouting match with the Great High Priestess about protecting Lynx would be a poor start to Operation Treven.

“I said you shouldn’t have rejected all of Mother Saskia’s lovely gowns,” Kestrel observed.

Axel looked at Kestrel—sadly, she was right, but it was too late to fret about it now. He turned back to Lynx. Fury rode in her eyes.

He would have to placate her to get her moving. “What does it matter, Lynx?” he asked, far more gently than he’d intended. “What you wear will never change who you are. You’ll always be you, and that means you’ll never be one of us. The sooner Lukan and the emperor learn that, the better.”

He obviously said the right thing because, for an instant, Lynx’s whole demeanor changed. Her fists unclenched, and her face relaxed. Even her eyes took on a softer glow. It was quickly replaced by a stiffening of her back.

Her voice was icy as she said, “Don’t you ever forget it.”

He definitely liked this woman. More than was good—for both of them. He flashed her a lethal smile, designed to conquer her heart. “Fat chance of that.”

He headed for the stairs and the princesses’ first meeting with their future spouses.

15

Lukan straightened his black velvet waistcoat, lining up the silver trim encircling the solid silver buttons. He examined himself in his huge, ebony-framed mirror and liked what he saw: a supremely confident male of the species, born to rule. A man no woman could refuse.

Just as well, he thought wryly, because today, looks are everything.

Lynx was arriving.

Correction. Lynx was here.

His bowels rumbled as if his insides had turned to water. Axel had brought her straight to the palace from the hub. She was waiting for him in the Bronze Hall.

Lukan was late, a small act of protest against his arranged marriage.

It was all he dared risk when even this much rebellion would incense his father. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with his father’s fists today.

No one knew better than he that his tardiness made no sense. It was common knowledge that he wanted Lynx. Trouble was, want didn’t equate to marriage. It was one thing to sleep with an alluring woman—that, after all, was one of the few perks of being crown prince. It was altogether another to be forced to marry a savage whose only obvious desire was to knock his teeth out.

A sharp rap sounded on his door.

Only one person ever knocked like that. Tao. Despite everything, Lukan chuckled. So, his brother was late, too. It seemed he wasn’t the only one showing his disapproval.

Without waiting for a reply, his brother poked his head into the room. “You ready yet? Our old man will be spitting blood by now.”

“Exactly what I intended,” Lukan said, with false bravado. He caught Tao’s eye in the mirror. “You too, it would seem.”

Tao grunted, and Lukan smiled, making no move to vacate his spot.

“Relax, Tao. Spitting blood is what our congenitally insane father does best. Pity he doesn’t cough up enough to kill him.” The words were enough to sign a death warrant for any Chenayan—well, any but the emperor’s own sons.

“Like we would ever be so lucky. A knife in the lung would work, though.”

Lukan sniggered at his own image in the mirror, and the diamond next to his right eye glinted right back. “If only life were so simple.” He eyed his brother’s reflection critically. Then, because he cared more for Tao than anyone other person on the planet, he said with concern, “You look terrible.”

“Wonderful. Just what I need to hear right now.”

“You could at least have brushed that straw you call hair.”

Tao blushed scarlet. Lukan instantly regretted that remark. Tao hated everything about his looks.

“My hair is not the problem here. And neither is the old man. Not really. You are.”

The accusation in his brother’s voice jarred. It always hurt that Tao didn’t esteem him as highly. To cover up his sadness, he rubbed his angular jaw; his valet had done a good job with the shave today. Not even a hint of a shadow darkened his face.

“So you have nothing to say? Typical.” Tao kicked the air with his boot.

“I’ve told you before. I’m not taking the blame for your marriage.”

“You should, you know. If you had a shred of decency. Which you don’t.”

In his more honest moments, Lukan admitted—to himself, at least—that Tao’s nuptials were indeed his fault. If he could have changed the situation, he would have. But he had no power over his father’s decisions. He and his father had never gotten on, but in the last few months, Lukan’s frustration with his father’s brutality had reached a breaking point. He had dared to raise a number of issues, the confounded Unity with Norin being one of them. That damn thing was a curse. A literal one. And his father knew that as well as he did.

As closely guarded as the secret was, every member of the Avanov family knew that the Unity, signed between Thurban and the Norin king after the invasion, formed the backbone of the Dmitri Curse on the Avanov bloodline.

Four hundred years before, Dmitri had declared that a Norin princess would marry a crown prince and she would give birth to a son who would destroy the Avanov dynasty and the empire. If the prophecy was true, Lukan doubted any method of birth control devised by man would prevent that child’s conception.

If Lynx was the Norin princess prophesied about, she would dump a traitorous son into his lap.

Not something any prospective emperor wanted.

Six weeks ago, Lukan had taken his courage in both hands and pointed out this undisputed fact to his father. His crazy old man had taken exception. But instead of the clash of fists Lukan expected, his father had announced that Lukan was to marry Lynx—and, even more inexplicably, commanded Tao to wed Kestrel.

Tao had been quick to challenge the injustice of the punishment. He’d pointed out that he’d done nothing wrong and wasn’t part of any treaty with Norin—cursed or not. In response, his father had flung a portrait of Kestrel at Tao. That had been the end of the discussion. It was typical of his father to punish one child for the infractions of another.

Tao sighed. “Come on, Lukan, you’re pretty enough. Let’s go get this done.”

Lukan clenched his fists, and before he could stop himself, he lashed out at the thick ebony framing his mirror. A crack shot through the glass, making him curse.

“Right, break the mirror,” Tao scoffed. “That’s your answer to everything these days, isn’t it?”

“Shut up, Tao,” Lukan said, instantly regretting his flash of temper.

Tao was right; in the last few weeks the internal rage he’d kept in check his whole life had flared more and more.

“You would be angry, too, if you had to marry a woman who could bring a cursing down on your head. And there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it. As you well know.”

Tao’s mouth dropped. “Do you think Lynx is the one prophesied about?”

Lukan shrugged. “How the hell must I know? That swine Dmitri never said the Norin princess would be wearing a sign. Just that one of them would produce a son who destroys us all.”

“Our mother was a Norin,” Tao argued. “Couldn’t one of us be—”

“Of course not.” Lukan had never once considered that he might be that son—the idea was preposterous. His shrug turned into a sigh. “And to think that all I ever wanted was to tumble Lynx.”

“You still do,” Tao said. “Admit it. Curse or not. Now, can we please go?”

Lukan chose not to reply to that truth. He glanced at his wristwatch. He had only kept his father—and Lynx—waiting ten minutes. Another couple of minutes would be needed to make his point. “For someone who’s whining so much about his marriage, you’re disgustingly keen to meet Kestrel.” He yanked his ivory-handled brush through his shoulder-length dark hair with more force than was comfortable.

“I just want to get this over with.” Tao began to pace. “Do you think she’ll be . . . nice? I mean, she’s beautiful, but that’s not everything—oh, Dragon’s arse, I hope she’s easy to get along with. I’d hate to be shackled to someone who—”

Guilt nibbled at Lukan’s conscience. “I’m sure she’s fine—for a savage.”

Bound as he was to marry a Norin princess who came bearing a possible cursing as a wedding gift, the Dmitri Curse had effectively soured Lukan on all Norin.

In truth, Lukan didn’t know any Norin other than Lord Emissary Bear. His mother had vanished when he was a toddler, leaving him estranged from that side of his family. To him, Norin were wild, ferocious people with few social graces. Lynx had proved that when he’d seen her at the palace. Hell, all he’d done was smile at her—okay, with intent. But she’d looked at him with such hatred that, for at least a moment, her beautiful face had contorted into something truly ugly.

He hoped she’d gotten over her pique.

Being late probably wouldn’t help, but just this once, he could not let his father walk all over him.

A light knock sounded on the door. A thousand snakes flailed in Lukan’s stomach.

Tao’s head shot around to look at him. “That’s it. The summons.”

Lukan nodded. Hands shaking, he flung his hairbrush on the dresser. With no further excuses to delay him, he said, “Shoulders back and head up, Tao.”

His brother rolled his eyes.

It infuriated Lukan that Tao wouldn’t ever take his advice. Bearing mattered—critically—if one wanted to make best use of the first three seconds of an introduction. Being regal took practice. Something Tao would never understand. He strode across his apartment and flung open the door.

A guardsman bowed low. “Highness, the emperor requests the pleasure of your company.”

Lukan suppressed a bitter laugh. He’d grow wings and fly before his father requested anything. He swooped past the man into the wide passage, which linked the private wing where he, Tao, and Axel lived with the rest of the palace. Tao trailed behind him. Lukan glanced up at an ornate oil lamp above him, one of many lining the wood-paneled wall.

The sconce held a tiny camera and listening device that recorded every conversation.

Now, beyond the safety of his private apartment, everything he said would eventually reach the ears of his Uncle Felix, in charge of security.

Only the Avanov family and their most trusted officers knew of the devices. The high-born, the priestesses, the guardsmen, and the servants went about their days in blissful ignorance. The unfortunate disappearance of those who complained about Emperor Mott or the Dragon would be blamed on the Dreaded—another technological creation his ordinary subjects, illiterate and taught nothing about the world before the Burning, could not have dreamed possible.

It was a system Lukan supported as long as his conversations weren’t monitored.

All activity in the palace thoroughfares stopped as everyone bowed low to Lukan and his brother.

He scoffed at Tao, who acknowledged them with smiles and nods. Further evidence of Tao’s lack of imperial qualities. Just as well his brother was second in line for throne.

The Bronze Hall was reserved for meeting lowly vassals, but his father had decreed it a fitting place to welcome Lukan and Tao’s future wives.

Lukan’s boot barely made contact with the marble floor leading to the hall when his father bellowed, “Are you two incapable of reading a clock? You’re a disgrace to the Avanov name. A waste of skin. Both of you.” An open hand lashed out, but Lukan ducked, and it flew wide.

Face burning with humiliation, Lukan glanced at the two guardsmen standing outside the double doors leading to the hall. Their impassive faces showed no reaction. That didn’t mean they weren’t judging him—and finding him wanting. He could imagine them thinking their next emperor was a spineless dolt for tolerating his father’s abuse. As much as he feared his father, Lukan feared their contempt more.

He bowed low to Mott, ending with a mocking flourish of his arm. “Just another attempt at giving you a heart attack, sire. Wouldn’t that just make my day?”

The emperor’s jaw clenched. “Don’t try me, Lukan. The only thing stopping me from having you whipped is that girl.” A thumb jerked at the door. “Now get in there and conquer the Norin bitch. I need grandsons.” Red cloak swirling around his ankles, the emperor turned to the guardsmen. “Open the door.”

16

Axel positioned himself in a corner against the beaten bronze paneling that gave the Bronze Hall its name. From here, he had a perfect view of the room and everyone in it. Not that he had much to watch—Lukan and Tao were late again. That wasn’t going to improve the emperor’s mood, and that wasn’t good news, considering Lynx’s dress.

She paced back and forth across the brown-and-cream checked floor. The strain in her eyes, and the abrupt swaying of her lithe body in that short black dress reminded him of a caged animal.

A sudden urge to comfort her hit him.

Shocked, he quickly quelled it. As much as he liked Lynx, she was a tool in his hand, nothing more.

Kestrel sighed. “How much longer must we wait?” She perched on the edge of a blue satin settee facing the doors at the head of the room. Sweaty hand prints stained her bunched skirt.

Axel wasn’t going to reply, but Lynx’s head jerked to face him, demanding an answer. “Lukan isn’t known for his punctuality. Tao’s different. Like me, he spent his childhood and youth in the military, so he should know better, but—”

“And Lukan?” Lynx demanded. “How much time did he spend in the military?”

Axel clicked his tongue. “Not a single day.” That had been the cause of most of Lukan’s beatings from Mott—the one’s Axel and Tao had taken for him.

Lynx rolled her eyes, and he could almost see her wondering what she and Lukan would have in common. Axel could have told her: absolutely nothing.

The door handles clicked.

Lynx froze. Her eyes, laced with panic, flickered to Kestrel. The impression was gone in an instant.

Lynx, for your own sake, turn that fear into submissiveness.

The doors swung open to reveal Emperor Mott, with Lukan and Tao trailing behind him.

Axel shot Lynx what he hoped was a please-cooperate-with-me look and stepped in front of her to hide her dress from the emperor’s immediate scrutiny.

She didn’t shift out of his shadow.

Axel sighed with relief and bowed to his uncle. “His Magnificence, Emperor Mott, Supreme Ruler of All Chenaya and the Conquered Territories.” He gestured to Lukan. “His Imperial Highness, the crown prince, Lukan.” And he smiled at Tao. “And His Highness, Prince Tao.”

Kestrel leaped to her feet and sank into a low curtsy. Behind him, Lynx gulped. Then, she stepped out to face Mott. Axel held his breath.

After a moment’s hesitation, she bobbed a knee. Probably a major concession from a Chenayan-hating rebel, but it was not nearly good enough to satisfy his uncle.

Axel damned Bear under his breath.

As expected, the emperor’s complexion changed from bronzed olive to blotchy red. A single vein throbbed in his throat.

Axel rushed to finish the introductions before his uncle ruptured something. “Sire, may I present the Princesses Lynx and Kestrel of Norin?”

The only reply was a sharp intake of breath. It didn’t come from the emperor. Axel swiveled to identify the source of the interruption. It was Lukan.

Of course.

Bottom lip hanging, his cousin gaped at Lynx’s slim form, packaged in the leg-baring black dress. All he needed was to start drooling.

Despite Lynx being Lukan’s betrothed, Axel stiffened.

The emperor’s head snapped back to face Lynx, flinty eyes scrutinizing her with pitiless implacability.

Lynx returned his stare with a defiant blue beam of her own.

Axel grimaced, doubting anyone on the planet had ever withstood Mott’s glare, let alone tried to intimidate him. Hadn’t anyone in Norin bothered telling Lynx that challenging Emperor Mott was a dangerous pastime? Still, Axel held his breath as Mott directed his malevolent stare back to Lukan.

Axel doubted his cousin even noticed. Lukan was transfixed by Lynx, lost, drowning in an ocean of pheromones.

The emperor swung back to Lynx, fixing her with a predatory smile. “Princess Lynx, may your time in the Heartland be fruitful, and may all your children be sons.” Mad Mott pounded out the door, clearly expecting the rest of them to follow him.

Axel shook his head, unable to believe the emperor’s unexpected reaction to Lynx and her dress. But then, with someone as crazy as Mott, anything was possible.

When neither Lukan nor Tao moved to follow their father, Axel gestured to the door. “Come, Lynx, Kestrel. The dining hall is this way.”

Before Lynx and Kestrel moved, Tao grabbed Axel’s arm. “You are joining us for this dinner, aren’t you?” Tao sounded desperate.

Axel knew his limits. To be trapped for hours watching his cousin salivate over Lynx was more than he could cope with. “I’ve done my bit. Now it’s up to you.” He left the hall without a backward glance.

* * *

Lynx watched Axel leave with something akin to panic. His face and manner were familiar, a possible foil between her and Lukan. As stupid as it was, her stomach clenched at the thought that, by leaving, he was throwing her to the wolves.

She sucked in a steadying breath and fixed her eyes on Lukan. I’m here to marry this man. Get used to it.

Lukan offered her his arm. “My princess.” He cocked his head toward the door.

Lynx laid a tentative hand on his forearm. Her confidence soared; Lukan’s arm shook. She shot a sideways look at his face. Serene and handsome—regal, even—it showed none of the tension she could feel in his trembles.

So her betrothed knew how to put on a convincing show? It was an act far better than her own. Perhaps Lukan Avanov had things to teach her about surviving here.

Lukan must have noticed her scrutiny because he gave a half laugh as he steered her toward the door. “I trust you aren’t planning to knock my teeth out like you were during the summer.”

“That all depends on you.” Lynx smiled at him. “Treat me like an equal and not a plaything, and we should be—” Her voice trailed off. She was about to say fine, but that was a lie. She would never be “fine” with a Chenayan.

Lukan snorted as he led her down a wide passage, painted with an intricate hunting scene mural. “We’re getting married, Lynx. In two days, all this . . . unease between us will be a thing of the past. Or at least, that is what I’m hoping for.”

A shiver trilled down her spine, but she suppressed it, hoping he wouldn’t notice. She was honor-bound to marry this man. Something she could never forget, no matter how much his touch chilled her.

They passed a group of high-born. The men’s jaws dropped, and the women tittered. The women wore jeweled-colored, bustled gowns in the richest silks.

They made her black, cotton-and-lace dress look shabby. For the second time since leaving home, Lynx’s cheeks burned at her clothing—something so pathetic that, in the past, she’d never spared a second thought about.

The high-borns’ reaction obviously didn’t please Lukan, because he smacked his hand hard against his thigh.

The noise ripped the group from their gaping. Heads bent, they dropped hasty bows or curtsies.

Lynx shot Lukan a tentative smile, grateful he’d rescued her.

Once past the crowd, Lukan ruined his gallantry by saying, “I don’t appreciate other men ogling what’s mine. In the future, please ensure you dress appropriately. I’m sure Mother Saskia provided you with a list of approved styles.”

Lynx bristled; he still hadn’t agreed that she was his equal and not his toy. She forced a calm she didn’t feel into her voice. “Marriage doesn’t buy me, Lukan.”

Lukan stiffened next to her. “I’m to be your husband. I think that’s enough.”

They reached a doorway into a dark space.

Lynx steeled herself against her racing pulse as Lukan swept her into a room dominated by a long, baronial table. Heavy tapestries draped the walls, absorbing the torchlight. Still, from what she could make out, the room was easily twice the size of the Norin council tent. That made it the second largest brick-and-mortar room she’d ever seen, after the assembly hall where she’d first sighted Lukan.

Nothing here reminded her of home.

Mott’s booming voice cut short her musings. “Lukan, Tao, show the princesses to their seats. I can’t be bothered with introductions.”

Lynx did a quick head count as Lukan guided her to an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair at the head of the table opposite Mott.

Fifteen men—the current leaders of the high-born families the she-witch had spoken about, Lynx presumed—flanked both sides of the table. Candles on the table cast eerie, waving shadows across their faces, but from the combined weight of their watchful gazes, she guessed they were here to inspect her and Kestrel.

The susurrus that rippled through the room as she stepped closer suggested both shock and amazement at her dress.

It was becoming tedious.

Many an eye turned to the emperor; clearly, his high-born were as surprised as she was by his tacit acceptance of her rebellion. The emperor sat in his throne-like chair, surveying the gathering with a hard line to his jaw.

Another spurt of confidence shot through Lynx, and her steps lightened. What did it matter what these people thought of her and her clothes? She knew who she was and what she was doing here. She’d marry their arrogant crown prince, find the answer to their guardsmen’s powers—and then spend the rest of her life looking for a way to destroy them and their empire. The brazen idea sent a secret thrill of delight down her spine.

She forced herself back to reality.

The only other woman in the room sat to Mott’s right. Lynx knew Mott’s wife had died in childbirth, delivering Tao. Or that is what rumor said. He had never remarried, so she guessed the twenty-something beauty with hennaed hair and a sapphire next to her right eye was his mistress.

The rasping of wood on stone pulled Lynx’s attention back to Lukan. His hand rested on the back of her chair. He waited for her to sit before sliding into a chair next to her. So close to him, their elbows almost touched. She just managed to resist the urge to pull away. How was she supposed to get physical with him when she couldn’t bear his touch?

He leaned in, and she could feel his hot breath on her exposed cleavage. “You certainly know how to stir things up. Warn me, is this something you plan on continuing with once we’re married?”

Could he read her thoughts? Lynx’s chest tightened, and her breathing stuttered.

“Lynx, are you okay? You’re very pale.” Like a lifeline, Kestrel’s voice reached her from across the table.

After another deeper, more calming breath, she muttered, “It’s the heat. Winds know, there’s no ventilation here. But I’m fine now.” She forced a smile at Kestrel and Tao.

Although she had seen Tao before, she was struck by his beautiful blue eyes and silvery blond hair. He needed only beads and feathers in his hair and a change of clothing—no Norin would be seen dead in a brocade waistcoat—and he could pass for a raider. It was strangely comforting, if illusory.

“Heat?” Lukan asked, his voice low, probably to prevent the attentive high-born sitting around them from hearing him. “I suppose you would think that, after living in a tent.”

“You say that as if living in a tent would be beneath you.”

“I’m merely pointing out the differences.” Lukan leaned back in his chair and looked away. His rejection was obvious.

Not sure what to make of it, Lynx turned her attention to Kestrel. Her sister’s eyes glistened with . . .

Lynx leaned in closer for a better look. Kestrel’s eyes were overly bright, although no excitement blossomed on her face.

Then Lynx understood. Tao was blond.

Lynx’s heart melted for her. It seemed neither of them wanted their future husbands.

Tao whispered to Kestrel, “That’s Lady Nithena, my father’s mistress.” He pointed to the woman sitting next to Mott.

Kestrel looked away, probably not wanting Tao to see her tears.

Lynx came to her rescue, asking the only question she wanted answered. “The sapphire next to her eye? What does it signify?”

“That she’s high-born. Diamonds for the emperor and his sons.” Tao gestured to himself and Lukan. “Emeralds for high-born men, and sapphires for women. Oh, and Axel and his father are the only ones who wear rubies. But you probably know that.”

It wasn’t the answer Lynx hoped for, but she could hardly expect Tao to pour out all the Chenayan secrets over dinner. And he’d been more forthcoming than anyone else she’d questioned about the stones. She smiled at him as a waiter placed a steaming dish of something that looked ominously like snails before her. Swallowing her disgust, she reluctantly picked up a fork.

All conversation dwindled, partly because every attempt was met by a halt in the low chatter coming from the high-born. Only Mott’s voice continued, unabated, as he regaled the company with exploits of past hunts.

Eventually, Tao placed his dessert spoon on his plate and said, “My father’s about to call for chenna.” His eyes trailed across to Kestrel.

Her sister seemed not to hear. She was watching Lukan, who swirled patterns with the remaining berry sauce on his dessert plate. He looked distant, too.

Knowing how much Kestrel had wanted to marry Lukan, Lynx again stepped in to help her until she felt ready to face Tao. “What’s chenna?”

Tao raised an eyebrow and then leaned forward, whispering. “Chenna? Come on, everyone in the empire drinks it. It’s our one unifying vice.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but Norin don’t drink chenna.”

Tao glanced over at Kestrel, frowned, then whispered, “Maybe you know it as Dragon’s Blood. But I don’t suggest you call it that. Not here in the Heartland.”

Ah! Now she knew what he meant. Every evening after dinner, Axel and Stefan had drunk a few shots of a vile-looking, blood-red drink. It reeked like pure alcohol.

Seeing an opportunity to learn more about Chenaya from a potentially talkative source, Lynx decided to play dumb. “Definitely no chenna in Norin, Tao.” She smiled at him. “Dragons are exclusive to the Heartland.”

Tao surprised her by smiling back, making the diamond next to his eye sparkle. “No dragons? What a shame. You really did miss out.”

Lynx blinked, twice. From his tone, she almost thought he could have done with a few less dragons in his life, too. That was intriguing.

She leaned forward. “Tell me more.”

“I assume you’re talking about chenna?”

“Of course.” She could hardly say otherwise. She glanced at Lukan, but he was still studiously ignoring her.

“It has the tendency to fry the brains of the uninitiated.” Tao shot another concerned look at Kestrel, but his gentle flirting with Lynx seemed lost on her sister.

If Lynx weren’t so disgusted with her own partner, she might have been tempted to nudge Kestrel under the table. Instead, she said, “Well, that sounds just like your typical dragon.”

“You could say that,” Tao said. “Emperor Thurban first distilled it to give his troops courage while they ravaged our neighbors. I think he described it as ‘expanding the boundaries of our empire.’ Or that’s what my history professor said.”

Lynx sucked in a breath. Tao’s grimace suggested that he didn’t approve.

Watching him closely, she said, “It seems, nowadays, bits of jasper, surgically inserted next to the eye, have replaced the chenna.”

Lukan lurched forward. “Don’t listen to my brother, Lynx. He’s about the worst example of a Chenayan you can get.”

“Really?” Lynx replied, annoyed that, after ignoring her all evening, he would interrupt this conversation. “Well, that’s maybe why Tao appeals to me. It seems neither of us like dragons”—she paused—“blood.”

“Give it a few weeks, and you’ll be drinking it,” Lukan replied with annoying confidence. “And then you’ll be a true Chenayan.”

“Don’t hold your breath.” Lynx picked up her goblet. “I’ll stick to mead.”

Tao laughed, a spontaneous, joyous sound, alien in the turgid atmosphere. Lynx’s heart soared when Kestrel’s head shot up. Her sister studied Tao as if seeing him for the first time.

From the top of the table, Mott demanded, “Share the joke, Tao.”

Laughter silenced, Tao replied, “It would not improve with repetition, sire.”

“You have disrupted the evening with your raucous noise. Now explain.”

Lynx froze as Tao’s mouth opened and closed, and then he stuttered, “I apologize, sire, but I was merely pointing out the merits of chenna and mead.”

She let out a breath, impressed that Tao hadn’t implicated her in the discussion.

“What is there to discuss, you stupid boy? Chenna beats mead every time.”

Tao’s fair skin burned, but he kept his focus on his father steady.

His defiance was lost on the emperor, who waved a finger at his seneschal, standing at his shoulder. “Chenna.”

Lady Nithena stood, saying, “Come, princesses, let’s leave the men to their drinks.”

Lynx’s mouth sagged. No Norin man would expect women to leave just because he wanted a drink, and no Norin woman would ever obey such a ridiculous command. But she and her dress had caused enough trouble tonight.

It was time to beat a tactical retreat.

As she stood, she caught Kestrel frowning at Lady Nithena; clearly, her sister was as offended as she was.

“We have plenty to talk about,” Lynx said in Norin, hoping neither Lukan nor Tao had bothered to learn their mother’s tongue.

Tao’s face was averted so she couldn’t see his reaction, but Lukan looked blank, so she guessed neither of them had.

At least she and Kestrel had that advantage over them.

Lady Nithena led them into the broad passageway outside the dining hall.

Four imperial guardsmen waited at attention.

“Your Highnesses, the guardsmen will escort you to your apartment.” Lady Nithena curtsied and left.

With two men in the lead and two trailing behind, Lynx and Kestrel walked through the palace. After a confusing number of twists and turns, the guardsmen took them into a side passage.

A young girl dressed in maid’s robes polished the already gleaming parquet floor.

As Lynx drew closer, a middle-aged woman appeared from nowhere, standing next to the girl.

Lynx stumbled, unable to believe her eyes.

The woman was startling, her face a portrait of evil. Strangest of all, her feet didn’t touch the ground but hovered above it. She flickered once and then vanished as if she had never existed.

The child’s eyes flew wide, her face contorted with horror. Screaming, she half-stumbled, half-ran toward Lynx, throwing herself at the feet of the nearest guardsman. “Help me,” the girl screeched. “The Dreaded.”

The guardsmen kicked the child in the ribs, sending her careening against the wall.

“Stop it!” Lynx yelled, punching the soldier on the arm above his vambrace. “Leave her alone.”

He immediately stood to attention, snapping a salute. Lynx was about to bend down to help the girl, but Kestrel beat her to it. Instead of responding to the kindness, the maid scuttled away on her knees, sobbing.

Too practical to believe in ghosts, Lynx bit her lip, trying to make sense of what she’d seen. She came up short on answers. What else could the apparition have been?

But then, why don’t we get them in Norin? Why only here, in the Heartland?

Nothing made sense.

She turned to the guardsmen. “Take us to our apartments. Now.”

As the guards set a brisk pace down the passageway, Kestrel linked her arm with Lynx’s. She could feel her sister trembling. Lynx squeezed her hand.

“What was she?” Kestrel asked in Norin. “I’ve never seen anything so terrible.”

“Uncle Bear called them ‘the Dreaded.’ They’re supposed to be ghosts. Or something like that.”

Kestrel shivered. “I’m doing my best to focus on the positives, but they certainly don’t make it easy, do they?”

“Positives?” Lynx snorted a bitter laugh. “You’re a better person than I am.”

“The magnificent clothes, the artworks. Did you see that exquisite hunting mural on the wall outside the dining room? It was breathtaking.”

Lynx shrugged. She had sort of noticed it.

Kestrel shook her head, smiling. “Oh Lynxie, can’t you see? A people who can create such magnificent art can’t be all bad?”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Lynx said doubtfully. “But don’t forget, they’re also the bloodthirsty bastards who killed Hare.”

They reached a narrow stone archway leading to an even narrower flight of slippery stairs. Lynx assumed they were climbing one of the palace turrets. Finally, they reached a large room, brilliant with oil lamps. A nest of comfortable sofas waited on a brightly colored rug in the center of the space, inviting conversation.

Kestrel sank into one.

Lynx looked around, seeing two doors leading off the room. She peeked through the closest doorway. A giant four-poster bed, nothing like her bedroll in her tent back home, stood in the middle of the room. She guessed the other room was a bedroom, too. She instantly missed her familiar tent.

One of the guardsmen spoke. “Your Highnesses, I’ve stationed two men at the top of the stairs. You can sleep peacefully, knowing you’re well protected.”

Monitored, more like it, Lynx thought.

He bowed low and then nodded to his companions, leading them out of the room.

Lynx considered throwing the cushions from the chairs onto the floor, but sooner or later, she had to get used to life in the palace. She eased down into one of the sofas, trying to get comfortable in her bustle.

Kestrel stretched out like a cat on her red velvet chair. “I might hate those ghost-things, but I could get used to this luxury.” She grinned. “No painful slumping on cushions in the Avanov palace.”

Lynx frowned, then decided there was no point debating with Kestrel about which seating arrangements were better, Chenayan or Norin. “So, Tao?”

Kestrel’s face fell, and her voice was flat, filled with disappointment. “He’s fine . . . if I wanted to marry a Norin. Which I don’t.”

“I’m sorry. Really I am. If it’s any consolation, though, I think Tao’s an infinitely nicer person than Lukan. For a Chenayan.”

“How would you know, given that you hardly spoke a word to Lukan during the meal?”

The sharpness in Kestrel’s tone surprised Lynx.

She answered in kind. “He made it very clear that he didn’t want to talk to me.” A sigh, and then she admitted, “Any more than I wanted to talk to him.” She stood and paced across the room, stopping to lean against the wall between two oil lamp sconces. “I worry about you. You seem determined to become like them.”

Kestrel sat bolt upright. “And what’s wrong with that? I never fit in at home. This is my chance to belong, to be happy, and I’m grabbing it with both hands.” She frowned. “But it goes against all my dreams to have to marry a man who looks like every boy who ever rejected me because I wouldn’t raid an egg.”

“Tao is more than just his looks.”

“By that argument, so is Lukan.”

Lynx grunted, acknowledging that Kestrel had a point. Her gaze settled on her sister’s face, wishing they were closer. She longed to tell Kestrel about her mission here. If she confided in her, maybe Kestrel would become the ally Lynx needed as she searched for the truth. After a moment’s hesitation, she decided to risk sharing her task.

Kestrel cut her off. “There are far worse things that could happen than making love to someone as gorgeous as Lukan. And as for that diamond next to his eye! Well, I have never seen anything so incredible or so beautiful. Did you notice that it’s bigger than Tao’s?”

Lynx shook her head, glad now for the interruption.

Kestrel looked at her, face etched with concern. “Wolf said I was to support you. So, Lynx, my advice would be to forget your hatred and appreciate what’s being offered to you on a golden platter.” She flopped down onto the sofa. “And if Lukan gets bored with you, you can always make a play for Axel. The two of you seem to have some kind of lusty thing going. He’s probably good in bed, too.”

Mortified Kestrel had sensed her reluctant interest in Axel, Lynx protested, “Axel! In my bed! You have got to be joking. I’d rather befriend the she-witch.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Lynx, and maybe you’ll begin to believe it. Just as well Heron is seven days away by train.”

Lynx’s face flushed, and a stab of longing pierced her heart. “Leave Heron out of this.”

“Whatever.” Kestrel lumbered to her feet. “I’m exhausted.” At the closest bedroom door, she stopped. “And by the way, keep your claws out of Tao. He’s mine.”

Lynx’s jaw dropped. “I beg your pardon?”

“Tao. He’s mine.”

“Yes, I heard that, but—”

“Oh please, Lynx. I saw the way you were flirting with him during dinner. Do us both a favor and content yourself with Lukan and Axel.”

“What are you talking about?” Lynx demanded, unable to believe her sister’s temerity. “I was keeping Tao occupied while you cried over marrying him! Trust me, I have no interest in your betrothed.”

“So what if I was tearful?” Kestrel’s face flushed, and she took a step toward Lynx. “I came here to hold your hand, so how about repaying me by minding your own business?”

“Strange. I thought Lukan was my business. You had no problem spending most of the evening ogling him.”

“And we both know what business that is,” Kestrel shot back. “To find out what’s behind the gemstones.”

Lynx rocked back. “How do you know that?”

“I have ears, Lynx, and after hours of listening to your tedious fiddle playing, I finally came to tell you to shut up.” Kestrel gave her a smug smile. “I’m so glad I did, given the fascinating discussion I overheard between you and Father. Even he believes I should have been the one to get Lukan. He said I would make a wonderful empress! But, as usual, you always get the best, leaving me with meager pickings.” Kestrel stomped into her bedroom. “I finally have a chance to make a life for myself, even if it is with Tao, and I’m not going to let you mess it up. Forget about the gemstones, Lynx, because you’ll find no support from me if you jeopardize our safety here.” She slammed the door.

So much for Kestrel being an ally.

Angry with herself for how she’d handled that, Lynx’s legs gave out, and she slid down the wall, landing her bustled backside on the deep-pile carpet.

She had her answer: Kestrel would most certainly not watch her back while she scouted for information. The question now was: would her sister actively work against her?

17

Lukan drained his chenna and slammed the goblet down onto the table. His father should have called an end to this interminable evening hours ago. He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. Why was the old man taking so long? Even the dogs that scrapped for bones under the table had given up their vigil.

He glanced at Tao. His brother’s eyes drooped, and his chin rested on his hand. Like the dogs, all Tao needed was to start dribbling—or snoring. Either would liven up the evening. Lukan smiled despite his frustration.

The sound of shattering glass split the air, prompting Tao to jolt upright. The signal to leave.

His father had finally drained his chenna and thrown the goblet against the wall. Before any other chair squeaked, Lukan jerked back from the dining table and shot to his feet. Tao followed, relief blazing on his face. His brother tried to catch his eye, but Lukan elbowed past him and out into the passageway. It took all his self-control not to break into a sprint for the stairs leading to his apartment.

Keep calm. People are watching. You have to be regal. Remember.

Tao caught up to him and grabbed his arm. “Want to play dice? Anything to drown out the horror of this night. We can get Axel to join us.”

Lukan shook his brother’s hand off his arm. “He’s the last person I need right now.” He hated Axel—the brilliant soldier, everyone’s golden boy—almost as much as he did his father, and Tao knew that. It had always grieved him that Tao’s loyalty veered toward Axel.

His brother sighed. “Okay, not Axel then, but not just the two of us, either. No offense, but I’m in need of decent company.”

Lukan shoved Tao’s chest. “What’s gotten into you? I told you, I’m not taking the blame for your marriage, so you can stop flirting with Lynx and shoving your resentment at me. And how many times must I tell you to show some respect for the Dragon? If we don’t, how can we expect loyalty from our subjects?”

“A game of dice, Lukan, that’s it. I’m not interested in dragons, or Lynx, or Kestrel, or marriage, or resentment, or anything else. Not right now.”

“No.” Lukan turned his back on Tao and stalked down the passage toward his apartment. As much as it stung, he needed to mentally rehash his first meeting with Lynx.

Nothing had changed since summer. She was as distant and disdainful as she’d been then. That was a problem, because he still wanted her. Passionately. He had spent much of the evening imagining running his hands through her hair, over her lithe body, kissing her—everywhere—making love to her until she cried out, begging him for more.

And that was where his fantasy faltered and reality bit.

Lynx hadn’t been interested in him last summer, and she sure as hell wasn’t interested in him now.

As for her comments about the Dragon, well . . . they bordered on the seditious. He had no belief in the Dragon as a god, but he knew the value of the icon in governing the masses. To worship the Dragon was to worship the emperor. Lynx’s contempt was abundantly concerning, coming from a woman who could very well be the mother of the son foreordained to destroy him and his empire.

“She’s quite the girl, isn’t she?” a disembodied voice asked in his head, like a probing finger.

As much as he hated the intrusion, Lukan’s footsteps didn’t falter. What do you want, Thurban?

“An unprecedented challenge faces you, Crown Prince. Are you equal to it?”

Lukan guessed Thurban referred to Lynx. He bristled at the suggestion that anyone, dead or alive, would dare question his abilities. Of course I am.

“Lynx is no ordinary girl, Lukan. She’s a Norin of the most rabid kind.”

That doesn’t mean I can’t control her, Lukan shot back. Refusing to engage further in a conversation he didn’t want, he focused his thoughts on other, more pleasant things: the provocative sway of Lynx’s hips as she walked, the curve of her breasts, her legs, long and shapely, wrapped around him.

It was the only way he knew how to dislodge Thurban.

The day Thurban’s voice had appeared in his head, Lukan had almost choked on his soup. It had happened some weeks before his father had announced the wedding. It had taken all his acting skills to cover up his shock when, after he had caught his breath, the voice introduced itself as Thurban, Chenaya’s first emperor.

Telling anyone at the dining table was out of the question. They would have called him mad, insane, unfit to rule. He would quickly share his father’s well-deserved epithet: Mad Lukan.

Unable to endure such a humiliation, he had shot to his feet and rushed to the palace archive, the only place in the empire where books were permitted. Many of the manuscripts, printouts, and blueprints, all scientific and technical in nature, had survived the Burning.

When just a lad, Lukan had discovered the original copy of the Treaty of Hope signed after the Burning. Like all books, he had devoured it, discovering that the nations had agreed to destroy all printed matter—mankind’s desperate attempt to prevent a future annihilation.

Young as he was, it had shocked Lukan rigid that anyone would consider burning books. They were his lifeline, the only things that kept him sane in a palace where warfare, games of strategy, and jousting were everything.

Thankfully, despite proclaiming allegiance to the Treaty of Hope, Thurban had used the chaos after the Burning to order scholars to comb through the ruined cities and towns of the world. They had assembled all the books they could find. Those works formed the basis of the archives.

Over the last four hundred years, successive emperors had added to it as chemists, engineers, and scientists—hidden away from the public eye in far reaches of the empire—expanded the old technologies.

The day Lukan first heard Thurban’s voice, he knew that if it had been generated by the living—anything was possible in Chenaya—he would find evidence of the technology in one of the books in the archives.

But, after hours of fruitless searching through titles in the archives’ catalogue, Lukan had been forced to admit defeat. There were no tomes explaining the technology needed to create voices in the head. The only reference at all to voices was contained in the journal of Prince Maksim, a long-forgotten crown prince. Settled in his usual leather chair, he had read the book from cover to cover.

From the cryptic writing—apparently Maksim had also been reluctant to admit to insanity—Lukan gleaned that other crown princes had also been harassed by unseen beings, even appearances by the ghosts themselves. They had provided the inspiration for the Dreaded.

All of these visitors from beyond the grave either supported or railed against Dmitri and his curse.

Lukan had left the archives in an even greater panic than when he had entered it. In the ensuing weeks, he became inured to Thurban’s voice.

And, he admitted, one good thing had come out of hearing Thurban: it explained generations of emperors’ obsession with perpetuating the Dreaded. If ghosts tormented crown princes, calling on them to support the overthrow of the empire, what happened in everyone else’s heads?

Deep in thought, Lukan jumped the steps to his apartment two at a time. Once in the privacy of his room, he would give some thought to a strategy to handle Lynx’s frosty welcome.

His apartment door loomed. He stepped inside, closed it behind him—and frowned. A Chenayan flag hung limply on a staff in the middle of the room, the black Dragon dull against faded red and gold silk. It wasn’t there when he and Tao had left the room. More offended by its ragged appearance than the oddity of its presence, he darted over to take it down.

He never made it.

In a blur of light, the walls of his room vanished. His first thought was that Felix had set up a display of Dreaded, but then the wood paneling and tapestries were replaced by an army so vast, it blotted out all traces of the landscape. An endless patchwork of skin tones, the army’s only unifying feature was the firmament of blue banners, spangled with stars, under which it camped.

He recognized the constellation: Nicholas the Light-Bearer.

Too elaborate to be Dreaded. What the hell is it?

His eyes widened as his own flag unfurled. Flexing black wings, the Dragon soared out of the tattered silk, growing to a monstrous size as it took to the air. It glided down in front of him, enveloping him in its shadow, transfixing him with its red eyes.

Heart threatening to explode, Lukan fell back. But the Dragon clearly had things other than attack on its mind. Its huge body bulged, and its head writhed. Screeching, it tore at its own scales and flesh. Lukan watched spellbound as the Dragon’s inner enemy emerged with each bite.

It was a young man.

Brushing sable-dark hair from his jet-black eyes, the man stepped away from the tattered remains, looking down at it briefly with a hero’s sneer of contempt. He strode to the blue army, grabbed a flag, and held it high for everyone to see.

“It’s me,” Lukan whispered in disbelief.

“Lukan, Crown Prince of Chenaya,” a voice he didn’t recognize said, “see what awaits you. A son who will torment and plague you all the days of your life.”

Lightning zigzagged from the cloudless sky, striking his doppelganger in the face. The young man’s image flickered and then re-ignited. He now looked at Lukan through glacial blue eyes.

Lynx’s eyes.

With a derisive smile, he fixed those blue icicles on something behind Lukan. Following his gaze, Lukan saw great plumes of smoke billowing from the roof of the Avanov palace. He watched as the inferno devoured his home, the seat of his government, the heart of his empire.

Lightning sparked again and struck the man in the face. As he crumbled to ash, the smoke from the palace was sucked back into the roof, and the flames guttered and died.

The image flashed and then vanished.

Lukan sank to the floor, trying to make sense of what he’d seen. He had lived all his life with the Dreaded, designed to terrify and control his subjects. What he’d seen here was nothing like any of those.

It had to be a vision. The kind he had read about in Maksim’s journal. He writhed, a thousand phantom ants crawling over him.

Did it confirm that he would be the emperor cursed to be murdered by his own son? But if so, then why did the Dragon rise again to destroy his enemy? Nothing made sense.

But whatever it meant, surely even his father must see that marrying Lynx was impossible if this would result? How to communicate that to Mad Mott was the biggest challenge.

Lukan had no answers that wouldn’t get him beaten to a pulp. Desperate for company to counter his fear, he slammed his apartment door shut and raced to the gambling room he knew Tao—and unfortunately, Axel—frequented. With each step he took, anger mounted in his chest.

A high-born man turned the corner and almost bumped in to Lukan.

“What do you want here?” Lukan yelled at the top of his voice. “Get out of my way.”

The man bobbed a bow, then fled the way he’d come.

Lukan slumped against the wall, even angrier with himself than he was at the high-born, his father, or the vision.

What’s the point of working on my image if I scream at people? The bastard shouldn’t have been here.

But even as he thought that, he knew it was stupid. The man lived in the palace; he had every right to walk the halls.

Lukan had to get a grip. His temper had run riot since Thurban started talking to him. He couldn’t let these weird supernatural things mess with his control like this.

In the face of the worst provocation his father could inflict on him, he’d always managed to appear poised and regal, a man above his circumstances. He had prided himself on that achievement the way Axel strutted around boasting about battlefield conquests.

It was only when his heart stopped pounding that he entered the gambling room.

As to be expected, Tao was with Axel and Stefan.

Lukan stopped at the door to watch them and sighed.

They were playing tiles, a game of military strategy he loathed. No matter how many times he played the stupid game, he always lost. When he was younger, he had even taken lessons from some of Chenaya’s most decorated generals—but to no avail. Whatever tricks he was taught, Axel always knew how to counter him. He had stopped playing tiles years ago.

Axel looked up, caught sight of him, and smiled. It was not a pretty sight.

“Lukan, our beloved crown prince,” Axel drawled in his usual mocking tone.

Both Tao and Stefan turned to stare.

His cousin laughed and said to Tao, “I’ve been spending way too much time with Mother Saskia.”

Heartbreakingly, Tao joined in the laughter. At least Stefan had enough respect to stand and bow, which was more than he could say for Axel.

Lukan’s skin burned with anger at the affront. He took a deep breath and shook his shoulders to force his muscles to relax.

Axel kicked out a chair. “Lukan, come, sit. It’s been a long time since we’ve battled each other over tiles.”

Lukan took the chair. “Don’t get your hopes up, Axel. I have an urge to play dice.” He reached across the table and picked up an unopened pack of dice. He was about to crack the seal when Axel laughed.

Like every encounter with Axel and his cronies, this was turning out to be humiliating.

Axel reached over and took the pack from his hands and tossed it onto an empty table next to them. “Not a chance. If you want part of our action, you play by our rules. And tiles it is.”

Lukan leaped to his feet. Eyes fixed on Tao, he said, “And you say I’m bad company?”

Without waiting for Tao to reply, he left the room. Nothing this side of hell would induce him to spend any more time here. Not when he had to face Lynx in the morning.

18

“Open the door, Princess.”

Lynx groaned, rolled out of bed, and stumbled across the deep-pile carpet to the door.

The she-witch was there, holding out a candle. “Dress,” she commanded. “The emperor summons you. I will take you to his chambers.”

Shock pierced Lynx like a sword. But this hateful woman would never be privy to that.

Feigning nonchalance, Lynx asked, “What time is it?” She held up her wrist. “I wouldn’t need to ask, but someone took it upon herself to destroy my watch.”

The she-witch’s lips twitched. She swallowed and then said in a conciliatory tone, “Let bygones be bygones, Princess Lynx. I’ve discovered, to my cost, that life is too fragile . . . fleeting, even, to bear grudges.” The priestess’s breath hitched. “In fact, my dear, this may well be the last time we see each other.”

Lynx jerked upright. What in the world could have happened to the woman? Was it possible the priestess was human and not just the emperor’s tool, bent on destroying all individuality?

Too little, too late. Lynx took the candle. Once the door closed, she headed for her dressing room, bigger even than her tent in Norin. A maid had hung up the garments Uncle Bear had given her. None of Mother Saskia’s “proper” dresses had made it into the collection. That left her with limited choices. Bustle firmly in place, she slipped on an elegant—or at least she thought it grand—green dress. Her hands trembled as she laced her corset. Without thinking to brush her hair, she rushed to the door to meet the she-witch.

They walked in silence past the guardsmen at the entrance to her apartment.

Lynx made special note of features to help her navigate. A statue of an unknown emperor glared at her from a column, then she passed a wall of stained glass windows, a tapestry depicting a black dragon in full flight, and a wall covered with flags that once belonged to the conquered. A stuffed snow leopard and her cubs were the last notable sight before the parquet floor gave way to slick, marble tiles. Although the furnishings changed, one thing remained constant: the absence of people, aside from the occasional patrolling guardsman.

What was so important that Mott had to drag her out in the middle of the night? She considered asking the she-witch but dismissed the idea almost as it formed. She would know soon enough.

They reached a wooden door guarded by two more soldiers.

Mother Saskia knocked far more tentatively than the rap she’d sounded on Lynx’s door.

Neither the thickness nor the weight of the solid oak muffled Mott’s voice. “Enter.”

Heart beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings, Lynx waited as a sentry opened the door for her. She stopped at the threshold, taking in the expansive room.

Well lit with oil lamps and furnished with heavy wood and leather furniture, it seemed deserted, until Mott spoke from behind a wing-backed chair. “Get over here, girl.”

Bristling at the tone, Lynx eased around a couple of sofas and a low table toward his chair, facing a blazing fireplace that stretched the length of one wall. Mott waited, dagger in his hand. She forced herself to stand tall, as if she faced knife-wielding emperors every day. She caught an acrid whiff of chenna from his breath, and a goblet of the stuff waited next to his elbow. How sober was he?

Mott wasn’t in a hurry to satisfy her curiosity, keeping her waiting at least a full minute before asking, with nary a slur, “Why are you here, girl?”

Lynx looked at him warily, wondering if this was a trick question.

Mott slammed his fist onto the table, rattling the goblet.

Lynx jumped back, wishing for the umpteenth time she had her weapons.

The emperor reacted by angling his dagger toward her heart. “Since you don’t appear to have an answer, I’ll tell you. You’re here for one reason only: to secure the Chenayan succession or, in words a low-born Norin like you might understand, to produce a son.”

Lynx flushed, and her fists clenched, all fear driven out by anger. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to go hang himself, but the dagger was a major deterrent. That didn’t stop her eyes from narrowing.

“Still full of Norin defiance, I see. Well, I’ll soon knock that out of you.” Mott heaved himself up and moved in close. “I’ve watched you since your arrival here, and I’m not happy. At dinner, it was clear you have little interest in the Crown Prince of Chenaya.”

“If I’m just a defiant low-born Norin, why do you even want me for your crown prince?”

Dagger in hand, Mott used his other to touch her face. His clammy fingers pressed a line down her cheek, pinching her lips. “My, you are a wild one. I’m almost tempted to keep you myself.”

She flinched and tried to pull back.

He laughed, and his grip on her mouth tightened, yanking it out of shape. “But it’s not more bastards I need, so I suggest you overcome your squeamishness”—his smile turned ugly—“because if you don’t make me a happy announcement of a pregnancy within three months of your marriage, I’ll send my guardsmen stationed at Tanamre to bring me your father’s head on a pike.”

“No!” Lynx cried out, before suppressing the shock Mott’s words induced.

“And that’s how we welcome guests to the Heartland,” a low voice interrupted. A frail, gaunt man stepped into the room. A large ruby was the only color in his waxy face.

“Felix.” Mott’s hand dropped from her face, and from his gruff tone, she deduced he was unhappy with the intrusion. Then, he laughed as Lynx stared shamelessly at Felix’s almost corpse-like features. “Girl, meet my little brother, Count Felix Avanov, Lord of the Chenayan Household. And father of the brilliant General Axel Avanov.”

Lynx gaped; apart from the ruby, there was no possible resemblance between this waxy, shriveled creature and Axel. It wasn’t hard to imagine him reading her uncle’s letters.

“Rest assured,” Mott continued. “My brother will take great delight in watching your every movement.”

Felix hobbled over to join them.

Mott grabbed Lynx’s chin, forcing her to look at him again. “Princess Lynx of Norin, I will tolerate your flagrant disregard of my dress rules only because my son seems to like ogling you. So, you may wear your skimpy dresses, but know this: unless you wish the view from your bedchamber to be forever marred by the sight of your parents’ rotting heads, you will provide me with the grandson I seek. Now go and do as I’ve commanded.”

Lynx turned and headed for the door, hoping her ramrod-straight back hid the anger and revulsion roiling within her at this terrifying threat.

Mother Saskia waited for her outside the emperor’s office. “Come, Princess, I will escort you back to your chamber.” Fighting against trembling limbs, Lynx walked with her in silence until they were almost at the top of the stairs leading to her apartment.

Finally, the priestess smiled stiffly. “You look pale, Princess, even for a Norin.”

Lynx’s fingers sought her hair, finding a new lock to twirl. The last thing she wanted was to discuss the emperor’s threats with the she-witch, so she changed the subject. “Why did you fetch me? It’s hardly the job for someone of your station.”

The priestess’s lips twitched. “The emperor commands, and I obey. It’s what we all do.” They reached the landing, and the priestess turned her back on the guardsmen standing at attention there. Whispering so softly Lynx had to strain to hear, she added, “Remember, my dear, there is no place in Chenaya for powerful women.” She glided away before Lynx replied.

Lynx watched her go in astonishment and then walked to Kestrel’s room. She stopped at the door and heard gentle snoring. It seemed her sister had not been called. She rested her forehead against the wooden doorframe.

None of this made sense, although it did explain the surprising contents of her wardrobe. Still, surely, the emperor could see Kestrel was best suited for marriage to Lukan? Kestrel would probably be delighted to sleep with the crown prince, bearing him an army of children, if that was what they wanted, so why was Mott bombarding her with unreasonable threats? Threats she had no doubt he would carry out.

And forcing Tao to marry a Norin? What was that about? Why would he want more Norin blood in his line? Weren’t there other families in his empire he could terrorize into coughing up a daughter to marry his son?

She had no answers.

There was only one certainty: she and Lukan had to produce a child. But it was up to the Winds to decide if that child would be a son.

19

Lynx was still curled up in bed after her night pondering Mott’s threats when she heard footsteps at her door.

Someone knocked.

Her heart leaped in her chest. “What now?” she whispered, reluctantly getting up to investigate.

A guardsman stood at attention. He bowed and then spoke in a monotone voice, “Your Highness, I am commanded to tell you that the prenuptial breakfast will commence in one hour. Your lady-in-waiting will be along to collect you.”

Lynx nodded her thanks, and the soldier knocked on Kestrel’s door. Without waiting to greet her sister, Lynx closed her door and made her way to her dressing room.

A silky red dress caught her eye.

She grabbed it before she could change her mind. After Mott’s threats, she could no longer afford to reject Lukan’s advances, and after their spat the night before, she had some work to do to rekindle Lukan’s ardor. Dressing in scarlet and styling her hair was a small sacrifice to make for her family’s safety.

“I can always pull a pillowslip over my head on our wedding night so I don’t have to look at him.” She grimaced; it was unlikely he’d notice—he was so obsessed with the rest of her.

Images of Axel’s strong face, lean body, and beautiful forearms floated before her mind’s eye. Her stomach flipped, shooting desire through every fiber. She gritted her teeth against it and tried to think of Heron, but Axel’s wicked smile mocked her attempt to evict him.

“What’s the matter with me?” she muttered. “Axel is not only a Chenayan, he’s an Avanov, and he sent guardsmen to murder my people.”

Frowning in disgust at herself, she grabbed the dress, some underwear, and a dainty pair of red boots, then headed for her bathroom.

Despite her stress, she grinned with childlike glee as she surveyed the marble bath, big enough for her to lie in. What’s more, it was plumbed with unlimited hot water. Back in Norin, she had to carry buckets of warm water into her tent to fill a small metal drum when she bathed. This was pure luxury, the kind even she could get used to.

She turned on the tap and closed the door to trap the steam. In the corner of the room stood an elegant dresser laden with a dozen pretty glass jars. She dumped her clothes on the floor and opened the lid of the closest one. The sweet scent of orange blossom wafted up to her. Squealing with delight, she plucked the stopper off the next jar and then the next, until the room was flooded with the heady scent of a dozen exotic flowers and spices.

Perfume had always been her one feminine guilty pleasure, but she could rarely afford to buy any. Heron had once given her a tiny bottle, bought at a market in Lapis. She’d eked it out, making it last for years. Now, here on this dresser, waited more sweet-smelling things than she could have dreamed possible.

Quivering with delight, she stepped back, considering which oil to use in her first palace bath. Her hand hovered over the jasmine and flitted to the frankincense before darting to the rose. Unable to decide, she finally poured a couple of drops from each bottle into the water. She closed her eyes and drank in the scent.

Glorious? Oh, yes. Overpowering? Maybe a little.

Right now, she didn’t care.

Lynx lowered herself into the water and lay back to soak. Her skin was beginning to wrinkle when a respectful knock on her apartment door ripped her from her quiet meditation.

Panicked, she leaped out of the water, grabbed a towel and her clothes, half-drying, half-dressing as she raced into her bedroom. She poked her head around the apartment door, but whoever had called was gone. That didn’t mean she had time to waste. She was busy with her hair when Kestrel rapped on her door.

“Come on, Lynx. I’m starving. What are you doing in there?”

“I’m coming. I’m coming.” Lynx shoved bits of hair back into the bun she was trying to construct. She’d seen a painting once of a girl with her hair in a knot, tendrils curling down her face. Heron had said it looked pretty—for someone without feathers and beads. “It’s just . . . damn, how can this be so hard?”

Kestrel threw open the door. And gasped. “You look . . . stunning. But—but isn’t scarlet a bit much for breakfast?”

“Is it?” Lynx started tugging at the ribbons on her corset. “What’s a breakfast color, then?”

“Leave it.” Kestrel crossed the room in a blur of cream taffeta. “It’s perfect for you.” Her sister’s nose twitched and then erupted with sneezes. Finally, she managed to croak, “Oh my word, Lynx. The oils. How many did you use?”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Lynx sniffed her arm but detected nothing strange.

“You used them all, didn’t you?” Kestrel said, breathing through her mouth.

“I guess,” Lynx replied, feeling sheepish. Kestrel was always so much better at the girly stuff than she could ever hope to be.

“Everyone in a five mile radius of you is going to know we Norin are peasants—low-borns—who know nothing about how to use fine things. You will have to bathe again.”

Lynx was about to say she didn’t care what they thought, but she stopped herself, because it wasn’t true.

She did care. Very much. Her parents’ lives depended on her, and she could not fail them.

That reminded her that she hadn’t told Kestrel about Mott’s threat. She opened her mouth to speak when someone cleared her throat.

“You’re out of time,” Kestrel said. “Just keep downwind of everyone.”

Both Lynx and Kestrel turned to the open door.

A tall, stately woman with a sparkling sapphire next to her eye stood there. Lynx’s first thought was that she looked like Mott’s mistress, only older. A sister perhaps?

The woman jerked into a perfunctory curtsy, causing her spectacular bejeweled gown to shimmer in the light gleaming from the wall sconces.

“Good morning, Princesses. I am Lady Tatiana.” Her husky voice and the deep fissures in her tired skin, pasted with makeup, suggested that she’d spent too many nights in smoke-filled gambling rooms. Her nose twitched, and she sneezed. “By the Dragon, it’s fruity in here. Perhaps I should have come by earlier.” Sharp eyes darted to Lynx, and her lip curled. “Who knew I would need to teach you how to bathe?”

Lynx’s face burned, and it was on the tip of her tongue to ask Lady Tatiana, Who knew I would have to teach my lady’s maid respect? But she swallowed the words; after all, Tatiana was right. She had been an idiot with the oils. Never again would she let Chenayan luxury beguile her.

Tatiana waved a ring-encrusted hand. “Can’t be helped now. The men are waiting for breakfast.” She scooped up her skirt. “And we couldn’t possibly keep them waiting, could we? They’ll end up dyspeptic.”

Lynx bit her lip until it ached as Tatiana led her through the palace.

Once at the double doors leading into the great hall, the haughty high-born bobbed a curtsy and vanished amongst the diners.

Only Tao waited for them. His eyes widened, and he took a hasty step back as Lynx approached. She guessed only politeness stopped him from waving his hand in front of his nose. Wincing with shame, she pointed to the empty space next to him, where Lukan should have been standing.

Tao shrugged, offered Kestrel his arm, and started into the hall.

Lynx touched his shoulder. “Is Lukan coming?”

Eyes laden with concern, Tao said, “I don’t know. I stopped by his apartment, but he wasn’t there.” Tao hesitated and then added softly, “It didn’t look like he slept there, either.”

Lynx’s stomach plummeted. “So, now what?” She glanced into the hall, packed with people, dreading having to walk in there on her own.

“The show goes on. No one eats until we take our places.” Tao paused again, then added, “If you were with Lukan, you’d walk ahead of us. But now—” his voice trailed off.

Lynx understood perfectly. So did Kestrel, who preened, fluffing her hair and patting her skirt at this unexpected windfall.

“Lead on,” Lynx said, grateful that at least Tao wasn’t smirking at her.

It was a long walk, past rows of tables, where watching high-born stood at attention at an ebony table on a dais, overlooking the crowd.

Tao gestured for Lynx to take a seat on the right, two down from the head. He and Kestrel sat opposite her.

“My father won’t be joining us,” Tao said. “He never eats breakfast.”

Lynx blew out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. At least Mott wouldn’t see her alone.

“And the other people?” Kestrel asked, gesturing at Tatiana and her two female companions, the only other diners, sitting at the other end of the long table.

Tao didn’t even look at them. “The one who looks like she sucked a lemon is Lady Tatiana. Up until recently, she was my father’s mistress. Her sister, Lady Nithena, has taken her place. The pretty one is Axel’s mother. The one with the wart is Count Raklus’s wife. He’s our Lord of the Conquest.” He looked up at Lynx and smiled. “The person responsible for ravaging our neighbors and expanding our empire.”

Conscious of the need to be above reproach in her dealings with Tao lest she again be accused of flirting, Lynx didn’t return his smile. Instead, she eyed Axel’s mother surreptitiously. “You can see where Axel gets his looks.”

Tao laughed. “Don’t be fooled by Countess Katrina’s pretty face. She’s as tough as they come.”

“She’d have to be, married to Count Felix,” Lynx muttered as an army of waiters besieged her.

Clad in black and red, they bore dishes of pickled eggs and fish, cheeses in varieties she’d never before seen, breads made from every grain imaginable, and towering platters of fruit. Lynx dished up a bowl of strawberries, an almost unheard of delicacy in Norin, as someone pulled out the chair next to her.

She glanced up to see Axel.

He nodded a greeting at his mother who waved back. Instead of his oppressive black uniform, he was casually dressed in a simple white cotton shirt and a pair of black trousers tucked into knee-high boots. Without a waistcoat or surcoat, he looked nothing like the other high-born.

Lynx flushed, and a traitorous flutter swooped through her stomach. She popped a couple of strawberries into her mouth to cover her unwanted reaction to his presence.

Axel jostled Lukan’s empty chair. “Been spurned, have we?” Then he coughed and took a couple of steps back. When he finished spluttering, he laughed as he sat next to her. “Your hand slip with the oil bottle, Princess?”

“So it would seem,” Lynx replied, letting him decide which question she was answering. “And are we back to calling each other by our titles?”

“Only when you smell like something one would normally find in a brothel. I have to remind myself who you really are. Love the dress and the hair, though.”

Knowing she deserved the one comment and pleased at the other, Lynx suppressed a smile. “So what brings you here?”

“Breakfast.” He loaded a plate with pickled fish and black bread. It looked disgusting. “As you know by now, I have a healthy appetite.”

“No . . . I mean, don’t you have another table to sit at? Some friends, maybe?” Lynx rolled her eyes. “What am I saying? You with friends? Unlikely.”

“Nice try,” he said, around a mouthful of food. “But you’re sitting in my seat.”

“Your seat?” Lynx gave Tao an accusatory look, but he was involved in a stilted conversation with Kestrel and didn’t notice her.

Axel touched her hand, sending another spike of desire through her.

Lynx pulled away quickly, wishing she could control her misbehaving body. Didn’t it know how much she hated him?

He grinned at her. “Calm yourself, Princess. It was my chair, but now that you’ve agreed to marry my cousin, I’ve moved down one.”

Like she’d been given a choice. “So I have to put up with you at all my meals? Wonderful.”

“Tough luck, huh?” His grin was replaced by a fleeting frown. “But relax. Hopefully, after the wedding, I’ll be gone.”

“Gone? Oh.” Lynx looked down at her plate, unable to deny her regret—even if he was the enemy.

“Don’t say you’ll miss me?” From his tone, she knew his smile was even more sardonic than usual.

She looked up, meeting his eyes, noticing for the first time that they were flecked with gold. “In your dreams, General.”

Axel leaned into her, nudging her with his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Lynxie, I’ll miss you, too.”

Lynx shivered, both at his use of the nickname only her family called her and from his touch. For the first time in—how long?—she was lost for words. How was it possible she could react to him this way? Usually, her mind and body were totally in agreement about things. How had this Chenayan gotten under her skin like this?

Lynx sensed someone watching her. She looked up to see Emperor Mott standing at the doors, studying her, Axel, and Lukan’s empty seat. She had no idea how long he had been there. Her appetite fled, and she pushed her plate of fruit away.

“Not eating? That means you’re either cross or upset,” Axel said.

Lynx cast a sideways glance at Axel, surprised he’d noticed that about her. “Neither. Worried better describes my mood.”

“‘Worried’? Now why would that be?” Axel paused. “Given that you’re among friends. Or rather, should I say, ‘friend’?”

Lynx scoffed and then gestured to Lukan’s empty seat.

“Ah. I see. I can’t believe you’re actually missing our illustrious crown prince.”

“No. Not really.” Lynx bit her lip, then added, “But you know those troops stationed in Tanamre?”

Axel’s face cleared of all expression, as if he had turned into a complete stranger.

Lynx hesitated, not sure whether she should confide in him. But as he probably knew more about Mott’s plans than she did, it wouldn’t hurt to tap him for information.

“The emperor has threatened to send those troops to my father’s tent . . . if—if Lukan and I don’t provide him with a grandson. He’s given me three months from the date of our marriage to comply.” She gestured to the empty chair again. “Not looking good, is it?”

Axel coughed and then brushed it off with a strained smile. “He expects a grandson in three months? I know you Norin are rebellious, but not even you lot would get away with defying Mother Nature like that.”

“Very funny.” Lynx pulled her plate back and forced herself to eat another strawberry. It tasted like ash. “So why do you think he said that? Are his, Lukan’s, Tao’s, and your deaths so imminent that he so desperately needs another heir?”

She spotted a guardsman plying through the tables toward her.

Axel must have seen him, too, because he leaned in, almost brushing her cheek with his lips. “Interesting question, but it seems like one of us is about to be summoned.”

Lynx’s fingers whitened around the handle of her fork. It had to be Mott. Who else would want to speak to her?

Axel stroked her knuckles with a beautiful callused finger. “You really need to breathe, Princess, or you’ll asphyxiate before the day’s out.” A dangerous smile. “Unless that’s your plan, of course. It would certainly make marriage and babies moot, wouldn’t it?”

Lynx stabbed his hand with her fork. Apart from anything else, the bugger hadn’t answered her question.

Axel jerked back, laughing. “Really, Lynxie, you are totally wasted on my cousin.” He stood, swept her a bow, and strode off toward the guardsmen. He was halfway across the hall when he shouted, “Oh, and by the way, a couple of drops of oil usually does the trick.”

By every Wind that blew, Lynx longed to bury her face in her hands as every head turned to look at her.

Instead, she ignored her fiery blush, straightened her back, and watched Axel intercept the guardsman. The soldier pointed to the doorway, where Count Felix stood, a furious expression on his waxy face.

She wondered what Axel had done to incur his wrath.

20

Operation Treven was poised to shunt into full steam.

Axel offered no resistance when Count Felix Avanov, his father, gripped his arm. Meek as a lamb, he let his father lead him to a private chamber, buried in the bowels of the palace. Called the lair by the few who knew of its existence, it comprised his father’s office, a dungeon, and a series of security monitoring rooms. It was here that he created the Dreaded.

His father pressed his thumb on a metal plate next to the doorjamb. The steel door slid open and then closed behind them. He surged ahead along a stark white passage and opened yet another steel door with a thumb stroke. He gestured Axel into a small office.

Axel pulled his shirt away from his body. Thin as the cotton was, sweat prickled on his back and chest. A heater pumped hot air into the windowless space night and day, regardless of the season.

Incandescent lights flickered on, casting a broad sweep of yellow light over an antique rosewood desk, a matching drinks cabinet, and three leather armchairs. An electric kettle—as far as Axel knew, the only one on the planet—and a couple of bone china cups sat on a silver tray on a small table next to the desk. His father loved hot chocolate and kept a private stash in his office. He had commissioned his bevy of scientists and engineers to make him the kettle to support his addiction.

He didn’t offer Axel any hot chocolate today.

In fact, Axel’s backside had barely hit the overstuffed chair when his father hissed, “What are you playing at? Flirting with Lukan’s betrothed. I saw you almost kiss her cheek, there at the table. Have you lost your mind?” He sank into a chair on the opposite side of the table and scowled at him.

Axel suppressed a smile that his flirting had hit a nerve.

A credible start to Operation Treven.

Axel plonked his boots on his father’s desk, just one more act designed to infuriate. His father was almost as protective of the furniture as of his children—and that was saying something. That stifling love, coupled with his brutal disregard for all other life on the planet, made for a complex relationship. Most often, it was fraught with conflict only people with diametrically opposing views could appreciate.

“Off!” A mucus-flecked handkerchief flicked Axel’s leg. “Now.”

Axel dropped his feet onto the worn leather squab on the chair next to him. “No, Father, I haven’t lost my mind. I assure you, my flirting with Lynx was all very calculated.”

His father leaned over, pushing his waxy face right up to Axel’s. “Do you know why I kill so many people?”

“Because it helps you cope with your stress?”

His father’s glower deepened. “I kill people so you can sleep peacefully, knowing you’ll have an empire to rule after my death. Still, I could wipe out thousands, but it would do no good if you choose to undermine us in public.”

“My, you are in a mood this morning.”

His father coughed into his handkerchief. A smear of fresh green phlegm, streaked with blood, gleamed on it when he pulled it away from his mouth. “Axel, do you, with all your talents, really want to spend the rest of your life living like me?”

“With chronic sinusitis? Not really.”

Bloodless lips quivering, his father snarled, “Never forget, you are not Mott’s son, only his nephew. Lukan and Tao are weak and spineless, but you will always rank lower than them.”

Axel’s hand drifted to his ruby. “I think I’m aware of that.”

“Are you? Then why did you argue with Mott about his order to attack the Norin?”

“They were the wrong orders. He disagreed. I obeyed. I still wear my head on my shoulders, so he must have accepted my objections.”

His father gave him a tired sigh. “You know Mott as well as I do, so why you insist on dancing with death, I will never know.”

“What’s life for, if not to enjoy the challenge?”

Given the puckering of his father’s face, it was the wrong answer. “Stop messing around and take life more seriously!”

Axel snorted. “I do take life seriously, far more than you could ever imagine.”

“Then why did I have to endure Mott bellowing at me moments ago about my son flirting with Lukan’s Norin bitch? He saw the two of you in the great hall, tittering together like lovers! Not even your smooth-talking tongue will protect you if you antagonize him like this.”

Axel folded his arms behind his head. “Shocking! You mean to say the emperor saw us first? What is your surveillance system coming to?”

His father’s eyes bulged. “Listen, my arrogant son. Your mad uncle has an agenda with Lynx that does not include you messing with her. Although with Lukan playing fast and loose this morning, who knows how that will work out for Mott.”

Axel hadn’t come here to talk about Lukan. It was time to move Operation Treven into the spotlight. He rose, his tall frame almost filling the room. “Father, has it come to your attention that we’re losing the war in Treven?”

His father’s eyes flashed, and Axel knew he’d hit another nerve. His father stumbled to his feet. “What does that humiliation have to do with you and Lukan’s Norin bitch?”

“Bombs filled with noxious vapors, launched by crude hydraulic catapults. Very advanced science for the Free Nations—”

“Given enough time, even savages can advance,” his father interrupted. “That’s why we don’t permit learning in our empire.”

“I seem to recall mentioning in a pre-invasion strategy meeting that Chad had a stockpile of those. I also seem to recall making a case for sending in a small hit team to assassinate Chad rather than a regiment of foot soldiers. ‘Too risky, sending in ordinary infantrymen to take on his noxious vapors,’ were the words I used. ‘So, let’s crush the head. Assassinate Chad and all his heirs,’ I suggested. But someone shot me down.” He glared at his father, allowing his anger to bleed into his expression and into his voice. “I wonder who?”

“You know exactly why I persuaded Mott and Raklus to send in the grunts.”

“Yes,” Axel said, “because I would have led the hit team. Instead, that moron Azan got my command, even though he leads from behind his chenna flask.”

His father gestured to the chair. “Axel, sit. I told you then, and I’m telling you now: You are not going to Treven to die like some vermin grunt.”

“Vermin?” Axel tensed. “Those so-called ‘vermin’ are out there dying, so you can sleep peacefully, knowing you can kill whomever you want, whenever you want.”

“Enough with your melodrama, Axel. Those grunts are slaves, born to die for us, for you, for me, and there are plenty more where those came from. With time and patience, Treven will be ours.”

“At the cost of how many men? This is not how an intelligent leader conquers hostile nations.”

His father waved his hand, brushing away Axel’s objections. “You say you want power. That you want to lead millions, but you worry about the lives of a few thousand vermin?”

Axel’s face hardened. “They are my men. Your men, too. They expect us to use them wisely. If they die in battle, so be it. As you say, our empire is not short of men, so there are plenty more who will replace them. But to be squandered . . . that is untenable. To them and to me. If I cannot protect them from that kind of abuse, then what good am I as a general? As an heir to the throne?”

His father sighed. “Axel, you have the makings of a great emperor—if you learn to control these base emotions. I can help with that.”

Axel grimaced. “I’m sure you can, but yours is not the kind of help I seek. I am quite capable of conniving my way to whatever I want. I learned at the knees of the master. You.”

“So, to repay me, you choose to defy me at every turn? This is ingratitude on a grand scale.”

“No, it’s me trying to have power and live with my conscience. I still have one, Father. It speaks to me occasionally. Does yours still chatter away to you?”

His father’s scornful expression was all the answer Axel needed.

“The day I become like you, please kill me.”

“You are your own worst enemy, Axel. Too often, you allow your heart to rule when your head should be in control.”

Axel had heard enough about his weakness and failings. “Treven. I lay the blame squarely at your feet that we are nowhere near conquering the ice crystal mines. Take a bow that we are still up to our arses in mud and toxic gas while Chad laughs at us.”

“Don’t you dare blame me for that mess,” his father hissed. “I’m not Lord of the Conquest. Treven is Raklus’s problem.” Despite the heat, his father clawed an olive-green cape tighter around his frail shoulders. “Anyway, how is this relevant to you interfering with Saskia’s duties yesterday or flirting with Lynx today?”

“It’s been an interesting week.” Axel leaned against the wall, staring straight past his father.

“Look at me!” A bony hand gripped Axel’s chin, but his father wasn’t strong enough to turn his head. His father dropped his fist. “If you care so deeply about the lives of our low-born, I suggest you spare a thought for Mother Saskia. Mott’s deporting her to the prison camps for letting Lynx appear at court in that outrageous dress.”

The news knifed Axel with guilt. Few people survived internment in a prison camp. Conscious of the double standard, he suppressed it.

Nothing could derail Operation Treven.

He turned lazily to face his father. “Mott’s agenda with Lynx . . . I understand he’s looking for a grandson, and last night, he let Lynx get away with that sexy little dress. He didn’t seem to mind her hot red number today, either. You’ve got to wonder about it all.”

“All emperors want grandsons to ensure depth in the succession.” His father’s eyes fixed warily on him.

“Pff!” Axel snorted. “You are full of jokes today. We both know emperors have such a healthy fear of the Dmitri Curse, they’d avoid procreation like the curse it is if they could get away with it. Just a shame Norin princesses are always so ravishing. I swear their pretty faces are the only thing that gives that treaty any teeth.” He paused, flashing a grin. “They must be pretty amazing in bed, too, if every emperor has risked keeping them alive, however temporarily, after the wedding.”

“Dragon’s arse, Axel!” Eyes wide, his father fumbled for his chair and then sank down into it. “The Dmitri Curse! How dare you speak of that heresy?”

“Oh, so you don’t want me talking about Dmitri?” Axel sat and even managed to get his feet back on the desk without his father seeming to notice.

“Axel, hold your tongue!”

“Then I suggest you give me something else to do to take my mind off that pesky curse.” Axel’s voice hardened. “Like agreeing to my posting to Treven.”

“So that is what this is about? No. And get your feet off my table.”

Axel ignored the command. “In that case, you leave me no choice but to amuse myself with Lynx. Someone has to, if Lukan insists on doing a disappearing act.”

His father stood and darted around the desk. He grabbed both of Axel’s arms and tried to shake him. When that didn’t work, his father snarled, “Are you blackmailing me?”

“Yes. And I won’t stop until I win.”

“So Lynx—”

“Lynx is merely a weapon in my arsenal. I’ll do whatever it takes with her until you let me go and rescue the situation in Treven.” Not entirely true—in the short time he’d known her, Lynx had come to mean far more than that to him.

Face pressed to Axel’s, his father said, “I will not be blackmailed into sending you to certain death. I know you. You’ll take risks, putting yourself in harm’s way for your men.” He settled back in his chair. “Axel, you want power. I can give it to you. I intend to put you on the throne before I die.”

Axel closed his eyes and sighed. He’d heard this rant before. His father had been speaking about seizing the throne for years. Unfortunately for his father and thanks to his poor health, Mott—with the support of the Fifteen—had removed him from the line of succession and decreed that Axel would be next in line after Mott and his heirs. His father had never forgiven Mott.

Still, it was very plain to Axel that, were he ever to be crowned emperor, his father would want to pull the strings. Given his propensity to kill first and ask questions later, that was unacceptable.

“Father, you don’t understand. I don’t need your help to win the throne. Just send me to Treven, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“No, Axel. You don’t understand.” His father paused, his lips twitching, a sign Axel recognized as indecision. Finally, he leaned in so close Axel could feel his breath on his face. “Mott is restless.” He touched his head. “It’s the voices, I think. They’re troubling him.”

Axel sucked in a quick breath. His mention of Dmitri had certainly plunged their conversation into unknown territory. Still, he knew his father had insight into Mott’s inner workings that no one else in the palace did, thanks to a microphone hidden in Mott’s bedchamber. It seemed the sleeping emperor was positively verbose, often mumbling about conversations with Thurban.

“What’s Thurban telling him?”

Axel didn’t expect an answer, but after a moment’s hesitation, his father said, “He’s been rambling on about claims that Lukan plans to kill him. That Lukan is the crown prince prophesied about who will destroy his father and the empire.”

Axel’s face scrunched up with skepticism. “Lukan? Come on, Father. No one will believe that. Lukan doesn’t have the backbone. And even if he did, Mott would never let it happen.”

“Don’t be so sure of yourself.” Cloak clutched around his shoulders, his father said, “Axel, this is one fight you do not want. Mott is not the only one with an agenda.” He walked to the door, slid it open, and gestured for Axel to leave. “Forget about Treven, and keep your hands off that Norin bitch.”

Any other time, Axel would have objected to the eviction—but not today. A hunt had been planned to celebrate Lynx and Lukan’s betrothal.

If Axel raced, he could probably catch her at the stables.

21

The mild autumn sun was high in the sky when Lynx and Kestrel were escorted to the stables. Compared to the thorn-ringed corral where the Norin safeguarded their horses, the home of the Chenayan mounts was positively palatial. Built from hewn stone, each stable was bigger than a Norin family tent. Seeing the magnificent horses, nothing like the hardy nags she rode, Lynx guessed the spoiled steeds thrived on the care. At least it was a sign that the Chenayans valued something.

Then a thought struck.

How was she supposed to ride in a dress? Especially a bright red silk one? Lynx shook her head in wonder. If she’d been wearing her leathers . . . She sighed. Those belonged to another time, another world.

Her escort led her and Kestrel to a crowd of high-born gathered in a central courtyard in the middle of the stable precinct. The men were armed with crossbows, but the women were weaponless. It seemed hunting was a male pursuit in Chenaya, with women mere spectators. Yet another profound difference between their two cultures.

Lynx quickly scanned the crowd, and her heart sank.

Lukan wasn’t amongst them. Neither was Axel.

Tao broke away from the group to meet her and Kestrel. On his gauntleted wrist, he carried a falcon. He pulled the leather hood off its head. “Kestrel and Lynx, meet Bird.”

The falcon turned cruel black eyes, rimmed with yellow, on Lynx.

She smiled to cover her worry and disappointment at Lukan—and Axel’s—absence. “‘Bird’? That’s its name?”

Hunting with birds was not common in Norin, so Lynx knew little about the sport.

“Not exactly original,” Kestrel added, standing well back from Bird’s sharp beak. “I don’t like my name much, but least I was named after a specific species of falcon.”

“I like your name.” Tao smiled at Kestrel. When she didn’t react to his compliment, he added, “And as for Bird, only pets have names.” Bird lifted her tail, leaning into his hand as he caressed her creamy throat. “She hunts with me, but I don’t own her. And that’s the way I like it.” He looked at Kestrel, still smiling.

Lynx nodded her approval that Tao hadn’t given up trying to woo her sister, even if his mild flirting last evening—which she was convinced had been designed to make Kestrel jealous—had caused trouble between her and Kestrel.

A perplexed frown settled on her sister’s face. “If you don’t own her, what’s she doing on your wrist?”

“I found her orphaned in the forest.” Tao lifted his arm, bringing Bird to his mouth so he could brush his lips across the slate-gray feathers on her back. “I hand-reared her and spent months training her to hunt with me. We’ve been together ever since, but she stays with me because she chooses to, not because I demand it.” Tao fixed Kestrel with a beseeching look. “We find the relationship mutually beneficial.”

Guessing at the importance of this discussion to Tao, Lynx looked away, giving him some privacy, but she couldn’t help overhearing Kestrel.

“Huh. If I had put that much effort into something, I wouldn’t trust it enough to let it fly.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Tao asked.

“Of course not,” Kestrel said, as if that was obvious. “What if she never comes back?”

“I guess that’s better than trapping someone in a relationship they don’t want to be in.” Without waiting for Kestrel to answer, Tao walked over to the waiting high-born. “If your horses are ready, let’s get going.”

Lynx saw her sister frown at Tao’s back. With troubles of her own, she couldn’t stop to address it. She needed Tao’s help, so she trotted over and grabbed his arm. “What about Lukan? Should I be going on this hunt without him?”

Tao’s forehead creased in thought, and he shrugged. “I don’t know. It seems all you’ve done today is ask about my brother.”

“I know. And I can’t say I’m ecstatic about it. It’s not like I was lining up to marry him.”

Tao grinned at her. “I think the line for arranged marriages was very short, actually.” He looked over at Kestrel with longing. “Let me get her onto her horse, and then I’ll give you a hand.”

Lynx suppressed a laugh. “Thanks, but I can manage on my own.” She took the reins of a bay mare a groom held out to her—and clicked her tongue in dismay.

A sidesaddle.

How the heck do these work? Not bothering to find out, she swung a leg over the horse’s back and climbed up. The fact that only one foot was supported didn’t matter; she was used to riding bare-backed.

A few of the high-born twittered. She noticed Kestrel rolling her eyes and was reminded of her sister saying everyone would think them low-born savages because she didn’t know how to use the bath oils. Had she done that again? Lynx closed her eyes, wishing life here wasn’t so complicated. What had Mad Mott been thinking when he chose her to be an empress?

Still, it was too late to do anything about it.

Pretending she wasn’t blushing scarlet, Lynx explained, “I’ve never ridden with one of these saddles. I don’t even know how. All I need is to fall flat on my face.” She smiled disparagingly. “Winds know, this magical moment is bad enough. I definitely couldn’t cope with that humiliation.”

A few of the women smiled, all sympathy, while a couple of the men grinned.

“I’ll be happy to catch you, Your Highness,” a man with a goatee beard and a sparkling emerald said. He bowed. “My name is Lev.” He gestured to his companions and rattled off a number of names.

Lynx studied each face, determined to commit them and their names to memory. To cover herself, she added, “If I get your names all mixed up, please don’t curse me.”

“Curse someone with your unusual dress sense? Unlikely,” one of the women—Katcha—said.

“Thank you.” Lynx smiled again, surprised by the warmth and admiration in Katcha’s voice. Didn’t they hate her the way she hated them? “Even though Norin are known for our individuality, I just happen to be even more individual than most.”

Tao’s voice rang out. “If everyone is ready, let’s go.”

He led Lynx and the rest of the party out onto a path next to an ornamental lake. It was surrounded by tended formal gardens filled with roses and a mass of other plants Lynx had never seen before. From the way Kestrel swooned, her sister knew all the names.

A team of gardeners trimmed topiaries of fantastical creatures she had only heard about in legends. They stopped what they were doing to bow as she and the riders went past.

Lynx frowned. It didn’t matter how deceptively pretty the gardens, at the end of the expansive lawn, she saw treetops poking just above ground level. They had reached the wolves.

“How does that work?” Kestrel asked, also studying the strange feature.

“The wolves I told you about,” Lynx replied, speaking Norin. “That’s their enclosure. The trees give you an idea of how deep and wide it is.”

Tao must have guessed what they were talking about because he paused. “It used to be the moat, but my grandfather didn’t fancy the smell, so he had it emptied and stocked it with wolves. The trees arrived on their own.” He pointed to a contingent of guardsmen working a large, steam-driven pulley. “You can only reach the palace at appointed drawbridges.”

Or leave it, Lynx thought darkly.

Amid a belch of smoke and steam, the guardsmen lowered a wooden platform across the wide expanse of the enclosure. Lynx looked down at the foliage as her horse clattered over the drawbridge. She didn’t see any wolves, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

Once clear of the palace grounds, Tao kicked his horse into a canter and then into a gallop, leading them along a tree-lined avenue, curling up the lower slopes of the Serreti Mountains.

Lynx lost herself in the rhythm of the ride. It was so enjoyable she barely felt the tug of her dress as it rode up above her thighs.

The cobbled road finally ended at an impenetrable wall of scrub and deciduous trees. Autumn had started to turn some of the leaves, but few had yet vacated the branches. Being a girl from the steppes, the forest looked dark and claustrophobic. She sucked in a panicky breath, looking for a path into the gloom. There was nothing obvious.

Then, she spotted a narrow opening, just wide enough for a horse and rider to pass through single file. If this was the main track Chenayans used for their beloved hunting, then the forest growth was as aggressive as all the hunters combined. It seemed fitting.

Tao passed though the opening first, followed by Kestrel, who seemed unfazed by the oppressive atmosphere.

Payback for the train, Lynx thought. She smiled wryly at the memory of Kestrel throwing up in a sick bag. Maybe she should have been more sympathetic. Too late now. Making a show of adjusting her reins, she lingered at the back of the queue, hoping to delay plunging into the murk as long as possible.

A movement in the trees on the other side of the path caught her attention. Axel, mounted on a blue-gray stallion, broke cover from the deep shade. He pushed his horse through a tangle of creepers, stopping next to her.

“A hard ride brings out the best in you, Lynx. It’s even thawed your eyes. If I really try, I can even fool myself into believing that you don’t despise us all.”

Lynx cursed the pounding of her heart, nothing to do with either exercise or fear of the forest.

An appreciative grin spread across Axel’s face.

She followed his eyes as they swept the length of her leg, exposed by galloping in a silly dress. A quick tug, and she pulled her skirt down her thighs. As to be expected, she blushed. Trust her face to betray her. “You had your chance on the train. Now my legs are off-limits—to you at least.”

“Pity.”

“Speaking of people who are allowed to see my legs . . . do you know where Lukan is?”

“Sorry. He’s proving elusive. Even my father’s lost him, and that’s saying something, given his, shall we say, unique ways of tracking us all.”

That sounded ominous. Axel’s expression made Lynx wonder what he was hiding. Whatever it was, it made the hair on the back of her neck stand.

To cover up her treacherous thoughts, she said, “I didn’t know vanishing into the ether was a trait you Chenayans bred into your crown princes.” She stared pointedly at Axel’s ruby. “But then, who knows what you’re capable of?”

“I’d very much like to demonstrate my capabilities, if you’d let me, Princess.”

“At breakfast, you said I smelled bad,” Lynx said, refusing to engage in sexual innuendos with him. “And how am I supposed to hunt without a weapon?”

“And here I thought you’d stopped scrounging for weapons when you left the train. Silly of me.” He smiled provocatively as his horse pranced in front of her. “And you don’t smell bad, just overpowering. But I’m getting used to that. We’d make a good team, Princess. We both like to own the room.”

The urge to smile back was overwhelming. She suppressed it. Axel had no right flirting with her like this when she was marrying his cousin. Or when he knew the peril her family was in. The memory of Mott’s threat curdled her stomach, making her nauseous.

“We’re the last ones left,” Axel said, waving his whip at the opening. “After you.”

Lynx’s troubled stomach knotted, and her breath caught. But unwilling to show fear in front of Axel, she urged her mount into the forest.

Vine-covered branches clawed at her arms and legs as her horse pushed its way through the undergrowth. She closed her eyes, praying to the Winds to keep her safe in this benighted place.

Finally, she emerged in a small, dark clearing, surrounded by towering trees. Dank air smelling of mold pressed heavily on her chest. Swallowing her panic, she looked for the other riders, but there was no sign of them. They couldn’t have gone far, but the forest was silent. She listened for birds or insects, but—as if knowing the dangers the high-born presented—they gave no hint of their presence, either.

She rubbed her arms for comfort as Axel pulled up next to her. She dropped her hands and said with forced bravado, “Tao and the rest of them . . . which way did they go?”

Axel cast a cursory glance at the leaf litter. “That way.” He kneed his horse into motion.

She followed, cursing under her breath. Axel must consider her a complete idiot. Why hadn’t she thought of looking for spoor? Back home, she could have tracked an ostrich across solid rock. Here, she felt blind, helpless.

Conversation seemed the answer to all her concerns.

“Why do I get the impression you don’t care for my betrothed?” she asked.

Axel grinned at her. “You noticed that, did you? Truly, your powers of deduction are impressive.”

His knee brushed her leg as he sidled up next to her. She knew she should put some space between them, but as her mare seemed content—happy, even—with the proximity of his stallion, Lynx did nothing. Axel grinned victoriously. Heron’s face flashed before her, and she realized with startling clarity that, as much as she had cherished him, her feelings for Axel were deeper, less like a teenage crush.

Shocked at that realization, she shot Axel a glare and edged her mare forward. The horse walked through a spider’s web spun between two trees. Praying the occupant wasn’t home, she brushed the sticky silk off her face and hair. “Why don’t you like Lukan?”

Axel threw his hands up, sighing. “Do you like him?”

“You’re evading my question. Again. And you know I don’t like any Chenayans. You’re all disgusting.”

“Thanks. For nothing.” Axel swept back a curtain of ivy barring Lynx’s way. “After I was so kind to you on the train?”

“My pleasure. And you were a complete toad. An arrogant one, too.”

He grinned at her. “So, if me not knifing you makes me a toad, then what should I call you?”

Lynx couldn’t resist smiling. Sparring with Axel had settled her stomach like nothing else in the world could. “A skilled operator?”

Still, Lynx wasn’t here to marry him. It was time to shift the focus from him back to his cousin. “How am I supposed to know if I like Lukan when he’s never around? I don’t even know him.”

“What’s there to know?” Axel’s voice was surprisingly harsh. “He’s an idiot of the first degree, and you’re utterly wasted on him. You’d be better off with someone like me.”

Lynx’s breath caught, making her splutter. “You? Us? Never!”

Axel’s disparaging laughter suggested her protest hadn’t been successful. Worse, she could feel her reluctant desire for him blazing across her face. There was no chance he would miss that, either. He shifted in his saddle, and she snatched a quick breath. His face was so close to hers; all she had to do was lean in, and they would kiss.

Want, so powerful it almost left her limp, surged through her. Shocked at herself for her loss of control, she was immeasurably grateful when she heard the dull thud of a horse’s hooves on the leaf litter. She pulled back, catching a flash of black and silver through the trees.

Black and silver.

It was rumored the crown prince only ever wore those colors. If he spent more time with her, she might be able to confirm its veracity.

The horse broke through the undergrowth, and dodging low-hanging branches, Lukan pulled up to face her. Despite the sweat trickling down his cheeks from his ride, Lynx was struck again by his beauty. Even Axel’s strong face, handsome enough by most standards, couldn’t compare.

Still, it wasn’t enough to make her want him. She closed her eyes, bitterly angry with herself for being so difficult. With an oath to fulfill, why was she allowing smart-arsed Axel, master of the razor-tongue, to deflect her from that goal?

Usually, she was so firm in her purpose. Black and white, her father called her. Her feelings for Axel Avanov were most certainly neither of those colors. And, worse, her infatuation with him was distracting her from her other task here: to find out about the gemstones. Axel was a distraction she didn’t need. But how was she to get rid of him when he was always around?

When she opened her eyes, Lukan had maneuvered his horse between hers and Axel’s. Lynx’s mare whinnied in protest, and she patted her neck to steady her. The confusion gave Lynx the chance to rustle up a smile for Lukan. He could never know she craved his cousin.

“Oh. It’s you,” Axel said, not bothering to hide his displeasure.

“Anyone else would bow,” Lukan rasped breathlessly, “but I guess that’s too much to expect from the great Axel Avanov.”

“You’ve got that right.”

Lukan shot Lynx a wistful look and then averted his eyes, as if the sight of her disturbed him.

That was troubling.

She had used her most engaging smile on him. Her stomach knotted in response.

“I missed you at breakfast,” she said, desperate to connect with him on some level.

As if staking a claim, Axel moved in closer to her before Lukan could frame a reply. “I’ve been looking after Lynx for you.”

“And you expect my gratitude?” Lukan’s horse stamped, mirroring the impatience in his voice.

“No. Lynx has everything I need.” Axel grinned at her. “And she’s both grateful for, and delighted with, my company.”

Lukan drilled Lynx’s face, his dark eyes demanding answers.

Hiding her irritation at Axel’s comment, she blasted Lukan with another radiant smile. And lied. “Axel and I were saying you and I make a great couple.” Then she added, more truthfully, “We both like going our own way. But I think, perhaps, we should spend more time together. As you said, we are getting married in a couple of days.”

Lukan frowned at her. “Right now, I’m not sure a marriage between us is something to celebrate.”

“That’s . . . unfortunate that you’ve had a change of heart overnight.” Lynx bit her lip, thinking furiously on what to say to rectify this situation.

Lukan turned to Axel. His cousin’s head was cocked to the side, grinning possessively at her.

Red infused Lukan’s face. “Axel, am I to take it you send congratulations on our upcoming marriage?”

“You know I don’t waste time with platitudes.”

Lukan glared at Axel. “In your usual, annoying way, you haven’t answered my question. So I will ask it—”

“Spare me, Lukan.” Axel held Lukan’s gaze with lighthearted but determined ease. “I give you my word, nothing would make me happier than for you and Lynx to both get what you deserve.”

Lynx fiddled with her hair, feeling like an ostrich hen between two warring cocks. It was obvious the two men had played this staring game before. She wondered who would cave first.

After a moment, Lukan dropped his eyes. Lynx raised her eyebrows in surprise. Lukan was intimidated by Axel? Why? He was the crown prince, and Axel a mere general who would have to swear fealty when Lukan took the throne—or whatever passed for fealty in the Chenayan court.

Fascinated by this strange dynamic, she studied Lukan’s face. It was darkened by anger. Why he didn’t express that rage to Axel was yet another question to ponder.

Voice devoid of any victory, Axel said, “Come, Lukan, let’s find some stags.”

From his tone, Lynx guessed she wasn’t invited. It seemed she was right because, after an aching look at her, filled with yearning lust, Lukan rammed his spurs into his horse’s side, shooting forward into the gloom.

Yet another gray area, Lynx rocked back on her horse. This place is seething with them.

Axel turned to Lynx, his eyes soft and surprisingly caring. “I’ve read enough intelligence reports on you to know you can handle yourself in most situations. So, as much as you dislike it, this forest is no different from anything else you may have encountered. Remember, it’s just dark. Ignore that, and you’ll soon track your way to Tao.”

He gave her a mock bow and disappeared after Lukan.

22

Furious with Axel for humiliating him in front of Lynx—not to mention flirting with her—Lukan engaged in no conversation, barring an occasional grunt, as Axel led him deeper and deeper into the forest.

His cousin didn’t seem interested in conversation, either; his eyes scanned the ground for fresh game spoor.

Face hard, Lukan hacked away at the overhanging branches and brambles barring his way, relishing an opportunity to vent his anger.

As yet, he had no idea what to do about Lynx.

After the distressing vision of her son—their son—and her army, followed by the game of tiles with Axel and Tao, sleep had been impossible. Before dawn, he’d left the palace to go riding, happily skipping his prenuptial breakfast. He’d hoped the fresh forest air and the absence of Felix’s ever-present cameras and recording devices would help him decide what to do about his upcoming marriage.

It hadn’t.

The problem was, every time he thought of Lynx, his manhood hardened. That made rational decision-making almost impossible. Why reject a woman when he craved her? And, despite the vision, he wasn’t yet convinced he was the victim of the prophecy. What a great shame to miss bedding the sexiest woman in Chenaya because of a curse that didn’t apply to him.

Hours dribbled by, with no sign of a stag.

Lukan’s horse quivered as it struggled through the forest up the mountain slope. Gullies, fallen trees, moss-covered rocks, and snagging creepers snaked across the spongy black ground, all contriving to make it an exhausting ride.

He rubbed sweat from his eyes. It may have been cool in the forest, but he was steaming from exertion. With one hand, he unbuttoned his velvet waistcoat, wishing he could call a quit to the hunt. But that would be admitting defeat, tantamount to saying Axel was tougher than he was. Axel would exploit that forever. So, as long as Axel kept riding, he would, too.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Lukan pulled to a stop.

Axel had dismounted yet again and studied the forest floor, looking for spoor. He looked up, excitement lighting his eyes.

“Fresh tracks. Come.” Showing no sign of fatigue, Axel remounted.

A stag flashed through the undergrowth to Lukan’s right.

Whooping with delight, Lukan wheeled his horse around and set off after him.

“He’s mine!” Lukan shouted to Axel as he jumped his horse over yet another fallen tree.

Axel’s hard laughter rang out. “Not if there’s any tracking involved.”

Lukan grimaced. Spending his youth in the archive and his observatory while Axel served in the military meant his cousin was, by far, the better tracker.

The stag disappeared back into the brush. Lukan pulled his horse up, looking for an easy way around the brambles, thistle, and low-hanging branches.

“If you want something, go and get it, Lukan,” Axel said, shooting his horse through the undergrowth as if it were lush meadow grass.

Antlers swept back, the stag bolted deeper into the trees.

“The motto of your life, isn’t it, Axel? Take what you want, when you want it, just because it’s there.”

“Is this me you’re talking about, or you?” Axel shouted back, swatting branches away from his face. “Now shut up and ride, or the bugger will get away.”

Considering the speed with which Axel was chasing Lukan’s trophy, he didn’t have time to object to his cousin’s command. He slapped his horse sharply on the rump with his riding crop and ducked low as it powered into the thicket. Cursing at the new collection of scratches he was garnering, he focused on the prize.

It was high time he bagged a kill; his last few hunts had been dismal, with either Axel or Tao riding home with the antlers. His father had been particularly mocking about those failures. Despite being an adult on the brink of matrimony, that criticism still burned.

Lukan pulled out his bow and arrow, but the brambles were too thick to consider shooting.

Eyes wild, the stag broke out of the underwood. Kicking up creepers and mud, it wove through the trees, up the hill.

Axel let fly an arrow, but it went wide as his horse stumbled. He swore. “The horses are too tired for this, and we still have hours before we get home.”

“Yours, maybe. Not mine.” Lukan would not fail again. He kneed his mount around Axel and kicked it into action. It whinnied as he forced it after the stag.

“Lukan, stop!” Axel called.

Lukan ignored him, riding on. He had not gone more than twenty paces when he saw the stag silhouetted against a backdrop of trees, its magnificent antlers tauntingly close at hand.

The perfect shot.

He pulled an arrow from his quiver, nocked it, and sent it after the stag.

It missed.

With renewed energy, the stag sprang away into the brush.

“Dragon’s curses.” Lukan let fly another couple of arrows and was rewarded with a triumphant twang as steel bit into flesh.

The stag screamed. But instead of falling, it took off, scrambling through the trees. Lukan slumped in his saddle as Axel looked at him in disgust.

“Nice shot, cousin. As much as it burns me, we have to leave a wounded animal in the forest.”

“What do you mean?” Adrenaline and humiliation sent a spike of energy through Lukan. He kicked his horse into action, shouting over his shoulder, “The stag’s mine, and I have a perfect blood spoor to follow now.”

“Have you been watching the time?” Axel didn’t move from his spot. “I’ll send some servants to take care of it.”

Shocked by Axel’s unsportsmanlike comment—no one ever left a wounded animal in the forest—Lukan peered at the sky through the almost impenetrable canopy of trees.

Dusk was creeping in.

Trust the soldier to notice details like that.

It fueled his irritation.

“You’re quite capable of getting us back in the dark, Axel.” As Lukan set off, following the blood, he heard Axel swear.

“There’s a ball tonight. Or have you forgotten?”

Lukan groaned. Either way, he was going to earn his father’s ire. He made a quick decision. “We’ve tracked this confounded animal all day. I’m not stopping now for some stupid ball.”

“Fine.” Axel swung his horse around. “I’ll take care of Lynx for you.”

Wrong decision!

Lukan’s blood turned to ice. His cousin had not gone more than a few paces when Lukan pulled up at his side. “The hell you will. She’s mine, so you keep your paws off her.”

“Or what, Lukan?” Axel shot back, not even bothering to make eye contact.

“You forget that I’ll be your emperor, Axel.” Lukan waved his riding crop for emphasis. “It will be in my power to cut you off from everything you value. Kill you, even.”

Axel shrugged. “Please. Don’t make me laugh. You know as well as I do that you need my talents too much to risk losing me.”

Lukan wanted to deny that he needed Axel, but he couldn’t. All his life, he’d known he didn’t have the stuff that made an Avanov emperor great, the same stuff Axel oozed from every pore. It was one of the reasons his father hated him.

Axel, on the other hand, was the perfect Avanov. Axel’s brand of strutting, conquering arrogance had always been encouraged in Avanov men.

Try as he might, Lukan could never match his cousin’s absolute confidence that everything he did was right, and that he would always win every battle. It went way beyond injustice. And Lukan was supremely tired of it. He twitched his crop, thinking hard about cracking Axel with it.

That would give the bastard something to think about.

Axel’s eyebrows quirked, first at Lukan’s grim expression and then at the crop. His cousin surprised him by saying, “Nothing would make me happier than you taking a shot, Lukan. After all, I’m the one who spent my childhood trying to teach you to stand up to bullies.”

Lukan flushed, and his jaw locked mulishly. “My father wasn’t just a bully.”

“True.” Axel rubbed his ribs, a telling gesture. His cousin had received more than his fair share of kicks from Mad Mott. “Still—”

Axel eyed him expectantly, but Lukan knew he would have to be far angrier than this to ever risk hitting his cousin.

Axel sighed, looking disappointed. After a moment, he said, “Lukan, we both know why we put up with each other. I’ll be your Lord of the Conquest, and you’ll wear the shiny emperor hat. You’ll use my brain, and together we’ll rule the world. That way, we both get want we want. Isn’t that right?”

Lukan scoffed at the inference that Axel was more intelligent than he, but he wasn’t going to argue about that now. “That doesn’t mean Lynx is yours.”

“I think we should leave that for Lynx to decide.” Axel kneed his horse into a fast trot. “She’s as intelligent as she is beautiful. She’ll figure out who to give her heart to.”

Lukan brought his whip crashing down against the closest tree. His horse spooked, almost tumbling him from the saddle. That’s why he rarely resorted to violence. It invariably went wrong for him.

When he brought it under control, he shouted to Axel’s retreating form, “I may have to put up with you controlling every other aspect of my life, but it’ll be a cold day in hell before I let you play with Lynx. She’s mine, and I intend on marrying her.”

Axel laughed at him.

Hatred burning in his chest, he set off after Axel toward the palace and Lynx. He had not gone more than a few paces when his cousin reeled his horse around.

“Now what?” Lukan demanded.

“I have a stag to kill.”

Before Lukan could reply, Axel kicked his horse into a fast trot, following the stag’s blood spoor. Lukan closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. Axel had played him. Again. The challenge over Lynx had been nothing more than a ruse to lure him back to the palace so Axel could claim his trophy.

Or was it?

His cousin’s sense of honor was a curious thing. Leaving an animal dying in the forest was unacceptable to Axel, but stealing Lukan’s betrothed if it served him? The Axel he knew and loathed wouldn’t bat an eyelid about that.

Lukan hesitated, torn between his two prizes.

Moments later, he spurred his horse on toward the palace.

As doubtful as he was about his marriage to Lynx, he wouldn’t stand back and let Axel win. Not this time.

Making her want him as much as he wanted her was a greater trophy than another pair of antlers hanging on his wall.

23

Count Felix had arranged a masked ball to celebrate Lukan’s betrothal to Lynx.

As usual, Lukan was late.

This time, however, his tardiness was unintentional. Lukan needed to see Lynx tonight if he was to claim her as his prize. Unfortunately, the ride back to the palace took much longer than he’d anticipated.

Hair still damp from his shower, he raced down the passage toward the ballroom. He caught his reflection in a large gilded mirror and stopped short. His waistcoat and breeches looked disheveled. He pulled them straight, then noticed his knee-high boots lacked their usual high-gloss finish. He hopped on one foot, trying to polish the one boot against the other.

His valet had been loath to let him leave the apartment, but he’d overruled the man. Although Lukan was undecided about the curse, he’d crawl naked through barbed wire before he suffered the humiliation of Axel claiming Lynx. If Axel had ridden off to take care of the stag, it was likely he hadn’t yet returned, but Lukan wasn’t taking any chances.

He changed feet, giving his other boot a cursory polish, and then took a deep, calming breath before slipping a dragon mask over his head. After a last look in the mirror, he strode into the lobby adjacent to the ballroom.

It was time to turn all his charm on Lynx.

She was waiting for him; Tao and Kestrel, too. Hardly surprising, as the ball couldn’t start without him. Irritation sparked off them as they paced the floor. He would have to rectify that. His eyes slid over them, taking in Tao’s raptor mask and the dramatic fanned peacock tail covering Kestrel’s face, finally stopping at Lynx.

Her lithesome body had been given curves by her shimmering black corset and bustle. He relished the illusion, knowing she would be just as beautiful naked. Visions of her bare legs wrapped around him set his blood racing. He swallowed hard and focused on the rest of her. Black gloves wreathed her arms, and her hair was piled untidily onto her head. Blond tendrils curled down the side of her mask, making him want to reach up and pull her hairpins out, one by one.

And her mask? It was perfect. Black. Understated. A panther’s face, which magnified the brilliance of her blue eyes.

She’s like some feline goddess, he thought, half-bemused, half-amazed. A cocktail of emotions, some old, others new, surged through his body: passion, longing, hunger, even adoration that anyone could be so beautiful, so aloof. She’s a temptress, sent here to drive me insane with lust.

He shook his head, knowing logic and reason, the lodestars of his life, had no place among his feelings for Lynx. Here he stood, looking at the woman who might deliver a son who would slit his throat while he slept, and he didn’t care. That she was capable of training her son to lead an army against him was also not in question. Thorn was no idiot; he would not have trained her to take over his raiders if she couldn’t command men on a battlefield. None of that information was enough to stop the hardening in his groin.

Struggling to control his wayward breathing, Lukan stopped at her side. “A panther. Do you purr as well as claw?”

“Only time will tell.” Lynx turned to face him, and he wished to see her expression. But then, the mask wasn’t such a bad idea because she couldn’t see the hunger for her on his face, either.

He reached for her hand and led her toward the ballroom. “There’ll be a receiving line,” he explained, using the silky voice he reserved for female conquests. “Count Felix will have dragged in all our nearest and dearest, the people with whom you’ll mix on a daily basis.”

“So in Chenaya, you have a masked ball on the night you’re supposed to meet people?” Lynx shook her head. “That’s novel.”

He happened to agree. “That’s Felix for you. It’s all a power play, his way of proving he knows everyone, regardless of how they try to hide from him.”

Lynx made a grating sound in her throat. “He takes some getting used to, that uncle of yours. The words living dead spring to mind.”

Lukan laughed. “He has chronic sinusitis. Apparently, he was quite sickly as a child.” He glanced at her to check if she was still listening. She appeared to be, so he added, “It’s done nothing to improve his temper. But it’s your back you need worry about, so don’t get on the wrong side of him.”

“I’ll bear it in mind,” Lynx muttered, so low Lukan had to lean in to hear her.

He paused at the open set of doors. “You ready for this?”

“As I’ll ever be. At least the room looks inviting.”

The gilded room was brilliant with candlelight and flaming torches. A long line of flamboyantly attired guests, faces hidden behind exotic, absurd, or beautiful masks, waited on their pleasure. Minstrels gathered on a stand at one end of the room. At the other, a motley-clad collection of fire-eaters, jugglers, acrobats, and clowns, some leading dancing bears, stood ready to entertain. The heady scent of jasmine, musk, and neroli permeated the air from incense burners along the walls.

Lukan smiled, understanding how Lynx, who’d lived all her life in a tent, found it overwhelming. Anticipation, more than excitement, trilled through him. Her naivety was to his advantage. If he played his dice right, by the end of the night, Princess Lynx of Norin would be his to tumble. His smile broadened into a grin when Lynx tugged on his arm.

“I want to dance.”

He squeezed her hand. “All in good time. The night is still young.” But he stepped with her into the hall.

The buzz of conversation stilled as he led her to where Count Felix waited at the head of the line. His uncle creaked a small bow and then waved to the beautiful people. Understanding the imperious gesture, Lukan took Lynx’s arm and walked her past the bowing high-born while Felix called out names and titles Lukan knew she’d never remember or connect to their owners.

Lynx greeted Lev and his friends when Felix introduced them, raising Lukan’s eyebrows that she had started making contacts already. She stopped him at her uncle, Bear. The emissary wore the tiniest possible mask over his eyes.

Felix didn’t give her a chance to do more than exchange a brief hello before he hustled them on to the next in line.

It was a cue Lukan decided to follow. The less she had to do with her fellow Norin, the better. Maybe distance would help tame her.

Thankfully, Axel wasn’t in the line, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t returned to the palace. His cousin bowed to no one but the emperor.

Only after the last introduction did Felix signal to the minstrels. A hunchback with a pointy beard chanted a haunting dirge. Other dwarfs accompanied him with zithers, lutes, and pan flutes, so beloved by Chenayan musicians.

Before now, Lukan had never given much thought to their music. It was something that just happened when he wanted to dance. Still, it must have sounded enthralling to Lynx because she stood riveted and wide-eyed. He imagined her gaping behind her mask. Clearly, the music they listened to in Norin was very different than this. He ringed her upper arm above her glove with his hand. Her flesh was warm, the muscle firm under her skin. He liked it. A lot.

“It’s a ball, Lynx. Not a recital.”

Her eyes darted to him and then back to the minstrels. “I’ve never heard anything so . . . Well, nothing quite like it. How do you dance to a—?”

“Like this.”

Lukan slid one arm around her, trailing his fingers down her back. She tensed, then relaxed into his touch. Encouraged, he slithered his hand to her hip. With a possessive tug, he pulled her toward him until their bodies were almost, but not quite, touching. His right hand found hers, and he linked their fingers together.

Her body was still stiffer than he liked. She also seemed unsure of what to do with her other hand, letting it dangle at her side.

He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Hold my hip like I’m holding yours. And keep your feet away from my boots. I’ll do the rest.”

She hesitated, and then her fingers touched his trousers, slung low on his narrow hips.

A cloud of butterflies looped through his stomach. He caught her scent—the clean, crisp smell of soap and water, refreshing in its plainness after the heavily perfumed atmosphere. He longed to bury his face in her neck, to drink her in. But it was way too soon for that.

Time to dance.

Lukan caught the music on an up beat and swept her to the middle of the floor. Tao and Kestrel followed. He danced in silence until they had done a full circuit of the ballroom, then other couples joined them on the dance floor. No longer the center of attention, he leaned into her and tried some small talk.

“So what music do you listen to in Norin?”

“Lively music. Not . . . death stuff, like this. We like to celebrate when we dance.”

“Oh, so this doesn’t seem like a celebration to you?” Lukan sensed her hesitation, and he smiled, deciding to be magnanimous. “Don’t bother answering. How did you enjoy your first hunt?”

Lynx took a moment to reply. “I loved the ride. But I’m more of a plains girl. Forests don’t set my heart on fire.”

“That’s unfortunate. Most of our leisure time is spent in the forest. When we’re not dancing to sad music, of course.” He let his hand trail up her back, caressing her through her corset.

Lynx squirmed, and her breasts brushed against his chest, igniting his heart. He pulled away before she felt it galloping.

Fighting to keep his voice steady, he asked, “So you like riding?”

“Yes, but not sidesaddle.”

“I noticed.” The idea of Axel leering at her legs made him scowl. “You have a way of turning the established order on its head.” Instantly regretting that, he forced his face to relax; Lynx must not see anger in his eyes. He tried again with an attempt to get her talking about herself. Women liked that. “Tell me about your other passions.”

She laughed self-consciously. “You can’t be serious?”

“Put another way, what do you do with your time when you’re not riding horses?” As he said it, he remembered that she was a raider. Raiders existed to track and kill imperial guardsmen. That’s what gave them their wild, ferocious reputation.

It brought her role in the Dmitri Curse back into full focus.

Lukan mentally kicked himself for that reminder. As he cast about for a new topic of discussion, he saw Axel, unmistakable even in a mask, dancing next to them with his sister, Malika. No mask had yet been made to hide Malika’s explosion of raven-black hair. Her head rested on Axel’s shoulder, and he whispered something in her ear. Probably his plans for stealing Lynx. They both laughed . . . and Lynx stumbled.

Startled, Lukan looked down at her. She was staring at Axel, her eyes disbelieving.

Then, he understood.

Even after Felix’s name game, Lynx wouldn’t know Malika was Axel’s sister. With a sapphire next to her eye, Lynx must have thought Malika was just some high-born. Now she clearly assumed Malika to be Axel’s girlfriend. And she didn’t like it. Not one bit.

The stab of jealousy—and rage—that pierced Lukan was breathtaking.

He stiffened, and it took all his self-control to maintain his regal bearing. Even then, his voice was sharper than usual. “Come on, Lynx,” he demanded, “it wasn’t that long ago you were in Norin. You can’t have forgotten what you liked to do.”

Lynx tore her eyes away from Axel and his sister. “I—I love music, and I play a few instruments.”

Lukan twirled them to the opposite side of the ballroom, away from Axel. Ostensibly avoiding a steely-eyed knife-thrower entertaining a small crowd of onlookers, he pulled her even closer to his chest. But he didn’t trust himself to speak, so they danced in silence. Lynx cleared her throat a couple of times, but whatever was on her mind, she kept it to herself.

Finally calm enough to risk speaking, he said, “Your uncle delivered a musical instrument here for you. A stringed thing that looks like a lute gone wrong.”

Lynx sighed, and he wondered if it was relief due to the arrival of her instrument or the thaw in the conversation. “It’s called a fiddle, and it’s nothing like a lute. We’ve played them in Norin for centuries, long before Thurban invaded.”

Lukan’s flawless dancing faltered, and he missed a step. Why did she have to bring up Thurban? Was she familiar with the Dmitri Curse? There was no way of knowing, given that the very mention of the word Dmitri by a Chenayan subject resulted in death.

Lynx didn’t comment about his fumble, but her hand drifted away from his hip to her hair, her fingers twirling as if she were searching for a particular lock. Her hand jolted her mask. Lukan pulled it back in place, noticing her hand did not return to holding him.

He blamed Axel for that.

Lynx finally spoke. “Lukan, I’ve decided I hate masked balls. What do you think Count Felix would say if we ditched these silly things?”

With Lynx’s attraction for Axel messing with his mood, the last thing he wanted right now was to lose the protection of his mask. Keeping his voice light, he said, “As my soon-to-be crown princess, you’re supposed to set an example, not a new trend.”

“Pity. I seem to be particularly good at starting new trends.”

Even though he heard a smile in her voice, he changed the subject. “Is your fiddle playing any good?”

A harlequin leading a bear by a chain moved past them, drawing away Lynx’s attention. He nudged her, pulling her back to him. It irked that he had to. The evening wasn’t going well.

“I’ll leave you to judge that, Lukan. Someday I may play for you.”

“You can play tonight during the dinner break. I instructed my valet to place the fiddle in one of the reception rooms.”

Lynx’s mouth opened, then closed.

Taking advantage of her uncertainty—was she surprised at how personable he could be?—he asked, “What else did you do today?”

“I met Tao’s falcon, and he sent her to hunt. I can’t believe she came back. But she did.”

This line of conversation had potential, so he danced her over to a quieter section of the ballroom. “Why do you suppose she does?”

“Training, I suppose. That’s what Tao said. But, to be honest, I can’t see why she would come back to be a prisoner on some man’s arm.”

Lukan hesitated, then took a deep breath before saying, “Maybe it’s because she loves him.”

“Do wild creatures love like that?” she asked doubtfully.

He wondered if she had guessed his double meaning yet. “I don’t know, Lynx. You’re the panther, you tell me. What does it take to bring in an unfettered girl who bows to no authority?”

Lynx jerked away from him. “I thought we were talking about Tao’s falcon.”

“The same principle applies, I think.”

Lynx was silent for a moment. “Love and respect. Tao loves and respects Bird enough to give her freedom.”

“But Tao still keeps her in a mews at night and only lets her fly when it suits him,” Lukan said triumphantly. “Is that your idea of love?”

His words made Lynx’s blue eyes chill. “Hardly. Four hundred years ago, Thurban found out that it’s impossible to own a Norin, no matter how many cages you wrap around them. We will always follow our own star. The best you can do is to hope you’ve pinned your heart to the same constellation.”

The blood rushed from Lukan’s face. “And—and what constellation are you following, Lynx?”

“A Norin will never bow to the Dragon.”

So much for Lynx being pliable. But then, he shouldn’t have expected anything less from a rabid Norin. The Dragon constellation had held the northern point in the sky since Thurban conquered her country; that’s why Chenaya’s first emperor had chosen the Dragon as his crest and his religion. It was a constant reminder to the Norin that they had lost and the Avanovs had won. To worship the Dragon was to acknowledge that victory.

Lynx’s son in the vision had vanquished that Dragon.

Lukan forced a casualness he didn’t feel into his voice. “Well, thanks for clearing that up. So, if my heart is pinned to your star, then we stand some chance in our marriage?”

Lynx laughed self-consciously. “Winds know, Lukan, I have every motive in the world for marrying you. If the marriage works, though, is a different matter. For that, there needs to be chemistry—not just lust. We probably both need to work on that.”

Lukan shook his head, unsure of what to make of her.

Her body drove him crazy with lust, but her . . . Norinness caused him a different kind of craziness: outrage at her lack of respect to the Dragon, the throne, and therefore him.

Also, the implied criticism of his desire for her annoyed him. Why shouldn’t he want her? She was a girl. He was a man. Not just any man—the crown prince. That title came with rights—and benefits. He’d never had to woo a woman to his bed like this before. They usually lined up to sleep with him.

“Lynx, is it a crime to look at you and want you? Especially when you present yourself so differently than every other woman in this room? In Cian? In the whole of the Chenayan Heartland?”

Lynx’s hand grew clammy, and it took her a long time to answer. “I realize I’m different. Norin usually are. But you’re different, too. I never thought I would have to embrace a Chenayan. I won’t deceive you into believing that I’m not struggling to . . . adapt to the challenge. No matter how much it is expected of me.”

The way her eyes had charted Axel’s movements told him she would have no problem embracing that particular Chenayan. It seemed her repugnance was limited to him.

Humiliation spiked Lukan’s voice. “Do you imagine this is easy for me? That I wanted an arranged marriage?”

“I suppose I haven’t looked at things from your angle,” Lynx conceded.

“Then you should try.”

They continued dancing in silence. Anger, disappointment, and a huge dollop of despair sat heavy in Lukan’s breast. Thus far, he’d failed to turn the wild cat into a purring kitten.

To add to his woes, Axel and Malika now loomed large in their view. They had ditched their masks and leaned against the wall together. His arm was slung about her shoulder, and she was recounting something with much hand waving.

Lynx’s nails dug into Lukan’s arm; she’d seen them, too.

Lukan considered mentioning Malika was Axel’s sister but rejected the idea. The longer Lynx believed Axel had a girlfriend, the better.

Still, even through his waistcoat and shirt, her nails were about to draw blood. “My arm’s gone numb. Perhaps we should eat before it drops off altogether.”

Gasping, Lynx pulled her hand away as if scalded. Frustrated, Lukan dumped his mask on a table in the lobby outside the ballroom. With obvious relief, Lynx followed suit.

He turned his attention to the waiting buffet, handed Lynx a plate, and picked up one for himself. She nodded her thanks, and they walked down row upon row of trestle tables decked with dishes of food from all over the empire. Lynx dished up a ladle of chickpea and ostrich stew and grabbed a pudding spoon. He cleared his throat and pointed to the knives and forks lined up on the table. She blushed, dropped the spoon, and grabbed a fork instead.

He suppressed a snort—a fork was better than nothing—and asked, “Is that all you’re eating?”

Lynx shrugged. “I’m not hungry.”

“Suit yourself.” He grabbed a handful of crusty bread and added it to his already heaped plate.

Lynx raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged, suddenly feeling awkward.

“I haven’t eaten since dinner last night.” Lukan could see she wanted details on where he had been, but he had no intention of sharing that information. Let her think that some other woman might have wanted to bed him. Instead, he said, “I guess that’s my own fault, isn’t it?”

Lynx graced him with her beautiful smile, making his heart sing despite his anger. It filled him with longing for her.

“As you say, Lukan.” She looked around. “So where do we sit?”

“Follow me.” A deep breath later, he pushed his frustration aside. He still had a chance to put this right. Smiling, he took her to a door across from the great hall and pulled a key from his pocket. He opened it to reveal a table set for two in the center of the room.

“In here.” He always used this room when he was charming a girl.

As usual, his valet had set the table elegantly—with all the correct implements—for this private dinner with Lynx. The centerpiece, however, was unusual, even by Lukan’s standards, but it was as he’d requested. Instead of flowers, a battered wooden tabor, its stick, and a metal flute lay on the crisp white tablecloth.

“That’s mine,” Lynx cried, her voice accusatory. “I’ve played it since I was a child. Look, there’s the mark on the side of the drum where Kestrel spilled her chai.”

Lukan smiled at her. “And there’s your fiddle, too.” He pointed to an instrument case propped up against the wall. “I didn’t tell you about the tabor and pipe because I wanted it to be a surprise. It looks battered enough to have significance.”

Lynx gaped.

Even though he’d done it to impress her, her reaction jarred. If only we could get to know each other before the wedding. Maybe she’d want me the way I want her.

He pulled out her chair. “Let’s eat, and then you can play.”

Lynx took a couple of mouthfuls of her stew and then fiddled with the leather hand strap dangling from her drum.

“The stew is not to your liking?”

“Nothing beats my mother’s cooking.”

With no experience of a mother’s food to draw on, Lukan said, “You could play for me.”

Lynx shot him a smile and pulled her chair away from the table. He’d never seen anyone play a tabor and flute before, so he watched with interest as she slid her hand into a loop in the drum strap, leaving the drum suspended before her. In the same hand, she held the long, slender flute, the note holes positioned at the end of the instrument, where her fingers reached.

With the drumstick clasped in the other hand, she said, “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Lukan? Because, I promise, Norin music is designed to wake the dead—not put them to sleep, like the dirge we were dancing to tonight.”

Chin tilted, he said, “You should know by now, the dead in Chenaya never sleep.”

“Good. Then they won’t mind this.” With a rat-a-tat-tat, her drumstick rolled across the vellum, and her pipe burst to life.

Riotous: that was the only way to describe Lynx’s music. Food forgotten, toe tapping along, Lukan leaned back in his chair to admire. It seemed she had a vast repertoire, with one rousing, call-to-action piece flowing into the next. The longer she played, the more absorbed she became, until she seemed oblivious of him—and the crowd, drawn by the foreign sound, who’d gathered at the door to watch and listen.

It included Axel.

Lukan’s skin prickled. Then, he saw Axel’s expression, and a whoosh of ice surged through his veins. He had never seen Axel look at a woman the way he was staring at Lynx. Gone was the sardonic, I-don’t-give-a-damn expression that usually marred his cousin’s face. A small, almost gentle smile played around his mouth, and his eyes were—Lukan sucked in a horrified breath—soft. There was no other word to describe them.

Unbelievably, Axel had had the temerity to fall in love with Lynx.

My betrothed!

An Axel-in-love would never accept that Lynx belonged to Lukan. With his massive sense of entitlement, Axel would stalk her until she relented. Given what he’d seen of Lynx’s feelings for his cousin, it wouldn’t be long before he was cuckolded. Trouble was, Axel was too important to his future to be eliminated, a challenge Lukan would face for his entire life. Rage, so potent it was palpable, exploded through him.

Thurban chose that moment to taunt. “I warned you, but you chose not to listen.”

Lukan’s entire body trembled as he fought with all his inner strength to maintain his cool façade.

“Admit it, Lukan, you aren’t man enough to handle her,” Thurban’s voice drove through him like nails hammering into his brain.

He had to leave. Now. Before he did something he regretted, something that undid all his years of work on his regal persona. The whole palace knew about his father’s abuse—they’d have to have been blind not to see the cuts and bruises Lukan, Tao, and Axel sported as children, and even into their teens. Lukan had always countered the whispered comments with his perfect control. He could not fail himself now.

Feigning calm, he stood, rocking the table. Lynx’s crystal glass, balanced precariously on the edge, tumbled to the floor. It shattered on the marble tiles, shooting shards of glass across the room. Lynx looked up, first at the crowd at the door. It included Axel. A flush of scarlet swept across her skin, and her eyes dropped to her drum.

Humiliation burst like a storm through Lukan. He strode over and grabbed Lynx’s arm. “I think you’ve played enough. Let’s go.”

Lynx’s flute gave an abrupt whistle as her tune came to an end. A buzz of comment rippled through the watchers. Her face hardened, and she folded her arms around her drum, pressed against her chest. “What? But . . . why?”

“Are you a prince or a low-born?” Thurban demanded. “Drag the Norin out of here. Make her obey.”

Fighting for control, Lukan bent down and hissed in her ear, “Don’t make me drag you out of here.”

Lynx blinked and then demanded loudly so everyone could hear, “Drag me out? Why? What have I done?”

Lukan glanced over at the crowd. Everyone’s eyes—including Axel’s—were on him, watching him being gainsaid by a woman.

Face like granite, Axel’s fists clenched and unclenched.

Lukan didn’t think his cousin would dare interfere, but he had to rescue this situation. And fast.

Then it struck him. Maybe he’d been wrong all these years and regal didn’t only equate to being calm and serene. Crown princes were entitled to get angry, too. It was time Lynx and Axel—and the rest of his watchers—learned that crown princes put rebellious subjects in their place.

His voice rose an octave. “Because I told you to. Now, move.” He fully expected her to obey.

Lynx’s eyes turned icy, and rage mounted on her face. “No one other than my king can give me orders and expect me to obey.”

Her king? How dare she?

She stood and faced him, and he noticed for the first time that they were the same height.

Voice like a whip, he shot back, “There is but one supreme ruler in this empire, and he is not the Norin king. I think it’s time you, and all your kind, learned some respect for the Chenayan throne. My throne.” He grabbed her arm and started dragging her to the door.

Lynx dug her feet into the floor. Still, he pulled her along, making her heels screech across the marble tiles. In a blur of movement, Lynx lifted her drumstick and cracked him across the cheek.

Lukan froze. But it wasn’t just the sting of maple that enraged him.

Lynx had hit him. In public. With Axel watching.

This was worse than anything his father had ever done to him. The ultimate humiliation. And it was unforgivable.

Lukan tore the drumstick from her hand, snapped it in half across his knee, and flung the pieces onto the floor. While she gasped with shock, he lunged behind her and gripped her upper arms. “You’re coming with me. Now.”

She lashed her foot back, clearly intending to impale him with her heel. Her shoe snagged in the hem of her dress. While she wrestled with the fabric—and then with him—Lukan dragged her from the room.

Face blazing with anger, Axel bolted forward.

Lukan preempted any intervention by shoving his cousin’s chest. Before Axel recovered, Lukan propelled Lynx out the door, over to the ballroom, and out onto the veranda.

It was then he noticed her face. It was feral in its fury. Never before had he seen a woman so angry—or so seductive.

It rendered him speechless. He couldn’t fight the compulsion to kiss her.

She punched him on the chin, snapping his head back.

Stunned, it took him a moment to grasp what had happened. It was his childhood all over again, except instead of his father hitting him for missing breakfast, it was a girl!

“You bitch! You’ll pay for that,” he half-slurred, half-stammered. With a last look at her toxic beauty, he fled into the night.

The antlers would have been the far better trophy.

24

Axel stumbled from Lukan’s unexpected shove. He found his feet, brushed past the crowds jamming the door, and stormed into the ballroom. It took him seconds to locate Lynx and Lukan on the veranda.

A savage grin slashed his face when Lynx’s fist smashed into Lukan’s jaw. The punch was hard enough to snap Lukan’s head back. Although Lynx could take care of herself, Lukan had gotten off way too lightly for daring to harm her. Without even stopping to analyze his emotions, Axel stalked across the ballroom, cracking his knuckles.

Someone locked onto his arm.

He shook the hand off, but the person skittered behind him and gripped both his biceps.

Then, a voice spoke in his ear. “No, Axel. Beating up the crown prince is not politic, even for you.”

“Stefan. You saw what he did. I won’t tolerate it. Especially not with Lynx.”

His words did nothing to loosen Stefan’s hold. He could have broken free, but that would mean flinging Stefan aside, not something he wanted to do to his best friend. He noticed his coward of a cousin heading away from Lynx toward the stairs leading to the gardens.

Running away, as he always does.

That left Lynx alone on the veranda.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Stef, so I suggest you let me go,” Axel hissed.

Stefan tightened his hold. “I’m aware of what she means to you.” His smooth, calming voice came from behind a snow leopard mask. “I saw it on the train, long before you did. But the risk is too great—for her and for you. Princess Lynx of Norin is Lukan’s betrothed. Not yours. Until that changes, you had better get a lock on that charming Avanov temper.”

Axel sucked in a deep breath. Stefan was right about his temper. The last thing he wanted was to be like his brutal uncle. “What are you saying?”

“Exactly what Lukan saw tonight,” Stefan whispered. “You are in love with Lynx.”

“No!” Axel grimaced at the spike in his voice. Whispering, he added, “You know what this is about. Treven. And I don’t cope well with men beating up on women.” He pulled away, but Stefan tightened his hold on his arms. There was only one way out of this mess. He relaxed his back and shoulders.

“Better,” Stefan said, easing his grip but not releasing him. “Come, let’s get you a drink.”

Axel shook his head. “Alcohol won’t do me any favors.” He allowed Stefan to lead him to the far wall of the ballroom, away from the crowds. It dismayed him to catch heads turning away as he passed; he had made a scene, something he hated doing. Worse, the crowd was already tittering about Lukan and Lynx’s display. His family was in top form tonight.

As it happened, the spot Stefan chose offered him a perfect view of the veranda. Mentally bracing himself, he looked over at Lynx. She paced across the flagstones, her beautiful face crimson with distress. Axel’s fists clenched again because she looked like she wanted to cry.

That was something he never thought he would see.

A flush of heat surged through him. All he wanted was to go to her, to tell her everything would work out. But that would only make things worse for her and dig a deeper hole for himself. While his motives were pure, he was using her to get to Treven.

Am I that different from Lukan?

Why wouldn’t his father just ease up on the unwanted protection? Axel wasn’t a fool, and he didn’t have a death wish. If anyone could survive Treven long enough to sort the mess out, it was him. Everyone in battle command knew that, too—except his father. If it hadn’t been for Felix, he would never have used his relationship with Lynx as blackmail leverage.

Axel clenched his jaw and then whispered to Stefan, “Forget beating up Lukan. I’ll horse whip myself if Operation Treven backfires and Lynx gets hurt.”

Stefan pulled off his mask, dropped it onto the floor, and faced him. Not that it made much difference. His friend’s face rarely betrayed emotion for the cameras to capture.

Voice little above a whisper, Stefan said, “Axel, you can deny all you want that you are in love with Lynx, but I know the truth.”

Axel grimaced, waving his hand as if brushing away the comment.

Stefan ignored him. “But, regardless of your . . . non-feelings for her, we both understand the risks you’re taking to persuade your paranoid father to do what’s right in Treven. And yes, she” —he gestured to the veranda— “may end up hating you if it all goes wrong. But it has to be done. Someone with brains needs to clean up that mess before any more unnecessary deaths occur. Both ours and theirs. If risking your . . . friendship with Lynx is the price you pay to save thousands, then you must pay it.”

Axel opened his mouth to retort that it was easy for Stefan to say that when he wasn’t the one making the sacrifice, but he stopped himself. The comment would be churlish. Stefan felt things more deeply than any other high-born Axel knew. Typical of him to consider the enemy’s losses as well as their own. Few, including himself, ever considered them. Axel’s tense muscles relaxed even more.

That didn’t stop his emotions roiling as he watched Lynx pounding her fists against the balustrade. He had to berate himself, lest he change his mind and go to her. In the end, he muttered, “It’s some sacrifice, given that I’ve never felt this way about any woman.”

Stefan snorted, an I-told-you-so kind of sound. Then, he added, “That ruby you wear comes with a price. Leadership requires sacrifice.”

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know,” Axel said more sharply than he intended. He was nowhere near ready to consider the possibility that he could love her. “I hate being so damn . . . useless. It doesn’t help Lynx, me standing here like a tongue-tied adolescent.”

“Help her?” Stefan asked with a dryness that would snap toast. “Was I the only one who saw her thrash Lukan?”

Axel grinned with pride. “She’s quite something, isn’t she?” His smile faded. “But even someone that ferocious is only as effective as her intelligence. Without knowing how the palace works, how is she to survive, let alone fight back?”

“Bear was supposed to tell her all that,” Stefan said.

“Yes, and he was bloody useless.”

“He was counting on having Lynx and Kestrel stay with him in Cian. Probably no . . . devices at his house. We messed that up for him.”

“Maybe.” Damn Mott and his stupid order to abduct Lynx and her sister. Axel kicked the heel of his boot against the wall. “I’ve got to talk to her. It’s the least I can do.”

“Telling her about the . . . things watching her is too risky, Axel.”

But Axel wasn’t listening. Lynx had stopped pacing, and he guessed any minute now, she would spot him. He wanted to be alone when that happened. Hopefully, she’d be encouraged to come to him, so he could offer her insight into his father’s technology.

First, he had to distract Stefan.

A scan of the ballroom revealed Malika. She watched a pair of knife jugglers with desultory interest. He shot a look at Stefan and made a decision. Axel nudged his friend with his elbow and gestured to his sister. “Look after her for me.”

Stefan beamed—if a slight upturn of his lips could be called beaming. “You’re finally giving me permission to court your sister?”

Axel turned a mocking smile on his friend. “Astonishing, isn’t it?” Axel asked. “Mess with her like I’m messing with Lynx, and I will kill you.”

Stefan smacked him on the shoulder. “We both know that will never happen.”

“What? You messing with her or me killing you?”

“Both.” Stefan started toward Malika and then stopped. He turned to face Axel. “You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

“Do I ever?”

Stefan’s eyebrows twitched, a sure sign of worry. “Please remember what’s at stake here. For all of us.” He didn’t wait for a reply before heading off toward Malika, which was just as well, as Axel hadn’t planned on giving him one.

In an effort to control his wildly beating heart, Axel folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall, waiting for Lynx to notice him.

25

Lynx collapsed back against the balustrade, the fire doused from her soul. Since her earliest childhood, everything she’d ever done had been motivated by a desire to protect her family and her people, but now, when her loyalty and obedience mattered, she’d failed them.

Spectacularly.

Her pulse raced as images of imperial guardsmen swarming into the Norin camp, killing everyone, ran rampant through her mind. Could she not have controlled her temper, and her hatred, long enough to give Mott the grandson he wanted? Would it have been so difficult to pretend that she liked being manhandled like a sack of ostrich feathers?

She gagged at the thought.

Lukan was clearly as mad as his father. Nothing in her life had prepared her to be the wife of a man like that. She was a warrior, not a playmate to be abused and controlled. Sadly, despite the oaths that bound her, the idea of killing him was much more agreeable than submitting to him. Her head dropped to her chest, and tears threatened.

Crying helped no one. She jerked upright and looked around, wondering how long before guardsmen arrived to haul her before Mott. Whatever happened, she’d go down fighting. Muscles tensed, she leaned against the balustrade, took a deep breath, and waited.

It was then she noticed Axel, also alone, leaning on the wall on the far side of the crowded ballroom. His raised eyebrows told her he’d been waiting for her to notice him. He grabbed two goblets from a passing waiter and held one out to her.

She turned away and searched the crowd for Kestrel. She was with Tao and a group of his friends. Tao was kind enough to include his betrothed in his life.

Instead of introducing her to his friends, Lukan had ignored her all day and then tried to hog her company tonight. She considered taking Kestrel away so they could talk, but her sister would be no ally in a matter with Lukan. Regardless, as soon as the ball was over, she would tell Kestrel what happened.

Her eyes swept the ballroom, looking for her uncle so she could warn him of the emperor’s threats—and apologize for hitting Lukan. He was missing. She guessed he was in the gambling room, petitioning the emperor.

Drawn like a magnet, her attention drifted back to Axel. He looked at her expectantly. With no one else to call on, she made her way through the dancers to join him. From the snatches of whispered conversations she heard, the entire room was discussing her fight with Lukan.

Axel handed her a goblet. “What an entertaining evening, Princess. We’ve had both music and drama.”

She took a gulp of mead and drooped against the wall next to him. “Please don’t mock me, Axel.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not in the mood.”

“Feeling vulnerable, are we?”

Lynx sighed at the notion that anyone need use the word vulnerable in reference to her.

Axel smiled, a genuine one without any of his usual derision. “Cheer up, Lynxie. You’re also a fighter, so I can assure you, the vulnerability will soon pass.” He took a swig of his mead. “Whether Lukan recovers as quickly remains to be seen.”

“If it were only that dolt, I wouldn’t be concerned. But I hardly think the emperor will be ecstatic about our little display of temper.”

He turned to face her. “Don’t worry about him. Not now anyway. He never attends balls. Tonight, he’s busy gambling away the empire’s gold reserves.”

Lynx’s tension eased—slightly. “So when will he learn about this evening’s escapade?”

“You probably have until morning.”

“Wonderful. It doesn’t look like I’ll be getting any sleep tonight.”

What would the emperor do with her? Lock her in a dungeon? Feed her to the wolves? Anything was possible after she’d publicly announced that her first and only loyalty was to the Norin king. And she’d also punched his precious son.

Axel’s cajoling voice brought her back to the present. “Lynxie, you said it yourself, he wants a grandson. He won’t hurt you until you deliver. Now, Lukan, on the other hand—”

“Will probably never speak to me again. And, despite everything I feel about the idiot, that is a serious problem.”

“Not as serious as you think. My cousin is like a trained circus monkey. He will do exactly what his father tells him.” A wicked smile. “So, we’ve sorted out Lukan and the emperor. What else could worry you at such a high-spirited party?”

“High-spirited? Are you ever serious, Axel?”

“Not at balls. I make that a rule. Now what’s up?”

“I’m alone in a world of strangers.” She sighed, knowing how melodramatic that sounded.

“Strangers? So, what does it take to be your friend, Lynx? We shared a week on a train, a delicious palace breakfast. Admittedly, you ate almost nothing. And a brisk morning ride. Yet you find our acquaintance insufficient to elevate me from stranger to friend? This doesn’t have anything to do with my hair and eye color does it?”

Lynx bit her lip to suppress a smile. Funny that Axel’s dark Chenayan looks didn’t worry her at all. Why didn’t she feel that way about Lukan? It would have made life so simple.

But it was never to be.

Lukan wasn’t Axel. No matter his rank or his handsome face and body, Lukan didn’t have the power to send a squadron of tingles fluttering through her whenever he looked at her.

Not that any of it mattered, because, flirt that he was, Axel had a girlfriend.

And Lynx was on a mission of honor. She just needed some breathing space before she hefted that burden again. It was not lost on her that she had to swallow her pride. Lukan would probably never hunt her down to put things right between them.

And she had still made no headway with the gemstones.

She cleared her throat to steady her voice. “You, Axel Avanov, while more than a stranger, lack the vital ingredients needed to be my friend.”

Axel ran one of his beautiful hands through his dark hair and then mocked, “Dragon’s nostrils, Princess, before I allow myself to be hurt and offended, let me guess: you need a girl who will sit and dissect my cousin’s extraordinary behavior with you?”

Lynx glared at him over her goblet and then took a risk born of desperation. “He’s not the only one whose behavior troubles me. How can I trust you when you’re so obviously a committed part of the Avanov machine? You wear your ridiculous ruby and your general’s uniform with pride. What does your stone do for you, Axel? Make you into some kind of superhuman? Or is that reserved for priestesses and ordinary guardsmen? And if that’s not weird enough, that zombie, Count Felix, is your father.”

Axel’s jaw dropped, then his head darted from side to side, eyes scanning the crowds. No one seemed close enough to stop him from replying, “Princess Lynx of Norin, queen of indiscretion. Must you always open your mouth just to change feet?”

He leaned in closer to whisper, “I’m not in control of my parentage, but that doesn’t mean I’m not smart enough to take full advantage of the benefits it offers. And you’re right, I am part of the ‘Avanov machine,’ as you call it. My father and his brother are the most powerful men in the world. When my father dies—which he will, despite your claim that he’s already a ‘zombie’—I will inherit his money, his chunk of the planet, and more power than even he can imagine. Does that worry me? No. Not one bit.”

Axel grimaced at a couple who joined them against the wall. “Come. I want to dance.”

He grabbed Lynx’s goblet, dumped it on the floor, and pulled her into the swirling dancers. Lynx leaned into him as he held her hand and clasped her hip, drinking in his smell, reminiscent of the plains of home, fresh air, and running water. She couldn’t even remember what Lukan smelled like.

Axel’s breath fluttered against her ear. “There are some things you don’t speak about in Chenaya, Princess. Gemstones are one of them. Not unless you want the emperor to set the date for your execution. You got that?”

Heart racing, she leaned back and asked as nonchalantly as possible, “Why?”

Axel’s shoulders sagged, and a look of exasperation settled on his face. He pulled her close his chest and whispered, “Why’s it so important?”

“Somehow, the she-witch used her gemstone to zap me with lightning.”

“Electricity,” Axel corrected.

Lynx’s eyes widened with excitement, which she quickly quelled. It wouldn’t help to let Axel know what she was up to. She rolled the unfamiliar word on her tongue. “E-lec-triss-i-ty.”

“You got it. Although we usually say it with a bit more speed.”

She pinched the firm skin on his hipbone, hard, making him wince. He grabbed her hand, holding it in his. While she didn’t resist, she didn’t let the delightful sensation shooting through her core deflect her from her mission.

“So, Axel, electricity . . . what is it? Where does it come from, and how does it work?”

And how can I use it to protect my family from you and your guardsmen? And overthrow your empire while we’re at it?

She cleared her throat. “There’s so much information—knowledge—you Avanovs are hiding from the rest of us.”

Axel snorted a laugh. But she noticed that he danced her into a crowd cheering a fire-eater. With shrieks of delight at the man’s antics drowning out their conversation, Axel said, “You don’t know the half of it, my Lynxie.”

Eyes steeled, she glared at him, ignoring the wobble in her belly at the possessive my before her nickname. “So start talking.”

“Nice try.”

Maybe by playing hard-to-get, she could taunt him into telling her. “Then we have nothing more to say to each other.” Lynx stopped dancing and drew her hands away from his.

He delighted her by grabbing her fingers. She pretended to stiffen but didn’t resist as he pulled her against him.

A triumphant smile quirked when he leaned in to whisper, “Electricity predates the Burning. And ballrooms are not the place for that kind of discussion.”

Predated the Burning? Impossible. Nothing survived the Burning. She and Axel definitely needed to talk. She took his hip again and allowed him to lead her around the dance floor. “Then, where?”

“Somewhere very private, for all I want to tell you. The best place would probably be your room.”

Lynx sucked in a startled breath, and her knees buckled, making her stumble over Axel’s feet. “My room?” she squeaked. “Are you sure that’s safe? For me?”

He grinned at her while fighting for balance. “You’ll have to trust me on that.”

Hmm . . . maybe Axel was playing with her as much she was leading him on. Disturbing thought. “Which brings us back to my problem with you.” She steadied herself by gripping his shoulder. “I don’t trust you.”

He shrugged. “The information you’re asking for comes at a price. Your trust. Is it worth it, Lynxie?”

Was it worth it? Should she risk having Axel Avanov in her bedchamber in exchange for vital information?

It would at least satisfy one of the oaths she was bound by. But what of the other? Was it even possible to fulfill two totally conflicting oaths?

Maybe if her father knew what gave the guardsmen their strength, he could counter it—if she failed in her promise to marry Lukan and Mott sent his troops to Norin.

Then a second problem hit her. Would Axel be happy talking to her in the sitting room? If not, the armchairs next to her enormous bed? Or, girlfriend notwithstanding, would he want to—

She pushed the thought aside. This wasn’t a tryst. Despite Axel’s flirting, his girlfriend need have no fear that Lynx would poach her man. Meeting privately with him was nothing more than a desperate attempt to find information needed for her to survive in the Avanov palace and protect her family. “My room. What time?”

“Three o’clock.” He glanced at her wrist, sans watch, and clicked his tongue, as if he hadn’t approved of the she-witch destroying it. “The bells will ring three times.”

Lynx kept her face expressionless. “Don’t be late.”

“My father’s spies are everywhere. So, as much as I hate to do it, I’m going to abandon you now in case he thinks we’re plotting some nefarious activity.” Sardonic smile in place, Axel’s hands dropped to his sides, and he skipped away from her. A flippant bow followed.

“You need to brush up on some of the dance steps, Princess. I’m sure my foot will be bruised in the morning.” He sauntered away, leaving her alone on the dance floor.

26

The palace bells had not yet finished chiming when a knock sounded on Lynx’s bedroom door. Axel was prompt, which was more than she could say for his cousin. She welcomed him to her room with a cautious smile, but he didn’t acknowledge her.

Without waiting for her to close the door, he pulled an unlit candle on a solid brass holder from under his cloak and strode to the sconce on the wall, the only lighting in the room. Deftly, he lit his candle and dumped it on the closest table. Then he killed the flames in the sconce with his fingers, swirled out of his cloak, and draped it over the wall mounting. If that wasn’t strange enough, he pulled her across the room, farthest from the sconce he seemed to dislike so much.

“My,” she said, “you do like to make an entrance.”

“Don’t ever linger in front of a candle sconce if you can help it. And never hold a private conversation in the vicinity of one.”

Lynx laughed. “Have you seen someone about this phobia? Surely there’s some remedy a healer can give you?”

“Cute. That was your first lesson in electricity. Dramatic, but I needed to make a point.” He cocked his thumb at the sconce. “Even though I neutralized this one before I came here.”

“‘Neutralized’? Isn’t that a euphemism for killed?”

“That works.”

“Okay. You have my attention.” Lynx tossed the cushions from the armchairs onto the floor and grabbed the candlestick from the table. She put it down, too, where it cast a circle of golden light. She sat, crossed her legs, and patted the cushion next to her. “Care to explain?”

Axel stood over her, smiling. “As you know, I love your legs. But is the floor really necessary? You are in civilization now.”

She flung a cushion at him, scoring a direct hit on the side of his face. “Sit. Speak.”

“How can I possibly disobey, Princess?” He laughed, plonked down next to her, stretched his long legs out, and rested his head on his hand. “Happy now?”

The candlelight softened the planes of his face, making him look less like an Avanov and more like the friend—or lover? —she longed for. Despite her determination not to flirt with him, her face betrayed her by grinning at him. “I’ll be happy when you start talking, General.”

“Do you remember that sword-sharpening exercise of mine on the train?”

The image of his forearms flashed through her memory. “How could I forget?”

“Stefan sent Saskia to sort through your dresses to get her out of your hair—”

“That was kind of him,” Lynx interrupted. “He’s a bit of an enigma, our Colonel Zarot.”

“Do you mind?” Axel flicked her arm playfully with his fingernail. “I’m in the middle of a fascinating story.”

Lynx gave him a mock bow. “Please, my lord, continue.”

“That would be good, if you actually meant it. Anyway, Stefan went to the guard car, where he sent the duty officers off to inspect something that didn’t need inspecting. Do you know why he did that?”

Lynx shrugged. “Like I said, he’s an enigmatic man.”

“No. Well, a bit.” He smiled fondly as if thinking of something specific about Zarot. “But that’s not the point. He wanted to make sure none of the guardsmen overheard Bear’s pathetic attempts at warning you about life in the palace.”

Lynx folded her arms across her chest. “I knew you were listening.”

“Of course I was listening. Understanding was the problem.” He rolled his gorgeous golden-brown eyes. “You were speaking Norin.”

Lynx leaned back and studied Axel’s face.

It was surprisingly open and sincere.

“You have no idea how many questions this conversation raises. How did you hear us? We were talking so quietly. Does your ruby enhance your hearing as well as your speed? Because, clearly, the jasper does something to the guardsmen’s hearing if Stefan had to get them busy while we spoke.”

It took Axel a moment to reply, and she wondered if he would deny the power of the stones.

“Lynxie,” he said in an amused voice, “where was the guard car on the train?”

“At the back. Why?” she asked, bristling at his patronizing tone and smile.

“Nothing can enhance human hearing enough to discern Bear whispering to you through a steel dining car, a steel salon, and half a dozen steel sleeper cars on a moving steam train.”

That sounded logical. No wonder he was mocking her. A blush scorched her face. “I knew that.”

Axel laughed, and he reached up to cup her cheek. “Sure you did.”

Remembering his girlfriend, Lynx pulled away.

Axel didn’t stop her. “You—and the rest of the world—think all technology was lost in the Burning.”

“It was. And the vile stuff that survived was destroyed as part of The Treaty of Hope.”

People still spoke about some of those technological horrors, but the stories were always so embellished and far-fetched, Lynx didn’t know what was myth and what was truth.

“You’re wrong, my Lynxie. While he was signing the Treaty of Hope, Thurban’s scientists were searching for manuscripts and weaponry. A lot of them didn’t survive the aftermath of the Burning, but enough returned to Cian with incredible treasures. Since then, my family have built on that technology—all for a very specific purpose.” Serious eyes locked on her face. “Does the Dmitri Curse mean anything to you?”

Those machines had almost destroyed the planet, yet the Avanovs had salvaged them? Still owned them?

“No. Never. What is it? A weapon from before?”

He sniggered. “Hardly. But I guess you could still call it a weapon—of sorts.” He cleared his throat. “What I’m going to tell you never leaves this room. Got that?”

Got that? Poor Axel! Those words didn’t even form a promise, let alone an oath. She nodded. “Of course.”

“Thurban had a brother—Dmitri—who was a seer of some kind.”

Lynx raised her eyebrows skeptically.

“Yes, weird as that sounds, he could see the future.”

“Handy,” Lynx said, wondering what all of this had to do with gemstones and electricity.

“Trust me, it didn’t turn out so well for Dmitri. Thurban flayed him after the invasion of Norin.”

Lynx’s voice was brittle as she asked, “And why would he do that?”

“Dmitri tricked him into signing the Unity with Norin—and then proceeded to curse the Avanov line. He prophesied that a crown prince would marry a Norin princess who would deliver a son to destroy his father and the Chenayan empire. Or that’s what every Avanov is told, virtually from birth. Since then, every crown prince has done everything possible to convince the family he would never destroy the empire. That includes trying to wriggle out of marrying his Norin betrothed. Every one of them failed in the marriage department. Dmitri said that if the Avanovs destroyed Norin or reneged on the Unity, then the Free Nations would muster an army to slaughter us. No one has dared taken Dmitri up on that, so, the curse has some bite.” Axel brushed her face with a gentle hand. “It’s why the Avanovs don’t like you Norin much. We can’t get rid of you, but we can’t bear to keep you alive, either.”

Lynx’s breath stuttered. That explained so much. And it opened so many possibilities. If true, could she be the woman prophesied about? The idea sent a thrill coursing through her.

Then, it struck her that Axel may not fancy having his empire destroyed.

It was time to rein in her emotions. She dropped what she hoped was a neutral expression over her face. “Does that include you?”

Axel’s face hardened to granite. “I didn’t support sending fifteen guardsmen into Norin.”

Lynx wanted to believe him, but the pain of loss was still too raw. Voice icy, she asked, “How does this all fit in with gemstones and electricity?”

Disappointment flickered across Axel’s face—could he have expected anything else? His face cleared, and his voice became businesslike. “In a quest to prevent that Norin princess and her son from ever rallying an army, my family have used that technology to create the finest military surveillance system in the world. It keeps the conquered at our feet.”

Lynx bristled. “That is precisely what the Treaty of Hope was supposed to prevent.”

“Foul play, I know, but that’s how it is.” Axel hopped up and strode across the darkened room to his cloak, hanging over the sconce. He pulled a second sconce, identical to the one on her wall, from a pocket inside the lining and tossed it to her.

She caught it in midair.

“Have a good look at that and tell me what you see.”

Holding it in the faint candlelight, Lynx turned it over in her hands, studying every angle. She looked up at him and shrugged. “Can’t see anything.”

“Maybe some light would help.” Again, his hand vanished into his cloak, this time appearing with a black metal tube. He tossed that to her, too. “Hold it and see what happens.”

It fit in her palm, and as her fingers closed over it, a beam of brilliant white light burst from the front. Lynx gasped, dropping it as if it had burned her. It hadn’t, but she’d never seen anything so incredible. Or unbelievable. The light vanished. She looked at Axel.

“It uses the heat from your body to create light, but it won’t hurt you, I promise.” Kneeling in front of her, he picked up the tube and wedged it in her hand. She closed her fingers over it, and the beam flared once more.

“This is amazing, Axel,” she whispered in awe.

“I rather like it, too. See, not everything from before the Burning is bad.”

She looked up at his face, just inches from hers. They smiled, locked together in the wonder of her discovery.

“Now look at the sconce again,” he said.

With more confidence, she held the sconce under the beam, noticing the tiniest flare of light reflecting back at her. She leaned in closer for a better look. “Is that . . . glass?”

“Ice crystal. That’s what the emeralds, sapphires, jasper, and the moonstones are made from.” He touched the ruby next to his eye. “This is real. And so are the diamonds. Everyone else? They wear ice crystal embedded with tiny—” he paused, scratching the stubble on his chin, “brains. Well, not really, but . . . okay, it’s like a . . . man-made intelligence powered by body heat.”

Even though Lynx was finally getting her answers, they made no sense to her. They would mean nothing to her father, either. She looked at Axel blankly.

He sighed with frustration.

Lynx figured that, for him, it must be similar to communicating with someone who spoke a foreign language. She gave him what she hoped was an understanding smile.

He responded by stroking her face with a gentle finger. “Look, you’ve already come a long way from candles to—”

“I’m not a child!” Lynx swatted his hand away. Difficult as this was, she had to grasp it all.

Axel rocked back on his heels. “I know! But how do you explain this,” he jabbed a finger at the tube, “to someone who learned the word electricity a couple of hours ago?”

Lynx had no answer for that. She pointed at the sconce. “So what does the ice crystal in this do?”

“It, um—” He sucked his lips. “Takes pictures, like paintings, but not really, because they move.” At her dumbfounded expression, he added lamely, “It also listens and plays back what people are saying.”

“And what makes it work? Body heat?”

“No, of course not. These use electricity. The palace has its own coal-driven power station, similar to the technology on a steam train, only this one generates electricity. We would like to use ice crystal, but supplies are scarce—hence the war in Treven. They have the biggest ice crystal deposits in the world.”

Lynx folded her arms. “I always believed I was vaguely intelligent, but this is all beyond me.”

Axel looked stumped for a moment, and then he fumbled in his pocket. “Maybe this will help.” He pulled out a large, black button. “We call these informas. They come in any shape or size but always something commonplace, something that wouldn’t be questioned on a desk or in a pocket.”

Shoulder to shoulder next to her on her cushion, Axel held the button in front of them. A burst of light shot from the top. Unbelievably, he clasped one corner of the beam and pulled it up as if it were a silk scarf. As it opened, a static image of Lynx, her uncle, and Axel, sharpening his weapons in the dining car on the train, blossomed before her.

Lynx gasped, then buried her face in his arm. Breathing deeply, she anchored herself in his clean smell of grass, wind, and wild places—normality—while waiting for her heart to stop pounding. Finally, she looked up, putting a tentative finger forward to touch the picture. It passed straight through.

“It’s just light, Lynxie, projected onto the air molecules.”

Lynx didn’t pretend to understand what that meant. “You said it moved.”

He nodded. “Now you’re ready.”

A finger flick, and the image danced, showing Lynx in secret conversation with Uncle Bear. What was worse—or more amazing, Lynx couldn’t decide—was the clarity with which she heard her doppelganger whisper, “I recently killed a guardsman and prized the jasper out of his face, but it told me nothing.”

If that wasn’t damning enough, her uncle replied, “It’s that kind of stomach which makes you so ideal for this job. You will need to be more subtle in Cian, though. Even admitting to killing guardsmen will earn you a swift execution. So, I will help you spy. Together, we will unravel this secret.”

“Someone I trust translated it for me,” Axel said. “Bear was agreeing to help you spy on us to find out about the gemstones, right? You also admitted to killing a guardsman.”

Lynx made a gagging sound and covered her face with her hands. There had been no more private communication with her uncle since then, but would that matter? She doubted it. At last, she whispered from behind her fingers. “A translator? Who else has seen that?”

“Stefan and I edited it out of the sequence sent to my father.”

She had no idea what that meant.

He pried her hands away from her face. “No one knows, except Stefan, me, and my translator friend, and we intend to keep it that way.”

Lynx closed her eyes, still not wanting to see the reality of this life-threatening gaffe for both her and her uncle. “Why? Why would you do that?”

Axel slid his arm around her shoulder. “We—I—like you.”

She should have shrugged his arm off, but she didn’t have the energy. “Enough to sit back and watch me and my son destroy all that power you were telling me about while we were dancing?”

Axel’s fingers tapped out a rhythm on her upper arm. “That’s never going to happen, Lynx.”

Lynx pulled out of his embrace. “Are you saying you don’t believe in the Dmitri Curse? Or is that you don’t believe I could be the one?”

“Oh, I believe, have no doubt about that.”

She wasn’t sure just what he was admitting to.

Before she could ask, he said, “We all do. Or why else would we have created an army of soldiers who experience no fear when placed in harm’s way?” He touched his ruby. “That’s what the jasper ice crystal does. It interferes with normal brain waves, programming loyalty to the crown and immunity to fear. Moving faster and shooting straight are just side benefits. We even control the high-born. Their green and blue ice crystals show up on a reader in my father’s lair. It tells him the location of every high-born in the palace, at any time, day or night.”

Lynx’s body tensed, and her eyes narrowed, as they always did when calculating how best to take down an enemy. “How do you plan to stop me from passing this information on to my father? Is this when you slit my throat?”

“What?” Axel spluttered. “You think I’ve shown you all this so I can hurt you?”

Lynx wished she believed him, but she wasn’t taking any chances. Her fingers felt for the heavy brass candlestick next to her. But would she have time to get in a killing blow if Axel was enhanced to move faster?

And then what? Stuck in the Avanov palace in the middle of the Heartland, there was no escape. How would she ever explain Axel’s demise to the emperor?

She had her answers to the gemstones, but what good were they? Whichever way she looked, death seemed to stare back at her.

“Answer me, Lynx.” Axel sounded aggrieved. “Do you think I’m going to hurt you?”

“Then how do you intend to stop me from using this information to destroy your empire?”

“You’re very confident you’re the chosen one.”

Lynx shrugged, unwilling to admit he echoed her doubts. “You haven’t answered my question.”

Axel’s face softened. “The answer is straightforward, Lynx. I’ve already told you—you’re wasted on Lukan.”

Lynx clicked her tongue. “What’s that even supposed to mean?”

“It means I want you, and I suspect you want me, too.” He looked at her hand resting on the candlestick. “That is, when you’re not scheming to beat my brains out.”

She didn’t move her hand away. In fact, the urge to hit him was stronger than ever. “And how does your girlfriend feel about that?”

Axel sat back with a start. “My girlfriend?” The wicked smile invaded his face. “You find me conveniently between lovers.”

“Are you saying you don’t have a girlfriend?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Then who was the girl with the dark hair?” Lynx snapped, angry with herself for even caring.

Axel’s hand trailed to his tussled hair. “Could you be more specific? Last time I looked, just about everyone in Chenaya had hair in different shades of dark.”

“The one you were dancing with,” Lynx snapped.

Understanding dawned in Axel’s eyes, and he smiled. “Now, about that friend you’re looking for. I have the perfect candidate. Her name is Malika, and she’d make you a great friend.”

Lynx narrowed her eyes, blasting him with her coldest expression—the one Clay always joked would stop the wind blowing.

Axel brushed her face with his hand. “Oh, lighten up, Princess. Malika’s my sister, and she wants to help you settle in here.”

“Your sister?” Lynx swallowed a gulp of humiliation. “Come on, Axel. I’ve two brothers whom I love, but I don’t spend the night dancing with them at parties.”

Lynx’s stomach knotted with longing for Clay and Wolf. Clay would be doing his final preparations for his egg raid. What did that matter now if Mott killed them all?

“It wasn’t the whole night. It was only part of it. The rest I spent watching you.” When she looked unconvinced, Axel added, “My sister has just come out of a nasty relationship. I’m now steering her in the direction of Stefan. I’d appreciate it if you also brought your influence to bear. Malika will listen to you.”

The conversation had gone a long way from plotting to kill Axel. Bemused, Lynx asked, “Why would she listen to me? I’m the enemy.”

“Not everyone divides the world into friend and foe, Lynx. Some of us just judge as we find. My sister thinks you have amazing taste in clothing.” He brushed her bare knee, sending a shiver of want through her. “And I told her you’re special. To me.” He paused, his face devoid of his usual jeer. “I’d like us to become lovers.”

A cloud of butterflies swooped through her stomach. She quelled them with a glare, partly for him for suggesting something so radical—when he knew her parents’ lives were at stake—and partly for herself for craving him so much.

Still, that didn’t stop her from releasing the candlestick and putting her hand in her lap. “We haven’t solved the basic problem here, Axel.”

“Yes, we have.” Axel leaned in and brushed Lynx’s lips with his.

A small moan escaped her before she stopped it. He slid his hand around her neck and kissed her again. His mouth was firm, warm, and demanding. Instead of pushing him away, her traitorous lips parted, allowing his tongue to slide into her mouth.

He tasted sweet . . . and hungry, for her.

It brought her to her senses, and she jerked away. “This is crazy. I’m marrying Lukan . . . in . . . in too few days to mention.”

Axel rested his forehead on hers. “I like you. You like me.” He grazed a kiss across her lips. “I want you. You want me. What’s so crazy about that?”

“I made my father an oath,” Lynx croaked, “that I would marry Lukan in exchange for letting my brother raid again. I’ve told you before, I don’t break my word.”

Axel frowned. He had no clue of what she was talking about, but then, how could he? He wouldn’t have known about Clay’s failed raid.

She added something he would appreciate, “And what about Lukan and Mott?”

“Leave my uncle and cousin to me. I promise, when I’ve finished, Lukan won’t touch you with a ten foot pole.”

“He doesn’t want to touch me now,” Lynx pointed out. “And that’s a serious problem.”

Axel burst into laughter. “Oh, he wants you. The lust is destroying him. But the Dmitri Curse probably looms large in his world. The idea of his wife bearing a son who could kill him must put him off his stride.” Axel’s voice hardened. “But I’m working on him. He’s so weak, it doesn’t take much to manipulate him.”

After seeing Lukan and Axel together, Lynx didn’t doubt his words. “And Mott? What about him?”

“More difficult,” Axel conceded. “But I have some ideas.” He ran his fingers over her mouth. “Just trust me, Lynx, and it will all work out.”

“What about my oath to my father?” His fingers fluttered against her mouth as she spoke.

“Things have changed. Surely pragmatism is also part of the Norin code?” Finger still brushing her mouth, he cocked his head to the side, studying her with a quizzical eye.

She pulled her face away from his mind-shattering caresses. “You don’t understand. It would take more than pragmatism to change an oath. We live and die by honor, Axel, and nothing destroys one’s honor quicker than breaking an oath. I don’t think I would survive it.”

“You Norin certainly know how to make life difficult for yourselves.”

Lynx shoved his arm. “It makes us good people. Unlike you Chenayans.” When he grinned at her, she added seriously, “And what’s more, I’ve already told you, Mott has threatened to kill my family. What about that?”

Axel took her face in both hands. “If I told you the troops stationed at Tanamre were redeployed moments after our train departed, would that help?”

A wave of relief flooded her. But then doubts assailed. Could she believe the man who had ordered his guardsmen to attack her tribe? Lynx gnawed her lip, staring into his eyes, trying to read his soul.

It seemed like a closed book.

Then again, he had shared the secret of the ice crystals with her, and he’d shown her the images of herself and Uncle Bear on the train. That had to mean something.

But there were still too many unanswered questions.

As if reaching out to a wild animal, she touched the ruby next to his eye. He didn’t even blink as her fingers probed the stone. “Tell me what this does.”

“Absolutely nothing. It denotes rank and looks pretty. That’s all.”

“No superhuman hearing? No ability to move like lightning?”

Axel shook his head. “And no loss of a healthy sense of self-preservation, either. We Avanovs are too smart to inflict our own devices upon ourselves.” He took her wrist, pulled her hand up to his face, and kissed each of her fingers, making her squirm with want. “I struggled to hear you and Bear talking on the train. I suspected it was dynamite, though, so I kept the footage until it was translated. The sound came through perfectly.” He gave her a wry smile. “You were sitting right next to a wall sconce.”

Of course she was. No doubt he’d planned that, too. Still, what he said about his ruby made sense. What didn’t was why she was attracted to him when he supported an empire that used such horrific methods to suppress its subjects.

Lynx cleared her throat and asked her final question. “So when will someone be installing my ice crystal leash? Or trying to, I should say.”

“Never. You’re too old. The device must be inserted within the first five years of life, or it tends to malfunction.”

“And we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Lynx asked, pushing as much sarcasm as possible into her tone. It struck her that she sounded just like Axel. She cleared her throat. “I suppose that’s why the priestesses also work as midwives and nurses?”

He grinned at her and then said, “To answer your first question—ideally, no. Malfunctions result in the elimination of the subject. And to your second question, yes, that is a primary function of the priestesses. To insert ice crystals into the faces of qualifying toddlers. Their moonstone shockers are there to subdue any mother who might complain.”

Lynx choked back a gag. “You know what’s the best thing that could happen to this empire, Axel?”

“Let me guess . . . the Dmitri Curse comes true, and you and your son kick all our arses to hell?”

“That day can’t come soon enough.” Lynx stood and stalked to the door. “Thank you. It has been a most informative evening. And, as for your offer to be my lover . . . never in a million years.” She opened the door and waved imperiously for him to leave.

With no sign of offense, Axel laughed as he gathered his things together. When he reached the door, he slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her as if she had been his forever—and would be for an eternity to come.

“You cocky Avanov,” Lynx gasped, pulling away from him.

He released her, laughing. “That’s just the start, my Lynxie.”

27

Once clear of Lynx and the ballroom, Lukan tore through the gardens until he reached a side door into the palace. Thanks to the ball, few people traversed the passages and hallways tonight. This route led him to another of his favorite hiding places—his observatory in one of the turrets.

He took the narrow, winding stairs at a rush, arriving at a heavy wooden door at the top. He pressed a knot in the wood, and a tiny reader scanned his thumb. The door opened and then closed behind him. His massive telescope, centered in the expansive space, gleamed in the moonlight. Unable to risk electric lights in this domed observatory, the only other illumination came from candles on sticks he had to light himself; an added benefit was freedom from Felix’s cameras.

Hands pressed to his knees, Lukan paused to slow his galloping heart. Then, he stood and kicked the wall with his boot. It dislodged a chunk of plaster. He kicked it again and again. His jaw still ached from Lynx’s punch and would probably be bruised in the morning. A sign shouting his humiliation to the whole palace. He pulled up short as his toes began to ache, too.

Didn’t she realize the honor it was to marry him? He was heir to the most powerful empire the world had ever known.

But then, he reminded himself, Lynx was a Norin, perhaps the woman destined to initiate the destruction of him and his empire. As much as he hated to admit it, her hostility added credence to his vision—and not the part where the lightning defeated her son.

What to do about it was the fateful question.

Would he survive his father’s rage if he rejected her? Or would that become moot if he married her, and she gave birth to a traitor?

His eyes rested on his telescope. Lynx’s angry words came back to him: A Norin will never worship a dragon.

Hands shaking, he rasped his flint, igniting a taper he used to light a candle. He picked up the holder and walked to a wall-mounted chart of the heavens, drawn in his careful script with ink mixed by his own hand. He had been plotting the constellations on that board for years. This map, an enigma to the few people he’d shown it to, spoke to him in the way charts depicting troop deployments probably did to Axel. Yet again, Lukan lamented that if he wanted his empire to flourish, it was maps of conquests that mattered.

His hand drifted to the dots representing Nicholas the Light-Bearer, the constellation blazoned on the flag Lynx’s son had unfurled in his vision. It stood to the west of the Dragon and, if his observations and arithmetic did not fail him, inched across the sky to replace that constellation in the northern point.

A disconcerting notion.

He sank down onto the floor and rested his head on his knees, desperate for all this to be over. All he wanted was to be free to marry whomever he wanted. Was that too much to ask?

But he knew that was never going to happen.

His stomach grumbled, and he remembered his plate of food, forgotten in the reception room. It wasn’t the first time in his life he’d become so engrossed in something he’d neglected a meal, although it was usually a book and not a girl that was to be blamed. He had a remedy on hand.

His steps echoed on the stone floor as he made his way to a small cupboard next to his desk. He pulled out a battered biscuit tin, stolen from the palace kitchens when he was a child. Once a week, he refilled it with his favorite treat—baked date and walnut balls. A strange combination, he admitted, but they were a reminder of how far across the climatic zones his empire stretched. The empire he longed to rule. He grabbed a handful, dumped them on top of the cupboard, and bent to stow the tin. When he looked up, the confectionary had vanished.

In their place sat a book, nearly as tall as his hand and as thin as one of his fingers.

He glanced around the room. The lock on the door remained untouched, and he was alone. Every hair on Lukan’s body stood. So who had put it there? A ghost? Someone like Thurban?

It had to be.

Small as the book was, it had an alluring cover, old blue leather with a portrait of an unknown man inlaid in the center. The colors had faded, but the image was still sharp.

Unable to resist the lure of new knowledge, he lifted it to the candlelight and saw elaborate calligraphy on the title page. The Illustrated Book of Chenaya. An exquisite gold and jewel-colored illumination decorated the parchment.

He swore as he read the subtitle: The Full History of The Dmitri Curse.

Breathless with shock, he did what he always did when he found a new book: flipped through the pages, scanned the text, picked up a word here, a sentence there.

Published in the year 20 Post Burning. His eyebrows rose. Lust and greed, he read, prompted Thurban to invade Norin. Nothing new there, so he turned the page. Beautiful Norin princesses will be sent to Chenaya as temptresses to see if Thurban’s posterity, the crown princes, can curb their lust. He winced at that, then rifled through another couple of pages. Not even the threat of a—

The book slammed shut, squashing his fingers. A hand, gleaming like mother-of-pearl, rested on the cover.

Lukan’s eyes widened as the hand grew an arm, then a torso and a neck, followed by a man’s head, with the same regal face depicted on the title page. Transfixed, he watched as the rest of the man’s wiry body, clad in a rich sapphire robe, emerged from the ether. He was of medium height, with short-cropped hair, the color of salt and pepper mingled. Intelligent, dark-brown eyes set in a hard, uncompromising face watched Lukan.

He couldn’t decide whether to run screaming from the room or stand his ground to learn more. The fact that his feet seemed to have melted into the floor decided matters. He was going nowhere.

The stranger spoke, his voice measured but firm. It was the same voice Lukan had heard during his vision. “It pleases me you wish to read the words of my cursing, Crown Prince.”

Skin crawling with a combination of fear and fascination, he stuttered, “Y-your cursing? Does that mean you’re . . . Dmitri?”

“Aye.” Dmitri extracted the book from Lukan’s hand and tucked it under his arm, all the while studying Lukan.

Mouth opening and closing in panic, Lukan eyed him back. Then, deciding this meeting would be better served if he were sitting, he lowered himself into a chair. He even propped his feet on the desk, feigning nonchalance in the hope of hiding his fearful trembling. “Can this day get any stranger?” When Dmitri didn’t reply, Lukan added, “So, you are a ghost?”

Lukan shook his head, marveling at how wrong Felix’s insubstantial holograms of the Dreaded were. Dmitri’s form—solid, radiating warmth—looked and felt nothing like a generated image. Felix had a lot to learn if this was a real resurrected person.

Dmitri frowned. “Don’t insult me. I am no fabrication.”

Lukan crossed his arms, hugging himself tight. Then, suspecting his body language conveyed more fear than confidence, he cocked his head toward the book. “I was reading that.”

His visitor opened the manuscript, holding up a page illustrated with a man identical in appearance to Lukan, even down to the diamond next to his eye and the black-and-silver clothing. He carried the now familiar sapphire-blue banner, spangled with golden stars.

“The old Norin flag,” Dmitri said. “Nicholas the Light-Bearer was their symbol of knowledge and freedom. It flew on the pinnacle of every Norin university before the invasion. Inspiring, isn’t it?”

Lukan swallowed hard. It was beautiful. It didn’t take much imagination to plot the lines between the stars to see Nicholas’s powerful body or the flaming torch he held.

Dmitri pointed to a comet sweeping into the sky behind the man’s head. “The Pathfinder. You have heard of it?”

Lukan nodded. He had worked out that the comet always appeared some years before Nicholas the Light-Bearer took the northern point of the skies.

“Good. Then you will know when you see it that my curse is on the brink of being fulfilled.”

Lukan swallowed again. Secretly thrilled to be immortalized, he asked, “Why’s my image in a book written almost four hundred years ago?”

“You would have to read it to find the answer. My followers wrote this after my brother executed me. It’s the truest record in existence of my curse.”

Lukan licked his lips—they were desert dry—and kept his eyes fixed on the picture. “It seems like my day for seeing myself in strange places. I saw a—a hologram, or I think that is what it was, about—”

“Aye, you heard my voice. Not hard to fathom that I showed you the vision,” Dmitri interrupted. “And trust me, it was as real as we, standing here now.” Dmitri leaned forward. His breath brushed Lukan’s face, adding veracity to the man’s words. He fixed Lukan with a penetrating stare. “Your uncle manipulates you all with his diabolical creations, but it is up to you to decide what is real or programmed.”

Lukan chewed his lip, still unable to believe he was actually having this conversation. It seemed the words he’d read in Maksim’s journal were indeed true. The dead still walked and talked. “So, if you showed me the vision, why do I hear Thurban’s voice in my head?”

Dmitri took a moment to reply. “Crown Prince, you support Felix’s efforts to create a world where truth is a lie and lies are the truth. So, what are your thoughts on all that deception?”

“I always thought I knew my views, but now . . . it’s all so confusing.” Lukan probed the buttons on his waistcoat, deriving comfort from the familiar silver knobs.

“Aye, that it is. You understand better than most what happens in your uncle’s lair and in his secret laboratories and factories. Consider your future subjects’ terror when the Dreaded torment them. Some may say the voices in your head are fair payback for what you have permitted Felix to do to others.”

Lukan’s skin prickled, but he didn’t want to acknowledge what torture their technology must be to the unlearned. Having borne Thurban’s voice in his head, he had some inkling of how they felt. “How am I supposed to stop my uncle? My father gave him his mandate. I have no control over what happens in the lair, or elsewhere.”

Dmitri eyed him, making Lukan even more uncomfortable.

Lukan changed the subject. “Your vision showed two outcomes. I am interested in the part where the lightning destroys Lynx’s son. Is it possible she won’t create the traitor who overthrows my empire?”

“‘Traitor’? That’s such a pejorative word.” Dmitri gestured to a chair leaning against the wall. “Mind if I sit?”

“Surprised you even asked.”

“I will always ask, Crown Prince. Human choice is inviolate. I was born, lived, and died to guard its sanctity.”

Dmitri flicked a finger, and the chair slid across the floor, stopping next to Lukan. He tried to hide his astonishment, but still his mouth gaped. Dmitri sat but didn’t relinquish the book.

“To answer your question, Crown Prince, you appear in the record because you are mentioned in my curse—in its antidote, to be more precise.”

Delight at being singled out trilled through Lukan. At last, someone recognized his worth. Then, it struck him that other crown princes could have a mention. It doused his excitement. “What makes me so special?”

“I was inspired to utter three names in my cursing: yours, Lynx’s, and Nicholas’s.”

Lukan’s first thought was that he was talking about the constellation known as Nicholas the Light-Bearer. Then another thought struck. Could Nicholas be the name of his and Lynx’s son—if they ever got so far as to have him? So tantalized by that tidbit, his fingers itched to snatch the book away so he could read it himself.

Dmitri pulled the tome closer to his chest.

This impasse wasn’t helping, so Lukan asked, “Why me?”

“Your love of learning—not for power’s sake, but for the thrill of knowing—sets you apart from every Avanov ever born, myself included.” Dmitri shook his head ruefully. “I was a terrible scholar in my day. Playing truant with Thurban was far more appealing than attending my lessons.”

As impossible as it was to imagine this man of legend as a naughty boy following his brother into mischief, Dmitri suddenly seemed more relatable.

It prompted Lukan to say, “That’s why I didn’t go into the military. I thought it a waste of time when I wanted to do more productive things.”

He didn’t add the other reason—the major one—was that he refused to train next to Axel. He didn’t need the public confirmation that his cousin was a better soldier than he. Now it was just a matter of speculation. Not that it mattered to his father. In the old man’s mind, Axel would always be the hero and Lukan the failure.

“How did you know about me—and Lynx—four hundred years before my birth?”

“Like mine, your spirit is immortal. It existed before your birth and will exist after you die.” Face expressionless, Dmitri added, “We knew each other before either of our births.”

Lukan snorted his disbelief even as the truth in the seer’s words resonated in his chest.

“Regardless of your father’s view, you’re no failure, Lukan. But now it’s time to take your rebellious streak to its logical conclusion.”

Sweat prickled on the back of Lukan’s neck. “That sounds—seditious.”

“Aye.”

28

Lukan waited for something more, an explanation perhaps of what Dmitri meant by ‘sedition.’ Dmitri merely eyed him with a penetrating gaze.

Finally, Lukan said, “I’ve just told you, I’m not a soldier.”

“It is not a soldier the world needs. This conflict started with a war for knowledge. Let knowledge end it.”

“Riddles were never my thing.” Lukan pointed at the book in Dmitri’s arms. “Why don’t you leave that with me? Once I’ve read it, I’ll know what I need to do.”

“Crown Prince, this book cannot be stolen or taken by force.” Dmitri patted the leather the way a mother would soothe a baby’s back. “You have to earn the right to read about your part in the history waiting to unfold.”

“And how would I do that?” Lukan asked warily.

Dmitri raised his hand and gestured to the shelves of tomes around them. “You have a great library here in your observatory and in the palace archive, filled with thousands of books that belong to the world. But only you, your immediate family, and your handpicked scientists are able to read them.”

Lukan shrugged dismissively, wishing he knew where Dmitri was going with all this. “Most people have no interest in reading. You said it yourself—even you, the great Dmitri, chose fun over lessons.”

Dmitri looked at Lukan through hooded eyes. “Hidden in the far reaches of your empire are scholars and scientists, held against their will and forced to work on nightmarish projects designed to entrench your rule for another four hundred years.”

Lukan tried for another dismissive shrug, but this one was harder to justify. “How else can one be expected to keep an empire this size from falling apart?”

“So you admit it is not through choice that your subjects wear the Avanov yoke?”

Lukan shifted in his seat, not wanting to think about the thousands of people imprisoned in Zakar satrapy —scientists, miners, factory hands—who created the empire’s technological marvels. “What has any of this got to do with me reading a book?”

“Everything.” Dmitri tapped the book again. “If you wish to discover the truths about yourself contained herein, then you must first share the knowledge in your archives and in your secret laboratories with the rest of mankind.”

Lukan’s eyes bulged as if Dmitri were insane. “If I did that, everyone would have the weapons and advantages we have. It would be like before the Burning. We’d lose the empire.”

“And would that be so bad?”

Lukan snorted his derision. “You’re as crazy as my father. Why should I listen to you? I don’t even know what you are.”

Dmitri continued as if Lukan hadn’t spoken. “Since your earliest childhood, you have lived in fear of your father’s fists and ridicule, but even amid all your anguish and hate, you have always had hope—hope that one day he will die, and you will be free.”

Dmitri would speak openly of that humiliation? Lukan’s whole body burned. He lashed out a wild punch, catching Dmitri on his solid chest.

Without shifting an inch, Dmitri grabbed Lukan’s hand and pressed it to his heart. “Enough with the violence, Crown Prince. It is not in your nature, and it does not serve you.”

Feeling like a complete idiot, Lukan pulled his hand away. “I don’t discuss my father’s abuse with strangers.”

“I am afraid that, tonight, there is no subject we will not discuss.”

Lukan eyed the door, considering leaving. But there was too much that he didn’t understand about this apparition to flee just yet.

“What hope is there for your countrymen?” Dmitri asked. “For four hundred years, Chenayans have lived with the cruelest abuse, without recourse to mercy or justice. When your father dies, what then, Lukan? Must they endure another four hundred years of despair?”

Lukan squirmed, hating that Dmitri made perfect sense. But all the suffering in the world was not enough to outweigh Lukan’s longing to rule, to prove that he was not the weakling his father always claimed him to be. He hedged. “What’s in it for me, if I throw open my archives and give away the empire?”

“The chance to go down in history, not just as one more Avanov dictator but as the man who brought freedom to the world. The man Dmitri the Seer prophesied about.”

Lukan could be the man prophesied about? Was it possible? Was that how the curse worked? Lukan had no answers, but to be known as a hero, not a failure, carried an enormous appeal. He licked his lips, wishing it could be true. He had to know more. “Then what about Lynx? How does she fit into all this?”

Dmitri took a moment to steeple his fingers. “Lynx stands at a crossroads. The direction she takes depends entirely on you. If you do as I ask and share your precious books, she will be free of the imperative of my curse. It will enable her to follow a path of her own choosing, unfettered by duty—and oaths. If her father knew her true circumstances here, he, too, would release her from all other obligations.”

Lukan had no idea what Dmitri was talking about with his mention of oaths. Still, as much as it grated, he was wise enough to surmise that Lynx would never willingly give herself to him, no matter how much he wooed her. He wondered if her path would take her back to Norin, or would the allure of his cousin be enough to keep her in Cian?

To forever taunt me.

Dmitri’s voice pulled him back to the present.

“Crown Prince, if, on the other hand, you choose to continue as an Avanov emperor, you will force Lynx onto the path of destruction I prophesied of, in which your life is forfeit.” Dmitri’s voice firmed. “I know it seems unfair, but either way, Chenaya and the empire will be free. How that happens is up to you. Will you go down in history as the hero who changed the world, or will that honor belong to your son?”

Any doubts Lukan had about Dmitri being real vanished. Not even Felix would create a scene so horrifying or so seditious. Was this why generations of crown princes and emperors had suffered the Norin to live? Dmitri haunting them with guilt and ruinous consequences?

“You bastard. This is perfect blackmail!” Lukan stood and began to pace. “Either way, I lose. How can you say you support human choice when you’ve painted me into this corner?”

“What did you want, Lukan? A smorgasbord of options? You still have choice, with consequences. Be thankful. It is more than most of your subjects can claim.”

Lukan took a deep breath. “Okay, if I believe you, then let’s look at this logically—”

“Good idea,” Dmitri interrupted. “The logical place to start is with the high-born. You can begin by revealing to them that their precious emeralds and sapphires are monitoring devices. Their anger will be distraction enough for you to breach Felix’s lair. Once you deactivate the guardsmen’s gemstones, the empire will begin to crumble.”

All Lukan could see was chaos and death—his. “The only distraction will be the high-born impaling me on a stake for being an Avanov. I might as well hand the keys to the armory over to Lynx and the rest of the Norin.”

Dmitri frowned with disapproval. “Dismantling this empire was never going to be easy, but you do not have to do it alone. Commit yourself to the course, and I will help you. Legions of the dead will rally to your side. Not even your father, with all his armies, will stay our hands.”

Lukan clicked his tongue, not ready to believe in ghostly armies. As it was, he was struggling to come to terms with a ghostly Dmitri who expected him to throw away his empire. “And what about Felix?”

“You will find out soon enough, if you have the courage to act.”

Lukan couldn’t resist a wry smile. “I guess it doesn’t take much imagination to figure it out.”

His lackluster tone prompted Dmitri to say, “As I’ve already said, I knew you long before you came into mortality. Then, you had the courage to do the right thing for your people. It was why you were chosen for the task.” Dmitri’s voice took on a quiet urgency. “Even now, Nicholas waits in the wings. Unless you follow the course I offer you, his birth is unavoidable. The day you consummate your marriage, he will be conceived, and there is nothing you can do to stop it.” Dmitri pointed to the constellation on Lukan’s map. “It was always intended the empire would end when he appeared.”

Lukan shook his head. Crazy, all of it. If anyone knew he was having this discussion, they would have him committed. He looked at Dmitri with a mix of contempt and disbelief. “Now that I know this, do you really think I would be stupid enough to consummate my marriage?”

“Aye. Lust will do that for you.”

Lukan didn’t want to acknowledge his raging need for Lynx. “You keep saying we knew each other before I was born. Apart from that being crazy, why don’t I remember it?”

Dmitri held up the book. “If you want to know more about your past and your destiny, destroy your empire.” He leaned in close. “I know you can do this, Lukan. Don’t fail us all.”

Lukan wished he shared Dmitri’s confidence, but even if he believed, there was more required here than raw courage. For years, his archives had been his refuge when living with his father and Axel became unbearable. It was his prize—for all he had endured. He knew every book, had caressed every cover, had memorized swaths of text that spoke to his heart. How could he give it up? It would be easier to let Axel have Lynx than to lose possession of that treasure.

He stood, towering over Dmitri. “I haven’t lived with my father’s brutality and in Axel’s shadow for all these years only to throw away my inheritance now.”

“I understand the lures that come with mortality.” Another rueful smile flitted across Dmitri’s face. “I was mortal once, too, and had to make hard choices. My brother offered me the world if I would follow him in conquest. But at what cost? Keeping mankind in ignorance? Destroying my soul? It was too high a price. Thurban flayed me for my betrayal.” Dmitri reached out a gleaming hand and clasped Lukan’s arm with a firm grip.

Lukan could feel warmth radiating from the dead seer’s skin as if he were alive.

“But what of it? It was a moment in eternity. And, as you see, I live on.” Dmitri flipped the book open to a gruesome image of a man with half the skin ripped from his body.

Even though the face was disfigured beyond recognition, Lukan guessed it was Dmitri. So graphic was the illustration, he could almost see Dmitri’s exposed muscles quivering with agony. Lukan grimaced in horror.

Seemingly undeterred, Dmitri said, “I went willingly to my execution. Days before it happened, I saw a vision of my death. I knew the pain would be unbearable, but still, I allowed my brother to capture me so others could escape to write this record. By dying a martyr, I kept the memory of my curse alive.” He tapped the book, and his smile reminded Lukan of a salesman selling snake oil. “You can read about it here.”

Lukan locked his eyes on Dmitri in challenge. “Only if you hand it over.”

“Aye. But now it’s your turn to make the tough choice. Will you give up your archives, your privileges, your dreams of ruling the world, for the sake of your people? Or will you be like your forebears, tightening the screws on the empire as more wondrous scientific discoveries come to light?”

Lukan shook his head. It was late, and he was hungry and far too tired to be making this decision. “Right now, all I want is to sleep.”

Dmitri snapped the book closed. “Then I congratulate you on your decision to marry Lynx. I wish I could pronounce a blessing of happiness on your head, but that is not possible. Lynx will not only torment you all the days of your life with her disdain, her eroticism, and her unquenchable love for your cousin, but she will give you a son who will destroy you.”

“What?” Lukan rasped, hating to hear that Lynx loved Axel. “How can my need of a good night’s sleep lead to my marriage with Lynx?”

“Doing nothing is not a choice, Lukan. It’s a prevarication that will lead you to the altar.” Dmitri rose. His body shimmered, making Lukan think he was about to vanish.

“Wait!” Lukan clawed across the space dividing them, rapacious eyes glued to the book. “We haven’t finished speaking. I—I have other questions before I can make up my mind.”

The light radiating from Dmitri’s body softened.

“What will happen to that book?” Lukan asked.

“Two choices face you,” Dmitri said in clipped tones. “Announce to the high-born that their gemstones are a fraud, or marry Lynx. Choose the first option, and the book, together with my support, will be yours. The second option will result in me giving my support, and the book, to your opponents. It will tell them all they need to know to destroy you and your empire.”

Lukan blew out a slow breath, ran his hands over his face, and rubbed his burning eyes. Regardless of what Dmitri said, he was in no state to make these decisions now. Or perhaps ever.

Could he give up his empire for millions of nameless people he cared nothing about? And then what would he do? Hand over rule to the people, the uneducated masses who, apart from the high-born, lived in nothing more than hovels, caves, and tents?

And Lynx? What about her? Despite all logic, he longed for her with a lust that burned in every cell in his body. And was he really accepting that all this was true?

He was. It all seemed irrefutable.

“You manipulative bastard,” Lukan murmured under his breath.

Dmitri showed no sign of offense.

Lukan sighed and looked at his watch. It was long past three in the morning. “My marriage takes place tomorrow. Please, give me until then to decide what to do about you.”

“If you like making things harder for yourself, then yes, I suppose you can wait. But it is not the wisest course, Crown Prince. It is no accident Lynx is beautiful. She is your personal temptress. Like your precious archives, she, too, has been designed to drive you crazy with lust. Being with her, knowing you could bed her, will only cloud your judgment.”

“From the moment I saw her, I’ve wanted her,” Lukan admitted, more to himself than to Dmitri. “Even if she is a Norin rebel.”

“Choose badly, and your Norin rebel will become a symbol of hope to all the conquered,” Dmitri warned. “People everywhere will look to her as an example of what can be achieved if one never gives up the fight.”

Lukan shook his head in bemusement. “And she’s here to marry me. When my father dies, she’ll be empress. It’s crazy.”

“Aye.” Dmitri drilled Lukan with a stern look. “But it’s in your power to undo that craziness. Make your announcement to the high-born, and Lynx will turn from an enemy into an ally. She will help you dismantle the empire. In time, you will accept that she can never be yours, and you will become friends.”

“Friends?” Lukan asked bitterly. “She’s supposed to belong to me.”

Dmitri exhaled a long-suffering sigh. “I’ve already told you, her heart belongs to Axel. It always has, long before any of you were even born. She will never be yours.”

“Then why am I supposed to marry her?” Lukan shouted. It wasn’t his fault Thurban had invaded Norin and murdered Dmitri. Why was he being made to pay for it?

“You saw in my book. She’s a test to see if you can overcome your lust. By letting her choose Axel over you, you will prove that you are not just a learned man but an intelligent one, too. A man worthy to change the world.” Dmitri paused. “Fail, and Lynx will herald your destruction.”

Lukan rubbed bloodshot eyes. “There’s something I don’t get. What stops me from murdering her son? That will stop the curse.”

The light gleaming around Dmitri surged. “Your conscience, I would hope, Lukan. But if that fails you, then know this: the success of your rule would depend on the talents of your cousin, General Axel Avanov. Marry Lynx, and you lose Axel. Your rule will be weak. That weakness will drive you to cruelties you cannot now even begin to envisage.” Dmitri held open the page depicting the execution. “But, if in your bloodlust, you murder your son, born or unborn, Axel will flay you as Thurban flayed me. Remember, your cousin has loved Lynx for as long as she has loved him.” Dmitri pursed his lips and then added, “And before you think to murder your cousin, realize that Axel’s role in my curse makes his life inviolate, too.”

With gruesome fixation, Lukan studied the painting. Then he blanched. Heaped next to the skinned man lay a pile of familiar black and silver clothing.

How had he not noticed it before? He was seeing his own death. His stomach churned. Was everything else true, too? Moments from throwing up, he had to get rid of Dmitri. With as much firmness as he could muster, he said. “I—I will think on your words.”

The light glowing around Dmitri constricted, drawing into his core. The moment the glow extinguished, the seer disappeared, leaving nothing but a rustle of air in his wake.

29

Count Felix Avanov was not a trusting man. Especially not when words like challenge and blackmail were bandied about. Even more so when they came from Axel’s lips. Felix might no longer be an official heir to the throne—thanks to that bastard Mott—but he was the most feared Lord of the Household in the history of the empire. That accolade hadn’t been won by allowing himself to be bettered by a twenty-four-year-old. If Axel wanted to sing the blackmail tune, he would find a worthy partner in his father—one always a few steps ahead in the dance.

Felix ignored the phlegmy rattle in his chest and picked up his pace as he reached the stairs to Axel’s wing of the palace. He needed to confront his son before he left his apartment to join the trickle of high-born heading for a post-ball breakfast.

Felix sighed, a perfect blend of exasperation and pride.

Axel was everything he wished for in a son—except for one critical flaw. His son had somehow managed to reach maturity without growing a single malevolent bone in his body. He was willful and arrogant, definitely, but vicious? No.

And that was a problem.

Too often, his son allowed that great human weakness, his conscience, to dull the killing edge that should govern Avanov relationships with their subjects. Now that conscience seemed to cover the crimes of seditious ones, too, like Princess Lynx of Norin. It was why Felix always kept Axel under scrutiny, so he could guide his boy.

Axel didn’t take guidance well.

After learning of Axel’s visit to Lynx’s bedchamber, things would be different. Felix pursed his lips to stop them quivering with anger. Today, his son would both listen and obey.

He reached Axel’s apartment and, without knocking, threw open the door. It crashed against the wall and bounced back, almost hitting him in the face. He sidestepped and glared at Axel. After all that, he needn’t have bothered hurrying because Axel was still in bed.

Felix strode across the room and ripped the covers off Axel. “Get up!”

Axel rolled over, ignoring him.

It further incensed Felix. “Don’t play dumb with me. I know you’re awake.”

“It’s not even day,” Axel grunted, pulling the covers back over his head.

“If you’re so tired, then perhaps you should have gone to bed when the ball ended instead of sitting up all night in Lynx’s apartment.”

Felix smiled as Axel jerked upright.

But all self-satisfaction vanished when Axel drawled, “It wasn’t all night—it was half the night. I spent the rest of the time with Malika.” Unconcerned, Axel folded his arms behind his head and leaned back against the headboard.

“You dare quote the same line to me you used on Lynx!”

“You must be worried about our Norin princess if you’ve added more cameras to her bedchamber, apart from the one I disconnected.” Axel paused. “Or do you like getting off watching her dress?”

The blood rushed from Felix’s face. Axel certainly knew how to try his patience. “That doesn’t warrant an answer.”

Axel stretched his right arm until his shoulder clicked. Then, he did the left. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. She is magnificent.” He swung his legs out of bed, moving with catlike grace Felix could only dream of.

Felix gripped Axel’s arms. “No. You will listen.”

Axel stopped, eyebrows raised.

“How could you show that bitch our secrets? And then tell her about the curse? You’ve made her into a Dmitri sympathizer!”

“‘Sympathizer’? Don’t you mean she could be the mother of the man who destroys the empire? Why don’t you say what you really think, Father?”

Despite Felix’s gasp of disapproval, Axel stepped around him and continued across the room. Felix lumbered forward to stop him as his son’s hand reached the wardrobe door.

Axel turned to face him. “I warned you. Allow me to go to Treven, or I will play havoc with Lynx. When I’m finished with her, you won’t have a secret left.”

Felix always prized himself on his self-control, but rage made him vibrate like a tuning fork. Fighting for calm, he said, “So you knew I would be listening?”

Axel gave one of his infuriating shrugs. “No, but in retrospect, I should have anticipated it. Who planted the new devices?”

“Morass. Who else?”

Axel’s scoff didn’t surprise Felix. Morass was not one of Axel’s favorite guardsmen for all the reasons Felix found the obsequious, greedy man useful. Last night, after watching Lynx and Axel dance, Felix had sent Morass scuttling to her room to hide the cameras.

Just as well, given what Felix had seen on waking this morning.

If someone told him Axel—Axel!—would be guilty of disengaging palace cameras, he would never have believed it. Felix always considered his son too ambitious to risk the security of the empire. He opened his mouth to renew his attack and then closed it again in disbelief.

Axel stood in front of his narrow closet. The rest of the Avanov family had dressing rooms—but Axel owned only a small closet of clothes he had worn for years. He flicked through his trousers as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Not the reaction Felix expected.

The images of Axel cajoling Lynx into a kiss last night had been convincing. After decades of interrogating people, Felix recognized truth when he saw it. Also, if Axel cared for her, then it made sense that he edited out the damning train footage after it had been translated. And damning it was: From Axel’s own lips, Felix heard that Bear had told the bitch he’d help her spy.

Not that it had helped the emissary.

Guardsmen had already called on Bear’s house this morning to arrest him. Right now, Bear faced his executioner.

But none of this explained why Axel took the news of this additional monitoring so casually.

Felix shook his head to clear his thoughts. “I don’t understand you, Axel. If you hadn’t told her about the ice crystal, you could have sullied her. Instead you soured her with tales of cruelty. Care to explain?”

Axel’s smile reminded Felix of a sharpened blade. “Funny, you can scrutinize every aspect of our lives, but you can’t read our thoughts. That must be very frustrating for you, Father.”

“Wrong, Axel. My latest generation of ice crystals can read minds. I call it the Final Word in Human Surveillance.” In fact, some months ago, Felix had visited Lukan’s and Mott’s bed chambers, injecting the tiny chips into their necks as they slept. His devices gave him unparalleled insight into his adversaries. “Don’t force me to use one on you.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Axel’s eyes betrayed his concern, but he looked away, focusing on his clothes instead.

“Don’t try me.” Not that he would ever invade his son, but it didn’t hurt for Axel to think he might, especially now that Axel was being so trying. The boy was going through a phase, one that would pass if Felix just kept his head and didn’t lose his temper.

Axel’s face was as hard as any ice crystal. “I wonder how Lukan and Mott would react if someone told them it was your manipulation creating Thurban’s voice in their heads?”

Felix sucked in a breath. “I told you that in the strictest of confidence. Don’t even think of trying to blackmail me with that information.”

“Why not, when you threaten me with your invasive inventions?”

“You, of all people, should like to see Mott punished.”

Too often, when his son had been a lad, his hateful brother had exploited his rank and Felix’s physical weakness to beat Axel senseless. Felix had never forgiven his brother for that. If he could have murdered Mott, he would have. But with his hatred of Mott, the Fifteen would consider him a prime suspect. Not even he could evade their justice.

“Mad Mott is a paranoid megalomaniac, as you well know,” Felix said, “and the only way to get him to do what serves me—us—is to manipulate him with the voices. Lukan, too. It’s Thurban’s voice in their heads, driving them crazy, that will ultimately put you on the throne.”

“And Tao? You better not have invaded him.” Axel’s voice wavered, a rare sign of weakness.

Felix knew at once that he had been right to exclude Tao from this experiment. Axel would never have forgiven him for bugging his precious cousin.

“Tao, patron of the low-born, is no threat to us. You know that as well as I do. He has no desire to rule and will gladly step down for you.” It was a matter of much mirth amongst the Fifteen that Tao used his resources to fund a dozen or more low-born soup kitchens in Cian.

Some of the tension drained from Axel’s eyes.

Felix pulled a pair of military leathers off a hanger and thrust them at Axel. “Now, if you don’t want me prying in your head, explain to me why you are intent on destroying all my plans for you.”

“I’m off-duty until the wedding.” Axel pushed the offering away and extracted a pair of faded black trousers. He pulled them on with annoying slowness.

“I’m waiting.”

“My motivations are clear. Send me to Treven, and I’ll be a good boy and never meddle with your cameras again.”

If those were Axel’s motives, they weren’t worth hearing.

“Have you considered what will happen to you if Mott finds out you were in Lynx’s room? He’s already panicking about you and Lynx.”

His son picked out a soft blue cotton shirt, also faded from too many washes, and pulled it over his head.

“He’s never going to find out, is he, Father?” Axel tucked the shirttail into his trousers. “You’ll never risk either Mott or Lukan discovering that I canoodled with Lynx. It’s what makes my scheme so—workable.”

Forcing a patience he didn’t feel, Felix said, “Don’t be so sure of yourself. You may find this arrogance to be your undoing.”

“Unlikely.” Axel dug into his closet for a pair of boots. He pulled out a pair, worn at the heels, and sank down onto a chair to pull them on. “You all play so perfectly into my hand. You’re obsessed with hiding things from Mott. He’s convinced everyone will do what he wants, when he wants, because he’s emperor, and Lukan is an idiot.” Dressed, he jumped to his feet.

Felix shook his head in dismay. When his son was off-duty, he dressed like a low-born. It was only the ruby that set him apart as an heir to the throne.

“The only one I need to watch out for is Lynx.” Axel raked his fingers through his dark hair as if they were a comb. “She’s the one I care most about, and I would not thank you if you forced me into destroying my relationship with her.” Axel’s smile now reminded Felix of an executioner’s axe, ugly and lethal. “But before I allow that to happen, I will inform Lukan and Mott about the voices. I’m sure Lukan will be thrilled to learn you planted Maksim’s journal in the archive to con him into believing Thurban’s voice in his head is real.”

Axel pushed past Felix and headed for the bathroom, calling over his shoulder, “Unless you want to watch me brush my teeth, this meeting is over.”

Anger flared through Felix, but he controlled it. He had tried reasoning with Axel, but that hadn’t worked. Now it was time to ramp up his game. He straightened his back. “Wrong again, Axel. Nothing is ever over until I say it is.”

With more questions than answers buzzing in his head, Felix made his way back to his lair. Scowling, he unlocked the door and stepped inside his office—and shivered.

The room was cold.

It shouldn’t have been; hidden ducts spewed in hot air both day and night. Someone must have been in here to turn off his heating. That was troubling.

Felix fumbled for the heater’s on-button, concealed behind an oil painting of him and Mott while he scanned the room. His informa wasn’t where he’d left it, and his chair angled toward the wall. He was always meticulous about tucking it away under his desk before leaving the room. Cursing, he moved over to investigate, then stopped as the chair spun to face him.

His breath caught.

Not possible! I locked the door.

Anger replaced his surprise. “You have programmed your thumb onto my office door! How dare you?”

“I am emperor, and there is no door on the planet I cannot enter if I so choose.” Mott, dressed in a full military uniform, waved a dagger in the air, gesturing to the air vents. “I turned that damn thing off, too, because it’s like an oven in here.”

“I like it like that,” Felix snapped, eyeing Mott, waiting for him to reveal the purpose of this unscheduled—and most unwanted—visit.

Mott leaned back in the chair and clunked his boots onto Felix’s treasured antique rosewood desk, making him wince. Then Mott drawled, “So Lynx is not only beautiful, but she’s quite the kisser, too, it would seem.”

30

Desk forgotten, Felix clutched his heart at the emperor’s pronouncement. What good was all his surveillance equipment if Mott could sneak up on him like this?

“Hmm,” Mott said. “And just when did you intend to tell me about Axel’s indiscretion?”

Felix sank into the chair opposite his brother, cursing Morass, the only person who could have reported this terrible news to Mott. “We both know you aren’t an early riser. I would have told you when you decided to grace us with your presence. That’s usually around lunchtime, isn’t it?”

“Careful, little brother.” Mott pointed the dagger straight at Felix’s heart.

Felix pulled in a calming breath. “I understand the problem, Mott. Trust me, I do. And I’m handling Axel. But it’s the Norin bitch who’s the real danger—”

“Chenna?” Mott interrupted. “Where do you keep it?”

Felix raised his pale eyebrows. “Chenna? Now? It’s not even nine o’clock.”

Mott slammed the dagger deep into Felix’s desk, shooting a crack through the wood. Felix scrambled to his feet before his brother inflicted any more damage and staggered to a wall cabinet. He pulled out a crystal decanter and a glass.

“Two more glasses,” Mott commanded. “Count Raklus is joining us.”

“If you’re offering chenna, I’ll take a glass.” The door closed behind Raklus, and he collapsed into a chair next to Felix. His usually florid face was pale and pasty, as if sleep had been scarce.

Shocked anyone wanted chenna before breakfast, Felix didn’t even comment that Mott had keyed his friend’s thumb to open his door. His brother was punishing him for Axel’s infraction with Lynx.

Anxious to preserve the remains of his priceless desk, Felix spread four coasters on the glossy surface before placing the decanter and glasses on each one. Lips pursed, he poured the chenna and watched as both Mott and Raklus snatched for their drinks. They tossed the fiery alcohol back and thumped their glasses down in front of him expectantly, as if he were nothing more than a palace butler.

Felix ignored the gesture and sat down next to Raklus. “Okay, what the hell is going on?”

Mott yanked the dagger from the desk and waved it at Raklus. “Come now, Raklus, my Lord of the Conquest, tell Felix what happened last night while we celebrated Lukan’s betrothal.”

Eyelids fluttering over deep-set eyes, Raklus turned to Felix. “Troops from Lapis have joined Chad in Treven.”

Felix looked at him blankly.

“Don’t be so gormless!” Mott shouted. “It’s not as if you don’t know what Lapis is.”

“I know very well what Lapis is,” Felix said icily. The existence of the Free Nations had always irked Felix. Lapis, with its small printing presses and markets selling those books, annoyed him most of all. “What I cannot surmise is why King Jerawin would risk joining forces with our enemies. Does the man have a death wish?”

“My brother has asked you a question,” Mott said, spewing his ire at Raklus. “Answer him.”

Raklus helped himself to another glass of chenna before mumbling, “He believes Treven stands a chance of beating us in the war.”

“Yes!” Mott’s arm sent Raklus’s chenna glass flying. “And why would he think that, Raklus? Is it because you’re the most useless Lord of the Conquest in the history of the empire?”

Raklus’s face tuned puce. “That isn’t my fault, sire,” he stuttered. “I’ve done my very best to wage that war, but the noxious vapors, they—”

“Count Raklus,” Mott interrupted. “I pay you handsomely to counter things like noxious gas. Or aliens falling from the sky. Or monsters rising from the sea.” His brother punctuated each word by pounding his dagger onto Felix’s desk. “It’s your job to anticipate the impossible and then to defeat it.”

Raklus thumped his hands down onto the desk. “Sire, the wrong general is leading our troops in Treven. Azan may carry the title of Warlord, but he doesn’t know the first thing about waging war.”

Felix grimaced as Raklus shot him an apologetic look. Raklus was aware that Felix had prevented Axel from spearheading the invasion. Under the circumstances, Felix didn’t resent the betrayal. Knowing Mott, Raklus was fighting for his life here.

“Then kill Azan,” Mott yelled. “Why do I have to tell you this? And then send in the right general.” Mott sneered at Felix. “Ah, but that’s not possible, is it? Because the general we need is being hidden behind his father’s cloak here at the palace.” His brother’s dagger gouged a chunk of wood out of the desk.

“I take it you are referring to my son?” Felix said, trying to ignore the conflicted poundings of his panicked heart. He certainly didn’t want Axel going to Treven, but if his son replaced Azan, he would be the youngest Warlord in the history of the empire.

“Who else but Axel?” Mott’s hand drifted to the informa lying on the ravaged desk.

Without a doubt, his brother was blackmailing him.

It confused him. If Mott were planning to promote Axel, why show those damning images of his idiot son kissing that Norin bitch? Even though Raklus was his oldest friend, Felix could not bear to have Axel’s reputation sullied.

He spoke quickly. “Mott, I told you, I’m handling Axel. I’ve decided to put him on the Treven command team here at the palace. He will have access to the threat-boards and will be able to advise the commanders on the ground on a moment-by-moment basis on how best to manage the campaign. It will keep him so busy he won’t have time to think about other . . . distractions.”

“Not good enough.” Mott callously stroked his thumb against the informa.

The image of Axel kissing Lynx burst open before them.

Raklus gasped.

Blackmailed. Again. Felix couldn’t stop a vein from pulsing in his temple. There was now only one way out of this crisis Axel had plunged him into. Voice filled with resignation, Felix said, “Axel has earned his place back on the battlefield. I will instruct him to leave today.”

Raklus threw up his hands in obvious relief. “The Dragon has finally heard my prayer. I’m sorry, my friend,” he said to Felix, “but the needs of the empire must surely take precedence over individuals.” Raklus leaped up, bowed to Mott, and started for the door. “I’ll go and issue the orders for Azan’s arrest and execution. Then, I’ll promote Axel to Warlord.”

Mott grabbed Raklus’s cloak, pinning it to Felix’s desk with the dagger. “Sit. Stay. I said nothing about promoting Axel to Warlord.” His brother gave Felix a withering glare. “Yet.”

Knotted in his cloak, Raklus sat, his face a mixture of puzzlement and fear. Mott snatched the crystal decanter and slopped more chenna onto the desk than into his glass. Felix resisted the urge to mop it up with his handkerchief.

With infinite slowness, Mott sipped his drink while Felix—and Raklus—waited. To hide his fear and anticipation, Felix pulled out his handkerchief and made a show of blowing his nose.

Finally, his brother slapped his lips together and announced, “There must be no doubt in anyone’s mind that siding with our enemies leads to annihilation. To that end, Axel will remain here until after the wedding festival. Then, using his current rank, he will head a campaign to Lapis. Should he meet my battle objectives, I will promote him to far greater things than just Warlord.”

There was only one military rank higher than Warlord, and that was Lord of the Conquest—Raklus’s job.

Sweat broke out on Raklus’s forehead, and Felix wasn’t sure if he should commiserate with his friend or rejoice for Axel. This was certainly a strange prize for messing with the crown prince’s betrothed. Felix opened his mouth to speak just as the office door slid open again.

So much for all his security.

Once this meeting was over, he’d change those access codes, and no one—no one—he didn’t authorize would ever enter his lair again.

Framed in the doorway, Lukan stood, disheveled, still wearing his clothes from the ball.

31

Every muscle quivering with tension from maintaining his nonchalant façade, Axel brushed his teeth as his father sailed out of his apartment. It was only after the door crashed closed that he relaxed. Marginally.

His toothbrush dropped into the porcelain washbasin, and he thumped his forehead against the mirror.

He’d been an idiot not to anticipate the additional monitoring, especially considering his father knew Axel was wooing Lynx as blackmail leverage to force his deployment to Treven.

He grunted with grudging admiration as he spat tooth cleaning powder into the basin. His father knew him better than he liked. It would serve him well to remember that in future. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and ran the conversation with his father back through his head.

Even on closer inspection, Axel knew his reasoning had rung true. His father’s knowledge of his and Lynx’s tryst was of little consequence because information was only useful when one was prepared to act on it. His father wouldn’t do anything that threatened Axel’s standing with Mott.

That didn’t stop worry biting him. Thoughtful, he rubbed the stubble on his chin, barely conscious that he needed a shave. Although Axel had tied his father’s hands, Felix was unlikely to do nothing about Lynx’s knowledge of the Dmitri Curse. The risk would be too great for Chenaya, the Dragon, and the crown. His father would never tolerate an attack on any of them. Remembering that was rule number one when dealing with Felix Avanov. To him, anyone who threatened the establishment, royalty or not, was expendable.

That meant Lynx was in danger.

And it was his fault. That called for an urgent strategy to protect her.

Axel frowned at the mirror, barely conscious of his reflection.

How would telling help her?

It wouldn’t, he decided, so rushing to her apartment was not his priority. Securing her powerful allies was. Allies who would put themselves at risk to protect her if his father moved against her.

He knew just the men for the job.

Small in number, their ranks filled both the high-born and the guardsmen. With his total lack of regard for the “vermin” who served Chenaya, his father—and many of the Chenayan generals—didn’t know that a small percentage of guardsmen didn’t respond to the chips. Axel had never planned on passing that information on. Now, he had even less incentive.

Happily, Axel knew exactly to whom these clear-thinking guardsmen gravitated: the one high-born who effectively balanced loyalty to an Avanov and sympathy with the masses.

Axel reached into his pocket and pulled out his informa. Finger scrolling the air, he pulled up the screen showing the location of every high-born in the palace. A smile played on his lips; he’d been a child when he’d first memorized the serial number of this person’s ice crystal.

Stefan Zarot was in the great hall.

Axel dropped the informa back into his pocket and went to find his closest friend.

Stefan sat at his usual table, eating breakfast, but he was not alone. Malika perched opposite him, regaling him with some story, if her knife and fork waving in the air were anything to go by. If someone cut Mali’s hands off, she would be incapable of speaking. Stefan’s dark eyes were riveted on her as if she were the only other person in the world.

Axel smiled, genuinely pleased. He had done the right thing letting Stefan court Malika. In fact, he should have given his permission the day she started puberty. Although now nineteen, his sister had only had one serious boyfriend—the beau Axel despised. Axel was certain she had dated the creep to annoy him and his father into easing up on some of their protection. Axel had the good grace to admit that he was as bad as his father where his little sister was concerned.

Too bad he was about to break up their party.

Axel sauntered over to join them, sinking onto the bench next to Stefan. “Morning. Hope you both slept well.” He smiled at Mali and gave Stefan a mock hard look.

“Always.” As usual, Stefan’s face was expressionless. His voice dropped. “Need I ask about you?” The word Lynx hung heavy and unspoken in the air.

“Just what do you take me for?” Axel demanded, going for a lighthearted answer.

“Pff!” Malika snorted. “We watched you dancing with her. I swear, I felt the sparks flying off you both from across the room. Even the fire-eaters looked jealous.”

For once in his life, Axel was speechless.

It was time to move this conversation into gear. He leaned in close and whispered to Stefan, knowing that Malika would hear. It didn’t matter; he trusted Mali explicitly. “My father knows I went to her room last night.”

Stefan’s throat actually bobbed, as if he was having trouble swallowing his fried potato.

“Nothing like that happened,” Axel said grumpily. “But I did tell you that I was going to warn her about . . . stuff.”

Malika’s eyes threatened to explode straight out of her head. “You didn’t! Father will kill you!” She bit her lip and then sighed with relief. “No, he won’t. Like everything, you’ll get away with it. But Ax! How could you take such a risk?”

“He’s in love with her,” Stefan said dryly, as if that explained everything.

Axel brushed the comment away. “Fact is, he heard more than just a chat about stuff.” Axel flashed a self-deprecating smile. “I might have mentioned the reason behind the stuff.”

Now both Malika and Stefan looked at him as if he had . . . had turned into a Norin.

He understood their concern. Still, it irritated him. He knew exactly what they both felt about the monitoring and the ice crystals. Because of their friendship, Stefan was one of very few high-born who knew what his “emerald” was. He and Stefan had spent years trying to figure ways of getting Stefan’s ice crystal off the grid so he could live a more private life. A nonfatal solution had never presented itself.

Axel’s and Malika’s biggest arguments had not been about the high-borns’ ice crystals but rather about his commitment to a military that used mind-manipulated soldiers to control the rest of the population.

He suppressed his irritation. “Whatever my motives, it’s done.” He fixed Stefan with a penetrating stare. “I wouldn’t ask, but she needs protection. The kind only you can rustle up.”

Stefan held his gaze and then nodded. “Axel Avanov, you will be the death of me.”

“I’ll make a speech at your funeral.” Axel grinned, largely to cover up that he didn’t feel good about embroiling Stefan and his men in this disaster of his making.

Stefan grunted. “Leave it to me.” He glanced up at Malika and said to Axel, “You’ve earned this one.”

Axel squeezed his shoulder, letting Stefan know how much he appreciated the offer. And then he strolled out of the hall, keeping calm for the cameras as he made his way to Lynx’s room to warn her.

32

As soon as Lynx awoke, she dressed and went to Kestrel’s door. It was time to tell her sister everything. She cracked it open and peered into the room. “Kestrel? We need to speak.”

There was no reply.

She pushed the door open and stepped into the room. “Kestrel? Are you here?”

Silence.

Lynx bit her lip and then noticed the sun streaming into the room. Kestrel was probably down at breakfast. She considered joining her and decided against it. No conversation would be possible in the great hall. Troubled, she returned to her room.

She sought the offending candle sconce, covered with a blanket. When her father had asked her to discover what she could about the gemstones, neither of them could have imagined that technology like cameras and voice recorders existed.

It was time to tell him what she had learned.

She called to the bland-faced guardsman manning the entrance to the apartment. He was new, not one of her regular watchdogs, and she wondered when he’d arrived at her door. “Corporal, can I trouble you with request?”

He bowed. “Of course, Highness. How can I assist?”

“I won’t be attending breakfast. Please, can you arrange for food to be sent to me?”

He bowed. “It is done.”

Her father had said she was not to write to him, but it was apparent the Chenayans had no intention of giving her time alone with Uncle Bear. She briefly contemplated slipping out of the palace to call on him at his home but rejected the idea as fast as it formed. With their spy technology, they would catch her before she even reached the wolf enclosure.

The possible consequences made her shiver.

As it was, she anticipated punishment from Mott for thumping Lukan. Her bruised fist itched at the thought. Those consequences made it even more imperative that she communicate with her father, before she vanished into one of Mott’s dungeons.

She pulled out her writing parchment and quills to write a letter to her father. By the time her breakfast arrived, the paragraphs telling him how much she loved and missed him and her family were complete. Now, all that remained was to tell him about ice crystals and informas.

She pushed her dirty breakfast plate away and sighed at the almost impossible task. Even if she managed to explain this incomprehensible technology, she still needed to get the letter past Felix’s censorship. For that, she needed allies. People who didn’t support the Chenayan Dragon, people who would be willing to see it safely to Norin.

But where to find those like-minded souls was the big challenge.

Axel seemed an obvious choice, but any help from him came with strings attached. Tempting ones that made it unspeakably hard to fulfill her oath to marry Lukan. Best to avoid Axel.

Stefan Zarot had impressed her, but she didn’t know him well enough to trust him with something like this.

That left Tao. Was it possible Mott’s youngest son could be the man sought?

A knock sounded on the door. It had to be the summons from Mott about her and Lukan’s fight.

Fear, visceral and unexpected, chilled her to her core. Regardless of her best efforts to control herself, she trembled as she stood to meet her fate. Lynx opened her mouth to command the person to enter when the door flew open.

Axel stood on the threshold.

Despite rejecting him, her heart skipped a beat, both with relief at her reprieve and at the sight of him enticingly dressed in a casual faded blue shirt and black trousers. She cleared her throat. “What do you want? I told you last night that we’re done.”

He made no move to enter the room. “We’ve got to talk. Breakfast is as good a place as any.” His eyes focused meaningfully on the candle sconce.

She guessed her blanket didn’t stop the hateful thing recording their voices. The idea sent a shiver down her spine.

“I have a prior engagement.” She pointed to the parchment and quill, and her dirty breakfast plate on her dressing table. “My family will be anxious to know how Kestrel and I are doing.”

Axel frowned but still didn’t step into her room. “Your letter writing can wait. This is more important.”

Struck by the gravitas of his tone, Lynx frowned back, wondering what had affected his usual banter. She longed to ask, but she had already taken too many risks with Axel. As much as it hurt, it was time to sever her ties with him.

“Thanks, but no. If you don’t mind, close the door after you.” Lynx sat down, picked up her quill, dipped it into her ink pot, and made a show of writing on her parchment.

Axel swore. Loudly. She risked peeking at him from behind a curtain of hair.

He tapped the doorjamb with his fist, opened his mouth, seemed to change his mind, and then blurted out, “Suit yourself. But I think you’ll regret not coming with me.”

She raised her head to face him. “You are one arrogant bastard, Axel.”

He shook his head, then pointed to the sconce. “Remember, Princess, there are always plenty more where those came from. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” Without waiting for a reply, he strode away.

She flung down her quill and strode to her balcony. The memory of Mott’s threats to mount her parents’ heads on pikes in the courtyard below didn’t make for pleasant or peaceful viewing. She paced back to her letter and was about to continue writing when yet another knock sounded. Trying to calm herself, she stood up and stomped to the door.

“It’s like a marketplace here today.” Lynx wrenched the door open and snapped, “Yes, I’m here. Not gone anywhere. Can’t go anywhere. Even if I wanted to.”

The new corporal stepped back in obvious surprise.

“So this is it?” she asked. “Can I at least gather my cloak? I guess Chenayan dungeons are cold, droughty places.”

He cleared his throat and held out a golden tray, on which rested a hen-sized, blue-and-gold egg. He bowed before setting his offering on her table. Then, to Lynx’s astonishment, he smiled at her. “Sorry to disappoint you, Your Highness, but perhaps you will get a chance to visit the dungeons another day.”

He’s teasing me! Genuinely joking with me! It was positively refreshing. Lynx choked out a laugh. “As you say, Corporal. Maybe another day.”

She waited for him to leave before picking up the curious egg. Made from gold-plated enamel, it was encrusted with sapphires and diamonds—or ice crystals made to look like gemstones, her cynical side decided. The top was hinged like a lid.

She cracked it open, not knowing what to expect—gold yolk or velvet lining perhaps—but certainly not the ray of brilliant white light that blasted out at her. It looked identical to the beam from Axel’s informa. She tugged on the corner the way she’d seen Axel do. Her breathing hitched as an image of Emperor Mott’s face appeared before her.

His voice rang out clear and sharp as if he were in the room with her. “Princess Lynx of Norin, your behavior disappoints. I told you to bed my son, but instead you played with my nephew. As much as you relish Axel’s kisses, he cannot give me a grandson. His talents lie in other areas, such as leading the raid on Norin to bring me your parents’ heads. You may have forgotten my threat, but I have not. If you do not present me with blood-stained sheets the morning after your wedding to my son, Axel will leave Cian for Norin. You can expect your parents’ heads soon thereafter.”

Lynx dropped the egg as if it were a viper. Her stomach cramped, doubling her over with pain.

Then anger took over. Had Axel betrayed her?

33

Felix was struck by how pale and exhausted the handsome crown prince looked. That changed when Lukan saw the image of Axel and Lynx kissing.

Face infused with red, the crown prince hissed, “So it’s true. Morass was waiting outside my apartment for me. He told me Axel and Lynx spent last night talking about the Dmitri Curse and that Axel kissed her.” His fists clenched—an unusual action from Felix’s wimpish nephew. Perhaps Thurban’s voice was finally goading Lukan into manhood? “I came here to find out if he was lying.”

From his nephew’s tone, it was obvious Lukan regarded the kiss as the greatest sin, not Axel’s breach of security nor the threat of the Dmitri Curse renegade.

But Felix didn’t have time to worry about those details now. Morass’s betrayal, again, was troublesome in the extreme. Felix was using the obsequious cretin to test an improvement to his ice crystal programming, but clearly, his tweaks had failed.

Yet another thing to rectify after this meeting.

“Yes, it’s true, Lukan.” Mott half-rose to his feet and then slumped back down. “And Axel’s indiscretion is all thanks to you.”

“Thanks to me?” Lukan shouted as his hand lashed out toward the image. “How am I responsible for that?”

Eyes calculating, Felix pursed his lips and settled back, hopefully to watch an argument fomented through the skillful use of Thurban’s voice in Lukan’s and Mott’s heads.

Mott didn’t disappoint.

“Lynx rejects your advances, so what do you do? Like the coward you are, you desert her at a ball.” Mott thumped his fist so hard on the desk, the legs groaned. “When the hell are you going to learn that if all conquests were easy, we could halve our army and spend the savings on chenna?”

“I am not responsible for what Axel does.” Lukan lurched over and wiped the desk clean with a sweep of his hand, sending Felix’s informa, his goblets, and his crystal decanter to shatter against the office wall.

Felix clenched his teeth behind a tight scowl as blood-red chenna sprayed over his precious painting of Axel, handsome in full military uniform. It dripped down onto his cream-colored silk carpet.

A small sacrifice to pay for the potential final showdown between father and son.

Since Thurban had invaded Lukan’s head, his nephew’s rigid control had begun to falter. The same couldn’t be said for Raklus. From his troubled expression, he wished to be anywhere but here.

Mott gripped the desk with both hands and tossed it over. Felix and Raklus jumped back, sending their chairs toppling.

In the chaos, Lukan scooped up the dagger. He hesitated, looking at it askance, and the knife teetered in his hand. Then his nephew’s face hardened, and he slipped the knife behind his wrist.

Felix melted into a smile.

Mott thrust his chin into Lukan’s face, shouting, “Even with the title of Crown Prince of All Chenaya and the Conquered Territories, you failed to command enough presence to keep a hormonal girl at your side for one night. One night! And you think to rule my empire after my death?”

Wiping spit off his cheeks, Lukan snarled, “Lynx is not some hormonal girl. She’s . . . she’s—”

Felix leaned forward expectantly, but his nephew hesitated and didn’t finish his sentence. Not that it mattered. The moment Felix got a chance, he would lock himself away in the chamber where he kept his most prized invention—the device that enabled him to discern Lukan’s thoughts.

“Man up, boy,” Mott bellowed. “Lynx is nothing but a Norin troublemaker riding the back of a mythical curse.”

Mott’s words seemed to flush his nephew’s anger. Felix jolted his head up, concerned at that change. Something must have happened since the ball. Felix itched to leave the room to see what Lukan had been up to since deserting Lynx on the veranda.

It had to wait.

Then a thought struck him. Had Dmitri visited with Lukan the way the dead seer had when Felix enjoyed the title of crown prince? It seemed likely as the cursed Dmitri made a point of harassing all direct to the throne.

When Lukan spoke, his voice was incredulous, confirming Felix’s fears. “Really? A mythical curse?” Still hiding the knife, Lukan spun, his eyes searching the carpet. He pounced on Felix’s informa, lying in a pool of chenna, and thrust it at Mott. “So explain why we have these.”

With a disparaging wave, Mott brushed the broken informa away. “For four hundred years, crown princes have dreaded the day they must marry, and for four hundred years, they have been proven wrong. The Dmitri Curse is nothing but a legend designed to castrate us.”

“And that explains why you and he” —his nephew lashed his hand out again, this time smacking Felix in the chest— “monitor everyone who moves?”

“We monitor people so we can stay in power. A concept you would do well to grasp, Crown Prince,” Felix said, trying to further goad Lukan’s anger. It always puzzled him that Mott could so blithely disregard knowledge of the curse that Dmitri would have imparted to him before his marriage to a Norin princess. But that was Mott, through and through.

Lukan glared at him. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Mott answered. “Power comes with succession, Lukan. This empire has stood for four hundred years because Avanov men have always subdued the Norin beauties Thurban provided for us. But what a disappointment you are. I doubt you have the balls to bring Lynx to heel. She will never submit to you.” Mott shoved Lukan’s shoulder hard enough to send him stumbling back. “Axel will have her, just as surely as Axel will govern Chenaya when I fulfill all your wishes and die. He’ll be the true ruler while you strut around, pretending to be emperor.”

Felix watched Lukan with cold detachment, wondering how the crown prince was taking that unpleasant truth, finally aired. Lukan’s face was deathly white, yet his eyes burned.

Felix prayed for an explosion of rage, but when Lukan spoke, his voice and face were eerily calm.

“Actually, Father, I have a better idea.” The steel dagger flashed into Lukan’s hand, and his arm arched toward Mott.

Felix grunted with pleasure as Lukan plunged the blade at Mott’s chest. His pathetic nephew had finally become a man. Pity he wouldn’t survive long enough to enjoy the experience. The Fifteen would take care of that once news of his regicide reached them.

Then someone screamed. Raklus.

Felix watched with some irritation as the count hurtled into Mott, sending him flying out of the trajectory.

Lukan swore as the dagger thwacked harmlessly into the wood paneling.

“Raklus!” Lukan yelled. “I’ll make you pay for getting in my way. And you”—his nephew kicked out at Mott—“maybe it’s about time you learned just how real the Dmitri Curse is.”

Despite, the failure of his assassination attempt, Felix’s mouth gaped with delight. Never before had Lukan raised a finger in self-defense when his father had beaten him. A drop of spittle ran down Felix’s chin. He wiped it away with a quick swipe of his hand.

Thurban’s manipulative voice had been a resounding success.

Lukan kicked Mott in the kidneys, something Thurban had suggested more than once that Lukan should do. Raklus tried to protect his liege, only to catch Lukan’s boot in the stomach. Mott, knotted up on the floor with Raklus, did nothing but grunt. After landing a final kick to the emperor’s ribs, Lukan stormed from the room.

Thrilled with one success—but disappointed that it hadn’t translated into Mott’s death—Felix leaned against his chenna-stained wall, arms folded, as his brother wrestled to disentangle himself from Raklus. Once on his feet, with a presence of mind that astonished Felix, the emperor strode over and ripped the dagger out of the paneling.

“My mind is made up,” Mott announced. “I wanted to wait until Lukan provided me a grandson before I acted, so the succession wouldn’t fall to my other worthless son, but I can’t take any more chances. Lukan must die. Now.”

Felix snorted. This was Mad Mott at his best—also helped along by the skillful use of Thurban’s voice. Felix’s lips twitched with a smile. Hearing people whisper about Mad Mott’s insanity was gratifying payback for his brother’s decision to rob him of a place in the succession. And, in the end, it didn’t matter how Mott—or Lukan—died, as long as Axel got the throne.

Felix righted a chair and sat in it. “So, the future of the empire depends on that wimp, Tao, with Kestrel. What a lot we have to look forward to after your death. Tao will have given everything away to the low-born before you’re even cold in your grave.”

Through Thurban’s voice, he had tried hard to persuade Mott against organizing a bride for Tao, but his brother had proved stubbornly resistant to that suggestion.

Mott glared at him, then gestured with the dagger to Raklus to right a chair for him to sit on. Raklus leaped to obey. He picked up one for himself, too, but didn’t get to sit. Once enthroned, holding his dagger like a scepter, Mott commanded Raklus to leave. Raklus’s dark eyes shot to Felix, looking for answers.

Although Felix knew enough of Mott’s thoughts to guess what was coming, he shrugged as if he, too, were clueless. While Raklus left the room, Mott ran his fingers down the blade of the dagger, as if testing its sharpness.

Once the door slid closed, his brother said, “Who mentioned anything about Tao living long enough to inherit my throne? I don’t trust him any more than I do Lukan.”

Felix faked a sigh. “For someone who claims not to believe in the Dmitri Curse, you are unreasonably paranoid about your sons.”

“Only someone who isn’t emperor of the richest, most powerful dynasty in the world could be naïve enough to make a comment like that.” Mott cleared his throat and then added, flippantly, “It’s why I’ve never remarried. At least my bastards have no legitimate claim to my throne and are therefore not inclined to fling daggers at me.”

Felix took a moment to think on how to steer this discussion—and Mott’s mind. “I foresee problems if you pursue this course.”

It was his brother’s turn to sigh. “You always do.”

“If you slaughter Lukan and Tao, who will provide the grandsons?” Face expressionless, Felix eyed Mott over steepled fingers. “I assume you’re hoping Axel will father sons for you to claim as your own?”

Mott snorted. “And have the succession shift to your side of the family? The next emperor will come from my loins, not yours. I will not go down in history as the man who failed to provide a decent heir to a four-hundred-year-old dynasty. My sons are pathetic, but I have a plan to solve that problem.”

“I hope you do because the Fifteen will never permit one of your bastards to ascend to power,” Felix said.

Mott laughed. “You are too stupid to see the finer workings of my mind. But I don’t have the time—or the inclination—to explain it all to you.”

Felix smiled inwardly. If his brother realized half of what he knew about his mind, Mott would thrust that dagger into his chest before he got his next breath out.

“So let’s just stick with what you can understand,” Mott said, voice bleeding condescension. “Once the wedding festivities are over, Lukan will die. That gives him at least two nights to get his seed into the Norin rebel. I hope the bitch is fertile.” Mott glared at Felix. “And I don’t expect any mishaps with the monitoring of the murdering bastard. You are to watch him, and at the first sign of trouble, you will kill him.”

Mott was even more unhinged than Felix gave him credit for.

He resisted the urge to scoff. “Was I the only one who saw the images of Lynx slobbering over Axel?”

A troubled frown settled on Mott’s face. “Lynx is certainly willful, given the threat hanging over her family.” He paused. “But I’m not without resources. I have already sent Lynx a message. When she’s done listening to it, she will believe Axel betrayed her. That will make her despise him as much as she now detests Lukan.”

“And that will get her into Lukan’s bed?” Felix shook his head, unable to believe the level of his brother’s stupidity.

“Oh, I think Lukan’s lust will take care of that. He’s been drooling for her since the summer. Her skimpy little dresses only increase his desire for the whore.” Mott smiled maliciously. “That, and my goading about Axel will do the trick.” His brother rubbed his heart, so recently rescued from Lukan’s killing blow. “There are few things my son hates more than being compared to his cousin.”

Felix strove—and failed—to keep the incredulity out of his voice. “And if Lukan does manage to drag Lynx off to his bed, do you think a couple of pokes will be enough to produce your heir?”

Mott tapped his dagger against his thumbnail. “Possibly not. But it’s the risk of the game, isn’t it? That’s why I insisted on Kestrel for Tao. As soon as she delivers a boy, I’ll have Tao’s throat slit, too.”

Felix shivered, but he pulled his cape around his shoulders to hide it. Even though he had no qualms about murdering Mott and Lukan—or anyone else, for that matter—not in his wildest dreams could he imagine wanting to harm his own children. But it was his brother’s cruelty—and an addiction for brain-rotting chenna—that had made him so open to persuasion by Thurban.

“And if Tao can’t prove himself useful by providing an heir?” Felix taunted.

Mott looked pained. “Then he will pay for that insolence by dying. And before you ask, I will then have no choice but to take another wife. Perhaps my next crop of sons will be less of a disappointment.”

“So that’s been your plan all along, to purge your sons?” Felix hoped the question preempted any suspicion that he knew Mott’s motives.

“Don’t be so crass, brother. Purges are your thing, not mine.” Mott’s smile broadened. “We’ll only have one other death to celebrate this wedding season—Raklus’s. A fitting end to a pathetic career, don’t you think?”

This was too much, even for Felix. He gasped, shooting forward on his chair. “Raklus? The man who just saved your life?”

“Astonishing irony, isn’t it? But yes. He needs to make place for a new Lord of the Conquest if we are to win the war in Treven. And that new lord needs to understand that failure is deadly.”

“Axel,” Felix said, slapping his hand onto his thigh with frustration. “You intend to kill my friend and replace him with my son?”

“It’s called giving with one hand while taking with the other.”

“It’s called iniquity.”

Mott held up his dagger to silence Felix. “Enough, little brother. Let’s recall the sequence of events that led to the war with Treven.” Knowing what was coming, Felix’s body locked rigid. “You were the one clamoring for the invasion—therefore, we could say you are equally responsible for the losses we have suffered.”

Felix brushed his wispy hair away from his face. “You know as well as I do that we needed a fresh supply of ice crystals. The biggest reserves in the world are in Treven.”

“So you keep telling me, but it seems only fitting that you should offer some sacrifices to pay for your poor counsel.”

“And my son and friend are those sacrifices?”

“If you choose to be that melodramatic, yes.” Mott grimaced. “But the hard, cold fact is that, right now, Chenaya needs a military leader with balls of steel.”

“Yes,” Felix said. “Who else but a man who would help himself to the crown prince’s betrothed?”

“Precisely,” Mott said, with a smugness that made Felix want to hit him. “I intend to give Axel a chance to prove if his balls are merely itching for a beautiful girl or if they are indeed loaded with the stuff that makes a Lord of the Conquest great.”

Felix cursed Axel’s stupidity and life-threatening arrogance under his breath. Not to mention the sudden lucidity of his brother’s mind. “And the attack on Lapis will prove that to you?”

“Of course not. That’s a mere diversion. I have no doubt Axel will crush Lapis without breaking a sweat.”

“Then what?”

“Telling Lynx about the ice crystals was an affront I’m struggling to come to terms with—even from Axel,” his brother said. “He has to make up for that by rendering me a service. It’s the only way I can trust his loyalty.”

“What kind of service?” Felix asked warily. This conversation had taken a turn he had not foreseen and did not appreciate.

“Before leaving for Lapis, he will kill Lukan and Raklus. He will then finish the job after Tao’s first son is born. Until then, he is under probation.”

Felix’s icy blood chilled. “You plan to make my son complicit in murdering the crown prince and his brother? So—so you can blackmail and control him all his life? The Fifteen will never condone those murders. The minute they hear of them, they will howl for Axel’s blood.”

“That will teach him to go chasing whores.” Mott grinned.

“Never!” Felix stood, pulling his body as straight as possible. “I will not permit it.”

“Shut up, Felix,” his brother said, dragging him back down onto his seat. “Axel isn’t a child. He’s a man with an appetite for power and beautiful women. He can have both—if he does what I command. If he fails, then, as valuable as he is on the battlefield, I’ll know he cannot be trusted, and I will hand him over to the Fifteen to do with him as they please.”

Felix knew very well that any trial would be a farce. The Fifteen would be commanded to execute Axel, and they dared not disobey. His pale face flushed. “And you expect me to support this . . . this abomination?”

Mott slammed his dagger into Felix’s dangling sleeve, trapping his hand to the arm of the chair. “Yes, I do. If you wish to live, because, as you yourself said, I’m in the mood for purges.” His brother pulled the knife free. “Now go and break the good news to your son.”

Felix sat motionless. “Axel will never agree to this.”

“Oh yes, he will, when you tell him to clear a space in his bed for Lynx. She can be his first prize. And when he’s tired of her, he can throw her to the wolves for all I care.”

Mott flung the dagger at the chenna-stained portrait of the two of them hanging on the wall. The knife sliced a perfect gash in Felix’s throat.

“Now go, before I finish you off and break the news to him myself.”

34

Lynx shook her head, refusing to believe that she had been so wrong about Axel. Why would he betray her? What did he have to gain? It didn’t make sense to her.

There had to be more cameras in her room, ones Axel hadn’t known about last night. Cameras he’d discovered today.

So what was Mott playing at?

Cursing herself for not joining Axel for breakfast, she ran to the door, intent on finding him. As she reached for the handle, the door flung open, and Kestrel burst into the room.

“Aren’t you excited?” Kestrel yipped, waving a diamond and emerald encrusted egg in the air. “It’s such an honor.”

Lynx’s jaw sagged.

“The raid. Didn’t anyone tell you?” Kestrel asked.

Lynx shook her head to shake her sense of surrealism. The only raid she knew concerned their parents’ heads, but not even Kestrel could be that callous. Not trusting her voice, she prized the egg from Kestrel’s hand and opened it. No light burst forth. Instead, cushioned on a bed of gold, sat a miniature ostrich egg. She looked at Kestrel.

Kestrel’s eyes gleamed back at her. “Everyone got an egg like this at breakfast. At least all us young high-born did. Oh, and Lukan wasn’t there. Although everyone was whispering about what happened last night. What were you thinking?”

“All the wrong things. Trust me, Kestrel, if I could undo that punch, I would. But I can’t. Now I just have to do my best to save the situation for both of us.”

“Both of us?” Kestrel took a step back. “I’m not involved in your problems, Lynx. I’ve been the model princess. No one can criticize me.”

“Of course you are.” Lynx sighed. “Okay, tell me about this egg.”

“We’re having a treasure hunt today,” Kestrel breathed, all concern forgotten. “In a labyrinth, here in the palace. But,” she gave a mock bow and then squealed, “in our honor, the main prize is a golden ostrich egg covered in jewels. It goes to the person who finds it first.” Kestrel spun around, making her skirt twirl.

Since when did Kestrel care about egg raids?

“At last, I get a chance to raid an egg without the risk of killing myself.”

“A mock raid?” Lynx demanded, biting back bile. “Can’t you see it? They’re insulting us, Kestrel. Norin culture. Our culture.”

“Lynx, I’ve always believed in embracing the good from both cultures—and this is as good as an egg raid gets.” Kestrel snatched her enameled egg back from Lynx. “We are not savages living in Norin anymore. This is the Heartland, where they do things with class and style—and without unnecessary bloodshed. And at the end, one gets something of value—not just your stupid honor.” She rolled her eyes. “And with Tao so willing to give away everything he has, this is about the only way I’ll get any riches.”

Regardless—or maybe in spite—of the cameras, it was time to educate her sister. Lynx grabbed her egg informa off the table and sat on the bed. “I have something to show you that may change your mind about how civilized they are.”

“Make it quick because the raid is about to start, and I plan to be first off the line. I came to you because I didn’t want you to miss out.”

“This won’t take long, I promise.” Lynx waited until Kestrel sat before opening the lid on her egg.

Nothing but a miniature ostrich egg glinted back at her. Lynx swore, prodding it with her finger, but no light or voice beamed forth. Mott’s presence had obviously been a onetime wonder.

“The damn thing stopped working.” She flung the egg onto the table, hoping the impact would inspire Mott to appear, but the informa remained stubbornly silent.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Kestrel grabbed Lynx’s hand and leaped to her feet. “But come, or we’ll be late.”

Lynx resisted, pulling her sister back down onto the bed. “Wait. Just because I can’t show you Mott’s message doesn’t mean I don’t have something to tell you.”

“The only message the emperor has for us is to go and have fun raiding some treasure,” Kestrel said. “And I would have thought you’d be happy for me. Aren’t you the one always extolling egg raids?”

“No. Yes. Not like this.” Lynx sighed, knowing she wasn’t winning any friends here. “Look, Kestrel, I know it’s a lot to take in, but Mott sent me a hidden message in my egg, telling me that unless I sleep with Lukan on our wedding night, he’ll send Axel to Norin to behead our parents.” Even as she spoke, Lynx knew how unlikely that sounded. She didn’t need Kestrel’s incredulous expression to guess her sister thought her crazy.

“A hidden message? To you? From the Emperor of All Chenaya and the Conquered Territories? Come on, Lynx, you might have been someone special in Norin, but it doesn’t count here.”

“It’s not like that, Kestrel,” Lynx pleaded.

“Then where’s my hidden message?” Kestrel demanded.

This wasn’t the time to get into a debate with Kestrel, so Lynx picked up her egg again. “Mott and Felix watch everyone all the time. They have something called electricity. I don’t know how it works because it predates the Burning, but it powers these insane devices—like this egg—that show moving pictures of people. They even come with sound so—”

“Predates the Burning?” Kestrel interrupted. “Really, Lynx, do you think I’m that stupid? And of course the emperor wants you to sleep with Lukan. You are marrying him.”

“Kestrel, please listen, for once.”

Kestrel jumped to her feet. “No, Lynx, you listen to me. For once. I want that golden egg, and this is your chance to prove your love by sponsoring me. So, either you come with me now, or our sisterhood is over.”

Lynx let out a long, slow breath, thinking it wasn’t much of a sisterhood to begin with. She was about to refuse to go when it occurred to her that Axel would probably be at the raid. She could speak with him while Kestrel played at being a Norin.

* * *

Lynx’s shoulders slumped. Axel wasn’t in the tapestry-hung room where the egg hunt—she refused to call it a raid—was to commence. Neither, she noted, was Lukan. As usual, Tao waited alone for her and Kestrel to join him.

On the other side of the hall, a mass of celebrating young high-born thronged a wooden archway. Shaped like a golden ostrich egg, it led into the labyrinth.

Tao looked bored. Lynx sympathized. Clearly, treasure hunts were not his pleasure, either. She smiled in greeting as she and Kestrel approached.

He seemed pleased to see her. “Missed you at breakfast, Lynx. Too much ball last night?”

“Something like that,” she said dismissively.

Tao offered Kestrel his arm. It took her sister a moment to notice because her eyes darted around the hall.

Looking for Lukan, too?

Clearly not finding the object of her search, Kestrel smiled at Tao—it didn’t quite wipe the disappointment off her face—and clasped arms with him. Sadness flickered through Tao’s eyes and then vanished.

Lynx motioned to the labyrinth. “So how does all this work?”

“Everybody lines up at the archway, and when the trumpet blows, they take off into the labyrinth.”

Lynx raised her eyebrows at the idea of all those people rushing headlong through the narrow entrance.

Tao nodded. “Those who survive the crush head out to find the treasure. Today, it’s an egg.”

Lynx suppressed a smile; so much for Kestrel’s claims that there would be no unnecessary bloodshed.

“Surely our rank will let us go first?” Kestrel asked, staring bright eyed at the archway, her body quivering with excitement.

“No. It’s precisely because of our rank we’ll hold back. A treasure hunt is one of the few ways we spread wealth to the high-born.” Tao cocked a finger at the exuberant youth waiting for the signal to start. “They love these events, even though most of them will be hopelessly lost in the first few minutes. It’ll take hours for them to find their way out.”

“Sounds awful,” Lynx said. “How long does it take for the treasure to be claimed?”

“Expect to be here at suppertime.” No wonder Tao looked so unenthusiastic.

Undeterred, Kestrel asked, “How many people will make it to the egg?” She was too busy eyeing her competition to hear Tao saying the hunt wasn’t for them.

“Very few, and then they have to fight over it. But there are plenty of other sparkly trinkets hidden in the labyrinth to keep the excitement up. Almost everyone comes away with something.” Tao smiled. “It keeps resentment at bay. They think the Avanovs are actually sharing with them.”

“That’s condemning,” Lynx said, wishing she could get behind Tao’s façade to read his real thoughts.

“The truth often is.” Tao’s beautiful blue eyes scanned the crowd, and then he sighed. “Lukan is turning out to be extremely trying.” He shot Lynx a grin. “I blame you. Word of advice—hitting a man on the jaw isn’t a good recipe for keeping him around.”

Lynx cracked a small, contrite smile.

“Thank you, Tao,” Kestrel said. “I’ve been trying to tell Lynx for days now to control her temper.”

Lynx waved to the Lukan-free space around her. “And it turns out you are both right. I take my chastisement without murmur.”

“That’s good enough for me.” Tao turned to the boisterous crowd. “Well, we can’t wait for him, or we’ll end up having a riot.” He clicked his fingers to signal to the trumpeter. “Begin.”

As the guardsman lifted the trumpet to his lips, Kestrel broke into a run, headed for the lineup. She called over her shoulder for Lynx and Tao to follow. Lynx folded her arms across her chest.

“Hey, come back,” Tao shouted to Kestrel over the blast of the trumpet.

Either Kestrel didn’t hear, or she chose to ignore him. Lynx suspected it was the latter but could do nothing about it as the crowd stampeded Kestrel through the archway.

Face distraught, Tao turned to Lynx. “How am I supposed to spend the rest of my life with a girl that pays me no mind? She’s only interested in what she can get from me.”

The rest of us have had to cope. Nice as you are Tao, what makes you different?

Lynx squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry, Tao, but my sister is a Norin. As you have seen, we don’t take instructions well.”

“‘Not taking instructions well’ is an attribute I happen to admire. Being grasping and greedy is something else altogether. Hell, it’s not like I haven’t already given her some jewelry. And if she thinks I’m going to run after her when I told her it’s not for us, then she has another thing coming.”

Tao had the measure of Kestrel.

Still, Lynx wasn’t going to let him get away with an attack on her family. “She also happens to be my sister,” she said. “Please show her some respect.”

“Yes,” Tao agreed. “And Lukan is my brother. But that doesn’t mean I’m blind to his faults. Trust me, he has plenty, as you have also seen.”

“Whereas you and I are perfect?” Lynx asked with an arched eyebrow.

Tao snorted a laugh. “Of course. That goes without saying.”

Lynx was rather pleased Kestrel had bolted. The rest of the crowd had also disappeared into the labyrinth, and she was alone with the enigmatic Tao Avanov. It was time to see if he could be trusted to get her letter safely through to Norin.

She cracked her sweetest smile and whispered, “I have two questions for you, Tao. Firstly, are we being watched? And, secondly, how does electricity work?”

Without missing a beat, Tao responded in perfect—but accented—Norin, “Watched? Definitely.”

Lynx’s hand flew up. “Whoa. You speak Norin?”

Tao laughed and said, still speaking Norin, “I look so much like you lot that I figured I’d teach myself the language.”

Lynx grinned. “Well, you certainly are a marvel.” She frowned. “Anyone else—”

“If you mean Lukan? No. He never bothered. If you can stand my accent, we’ll continue this discussion in Norin, if you don’t mind.”

Lynx laughed, delighted with an ever closer link to Tao. “Your accent is probably as bad as mine, but as long as we understand each other, who cares?”

“My point exactly.”

A thought struck. “Were you the ‘friend’ Axel used to translate my conversation with my uncle?”

Tao nodded. “Quite a discussion that was.” A quizzical smile. “Now, you’re asking about electricity. It’s like a river of cool heat flowing along special pathways, never stopping, never ending. Open a door to the pathway, and it can energize anything you want. That’s the poetic explanation, but if it’s technical specifications you need, ask Lukan.” He paused. “But I doubt he’d tell you. He’s not as forthcoming as me. Another of his faults I was telling you about.”

Stunned by his frank answer, Lynx fell against the wall, sending up a cloud of dust from the tapestry. She shot forward, choking out a cough. Tao patted her on the back until she cleared her throat. “Well, that put me in my place.”

Tao grinned at her. “Axel danced with you last night. He must like you a lot if he not only spared you the consequences of that conversation, but told you our deepest, darkest secret.”

“You have secrets far worse than that.” Lynx pointed to the diamond next to his eye.

Tao responded by touching it. “True. But it all starts with power.” Despite speaking Norin, his voice dropped. “Care to take this conversation into the labyrinth? We’re less likely to be overheard there.”

Doubt flared in Lynx’s chest. “I thought no one else but you spoke Norin.”

“I’m not willing to take a chance on that. Are you?”

He had a point. But Lynx had no love for dark, dank places. “What about getting lost? The last thing I want is to spend the rest of the day wandering around a maze.”

“There are enough escape routes to stop it being a spectacularly awful experience.”

Lynx followed Tao through the archway into a narrow walkway. The black brick walls and low ceiling had no distinguishing features. Randomly placed candle sconces cast the only light. About fifty paces in, the passage branched, one going straight, another to the right, and the final one to the left.

Tao led her left. The path soon split, with more identical corridors forking off. Again, Tao chose without hesitation. Despite counting their steps, Lynx became disoriented. The passages were deserted, even though shouted voices echoed back at her. After walking in silence for almost five minutes, she noticed Tao watching her with an air of expectation.

“What?”

“We can talk here.”

Nothing indicated that this eerily dark passage was any different than the others they had passed through.

“Axel and you?” Tao asked.

“Don’t get excited. As much as I like your cousin, I am marrying your brother.”

Tao’s face was all sympathy.

It prompted Lynx to say, “It seems your father heard and saw Axel telling me about the cameras.”

Tao rocked back on his heels, whistling. “You have had an education.” He paused, looking her up and down. “It adds to your charm.” Grinning, he held his hand out to her. “We haven’t met properly. Tao Avanov. Care to be friends?”

Lynx put her hands on her hips and made a show of checking him out, too. He had the most open face of any Chenayan she’d ever met, and his eyes were gentle. She could be friends with Tao—even if he was an Avanov.

She took his hand, giving it a firm handshake. “Why else would I follow you into a maze?”

“Good point. You don’t strike me as the trusting kind.” He started walking, leading Lynx deeper into the labyrinth. Then he said, “I hope you don’t think Axel told him. It’s not his style.”

“No, I don’t. Your cousin is arrogant and snarky, but I don’t have him down as a deceiver.” She cocked her head. “And you, what can you tell me about yourself?”

Tao laughed self-consciously. “As you have seen, I don’t always approve of what goes on around here.”

Lynx’s heart fluttered with all the possibilities Tao’s words opened. “I happen to like that about you.” She paused, thinking, and then asked, “So if Axel is going to be Lukan’s Lord of the Conquest, what happens to you? Lord of the Household?”

“I won’t get a position of power. According to my brother, I lack the killer instinct necessary to help him govern Chenaya when our father dies.” Tao gave Lynx a wry smile. “I’ve always seen that as an advantage. He and I had a different set of nannies growing up. Mine actually cared. As a result, I see our subjects differently than he does. I happen to like them, and that’s why Lukan and the Fifteen will never allow me any influence.”

“More’s the pity. So what will you do with yourself?” When Tao shrugged, looking embarrassed, Lynx cajoled, “Come on, I’ve told you things about me and Axel. Now it’s your turn to share. It’s what friends do.”

Tao hesitated, then he blushed. “Laugh and—lack of killer instinct notwithstanding—I may just slap you.”

“Glad you’re a perfect gentleman.”

“There aren’t too many options open to failed Avanovs. So, I want to try my hand at parenting, hopefully doing a better job than my father did. It’s the only reason I let him force me into marrying Kestrel.” Tao gave a hollow laugh. “Before I met her, I consoled myself with the idea that a rebellious Norin would make me a better wife than a high-born chasing rank and power. But now, I’m not sure. She pretends to like me, but I know it’s Lukan she wants. It’ll be even worse when she learns I’ll never be powerful.”

Lynx’s heart went out to him. “I understand how my sister may seem like a . . . disappointment.”

Tao looked glum. “Nothing I can do about it now. The wedding announcements have been sent out, and my father would slit my throat before he’d let me back out of it.” Then, his face brightened. “Maybe motherhood will change her.” His face fell again. “No, my children will probably end up horrible.”

“That’s what aunts are for, to help raise their nephews and nieces. It’s what I did at home with my little nephew, Raven. He’s a great child, but you’re going to have to work much harder with your children, Tao. Honestly, the world desperately needs some decent Avanovs.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself.”

Lynx was about to broach the letter when Tao opened a door she hadn’t noticed in the brickwork. “Through here. It’s a shortcut to the other side of the labyrinth.”

She stepped into a very different type of passageway. More like a tiny room, four walls and ceiling made of mirrors reflected her image into infinity. The stuffy air forced her to breathe through her mouth. She swirled around, starting to complain to Tao, but he had vanished. Worse, the door had disappeared.

Lynx sucked in a breath, both confused and disoriented. “Tao? This isn’t funny. Open up.”

There was no reply.

The urge to pound her fists against the glass was overwhelming, but she resisted it. Lacerated hands were the last thing she needed. Fighting claustrophobia and panic, she sucked in a breath, telling herself there had to be another way out. She slid her hands across the closest wall, feeling for a concealed door.

Nothing presented itself.

As she turned to tackle the next wall, a cool draft brushed her face. She squeaked with relief. Somewhere, there was an opening; she just had to find it. She turned a full circle, scanning the walls, trying to focus on the glass behind her reflection. No easy task, she quickly discovered. She had been hard at work for a few minutes when someone spoke.

“That is what you have to do in Chenaya. Look beyond the illusion to find reality.”

Lynx spun to find the speaker, but there was no one there. Her skin prickled with fear. “W-who’s there?”

“Perhaps this will help,” the speaker said. Laughter sounded, reminiscent of a bubbling stream, as a winsome girl about Lynx’s age stepped out of the mirror.

Lynx almost jumped out of her skin. She slumped back against the mirror, hand clasped to her wildly beating heart. The girl looked like a shiny version of her. But as she shimmied closer, Lynx noticed she was taller than her visitor. There were slight differences in their faces, too, the most notable being their eyes. The girl’s were a gentle gray. Apart from that, her visitor looked as if she had arrived here straight from Norin.

Recovering from her fear, Lynx put her hands on her hips. With as much flippancy as she could muster, she said, “I never thought I’d see the day when I’d actually talk with one of Emperor Mott’s fantastical creations.”

The girl raised a perfect eyebrow. “Is that what you think I am? A hologram?”

“A what?”

“A hologram. That is what the Dreaded are made from. Light reflections designed to deceive.”

More technology from before the Burning? It had to be. “Is that what you are?” Even as Lynx asked the question, she doubted she would get a truthful answer.

“Lynx, you face illusion at every turn, so you can no longer trust what you see.” The girl waved her arm at the mirrors. “Now you have to rely on your heart.” She stepped up to Lynx and dragged a finger down the line of her cheekbone, making her gasp. “I’m as solid as you are.”

Lynx gripped her wrist. It was tangible and warm, nothing like the light that had come from Axel’s informa. Nor, Lynx realized, did she look like the Dreaded. More than one had jumped out at her since her first night here. She shoved the girl’s hand away. “Stop messing with me. What are you? You can’t be human, because you stepped unscathed through glass.”

“Oh, I’m human, just like you. Only I’m resurrected from the dead.”

Lynx swallowed hard, wishing she could dispute it, but she had never seen a living human with pearlescent skin. She eyed the mirrors again, desperate to get out. Still nothing, so she edged away from the girl, asking, “So why are you here?” A thought struck. “Does this have anything to do with the Dmitri Curse?”

“Of course it has. Nothing is more important than the fulfillment of that curse.” The dead girl clicked her fingers, and an image of Axel flickered to life before her. “I’m here to talk to you about your choices in regard to that cursing.”

Lynx took another quick step back. She bumped into the wall. With nowhere to go, she studied the image before her.

Axel was dressed in the casual clothing he had worn that morning. His strong face drew her in. His lips twitched with a smile—derisive, of course—making his honey-brown eyes dance. She drank in his body, powerful chest, narrow hips, and athletic legs. She lingered on the curve of his bicep and the muscles of his forearm, rippling under sun-bronzed skin. Her eyes trailed to his hand and fingers.

Enough! She turned to the girl. “How did you do this?”

“It’s a simple vision created by manipulating light waves. In fact, this whole room is a manipulation of light. I suppose you would call it a miracle. I call it power derived from Dmitri, the great prophet and seer who once experienced visions of the future of Chenaya.”

Lynx reached out and touched Axel, but her fingers passed through him, as they had with the informa. “He’s no different than anything Felix can create.”

“Perhaps. But he serves a purpose.” The dead girl fixed Lynx with her gentle gray eyes. “You would love to take Axel up on his offer to be your lover, wouldn’t you?”

Lynx buried her face in her hands. How could she admit her longing for Axel Avanov was almost greater than her disgust for his empire and his place in it? And what about her mission in Chenaya?

Not the one in which she mothered the man who destroyed the empire—far more pressing problems confronted her. She had already let her father down by fighting with Lukan. How was she ever going to put that right, especially if Lukan refused to speak to her? That made the Dmitri Curse moot, anyway. It was all a mess—one she had helped create.

Still, the idea of being with Axel, feeling his arms around her again, sharing his bed . . .

The girl waited.

Lynx finally whispered, “This is a pointless discussion because Mott will never allow me to have Axel.”

“Play along with me, Lynx. Imagine for a moment that Mott were not an issue. Who would you choose, Lukan or Axel?”

Play along with me . . . How many times had Lynx used that game to cajole Raven into believing things he thought impossible? He’d loved it. But she? No, not when she was the one being forced to believe the impossible.

She said grumpily, “Axel. Of course. But it’s not that simple. What about my promise to my father? And the Dmitri Curse?”

The girl brushed Lynx’s hair away from her face with a gentle hand. “Put those concerns aside for a moment.”

“How, when I’m bound by conflicting oaths?”

“Sometimes you have to break one oath to obey the other.”

Lynx sighed. She had never broken an oath in her life. She wasn’t about to start now.

“Lynx, tell me, would you like to see what would happen if you chose Axel over Lukan?”

“You can tell the future?”

“More than you can.”

Lynx blinked in surprise as a scrolling text appeared on the mirror before her. It read: “In defeat, victory. In victory, defeat.”

In a blur, an image of a girl with icy blue eyes and long, silvery-blond hair appeared. Lynx sucked in a breath, recognizing herself. She stood on a grassy field, facing an army flying Chenayan banners. A cloud, dark as a dragon’s wing, encircled it, protecting the army’s rear. On the grass between her and the host lay a man with a hand axe embedded in his skull. Two children, twin boys, lay across him, their little frames wracked with grief. Lynx recognized the man’s face and gagged.

It was Tao. The children, his sons.

Lynx shot her head around to face the girl. “How dare you manipulate me like this? You must have overheard Tao telling me his dreams.”

“Tao’s dreams were known long before he was born.”

None of this made sense, so Lynx paced the room, more desperate than ever to escape.

“The Dmitri Curse is older and bigger than any one person’s dreams, Lynx,” the girl pressed on. “I can tell you in all sincerity that you and Axel have loved each other for as long as Tao has dreamed of fatherhood. But not even a love that long and that pure is enough to transcend the Dmitri Curse.”

Did Axel actually love her? It didn’t matter because, despite this game she was playing, she could never have him. Dmitri’s marriage treaty, Mott, Kestrel, Lukan—they had all robbed her of choice.

Her voice was bitter when she spoke. “So, even if we love each other, we have no choice? Even if Mott and the oath to my father weren’t an issue, as you say, we can’t be together? Am I understanding this cryptic stuff?”

“It’s cryptic for a reason, Lynx, so you can use your heart to guide you. And you always have choice—with consequences. You were chosen for this role because you understand consequences—and sacrifice—better than most.”

“So if I choose Axel, Tao will die?”

“You have not asked about you and Lukan. I’ve shown you what will happen if you reject Lukan and choose Axel. It’s only fair I show what will happen if you sacrifice Axel and choose Lukan instead.”

Lynx put her hands on her hips again. “Okay, dead nameless person who refuses to answer straight questions, show me what will happen.”

“My name is Cricket, and I was the first of the Norin girls to marry a crown prince.”

“Good for you. Now get on with the show, because I’m running out of patience.”

Cricket seemed to take no offense at Lynx’s sharpness. At her smile, the image changed again. This time, Lynx saw Lukan standing with his back to her. Only, it couldn’t be him because, despite the same height and hair color, this Lukan was dressed in a tattered guardsman’s uniform. Lukan would never be seen dead in clothes as old and battle-worn as these. His head turned, as if looking at her over his shoulder.

Lynx gasped, and her pulse quickened.

He had eyes the color of a glacial lake, the color she saw every time she glanced in a mirror. Feathers were braided into the long dark hair that fell across his handsome face. Lynx’s heart soared. They weren’t ostrich feathers, but some other bird she didn’t recognize.

It didn’t matter—he was a Norin at heart. He smiled at her, and Lynx reached out to touch him. Disappointment bit as her hand passed straight through the light.

“Does he have a name?” Lynx whispered, almost reverently, knowing without doubt that he was her son.

“Nicholas. He will bring light to the world. Dmitri decreed it, and so it will be.”

Excitement trilled through Lynx. “It seems too good to be true.”

“Consummate a marriage with Lukan, and Nicholas will be conceived. You can believe that with the same certainty that the sun will rise on the morrow. But it will not be without consequences.” Cricket’s face became serious, and the mirrors shattered. Glass exploded across the room. Lynx brought her hands up to protect her face.

It proved pointless. A million dagger-sharp shards sliced into her, ripping her apart, spraying her blood over the walls. Screaming in agony, she collapsed.

“The only way you, Lynx of Norin, will ever help fulfill the Dmitri Curse is to relinquish Axel and to marry Lukan. But if you do, Nicholas’s conception will bring you nothing but pain.

“To survive, you will need the strength, not of a soldier going into battle with sword and axe, but of a warrior armed with nothing but honor and a determination to win.

“Knowing this, who will you choose, Axel or Lukan?”

Lynx sank into blessed unconsciousness.

35

“Axel! Axel!”

Axel looked up at Tao’s anguished face.

“She’s gone!” His cousin burst into the battle command center.

“Who’s gone?” Hands resting on a threat-board displaying the terrain, fortifications, and suspected troop positions in Lapis, Axel looked up. He and the officers in high command were formulating a battle plan for the invasion. Even though he didn’t like the terms Mott had set, Axel had finally gotten what he wanted—after a quick detour to crush Lapis, he would be on his way to Treven.

“Lynx. We were in the maze. She was walking ahead of me, and then she vanished. There one minute”—Tao waved his arms—“then gone.”

Axel’s heart stuttered. Had his father acted so quickly? It couldn’t be. Not even Felix would dare defy the emperor by harming Lynx before the wedding. Not when Mott was looking to secure his succession with a set of grandchildren.

Still, fear gripped him, and he struggled to catch his breath.

In that instant, Axel knew with stunning clarity that Stefan had been right about his feelings for Lynx. Finding her was far more important than what was happening in Treven or Lapis.

He could only put it down to love.

“Show me.” Aware of a dozen sets of eyes watching him, Axel grabbed Tao’s arm.

“Warlord Avanov—” Raklus called after him.

Axel stopped at the door. “Gentlemen, proceed without me. I will be back forthwith.” He and Tao raced from the room.

Dodging people in the palace corridors, he and Tao ran to the maze.

His father waited for him at the entrance. He held up his hand to stop them. “Axel. Prince Tao. What in the name of the Dragon are you doing? Axel, you have an invasion to plan. The emperor will not tolerate any laxness in the performance of your duties.”

Suspicion boiled in Axel’s heart. “How did you know I was here?”

Felix’s eyes shot around the deserted room, then he held up his informa. “Raklus messaged me.”

“Then you know where Lynx is?” Axel demanded, doubting his father would speak the truth. Still, he had to ask. His fists clenched, and he didn’t like to think what he would do to his father if he harmed Lynx.

“It is a maze, Axel,” his father said in an annoyingly patronizing tone. “No doubt, she has been enticed by some sparkly thing. Like everyone else, she will eventually find her way out.” His voice firmed. “In the meantime, you have pressing responsibilities, and Prince Tao needs to take care of his betrothed.”

Both Axel and Tao shoved past Felix and bolted through the egg-shaped archway into the darkness. Running hard, Tao led the way to where Lynx had vanished. Axel pulled out his flashlight and, shining the light on the black walls, turned full circle. He could see no place where she could have disappeared. “Are you sure this is it?”

“Yes.” Tao flung open the door to the shortcut out of the maze. It opened into a deserted chamber. “We were about to step through, and then—nothing.” Panic laced Tao’s words. “How is it possible? People can’t just vanish.”

Jaw clenched, Axel gritted out, “I don’t know. Let’s split up. Start searching.” Without waiting for a reply, he jogged farther along the passage, shouting Lynx’s name.

“Message me if you find her.” Tao set off in the opposite direction.

After hours of fruitless searching, not just by him, but dozens of guardsmen finally called in to help, Axel returned to the place where Lynx had disappeared.

In the dancing light of his torch, he saw a dark bundle lying in the passage. Swearing with a mix of fear and hope, he broke into a run and then dropped to his knees to investigate.

It was a woman.

How she had gotten there, he had no idea. Hand shaking, he brushed blond hair away from her face. Lynx. Sighing with relief, flashlight gripped in his mouth, he used one hand to stroke her face while his other probed for her pulse. She was pale with a slow heartbeat but seemed otherwise unharmed.

“Lynx,” he called gently. “Wake up.”

When she didn’t stir, he put the flashlight on the floor and lifted her head, resting it on his arm. Mouth gaping, her head lolled to one side, so he lay her back down and placed both hands on her heart, ready to start resuscitation.

“Axel? Is that you?” Her voice sounded tremulous, but relief flooded through him.

“Who else?” He picked up the flashlight, bathing himself in ghostly white light so she could see him. “Must you be so dramatic, Princess? Everyone else just gets lost in here. They don’t fall over their feet and faint.”

Lynx struggled, so he helped her up, supporting her against his arm. After a day of worry, it was so good to be holding her again. She looked up at him, and he thrilled to spot color returning to her face.

“Is that what you think happened?” Lynx’s voice sounded stronger, so he allowed his clenched muscles to relax for the first time since his father had woken him that morning.

To avoid hinting at his own troubles, Axel kept his voice light. “Tao said you vanished. There one minute. Gone the next.” Axel rested his forehead against hers. “You had us worried, Lynxie. Care to tell me what happened?”

“So Tao didn’t lock me in the room?”

“What room?” Confused, Axel shined the light around the dark walls. He wondered if she meant the chamber on the other side of the shortcut. But then, how would she have gotten here? “This is a maze, not a series of apartments.”

“The one with the mirrors.”

There were no mirrors in that room. Axel frowned, concerned again that she had concussed herself when she had collapsed. He gently rubbed her head, looking for bumps, but found nothing obvious. Even better, she leaned into his kneading fingers.

“There are no mirrors in here, Lynx. The whole idea of this place is that it’s dark, with narrow passages designed to confuse.”

“Oh. Are there informas with Dreaded in here? I think they’re called holograms.” She searched his face with her crystal-blue eyes.

“No, the labyrinth is horrible enough without them. Even my father accepts that.” He rocked her from side to side, like a child needing comfort.

She didn’t object.

“Or that’s how it used to be.” Axel couldn’t stop the bitterness bleeding into his voice. “But given how things have changed over the last twenty-four hours, I could be wrong.” When she didn’t reply, he said again, “Tell me what happened. Please.”

“Axel Avanov saying please? Never thought I’d live to see that happen. But it’s been a very strange day.” Lynx shifted, moving out of his embrace.

He hated letting her go, but he didn’t want to cause her further stress.

She sat back, studying him in the dim light, as if seeing him for the first time. “You’re wearing your uniform. What happened to the casuals?”

“Duty called.”

“Oh. So, who is Chenaya invading? Norin?”

He gave her a rueful smile. “Lynxie, I hate to break this to you, but Norin fell a few centuries ago. We’ve already had this discussion.” When she scowled at him, he added, “It’s Lapis’s turn. They’ve sided with Treven against us, so I’m leading an invasion force there as soon as the wedding celebrations are over.”

Lynx looked mournful. “Lapis? That’s sad. I used to love visiting the markets there.”

He had no problem with the Lapis campaign. “That’s what happens when you get in the way of Chenayan objectives.”

“Avanov objectives,” Lynx corrected.

He had more important concerns right now than arguing politics with Lynx. He shrugged and changed the subject. “I’m leaving Stefan here to watch over you while I’m gone. Please put your annoying hatred of all things Chenayan aside and befriend him and Malika. They’ll help you keep out of trouble.”

Lynx’s face became a blank mask. “Mott saw us kissing. He must have had other cameras in my room.”

“I know. My father woke me early this morning and told me he had put them there last night. I’m sorry.” He brushed her face with his hand. “That’s one of the reasons I wanted you to have breakfast with me, to tell you. But stubborn as you are, you refused me. I hate it when you do that.”

“Refuse you?” Lynx smiled. “Get used to it.” Then her face clouded. “How am I supposed to live with all these cameras? How do I even dress, knowing I’m being watched?”

Even in the low light, he saw her face pale and her body shiver. He took her hand in his, holding it possessively. “It’s very simple. Tell Lukan you refuse to marry him, and I will protect you from both him and Mott.”

“Like last night?”

He should have seen that coming. He smiled self-deprecatingly. “Definitely better than last night.” Jokingly, he added, “There are no cameras in my apartment.”

She pulled her hand away, so he changed tack.

“Come on, Lynx, you and I are one of a kind. We belong together. As I’ve already said, you’re totally—”

“Wasted on Lukan. You’ve told me all this, Axel.” Lynx paused, her brow creasing with a contemplative frown. “How well do you get on with Tao?”

Surprised, Axel replied, “Very. He’s another person who’ll make you a good friend.”

“Could you imagine yourself sinking a hand axe into his head?”

The air oomphed out of Axel’s lungs, but he willed strength into his muscles to stop from crumpling before her. “How do you know about that? What happened in the labyrinth?”

“Then it’s true. You want to kill Tao. Why?”

“I don’t want to kill Tao!” He grabbed her face with both hands, forcing her to look at him. “The whole idea is ludicrous. It would be like killing my sister, and I’d rather take a thousand quarrels than let anything happen to her.”

It was Lynx who now crumpled, leaning against him. “You admit you discussed the idea?”

“Yes.” He looked at her expectantly. “How do you know about it?”

“I—I saw a . . . a”— Lynx winced, looking embarrassed—“a vision when I vanished. It was all very unclear, but I got the impression you axed Tao.”

Axel hissed, shocked his father had shown such a hologram to Lynx. Worse, he didn’t like his part in it. “Thanks for your faith in my integrity. It must have been a hologram, so don’t let it upset you.”

Lynx looked anything but convinced. “Tell me why you want to kill Tao.”

Axel shined the flashlight up and down the passageway, ensuring they were alone, then leaned in close, whispering, “That idiot Lukan attacked Mott this morning, so now Mott commanded me to kill my cousin right after the last wedding celebration.”

Lynx’s eyes grew to the size of the two full moons currently hanging over Cian.

“That’s not all. Mott’s now so paranoid, he thinks Tao plans to kill him, too, even though that’s crazy.” Axel decided not to add that his own life was also in jeopardy if he didn’t murder his cousins. That knowledge would put undue pressure on her, and he wanted her to choose him because she wanted him, not because she felt compelled by threats.

Lynx rubbed her temples. “And you’re the obvious choice as the killer.”

He hated the disgust in her voice. The only consolation was that it was laced with a generous dollop of confusion.

“I came to your room. Mott found out. It made me a prime target for doing his dirty work.” It burned Axel to admit it, but maybe his father had been right, and his arrogance had finally caught up with him. Except that Mott had made him the most tempting offer of his life. Axel cautiously dropped the news. “Our mad emperor says I can have you if I do it.” As Axel expected, Lynx looked sick, so he shared his problem, “As much as I want you, Lynxie, I could never harm Tao for you. Lukan? No problem. But Tao—”

Lynx looked confused rather than repulsed, so he asked, “What are you thinking?”

She shook her head. “To be honest, I don’t know. The vision seemed enough to confuse, but not to clarify, and now you tell me all this. What am I supposed to believe?”

That she still didn’t trust him stung.

“How about trusting me?” Axel asked.

Lynx looked as if she’d sucked on a lemon. That hurt even more.

“I told you, you saw a hologram, and you can never believe them. They’re all rubbish, created in my father’s lair to frighten and control people who have no idea something as basic as electricity even exists.”

“I know what I experienced, Axel, and it wasn’t . . . only a hologram. I definitely saw Tao with an axe in his head.”

Anger and determination hardened Axel’s face. “Well, I didn’t put it there.”

She must have believed him, because she lay against him, resting her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her and brushed her forehead with his lips. She leaned into his kiss, making him want to forget Mott’s sordid business and to kiss her like there was no tomorrow.

But that was impractical, given the constraints. It was a matter of time before one of the many people searching the labyrinth for her would stumble across them.

Axel straightened and eased away from her so he could look at her face. “I have a plan that will solve all this without unnecessary bloodshed. Unfortunately, it involves negotiating with Lukan. Never a pleasant experience, but it can’t be helped.”

“‘Unnecessary bloodshed’?” Lynx’s breath hitched. “What does that mean?”

“A death is unavoidable, Lynx, but I’ll be damned if it’s someone I care about. Between Lukan and Mott, right now Lukan is the lesser evil. I intend to make him a deal—his father’s death in exchange for you.”

Lynx jerked away as if he’d hit her. “I have no love for Emperor Mott and see no reason to mourn at his death, but Axel, you’re assuming I want you. How can you be so presumptuous when I told you last night I’d never be your lover?”

Axel laughed. “You’re talking to Axel Avanov. ‘Presumptuous’ is how I get things done. And I’ve changed my mind. I no longer want you as my lover.” The tensing of her body told him he’d scored a direct hit with that rejection. It emboldened him to say, “I’m looking for a much longer term commitment from you.”

Some prizes were worth even more than crowns. Women like Lynx of Norin didn’t blaze into his life every day. Once in a lifetime, if he was lucky. He’d be an idiot not to offer to bind himself to her with the strongest ties in the world. Then he’d spend the rest of time making sure he deserved her.

A rush of emotions, none of which he understood, flashed across Lynx’s face, and her hand went for her missing feathers. At that moment, he could have killed the she-witch for cutting off her braid.

Lynx dropped her hand into her lap. “Are you saying you want me to marry you?”

Heart pounding with a mix of hope, uncertainty, and a dollop of fear that she would reject him, Axel took her hand and kissed her calluses. When she didn’t protest or pull away, he ventured, “Would that be so bad?”

“You ask me that after you’ve admitted you intend to murder your uncle?”

“He intends to murder Tao and Lukan.” Axel leaned in close for emphasis. “He’s also threatened to kill your parents. Isn’t that enough reason to preempt him?”

Lynx nodded, encouraging him to add, “And why has Lukan avoided you since you got here, when the whole court knows how much he’s been lusting for you?”

Lynx shifted out of their pool of light. Axel responded by repositioning the flashlight.

Lynx let out a resigned sigh. “All right, Axel, I suspect it’s because he’s worried about the Dmitri Curse. If I’ve been having weird visions that make me disappear into thin air, then there’s a good chance he has, too.”

Axel cocked his head to the side, listening. Someone was calling Lynx’s name. He exhaled a frustrated breath.

“My search party?”

“Yes. Decision time.”

Lynx drew in close, whispering, “First, I need straight answers. Is Mott planning to harm the two of us?”

“I don’t have a straight answer about you,” Axel whispered back. “But work it out, Lynx. If Lukan is worried about the Dmitri Curse, what are the chances of him pitching up for your wedding? Hell, the man can’t even show up for breakfast. How long do you think Mott will let you live after that failure?”

“I thought I was your reward for killing his sons. He wouldn’t break your new toy, would he?” Lynx’s voice was flippant, but he could see fear in her eyes.

Axel chewed his lip. He had run out of options and now had to tell her the whole story. “My name is also on Mott’s kill list. If I don’t murder Tao and Lukan, I die. I guess you’re as expendable as the rest of us. Probably more so, given that you can’t even claim to be family.”

A flash of light told Axel the other searchers had entered their passage.

Lynx must have seen it, too, because she lunged over him and grabbed his hand axe. “Don’t leave me defenseless, Axel.”

He put his hand over hers, stopping her from taking it. “Agree to be mine, and I’ll give you a whole arsenal to protect yourself with.”

Lynx hesitated, and her eyes flickered closed. Her face writhed with indecision. Whatever her internal struggle, she finally looked at him and said, “Can you promise me you’ll sort out Mott?”

“I give you my word. I won’t let anything happen to you or your family.”

She licked her lips, her eyes tortured. He was beginning to give up hope when she said, “Give me your axe.”

Axel’s heart soared, and his breath came easy again. Never had he imagined proposing to a woman—and being accepted—over the handle of an axe. It explained why he was willing to risk everything.

A voice called. “Is someone there?”

“Oh no, the she-witch,” Lynx hissed, looking around.

“What’s she still doing around?” Axel asked, speaking to himself more than Lynx.

“Huh?”

“She’s supposed to be deported to the prison camps.” Axel sighed at yet another unexpected development.

“No doubt she plans to zap me again for daring to vanish.”

“Not while I’m still breathing.” Axel snatched a kiss from Lynx’s open mouth while unbuckling his axe. “Here. Hide it. Don’t let the witch find it.” He stood, stepping away from Lynx. “Princess Lynx is here, Mother.”

“Dragon’s curses!” Holding an oil lantern, Mother Saskia broke into an ungainly jog. “Is she all right, my lord? What an uproar we’ve all been in.”

Axel didn’t bother answering because, in the dancing shadows, he noticed another figure running up the passageway toward them. He called out, “Tao, Lynx is freezing. Chuck me your surcoat.”

Ignoring the command, Tao elbowed passed Mother Saskia, stopping at Lynx’s side.

Lynx stood, showing no obvious sign of the axe.

But he wasn’t taking chances on the she-witch finding it, so he tugged the shoulders of Tao’s surcoat. “She needs this.”

Lynx played along with him by pretending to shiver, but he noticed she rubbed herself with only one arm. The other curved behind her back, hiding the axe.

Tao ripped off his coat. Annoyingly, he decided to be a gentleman and wrapped it around Lynx. “I’m so sorry, Lynx. Honestly, I don’t know what happened back then.”

Tao’s hand brushed Lynx’s back, and his eyes widened with recognition, followed by surprise. Lynx stiffened, and Axel held his breath, wondering if Tao would betray them.

But he needn’t have worried. Not about Tao.

His cousin shot him a reassuring look, turned to Saskia, and said, “Princess Lynx needs strong arms to get her back to her apartment. Advise the other searchers she has been found. Warlord Avanov and I will help her to her room.”

“Tao, you can manage Lynx on your own,” a quiet voice said from the shadows.

Axel’s stomach knotted as Lukan stepped into their circle of light. Although addressing his cousin, Lukan looked directly at him. “The great Warlord Avanov and I have a few things to discuss. About Lynx, as it so happens.”

Mother Saskia’s head swiveled between him and Lukan. The priestess clearly didn’t want to be caught in the cross fire of anger roiling off the crown prince, because she bobbed a curtsy. “Of course, Your Highness, I will alert the others.” In a flurry of white, she sped away down the passage.

Axel stepped forward to meet Lukan. Feigning calm, he said, “Your timing is impeccable. I was coming to look for you.”

Axel’s eyes widened with surprise when Lukan ignored him and spoke again to Tao.

“Get her out of here.” Lukan looked at Lynx with disdain. “We’ll talk later.”

Axel expected Lynx to say something, but clearly, protecting her axe was her only priority. He agreed.

“Hold me tight this time, Lynx,” Tao said, opening the door to the labyrinth shortcut where Lynx had vanished so many hours ago. She gripped Tao’s arm as if her life depended on it, and together, they stepped through the doorway.

Axel turned to face Lukan—and the most important negotiation of his life.

36

Lukan circled Axel in the wan light cast by the gas lamp he placed on the floor between them. He noticed with grim satisfaction that, for once, Axel had lost his irritating smile. In fact, his cousin seemed . . . agitated.

At least that was something.

Still, Axel’s hand tapping a rhythm on the hilt of his sword was a minor display of distraction compared to the turmoil boiling inside Lukan. His heart was beating so hard he could feel the blood pounding in his head. It was giving him a crushing headache. He couldn’t worry about that now.

Axel had to be brought to heel. Today.

It was the only way they could work together to govern the empire, a goal Lukan was still committed to, regardless of Dmitri’s ultimatums. He opened his mouth to speak, but Axel beat him to it.

“Lukan, I have an offer for you.”

Lukan’s jeering snort bested anything Axel could offer. “I’m not here to bargain with you. You’ve crossed a line, Axel, and I won’t—can’t—let you get away with it.”

“Why? Because your pride is hurt?”

“Damn you! This isn’t just about pride. I’m the crown prince, but that means nothing if people don’t honor me. You have never given me the respect I deserve. And now you and Lynx have humiliated me in the worst possible way—in front of my father.”

Axel laughed bitterly. “Is that how you see it? Funny, I seem to recall spending my entire childhood taking your father’s kicks so you didn’t have to. How many times did I stand between you and him when he was ranting, ready to knock your head off your shoulders for something you did? Like hiding in the archive when you should have been practicing sword fighting.”

Lukan grimaced, not wanting to admit that what Axel said was true. He had hated his obligatory fighting lessons and had always skipped them. Axel had indeed covered for him, even taking his beatings. “My father always preferred you. Everyone did.”

“Right,” Axel said. “I’ll bear that in mind every time I remember him smashing my head against the wall when I was protecting you. And what thanks did I get? Nothing. But, Lukan, today, you can change all that.”

Lukan waved his hand disparagingly, refusing to allow Axel to dominate this discussion—or to guilt him into doing something that didn’t serve him. “I’m your crown prince, and you are my subject—”

“And there we have it.” Even in the dull light, Lukan could see Axel’s eyes flashing. “Your sense of entitlement leaves me breathless. For years you used me, let me take your beatings, not because we had a friendship, but because you considered me your subject. Now, I use you as much as you used me.” Axel’s voice dripped bitterness. “You taught me well.”

Lukan swallowed hard, wishing the pounding behind his eyes would cease. “It’s not like you’re getting nothing from the . . . arrangement. There are other generals in Chenaya whom I could appoint as Lord of the Conquest when I come to power, but I have offered it to you.”

“Because I’m the best!” Axel shouted, slamming his hand against the wall. The crack of his palm, mixed with his voice, echoed down the long passageway.

Lukan—and Axel—froze, conscious there could be ears hiding in the dark.

His cousin took a deep breath, paused, and then whispered, “Look, none of this is helping. I guess you’ve heard by now that your father wants you dead.”

“My father has wanted me dead since the first day I skipped sword practice.”

“True,” Axel admitted. “But now he’s brought in an assassin. Trust me, this man won’t fail.”

Lukan blanched. Although he anticipated some retaliation for his crazy attack on his father, it wasn’t this.

“You’re lying.” But he knew he was grasping at smoke; Axel spoke with conviction. Lukan lurched back, knocking into the wall. He caved into it, needing the support. “What do you know?”

“Enough to make a bargain worthwhile—for you.”

Lukan guessed what Axel wanted out of any deal they struck: Lynx.

It brought Dmitri’s words about Axel and Lynx loving each other into stark relief. The trouble was, Axel allied to Lynx would leave him hopelessly vulnerable. Especially as he still hadn’t made up his mind what to do about her. No matter how insane, he could not bear her rejecting him when he craved her so much. He bought time by saying, “And I’m to believe you will get nothing from this deal? How philanthropic of you.”

Axel leaned in so close that Lukan could feel his breath. “How much do you want to live?”

With sickening certainty, Lukan understood. “Y-you’re the assassin.”

Of course Axel was.

If anyone could callously kill him, it would be his cousin. And, of course, his father would choose his capable nephew for the task. Fear, like a tightening rope, clutched at Lukan’s throat, and he struggled to breathe. For the first time in his life, he wished he carried a weapon. Not that it would do him any good against Axel. Finally, he managed to gasp, “When? Where?”

“As I recently said to someone far more appealing than you, that information comes at a price. Which brings me back to the deal I have for you . . . are you willing to negotiate, or do I walk away now and let justice take its majestic course?”

“I’m open to discussion.” Lukan raked his brain for some bargaining chip. Fealty to the office of crown prince seemed most logical, but Axel had made it clear Lukan had burned through all claims on his cousin’s loyalty. With nothing to offer, he prevaricated. “I know how much the empire means to you, Axel. We always agreed to work together to expand the borders, to make it even greater than it is now. Why would you risk that by killing me?”

“I have another offer on the table that means more to me.”

Lukan could only guess at the meaning of that cryptic comment. He licked his lips. “It’s only by uniting our talents and cooperating with each other that we will keep . . . renegades under control.”

“What you mean to say is, it’s only if I cooperate with you that you will keep renegades under control,” Axel scoffed. His derisive smile locked back into place. “I have my own ideas on how to tame the Norin . . . renegade.”

Axel was talking about Lynx! That meant he knew she was the one from Dmitri’s prophecy. Lukan choked on his own saliva. When he stopped coughing, he rasped, “You know . . . about . . . everything?”

Axel folded his arms casually across his chest. “I know I wield ultimate power here. If you want me to unite that power with yours—puny as yours may be—then you’re going to have to give me what I want. In exchange, I will give you what you want.”

A flare of anger at Axel’s insufferable arrogance ignited in Lukan’s chest, but he worked hard to suppress it. Since the ball, his anger had already exacted too high a price. As much as it irked him, as usual, Axel was holding the best strategy tiles.

“And what do I want?” Lukan asked. “Other than to live, of course.”

Axel pulled out his flashlight and shined it carefully down the passage.

When Lukan saw there was no one eavesdropping, he turned expectantly to his cousin. “Well?”

“Your father, dead in a box, with six feet of sand above his face.”

“That would be . . . convenient.” Even though Lukan’s pulse quickened, the throbbing in his head eased—until he remembered Lynx. He fingered his silver buttons. This was it. Down to the line. No more room for wrangling. “What do you want in exchange for this service?”

“Come on, Lukan, not even you are this much of an idiot. You know exactly what—or, should I say, whom I want.”

Lukan sucked in a breath. “Lynx, I suppose.” Handing over a girl to his cousin would cost enough, but to relinquish Lynx, the girl he had craved for months and had yet to conquer . . .

Axel grinned.

Had his thoughts been so obvious? Damn him. Lukan realized Axel was speaking.

“—easy trade. I sort out your father, and you publicly renounce all claims on Lynx. In one fell swoop, I’ve solved all your problems.”

Despite knowing that Lynx loved Axel, a flush of anger burned Lukan’s cheeks. “And Lynx has agreed to all this?”

“I asked her to marry me, and she said yes.” Axel’s voice dropped. “Agree to this, Lukan, and you dodge the Dmitri Curse.”

Dodge the Dmitri Curse? Lukan frowned. Was it that simple? If Axel married Lynx, would she no longer be a threat to him?

Perhaps.

As far as he knew, the curse’s wording specified that a Norin princess’s son would destroy her emperor husband. Would Lynx marrying his cousin nullify that clause? Lukan silently cursed Dmitri for not giving him the book. If he knew the exact terms, he could move forward with confidence.

Without answers, Lukan hedged. “What about Tao? My father despises him as much as he does me.”

“I’ll leave you to work that out.”

Lukan fiddled with his button. Tragically, it was entirely possible his father wanted both him and his brother dead. That was complicated, though, and showed his father’s complete ignorance of the dynamics amongst his three heirs. Axel and Tao were closer than brothers. His cousin’s legendary loyalty to his friends meant he would never harm Tao.

Tao, with his spineless love of the low-born, claimed not to want the throne, but if it were offered to him, would he refuse? Lukan gave a tiny shake of his head. Of course not. No one would refuse the Chenayan throne. It was the greatest prize on the planet. Even Tao would know that he could do more for the low-born from the emperor’s chair than he ever could as a mere prince.

So, while Tao lived, Axel had no easy access to ultimate power. He was forever stopped from advancing beyond Lord of the Conquest. Even better for Lukan, if Axel murdered Mott, Tao would stand as a protective shield between his heart and Axel’s blade. Lukan knew his brother wished him no ill. All this weakened Axel’s spread of tiles.

Maybe, just maybe, he could win this strategy game.

And then there was Lynx.

As much as Lukan craved her, she had humiliated him in every way possible. How could he reward that by giving her Axel? It was inconceivable.

Lukan straightened his back and fixed Axel with his most regal stare. “No.”

“No?”

“Your ears are working perfectly. I won’t trade you Lynx for my father’s life. You are not the only person in the empire who could take care of him for me.”

Axel hissed in a breath. “Are you completely insane? Has Thurban’s voice finally driven you over the edge?”

Lukan lunged forward until his nose was almost pressed against Axel’s. “What do you know about Thurban’s voice?”

“Enough to bargain with you. You know the terms.”

“Damn you, Axel, don’t you get it? I’m not giving you Lynx! You have already robbed me of so much . . . my brother, my father’s respect, my position amongst the Fifteen. They think the sun shines out of your arse—bastards don’t seem to realize that you’re a permanent eclipse. I’m not giving you Lynx as well.” Lukan drew himself up to his full height. “Now tell me what you know about Thurban, or by the Dragon, I will make sure you never hold a position of power in Chenaya when I take the throne.”

Axel stepped back, but his laughter sent a chill careening right through Lukan. “You are so pathetic. Lukan, this is my final offer. Lynx for your life. Accept it or die. Now. Because in ten seconds, I’m leaving.”

Lukan’s fist crashed into Axel’s jaw.

Caught off guard, Axel’s head snapped back. But only for a second. Lukan braced himself for Axel’s fists, but his cousin surprised him.

Face hard, Axel leaned right up close. “Wrong answer. Watch your back, Lukan. You’ll never know when I’m coming.”

He strode off down the passageway.

A flush of icy horror washed through Lukan. He had hit Axel! The one person he needed most if he was ever to rule Chenaya successfully. He slumped against the wall as his mind struggled to process what he’d done.

Axel had baited him first.

That wasn’t a good enough excuse. Cursing his temper, he shouted down the passage at Axel’s retreating form, “I’m not without allies! I am well capable of protecting myself from any scheme you might hatch!”

“Sure you are,” Axel called over his shoulder. “The only way you’ll find anyone to support you is if you reprogram the jasper chips, burning your name in the brain of every guardsman in the country.”

Desperate to be out of the cloying darkness, Lukan picked up the gas lamp and surged to the shortcut out of the maze. Slamming the door behind him, he lifted his face to the sunlight streaming through the window in the hall and closed his eyes.

But there was no time to relax in the soothing rays.

Despite his bravado, he had to rally some support to protect himself from his cousin. No easy quest, he admitted. With no service in the military, allies with fighting skills were thin on the ground. Perhaps with the promise of sharing part of his archives, he could bring a faction of high-born to his side? Head pounding, steps heavy, he turned to leave the room.

Count Felix stood at the door.

“Ah, Crown Prince,” his uncle crooned, taking his arm. “Come, you and I have much to discuss and a very short time in which to discuss it.”

Too shocked by his encounter with Axel to resist, Lukan allowed himself to be led away.

37

Lynx stopped outside the door to her bedchamber and gripped Tao’s arm. “I can’t take my axe in there,” she whispered. “The room is filled with cameras.”

“Who is your lady-in-waiting?” Tao asked, just as quietly.

“Lady Tatiana. She wafts around, making unhelpful comments.” The sour-faced woman had appeared at her door a couple of times, ostensibly to help Lynx dress. Lynx had not invited her into her room.

“Tatiana’s bark is definitely worse than her bite. She would help if she knew it was for Axel.”

Lynx bit her lip, surprised to learn that about her brittle lady-in-waiting. “But she’s not here. I can’t risk someone coming and seeing me with it.”

He nodded. “True. What about Kestrel? Won’t she cover for you?”

“No,” Lynx mouthed. “I don’t trust my sister enough.”

Tao’s face fell, and Lynx could only guess at what Kestrel’s lack of trustworthiness meant for him. But the hard, cold fact was that Kestrel would never support destroying the empire while she could benefit from it.

“Look,” Tao said, “there is nothing we can do. Just bundle the axe up in my surcoat and store it somewhere in your dressing room.”

Keeping the weapon hidden, she quickly wrapped it in the fabric.

“Good.” Tao smiled mournfully. “Now, I better go and find Kestrel. She was already angry with me for leaving her to come and look for you. I think she wanted to moan to me about missing out on the egg.”

Lynx grimaced. “Go. I don’t want you getting into trouble.” She rubbed her temples, fighting a headache. “I’m really tired. Do you know what is planned for tonight’s prenuptial festivities?”

“A dinner in the great hall. The chances of Lukan showing up are probably remote.”

Lynx sighed. “Just because he can skip meals with impunity, it doesn’t mean I can. I’ll get cleaned up and join you.”

Tao squeezed her hand, and Lynx stepped quickly into her apartment. Without stopping, she made for a heavy trunk, with a lock and key, in her dressing room. She casually put the surcoat and axe down on the lid and moved toward her clothes. Making a display of it, she removed a couple of dresses and carried them to the trunk. As she opened it, she scooped up the axe into an armful of clothes and shoved them into the trunk. She had just hung the key around her neck when she heard movement behind her. Alert for trouble, she spun into fighting stance.

Four priestesses stood in her room, with gloveless hands extended to her. Lynx exhaled sharply, her fists in readiness for a fight if they attacked her.

The eldest of the women, perhaps in her thirties, spoke, “Your Highness, we are commanded to invite you to join us for an evening meal.”

“I’m not hungry,” Lynx said, eyeing each of them in turn. With these odds, she would not survive long in a fight. Should she even be trying? Her eyes trailed to the curtain tieback, her closest weapon. Heavily corded gold braid, it had a large crystal bauble hanging from one end, making it an ideal whip. She edged toward it. “Who sent the invitation?”

“I am not at liberty to divulge that information,” the spokeswoman said. “Now, Your Highness, please, the food is getting cold.”

“Don’t you have braziers in the palace for keeping food warm?”

Was this Mott’s retaliation for hitting Lukan? Sending priestesses here to lure her to some awful fate? Her mind flitted to her unfinished letter, but she rejected that as a cause—she hadn’t started writing the section on the Chenayan technology yet.

The spokeswoman gestured to one of her companions. The girl, no older than a teen, lunged. In the same instant, Lynx wrenched the tieback off the curtain and swung the cord before her. It seemed no deterrent to the priestess, who thrust her hand at Lynx. Swirling the cord, Lynx struck the girl on the temple with the crystal ornament. She dropped.

In a whirl of white, the other three women swarmed Lynx, shockers grasping for her bare flesh. Lynx flailed the tieback from left to right, hitting her targets. Grunts and moans resounded, but even as she fought, the odds were against her. It was only a matter of time before one of them got in close enough to fry her.

When the shock came, it was nowhere near as painful as when the she-witch had attacked her. Still, it was enough to stun. She crumpled back against the dressing room wall.

When she came to, her hands were bound in front of her with strong cords, and a priestess flanked her on either side, bare fingers pressed into her arms.

Face strained with anger, the spokeswoman said, “That was not how we hoped this would go, Your Highness, but you left us no choice.”

“No,” Lynx snarled, tugging at her constraints. “You left me with no choice.” She looked down at the girl she had struck on the temple.

The spokeswoman glanced at her, too. “I’ll fix the curtains,” she said to the other priestesses. “Silvana, help Alina, and then everyone back to the cloisters.”

With just enough pain blasting her arms to disorient, but not to debilitate, Lynx had no choice but to follow the priestesses. It was a long walk through deserted passages and hallways to the cloisters, located on the farthest reaches of the palace. Mother Saskia waited at the first colonnade. Refusing to show pain or fear, Lynx fixed a haughty expression on her face.

“Dragon’s curses! What happened? Why are the princess’s hands bound?” the she-witch demanded.

“She did not wish to join us,” the spokeswoman replied at the exact moment Lynx said, “Chenayan hospitality! I suppose you now plan to poison me?”

Mother Saskia tsked. “What happened to Alina?”

The spokeswoman glared at Lynx. “She hit her with a crystal bauble.”

“I warned you all to be careful of Princess Lynx. Now go to your cells.”

Without protest, the priestesses slunk away. Mother Saskia clearly ruled her cloister with absolute control. The priestess moved purposefully toward her. Lynx stiffened, but Saskia gently took Lynx’s arm.

“Dinner is served.”

“Am I supposed to eat with my hands tied together?” Lynx demanded.

“That will be taken care of when I am convinced you are no longer a threat.”

“Winds, you’ll wait a long time for that.”

The she-witch smiled. She led Lynx into a tiny cell with space for a single bed and a narrow closet. A fresh candle, the only lighting, waited on a crude wooden table, illuminating a steaming clay bowl of soup and a few chunks of coarse bread. A chamber pot stood in the opposite corner.

Mother Saskia gestured to the food. “Priestess rations. I make it a rule that no one in this cloister eats better than the average low-born living in any hovel in Cian.”

Lynx was impressed, but she wouldn’t let it show.

Mother Saskia closed the wooden door, locking it with a chunky key. “Sit, Princess Lynx. We have a long night before us.”

It seemed childish to argue, so Lynx obeyed, sitting on the edge of the hard, narrow mattress.

“Your wrists, please.” Mother Saskia drew a stumpy dagger from her pocket, the same one she’d use to slash through Lynx’s braid, and sliced through the bindings.

“Why are you holding me prisoner?”

The wooden bed creaked as Mother Saskia sat next to her. “I told you, Princess Lynx, there is no place in Chenaya for powerful women. We all need allies if we are to survive. Today, an unlikely ally came to my rescue moments before I was flung onto a train bound for Galec Prison Camp. That ally informed me that I was to keep you isolated until the wedding tomorrow.” She looked down at her hands. “I am in no position to disobey.”

Lynx’s pulse raced. “And who would that ally be?”

“The Lord of the Household.”

Count Felix? Why would he save Mother Saskia? Lynx wished she understood the politics better. She was about to question when the priestess spoke.

“You will find your allies, too, Princess, and when you do, the powers that rule us will all scurry for cover.”

It was the bitterness in Mother Saskia’s voice, even more than her words, that left Lynx speechless. Finally, she gasped, “And which side will you be on?”

Without looking at her, the priestess said, so softly Lynx could barely hear her, “My brother died in Treven. His life wasted, for what? Today, after a lifetime of loyal service, I was almost sent to my death at Galec Prison Camp. One failure, one miserable failure that I wasn’t even accountable for, that’s all it took, and the emperor was ready to cast me off.” Mother Saskia stood and opened the door, stopping on the threshold. “I think you’re smart enough to figure out your own answers, Princess.”

Lynx sat in stunned silence as the priestess closed and locked the door behind her. How much of Mother Saskia’s commentary on the train had been for the benefit of the cameras? Lynx had no idea, but that wasn’t her highest priority.

She had told Axel she would marry him.

She shook her head in disbelief. Axel: a Chenayan, an Avanov, the man who had commanded his troops to kill Hare and so many of her people. It was inconceivable.

But it was true.

Despite everything, she wanted Axel with a longing so painful she could barely breathe. In the short time she’d known him, he’d conquered her heart as surely as Thurban had conquered Norin. And there was nothing she could do about it.

Her pulse sped up. He wanted her, too. Enough to kill for her. Was what they had love? It had to be. Nothing else could simultaneously feel so good and so bad.

A troubling thought niggled at her conscience. Should she even be thinking about marrying Axel when Cricket had made it so clear that choosing him would lead to the failure of the Dmitri Curse? Then again, could she trust Cricket? The meeting had been so cryptic, so garbled.

And what about her oath?

Her chest locked as if the Winds themselves had sucked all the air from her lungs. How could she have said yes to Axel when she had sworn a vow to her father?

Lynx sprang to her feet and paced the tiny cell, her quick steps as frenzied as her thoughts. Would her father understand? If she could explain it all to him . . .

How she wished to be back home, where everything was so simple, so clear. Tomorrow would be such a special day in Norin, with four youths, her own brother included, raiding eggs. She would have taken her turn, playing her fiddle at the celebration party when Clay took his rightful place amongst the raiders. Then, she and Heron would have danced—the wild, exuberant dances she loved.

But instead, she was locked in a cloister, facing an uncertain future, torn between love and honor.

Cricket’s words, emblazoned on her brain, rang back at her. The only way you, Lynx of Norin, will ever help fulfill the Dmitri Curse is to relinquish Axel and to marry Lukan. But if you do, Nicholas’s conception will bring you nothing but pain.

To survive, you will need the strength, not of a soldier going into battle with sword and axe, but of a warrior armed with nothing but honor and a determination to win.

Knowing this, who will you choose, Axel or Lukan?

After the pain Lynx had experienced with the shattering mirrors, she wanted to scream that the choice was logical: Axel.

But logic had no place here.

She grabbed the spoon and began ladling the watery vegetable soup into her mouth. But her stomached roiled, refusing to accept the food. She slid down onto the floor and buried her face in her hands, unable to stop the sobs that wracked her body.

At length, her breathing calmed.

It did not matter which god Cricket and Dmitri served, but Winds knew, her course had been charted the moment Kestrel had crushed Clay’s egg, along with his hopes. Little had Lynx known how big the canvas onto which she stepped was when she had made a simple promise to fight for her brother’s right to happiness.

“Father,” she whispered as if he could hear her, “you were right. It is so easy to get lost in the gray.”

38

Lukan made no protest as his uncle pulled him along. His mind in a whirl, he barely noticed where Felix was taking him until they reached the heavy steel door guarding the lair. Lukan lifted his thumb to the scanner, but Felix brushed his hand away.

“That will do you no good.” Knees creaking, his uncle crouched down until he was eye level with the tiny red glow emanating from the reader.

Lukan frowned, wondering what he was doing, just as the door slid open.

“New security measures. I still have to adjust the height of the scanner,” Felix grunted. “This way, Highness.”

Felix grabbed Lukan’s arm and marched him down the concourse that dissected the lair. The echo of their boots on the concrete floor bounced off the stark white walls. Their shadows, cast by harsh neon lights, passed door after door that hid Felix’s secrets.

Finally, his uncle stopped at a portcullis. A relic from ancient times, it looked out of place in this utilitarian passageway. But like all the doors inside the lair, the grate guarding the palace dungeons had been coated in titanium, making it virtually indestructible. Once incarcerated behind that portcullis, there would be no escape.

Lukan’s breath caught. His uncle wouldn’t dare imprison him, would he? He stopped several steps from the opening.

“What are we doing here?”

“There is someone inside awaiting our pleasure.”

“Who?”

“Patience, my crown prince, and all will be revealed.” His uncle creaked down again and eyed the scanner. Silently, the portcullis rose. By the time it disappeared into the brickwork, Felix had straightened his back. He waved Lukan into the narrow, dim passageway on the other side of the arch.

Nose scrunched at the putrid smell, Lukan folded his arms across his chest. “I think I have been more than patient, Uncle. I now expect an explanation before I go anywhere with you.”

His uncle had the temerity to sigh. “The person whom I wish you to meet holds the key to solving both of our problems.”

“Your problems?” Lukan said incredulously. “What could possibly be troubling you?”

Another sigh. “My dear nephew, it should comfort you to know that you do not hold the entire world’s burdens on your shoulders. Others have troubles, too, you know.”

Lukan leaned against the wall. Only one thing—or person—could worry Felix. “Axel. You don’t like his role in this any—”

“Any more than you do.” Felix scowled. “I will not see my son used in this way. Together, you and I have the power to change Mad Mott’s mind—and the course of history.”

Lukan snorted. Yet another person offering him a chance to change the world.

Somehow, Lukan doubted his uncle’s offer would be any more appealing than Dmitri’s suggestion to tell the high-born their gemstones were ice crystals programmed with tracking devices. But with a contract on his head, he was clean out of options. He reluctantly waved at the open maw leading to the dungeons. “After you.”

A line of grasping hands, protruding through narrow bars guarding each cell, greeted him as he stepped into the passageway. Temporary accommodation, these cubicles—so small, not even a child could stand upright—were used to house hapless palace dwellers caught between death or deportation to the prison camps. Most of them were here because Felix’s cameras had caught them disparaging the crown.

The minute Lukan shifted into view, the prisoner closest to the portcullis broke into a plaintive wail. “Your Highness, Crown Prince Lukan, have mercy. Spare me.”

The cry was taken up by other prisoners, building into a wave as he strode the length of the passageway between the lines of cells. Arms tightly to his side, Lukan stopped at the end of the passage. Silently, he cursed his father, Axel, his uncle, even Lynx, for forcing him into a clandestine meeting in this horrible place. Working to blot out the wails, he turned to Felix. “This had better be quick.”

“I assure you, it will be both quick and effective—for both of us.” Felix opened yet another titanium door. “Our prize is in here.”

A spotlight illuminated a man hunched in a tiny cell. His arms covered his face in a futile attempt to protect his eyes from the harsh glare.

Lukan’s stomach knotted, and bile filled his throat. “And who is this unfortunate creature?”

At the sound of his voice, the man looked up, squinting into the light. “Your Highness? Is it possible?”

Lukan sucked in a breath. It was Morass. He was about to step forward to speak to him when Felix gripped his arm, whispering, “Thanks to my light, he cannot see us. It would be better for our discussion if it stayed that way.”

Lukan licked his lips, then nodded. At Lukan’s silence, all hope died on Morass’s face. His head dropped back into his hands.

A thousand ants seemed to crawl over Lukan’s skin. Desperate to be away from here, he turned to Felix. “Talk.”

Felix stepped around a wall, out of Morass’s hearing. “That cretin betrayed us both.”

“Not so fast.” Lukan threw up his hands. “He was loyal to me. If it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t have known about Axel and Lynx.”

“Yes,” his uncle spat, “and neither would your father. It’s all due to Morass’s eager tattling that you find yourself with an axe dangling over your head.”

The imagery made Lukan shiver. “You can thank your ice crystals for that. You are the one who programmed loyalty to the crown.” He turned to look into the room housing Morass’s cell. “Now let him go.”

Lukan didn’t expect his uncle to obey, so it surprised him when Felix pushed a button on the wall and the grate to Morass’s cell slid open. As pleased as Lukan was with the deference, it unsettled him. What was his uncle after? Every sense alert, he watched Morass crawl out.

Uniform filthy and smelling of death—presumably from the last victim who had occupied the cell—Morass hunched on his knees. He raised his arms to cover his eyes from the light. “My lord,” he stammered. “I—I felt a compulsion . . .” A thick tongue flicked across dry lips. “One I could not deny. That is why I spoke to the emperor and the crown prince.”

Lukan looked at his uncle in triumph. “See? I was right. Your ice crystals did this.” He had the satisfaction of hearing his uncle grunt. “Now turn off the light,” he commanded, taking full advantage of Felix’s discomposure.

Without moving from the shadows, his uncle obeyed. Lukan stepped forward to face Morass.

The soldier staggered to his feet, seemed to remember himself, and bowed low, sinking again to his knees. “Your Highness, I am your loyal guardsman. I will do anything you ask.”

Lukan grimaced, unnerved by the quiet fervor in Morass’s voice. Even faced with torture and death, the jasper controlled the man’s emotions, turning him into little more than a machine with no regard for his own life. Lukan had never seen an ice crystal operate this effectively. His mind reeled with possibilities. “Stay here, on your knees, until I return.”

“Of course, Your Highness. As you command, Your Highness.” He even sounded detached.

Lukan stepped out of the room, eager to see if Morass would continue to obey. “Turn the lights back on,” he commanded his uncle.

The light flashed on. Morass cried out in pain as it blasted his face, but apart from raising his hands, the man barely moved.

Lukan faced his uncle. “You have somewhere to sit in this foul place, no doubt? And I require an informa.”

“Of course, Crown Prince. This way.” Two steps down, his uncle slid open a door into a guardroom, now deserted. He gestured to a wooden chair. “Not the most lavish accommodation, but it will do.” Felix pulled a button-shaped informa tangled with a bloody handkerchief out of his pocket.

Lukan winced, refusing to touch it. “Program it to the camera watching Morass. I want to see how far his obedience stretches.”

“He will obey until given another command,” his uncle said, opening a visual of Morass kneeling in the light. Sweat poured down his face, arms, and torso, but he hadn’t moved an inch.

Not wanting to view this torture he had commanded, Lukan faced his uncle. “So this is something new you have concocted?”

“Indeed.” His uncle waved his hand. “But then, I am always looking to enhance my systems. It is how I serve the crown—by ensuring we always have new technology to meet any situation, no matter how bizarre.”

Lukan snorted. Being on his father’s hit list was certainly bizarre. Still, something here didn’t make sense. He pointed to the image of Morass. “Then why did he betray you? I am sure it was not in your—or Axel’s—interest for Morass to tell my father about Lynx’s perfidy.”

“No, indeed it was not.” His uncle glowered. “An unfortunate hitch in my programming. The cretin should have been loyal to me.” Bony fingers flicked at the image of Morass. “But a few tweaks, and it should not happen again.”

Lukan’s eyes widened. “Then why is he obeying me if you programmed him to do your will?”

“Because, nephew, I rather suspect that we share the same will.”

So, they had finally reached the point of this discussion. Lukan waited while his uncle steepled his fingers, watching him.

Finally, Count Felix broke the silence. “We both want your father dead.”

“We do?” Lukan asked cautiously.

“Perhaps I presume to speak for you, Highness, but I certainly have no use for an emperor who would use my son for his dirty work.”

Lukan bristled. Even here, in the most basic of familial loyalty, Axel bested him with a father who actually cared for his well-being. It made Lukan hate his cousin—and Mott—all the more.

“It seems my father has few friends of late. What do you propose?”

His uncle pursed his lips. “With a little programming, a tweak here, a tweak there, I believe I can persuade our friend Morass to murder the emperor.”

Judging by Felix’s expectant expression, Lukan guessed he should have been shocked, but he wasn’t. That thought had already lodged in his mind. Although nothing much to look at now, Morass was a guardsman, trained in warfare and weaponry. He could very easily use those skills to kill Mott.

“And who takes the throne?”

A faintly shocked expression darted across his uncle’s face. “Why, you of course, Highness.”

Lukan was tempted to snort again, but he resisted the urge. Did Felix consider him a complete idiot? “I expected you would wish that honor for Axel. How do I know you won’t tweak Morass to kill me, too?”

Felix’s mouth dropped, aghast. Lukan couldn’t decide if it was at the suggestion of Axel on the throne—unlikely—or at the blatant accusation that his uncle would kill him.

“Crown Prince, you malign me. I have spent my entire life serving the crown. Every invention, every device has been aimed at ensuring the safety of the emperor and his sons—you and your brother Tao.”

“Please, save the bleeding heart. Why should I believe that you would put me on the throne and not Axel?”

His uncle pulled his cloak tight around his frail shoulders and dropped his voice. “It pains me to say this, Highness, but Axel has proven himself . . . easily swayed of late. I worry that he will not take guidance well, should he ever ascend to the throne.”

Guidance? Command and control by Felix, more like it.

As much as Lukan doubted his uncle’s integrity, he decided to wait until he had a better idea of what Felix proposed. “‘Easily swayed’? By Norin traitors? Is that what you are implying?”

Felix’s face clenched. “I have a solution for that, too. Tomorrow, at the wedding, when Morass eliminates your father, he can kill that Norin bitch, too.”

“Lynx!” A chill flushed through Lukan. “H-how do you think Axel will react if we murder his love?”

“‘Love’?” Felix scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Crown Prince. My son, it turns out, is a consummate actor. Trust me, he feels no more love for the bitch than you do. He’s merely using her to get to me.”

If Felix didn’t believe Axel loved Lynx, then it was possible he knew nothing about Dmitri’s appearance. The dead seer had been very clear about the love between Axel and Lynx.

Or he was lying.

Lukan rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, filing that information away for later study. But in the meantime, he could not be complacent—he had no desire to be flayed. His skin and muscles trembled at the very thought.

The only solution was to add Axel’s name to Morass’s hit list.

Lukan huffed a breath. Felix would never agree to his son’s death. But somewhere, there was a solution. He just had to find it. “Your idea has potential. How do you propose we proceed?”

“Simple, really. You are to command Morass to shoot two quarrels: one at your father’s heart and one at Lynx’s.” A gash of a smile split Felix’s face. “I have something special in mind for the Norin rebel.” He pulled a glass vial filled with an iridescent yellow substance from his pocket and held it up to Lukan. “I’ve finally gotten my hands on the poison the Norin use with such devastating effect against our troops. I was going to use it for another project I had in mind, but this is altogether more pressing.”

Lukan gasped. “How?”

“My operatives waylaid a Norin savage on his return trip from Tanamre after the princesses were dropped off.” Felix was positively gloating.

Lukan shook his head, still not quite understanding. As part of Norin fealty to their king, a raider would sooner shoot himself with the debilitating, slow killing poison than let it fall into a guardsman’s hands.

“The savage never even saw my guardsmen coming.” His uncle gave a rare chuckle. “We—and the vultures—have benefited from his lack of foresight.”

The guardsmen had killed a raider and left his corpse to bake in the sun? Lukan shivered.

Felix showed no reaction. “I propose filling Lynx’s quarrel with this poison. Fitting, is it not, that one of Thorn’s raiders should die a slow, painful death from their own poison?”

Lukan swallowed, wondering how Axel would react to Lynx dying in agony. Not well, to be sure. He pushed the thought aside. His father had left him no choice but to do what Felix suggested.

Unless . . .

Lukan cocked his head to the side, so deep in thought he barely saw his uncle watching him.

Unless he did what Dmitri asked and told the high-born about their gemstones. Was Dmitri’s plan a possible way out of this mess? Perhaps it was the only way out. Lukan closed his eyes, wishing he were in his archives, where he would have made a careful list of pros and cons.

But he wasn’t in his archives. He was here in the dungeons, torturing an innocent man with white-hot light, while Felix shuffled around, waiting for answers.

His thoughts began to tumble through his mind. How would it change things if he left here now and announced to the high-born that their gemstones were frauds? Would they revolt? That seemed likely. Would that insurrection give him time to breach the lair to disengage the ice crystals?

And what about Felix’s new program on the door—the eye thing? Without the reader being programmed to his eye, could he get in? He glanced up at Felix, waiting patiently for him. Would he have to remove his uncle’s head and use his eyes? Would that even work? His stomach turned at the thought. Perhaps Axel would take care of that detail.

Lukan shook his head, knowing that would never happen. Morass, then. He could be commanded to kill Felix. Lukan glanced at the informa. Morass had collapsed face-first onto the floor where Lukan had instructed him to stay.

And then another, even more horrifying thought struck.

Lukan felt the blood rush from his face. His uncle would never let him leave here alive without securing an agreement. He licked his lips. Even if he attempted to kill Felix now, it would probably do no good. Lukan glanced around the room, looking for booby traps.

Even though he saw nothing obvious, he wasn’t fooled. Felix was too canny, too devious not to consider that option. Something would shoot out to impale him if he made a threatening move.

Lukan suddenly understood what Dmitri had meant about the complications that came with prevarication. Had Dmitri foreseen this? Sweat trickled down his back. He had no choice but to appear to be in cahoots with Felix’s scheme—at least until he was out the door, and the sooner that happened, the better.

Struggling to steady his nerves, Lukan nodded. “Let’s break the news to Morass. I have no doubt my father is in one of the gambling rooms. Of Lynx’s whereabouts, I’m not so sure.” He stepped toward the door, but his uncle grabbed his arm.

“Highness, timing is everything. Your father is on his guard tonight.” Felix flicked through the programs on the informa, alighting on an image of Mott playing dice in the Green Room with some of the men from the Fifteen. He was surrounded by guardsmen.

Lukan sighed. No one with a crossbow—or any weapon—could get close to the emperor tonight. It made the risk of telling the high-born about their stones that much greater.

His uncle’s voice broke his train of thought. “Allay his fears by agreeing to marry Lynx. Then, tomorrow, after the wedding ceremony, Morass can let fly his quarrels.”

Lukan frowned, and then his face cleared. Tomorrow, all the high-born would be assembled in the great hall for the wedding. It would be an ideal time to break the news to them, before Morass could harm Lynx. He heaved a sigh of relief. Wrong reaction. But his uncle didn’t seem to notice.

Lukan cleared his throat. “You can explain those details to Morass when you brief him.” He turned to leave, then paused and pointed at his uncle’s informa. “I will see myself out. Program my eye to your door scanner.”

Felix slipped his informa into his pocket and pulled out his filthy handkerchief again. After a show of nose and mouth wiping, he said, “That is not possible, Highness. At the moment, Morass obeys you. As you know, I have had trouble changing the commands on the ice crystal, and thus, he has already betrayed me, twice. I would hate for it to happen for a third time, particularly with a command as important as this one.”

Lukan couldn’t stop his head from shaking. So this was it: the moment he was expected to pledge his soul by becoming complicit in regicide. He glared at Felix, but his objection was pointless.

Wishing he could lock himself away in his archives forever, he took the vial of poison and the crossbow his uncle held out to him and made his way to Morass.

39

Axel strode through the palace toward Lynx’s apartment. How could Lukan be so stubborn? Did he not see that assassinating Mott was the only workable solution to their problem?

Axel swiped his hand against a statue of some long-forgotten emperor, wishing it were Lukan’s face he was hitting. His cousin was a weak-willed coward. For years, Axel had tried to persuade Lukan to stand up to his father. Again and again, he had explained the psyche of a bully, hoping it would help his cousin understand—and manage—Mott. But Lukan had given no heed to his counsel, preferring instead to let him or Tao take his punishments for him.

Now Lukan would die for that failure.

Axel took the stairs to Lynx’s apartment two at a time. It surprised him to see no sentries at the top of landing. Stefan had changed the roster this morning, putting two of his men here to guard Lynx. Why had his father withdrawn them? He sped up, jogging to the doorway of the sitting room Lynx and her sister shared.

The sound of raised voices pulled him up short.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Tao and Kestrel sat together on the sofas, deep in conversation. If anything had happened to Lynx, Tao, at least, would not just be sitting around. Lynx had to be in her bed chamber, giving her sister the chance to speak with her betrothed. Kestrel’s angry voice reached him. Torn between his need to barge in to join Lynx and his respect for Tao’s privacy, he hesitated at the door.

“I needed you today, Tao,” Kestrel shrilled, “and you weren’t there for me. Do you have any idea how terrible it was in that maze? I got punched—punched!—by some girl who wanted my bracelets, even though I saw them first.”

Axel decided to slip past them to find Lynx. He had just entered the room, when Kestrel said, “Do you mind? I’m having a private conversation here.”

Axel held up his hands. “Sorry. Just looking for Lynx.” He smiled at the purple bruising around her right eye. His eyes dropped to her wrist. Yes, a pair of golden bracelets. He wondered what damage her opponent now sported if Kestrel had won the trophy.

“This is too much,” Kestrel insisted. “Can’t you hear that I am talking to Tao? Just leave.”

Tao pulled a face at Axel and mouthed, “Sorry,”

Axel shrugged and stepped back into the passageway. Loath to move too far from Lynx, he leaned his elbow on the windowsill and stared out into the night. He heard Tao sigh.

“Look, I’ve already told you, I’m really sorry you got hit. But I did try to warn—”

“Tao,” Kestrel interrupted sharply. “Are you going to spend our whole marriage chasing after my sister?”

Reluctant eavesdropper though he was, Axel frowned. Every time he’d spotted Tao and Kestrel at the ball, her eyes had been fixed on Lukan.

“That’s not fair.” Tao sounded aggrieved, as if he, too, were aware of Kestrel’s double standard. “Lynx and I are friends, nothing more.”

“That’s nonsense! My sister would rather walk barefoot over burning coals than make friends with a Chenayan. So why did you insist on running after her? I asked you to stay with me after I finally escaped that hideous maze.”

“You’re wrong about Lynx. I know a friend when I meet one, so I couldn’t just leave it when she disappeared. That’s not what friends do.”

“It is a maze, and you didn’t chase after me, even though I’m supposed to be your betrothed.”

“You went through the archway so fast, I knew it would be pointless to follow. I would never have found you.” Another sigh from Tao. “And I wouldn’t have had to if you had stayed with me as I asked.”

Axel rolled his eyes, feeling nothing but pity for Tao. Marriage to Kestrel wasn’t going to be fun. Tao’s pain was almost enough to console him regarding his own situation. Almost, but not quite. He tapped his fingers on the windowsill, wishing they would finish this argument so he could get to Lynx.

Kestrel’s voice droned on. “All I wanted was to have some fun. You could have shared the moment with me.”

“The maze isn’t a moment I want to share with anyone. But I get that you’re cross, and I’m sorry if you feel I neglected you.” Tao’s voice had a tone of finality to it.

Axel straightened up and was about to walk back to the room when his cousin added in a sharper voice, “Now I need an apology and a change of behavior from you.”

Axel stopped.

Tao said, “I want you to spend less time staring at my brother.”

The couch springs squeaked as if someone had stood. “So I’m not allowed to acknowledge the Crown Prince of All Chenaya and the Conquered Territories?”

Another creak of furniture, and Tao said, “Acknowledgement is one thing. Stalking is quite something else.”

“Really, Tao, listen to yourself. I honestly don’t know how you can accuse me of something as ridiculous as that. I haven’t spoken one word to your brother since I got here.” A guilty laugh followed. Then Kestrel said, “Perhaps we both need to work on . . . things.”

“I would appreciate that.”

Kestrel cleared her throat, then said, “Maybe our . . . first kiss would help.”

Spare me! Axel slumped against the wall and buried his thumb and forefinger into the corners of his eyes. Thankfully, the sounds of kissing were brief, painfully so for a man and woman standing on the brink of wedlock.

Tao’s voice rang out. “I’m starving. Let’s track down dinner.”

“But my black eye—”

“You’re going to be my wife. No one will dare say anything,” Tao interrupted, heading toward the door.

Axel intercepted Tao, who held Kestrel’s arm. Tao gave him a strained smile.

“You’re still here?” Kestrel demanded.

“Like I said, I’m looking for Lynx.” He smiled at Tao and, guessing he was stirring the pot, asked, “Have you seen her?”

Kestrel shot Tao a warning look, grabbed Tao’s hand, and started dragging him toward the doorway.

Axel strode over to Lynx’s door and, without bothering to knock, opened it a crack. “Hey, you here? I have news. Of a kind.”

There was no answer, so he pushed the door open wide.

The room was deserted.

The first jolts of fear bit into him. He loped to the bathroom and banged on the door. When no one replied, he pushed that door open, too, and faced another empty room. That left her dressing room. A quick search revealed it was empty, with everything in its place.

He stood still, thinking. If Lynx had been wearing a gemstone, he could have traced her on his informa. Without that, finding her would require a visit to his father’s lair to trawl through all the palace cameras—a task that would take hours.

Could she be with Lukan? Although that seemed unlikely, it was the only rational explanation, beyond things he didn’t want to imagine. They would probably be in the great hall, preparing to attend the dinner with the dignitaries invited to the wedding.

That made sense.

Walking fast, he made his way to the great hall, down passages and hallways devoid of any signs of two impending royal weddings. He stopped at the double doors and looked at the imperial dais at the top of the hall.

Neither Lynx nor Lukan were there.

A fresh wave of fear hit him, chilling him to the core. He folded his arms to calm his pounding heart and roved his eyes over the tables.

A hand painted with intricate henna designs slipped under his arm. “You look troubled, Ax.” Malika’s dancing brown eyes were questioning. Her cerise silk gown gleamed in the torchlight like a living thing.

He gave his sister a strained smile. “Have you seen Lynx?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve managed to lose her, too.” She grinned at him. “She’s going to think Chenayan men a pretty useless lot if you and Tao are anything to go by.”

“Not funny, Mali. You know I have good reason to be worried about her.”

Malika’s freckled face scrunched up in a frown, and she whispered, “How did your talk with His Imperial Idiocy go?”

Before heading out to search for Lynx in the maze, he had told Malika of his plans to negotiate a deal with Lukan.

“Not well. That’s just an added problem.”

She squeezed his arm. “Wait here. I’ll get Stefan. We’ll help you look for her.”

Stefan, sharply turned out in his full ceremonial uniform, was already heading toward them. He stopped at Axel’s side with a slightly raised eyebrow.

“Your men are gone,” Axel whispered, not bothering with lengthy explanations for Stefan’s benefit. “The best place to start is the lair. See if we can find her on any of the cameras.”

Axel led the way. Once at the door to the complex, he brushed his thumb against the scanner. The door remained stubbornly closed. He swore at what he considered confirmation that his father was involved in Lynx’s disappearance.

“I haven’t seen Father all evening,” Malika said. “He’s probably in . . . there . . . with Lynx.” Malika didn’t say the word dungeon, but it hung heavy in the air. “Poor girl. I hope she’s okay.”

Fists clenched in impotent rage, Axel banged his forehead against the door, designed to withstand a blasting stick. Then, he straightened, his jaw set. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. Where else could she be?”

Both Malika and Stefan looked at him with troubled expressions. Was he in wishful thinking territory? He didn’t want to give in to their negativity, but where else would she be? He paced across the hallway, trying to think, but every time he passed that locked door, his conviction grew. Lynx had to be in the lair.

Stefan gripped his shoulder. “Let’s get something to eat while we make plans.”

Axel pulled away from him. “I can’t leave, knowing she’s in there.”

“Be reasonable, Axel,” Stefan whispered. “You know as well as anyone that there is only one door into the lair, and you’ve been programmed out of it. There’s nothing you can do.”

Axel eyed Stefan and tried to resist the urge to punch him.

Malika stepped between them. “Ax, Stefan is right. I doubt you’ve touched any food today.”

He hadn’t, but that didn’t matter. “I’m not leaving. When she comes out of there, I’ll be waiting for her. And him.”

Malika sighed, scooped her skirt up, and plunked herself down onto the floor. She patted the ground next to her. “Stefan, sit. If my brother is doing this vigil, then so are we.”

“It’s not necessary,” Axel grumbled as Stefan slid down the wall and sat next to her.

Malika took Stefan’s hand and looked up at Axel. “I’m—we’re—not leaving you, so stop moaning.”

Axel looked down at them, dug firmly into their positions. They would stay with him all night if that’s what it took.

“All right, this is as good a place as any to plan a strategy for tomorrow.” He pulled out his flashlight. Only when he had yanked all the candle sconces off the walls and tossed them out the window, did he sit. By the limited glow of his flashlight, he said, “Based on what Lukan said to me today, I think it’s safe to assume that he intends to marry Lynx.”

Stefan pulled out his own flashlight, adding to the illumination. “We cannot interfere with that. The emperor will never tolerate it.”

Axel nodded. “That’s a given. But it doesn’t mean Lynx has to consummate the marriage.” Marriage in Chenaya was only binding on consummation.

Stefan’s voice dropped. “But I thought the emperor commanded—”

“It’s one thing to command,” Axel interrupted. “It’s another to get people to obey.” He thumped his thigh with his fist. “Tonight, we’re going to come up with a plan to get Lynx, Lukan, and me out of this mess Lukan and Mott have gotten us into. Oh, and we have to protect her parents in Norin, too.”

Stefan’s eyebrows actually arched. “All before tomorrow morning? You’re not asking for much, are you?”

“Those are the stakes. All we need is a plan—and set of titanium testicles to see it through,” Axel said, refusing to acknowledge that it couldn’t be done.

“Even without titanium testicles,” Malika said dryly, “I can probably help. With the whole blood on the sheets business, at least.”

Axel—and Stefan—grimaced.

“I hope you’re not suggesting sleeping with Lukan,” Stefan said, voice aghast. “That's assuming, of course—”

Malika grinned at him. “You’ll have to marry me to find that out, won’t you?”

Even in the wan light, Axel saw Stefan blush. He shoved Malika with his elbow. “Brothers—especially this one—do not take kindly to hearing that their little sister’s virginity may have been tampered with. Particularly when said brother knows the last dolt she insisted on courting. I already have a kill list as long as my sword. Don’t make me add to it by taking out your ex-boyfriend.”

Malika chortled. “I love you, too, Ax. Now, as I was saying, Lady Tatiana is supposed to be Lynx’s lady-in-waiting, but it’s obvious to everyone that the relationship hasn’t worked. Anyway, I’ve volunteered to take Tatiana’s place, and Father agreed. I think he’s hoping that I’ll do a better job at keeping tabs on Lynx.”

Axel shook his head. Despite all the surveillance equipment at his disposal, his father could be very blind where Malika was concerned. There was little Malika couldn’t get away with.

“What are you saying?” he asked.

“All Emperor Mott is interested in seeing is Lukan’s head on a pike and Lynx’s bloody sheets on a platter. Correct?”

Axel nodded. That’s exactly what his father had told him when breaking the news that Axel was to kill Lukan.

“So, before Lukan can get his hands on her, I’ll hide Lynx while you”—Malika’s voice hitched—“take care of him. When she’s safely hidden, I’ll doctor her sheets. In the morning, you can hand both . . . items to the emperor. And while you’re in Lapis and Treven, we”—she turned to Stefan—“will take care of Lynx.”

As grateful as he was, Axel knew Malika’s plan was pathetic. This was the succession they were talking about. If Axel were in Mott’s boots, he’d insist on more than a bloody sheet to convince him the succession was safe—or as safe as it could be, given the ludicrous situation. He would demand real evidence, of the photographic kind, before considering the job done. He had to assume Mott would be thinking along the same lines. Axel rubbed his jaw, mind whirling with ideas on how to fake some hot digital sex.

“Axel, I’m talking to you.” Malika poked him in the ribs.

Before he could comment, the door to the lair slid open, revealing Felix and Lukan. Axel leaped to his feet. It was on the tip of his tongue to demand to know where Lynx was, but in his mind’s eye, he saw how their huddle must have appeared. It certainly didn’t shout strength and confidence.

But then, Lukan wasn’t looking so good, either. Gutted was perhaps the best description Axel could come up with for his cousin’s pale face, beaded with sweat.

“Nephew and uncle having a tête-à-tête,” Axel said, pushing the sarcasm. “Father, you really need to work on your social skills. My cousin does not appear to have enjoyed your hospitality.”

Axel expected a comeback from Lukan, but his cousin merely looked at him with haunted eyes.

“Don’t be so smug, Axel. We may still find ourselves working together.”

Eyebrows raised, Axel wondered what that cryptic comment meant as Lukan hurried away. He turned to his father. “Care to explain?”

“More than you can imagine.” His father peered down at Malika sitting on the floor.

Stefan stood at attention.

Felix prodded Stefan in the chest. “This is no place for a lady. Get my daughter out of here, now.” He grabbed Axel’s arm. “And you, come. We have much to discuss.”

“No place for a lady,” Axel said, “but quite fine for Lynx to spend the night here? How does that work, Father?”

His father snorted as Axel followed him into the lair. Axel itched to push past him to get to the dungeons, but he knew it would be pointless. If his father had reprogrammed the main door, he would certainly have changed the codes on the portcullis, too. Digging deep into his limited wells of patience, he followed his father into his office—and stopped short at the door. The room looked as if it had been tossed about by a particularly bad-tempered giant.

“Lukan and Mott?”

His father nodded. “Right a chair for yourself.”

Axel obeyed, but his foot bounced up and down on the chenna-stained carpet.

His father swept his hand around at the carnage of the broken desk, buckled chairs, soiled carpet, and smashed artworks. “This has to stop, for the good of the throne and the Avanov family.”

“No doubt you have a plan.”

“I offered Lukan a deal, and like the wimp he is, he agreed to my terms.”

Axel stuck his feet on his father’s wrecked desk, enjoying seeing him wince. “Then you certainly did better than I today.”

“Perhaps it is time you listened and learned, my arrogant son.” His father pulled out his handkerchief and flicked it over the chenna-stained squab of the only other functional chair. Then he sat. “Lukan has commanded Morass to kill Mott tomorrow after the wedding ceremony. With my new ice crystal in Morass’s face, the imbecile will obey.”

A gush of air—relief for himself and sorrow for Morass, who had no choice—escaped Axel’s lungs. If he were honest, patching together credible footage of a copulating couple was not how he wanted to spend the evening.

“It’s not over yet, son. The Fifteen will not be happy with Mott’s demise, and as Lukan is the one to benefit, they will be quick to blame him. It will fall to Lukan to justify his actions.”

“They won’t turn him down. They can’t, because he’s the legal heir. And let’s face it, regicide is hardly a new thing in Chenaya.”

“Quite. Some might say it’s a sport played exclusively by crown princes. Still, there are plenty of men among the Fifteen who believe that neither Lukan nor his brother are suitable candidates for the throne. They would happily see you as emperor.”

Axel’s stomach knotted. “That implies that Lukan and Tao’s reprieve is short lived.”

“Except this time, the Fifteen will take care of the messy bits. I have it in good faith that many of them are looking to make a clean sweep of things. They are supremely tired of Mott and his offspring.”

Axel sighed, wishing this whole sordid business was over. He considered mentioning that he would never take Tao’s place on the throne, but he knew his father would brush his objection aside. He leaned forward into his father’s personal space. “I’m going to Treven. Nothing else is more important than that.”

“Not even Lynx?”

Axel took a quick breath—it wouldn’t help if his father knew the depth of his care for her. With a wafer-thin crust of calm hiding his emotions, he asked, “Where is she? In the dungeons, I presume?”

His father’s jaw dropped. “The dungeons? Our future empress? What do you take me for?”

“Do you really want to know?”

A rare smile split his father’s face. “Perhaps not. Now, my son, please see reason and work with me here. If we plan carefully, in the not-too-distant future, the throne will be yours.” He fixed Axel with sharp eyes. “But your game with Lynx—it ends now.”

Axel raised an eyebrow.

“You have what you wanted. You have taken over command in Treven. Now leave Lynx. The only way Mott will go blithely to his death is if she and Lukan show up tomorrow for the wedding.”

Axel grudgingly admitted that his father had a point. Still, he shot back, “Knowing she is safe is hardly interfering.”

His father sucked in an impatient breath and then pulled his informa from his pocket. Quick as a flash, he held it up to Axel’s eyes, blasting his retina with a red beam of light.

“What the hell?” Axel yelled, tossing his chair back in his scramble to get out of the rays.

“Oh, calm down, Axel. It’s the new technology I programmed to control the doors in the lair.” His father stood. “If you’re so worried about the Norin bitch, spend your night searching for her. It’s certainly not the worst thing you could be doing between now and the wedding.”

Axel no longer believed Lynx was in the dungeons, but when he left the room, he still slid open every door, looking for her.

It was fruitless. Finding her in the palace, with its thousand rooms, would be almost impossible, but he had to try. After dismissing the guardsmen in the camera control room, he pulled up a chair at a bank of monitors and started the slow scan of every room in the palace fitted with candle sconces.

His ears pricked when he saw Lukan in conversation with Morass. His cousin held a crossbow and a vial of yellow liquid in his hand. Axel’s blood chilled as he listened to Lukan brief Morass to kill Lynx after the wedding. He buried his face in his hands and tried to breathe as the full implication of Lukan and his father’s scheming hit him.

Needing to move, he leaped up from his seat and started to pace as he considered how to save her. Lynx avoiding the wedding was not an option. That meant he had to come up with another workable plan. The obvious solution was to change the command Lukan had programmed into Morass’s head.

Axel flipped to the ice crystal program on his informa and flicked through lines of coding. Cold fear settled on him when he didn’t recognize the programming. Clearly, it was something new his father had devised.

It’s just code. No different to anything else. Just figure it out.

Face puckered in concentration, he began to unravel the complexities of his father’s mystery. Just when he thought he was making progress, he hit an unfamiliar encryption. Conscious of the passing of time, he systematically worked through it.

Until he met the next encryption, then the next.

Finally, it struck that this was no coincidence. The changes were coming so quickly that his father had to be dueling with him. His heart sank. Was this why his father had let him stay in the lair? To prove that he was in control and that Axel had no choice but to obey him?

Not while Axel drew breath.

But he knew that a battle of attrition, with him thrusting and his father parrying for supremacy of Morass’s brain, was pointless. He could never win on his father’s battleground.

Perhaps the answer was to command one of Stefan’s loyal men to eliminate Morass while the assassin waited in his hiding place during the wedding? Axel rejected that idea. His father would expect Axel to try something like that. It would only expose Stefan and his ice-crystal-immune men to possible scrutiny. Axel couldn’t risk Stefan’s safety like that.

There was always another plan . . . Axel tossed his informa down and hoicked his feet onto the table. Too radical to consider seriously, he tried to push the idea away. It refused to budge. Sweat beading on his upper lip, he prayed to all the gods he didn’t believe in that he would not be required to use it.

But it was the only current option. Axel grunted, knowing it was the hugest, riskiest toss of the dice he had ever made.

His father and Lukan had left him no choice but to step in front of Lynx’s quarrel.

Axel grimaced and then brushed his fear aside. He didn’t plan on dying. His ceremonial armor—a black leather brigandine emblazoned with a red-and-gold Dragon—would offer some protection against the quarrel, and King Thorn had an antidote to the poison. The Norin were a mere three days away by airship. Twenty-four years of overprotectiveness convinced Axel that his father would have him on the first available airship out of Cian. Lynx would be afforded no such courtesy if Morass targeted her.

If Lynx knew, she’d never let him risk his life for her. She could know nothing of his plan, but she would surely use her influence with her father to save his life. That influence would give her power—and amnesty from his father’s scheming. His father would never target Lynx while she held the key to Axel’s safety.

It was the only solution he could see to the calamity his father and Lukan planned. Face set in a mask of determination, Axel set off to enlist Stefan’s help.

40

Lynx heard the key rattle in the lock on her cell door. With no windows, she had no idea what time it was. Sleep had been elusive, due to a combination of claustrophobia and despair, which she knew her wedding day would do little to dispel. Her beloved Axel would have to stand by and watch her marry his cousin. Every fiber in her body berated her for causing him pain, but honor had to be served.

Winds, please let him understand. And forgive me for hurting him.

With one oath almost fulfilled, she needed to meet with Uncle Bear to plot a strategy to complete her second oath—telling her father about the ice crystals. Regardless of the Chenayans, she would find time today at the wedding to speak with him. It would take her mind off her own sorrow at losing Axel.

The door opened, and she stood to face her visitor, expecting to see Mother Saskia.

Lynx raised her eyebrows as Lady Tatiana stepped into the room. Over her arm hung a golden dress. She held it out to Lynx.

“Let’s get you into this.”

“Let’s?” Lynx folded her arms. No matter what Tao had said about Tatiana, Lynx had no intention of letting this stranger know she mourned the loss of the love of her life. “My mother taught me to tie my shoe laces when I was a child. I haven’t needed help with dressing since then.”

Tatiana’s piercing dark eyes settled on Lynx. “The emperor is right. You are a wild one.”

“The emperor? He sent you?”

“He thinks you need help—with the length of your skirt.”

Lynx snorted. “So much for our deal.”

“What deal would that be, Highness?”

“That I could wear my knee-length dresses with a bustle as long as I seduced his son,” Lynx said icily. Mott’s ex-mistress was the last person in the world with whom Lynx would want to spend her last morning as a single woman. Even Mother Saskia would have been preferable to this.

Lady Tatiana’s perfectly penciled-in eyebrow rose. “And have you seduced his son?”

Lynx’s cheeks warmed. “I hardly think I need discuss that with you.”

Laughter rattled in Lady Tatiana’s throat. “Have no fear, Princess Lynx, sex between the two of you is assured—given how our crown prince’s tongue hangs out every time he looks at you. A boiled goldfish has more sense that he does. And looks less gormless.”

Lynx scowled, both at her own childish blush and at Tatiana’s crass directness. Not to mention her veiled insult. “I suppose you’ll be checking our bed sheets, ready to report to the emperor when the boiled goldfish and I finally do the deed?”

Tatiana’s smile reminded Lynx of an old lioness, tired but not to be trifled with. She held out a corset and bustle. “Your dress.”

Lynx frowned, considering her course. Should she do what Uncle Bear would suggest and wear the long dress to keep the peace? Or should she risk defying the emperor and refusing?

Perhaps tired of holding the garments, Tatiana dropped the garment on the bed and glided over to an icon of the Dragon, the only adornment in the stark room. She studied it as if was the most fascinating piece of artwork in the world.

Heart pounding as she considered the consequences of this decision, Lynx fingered the lacy gold corset. In one quick movement, she wriggled out of her sleep-creased dress and tossed it on the floor. Then she grabbed the golden wedding gown and pulled it over her head. The silk settled around her as if the dress had been made for her.

It hadn’t. At least a dozen Norin brides had worn it before her. Some Chenayan seamstress had labored to ensure it fit her perfectly. Lynx slid her hands down the luxurious skirt, aware of the fabric bunching at her feet. She had an oath to fulfill and if tripping over a long skirt smoothed that process, then she would not fight it. Hands fumbling at her back made her jump.

Lady Tatiana’s fingers expertly tugged at the ties lacing the dress closed. She half-coughed, half-snorted. “Tall, thin, and not a natural curve in sight, and yet you still have men gagging after you.” She gave an especially hard tug on the ties, almost choking the breath out of Lynx. “How is that possible?”

The last thing Lynx wanted was to discuss her attributes, such as they were, so she pulled away. Tatiana laughed, a croaky sound, and Lynx wondered what Mott’s ex-mistress thought of her decision to wear the traditional dress. She turned to face her, trying to read her expression. Tatiana’s thoughts were hidden behind a haughty sneer.

It was time to get rid of her.

Lynx pulled herself up tall and said firmly, “I am quite capable of doing my own hair.”

Another snort. “If you call that mess of a bun you’ve been sporting ‘capable,’ then yes, I suppose you are. If, however, you wish to look like an empress, then allow me to help you. After all, Highness, the boiled goldfish is not the only person you need to impress today.”

Lynx sighed. As much as she hated to admit it, Tatiana was right. Not only did she need to seduce Lukan if she was ever to fulfill the Dmitri Curse, but she also had to beguile the rest of the high-born if she was to make any allies here.

That didn’t mean she had to be gracious about it. “Fine,” she snapped, and plunked herself down onto the bed to await Lady Tatiana’s ministrations.

Within minutes, Tatiana had rustled up a box of make-up and an array of hairbrushes, hot tongs warming in a brazier, and handfuls of clips. Lynx closed her eyes and allowed herself to be primped. An hour later, Tatiana declared her ready and held up a mirror up to Lynx’s face. Lynx gasped, hardly recognizing herself.

“On your feet, Highness,” Tatiana said, stepping back.

Lynx teetered up on the high heels Tatiana insisted she wear. “Winds! How am I supposed to walk in these?”

“Carefully, unless you want to confirm in everyone’s minds that you are nothing but a jumped-up low-born.”

Lynx glared at her. “The word you are looking for is Norin. And there is nothing elevating about marrying into the Avanov family. Despite your lack of aversion to spreading your legs for the head.”

Instead of looking offended, as Lynx hoped, Tatiana smiled, the only real smile Lynx had yet seen on the woman. “Come, Highness, save the act. We both know you’d rather be out on the plains, dressed in leather, hunting down ostrich poachers.”

Lynx shrugged, acknowledging the truth.

“But, instead, here you are.” A hand brushed Lynx’s dress as if Tatiana were wiping out imaginary creases. “A toy for a spoiled man. So wrong on so many levels. But, sadly, given time, Highness, and you’ll be spreading your legs, too. Just like the rest of us.”

Lynx was about to comment that she would never be like the rest of them, but Mott’s ex-lover was already at the door.

“Maybe spreading my legs for Lukan is my plan,” Lynx said to her back, knowing she had not come off victor in this meeting. Still, she couldn’t resist adding, “Our bed sheets? For when the day comes?”

Tatiana didn’t look back at her. “Will be taken care of.” She swept out of the room in a shimmer of gemstones and silk.

41

For the first time in his life, Lukan was early. He straightened his crown in the mirror on the wall of the antechamber where he waited for Lynx, Tao, and Kestrel. A magnificent dragon with ruby red eyes, the crown suited his face perfectly.

He sighed. Today, he was getting married. Against his will.

Regardless of what Dmitri had said about the sanctity of human choice, Lukan had been a tile right from the start—a mere piece on the strategy board to be manipulated by his father and his uncle. Squandered even, if it suited their game plan.

Well, today, all that would change.

The moment his father lay dead at his feet, he would deliver a damning speech to the high-born. Lukan smiled with grim satisfaction; in a stroke of genius, he had briefed Morass to hold back after shooting his father until the speech had been given. Even Felix had seemed happy with that arrangement.

So, if all went according to plan, Felix’s cretin wouldn’t have to let fly his second quarrel. Lynx would walk free. His smile turned to a grimace. What he would do with her after that remained a mystery.

The rasp of boots on the flagstones reached him. He recognized the gait before he saw the wearer.

Axel.

Lukan’s usual anger at his cousin flared, but he stifled it. The minute his speech started, he would need Axel like never before. He fixed a smile as Axel entered the room. It was wiped away by the gasp that escaped his lips. “You look . . . terrible. Exhausted. Like you haven’t slept.”

Axel grunted, and Lukan wondered if his cousin would deign to reply. Then, with an astuteness Lukan bemoaned, Axel drawled, “You look like hell, too. Even your diamond has lost its sparkle.”

Lukan probed his stone. It brought his mission to break the news to the high-born to the fore. He felt his face pale—even more than it probably already was.

He changed the subject. “You have the rings?”

His cousin had the honor of being ring-bearer for both him and Tao. Axel pulled four gold bands, each slightly different, out of a pocket and tossed them into the air, catching them expertly. He dropped them back into his pocket and fixed Lukan with a sharp stare. “So, Morass?”

Lukan’s heart skipped a couple of beats.

Felix had told Axel about their plans. Of course he had. But did that include Felix’s scheme to murder Lynx? An icy chill surged through Lukan. He studied Axel’s face for any clue that his cousin suspected she could be in danger. As usual, Axel’s sardonic expression gave nothing away. Lukan briefly considered taking Axel into his confidence but rejected the idea. The fewer people who knew what he planned, the better.

Instead, he would use cleverness to elicit answers. “I wanted Lynx to accompany me to dinner last night, but I . . . couldn’t find her. She wasn’t with you, was she?”

Axel turned flinty eyes on him. “As if I’d tell you.”

Lukan snorted. He had his answer. The Axel he knew and hated would have no problem gloating if Lynx had spent the night with him.

A low hiss of voices had him—and Axel—turning toward the doorway. Tao, holding Kestrel’s arm, followed by Lynx, stepped into the room.

“I met them in the hallway,” Tao explained, but Lukan hardly heard him.

Like steel to a magnet, his eyes locked onto Lynx. Shimmering like liquid gold, she glided slowly across the room. Folds of fabric stretched out behind her like golden lava. Her silky blond hair tumbled in gentle waves, softening her face. But it was her eyes that struck him. Rimmed with kohl, he could see forever in their crystal depths. Someone had worked hard to ensure that she looked every inch an empress.

Just as well because today we will both ascend to the throne.

He found his tongue and was about to speak when Axel stepped up to greet her. Lukan scowled as she smiled up at Axel, her face soulful with emotion.

Speaking softly, she said, “Honor. You understand that, don’t you?”

Axel nodded. “It’s what I love about you.” He gestured to Lynx’s wedding gown. “Go with Malika and Stefan. Afterward.”

Offended by Axel’s declaration, Lukan elbowed past his cousin to claim his bride. “If you and Axel are quite finished, perhaps we can get on with the day? It would not do to keep our subjects waiting.”

“Since when have you cared about keeping people waiting?” Tao murmured.

For the first time since Tao and Kestrel appeared, Lukan looked at his brother and his betrothed. Lukan couldn’t resist a small smile of relief. For once, Kestrel’s eyes weren’t locked on him. As used to being admired by women as he was, Kestrel’s attentions had been almost unnerving; he empathized with the voles her namesake hunted. Today, the princess’s rapacious eyes were fixed on Lynx’s gown, far more spectacular than her own silver dress.

Her jealousy didn’t concern him. Lukan clasped Lynx’s arm and set off toward the main doors to the great hall. Tao and Kestrel followed, with Axel bringing up the rear.

The great hall was festive, with huge garlands of red roses spilling between black and gold bunting. An army of low-born waited in the kitchen to clear the chairs away and set up tables for a wedding feast Lukan knew would never happen.

Not after the death of his father.

The moment the guardsman at the door spotted their procession, he blasted his trumpet, and every knee—apart from the emperor’s—bent.

Gliding slowly, as only a crown prince moments away from claiming the throne could, Lukan led Lynx up an aisle set between rows of seats lining both sides of the hall. Although years of practice ensured he could appear serene—majestic even—under the most trying of circumstances, the back of his neck burned, and rivulets of sweat trickled down his tunic.

Morass lurked in a hidden spy cubicle at the far end of the hall, divided by a wall from the crowds of guardsmen and priestesses jamming the gallery. Lukan longed to look back, but years of discipline kept his eyes focused on Mother Saskia.

The priestess waited at an altar below the dais, where his father sat on his throne, surveying the crowd.

At last, the long walk was over, and he and Lynx reached the altar. His wedding ceremony was about to start. For good or for ill, Lynx the Norin raider would be his wife.

The trumpet blared again, and the assembled throng rose to their feet, the high-born to sit on their cushioned seats, the rest of the observers to stand. Guardsmen and priestesses in the gallery would carry stories of his wedding into the homes of Cian. From there, rumor would spread throughout the empire, embellishing the simple announcement each town crier would have been commanded to make.

Mother Saskia started to speak, but Lukan hardly heard her.

How would his subjects greet the news of Mott’s death? Would they welcome him as their new emperor? How would his announcement to the high-born that their stones were a fraud change the lot of the nameless millions he would command? Despite the heat from the burning torches and the mass of bodies packed into the hall, he shivered. With everything else going on, he had given no thought to the shape his new government would take. All he knew was that both his father and his uncle had to die.

Today.

As the priestess’s voice droned on, he glanced up at Felix, sitting on a smaller throne below Mott’s.

Lukan smiled in anticipation of shouting to Morass to shoot his uncle instead of Lynx. Let Felix suffer the agonizingly slow death of the Norin poison.

And the consequences?

What did it matter whom he killed today if the whole palace was in an uproar with rampaging high-born out for revenge? The Fifteen would praise him as a hero for freeing them from Avanov suppression.

Someone nudged Lukan’s arm.

Axel.

His cousin glowered at him, rings on a black velvet cushion shoved at his chest. Lukan swallowed hard, looking around. Was it possible he had missed the entire ceremony? Axel’s expression suggested he had. He cleared his throat, gave Lynx a tentative smile, and took the smaller ring off the cushion. Lynx took the other.

Facing Lynx, together with her, he repeated the Chenayan vows Mother Saskia chanted. “With this ring, I thee wed. With this ring, I thee troth. Mine to hold. Mine to have. Mine to keep until death us do part.”

With shaking hands, Lukan slipped his ring onto the finger Lynx held out to him.

Face expressionless, eyes frozen, she took his hand and fumbled to get her ring on his thumb. Task done, she turned to face Mother Saskia, as if nothing momentous had just happened between them.

That rankled. The least the girl could do was smile for the crowds. Was that too much to ask? Face like stone, he turned to Mother Saskia.

Holding her hands to the heavens, the priestess declared, “By the power vested in me by His Magnificence, Emperor Mott, Supreme Ruler of All Chenaya and the Conquered Territories, I declare His Imperial Highness, Crown Prince Lukan Avanov, and Her Highness, Princess Lynx of Norin, husband and wife.” She picked up a gavel and hit the altar. “So be it.”

It was time for him and his new wife to face their subjects.

“Wave and smile, and then we must kiss,” Lukan hissed under his breath as he took Lynx’s arm. Aware of her rigid body, he smiled and waved. Hopefully, all eyes would be on him, so no one would notice Lynx’s fake upturned lips and icy eyes.

The crowd burst into roars of applause, which he took as a sign to kiss his bride.

Heart racing, he turned to her. She was shaking, her whole body trembling as if she were gripped with fever, and her face was bleached white.

“Do it. Quickly,” she whispered, her voice pleading.

A frisson of anger mixed with sorrow coursed through Lukan. She was his wife, the woman he’d just vowed to spend the rest of his life with, but she didn’t want him. Yet, he still wanted her with an ache that threatened to crush him.

He took a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm him. Sensing the anticipation—every person in the hall seemed to lean forward for a better view—Lukan forced his hand up to cup Lynx’s face. Next to him, Axel stiffened. Hating Axel, and his father, and Thurban, and Dmitri—everyone who had ever wronged him—Lukan closed his eyes and kissed his wife on her perfect, irresistible lips.

Lynx did not kiss him back. Then she placed her hand on his wrist and kissed him lightly on his lips.

Need, so strong it almost laid him low, gripped him. He reached out a hand to steady himself on the altar.

His movement broke the kiss.

Without meeting his eyes, Lynx stepped away from him and smiled out at the crowd.

Lips burning from her touch, one thing was crystal clear: He wanted Lynx more than anything else in the world. And after his speech to the high-born, he could have her. That night he would make love to her, consummating their marriage and binding her to him until death them did part.

Mother Saskia cleared her throat, a gentle reminder, perhaps, that Tao and Kestrel needed their time at the altar. After a last smile at the crowd, Lukan led Lynx to a double throne off to the side.

The moment his brother and Kestrel were married, Emperor Mott stood and began his descent from the dais.

Lukan’s insides turned to water. Any minute now, Morass would strike.

* * *

Mott was almost at the base of the stairs. Nervously twirling her wedding band, Lynx kept her eyes on Axel. It was only his presence here, sharing her pain and despair, that stopped her from shouting out to Mott and the crowd that she despised Lukan and had married him only to fulfill a pledge to her father. An oath that now no longer bound her.

As if sensing her turmoil, Axel glanced over at her and smiled—the sardonic grin she loved so much. It was instantly calming. The smile faded as he gestured to a table draped with a red cloth near the altar.

On it sat the ugliest crown Lynx had ever seen. Not that she had seen too many crowns, despite being the daughter of a king. This serpentine thing was the smaller companion to the winged body of the Avanov Dragon Lukan wore on his brow.

Axel picked it up and nodded, her signal to join him at the wooden rail beneath the emperor’s throne. It was time for her coronation as Crown Princess of all Chenaya and the Conquered Territories.

Her stomach writhed at the prospect of having that hideous thing anywhere near her head. Wearing the Dragon was an affront to everything she believed. Still, it was unavoidable, so she would acquiesce without a murmur—until the day came when she destroyed the Dragon and all it represented.

Slowly, carefully, lest she trip over her stupid skirt in her even stupider heels, she made her way to the red cushion on the floor below the rail where Mott stood.

Axel smiled at her again and made a small bunching gesture with his hands. She guessed he was remembering the last time she had worn a floor-length Chenayan dress. She returned his smile. Who could have guessed that day on the train that she would fall so helplessly, so painfully in love with him? And he for her.

She reached the railing. Axel joined her, carrying the crown. They bowed to the emperor, and Lynx knelt on a red cushion. The emperor swept the crown off its cushion and held it high above her head.

Then he bellowed, “Princess Lynx of Norin, as wife of His Imperial Highness, Crown Prince Lukan, I declare you Crown Princess of All Chenaya and the Conquered Territories.” With no thought to gentleness, he rammed the diadem onto her head.

Lynx staggered under the impact as the Dragon’s malevolent face crushed the skin in the middle of her forehead. But her cry of pain was lost in a louder shriek.

Eyes wide, Lynx watched a bloom of red spread across Emperor Mott’s golden tunic. Mouth now moving soundlessly, hand grasping at the quarrel embedded in his heart, Mott collapsed. His head hit the marble floor with a crack, but from the expression in his glassy eyes, the emperor felt no pain.

Almost in slow motion, Lynx saw Lukan rise from his throne. She turned to Axel to ask what was happening but didn’t get to speak.

Axel was already moving. He hit her side with the full strength of his body. She reeled to the floor with him on top, her cry of shock muffled by the cold marble tiles. Caught in yards of gold silk, it took her a moment to scramble upright.

And then she screamed.

* * *

Axel felt the quarrel rip through his brigandine and pierce his back—the target he offered to Morass with the least chance of an instantly lethal shot. Lying on Lynx, he staggered to all fours, trying to stand, but his legs seemed to have lost the will to obey.

Then pain hit him. A burning so sharp he could have sworn a blacksmith had stabbed his back with a shaft of molten steel. Despite his desire to fight it, his body sagged and then crumpled to the floor next to Lynx.

Through the haze of burning, he heard rapid boot falls and grimaced a smile. Stefan was on hand, as reliable as the sunrise. He and his band of his men rushed forward to protect Lynx. Before they could do so, he had to persuade her to obey them.

Face in a rictus of terror, she fell down next to him. “Axel! Axel! Speak to me!”

He forced his lips and tongue to move. “G-go with Stef. H-hide. T-they want to . . . kill you. My . . . father. Lukan.” He gasped, but the air burned like embers in his lungs. “Found out . . . lair—” His mouth stumbled, his tongue feeling like he was dragging it through molasses.

Lynx leaned down and kissed him full on the lips. “I won’t leave you. Not ever.”

He wanted to plead with her to go, but his mind couldn’t seem to hold on to the thoughts. In the distance, he heard the wedding guests shouting.

Another voice, sharper, desperate. “Come on, Lynx. Now.” Malika. His sister tugged Lynx away, but she held on tight to his arm.

“Your brother! He’s dying!”

“He loves you with all his heart.” Malika sobbed. “Show your love by saving yourself—or his sacrifice is wasted.”

“We can’t leave him here! He needs help.”

“Trust me, he will get it.” Stefan’s voice, cool and collected. “But first, he instructed me to get you away from here before another quarrel flies. You would not deny him that, would you?”

Another kiss, and Lynx slipped her hands from Axel’s arm. She called her sister’s name. Kestrel answered, running along behind Lynx, Malika, and Stefan. They broke through Stefan’s line of guardsmen, armed with drawn crossbows, which now divided the royal family from the crowd. A few of them broke ranks to escort Lynx to safety.

Every cell in his back burning, Axel closed his eyes. His last thought as he slipped into unconsciousness was that someone else would have to save Treven.

* * *

Caught between rising and sitting on his throne, Lukan forced his frozen muscles to move, to turn to face Felix.

Felix!

The only one who could have betrayed him, the only person who knew he had commanded Morass to wait until after his address to the high-born before cutting Lynx down.

Up on the dais, Felix sat rock still. Then, his waxy face seemed to crumble as fierce keening split the air. The sound rode high above the clamor and screams coming from the wedding guests. His uncle staggered to his feet and stumbled down the stairs. He ran to Axel and flung his frail body down where Lynx had lain just moments before.

“My son, my son,” Felix moaned, with the despair only a father who knew his child was beyond help could muster. “Why this?”

Lukan was under no illusions about Norin hatred. What Norin king would hand over his coveted antidote to save an Avanov? Especially if one of his raiders had died in the procurement of the poison. Thorn was Lynx’s father, but that didn’t mean he would grant something so outrageous to his child. Lukan’s father wouldn’t have.

It was just reward for all Felix’s conniving.

But . . . but how could Axel have known about the plans to kill Lynx? He had to have known because he had thrown himself in the path of her quarrel.

Lukan’s stomach clenched. Could he ever love like that?

His eyes flickered to his father, lying unmourned in his own gore. This . . . this ice in my heart is all your fault. And now you’ve paid for all of it.

Another thought hit him. Now was the moment, his chance to speak to the high-born, if he could just call them to order. Shaking, heart pounding, he slid his way across the bloody floor to the altar. He picked up the gavel and looked out over the crowd.

Everyone was on their feet, shouting and screaming as they stumbled around overturned chairs in their panic. Some headed for the exit, already jammed with people trying to flee. Others stood together in clumps, mouths agape as if they could not believe what they had just witnessed.

Lukan’s courage failed him. This was not the right time to add to the mayhem by making any announcement about the gemstones.

His eyes trailed to Morass. The assassin had opened the door to the hatch before the shootings, but the dark space seemed empty. Morass had vanished.

Felix. Again. Of course his uncle would have commanded Morass to flee, taking with him the evidence of Lukan’s part in this regicide. No doubt Felix intended to blackmail Lukan with Morass for the rest of his life. Worse, with a little tweak here, a little tweak there, Felix must have also programmed Morass to kill Lynx before he made his speech.

Now the guardsman was gone, and Lukan could never prove his innocence to her in Axel’s shooting. Anger more potent than anything Lukan had every experienced flooded through him. He dropped the gavel and spun, boot extended, ready to kick Felix.

The sharp rap of the gavel striking the altar rocked the hall. “Silence! I will have order!”

As the crowd stilled, Lukan looked up to see Tao standing tall and regal with the gavel in his hand. Lukan’s jaw sagged in disbelief. His brother dared to step into his leadership role? He stumbled forward, ready to snatch the gavel away.

Tao dropped to his knees before him, shouting, “The emperor is dead! Long live the emperor!”

Slowly, perhaps reluctantly, the crowd took up the cry. As it built in momentum, Lukan swallowed. His brother was right; he was Emperor of All Chenaya and the Conquered Territories. The man everyone claimed was too weak to rule.

Oh, would he show them all!

He straightened his back, brushed imaginary lint from his breeches, and turned to face his subjects.

42

Lynx paced the tiny cell in Mother Saskia’s cloister, where Stefan had brought her, Malika, and Kestrel. Hiding here went against her every instinct, but Stefan had told her it was Axel’s wish.

How could she disobey?

Axel had stepped in front of a quarrel for her. The depth of his love left her humbled—and furious. Furious they could not be together and even more livid that he could die while she paced here helplessly. Stefan had left immediately, promising to return with news of Axel and Lukan.

From the bed, Lynx could feel Kestrel’s glares burning her back but ignored them.

Kestrel thumped her hands down onto the bed. “It was my wedding, supposed to be the best day of my life, and you all ruined it for me.”

“We ruined it for you?” Malika jerked her tear-stained face toward Kestrel. “We saved you. The next quarrel could have been yours.”

Kestrel folded her arms across her chest. “I’m a loyal subject of the crown. No one would harm me. And I don’t believe anyone would want to harm Lynx, either.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Malika hissed. “You don’t know how tempted I am right now. And my brother is dying because he took that quarrel to save her.”

“How much longer do we stay here?” Lynx asked, not wanting to listen to them argue.

“Until Stefan returns,” Malika said in a firm voice that belied her trembling shoulders.

Kestrel jumped up off the mattress. “Where is Tao? What could be more important than looking after his wife?”

“You do know his father has just been murdered?” Malika snapped. “He must be up to his ears in politics right now. The whole court must be in an uproar.”

Kestrel stamped her foot. “Then I repeat, what could be more important than looking after his wife?”

Malika opened her mouth to retort, but Lynx cut her off. “Did Axel tell you what he planned?”

Malika’s mouth closed with an audible click. She turned to Lynx with a distraught expression. “Last night, while he was looking for you, he saw footage of Lukan talking to the assassin in the lair. They were discussing plans to kill you as well as the emperor. He tried to change the programming, but my father stopped him.” Malika wrung her skirt as tears flowed freely down her face. “Once my brother failed, there was no stopping him. Nothing Stefan and I could say would change his mind.”

“Why didn’t he come to me last night? Didn’t he see footage of me being taken to the cloister?”

“He did, but he knew you’d be safe because my father commanded Mother Saskia to protect you.”

“That still doesn’t explain why he didn’t come to me.”

Malika looked up at Lynx with bloodshot eyes. “He was scared you would talk him out of it, if you knew. And he was so . . . distracted, you would have known something was wrong.”

“He’s right. I would have stopped him,” Lynx said. Then she paused. “Mali, I’m worried about one thing.”

“Just one?”

Lynx managed a wan smile. “Axel’s lips—they were turning blue. Did you see that?”

“Between your kisses? To be honest, no. Anyway, what does that matter?”

Even Kestrel perked up, taking an interest. “My sister knows quarrel wounds.” She turned to Lynx. “Blue lips aren’t typical, are they? Not unless . . .”

Lynx and Kestrel exchanged frowns.

Malika leaped to her feet. “Unless what?”

Lynx ran her hands over her face before speaking. “I—I don’t know. It shouldn’t be possible . . . but yet—”

“What?” Malika’s voice spiked.

“Tell her, Lynx,” Kestrel said. “It’s her brother. As annoying as she is, she has the right to know.”

Malika glared at Kestrel and then faced Lynx.

Lynx took Malika’s hand but continued speaking to Kestrel. She wanted facts before saying anything to further upset Axel’s sister. “How would Felix and Lukan have gotten hold of it? That’s what’s making me doubt.”

Malika pulled her hand away and dug her nails into Lynx’s arm. “Stop protecting me. Kestrel’s right. He’s my brother, and I love him as much as you do.”

“Did Axel say anything to you about poisoned quarrels?”

Malika looked from Lynx to Kestrel. “No. Why?”

“Nothing to Stefan?”

“I don’t know. Please, Lynx, what’s going on?”

Lynx pulled away from Malika, darted to the door, and started pounding on it. If she was right, Axel needed her right away. “Mother Saskia! Open up. I have to speak to Lukan and Felix. Urgently.” She turned to Malika. “Blue lips and extremities are telltale signs of murghi, a Norin poison. It slows the heart, addles the mind, and then paralyzes the limbs. After that, death is sure.” Lynx lowered her voice to a grim tone. “It has stood for centuries between Norin and destruction by you Chenayans.”

Malika blanched.

Lynx pounded on the door again. “Mother Saskia! Winds! Where is this woman?”

The door flew open, making Lynx jump back.

“Your Majesty?” Mother Saskia bowed low.

Lynx blinked, wondering to whom she was referring. Then, she remembered. Mott was dead. That made Lukan emperor, and by default, it made her empress.

She brushed the title aside. “I have to speak to Lukan and Felix about Axel.”

The priestess looked doubtful. “It’s not safe.”

“That can’t be helped.” Lynx pushed past Saskia but, in her haste, tripped over her skirt and high heels. “Dragon’s arse. Someone give me a knife.”

Mother Saskia hesitated and then obeyed, handing Lynx her stumpy dagger. Lynx grabbed a handful of fabric and bent down, stabbing the dress just above her knee. Then, she hacked away at the silk.

Mother Saskia hissed. “Your Majesty, generations of crown princesses have worn that dress.”

“There won’t be any more crown princesses if I have anything to do with it,” Lynx said, relishing the screech of tearing silk. She stepped over the mound of discarded fabric with bare feet. “Where will I find them?”

The clatter of boots on stone drowned out anything the priestess may have said. Stefan stormed around the corner, skidding to a halt in front of Lynx. Fit as he was, his breath came in rasps.

“Axel . . . he needs you. Come. Infirmary.”

“Is Lukan there?” Lynx demanded, falling into step with him.

“Felix, too. Axel’s been poisoned.”

Skirt swaying, Malika ran after Lynx as she and Stefan raced down the passageway.

As they rounded the corner, Lynx heard Kestrel shout from behind, “Don’t mind me!”

Ignoring her petulant sister, Lynx ran on. The route to the infirmary took Lynx down different passages and halls, ones she had never seen before. In each one, people clumped, faces drawn and frightened, audible snippets of their conversation centered on the horror of the wedding. They dropped into deep bows as Lynx sprinted by. There would be no wedding party in the great hall tonight. Who celebrated the assassination of an emperor and the attempted murder of one of his heirs?

Only the assassins. Lukan will pay for this if it’s the last thing I do.

Breathing hard, she, Stefan, and Malika finally stopped outside a white door bearing the ubiquitous Dragon emblem. Stefan flung it open, and Lynx bolted in, dodging her way around beds filled with the sick and dying.

A priestess looked up from a man she was tending. She bobbed a knee and then gestured to a closed door. “In there, Your Majesty.”

Lynx surged past Stefan and Malika and barged into a small private ward. Stark and utilitarian, it was furnished with only a single wooden bed, a chair, and a small table with a bowl of water, a cloth, and a heap of bloody bandages. Axel lay on his stomach, his clothing ripped open to expose his back. His father sat at his head, mopping his sweaty face. Lukan leaned against the wall, his arms crossed against his chest.

Malika fell down next to Axel and took his hand. Stefan stayed close to Lynx’s side.

Lynx gasped when she saw Axel’s face. Although his eyes were closed, his wildly fluttering eyelids and rambling moans all pointed to murghi. She gently lifted his other hand and swore. His fingers were blue up to the first knuckles.

She turned to Lukan. “The poison. How did you get it?”

Felix answered. “That is unimportant. What matters now is to heal him.”

Lynx agreed. Still, she folded her arm. Murghi in the hands of the enemy was devastating for Norin. While she would do anything to save Axel, she also had to protect her tribe. That meant the destruction of all stocks in Chenayan possession. Axel was the only bargaining chip she had. Surely, Felix wouldn’t hesitate to answer her questions if he believed she might not save his son? She meant to, of course, but Felix wouldn’t know that.

She thrust her chin at the Lord of the Household. “Answer my question.”

Felix stood. “My son sacrificed himself for you, and this is how you repay him . . . by arguing details?”

“That sacrifice would not have been necessary had it not been for the two of you.” Lynx turned icy eyes on Lukan.

Lukan’s mouth dropped. “Don’t include me in this. I was as shocked as you were when that second quarrel hit.”

Liar! Dismissing him, she said to Felix, “The safety of my people is no mere detail.” She bit her lip, hating what she was about to say, but she knew Axel would not only understand but approve. “You want an antidote for your son’s poison, but it comes at a price—a full disclosure of how you got the murghi and how many stocks you hold.”

Felix’s jaw set in a hard line, and she wondered if he’d answer. Felix Avanov clearly didn’t like receiving ultimatums. Trouble was, despite her agony at every one of Axel’s ragged breaths, she wouldn’t back down. He would answer her, and she would save Axel. It was the only way this would end. She ignored Malika’s gasps of shock and focused on Felix.

Finally, Lukan broke the impasse. “He only had one dose. He got it off a dead raider who took you and your sister to Tanamre.”

Lynx had barely processed his words when her knees buckled. She had to grab onto the bed for support. “You . . . you murdered one of my raiders? Which one?”

On arriving at Tanamre, she had commanded three men who had accompanied them to reconnoiter the Chenayan military base—Onyx, Ash, and Buzzard—while Heron escorted her and Kestrel into the camp. Which of them had been killed? It couldn’t be Heron, could it?

“What does it matter?” Felix snarled. “These are trifles compared to my son.”

Lynx swung her fist to hit Felix, but Stefan grabbed her arm.

“No, Your Majesty,” Stefan whispered, as if he were reminding her of her station. “That would not be wise.” He gestured to Axel writhing on the bed. “Please, focus and save my friend.”

Lynx lowered her arm, then fixed Felix with her hardest, coldest stare. “From your own lips . . . how much murghi do you hold?”

Felix pulled out his handkerchief and started blowing his nose. Lynx leaped forward, snatched the filthy cloth away, and tossed it on the floor.

“Answer my question, or I walk out of here, and Axel dies.” Her firm voice betrayed nothing of the pain and anguish hiding behind the façade of her gambit.

Malika’s accusing stare was almost too painful to bear. Hopefully, she would give Lynx a chance to explain when all this was over. Who could have imagined that the opinion of a Chenayan girl could ever mean so much to me?

Lukan, who had been strangely quiet, now drifted over and stood next to Lynx. Sneering, he said, “Well, Uncle, it seems you have finally met someone who will not let you hide behind your rag. It looks to me as if she has you on the run.”

Lynx shot him a look, wondering why he was siding with her. Whatever he wants, he’s not getting it. Ever.

Felix pulled his cape tighter around his shoulders and brushed his wispy hair from his face. “There was one dose, and only one raider died. My operators barely escaped with their lives. Heron . . . your raider? Is that your lieutenant’s name? He tracked them mercilessly.”

Lynx wanted to heave a sigh of relief, but she didn’t, working hard to maintain her icy stare as Felix said, “If it hadn’t been for the waiting airship, he probably would have caught them.”

Lynx studied Felix’s face. Finally, she let out that sigh. For the first time since meeting him, the Lord of the Household’s expression blazed truth. She moved to Axel and ran her fingers gently down his beautiful arm. Then, she picked up the cloth and knelt to wipe his face.

Although she knew he would not understand her, she pressed her lips to his ear and whispered, “Even if he had more stocks of poison, I would have found a way to save you. You know that, don’t you?” Ignoring Lukan’s gasp of protest, she dropped a kiss on the side of Axel’s face.

She stood to face her audience, delighted to see a softening in Malika’s eyes. Perhaps she understood after all. “My uncle, Bear. Summon him so I can brief him on what to write to my father.”

Felix and Lukan exchanged heavy looks.

Lynx’s heart raced. “I haven’t seen my uncle since the ball. Where is he?”

Felix cleared his throat. “Beyond our service. We will have to plan without him.”

“What does that mean?”

“He’s dead,” Lukan said bluntly. He pointed to Felix. “He killed him. Apparently, Bear said he would help you spy.”

A combination of rage and guilt almost floored Lynx.

Lukan seemed not to notice. He glowered at Felix. “Just another bit of conniving my uncle has been engaged in these last few days.”

Lynx struck Felix across the face. He staggered, falling back toward the chair, missed it, and crumpled onto the floor.

“You murdered my uncle!” she screamed. “And my raider! You planned to kill me! And now you want my help? If it wasn’t for your son, I would tell you to drown in your own snot, you despicable little man.”

Lukan snorted a laugh, and Stefan’s and Malika’s eyes widened. Felix’s hands clawed at the air, and he tried to rise.

“I warned you, Uncle, but you didn’t listen,” Lukan said, with obvious delight, doing nothing to help him.

Lynx longed to know what Felix had done to anger Lukan, but there was no time to worry about that now. She had another agenda with her new husband. While Stefan and Malika helped Felix up, she spun to face Lukan. “And you, you rat. You wanted me dead, too. You won’t get away with it. I keep a long memory of my enemies.”

“How dare you,” Lukan said right back. “I told you, I had nothing to do with this. Like you, I’m an innocent bystander. This was all Felix.”

“Then why did Axel see you talking to the assassin about killing me?”

Lukan’s face paled. His mouth snapped closed; clearly he was marshaling his thoughts.

With no interest in what he had to say, Lynx pivoted back to Stefan. “Colonel Zarot, it seems you are the only one here I can trust—”

“You have other allies, too, Lynx.” Tao stepped into the room. “I will ensure any message you send to your father is carried by a loyal bearer.” Cold eyes turned to Lukan. “Someone not so easily swayed by my uncle.”

Lynx just resisted the urge to throw her arm around him. “There is no time for a message.” She brushed Axel’s matted hair. “Those airships Felix spoke of,” she glared at the Lord of the Household, who glared right back with vengeance and fury, “how fast are they?” She had no idea what an airship was, but she wasn’t going to waste any more time to find out.

“Faster than a train,” Stefan said. “He’ll be in Norin in three days. Unless your tribe has moved.”

Another squeak of relief escaped Lynx. Thanks to the egg raid planned for the wedding, the Norin would still be camped near Tanamre. “Three days it is. I’ll write to my father. Bring me ink and paper.”

Stefan moved to obey. He returned moments later, handing her everything she needed. She sat on the edge of the bed, next to Axel, with the paper balanced on her knee. Felix loomed over her expectantly. Stefan held the ink pot. Her skin burned, aware of Lukan watching her through hooded eyes.

“What are you going to say?” Malika knelt next to her brother, gently caressing his unharmed shoulder.

Lynx had no idea.

Father, I love him. Heal him for me. She couldn’t see her father accepting that when she was honor-bound to marry Lukan. But I did marry Lukan. That doesn’t mean my heart belongs to him.

She dipped her quill in the ink and wrote: Father, My honor remains in Cian, but I send you my heart. Please counter his murghi. She paused, realizing her father may think she had written the letter under duress. That meant she had to include something more personal. It was risky, but she added: The ruby next to his eye means nothing. But the guardsmen’s jaspers contain powers derived from technology predating the Burning. Axel will explain everything. She signed and folded the letter, wishing she had some sealing wax.

Felix obliged, dripping the melting wax onto the letter. Lynx hesitated, unsure of what to seal it with.

Tao stepped forward and pressed his signet ring into the hot wax. “Let him know you have other friends here.” Tao was still shooting glares at Lukan. Clearly, Tao had no trouble believing Lukan wanted her dead.

The wax had not yet hardened when Felix commanded, “Out with the bed. The airship is waiting at the launch pad.”

Tao and Stefan each grabbed an end and hefted the bed up, ready to march Axel from the room.

“Wait, Father,” Malika cried. “You can’t let him go alone. He needs someone to watch over him.”

“One of the priestesses, surely,” Stefan said, looking between Malika and Felix.

Lukan stepped forward, staring coolly at Stefan. “As emperor, I make that call, and I think it fitting that Colonel Zarot go.”

Stefan’s eyes darted to Lynx. With him gone, she was minus a vital ally. Still, Malika was right; Axel could not travel alone. She nodded, as if she had the power of veto or ratification over the emperor’s commands.

“Go. Tell Heron I send my love. Explain . . .” She paused. “You’ll know what to do when you meet him.”

“Enough of all this waffling,” Felix snapped, moving to the door.

Lynx was about to follow Axel when Lukan grabbed her arm. “You and I need to talk.”

43

Lynx wanted to shake Lukan off, to go with Axel, but Lukan needed dealing with. She could not live with a potential murderer. After waiting for the room to clear, she turned to him. “You do know that from now on, it’s war.”

Lukan’s breath hitched, and then he pleaded, “Lynx, listen to me, you’ve got it all wrong. I planned to save you. Honestly, I did. I had this whole speech worked out that I was going to give the high-born. It would have changed everything.”

“A speech? That was going to save me from a quarrel?” Lynx shook her head in disbelief. “Tell that to Axel!”

Anger flashed across Lukan’s face, and his eyes narrowed. “Don’t talk to me about Axel. I had to stand in front of the whole court, watching while you kissed him not five minutes after we married.”

Ignoring his outburst, Lynx added, “I wouldn’t have needed saving if you hadn’t plotted to kill me in the first place.” Why she was debating with him, she’d never know, when all she wanted was to break his neck.

Because I’m not ready to take on the Fifteen yet. Until I am, I have to manage this man. For that, she had to bring him firmly under control. Everything she knew about him screamed that fear and humiliation where the best tools for nobbling Lukan Avanov.

Lukan confirmed her thoughts by saying, “I’ve now told you over and over that my intentions were pure, but you have chosen not to believe me. Lynx, you have humiliated me in every possible way.”

“And humiliation beats premeditated murder every time.” Lynx laughed mockingly. “Lukan, even if I believe you, you sported with my life.”

“What about Axel?” Lukan demanded indignantly. “Did he tell you what everyone was planning?”

“No. He didn’t. But that’s not the point. He made a choice to use his life to protect mine.” She scowled at him. “And what about next time?”

“Next time?”

“Yes! Next time your uncle decides I’m not worthy to live? How can I trust you not to plot against me again?”

Lukan’s hands gripped his hair and then fell back to his sides. He strode across the room and hit the wall with his palm. “Because I want you. I’ve always wanted you, since the day I first saw you. You know that. Why would I harm you?”

The memory of Lukan leering at her across the hall during the summer burned harsh in Lynx’s mind. Still, she would have expected the threat of her son to have changed that. Apparently, she was wrong.

“Want is not love. I’m nothing but an object to you. I saw that at the ball. And it played out again so beautifully when you schemed with Felix to kill me.”

Another slap on the wall, then Lukan faced her. “Look, you’re right when you say I don’t love you. I can’t possibly because I hardly know you. But I’m willing to try, and that’s a start. I—I can even overlook this . . . obsession of yours with my cousin, if you promise to conduct yourself properly as my wife—especially when he returns. I cannot have the court talking about you and Axel behind my back.”

Lynx’s mouth dropped in disbelief. She snapped it closed. Did he really think she could let this go? That she could trust him again? With no qualm or conscience, he had been willing to cross his uncle in their deal. What stopped him from backstabbing her if it suited his agenda? Lukan Avanov was a man devoid of honor. And men devoid of honor were like vipers—only to be trusted when their heads were crushed between two rocks.

In the face of her stony silence, he cried, “You know Felix! You know how manipulative he is. What was I supposed to do?”

Lynx pointed to the empty space where Axel’s bed had stood. “You fight for what is right, for what you believe in, no matter the cost. As much as I love Axel, I was not letting your pathetic uncle intimidate me. It’s called having a backbone.”

Lukan shook his head, studying his feet. “Well, maybe I’m not as strong as you are.”

“No, you’re not,” Lynx agreed. She folded her arms and studied him.

Sniveling weakling that he was, she’d get no assurances from him. It was time to discover how Lukan saw the future—and to tell him what to expect if he had any illusions about trying to kill her again.

She did not intend on becoming a typical Norin bride married to a murderous Chenayan emperor. “What are your plans for your reign? More of what your father served up? Or do you see things changing in Chenaya?”

Lukan slumped down onto the chair. “There is so much to consider.”

“Would you take guidance? Counsel on how to rule, what to change?”

He looked up at her. “From whom?”

“Me.”

“A woman.” He shook his head. “What would the Fifteen say? Empresses are supposed to look pretty and host balls, not make decisions on government. Especially the kind of decisions you’ll want to make.”

It would do no harm to remind Lukan of the curse if he would not see reason. “I am sure you’re aware that I am the woman Dmitri spoke of.”

Lukan leaped to his feet. “Are you threatening me? I won’t tolerate it. I’m emperor now, and I won’t be bullied by anyone ever again.”

“Yes, a thousand witnesses saw you and Felix murder the emperor. I doubt any of them would dare cross you. Me, I’m not so reticent.”

Hoping he didn’t notice her blush, Lynx walked right up to him and deliberately brushed her body against his. His breath sped up, and his groin immediately responded. Lynx gritted her teeth against the pressure on her leg.

“Lukan, you chose me to marry you because you think I’m a plaything. That was a serious misjudgment.” She pinched his testicles through his clothing. He screeched—more in surprise than pain, given that she hadn’t squeezed hard—and jumped back. Lynx let him go. “Try to hurt me, and I will emasculate you in ways you can only begin to imagine.”

Lukan shook his head, his face more bemused than angry. “You never gave us a chance. From the moment you arrived here, you were determined to despise me. Why? Why even agree to the marriage?”

It was time to enlighten him. “The only reason I married you was to fulfill an oath to my father. I’ve done that now.” She remembered her letter to her father with its promise that Axel would tell him everything there was to know about the ice crystals. Her heart burst into song, and she couldn’t resist grinning. “Winds know, I am freer now than I have ever been.”

Lukan’s beautiful face turned scornful. “Free? You’re still my wife. My empress. You live here, in my palace. You’ll do what I say. I hardly call that free.”

Before he could get too comfortable with his delusions, Lynx said, “Don’t for a minute think you’ll control me.”

Lukan’s head hitched to the side, dark eyes calculating. “An oath to your father, you say? Don’t you Norin consider yourselves cursed if you break them?”

How did Lukan know that? Lynx shifted, suddenly uncomfortable—and hating herself for it.

“The cursing is moot,” she snapped, determined to quell any advantage he may think he had. “My oath was fulfilled when I married you today.”

A triumphant smile danced across Lukan’s lips. “Then I hate to break this to you, but our marriage is not yet complete. Your oath to your father still stands.” He laughed.

Voice ominous with threat, Lynx demanded, “What do you mean?”

In Norin, marriage vows uttered together in front of witnesses constituted a legally binding contract. Mott had demanded to see bloodied sheets to confirm that she had indeed slept with Lukan, but he’d said nothing about needing them to clinch the marriage.

“Sex.” Lukan stepped back from her, gloating. “No marriage in Chenaya is legal until it is consummated. Today, you and I merely performed a spectacle for the masses. The legal stuff happens in bed. My bed, which you will never be invited to.”

Lynx’s blood chilled. She wanted to ask if he was joking, but that would show weakness. Not something she could ever admit to with Lukan.

Lukan’s grin widened. “So, you can’t touch me until I have sex with you, and I won’t touch you. Who’s emasculated now?” He gave her a mock bow. “I do like how the day has turned out.”

Lynx opened and closed her mouth. Was it possible she had lost?

The burning in her leg, where just moments before she had felt the pressure of his groin, said that this war was far from over. She pulled her lips back in her most savage grin.

“Oh, Lukan. You are as good as had. Enjoy your gloating while it lasts.” Lynx slunk toward him, swinging her hips provocatively.

Lukan’s confident swagger faltered. His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. And then he was gone, skidding out the door.

Lynx laughed after him. “Like I said, Lukan, this war has only just started.”

Her laughter faded. She had discovered every Chenayan secret—and more—that she had set out to find when coming here. No longer a Norin warrior princess, she was now empress of Chenaya with real power over her weakling husband.

But was all that enough to fulfil Dmitri’s curse?

Not without Axel at my side.

No matter what happened, Axel had to survive.

She strode over and flung open the window. Not caring who heard her, she leaned out and cried to the Winds, “Watch over and protect Axel and I will make you an oath that I will devote my life to fulfilling Dmitri’s curse.”

The breeze caught her hair, whipping it across her face. She knew her prayer had been answered.

She left the infirmary to face her new life dedicated to destroying Lukan and his Chenayan Dragon.

THE END

Continue the Crown of Blood Series in book two, Warlord’s Wager.

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I am a South African, currently living in the UK with my husband Andrew, my three daughters, a yapping Toy Pomeranian, and a fantastic farm cat called Pixel. I spend most of my waking hours writing fantasy and science fiction books. My books are all set in fantastic worlds inhabited by strong heroines and sharp-mouthed heroes. To confuse things, I also write adventure travel books set firmly on planet Earth. When I'm not writing, I'm reading, traveling, herding kids around, taking dogs for walks, and avoiding all cooking.

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Echo in TIme

Book One in the Echo Trilogy

Lindsey Fairleigh

Echo in Time © 2013 Lindsey Fairleigh

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

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About the Book

Echo in TIme

A young archaeologist…a forgotten god…a hidden Egyptian temple…

Alexandra Larson isn’t human, but she doesn’t know that. As far as Lex is concerned, she’s simply an ambitious archaeology grad student with a knack for deciphering ancient languages.

When Lex is recruited to work on her dream excavation and her translating skills uncover the secret to an underground Egyptian temple, she’s beyond thrilled…as is the enigmatic and alluring excavation director, Marcus Bahur. And as the relationship between Lex and Marcus heats up, a series of shocking revelations leave the young archaeologist reeling. Together, Lex and Marcus are all that’s standing between an ancient evil being and the power to alter the very fabric of time.

Events set in motion by a dying god over four millennia ago pull the pair away from Seattle and into the heart of Egypt, where Lex learns that the fate of the world depends on one thing: her.

Prologue

“Meswett, know yourself and you shall know the gods.

Meswett, trust yourself and you shall trust the gods.

So it ends, from start to finish,
as found in writing.”

—taken from the Prophecy of Nuin, Old Kingdom, c. 2180 BCE

I thought I knew people. I didn’t.

I thought I could trust my family and my friends. I couldn’t.

I thought I at least had some idea of who I am. Wrong.

But here’s the real kicker: I never thought I’d be in the heart of an ancient temple, driven by desperation and hatred, ready to kill my own father.

Screaming, I launch myself at him. My rage and sorrow are so great that I no longer have room for any other emotions. Coherent thought is foreign to me. I have one purpose—to destroy him.

He doesn’t see me coming. He can’t see me coming. I’m moving too quickly, bending time to my will. It’s impossible, but that doesn’t make it any less real.

“How—?”

My father doesn’t have time to finish the question. I’ve already torn the gun from his grasp and pressed the muzzle against the side of his head.

I flex my index finger.

Click.

Part I

University of Washington
Seattle, Washington

1

Unreal & Real

“NO!” I screamed as a speeding, moss-green station wagon slammed into my graduate advisor, who had been running across the street.

Dr. Ramirez’s body rolled up onto the hood, his head hitting the windshield with a sickening crack, before sliding back down and settling on the asphalt. His arm flopped out to the side, landing in one of the many puddles created by the morning’s incessant drizzle.

“Oh my God! Dr. Ramirez!” I sprinted the rest of the way down the paved path, across the sidewalk, and onto the university’s main drag. As I knelt beside Dr. Ramirez, I dropped the copy of the Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology I’d been carrying—I’d been intending to show him an article on the discovery of a new Iliad manuscript, but the journal’s pages lay askew, dirty and collecting droplets of rain.

My hands hovered over Dr. Ramirez, but I was too afraid of injuring him further to touch him. He was wearing his usual, casual professor’s garb—medium-wash jeans and a heavy, navy-blue raincoat—but it hadn’t protected him during the collision. The hair on the left side of his head was matted with blood, and his forehead looked slightly misshapen.

“I’m so sorry!” the driver cried as she lurched out of the car, leaving the driver’s side door open. “I didn’t see him . . . He just ran out . . . Oh my God . . . I . . .”

I ignored her and the flurry of activity taking place around us, instead reaching for Dr. Ramirez’s limp hand, which still lay in a puddle. Trembling, I placed two fingers on his wrist to check his pulse, but I felt nothing.

“You killed him,” I said hollowly.

The driver looked at me—into me—her eyes filled with horror.

Gasping, I jerked upright. My right leg was curled under me, numb. I’d fallen asleep in one of the wooden torture devices that doubled as desk chairs in the Anthropology graduate office, and according to my stiff joints, it hadn’t been a wise decision. My beloved monstrosity of a desk—a battered, oak rolltop that might have been worth something if it wasn’t covered with as many dents and dings as carvings—had been an equally foolish place to rest my head. Damn, I thought as I took in the disarray under my elbows. A chaotic jumble of open books, photos, and papers was scattered across the desk’s surface, some with brand-new folds and wrinkles, and one with an unfortunate drool spot.

“Fabulous,” I muttered, wiping away the wet stain with a tissue.

Once again, I’d been attempting to decipher the ancient, oh-so-frustrating puzzle that had been driving me nuts all quarter. A combination of ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs—two parallel, vertical lines, one with a flag-like protrusion, the profile of a lion’s head, a filled-in half circle, and a full circle with a smaller circle cut out of the center—that seemed perfectly content to remain undecipherable.

Shaking with adrenaline lingering from the awful dream, I sighed, shifted my leg from under me, and lowered my head to rest my cheek on the desk. I stared at the end of my coffee-brown ponytail, unbelievably glad that I’d been asleep and that Dr. Ramirez hadn’t been hit by a car. It had been a dream . . . just a stupid, freakishly realistic dream.

“Hey, Lex!”

“Gah!” I exclaimed, jumping slightly and causing the invisible pins and needles poking into my reawakening leg to jab with renewed gusto. At seeing the short, excited man standing beside my desk, I shook my head and laughed. It was almost impossible to be irritated at Carson, whose diminutive build, artfully mussed brown hair, and bright blue eyes made him look more like a member of a boy band than a fellow grad student. “Seriously, Carson? Was that absolutely necessary?”

He slapped his hand down on one of the open books, lifting it a few seconds later to reveal a folded hundred-dollar bill. “You win,” he said grudgingly. “I still think my article was far superior, but apparently my opinion doesn’t count.” He tossed an academic journal onto the desk beside the money. It was opened to an article titled “Fact From Myth: Cross-Referencing Texts Across Ancient Cultures to Decipher Unknown Symbols”—my article.

With a smug smile, I crossed my arms and sat back in my chair. We’d made a bet several months back—a Benjamin to whichever of us was published by a major academic journal first. Though we’d both been co-authors or contributors to other people’s articles, neither Carson nor I had been published for our individual work. Until now.

“I’m surprised they didn’t take one look at that monstrous title and toss your article into the trash,” Carson said.

“Ouch! You wound me with your pointy words!” I exclaimed, clutching my chest dramatically.

Carson flopped down in a chair beside my desk and let his head fall backward with a groan. “It’s not fair, Lex,” he whined, only amplifying his pubescent image.

“You’re ridiculous,” I told him, laughing. I patted his knee, happily noting that my own leg was back to normal. “Maybe you’ll be in the next one . . . doesn’t Mediterranean Archaeology come out tomorrow? I thought you submitted a few things to them?” Remembering my dream, the Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology discarded on the grimy road, I stifled a shiver.

Carson raised his head and stared at me with annoyance. “That’s the latest issue of Mediterranean Archaeology,” he said, pointing to my article.

My blood instantly chilled, and this time I couldn’t repress a shiver. It was Thursday, and that particular journal was always delivered on Fridays. It’s just a coincidence, I told myself.

Pointing to the open journal, I asked, “So, other than my amazing article, is there anything else in there worth noting?”

Carson shrugged. “Mostly it’s just the usual . . . retranslations of this or that text, an update on Pompeii and the volcanic activity at Mount Vesuvius, an explanation of some new techniques for underwater excavating”—suddenly excited, he leaned forward and rubbed his hands together—“and, an analysis of a new Iliad manuscript. It’s fragmented, but it’s also the oldest version ever found.”

Something in my chest tightened, and my lungs felt too weak to draw in enough air.

When I didn’t say anything, Carson added, “Awesome, right?” He specialized in the classics—Homer, Plato, Catullus—practically worshipping the long-dead poets and philosophers.

“Uh . . . yeah.” I snatched my iPhone off the desk and checked the time—half past eleven. In fifteen minutes, I was scheduled to meet with Dr. Ramirez in his office downstairs for my final advisory meeting of the quarter. He’d barely been able to squeeze me in between appointments with professors and other students, so there was no reason for him to be crossing the road as he’d been doing in the dream . . . even if it did pass right by our building.

Suddenly, my phone vibrated, and a blue text message alert box appeared in the middle of the screen. The message was from Dr. Ramirez.

Running out for coffee. Will try to be back in time for our meeting.

“No effing way!” I hissed, standing so quickly my chair nearly fell over backward. I grabbed the journal, then shook my head and tossed it back onto the desk before speeding through the maze of desks and cubicles honeycombing the communal graduate office.

“Lex? Where are you going?” Carson called after me.

“Be right back,” I said, not even glancing over my shoulder. I raced down the dim, narrow third-floor hallway and shoved the heavy stairwell door open. It slammed against the wall with a loud, metallic thud. In a matter of seconds, I descended the two flights of stairs and exploded into the main hall of the first floor. I bumped into someone, receiving a masculine grunt as we both crashed to the linoleum floor. My knee and elbow hit the floor so hard that bruising was inevitable.

“I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed, extricating myself from beneath the legs of . . . Dr. Ramirez. “Oh my God . . . are you okay?”

Dr. Ramirez—tall, dark, middle-aged, and dignified—stood and made a bit of a show of dusting himself off. He studied me, holding back a smile. I was still sprawled on the floor.

“I’m going to assume your rush was caused by excitement about the recent publication of your work,” he said.

Blushing, I stood. “I . . . yes,” I lied.

“Well, since you’re here, Alexandra, do you want to come with me to get coffee?” Dr. Ramirez checked his watch. “I don’t think I’ll have another chance all day.” But then he might cross a street, and there might be a moss-green station wagon, and . . .

“No!” I blurted, thrusting my hands out in front of me. When his eyebrows rose, I added, “I’ll go get coffee for us both. I’m sure you have better things to do.” Spinning away from him, I jogged to the main doors. From the ache in my knee, I could tell the bruise was going to be a beauty. “You just stay here,” I said over my shoulder.

It wasn’t until I was through the glass doors and halfway down the steep, slippery stone steps that I realized I had no clue what kind of coffee Dr. Ramirez liked. I turned around and, when I poked the upper half of my body through the open door, was only half-surprised to find my advisor standing exactly where I’d left him, his face utterly bemused. “I forgot to ask what you wanted,” I said breathlessly.

Chuckling, Dr. Ramirez said, “Just black coffee. Large, please.”

“Okay. Great! Sorry about . . . you know. I’ll be right back!” Again I hurried down the stairs, not caring that it was raining and that I was wearing only a thin sweater, jeans, and slouchy suede boots. I paused when I reached the sidewalk and road that had featured so prominently in my midday nightmare. Looking up the street toward the campus gatehouse, I spotted a single car approaching, but it was too far away to distinguish any details. I squashed my curiosity and changed direction, heading for the coffee stand in Suzzallo Library instead of the cafe in the Burke Museum, which was closer but across the main road. My psyche wouldn’t be able to handle passing a moss-green station wagon, coincidence or not.

* * *

My phone buzzed as I was walking back up Denny’s steep front steps, one to-go cup of piping hot coffee in each hand. I set both on the campus newspaper stand beside the glass doors and pulled my phone out of my back pocket. Dr. Ramirez had texted me again.

Check your email.

Intrigued, I opened my inbox and quickly scanned through the newest messages. Three were from students and were utterly predictable—two of my undergrads were asking for extensions on their final papers and one wondered how much it would affect his grade if he skipped it altogether. Shaking my head, I snorted and muttered, “Too much.”

The fourth message also had a University of Washington domain, but it wasn’t from anyone I knew.

Hello Ms. Larson,

I am a visiting professor in the Classics department here at UW. I contacted your department head, and he directed me to you. I need an on-site ancient languages specialist at an upcoming excavation in Egypt, preferably someone with a background deciphering unfamiliar symbols. Please let me know if you are interested, and I will send you the specifics. If you agree to participate, you will be abroad during the latter half of spring quarter and most of summer. Please let me know if you have any questions. I hope to hear from you soon.

Marcus Bahur

Professor of Classical Archaeology

University of Washington

University of Oxford

I studied the email, rereading it several times. A professor visiting from Oxford wanted me, specifically, to accompany him on a dig in Egypt . . . as an ancient languages specialist. I’d worked on a half-dozen excavations all around the Mediterranean, but mostly just as a grunt—a field school student. Being a specialist would give me the chance to pursue my own research along with that of Professor Bahur. The opportunity sounded too good to be true. It also sounded too expensive, and there wasn’t enough time to apply for grants to cover room, board, and travel expenses. If it cost anything on my end, I’d have to pass.

Rushing, I replied, vaguely proclaiming interest and requesting more details. As I typed, I thought, please be free . . . please be free . . . please be free . . .

Again with coffees in hand, I headed back into majestic Denny Hall. Built late in the nineteenth century, it was the university’s first building. Accordingly, the exterior was stunning—a combination of stone and archways and small-pane windows that befit a French chateau far more than a university building—but aside from the first-floor professor’s offices, the interior was laughably mundane.

After squeaking my way down the wide hall, I knocked loudly on the heavy wooden door to Dr. Ramirez’s office.

“Come in,” he called, his voice rumbling.

As I entered, Dr. Ramirez was placing a book on the top shelf of the built-in bookcase beside his desk. “Ah, I see the coffee has arrived,” he said, his eyes laughing though he wore no smile. After taking in my appearance, he asked, “Did you take a dip in the fountain on your way?”

I glanced down at myself, unsurprised to see that my clothes were more than a little damp, clinging to me like plastic wrap to ceramic, which was pretty much how they felt. “I forgot my coat,” I said lamely. I set the two cups of coffee on his well-organized desk but didn’t sit in either of the wooden visitors’ chairs. I didn’t want to be rude and drip all over them.

Noticing my internal predicament, Dr. Ramirez said, “Please, Alexandra, sit.”

For the thousandth time, I noted how lucky I was to have landed him as my graduate advisor. A sturdy, former college football player, he was like a towering, slightly intimidating father figure to everyone in the archaeology department. He was both stoic and sage, and tended to hand out criticism far more often than praise, but the criticism was always of the constructive variety.

I sat in the chair on the right, unable to repress my desire to examine the cluttered bookshelves lining the walls on either side of the office. They were filled with volumes of every color and size. Many of the spines were faded with age, some even flaking, making them stand out next to their younger brethren. Beside books on many of the shelves lay little trinkets and photographs from all over the world. Like always, I felt the overwhelming urge to examine each item, to discover its meaning, origin, and personal value to Dr. Ramirez.

“So, Alexandra,” Dr. Ramirez said, interrupting my visual reverie. He’d seated himself in his old-fashioned, brown leather executive chair. “How do you think this quarter went?”

Unashamed, I said, “Really well.”

Dr. Ramirez smiled. “Specifically, what do you think your top achievements were?”

I crossed my legs, pursed my lips, and thought for a moment. Finally, I said, “My dissertation proposal was accepted several weeks ago, as you know. I’m really excited to move forward with it next quarter. My ability to translate hieroglyphic, hieratic, and demotic texts has progressed really well . . . and I started learning Coptic, too.” I wiggled my foot. “Umm . . . I won’t know for sure until after I’ve graded their final papers, but I think my undergrads did really well this quarter.” I paused, knowing I was forgetting something. “Oh, and I was published in a major archaeology journal,” I added proudly.

Leaning back, Dr. Ramirez intertwined his fingers and rested his hands on his belly. For a moment he merely studied me, and I tried not to fidget under his pondering gaze. “You know, I don’t usually take on graduate students . . . but I have to admit, accepting you was a very good decision on my part,” he stated, giving himself a verbal pat on the back. I half-expected him to physically do it, reaching his arm over his shoulder. He didn’t.

“Thank you,” I responded, stifling the sudden urge to giggle. I glanced down at my hands.

“I’ve spoken with all of your professors. They’re all very impressed with your progress. And your proposal—I’m really quite excited to see where this project ends up taking you. I’m expecting great things from you, Alexandra.”

At the moment, all I could do was smile . . . and blush. Dr. Ramirez’s overt praise stunned me.

“Now, unless you have any questions, I believe we’re done for the quarter. Grade your students’ papers early and make sure you enjoy your break—and get some well-deserved rest,” he ordered with mock severity.

Hearing the dismissal, I stood. “I will. Thank you, Dr. Ramirez,” I said before heading for the door.

“Oh, and Alexandra . . .”

Pausing with my hand on the doorknob, I looked back at him over my shoulder.

“I hope the excavation works out—I know you’re perfect for the job,” he told me, grinning before turning his attention to some papers on his desk.

“Thanks,” I replied quietly. “Have a nice break, professor.” I slipped out of his office, gently pulling the door shut behind me.

* * *

An hour later, I was unlocking my apartment door. I was more than ready to begin winter break—even if it was as low-key as hanging out with my cat in my seventh-floor apartment, grading mind-numbingly boring final papers and overindulging on pop culture via the television. The only thing to break up the glorious couch time would be a three-day Christmas visit with my family in Central Washington.

My little brown tabby, Thora—I’d named her after the adored Egyptian goddess, Hathor—greeted me with a soft meow from her perch on her favorite windowsill. The building was nearly one hundred years old, and it had the single-pane windows, scuffed hardwood floors, and steam radiators to prove it. It worked out well for Thora—the windows made the cars, busses, and pedestrians who trafficked the street below sound like they were in the apartment and thus provided her ample entertainment—but it was more of a bummer for me. I liked quiet . . . and sleep.

“Hey, Thora. Are you ready for break?” I sang, crossing the cramped living room to scratch under her chin. I earned a loud purr in response and watched her bright green eyes narrow to happy slits.

My apartment was pretty standard to a century-old building—the kitchen was tiny, with ceramic tile countertops, a deep, porcelain sink, and absolutely no dishwasher; the living room was cramped, with barely enough room for a sienna microsuede couch, an antique walnut steamer trunk that doubled as a coffee table, a pair of tall, matching bookcases finished to resemble walnut, and a small, flat-screen television; and beyond the living room, the small bedroom, adjoining bathroom, and closet were equally as spacious—as in, not at all. The place was cozy, and I loved it.

I dropped my messenger bag on the couch and headed straight for my room to change into comfy, dry clothes—a plain white T-shirt, a zip-up hoodie displaying the name of my favorite band, Johnny Stopwatch, and some black sweatpants that had long since faded to gray. Finally feeling more like a human than a swamp monster, I sat on the couch, pulled out my thin, steel-gray laptop, tapped the power button, and waited. As the slender machine hummed to life, I stared through the rain-streaked window. I had a view of the university campus, an artful arrangement of graceful brick buildings and emerald-green grass and pines. People hurried along crisscrossing paths like ants in an ant farm, eager to get to their next class, if only to be out of the incessant drizzle.

Unexpected anticipation fluttered in my stomach as my attention returned to the computer screen. The email window was open—it almost always was—and there was a new message from Professor Bahur. Hesitantly, I opened it and began to read.

Ms. Larson,

I am excited to hear of your interest in participating in my excavation. Attached you will find a document containing further details of this project and your potential position. I would like to set up a time to meet so we can solidify your participation. I also want to make sure you know what you are getting into and that you have time to prepare—it will be quite the adventure. Are you available to meet up the Thursday or Friday before the start of the new quarter? Please let me know what time is good for you, and I will rearrange my schedule accordingly.

I am looking forward to meeting you, Ms. Larson, as you come very highly recommended.

Marcus Bahur

Professor of Classical Archaeology

University of Washington

University of Oxford

For the first time, I wondered what the mysterious, visiting professor looked like. His permanent position was at Oxford, so I figured he was British, and his formal language patterns indicated someone older and gentlemanly . . . possibly with a crazy mustache or overgrown eyebrows. Shaking the frivolous thoughts away, I opened the attachment and scanned it, looking for dollar signs. I found them.

Oh. My. God. I sat back on the couch, staring at the screen. I could more than afford to participate in the dig. Housing and food would be provided, and along with a stipend for leisure and travel expenses, I’d get paid a sizable commission for my finds. The bigger the discovery, the more money in my pocket. It was, in a word, unbelievable.

Without hesitation, I sent a quick reply to Professor Bahur, informing him that I was eager to participate and that I was available to meet with him on either that Thursday or Friday, whenever worked best for him. Despite my curiosity about the professor and his extravagant excavation, I could wait the three weeks . . . barely.

Just as I clicked send, my phone vibrated. I plucked it out of the little pocket on the side of my bag, and seeing the caller’s name, answered. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, honey,” my mom, Alice, replied. Disappointment was heavy in her voice.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, instantly concerned. “Is Grandma okay?”

“Oh, it’s nothing like that. I was hoping to surprise you by showing up at your place tonight, but the darn pass is closed. But . . . I should be able to make it over there by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh . . . well . . . I didn’t know you were coming! That’s so sweet, Mom!” I said, genuinely excited. It had been more than six months since I’d seen my mom, and I missed her. Besides, I could barely wait to tell her the great news about the excavation. “I’m excited to see you!”

“Me too, sweetie. Let’s just hope the weather behaves.”

“My fingers are crossed,” I said, actually crossing my left index and middle fingers. “Will you call me when you leave?”

“Of course!” she exclaimed, laughing. “I want to make sure you have time to clean up all the piles on your floor.”

I rolled my eyes, avoiding looking at the various mounds of books, clothes, and mail strewn haphazardly around the apartment. “Thanks, Mom, that’s so thoughtful of you,” I said dryly.

“I’m just being your mom, Lex . . . trying to take care of you,” she stated with mock concern.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” I paused, then added, “And Mom?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad you’re coming.”

“Me too. Bye, sweetie.”

“Bye, Mom.” I tapped the screen to end the call. After only a few seconds of thought, the phone was back up to my ear.

In the middle of the third ring, I was greeted by the voice of Cara, a young, prosperous businesswoman and one of my best friends. “Hey, Lex.”

“So . . . I just found out something amazing,” I said, leading her with my excitement.

“What?”

“Guess,” I ordered.

“Umm . . . you’re a princess?”

I laughed out loud. “Definitely not.”

“Didn’t think so. You won a Caribbean cruise?”

“Nope.”

“You dropped out of grad school and decided to pursue life as a nun?”

I choked on nothing. “You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s ridiculous.”

“Alright, I give up,” she sighed, and I could hear a smile in her voice.

After listening to me tell her about the two emails from Professor Bahur and that I would almost certainly be working as one of the leaders of an excavation in Egypt—my dream—Cara squealed. Very, very loudly.

Unfortunately, I pulled the phone away too late, and my ear rang from her high pitch and volume. Even Thora stirred from her study of the pedestrians far below to glare at the phone.

With obvious urgency, Cara blurted, “This calls for immediate, emergency celebrating! I’ll call Annie right now, okay? We’ll be over in a couple hours for dinner before we go out.”

“Umm . . . I don’t really have anything to make . . .”

“No problem. Annie and I’ll stop by the store on our way—we’ll surprise you!” she said, her words bursting with enthusiasm.

“Sounds good,” I replied.

“Great! See you soon!” She hung up before I could say goodbye.

Glancing at my laptop screen, I noticed there was a new message in the inbox. It was from the professor—I couldn’t believe how quickly he’d replied.

Ms. Larson,

Very well. How about Friday at 3:30 in the afternoon at the café in the Burke Museum? Please let me know if either the time or location is unsuitable to you.

Until then,

Marcus Bahur

Professor of Classical Archaeology

University of Washington

University of Oxford

“If nothing else, Thora, this should be interesting,” I muttered, reaching over the arm of the couch to rub the top of the tabby’s head.

* * *

I’d been waiting at the bar, shoulder-to-shoulder with dozens of other patrons, for about ten minutes. Finally, a harried bartender finished making the three drinks I’d ordered—all vodka cranberries—and set them on the bar. I paid in cash and reached for the drinks just as the woman on my right lurched against me. In my attempt to grab the bar for support, I knocked two of the glasses over, and bright red liquid splashed directly onto the man beside me.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, leaning away too late.

“Oh no!” I stared at the blaring crimson stain marring the lower half of his formerly pristine, pale gray shirt. “Oh God! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to . . .” I trailed off, losing all sense of coherency when I glanced up.

Eyes the color of Baltic amber held my gaze, too vibrant and rich to be considered brown. I couldn’t help but wonder if they were an artifice. Strong, straight, and defined, his bronze features were equally as striking, especially when paired with the hint of dark-as-night hair covering his shaved head. He was absolutely stunning.

As he watched me, frustration seemed to blanket his face. “It’s not a problem,” he assured me in a deep, smooth-as-milk-chocolate voice. It was slightly accented, sounding Middle Eastern with a sprinkling of French and maybe a touch of German or Swedish.

“But . . . but . . .” was all I could say.

The corners of the stranger’s mouth turned down in a partial frown and he shook his head. “Really, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are—are you sure?” I asked quietly, incapable of breaking eye contact but desperately needing to. I blamed my awkwardness on the wine I’d consumed during dinner. He’s just a guy in a bar, I told myself. Get a grip!

“Yes, perfectly,” he assured me again. “I believe your friends are waiting for you—if those”—he smirked as his eyes flicked to the table where Cara and my other best friend, Annie, were sitting—“are your friends?”

Following his eyes, I found Annie and Cara, watching us in awe. Their wide-eyed expressions mirrored mine perfectly. “Um, yeah . . . those are my friends,” I admitted, and then I remembered that they had been two-thirds of the reason I’d been at the bar. “Damn! Their drinks . . . now I’ll have to wait for another ten minutes,” I muttered.

Within seconds, the enthralling stranger had snagged a bartender and ordered replacements for my spilled beverages. “I’ll help you carry them . . . to make sure they actually make it to their destination this time,” he teased.

I didn’t know how to reply to that, and he didn’t wait, so I just followed him to the table where Cara, a blue-eyed goldilocks, and Annie, a half-Japanese beauty, sat and stared. They gaped at my new acquaintance as he set the drinks on the table.

“I hope you ladies have a nice night,” he said, flashing us a tight-lipped smile. He met my eyes one last time, then turned and walked away.

“Whoa!” Cara nearly shouted.

“Uh . . . yeah,” Annie added.

“I know,” I agreed. Wishing the gorgeous stranger had joined us, I searched the crowd for him, but he’d already disappeared.

2

Mom & Dad

I sat down beside my mom, curling my legs under me and relaxing into the couch with a satisfied sigh. My belly was full of the most delicious take-out Thai food the University District had to offer, my mom was with me and nearly as excited about the upcoming excavation as I was, and I had nothing but free time for weeks to come. Damn, life is good.

“Sweetie,” my mom began in a voice that instantly told me something was wrong. “I came out here for a reason . . . not just to surprise you.” She took a deep breath, either to calm her nerves or strengthen her resolve. “Your dad and I were talking the other night, and we decided that, well . . . Lex, haven’t you ever wondered why you don’t really look like your dad?” she asked, gazing intently at the empty wine glass in her hand. Sickly yellow light from the kitchen reflected off its convex, crystalline surface.

What’s that supposed to mean? Tons of people don’t look much like their parents. Why would she ask me that? Unless . . . she can’t mean that . . . Dad’s not my . . .

My mom had asked me a question. But her words . . . I couldn’t figure out what they meant. Deciphering the true, hidden meaning behind words was what I was best at, but I couldn’t decipher these words. They implied that there was something I should have noticed before, something that should have been obvious. But she can’t mean that Dad’s not my . . . not my . . .

Suddenly, I was more aware of the bite-sized living room than ever before. The bookcases set against the opposite wall were in serious need of dusting, and I had the urge to reorganize the hefty collection of historical fiction and romance books packed onto the shelves. The framed prints on the wall between the bookcases captivated me more than ever before. Dali’s Persistence of Memory stood out beyond all others. I felt a strange kinship with the melting pocket watches, like I, too, was losing form.

On my right hand, my grandpa’s ring became hypnotizing. Grandma Suse, his widow, gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday, and I’d had the wide, silver band resized to fit my slender ring finger. Its inky obsidian stone seemed to suck in the light rather than reflect it back to the waiting world. Was my greedy ring sucking in all of the air too? I couldn’t seem to draw a full breath.

Haven’t you ever wondered why you don’t really look like your dad?

It was true—I didn’t really resemble my dad. Had I noticed before? I looked so much like my mom that I’d figured I’d inherited less obvious characteristics from my dad—his laugh, the way he walked, his single-minded determination. But now, I realized those characteristics were undefinable as well. Truth stared me in the face, forcing me to see. She really means that Dad’s not my real dad.

But why tell me now? How did this happen? Possibilities, vile and corrosive, swirled around in my mind. Had my parents separated and been with other people before I was born? Had my mom had an affair? Had I been adopted? The last, I knew without a doubt, was wrong—other than differences in coloring, I was practically a physical clone of my mom. But an affair or separation was still a possibility. Is my happy family a lie?

Carefully, I reached for my wine glass with a trembling hand, hoping to numb myself with its contents. As my fingers touched the smooth stem, fear cleared my thoughts. Fear, and unexpected anger. If I was someone else’s daughter because my mom cheated on my dad . . .

“What do you mean, exactly?” I asked, voice sharp and eyes narrowed. It felt like eons had passed since my mom initially asked the question, but my chaotic thought process had borne conclusions in less than a minute.

Hesitantly, my mom raised her warm brown eyes to search mine, and then she shifted them to focus on the wall behind the couch. “Grandma Betsy had a really hard time having kids. She was given certain drugs. At the time, doctors were giving specific hormones to women who were at risk of miscarrying. Betsy, well, she was one of the women treated that way.”

“So . . . ?” I prompted, impatient.

Suddenly my mom was looking at me, weariness in her eyes. She sighed. “The treatment had an unforeseen side effect on the children. They were sterile, Lex. Your dad couldn’t have children.”

Dad couldn’t have kids? That meant Mom never had an affair . . . they never separated . . .

Relief flooded my body. It began in my lungs as I involuntarily inhaled a delicious breath of air, and it flowed out toward my nerve endings. Mom and Dad were never separated . . . my family is real! I was ecstatic.

My mom furrowed her brow.

Abruptly, relief fled from my body. If Dad couldn’t have kids . . . “Then who’s my father?” This can’t be happening.

“We went to the best place, where the donors were all guaranteed to be intelligent, talented men with a healthy family history.”

But none of those intelligent, talented men were Joe Larson, my dad—or rather, the man I’d believed to be my dad until two minutes ago. Despite my best efforts to hold it together, my chin began to tremble. The quivering spread to my cheeks and then throughout my entire body, but I didn’t cry. I was too stunned to cry.

Watching my devastation, my mom said, “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you, but your dad thought . . .” Again, she sighed.

I pulled my legs up to my chest and fit my head between my knees. My mom tried to comfort me by rubbing my back, but I flinched at her touch. I stared down at the hardwood floor, trying to focus . . . trying to breathe.

Me, the very essence of my being, retreated inside, seeking the only haven available: solitude.

Thud-THUMP. Thud-THUMP. Thud-THUMP.

I focused on my heartbeat. It was still the same. It hadn’t changed in the last few minutes, unlike everything else I knew about myself . . . or thought I’d known.

I’m still me.

Right?

3

Nightmares & Dreams

“Are you sure you—”

“Let’s just go already, Mom,” I interrupted. I knew I was being a brat in the worst way—my mom felt awful for lying to me about my parentage for twenty-four years, and I was taking out my inner turmoil on her, but . . . she’d lied to me. So had my dad. And it wasn’t just a little, I-broke-your-favorite-vase-and-told-you-it-was-the-cat lie, oh no. It was a whopper of a lie, requiring me to do a complete identity overhaul. I couldn’t just pretend that everything was hunky-dory. I’d never been a good liar.

Searching for a safe place in my mind, I focused on the beads of rain clinging to the passenger window of my mom’s dark red sedan. As the car picked up speed, the droplets seemed reluctant to stream across the glass, moving in a stuttering rhythm.

Part of me worried about leaving Thora alone so abruptly, but I knew Annie would take good care of her. I’d sent her a text in the wee hours of the morning, asking her to cat-sit for the next three weeks, and she’d agreed immediately. She hadn’t asked a single question. Annie had the kind heart of a saint, and I loved her for it.

As I felt myself falling asleep, a small sense of relief washed over me.

“Haven’t you ever wondered why you don’t really look like your dad?” my mom asked, her voice echoing all around me.

I was standing in front of a wood-framed mirror hung at eye level on a seemingly endless wall. A picture of my dad’s face was pinned to the mirror’s frame. I examined his features closely, and then did the same with my own, attempting to reconcile their many differences.

Maybe his lips, I thought . . . those could look a little like mine. But after cross-referencing the reflection of my own narrow, rosy mouth with his, I realized they weren’t a match.

Horrified, I stared at the photo of my dad, watching his mouth disappear completely. When I tried to scream, there was only silence. I looked into the mirror, and with gut-wrenching terror, realized that my own mouth had vanished as well.

My ears were next, as were my dad’s in his picture. And then my long, dark brown hair.

I brought my hands up to my face, attempting to hold the remaining features in place. As my nose vanished, so did my ability to breathe. I panicked, trying to suck air through a smooth expanse of unbroken skin.

I watched my frantic brown eyes until the lack of oxygen caused dark spots to wash over my vision. I glanced one last time at the picture of my dad before my world faded to black.

All I could think was, I am nothing.

I woke with my head resting against the chilly car window. Involuntarily, I brought my hand up to feel my face. Everything was right where it belonged, including the salty tears streaming down my cheeks.

Glancing out the window, I realized the rain had turned to light snow and we were nearing my hometown. Yakima, the central Washington city where I’d grown up, was really quite demonstrative in terms of the stereotypical seasons. There are four distinct times of the year: sweat-inducing summers, reddish-gold falls, snowy winters, and flowery springs. I was always amazed by the way the fruit trees in the countless orchards accentuated the seasons. Nothing screamed winter like bare branches sheathed in ice, or heralded spring like apple and cherry blossoms.

As the familiar, mostly barren landscape of the high desert glided past, I wondered if coming home and seeing my dad was going to make the realignment of my identity any easier. Or, would it become infinitely more difficult?

* * *

Silently, each unique, beautiful snowflake found a home on the deck around me. In the back of my mind I felt envious of the moonlit flakes—each was well-defined and individual. I, on the other hand, was vague, undefined. They didn’t have to worry about where they might fit in, let alone where they came from. They would just . . . land. Where am I supposed to land?

I’d been home for two weeks, and so far, the frigid Yakima winter had proven to be the only thing that could bring me peace. The falling snow offered a distraction from my morose thoughts. And because it rarely snowed in Seattle, sitting outside in below-freezing weather didn’t belie my sanity too much. It was snowing, after all.

At a knock on the sliding glass door, I jumped. I heard it open partially. “Lex?” It was my mom.

“Yeah?”

“Cara’s on the phone, sweetie. She said she tried your cell but it went straight to voicemail. She sounds really worried—you should talk to her.” My mom had always been a master guilt-tripper.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and surrendered. “Fine.” I could only avoid talking to people for so long. And if I was being honest with myself, even I was getting sick of the moping, sullen woman I’d become. I needed to rejoin the world, bask in the sunshine, seize the day, and . . . you know, all that bullshit.

As I entered the house, my mom handed me the phone with a sympathetic smile. I wandered upstairs to my old bedroom and shut the door, sitting cross-legged on the burgundy duvet. I focused on taking long, deep breaths, then closed my eyes and raised the phone to my ear.

“Hey, Cara,” I said in a reluctant, slightly hoarse voice. Not speaking for days tended to do that to a voice.

“Oh my God, Lex! It’s so good to hear your voice,” she said enthusiastically. “So, are you going to let me know what the hell’s going on? Why’d you just take off? I mean, weren’t you planning on staying in the Yak with your fam for only a few days during Christmas? How much family time can you really stand? Aren’t things still bad with your sister?”

I really didn’t want to lie to Cara—at least, not outright. After searching for the courage to respond to her barrage of questions, I spoke carefully. “Uh, yeah . . . I was planning on only being here for a few days.” True. “But when my mom was about to leave, I suddenly felt like I needed more time with her.” Also true. “So, on a whim, I just sort of decided to ride back to Yakima with her and stay until after Christmas.” True-ish . . . success! But I couldn’t ignore the sick feeling churning in my stomach.

“So . . . you’re not, like, dying or anything?” she joked.

“Nope . . . not that I’m aware of. I guess I’ve just been really distracted here. It’s been a long time since I’ve been home.” The partial truth was coming more easily.

“Don’t worry, darling. I’ll see you when you get back,” Cara said, and I smiled sorrowfully at her usual term of endearment.

“Definitely,” I replied.

“Love ya, Lex. Don’t be a phone stranger. I mean, you can only expect me to survive for so long with Lex deprivation . . .”

Surprising myself, I laughed. “Got it. Love ya, too.”

After goodbyes were said and the call was disconnected, I stood and stretched. Still clad in my winter deck-wear, I was extremely overheated and a little sweaty. I tore off my mittens, unzipped and removed my navy-blue down jacket, and slid my feet out of my waterproof, fur-lined boots. I traded my jeans for some purple and blue plaid pajama bottoms before curling up on a bed that had always been mine, in a room that had always been mine, with the odd sense that neither belonged to me anymore. That Lex no longer existed.

* * *

Unsure of how I’d fallen asleep so early in the evening, I awoke. Night had fallen completely, darkening the room. My first thought was of being cold, so I quickly maneuvered myself under the covers. My second thought was one of relief—for the first time in two weeks, I had slept without having the nightmare. My third thought was about the strangely vivid dream I’d just awoken from. It had taken place in my parents’ house, and it could easily have been real, except that the dream switched back and forth between two time periods. The more I thought about it, the clearer my memory of it became.

Standing in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, I saw my mom sitting at her brand-new, oak dining room table, her hands clasped together on the surface. My dad was sitting across from her.

Shaking her head, she said, “I just think it’s too late. We’ve gone such a long time with this secret . . . it just seems easier to keep it.”

“But Alice, don’t you see? The girls have a right to know who they are . . . where they come from.” My dad reached across the table and covered her hands with his. “It’s just not fair to keep hiding it from them. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Suddenly, the scene shifted—I was still in the dining room, but the table was our old, battered one. My mom and dad, who seemed to have lost a couple decades, still sat in relatively the same places.

“I just don’t know, Joe,” my mom said, shaking her head. “I think we should wait until they’re old enough to understand why we had to do it.”

My dad sighed. “I wish we wouldn’t ever need to have this conversation with our little girls. I just . . . okay, I guess a couple more years couldn’t hurt. But we will tell them eventually, Alice.”

Closing her eyes, my mom nodded.

In the blink of an eye, the scene shifted back to my mom and dad sitting at the new table, his hands covering hers.

“Alright, Joe . . . this weekend, I guess I’ll visit Lex and tell her. If she doesn’t take it well, I’ll just bring her back with me. But, if it’s too hard for her, then we’re not telling Jenny—she’s just not as, well . . . as strong.” When my mom glanced up at my dad, her eyes were as fierce as those of a lioness.

My dad scooted his chair back, stood, and walked around the table to her. As I followed him with my eyes, I noticed a flicker of movement just beyond the wide, arched doorway leading into the living room.

Lying in bed, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d really been present during my parents’ conversations. A sense that a dream was more real than, well, just a dream was something I’d experienced before. But it had only happened when I’d awakened from a dream that was really a memory.

Once, when I was a freshman in high school, I forgot my locker combination. It happened near the beginning of the school year, but I’d already stashed a couple of books inside. After sharing a friend’s locker for more than half the year, I had a sudden need to get into mine—the library was going to send a bill home for the books I’d “lost” in my locker, and I really didn’t want to pay the fee to reset the combo. The day before the library fine was due, I went home, resolved to pay the reset fee the following morning. That night, I had a vivid dream. In it, I was sitting on my bed after the first day of school, going through my backpack. In my hand was the card displaying the elusive combination to my locker. When I woke from that dream, I hastily jotted down the locker combination, absolutely positive of its accuracy. Later that morning, I opened my locker for the first time in months, saving myself a hearty sum of money. That dream had felt the same as the one I just had: absolutely real.

But, so had the dream of Dr. Ramirez getting hit by a car, and that never actually happened. I couldn’t possibly have “remembered” the conversations between my parents in my dream because I hadn’t been there. It’s nothing, I told myself. I’m just being obsessive.

For the second time in two weeks, I laughed out loud. If I mentioned anything about my crazy dreams to my mom, all of her worried looks and concern over my mental stability would quickly give way to a leather couch in a psychiatrist’s office. No, thank you.

Regardless, I couldn’t ask my mom or dad if they’d had any conversations like the ones in my dream . . . for their sake. I was pretty sure I’d been making the past few weeks fairly hellish on them, and I wasn’t about to make it worse.

I eventually chalked up the dream to my overactive obsession with understanding who I was . . . where I came from . . . who my father was . . .

Gradually, like a dimmer switch lighting up my thoughts, I knew where I could get more information—from Grandma Suse. My indecisive mom discussed nearly everything with her mother. Tomorrow, I told myself, I’ll drive over to Grandma Suse’s house and hopefully get some much-needed answers.

4

Answers & Questions

When I cracked my eyes open, the glowing green numbers on the clock on the nightstand read 7:43. For the first time since I’d been home, my cheeks and pillow were dry of tears, and even with the odd dream earlier in the night, it had been the best night of sleep I’d had in weeks. Groaning, I stretched languorously and tossed the covers to the foot of the bed. I pulled on a sweatshirt and some socks, arranged my hair in a loose ponytail, and padded downstairs to the kitchen.

The coffeemaker was my first stop. My delightfully over-prepared mom had already loaded the filter with fresh grounds and the machine with water, so I just had to push the start button and wait. My favorite mug, covered in cheesy, cartoony Egyptian images, was already set out on the counter beside two other, far more grown-up mugs.

Catching my reflection in the window above the sink, I raised my eyebrows. I’d been smiling . . . for no apparent reason. Maybe I really am still me, I thought with wonder.

To distract myself from too much pre-coffee psychological analysis, I decided to make a big, fancy breakfast for my parents. I still had about a half hour before they came downstairs for their oddly rigid morning routine—plenty of time to make a Christmas Eve breakfast feast. After filling my mug with coffee, a splash of milk, and a spoon of sugar, I gathered some necessary ingredients on the counter. I was going to whip up a scrumptious batch of French toast.

As I cooked, the sound of footsteps on the stairs forewarned me of my mom’s arrival. I turned from the stove to see her watching me from the doorway, smiling.

“Smells great, Lex,” she said cautiously. “What brought this on?” Translation: Why are you acting normal?

“Oh, I don’t know. Consider it a ‘thanks for putting up with me’ breakfast,” I replied, returning my attention to the bacon popping and crackling in a large frying pan.

Just as my dad entered the kitchen, I set a platter of food on the table. Joe Larson was a big man—a little over six feet tall and thicker around the middle than was probably healthy. His face had gained wrinkles and a certain middle-aged plumpness, but his crinkled eyes and easy smile still bespoke his gentle, friendly nature. His light brown hair was damp from his morning shower, and his face was freshly shaven. I smiled, thinking his morning routine hadn’t changed over the years.

Although he’d probably been attempting something resembling stealth, I caught the questioning look he aimed at my mom, as well as her answering grin. By the time I sat down across from him, my dad’s expression had changed to a self-satisfied smile that glowed with a silent “I told you so.” I refused to focus on the fact that, in the dream, he’d expressed confidence in my ability to handle the information about my paternity.

It’s not real! The thought was closely followed by another: I need to talk to Grandma.

“Mom?” I asked, drizzling syrup over my French toast.

She was chewing, so she only looked at me and mumbled, “Hmm?”

“Well, I know how you have a lot of cooking and whatnot to do today, so I was thinking I might do something to make it a little easier for you,” I said, my eyes wide in an attempt to look innocent.

“You want to help me cook?”

Forcing a smile, I replied, “Um . . . I’d love to when I get back. I was actually thinking I could go pick up Grandma for you. That way, you guys won’t have to leave at all. You won’t have to drive in the snow . . .”

My mom frowned slightly. “I don’t know, Lex. You aren’t on the insurance for our cars anymore. What if . . . ?”

Seeing my eager expression falter, my dad stepped in on a fatherly rescue mission. “Come on, Alice,” he said. “It’s not really that far, and Lex hasn’t seen Grandma Suse in a while. Let her go. I’ll help you cook while she’s gone . . . if you want . . .”

I gave my dad a huge, grateful grin before glancing at my mom, eyebrows raised in hope.

She blew out a breath. “Okay . . . but you have to promise to be careful.”

“Of course, Mom.”

Attempting to not appear in too much of a hurry, I excitedly told my dad everything I knew about the excavation—which wasn’t very much—and the supervisory role I would be playing. My mom had already heard it all back in Seattle, but she didn’t seem to mind. Eventually, I finished my breakfast and offered to help with the dishes. After all, I’d created most of them.

“Don’t worry about it,” my dad told me. “Why don’t you just go get ready and then head over to Grandma Suse’s?”

Surprised, but not wanting to waste my escape route, I rushed out of the kitchen to prepare for the day. I got ready in record time.

* * *

Sitting in my mom’s parked, ruby-red sedan, I stared out the windshield at my grandma’s home. A true product of its time, the house was all bricks, winter-barren ivy, white trim, and huge windows, with a large arched porch that led to the front door. Its street was filled with other brick Tudors that looked just like it and yet were completely different at the same time, all remnants of the early 1900s.

After a few contemplative moments, I abandoned the warmth of the car and crunched across the de-iced driveway and pathway that spanned the front yard. I walked through Grandma Suse’s unlocked front door, shut it loudly to let her know someone was there, and hung my coat and mittens on the antique coatrack set off to one side in the narrow entryway. The house wasn’t small—it held enough bedrooms that each of Grandma Suse’s three children had grown up with their own room—but it had been built before the “bigger is always better” ideal truly took over. Throughout the house, the floor was a dark hardwood, and the rooms were smaller, the hallways narrower, and the doors just a little bit shorter than those in a modern home.

Making my way down the hallway toward the family room, I could hear the quiet chatter of the TV. “Hi, Grandma,” I chirped, poking my head around the doorway into the cozy room.

Susan Ivanov, otherwise known as Grandma Suse, was lounging in her favorite blue suede armchair with a fuzzy yellow blanket draped over her legs. Her hair was perfectly arranged in a gray halo and her sparkly red and green sweater screamed Christmas!

“Lex?” she asked, evidently surprised that I wasn’t my mom, who she’d expected to pick her up. Before she could stand, I rushed over to hug her. Tiny bells jingled on her sleeves as she wrapped arms that were more frail than I remembered around me.

“Well, this is a surprise! What are you doing here, honey? Not that I mind . . .”

Her bright, hazel eyes stayed locked on me as I flopped into an oversized, brown leather chair a few feet from hers. It had been my late grandpa’s chair and was by far my favorite place to lounge in the entire house.

“I convinced Mom to let me pick you up. She had so much stuff to do and I haven’t seen you in, I don’t know, a year . . . so I thought, you know . . .” I shrugged.

Grandma Suse watched me as I spoke, her eyes keen. “Oh, and how are you, honey? Your mom said she told you about your dad—said you’ve been having a tough time. Sweetheart, is there anything I can do?” she asked, radiating grandmotherly warmth.

I hesitated, a little surprised at her directness. “I don’t know, Grandma. I guess . . . I just wish there was a way for me to know who my real father is.”

“Honey, Joe Larson will always be your real father. Whether or not you share his genes, he’s still a part of who you are. Nothing will change that,” she said, her eyes glittering with moisture.

I clenched my jaw as the crushing weight of a handful of emotions momentarily overwhelmed me. In my heart, I knew Grandma Suse was right—my dad really was my dad. He’d always been there to pick me up when I fell, and he’d fostered my love of both history and reading. He’d helped shape me into the person I’d become. In every way that mattered, he was my dad, but I didn’t feel the same assuredness in my own identity. I didn’t feel like I was still his little girl . . . still me. Part of me was lost, and I didn’t know where—or how—to find it again.

I sighed. “You know what I mean . . . I’m not trying to replace Dad. I just want to know who my biological father is because, you know, what if some freaky disease runs in his family and I don’t know to watch out for it?” I’d voiced a reason, but not the reason for my curiosity. What I really wanted to know was what kind of a person he was. I wanted to know if I was like him, even the tiniest bit. I wanted to know something . . . anything.

“Well, sweetheart . . . I don’t know who he is. The clinic your parents used was very careful about keeping that information confidential.” She suddenly looked frustrated. “They said it was ‘to protect the donor.’”

An idea formed in my head—what if the information was confidential then, but isn’t anymore? “I don’t suppose you know the name of the clinic, do you?” I asked.

She paused before answering. “Maybe.”

“Will you please tell me, Grandma? Please? Nothing has ever been so important to me,” I pleaded, desperate.

Grandma Suse held my eyes for a moment, wariness adding new creases to her wrinkled face. “It was in Seattle,” she finally said. “But I don’t know if it’s still there. If I remember right—which really would be amazing—it was called Emerald City Fertility.”

I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Thank you so so much, Grandma!” Emerald City Fertility, I repeated silently. I quickly made a note in my iPhone. With my history of random acts of forgetfulness, not writing it down somewhere was far too risky.

“Do your parents know you’re looking into this?” Grandma Suse asked, her eyes sharp behind her thick, rosy-rimmed glasses.

The question took me by surprise. In my haste to dig up answers, I hadn’t considered the possibility that Grandma Suse might tell my parents about my sleuthing. I bit my bottom lip as my stomach grumbled.

“I didn’t think so,” Grandma Suse said with a frown. “Well, maybe it’s best if we just keep this between you, me, and the lamppost for now, dear.” She rose and shuffled across the several feet separating us to pat my knee, then said, “Let me go finish getting my things together and we can be on our way. I’ll be quick as a bunny.”

“Take your time, Grandma,” I said, grateful she would keep my inquisitive secret . . . at least for a little while.

Suddenly exhausted, I rested my head against the back of the cushy leather chair. Years ago, when Grandma Suse’s mobility had dwindled to the point that going up and down the stairs was akin to playing Russian roulette, my mom and I had moved her into the single downstairs bedroom. Currently, I could hear my grandma’s soft voice as she puttered around in her room, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open long enough to register her words.

My grandma was sitting on the left arm of the same chair where I’d fallen asleep. She looked younger than I’d ever seen her. A very handsome man sat in the chair, his hand resting on Grandma Suse’s lower back. With his dirty blond hair and strong, chiseled features, he was easily recognizable from photographs—my grandpa. On the couch opposite my grandparents sat my mom and dad, holding hands. Judging by my mom’s hairstyle, I figured she was around twenty-five years old. Before she had kids . . . before she had me.

From my position in the doorway between the family room and the hallway to the front door, I observed their conversation, watching . . . listening. Everything about the room was wrong. Where are all the knickknacks? And the pictures on the walls didn’t belong in my grandma’s house—they were supposed to be at my parents’ house. In fact, the painting hanging on the wall above my grandparents’ heads—of a dusky, sunlit forest—was currently in my old bedroom.

An unfamiliar male voice interrupted my confused examination of the room. Strong and clear, it was faintly accented with Italian. It belonged to my grandpa. “I asked around,” he said. “I think I found a good place for you kids to go. The doctor is very reliable. I know another family he helped.”

At hearing his voice, my confusion tripled. I’d never heard anything about him being from Italy, and I never would have guessed based on his appearance; he was so fair. In fact, I was pretty sure my mom had told me his ancestors fought in the American Revolution.

“We’re ready to try anything, Dad,” my mom said, and beside her, my dad nodded. “So, where’s this place?”

“It’s called Emerald City Fertility in Seattle. It’s run by a Dr. James Lee. He is one of the best in his field.”

“Do you know if they’re accepting new patients?” my dad asked.

My grandpa glanced down sheepishly before meeting my parents’ eyes. “Well . . . yes. In fact, I may have already set up an appointment for you.” He rushed his next words. “I know you were planning on spending the afternoon here, but I thought you’d want to meet the doctor as soon as possible. They’re expecting you in about four hours, so . . .”

“Oh! Um . . . thanks?” My mom said, giggling nervously. “I guess we should hit the road.”

My parents quickly said their goodbyes and departed, slamming the front door in their excitement. After they were gone, Grandma Suse twisted on the arm of the chair to gaze down at my grandpa.

“Are you sure this is safe, Alex?” she asked, more than a hint of anxiety straining her voice. “You know what could happen if he . . .” She trailed off, pressing her lips into a thin line.

“I’ve seen all of the possibilities, Suse. He won’t interfere in this generation. The child will be fine. It will be normal,” he assured her.

What the hell does any of that mean? This generation? Interfere? He, who? Normal?

“He’s right, Susan,” a man said from the living room’s other doorway, the one leading to the dining room. “We’ve kept the two lines separate for more than four thousand years. Nothing he’s tried has worked so far, and that’s not going to change in the next twenty-five years. The prophecy will be invalidated and all will be right.”

My confusion increased with every additional word. What does he mean by “prophecy”? And there’s that “he” again. I abruptly realized there was something familiar about the hidden man’s voice. Slowly, I crossed the room toward it, toward him, but something stopped me . . . someone. Long, golden-brown fingers were gripping my shoulder.

I turned my head and started to raise my eyes . . .

I awoke to Grandma Suse shaking me by the shoulder. With a rush, realization dawned on me. The dream I’d just had felt the same as the one the previous night . . . and the one with Dr. Ramirez. It felt too real, too much like a memory. Oh my God . . . I’m losing it, I thought.

“I made us a snack before we hit the road,” Grandma Suse said, setting a plate of food on the wide chair arm.

Eyeing a delicious-looking sandwich piled high with sliced turkey, cheddar, lettuce, and tomatoes, I said, “Aw, Grandma, you didn’t have to do that. It’s only fifteen minutes back to Mom and Dad’s, and . . . I would’ve helped if—”

“Nonsense, dear. You looked so peaceful . . . I wanted to let you rest for a while longer,” she said as she carried a second plate to her usual chair.

“Thanks, Grandma.” I took a bite and savored the flavors that only she could coax into something as generic as a turkey and cheese sandwich. I was pretty sure it was the combination of toasted bread and real mayonnaise, but my sandwiches never tasted as good, even when I did my best to mimic her methods.

“Yum,” I mumbled as I swallowed. “So, Mom told me the painting in my room—the one of the forest—used to be here,” I lied. “Where was it?”

Chewing, Grandma Suse pointed to the exact location where I’d seen the painting in my dream—on the wall behind the chair I was sitting in. My blood seemed to transform into liquid nitrogen, giving me chills as it circulated throughout my body. How’d I know that . . . dream that? It was one hell of an odd coincidence.

In archaeology, all claims must be substantiated by hard evidence, usually in the form of artifacts, ruins, or historical texts. The methodology was ingrained in my bones. I needed to dig deeper—to find more evidence—so I could know what was going on. Was I was losing my mind? I just needed to know.

Thinking of another, relatively safe piece of information from the dream—the doctor’s name—I asked, “So, this Dr. Lee, did you ever meet him?” I was surprised that my voice didn’t tremble as I spoke.

Grandma Suse nodded, watching me while she finished her bite. “Yes, honey. I went with your mom to a few of her appointments. He was a very competent doctor. He was a little young, but . . .” As she trailed off, her thoughtful smile disappeared and worry temporarily shadowed her face, but she quickly masked her features with a pleasant, placid expression.

I took another bite, feigning obliviousness. How did I know the doctor’s name? The painting’s location could have been a coincidence, but the doctor’s name . . . ? It just didn’t seem possible. What the hell is going on? My heart was pounding so hard that I feared my grandma would be able to hear it. I finished my sandwich, playing at normalcy, though I’d lost my appetite somewhere between maybe I’m losing it and I’m definitely losing it.

After minutes passed with only the low sounds of a tennis match intruding on our silence, I picked up Grandma Suse’s empty plate. “I’ll take care of the dishes, then we can head over to Mom and Dad’s. I know Mom would love some help in the kitchen.”

“Sounds good, sweetheart.” Grandma Suse smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

While I rinsed our plates in the kitchen sink, I thought about my grandma’s reaction to my knowing Dr. Lee’s name. She’d been worried—or afraid. Why? Because I’m clearly acting like a crazy person, I told myself.

“I think the dishes are rinsed,” Grandma Suse said from behind me, her voice gentle.

Startled, I laughed before turning off the water and gathering my things to leave. I slipped my hands into my mittens as I followed my grandma to the front door, sparing a glance back up the hallway. My mind was filled with questions. Who was the hidden man in my dream? Who grabbed my shoulder? What had my grandparents been talking about after my parents left? And most importantly, why are my dreams becoming so . . . real?

A single word kept replaying in my mind: impossible.

5

Sisters & Friends

It was a short, pleasant drive from Grandma Suse’s to my parents’ house. In less than fifteen minutes, I learned everything that had happened to my aunts, uncles, and cousins over the past year. Grandma Suse had always been a font of knowledge when it came to matters of the family.

As I pulled into the slick driveway of my family’s firmly middle-class home, I stopped beside my sister’s sky-blue hybrid. Evidently Jenny had arrived while I was out and had parked directly in front of the garage door I needed. Irritated, I rolled my eyes and inched my mom’s car as close to the garage as possible.

“Sorry, Grandma . . . looks like we’re going to have to walk on the ice for a few feet,” I said as I pushed the little gray button on the garage door opener. When my frail, elderly grandma opened the passenger side door, I quickly added, “Wait a second and I’ll come help you, okay?”

“Alright, dear,” she agreed, sitting back in her seat.

I rushed around the front bumper and gripped her arm to steady her as she emerged from the car. Slowly, we traversed the ice to the safety of the garage floor.

My mom greeted us from the glowing doorway leading into the house. “You didn’t slip at all, did you, Mom?” she asked, concerned.

“No, no, Alice. Lex and I skated our way to the garage quite gracefully.” She caught my eye, and I spotted hints of a suppressed smile glittering behind her glasses.

I grinned. “Yeah, Mom. I think we earned a nine-point-five for balance and a ten for our expert spins.”

“You two!” my mom said, throwing her hands up. “You act more like sisters than Lex and Jenny do!”

“We look like sisters, too. I only have a few more wrinkles than Lex,” Grandma Suse claimed.

My mom rolled her eyes expertly. “Please, Mom. Don’t kid yourself.”

“Oh, that’s my Alice . . . such a sweet girl,” Grandma Suse responded, reaching up to pat my mom’s cheek as she ascended the three wooden stairs to the doorway.

With an exasperated smile, my mom held the door open so we could enter the warm laundry room. Grandma Suse was through the doorway leading into the living room before me, issuing cheerful greetings to my dad and sister. From the sound of the television, they were watching A Christmas Story for the eight-thousandth time.

“Grandma!” Jenny practically screamed as she bounced up off the couch and flew toward us. She slowed in time to give Grandma Suse a gentle hug and lead her to the cushy recliner next to the couch.

“Nice to see you too, J,” I muttered. In the back of my mind I was thinking about what I’d recently learned regarding my paternity. I couldn’t help but wonder if we even shared the same biological father. It was a legitimate question, considering the many differences between Jenny and me—she was creative where I was logical, she was sincere where I was sarcastic, and she seemed to spend half of her life sick with the flu, strep throat, or chronic allergies while I couldn’t remember having more than a hint of sniffles.

“Good to see you, Suse,” my dad said. “Would you like something to drink?” He raised his dark brown beer bottle. It appeared to be some sort of winter ale that no doubt resembled motor oil.

Grandma Suse smiled. “Yes, thank you, Joe. I’d love some tea.”

“Oh . . . I, um, don’t really know . . .” he stuttered.

“Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll take care of it,” I said, chuckling.

He laughed and shook his head. “Thanks, Lelee.”

Lelee. The old nickname nearly brought tears to my eyes, and Grandma Suse’s earlier words replayed in my head. Joe Larson will always be your real father. No matter what, I would always be his little girl . . . his Lelee. Close to tears—the happy variety for once—I joined my mom in the kitchen.

Her face was etched with worry when she looked up from the ham she was doctoring. “We need to talk, Lex.”

Freezing in the middle of the kitchen, I eyed her warily. I wasn’t ready for any more enormous family revelations—not yet.

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetie. It’s nothing like that,” she said, placing the ham in a roasting pan. “It’s your sister—I just . . . I don’t want you to tell her.”

Relieved, I continued on my tea-making mission. “I know, Mom. You don’t think she’s strong enough to handle it.”

“You—how did you . . . did you talk to your dad?” she asked, bristling. “He shouldn’t be telling you . . .”

Oh, crap. I nearly dropped the mug I’d just pulled from the cabinet. Where had I heard that? It came to me all of a sudden—the dream from last night. “Um . . . no? I mean, Dad and I haven’t really talked much about this at all. I’ve just been thinking about it a lot and . . . I guess I came to the same conclusion. About Jenny, I mean.” Can she tell that I’m lying?

My mom raised her eyebrows. “Really? I’m surprised in you. I sort of thought you’d demand we tell her the truth as soon as possible.” She skewered me with her sharpest “mom look,” apparently doubting my sincerity.

Nonchalantly, I shrugged. “Dunno. I guess it just makes sense to me.” I quickly turned away to fill the yellow enamel teapot. “I’m just gonna make Grandma some tea and then I’ll help you with dinner,” I said, hoping to divert her thoughts.

“Oh? That’s wonderful! I’m a little behind schedule,” she confessed, hoisting the roasting pan into the oven.

After I delivered the tea and fitted myself with a burgundy apron proclaiming “I cook with wine; sometimes I even add it to the food,” I was directed toward a multitude of duties. I chopped, mixed, boiled, stirred, and mashed without a moment between each task. Every year, my mom felt the need to try to outdo her previous holiday feasts.

At least I know where I get my love of cooking, I thought contentedly.

* * *

That night, belly stuffed with ham, potatoes, and way too many frosted Christmas cookies, I fell asleep . . . and dreamed. Again, I watched my parents discuss whether or not to tell Jenny and me the truth. Again, I witnessed my grandpa directing my parents to Dr. Lee’s practice. Again, the hand jerked me from the dream before I could uncover the identity of the hidden man who’d been speaking to my grandparents.

In the early hours of the morning, a new scene played out in my dreams.

My family was eating the previous year’s Christmas Eve dinner. My mom’s failed sweet potato soufflé sat, deflated, on the edge of the table.

I inhaled in surprise—another version of me was entering the room, carrying a full bottle of wine.

“I just don’t know what I want to do yet . . . I guess I’m not ready to commit,” Jenny said.

Setting the bottle on the table next to my dad, the past version of me said, “You still haven’t picked your major?” She scoffed. “You’re in the middle of your third year, J. You’re sort of running out of time.”

“Gee, thanks for the heads up. I hadn’t noticed!” My sister glared at the other me. “Damn it, Lex, I can survive in the world without you reminding me of things I already know!”

She’d always had a hair-trigger temper, but I remembered how shocked I’d been at the severity of her reaction.

“J, c’mon,” the other me said. “I just meant that it’s an important decision, and unless you plan to stay in school forever, you—”

“No, Lex. Just stop talking for once. God, sometimes I can’t even stand to be in the same house with you!” She threw her napkin onto her full plate and stormed out of the room, leaving our parents and Grandma Suse gaping.

The other me rushed after her.

I followed.

“J, c’mon. What’s wrong?” the other me called through Jenny’s closed bedroom door.

Watching the past, I leaned against the upstairs hallway wall, cringing at what I knew was about to happen.

The door flung open, and my sister huffed out, pushing past the other me and dragging her suitcase. “It’s you!” she screamed as she marched down the hallway. “It’s always you! Lex this, Lex that! ‘Lex knew her major before she started college.’ ‘Lex got a full ride to grad school.’ ‘Lex is so perfect.’ ‘Why can’t you be more like your self-centered, stuck-up, know-it-all sister?’ God, I wish we weren’t sisters. Then I wouldn’t have to pretend to like you!” She heaved her suitcase down the stairs and out to her car.

The other version of me was crying, but I left her in the hallway to follow my sister outside. I found her in our mother’s consoling embrace beside her car. Their words became clear as I moved closer.

“. . . what’s best for you, sweetie. You are both special, intelligent young women, just in different ways.”

My sister pulled out of the hug and wiped her eyes. “Sometimes it’s just too much, Mom. Sometimes I just want her to accept me as I am. What if I don’t want to be just like her? What if I want to drop out of school and become an artist? What if . . .”

“She’ll love you no matter what, sweetie. You just have to give her a little time to understand. You know how stubborn she can be.”

My sister glared back at the open front door. “She’s had twenty-one years to understand me. How much more time could she possibly need?” She took a deep breath and sighed. “I’m sorry, Mom . . . I just can’t be around her right now. She’s just so . . . judgey. Can you tell Dad and Grandma I . . . I don’t know. Just tell them that I’m sorry and that I love them. Oh, and tell them Merry Christmas.”

My mom shook her head. “You don’t need to leave, sweetie.”

“Yeah, Mom, I do.”

“What about your presents?” our mom asked, a thread of desperation twining through her words.

“I don’t know . . . I’ll pick them up after she leaves.” She kissed our mom on the cheek, slid into her car, and drove away.

When I woke, my cheeks were sticky with partially-dried tears. Did J really say those things to Mom? If she did, is she right about me?

I dragged myself out of bed and tiptoed to my sister’s room. Her door was cracked open, allowing me to slip into her bedroom without waking her.

“J,” I whispered, sitting on the unoccupied side of the bed.

Blinking, she stared at me from her pillow. “Umph . . . Lex? What are you . . . ?”

“Can I sleep in here with you?” I asked timidly.

Jenny snorted. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“Sort of,” I admitted. “But . . . mostly I just wanted to apologize. For last Christmas . . . for everything.”

She sat up abruptly, tugging at the multi-hued comforter beneath me. “I’m sorry—what?”

Taking a deep breath, I dove in. “I’m really sorry. I did want you to be like me. I wanted to be able to relate to you, which would’ve been so much easier if we had more in common. And . . . you’re right, I’m self-centered. I never considered trying to be more like you. I just wanted you to be like me. Which is so stupid of me, because you’re an amazing, talented person, and I never want you to change. And I’m proud to call you my sister.”

“Oh,” she said, staring at me wide-eyed. “Um . . . thanks.” After a moment’s pause, she added, “Well, are you getting in, or not?”

As I crawled under the covers on the left side of the bed, I felt one of the flailing, broken strands of my life begin to mend. Whoever I was, whoever my biological father was, I would always be sure of one thing—Jenny was my sister, and she always would be.

6

Ignorance & Stupidity

“But really, thanks for the ride, Mike,” I said to the man sitting in the driver’s seat. Jenny had known I needed a ride back to Seattle, and when she overheard that her best friend’s brother, Mike, had plans to return to Seattle before New Year’s Eve, she’d asked if I could ride along with him.

Mike smiled as we exited the freeway and entered the U District, an area of the city famous for its excellent selection of budget-priced ethnic food, endless rows of apartments and turn-of-the-century bungalows, and of course, the University of Washington. “No problem,” he said. “I’m still surprised you’re living here too. Don’t know how I missed that. Suppose it shouldn’t be a surprise—half our high school has migrated over here.”

“I know! It was a mass exodus,” I said, laughing. “Though technically I wasn’t part of it since I did my undergrad in Montana.”

“True,” Mike said, nodding thoughtfully.

As I stared out the window, I found comfort in the familiar surroundings. Nature, lush and green, seemed to be at war with the cold, man-made structures . . . with nature always on the verge of winning. Yakima had been home for most of my life, but Seattle had supplanted it two and a half years ago, when I started my graduate studies at UW.

“You said you live on Fifteenth, right?”

“Yep,” I said, eager to see Thora and to just be home.

Mike adjusted his baseball cap, then glanced at me. “So Lex, we should do something sometime.”

“Oh?” Studying him briefly, I took in his warm, brown eyes and handsome, if not slightly youthful, face.

Mike Hernandez had been one of the guys as a teenager. Every girl in our grade at Eisenhower High School had fantasized about him at least once, including me. I’d had a short phase of Mike-obsession during our sophomore year, but nothing had ever come of it. Until a couple hours ago, I hadn’t seen Mike since high school graduation.

Smirking, he said, “Yeah. We should get drinks or something.” When he smiled, he had adorably faint dimples.

“That sounds great.” I pointed to a large, brick apartment building on the left side of the street. “That’s me.”

Mike deftly navigated the busy road and parked by the curb near the main entrance. “It’s lucky our sisters are still friends, so we could, you know, do this,” he said, gesturing to me and around the interior of the car.

“Yeah, it is,” I agreed, and I meant it. Mike was definitely attractive, and he seemed to have grown up a lot over the past six years, leaving his party boy reputation behind. Besides, I hadn’t been having much luck in the man department—every guy I met on campus was either too absorbed in his research, or overly enthusiastic about the college social scene. I was looking for a balance.

“I have this thing I have to go to on New Year’s Eve—a work party. It could be fun . . . but I’d have a much better time if you came with me.” He removed his hat and watched me, his eyes glittering.

“Sure, yeah,” I said, trying to hide some of my eagerness.

His answering smile was radiant. “Great! I’ll pick you up at eight. Oh, and it’s cocktail attire.”

“It’s a date,” I said, blushing as I scooted out of the passenger seat and retrieved my bag from the backseat of the silver Audi.

“See you in two days, Lex,” Mike said before I shut the car door.

I walked up to the building’s main entrance and fit the key in the lock. By the time I looked back, Mike’s car was nowhere in sight. I felt giddy with excitement . . . and I really, really needed to talk to Cara and Annie.

Once I was in my apartment, I tossed my bag onto the bed, snuggled on the couch with Thora, and pulled my phone out of my pocket to call Cara.

“Lex? Is it really you? Are you alive?” was Cara’s greeting.

“Yes, yes, and yes. And I have news. When can you get over here?”

She paused. “If I leave the office early . . . maybe four-ish?”

“Okay, great!” I said excitedly. “I’m going to call Annie. See you la—”

“Lex, wait,” Cara blurted before I could hang up. “Is it good news or bad news? I want to be prepared.”

I considered holding back the info about my parentage and only focusing on the date with Mike, but thought better of it. “Both,” I told her, unsure if I would go so far as to fill them in on the weird, way-too-real dreams.

“Okay. See you later!”

“Bye.” I quickly called Annie and had a nearly identical conversation. Both women would be over in three hours, and I had some thinking to do.

Disturbing Thora from her euphoric cuddling, I rose from the couch and retrieved a yellow notepad and pen from atop the coffee table. I kept both items generously scattered about the apartment as a general rule—I couldn’t predict when research inspiration or insight would strike. When I reclaimed my comfortable position on the couch, my cat simply glared at me from the windowsill, stretching and lying down with her feet curled primly under her.

“Have it your way, Thora,” I said, clicking the pen open.

I drew a line down the center of the page, dividing it into two columns. At the top of one, I wrote THE DREAMS AREN’T REAL. Atop the other, THE DREAMS ARE REAL. Quickly, I began listing items in the AREN’T REAL column, like, “impossible,” but I ran out of ideas almost as soon as I started. Switching to the ARE REAL column, I marked up the page with furious starts and stops. After five minutes, I compared the lists, shocked.

AREN’T REAL

—Impossible

—Wasn’t even alive for the Grandma/Grandpa scene

—Impossible

—I might be in shock

ARE REAL

—The painting

—Dr. Lee

—Dr. Ramirez???

—Grandpa’s voice—he’s Italian?

—Convo between Mom and Jenny

—Knowing Mom thinks Jenny isn’t strong enough for the truth

—Mom’s fashion is way too ridiculous for even me to dream up

—Feels just like the memory dreams I’ve had since high school

—I can remember the dreams too well when I wake up—unnatural

—I’m fully aware in the dreams—also unnatural

“Well, shit,” I said, copying my mom’s signature profane exclamation. It was the one she used when she realized she’d forgotten an essential item at the grocery store or when she received a notice from school notifying her of Jenny’s skipped classes. For her, it meant, “Huh, I guess I should’ve seen that coming, but it still sucks!”

I flipped the page up over the top of the notepad and started a new list, cataloging all of my recent dreams. As I wrote, I started to notice several common characteristics.

First, I had to be asleep—but that one was pretty obvious, seeing as they were dreams. However, I did find it a little odd that I’d fallen asleep at Grandma Suse’s right after I’d had a great night’s sleep. Tiredness had crept up on me, then wrestled me into submission.

Second, location seemed to be important. Each dream first played out in my mind while I slept in the same place as the scene had actually happened. I’d been at my parents’ house when I’d dreamed of their conversations about telling Jenny and me the truth, and when I dreamed of the blowup during the previous Christmas Eve dinner. After dozing off at Grandma Suse’s, I’d dreamed of the discussion about the clinic and Dr. Lee. The Dr. Ramirez nightmare hadn’t technically been in the same location—the accident had taken place just outside of Denny Hall, where I’d fallen asleep—but I still wasn’t one hundred percent convinced that dream had really been like the others.

Third, I’d been experiencing extreme emotion each time I’d fallen asleep. I’d felt overwhelmingly eager for winter break before the nap in Denny Hall, lost before the first dream at my house, desperate before the one at Grandma Suse’s, and regretful before I’d dreamed of Jenny. Eager . . . Lost . . . Desperate . . . Regretful . . .

As I thought about the emotions, I realized that other than the Dr. Ramirez nightmare, the dreams shared a common thread—they seemed to pop up out of need. I’d needed to understand where I came from, to figure out where I could learn more about my paternity, and to make things right with my sister. The dreams of my parents, my grandparents, and my sister had met those needs respectively.

With that realization came another thought. Can I control this? If I could focus on something I needed at the moment, maybe I could force another one of the too-real dreams . . . maybe I could learn to use them to help me discover other useful bits of information. I ignored the part of my brain screaming about delusions and straitjackets and padded rooms.

Checking the clock on the wall, I saw that I still had two hours before Cara and Annie arrived—plenty of time to test my insane theory. I was tired enough to nap, so I stretched out on the couch and covered myself with a blanket. Thora, apparently forgiving me for displacing her, hopped down from her perch to curl up next to me. I thought about what I needed, what was making me feel extreme emotions at the moment, and eventually drifted off to asleep.

My apartment door opened, admitting a stumbling, laughing couple. The man was wearing a black suit, his jacket unbuttoned and metallic blue tie undone around his neck. The woman was wearing a silky black dress that skimmed the bottoms of her knees, and her feet were bare. Her gleaming, dark hair was falling out of its loose updo. I was watching . . . me.

The man, Mike, pressed the other version of me against the wide, polished wood post separating the kitchen from the living room. She giggled. He kissed her hungrily, pressing his whole body against hers and running his hands over every reachable part of her. She twined her fingers in his soft black hair and groaned.

I moved closer, equally curious and disturbed by the scene playing out in front of me. I couldn’t imagine myself ever being as inebriated as the other version of me seemed. Part of my mind whispered that what I was watching wasn’t real. Another part wondered if it was, but it just hadn’t happened yet.

“God, I want you, Lex . . . can you feel it?” Mike groaned, grinding his hips harder against hers. “Can you feel how hard you made me?” He slipped one hand up her skirt while the other fumbled with his belt buckle.

“Wait . . . wait,” the other me whispered, trying to push Mike’s groping hand out from under her dress. “I’m . . . dizzy. I don’t feel—”

“No, it’s good. You’re beautiful,” Mike said hoarsely, unbuttoning his pants and lowering the zipper.

“Mike, wait,” she demanded. She turned her head away and made an effort to push him back.

He ignored her, using both hands to raise the skirt of her dress and pull down her black lace boy shorts.

“No! Stop, Mike!” she repeated, her protests growing shrill as Mike became more forceful.

I couldn’t stand it anymore. I lurched forward, intending to push him away from her, but I bounced off an invisible barrier. “STOP!” I shouted. “LEAVE HER ALONE!”

Mike glanced at the couch, then shoved the other version of me into the living room.

She screamed, tripping on the underwear tangled around her ankles. As she fell to the floor, her head smashed against the corner of the steamer trunk coffee table. Within seconds, she was still.

Mike stared down at her, mouth hanging open in shock, and the front door crashed open.

I lurched to a sitting position and immediately felt nauseated. It was just a dream, just a regular, meaningless dream. But I couldn’t get over the way it had felt, like a memory . . . like the others. But how could it be real? Mike wouldn’t—

Before I could dwell further, there was a knock at the door. Cara and Annie had arrived. Still a little shaken, I quickly finger-combed my hair and stretched before letting my friends in.

“We brought wine!” Cara exclaimed, hugging three beautiful bottles of the nerve-calming libation.

“And cheese!” Annie sang immediately after her. She offered up a canvas shopping bag filled with cheeses and, knowing her penchant for decadence, some other tasty goodies.

“Amazing! Splendid! Genius!” I said, bowing as I showered them with praises.

“I wasn’t sure how much we’d need,” Cara said, using a corkscrew to point at the bottles lined up on the counter.

Without hesitation, I replied, “Probably all of them.”

After laying a half-dozen varieties of cheese along with strawberries, sliced apples and pears, crackers, and olives out on the coffee table like an offering to the divine, we settled in the living room with glasses full of wine. My friends perched on the couch, and I settled on a floor cushion on the opposite side of our little feast. Taking frequent sips of wine, I listened to their soothing, inane chatter. It was nice to be surrounded by silliness for a few moments.

“So . . . spill,” Cara demanded, her bright blue eyes focusing on me.

“Cara!” Annie admonished, slapping Cara’s leg. “She’ll tell us when she’s ready.”

“No, it’s fine,” I said. “Good news, or bad news first?”

“Um . . . bad,” Cara said, doing her best to contain her curiosity and appear supportive.

“So, it all started with my mom’s surprise visit . . .” I began. It was surprisingly easy to tell them the story of my mysterious paternity. However, though I tried, I couldn’t bring myself to spill about the too-real dreams. I ended my enormously long monologue with the good news—a replay of the ride home with Mike and the resulting planned date. “But, I’m not really sure about it,” I said, feeling my eyebrows draw together.

“Why?” Annie asked.

“Yeah, why? If he’s such a stud, why would you possibly consider backing out?” Cara asked, clearly confounded.

Blushing, I shook my head. “Well, it’s weird. I, um, took a nap this afternoon and the dream I had was just”—I shivered—“unnerving.”

“And why would that change your mind about going out with Studly Martinez?” Cara asked, emptying the remaining contents of the first wine bottle into her glass.

“Hernandez,” Annie corrected.

“Whatever. You know what I mean.”

I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath before explaining. “In the dream, Mike came back here with me after the party and . . . and he sort of tried to force me to have sex. I mean, I wanted to . . . I think . . . or at least at first I did, but not like that.”

Cara held up her hand like a traffic officer. “Wait. He dream-raped you?”

“No . . . at least, not all the way. I woke up before it was over,” I said and let my friends ponder the information for a few seconds.

“Kinky!” Cara exclaimed.

“Cara, you’re horrible!” Annie accused, glaring at the blonde sitting beside her. “It’s creepy, not kinky!”

“What? It was a dream. As in, not real. Come on, Lex. You have to go out with him. You haven’t been on a decent date in at least six months. You’re just nervous. When was the last time you even had sex?” Cara asked, crass as usual.

“A while,” I mumbled, hiding behind my hands. She’s probably right—it was just a dream, and I am nervous.

When I lowered my hands, I found Annie and Cara studying me with identical expressions: eyebrows raised and mouths pinched. I immediately burst into giggles, and upon seeing each other, they joined me.

As soon as the laughter died down, I expressed one of my several anxieties about the impending date. Anxieties, I told myself, not excuses. “I don’t have anything to wear, and I can’t really afford to splurge on a new dress,” I said, moping.

“Oh my God, shut up! You are so ridiculous! I have the perfect dress,” Cara said, bouncing on the couch again. “I haven’t actually worn it yet, so you cannot get anything on it. But, because I love you so much, I’ll let you borrow it.”

“Oh!” clapped Annie. “And I can come over and get you fixed up. You are not going on a date to a fancy New Year’s Eve party with a ponytail!” She waggled her finger at me sternly.

“Okay, okay,” I said, holding up my hands in submission.

“Good!” they exclaimed and began plotting and laughing and hiccupping. The night went downhill from there.

* * *

“Okay, you’re done,” Annie stated, finally allowing me access to the full-length mirror hanging on the back of my bedroom door.

I examined her handiwork, noting the classiness of the loose, low bun. “Annie, you’re a genius!”

She blushed and shrugged, gathering her various salon-grade tools into a bag with seemingly infinite compartments. I had just experienced one of the very amazing perks of having a hair stylist as one of my closest friends.

Finished packing up, Annie studied me. “Hair, check. Makeup, check. Nails, check,” she said, accenting each statement with a flick of her raised finger. “You, my dear, are ready to get dressed.”

I unzipped the garment bag hanging on the closet door. “Are you sure it’s not too much? What if I’m overdressed?”

“Better overdressed than under,” she said.

I removed a silky black dress from the hanger and unzipped the back. “If you say so,” I muttered. I stepped into the dress and let Annie zip it up, glad my bruises from the collision with Dr. Ramirez had healed in a matter of days. At least I didn’t have to cover the ugly marks with tights. When I turned to face the mirror, my heart nearly stopped.

I was wearing the dress, the same one I’d been wearing in the nightmare. This can’t be happening, I thought, terrified by the beautiful dress. It was simplicity at its best, with thin straps crisscrossing my back and flowing black silk draping over my hips and reaching just past my knees. It fit snugly around my chest and waist, emphasizing my slender curves. Against the inky fabric, my skin looked like smooth, flawless alabaster.

“Oh, wow,” Annie said in a hushed tone. “Maybe you should just buy it from Cara. It looks amazing on you.”

When I didn’t respond, she studied the reflection of my face. It had blanched from creamy alabaster to bone-white. “Lex? Are you okay? You’re shaking. Sit down.” She guided me to the edge of the bed.

“I’m fine,” I responded hollowly. It’s just a dress . . . a common, black dress. This whole thing is a stupid coincidence. “I just haven’t eaten much today. I think I’ll make some toast.” I stood and hurried from the room, shrugging into a light robe to keep the dress clean . . . and to hide it.

A few minutes later, Annie emerged from my bedroom carrying her bag and some strappy silver heels. “You have to wear these. I found them buried in the back of your closet.” She placed the shoes on the table.

“Those? I don’t know if I can even walk in those!”

“Then you’ll just have to lean on Mike,” she suggested, her face slack with mock innocence. Having been in the same relationship for nearly six years, Annie liked to date vicariously through her friends. Usually she was limited to Cara, whose love life was both varied and active, but for once, I was included.

I snorted and buttered the toast.

“I should go. Mike’ll be here any minute, and I don’t want to get in the way,” Annie said, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

“Come on, Annie, it’s the first date. We’ll at least go to the party first!”

She fixed an unusually stern gaze on me. “Fine, but don’t be a nun. You need this.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I gave her a quick hug and thanked her for all her help, and then she was gone.

I finished the toast quickly and was in the process of strapping on one of the silver death traps when there was a knock at the door. “Be there in a sec!” I called, trying to keep my balance as I strapped on the other shoe.

Dropping my robe off in the bedroom, I took a quick peek in the mirror to make sure everything was still in place, frowned at the dress one last time, and hurried to open the door.

“Hi!” I said, a little breathless.

For several seconds, Mike just stared, his eyes wide and childlike before crinkling with a smile. He looked quite handsome in a black suit with a blue tie, and I was relieved it wasn’t a metallic blue tie like he’d worn in the dream. It was just a dream, I reminded myself again.

“You look gorgeous,” he said.

“Thanks,” I replied with a slight shrug. “You look nice too. Do you want to come in?”

“Well, we should probably go. We’re already late. My fault,” he said, holding out his arm.

Slightly relieved, I smiled. Part of me was convinced that if I let him into my apartment, the horrible nightmare would play out, but if I kept him out . . .

“Let me grab my coat real quick.” I plucked my favorite coat—a nearly knee-length, plum-colored pea coat—out of the pint-sized coat closet, grabbed my keys and handbag, and locked the door on my way out.

* * *

Nearly four hours and way too much Champagne later, we broke apart from a very enthusiastic New Year’s kiss. Mike had been a charming gentleman all evening, and the wine had settled my unnecessarily jumpy nerves. Caught up in the excitement of the holiday, I was on the verge of pulling Studly Hernandez into the nearest coat closet for a little seven minutes in heaven. Perhaps being on a date with someone from my high school was making me feel a little bit like a teenager again.

Luckily, Mike was way ahead of me. He leaned closer, bringing his lips to my ear. “So, is that offer to come into your apartment still open?” My eyes wandered to the back of his neck, mere inches away. Because he was a few inches taller than me, I could just barely see the edge of a black tattoo peeking above his collar.

“Absolutely,” I said, smiling. Though I was twenty-four and had slept with several different men, I’d yet to have a very enjoyable experience. If that kiss was any indication of Mike’s bedroom manner, my luck was about to change.

“Great, let’s get out of here,” he said, capturing my hand and leading the way. We gathered my coat, hopped into his Audi, and arrived at my apartment in record time.

While I was attempting to unlock my apartment door, Mike was occupying himself by using his lips to do pleasant things to my neck and shoulders. A nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach—a sensation that I was forgetting something important—was washed away by twin torrents of desire and drunkenness. It was so bad that I couldn’t focus on the lock long enough to slip the key in.

Mike chuckled against my shoulder, making me shiver, and said, “Here, allow me.” He ran his right hand down my arm until he held the keys. The door was open in seconds, and laughing, we stumbled inside.

I giggled as Mike backed me against the wide, polished wooden post that separated the kitchen from the living room. Oddly, I couldn’t remember walking the ten steps from the door to the post.

Mike kissed me hungrily, pressing his whole body against mine and running his hands up and down my sides. I twined my fingers in his soft, black hair to anchor my swaying body. How did we get here?

Mike’s hands became greedy, grabbing at my breasts and hips and butt a little too roughly, but my wine-muddled mind couldn’t hold onto any thought long enough to care.

“God, I want you, Lex. Can you feel it?” He groaned, grinding his hips harder against me. His erection jabbed against my hip bone. “Can you feel how hard you made me?” After another groan, he breathed, “I’ll come so hard for you.”

As I felt one of his hands slip up my dress, the world suddenly became liquid. It seemed to heave and dip randomly, like the swells of a stormy sea. It was nauseating.

I heard the clink of metal and looked down to see several identical belt buckles being undone. “Wait . . . wait,” I whispered, trying to push his groping hand away. It had made it past my lacey underwear, and his fingers were rubbing some area that wasn’t the least bit pleasurable. This is wrong. “I’m dizzy. I don’t feel—”

“No, it’s good. You’re so beautiful,” Mike interrupted. He continued his misdirected rubbing of my groin while he used his free hand to lower the zipper on his pants. Fumbling with his boxers, he exposed himself.

“Mike, wait,” I said more forcefully. On the verge of vomiting, I turned my head away and made an effort to push him back. He didn’t budge.

With both hands, he raised my dress and pulled down my underwear. Nausea and panic battled for control inside me. I have to get away. Why won’t the world hold still? Why won’t he stop? What’s happening?

“No! Stop, Mike, please!” I yelled, but he only pulled his pants down further. “Please, Mike, no!” I said, my voice shrill. I squeezed my legs together as he tried to wedge himself between them.

“Mike, stop!”

He pressed against me, his erection pushing between my thighs.

“Easier on the couch,” he muttered, his words barely audible. Without warning, he pulled away and shoved me into the living room.

I screamed, tripping on the underwear tangled around my ankles. My head hit the corner of the coffee table. The last thing I heard was the apartment door crashing open.

This can’t be real.

Blackness.

7

Explanations & Omissions

I opened my eyes, only to be blinded by bright, florescent light. I yearned for the glorious golden fire that had been in my dreams. It had been beautiful and soothing, nothing like the awful luminescence currently boring through my eyeballs into my brain. From all directions, beeps and hums and voices pounded against my head like jackhammers. Squeezing my eyes shut, I attempted to cover my ears with my hands, but I couldn’t seem to move my arms. I moaned, or possibly grunted.

“Hey . . . guys, she’s awake,” a familiar voice murmured.

My inability to move my arms was making me panic, and I started to squirm from side to side.

“Lex, it’s okay. Lex . . . it’s Annie and Cara. You’re okay,” Annie stated calmly as she pressed her arm across my shoulders to hold me down. It didn’t take much effort on her part—I was weak and groggy.

I opened my eyes and was instantly caught in her warm, earnest gaze. “Rick, can you get a nurse?” she asked her longtime boyfriend, not looking away from me.

“Lex?” Cara poked her head around Annie’s shoulder. “Do you know who we are? We won’t hurt you. I . . . I’m so sorry!” She burst into tears, collapsing over my stomach and splaying her unusually limp blonde hair over the bed.

I tried to pat her head, but my damn arms were tucked under the blankets. “My . . . arms,” I whispered.

“Cara, get up. She wants to be able to move,” Annie said briskly.

Cara sat up and wiped her eyes. “Oh. Sorry.”

Gently, Annie withdrew each of my arms from its cotton prison and rested it on top of the thin, blue blanket. “There. Is that better?”

I smiled at her and nodded. “Thanks. And I do know who you are.” I paused, trying to remember how I’d ended up in the world’s brightest hospital. “What happened? How long have I been here? And why do I have the mother of all headaches?”

My two best friends exchanged worried glances, and then looked down at the thin hospital blanket.

Unease swelled in my chest. “Guys?”

“You came in early this morning,” Annie said slowly. Glancing at the clock on the opposite wall, she added, “It’s almost midnight, now.”

“I see our patient is awake,” a plump nurse chirped from the doorway. Rick entered the room behind her, offering me a little wave.

“Um . . . yeah?”

“Alexandra—”

“Lex,” Cara interrupted, frowning. “We told you—her name is Lex.”

The nurse scowled at Cara for a moment, but turned an indulgent look on me. “Lex, we need to talk to you about some personal medical matters. Your friends will need to leave when the doctor arrives.” She looked at the door as it opened again and admitted a pretty, petite woman wearing a white lab coat. “Ah . . . here she is now. Time to go, friends of Lex.” The nurse said my name as if acquiescing to a completely ridiculous whim.

Cara, Annie, and Rick vacated the room, but not without scornful looks at the nurse. Apparently they hadn’t formed the best relationship while I’d been unconscious. Before shutting the door, Annie said, “We’ll be right outside if you need us, okay, Lex?”

I nodded at her, grateful for her steady support.

“Thank you, Nurse Roctenberg, but I can handle it from here,” the doctor said, dismissing the nurse.

Bristling, Nurse Roctenberg also left the room.

“Ms. Larson, the police would like to speak with you when we’re done. For a statement about the assault,” the doctor told me. I couldn’t get over how attractive she was—of Mid-eastern descent, she had chocolate-brown, almond-shaped eyes, smooth, symmetrical features, and perfect, bronze skin. She was by far the prettiest doctor I’d ever met.

“A statement about . . . about wh—” Without warning, a montage of images tumbled through my mind, coalescing into a horrid memory.

Stumbling through the door with Mike. The wooden post at my back. The world spinning. His hands everywhere. Begging him to stop. Mike refusing. Mike shoving me. Hitting my head. The door crashing open. Golden fire.

I burst into instantaneous and uncontrollable sobs.

“Ms. Larson—”

“Lex,” I corrected through heaving breaths.

“Lex, I’m Dr. Isa,” she said grasping my nearest hand. “What that man did to you—and what he tried to do—is horrible . . . unforgivable. But,” she continued, “it could’ve been worse.”

I looked into her sure, brown eyes, entranced.

“He could have succeeded. He could have raped or even killed you, instead of simply assaulting you.”

A bitter laugh escaped from my lips. “Simply?”

“Yes, Lex, simply. Some women haven’t been as lucky as you. I wasn’t as lucky as you,” she explained calmly, releasing my hand.

“You . . . you were raped?” I asked, suddenly abashed.

“Yes. It was a long time ago, and it no longer has a hold over my life, but I understand the terror. Okay?”

I wondered if she was the most honest person I’d ever met. I nodded, ignoring the pain in my head. “Okay.”

“You were very lucky to have had someone nearby who responded so quickly. For many women, it’s the inaction of those around them that enables their rape . . . or murder.”

“Who? The door . . . I heard the door crash open, but I don’t remember anything afterward. What happened?” I asked, completely confused. Who saved me?

Smiling, Dr. Isa shook her head. “It’s quite amazing, actually. Almost like a superhero story. The nurses who were on duty when he brought you in said he was the most striking man they’d ever seen.” She sighed wistfully. “I wish I’d seen him. The police found the alleged assailant, Mike Hernandez, tied up in your apartment. He was in pretty bad shape when they arrived.” After only a brief hesitation, she added, “You should know, he’s on a different floor, but he is in the hospital.”

I flinched and did my best to huddle into a ball.

“Please don’t worry, Lex. He’s under guard. A police officer is watching his room at all times.”

Slowly, I relaxed, stretching back out.

Dr. Isa reached for my hand again, gripping it almost painfully. “There is something you must know . . .” She hesitated for the briefest moment. “Soon, other doctors in this hospital will begin approaching you with very intense questions about your medical history. You must not, under any circumstances, tell them of your unknown paternity.”

I eyed her, taken aback. “How do you—”

“It doesn’t matter. What’s important is your safety. They will ask you about your parentage, and you must say that Alice and Joe Larson are your parents . . . your biological parents. If you stay here too long, they will eventually ask you questions about your genetics and any differences or abnormalities you’ve noticed about yourself. You must tell them that everything is normal and as it has always been. If you don’t, your life and others will be at great risk. Do you understand?”

I swallowed, shocked and confused by her words. “I think so . . . yes.” How does she know anything about me . . . about any of the weirdness that’s been going on in my life?

Dr. Isa let out a relieved breath. “Good. There is one more thing. We found a very rare and little-known compound in both your and Mr. Hernandez’s systems. It doesn’t affect the average person—like Mr. Hernandez—but for a very few, unique people, it acts similar to Rohypnol, which you may know as the date-rape drug. If you hadn’t hit your head, you probably would have passed out within minutes anyway. I’m assuming you felt its effects before you lost consciousness?”

Is she saying that Mike drugged me? Feeling numb, I nodded.

Tilting her head to the side, Dr. Isa frowned. “This will be difficult, but you must not tell anyone about your reaction to the compound. Nobody else here knows about it, and it’s safest to keep it that way. Unfortunately, withholding that information may or may not affect the charges against Mr. Hernandez, since nobody else will be aware that you were drugged, but it will be essential to your well-being. Again, do you understand?”

I licked my lips before responding. She is saying that Mike drugged me. My mind was whirling with questions. “Yes, I think so. How do you know all of this? You know things about me that I don’t even know.”

She looked away. “I’m so sorry. I’m not permitted to answer any questions like that.”

“Permitted by whom? I need more information!” I persisted.

She looked conflicted, but the door opened, cutting her indecision short.

“Lex? Are you okay, sweetie?” my mom asked, oozing gallons of concern. “When they called me . . . I’m sorry it took me so long to get here . . . the pass . . . I called your friends . . . I didn’t want you to be alone . . . I just . . .”

I sighed, my frustration at being interrupted giving way to immense relief. I love you, Mom. “I’m okay.”

She studied my blanket-covered body for a few seconds before turning to the doctor. Sniffling, she asked, “Well, what’s wrong? What happened?” Based on my mom’s tone, Dr. Isa might as well have been my attacker.

“Mom,” I said, answering for the doctor. “Dr. Isa was just conferring with me about some of the less family-friendly details. I love you, but there are some things I don’t want you to hear, at least not from a doctor. I’ll fill you in later, okay?” I desperately hoped she would give me a few more minutes alone with the doctor.

My mom frowned before she answered. “Dad will be here soon, he’s just parking the car. I’ll be right outside with your friends, okay, Lex?”

I nodded. “Thanks, Mom.”

While we’d been talking, another doctor had joined Dr. Isa in my room. He politely shut the door as my Mom left. Dr. Isa gave me an apologetic smile before he began his questions. Once he began, it was a relentless waterfall.

“Ms. Larson, are you aware that your body heals at an unheard-of rate?”

“Have you noticed anything exceptionally different between you and your peers?”

“Do you have any knowledge of allergies or an allergic history in your family?

“Are you very similar to your parents?”

And on. And on. And on.

I listened to each of the questions carefully and answered based on the advice from Dr. Isa, leading the other doctor to believe there was nothing unusual about me and that I’d been unaware of the strange compound in my blood. More than an hour after the barrage began, Dr. Isa proclaimed that her patient needed rest and that I was to be left alone until breakfast.

After the other doctor exited the room, Dr. Isa used the pretense of adjusting my blankets to whisper a few enlightening pieces of information. “You hit your head very hard. You should be in a coma, and nobody understands why you’re not. Your recovery is astounding. You must tell anyone who asks that you’ve always been a quick healer.” She glanced at the clock. “Make sure you leave before breakfast. It’s served between seven and nine, so you have a few hours. Your release orders are already signed.” She reached down to squeeze my hand. “I wish you luck, Alexandra Ivanov,” she said, using my mother’s maiden name.

“That’s not my—”

The door opened suddenly, cutting me off. As my parents and friends poured into the room, Dr. Isa checked my papers one last time and removed my IV. My head was reeling from her unbelievable revelations—not to mention her cryptic instructions—and a multitude of questions were sprouting in my thoughts. I vowed to return to the hospital for one specific reason: to talk to Dr. Isa.

Putting on my cheeriest grin, I exclaimed, “They said I can go home! Who’s driving?”

Everyone but Dr. Isa looked utterly confused as I hopped out of bed. The doctors had been correct about my body’s ability to heal quickly—I felt a hundred times better than I had when I first woke. I’d always been a fast healer, a trait I attributed to having a strong immune system, but this was unbelievable.

“Did someone bring me some clothes?” I asked, holding my peek-a-boo hospital gown closed as I checked the empty closet.

“Lelee, I don’t know if you should be going home yet,” my dad said, concern etching his kindly face.

My mom set a half-full duffel bag on the bed. “I brought you some clothes, Lex, but we didn’t expect you to be released so soon. When the hospital called, they made it sound like . . . like . . . well, like you might not . . .” Her chin quivered and tears welled in her eyes.

“Just a little mistake, Mom,” I said, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. I couldn’t hug her—if I did, I’d break down. The hospital didn’t think I would make it? It explained why they were all staring at me like I’d sprouted an extra head.

Rifling through the bag, I found a couple pairs of old sweatpants and a few T-shirts from high school. Not that I minded—anything was better than the drafty hospital gown. I pulled out a worn, gray T-shirt, some cotton boy shorts, and faded blue sweatpants, and disappeared into the bathroom. Again, everyone but Dr. Isa watched me with confused expressions; the good doctor simply smiled.

* * *

Almost two hours later and after a lengthy chat with the Seattle police, I arrived home to find a brand-new door barring the entrance to my apartment. Man, my apartment manager works fast, I thought. Its pristine, polished wood looked odd next to the nicked door frame and smudged walls. One-hundred-year-old apartment buildings tended to accumulate more than their share of wear and tear.

Using a shiny new key that had been stashed in my mailbox, I unlocked the door and let it swing open. My parents and friends stood behind me, holding their collective breath.

Straight ahead was the wooden post Mike had held me against . . . had shoved me away from. I shuddered at the memory, practically able to feel his greedy, groping hands, but I refused to let my fear of something that happened in the past keep me out of my own home. With a shaky breath, I closed my eyes and stepped through the doorway. When I opened them again, I found that everything in the apartment was perfectly arranged . . . too perfectly, like the whole nightmarish encounter with Mike had never happened. But it did happen!

I’d been gone for little more than a day, but it felt like weeks. Time wasn’t settling right with me, just like the pristine state of my apartment.

Needing a distraction, I dropped my keys in an engraved metal bowl on the kitchen table and called out, “Thora? Where are you, little girl?” What if she got out while the door was broken? My breaths started coming faster as I imagined her wandering around outside, scared and alone. Oh God . . . she has to be here!

My small entourage milled around in the kitchen and living room while I frantically searched the apartment, calling out Thora’s name. I retrieved a crinkly bag of cat treats and shook it, hoping the sound would draw her out. Finally, after minutes of searching, I heard a faint squeak come from under the bed. Kneeling on the floor, I lifted the bed skirt and peered into the darkness. Two glowing, green orbs floated just out of arm’s reach. Letting out a sigh, I righted myself and quieted my frantic thoughts. It’s okay . . . Thora’s okay . . . everything’s okay.

When I emerged from my bedroom, I felt as though I was standing before a firing squad. Five pairs of eyes were lined up, each watching me attentively.

“I’m fine,” I reassured them, my voice a little too high, and their expressions intensified. “Cara, Annie, Rick—thank you so much for everything you did at the hospital. I really, really mean it.” I bit my lip, feeling bad for completely hijacking the past twenty-six hours with the insanity that had become my life. “You guys must be exhausted. Why don’t you go home and get some rest?”

Annie took a step forward, opened her mouth, and closed it again without saying anything. She studied me closely before nodding. “Okay, Lex. If you need us, just call. Any time, okay?” Her eyes seemed to add, but this isn’t over.

I watched my three friends leave before turning my attention to my parents.

My mom cut me off before I had the chance to open my mouth. “Don’t even think about it, Lex.”

“But—”

“No buts. I’m staying here until the quarter starts,” she said, steamrolling my unsaid protests.

“But—”

She interrupted me again, somehow responding to my unspoken thoughts. “Dad can’t stay, so you don’t need to worry about where we’ll sleep. It’s just me, and I’ll make myself at home on the couch. He’ll pick me up when he’s here on business next week.”

Though I’d planned to convince them to leave, a huge weight lifted from me at knowing my mom wouldn’t be budged. I really didn’t want to be alone. Even if having her stay with me postponed my intentions to question Dr. Isa further, I wanted my mom around, at least for a little while.

I sighed. “Okay.”

With two big steps, my dad wrapped me in a comforting bear hug. “Thank you, Lelee,” he whispered. “It’s as much for her as it is for you.”

I squeezed him in response, then pulled away. With a yawn, I said, “I think I’m going to take a nap.”

My parents both nodded encouragingly. It seemed that after attempted sexual assault and hospitalization, naps were a parent-approved coping mechanism. Marching out of the hospital, on the other hand, was not.

Feeling far too exhausted for someone who’d spent most of the past day asleep, I smiled at my parents and trudged into my bedroom. After I shut the door, I collapsed onto the bed. I only had a few seconds to wonder about the man who’d crashed through my apartment door to save me before sleep whisked me away to the land of dreams.

8

Recollection & Recuperation

My apartment door opened, admitting a familiar couple, stumbling and laughing.

I was standing in the middle of the cramped living room, watching, helpless to stop what I knew would happen. Panic made my heart race and my breathing quicken. I closed my eyes, incapable of watching—experiencing—the horrible incident again. But I could still hear Mike whispering to me . . . the other me. Desperately, I wished for it to be over. I heard the other me scream, closely followed by the crack of her head striking the steamer trunk and the thud of her body hitting the floor.

There was a crash, an explosive splintering and cracking of wood, and my eyes sprang open. A figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted into obscurity by the light from the hallway. The man who saved me, I realized. As he stepped out of the light and into my apartment, I noticed that the darkness surrounding him hadn’t only been due to backlighting. Shadows darker than the night cloaked him, seeming to emanate from him. To my eyes, he was a man composed of nothing but those impenetrable, pitch-black shadows. What the hell?

The shadowed man paused after a few long strides, looking at the other, unconscious version of me before turning toward the shocked man cowering before him. At least, I thought he looked at the other me; I couldn’t actually see his face through the shadows he seemed to be wearing like a disguise.

“You!” Mike howled in terror. Shocked, I realized that Mike knew my rescuer. “No, no, no—” Mike dropped to his knees, groveling. “She fell, I swear. I didn’t do anything.”

Confusion and frustration displaced my earlier panic. Who is he? Why can’t I see him? It was pretty obvious that he didn’t walk around like that—all shadows and menace—outside of the dream, or memory, or whatever it was. Mike had seen him, as had the hospital staff. So why can’t I?

The shadowed man’s steps devoured the distance to Mike in two long strides. His midnight-coated arm backhanded Mike, and the smaller man fell to the floor in a limp heap. Swiftly, the stranger moved to the sprawled form of the other me, hovering over her. His hands flew over her body.

“Hey!” I shouted, forgetting that I was only watching something that had already happened . . . forgetting that I couldn’t change it. “Keep your hands off her!”

His hands gently pulled up her underwear, and from the way the shadows cloaking his face shifted, I thought he must have looked away as he did it. He arranged her black silk dress so she was decently covered before gently rolling her onto her back and touching her wrists. Abruptly, he leaned over her face like he was listening for something. When he sat back on his heels, he brushed a lock of hair out of her face and simply watched her.

I moved closer, circling around the man. I searched for a crack in the dense blackness surrounding him but could find none.

From the kitchen floor, Mike groaned, and the shadowed man glanced at him. Gracefully, my rescuer rose. He lurked toward my fallen attacker, spitting vicious, incomprehensible syllables along the way. But . . . something about the words, the language, sounded familiar.

I hovered over the other, unconscious me while the shadowed man attended to Mike with sharp jabs and swift kicks. I despised Mike—thought I’d lost the capacity to feel pity for him completely—but seeing him being beaten so brutally awoke a sliver of sympathy in me. Did he really drug me? Part of me couldn’t accept Dr. Isa’s claim, and I was pretty sure it was the same part of me that felt bad for Mike as I watched.

Eventually the shadowed man’s need for violence was expended. He sat Mike, head lolling forward, with his back against the wood post and quickly arranged him so his arms extended behind him. I moved closer. At some point, the shadowed man had produced a zip tie and secured it around Mike’s wrists, effectively binding him to the post. Both Dr. Isa and the police had mentioned that Mike had been tied up and in pretty bad shape when he’d been found, alone, in my apartment. In fact, I was pretty sure the police wanted to find my rescuer . . . to arrest him for what he’d done to Mike. The severity of his actions hadn’t really sunk in until now. He saved me—but he’s definitely dangerous.

I returned my attention to the shadowed man, watching as he again approached the wounded version of me. Why had he been so enraged? Why had he beaten Mike into unconsciousness? His reaction seemed personal, like he knew me—cared for me—and couldn’t let Mike go unpunished for what he’d done . . . and for what he’d intended to do. But if that were true, why was he hiding from me? Why hadn’t he stayed at the hospital, or at least left contact information so I could thank him for rescuing me?

While I wondered about him, the shadowed man picked the other me up easily, like she weighed no more than a child, and carried her through the broken apartment door.

Rooted in place, I watched Mike’s limp form until the police arrived. According to the wall clock, it took only a matter of minutes.

In bed, I felt awareness tug on my consciousness, but I wasn’t ready to wake up. I had other plans. A new need was growing—a need to never fall victim to someone like Mike again, a need to never again be drugged into oblivion. I focused on that need as I slid back into the dream.

I was standing in the middle of a wide-open, tech-friendly office space filled with cubicles and decorated in blues and grays. I was at the New Year’s Eve party. A few feet to my right, the other version of me was locked in an embarrassingly brazen kiss with Mike. Ugh.

Watching them, I grew so disgusted that I wanted to slap the other me. I felt the urge to tear her away from Mike and shake her and scream, “Open your eyes, you idiot! He’s going to hurt you! Run away!” But I couldn’t do any of that, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. I attempted to pull her away, just as I’d attempted to push Mike off her the first time I’d dreamed of the incident in my apartment, but she was separated by the same impenetrable barrier I’d encountered before. I couldn’t touch her . . . I couldn’t touch him . . . I couldn’t touch anything but that damn barrier.

I slapped my palm against the barrier separating me from Mike’s shoulder. “I hate you!” I hissed. For some reason, seeing him before the night devolved into violence was more frustrating than anything I’d seen in the other dream.

“Happy New Year!” Mike’s colleagues hollered from all around me while they kissed and pawed at each other.

Mike was leading the other me away. At most, she was tipsy. While he waited for her to retrieve her coat, Mike took out his phone and tapped his thumbs against the screen.

I hurried over to him, nearly gagging at his overly-cologned stench. I couldn’t understand how I’d ever been attracted to him. Pushing past the nauseating reaction, I peered over his shoulder at the screen.

He was reading a text message from someone named Seth.

Use the lip balm to make her compliant, then complete the mission.

Suddenly awake, I lurched upright in bed, panting. Thora glanced up at me from her cozy position near my hip and meowed quietly. I stroked her soft fur absentmindedly, thinking about the last dream. Memories of what had happened between leaving the party and stumbling through my apartment door flashed through my mind.

Mike kissing my wrist . . . pulling over to kiss me before resuming the drive . . . slobbering all over my neck as I tried to open the door to my apartment . . . obsessively putting on lip balm every few minutes.

Use the lip balm to make her compliant, then complete the mission. Based on the text, I realized that Mike’s lip balm must have been the source of the substance Dr. Isa had told me about. She’d said it only affected a few, unique people. Why am I one of those people?

Use the lip balm to make her compliant . . .

How had the sender of the text, Seth, known the substance would work on me? And why had he wanted Mike to use it in the first place? My stomach tied into knots as questions swam around my mind. Had some person I didn’t know—someone named Seth—instructed Mike to drug me and do whatever “completing the mission” entailed? Had Mike been instructed to drug me into unconsciousness and rape me? It was too horrible to consider. It was also too preposterous.

“I’m losing it,” I muttered.

Laughing at myself for my wild, slightly twisted imagination, I rose from the bed, shuffled to the adjoining bathroom, and examined my reflection in the mirror. “Holy crap,” I breathed, barely recognizing myself. My brown eyes looked different, like they’d gained a reddish tinge, and my face was washed-out and gaunt. Simply based on my appearance, I looked like I was suffering from some ghastly illness, like I was two steps away from death’s door and already had my hand raised to knock. But I felt fine, if a little weak . . . and hungry.

I squeezed my eyes shut. “It’s fine. It’s just all the stress,” I told myself, thinking not only about Mike and my physical injury, but also about the identity crisis and the strange dreams I’d been dealing with over the past few weeks. “Everything is just fine.” The words were confident, but my voice was breathy.

Turning on the faucet and rinsing my face with cool water, I felt some steadiness return. Eyes still closed, I focused on the delicious smells invading from the kitchen and just breathed. I opened my eyes and stared at my hands. My fingers clutched either side of the rim of the pedestal sink, the tendons standing out sharply on the backs of my hands. I took a deep breath. Again. Finally, I turned and left the bathroom, avoiding looking at the stranger in the mirror.

I traded the worn sneakers I’d been too tired to remove for fuzzy, purple slippers. I added a gray University of Washington sweatshirt to my scrubby ensemble and opened the bedroom door.

My mom stood in front of the stove, humming and swaying from side to side. The little kitchen radio played a generic soft rock song. It was the perfect background music to the pops and sizzles coming from the pans on the stove. A junkie of mothering people, my mom was more in her element than I’d seen her in years. She almost glowed with purpose.

Quietly, I slipped out of the bedroom and crossed the living room to the small, rectangular kitchen table. I pulled out my usual chair—the one nearest the bedroom—and sank onto its flattened cushion.

“Smells yummy, Mom. I’m starving,” I said enthusiastically.

Startled, my mom spun with her spatula hand extended in front of her. “Lex! You scared me! I didn’t know you were up. How are you feeling?” An odd combination of accusation, concern, and contentment filled her face.

“Better, I think,” I said, scanning the living room and kitchen. “Where’s Dad?”

She sighed. “He left about an hour ago. He’ll call when he gets home.”

“Oh,” I said, disappointment radiating from the single word. Knowing he wasn’t my biological father made me second-guess all of my dad’s actions. Did he really care as much as I thought he did? Did he really love me?

“Stop that, Lex,” my mom chided.

I looked up at her, wondering for the thousandth time if she could read my mind.

“He thought you’d feel more comfortable with just me for the time being, considering . . . you know . . .”

I nodded as her words trailed off. Drumming my fingertips on the table, I wondered how much my parents actually knew about the incident with Mike. I had yet to explain to them what happened, so they’d gathered whatever information they had from my friends, the hospital staff, and the police. I took a huge, steadying breath and asked, “Aren’t you, um, curious? About what happened, I mean.”

My mom studied me closely before turning back to her stovetop ministrations. “Sweetie, you take your time. Wait until you’re ready, and not a minute sooner.” She resumed her faint humming.

Sighing, I felt both relief and stress. The story had to come out of me eventually, and I dreaded telling it. The longer I waited, the larger the heaping, stinking pile of dread would grow.

“Is there coffee?” I asked as I watched my mom’s movements. Judging by her arm motions, there were pancakes in one of the skillets on the stove. If there was one thing I truly loved, it was my mom’s pancakes . . . with syrup . . . and butter . . . and bacon.

“I made tea,” she said over her shoulder. “I thought it’d be better for you. More relaxing.” Carefully, she removed crispy strips of bacon and perfectly browned sausage links from two pans, leaving only popping grease behind, and set them on a stack of paper towels on the counter.

My stomach growled audibly. I didn’t think I’d ever been so hungry.

“Almost ready, sweetie,” my mom said as she transferred the mouthwatering meats to a plate. She brought it to the table, along with another plate piled high with golden-brown pancakes, and went back to the kitchen for round two. When she returned, she carried two more dishes, one loaded with a mountain of scrambled eggs with onions, peppers, and cheese, and the other with oven-fried potatoes. After one final trip, she settled in the chair perpendicular to mine and placed a steaming mug of tea at both of our place settings.

“What are you waiting for, Lex?” She gestured to the feast before us. “Dig in.”

I ogled the mounds of deliciousness. “Um, Mom . . . there’s absolutely no way that you and I are going to be able to eat all of this.”

After scooping some of the scramble onto her plate, my mom looked me square in the eye and said, “Have you seen yourself? You’re skin and bones. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’ve lost at least twenty pounds since I saw you four days ago. And your face—it’s nearly colorless.” She shook her head. “Now eat.”

And eat I did. By the time I sat back in my chair, my stomach was painfully full, and my mom wore a smug expression. All of the eggs were gone, as were the sausage links and strips of bacon. Several pancakes remained, and the potato dish was barely half-full. Without realizing it, I’d eaten enough for several burly lumberjacks after a hard day’s work.

My mom smiled, looking as content as a sunbathing kitten. “See, Lex? Your coloring looks better already. A good, home-cooked meal can fix almost anything.” She gave me a pointed look. “A little sun wouldn’t hurt you either.”

Rolling my eyes, I laughed. “Right, Mom, ’cause there are so many chances to get some sun in Seattle in January.”

“You could go to a tanning salon.”

I scoffed. “I will not go to a cancer factory! I’d rather keep my skin smooth and healthy and nicely pasty until I’m Grandma’s age.”

With a long-suffering sigh, my mom raised her hands in front of her in defeat. “Your dad ran some errands for me before he headed back home. He’s supplied us with quite a few movies to keep us occupied while you recuperate. Why don’t you pick one out? They’re over there,” she said, pointing to the coffee table behind her.

“Really?” I asked, perking up from my food-induced lethargy. If there was one thing I loved as much as pancakes, it was movies. For the most part, I really was a simple soul to please.

So, with all the excitement of a child on Christmas morning, I settled on the couch and rifled through a stack of DVD cases. Silently, I thanked my dad for picking movies from nearly every genre: romantic comedy to action, science fiction to period drama. There was a flick for every mood. At the moment, I was in the mood for some rigid chivalry and modest ball gowns. The latest Jane Austen adaptation shimmered in my hand as I placed it in the tray of the DVD player.

I lost myself in the music and language of another time, my mom curled up beside me. I slid down, resting my head on a pillow in her lap, and sighed as she started combing through my hair with her fingers. Breathing in her familiar scent of floral perfume and hand lotion, I felt some of the tension seep out of my body.

I was so incredibly glad she’d stayed.

9

Details & Arrangements

As I strolled along a wet concrete path, I thought back on the last three days, savoring the chance to finally get out of my apartment . . . alone. My wonderful, caring mom had spent every waking moment stuffing me with her culinary creations and enticing me into watching movies or playing board games. I’d barely had time to grade my students’ final essays. I loved my mom dearly and appreciated all of the effort she was channeling into my recovery, but I was getting a little stir-crazy.

As I passed well-trimmed expanses of grass and mini-forests of large evergreens, overgrown blackberry bushes, and abundant ferns, I felt a piece of me—one I hadn’t even realized was missing—return.

It felt like an eternity since we’d set up the meeting, but I was finally on my way to meet Professor Bahur, mysterious archaeologist and user of archaic speech patterns, at the Burke Café. I almost couldn’t contain my anticipation. I wanted to know everything about the dig and what my exact role would be. I still didn’t even know the location of the excavation site. I’d left my apartment early, taking the opportunity to turn the half-mile straight shot into a three-mile zigzag across the university’s familiar grounds in hopes that the fresh air might help settle my nerves.

Entering the quad from the southeast, I ascended gradual brick stairs, thanking my luck that the morning’s frost had worn off by midday. I paused on the top step, taking deep breaths of chilly, humid air. I was still weak, recovering from the unforeseen aftereffects of the incident with Mike. While my brain had fully healed during the hours spent in the hospital, the rest of my body still looked as if it had been starved for weeks. All of my clothes were noticeably loose, and as I hadn’t had much spare bulk to begin with, the weight loss definitely wasn’t an improvement to my appearance. At least my mom’s dietary plan of continual force-feeding seemed to be helping.

Breath caught, I resumed my stately pace down one of the brick walkways crisscrossing the quad’s lawn. If I were a soaring bird looking down at the rectangular, open space with its border of brick buildings, I imagined the sight would resemble an enormous stained-glass window with emerald panes cut into symmetrical, geometric shapes. The usually crowded area was devoid of people, leaving barren cherry blossom trees and the towering brick-and-stone buildings as my only companions. Their beautiful, classic architecture appeased the part of me that yearned to replace modern, impersonal structures with those rich in character from earlier centuries.

Lost as I’d been in my wandering thoughts, I had a sudden moment of panic, fearing that I would be late for my meeting with Professor Bahur . . . or that I already was. I checked my phone; it was a quarter past three. Thankfully, I wasn’t late . . . yet. If I hurried, I might have time to order a vanilla latte before meeting up with him.

Ten minutes later, I reached the Burke Museum, heading for the entrance to the café in the basement. I sighed appreciatively as I opened the narrow glass door. If I ignored the electric bulbs and the scatter of laptop-focused patrons, I could almost imagine that I’d stepped back in time. The carved wooden wall panels and the small, dark-stained tables with their sturdy, matching chairs belonged in a world gone a hundred years.

I scanned the café, and upon finding that all three patrons were women and therefore not Marcus Bahur, stepped up to the counter.

“What would you like?” the petite young barista asked.

“A tall vanilla latte, please,” I said without thinking. “Actually, can you make it a grande? And I’ll have a blueberry scone.”

“That’ll be five sixty-three,” she told me.

I handed her the money. “Do you know if there’s a Professor Marcus Bahur here right now?”

Her eyes went wide and her cheeks flushed. “Oh, um . . . no, I haven’t seen him.”

I lowered my eyebrows, confused by her reaction. “But you know him?”

“Oh, yes! He’s been a regular since summer,” she explained. Suddenly her eyes narrowed and she asked, “Why? Are you looking for him? What for?” She glanced at the door, then back at me.

I put on a friendly smile. “I’m meeting him for an academic project. Would you mind describing him to me? I’m not sure who I’m looking for.”

Her mouth transformed from pouty to pretty, and she giggled. She didn’t speak for a few moments while she retrieved my scone and started making my drink. Finally, she said, “He’s . . . um . . . sort of hard to describe.” She blushed again while she steamed milk.

“Okay . . . well, is he tall?”

“Yes,” she replied with a nod.

“Does he have gray hair?”

She giggled again. “Definitely not.”

I was growing impatient with her witless inability to simply describe a person. “Well, what color is his hair, then? Or is he bald?”

Her eyes squinted in thought. “Nope, he’s got hair.”

As she handed me my coffee, I grabbed the scone off the counter and muttered, “Thanks.” I started to turn away from her, but paused. “How old do you think he is?”

As I’d been speaking, her face had grown redder and her barely-contained giggling seemed ready to explode out of her. “Oh, you’ll have to ask him,” she said.

“And how am I supposed to do that if I can’t find him because all I know is that he’s tall and has hair?” I asked, irritation clipping my words. Is she even old enough to work?

She managed to squeak, “Because he’s right behind you,” before doubling over in laughter.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I took a deep, calming breath before turning around. He was standing several feet away, wearing gray trousers and a heavy, black wool coat and was, in fact, tall with black hair. My breath caught in my throat as I realized just how minimal that description had been. I’d been expecting an older gentleman, but this was a man in his prime, in his early thirties at most and strikingly handsome. His face was composed of strong lines and sharp angles, his full lower lip the only hint of softness.

He’d been looking at his phone when I faced him, leaving my embarrassing reaction—blushing and staring—mercifully unnoticed. When his eyes raised and latched onto mine, I nearly dropped my coffee. His irises were an amber so rich they practically glowed. It was an eye color I’d seen before, only once. Professor Marcus Bahur was the guy I’d spilled vodka and cranberry juice on at the bar. You’ve got to be kidding me.

As recognition registered on my face, the faintest smirk pulled up one corner of his mouth. I groaned and closed my eyes momentarily. “I am so sorry . . . about the drinks and your shirt, I mean. God, this is embarrassing.”

His mouth widened into a tight-lipped smile.

This isn’t awkward or anything, I thought. Time for some damage control. I closed the distance between us in two short steps and held out my hand, very businesslike. “I’m Alexandra Larson.”

Reaching out, he grasped my hand and shook it firmly. “A pleasure, Ms. Larson.” His accent was as rich and beautiful as I remembered from our brief encounter at the bar.

“Yes, it is, Professor Bahur.” I forced myself not to stare at him like a moon-eyed teenager, which was exactly how I’d acted at the bar.

As he released my hand, he flicked his eyes to the barista and said, “The usual, please. Thank you, Cassandra.” To me, he said, “Well then, Ms. Larson. Why don’t you pick a table and get settled. I’ll join you shortly.”

“Sure.”

Pleasantly disturbed and highly confused, I wound through the haphazard clusters of tables and chairs to an unoccupied corner. I sat on a bench against the wall, hoping to catch a glimpse of the intriguing professor’s interaction with the barista.

Cassandra bubbled and chirped nonstop while Professor Bahur waited for his order. He rarely spoke, only providing one-word answers when required, but she was unperturbed. At every shift of his body she giggled or simpered or sighed. Such a little girl, I thought blandly. I ignored the fact that my body had wanted to respond in an unfortunately similar fashion during both of our brief encounters.

“Get a grip,” I muttered. The director of the greatest excavation opportunity I’d ever been offered was a no-flirt zone. I needed to get my ridiculous, unprofessional reactions to him under control.

But damn, even though he was still wearing his heavy wool coat, I could tell he was well built. When he moved, every inch of him seemed utterly sure of its placement, like a dancer or a master of the martial arts. I couldn’t help but imagine what his body would look like without clothing, unintentionally leading me to think about it pressed against mine . . . covering mine . . . moving against mine. Unbidden, Mike’s body replaced the professor’s in my lewd thoughts. My heart rate increased dramatically, and my breaths grew short.

“Ms. Larson? Are you alright?” Professor Bahur asked from across the table. He sat, placing a cappuccino cup and saucer on the wooden surface.

“Hmm?” I snapped my mind back to the here and now, shoving away all lust or panic-inducing thoughts. Under the professor’s steady gaze, I said, “Yes . . . yes, I’m fine. Thank you. I was just thinking . . .”

Like a falcon, he cocked his head to the side and scrutinized me. “Sometimes, I find that stray thoughts can be quite troublesome. A curse of the intelligent, I suppose.” He included me in his undefined “intelligent” group with a flick of his hand on the table.

“I suppose,” I said. “Or a curse of the cursed.”

“Are you cursed, Ms. Larson?” His amber eyes were penetrating.

I shook my head and laughed softly, thinking of all that had happened during the last month. “Maybe.”

Professor Bahur’s expression turned serious. “Well, that can be quite an inconvenience when bounding around on excavations and such, don’t you think? One might accumulate more curses than one can bear.”

“I’ve been on several excavations over the past five years and the curses have yet to interfere with my life. What about you, Professor?”

He lowered his eyes and studied his cappuccino. “Some people are more cursed than others.”

I coughed, choking on the sip of coffee I’d just taken. “I . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

He waved away my concern with his hand. “Please, don’t worry about me. I’ve had a long time to learn how to live with my curses.”

Unsure of how to respond, I took another sip of frothy latte, this time cough-free.

“I’m very eager to work with you, Ms. Larson. I’ve been reading up on your work. Your piece in the Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology was exceptionally enlightening.”

I brightened, happy to veer toward a less-personal topic of conversation. The article he spoke of focused on my unconventional method for deciphering unknown or unclear symbols across dozens of ancient languages using similar, but technically unrelated texts; it formed the basis for my dissertation as well.

“Thank you, Professor. Honestly, I’m hoping your excavation will provide an opportunity for me to test some of my theories. I think it’ll really increase the methodology’s validity.”

“I’m certain it will,” he agreed, taking a sip of his coffee, which also appeared to be a latte. “Now, I’m sure you’d like the specifics of the excavation.”

“Yes, I really would.”

He nodded absentmindedly. “Several years ago, I discovered a couple of stone tablets referring to a temple in Deir el-Bahri. A temple that, as far as we know, doesn’t exist.”

“Or just hasn’t been discovered yet,” I added. Deir el-Bahri, located on the west bank of the Nile in southern Egypt, was world-famous, mostly because the mortuary temple of one of the most famous female pharaohs—Hatchepsut—was located there. The idea that there might be an undiscovered temple somewhere among Deir el-Bahri’s steep, limestone cliffs was astounding . . . and so incredibly intriguing.

“Precisely,” he agreed.

“Professor, if you’ve discovered an entirely unknown temple there, you’ve made the find of a lifetime!” I was in complete and utter awe of the beautiful creature sharing a café table with me, not for his looks, but for his unquestionable intellect.

Eyes sparkling, he continued, “It gets better, Ms. Larson. The temple has remained hidden for so long because of its unique construction. Unlike the three main temples at Deir el-Bahri, ours was designed without majestic colonnades and ramps—the entire structure is supposedly carved into the cliffs.”

I nodded, trying to comprehend the enormity of the potential find. “So it’s supposed to be more like the tombs in Valley of the Kings?” I asked, referring to the cluster of tombs located on the other side of Deir el-Bahri’s cliffs.

He nodded. “Based on recent geologic studies, we are fairly certain of the location of the temple’s buried main entrance.”

“Main entrance? As in, not the only entrance?”

The professor’s mouth quirked into a mysterious smile, an expression I was quickly growing fond of. “You’re quick, Ms. Larson. Dr. Ramirez warned me about that aspect of your character.”

“Warned you? Last I checked, being quick wasn’t a bad thing.” Damn, my tongue was going to get me into trouble with him.

He acquiesced with a dignified nod. “You’re correct, of course. I must remember not to underestimate you, though your youth and . . . other attributes may lead me in that direction.”

I kept my face blank, pretty sure my new boss had just insulted and complemented me at the same time.

His lips quirked again. “Back to the issue of multiple entrances—you see, the tablets indicate that our undiscovered temple connects to Djeser-Djeseru.”

My mouth fell open and I held up a hand. Djeser-Djeseru—roughly meaning “holiest of holies”—was the ancient name of Queen Hatchepsut’s mortuary temple. I couldn’t believe that the most famous, visited, and explored temple in Deir el-Bahri contained an as-yet-undiscovered secret passage that led to an as-yet-undiscovered secret temple. “You’re kidding, right? That’s impossible!”

Professor Bahur stared into my wide, stunned eyes with a complete lack of humor.

“You’re not kidding? Oh my God . . . you’re serious?”

He raised one eyebrow at my shocked redundancy.

Placing both of my hands flat on the tabletop, I said, “Let me get this straight. You think you can find a previously unknown temple that connects to Hatchepsut’s mortuary temple?”

He gave a single, minute nod.

“But that would mean there’s an undiscovered secret passageway in Haty’s temple. That site’s been scoured by . . . I don’t know—everyone—over the past century! It must draw more than a million visitors every year! How is this even possible?”

“It would appear, Ms. Larson, that Haty”—the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement at my nickname for the famous female pharaoh—“was a woman of many secrets. Her stepson and her architect did a very good job of covering them up. Your main role on this excavation is to uncover those secrets—particularly the exact location of the entrance in her temple—as I’ve yet to have much luck.”

Oh my God . . . Oh my God . . . Oh my God, I thought, and my nerves hummed with excitement. Professor Bahur had just handed me a task that pretty much every archaeologist would kill for.

He made a low, knowing sound. It was annoyingly attractive. “Yes, I thought you might enjoy that bit of information.”

“This is unbelievable. Thank you so much!” I practically laughed.

“You are quite welcome. It just so happens that your skill set is precisely what might crack the final riddle. You specialize in deciphering difficult, ancient texts . . . we have difficult, ancient to decipher,” he said cheerily. “Do keep in mind that you will need to do a fair amount of research in preparation for our departure.”

I nodded, brimming with anticipation. I would do almost anything to participate in his excavation.

Professor Bahur continued, “The university has been kind enough to set aside a classroom on the top floor of Denny Hall for the excavation team to plan and prep. I expect you’ll spend most of the winter term there. I’d like you to come by on Monday morning so I can give you a key and introduce you to the rest of the team.”

“Sure. What time?”

“Half past eight should work nicely. Additionally, I’ve made arrangements with Dr. Ramirez for your graduate duties to be pushed aside. You won’t need to teach students or complete any unrelated research projects. This excavation will function as your entire course of study for the next year. I need your focus uninterrupted. Is that acceptable?”

I was stunned. This enigmatic, visiting professor had spoken with my advisor and completely altered the next year of my life before he’d even met me . . . at least, officially. I felt a twinge of irritation that he hadn’t consulted with me before rearranging the next year of my life, but the results were amazing enough that I ignored it. “Yes, I think so. Thank you . . . again, Professor Bahur.”

“You’re welcome . . . again, Ms. Larson. I expect your participation will invigorate the excavation.”

Invigorate the excavation—what the hell does that mean? Along with uncovering the secrets of a long-dead queen, I anticipated uncovering the mysteries behind the confounding man sitting across from me.

We discussed some of the more technical details of the excavation over the next several hours. During a lull in our conversation, Professor Bahur glanced around and then said, “I’m afraid our meeting lasted longer than I’d anticipated and night has fallen. I’d hate for you to have to walk home alone in the dark. Might I walk with you?”

Gazing through the narrow, floor-to-ceiling windows on the opposite wall, I found that the sun had indeed set and twilight had come and gone. “Oh, I hadn’t noticed.” Although the idea of a companion on my trip home was tempting, I didn’t want to impinge on Professor Bahur’s undoubtedly valuable time. “You really don’t need to walk me home,” I told him, but for a reason I didn’t understand at all, I wanted him to. I should have been running for the hills after what happened with Mike, but I felt an overwhelming amount of trust for the professor. I shook my head the barest amount. Yep, I’ve officially lost it.

Professor Bahur lifted his coat from the back of his chair and shrugged into it. “Really, Ms. Larson, there is a great deal of difference between want and need. I’d expect someone of your advanced academic experience to be familiar with the disparity.”

Standing, I blushed at the idea of him wanting anything non-academic from me and used arranging my coat and scarf as a shield. “Alright, but only if you want to,” I said, attempting to keep the teasing tone in the friendly range.

“I assume, then, that a combination of want and need are acceptable,” he said with a severely polite air, the sharp sparkle in his eyes the only hint of playfulness. “One must always keep a watchful eye on those he needs in matters of business, and I couldn’t possibly turn down the chance to spend more time in the company of such a lovely, knowledgeable colleague.” He indicated the crooked path toward the door with a negligent gesture. “After you, Ms. Larson.”

Baffled again by his strange behavior, I slipped between the tables and headed for the door. I made sure to smile at Cassandra as I passed the counter.

She glared back, her sour expression turning to honey as she looked at the man following me. “Goodnight, Professor Bahur,” she chirped.

“Cassandra,” came his emotionless response, and though I wasn’t looking at him, I pictured him giving her the slightest nod of acknowledgement.

Once the door closed behind us, I smiled and glanced at the professor. “You know, I think you might have just broken her heart with a single word.”

“Yes, well . . .” he said as he looked up into the cloudy night sky, a tired smile playing across his lips. “I can’t waste time and effort on every woman who desires my attention, Ms. Larson.”

“A curse of the beautiful, I suppose.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I wished for them back. I was sure I’d just crossed a line in our newly-established, mostly professional relationship.

Professor Bahur chuckled and casually placed his hands in his coat pockets. “A curse whose effects you must suffer from every day,” he said before turning to walk toward the nearest concrete path.

I stood in place, dumbfounded. Does that man really think I’m beautiful? I was more of a shrug and a “Yeah, she’s pretty” kind of woman, and I was perfectly comfortable with the fact that I would never turn many heads or stand out in a room full of people. And then I remembered my current appearance, that I looked like I was suffering from some ghastly wasting sickness. He’s just being nice, I realized.

“Ms. Larson, are you coming? It is most difficult to walk you home when I neither know the way nor have you beside me,” he called over his shoulder.

I caught up quickly, noticing he’d been heading in the correct direction without my assistance. “You seem to be doing just fine on your own. I live in the Malloy—do you know it?”

“Ah, yes. How nice that you’re able to reside in such a lovely building.”

I snorted. “I don’t know about that. I think it lost most of its loveliness half a century ago.” After a moment, I said, “Professor Bahur, how—”

“Please, call me Marcus,” he interrupted. “It seems inappropriate for such an accomplished scholar to address me as a student would a teacher.”

“But that’s what we are,” I countered.

“Ms. Larson, your status as a graduate student is a flaw that I’m certain will be corrected by the end of our excavation.”

Bristling, I recalled how neatly he’d rearranged the next year of my graduate career and stopped in my tracks. “You know, I can earn my PhD, just like everyone else—with hard work and years of research. I don’t need you to do me any favors, and I’d never accept a degree I haven’t earned.”

When he turned to face me, his lips were parted in surprise. He retraced his steps until he stood so close that the condensation in his breath nearly touched me. “You misunderstand me,” he said evenly. “I merely meant that I have great belief in your ability to use the excavation to finalize your degree. After the discoveries we’ll make over the next twelve months, I can’t imagine the university could hold back on granting your doctorate of philosophy.” His nearness and height were slightly intimidating when paired with the chill in his voice.

“Oh.”

“Might we continue on?” he asked.

Embarrassed and worried that I’d damaged any possibility of friendship, I blurted, “I’m so sorry . . . I overreacted. I shouldn’t have, Profess—”

“Marcus,” he corrected. “And it’s already forgotten.”

“Marcus,” I agreed with a shy smile. “You’ll have to call me Lex, then.”

“Very well, Lex. Now, I believe you were going to ask me something,” he reminded me as we continued along the path.

“Oh, yeah . . . I’m sure you already have a plan for this, but how are you going to clear Hatchepsut’s mortuary temple of visitors for months? The SCA will lose a ton of money.” The SCA, short for the Supreme Council of Antiquities, was the organization in charge of pretty much everything relating to ancient Egypt. “I can’t imagine them agreeing to give us exclusive access for the sake of scholarly discoveries.”

For the first time, Marcus smiled fully, and the beauty of his joy nearly made me stumble. “Well, Lex, let’s just say that I have friends in high places.”

“Of course you do.”

Across the street from my building, we stopped, waiting for the crosswalk light to change. “You don’t need to cross with me. I’ll be safe inside in less than a minute.”

Marcus turned to me, searching my face for something only he would recognize. “Need and want, Ms. Larson. Need and want.” No hint of humor pervaded his words. He’s certainly an odd one, I thought, but the sense of safety—of trust—had only increased during our walk.

Seconds later, as we crossed the street, I grew increasingly curious about the man beside me. Who is he, besides an archaeologist? How did he make friends in such high places? How have I never heard of him? It was as though he’d simply appeared on the archaeology scene last month. That just doesn’t happen.

We stopped in front of my building’s glass door, and Marcus waited while I fished through my bag for my keys. I felt a flash of anxiety as I remembered the last time I’d been standing in front of the same door. Seeming to sense my unease, Marcus took a few steps away. Miraculously, with the breathing space, calm returned.

I unlocked the door and held it open with my body, half in and half out of the building. “Thanks for keeping me company . . .”

“Anytime,” he replied with a quick bow of his head. “I’ll see you bright and early on Monday.”

I smiled and nodded, retreating into the warmth of the building. For the briefest moment, I wondered what Marcus would have done if I’d invited him inside. My mom was still there, so the thought was purely hypothetical. Unfortunately, it triggered more memories of Mike, of being helpless to him, and I shuddered.

Silently, I vowed never to date again.

10

Asleep & Awake

Marcus lurked in my thoughts throughout my mom’s delicious dinner of roast beef and mashed potatoes, as well as our evening screening of a covert ops action flick. Though I’d only been out of the apartment for a few hours, the exercise and excitement had exhausted me. From the looks my mom kept flashing me, my weariness was poorly hidden.

“Why don’t you go to bed, sweetie?” she suggested after she turned off the TV. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep, and you’ll be more comfy in your room.”

Stretching on the couch, I yawned. “Good idea.” It didn’t really matter that it was only nine o’clock. I gave her a hug, stood, and headed to my room. “Goodnight, Mom,” I said before closing the door.

I had just enough energy to wash off the light makeup I’d donned for the meeting with Marcus, brush my teeth, and change into flannel pajama pants and a lavender T-shirt displaying a cuddly cartoon version of the UW Husky. I slipped under the covers and fell asleep almost instantly.

I was standing in a dark study filled with mahogany tables, built-in bookshelves, and rich, leather furniture. I was surrounded by the spicy scent of cigars and Cognac mixed with the musk of aged books. In the soft glow of a Tiffany lamp, a dark-haired man was leaning over a desk, his back to me. I moved closer, suspicion growing with each step.

As I rounded the desk, my instinct proved true. Marcus Bahur. His face was taut with concentration as he studied photographs of hieroglyphs. I recognized most of them, but one specific set stood out beyond the others—the lion’s head above a half-circle paired with a full circle and two vertical parallel lines, one with a flag-like protrusion. It was the same set of symbols that had been evading my deciphering abilities for months.

“Makes sense,” I mumbled, dismissing the pictures. My brain was just mashing together a bunch of the things that had been occupying my mind lately.

Marcus leaned closer to one of the images, his expression changing. Two fine lines creased the space between his eyebrows, and his lips puckered minutely. For a moment, all I could think about was how much I wanted to truly know the mesmerizing man sitting before me—the same man who was handing me the career opportunity of a lifetime.

Without preamble, the scene shifted in a dizzying swirl of colors. Marcus was the only constant in the chaos, remaining seated as the frenzied colors surrounded us. I became nauseated and had to close my eyes as I waited, hoping the endless swirling would stop. When I opened them again, I gasped.

Marcus was still sitting in front of me, but on a short, gilded stool instead of an oversized desk chair . . . and he was shirtless. His golden-brown skin glowed in soft firelight. Smooth lines of muscle led from his shoulders down to an intricately woven belt, which was holding up some sort of white linen garment.

He stood suddenly, displaying his odd attire—a calf-length skirt. After seconds of confusion, I realized it was the Middle Kingdom royal kilt. I laughed out loud, accepting that my imagination was getting the best of me, combining my new fascination with the professor and all of the recent excitement about the excavation.

I took one last, lingering look at the immaculate physique my mind assigned to Marcus, then closed my eyes for a long moment, willing my consciousness to move on to another dream.

Again, when I opened my eyes, the scene around me had transformed. I was in a long, arched stone corridor. Narrow, glassless windows lined the left side, letting in silvery moonlight. I almost screamed when I looked down at the floor. In the square of light coming through the nearest window lay a man, eyes open and sightless. There was a very deep gash cutting across his throat, and blood soaked the front of what could only be called a once-pale doublet.

I looked up, away, anywhere but at the dead man. My eyes landed on a second body further down the corridor . . . then another, and another. Shadows and moonlight had tricked my eyes at first, but once I started seeing them—the dead—I couldn’t look away. There were so many. A dozen? More?

Behind me, there was a masculine shout, closely followed by a grunt and a loud thump. It sounded like a fight. Is it whoever killed these people? I took several hasty steps in the opposite direction and promptly tripped, sprawling on the uneven stone floor. At first I thought I’d caught my toe on one of the stones, but when I looked back, I realized it had been the dead man—the one with the cut throat. “Ugh!” I exclaimed, skin crawling.

Carefully, I stood and started picking my way down the hallway, away from the sounds of men fighting. I’d just stepped over the sixth body—a beautiful, dark-haired woman in a burgundy and gold gown whose neck was bent at a very unnatural angle—when I heard a guttural gasp, and the sounds of fighting stopped. I froze.

The sound of rusty hinges preceded footsteps and two low, whispering voices. They were behind me, and getting louder. I found the alcove of a door a little further down on the right side of the corridor, and hid in its shadows, pressing myself into rough planks of wood. As the voices drew closer, I realized that one of the whisperers was male, the other female. I held my breath as they neared my hiding place.

“ . . . too quick. I don’t know how he keeps finding me,” the woman whispered. She let out a harsh sob. “Oh God . . . Jane.” I could just see the top half of her cloaked and hooded body as she dropped to her knees and bent over the woman with the broken neck. Her shoulders shook and she rocked back and forth, murmuring something to the dead woman.

“No, it’s his fault, not yours,” the man said fiercely, and I suddenly recognized his voice. Marcus. He gripped the woman’s shoulders and raised her back up to her feet, then wrapped his arms around her middle, drawing my attention to her swollen belly. She was incredibly pregnant, which was pretty much the only thing I could tell about her under the cloak.

She placed her hands over his on her belly and whispered. “I don’t know where to go. I thought this would be my last stop, but—” Again, her body shook with the strength of her sorrow. “I don’t want to leave you again.”

“Shhh . . .” Marcus’s voice was soft, soothing. “You must trust that you will find me.”

The woman turned in his arms and reached up a pale hand to cup the side of his face. “I will always find you, my falcon, but for now, you must forget.” As she said, “forget,” the look of adoration slipped off Marcus’s face, and the woman withdrew her hand.

A door banged open further down the corridor, and I turned my head to look. When I glanced back at Marcus and the cloaked woman, she was gone. There was only Marcus and a hallway filled with dead bodies.

It was barely seven in the morning when I woke, well-rested from a long night’s sleep. I spent a few minutes lazily thinking back on my dreams, unsurprised that nearly all had featured Marcus. He was such a beautiful conundrum . . . my mind had been bound to latch onto him.

Moving on to more practical matters, I stretched, dislodging Thora from her cozy position by my thigh. I had tired too quickly the previous day, and I needed to get back into active scholar mode by Monday—only two days away. My worthiness as a team member on Marcus’s excavation was at stake. As I rose from bed and readied myself for the day, I set out a plan, fully aware that the first part would be the hardest.

“Morning sweetheart,” my mom said when I emerged from my room. She didn’t turn away from the stove as she spoke. “Breakfast’s just about ready.”

“Is there coffee?” I asked, giving her a hug from behind.

She patted my forearm. “Yep. In the pot.”

I kissed her cheek and pulled away, saying, “Thanks, Mom. You’re the best ever!”

“Oh, stop it, Lex. You’ll make me blush.”

Smiling, I fixed myself a cup of coffee with milk and sugar and shuffled to the table.

“Hold on, sweetie. Come carry these plates over.”

Acquiescing, I helped my mom load the table with our fourth breakfast of way too much food. I’d pretty much accepted that my ability to gauge my own appetite had gone wonky, and I was content to let my mom fatten me up like a Thanksgiving turkey. The current layout included blueberry muffins and a small mountain of breakfast burritos, most of which I would probably end up consuming.

“Are you going somewhere?” my mom asked, setting her coffee on the table and sitting in her usual spot.

“What? How’d you know?”

“Your clothes, Lex—you’re already dressed. Usually that doesn’t happen until at least noon, if ever.”

Laughing, I shook my head. “Yeah, I have some errands I need to run on campus. Some books to renew at the library, a little research to do . . . you know, the usual,” I lied.

“I thought the quarter hadn’t started yet.”

My heartbeat sped up, and I felt guilty for the coming lies . . . necessary lies. “No, you’re right, but that’s the life of a grad student—working on research projects even though the rest of the school’s on break. Plus, with the excavation . . .”

She sighed, clearly preferring that I stay on the couch for another day of mom-monitored relaxation and recuperation. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“While I’d love your company, Mom, you’d be bored to death. Plus, I’ll be able to do everything faster on my own.”

“You’ll just be on campus?”

“Yeah,” I said, cringing on the inside. Damn, I hate lying to her!

“Well, I know I can’t tell you no. You’re an adult. But promise me you’ll come home right away if you feel yourself getting worn out.”

I smiled, feeling like a worthless piece of donkey crap. “Of course, Mom.”

After breakfast, I gathered a few necessary items into my messenger bag, including my wallet and bus pass, a black spiral-bound journal, and my hospital release papers, and then left the apartment. I crossed the street to the Burke–Gilman Trail, which circumscribes the southeast edges of the university, and followed it straight to the hospital at the south end of campus—Dr. Isa owed me some answers.

Unfortunately, when I reached the hospital’s info desk and asked the stick-thin nurse manning it where I could find Dr. Isa, the results were anticlimactic.

“Dr. Isa? Do you know the doctor’s first name?” she asked.

“Um, no. But she was my doctor in ICU last week.”

The receptionist narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing me. “Are you sure you were in ICU last week?”

Glad I’d come prepared, I pulled the release papers out of my bag and set them on the counter. “I was. See.” I pointed to the release date just in case she missed it.

“Hmmm . . .” She turned to her computer screen, her skeletal fingers clacking the keys rhythmically as she searched the database for my records. “Ah, yes, I see your Dr. Isa. What do you need?”

Barely suppressing my excitement, I said, “I need to ask her some questions. About some personal medical diagnoses she made.”

The nurse tapped her keyboard a few more times before responding. “Well, she’s not here. Your records show you had another doctor assigned to you. He is in the hospital right now. Do you want me to page him?”

I frowned. “Er . . . no. I really just need to talk to Dr. Isa. Do you know when she’ll be working again?”

The nurse’s smile was condescending. “I’m sorry, but she’s not here anymore. I’m mean, at the hospital . . . she no longer works here.”

Instantly, the hope-filled balloon that had been expanding inside my chest started to deflate as frustration and despair poked little holes in its surface. What about my answers?

Trying not to sound too defeated, I thanked the nursed and left through the automatic sliding doors, hurrying to the bus stop. I had one more lead, and I wasn’t ready to give up all my hope.

Miraculously, one of the many buses heading to Capitol Hill, my current destination, was just opening its doors as I reached the stop. I waited in line behind a bearded man who desperately needed a shower, a tired-looking woman in blue scrubs, and a young punk-rocker with spiked, electric-blue hair, multiple facial piercings, and heavy black eyeliner.

The last smiled at me while nodding to the beat of whatever music blared through his earbuds. I assessed my reflection in one of the bus’s windows, wondering what exactly had endeared the young man to me, and found a surprisingly flushed version of myself staring back. The rosiness in my cheeks and lips paired with my dark mahogany hair and alabaster skin made me resemble a modern-day Snow White. I hadn’t really looked at my reflection in days, and this was a vast improvement from the skeletal stranger I’d seen the last time.

Smiling slightly, I stepped onto the bus, showed the driver my pass, and found a solitary seat in the middle. Astonishing me further, my eye-catching admirer sat beside me and removed his black and purple earbuds.

“Hey,” he said, his voice unexpectedly deep.

“Hi?”

“Your eyes are really cool. Are they, like, contacts or something?”

“Uh . . . no. They’re just my eyes,” I said, confused.

He laughed, his smile wide and his pale eyes earnest. He was really quite adorable, if I looked past the many holes and markings modifying his appearance. “They’re practically red . . . and they’re like that naturally? That’s way more awesome than contacts. Natural’s cool.”

I nearly snorted, thinking my new friend and natural didn’t belong in the same room . . . or even the same country. I thought back to the reddish tint to my brown eyes I’d noticed several days earlier, and wondered if the red had become even more prominent. Can a person’s eye color even change like that? Why hasn’t Mom said anything?

“Yours aren’t too bad,” I said, wanting to take the attention off myself. “They’re so pale.”

He leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “They’re fake.”

“Oh!” I said, laughing. “What’s their natural color?”

“Hazel. Boring.”

I nudged his shoulder with my own. “Hazel’s not boring—it’s multicolored. Besides, I read that it makes people seem more approachable because hazel’s a warm eye color.”

He barked a laugh. “Oh, you’re funny. I doubt changing my eye color would do much to improve my approachability.” He stood and flashed another brilliant smile as the bus slowed to a halt. “This is me. See you around, red-eyed girl.”

“Sure.” I watched him disembark, his demeanor reverting to the expected—sullen and angry—but I knew better.

After three more stops, we reached mine at Broadway and Thomas. I pulled the cord and waited for the bus to stop, then exited through the rear door. Emerald City Fertility sat tucked inconspicuously between Harold’s Body Art and an adorable Irish pub aptly named The End O’ The Rainbow. Depending on my luck in the clinic, I thought I might end up sitting on a stool in The Rainbow in an hour or two.

Taking a deep breath, I approached a glass door stenciled with Emerald City Fertility in clean, white lettering and pulled it open. I had to climb a narrow set of stairs to reach the fertility clinic’s nearly empty, second-floor waiting room. Only a young couple occupied two of the cushioned chairs, holding hands as they nervously examined their surroundings.

“Can I help you?” a young, blonde receptionist asked. I wondered if she ever had issues with her hair sticking to the pink lip gloss smothered on her lips.

“I hope so,” I said, approaching the desk. “I’d like to talk to Dr. Lee. I don’t have an appointment, but I can wait if he can squeeze me in between patients.”

She smiled indulgently, looking like an all-American cheerleader, and explained, “Dr. Lee doesn’t usually see anyone without an appointment. If you’d like to make an appointment for a later date, we can schedule that now. We usually start with a two-hour consultation that includes both partners.”

Partners? Consultation? “Oh! I’m not here as a patient,” I clarified. “My mom was. I guess you could say I wouldn’t be alive without Dr. Lee. I’ve been meaning to stop by for years, and I was in the neighborhood, so . . . I guess I thought I’d just come in and thank him.” Lying was becoming as natural to me as breathing. It disgusted me.

The receptionist’s expression transformed as I spoke, turning from fake warmth to genuine excitement. “Really? We rarely get to see the children as adults. I’m sure he’d be delighted. Can you wait here while I check with him?”

“Sure.”

She hurried down the hallway and disappeared around a corner, returning less than a minute later. “If you’ll follow me, Ms. . . . ?”

“Larson. Alexandra Larson.”

“Ms. Larson. I’m going to put you in the consultation room. Dr. Lee will join you in a few minutes.”

“Thank you.”

I sat on a comfortable couch set against the wall on the left side of the room and took out my journal. I started writing down questions that might give me some hints about my biological father. I had nearly a dozen listed when the door opened, admitting a dignified, middle-aged man with gray-winged hair and a kind face. His slacks and dress shirt made him appear more like a lawyer than a doctor.

“Alexandra Larson. I’m Dr. Lee.” His tone was friendly, his voice deep.

Standing, I accepted his outstretched hand, noting its dry warmth, and smiled. “Hello, Dr. Lee. It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Well, we’ve actually met, but it was a long time ago and you were about this tall,” he said, holding his hand less than two feet above the blue carpet.

I laughed and sat back down. “Oh, I didn’t know.”

“Of course not. I remember your parents well . . . lovely people.” He sat down in a leather chair across from me, a medical file resting on his lap. “So, what can I do for you, Alexandra?”

“Well, I wanted to thank you for helping my parents and . . . I guess . . . helping me.”

He smiled modestly. “You’re more than welcome. Helping young families is my passion.”

I hesitated, holding my breath, and then expelled it in one long question. “Dr. Lee, is it possible for you to tell me anything about my biological father even though, you know, there are privacy agreements and whatnot?”

His smile widened a little. “I have yet to meet a child created through artificial methods who didn’t wonder that very thing. Unfortunately, as you’ve already pointed out, there are privacy and confidentiality issues.”

I slumped against the back of the couch.

The doctor held up a hand with his index finger extended. “However, I can tell you a little bit about him, just not his identifying information.” He opened the file and began reading. “Twenty-five at the time his sample was collected. He had light brown hair, hazel eyes, and a pale complexion. He was six feet tall and had a lean body type.”

My eyes were wide with surprise at the sudden flow of information, but I still felt unfulfilled. “He sounds just like my dad . . .” . . . who I don’t resemble at all.

“Yes, that’s the point. We try to match the surrogate with the legal father. I can also tell you . . .” I could hear the doctor’s voice continuing on as he further described my supposed biological father’s attributes, but I was distracted by a sudden blurring of my vision.

The man in that folder is not my father, I thought. I knew it with absolute certainty, like I knew the sound of my mom’s voice before she started crying or the smell in the air before it snowed.

For several nauseating seconds, the world disappeared into a swirl of colors before resettling.

I was standing in the center of the fertility clinic’s dark waiting room. It must’ve been the middle of the night, as the only illumination came from the glitter of city lights through the windows. I was pretty sure I was having another one of the weird dreams . . . but I was also fairly certain that I hadn’t fallen asleep. Did I faint? I had no idea what the hell was going on.

A click sounded, and the door from the stairs to the clinic creaked open. A tall, sleek man with pale skin and black hair entered the room.

I rushed to the receptionist’s desk, searching for anything with a date. A calendar taped to a lower cupboard caught my eye. The office staff, bless their little administrative hearts, crossed off the days as they passed. It was almost exactly nine months before I was born.

The intruder headed down the hall to the furthest door. Its polished wooden surface bore a golden placard with DR. JAMES LEE etched in black. The man entered the office and headed straight for the doctor’s desk. Remaining standing, he looked through a short stack of files, pulled one out, opened it, and ran his finger down the top page.

Joining him at the desk, I was baffled by his ability to see well enough to read in the darkness. I took out my phone and flashed its light on the file. It was labeled LARSON, ALICE—my mom’s name. I frowned.

Having evidently found what he was searching for, the man replaced the folder and snuck out of the room.

Following him, I couldn’t help but wonder how common alarm systems had been two and a half decades ago. Obviously the clinic hadn’t been equipped with one.

The man approached another door, this one designated LABORATORY. After he entered, he turned on the lights and headed for two glass-doored freezers on the opposite side of the lab.

I peeked over his shoulder as he opened one and searched its contents. He removed a small, round glass container and replaced it with an exact replica. On the side, there was a white sticker with “F.C.M. 08-12 for Alice Larson” written on it in black permanent marker.

I was getting the uncomfortable feeling that the sample-swapping man was my actual biological father. I was really trying not to acknowledge that I was staring at his semen in the replacement container. Gross . . .

Abruptly, the man turned, and nearly black eyes stared out from strikingly familiar features. My eyes—aside from the color—high cheekbones, and square jaw were reflected on the stranger’s face. Oh my God . . . I was absolutely certain that the breaking-and-entering semen-replacer was my father.

Within seconds, he was trotting out the lab door. He hurried back to the waiting room, out through the clinic door, and was down the stairs and vanishing into the night before I could fully process what had just happened.

“ . . . and I can tell you with certainty that he’s successful in what he does now. You most definitely received the best genes available. You’re a lucky woman, Alexandra,” the doctor stated, finishing his description of a man I wasn’t remotely related to.

I blinked, clearing the remnants of the vision and steadying my shock. “Dr. Lee, thank you so much,” I said, hoping my gratitude was appropriate for the words I hadn’t heard. “I really didn’t expect you to be so generous with your information. You’re a very kind man. Thank you.”

“Oh . . . well, thank you, and you’re welcome!” he said, sounding a little flustered.

I smiled, hoping he couldn’t tell my heart wasn’t in it. “I should go. You have a sweet young couple waiting for your help, and I don’t want to keep you from them any longer.” Did I really just see my biological father in a dream? While I was awake? I need to get the hell out of here!

“Well, you’re right.” His smile was genuine as he stood. “I’m glad you stopped by. It’s nice to know one’s work is appreciated.”

“Oh, believe me doctor, your work is appreciated as much as any can be.”

“You’re too kind.”

He escorted me out of the clinic, shaking my hand again at the top of the stairs. My heart rate was nearing Olympic sprinter levels by the time I stepped out into the damp midday air. Adrenaline was coursing through my bloodstream, fueled by the excitement and insanity of what I’d just seen—my biological father . . . breaking into a fertility clinic . . . replacing sperm samples . . . in a goddamn vision.

It can’t be real, I thought. But the dreams—visions—had proven true multiple times before. It can’t be real, but it has to be real. People believed contradictory, even hypocritical things every day, but this was really pushing the boundaries. I wish I could talk to Dr. Isa. She knows something, I know she does!

Feeling like a crazy person, I headed for the bus stop across the street. A painted shop sign behind the stop caught my attention: The Goddess’s Blessing. Based on the items displayed in the wide front window, it specialized in the unexplainable—from the mysterious to the magical—and of course, fortunes. Well, it just so happened that I was dealing with something pretty unexplainable at the moment.

Maybe someone in there can explain it, I thought as I veered around the bus stop, determination lengthening my strides. It was either that, or accept that I’d flown so far over the cuckoo’s nest that I’d mistaken it for a rainbow. After all, the dreams that I dared to dream really were coming true.

11

Discovery & Acquisition

A crystalline chiming punctuated my entrance into the cluttered shop. I’d been expecting a dark and mysterious space with shadowed nooks overflowing with eerie objects and ancient leather tomes . . . but I was surprised by its warm, welcoming atmosphere. Bookshelves lined the walls, many filled with shiny new paperbacks. A rainbow of crystals and tiny glass bottles decorated several bookcases from floor to ceiling, each item with its own sign proclaiming this or that mystical property. Tables were arranged close together throughout the shop, displaying spicy incense, aromatic candles, and a variety of odd items I would have been hard-pressed to identify. The cheerful atmosphere was somewhat of a letdown for my first venture into an occult shop. Is it too much to ask for a few shrunken heads and some eye of newt?

“Can I help you, Miss?” a woman asked, her voice husky.

I nearly dropped the statuette I’d picked up—a beautiful, carved representation of Thora’s namesake, the powerful Egyptian goddess, Hathor. “Um, yes,” I said, gently placing the pale, beautiful woman back on her pedestal.

“Are you a practitioner?” the shopkeeper asked as I turned to face her. She fit the shop perfectly with her flowy, ankle-length skirt, layers of clattering gold bracelets, and wavy, black hair that nearly reached her waist. She wasn’t overtly attractive, but her curves in all the right places paired with her rich voice and graceful movements gave her an air of sensuality and mystery.

Am I a practitioner? Of what? Witchcraft? “Not exactly. I’m here on research . . . for a graduate project. I’m a PhD student in the archaeology department over at the U.”

She studied me with eyes so dark they were nearly black before saying, “Mostly true, but I don’t think you’re here for a project.”

I frowned, wondering how she had guessed that.

“Many people come here under the guise of some other purpose,” she said, seeming to answer my thoughts. “I’ll answer your questions to the best of my ability if you tell me why you’re really in my shop.”

I weighed my options and decided it wouldn’t hurt me to divulge my story. Or at least some of my story. After all, it was the reason I’d entered in the first place. With a heavy sigh, I nodded.

“Alright,” she purred. “Follow me.”

Swaying, she led me through a curtain of multi-hued glass beads and into a cramped back room that had clearly been decorated with fortune-telling in mind; there was a small, square table of polished oak, several dim antique lamps, and a short bookshelf filled with tarot cards, leather-bound books, and other tools of the trade. A teenage version of the shop owner was sitting at the table, rapt attention on her phone. She cocked her head inquisitively at our arrival but didn’t look up.

“Kat, go watch the counter. I have some business with this customer.”

The teenager—Kat—rolled her eyes before standing and exiting the room with a huff.

“Your daughter?” I asked, amused.

“Do you have children?”

I shook my head, surprised by her question.

“I’d advise that you spend some time remembering your teenage self before reproducing. If you can’t stand the idea of being around that version of yourself for more than a few hours, you’re not ready,” the shopkeeper replied.

“I heard that, Mom!” Kat called from the front of the store.

My hostess pointedly raised one artful eyebrow. “Please, have a seat.” She took her daughter’s place while I sat in the wooden chair opposite her.

“Thanks for agreeing to speak with me,” I said after a long silent moment. It wasn’t much of a conversation starter, but it was the best I could come up with under pressure.

With a knowing smile, she said, “I’m sure it will be enlightening for us both. Now, what brought you here?”

I pursed my lips, considering the best way to start. “I guess you could say I’m looking for answers . . . or an explanation. You see, I’ve been experiencing something sort of . . . odd.”

“Odd how?” she asked, resting her clasped hands on the table.

“Well . . . it’s these dreams I’ve been having. Except, I just had one and I was awake, which doesn’t really make sense, does it? And they’re not dreams exactly, but more like visions. I mean, some are things I’ve witnessed in my life, but some happened before I was born, and—this is going to sound totally nuts—some haven’t even happened yet. But they’re all real.”

As I spoke, my companion sat up straighter, evidently intrigued. “What makes you think it’s anything beyond an active imagination? What makes it ‘real’?”

I leaned forward, intent on making the woman—a stranger—believe me. If she believed me without thinking I was crazy, maybe I could too. “Because I know things.” I said. “Things I shouldn’t know . . . things I couldn’t know. I dreamed something bad would happen to me, and it happened exactly as I saw it.”

“If you knew it would happen, why didn’t you try to change it?”

I laughed bitterly. “I thought I was just anxious. It didn’t seem possible that I could see the future in my dreams.”

“You said it’s not always a dream, that you’ve been awake for these ‘visions’?”

“Yeah . . . just once, about fifteen minutes ago.”

She leaned back in her chair, studying me, her generous lips pressed together in a flat line. After a protracted silence, she asked, “You want to know what’s happening to you, correct?”

“Yes.” Eager, I licked my lips. She knows something . . . she has to.

“I’ve heard of people with abilities like this. Usually it’s genetic.” She paused. “Have you spoken with your parents about it?”

Frustrated, I shook my head. “My mom doesn’t know about any of it. She’d tell me if she did. And . . . I don’t know who my father is.”

“Mom!” Kat called from the front of the shop.

“Just a minute!” the woman across the table from me yelled back. To me, she said, “Your situation is odd, like you said, but there are others like you out there. It’s standard for your kind to learn about such things from their families. I’m amazed you’ve slipped through the cracks for so long.”

“My kind? What are you talking about?” My hands gripped the edge of the table so firmly that my nail beds were turning white.

The muffled sound of Kat’s voice, along with a deeper, male voice, grew louder from beyond the beaded curtain.

“Yes, your kind.” The woman seemed to be struggling with something as she stared into my eyes. Her head turned toward the doorway, and almost inaudibly, she whispered, “I’m truly sorry, but I can’t tell you more. Just know there are others like you and they will find you.”

“But you—”

Kat’s pleading whine sounded from just outside the back room. “But she’s busy right now!”

“My dear girl, your mother is never too busy for me. You know that. I must see her immediately,” a familiar, faintly-accented voice said. Oh, you have got to be kidding me!

“Hey!” Kat’s outraged admonition came just before a well-dressed man walked through the beaded curtain, making the pieces of glass clack excitedly. His eyes widened when they met mine, then narrowed slightly as he turned to my hostess.

“Marcus?” I asked, stunned. He was the last person I would’ve expected to run into at a quirky magic shop, and seeing him triggered a deluge of the images from the previous night’s dreams. Oh God . . . those were just dreams, right? I shook my head, suddenly afraid I would start to suspect all of my dreams were visions. I cleared my throat. “What are you doing here?”

Kat and her mother wore identical expressions of surprise.

“I could ask you the same thing.” The corner of Marcus’s mouth quirked slightly. “Is Genevieve reading your cards . . . or perhaps your palm? She’s earned quite the reputation as a reader of fortunes. She specializes in past lives, you know.”

Irked that he’d avoided my question, I responded in kind. “Is that why you’re here? Want to peek into a crystal ball?”

Marcus laughed out loud, finding unexpected humor in the question. “No, definitely not. Genevieve, here, is quite skilled at acquiring certain rare, moderately illicit antiquities.”

Slowly, I stood and backed into a corner, looking from Marcus to Genevieve and back. “You deal in black-market artifacts? Both of you? That’s . . . that’s . . .” I couldn’t finish the statement, my mind reeling at the implications. Over the past two millennia, innumerable pieces of archaeological evidence had been destroyed or stolen as a result of the antiquities black market. So much of the ancient world had been lost because of it—because of people like Marcus and Genevieve. “I don’t think I can . . . can do . . .”

Marcus strode around the table, stopped an arm’s length away from me, and placed his hands on my upper arms. I didn’t know when we’d become touching friends, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about the new development. In his present, looming state, I was leaning toward not-so-great. The memories of Mike attempting to force himself on me were still too fresh.

Marcus leaned down so his eyes were closer to my level, and his expression changed from haughtiness to concern. “Lex, the black market is a necessary evil. You have to understand that if you want to make it in our field. It already exists, and the only way to save bits and pieces of the artifacts floating around in its torrent is to join in. I promise you, I only rescue artifacts from greedy hands—I never give them any.”

The intensity of his words chipped away at my anger and fear. “And her,” I whispered, flicking my eyes to the woman still sitting at the small table. “What does she do?”

He smiled wolfishly, but his tone matched mine in softness. “She’s like me, rescuing the most important pieces.” Shaking his head, he added, “The disparity between value and importance has always amused me.”

“What do you—”

“Later,” he interrupted and dropped his hands, turning to face Genevieve and Kat. “I need to take care of some quick business with Gen, then I’ll explain everything.”

Genevieve raised her delicate eyebrows.

“Well, maybe not everything,” Marcus corrected, smirking. Unintentionally, I wondered if Marcus and Genevieve were more than business acquaintances. If he felt comfortable enough to barge in on one of her private meetings with a customer and she could ask him a question by simply raising her eyebrows, surely there was something else between them. The thought caused an unexpected vise to squeeze my heart, making it throb with an emotion I wasn’t used to: jealousy. Where did that come from?

Looking at the floor, I said, “I’ll wait out front,” and rushed out of the room.

Kat followed me, retreating to a stool behind the checkout counter. As I perused the shop, I could practically feel her laser-like glare piercing my skin.

“Something wrong?” I asked pointedly. I found the small, grayish-white Hathor carving again and held it up, examining its exquisite detail. I would’ve guessed it really was over four thousand years old, if any Old Kingdom Egyptian alabaster pieces had ever been carved with so much detail. The goddess’s lithe, feminine body, carved so she was eternally standing with one foot stepping forward, fit perfectly in the palm of my hand. Her exquisite face stared back at me with such determination, I almost expected her to open her mouth and make some godly demand.

Still glaring, Kat grumbled, “Are you, like, going out with him or something?”

It took me a few seconds to shift all of my attention to her. “Am I dating Marcus?” I asked, incredulous.

“Yeah,” Kat said, rolling her eyes and sighing dramatically.

I snorted. “Definitely not. We work together.”

“Oh.” She brightened noticeably, straightening from her slouched position.

I hesitated, worried I wouldn’t be able to conceal my unreasonable jealousy if I asked the question I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t resist. “Your mom seems to have a, uh, connection with him. Is there something between them?”

Giggling, Kat hopped off her stool and skipped around the counter to join me. She was built like her mom—curves everywhere they should be—just not quite so filled out. If it weren’t for her outfit, she easily could have passed as an undergrad. As it was, her white, neon-splashed t-shirt, black skinny jeans, and bright green Chucks placed her in high school, maybe as a junior or senior. Her long, nearly black hair was twisted up into a high, messy bun, and the multiple piercings in her ears were filled with a variety of gemstone studs.

“No,” she whispered, “but Mom totally wishes there was. I mean, damn, who wouldn’t? He’s totally, like, the hottest guy I’ve ever seen . . . ever. It doesn’t even matter that he’s so old.”

I laughed—I couldn’t help it. There was no way Marcus was beyond his mid-thirties, but to a teen, I knew that could seem ancient.

“How much is this?” I asked, holding up the carving. I’d come to the highly improbable conclusion that the little goddess wasn’t a reproduction, but was actually the real deal. What she was doing in the shop, on a table of artful junk, was beyond me.

Kat bit her glossed lip. “Um . . . that’s one of the special items. I have to ask my mom.” So it really is authentic . . . I knew it!

“Ask me what?” Genevieve asked, her rich voice startling us both as she walked through the beaded curtain and joined us in the front of the shop. I was surprised Marcus hadn’t followed her out. Maybe he’s busy buttoning his pants, I thought snidely. And then I mentally slapped myself. Not mine . . . off-limits . . . get a goddamn grip!

“The cost of this statuette,” I explained, holding up the small carving for her to see.

Genevieve pursed her lips and squinted before coming to a decision. “Take it, no cost.”

Kat’s mouth fell open. “But . . . Mom—”

A firm hand gesture from her mother quieted the teenager. “Consider it an apology gift, since I can’t give you the information you seek. It seems to want to be with you anyway. It’s fitting.”

By the time Marcus emerged from the back room, my newly acquired artifact was wrapped in a soft, pale green cloth, fitted into a gift box, and tucked into a small, dark purple bag.

“Thank you,” I said to Kat and Genevieve, briefly raising the little paper sack.

“Of course,” the mother replied while her daughter ogled Marcus.

He approached me, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Did you purchase something? Perhaps a good luck charm . . . or a love potion?”

“Not exactly,” I replied coyly. “I’ll show you later . . . maybe.” My nonchalance was all a bluff—there was no way I could withstand bragging about my little Hathor carving, but I could drag it out for a little while . . . make him wait.

What had been only a hint of a smile turned into a full-blown grin. “Ah, Lex, I am so looking forward to the coming year.”

I blinked. That most certainly had not been the reaction I’d expected.

Before I could respond, Marcus turned to Genevieve and her daughter. “A pleasure, as always. Genevieve, Katarina.” He gave each a slight nod and placed his hand against the small of my back, ushering me toward the door. Even through my pea coat and sweater, the contact felt extremely intimate.

“Goodbye! It was nice to meet you both!” I called over my shoulder.

“And you,” Genevieve said. Oddly, she sounded relieved.

Once outside, Marcus and I had to huddle together in the entrance’s alcove to avoid the rain. It had been drizzling earlier, but that had turned into a rare winter tempest.

“You said you’d tell me more about your forays into the illegal artifact trade,” I said loudly, snuggling deeper into my scarf.

Marcus leaned in, negating the need to shout. “Yes, of course, Lex. But not here . . . unless you prefer huddling together in this god-forsaken portion of the city.”

I wouldn’t say I dislike it, exactly . . . “You’d better not say ‘I’ll tell you later,’” I said, deepening my voice and attempting—poorly—to mimic his accent. “You seem like an ‘I’ll tell you later’ kind of guy.”

He scowled slightly, confirming my suspicion. Leaning in a little closer, Marcus said, “Might I suggest we take refuge in my car?”

Who the hell talks like that? I wondered but nodded with enthusiasm anyway. I was equally as excited about the prospect of dryness as the promise of answers. “Where’d you park?”

He pointed to an unbelievably suave, gunmetal-gray coupe parked three cars away on our side of the street. Staring at it, I tried, with all of my mental power, to make the thing turn into something more realistic, like a Toyota or a Ford. “Who the hell are you? James Bond?”

Marcus held his arm out toward the car, pressing a button on a tiny remote. “Not quite. Shall we?” The car’s lights blinked once, and Marcus strolled into the rain. Based solely on his walk, I would’ve assumed it was a sunny summer day.

I waited until he had almost reached the car, then burst out of hiding and hustled toward its promised dryness. Much to my surprise, Marcus headed straight for the passenger door and held it open for me.

“What are you doing? It’s pouring . . . you’re getting soaked . . . go get in!” I shouted, making a shooing motion as I neared the car. Against my commands, he waited until my soggy self was safely nestled in the dark gray interior. It was the most monochromatic car I’d ever seen. From the paint to the leather to the dash—everything was the darkest of grays.

Sliding into the driver’s side a moment later, Marcus shrugged and smiled knowingly. “It’s only a little rain, nothing to get so worked up over. Now, show me what you procured from our mistress witch.”

Hugging the damp bag against my stomach, I bargained, “Only after you tell me about this black-market stuff. I don’t want to get involved in anything that’ll ruin my career before it even starts.”

Marcus studied me for a moment, then sighed and settled in his seat, resting the back of his head against the headrest. With closed eyes, he explained, “It’s really more of a gray market than black. Many of the participants are trying to help save artifacts that would otherwise be lost to know-nothings or thieves, or that would be destroyed by a lack of proper care. All successful archaeologists have some dealings with the antiquities black market, so you’ll need to get over this little moral dilemma of yours. Millions of priceless artifacts are already out there in the hands of people who can only harm them. Part of our job is to protect any evidence left from the past, and sometimes that includes searching through illicit streams.” He sounded like he was lecturing a dimwitted pupil.

“And you’ve never sold any of your findings to the highest illegal bidder?” I asked.

He scowled, keeping his eyes closed, and I used the moment to study the clean lines of his profile. To my eyes, it was proportioned to masculine perfection with a strong nose, full lower lip, and broad chin. The contours of his stubbled jaw and prominent cheekbone were emphasized by the slight hollowing of his cheek. There was nothing pretty about him, but rugged or handsome weren’t the right words to describe him either. He was . . . striking, and sexy as all hell. And off-limits, I reminded myself.

Without warning, he opened his eyes and turned his face to me, catching me staring. I blushed, hoping the storm’s darkness masked my embarrassment. Marcus’s eyes, black-rimmed amber, seemed to blaze in the car’s dim interior. I couldn’t look away.

“No,” he said.

“No? No, what?” I asked, confused.

Smiling faintly, he held my eyes. “No, I’ve never sold any pieces to the highest bidder. I don’t deal, Lex. I buy.”

“Oh . . . that’s good.” Looking into his eyes for too long was like staring at a solar eclipse—sure to cause blindness . . . or at least it felt that way. I blinked, slowly, seeking a respite from their natural intensity. When I fixed my gaze on him again, the corners of his mouth were turned down in the faintest of frowns. For some reason, he was frustrated.

I cleared my throat. “You said something earlier, in the store, that I didn’t quite understand.”

“What did I say?” he asked, the tension in his face easing.

“You said the difference between value and importance amuses you. What’d you mean?” I really was curious, but the true motive behind my question was to distract him from whatever I’d done to trigger such frustration.

“Ah, yes. You see, many of the wealthy love to collect antiquities because they want to impress their friends. For the most part, as you know, they haven’t the faintest clue as to how to preserve what they acquire. Fortunately for you and I, most of them don’t really know anything about their illegally gained pieces, other than that they came from some famous excavation or they’re made of precious materials. But people like us—we desire the items of importance, those that tell us some vital piece of information about the past. The artifacts we usually hunt on the black market are rarely the most valuable in the eyes of collectors.”

I listened closely and nodded when he finished. “That makes sense . . . kind of like people who buy a really expensive bottle of wine for the brand, not realizing that the actual wine might not be as good as the wine in a much cheaper bottle,” I said, using some of the knowledge my winemaker dad had instilled in me growing up.

“Precisely,” Marcus agreed.

“Okay . . .” The rain had decreased to the usual, soft drizzle, and I reached for the door handle.

“Lex?” Marcus said before I opened the door. “Where are you going?”

“To the bus stop. I thought I’d head home.” When I saw the confusion wrinkling his brow, I added, “I’m kind of tired . . . it’s been a long morning.”

“Ah. I’m on my way back to campus. I’ll give you a ride.”

“Oh? Thanks. I’d appreciate that,” I said, truly grateful. I really hadn’t been looking forward to heading back out into the rain.

Marcus’s responding smile was mischievous as he started the car. “Besides, we have to finish our game of show and tell. I told you about the black market,” he said the last two words like they were the name of a scary monster. “Now it’s your turn to show me what’s in the bag.”

I laughed. “I almost forgot!”

The look he gave me as he pulled away from the curb seemed to say, I’m sure, with heavy sarcasm.

As he drove, I pulled the little box out of the bag and lifted its lid. The carving was swaddled like a mummy in layer after layer of soft cloth, but I managed to unwrap it eventually. I studied the miniature goddess in the dim midday light. She was unusual for a Hathor depiction; though the traditional ankh was dangling from her fingers at her side and her head was crowned with the usual graceful cow horns cradling a sun disk, she was also holding a Wedjat—an Eye of Horus—in front of her stomach.

I’d been examining the statuette so intently that I hadn’t noticed the car stop. Looking up, I saw the bright red light of a stoplight and could feel Marcus’s eyes on me. “See,” I said, holding Hathor up for his inspection.

He breathed in sharply. “Lex, where did you get that?” His voice held a chill I didn’t understand.

“Uh . . . you’re kidding, right? From Genevieve’s shop . . .”

He waved my obvious explanation away. “I know that. I meant, where in her store was she keeping it? This is the type of thing she usually reserves for me.”

I puffed up, excited that I’d found something Marcus wanted . . . and I’d found it first. “It was on one of the tables. Isn’t she beautiful?”

“Yes, quite,” he said softly. We were moving again, the road drawing his attention away from the carving in my hand.

“Can you tell what the stone is?” I asked, testing him.

“Alabaster—true Egyptian alabaster.” Damn.

“And what’s unusual about it? Aside from the amazing detail, I mean.”

“Her accessories.” Double damn.

“What period is it from?”

“Old Kingdom, Sixth Dynasty.”

“You got all of that from a ten-second glance?” I asked, dumfounded . . . again. If those were the observation skills of a truly talented archaeologist, then I had no business in the discipline.

“No.”

I scoffed. “So . . . what? You’ve seen it before?”

“Yes.”

Which, much to my annoyance, meant I hadn’t found it first. “Where? When? That’s not fair!”

He rolled over my indignation as if it were nonexistent. “She belonged to my sister.”

Again, I was stunned. “Your sister? Where’d she get it? And why the heck did she give it away?”

“She acquired the statuette a long time ago, though I don’t know from where. And she didn’t give it away.” He paused, frowning. “She, ah . . . many of her things were shuffled around and many were lost after she died.”

“Oh, Marcus, I—” I swallowed several times, unsure of what to say. I wanted to know where Marcus’s sister had obtained the statuette, but it really wasn’t the time to ask. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Bringing the car to a stop, Marcus said, “I never expected you would.” He looked at me, a small, sad smile on his face. “It was a very long time ago. Don’t waste your sympathy on me.”

“But—”

“Enough, Lex. I’m not fond of talking about her.” He shifted his eyes to stare out the windshield. “We’re here.”

Surprised, I looked around and found my brick apartment building just beyond the passenger side window. I’d been so focused on Marcus and the carving that I probably wouldn’t have noticed if we’d run over someone during the drive.

I turned back to him, holding up the statuette. “You should take this. It was your sister’s, and—”

He reached over, plucked Hathor out of my grasp, and began rewrapping her in the pale green cloth. He tucked the bundle in the gift box, and that in the bag, then set it on my lap. “No. She belongs to you now.” Finally, he met my eyes again. “Just take good care of her.”

I nodded, my mouth dry. “I, um . . .” I cleared my throat. “Okay. Thank you. And thanks for the ride.”

“You’re quite welcome.”

As I exited his car, I thought back on the eventful day.

“Lex?” Marcus called out before I could shut the door.

I poked my head back into the car. “Yeah?”

“See you on Monday.”

I smiled. “Bye, Marcus.”

12

Ah-ha! & Agh!

After a tearful goodbye hug, I left my mom in my apartment, knowing she would be gone by the time I returned. The farewell was bittersweet—my eagerness to begin working with the excavation team mixed with a longing for the days when my mom was always waiting for me when I got home. She’d always been a safe place—a comforting embrace—and having her stay with me after the Mike incident had been exceptionally therapeutic. Unfortunately, it also seemed to have reverted my emotional state to that of a twelve-year-old.

In my morning prep, I had been surprised by my reflection. My face had abandoned the gauntness of several days past, but retained the almost feverish coloring—my cheeks were still noticeably rosy, and my lips were so pink that they contrasted starkly with my pale, blemish-free skin. And my eyes . . . they still teetered on the precipice between brown and red, a far more conspicuous color than they’d been a week earlier. For the most part, I credited the changes to excitement. However, my eyes still troubled me.

On the walk to Denny Hall, I did nothing to suppress the cheerful bounce in my step. Before I bounded up the three flights of stairs to the top floor, I considered stopping by Dr. Ramirez’s office for a quick hello, but I opted not to. I needed to start working on the excavation like I needed air.

When I reached the rarely used fourth floor, I peeked into each consecutive darkened classroom and a few of the smaller offices. The narrow, windowless hallway zigzagged around the floor like a well-planned maze, giving the odd impression that the building was larger on the inside than it had seemed from the outside.

When I approached the second-to-last classroom door, I noticed a laminated sign taped to the front with THE PIT written in bold over a Wedjat. Since the well-known symbol of Horus’s eye was second only to an ankh in representing all things ancient Egyptian to the masses, I was pretty sure I’d found excavation central.

Opening the door and stepping inside, I nearly collided with Marcus. “Oh!” I exclaimed.

“Lex,” he said, seeming to hold back a laugh. “I thought you might have become lost.”

I chuckled nervously, very aware of the three other sets of eyes examining me from further in the classroom. “Not exactly. I didn’t know the room number . . . had to guess and check. You probably heard me banging around.”

His lips curved into a faint smile. “Perhaps a little. My apologies for the oversight.” He stepped aside. “Please, come in.”

Without his sleek, towering form blocking my view, I could see the layout of the room. It was larger than I’d expected, and much wider than it was long. Mismatched, wooden bookshelves lined every available space along the walls, only absent in those spots already occupied by one of a half-dozen desks. Each shelf had a small bronze placard attached to its front. Tables of various sizes and materials were arranged around the room, and nearly every surface was covered with cardboard boxes or antique chests.

I’d never been in the room before, and was excited by the prospect of discovering all the goodies it contained. Are the tablets Marcus mentioned here? What’s in the chests? Which texts are lining the shelves? I had no doubt the collection would prove to be filled with rare items. And who are the people staring at me?

As I walked through the doorway, Marcus again placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me away from the prying eyes to a very familiar, battered desk. Its presence was enough to shake my focus from the pressure of his hand.

“That’s my desk from downstairs!” I exclaimed happily. Just seeing it made me feel oddly at home.

“Yes, well, I thought it might help you settle in. I’m afraid I’ve shaken up your world a bit.”

“Thank you, Marcus,” I said earnestly, grinning at him. For a moment, I forgot my new surroundings and lost myself in his amber eyes.

At the other end of the room, someone cleared a throat, and Marcus’s mouth thinned, transforming him from friendly colleague to annoyed businessman.

“Come, Lex, I’ll introduce you to the team,” he said, leading me across the room. Three notably attractive people watched our approach with differing expressions. I briefly wondered if, along with antiques, Marcus made it a habit of collecting beautiful people.

“This is Dominic l’Aragne, the excavation’s Project Manager,” Marcus said, indicating the man on the left. He was pale and trim, and he studied me with exceptionally dark eyes. His features were sharp, almost pointy, an effect made more severe by the way his dark brown, jaw-length hair was swept back.

“Hello, Ms. Larson,” Dominic said, a thick French accent making the simple greeting sound remarkably elegant.

“Hi,” I said, smiling shyly, and his severe expression softened a little.

“If you need anything, just let Dom know and he’ll make the arrangements. And this young lad is Josh Claymore, my research assistant,” Marcus told me, introducing the man on the right. He was blond and slightly burly, but he had an open, youthful face. His short hair stuck out haphazardly, making him appear slightly unkempt.

Nearly bouncing with excitement, Josh extended his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you! We’ve heard a lot about you.”

His enthusiasm surprised me. “Um . . . it’s nice to meet you too,” I said, shaking his hand.

The last of the three people, quite possibly the most breathtakingly gorgeous woman I’d ever seen, was glaring at Marcus.

Indicating her with a sweep of his hand, Marcus said, “And this is Neffe, my second-in-command.”

“Ms. Larson,” she said, meeting my eyes and pursing her full lips. The perfect, sultry features on her heart-shaped face hardened.

“Hello,” I said, more than a little intimidated.

Josh leaned forward and, loud enough for everyone to hear, whispered, “Don’t mind her, she’s always like that. Must’ve been how she was raised or something.”

To my complete shock, Dominic barked a raucous laugh. Neffe transferred her glare from me to Josh and Dominic, and I took the opportunity to send a questioning glance to Marcus.

He shrugged, his eyes opened wide in the most ridiculous imitation of innocence.

Backing away from the potentially insane group of people, I mumbled, “I think I’ll just get situated at my desk.” My retreat was complete within seconds.

Sitting down, I was grateful that my torturous wooden chair hadn’t been relocated along with my desk. Instead, I had a cushy new leather office chair. Better to encourage long nights of intense concentration and research, I supposed. I was surprised to find that everything on and in my desk was exactly as it had been in the graduate office, which meant it was a mess. A slight pang of sadness twanged in my chest at the realization that, with the abrupt change, I’d rarely see the few graduate students I’d befriended over the past two and a half years.

“I thought you might like to see this,” Marcus said softly as he set a flat, wooden box on top of the papers scattered on my desk. Through the glass top, I could see an impeccable, hieroglyph-covered stone tablet.

“Marcus,” I said without taking my eyes from the object in front of me. “Is this—”

“Yes.”

“But where’s the other one? You said there were two.” I was leaning closer to the glass, trying to get a better look at the box’s contents.

“It’s unrelated to our present work.”

I barely heard his words, entranced as I was by the slab of smooth, gray-green schist.

“Lex—”

“Can I open it?” I interrupted, eagerness evident in my voice. I looked up at him, pleading with my eyes.

Marcus grinned and nodded.

“Oh. Wow.” With the glass lid removed, the artifact was even more amazing. Shaped like a closed parabola, the dark stone tablet looked like it could have been carved only a few days earlier. Every inch was untouched by the usual rigors of time. “Where’d you say you found this?” I whispered.

“I didn’t,” Marcus said, avoiding the question.

I gently closed the glass lid and faced him. “Okay, he-who-can’t-answer-an-implied-question, then where did you find it? And when?”

Across the room, one of the other men coughed in a way that sounded suspiciously like an attempt to cover up a laugh.

The corner of Marcus’s mouth quirked, but I couldn’t tell if he was hiding a smile or a frown. “I can’t remember the exact date, but it was years ago. It was hidden in a secret compartment at the foot of Hatnofer’s coffin.”

“Hatnofer? As in, Senenmut’s mother?” I clarified.

Ever since I’d first learned about the many mysteries surrounding Hatchepsut and her relationship with her chief advisor and architect, Senenmut, years ago, I’d been enamored with the subject. Had they been lovers? Had Senenmut betrayed the female pharaoh, and had she banished him as a result? His body wasn’t in either of the tombs he’d carefully prepared for himself, so where was it? And what happened to Neferure, Hatchepsut’s daughter and Senenmut’s one-time pupil? As far as history was concerned, she simply disappeared as a young woman. My mind whirled with the possible implications of the tablet having been hidden with Senenmut’s mother’s mummy, especially because Senenmut had been the architect of Hatchepsut’s mortuary temple, Djeser-Djeseru, which apparently contained the hidden entrance to a secret, underground temple. It was just . . . wow.

“Marcus,” I said, my voice low and trembling. “If this was concealed in Hatnofer’s coffin, isn’t it logical to deduce that Senenmut put it there?”

“It is.”

“And if he put it there, then he probably made it?”

“One would think.”

My heart started beating faster. “Then, wouldn’t the next logical deduction be that this hidden temple, linked to Djeser-Djeseru, might actually be Senenmut’s elusive final resting place?” People—treasure hunters and archaeologists alike—had been searching for his body for centuries.

“Quite possible,” Marcus said in his infuriatingly calm way.

“How are you not exploding with excitement over this? This is unreal! We may end up solving one of the greatest historical mysteries ever!” My chest heaved with each breath as I tried to calm myself down.

Finally showing some emotion, Marcus smiled devilishly. “I assure you, Lex, I’m quite excited. I’m just . . . practiced . . . at keeping my excitement hidden.” From his deep, velvety tone, I had the distinct impression that we were talking about two entirely different things. “Would you like the translation?” he asked smoothly.

Translation? Of his innuendo? I was pretty sure I could guess what he meant by his ‘excitement.’ Briefly, my eyes flicked down to the front of his pants. “Uh . . . what?” I asked, totally befuddled.

Eyes sparkling like singed topaz, Marcus widened his smile. “Senenmut’s tablet. Shall I tell you what it says?”

Embarrassed at my reaction, I felt the need to prove my academic worth. Marcus had told me my youth and “other attributes” might distract him from remembering my quick wit. It was time for a not-so-gentle reminder.

“Thank you, no. I prefer to translate it myself. Besides, you might’ve missed something,” I proclaimed. I smirked, wondering which of my “other attributes” distracted him the most. The thought that anything about me distracted him was exciting, causing a warm flutter low inside me, which I quickly quelled. He was probably just being charming. He probably makes a habit of flirting with every remotely attractive woman he crosses paths with. He probably had a dozen girlfriends, all models . . . and geniuses . . . and humanitarians . . . and—

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Marcus said. For a moment I thought I’d accidentally voiced my inappropriate analysis of him, but then I recalled what I’d said about him missing something in the translation. A challenge!

Before leaving me to my work, Marcus pointed to one of the nearby bookcases, which was filled with the various reference texts commonly used for translating Egyptian hieroglyphs. I politely informed him they wouldn’t be necessary.

The first thing I noticed in my examination of the tablet was that the infuriating combination of hieroglyphs I’d been struggling with was present . . . in several places. I wondered if the tablet was the subject of the photo Marcus had been studying in my first dream of him—the one that had been a “vision”—because the symbols had been there as well. I also wondered if I finally had the last puzzle piece I would need to decipher those infernal hieroglyphs.

As I stared through the glass for several hours, Senenmut’s tablet came to life. It revealed elements of his final years that, though previously unknown, didn’t shed much light on the historical mysteries surrounding him. I learned he’d spent nearly a decade on a secret building project at Deir el-Bahri—the location of Djeser-Djeseru—under the direction of Hatchepsut, and of all the ridiculous claims, Set, the Egyptian god of the desert and chaos.

The previously undecipherable combination of a lion’s head, a half-circle, a whole circle, and two vertical, parallel lines was included near both Set’s and Senenmut’s names, and I had a sudden epiphany. It had been speculated that the combination of symbols was adverbial, meaning “god’s time” or “eternal,” as in “eternal Senenmut” or “eternal Set.” But I started playing with the part of speech, finally settling on reading them as a title—god of time. Thinking back on the other texts I’d been analyzing that contained the hieroglyphs—including papyri, tablets, and reliefs—I realized that “god of time” was a viable alternate translation to “infinite” or “eternal.” After recording my findings in a spiral notebook and giving myself a very enthusiastic mental high five, I continued translating the tablet.

Indeed, as Marcus had claimed, one set of symbols suggested that the mysterious temple or tomb was physically connected to Djeser-Djeseru. According to the scribe, there was an even more secret portion of the hidden temple, containing the power of Nun—which was really odd. Nun was generally known as the god ancient Egyptians attributed with creation, specifically the creation of mankind. The ancient people had believed him to be the primordial waters, the chaos, from which everything had begun. Never had I heard of the ancients referencing any way to access his power . . . or even wanting to do so.

The tablet closed with two equally befuddling statements before the usual “So it ends, from start to finish, as found in writing.” I translated the preceding statements as “The power and domain of Hathor is life, the power and domain of Anubis is the afterlife. Under Hathor we are created, above Anubis we are changed by the power of creation.” I retranslated the symbols three times, looking for alternate meanings, then read through the translation again and again . . . and again. Abruptly, it clicked.

“No,” I whispered. “It can’t be that simple.”

From across the room, Josh called out jovially, “She’s talking to herself—she’s really one of us now!”

“Quiet, Josh,” Dominic told his colleague. “Let her do her work and pay more attention to your own.”

“Right, because reading through undergrad field school applications requires so much—”

“Quiet, Josh,” Marcus said softly, repeating Dominic’s words, and Josh fell silent.

Smiling like a fool, I stood and hurried over to Marcus. He sat comfortably at a desk set flush against the wall opposite mine.

Without looking away from his laptop, Marcus asked, “Can I help you with something, Lex?”

“Yes.” I mimicked his infuriatingly secretive tone.

“And what exactly would that be?”

“Oh, I just need a pen and a piece of paper.”

“Really, Lex, you have plenty of paper and writing instruments at your own desk,” he chided, finally turning his attention on me. His eyes widened at my barely contained exhilaration.

I held out my hand, and he supplied me with a ballpoint pen and a blank sheet of printer paper. I promptly set it on his desk and began sketching the floor plan of Djeser-Djeseru. It was a complex temple, with multiple levels, courtyards, chapels, colonnades, and shrines. “Why would Senenmut include that weird bit near the end about Hathor and Anubis and two stages of creation? There’s no reason, it’s complete nonsense,” I said as I worked.

“I’m aware,” Marcus replied dryly.

“Which means it’s not actually nonsense . . . it’s there for a reason. Earlier, Senenmut mentions that ‘the power of Nun’ is in the secret temple. For whatever reason, he’s saying that Nun’s power—creation—is hidden away, correct?”

“Yes.”

“He’s probably just using this reference as a key to guide us toward the correct location of the hidden entrance. Obviously Nun’s power isn’t really there.”

“Obviously,” Marcus mused, his eyes lighting with interest.

“If we think about creation being locked away in the temple, then Senenmut’s statements about Hathor and Anubis become relevant.”

Marcus leaned over the sketch I was just completing, labeling Hathor’s chapel on the left side of the rough floor plan and the two Anubis chapels on the right.

“It makes no sense for there to be two Anubis chapels—we all know that. But they’re there anyway. The upper chapel fell into disrepair because of its redundancy. It was purposeless . . . or so we thought. But on Senenmut’s tablet, he tells us that ‘above Anubis we will be changed by creation.’ The part about Hathor is junk, just meant to disguise the trail, but the bit about ‘above Anubis’ tells us to look in Anubis’s upper chapel . . . upper . . . above . . .” I pointed to the upper chapel on my map. “You see, in order to be ‘changed by creation,’ or by Nun’s power, we first must find it. And, to do that, we have to enter the secret temple. So—”

“The hidden entrance should be in the upper chapel to Anubis,” Marcus said, finishing my statement. “Dear gods . . . I can’t believe I missed this.” He tore his eyes from my drawing and gazed up at me wondrously.

I squirmed under his intensity. “It’s not that big of a deal. I only figured out the general area.”

“Don’t belittle yourself, Lex. If you knew how long . . . this is unbelievable.” He glanced down at the sketch of the temple again, and then back up at me. “You . . . unbelievable,” he whispered. His expression had altered minutely to one of reverence.

Overwhelmed, I took two steps back . . . and ran into a warm, firm body. I would’ve fallen to the side if strong hands hadn’t grasped my arms, keeping me upright.

“Careful, ma fille,” Dominic cautioned, stabilizing me.

“Thank you,” I whispered. I was surprised to discover that Dominic, Josh, and Neffe were standing shoulder-to-shoulder behind me. How long have they been standing there? I wondered.

“I’m sure you all heard . . . you’re so very talented at listening when you choose. The Djeser-Djeseru entrance would appear to be in the upper Anubis chapel.” Marcus shook his head slowly. “This, my friends, is a much-needed breakthrough. Congratulations, Lex.”

As he finished, my three new colleagues huddled around me, each murmuring a different exclamation or form of praise at the discovery.

“Thank you,” I said, my neck and cheeks flaming.

Needing a break from the Lex worship, I excused myself and spent the afternoon examining various other texts and artifacts strewn about the room. Each item was fascinating in its own right, from pressed scrolls I’d believed to have been lost, to heavy manuscripts darkened with age. The afternoon passed quickly, and soon I was bidding the team goodbye and heading home . . . alone.

I strolled along familiar paths, taking the long way home. I used the solitary time to think, to process everything that had happened in that elongated, top-floor room. Beyond that, I considered everything that had happened lately, and realized the past month had unquestionably been the most eventful of my twenty-four-year life . . . with a big, fat exclamation point.

As I neared my apartment building in the falling darkness, I checked my phone—one new voice mail. I quickly accessed my mailbox and was greeted by my grandma’s age-roughened voice.

“Hi sweetheart, it’s Grandma. I’m sorry to do this on such short notice, but there’s someone who needs to meet you. We’ll be stopping by this evening between six and seven. Traffic, you know . . . Anyway, you might consider making a little dinner. I think you’ll want to make a good first impression. See you tonight, honey!”

Wait, so does Grandma have a boyfriend? Utterly confused, I picked up the pace; it was five o’clock, and I had absolutely no idea what I was going to cook for dinner.

By the time I’d made it home and whipped up something presentable, if not memorable, from the ingredients my mom had left behind, I was bouncing with excitement. I’d convinced myself that Grandma Suse had been swept up into an adorable, old-person love affair and wanted me to meet her new sweetie.

My heart skipped an excited beat when I heard the knock at the door. It skipped a few more beats after I opened the door and saw the couple standing in the hallway. My elderly grandma had her arm linked with that of a very handsome, familiar man. He was taller than me by a handful of inches, wore his dusty blond hair long enough to show its loose curl, and looked to be in the prime of his life. And he was smiling. Impossible!

“Grandpa?” I asked before my vision spotted over with blackness.

13

The Beginning & The End

“Suse, my darling, do you think perhaps we should have done this another way? I’ve startled the poor girl half to death.” The deep voice was barely accented with Italian.

“Oh, hush, Alex,” my sweet grandma admonished. “I know Lex a little better than you, if you’ll recall. I’ve been around. And I am not your ‘darling.’” I’d never heard Grandma Suse sound so spiteful.

“If you’ll recall, Suse, you’re the one who told me to ‘get the hell out or risk everyone discovering the truth.’ I was fully prepared to risk it.”

Opening my eyes, I sat up on the couch and stared at the unbelievable couple sitting at my kitchen table. “Um . . . hi. If you guys could stop word-stabbing each other for a minute and explain why my thirty-year-old grandfather just walked into my apartment? It’d be peachy,” I declared with an unpleasant smile.

Grandma Suse gasped. “Alexandra Marie Larson! You wipe that look off your face right this instant!”

I grimaced and sat up straighter. “Sorry, Grandma.”

“That’s better!” She reverted back to my kindly grandma. “Now, honey, your grandpa’s going to explain some important things to you. Things he should have explained weeks ago, but he was conveniently out of town.”

“I was in Antarctica! How could I have known . . . there are zero reasons why she should have manifested. Alice never showed any signs of being a carrier and I even peeked into the future—which you know is all but forbidden—and I saw nothing of this. Not everything shows up, you know,” he said a little sulkily. “Besides, I had Heru watching over her . . . just in case. He owed me.”

Some guy named Heru had been watching over me? Remotely, I wondered if it had been the same man who had broken down my apartment door, pummeled Mike, and whisked me to the hospital. If so, I owed him . . . and was a little afraid of him.

“Well he obviously wasn’t trying hard enough,” my suddenly furious grandma spat. Her body was visibly trembling. “I assume he told you what happened . . .”

“Yes, but he said—”

“Enough!” I yelled, slapping my palm on the steamer trunk coffee table. “Will someone please explain why I feel like I’m losing my mind?”

Ignoring my outburst, Grandma Suse stood and said to her not-so-late husband, “I’m feeling a bit tired. I think I’ll just go lie down in Lex’s room while you two chat.” As she hobbled toward my bedroom, she gave me a pointed look that seemed to say “behave yourself” and “give him hell” at the same time.

“So . . . Grandpa,” I said after the bedroom door shut, thinking I’d never had a more surrealistic, awkward experience. “Sorry about the whole fainting thing.”

He shrugged. “I’ve had worse reactions. A few people even tried to stab me, and dozens have run away shrieking about ghosts.” Smiling roguishly, he added, “You should call me Alexander—or Alex. ‘Grandpa’ doesn’t really fit with my appearance. People will talk.”

“Okay . . . Alexander.” Saying his name hammered the final, rusty nail in the this-feels-so-wrong coffin.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it . . . and to me.” He patted the kitchen table in front of my grandma’s abandoned chair. “Come join me, Alexandra. We have some catching up to do.”

“I’ll say.” I was feeling a bit irked, a lot crazy, and insanely curious. If I hadn’t been experiencing all of the weird dream-visions lately, I would’ve been totally freaked out. As it was, I was moderately freaked out, but I shoved the feeling away. Answers were finally throwing themselves at me . . . I couldn’t turn them away just because I didn’t understand them. I joined my grandpa, Alexander, at the table.

He stared at me with midnight-blue eyes. “You look so much like my little Alice. I almost feel like I’m sitting here with her instead of her grown daughter. We gods of time suffer far worse from its passing than those who age and die. We have to go on.”

We gods of time? Is that from a poem? I was utterly baffled. “What?”

A crease formed between my grandpa’s eyebrows, and he grabbed my nearest hand. “My dear child, Suse always says I have a way of circumventing the truth. An occupational hazard, I suppose. Shall I just dive right in?”

I nodded, hoping his words would somehow translate into something coherent. My mind was too numb for anything cryptic to get through, and I was usually really good with cryptic.

“Very well. You and I, and the others like us, are not human . . . not exactly.”

My mouth fell open. “Not . . . human? You’re kidding, right?” He has to be kidding! Of course I’m human!

Alexander shook his head. “Many thousands of years ago, a human woman bore a son who became the most talented spiritual leader his clan ever had. He was able to guide his people away from the dangers of the desert and other clans until they settled near a fertile river. He was a very powerful seer of the past, present, and future. Some said he could alter the very fabric of time.” He shrugged, as if he was saying, “I’m not so sure about that . . .”

“Through recent developments in the understanding of evolution and genetics, we now know he was the first to be born with a unique and beneficial genetic mutation, which he then passed on to some of his descendants. In his time, power came with many . . . consequences. One being that he had many wives and consorts, which led to many children. Those children had children and so on. Over time, as the bloodlines intermixed, his mutation was passed on. He is, in essence, the father of our species.”

Alexander held up a hand, cutting off the words threatening to explode from my open mouth. “Wait—all will become clear. This man’s name was Nuin, and his people became the rulers and aristocracy of Upper Egypt, while he—the most powerful of his people—became known as the creator of mankind. You know of him as the god, Nun. Like him, many of his descendants became deified by the people of their times, such as Heru, Set, and Aset,” he said, listing the ancient names of the Egyptian gods more commonly known as Horus, Seth, and Isis to the modern world. “I’m sure you see the big picture. Nuin’s descendants became known as the Netjer-At, which means . . . ?”

I cleared my throat, unprepared to participate in the conversation. “Roughly, ‘gods of time.’” It was the exact translation I’d settled on earlier that day for the hieroglyphs that had been driving me mad for months. It could have been a coincidence, but I doubted it was.

Alexander nodded, clearly pleased. His eyes crinkled faintly at the outer corners when he smiled, making him appear endearingly kind. “Over the past millennium, with the rise of lingua franca, the name simplified into Nejerette or Nejeret, for women or men, respectively. I am Nejeret, and you, Alexandra, are Nejerette. As a whole, our people are Nejerets. Our kind, the descendants of Nuin, are able to step out of time to see its various threads. As you hone your skills, you’ll be able to view the past and the present, and maybe even the future possibilities to some degree. It’s different for each of us.”

His words were pure impossibility, but it also sort of made sense, what with the too-real dreams I’d all but accepted as real. “So you’re saying we’re time travelers?” I asked, skepticism coating my words.

Alexander laughed. “Everyone asks that. But no, we don’t travel through time. We’re only able to see time, to see what has happened and some of what may be. We cannot actually interact with any time other than the present.” He paused, frowning thoughtfully. “Think of time as a vast cavern, and of our visions as the echoes of every sound that has been, is being, or might ever be made. Many Nejerets have actually started calling what we see ‘echoes.’”

“How is this real?” I whispered to one of the empty spots at the table.

Alexander squeezed my hand. “The how is irrelevant. That it is matters.”

As he spoke his final words, the world melted into a swirl of colors, writhing all around us like a psychedelic hallucination. “Whatever you do, don’t let go of my hand until it stops. We could easily get separated, and I don’t have the talent to track you if that happens.”

“Um, okay.” When the world finally righted itself, I muttered, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I spun around in a circle, taking in my surroundings. “What is this—ancient Rome?”

Hand in hand, Alexander and I stood off to the side of a high-ceilinged room. The walls were painted in a rich red and black, and several dining couches, each draped in lustrous fabrics, were arranged artfully around a small, wooden table.

“Not exactly,” Alexander said. “We’re in Herculaneum.” He released my hand and held both of his arms out wide. “Welcome to my childhood home.”

“No,” I breathed, stunned. I gaped at everything around me—it all looked new, not like it had been buried under volcanic ash for thousands of years, which meant it hadn’t been buried yet. Suddenly fearful, I exclaimed, “Herculaneum—but Mount Vesuvius!”

“That’s not for another seventy years, and even if Vesuvius were erupting right now, we would be safe enough. No need to worry. Remember, we’re not really here—we’re only witnessing an echo of the past.”

My unusually sluggish mind finally caught up, screaming about what was important, and it wasn’t the impending volcanic eruption. “Your childhood home?! You grew up in Herculaneum before Mount Vesuvius erupted? That’s . . . that’s impossible! You’d have to be over two thousand years old! This can’t be real!”

It’s not real . . . it’s not real . . . it’s not real . . . Scrunching my eyes closed, I repeated the mantra for a long moment. When I reopened them, I hoped to find myself standing in my apartment, my impossibly ancient grandpa gone, and sanity and reality firmly reestablished around me. I was sorely disappointed.

“Alexandra, calm down.” My grandpa’s fingers regained their strong grasp on my hand, acting like an anchor to something tangible, to something real. But touching him was almost as disconcerting as considering the possibility that everything he’d told me was true. He wasn’t the steadiest of anchors.

Wide-eyed, I stared at Alexander, taking dozens of deep, slow breaths.

“I know your Nejerette traits have been manifesting. You must feel like you’re losing your mind, noticing physical changes with your body—possibly heightened senses—and seeing things that happened in the past. You’re having dreams that feel like memories, but they couldn’t be your memories because you were never there, correct?”

Incapable of forming words, I nodded.

“This is all real, Alexandra. You aren’t human . . . you’re Nejerette.”

As much as my mind wanted to disagree, the logical part of me assessed every piece of evidence—the dreams and visions, the healing, my eyes—and drew the only possible conclusion. Alexander Ivanov, my thirty-looking two-thousand-year-old grandfather, was telling the truth. Nuin, the Nejerets, the “echoes”—it was all real.

Decisively, I nodded. I still felt queasy and a bit crazy, yet at the same time, I felt more stable than I had in weeks. I had the explanation I’d been seeking . . . and I had people. I belonged.

Alexander let out a relieved breath. “Wonderful! You wouldn’t believe how long it takes some people to accept the truth.”

I cleared my throat. “So, um . . . what now?”

He smiled. “Now, we watch, and eventually, you learn. Look.” He spun me around, leading me to a wide doorway. Beyond, the geometric pattern on the tiled marble floor changed as it led out to a manicured garden filled with shrubs, brightly colored flowers, and waving palm trees. Past a carved stone banister at least thirty yards away, the tiled ground dropped off, revealing an undulating, rich, blue mass—the Bay of Naples.

I took a deep breath, inhaling the tangy sea air. It seemed so pure compared to the polluted air of my time. “So we can smell, too? Not just see and hear things in these . . . these ‘echoes’?”

Alexander looked at me with surprise. “Not everyone can. Many talents that used to be common have faded from our gene pool. Being able to smell in the At is almost nonexistent among those born during the last several centuries.” From the way he said “At,” I wondered if it was the official term for the echoes. In Middle Egyptian, it meant “time,” so it made sense.

“Well . . . I can.” I felt pride at excelling, but it was tinged with sadness; even among my own people, I was doomed to be a little different. I glanced away, uncomfortable with Alexander’s measuring look.

Before I could point out that it wasn’t polite to stare, the sound of sandaled feet slapping against marble tiles drew my attention. Two small boys, one with brown hair and one with blond, squealed and clattered onto the patio. They tried not to giggle as they struck at each other with wooden swords. After a particularly deadly fake stab from the blond boy, the brown-haired boy staggered to the ground with melodramatic gasps.

“The victor . . . is that . . . ?”

My grandpa responded wistfully, “Me? Yes. My brother and I were playing our equivalent of ‘cops and robbers.’ It was more like ‘Alexander the Great and the Persian Heathens.’ They terrified us more than modern human scholars understand. Ah . . . but looking back, I think we could have focused less on the Persian threat and more on the religious strife within our own society. But I suppose no civilization, no matter how grand, is meant to last forever.”

It was my turn to stare at him. “You miss it.”

Gently, he squeezed my hand. “It was home. It’s part of who I am—I’ll always miss it. Someday you’ll understand.”

“I can accept the visions or echoes or whatever . . . I get it, I’ve seen enough to know this isn’t just a hallucination. But what’s with the really great aging perks?” I asked, unable to hold in my curiosity any longer. Alexander looked amazing for a guy who’d lived through two millennia.

Alexander tightened one side of his mouth as he thought. “I’m much more a philosopher than scientist, but as far as I understand it, some other genetic traits are linked to the Netjer-At chromosome. First, and inconsequentially, our dentition patterns are two-one-two-two.”

I recalled from my undergraduate anthropology classes that the standard pattern for humans was two-one-two-three: two incisors, a canine, a couple of premolars, and three molars. “So, no wisdom teeth?” I asked.

“Correct. It generally holds true among carriers as well, though for you to be Nejerette, Alice must have been a carrier, and she had wisdom teeth on the bottom. Poor girl had to have them removed when she was a teenager.” He shook his head at the memory. “Ah . . . but more importantly, we exhibit exceptionally enhanced cellular regeneration. This suspends the aging process and dramatically increases both our senses—seeing, hearing, etcetera—and our ability to heal. I believe you’ve recently experienced this?”

I nodded, recalling that Dr. Isa had been aware of my remarkable healing ability and hadn’t been surprised. Is she Nejerette, too? I wondered.

“You must’ve been starved afterward? Lost weight? Possibly looked ill or older for a number of days?” At my responding nod and frown, he continued, “Have you noticed any other physical changes?”

“Yeah, my skin is lighter, if that’s even possible, and pretty much perfect. I mean, I have no blemishes, no moles, no scars—nothing. And my eyes have become . . . I guess ‘brighter’ would be the right word. Now they look reddish-brown instead of just brown.”

“Yes,” he said. “That’s all normal. Your appearance may change as the years pass and your body continues to renew and heal, though, for the most part, you should stay the same. You might get a little taller, or stronger, or a number of other things. Also . . .” He hesitated before adding, “Alexandra . . . the women of our kind, Nejerettes, can’t bear children.”

My stomach dropped, like a plane abruptly losing altitude. The reaction was unexpected. I’d pretty much written off having kids when I’d committed to a life of gallivanting around the globe from excavation to excavation, but hearing it was a definite impossibility saddened me.

“Why not?” I asked.

“The regenerative abilities interfere with the growth of the fetus, inevitably leading to spontaneous abortion. Usually the fertilized egg never even attaches to the Nejerette’s uterine wall,” he explained, equally scientific and sympathetic.

I shook my head. Something wasn’t adding up. “Then how do we reproduce?”

“Through the men. It’s always been through the men. Usually our children are normal humans, either carriers or non-carriers—but if a Nejeret mates with a female carrier, the child has a small chance of manifesting, of becoming Nejeret or Nejerette. Between a male carrier and a female carrier, producing a child capable of manifestation is very rare, but possible. The last must have been the case with you. I really didn’t expect you to manifest.”

I frowned. “Couldn’t you, you know, test people’s DNA for the Nejeret chromosome? Then you’d know for sure and could prepare people so the change would be less”—I paused, searching for the right word—“traumatic.”

Alexander’s eyes filled with sorrow. “Your situation is unusual, Alexandra. It’s unfair, I know. For certain political reasons, I was allowed to search the future At to see if there was any chance of Alice’s children manifesting. There was absolutely no sign that either you or Jennifer would become Nejerette.” He shook his head, clearly frustrated. “I’m sorry, I’m not answering your question very well. You see, the mutation isn’t genetically traceable until an individual comes of age, until they manifest, so it’s impossible to predict, even with modern technology. There was no way to know this would happen, and no clear explanation for why it did.”

“Hmm . . .” I said, thinking about the man—my biological father—I’d watched break into the fertility clinic. Is it possible that he’s Nejeret? Is that why he swapped the sperm samples? Did he know Mom was a carrier? I considered telling Alexander about what I’d seen, but it didn’t seem like the right time. Not that I thought any time would seem like the right time to relay such weird information, but still . . . this wasn’t it.

“Come, I’ll show you something you’ll enjoy,” Alexander said, misinterpreting my thoughtful silence as sadness.

The swirling colors surrounded us again, and after a short time, we were standing in a very familiar backyard—Grandma Suse’s. Seven flowering apple trees were scattered near the edge of an expansive lawn. A young girl, maybe eight or nine years old, giggled gleefully in the middle of the vibrant, green grass. Barefoot, she danced around with a slender branch, pretending to fence with an alternate version of the man holding my hand. Her long, brown hair flew around her as she twirled and lunged, and her cheeks were flushed from exertion. “I’ll get you, Persian beast!” she howled.

“Mom?” I asked in disbelief. I was watching my mom, one of the girliest women I’d ever known, sword fight with her father. “Are you playing ‘Alexander and the Persians’ with my mom?”

My grandpa smiled proudly. “She loved being Alexander and destroying the evil heathens.”

“You do realize your ancient prejudice could have turned her into an anti-Persian fanatic, right?”

He shrugged, unconcerned. “People are people. She knew it was a game.”

“Luckily,” I grumbled, then grinned. “She looks so happy, so carefree. I’ve never seen her laugh like that.”

He nodded solemnly. “When she and Joe learned they couldn’t have children together, it killed something inside her.” The heavy emotion in Alexander’s voice made me want to hug him. He loved my mom so much, but had abandoned his life as her father because of what he was. And one day, she would grow old and die . . . my mom, but also his daughter. Morosely, I wondered how many children he’d fathered over his two millennia, watching their births, lives, and inevitable deaths. Did he have any Nejeret children, any aunts and uncles with whom I could explore the At?

With a reluctant sigh, Alexander turned to me. “There is one last thing I must show you. I apologize, Alexandra . . . it won’t be pleasant.”

“Okay. What is it? Should I be afraid?”

“I can’t tell you what it is—that’s against the rules, and, well, nobody really knows exactly what it is. And yes, you should be very, very afraid.” With those final, ominous words, the swirling colors surrounded us again, fading to utter blackness before the sensation of steadiness returned.

But it took longer than usual. Even without the rainbow of light flowing in cascading tangles, the inky world heaved and lurched. I heaved and lurched, and eventually I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing the uncomfortable motion would stop. An eternity seemed to pass before it finally did.

“Open your eyes,” Alexander said, releasing my hand. When I did, I was surprised to find that I was again sitting at the kitchen table in my cozy apartment.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I proclaimed, rising and lunging toward the garbage can. Sure enough, as soon as I reached the plastic receptacle, I vomited . . . repeatedly.

Alexander handed me a wad of paper towels once I no longer seemed in danger of a heaving relapse. Grateful, I took the offering with shaking hands and wiped my mouth. I tied off the garbage bag and tossed it down the trash chute across the hall from my apartment door.

“Care to explain?” I asked, stomping back into the apartment. “Or is that against the rules too? And whose rules?” I briefly disappeared into my bedroom to retrieve my toothbrush, waving at Grandma Suse as I passed through. She was propped up on the bed, reading.

“Well?” I asked when I returned to the living room seconds later. I shoved my toothbrush into my mouth and started vigorously scrubbing away the taste of sickness.

My grandpa watched me gravely. “At least you’re still conscious. I passed out the first time I saw it—the Nothingness. It seemed jerkier this time, though that may have been my imagination.” He sighed. “It’s the future, Alexandra, and not far off. Come the twenty-first of June, the Nothingness takes over the At.”

I stared at him for several long seconds, then spat into the kitchen sink and rinsed my mouth with a handful of water. “What are you saying?” I croaked. “Time stops, or something? Is the world going to end on the summer solstice . . . in six months?”

“Deus, I hope not. We’ve been working to avert whatever disaster might happen. It could be as simple as us being cut off from the At after the solstice. There is, of course, a prophecy and a potential savior—or destroyer—but it’s all very convoluted and likely will end up circumvented and proven irrelevant. Beyond that, I don’t think we’ll be able to do anything until the twenty-first June. We’re not used to operating blind, but this time we have to.” He shook his head, obviously frustrated by the situation.

“So . . . the world might be ending, but probably isn’t. There might be someone who can save us all, but we don’t know. And that person might destroy us all instead. Great . . . I love being dependent on such reliable people,” I said dryly. In reality, I didn’t like being dependent on anyone, reliable or not.

“That’s my girl!” Grandma Suse exclaimed softly as she emerged from my bedroom. “I told you she’s feisty, Alex. She gets it from my side. She’ll be a good addition to your little group of world-savers,” she said, sounding like she was talking about something no more serious than a baseball-card-collecting club.

My grandpa acquiesced grudgingly. “Perhaps, but only after she’s trained.”

“Uh . . . do you guys mind not talking about me like I’m not here?” I asked.

Grandma Suse patted my cheek as she shuffled to the table. “Certainly, sweetie, as soon as you serve us dinner.”

Snorting, I wondered if Alexander brought out the best or worst in my grandma. I settled on both.

14

Dates & Plans

“I’m sorry, Lex, but I must have misheard you. What did you just say?” Marcus asked. From the sound of his voice, I knew he’d taken the remarkable effort to swing his desk chair a full one-eighty degrees. Pulling him away from the handwritten journal he’d been examining had been an impossibility all morning. At least, it had been, until Dominic asked me why I was so distracted.

For the past four hours, I’d been helping the severe, slightly sullen Project Manager select the excavation field school’s final candidates. He and I were crammed together at my desk, shuffling folders around. Much to his chagrin, I’d been touting a view of “if they can manage a trowel and brush without scratching a relief or shattering an artifact, let ’em in” . . . which would have left us with about four hundred participants. We needed to narrow it down to twenty.

I swung my comfy leather chair around to face Marcus. “I said, ‘I met my grandpa for the first time last night.’ What’d you think I said?”

In true Marcus Bahur style, he ignored the question. “Isn’t that a bit odd, meeting one’s grandparent in one’s”—he paused, examining my face—“mid-twenties?”

You have no idea how odd meeting Alexander really was, I thought.

Marcus wasn’t the only one intrigued by my extended family. Dominic had been frozen with shock since I’d first mentioned meeting my grandpa. Suddenly returning to life, he blurted, “I just realized . . . Neffe . . . I forgot to tell her . . .” as he rushed out of the room.

Frowning, I watched him leave before returning my attention to Marcus. “Yes, it’s odd. Which is why I’m distracted by it.”

Almost imperceptibly, Marcus’s eyes narrowed and his mouth puckered. “I see. Would you like to accompany me to lunch, Lex? I thought I might stop by the Burke Café for a bite and coffee.”

“Uh . . . sure,” I said noncommittally. I had no clue how he’d gone from “What do you mean you just met your grandpa?” to “Let’s grab lunch.”

“Wonderful,” he said, gently closing the leather-bound book on his desk and rising to don his coat. “Shall we?”

Still sitting, I watched him, confused. “Oh! You meant right now? But it’s only—” I peeked at my phone. “—a quarter after eleven.”

“And yet, I’m famished.” He lifted my purple pea coat off the back of my chair and held it out like I was a child getting ready to go play in the snow.

As entertaining as it was to see Marcus standing there like a glorified coat rack, I hardly had a choice. Besides, I was pretty damn hungry, too. I stood and allowed him to settle the coat around my shoulders. I did, however, slap his hands away when he spun me around and tried to button me up, earning a small, secretive smile for the effort.

Our ten-minute stroll to the café was amicable, filled with remarks on the unusually pleasant weather—it wasn’t raining for once—and on how different the campus was now that the undergrads had returned from winter break. We were the epitome of friendly colleagues—which is why I was stunned when, just outside the café’s door, Marcus reached for my hand and twined his long fingers with mine. The warmth of his hand burned into my palm, climbing up my arm toward my erratically beating heart.

I stopped mid-step. “What are—”

“I would be most appreciative if you would play along, Lex. I’m sure it won’t be too painful,” he said, his black-rimmed amber eyes shimmering in the winter sunlight. Without waiting for a response, he pulled the glass door open and pushed me through ahead of him.

When we reached the end of the short line to order, Marcus released my hand and I was momentarily filled with an unexpected feeling of loss. The arm he draped over my shoulders to pull me snug against his side drove the feeling away, replacing it with astonishment . . . and a pleasant, tingly flutter in my abdomen. What is going on with me? I hadn’t been so intensely aware of a man in . . . ever. I felt bespelled, like there was some irresistible force drawing me to Marcus, which would have been thrilling if it weren’t for the fact that he was my boss. Off-limits! I reminded myself, again.

Marcus leaned down, bringing his lips a hair’s breadth from my ear. “Really, Lex, I think you can do better . . . you could at least pretend to be enjoying yourself.”

As he pulled his taunting mouth away, I snapped my own mouth shut and turned my face to him. Though I wasn’t short—just over five foot eight—I still had to tilt my chin up, accounting for our notable height difference. Narrowing my eyes, I glared. His chiseled jaw clenched, making his bone structure more contoured than usual. From inches away, the effect was breathtaking, and my glare faded. So did the mischief lighting his eyes, replaced by something more serious.

Since I’d met Marcus, I’d been embarrassingly unsuccessful at hiding my attraction, but I was starting to wonder if we were walking down a two-way street. Maybe I wasn’t alone on the road. My turn, I thought vindictively. We moved forward in the line.

Holding his eyes, I slowly licked my lips, wondering if he could smell the vanilla of my lip balm. As I’d hoped, Marcus took notice. His eyes left mine, lingering on my mouth. When they lifted again, they were on fire with desire.

I rose onto my tiptoes, bringing my face slowly closer to his. I was aching to follow through with the movement, to press my lips against his, but I altered my trajectory at the last minute, aiming for his ear instead. “You’d better have a good explanation for this charade, Marcus. I can’t wait to hear it,” I purred.

As I dropped my heels back down to the ground, my understanding of Marcus Bahur was confused even further. He was grinning in sheer delight, displaying teeth so straight and white they could have been featured in a toothpaste ad. I’d seen him smile before, but not like that. For once, it reached his eyes.

“Oh Lex, you do surprise me often, and in the most pleasant ways. Of course I’ll give you exactly what you want . . . in private,” he said, louder and rougher than necessary. If I hadn’t known exactly what I’d said, I would’ve guessed we’d just agreed on some especially naughty, potentially illegal sexual act. I could only stare at him.

We moved forward again, approaching the counter and its confounded little barista. Cassandra stood opposite us, pressing her lips together so hard they drained of color. She looked like she was either about to throw up, or scream.

“Hello again, Cassandra. I hope you’re well,” Marcus said to the girl-woman. While he spoke, his arm dropped from my shoulders to wrap possessively around my waist.

I smiled up at him, pretending to be enamored. Well, pretending to pretend.

“Hi, Professor!” Cassandra chirped. She refused to look at me, let alone acknowledge my presence.

“What would you like, my darling?” Marcus asked me, tightening his arm around my waist.

To really be your darling. “Oh, just a latte and a turkey and cheddar sandwich.” As an afterthought, I added, “And a raspberry scone.” A well-fed Nejerette is a happy Nejerette, I justified to myself.

“And I’ll have my usual lunch. To go, please,” Marcus said, handing Cassandra his card. His usual lunch turned out to be twice as large as mine, but I figured it took a lot of fuel to maintain such a tall, well-honed physique.

Once we had our food and coffees and were out of sight of the café, Marcus let me go. He continued walking for several steps before noticing I’d stopped.

Pausing, he tossed over his shoulder, “Is there a problem, Lex?” He resumed his slow jaunt.

I caught up to him, careful not to spill my latte, and fell in step beside him. “Yes, Marcus, there’s a problem. What the hell was that?” Up until the moment he released my hand, I’d thought—just maybe—he and I could overcome the professor-student, boss-underling dilemma. I’d thought he might want to, but then he let go and I realized it had all been wishful thinking. I felt used and embarrassed and far angrier than I probably should have.

“I suppose I could ask you the same thing.”

“Oh, please! You told me to pretend . . . to play along.” I was having a hard time keeping my voice at a normal volume. “You owe me an explanation.”

He slowed his step and shot me a sidelong glance. “I’m a creature of habit. I dislike having to change my behavior patterns.”

“What’s that have to do with us pretending to be . . . ?” I raised my eyebrows and waved my hand in front of me, unable to come up with an appropriate label for our pretense.

“Lovers?” Marcus provided.

I groaned. “God, it sounds so much worse out loud than it did in my head.”

“Would it be so unpleasant?” Marcus asked, a chill in his voice.

A laugh of sheer disbelief escaped from my mouth. “Um . . . getting kicked out of my program would be unpleasant. The university has rules against professors and students being together . . . rules with consequences.”

“Do you always follow the rules?” he asked, but the chill was gone.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do,” I said, and it was the truth. I’d never snuck out of my parents’ house in high school, I hadn’t drunk alcohol until I was twenty-one, and I followed traffic laws as best I could.

Marcus sighed, and to my shock, told me the reason for the scene back at the café. “I’m accustomed to getting my lunch at the Burke Café. Cassandra was becoming a little . . . obsessive. I could no longer sit alone for a quiet break—she’d fill every possible second with mindless chatter. It was getting tiring. I needed to dissuade her,” he explained.

“You couldn’t just go somewhere else?”

“Like I said, I’m a creature of habit.”

I laughed despite my waning exasperation. “You know, Marcus, sometimes change can be a good thing.”

“Sometimes. Rarely. Tell me about meeting your grandfather,” he said conversationally, like we hadn’t just been teetering on a thin, not-okay-to-cross professional boundary.

Carefully, I strung words together into relatively normal sentences. I could hardly say, “He looked like he was thirty, but he’s really a little over two thousand years old, and we visited the echo of his childhood home in Herculaneum before the eruption of Mount Vesuvius.” Instead, I said, “It was . . . interesting. I’d thought he was dead, so I was more than a little surprised to see him. But after I got over the shock, it was nice. I learned a lot about my family history.” Like, that we’re not all human.

“And did you get along well, you and your newfound grandfather?” Marcus asked, sounding genuinely curious.

I smiled to myself. “Yeah, we really did.”

We’d arrived back at Denny Hall and were about to enter through the inconspicuous west door when Marcus stepped ahead of me, blocking the entrance. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

“Has anyone ever told you that your transitions are a bit rough?” I asked after overcoming my surprise.

He shrugged. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

“Marcus . . . we already talked about this, remember? The rules . . . ?”

“Inconsequential.” His eyes burned with such intensity that I had to look away.

“Marcus, I—” If I pass this up, I’m the biggest idiot ever born. “I can’t.”

With a heavy sigh, he turned toward the door.

I grabbed his arm. “Wait. I meant, I can’t tonight. I already have plans,” I explained. “I’m meeting up with Alexa—my grandpa again.”

Marcus’s arm tensed under my hand, and he said, “Tomorrow night, then. Say yes, Lex.”

“Why Marcus,” I gasped dramatically. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were begging!”

He smiled roguishly, sensing victory. “Trust me. It won’t happen again.”

“We’ll see,” I bantered, and his smile widened. “But, fine . . . yes, I’ll have dinner with you tomorrow night.” How am I going to wait until then?

With success secured, Marcus finally allowed me into the building.

The afternoon passed quickly, filled with numerous flirtatious glances between Marcus and me. By the time I left, I’d helped Dominic narrow the list of field school applicants down to the forty we would contact and interview in the coming weeks. I spent the short, lonely walk back to my apartment reading my neglected text messages. While in The Pit, my phone had buzzed at least a half-dozen times, and I hadn’t been surprised when I’d seen the name on the call log. Cara. And after each unanswered call, she’d sent a text message.

Hey lady . . . haven’t heard from you for a while. Just checking in.

Everything OK? Can you text me back, please?

Annie and I wanted to do dinner with you soon. Tomorrow night? Let me know.

Are you mad at me or something?

You know, it’s really not that hard to text someone back.

Okay, I’m officially freaking out. Text me. Or call me. Or stop by.

Are you dead or something? This is getting really old. CALL ME!

Unwilling to face the hour-long interrogation that would undoubtedly result from a phone call, I sent my relentless friend a text: Sorry Cara. I’m fine. Just been busy with my mom and the excavation prep. Let’s definitely do dinner soon. It wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but the words would at least decrease her calling frequency for the night.

When I reached my apartment, Alexander was already waiting in the hallway outside the door. We’d planned to meet up at six o’clock, and I was a few minutes late.

“Sorry! I got held up on campus. Have you been waiting long?” I asked, letting him into my little home.

He smiled kindly. “Not a problem. I brought dinner,” he announced, setting a huge bag of Chinese take-out on the kitchen table.

“Alexander, you’re a genius! You just might be the best grandpa ever!” I exclaimed as I retrieved plates and silverware. “What would you like to drink? Beer? Wine?”

“Water is fine. It’s unwise to venture into the At while inebriated. When we do, our subconscious starts to take over and it becomes too easy to end up seeing something unintentionally. There are some things you can’t unsee, no matter how hard you try,” he explained, giving me my first important lesson.

“Okey-dokey, water it is,” I said, setting two full glasses on the table. Dinner passed pleasantly, both of us downing generous portions of fried rice, sweet and sour prawns, beef with broccoli, and egg rolls. We swapped stories, me telling Alexander about how I came to love archaeology, and Alexander telling me about his childhood in Herculaneum and his modern life as an explorer of sorts. He’d been traveling around the world, never stopping in one place for more than a year, since he’d left Grandma Suse almost twenty-five years ago. It was nice to learn more about him.

“So, what’s on the agenda for tonight? More shocking family revelations? History lessons?” I asked, finally dropping my fork onto my plate with a clink. I was blissfully stuffed.

“Hmm . . . I thought I might answer some of your questions,” Alexander said. “If you’re anything like me, which I suspect you are, you have hundreds buzzing around in your head.”

I straightened, excited by the prospect. Where to start? “Is there a limit to how far we can see into the future or past?”

Alexander tensed one side of his mouth. “Well, other than the pesky solstice issue, which prevents anyone from seeing into the At beyond the twenty-first of June, it completely depends on the individual’s strength. Only a few years after I manifested, I could see thousands of years behind and several years ahead. The weakest Nejeret I’ve ever known could only see a few hundred years into the past. Seeing the future has always been the more difficult and rare talent—that’s what we call our unique gifts—and those with that talent are called seers.”

“I can do it,” I said. “I mean, I did it once, but it was only a few days in the future and it definitely wasn’t on purpose.”

He nodded, apparently expecting no less from a granddaughter of his.

“How many of us are there?” I asked.

Alexander frowned. “I don’t know, exactly. Our governing body, the Council of Seven, isn’t as well-organized as it once was. The Council used to keep records on all our people, but they haven’t been very successful in tracking the births or deaths in a few of the familial lines for at least five hundred years. There could be any number of thousands, maybe even tens of thousands.”

“What changed?” I asked, thinking that a people who could literally take a peek into the past shouldn’t have too hard of a time with a species-wide census.

“There was a disagreement,” Alexander explained. “Half of the members of the Council believed we should force the prophecy and bring the savior, the Meswett, into existence.” He said “prophecy” like it was a particularly foul obscenity. “The other half believed we should avoid the cursed thing at all costs. After a while, reconciliation was impossible and the Council split.”

“Were you on the Council?” I asked, suddenly curious about my grandpa’s standing among our people, and through him, my standing.

Shaking his head, Alexander said, “The seven seats on the Council are reserved for the patriarchs of the seven strongest familial lines. There’s Heru and Set, though Set disappeared more than a thousand years before I was born, so there are really only six members.”

“Did Set die?” At the edge of my mind, I realized that Heru, the man Alexander had set up as my watchdog, was on the Council of Seven . . . which was crazy. It was like learning the President of the United States had been my bodyguard for who-knew-how-long.

My grandpa shook his head again. “There’s also Moshe, Sid, Dedwen, and Shangdi.”

I whistled. “Assuming Moshe and Sid are who I think they are”—Moses and Siddhartha, central figures in two of the world’s largest modern religions—“that’s quite a list of mythical people. Not so good at keeping a low profile, are we?” I asked sardonically.

Alexander laughed. “A fault of our species.”

“That was only six, by the way,” I informed him.

“Ivan, my father, is the leader of the Council, though they haven’t officially met for some time.”

I was momentarily stunned—my great-grandpa was the leader of our people. With a dry chuckle, I said, “So I really wasn’t far off with the whole ‘more shocking family revelations’ thing?”

“You seem to be adjusting well to the phenomenon.”

I shrugged. “Adapt, or die.” I wondered if I was exhibiting some other, hard-to-pinpoint characteristic of our kind—extreme adaptability. It would make sense, considering that our regenerative abilities allowed us to live for thousands of years while the world went through endless changes. Live for thousands of years . . . me . . . unbelievable.

I plucked another question out of the miasma. “So, besides some of us being stronger than others, some of us being able to see into the future, and some of us being able to smell in the echoes, are there any other differences between Nejerets?”

“Yes, many.” Alexander took a deep breath before diving in. “Some of us are ‘tied down,’ meaning we have to be physically in the place of the echo we’re viewing, and some aren’t. For example, if you were tied down and you wanted to see something that happened last year here in this apartment, you’d have to enter the At from this apartment.” He paused for a moment. “Some Nejerets can follow an object through the At, viewing all that has or might happen in its presence. Some can do the same in relation to a specific individual. That is called ‘finding.’ Some can track another Nejeret’s projected self, their ba, through the At, following them from echo to echo.” Again, he paused. “Some can manipulate the At itself, forever changing what other Nejerets see when viewing a particular echo, or creating false echoes—things that never actually happened. Manipulating is a very dangerous talent—permanently altering the At is forbidden, though on rare occasions we’re allowed to create temporary false echoes for training purposes. Related, but not completely forbidden, some can cloak their At-selves or even entire portions of the At containing their past and potential futures. That is how Set disappeared; he’s created a series of blank spots in the At.”

I considered Set and the idea of cloaking in the At. I was fairly certain I’d seen a “cloaked” person in the At before—the man who’d saved me from Mike. With sudden excitement, I wondered if the long-lost Set was my mysterious savior, but my excitement soured almost instantly. The ancient Egyptian god, Set, was often called “Seth” by modern people . . . and “Seth” had been the name attached to the sender of a pretty damning text message on Mike’s phone. Use the lip balm to make her compliant, then complete the mission. Was Mike’s Seth the vanished member of the Council of Seven? Did Mike know about Nejerets . . . about me? It seemed like too much of a coincidence.

“That’s all I can think of right now,” Alexander said, interrupting my wild conjecturing. “I suppose we should write this down in a handbook—it would make training quite a bit easier.”

“It’s okay,” I replied, my head spinning both from the influx of information and my improbable deductions. I didn’t know if I could handle anything else at the moment, but I was a staunch believer in the whole “knowledge is power” bit, so I asked another question. “Hmm . . . so if someone alters the At, does it change what actually happened? Like, will the history books suddenly say something different?”

“No. Since we don’t actually travel through time, we only view what has been or what could be, only the moment’s reflection in the At, its echo, is changed,” he said decisively. “Besides, humans would be unaware of the change in the At—only Nejerets would be able to see it, so history would remain the same.”

I frowned. “Then why is it such a big deal? If it doesn’t actually change anything . . . ?”

A bitter laugh escaped from Alexander. “Nejerets depend on the echoes, and we tend to hold pretty high positions, even in the human world. If we base some decision on what we saw in the At, and what we saw was false, then the consequences could be devastating for Nejerets and humans alike.”

After a moment of thought, he said, “Someone—we have guesses but we don’t know who for sure—manipulated the future At, completely removing all traces of echoes surrounding a certain ambitious member of the Nazi Party. Nejerets in power throughout the world made political decisions based on what they saw in the At, unaware that an entire life had been erased from view. It just so happened that that life would prove extremely influential, but because it had been eradicated from the At, Nejeret seers couldn’t see the potential horrors it might cause.”

Alexander was shaking his head in disbelief. Was he one of those seers? I wondered as I took in his state of dejection.

“By the time we noticed the anomaly in the At, it was too late,” he continued. “Events had already been set in motion. We did what we could, but . . .” Alexander suddenly looked at me, into me. “You must understand that we did what we could. You must,” he pleaded. “But the horrors . . . the death . . . those poor humans . . .”

Reaching across the corner of the table, I squeezed his hand. I had no words, but at least I could comfort him with that.

“Whoever manipulated the At . . .” He turned over his hand to grip mine almost painfully. “You study history, Alexandra. You know about power and corruption. Our kind walks a very thin, unsteady line. We may feel like them sometimes, we may even be named for them, but we’re not gods. Remember that, granddaughter. We. Are. Not. Gods.” Alexander’s tone was vehement.

Gravely, I said, “I understand.” After Alexander nodded, I waited, taking a few contemplative breaths. “So which, um, ‘talents’ do you have?”

His grip on my hand relented, and I retracted my arm, setting both of my hands in my lap. “Let’s see,” he said. “I can see very far into the past At and a short way into the future At, and I can smell in echoes, like you. I’m not tied down—I can view any echo within the past several thousand years from anywhere. Though looking further back, tens or hundreds of thousands of years, does require proximity to the echo’s place of origin.” He leaned toward me as if confessing a secret. “That’s why I was in Antarctica for the past few months. I’ve always wondered what was under all of that ice. Also, I’m a finder—I can search the At focusing on a specific object or individual.”

I bit the inside of my lip, digesting his response. “So, on a scale of one to ten, one being the weakest weakling and ten being . . .”

“Nuin?” Alexander supplied.

I shrugged. “Sure. So on that scale, where would you rank in strength?”

“Hmm . . . perhaps a seven. My father would be a nine, certainly, as would the rest of the Council. They are all very powerful, just not to the level of the Great Father.”

Too many questions bounced around in my skull, like my head had turned into a pinball game comprised of flesh, bone, and synapses. “Can you teach me how to be a finder?” There were a few people I wanted to follow through the At, but one stood out from the rest in my mind. The mental image of that person glared deadly daggers at the others, commanding them to wait their turn.

“I can try. But it’s a rare talent, so I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” he cautioned.

“Great! Let’s do it!” I said with a small bounce in my chair.

“Hang on—one step at a time. First you need to learn how to enter the At at will. How have you done it so far?”

I explained the basics behind my first few unintentional dives into the At, then described how I’d gained some control using my emotions and focusing on what I needed at the moment. I didn’t, however, tell him the subjects of the echoes, especially not the one about my criminal father. I needed to know more about that particular element of my nefarious parentage before I shared it with anyone. If I ever shared it with anyone. It was creepy . . . and weird.

As I spoke, Alexander nodded, sometimes looking surprised and sometimes proud. “You’ve made a good start of it,” he told me after I finished. “If you can gain control over your ability to enter the At while awake this evening, then I’ll test you for the finding talent before I leave.”

“Okay. So, what do I do?” I asked eagerly.

“Aim for when you opened the door yesterday evening and first met your magnificent grandfather,” he said, puffing up jovially as he spoke, which earned a wry laugh from me. He grasped my hand again. “Now, holding that moment in your mind, close your eyes and clear out all other thoughts.”

It seemed to be an impossible task, but, I needed it to work . . . I needed to track a very specific person. Needed.

“Open your eyes, Alexandra.”

When I did, I thought I’d succeeded . . . but then the door burst open. Two unsteady people stumbled into the apartment.

Oh no! No, no, no! I needed to get away.

In a flash of colors, the scene shifted to the night with Cara and Annie and the three bottles of wine. The other me was explaining her hesitations about going on the date with Mike, to which Cara and Annie responded with protestations and confusion.

“Damn it!” I hissed. I felt a hand squeeze mine and remembered that Alexander was with me.

“Concentrate, Lex,” he encouraged gently. “You’re doing fine. Focus on the night you met me.”

I remembered opening the door—the stunned moment when incomprehension faded to impossible recognition. The scene flickered.

The other me hurried to the door, obviously excited. She opened it, and seconds later, was lying on the hardwood floor. I’d fainted from the shock of finding my grandpa, alive and young, standing in the hallway.

“There must’ve been a better way for you and Grandma Suse to have done that,” I told Alexander. I was watching the other version of him carry my limp form to the couch.

He shrugged. “At least you didn’t hit me.” After a pause, he said, “Now, do you remember what you did to get here?”

I nodded, recalling how concentration had surpassed need. I’d felt much more in control.

“Good. Pick out another moment in this apartment, something that happened further back, and take us there.”

It was hard to think of anything memorable that hadn’t happened in the last month. Part of me felt like my life hadn’t really started until that devastating conversation with my mom. Finally, I settled on a moment and concentrated. The flicker of colors lasted a tiny bit longer than it had the previous time, but it was nothing like the protracted swirl that had surrounded us when we’d viewed Alexander’s home in Herculaneum.

Another version of me was sitting on the couch with a cardboard animal carrier on her lap. The creature inside the carrier emitted a rhythmic string of tiny, frantic meows. The other me opened the box and out popped a softball-sized ball of gray and brown fur.

“Thora,” I murmured as I watched the awkward kitten thoroughly sniff first me and then the couch.

“The day you brought your cat home. Good choice. The echoes revolving around our loved ones are both the easiest and hardest to view,” he said briskly, shaking me out of my kitten reverie. Baby Thora was stalking a pen that had fallen on the floor, wiggling her little behind clumsily. “Now, I think you’re ready for your finder test.”

“Really?” I asked, suddenly giddy with excitement.

Alexander nodded. “Pick someone you know of, but you don’t know, like a celebrity.”

I frowned, squinting my eyes.

“Do you have someone in mind?” Alexander asked.

I nodded, picturing John Jakim, the lead singer of my favorite band, Johnny Stopwatch.

“Good. Now, this time you’re going to aim for the When, instead of the Where.”

“The When?” I repeated.

“Yes, the When. If we don’t know the Where, we must start with the When,” he explained. “Open yourself up to the At, thinking only about the world thirty minutes ago. Don’t think about a place. Instead, imagine being everywhere in the world at once, at half past nine this evening.”

It took nearly twenty minutes to enter the placeless At—the When. For someone used to living in the Where and watching the When go by, readjusting perspectives was unbelievably difficult. My very understanding of time and space had to be melted down and remolded into a more malleable thing.

All of a sudden, I was enmeshed in the targeted When, watching the Where spin around me like a deranged carousel. It was odd to see the colors of the At moving unilaterally, instead of their usual, chaotic swirl.

“Very good, Alexandra!” my grandpa commended. “Now you must find your focal point, your celebrity. He or she is somewhere in this time, but you don’t know where, correct?”

“No idea,” I said, nodding.

“Perfect. This part will be easy if you’re a finder. Just think about the person, and the At will automatically shift itself around you.”

I did as he directed, and gasped. The endless spinning shifted, no longer circling, but instead moving past me like a headwind. When the movement ceased, Alexander and I were standing in a dim, packed bar. In a booth in a dark corner sat John Jakim with the other members of Johnny Stopwatch, a half-empty pint glass in hand.

“Is that your focal point?” Alexander asked eagerly, pointing to the musician. At my amazed nod, he said, “Wonderful! You’re a finder, and to some degree, a seer.” His voice was filled to the brim with grandfatherly pride.

“Well, you know . . . I get it from my grandpa,” I said, bumping his shoulder with my own. I was blushing profusely at his unabashed flattery. “So, should we call it a night? I’m kind of tired after all of this At surfing.”

“‘At surfing’ . . . I like that . . . like channel surfing. But yes, we can be done for today. Would you like to return us, or shall I?” he asked politely.

“Done,” I said as the world flickered briefly and we returned to our physical forms. It really wasn’t too difficult once I understood the basics. Stretching in my kitchen chair, I asked, “What happens to our bodies while we . . . or, um, our ‘ba’ is in the At?” According to the ancient Egyptians, the ba was one of the three essential pieces comprising a person’s soul, and I found it immensely interesting that it was what Nejerets called the part of ourselves that could venture into the At to view what has been and what may be.

Alexander smiled. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask that. It really is a remarkable thing. When your ba leaves your body, your physical form enters a state of stasis called At-qed”—I recognized the word “qed” as one of the ancient Egyptian words for “sleep”—“where, to observers, we appear to zone out or become lost in thought. More or less, the body’s functions slow down and it retains whatever position and expression it held when the ba departed. And, as far as we know, we can remain in At-qed indefinitely.”

“So someone could just come in here and do whatever they wanted to our bodies and we wouldn’t even notice?” I asked, horrified.

Pressing his lips together, Alexander took a deep breath. “Yes. It’s the major downfall to using our gift. We are absolutely vulnerable when our ba enters the At, far more so than when we’re simply asleep. That is the very reason you should only enter the At in a safe, private place and not spend too much time viewing echoes . . . either that, or have someone you trust to protect your body while your ba is away.”

“Oh. That’s . . . interesting,” I said, and I meant it, but it came out sounding more like bored disinterest. My head was too full of new information and convoluted concepts: ba, At-qed, the When, the Where, manipulating . . . I needed time to process.

Seeming to read my thoughts, Alexander said, “I should go; you’ve had a long evening. Same time tomorrow?”

“I can’t tomorrow.” I have a date with the most enigmatic and enticing archaeologist on the planet. “How about Thursday?”

“Very well, my dear. I’ll see you then,” he said, giving me a brief hug before leaving.

After cleaning up the remnants of our Chinese food feast, I considered turning in for the night. It was nearly midnight and I really was tired, but I wasn’t done yet. I wasn’t even close.

15

Catch & Trap

He has to be Nejeret, I thought as, once again, I studied the shadowed man in the echo of the incident with Mike. It was the only way he could’ve disguised himself in the echo. But who is he? Something about him, about that night, had been tugging at my subconscious ever since I woke up in the hospital. I needed to know his identity, desperately . . . even if I didn’t understand the reason behind my desperation.

As I glanced at Mike and registered the absolute terror in his eyes, my need to know the Nejeret’s identity became crushing. I was certain there was a way to unmask him, I just had to figure it out. I need more time!

The cloaked Nejeret lurked toward my fallen attacker, spitting vicious, incomprehensible syllables along the way. He beat Mike until his need for violence was expended, and then he returned to the unconscious version of me. He picked her up and carried her out of the apartment.

Again, I thought, and the echo started over.

I lost track of how many times I viewed the echo, but eventually I realized I didn’t need to keep watching the attack over and over again just to see the shadowed man. Stop, I thought, and it was as though I’d hit a pause button. The shadowed man was frozen, crouching on his heels with his hand outstretched toward the other version of me. He was in the middle of brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.

I circled the figure, studying every shadowed inch of him. I could see that the darkness cloaking him was different—set apart from the echo itself. It was like some foreign At had been layered over the original echo, like a palimpsest.

I touched the out-of-place At, and it vibrated. Determined, I grasped the shadowy cloak with both hands and tugged. Nothing happened. I tugged harder, and again, nothing happened.

Apparently I couldn’t strip it off . . . but I thought it was possible I could slip between the two layers of At. I was fairly certain that no two particles could occupy the same space at the same time. I only hoped the same rule of matter applied in the At.

Gently, as I’d done the first time, I touched the superimposed At. It vibrated, but I was pretty sure the man underneath remained still. I carefully searched with my fingers, following the increasingly strong vibrations, until I found what felt like an edge. It wasn’t an edge in the conventional sense, like the edge of a piece of paper or the hem of a dress. It was more like a sense of something met by a sense of nothing.

I slipped the tips of my fingers under the edge, and then followed with my whole hand. My teeth chattered with the increasingly intense vibrations, but I reached further. When I could finally slip my head between the two layers of At, the vibrations stopped. The cloak, I realized, was gone.

Unfortunately, in my At-splitting, I’d maneuvered myself so that I was crouched in front of the man with my face mere millimeters from his black sweater. I stumbled backward, tripped over the other version of me, and fell on my butt. When I’d finally composed myself enough to stand and look at the man’s face, I gasped and dropped back down to the floor.

“Oh my God . . . Marcus!” I exclaimed aloud. Marcus is Nejeret. Marcus is Nejeret! What does this—

“Damn it, Lex!” The growling admonishment filled every open space in the frozen echo. It was Marcus’s voice, but the Marcus in the echo, the one I’d just uncloaked and was watching, was still frozen. My stomach dropped as I realized what was going on. Marcus is Nejeret. Marcus, the real Marcus, is here.

Gripping my upper arms, he hauled me up off the ground and spun me around. I was staring straight in to the very real, very pissed off face of Marcus Bahur, professor, archaeologist, and undercover Nejeret.

“I was going to explain everything tomorrow night,” he said, articulating each word with exceptional care.

Instinctively, I punched him in the gut. It was the first time I’d ever really hit another person, and on the whole, it was rather ineffective. He barely flinched.

“How long have you known?” I shouted. “I’ve barely been able to keep my head above the water and you’ve been sitting by, watching? I thought I was losing my mind!” I punched him again, hoping for a better reaction. I was let down. So, naturally, I began slapping and hitting every inch of his bare torso. It didn’t take me long to tire. I dropped my arms limply to my sides.

“Are you finished?” he asked, more than a hint of frost in his tone . . . like, a blizzard’s worth.

I nodded weakly, studying his blue and gray tennis shoes. Marcus never wears tennis shoes. His bare torso finally registered in the coherent part of my mind. Misbehaving, my eyes raised to the golden brown skin less than a foot away. Hard ridges rippled the perfect flesh, defining muscles I hadn’t even known existed.

I’d seen him shirtless once before—in a dream that had been set in ancient Egypt . . . or what I had thought was a dream. Considering it could have been an echo, I shivered. Marcus would have to be at least three thousand years old.

“Where’s your shirt?” I asked, picking the least terrifying question I could think of.

“What?” he asked, surprised. His tone warmed considerably when he continued, “I was in the middle of a workout when I felt you fumbling with my cloak in this echo. If you wanted to strip off my clothes, all you needed to do was say so.” There was a short pause. “I must say, Lex, when you blush, it’s very becoming.” His tone could have melted the polar ice caps.

I realized my eyes were closed when I felt the feather-light touch of his fingertips on the sides of my face. They traced my cheekbones, jawline, and chin, tilting my face up with the faintest pressure.

“You want me,” he said. “Admit it.”

I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut more tightly. I was angry—no, pissed—at him. I needed to hold onto that emotion.

“Admit it,” he whispered, so close I could feel his breath on my face. My eyes popped open and my heart skipped a beat . . . or three. Not amber, but golden, blazing eyes trapped me. I’d never seen his eyes so light, and I suddenly realized that was what I’d remembered when I first awoke in the hospital—the memory of glorious, golden fire. I must have come to briefly while he’d been transporting me to the hospital and looked into his eyes . . . and felt safe. Staring into those eyes now, I involuntarily wet my lips.

Marcus’s fingers slid down my neck to trace my collarbones, then traveled back up to tangle in my hair. A tingling trail burned along my skin, invisibly marking every place he touched. He tightened his grasp, preventing me from turning away. It was unnecessary; I was completely lost, a captive held in the prison of his eyes.

I inhaled softly, my breath catching. One moment, he was staring at me—into me—the next, his lips were parting mine. I gasped at the bruising intensity of the kiss. His tongue delved into my mouth, teasing mine out expertly. His arm dropped to my waist, pulling me against him so ardently that I had to stand on my tiptoes to remain tethered to the ground. Something about the jarring movement shook my brain awake, and I pushed against his bare chest. Until that gesture, I hadn’t noticed that my traitorous hands were fondling his muscles. I’m angry, remember! I reminded myself.

“Marcus . . .” I whispered, more than a trace of warning contained in that one word.

As he released his death grip on my hair, I maneuvered myself away from him, retreating through my open bedroom door. I didn’t know why or how, but being too close to him tended to cloud my judgment until I could only make decisions based on the overwhelming desire I felt around him. It was like he naturally emitted an aphrodisiac designed specifically for me, and I craved it when we were apart. But it went beyond lust, beyond desire . . . I felt good around him—safe and whole and at peace. I shook my head, trying to dispel my clearly delusional emotions.

How I’d ever thought he was a plain old human was beyond me. I guess we only see what we want to see . . . what we expect to see . . .

“Lex—”

“I can’t trust you,” I interrupted. “I have no idea who you really are.” I spun around. Marcus was standing in the doorway just a few steps away. “You’re Nejeret, and you’ve been watching me since before we met at the café, obviously. How long, Marcus? How long have you been spying on me?”

Anger and frustration flashed across Marcus’s face so briefly that I almost missed it. And then, abruptly, his clothes changed. No longer in sneakers and basketball shorts, he wore tailored black trousers and a silver-gray button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal toned forearms.

“Hey! How’d you—” I narrowed my eyes. “You’re not distracting me that easily. How long have you been watching me?”

He sighed melodramatically, like I was the one being difficult, when in reality, everything was so obviously his fault.

“Since August,” he finally said.

He’s been watching me for five whole months? “Why?” I spat.

“Because Alex requested it of me,” he responded in kind. “Believe me, Lex, I had much better things to do than watch over a woman who was unlikely to even manifest.”

“Well, I did manifest, didn’t I?” I briefly wondered if sticking out my tongue would help get my point across. Then, I remembered where my tongue had just been and blushed. Damn him!

“Yes,” he purred and stalked toward me, his eyes devouring my every inch. “You are manifesting quite nicely.”

“Stop right there!” I screeched, holding my hand up as I backed away from him.

Marcus stopped, but he didn’t look happy about it.

“Alex . . . as in Alexander? My grandpa asked you to keep an eye on me?” I clarified, my voice too high. I’d only known that Alexander had asked Heru, a member of the Council of Seven, to watch over me . . . not Marcus.

“Yes,” Marcus said.

A sudden, nauseating thought occurred to me. “And the excavation . . . you didn’t really need me to figure out the riddle on the tablet to find the entrance to the temple, did you? You could just look in the At.” I took a deep breath, ignoring Marcus’s slowly shaking head. “Did you just offer me a position on the excavation because of Alexander, too?”

“No!” he hissed. “We couldn’t find the entrance because the At has been manipulated . . . we can’t find any of the echoes relating to it. Damn it, Lex, I wanted you on my team because you’re good at what you do, unbelievably good for someone so young, but also because”—he shook his head, like he couldn’t quite find the words to say what he meant—“you started manifesting. You started manifesting and you know nothing of our people . . . of our customs. Nobody expected you to manifest, so you were never trained in our ways. Other Nejerets will be participating in the excavation. I wanted to give you the chance to interact with others of our kind—to learn all that it means to be Nejeret.”

“If you wanted me to learn what it means to be Nejeret, why didn’t you just explain what was going on with me?” I sounded so bitchy, I nearly cringed. Instead, I barreled on. “Were you toying with me? Was it fun for you to—”

Marcus turned away abruptly, clenching his hands into fists at his sides. “No, Lex, it wasn’t fun for me. Just like it wasn’t fun finding that piece of shit forcing himself on you.” He spared a moment to glare at Mike’s frozen body. “I’d grown somewhat fond of you over the months. I disliked seeing you struggle so much, seeing you in such pain. But it was against the rules for me to tell you of our people, of your heritage. In rare cases like yours, where the Nejeret knows absolutely nothing about his or her heritage, only the nearest Nejeret in your direct line is allowed to explain. I had to wait for Alex.”

“Rules! Why are we running around following the rules of some ‘council’ that doesn’t even meet anymore?” Suddenly so exasperated that I had to move, I slipped around Marcus and out of the room. I paced from the bedroom door to the kitchen and back again, over and over.

“Not the Council’s rules—my grandfather’s,” Marcus said when he finally emerged from my bedroom.

I waved my hand dismissively. “And we should follow your grandfather’s rules because . . . ?” That time I did cringe at my snotty, juvenile tone.

“Because, Little Ivanov, he’s the Great Father,” Marcus said quietly from right behind me.

The Great Father, Nuin, from whom we all descend . . . is Marcus’s grandfather? I halted mid-stride, only a few steps from the fridge. I could hear Marcus’s footsteps as he approached behind me.

“Who are you?” I whispered to the fridge. I just . . . I couldn’t face him.

“I’m the grandson of Nuin,” he said, his voice hard. “I’m a member of the Council of Seven, and I’m older than you can imagine.” He was silent for a few moments, the sound of his breathing the only thing I could hear over my pounding heart. Finally, softly, he said, “I’m also the man who didn’t let you die.”

Hanging my head in shame, I started to apologize. “Marcus, I’m—” My words halted in mid-sentence as his second statement registered. I whirled to face him. “There’s no ‘Marcus’ on the Council.”

He took a step closer, and I stepped back. “True. But I have many names,” he explained, his eyes willing me to comprehend. “You know who I am, Lex. Think about it.”

Set. Heru. Moses. Sid. Dedwen. Shangdi. Ivan. He definitely wasn’t Ivan, my great-grandpa . . . not after the kiss.

Set. Heru. Moses. Sid. Dedwen. Shangdi. He definitely wasn’t Dedwen or Shangdi, based on their mythological descriptions—one was a Nubian god, the other a Chinese deity.

Set. Heru. Moses. Sid. Marcus Bahur. Marcus Bahur. Marcus. Bahur.

Bahur.

I suddenly felt like the world’s biggest idiot.

Marcus took another step toward me, and I backed into the refrigerator. I halted his forward progress with a smile. “Bahur,” I said. “‘Of Heru.’ Clever, Marcus . . . or should I say, Heru?” Heru—commonly known as Horus—was the fierce Egyptian god of kingship and war, whose beautiful eyes had led to one of the most famous ancient Egyptian symbols—the Wedjat, otherwise known as the “Eye of Horus.” Marcus, who had kissed me, was Heru. It was . . . impossible, but then a lot of impossible things had been happening lately.

When I said his true name, he cringed. Shaking his head, he explained, “I hate the way that name sounds on these lips.” He brushed his thumb across my bottom lip for emphasis. “You say ‘Heru’ like you’re talking about a god . . . someone untouchable . . . unknowable. But when you say ‘Marcus,’ you’re talking about a man. A man can be known . . . touched.”

With my palms pressed against the cool refrigerator door, I said, “Marcus.” I was surprised by the sultriness in my voice.

“Mmm . . . yes, Lex. I do so love the way you say that name . . . my name . . . the way it rises from your tongue,” Marcus remarked, raising his arms to press his hands against the freezer door on either side of my head. His arms flexed, and he leaned closer.

“Marcus,” I whispered.

He bent his neck, bringing his lips inches from mine. The muscles and tendons of his neck formed thick cords as he hovered, letting his quickened breath mix with mine. It was tantalizing . . . empowering . . . tormenting.

“Marcus . . . I don’t . . . I . . . I need . . .” I forced myself to look at Mike and then the wounded version of myself. “I need time.” Which was something I doubted a man as tantalizing and intimidating as Marcus would be willing to give me.

“Ah . . . but Lex, we are Nejeret. We have an eternity. By the time our courtship is through, you’ll beg me to take you to bed,” he whispered near my ear before leaning back, keeping a hair’s breadth between us from head to toe. “And even then, I may make you wait.”

Every molecule of air disappeared from my lungs, and all of my blood set a direct route to my groin, spilling heat and tension through my lower abdomen. I was nothing but desire for the man in front of me . . . the god. Without thought, I closed the minuscule distance between us, softly brushing my lips against his. I savored his deliciously spicy scent.

Instantly, Marcus shifted forward, pressing me more firmly against the fridge. “Marcus,” I breathed, and it was the last thing I said for several long, glorious seconds.

“Lex, you should know,” he said, kissing the sensitive skin beneath my ear, “that what happens in the At isn’t real. These aren’t our actual bodies. This isn’t actually happening . . . and we’ve never really kissed.” I could feel him grin. “I think I’ll make you wait for the real thing . . . maybe for days . . . maybe for weeks.”

I whimpered.

Gently, he kissed me one last time. He was teasing me. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he whispered.

In a flicker of color, I was sitting on my couch with Thora curled up in my lap. Leaning the back of my head against the couch, I sighed.

16

Do & Don’t

I shouldn’t have been surprised when I found Marcus lounging outside the entrance to my building the following morning . . . shouldn’t have been, but was. He leaned with his back against the building’s worn bricks, staring up into a sky that was almost perfectly clear. The stark contrast of his very short, very dark hair and long, black eyelashes against the rich golden hues of his skin and eyes was even more striking in the early morning sunlight. As usual, he was impeccably dressed in slate-gray, tailored slacks and a black wool coat, and over it all, he wore confidence like he’d invented it. He embodied what almost every man wanted to be, and who almost every woman wanted to be with.

“Where’s the photographer?” I asked as I exited the building.

His enthralling gaze locked onto me, and with the faintest shift in facial muscles, his jaw became more chiseled, his lower lip more luscious. He was so goddamn good at being irresistible, it was preposterous.

Slinking down several concrete steps, I closed the distance between us. I’d dressed carefully, picking out a snug, boat-neck, crimson sweater and my most flattering jeans paired with dark leather boots that nearly reached my knees. With my second-favorite coat, a hip-length, forest-green pea coat, my ensemble emphasized the few curves my slender body actually had.

From the way Marcus’s eyes narrowed as I approached, I could tell my clothing choice was having the desired effect. I wanted him to crave me so badly that he’d forgo his ridiculous claim that nothing would happen between us for days, or even weeks. I wanted—no, I needed—his real, physical lips to press against mine, his hands to caress me in a moment of uncontrollable passion. I needed evidence that whatever was happening between us was real. I needed something in my life to feel real.

Mimicking his pose, I leaned against the brick wall beside him, our wool sleeves nearly touching.

“The way we look—it’s just part of being Nejeret,” Marcus said silkily.

I cocked my head, watching him watch me.

“We change more in the year after we manifest than in the rest of our long lives. And then we are forever altered . . . not human . . . other.” He sounded slightly disgusted. Does he not like being Nejeret?

“I don’t care,” I said, hoping to dispel his suddenly glum mood. “If I were a photographer, I’d beg you to be my model.” Admittedly, part of me was trying to provoke him, trying to get him to loosen his rigid control. I was hoping to reduce days or weeks to seconds or minutes.

Rotating abruptly, Marcus planted his hands on either side of me and blocked the outside world with his body. Somehow, not an inch of him was touching me. I wanted to growl in frustration.

“What will change about you, Little Ivanov?” he whispered. Apparently, he’d taken a liking to manipulating my grandfather’s surname into his own pet name for me. The cage of flesh and bone was redundant; Marcus’s penetrating gaze—again more gold than amber—pinned me in place better than any physical restraints possibly could. “Why can’t I keep you just as you are?”

“Maybe I won’t change,” I said softly.

He chuckled, causing goose bumps to pebble my skin. “You’ve already started—your eyes have deviated so far from normal human coloring that you’ll have to start wearing contacts soon.”

“Is that what you do?” I asked. Usually his eyes were a rich, black-rimmed amber color, but today they paled to liquid gold. When he nodded, I said, “But not always.”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “No, not always.”

I reached my right hand up and traced the sharp contours around his eye, from brow to cheekbone. “I like you better like this . . . au naturel . . .”

He smirked, raising a single eyebrow.

“So, um . . . what were your big changes?” I asked, running my fingers along his jaw. I couldn’t imagine a single piece of him different than it was at that moment.

“It’s hard to describe . . . maybe I’ll take you back sometime, let you decide,” he said.

I was about to tell him that I might just peek into the past on my own, that maybe I didn’t need him to guide me around the At, but he leaned down, inching his mouth past my lips, chin, jaw. Never touching. Speech evaded me. With his nose barely skimming the skin beneath my ear, he inhaled. The noise he made upon exhaling was rough and animalistic, both satisfied and laden with unfulfilled need. Again, I could feel the blood rushing to my belly and lower, moistening and swelling certain sensitive parts in preparation for what my body wanted . . . for what I wanted.

“Time to go, Lex,” he said, his voice barely audible, and entwined the fingers of one hand with mine. He pulled me away from the wall, and hand in hand, we headed toward Denny Hall and the work that awaited us.

* * *

After hours of phone calls and emails arranging interviews with potential field school students, I finally left The Pit and stepped outside to stretch my legs. I found it slightly amusing that I’d done nothing remotely archaeological for the past two days—not since deciphering the riddle at the end of Senenmut’s tablet and possibly discovering the secret temple entrance—and instead was helping Dominic arrange the field school logistics. Interviewing, selecting, and prepping the students who would be the rough equivalent of his slaves for several months was apparently too menial a task for Marcus.

“Help Dom,” Marcus had told me as we’d arrived that morning.

“But . . . shouldn’t I be using my deciphering skills? What happened to ‘your job is to uncover Hatchepsut’s many secrets, Ms. Larson’?” I’d asked him, doing a fair job of imitating his confident tone and complex accent.

He’d chuckled. “You’ve already advanced us greatly with the tablet. Now I need you to help Dominic.”

“If you say so, boss,” I’d teased before joining Dominic at the far end of the room. Marcus had disappeared from The Pit shortly thereafter and I hadn’t seen him since.

Early in the afternoon, I left the warmth of Denny Hall, intending to take a walk despite the weeping sky. Once outside, I made it about twenty feet. Just as I was nearing the building’s southwest corner, the sound of two very angry voices stopped me in my tracks—Marcus and Neffe.

Unabashedly, I slinked closer to the smooth, gray stone wall, inching toward the corner and the argument.

“You are unbelievable!” Neffe shouted in exasperation. “I cast my lot with you . . . put my trust in you for how many years? And now—now—you want to risk it all for some . . . some . . .”

“As I said, child, this is none of your concern,” Marcus growled.

“Child? Me? She is the child! Why her, huh? After so long, why her? At least tell me that!” Neffe yelled.

In a tone so cold I could almost feel the weak rain turning to icy needles, Marcus warned, “You forget yourself, girl.”

“I forget nothing!” Neffe hissed right before she barreled around the corner . . . straight into me.

“Crap!” I exclaimed. Had I not just been caught eavesdropping on a woman who seemed to despise me and the man I desperately wanted to jump into bed with, Neffe’s expression would have been funny. Instead, seeing her perfectly made-up face frozen in shock, seeing her artfully arranged curls out of place, made me cringe. She looked scary as hell.

A normal person would step back and attempt to compose themselves if they ran headlong into someone else. Neffe was far from normal. She leaned in close and whispered, “If you ruin this, I swear—”

Razor-sharp, lyrically beautiful syllables cut her off mid-threat. I had no idea what Marcus had just said, but Neffe’s reaction—her features going slack as she stumbled backward—told me he hadn’t been talking about fluffy bunnies and milkshakes. She rushed into the building. Or, at least, I think she rushed into the building—my attention had been completely hijacked by the thundercloud of a man approaching me.

“How much did you hear?” he asked, his voice hard.

“Um . . . I’m not sure. It didn’t really make sense.”

With a frigid laugh, Marcus said, “No, I don’t imagine it did.”

“Are you two . . . or, were you two, you know . . . involved?” I asked shakily. It had sounded like a lovers’ spat, and I really wasn’t interested in taking on an “other woman” role—not even for Marcus.

His responding laugh shed some of the chill, sounding almost tepid. “No, Lex, definitely not.”

I felt a sudden rush of relief. “Oh.”

“Neffe won’t bother you again, but perhaps you should go home for the day,” he suggested.

“Thank you, but, no. I don’t know if she thinks this excavation belongs to her, or what, but I won’t let her drive me away.”

Marcus’s lips pursed slightly, like he was trying not to smile. “Very well,” he said. “Just don’t leave too late. I’ll pick you up at seven this evening. Don’t forget . . .”

Unwilling to let him tease me into a pile of goo again, I stood up straighter. “I’m going to get back to work.”

“I’ll walk you up,” Marcus said, leading the way to the door and holding it open.

“So . . . what’s the plan for tonight? Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

* * *

For what seemed like the first time in my life, I was ready early. I’d been sitting in my usual kitchen chair, shaking the leather-clad foot of my crossed leg, when the knock sounded at the door. I bounced up and clacked across the hardwood floor in my knee-high boots.

I opened the door and offered a breathy “Hi.”

Marcus looked more amazing than usual in an impeccably tailored, charcoal suit and a faintly striped, white dress shirt. The top two buttons were undone, making him look a little relaxed . . . and slightly less intimidating than usual. His golden, tiger eyes scanned me slowly from my toes up, narrowing to predatory slits by the time they reached my face.

“Mmm . . . Lex,” he purred. “You look ravishing.”

I blushed at the compliment. I was wearing the only remotely acceptable date dress I had. It was a form-fitting, burgundy silk sheath that reached just below mid-thigh. I’d left my hair down, its dark, loose waves reaching the bottom of my shoulder blades.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” I mused, watching his eyes glitter at the understated compliment. Marcus, I was sure, was more used to women saying things like “Oh, you’re so beautiful, do me right now,” or “You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen!” Sure, I was thinking both at the moment, but I figured his ego didn’t need any additional boosting.

He sighed dramatically. “As much as I hate to say it, I must advise you to cover your . . . delectable outfit with a warm coat. It’s snowing.” He said “snowing” like it was a disgusting wad of gum stuck to the bottom of one of his Armani shoes.

“What? Really?” I asked, instantly giddy. Abandoning Marcus in the open doorway, I rushed to the living room window to peer out into the night. Outside of the pools of light coming from the streetlamps, large, fluffy flakes of snow were nearly invisible, making the glowing areas look like conical snow globes.

“Do you always get this excited about snow?” Marcus asked from directly behind me, slipping the sleeves of a black wool trench coat—my third-favorite coat—up my bare arms and over my shoulders.

“No,” I said, laughing. “Only in this city—it never snows here!”

“I see,” he said, reaching around me to fasten the top button of my coat. Unlike the previous time he’d tried to bundle me up, I didn’t swat his hands away.

He moved closer, pressing the front of his suit against my backside from shoulders to mid-thigh. His delicious, spicy scent—like a mixture of cinnamon and nutmeg—enveloped me, along with his arms. Even through the fabric of our clothing, his body felt like layers of powerful, hard-packed muscle. I let my arms dangle, feeling electrically alive with his immense strength wrapped so gently around me. It was like I was a kitten in the lethal clutches of a panther, and I’d never felt more safe.

His wrists lightly skimmed my breasts several times as he fitted the first black disk through its intended slit. With each descending button, an increasingly familiar fluttering amplified in my abdomen. It began like the usual butterflies that burst into life whenever I was around a man I was interested in, but by the third button, located a few inches below my navel, the butterflies had morphed into something larger and more substantial. By the fourth and final button, located directly over my pubic bone, I felt like I had a charm of hummingbirds buzzing around inside me, my whole body thrumming with their frenzied rhythm. Marcus lingered long enough on that lowest enclosure to assure me of his eventual intentions without seeming overtly improprietous. Oh, he definitely seemed improprietous . . . just not overtly so.

When he stepped away, my breathing was noticeably quickened and I’d forgotten the snow entirely. Somehow, putting on a heavy winter coat had been the single most erotic experience of my entire life. Damn . . . I’m in way over my head.

Marcus cleared his throat. “We should go.”

I took a moment to compose myself before turning. “Certainly,” I said with forced cheerfulness. I didn’t want to go anywhere; I wanted to stand in that exact spot while the man before me removed everything I was wearing with the same agonizing attention he’d used to button my coat.

I accepted his outstretched arm, slipping my hand into the crook of his elbow, and we departed my apartment. We left behind most of the sexual tension. Unfortunately, Marcus created the stuff like an industrial fog machine.

“So what kind of car is this, anyway?” I asked as he helped me into the same low coupe he’d driven me home in days before. It was slate-gray, sleek, and a perfect match for its driver.

“An Aston Martin Vantage,” Marcus told me, getting into the driver’s side.

“Oh, wow,” I said, trying not to touch anything unnecessarily. I was about as far as you could get from being a car person, but I wasn’t completely clueless. “It’s, um . . . really nice.”

He laughed, a deep, throaty sound. “I agree. It’s my favorite.” I couldn’t tell if he meant it was his favorite car in the world or his favorite among his own car collection. He’s not just an archaeologist, I reminded myself. He’s Nejeret and a member of the Council of Seven . . .

The short drive passed in aching, palpable silence. Though most of my mental power was focused on not jumping the driver, I did manage to spare a few thoughts about where we were going. We skirted the western edge of campus and its many apartment buildings until we reached Ravenna, the adorable neighborhood abutting the university’s northern edge. Fraternities and sororities filled the first few blocks with their deceptively beautiful exteriors, slowly giving way to the ivy-covered porches and manicured gardens of a truly residential area. Some of the university’s wealthier faculty members and scholars occupied the stately mixture of brick homes and craftsman bungalows.

“Unless there’s an unmarked restaurant here, I’m assuming this is your house,” I said as we pulled into a narrow gravel driveway. In Ravenna, the presence of any driveway was a sign of luxury, not that the house needed it.

I examined my new surroundings as I emerged from the car. The house was ash-gray with white trim and had an adorable porch spanning the entire front. The centered brick steps leading up to the porch were lined with clay pots brimming with purple, red, and white pansies.

“Welcome to my home away from home,” Marcus said as he reached for my hand and led me into the house.

On the walk from entryway to dining room, I peered around at the warm furnishings and tasteful decorations. It was comfy, but nothing I would’ve expected from Marcus, décor-wise. In the dining room, a square, oak table was set for two with the extravagant complexity and perfection of an Edwardian steward. There were more pieces of silverware than I knew what to do with.

“Why, Marcus,” I said, laughing. “Are you making me dinner?”

He chuckled as he held out the chair before the nearest place setting, waiting for me to sit. He sat at the spot on the adjacent side of the table and said, “Definitely not. My culinary repertoire is”—his lips widened to a self-effacing grin—“dated. Breakfast is my strong point.” His grin turned wicked, knowing. “What do you prefer in your omelets, Little Ivanov?”

I, of course, blushed furiously at the implication that he would one day be making me breakfast . . . likely after I’d spent the night tangled with him in bed. I’d never been a big blusher, and it was becoming an irritating habit.

Like the flip of a switch, Marcus’s face blanked and he explained, “My man, Carlisle, is preparing everything tonight. His food is as good as any I’ve ever eaten . . . which is saying something. Besides, I thought we’d need the privacy”—his lips quirked, but his face remained expressionless—“for your questions, of course.”

I raised my eyebrows at his veiled presumptions. Before I could comment, a man—Carlisle—entered the room carrying two small plates. He definitely wasn’t the seasoned, older gentleman I’d expected for someone Marcus regarded as such a talented chef. After Marcus introduced us, Carlisle set the plates in front of us and retreated through a door that I assumed led to the kitchen.

“Carlisle is different than I’d expected,” I remarked. I had to admit, the man was exceptionally talented, at least from a presentation standpoint. He’d turned a salad into a minimalistic composition of edible art. Taking a small bite, I noted that the little bundle of color on my plate was at least as delicious as it was beautiful, with sliced heirloom beets, apple, and pickled fennel, all lightly glazed with a tangy vinaigrette.

Marcus chuckled as he chewed. “Don’t let his appearance fool you.”

“What do you . . . he’s Nejeret?”

Marcus nodded.

“And he serves you?” I asked doubtfully. “Doesn’t he need to do Nejeret things?”

With another chuckle, Marcus clarified, “He works for me, Lex. We are born Nejeret, like humans are born human or cats are born cats. It’s not our occupation. Nejeret is what we are, but we decide what we do.”

“Oh,” I said, a little abashed at my assumption. “So Carlisle is a personal chef?”

Nodding, Marcus finished his bite. “In a way, yes. We all find something we excel at, something we enjoy more than anything else. Call it our . . .” He paused, thinking. “Our passion. For Carlisle, it’s the culinary arts . . . and organizing—things, people, you name it, he can whip it into working shape.”

I was quiet for a few minutes, contemplating Marcus’s words while I finished my salad. “And you?” I finally asked, leaning in with interest. “What’s your passion?”

Marcus waited for Carlisle to switch out our plates before answering. Instead of a mini salad, I now had two delicately flavored fish tacos, blessedly more substantial than the previous course. I started eating, not-so-patiently waiting for Marcus’s response.

“I’m a fighter . . . a warrior,” he eventually said. “Lex, you know I’m on the Council. Well, my role there is militaristic. I’m our people’s general. It’s what I’m good at . . . and what I enjoy.” His serious tone implied something graver than his words alone suggested . . . something I had yet to grasp.

Slowly, I shook my head, feeling a crease appear between my eyebrows.

“Damn it, Lex,” Marcus said with surprising ferocity, and I flinched imperceptibly. “You must understand this!” He held my eyes, his demanding stare boring into me. “Strategy and death, that’s what I am. It’s what I’ve been for millennia.”

Is he trying to scare me off? He was a fool if he was, and Marcus was no fool. The embodiment of tranquility, I said, “That’s very interesting.”

“Interesting?” He looked baffled.

“Yeah, Marcus . . . interesting. You hurt people.” Like you hurt Mike, I thought. “You kill people.” I glanced down at my plate, considering how best to say what I felt. “I get it, and, um . . . I’m okay with it.” At least I was fairly certain that I was. How many battles has he fought? How many wars has he been a part of? Were they human wars, or other, unknown-to-me Nejeret wars? How much death has he caused? “Exactly how old are you, anyway?”

Caught off guard by my question, Marcus’s domineering presence evaporated.

While I waited for his response, I ate . . . everything. Carlisle was a genius. Marcus took his time, eating and watching me, not speaking.

“Okay,” I said, realizing he wasn’t going to answer. “So, Heru . . . Horus. Is the god named after you or you after him?” I asked, using a less direct tactic. It would at least give me an over-under. Please say you’re named after the god, I thought. Please tell me you’re under five thousand years old.

“Are you sure you want to know? The truth is the truth, but you cannot unknow it.” After reading my silence as acquiescence, he looked into my eyes and answered my question. “I inspired the myths.”

My stomach dropped. “Oh my God,” I said, at a loss for real, meaningful words.

If he inspired the Heru myths, then he had to be at least five thousand years old, give or take a millennia or two. The world had changed so much in that time, civilizations had risen and fallen, thousands of wars had been fought. Had he been involved in most of them? All of them? How could a relationship between us ever work? How could I ever be enough for a man who’d walked the earth for more than five millennia? I shook my head back and forth, staring at him with eyes wide from both shock and awe. “You . . . you’re . . . my God . . .”

“Carlisle!” Marcus called out. “Bring wine with the next course.”

Numb, I looked down at the suddenly full plate before me. A plump filet of beef tempted me with its promised deliciousness. But . . . Marcus is older than Alexander, older than the Egyptian civilization. How many people has he killed? How many women has he slept with? How many has he loved? How many children has he fathered? How many . . .

Marcus said nothing else for a long time, other than telling Carlisle to leave the bottle while I worked through my questions. I demolished the steak and wine with an intensity usually reserved for kneading bread or beating the crap out of someone.

And suddenly, unexpectedly, I decided that it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that my life so far had been a blink in comparison to his or that he might grow bored of me in another blink. I wouldn’t let my self-doubt get in the way of knowing the man who’d inspired one of ancient Egypt’s most beloved and fearsome gods. I wanted to know Heru. I wanted to know Marcus. I wanted to know him.

“Okay,” I said. “What else?”

For a moment, I thought he might ignore me, staring as he was at his empty plate. “Josh, Dominic, and Neffe are Nejeret. They know that you are too.”

“Okay,” I said quietly.

He held his breath for a moment. “And Neffe is my daughter.” He sounded resolute in his defeat, like with that statement I would run for the hills, shunning him, his excavation, and our people as I fled.

I thought about Marcus’s age and Neffe’s status as a Nejerette, and a horrid, cold feeling seeped into my spine. “What’s Neffe’s full name, Marcus?”

“Neferure.”

“Neferure,” I repeated. “As in . . .”

“Hatchepsut’s daughter, yes,” he finished for me.

“Oh my God,” I whispered. Neferure, the daughter of the famous female pharaoh, had disappeared from historical record as a young woman. Her mummy had never been found, though a tomb had been constructed for her. Well, I guess that explains the mystery of the missing princess, I thought.

Marcus refilled our wine glasses, emptying the bottle between us, but remained quiet.

“The others, are they your kids too?”

“Josh and Dominic?” When I nodded, he said, “No.”

“Carlisle?” I asked.

“No. Carlisle is only a few centuries old, and I haven’t fathered a child in over a thousand years,” Marcus explained.

Our plates were replaced twice more and a second bottle of wine had been brought out while I processed the information.

Finally, Marcus said, “You must have other questions, Lex. Now is the time to ask them.” It was the understatement of the century—I had other questions like stray dogs had fleas.

“What are your talents? Obviously you can cloak yourself, or whatever the correct terminology is, but do you have any others?” I asked, genuinely curious.

For the briefest moment, Marcus looked offended, but the dark emotion quickly melted into amusement. “You should know, Lex, that asking a Nejeret about his talents is akin to asking a woman how many men she’s bedded. So, how many men have you bedded?”

I waved his question away. “But Alexander didn’t mind,” I explained. “I . . . I don’t need to know everything . . . it’s okay. I’m sorry if that was rude.” I looked down at my hands, which were resting on my lap, wondering if there was any way to hide my sudden shame.

“Lex,” Marcus said, his tone like honey dripping onto white-hot coals. “I’m not offended. If I were weak or had no talents, I might be, but I am neither of those things. Just be mindful in the future of whom you ask that question, okay?”

After a weak nod, I raised my eyes to meet his.

He smiled genuinely. “My main talents are that I’m a manipulator, which includes the cloak you witnessed, and a tracker, so I can follow another’s ba as it journeys through the At.” His gaze turned sharp, and he said, “Quid pro quo, Little Ivanov . . . have you discovered any talents yet?”

“Yeah. I’m a finder, and to some degree, I’m a seer,” I responded nonchalantly. Inside I was bubbling, eager for his approval.

For the first time, Marcus was visibly stunned. “I hope you realize how unusual it is for one of our kind to discover so many talents within a few weeks of manifesting.”

“Sure, I guess,” I said, when in reality, I hadn’t realized it, even with Alexander’s proud, grandfatherly reaction to my skills. Taking a sip from my recently refilled wine glass, I bolstered my nerve. I’d overstepped one huge boundary already, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to jump over a few more. “Alexander was able to test me for the finding talent. Can you do the same with me, for manipulating and tracking?”

Marcus looked into my eyes, his black-rimmed gold meeting my sienna, as he silently struggled with something. He licked his lips before speaking, an unusual display of nerves. “For tracking, yes, but there’s no need to test for manipulating.”

“Why not? You don’t think it’s possible?” I asked, feeling slighted. “You know, I might surprise you.”

“Evidently.” He took a long, deep breath through his nose. “There’s no need to test you for the manipulating talent because we already know you can do it.”

“What?” I asked, my mouth open in surprise.

Patiently, he explained, “You lifted my cloak in the echo. Only a manipulator—someone who could alter the very fabric of the At—could achieve such a feat.”

“Oh. Um . . . sorry for getting snippy,” I apologized.

“Don’t be. I like you when you’re snippy.” And with that simple phrase, the business side of our conversation evaporated.

“Do you live here alone?” I asked, glancing around at the un-Marcus-like decor.

“Carlisle stays here, as does Neffe,” he replied cautiously, reminding me of his three-thousand-five-hundred-year-old daughter . . . who seemed to despise me.

“Is that normal for you and Neffe? Does she also live with you in Oxford?” Before he could answer, a thought occurred to me and I added, “Are you really a visiting professor from Oxford, or is that just a cover for being Nejeret?”

Smiling, Marcus said, “It’s not just a cover. I enjoy it, though I rarely actually teach humans. There are quite a few Nejerets at Oxford, and I focus my attention on them . . . helping them get the degrees they need to do what they want to do in the human world. And thankfully, no, I don’t usually cohabitate with my daughter. I love her dearly, but after millennia, we’d slaughter each other if we spent too much time together. We’re only sharing this little house now because of its convenient location near campus. And truthfully, we almost never occupy it at the same time. My line has another, much larger compound on Bainbridge Island. Neffe prefers it, and she finds the daily ferry rides calming.”

I made a very unladylike snort, thinking Neffe could use a little more calming. Hesitantly, I asked, “Is there, well . . . is there a particular reason why she’s so hostile toward me?”

Marcus’s slow, silky smile was half the answer. “She’s worried I won’t be able to focus on my work.”

“But it’s just an excavation . . . how is that at all interesting when you lived through the time period you’re uncovering?”

His raised eyebrows and pursed lips seemed to say, “Come on, Lex, I expected more from you. Think about it!”

Several puzzle pieces suddenly snapped into place: Nuin—father of Nejeret-kind—as Nun, Hatchepsut and Marcus, the mention of Set and Nuin on Senenmut’s tablet, a Nejeret excavation surrounding a secret temple that had been hidden by someone manipulating the At, the Nothingness in the future At. I slapped my forehead. “Oh my God! How could I be so blind? This whole excavation is about the solstice, isn’t it? It’s about trying to stop the Nothingness from taking over the possible futures in the At. You think there’s something in Senenmut’s secret temple that can prevent it?”

Reading the subtle approval in Marcus’s eyes, I thought back on the tablet I’d deciphered. Senenmut had written that Nun’s power—creation—was locked away in the secret temple. “Marcus!” I exclaimed breathily. “Are you telling me that Nun’s—Nuin’s—power is a real thing . . . that it’s really in there?”

He nodded, one slight, sharp movement.

“Oh, well that’s just . . . just . . .”

“Crazy? Impossible? Terrifying?” Marcus offered. “Yes, I quite agree. And what makes it even worse is that we don’t really know what this ‘power’ is. I knew him, Lex. I spent time with him, and he never seemed anything but the strongest of us all.” He looked around, shaking his head with frustration, or possibly disbelief. “I’ve spent millennia wondering what his mysterious power might be, and”—he laughed bitterly—“I just don’t know.”

While I processed Marcus’s revelations, Carlisle brought out dessert—two small plates and a tray containing a variety of delicate confections. He added a clear, dainty bottle of Tocay to the table for good measure. Marcus poured a few inches of the dessert wine into each of our glasses. It was the color of golden raisins.

I popped a bite-sized fruit tart—lemon custard contained in flaky, buttery crust and topped with a blueberry, raspberry, and strawberry slice—into my mouth. It was heavenly. Swallowing, I studied my wine glass, then looked at Marcus. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get me drunk for nefarious purposes, Professor Bahur,” I said, purposely diverting our conversation to a lighter subject. After all of the delicious food and wine, I was hardly in the best state of mind to contemplate such serious matters as mysterious powers and the impending Nothingness.

Marcus licked a bit of chocolate filling from a tiny cream puff off the tip of his thumb. “But Ms. Larson, what would possibly make you think you know better?”

“Because you won’t make it that easy,” I said, completely unsure of my words.

“Perhaps,” he purred. “And perhaps not.” He leaned forward as if he might whisper some forbidden secret, and I suddenly felt his fingertips tracing the top of my boot. His thumb played tenderly with the back of my knee.

Closing my eyes, I shuddered involuntarily. His gentle touch sent bolts of electricity along my nerves. I couldn’t believe the sensations he was eliciting simply by touching my knee. Deliberately, he inched his hand up the bare skin of my outer thigh, pausing halfway up. My heart felt like it had been relocated to my groin, and with each pump, like it might explode. My breaths became shorter, quicker, my lungs tightening every time I inhaled.

“But only if you beg,” Marcus whispered. His words from when we’d been in the echo together resounded in my head. By the time our courtship is through, you’ll beg me to take you to bed. “Will you do it now? So soon?” he asked. “So easily?”

My eyes shot open, then narrowed to slits. “You’ll have to try harder, Marcus,” I said softly.

His smile was roguish as he whispered, “You have no idea how much I wanted to hear you say that.” He withdrew his hand.

I rearranged my skirt and crossed my legs, emphasizing my decision. It was possible that, one day, I would beg. But one day, I decided, so would he.

“It’s late. I should get you home,” Marcus said, taking another sip of the golden dessert wine before standing.

“Can we walk?” I asked, accepting his offered hand. I wanted to extend my time with him, and the cool, night air sounded refreshing.

“It’s snowing!” he objected.

“Exactly.”

“Can you walk that far in those boots . . . and in the snow?” he asked suspiciously. He led the way back to the front door, collecting my coat from a closet along the way.

“Seriously, Marcus, it’s not that far. Besides, I was a ballet dancer growing up—I’ve done a lot more in far less comfortable shoes.”

I could feel his eyes examining every inch of my body, devouring my every movement as I shrugged into my coat. “Ballet, hmmm?” One side of his mouth turned up in a sly grin. “That explains so much.”

“Like what?”

“Wear these,” he said, handing me some fur-lined, black leather gloves and wrapping the softest scarf I’d ever felt around my neck. “The way you walk, the way you move . . . just the way you are. You’re graceful . . . it’s very appealing.”

“Hmm . . .” I mused. Finding out what attracted him to me gave me confidence, and equally important, power. Marcus had been using his enigmatic and unavoidable sex appeal to manipulate me since our first unofficial meeting at the bar. The scales were beginning to even out . . . at least a little.

Marcus pulled my hair out from the charcoal-gray scarf and arranged it on my shoulders.

“Whose are these?” I asked, holding up my gloved hands and touching the scarf.

“Neffe’s,” he informed me.

“Oh . . . maybe I shouldn’t wear them.” I began to pull the gloves off, but Marcus stopped me.

“She’ll never notice they’re gone. The girl has more clothing than a department store,” he said irritably. So says the guy with an Aston Martin and a suit for every day of the century. “Shall we?” he said, opening the front door.

I took his proffered arm, and together, we stepped into the gently falling snow. We took a path through campus, letting the empty streets and brick buildings transport us to an earlier time period.

“You’re very tall,” I said, breaking the silence halfway through the midnight stroll.

“Correct.”

I laughed softly. “No, I meant, how are you so tall? You were born thousands of years ago—you shouldn’t be anywhere near as tall as you are.”

“Also correct,” he said, infuriating me . . . probably on purpose.

“So . . . ?”

He chuckled. “Before I manifested, I was around your height, maybe a bit taller. I was tall for the time and among my people. But one of the changes we all experience is the fulfillment of our physical potential. Had I grown up with ideal nutrition and care, I would have reached my current height, but that was impossible then. The changes—the cellular regeneration—it fixes all of that.”

“Huh. So, I won’t be as tall as you in a year, right?” I asked, seeking confirmation.

“You’ve grown up in a time and place that provided you with all of the nutrients you needed. So thankfully, no. I was never a big fan of the Amazon mythology. I doubt you’ll even gain an inch.”

“This is all so strange, you know? It’s like a dream I could wake from any moment,” I said, my voice hushed.

Marcus’s arm tensed in mine. “Would you want to wake up?” He sounded a little sad.

I hugged his arm with both of mine and said, “Not anymore.”

When Marcus abruptly stopped, I almost slipped on the slick brick path. With his free hand, he turned me to face him. His cool, leather-clad fingers cupped either side of my face, tilting it up so he could examine my features better in the light of a distant streetlamp. I could feel the faint kiss of each snowflake as it landed on my face.

“What are you, Alexandra Ivanov?” he breathed. “What are you and what are you doing to me?” As his deep, silky voice released each word into the starless night, he leaned closer. Our individual white puffs of breath slowly merged, becoming indistinguishable.

“But—”

“Shhh, Little Ivanov,” he murmured, closing the distance between our mouths. His lips touched mine with the faintest possible pressure, brushing first one way, then the other. When I tried to deepen the kiss, he pulled back just enough to maintain the maddening softness.

I slipped my fingertips into his coat pockets, pulling his body closer to mine, and groaned in frustration. I wanted more. I needed more.

One of Marcus’s arms dropped lower, his palm pressing into my lower back, and he grasped the nape of my neck with his other hand. He’d understood my desire . . . he’d complied. His burning lips worked furiously against mine, and his tongue delved into my mouth, exploring my own with a skill and sensuality I’d never before experienced.

Purposefully, I not-so-gently bit his lower lip, earning a growl. He responded by shifting his hand from my back to the swell of my hips and pulling me even closer to him.

His fervent mouth laid a trail of fire across my cheek and jaw, then down to the tender flesh of my neck. His lips became feather light, perfectly straddling the line between tingle and tickle. “Beg me,” he whispered against my skin, making me shiver. “Beg me to take you, right here, right now.”

I whimpered. I really, really wanted to.

“Beg me, Lex,” he repeated, shifting his leg so it pressed against my coat’s conveniently placed lowest button.

I moaned brazenly.

“Lex, beg me,” he said roughly. I could hear in his voice that nothing less than my desperate pleading would make him take the next step. Oh, I was almost certain that he wanted me just as badly as I wanted him, but I was starting to understand him—this man who’d inspired millennia-old myths, who’d seen the Egyptian, Greek, and Roman civilizations rise and fall. For Marcus, sex was about more than desire; it was also about control.

In the heat of the moment, I almost acquiesced . . . I almost begged him to lift my skirt and take me in the shadows of the abandoned midnight campus. But I wasn’t ready to give up the little piece of control I had left in my life.

“No,” I whispered, the single word audibly hoarse. Embarrassingly, I was pretty much panting from the way his leg was manipulating that damn button.

With a throaty laugh, Marcus returned his attention to my lips, kissing them tenderly. “You will. Soon.”

“I hope you’re prepared to wait,” I said with a victorious smile. In my head, I was wondering if I would even be able to hold out until the following day.

He kissed me one last time before moving his mouth to my ear and whispering, “However long, Little Ivanov, it will be worth the wait.”

17

Show & Tell

“Are you planning to do this every morning?” I asked Marcus, who currently had his arm draped over my shoulders as we walked to Denny Hall. It was drizzling, as usual, but I didn’t care.

“Why?” Marcus murmured, glancing down at me.

I shrugged. “I’d just like to know what to expect. I don’t like being disappointed.”

“And if I wasn’t waiting outside your apartment building to walk you to a classroom in which we would be spending the day together, would you be disappointed?” His tone was too unconcerned, too disinterested—he really wanted to know the answer.

“Oh, I don’t know . . . hmm . . .” I stopped walking in the middle of the cement path and rose on tiptoes to plant an undeniably steamy kiss on his lips, unconcerned that other people were passing around us. “Yes, Marcus,” I said, resuming our meandering pace. “I’d be very disappointed.”

“Well, then yes, I plan to do this every morning,” he replied. “That is, every morning until we wake up together.”

“I didn’t know you were planning on staying in Seattle for years,” I teased.

“Years,” he chortled, like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. It was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever said. But still, he was a cocky bastard.

“Have you spoken to Alexander in the past few days?” I asked.

If Marcus was surprised by the drastic change of subject, he didn’t show it. “No, why?”

“So he doesn’t know that I know about you and the others?” And he doesn’t know we’ve been all over each other for the past two days?

“No,” Marcus said. There was something—many things to be sure—he wasn’t telling me. But then, there was something I wasn’t telling him.

“And the others on the team—they don’t know that I know they’re Nejeret, do they?”

“No.”

“Will you do me a favor?” I asked tentatively.

He narrowed his eyes and looked at me askance. “That would depend on the favor.” Oh no, Marcus wasn’t on the verge of professing his undying love, to declare he’d do anything for the woman currently holding his attention.

“Just don’t let anyone know that I know about you and the others until tomorrow . . . please,” I added the last word for good measure. That was phase one of my plan.

* * *

I had just set a platter of oven-fried chicken on the table between a serving bowl of mashed potatoes and a gravy boat when Alexander knocked on the door. It was exactly eight o’clock. Pleasantly, I greeted my grandpa, and we headed to the table. Anxiety and excitement flooded my veins as I hurtled into phase two of my plan.

“I’d really like to be able to trust you, Alexander,” I began, scooping mashed potatoes onto my plate.

My grandpa looked acceptably confused. “You can trust me,” he said, meeting my eyes. I thought I could believe him, and I desperately wanted to.

Lately, my world had been one big tangle of lies and half-truths. Some people lied to protect me, like my parents and Grandma Suse, while others withheld valuable information because it was against “the rules” or for completely unknown reasons, like Marcus, Dr. Isa, and Genevieve. Alexander, too, hadn’t given me the full truth, leaving out several important pieces of information, like “your new boss is Nejeret” and “I’ve had someone spying on you for the past six months.” I’d never been one to surround myself with crowds of acquaintances, instead preferring to keep a few true friends—close confidants who I could trust completely. At the moment, I had a grand total of zero true friends. It was time to figure out who I could add to that category.

“I know about Marcus,” I told Alexander after I’d finished dishing food onto my plate. At his quizzical head-cocking, I realized he might not know that name, so I clarified, “Heru.” What other names will I use if I end up living as long as Alexander and Marcus?

Alexander set down his fork with a soft clink. “I see. And what exactly do you know about Heru?”

It was time for the trust test. “Tell me what I should know, and I’ll tell you if I do.” When his mouth pinched and his eyes narrowed, I said, “I’m sorry, Alexander, but I really need you to do this. I need to know I can trust at least one person in my out-of-control life.” Desperation resounded in my voice.

Alexander took a deep breath and held it, studying me. Finally, he exhaled. “Heru has been my closest friend for over fifteen hundred years, which is why I asked him to keep an eye on you, just in case you manifested. It was a very large favor to ask of him, considering his position on the Council and the unlikelihood of you manifesting . . . but, he owed me. This is delicious, by the way,” Alexander said, taking a bite of chicken. “Tastes just like Suse used to make for me, back when she could stand to be in my presence long enough to cook and share a meal.”

“Thank you,” I said, watching him. I decided he wasn’t trying to change the subject, but was just being kind. I dug in, eating while he spoke.

“I’d been watching you for a couple years, since everyone manifests between age eighteen and twenty-five. You were nearing the end of the window, so I was fairly certain it wouldn’t happen, but I called in a favor from Heru anyway. He only agreed because he could still plan the big excavation using your university as a hub.” Alexander seemed to consider his next words carefully.

“I’ve been putting off telling you about him because I didn’t want you to think being Nejerette was the only reason you were on the excavation. In the process of observing you, Heru—or Marcus, as you know him—discovered that you were a talented ancient linguist. He called me in November, asking my permission to invite you to join the excavation. I wasn’t against it, but I let him know I didn’t think it was the best idea, considering what could be happening on the solstice and that there would be so many Nejerets present. At that point, you hadn’t shown any signs of manifesting, and like I’ve said before, you manifesting didn’t show up in the possible futures at all. There weren’t even any possible futures that showed us ever meeting or interacting.” He shook his head, clearly confused by the big ol’ blank spot in the future At surrounding my Nejerette status.

“Heru is, well, Heru,” he said. “He’s used to getting what he wants, and since I didn’t prohibit it, he asked you to join his little team of Nejeret archaeologists. The last time I spoke with him—in mid-December—he let me know, much to my shock, that you were beginning to manifest. I was planning to return at the end of January. It should have been plenty of time. Unfortunately, your Nejerette traits developed more quickly than expected, and Suse called me in a panic when you started showing that you knew things you could only have learned from an echo, and, well . . .” After a thoughtful moment, he said, “I think that’s the gist of it.”

“And you two haven’t spoken since?”

“Heru and I? No,” Alexander said resolutely.

“Why not?”

Alexander glared at the wall. “That, my dear, is between Heru and me.”

I pressed my lips together, thinking. Alexander was my grandpa—my blood. He’d helped me understand what I was, and he’d just told me far more than I’d already known about the months leading up to my first journey into the At. If I couldn’t trust Alexander, then I couldn’t trust anyone.

“Okay,” I said simply.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” I repeated.

“Okay,” he agreed with a nod.

Minutes passed, and we ate in silence. I cleaned my plate and took seconds, while Alexander managed seconds and thirds. I wondered what would happen to a Nejeret who didn’t receive adequate nutrition, but it was a question for another day.

When both of our plates were clean and we were sitting in contented silence, I decided it was time to initiate phase three of my plan. “There’s something I want to show you,” I declared. “Are you done?”

Alexander let out a blissful, “Yes.”

“Great!” I exclaimed and grabbed his hand. “Hold on.”

Taking longer than I was used to when visiting that particular echo, the usual swirl of colors surrounded us before the world resettled in the form of a night-darkened waiting room. Surprisingly, the fertility clinic didn’t seem nearly as dark as it had the last time I’d visited this particular echo. Maybe my heightened Nejerette senses are finally kicking in, I considered.

“Would you care to explain our current setting, granddaughter?” Alexander asked curtly, and I wondered if I had yet again breeched some Nejeret social norm.

“We’re in the fertility clinic Mom used. It’s the night before I’m . . . er . . . conceived,” I floundered. “Just watch.”

There was a click, and the door separating the clinic from the stairs creaked open. A tall, slender man with pale skin and black hair entered the waiting room.

“And who is this?” Alexander asked, suddenly very curious.

“My father . . . or my biological father. Come on, let’s wait for him in here,” I said, leading Alexander to the laboratory, where he would be able get a good look at the man whose DNA made up half of mine. I had a theory, but I needed to see Alexander’s reaction to know if it was correct.

“What makes you think that criminal is your biological father?”

“Just watch,” I repeated.

The man entered the lab and turned on the lights. He headed for the pair of small freezers.

“Deus!” Alexander exclaimed as he stared in horror at the man. He leapt in front of me, gripping my upper arms tightly. “We must leave now, Alexandra.” I could feel him attempting to pull me away from the At, but stubbornly, I held us there.

“What? Why?” I asked. In my surprise, I had inadvertently paused the echo.

The man—my father—was frozen with his arm reaching into one of the freezers.

Alexander, realizing I was holding us in the echo, stopped fighting. He studied the man, examining and memorizing every detail of his appearance as well as what he was doing.

“I believe you are right . . . he is your father. But Alexandra, you must release us so we can return to our bodies. It’s imperative!” He urged, wrapping me in a tight hug.

I returned us immediately, and once again, we sat at the dinner table with our empty plates in front of us. I let go of Alexander’s hand. “What—”

He cut me off. “I’ve never seen him in person, but we are all forced to memorize his likeness so we know to get as far away from him as possible if we cross his path. He is very dangerous.” He breathed deeply. “The man in the echo was Set.”

“Set?” I asked, astounded. “As in, the Council member who disappeared over three thousand years ago, Set?” I’d thought the man in the echo was Nejeret and had showed him to Alexander to receive confirmation, but Set? That I definitely hadn’t expected.

“Yes,” Alexander said.

“And he’s my father?”

“So it would seem,” he said carefully. “This discovery is extraordinarily important, but I’ll just confuse you if I try to explain why. I should have paid more attention to—” Abruptly, he lifted his fist and brought it back down on the table, hard. “Damn it all to hell!”

I jumped, then leaned back in my chair. “Alexander?” I asked, my voice small. “What’s going on?” I was suddenly very frightened. I’d never seen Alexander act like this. I’d never seen anyone act like this.

“I’ll stay with you tonight and accompany you to work tomorrow morning. Heru and his team are the best in this regard and will help you understand.”

“Understand what?” I asked.

“What it means to be of the line of Ivan and of the line of Set,” he said somberly.

“But—”

“No, Alexandra. You must wait until tomorrow. And whatever you do, do not enter the At again tonight. For the sake of your life, please, do not.”

18

Prophecies & Protectors

In his complete and unexplainable paranoia, Alexander had forbidden me access to any mode of communication all night. That, in addition to his interspersed, ominous remarks, had reduced me to a bundle of frayed nerves. By the time we left my building, I was ready to rush into Marcus’s arms like a blubbering schoolgirl . . . which was exactly what I did.

“Little Ivanov, what’s wrong?” Marcus asked, wrapping his arms around me and resting his chin on top of my head. I knew the exact moment he noticed Alexander because his entire body stiffened. To my surprise, he didn’t let go of me. Instead, he tightened his hold.

The complete oddness of dating—if that was what we were doing—a man more than twice as old as my ridiculously ancient grandpa hadn’t gone unnoticed by me. Neither had the fact that they were exceptionally close friends. In my many anxious thoughts throughout the long night, I’d worried about the confrontation that was about to happen almost as much as I’d worried about whatever Alexander refused to tell me about Set . . . about my father . . . about me.

Hesitantly, Marcus released me until he was holding only my hand, and then he bowed his head to Alexander. “For my failure, I submit myself to you,” he stated, sounding grim and formal.

“I release you, and forgive you . . . not that I should,” Alexander said.

“Thank you, my friend. I did what I could . . . I . . . he will never hurt her again,” Marcus said.

Are they talking about me . . . and Mike?

“Yes, well, we have more important things to worry about now. Alexandra and I discovered something last night. It’s something you and your team will want to hear,” Alexander said.

Marcus studied us both before nodding. During the fifteen minute walk to Denny Hall, he maintained a strong, reassuring grip on my hand, even in the face of my grandpa’s narrow-eyed glares. Alexander was not happy about our familiarity. I thought it was because of the whole ancient-mythical-god-meets-granddaughter thing, but worried it was something else . . . something worse.

When we burst through the door to The Pit, the three Nejerets already in the room started. Alexander entering with us could only have meant one thing—I knew about the Nejerets. Usually that would’ve been good news, but from my grandpa’s expression, everyone was aware that we were in a bad-news scenario.

“Meeting. Now,” Marcus barked.

Josh and Dominic cleared artifacts and books off a long table in the center of the room, and we all settled around it like medieval knights planning for war.

“Welcome to the club,” Dominic whispered with a smile. It was the friendliest expression I’d ever seen on his face, but he lost the smile at a glare from Marcus, who was sitting at the head of the table. I was seated to his right, with Alexander directly across from me and Josh by my side. Neffe and Dominic sat beside my grandpa.

“Alex has some important information. Heed his words.” Marcus ordered, succinctly passing the ball to my unusually serious grandpa. Under the table, out of the view of the Nejerets, Marcus twined his fingers with mine.

“Last night, Alexandra took me into the At to show me the man she believed to be her biological father,” Alexander began.

I could feel Marcus’s eyes burning into the side of my face, and I turned my head to meet them.

“She was unfortunately correct. The man she believed to be her father is indeed her father. I am convinced.” Alexander paused for a deep breath, suspense piling on the table like centuries of dust. “It’s Set.”

I would have paid more attention to the three Nejerets on my right who burst into simultaneous, horrified objections if I hadn’t been staring into Marcus’s black-rimmed, golden irises. His pupils dilated until only a hair-thin line of gold marred the unrelenting black, and under the table, his hand clenched mine painfully.

“Silence!” he ordered. “Alex, are you absolutely certain?”

Alexander nodded and explained what he’d witnessed in the At less than twelve hours earlier. It was decided that I would quickly show Marcus the echo to confirm Set’s identity.

Again, it took me longer than usual to enter the echo, almost like the At had thickened and was more difficult to move through. But soon, both Marcus and I were in the echo of the clinic the night before I was conceived.

A string of incomprehensible syllables burst from Marcus’s mouth as soon as he saw the man in the lab. I didn’t need to be able to understand what he was saying to get the general idea. He was enraged, stalking around the echo of the lab and glaring at Set’s frozen form. “I should have known . . . should have seen . . .” he growled, finally speaking in English.

“Marcus, how could you have known? What’s the big deal?” I asked, desperately trying to reel him in.

Gently, he held my face between his hands and whispered, “I can see pieces of him in you, now . . . here”—he brushed the pads of his thumbs lightly over my eyelids—“and here.” He let his thumbs rest on my high cheekbones. “I’m so sorry, Lex. I am so, unbelievably sorry.” He kissed me tenderly, with so much sadness painted across his face that I would have done anything to lift his mood.

“Marcus—”

“Return us,” he said gravely, and I did.

“It’s true,” Marcus confirmed, again sitting to my left at the table in The Pit.

To my complete and utter astonishment, Neffe’s eyes were filled with sympathy . . . and she was looking at me. Oh God . . . if Neffe feels bad for me, then this is worse than I ever could have imagined.

“How can you be sure?” Dominic asked. “Just because you’ve seen him—”

“You, of all people, should know that is exactly the reason we know it’s true,” Marcus said, cutting Dominic off. His anger from the echo had changed from hot rage to icy fury, a far more terrifying version of the emotion, and the chill coated his words. “She took Alex into one of Set’s echoes. She took me. Only one of his bloodline can ever break through his cloaks to catch a glimpse of him in the At. And how many times have you found him, Dom? Twice? Three times? And each of those after thousands of failed attempts. Lex has tried at least three times to see him and succeeded each time. She is the daughter of Set.” Marcus shifted his intense gaze to Alexander, and his voice broke when he added, “And the great-granddaughter of Ivan.” He closed his eyes and bowed his head.

This is so not good . . . Overwhelmed, frustrated, and really scared, I blurted, “Can somebody please explain what’s going on? Why is being Set’s daughter such a bad thing?”

“It’s not all bad, sister,” Dominic said. “His bloodline is very powerful.”

I gaped at Dominic, absolutely dumbfounded. “I’m sorry, did you just call me sister?”

He nodded. “It would seem that we share a father, though I am not also of Ivan’s line, so—”

An inhuman hissing—more serpentine than feline—interrupted his statement. It was coming from Neffe. “You will let my father explain!”

I looked back at Marcus in time to catch a heartbreaking play of emotions cross his face before his austere mask slid into place. Something about the development bothered him deeply, beyond whatever he was about to explain. For Marcus, it was personal. Because he really cares about me? Or because of Set?

Staring straight ahead, Marcus explained, “Set went rogue a few decades after Nuin’s death. When Osiris—my father and the leader of the Council of Seven at the time—was murdered, the Council chose me as his successor over Set, who was also Nuin’s grandson but was older. He was furious and power-hungry—probably already somewhat insane at that point, though he hid it well. The day the Council made that decision, Set declared war on all who opposed him, and the Nothingness first appeared. It spread throughout the At, either hiding or destroying the echoes of the distant future. We still don’t know what the Nothingness is exactly, just that it is fast approaching and that, starting on the solstice, all future possibilities are hidden from us.”

Marcus looked down at the table, then finally met my eyes. “When Nuin died, he sealed his power—what is known as the ‘ankh-At’—in an impenetrable chest, which we kept in the Council’s vault. Set managed to steal it and hide it from us, even in the At.” The corner of his mouth turned down in the barest of frowns. “We don’t know how they are connected for certain, but we do know there is a connection between the ankh-At, Set, and the Nothingness.”

I started to ask, “How—” but Marcus cut me off with a sharp shake of his head.

He took a deep breath, then continued. “There is a prophecy—Nuin’s prophecy—which tells of the coming of the only one who can save us. Senenmut’s second tablet, the one you haven’t seen, is the only record of the prophecy. Nuin uttered the words roughly four thousand years ago, just before he died, but that echo and all others relating to the prophecy were destroyed, as well as all physical record. Only one of Nuin’s wives—the only Nejerette wife he ever took—Set, and I were present to hear Nuin make his prophecy, but”—Marcus shook his head—“something I never understood happened, and though I remember being present during the recitation of the prophecy, neither Set nor I could recall Nuin’s words—his last words. We searched for his wife, the only other person who had heard it, but she’d vanished. For over a thousand years I searched for her, but I never did find her.”

The ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Then, shortly after Neferure was born, a recently manifested Nejeret—Senenmut—came to me with a tablet he’d inscribed. He said the words had just come to him, and that he knew he had to write them down and bring it to me, but he didn’t know why. I recognized the words inscribed on the tablet as soon as I laid eyes on them. It was as though a veil had been lifted from my memory. They were Nuin’s final words—the prophecy.”

And then Marcus started to recite.

She will be the girl-child of Set.

She will be the girl-child of Ivan.

She will acquire the ankh-At or

Mankind will wither under the weight of the Nothingness.

She will obey Set and destroy mankind or

She will defy Set and mankind will prevail.

She will decide and either mankind or Set will be destroyed.

I was shaking. “Obey Set? Defy him how? Make what decision? Destroy mankind?” I interrupted. “There must be other descendants of those two lines! This has to be about someone else! You don’t even know if it’s real!” I exclaimed, but Marcus just continued, shifting his hand so his fingers were again entwined with mine.

The girl-child of Set, the girl-child of Ivan will be born.

Neffe looked at her father sharply, opening her mouth to interject, but the glare Marcus shot her would have silenced even the toughest, bravest, dumbest person.

The girl-child of Set, the girl child of Ivan must be protected.

The girl-child’s death will be the death of the world.

“No! This doesn’t make any sense!” I declared, looking into the eyes of each of the people seated around the table. “It’s wrong! If I die, I die . . . the world won’t die with me!” I cried, my voice breaking.

Silently, a tear slid down Neffe’s perfect cheek.

“Many have tried to open the chest containing the ankh-At, including Set, but none have succeeded, and since Set hid the chest away, none have been able to even find it . . . until now. The next verse seems to highlight your importance in accessing Nuin’s power once we enter the temple,” Marcus said coolly, ignoring my outburst.

I, Nuin, make inaccessible my power, the ankh-At.

The ankh-At must be accessed or the world will wither.

No person except for the girl-child shall be able to access the ankh-At.

“And finally,” Marcus said, “he leaves a message for you, Lex.”

Girl-child, know yourself and you shall know the gods.

Girl-child, trust yourself and you shall trust the gods.

So it ends, from start to finish,
as found in writing.

In the hush that fell over the room, I stood and backed away from the table. Five sets of pitying eyes were trained on me as traitorous tears poured down my cheeks.

Hollow, numb, and nauseated, I wanted to scream. “No . . . it’s wrong!” My voice was weak, trembling. “It’s a mistake! It’s not me! I have a life . . . I have things I want to do, to discover. I have people . . . I have . . . this can’t be about me. I’m just . . . I’m just Lex! I’m nobody special!”

Finally feeling the door handle behind me, I twisted it, opened the door, and fled the room. In the empty hallway, the sounds of my panicked flight resonated off the walls like bats flapping in a cavern. I heard footsteps behind me. I had to get away. I made it through the heavy metal door to the stairwell and down one flight of stairs before a body crashed into me from behind, catching me up in an unyielding embrace. I wanted to struggle, to fight my captor off and run away, but he was too strong.

“Calm down, Lex,” Marcus whispered near my ear. “No matter what you believe, this is real. You must be protected. Set could come after you at any moment. You cannot go wandering around on your own.” He paused, breathing heavily. “The future of humanity—of our people—depends on your safety.”

No, no, no! I thought, but I had no choice but to comply. Marcus was too strong, and if he was right about Nuin’s prophecy, about me . . . “Okay,” I breathed under his constricting hold. With that single word, he released me.

Gasping, I staggered forward and rested my forehead against the wall while I caught my breath. I could feel myself shutting down mentally, blocking out everything—thoughts, emotions—so I didn’t have to face what might be real.

“You’re going home, and I’m coming with you,” Marcus stated.

“Alexander?” I asked hollowly.

“Alex is going to visit Ivan. The others need to know the prophecy has been enacted. Come on,” Marcus said, taking my elbow and pulling me away from the wall.

In a numb fog, I let Marcus guide me outside, settle me into his car, and safely and swiftly deliver me to my apartment. Thora greeted our entrance with the utmost seriousness, meowing somberly and rubbing against our legs. I would have stayed standing in the middle of the apartment, focusing on the normalcy of my cat’s body twining around my ankles, if Marcus hadn’t led me to the couch and forced me to sit. He made food, though I had no idea what, and I ate it—it tasted like cardboard. Lobster would have tasted like cardboard.

“I don’t understand,” I said, watching Marcus remove the empty plate from my lap and carry it to the sink. It was the first time I’d spoken since we left Denny Hall.

Marcus washed the plates and set them on the drying rack, the perfect image of domesticity. I would have smiled if I’d remembered how.

“I know,” he said. He was standing in front of me, looking down with the fierce expression of a man who had once been believed to be a god. “How could you understand? You are so incredibly young . . . so innocent . . . so naïve.” He sighed. “We’ve been working on circumventing Nuin’s prophecy for thousands of years, but in the end, everything falls into the hands of a relative child. I still think there may be a way to nullify it altogether . . . but you don’t need to worry about that right now. You need to rest.”

On the very edge of my numb mind, faint traces of annoyance danced. True as they were, his words were also demeaning. He’d called me a child.

Regardless, I let him pull me up by my hands and walk me into my bedroom like I was his puppet to manipulate. He guided me to the bed, helped me lay down, then tucked the covers around me. He turned to leave.

“Wait,” I whispered, surprised by the speed with which my hand struck out to grab his wrist. “Stay with me, please,” I pleaded. The unquenchable longing coursing through my body permeated my voice.

Marcus’s eyes widened, and he frowned. “Lex, I don’t think—”

“Stay with me, Marcus. Just . . . just stay. Please,” I said. The unreality of the world threatened to wash me away—I needed something to tether me to what was real. I needed Marcus.

Silently, he struggled for a few seconds before removing his shoes and belt and joining me between the sheets. With assured strength, he embraced me, wrapping an arm around my middle and pulling my body back against his. I was asleep within minutes.

* * *

“Lex,” Marcus hissed, his arms tightening painfully around my ribs. “Wake up!”

I did, instantly. “Marcus,” I whispered, “wha—”

“Shhh . . .” he breathed almost inaudibly. In a smooth, silent motion he had me out of bed and cradled in his arms like a small child. Setting me down on the cold bathroom tile, he whispered, “Stay in here.” And then he was gone.

What? I slunk back out into the bedroom and cracked open the door, peeking into the living room. What’s going on?

Two black-clad men entered the apartment and were struck solidly in the neck by small, silver knives before they’d taken more than a few steps—knives that Marcus had thrown.

Who walks around with knives hidden in their clothes? And where was he hiding them? And in the furthest reaches of my mind, I thought, I just watched him kill two people.

Two more knives replaced the originals in Marcus’s hands as four more men rushed into my small living space. Like a comic book hero, Marcus leapt at the lead man, flawlessly flinging his left knife into the eye socket of the next intruder. He sliced the first man’s neck cleanly while the second was still falling to the floor. The third and fourth men, one tall and one short, lunged in unison, dodging Marcus’s blade as they danced gracefully around him. Marcus stood still as stone, simultaneously looking like he might never move again and like he might strike at any second. He was, I truly realized for the first time, a very dangerous man.

The shorter intruder feinted a kick, but Marcus remained still. The taller intruder pretended to slowly circle behind Marcus, attempting to divide his attention. With a cobra-like strike, Marcus slashed his remaining knife across the taller intruder’s throat. The instant Marcus moved, the shorter intruder lunged, only to have Marcus wrap his arm around his neck and twist it until it snapped a fraction of a second later. Marcus fought with the grace of a dancer, making the whole minute-long fight beautifully macabre.

“You are hiding yourself from me in the future At,” said a velvety, male voice. It had an aristocratic British accent. When the owner of the voice stepped into the glow of streetlamps streaming through the blinds, I nearly gasped. It was Set . . . my father. “You’ve been keeping secrets, cousin. I didn’t know you had the talent to cloak future echoes.”

“I don’t,” Marcus admitted. He stood in a relaxed position, looking about as harmless as a tiger.

“You lie,” Set hissed. “I couldn’t see this possibility . . . I couldn’t see my daughter. You hid her!” He came momentarily unhinged, exposing the maniacal, power-maddened man he truly was.

The image of self-possession, Marcus replied, “I do not, and I did not. I’m disappointed in you, old friend. Six men? For me? And not one carrying a gun. I would have expected more from someone so . . . paranoid.”

“You weren’t supposed to be here!”

“And yet, here I am.”

Set’s countenance changed abruptly, becoming mild and pleasant. “Where is my daughter? In the bedroom, perhaps? Were you in there with her, helping the prophecy—my prophecy—along? I wouldn’t have expected to find you wearing so—”

“Enough!” Marcus barked. “It’s not your prophecy.”

Set laughed joyously. “It’s as much mine as it is yours. Or hers. Remember that, Heru.” He stepped further into the apartment, looking around the living room with apt interest. “Does she know about you? I’m sure you’ll tell her everything you can to paint me the evil monster, if you haven’t already. But try not to omit your own morbid colors—red and black, blood and death—that’s what you are, cousin. It’s what you’ll always be.”

“I am what I’ve always been,” Marcus said coldly. “And if you’d just accept what you are, we could be out of this mess. You can end this, cousin, just give up your god delusions.”

“They are not delusions!” Set roared.

I cringed—there was no way the neighbors wouldn’t call the cops after hearing that. I glanced at one of the bodies on the floor by Marcus, a puddle of blood slowly expanding around him, and swallowed a sudden rush of bile. I will not throw up! My breath started coming faster, and I choked on a sob. Calm down, damn it! But the bodies were still out there, as was Set. What will he do to me if he gets through Marcus?

Set turned and marched toward the front door. “I know you, cousin. You’re still trying to find a way to sidestep the prophecy. It will happen. She will choose and, one way or another, she will obey. Now, I must depart before those pesky little law enforcers arrive, as I’m certain they will. I’m sure that once they leave, you can find some pleasant diversion to occupy your . . . minds . . . and to help my prophecy along. Goodnight, Heru.” He raised his voice and called toward the bedroom, “Goodnight, Daughter!”

After Set had been gone for at least a minute, Marcus said, “You can come out, Lex. I know you watched . . . and listened.”

He studied me closely as I emerged from the bedroom. I wasn’t sure if he was waiting for me to run screaming, to faint, or to throw up, but he seemed surprised by what he saw.

“I’ve never seen a real dead person before,” I said numbly. I stopped as my feet reached the nearest one and gazed down at him. It was the short man with his grossly twisted neck.

Marcus moved closer to me, but halted when I held up my hand. “No. I need a moment.”

His hands—his lethal, sensual hands—rose in a momentary display of supplication before falling to his sides. Would I finally understand him, understand what he was, like he’d demanded on our date? Would I understand him, and toss him away in disgust?

When I finally spoke, my voice sounded hollow, as though the inside of my body had been carved into a living cavern. “Who were they? Did they have families? Wives? Children? Did you just destroy dozens of people’s lives?” It was the wrong thing to say.

Moving more quickly than a regular human, Marcus rushed me from behind and forced me to my knees with him. My bones banged onto the wood floor, and I knew I would bruise, at least for a few hours.

“Wha—”

“Turn his head. Look at the back of his neck, Lex,” Marcus ordered angrily.

“No! I don’t want to touch him!” I tried to rise, but Marcus’s strength far surpassed mine and his hold on my arms was absolute.

“Do it,” he growled.

I started to shake, one of my tell-tale precursors to ugly, heaving sobs.

“Before the police arrive, preferably,” Marcus urged, tightening his grip. “I doubt they’d take kindly to you messing with their crime scene.”

My throat clenched involuntarily as I reached toward the man’s unnaturally bent neck. I had to adjust his head to a more normal position in order to see the tattoo. In thick, black ink, the back of the man’s neck was marked with the pointy-eared, forked-tailed Set-animal. I pulled away like I’d been burned. Mike . . . he’d had the same tattoo . . . in the same place. With a chilly wash of realization, I knew with absolute certainty that Set, my father, had been the man urging Mike to drug me . . . to rape me. But, why?

“These men were from Set’s cult,” Marcus explained, releasing me so I could stand. I didn’t.

Marcus had just fought six men devoted to my psychopathic father, and defeated them easily. I had no idea what methods Set would use to ensure my obedience, but considering my stubbornness, I doubted the process would be pleasant. I did not doubt, however, that Set could find some way to force me to obey. I had no romantic delusions about my ability to withstand physical torture.

I leaned back against Marcus, finally noticing how entangled we were. My knees were between his, my socked feet between his ankles. He wrapped his arms around my middle, holding me tightly against him. Unexpectedly, a sob bubbled up from my chest, closely followed by another, and another. I don’t want this life. I don’t want dead bodies in my home, or a psychotic father. I don’t want to decide the fate of humanity. Tears streamed down my face as tremors racked my body. I can’t do this. I’m not strong enough. I want things to go back to the way they were. I don’t want this . . . I don’t want this . . . I don’t want this!

“I know, Lex . . . I know,” Marcus said, and I realized I’d been repeating my final thought aloud. He still held me, reminding me that I wasn’t alone. “We have to go. We can’t stay here . . . the police will be here soon.”

I nodded, still sniffling and shaking, and Marcus helped me up to my feet. “Thora,” I managed to mumble.

Miraculously, Marcus understood. Within minutes, we had my cat tucked into her plastic carrier, I’d thrown a few essential items into my messenger bag with my computer, and we were hustling down the stairwell. In the distance, sirens wailed. We were out the back door and disappearing down the street just as they pulled up to my building.

Am I a criminal now? Will they think I killed those men? Should I go to the police station? It wasn’t like I’d done anything wrong, but Marcus . . . I couldn’t tell the police that Marcus had killed six people to protect me from my insane, inhuman—as in, of a different species—father. Should I call someone? But there was no one I could call, not really. Is this my life now?

As we sped away, I watched the red and blue police lights fade into the distance in the side mirror. All I could think was, only the guilty run.

19

There & Gone

Life, I was quickly learning, is very similar to war. The latter, it has been said, is filled with years and years of relentless boredom, routine, and monotony, interspersed with brief moments of sheer terror. In the case of life, the boredom is broken up by spikes of excitement morphing from joy to despair, hatred to love, and from passion to disgust. I had been in the boredom phase for the first twenty-four years of my life. I wasn’t anymore.

Unfortunately, life and war decided to converge and throw everything they had at me all at once. I had more excitement than I knew what to do with. My father was a psychotic, evil megalomaniac, an ancient prophecy placed the fate of humans and Nejerets in my hands, and I was falling for an ancient and volatile god-inspiring man. The life I’d worked so hard for was disintegrating all around me. I didn’t think things could get any worse.

“So . . . am I right in assuming this is the place you mentioned at dinner the other night? Your line’s, um, compound?” I asked. My voice felt appropriately unused—neither Marcus nor I had broken the thick silence since leaving my apartment, and we’d been in the car together for over two hours.

“Yes.” Unlike mine, his voice was perfect—smooth as silk and deep as the ocean.

I watched classically constructed stone and brick buildings pass by my window. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought we’d entered a nearly abandoned, Ivy League college campus. “And we’re here because . . . ?”

“You’ll be staying here until we leave for the excavation.”

“You want me to stay here for . . . for four months?” I spluttered. “I don’t have a car . . . the university’s two hours and a ferry ride away . . . how will I get there? How will I help with the excavation prep? And Jesus, Marcus . . . don’t we need to talk to the police about what happened in my apartment?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

I made a rough sound, part snort, part laugh. “What about my life?”

Marcus stopped the car in the roundabout driveway of an enormous, chateau-like building constructed from pale gray stone. “This is your life now,” he told me.

“And if I don’t want it to be?” I asked through gritted teeth as I glared out the window. I was acting like a bratty teenager—something that had been happening way too often lately—but I didn’t care. I figured the prophesied messiah of an entire species deserved a little leeway.

Marcus reached out and clenched my jaw in his hand, turning my face toward him. “Grow up, Lex. You don’t have the luxury of an independent life anymore. You are our only chance. You are the future of our people. You are so much more than this childish façade.” His touch softened, turning tender, but his eyes retained their fierce golden glow. “I’ve seen what’s inside you . . . when you work, when you flirt, when you kiss . . . you’re a woman with the ferocity and cunning of a lioness. We need you to be that woman . . . that Lex.”

Wide-eyed, I stared at him.

“Now, you may be happy to hear we’re moving The Pit to one of the meeting rooms in the main house. You’ll still be an active participant in the excavation and its planning, but you won’t have to dodge assassination and kidnapping attempts like you would on campus.”

My eyes narrowed. “Assassination attempts? Who—”

“There is a small offshoot of our kind that believes Nuin’s prophecy could be averted by ending your life.”

“I guess they skipped the part of the prophecy where my death is the death of the world,” I grumbled.

“So it would seem,” he agreed. Marcus exited the car and joined me on the passenger side to help me out. “Come. Carlisle’s staff will take your cat and bag up to your suite. There are some matters we must attend to before—” He seemed to catch himself.

“Before what?”

“Nothing,” he said, dismissing my question. “It’s unimportant.” But I recognized the look in his eyes as he turned away—pain, sorrow. He was lying to me; whatever he was withholding was very important.

Swallowing my desperate urge to badger Marcus until he enlightened me, I walked beside him into the exquisite building. For once, he didn’t hold my hand.

After we walked down a wide hallway, we entered an expansive, modernly furnished room in the back corner of the enormous home. The couches and chairs were all upholstered in various shades of black, gray, and white, and the square coffee table appeared to be a solid slab of polished granite. Black and white prints of people’s faces and other, more sensual body parts decorated the walls, and there was an elaborate fireplace carved from some white-veined, black stone on the far wall. Carlisle, Dominic, Josh, and Neffe awaited us in the room, along with two pairs of unfamiliar men and women. All eight people rose and instantly fell to their knees with bowed heads. “I live to serve, Meswett. My life is yours, Meswett, may you live forever,” they intoned as one.

Meswett . . . girl-child, I translated in my head. It was from Nuin’s prophecy—the girl-child of Set, the girl-child of Ivan. Even Neffe was kneeling in submission. My mouth grew instantly parched, my cheeks heated. What am I supposed to do?

Marcus leaned in close to me and whispered, “I accept your life and service, Nejerets. May I prove worthy. Rise.”

I repeated his words with numb clarity, sounding cold and resolute. All eight Nejerets rose when I commanded it, and watched me with guarded expressions. “Please, sit,” I said upon realizing why they were still standing. They did, though they didn’t stop staring at me. I shot a furious glare at Marcus. He should have warned me!

He smiled, a sad twist of his lips, and spoke to the group. “As you all know, the Meswett, Alexandra, will be staying here until we depart for Kemet,” he said, using the ancient Egyptians’ name for their homeland in lieu of the western world’s modern label.

After all eight Nejeret nodded in acquiescence, Marcus faced me. “This group constitutes the core of your guard.”

“My . . . guard?” I repeated, astonished. And then, when I didn’t think my world could revert any further into an archaic, fantastical realm, Marcus explained each guardsman’s role.

“Each Nejeret present is of my line, more or less. I trust them above all others, and they will protect you with their lives. On that, you have my word.” Marcus held his hand out toward the man and woman seated furthest left in the room, on a charcoal suede couch. “Heimdall and Saga,” he said, apparently telling me their names. Both were tall and slender with crystal-blue eyes and fair coloring. I would’ve wagered my trivial savings account balance that they were siblings, if not twins. “They are two of the most talented seers alive. At least one of them will be scouring your potential futures for danger at all times.” He paused and divided a sharp, agitated look between them. “Which one of you should be doing right now. Why is neither of you in the At?”

Heimdall bowed his head in deference. “Apologies, Father . . . apologies, Meswett. We have been having difficulty—”

“—finding her future in the At,” Saga said, finishing his explanation fluidly. “It’s being hidden by someone . . . perhaps her father?”

“No,” Marcus said thoughtfully. “It’s not Set. She was hidden from him as well. Lex”—he looked at me—“you aren’t, by any chance, concealing your future in the At, are you?”

Baffled, I shook my head. “Not that I know of.” After a hesitant pause, I said, “But . . . is it possible to conceal myself without meaning to?”

“Damn it, Lex,” Marcus growled, earning a chorus of hisses from the women and an admonishing “Heru!” from Dominic. Appeasing them, Marcus modified his statement, though his eyes sparkled with irritation. “Meswett, if anyone could do such a thing, I have no doubt it would be you. You might just bring Nuin back from the dead and save us all the trouble of dealing with his inconvenient prophecy.” He took a deep breath.

“Heimdall and Saga will work with you on removing whatever kind of cloak you’ve created. Vali and Sandra,” Marcus said, motioning toward a muscular man and svelte woman on the opposite side of the room from Heimdall and Saga, “will take turns heading your bodyguards. Don’t let Sandra’s size fool you—she’s as vicious and clever a warrior as ever has lived.”

“Thank you, Grandfather,” the slight woman said. Pale, dark-haired, and pretty, she had a childlike quality to her features.

“When I’m away, Carlisle runs the entire Heru compound, including the guards covering the perimeter and grounds. If you intend to leave this building, you must let him know.” Marcus stepped in front of me, holding my stubborn gaze with his own. “I mean it, Le—Meswett. You may leave the main house and explore the grounds and other buildings as you wish, but you will tell Carlisle first. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Heru,” I said, and he flinched.

His eyes seemed to plead with me to understand . . . to forgive. “Neffe and Josh will remain in your vicinity whenever their excavation duties allow. Dominic has volunteered to be your chief bodyguard and attendant. He will keep a room adjoining yours and remain near you at all times. Anything you need, you can get through him.”

It was utterly insane . . . all of it. I was overwhelmed with the sudden significance of my existence and my position among my people. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t want it. Two weeks earlier, I had been Alexandra Larson, archaeologist, sperm donor baby, and possible lunatic. Two days earlier, I’d been Alexandra Larson Ivanov, archaeologist, Nejerette, and Marcus Bahur’s potential love interest. But those had all been eclipsed by my current identity—Alexandra, Meswett, prophesied savior of the Nejerets. Who would I become next? What would I become?

“And you?” I asked the tall, striking man who held my heart in his deadly hand. “What’s your role?”

“I am Heru,” he stated simply, his three words squeezing my heart until it ruptured.

“Are you?” Overwhelming bitterness and disappointment colored my next words. “My apologies, I mistook you for someone else—for a man. I won’t make the same mistake again, Heru.” With each syllable, traces of my Marcus chipped away, revealing the arrogance and coldness—the blood and death—of Heru. I could no longer tell if my Marcus had ever really existed.

I cleared my throat, a vain attempt to shove away my heartbreak—my desire to cry—and turned away from him. Blinking away tears, I said, “I thank you all for your service, and I look forward to getting to know each of you better. Now, if it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to rest for a few hours. It’s been a long night.”

Dominic earned my instant and immutable love when he rushed to my side, saying, “I’ll show you to your suite, Meswett.” He draped a comforting arm around my shoulders and hustled me from the room. I wasn’t far enough away, or they didn’t speak quietly enough, when the argument started.

“What the hell are you doing?” Neffe hissed.

“What must be done,” came Marcus’s reply.

“You are trying to go around it . . . to void it with your idiocy! You cannot stop it from happening! You cannot prevent her from being the Meswett by pretending!” she yelled. “It’s too late!” The last was a shriek worthy of a banshee.

Marcus’s cold voice responded like a whiplash, “Remember your place, Daughter!”

“And you remember yours, Father! She is already too far gone for what you’re about to do. It won’t work! And you—I’ve never seen you so . . . so . . . affected. You’re in deeper than she is! For her sake, if not for yours, don’t do this! Mark my words, Heru,” Neffe said, spitting her father’s name like a curse, “you will ruin us all if you persist with this charade.”

Their argument continued, but Dominic and I were finally far enough away that only the muffled sounds of angry voices reached my ears. I reveled in the release from their harsh words. I didn’t know why Marcus was behaving so coldly toward me, and I was hurt enough that, at the moment, I didn’t want to find out.

Dominic tightened his hold. “Don’t worry, sister. Everything will work out in the end. I know it.”

* * *

An incessant, rhythmic vibration on the bedside table woke me from dreamless sleep. Dominic had settled me in an enormous, unfamiliar bed and given me some water and a small, orange pill, promising it would bring true rest rather than the fitful half-echoes that frequently plagued our kind’s dreams.

I fumbled for my buzzing cell phone and tried several times to touch the screen’s answer button before succeeding. “Hello?” I croaked. Coughing softly, I cleared my throat.

“Lex? Is it really you?”

I groaned. “Hi, Cara. Yes, it’s me.”

“Oh my God! I feel like I haven’t talked to you in forever! How are you? Are you okay?” Did she hear about the dead bodies in my apartment? Was it on the news?

“I’m . . .” . . . horrible, lost, brokenhearted, pissed off, scared, worried, overwhelmed. “I’m fine. How are you?”

“Uh, good, I guess. Worried about you. What’s been going on with you? I haven’t been able to get ahold of you since the . . . since New Year’s,” Cara whined.

“Oh yeah, sorry.” I guess she hasn’t heard about the dead men . . . “With my mom here and then the quarter starting, it’s just been kind of crazy,” I explained, repeating the excuses I’d given her days ago and withholding pretty much everything else. Great—I’m becoming just like my parents, Grandma Suse, Alexander, and Marcus . . . Picturing Marcus, I squeezed my eyes shut, willing away my sudden, roiling despair.

“Okay, well . . . I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks.” I rolled over at the sound of a door opening and waved at Dominic. He was standing in the open doorway joining our two bedrooms. “I’m fine,” I mouthed and he slipped back into his space, leaving the door ajar. Privacy, I noted, was quickly becoming a thing of the past. I really, really missed it.

“So, could we meet up for lunch or something . . . soon?” she asked. “I miss you, Lex.”

No . . . but I wish we could. “Cara, it’s only been two weeks. We’ve gone way longer than this without speaking or seeing each other before.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve never gone so long after one of us almost died!” she screeched.

“I’m fine, I swear,” I told her.

She scoffed. I was quickly wearing down her thin veneer of patience. “Come on, Lex. When can we get together? Annie’s worried about you, too.”

Frantically, I tried to think of an excuse. I could hardly tell her the truth—that I was being held captive for my own good because I was the subject of a millennia-old prophecy. “I don’t know . . . it’s complicated. I’m out of town for the excavation for a while.”

“For how long?”

“A while,” I repeated.

“Which is?”

“A while?” I offered, again.

“Nice try, sugar lips. What’s going on, really?”

“I’m out of town for the excavation for a while.”

“Is it a guy?” she asked. Sometimes, I could’ve sworn she was part bloodhound.

“Cara! I’m. Out. Of. Town.”

“Geesh! Repeat much? So when are you back?” she asked.

“Honestly, I don’t know. The director is kind of a dick,” I explained. I heard Dominic snort loudly in his room, and I smiled.

“Oh . . . well, do you think it’d be possible to get my dress back?”

The dress I was almost date-raped in? Who wouldn’t want that? “Sure. It’s at the dry cleaner’s.” I hadn’t had the balls to pick it up.

“Oh, which one?”

“College Suds on the Ave. It should be ready by now,” I told her.

“Great! Thanks! I have a date next week with this totally hot younger guy. He’s a personal trainer . . . a.k.a. yummy.”

“That sounds awesome, Cara.” I tried to sound enthusiastic, but the emotion refused to form to back my words.

“You sure you’re okay?” Cara asked suspiciously.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Just tired.”

“Oh, well, I’ll let you go then.” She’s definitely getting pissed.

“Okay, thanks.”

“But you have to promise to call me soon and tell me everything that’s going on in your crazy Egyptologist life!” Maybe not too pissed . . .

I laughed, “Okay, I promise.”

“Good. Bye, Lex.”

“Bye,” I mumbled as the line disconnected. I stretched, wondering if I could fall back asleep. A knock at the door to the sitting room adjacent to what was now my bedroom ruined my plans. Marcus hadn’t been joking when he’d said I would have my own suite. My cluster of rooms consisted of a sitting room, which also had the only door out to the second-floor hallway, a bedroom with an adjoining full bathroom, and a smaller bedroom—Dominic’s room—with doors to both my bedroom and the sitting room. It was all very medieval.

I heard the door in the sitting room open and Dominic say, “I don’t know if it’s best to tell her about this right now.”

A few seconds later, Sandra followed Neffe into my new, lavish bedroom. The curvaceous beauty waved the smaller, deadlier woman away. “She’ll be fine with me, my dear, I promise. Though you may remain if the Meswett wishes.” Neffe looked to me for my opinion. When I shook my head, my petite bodyguard left the room.

“My niece is diligent, but can be a bit overzealous at times,” Neffe said as she approached my bedside. She shot an irritated glance at Dominic’s open door, but dismissed it with a roll of her luminous, amber eyes. Darker, but so much like Marcus’s. I sighed. Not Marcus . . . Heru.

“Please sit, Neffe. What is it?” I asked, propping myself up with pillows. I wasn’t used to receiving guests in bed, but I considered it one of the issues accordant with being a messiah. It was annoying—I didn’t want to be a messiah.

“It’s my father,” she said, pulling a burnt-orange suede armchair nearer to the bed. “He’s being unreasonable—more so than usual—and you deserve to know what’s going on.”

“Okay, what’s going on?”

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I like you or anything,” she told me bluntly.

I took a slow, deep breath. “Right, so . . . ?”

“But I do love my father, even if we tend to fight each other like scorpions, and he’s done something that will hurt you both . . . and I really don’t think it’s necessary.”

“Neffe, just tell me.”

“He left,” she explained, without explaining anything.

“Marcus left? Where? When? How long will he be gone?” I asked. Was it me? Did I drive him away? I’d only intended to give as much cold bitchiness as I got—and it had been coming off Marcus in waves—but I now feared I’d gone too far.

“Precisely,” Neffe said, sounding so much like her father that my heart ached. “He’s being an idiot, by the way. He’s been focused on Nuin’s prophecy for so long that the real world rose up and bit him in the ass without warning . . . except it wasn’t the real world . . . it was you and his precious prophecy. I should have realized what was going on earlier! How was I so blind?”

“Neffe . . . you know I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I know!” she exclaimed. “I think that’s why I find you so infuriating. You weren’t raised like us, and you don’t know our customs, so why are you the Meswett?”

“Because Set decided to impregnate my mom?” I offered dryly.

“I suppose you are correct—it’s not really your fault. I know,” she said, looking sort of ashamed. “But my father, he’s going to ruin everything.”

Right, that explains so much. I was getting the impression that Nejeret minds worked quite a bit differently from that of regular Homo sapiens. I sighed, not doing a very good job of hiding my exasperation. “And how exactly is he going to ‘ruin everything’?” I asked.

“You must understand him . . . his past. He’s been trying to work around Nuin’s prophecy for thousands of years. His vehemence that it could be avoided . . . it’s started wars . . . it split the Council down the middle . . .”

“And he left now, because . . . ?” I urged.

“Because of the part of Nuin’s prophecy that he left out when he was explaining it to you,” Neffe said sadly. She started reciting.

Heru will look after the girl-child and

She will trust him.

Heru will set his heart on the girl-child and

She will trust him above all others.

Heru will make her his she-falcon and

She will bind herself to him.

“What does it mean by ‘she-falcon’?” I asked.

“According to my father and everyone else who knew him, Nuin was quite the wordsmith. By ‘she-falcon,’ he was referring to Heru’s match—the woman who would bring him to heel and force him to remember certain, deeper pleasures . . . not just sex, but companionship and love. In modern terms, I suppose it would be called his ‘soul mate.’ I was just a little girl, but I remember my father being furious when he read the prophecy on Senenmut’s tablet for the first time.” She shook her head, her dark-as-night waves brushing back and forth over her shoulders. “Perhaps it was because he loathed the idea of being bound to anyone. For so long he’s been arrogant, cold, and frustrating.” Her amber gaze sharpened. “But with you, he’s so vibrantly alive, so completely engaged. It was unexpected. I’m sure you can understand why I was so upset the day you overheard our argument.”

“Yes, I understand,” I said, in truth, understanding very little. “And now he’s gone away?”

Neffe looked down at her hands, which were clasped discreetly in her lap. “Yes, Meswett. He thought going away would dampen the feelings between the two of you, prevent the binding, and nullify Nuin’s prophecy. Without one verse, how could the others be true?” She shrugged gracefully. “At least, that’s how he’s looking at it.”

I turned away from her too-familiar eyes. I understood why he’d left—it was an ingenious plan. Rather, it would have been an ingenious plan if I hadn’t already fallen for him. A silent tear leaked from the corner of my eye and trailed down my cheek.

“He wasn’t trying to hurt you, Meswett, I know it!” Neffe proclaimed desperately. “My father didn’t want to leave. He lov—”

“That’s enough, Neffe,” Dominic said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “She needs rest, not troublesome thoughts. Leave us.”

Fury flashed across her face, but she responded, “Yes, Milord.” To me she pleaded, “Don’t forsake him. He already has his heart set on you, whether or not he realizes it.” Swiftly, she swept out of the room.

“I feel like I’m being shredded into a million little pieces,” I said to the ceiling. My voice was high and wobbly.

Dominic sat in the same chair in which Neffe had been sitting, directly beside the bed. “I know, Lex.”

“How do I make it stop?”

“You don’t,” he said quietly, grasping my hand. I curled into a ball around his arm and began to cry.

Part II

The Heru Compound
Bainbridge Island, Washington

20

Enemies & Friends

Sandwiched between Dominic and Josh at the Plaintiff’s table in a courtroom on the eighth floor of the King County Courthouse, I waited anxiously for the jury to emerge and share their verdict. Marcus had been gone for nearly two months, and though every minute of every day had been filled with learning how to be the Meswett to my people, honing my Nejerette skills, preparing for the excavation, and attempting to get Mike an extended stay behind bars, I never stopped thinking about him . . . missing him . . . hating him . . . possibly even loving him.

It was the twelfth day of the trial, and I couldn’t wait for it to be over, regardless of the verdict. The entire time, it had been impossible to ignore one particularly sharp gaze digging into the back of my skull. Set was sitting in the front row on Mike’s side of the courtroom, and I refused to look at him. Not that it had been brought up during the trial, but he—my own biological father—had been the one who sent Mike the text ordering him to use the drugged lip balm. I consoled myself by thinking that Mike, who had entered the courtroom every day using a cane and walking with an obvious limp, wouldn’t be at peak raping performance for a long time. Unfortunately, his miserable-looking physical state seemed to earn him sympathetic looks from jury members throughout the trial.

“You’re positive that last witness is your friend?” Dominic asked, referring to Cara. I thought back on her testimony and scowled.

The defending lawyer, with the black lines of a conspicuous Set-animal peeking out above the back of his collar, had asked her, “And you’re certain the Plaintiff was excited about the date with the Defendant?”

“Yes, very,” Cara had responded. She’d refused to look in my direction.

“Did the Plaintiff talk about having sexual relations with the Defendant?”

“Yes, she was excited and nervous.”

“Why was she nervous?”

“Because she hadn’t been with anyone for a long time,” Cara had explained helpfully. I’d never wanted to disappear more in my life—my parents, Jenny, and Grandma Suse were sitting less than a dozen feet behind me.

“Is there any additional reason she was nervous?”

Cara had bit her lip before answering. “Yes. She had a dream that the date ended in rape.” The audience gasped. Her words had been like sharp, invisible daggers stabbing into my back. Why would she ever volunteer that information? Why? I’d wondered, feeling unbearably betrayed.

“And do you think it’s possible that the Plaintiff wanted her disturbed fantasy to play out?”

“I don’t . . . no! Nobody would want that!” Cara had seemed to suddenly wake up from the spell of disloyalty that had her in its thrall.

“The Plaintiff went to a great effort to entice the Defendant, did she not?” the attorney had asked.

Cara had sounded defeated when she’d replied, “Yes.”

“What did she do to entice him?”

“She, um . . . she borrowed a dress from me, and our other friend helped her do her hair,” Cara had answered.

“No further questions, Your Honor,” Mike’s lawyer had said, shooting me a smug grin as he’d returned to his seat.

I shook my head, dispelling the disturbing memory of Cara’s testimony. “I used to think she was one of my best friends, but I don’t know anymore,” I told Dominic.

“Had you been considering confiding the truth of your nature to any humans, might I suggest avoiding her?” he whispered.

“Thanks for the tip,” I whispered back. Some of the heightened Nejeret ears in the audience had heard us, and Set barked a laugh.

Dominic, Josh, and I shared an irritated look. Alexander had called in additional bodyguards from our familial line as soon as my deranged father appeared on the first day of the trial. Filled with slightly too large and undeniably “perfect” people, the courtroom looked like the setting for a cheesy, prime-time legal drama.

“Has anyone been able to get ahold of him?” I asked Dominic, referring to my absentee patron and the breaker of my heart.

Dominic shook his head and corners of his thin lips turned down. “He’s ignoring us. At least before this farce started”—he waved his hand, indicating the courtroom—“we knew he was alive. Every day included a dozen emails, calls, and texts checking up on you. Are you sure you want to get involved with him? He’s proving to be a bit obsessive.”

“Dom . . .” I warned. Ever since Marcus abandoned me in his secure compound, my half-brother had been slipping in little criticisms of his behavior whenever possible. It had been two months and the reminders of Marcus’s flaws were beyond getting old—they were mummified. But, Dominic was also the one who comforted me every time I broke down . . . which, I was ashamed to admit, happened on a daily basis. Sometimes it was about Marcus, sometimes it was about being the Meswett, and sometimes it was just about feeling completely and utterly lost in what had become of my life.

“Right, apologies,” Dominic said, letting his French accent deepen and flashing his killer smile. “Just don’t let him off too easy when he finally realizes his mistake and returns.”

“Not a chance,” I agreed.

Josh whispered, “Would you guys mind saving this private conversation for somewhere a little more private?” He hitched his head toward the rows of Nejerets with exceptional hearing packed into the courtroom. They were all sitting quietly, intently focused on something . . . on us.

Heightened senses, it turned out, was just another genetic trait coded into our Nejeret DNA. My hearing and sight had been improving noticeably, though neither had yet developed the sensitivity of a fully manifested Nejeret, and it was proving to be less of a perk than I’d expected. Falling asleep was not as easy as it used to be, especially not when I could hear almost everything people were saying or doing in the nearby rooms.

I opened my mouth to respond at the exact moment the door to the jury room opened, announcing the return of the jury. The twelve men and women filed back to their seats. None looked at me as the jury announced its verdict of “Not Guilty” to a half-outraged, half-ecstatic courtroom.

I bowed my head to hide an inappropriate smile. I’d been doing something I wasn’t supposed to do: peering into the possible futures to find out when Marcus might return. After the first time I’d done it, Saga and Heimdall had explained to me that not only was it against Nejeret law to look into the future At without Council approval, it was also a major faux pas. With our heightened senses and ability to peek into the past, we had little enough privacy, and looking into someone’s future uninvited was a serious invasion of that precious commodity. Heeding their advice, I had continued searching for Marcus’s return but had stopped telling them about it. What I’d learned in the At was the cause for my smile. In all of the futures I viewed, losing the trial signaled Marcus’s immediate return.

“Come on, Lex, let’s get you out of here. The press is going to become more and more voracious the longer they have to wait,” Dominic said.

How my date-rape case against Mike had piqued the interest of the mainstream media baffled me, but I suspected Set’s meddlesome hands were pulling the strings. Anything to make my life harder seemed to tickle him pink. I really didn’t like him.

“I’m not talking to the press,” I told Dominic vehemently.

Josh had signaled for Sandra, Vali, and five of my largest bodyguards to meet me in the aisle. After quick words, Sandra hustled away, corralling several dozen more Nejeret bodyguards with her.

“Nobody wants to talk to the press,” Dominic said, guiding me toward the aisle. “But they want to talk to you. We’ll get you through the crowd as quickly as possible. The car’s already waiting.”

Sadly, I nodded, and then I turned to my waiting family.

“Oh sweetie, we’re so sorry that—that cretin is getting away with—with what he did to you,” my Mom said between sobs. I gave her a hug, unable to tell her that Nejeret justice would take over since the human version had failed, and Nejeret justice was far harsher.

“It’s okay, Mom, I’m just glad it’s over,” I told her, and I meant it. Reliving the awful experience in the At was one thing, but recounting every detail, repeatedly, before a packed courtroom was another entirely. Besides, I was tired of all of the character-bashing and victim-blame.

My father wrapped his arms around us both. “Someday, Lelee, that little shit will pay for what he did.”

I really didn’t like the note of promise in his voice. “I know, Dad, someday he will pay. Just don’t do anything stupid . . .” . . . like personally getting revenge on your daughter’s attempted rapist.

“Meswett,” Dominic whispered, loud enough for me to hear, but too quiet for my parents’ human ears to pick up. It was time to go.

“I’m really sorry Mom, Dad”—I peeked over their shoulders to offer a tight smile to Jenny and Grandma Suse—“but I absolutely have to get back to work. I’m lucky the director didn’t kick me off the team for taking so much time with the trial,” I said, squeezing them one last time.

“I’m proud of you for taking this so well, sweetie,” my mom said tearfully. “You’ve had such a rough few months . . .” She was referring not only to her revelation about my parentage, but also to what Seattle police had deemed a “freak gang show-down” that had taken place in my apartment while I’d been out—I definitely didn’t feel the need to correct that mistaken assumption—and, of course, the trial.

I pulled away, my motions hesitant. I really did miss my family. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay,” I promised.

“Of course, sweetie,” my mom said, closely followed by my father’s “We love you, Lex.”

Turning away, I willed myself not to cry. As Dominic sprang to my side and six bodyguards encircled us, I wondered for the thousandth time how odd my entourage must’ve looked to my parents. How were they justifying the scene in their minds? They hadn’t mentioned anything about it to me. Perhaps they thought the excavation director was a paranoid billionaire concerned with losing his ancient languages specialist? Or maybe they thought he was simply a billionaire who had become enamored with their little girl?

“Lex! I’m sorry, Lex!” Cara shouted from outside my cocoon of muscle. “Lex? Please say you’ll forgive me!”

I ignored her and continued out of the courtroom, across a wide, marble hallway to the elevators, and down to the waiting throng of reporters. Stupid Set . . .

To my immense relief, Sandra and dozens of Nejeret guards had managed to create a pathway from the courthouse door to my waiting car. I wouldn’t have to speak into single microphone about the injustice of the verdict. I wouldn’t have to listen politely as a reporter badgered me into an emotional reaction or shocking revelation. I wanted to crow with delight or possibly kiss the small woman. She was a tactical genius and a killer chess player—I’d yet to beat her, and we played almost every evening. It was my favorite part of Meswett training—learning how to think strategically via chess.

Dominic opened the black sedan’s rear door, helped me into the backseat, and then took his own place in the front passenger seat. Neffe was already sitting in the backseat, grinning knowingly.

“Neffe, you know that’s not the appropriate reaction to losing a trial, right?” I asked her suspiciously. The more I’d gotten to know her, the more I’d grown to appreciate her oddities . . . and she had many of them.

She raised a single, arched eyebrow and said, “He’s back. He’s waiting for you at the compound.”

Relief flooded my body, and I finally felt like I could breathe. “It’s about time.”

21

Hello & Goodbye

The two-hour trip back to the Heru compound on Bainbridge Island had been torturous, as was the walk through the house and up the stairs to my suite, where I knew Marcus awaited me. Dominic was by my side as usual, while Neffe kept pace on my left. Vali led our silent procession, and Sandra brought up the rear. Even with all the people around me, I felt completely alone.

Vali pushed through the door to my sitting room, and I waited the usual thirty seconds for the all-clear, a four-toned whistle. It put a serious dent in my day when I had to wait for my guards to search and approve every room I intended to enter. I missed being a nobody. I missed being able to relax, drink wine, eat cheese and popcorn, and watch comic book movies with Cara and Annie. Not like that’ll ever happen again, I thought bitterly.

Vali whistled. I took a deep breath, then another, and walked through the doorway.

Marcus stood at the center window on the opposite side of the room, looking down on the immaculately manicured grounds. He was a king surveying his realm, a god observing his creation. At the sight of him in his impeccable charcoal suit, my chest exploded with joy. He clashed with the sitting room’s warm decor—soft greens, oranges, and creams accented the oak furniture and papered the walls. I loved my rooms, felt comfortable in them, and Marcus didn’t seem to belong. I didn’t like that.

“Leave us,” he ordered quietly.

Vali looked to me, and at my nod, ushered everyone back out to the hallway . . . everyone except Dominic, who refused to leave.

Dominic had become extremely attached to me, as I’d become to him. His constant presence soothed me when little else would ease my perpetual heartache. He would tell me stories of his early childhood in the Loire Valley, of his many exciting adventures across Europe over the centuries, and what it was like to watch the world change around him while he remained, more or less, the same.

I touched his arm, saying, “Dom, I’ll be fine. He won’t hurt me.”

Dominic peered down at me with sad eyes. “He already has,” he said softly, though the glare he shot Marcus was diamond-hard.

Marcus watched Dominic leave, irritation tightening the skin around his eyes. “You two seem to have become quite close,” he observed.

I marched between a pale-green sofa and a glass-topped coffee table straight toward Marcus and slapped his perfect face as hard as I could. “Ow!” I howled immediately after, shaking my stinging palm.

He didn’t even have the decency to pretend it had hurt.

“You are such an asshole, Heru!” I screeched, hitting him in the chest with my open hands. “And an idiot!” I hit him again. “And a coward!” Again. “And a—”

He reached up and caught my wrists in an iron grip. “I’ve been called many things, Little Ivanov, but never a coward. And I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t use that name.”

“What name?” I spat. His hold on me was unbreakable. No matter how hard I tugged, I couldn’t pull my wrists free.

“Heru,” he said with disgust.

That caught me off guard, and I stopped struggling. “But it’s your name. You made that very clear the last time I saw you.” I didn’t tell him that, to me, he would always be Marcus.

His tiger eyes flashed with anger. “I told you once before that I preferred for you to call me Marcus. That preference has not changed.”

I raised my eyebrows. “What? So everyone else can call you by your real name, but I get stuck with your most recent pseudonym?”

His grip tightened, and he raked his eyes over my face, shoulders, and chest. The anger lighting his gaze transformed into heat of another kind—desire. I didn’t know what he found so exciting, dressed as I was in a cream silk blouse and tailored black blazer. “I have no desire for everyone else to see me as I would have you see me.”

“And that would be as what?” I fumed.

He answered without hesitation. “The first thing you think of upon waking and the last upon falling asleep. The man you call out to in times of unbearable pain and desperate pleasure, and the man who will do anything to keep you alive,” he professed, his black-rimmed gold eyes burning through my anger.

“Oh,” I said softly.

“I tried for two months, but I . . . I had to return,” he said, sounding desperate. Marcus was evidently unused to being ruled by emotion. How had I sauntered into his world and ripped apart his rigid control and unfailing logic? What made me so special? I honestly didn’t understand why I had such an effect on him. But, I was glad I did.

“Heru will set his heart on her,” I said quietly, quoting Nuin’s prophecy.

Marcus released me, bowing his head and turning away to face the window once more. “So they told you. I made them swear not to. Who disobeyed me?”

“Does it really matter . . . if they did it for me? The person responsible is sworn to me now, not just you,” I reminded him, hoping to spare Neffe whatever punishment her father might want to dole out.

Grudgingly, Marcus said, “Fine. It is done.”

I hesitated, then spoke, picking my words carefully. “I understand why you left, Marcus, I really do. It was a clever idea. Idiotic, but clever.”

“What are you saying?” he asked, his voice rough. He continued to stare out the window.

“Just that I understand why you did it . . . why you tried to work around Nuin’s prophecy. But you need to understand something.” I glared at the back of his head. “You hurt me!” At my words, or maybe at the harsh anger laced through them, he bowed his head lower. “The way you spoke to me in front of the others,” I continued, “and then you left and I . . . it felt like you took a part of me with you . . . an essential part.”

Without warning, he turned and knelt before me.

I said nothing, unable to form any sounds when faced with such a proud man kneeling at my feet. I desperately wanted to touch him, and I had to consciously stop my hands from reaching out.

Holding my gaze with eyes blazing like golden suns, Marcus spoke. “I live to serve, Meswett. My life is yours, Meswett, may you live forever.”

I inhaled sharply. I’d heard those words dozens of times from all my guards and had accepted every offering, but hearing them from Marcus disgusted me.

Falling to my knees, I stared at him—his eyes were liquid, molten, and challenging. “I do not accept your service or your life, Nejeret. I refuse to be the Meswett to you.”

He gazed at me, an unfathomable mixture of emotions altering his expression—widening his eyes, tensing his jaw, parting his lips. Heat and desire burned in his eyes, and I thought he might ravish me right then and there. I wanted him to. I wanted an excuse to experience every carnal thing he’d learned in his thousands of years, and beyond that, to be as close to him as possible, both physically and emotionally. Desperately, I wanted him to take the decision out of my hands. But Marcus was a master of control and desire . . . and anticipation.

He rose and moved away so quickly that I almost fell forward. When I regained my balance, he was once again staring out the window.

Holding my head high, I stood but didn’t approach him. “Why return now?” I asked. Why did losing the trial bring you back to me?

Fists clenching, he explained, “That little piece of shit had his hands all over you . . . he had his tongue shoved in your mouth, his hand up your skirt. I can’t stand the idea of him getting near you again. Just knowing he has those memories, that he can recall the feel of your most intimate parts at will, makes me want to rip out his throat.” He paused, then added, “Which I may still do.”

I approached him cautiously, hoping to avoid triggering the rage that boiled just beneath his surface. Gently touching his shoulder, I swallowed my pride and said, “Marcus . . . I’m glad you’re back.”

Marcus sighed, regaining his control. “As am I.”

I let my hand slip down his arm and rest in the crook of his elbow. “Come on, there’s a huge banquet downstairs to celebrate the end of the trial. I think they’re all just happy we don’t have to go out in public en masse for a while. We really do draw the attention of the humans . . . they must think we’re a pack of day-walking vampires or something . . .”

Shaking his head, Marcus almost smiled. “Yes, I’ll come down to your little feast. I have news to share with everyone. Besides”—he gazed down at me in a way that made me want to melt into his arms—“I’ll use any excuse to touch you for a few more minutes.” He was studying me intently. “You’ve changed,” he said, a note of sadness in his voice.

“Not where it matters,” I told him softly, earning a faint smile.

Arms linked, we made our way downstairs, acquiring Vali and two more bodyguards along the way. When we entered the dining hall—what could easily have been classified as the most tasteful of ballrooms—the Nejerets filling it slowly fell into an eerie hush.

Marcus gazed around the room, his expression haughty. He was Heru, the falcon god, patriarch of one of the most powerful Nejeret familial lines. When he entered any room he commanded the attention of everyone present, and like a celestial body, his gravitational pull required everyone to remain aware of him hours later. Over a hundred pairs of Nejeret eyes were locked on him, riveted.

Releasing his arm, I stepped back a few paces.

“My family and friends, I greet you! And I thank you from the bottom of my heart”—he touched his right hand to his chest—“for taking such good care of the Meswett in my absence. I assure you, it is my intention to never leave her side again.”

Echoing the emotion in my chest, an enthusiastic cheer roared throughout the room for a few moments. They all knew the prophecy, and they knew what it meant for Marcus to make such a claim.

“I have news to share with all of you. My time away was split between Kemet and Firenze,” he stated, earning hushed speculation from nearly everyone. That he’d spent time in Kemet, the ancient name for Egypt, indicated he’d been doing something related to the upcoming excavation. Firenze—Florence, Italy—I’d recently learned, was the auspicious location of Ivan’s headquarters and therefore the international center for his familial line—for my ancestral line. Was Marcus visiting Ivan?

“I met with many officials in our ancient homeland,” Marcus continued, “and am pleased to announce that the excavation has been moved up. We will depart on the twenty-second of March.”

I glanced at Dominic and Neffe just in time to see them exchange a look of shared angst and frustration. Everything, from the field school participants to the housing and travel arrangements, was set up for a departure date roughly two months later than the one just announced. Marcus, who didn’t care to dirty himself with such menial tasks, would no doubt leave the tireless job of logistical rearrangement to Dominic and Neffe. They were going to be a joy to work with for the next week.

“My second piece of news,” Marcus said to the quieting crowd, “regards this most recent unpleasantness. The six remaining members of the Council of Seven have met to pass sentence on the Set-cult member, Mike Hernandez. As you can all imagine, Ivan was quite distraught about the human’s actions toward the Meswett, his great-granddaughter. He felt the human justice system would likely fail our most important sister in her time of need. In anticipation of their failure, we found him guilty and sentenced him—”

“The tyranny of the Council and their false prophecy will end with the Meswett’s death!” a man shouted from the back of the room.

Gasps erupted throughout the cavernous space as men and women turned to search the back of the dining hall for the speaker.

Marcus’s body slammed into mine, knocking me to the marble floor, just as three explosive cracks sounded in quick succession. I lay on my back, something warm and wet spreading across my torso. Is it blood? Am I bleeding? Marcus’s ashen face was inches from mine, his black pupils constricting until his eyes were more golden than I’d ever seen them.

“I’ve got him!” a woman shouted in the erupting cacophony. She sounded distant and hollow, like she was speaking through a tin can phone.

“Will you accept . . . my life now, Little Ivanov?” Marcus rasped through bloodstained lips. “I give it . . . to you . . . gladly.” He rested his head on my shoulder and fell still.

“No!” I shrieked. “NO! I won’t accept it! I don’t want it! NO! Take it back!” I shouted, repeating variations of the same words over and over again. Why didn’t I tell him how I felt? Why am I so stubborn? I’m always so stupidly stubborn!

Is he dying? Is he dead? NO!

Hands were on me, gentle and firm, and four pairs of concerned eyes stared down at me from familiar faces . . . alive faces. But none of them was the right face. Why wasn’t Marcus looking at me the way they were? Why wasn’t he looking at me at all? Why was he just lying on top of me, unmoving?

Dominic asked me something, but his words didn’t make any sense. They were meaningless . . . everything was meaningless without him. Why isn’t he moving?

At my blank stare, Dominic growled, “Was she hit? Neffe! Did any bullets hit her?!”

“I don’t know! There’s so much blood . . . I think it’s all from my father. We need to move him,” she replied. “Now!”

Marcus’s body was rolled off mine and Neffe’s precise hands began examining every inch of my body. I stared at Marcus’s blood-smeared face, at his vacant eyes, while Neffe searched me for bullet holes that weren’t there. She was focusing on the wrong body—she needed to be working on him—a realization that snapped me out of my shock.

I pushed her hands away. “I’m fine! Help him! HELP HIM! If he dies . . . If he dies . . .”

Somehow, Neffe read the desperation in my eyes, a desperation verging on insanity. Her resolve hardened, and she spun on her knees. “Vali! Pick him up—carefully!” she ordered, pressing a wad of cloth napkins against her father’s punctured, bleeding chest while the huge, blond man lifted him off the floor.

I followed as they took Marcus’s body to a nearby room, one I’d yet to explore. I was surprised to find a well-stocked home clinic. I might have wondered what the hell it was doing in the main house of the Heru compound, but all I could think about was Marcus. He can’t die. He’s lived for thousands of years . . . he can’t die!

“Carlisle, find the three oldest Nejerets here and begin drawing their blood,” Neffe ordered. “We need to transfuse.”

“Take mine, please,” I begged.

Quietly, Dominic explained, “His body needs stronger blood . . . more mature blood. The older the Nejeret, the more developed their regenerative abilities. I’m sorry, Lex, but you can’t help him.” Until Dominic spoke, I hadn’t noticed his arm around my waist keeping me standing.

“Don’t we need a doctor?” I asked, watching Neffe cut off her father’s shirt.

“Neffe has more medical degrees than any other living being, Nejeret or otherwise. She’s the best,” Dominic informed me.

I watched Carlisle herd in his three chosen, ancient blood donors, one of which was Sandra. I hadn’t known she was among the oldest of Marcus’s line. “What about their blood types? What if they have the wrong kind?” I asked, panic and fear thick in my voice. “We might kill him!”

“Start the transfusion,” Neffe told another Nejerette I didn’t recognize. “He’s AB positive—a universal receiver,” she explained as she cut an impossibly deep incision down the center of Marcus’s chest. Blood, thick and incredibly dark, welled up and over the edges of the incision, and not once did Marcus flinch.

Because Marcus was dead.

22

Age & Wisdom

Neffe revived Marcus three times before he finally stabilized. One of the bullets had pierced his heart, the other two his left lung—it had taken her fifteen minutes to repair the wounds enough that his vital organs would mend themselves properly. Once she’d cracked his sternum open, I had to look away.

“He’ll live, I’m positive,” Neffe told me as she shamelessly peeled off her bloody clothes in the center of the home clinic. I hit Dominic’s arm with the back of my hand for his equally shameless ogling.

“What? I’ve seen it all before . . . several times,” he replied, his thin lips curling up into a sly, close-mouthed smile.

Neffe rolled her eyes and shrugged. “Sometimes I get lonely.” She motioned for me to follow her into the attached bathroom, where she stepped into the shower. Marcus’s blood was all over her, even in her hair. I, on the other hand, only had it on my shirt.

Shutting the door, I asked, “So, what happens now?” I hopped up and perched beside the sink on the white tile counter.

From beyond a fogged glass door, Neffe explained, “Now he regenerates. It could take him up to twenty-four hours to heal enough to regain consciousness. All of his body’s energy is currently going toward repairing his vital organs. We’ll move him up to his suite, and if you’d like, you can stay with him there. I just assumed that once he returned, the two of you would start sharing a bed . . .”

“Neffe . . . he’s your dad!” I exclaimed. “How can you even think about that?”

She laughed, and the sound reverberated in the increasingly steamy, confined space. “You should ask around about his reputation.” She paused. “Actually, maybe you shouldn’t. Anyway, he’ll look different for a while—noticeably thinner and possibly sickly or older. His body will be focused entirely on healing what it needs to survive, not on remaining young or robust,” she explained. “But don’t worry, he’ll be the old Heru—Marcus—in no time. One of the perks of being so ridiculously ancient.”

After my mini-coma, I’d lost weight and appeared sickly, and I’d only been out for a handful of hours. Marcus, on the other, had actually died . . . several times. How different will he look?

After listening to the shower run for a long moment, I asked the question that had been troubling me since I became certain of Marcus’s recovery. “Neffe, what about the guy who shot him?”

“Ah, yes. He is, by his own stupid announcement, guilty of attempting to assassinate the Meswett and nearly murdering a member of the Council of Seven. We don’t kill our kind easily, but he’ll be executed . . . after he’s interrogated, of course. We must discover the other traitors behind the attack. Do you approve?”

“Yes,” I hissed, surprised by the venom the single word could contain. I wanted to tear the shooter apart with my bare hands.

“Wonderful,” Neffe said, shutting off the water and stepping out of the shower. I tried to ignore her perfect, curvaceous body while she toweled off, but it wasn’t easy. I frowned, knowing I would never have curves like hers.

Unhurried, Neffe slipped into a soft white robe. “Now, I have many things to do for the excavation if we truly are to leave next Friday. You should go upstairs and change, then go to my father. Sit with him. Your presence will bring him comfort.”

I did as she suggested, winding my way through hallways, stairwells, and corridors, Vali leading and Sandra trailing behind me. I stopped by my own rooms just long enough to exchange my bloody silk blouse for a plain black T-shirt and to wipe the crusted blood off my stomach before heading to the suite next door—Marcus’s suite. The two guards at the door instantly let me inside, offering supportive smiles.

Thanking them, I slipped through Marcus’s sitting room without a single glance around me—I needed to see Marcus, not what he owned. But, holy crap, I was terrified. Will I even recognize him?

“How is he?” I asked Dominic, who was standing in the doorway between the sitting room and the bedroom.

“He’s healing,” my half-brother said, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “He’s . . . did Neffe explain that he would look different for a while?”

“Yeah. Thanks, by the way, for everything you did. I probably would have collapsed if you hadn’t kept me standing.”

Dominic lifted his hand, and with gentle fingers, tilted my face up so he could see it better. “It was nothing.” A faint smile softened his sharp, pale features. “Someday I’ll tell you of our father. I’ll tell you of his treatment of my mother and of me. Then, I think, you’ll understand why I would do anything for you, the one prophesied to cause his destruction.” Or the world’s. Dominic’s eyes shone with unshed tears, but before I could voice my doubts, he dropped his hand and said, “I’ll leave you two to your happy reunion.” He left me in the doorway and sat in the furthest armchair.

With an apprehensive sigh, I walked into Marcus’s bedroom. It took me several breaths to fully comprehend that the middle-aged man lying under the covers in the enormous, four-poster bed was Marcus.

As I approached the bed, I took note of all the little changes to his face. His hair was salt and pepper instead of jet black, and there were faint wrinkles on his brow, at the corners of his eyes, and around his mouth. Some of the precision of his bone structure had been softened. I let out a shaky laugh, thinking it was so typical of Marcus that he would look like a dapper older gentleman instead of someone suffering from a chronic illness, which had been my body’s reaction to using regeneration to heal.

I grasped his nearest hand, wrapping both of mine around it. “I will never accept your life in exchange for mine,” I whispered vehemently. “Do you understand me, Marcus? I refuse to live in a world where you don’t exist.”

I laid my forehead on the bed between my arms. To an observer I probably looked like a woman deep in prayer. If I were, it was to a very old, very proud man, who had once been considered a god. There, lying in supplication to Marcus or Heru—whoever he was—I fell asleep. Thankfully, I didn’t dream.

* * *

“Wake up, Little Ivanov,” murmured a quiet, masculine voice. It was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard. The hand I’d been holding when I’d fallen asleep was gone from my grasp—instead his fingers were gently stroking my mess of mahogany hair. I smiled into the comforter before raising my head.

Though he was still the middle-aged version of himself, the sight that greeted me was breathtaking. Marcus was awake . . . smiling . . . alive.

“Come here,” he said softly, patting the comforter on the opposite side of his body.

I yearned to cuddle with him, to feel his warm, solid body next to mine, but I shook my head. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Come here,” he repeated, demanding.

I bit my lower lip in hesitation, but the yearning in his eyes won me over. I walked around the bed and carefully slid closer to him.

“I’ll recover, Lex,” he murmured, and a rush of relief filled my chest. Part of me hadn’t believed that he really was okay until that moment.

I curled up against him, and voice wobbly, said, “I’m counting on it.”

He sighed and tightened his arm around my waist.

I breathed in, eager for his spicy scent, but I was disappointed. “Why do you smell different? I mean, you don’t smell bad, just . . . different.”

His thumb began caressing my ribs as he spoke. “Well . . . as far as I could tell, I was shot in the heart. Am I correct?”

I nodded against his shoulder, attempting to keep my breathing steady. The skin he was stroking burned with a pleasant fire.

“Then I must have been given blood from another Nejeret—possibly several. Until my own blood cells replace it, I’ll smell a little bit like each of them. You’re developing heightened senses rapidly, Little Ivanov, if you could smell the difference. Did you know that in the most powerful of us, our sensation of touch is heightened as well? I am one of those . . . are you?” He chuckled as his thumb continued its gentle stroking.

“Marcus,” I finally growled between uneven breaths. It just so happened that all of my senses had been slowly becoming more sensitive, including touch.

“Ah . . . very well,” Marcus said, ceasing his tactile ministrations. Lightly, he pressed his lips to my forehead, the hint of his stubble a pleasant scratchiness.

“Pardon the interruption, Meswett,” Carlisle said from the doorway. “But Heru should really eat now that he’s awake. It’ll hasten his healing process. There’s a tray of food for you as well in the sitting room,” he said as he wheeled in a multi-level food cart heaped with a variety of dishes.

Sitting up, I gaped. “That’s all for him?”

“Regeneration brings on a hearty appetite,” was Carlisle’s response. It made sense; I recalled my own increased appetite after waking from the coma.

“Why’s my food out there?” I pointed my thumb over my shoulder toward the sitting room. “I’ll eat in here with him.”

“Meswett, I’m not sure you want to watch him eating just yet. After recovery from such a fatal injury, the first few meals can be . . . unpleasant,” Carlisle warned. I tried to picture polite and proper Marcus shoving handfuls of food into his mouth, but couldn’t.

I clenched my teeth and stated, “I’m staying.”

“Lex . . .” Marcus said, his voice laden with warning.

“Marcus.”

He sighed at my mulishness, and followed up with a groan as Carlisle rearranged pillows and propped him up into a sitting position. “If you let me eat my first five meals alone, I’ll tell you the truth behind the Contendings of Heru and Set myth.”

A glimpse into Marcus’s past, a chance to see the man who’d inspired one of the most famous Egyptian myths, was almost too much to pass up . . . almost. “Three,” I countered.

He narrowed his eyes. “Five.”

“Four.”

“Five.”

I snorted in exasperation. “Fine, five meals. But you’d better let me know as soon as he finishes,” I told Carlisle. I really didn’t want to leave Marcus’s side, but I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, either.

“Of course, Meswett,” Carlisle said with a bow and minutely shaking shoulders. I was pretty sure he was laughing at me.

I left the bedroom and quickly ate my own food—lemon and herb-roasted chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, and glazed heirloom carrots, paired with a small carafe of a light white wine—at a small, granite-topped dining table set in front of a picture window. Staring out at the tree-lined horizon, I sighed. He really is okay.

“Daydreaming?” Dominic asked in his smooth, French accent. I’d been so lost in thought, I hadn’t heard him enter the room.

“Sort of,” I said, turning to look at him. He was sitting in an oversized, steel-gray armchair on the opposite side of the room. His chin-length, nearly black hair was slicked back as usual, but it looked wet. I figured he’d taken a break from chaperoning me to get cleaned up. Last I’d seen him, his clothes had been stained with nearly as much blood as mine had been, but his current attire—black-on-black pinstriped suit pants and a midnight blue dress shirt—was immaculate. “You’re very sneaky, you know.”

Amusement touched his handsome features, curving his thin lips and making his coal-black eyes sparkle. “Precisely the reason your Marcus frequently employs me as a spy,” he told me. “And I prefer the term ‘stealthy.’”

“Alright . . . stealthy,” I agreed.

For the first time, I had a chance to examine the décor in Marcus’s personal space. His house in Ravenna had been decorated generically, reflecting none of his actual taste, but his sitting room screamed “MARCUS” as loudly as if he’d stamped his name on every chair, table, and trinket in bold, garish letters. Gray and black, the two colors that dominated his wardrobe, seemed to govern his home décor tastes as well. Every piece of furniture was sleek and elegant, somehow managing a level of subtle sensuality.

Strewn about the room on shelves and tables were little bits of bright blue, orange, red, and violet, all in the form of priceless antiques. And they weren’t corner-shop-in-a-quaint-town antiques, but million-dollar, personal-invitation-to-a-silent-auction antiques. They were black market with a capital B.

“You can return, Meswett,” Carlisle said, making me jump. I was glad I’d refrained from picking up any of the irreplaceable statuettes or vases—otherwise one might’ve been in pieces on the floor.

“Thank you.” To Dominic, I said, “Maybe you should ask Neffe to come up and keep you company, if you plan to hang around.”

My comment earned a bark of laughter from the bedroom.

“I think not,” was Dominic’s reply. “Go to him. Saga and Sandra will join me here soon enough.”

I nodded, thanking him silently for releasing me from the guilt of abandoning him. I hurried into the bedroom and shut the door.

“I expected you to look different,” I told Marcus as I crawled toward him on the bed.

Locked on me, his irises bled from gold to black in an instant before his eyes narrowed, and he groaned.

“What? What is it? Does something hurt?” I asked frantically, my hands fluttering around him.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “No, definitely not. Definitely, definitely not.”

“Okay . . . will you tell me your tale now or do I have to actually wait until you’ve consumed all five of the agreed-upon meals?” I asked as I cuddled against him.

“After I rest,” he said, pulling me closer.

With my head laid on his shoulder, I warned, “You’d better not back out of our deal.” When he didn’t respond, I looked up at his face. He was already asleep.

* * *

Sometime during the next morning, I woke and adjourned to my suite to brush my teeth and shower. When I returned to Marcus’s bedroom, he was already awake and sitting up in bed. I gasped when I saw him.

“Marcus! You look ten years younger!” I exclaimed. He didn’t look his usual late-twenties or early-thirties, but he was getting there.

“Do I?” he asked, unconcerned.

“Are you going to tell me about the myth now?” I settled in the large cushy chair at his bedside, dropping a leather tote stuffed with books and my laptop on the floor.

“No,” he said, smiling mysteriously. “I must eat again, and then rest. I hope you don’t mind.” His eyes twinkled. He was toying with me, seeing how far he could push me.

We danced that little routine at least a dozen times over the next several days, me asking for the true story behind the myth, him denying me and then eating and falling asleep. I would sit at his bedside and watch him breathe, or I would read or hold quiet discussions with other Nejerets in his sitting room. It was simple and domestic—an easy routine to fall into.

On the fifth evening after the shooting, while I was sleeping in my own bed for once, my ba found its way into the At of its own accord.

I was watching five-year-old me play lackadaisically on the swings in my parents’ backyard. A dark-haired and golden-skinned man dressed in a colorful, belted robe was approaching the little-girl version of me. Turning, he sat on the next swing over, and I inhaled sharply.

For a long moment, I thought the man was Marcus—he bore a striking resemblance in both coloring and bone structure, but there were subtle differences. Marcus was slightly shorter, making his musculature seem bulkier, and he carried himself differently, more like a modern man. The familiar stranger had an alien grace, his movements too smooth, too quick, too fluid. Who is he?

Five-year-old me giggled joyfully, like the tinkling of a dozen bells. “You’re dressed funny!”

The man smiled back at her, but said nothing.

I knew I was in an echo of something that happened when I was a little girl, but I would have sworn the interaction I was watching never actually happened. I couldn’t remember ever meeting this Marcus look-alike.

“I’m Alexandra,” the little girl version of me announced, her swinging newly enthused.

The man who wasn’t Marcus inclined his head and repeated in a foreign, ancient accent, “Alexandra.” It sounded like “Ah-leek-saaan-drah.” He pressed the fingertips of his right hand to his chest and said, “Nuin.”

“No way!” I exclaimed, my voice hushed. “No freaking way!” Nuin, the Great Father, the man who had started our species, visited me when I was a little girl. It wasn’t possible—he was supposed to be dead . . . like, thousands of years dead. Marcus saw him die.

“Alexandra.”

At hearing my name, I swiveled my head to the left and found another version of the same man standing only feet away. Shocked, I accosted him with words. “You’re Nuin! But everyone thinks you’re dead! Can you help us? Can you help me? The prophecy . . . your prophecy . . . it must be wrong! Why did you choose me?”

Nuin shook his head and said something incomprehensible, his words ancient and alien. I had to remind myself that, despite the resemblance, the man standing beside me was not Marcus. Nuin pointed to another part of the yard, a place young me couldn’t see. A now-familiar and very pissed-off man was lurking behind a tree. It would have been comical, like a scene taken from an old Sunday morning cartoon, but for the identity of the man—Set.

“No! He might hurt her!” I exclaimed. I realized the statement was moronic as soon I voiced it. I hadn’t been hurt by Set as a child. In fact, I’d never even seen Set until the first time I entered the echo in the fertility clinic.

Nuin, ancient and radiating some otherworldly power, raised his hand to touch his first two fingers to my forehead. Instantly, I remembered . . . everything.

I remembered waking up to find Nuin sitting in a chair in the corner of my room, watching over me as I slept . . . protecting me.

I remembered catching sight of Nuin in the distance while I rounded the turn of a slide at the park.

I remembered repeating and practicing unfamiliar sounds as Nuin taught me his language during long, sleepless nights.

I remembered Nuin—dressed in modern clothes—sitting side-by-side in the bleachers with hundreds of parents and high school students at the homecoming game during my junior year of high school, watching me watch the game.

I remembered the feeling of Nuin’s lips pressed gently against mine as tears dried on my cheeks. I’d been sixteen, horribly ashamed that a boy had yet to kiss me, and had just learned that my best friend was dating my crush.

I remembered smiling down at Nuin, who was clapping enthusiastically from the front row at my final ballet performance.

I remembered Nuin holding my hand during the entire fifteen-hour plane ride from Seattle to Minneapolis to Rome. It had been my first time flying internationally, and I’d been all alone.

Thousands of memories bombarded me, exploding into and merging with my own, redefining my identity. In a young, naïve way, I’d loved Nuin deeply . . . I probably always would. I wondered if Nuin had been the reason that so few boys, or as I grew older, men, had interested me. None could compare, in looks or substance, to the glorious enigma that was Nuin . . . my Nuin. Well, none until Marcus.

In his ancient language—a predecessor to Old Egyptian—I asked, “Will you take them away again?” Every time Nuin visited me, he left by sealing my memories, only to unseal them again on his next visit.

“No, my Alexandra,” he said sadly, a tear sliding down his chiseled face.

“What’s wrong?” Without hesitation, I closed the distance between us and wrapped my arms around his neck, standing on tiptoes to bury my face against his collar.

“I am weary. I have lived for too long in this body and my time is coming to an end,” Nuin whispered into my hair. “I have done the best I could . . . kept you safe from he-who-would-use-you until my grandson, Heru, could take over. He will protect you now.”

I pulled away and gazed into his color-changing eyes. Remotely, I realized that they resembled the swirling colors in the At. “Heru?” I asked, my mind taking longer than usual to register that he was talking about Marcus.

Nuin nodded solemnly. “I hope to see you once more, but I will miss you, my Alexandra,” he remarked, kissing me lightly on the forehead.

“I don’t understand,” I admitted.

With a humorless laugh, he said, “I know. If everything works out properly, you will understand soon. Sooner than you’d like.”

“You’re going away . . . possibly forever,” I stated, making sense of his forlorn looks and cryptic words. “That’s why I get to keep my memories of you, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Before I could wallow in the sorrow of losing him, a hidden constant in my life, he asked, “Do you love him?”

“Do I love him? Who?”

“Heru.”

I frowned and glanced down at the grass. “I don’t know . . . I think so, but I barely know him.”

“Oh, my sweet Alexandra. Love isn’t about knowing, love is about feeling.”

I thought about his words and about Marcus. I knew I loved Nuin, but my feelings for Marcus were different—searingly raw. Nuin had been my comforting, wise companion while Marcus was rage and intelligence, strength and sex, all wrapped up in an enticing, black and golden package. In the past few months, Marcus had made me feel more alive than I’d ever felt before. I craved taking the next physical steps with him like a drug addict looking for a more powerful hit. Around Marcus, my emotions were unusually volatile—anger, lust, joy, and frustration all waiting eagerly for the chance to explode. So, do I love him?

“I admit, he is young and inconceivably proud and ruthless, but I believe time may temper his rougher qualities. I must pass your care into the hands of another, and there is no better man.” Nuin looked around momentarily, as though he could hear something that I couldn’t, and briefly smiled. “I must leave you now, my Alexandra. I have a guest awaiting my attention.”

“But—”

“All will work out—I’m certain of that now.” He looked around thoughtfully, and then his gaze sharpened, focusing on me. “There are three things you must do to survive what’s coming: no matter what, do not trust your father, never say his name in the At, and keep your younger sister nearby at all times.”

“Jenny?” I asked, surprised at the mention of my sister. “Why?”

“Not Jenny.”

“But—”

“I will see you again,” he promised and kissed me lightly before disappearing. It was the chaste kiss of a cherished friend. Other than a healthy scattering of gentle pecks and a few hotter, heavier kisses at my more needy moments, my relationship with Nuin had been mostly platonic. Nuin was, and would always be, my first love. But those feelings had been grossly eclipsed by more mature, ferocious versions . . . for Marcus.

I watched the past version of Nuin hover protectively around my five-year-old self for a while, wondering who Nuin could have possibly meant by my “younger sister,” if not Jenny. Eventually, regular, restful dreams replaced the echo.

* * *

The following morning, I entered Marcus’s bedroom feeling anxious and a little ill. I had no idea how to tell him about seeing Nuin in the At . . . about everything I now remembered. I started to laugh, a shrill, slightly hysterical sound as I approached Marcus. He was seated at a small, round ebony table by the window on the left side of his bed, watching me. He looked himself, if still a little thinner than usual. His face was carefully composed—expressionless—but there was a pitiless glint to his eyes. Is he mad about something? Oh God . . . does he already know about my history with Nuin? How?

Stopping behind the chair opposite him, I opened my mouth, then closed it again. How was I supposed to start? With the truth, I told myself. I took a deep breath, then said, “Marcus, I think—”

He held up his hand, stopping my words. “Sit, Lex.” It wasn’t a request.

Hands shaking, I pulled out the chair and sat. Seconds passed, and still, Marcus simply watched me. I cleared my throat, preparing to try again.

He beat me to it. “I owe you a story . . . my story.” He looked away, focusing on something beyond the window pane. “One of my stories,” he said, correcting himself. “It’s not a happy tale, and I don’t enjoy telling it, so you’ll have to forgive my shortness.”

His story . . . he’s going to tell me about him and Set. That’s what’s putting him in such a bad mood. I almost laughed with relief, but managed to contain myself. I crossed my legs and waited, recalling what I knew of the myth.

The Contendings of Heru and Set is one of the more well-known Egyptian myths, and like many ancient stories, it sounds a little odd to modern ears. It chronicles the struggle between the two gods to decide who would be Osiris’s successor and rule over all of Egypt and her deities. Since some of the gods favored Heru and some favored Set, the two were required to engage in a series of contests. At one point, Heru’s mother, Aset—commonly known as Isis—attempted to aid Heru, but she backed out in the end, unwilling to hurt Set. This apparently enraged Heru, and he cut off her head. As punishment, Set gouged out one of Heru’s eyes, though another goddess replaced it. The competition between the two gods finally came to a head when Set tricked Heru into having intercourse with him. He believed that if he could prove he’d planted his seed inside Heru, the other gods would see him as the dominant of the two and name him as Osiris’s successor. Heru, however, was even more clever than the duplicitous Set. When Set ejaculated, Heru caught his semen and later fed it to him disguised as food. The other gods ruled in favor of Heru as the rightful king of Egypt and her deities, and he became a symbol of the divine right to rule.

Finally, Marcus began telling me his version of the myth—the true version. “My father, Osiris, ruled the Council of Seven for decades, from Nuin’s death until his own,” he said in his silk and stone voice. “He was the last son of Nuin, so the succession of his throne fell to the grandsons. Set and I were the two oldest and most powerful among them. Most of the Council thought I deserved to take over because my father had been the last ruler, but Set and one other member of the Council believed he was the rightful successor. He argued that he’d been the patriarch of his line for many years and knew how to lead. I argued that my father had groomed me for the position, and that because of his guidance, I already knew everything required of the position.” Marcus gave a sad laugh and shook his head.

“The Council ruled in my favor—unlike in the myth, there were no trials or contests—and I became the rightful ruler of our people. However, two days after my coronation, Set approached me, claiming false friendship. He attacked me and gouged my eyes, rendering me blind for a time. He said he wanted me to die slowly, losing my life piece by piece until everything was taken from me, like it had been taken from him. I didn’t understand this change in him—I still don’t. Before my father’s death, we’d been the closest of friends. Sometimes we’d even shared lovers.” He watched me, searching for some sort of a reaction. Inside, I felt queasy; outside, I was granite.

“We became enemies unlike any the world had ever known. Aset—who was my sister, not my mother as the mythology claims—found us fighting, or rather, me dying slowly and blind. She launched herself at Set, distracting him long enough for her servants to carry me away. I’d loved her dearly for hundreds of years, and he killed her, not me—the myth has that wrong as well. I would never have hurt Aset. I wanted her beside me for eternity.” He sighed, deep and heavy with longing.

“My eyes healed and I regained my sight the following day, and then I resumed leadership of the Netjer-At. I moved my court and the Council to Hierakonopolis and ruled for many peaceful centuries. The humans knew of us in those days, and considered us gods for our ‘immortality’ and abilities to know the past and to predict the future. They worshiped us, just as some still believe they should. And that is the truth behind the myth.” Marcus fell silent, letting me digest his words.

“I’m sort of surprised by the accuracy of the myth—fighting over Osiris’s throne, Aset dying, your eyes . . .” I said. “Thank you for telling me.”

He nodded. “Sometimes the humans get it right, or mostly right. Though I never understood why they cast Aset as my mother,” he pondered aloud. “Maybe it made her seem a more sympathetic character?”

“I have to tell you something,” I blurted, before he distracted me with another tale or before I lost my nerve.

Marcus blinked several times, then raised a single, arched eyebrow.

I took a deep breath. “I, um . . . I’m pretty sure Nuin could actually travel through time, not just enter the At,” I said with one eye squeezed shut and the other barely open to observe his reaction.

“Pray tell, Lex, what makes you think this?”

I started to babble. “Because he visited me when I was five years old . . . and then again . . . and again . . . thousands of times as I grew up. He blocked my memories every time he left so I couldn’t recall anything about him when he wasn’t there. Obviously a little bit slipped through . . . you know, with my obsession with ancient Egypt and all. He taught me his language, which is probably why I’m so good at deciphering ancient texts, and he used to keep me safe from Set when he would come after me . . . probably trying to kidnap me. I think Set wanted to raise me as his perfect little obedient daughter, and not have me grow up to be, well, this,” I said, pointing to myself.

“Anyway, Nuin visited me in an echo while I was sleeping last night. He released his memory block, and now I remember everything.” I fell silent, holding my breath for a long moment before releasing it. “Please, say something.”

“This is bad,” he said, his voice cold and level.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“No,” he said. “It’s not your fault that Nuin—” Abruptly, he laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “Gods, Lex, you probably know him better than I do. He was never an easy man to know.”

I frowned, wondering if we were really talking about the same man. The Nuin I knew was kind, wise, and gentle.

“What’s bad,” Marcus continued, “is what’s locked in that temple. Now we know why Set wants the ankh-At so badly.” His tiger eyes flashed with rage, or possibly fear. “He wants the power to travel through time.”

“Oh my God,” I whispered. “Then he could change anything.”

23

Mother & Child

Breaking just about every traffic law possible, we sped along the freeway into Seattle and through her soggy streets. Jenny, as it turned out, wasn’t my only younger sister. That title also belonged to none other than Genevieve’s daughter, Kat, who was my half-sister through Set. Traffic was predictably heavy as we made our way toward Genevieve’s shop, the Goddess’s Blessing, further darkening Marcus’s stormy mood. He wasn’t happy that I hadn’t told him about Nuin as soon as I woke up that morning.

“Why don’t we just not go to Egypt?” I asked for the umpteenth time. He’d yet to grant me a response more verbose than a grunt and a shaking of his head. “If I don’t go . . . I don’t have to choose to obey or defy him. If ‘nobody but the girl-child can access the ankh-At,’ then Set needs me to be there to get to Nuin’s time-travel power. So . . . just take me out of the equation!”

“That’s exactly what the man who shot me said during his interrogation. ‘Kill the Meswett—take her out of the equation.’ I killed him for those words,” Marcus told me, his tone cold.

“What? When did you see the prisoner? He’s already been killed? By you?” I asked, aghast.

Snickering, Marcus mocked, “Poor Little Ivanov . . . still feeling squeamish about killing?”

“I wanted to be there,” I said, gritting my teeth. I watched you die.

Marcus’s hands tightened visibly on the steering wheel, blanching the skin covering his knuckles, but he said nothing. Neither of us spoke for the rest of the drive.

Marcus easily parallel parked the car in a spot I was sure would prove too small. With the engine still running, he unbuckled his seatbelt and lunged over the low center console, pressing me back against the passenger seat.

Hot and urgent, his lips found mine. He invaded my mouth with his tongue, and when I tried to reciprocate, he tightly gripped the back of my neck and growled. The kiss was about more than lust or passion, it was about possession—about Marcus’s need to make me his. In that moment, with each thrust and caress of his tongue, he owned me . . . and I liked it.

“I’m beginning to understand the meaning behind ‘she-falcon,’” Marcus whispered against my cheek. “Would you have killed the gunman yourself for what he did, Little Ivanov? Do you think you could have?”

Unable to form the words, I nodded, earning a rough, animalistic sound from the man pinning me against the seatback.

“Nuin’s prophecy says nothing about his power being what destroys the world, either in the case of your death or your obedience to Set, only that his power—the ankh-At—must be accessed and that you obeying Set is the end of mankind,” he said, finally answering my question. “Set’s had enough time to acquire weapons of mass destruction, be they nuclear, biological, or other, and is psychotic enough to hold the world hostage with them. I guarantee that he will do something along those lines if you don’t continue, especially since you are his only chance at accessing Nuin’s power. We must proceed with the excavation, enter the hidden temple, access the ankh-At, and get it out of Set’s reach. There are no other options.”

With a huge, resigned breath, I nodded against his cheekbone, and only then did he pull away.

Marcus had turned off the car, exited, and was around to open my door in a matter seconds. He extended his hand and helped me out. “Shall we continue on our business, then?”

I laughed, adjusting my coat. “You are unbelievable. Just like that”—I snapped my fingers—“you’re all business again.”

He leaned into me, pressing me against the car, and whispered, “Not all business.”

I could feel the hard length of him nudge against my hip. Damn . . . “You should really do something about that,” I purred.

He chuckled, a low, rough sound, but didn’t say anything.

After another moment of smoothing and adjusting clothing, we were making our way up the block to the magic shop, Marcus’s arm latched possessively around my waist. His mood had lightened considerably.

Tinkling bells announced our entrance into Genevieve’s magic shop, earning a “Be right out!” from the back room. While we waited, Marcus followed me from shelf to shelf, from table to table, as I examined the many curiosities. He stood far too close behind me, making my hands shake with the anticipation of his touch.

“Jittery, Little Ivanov?” he whispered, his lips almost touching my hair. He seemed to savor the affect his proximity had on me.

Turning my head, I looked up into the black-rimmed gold of his eyes from inches away. “I must just be excited about our business,” I said pointedly. “Are you still excited?”

“When I’m around carmine-eyed temptresses,” he said, daring me to close the distance between our mouths, “I’m nearly overcome with excitement.”

Just as I was leaning into him, Genevieve’s husky voice intervened. “How can I help you?” she asked, pulling a dolly stacked high with boxes through the beaded curtain.

Marcus barely brushed his lips across mine before pulling away. “Ah, Gen, I thought we were closer than that,” he said warmly. “‘How can I help you?’ is a little impersonal, is it not?”

Genevieve immediately let go of the cart, standing noticeably straighter. “Marcus!” she exclaimed, facing us with a joyous smile. “And . . . I’m sorry, but I don’t recall your name,” she added, letting the curve of her mouth turn faintly bitter as she addressed me.

“Lex,” I supplied.

She nodded. “Welcome back to the Goddess’s Blessing, Lex. I hope you found your answers. What brings you back so soon, Marcus? Why, it was just a few weeks ago that you were here!”

Eyes narrowed to slits, I studied Marcus. If he’d visited the shop a few weeks ago, that meant he’d been in town before he’d met up with me after the trial. How long had he been back? How long had he been avoiding me?

Marcus stared back, unblinking, though the corner of his mouth rose infinitesimally. Something about my reaction pleased him.

I took a deep, calming breath. “Are you going to explain what brings you back so soon, Marcus, or shall I?” I asked, only the tiniest edge of frustration apparent. If anything, the corner of his mouth rose further.

Genevieve, whose smile had returned to its original exuberance during our exchange, seemed to deflate when Marcus said, “No, my darling, I can take care of it.” She looked like she’d just sunk her teeth into a furry, rotten lemon.

After quickly locking the shop’s door, Marcus gave Genevieve a brief update on my entrance into and involvement with the Nejerets over the past few months. “It’s time, Gen, and we have to make sure Kat’s safe. She’s an easy target for Set,” he told her. What he didn’t say was that I needed to keep Kat close because Nuin had traveled through time to tell me so.

“But she’s only a teenager! It’s her senior year, she—” Genevieve started wringing her hands. “Why would he come after her? Why now?”

Marcus stepped closer to her and squeezed her upper arms. “Gen . . . he’s unpredictable. You know that as well as anyone. He’ll use any tool he can get his hands on, and he’ll see Kat as a valuable tool because he knows I care about her, and about you.”

She looked up at him with hope-filled eyes, and I had to turn away. Even though it was clear that she had feelings for Marcus, I didn’t like watching anyone’s hopes being dashed. I stared through the glass door at the outlines of the two bodyguards who’d positioned themselves outside, pitying Genevieve.

“Gather what things you both need from upstairs. There’s a van out front that will take you to pick up Kat from school and then bring you both to my compound. Do you understand me, Gen? You must do this!” Marcus urged, his voice vehement.

While Genevieve packed the bare necessities for her daughter and herself, Marcus and I waited in the shop, standing close to each other but not talking. I was feeling too pensive for casual conversation. Why didn’t he come back to the Heru compound as soon as he was back in town? Why did he visit Genevieve? Again, I wondered if there had ever been something more than friendship between Marcus and the sultry shop owner. Kat had denied it months ago, but a mother wouldn’t tell her daughter about her sex life. What if . . .

As Marcus escorted Genevieve to the waiting van, I stayed with the guards. Marcus swiftly returned and walked me to his car, again offering silence and letting me lose myself in thought. It wasn’t until we were on the ferry back to Bainbridge Island, standing on the starboard deck, that he broke the silence. He was behind me, his arms wrapped around me to insulate me from some of the chill carried by the brisk sea air. “Tell me your thoughts,” he said, and I could feel his jaw move against the side of my head.

I didn’t want to ask the one thing that kept dancing through my mind. I’d never been a jealous person, and I didn’t like that my relationship with Marcus was bringing the ugly emotion out. But I also wasn’t interested in a relationship based on lies or half-truths, so I asked, “Were you ever involved with her?”

“Jealous?”

What do you think? “Should I be?”

Marcus sighed and held me more tightly. “Gen and I have been involved since she discovered she was pregnant with Kat and Set left her. I looked out for them, assuring they had everything they needed. I told you all of this earlier,” he reminded me.

“So . . . ?” Was that a ‘no’?

“If I said yes? If I told you that Gen and I had shared a bed many years ago . . . or merely months ago, would it matter?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself not to cry over something as mundane as past lovers, because Marcus sure as hell had plenty of those.

Marcus seemed to read my mind, and though his words stung, his voice was soft. “And what about the hundreds—thousands—of women I’ve had over my long life? Do they matter? Do they change anything?”

Thousands? How can I possibly compete against thousands of women? Throat parched, I said, “No. I just . . .”

“Just what?” he persisted.

“I hate them,” I said, feeling pathetic.

“And there it is.” He sighed. “You are no virgin, correct?”

Discomfited, I replied, “Um . . . yeah. I mean, no . . . I’m not . . .”

“I don’t care how many men you’ve . . . been with” —Four . . . and not one was worth it—“I’d gladly cut the balls off of each and every one,” Marcus proclaimed with more vicious chill than I’d ever heard in his voice. “But no,” he added, “I’ve never been intimate with Gen.”

I felt like a thousand-pound dumbbell had been lifted off my chest. I hated thinking that Marcus had slept with her, and then brought me to her shop and flirted with me in front of her. It would have been remarkably cruel. He was serious and severe and very lethal, but I didn’t think he was cruel.

“Thank you for telling me,” I said into the wind. Below, the choppy gray-blue water of the Puget Sound undulated and foamed, and a little ways off, a seagull flapped and coasted, flapped and coasted, almost keeping up with the ferry. “Have you looked after all of Set’s abandoned women and children so well?” I asked with genuine curiosity. How many half-siblings do I have?

“No,” Marcus said, and the single word rang with finality. “We’re getting close.”

I let him take my hand and lead me back down a narrow staircase to our car. I didn’t know why, but I’d just banged on a closed, dead-bolted, and padlocked door. Marcus really didn’t want to tell me something, and I was getting the feeling it was extremely important. It was deal-breaker important. I needed to break through that door. I needed to find a battering ram.

24

Struggle & Survive

“You have to decide,” Neffe told her father in her haughtiest voice. “Cancel the field school, or don’t, but I need to know ASAP. I mean, we leaving in the morning!”

Along with Marcus, Neffe, and me, Dominic, Vali, and Alexander had spent the past three hours in one of two conference rooms on the ground floor of the main house, discussing the varying details of the excavation. Undergrad field school students weren’t scheduled to arrive until late May, and since it was too late to rearrange their course schedules with their various universities, Neffe and Dominic had arranged for several dozen Nejerets to join in their stead until they arrived. Now we just had to decide whether the field school students, who were humans, would be joining the excavation at all. Would they still be necessary? Would it be too risky to mix such a large group of Nejerets with humans? Having the small horde of Nejerets accompany me to the courthouse during the trial was one thing, but actually living together for months—the humans were bound to notice, and talk, and possibly do something unwise like try to expose the apparently superhuman humanoids living among them to the rest of the world.

“Cancel it,” Marcus said. “The humans are no longer necessary. They’ll just get in the way.”

“Or,” I interjected, “We could have them arrive as scheduled in May, but keep them in a separate ‘field school camp,’ away from the Nejerets.” I snorted softly. “We all know Deir el-Bahri is plenty large enough for two camps, and it’s not fair to the students to cancel the field school . . . they’re counting on this.”

Under the table, Marcus’s fingers cinched on my thigh. “Do as the Meswett wishes,” he told Neffe.

“Finally!” Neffe exclaimed. “At least someone can make a reasonable decision. Thanks, Lex.”

Neffe, you’re so not helping me, I thought, momentarily squeezing my eyes shut. “So are we finished then?” I asked, and again, Marcus tightened his grip on my leg. Since I was the Meswett and Marcus was the head of his familial line and the leader of the excavation to locate the ankh-At—Nuin’s time-travel power—we both were consulted regarding all important decisions. Marcus, who was used to being the sole decision-maker, developed acute stick-up-ass every time I influenced said decisions, even by doing something as small as attempting to end a meeting. Apparently he didn’t like to share control.

“For the most part,” Neffe said. “We have our Nejeret workers, field school students, transportation and accommodation arrangements, permits, and bribes taken care of. We may have to do some last-minute rearranging of personnel, but don’t worry, I’m sure Dom and I can take care of that—like we’ve done with everything else,” she said pointedly.

“Which you’ve both done very well,” I said with a warm smile.

Before I could speak, Marcus said, “Yes. Now, I would appreciate it if you could all leave me with the Meswett to discuss a few final matters.”

Chairs rolled on hardwood, people mumbled, and in a matter of seconds, everyone had left.

“What?” I asked wearily. We hadn’t had much time alone since Marcus’s return, and I had the anxious feeling that we weren’t about to have a sweet little tête-à-tête followed by a kiss and cuddle.

“You undermined my command,” he said softly, dangerously. “Don’t do it again.”

I straightened, holding my head high. “These people swore their lives to me—at your direction, I might add. What’d you expect, Marcus? Would you prefer they didn’t respect me . . . didn’t listen to me? Now that you’ve returned, am I just supposed to step back like a good little Nejerette and let almighty Heru take charge?”

Marcus’s lips spread into a razor-sharp grin and he said, “Most women enjoy it when I take charge.”

Suddenly exhausted, I ran my fingers through my loose hair and sighed. “I can’t do this right now, Marcus. I just can’t.” There was too much on my mind—too much worry about Set and the Nothingness and ankh-At—to waste energy on a power struggle with Marcus.

I rose and left the room, not stopping until I reached my bedroom. Needing to be alone, I locked the doors and started pacing. I felt physically ill, and it infuriated me that an unresolved dispute with Marcus could affect me so. Is this what a relationship with him will be like, just one long power struggle? Why did I think I could handle him? We were too dissimilar, products of vastly different times. Could I live with being what he apparently wanted me to be—his possession?

Absolutely not.

Could I live without him?

Yeah, but I really don’t want to.

A heavy, domineering knock rattled the door from the sitting room, and I heard the handle jiggle. “Lex,” Marcus called through the door. “Let me in.”

I approached the door and rested my hand against its surface, as though I could feel Marcus’s frustration through the solid oak.

“Lex, I’m . . . damn it!” His final word was emphasized with hard slap against the door. After minutes of silence, I decided he’d left.

I retreated to the oversized bed and curled into a ball in the center . . . and cried. I was sick of crying, sick of feeling weak. How many tears had Marcus coaxed from my tired eyes? How had he taken control of my emotions so completely? Why had I let him? I didn’t want to give him up, but I couldn’t be with him if he didn’t accept me as his equal. I couldn’t change him—make him less—and I didn’t want to, but maybe I could change how he saw me.

Curled up on the bed, I resolved to show Marcus that I truly was his she-falcon, a woman worthy of his respect as well as his emotional and physical attentions. With my heart settled, my head was free to spiral out of control. I’d been wrong in thinking Marcus was the cause of my current distress. He was only the tip of the iceberg.

Who am I? Alice and Joe Larson’s little girl? Daughter of Set? Great-granddaughter of Ivan, leader of the Nejeret? Marcus’s . . . something? Meswett, prophesied girl-child and savior of two species, one of which is oblivious to my existence? Destroyer of the world?

Who am I? What happened to Lex, the archaeologist? I liked her. She didn’t date much, but she was content with her place in the world. She had friends who cared about her . . .

Did they really?

. . . and a loving family. Her life wasn’t full of secrets . . .

Wasn’t it? Who am I kidding? This is how it’s always been . . . I just didn’t know. Which was the real problem, what was really bothering me—if I could return to my happy life, to my ignorant state of mind, would I?

No way in hell.

So who am I?

Lex.

Some time later, I heard the click of a lock, the opening of a door, and familiar, stealthy footsteps approaching the bed. Dominic.

“You didn’t give him the key?” I asked quietly.

Dominic sat behind me on the edge of the bed. “He didn’t ask. But had he, I would have refused.”

I rolled onto my back and reached out. Dominic grasped my hand and stretched out beside me. On the fluffy white comforter, we looked like a couple of oversized kids preparing to make a conjoined snow angel.

“Everything’s going to change tomorrow,” I said.

“Hasn’t it already?”

A soft laugh escaped from me. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve known you forever, Dom. I wish I had.”

“My forever, or yours?” he asked, notes of pain evident in his voice.

Turning my head, I examined his profile for evidence of whatever troubled him. Like all Nejerets, his features had been honed to perfection when he’d manifested. His pale skin and midnight hair stood in stark contrast around sharp, elfin bone structure. He and I shared the same high cheekbones and slightly pointy chin, but it was our father—Set—who he really resembled. I wondered how I hadn’t noticed the semblance when we first met in Denny Hall.

“Both,” I said. “Will you tell me what Set did to you?”

Dominic’s facial muscles tensed. “I don’t . . . it’s not pleasant.”

Squeezing his hand, I said, “I’m not sure what our dear father will do to make me obey him, but I’m pretty damn sure it’ll be worse than anything I can think of. Why should I hate him? Why should I want to destroy him at all costs? I need to know, Dom. I need ammo. Please, tell me.”

Dominic shut his eyes tightly, like he was trying to hide from something, except whatever he was trying to hide from was already inside his head. After a few seconds, his eyelids snapped open, and he stared at the molded plaster ceiling.

Finally, he said, “I was born in a small village in the Loire Valley in the late sixteenth century. My mother had been a great beauty at court, and like most of her peers, had been enamored with a handsome Russian diplomat—Set’s cover at the time. He wooed his way into her bed, but unlike the rest of the courtiers, she was cunning, and mistrustful by nature. While their affair proceeded, she spied on him and discovered she was one of dozens. You see, Set wanted to build an army, so he spent hundreds of years bouncing from court to court, impregnating as many high-born women as possible. Carriers of the Nejeret genes are more prevalent in the upper class—probably because we naturally seek positions of power and our human offspring tend to benefit from that in both status and means.

“After several months, my mother learned she was pregnant and fled to a small village, where she hid and I was eventually born. Set didn’t try to follow her, but I’ve often wondered if he knew where we were the whole time, because when I manifested, he came after us immediately. He imprisoned my mother in one of his fortresses and cared for her only for the sake of keeping her alive, because alive, she could be used as leverage against me. He threatened to hurt her if I didn’t follow his wishes. On multiple occasions, he did hurt her, until I finally learned to obey.

“He made me into his hunter—his assassin—and set me on the track of Ivan’s line. At that time, he’d only been focused on preventing his prophesied destruction, and to do that, he planned to wipe out Ivan and his descendants completely. It was the same reason he forced Senenmut to build the hidden temple in the first place—to lock the ankh-At away forever. It wasn’t until the nineteenth century that he realized the girl-child would be his key to ruling the world.” Dominic shook his head, messing up his usually smooth hair. “I did horrible things at his command . . . but I managed to do some good, too. I helped some of your brethren escape and go into hiding.” Dominic paused and looked at me with a sad smile.

“On the night my mother died from an impromptu, excessive beating, I vowed to kill Set. As I made my way to his bedchamber, I was accosted by a man who’d been hidden in the shadows. In my time serving as Set’s personal assassin, I’d become highly skilled in the darker arts—lock-picking, breaking and entering, hand-to-hand combat, and of course, killing. But even I was no match for this man. I held my own against him for a few seconds, but he quickly had me weaponless and pinned on the ground.

“He asked me, ‘Are you ready to die, traitor?’ I nodded, but requested that he might hold off on my execution until after I’d killed Set. And he laughed! He told me that perhaps he wouldn’t kill me just yet—that he might have a use for me—and we fled the fortress together. He showed me the truth, and I learned of Nuin’s prophecy and that killing Set would destroy the easiest path to all of his offspring—possible harbingers of the doom predicted in the prophecy.”

I wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but unable to hold in my curiosity, I asked, “Who was he? The man who stopped you, I mean.”

Dominic looked at me quizzically. “Heru, of course.”

“And you’ve been working for him ever since?”

“With him, yes,” he said. “Fighting the good fight, and all that.”

“Thank you for telling me, Dom. I can’t believe what Set did to you and your mom . . . he . . . I’ll . . .”

“I know, Lex. For the first time since my mother’s death, I have family again,” he told me somberly. “Just try not to destroy yourself in the process of destroying him.”

“Do you think he’ll try to use my family against me, like he did with you and your mom?”

Dominic sat up abruptly. “I can’t imagine him not trying that. I’m sorry, Lex . . . I should have thought of it sooner.”

“Oh my God!” I exclaimed and launched off the bed. “I need to talk to Marcus.”

In seconds, I’d unlocked the door to the sitting room, opened it, and almost run straight into a six-and-a-half-foot wall of hard muscle covered in expensive, exquisitely tailored fabric.

I took a step backward. “Have you been standing here the whole time?” I asked, avoiding his eyes.

“No,” Marcus replied with a voice like silk. “I listened as you wept and then as you fell silent. When I heard nothing for nearly two hours, I left briefly to search for Dom and asked him to check on you.”

He listened to me cry? He stood out there for hours? “Oh, um, thanks.” I finally raised my eyes to his, but he wasn’t looking at me. Instead, he was glaring at Dominic, who was still sitting on the bed.

“Dom,” Marcus said, his voice low with warning.

Dominic instantly stood, and I would have been curious about what he’d done to set off Marcus—this time—but there were far more important matters on my mind.

“Marcus . . . my family,” I said, worry straining the words.

“Ah, yes . . . I think it’s time for another little meeting.”

Promptly, the three of us, along with four bodyguards, returned to the meeting room downstairs and waited for the others. Carlisle, Josh, Neffe, and Alexander all appeared within ten minutes of our own arrival.

After a long discussion, I made a list of everyone Set could possibly use against me as he’d used Dominic’s mother against him. It wasn’t a long list, consisting of my immediate family, my few aunts, uncles, and cousins, Grandma Suse, a half-dozen friends, Dr. Ramirez, and my cat. I hesitated only a moment before adding Cara to the list. After all, she had only spoken the truth on the witness stand.

“Are you sure that’s everyone?” Alexander asked.

I scanned the list. “Yep.”

“There must be more people you care about,” he insisted. “We need to know every single one, otherwise we won’t be able to protect them.”

“That’s it,” I said, growing self-conscious. I reexamined the short list of people, of the handful of meaningful relationships I’d accumulated over the first twenty-four years of my life. It wasn’t a very impressive list. Why so few? Have I always known I was different? Could others tell?

“But this is barely—”

“Let it go, Alex,” Marcus said quietly.

At his friend’s words, Alexander closed his mouth and studied me. Whatever he found troubled him, creasing his brow and pulling down the corners of his mouth.

“Carlisle,” Marcus said, “set up teams to monitor each person on this list. Dispatch them immediately. They are to report back as soon as they make indirect contact. Under only one circumstance are they to engage with their charge—direct threat from Set or his followers.”

“Yes, Sir,” Carlisle said as he pulled out his cell phone and began texting ferociously.

We spent the rest of the evening brainstorming the possible threats and acts Set might use to coerce my obedience. Until that night, I’d had no idea how many ways a person could be physically, mentally, and emotionally tortured. I felt like I was halfway to cracking under the pressure already, and Set was nowhere in sight.

“Lex, did you hear me?” Marcus asked, squeezing my knee.

“No,” I said, feeling empty. I had the vague impression that everyone was staring at me.

“I know you’re tired, but you can sleep on the plane. This is important. You need to focus,” Marcus urged. I felt him give my knee a shake.

“I . . . I . . . it’s . . .” I couldn’t seem to form a complete thought, couldn’t get a grip on reality. I was stuck in my head, imagining my fingernails being torn out with pliers, or being forced to watch my mom being raped.

“Leave us,” Marcus said quietly, and I heard the sounds of the others exiting the room.

When we were alone, Marcus spun my chair so I faced him. Slowly, his hands slid up my thighs and gripped the swell of my hips, pulling my butt to the edge of the seat. He knelt on the hardwood floor before me, parting my knees and fitting himself between my legs. All numbness—mental and physical—immediately vanished. I became hyper-aware of every part of my body, and his.

“I don’t think I can do this,” I said quietly.

He leaned his forehead against mine and whispered, “Of course you can. You’re my she-falcon.”

I smiled faintly, and he mirrored the expression.

“This is very important, Lex,” he said softly, his voice somber. “If it comes down to physical torture, you must leave your body and enter the At. You won’t feel the pain there.”

“But what about my body?” My voice was small, childlike.

“It will heal.”

“It will heal if I stay, too.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But your mind might not.”

“Oh.”

Chastely, he touched his lips to mine. “You are the daughter of two of the most powerful Nejeret lines. You are the Meswett. But most importantly, you are mine.”

Tears welled in my eyes, overflowing at the corners.

With more tenderness than I’d thought possible, Marcus kissed away each salty droplet. “You are mine, and I command you to survive this,” he whispered.

I shook with soft laughter. “There you go again, ordering me around.”

Marcus touched his lips to mine, but all of the chasteness of his previous kiss was gone. “Contrary to what you think, I don’t want to control you,” he said as he pulled away, reclaiming his seat.

I scooted back in my own chair and crossed my legs. “Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming?”

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “But . . . I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t let other men lie on your bed. I don’t want to smell them when I’m in it with you. It should just be the scent of you and me . . . together.”

My cheeks flushed. “But it was just Dom. He’s my—”

Shaking his head, Marcus took a deep breath. “Sibling relationships are different among our kind, Lex.”

At his implication, I gagged. “Are you saying that brothers and sisters . . . that Nejerets are incestuous?” I asked Marcus, appalled.

Marcus replied with a question. “Is there incest when the female half of the species cannot procreate? Surely you must have considered that my grandfather—”

“Don’t say it,” I warned, standing and taking several steps away from Marcus.

“—is your great-grandfather through Set—”

I clapped my hands over my ears and closed my eyes, chanting, “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”

“—and the same, only a little further removed, through your mother. Why, that would make us—”

Turning around, I blurted, “Okay! I get it . . . loud and clear.” I think I’m going to be sick.

“I don’t think you do,” Marcus said, stalking toward me. I stood my ground. How had he gone from tender and caring to such a vicious creature in a matter of seconds? “You’re disgusted. You want me, but now you’re conflicted. You’re concerned with human social norms. Well guess what, Lex? You’re not human. You’re Nejerette. Get used to it and keep Dominic off your bed.”

“Fine,” I agreed, and he actually looked surprised. “But you have to stop ordering me around.”

Raising his hand, Marcus gently stroked the side of my face with the backs of his fingers. Before I could lean into his touch, he clamped his hand around my jaw and clenched his own. “Fine.”

25

Do & Damn

I grew up in a middle-class, apple-pie-with-vanilla-ice-cream, American home. On Christmas, a holiday that had no religious significance to my family aside from the worship of one exceptionally jolly, exceptionally fat man, our tree always sheltered a moderately generous cache of presents. Frosty and Max, our family cats, would play with any ornaments they could reach, adding new scratches to those left over from years past. We didn’t buy new, perfect, and shiny baubles to decorate the tree every year, and we didn’t give each other everything we could ever want. We couldn’t afford to. And in a sense, it was something I appreciated—not being handed every little thing I wanted gave me something to work toward.

I was sitting alone on an unbelievably soft, beige leather couch on one of Marcus’s huge, super-luxurious private jets. Marcus had abandoned me to pace while he carried on a heated phone conversation with somebody important, not that I knew who.

While staying at the Heru compound, I’d managed to trick myself into thinking of the chateau and its outbuildings more like a resort than a private residence. But I couldn’t ignore Marcus’s obscene wealth when it was shaped like a metal tube and was hurtling me through the air at breakneck speeds. One of the few things seers were always allowed to look for in the future At was a means to make money. Playing the stock market, investing in business ventures, gambling—it was all Council-approved so long as it bettered Nejeret-kind.

Briefly, I wondered if Alexander was anywhere near as well-off as Marcus, and if he was, why Grandma Suse didn’t live in some opulent mansion. Unless . . . maybe she didn’t want to? Grandma Suse was a proud, honest woman—a human woman—and I could easily imagine her rejecting Alexander’s money as soon as she’d learned the truth about him and how he gained it . . . however he had gained it. She probably considered it cheating . . . an unfair advantage over “normal folks” or something like that.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Marcus said as he settled beside me, draping his arm over my shoulders.

I rested my head against his chest. “It’s okay.” After a moment, I said, “I didn’t know you could use cell phones on airplanes.”

“Ah . . . our plane is different.”

When he didn’t explain further, I glanced up at his face—his lips were pressed into an unusually thin line. “What’s wrong?”

He sighed. “All of the people on your list are accounted for and are being monitored . . . except one.”

“Who?” I asked. I could feel Alexander’s eyes on me from a dozen feet away.

“Your sister.”

I glanced at Kat, who was sitting beside Alexander. “Jenny’s missing?” My brain instantly tried to come up with possible explanations. “She could be . . . maybe she’s just—”

Marcus held me more tightly against his side. “We have finders looking for her current location in the At. We’re doing our best to figure out where she is and if something has happened to her.”

“Something . . . ? Like, if she’s been hurt . . . or . . . or killed?” I asked, horrified.

He exhaled bitterly. “That is unlikely. She’s useless to Set dead.”

My chest felt like it had been pulverized by a meat tenderizer from the inside out. “He has her, doesn’t he?”

After kissing the top of my head, Marcus released me and I sat up straight. “I think so. Otherwise we would have been able to find her in the At by now.”

“Can I use your phone?” I asked, holding out my hand.

“No, but you can use your phone,” he said, placing a shiny new iPhone in my waiting palm. “It’s already programmed with all of our people as well as everyone on your list.”

I didn’t need pre-programmed contacts to call Jenny, but my hands were shaking so badly that I had to dial her number four times before I got it right. It went straight to voicemail.

“Shit!” I hissed before the beep. “Jenny, call me back as soon as you get this. It’s important, like life-or-death important. There are some things about you and me that I have to tell you. I love you, J.”

As soon as I hit “end” I was dialing another number.

“Hello?”

“Mom—”

“Hi, sweetie!” my mom exclaimed. My chin began trembling at the sound of her voice—an involuntary reaction from all the times she’d comforted me growing up.

“Hey Mom, do—”

“I thought you were flying out today,” she interrupted. “Are you already in Egypt?”

“Uh, yeah, just landed,” I lied. “But—”

“How was it? I always hate those long flights. My legs get so achy.”

“Yeah, it was . . . long. I’d love to talk, but I really need to know how to get ahold of Jenny. I promise I’ll call you back when I’m settled in.”

“Oh, of course, sweetie. Are you going to try to meet up with her?”

“What?” I asked, instantly confused.

“Jenny. You know, since she’s in the same neighborhood as you?”

What? “Yeah . . .”

“I bet she’s having the time of her life cruising around the Mediterranean with that new boyfriend of hers.”

Something in my chest clenched. Please let her new boyfriend not be who I think he might be, I thought frantically. “Yep, sounds awesome,” I said. “But, uh, she forgot to give me a way to reach her.” Liar, liar, pants on fire . . .

“Oh good! You girls will have so much fun together. It’s just what you need to mend things. Now let’s see . . . I know it’s around here . . . hmm . . . did I put it . . . ah, here it is. Are you ready?”

“Yeah, Mom,” I said, accepting a pen and small notebook from Marcus. I jotted down the numbers and then repeated them back for confirmation. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll call you soon. Be safe.”

“That’s my line,” she said, laughing softly. “Be safe, Lex. And have fun!”

“Love you, Mom.” I didn’t want to end the call; I wanted to keep talking to her forever.

“I love you too, sweetie. Bye.”

“Bye,” I said and listened as my mom fumbled with the phone, trying to disconnect the call on her end.

Taking a long, deep breath, I dialed the unfamiliar combination of numbers. It seemed to take hours to connect, but finally it rang once . . . twice . . .

“Hello, my darling girl.” It was the last voice I wanted to hear. I’d suspected, all the while hoping desperately to be wrong, that Jenny was with Set . . . her new boyfriend. That is so wrong . . .

“Where’s my sister?” I asked icily.

Set chuckled. “She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she? She lacks some of your . . . hmmm . . . severity. I wonder if Heru is so drawn to you because your eyes are the color of his favorite thing.”

Marcus was as still as a statue beside me, and Alexander joined us, sitting on my opposite side.

“And that would be . . . ?” I asked.

I could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “Blood, as it thickens and dries. Do you really know so little about him, daughter? Perhaps I’ll enlighten you when I see you next.”

Ignoring his taunts, I repeated, “Where’s my sister? If you’ve hurt her . . .”

“We need not be enemies, my—”

“Oh, I think we need be,” I said, cutting him off. “Where’s Jenny?”

“Sunning on the deck,” he answered pleasantly. “And if you call again or try to contact her in any other way, I’ll cut her throat.” He hung up.

I dropped the phone on the floor and stood. Numbly, I hurried past a handful of Nejerets to the large bathroom in the rear of the jet, locking myself inside. As soon as I looked at the toilet, I fell to my knees and vomited. My stomach heaved until it was empty, and then dry-heaved a few more times for good measure.

Still crumpled on my knees, I flushed the toilet, trying to get rid of the smell, then searched the drawers and compartments in the bathroom until I found what I needed.

I took my time, brushing my hair, rinsing my face with cold water, and cleaning my teeth with enthusiasm. I remembered the thousands of times I’d gone through similar morning and nighttime routines, shoulder to shoulder with Jenny as we shared the sink in our bathroom. We’d been so close when we were little girls. How did we let ourselves drift so far apart?

Suddenly, I felt overwhelming determination to find my sister . . . to save her from Set. I had begun mending things with her over the holidays, and I wouldn’t let her die without finishing what I’d started. She was my sister—if Set hurt her, I would do my damndest to make him pay.

I emerged from the lavatory with a plan. Marcus was waiting for me just outside, leaning against the opposite wall. I blinked in surprise, then grabbed his hand and pulled him into the rear bedroom cabin and closed the door, shutting out dozens of sets of prying eyes. I led him to the foot of the bed, then sat down. He followed suit.

Reaching behind me, he began rubbing my neck, somehow knowing I was developing a monster of a headache. I slouched, letting his fingers work their temporary magic and murmuring, “Mmm . . .”

Minutes later, I gathered my courage and pulled Marcus’s hand away from my neck. I held it to my lips, kissing each fingertip softly. “Thank you,” I whispered, pressing my lips against his palm. Impulsively, I met his gaze at the exact moment that I gently bit the meaty part of his palm and watched his eyes burn gold and black with desire.

I had no idea why fortune had favored me with this aphrodisiacal power over such an imposing and undeniably desirable man, but I relished it. It was intoxicating—his responses drove me wild with lust. The fates, it seemed, believed in fair play, because his power over me was equally potent.

“I’m going into the At,” I said against his palm before releasing it, “to look for my sister. If she’s really with Set, then I may be the only one who can find her, and I have to find her. He’ll use her against me, threaten her again, and”—my chin quivered—“Marcus, I don’t know if I can resist.”

Jaw clenched, Marcus said, “Going into the At is unwise. If Set finds your ba while it’s in an echo . . .”

I stood and started pacing in the small space. “I know. He could hurt me . . . maybe even trap me. It’s really stupid. But”—I turned to face him, wrapping my arms around my middle—“I’m doing it anyway. I have to.”

Something in my eyes convinced Marcus that I couldn’t be dissuaded. “Then I’m going with you.”

I shook my head, sincerely wishing he could accompany me. “It was harder to enter the echo at the fertility clinic when I had you or Alexander tagging along, and I knew that echo. I think the only way I can find Jenny is if I’m alone.”

In an instant, Marcus was standing before me and his hands were on me, caressing my face, my neck, my shoulders, my hair. “Don’t do this, Lex. We’ll find another way . . .”

Pressing my lips against his, I kissed him long and tenderly. “I’m going,” I whispered. “The only question left is—will you watch over my body while I’m gone?”

“Of course.” His voice was rough.

I smiled a weak, miserable smile. “Thanks.”

* * *

I stood, surrounded by the horizontal whirl of colors, amazed at how much easier it had been to enter the placeless When—as opposed to the timeless Where—of the At than it had been during my finder test with Alexander. I focused on the time of my phone call with Set, the only concrete hold I had on him. But instead of Set, I focused on Jenny, searching the recent past for her.

The colors shifted, flying by like they were stars and I was in a spaceship in hyperdrive. Abruptly, the motionless shifting of the At ceased. Glaringly bright, the sun shown down on sparkling, sapphire water, and gulls squawked overhead. An arrhythmic tap-thud-slap, tap-thud-slap, tap-thud-slap repeated endlessly. I was on Set’s yacht.

It was beautiful, though in a totally different way than Marcus’s private jets. Marcus preferred tasteful and reserved décor, usually of grays or blacks, while Set veered toward gaudy and extravagant. He wanted to shove everyone’s face in his wealth and power. The disparity between the two men intrigued me, considering how close they had once been.

I recalled Marcus’s admission that they had even “shared lovers.” What the hell does that even mean? Had they participated in a bunch of ménage-a-trois . . . or ménage-a-more-than-trois?

Shaking my head, I focused on my fear for Jenny . . . on my devastation at the thought of losing her forever. If I let my mind stray, it would be too easy to accidentally relocate myself in the At and end up watching one of the ménage-a-whatevers, which I really didn’t want to do. Finding Jenny was what was important.

I turned away from the gemstone ocean and scanned the deck. Sure enough, Jenny was sprawled lazily in a purple bikini near the bow of the boat, and no matter how badly I wanted to warn her of the danger she was in with Set, she wouldn’t hear me. I was viewing the past, and she wasn’t really there.

Strong hands settled on my shoulders and began a slow, deep massage.

Smiling, I admonished, “I thought I told you to stay . . .” I trailed off, realizing the person behind me didn’t smell a thing like Marcus. Instead of exotic and sweet spices, I was surrounded by a subtle, cool mint, almost like a mojito. “Set!” I hissed.

“I wondered if you would come . . . though I thought it would take you longer,” Set said, smooth-voiced. “You don’t waste time. Has my dear cousin benefited from this element of your character?”

“What I do with him is none of your business,” I snapped, acutely aware that this was the first time I’d spoken to Set face-to-face, so to speak.

He spun me around to face him. “On the contrary, daughter. What Heru does with my property is every bit my business.”

His property? “Fuck you!” I spat.

Set smiled—a simple baring of teeth—and scoured my body with his eyes. “It’s a little unconventional, even for Nejerets, but if that’s what would sway you to my side, I’m sure I could oblige.”

“Ugh! No! What’s wrong with you?” I tried to shove off his hold, but he was far stronger than me.

“Hmmm . . .” He cocked his head to the side. “I don’t want us to be enemies, Daughter. What can I say to ease your antagonism toward me?”

“Nothing. Your actions have spoken loud enough.”

“What evil deeds have you assigned to your loving father?” he asked pleasantly.

“Joe Larson is my loving father and he’s done nothing evil,” I said, verbally slapping Set. “You, on the other hand, stalked me throughout my life—probably hoping to kidnap me—assigned a man to drug and rape me, broke into my apartment with a group of your cult followers, and then kidnapped my sister and threatened to kill her.” I glared, trying to stab him with my eyeballs. “Don’t you think that’s enough?”

Set’s grasp on my shoulders tightened painfully, but I didn’t do anything to indicate my discomfort. I was too worried it would please him.

“I am your father. Without me, you wouldn’t exist. Don’t forget that, girl. And did you consider that perhaps I was just watching you as you grew to keep you safe? And that idiot, Mike, kept lathering on the drug-laced lip balm until you nearly overdosed. He was supposed to use it to lower your inhibitions only enough that you’d willingly share his bed. And pretty Jenny came with me willingly. She thinks she’s in love with Seth McDougal,” he explained, puffing up.

His excuses were crap and I told him so. “What about the men who broke into my apartment?” I asked, and he shrugged.

“Like I said, actions speak.” I watched as something darker than the inky black of his irises—possibly his sanity—slid around in his eyes, sometimes filling them, other times leaving them wild and vacant. Holy crap, I thought, terrified of the man before me. He really is insane.

“How about these actions,” Set said softly. “Your beautiful Heru spent over two millennia hunting down and killing my offspring. The blood of my children—your siblings—pours from his hands, but you would damn me for merely threatening the life of your sister. You should be damning him!”

“You lie!” I cried and kneed him in the groin as hard as I could. As he crumpled to the ground, I fled back into my body.

I was lying on my back on the bed in Marcus’s private jet. Opening my eyes, I raised my head and stared at his broad shoulders, at the chorded tendons and muscles snaking up his neck and the line where night-dark hair met golden-honey skin. He sat in the same position he’d been in when I first closed my eyes, just beyond my feet at the end of the bed.

“I found her,” I said quietly, but Marcus didn’t turn. I sat up.

“And . . . ?”

“She’s with him, but she’s not hurt. He said she’s in love with him.” I watched closely for a reaction.

Marcus’s shoulders tensed. “So he showed up. I figured he would.”

“Don’t you want to know what else he told me?”

“I can guess,” Marcus said, hanging his head. “Was it something along the lines of ‘Heru spent thousands of years killing your siblings’?”

“It’s true?” I whispered, wanting him to deny it. He didn’t, and I felt like the world was being ripped out from under my feet and I was falling endlessly into oblivion. My half-siblings, like Dominic and Kat, had been hunted down and killed by Marcus? Why?

“It’s part of the truth,” Marcus said quietly. He stood and walked to the door. “When you decide you want to know the rest, let me know.”

“Marcus,” I said, but he was already gone.

Part III

Deir el-Bahri
Luxor, Egypt

26

Claim & Bond

As demonstrated by the brevity of my “people I care about” list, I’d never been one to hand out affection like candy on Halloween. But, on the rare occasion that I let someone in, they had a chance to become a cornerstone in my life. Of the people on my list, only my parents, Grandma Suse, Jenny, Annie, and Cara were cornerstones. Once I’d laid them in my foundation, it took a lot to remove them. Even Cara’s honest betrayal on the stand hadn’t done it, though her stability had been dramatically loosened. But, once they were gone, ripped from the recess that had been finely hewn to fit only them, they were gone for good. It was something hammered into the very fiber of my being.

Set’s words haunted me. “Heru spent over two millennia hunting down and killing my offspring. The blood of my children—your siblings—pours from his hands . . .”

I couldn’t fathom any reason to hunt and kill people simply because they had the misfortune of being fathered by a psychotic, evil man. Even if that father was prophesied to potentially lead one of his children to destroy the world, it just didn’t make sense . . . they were still their own people. Just because Set fathered them didn’t mean he owned their minds. And I wondered, had I been born a hundred years earlier, would Marcus have hunted down and killed me too?

Like Set’s, Marcus’s words echoed in my mind. “When you decide you want to know the rest, let me know.” He had uttered the emotionless syllables earlier that morning, before we’d even touched down on the sun-drenched runway at Luxor International Airport. It had only taken me the afternoon to decide—I wanted to know the rest. I wanted Marcus as a cornerstone. Especially with Jenny still in Set’s hands and the impending Nothingness on the horizon, I needed someone . . . I needed Marcus.

I emerged from the ten-by-twenty-foot canvas tent that would be my home for the next several months, taking a moment to stare in wonder at Djeser-Djeseru—Hatchepsut’s mortuary temple—about a half-mile to the west. Its three tiers of columned promenades were lit up for the night, making the enormous temple glow majestically and casting eerie, jagged shadows against the limestone cliffs towering behind it. Tomorrow, I would finally walk up the two gradual limestone ramps to Djeser-Djeseru’s third level and begin searching the upper Anubis chapel for the hidden entrance to Senenmut’s underground temple.

Sighing, I turned away and headed for Marcus’s tent. It was a duplicate of mine, a rectangular canvas structure divided into two rooms—a ten-by-ten-foot “office,” and beyond that, personal living quarters of the same dimensions—and had been erected only a handful of paces from my own tent. Together, our two canvas homes comprised the center of a tent town. Dozens of smaller tents had been set up around ours in a very neat grid pattern, with a main thoroughfare running east and west, directly between Marcus’s and my tents. Beyond the west edge of the mini-city of canvas and sand, an expansive canopy had been set up over several dozen collapsible picnic tables, and two long restroom trailers had been parked beyond the east edge of camp. The entire temple complex had been shut down to tourists and would remain so until August, leaving us free to conduct our work away from prying eyes.

As I crossed the sandy “main street” to Marcus’s tent, my two bodyguards followed, positioned like splayed wings behind me. I stopped when I reached the curtain-like door, trying to work up the nerve to push through and step inside. A soft, feminine laugh sounded within.

I scurried around the corner of the tent, motioning frantically for my guards to return to my own tent. Whether or not they would have obeyed didn’t matter, because a slender, caramel-complexioned woman emerged from Marcus’s tent saying, “. . . want me to stay.” She stuck out her lower lip in a sultry pout. “I haven’t been able to think about anything else for weeks.” There was no mistaking what she was talking about—sex . . . with Marcus.

Weeks? Why would she say that . . . unless . . . I choked on a scream. Had Marcus been with her—slept with her—during our two months of estrangement? He did say he was in Egypt . . . Jealousy unlike anything I’d ever felt before washed through me, setting me aflame with rage. My emotions where Marcus was concerned tended toward volatility, but this was getting ridiculous. I hated that woman. I wanted to hurt her. I wanted to erase her and whatever carnal experiences Marcus had shared with her from his mind.

“Hello, boys,” the woman mused, looking each of my guards up and down admiringly. She wasn’t Nejerette; she lacked the finely hewn perfection I’d come to recognize as a tell-tale sign, but she was striking nonetheless. Her bold features were just feminine enough for beauty, but too masculine for anonymity. I watched as she sauntered slowly away, toward the enormous parking lot east of the tent town.

“What are you doing, Lex?” Marcus asked in my general direction, his voice bland.

I stepped out from the shadows and into the moonlight. “Who is she?” I asked with nod toward the woman.

“Sara,” he said, his expression carefully blank.

“She’s human,” I said, which was noteworthy considering we’d agreed to keep the Nejeret camp human-free, aside from Genevieve. “What’s she doing here?”

Marcus opened his mouth to speak, but apparently thought better of whatever he’d been about to say and closed it again.

Without thinking, I turned on my heel and stalked after the willowy woman. “Hey! Hey, Sara!” I called after her, and she halted.

“Yes?” she asked with genuine curiosity. She turned gracefully, examined me from head to toe, and said, “I’m sorry, you seem to have me at a disadvantage. You are . . . ?” Her accent was upper-crust British, full of education and class.

“Lex,” I replied. “What were you doing in Marcus’s tent?” Accusation clouded the air, as did a growing crowd of Nejerets. Oh look, the Meswett is having a breakdown—let’s watch! I had no idea what I was doing, or why—other than feeling an overwhelming need to claim Marcus as my own.

Sara gave me a knowing look that seemed to say, “Oh, honey, don’t even bother with him. He needs a real woman.” Out loud, she said, “Why don’t you ask him?”

“Because I’m asking you,” I said evenly.

“We had a few drinks,” she purred.

“And . . . ?”

“Lex, come on. Let the woman go,” Dominic said as he carefully approached me from the left.

I thrust my hand toward him and growled, “I love you, Dom, but I swear if you touch me right now I’ll kick you in the balls so hard they’ll pop out of your mouth.”

More than a few Nejerets chuckled, and Dominic’s lips pursed and twitched. He didn’t, however, come any closer.

“And . . . ?” I prompted Sara again.

As she’d watched the exchange between me and Dominic, concern had formed a faint line between her eyebrows. She was starting to understand—I wasn’t just some young archaeologist with a crush on the excavation director.

“And we talked,” she said primly.

“About . . . ?”

Concerned or not, she was affronted. “About old times, if you must know,” she said haughtily. Old times. It was the wrong thing to say. Old times that had been spent in bed together? Maybe they’d been reliving old times?

A growing murmur was coming from the crowd of Nejerets. A quick glance around told me pretty much everyone in the camp was watching us.

What am I doing? Get a hold of yourself, Lex! Unable to stop myself, I stepped closer to Sara, and she stepped back. It was like there was an invisible force field between us. It amused some instinctual Nejerette part of me, so I did it again. Sara took another step back. She’s afraid of me, I thought, and though I didn’t know why, the realization gave me pleasure.

“Don’t move,” I told her, and cocked my head. “I won’t hurt you . . . if you don’t move.”

As I approached her, Sara’s wide, wild, chocolate-brown eyes burned into mine, pleading silently. She was an inch or two taller than me, but nothing could give her an edge over my all-encompassing fury. I was starting to wonder if heightened emotions accompanied the other intensified sensations afflicting my kind.

“Oh dear God, your eyes,” Sara whispered, once I was only a few inches away. The reaction had become normal from regular humans, and annoying enough that I’d started to wear brown contact lenses when the need for discretion arose. “Somebody get her away from me!” Sara screeched, looking around at the crowd. “She’s . . . she’s . . . possessed or something! Won’t anyone help me? Marcus?”

Nobody made a move to step in and rescue the terrified woman. This—whatever it was—was between the Meswett, a member of the Council of Seven, and some woman . . . some human woman. Nobody had the right to interfere, and nobody would.

I smiled, enjoying her fear. But, I needed to find out if she deserved worse than fear. I took another step toward her, and leaned in close like I might lay a soft kiss upon her full lips. She shivered as I breathed in through my nose. What the hell am I doing? I thought as I bent my neck to sniff both sides of hers and then her hair with long, deep breaths. There was no scent of Marcus’s tantalizing spice, only her subtle floral perfume—expensive and delicate—Scotch, and fear. Marcus hadn’t touched her, at least not enough to mark her.

“Leave now,” I whispered into her ear. “Don’t come back. Got it?”

I felt the air shift between our cheeks as she nodded.

“Good. Leave.”

As I watched her hurry away, I wondered why my jealous rage wasn’t dissipating. I’d taken care of the threat, but I still felt drunk with it.

“Don’t,” I told Dominic as he again started to approach me. At only a few strides away, I could see something in his eyes that looked like sadness mixed with admiration, or maybe envy. I couldn’t believe it. Does he think I handled that well? Was that some instinctive Nejeret thing?

The truth behind Marcus’s many claims that we weren’t human finally sunk in. In my recent identity crisis, I’d been asking the wrong question. I shouldn’t have been focused on the who, but on the what. What am I?

Not human.

Wrapping my wild emotions around me, I approached Marcus. The crowd parted for me obediently, each Nejeret head bowing as I passed. It had the feeling of ritual.

Marcus still stood just outside the door to his tent, arms crossed and watching me. He hadn’t moved a muscle to rescue Sara.

I stopped a few feet in front of him, watching him . . . waiting. His face was a thin mask of unconcern barely concealing some unidentifiable, intense emotion.

“Back to your tents,” he called over my head to the crowd before reaching behind him to hold open the flap covering the entrance to his tent.

I ducked under his arm and entered his temporary home. It was the first time I’d actually set foot in his tent. There was a small wooden desk, several folding chairs, and a few trunks set against the canvas wall. An electric lantern hanging at the apex of the ceiling was the only source of light. With a deep inhale, I assured myself that the interior didn’t smell like sex. What the hell is up with me and sniffing? I wondered remotely.

Marcus followed close behind me. The temperature had been in the mid-nineties earlier that day, but it had dropped drastically when the sun went down a short while ago. It was Marcus’s heat that seeped into me now.

“Satisfied?” he asked roughly.

I took several steps away from him, toward the doorway to his “bedroom,” and peered over my shoulder. “Satisfied? I definitely wouldn’t describe myself as satisfied at the moment.”

His chest rumbled, and his expression turned predatory.

Not human, I reminded myself.

“Would you like me to remedy that?” he asked quietly.

Looking away, I stepped out of my sandals and let the warm sand beneath the canvas floor mold to my feet. “Tell me why you killed my siblings.”

From the sound of Marcus’s exhale, he hadn’t moved. “I killed them because it was my job. I killed them because the majority of the Council decreed it and because they refused to forswear their bloodline and swear loyalty to the Council. I killed them because they followed Set blindly.”

I faced him, surprised by his answer. I’d been under the mistaken impression that he’d hunted Set’s offspring, killing any and all he could get his hands on.

“Ah . . . I see it in your eyes. You thought the worst. Did you think I killed them as babes in their cradles? Or maybe tore them from their mothers’ breasts? Or, perhaps I just killed the pregnant mothers? No. They were grown. They had a choice. They chose wrong.”

As a silent, shameful tear slid down my cheek, I asked, “Why didn’t you just tell me the truth on the plane? I imagined such awful things about you.”

He chuckled, but the sound held no amusement. “You thought the worst, and yet you were still willing to claim me as yours. You are unbelievable.”

I shifted my feet and frowned. “Claim you as mine?” I remembered thinking something similar, but I had no clue where the urge had come from. Who claims another person?

Shaking his head, Marcus said, “And you don’t even know what you did. I forget sometimes that you weren’t raised among us, that you don’t know our ways. But, it would seem that your instincts have a way of making up for your missing knowledge.” He hitched his head toward the direction of my confrontation with Sara. “What you just did—that was one of several types of claiming ceremonies. In the old ways, you just declared me yours.”

“I did? But I didn’t mean to.”

“Too late. It’s done.” He took a small step toward me, then another. “Do you know what comes next?”

Swallowing, I shook my head.

“Once the Nejeret, or Nejerette in this case, claims her intended, it’s up to the claimed to complete the ceremony by either rejecting or accepting the Nejerette,” he explained.

Looking at his boots, I asked, “How would the claimed reject the Nejerette?”

“By publicly vowing never to speak to her, touch her, or look upon her again. It’s the reason claiming is not very common.”

My eyes flew up to his, searching his face for any hint of his intentions. Will he reject me? After what I’d thought of him, I feared it was a distinct possibility.

“And how would the claimed accept the Nejerette?” I asked softly.

A slow, wolfish smile spread across Marcus’s face, and his golden eyes darkened with desire.

“Oh,” I breathed. My belly tightened, and my groin throbbed in rhythm with my suddenly speeding heartbeat.

“Would the Nejerette like her claimed to accept?” Marcus took another small step, leaving only a few feet between us.

Unable to look away from his eyes, I nodded. Short, quick breaths prevented me from speaking.

“Tell me you want me to accept.” His deep voice, with its complex accent, curled around me, enticing, encouraging. “Tell me what you want.” Not “beg me to accept,” or even “ask me to accept.” He wanted me to tell him. He was giving me the control, setting me up as his equal.

He took one last step, closing the distance between us.

“I want you to accept,” I said, and miraculously, both my gaze and voice were steady.

“Finally,” he growled, picking me up by the waist and setting me on the desk. Just like that, he took back control.

By the time his lips touched mine, he was between my legs, grinding against me. I let out a throaty groan and grasped his firm backside, increasing the friction between us.

Marcus kissed me like I was air and he’d been underwater for years. His jaw forced mine open, allowing his tongue entry to explore. I thought I’d experienced the glories of his mouth before, of his lips and tongue, but I’d been wrong.

While he kissed me, his hands traveled over my white linen dress, from my hips to my waist, searing along my ribcage and breasts, until they reached the thin straps at my shoulders. One at a time I removed my hands from their hold on his rhythmically clenching glutes so he could slip the strips of fabric over my shoulders and down my arms.

Only then did he break our kiss. As each part of me was revealed, he worshiped it like I was a goddess . . . his goddess . . . his she-falcon. First my breasts, then my rib cage, waist, and hips received his mouth’s devoted attention until, finally, he reached my lower abdomen.

He began at my left hip, laying a line of feather-light kisses along the top of my pale-blue lace panties until he reached the other side. Lips still pressed against my oh-so-sensitive flesh, he looked up, locking our gazes. His eyes were black wells of desire, his pupils dilated completely. He looked high out of his mind. I felt high out of my mind and wondered if my eyes were as black as his. The heightened emotions he stirred within me—the jealousy and desire, and above all, something that could only be described as love, except love wasn’t strong enough, didn’t encompass the enormity of what I felt for him—they were addictive. I craved him and the emotions he stoked so desperately that I felt I might die if I didn’t get another, stronger fix. It felt unnatural and possibly unhealthy, and I didn’t care. I needed him . . . more of him . . . all of him, body, mind, and soul.

Momentarily lifting my butt off the desk, Marcus inched my dress and underwear over the curve of my hips. He knelt, sliding the fabric down until he’d uncovered every part of me and a small pile of white linen and light blue lace lay on the floor at his knees.

He was utterly transfixed by his examination of my body. Tenderly, greedily, he kissed my inner thighs, leaving a trail of pleasurable, electric fire as he moved higher. Brazen moans escaped my throat, growing desperate the closer he came to the junction between my thighs. I’d become so incredibly aroused during the process that as soon as his mouth closed over my most sensitive of places, as soon as his tongue caressed me, pleasure exploded in my core. An intense, electric sensation throbbed outward toward my nerve endings, making me gasp and groan as I shuddered.

“Mmm . . .” Marcus rumbled, giving me a long, languorous lick.

“Marcus,” I gasped, tugging at the shoulders of his shirt to bring him back up to my level. He stood, catching his breath when I found the hard length of him and rubbed it through his pants. “I need you inside me . . . please . . . now. Marcus . . .” I begged. He’d said I would beg, and he’d been right. Something was happening inside of me, something wild and terrifying, and I seriously feared for my sanity—and possibly for my life—if I didn’t join with him immediately.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined hearing you say those words,” he said, stepping back to pull his shirt over his head.

Oh. My. God. His pants were suddenly on the ground and he was absolutely, wonderfully naked. My eyes feasted on his pristine masculinity. The lines of his muscles all flowed together in a pattern that screamed of savagery, strength, and sex.

I wasn’t allowed to stare for long. He resumed his position between my legs, rubbing himself against me and kissing me deeply. “What do you want?” he asked against my mouth.

“You,” I breathed.

“Where?”

“Inside me,” I said. My pulse was erratic, my need for him all-encompassing. To continue living, to continue breathing, I needed to be one with him. It was the only thing that mattered.

With one hand between my shoulder blades and the other pressed against my lower back, he lifted me off the desk and sank himself into my core.

“Marcus!” I exclaimed. Finally he was inside me, joined with me, where he belonged. I’d been aching for him so intensely that it both satiated and stoked an infinite hunger—feasting on Marcus only made me want more . . . need more.

Still joined, he lowered me to the ground until my back touched canvas. Watching my face with unrivaled intensity, he slowly moved within me. His eyes scoured my features like he was memorizing me, preparing to immortalize my every expression in stone. He continued the achingly slow pace until I made a noise of frustration—a groan mixed with a growl. I wanted more. I needed more.

“Ah . . . that’s what I was waiting for,” he said roughly and brushed his lips against mine. He pulled away just in time to hold my eyes for his first, powerful thrust. I nearly screamed.

Moving with the precision of a calligrapher and the focus of hunter stalking prey, Marcus was the embodiment of raw, unbridled sexuality. His intensity only increased, and he became the center of my world . . . he became my world. Nothing existed outside of him and the way he felt . . . tasted . . . sounded. With my enhanced Nejerette senses, I experienced sensations unlike anything I’d ever felt. But, there was something else . . . something more . . . something different.

As I cried out and dug my nails into his back, climaxing unexpectedly, Marcus roared above me, his whole body tensing with the strength of his own release. I thought he was finished. I was so wonderfully wrong.

Flipping me over onto hands and knees, Marcus reentered me. Strong and solid, his arms wrapped around me, one at my middle and the other reaching higher so he could wrap a gentle hand around my neck. He held me against him, kissing my shoulder and the side of my neck as he resumed his relentless thrusting.

Abruptly, he reached a second, more intense crescendo, driving into me as deeply as possible and holding me against him in a crushing embrace. He touched me with his fingers as he filled me, dragging me with him over the edge and into an abyss of white-hot pleasure.

I gasped, oblivious to everything but him. “Marcus! Oh God, Marcus!” Even after the spasms subsided, my pulse throbbed under the hand he still held against my pubic bone. I let out a shaky breath. Is it possible to die from too much pleasure?

“Fuck, woman . . .” Marcus groaned.

“Hmmm . . . mmm . . .” I mumbled lazily.

* * *

Hours later, I was straddling his hips as he lay on his cot. He was once again hard and sheathed inside me, but we remained still. We both enjoyed the sensation of being joined, motionless, like we were one being. Elbows on his chest, I was resting my chin on my hands and watching him as he studied me with an unfathomable expression.

“Is it always like this?” I asked.

He traced my lips with his thumb before sliding both of his hands down my body, grazing over my breasts, belly, and hips. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve never felt anything like this . . . I don’t think I could have felt anything like this before,” I explained. “When two Nejerets are together, is it always so intense?”

Inhaling deeply, he grasped my hips and ground his pubic bone against mine, pushing himself deeper within me. An involuntary groan escaped from my throat, and he smiled lazily. I loved when he smiled like that. It seemed to temporarily wash away all the pain and inhumanity that had built up over his thousands of years.

“No,” he said. “Definitely not.”

“But how do you—” I let the words die unspoken at his wary expression. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

“No, you don’t,” he agreed. His voice had deepened, grown rougher, and I felt him throb inside me. After another slow grind and my answering moan, he said, “Whatever genetic mutation enabled us to enter the At also altered us significantly from humans in other ways. Regeneration, sensory enhancement . . . you know about those changes. But there are other, more subtle differences. Some of our people have been researching a pheromone we release when we’re particularly enamored with someone. We seem to have specific receptors that become, for lack of a better word, addicted to a specific Nejeret or Nejerette’s pheromone. We call it ‘bonding.’”

Nuin’s prophecy mentioned bonding—Heru will make her his she-falcon and she will bind herself to him. Was it referring to an actual, physiological phenomenon? I’d thought it was figurative, but I’d been wrong about so many other things, it was feasible that I was wrong about that as well.

Marcus’s expression filled with amazement as he continued, “I didn’t expect it to be so intense, but it’s the only explanation for . . .” He closed his eyes momentarily and took a deep, blissful breath. “It’s the only explanation for this.” His fingers dug into the soft swell of my hips as he pushed deeper into me once again.

“Oh!” I exclaimed, trembling. I sat up and ran my hands over his tensed abdomen. “So you’re not usually such a repeat offender?” I teased, shifting my hips in a slow, circular motion. He’d already reached completion three times in the past few hours—a feat I hadn’t known was possible for a man in a single night, at least, not a human man. But human was something Marcus had never truly been.

Groaning, he closed his eyes and tilted his head back as I continued to move on top of him, so incredibly slowly. He was practically panting, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the enraptured expression on his face. “No, Lex . . . I’m not. At least . . . not with . . . quite so . . . many . . . repeats.”

Convulsively, his hands clenched on my hips, and his breathing turned erratic. He made a guttural noise and raised his head, his blackened-gold irises locking onto their red-brown counterparts. I could feel his abs flexing rhythmically under my hands.

“Lex,” he whispered, letting his head fall back. “Lex . . .”

I leaned down and kissed the shallow valley between his pectorals, darting out my tongue to taste his damp, salty skin. When I raised my eyes, I found him watching me. Without breaking eye contact, I again touched my lips to his skin and whispered a single word. “Mine.”

27

Sex & Blood

“Do you think they know?” I asked, peeking through the door of Marcus’s tent. The sun had just risen, bringing our sprawling canvas town to life. I should have been exhausted from sleeping only a few hours, but I wasn’t. I was exhilarated.

Chuckling, Marcus wrapped his arms around my waist and buried his face in my neck. “Little Ivanov . . . they heard.” I groaned, and Marcus’s chuckle turned into a full-blown laugh. His breath tickled my skin as he inhaled and exhaled deeply. “We need to shower—you smell like you just had marathon sex.”

“Funny . . . I wonder if that’s because I just had marathon sex.” I leaned against him, already wanting him again. The hyperaware, hypersensitive bonding thing would take some getting used to—everywhere he touched me felt infinitely more sensitive than it had the previous day, and I couldn’t resist touching him at every possible opportunity.

“It just may be,” he said, nibbling the curve between my shoulder and neck. “But I don’t want anyone else smelling you like this.” He inhaled again. “Mmm . . . this is mine.”

“There’s a slight problem, then,” I told him.

“Hmm?” His attentions to my neck continued, giving me goose bumps.

“We have to pass pretty much everyone on the way to the showers, and they all have noses, so . . .”

He smiled against my skin before letting me go and poking his head out of the tent to bark some orders to my guards. Minutes later, we stepped out into the bright light of the new day; the camp appeared empty aside from my guards, who were standing about ten tents away. Marcus had cleared us a path.

We stopped by my neighboring tent so I could grab some clean clothes and toiletries, and then we headed to the shower trailer beyond the west edge of camp. We showered together in the large, handicapped stall, washing each other liberally. We were nearly finished when Marcus slipped his hand between my legs.

“Marcus! You’re defeating the purpose,” I gasped as his fingers found my most sensitive place.

“Apologies, Little Ivanov, but seeing you like this—” He removed his hand, and within seconds, had my back against the wall, my legs wrapped around his hips. “—I . . . just . . . can’t . . . resist.”

We agreed to wash our own bodies after that, “to prevent wasting all the water,” Marcus had said. I’d laughed.

Finally, hand in hand, Marcus and I emerged from the trailer, clean and fully clothed. I wasn’t prepared for the dozens of Nejerets who offered us generous bows and congratulations as we walked back up the main drag to our tents. Marcus, on the other hand, accepted them graciously, almost as though he’d expected the reaction.

“I’ve never had so many people excited about my sex life,” I murmured, hoping only Marcus was close enough to hear.

He shot me a look that told me I was being unbelievably dense.

“Oh.” I blushed, realizing my folly. Apparently I was still thinking like a human. “It’s because I claimed you, and you accepted, isn’t it? So . . . what does that mean?”

“In human terms, we’re married,” he explained, stopping at the entrance to my tent.

I gaped up at him. Like having children, I had pretty much given up on the idea of ever getting married, instead opting to gallivant around the Mediterranean, searching for remnants of the ancient, forgotten past. Besides, Marcus was pushing at least five thousand, while I was pushing only twenty-five. And we were married? Oh my God . . . what are my parents going to say?

He kissed me on the cheek and whispered, “I’ll have some of the guards move your things into my tent along with a larger cot. Tonight we can further explore the more personal details of our marriage . . . if you’d like.”

Regardless of my mental woes, I smiled, feeling my body tighten in anticipation. “I’d like,” I said quietly. I was pretty sure the whole “marriage” thing had yet to really sink in.

Marcus pulled away, his eyes burning with promise. “Gather what you need for the day. I’ll meet you here in five minutes.” He walked toward his tent with purpose.

Ducking inside my own canvas home, I took a few humongous breaths. Much had changed since I’d left the previous night, and I couldn’t help but lose myself in the unbelievably pleasant memories.

“Lex!” Marcus called from outside. “Hurry up! I’m famished!”

Laughing at myself for getting lost in daydreams, I picked up my excavation bag and hurried out into the warm desert air.

* * *

“We thought maybe—” Neffe began, but she was silenced by a sharp sound from her father. “It’s her choice,” she snapped in response. She was sitting across from me at one of the green fold-out picnic tables underneath the canopy at the west edge of camp. Dominic sat beside her, and Marcus beside me while we ate a breakfast of oatmeal and fruit salad.

“What is my choice?” I asked, shooting Marcus a suspicious glance. He needed to learn that he couldn’t run my life by omitting certain significant pieces of information, mythic Egyptian god or not.

Ignoring her father’s furious glare, Neffe explained, “When I was growing up, shortly after Senenmut presented him with the tablet containing Nuin’s lost prophecy, he”—she pointed her chin at Marcus—“left my mother and me because Set threatened to take my life if he stayed. He didn’t know why Set made the threat, but he knew Set would carry it out because of what happened with Aset—Isis—and he knew Set would hold his word and not kill me if he left.” Her full lips curved down in a frown. “Set does have a sense of honor, twisted as his mind is. Anyway, my mother was furious—maybe because having Heru as her husband was part of what kept her in power as the mighty pharaoh Hatchepsut—so she took up with Set instead. My father made Senenmut stay behind to watch over for me and keep me safe in his absence, but my mother coerced him into obeying Set, if only to ensure that Set would stay with her so she could retain her power.”

God, she sounds like a real gem of a mother, I thought sarcastically.

Sighing, Neffe continued, “In the guise of my mother’s stepson, Set forced Senenmut to work as his own personal architect, designing and constructing a handful of projects throughout the land. We now know that one is the very temple we’re searching for, though nobody but Set, Senenmut, and the workers knew about it at the time, and Set cloaked all echoes relating to the temple long ago, before anyone knew to look for it in the At . . . not to mention he killed all of the workers upon its completion, including Senenmut.” A deep sadness stirred in Neffe’s eyes, and I instantly knew that she had cared deeply for the ancient architect.

“It wasn’t until we found Senenmut’s second tablet in his mother’s coffin that we had some idea of where Set had hidden the chest containing the ankh-At.” Squinting, Neffe looked up at the expanse of tan canvas sheltering us from the morning sun. “And that was maybe . . . around fifty years ago that we found the tablet.” She shook her head, swishing her thick black ponytail. “The point is, none of us can break through his cloak, but you can because you share his DNA and you’re a manipulator. None of his other children, at least not the ones on our side, can manipulate the At. But, if you can slip through his cloak and learn the exact location of the entrance in the upper Anubis chapel, it would save us from having to tear the whole thing apart in our search.”

I wanted to help, but I was scared. As the Meswett, I was supposed to be strong. I was supposed to save my people—and the world—but memories of Set and his poisonous words plagued me. And he had Jenny. What if I did something to anger him, and he took his rage out on my sister? But . . . what if we managed to find the hidden entrance, enter the temple, and somehow open the chest containing the ankh-At—Nuin’s power—and gain control of that power before Set could coerce it from me? Surely, once I’d accessed Nuin’s power over time, defeating Set would be easy. No Set, no Nothingness, safe world. It was ideal and oh so close I could almost reach out and touch it.

“I’ll do it,” I said, determined. Marcus’s hand clenched my thigh, but he let my decision stand. “When?” I asked.

Neffe’s eyes darted back and forth between us. “How about now?” she suggested.

“Now? Here?” Marcus spat. Turning all of his attention on me, he murmured, “You can do this later, Lex. We have time.”

I leaned in, giving him a very steamy kiss, and whispered, “Be back in a few.”

And then I was gone, enmeshed in the absolutely when-less Where for the first time. It intrigued me that the At’s kaleidoscope colors flowed ceaselessly up and down, as opposed to the round and round of the where-less When I’d grown so familiar with. Shifting my focus slightly to the upper Anubis Chapel, I thought about Set . . . really, really hard . . . and eventually the world slammed into place.

I stumbled forward several steps, listening as the ground didn’t crunch beneath my feet. When I finally righted myself, I noticed two robed men standing before me, one pale-skinned—Set—the other tan.

Set tapped on a limestone wall, speaking in what sounded like the same beautifully sibilant language I’d heard Marcus use several times—Middle Egyptian. It was so similar to Nuin’s language . . . just not quite the same, like Spanish versus Italian.

“You should know better than this by now,” Set said from behind me. I knew it was the real Set—his ba—not the echo of a past version of himself like the Set I was watching interact with a man I assumed was Senenmut.

I groaned. He’s right. I really should know better. I did know better . . . but people were depending on me.

“I’m looking for the entrance. I thought you wanted me to find it so I can access the ankh-At,” I said. “That way you can try to command me and all . . .”

Set laughed. “I want you to find it in the right state of mind. Are you in the right state of mind, Daughter?”

I refused to turn around.

“Be my daughter, my true daughter. Join my family in purpose as well as blood. You and I, we can do great things together,” he cooed.

“No,” I said. “We really can’t.”

“Join me. Obtain the ankh-At for me. Obey me,” he urged.

“Never going to happen,” I told him as I watched the other Set, the one from millennia past, argue with the golden-skinned man.

“I’ll destroy your precious state of Washington,” Set said.

“And then I’ll never obey you. Not ever. I’ll have nothing left to lose,” I told him. Oh God . . . what if he really does it?

His hand latched around the back of my neck, squeezing so hard he forced my spine to arch. “You think that? I am not so sure.”

Suddenly, Set was in front of me. He backhanded me, hitting the left side of my face, and I sprawled onto the ground on hands and knees, spitting blood and saliva. I’d never been hit before, not really. The shock almost overwhelmed the pain . . . for about a second.

Kicking me in the gut, he said, “Take a look, Daughter. See exactly what it is you have to lose.”

I was suddenly crouched on hands and knees in my canvas tent, gasping for breath. The world was dead silent around me . . . too silent.

Did Set sent me back to my body? How’d I get back to my tent? I groaned. God, I hurt . . . Taking a deep, painful breath, I called out, “Marcus? Dom? Vali? Sandra?”

Dead silence.

I pushed myself up to my feet and swiped my swelling mouth with the back of my hand. It came away smeared with blood.

“Hello! Anyone?” I called, passing through the wide-open doorway and into the dry heat of Deir el-Bahri.

In the glaring midday sun, I hadn’t noticed the debris piled on the ground in front of my little doorway. I tripped, stumbling several steps before sprawling out on hands and knees again. My palms were quickly becoming badly scraped, with sharp little rocks slicing into my flesh.

“Damn it,” I grumbled, looking behind me to see what I’d tripped over.

It was Dominic. My Dominic.

“Oh no! No, no no! Dom? Dom!” I scrambled the few feet to his motionless body. “Help!” I yelled. “Someone! HELP!”

Even if the greatest doctor who’d ever lived had heard, it wouldn’t have mattered. Dominic’s open eyes were vacant, his face white and bloodless. I reached out, but snatched my hand back almost instantly. I couldn’t bear to touch him.

Jerkily, I crawled to Marcus’s tent. But after a quick peek through the open doorway, I knew it was empty.

Slowing down my panicked brain, I forced myself to remember where I’d been before I’d entered the At . . . before I’d encountered Set. At the tables under the canopy, eating breakfast with Marcus, Dominic, and Neffe.

Standing, I raced through the middle of camp. When I reached the west edge and saw what lay just beyond one of the tents along the perimeter, I skidded to a halt. It was another person. Familiar chestnut-brown hair fanned over the fine bones of a feminine, middle-aged face. Her arm was outstretched, fingers reaching toward the crumpled body of a stocky man.

Crouching at the woman’s side, I extended a shaking hand toward her to brush the hair from her face, but stopped short. There was no question. I thought maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe it just looked like her. Maybe it was someone else, some other nameless woman. Someone else’s mom. Not mine.

“NOOOOO!” I wailed, pounding the earth with my bloodied palms. I reached for her, needing to feel her in my arms. I had to let her know I was there for her, even if it was too late, but my hands were stopped short . . . by something . . . by nothing . . . by At.

The realization that I was in an echo hit me soundly in the chest. I sat back, taking in my surroundings. Questions swarmed my brain, buzzing, humming, flapping. Is it real? What kind of echo is it? Is it the past? Did something awful happen right after I entered the At? Or is it the future? But why would my parents be here? I remembered Alexander once telling me that temporary, false echoes were allowed for training purposes. Is it a false echo? Did Set fabricate this place? Can he even do that? Marcus had told me that Set was the most talented manipulator of At, so I figured if anyone could create such a detailed, horrific false echo, it was him.

Terrified, I fled from the echo . . . or I tried to. After a brief jarring sensation, I ended up right back where I’d been—on the ground before my dead mother. I couldn’t leave the echo. Somehow, Set was keeping me there. I was in a cage composed of At . . . his cage.

“Lex? There you are! Are you all right?” I spun on my knees at Marcus’s voice. Marcus. Sanctuary. Haven.

“Marcus! Thank—”

My words were cut short by the splattering of warm wetness on my face. Blood welled out of a hole in Marcus’s forehead, and he fell to his knees.

All realization that I was in a fabricated echo evaporated. Marcus, my Marcus, lay dead in front of me. His blood was pooling on the ground, inching toward my splayed fingers.

“NO!” I screamed. Keening, ancient and instinctual, I rocked on my knees beside the body of the man I loved. My essence simmered down to one thing—despair.

Anything but him. Anyone but him.

“Ah, daughter, I should have known,” Set said with satisfaction, then winked. “Got you.”

* * *

Minutes, hours, days later, I trembled beside another bloodied, dead Marcus. How many? Why?

“Just do what I say. Obey me, and I won’t kill him again,” Set explained for the hundredth, thousandth, millionth time. “Why is that so hard for you to understand?”

Because if I obey you, mankind will be destroyed, you bastard! My perpetually bloody mouth opened in a grim smile, and I spat out some pinkish saliva. Splatters landed on his designer shoes. “Maybe I just like the sound of your voice when you’re pissy,” I cooed.

“You little whore,” he howled, kicking me in the abdomen. I curled into the fetal position, but it didn’t stop him. Aiming for my back and legs, Set kicked me until I could no longer think. There was only pain.

Sometime later, I heard the voice of an angel. “Lex . . . why are you on the ground?” It was Marcus, again.

I needed him . . . to hold me . . . to tell me everything would be okay . . . to remind me to survive. I needed him to remind me why I should want to survive.

“Don’t look at him,” Set commanded.

Right, I thought. If I look at him, he dies. If I disobey you, he dies. Against my every instinct, my every desire, I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Lex . . . Little Ivanov, come here,” Marcus said, sounding worried.

“Tell him you hate him. Tell him he means nothing to you,” Set ordered.

But I love him . . . he means everything to me. “NO!”

A gunshot. The heavy sound of a body hitting the ground. Both had become so familiar that they were like my heartbeat and the whoosh of air slipping in and out of my lungs.

Again.

And again.

And again. Forever.

“Lex . . . why won’t you look at me?” Marcus asked, sounding heartbroken.

Because I can’t. Because you’ll die. I can’t watch you die, not again.

“Please Lex, tell me what’s wrong. I’ll do anything . . . I love you!” Marcus exclaimed.

“Tell him you hate him. Tell him he means nothing to you,” Set ordered.

With a deep, horrified breath, I croaked, “Marcus, I hate you. You mean nothing to me.”

“Now look at him,” Set directed.

I turned, and nearly fell to my knees. Marcus, in all of his masculine glory, was weeping.

“Why, Lex?” Marcus asked, his golden eyes burning accusation into mine.

“I . . . I . . . can’t,” I gasped.

“Touching, really,” Set said urbanely. “Now come give Daddy a kiss. And make it count.”

“Never!” I hissed and watched a bullet tunnel through Marcus’s skull.

Closing my eyes, I bowed my head at the death of my latest Marcus. I never wanted to watch him die again. I would trade the world for him. It was what Set wanted, for me to be willing to trade something for the world . . . for there to be some price high enough to buy my obedience . . . for me to make that decision on instinct, every time. He’d succeeded.

“I’ll give you some time to think,” Set said before vanishing.

But I didn’t need time to think—he’d broken me. He’d won. Anything for Marcus. The world for Marcus.

I would obey.

28

Marcus

If anyone even mentioned the solstice or the Nothingness again, Marcus was going to lose it. He gripped the edge of his desk with both hands, waiting for his daughter or one of the men sitting on either side of her to speak. His head was throbbing, and his hands would have been shaking if not for their death grip on the desk. Bonding withdrawals. If he didn’t get them under control soon, the withdrawals would be the death of him. Literally.

Neffe opened her mouth, took a deep breath, and exhaled loudly. “This is ridiculous! The solstice is in a w—”

“I don’t care!” Marcus shouted, flipping his desk over as his rage and pain converged within him, erupting outward. Various pens, papers, and books went flying. He was sick of talking about things that didn’t matter. Finding her ba was all that mattered.

Marcus didn’t care that his refusal to leave his tent and its priceless occupant for more than a few minutes forced his people to come to him whenever they needed to speak with him. He was used to people coming to him. He didn’t care that everyone treated him like he had lost most of his mental faculties. He didn’t care about the excavation or the Nothingness or the destruction of the goddamn world.

Nothing mattered but the woman lying in At-qed on his cot—their cot. She’d been like that for nearly three months. He’d never heard of anyone remaining in the suspended physical state for so long, and he couldn’t help but imagine every passing second damaging her body. Theoretically, she could survive for years in At-qed without food or water. Theoretically, to her body, only a few hours had passed. Theoretically, if she woke at that moment, she would feel like she’d taken a several-hour nap. Theoretically.

Apparently unperturbed by his outburst, Neffe brushed a few stray papers off her lap. “We have to do something,” she grumbled, looking to Alexander and Dominic for support.

Marcus glared at her for a long time before looking away, unable to bear the weight of her pitying expression. He couldn’t stand to look at anyone for more than a few seconds—they all felt sorry for him, and he hated them for it. They were wasting their energy worrying about him when they should have been finding a way to help her. Lex.

“Find her,” he growled. “That’s doing something.”

“And if she’s not anywhere? If she can’t be found? If she’s just gone?” Neffe asked, and Alexander and Dominic held their breath. Marcus’s volatility became more dangerous each day that passed without Lex’s ba returning to her body.

It was the pain, and not just emotional devastation at the possibility of losing her forever, but the tormenting, ever-increasing physical pain of bonding withdrawals. Unlike kicking a regular addiction, Marcus’s need—his craving—for her bonding pheromones would only get worse. Only two things could stop the pain—Lex returning to her body and becoming one with him in the most intimate of acts, or his death.

Standing, Marcus strode the few paces into the tent’s second room and sat beside Lex on the edge of the wide cot. She lay on her back, slender and pale and, as far as his eyes could tell, healthy. Neffe examined her every day to make sure nothing was amiss, and he washed her every night so she would be comfortable.

Gazing down at her, Marcus ran his fingers along the silken strands of mahogany hair that splayed across the off-white pillowcase. She looked so peaceful with her eyes closed and lips barely parted . . . so unlike her usual, focused expression. Marcus imagined her face with a faint line between her eyebrows and her eyes narrowed in thought . . . or accusation . . . or determination. He closed his eyes for a long moment, swallowing his rising despair.

Gently, he brushed his thumb across her soft, rosy lips, again trying to press them together, but she refused to keep her mouth closed. He traced his fingers over her chin, down the steep slope to her slender neck, and lower, until his palm rested over her heart . . . and he waited. A minute. Two. Three. Thud-THUMP.

He tried to speak twice before he could form the words. His mouth was too dry, his throat constricted. “If she’s gone,” he said hoarsely, “then nothing matters anymore.”

Marcus heard a rustle of fabric as Neffe stood. “Father—”

“Leave me,” he said quietly. “Dom, you stay.”

He didn’t look behind him to watch Neffe and Alexander’s hasty exit, but the scuffle of shoe soles on canvas and the brief burst of less stagnant air told him that they had left. It would be . . . difficult, what he was about to do . . . difficult and cruel, but also necessary.

“Come here,” Marcus said to the only other conscious person in the tent. Dom had been his right hand, functioning as his protégé for centuries, and Marcus trusted few above him. What he was about to do might destroy everything between them.

The Frenchman moved instantly, stopping at the head of the cot. He stared down at Lex’s porcelain face, his pale, sharp features etched with longing.

Slowly, Marcus slid his hand down the shallow valley between her black linen-covered breasts, letting it settle in the curve of her waist. “She’s perfect, is she not?”

The choking sound that escaped from Dominic’s throat confirmed his suspicions—Dominic was in love with Lex . . . with his Lex. It was the last thing he wanted to hear, but it was what he needed to hear. “What would you do to bring her back?” Marcus asked, deceptively calm.

“Anything,” Dominic whispered, his accent heavier than usual.

“Why can’t you find her?”

“I’ve told you—”

“Tell me again,” Marcus ordered.

Exhaling his frustration, Dominic explained, “Every time I get a sense of where he’s holding her in the At, it’s as though I’m blocked by a wall. I can’t get through. I can’t even see what’s on the other side. I’m just not strong enough.”

“So what would make you stronger?” Marcus asked.

“More of Set in my veins—sharing half of his DNA just isn’t enough” Dominic said caustically. “It’s like there’s a scale I can’t quite tip enough in my favor to break through.”

Marcus turned his head abruptly, focusing on the man standing beside him. “And if I could increase it? If you entered the At joined with someone who could tip the ratio of Set DNA in your favor?”

“Hypotheticals get us nowhere,” Dominic responded.

“It’s not hypothetical.”

Dominic shook his head slowly. “But that would mean . . . Dieu! Set reproduced with his own human offspring?” His severe features twisted in disgust.

Marcus nodded, equally appalled. It was one of the most horrific crimes their people could commit, but for once, he was glad of his ancient, misguided friend’s heinous faults. Set having reproduced with his own carrier daughter might very well save Lex.

“Only once, that I know of,” Marcus said.

Dominic was suddenly alert, displaying the razor-sharp intensity that had drawn Marcus to him when they first met centuries ago. “Who? Where?”

Marcus looked back down at Lex, flexing his fingers into her tantalizingly soft flesh. “She’s here,” he rasped. “With her mother.”

“With her mother?” Dominic asked, clearly surprised. Only the very young still had mothers, since Nejerettes couldn’t bear children. Every Nejeret’s mother was a human carrier. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“She hasn’t manifested yet.”

“You would force her?” Dominic asked, horrified.

“Without an ounce of hesitation or remorse. But the question is, will you?” Marcus asked.

It was a horrible, dreadful thing to ask of Dominic. Forcing any Nejeret to manifest by thrusting them into the At essentially froze the Nejeret’s body at its current state of physical maturity. If the Nejeret or Nejerette were too young, he or she would die. If the Nejeret or Nejerette survived, his or her body would remain perpetually on the cusp of adulthood. In terms of Nejeret crimes, forcing someone to manifest was second only to incestuous procreation with your own human offspring—but it wasn’t as bad. It was acceptable—it had to be. For Lex.

Dominic only hesitated for a moment before answering. “Yes, I’ll do it . . . for Lex. How old is the girl?”

“Eighteen.”

“You’re certain she’ll manifest . . . that she’s truly Nejerette?” Dominic asked. If she weren’t, attempting to force manifestation would be a death sentence.

Marcus nodded. “She’s already showing the signs of pre-manifestation.”

“Who?”

“Katarina Dubois, Gen’s daughter.”

“Merde! I didn’t realize Gen was . . . how did you discover she’s Set’s daughter?” Dominic asked with morbid curiosity.

“I had her DNA tested as soon as I learned Set had impregnated her. Had to know if she was an Ivanov,” Marcus said. “She wasn’t.”

“I see. Get the child to agree, and I’ll do it.” Dominic looked nauseated as he spoke. “Get her to agree, and we can find Lex.”

“Done,” Marcus said, rising from the cot. “Wait here.” He strode from the tent with an undeniable purpose. The ache in his head spread throughout his body as he walked. It was always worse when he moved.

“Sir?” a man chirped from Marcus’s right as he marched through the camp.

“No.”

“But—”

Marcus thrust his arm out, effectively clotheslining the Nejeret. Less than a minute later, he reached Genevieve and Kat’s tent and ducked through the small doorway.

“Marcus!” Genevieve exclaimed, rising from her seat. The desk in front of her was filled with empty and half-empty bottles. She’d continued her role as purveyor of the mystical and occult—mostly rubbish—as soon as they’d set up camp. “I still haven’t found anything that can draw her back to her body,” she said.

Marcus doubted she’d put much effort into her search. “Where’s Kat?”

“Kat? Why?”

“I need to ask her a question.”

Genevieve narrowed her eyes. “Which would be . . . ?”

Marcus took a deep, calming breath. He had neither the time nor the patience for this. “I’d like to ask her if she would be interested in taking up a position on the excavation.”

Genevieve’s dark eyes had always reminded him of Set, but he’d frequently wondered if he saw what he expected rather than what was really there. Those midnight pools slanted hotly. “Doing what, exactly? And don’t you dare say ‘excavating.’”

Purposely, Marcus let his emotional restraint break. He could use it. He could use Genevieve—she was a woman, and he’d always been able to manipulate women. “I need her help, Gen. With Lex.”

“How could my daughter possibly help you with your woman?”

“If Dominic brings Kat into the At, they can break through Set’s barrier and get to Lex. It’s the only way,” Marcus said, letting his voice hitch.

“But Kat’s not ready. She’s too young. She can’t even do it yet!”

“If she lets Dom take her into the At, he can make it work,” Marcus explained.

She inhaled sharply. “No! I know what you’re talking about—forcing. You won’t do that to my daughter!”

Marcus clouded his voice with as much genuine emotion as he could muster. “Gen, I need you. You and Kat, you’re the only ones who can help me. I—I’ll die without your help.”

Her anger wavered, but it quickly reformed under the strength of motherly protectiveness. “Absolutely no—”

“Will she die without my help?” Kat asked from behind Marcus. Unbelievably, she’d eavesdropped on their conversation without Marcus noticing.

Marcus turned slowly, settling his desperate gaze on Kat. “Eventually, yes.”

“Am I really the only one who can help?” she asked.

Genevieve began, “Kat, go back to—”

“No, Mom! This is my business, not yours.” She ignored her spluttering mother and addressed Marcus. “Well, am I?”

“Yes. I would be forever in your—”

“Oh, please.” Kat rolled her eyes. “Get over yourself already. I don’t want you to be forever in my anything. I’ll do it—for Lex. I like her. She’s strong. She doesn’t let you push her around with all your ‘I’m such a hottie stud god’ crap. Plus, she’s my sister. I’d like to have her around again.”

It took Marcus a few seconds to wade through her language, but eventually he stared at her, awestruck. “You’ll do it?”

“Seriously? Didn’t I just say that? I thought you guys were big on, like, verbal agreements or whatever.”

At a loss for words, Marcus closed the short distance between himself and the teenage girl and hugged her. She was slender, like Lex, and easy to lift until her feet dangled uselessly.

“Thank you!” he said fiercely before setting her back down.

Breathily, Kat said, “You can totally do that anytime you want.”

“Kat!” her mother screeched. “I forbid you fro—”

“You can’t stop me, Mom. Marcus won’t let you,” she told her mother. The girl was as fierce as a wildcat.

Genevieve turned her dark, furious eyes on Marcus. “If this harms her in any way, I swear to you . . .”

“I know,” Marcus said. “Kat, Dominic awaits us in my tent. Come.”

“Now?” Kat asked. Her eyes were wide, making her look younger, but not afraid.

“Was I unclear? Yes, now.”

“Fine. Don’t get your tighty whities in a bunch!” Kat stated hotly. “I don’t know how she puts up with you . . . she deserves, like, a medal or something for messiah girlfriend of the year. You’d better treat her well!”

She swept out of the tent with Marcus and Genevieve close behind her.

29

Lost & Found

Standing at the edge of the illusory camp, I stared out at Hatchepsut’s unreachable mortuary temple. Set had made the impenetrable perimeter of my prison large enough for a variety of death scenes, but cramped enough to taunt me with views of places I couldn’t reach. The temple ruins and surrounding cliffs glowed an eerie orange under a perpetual sunrise.

I hugged myself, holding completely still and silent. How long have I been trapped in here? It felt like years.

At the sudden, abrasive crunch of footsteps, I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath. Soon Set would strike, belittle, or command me. The order was unpredictable, though all three were inevitable.

“Dieu!” an unexpected male voice exclaimed, quickly followed by the softer, shaky words of a woman. “Oh. Em. Gee. Is it always like that? It was like an acid trip. Not that I’ve done acid or anything. Where are—holy shit! How many . . . are all of those bodies Marcus’s? Oh . . . I think I’m gonna puke.”

I wrapped my arms around myself more tightly, taking slow, deep breaths and trying to ignore the new, confusing twist to Set’s torture. Dominic hadn’t been present for at least several hundred death cycles. I wished Set would just show himself, so I could let him know he’d won, that he’d broken me to the point of obedience, and the torment could stop.

“Lex?” the false Dominic said, only feet behind me.

I hunched in on myself. Why Dom? Why now?

“Are you okay? Lex?” Dominic asked, concern lacing his words.

“What’s wrong with her?” I heard the female voice—Kat, I realized—ask in front of me, but I refused to open my eyes.

Dominic, his sensuous accent inflaming my turmoil, joined Kat in front of me. “Lex? Why won’t you answer? Look at me, Lex. Open your eyes.”

“No. You’re not real,” I whimpered.

“Oh, Lex,” he whispered. “What did he do to you? Your face . . .”

“It’s not just her face,” Kat said. “Look at her arms, her legs . . .”

“Oh, Dieu . . .” Dominic groaned.

“He’s not real,” I reminded myself out loud, trying to ignore the mental image of the man who had quickly tunneled his way into my heart, becoming my closest friend. “He’s not real . . . he’s not real . . .”

“D’you think she’s broken?” Kat asked.

“I don’t know . . . Lex?” Dominic said again, and my eyes flashed open when I felt his gentle fingers on my elbows.

I stumbled backward, gaping. “You can’t . . . you’re not real. You can’t touch me!” Shock, more than anything else, made my eyes widen and dart around franticly. Where is he? He’s here, I know it!

Dominic approached me again, wrapping his long, graceful fingers around the hand I’d flung out as a shield. “Feel me, Lex. I’m real.”

Trembling, I let him pull me in close and wrap his arms around me. His lean body hummed with tension like a live wire.

“Dom?” My voice was breathy and too high. “Are you really here?”

“Yes. I promise.” He held me tighter, trapping my hands against his chest. I balled the soft cotton of his shirt in my fists and succumbed to violent, uncontrollable sobs. Had his arms not been around me, I would have collapsed to the ground, a broken heap of the woman I’d once been.

“Um . . . guys?” Kat said from inches behind me. “I hate to interrupt this lovefest, but shouldn’t we, you know, get the hell outta here? ’Cause, if this was a movie, the evil dude would totally show up right now.”

“Well put, Katarina.”

My body went rigid at the sound of Set’s voice, smooth and contemptuous, and I groaned against Dominic’s shoulder.

“Merde!” Dominic hissed. At feeling one of his arms release me, I held onto his shirt more tightly.

Set chuckled. “My three favorite children visiting all at once . . . now, tell me how you broke through my—NO!”

His wail echoed as the world melted around us, dissolving into a frenzy of erratic colors that blinked in and out of existence. The At felt dangerously unstable as it swirled, as though we’d been caught in an endless, violent wave.

Abruptly, the disorienting motion ceased, and one blessed realization overtook my entire consciousness—the absence of pain. For once, my body felt whole. My ribs and abdomen didn’t ache. My hands weren’t sliced with a thousand cuts. Amazingly, my mouth neither tasted of blood nor felt swollen.

Eyes still closed, I smelled the spicy, alluring scent surrounding me, and my pulse sped. That was something Set had gotten wrong; he hadn’t been able to recreate Marcus’s enticing aroma, nor his electric presence. I felt Marcus squeeze my hand, his warm, real fingers sending a thrill of sensation up my arm.

“Lex?” Marcus whispered and I moaned at hearing the richness of his voice. “Lex? Can you hear me?” He sounded anxious . . . eager . . . desperate.

“Mmmm . . . Marcus . . . you smell good,” I murmured.

“Are—are you alright?” He gently ran his finger along my forearm as he waited for my response.

Smiling, I whispered, “You’re here,” and opened my eyes. It was bright—too bright to focus right away. “Why wouldn’t I be alr—” My question cut off as soon as my vision cleared and Marcus’s concerned face came into view. He was leaning over me, his beautiful, blazing eyes searing into mine. My entire body tensed, and I sat up, ripping my hand out of his grasp. I instantly turned away from him and pulled my legs up, hugging them to my chest. A low keening tickled my ears, and I realized, belatedly, that it was mine. The sound rose and fell with my rhythmic rocking motion.

“Lex—what’s wrong? Why won’t you look at me?” Marcus asked.

“Don’t look at him,” Set’s voice replayed in my head.

“No,” I whimpered. “I won’t.”

“Please, Lex, tell me what’s wrong. Tell me what he did to you. Just look at me!” Marcus ordered, his words increasingly frantic.

“Tell him you hate him. Tell him he means nothing to you.”

“No!” I wailed, rocking with increased intensity. “You’ll die! He’ll kill you! You’ll die!”

Hands were on my shoulders, stilling me, and I knew they were Marcus’s from the pleasant thrum their touch invoked in my blood.

“So she really is broken,” Kat said. “Should we, like, slap her or something?”

“Absolutely not!” Dominic nearly shouted. “She’s been beaten enough already!”

“Set beat you?” Marcus asked, hoarse. Nobody but me seemed to hear him.

“Fine, fine, whatever. Don’t Hulk out on me, dude! I’m just saying, maybe Marcus should back off. Seems to me he’s the one driving her batshit . . .”

“You should probably stop talking now,” Dominic advised.

“Well, he should probably leave her alone! He’s making her worse!” she huffed.

“Dear little sister, this is quickly becoming none of your business. Perhaps you should take your leave,” Dominic suggested, his voice cold.

“Screw you! And you too, Marcus!” Kat screeched. “I totally made a flippin’ huge sacrifice for her—my boobs are never getting any bigger! Of course she’s gonna freak out at the sight of him—there was a mountain of dead Marcuses in that echo prison thing. So, if you two could take a break from the ultimate douchebag competition for a few minutes and let me have some girl time with Lex, maybe she’ll calm down!”

Marcus’s hands withdrew from my shoulders, but I remained still, staring at the tan, canvas wall of Marcus’s tent. “What do you mean, ‘mountain of dead Marcuses’?” he asked, sounding shaken.

Dominic spoke defensively, “I was going to tell you as soon as—”

“Kat?” I said softly. My single word cut through the explosive atmosphere, diffusing it immediately.

“Yeah, Lex?” The girl’s voice had utterly transformed from that of a pissed off teenager to that of a caring friend.

When I spoke, it was to the tent wall. “What are you talking about? What huge sacrifice?”

Kat sat on the cot beside me, facing the opposite direction, her hip flush with mine. “Um . . . they needed me to go with Dom into the At. It was the only way to break through the barrier to get to you.”

Turning my head, I rested my cheek on my knee and met her rich brown, almond-shaped eyes. “But you’re too young.”

“I know. It’s called ‘forcing.’ Now I’ll go through all the usual manifestation crap like you’ve been dealing with, just a little earlier than expected.”

“What’s that have to do with your boobs?” I asked, feeling like I wasn’t seeing the whole picture.

“I’m frozen . . . like this. Sure, I’ll get all the healing awesomeness and be über-glam and whatever, but I’ll always look eighteen.”

“Oh, Kat,” I said, reaching for her slim hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m so sorry.”

She nudged my knees with her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. I’m gonna be one of a kind—a superhot teen chick for thousands of years,” she preened.

I wondered if she’d have to deal with the shitty adolescent mood swings forever. It would pave the way for an exciting life, if nothing else, but it was a high price to pay.

“Thank you,” I said, trying to hold back the guilt and self-loathing that were suddenly coursing through me. Did she sacrifice her maturity for nothing? Were they too late?

“Hey . . . Lex . . .” she soothed, misreading the cause of my souring mood. “It’s okay, really. It was my choice.”

“I’m in your debt, okay? Whatever happens, I owe you . . . big time,” I told her. “Deal?”

She gave me a genuine grin and agreed, “Deal.”

“Wonderful,” Marcus said, his voice deep, smooth, and razor-sharp. “Now, someone tell me what the hell happened to Lex over the last three months and why she can’t stand to look at me. That is, if it’s not too much trouble . . .”

Three months? What . . . how is that possible? I felt like I’d just woken up from a nap, not from a three-month coma. I had no feeding tube, no catheter—I gave my shoulder a sniff—I didn’t smell different than I usually did, and my mouth didn’t taste like anything had crawled inside and died, so . . . what’s the deal?

Taking a deep breath, I released Kat’s hand and slowly rotated on the cot, noting how surprisingly normal my muscles felt. I wasn’t weak or stiff. I just felt like me. I dangled my legs over the edge of the cot next to Kat’s, facing the center of the tent. I was looking at the canvas floor, at two pairs of men’s work boots, one set of reddish black leather, the other light brown. They belonged to two of the people I cared about most in the world, and I was terrified to look at either them.

“He killed you,” I said hollowly, studying their khaki trousers. “He killed everyone I . . . everyone I love . . . at first. My mom, Dom, you, everyone. And then he focused on you, Marcus. He’d switch it up every once in a while, tossing in Jenny or Grandma Suse or Alexander or . . . anyone. But after a while, it was just you. Over and over and over. It felt like forever. If I didn’t do what he said, he’d shoot you in the head. If I looked at you without his permission, he’d kill you. If I said the wrong thing, you were dead. If . . .”

“What was the right thing? What did he make you say to me?”

“I had to tell you that I”—I stifled a sob—“that I hated you and that you meant nothing to me. I told you I was disgusted by your touch and that you should go be with other women. And I told you I never wanted to see you again. Hundreds of times . . . maybe thousands.” I lifted one shoulder in a weak shrug. “If he didn’t believe it, he’d shoot you. You always ended up dead. I couldn’t . . . I’ve never been a good liar.”

Tears streamed down my face as I waited, staring at their legs. Silence, thick and palpable, filled the tent.

Marcus was the one who finally broke it. “Dom, Kat . . . leave us.”

“Why? What are you gonna do to her?” Kat screeched, scooting closer to wrap a protective arm around my shoulders. “You can’t be mad at her . . . she didn’t mean it!”

“I’m not. I just need to talk to her. Alone.” As Marcus spoke, it became evident that his patience had waned to a fragile thread.

“Come along, Kat. I’m sure your mother will want to know you’re back and not . . . damaged.” The darker shoes—Dominic’s—stepped forward, and he reached his hand out for Kat, latching onto her wrist. He pulled her up and dragged her toward the exit. Before leaving, he said, “Can I speak with you for a moment? Outside?” I assumed he wasn’t talking to me.

“I’ll be in my mom’s tent if you need me, Lex!” Kat called from outside. She and Dominic were closely followed by Marcus.

Staying as silent as possible, I focused on my heightened sense of hearing. I hoped Marcus and Dominic didn’t move too far away from the tent, so I could catch whatever it was that Dominic wanted to say to Marcus . . . that he wouldn’t say in front of me.

“Just give her time,” Dominic said quietly. “She seems more or less okay. She’ll probably come around eventually.”

“Probably? You mean ‘might not.’ You’d like that, I’m sure, but I can’t accept that.” Though his voice was also quiet, Marcus sounded strained.

“If she’s not ready to be around you, that’s all there is to it. You can’t make her be the way she was before.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Marcus growled. “I have to get rid of her aversion—for her sake as much as mine. She’s been in At-qed so the effects have been slowed for her, but if she goes much longer, she’s going to start having withdrawal pains, and then . . .”

There was a choking sound, and when Dominic spoke, his voice sounded tight, like he might be sick. “Are you saying—you and she—you’ve bonded?”

“Yes.”

“But it’s been months. You must be in agony. People have died from the withdrawals!”

“All true,” Marcus said.

“Well, that explains a lot. You’ve been acting—”

“I’m fully aware of my behavior. Are we done?”

“Uh . . . yes,” Dominic said, though he sounded hesitant.

“Did you listen?” Marcus asked as he reentered the tent. I watched his boots as he moved closer, stopping with their toes inches from my bare, dangling feet.

“Yes.”

Kneeling on the canvas floor, he took my hands in his. “I won’t force you to do anything, Little Ivanov, but if you can’t even look at me, in a few hours you’re going to be in unimaginable pain.”

“Why?”

He exhaled heavily. “Not much is known about bonding . . . at least not scientifically. There are no fully bonded couples living today, only some partials. But one thing is certain—bonding withdrawals are both painful and deadly. If one half of a bonded couple dies, the other follows shortly after.”

“You said you’ve been in pain? For months?”

“Since the day you didn’t come back from the At.”

“Marcus, I don’t—” My words ended abruptly when I raised my eyes to his. Simultaneously, I fought the instinct to look away and was drawn to the raw pain tightening his facial muscles. Every possible feature seemed pinched and strained, and his golden eyes glowed feverishly. “I don’t know how to make it stop!” I wailed. “God, Marcus, I feel like a dog slobbering at a bell. I don’t want to be afraid to look at you, and I hate hurting you, but I . . . I . . .”

As I drank in the masculine perfection of Marcus’s tensed face, I realized that Set had given me the one Pavlovian response I needed to overcome his adverse psychological training. I felt the need to look away from Marcus because I didn’t want to hurt him. For months, looking at him without permission had meant his death. But that aversion would hurt him, too. It was hurting him. He was, as Dominic had said, in agony, but I had the ability to take the pain away. That knowledge was the most effective and welcome aversion override I could have wished for.

“I love you, but . . . are you sure you want this . . . to be bound forever? It might not be too late to stop . . . I mean . . . I don’t want to make you do it just because of the pain,” I said, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

“Too late or not, pain or not . . . I want this—you—more than I’ve ever wanted anything,” Marcus said, his voice huskier than before.

His words filled my chest with a warm, joyous glow and shot electricity straight to my core. It was the only confirmation I needed. Scooting to the edge of the cot, I parted my knees and hooked my fingers through Marcus’s belt loops, pulling him between my legs.

“Lex, I—”

“Let me help you,” I whispered, running my hands up over the front of his button-down shirt. The thin fabric did little to conceal the hard ridges of muscle shaping his torso.

With wide eyes and parted lips, Marcus raised his hands to my shoulders. He slid his fingertips over the sensitive skin along my collarbone. “Lex—”

“Let me make the pain stop,” I begged softly. My nimble fingers were undoing the buttons on his shirt from the top down.

“Woman,” he rumbled in his silky bass. “Let me speak!” His cross tone warred with the combination of passion and pain burning in his eyes.

I winced, pausing on the last button. “Sorry.”

Holding my gaze, he said, “I love you, Lex.” He filled his words with countless layers of meaning, and my lips spread into a warm smile.

He looked flabbergasted. “That’s it? A smile?”

Laughing softly, I glanced down to finish unbuttoning his shirt. “Don’t worry . . . you’re getting more than a smile. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve told me.”

Marcus’s hands, lightning quick, shifted to the sides of my head and tilted my face back up. “Yes, Little Ivanov, it is.”

“No, Marcus, it’s . . . oh.” I closed my eyes to hold back the sudden and furious welling of tears. It was the first time the real Marcus had told me he loved me. Set had taken something invaluable from us—the right to express our feelings in our own time. It was something that could never be replaced and I hated him that much more for stealing it.

“Lex?”

“Hmmm?”

Feather-light, his lips brushed across first one cheekbone, then the other. “Little Ivanov?”

“Yeah?” I whispered, my furious sorrow diminishing immediately.

Burying one hand in my hair, Marcus turned my head so his breath came close against the skin between my ear and jaw. Each time his mouth barely touched me, tendrils of fiery pleasure burst to life beneath my skin. The thumb of his other hand skimmed my lips, and my breath came out noticeably shaky.

“I love you.” His thumb slipped between my lips, tasting faintly of salt as he wet it with saliva from my tongue. The damp fingertip ran softly from one corner of my lower lip to the other, and back. “And only you.”

Tightening his grip on my hair, he tilted my head back, giving him easier access to my neck. He inhaled deeply as he nibbled an electric line to my right collarbone. He licked along the graceful arc of bone in one smooth motion, from shoulder inward, ending by kissing the hollow at the base of my throat. A delicious ache was building within me, and a soft moan escaped from my parted lips.

“I want you,” he said. The fingers of his free hand mirrored his tongue’s path, eventually trailing down to my breastbone and slipping under the low neck of my dress. I whimpered when he ignored my breasts, instead pressing his palm against the center of my chest and smiling against my neck. “Only you,” he whispered.

He raised his head from my throat, removed his hand from my chest, and released my hair. Holding my eyes, he lowered his hands to my knees and slid them up under my dress. The intense hunger in his eyes did as much to prepare me for him as his touch.

There was a tearing sound—Marcus had literally ripped my underwear off. As soon as they were out of the way, I heard the metallic clang of his belt and the sound of his zipper.

“And all of you,” he finished. Gripping my hips firmly, he pulled me off the cot and onto him, both of us grunting as we joined.

While the initial, intense sensation of holding him within me still pulsed from my core, Marcus embraced me tightly and sat back on his heels. So urgent was our need for one another that his quick, rough pace brought me to my peak remarkably soon. And when he buried his face in my neck and groaned, embracing me desperately, I flew away. Throbbing fire exploded in my belly and spread outward with nearly unbearable force. I was falling . . . soaring . . . unraveling. I lost myself and became someone else—the impossible combination of two souls, two minds, two bodies, but one being. I bound myself to Marcus, wholly and completely.

Slowly, as conscious thought returned, I became aware of Marcus’s soft words. He rocked me gently, murmuring ancient, beautiful words that I couldn’t understand. Pulling away enough to see his face, to read it for lingering signs of agony, I found only peace.

“Better?” I asked.

Lazily, Marcus smiled, his eyes like molten gold, and he let out a deep, satisfied hum.

Slipping my hands under the shirt he still partially wore, I ran my fingertips up and down his back, savoring the way he shivered with my touch. “I love you, Marcus.”

He chuckled and brushed his lips softly against mine.

“Marcus?”

“Hmm?”

I took a deep breath. “You said I was trapped in the At for months? What’s the date?”

He tensed, turning to stone even as he held me, and dread took root in my chest.

Leaning back, I asked, “How many days do we have left?”

His jaw clenched, once, twice. “The solstice is in a week.”

My heart felt like it stopped beating entirely.

A week until the solstice.

A week until the Nothingness takes over the At.

Sometime between then and now, I decide the fate of the world. Not good.

30

Enter & Unlock

“I can’t wait to see the chest,” I said, pulling on some olive-green cargo shorts I’d found in one of the trunks set along the wall opposite the cot. Marcus, still half-naked and lounging on the floor, watched intently as they slid up my long legs. Luckily, Marcus had moved my things into his tent while I’d been trapped in the At, so I had everything I needed at my fingertips. I found my favorite black bra deeper in the trunk and slipped it on. “Is it big? Gold? Covered in jewels?”

Marcus stood, shed the remainder of his clothes, and stretched his toned body, graceful as a cat. I was really enjoying the view. “The chest is . . . hard to describe. You’ll see.”

“Not if you don’t put some clothes on,” I said, giving him a pointed look. “Or are you planning on giving everyone up at the temple a show?”

Smirking, Marcus quickly dressed his lower half in thin, camel-colored trousers. As he shrugged into a white linen shirt, his face turned serious. “Promise me something, Little Ivanov?”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Take it slow once we get in there? The Nothingness doesn’t take over the At for another week—we don’t have to rush opening the chest.”

I recited part of the first verse of Nuin’s prophecy aloud.

She will acquire the ankh-At or

Mankind will wither under the weight of the Nothingness.

“Sooner’s better than later,” I said, and my mood suddenly soured. “You know, I can’t believe Set’s my father. He’s such an evil dick,” I huffed, yanking on a black tank top over my head.

Marcus finished buttoning his shirt, leaving the top two buttons undone, and reached for his boots. “He wasn’t always like that. He was a good man once.”

I shrugged while tying my own dark hiking boots. Silently, I recited the next part of the prophecy.

She will obey Set and destroy mankind or

She will defy Set and mankind will prevail.

She will decide and either mankind or Set will be destroyed.

The world’s screwed, I thought and scowled.

Sighing, Marcus finished with his laces and closed the distance between us, wrapping me in his protective arms.

Breathing in his delicious, spicy scent, I tried to forget about Set, the prophecy, the ankh-At, and the Nothingness for few seconds. “I just want to stay with you, in here, forever,” I whispered.

Marcus pulled away slightly, then lowered his face to mine, kissing me tenderly on the lips. “Come on, Little Ivanov, the others are waiting.”

He threaded his fingers through mine and led me out into the dry heat of the late afternoon.

As we neared the western boundary of camp, Sandra and Vali trailing close behind, I asked, “So . . . how’d you guys find the super-secret entrance?” I frowned. “And what about the other one—the main entrance your geologic studies found?”

“Decoy. As for the—”

Upon reaching the perimeter that had functioned as my prison wall in Set’s fabricated echo of the camp, I hesitated.

“Lex? What’s wrong?” Concern coated Marcus’s deeply melodic voice.

“It . . . it’s just that . . .” Taking a deep breath, I raised my foot and crossed the invisible line, breaking down another of the barriers Set had constructed in my mind. “It’s nothing.”

Marcus’s eyes tightened with worry, but he didn’t speak. He knew Set well enough that he could probably deduce the causes of any odd behavior I displayed after being held captive.

“I’m fine,” I said, comforted by his concern. I tugged him along, and we continued the half-mile trek across superheated sand toward Djeser-Djeseru.

After a few minutes, I said, “Marcus?”

He glanced at me quizzically.

“Why don’t I feel worse? I mean, why don’t I feel like I’ve been comatose for three months?”

“Didn’t anyone explain At-qed to you?”

I shrugged. “Only briefly.”

Sighing, Marcus said, “At-qed decreases the body’s metabolic rate to a near stop. All functions—cardiovascular, respiratory, digestive—slow drastically. You don’t require food or water for many months, maybe even years. You were in the At for months, but your heart beat about as many times as it normally would in a couple of hours.”

“Huh,” I said, thinking it was just another unbelievable item to add to the list of insanity that had become my life.

As we stepped over a short, crumbling limestone wall and into the lower terrace of the temple complex, I took a deep breath, slowly releasing it with contentment. I’d yet to actually enter Hatchepsut’s mortuary temple, and the thrill of approaching such a majestic structure rushed through me in waves. Blessedly empty of tourists, the temple, with its three levels of columned porticoes and terraces, looked like a giant, prize-winning sandcastle . . . or an enormous, beige wedding cake.

“You know, it’s always going to be crazy to me that you were Hatchepsut’s consort. I mean, she was a pharaoh . . . one of the most famous . . . and you had a kid together . . .” I glanced at him, wondering if she’d given him more than one child. I can never do that.

He squeezed my hand. “It was a long, long time ago. She was an interesting woman. She grew quite obese during the second half of her life, or so I heard. I was already gone by then . . .”

“It must’ve killed you to leave,” I said, recalling Neffe’s story of how Set had forced Marcus to leave his family.

Marcus smiled bitterly. “It was painful. I was very attached to Neffe . . . she was a firecracker of a young girl, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“But not Hatchepsut? You weren’t really attached to her?”

“Our arrangement was more political than romantic.”

I chewed on my lower lip for a moment. “Well, at least you’ve had many, many, many years to make up for lost time with Neffe.”

“True.” The single word sounded hollow, and I knew Marcus’s mind had traveled to times long past. How many years would it take for the familiar structures of my life to devolve into ruins and be hidden by time’s relentless efforts? How would I deal with my contemporary time becoming the distant, ancient past, as Marcus’s already had?

I bumped Marcus’s shoulder with my own. “So . . . you never did tell me how you guys found the hidden entrance.”

Marcus laughed, and the genuine amusement it contained made me smile. “I wish you’d seen it. It was . . . unintentional. Dom, Alex, and Neffe were arguing in the sanctuary of the upper Anubis chapel. Dom said something about your capture being Neffe’s fault, and she shoved him—into a three-thousand-five-hundred-year-old wall. Its decoration crumpled to the ground, revealing a solid limestone doorway.”

“So was there a secret latch to open it, or something?”

Marcus looked at me askance. “I thought you were a professional—a real archaeologist.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“It would seem you’ve watched too many movies,” he teased dryly.

“Well, how’d you get the huge slab of stone out, then?”

“Very carefully, Little Ivanov.”

“Okay . . .” I said, equally irritated and amused by his useless evasion. “I wonder why Set didn’t just tell us how to get into the temple. I mean, he wants me to open the chest and get the ankh-At for him, right?”

Shaking his head, Marcus said, “After the Council chose me as their leader over him, Set changed . . . his mind no longer works like yours or mine. His logic is impossible to understand. Why did he choose to hide the ankh-At here, in the heart of our homeland? Why not far away? Why did he change his mind from wanting to prevent the prophecy—prevent your birth—to actively working toward it?” Shaking his head, Marcus said, “So why didn’t he draw us a map leading to the temple entrance? Maybe he wanted it to be just you and him, not to have other Nejerets surrounding you—Nejerets who would help you defy him.”

Pursing my lips, I pondered his words, rolling them around in my head. I was certain of one thing: Set’s unpredictability made him a whole lot scarier. I shivered.

As we walked up the centralized ramp leading to the temple’s third level, I could see a handful of people mingling among the square columns and the few remaining statues of Hatchepsut. Neffe, Dominic, and Alexander were among them, along with at least a dozen more Nejerets. I was moderately surprised to find Kat standing beside Dominic, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet.

The mortuary temple’s expansive, sand-colored portico reminded me of the wide front porch on a southern plantation home. Or it would have, if any plantation home had ever been built entirely out of limestone in a dusty desert with lumpy tan cliffs jutting up behind it. It was a bit of a stretch, but I’d always had an active imagination.

I was eager to greet my friends, especially my youthful grandpa. But I was equally as uncomfortable, fully aware that they knew I’d been back for well over an hour and had spent most of that time in Marcus’s tent. The fate of the world was hanging in the balance, but we had to take a sex break while everyone else waited for us. No really, we had to.

Leaning in close, Marcus whispered, “Dom will have told them what you’ve been through and about the bonding—they’ll understand.”

I looked at him sharply. “What? Are you a mind reader now?” The confirmation that they knew what we’d been doing only amped up my chagrin.

Inches from my ear, Marcus chuckled, sending shocks of remembered pleasure dancing along my skin. “Hardly. You were just being exceptionally expressive.”

“Oh.” I could feel my cheeks growing hot. Damn, being bound to him made the most benign interactions feel like foreplay.

Softly, Marcus pressed his lips against my cheek, feeling cool against my flushed skin. “Alex might throttle me if I don’t hand you over within the next five seconds . . .”

Letting go of Marcus’s hand, I approached Alexander. He stood beside one of the seven remaining, mostly intact statues of Hatchepsut still decorating the fronts of the columns, looking equally as regal, though the statue was easily twice his height. He wore a solemn expression as I neared, and closed the distance between us in two large strides. His arms enfolded me in a sturdy, comforting hug.

“Dear granddaughter, I’m so sorry for what Set has done to you. Ivan and the rest of the Council have sworn to forsake the swift release of death in his case. He will suffer for a very, very long time.”

While part of my mind danced a merry jig at the thought of Set suffering an eternity of torture, I wondered if it would ever come to pass. Likely as not, the rest of us would end up being the victims of a hell inflicted by my father. And it all depended on me. Oh joy. I really hated him.

“Thanks, Alexander,” I said, giving my grandpa a final squeeze. “I really appreciate the . . . er . . . sentiment.”

After we broke apart, I received greetings and hugs from the others, including a promise from Kat to “kick that phony god’s pretty ass” if he ever stepped out of line. She hadn’t been talking about Set.

“Can we show her now?” Neffe asked, breaking through the good-humored reunion.

When Marcus nodded, Neffe reached for me and clasped her hand around my wrist, tugging me out of the cluster of Nejerets. Setting a quicker pace than I’d expected with her shorter legs, she dragged me through the blocky entryway to the upper courtyard and immediately turned right, following a tall, limestone wall. Multiple rows of polygonal columns were arranged evenly near the perimeter of the rectangular courtyard, broken off at various heights. Some still held vestiges of their ancient decorations, haphazard chunks emblazoned with faded amber hieroglyphs and depictions of the ancient gods.

Freeing my wrist from Neffe’s sharp-nailed grasp, I stopped with a slight stumble. “Thanks, Neffe, but I can walk on my own.”

“Sorry,” she said, shooting a wary look over my shoulder. I knew what she was watching, or rather, who; I could feel Marcus’s proximity even before his arm slipped around my waist. “I’m just a little excited.”

“A little?” Dominic said, sneering as he passed her.

Neffe jogged for a few steps to reclaim her position as guide, and we followed. “You see, Lex, for weeks we haven’t been able to make any progress because we needed you,” she called over her shoulder. “We’ve explored every part of the temple and have found the chest containing the ankh-At—it’s pretty hard to miss, really—but, like Nuin’s prophecy says, ‘No person except for the Meswett shall be able to access the ankh-At.’ You’re the only Meswett there is, and with you here, we’ll finally be able to open the chest and get to the ankh-At. I just can’t believe it’s all finally happening!” she exclaimed excitedly. I guess she’s not worried that I’ll cave in, obey Set, and destroy the world . . .

She led us through a small doorway leading into an open-air chamber. In its center stood what had once been a sun altar, a large square platform of decaying limestone. In singles and pairs, we followed Neffe diagonally across the debris-strewn ground to an even smaller opening in the opposite wall. My heart sped in anticipation of finally being able to enter Senenmut’s secret temple. Begrudgingly, I admitted it was equally Set’s secret temple.

Our clustered train of Nejerets narrowed to a single-file line so we could all pass through the slim doorway into the enclosed sanctuary of the upper Anubis Chapel. Vibrant colors covered the walls of the long room as well as its smaller annex, which was accessible by a petite doorway near the back left corner of the sanctuary. The sight of them sent a thrill through me. Seeing them in the modern time, thousands of years after they were first created, was totally different than seeing their pristine perfection in the At. For me, the beauty and magic of being an archaeologist was in uncovering what was hidden, in being the first to see or touch something in thousands of years.

Dominic stood aside at the end of the sanctuary, allowing me to enter the annex directly behind Neffe. A piece of my archaeologist soul shattered when I saw the long wall on the right—its decoration completely destroyed. However, the cavernous rectangle of glowing light in the center of the ruined wall more than made up for it. It was the entrance into the hidden temple.

“Archaeology is a destructive process,” my Archy 101 professor’s voice echoed in my head. I could almost see him standing on the raised dais, explaining that the world’s beloved Pompeii would be completely destroyed the next time Mt. Vesuvius erupted, all because we’d uncovered it, exposing it to the world. But it’s worth it, right?

While we waited for Neffe to unlock an iron gate blocking the previously hidden opening, I looked behind me at Marcus. One glance at the Nejerets packed into the sanctuary behind him and unexpected claustrophobia bloomed inside me. Even with the clear ropes of LED lights strung along the ground and only three of us actually standing in the annex, I was feeling suddenly, uncomfortably trapped.

Picking up on my distress, Marcus ordered, “Everyone back to camp but Dom, Alex, and Neffe.” As they shuffled out, he added, “I want guards on the chapel entrance.”

Seconds later, Marcus’s eyes fell on Kat’s slender, tan figure—she was still standing in the sanctuary. “Why are you still here, girl?”

“Because Dom promised I could come with you guys, man.” She sounded every bit the sullen teen, but a diamond-hard vein ran through her words. She’s got backbone, that’s for sure.

“Dom should be careful of what he promises.” Marcus’s jaw was clenched, and he was staring straight at Dominic. “But, if he’s up to babysitting”—he turned back to Kat—“accompany us, by all means.”

I rolled my eyes, exasperated that he’d entered his bossy, former-god state of mind. “Cut it out, Marcus—this is neither the time nor the place for a pissing contest.” Given half the chance in his current state of mind, he would argue the most unimportant matters to the ground.

I flinched at seeing the cold look he turned on me, watching as its iciness thawed, and with narrowed eyes, heated to inappropriate levels. “This isn’t the time or place for that, either!” I hissed, feeling exceptionally uncomfortable about the four sets of eyes watching us.

“The . . . um . . . gate’s unlocked. So . . . shall we enter?” Neffe asked tentatively.

“Yes,” I breathed, utterly thankful for her interruption. “Please.”

Where ground met wall on either side, more LED ropes lined the passageway, illuminating everything surprisingly well. The persistent white light seemed eerily out of place within the rough-hewn corridor. There were chisel marks covering the walls, running from the ceiling down to the floor like streaming water. Passing through the entrance behind Neffe, I could easily touch both walls and the ceiling without extending my arms completely. My heartbeat sped up with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety as we burrowed further into Deir el-Bahri’s limestone cliffs.

“This is totally better than air conditioning,” Kat whispered. The temperature was dropping noticeably—an immense relief. The sound of her soft words bounced off the walls until they faded out of existence. Somebody, likely Dominic, shushed her.

Reaching behind me, I found Marcus’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze, hoping he would hold his tongue. Neither patience nor tolerance was among the skills he’d honed during his long life.

After several minutes of moving at our slow pace, we reached a point in the passageway where it abruptly branched into four separate corridors. Two were perpendicular to the main passageway while two more evenly split the way going forward, creating a crisp corner straight ahead.

“This is odd,” I said quietly as Neffe stopped at the intersection. She turned around and nodded sedately, clasping her hands in front of her.

Without further direction, I wandered down the passageway on my left, running my fingers along the walls as I went. The chisel marks were different there, running horizontally instead of vertically. I estimated the offshoot to be half as long as the main corridor—maybe fifty meters—and was intrigued to find that my arms were far more outstretched when I neared the end than they had been at the beginning. In the light from the LED ropes, I could see that a niche was cut into the wall at the end of the passage, twice as tall as it was wide. Reaching out, I traced the two-foot-tall ankh carved into the limestone at its center. My fingers started at the bottom, followed the straight stem of the symbol up until it split into an upside-down teardrop, worked their way around the curve, and ended by tracing the perpendicular line crossing the symbol at its midpoint.

“Life,” I whispered. It was beautiful in its simplicity, both in shape and meaning.

Looking behind me, I was surprised to find that Marcus hadn’t followed. Instead, he was locked in a hushed, extremely intense conversation with his daughter . . . in Middle Egyptian. I headed back up the passage, rejoining the fiercely whispering pair. They cut their words short as I neared them.

“Something wrong?” I asked quietly.

Neither Neffe nor Marcus said anything, and I figured Marcus was trying to hide something from me—again. Frustrated, I brushed past them, heading down the nearest corridor—one of the middle passageways. The limestone walls of the faintly curving passage had been polished completely smooth, making them seem impossibly modern. With the pale, artificial light from the LED ropes, I easily could have been in an elegant hotel or a contemporary monument.

When I paused and looked over my shoulder, I found that I was far enough down the corridor for its curvature to hide me from the five-way intersection. Footsteps, quick and determined, preceded Marcus as he came into view. Upon seeing him, I turned and continued down the passageway.

Sooner than I’d expected, he clamped his fingers around my upper arm, stopping me mid-step. “What exactly is the problem, Lex?”

“That you’re hurting my arm,” I told him. In the unnerving white light, his golden features appeared pale . . . gray. I must have looked ghostly.

Face blank, Marcus watched me. He didn’t loosen his grip. He didn’t glower. He just stared, passive.

I looked down at the floor, noticing it was just as smooth as the walls. “You’re hiding something from me. Last time you did that, you left. And before that, I had to discover what I am on my own. So, what is it?” I asked, my voice small. I raised my eyes to his.

Finally, he released my arm. “Whether or not you should be allowed to open the chest today. Neffe thinks you should. I don’t.”

“Why not?”

He sighed, and reached out a hand to brush the backs of his fingers across my cheek. “I just got you back . . . and we don’t know what opening the chest will do.”

“I see,” I said, frowning. “But you don’t have a problem with me seeing it, do you?”

Shaking his head, Marcus took hold of my hand and pulled me back into motion. His mood instantly shifted to that of a little boy approaching the shimmering, present-strewn tree on Christmas morning. He led me down the passageway, the curve growing increasingly severe the further we walked. My mental blueprints of the temple were developing into an exciting, familiar shape.

“Does this corridor meet up with the other?” I asked eagerly.

“Yes.”

So it’s shaped like an ankh! “Then where’s the . . .” On the outer wall a short way ahead, a spot of light brighter than that of the LED ropes came into view. It was oddly shaped, reaching from floor to ceiling, and symmetrical with irregular waves and points on either side. And it was warmer than the harsh white luminescence of the LEDs. After a brief moment, I realized it was the reflection of light through a doorway into a more brightly lit area. My pace slowed as I savored the delicious anticipation.

Six steps nearer, huge carved shapes took form on the inner wall. At first I thought it was a column, one of two framing the doorway, with its relatively featureless length and jutting protrusion a foot from the ceiling.

Four more steps and the base of the column started to look less like a base and more like a huge paw with finger-length claws. Another step and my eyes traveled up a five-foot-long foreleg to a strong, canine shoulder, sinuous neck, and long, downward curving muzzle.

After five final steps, I was standing before the monstrous statue, horrified. It was an enormous Set-animal, like the tattoo on the backs of the necks of Set’s human followers. One of a pair, it was seated, looking like a gigantic greyhound with the snout of an anteater. With its partner five feet beyond, it seemed to hold sentry over the doorway—or what was beyond.

I briefly glanced through the doorway. At least, the glance was intended to be brief. “Oh my God,” I whispered, stepping between the statues and into a breathtaking chamber.

Vibrant, almost violent swirls of color covered the walls and ceiling of the cavernous space. As I traced the line of the nearest wall all the way around the room and then overhead, I realized it was one continuous surface. The chamber was, in fact, a dome. With a floor that looked to be around forty meters in diameter, and curved proportions that I would’ve wagered measured into a flawless, geometric half-sphere, it was the least Egyptian and most architecturally astounding site I’d ever seen. How Senenmut had hollowed out a twenty-meter-high dome in the heart of the limestone cliffs with Middle Kingdom technology was beyond me. Maybe he cheated by peeking into the future for help.

“Eat your heart out, Brunelleschi,” I whispered as I drew closer to the wall near the entrance. “And Michelangelo,” I added, observing the fine detail of the seamless mural. Inlayed into the millennia-old paint, adding delightful chaos to the decoration, were colored stones, gems, and glass beads. Each matched the color in which it was set, but stood out by shimmering in the warm glow of the modern bulbs that had been placed evenly around the chamber. I was actually a little surprised that the floor wasn’t decorated as well, though the highly polished limestone did a good job of reflecting the dizzying colors.

“It’s just like in the At.” My reverent words drew Marcus into the chamber.

“Yes,” he whispered, stopping close behind me. “Senenmut was far beyond his time, even for a Nejeret. Set did our kind a great disservice by killing him.” A little louder, he said, “Neffe, you may join us now.”

I reached out my hand, but before my fingers could brush what looked like a very large, irregularly wispy strip of gold inlay in the brightly colored wall, Marcus caught my wrist. “I wouldn’t,” he said softly. His breath tickled the back of my neck, and I shivered. “It’s quite fragile. The only reason it didn’t crumble off a thousand years ago is that there was no air flow and no real temperature or moisture fluctuation. But now—”

“I really hate that, you know. We’re destroying it just by being here,” I said, sounding wistful and a little despondent.

“You wanted to be an archaeologist, Little Ivanov. You have to take the good with the bad.” Marcus’s voice changed as he moved away, toward the center of the floor. “Would you rather beautiful, ancient things remain hidden, or share their glory with the world? Or would you prefer to just see them in the At? You must remember that nothing lasts forever—not even us.”

I pondered his words but said nothing.

“It’s beautiful, is it not?” Neffe remarked as she entered the domed chamber. “Josh has come up with a very interesting preservation idea. He plans to use a specially prepared spray adhesive to glaze and protect the dome.”

“Aren’t we just sealing the entrance back up?” I asked, turning to her.

She nodded. “But the damage, I fear, is done.”

Frowning, I turned toward the center of the chamber . . . toward Marcus and what I’d been ignoring. A three-foot-high circular dais had been left by the workers when they carved the chamber into the solid limestone. Resting on the raised platform was the object that could be nothing other than the chest containing the ankh-At.

The thing was a study of opposites—ancient Egyptian and modern, clear and opaque, moving and still, always and a single moment. It looked like somebody had taken a beautifully carved Old Kingdom chest, set it on fire, and then frozen time and transformed the entire jumble into crystal. It was hypnotizing and disturbing and the single most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. In its presence, I completely forgot the stunning dome overhead.

“Oh . . . oh, wow.” My voice was hushed, awed.

Marcus turned away from the chest and watched me, his expression expectant. Because he was looking at me, he couldn’t see what happened to the chest as I moved closer.

It began to glow.

“Oh . . .” I said, but lost the capacity for words as the chest’s internal light shone brighter, extending to the upward-reaching tendrils. It called to me, almost hummed, sending a hair-raising tingling sensation all over my body.

Seeing the glow reflected on my skin, Marcus murmured, “What the—”

“It’s never—” Neffe said at the same time that Alexander exclaimed, “Deus! It’s glowing!”

Marcus grabbed my forearm. “Lex? I don’t think you should do that.”

Faintly, I heard him, and the hand I’d been reaching out to touch the glorious monstrosity paused inches from its surface. I felt like I was locked in a bubble of frozen time. I could hear and see everything going on around me, but I couldn’t join. I was set apart . . . but I’d always been separate, apart from the rest of the world. I just hadn’t known. I just hadn’t remembered. And at the moment, I just couldn’t speak.

A long moment of silence was broken by a muffled crack, and then another. Marcus released my wrist and turned away, probably to look for the source of the noise, but he didn’t account for the freedom letting go would give me, and I didn’t have the self-restraint to stop myself. My fingers inched forward and brushed the surface of the iridescent, glowing chest.

Instantly, the temple disappeared from my muted awareness, and the unbearably beautiful glow became everything. It was everywhere . . . everywhen. Nothing existed outside of it. I was it, and it was me.

Encapsulated in its warmth and comfort, I never wanted to leave. Finally, for the first time in my life, I was at peace.

31

Once & Again

“My dear Alexandra,” the richest, most melodious voice said in a language I only understood because Nuin had taken the effort to teach me years ago. “I see it is time. But then, it has always been time. Always and never.”

“Nuin?” I asked, and though my voice was hushed, it echoed all around me. I spun in place, taking in the crystalline beauty of everything. It was as though I was in a small cavern fashioned entirely from quartz, the barely opaque walls resembling the frozen stream of a waterfall. Stepping toward the nearest surface, I watched in awe as everything within the chamber shifted with me, like it was an exoskeleton.

“Nuin? Where are you?” I asked in his language. Glancing up at the ceiling, I was almost surprised not to find any stalactites. I added, “Where am I? The At?”

“Why, dear Alexandra, you are in a time of my own creation. While only your ba can enter the At, your entire being is here.”

I spun again, facing the direction his voice had come from, but Nuin was nowhere in sight. “How did I get here?” I asked into empty space.

“By my power, of course,” Nuin’s disembodied voice answered. “I left the tiniest sliver buried deep within you the first time I visited you, when I solidified your role as the Meswett. It awakened when you touched the chest.”

To my complete and utter shock, Nuin stepped out of the wall. He didn’t step through the wall, as if it were composed of nothing more substantial than smoke, but seemed to emerge from it. It was almost like he was made from the wall, his shape taking on form and color as he broke free from its hold.

Hundreds of questions whirled in my mind, but Nuin’s presence made them impossible to grasp. He stood several steps away, resplendent in exotic, ancient robes of white, gold, and teal. He was naked of jewelry, but then, beside the brilliant colors swirling around in his eyes, any precious metals or gemstones would lose their splendor. As he moved closer to me, I couldn’t help but notice that, unlike me, he wasn’t anchored to the chamber. He moved, and the walls stayed put.

“I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again,” I said, sounding teary. My God, I forgot how much he looks like Marcus!

Nuin reached out and cupped the side of my face with his hand. “I didn’t know until a few moments ago . . . I just left you in the At, watching yourself play as a child. It was never certain you would make it this far. Indeed, it was not the most likely outcome.”

Leaning into his hand, I frowned. “But the prophecy—your prophecy—it said I would get into the chest.”

“No, dear Alexandra; it says that you, and only you, could get into the chest, not that you would.” As I lost myself in his luminous, multicolored eyes, he continued, “There were other routes I could have taken, other bloodlines I could have pursued that would have produced a Meswett with slightly higher odds of making it this far.”

“What?” I asked, pulling away from his hand. Suddenly, I felt cold and alone. “So it didn’t have to be me? You could have chosen to dump all of this torture and pain and danger on someone else?”

Nuin watched and, smiling, nodded. “Yes. That is precisely what I’m telling you. And though I gave you a life with pain and danger, I also led you down a path toward the purest, strongest connection possible between two sentient beings. Very few have experienced such intense, beautiful emotions. Most would tear the world apart just to feel such a thing for a few moments. You and Heru may have it for eternity.”

“May,” I repeated. “Set will kill him if I don’t hand over your power. And then what? Then I have nothing . . . then I die too.”

“Ah—but that is precisely why I chose you over all the other possible Meswetts. There may have been others who were more likely to make it this far, but few had any real chance of successfully navigating what comes next,” he explained cryptically.

“This doesn’t make any sense. I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yes,” he said calmly. “You have some idea.”

I fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot, and watched the cavern move with me. “You mean the choice from the prophecy—to obey Set or to defy him. Is that what you’re talking about?”

Nuin nodded. “That’s part of it.”

Wrapping my arms around my middle, I turned away from him and hung my head. “If you’re counting on me to reject Set’s demands at all costs, you bet on the wrong horse,” I said softly.

“I did not make an unwise wager. Everything that has happened between my time and yours has happened to bring you and Heru together. You had to be created—his perfect match—to ensure the strongest bonding possible. The two of you are essential to the past, present, and future. Of all the possible Nejeret–Nejerette pairings, only the two of you have a chance at succeeding.” He paused his confounding explanation and rested a hand on my shoulder. “I know what you fear, Alexandra.”

I turned my head to look into his kaleidoscope eyes, and he squeezed my shoulder. “You are not afraid that Set will threaten Heru’s life. You expect it. What you fear is that you may lose him, no matter your choice.”

Breathing in a slow, deep breath, I bowed my head. How did he know? Even if I agreed to hand the ankh-At to Set, there was no reason to believe my father wouldn’t just kill Marcus anyway. Once he had Nuin’s power, he could travel to any time and take out anybody he pleased by simply ensuring that person was never born. What would prevent him from doing that to Marcus? And then there was the actual power transfer to think about. Was the ankh-At something physical, a talisman of sorts, that contained the power? Or was it the power itself? Would Nuin give me a power-containing object, or would he imbue me with it directly? How would I pass it on to Set? Would he have to kill me to take the power, thus killing Marcus, too?

“What’s going to happen?” I asked, my voice small and childlike.

“I only know all possible futures, not which one will truly come to pass.” Nuin’s resignation and hints of sadness worried me.

“At least . . . can you tell me . . .” I began, but had to take several heaving breaths before I could finish the thought. “Is there a chance that everything will work out okay? That the good guys will win and we’ll all live happily ever after?”

Nuin said nothing for a while, and I thought I had my answer. Finally, he spoke. “If you weren’t the best possible chance for everything to work out the way I need it to, I would not have chosen you.”

“You mean—”

“I mean exactly what I said,” Nuin interrupted. “In truth, I wish I could tell you more. I’m sorry, Alexandra, but doing so ruins your chances of succeeding. Here.” He pulled an object out from the neck of his robes and held it up before me.

About the size and shape of a sand dollar, a brilliantly glowing pendant hung from a long, silver chain. It shone with wispy, ever-changing swirls of every color, just like Nuin’s eyes always had. I quickly glanced up into his eyes, and though they were a remarkably luminous shade of amber, they were now just normal eyes.

“I thought silver fitting for your coloring,” he said with uncommon reserve.

Letting my hands drop to my sides, I breathed, “Is that—”

“The ankh-At? My power? Yes. You must take it and return to your time. The medallion is fashioned from the essence of the At. It will feel odd when you touch it,” he warned, draping the power-filled amulet around my neck.

“What do you mean—oh!” I said as soon as he tucked the dangling disk into the neck of my tank top. I was suddenly overwhelmed by a rush of softly tingling electricity. “What . . . what . . . ?”

“It’s the power. It’s entering you,” he explained.

“But what if I don’t want it?” I screeched, frantic and uncomfortable.

“Irrelevant. You need it. Are you ready to return to Heru?” he asked.

“I don’t know how,” I told him, fearing I would be stuck in the quartz prison for eternity.

“Just walk into the wall.”

“I can’t . . . it won’t let me,” I said, remembering the way the chamber had moved with me.

“It will now,” Nuin said, giving me a gentle push toward the wall. To my utter amazement, the cavern stayed in place as I moved.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing. You must return to Heru now, my Alexandra. You’re still anchored to your own timeline, and events there are reaching a critical point.” He moved me even closer to the wall and I noticed that it glowed with a soft iridescence.

“Will I see you again?” I asked as my fingers pressed into the warm, comforting substance.

“If everything works out, you will,” Nuin said, pushing me further into the malleable wall. As my entire body was enveloped in the iridescent glow, once again, the overwhelming feeling of peace settled over me, mixing with the tingling feeling of Nuin’s power.

Distantly, I heard Nuin say, “When you return to your time, you must give the amulet to Heru so he can absorb the male half of my power.”

* * *

I floated in a state of baffled calm for what felt like eternity. And then, suddenly, everything changed. The peaceful, iridescent glow gave way to artificially lit, bright colors. The gentle warmth gave way to cool, dry air. The soft hum gave way to angry voices . . . to yelling.

“WHERE DID SHE TAKE IT?” shouted the man nearest me. Set. He stood on the other side of the now-blackened chest, his back to me. He was pointing two pistols . . . at two different people.

A young woman was huddled on the ground near his feet. She was shaking with silent sobs, her face frozen in terror as she stared down the barrel of one gun. Oh my God, Jenny!

Several paces beyond Set, Marcus stood with his hands outstretched, placating my enraged father. The second gun was aimed at his forehead. Nejerets could recover from many things, but a gunshot to the head wasn’t one of them.

Neffe, Alexander, Dominic, and Kat were all being restrained by black-clad men. Knowing that few humans could match a Nejeret in speed, strength, and skill, I assumed the men were Nejerets as well. This is just swell . . .

Miraculously, nobody had noticed my abrupt arrival. I removed my hands from the chest’s apparently charred surface, and for the first time in all the chaos, noticed that the tingling had stopped. Is the power transfer complete? Shouldn’t I feel different? Did it even work?

I yanked the amulet out of my tank top by its chain and stared. It still swirled with luminous colors, but lacked the reds, yellows, and oranges it had once contained. Interesting . . .

“If you don’t tell me where she went, I’ll kill her sister. And if you still refuse to answer, I’ll kill your daughter,” Set said, boiling with raging hysteria.

“I’d really prefer it if you didn’t,” I said, my voice strong, resonant. It had the desired effect.

Every set of eyes snapped to me. I latched onto Set’s, black as onyx, holding them without fear.

“You want Nuin’s power?” I pulled the chain over my head, held the glowing amulet in my hand, and raised my arm. “Catch.”

Set’s expression changed from shock to excitement as I spoke, and then to pure, unbridled fury as he saw the trajectory of the amulet . . . of Nuin’s power. It arced over him and landed with a faint thump in Marcus’s hand.

“NO!” Set screamed. “You little bitch! How dare you! Traitorous . . . ungrateful whore! That’s mine!” Before I knew what was happening, he raised his left hand, which had drooped, and shot Marcus directly between the eyes.

It was my turn to scream. But I didn’t. I just stood, numb with shock, as Marcus’s body went limp and crumpled to the floor. Far slower than I expected, his blood spilled out and pooled on the polished limestone, glossy and thick.

But Nuin said . . . Nuin said . . . Nuin told me to give it to Marcus . . .

Marcus can’t be . . . Marcus isn’t . . . how can he be . . . dead?

“Now it’s mine,” Set’s poisonous voice broke through my shock.

Marcus is dead?

I watched Set stroll over to Marcus’s limp body and exchange one of his guns for the shining amulet, plucking it from Marcus’s limp hand. His face turned rapturous as the other half of Nuin’s power oozed into him—the male half.

Marcus is dead.

Screaming, I launched myself at my father. My rage and sorrow were so great that I no longer had room for anything else. I had one purpose—to destroy him.

He didn’t see me coming. He couldn’t see me coming. One second, I was standing next to the chest, screaming. In the same second, at the exact same moment, I was in front of him tearing the remaining pistol from his grasp. It was impossible, how I’d moved, but it didn’t matter, not when I carried Nuin’s power in my body. Tendrils of the fabric of the At swirled around me like smoke, a part of me.

“How—?”

Set didn’t have time to finish the question. I shoved his gun against the side of his head and pulled the trigger. I didn’t even watch him fall, I just yanked the amulet from his hand and turned.

Suddenly, in another flash of rainbow smoke, I was kneeling beside Marcus. I’d moved too fast again, going directly from one place to another, completely skipping everything in between.

Marcus . . . my Marcus . . . he can’t be dead!

Keening, I rocked beside his body. I felt hollow. Numb. Wrong. Broken. It was familiar. I’d done this thousands of times before. But he wouldn’t come back this time. No other version of Marcus would suddenly appear. Marcus was gone.

I won’t let him be dead!

I needed him. I couldn’t live without him. My body would literally die, deprived of his bonding pheromone. But beyond that, I didn’t want to live without him. The sorrow was too much. I was drowning in the missing. Death would be a relief. I would prefer death.

Staring at his body, hearing my moaning wail, I realized I was wrong. I would prefer life with Marcus to death without him. I had to do something else. I had to do something. Lucky for me, I could do something else.

I screamed.

Like ripples on the surface of a pond, time wavered around me, and stilled.

I screamed again.

Everything shivered. Slowly, in flashes, the scene changed. The people around me acted out the past thirty seconds in reverse. They were jerky, like the unnatural movements of a reanimated corpse.

Set stood. Marcus is still dead.

Set replaced the amulet in Marcus’s hand. Marcus is still dead.

Marcus regained his feet, his face surprised as he stared at the amulet in his hand. Marcus is alive!

That was when things had been going well. That was the perfect moment.

With a shiver, time halted again. I spared a moment to stare at Marcus, to watch his features once again alight with life, before dealing with the pressing issue—Set’s pistols.

I had to do it right. I didn’t know how I was controlling the power, or if I could even do it again. If I only had one chance, I couldn’t waste it.

Tentatively, I approached Set’s immobile form. His arms had drooped from their earlier positions when he thought I was tossing him the ankh-At; one pistol was at his side, the other aimed at the floor in front of him. Trying to remove the weapons was futile. They were locked in his time-frozen grasp. Attempting to shove Marcus out of the bullet’s future trajectory proved equally impossible.

I glanced back at myself—or where I should have been, behind the shrine—and was momentarily stunned. I was gone. Had I displaced myself in the timeline? Could only one of me occupy a specific time at once? But then, amidst the confounding thoughts, an idea flickered into existence.

Once time restarted, everyone would expect me to be there, by the shrine. Exactly as I had been after I’d tossed the amulet to Marcus. But, if I stood in front of Set and knocked the gun out of his hand before he processed my change in position, I might be able to save Marcus . . . to change the future.

Standing in front of my father, I wrapped my hands around his wrist and pushed down.

When I released my hold on time, the world resumed. Set was definitely surprised. His hand only raised partially. Unfortunately, he still pulled the trigger; he just didn’t shoot Marcus in the head.

The crack of the gun firing shocked me so much that I barely felt it . . . at first. I took a single breath, and let it out with a horrible wail as lightning bolts of pain shot through my abdomen.

“Lex!” Marcus shouted, lunging toward us in time to catch me on my way to the polished limestone floor.

“I’ll take that,” Set said, but I couldn’t spare a thought to figure out what the hell he was talking about. Marcus had torn off his shirt and was holding it against my stomach, making the pain more intense. Around us, the domed chamber was full of harsh voices and rushing bodies. People were fighting and shouting out in pain.

“LET’S GO!” Set yelled. “Jenny, come!”

“No!” my sister shouted. “Fuck you, you bastard! Lex!”

“Jenny,” I gasped between clenched teeth. I refused to look at my middle, which felt like it was on fire. I couldn’t let Set steal my sister again.

“Shhh . . .” Marcus murmured, hovering over me.

I heard Set mutter, “Not worth the trouble,” then shout, “Move, you imbeciles!” just before Jenny scooted to my side.

“Oh God, Lex!” my sister exclaimed, touching my face and leaning close. She looked up at Marcus. “Is she going to be okay?”

A soft clink barely registered as I stared into Jenny’s frightened eyes. The second clink caught my attention enough to draw my eyes away. As my gaze flitted around the huge chamber, I noticed little pieces of the dome’s beautiful decoration raining to the floor. They were followed by larger pieces of what looked like very ancient, very hard plaster. The shouting and gunshots had disrupted the stability of the dome.

“Marcus,” I rasped, but he didn’t turn his attention to me. He was watching something I couldn’t see. “Marcus!” That time, he did look. “We need to leave. Now.” A large, heavy-sounding chunk crashed on the floor a few feet away, spraying the three of us with dust and debris. Marcus got the point.

He scooped me up and shouted, “Dom, get the others out of here! This place is coming down!” Without looking back to make sure his order was followed, Marcus sprinted out of the chamber and along the curving, ankh-shaped passageway. He didn’t stop when we made it to the chapel.

The ground trembled with what I assumed was the collapse of the entire dome. Whatever Senenmut had used in his grand creation had been pretty damn heavy.

Marcus and I made it out into the evening air only seconds before the rest of our crew, and they were followed closely by a groaning rumble and a thick poof of dust.

“Dom, Alex—check if Vali and the others are alive and bring them back to camp. Neffe, come with me,” Marcus ordered before he started jogging, me still cradled in his arms.

I was woozy and in a whole lot of pain. “Where’s the amulet?” I managed to ask between shallow breaths. “Did you bring it out?”

“No,” Marcus said. “Set took it.”

Crap! “Was it still glowing when he took it?”

“Yes.”

“But the power . . . some of it went into you, didn’t it?” I asked.

“I think so.”

Flooded with relief, I passed out.

Part IV

Council Headquarters
Florence, Italy

32

Introductions & Celebrations

Turning my head on a pillow, I groaned. My skull felt like it was stuffed with cotton candy—the kind that’s a fluffy swirl of pink and blue with hard little chunks of sugar that didn’t quite make it all the way to the ‘cotton’ stage. Because of the cottony confection seemingly filling my head, it took me several long moments to realize my abdomen didn’t hurt at all. God I love regeneration, I thought lazily.

Cracking one eyelid open, I peeked at my surroundings. Everything in the room was gilded or flowery or carved in an extravagant manner. And, everything was compact. It was like the maker of each piece of furniture had been trying to make up for its petite size by adding an overabundance of decoration.

I rolled over, half-expecting to find Marcus asleep beside me. I was more than a little disappointed to find the other side of the bed empty and tidily made. Where’s Marcus? Where am I?

Sitting up, I shook my head to clear the webs of cotton candy. I twisted, dangling my legs over the side of the bed so the balls of my feet brushed a soft, crimson and gold Persian rug. I slipped my bare feet into grey, velvety slippers and found a floor-length silk robe draped over a chair by the window. It was a monochromatic crimson so deep it almost looked purple. As I donned and tied the robe over a long, black satin nightgown that most certainly did not belong to me, I peered through a crack in the gold brocade curtains. The view gave no hint as to my current whereabouts. I was looking down upon a beautifully manicured garden that could’ve been in upstate New York just as easily as in England or France. Of one thing I was certain—I was not in Egypt.

Walking around the room, I searched for hotel stationary or any other sign of my current location. There was nothing. I would have started panicking, but I saw several of Marcus’s elegant suitcases in the corner on the opposite side of the bed. Marcus is with me. Marcus is safe.

Marcus is alive.

Stop it! It never happened! I shook my head, forcing away the images of Marcus, the real Marcus, dead with a bloody hole in his head. I buried them in an imaginary titanium time capsule in my head, along with the memory of shooting my father, which also hadn’t happened, at least not in this timeline. No, not my father—Set.

With a deep breath, I forced a smile and opened the bedroom door. My lips pursed when I heard the sound of cheerful voices drifting down a long, dimly lit hallway. The voices carried with them the sound of clinking dishes, silverware, and glasses, along with the most delicious smells. Basil and oregano mixed with tomatoes, bread, and cheeses in an unmistakable blend—Italian food! Am I in Italy?

My stomach growled loudly, pulling me down the lavishly decorated hallway toward a curving stairwell and the promise of food. My robe was several inches too long, pooling on the floor when I paused and fluttering around my feet when I walked. I felt elegant in it, almost like a noble woman in a medieval King’s court.

All thoughts of clothes and anything else disappeared when I heard his voice: “—hope that it’s all over. And if it’s not, we will hunt him down until it is.”

Marcus. Alive.

Soft cheers rose and glasses clinked and people laughed as I started down the stairs. When I reached the bottom, I froze.

Due to the curvature to stairway, the view through the wide doorway leading into the dining room had been hidden. In fact, it wasn’t a dining room at all, but an enormous banquet hall filled with long, extravagantly set tables seating several hundred people. Based on the diners’ sleek beauty, it looked like they were all Nejerets. They were also all suddenly staring at me. I recognized almost nobody in the crowd.

“Hi?” I croaked, coloring as I realized I was wearing nothing but a nightgown, robe, and slippers while they were all dressed in evening finery.

At the far end of the room a man stood from what was undoubtedly the head table. It took me only a moment to recognize him as Marcus. But it was a Marcus I had never seen, wearing a pale gray tuxedo of the finest cut and emitting an air of irrefutable authority.

He rounded his long table and slowly strode between the others like a jungle cat. His keen eyes were locked on me, glinting slyly to match his quirked mouth, and he walked with undeniable confidence. He drew most of the attention away from me—not a single woman was glancing my way by the time he reached the center of the room.

I was starting to wonder if Marcus purposely toned down his charisma when he was around me, so I wouldn’t feel overwhelmed. At the moment, he wasn’t putting an ounce of effort in that direction.

Crap—did the regeneration make me look sickly again? I ran fingers through my hair, wishing I’d at least put it in a ponytail before leaving the room, but resigned to let it hang in loose, tangled waves.

With narrowed eyes and pursed lips, Marcus reached me. He walked a slow circle around me, examining my every inch. Pausing with his back to the crowd, he murmured, “In that delectably thin robe and with bed-mussed hair, you put the rest of these Nejerettes to shame, Little Ivanov. I’m of half a mind to take you back upstairs and act out some of the very inappropriate things I’m imagining . . . but I’ll save that for later.” He smirked wickedly and raised a single eyebrow. “Are you ready to meet your admirers?”

Based on the catty glares being thrown in my direction by most of the women, I thought ‘admirers’ was a gross overstatement of the crowd’s opinion of me.

“Now?” I whispered, fully aware that every single person was staring at us and that bailing was pretty much useless.

Marcus’s smirk widened into a grin.

“Okay, I guess,” I said, unsure.

He took a step closer and leaned in. I thought he was going to kiss me, there, in front of everyone. He didn’t. Instead, he veered to the left, finding my ear. “Do you feel alright? I can have food sent up to the room if you don’t feel up to this. You’ve only been out for eight or nine hours . . . we didn’t expect you up yet.”

I shivered at feeling his breath rustle my hair. “I’m fine,” I whispered.

“Good,” he said, pulling away. To my surprise, he did pause to lightly brush his lips against mine, chuckling when he heard me squeak.

The room was filled with a hushed murmur as he pulled away. Men and women alike were whispering to each other behind their hands. Apparently, claiming and bonding in a small camp was one thing, but such a small public display of affection before a formal assembly of Nejerets was another.

Marcus took my arm, placing my hand on his forearm, and presented me to the room. Staring out at the vast array of exquisitely dressed, gorgeous people, I felt completely inadequate.

“May I present to you all the Meswett, Alexandra Ivanov, great-granddaughter of Ivan and daughter of Set,” he boomed.

I half-expected the crowd to explode into applause and cheers, though for what, I don’t know. It didn’t. It was so quiet, I was pretty sure every person could hear my stomach growling as Marcus led me down the center of the room toward the head table. We took the same path he had used in his approach, and by the time we reached the table, an additional, intricate place setting had been laid out between Marcus and Neffe’s plates.

Sitting in the chair Marcus pulled out for me, I tried to ignore the scrutinizing eyes prodding me from every direction. I made a valiant attempt to focus on Neffe’s words as she explained that I’d only missed the first course and that my hair didn’t really look too bad and that the regeneration hadn’t made me look too sick and that my sister was fine—resting upstairs—but my stupid Nejerette hearing perked up as various women throughout the hall made audible judgments.

“She’s pretty enough, I guess, but she still looks human-ish.”

“Did you see her eyes? Blood-red is fitting for one of Set’s line.”

“It’s just her ancestors that make her the Meswett—I’m sure there’s actually nothing special about her.”

“Wasn’t she just shot in the in the stomach this morning? That’s pretty quick to be completely healed, and she doesn’t really look like she just regenerated.”

“Poor Heru, having to train such a child in the delicate arts,” said a husky French voice. “When I was with him, I always gave him something new and exciting. Whatever he wanted, I did, along with some things he didn’t know he wanted until I did them to him. He will never be satisfied with a girl like her. Eventually, he will come back to my bed.” She laughed suggestively, and I found her in the crowd, staring at Marcus with so much heat it looked like she was trying to set him aflame with her eyes alone.

Marcus, I discovered irately, was returning the stare. Albeit, devoid of the excessive lust hers held, but still . . .

My blood boiled. Who was this woman to declare such a thing loud enough for the large gathering of Nejerets to hear every word? How dare she! I ought to—

Without warning, I winked out of time and space in a swirl of smoky colors and reappeared before the spiteful hussy. Shouts of surprise and gasps followed my abrupt change of position.

While tendrils of At were still floating around me, making me look like some sort of furious rainbow fairy, I slammed my hands on the pale yellow tablecloth in front of the woman and hissed, “Listen up, you French whore. You may have been with him in the past, and you may have had to practice bedroom Olympics because without amazing feats of wonder, being with you is just too damn boring.” Taking in her beautiful, silver-blonde hair, pale blue eyes, and creamy skin, I sneered. “But that’s the thing with bonding . . . with me. Just the touch of my fingertips on his skin is better than anything you might have done to him. You’re a forgotten memory.” I licked my lips and added, “Enjoy your dinner.”

Straightening, I tried to flash back to my seat at the head table. Nothing happened. I tried again. Nothing happened, again.

So, I smiled at the people sitting on either side of the scandalized French Nejerette and turned to glide back up to my table. I was more than a little relieved to find Dominic approaching, several paces away.

“Might I escort you back to your seat, Meswett?” he asked, doing a valiant job of hiding his amusement.

My plastered-on smile melted into something genuine, and I nodded. “I’d like that, Dom. Thanks.”

He took my arm and led me away, smiling and nodding at certain people as we passed. Low enough that only I heard, he whispered, “If there’s one thing we can be certain of, it’s that we’ll never be short on entertainment when you’re around.”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

Letting his French accent grow heavier, he murmured, “I was being completely serious.”

Grinning, I settled back into my seat. “Thanks, Dom.”

“Rescuing you is quickly becoming my calling.”

Marcus cleared his throat. Dominic had been there to save my sanity when Marcus left, and it had been Dominic who’d rescued me from Set, not Marcus. For some reason, a new tension had developed between the two men, and it seemed to be increasing.

Dominic slipped away, graceful as a dancer and deadly as a viper, to his seat on the other side of Neffe.

Leaning in, Marcus whispered, “I love it when you do that.”

“What? Embarrass myself in front of hundreds of people?”

“No,” he said. “I love watching you assert your claim on me. The second time was just as good as the first. Maybe better. It makes my hunger for you fathomless, every time.” He reached for my hand and guided it under the tablecloth to his groin so I could feel the evidence of his hunger.

I blushed and withdrew my hand before we caused a scene. “Oh . . . well, that’s what every girl wants to hear.”

“Mmm . . . but you’re not every girl, are you?” There was a slight, unexpected edge to his tone. “I think you just showed us all that.”

Cringing, I thought about how I’d just inadvertently used Nuin’s power to shift from one place to another, as I’d done in the temple . . . when Marcus had died. “Right, about that . . .”

“Yes, Lex, let’s talk about that.” He shifted in his chair, letting the server place a bowl of creamy yellow soup in front of each of us, and demanded, “Tell me everything that happened in the temple.” I raised my eyebrows at the haughtiness in his words, and he added a delightfully sensual, “Please?”

So I told him . . . almost everything, leaving out the part about tweaking the timeline . . . about him dying . . . about killing Set. I whispered as quietly as possible, hoping only those nearest to us could overhear.

“It doesn’t quite make sense,” Marcus said after I finished. “If Nuin held all the power himself, why did it need to be split into male and female halves when he passed it on?”

“I know!” I agreed. “And why did he have to pass it on in the first place? He looked perfectly healthy at first, but near the end he seemed a little, I don’t know . . . wane. It was like getting rid of his power made him weak. You were there . . . how’d he die?”

Frowning, Marcus said, “It took some time, but he gradually weakened until he died. There was a woman—the Nejerette wife I told you about before—she took care of him until he drew his final breath. Some believed she somehow caused his death . . . maybe poisoned him. I don’t remember much about her, other than that she was his only Nejerette wife and that I knew she hadn’t harmed him—that she had loved him as we all had. Nobody knew how old he really was, so I just thought his wasting sickness might be what happens once Nejerets reach a certain age.”

“I think . . . do you think he might have died because he gave up his power?” I blinked rapidly at the welling of tears in my eyes. “Did giving me his power kill him? Did I kill him?”

Marcus shook his head. “He gave us his power, Lex. Us. And Nuin never did anything without a very good reason, so if he gave us his power and that killed him, it was what had to be done.”

Some of my worry eased as I stared into his golden, tiger eyes. And then I registered his words. “Us? Are you saying you definitely have the male half? But you said the amulet was still glowing when Set took it.”

“It was still glowing,” he interrupted. “But it was faint. I’m certain I absorbed some of the male half, though I have no idea how much or what that really means.”

“So Set at least has some of the power, too.” I frowned, thinking. “Has anyone checked on the Nothingness?”

He nodded. “It’s still there, but a little less . . . dense. Like a fog that has thinned.”

“Damn,” I said with a sigh. “Maybe controlling the Nothingness is part of Nuin’s power? Maybe that’s the part that Set absorbed?”

Marcus snorted. “I honestly haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Do you think Set knows about the two halves? That I have half of Nuin’s power roiling inside me?” I asked.

“Probably. He did see you do your disappearing act in the temple.” He squeezed my thigh under the table before picking up his spoon. “Eat. You must be famished.”

I was hungry, but not starved like I’d been the last time I’d used my regenerative abilities to heal. “I’m surprised I don’t look like I’m eighty years old,” I joked. When he said nothing, I became suddenly worried and asked, “I don’t look eighty, do I?”

He laughed, “No, Little Ivanov. You just look tired . . . and hungry. Eat.”

I took a spoonful of soup, and then another . . . and then another. “Oh, wow. This is amazing!”

“Enjoy it. We’ve got thirteen more courses of amazing,” he told me, and my eyes widened.

Out of nowhere, I laughed. It was bubbly and throaty and full of happiness.

“Care to share?” Marcus asked, glancing at me sideways.

“I just realized something—we have more than half of Nuin’s power. Set has less than us.” I grinned, my eyes full of wonder. “We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?”

Marcus brushed a stray strand of hair out of my eyes. “Yes, my darling, I think so.”

* * *

If you plan to continue with the Echo Trilogy, there’s an epilogue on the following page…but I suggest you stop here if you aren’t a fan of even the tiniest of cliffhangers and don’t plan to continue.

Thanks for reading!

Epilogue

Set

Heru thinks he knows. He runs around with my daughter. Mine! And he thinks he knows how this will all turn out. But Heru has always thought just a little too highly of himself. Where he captures power through strength and charisma, I use knowledge. He thinks he knows everything he needs to know, so he doesn’t seek.

I seek . . . listen . . . learn . . . know.

I know about her. I know about him. I know about the power. And I know about Nuin, what he is and what he’s planning. I know, so I have the power.

The End

* * *

Continue the Echo Trilogy in book two, Time Anomaly.

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And in the in-between novella, Resonance.

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About the Author

Lindsey Fairleigh lives her life with one foot in a book--as long as that book transports her to a magical world or bends the rules of science. Her novels, from post-apocalyptic to time travel and historical fantasy, always offer up a hearty dose of unreality, along with plenty of adventure and romance. When she's not working on her next novel, Lindsey spends her time reading, planning her future farm, and trying out new recipes in the kitchen. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her rather confused cats.

For more information on Lindsey Fairleigh:

- @LindsFairleigh

- lindsey.fairleigh

www.lindseyfairleigh.com

Read More from Lindsey Fairleigh

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Come the Dark

Rebecca Hamilton

Come the Dark © Copyright 2015 Rebecca Hamilton

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

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About the Book

Come the Dark

A Heart-Wrenching Paranormal Romance

Book Two in the Bestselling Forever Girl Series

Rose desperately wants to escape the abuse of the father who impregnated her and the dark spirits that haunt her life. Being thrust from Georgia 1961 into the era of Salem’s infamous witch trials isn’t what she had in mind, and now her daughter is left hopelessly out of reach.

The only way to return to her daughter is by facing certain death to banish the dark spirits that plague Salem. If she doesn’t eliminate these dark spirits in time, they will destroy civilization and trap her in this strange new place, ages away from her daughter.

Even if she can complete the task in time to return home to save her daughter, there’s still one problem: she’s falling in love with a man who can’t return with her. Achieving her goals will force her to choose between the only man who has never betrayed her and a daughter she can’t quite remember but will never forget.

A heart-wrenching tale of a mother’s love for her daughter, this romantic paranormal fantasy underlines the depravity of both historical and modern society while capturing the essence of sacrifice and devotion.

Come, the Dark follows a different character from the Forever Girl series but in the same world. It is a complete standalone and can be read without having read the first book in the series..

1

August 1961

Nobody wants to talk about what Pa did to me.

Especially not Mama.

We sway on the porch swing, drinking her sun-brewed Tetley iced tea sweetened with cane sugar and chilled with ice from our cracked freezer tray. During our chats, her gaze flits around, never settling on anything for much too long. Especially not my belly. She must not like shutting her eyes, either, as there are always dark circles under them. Maybe the Darkness won’t let her sleep anymore.

Does she see those shadow men the same as I do, or have they become a part of her?

“Nice day today,” she says.

The words mean to fill the air between us.

Life has stood still since the Darkness came, as though time itself were as lazy as the summer days are long. I watch over the muted and pale sky, the dirt roads and faded grass. Forever in the sun, the dusty, bluish-white paint peels away from the decaying boards of our porch, and the muggy air, dead of a breeze, makes my skin itch.

The weather’s just another pressure in my life, suffocating me, and the swell of my uterus against my lungs isn’t helping.

If I had a friend to confide in, they might say I should give the baby up, that the baby would be a reminder of all Pa has done. And maybe they would be right. But once upon a time, Mama told me all babies are a blessing, and I could use a blessing.

Mama tucks a grayish blonde strand of hair into her sunhat. It’s not fancy. Just something she wears to hide her unkempt hair.

“Georgia summer,” she says, all breathless-like. “That’s why I like it here. I like these Georgia summers.”

I do not like Georgia summers. They smell like animal piss and wet concrete cooking in the sun. But it’s not just the summers. I don’t like anything about Georgia. Georgia is a black hole—the home of the Darkness. Home of the shadows that scurry in my periphery. Only the edge of my vision catches the figures gliding past, but they are gone the moment I turn to look.

They are here now, too. Always. Ever since that car accident my Pa and I should have died in all those years ago.

I glimpse a shadow at our window, but when I turn my head, there’s nothing there. Nothing but the blinds moving lightly. Another shadow crouches behind Mama’s rose bushes on the other side of the porch rails. This shadow-man crowds the edges of my vision, watching me. If I look straight at him, he’ll be gone, so instead I watch from the corners of my eyes. Not afraid anymore. Only aware.

When I tire of being stared at, I glance over. All that’s there are Mama’s strawberry plants, about to be overcome by the vines crawling along our porch, and a few dragonflies humming as they mate in the air above. A praying mantis feasts on a butterfly’s cocoon attached to one of the porch spindles beside where an old rope loops around one of the rail posts. In the crawlspace below, animal traps snuff out small and innocent creatures. Sometimes I hear them scratching to get free.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

Silence.

I wonder if Mama can see my overripe stomach from the corners of her vision the same as I see the shadow men. If she looked, would it all go away?

It’s probably too late for Mama to look now.

As I sip my tea, Mama talks about the cloudless day. But it’s not really a cloudless day. If Mama would glance to the horizon, she would see the coal black storm clouds rolling in, casting our sunny day in a dreariness more fitting for our lives.

But clouds are something nice to talk about. Better than talking about the swell of my stomach, or the way even my face and ankles have gotten plump. ‘Still a skinny little thing,’ Mrs. Kelly says, when she passes our porch on her morning rounds. ‘It’s in your bones.’

She probably thinks I’m an easy girl, got knocked up six months before my eighteenth birthday in the bed of some young man’s pickup truck. No one’s going to tell her otherwise. But we can’t just ignore what’s coming. Today has been a constant reminder, my abdomen so swollen that it crushes my stomach, quelling my appetite completely. Off and on, sharp pains have been stiffening all around my midsection and cramping in my back.

I take a sip of my sweet tea, even though I’m not a bit thirsty, and twist a small emerald birthstone ring on my finger. My swelling has made it fit too snug to remove.

“When the baby—” I start, but Mama’s mouth smiles in a silencing way.

She keeps touching her face, the way she always does when she’s anxious. So much so that, lately, sores have appeared along her jaw. It’s as though she’s in there, somewhere, still a mother enough to worry—but part of her mind and soul have been taken. As if her body isn’t her own anymore.

I know how she feels.

I close my eyes, wishing myself away from here. One day it will be just me and my baby, Anna. A better life, one day soon. God, please let it be one day soon.

Mama chews at the scabs on her lips and nods to the hills across the street, to the waves of wheatgrass seeded with wildflowers. Closer to the road, poppies grow in bright clusters that make the roadside more vibrant, even in the dull light of our cloudy day.

“You used to play in those fields,” Mama says.

I don’t say anything. Mama doesn’t mind if I’m quiet. I just have to nod along as she tells her stories, as she lives in the past, talking about how Pa used to take me to the carnival and how Pa used to braid my hair and how Pa used to take me to see the horses. I think it makes her feel better.

I’m old enough to know I should be angry with her. Old enough to think she could’ve stopped him. But I’m not mad, and I don’t blame her. It was the Darkness that did this to our family. They took Pa when I was twelve. Made him different, first with his unnerving stares and discomforting touches. Then something more. The Darkness blinded Mama, or trapped her somehow. But the Darkness never took me.

Well, not directly.

Mama and I sip from our glasses and pick at last night’s crumbling cornbread until the late afternoon light reddens the porch. A lot of days, when we’re sitting out here, she knits, but never anything useful. It’s just to keep her hands busy, pearling together doilies or another pair of oven mitts. She has a lot of those.

After much sitting and sipping and pointless conversation, Pa comes home. Mama’s smile falls away, and she gets quiet and carries the pitcher of tea inside. I follow her, catching my balance on the doorframe as I step over the threshold into the house. The floorboards seem more uneven today, and queasiness tumbles through me.

Shaky from heat and discomfort, I head to the bathroom to run a tepid bath. The shush of the water is soothing. I lock the door and sit on the bathroom rug, leaning back against the wall. I won’t miss this place. When Anna comes, I’ll take her away from here. I’ll need to get my own pitcher for tea, and some clothes for her, and some diapers and pins. And of course a real crib, not that box I’ve set up in my room.

At any rate, we’ll make do. I’ll give her a childhood where fairytales can happen in our backyard. All little girls like fairytales. Even me. And I know I’m having a girl, for sure, because I’m carrying high and craving sweets, and Mrs. Kelly says that’s why I look such a mess.

I’ll take Anna north to Seaside, with the cookie-cutter cottages right on the beach. Nobody will look for me in Jersey. Jersey is so...unromantic. The kind of place people go only because they have to visit family or take a job. It’s exactly what I need.

Exactly what Pa is never going to let happen.

* * *

I ran away once. Snuck out of the house late at night with a sack of clothes, my old shoes separating at the sole and then smacking back together again with each step. I had on me only what little money I had stolen from Pa’s jar in the kitchen. I was going to get away to where he couldn’t hurt me—to where the Darkness couldn’t make him do things to me.

My bike took me two towns over before the cops picked me up. If not for them, I would have gotten away. I begged them not to return me home; I pleaded, I told them everything. Everything—the things I could bring myself to say and the things I hoped implied what I couldn’t.

The cops’ mouth tumbled out all the words Pa promised they would:

“We hear this from your type all the time. Kids blaming their parents. You oughtta watch making such claims about your own Pa.”

“Learn some responsibility, young lady. Can’t go around making up stories to get out of trouble.”

Pa had spent years painting me as a problem child, and it worked.

I couldn’t shake the reality away. Soon I was home, my Pa apologizing to the officers for all the wrong things. Apologizing on my behalf, as if I was the one who done wrong. Same way he’d convinced the school my missed days were from my playing hooky. As though I chose to stay home. As if he weren’t keeping me there to hide the bruises.

That night, I lay awake in bed, trying to think up a new way to escape.

The next morning, Pa drug Mama in my room by her hair. Pa had never hurt Mama before, but that day he blocked my doorway and pounded on her until her eyes were black and her mouth bled.

Then he said it: the words that changed everything.

“If you leave, I’ll kill her.”

It wasn’t until Pa knocked me up that I decided I could live with that.

The whole world had already betrayed me. Every single one, except for this baby that never asked to be part of any of it. I was done helping others. Now I was going to focus on Anna and myself. Stop caring what people think. What did I have to lose? The only thing left now was my humanity—and what was the point of having humanity in a world with none?

Yes, I could leave if it meant Pa would never have the chance to hurt my baby, my Anna. Above all else, I was responsible for her. Nothing else mattered anymore. Not even Mama.

I used to think everyone had a right to freedom over their own body. Now I realize that’s something you have to fight for. Because if you don’t take control over your body, someone else will, and taking ownership back will come with a cost. Perhaps the cost will be Mama’s life.

But leaving is my only hope. Since pregnancy has not left me well fit to travel, here I am, waiting for Anna to come so we can escape together. I might not have the money, but I’ll find a way. I’ll hike down to the train station and go wherever. Anywhere is better than here.

And now that I’m an adult, the cops can’t stop me.

* * *

I’m tossing and turning on a lumpy mattress when my water breaks. I still myself. This can’t happen now. Not tonight, not while Pa is home. I’ll never be able to get away with the baby then.

The moonlight looks bluish on my walls as I lie here, staring at the paisley wallpaper that’s curling away from a fist-sized hole. It was pretty once, cream-colored and soft blues and greens and yellows and pinks. The night is mostly quiet, just the hum of my fan and leaves that rustle outside my window like a hissing rattlesnake.

My eyes sting from lack of sleep, and the room feels impossibly humid. My hair is so damp from sweat that it has darkened to the color of blood against my cream pillowcase. The electric fan on my dresser does little more than push a musky odor around the room.

It seems like ages ago that I found out I was pregnant. Ages since Pa’s doctor-friend told us that, if we scraped the funds together, he could scrape the evidence of Pa’s abuse from my womb. Rid me of his baby and . . .

My baby.

It was that last part I couldn’t move past.

Undoing situations like these...it was legal now. But legal didn’t make it right, didn’t stop those flutters begging me not to blame Anna for how she came to be.

I didn’t care one lick if she was conceived out of abuse; she would be born out of love. She was mine now. Entirely, completely, utterly mine. If Pa wanted her gone, he would damn well have to kill me, and I told him as much. For months, I even thought he might.

I kick off my threadbare quilt, and there’s another rush of warm fluid pooling on my sheets beneath me. I want to crawl out of my own skin, away from my body, but I don’t move.

Please don’t let this be my water broken now. I would rather that I’ve just pissed myself. If Anna can wait until morning, wait until Pa leaves for work, everything will be okay.

The shadow men whip past my bedroom window, crouch in the corners of my room, hover near the ceiling, outside my window, and in the hall outside my door. They scurry away each time I look, each time I try to catch them in my sights.

Usually I ignore them, but I don’t want them here anymore than I want Pa here. I keep looking at them, hoping to make them disappear, but tonight they do not leave. They move, they move, they move, but still they remain, crowding me in darkness.

Somewhere in the distance, glass breaks, and part of me wonders if it’s them—if the Darkness can touch things now.

I shift between sleep and consciousness. I keep falling into that place in my mind, the place I always hide when Pa comes into my room. I couldn’t let him kill what’s left of my soul; I had to escape in some way, save some part of me, the part of me I call Cordovae. Now here, in this place I can only dream of, I spread my arms and lift my head and twirl around, untouched, unharmed. It’s my prison and my protection, where only those who know my heart can reach me.

I’m safe here.

But then the pains begin, ripping me from that world. Bringing me back to the unfortunate life I was born into. At first, I feel the way my stomach hardens, the way it squeezes around my little Anna. But as the night drifts deeper, the pain intensifies and spreads through my entire body.

I can’t quiet my breathing. I close my eyes and try to envision the cramps disappearing, but I can’t think straight. I hum the only lullaby I know, the one Pa always yells at me for humming.

“That ain’t no damn song I ever heard,” he always says.

But I know the song, and it’s as familiar as the sun rising.

The pain shakes my body, and I let out a long, low groan. I don’t want to make any noise. I try using a painting I’ve made for Anna as a focal point. I’d mixed the juice of winterberries with glue and painted the mixture over leaves on paper and pressed sticks and small pebbles into the blue and red and purple swirls, until I’d created our future—a dream of a cottage in the woods where no one would ever find us.

My efforts to embrace a mental escape are crushed as the pains overlap and a pressure builds. I grit my teeth, but another groan forces its way past my lips.

Footsteps rush through the hall. A light flicks on, yellow and brassy, illuminating my bare room in a way that makes it feel colder. Ma’s standing here now, her expression fallen. She hurries to my side and holds my hand. I wish she would stop running her fingers through her hair. It makes me nervous.

“Oh, God, Rose. I’m sorry. It’s going to be okay, baby, Mama’s here now.”

I don’t respond. Pa stands in the doorway, still dressed in the dark denim pants he put on after his shift at the farm. Sleep marks carve the left cheek of his face, and his short black hair sticks up on one side. My heart skips to near racing. It’s so loud in my ears I swear Pa can hear, too.

“Evelyn,” he says coolly. “Get the rum and a glass of water.”

She keeps staring at me, swallowing, looking at least a decade older than her forty-three years. In this light, her nose looks especially crooked from all the times it’s been broken. But my Pa didn’t do that to her—no, her own Pa was to blame for that.

She swallows again, and now I’m feeling the urge to swallow, too, but my mouth and throat are too dry. It takes me a moment, but I realize why she’s still standing there. She’s wants to protect me.

Little late for that.

Pa snaps his dark face toward her. “Go!”

Mama startles, and I startle, too. Everyone startles when Pa yells because his eyes get bigger and darker and his face gets pinker. As Mama darts from the room, my skin gets all shivery.

I close my eyes and wish Mama was back, but when I open them, it’s still just Pa and me. I’m shaking so much it makes the pale, painted-yellow headboard of my bed rattle against the wall.

Two of the Dark Ones step closer to Pa. Step right into my direct line of sight. Dark, faceless figures.

I gasp. I’ve never seen them so directly. But before I can react any further, another contraction crests, wracking my body with a new wave of pain.

A coolness caresses my forehead. “Breathe.”

The voice has come from behind me. One of the Darkness. They have never spoken to me before. Why do they care about me now, after having caused me so much pain? Why whisper words of comfort tonight?

Pa steps toward me, but they grab his arms, pinning him in place. He doesn’t seem to see them. No one sees them but me.

Pa’s brow furrows, and he shakes his head. “Where’s your damn Ma?” he asks. He’s been drinking, and his whiskey-breath fills the room. “Evelyn!”

Moments later, Mama rushes in with the rum and water. She’s also brought fresh towels, which she drops by the end of the bed.

“Is everything okay?” she asks Pa. “You’re going to help her, aren’t you? You said you’d—”

“No,” he says, his face pale. The bead of sweat above his lip trembles. “You deliver the baby.”

“Me?” She glances over to me. “I’ve never—but you—you’ve delivered some of your siblings...”

Pa came from a family of nine kids, and his Mama didn’t believe in hospitals. Not even when some of her babies caught cholera, not even after she lost a few to cot death. So Pa could do this, as Mama says, but I don’t want him to. I don’t want him to ever touch Anna.

“You created this mess,” Mama says with a forcefulness that is new and awkward. “You deliver the baby.”

Pa turns away. Leaves. The pressure overwhelms my body. I just need to get to a hospital, but I don’t think there’s time for that now.

“I need to push, Mama.”

Mama rushes to my bedside and holds the water to my lips. She’s trembling. Water splashes onto my chin, but I shake my head. My mouth’s dry, but even the idea of drinking sounds painful.

“Now,” I say. “The baby’s coming now.”

She sets the glass on the nightstand. “I can’t,” she says. She backs away, tears filling her eyes. “I—I’m sorry, Rose. I can’t.”

“You can’t leave me!”

She shakes her head and keeps backing away until she reaches the door, tears spilling down her bony cheeks. Then she turns, and all that is left of her is the clomp of her footsteps hurrying down the hall. Hurrying away.

A door shuts. A lock clicks. Mama’s shut down again, the way she always does when things are just ‘too much to take’.

I shouldn’t care. I hadn’t wanted them here. But now I’m terrified. I don’t know how to—

I grit my teeth against another contraction and cry to myself. Pain rips through me. I must be dying. My body trembles through every limb, and nausea quakes my stomach. I try to get out of bed. Maybe there’s still enough time to get to a hospital. I’ll take the keys to Pa’s truck from the hook by the door and—

Another wave of pain slams through, and I lean back into the bed. The pain is like a fire slicing me in half, and the contractions are right on top of each other now, barely giving me a moment to breathe or even think.

I’m not going anywhere. I can’t even get back on the bed. Everything is happening too fast and, at the same time, the pain seems to stretch on for eternity. I just want to have my baby safely—have her and get her far away from this place.

“Mama!” I holler. “Please, Mama!”

Sobs echo from the other room, and I realize I’m crying, too. It’s just me now. Me and the Darkness and my baby, my Anna, coming into the horrifying world that doesn’t deserve her.

2

August of 1961 to December of 1691

That first moment I see her, my heart freezes in my chest. I suck in a quiet breath. The world around me grows still. There is only her.

She looks nothing like Pa. Not her tiny toes, not her delicate wisps of hair. She really is all mine, and soon we will be away from this awful place, just her and I.

God, she’s beautiful. I guess everyone thinks that about their baby. I purse my lips, considering whether Pa’s mama looked down on Pa with this same unconditional love. Did she think he could do no wrong, that he was perfect in every way? If she were still alive today—if she only knew—learning Pa’s secrets would kill her.

I should have killed him a long time ago, when he was passed out drunk. The world would be better without him. But I can’t let my mind go there—can’t let him ruin this moment. He’s ruined enough.

I hold Anna to my chest, her cherub cheek pressed close to my beating heart. Her existence is healing. I just smile at her, at everything she does, at everything she isn’t doing.

I kiss her forehead and whisper, “Don’t worry, my sweet Anna. We’ll leave this place soon.”

As I bathe her over a towel, using just a small sponge and a dish of water, I am awed at every perfect thing about her. Her tiny fingers, her chubby knees, her slender shoulders. And right there, on the back of her left shoulder, is a birthmark to match the one on my wrist—a pale brown misshapen heart.

I know now that heaven exists. It’s right here in my arms. And as I watch her sleep, an indescribable feeling of love floods through me, and I know, instantly, that I will do anything to protect her.

* * *

I blink my eyes open to a used-up candle and a gray sky. I shake the sleep from my head. Something’s off. Had I fallen asleep while nursing Anna? I can sense her absence even before I check the bassinet I made from a box and old sheets.

I stumble back toward my bed and shuffle through my blood-stained sheets. She’s not here.

Anna’s not here.

Oh, God.

My heart stutters. How much time has passed? I had been in such a state. I don’t even know what time I gave birth, just that it was in the middle of the night. It’s past dawn now. I slept too long. Why didn’t I wake up? Why didn’t I notice that I slept too long without being woken by my baby?

I ignore the aches pulsing in my body and try to remember the last moment I saw her. I can envision the light in Anna’s muddy blue eyes. I remember wondering if her eyes would one day be as green as mine. I swaddled her in one of my old shirts, wondering how much she would look like me and how much she would remind me of Pa once we escaped.

Then what? I needed rest to regain my strength. We were going to leave right after Pa left for the farm this morning. But now morning has come, and Anna’s gone.

An anchor crashes into the pit of my stomach, and my mind races. I stumble from my room and dart through the house. She isn’t in my parent’s room, the living room, the kitchen.

I can’t breathe. My lungs hurt from the effort. Where is she? Where’s my daughter?

I’m shaking and full of dread and I absolutely can’t live if anything bad has happened to her. Please, God, let her be okay. Please!

My sluggish heartbeat turns to a pounding of adrenaline. I rush to the front of the house and burst onto the porch. The first thing I see is the dead raccoon that Pa left beside the house, now swarmed by flies. I spin toward where I know Mama will be sitting.

Beneath the long-ago burnt-out porch light—now a cemetery for moths—Mama sips at her tea. She’s cozy, all wrapped in her cotton robe as though nothing is wrong. The glow of morning sun catches the reddish hues of her graying blonde hair.

“Where is she?” I ask, grasping the doorframe to keep my weak body balanced.

Mama jumps. Her tea splashes as she shakily lowers the cup to her lap. “Oh, Rose. Please don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?”

I’m met with silence. She shifts in the porch swing and lowers her gaze. Her face is all puffy, her eyes red.

I narrow my eyes. “Where’s Anna? You know. I can tell you do.”

Then I see it—that flash of a smile that is completely devoid of happiness. Her instinctual defense to hide whatever she is really feeling. But this time, even she can’t hold that smile in place.

I’ve lived on the wrong side of secrets long enough to know when someone is hiding something. And that’s exactly what Mama is doing.

I step closer, jabbing my finger in her face. “Tell me! I know you know where she is! What did you do to her?”

I’m shaking. My hands clench and my heart pounds in my ears. Ma stands, the teacup tumbling from her lap. She fumbles for it, then lets it go. She paces, then sits again. Her hands flit around, from her face, to smooth her dress, twisting in her lap. She’s coming undone, about to fall apart completely, and I don’t care one bit.

“WHERE’S ANNA?”

“Your Pa loves us,” she says finally, her words hidden behind her hand as she talks. “He’s protecting your reputation.”

“His reputation?” I say, incredulous.

She smiles weakly. “You’ll understand one day.”

I won’t ever understand. Mama had been good to me once, but ever since the Darkness came, she’s someone else. A woman stuck between denial and oblivion.

“Where’s Anna?” I ask again, but already I have that sinking feeling in my stomach. The pain of the birth ebbs, replaced by a fresh rush of adrenaline.

“It’s for the best.” Mama pinches the bridge of her nose. “We can be a family again, the way we’re supposed to be. Your Pa’s learned his lesson. We all make mistakes, Rose. The Lord implores us to forgive.”

Pa’s truck crunches over the gravel driveway and starts down the road, tearing away from us. He must have her. I can’t even think straight, can’t think beyond the thought that my daughter must be okay. That she can’t be hurt. That Pa can’t take her away from me. I’m sick with panic and fearing the worst. I can’t lose her.

The dusty blue truck kicks up dirt as Pa halts at the end of our road. He’s on his way to hide the evidence of what he’s done. He can’t stand to look at her, to be reminded of the monster that lives inside of him. He already tried to convince me to give her up. I considered it, but only for the sake of protecting her from him. But it wasn’t his decision. Anna was never his. She is a product of his abuse, of his drunkenness and Mama’s cowardliness.

But she is still my child.

I need to get her before it’s too late. Before he signs her over to someone who won’t give her back.

So I run.

I run without looking back. I run without caring about the after-pains of birth or the possibility of bleeding out or the hot pavement cutting my feet. I run, my body numb, not feeling the ground beneath me. I don’t care to know if Mama started after me or if she’s stood to watch me flee, staring dumbfounded, or if she’s still swaying in her swing, sipping tea, looking at the poppy fields. I don’t care about anything anymore—only Anna.

As I run past Mrs. Kelly’s she yells, “Where ya off to, Rose?”

She comes off her porch and onto the walk, staring at me with a furrowed brow. “Oh! You had your baby! Rose? Rose?”

She’s behind me now, her voice echoing after me. I must look crazy, running like this so shortly after giving birth. But I don’t care. No one in this town truly knows me. No one can help me. The only thing that matters right now is getting to Anna, and I don’t dare hope anyone would help me with that. There’s no time for hope right now.

Pa’s truck careens a corner in the distance, and my legs are given a new direction. They carry me mindlessly down a forgotten stretch of pavement that cuts through the fields like an unnatural hairpin valley. Hills on the roadside crest and fall. The road turns to dirt, diverges into a forest.

I don’t know which way Pa went, but I have to keep going or I’ll lose her forever. If I keep going, there’s a chance. There’s a chance I can find Pa—find Anna. There’s a chance I can save my baby.

I run through the woods, past dried up waterways and dandelion with no fluff. The shadow men rush beside me, and I run harder, the world a blur of tears and movement and shadows. My lungs burn from my effort, but the moist, earthly air sooths my throat and leaves the acrid taste of pine on my lips.

I hear a loud crack and dizziness swarms through my head, and I feel a slam to my core—a shift, a thrust—as though I’ve stumbled even though I haven’t lost my footing. I’m starting to feel faint. My vision darkens, then brightens again.

* * *

I stop and look around. I’ve lost the dirt road that cuts through the forest. I can’t smell the rubber of tires from the main road anymore or the piss-stink of Georgia. All I smell is soil, and the hot air has given way to a bitter cold that bites my skin.

The sun, bringing no warmth at all, filters through the rustling leaves of the canopy, creating a confetti of moving light over a snow-frosted ground.

Snow?

Unease creeps over every inch of my body. My sense of time is lost—it was an early summer morning just moments ago, but now I shiver beneath a mid-day winter sun.

What happened? Where am I?

The world spins as I try to look in every direction all at once, try to find where I came from, try to catch sight of Pa’s pick-up truck and Anna before it’s too late.

But I know I am not in Georgia anymore. I know this as surely as I know it’s impossible for me to be anywhere else.

Ahead, the trees part to a clearing filled with rows of small cabins and horse-drawn carts toting cabbage, carrots, and beets. I sneak up, stopping just outside the small village. The people of the town wear drab, old-fashioned clothing. Some kind of Amish settlement?

A dark-skinned woman with her back to me, wearing both an apron and a shawl, gathers herbs from one of the vendors. Her attention dances around, and her face swings in my direction. I’m ready to call to her—Tituba!—but then I realize she’s staring toward somewhere deeper in the forest. Her expression sags, and my heart breaks for her. Poor Tituba. My life hasn’t been easy, but it would be worse to be the slave of Samuel Parris.

My mind throttles. Who is Samuel Parris? Or Tituba, for that matter? How do I know any of these things, any of these names? My consciousness tumbles around, as though fighting to cling to the reality I am trying to return to.

Where are the fields and the poppies and Pa’s pick-up truck?

Where’s Anna?

There’s a tap on my shoulder, and I gasp as I whip around. My head’s spinning, and I’m about to fall over sideways, but I steady myself.

A petite woman holding a bundle of wood stares at me with wide¸ tea-colored eyes. She’s wearing a long-sleeved tan dress with a dull green apron. A linen cap covers her long, mousy brown hair.

“Good Lord, Abigail,” she says. “I was hoping it wasn’t you out here.”

“Excuse me?” My voice is shaky and doesn’t sound entirely like my own. It’s softer. My southern drawl is subdued, fading. This woman has confused me for another woman.

“Well, I couldn’t be certain until I got a closer look, but here you are! Oh, poor dear. You look as though you’ve seen a ghost. What are you doing out in your nightdress?” Her gaze slides down my body. Her mouth falls open and her fingers touch her parted lips. “What happened to you?”

I look down. Small twigs and burrs have caught in my nightdress, and the ruffles are smudged with dirt. No, not my usual nightdress. It is the same cream color¸ but it’s long sleeved and the material is thicker. Blood trickles down one of my pale legs. My feet are dirty and bleeding, but I feel nothing.

“Where am I?” I ask.

“Let’s get you home before anyone sees you,” the woman says. Her voice is nearly as musical as the water splashing over the mossy stones and roots of a nearby creek. “We’ll get you cleaned up and something hot to eat.”

“I can’t.” I attempt to wipe the tears from my face, but instead feel the gritty smear of dirt rubbing from my hands onto my cheeks. I look back toward where the road should be. “I need to find Anna.”

“Anna?” A line forms between her eyebrows and she places her hand gently on my arm. “Abigail, we can’t stand here like this. If anybody sees you...”

She’s too late. A man has already stopped to stare. I narrow my eyes at him, and he shakes his head before continuing on.

I grab her by the shoulders. “I’m not Abigail. And I’m not from here. I—I don’t know how I got here, but I was looking for my daughter and—”

Realizing how stiff she is in my grasp, I let her go. Her eyes are wide, but she doesn’t move. “Oh, Abigail,” she says. “Not again.”

“I’m not Abigail.”

“Really now, enough. Please,” she says. Her tone is soothing, encouraging, as though she’s trying to placate an injured animal. She’s motherly, or the way I imagine a mother should be. “Come, let me make you one of my healing teas.”

I step back, shaking my head. “Where are we?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” the woman mumbles to herself. Then, louder, to me: “Salem Village, 1691. The same place you were when you went to bed last night, and the same place you will be when you wake tomorrow morning. Must we always do this? Now, come with me before you start to raise suspicions again.”

“Again?”

“The town already thinks your mind’s gone ill,” the strange woman says. “But it could be worse, you know, with this talk of witchcraft flitting about.”

I glance in every direction for the path that brought me here—looking for answers as though I’ll find them in the dark bark of the decaying maple trees or hidden amongst the forest’s daytime shadows. But all I see are the shadow men skipping out of sight every time I look where they’re standing. I’m catching glimpses of them now, more than I’ve seen in a lifetime. Faces. Some sinister, some kind. Some confused, others afraid. I always assumed they were all evil. Is that not the case?

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I have to...I have to...” My mind stumbles.

I remember two different yesterdays. The yesterday where my womb is full with my child and the yesterday where I am gathering wood with this woman. I look down at her basket once more, recognizing it now. I made that for her.

I know her.

“Verity?” I say, calling her by name, confirming what I know is impossible for me to know.

“Come,” she says. “I’ll fix you right up. You can tell me all about it.”

I can’t tell her anything—but I sense she knows this. Sense she understands that I prefer to keep to myself. Further, my memories are slipping away like water on silk. I remember running. I remember chasing Anna, but I can’t remember why. I can remember that her skin was smooth and light, and that she held the scent of soap better than anyone else I ever knew.

Anna, my baby.

Verity hooks her elbow with mine and leads me out of the forest and through the town. Every step of the way she peeks around corners and hurries me past anyone that looks our way. I follow, not knowing where else to go and because I do not know who here I can trust but this woman. I don’t even know how I know to trust her.

I feel an eternity away from home but, at the same time, I feel that this is exactly where I belong. As Verity leads the way, it’s as though I know every turn she will make before it comes to pass.

Memories of this woman flood through me. Of us sitting fire-side, knitting for winter. Had that been last winter or had it been just weeks ago? Confusion takes my hand like a long lost friend, and I sense this is not the first time my memory has bled out.

Soon we fall upon a cabin. Inside, everything is familiar: the tiny wooden table by the door, the simple wooden sitting chair by the small fireplace with a hanging metal pot, and the half melted taper candles in brass candleholders scattered about. The room’s cluttered with bowls and half-woven wreaths and dried smears of clay.

I know the closed door leads to a bedroom with a cot near a window that overlooks the forest. There will be a spinning wheel with a treadle in the corner, though I cannot remember how to use one.

The room, when I enter it, is just as I ‘remember’, even as I do not understand how I have such a knowing of this place. This is my home.

Verity helps me sponge off as much as she can. I tell her I’ll do the rest. Each time I dip the sponge into the wooden bowl of water, my blood darkens the water like ink. When I’m finished, I sit on a small cot near the window in my room while she warms food over a small fire in the main area. I won’t say anything until I know where I am and what’s going on.

“Who did this to you?” Verity asks, but I swallow around a knot in my throat and say nothing.

My day up until this point takes on a dream-like haze.

One of the Dark Ones sits at the end of my cot. A woman. I suppose I’ve assumed they were all men until now. I want to yell at her—Get away!—but I know how that would look to Verity, so I try to ignore the shadow woman.

Another part of me, however, wants to take in every last detail of her. For years I have wondered exactly how they look. Do they all have such angry eyes as this one? Are they all cursed with two sharp teeth protruding past their lips on either side of their mouths?

Verity bustles in with a bowl of herbed broth. My stomach rumbles. The hunger comes out of nowhere but feels as though it’s been there for too long.

I lift the bowl to my lips and sip carefully, the steam tingling my face. Whatever it is, it tastes dirty and bitter. I lower it to my lap. The warmth on my thighs makes me feel overheated and flushed and at the same time makes me realize how cold I have been, how near-frostbitten my feet and toes and fingers are. So cold they itch and burn at the same time.

“Thank you,” I say.

“Bramble leaves and cedar,” she says, as though she’s plucked the question straight from my mind. “It’s to help you heal. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

I don’t see any reason why I would tell anyone, or why it would matter if I did.

Verity looks at me a long moment. “I suppose you won’t, especially after I found you in the state I did.”

“I won’t,” I promise her, only because she deserves a response.

“It’s freezing in here,” Verity says, bustling to an open window. “Why on earth is your window open?”

She stops short, and I glance over. A raven sits perched on my window sill.

“Shoo!” Verity says, swatting at the bird. It takes off, and she pulls the window closed. She stares out the window a bit longer, and her hand lifts to her cheek. “Oh, dear.”

“What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head. “A bird coming to your window. A bad omen.”

For a moment, I’m taken aback, but then my sense of Verity floods through me. She’s always been superstitious.

“Nevermind that,” she says, sitting on a wooden stool beside my cot. “We’ll bring some luck your way. Now, tell me what happened.”

It’s the same question I’m asking myself.

I don’t want to tell her the truth, and I couldn’t even if I did. I don’t remember what the truth is. This makes it easy for me; now I don’t have to lie. “I...I don’t know what happened.”

She raises her eyebrow. It’s something anyone could have done, and yet, it’s uniquely something I’ve seen her do before. It’s her fine brown eyebrow lifting over her tea-colored eyes and long, dark eyelashes. They are eyes that can only belong to her and an expression she has made all her own, imprinted somewhere in the history of my mind.

“I’d stay with you tonight—to make sure you’re okay,” she says finally, “but I can’t. You know what that could mean for both of us.”

I don’t know. All I know is that I have four years of memories of living in this place, and I know that I am not from here, that I have another life, and that I have to find my baby. But that life with the baby—it’s hazy. I can see her sleeping in my arms, see her tiny hand wrapped around my finger...I feel an overwhelming amount of love for her, and beneath that the feeling that something is wrong. Very wrong.

But what else? Why can’t I remember more? Why can’t I remember the life she is a part of?

“Maybe you should leave now.” I hate the abrasiveness of my words, but I need to be alone.

Verity presses her hands against her knees. “Yes,” she says, a note of defeat in her voice, “perhaps I should.”

But she doesn’t stand to leave.

“Abigail,” she says softly, reaching for my hand. I flinch, and she immediately retracts her gesture. She smiles sadly. “If you need anything, you will let me know, won’t you?”

I swallow around a lump in my throat. “Be well, Verity.”

Be well? Why did I say that?

Verity nods at me as though I’m hopeless. That’s probably true. I see her to the door, and she leaves with a wilted posture, her shoulders sinking as though someone has stolen all the air from her lungs. My heart aches after her, the kind woman who offered me her help.

From beneath my bed, I pull out a small wooden box. It’s empty, and the emptiness makes me angry. This whole life is empty. I don’t know what to do, where to go, how to fix this.

I stare at the heart-shaped birthmark on my right hand, right near where the thumb meets the wrist, and I know Anna is out there somewhere, needing me. Needing me even more than I need her.

As the hours pass, more memories of my life, of my Mama and Pa, come and go too quickly for me to hold onto them. When I was six...Where did I live when I was a child? I remember arriving in Salem, at this very settlement, but that was many years ago. Not today. But hadn’t it been today, too?

The memory seems awkward, as though the memories can’t possibly be mine, and yet they are more real than anything else.

Whatever memories I have been trying to remember blur away like an evaporating dream. The Darkness remains, the only thing that is wholly familiar to me.

I belong to these woods now. What had I wanted to remember? A memory skips through my mind again, and I shiver.

How could I belong to this place from centuries ago? I had only arrived here today, from 1961. Right? Yes. That’s it. 1961 feels right. But then Verity’s words swim through my mind. No, that’s not it. I’ve got my numbers all mixed up. It’s 1691, not 1961. That’s what Verity had said.

Another memory pushes in, drowning my thoughts. I arrived here four years ago, in 1687, sixteen years old and orphaned, so yes, indeed that makes today’s year 1691. Verity had been the one to find me. She wrapped me in a hug and shooed away all the gawkers and made me a sandwich and some tea, and for two years I lived with her in her small cottage until I was ready to be on my own.

So if I can remember my arrival here in 1687 so clearly, then why does 1961 still feel right? Why do I still remember arriving here today for the first time? How is it that I remember arriving here for the first time...twice?

My head throbs, and I climb into my cot and huddle beneath a thin woolen blanket. This is my home. The pillow fits my head. The straw mattress forms to my body. But this isn’t right. I belong here, but I’m not where I’m supposed to be. There is somewhere more important. I was somewhere else just hours ago. I’m certain of it.

I yawn, and my eyelids grow heavy. I just can’t keep my eyes open any longer. Even my mind is slowing down, but I hold desperately to my thoughts.

I have to get away from Salem and back to wherever I came from. Where had that been?

I envision a porch. No, not a porch. A boat deck. I came to America on a boat with my family. They left me behind, and I found my way here. I’m forgetting something. Something about today. I just know it. It’s there, on the brink of my mind. What was it...?

I can’t make sense of anything, and my will to try is quickly evaporating. I fight to hold to the last lingering memory of another life. A life where voices called me Rose. I hold to the one memory I think can bring me back there and force my eyes back open.

Across the room, a table is covered in pigments and canvas and jars of colorful water, and I rush over. There’s a paintbrush, and immediately I set to work, painting the one thing I know I can never let myself forget.

Anna.

Yes, I must have had another life before this. As surely as I know that is not possible, I know it is for certain the truth. I will not rest until this memory is preserved. I cannot let sleep steal this last memory away.

I stare at the painting until it has dried, then I set the empty box beneath my bed to a new purpose. A capsule to hold the thing dearest to me—the memory of my daughter.

I have no idea how I will do it, but I must find my way back to her.

3

December 1691

All I do is cry. I’m positively ill over being separated from my daughter. Pain sears every inch of my body, drowns me in my loss. Without Anna, I only want to die, but the chance she might be out there somewhere, alive, keeps me going. I cling to her memory, keep it crisp in my mind, paint it into pictures and tuck them away in my box so that her memory can never fade.

Verity insists I must take a job, to feign normalcy. She doesn’t know I had another life before this. She thinks I’ve always been Abigail, every damn day of my life. She says I used to work at a bakery, but they asked me to leave two weeks ago. But part of me knows I was not here two weeks ago. That I only arrived yesterday.

My memories, however, are also Abigails, and Abigail knows that no one in Salem will hire her. When I ‘remember’ this for the first time, it makes me angry. Thankfully, Verity has brought me the things a person would need—food and wood for a fire—and I thank her profusely.

“It’s the least I can do,” she says. “Besides which, you’re always helping me with my laundry.”

The comment triggers another thought of Abigail’s. A thought from weeks ago, from before I arrived here yesterday. A memory from the last time I hung her linens to dry, I—or rather, Abigail—had noticed a large black circle of a stain on one of Verity’s sheets. One of the young women in the town noticed, too. Abigail quickly snatched the sheet back down off the line, but not before the woman glared at her and stomped off, assigning some sort of meaning to the black stain that I could not fathom.

The next day, however, the Good Reverend kneeled outside my home and prayed.

* * *

I am called to my cabin window, but it is not a voice that calls. It is a howl, a low groaning of tree boughs. Slowly, it becomes a strange song, a faraway lullaby I’ve heard before, some long-ago time I can’t perfectly remember.

I sense the morning is a long way off, that I have wakened in the dead of night. Outside, smoky wisps of clouds float past the full red moon looming in the dark sky. The folks of Salem call it a witch’s moon. Beads from the early night rain blur my window. A breath that’s not my own fogs the glass. Lines trace through, spelling my name.

But it is not Abigail, the name I keep now. Nor is it Rose, the name I left behind. The name in the window is one I gave myself as a child, some lifetime ago. A name I remember and keep as I do all the names that have belonged to me. This is the name of my escape.

Cordovae.

The name is a whisper in my mind and a panic in my chest. A dizziness rushes to my head, but my balance and vision quickly restore. I’ve felt this way before. When I...when I...I cannot place it. I only know it means something will happen, and I hope it is something that will bring me back to my baby. To Anna.

The fog lifts. My window is nothing more than a splintered frame for the woods outside, the red moon hanging low in the patchy sky. The music, slow and heavy, sweet but dark, slips through with the draft. The calling is alive in my stomach, pulling me so strongly I feel as though I will surely topple forward if I do not comply.

If I follow this eerie tune, I risk being caught by my town, but I will not know peace until I obey the burning desire to honor the call.

Queasy with the need to run toward the pull, I slip on the fingerless gloves Verity knit for me to hide the birthmark on my wrist—the people of Salem would not take kindly to such markings. Then I grab my shawl and head outside. In the icy night’s breeze, my nightdress flutters near my ankles. I can only hope no one catches me stumbling through the darkness, for they already think me lost to the Puritan ways.

Only Verity has shown me any kindness, but after yesterday, she must think me afflicted. The town had found me the same way three years ago: an orphaned young woman in a nightdress and no sense about her. And though I know I cannot afford to let it happen again, my body will not allow me to resist the pull of the calling.

Soon, people will cast their fingers toward me and declare me a witch, as talk of witch hunts has been all the murmur of the town for some time now. With such rumors swirling about the settlement, I have to be careful. Especially now, outside in the night.

I should have stayed inside.

No sooner do I have that thought than the pull intensifies, as though someone has reached into me, grabbed my gut, and yanked me closer.

Candlelight flickers in the window of a nearby home, and I hurry to take cover in the forest. My heart pounds in my chest, and I glance back over my shoulder, trying to look everywhere at once to see if anyone is coming after me.

When I see no one, my fears drift away, carried by the notes that float through the night air. To my right is one of the Dark Ones, and I can’t help but look, even though I know he is faster, even though I know he will be gone when I turn my head. All I catch is the last glimpse of his inky shadow as he dips back into the woods.

The bad ones always hide.

The crunch of twigs and rustle of leaves has me glancing over my other shoulder, staring into the swell of darkness for an unwelcome companion. I swear I hear footsteps, but as I strain to locate their origin, I lose the sound completely.

I swallow and try to ground myself in reason: No one from my settlement comes out to the woods any longer, as they fear the town will think they have ventured out to make sacrifices to a dark and false god. That is the real fear in this town—not the wolves or the venomous snakes, but the accusations of our people and what those accusations might mean.

Cordovae.

The music whispers my name. My name is part of a drum beat and a rattlesnake hissing. I tug my shawl tighter around my shoulders and dip under the branches that cut across my path. Perhaps I should return to the cabin, for the dangers of the woods at night are best avoided. My feet shuffle further along the path, not heeding the warning that trembles in my bones.

I blink, trying to adjust my eyes to the darkness, trying to get them to absorb the moonlight shining through the lattice of leaves. Each step is uncertain, my vision limited to the objects closest to me. I keep one hand in front of me, reaching out to ensure I don’t walk into anything.

The music lures me along the path parallel to the creek. Even the water runs away from the direction I walk as it marks the air with the tang of wet stone. But now I recognize the song. The song I sang to Anna.

My feet sink into the earth, the soil moist from the melted snow. The dewy leaves of the underbrush dampen my nightdress. For the past fortnight, the early evening has brought snow or rain, and I’m torn between whether I remember all of those rains or only the rain of the night prior. Even with the rain gone, the air keeps its heavy, murky haze.

Were Verity with me, she would crouch to lift one the dead leaves from the forest floor. She would say, ‘They’re always here, in the forest. Even in the summer when the trees are full of green, the death of autumn season lingers.’ Words she said to me some time ago, some time before yesterday that I remember just the same.

The path makes an abrupt turn, but following it that way won’t bring me closer to the music, so I hike into the unkempt forest. As I break from the worn and trusted path into the brambles and forest overgrowth, I pause. I press my hand against a tree for balance, the rough bark digging into my palm and fingertips.

My vision has adjusted, and the moonlight gives a certain guidance on my path. On the tree branch closest to my face a spider is moving. No, not moving. Being eaten. Verity has told me of this before—of the mothers who surrender their bodies to their hatchlings.

I snap my hand away from the tree and step aside. My hand on my stomach does little to quell my nausea. I don’t want to go forward; I want to go back. I want to go forever back, back to Georgia, to my daughter.

What if forward is the only way back?

What an odd thing to think, and yet the thought compels me further. Tonight, my body belongs to these woods, the same woods that have stolen me from wherever I’ve come. My body moves onward despite myself, and the music grows louder. Between the notes, there’s a fluttering of wings in the distance and the burble of a creek.

Then I see them. A flock of sparrows. Verity and I used to watch the birds fly. ‘Birds are friends that stay together like family,’ she said. ‘This is a good sign.’

Tonight’s cold is mild and the ground is sprinkled with acorns. All signs of good things to come, as my friend would have me believe. I don’t believe in such superstitions, but yet I can’t help but feel some small flicker of peace.

A few feet farther and a path starts up again. I have never taken this path before, yet it’s as though I’ve known the way here all my life.

Deeper in the woods, a fire glows orange behind the trees, illuminating my path with an ever increasing brightness. An oddly familiar sensation hums through me. I belong here. I step closer, step around the trees and into the clearing.

The music stops.

A young man pokes at the fire with a large branch. The fire illuminates the clearing, though the night keeps the colors of the world around me muted. The man by the fire is not dressed as most Puritans—no breeches or stockings, no cravat or waistcoat—but his clothing is just as dreary, from the woolen charcoal sweater to his long dark pants.

Most surprising, however, is the golden sheen to his skin. At first I think it’s the fire glistening off his pearly white complexion, but the more I stare, the more I realize the sheen is part of his skin. But where the darkness of the spirits instills fear, his unique appearance has the opposite effect. It’s as though he is radiating a good nature.

“Cordovae,” he says, hoarsely.

The name sparks a memory. Rose, hiding in her mind, using that name to bring her comfort. That had been me, and only those I could trust ever called me Cordovae. But those people had never been real...

Yet here is this man, standing right where I can see him, calling me by that very name. How?

His head swivels toward me, shifting earthy-brown hair from his dark eyes. He’s a bit older than I’d thought at first. Mid-to-late twenties, would be my guess. But none of this dismisses the most important detail of all: I do not know this man. I am not familiar with his red-rimmed eyes, nor his square, shaded jaw or defeated expression.

“You’ve come.”

“It was not so much intentional.” I’m surprised by the odd peace that overwhelms me in his presence. It’s as though my path has crossed with an old friend instead of a stranger.

“Sorry about that,” he says.

I can’t fathom why he would be apologizing for my arrival; I sense I am expected here. Shivering cold, I pray silently for the night breeze to die down. But I don’t know if that is why I’m shaking or if it’s nerves that rattle me.

“Why have you called me Cordovae?”

“It is the name of your spirit.”

I feel both safer and more vulnerable that he knows this. Is it really the name of my spirit, though? I do not flee, but I do not move closer to him, either. Though he has done nothing to threaten me, I am at the same time cautious of him.

“What was that music?” I ask.

“A song only you can hear,” he says. “Your calling. Ankou, as you are destined to become, are air elementals, and as such ruled by the Earth. We all hear the drums, but only you will hear your music.”

“Would not air be ruled by the sky?” I ask, ignoring his senselessness in favor of simply pointing out the holes in his logic.

He grabs a stick and draws a star within a circle. He marks each point clockwise: Spirit, Air, Fire, Earth, Water. He retraces the line from Air to Earth in the star. “See? Air is called by Earth.”

It’s time to leave. This man cannot be mentally stable. But my feet remain rooted where I stand.

Before I can form a coherent question, a young woman with the same golden skin comes out from the brambles, carrying a large bowl. Behind her, beyond the wall of trees, an ocean crashes against a rocky shore. But once my gaze reaches her eyes, I can’t stop staring at her. She stumbles before continuing over, the skirts of her fitted, dark violet dress rustling against the forest floor. Her bell-sleeves are unfamiliar to the style of the Puritans as well, as are the black cords around her waist. After she sets the bowl on the ground beside the man, she assesses me with her sharp, pear-green eyes.

“I thought we were going to wait,” she says sharply. Both her voice and appearance indicate she is barely a woman—perhaps not much older than sixteen.

The man shakes his head. “Please, Tess. We’ve waited long enough.”

Tess sits across from him on a twisted log that reminds me of melted wax. I know not what to do but stand there, though I feel horribly awkward doing so. In the bowl, the moon reflects in the slosh of liquid. The man ladles some into three chalices.

Verity would say not to drink that. Never drink anything that reflects the moon. It’s bad luck.

He steps a bit closer—close enough that I can smell the ocean on his skin, but not so close as to crowd my space. Not close enough to make me panic. So why are my hands getting moist and my heart fluttering?

His lips fall slightly apart, and he tilts his head, staring at me now as though his vision has finally registered my existence. His eye contact is firm, eyes shining, expression softening. My cheeks grow hot.

“You look flushed,” he says, and my heart beats even faster. “The cold will do that to you. Come—sit by the fire.”

I’m too stunned to disobey. An odd sensation wracks my body, as though something outside myself commands my actions, yet I still feel in control—I feel I could deny my compulsion if I wanted to.

Why don’t I want to?

The warmth of the fire is a welcome relief from the cold, but soon the heat makes me queasy. I scoot back.

The man hands a chalice to Tess who takes a long sip and sets it aside. The other two chalices he leaves on the ground by his feet. There is something about him...something about this night.

Tess pulls her dark hair in front of her shoulders and weaves a long braid. “I suppose it is up to me to explain, as you’re draining William.”

“Excuse me?”

“William’s energy—you’re draining it. If you stop resisting, it would make this easier on all of us.”

“Resisting?”

“That’s what I said.” The annoyance is heavy in her sigh if not clear in her tone.

I glance over my shoulder from the direction I came. I know which way to go if I want to leave, yet I cannot see the path from my seat by the fire—not in the way I had been able to see the fire from the path. It’s as though I have stepped into a secret world.

“What do you want?” I ask, turning back to them.

Tess laughs. “If you are asking me, nothing. I’d like you to go back to your cabin and your town and forget this ever happened.”

William clears his throat.

Tess shifts her gaze to William momentarily. “Unfortunately, this has little to do with what I want. You were brought here yesterday to assist us.”

“I wasn’t here yesterday.”

“Not here,” she says, pointing to the ground, her teeth clenched together. “Here.” She widens her arms. “To this settlement. To this century.”

“I’ve lived here for three years.” Even as I say it, I know it’s a lie. But how else can I explain my memories living this life as Abigail?

“Your voice—does it sound like your own? Do your thoughts sound as you think they should?” Her face contorts in disgust, and she motions at me loosely with her hand. “Do you really think you are this woman?”

I press my lips together and narrow my eyes. There is no way she could know these things. No way she could know that I feel trapped, not just here in this town but in my mind as well.

William places his hand on Tess’ forearm. “Be patient. You were in her place once before, too.”

Tess grits her teeth. “I know that,” she says, her voice edgy. She reverts her gaze to me, lifting her chalice closer to her lips but not sipping from it.

“You’re a Seer,” she says, over the cusp of chalice. “And you’ve been taken from another time and brought here to serve your purpose.”

“A Seer?”

“A human that can see the spirits of elementals. It happens to the human descendants of Ankou.”

I laugh and shake my head. I don’t know what’s come over me.

“Perhaps I best leave,” I say. I turn to go, but her next words stop me short:

“If you complete all that is required of you, you can go back.”

“Go back?” I ask slowly, turning to her again.

She nods.

“Back where?” I ask, testing her. Could she help me get back to Anna?

Tess swings her arm to one side, some liquid spilling from her chalice. “How the hell should I know?”

William snaps his attention toward her. “Tess!”

“Should we be soft on someone we want to fight at our side?” she asks testily, but she blows a breath through her nose and seems to compose herself. “Cordovae, have you had any fragments yet? A memory not from this lifetime?”

Immediately, my mind goes to Anna, my child. I look to my hands and scratch at the overgrowth of my cuticles. I am not sure I should tell her.

“No,” I lie. “I don’t think so.”

“It’s not something you think, it’s something you know. And you want to get back to that memory, don’t you?” she asks, as though I had admitted to her I did have such memories. “We can help you with that. We can get you back to your memories.”

I can’t believe I’m entertaining any of this—can’t believe I have even a modicum of trust for these complete strangers. Tess particularly doesn’t seem fond of me, and I have no idea why. Some people are just that way, but it doesn’t exactly make me believe she wants to help me.

“I never wanted to leave her in the first place,” I say. “I never would have left Anna behind.”

She scoffs. “I knew you had fragments. What were they? Tell us.”

I shrug, not liking the direction the conversation is going. My memories are personal, and I’ve already shared more than enough details with her.

“Well, at least you know who or what you are trying to return to. Some of us are stuck here until we figure that out—if we can figure out before it’s too late.”

“Too late?”

Tess nudges her companion. “You can stop now, William. She’s going to stay.”

The calling that pulled me here earlier fades, and I sway backwards.

Tess smiles thinly at me—a placating gesture without the placating effect. “You’ll have to forgive us. William used his influence to compel you to stay. We won’t do that to you again unless we need to.”

Why bother stopping then?

For some reason, I’m infuriated more than I think I should be. What right would anyone have to force me to stay anywhere? It is my body and my right.

“If you try to force me to do anything again, I will leave.”

“Okay, sugar,” Tess replies. “Whatever you say.”

I admit, though only to myself, that it speaks well of their intent that they didn’t hurt me while attempting to hold me under their control. But how were they keeping me here anyway? Had I imagined that pull, or does William really have some way of controlling what I do?

Ultimately, all that matters is that they said they can help me return to Anna.

“Tell me then,” I say, “what do I need to do to get back?”

My desire is so strong that I know right then I would try anything—anything—for a chance to return to my baby.

4

December 1691

William lifts a chalice and hands it to me. “First, you need to drink this.”

“I’m not drinking anything.” I slant my gaze toward him. Does he really think I would drink some unknown potion in the woods at night?

“It will connect you to us and make you what you need to be to fight this war,” he says, as though this will change my opinion.

“There’s no war here.”

“No?” William asks. He sweeps his arm toward the forest’s trees—toward the shadows and the Dark Ones. “I know you’ve seen them. Your attention drifts to them almost unknowingly. They are mortuss phasmatis, the dead spirits. We call them Morts. There are more here, in these times, than the times you come from. This is because of the elemental war.”

Tess smiles in a way I am sure is not meant to be kind. “We’re your guides. And you’re theirs.”

“Excuse me?”

“You have to redirect them,” she says. “The ones who are pure of spirit need to be moved to their next lifetime, and the others need to be destroyed before their destructive ways destroy mankind.”

“So then...people can be reincarnated?”

“No,” William says. “Not people. Elementals.”

“Then how did I get here?”

“You’ve been moved here, temporarily, by the Universe.”

I’m in no place to doubt anything. Not after all I’ve been through. “That doesn’t explain why the Morts need to be moved. Why don’t they just leave on their own?”

Tess quirks her eyebrow. “Surely you can understand not wanting to leave your past behind?”

“I don’t want to help them after what they’ve done to my family.”

“They aren’t all evil.” Tess’ lips twist in a frown. “And those who are were evil in life as well.”

“Why, though? Why are some evil and some good? Why don’t the good ones help?”

“Why is anyone evil?” Tess asks. “Why are some good people afraid to protect those being hurt by awful people? No one knows the answer to these questions, and I imagine no one ever will. All of which is irrelevant.”

William nods. “There is no hope your town will survive the Morts without your help, Cord. That’s why you need to be like us. Now drink.”

The urge to back away surges through my stomach again. My heart palpitates, and my chest tightens. “What’s in the cup?”

“We can make you drink it,” Tess says.

“Stop, Tess. She must drink it of her own will, with knowledge and understanding of what it will mean.”

“We don’t have time to convince her!” At her sudden outburst, I glance over. She’s tugging at her earlobe and seems frantically distressed. “She won’t believe until she sees for herself. Just make her do it.”

William hands me the chalice. “It does not taste bad,” he says. “It’s sweet, like berries. It comes from the Ankou—that is what you are to become to fulfill your purpose.”

I would think this is all so crazy, but I can’t deny all I have seen. Still, that doesn’t mean I should drink some unknown substance, no matter what it tastes like.

While my mind tells me trusting them is not a wise choice, my heart senselessly believes them. But that does not mean I have to blindly accept their direction.

“You’ll have to give me more than that,” I say. “What is this Ankou you expect me to become?”

“Ankou are the air elementals sent to move the Morts, as you will learn to do,” William says. “I fear you will simply have to take our word for it, for the time being.”

“I fear you are wrong,” I counter. “I don’t have to do anything.”

Tess smirks, crossing her arms. “Still want to leave this up to her?”

William glowers at her, then slides his gaze back to me, pressing his fist against his mouth. He sighs heavily. “We’re certainly wasting time arguing. Then tell me, what is it you wish to know?”

“Everything. What are elementals? Why is there a war? Why do you need me? What do I have to do?”

“The questions you ask would take centuries to fully understand, but I will tell you what I can with so little time to spare.”

I’m already confused. “How can there be little time to spare when people can be moved through time on the Universe’s whim? Wouldn’t that make time irrelevant?”

“Do you want to understand this?”

I press my teeth into my bottom lip and nod.

“It started with the Universe’s attempt to purge evil from the human race. They created a new life form—the Cruor—who were sent to hunt and kill any humans who had strayed from their intended path.”

I stare down at my hands. “Had some omnipotent being really thought that would be the answer to the world’s problems?”

When William doesn’t respond, I peek up at him. He’s cocked an eyebrow that says, ‘Are you very well done with interrupting me?’ Or maybe it doesn’t say that. But seeing as I don’t know him much at all, I feel inclined to talk a little less.

“Their intentions were in the right place,” he says finally. “But some of the Cruor themselves were evil, and so the Universe sent the Strigoi, with their ability to change form to hunt the corrupt Cruor.”

“I’m guessing their troubles didn’t end there?” I ask, trying to be a little more agreeable to hearing what he has to say.

“No.” William relaxes back, his legs stretching his feet closer to the fire. “That’s why the Ankou were sent. Their magic was intended to bring peace among the elemental races, but incidentally this opened gateways for the races to intermingle, which brought with it its own hatred and violence.”

I want to be surprised by the negative outcome of something as wonderful as what he has suggested, but I know mankind too much to be shaken by this revelation. “Who did they send after that?”

William shakes his head. “No one, not yet.”

“Maybe they thought they did enough damage...”

He chuckles silently, but it’s a bitter, humorless laugh. A laugh that hides deep-set anger. “Not quite. A council formed shortly after that. The Maltorim. They were going to oversee the elementals, bring order, but of course they too became corrupt. Power has a way of doing that to people.”

When William looks at me next, chills rush along the fine hairs of my pale arms. He’s absolutely right. But what does that say about him? Doesn’t he have powers of his own? Isn’t he suggesting that, if I join him, I will, too?

“Is that all there is to it?” I ask meekly. “The Cruor, the Strigoi, and the Ankou? All fighting. And for what?”

He pulls one knee up and rests his elbow there. “The Chibold came along at some point. Before all that. After. During. I suppose they weren’t really considered important at first, not to the reshaping humanity anyway. But they are the only trustworthy connection to the Universe. What’s worse is that, through these wars, they are losing the host families they need to survive.”

“This sounds like...a mess I just don’t want to get involved in. Maybe it would be better if I went back, and the Universe can send someone else.”

“You don’t understand,” he says. “You can’t go back. Not yet.”

“Your ‘Universe’ has done enough wrong by now that they ought to be a little more open to the idea that they might be wrong about me. Don’t you think?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think.” This time, he looks at me, and I realize the smirk on his face isn’t as mocking as it appears on first glance. He’s frustrated—not with me, but with the way things are. “You see, it is a cycle that cannot break. The evil spirits need to be removed and the good allowed to remain. That is the bottom line, and that is where we come in.”

“So none of the Ankou are corrupt?”

“Well, no...some are...” William scratches the back of his head. “It’s more complicated than that. But that is why there is a war, and that is why we need you—someone to fight for good, to move the pure spirits and rid the earth of the evil ones.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“Not yet, no. But if you were to become Ankou, you would.”

It’s a lot to take in, and now that he has explained it, I realize he is right. There’s no time to help me understand. I don’t want to understand. I just want to get back to Anna, and they said they can make that happen. No one in town even knows I have memories I want to get back to, so I have to try my odds with William and Tess. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t.

“How does one become Ankou?” I ask finally.

“Either through birthright or through selection,” he says. “In your case, selection. But it will not happen until you accept your calling and drink what is in the cup.”

There’s something about the way he speaks that draws me in. That makes me feel as though I can trust him. Then again, maybe I only believed him because he was giving me hope to return to Anna.

“And you? Were you stolen from a life, too?” Could he possibly understand my plight?

“In a way, you could say my life was stolen from me,” he says, his tone dropping to a chill. “But if you mean to ask how I became Ankou, it was my birthright.”

I bite my lip and nod. Right. So he can’t understand. “Do you even know what happens to those who are moved? If I’m here, in this body, where is the body I was in before?”

His eyebrows perk up, as though fascinated by my question. “You’re...missing.”

“Well I know that, but—”

“Not in the way you think,” he says, and I stop to let him finish. “It’s more like...POOF—” His hands curl into little fists then his fingers pop open. “—gone.”

“Like I never existed?” My voice rises in pitch.

His hands relax back at his sides. “People still know you existed,” he says tenderly. “They remember you. Maybe put your picture on a milk carton.”

My eyebrows knit together. “Put my picture on a milk carton? Why?

He drops his face and chuckles, shaking his head. “Maybe that was after your time. I only meant they would be looking for you.”

“But they won’t find me.”

“No, they won’t. The Universe needs to protect their efforts, though, and this is but one step in them doing so. You simply can’t be in two places at once.”

This, unfortunately, I know too well. “And when I return?”

“If you return, same thing. Poof, you are present again, and maybe people celebrate finding you alive. Or maybe it all undoes and you were never missing at all.”

If I return? I narrow my eyes.

“I know it’s a lot to take in. Only so much time can pass before it’s dangerous to the balance of things for you to return.” He places a gentle hand on my shoulder, and peace floods through me. “There’s only one way back. You know it, don’t you? You feel it?”

I do feel it. But is that good enough? I explore the open, honest expression on his face. The imperfections of small scratches on his cheekbone and a dimple on his nose. “Should I feel it?”

When he doesn’t answer, I tilt the chalice and look inside. The liquid is a blackish-purple, the color of blackberry juice, and smells just as pungently sweet. In that moment, I’m so thirsty I consider it, but just as soon as I do, I feel as though the foolish urge could not have come from me.

It comes from the Ankou, he’d said. What the hell does that even mean? I push the cup back toward him.

“I’m not drinking that,” I say, trying to honor my faltering logic.

I stand to leave, but before I reach the edge of the clearing, William darts in front of my path, crossing the clearing in long strides. He grabs my wrists with strong hands, and I no longer feel I can come and go as I please, yet still I do not feel threatened by him. I wonder if something in me has broken to make me this way.

“If you leave now, you will never see her again,” he says.

He’s not trying to hurt me, not trying to overpower my right to decide. No. I sense he’s trying to warn me, to protect me.

His breath is heavy, and I look up at him, trying for anger, but my heart stops. His hands are strong, and he’s impossibly tall—my head barely reaches his chest. And I feel...safe here.

Disgusted by my own attraction to him, I intend to pull away or tell him to let me go, but I am too thrown by what he knows. “How do you—”

“It is one of my gifts,” he says. “Whatever you knew about your previous life before we first met, the Universe imparted to me as well.”

“You know everything I think? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No,” he says reassuringly. “Only what you knew about your previous life before you met me.”

“Are you...are you one of the Ankou?”

“Not quite,” he says, slowly releasing my wrists, “though not quite not, either.”

I don’t run as perhaps I should. “And Tess?”

“She is Ankou,” he says, his voice rasping.

“And how did you two come together?”

His lips twitch down. “She was sent to me, same as you. I have not failed her yet, and I do not intend to fail you, either.”

His body, pressed against mine, warms my stomach and thighs. I’m staring at his lips, but I shift my focus to Tess, who stands near the fire pit with her arms crossed. There’s a transparent dome, noticeable only by the film it leaves in the air, arching over the clearing.

William clears his throat and steps back, dark eyes looking up. “It is so your town cannot find us.”

Now is when any sane woman would run. What would Verity think? But these people are the closest I’ve come to answers—the closest I’ve been to Anna—since I’ve arrived here. And if anything is worth risking my life for, it’s my daughter.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“That is of no consequence. Many will die if you do not help us.”

“I am not a fool,” I say sharply. “How you know of Anna, I don’t know, but my helping you will only delay my return to her.”

“Cordovae,” he says softly. My name from his lips warms my skin. “Your daughter’s birth is hundreds of years from now. You have time, I promise you. But the longer you take to join us, the more people who die.”

“What do you mean?”

“Some of the Morts—the ones you need to trap—possess humans. They spread pestilence and disease and influence chaos. Through their host bodies, they wreak havoc. They derive enjoyment from destruction, and nothing can stop them but us bringing them to an ultimate end.”

“I have no desire to get wrapped up in this mess.”

William scoffs. “Do all the people of your time reek of selfishness?”

“Don’t you dare. You know nothing of who I am.”

“You know nothing of who you are, either!”

Tess stands and brushes off her skirts. “Oh, William,” she says, a smile in her voice. “How the tune changes when she’s getting on your nerves instead of mine.”

After giving Tess a glare, William snaps his scowl back in my direction. “Without your help, many people will die. I understand trusting two strangers in the woods is unappealing, perhaps risky, but this is necessary. These are your ancestors. Without them, there will be no you. The more people who die, the less likely it is your daughter will come to exist. There will be no Anna for you to return to.”

The revelation slams into me, and I step back. If I don’t help, I may not exist. Anna would not exist. But if I help, I risk my own life by fighting in a war I don’t want to be a part of. I would willingly do so if I knew Anna would be safe where she is, but I sense she is in danger.

“Perhaps it would be best for us not to exist,” I say. “Sometimes the alternatives are far more...unappealing, as you say.”

“You need to look beyond yourself and your daughter. Sometimes sacrifice is necessary for a greater good.”

I frown. “What greater good is worth sacrificing for that would not allow you your own happiness?” I ask, challenging him. “Show me a world you must sacrifice yourself to rescue, and I will show you a world that is unworthy of being saved.”

“You must understand what is at risk here.”

I’m not convinced I must, but it’s only fair to consider. “And you need my help? You truly cannot move forward without me?”

“Yes.” He holds out his hand, palm facing upward. “Please, at least come sit while we talk.”

I bite my lip, hesitant to join him again. I need time to think. My whole body feels tired, and my mind won’t stop pinging around all the possibilities: These people could be lying to me. Or they could be my only way back to Anna. I could die trying to return to her. Or she could never exist if I don’t try. I feel hopeless and hopeful at the same time.

It’s another fraction of a moment that feels like eternity before I reach out and take his hand. And once I do—once I feel his cool, comforting touch—I sense I’m on the right path. But as he leads me back to the fire, I ignore the tingles in my palm and along my forearms. What if my emotions are getting the best of me?

I sit on a log by the fire. Tess is gone, and panic at her sudden disappearance ravages my chest.

“She...left?” I ask. “Because of me?”

“She’ll be back.” William offers me the chalice once more.

“Tell me what this is.”

“If I tell you, you won’t drink it.”

I raise my eyebrow. “I won’t drink it if I don’t know what it is.”

His gaze roves over me, and he moistens his lips and takes a deep breath. “Blood,” he mumbles. “Ankou blood.”

My heart goes into full panic. They want me to drink blood? I shiver and lean back.

“Please, Cordovae. It sounds worse than it is. Trust me this once, and if I am wrong I will never ask you to trust me again.”

It only takes once, but something about the softness of his eyes compels me to believe him. Tentatively, I take the Ankou blood, but I do not drink. “What’s the story with Tess?”

William laughs. “Oh, you’ll grow to love her. She is like a little sister. A dangerous, sword-wielding little sister who is too smart for her own good.”

“You’re what—a decade her senior?”

“Tess is nearly an adult herself, but surely you can understand the need for family? She has none, nor do I.”

“Well, you don’t look like brother and sister. That would be a pretty large age gap.”

“Larger than you think,” he says, grinning. “While I would appear perhaps only a decade older than her, in life I have centuries of experience. Immortality has little to do with appearances.”

Immortality? Does being Ankou mean I’ll live forever?

“Is she always so...hostile?”

His shoulders dip with obvious weight. “It’s not personal. In your life here as Abigail, you have someone, don’t you? Most of us who arrive have someone outside of other elementals. Tess did not. Until she met me, she was raised by a family who ignored her, with no memories of her life before.”

“I just thought maybe you two were...you know...together?”

“Perhaps your mind is better put to other thoughts.”

Thoughts like whether or not I should trust him. Whether I should take this chance or walk away from what might be my only way back to Anna.

William and I stay up all night talking. The entire time, I feel a pit in my stomach—concern for where Tess has gone and whether she is safe. It seems she has been gone too long. She’s quite young to be on her own so long at night. More so, I don’t feel entirely comfortable alone with men, though I find myself at ease with William, content with the way his hand feels whenever it brushes mine.

What has come over me? I need to stay focused. I need to get back to Anna.

The sky is growing lighter, threatening sunrise, and William tells me my time is up. It’s time to choose. My face warms and my hands tremble, sloshing blood in the chalice.

“What happens if I drink this?” I ask, though it’s not as if he hasn’t explained it to me three times already. I’m stalling. But William is patient with me.

“If you become one of the Ankou, you will be able to fight with us to capture the Morts and guide them. We will teach you all you need to know.”

“Will it hurt?”

William shakes his head. “No, but the sunlight will become dangerous to your body. Too much time under the sun may cause you to undergo some changes.”

“What kind of changes?” I press.

“We’ve been over this, Cord,” he says. “Drink. It’s your only way back to Anna.”

I believe what this man says from my core, and that terrifies me. There’s always been the possibility I would die in this life, never finding a way back. But now I fear, whether I drink this or not, it’s a near certainty I will. I can’t shake the disgust of following through or the terror of what it might mean.

Have I really become so desperate?

I stare at the drink once more.

It’s my only hope.

5

January 1692

The next morning, I wake in my own home, not remembering my return or what happened after I drank from the chalice. But I know it happened, feel it in my core. The drink they gave me was Tess’ blood, and the magic they performed over the contents of the chalice were meant to make me one of the Ankou as well. I gag as I remember tasting the blood for the first time—feeling how thick it was on my tongue and in my throat. I’d known what I was about to drink, yet it wasn’t until then that I’d fully processed what I had done. It had taken a while before I finally stopped fighting it and acceptance took way, allowing the change to occur.

Now I’m here, lighter and more balanced. As I step out of bed, the morning does not feel as cold as the one before. The usual back and neck aches of early morning are absent today. I almost feel numb.

I half-wonder if last night was a dream, but the muslin covering my windows are a reminder of what William had told me. Still, I pull back the curtain to see if it is true. When the dull winter sun spills through my small bedside window, I can’t deny the transparent, vein-like wings that flutter behind me like clean linen in the wind. I cringe. My wings stretch down to my ankles, the bottom tips nearly grazing the floor, but I cannot understand their purpose; they are too thin to lift my body from the ground.

William said this would happen. That the wings are both a gift and a curse for the Ankou, though he hadn’t explained why.

Stay to the shadows, he had warned. That’s what I am to do if I ever find myself without shelter during the day.

I smooth my hand over one of the cool muslin sheets. They offer a privacy I appreciate but that at the same time makes me feel trapped and alone. Perhaps I should have hung them sooner—these old windows tend to distort things. Once, sometime after I arrived here for the first time as Abigail, Verity said I gave her a start when she approached my house and thought she saw two of me inside. That could get a town like ours talking of witchcraft.

Even with the window coverings, the room is still quietly bright, and I smell the wet earth on a breeze that permeates in from outside. It must have rained again, but when? I came home and fell asleep only hours ago, and it hadn’t rained all night. The tweeting of birds reminds me of how dark my life has become, and I try to ignore their tune.

Although the muslin sheets block the direct rays of the sun that reveal my wings, they still tingle along my spine. I don’t know what I would do without the kindness of natural light. William said the shade of the trees in the forest would be enough to protect me, but I cannot get there without taking the open path, and I cannot risk the dangers of the sun on my flesh.

The sun, over enough years, can shrink the Ankou to the size of the dragonfly.

That’s what William had said, and I don’t want to be the size of a dragonfly. I won’t even try to imagine all the awkward stages I would hit in between.

I should be freezing—there’s no fire for warmth, and yet, the temperature feels more like a mild autumn day. Another benefit of the Ankou, perhaps? I wonder if I’m even still myself anymore.

At that thought, I glance to the heart-shaped birthmark on my wrist, gently caressing it with my finger. Did Abigail always have this, or did I bring it with me? I slip on a long dress that covers my arms all the way down past my wrist, hiding the mark.

Does William have such markings? Last night he had seemed so...flawless. Would my skin have that same golden glow in the moonlight now? I felt even more like I could trust him now. Even with his intense gaze, I hadn’t felt threatened by him, and my instincts are rarely wrong. But my instincts also told me the beautiful young woman with the pear-green eyes—Tess—wasn’t very fond of me, and I still can’t understand why.

What if I’ve made a mistake? If I’m on the wrong path, then I’m getting further from Anna instead of closer. At the same time, where was I before they came along? I was alone in this cabin with no direction, no hope whatsoever. They know a lot more about my situation than anyone else I’ve spoken to since arriving. Or arriving again?

I bite the inside of my cheek, considering, and the pinch reminds me of a woman. A mother. My mind flashes to a lady with a large sun hat and tendrils of graying hair. Rose’s mother. My mother. This must be one of those fragments. Mama would certainly chastise me this time. Impulsivity and impatience lead to counterproductive choices, she would say. But something niggles in my stomach, telling me she had no business giving me advice.

A droplet of water plunks my scalp. The ceiling above has a spot of rotted wood and another droplet of water forming. I stick a pan on the floor to catch the water, then inhale deeply.

Where are William and Tess? They had said they would be here when I woke. I close my eyes, trying to remember exactly what was said. They had mentioned it was best I live my days here for now, to avoid people looking for me, but that I should spend my nights with them, training. So that must be it: they would meet with me tonight.

I sigh and turn to the cupboard for the water William had insisted I store. Heaven help me, I can’t stop thinking about him. My palms get sweaty and my heart rate picks up just remembering how I felt while talking to him, how I felt every time he touched me, even though I’m certain there were no intimate intentions on his part.

Parched, I swig from the ceramic jug; it’s been years since I’ve had water clean enough to drink, and I wonder how William and Tess have managed to provide me that. New questions fire in my mind. How long will the war last? How long will I be needed here? When I return to Anna, will I still be bound to the night and the shadows?

Perhaps there is another way I can get back to her. Some way faster and less dangerous. In the meantime, this is the only path I can follow—my only hope. I set down the jug of water, then pick it up again and take another swig. I can’t seem to shake the nervous energy stirring inside me. I just want to find out what I’m meant to do and be done with it. Tonight cannot come soon enough.

Someone knocks at my door.

“Hello?” I call.

“Abigail!” Verity sings my name, her voice muffled by the wooden door. “Let me in!”

I don’t want to let her in. I’m scared of what I’ve become and scared what Verity would think if she knew. But I know she won’t leave well enough alone, so I grab the black hooded cape given me by Tess and tie it on. She says it can help cloak my wings from the vision of humans, though it will do nothing to protect me from the potential effect of the sun’s rays.

When I open the door, the blinding brightness of the mid-day sun swells in the doorway. Verity’s short, curvy frame hurries past me, the late winter air breezing in behind her. It doesn’t chill me as it would have before, but the sunlight creates pressure on my bones.

It seems someone has carved a crucifix on the front of my door. I sigh and close the door quickly, spinning toward my friend with my palms pressed against the wood behind me. “Good day, Verity.”

“Good day.” Her mousy brown hair is a bit stringy and her eyes look more muddy than tea-colored today. She places a basket with a loaf of bread on the kitchen table and turns toward me with a smile. “Thought you’d be interested in a shared breakfast, though I fear all I have is bread three days past.”

“I still have the berries you brought me. Please, sit.”

“Still?”

I nod, pointing to them.

She grins, but her skin is grayish and there are bags under her eyes, so the smile seems strained. “You know me,” she jokes, “can’t see my own hand unless I hold it in front of my face!”

Her smile fades, slowly melting from her face. She’s staring at something across the room. In two strides, she’s standing in front of a table covered in jars and a mess of paper and brushes. I join her at her side to see what she is examining. It’s painting I made the day before William and Tess had called me to the woods.

“That’s you,” I say, as though it’s not obvious by her name painted at the top. “I painted it with winter berries and charcoal. Do you like it?”

She shakes her head, turning slowly to me. After a moment, she gives a half smile. “It’s beautiful, Abigail, but please, get rid of this one and make me another.”

“You can have this one.” I take the painting off the cluttered table and hold it out toward her.

She steps back, her hand jumping to her chest. “You should never write a person’s name in red, Abigail. It’s terrible luck. Terrible. Please, I’m sorry, please just get rid of this and make something else.”

I drop the painting to my side, biting back tears. I nod, but it doesn’t feel natural. “I—I didn’t know.”

Verity takes my hand and smiles upon me warmly. “Oh, no, please don’t be hurt. It’s beautiful. You didn’t know.”

“Of course.” I shrug, taking a deep breath, and set the painting back down atop some dried wildflowers. “It wasn’t my best work anyway.”

“Don’t be silly,” Verity says. She turns around, shuffling through her apron, then spins back toward me and reaches her short arms up to loop something over my head. I look down. She’s made me a necklace...with a rabbit’s foot on it. I try not to shudder.

“Give it a little rub whenever you need good luck. Perhaps it’ll even bring a child your way,” she says with a wink.

A child. The words are cold on the air, sharp on every inch of my skin. I already have a child. But Verity doesn’t know that, wouldn’t understand that.

“Thank you, Verity,” I say as sincerely as I can. Poor rabbit. I take the necklace off and tuck it in a box on my windowsill. “It’ll be safer here, I think.”

I hope to never see it again.

Verity frowns, but it’s fleeting, and before I know it she’s across the room and reaching for the muslin sheets covering my window.

“For heaven’s sake, Abigail,” she says.

“No!”

Verity snatches her hand back and gives me a long, assessing stare. “Well—” With the back of her long dress sleeves, she pushes some stray strands of hair from her forehead. She looks harried. “Maybe you have the right idea, putting those sheets on your windows. Keeps out the chill.”

“You seem a bit...busier than usual,” I say, turning toward her. I purse my lips as I look her over. “Are you well?”

The smile Verity offers appears forced. She waves me off.

“What happened?”

“It’s nothing, Abigail. You’re always concerning yourself with me. What I want to know is how you are doing.”

I narrow my eyes. She’s hiding something. I just feel it, as though I’ve always been able to sense such things about people. “Did something happen in town?”

“Let’s not talk about the town,” she says, her voice almost painfully sing-song now. “We can’t concern ourselves with them.”

I inspect her more closely. She’s not wearing her dream catcher necklace. I creep closer, examining her. A thin red mark shows on the sides of her neck, and I step around her to see it continue to the back of her neck, behind her pinned up hair.

“Verity...” I say, but it’s more of a concerned breath the way it leaves my mouth.

“Abigail, please, don’t worry yourself with this.”

I shake my head, nostrils flaring, anger boiling up inside of me. “Who took your necklace?”

She licks her lips quickly—nervously—and offers another of her false smiles. “I can make another one. I shouldn’t’ve worn it outside anyway. It’s fine, really.”

“No, it’s not fine!” I say, dropping my hands to my side. I can’t stop myself from the frantic anger swirling in my chest, and it scares me. My hands are balled so tightly that my nails press numbing crescents into my palm. “How is that fine? Someone took that off your body, and clearly it was not with your permission!”

The smile she offers now is one of pity. Perhaps I seem unstable, perhaps Verity thinks I have completely gone over the edge. “You are always worried about me, Abigail, but what of you? You shut me out and tell me nothing.”

I take a step back, not liking how she is turning this around. It’s true, I like to keep to myself. I know it has something to do with my life before, and I wonder if that is where my anger comes from. But that’s different. I’m not as though I’m hiding any of Abigail’s life from her.

Verity’s eyebrows are drawn together, and her hands clasp in front of her lap. “Why haven’t you been answering your door? Why have you stayed locked away in your home for so long? What is going on with you?”

Locked in my room for so long? All I do is sleep? I just saw her yesterday! She may be crazier than the settlement imagines I am.

“I’m so hungry, Verity. Let’s just sit and eat.”

She nods and sits at the table, clearing a place for plates. A fresh smile lights her face as though our conversation up until this point never happened. I don’t know whether to be thankful or worried. It takes me a few minutes to find the plates; they are hidden behind some pots and a jar of preserves that Verity made for me some time back when Abigail was just Abigail, and not me, too.

I sit across from her, hand her a plate, and watch as she scoops a handful of berries on her dish. The overripe berries mush and stain her palms red. It’s not until that moment that I notice the Mort standing in the corner about ten feet away, in my direct line of sight. I hadn’t seen it come in with Verity, but I know it wasn’t here before she arrived.

This Mort is a woman with coal-black eyes and dark hair. It does not flee from my stare—does not even acknowledge that I see her. The way she peers at Verity with increasing intensity unnerves me. I can see her more clearly than I’ve seen Morts in the past, but still she appears shadowy, her essence washed out, the colors muted by darkness except for her gleaming black eyes and the ghostly, wolfish-fangs poking against her bottom lip.

William had said this would happen—that becoming Ankou would enhance my Seer abilities.

“What is it?” Verity asks.

I force my attention away from the Mort. “I’m terribly embarrassed,” I say. “My home is quite the mess today.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that,” Verity says. “But I still worry that I’ve not seen you in a week. All is well, I hope?”

Shock momentarily holds my tongue, but I harness my confusion. “Verity, were you not just here yesterday?”

Her eyes widen. “Heavens no, Abigail. I hope you do not talk to others as you do with me. There’s enough being said about how you showed up out of nowhere all those years ago.”

I reach for the bread. “Why would that matter now?”

“Your memory, Abigail. That is what worries me. Reverend Parris’ daughters, well, they have not forgotten the day you arrived here, and your appearance has done you no favors.”

“My...appearance?”

“Your hair, Abigail! As deep a red as Adam’s first wife, Lilith. The sign of offspring born of unclean sex. Red, the color of sin, the color of the forbidden fruit. And God forbid you tame those unruly locks—when is the last time you took a brush to your hair? Given all this recent talk of witchcraft...well, perhaps it’s best you’ve been lying low.”

The town had thought I was a witch, or does she mean they do now? I pull forward a lock of my hair, as red as fresh blood. “But Verity—”

“No, no. None of your excuses today. Just be careful. And for heaven’s sake, answer your door when I call on you. A week is far too long to leave an old woman like me to worry.”

Had it really been a week since I last saw Verity? I could’ve sworn it was just yesterday—just last night that I met William and Tess in the woods. I am not sure who is confused—Verity or me?

Unsure what to say, I smile at her thinly. I busy myself preparing my plate. The mold on the bread is not too bad today—it only branches out at one end of the loaf. But as I attempt to rip the spoiled section off, the mold disappears. I hold my hand over the end of the bread and try to distract Verity’s attention with a smile, but it’s too late.

“How did you—” She shakes her head and reaches for the bread. “May I?”

What else can I say but yes? I swallow and nod.

“Oh, Abigail.” She sighs the words as she turns the bread over in her hands. “This is—this is a miracle. How did you...?”

“I didn’t do anything,” I say quickly, defensively. “Why, what did you think you saw?”

Shaking her head, she breaks the bread and sets some on each of our plates. “I’m not saying anything, so don’t you worry.”

Verity believes in magic, possibly more than me. She’ll probably spend the next few days trying to produce the same results with her herbal mixtures and quiet chants. But that doesn’t mean she believes in spirits and time travel and Ankou. She allows me some quiet time while we eat.

I know Verity wouldn’t say anything, but something in my stomach tells me Morts don’t care about what someone would or wouldn’t do. And this Mort, now five feet away and leaning in as if to listen more intently, leers at my dear friend.

My eyes tear and my throat closes up. I avert my gaze and shift in my seat; I don’t deserve her kindness. My head throbs with the idea that I need to get back to Anna, but that Verity needs me, too. I can’t just leave her, not until I know she’s safe. She’s one of the few people I’ve ever been able to count on.

Thanks to William and Tess, I now know what these Morts are capable of. Will the Morts take Verity the same way they took my family, using them to hurt me, or will they simply just feed on her life, slowly destroying her health until she’s gone forever?

Her time is running short. My heart beats rapidly and unevenly in my chest, and it’s hard to breath. Pulling air into my lungs feels like breathing in needles. I smile, hoping Verity won’t notice my trembling hands or pick up on my strained breathing and erratic heartbeat.

I don’t want to freak her out, nor spook away her friendship, so I won’t tell her what I’ve seen. That won’t help anything. I keep my mouth shut and look at Verity as though there is no Mort looming behind her, though I vow to myself that I will find a way to save her.

She’d once told me I remind her of a daughter she lost to typhus many years ago. She’s been my only friend, my only companion, and she’s always protected me. But now I feel it is my duty to protect her.

My mind swirls around visions I can’t stomach to repeat. I’m hearing Mama’s voice now. Warning me. ‘That imagination of yours is a dangerous thing, Rose. It’ll distract you—cloud your judgment. You need to just stop it right soon as it starts, that’s what you need to do.’

But that’s not what I need to do now. I may have an overactive imagination—it might even hurt me at times—but Verity is in danger. And it’s right then that I realize how much this woman means to me.

“Now what do I do?” I mumble to myself under my breath.

“Are you all right, Abigail?” Verity asks. “You’re so tense.”

I clear my throat. I can’t think straight to politely end our time together, so I walk toward the door and say, “I’m so glad you stopped by, Verity.”

She takes the cue, edging toward the exit. Part of me wants her to stay, so I can try to protect her, but I don’t know how to. Not yet. William and Tess never made it that far in explaining my abilities as an Ankou. The best I can do is get her out of here so I can figure all of this out. There has to be a way to help her before I return to Anna.

“It was nice to see you,” Verity says slowly, stepping out the door. “If you need anything—”

“Thank you, Verity,” I say. “I’m just...so tired.”

I close the door and lean back against it, hating myself for the way I handled the whole situation. I press a hand to my stomach; I feel woozy. Guilty. Scared.

As soon as the sun sets, I need to seek out William and Tess. I cannot wait for them to come to me. Verity needs my help, and for so long as I am trapped here, I will do everything in my power to protect her.

6

January 1692

My cabin door rattles. “Abigail!”

It’s a girl, but I don’t recognize the voice.

“Abigail! Show yourself!”

Then I hear the whispering; there’s more than one person out there.

I strain to hear what they are saying.

“I bet she’s one,” whispers one voice. “I heard she showed up out of nowhere.”

There’s a thwap—the unmistakable sound of someone being hit in the back of their head.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” another girl responds testily.

“Then why’s she hiding?”

“Come on, let’s go.”

Footsteps stomp away until they are more of a shuffle. Something clunks against my door—a rock, I presume.

“WITCH!” one of the girls yell.

This voice I recognize. The baker’s daughter. One of Abigail’s memories float by, hazy and warm. A young, sullen girl peeking beneath cloth to check on the bread. Her father asks her to bring the bread out to me—to Abigail—and when she does, she shoves it into Abigail’s hands, then walks away.

Walks away like she and her friends are walking away now.

Finally, they are gone. My heart speeds and won’t slow down. Something tells me their implications won’t end here.

* * *

It is dusk I will miss most. The sun low, large, and burning orange against the horizon. The sky ochre and violet. Tonight is almost too warm to be winter. Having already let in too much light, I drop the corner of muslin sheet covering my window, and it falls back into place. One day I may forget the feel of this time of day, may forget the cool, earthy smell of these hours.

Even after night has settled, I must stay indoors, waiting until the windows in town go black, until all that remains is the sulfur of snuffed candles. Though my doors and windows are shut, the cool breeze carries through the crack beneath the door, bringing with it the smell of night, the musk of animals in the forest. Each shift of temperature plays over my skin as the dark cools the earth.

I’ve always felt trapped in Salem—and within myself—but now I am also trapped by the acuteness of my senses.

When the dark has come, I sneak out to the forest trails, ready to make my way back to William and Tess. Tonight, the moon is as bright as the sun, but the world is shadowed in a bluish cool.

The Morts are everywhere, peeking from behind bushes and cluttering the open spaces as though they themselves are the trees that make the forest. An owl screeches in the distance, but it sounds closer, right in my ear. I freeze, looking around. At my feet, a dead bird. I look closer, frowning. Verity would call that bad luck. But I don’t have much time to think about Verity, because just as I’m stepping around the poor thing, a pain stabs in my stomach. I brace myself against an old oak, coughing.

What’s wrong with me?

Lightning flashes in the sky, but the air is innocent of rain. My legs tremble, and I get a sudden head rush, like thorns prickling my brain. I stumble forward, trying to remember which way to go, which direction I’ve come from and how far I am from the clearing.

The river is to my right, but I don’t remember how far I have gone or where on the path I had turned. If only the music would return...if only it would whisper my name...but there is only silence. There is no calling, no draw—only burning pain, spreading from my stomach up into my throat.

I cough again. This time, I cough up blood that relieves my dry mouth and cracked lips. The nausea and pain drop me to my knees. I scan for the fire, for William or Tess. Unable to make the distance back to my house, I claw my way off the main path. I’m overcome by a thirst and hunger so strong that I cannot tell one from the other. I can’t think straight with all this pain. I don’t know what to do.

“William?” I say, but my voice only allows a whisper. “Tess?”

I don’t know why I would even bother calling their names. I only know I can’t do this on my own. Not this, not any of it. Normally I would hate how my helplessness makes me appear weak, but right now I’m in too much pain to care.

One thing does not change: I don’t like needing anyone’s help, especially not the help of people who can’t possibly understand my plight to return to my daughter.

Something creaks behind me. I turn my head, only to catch a glimpse of a man standing at the edge of the forest trail, a lamp-shade swinging in his grasp.

The diffused candlelight illuminates the face of Reverend Parris.

He can’t see me. The light doesn’t reach this far along the path.

I roll into the underbrush, grass burrs pricking into my calves, thighs, and the side of my back. A whippoorwill flies out into the forest. All the noise—the rustling of leaves, the flap of wings—grate in my ears. Surely I’ve drawn Reverend Parris’ attention, but when I dare peek again, he is gone. Afraid to move, I curl up in ball and try to quiet my rapid breathing.

My shaking stirs the leaves of the underbrush, but I don’t know if I’m shaking from the pain and nausea or from the fear. The world blurs and darkens.

* * *

“Holy fuck.”

Tess’ voice is the first thing I hear as I’m returning to semi-consciousness. I know it’s her because her voice has been imprinted in my mind since the first time I heard her speak. Even for all the anger and vulgarity of her tone, there’s always that innocence behind it that makes me wonder about her.

Trying to bring my vision back, I blink, but everything is dark. I’m lifted. An arm under my neck and another under my knees. My sense of space spins and tilts with each heavy step. When the scent of an ocean breeze washes over me, I imagine William is carrying me. His breathing is steady and masculine, and his hands are rough and worn. I’m certain it’s him. When I am set down, his voice confirms.

“Drink quickly,” he says.

Still I cannot see. Something cold with a metal tang is thrust to my lips, and a sweet fluid rushes into my mouth, the ache cooling first in my throat and then in my stomach. Strong hands ease me to lie back onto something soft.

Slowly, my vision returns. The room is a haze. It’s not much different than my own home—Abigail’s home—except there’s no door for a bedroom. No tables, no chairs. I’m lying on an unmade cot, and there’s a small basin on the dirt floor beneath the window. A sword leans against the wall nearest a door made of warped boards.

“Where—where are we?”

Tess flops Indian style on ground beside the bed. “At the corner of you’re an idiot and we’re saving your life.”

Grateful, I look to William, but as soon as his eyes meet mine, my warming cheeks alert me to turn away.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

Silence. I’m forced to look at him again. His jaw clenches, and his eyebrows pull lower over his eyes. He walks over to the window and grips the windowsill hard with his hands. Tess puts her hand on my forearm, drawing my attention and giving me a quieting stare.

What did I say to upset him? As I sit up, I get another bout of dizziness. I put one hand to my head, trying to stabilize my vision. “What happened?”

William spins toward me, his fist pressed to his mouth. He drops it away again. “Did you stop to think of someone other than yourself? Did you think, for even a second, that maybe you ought to wait for us to call on you, as we said we would?”

Of course I had thought of someone other than myself. I was thinking of Verity.

I open my mouth to speak, but William stalks toward me, not stopping until he reaches the end of the bed. “You could have gotten yourself killed, or worse, exposed our kind.”

“Nice to know your priorities,” I choke out.

“You want to help your daughter? Do us all a favor—use your head.”

He stops there, his stance wilting. I swallow. The silence is loud in my ears. I want to be anywhere but here, but I don’t want to move, don’t want to draw attention to myself.

William sinks into the edge of the bed, leans forward, and rests his elbows on his knees. He drops his head into his hands, then looks at me, his eyes softer now. “I’m sorry. But Cordovae—what were you thinking?”

“I had to talk to you.”

“Next time, wait. We were coming for you. We will always come for you if you just wait.” He reaches over and places his hand on mine. I want it to stay there forever, but I can’t even look at him when he’s touching me without feeling an attraction I should not feel.

I’m immediately overcome by anger with myself. I shouldn’t be thinking of him in that way. I barely know this man. I’ll be leaving soon. We both have more important things to worry about, and I have no reason to think the attraction is mutual.

“Sorry to get cross with you,” he says when I don’t respond, then he stands and strolls a few feet away again.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“Tess’ home. Miles from the settlement. It took most of my energy to get us here in time to save you. If you hadn’t drank the nightshade in time...”

“Nightshade?” I repeat, unable to hide the panic in my voice.

My mind flashes back to the Pa of my childhood. Camping. Warnings about what plants to eat and which to avoid. Nightshade could kill me. How can I reverse this before it’s too late? Before I’m dead? My lungs constrict. I’m too panicked to breathe.

“Why on earth would you give me nightshade?” My words come out all wobbly from fear.

“That is what the Ankou eat,” William says. “The plants and berries poisonous to humans sustain the Ankou’s life and abilities. These things are not harmful to you now.”

If the Nightshade doesn’t kill me, I’ll believe him. In the meantime, I’m still hesitant to eat or drink anything else they give me. I push my apprehensions aside, knowing there is no time to waste.

Tess heads for the fireplace, her dark braid swaying near the small of her back. There’s something different about her tonight, but I can’t place it. “We must work fast. Cord needs to return by morning,” she says. “We can’t risk their suspicion over her missing.”

Now I have a nickname, apparently, but I hardly care. In fact, it makes me feel a little more at home.

“What if she goes into another collapse?” William asks. “She can’t possibly have completed the first one.”

Tess shrugs. “So they might think she is ill and no one will want to go near her. If she keeps her curtain up and her cape on, it should be fine. What is important is that they are not out looking for her.”

Something about the way she says this draws attention to her mouth. Her bottom lip is fuller than the top, like she is perpetually pouting. I’ve figured out what’s different about her tonight: her lips are stained red. Maybe from that radish on the counter...but why would she do that? It makes her look old, and this is not a world where a young woman should be in a rush to look older.

William swallows and gives a single nod. “Warm something for her to eat.”

“Something human,” I clarify. “Or is that not allowed?”

William chuckles. “That’s fine, Cord.”

I sit up, the moment sudden and cold on my skin. I feel...better. “What happened to me back there?”

Tess pours some dark liquid and cubes of meat into the iron pot over the fire. “When you awake for the first time after a collapse, you need to get the right herbs into your system immediately. I didn’t sense you’d awakened until it was too late.”

“I’ve been awake all day.”

Tess shrugs. “Guess we’re lucky you made it as long as you did, then.”

“That’s it?” I ask, irritated. “You guess we’re lucky?”

Perhaps I am thinking too poorly of Tess, but part of me wonders if she really didn’t sense I’d awakened until just now, seeing as how it sounds like they are supposed to be able to sense such things.

William places his hand on my outstretched leg. The touch creates a flutter in my stomach. “Tess is new to this, too. Don’t let her fool you. When we did finally get to you, we had to wait for the man who followed you to leave. We can’t risk anyone seeing us.”

But apparently they can risk me dying.

These are the people I’m fighting for? Well, if that’s what it takes to get back to Anna, so be it, but they won’t get any more from me than I’m obligated to give.

“If you want my help,” I say, “then you’re going to have to answer some questions.”

I think I’ve been pretty easy-going up until now, but as my shock and confusion erode, I find myself getting angry.

William’s brow furrows. “What kind of questions?”

“For one, it’s bright as day outside right now. In the middle of the night.”

“Our kind are able to see at night as though it were daylight,” William says. “It is to help us hunt.”

“Should I suppose it’s also normal for our kind to touch a molding loaf of bread, and it...it...”

“Heal?” Tess supplies.

“Yes,” I say. “A friend of mine witnessed me doing so this morning.”

William shakes his head. “Healing things, especially things made from the earth, is one of the gifts of the Ankou as well. But you absolutely cannot let people see you do it.”

“It’s not as though I did it on purpose,” I say. “Perhaps you two should tell me what to expect. I can’t hide things if I don’t know what to hide.”

“It’s sounds as though you aren’t worried your friend will say anything,” Tess says, but it’s more of a question.

“She won’t. But a Mort followed her when she came into my house and again when she left. In the short time of our visit, it seemed to be drawing closer to her. I came looking for you both to ask what to do.”

Tess stares off into space as she uses a large wooden ladle to stir the food in the pot. The salty aroma of beef and the sweet smell of wine waft toward me, but the stirring in my belly tells me the liquid is not wine.

After a moment, her focus returns to me. “I wouldn’t feel good about it, either,” she says. She’s tugging her earlobe again. “Especially if that woman knows what you are capable of. If the Mort overtakes her, it could mean death for you both. And the Mort won’t stop there.”

Her answer isn’t comforting, and I shrug, unsure of what to say and feeling a little defensive.

William closes his eyes and shakes his head. “We need more time, Tess.”

“Time for what?” I ask.

Tess sighs heavily. “More time to train you before you start moving spirits. But,” she says, “we don’t have time. We can teach you what you need to know to help your friend, but you might not learn quickly enough. That could cause problems for us, but we can’t exactly run off to fix this for you now.”

“Why not?”

Williams frowns. “Tess is right. It will draw too much attention if we enter your town now, especially if we are moving Morts while we are there. We can’t risk our lives for that—we need to make sure we survive long enough to handle all the Mort population, not just one. That requires time and strategy. As for your friend, you might be able to save her discreetly on your own, once you know how, but you haven’t had any training yet.”

“Right,” Tess says, “and we’re supposed to wait until two weeks after a collapse before we start, but if this woman knows your secret and there is a Mort seeking to possess her...” She freezes when her eyes meet William’s. “We can’t wait.”

Good. I don’t have time to wait, and Verity doesn’t have time for me to wait, either.

“What about this ‘collapse’?” I ask.

“It’s like hibernation for the Ankou,” Tess says. “It happens every time you sleep. You—”

I narrow my eyes at her. “That’s going to happen every time I sleep?”

William chuckles and removes his hand from my shin. “You’ll only sleep once a decade. The collapse can last anywhere from a fortnight to a month, and when you awake, you’ll need to feed immediately.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” I ask.

Tess sashays over with a wooden bowl filled with a burgundy liquid and meat. “Here,” she says. She sits beside me again with her own bowl of food. “When a human is turned Ankou, they always have a collapse their first night. I thought we’d be able to get to you before you awoke, but you only slept a week.”

Only a week? I thought it was only one night. “Well, that’s just...lovely.”

She rolls her eyes and takes a few bites of the stew then passes the rest to William. She points to my food. “Eat,” she says. “Gain your strength. We have much to do tonight.”

7

January 1692

We’re standing in a field that stretches toward clouds hovering like smoke on the horizon. Standing as prey though we aim to be the hunters. I’m noticing for the first time the way my skin sheens gold in the moonlight. It almost makes up for those ugly veined wings that plague me in the light of day. It’s strange that I can still feel my wings, even when they are not visible. They make me feel ugly, even though no one can see them now—not even me.

This I can handle, though. It’s William that makes me woozy.

The golden sheen on his skin affects me differently, more mesmerizing. Or maybe it’s the way his lightweight clothes drape on broad shoulders or fall to bare feet. His attire is ideal for combat, but consequently also ideal for showing off his perfect physical condition. I have to stop my mind from wandering; he looks so heavenly that I can barely think straight.

What would Verity make of tonight? Clear skies, she says, signal good luck. The lack of birds, however, would be unsettling. I sigh deeply, trying to push thoughts of my dear friend away. I can’t worry about her tonight.

In the distance, beyond the cold, whitewashed field, a deer faces me before leaping into the darkness, into the forest, into the safety of trees that obscure her from view.

William approaches me in that way of his—that open body posture that makes me feel instantly comfortable around him, and the steady eye contact that makes me feel both uncomfortable and trusting at the same time. The sword strapped to his back—the hilt peeking over his shoulder—makes him look even stronger, even more capable of keeping me safe until I return to Anna.

I catch my breath just as he reaches me and hands me a small pouch.

“Open it,” he says.

So I do.

Inside are three small wind chimes. He’s wearing the same ones on a cord around his neck. My heart skips a beat, thinking at first it’s a romantic gesture, but then Tess’ chimes clink as they dangle at the end of her silky black braid.

“Don’t get them wet,” William says simply.

“They won’t work when they’re wet?”

He grins, stretching, and takes an easy breath. His gaze falls back to me. “Just don’t get them wet, all right?”

“I’ll take that to mean I don’t want to know...So what’s it for?”

“We wear them when we hunt,” Tess says. “It calls out the Morts.”

The twinkle of the chimes reminds me of home—of the place where Anna waits for me. For a moment, I imagine the field flooded with red poppies. They’re turning black. They crumble like dust and disappear from my mind. There’s a cradle in the distance, a baby crying, and then it’s all gone, and it’s just me standing here with Tess and William. The vision had seemed so real, so unlike my usual daydreams, that I’m startled.

“Something’s wrong,” I say.

Tess takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “You will overcome these feelings. Stay strong.”

William steps in front of us, his broad shoulders blocking my vision of the field beyond. “Seers who join the Ankou are more sensitive to the influence of Cruor spirits. They will play tricks on your mind, but you must fight. You must separate your past from your current reality.”

“Just the Cruor spirits? What about the spirits of other elementals?”

“When a Cruor meets their ultimate death, they are the least willing of any immortal to cross over. They use their power of influence to save themselves, to inhabit a new life. When that happens, it’s too late. We can’t move the Mort then, not without risking the human’s life.”

“Possession?” I whisper, chills prickling the tiny hairs on my arms.

Before William can respond, a blue pickup truck screeches to a halt just a few feet ahead of us. It revs, circling us, moving faster and faster, ripping the earth beneath its tires, polluting the air with the pungent taste of gasoline and upturned soil.

I shouldn’t know what the strange machine is, but in my heart I know, and I feel closer to Anna. I feel close to home, and I don’t want to separate from it, though fear picks up in my chest as the truck whips past. I can feel the way the truck displaces the air, my clothing shifting against my body and hair lifting.

Pa’s truck.

Pa’s the one who endangers Anna. He can’t be left alone with her.

“I’m going back,” I say. “I can feel it—I’m going back to Anna!”

William grasps my wrist. “It’s not real, Cordovae. You need to focus. I promise you will get back to her.”

“She needs me now,” I say.

“Trust me, Cord, please. You need to fight this.”

I narrow my eyes. “Trust you?”

My hand goes cold; Tess is gone from my side. Across the field, she stands by a dark figure—one of the fanged Morts. She digs her nails into the figure’s scalp, and their collective form vibrates, their edges blur. The Mort explodes into black particles that fall like charcoal snowflakes to the shadows between the roots of grass. The truck circling us fades.

Tess returns to our side, panting, eyes shining and alert. “See?” She sucks in a breath. “Illusion.”

Mama warned me about letting my overactive imagination cloud my judgment—but I don’t think this is what she had in mind.

I just stare into the space where the truck had just been, shaking my head. “It seemed...so real...I guess I’ll believe anything these days.”

“It happens to everyone in the beginning,” William says. “You will become stronger.”

“How long?” I ask. I need to know. “How long until I get back to Anna?”

“As long as it takes,” Tess says sharply. “You will be here until the numbers are manageable. Believe me, we are all working as quickly as we can. None of us want to be trapped here.”

“Trapped here?”

William gives Tess a sidelong glare. It’s a moment too long before his attention returns to me. “If we do not move the spirits quickly enough, they will prolong the war. And the longer you are here, the higher the probability that you become stuck.”

I step back. My heart might as well have stopped in my chest. “You never told me that.”

Tess sighs, but it is not her usual irritated sigh. Tonight, her sigh sounds sympathetic and thoughtful. “It protects the balance. The longer we are here, the more influence we have on this time. If we try to return after influencing this time for too long, we can throw the newly-created paths off balance. And imbalance is the breeding ground for evil. It’s part of what created this mess in the first place.”

“How so?” I ask.

Tess looks to William, then back to me. “You can’t get all the answers you want in one night, or we’ll never finish. You need to focus. Tonight will bring you one step closer to your daughter. Just keep that in mind.”

Closer? What does that even mean? Days? Years?

As much as they try to pacify me—to tell me not to worry—it is impossible. Part of me doesn’t want to believe them, but as much as my heart begs for a reason to distrust them, my soul knows everything they have told me is true.

There’s nothing I can do now. My ancestors are among these people; if they are killed, I will not exist.

Anna will not exist.

New determination takes root, and anger burns toward the Morts for giving me false hope with their illusions. I take the wind chimes William has given me and tie them around my waist, making a thin rope belt that clinks when I move.

Yes, this is war.

Morts weave through shadows, creep across the horizon, and crowd together at the edge of the forest. I will kill them and anyone else who stands in my way.

I exhale through my noise and tilt my face slightly toward William. “Just tell me how this works.”

“First step is learning defense,” Tess says. “Watch.”

She runs to the far side of the field and spins before kneeling to the ground. The wind chimes in her hair draw a Mort from between the trees. Tess stays still as the Mort approaches her. Panic rises in my chest.

“What’s she doing?” I ask William. “Is she hurt?”

“Shhh,” he says. “Watch.”

My whole body is shaking. The Mort isn’t more than a foot away from her, and she hasn’t done anything. His sights are set on her.

“The chimes call them out,” he whispers, “but they are afraid of us. They won’t stay long once they see us.”

As though to illustrate William’s point, the Mort turns quickly. He glances in every direction. He backs away, looking everywhere, then turns and runs back into the shadows between the trees.

Tess stands and walks back over to us.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She laughs. “Of course.”

“What happened? Why did he just walk away?”

“He saw you and William.”

“But not you?” I ask.

“Our wings can shield us—make us invisible to them. It helps when outnumbered by the Morts. They don’t fear us as much then. It can also be used to trick them into coming closer.”

“But our wings aren’t visible at night,” I say.

“Exactly.” Tess’ grin is so wide it brightens her whole face, and I think how I like her better this way. “While others cannot see our wings at night, what they offer us against the Morts is something greater. They cannot see what our wings protect. You have to learn to feel them and be one with them.”

William’s hand comes to my elbow. “But they won’t cloak you from anyone but the Morts. So be careful with it. And you’ll have to get a better sense of your wings before you’ll be able to accomplish this effectively. There’s a learning curve—you won’t know if you’ve done it wrong until it’s too late.”

“So perhaps it’s more important you teach me to fight.”

“Of course,” William says.

He steps behind me, his stomach pressing against the top of my back, reminding me how unbelievably tall he is. If he were anyone else, I would feel vulnerable with him so close. But it’s different with William. With William, I just feel...safe.

He sweeps my hair over my shoulder, and it spills in a river of red past my right breast. My center of balance falters, and I sway a little, but he holds me up.

“Easy, there, Mimosa,” he says.

“Mimosa?”

He chuckles. “You smell like the yellow flowers of a silk tree.”

I hope that’s a good thing, though I shouldn’t care one way or another. I’m not here for handsome men to tell me I smell nice.

“I’m just nervous,” I admit.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

And I know it’s true. I hold my breath as he rests his hand on my shoulder and his other hand grazes my side as it comes around my body to rest on my stomach.

“God, your shoulders are tense. The Morts are going to smell the fear on you before you get anywhere near them if you don’t get it under control.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Fear isn’t exactly a choice.”

“Sure it is,” he says. Then he leans in closer to my ear and whispers, “Close your eyes.”

I do as he says, swallowing around the lump in my throat, hoping my trembling is not so obvious to him as it is to me. Uneven and shaky breaths tumble past my lips.

“Relax. Breathe.”

“I am breathing,” I mumble.

“Focus on what is. There is nothing else.” His breath is warm on my ear, the feel of his deep voice reaching down to my stomach where his hand rests. “Here,” he says, pressing a little firmer, effectively pulling my body closer to his. “This is your energy. When you find the Mort, you will feel everything here.”

I think he is trying to help me calm down, but his body so close to mine does anything but. I open my eyes and look down at his hand, noticing for the first time the scars across his knuckles and wondering where he got them. His hands seem so large resting on my stomach.

“Feel what?” I ask. Surely he isn’t referencing the desire spreading through my body, this odd attraction I feel whenever he stands too close. But at the same time, it’s an uncomfortable feeling—a feeling I’m not ready for.

“You will know what to do,” he says.

“How will I know when I know?” I ask. “How will I know what to look for?”

His thumb caresses my abdomen. “You’ll know.”

Tess lets out an irritated huff. “I think she gets the point, William.”

The moment I turn toward her, she flicks her gaze skywards, arms crossed. I look to William, hoping his response will decode her reaction.

He steps back, his expression darkened. “She didn’t come to me with the training you did.”

“Oh, that’s part of the training now?” She smirks. “The person who trained me before you must not have gotten notice. You realize we only have five hours until sunrise, and more than five hours of work to do.”

I furrow my brow. “Why does it matter how much we do?”

Tess closes her eyes. “We need to move the spirits faster than they repopulate, or we’ll never finish.”

Never finish . . .

Her words halt me at my core. I need to get back to Anna. I can’t be trapped here forever.

“How long have you been here?” I ask her.

“Nearly two decades.”

My hope deflates. If there was a way back, wouldn’t someone have found it by now?

“There will always be more elementals dying, more Morts entering this space.” I slouch where I stand. “We’ll never get rid of them, will we?”

Tess’ expression is cold and unmoving. “Not if we stand around talking all night.”

My eyes implore her for something more than a catty remark, and, for a moment, her expression softens.

“We do what we can.” She points to my scrawny arms and adds, “Let’s just hope you’re stronger than you look.”

I have to admit, she is far more muscular than I am.

Then, just as fast as her compassion has come, it’s gone. Her face grows serious. “Time to work.”

8

January 1692

Tess tells me to run. Run, and think about where I want to be. That’s how I got here. That’s how I get where I’m going.

But it’s not how I got here. I never wanted to be here. I just wanted to be with Anna.

“Run, now! Go, go, go! This is it!”

I know Tess means for me to run toward the Morts, but I try running back to Anna. I don’t know where that is—I can’t picture the place—but I keep running, feet pushing off the ground, thighs burning, weeds thwapping my shins. I run until my belly gets the feeling of being suspended in air. I run until I burst through the forest and into this same field. Again and again.

On one of my passes across the field, I see my old room. I see the peeling paisley wallpaper and the dull yellow headboard and my threadbare quilt and Mama brushing my hair. I push myself hard, want it with every fiber of my being. But still I pop out on the wrong side.

This side.

Sweat trickles between my shoulder blades, my lungs burn desperately for oxygen, and my damp, apple-red hair sticks to my scalp. The sweat keeps me cool and makes me feel alive. Alive, but weak. I thought being Ankou was supposed to make me stronger? How can it be that I have more power now but feel just as powerless as before?

I’m meant to save humanity, but it’s humanity who endangers my daughter while I am trapped here, unable to protect her.

Panting hard, I turn back to look in the direction of the open field I just ran through. I’d run straight across, from the north end to the south, and popped right out the north end again. A loop.

“Stop,” Tess says. “That’s not going to work. We don’t have time for this.”

“Why”—I suck in a breath—“not?”

Tess tugs at her earlobe. “I don’t get you, Cord. You knew your daughter for what—all of an hour? Why do you care so much?”

Her words struck a nerve. I loved Anna before I ever even met her, even more so when I first laid eyes on her. But I couldn’t expect Tess to understand that. “What more reason do I need than that she is my child? Any mother would do the same.”

Tess’ arms tightened across her chest. “Yeah. So they say.”

Maybe she was right. Mama had given up on me. But that was different. “Most mothers, then,” I added. “Most mothers love their child instantly and intensely.”

“Must be nice,” Tess mumbles. “But it’s still selfish of you. If you leave, what will happen to Verity? Or do you not care anymore?”

If Verity knew, I’m certain she would rather I save my daughter, but that’s not to say I don’t care about the woman.

“I don’t understand why you need me anyway,” I spit back. “I’m just getting in your way. You could get more done if you weren’t busy training me. You can handle the Morts without me. The Universe could find someone else to help you. There—”

“I’ve heard enough,” Tess says sharply. “If you don’t focus, you’re going to put us all in danger. That means no future for you or your daughter.”

I rock back, my head spinning and my breaths bursting, finally understanding this situation. This isn’t a way back to Anna. It’s the only way back to her. If I return now, there will be no Anna to return to.

William trots over. He’s been running all night, too, but his runs have been more productive than mine; he’s taken at least a dozen Morts by surprise. His shirt, soaked in sweat, is thrown over one of his strong shoulders. His body is perfect—lean, firm, smooth skin...

His beauty is terrifying.

I can’t make sense of my feelings, of how attracted I am to him and yet how uncomfortable seeing him makes me feel. Staring at him makes me wonder if the golden sheen of my skin in the moonlight is as stunning as his or as elegant as Tess’, or if, to them, I’m just another person. To them, has the terrifying beauty of the Ankou lost its magic? I could never have dreamed of something so stunning. It’s walking, living, breathing art.

William places his hand on my shoulder. “It’s not just about where you want to be. It can be about where you don’t want to be. Wishing you were anywhere but where you were.”

Offended, I pull away. “I did not wish to be taken away from family. I am not you.”

I don’t know if I’ve insinuated accurately, but I must believe I have. His eyes search mine, and I know there is a hurt there, a hurt his expression cannot hide, though his anger is building around his jaw line. He’s keeping something from me. Hiding something.

“Am I wrong?” I ask. I can’t control myself. All my pent-up hurt throttles straight at him, as though he is to blame for all of this. Perhaps he is. “Maybe you just don’t care if we get back because you’re already stuck here! Come on, William, tell me—how long have you been here?”

“What does it matter?” he shoots back. “Not everyone wants to run away from the opportunity to help others. Maybe some of us want to stay here. Belong here.”

I shrug, wishing I could just erase the entire conversation. I hate him and admire him at the same time. I force my mask of anger to stay frozen in an attempt to seem unaffected by his anger.

“We have a plan, Cord,” William says. “And you need to honor it.”

“I understand—”

“Do you?” He narrows his eyes. “Because I’m starting to wonder if you’re capable of having a plan, or if you are completely run by your impatience, impulsivity, and selfishness. You’re all over the map, and we can’t afford for you to get us killed!”

For William, life is about saving Salem. For me, it’s about saving my daughter. One singular person in a sea of many. Perhaps that does make me selfish. Or perhaps it just makes me human. I don’t expect him to understand that.

I hate when William’s mad. Tess’ anger I can handle—she’s always angry, even when she’s not. But when William’s upset, I start to think it’s my fault.

Tears blur my vision, and I hate that I’m crying, that my weakness is so apparent. “I didn’t ask to be brought here! Stop blaming me! Blame your god or whoever created this mess!”

“Yeah, well, it does make me wonder.” He shakes his head and sighs. “You are capable, you know. You were chosen for a reason, even if none of us can see it yet.”

“Thanks,” I mumble. “I think.”

“I know it’s difficult, Cord, but try to focus,” William says. He’s softened now, and I wonder if it’s because he feels bad or just finds me too pathetic to scold anymore. “We’ll try it again, all right? Focus on the Mort and run, thinking of them, until you lock.”

“Fine,” I say, residual anger still bubbling in my gut.

Tess has already moved three Morts and, while William was talking, locked onto a fourth. I spin away from him and take off.

“Fine,” I say again, under my breath. “Fine, fine, fine.”

But my frustration and fear don’t make me want to fight harder as much as they make me want to find a way around this situation. I can’t risk getting stuck here. I need to get back to Anna. Now.

I break through space—through time and distance, through the blur of grays and blacks and green—and collide into one of the Morts, knocking him down onto the crisp grass. His face is inhuman; his nose more of snout. Had he been a Strigoi once?

My abdomen tingles, and the energy rushes through my body and out my fingertips. I dig my nails into his head as I’ve seen Tess do. My fingers go cold, but he steps away. He pauses, his grin like a jack-o-lantern before he runs off.

This is it. This is what my life has become.

Either I stay and fight or keep trying to go back. What if Tess is right? What if every time I try to go back, I’m just wasting time? What if I waste so much time I lose Anna altogether?

I glance around until I’ve spotted another. If I’m stuck here because of these Morts, then I have no choice but to get rid of them. I focus on making all the motions one—making contact with the Mort and locking my fingers into its skull. This time, a static shock snaps me into place.

This one—a child with shadowy wings, perhaps born Ankou—makes no effort to escape. It’s almost as though she has been waiting for me. A white light glows from her body, and there’s a shift inside my stomach. She’s meant to live again. Her intended future surrounds me. I’m not in the field anymore. I’m with a weeping woman—another Ankou—in a small nursery, my hands on her head, though she is unaware of my presence. She clutches a small blue bear to her stomach and leans forward, her mournful wails echoing through the room and in my ears.

I look up, taking in the cream-colored walls and the red and blue sailboats painted in a border along the ceiling. The powdery, soft scent overpowers the air in the room, and it feels as though my lungs are constricting. A patchwork quilt hangs over the rail of a crib.

An empty crib.

There is a knowing in my stomach that hits me as hard as though it is my own child missing from that crib, and I try to step back, but I’m stuck. The woman’s grief flows through me, or perhaps the grief is my own.

Once the Mort spirit has taken life in her womb, I am back in the field, tears streaming my cheeks. She’s lost her first child, and nothing can heal that. But now there is a new spirit—a new life—growing inside of her. A new life meant to replace the old. But hearts just don’t work that way. I wish I could take comfort in knowing not all Morts are evil, but even that knowledge cannot fix the brokenness inside of me.

I rub the tears away roughly and lean forward, resting my hands on my knees. My stomach empties into the grass. Tess and William jog over and each puts a hand on my back.

“You okay?” Tess asks.

I nod, straightening, and then walk away as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. That’s traveling? It felt as unnatural as it is, falling through time and space like that to move a spirit where it belongs. And yet, at the same time, once I had done it I felt as though it was something I had done every day of my life. It was as easy as breathing, only much more unsettling.

William’s heavy steps follow, but I sense him stop a couple feet away. “I know it’s hard.”

I don’t say anything.

“Your body will get used to the traveling,” he says. “You did good.”

But I haven’t. I’m not like him. I’m not completely selfless, completely devoted to saving the lives of total strangers. My admiration for him certainly fuels me when I’m feeling weak, but in the end, I’ll never be as strong as him. For Anna, though, I will try.

I take off again, to a Mort far off toward the open horizon but near the south edge of the forest. This Mort resists. She tries to push her way into me. My fingertips ache with an icy burn, but I feel the flickering, the spark. I feel this Mort and me between time and space. It tries to show me another host to move into, but I know. I know just as William said I would. Through the hazy film of their projection, I see the field. I see the darkness radiating from their core.

They’re staying here, and they will die tonight by my hands.

Heat stirs inside of me, but I feel the cold of the Mort spirit still trying to push its way into my body. Then I see it, I am watching it happen to me. I’m outside my body, and my body is trying to pull me back, but the Mort is pushing me away. My hand outstretches toward my spirit, but I see the Mort’s claw-like fingers trying to take form around my heart.

My strength fades. I see myself—my body—holding Anna. I don’t know if it’s my dreams of holding her or my fear of her being in someone else’s arms, but I’m filled with anger.

The Mort is trying to influence me! Trying to get me to give up my body so it can take me over...trying to trick me into thinking I’m with Anna now.

There’s a jolt, and my spirit snaps back into my body. The energy at my core rockets through me and into the Mort, and, just as I witnessed Tess do earlier, we convulse. My power, driven by hatred, terrifies me, as though it is I who is evil. But I don’t stop. I don’t let go until I take this Mort from a spirit to a pile of black particles.

I killed it.

I shove the thought away. I’m not a murderer. They were already dead. And if I hadn’t moved them, they would have killed somebody else.

These are the things I will tell myself from now on—the things that will make me believe I am not actually a killer. That I’m not as evil as I feel.

The silence is sudden. The calm in the field around me only serves to magnify the panic in my chest.

“Now what?” I ask, looking up.

The field is empty. Even the trees seem horrified, large knots twisted into their bark like melting faces.

“Tess? William?”

They aren’t in any direction. The tar-black particles seep into the ground and dissolve. I lean forward to take a closer look.

Something whiffs past my ear. An arrow hits the ground in front of me. I jump to my feet and spin around. Nobody’s there.

Where did that arrow come from?

A stinging pain starts in my shoulder, followed by a wet trickle. My dress is torn at the shoulder, as is the flesh beneath, pale white split open to dark red.

I dart off, ignoring the pain, thinking of Tess and William. I’m completely off balance, but I stay focused until I stumble through space and come out on a path in the forest. It’s darker here than it had been in the field, but my Ankou vision grants me clear vision. Two unfamiliar figures—large men without shirts—pin William and Tess to the ground.

They are not Morts.

I am staring but not focusing, one hand holding my arrow wound to try to slow the bleeding. The events unfolding before me—William and Tess hadn’t warned me about anything like this, about any possibility of being attacked or dealing with anything other than the Morts. A cold wave rolls through my stomach, and a weight sinks in my chest. The moment feels more real than life itself, and at the same time, feels as though it’s happening a million miles away. A dream, a nightmare.

No one seems aware of my presence. I could walk away. I would be safe—I would live—but would I be able to return to Anna? Could I forgive myself for abandoning such noble people? William and Tess don’t deserve to die.

The cold night air chills the blood between my fingertips, and my hands feel sticky, and I know I am going to need some help patching up this arrow wound. Help that William and Tess would give me.

Help that I would give them.

Without William and Tess, I will never make it through the trials of my calling. I’ll never move the Morts fast enough to return to my own time and place.

If I die, though, I definitely won’t make it back to Anna.

The skin of William’s attacker glistens alabaster-white in the bright shine of the moon, his blond hair cropped short and a shadow darkening his jaw. Thick, inky lines mark the side of his neck with something reminiscent of the letter ‘F’, but the lines that should be horizontal slant down, and the ‘F’ faces the wrong direction. The attacker tries to grab William by his throat, but he’s determined and fierce and claws at the man’s face.

Tess struggles against a man with dark tanned skin and long black hair that’s tied back with a thin strip of cloth. He has the same marking on his neck as William’s attacker. He has her on her back, all of his weight on her, his knees digging into her forearms beneath him. Bile rises into my throat. The unease comes from somewhere deeper than fear; it comes from an inexplicable hurt and anger—a familiar feeling, though I can’t place it exactly.

How am I supposed to decide who to help—William, Tess, or myself? William wouldn’t even have to think twice. He would never leave someone else to die just to save himself. But I’m not him. I’ll never be anything like him. But Tess is practically still a child. Would she try to save me if the situation were reversed? I honestly don’t know, and yet, at the same time, it doesn’t matter. It would kill me to see her die.

Tess manages to free one of her hands and punch the man in his temple. He tumbles to her side, and she pounces on him, her dark braid whipping into her face and then falling in front of her shoulder. She digs her fingernails into his cheekbones, right below his eyes, and tar-like fluid seeps out of the wounds on his flesh. Right now, everything about her looks strong. Even her fingers. The look of determination in her eyes is enough to kill, but she doesn’t count on that. She reaches back beneath her cloak and pulls out a wooden camping stake.

My gaze darts back to William. I should do something, but I’m every bit as selfish as William said. I can’t risk death to save them.

The attacker lands a punch to William’s gut, and William’s head lolls to the side. Blackish-purple blood seeps from his nose and over his lips. Something tugs at my heart and in my stomach. I shake my head, feeling the apology on my lips but unable to speak. He’s going to die if I don’t do something, but if I risk my life to help him, I’m risking Anna’s life as well. I can’t let my inexplicable connection with him get in the way.

William shakes his head as though warding me off from even considering it. He doesn’t want my help. He wouldn’t hold it against me, in life or death, if I did nothing to save him right now. But if he dies, his death will be on my conscience forever.

William’s attacker brandishes a silver dagger from his boot and starts to dig it into William’s side. Where William’s shirt has ripped open, I see purple-black vein-like lines spreading over his skin, away from the dagger’s wound. I can’t just stand here any longer. I cannot live in this vulnerable place, I can’t go through this alone.

I rush forward and tackle the shirtless man. I swing my fists at him, but I can’t feel the impact of any of my blows. I swing at him unseeingly, furious that his presence has forced me to this. Furious that he is standing in the way of my returning to Anna.

The back of his hand hits my cheek with a force that creates an instant numbing sensation. I try to crawl away, but he grabs my leg and pulls me back, the forest ground cutting my knees, shins, stomach, and the side of my head.

I claw at the dirt, my fingernails scraping over stones. They catch a large rock, and I cling to it until it lifts from the ground. I grasp it with both hands, twist onto my back, and sit up, holding the rock over my head and then slamming it down into my attacker’s scalp. There’s a crack, and the attacker stumbles. William, standing behind him, whips the blade of a large sword across his neck, decapitating him and covering me in a spray of black blood.

I’m not as disgusted as I would have expected. Instead, the bloodshed has ignited both a physical and mental hunger in me.

Tess is sitting with knees tucked to her chest beside a dead man and a blood-stained wooden stake. Her blood-soaked clothes hang from her body—stretched, ripped, dirty. I can’t move or speak—only stare dumbly at the scene before me, the dead men lying there. They don’t dissolve away like the Morts do or like the Cruor would.

I tell myself I only saved William and Tess for their help in getting back to my daughter. It cannot have been for any other reason. Yet I know this is a lie.

My focus unwittingly shifts back to William. Though his face carries the dirt and bloodstains of a warrior, his expression is gentle, perhaps even regretful. I want to run to him and wrap my arms around him and bury myself in his chest. But I don’t move. I’ve acted foolishly to risk my life tonight. I can’t allow myself to care about anyone, to get torn between worlds. I need to protect myself for the world I belong in. My world. Anna’s world.

“What happened?” I ask.

William drops the sword and it clangs against the rocks embedded in the forest terrain. “Cordovae,” he whispers. “You’re bleeding.”

He touches my cheek, and I wince. When he pulls his hand back, there is blood on his fingertips.

“Are you okay?” he asks. His attention drops to my wounded shoulder and then away. “There was another attacker?”

I nod. “He ran off. I didn’t see him.”

Tess’ face snaps up, eyes wide. “There’s only one reason he would run off.”

William hisses, shaking his head and cutting her off. He leans against a tree, hand cupping the wound on his side. The vein-like marks are spreading, but all I can do is step back, step away.

“Iron-poisoning,” he says. “We need to get back to the cabin.” He levels his gaze at Tess. “They’ve come.”

9

January 1692

Back at Tess’ cabin, I sit on the edge of a cot, clutching a woolen blanket around my shoulders. Though we are away from our attackers, I am still sick with fear, as if at any minute they might barge in.

“Take off your chimes,” William demands. Tess and I hand ours to him, and he shuts them in a drawer. “We don’t need to draw any attention to ourselves right now.”

After that, he sits by the fire, silent. No one says a word, and neither Tess nor William seem as though they want to hear a word, either. But I have questions. Lots of questions. If we’re not trying to attract and destroy Morts, does that mean our mission is on hold? If so, for how long? What does that mean for me?

The fire casts a golden glow that makes the room’s otherwise unnerving darkness more bearable, and the warm, musty air and scent of burning wood is almost comforting. Closest to the cabin’s front window, a cobwebbed spinning wheel crushes a second pea-shuck mattress on the floor. The linens are scuffed with dirt. I doubt anyone sleeps there.

I’ve just finished a large drink made of nightshade and monkshood, a perfect blend of poison to help an Ankou recoup. Tess’ boots peek out at me from under her medieval dress as she stitches my wound.

Her unique scent of lemon and lavender soothes me. She’s been gentle enough, though each pass with the needle pinches. Perhaps adrenaline numbs the pain, or maybe it’s the horror of William healing himself. Though watching makes me queasy, I can’t help but stare as he cuts away his infected flesh and cauterizes the wound with the red-hot fireplace poker.

The stench of burning skin makes my stomach churn harder, yet I’m helplessly fixated on his otherwise perfect, unmarred body. My eyes remain pinned on the fine but dark hairs on his chest that tangle together and run a line down his stomach. It scares me that the thought of him keeps distracting me from Anna, and guilt pangs deep in my gut that anything or anyone could have that effect on me. But when I’m with William and Tess, I don’t feel nearly as lost in this world. I don’t feel nearly as far from my child.

Impossibly soon, William’s skin has regenerated.

“He’s part Cruor,” Tess whispers, which I suppose is an explanation intended to help me understand the rapid healing he experiences that Tess and I do not. But I don’t fully understand what Cruor are. I never bothered to ask—never saw how it was of any relevance before now.

“Why doesn’t he just drink some nightshade?”

Tess chews her lip. “He’s allergic. May be part of being a dual breed.”

I swallow, but my throat is so tight that I’m suffocating. It takes some effort, but I find my voice. I don’t ask the question I want to ask—the question about William being part Cruor, or what being a dual breed means—because it doesn’t feel like the most important question right now. “Who were the people who attacked us back there?”

Tess inhales through her nose. “You saw their markings?” she asks, indicating the clear skin on her own neck where theirs had been branded. “That was the Ansuz, reversed. It’s a rune that represents misunderstanding and the power of delusion. Those that carry the mark are known for their manipulation magic. They are a prideful kind of Strigoi who have pledged their allegiance to the Maltorim. Do not underestimate them. They have offered their servitude to their natural enemy, and only those with grandiose delusions would ever do such a thing.”

People who had betrayed their own kind? I don’t ask why anyone would do that. Mankind does it all the time. I’ve always considered it a sign of weakness or fear, though right now I find it hard to see the men who attacked us as driven by anything other than blind fury.

“And the one that ran off?”

Tess frowns. “To alert the Maltorim of our location, I’m sure.”

“Tell me more about the Strigoi and the Maltorim then.”

Over the course of the next hour, Tess explains to me in detail about the Strigoi. They are the elemental race of water with an ability to change their essence from a human appearance to animal. Most are good, here to hunt the Cruor, which I come to learn are, in majority, bloodsucking monsters—earth elementals originally meant to purge the evil from mankind. So much for that idea. William is one of the few exceptions, but he is also part Ankou, and perhaps that is what sets him apart.

As Tess describes the Maltorim, her tone is dark and heady. They are a preternatural council comprised mostly of Cruor, thought by some to be messengers of the Universe. But rumor is they are not the true messengers—they are imposters with self-serving agendas who have brainwashed the masses of elemental races.

The rest of what Tess says sweeps by me, unabsorbed. I know all I need to know to get by, to do what I need to do and get out of here. Remembering the specifics are better served to people who plan to stick around. Like William.

The silence that falls on the room makes my skin itch. I drum my fingers on a nightstand. Then I pick up the little wooden box that’s sitting there and examine it. I wind a small metal piece at the bottom.

“What’s this?” I ask Tess. I’ve never seen anything like it before, not in this lifetime, though I seem to know the word for it: music box. I open the lid, and sure enough, a song begins. The first few notes are almost familiar.

Tess snatches the music box from my hands and snaps the lid closed. “Don’t touch that.”

“Sorry.” I frown. “Where did it come from?”

She tucks it in a drawer. “I made it. It doesn’t even exist yet; just pretend you never saw it.”

Something tells me she shouldn’t have made it. This is the kind of thing that gets us trapped here. Making too many changes outside of what we have been sent to do, altering history further than we are allowed.

Before I can say another word, William calls us over to where he sits by the fire, his fist pressed to his mouth. He still wears no shirt, and it’s impossible not to take in his muscular chest and broad shoulders. I’m thinking of him more than I should allow. I pull myself together and lift my gaze to his face to see his eyes are already on me. My face heats. My heart is silenced by his intensity.

“The Maltorim have sent their warriors,” he says. “The Mort community is larger than we anticipated, or growing too rapidly. Why else would the Marked Ones be here?”

I take it the ‘Marked Ones’ are the Strigoi marked with the Ansuz runic letter. I don’t answer William’s question, though. The question is clearly intended for Tess.

“The Maltorim should be working with us,” she says. “Not that they ever do.”

“Unless they are here to deal with my kind,” William replies solemnly.

I shake my head. “Your kind?”

He turns to me. “It wouldn’t be the first time the Maltorim were more concerned with the dual-natured than the Morts.”

Tess cuts in before I can ask what he’s talking about. “But why protect the Morts? The last time the Maltorim did that...”

Their eyes meet in a knowing I cannot share, but I feel it’s nothing good.

“Another army?” William asks. His eyebrows cut lower over his eyes. “It would risk too much to do that here, to do that now.”

Tess’ expression is apologetic and, for the first time, I see her as vulnerable. I wish I were strong enough to be her rock, though I’m sure she would just turn me away.

William’s sorrowful eyes aren’t directed toward me, although my stomach still sinks when I see his expression. He devotes his attention to Tess and rakes his hand through his hair.

“If they are trying to stop us from moving the Morts, that means the Maltorim want the Morts here,” he says. “Which means those Strigoi that attacked us tonight have the resources and strength in numbers that we do not.”

I wait for someone to look at me so I can respond, but when that doesn’t happen, I interrupt. “Then we have to fight the Morts and these Strigoi—these Marked Ones.”

Tess lets out a bark of laughter. “You say it like it’s nothing.”

This time, I’m not offended by her biting sarcasm. I’ve noticed the way she’s tugging on her earlobe, which I’m starting to think is a sign she’s distressed. She’s scared and defensive.

“I didn’t mean—”

“You don’t know what you are doing or what you are up against,” she says. “We aren’t prepared for this. It is one thing to fight the Morts but another entirely to fight the Maltorim.”

That’s not what I want to hear. “If it’s hopeless, it should mean nothing if I leave.”

“No,” William says. “Tess is right: we aren’t prepared for this. We don’t walk away, though. Whatever we do, we fight. Any elemental would tell you that is your only chance for survival.”

Tess folds her arms across her chest. “We don’t have time for pep talks, William.”

She crosses the room and grabs a large, leather-bound book from a shelf beside the door, then returns to sit beside me. She opens to the first page and gently traces her hand over a symbol much like a star within a circle, but she quickly stops and flips through to a later page.

“Cord, this war has been going on for some time. It’s not just our war against the Morts. It’s the war among the races that create the Morts in the first place. We’re just cleaning up the mess. Unfortunately, there is more to learn than we have time to teach.”

I swallow, not sure I want to know anymore, not sure I can take any more. I just want to go back to the life I belong in. But I manage a nod and stare at the displayed pages.

Tess continues with the details I don’t care to hear. “The Cruor should have eradicated the evil in humans, but instead became evil themselves. They sustain their immortal life by drinking the blood of humans.”

“And your creator sent them?”

“You could say that,” she says. “We are told the tale of the Universe, of an entity that has always been and always will be, the ones who oversee our planet, who create but cannot destroy. When the creation of Cruor went wrong, the Strigoi were sent to stop them.”

William lowers his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. “The war started first among them. That is when the others came.”

“The Ankou?” I ask.

“Us,” she confirms. Her tone and patience right now reveal an almost sentimental air about her, and I wonder if I’d been too quick to let her usual attitude fool me. “We were supposed to bring peace with our magic and were also intended to do as we do today—reap the spirits of immortals who have met a final death. Remember how I told you that when the Ankou arrived, they brought with them the ability for other elementals to cross-breed?”

She says this with such gravity that confusion sweeps through me. “Yes?”

“There is a reason the Maltorim doesn’t like that. Dual breeds have less pronounced weaknesses and a wider range of abilities, which make them a threat,” she explains. “And also an asset to the humans. They are the most capable of actually protecting humans against the darker elementals.”

Tess spends the next hour showing me these things in her book, as though I need to be convinced. What is there to convince me of? I do not bother to doubt things any more than I dare to trust them. I just listen, only wanting to learn enough to get by.

She flips back to the front of the book and shows me the star within the circle once more. “This pentagram indicates creation is not done,” she says. She touches the east point. “Air. This is us, the Ankou.” She touches the bottom points of the star and names them each. “Fire, for the Chibold, and Earth for the Cruor.” She continues around to the west point. “Water, for the Strigoi.” Finally, she touches the point at the top. “This is the spirit.”

“The Morts?” I ask.

“No,” Tess says gravely. “Our world does not yet have an elemental for the spirit. Morts are merely the spirits of the elementals that have already existed.”

For all the answers Tess and William have, there are still things that even they do not know about this world. It’s hopeless.

Tess closes the book and returns it to the shelf. I expect her to talk some more, to explain and define and everything else she has done, to drone on in her somber tone with words and ideas that hold no meaning for me. But instead, Tess grabs her coat, her boots thud across the ground, and she walks outside, the door creaking closed behind her and shutting with a quiet puff.

10

January 1692

I’m alone with William. My heartbeat ratchets up. I’m suddenly so alert I think I’ll never sleep again, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m worried about Tess or excited to be alone with William.

My attention darts to him. “Is she okay?”

“She’ll be back.”

I pull the blanket Tess gave me tighter around my shoulders. “I wish I could go back.” I swallow around a lump in my throat. “I can’t get stuck here, like you guys said.” I look up to him pleading. “I can’t.”

A long silence stretches between us. He crosses the room and slides a large leather pouch from beneath the cot. Crouching beside it, he pulls out some clothes, then freezes, a crumpled shirt in hand, and slants his gaze toward me.

“Sorry,” I say, and quickly look away, thinking perhaps he wants some privacy.

I hear more shuffling. Then his footsteps crossing the room. The fire casts his shadow over me, and he sits on the floor right beside me.

“Cord...”

When I look up, he’s holding a small doll, staring down at it in his hands.

“My mom thought I was going to be a girl,” he says. He chuckles, but there’s another emotion behind that. Sadness. A lingering sadness.

“You okay, William?”

He nods, swallowing, then pushes his arm toward me, holding out the doll. “Here,” he says. “For when you return to your daughter.”

“I—I—” I’m on the verge of tears. “I couldn’t take that from you. Your mom gave it to you.”

“Not exactly,” he says. “But come on...I don’t need it. Your little girl, she needs it.”

I hold the blanket around my shoulders with one hand and reach out to take the doll with my other. I hold the doll in my lap. It’s made of rags. Strings of fabric make a mop of brown hair, and holes are worn in the skirt of the doll’s blue dress. There’s a smudge of dirt on her face and a rip in the arm.

“It’s perfect,” I whisper, staring in awe.

“You’re going to get back to her, Cordovae,” he says in a low, hoarse voice. “It’ll all work out. You’ll see.”

I press my lips together and nod. “Thank you.”

I set the doll aside. I won’t be able to bring it with me back to my cabin in Salem—they’re all a little off kilter there these days, thinking dolls are voodoo. But I will bring it back to Anna. William has given me hope of that.

In that moment, my feelings for William shift. I can trust him. Why do I feel as though he’s the only man I’ve ever been able to say that about? William hasn’t just given me a doll. Hasn’t just given me hope. He’s given me this idea...this idea that I could love a man. And that scares the hell out of me.

I glance up, catching his soft gaze. An urge to kiss him flits through me, but I tamp it down.

“Thanks again,” I say.

“It’s nothing. Come, now. We better check that arrow wound for an infection.” He moves to my side and slides the blanket away from my shoulder to check my wound. As he does, he chuckles. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many freckles.”

I smile, thankful for his light tone during such a stressful time, but my heart is racing and my mouth is dry, so when I finally speak, my voice comes out shaky and nervous.

“Verity says it’s the curse of having fair skin.”

“No, absolutely not a curse. That red hair of yours however...” he starts, and playfully I slap his arm. He grins and raises his eyebrows at me.

It feels good to be this close to him. Like a warm, buzzing feeling that makes me lightheaded and induces fear in me that I’ll become addicted to being around him. Suddenly, the fire in the cabin seems to combat the winter chill too easily. The sudden heat makes my stomach dip and flutter. I need to shift the focus, before I really lose my head over him.

“Does the wound look all right?” I ask.

He peels back the bandage Tess placed earlier and assesses the wound. “It’s superficial. You should heal quickly.”

“I should?”

His canines elongate, and he bites into his arm. He holds his wound out toward me. “Drink. My blood will heal you faster than the herbs.”

I stumble beneath his firm eye contact and swallow around the tightness in my throat. “Because you are, uh.” I can’t even think straight with him looking at me. “I—uh—you’re also—you’re a Cruor.”

“Do you think of me as a monster now?”

Isn’t that what Cruor are?

“N-no,” I answer. It takes me a moment to realize I’m answering truthfully. William is different.

His own wound has almost healed completely. I feel guilty that he hurt himself for no reason, but I am not willing to drink his blood. I’ll wait for the herbs I’ve consumed to do their job.

William drops his arm to his side and raises his eyebrows. His expression wavers, and the shakiness in my chest melts away a little. “I know you want to get back to your past. That you want to remember.”

“Of course.”

“Suppose remembering were a curse?”

“What do you mean? Do you know something else about my past?” I can’t hide the hope in my voice.

“I’m sorry, Cordovae, but I know nothing of your past that you didn’t know when you first encountered me. However, I remember my own. Sometimes it’s better not to remember. Sometimes it’s better not to go back.”

I shrug, dismissing his sentiment entirely. “What do you know, anyway?” I ask, suddenly defensive. “You couldn’t possibly understand.”

“No,” he says sternly. “You couldn’t possibly understand.”

There it is. That look in his eyes that tells me he’s hiding something. If it’s not something about me, though, then it’s something about him.

“Try me,” I say, challenging him.

“You’ll hate me,” he says. His anger has already dissolved, and it’s not hard to see the emotion it was meant to mask: sadness.

“There’s nothing that could be so horrible,” I say, “not as horrible as what I’ve lived through.”

My words freeze on my lips. What have I lived through? What did I even mean by saying that? Something in my mind tries to break free, to answer my questions, but instead I just feel uncomfortable. Uneasy. Disturbed.

William raises an eyebrow.

I shake my head. “I’ll hate you more if you don’t tell me.”

He exhales slowly and sits back, resting his arms on his knees.

“I was not born a dual-breed,” he begins. “This is why I cannot walk in the sun and why I can no longer consume the poisonous plants that keep most Ankou alive. Had I been born of equal parts, my dual nature would have been a gift. A dangerous gift to possess, perhaps, but a gift nonetheless.”

I feel all the muscles in my face tense. “Why would I hate you for that?”

“Because of what I did when I was turned.”

A silent moment stretches between us. He’s staring at his hands. Finally, he speaks. “I had been born Ankou. But late one night, while out gathering food for my family, I was attacked by a Cruor. I awoke to a bloodlust so unbearable I could not control it. My maker and my coterie thrilled in their own innate nature and wanted the same for me. ‘Why should we fight what we are?’ they said. ‘Why ought we fight mother nature?’”

His voice filled with contempt, he continues, “They enjoyed my bloodlust as a newborn Cruor. They cheered me on as I hunted one human after the next, blinded by thirst. They chained me in silver and starved me for months. Then...” William’s head tilts, his expression almost daring. “Then they brought me home.”

His jaw tightens, and his eyes glisten. The pain in his voice is too raw to have no effect; I am wounded and unnerved by it. “Home, Cordovae, to my family. Home to where my hunger so overtook me that I slaughtered everyone I had ever loved. It was not until my hunger was sated and I was standing there among the carnage, among my coterie’s laughter and cheers, that the weight crushed into my chest over what I had done.”

I can’t look at him while he tells me these things. It doesn’t seem right. It feels like he shouldn’t tell me this. Or perhaps I just don’t want to absorb the point he is making.

“You see, Cord? I am a monster.”

I don’t know what to say. It would be insensitive to tell him that my past is not so dark. Insensitive for me to tell him that, if I remembered, it would not be such things. I am not like him. I’m not Cruor, and I do not have any kind of rage or bloodlust or anything he has experienced. Though my heart breaks for him, though I understand why he would not want to go back to the way his life was before, his story has no impact on my own desires.

“I’m sorry,” is all I can say.

“But you still want to go back,” he says, defeat winding though his words.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, for a different reason this time. “But you...But I wouldn’t...We’re not the same.”

“You fail to understand, Cordovae. You can’t trust yourself to love anymore. An elemental’s heart is never strong enough to overcome instinct. Not strong enough to honor love above all else,” he says. “If you want to survive, Cordovae, you must step away from your heart as well.”

He speaks of the rules that govern his own heart. Clearly he doesn’t trust himself to love, but I am not him, and he cannot possibly comprehend the love I have for Anna. It’s different.

“Cordovae, if you wish to return, I hope that is one day possible for you, but right now you need to focus on surviving. Anna can wait.”

In that moment, my resolve bursts like a pin-pricked balloon. My nails grate against the dirt floor beneath me as I try to repress my boiling anger. “If I had all the time in the world, it would still not be enough. And I do not even have that much. I do not know how much longer I have before I am trapped here for eternity! Anna is, and always will be, my priority.”

“And neutralizing the Morts’ presence will always be mine,” William shoots back. “If we don’t, the Morts will possess others. Every day they remain able to walk freely is one day closer to irreparable damage. You can believe they aren’t sitting about fantasizing of alternate lifetimes. They’re working quickly to achieve their goals before we have the chance to take them out. The situation is already leaning in their favor as they appear to have the Maltorim’s support. We do not need to make their job easier with your weakness!”

As furious as I am, I admire that William is devoted to his beliefs in the same way I am devoted to my daughter. He and I aren’t so different after all.

“Don’t yell at me,” I say, too tired to put any energy into my demand. I close my eyes and shift my weight. An ache trembles through my body, but I try not to wince. When the pain ebbs and a calm returns, I open my eyes and focus on him. “I must be as honest with you as you’ve been with me. I am only doing all this for Anna. This is not my fight.”

“Then my breath is wasted on you” he says, scowling. The shadows in the room make him look angrier than I would have thought possible.

My own anger, however, has washed away. I merely feel defeated. But pushing these emotions away is the only way I know how to cope. Still, I had secretly hoped that he would open up to me. And then I had gone and completely rejected everything he said. He’ll probably never open up with me again. Moments ago, I thought we were growing closer and now I feel as though he and I are a million miles apart.

Maybe it’s for the best, but a part of me doesn’t want to feel so alone in this world, even if I’m only here for a short time.

William moves away from me and sits closer to the fire, where he sharpens a small knife with stone. A long minute passes before he speaks to me again. “If only you would use that strength for what is needed right now.”

I give up on explaining to him the danger I sense she is in, how she needs me now. How perhaps it is better she die with me by her side than endure what she may endure without me there.

Which is what? I don’t know. I just sense it’s horrible.

Instead of saying these things, I play to his logic. “Tell me, William, how did I exist before this? How did I exist before I came back in time, if I could not exist in the future without being here now?”

“I don’t know,” he snaps. “Perhaps the last time your spirit was here she was a little less self-centered.”

“And yet clearly did not accomplish whatever it is that is expected of me now?”

William’s scowl deepens. He won’t look at me. I jump to my feet.

“Damn it, William! Do you even know?” I lean closer to him, my voice rising. “It doesn’t make any sense!” My throat tightens, my eyes sting, and I know the outpouring is coming if I don’t reign it in. “I just want to go home!”

In an instant, William is on his feet, too. The stone thuds to the floor and the knife clatters by his feet. I don’t feel so strong now, but he’s not trying to intimidate me. I’m shaking for entirely different reasons. I bury my face in my hands and shake my head.

“These timelines must exist,” William says, and his hand comes down softly to rest between my shoulder blades. “Until we get it right.”

“For what?” I say, and the next words that tumble out of my mouth don’t come from the psyche of Cordovae or Abigail. “For World Peace? For a dream?”

Suddenly, my Pa’s voice is in my head; just hearing it is enough to know it’s him.

Fucking dreaming again. Always with your fucking dreams.

That night, during his drunken rant, he smashed a glass against the wall by my head, and some of the shards from the glass bounced off my arm, and his whiskey splashed against my side and my back.

I can’t be here for you forever, but God help me, I will fucking teach you what life is about.

God hadn’t helped him.

When I come out of my daze, I am sobbing and shaking, and William is holding me against his chest.

I want to forget. That part, that man, I can forget forever. I try to find Anna somewhere in that memory, but she isn’t there, and I let it fade. I don’t fight to keep the memories of my previous life this time, for those memories harbor nothing but darkness.

“William?” I whisper.

He smoothes hair from my face and looks down into my eyes. “Are you all right?”

I nod, wiping away tears with the back of my wrist. I am as all right as I can be, and William is a part of that. He is the one man I don’t fear—the one man I know would never hurt me.

“Explain something to me,” I say. “I remember parts of my life as Rose. I remember parts of my life as Abigail. I remember every memory created since I’ve arrived here. But I don’t have any memories of Cordovae, and yet that is who I am called here to be.”

He stares toward the fire. There are wrinkles on his face I hadn’t noticed before—on his forehead, around his eyes, even some small ones by his lips. He raises both eyebrows as his gaze returns to mine.

“Well, at first, we thought people like you were the Universe’s first attempts at making spirit elementals—our missing link. But there is a distinction, and perhaps that may help you understand.”

“But no one really can know, can they, if spirit elementals do not yet exist?”

William shakes a finger at me. “You catch on quickly. Yes, these are only rumors. But let’s just say our source is fairly reputable.”

“And what does your source tell you?”

“Well, it’s believed the Forever Girls will be killed before their time, but their spirits will stay with their lineage. Reincarnation.”

“But I was reincarnated.”

William frowns. “We thought people like you had been reincarnated, but your previous life did not end. You aren’t really here, not completely. One day, you will go back. You can become one with other spirits or you can separate from them or you can take their place for a short time. But in the end, you’re just...visiting.” He shifts beside me, and I sense a new distance budding—not physical, but perhaps mental or emotional. “Because your ancestor was an Ankou, you were a Seer. When we needed more Ankou, the most effective solution was to initiate Seers, because they are already familiar with Seeing. You weren’t born an elemental, you see? You were chosen for this.”

“And a Forever Girl is not a Seer or Ankou?”

“Let me put it this way: you can join with the spirit of your ancestors,” he says. “A Forever Girl, however, is the same spirit. It moves only when the body dies. If they ever did join with a spirit, they would all become one. They can only go forward, through their lineage. They don’t move like you; they only reincarnate.”

“Why Cordovae?” I ask. “Why her spirit?”

“Because she is the one who has brought the ability to See into your ancestry. She must have been an Ankou who bred with a human sometime before her death. Seeing is just a gift you inherited.”

“Do you at least know where she’s from?”

William shakes his head “By her name, I would guess maybe she was around during the Spanish Inquisition. Cordovae is a very old Spanish name.”

“But it’s not my name. So why were you told to call on me by this name?”

“Does it feel right to you?”

“Yes...I suppose...”

“And did it effectively help you see that we could be trusted?”

“Somewhat.”

“Would you prefer I call you something else?”

“No, but—”

“Then stop worrying about these things. Embrace who you are right now and what you are meant to do. The reality is, you will always be joined with her,” he says. “Or connected in some way.”

“What about the Morts?” I ask. “Don’t they reincarnate, too?”

“Yes,” he says. “Or, rather, we reincarnate them. Morts and Forever Girls can both reincarnate, but it’s hardly the same. Forever Girls come from a mortal existence and are made immortal through reincarnation, while Morts were immortal before they died. But you—you are special.” He smiles. “You still own your life.”

I’m not sure I own my life, considering, but I understand what he means. When Rose dies, I’ll be separated from Cordovae. Cordovae’s spirit will live on with another ancestor, where I will just...end. Completely. I am not sure how that is more desirable than the immortality the Forever Girls achieve through reincarnation.

“If my ancestor was an Ankou before she died, then why didn’t she become a Mort?”

William’s eyebrows pull together. “She did. That’s how she joins with you now, how she joins with and visits her descendants when she needs to. No honorable Ankou would move a Mort that the Universe doesn’t intend to be moved.”

I’m not sure I’ll ever understand this all. The way Cord is part of me and yet who I have become at the same time. But there’s still other questions I have—questions that are more important to get answers to.

“If I’m Ankou, then I’m immortal, right?”

“Right.”

“So then how do I get back?” It always comes down to that question. The question of returning.

William’s lip rubs against his teeth. “I know this is a hard world to understand. Do you think any world is easy?”

I shake my head. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to understand it.”

“Right,” he says, giving a single nod. “Your life right now, even though you are here, is your life as Rose. You are just visiting. Abigail is the life you visit, and her life will become her own again once you leave. Cordovae, however, is the ancestral spirit that ties you both together. She is the one who has granted you the ability to See. Abigail is the one who has become Ankou, for this is her body. Not yours.”

I sway back. I didn’t think of that, and now guilt wrenches my gut. I have taken over her body and made decisions about it that were not mine to make. William must read the alarm on my face, because he pulls me back in and runs his fingertips down my spine.

“She would have done the same thing,” he whispers, but there’s a strain in his voice. Does he feel as badly as I do? Who is he trying to convince?

I close my eyes. I’m too tired to make sense of it all, and Cordovae’s consciousness is a welcoming shadow that hides the life I once led. But through the tears and heartache that yet remain over a memory I can’t recall, I am aware I’ve remembered something. I have hope. Hope that I can find a way to remember Anna and get back to her. Hope that I will remember the right things next time, remember my way back.

What do I do now? Do I stick around with the odds of death being higher now that the Marked Ones and the Maltorim are after us? Or do I run even though now, more than ever, I’m needed to protect the future...which by default means protecting Anna? If I fail, there will be no Anna to return to. I’ll never get to see her again, not even one last time.

I still don’t know how to get back, but I know that I will not let myself fail my daughter again. As much as it kills me inside, I will stay. I will fight.

There’s no turning back now.

But the question that yet remains is...how? With the Maltorim working against us, and little resources to overcome them, where will we go from here?

Emotionally exhausted, I bury my face against William’s chest, hiding the saltwater tears that slide down to my lips. I hate that he is part of the world that keeps me from my Anna, and I hate him for his kindness that makes my tears come all too easily.

But most of all, I hate that I need him right now.

11

January 1692

The cabin door slams closed, and candles rattle on the tabletop nearby. I startle, turning slowly to see that Tess has returned, and she is not alone. I step back at the appearance of a dark, attractive man with long, finely woven hair who stands well over a foot taller than her. William’s Adam’s apple bobs, and he quickly distances himself from me. The moment between him and me is like a spell that has been broken, a sudden sobriety from the time we just shared.

I look back to Tess’ companion. The room has gotten colder and darker since the moment he stepped in. The warm golden glow that had been in the room just moments before is replaced by a pale gray aura.

I stare at the fire and, seeing it’s dying now, I chastise myself for my silly thoughts. I worry at my lip, trying to take the man in without judgment. He’s dressed in a sleeveless cotton shirt that reveals his toned biceps and the same relaxed cotton pants William wears. It’s as though elementals have their own dress code that the rest of the world is unaware even exists. How do they travel unnoticed?

My gaze drifts down, and when I see his hand resting at the small of Tess’ back, something puffs up within me. I don’t like this guy, or the way he looks at me as though my existence is confusing or offensive. He stares at me as though he’s seen a ghost, but I see ghosts every day, and it’s nothing to dwell on.

But Tess seems comfortable with him, smiling in a way she doesn’t smile when she’s just around William and me. Her medieval dress floats more when she walks, and her boots glide more than clomp. Soft, dark brown strands of hair escape her long braid, framing her face, and her raddish-stained lips have softened in color. Her cheeks are flushed an even, pale pink, and her whole demeanor has brightened, turned into this weightless presence in the room.

This girl, this young woman who has hardened herself against the world and seems to avoid emotional connection, is in love. And she doesn’t know it.

I eye the man warily but say nothing.

William tips his head toward the man and gives a curt, “Adrian,” as though the name alone is a greeting.

“William,” the man says with the same clipped tone.

Tess turns to me. “Cord, this is Adrian,” she says, in case I am too stupid to have gathered that much. “He is the only person who can help us right now. He knows more about the Maltorim than any other rogue out there.”

“Rogue?” I ask.

“A Cruor who has no affiliation with the Maltorim. We are very lucky to have him here. He helped us the last time we were in trouble, though admittedly the circumstances weren’t quite as dire as they are now.”

I’m not prepared to put my trust in yet another stranger. I look to William for some kind of feedback, any non-verbal tick to clue me in on how I should respond right now. But William is absorbed with sharpening his already-sharp knife again. No knife could ever be sharp enough to cut the tension in the room right now.

Adrian clasps his hands in front of him, and I feel better now that his hand is off Tess. I hate to judge him, to let my overactive senses distract me, but I know when someone is hiding something. And Adrian’s secrets burn deep.

He strolls farther into the cabin, bringing with him the distinct smell of coal.

“Nice to meet you, Adrian,” I mumble finally, though I feel uncomfortable being the one to break the awkward silence.

“As it is to meet you,” he says. He reaches out to shake my hand, and I repress a shudder at his icy touch. His hands are so cold it’s unnerving. “We have little time to resolve the mess you’ve created—”

“The mess we created? You mean the mess they created!” William says testily, but Adrian continues as though William hasn’t said a word.

“—so we will commence discussing the plan immediately. Please keep in mind I can make no promises. I can only take your hopeless situation and give you hope.”

Is he serious?

“Tess and William will distract the Maltorim soldiers by addressing the Mort population on the surrounding lands, drawing the Marked Ones away from the settlement,” Adrian begins. “Meanwhile, the Maltorim know nothing of Cordovae, making her the perfect ghost. She is to return to her settlement and remain under her human guise. At night, she will exterminate the local Morts undetected, while the Marked Ones are distracted with William and Tess. Any questions?”

I don’t like this guy. He’s bossy, talks like he knows it all, and comes across as rude. I don’t like the rushed feeling he gives off, as though I’m not supposed to think about the things he’s said before committing to his plan.

“Yes, I have a question,” I say.

He frowns, then says, “Hmm?”

“A Mort is after one of my friends. I’ve seen it following her around during the day. It follows her everywhere—how am I supposed to get rid of it without being seen?”

“If the Mort overtakes your friend, it can use your friend to turn the town against you. You must get rid of that Mort first, before all else. You absolutely cannot, at any cost, allow that Mort to overtake your friend. I hope you understand my urgency. You will return immediately to your settlement to resolve this. Whatever you do, be certain no one sees you doing this as that could sacrifice both your life and the goals of you and your comrades altogether.”

Did he listen to a word I said?I just asked how not to be seen. I already knew I couldn’t let anyone see me. “I understand that, but—”

“No buts.” He claps his hands together, and it’s like thunder in the room, silencing me. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” I say, a little annoyed by him rushing such an important discussion. “Why is the Maltorim doing this?”

“I can’t say for sure,” Adrian offers dejectedly, “but it is not up to us to determine their reasons or analyze what they are up to. It is up to us to mediate the problem at hand as quickly and cleanly as we can. Now, let’s get to work.”

A pit grows in my stomach. Something is off about this guy. Why is he avoiding discussion? We can’t be in that much of a rush . . .

Can we?

Just as I’m thinking this man cannot be trusted, a dizzy spell rushes my head, and I’m thrust into an unwelcomed fragment.

I’m in my room. My Pa hovers over of me. The blanket seems like it’s weighing him down, holding him there, like he’ll never move, never take himself off of me. I used to fight it, but he would just pin my arms over my head and clamp his dirty farm-hand over my mouth so hard that my lips crushed against my teeth. My arm is still broken from the last time I fought him.

Mama passes the room, her eyes full of tears, peeking through the cracked-open door. She swallows and looks away quickly, then disappears down the hall. I keep staring at that crack in the door, willing her to come back, to stop him, to save me, but even my own Mama has betrayed me since the Darkness came. I’m black inside. I’ll never be whole again. And I’m dead. Just a lifeless doll, waiting to be tossed away, to finally have this misery end.

When I come back from my fragment, I’m outside, vomiting in frostbitten grass beneath the cover of a cloudy night sky. Pa is Anna’s father. Bitter acid burns the back of my throat. I’m so shaky I feel the trembling will never go away. There’s a crunch of dry snow behind me, then William is standing at my side. I can hear his voice but not what he’s saying. Then it starts to get louder, clearer.

“Cord? I asked if you’re all right. What happened?”

I spit on the ground, wipe my mouth with my wrist, and shake my head. “Nothing.”

My birthmark peeks out from my dress, and I quickly pull my sleeve back down to cover my wrist. The birthmark reminds me of Anna, as it always has, and now my dread has doubled. She is alone with that man, and the danger he poses to her is worse than I had remembered.

“Talk to me, Cord. You don’t look well.”

I push past William and hurry back into Tess’ cabin, not saying a word. I don’t want to see him right now. Inside, I grab the fingerless gloves Verity made me from the end of the cot, slip them on my hands, and sit by myself.

I’m lightheaded and woozy, and it’s enough to send Tess over to me with a herbal mix she insists I drink. Though food is the last thing on my mind, I drink, hoping it will help the aches I still have from running earlier and the blisters on my feet.

Adrian continues on with all of his planning as though nothing has happened. William checks on me one more time before joining them. He’s leaning over a table, chanting something in another language as he draws mark after mark on a large map.

I don’t concern myself with whatever they’re doing, and no one seems to care. I just stare at them, all working together. Adrian smiles and makes some remark that has Tess smiling, too. Her hand goes to his forearm, grazing a scar I wouldn’t have noticed otherwise. He’s leaning on the table also, watching William work.

I sit here, feeling as though I’m watching art move, watching a painting in motion as I question everything. They work well together. I’m supposed to trust Adrian, as they do, but I don’t. This man wants me to fight alone, and I don’t sense it’s because he has great confidence in my abilities. Before tonight, I didn’t even know exactly what I was called here to do. I’m still not entirely sure. But either I try what he suggests, or we’re stuck in the same situation we’re in now.

What choice do I have but to take the risk? The risk of doing nothing is worse—it’s certain death. If William and Tess trust Adrian, and I trust them, that should count for something. Even if I can’t place my finger on why I trust them in the first place.

William rolls up a map and hands it to Adrian. “I’ll meet you by the mountains,” he says.

Adrian nods. “Let’s move.”

As he turns, he replaces his hand on the small of Tess’ back, then ushers her outside.

I spin toward William. “Who the hell is that guy?”

He swivels his face toward me, expression glum. “Our only hope.”

* * *

Daylight has expired, making it safe for us to walk outdoors without risk of harm from sunlight. William suggests we head back to the settlement. He can guide me there, but he can’t stay with me—there’s no way to explain the strange appearance of a new man in the village, especially one staying in my home, but I am grateful for his company on the way back. Besides, Tess will need him to help distract the Maltorim and Marked Ones.

This is all moving too fast. Even for me. How could anyone be in more of a rush to end all this than I am? We haven’t even considered any other options.

At least it’s just me and William now. A certain happiness overcomes me when I’m with him, even though being alone with him always makes me nervous. I can’t eat, I can think straight, I can’t sleep—and that’s okay, because I don’t have the luxury of any of those things right now anyway. I just have to do what Adrian told me, unless I can come up with a better plan in the time it takes to get from Tess’ cabin to the settlement. Thankfully, Adrian suggested we walk as humans, so as not to draw attention to ourselves from any nearby Morts, Cruor, or Marked Strigoi.

“We could move them during the day,” I suggest. “With the speed we move, no one would see us at all, let alone our wings.”

“We would still be exposing ourselves to the sun,” William counters. He walks so assuredly, with strong posture and long strides.

“But you aren’t pure Ankou. Can’t you...”

“Burst into flames?” He grins. “The Cruor can’t go in the sun, either, Cord.”

“I hate this,” I mumble.

“It could be worse.”

I raise my eyebrow. “How so?”

William stares into the distance and breathes heavily through his nose. He rubs his thumb across the stubble on his jaw, then glances sideways at me. “Before the year 1000 A.C., the Ankou had been completely trapped. Then, it had been the moonlight that revealed their wings, but the sun still caused their bodies to shrink.”

“That sounds awful. What changed?”

“At the turn of every millennium, the magic to the Universe opens. It’s the only time the rules of a species can change, at least to some degree. The Ankou used that opportunity to change one thing. They chose to make the daylight their only weakness, by making their wings only visible to the sun during the day. This way they were free to live and hunt at night, where only other elementals can detect us by the glow of our skin. For the Ankou, the decision meant at least a thousand years of some sense of freedom.”

Some idea of freedom. But it’s good to know that my skin can’t be detected by humans at night.

“Why do you say ‘at least’? Why would they want to change it back to the way it was, if it was so awful before?”

“They don’t,” he says. “But other people would prefer the Ankou be trapped. Each millennium is the battle of the species. A battle that determines whose magic is stronger, who gets their desires.”

“Sounds stressful.”

William places his arm around my shoulders and playfully tugs me against him, so that my shoulder falls against his ribs. “It’s nothing you have to worry about, right?”

I look up to him and our eyes lock and the whole world seems to freeze and my heart does that fluttery thing. My mouth goes dry, and the humor melts under the desire I have for him. The irises of his maple-syrup eyes are encircled with a midnight blue I’ve never noticed before, and I can’t break the stare, can’t stop staring at the way his oaky-brown hair falls against his pearly-white skin. The golden sheen of the Ankou looks so much more...magical...on him than it does on me. He has the beauty of an angel.

I feel warmth with him. Feel safe. I’ve never felt safe around men before, and thanks to my fragment earlier, I now know why. But William is different—I trust him. Even if I can’t explain it or understand why. At the same time, I can’t help but wince when his hand slides a little lower on my arm. The closeness makes me uncomfortable. I know William would never hurt me, but his intimate touch still reminds me of those who have. Will I ever be comfortable with intimacy, even with a man I trust?

It doesn’t matter anyway. Only Anna matters. Although I sense I will miss William, there’s a comfort in knowing that soon it will just be Anna and me.

William clears his throat and drops his hand away. He stares straight ahead, and I rub my hands over my arms against the biting chill of winter that seems suddenly crueler.

“Anyway,” he says. “We’ll get you back to Anna soon enough. You’ll never have to deal with our millennium changes.”

“You really think so?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says. He sounds so sure—so sure it almost feels like a promise—and that makes my heart soar. “But only if we all stay focused...” He glares at me. “Just don’t let your capacity for love become a weakness.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” he mumbles. “I don’t want you to end up like...me. Just follow Adrian’s directions. We’re all counting on you.”

He stops, and I turn toward him. His hands hesitate near the back of his neck, and it takes me a moment to realize what he’s doing: removing a necklace. He thrusts it toward me, not looking at me. “Here.”

I take it gently and inspect it—a large, round, wooden chip with a tree engraved on the front. “What is it?”

“It’s good luck,” he says. “It’s always kept me safe.”

I can’t help but smile. Verity would approve. I clasp the charm tightly in my palm. “How will I know where to find you afterward? Or when?”

He pulls his map from his pocket and points to a mountainside I don’t think I’ll ever be able to find. “If we aren’t at Tess’ cabin, you’ll find us here.”

I point to the marks on the map. “What are these?”

He stops walking and crouches down, pulling me down beside him. He flattens the map as best he can against the forest path’s rocky terrain. “Each mark is a spirit or cluster. My father taught me how to map them as a kid, using a kind of magic. See, he was dying and I was the one nursing him back to health, but he was afraid he wouldn’t make it. He wanted me to protect my mother, and the best way to do that was to always know where the Morts were—to find them before I could even see them. This is important in the event they possess any humans, because at that point they become more of a danger to us than we are to them.”

“Can you teach me?” I ask.

“Only if you have a lifetime to learn. It takes a lot of practice.” He rolls up the map and helps me back to my feet. “It never served me until now, you know. I was supposed to use it to protect my family, but then...”

I get the feeling he doesn’t open up with people often, and it makes me feel as though we are connected in some way—a way that’s not just in my head but that he feels, too.

“Go on,” I say.

William shakes his head. “How would you feel if the boy that saved your life grew up to be the man who took your life?”

“I...well...I don’t know.” I hadn’t expected the conversation to take this turn.

“Of course you don’t.” He shoves the map in his pocket. “My father hadn’t even fought back. He just let me kill him.”

“You’re different now. He would be proud of the man you’ve become.”

“Right.”

I sense our ‘sharing time’ has ended. I slip the necklace he gave me into the deep pocket of my dress. The dress has been torn in a few places to allow for better movement while fighting, and I can’t help but wonder what the people of the settlement will make of it. Hopefully they won’t notice me at all.

“All right, Cord. You know what to do.” He looks down the path, and I follow his gaze to where it ends—to where the settlement begins.

I know this place. As Abigail, I once rescued a young boy from a snake bite, right here where I stand now. His mother saw me, and she’d thrown a stone that hit me in the back of my head. But I didn’t stop until I removed all the poison. Once she realized what I’d been doing, she apologized, but the apology was rushed and given beneath a skeptical glare before she hurried her son away from me.

Abigail and I are nothing alike. Abigail believes humanity is worth saving. I’m just doing this for Anna.

William places a heavy hand on my shoulder. “You’re on your own from here.”

12

January 1692

I enter the settlement in a daze. Energy returns to my body as my aches ebb. My whole body tingles. My heart thuds in my chest. I feel eerily balanced, senses so sharp it’s nauseating. I don’t want to be here. Even the wind is harsh—cold and unrelenting.

The sun has tucked in for the night. The sky is still light enough to lend a clear quality to the world around me but dark enough that I can walk without my Ankou wings being visible to the townsfolk. I wish I could use my wings to make me invisible not only to the Morts but to the people of my town as well. But they can see me, and I fear that, somehow, they will be able to tell something about me has changed.

Some of them stare at me with coal-black eyes and graying skin. The arm of a young man has begun to decay. He licks his yellowing teeth, and I shudder, ducking my head and looking away. The Morts must have gotten to some of the people of Salem.

I bustle by the hushed whispers that spread like wildfire—talk of the afflicted, talk of witches—and try to ignore the disproving glares, the indicating fingers. I try to be invisible, but it’s not as if I can blend in here—not with my fiery-red hair and startling pale face. The healing bruises from earlier look like grass stains on my skin, and I curse myself for bruising so easily. What will they make of it? I cover them up as best I can.

The aroma of the town overpowers my senses. Human sweat. Horse manure. The welding of hot metal. I intend to go straight home, but as I’m walking past the blacksmith shop, Verity pays the nearby vendor for some winter squash. She looks right at me.

Right at me. It’s as if she can see me from this distance, even with poor vision. And yet, at the same time, it’s as though she doesn’t know who I am. As though she is looking right through me.

I walk around the woman pulling up her night’s water from the well. I try to get closer to Verity, but a small boy runs into my path. The mother grabs her son in time to save him from getting trampled by a horse and cart. The loud clatter of hooves thunders in my head, but the whole while I do not take my focus off of Verity. I grow more and more anxious the nearer I get to her without her acknowledging me.

Closer and closer, until I can confirm what I feared most.

Verity has been taken.

Her tea-colored eyes are now two black coals. Her smile is not her own. Her hair is limp and her skin is graying. I swallow around a lump in my throat. When she turns, I realize the Mort has not fully overtaken her—its back still protrudes, and its feet have not stepped into Verity’s shoes.

My spark of hope.

But with the whole town out and about, saving her now would expose me. Just the same, if the Mort completely overtakes her, it can expose me as well, using her as a witness against me. I chew my lip, debating what to do.

I need to get her away from here.

“Verity!” I say, waving, forcing a smile as though I have no idea of the truth. As she dips her head and starts to walk by me, I fall in line beside her. “I’ve been looking for you! Come with me, I have something to show you.”

I tug at her arm in as friendly a way as I can, but the Mort resists. Its left foot steps into hers. Its back protrudes a little less as its form melts into her. It’s clear I won’t be able to get her alone in time.

I can’t take this. I can’t handle her being forced into this, her body becoming not her own. It reminds me of Pa—I shake the image away. I can’t think about my old life right now. I can’t even think of my life as Abigail. Right now, I need to honor my spirit. I need to be Cordovae.

I can’t let myself be exposed, but I must act now. Either I stand back and do nothing, or I try to save her. One option might risk exposing who I am, but the other definitely will.

Something rips in my chest—an emotional turmoil over this Mort taking my friend. If I’m going to be exposed one way or another, the least I can do is save my friend.

Maybe if I move fast enough, I can get through this without the town noticing.

The back of the Mort nearly absorbs into Verity. It’s now or never. If it possesses her completely, it’ll be too late.

I step behind Verity and sift my hands into her hair. My Ankou nails snap out, piercing her skull. They are like ghost fingers, though, unable to harm her physically. It is the Mort I attack now. I glance around, confirming my elemental abilities have allowed me to move fast enough to go unseen. My speed may just be what helps me pull this off.

The Mort screeches, and the sound pierces my ears. In the nearby blacksmith shop, a hammer pounds hot metal. It sounds so much slower now, as though five minutes pass between one clang and the next.

The Mort separates slightly from Verity. I’m close. But I hear the chatter of the town dying down, which means I’m not moving fast enough. Slowly, they are turning toward us, gathering. I was warned against doing this around other people, despite our ability for speed, and now I am seeing why. But what choice did I have? I’m still limited in that I cannot move Verity—only Ankou with advanced gifts can travel with a human without killing them. I’m stuck here, and I need to finish before it’s too late.

Vibrations shudder through me. It’s almost done. Just a few more...seconds...and...Christ, this Mort is strong—much stronger than the ones I fought in the field.

My teeth shift, all turning to sharp points, and I accidentally bite the inside of my cheek. The sweet, berry-like taste of my own blood fills my mouth.

Instinctually, I know my last hope is to bite Verity. William was right—I always know what to do, as though all this knowledge came when I was transformed. The way a newborn baby knows to drink its mother’s milk. Biting Verity will release a high dose of my poison that no Mort can withstand.

When I bite her, the bite mark steams, and the Mort explodes into black particles.

Immediately, I set to run, knowing I need to get away before the town can get me. But my movement is restricted. The world slows. Everything comes to a halt. Something restrains me, but I still don’t understand how. I am stronger and faster than these people.

“Did you see that?” a voice shouts.

My arms are bound painfully behind my back. My wrists are burning.

Iron. It must be.

How could they know to bind me with iron? Or was this mere coincidence?

A young man comes into my line of sight and kneels in front me. He touches a red splotch on the ground that I know is my blood. It must have fallen from my mouth. It’s healed the dead winter-grass it landed on.

Slowly, he looks up at me. “What are you?”

An older man points to the revived grass stained with my blood. “Her blood is cursed! It brings the dead back to life! It will curse us all!”

I struggle to escape, but the iron has completely shut down my ability to move through time and space. My teeth at least have returned to normal, but blood still dribbles from my mouth. My attention slides over to Verity. Her tea-colored irises are filled with sadness and sympathy.

She shakes her head. She’s already saved me once from this town, when I first arrived as Abigail, and I know that was only because she saw me like a daughter, having lost her own child to cholera around the same time she discovered me in the woods as a young teen.

But she can’t save me this time.

No one can.

“Abigail, you shouldn’t have,” she says.

With that, I know she knows that I saved her. Wishes that I hadn’t.

I have to get out of this, though I can’t imagine how. I’m stuck. I just want this all to end.

“Look at the bite on Verity’s shoulder!” a young woman yells.

“A demon bite!” hollers another.

Quickly, Verity adjusts her dress, covering her shoulder where I bit her. Covering the perfectly circular wound created by my razor-edged teeth. Good luck, she would have called it, a perfect circle like that. But her luck is a death sentence for me.

Two large men seize Verity by her arms. “We’ll put her in quarantine for now. Bring Abigail to the cell.”

The cell? Why did they say it like that? As though it means something more than their words alone imply?

I look around for some further clue, some indication, but my vision is clouded by a sea of horrified and fascinated faces.

And then, I’m yanked away.

13

January 1692

I’m in the cell.

I understand why they said it that way now. They took me past the cells more frequently used and down into the jail’s basement. I hadn’t even known the jail had a basement. Although I appreciate the darkness here that conceals my wings from impending daylight, being underground makes me panicky, especially here where I fear the dirt walls might cave in and bury us alive.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe. I’m going to die in here.

“Pa, please, let me out!”

I rattle the closet door. The padlock knocks against the wood. The slats of the closet doors do little to let in any light.

Why did I tell the neighbors what he did to me? They weren’t going to believe me anyway.

Pa says I am ungrateful. I don’t appreciate the life he provides. Food. Shelter. Love. But there’s never any of those things.

“You think you don’t get those things?” he shouted when I said that. “Then perhaps you need to see how it is to live without.”

It’s days before the door opens, before light stings my eyes.

Days before my Pa needs me again.

I wipe away the tears and try to focus on anything other than the fragment from my past. I look around for someone to talk to, someone to occupy my mind. Something to keep me in the present time, where I need to be. I’m not alone, but I can’t see my company as well as I can smell them.

Urine. Feces. Dirt. Sweat. Decay. Rot.

Each scent brings a fresh rise of vomit to my throat, and the sweet herbs I drank earlier taste bitter as they come back up. I’ve tried to determine how many people are here by the number of moans and whimpers, the different locations from which the rattle and clang of bars originates, from the rustle of hay sliding along the ground.

There’s no source of light except for the soft glow of a lamp set on the ground at the end of the hall. I see the shadows of at least a dozen people. I wish my Ankou sight was working. I wish I knew why it wasn’t. Even without the iron shackles, I do not feel the way I know I should. I need a way to escape without getting killed, but I am not able to travel out of the cell, as I should be. What will William and Tess think when they don’t hear from me? They have no way of knowing what happened.

I nudge the person beside me. “Hey.”

They don’t move. I nudge them again. Whisper a little louder. “Hey.”

This time I nudge harder, but before I can open my mouth to say something, the body slumps over. A scream burns the back of my throat, but I cover my mouth and scoot away.

They’re dead.

“Dead,” says the person I’ve consequently scooted closer to. It’s a young woman. “His name was Robert. Robert Zimmermann. Z-I-M-M-E-R-M-A-N-N. That’s two N’s, now. Nice man.”

She says this as though completely unaffected that this ‘nice man’ now lies dead two feet away.

I swallow and nod. “Anything I need to know in here?”

“The guilty hang at sunrise,” she says. “You won’t escape. No one escapes.”

Her lifeless voice gives me the chills, but I write off her claims as insanity. Salem hasn’t hanged anyone, and I can’t give up hope as she has. I need to talk to someone else, but I’m too terrified to move or draw attention to myself. I hear the troubled cough of an older man toward the corner. I notice the bony ankle of the woman I was just speaking to. And I realize she’s probably right in her own way.

This is where people are brought to die.

A small sliver of light filters through a window the size of a brick, and I crawl quietly around the woman then scoot my way closer to the small window. Outside, a cluster of large rocks blocks most of my view, but here I feel a little closer to the outside world. A little safer. The first thing I need to find out is how this cell is stopping me from using my Ankou abilities. But who is going to have the answer to that question?

William and Tess might, but they’re not here.

My throat gets painfully tight as I fight the tears. In my previous life, I loved being alone. I felt safest when no one was around. What has come over me, that now, without William and Tess, I feel so lost? Feel like pieces of me are missing. And not just Anna.

My touch moves to the birthmark on the back of my hand, near my wrist. I caress it through my sleeveless gloves, keeping it hidden, allowing it to let me feel a little less alone. A little closer to my Anna, my baby who shared the same mark.

I can only hope it is the only thing we share.

She needs me.

Damnit, Cord!

This is what William had feared. My impulses getting in the way. My impatience causing trouble. William would have walked away. He would have turned his back on a friend if it meant serving a greater good, would have risked the Mort ratting him out long after he was gone. William—he was unbiased. Not me. No, I was the one who justified my foolish actions as though I had no real choice in the matter.

If I were more like him, I wouldn’t be in this mess. But at the same time, I like him a little less when I think of him that way—think of him as someone who cares more about his duty to humanity than he does about humans themselves.

And yet, I do care about him. Here I am, thinking about him now, when I certainly have more important things to think about.

Why?

He’d made me go to him in the woods. Made me become something I didn’t want to be, even if he let me do it on my own terms. And yet, none of that is really his fault. Is it? He hasn’t used his influence on me since then.

I shake away my thoughts of William. I would be better served thinking about Tess. Because she, despite her frequent hostility, is easier to understand. She’s opportunistic, like me. Adventurous. She acts on her instincts, and even if that’s not quite the same as the way I act on my impulses, it’s at least something within my reach. One day, perhaps, she and I will have more in common. I just have to figure out that line between acting on instincts and acting on impulses. Then I won’t leave so much damage in my wake.

I sigh, unable to get her out of my mind. Unable to forget her dark pendulum braid and radish-stained lips. I care about her, too. Not in the way I do about William, but in the way that makes me feel like I’m a terrible person for letting her down, even though I know she’ll be fine. Perhaps even happy that I’m gone. She’ll probably just boast to William that it’s for the best, that I was just getting in the way, and now the Universe will be forced to send them someone more competent.

Because that’s Tess’ way.

And yet, somehow, she still seems more vulnerable than William.

I catch myself spiraling down, too far down into my thoughts, staring into space, probably looking crazier and guiltier than I need to while trapped in this place. I try to run my fingers through the tangles in my hair, but the knots are so thickly matted that I can’t get them out. This will probably only add to the court thinking I have a pact with the devil, if I am ever even given the opportunity to stand trial.

I shake my head. I can’t think this way. I won’t be here long. I won’t die here. I won’t have to wait for a trial. I will get out of here. I keep repeating these thoughts to myself, trying to believe them.

I tuck my knees to my chest and close my eyes, trying to figure out my next move. I’m too cold and too terrified to come up with a coherent thought. The gritty, moist ground unsettles me. Hay pokes sharply into my thighs. The bumpy stone behind me crushes into my spine and skull as I lean back again the wall, but I’m too tired to sit upright or do anything about it. My arms and shoulders still hurt from when they seized me in the courtyard. I feel the tender ache of a bruise on my elbow and the drip of blood from a scrape on my hand—both wounds I received as I was thrown into the cell.

But the greatest pain of all is my heartache. This is a hopeless place.

The guard—a chubby man with pants too short and sideburns too long—keeps dozing off. His head falls forward, then he jolts awake again. If he falls asleep, that could make it easier for me to escape. I need to formulate a plan so I can be ready if that happens. But I know he won’t be my only concern. We passed dozens of guards on our way in here.

My mouth is so dry that my lips crack and bleed. Early hunger pains jab through me with my need for herbs. With each moment that passes, I feel hungrier just thinking of how long I might go without the life source I need.

As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I look around. Just past the dead body on my other side, a man keeps touching and exposing himself in his sleep. My skin crawls and my stomach churns. I quickly turn away.

The guard stands and nods to a middle-aged man holding a lantern that fills the cell with so much light I soon find myself wishing for darkness again. “Good evening, Thornhart.”

“Good evening,” the man says. “You are excused.”

The guard leaves, and we are left alone with this man with a thin pointy nose and long, gray, stiff hair that looks as though it’s been smoothed with spit.

He turns to us. His eyes are black, just like Verity’s had been. He must be possessed by a Mort as well, though with my Ankou abilities disabled, I cannot confirm.

One thing I know for certain: there will be no convincing him to let me go.

“Witchcraft is an evil thing,” Thornhart begins. “An enemy to light! An ally to the powers of darkness, destruction, and decay.”

My mind swims with why he would be telling us this. Why do the Morts act as though it is others who are evil? Why act this out here, where no one is watching the charade? He’s speaking so loudly I can only imagine the display is for the guards out in the hall who might overhear him. The ones who aren’t yet possessed by Morts themselves.

I tune him out, focusing instead on the details of my surroundings. Any way I can get out of here. I wonder if the book Thornhart holds might have some answers. The Malleus Maleficarum. I don’t know what it means, but just looking at it gives me an ominous feeling.

If I can’t use my abilities to escape, then I must find another way. Fighting these guards as a human seems futile, but I can’t just wait around to die. I can’t act rashly, either. Not again. Though time is not a privilege I have, I need to learn more about this place before I try to escape.

14

February 1692

Nights in the jail are filled with the rustling and stomping of guards and the clinking of keys and creaking of doors and hushed whispers of prisoners. Insects scamper across the ground, looking for a warm place to burrow away from the moist cold. A few feet away, a mouse nibbles on a crumb. I pick at small stones embedded in the dirt floor, watching the guards in the narrow hall outside the cell, trying to learn their patterns or find weakness in their actions or opportunity for escape.

But there’s nothing. Not that I can see in this dim, almost non-existent light.

There’s just enough glow outside the window to watch the rain dripping, turning into icy spots on the ground between patches of lingering snow. My wrists always hurt when it’s cold and wet out, the result of old injuries—phantom pains from the broken bones of another life. Scars branch out on my shins, and my stomach churns. As soon as they’ve appeared, they dissolve, and I know I’m going crazy in this place, unable to maintain sanity while trapped in this small room.

It’s been several weeks now, and that hope I told myself to keep is rapidly wilting. If it weren’t for Anna, I would have given up by now. But even as my brain clouds every time I think, still I try. Still I attempt to formulate a plan of escape. Each time, my mind draws a blank.

My mouth, throat, and stomach burn with thirst and hunger, and that’s the only thing that makes me think I’m still Ankou—this need is much different than a human need for nourishment.

I try not to, but I miss William and Tess. Before arriving in this cell, I’d spent the last weeks—aside from a few moments of weakness—wishing to get away from them and back to Anna. But right now all I want is to see William’s handsome face and know that Tess is safe. She reminds me of myself, and I wish someone had looked out for me.

I need to get out of here. I remember what William told me...’Next time, wait. We will always come for you.’

But he’d also told me to meet with them. They have no way of knowing I’m trapped here, and they aren’t coming for me. Not this time.

Sitting here with nothing to do but fail to think up a plan for escape, I’ve had a lot of time to think. Time to get to know myself better—the me I’m supposed to be and not the one I’ve become. I remember sitting on the edge of Mama’s yellow floral bed right after Grandma had passed away.

I’m eight. Mama is sitting at her vanity, brushing her hair, making eye contact with me through the reflection in the mirror. My heart feels as though it has burst, and my face is red and blotchy and streaked white with tears. Mama sets her brush down, moves to sit beside me on the bed.

“It’s a process, Rose,” she says. “However long you care for someone, it takes half that time to stop caring for them. Your world might be crumbling now, but it will get easier. Give it few years, and you’ll see.”

I always thought the clock for that would start at the moment of separation, but that’s not the case now. I am nowhere near getting over Anna, and I had only spent a few hours with her. And I can’t stop thinking of William, even though we’d only known each other a few weeks before my capture.

Now I understand, though: the clock doesn’t start until you are ready to stop caring. But I’m not ready, and I never will be.

I’ve thought about why that’s the case with William and have finally come to understand why I am so drawn to him—why I forgive him for playing such a large role in dragging me into this life. Because although he led me here, he did not force me to drink, even though he could have. He is not the kind of person to take away a person’s right over their own body, and I think that, although he hides behind his duties, his role in the Universe takes a toll on him.

Knowing him has been...healing. It’s given me a chance to reclaim power over myself, taught me that I choose how I’m connected with another person. That I can let the right person in, if I want to, and I don’t have to let the things Pa has done leave me running forever.

If I ever see William again, I’m going to embrace these new realizations of mine, even if for no other reason than to prove to myself that I am not broken. I am not ruined. I am capable of loving not only my daughter, but a man as well.

But none of this matters unless I find a way to travel out of or otherwise escape this cell. What if I’ve somehow lost my abilities completely? What could cause that? William and Tess never warned me that anything like this could happen.

It’s hard to fall asleep in this place, but my attempts to leave haven’t gotten me anywhere, and I’ll need more energy to give it another try. Several times as I’m trying to fall asleep, I catch myself grinding or clenching my teeth, every muscle in my body tense. One time, I accidentally bite the inside of my cheek, and a small pool of blood puddles beside my gums. I take a deep breath. If I close my eyes and imagine a perfect world, sleep will come.

I don’t mean for my perfect world to include William, but it does.

After spending the first half of the night chastising myself for thinking of William that way, I give in, because it’s the only way I can fall asleep.

* * *

I don’t know if I sleep for hours or days, but I imagine it can’t have been long. When the sun rises the next morning, I’m determined to escape and to learn as much as I can about where I am and what is going on.

Immediately, as I do every morning, I move away from any sunlight, remembering what Tess and William told me about staying to the shadows. It’s my only hope of concealing what I am—or at the least, hiding that I’m not entirely human. Perhaps the dark is better for me anyway, even if I were entirely human. It hides my freckles and makes my hair look more like tree bark than blood.

I glance around, not finding many inspiring options of people to talk to aside from the two new arrivals. One is a petite young woman with long, curly blonde hair, pretty teeth, and a soft chin. The other is a heavily pregnant woman with high cheekbones. The blonde woman smells like honey and flowers, and this is perceptible even over the piss stink of the cell and the decay of the dead body that still hasn’t been cleared out.

Everything about her calls me to her. Although a little unsteady and dizzy from lack of fresh air and food, I inch my way over, unsure what to say when I get close enough to talk to her. But that doesn’t stop me.

No, something else stops me.

About two feet away now, my skin is buzzing with energy. The caretaking woman seems to have a glow about her. The closer I get to her, the more my body warms. My thirst and hunger ease, and at the same time, the woman’s countenance seems to wither. When her light honey-brown eyes lock on mine, images flash through my brain.

In an instant, I see what appears to be this woman’s future. Hanged as a witch, body burned by a lover, and then living again in a world that looks more like the one in my previous life. Just as quickly as the images flashed, they are gone. The woman isn’t even looking at me anymore. How long was I staring at her? It feels like moments and lifetimes all at once.

For a brief moment, the craziest idea tingles the edges of my mind.

She’s a spirit elemental.

The idea is so far-fetched that I nearly laugh. Is this place stripping my sanity? Am I delirious from lack of nourishment? I’m reading more into this woman than is actually there because I want so badly for someone to be able to help me get out of here.

I don’t let my brewing insanity stop me from getting answers, though. I swallow around the knot in my throat and continue over.

Without even looking at me, she hands me a tin with some water, and I gratefully take a swig.

“Thank you,” I mumble.

She nods. “It’s worse out there, you know. The town is...they aren’t themselves. Something is going on.”

My heart sinks to my stomach. Morts. That’s what’s going on. Which means I need to get out there. Now. The longer I’m in here, the more my chances slim of ever stopping them in time to return to Anna.

“This woman needs to get out of here.” She indicates the pregnant woman she is caring for, but the woman waves her off. “Far away from here.”

“We all do,” the pregnant woman says, but her voice sounds so weak I wonder how she would be able to move if the opportunity arose.

I introduce myself and soon come to know the pregnant woman as Vanessa and the fair-haired woman as Elizabeth. Elizabeth, it turns out, has been arrested on the charge of witchcraft. Am I here because they think I’m a witch, too?

Still, I almost find myself entertaining the idea. Is Elizabeth a witch? She is subtly different, though nothing sinister. If I get out of here—when I get out of here—I should mention her to William and Tess. They might be able to tell me what she is.

Sadness pangs in my heart as I remember what I saw about this woman. About her being hanged. I can’t tell her this, though the remembrance is making it harder for me to look her in the eye. At the same time, I half wonder if she already knows. It certainly wasn’t my abilities that showed me her future—that is not one of my gifts, and none of my gifts work in this Godforsaken place anyway. She is magical, and by the curious way she looks at me, I can tell she senses something about me, too. Perhaps her own gifts have caused her future to be played in my vision this way.

Whoever this woman is, she is here and might be able to help me. “So how do you suggest we go about escaping?”

“I might be able to help,” she replies quietly. She steals a peek toward the guard. He’s snoring. “There’s no escaping here—not without something more on your side.”

My hopes lift. She does have some kind of magic. She must. She’s guarded about it, but I sense her desire to help will override whatever she holds back.

“Then we can all get out of here,” I say.

She smiles sadly. “I won’t leave here, no. But you will take Vanessa with you, won’t you?”

“Of course,” I promise. Now I’m almost certain Elizabeth already knows she is destined to die, but if that is so, then why wouldn’t she fight it? “Are you a . . .” I lower my voice. “Are you a witch?”

A shuffling outside the cell steals my attention. The guard’s shoe, sliding across the dirt. I study his face, confirm his eyes are still closed, that his chest is rising and falling in the true shallow breaths of slumber. He snorts, his body shifts, he sucks in a deeper chunk of air. But he’s asleep. I slide my focus back to Vanessa, and I can tell she’s holding her breath as I have been.

“Well, are you?” I ask. I sense we don’t have much time before the beast awakes.

“I’m not what they think I am,” she says. She’s not looking at me, though. She’s staring at the guard still. “I’m not what they think witches are.”

Well, that’s evasive. How can she help me if she’s not honest with me? There are too many lives at stake to hold back now. Hers included, if the vision I had holds any truth.

At the same time, I haven’t exactly offered anything up to her about my abilities—or the ones I had before I arrived here. I consider opening up first, in hopes it will bring her around, but I can’t risk the guards or other prisoners finding out the truth about me. In the end, I settle for this shared knowing we seem to have. I might not know who she is, and she might not know who I am, but I sense she trusts me as much as I trust her, and that we both know the other has something preternatural about them.

Besides, there is no time for building trust. We need to escape right away. I’ve already been in here too long.

Before I can say anything, she grasps my hand and gazes into my eyes. “Who is Anna? Who is William?”

I snatch my hand back. “I thought we were trying to get out of here.”

“Sorry.” She takes my hand again, and I let her. “Please try to keep your mind clear.”

Suddenly it’s as though I can’t stop thinking, and I feel her in my head, but she doesn’t say anything this time. Energy passes from her hands into mine, and a cooling sensation runs through my veins and spreads through my body.

The energy jolts—it’s a snap that has broken the connection. Elizabeth releases my hand, shakes her head, then grasps my hand again. The flow of energy returns, building again, a little stronger this time. My heart beats so hard I worry the guards will somehow hear. The connection, however strong, feels fragile at the same time. As though we’re only connected by a thread instead of a rope, and it can snap at any moment.

“Relax,” Elizabeth says easily. Like this is the most natural thing in the world, what we are doing right now.

I try to push my apprehensions aside. She seems to at least know what to do, and perhaps it’s best we don’t talk aloud about what we are doing. I have to trust that I’ll know what to do when the time comes. William would be proud.

The connection between Elizabeth and me solidifies, and my patience is renewed. The way she gently squeezes my hand is now somehow comforting. A golden glow blooms between our palms, but so far nothing has happened that I can see helping us. If anything, this shimmering light between us will only expose what we are doing. We are running out of time. If something is going to happen, it needs to happen soon.

My breath rushes from my lungs. I’m terrified and awed by the energy between us. This could be it. I’m desperate yet hopeful. We’re almost there. I can feel it.

And just like that, my strength returns. I almost feel like me again—like my Ankou abilities are back. My body jolts through time and space, the way William and Tess taught me, as though any moment now I will pop out right beside them.

“Abigail!” Elizabeth yells behind me.

I crash into the cell bars. They’re like fire on my flesh.

I wasn’t trying to leave her behind. It was instinct. I wouldn’t have left without her or the young woman, or I would have gone back for them. I know this, and I hope she does, too. But there’s something more concerning right now.

I don’t have my abilities back.

It had felt like I had, and it terrifies me that I could be so wrong. Whatever I had felt, it must have been the start of something different. But now it’s too late.

Before I suck in another breath, a lanky, blond guard appears at the front of the cell. I see the black in his eyes, a Mort controlling him.

If only I could move the Mort. The guard would still be a guard, but he might appreciate being freed from the possession enough to help us. Suddenly, destroying the Mort overshadows any other goals I have. I’m not sure if it’s instinct or impulse.

I step toward the edge of the cell, but hesitate as a shred of reason prods into my skull. If I try to remove this Mort, I will expose my magic. That could make escape even harder. Maybe it’s best I stick to my original plan.

The one that doesn’t exist.

I frown. I have to try something, but I’ve never moved a Mort that has already possessed someone before; even Verity had not been possessed completely. And it’d been a risk—a huge risk. She could have died.

I steel myself against my doubts. If the Morts are this deeply involved, we’ll never escape unless I get rid of them. And this guard is as good as dead if the Mort possesses him anyway. I need to act. Now.

I lunge forward and reach through the bars, ignoring the searing on my shoulders and face as I dig my fingernails into the guard’s head, hoping that at least my hands will work once outside this cell. But it’s no use, and I can’t handle much more of the burning iron cell bars.

The guard grabs my wrists and pushes back. The iron has weakened me, and I can’t hold on. With another hard shove, he knocks me to the floor. He thrusts the cell door open and stalks toward me, lifting me by my neck and pushing me back against the wall.

I grasp his hands with my fingers, try to pry myself free. My face burns, and I cough, choking. I muster any resolve I have left to move my hands to his scalp once more, allowing my body to dangle from his grasp around my neck. I visualize moving the Mort from the human vessel, but my energy is sapped and the pain is debilitating, and it’s undeniably true—my Ankou abilities are gone. My hands and fingers are so weak they’ve gone numb.

Through the haze of my pain, I see another guard in the cell. He’s nearly as tall as William but his muscles hide beneath a fatty bulk. He grabs Elizabeth by her arms and drags her from the cell. The cell door is open, and it seems the perfect opportunity to run. If only I wasn’t incapacitated by this Mort-Guard.

Through the blur, I see another prisoner try to escape, only to be kicked in the face by another shorter guard that has run up to us. Finally, the black-eyed guard tilts his head, grinning, and drops me to a heap on the floor. I tumble against the wall, the stone whacking the back of my head.

My hands and face burn. My skin bubbles, and pus oozes from the wounds on my hand. The fire rips through my body, replacing the cool from Elizabeth’s touch earlier. My stomach twists in pain. I shudder.

Iron poisoning.

A lot of it this time. Worse than the shackles they used. It’s in my body now. Killing me. Blacking out the world around me and blurring the people in the room as the cell gate clangs shut once more.

My only hope—Elizabeth—is gone.

15

Late February, 1692

It’s been raining all night, the sky weeping fat raindrops on the ground outside the cell window. The water dribbling in, sliding down the stone walls. Splashing in muddy puddles and up against my ankles.

When the hours are too long, my thoughts drift to William and Tess. Are they looking for me? Is William pressing his fist to his mouth, pacing through Tess’ cabin? Is Tess pulling at her earlobe, tossing off indifferent remarks that everyone can tell are just a mask for how she really feels?

I sigh deeply. Do they even know where I am? Or, for that matter, care?

Maybe I hope more than I should, but I imagine they do care. William would anyway, if only because he cares about helping those in need. Tess, on the other hand...would she feel justice served, that I am paying for my foolishness? Or would her anger over one of her own being imprisoned override that, change where her sense of justice lies?

I need to see them again. When all this is done, I’m going to find a way for us to be together. All of us, including Anna.

The slivers of moonlight that weave in through the cell window touch on the freckles of my shoulder, now exposed by a huge rip in my clothing. In the gentle light, I use my fingernail to draw William and Tess and Anna and I in the dirt floor of my prison. I miss them, and that scares me. I never thought I would miss anyone but Anna.

I close my eyes, envisioning them, holding on to them the same way I hold on to my lost daughter. In my mind, I see William, his long strides as he steps through the tall dead grass of the forest, and the way Tess whips between the trees as easily as she would through an open field. I can almost hear the jingle of their chimes, teasing the Morts, calling them out as she runs.

And then a fragment cuts me off from the world I’m in now.

I’m running along an embankment of the Chattahoochee River. Pa watches from afar, laughing. I feel safe. It was before the Shadow Men came. I’m wearing a yellow sundress, and my hair trails like ruby ribbons behind me on the breeze. Mama wears a big sun hat, and she’s smiling, too, and her lips are stained red and she has pale skin like me and twice as many freckles on her shoulders. She’s drinking lemonade.

Then, my vision tumbles. It’s not beautiful anymore. It’s muddy and rippled. I’m outside of myself, looking down, and Mama is screaming and Pa is running down the hill of the bank. There’s blood in the water. He wades in, closer, and I realize it’s not blood. It’s my hair, soaking wet. I’m floating face down, and my pale skin is clammy.

Pa yanks me from the water.

“Rose!”

He sounds so far away.

“Rose, come on. Hang in there. Hang in there Rose. Please.”

Pa carries me back to the embankment. The ground thuds under my shoulders and back, and then he’s shaking me, saying my name over and over again. Mama is crying. I cough up some water and my eyes shoot open and now they are saying my name with more joy and less fear, but Pa’s eyes are still sad.

Mama hugs me tight. “Oh, Rose. Rose, Rose.” She shakes her head, mumbling everything and anything with my name in it, rocking me in her arms. “Thank God you’re okay.”

Pa presses the pads of his fingers into his eyes and exhales sharply, shaking his head. He paces a few steps, then sits beside us and stares out over the river, his wet pants rising to reveal the hair on his ankles.

“I don’t know what I’d do if anything bad ever happened to you,” he whispers. His jaw clenches and he wipes the moisture away from his eyes, then stands again and puts his hand out to me. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get you home.”

I force the memory away. It makes me angry to remember that side of him. I can’t reconcile it with who he became—who the Morts made him into. I can’t forgive him for not fighting it. I can’t forgive him because it was his hands that hurt me and his face that stared down at me with such hatred. It was him, and it wasn’t him, because he was stolen from me, and I can’t bear to try to make sense of it.

Why him? Why my family? We were nothings. Nobodies.

I liked it that way.

Now I’m the one who needs to fight. The one who needs to honor her daughter and not let anyone stand in her way.

I’m freezing and sweating at the same time, and the hot flashes from the iron poisoning churn my stomach. My only solace is the night. The corners of dark sky outside the cell window bring me peace, where daytime leaves me feeling twice as trapped, threatening to reveal my nature.

My inmates, however, do not feel the same. As the darkness of the night deepens, they become more and more distressed.

Come to think of it, they’ve been this way every night I’ve been here, but I’m only noticing the pattern now. I cannot relate to their fear. Night is my only comfort—the only time of day I know without question. The darkness soothes me, calls to me. I welcome it. I wait for it, always, to come to my rescue.

I hate myself for thinking it, but I want to get away from my fellow inmates as much as I want to get away from the guards, the jail, this entire place. I try to ignore everyone—all but Vanessa, the young woman I promised Elizabeth I would look after. She is the only one who sleeps, her head on my shoulder, her back against the wall beside me, and her body curled toward mine. Her stomach swells between us. She must be due any day now.

I shift my weight to get comfortable, but a sharp piece of hay pokes into my side, and my skin itches. Pain trembles through my body, and a wave of nausea rolls through me. It feels as though the iron in my system is destroying my blood, as though somehow I can feel the death of each drop that flows through my veins. I feel woozy. If I’m to escape, I need to recoup, but I’m not sure how I can do so without the herbs my body requires.

If there was any hope of escaping, wouldn’t I have escaped by now?

I try not to dwell on such thoughts, but I can’t prevent them from popping into my mind. Tonight is the night. Vanessa said we couldn’t wait for opportunity to come to us. We’ve been here too long. She’s right. So tonight, when they open the cell to feed us, I will rush the guards, and Vanessa will run to the end of the hall ahead of me so I can protect her during their inevitable pursuit.

I can’t stop trembling just thinking about it, so I try to focus on other things. Try to pretend I’m not about to risk my life. We have to do this. We have to take the dive.

The low ceiling above us shakes, and loose dirt between the wooden support beams sifts down. I glance at the roots that protrude from above, still quivering from the movement overhead. Outside the cell, shoes squeak against stone. The aroma of wet grass accosts my nostrils.

As the guards’ footsteps slosh down the hall, I can just imagine the splatter of mud all over their boots. I’m ready to rouse Vanessa and tell her to get ready, but as they draw closer, I distinctly smell blood and moist earth, and I know these are not Morts or guards coming down the hall.

Five men stop at our cell, accompanied by one of the guards. They stand with hands clasped in front of them, their eyes sinister and alarming. They’re all refined, handsome men—but there is nothing welcoming about their appearance. One of them smiles, and his canine teeth snap down to press against his pale bottom lip. He’s white as death, and immediately I realize what these men are.

Cruor.

The sight of them puts a metallic taste in my mouth. I swallow the sense of defeat. I can’t let fear of the unknown get in my way. Not now.

I pull Vanessa closer and wrap my arms around her, my attention never leaving the men. A sense of certain doom flutters in my lungs. I try to breathe quietly, as though somehow that will make me invisible, though I know that is not the case.

One of the men reaches in his pocket and retrieves a small pouch. He holds it out to the guard, his attention never shifting away from the cell. The guard—a stout man with the face of a hungry swine—opens the pouch. Gold peeks from inside. He pours some into his palm, but the Cruor who handed him the money growls.

“It’s all there,” he says, his tone colder than he looks.

The guard fumbles with the coins and pouch and hurries down the hall. The basement door thuds shut, and the cell door clangs open. The smallest of the Cruor runs his hands along the bars, looking over each cowering inmate one by one.

“Yes,” he hisses.

And in a blur, the Cruor press inmates to the stone wall, their faces buried in their necks, blood leaking in rivulets to the floor. Bones crunch. The cries of agony are deafening.

Vanessa stirs, panic in her wide eyes as she sits up straight. Inmates cower further into their dark corners, blocking their heads as though not seeing these men will make them disappear. Other inmates dash for the open cell gate, only to be yanked back so hard they fly across the cell and crack against the wall before slumping to the floor, dead on impact.

It occurs to me that they bought these people as food. Now it all makes sense: the Cruor advised the use of iron bars. Does that mean they expected some of the captives here would be their elemental enemies? This isn’t just dinner to them. That’s the perk to something bigger. My mind spins trying to find the connection between what is happening in Salem and what I know I am up against as an Ankou, but I can’t piece it together.

The pain from the iron poisoning nearly cripples me, but I can’t sit here and wait to die. I grab Vanessa’s arm and start to pull her toward the cell gate. It’s our only hope.

We don’t make it far before an auburn-haired Cruor appears in our path. He looks down at Vanessa, and a slow grin slithers onto his face.

“Look what we got here,” he says, and he laughs. “An Ankou trying to help a Strigoi!”

The other Cruor stop in their tracks, dropping nearly dead bodies to encircle Vanessa and me. Can they smell and sense our nature the way I had with them? They seem particularly interested in Vanessa and, for a brief moment, I entertain the idea of using her as a diversion to get myself out of here. William and Tess need me. Anna needs me. What good is it to die alongside this woman? Trying to save her will only draw attention to myself.

But my body doesn’t move. I can’t leave her side. I feel compelled to help her, as though saving her would somehow mean saving myself.

That only leaves us with two options: Outsmart these men, or fight.

Whatever you do, fight.

William’s voice echoes in my head as though he’s right by my side, and a strong sense of pride rushes through me. He’s right. There’s no honor in going down without a fight, and a fight is inevitable. Even if we run, it will only put our backs to them.

I need to keep it together. Let them think they are in control and make a move when they least expect it—or at least when an opportunity presents itself. Which it hasn’t yet. If all else fails, plow through them. Whatever I do, I will do something.

The fight in me is rising, but my strength of spirit is no match for my weakened body. I frantically look around, as though a solution is going to present itself any moment. The lead Cruor standing in front of us grins, and suddenly Vanessa is shaking beside me.

No, not shaking.

Convulsing.

The auburn-haired Cruor crouches in front of her and stares into her eyes. Everything about him is imposing, from his square jaw to his dark eyes and the deep lines across his forehead. His teeth have grayed and give off a sickly pinkish hue in the moonlight, and his fangs are so large his smile looks more like a snarl.

Vanessa’s eyes grow distant. As I reach to take her hand, the Cruor’s hand shoots out and catches the wall between my head and Vanessa’s. I startle. Vanessa whimpers and squirms, but her eyes seem locked with his, and she doesn’t move.

Her skin ripples and tears form in her eyes. Hair sprouts from her ears and face. I grab her arm, trying to get her to look away, but it’s as though she is frozen inside her body. Vanessa’s jaw elongates and her thin pink lips stretch. Her ears perk into sharp points. I can’t help but flinch until I see the tears sliding down her cheeks. Her hands curl into tight fists, and her face begins to shift back. I need to reach her somehow.

“Vanessa,” I whisper. “Stay with me.”

The auburn-haired Cruor growls, but he doesn’t make a move for me. No one does. They’re all hyper-focused on Vanessa.

“Stay with me!” I say, louder this time. More frantic.

“Stop!” she screams. Her desperate voice pangs my heart. “PLEASE, STOP!”

Her voice turns to a growl, and her pleas turn into something inhuman. Her face is more animal now. Her hands melt into paws as her spine curls and pops and lengthens. As she’s forced to shift, I see her fighting it, see her wolfish nails dig into the ground, see the color of her eyes flicker from normal to a glowing orange. Her stomach contracts as she transforms, no longer able to resist.

Then I smell it.

Blood.

The auburn-haired Cruor throws his head back, his sinister laughter shaking his shoulders. I follow his gaze to the space between Vanessa’s legs.

A child, not yet ready to be born, has expelled from Vanessa’s body, and I can tell its bones are broken. I squeeze my eyes shut and pull Vanessa’s wolf-face into my shoulder, shielding her from seeing this, but knowing I cannot shield her from her loss. Knowing from her howls that she is already broken. Knowing I am broken now, too.

No sane person in this room will ever be the same.

My heart crumbles, my body completely crippled by the sight. I fight the bile rising in my throat while Cruor laugh and jaunt and cheer. And then, I don’t think I’m really there anymore. The Cruor are a faraway haze, their voices fading.

I force myself to look, to take in what is left of the little boy’s angelic face, the small fingers on his hands and the tiny toes of precious feet that will never learn to walk. I commit the vision to memory so that I can never forget just how evil the Cruor are. So that I will never feel an ounce of compassion for the monsters who stole his life.

The anger inside me is all consuming. The preternatural world has taken everything from me. My family. My daughter. My life. And now they are trying to do the same to this woman, and I’m sitting here doing nothing?

He did this to her—that auburn haired Cruor. That monster. His influence forced her to shift, knowing it would abort her unborn child.

I leap from the ground and tackle him. He’s caught off balance and tumbles to the floor, me on top of him, my mouth crashing into the ground above his shoulder. I don’t know if the loud crack was his head or my jaw; my whole body still hurts from the iron poisoning.

Dirt rubs against my teeth, lips, and tongue, and hay pokes at my gums. I push myself up, spitting the dirt and hay from my mouth, and dig my nails into his face. It’s like ice under my fingernails, but I don’t care. Even in the state I’m in, he struggles beneath me, and for a moment I feel strong.

He backhands me and sends me flying into the wall. Vanessa, now in her human form once again, is wailing, but I do not have the strength to avenge her child. I don’t even have the strength to save myself.

The Cruor sneers at me from across the room.

The pig-faced guard comes in and rattles the bars. “All right, ‘nough for one night.”

My attacker is back on his feet now. On his way to the cell gate, he crouches beside me. “Next time,” he says, “I promise to give you my complete and undivided attention.”

It takes every ounce of strength I have left to spit in his face, but I do it. He just laughs, wiping my saliva away, and joins his coterie. The guards quickly file them out of the cell.

I try to stand, but instead I wobble and stumble back against the wall. I slide down to the ground and rest back, my head throbbing and my heart completely wrenched. I sidle closer to Vanessa and hold her while she weeps, all the while I’m wishing, praying, willing myself able to heal her, to undo what the Cruor have done, for my abilities as an Ankou to return.

But it’s useless.

I’m useless.

Tonight presses new questions into my mind. What had the Morts wanted with my family in my old life? What did the Cruor want tonight more than to feed? Why would they make this woman suffer, only to leave her, and why didn’t they kill me while they had the chance?

I won’t get these answers here, but each night that passes makes me feel more and more helpless to escape.

16

Late February, 1692

When the Cruor are gone, I am alone in a room full of loss. The loss of lives, be it through death or imprisonment, and the loss of a child who never got a chance to live. And worst of all is the loss of my own daughter creeping in. The memory I need to have but cannot bear to remember.

Tess told me she’d never experienced a fragment. She doesn’t realize how much of a blessing that curse might be. It’s knowing what you lost that hurts the most. I wish I had the strength to be there for Vanessa, who needs someone right now to hold her up while she falls apart. But I can’t be that person.

Why haven’t Tess or William come to help me? Have they left me for dead? I suppose I shouldn’t expect them to risk their lives to save me. They have the ‘greater good’ to concern themselves with.

My anger and bitterness toward them drown in emotions I would sooner deny. As tough as Tess acts, I know deep down she’s just a hurting girl who feels abandoned. Does she feel I abandoned her by getting myself caught? She would have preferred I allow the Mort to take Verity, I’m sure. William, too. I could have let the Mort take her and fled the town. If I had, I would be closer to returning to Anna by now.

What would William tell me if he were here? To fight? To stop feeling sorry for myself and do something? But what? What can I do? Perhaps he would just wrap his arms around me—then everything would seem all right, even if it wasn’t.

* * *

I am lost in the hay.

I sit in a corner, weaving together the bits of dirty hay beneath me, trying to piece together all that has been shattered. The night I brought Anna into this world plays so clearly in my mind it’s as though I’m reliving it all over again. After I bathed her, I tucked her in a small blanket, I nursed her, and I held her close. She smelled like rain. Her toes were tiny and perfect, her small hands grasped at mine when I touched her palm.

Then Pa snatched her up and took her away, and I hadn’t saved her. Within hours of her birth, I had failed as her mother. Now I might never get back to her. Certainly not as long as I am trapped in this cell. The muddy quality of the air and the dust floating around cloud my vision.

Every now and then, feet shuffle beyond the door at the end of the hall, a reminder that there is a world outside of this hole. Water drips from somewhere in the cell, one of the men nearby keeps wheezing, and several of the prisoners sob, though none as deeply as Vanessa.

After I’ve finished the straw doll, I hand it to her. We don’t exchange words; her eyes on mine have crippled my ability to form words. There are no words for the loss she has endured. Inwardly, I cringe at my own selfishness.

At least I can hope my daughter is alive. Vanessa doesn’t have hope. She has nothing. The Morts took everything from her the way they took everything from me. They stole everything beautiful about the life I had before and turned it black, and they will do the same to me in this life if I don’t stop them. They need to be eliminated, and then I will return to my daughter and rebuild what the Morts have destroyed.

I won’t make it much longer in this prison. Even my sense of smell has gone numb. I can feel the grit of dirt in my mouth but can’t taste it. My dry, chapped lips and ache in my gut demand me to eat, but there is nothing here. My injuries fight just as strongly for my attention, but I can’t concern myself with them now. Morning is coming, even the darkness has lightened. I have few hours left if I’m to escape tonight as Vanessa and I had planned.

Glancing around the room, I take in the haunted faces of those who have survived the horrors of this night. One woman in particular catches my eye. It’s almost as though I haven’t seen her at all before now. It’s almost as though no one has seen her. Surely even the Cruor overlooked her, to leave her so untouched in this room.

Her deeply tanned skin looks grayish in the dark, and her long, raven black hair tumbles in knots over her shoulders and down to her small breasts. Her hand moves by one of the folds in her dress. An alarming, nervous energy—like a vibration in the air—sweeps through me. When a guard approaches our cell, however, my trance is broken. He’s clearly being controlled by a Mort, and I groan. He grabs the iron bars and shakes them, hissing at us. A few of the prisoners startle, but Vanessa just sits limply with a dead glare in her eyes.

The raven-haired woman is whispering something, but she’s not whispering at me. I can’t make out what she’s saying, only that she’s speaking very quietly and very fast. Her tone seems to repeat a pattern. A chant of some sort. And as she chants, the guard’s grip on the cell bars loosens.

The woman’s eyes glint. She emanates a soft, pale glow, and I glance around, wondering who else has noticed, but it’s as though the other prisoners still can’t see her. Is it because I’m Ankou that I can see her? If that were true, wouldn’t I have noticed her sooner? Or not at all, since my abilities here have been so limited? Was she brought in at some point tonight without my noticing?

Her whispers grow fiercer. Somewhere behind those whispers is unsettling music. Chimes, mostly, and a distant beating drum. The music is not beautiful. It’s discordant, disturbing, and full of magical energy. Sweat soaks my scalp and drips down my spine. It chills on the night air, and I shiver.

My attention shifts between the woman and the guard who is now backing away from the cell. The intensity of the energy in the room builds. She’s doing something, I know it, and it has to do with whatever she is hiding in the folds of her dress.

The guard turns and leaves. This woman is controlling the Mort inside of him. This world is more magical than I ever imagined, and I can’t let this opportunity slip through my fingers. I inch closer to her, wincing at the pain shuddering through my body, more noticeable now that my adrenaline has worn off.

“What did you do?” I ask her, perhaps more roughly than I intended.

“Nothing,” she mumbles.

I sidle close to her and drop my voice to a whisper.

“I’ll tell them.” I hate to threaten her, but at this point getting out of here is more important.

“That wouldn’t do you any good,” she says, and I know it’s true.

“You could have stopped the Cruor.” My words sound exactly as accusing as they are.

“I couldn’t. I could only shield myself. But I saw you help that woman.” Her whole body grows eerily still, and her gaze levels with mine. “You’re...different.”

“Couldn’t you have helped her? You controlled that Mort,” I whisper.

“Cruor are different from the spirits.”

“Why not compel him to release us, then?”

“I am not strong enough,” she says, her voice cutting out. “I need more time.”

“Let me help you,” I say, holding out my hand. “Show me what you have.”

She pulls away. “No.”

“Come on,” I say. “I’m the only one who noticed you. There must be a reason for that.”

“Forget that you saw me,” she says. “You only saw me because I allowed you to.”

“Why, then? Why allow it and then turn me away?”

She waves her hand in front of my face, practically staring through me. “Forget it. It was a mistake.”

I’m starting to understand Tess’ approach to life. She’s unbiased, even if it hurts good relations with other people. Now I know why. It’s about survival, in every sense of the word.

I grab the woman’s wrist. “What are you afraid of? You aren’t strong enough. Fine. But we might be strong enough together.”

She sighs, almost as if conceding with me. “Yes, yes. We might be strong enough together,” she says, though it sounds more like she is trying to convince herself than agreeing with me. Her sad face stares into mine. “We might.”

I nod encouragingly. She bites her lip, staring at me for a long moment. Then something changes in her expression. Apprehension turns to determination. To urgency.

“We need to hurry,” she says, pushing my hand back down into my lap. Before I can react, she reaches up and yanks out a small chunk of my hair.

“Ouch,” I hiss. “Why did you do that?”

She looks at me in a silencing way. “We don’t have much time before the guards return.”

I open my mouth to speak again, but she presses her hand to my mouth and shakes her head. Then she closes her eyes, rolling my hair into a rope between her fingers.

“A knot is not a useless thing,” she whispers, tying a knot in the hair she’s ripped from my scalp. I am about to respond when she shakes her head, as though even with her eyes closed she knows she needs to silence me. “It keeps in place with rope and string.”

The tone of her voice settles over me. Her words are rushed, but I realize this is some kind of spell.

“Not all kept is hard or soft. Knots can keep wishes, hopes, and thoughts.” She ties a second knot in the cord she’s made of my hair. “Held by magic knots we make, for life and love not to forsake.”

Now a third knot is tied. Her words seem even more rushed now than before. “And this ladder be imbued, with the Mother Goddess to end this feud.”

A fourth knot.

“Give this woman the third sight, and grant her the magic to make things right.”

After the woman ties the fifth knot, she pushes it into my palm. “It’s a witch’s ladder.”

“Now what?” I ask.

“That’s up to you.”

“But—”

“Shh!” She nods toward the creaking door at the end of the hall. “Just use it.”

After that, she disengages. It’s almost as though she is going out of her way not to look at me, not to make eye contact with me, and all I have is a burning spot on my scalp from where she ripped my hair and something she calls a witch’s ladder that I don’t know how to use.

Somehow, though, it’s supposed to help me control these Morts, and I intend to use it to get out of here. Perhaps this woman was not strong enough, but if I can figure this out, I will be.

I have to be.

A guard throws open the cell gate. Two more stand behind him. I glance behind them to the empty hall, then back at Vanessa. I could come back for her . . .

The first guard walks past me and grabs the woman who made the witch’s ladder by the arm. I can’t save her now, and I can’t risk that her gift to me will be useless. I brace myself, take a deep breath, and dart for the space between the two guards waiting outside the cell.

Without moving from where they stand, they hook me around the waist and toss me back into the cell. Wind rushes from my lungs, and I ache everywhere from my chest to my stomach. The room dims. I try to suck in some air, but nothing comes. I’m suffocating.

Through the blur of my vision, I see the woman who helped me being dragged away and the cell gate closing. A guard locking it. She let the protection of her magic down for such a short time, and now they’re taking her away. How long have they been overlooking her, and what’s to become of her now?

Two of the guards escort the woman away, while the third sits on a crate and stares at me. He grins, his teeth yellow, a few missing. But, most importantly, he’s human. At least there’s that. But with him watching me, it’s a matter of time before they drag me off next. Using magic risks drawing more attention to myself, but I’m in a race against time and I don’t know when my time will be up. There’s no room for trepidation anymore. No more room for caution.

I’ve made it this far, I’ve survived this long, but that’s not enough anymore. I need to use the witch’s ladder, but the only thing I know to do is hold it while I chant something. Chant what, though? I try writing one in my head. How hard can it be? Just something that sounds good and intends to get the Morts to do what I want. There are three in the room that I can see and perhaps more hiding in the shadows.

Place me in the head of those in control of the dead.

I think the chant, but nothing happens. I whisper it as quietly as I can. Still nothing, although now the guard is smirking, surely amused by my apparent insanity.

My palm and fingertips itch where the witch’s ladder, hidden at my side, touches my skin. I rub my thumb over the knots, chanting quietly to myself over and over, waiting for something, even just some small spark to let me know this damned thing works and the lady wasn’t just a lucky, crazy old woman. I fail in my efforts to still my shaking hands, but I don’t give up. I repeat the chant again.

Please, let this thing help me. What do I do? Tell me what to do.

Then I hear it—a voice that’s not my own.

. . . realize it is not strength in numbers we need. Competence. That is all it takes. A few strong warriors . . .

They aren’t talking to me, I don’t think. I’m not incompetent. Everyone has to learn. What I need right now is help getting out of here, though, and I hope listening to this voice will help me figure out how.

Who are you?

The voice is demanding, but there’s an edge of fear there that makes me think they weren’t expecting my company. I admit, I didn’t expect them to hear my thoughts. And this person clearly isn’t a Mort.

Of course I’m not a Mort!

It’s another Ankou! One much older than I, or even William or Tess. I sense it in the same way William said I would just know how to handle Morts.

Get out of my head.

I need answers first.

Answers to what? You have come uninvited.

I wasn’t trying to, but—

Then leave!

I don’t know how, and I wouldn’t even if I did. Where are you? Can you help me? I’m trapped in a prison in Salem and I need to get out of here but the guards are possessed by Morts.

That has nothing to do with me. Go away.

I’m not going anywhere until I get out of this cell. You don’t get anywhere in life by giving up, right? The Morts certainly aren’t going to give up and neither are the Cruor.

That’s not my problem.

Isn’t it, though? Just tell me what to do, and I’ll leave you alone.

The older Ankou growls. I shouldn’t have to explain this to you, but if it will make you go away...it’s quite obvious. Move the good Morts into the guards.

I’d forgotten there is such a thing. How am I supposed to do that when I’m trapped in an iron cell, though?

With compulsion magic.

Oh, right. Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? Compulsion magic...What on earth is compulsion magic?

You get into my head but can’t figure out compulsion magic? Get in the Mort’s head, visualize them moving into the guard, that’s it.

I was trying to get into the Mort’s head when I ended up here.

Well, you messed up. Try again. It’s easier to get a Mort in a host than to get one out.

Thank you.

I try to leave their head, but instead the connection lingers while I try to figure out how to sever our ties. Finally, I let go of the witch’s ladder. That does it. Now I know that thing isn’t worthless, but figuring out how to use it the way I need to...that’s another story.

What if the advice that Ankou gave me was inaccurate, or worse, intentionally harmful? I hadn’t even considered that their advice might not work or might get me into more trouble. Right now, it’s all I have. Trying couldn’t possibly make things worse.

Could it?

I don’t have time to think about that. It won’t be long now before the guards catch on to what I’m trying to accomplish.

17

Late February, 1692

I spend several hours observing the Morts, trying to determine the good from the bad. While I know they aren’t all bad, it’s hard to see them as anything else—hard to let go of reservations that they all, deep down, might be evil. It’s all part of my new role in life, though, and now, more than ever, I need to refine my skills as an Ankou.

The chanting didn’t so much work out for me, so now I’m holding the witch’s ladder and just trying to envision what I would do if I weren’t trapped in this iron prison. Somehow I need to utilize my magic without physical contact. And all I really have is this witch’s ladder right now, because my Ankou abilities are disabled. At least I know it’s possible, though. If that raven-haired woman could do it, so can I.

Unfortunately, most of the Morts here are undoubtedly evil. Each time I connect with one, cold dread swims beneath my skin, and my mind is flooded with the memories of their lives before their spirit separated from the preternatural bodies. Strigoi that once ripped the entrails from an Ankou; Cruor that have drained small, innocent children. I can only witness so much rape, torture, and murder before I break. Perhaps they have stories of redemption beyond that, but I disconnect from them before I finding out. If the things they did can be redeemed, I don’t want to know. I don’t want to see any more.

And then I see her. A Mort I immediately trust before a connection is even made. The spirit of a young Strigoi that died before she grew old enough to shift. A child, really, maybe eight or ten years of age, with mouse-like features. My heart aches that she has somehow ended up trapped here, and it pains me that I won’t be able to help move her spirit, that this time I need her to save me.

At least it will get her out of this place.

I look at the yellow-toothed guard I plan for her to possess, and guilt squeezes my stomach. He’s just doing his job. It violates the right over his own body to put a Mort there against his wishes. At the same time, how many times has this guy forced his will on someone else? Mama always said two wrongs don’t make things right. But this time—just this time—maybe it makes things even.

I wrap both my hands around the witch’s ladder and rest my head against my fisted hands, sending my energy out to her. I feel this new ability struggling to break free, and I know this iron jail has made me weaker in more ways than one, but I can’t let that stop me. I envision my fingers prodding gently on her scalp, my nails piercing into her skull...

There’s no cold. Instead, flutters rush through my veins and spark in my mind. I urge her into the guard sitting on the crate nearby. My abilities feel more otherworldly now—not part of me. Borrowed. And I wonder how far gone my Ankou abilities are, if they play a role now or if they only lend me knowledge of what to do with this new magic I have acquired.

The Mort girl’s fear rumbles through me, but I send a calming energy to her. It’s amazing how natural this process feels, as though I’ve done it a million times before.

I move energy around the room as naturally as my human form breathes air. The witch’s ladder seems to be my only allowance to use magic in this place, and I say a silent prayer for the woman who gave it to me, the woman who I will not be able to save. She sacrificed herself for me. Maybe William was right. Maybe it is worth sacrificing ourselves to save this world.

Compelled by me, the Mort girl enters the guard. Her panicked form trembles, and guilt stabs through my lungs, and I know then that my escape will not be so easy because I cannot leave this girl behind.

I rouse Vanessa from her troubled sleep and help her to her feet. Her brows pull together and she looks around frantically.

“It’s all right,” I whisper, squeezing her hand gently. “We’re leaving.”

Her body has already healed; perhaps the iron cell has no effect on the Strigoi; it wasn’t put there to slow them down the way it was intended to slow down the Ankou, because Strigoi can’t kill Morts and they can’t travel through time and space. The prison alone is enough.

Right now, Vanesa is stronger than I am physically but weaker than I am emotionally. Or maybe I’m just numb. Either way, I’m counting on Vanessa to carry her own weight in this escape. It’s hard to see her as a strong woman, though, when her body—now returned to its human form—is so pale and her dress is soaked in blood. I try not to look at the stains and try not to remember where they came from. I hope she can manage the same, or that remembering can drive her the way it drives me.

The young Mort has already grabbed the keys from a hook at the end of the hall and is hurrying back toward us. I subtly raise my hands to her, urging her to slow down. We can’t give ourselves away. This needs to be done carefully and quietly.

The Mort girl, inside the body of this bulky, filthy guard, shuffles down the hallway. I hold my breath, wishing she would just move at a normal pace. I slowly exhale as she approaches and fumbles with the lock. Something creaks at the end of the hall, and I hear the banter of at least two other guards.

The sky outside the cell window is lightening, but the sun must still be tucked away as no beams of light are breaking into the room just yet. We really needed the night, but daylight can only be minutes away now.

I swallow around the knot in my throat, staring intently at the keys, willing the process to speed along, until finally the lock pops open. She eases the cell gate open. Half of the inmates are still sleeping, but those that aren’t look at us with wide, fear-stricken eyes. I expect them to follow, but instead they cower away.

I bite my lip as I step out of the cell with Vanessa, stealing another glance back, trying to will these people to get up and fight for their freedom. To try to save themselves while they have the chance. But I can’t save us all, and I don’t have time to persuade these men and women.

Vanessa and I creep down the hall with the Mort that possesses the guard close behind us. When we reach the end of the narrow hallway, I peek through the barred window of the exit, trying to determine where we will go from here. The other guards aren’t far off. The hall outside this door stretches in both directions. We either have to wait for those guards to leave or try to outrun them. But if we wait it out, and they come in our hall instead of leaving, we could get trapped in here all over again.

“Vanessa,” I whisper, “do you know which way we need to go?”

She shakes her head.

I clench my teeth and peer out the small window again, trying to decide which way we should run. My instincts tell me to veer right, but my mind screams at me to go the other way, because if we go right, we’ll run into the guards. That doesn’t give us much chance to make any ground before they start after us.

A fragment strikes me, and I try to fight it. I don’t have time for it, but the fragment won’t let up. Soon, I am in the woods with Pa, camping, sometime before the Morts ruined our lives. Sometime back when Pa was still Pa.

We hiked too far. Pa doesn’t remember the way back. We hadn’t marked our trail. For over an hour, we walk around hopelessly. I slide on steep ground. My shin bleeds and my ankle won’t support my weight to walk. Pa scoops me up.

“It’s going to be okay,” he soothes.

He sweeps stray hairs away from my face. I’m crying, but I don’t let out a sound. It’s getting dark, and Pa always said you have to stay quiet at night or you will attract the wrong kind of wildlife. I press my lips together, trying not to let the trembling whimper escape my lips.

“Come on, buttercup,” he says, “You know the way home, don’t you? Tell me which way to go.”

“I don’t know.” I bury my face in his shoulder, wetting his shirt with my tears.

“Sure you do. Just tell me what feels right.”

“I—I—don’t know.” I simper, then shake my head. I’ve always worked well under pressure. “Maybe that way.”

I point toward the small creek, and he starts hiking that way.

“I hope you’re right, buttercup. I hope you’re right.”

And I am. We find our path twenty minutes later. Pa rushes us home and the doctor comes to bandage my sprained ankle.

“We saved each other, huh, buttercup?” he asks, and I smile up at him.

Now the guards have strolled a couple feet closer to the prison door. We need to move, now. And, as much as I dread it, we need to go right. Knowing which way to go...it’s always been a sixth sense of mine—even now, even while completely disoriented.

“Follow me and move fast,” I whisper.

I push the door, gently at first, but the wood creaks, and the guards shift their focus in our direction. With a deep breath, I throw the door open and run with everything I have in me toward the guards. Once we’re through the door, my strength begins building from my core. These halls are not protected by iron the way our cell was, but recovery won’t be instant.

We are past them before they can react. There’s lots of shouting. Their footsteps clamber behind us, but I don’t look back. I’ve always been a weak and slow runner, probably because of my wiry arms and thin legs, so with my Ankou abilities being suppressed by this jail, I’m relying on Vanessa’s speed to carry me along. I run my hardest on shaky limbs and ignore the pain shooting through my body as I push my way through the shortness of breath.

The walls are crowded with Morts, and I’m reminded of running through the woods, the only other time I’ve ever run so fast. Hadn’t it been running that landed me here, away from my daughter? But I had been running toward her, to save her. Both physically and emotionally I had wanted to be closer to her. I would certainly never run away from her, not even to get away from Pa.

Vanessa yanks my arm and points with her other hand at another door at the end of the hall. That door is the only thing that exists right now. We’re a bit faster than the guards and reach the door first, but it’s locked. The young Mort girl tries one of the keys without success. As she tries another, one of the guards grabs me by the hair and yanks me back.

I twist toward him, swing with everything I have, and connect my fist with his ear. The large man stumbles back, now half his height as he hunches over—but just as soon, another guard lumbers at me with his bloody knuckles. He misses. I duck out of his way, consequently into the path of a third guard whose stomach is bigger than his chest. He wraps his arms around me, but before he can get a good hold, I elbow him swiftly to the gut, then again in his face. The blows perhaps hurt me more than him, but it gets him off of me.

The Mort girl is out of keys and one of the guards is lunging toward her now. Vanessa grabs the door and digs her fingertips into the space between the door and the wall. My attention is ripped away from her when the first guard that attacked me grabs my arm.

I spin around and kick him in his shin, just below the knee. Something cracks. I’m frozen, stunned by my own strength, though I know I am still not restored to my Ankou abilities or we would be out of here by now.

Vanessa rips the door open as more guards approach. Another two wait on the other side of the door. We’re surrounded. She tackles them, letting out a war cry. I know he won’t last long in her hands, but we’ll never win this battle with so many guards outnumbering us.

Still, we will fight. We’ll fight even when it seems hopeless, because this is our only chance. If we don’t escape now, they will kill us for trying, just as I will kill them if I must—if that’s what it takes to survive.

One of the guards clips me in my mouth, and the metallic taste of blood pools along my gums. I stumble back, but the icy air against my fevered skin delivers a stronger impact than my opponent. It revives me, and I charge toward the guard, knocking him back into the hall’s cold stone walls. His head cracks on impact, and his blood trails along the rough stones, but the injury only disorients him. He stomps toward me again. I swing at him, but he blocks and grabs me by the throat.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a Mort I can use to my advantage, but I can barely breathe and struggle to concentrate long enough to move him. The guard squeezes tighter. I kick at him, but he doesn’t so much as flinch. My arms flail at him uselessly. My vision darkens, and my head buzzes as I fight to hold on to consciousness. I can’t let go. I can’t let things end here.

I thrust every last bit of my energy into moving the Mort, but by the time I’ve succeeded, I don’t have the strength to compel him to my will.

The young Mort girl I compelled earlier uses the strength of her stocky male host body to push my attacker off of me. I flop to the ground but waste no time working my way back to my feet, trying once more to compel the Mort I moved into my attacker. It’s useless. He’s still moving after me, and I realize my ability is not fail-proof.

Frantically, I search for more Morts I can move, but none stand out to me. But then I see it. Two Morts staring at one another with a murderous glint in their eyes. They communicate in grunts. The threatening vibe they give off peg them as enemies, and I waste no time moving their spirits into two of the guards.

Immediately they lunge for one another, which not only eliminates two guards from our concern but also distracts the other guards, who try to break it up. They receive a few blows in their efforts and soon have joined in the brawl. They’re diverted enough to get us through the second door, and we pound our way up the wooden steps beyond. Only one of the guards tries to follow, but he’s unable to work past the fight that clutters the narrow hall.

At the top of the steps is an empty courtroom. I stop dead. This is definitely the way out, but only if we want to draw attention to ourselves. I press the door at the top of the steps closed and Vanessa helps me barricade it with a bench that I doubt will hold for long. Then I lead Vanessa and the Mort girl in the guard’s body toward the back of the courtroom, looking for an exit that won’t deposit us into the middle of the town. All I can find is a small window.

Light pours in. Outside, the daylight is fresh. Bright. Clean. It’s like lemonade and fresh linens. I wish more than anything that peaceful, cotton-white light was safe for me, but in reality, daytime is the worst time for escape, for more reasons than one.

The door to the cellar rattles forcefully. I open the window and help Vanessa out onto the frosted ground. The Mort girl, in the guard’s body, struggles to fit, but I push and Vanessa pulls until she is through. The cellar door bursts open and three guards, bloody and already bruising, stumble out, falling on top of one another but scrambling to their feet. I climb out the window and take off.

We’re out. Free. And yet, I don’t feel any better. Nothing will be the same. The things we have left behind...they cannot be replaced.

Still, I do the only thing I can do.

I run into the daylight.

18

Late February, 1692

We need to get to the shade without being seen. I run as fast as humanly possible, because that is still all I am capable of. The iron poisoning most likely won’t cure completely until I get my hands on some nightshade, and now is not the time to hunt down plants. I have to reserve what little spotty magic I have left to move the Mort girl out of this guard’s body.

Our escape will most certainly attract some attention from the other townsfolk, but they wouldn’t have seen us yet. The forest is just ahead—shade, shelter, safety. Something to hide the hideous, amniotic wings that flutter behind me.

“Hey!” a man’s voice shouts behind us.

He’s too late. We’re in the woods now and a good enough distance away to get ourselves lost here. By the time they assemble a search team, we could be anywhere. I know that won’t stop them from trying, but I breathe a little easier.

Ahead of me, Vanessa navigates between the trees as though it’s home. I am practically dragging the Mort girl behind me, the body she possesses sloppy and weak. We run until my sides ache, until my legs stop burning and go numb. We run until my body threatens to collapse, until my lungs feel as though they are bleeding, and until my heart stabs in my chest. I’m nearly delirious, and then we run more.

Vanessa stops by a cluster of trees, and I slow to meet her. I give her a long look, then turn to the guard’s body.

“Thank you,” I say to the girl inside. “But you know you can’t stay here, don’t you?”

The guard’s Adam’s apple bobs, and his head nods. I can almost see the young girl trembling inside of him. Moving the girl does risk the life of the body she possesses. That’s what William had said. If we move a Mort that has possessed a human, the body may die. But this Mort deserves a future more than a man who would turn a blind eye when Salem’s people are mistreated.

“It won’t be bad,” I promise. “May I?”

The guard’s head nods again, and I step forward, placing my fingertips on the scalp. His chest freezes—the Mort girl is holding her breath, bracing herself for the part that is unfairly cruel right now. My nails slice into the scalp—she can’t feel it, but she will know the true end is near. The air around us vibrates.

Please let this work.

I can feel my powers fizzing in and out. I’m still weakened by the iron, but my Ankou abilities are there, somewhere.

It takes all of my energy to conjure the ability to do what must be done. I close my eyes and let my core guide me through some unknown space, some space I’ll never understand, a tunnel that is dark yet comforting.

The Mort girl doesn’t fight. That weird thing that happened with my teeth when I tried to save Verity doesn’t happen.

“We’re almost there,” I whisper, although I’m not sure if she can hear me in this place.

We arrive on the embankment of a water hole. Elephants wade lazily through the water. A young woman with elegant bones, a kind face, and dark skin carries a basket at her hip. A small girl carrying sticks teeters behind her.

What I know that this gentle mother does not is that her child’s heart is about to fail. And when that happens, her human spirit will be plucked from this world. But the life of that child is not over. Within moments, the time has come, and the Mort girl at my side is given a new home and a new life. It is a miracle no one will ever know or hear about. And as they walk away, I realize I never learned the girl’s name. I don’t know a thing about the girl who saved my life.

Then I’m back at Vanessa’s side. I vomit in a bush and fall to the ground. The move took more out of me than I had. At my side, the guard is still on the ground, and I don’t know when he will wake. Or if he will wake. I don’t check for a pulse—don’t care to know if I’ve killed him, because I can’t handle the guilt if I have.

An annoying tingle in my stomach and throat turn to outright pain. I feel as though I have been ripped inside out. I curl in a ball and squeeze my eyes shut. Vanessa crouches beside me and rubs my arm.

“Abigail? Abigail, what’s wrong?”

She doesn’t know me as Cordovae, but she certainly knows by now that I’m different. That I’m like her, but not like her. An elemental, but a different race. If it hadn’t been evident by the hideous wings that the sunlight reveals, it must have been by my disappearance just now as I delivered the Mort girl to her new life.

“Abigail!” She’s more frantic now.

“Nightshade,” I say through trembling lips. God, please let that be enough.

“Nightshade?” Her voice sounds far away. “Nightshade! Right. Hang in there.”

It feels as though minutes pass before she actually leaves, but perhaps it was only moments. She hesitates, but once she leaves, she moves with urgency.

I just hope she makes it back to me before the settlement’s men find me first.

* * *

I’m falling into blackness, but this time, the dark does not comfort me. This is a cold, ominous dark that will end with more darkness instead of new light. I want to apologize to William for failing him. I want to apologize to Tess for not getting to know her better, for thinking of her as mean instead of seeing her hurt. I want to forgive my parents that they weren’t stronger somehow, for their bodies hurting and neglecting me, but I can’t separate them from the Morts. I can’t stop blaming them. Most of all, I want to be whole, but I am broken, and a huge piece of me is missing—Anna. Nothing in this world can be good if she’s not safe.

A woman’s voice rattles outside of me. “Abigail.”

I moan.

Someone—I hope it’s Vanessa—grabs me by my arm and pushes me onto my back. “Come on, wake up.”

She shakes me. She presses something against my chest—her ear, I think, because her hair tickles my arm. She tugs my chin, opening my mouth, and presses something inside. My mind stirs. Nightshade.

She did it.

Vanessa.

I’m not yet strong enough for words.

“You’re going to be fine,” she says, placing more nightshade into my mouth.

It’s sweet but tart. I can taste again. The nectar of the flower bites my tongue but soothes the ache of my mouth and throat. A small vibration—the feeling of life—buzzes through me. I blink my eyes open and attempt to sit up, but fall back. Vanessa catches me.

“I’m sorry,” I manage to say, awash with guilt that she has to care for me right now when I know she has to be more broken than I am.

And yet, I don’t know that it’s just her I’m apologizing to. It’s everyone.

“Don’t be sorry,” she says. “You saved me. And you will save many more. I know it.”

She’s wrong, though. How can I save anyone if I can’t save myself?

* * *

Though I feel more stable now that I have eaten, my energy and strength have not returned enough to use my Ankou abilities to travel beyond what I have already done. Moving that Mort girl took everything out of me. I nudge the body of the guard. He’s still alive, but barely.

“We need to go,” I say to Vanessa. “Before he wakes up.”

We trudge by foot. It’s probably for the best. I need to keep careful not to trigger their attention as much as possible. I can’t help but hurry my step toward Tess’ cabin. They need to hear what happened. They’ll know what to do next. I won’t feel safe until I find them.

I grab a hiking stick to help guide our path, to check for traps and wild animals and snakes as we travel. My instincts tell me where to go, and yet something else in my gut tells me not to go any further. To stay away. But I can’t. I need to get back to Tess and William. They need to know what I’ve seen, and they need to help me finish what I am called to do so I can get out of here. I don’t belong here. Surely they will see that now.

I stay to the shade as much as I can, but there are times I must traverse through sunlight. I move quickly. Passing through the sun is painful. Not in a scorching way, as it must be for the Cruor before the sun consumes them completely. Instead, the sun hurts me through unbearable pressure, cutting through the chill of winter on my skin.

Vanessa never looks at my wings, and I wonder if it is because she finds them too grotesque, or if it’s because she cannot see them. I try to remember what William and Tess told me, but I’m too tired to think straight. I know humans can see my wings, but what about other elementals? I suppose it doesn’t matter now. Vanessa already knows the truth about me, and she’s just as inhuman as I am.

I hear voices, and I freeze. Vanessa’s eyes meet mine. She must hear them, too. They are on the other side of this wall of trees, and when I peek through, my stomach lurches, and I cover my mouth so to suppress a gasp.

Vanessa takes a look, then shakes her head sadly.

“What is it?” I whisper.

“Ankou.”

I shake my head vigorously. They are too hideous to be Ankou. The Ankou still look human. These things...they’re gray with enlarged skulls and razor teeth.

Anxiety sinks into the pit of my stomach. My teeth had gotten like that once. I wasn’t going to...to turn into them...was I?

“How?” I ask finally.

“Come,” she says, “you need shelter.”

She grabs my arm and hurries me away from the supposed Ankou’s campsite. When we’re a few yards away, she whispers, “They were exposed to too much sun and tried to reverse the effects by drinking Strigoi blood.”

“How can you be sure?” I ask.

She levels her gaze at me in a way that imparts the mindlessness of my question.

“Oh...”

“Right,” she says, nodding. “As Strigoi, we are raised on what to look out for. In this world, everyone is a predator, and everyone is prey. Survival means knowing who would kill you to live themselves.”

I shiver and squeeze my own arms. I wish William and Tess were here. I always feel safer with them. As much as I appreciate Vanessa’s wisdom, I don’t see her as capable of helping much if we are attacked.

“We should pick up the pace,” I say, just wanting to get back to Tess’ cabin as quickly as possible.

“Of course,” she says, and we hike on with a little more urgency than before.

* * *

Wind howls around the trunks of trees and disturbs the crunchy leaves of the forest path. Winter birds squawk their protest in the soughing winds. Vanessa, however, is silent. I don’t know what to say to her, and I don’t think she wants to say anything more to me. Talking right now, it hurts. It hurts the heart, the soul. I try not to look at her because I’m not sure what I might see in her eyes, and I worry what she might read on my face. Would she resent my pity?

William and Tess were right. Whatever you do in this world, you have to fight. I had waited too long, and because of that, Vanessa’s baby is dead. This isn’t a world where you wait for opportunity. This is a life where you keep moving, keep trying, keep fighting. I’ll never forgive myself, but somehow, Vanessa forgave me enough to save my life. She could have kept going and left me for the men of the settlement to find.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “For not getting you out of there sooner. For not...”

“You can’t do that,” she says.

I freeze and glance back at her, immediately regretting it when I see the tears in her eyes.

“They did this to me. Not you.”

A stinging knot lumps in my throat, and my eyes water. I try to pinch back the tears. My voice will crack if I try to speak.

“Please,” she says, taking my hand. “Don’t let my son’s death be for nothing.”

I can’t look at her anymore. I turn away, letting my hand drop from hers. “The cabin is just ahead,” I say, my voice cracking and uneven. “I’ll make you something to eat, if you want.”

I don’t disillusion myself into thinking she missed my emotion, but as it stands, she likely already thinks I’m mentally unwell. How many times has she seen me in the trance-like state of having a fragment?

When we reach a small creek, I spot the familiar makeshift bridge constructed of stones and thick branches and old planks of wood, and we cross to where there’s a break in the trees that I also recognize. We’re close.

I veer from our path through the small space and tread over thin, wiry branches and vines that have knotted together on the forest floor. We climb a hill, and I see Tess’ cabin a short ways off. I look in every direction, but see no one. Vanessa and I hike over. It’s too quiet. Shouldn’t I hear them? Has it always been this silent here?

Anxiety creeps in. What if they aren’t here? Does that mean they went to the location William told me to travel to if I didn’t find them here? I can’t bear to think about sitting around an empty cabin, waiting for the darkness so that I can hike even farther to find them. I’ve sat around waiting for too long. I need to see them.

I hurry my step, until soon I am running, my heart pounding erratically in my chest. The closer I get to Tess’ cabin, the more unsettled I am. I need to talk to them. I need them now.

I burst through the door. The quiet is painful, but it’s not the worst of what I find.

The table is overturned. Tess’ cooking pot is on its side across the room. The mattress is sliced open. Cabinets are emptied, the contents strewn across the floor. A plate of stew has tumbled from the table, spilling herbed water and chunks of meat onto the dirt.

The doll William gave me for Anna lays in the middle of the floor, limbs bent in unnatural ways. Tossed aside. Discarded. Unimportant to whoever destroyed this place. William and Tess are nowhere to be seen.

I lift the doll from the ground, comb out her hair with my fingers, and straighten her dress.

I can’t give up now.

I can’t give up ever.

19

Late February, 1692

Don’t Panic.

We can’t just stand here, doing nothing. We need to get the hell away before whoever destroyed this place returns.

I can’t make assumptions. The cabin could have been ransacked after they left. I visualize the location in the mountains William had shown me on his map before leading me to the town. Do I go there, or have our efforts been compromised entirely?

Trying to find them could get me captured again, or worse, murdered. I’ve already witnessed the Cruor cause a young woman unbearable suffering—perhaps death would have been a kindness. Why didn’t they kill us while they had chance?

Focus, Cord.

Do I risk what little time I have in search of William and Tess, or do I continue my journey alone?

The doll in my hand gives me my answer. My hope comes from them. I toss the doll into a sack lying on the floor nearby and sling the sack over my shoulder. I can’t do this alone, and I need to know if Tess and William are safe. I shake away the deeper thought trying to poke through—that I shouldn’t care about them. That I am the worst mother ever to let my feelings for them get in the way of returning to my daughter. I can’t let my feelings for them determine my decisions. Not now, not ever.

Vanessa places a hand on my forearm. “Abigail...”

I snap my attention toward her, blinking back the moisture in my eyes.

Her eyes are full of sorrow, her face long and lips downturned.

“What is it?” I ask.

She bites her lip, then her gaze dips behind me. Slowly, I turn my head to follow.

A piece of William’s shirt.

Blood.

I stumble back, catching myself against the cabin wall. “We need to get out of here.”

“I know a place not far off. Let’s take refuge first, then we’ll figure this out.”

What’s there to figure out? The crushing pain in my chest reminds me of losing my daughter all over again. Vanessa’s haunted eyes tell me she knows my pain, but it just makes me angry. She shouldn’t pity me. She lost her child. There is still hope for mine. My daughter is alive.

And William...Tess...We don’t know enough yet for me to get upset, and I resent Vanessa acting as though we do. And I hate myself for being angry with her. And I hate her for staying calm all this time, for being patient with me when I’m falling apart when she’s the one who has lost everything.

I am so full of hate that I’m disgusted with myself.

“Lead the way,” I mumble, and I follow her back into the forest, hating myself most of all.

* * *

As I trudge behind Vanessa, the silence only angers me more, so finally I say what has been bothering me most of all. “How are you okay right now?”

She pauses, then continues walking.

“Okay?” she asks. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s as though you don’t care. As though none of this fazes you.”

“Not everyone is so easy to read, Abigail.”

I yank her arm, and she spins toward me. “You lost your son.”

Her brow furrows. “Yes,” she says through her teeth. “And I’ve lost two of his sisters as well. And many of my siblings also never made it to this world. This is part of my reality. Perhaps you should be a little more grateful and respect that everyone grieves in their own way.”

She pulls away from me, and I feel the muscles in my face drooping. Why did I say anything? Was I really so offended by her acceptance of her situation that I would be so insensitive? Who have I become; what has this life turned me into?

I should leave her now. I’ve done enough damage. But I don’t know this area or where to go, and she at least deserves my apology before we part ways.

“You’re afflicted,” Vanessa says, her calm tone returning. It’s as though she has already given me the forgiveness I haven’t yet asked for and certainly don’t deserve. “You’re on the run from both the mortal and immortal world, and you’ve been separated from people you love.”

She doesn’t know about Anna. I don’t think. She must be talking about William and Tess. “I don’t love—”

“Sometimes our mind won’t accept what our heart knows, and that is how we survive.”

I shrug one of my shoulders and try to push away the thought she’s put in my mind. I bite my lip and pick at my fingernails, scraping the dirt from underneath them. It seems I can never get rid of it all.

“Are we far?” I ask.

“No,” she says lightly. My anger at her dissipates a little more each time she speaks in that soft-spoken way of hers. “Another few miles.”

There’s a rustling between the trees, and I pull Vanessa back and hold a finger to my lips. She nods.

I creep slowly to where the trees break and peek through to the path on the other side. A young woman is weeping over a dead body.

A body I recognize.

My stomach seizes, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to will away the truth. But I can’t unsee what I’ve seen.

Elizabeth is dead.

She was a good person. A good soul. And now I am almost certain of what I could only surmise before. She was a spirit elemental. I sense this because her spirit is visible to me unlike any other Mort I’ve seen before. She’s not a shadow. In fact, she’s glowing. She stands beside the sobbing woman, rubbing her back, but the woman is unaware of her presence.

“Hang on,” I whisper to Vanessa.

“Oh my.” She gasps, a hand going to her mouth. She shakes her head. “Is that . . .”

I tug her arm, spinning her away from the sight of Elizabeth’s dead body. “Wait here.”

I scan the bushes, looking for something to give me a boost of energy. There’s no nightshade anywhere. I move as quickly as I can without making too much noise, but I don’t see any poisonous plants anywhere. Vanessa had only brought such a small amount of nightshade, and admittedly, I’m not sure what I’m looking for. Only what William and Tess have given me previously.

There are some red and black berries on the ground, but they’re dead. I close my eyes, thinking. I can heal them, but if they aren’t what I need, it will be wasted energy I can’t afford right now. I wave Vanessa over.

“What are these?” I whisper. “Do you know?

“Rosary peas.”

“Are they poisonous?”

“To me, yes. The nightshade didn’t help?”

“I need more,” I mumble, not wasting time to explain.

I pick them off the ground, and they heal at my touch. Then I pop them in my mouth. I eat two whole handfuls, hoping, praying, that these are strong enough to give my spotty abilities a boost.

I walk back toward the scene, watching silently as the weeping woman buries the body and runs away. I wish I could run away from this place, too.

When I am sure the woman is gone, I climb between the breaks in the trees and walk right up to Elizabeth’s spirit. She doesn’t run. She just turns toward me, staring at me with sorrowful eyes. I reach out my hand in offering, and gently she takes it, and although I know I shouldn’t travel again so soon, I do. I take her to a place many years from now, to the Province of Georgia, so that one day soon she can be reborn as Mary Parsons. Because I know the world needs her, or one of her incarnations, and though she might not have survived this lifetime, it wasn’t her time to meet a final end.

When I return, Vanessa simply says, “We ought to move quickly.”

We are so far from where I need to be. I refocus on the here and now: Who went after William and Tess? How did they find them, and are they looking for me, too? If William and Tess escaped, will these people find them again?

I reach in the pocket of my dress and thumb the witch’s ladder I’ve held on to. I take a deep, slow breath, thinking of William, trying for find some connection to him. I’ve connected with an Ankou before, now if I can just focus on one in particular . . .

My fingertips warm, and my palm crackles with sparks. Come on, William. Come on, where are you?

The sparks fizzle. Nothing.

I know this magic works, because I’ve done it before, but at the same time I fear it may be hopeless. I hadn’t been trying to get in touch with anyone specifically the first time. In fact, I hadn’t been trying to get in touch with anyone at all. What if it’d just been a lucky accident?

The ground beneath us gets rockier. Running water roars louder. The sun hits her peak in the sky, then sinks behind the trees. The moon frowns at us as he climbs up behind the night clouds. Finally I do not need the shade of the trees, and the pressure of the sun releases me. My wings are hidden from view now, and that brings me peace. I hate those things, hate that they mark me as being different.

As the day disappears for good, complete peace and silence claim the forest—eerily quiet, as though even void of wildlife. But I still cannot connect with William. I cannot hear even a whisper of his voice.

Verity would call the lack of birds an omen. A bad omen. God, I hope she’s safe now.

We climb between large boulders and through a narrow trail of overgrown underbrush until we reach a small clearing. There are pinecones—so many that it’s impossible to walk without stepping on them. My center of balance jolts as one rolls beneath my foot.

On the other side of the clearing, trees grow so close together they nearly create a solid wall, but Vanessa squeezes through a small opening and waves for me to follow. On the other side, she pushes aside the branches of a large bush, revealing a small opening to what appears to be a cave hidden beneath moss and wild vines.

Only little slivers of moonlight illuminate the inside of the dark cave. The air is damp, metallic, and reeks of wet pine.

I sit on the gritty stone floor to rest, but Vanessa keeps moving about. She lights a small lantern, reaches her hand into her apron, and drops a pile of herbs and berries into a wooden bowl that was stored toward the back of the cave.

She passes me the bowl. “I thought you might still need more to eat.”

It’s not just nightshade this time. It’s a variety of poisonous plants she must have gathered as we travelled. “We never talked about...”

“I’m probably more familiar with your nature than you are,” she says. “Your kind has helped many against the Maltorim, against the Morts, and against the corrupt Cruor that plague this world.”

“I’m sorry about earlier,” I blurt out. I don’t know what else to say. Obviously not all Ankou are noble. At least I’m not.

“Don’t worry.” She sweeps her hair away from her face, then points at the witch’s ladder I’m still fumbling with in my hands. “You couldn’t reach your friend?”

I shake my head.

“He might still be okay.”

“You don’t really think that,” I say, trying to measure her reaction. Her lips tremble, and I take it that my accusation was true.

“You said there were two people supposed to be at the cabin,” she says. “Did you try the other one?”

“Tess,” I say, more to myself than to Vanessa. “No. No, I haven’t.”

What would be the point? If anything, I’m less connected to Tess than to William.

“You ought to try. Otherwise, I can bring you to the Chibold. They might be of help.”

I only vaguely remember William and Tess telling me about the Chibold. That they are the only accurate way to communicate with the Universe.

“Thanks,” I mumble quietly.

Vanessa smiles. “I need to hunt for my own food now,” she says. “I’ll be back in a while.”

Is she hunting or just trying to give me some privacy? She’s been by my side since we’ve escaped, trying to help. Doesn’t she have someone she needs to reunite with?

After Vanessa heads out, I try again with the witch’s ladder to connect with William. When that fails, I cave and try Tess.

The speed of my connection with her unnerves me, but I heave a sigh of relief to have made contact.

Cord?

Tess, it’s me. I don’t have time to explain. Are you and William safe?

Yes. Where are you?

I am going to come to you two, if you are where William said you would be.

We are...We’ve been trying to think of a way to get to you. How did you get in my head?

A witch’s ladder?

That’s unusual for an Ankou...How did you escape?

My magic wasn’t working there. Iron. I had to fight my way out.

The effects should wear off soon, but you have to keep low. Don’t use your abilities. We can’t risk you drawing attention to yourself.

Okay, I won’t use them anymore. What else do I need to know?

Cordovae! You didn’t!

I can’t change what’s done! Just tell me what to do now.

Head west toward the mountains. But I have to warn you first: There will be many Morts and Cruor around the edges of the forest. Avoid those areas if you can. And don’t trust anyone. No one, or you might lead the wrong people to us. You MUST come alone. We’d come to you if we could, but it’s more likely you can get to us unnoticed since we’ve already been spotted. In the meantime, I have to go stop William. He’s on his way to try to get arrested in your town.

No! Why would he do that?

I tried to stop him. Just hurry here. Maybe he’ll listen to me now.

Please stop him. I’ll be there soon.

I drop the connection. There’s still so much I need to talk to Tess about: Elizabeth—the woman I sensed might be a spirit elemental—and what happened to me while I saved Verity...how my teeth had turned to sharp points. And why was it unusual that I contacted her with a witch’s ladder? I push those thoughts away. Right now, Tess needs to focus on stopping William. The rest of my questions can wait.

As soon as Vanessa returns, I need to leave. Without her. Or I could leave now, but...no, she deserves an explanation. I only hope that the traveling I did earlier has not already put us all at risk.

Anxiety creeps over me, almost as itchy as the bitter cold of this late winter night. I don’t know the area or much about the elemental world. Vanessa would have been a helpful guide. Regardless what Tess thinks, I can trust her, but perhaps it’s best I leave her behind for other reasons. The less people with me as I travel, the less likely I am to be spotted.

As I lean my head back against the cave wall to rest before the journey ahead, a fragment tingles at the corners of my mind, and for once I am glad to give in to it, to be carried away by the worries that are behind me—the worries I cannot change and no longer stress about.

I’m playing in a creek with a small blonde girl. We’re catching tadpoles. They’re almost too fast for us, and when they’re not, they’re so surprisingly slimy that we squeal and let them go before we can get a good hold on them.

I can’t remember the girl’s name because when she introduced herself I was distracted, thinking about how she probably has a perfect life with a normal family. Not a father who recently started visiting her room every night. I’m too shy to ask her again what her name is, so when I want her attention, I just say, “Hey!”

All summer we hang out together. One day we even catch a frog and don’t freak out or let it go. We keep it in a shoebox with holes poked in top, but it escapes when we open the lid to take a peek.

One night, I’m helping Mama shell peas and telling her about our day when Pa walks into the kitchen from the living room.

‘I don’t want you hanging ‘round with that girl no more,’ he says. ‘Catching frogs? That’s what you two have been doing all summer?’

‘But Pa—’

‘No buts. She’s not a very lady-like influence on you, and you can bet girls like that use people like you. Before you know it, she’ll have boys joining you to play kissing games and offering you up to any guy that’s interested. That’s how girls become whores, having friends like that.’

‘We’re not seeing boys! Pa, you’re not making any sense! We’re just—’

‘That’s my final word, Rose. Don’t test me.’

I don’t have it in me to fight for her friendship. I can’t talk freely to Pa anymore. Not since the darkness came.

As the fragment fades, I wish more than anything I could have a friend. Someone I could confide in and would never have to leave behind. Perhaps I’m not meant to have friends. I’ve left Verity behind, and now I’ll have to leave Vanessa behind as well.

But I can live without friends if the Universe would grant me just one person in my life—the one person I will always fight for.

Anna.

It always comes back to Anna.

* * *

A light trickling of water draws my attention deeper into the cave. A small stream runs along the back wall, and I use the water to wash up. The water has pooled a bit and gives off a stagnant smell, but my touch purifies every drop. Realizing it won’t be so easy to hide what I am during my travels, I frown. I’ll need to go completely unseen. But I make the most of it and scoop some of the water into a tall jug, thinking Vanessa will need some clean water to drink in her travels as well. I’ll miss having her with me.

While she’s gone, I weave together some twigs with red berries that were rotting in the cave but renewed at my touch. At first it is just to pass the time, but soon I realize I’m making a hair wreath for Vanessa.

Something stomps overhead, shaking the cave and sending dirt cascading into my hair. I drop the wreath, my hand giving favor to cover my mouth and stifle a gasp. More thumping, like thunder cracking against the ground in quick succession—but there is no storm tonight. Horses, I realize, right before I hear the lighter thud, then voices that I can’t make out.

People. Good people or bad people, it’s still bad news for me. Minutes later, wisps of smoke float into the cave. Thank God it’s not cedar. The last thing I need now is an allergic reaction. They must have set up camp just above the cave. I keep my breathing as quiet and shallow as I can, though I’m certain they aren’t aware of me beneath them as I am of them above.

Hours later, Vanessa creeps back into the cave. She’s worse for wear, twigs tangled in her hair and dirtier than she was when she left. If that’s even possible.

“Don’t worry,” she whispers. “They can’t see us from where they are, and even if they knew we were here, they would never figure out how to get here.”

I press my lips together and nod. “But I do need to leave soon.”

“Of course.”

“Alone,” I say apologetically. “I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye, though. Will you be all right?”

“Absolutely,” she says, patting my knee. “You’ve done enough for me.”

“And you for me,” I offer.

The night air is so cold that even Vanessa—with all the warmth the Strigoi are known to have—is shivering. It strikes me it’s not just the cold that makes her body tremble, though. It’s the loss of her child.

“Are you sure you’re going to be all right?” I ask again.

“I’ve spent the last eight months living as a mortal. So I wouldn’t...well . . .” She chokes up. “You know we can’t shift when we’re pregnant, or—”

“I understand,” I say, so she doesn’t have to say it. I don’t think she wants to, and I don’t want to hear it, to be haunted any further than I already am by the image of her stillborn child.

“Those months have made me weaker,” she says, “but you see how fast I have recovered already. In a few days, I’ll be fit to leave here.”

I hope I will recover as easily. My pain has ebbed, but I’m still not myself. The aches coursing through every limb in my body are nauseating. But I can’t let that slow me down; I need to make some ground tonight.

“You’ll do great,” she adds. “You were made for this.”

I sigh my doubts. “I’m not sure.”

“You made it this far.”

“With your help,” I point out.

“You may not have needed my help if you hadn’t been trying to save me. I’ll never forget you, Abigail.”

“Cordovae,” I say. “My name, in my heart and in your world, is Cordovae.”

Sharing this with her makes me feel as though we’re closer. As though we can keep a connection even if we never see each other again.

“Well, then, Cordovae—thank you. For everything.”

I nod and, before I realize what I’ve done, my arms are wrapped around her. I release her and bend to lift the wreath I made her from the ground. I place it on her head like a halo. She smiles, and I return the gesture. But the soft moment withers as anxiety creeps through my veins.

“Stay safe,” I say sharply, as though it’s a command. I grab her for another hug, then turn away, not pausing to look in her the eye. If I look at her again, I will cry.

I have to leave.

So I head out of the cave alone, into the night of a world that wants me dead.

20

Last Day of February, 1692

The sharp night air is like ice melting on my skin, easing away my pain, stirring an energy in me that slowly renews my strength. A strange calm washes through me, though my heart does not steady. Determination takes hold in my core, thumping within me, and all over again it’s like the first night I met Tess and William. As though the earth is a beating drum.

The air is soiled by the pungently sweet scent of rotten fruit and the musk of a skunk. I lift some overripe winter berries from the ground. The bumpy, crinkled skin of the fruit turns smooth as my touch heals them to a fresher state. I pop them in my mouth. They roll over my tongue, velvety and cool. A few Daphne berries are all it takes to kill a small child, but to me, they are a lifeline. Eating them has the same warming effect as drinking alcohol, and my whole body relaxes and reenergizes.

Time stretches ahead of me, though I feel the urgency of needing to travel such a great distance before sunrise. Normally my senses lead the way, but with my mind racing with fear that I’ll waste time heading in the wrong direction, I have to stop to think.

Tess said to go west. I study the land around me, the trees, the stones. Moss grows on the north. From that, I determine my westerly path and trek steadily in what I hope is the right direction.

Nighttime casts a whitish blue ambience over my world, and the towering trees with their knobby bark send the flutters of a fragment through my mind.

I’m a child peeking over my freckled shoulder at Ma’s smiling face. She reaches past me and brushes a new stroke of color onto a small canvas.

The trees in the woods tonight have the same clumpy appearance as Ma’s painting. She was the one who taught me about art. And when the Morts stole my parents, it was the art that made me feel safe. I can remember the night the Morts came.

Ma stays home to do her pottery while Pa takes me to see the horses. We’re on our way back from the farm when he loses control of the car.

As I float in and out of consciousness, dark figures dangle in the corners of my vision. The Shadow Men. One of the times I wake, I startle with a gasp, roll to my side, and check on Pa. He isn’t breathing. I grab his wrist to check his pulse. It’s fading. Fading...

I slip back into sleep.

An ambulance never comes.

Then, as though it was all a dream, I wake, and Pa is driving us home. Quiet. Eyes focused on the road. But it hadn’t been a dream. A wound at his temple is still bleeding. My body still aches, and my shoulder and hips are bruised from the seatbelt. A new kind of darkness surrounded us, shadows whipping by the windows as Pa drives.

Suddenly, I feel helplessly alone.

I keep saying, “Pa, are you okay? Pa? Please talk to me, Pa.”

But he doesn’t say a word.

When we arrive home, Ma’s pottery sits unfinished. She lies on the couch, her hands muted and pale from the clay.

The Shadow Men never left, and my parents never returned.

Now, tonight, the woods are plagued by such Morts as those—Morts that watch me from between the trees. They are the shadows left behind by the shells they once inhabited—some good, many bad—but each of them instinctively wary of what I might do to them. None of them knowing what kind of future would await them if they come in contact with an Ankou. But although my Ankou abilities have finally returned—finally tingle for my acknowledgment from deep within—tonight is not the night I will determine their fate. Tonight I will not allow them to unsettle me. Tonight, they can watch...but they can’t hurt me.

There were many like them who had destroyed me in my life as Rose, but now I know there were some who had tried to protect me as well.

Movement in the underbrush rustles the leaves, and I gasp. I hold my breath, frozen, until a small raccoon scurries past. How am I to handle the Morts and Cruor and Marked Strigoi if I am so easily taken off guard by a small nocturnal animal? I shake my head, scolding myself to toughen up and keep going. I need to get through this for Anna.

I step over a fallen tree and cross an abandoned campfire. Ashes and debris stir in a pit surrounded by stones, and I recognize a piece of torn fabric dangling from a low lying branch of a nearby oak. Tess and William must have come through this way. That means I’m on the right path, but it also means that the Morts and Cruor in this area will be on high alert if they know this is where Tess and William passed by undetected.

As I near the edge of the forest, I suck in the icy night air, preparing myself for the worst.

But there’s nothing.

Relief doesn’t swoop in to comfort me. Instead, panic rises in my chest.

It’s eerily empty.

I want to push myself forward, but I step back. I must be missing something. I look as far as I can see, but all I see is a cold, low-lying fog rolling in the open land beyond the edges of the forest and wisping between the trees.

You can do this, Cord. You have to.

I creep out of the forest, into the open now. The next step is harder. Every step after that is taking me farther from the cover of the woods.

Here, I am the deer in the field.

I am the prey.

With my apple-red hair and dark dress, and the golden sheen of my skin in the moonlight, I am a fire burning in the middle of this world of gray and brown, crunching footprints across a field dusted in white. I caress the birthmark on my wrist. It makes me feel closer to Anna and reminds me why I’m doing this.

I pull my invisible wings around me, hoping I have done so correctly, the way Tess had shown me all those weeks ago. It won’t hide me completely, but it will make me unseen to the Morts, and that means one less elemental race to deal with.

My breathing drowns out the sounds of the forest, until I realize I’ve been holding my breath all this time. I freeze a moment longer, taking this realization in. I’m not breathing. But someone else is.

I dart away, not sure where I’m running or what lies ahead. At this point, I’m sure every preternatural being can hear me, see me, notice me. Footsteps snap in the snow behind me. Several loud thumps startle me, and I can’t help it—I look back.

A tall, dark-haired Cruor, fangs snapped out, is charging at me, and three more have just cracked down beside him. At least a dozen more are breaking out from the forest I’ve just escaped. I can’t fight them all, I can’t outrun them. I have no choice but to travel. Tess warned me not to, told me of the risks, but if I don’t, I will certainly either die or lead them where I am heading. I have to choose between a hopeless choice and risky one.

Within moments, I break away. I’m in a tunnel of dark. When I snap out, I crash into something.

My lungs ache as I gasp for air and force my eyes open. A man with shoulder length knotted blond hair and broad shoulders stares at me with extended fangs. He wastes no time reaching out to grab my hair. When I try to pull back, he sweeps my legs, knocking me down and landing on top of me, pinning me down. He’s sitting on my chest and his hands are pressing my shoulders into the ground. If I could breathe, he would only be marginally stronger than me, but right now my body betrays me.

I freeze, unsure what to do until he lifts his hand to strike. I have only a few moments to act, and I need to use his uneven balance to my advantage. I grab the wrist of the hand that’s still pinning me down and, with my other hand, I push his shoulder on the same arm. At the same time, I pull up my opposite knee and turn my hips.

He flips to the side, and I roll on top of him, landing between his legs. He’s struggling beneath me, and I’m not sure how long I can keep him here. My hands slip to catch my balance on the ground, and before I can react, he pummels hard against my chest and sends me flying back. I crash into the snow. The aches pounding through my body drain me. I try to lift myself, but my arms offer little support after the blows I took to my chest.

The Cruor stalks toward me. I don’t have the strength to travel, especially not so soon after my last. I can’t run from this. I have to fight. And I have to win.

It takes everything in me to pick myself off the ground. This only incites the Cruor to laughter, but I waste no time—I lunge forward and tackle him to the ground, following immediately with a blow to his head. Then another, and another. His nose dribbles blood, but heals just as quickly. With no stake, no sword, and no fire, I am not equipped to kill a Cruor. Any damage I inflict won’t last long.

He pushes me away again, but this time with less force. I roll away and slip back to my feet. We crouch opposite of one another, walking a slow, circular dance, as though a large animal paces between us. I should travel again, but I can’t find a window of opportunity. Faster than I can blink, he’s grabbing me by the throat and slamming me to the ground.

I clasp his wrist and pull it to my chest, hook my leg around the back of his neck, and then lock my feet together at my ankles. He’s stuck now, choking against his own arm, but it doesn’t stop him. He just stands up, lifting his arm, and slams me back to the ground. Pain thuds through me, pulsing, spreading. I try to breathe, but air won’t come in. My whole body is radiating with pain, but I have to force my way through it. Finally, I suck in a huge gasp of air and force my way through the pain to twist out from beneath him. When I’m free, I kick him in the ankles, then pounce on him, sending us back into a rolling battle across the snow.

He lands hits to the side of my face and multiple blows to my upper body. My sides are on fire with pain, and my face numbs from the swelling in my cheek. My hands ache. My lungs feel even tighter than before.

I manage to roll him beneath me once more, then jump to my feet and run as far and fast as I can. New forest juts against the night sky in the distance and, just beyond that, the mountains roll along the horizon. He’s right behind me when we hit the forest wall. If I can create a little more distance from him, I can travel without worry of him stopping me. For now, I run alongside the woods, looking for something I can use as a weapon.

How many times has William told me? Whatever you do, fight. Yet I’m running. What else am I supposed to do when a fight can’t be won?

There must be a loose piece of wood that could be used as a stake somewhere, but with him so close behind me, I’m not sure if I would be able to grab a weapon fast enough even if I found one. Instead, I start willing as many Morts out from between the trees as I can, sending them all back for the Cruor.

I stop to watch for the payoff, but they pass right through him, like the ghosts that they are. But then, in the blink of an eye, he drops, his own decapitated head at his side. I’m too stunned to react.

“Morts can’t possess an immortal,” a voice says calmly behind me.

Not my attacker, though. The voice is female.

I look back—a woman with silky black hair tied in a long pony tail stands behind me, the tip of a bloodied sword poking into the pink-splattered snow beneath her. I step away, creating distance between us as I try to take it all in.

A few feet back in the other direction lays the beheaded body of the Cruor, the Morts having cleared way to return to the forest. The warm wind of early spring blows away his existence, his body slowly flaking away until nothing is left.

“They call me Grace,” the woman says, drawing my attention back to her. She extends her hand.

I take in her gleaming violet eyes, porcelain skin with the same golden shimmer as my own, and easy smile. She’s petite—frail—with round eyes, a small nose, and thin lips. She is nearly dwarfed by the sword she carries, yet she took down the Cruor chasing me and hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“This is where you introduce yourself,” she instructs, the same cheery smile still brightening her face. I don’t shake her hand, and she drops it back to her side. “A person in your shoes might even say thank you, you know, for me saving them.”

“Thank...you,” I manage, still stunned. “I’m Cordovae.”

That wasn’t my best idea. Why would I tell her that name, the name that means the most to who and what I am? I shouldn’t trust her, can’t trust her, even if I wanted to, even if she saved my life. For all I know, she only wants to keep my alive so I can lead her to William and Tess.

“Nice to meet you, Cordovae,” Grace says. “You really shouldn’t travel alone around here, you know. Where you off to?”

“Uh...”

“That’s fine,” she says too easily. “You don’t need to tell me. But us Ankou, we ought to stick together.”

That would explain her speed—quick enough to make the kill without being seen, only to pop up behind me when she was done. But...Tess said I shouldn’t trust anyone. I should assume that means even people who come to my rescue. Part of me feels so strongly I can trust this woman, but my better sense reminds me that I’ve already defied Tess’ advice by traveling, and that didn’t work out so well.

Grace’s gaze slides over me, and she purses her lips. “Did you come from Salem? I heard about Sarah Good and Tituba being accused of witchcraft today. Is that why you’re on the run?”

I try to put faces to names. Sarah Good. I don’t know her. I think I remember Tituba, if she was the Indian servant I’d seen around town a few times. Talk of these accusations has me even further on guard, though. Were they accused because I escaped? Would Grace try to bring me back to Salem if she knew?

“Not the talking type?” she asks. “That’s all right. I’m used to doing the talking.” Grace grabs my arm and pulling me into the woods, the sword in her other hand dragging a trail through the snow behind her. “Let’s take a look at your wounds, shall we?”

As she leads me away from the open land, I can’t stop looking back, at the dead Cruor wasting away, carelessly left behind.

I shouldn’t go anywhere with this woman.

* * *

Grace brings me to her camp, revitalizing me with more herbs, and applies some directly to my wounds to speed my healing. I should be thinking how kind she is—and that thought does pass through my mind—but more so I am considering how to get away from her.

Here is this kind woman who put her life on the line for me, and I can’t seem to get away from her fast enough. As though she is who I needed to escape from, when in reality I would likely benefit from her help.

Still, I can’t take any chances.

It’s the same old battle. My mind tells me that my heart cannot be trusted. Tess has planted a seed of distrust in my mind to only further compact my doubt about my instincts.

Maybe there is a way for me learn if she’s someone I can trust. As she brews a fresh batch of herbal tea, I ponder ways I might accomplish testing her, but no idea brings me peace. I’ve always struggled to trust people—that is, until I met William and Tess, who I’ve managed to trust beyond reason. And now I just can’t bear the idea of finding out someone I want to trust cannot be trusted.

If I leave now, the possibility that Grace can be trusted will remain open, and that is exactly the kind of hope I need right now.

In the end, it’s not about whether I can trust Grace. It’s about whether I can trust myself—my instincts. And I can’t. How can I trust the person who failed my daughter?

After I have recouped, we hike a while longer, deeper into the forest. She tells me about her efforts as an Ankou. She, too, she says, is fighting the good fight. Eliminating Morts and Cruor alike to make the world a safer place for everyone. I want to believe her.

The dirt gives way to spongy moss, and pine needles catch in the hem of my skirt, poking at my ankles. We stop a few times near the rushing waterfalls, where the water is so loud we can barely hear the world around us. I am on high alert, fearful of who might be watching us, following us. But I need to recoup, and the fresh spring water washes the bitter taste of anxiety from my tongue and gives me the energy to carry on.

Water splashes onto my dress, and my sleeves are soaked from plunging my hands in the stream, but despite the cold, it’s surprisingly refreshing. Part of me wishes I never had to leave here, that I didn’t have to worry about who might be following, that I could have Anna here with me, safe, and that together we could watch the frothing waterfalls and squish our toes in the moss. But that is not my life, and our trek must continue.

The land inclines, and I am taken aback by the amount of dandelion that grows here. It covers the mountainside like a blanket. Large slates of unyielding stone jut from the ground, and wild onions sprout from the soil. Wolves howl in the distance, and rabbits peek from bushes.

“Where is the dandelion coming from? I’ve never seen dandelion grow this early.”

“Magic,” Grace says, grinning. “This is what the Ankou do, remember?” She climbs up a small plateau then turns to pull me up with her. “Where are you going, anyway?”

I don’t know how to answer.

“Do you have family this way? Are they expecting you?”

“Something like that...”

“You seem so purposeful, you know? Family can motivate us like that. Don’t you think so?”

She’s probably just being nice, trying to fill the otherwise empty air between us, but what if her exceeding interest in where I’m going and who I’m meeting stems from something other than concern?

“Family can motivate some people,” I say, trying to disconnect myself from the question.

“So how much farther until we get there?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I say, and I’m a little relieved that finally I was able to give her an honest answer.

The sky has hit its darkest moment and is already beginning to get lighter once more. If I am to lose her, it’s now or never. I feign exhaustion and collapse against a tree. I sink to the floor and cradle my face in the nook of my arm.

“Grace, I really need to rest,” I lie.

If anyone here can’t be trusted, it’ll be me.

I peek up at her, hoping to convey weariness with my eyes. “Do you think we could set up camp here and continue tomorrow night? Morning isn’t far off, and we need time to secure shelter.”

She nods. “You’re right. We should see if there is a natural shelter nearby, otherwise we’ll need this time to gather supplies to build something.”

I wobble back to my feet, then catch myself on the tree again. “I just need a minute.”

Grace rushes over and helps me settle back down. “No, Cordovae. You stay here and rest. I won’t be far. Call out if you need anything, otherwise, I will return after I’ve found shelter.”

I swallow around the lump in my throat and grasp her wrist. “Thank you,” I whisper. “Sorry.”

“It’s nothing,” she says, but she doesn’t know why I’m apologizing.

When I am certain she is far enough off, I sneak off to continue my journey alone.

21

March 1692

Early spring morning is still dark, still cold, but it’s also hopeful. It’s warm enough to melt the dusting of snow, and only a few patches evidencing winter remain.

At first I creep through the mountain forest, building distance between myself and the woman who saved me from certain death. Animals howl and the wind whistles along the slopes. Small cliffs and crags force me into an indirect path, but soon the shale gives way to soil and early spring grass that fills the air with the hopeful aroma of life instead of destruction.

Certain I’ve made enough ground to go unheard by Grace, I pick up my pace, and soon I’m running. My knees and ankles ache as my feet thud against the hard, uneven terrain of the mountainside. Whenever I misstep, I use the trees to catch my balance.

I wipe the sweat from my neck and face. My skin and lips are chapped from the weeks of dry cold, and my throat feels raw from the thin air, but the night is warmer than weeks past. I stop by a stream to recoup. The water is soothing but chilling all at once. My body craves the heat of a fire. The sooner I reach Tess and William, the sooner I can rest.

The next field I cross is covered with dandelions—I wonder if these, too, have grown by way of magic, or if spring is finally calling. Tess and William’s haven won’t be far and should be secure, but still I need to be prepared in the event I have misjudged how much farther I need to travel. I won’t have anyone to fight alongside me or rescue me should I be forced to face another Cruor, so I grab a large branch and sharp rock to carve a stake.

I’m done needing others to fight my battles. If I am to return to my past and save my daughter, I need to save myself.

From now on, I rely on no one.

I rip the sleeves from my dress and use one sleeve to tie my hair away from my face. I kneel onto one knee and use my second sleeve to strap the stake to my opposite calf. The only thing covering the birthmark on my wrist now is the fingerless glove Verity gave me. I hope she’s okay back in Salem.

I pause a moment, looking out into the distance. Out into this huge world that goes on for as far as the eye can see. But I don’t feel small today. I feel determined.

Don’t worry, Anna. I’m coming.

I carve a second stake, this one much longer so that I can also use it as a hiking stick. Nothing will get in my way. I am stronger than ever.

As I pass another waterfall, shouts echo over the roar of the rushing water. I crouch behind a cluster of trees and train my attention on where the noise is coming from. I creep a few more yards to the west, then follow the voices north from there. Ahead of me, just beyond the trees, stretches a clearing, and it’s here the noise originates.

Wedged between two trees and obscured by the underbrush, I peek out and scan the area. To the far northeast side of the clearing, bodies move in a blur and swords cut through air and flesh. It takes moments for my vision to adjust to their speed, but soon things slow to a near stop.

Cruor.

This wasn’t part of the plan, and I don’t have time to come up with a new one. Nothing is happening the way it should. This place is supposed to be safe. And it’s not. Cruor should not be so close to our shelter and safety.

Tess hadn’t prepared me for this.

A young man, at least a good foot and a half taller than myself, fights a losing battle with more than a few Cruor. Outnumbered, bleeding from the gut and stumbling, he swings his sword and falls to his knees as an elbow lands sharply to the back of his head. In the moonlight, his skin sheens golden—one of the Ankou. One of our own.

The young man looks up, dark, maple-syrup brown eyes locking on mine, his square, shaded jaw covered in rivulets of blood.

My heart stops.

William.

His name leaves my soul like a dying breath. Before I can think, my feet pound across the field and a sound not quite human comes from my mouth.

Gone is the doubt that plagued me the last time I saw him in battle. We need each other. There is no way to do this alone. We are each valuable, and no one can be left behind. Hadn’t that been why William was on his way to save me?

Several of the Cruor turn their heads in my direction, but before they can react, my stake is already through one of their hearts. I yank it out, black blood splattering on my face and clothes as I spin toward the next monster.

This one falls as quickly as the first. I dart into the center of the commotion, knocking Cruor off of William long enough to pull him to his feet. I spin back to my opponents, three of them with their attention on me now that my sudden appearance has resonated with their group. There must be at least a dozen of them still standing.

I lean my back into William’s and brace myself with his body to jump and kick two of the Cruor in one fell swoop. They stumble back, and I drop to my feet to shoot for the legs of one of the other Cruor. But as I do, another one lands a kick to my hip.

I go with the force, swiveling to the side, but all I feel is pressure. My body is numb. I will kill this monster I’ve taken down. I plunge the stake into his chest, then duck as another one tries to grab me. I roll back and onto my feet and plant myself firmly on the ground.

Another of my opponents comes up behind me and hooks his arm around my neck. I thrust my hands up between my throat and his forearm before he can tighten the grip. With a good hold on him, I bend forward and push toward the ground. He flies over my shoulder, but before I can finish him off, there’s another Cruor rushing up beside me.

In one quick motion, my stake is in and out of his heart and plunging for the Cruor who is already picking himself up off the ground. A head rolls on the floor by my feet, and I glance up to see William has decapitated five of the men on his own.

Something stabs into my side, and my hand instinctively grabs the wound. When I pull my hand away, it’s covered in blood. The cut burns as though on fire, and the fire spreads outward, into my hip and between my ribs, around to my back and stomach. Nausea rips through me. The bloody blade swings toward me again, but I stumble back before it hits, falling to the ground and catching myself with my hands.

A tall Cruor, eyes black, hovers over me, pointing the sword at my chest. I grab the sword, the blade cutting into my palms and burning them with iron poison, then I roll away, forcing myself to my feet despite the pain threatening to shut down my body.

I lunge for the man anyway, taking another slash to my side as my stake rips through his heart. When I turn to find my next opponent, the remaining two Cruor are already across the field and disappearing into the trees.

Cowards.

The sun perks up in the sky, and I know time is running short. We need to get out of here. Our translucent veined wings capture the sunlight like a spider web catches drops of rain. Hideous and almost-beautiful all at once.

Once they are out of sight, William keels over on the ground. I reach into my pouch and grab a fistful of rosary peas. They won’t do William any good, and I can’t help him in the state I’m in. I shove the poisonous peas into my mouth and close my eyes, willing them to work. It takes a moment, but they give me the strength I need.

I heave William up. Taking his arm across my shoulder, I feel more than just the weight of his body. I feel the sun’s rays like a pressure on my bones. Something bubbles against the back of my neck.

Oh God. It’s his skin, scorching in the daylight. I nearly forgot he’s part Cruor. That’s how he’d been able to influence me when we’d first met. He hasn’t done it since, and I’d almost forget he was able.

My heart rate ratchets into a panic. “Which way to camp, William? We have to hurry!”

Wearily, he nods his head to the west, blood dripping from his mouth and nose and scalp, and we use what is left of our strength to make our way to a small shelter, where we collapse in each other’s arms.

* * *

This isn’t our final destination, I know, because Tess isn’t here, nor is there any sign she ever has been. We can’t stay here long. The Cruor will surely return. We need to recoup and make ground before they return or we’ll never have the clearance to make our way back to Tess.

The shelter is stocked with nightshade, Daphne berries, and oleander.

He really was coming for me. Why else would he have all these herbs, these herbs he can’t use for himself? With my adrenaline wearing off, it takes every last ounce of my strength to feed myself, to chew, to swallow, but once I do, I slowly start to recover. It makes eating easier, and now I am able to feed William as well. I shuffle around the cabin looking for something that will help him, but I don’t see anything.

“There,” he rasps, nodding to a basket in the corner.

There’s a half-dead raccoon and a knife. No food.

“There’s nothing here.”

I think he shakes his head, but the movement is too weak to say for sure.

“Animal blood,” he whispers.

I frown. He’s too injured to heal on his own, and we don’t have much time. I pick up the animal, trying not to think about what he’s going to do, and place it in his hands. His fangs snap down, but they’re broken. He waves toward the knife, and I hand it to him. He struggles to cut the animal. I can’t look at it anymore. Both the raccoon and the man are struggling more than necessary.

I kneel at William’s side, swallow hard, and take the animal and knife from him. I slice the animal across the neck and hold the wound to William’s mouth as it streams blood onto his lips and tongue. His mouth barely moves to eat.

“Eat!” I order him. “Come on!”

He breaks away.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “You shouldn’t...see—”

“Don’t dare worry about me,” I say, and I push the animal back to his mouth.

Watching the effort it takes him breaks my heart, and watching the life leave the animal’s eyes kills me inside. I want to save them both, but I can’t.

You’re going to have to choose.

I know this is only a test. It’s not the raccoon and William that is the choice I have to make. It’s this life and the one before. It’s him, and it’s Anna. He doesn’t have a chance—we don’t have a chance.

But I can’t think about that right now. I fight back tears as I wait for him to finish. When he is able to feed himself, I wash my wounds in a basin and make a healing ointment from the Daphne berries and Oleander. I apply the paste and rub it into a deep gash on my side, wincing, but within moments, my wounds, like his, are already mending themselves closed, the edges turning to bright pink scars.

“Not exactly keeping a low profile, were you?” I ask lightly, trying to smile.

“You’re all right,” he whispers. “You’re here.”

“Of course I am,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I can take care of myself.”

William grins, or winces. Maybe both. “But how—”

“Shhh...” I press my finger to his lips. “You need to rest.”

His skin is pearl white now that we’re out of the moonlight, and his earthy brown hair sticks to his forehead. He is even more stunning than I remember. My finger lingers on his lips a moment too long, his gaze burning into mine, and my cheeks flash hot. I drop my hand away and rub my temples.

I need to forget about this man, but how can I when every inch of my body reminds me of that need to forget? My palms sweat. My heart races. My mouth is dry. All I can think is that I want my hands on him, my heart by his, to drink him in. Looking at him is like a drug in my system. I want more, and at the same time, I want the desire to go away, forever, to never return, to never distract me ever again.

William props himself up on one arm and turns toward me. The wound on his opposite shoulder is still bleeding, so I turn away to grab the rag to clean it. Is the animal blood not enough? When I turn back, he seems suddenly closer, his face inches from my own. Slowly, I reach for his wound, but when I do, his arm reaches up around me, his fingers slip into the hair at the nape of my neck, and his lips move for mine.

My breath disappears from my lungs. His lips press into mine, and my heart rattles in my chest. I’m frozen and at the same time wanting to throw myself into this moment. I’m still weak from the iron poisoning, and I rationalize to myself that that is the reason I am slowly falling forward, falling into him.

Falling for him.

I close my eyes and give in to the kiss. He tastes like bergamot, and I breathe him in like a cool ocean breeze. His strong hands caress my arms, his touch as cool and smooth and comforting as bed-sheets in an air-conditioned room mid-summer. A fragment tries to push through, to remind me how I know of air-conditioners, but his kiss melts those thoughts away, and I’m only here with him, here in this moment.

God, I care about this man. I care about him, but I shouldn’t. I don’t have time to care about anything right now, only Anna, and I don’t have time to be with him. When this war is over, I still won’t care about him enough for it to matter. It will never be enough to forget Anna.

I try to push my feelings aside, to tell myself my body is betraying me, my mind hungry for connection. This feeling can’t be real or important.

But still, it’s there, even after I chastise myself for feeling this way.

His tongue slides across my lips, tickles against my own, and this moment feels so safe. He’s the only man I trust. But as his hand creeps up my side and caresses the underside of my breast, my emotions swirl with confusion. Fragments from my life as Rose—fragments of my only other experiences of “intimacy” try to push through, and my heart and my body know this is different, but suddenly I am not sure if this is what I want or if I am just trying to prove something to myself.

I put my hand over his and slide it back down to my hip, pulling away slowly, smiling apologetically.

“William...there’s something I need you to know.”

He raises his brow. “Anything, Cord.”

“Anna...“ I shake my head. “Anna is my father’s baby.”

“Your sister?” he asks, his brow furrowing.

What would he think if he knew the truth? Would he be disgusted? Would he think less of me? I can only stare at him, and soon, his eyes widen with realization.

“You didn’t want that,” he says.

“But I want her.”

He pulls me to his chest. “I know you do,” he says, pressing his mouth against my scalp. “I can’t think of any woman stronger of heart and mind than you, no one any more likely to make the return. You’ll get back to her. You will.”

I shake my head. “I’m...sorry.”

“No, Cordovae,” he whispers, sweeping a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

Those words cement my feelings for William. I can trust him. I can love him. He’s safe for me, in every way but one: that eventually, I have to leave him behind.

He lays back and gently pulls me against his side, and just being near him sends a new energy zinging through me. I’m more alert than I’ve been in days. I’m even...happy...and I can’t deal with the guilt of being happy right now, not without Anna here.

I rest my head between his shoulder and chest and close my eyes, and we are floating in everything unspoken.

22

March 1692

We lie there until our health returns. The kiss hangs in the air between us; I’d stopped things before we got carried away. I’m not ready for this. I don’t think I ever will be. As eager as I am to be connected to William, I need to escape the intimacy.

And yet, at the same time, as much as I hate to admit it, I need him. I need to know for myself that love with a man can be pure. William is the only man who can heal this broken part of me. The only one who could erase the things I want to forget and help me get back to the things I want to remember. In a way, being with him is reclaiming myself.

But I’m still not ready, and he belongs to the wrong world. Or maybe it’s me that does.

“We’re lucky there weren’t more of them, aren’t we?” I ask.

William turns his face toward mine. “Cruor?”

I nod.

“It’s the dandelion,” he says. “That’s why we chose this location. It repels them; it is like poison to them the way iron is to us. Some always get by though with magic of some kind or another.”

I remember the field I passed before I found him and wonder why Tess and William hadn’t set up their safe-haven there. “So Tess isn’t far from here, then?”

“It’s close,” he says, and it seems as though our bond has shattered. All that exists in the few inches between us is miles of cold.

William slowly disentangles himself, reaffirming what I sense, and changes into fresh clothes with his back to me. There is a new tension in the air, and awkwardness between us, an iciness that radiates from him, and I need him to look at me so I can tell myself I am imagining it all, that I’m irrationally swept up in emotions that I will blame entirely on weakness caused by injury and stress.

But he won’t make eye contact with me. He hands me a fresh change of clothes.

“I brought these for you,” he says, then he turns his attention to packing a small pouch with food and filling a canteen with what’s left of our fresh water.

“So you really were coming after me?” I ask.

“We need you to fight this war with us.” His tone is distant.

“Is that all?” I ask quietly.

William turns to me slowly, and everything I feared I would see in his eyes is there: regret most of all. “That is all you are meant for here.”

He’s right. And I knew this, planned this.

I look at the dress he’s handed me. It’s one of Tess’, made of velvet, with long bell sleeves. I’ll have to keep my fingerless gloves to hide the birthmark on my wrist.

It strikes me that I don’t need to hide my birthmark here as I had needed to in Salem, but I’ve revealed enough of myself. I’ve made myself more vulnerable than I ever should have allowed. I am better off not sharing anything about myself anymore.

I take off my dress and go to crumple it up, but feel something round and hard. I check the pockets. Deep in one of them is the necklace William gave me with the large, round, wooden chip and engraved tree. I bite my lip, staring down at it. I know he cares, in his own way. I slip the necklace around my neck and quickly get changed.

“Tess was supposed to stop you,” I say slowly. “Wasn’t she?”

“She may have tried,” he says, shuffling quickly through the cabin to throw some last minute items in his pouch. “I haven’t seen her. The borders are locked up. I couldn’t get through. I was on my way back to get her, to bring her to help.”

I scoff. “She wouldn’t have.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t know that.”

“Right,” I say. “Well, I don’t really know much of anything.”

His focus slides down, centers on the necklace he gave me. Then he lifts his gaze back to my eyes, and his expression grows serious. Steady. “I wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.”

“You know better, William. Neither you nor Tess can risk yourselves.”

William busies himself preparing his own traveling pack. “All we ever do is risk ourselves, Cord. I wasn’t going to fail you, the way I’ve failed others.”

“You said our lives are too important to make sacrifices. That we have to stay focused on what we are meant to do.”

“I can’t be a coward in my efforts to be a hero,” he says. “Perhaps I am meant to sacrifice myself this time. You’ve shown me what it truly means to fight for what we believe in. And I believe in...I . . .”

Say it. Say you believe in us.

I narrow my eyes, lips pressed together, wondering if he can be as brave with his feelings for me as he is with risking his life.

William shakes his head. “Nothing I have done has hurt our goals. We need you to help us fight this war.”

“That’s not what you were going to say!”

“Damn it, Cord! What do you want from me?”

“The truth.”

“You didn’t like the truth so much the last time you asked for it.”

I tilt my chin up, though really I feel like storming out of this place.

“I know you’re after some fairytale,” he says. “You think I can love you the way you need me to? Well, I can’t. I can never love anyone the way they deserve. Not so long as I am a slave to my nature.”

“But you aren’t a slave to your nature. That was decades ago, and I’m not your father.”

“Jesus Christ, Cordovae, you aren’t my shrink, either.”

Shrink. I press my lips together. He’s travelled to other times before, outside of this one. Could he travel with me to mine?

“You keep making this about me,” I say. “But it’s not. You’re afraid.”

“You should be, too,” he mumbles. “Now drop it.”

Why won’t he just admit he cares about me? He must, to have taken these risks and to have made these mistakes. I can’t be imagining it. We may have no future together, but I want to see it hurt him as much as it hurts me. I can never truly embrace how I feel about him until I’ve seen him just as torn, and at the same time, that is what tears me up inside as it is.

Why do I care? Is it possible my emotions for him could compromise me returning to Anna? I can’t forget what is really important here. The lives that could be lost if he chooses me over his duty, or the repercussions if I let my feelings for him get in the way of my own goals.

There’s nothing good to be gained. And yet, being with him...it’s healing. It heals me in all the ways the earth cannot. William and I are not meant to be, but my feelings for him keep spiraling like a rogue leaf caught on the wind. I can’t control what’s happening, and I’m terrified of what happens when I hit the ground.

Do I love him? Is this why they call it falling in love?

And, most importantly, what happens to the fallen?

I don’t want to know. I need to escape before I find out.

“Clearly I don’t know enough to be any help here,” I say, spreading my hands.

William frowns. “You knew enough to save yourself.”

“Only with help.”

“Help?” His eyebrows dig deeper over his eyes, and he steps closer. “What do you mean? Who helped you, Cord?”

I scowl, holding my ground. “Some woman I met. If it weren’t for her—”

“What if she followed you, Cord? Did you think about that? That maybe she helped you live so she could follow you here?”

“Yes,” I hiss. “I did think of that. She didn’t follow me, all right? And this location of yours obviously wasn’t as secure as you thought. I won’t let you blame that on me.”

William exhales slowly, his expression softening, tension leaving his shoulders and his posture relaxing. “I apologize. Try to understand that it’s not only myself I’m worried about here.”

I want to ask him who else he worries about. Me? Would he admit it if he did? Would it even matter?

I grab up a pouch of supplies and pull aside the flap of our tent, staring out into the eerily still mountainside forest. “It’ll be getting light again soon,” I say. “We better go.”

23

March 1692

We travel in silence. Trudge through darkness. I thought the dandelion field I crossed earlier would have been the best location...until we reach our destination. The ground outside the small, tucked-away cabin is completely blanketed in sweet yellow blooms. It’s as though winter hasn’t touched this place at all. The air is pungent and the floral aroma stings my nose. It almost feels wrong to walk on the land here, each step crushing dozens of innocent flowers.

When we arrive at the cabin, I see Tess through the window, her long, brunette braid tumbling down her back. She’s standing by the fire with a man, her petite fingers wrapped around his dark hand and her head leaning against his shoulder. Adrian. When we open the door, letting in a gust of cold air, her gothic dress flutters over her boots. Tess snaps her hand from Adrian and hurries to the kitchen, where she busies herself with a bowl of fresh herbs.

William places his hand at the small of my back and sweeps his arm toward Tess’ fellow. “You remember Adrian. Adrian, Cord.”

The man turns toward me. His large hands clasp behind his back, and he lifts his chin. “Pleasure to see you again, Cordovae.”

I smile, trying to disguise my discomfort. I would prefer some time alone with Tess and William. “Are you and Tess—”

“Friends?” he asks, the thin braids of his cocoa brown hair quivering in some undeterminable emotion. “For a long time now, we have been allies through this tragic division of our species.”

Friends. Right. I can’t shake the bad feeling I get about this guy. Seeing a Cruor right now is the last thing I want, ally or not. I feel oddly protective over Tess as well.

I step further into the cabin and set down my pouch. “So you’ll be here—”

“Fighting along your side ‘til the end,” he says. His lips curl into what I imagine is meant to be a smile. “Though my presence is entirely welcomed here by at least some, I assure you.”

I glance back to William, and he nods.

“Well, if you don’t mind—”

“You wish to speak with Tess and William in private?”

I press my lips together, attempting to hold my tongue. It doesn’t do much good. “Yes. Although, you could let me finish—”

“And yet it saves much valuable time to cut to the chase.” He takes a small bow, his chocolately eyes never leaving my own as he takes leave from the cabin.

I spin toward William, and he looks at me, warmth coming from behind his thick lashes. “I’m not entirely fond of him, either,” he says, “but we need him.”

“Isn’t he affected by the dandelion here?” I ask.

William frowns. “It is not entirely impossible for a Cruor with the right connections to have some tolerance for it. We have given him some help, though I imagine he’s still not comfortable.”

That makes two of us.

Tess bustles into the room, and I drop the conversation. Whoever that man is, he is clearly the ‘someone’ William once told me Tess keeps company with. As it is, we have more pressing matters to discuss.

Now that we are all together, I notice none of us are wearing our chime necklaces. Me, because I’d left mine behind before heading back into the town. I imagine they have theirs put away because, for now, we don’t want to attract any Morts.

Tess hands us each a steaming cup of steeped herbs. “I returned here when I couldn’t find William.”

He wasn’t far.

“No matter,” I say. “I found him. But I don’t think we are really safe to stay here much longer.”

Tess’ pear-green eyes settle on mine, and I see something there I’ve never seen before; I’m not sure if she’s happy to see me or if seeing me has just renewed her hope. “Glad to see you safe.”

I feel the shift in dynamic between us, or perhaps there’s only been a change in myself. “I’m still not sure how I survived long enough to make it this far,” I say. “The Cruor had several opportunities to kill me before my escape.”

William sets aside his cup and sits on a nearby crate. “They probably wanted to do worse than kill you.”

“Just me then?” I ask. “There was another woman—a Strigoi—who got away, too. They killed her unborn child by making her shift, but left her alive.”

“You’ll only drive yourself mad trying to understand them,” Tess says. “They don’t like the way Strigoi taste, and they don’t often kill unless they must—either to feed or to protect themselves. They get more enjoyment out of making people suffer. But you got away, that’s what matters.”

“Is it?” I sigh heavily. “Two other women have been accused.”

“Sarah Good and Tituba?” Tess asks. “They’re arrested now. And Sarah Osborne, too.”

“You know them?” I ask, incredulous.

Tess shakes her head. “We received word. Did you know them?”

“No...but...”

“But what?” Tess asks. “Now they are too busy with them to worry about you.”

I open my mouth to defend how unjust that is, but something tells me Tess already knows. There aren’t many who care about justice as much as she.

William runs the blade of his knife against a stone, sharpening it. “You never told me how you got caught in the first place. Didn’t heed our warnings would be my guess.”

I narrow my eyes. “I did what I had to do. I though you of all people would understand.”

He shrugs. I drink the rest of the herbal mixture. It’s gone cold.

Tess takes the cup from my hand and sets it next to Williams, then takes my fingers in hers and leads me over to the fire. “What happened between you two?”

I stare over at him, trying to ignore the anger and attraction and heartache.

“Nothing,” I mumble.

Tess squats beside me, one hand on my knee and the other resting on my shoulder. “Don’t mind him anyway. We all have our days.”

I make an effort to relax my neck and shoulders. “Right. Well, I suppose we just don’t always see eye to eye.”

“No one does,” she says. She’s so close I can smell the lemon and lavender on the soft golden glow of her skin. “I have not been so easy on you, either, but I hope you can understand why. This really isn’t the time to train new Ankou.”

“I can handle myself, if only you two would tell me what to expect.” My tone is harsher than I intend.

Tess pulls back. “I think we did a fair job preparing you. It’s a lot to take in.”

“You did not tell me the monster I would become.”

“Monster?”

I scowl at her, then point to my mouth. “When I tried to save my friend, I ended up biting her. Like the Cruor, but worse. It worked, but my teeth got me caught.”

“Your teeth?” Tess asks, her eyebrows rising. “Did they all turn to sharp points?”

“What else?” I ask.

Her whole face lights up. “How rare! I never would have thought to prepare you for that. But it doesn’t make you a monster. This is...it’s...wonderful!” She squeezes my leg and turns toward William. “Did you know she’s a Ferrum?”

I close my eyes briefly. William makes some snorting sound. “Of course,” he says sarcastically. “She would be, wouldn’t she?”

He sounds bitter about it.

“I thought you would appreciate that,” Tess said. “Wasn’t your—”

“Tess,” he says sharply, and she stops.

“I just thought it might come in handy is all.”

William scowls. “If she knew how to control it, maybe.”

Tess settles beside me. “He’s just grumpy because...well, you know how he can get.”

“What’s a Ferra?” I ask.

“Ferrum. Really not so different from the Ankou,” she says. “They’re just more evolved. They can save a human that has already been possessed without the risks.”

“I’ve done it without my teeth, too.”

Tess shakes her head. “To a willing Mort?”

I nod.

Tess nods, too. “That’s different. We can all do that.”

“I’ve also used compulsion magic to get them to possess on my order.”

“Very good! Did you learn that while imprisoned? Just keep in mind that helps only with possession. You can’t use compulsion magic to undo the possession—that’s where Ankou nature comes from.”

“Oh?” I’m trying to absorb these new details that will dictate not only my life, but the lives of many.

“The Ferrum have a unique purpose, too,” Tess continues. “You can get the Mort out of a human, against the Mort’s will. Your bite will poison’s the host body with a substance that only affects Morts. They won’t stay in the host body after that. You can end the possession without risk of killing the body!”

“Can we use that for anything other than getting ourselves caught?” I ask.

Tess’ grin brightens even more. She’s...excitable. “So, did you learn anything else while locked away?”

“I think there was a spirit elemental there, but they took her away.”

“There are no spirit elementals yet,” Tess assures me, but after I explain the events, she purses her lips together and stares at the fire for a long time. “She would have to die first, before her time, to become one.”

“How so?” I ask.

“It hasn’t been proven, but there is a rumor that some Chibold claim the Universe said Forever Girls will be those reborn by our magic.”

“Then it might not be long,” I say solemnly. “I couldn’t save her. The cell was encased in iron; I couldn’t travel or use most of my abilities for that matter. Once I escaped, I saw a woman weeping over her body during our escape, and I moved her.”

“You what?” Tess’ smile turns to glowering. “Now is not the time to be traveling, Cord!”

“I had to!” I ball my fists at my side. “It’s done now, and it was the right thing to do.”

“I hope you’re right.” She shakes her head. “You still haven’t told us how you escaped.”

“The compulsion magic. I was able to control one of the Morts long enough to escape.”

“Thank goodness,” she says.

“This is bigger than I thought.” When Tess doesn’t respond, I add, “The Cruor are killing humans that are awaiting trial at the settlement.”

Tess’ shoulders sag, and she walks to the cabin window, looking out toward where Adrian sits in the lingering darkness, his back against one of the trees that obscure our location. She’s distressed—the way she tugs her earlobe gives her away.

“We’re aware,” she says. “You aren’t the only one who has been controlling the Morts. There are others...with the Maltorim.”

“Others?”

Tess still doesn’t look at me. “They are controlling the evilest of the Morts, using them to possess some of the humans in order to lure others. But that’s not all.”

“Hmmm?”

I think she must not hear me, because moments pass without a response.

“What’s not all, Tess?”

“Cord—” Her voice cracks. Slowly her gaze sweeps toward me, haunted. For the first time, I think I’m seeing Tess afraid.

“Please, just tell me.”

She takes a long shuddering sigh. “The Maltorim are using a form of...necromancy. They’re not just making the Morts possess the living, Cord. They’re also making them possess the dead.”

24

March 1692

I rock back on my feet. The Maltorim are using necromancy to compel the Morts to possess the dead? “How, Tess? Is that even possible? The Maltorim can’t do that! I thought they were mostly Cruor? Is it anything like what I did in the cell? The compulsion magic, maybe?”

She twists her lips. “No, it can’t be that. Possessing the dead is very different from a spirit sharing a body with a living host. If they are performing this kind of magic, they must have help from an Ankou. That’s the only explanation. Cruor simply were never designed to perform such magic.”

“Why would the Ankou help the Maltorim do that? It goes completely against our calling!”

Tess scoffs. “Can’t you see, Cord? What is it humans say when they make mistakes? ‘I’m only human.’” She says this mockingly. “Well, if that’s true, we’re all only human.”

I cross the room and grab Tess by her shoulders. “We’re not human.”

Her big green eyes look up at me, and the weight of her words settle into my chest. “There is no perfect race, Cord. The Morts—there are good and bad. The Strigoi—there are good and bad. The Cruor—there are good and bad. Do you think all Ankou are good? Do you think we’re all good guys?”

I drop my hands to my side. “I guess—”

“Please, Cord. Don’t guess.” Tess grabs my shoulders this time. “Just give us something useful. Anything useful. Think hard—what happened when you were in that cell? What can we use to fix this?”

The desperation in her plea tugs at my heart. I reflect on my time in captivity, trying to figure out how it might all tie together. All I can see is Thornhart reading from that evil book. Why would Thornhart be involved in this? Some of the men had clearly been taken over by the Morts, but not all of them.

“What can you tell me about the Malleus Maleficarum?” I ask.

“Written by the Maltorim over two centuries ago, delivered through a possessed man—Heinrich Kramer—and a comrade of his. Why? Where did you see it?”

“Thornhart had a copy. He read from it to us.”

“If that’s true,” Tess says, “then they have been planning these events for long time. Much longer than we could have imagined.”

“Then some of these people are possessed, and others are being led by the possessed, and more yet have simply been influenced by the times—by a book?”

Tess frowns. “It’s all being blamed on witchcraft, and the possessions have helped make witchcraft a believable plague. It explains the unexplainable, gives them a solution to their fears. The Malleus Maleficarum is clearly just one piece in their puzzle, one more thing that can reinforce the ideas being pushed on your settlement.”

My settlement. Not really. Abigail’s settlement, sure. Aren’t I, in a way, possessing Abigail? Whose life has Tess taken over? William is the only one of us here who was born Ankou. Are we no better than the spirits we hunt?

Tess continues on, unaware of my inner conflicts. “This whole charade is meant to give the Cruor an easy blood-life source. It weeds out the lives people are willing to sacrifice—then the Cruor can feed. Unfortunately, even those who are not possessed have become caught up in the witch hunts. The settlement will destroy themselves, and then the Cruor will move on to find new life to feed from.”

“Well...are we doing anything about that?”

Tess turns back to me. She stares at me a long time, as though studying me. “Do you want to?”

* * *

It’s not just getting back to Anna that motivates me, and I am not sure if I should feel guilty to admit that. There was a time where she was all that mattered. Somehow, I’ve come to see this world as worth saving. People have the right to their own bodies. Tess says those involved need to be brought to justice, but I know her idea of justice isn’t quite the same as mine. William, though, is the only of us who is driven by pure nobility. All he wants to do is help these people because these people need help.

It would be nice if my motivations were as simple as that.

When Adrian joins us inside, he at least proves more useful than I expected.

“The Maltorim have built an army of possessed,” he explains. “They have found the only known living spirit elemental and are forcing her to use her abilities to control the Morts.”

Tess shoves him hard in the shoulder. “Damn it, Adrian! You should have told us sooner.”

“I didn’t have a chance,” he says sharply. “I only found out on my last trip back to the Maltorim, and I only got as far as to tell you that they were possessing the dead using necromancy when Cord arrived.”

I lean back. My alarm bells are going off. “Adrian is with the Maltorim?”

William waves me off. “Not really. It’s for appearances. He’s our ‘in’. He grew up there. We can’t choose what families we are born into, can we?”

“I guess...”

William nudges Tess in the shoulder. “Don’t be so hard on him. It’s better he tell us together anyway, all at once.”

I roll my eyes. Because God forbid Adrian repeats himself. I huff, shaking my head. “Tess said there are no spirit elementals. And spirit elementals are not the only ones who can control the Morts. Anyone who knows compulsion magic can do the same.”

Tess clears her throat. “There is no proof of any spirit elementals in existence,” she says. “I’m afraid Adrian and I are not in agreement on this.”

Adrian turns to her. “The girl is a spirit elemental, I assure you. There is no other way they could possess the dead. Compulsion magic alone wouldn’t be enough for that. They have Ankou working for the Maltorim and need her blood to perform the necromancy.”

“There’s no evidence,” Tess shoots back. “I just find it odd that a spirit elemental would turn up now. That would make two, if Cord is right about the girl she met in the cell. How could it be they have been here without us knowing?”

“Yet you don’t find it odd that these events have not taken place before now?”

I put my hands up. “Enough. So this woman may or may not be a spirit elemental, but she is controlling the Morts. That is what is important, correct?”

William bends up a knee and rests his elbow there. “More so that they are using her blood to do it against her will.”

“What does this mean for us?” I ask, trying to get William and Adrian refocused. From the corner of my eye, I see William smile, and I feel a smile within myself, too, hidden in my heart where no one can see it. For once in my life, I feel...in control.

“I’m not sure what the end goal is,” Adrian says, “but they are using Morts in human bodies to carry out their wishes during the day—to hunt the Ankou.”

“The Maltorim has the Morts hunting us? Why?”

“Because,” he explains, “the blood of the Ankou allows the Cruor to walk in the sun.”

The hunters, it seems, have become the hunted.

* * *

As it turns out, some Ankou are cowards that will sell out their own kind to protect themselves.

The windows are quickly covered before daylight arrives, though every now and then the sheets will catch a draft and flutter, and a few rays of light will squeeze by, revealing our veined wings, a reminder of how inhuman we really are.

We’re insects. Very large insects.

Adrian, however, manages to always stay to the shadows, even when indoors, perhaps because the sunlight would be far more damaging to him.

I sit on the splintered wood floor, wrapped in a scratchy blanket but thankful for the warmth against the draft. A stew Tess has prepared gurgles in a pot over the fire, and she serves us bowls of rough meat and bitter wild onions. We cannot build our fire larger than required to cook our meals, for fear of drawing attention to ourselves.

I hadn’t realized how famished I was until I smelled the food, and although the meat does not taste fresh nor the onions sweet, I greedily consume every drop in my bowl.

The day passes uneasily, my stomach twisted in knots of fear over whether we will be discovered and how much longer we are safe here. But we cannot travel into daylight; we are prisoners of our own nature. By midday, it’s evident spring is coming a little early this year. The cold is gone. I would almost say the day is warm.

How long have I been trapped in this life? If spring has just begun, then no more than a season. The fire adds a smoky haze and yellow glow to the room that seems more alive than my daytime vision.

Not nearly soon enough, night arrives. As our location is compromised due to the Maltorim soldiers we battled earlier—and, Tess says, because of my traveling—we set out immediately at sundown. Adrian leads the way.

“We need to find a find a good location to travel through,” he says, his gaze steady on Tess. His expression is somber, perhaps even sad. “Do you know of a good place?”

Tess tips her chin. “Not far ahead, still surrounded by the dandelion. I haven’t seen any Morts or Cruor in the area.”

“We’ll need transport to Damascus. Once we arrive, we’ll need to break in to rescue the girl,” he says. “It’s important we stay together.”

Tess picks up the pace, leading the way. “Do you know any Chibold in that area, or must we bring her back here?”

The question is clearly directed at Adrian, but William cuts in. “We’ll bring her to the Chibold here,” he says. “We know them best.”

“So be it.” Tess cuts her attention to him. “They’ll be able to tell us if she’s a spirit elemental and protect her if needed.”

“Protect her?” I ask. “Shouldn’t we want her to help us?”

Some trees block our path. Tess squeezes through, and Adrian puts his hand on my shoulder to push me onward as well. “Perhaps, if she’s capable of helping,” he says. “But if she’s not, she will only get in the way, risk her recapture, and put us back where we started.”

“Where we are now,” William says. He cuts between Adrian and I, placing his hand at the small of my back but devoting his attention to Adrian. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. We haven’t even attempted the rescue yet, and we need to discuss the risks. Is this really our best course of action?”

Adrian stops walking, as does William. Adrian raises an eyebrow. I try to continue walking, to catch up with Tess, but William’s hand slips to mine, and he holds me steady at his side. His touch is cold, his presence colder, but my whole body is heating up. Tess’ footsteps come to silence, then shuffle closer.

“Everything all right?” she asks.

Adrian’s expression softens, and he turns to Tess. “William was just expressing some... concerns.”

“We’re not simply going to waltz in the Maltorim asylum,” William says. “There are risks.”

All at once, the situation comes rushing at me, and I’m woozy. I lean my head against William’s shoulder. I can feel him turning his neck, to look at me, and I imagine the annoyed expression that must be on his face right now, but I can’t pull away. I just need a moment.

When I look up, however, his expression is not one of annoyance. He seems...worried, but restrained. What is he trying to protect? His heart...or mine?

William frowns and turns to Adrian, staring him down, his pale skin almost ominous against his oak-brown hair, dark eyes, and shaded jaw. Tess glares at William, as though doing so can somehow get William to back off.

The tension is unsettling. Adrian has the connections necessary to pull this off, and Tess trusts him. Which to me says a lot. The Maltorim are stronger and more powerful than us four, and none of us know the extent of what we are up against. Attempting to save this girl will expose us and further put us at risk. We can’t be weakened by lack of unity.

We need to pull together.

William faces me again. “What do you think, Cord?”

“Me?” Now they are all looking at me. How should I know? “If we try to save her, we might be captured ourselves?”

“Correct,” William says.

“But if we don’t save her, they will continue to grow their army, who will hunt us, which could also lead to our death or capture.”

Tess nods.

If we are to overcome the Morts in time for me to return to Anna, we will have to first stop them from hunting us during the day. Which means we need to stop the Maltorim from creating these possessions.

Indeed, it’s my thoughts of Anna—not the wellbeing of this world or my comrades—that finalize my decision. Perhaps I haven’t changed so much as I would like to think.

“Well, then,” I say, still uncertain, “it seems obvious that we need to save her.”

And so it is decided.

25

March 1692

I’ve never seen anything like this.

A world of gray. Stone stacked on stone. Dry dirt that lives on every surface, that claims even the air, drowning the world in hues of worn gold beneath a midnight-blue sky.

So this is Damascus. This is where the great, mighty, powerful, and corrupt Maltorim call home.

“Where do we go from here?” I ask, staring out over a humble cemetery that stretches on acres of land.

Adrian points to a large building in the distance, but even that looks like a grave. It goes against my instincts to approach such a destination, to enter a final resting place with hopes of saving a life. But if we don’t save this woman, the Maltorim will continue to build their army, and we’ll never overcome the Morts.

And if we never overcome the Morts, I’ll never return to Anna.

William frowns. “That’s it? It looks a little small for an asylum built for so many Cruor.”

Adrian laughs. It’s an easy, relaxed laugh, and it doesn’t suit him and doesn’t suit the moment. It’s unnerving. “It’s beneath the mausoleum. Truly, it does take up most of this land, right below our feet. But you will never get inside.”

Tess’ brow furrows, and I feel mine do the same. We all turn toward him.

“Then why did we come here?” Tess asks.

The smile falls from his face, and he looks at her with sad eyes. “I’m sorry, Thessaly.”

Before any of us can make sense of the exchange, a dozen large men approach us from the distance.

Cruor, each one. Some short, some tall, some thick, some thin. The only thing they have in common are their navy blue and scarlet-red uniforms with large brass buttons that glare at me as though they themselves are the poison that can end my life.

Anger rips through me, but I can’t pull my focus from Tess; she looks more anguished than angry. Tears have already glazed her eyes and her face is bright red and she’s shaking. Just looking at how hurt she is cripples me.

“How could you?” She lunges toward Adrian, but we don’t have time for shattered trust.

I hold her back, reach down, grab a stake from her ankle, and thrust it into her grasp.

The Cruors’ waltz toward us turns into a blur, and before I can retrieve my own stake, one kicks me in the shoulder, knocking me back. I grasp the stake tighter and pull it up just as he pounces, and the stake tears through him, demolishing him into ash that seems to belong all too well to this dreadful place.

Adrian neither defends nor attacks us, but his attention never leaves Tess. Two guards have grabbed her by each of her arms, but she throws her head back, hitting one of them in the face. The guard seems unfazed, despite a bleeding nose that quickly heals.

William stakes one of them, and Tess twists enough to kick the other in the chest. She removes a sword from the hilt at her side and decapitates him.

I know each of us moves with a speed that would go unseen to the human eye, but it’s as though the events are rolling out like honey. These Cruor are not the best trained, and I know it’s a matter of time before more competent minions of the Maltorim are sent out for us.

Now we either run, or we fight. William and Tess told me we always fight. And, eventually, we will have to. But there is fighting smart and there is fighting because you have no choice, and this is neither.

This is not the fight we need to wage.

We need to get out of here and come up with a plan. A plan we build without the man we cannot trust. Without Adrian.

“We need to get out here,” I yell to William.

As I start to run, Adrian blocks my path. Tess turns to him, sword in hand, anger burning in her eyes. But she doesn’t do anything.

I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t be able to kill him, either. Just like I hadn’t been able to kill my father. Because I’d loved him once, and love can be a crippling thing.

But not anymore.

If I ever get back to where I came, I will do whatever it takes to save Anna.

The tip of Tess’ blade falls to the ground, and her dress slips from her shoulder. Her eyes are shooting daggers at Adrian as she grabs the sleeve of her dress and yanks it back up to cover her skin.

All I can do is stand there, unsure what either of them will do next, all the while trying to find my path away from here and a way to bring Tess and William with me.

But Tess only has eyes for Adrian, tears swelling on her lower eyelids. Her hand is shaking, gripping the hilt of the sword so tightly that her knuckles lose her skin’s golden glow. Adrian stares at her regretfully, and his hands fall to his sides.

This is my chance. I dart past him, successfully this time, and William grabs Tess by her wrist. But before he can pull her from the fray, another Cruor rushes from the shadows in a blur and grabs her around the neck. With Tess against his chest and another Cruor standing behind him, there’s no clear angle to stake him from.

Adrian finally moves from his spot. Gone is his calm and restraint. He hurdles across the field, a deep, animalistic war-cry wrenching from his mouth, and he tackles the Cruor.

“Not Tess!” he growls.

Apparently he was fine with leading William and I to our capture, but not if it meant Tess would go down with us.

William grabs her hand, and we run as fast as we can until we are gone, traveling into the black where they can’t get us.

We tumble out from space into a sparse forest of dark tree trunks, clumps of bushes, and tall shadowed pines that stretch up like arrows into the sky. My mind struggles to process what transpired, but my desire to stay alive won’t let my thoughts linger. I can only think of escape.

I have no real sense of which direction we came from or which direction we are running in now, but it is still night, evidenced by the moonlight cascading through the lattice of branches overhead and the odd night-vision glow of the world around me. Darkness and shadows stretch around us, as though the night wishes to consume us.

Wind slips through the trees, stinging my face with cold, and I’ve never been more aware that I am running than I am right now. Every breath is shouting in my ears. A fox yips in the distance. Fallen branches crack beneath my feet. Tree trunks creak, weeds slide against my legs, and thorns catch my clothing, ripping fabric and flesh alike.

We’re in and out of the black. Traveling and not. Our skip through locations should serve to lose the Maltorim from our trail.

When finally we stop running, Tess and William vomit into bushes, and my own stomach churns. For a moment, I think it will pass, but soon I am getting sick in the underbrush as well.

Once I’m recovered, I turn to them. “Are you guys okay?”

Tess is still hunched over, grasping her stomach, and William is resting with his hands on his knees. He straightens slowly.

“Too much traveling,” he says, eyes on the ground as he wipes the blood residue from his mouth with the back of his wrist. “Our bodies can only handle so much at a time, and we’ve pushed it this month. Much more, and we might not make it.”

Then it’s true. We really can’t run forever.

Over the metallic scent of their blood, an earthy fungus aroma carries on the wind. The air is a bit moister than I remember.

Tess sucks in a huge gulp of air, catches her breath, and stands upright. William spins slowly, then nods for us to follow him. We creep around the underbrush, animal eyes glowing from their depths, and duck beneath the cobwebs until we reach a path lined with flower blooms that are shut tight against the darkness.

At the end of the path, there is life. A small town spattered with cabins.

William leads us a few houses down and quietly raps on the door, looking in every direction as he awaits a response.

A squat woman with clear skin and large, kind blue eyes open the door. “Come in, come in!”

William shuffles Tess and me inside.

The woman rubs her hands over her apron, then swings her arms out. “My son! You’ve come! You’ve brought company!”

Son?

She hugs us as though she’s known us for ages, saving the biggest, tightest hug for William. He stares into the distance somewhere behind her. I want to make sense of everything that just happened, but I still don’t know what’s happening right now. Maybe William feels the same. Maybe that’s why he seems to avoid looking at anybody.

Pa’s words flash through my mind, back from when his sentiments were useful instead of hurtful: Don’t worry about the past when you’re running through the present.

And yet, a fragment is trying to force its way through. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing it away, and when the dizziness subsides from my effort, I open them again.

“You all right, dear?” the woman asks. She’s released William from her embrace.

“Not really,” I say, but one look at Tess tells me I’m not the one anyone should be worried about right now. “Sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Cordovae. And I take it you’re William’s mother?”

“Heaven’s no!” she says. “I’m too young to be a mother!”

The woman is at least fifty, but I force a smile. Young at heart, where it matters.

“Madelina,” William says, “I don’t mean to be rude, but we need a place to stay and a little time to settle down.”

“Of course,” she says. She turns from him, facing me again. She smiles brightly as she bustles past. “I’ll prepare the guest room immediately.”

“Madelina.” When William says her name this time, his voice conveys the impending doom more befitting our situation. “We need something a little more...out of the way.”

Her hands bunch in front of her, and she turns back to us, frowning. “I see.”

“If you can’t, please say so. I would hate—”

“Nonsense. You’ll stay here.”

“You understand what that may mean for you?” William’s chest heaves with a deep breath.

An older man hobbles into the room. “What have we here?”

“Some friends stopped by for a visit, John,” Madelina says. “Now be nice...”

“Who, me? I’m always nice!” He pokes his cane at William. His hair is impossibly white. “I know you. Imagine you didn’t stop by for tea and biscuits, then?”

“No, sir,” William says, staring down at his feet. “But we will be out of here as soon as we can, if it’s all right we stay.”

Madelina solemnly takes the man’s wrinkled hand, and he presses his lips together, nodding.

“They’ll have to get through us first,” the man says. His large eyes grow wider, and I can’t help but notice how exaggerated everything is about this man—from his large protruding ears and bulbous nose to the knotted cane he pokes around with. “Go on, Madelina. Show them to their quarters. I’ll stay here in case any more unexpected company shows up.”

Through this all, Tess is silent. Her eyes glaze over, her face a stony, unreadable mask, and yet I can read what story her expression tells all too well. I grasp her hand, and even though she doesn’t grasp back, I don’t let go.

Madelina leads us through the dining room, where flour dusts the table and meat lies half-chopped on a wooden block. Pots and pans scatter beside each other, and wooden chairs adorn the wooden table. A vase of dried flowers and a pot of herbs rest next to the sack of flour.

The kitchen, attached to the dining room, is not much bigger than a closet with a stove and some cabinets. Steam whistles from the kettle, and the laughter of children echoes from upstairs. So much for her being too young to be a mother, I suppose.

The aroma of potatoes, onions, carrots, savory meat, and fresh bread waft from the small room. This place feels like home—or like how I imagine a home should feel. I can hardly remember anymore.

I want to trust them. To believe they won’t lure us to our demise, the way Adrian had. Can we trust anyone?

In the corner of the dining room, Madelina shoves some pans out of a small, doorless pantry, then moves aside.

“Through there,” she says, pointing to a space below the shelf.

William crouches inside the pantry and shuffles on his hands and knees, beneath the lowest shelf. He’s nearly too tall. His back lifts the wooden slat. But he drops to his belly and wiggles the rest of the way through the small opening. I let Tess go ahead of me, whisper my thanks to Madelina, and follow them through.

Once on the other side, I pull a thin piece of twine to shut the small door closed behind us. The clank of pots being thrown back into the closet echoes through the thin wood that blocks the entrance to the small room we’ve just entered.

The room is wide enough for us to all lie down and tall enough for us to sit up comfortably, perhaps even tall enough for Tess or me to stand. The main area has been swept clean, but along the edges are feces of small animals—rats?—and spider webs in the dusty corners. From somewhere in the walls, something scratches its claws against the wood.

I stare at my hands. My fists and arms are bruised. I’ve always bruised easily. My father would laugh and tell anyone who asked, ‘Kids, huh? They’re always bumping into things.’

I swallow hard. Not today. I won’t remember that man today.

Now that I’m Ankou, my body heals much faster, and already my bruises are turning a greenish-yellow. I take some nightshade from a pouch at my hip and chew it quickly, wanting the evidence of everything that just occurred and the reminder of everything in the past to disappear as quickly as possible.

When finally I can handle the silence of the room no longer, I gaze over at William. “What...happened?”

His own wounds have healed easily from his second nature alone.

“We were set up,” he says plainly. He still won’t even look at me.

“He betrayed us,” Tess spits. “Betrayed me.”

I frown. “Tess—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” she snaps. “You don’t know what it’s like to lose the one person you should be able to trust.”

Ouch.

I most certainly do, but now isn’t the time for opening up with her. She’s dealing with her own fresh emotional wounds.

“What about the girl the Maltorim captured?” I ask instead. “Are we going to get her? Did we risk all that for nothing?”

“At this point, we don’t know that there was any girl,” William says. “So, yes, we risked all that for nothing. We couldn’t go back there now anyway. For now, we’ll stay here. It’s the only place I know we can hide. They’ll be looking for us now. This sets back everything. It’s the exact opposite of what we needed.”

“So what are we doing to do?”

“Focus on where to go next. We must move soon.” Finally his pained expression reaches me, but only for a moment before he winces and looks to the small passage behind me that leads back into the kitchen. “If they find us, it can’t be here. Madelina and John are good people. We can’t bring them into this.”

I bite my lip, shifting my weight on the gritty floor. “Haven’t we already?”

26

March 1692

The wind batters the roof overhead, and the noise keeps me on edge. The Maltorim will come barreling in at any moment. My body aches from the tension. No one is talking. No one will even look at one another.

I poke at the vegetables in the stew Madelina has slid into our small room. The soggy vegetables and undercooked potatoes have gone cold, and anxiety fills the void that was once my appetite, but I force down the stew and nibble on the bowl of fresh berries because there’s nothing else to do.

Tess had said my Ferrum nature might be able to help us, if I can learn to control it. So I practice on the stew. I press my teeth to a chunk of meat. Nothing happens. I envision my teeth turning to sharp points. Still nothing. I try to feel something in my core. I remember the time William stood behind me, his hand on my stomach, telling me I would know. That things would just happen. The memory stirs so many emotions in me, and for a moment my teeth tingle, but the sensation fizzles out, and instead I find myself staring at William.

He must sense it, because his gaze shifts up, and I quickly look up at the ceiling and sort of trail my attention around as though I was just checking out the room. Things are so weird between us now.

I don’t think I can handle staying here much longer. It’s too much like being in jail all over again. I can hardly breathe in here. The mold and mildew and rot of damp wood is overpowering. I carefully lift a drop cloth from the floor that is cluttering our space. I fold it carefully, trying to keep from kicking up the dust, but the stale air still catches in my lungs, and I cough.

I watch William as he presses another bite of bread into his mouth, followed by a chunk of raw meat, and I’m reminded that he is allergic to the very herbs that sustain my life.

I wonder if God exists—if he is part of the Universe, or separate. If the Universe created Him or He created it.

Maybe William has these answers.

“Do you ever pray?” I ask.

Tess must know I was speaking to William, because she doesn’t even look up. She just keeps twisting the small pieces of hair that stick out at the bottom of her long, dark braid.

William pauses, dropping a bite of food away from his mouth. “In my own way, I guess.”

“To whom do you pray? If the Universe has created us, doesn’t that make all known religions inherently wrong?”

He shrugs. “Or it makes them all right. I suppose it depends how you look at it.”

I frown and slump lower against the wall.

“I’m not sure how to look at it,” I mumble.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” he says. “Religion divides people, when otherwise they are unified. It didn’t always, but there it is. People take sides when it doesn’t really matter what anyone believes. We all believe we exist, and we all believe the world once wasn’t and now is. That something made it be so.”

“You all say ‘the Universe’. That the Universe is the creator. What does that say about God?”

William chews a piece of meat and swallows before speaking again. “There’s a saying. A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.”

How fitting. I suppose it’s true. I am me, whether called Rose or Abigail or Cordovae.

William nudges my foot with his own, and when I look up, he grins. “Just because we have another name for something, does not mean by another name it does not exist. No one is ever wrong for their beliefs. Faith, hope, trust—these are the good things in our world. Why question it?”

I shrug one shoulder. How can I not question it? After everything that has happened to me in my life before and my life now, how can I not want to know the truth?

Tess clears her throat, and when we look up, she says, “Will you two be ready to leave in a few hours?”

“Maybe we should go now,” I say quietly.

William lifts his eyes, his glaring annoyance at my suggestion drenching his expression. “It’s daylight, Cord.”

“How are we supposed to make any ground at night with Cruor after us?”

“We need to leave at night,” William presses, “so should we encounter the Cruor we will at least have the strength to fight. That is all we can do. That is all anyone can ever do.”

Except that’s not entirely true. Nothing is ever entirely true.

“I know that. But daylight won’t kill us. You could drink some of Tess or I’s blood, right? Then you would be fine for a few hours. It would give us a head start on the Cruor.”

“Brilliant idea,” Tess says, as though it’s the least brilliant idea she’s ever heard. “Gee, why didn’t I think of that?”

“I just thought—”

“Who cares if the daylight can reduce us to the size of insects?” Tess is nearly maniacal now, smiling and angry at the same time, a crazy look in her eyes. “At least it’ll give us a head start in escaping the inevitable.”

I scowl. “I don’t hear any better ideas from either of you.”

William closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know you mean well, Cord, but please, now is not the time. We will leave at nightfall to speak with the Oracle. She will know what to do.”

I hope he’s right. And I hope we make it that far, because I have a bad feeling about all of this.

* * *

I’m falling in and out of dreams about a woman I’ve never met. Who is the Oracle? What can she tell us? William spoke of her like some omnipotent being, but even he said she’s not the Universe—just the woman who carries its secrets...the oldest living fire elemental, the first Chibold ever to walk this earth. Will she be mischievous or serious? Kind or cold?

A knock at the entrance to the small opening of our hidden room rattles me from sleep. It’s dark. Cracks in the exposed wooden beams let through only the smallest slivers of moonlight, but they are equally as powerful as daylight to me now that I am Ankou. The shadows, however, still remain the one true darkness.

Across from me, William jostles Tess from her sleep. “It’s time.”

I hear the crinkle of her dress against the dirty floor as she shifts around.

A loud crash shakes the house, and I brace myself against the wall. “What was that?”

Before Tess or William can answer, screams shatter from the other room.

“Where are they?” booms a deep voice.

My heart leaps to my throat, and my lungs contract. Lord help us, no matter where we go, they will find us. I hold my breath and stare at the small passageway door back to the kitchen, then back to my companions.

Tess nods toward a large wooden wheel in the corner. Slowly, she tilts it to the side, revealing a small tunnel, but my attention drifts back toward the door. I shuffle close enough to peer through a crack in the wood.

“We know they’re here,” bellows the same deep voice. It’s more of a growl. I can see the back of his bulky shoulders and, on the other side of him, pressed against the wall by her neck, is Madelina. “You know what will happen if you don’t cooperate.”

“They left hours ago,” she chokes out. “We didn’t know you were looking for them or we would have called.”

John stands a few feet away, his path blocked by Adrian and another Cruor—a large albino man—who stand in the corner by a large crate barrel. “Leave her alone! She ain’t done nothin’ wrong here!”

The albino Cruor alongside Adrian holds John back in the least committed way. There’s fear in Adrian’s eyes...but fear of what? It’s us who should be—and are—afraid of them.

Tess tugs my dress, and when I look back, she nods again toward the passage. I shake my head. I’m trembling and sweat is dripping down my spine and I can hardly breathe, but fear can’t rule my next move, and we can’t leave. Not like this.

I peer through the crack again. The large man turns away from Madelina and sweeps everything from the dining room table, bowls cracking and flour exploding like a dust storm in the room. He opens cabinet after cabinet in the small kitchen, pulling out anything he finds and sticking his head in as though at any moment he will find us there instead of a bag of rice or an iron pan.

Adrian raises his eyebrows at Madelina and gently grasps her hand, but she shudders.

“Please, Miss,” he says. “No need for any harm to come to you. We are not after your comrades, after all, just the woman they have with them. Tell us what we need to know so we can be on our way. I can assure you that, if they cooperate with us, they will not be harmed.”

Madelina shakes her head. The large man is out of sight now, but the slam of cabinets is getting closer. It won’t be long before he reaches the pantry.

Two more Cruor stomp into the room. The larger of the two—a dark-eyed man with tanned skin—holds a girl in his grasp, and his smaller counterpart, the one with the weasel-nose and drawn in cheeks, holds a young boy. Tears streak the faces of the children. They’re shaking. Unceremoniously, the dark-eyed Cruor stabs the boy in the chest, then drops him to the ground. My nails dig into my palms and tears pinch in my throat. The beast then points the knife at the girl, who is now kicking and screaming. Madelina’s cries screech over the noise.

She was a mother. Whatever she said, whether she birthed that child or not, she was every bit the mother, because that was the scream of a mother’s heart breaking.

I can’t sit here any longer. I look back at William, shaking my head. Fighting for these people is fighting for Anna; turning my back on them is turning my back on her. I have to do something.

I grab Tess’ sword and bolt for the door. I charge through on hands and knees, breaking through the shelf that blocks the top half of the door. As I climb to my feet, I nearly trip over the contents that have fallen to the floor, but I keep moving, arcing the sword around me to decapitate the auburn-haired Cruor who was checking the cabinets.

The Cruor that killed the boy and the Cruor still holding the girl step toward us. They release the girl, and she runs out of the room and up the stairs. I wish I could go to her, but I can’t right now. No one can. Today, she is forced to grow up faster than any child ever should, and my heart aches with the pain of understanding exactly what that feels like.

I wrap my grip tighter around the handle of the sword. I feel Tess and William standing behind me now. I glance over to Adrian, narrowing my eyes. How could he come here after helping Tess escape—does he want to help her or not? Adrian’s comrade, a tall young man with teal eyes, dark lashes, and tangled hair, stares at me with a strange intensity. He’s hiding something. I know, the way I have always known. But it’s not us he is hiding something from.

The other two Cruor charge at us, but since Adrian and his comrade do not join them, we have them outnumbered. Madelina breaks away from Adrian, and Tess tosses her a stake. The albino Cruor stops blocking John to go after her, but as he tackles her, she drives the stake into his chest, obliterating him. John’s form trembles, and the house shakes. Before I know it, there’s a large wolf in the room and several more Cruor.

“Come on, Charles!” yells a tall, sinewy, golden-haired Cruor as he tosses a sword to Adrian’s comrade in the corner of the room. “Don’t just stand there!”

Charles tenses his jaw and nods, but he holds the sword in front of him as though unsure what do with it. After a moment, his body begins to tremble also, and I see his face twist into something animalistic. I would swear I’d seen fangs on him not moments before, but he must be Strigoi. But he’s not marked . . .

“There’s a dual breed in there!” someone shouts from the other room, but by time they reach us, the young man looks normal again.

John, in his wolf form, takes an aggressive stance against the tanned Cruor and weasel-nosed Cruor that killed the boy and tormented the little girl, but they don’t back down. The two monsters have John and Madelina backed up against a wall.

“Which one is it?” asks a dark-haired, husky-voiced Cruor that has just joined us in the room. The Cruor coming in the room behind him points his bony finger over his shoulder—points right at Adrian and his comrade.

John tears into the tanned Cruor, and the flesh he rips from its calf smokes and turns to ash. Madelina stakes weasel-nose, and William and Tess take on the new Cruor filing into the room. Of the newcomers, a man with a large, veiny scar along his jaw that demands all the attention on his face, squares off with me.

I need to focus on this beast, but even as he kicks me in the stomach and sends me flying back into the wall, I’m staring at Adrian and the young man he’s brought with him. Beyond the blur of my vision, I see one of the Maltorim guards hold a sword to Adrian’s neck.

“Abomination,” the Cruor grunts.

I should be terrified or shocked, but instead I’m stuck somewhere between compassion and indifference. It hurts to have someone on your side turn against you, but I can’t think of anyone more deserving of such treatment as Adrian.

The Cruor coming after me lifts me from the ground by my neck, but I press my shoulders back against the wall and kick him as hard as I can in the chest, knocking him off of me. I jump to my feet and decapitate him as well, but instead of watching the light fade from his eyes, my attention is back on what will become of Adrian.

Sweat trickles down his temple, and he shakes his head. “It’s not me.”

Charles steps forward, his face transforming right before everyone’s eyes.

“Wrong guy,” he growls, slaying the Cruor.

He lifts the crate barrel from behind him and throws it across the room, setting back the remaining Maltorim guards while he reaches his hand down to Adrian and helps him to his feet. Adrian swallows, and for a moment, they stare at each other.

Charles tenses his jaw. “We’re in this together. Right?”

Adrian nods and draws his own sword, and the two turn to face the rest of the room.

Someone wraps their arm around my neck from behind me, cutting off my oxygen. Instinctively, my hand rushes to grab their arm and try to pull it off, but they’re too strong. So badly I want to suck in a breath of air, but I can’t. My face and ears are aching with the pressure.

I grip my sword the best I can and stab it into my attacker’s foot. It’s just enough to loosen his grip, and I drop my sword and shoot my arms up between his forearm and my neck to break away.

I immediately kneel to the ground to recoup my sword, but another Cruor kicks it away.

Then, to my surprise, Adrian decapitates the man. His comrade takes out two more. William and Tess have already cut down several of our attackers, and now there are none left standing. John is lying on the ground, still in wolf form, and one of his hind legs is bleeding. Madelina kneels beside him and crumbles on top of him in a heap, crying against his fur.

I’m too stunned to move.

William moves to my side, and Tess jumps in front of us, a small knife pointed at Adrian. “You’ll have to kill me to get to them.”

Adrian gives an almost unnoticeable shake of his head. “I do not intend to harm you, Thessaly.”

She shifts her weight and tightens her grip on her knife’s handle.

Adrian places his own sword on the ground, and turns his back to her to face his warrior friend. “You’re a dual breed, then.”

Charles crosses his arms across his chest and tilts his chin up. “Yes.”

“You could have let them kill me,” Adrian says. “They wouldn’t have known any better.”

“But I would have.”

Adrian nods slowly. “This forces me to reconsider my alliances.”

“For what is right, I would hope,” Charles says.

Adrian nods once more, then turns to Tess. “I didn’t know, Thessaly. They promised me you wouldn’t get hurt. Please, forgive me.”

For a long moment, she stares at him blankly, then she tosses her knife at his feet, takes her sword back from me, wipes the blood on the skirt of her dress, and returns it to her hilt.

“Take care of these fine people,” she says, and she walks out the front door.

William and I follow. The windows of the surrounding cabins are empty, but I know the houses are not. Our enemy is gone for now, but not gone for good, and the sacrifices made tonight never should have been made.

William grabs Tess by the arm, spinning her toward him. “What was that, Tess? An act of mercy? You’re going to let him walk away? What ever happened to bringing these people to justice?”

Tess’ face pinches in, and she yanks her arm away from him. “He let us walk out, didn’t he?”

William scowls, his hand dropping to his side. “I can’t believe you.”

Tess grabs her sword and shoves the handle to his chest. “Fine. Kill him, if you want him dead so badly.”

“No.” He grabs the hilt of the sword and pushes it back toward her. “You need to do it. You need to, Tess.”

I step beside them, lowering William’s hand until the tip of the sword’s blade presses into the dirt. “I don’t like him, but I have to agree with Tess. He helped us, didn’t he?”

William rolls back on his heels and scoffs. “After nearly killing us!” He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “If he comes near us again—”

I grasp his other hand, and his words fall dead on the air. Upon looking at me, his expression softens, and he lets out a sigh.

“Now what?” I ask, staring out into the dark night of the trembling village.

“Now,” William says, wrapping his hand tightly around mine, “we go to the Oracle.”

27

Somewhere Unknown, April 1692

What can we expect from the Oracle?

I imagine an old woman with a scarf tied to her head and a crystal ball because, from what I understand, she sounds a bit like a psychic. I don’t have time to ask many questions. There is no other way to see the Oracle but to use our traveling abilities, and no time to wait before we set out to do so. It’s a blink, a fall through the black, and we’re where we need to be. I have no idea where that is...but I guess that’s the point.

I brace myself against one of the stone walls to stop my feet from sliding on the wet slate beneath us. Thick tree roots have broken through the rock, and the muted whistle of wind in the trees outside echoes softly through the cave’s entrance, the cold breeze spitting dead leaves at our shins and ankles.

William squeezes my hand. “Are you ready?”

“How did you get here without knowing where it was?”

“We don’t just have the ability to travel to places. Some of us—like Tess—can travel to people, too. But no one can travel to the Oracle who hasn’t seen her before.”

I purse my lips. “Then how do you travel to her the first time?”

“Either she calls for you or someone who has met with her before brings you to her. Tess and I were called here when she was to come under my guidance.”

“Wait—what?”

Tess is a few feet ahead of us already, standing where the last rays of moonlight reach as they filter in from the entrance. She nods toward the darkness that is deeper within the cave. “This way.”

“The Oracle brought us together,” William whispers. He starts to walk, but I’m glued to where I stand. He stares back at me. “Come on, Cord.”

I shake my head. “I can’t see.”

He chuckles. “It’s fine. Unless you’re scared of the dark?”

I tug my hand out of his. “I’m not scared. I just thought we—the Ankou—could always see, even in the dark.”

“Ah,” he says, nodding. “Not so here. The Oracle’s magic disables many abilities of visiting elementals. Cruor’s fangs cannot descend, not that they are welcome here often. Ankou do not have the power of sight nor can they move spirits here. Strigoi cannot shift and do not have their usual strength. None of us have our usual speed.”

“And other Chibold?” I ask.

“Other Chibold cannot come here. What point would there be? They can communicate with the Universe for themselves.”

“What about the Oracle?” I ask. “She’s a Chibold, too, but they cannot live without a host family, isn’t that right?”

William nods. “That’s true of the Chibold, but...she’s the Oracle. She was the first. She’s different.”

“I see...” I sigh deeply and shuffle behind him as we continue deeper into the cave. “How do Cruor and Strigoi come here, since the Oracle does not allow visitors to travel to her on foot.”

“They need an Ankou guide,” he says. “Like me. Everything for a reason. These checks and balances. Trust me, the politics of this world are not what you need to concern yourself with.”

The chill that has hung in the air between us for the last few days dissipates. Things feel comfortable again.

Tess cups her hands around her mouth. “Stop babying her. We need to move.”

William grins at me and raises his eyebrows in a way that’s almost flirty. He is without a doubt the most beautiful man I’ve ever known, even in the darkness where I can barely see him. There’s some kind of perfect within this man, between us together.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

My heart is flying. Absolutely. In this moment, I trust him with every fiber of my being—trust him to take everything I have and fix all my broken parts and make me whole again. I trust him with my life, and I trust him with my soul.

I’ve either lost my mind or I’ve gained heart, but if I’ve gained heart, how long before it’s broken?

Surely if anyone knew how I felt right now, they would tell me to stop. That there is no room in this world for such feelings, that nothing good can come of it. That, as right as it feels, it’s utterly wrong. And yet, for once, I don’t care. Feelings don’t have to make sense; you either accept them or you don’t, and it’s a personal thing. And personally, I’m ready for these feelings, and I’m ready to fight—for this world and for my life and for my heart.

“Do you trust me?” he asks once more.

I nod, unable to put a voice to my thoughts.

“Then let’s go,” he says, taking my hand.

And with that, he leads me into the dark.

* * *

“Stay close to the wall,” Tess orders.

William walks in front of me, but he’s reaching behind him to hold my hand as we trek deeper into the dark. Crumbling rock crunches beneath our footsteps, rattles over the ground when kicked away, and splashes through puddles. Water soaks through my thin leather boots and chills my feet. I shiver.

“Shame we couldn’t have landed just a little closer to the Oracle,” I say, half-joking.

I can nearly hear Tess roll her eyes, or maybe I can just hear that eye-rolling tone in her voice: “You think she wants someone plunking themselves into her existence just like that? Have a little respect.”

I bite my lip. Tess is colder toward me than ever before. Does she blame me for what happened with Adrian? She doesn’t seem to be taking it out on William at all . . .

The stagnant air feels thick in my lungs, and my hand brushes over sticky, itchy spider webs. I startle, jumping back and nearly lose my balance, my foot slipping down a steep incline that scrapes my thigh.

William yanks my hand, pulling me hard and fast against his body, and I gasp. He presses me against the wall, the fist of a stone poking in my back a welcome relief from my near tumble to my death.

“Jesus, Cord,” he breathes.

My heart pounds, and I can’t stop shaking. I cling to William’s shirt, my other hand still grasping his tightly. My lips brush his sweaty shoulder, and I squeeze my eyes tight, wishing we were anywhere but here.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“You all right?” he asks, steadying me at arm’s length.

“Yes...I’m—I’m okay.” I wish I could see his face right now, take comfort in those dark eyes of his.

“Don’t scare me like that.”

Tess clears her throat. “She’s fine. Let’s go; we’re almost there.”

After a few more yards, light glows from a cavern ahead. The rush of moving water grows louder, until it’s nearly a roar. Finally, our thin trail widens and deposits us beside the dancing light of flames from the wall sconces. A large river scores the ground of the cavern and rushes over the edge to our right.

I look down. I can’t see where the fall ends. I don’t want to think what would have happened if William hadn’t caught me. If the Oracle is as harsh as the road to meet her, I am not sure I am prepared for this. What if she doesn’t like me?

The fires on the wall sconces die down until diminishing completely, but the room fills with a cold light that seems to come from nowhere, as though the crystal clear water of the river reflects not only everything in the room, but even the memory of light itself.

Three large stones rise from the river, just close enough for us to reach, and across from there a granite throne juts from the water. Tess steps onto one of the stones and sits on it cross-legged. William does the same beside her, leaving one stone for me. I’m hesitant to sit there, amidst the water that gallops toward the great fall, but I take a deep breath and join them anyway.

“Do you think she’s here?” I ask.

“Of course,” Tess says. “The Oracle always moves, but those who know her always know where to find her.”

William stretches his arms up, cracking his back. “Remember, we travel to her, not to her location.”

The room brims with an ominous sense of a danger. A glow of warning. The rushing waterfall stops. The water stills, then trembles lightly. Steam rises from the water, taking the form of a child.

I can’t take my eyes off what I’m seeing. “Is that—”

“Shhh...” Tess whispers.

The child materializes into the large granite throne. Her skin is so white it’s almost blue, and her eyes glaze over in clouds. Her hair, pale as snow, falls in ribbons over her shoulders and down to her waist. The tips of her hair wisp in flames that quickly extinguish, turn black, then turn ashen to white again. It’s almost scary, if not for how otherwise ethereally beautiful she is.

I had expected someone older, but now that I see her, I remember the Chibold have always traditionally taken the form of children. I suppose that applies to even the oldest of Chibold as it’s true of her as well. Aside from her strange eyes and hair and skin, she has the body and features of a child, and there’s an innocence about her presence.

Her lips shimmer, glistening blue, and her smile is comforting. She looks at me as though she can see me, but her eyes are so empty that I wonder if it’s my breathing that has drawn her attention.

“I’ve been expecting you three,” she says, her voice lilting melodically.

Flames rise at her feet. No. No, her feet are turning to flames.

“Don’t look so frightened,” she says to me, the stone lowering until her feet rest on the surface of the water, turning her skin that pale-blue again. “We Chibold have always had a gift over fire, but as I age, I fear it is more of a curse.”

“How do you...I thought that...”

Tess clears her throat, and when I look at her, she’s glowering, shaking her head.

The Oracle laughs. “It’s all right, Tess.” She returns her attention to me. “I am the oldest, and as such, I do not need to live with a host family. But,” she says, her tone dropping, “one day I will die, and a new Oracle will replace me. You see, we all die, eventually. True immortality—” She giggles. “—could such a thing exist? Is immortality in life, or in what we create...what we leave behind?”

As she says this, images of Anna ripple across the surface of the river—I’m cradling her in my arms, I’m running my finger over the slope of her nose, I’m nuzzling my face against hers.

Tears pinch in my throat. But the Oracle does not wait for my reply.

“You do not have much time to ponder such questions,” she says, and with a wave of her arm, the images of Anna are erased from the water, but not from my heart. “The Maltorim has created an army of possessed, yes, but you’ve been misled. Be careful from here forward whom you trust.”

Though she is every bit as firm and confident as I imagined, she’s certainly more pleasant and tranquil than I had expected. It’s her message that troubles me.

I steal a glance at William. He’s scowling. Just past him, Tess shakes her head.

The Oracle raises a tiny pale finger, closing her eyes for a long moment before speaking. “Ah, but there is hope, for a spirit elemental has indeed arrived.” Her eyes spring back open. “She is the most valuable life source on this planet. Adrian was right in one thing: you must save her, for it is her blood that one Ankou is using to perform his magic for the Maltorim.”

So Adrian had been a good enough liar to base his stories in truth. But can we trust the Oracle? I sense we can, but the last time we tried to save this elusive spiritual elemental, things didn’t work out so well.

The Oracle, however, has helped many people before. Why would she mislead us now?

In the end, I come to one realization: if we don’t try, we may be leaving an innocent woman’s life hanging in the balance while allowing the Maltorim to have an upper hand we can’t afford.

“Where do we find her?” I ask, determination so infused in my voice that it surprises even me.

The Oracle poises her arm beside her, palm up, and a flame rises above her hand. A vision of the Malleus Maleficarum flickers in the fire. “Your answers are here, in the very book the Maltorim is circulating in their efforts to stop you. The Malleus Maleficarum, the Hammer of the Witches.”

The fire dissipates, but the book remains, now firmly in her grasp. She hands it to Tess, and Tess stares down at the cover, gripping the book firmly in both hands.

“She’s being transported as we speak. You must find her before they reach their final destination. What they have done with her blood until now is only the beginning, but if she dies where they are taking her, it will break her spirit and unleash her abilities to them. You cannot let them have that power.”

She smiles thinly at us. “Now go. Fight.” Her focus centers on me. “You are our last hope.” She vaporizes before our eyes, but her voice lingers. “I see a gift for you on this journey, Cord.”

“A gift?” I ask meekly.

“From a stranger.”

The rush of the waterfall returns, nearly drowning her out.

“It could be the end of your life or the beginning of your future,” she says. “Trust your heart.”

And, with that, she is gone.

28

Somewhere Unknown, April 1692

By the time we arrive once again at the mouth of the cave, it’s daylight. That might not mean much if we knew where we were going, but then again it might mean everything.

“Can’t we just travel to her?” I ask. “Like we traveled to the Oracle?”

Tess chews her pouty bottom lip. “I know the Oracle, but not the spirit elemental,” she says. “I can’t travel to someone I’ve never met before.”

“Of course...” I say bitterly. Of course.

We sit down in the silence, just out of reach of the sun’s rays that are slivering past the leaves of bushes and trees that block the entrance to the cave. The Malleus Maleficarum presses into my lap, but it’s the darkness emanating from the book that weighs the most.

Here are the answers we need, as well as a list of mistruths that would have been better left undiscovered by mankind. The questions we ponder are not the ones this book addresses, and I resent that we need it to save the girl.

But we can’t go anywhere until we know where we’re going, so I take a deep breath and break the book open to the first pages. Tess takes to sitting on the other side of the cavern, sharpening her sword, while William sidles in at my side, his hand on the ground behind me and the front of his shoulder against the back of mine. He peers down at the pages, his breath warm against my neck.

I breathe in deeply, taking in his scent of an ocean breeze, and it brings me back, back to Georgia beaches, back to my mom sitting in the sand, a big floppy sunhat shading her face as she watches me splash through waves.

I shake my head, refocusing on the book. I have to re-read the sentence I just read. Right now I need to stay connected to my spirit—to Cordovae—because without that piece of me, these words are gibberish. But my spirit knows German. When Thornhart had read from this book to us in jail, I had thought it was written in English, and now I wonder how much of what he said was his own perverted translations, or if this text was really so dark and vile as he made it sound.

As the darkness of these pages consumes me, I make some mindless efforts to channel my Ferrum nature. One passage on detailing the torture of a woman accused of being a witch gives me chills, and for a fleeting moment, my razor-tipped teeth emerge. I can feel the dark energy of the book, and if I allow myself to absorb it, I get the energy I need to control my ‘gift’. But each time it happens, I’m startled, and they snap away again.

I continue reading, and it doesn’t take me long to realize the Malleus Maleficarum is a possession of its own. What need was there for Morts to inhabit the living with a writing like this in circulation? You could scare people into believing anything—doing anything—even the unthinkable.

From the start, the Malleus Maleficarum sets out to convince any good Christian that they must believe in witches, and further they must never sympathize with them, that these are beings whom the devil uses for extraordinary works. That a witch cannot perform magic without intimate cooperation from the devil.

It quotes the bible, Leviticus, chapter nineteen: The soul which goeth to wizards and soothsayers to commit fornication with them, I will set my face against that soul, and destroy it out of the midst of my people.

I close my eyes a moment, anger boiling inside at the way this book uses the beliefs of others to manipulate them toward justified hatred. It sickens me that the Maltorim would go to such lengths to manipulate humankind.

William puts his forehead to my shoulder. “You all right, Cord?”

I swallow around the tight knot in my throat.

William lifts his head, and I turn to him, his face so close to mine that our noses brush.

“Fine,” I whisper, and quickly turn back to the book. What’s gotten into him? I want to melt into his arms and disappear from this world, but I know I can’t. I point to the open pages instead. “What do you think of this?”

The page declares witches are a problem now more than ever.

William frowns and gives a non-committal shrug. “To give reason to those who aren’t possessed why these witch hunts are suddenly growing in necessity?”

I smile sadly. “It says women are the ones most commonly addicted to the devil’s superstitions, but the chapter seems to go more with its own superstitions: a woman who makes you weary may be a witch; a woman, should she be lazy or make you feel lazy, may be a witch. If she’s tempted or makes you tempted, if she has what you have lost, if your cows produce no milk, if she’s of old age—these are signs of a woman being a witch?”

William raises his eyebrows. “It’s an easy idea for mankind to believe. God has not forsaken them. They have not failed. Someone else, someone evil or influenced by darkness, is to blame.”

“But it’s all a lie...isn’t it?”

“The people reading this don’t know that. These people are terrified, and the Maltorim knows that. A little fear can go a long way; a lot of fear can create an epidemic.”

Indeed, the book has left no stone unturned in its efforts to instill fear in others. The Malleus Maleficarum implies that if you allow a witch to live, they make you ill or go as far as to kill and dismember men. Witch midwives will stop at nothing to kill your child in your womb or offer your newborn to devils. Allowing a witch to live not only puts your life in danger, but your soul as well. And forgiving them their actions makes you sympathetic to their darkness, and should you feel that way, you may as well be a witch yourself.

“I don’t want to read any more,” I say, flopping the book lower in my lap. “I can’t grasp half of what it’s trying to say. Look”—I skip back a few pages—“it says if a woman seems good, she may especially be a witch, as the devil is most keen to tempt the good than the wicked.” I flip forward another page. “Except for when he tempts the wicked more than the good because they are easier to stray from their righteous path? It’s contradictory.”

“You’re thinking about it too much, Cord,” he says. “The devil’s in the details.”

His use of the phrase pushes a smile from me. “You’re right. This isn’t what we’re reading this for.”

“No,” he says. “It’s not.”

Still, I have to trudge through page after page, considering anything that might be a clue to where they would take the girl. The overall message remains the same: if you are good, you will get rid of these witches before you become wicked yourself.

I skim through the remedies for how to cure any ill will cast on you by a witch, and I can barely stomach the last third of the book as it details who can try a witch—not just the Court of the Inquisition; bishops and their representatives can rid their parishes of these soothesayers, and the ecclesiastic and civil court can both pass judgment as well.

Chapter after chapter delves into the process of examining the witnesses—with four witnesses—and questioning the accused in two ways.

Should the accused be imprisoned? If so, how shall she be taken? Will the accused be told who her witnesses are? Will defense be allowed, and how will the witnesses be announced? After all, you would not want the witnesses to fall ill by the spell of a bitter witch.

How will the witch be questioned on the first day? Will the witch be promised her life? How can the judge protect himself from the witch’s spells? How do you shave the parts of a witch so that they cannot conceal the devil’s masks and tokens?

What tortures shall the witch endure?

This is to ultimately lead to a definite and just sentence, which will consider what kinds of magic the accused is convicted of, whether they confess, whether they renounce the devil, whether they were accused upon light or strong or grave suspicion. And each of these—and more—have their own dedicated chapter.

It is all written to sound so very fair, so very right, so thoroughly considered and concise. But everything about it screams how wrong it all is.

“That’s it,” I say, closing the book. “Did anything stand out to you?”

William shakes his head. He leans back against the cave’s wall and stretches his legs out in front of him. “You?”

“A few things, perhaps.”

He sits up straighter, raising his eyebrows. His interest gives me a fresh burst of energy.

“Okay,” I say, “well there was the part about the trolls in Norway. Remember the part about how witches transport?”

William nods. “That was about levitation, though.”

I shake my head. “But it was also about how a witch can and cannot travel. About how God will or will not permit it. I realize the Maltorim is making up these stories, but if this is also a guide for their men, then in a way isn’t God a metaphor for the Maltorim? What ‘God’ permits is what the Matorim permits, you see?”

His whole face lights up. “You could be on to something.”

Tess’ sword clangs to the ground, and she rolls her eyes. “That doesn’t tell us where we need to go.”

I open the book and translate a passage to her: “Did not the devil take up Our Saviour, and carry Him up to a high place?”

“Are we looking for a spirit elemental or are we looking for the son of God?” Tess intones snarkily.

William glares at her. “At least let her finish. We have nothing else to go on.”

I don’t wait for Tess’ permission, nor her interest, to continue. “The chapter was talking about levitation but said when the spirit is removed from the body, then it can rise up in the air. That is what the Maltorim wants, yes? They want to retrieve the spirit elemental’s spirit.

“It says here witches have been transported on animals, which are not true animals but devils in animal form.”

William’s hand slides down to mine and gives a gentle squeeze. My cheeks heat and it spreads down my neck. My heart is racing so fast I can’t feel it beat...or maybe it’s stopped beating altogether. I swallow and break away from William’s stare. We have to stay focused.

I clear my throat, and the trance is broken. “Sounds a bit like how most of the Cruor view the Strigoi, doesn’t it?”

“Sure,” he says. “That’s one way to look at it.”

Tess crosses her arm and offers a reluctant, “Yeah. Maybe.”

“There’s a story in this book on transportation that took place during the daytime in the diocese of Constance. A woman, detested by the town, was not invited to a wedding celebration that the rest of the town was attending. She sought revenge by summoning a devil and asking him to raise a hailstorm. The devil agreed, raised her up, and carried her through the air to a hill near the town, as witnessed by nearby shepherds. But she had no water to pour into the trench to raise the hailstorm, so she filled it with her urine instead and stirred it with her finger. The devil, standing nearby, raised that liquid and sent a violent storm of hailstones to rain down on the townsfolk.”

“We already know what they want to do, Cord!” Tess glares at me. “WHERE? Where is this supposedly going to happen?” she demands. “That is what we need to find out.”

“The book named a few places in passing. It spoke of the Bishop of Brixen, the Count in the ward of Westerich, and the Diocese of Strasburg is mentioned several times. There’s also the priest in Oberdorf, and the transport of Habacuc in a moment from Judaea to Caldaea. The diocese of Freising is mentioned in the ‘transportation of witches’ chapter.”

Tess shakes her head. “Can you narrow it down at all?”

“I’m getting there. We know these things: they need to transport the witch in a way the ‘God’ of this book would allow. The only witnessed transport mentioned here was in the diocese of Constance.”

“So that’s where we go?” William asks.

“If it’s not there, I still think it will be in Germany. Freising, maybe.” My blood is pumping so rapidly I feel like I’m buzzing. “It won’t be under the stars,” I say, “because the book said the stars are governed by the good angels, and also for the general order and common good of the Universe that evil spirits cannot alter the influence of the stars.”

Tess goes back to sharpening her knife. “You think daytime, then? The Maltorim won’t want to be out during the day, but sounds like they can’t do it at night.”

“Unless that is to throw people off,” I say. “They are doing this to bring forth a change, correct? Well...they want to walk in the day, right? Isn’t that the purpose all of this serves?”

“I think you’re right,” William says. “It’s what they’ve always wanted. To walk during the day; to govern the stars.”

29

April 1692, Diocese of Constance

When we arrive at the Gotthard Pass, night has already fallen. That narrows down the Oracle’s current location to somewhere on the other side of the world . . .

We stick to land as much as possible; our bodies cannot handle much more traveling. Even Tess is vomiting blood after some of our skips through space. But time is not on our side, and the diocese of Constance stretches for miles.

We cover the ground of the Upper Rhine and scour the German land near Lake Constance, but there is nothing in any of these places to set us on a clear path. Tess’ apparent irritation grows with each travel that leaves us no better off than where we began. If we don’t find something soon, I fear she’ll give up.

But we’re close. I can feel it.

When our travels east to Freising prove fruitless, Tess tucks her hands on her hips and turns to me. “This isn’t working. I told you we need to narrow it down.”

I shrug one shoulder, wishing I could stop her from speaking. I can’t deal with the stress. “There was nothing else in the Malleus Maleficarum to give any indication where the Maltorim would be taking the woman. How else are we to narrow it down? If there are any other hints on where to go, we’re going to find them here.”

William stands at Tess’ side, and I feel the wall being built between us already. “Tess may be right, Cordovae. Our bodies can’t handle much more, and the night is already half through. We should consider going over the book a second time and trying again tomorrow night.”

I push out my bottom lip. “We’ll be stuck inside all day tomorrow anyway. We can look at the book again then, if we don’t find anything tonight. We don’t have enough time to waste the night.”

“No,” Tess says, stepping nearly toe-to-toe with me, “what we don’t have time for is prancing around Germany with no clue where we intend to go.”

I scowl, then turn away from her, glaring at William with a challenge on my tongue. “Then you two go rest. I’m not giving up now.”

With that, I head north to Frankfurt.

And that is where I find the destruction.

* * *

At first, I’m not certain what I’m looking at. There’s a lot of blood and a lot of commotion. Grown men weeping over women, clutching those lifeless bodies to their chests, rocking back and forth, the blood staining their own clothing. Abandoned horse-driven carts turned over, their contents scattering the blood-moistened soil. Children crying in doorways and windows. Old women wailing beside their lost husbands.

At my feet lies the freshly murdered body of a young woman, her dress ripped away to reveal a naked bosom, her head rolled to the side, revealing the all-too-telling pierce marks on her neck. No one sheds a tear for this woman. No one but me. Gently I cover her exposed breast with the loose flap of fabric from her dress then step over her body to assess more of the town.

Those that aren’t wailing or weeping stand with blank stares. At first I think it’s the haunting effect of witnessing such unexplainable brutality, but then I see the darkness in their eyes. They are possessed. I spin back, looking to the woods behind me, and that is when I notice the hordes of Morts sweeping through the shadows.

A tall, pale, blond man with a golden sheen to his skin appears before me, touching my shoulder. He stares deep into my eyes and speaks to me with severity in his voice.

“We have this under control,” he says. “Go on to your next destination. Good luck.”

I know he is like me—Ankou. I grab his wrist before he can leave. “What about all these people?” I ask. “What about all they’ve seen?”

He nods solemnly. “They won’t remember this day.” His sad tone is foreboding. “It’s for the best; not just for us, but for them as well.”

I don’t ask him the next question. I don’t ask how he will make them forget. Instead, I release his wrist, and in an instant, he joins the blur of the forest. He’s not alone; there are more like us, also weaving between the trees, and every so often a burst of black particles from killing a Mort glitters in the moonlight beneath the forest canopy.

The weight of how big this is hits me, knocking the wind from my chest. I’m just a piece of a much larger puzzle. A part of this huge mess.

“Will this war ever end?” I ask myself aloud.

“No.” William’s voice.

I spin around, the weight from my chest lifting to see him standing there. I’m so thrilled to see him that I can even ignore Tess’ glare from two feet behind him, her arms crossed and a scowl set firmly in place.

“You came,” I whispered.

“We couldn’t let you go alone,” he says.

Tess huffs, dropping her arms to her side. “I could have,” she says. “William insisted we follow you. What happened here?”

I turn back to the nightmare behind us then stare at the blur of movement in the forest. “Guess.”

She lifts her hand, indicating the Ankou and Mort activity surrounding us. “Should we help?”

I shake my head. “One of the Ankou said they have this under control. We should move on. Things will only get worse if we don’t find that spirit elemental.”

I can’t hide the defeat in my voice. It’s seems hopeless. I’ll never get back to Anna this way, but I refuse to accept that this will always be my life.

William steps closer to me, takes both my hands in his, and stares down into my eyes. “We only have to get things under control, Cord. The Morts will always exist, but you will get to...” I see the lump in his throat bob. “...go home.”

His last words come out strained, and my eyes sting with tears. “Right,” I say, choking out the only thing I can manage to say. “Home.”

Will I ever know home after this? There is no home without Anna...but what is home without William now? I wish we’d never met; I wish he’d been anyone else. Even leaving Tess behind may break whatever is left of me after all this is over.

Tess stomps past us, her shoulder bumping into mine and knocking William and I from our moment. “Come on. If we’re going to find this woman in Germany, I think I have an idea where she might be.”

* * *

We finish our trek at the beginning of a bridge. Moonlight shines golden on the pale stone. There’s a woman standing at the edge, leaning against the winter wind as though that is all that holds her up. I gasp and dart forward, but Tess grabs my arm and yanks me back.

The woman looks at me with empty eyes, then looks forward again and steps over the edge, plunging down and out of sight.

I pull free from Tess, but William grips my shoulder. “She’s already gone, Cord. Has been for a long time.”

“I don’t understand.”

He moves behind me and rests both hands on my shoulders and whispers in my ear, “Look again.”

So I do.

And there’s the woman once more, and this time I see that she’s not the solid matter she appeared to be before. She’s not Mort—there’s nothing shadowy about her—but I can just barely see right through her. She lifts her empty gaze to me again, then looks ahead and jumps to her a death again.

Chills prickle the hairs on my arms, and again my razor teeth snap down. I can only surmise now that somehow it is my heart, not my mind, that controls my Ferrum nature.

I turn back to William and Tess. “What is this place?”

“Devil’s bridge,” Tess says. “The legend is that a man had begun to build this bridge, but could not build it fast enough, so he called on the devil for help. The devil agreed to finish building the bridge, in exchange for the soul of the first living being that crossed it. The builder agreed, but once the bridge was built, he sent a rooster across the bridge first.”

“Then what?” I asked, both horrified and fascinated.

Tess shrugs. “Supposedly the devil tore the rooster apart, and the blood tainted this bridge so much so that people claimed crossing it too many times could drive a person mad.”

“And that woman?”

“But one of the many afflicted,” Tess says, twisting her lips to one side. “It’s just a legend, Cord.”

“The woman is real, though. Or was,” I say.

Tess nods. “She’s an imprint. No way to know really who she was or why she’s here.”

William takes my hand. “Crossing this bridge may be our only hope. It may be the only way to get closer to the spirit elemental we need to save.”

“We could just travel there?”

William shakes his head. “Tess thinks they are around this bridge, but we don’t know exactly where. Obviously not on this side of it, though. We don’t want to arrive in their midst. We need to assess the situation first.”

Tess reaches into her pouch and pulls out a small handful of nightshade. “This is the last of it. Here—” She hands me half. “Eat up. We’ll need to find more along the way.”

I stare at the poisonous plant in the palm of my hand. It’s little more than a bite. My own pouch is empty of such herbs; I’m grateful Tess would share.

“What about William?”

William nods toward the woods on the other side of the bridge. “I’ll find some small animal on the other side, before we continue our trek.”

I stare at the darkness between the trees. “So this is it?”

William slides his hand to mine and gives my fingers a gentle squeeze. “We can only hope.”

I drop my focus back to the bridge. I don’t know why it terrifies me, but it does.

I tell myself it’s just a bridge. But the ghost woman staring at me, jumping to her death—she’s telling me it’s something more. Something worse.

* * *

The real danger of the bridge isn’t the legend. It’s being out in the open, an easy mark for our enemies. About a quarter of way across the bridge, Morts start to spring up. First only one here or there, edging as far away from us as the bridge will allow, but then further along, more and more, until they’ve formed a small crowd.

“Why don’t they move?” I whisper to William.

He leans down to whisper back. “Because they belong here. Now’s not the time for us to move them. Stay close.”

Soon we are so crowded we have to push through, and I can feel their cold souls pressing against mine. But now is not the time to deal with them. Instinctively, I reach behind me and grab for Tess’ hand. She allows me to take it, and I hold tight, not letting us get separated.

We are nearly halfway across the bridge when the Morts begin to disperse, and now they are lined up like soldiers on either side of the bridge. Many of them are fanged, but a few I can see were once Marked Ones. The bridge abruptly ends, and I stop so quickly that I nearly fall forward.

William stiffens. “What is it, Cord?”

“The bridge,” I say, frantically looking at him, then back to the broken stone.

His brow furrows. “We’re almost there. It would take longer to go back.”

“Look,” I say, pointing just a few feet ahead.

His attention trails to where I point. “What?”

Tess laughs. “Oh, no, Cord. Are you falling for another one of their illusions? I would have thought you knew better by now!”

“Illusions?” I ask. Almost immediately after I say the word, I remember when I first arrived here—the truck in the field. But when I try to push the illusion away, it doesn’t budge. “What if it’s you and William being affected?”

Tess rolls her eyes. “Not likely.”

William gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “If we must, we can travel,” he says, “but let’s not jump to that now. I sense we’re close, and we want to remain untraceable and save what energy we have left to get the woman out of this place...if we ever find her.”

I stare at the gaping hole in the bridge once more, unable to shake my unease. Panic rises in my chest. I’m still new to traveling. What if one of these days I try and it doesn’t work? If Tess is right—that I am being illusioned—then I am obviously growing weak. I have gone so long since my last illusion, that I’d forgotten it was even something I need to worry about.

“You’re all right,” William says. His lips brush against my temple, warming my chilled skin. “You’re with me. Just close your eyes and try not to think about it.”

I take a deep breath, trying to get the nerve to step where my eyes tell me there is nothing to step on. Sweat dribbles like pebbles of ice down the back of my neck and spine.

“Come,” he urges softly. “Trust me.”

The words open up a new bravery in me. If I am strong enough to trust him, I am strong to overcome this. To overcome anything.

I step out into the air, still grasping his hand. My foot slides on a patch of stone I can’t see, and William tightens his grip on me, holding my body tight against his.

“I got you,” he says. “Come on.”

Solid stone presses into the sole of my foot. Each step is less terrifying than the last, and it becomes easier to trust the ground is really there, even though I cannot see it. And the more I trust William, the more I trust myself, the more the illusion breaks away. I start to see the stone beneath me—ahead of me and behind me as it has always been.

When the bridge once again looks as solid as it feels, I run. I run hard and fast for the last quarter of the bridge, William and Tess running behind me until we reach the shelter of the forest canopy on the other side. The skeletal trees and their early-spring branches are a welcome change, and I marvel in the almost musical sound brought on by spring. There’s the whisper-snap of bird wings, the yip and howl of wild dogs in the distance, and the rasp of our own breaths.

We made it.

I turn to William, a big grin breaking across my face and a smile lighting his own. Even Tess is smiling.

But our joy fades when a branch cracks in the not-so-far distance.

30

April 1692, Just Across Devil’s Bridge

William hunches on a bed of pine needles and lifts a finger to his lips. Tess and I squat quietly beside him, peering over the underbrush. It’s only then I notice the shrunken heads hanging from the trees branches above. My stomach churns. Their grayish skin reminds me of melted wax, their eyes disproportionately large to the rest of the face and sunken in like small boulders in quicksand, their expressions twisted with anguish and mutilated by horror.

I imagine they might be Ankou that had been affected by the sunlight, and then later beheaded. Where are the rest of their bodies? Why were these heads hung here? Shuddering, I force my gaze past the tiny heads that dangle by their hair and to the campsite beyond.

About twenty-five feet away, obscured by the spruce, pine, and beech trees, a campfire blazes, surrounded by four men so large I can only assume they are Maltorim soldiers. Except for one. His skin has a golden glow not unlike our own.

Laughter echoes on the wind. I squint, and the simple action seems to enhance and sharpen my vision until it’s as though the men are only a few feet away. Two of them have the Ansuz marking on their neck—Marked Strigoi. Instinctively, I hold my breath at the feeling of sudden closeness.

A breeze sweeping through their clearing kicks up the debris of crushed dead leaves, and the branches above us creak. The smoke of damp wood wafts toward us, and my skin starts to itch.

And that itch sends my mind back to my life as Rose. Camping with Pa for the first time...before the abuse began. I broke out in hives. An allergic reaction to burning cedar, the doctor later said. Back when my Pa still let me go to a doctor when I needed one.

I swallow hard, pushing away the memories that want to follow, knowing that I will have to face those memories one day soon enough, face them to return to Anna. But I don’t need to face them today.

In my weakened allergic state, the world around me dims, the way one would expect of a darkness only punctured by moonlight. I scratch at the rash forming on my neck gently, trying not to make noise as I focus on the men in the clearing.

We’re out of nightshade. I scour the ground, hoping to find something. Anything. On the other side of the path, I think I can just make out some rotted Daphne berries on the ground. I crawl toward them, but someone grabs my shoulder. I think it’s Tess. I swat her away. I’m almost there.

The voices from the campsite grow louder, and I freeze, tensing. I try to breathe soundlessly. The voices quiet down again, and I continue forward, quickly but silently, until I reach the berries. The moment I lift them, they heal to near perfect ripeness, and I pop the sweet berries in my mouth and chew quickly, my rash almost instantly disappearing and the world around me brightening to my usual Ankou-gifted night vision. My eyes sting at the sudden shift.

Tess is looking at me with her eyebrows all twisted up. She jerks her head to the side, signalling for me to come back across. I wait until all the men in the clearing have their backs turned, then hurry back to William and Tess’ side.

“Look,” she whispers, and I cringe, hoping those men can’t hear us. “Do you see that?”

She points to the Far East corner of the clearing that the Maltorim soldiers occupy. My vision steadies and clears. There’s an eroded dirt path, uneven with embedded stones, and a horse-driven cart is tied to a nearby tree, its wheels cracked. The wooden cage it carries is covered with so many shrunken heads hanging from the bars that the person inside is nearly obscured.

But I see what Tess sees. A woman. Shackled.

“That must be her,” Tess says quietly. “Sorry I doubted you.”

“You did it, Cord,” William whispers. “This is it!”

He’s grinning, all the way up to his shining maple-syrup eyes. But there’s something more there, too. A sense of awe, maybe? Is he...is he admiring me? For finding her?

“We couldn’t have done it without Tess,” I remind them.

She starts to stand, but William reaches out and gently touches her arm, and she settles back again.

“We risked a lot to make it this far.” He sweeps his oaky-brown hair away from his eyes. “We can’t just go rushing in.”

“There’s only four of them,” she says. I count the same—one Cruor, two Strigoi, and one Ankou. They are bantering loudly by the fire.

“That we can see,” William counters. “Not to mention one of them is Ankou.”

“So?” she asks, shifting her long dark braid away from her face, over the back of her shoulder. “That’s never been a problem before.”

William glares. “Stop and think for a minute. An Ankou could have transported her by traveling. But they didn’t.”

My mind grinds the idea, trying to make sense of what it could mean. “Why didn’t they, then?”

William rubs his hand over his face, shaking his head. “I don’t know. They must not have been able to travel her. And if they couldn’t, then we might not be able to either. Which means we can’t draw attention to ourselves.”

Tess snorts. “Kidnap the Maltorim’s most valued possession without drawing attention to ourselves?”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. William is right, but at the same time, we need to act fast.

“I can distract them,” I whisper. “It would draw attention to me, but it would also draw attention away from both of you.”

William presses his hands against his thighs. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Cord.”

“Would it work?” I ask.

“Yes, but you can’t—”

Before he can finish his thought, I dart into the woods, ducking beneath low-hanging limbs, leaping over fallen trees, and hopping between large stones embedded in the forest ground. I have to do this. We don’t have time to spare thinking up the impossible; we need to get this girl and get out of here.

I curve to the right, sweeping around their campsite close enough to be both seen and heard. As I peek over my shoulder to ensure I’ve captured their attention, the red bands of my hair whip into my face.

“Hey!” shouts the heavy-set Cruor, stumbling to his feet from a log beside the campfire.

He pushes the shoulder of one of his comrades and points in my direction. The two pursue me with inhuman speed, a little faster than me but not nearly as agile. The Strigoi falls upon me first, and I pounce upward and twist, grab a tree branch, and swing toward him. My feet knock into his chests, sending him to the ground in a heap, before I pull myself the rest of the way on top of the tree.

One of the men—a broad-shouldered Cruor—catches up, only slightly slower than his comrade, and rushes at the tree trunk. He hits it with such force that the roots are ripped from the ground, leaning the tree into another larger tree nearby. I hadn’t accounted for the strength of the Cruor, the strongest of the elementals. I leap from one branch to the next, and although this agility and strength is new to me, it feels natural.

For a fleeting moment, as I am suspended in the air between two branches, I want this life. I want to be here, where I am strong instead of vulnerable. Where I fight back instead of cower away. Where there are bad men, but there are good men, too. Where I don’t have to hate myself.

But then my body is thumping into another tree, and Anna’s presence in my heart reminds me where this strength came from and what I’m really fighting for. I will return to her, and I will bring this strength with me.

I flip backward from the tree and land solidly behind the two men. The auburn-haired Strigoi is up now, and he swings around and lands a blow to my face. But the impact only serves to anger me. Motivate me. I duck as he swings again, and in one swift movement, I crouch down, retrieve the stakes I keep tied to my ankles, and plunge the splintered wood into their hearts.

The result on the Marked One is very different from the Cruor. The Strigoi takes an animal form, lying as a dead mountain lion, where the skin on the Cruor braches out in black veins and ultimately decomposes to a pile of black ash.

The moment hits me like a cool wind in the midst of a Georgia heat wave, and all of a sudden, I feel like myself again. Like Rose instead of Abigail’s imposter. It’s invigorating! Allowing my Ferrum nature to guide me, I snap my teeth to their razor points. I can do this. I can conquer this world. I just have to stop fighting who I am and what I’m meant to do here.

The stakes, now covered in blood, squick as I tug them from the bodies, and my heart pounds in my chest as I watch their spirits lift. I snap my arms in front of me, through them, bringing their spirits to a final puff of black death.

Three sets of footsteps pound behind me, and I spin around. Tess and William are barreling toward me with a young, raven-haired child in tow.

“Go!” William shouts.

But I’m frozen. Staring.

The spirit elemental is a child?

I’m shocked all over again, just like I had been with the Oracle, but there’s no time to process the thought. William and Tess and the child are storming closer.

Behind them, one of the Maltorim soldiers—the other Marked Strigoi—chases us, and I turn hard and run. When William and Tess catch up, I see the bleeding wound in William’s side and the deep gash on Tess’ thigh that peeks through a rip in her dress. I dip back just long enough to hook my arm around the raven-haired girl to help her so that William and Tess can focus on their own escape.

A waterfall roars up ahead. I keep checking back over my shoulder, my alarm growing as one of the soldiers comes up close on Tess’ right side. She doesn’t seem to notice.

“Tess!” I scream, but the thunder of the waterfall drowns out my cry.

She squints at me, and there’s such innocence there, in those long, dark, fine eyelashes. I can’t let her die.

“Beside you!” I scream louder.

This time she stoops down mid run and spins, sweeping out her leg to trip the soldier, then she’s up and darting toward me again. But this only momentarily slows the soldier, who is already nearly closing in on us again. He shoots several arrows through the air.

At first, I think all three shots have missed. But as Tess spins around and raises her sword to the man, the spirit elemental beside me grunts.

One of the arrows is sticking out of her chest, just left of center, having impaled her though her back. Tess decapitates the man as I crumble to the ground with a dying child in my arms. For the first time, I get a good look at her. Her haunting eyes, shining with fear; her smooth, milky skin; her bright red lips; her large, deep brown eyes. Her tiny nose and thick, dark eyelashes, and her hair a river of black streaming along her cheeks and down to her chest.

William leans back against a tree, gripping his side, and slumps to the ground. Tess falls beside him, wincing as she reaches into her pack to retrieve some herbs.

“That was the last one,” she says, and then she stares into the forest.

Her face and chest is covered in blood. I watch as the Marked Strigoi transforms to a beheaded hawk, wondering what passerby would make of it. What they would make of any of what we leave behind today. William kills the Strigoi’s spirit and turns to us with closed eyes.

“We need to move,” he says, opening his eyes. “The Ankou that’s helping the Maltorim ran off. If won’t be long now before more soldiers are after us.”

I shake my head, looking at the girl in my arms. We can’t lose her. Not now. Not after we’ve come all this way, risked so much.

“We’ll get you help,” I promise her, but even as I say the words I know it’s too late.

Her hand grasps a locket around her neck. She smiles up at me. “Thank you for saving me.”

The doubt of that statement must be clear on my face.

“I know I shan’t live,” she whispers, “but you did save me. You saved me from doing something I didn’t want to do. This death is a kindness.”

Maybe that would be enough for William or Tess. Enough that we at least stopped the Maltorim from using her to do harm. But it’s not enough for me. I wanted to save her. I needed to save her. But I failed. And if I failed her, I fear I may fail Anna.

“Stay with me,” I plead with her. “What’s your name? Tell me your name?”

The girl’s eyes flutter closed. She’s still smiling. She is the peace I wish I felt within myself. Particles of light swirl up from her body, glimmering like gold dust in the moonlight. A cool mist escapes her lips and billows toward me, and I can feel her presence—no longer in my arms, with her body, but instead in the air between us. It presses into my skin with a weightlessness, a tingling energy, and I know it’s her spirit. She’s giving it to me.

It scares me at first, though it’s nothing at all the way it felt when one of the Morts tried to possess me back in Salem. The Oracle’s words come rushing back.

I see a gift for you on this journey, she says. It could be the end of your life or the beginning of your future...Trust your heart.

This must be that gift. And somehow, I know exactly what this gift is. Her spirits speaks to me not with words but with a sense of knowing. I can allow her spirit to become one with mine, or I can allow it to pass through me. Keeping it could give me the power to put an end to this war, but it could also mean never returning to Anna. I can’t risk never making it back to Anna, and I might never make it back to Anna without the power to end this war. My heart tells me I only have one hope, one risky hope.

I must accept this gift.

31

April 1692

Having taken cover, we rest. William and Tess have assumed that somehow the spirit elemental had no spirit for us to move, and I haven’t told them otherwise. Not yet. Not until I understand what it all means.

William leans back against the stone of our cavern, sleeping, and I rest with my head against his shoulder. I sense his comfort and know my own, but I tell myself we are just both too tired to move. That’s why we are snuggled close. Not because we simply want to enjoy these forbidden moments that we know can’t last forever.

Tess pokes at a dish full of herbs. She’s the only one who hasn’t taken any real action to heal her wounds.

“What happened back there?” I ask.

She coughs. “Hmm?”

“It was as though you didn’t see that soldier coming up beside you.”

“Oh?” she says, raising her eyebrows. “Huh.”

“Huh?” I pull away from William, tucking up my legs and leaning on my knees. “That’s it? ‘Huh.’ He was practically right beside you.”

“Yeah...so what?” she says. “You’re upset that I didn’t notice every last detail while trying to run for my life?”

I press my lips together, assessing her carefully. “There’s something you aren’t telling me.”

“Fine,” she says, pushing her disk of herbs aside and leveling her gaze at me. “I’m blind in my left eye, okay? It was as though I didn’t see him because I didn’t. And I couldn’t hear him over the waterfall. That’s it. No big deal.”

Seems like a big deal to me. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“What difference would it have made?” Her face twists in anger. “Can you change it? Will you be here when everything is said and done? No, Cord. I don’t owe you anything. No explanations, no heartfelt confessions. Nothing.”

With that, she stands, steps over her pack, and storms out of the cavern.

* * *

While Tess is gone and William is sleeping, I am left with a lot of time to think. It used to be that my thoughts would always go to what few memories I have of Anna. Now, though, my heart is divided, and I feel like the worst mother ever. I’ve left my daughter behind and allowed myself to care about someone other than her—someone that isn’t a part of her world. I know mothers do this all the time, but it’s different for me. Anna is the only one I should care about, because in the end, it’s her world or this one, and I will choose hers, even if it means leaving William and Tess behind. We all know this. And perhaps we all hurt over this.

I open my pack and pull out the doll William gave me for her. I run my fingers over her ragdoll hair. It makes my heart ache to reunite with Anna, but once I’m with her, seeing this doll will make my heart ache to reunite with William. As I smooth out the skirt of the doll’s dress, a vision rockets across my mind.

I’m looking down at a baby girl in wooden cradle, but she’s not my own. I reach out and place something beside her. It’s the doll. My hands, resting on the doll as I secure its place beside the infant, are so small. Childish. Nails bitten short and dirt packed underneath. The baby smiles up at me with razor-sharp teeth, and I startle, stepping back, thudding into something behind me. A strong hand comes down on my shoulder.

“Nothing to fear, my son,” comes the deep voice behind me. “It is a gift. Our family has been blessed.”

“Is she...is she...all right?” I look back over my shoulder and up to the man above me. He has kind eyes. I trust him. “Does it hurt?”

The man smiles and rubs his hands roughly on my shoulders. “It doesn’t hurt her,” he says, “and it won’t hurt you. But it will hurt any Mort that comes near our family.”

I turn back to the baby and gently caress the back of my finger along her cheek. She giggles a squealy, high-pitched giggle, and her whole body twists with excitement. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” I tell her, my little-boy voice maturing a decade’s worth in that sentence alone. “Nothing ever. I promise.”

* * *

As William tumbles out of his sleep, I’m jarred from the vision. I gasp, sucking in air as though I’d been drowning in those memories that aren’t my own.

William goes from sleepy-eyed to panicked and alert in mere moments. He grabs my shoulders. “Are you all right? What happened?”

I stare into his eyes with searching gravity. “You had a...sister?”

The last word comes out in a whisper, and William’s Adam’s apple bobs. I can’t read his expression. Hurt? Anger?

“Who told you that?” he asks coldly, jaw tensing.

I look down at the doll in my hands and flop her back. I stare into the doll’s eyes and struggle to get out the words. “She did.”

Silence hangs like a thick fog in the room: heavy, pressuring, suffocating.

I return my attention to William, but his face is still twisted in that same heartbreaking expression. “Say something. Please.”

He shakes his head and stands. “Why would you lie to me, Cord? Why? About this of all things?”

I clamber to my feet as well, letting the doll drop to the floor between us. He crouches down slowly and lifts the doll, eyes never leaving it.

I reach out to touch his arm, but he yanks away.

“Please, William. I’m not lying. I saw it through your eyes, as a child, looking down on her. I just did. I’m not making this up!”

He steps closer to me. Threateningly close. And though I feel his anger radiating off of him, I’m not afraid. He’s the one person I just know I never have to fear, no matter how angry he might get. I stare up at him boldly.

“I’m not lying,” I repeat.

His gaze is boring into mine with such intensity—such determination to make me crumble and confess who really told me about his sister. But I have no other answer to offer. He has to see that. He has to.

“Just take it,” he says, shoving the doll back into my arms. “And don’t ever lie to me again, or I swear I’ll...I’ll...”

I raise my eyebrow, but he’s stuck stammering. I tilt my head. “What, William? What will you do?”

He steps back. “Nothing,” he mumbles. “I’ll do nothing.”

I sense what he means by that. He won’t help me anymore. I would be on my own getting back to Anna.

Why is he so upset about me knowing about his sister? Why didn’t he just tell me about her himself? She was Ferrum, like me—he could have been helping me all this time. It’s not like I don’t already know what happened to his family. What could be so much worse?

He moves to where Tess had rested earlier, his eyes shooting daggers at me from across the room. His anger makes me feel small. Alone. I slink back to the floor and tuck my knees to my chest.

I haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t know what he thinks, but right now, I need his help, not his disapproval. I touch the tree pendant on the necklace he gave me and think of all the moments before this one. It was leading somewhere. Not to this, never to this. I wish I could say it would make leaving easier, but it won’t. My finger slips over the tree engraving on the wood chip, and my mind buzzes and tunnels and another vision starts with William’s father looking down at me, hand outstretched, dropping the tree medallion on a leather string into my awaiting palm.

“This talisman...”

I’m shaking and William is in front of me.

“Stop! Cord, let it go, please.”

I shake my head, the vision clearing away, and I drop the talisman.

“Right,” I mumble, “you probably want this back.”

I remove the necklace from over my head and hand it to him.

He looks down at it and shakes his head. “No, that’s not it.” His eyes shift back to mine. “I’m sorry, Cord. I hadn’t even considered...has this...happened before?”

“The visions?” I ask.

He nods.

“The one about your...sister...that was the first.”

He grips the talisman tighter in his hand. “You’re reading memories from objects,” he says. “Psychometry. But you had to get that from somewhere. Do you have an idea where? What happened when you were in jail? No, never mind. It had to be after that.”

He’s not looking right at me, brow furrowed.

I gently touch his arm. “Could it be the girl we tried to save?”

“The spirit elemental? Do you have reason to think it has something to do with her? Is there something you didn’t tell us?”

I shrug. “I felt something happen when she died.” My heart clenches as my memories relive the scene, focus me on my failure. “It reminded me of what the Oracle said, about someone giving me a gift.”

“We don’t know much about spirit elementals. Could they transfer over their abilities? I guess it’s possible...but I don’t know.”

“Don’t sound so sure,” I say bitterly. “Is it so bad to think this girl didn’t’ die for nothing?”

“I never said she died for nothing,” he says sharply. “We stopped them from using her to hurt others. Isn’t that something enough?”

I scowl at him. “No, it’s not enough.”

“I know,” he says, shaking his head. I’m relieved to see some grief in his eyes. “Just please, give me one moment. I think I know something that might make sense of this.” William strides away, still holding the talisman in one hand, then retrieves a book from his pack. He slides rapidly through the pages, freezes at one and, after a long moment, joins me once more. “Look at this.”

“Hmmm...” I try to make sense of it, but fail. “What does it mean?” I point to a few of the words. “These are the different elementals?”

William rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes, then settles next to me with the open book. “It’s an explanation of sorts. More of a theory, really, because we can’t confirm anything about the Forever Girls, but the rest of it holds up. My father created it.”

“An explanation?”

“Yes. Look at the arrows.” He points to them. “Spirit rules over fire; fire over water; water over air; air over earth; earth over spirit.”

“But water puts out a fire.”

“This isn’t science, Cord,” William says darkly. “It’s talking about what elements we can control. See, as Ankou, we are of the air. But many Ankou have extra abilities relating to the earth, such as our ability to heal it.”

I point to a few other words. “What do these senses indicate then?”

“What connects us,” he says. “Now here’s the other part. They rumored only one Forever Girl would be solely in the spirit. The rest are also grounded in other elements. This means most likely the girl we tried to save was another element. I don’t think the only gift you would have gotten would be psychometry.”

“How do we know which one then?”

“We test it.” He leaves my side and returns moments later with a dish of water and a candle. “You can tap into your Ferrum nature now, right?”

“A little.”

He pushes the candle over. “Channel whatever emotion does that, and try creating a wind to put it out or encourage the flame to grow.”

I try. Nothing happens.

“We already know you have control over the earth from your Ankou nature,” he says. That’s how we heal things. So let’s try the water.” He slides over the small dish. “Touch it and see if anything happens.”

I do as I’m told. All that happens is my finger gets wet. “Maybe all she gave me was that one gift.”

William presses his fist to his mouth and stares at the two items. “No, I’m sure it’s something else. It has to be.”

“Why, William? Why does it have to be?”

As I avert my attention to the page William is looking at now, I regret my words. Scribbled next the image is a letter addressed to William and signed Your Loving Father.

These were his father’s theories. This is the only way his father lives on.

“I could try harder,” I suggest.

William’s face contorts in disgust as he slams the book shut. “No, forget it.” He returns the book to his pack and sits with his back against the wall. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

I scoot closer. “I know what you were thinking,” I say. “Maybe you’re right. It makes sense. I’m just new to this. Give me some time. Or maybe she was also Ankou, so it just didn’t change things for me.”

He nods, but he won’t look at me. “Do me a favor, Cord?”

“Sure,” I say hesitantly. “What do you need?”

“I want you to keep the talisman, but my memories of my father—they’re personal. There’s something you can do to severe yourself from your psychometry with an object, but it cannot be undone. Will you do it?” He swivels his head toward me. “For me?”

I shrug one shoulder. “Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, I could do that.”

William explains what I must do, and the magic is simple. A small incantation while I hold the object and pass it over fire. It only works, he tells me, if I do it myself. I have to willingly surrender my ability to read this object.

I pass the object over the fire. “Deditionem. Oblitus. Dele.”

Surrender. Forget. Erase.

Then, as William explains I must, I prick my finger and squeeze a drop of blood onto the object and then use another drop of blood to extinguish the candle’s flame.

And just like that, it is done.

William takes the talisman and runs his fingers over it once more. He presses it into my hands and grasps his hands over mine. He looks down into my eyes. “Promise me, Cord. Promise you will keep this forever.”

“I will.” I stare at it a long while before slipping the necklace around my neck. “Can I control what I see as easily as what I don’t?”

William shakes his head. “Maybe eventually, but many with the gift never get that far. The visions come when they come. You can block them from coming, as I taught you, but you cannot make them come. That relies on your compatibility with the object.”

“I see,” I say, even though I really don’t see at all. I suppose it’s like most things; not really important unless it gets me back to Anna. I’ll figure out the psychometry as it becomes necessary to do so. I bite my lip, trying to work up the courage to say what I need to say. “I want you to do something for me now.”

“Anything I can do for you, I will.”

“I want to stop ignoring this.” I wave my finger back and forth between him and me. “Us. You are the only thing in this world that doesn’t terrify me.”

“Cord—”

“No excuses. I’m not asking for forever, William. But I need us to be what we are without letting lifetimes stand between us. I need it to be all right, just for now, or I will go home from this place with a part of me left behind.”

“That had to be the one thing you ask for?” His eyes droop in the corners. His mouth sags into a frown. “I can’t pretend I don’t care about you—can’t pretend you don’t fill that void in my life, bring back to life the essence of the family I have lost—but it complicates things.”

I shake my head slowly. “It’s already complicated, William. I’m the one who has to leave this behind.”

“I know,” he says sadly. “But if you think it would hurt you to leave a part of yourself behind, imagine how it would hurt me if you took all I had in me with you.”

He says the words—words that should rebuild that wall between us—but instead it all comes crashing down. The longer he stares into my eyes, the closer his body comes to mine. My heart skips so fast in my chest I think I have forgotten what it feels like to breathe.

“Damn it, Cordovae,” he says.

And then, his lips meet mine, and rain tumbles from the sky like marbles falling from the heavens.

I get lost in the kiss. The way his mouth presses to mine, the way his tongue prods gently at my own and slides over my teeth. I sink into his arms and wrap mine over his shoulders and around his neck. His hands trail up my sides but hesitate and ultimately freeze just below my breasts. My breathing hitches, and the kiss slows. He breaks away.

“You all right, Cordovae?”

I nod. His kiss proves things can be right between a man and a woman. It proves that I can be aroused instead of repulsed by a man’s touch. But at the same time, I am all at once shy. I’m not sure what happens now. I stare out the cavern’s mouth and watch the rain. For now, this is all right, and that’s all that matters.

William points to the sky. “No clouds.”

The words sit between us another moment. Forming something.

“No clouds!” he says again, louder this time, and he picks me up and swings me around, then gets his father’s book and opens it to the diagram again. “I knew it! Cordovae—look!”

I stare down at the pages. The spirit elemental—she must have been Chibold. Ruling over water.

What that means for me, I don’t know, but William is smiling, and that makes me happy.

32

April 1692

We settle by the fire, and I can’t stop looking out the cavern. Yes, the rain was magical, but I’m more concerned by what—or rather who—I hadn’t seen.

“I hope Tess is okay.”

William takes my hand in his. “She just doesn’t want to be seen as weak,” he says. “What happened, anyway?”

I tell him about the conversation.

“She doesn’t like anyone knowing, that’s all.”

“But if I had known—”

He places his finger to my lips, silencing me. “Then you would look out for her better?” he asks. He doesn’t wait for me reply. “That’s exactly what she doesn’t want.”

“And you?” I ask. “What’s your weakness?”

“You,” he says, his tone only half-joking, his lopsided smile curling up a little more on one side. “Cord, I know you will leave me to return to Anna. I understand it, but I am still angry for the cards we’ve been dealt.”

“Sorry,” I whisper. I swallow around the lump in my throat. “I wish I could stay...that Anna was here.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just don’t make this harder for me. I’ve seen enough people come and go.”

“Can’t we enjoy what time we do have?” I ask, but already I know the answer. We don’t have the time to enjoy whatever is happening between us. Our moment has passed.

He smiles at me sadly, offering a certain kindness in his silence. He sits up and wraps his strong arms around me, pulling my back into his chest, and I rest my hand on the forearm he has draped over my shoulder.

“You’re a strong woman,” he says. “Strong enough to break a man like me.”

* * *

When Tess returns, I tell her about the gift the spirit elemental gave me. The gift of her spirit joining with mine, the psychometry, the chibold abilities.

Tess chews on her thumbnail. “What does it mean?” Her hand drops away from her face. “Does this mean you are a spirit elemental now? Are you still Ankou?”

William sips at a canteen filled with animal blood that Tess has brought back for him. “She’s still Ankou.”

“I don’t feel any different,” I admit. “Not now, not like I felt while it was happening. I don’t have much control over it, either.”

“Then it doesn’t really change much,” Tess says, “does it?”

William stands and helps me to my feet. “We don’t know,” he says. “Maybe it changes nothing, maybe it changes everything. But right now we have nothing to rely on. It won’t be long now before the Maltorim find us, and we can’t risk traveling right now or we might have a collapse.”

My brow tightens, and I frown. “I thought we only sleep every decade?”

“Normally, yes. But excessive traveling can cause an early collapse. You might be all right as you had one not long ago, when you were reborn as Ankou. But Tess and I have already gone nearly eight years since our last.”

“Then where do we go?” I ask. “We still have a lot of Morts to move.”

William tosses his items into his pack and slings it over his shoulder. “We’ll have to find other Ankou. Help them for a while until things settle down in Salem. Then we can return there. Hopefully the damage won’t be too far done by then.”

“We can’t do that,” I say. “We don’t have the time. I don’t have time!”

He reaches out to gently touch my arm, but I snap myself away. His expression falls, but he doesn’t say anything. He turns and heads into the forest. Tess stares at me as though I just killed a kitten and follows him outside.

My whole self is shutting down. I don’t know where to go, and I know my best hope is to stay with them until I figure out what I’m going to do. Fear twists knots in my stomach. What if I never figure out what to do? What if I never get back from here...get back to Anna?

I grab my pack and take a shaky breath, then start after William and Tess. As soon as I step out into the woods, I’m grabbed from behind and yanked behind a large berry bush, a hand pressed firmly over my mouth.

“Shhh.” It’s William. Slowly he releases me and lifts a finger to his lips.

Tess elbows me and points into the shadows draping between the trees. Fresh young flowers are springing up along the deer paths, giving the false appearance of a beautiful world in bloom. Weaving between the trees are Morts and Maltorim soldiers. We can’t even risk going back into our shelter, as stepping out into the open again only further risks us being discovered.

The darkness of the night sky pales, and I know we don’t have much time to relocate. But nor do the Cruor following us have much time before they need to seek shelter themselves.

Tess tugs my sleeve and tilts her head to indicate a small passage in the trees behind us. I glance back to William, who gives a reaffirming nod and nudges me to follow Tess.

We walk a few yards before Tess spins back to face us. “They have Marked Strigoi with them,” she says in a warning tone. “That’s the last thing we need. We’ll have to find a new shelter, but first we need to lose them.”

She crouches down and digs her hands into the soil, then starts to rub it over her dress and skin. William does the same, and I follow suit. The soil is sticky from pollen and rain.

“This is to cover to our scent?” I ask.

Tess rolls her eyes. “No, I just like playing with dirt.”

William stands. “Let’s go.”

But we don’t make it another two feet before we nearly walk into a large wolf blocking our path, growling.

William yanks me to the side and starts running, nearly dragging me along, Tess right ahead of us. “Faster!” he yells. “Go, go, go.”

The first rays of sunlight are already starting to peek over the tree tops in the distance. I don’t care what William and Tess think, we’re going to have to travel. I just don’t know where we’re going to go. I don’t know where we could ever be safe now.

The wolf is joined by a leopard, both barreling behind us, and then a hawk dipping overhead. It seems to only be the three of them. The Cruor must have already taken shelter nearby.

Our feet shuffle over the deer path. William and Tess’ heavy breaths are like thunder in my ears. The legs of the Strigoi in our pursuit whip through tall grass.

They’re everywhere.

The world around me turns gray and black, the ground and trees turning to crumbling decay. Panic races through my chest. The forest is dying right before my eyes. Everything falls away to barren, cold, black desert of cracked earth.

“Illusions, Cord!” Tess screams from somewhere ahead of me.

But I can’t see her. I can’t see William. I can’t see anything real, and suddenly it’s like I’m running blind, feeling my way through the forest, branches whipping at my stomach. I am nearly winded as I crash into a tree and push my way around it, feeling the cold rough bark, trying to envision what is really ahead of me.

There’s not a hint of life anywhere in sight, but the scent of wildflowers brings me back. The aroma of spring breaking through winter, the taste of honey on the air. Slick leaves slide under my feet, twigs snag at my hair, and hanging moss tickles coolly against my face and neck.

Slowly, my vision forces its way back, and I can see Tess and William ahead of me, looking back at me over their shoulders, and I can hear the animalistic growls of the wolf and leopard behind us.

I run harder, my legs burning, my skin tingling, almost itching. Smoke blooms up ahead, but forward is the only clear path for us to take. The smoke is so thick I’m choking now, even as I run, and the itching is intensifying—must be cedar smoke. But the lack of oxygen sends thoughts flooding into my mind.

There was a way for Adrian, a Cruor, to walk in a field of dandelions. The Maltorim has already used the magic of the Ankou and the blood of a spirit elemental to control the Morts. Now they plan to use the magic of a spirit elemental and the blood of the Ankou to walk in the sun.

If only we could walk in the sun . . .

As we break out into an open field, the pressure of the sun tingles my skin, but the real heat is from the fire surrounding us. A forest fire. How did all that wet wood catch fire?

I cough on the smoke and resist the urge to scratch the hives welting on my arms and neck. Through the billows of gray, I can’t see very far in any direction, but William comes up beside me and takes my hand. Patterns of light shift behind him, and I can’t tell if it’s the daylight through the forest canopy or the dance of the fire.

“Where are they?” I whisper between my coughing fits.

But as soon as the words leave my lips, I sense them behind me. William and I spin around and back further into the clearing. William feels heavier next to me, holding my hand, and I know the sunlight torches him, though it is not bothering me in the same way it had before. With the impending completion of sunrise, my bones do little more than ache.

I can’t see Tess, and my heart beats out of my chest. Where is she? Where’s Tess? My mind screams her name, but I can’t do anything other than stare at the glowing eyes of the Strigoi—only the leopard and wolf visible now—as they prowl closer.

The hawk falls to a patch of wild mushrooms on the ground in front of us, dead.

“Got him,” Tess says from somewhere behind us.

I’m trembling with the urge to turn around and look at her, to get the visual confirmation that she is all right, but I can’t take my eyes off our attackers. I ball my hands into tight fists as the smoke burns my lungs and makes my throat itch.

My wings tingle along my spine, and that is my only real indication that the sun has taken full effect in the clearing. The wolf and the leopard back away, whimpering, and it’s only then I dare a glance over my shoulder.

The fires have smoldered. The smoke is dissipating. And Tess and William are staring at me wide-eyed from the shade of my veined, amniotic wings.

“Your wings,” she whispers.

I turn toward her. “What?”

Tess grabs my wrist. “Come on,” she says. “We have to get out of here.”

* * *

Not far from the burnt-down clearing is a large waterfall, and we take shelter just behind the wall of rushing water. When we are sure we haven’t been followed, we sit on the moist stone and catch our breath. Already my hives are clearing. Tess passes over the nightshade for me to replenish myself, and William sips at what is left in his canteen.

“How did you do that?” she asks. “Your wings...their shade completely blocked the sunlight.”

I press my lips together. “I had been thinking a little before that, if we could walk in the sun...this would be so much easier. There aren’t as many Strigoi as Cruor with the Maltorim. We could do more work during the day.”

William nods, but he’s frowning. “That would be great, but if you don’t know how you did it, you can’t replicate the effect. Unless your wings are just that way now—from joining with the spirit elemental.”

I chew quietly on the nightshade, inspecting each small berry before popping it into my mouth. A beetle crawls across one of the twigs. There’s an answer here, somewhere. “There’s always an exception, a way around the rule. Adrian and the dandelion field, for example.”

“Sure, if you know what to do.”

“The Maltorim were going to use our blood with the magic of the spirit elemental to walk in the sun. So there’s a way, and it has to do with our essence and the spirit elemental’s.”

Tess bites her lip and tilts her head slowly side to side. “The Ankou were once trapped by daylight and not moonlight. It could have something to do with that. But that can only be reversed at the change of the century.”

William presses on his knuckles until they crack. “We need to find out more about what the Maltorim are trying to do,” he says. “If we had more answers—”

“No,” I say, then I turn toward him and Tess. “All we’ve been doing since I arrived is running and hiding and trying to find answers. There’s been no progress—only avoiding an inevitable defeat. We are still outnumbered and that will never change, will it?”

William frowns. “We just need time to—”

“No more sneaking around,” I say. “No more running, no more hiding. Remember what you told me? Whatever you do, fight. I was brought here to fight, and fighting is the only way I am getting out of here.”

“We’re only trying to keep you safe,” he says.

Tess rolls her eyes. “You are only trying to keep her safe,” she snaps. “And that is not what we are supposed to do.”

William’s eyes are steady on mine, as though Tess has not even spoken, and my heart flutters. He takes my hand in both of his. “I admire your willingness to fight. I’ve let my feelings get in the way while at the same time trying to keep you at a distance. But I got it backwards, didn’t I? I should have let you in while staying true to my calling. But I can’t help how I feel, and I can’t risk our lives without you knowing how I feel.”

I smile at him sadly. “You don’t need to tell me how you feel. I already know. And you know how I feel...about you, and about my daughter. Fighting is my only way back to her.”

“And that is all you want,” he says, dropping my hand, his eyes begging me to tell him otherwise.

I want to tell him that I want it all. I want Anna...and I want him. But that’s not what I say.

“It’s what I want most.”

I know it means leaving him behind, and that thought stabs in my chest. I can’t live with the pain of losing them both, but I have to be willing to lose one of them. Without William, my heart will ache indefinitely, but without my daughter, I cannot live.

“You’re both so horribly lovely,” Tess says, standing between us. “I’m with Cord. We should fight. Worry about the rest later. I say we test Cord’s new ability and lure the Morts and Cruor out during the day.”

William opens his mouth, but I can’t let him speak. We need to stay focused. I lock eyes with Tess. “So we bait them. Can they sense I’m a spirit elemental or only that I’m Ankou?”

“Use you as bait?” William shakes his head. “Is that what you’re suggesting?”

“You two can stay close by.”

“They’d be happy to capture any of us,” William counters. “Let me do it.”

“I’m clearly better bait,” I say. “They’ll know I have less experience as an Ankou.”

Tess chews her lip, avoiding eye contract. I stare at her, waiting for her to take my side.

“What do you think?” I press.

She’s twitching her foot in an irritated way, but not saying anything, until finally she looks up to glare at William. “Are you going to tell her?”

“We still have other options,” he says.

She raises her eyebrows, and now I’m the one glaring at him. “I think I should be able to decide, whatever it is.”

“Not now,” he says more firmly.

“I will do this alone if I have to,” I say, anger building in my chest. “If you want to help, you need to be honest with me. Stop trying to protect me!”

“Stop needing me to,” he says, his eyebrows pulling lower of his eyes. He immediately shakes his head as though that can erase his words. “That’s wrong,” he says. “You’re strong, Cord. You don’t need me to protect you, but I need to.”

I understand now that his anger is his only defense; it both worries and endears me to him that he cares so much to protect me that he would rather me be cross with him. But I can’t let it go. Not now. I swallow, trying to keep my emotions at bay. “This isn’t about what you need.”

“Nor is it about what you need,” he says smoothly. “I’ve stood by while many people fighting this same battle have died. I blame myself for not putting an end to it, but there was always someone new...someone else who could fight this war.”

“Then fight with me,” I challenge him.

He looks away. “Not everyone can be replaced. Sometimes there are people...sometimes...Cord—” He breathes out slow. “—I can’t stop you if you want to fight, so of course I will fight beside you. But is that what you really want? To risk your life?”

I steel myself against his words, trying to keep my expression unreadable. He is the first man I’ve ever felt I could trust with my heart. But can I trust him to allow me to decide my own fate, to allow me to face the Maltorim, whatever the consequences may be, so that I can take the only chance I have to get back to Anna?

When I don’t respond, William lifts my hand with his fingers. “We could try something else first. Something with less risk.”

“We don’t have time to try other things first,” I plead. “If we are going to take a risk, now is the time to take it.”

“If you fail, you will never have the chance to return to Anna.”

“And if I don’t try, the same will still be true. You told me that. At least if we try, I have a chance.”

He presses his lips together and stares past Tess. Determination sets his expression, replacing all his previous hesitation. “We will have to get rid of the Morts, too, and that includes the ones already possessing human flesh,” he says. “We won’t be able to attempt any healing until after the fight is over. Be prepared that some innocent people may die waiting.”

“So we work fast,” I say optimistically. “Just tell me what we need to do.”

33

April 1692

We do not wait for nightfall. William drinks some of Tess’ blood to help counteract the Cruor side of his nature. He can only drink so much without weakening her, but it should buy us a few hours. We set up an altar in a large clearing near the ocean, in the place where it all began, where I first met William and Tess. I know it’s the same field because the tree stump in the middle of the clearing is unmistakable, seemingly made of many thinner tree trunks woven together.

I have everything I need—even the witch’s ladder is still in the pocket of my dress, available to me in the event I ever need it again.

I act under the direction of William and Tess, while they hide beneath the shade of my wings. The sunlight is uncomfortable, but there is a distinct difference from how I feel now to how I’ve felt in my history as an Ankou when touched by the sun’s rays.

Now that I’ve got a handle on my Ferrum nature, I’m counting the minutes in clicks of my teeth. Snap out. Snap in. Snap out. Snap in. The Cruor’s fangs seem like child’s play by comparison.

Since we’re performing moon magic, and the moon has such a pull on the tides, we’ve chosen a ritual connected to the element of water. My command of this element has been strongest since I’ve joined spirits with the spirit elemental, and I sense my connection with her is our only hope.

Our altar, a flat-surfaced rock, faces west, encircled by large white oval stones. On it is a silver flask filled with water and a moonstone engraved with the raiðo rune—the rune of journey. William has made dragon’s blood by mixing water with a red powder he derived from the stem of a dragon’s tree found on the little-known island of Socotra—one of the few travels we have had to make. Floating in the dragon’s blood is a white lotus flower.

William steps up behind me, takes my wrists, and crosses them over my chest. “Close your eyes,” he whispers. “Imagine the full moon. Imagine her beauty, imagine her as a reflection of yourself.”

My heart flutters. I allow my body to relax against his, my head leaning back into his chest. “You are universal and constant,” I say aloud, and I try to envision the moon, not William, as I say this. “In the dark of night, you shine down upon us and bathe us in your light.”

“Stay steady,” William instructs. “I’m going to share my energy with you now.”

His fingers intertwine with mine, his palms cool against the backs of my hands. This magic has nothing to do with being Ankou; it’s a ritual his father wrote based on Pagan traditions. Together, we raise our arms up, and a surge of energy—a palpable tingle—travels down my arms, covers my breasts, and spreads to my stomach.

“I am the wind in the sky,” I say, recalling the words Tess had me memorize, “the spark in the fire, the seedling in the earth, the water in the river.”

As William’s energy continues to course through me, it’s as though a magnetic force is weaving itself around our bodies, and there is both comfort and fear in that—the comfort of having him, the fear of losing him—but I don’t let it deter me.

“I am the sun and the moon, together on this day,” I say.

Speaking the words aloud, I start to believe them. That somehow, with William at my side, I see the beauty and perfection within myself. And I want more now. I want more than my life with Anna back. I want to share my gift with William. With the world.

After a deep breath, William releases my hands, and I pluck the lotus flower from the dragon’s blood and eat it.

William breathes in deeply again, and my lungs act with his. He whispers close to my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “Feel the power within you,” he says. “When you are ready, you can conclude.”

The energy is welling within me like a chattering in my soul. My own. William’s. The spirit elemental’s. My passion. My love. My pain. My joy. Until finally the emotions are on the brink, ready to overflow.

“Now,” I whisper to William and Tess.

My eyes are closed, but I hear the tinkling as they put their chimes back on. I feel William’s large hands slide over my hips and stomach as he ties my own chimes around my waist.

It’s time.

“Come, moon,” the words leave me like a mist of warm air on a cold river. “Come black the sky, come allude the night.”

I breathe in one last slow, deep breath, trying to find confidence in my words. Trying to trust that what I say will somehow truly impact the physical world around us. Trying to trust that what I feel goes beyond my connection with William.

At least, I brave the final words.

“Come, the dark.”

I don’t open my eyes right away. I just feel. And I feel the moon; I feel his glow, feel the soothing airiness he brings to the world.

“You’re doing it, Cord,” William says low in my ear, awe floating from his voice.

I lower my arms and blink my eyes open, and what I see sends a rush to my chest. The moon has eclipsed the sun, has swallowed her whole, so that only an orange ring of light glows around his edges.

Cruor know to avoid an eclipse—know when they are coming. But this one is a surprise. We might actually be able to trick them into believing it’s night.

I peek over my shoulder, meeting William’s intense gaze with my own. I can’t speak, can’t tell him what’s on my mind, but I know now that I must find a way to bring William back with me when I return to Anna. I am strong enough to love him and to love her. My love has not been divided all this time, as I had imagined; instead, it has multiplied.

My guilt melts away, but a new weight replaces the emotion. I can’t lose him.

There is no time to dwell on this discovery, though. As Tess weaves between the trees enclosing the clearing, her chimes call out the Morts. They know it’s us, and the Cruor and Marked Strigoi will soon follow. The creak of trees on a quiet day is soon replaced with the loud thunder of footsteps. The moon is out, the moon is full, and already Maltorim soldiers are whipping from between the trees and into the clearing.

I focus my energy on holding the moon and allow the battle to take place, only hoping that William and Tess are prepared for what lies ahead—to keep the Maltorim’s Cruor soldiers at bay until enough of them have entered the clearing to demolish them all in one fell swoop. We only get one shot at this.

William and Tess pounce in front of me, standing half crouched with swords drawn. Cruor infiltrate our clearing, and hundreds of humans possessed by Morts stalk into the battle as well.

But nothing is worse than the dead. The dead the Maltorim have risen. The soldiers with no life left to lose. Their expressions empty and their movements unnatural. A truly terrifying, mindless army.

Along the edges of our battleground, water sweeps in, lapping up to my feet. The waves cast the field in a blue ambience—sterile, cold reflections of light in the dark clearing. I need to keep the water at bay. Our chimes cannot get wet, yet the water is what will lend me strength enough to complete this task.

Sticks and weeds float along the surface. The peaty smell of algae, dirty water, and wet animal accost my senses, and the presence of ocean water is so heavy I taste the salt on the air. Soon, the seawater is rushing over the dead grass, rising until we are ankle deep. Flooding the clearing in a way that only magic can, drawing water from distances so great I wonder if all of Salem has been washed away.

The water moves with cold fluidity around my ankles and splashes onto my shins, and I step onto the altar. The water splashes up against the rock, as though drawn to me, and I know that, although I am an element of air, I am a ruler of water. I can control it. I need to control it.

William and Tess have taken out half a dozen of the Maltorim soldiers already, but the field is crowding. They will not survive much longer, but a little longer is all we need. I twist my wrist, and the water below me trickles upward, defying gravity, pledging its allegiance to my command.

I can do this.

I sweep my hand upward and forward, directing a wave of water to crash into a crowd of Maltorim soldiers. The water glitters with my inner ability, a force beyond itself, knocking the Cruor men to the ground. It’s enough to allow William and Tess to regain superiority long enough to move several Mort spirits from the dead bodies they possess. My heart pangs as the human shells fall with a splash. The humans that are still alive—I will need my Ferrum nature to save them, to remove the Morts without harming or possibly killing their human bodies.

Almost there. Hang on.

There are at least a hundred Maltorim soldiers now and even more humans possessed by Morts. I hadn’t realized so many had been working against us. Tess and William drop the Cruor and Marked Strigoi one by one while trying to fend off the possessed humans a little longer. The fur of slain animals peek out of the water’s surface, and the black tar of the eliminated Cruor oils the water’s surface.

On the opposite side of the clearing stands a man, his black shirt unbuttoned and chest open to the wind that the sea I have conjured has brought with it. His charcoal hair is slicked back, and his dark stare is intent on mine. The golden sheen to his skin gives him away for the traitor he is: the Ankou that has betrayed us to help the Maltorim.

I can’t concentrate on holding the moon while the battle is going on around me. Tess and William need me to stay strong in my purpose, but they also need help fighting. In the end, we can’t run forever. Right here and now is our best shot.

Tess warned me we could not afford to travel anymore, but William had managed it to get the supplies we needed for the ritual. I need to risk it now, too. I cannot cross this field any other way, not with the hordes of the mindless and possessed and walking dead. I can only hope my decision to fight does not mean abandoning my call on the moon too early.

I take a running step off of the altar and directly into time and space, coming out on the other side of the clearing with my sword drawn and swinging to decapitate the traitorous Ankou. But he grabs my wrist, stopping my blow, and stares into my eyes with burning intensity.

“Cordovae,” he says, as though my name is a disease.

Something stabs into my lower back, just to the side, and a burning spreads into my bloodstream and scorches my skin. My arm drops to my side, sword still in my grasp, but my world grows dark around me. I cling with everything I can to the moon, to keep her there for William and Tess a little longer. More than half of the possessed dead bodies have dropped into the waters now.

“I loved you once,” he says to me, grabbing my arm, and I feel my face twisting with my mind as I try to figure out what he means. “You were too good for me. Too pure. Too weak.”

His nails dig into my bicep. “I led you to the stakes,” he whispers loud in my ear, his voice like a snake. “I set the fire myself.” He shakes me now, and the look in his eyes—it’s pure insanity. He thinks I am Cordovae? Not with her spirit, but herself in the flesh? His eyes are nearly black. “How dare you come back? You were meant to die in Logroño! I saw you die! Tell me how you did it.” He shakes me again. “Tell me how you came back!”

He’s becoming increasingly frantic, and I realize then he doesn’t want me to die. Not again, not yet—not until he knows how Cordovae is still alive.

I turn my nose up at him. “Does it matter? You’ll die here today. You will die with this pathetic army.”

He laughs, staring over my shoulder. “And so will your friends.”

I twist to look behind me, my heart sinking at the sight: A Mort, possessing a large, dead human man, stalks up behind William, holding a large rock over his head.

Even as it’s starting to come down, I force my way through the pain to swing once more at the Ankou before me. This time, my sword slices into his neck, decapitating him, dropping the rest of his body first to his knees and then to the torrents below.

“She never loved you,” I say to his corpse.

I spin back to William. He’s staring at me, a stunned look in his eyes as the remaining possessed dead bodies in the field drop into the crystal blue water. The body of the one holding the boulder is instantly crushed. Those bodies were nothing without their spiritual puppet master.

“Now, Cord!” William yells, and I release the moon.

It moves slower than I hope. If it doesn’t lurk away from the sun fast enough, it could mean the death of any or all of us. I close my eyes, drawing more energy from water that floods the clearing and embracing the spirit of the moon, both working together, empowering me as I use my willpower to control the elements.

Finally, the moon creeps away from the sun, and light bursts out, slanting onto our battleground and incinerating the remaining Cruor...sending them up in flames until all that remains is their charred ashes falling like snowflakes into the water.

In that one moment, the majority of the Maltorim’s Cruor delegated to preventing us from our goal are eliminated, and with the Maltorim’s lone Ankou dead and unable to control the Morts, they are more disorganized. But we still have a lot of work to do before a new army is forged.

The Marked Ones—the Strigoi that work alongside the Maltorim—still remain. A hand thuds on my shoulder, and I turn around. Adrian and his comrade, Charles, stand behind me.

“Now we make amends,” Adrian says, and with that, he and Charles charge into the clearing, engaging the remaining Maltorim warriors.

Their alliance stuns me, but does not move me as much as the two other presences that glide into the battleground. On the other side of the field, closest to my altar, stand Vanessa—the postpartum woman I helped escape Salem—and Grace, the woman who saved me and yet who I abandoned.

Relief that Grace was, after all, someone I could trust, floods through me. I run across the soggy clearing to where most of the Strigoi have gathered and fight alongside my comrades—all of them—for once feeling like we have a chance of survival. A chance to put an end to the darkness.

That is until I remember that William and Tess are fighting under a blanket of sunlight, one that surely suffocates their Ankou bloodline. Their weariness reflects in my own, as I’m weaker than I realized from forcing one final travel to put an end to the miserable Ankou who was controlling the army of the dead.

My adrenaline subsides to make way for reality. The pain in my back and blood from the injury drop me to the ground. I crawl to a tree, my vision darkening.

“Hang on,” a voice calls out, but I don’t know who it is—only that it’s female.

Through the shadows and blur, Verity’s face fills the frame of my vision. “You’re hurt!” she cries. “What happened?”

“I don’t—I don’t—” Know.

What had happened? I want to tell her how glad I am to see her. To thank God she’s all right. But I can’t speak.

“I have you,” she says. “Don’t worry. Hang on. Stay will me, you’ll be all right.”

Verity’s voice soothes me like a mother’s lullaby soothes a child, and my own mother fills my vision. The woman she had been once, before the darkness arrived. Memories of being little and her grasping my wrists and spinning me over the tall grass in our back yard, until we were both dizzy and fell back to stare at a pale blue sky full of white cotton fluff, the only sound aside from our laughter the snapping of crisp linen hung to dry in the cool, early autumn breeze.

“You’re going to be fine,” Verity’s voice cuts in again, and my vision clears. “Here, take this,” she says, pressing some Daphne berries to my mouth. “Chew. Come on.”

Are those tears in her eyes?

I swallow the berries and grasp her hand. “How did you know?”

“Vanessa found me in the woods, shortly after you disappeared. I convinced her I was a friend and trying to help you, but by then, you were already gone. She said you might need my help one day and told me what to do. Then I saw all the townsfolk marching to the woods...and...I just knew you would be here. Oh, Abigail. You should have told me. Thank heavens you’re all right.”

Somehow, Vanessa had known to trust Verity more than I had. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“Verity, I—”

“Not now, please. Your friends still need you.”

She’s right. This battle isn’t over yet. Though the sun has killed all the Cruor on the field, we still have the Marked Ones and the remaining Morts to finish off. But we’re outnumbered, and William and Tess won’t make it long enough to finish this battle without my help.

I shake my head, willing her to leave my side. “Go. Please, Verity, don’t worry about me. If you’re going to . . .” I can’t say it. Can’t admit she’s risking her life because of me. But she is, and I need her to. “Help them.”

She bites her lip, nods her head sadly, and then pops more Daphne berries into my mouth before running into the fray.

34

April 1692

I grasp at the underbrush behind me, hopelessly hoping I’ll find more nightshade or Daphne berries or anything to help me recover, instead of leaving me incapacitated on the side of the battlefield.

But there’s nothing but branches with their first few leaves of spring waiting to break free.

Water laps against my back like waves on a beach at low tide. I shiver involuntarily against the chill, my body aching from the cold, but soon the water is soothing. My head sways as though I sit atop an iceberg on a choppy sea, and the pain of the cold is like needles pressing into my skin. But each time the tide pulls back, the poison seeps from my wound.

I feel the water healing me. Making me stronger than before. But it’s not helping quickly enough. Something black and pooling is in the water, swirling like smoke in the sea. I see my chime bob in the current, and my heart sinks.

Never let the chimes get wet.

The blackness snakes out toward the Morts, and soon I see their spirits growing and twisting. Their eyes glow red, and their increased strength is apparent by the way they begin to overtake our group. Their spirit-forms had at least resembled humanity; these morphed beings are less deceptive and more terrifying. They are monstrous, disfigured, and vibrating with a thudding evil.

One of the Morts grabs William by the neck and lifts him up onto his toes, and then further until his legs dangle.

They can touch us now—without the need for a human host.

The Mort uses his other hand to grab William’s chime necklace, and holds it up to inspect it as it reflects the sun’s rays. A grin twists his face, and he drops the chime, letting it plunk into the water to create its own smoky pool.

“No!” Tess yells, but she can’t get to him with all the other Morts and Marked Ones still between them. They need me.

I grab the root of the tree behind me and use my healing abilities in a new way. Not only for regrowth of what has died, but to force as much new growth as possible. The tree sprouts new branches. Old ones twist and extend, poking out further into the clearing. My energy is draining rapidly, but I won’t let go. I can’t.

Soon one of the branches is pressing so hard into another tree that the tree is leaning into the clearing. Its roots are lifting. The Mort who has William opens its new monstrous red eyes wide as the smaller tree begins to fall. He releases William to duck out of the way, and William twists his body in the other direction. Everyone in the tree’s path parts like the red sea. Bodies dive away to save themselves.

This won’t be enough, but it bought us a little time. I slump back against the tree, nearly unable to keep my eyes open. The water tingles my wounds and laps against me, rolling over me, soothing me.

Then, suddenly, I’m weightless.

The water pushes me up, until I am levitating above the clearing, the waves an uplifting swirl beneath me. Peace floods through me. Perhaps I was always meant to die in the water. Maybe that’s where my life went wrong—when my father saved me from drowning, only to later make me wish I were dead.

If I die today, will the water carry me back to Anna, or will my soul be lost forever?

Below, Adrian, Charles, and Vanessa have taken over fighting the Strigoi. Grace, though she can no longer move the Mort spirits, assists William and Tess by tossing any possessed humans out of the way, keeping them at bay as my friends do the work I should be doing alongside them.

The spirits crouch together like a pack of wolves, except their dark forms are so varied in shape and size that they resemble trees incised with human faces. All of them—even the children among them—are bereft of beauty and innocence.

In the horde of spirits, one captures my attention. His eyes hide in shadows, but his thick aquiline nose casts an elongated shadow that cuts through his lips and graduates to a point on his cleft chin.

Rage boils within me, my ears burning hot, my body trembling so fiercely I am surely hurting the air around me.

That particular Mort was the first.

He stole my family in Georgia.

My mind fixates on the moment before the accident. The moment before Pa lost control of the car. A man standing in the road. But it wasn’t a man. No, it was him: this Mort in front of me now. Pa jerked the car sideways to avoid what he thought was a man. The truck squealed as it angled on two wheels, and then it tumbled.

Anger cuts my peripheral vision, and I focus on him as though through a tunnel. The spirit of the Forever Girl swells within me and lends me the strength and energy I need. My muscles jerk with a surge of unexpected power. The Mort’s translucent body shimmers around a face as resolved as a dead-skin mask.

I reach out, squeeze my hand, and then pull my fist to my stomach, willing the Mort forward. Even in his spirit form, he stumbles. As though he’s opened his eyelids, the shadows peel back from his forehead, showing tiny green vortexes that seem to absorb the air around him. His middle teeth, as long and craggy as stalagmites, gleam with feigned moonlight.

I lift my arm, and his spirit rises, joining me in my levitation. When he closes in on me, I thrust my hand forward, my elongated nails slashing into his forehead, but before I can send him to an eternal non-existence, he thrusts his spirit hand forward and plunges it into my chest. Filaments of burning pain coil around my organs and constrict.

My lungs seize, and pain pulses through my chest as though I’ve swallowed a gulp of boiling water.

I gasp for breath. My vision blurs.

His blurry face grins, and he pulls me closer, yanking my body as if I’m his puppet.

“You,” he whispers with a voice like a rattlesnake.

His face stops inches from mine. I dig my nails deeper, and his smile turns into an angry grimace.

But he doesn’t stop. He presses so close against me that I can feel his spirit entering my body.

“No,” I try to say, but the word leaves me like a dying breath.

This is what I have spent a lifetime trying to avoid. This is the spirit that forces itself on you. The spirit that violates you. Now he’s taking everything that is left of me. Making my body his own.

I can’t surrender. I can’t be like Pa. My head feels thick and fuzzy. He’s pushing my body forward, down. My face plunges into the water, and I hold my breath. I can’t breathe. I open my eyes, but all I see is debris floating by, obscuring dozens of pairs of feet. I flail my arms, push against the ground, try to pull my head back up, but he makes me resist every effort. My arms are not my own. My spirit is breaking.

Finally he pulls me out of the water and throws my body back. The water surrounding us parts, as though running away. My emotions spill, and my tears soak my face. My mind flashes back to my Pa, and my body shuts down completely.

Get off me. Leave me alone.

His voice rattles: “You’re mine.”

Not yet. There’s still a part of me left. I can’t let him take me.

My body struggles to fight back, but I can’t overcome him. He’s stronger than most other Morts I’ve encountered. I went about this the wrong way. I should have hidden myself with my wings on my approach. Too late now.

He is inside of me, and his form wreaths around my spine. I fall back, twisting in agony.

Tess straddles me, pinning my shoulders down. “Let her go!” she screams. She pounds my chest. Tears gleam in her eyes and fury twists her face. “Get out! GET OUT!”

Through the haze of my vision, I see black veins branching on my shoulders where Tess touches me. The skin starts to gray, and my heart throttles into a panic. My mouth twists open and my neck bends to one side, and vertebrae pop between my shoulder blades. My eyes roll back. Then laughter that is not my own bubbles from my throat.

“Kill me,” he says, mocking her. “Kill...me.”

Killing the host is the only way an Ankou without Ferrum nature can end a Mort spirit that has possessed human flesh. But Tess is driven by her sense of justice. She wouldn’t kill me to kill him.

Would she?

Tess’ long dark braid falls in front of her shoulder, and loose strands of hair stick to her face. Water drips from her nose. “You won’t take her from me,” she says through her teeth. She slams her hand into my chest again. “You won’t take her!”

In my blurred vision, she reaches into her pack at her side and removes the Malleus Maleficarum. She grabs my hand—his hand?—and presses it again the book. “Cord, please. We need you. Anna needs you.”

Images flash into my mind. My gift of psychometry sends visions flying by as it searches for a memory I can use imprinted on the book. Anything. All I see is destruction. Burnings. Beheadings. Hangings. Slaughter. Lies. Deceit. A world in which women are the sexual playmates of Satan. I want to break away from this—the idea that witchcraft sprang from carnal lust. That in women, lust is insatiable.

The image freezes. Clears on a girl in a white flowing gown, standing still in a sea of commotion, her dress fluttering gently in the breeze. She’s reaching toward me. She’s saying something . . .

Regna terrae, cantata Omne, psallite Cernunnos.

The spirit tenses within me, bends my body painfully sideways. It coils my organs, and it squeezes. I hear myself scream—my own voice. The Mort is deep within me, harboring in my body, recoiling. Growling.

Regna terrae, cantata Omne, psallite Aradia.

It grips at my gut and twists my body so hard that Tess is thrown from me, but she doesn’t let the book leave my hand. I pull my face out of the mud, and there is a moment of solace before the spirit twists around my belly again. I scream again, this time in the spirit’s voice—a cougar’s voice.

In my vision, a dark storm surrounds the girl in white.

Caeli Omne, terrae, Humiliter majestati gloriae tuae tu a nobis, Ut ab omni infernalium spirituum potestate.

The Mort shrieks. He lifts one of my hands and plunges my fingernails into my own face. I try to press out my Ferrum nature, in hopes of biting myself, but he won’t let me. It’s too late.

Laqueo, and deception nequitia. Omnis fallaciae libera nos, dominates. Exorcizamus you omnis spiritus malus.

My body jerks backwards until I’m up straight, and then slams backward again, hitting a rock and opening my scalp. My vision clouds, but the girl is still in my mind. Fading and returning, fading and returning, her voice somewhere in the distance . . .

Omnis malus potestas, omnis incursion, infernalis adversarri, omnis legio. Omnis and congretatio secta diabolica!

The roar in my head is so loud it feels as though my brain is bleeding. My body convulses. Pure evil pours from my mouth, a raspy voice that is not my own. “No one wants you, Tess! Go away. Go away, little girl! You’re dead, you’re dead!”

I feel Tess’ trembling, but I cannot comfort her.

I hate myself. I want to die. I want my life to end before this Mort makes me do anything unforgivable. Is this what it had been like for my father? Was he as much as victim as me?

The girl from the book’s memories continues, a fire catching behind her, blazing in the background. Ab insidiis mali, lobera nos, dominates, ut coven tuam secura tibi libertate servire facias, te rogamus, audi nos!

My whole body is convulsing. Something wet drops from the corner of my lips, and I taste it on my tongue. Blood. My blood.

Terribilus Omni Sanctuario cernunnos virtutem plebe. Aradai ipse fortitudinem plebe suae! Benedictus Omni, Gloria Patrie! Benedictus Dea, Matri Gloria!

And it’s calm. Eerily calm.

I look up to see the flashing red in Tess’ eyes, and I know exactly where’s he’s gone. And exactly how to end him once and for all.

I lunge toward her and sink my razor teeth into her shoulder.

Tess shrieks in the Mort’s voice.

Desperately I bite at her again on her forearm and again on her neck, calling up shrieks that are progressively more intense. Her hand comes up firmly to my shoulder before I can bite again, and when I look in her eyes, I see it’s her again. Really her.

She stumbles back, but catches herself. After a deep breath, she turns away from me, facing the destruction, then takes off to return to combat. Behind where she stood is Verity, smiling sadly at me, a pile of dead at her feet. She had protected Tess so Tess could help save me. I nod my thanks to her, but it’s not long before my attention shifts to the clearing beyond.

The water lifts me back into my levitation, and my gaze cascades over the remaining enemy. I feel the power thrumming in me. I hear my call—hear the drum beat in the ground, a building crescendo inside of me.

One of the possessed is sneaking up on Tess’ left. She won’t be able to see it, not with the blindness in that eye. And she won’t be able to hear me over the roar of the battle. I plunge toward the possessed and use my Ferrum nature to extract it from the human. The body thuds into the water, and the Mort tries to run. But it’s too late. My fingers are already in its spirit skull, and soon it is nothing more than black particles on the breeze. Tess nods her thanks to me, then refocuses her attention on the Morts that have evolved from our wet chimes.

This ends now.

I zip around the clearing biting every possessed human I can before returning to neutral ground, then I reach out both my hands and pull all the Morts toward me. I pull them from the shadows, I pull them from their battles, I pull them from the human bodies they fight to keep possession of. The clearing is filled with the shrieking cries of Morts and the thudding slosh of host bodies falling into the ankle-deep water.

Now it’s just me and the Morts. They claw at me, fighting back against my control over them. I clutch the witch’s ladder I still keep in the folds of my dress and begin chanting. The spirit of the Forever Girl is with me, and the power of the triple goddess swirls through me, making her presence known and giving me the strength and energy I need.

“Veni, tenebræ,” my voice trembles low, the Latin words coming out with a guttural tenor. “Veni, tenebræ.”

The Morts slog forward. Through the wall of their shadowy forms, I see William trying to break through.

“Cord! No!”

He’s yanking Morts back. He’s moving two of them at a time, reducing them to black particle that turns the water below a shimmering gray.

“Veni, tenebræ.”

Come, darkness.

I repeat the chant until all the Morts have been extracted from the human bodies. Bodies that now lie drowning in inches of water, waiting to be reborn.

William is low now; the crowd of Morts have swallowed him.

They hover closer and closer, until I can feel their deadly chill, until it’s like ice melting over a Georgia sunburn. I hold tight to this world, not allowing the fragment to push forward.

“No!” William yells again, but his voice is drowned by a sea of moaning spirits.

Soon, they are on top of me, suffocating me, too many for me to fight back, wrapping their fingers around my arms and legs, pulling my levitating body from the sky to the ground below. The water surges away, clearing a circle around me as I land.

If I let my friends fight this battle without me, they could die. Do I sacrifice the lives of some of the people I love in order to save Anna? That was never possible. I had to save them all to save her anyway.

If I die here today, maybe I still would make it back to Anna. Just so long as I do what needs to be done. Maybe that would be enough.

Maybe.

And if not, I can only hope William or Tess would return for me to make sure she is safe.

My heart is weak—a slave to my emotions. Fighting is perhaps the only strength I have left. But deep down, I know why I’ve been hiding behind my reasoning. I’ve been hiding from what I’ve always known: the only way to win this battle is to fight it myself. This war has always been mine, and finally I realize that it won’t end until I own it. Embrace it. The power of the very moon is on my side. I am stronger than I ever could have imagined.

It has to be enough.

It has to.

The resolved energy swells within my chest, and I will the waves around us to rise in great walls, the crystal blue water sparkling in the sunlight. As the waves coalesce around and above us, shadows turn the waves black, and soon I’m trapped under a dome of water. Everything goes dark.

My friends can’t help me now, and I have no idea what I am doing. I can only act out my instincts, my urges. I can only trust the magic given to me by the Forever Girl.

Two walls form, blocking out my friends and encasing me inside with my attackers.

My prisoners.

I try to use the pull of my power to bring the Morts together, to pit them against one another, but it’s useless. They pass through each other, swirls of shadows that deepen the darkness around us. They press up against me, and my stomach lurches. They want to take me, to be part of me, and I have to fight images of Pa’s body over my own.

I crouch to the ground, and my chest tightens in panic as they hover over me. I can feel their cold energy on every inch of my skin. I close my eyes in the dark and try to focus on the ground beneath me. The earth’s drumbeat thuds against my fingertips.

I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, focusing harder, soaking in the energy. Darkness consuming me. Is this what it will take? Inviting the dark into myself in order to destroy it?

Beneath the shrieks and moans of the Morts, my body trembles with the earth. My fear is gone. It’s the energy alone that shakes me to my core. Finally, I let go. I stop pulling. I stop pulling the Morts, stop pulling the energy from the earth, stop pulling my strength from the water, and I...let go.

I let go of every emotion, every dream, every hope.

And the energy bursts from me in bright rays of echoing light, bright and blinding and turning my world white. But as this light temporarily destroys the color of my world, it permanently destroys the Morts in the clearing. Each and every one—vaporized. Sucked from this existence almost as though they never existed at all. A Chibold gift I hadn’t even known I possessed.

Icy salt water crashes down around me and slaps into my face, stinging my skin, and I can taste the ocean on my tongue.

When I open my eyes, the clearing is silent. The air around me is ruined by the scent of wet ashes as the sky snows in shades of black and gray. I rise, looking at each of my comrades in turn. Charles and Adrian stare at me in surprise; Grace and Vanessa, in awe. Tess, in apology, and William in...admiration? They don’t move, even as I walk toward them.

What we’ve accomplished here is nothing great. It is only the end of something horrible. Anyone can murder. Anyone can silence the life of another. Be they evil or pure, their blood is on our hands now.

I spread my arms out to the piles of humans around us.

“They need us now.”

* * *

I didn’t know I was this person, but on this day, I became myself. Became who I always have been but have never known.

I learned I was a fighter, that I am strong enough to overcome evil. And I realized that my ability to do so comes from a darkness within myself...a darkness that was born in me back in Georgia, a darkness shaped by all I have been through and all I am yet to do. Because this isn’t over yet.

It’s not over, but my time in this place, with these people, ends here. And of them, I will miss William and Tess most of all. I will leave here knowing that they would risk themselves to save me. They would save me even knowing I would just as soon leave them to save my daughter.

That is what makes leaving so hard.

It’s what makes me want to stay.

And I hate myself for even thinking it.

35

April 1692

It takes hours for William, Tess, and me to heal the once-possessed humans of their wounds. Each one we heal is then, in turn, addressed by Charles—Adrian’s dual-breed friend—who whisks them swiftly back to where Adrian has taken cover from the sunlight. Adrian wipes their memories, Charles returns them to their home, and then he swiftly abandons them to return to us for the next.

Some of the Morts’ victims don’t make it.

Vanessa, Verity, and Grace assist us in putting them to rest. They carry them into the woods, almost ceremoniously, and with the way the sun slants golden in the clearing, it’s almost beautiful. Beautiful, if not for the finality of it all.

That could be Anna if I don’t return to her soon.

As I heal one of the humans, I stare across the clearing to where William is under a heavy shade, tending to a young man. My heart thumps in my chest. His eyes lift to mine, and my mouth goes dry. My very soul aches, knowing I will leave him soon.

Then my wings tingle again, and at first I think it’s from the sunlight, but then I wonder if it’s something more. But could being Ankou really run that deeply in me—so deeply that it has rooted itself to my emotions?

“Tess?” I ask as she heals a deep gash in the stomach of an older woman.

She doesn’t look up. “Yeah?”

“When I go home, will I still be...this way?”

She shrugs. “How could I possibly know the answer to that?”

“Right,” I say, defeat settling in, kicking its feet up and getting comfy. “Sorry I asked.”

“Don’t be,” she mumbles. “But the people who leave here, we never see them again, get it? So how do we know what life is like for them once they leave?”

I don’t say anything more. We work silently in the somber clearing, our clothes drying stiff in the early spring sun. The waves have swept back to the ocean. The only evidence of their recent presence is the way our knees and toes sink in the muddy, saturated ground as we kneel over one body after the next.

“Too late on this one,” Tess says, and though at first her words seem matter of fact, when I look at her I can hear the sadness in her voice. She gently closes the eyes of a rosy-cheeked, blonde-haired little girl. “You can be at peace now.”

Tess turns away. “This woman’s next.”

I slosh across the overwatered grass to join Tess’ side. I want to look at her, to search her face for answers, for clues that will lead me through the passageways of her mind, but I don’t. I allow her the privacy of feeling whatever she feels without me knowing, without me seeing.

Her hand finds my own; our fingers intertwine. I give a gentle squeeze.

“So much lost,” she whispers. Then she shakes her head. “Her lungs are filled with fluid, Cord. You’ll have to pull it out.”

I nod, then place my hand inches above the young woman’s mouth. Tess’ energy flows through me, strengthening my energy, but it’s my own gift—this control I have over the water—that will save this woman.

The sensation starts in my fingertips, then some outside pressure pulses against my palm. A droplet of water slides out of the woman’s mouth, then rises into the air. A few droplets later, it’s a small rivulet swirling up toward my hand, coalescing into a sphere of water.

The woman coughs, sputters, gasps. I flick my wrist to the side, sending the water to splash against the mud. Before I can say a word, Charles blurs past, and the woman is gone.

It was my gift that saved her, but it was also my gift that nearly took her life.

I had no other choice.

William calls us over to the next victim. When he looks at me, his mouth twitches on one side. Half smile, half apology. When he puts his arm around me and pulls me to his chest, I don’t think about it. I don’t analyze. I’m just there.

I’m alive.

* * *

It’s not until after all the surviving humans have been returned to their homes—memories wiped—and the dead buried or reburied, that we can tend to our own wounds. The pain has settled in, and it’s made me too lightheaded and ill to eat. William rubs nightshade into the large wound in my back. I wince, and he lightens his pressure, his touch so tender than it’s almost sensual. I close my eyes and try to ignore the feeling.

Suddenly, Adrian appears at our side.

“I can’t say long,” he says. I look up from where I sit to take him in. His dark skin is reddening and peeling.

“I thought—”

“Tess’ blood is wearing off. I won’t be able to stay in the sun now.” He turns his attention toward her.

She shakes her head, arms crossed. “You—” She presses her lips together, and her eyebrows furrow and her fingernails dig into her arms. “No, Adrian. Never again.”

This is all she says before she stalks off.

Charles strolls over, and I ease William’s hand from my back, away from the wound that has mostly healed. William helps me stand, then gets up beside me.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Fine,” I say. “Maybe you should gather some supplies for our travels?”

Charles places his hand between Adrian’s shoulder blades. “Come, my friend. Time to go.”

“Before you go...” I say, touching them both on the arm.

They both look me in the eyes, and this time I influence them. The spirit of the Forever Girl is with me, and she washes through their memories, crashing through the mind like rapids, carrying any trace of us away.

Erasing memories from a Cruor is something only a Forever Girl can do, as only Forever Girls are able to cross the mental planes to where the dead have their thoughts. I must work quickly if I am to succeed before they realize what I am up to.

Within moments, I am in their heads, my energy washing through their memories like the roar of a strong ocean wave.

Hodie viderunt memini. Forget all you have seen today.

Grant. . . in saecula saeculorum. Forget us. Forever.

Memoriam ablue. Memories wash away.

As I near the end, I feel them starting to fight back. But as their memories are sucked away, I also steal their energy, and within minutes, they crumple to the ground. It’s best we don’t leave a trace of our presence with anyone. Not even our allies. They can’t remember this day, and they can’t remember any of us. I leave them only with the memory of their friendship and the knowledge that the Maltorim cannot be trusted.

Tess runs over and pushes me to the ground. “What have you done? Cordovae, how could you?”

My hands slide into the mud, and she jumps on top of me before I can get back on my feet. “They aren’t dead,” I say defensively. “I just took their memories of us.”

Her face contorts like this is somehow worse. She pounds her fist into my chest, and I grab her wrist and push her off of me.

I wipe the mud from my hands on my shredded dress and glare at her. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

She points her finger into my chest. “You just don’t want anyone to have their life because you can’t have yours!”

William rushes over. “Slow down, Tess. What happened?”

Tess shoulders past him. “Ask your stupid girlfriend,” she says, and she storms off.

William’s turns his puzzled expression my way. “What was that about?”

My face and ears are burning. “I’m not entirely sure. She’s mad I wiped our presence from Adrian and Charles’ memory.”

His expression softens. “Oh,” he says softly. “I better go talk to her. You will do the same with Grace, Verity, and Vanessa when they return from their last burial?”

I nod. Verity will be the hardest, but it must be done. Only William, Tess, the Maltorim, and myself will remember what happened on this day. It has to be this way; we cannot risk Adrian, or anyone else, turning on us ever again.

It’s funny that the only people we can trust not to talk about this are the Maltorim, but that’s only because they would never want to admit their defeat. And with their resources so rapidly depleted, it will be a long time before they can try something like this again.

Maybe next time, they’ll think twice.

* * *

True night is soon approaching, and it can’t come soon enough. William’s skin is already starting to peel as Adrian’s had. We need to act fast, so it is with haste that we move Adrian and Charles to a cave nearby, and Vanessa, Verity, and Grace to an abandoned cabin in the woods. They will be disoriented and confused when they wake, but they will be safe. I left them each with one memory from this all: that the Maltorim can never, never be trusted.

Tess still won’t talk to me. I try to tell myself that I don’t care, that I’m going home soon and how she feels about me means nothing. But I can’t convince myself of the lie any more than I can understand why I feel this way.

William offers me some nightshade, but I can’t consume anything right now. My stomach flutters are making me ill. Anxiety over finally being able to return to Anna bubbles in my chest. As soon as we get to safety—get to where the Maltorim can’t send anyone to kill us—I can travel away from this time and place and back to my own. Back to Anna.

I wish I could be excited. But I’m afraid. I’ve been racing time since I arrived here, and only now can I learn if I was fast enough, or if I’m trapped here forever. I could find happiness here, I know, but it would be clouded with the sadness of losing my daughter and trampled by the guilt of finding love in a world where she doesn’t exist.

Unwelcome tears trickle down my cheek and salt my lips. Some of joy, some of sorrow. And it’s the latter that bring the tears of guilt flowing next.

I need to get away from William and Tess before this gets any harder. I need to get back to Anna before it’s too late.

Finally, I am free to leave.

So why, in my heart, do I still feel like a prisoner?

36

April 1692

Night has returned. Truly and completely. And I hope what I have seen here is hell, for I can’t stomach that there could be anything worse. The Morts are like the very demons Mama told me about as a child. They walk the earth, they possess the pure. If hell exists, its prisons must not be well guarded.

It’s not that I’ve ever been a very religious person, as far as I know. I believe in God, I’ve said my prayers. After all of this, one might think any faith I held would be shaken. That the miracles of this world have been explained to me now, and I should no longer believe in some unknown deity. But if anything, I believe more.

I just don’t know what it is I believe.

Is the Universe God? Or does the Universe render God irrelevant?

I’ve entertained that thought, too, in this new life...a life I am ready to leave.

The mysteries of this world may never be completely answered, and I don’t care one way or another, so long as the great powers that be reunite me with my daughter.

But something still nags at me: Will I remember all of this? Will I remember Tess? William?

Right now, I can’t bear the thought of losing them, even if it’s only in my memories that I keep them, and yet I wonder if forgetting them would be a type of kindness.

We hike by foot, avoiding travel in fear of alerting the Maltorim to our location. This battle may be over, but that won’t stop them from killing us if they can. The closer we get to our destination, the more my steps wobble. I’m anxious to return to Anna, and at the same time, I dread saying goodbye.

William must sense my distress, because he squeezes my shoulder and says, “Relax. You need to reserve your energy, especially as you don’t know exactly what you’re returning to.”

Then he releases me and hikes a little further ahead, scanning the woods in every direction before pointing down the path we will take next. We need to be as far from any other elemental populace as possible before I attempt to travel.

My Ankou night vision is a blur around William. I’m breathing in this last moment as I stare up at his wide shoulders and the way the muscles in his neck move when he looks from side to side. The determination of his strong jaw and the purpose of his stride. The golden Ankou shimmer on his skin is more beautiful on him than any other Ankou I’ve seen. And yet, all of this beauty does not hold a candle to who this man is, and my heart aches because this is the last time I will watch him lead the way.

We reach a clearing on the other side of the mountains, far from where the Maltorim last spotted us. Fresh blooms of early spring sprout from the ground, and I avoid stepping on them; it’s more of a distraction from the impending goodbye that awaits.

Why am I sad? I’m returning to Anna. I barely know William or Tess—I can’t give good reason to the way I feel around them. How could I miss them? How can I be so heartbroken about leaving them behind?

How is it that I have fallen in love with William?

Deep down, I know the answer. I know that love cannot be explained. Though Mama would never agree, I know you can love someone at first sight; even before first sight, as was the crashing love I had for Anna—how I knew I would lie down and die for her, do anything to protect her.

But I never knew I could feel a fraction of that love for anyone else.

Until now.

At far end of the clearing, we stop. Tess walks over to a tree and leans her forearm against the bark. I can’t stop staring at her—at her long dark braid, her smooth, pale skin, her juvenile wrists. She’s still in a child in many ways.

I open my mouth to say something to her, to say goodbye, but I don’t know what to tell her. Not while she’s still mad at me for stealing Adrian’s memories of her.

She picks at the fray near the waist of her medieval dress. The toe of her boot digs into the dirt, pressing up against a root that protrudes from the ground. Slowly, her focus slides to me, and she tugs on her earlobe.

She clears her throat and says something so fast and rushed that it takes a moment for my mind to make words of the sounds.

“Bye, Cordovae.” This is what she’d said.

“Bye,” I whisper.

The air thickens; it’s harder to breathe. I want to say goodbye to William—I feel him staring at me—but I can’t look away from Tess. Though Adrian had betrayed her, he’d also helped save us. And I’d taken him away from her.

“Tess—”

“Screw it,” she says, turning toward me, tears in her eyes. She crosses the distance between us impossibly fast and wraps her arms around me, pulling me into her. “Fuck you, Cordovae. You’re really leaving us.”

Tears pinch my throat, and I’m suffocating. I wrap my arms tightly around her and bury my face in her shoulder. “I have to, Tess. Anna needs me.”

She pulls back and wipes her eyes with the back of her wrist. “Yeah, I know. I’d hate you if you didn’t leave, too.”

I smile sadly, and a small smile breaks through her turmoil as well.

Tess tilts her head toward William. “The hardest part, huh?”

She walks away before I can answer, and I let my gaze fall into William’s. This is the moment I have dreaded. The moment where I must acknowledge the decision I am about to make. I am forced to choose between the only man who has never betrayed me and a daughter I can’t fully remember but will never forget.

But as hard as it is to leave, my decision is easy. Anna needs me. Her life depends on my return, while William and Tess will be fine without me. And if I don’t return soon, there will be no undoing time, no undoing all that has happened and will happen to her in my absence. In the end, it comes down to one irrefutable fact: I can live with losing William, but I cannot live without my daughter.

The choice is not difficult to make, and yet, acting on it painfully cripples my heart.

“We never had a chance here,” I say.

“No...” he says, and there’s more hanging there, but his frown presses too tight for any more words to slip through.

My heart rate picks up in my chest as I try to find the bravery to ask him the scariest and most important request before I leave. “Come with me,” I say. “You and Tess.”

His head drops back, and he lets out the saddest bark of laughter. “God, Cord, you’re killing me.” He shakes his head and takes both my hands in his. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I hope you know that. But we can’t go where we never belonged. Understand?”

“I know you’ve traveled outside of this time,” I tell him. “things you have said, things that belong hundreds of years from now.”

He nods. “I have—when the Universe has needed me to. I wish more than anything they needed me to go with you. But, Cord...they don’t. I can’t...leave here.”

“Then I’ll bring Anna back here,” I say. “If I can. If I’m still Ankou when I get there.”

I already feel defeated. What if once I travel home, I can never travel back again? What if I lose all of my abilities once this is really over?

“Will I be?” I ask meekly. “Will I be Ankou when I return?”

If I am—if it’s possible—then I could save Mama and Pa. I would never be able to look at them again, but I could save them. I could make them whole again.

“I don’t know,” he says quietly. “Normally, no. Because it is Abigail’s body that is Ankou, not Rose’s. But things are different for you.”

“So then maybe I might be able to come back.” I don’t feel the excitement I should. William’s expression is so forlorn. If I could come back, wouldn’t he be happier?

“Anna doesn’t belong here, either,” he says finally. “And even if you could bring her here, would you, really? Would you want this life for her?”

“It’s not worse than where I come from,” I say.

William presses his fist to his mouth and sighs deeply. “I’ll never forget you.” I shake my head, but he doesn’t stop. The words just keep pouring from his mouth. “I fell in love with you even when I knew I shouldn’t.”

And for some reason, that is my breaking point.

All this time, I have wanted him to tell me how he feels, but now I desperately want to stuff those words back into his mouth, to undo them, to make them never happen so I can leave this place without knowing I am leaving someone who loved me back.

I can barely speak. Barely squeak out the whisper of words. But eventually, they come. “No one falls on purpose.”

And I know this. I know this because I love him, too. I don’t know when it happened, but I know it’s been happening since the day I met him, since that first spark that eventually ignited to a fire that can’t be ignored.

Except I need to ignore it. I need to leave.

“All this time,” he says, “I thought I knew my greatest weakness. That my capacity to love was what endangered my obligations in this world. But I was wrong, Cord. It was my fear of losing. You showed me that when no one else could. And as much as it pains me to see you go, I would never, never ask you to stay. Because I love you. And because I know your daughter will bring you a happiness I cannot substitute.”

My shoulders tremble, and I wipe tears from my eyes. “Why would you tell me this now, William? It’s cruel. Couldn’t you just—”

He presses his finger to my lips. “Shhh. Shhh.” He pulls me into him and strokes my hair. “I would never ask you to stay here for me, but I couldn’t let you leave without telling you how I felt. I’m sorry if it makes this more painful for you, but I know you are strong enough to still do what you need to do.”

“Right,” I whisper. It’s all I can get out.

I feel his Adam’s apple bob against the top of my head. “Please understand that I deserve to follow my heart, too,” he says. “I had to tell you how I feel or those unspoken words would have haunted me forever.”

His words only make my love for him burn deeper. Burying my face into his shoulder, I can still smell the wood smoke on his clothes from the campfire earlier. I can still smell his sweat. Still smell me on him.

“Don’t fall apart now,” he says soothingly, brushing an amber wave of hair from my eyes. “I was wrong about you, you know. I said you were selfish, but really, no selfish person would make the sacrifices you have. But now it’s time for one more of those sacrifices.” He holds me at arm’s length. “Great love can both take hold and let go, Cord. And now it’s time to let go.”

I swallow and shake my head, but in my heart, I know he is right. I turn to face the open clearing. As badly as I want to get back to Anna, I don’t know how I’m going to do this. I don’t know how I’m going to run from the man I love. The guilt over feeling this way is only another weight holding me where I stand.

A butterfly floats by on the warm breeze and settles on a dandelion by my feet. It has waited all this time to make its flight, and now it’s free. But I cannot relate. I am destined to never learn the feeling of freedom.

“Go,” William says from behind me. When I don’t move, he shouts. “Go!”

I tense, then take a deep breath, centering my thoughts on Anna. Remembering the way the earth felt between my bare feet as I ran to save her from Pa. I take another breath, breathing in the pain I felt that day. In my heart, in my lungs, in my womb.

I take the first step.

Though my stiff and achy body has begun to relax, tension is already returning as I fight the magnetic pull I feel toward William and Tess. I push through it and take another step.

Then another.

I’m scared. Terrified, really. I can’t imagine going back. I can’t imagine what awaits me there. Can’t envision it at all. Salem has a magnetic pull on me that I can’t explain. Leaving feels unnatural.

Shouldn’t returning to my daughter feel like the most natural thing in the world?

I feel trapped, and each step I take I have to push through that feeling. I have to accept that part of my heart will always belong here, but it’s not where I belong. With Anna is where I belong. Only her.

It’s always been her.

I take two more steps.

And right now, she’s alone with Pa. I can’t leave her with him.

My steps turn quicker.

Five more steps.

I miss her, and I love her, and the love of a mother is stronger than any other kind of love. Finally, I’m returning to her. To my Anna.

Ten steps, then with my next breath, I am breaking across the clearing.

My hair whips back, out of my face, like flames on the wind behind me. Tears are streaming my face as I run, but my heart is soaring ever closer to her. I can feel it. Back to where I belong. Back to Anna.

I run harder, my legs burning, until I break through space. Through darkness and light.

And then . . .

37

April 1692

I’m still here. I’m still with William and Tess. I’m still in this clearing with the chirr of crickets and the light thudding of deer running in the fields behind us and the soft roll of thunder that threatens a storm.

I crumble to my knees in the clearing, and my calf rubs against a fallen log with bark softened from an earlier storm. I press my forehead into the ground. Sobs heave from my body. I’m going to be sick.

William and Tess run over to me. I hear them shouting at me, but it’s all a haze.

“Cord! Are you okay?”

“What happened?”

I don’t even know which of them is talking. William puts his hand on my back, but I just feel numb where he touches me.

“I did everything I was supposed to,” I mumble through my tears. “I need to get back. Anna needs me! I did what you said. Why am I still here?”

I grab fistfuls of the fresh spring grass and cry against the earth and hate the moon for casting her miserable light on my failure.

I’m angry and I’m upset and I’m ripped up inside and out and my heart and my soul and my mind all want to explode. I can’t do this. I can’t take anymore. I can’t bear being alive. I can’t stop crying, I’ll never ever stop crying.

If hope is gone, I have nothing.

William and Tess are talking, but I can’t make out anything they say. It’s all muffled, drowning. The words are mushed and warbled.

I cry until I fall asleep. I wake up in the night again, crying. William and Tess help me to my feet. My mind is foggy and my vision blurs, but I stumble with their help toward wherever we are going.

To wherever we could possibly go from here.

The next day, I’m well enough to hear William and Tess speak, but I’m only willing to listen if they’re trying to help me get home. I no longer care about leaving them. I hate myself for having ever felt that way. I hate them for existing.

Tess hands me a cup of tea made from nightshade that she brewed over a small campfire just outside the cave we’ve taken shelter in. I sip it gently, and my stomach gurgles its thanks as the tart, poisonous berries that flavor the water start to recoup my body. The heat of a nearby fire warms my face and ears, and I drop the blanket from around my shoulders—early spring and already I feel overheated, perhaps from all the crying.

“Maybe you’re still torn about where you want to be,” Tess says quietly. I can tell it wasn’t easy for her to suggest this, but I glare at her just the same

Her words also pang my heart, feed my guilt. I may be torn, but I’m not unsure. Part of me may have wanted to stay with William, but all of me wanted to return to Anna.

“You might just need time to give it all more thought. Meditate for a little and try again.”

This time, William glares at her.

“There is nowhere,” I say, not attempting to hide the edge in my voice, “that I’d rather be...than with Anna. If it’s too late to return, then what did I fight for? This world is dead to me without her.”

Tess stares at me in pity, and I both love and hate her for it.

“You don’t think...” I swallow around the painful lump in my throat. “You don’t think it’s too late, do you? It can’t be, not now. Not after all that.”

Tess makes a sound—the start of a word I’ll never hear, because William lifts a hand, effectively silencing her. He stares down at where I lie, and I can’t tell if he’s angry or if he’s hurt, but he’s clearly not happy. And I don’t care.

“We’ll take you to the Chibold,” he says. “They might help.”

Tess scoffs. “Don’t do this to her, William. Don’t give her false hope.”

I bolt upright, life returning to my body at these words. “It’s better than no hope,” I say. “When can we go to them? Can we go there now?”

Tess throws her arms up in the air and rolls her eyes. “You’re an idiot, William. A real idiot.”

He pulls her aside. I can’t hear what he says, but I hear Tess’ not-so-quiet whispered reply: “She needs to accept her fate, just as everyone else has. We can’t risk taking her to them.”

“She deserves any chance she can get,” he says, loud enough that I know I’m meant to hear. “We can’t deny her that.”

* * *

The Chibold William knows don’t live the same elusive life of the Oracle, but William seems to think they will be equally wise in solving my problem. We find them not living hidden in some cave, not tucked away in some forest up in the mountains, nor any other inconspicuous location. Instead, they live in a small colony of ordinary Strigoi. We travel, even before nightfall, under the protection of my wings.

Under the shadow of the early evening, the small town is gloomy and eerily calm. The fog lends a muddy darkness to the atmosphere, and I beg the darkness to come early, to hide every feeling I have, to leave me be to feel it alone and unseen.

My body aches with every step. Even the fabric of my dress is like sandpaper on my skin. I’m freezing, but the cold comes from a feeling of loss instead of the lingering chill not yet overcome by the moist, early spring evenings.

“Can they really help?” I choke out quietly.

William wraps his arm around my shoulders. “If they don’t have the answers, they can get them.”

Tess clears her throat and gives William a sideways glare.

He twists toward her, never letting me go. “They’ve always been receptive to helping us in the past.” He turns back to me. “I’m sure they will do their best.”

“But there are no guarantees,” Tess says daringly.

William growls beneath his breath. “There never are.”

We cross a small creek over a rickety bridge and reach a small house with cracks in the window and jars of the elements on the sills. Jars of salt. Jars of stone. Jars of various herbs. And, oddly, even a jar of light, though I cannot see where this light originates from.

I could get lost staring into that jar, but William whisks me inside, through a thin wooden door to a cozy kitchen of a family I don’t know. He hasn’t knocked, and the family inside seems unconcerned. I’m instantly comforted by the familiar aroma of smoke and the taste of charred cold air wafting inside the walls of their small home.

“Cord, I’d like you to meet Jessup and Eleanor,” William says.

I reach my hand out to the older woman, and she laughs, then points to the children beside her.

“This is Jessup and Eleanor,” she says, before attending the whistle of a nearby kettle.

I freeze, unable to process her words. Jessup is a boy of perhaps seven years, and Eleanor about two years his elder. The boy is sandy-blond and pale and Eleanor brunette and freckled and a good half of a foot taller. Both have unsettling dark eyes.

William leans into me and whispers in my ear, “Chibold appear as children, remember?”

I nod slowly, staring at these poor children. I still can’t get over the Chibold looking like children yet having such knowledge beyond their physical years.

I force a smile. “Hello, Jessup. Hello, Eleanor.”

Eleanor grins mischievously. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost! You must come to take things as they are and not as they seem, yes?”

Jessup leads us into a small sitting area and sits awkwardly beside me, while Eleanor plops down close, as though we’re old friends. She sweeps some hair from my face, and I half expect her to start braiding my hair, but instead she pinches my ear firmly and stares into my face.

“William says you are here to learn why you cannot return to where you belong.”

“That’s right,” I say, resisting the urge to pull back from her and get her hand away from my face.

“Take Jessup’s hand,” she says. “I need him to complete the charge.”

I don’t bother to ask for an explanation. If all goes well, I will be leaving this world and leaving behind the need to understand the way all these things work. I try to ignore that this is my world, too, that the life I came from was only unaware of its existence. I want nothing more than to return to my ignorance.

I take Jessup’s hand, and he closes his eyes. My hand burns slightly, enough to cause to discomfort but not so badly that I can’t tolerate it for a short while. Eleanor takes my other hand with one of hers and closes her eyes as well. The fingers that pinch my ear start to trace the edges of my earlobe, trickling down and stopping just behind my ear. Leaving her pointer finger there, her thumb slides across my jawline, and now it’s as though she cradles my face in the most unnatural way possible.

My eyes find William’s, and he offers a small smile and reassuring nod. My throat closes and my heart races and the moment hangs in the air like a dandelion weed in a light breeze, unable to reach ground and plant its seed.

Eleanor breathes deeply through her nose. “You’re a Forever Girl?”

“My spirit joined with a Chibold who was. We weren’t able to save her in time.”

“No.” Eleanor shakes her head. “You already were. This is why you so easily became one with Cordovae above your connection with Abigail. Abigail is but one of the many lives that descended from Cordovae—a Forever Girl spirit. There were so few of them then...it’s not something I often have the opportunity to reveal!”

She sounds absolutely giddy. I cannot share her excitement. “You’re wrong. I didn’t have any abilities before this.”

A smirk plays at her lips. “You did, though. You were a Seer before you became Ankou. Rose was a seer. Wasn’t she?”

I nod. “Kind of.”

“When you joined with that other spirit, you gained power over the water, which you would not otherwise have, being an air elemental normally.”

My whole body tenses. “I really don’t care if I already was or not. The Universe brought me here to help, and I did my part. I want to go back now. I have a daughter to return to. I don’t need to be here anymore.”

Eleanor’s serene and almost happy face starts to fade to something confused...concerned, perhaps. Her brow furrows deeply and her lips purse. Finally she lets out a small gasp and snaps her hand away from my face. Quickly, she stands, and then she’s smiling again, but it’s too affected to be sincere.

“What is it?” I ask.

Eleanor looks to William with uncertainty clear on her face.

I grab her hand, forcing her attention back to me. “Whatever it is, Eleanor, you have to tell me.”

“You can’t go back,” she says. “There is nothing to go back to. That is why you are here now.”

“I have Anna—that is what I have to go back to.”

“No, dear Cordovae. You cannot return. Rose’s body is gone.”

I shake my head, not wanting to believe it. “I’m...dead? That can’t be. I was running and then I was here.”

“This is what I’m seeing,” she says gently.

I lean in close to her face. “You’re seeing wrong, then.”

Her face goes blank. “I’m never wrong.”

I don’t even care anymore. There has to be another way. There has to be. “I need to get back there. I don’t care how.”

I don’t even care if it makes me as bad as the Morts.

“Abigail was your ancestor,” Eleanor explains, “and she was murdered moments before you arrived by a townsman who believed her a witch. When he saw what he did, he panicked and ran from the town, later to meet his own brutal finality—mauled and eaten by a coterie of Cruor. But one good thing did come of Abigail’s death. It gave your spirit a doorway back in time.”

I swallow hard, trying to fight the tears stinging my eyes. I can barely choke out the words, “I don’t want a way back in time, I want the way back home.”

“Don’t you see?” Eleanor looks at me with big, dark eyes. “This is the only way for you to continue on in life. Without this, you have no life at all. Once the lineage ends, the only way for a Forever Girl’s spirit to continue is to be reincarnated back in time. Something that otherwise is not even possible. You are lucky that—”

“I’ll find a way back,” I say angrily, but even I don’t believe myself.

“If you would just listen—”

I am on my feet now, though I hardly remember standing.

Eleanor reaches up and puts her hand calmly on my shoulder. “You don’t need to go back, Cordovae. There’s nothing left there for you.” Her gaze is so intense it stops me in my tracks. “Cordovae...Anna died before you arrived in Salem.”

38

April 1692

Anna and I both died before I arrived in Salem.

The conversation echoes dully in my mind. I can’t go back. I can’t save Anna. It’s too late.

“You’re lying,” I say, half hopeful, half angry, and mostly numb from shock. “You just want me to stop trying to return. No one ever cared about me leaving here!”

Jessup grabs my shoulder firmly, and before I can resist, warmth spreads up my neck and into my skull, and a vision melts into my memory. Pa pressing a pillow over Anna’s small body. Her legs kicking. Her arms flailing. Then, she’s still. Pain stabs through my chest, and I can hardly breathe. I’m dying with her. My entire soul is being ripped in two. My legs are falling from beneath me, but Jessup holds me up. I try to pull away from the vision, but Jessup has strength that goes beyond that of the physical world. I’m stuck here to suffer these horrible visions.

“Don’t do this,” I whisper to him, but he doesn’t stop.

There’s a blur of things I remember. The pick-up truck, the forest, running. And then, there’s a jolt. This time it’s not the jolt that sent me flying to Salem. This time, it’s the jolt of a bullet pelting into my stomach. Another jolt, into my heart. Footsteps. Loud. Another jolt, into my skull.

Pa killed me.

Killed us.

And now I know why—now I know the Mort spirit could not risk any evidence of what he had done, that he couldn’t risk his host body being caught and hauled away to jail, trapped in a cell. He had to destroy the evidence. He killed Anna so no one would ever see the resemblance, and he killed me so that he could say I had just run off.

Why didn’t he just let me run off, then? I was going to anyway.

Jessup plucks the thoughts right from my brain. “Even Morts have their obsessions. You were his. If he couldn’t have you, no one could. Not even Anna.”

I’m trembling with equal parts of disgust and anger. It’s more than I ever wanted to know, and it destroys the little hope I had left.

Jessup releases me, then stares at me apologetically. “I had to, Cordovae, or you would never move on from that life.”

I bite back my tears and stare him angrily in the face. “I still want to go back. I should be dead. I might as well be.”

“It’s fine,” Jessup says. “All is not lost.”

I turn my fiercest glare toward him, my whole body shaking. “You are wrong, Jessup. If I’ve lost Anna, I’ve lost all purpose in life. I’ve lost everything.”

William eases me back into my seat, and I don’t resist. Eleanor reclaims her place at my side and wraps her warm around my shoulder, her other hand pressed to my arm to give me a gentle squeeze.

“No, Jessup’s right,” she says. “There is good that has come of this.”

I feel like I’m going to vomit. Tears blur my vision and my head pounds. I wish I would just lose consciousness.

“Cord, please, listen to us! Anna is still with you!”

My trembles turn to tremors. I can’t control my body right now. I can’t handle their platitudes. Of course Anna is still ‘with me’. She will always be in my heart. But that’s not the same. That’s not enough.

“Look,” Eleanor says pressingly. She grabs my chin and lifts my face, then points to Tess. “Anna is still with you.”

39

April 1692

Tess is Anna?

I repeat my thought, aloud this time. Then: “How?”

Jessup’s whole demeanor relaxes. “You brought her with you.”

“No,” I say, defeated. They can’t help me after all. They’re supposed to know everything, have all my answers, and yet they don’t. “You’re confused. Anna was just a baby when I left.”

I turn, intending to leave, but Jessup’s gentle touch on my arm stops me in my tracks. There’s a part of me, deep down, that wants to believe him. Because if it’s true, Anna is alive, even if it’s through Tess.

“Please,” Jessup pleads softly. “Just listen. If you want to leave after that, you can leave. If you still want to return to that time, we’ll help you, somehow. But once you hear what I have to say, you won’t want to go back.”

I chew at my lip, slide my attention to him slowly. “I’m listening.”

“You see, Forever Girls can only reincarnate to one person at a time. Cordovae was with you, but your daughter was still her descendent, and therefore a Seer as well.”

“But only Forever Girls can reincarnate,” I say defensively, “and you said that Anna and I both died. How could Anna be here if she died, too, if Cordovae’s spirit could only be with one of us?”

Eleanor cuts in before Jessup can respond. “That’s what Jessup is trying to tell you,” she says. “Your spirit—Cordovae—came back here because you could no longer go forward, but your love also brought Anna with you, without you realizing it. The Universe knew Anna as an infant would not be safe here, where you were needed, so they placed her in another life years before your own. They could not give her to you as a daughter, but they gave her to you as an ally and a friend.”

In the far corner of the room, Tess crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. Every so often, she shakes her head; I can see her almost literally biting her tongue. A part of me wants to tell them to stop talking, stop upsetting her, but I need to know more. Need to know if this is all true.

I hadn’t noticed Jessup leave the room, but now he is standing beside me with a glass of water. I take it only to be polite, but holding it makes me realize how dry my mouth has gone. I take a tentative sip, unsure my stomach can keep anything down.

“Anna was reincarnated as Tess,” Jessup continues. “A five-year-old girl who had died in her sleep due to complications from cholera. But when Tess arrived, with no memories of her own, she was unable to communicate. Her family ignored her. She taught herself how to speak and care for herself, and when she was ten, her guardian was instructed to call for her. After training, the Oracle united her with William. She’s been with him for seven years—and then you showed up.”

I want so badly to believe this. To hold Tess—my Anna—in a hug that lasts forever. Then I want to wrap my arms around William’s neck and press my lips to his cheek and thank him for looking after my little girl. I also want to find the family that had her before and hurt them—badly—for ignoring her.

William’s expression seems thoughtful. He steps in closer. “Is this why Tess doesn’t have memories from her life before? We thought she had amnesia before arriving and that was why she couldn’t remember.”

Jessup and Eleanor nod in unison.

It’s a beautiful story. A lovely idea. But I can see that Tess has as many doubts as I do. Her agitation is growing, and I know she’s about to burst. No one seems to notice her but me, until she plows across the room and pokes Jessup in the chest like he’s an annoying little brother who has been pestering her for hours.

“Bullshit!” she screams. “Sorry, Cord, but this can’t be true! Think about it! How could you have fragments from your life as Rose if Rose died before you came here, if you are just a reincarnation of Cordovae, a woman from before Rose existed!”

Jessup doesn’t flinch. He eases her finger away from his chest. “Cordovae carries memories of all her lifetimes, as do all Forever Girls, and what she remembers is at the discretion of the Universe or her ability to uncover such memories through magic.”

“And what good would those memories serve?” Tess challenges him.

Jessup tilts his head. “Cordovae was a part of Rose, and therefore her love for you was just as strong.”

“Her love for Anna,” Tess corrects.

There’s a moment where all Jessup does is press his lips together. Composing himself, perhaps. Thinking up another explanation, perhaps. “You don’t believe anyone can love you.”

Tess scoffs, but then her mouth hangs open, her words stuck in throat.

“You were a carrot on a stick,” Jessup says. “Other spirits are only moved, not truly reincarnated. They have memories of the life they will return to in order to keep them connected. Cordovae was...different. There was no life for her to return to this time, and she did not want to fight this war. So she was given her memories from her life as Rose to motivate her, and her memories as her life as Abigail to keep her grounded in the time she was thrown into. But I assure you, Rose and Abigail are both gone, and you, Tess, are Anna.”

Tess keeps shaking her head, anger writ on her face. “You are unbelievable.”

She shakes her head again and leaves for the kitchen.

Eleanor looks at me with raised eyebrows. “Well?”

“Well, what? I’m not convinced, either. Why can’t I remember my life as Cordovae if that is who I really am? I just want to go home.”

“You are home, Cord,” Jessup says. “This is your home now. If the Universe gave Forever Girls fragments from all of their precious lives, they would go insane. You remembered what you needed to, and now your life can start anew.”

“But Rose knew Cordovae,” I argue. “How could she know that then, before all of this? And why didn’t the Morts try to possess me as they did my family. Or Rose’s family, or whatever it is you are implying.”

“Roses family, yes,” Eleanor says. She spreads her skirt and sits in a large, winged chair. Her feet don’t reach the ground, and her cheeks are rosy pink. I still can’t piece together the way they talk with the way they look. “And the Morts of your time didn’t take you because they are afraid of Seers, most of them. And that’s because of what happened here, in Salem. As for Rose, you—Cordovae—protected her. You came forth to shade her from the abuse. Most girls would have fallen apart at the seams. Killed themselves. Killed the baby. You gave her strength.”

They have an answer for everything, it seems. A ‘logical’ explanation, if ever there was any. I have no reason to doubt them any more than I have reason to believe them, but in the end, none of it matters. All that matters is whether Anna is with me. Really and truly. That’s all that has ever mattered.

I stare at Tess. Could it be true? Could Tess be...could she be Anna?

“I don’t remember anything about that life,” Tess says angrily from the living room doorway. “Wouldn’t I remember now that you’re telling me? Something, anything!”

Eleanor perks her eyebrow. “How could you have fragments of a life you were too young to imprint upon? You died as an infant, after all.”

Though my belief in this story is increasing—be it because it’s true or because I wanted it to be—I still can’t help but grieve Anna’s loss. At the same time, I understand now the bond I have always felt with Tess, even if she hasn’t always felt the same about me.

If all this is true, I haven’t stolen Abigail’s life as I had feared. And if this is true, my daughter is safe. And with me. Really, truly with me. But what if they’ve got it all wrong? What if they’re lying?

Tess doesn’t remember me. She’ll never remember me. She’s been robbed of her mother, and even if she is here now, I have still been robbed of my daughter. We can never get that life back.

The Universe had been misleading. They said I would get Anna back if I finished this war, but they never told me this would be how I got her back. But if this is all true...we can have each other now, and that would keep me alive.

William puts her arm around Tess. “Come on, say something.”

“Say something?” she asks, pulling away. “What could I possibly say to this? It’s ridiculous! You can’t be buying into this, William, please! Just make them tell her how to go back!”

I shake my head, confused. Why is she so angry about this?

Eleanor’s expression goes stony, and she stares at Tess. “We are not liars. I’ll prove it. Cordovae, sing the song.”

My heart tightens. I can’t do that. That song was for Anna. Only for Anna.

Eleanor grabs my arm. “You will find no peace if you don’t.”

I feel the urge stirring in my stomach. Perhaps it is confidence lent to me from Eleanor. Strength. Like a fire in my pit.

The words leave my lips unsteady and unsure, though my heart knows this song inside and out. I mumble the tune.

Better days...ahead, my love...

better days, rest your head, my love.

Better days, when you awake,
we’re moving on, moving on, moving along,
and I’ll take you there
to better days.

For better days

With you.

Tess’ expression falls. She looks disgusted. Does she know the song? Could she remember, somehow? There’s only one way to know for sure if she’s Anna. I cross the room with such urgency that Tess meets my advance by stepping back.

“Sorry,” I whisper, freezing just inches away from her.

She swallows. “Yeah.”

“If you are my daughter,” I say carefully, “you have a birthmark on your left shoulder. It looks like this—”

I hold my hand out and pull off the fingerless glove that covers my wrist, showing her the pale brown patch of a misshapen heart on the skin above my thumb and forefinger. She stares at it, but says nothing.

“Do you?” I ask.

She gives a non-committal shrug. “Even if Anna did, would I?”

She is looking at me when she asks the question, but then turns her focus to Eleanor and Jessup, as though it is them she is really asking.

Jessup purses his lips. “This is new, even to us,” he says, “but in theory, it’s possible.”

“What does that mean,” Tess asks.

“It means,” Eleanor says, speaking softly, “that Anna’s birthmark could very well be your own, just as Abigail’s body carries the mark from Rose.”

Everyone in the room is staring at Tess. Nearly crowding her. She’s glaring at us, backing away, inching toward the door. William stands in her way.

“No,” I say. “Let her go.”

He steps aside, and she storms outside.

Jessup touches my arm. “Want us to talk to her?”

I shake my head. “I’ll talk to her. Alone.”

I stand on the other side of the door, trying to work up the courage to follow her out there. Would me being her mother be such a horrible thing? Does she really hate me that much?

I feel a room full of eyes on my back, and my breath is tight in my chest. Finally I reach for the doorknob, open the door, and step outside. Tess is sitting on the porch, hunched over something.

I sit carefully beside her. She won’t look at me, but now I can see what she is holding. Her music box. Slowly, she lifts the lid. Her hands are shaking. The tune begins. My lullaby to Anna. To her. A tear splashes to the small wooden box. I place my hand on her shoulder, but she twists away, and I drop my hand back to my side.

Her gaze slides to mine, her eyes puffy and red. She turns her back to me and slowly pulls her braid over one shoulder. Then she slips a piece of her dress down. And there it is. Right where I remember it. Right on the back of her left shoulder, nearly a carbon copy of my own.

My hand covers my mouth as my jaw drops open.

Tess tugs the shoulder of her dress back up, then glares up at me. “Happy?”

Tears sting my eyes. “Of course I am. I’m just...so glad you’re okay.”

“Of course I’m okay,” she says. “But I’m not Anna, okay?”

But she is Anna. In my heart, she always will be. At the same time, we are not who we once were. I can’t ask that of her. I don’t expect her to call me Mama. Not now, maybe not ever. Having her with me is enough.

“I...know that. I’m—I’m just sorry it turned out this way.” I try to summon some kind of motherly wisdom. Try to give her a piece of something I was never able to offer before. “I don’t deserve any credit for the woman you’ve become, but I’m glad you’re alive.”

It kills me not to just wrap her up in my arms and pull her against my chest and...be her mother. Like I was supposed to be. But I have to do what is best for her. Which means respecting that she is Tess now. In my heart, she is Anna, but in this life—in the only life she has ever known—she is Tess. I can’t take that away from her.

“Disappointed?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at me.

I smile. “Not at all. Are you?”

She doesn’t answer, and my heart twists. I am the cause of all of her pain. I am the cause of her deep-seated feelings of abandonment. But I never wanted it that way. Never.

Tess finally shakes her head. “I’ve been...awful to you.”

I want to grab her and hug her, but instead I tentatively reach out and grasp her hand. “Not all the time,” I say lightly. “I suppose it’s what all good daughters do.”

This sparks a smirk from her, and if I’m not mistaken, a breath of a laugh, too. I’ve never seen her laugh before.

Will Tess be more forgiving of my failures now, or more critical? Or will she ignore our familial connection altogether?

I know this new information changes everything in my heart and in her mind, but it will never change our reality. She will always be Tess. To her, I will always be Cordovae. But she’s here. And I know it’s her. And if that’s all I get in this life, well, I’ll take it and breathe it in all the way down to my toes and shut my eyes and say Thank You to the powers that be for this small kindness.

Every time I had tried to return to Anna, I had, after all. I’d been with her all along. This stirs up new doubts and fears in my heart. Was I so broken that I hadn’t known? That I did not know my own daughter as she stood right by my side? Finally I have succeeded in returning to Anna, and yet, I still fear failure.

Perhaps some part of me had known. I’d felt drawn to William and Tess since I’d first met them: what if it was Tess that I felt the connection to? What if my connection with William was only secondary? Had my love for him sparked independently of the odd magnetic connection that has always tugged me closer to them?

More words choke in the back of my throat. I am seeing Tess for the first time. I should have seen it sooner. We have the same large, round, pear-green eyes. She’s outgrown those gray-blue eyes of infancy after all. And we have the same sleepy eyelids and long lashes. She’d been spared my sinful, fiery hair and my overly-fair skin, but she hasn’t escaped me completely.

I haven’t lost her, but still I might never truly have her back.

* * *

It hurts to call Tess by her preferred name—to know I will never get to speak Anna’s name aloud again, that the name will no longer have any purpose in my life outside of my mind. But I do it. For Tess. Hoping that, someday, this strange feeling leaves my stomach, that the moments with her will one day feel natural again and not strained.

Back in the house, Tess and I sit side by side, stealing glances at one another as the Chibold explain more. Such as that Tess and I are rather close in age. I am only a few years older than I had been prior to being moved here, but she is nearly two decades older than she had been at Anna’s birth—her birth.

It’s the merging of lives, the Chibold explain. Our lives are our own, but we share the memories of the ancestors we have become—of the spirits we share.

William hasn’t left where he stands in the corner of the room. He is silent, but his presence comforts me. He is not a river, not an ocean. He is not moving, not going anywhere. He’s steady, he’s present, he’s the mountains, and he’s my shelter.

I have Anna, in a way, and I have William. So why does sadness still plague me? Am I wrong to grieve the loss of Anna as I knew her, of the dreams I had for her, for us? Dreams of Seaside and cookie-cutter cottages and a small girl running through the yard with ribbons of curly hair trailing behind her on the golden light of an early summer day? Should I not love my daughter for who she has become and not on who I had hoped she should be?

When the sun sets, William, Tess, and I return to the mountains. There was no ground beneath me the day I fell into this world, but now I am ready to plant my roots, to become a part of this new life. Right here in these mountains.

We stop at a plateau, staring out over a clearing below covered in fresh blooming flowers and scarred by the rushing water of a small river cutting across the heart of the land. The air is thin, fresh, and energizing. Even the family of otters below seem rejuvenated by the arrival of spring.

In the great distance—a distance not so hard to see with my Ankou abilities—Salem’s hangings continue. It seems the humans never needed the Maltorim to guide them toward destruction. They have their own morbid reality without any influence from the elemental races. Or, perhaps, the brainwashing of the Malleus Maleficarum has done its job too well.

There is little we can do to save them now—we were never designed to protect humans from themselves. Finally, the time has come to save ourselves. To reclaim who we are outside of the elemental world. In time, I will come to terms with being a Forever Girl. I will acclimate to my new life as an immortal, and I’ll build some semblance of a relationship with Tess.

And, one day, so I’m told, I will assist other Forever Girls in a final battle that will once and for all put an end to the treachery of the Maltorim.

For now, though, I have family.

Hundreds of fireflies have taken possession of the clearing, blinking lights of hope ahead of us, each flickering a promise, a dream, a spark of life.

I take Tess’ hand, and she gently wraps her fingers around mine. Moments later, William’s warm, rough hand comes palm to palm with my own. I lean my head into his bicep. My connection with them is stronger than ever. This is my world, and it’s worth saving after all. But this is just the beginning for us.

I take in a deep breath through my nose, allowing myself to fall completely into this new paradigm. Standing here, with William and Tess at my side, I’m weightless, and I finally understand how life is supposed to feel. How it feels to be safe, to be loved, to be...free.

THE END

* * *

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About the Author

Rebecca Hamilton writes Paranormal Fantasy, Horror, and Literary Fiction. She lives in Florida with her husband and four kids, along with multiple writing personalities that range from morbid to literary. Having a child diagnosed with autism has inspired her to illuminate the world through the eyes of characters who see things differently. Rebecca Hamilton is represented by Rossano Trentin of TZLA. Visit her Amazon author page:

For more information on Rebecca Hamilton:

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Read more from Rebecca Hamilton

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They’re so Vein

Book 1, The Grateful Undead series

Susan Stec

They're so Vein Copyright © 2012 by Susan Stec

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Created with Vellum

About the Book

They're so Vein

Crazy happens to a family of seniors when one gets changed into a HOT vampire chick with a lust for sex and a thirst for blood?

Susan is 58-years-old and bored with life. Middle age is a daily drudge of sagging body parts and aches and pains. Her fervent prayer that she could somehow recapture her youth comes true one night during a chance encounter with a child-like vampire. As soon as the other women in her family see the transformation they waste no time in sticking their necks out, hoping Susan will share this new-found fountain of youth.

Suddenly, this newly born group of hot-bodied vamps find themselves thrust into a world controlled by an ancient order of vampires. A world with rules, all of which the ladies pretty much break within hours of becoming immortals. And the little matter of the accidental epidemic of vamped out wildlife isn't exactly endearing them to the powers that be, either.

They're So Vein is a hilarious and irreverent new twist on the paranormal/vampire romance genre.

1

"Tootles has a used condom in her mouth, Susan!" JoAnn screeched, her voice reverberating off the tile walls.

I rolled my eyes, let out an exasperated breath, and peeked under the stall wall.

JoAnn, her pants wrapped around her ankles, held Tootles by her rhinestone collar, tapping the toy poodle's snout. "Bad girl! Drop it! Drop it!"

Tootles growled and shook her head, her little pink toenail's frantically scraping the lavatory floor.

The dog disappeared with a yelp. The prophylactic hit the floor.

"Open your mouth. Open! Open!" JoAnn scolded. I heard a spraying sound and the smell of mint wafted in the air. Tootles sneezed.

JoAnn carefully placed her bling-baby in a canvas shopping bag on the floor between our stalls. "You stay right there, young lady!"

I yanked some toilet paper, sending the roll thwap-thwapping inside the enclosed metal box. "If you didn't have to pee every five miles, and then drag the damn dog in with you, she wouldn't be chewing on a jizz-receptacle. Christ, we're ten minutes from the house! Buy some Depends the next time you hit Wal-Mart!"

JoAnn started whistling the theme song to Mayberry RFD.

"Get your ass back here," a woman yelled. "I'm not going to have Dorius up my butt if he gets here and we're not outside waiting for him!"

JoAnn's tune cut to a squeal.

A pair of Spiderman tennis shoes ran past my stall.

I stood and jerked up my jeans, the elastic waist snapping at my midsection. Tootles watched me intently as she shivered.

"I don't give a rat's ass what Dorius says," a child answered. "You're not my mother, so back off."

Ohhh, this is good.

Gold stilettos stomped by my stall. "Damn it, I am not going to argue with you!"

I couldn't believe it when the door to the wheelchair stall next to me slammed shut. I gave the toilet paper apparatus a good shake. It didn't budge. This just might be doable.

My sister grumbled, "Some people are so rude, aren't they Toot-toots?"

"Do you have to pee?" the woman spat. "If you do, make it quick, you little shit!"

I was about to do something stupid. Something totally unacceptable. Don't judge me. I'm in dire need of a diversion, and this little domestic squabble was going to get a shit-load of views on my You Tube web page.

I squatted and bounced a couple of times, my joints popping with the effort.

"I'll piss when I get good and ready to piss," the kid spat.

There was a bit of a scuffle. The wall rattled and the woman screeched, "Son-of-a-bitch, you friggin' bit me!"

A drop of blood hit her shoe. I got goose bumps. Christ, I can't believe I'm gonna do this.

"Damn right, and if you get any closer I'll fucking bite you again!" the kid yelled in a guttural voice.

"Oh, good lord!" JoAnn placed her hands over Tootles ears.

I ignored her. I was on a mission.

I grunted, struggling up to a standing position, and then flapped my hands, eyeing the toilet paper holder.

"You have a filthy mouth young man!" the woman spat. "I'm thinkin' a good washin' with a bar of soap might-"

"Yeah, just try it," the kid dared.

Tootles scrambled out of the bag and began to whimper. She hopped in front of JoAnn's feet, her little pink taffeta skirt bouncing as she tried to jump on my sister's lap. "Just a minute. Mommy's almost finished, precious."

I grabbed the coat hook on the wall adjoining the two stalls, pulled myself onto the toilet seat, and peeked over into the handicapped stall. The first thing I thought was that I'd give my eye teeth for her body; she could keep the hair.

The woman sported a Dolly Parton up-do over bright red lips. Daisy-dukes barely covered a firm butt and enhanced long shapely legs. A red spandex top encouraged a mountain of breasts where a trickle of blood disappeared.

I pulled my eyes from her chest and checked out the kid on the baby-changing table directly under me. He looked about five or six years old and wore Osh-B' Gosh coveralls, a royal blue SpongeBob t-shirt, and a bloody lipped smile.

This should have been my first clue.

The woman snapped, "That's it! You don't have to go. We're outta here. Now!" She pointed at the door.

"Make me!" the kid challenged, swiveling his head back to her.

Okay, it was now or never. Cell phone ready, I braced myself and hit the record button.

"Ohhh nooo!" JoAnn shouted.

I slipped and one foot landed in the toilet with a splash. I jerked it out, glaring at my new Eddie Bauer sandal dripping pissy water.

"There's no toilet paper in here," JoAnn whined. "Can you pass me some?"

"I've about had it with you kid!" the woman yelled.

Tootles started barking.

I placed my wet sandal on the metal toilet paper holder and leaned against the wall.

JoAnn scooped up the dog and placed her in the purse. She began digging around under Tootles. "I know I have a Burger King napkin in here somewhere."

I peered over the wall and pointed my cell phone into the handicapped stall, hands shaking.

The woman jerked her head up to look at me. "What the hell do you want? Get back into your own stall old lady, 'cause this is none of your business!"

I looked at my cell. Her angry face filled the screen. I shuddered with excitement.

"Susan, stop being such a pain and pass me some toilet paper."

The boy's chest rumbled and the woman turned back to him. I adjusted my feet, pointing the phone directly at them.

"Look, you little pain in my ass," the woman snapped. "I don't like this anymore than you do. It's not my fault Dorius had business to take care of. I'll be glad to hand you over, buddy, as soon as he gets his ass back here to pick you up. So, if you have to piss, get on with it!"

"Are you trying to make me mad?" JoAnn asked. "Can you please hand me some toilet paper?"

To shut her up, I grabbed a handful of toilet paper and tossed it over the wall. Tootles jumped from the purse and began to wrestle her for it.

"I don't need to be told when to urinate, bitch," the cute little fella hissed, followed by an intake of breath from my sister's stall.

"That's it!" JoAnn announced, flushing the toilet. "We're getting out of here!"

Totally committed, I ignored my sister and whipped the phone in the kid's direction. He looked up at me, licking his lips. His eyes turned black with rage.

"Do you want to die, too?" the boy asked me. "Because if you don't leave right now, you'll wish you had."

That should have been my second clue.

"Shut that damn phone and leave us the hell alone," the woman yelled.

JoAnn went ape-shit. "Susan, are you filming them? You better not be! Why can't you act your age, for heaven's sake?"

Like a woman possessed, I slammed my brows together and, with hooded eyes, filmed like mad.

JoAnn just wouldn't let up. "Tootles is scared and all you can think about is your stupid website!"

Tootles yelped and hit the floor. She skittered into my stall, yapping like crazy, her pink taffeta skirt askew, toilet paper hanging from her mouth.

"Tootles get back over here!" JoAnn yelled. "We're leaving right now!"

I was leaning over the stall, camera running, when the kid reached up and slapped the phone out of my hand. It landed on the floor against the far wall. The little red light was on, still recording them. Now I was pissed. The whole event was worthless if I didn't get my damn phone back.

JoAnn's head popped out from under her stall, glaring up at me. "What in God's name are you doing up there? Get down before you fall and break something."

"I dropped my frigging phone," I lied.

"So you think you can just climb over the wall and get it? You're a senior citizen for heaven's sake! Get down, now!"

"Not without my phone." Like an idiot, I climbed up on the toilet paper holder, swung one leg over the wall, riding the stall in a very uncomfortable position.

With spittle flying from her mouth, in a guttural voice, JoAnn enunciated every word, "Why-can't-you-just-ask-for-it?"

I winced, trying to get comfortable; my crotch hurt like hell. "If you had a Retriever instead of that ball of-"

The kid grabbed my foot, yanked me over the wall, and ended the argument. I rolled off the changing table and landed on the floor beside the woman in an ass-cracking smack.

That should have been my third clue.

I rubbed my butt, and with shaky legs, got up, leaned against the wall, and edged toward my cell, eyeing the woman and kid.

The little guy grabbed the woman by the chest, hissing loud enough to make me think the next thing I'd see would be his cherubic little head turning a full circle. The theme song to The Exorcist played in my head.

I leaned slowly toward my cell, holding my aching back.

The kid snarled, lifted the woman off her feet and tossed her into the corner of the stall as if she were a rag doll. Her head hit the tile wall and exploded like a dropped melon. I froze in horror. A red streak of blood trailed down the tile wall as she slid to the floor with a thump. Her mouth flopped open, emitting a long breath that fluttered the floating toilet tissue in front of her face.

JoAnn let out a blood-curdling scream. "Did you just hit that woman? I'm not going to jail for you, Susan! You know I'm on a special diet."

Tootles started yelping. I felt nauseous.

I reached down and plucked the cell off the floor, punching in 911. The phone beeped and a message on the screen told me there was no signal. Shit!

The kid smiled at me.

"That woman needs an ambulance!" JoAnn instructed, her head peeking under the stall I was no longer in.

The boy's nostrils flared. His head jerked in the direction of my sister's voice.

I leaned low on the floor and my eyes met JoAnn's. Her eyebrows slammed together on her forehead.

Snapping my phone shut, I slid it across the tiled floor, hoping it would hit my sister in the chest. No such luck. It stopped six inches from her nose.

Tootles scampered out of the stall.

"Tootles! Get back here, right now!" JoAnn's head jerked in the dog's direction.

"Go outside and call the police. There's no signal in here, JoAnn."

She reluctantly grabbed the phone, wiggled back into her stall and scrambled to her feet. "Tootles! Do not go out that door! Stay! Stay! Sit!"

Suddenly, the whole scene came into focus as I watched JoAnn's feet heading for the exit. I was in a bathroom stall with a dead woman and a homicidal child in serious need of some Ritalin.

With my heart skipping every few beats, I got to my feet, wincing in pain, and sidled toward the door, my eyes never leaving the kid.

He opened his mouth and hissed at me.

I stumbled back a step, chin several inches from my chest, and the little shit projectile vomited blood into my face, mouth and eyes. I felt the coppery taste on my tongue, swallowed like and idiot, and a large lump of glutinous blood slid down my throat. I back-pedaled, gagged, wiped my mouth off on my sleeve, and sucked in short, shallow breaths in an effort not to vomit.

I moved against the far wall opposite him, turned to the woman on the floor, and noticed two circular wounds on her neck. What the…

The boy studied me with black eyes that were no longer human. They followed me to the door and when I looked back at him, he grinned.

I gagged, bile climbing the back of my throat, and shuddered, revisiting the taste of blood in my mouth.

I was trying to figure out what the hell was going on, trying to wrap my cranium around it as the bloody lipped child slyly contemplated me and my only exit.

That's when I noticed his teeth. No, they were fangs. Mesmerized, I watched them slide from his mouth in a classic vampire image. Come on! Let's not even go there. I'm seeing things.

He leaped off the changing table and strutted toward me.

I pushed against the wall, slipped on the puked blood, and landed on the floor. With dry heaves, I watched him take another step toward me.

This is stupid. He's what, three feet tall? I could take him. Just kick the little shit and run for it. As if he heard my thoughts, he hissed and was on me in a heartbeat.

In a flash, he yanked me by the hair, pulled my neck to his lips, and sharp fangs slid into my skin. He started sucking; I became paralyzed as the little shit's life passed through my mind like a black cloud on a stormy night.

…He is in an alley, five men tossing him from one to the other, all with fangs gleaming in the moonlight, all begging for a turn at the boy’s throat as the child screams out in horror.

…One of the men bites his wrist, offering it to the boy, all of them laughing.

The vision changed and another whirled through my mind.

…A tall dark haired man, his fangs flashing in anger, chases the five men through alleys until finally a battle ensues. The child cowers, watching, fangs hanging from his little mouth as his wicked family is slain before his eyes.

Just as fast as one scene swept my mind another came rushing in, playing in a vivid flash of color and diction.

…The child and the dark haired man are on a city street in front of a topless bar.

"Following this titty-dancer around is not my idea of a fun time, Dorius," the child says. "It pisses me off. I don't see why I can't join the rest of the Rogue Hunters."

"Christopher, she's a suitable mate. I cannot overlook that. And you're not fighting rogues. We've been over this a million times. You'd be too much of a distraction."

Christopher, the child's name is Christopher.

"I need the goddamn distraction!" Christopher yells. "You know I want a woman, and you taunt me with yours. You try walking around looking like a goddamned joke. Fuck you, Dorius."

"It's not always all about you, Christopher."

"Fuck you, man."

I groaned while Christopher suckled slowly, his chest rumbling softly as the scene dissolved, replaced with another.

Christopher, Dorius, and the dead woman stand in front of the restroom. The restroom I am now dying in, next to the woman that is already dead.

"Angelina, do you believe in fairy tales?" Dorius asks.

"It's Angel darlin' and all I believe in's shakin' my ass to pay my bills. Believe me baby, I've heard it all."

"No Angel, you haven't."

My head was reeling, the boy's anger crystal clear as he bit my throat harder.

"What if I told you that you could live forever, stay young, and never have to work another day in your life?"

"Yeah, sure sweetie - a real nice little fairytale - but-"

"Angel, I've got a surprise for you. Something very special."

"Darlin', I love surprises."

Dorius bends toward the woman's throat. Ringing - I hear a phone ringing. He hesitates and pulls away, cussing.

The boy's lips smiled against my neck. I listened to a garbled conversation somewhere. It sounded like the dark immortal, Dorius. But he isn't in the restroom, is he? His voice echoed over and over like an old scratched record, "Don't let any harm come to her, Christopher… Don't let any harm come to her… Don't let any…"

I felt teeth pull from my skin. I think my eyes were open, but it felt like a dream as I watched the child drag the body of Angelina out of the stall, a red trail following them across the bathroom and out the door of the restroom.

Holding my stomach, I retched. My body trembled with pain. I closed my eyes and leaned back against the wall, panting. Darkness enveloped me, until I heard a gasp that reverberated off the walls.

My eyes popped open. JoAnn stood dead still in the doorway of the restroom. She let out a screech, hand grasping her chest as she speed-walked toward me, sidestepping the blood on the floor.

"Oh, my gracious Lord in thy kingdom of eternal bliss, help me. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph give me divine strength to carry on. It looks like a massacre in here!" JoAnn's nonsensical biblical yammering bounced off the bathroom walls like a pack of Ping-Pong balls, one after the other, giving her words momentum. My ears were ringing.

"The darn cell phone doesn't work and the telephone booth across the street is out of order." She squatted beside me and yelped, "Oh, sweet mother of God, they slit your throat! There's blood all over your face, too. I hope it's yours." JoAnn leaned over my neck wound.

My mouth salivated.

She moved in a little closer, her cheek in front of my face. "Are you-"

I slowly pivoted my head until our noses touched. My gums tingled.

JoAnn backed up a bit, fanning her hand in front of her face. "You smell like road kill. And where did the kid and the woman go?"

My skin started to prickle. My stomach clenched.

"I don't know," I whispered, pulling my eyes away from JoAnn's throat. I wrapped my arms around my aching stomach and rocked back and forth. "If I had one of my guns I'd have shot that kid." I ran my tongue over my upper gums. They felt numb.

"Let's not get started on your gun fetish, Susan! You have bad karma; shooting poor innocent deer and dragging them home all the time!"

I felt sharp little points pushing out in front of my old worn-out canines as I half-listened to my sister's ranting.

"And don't give me that crap about meat for the freezer. We have grocery stores you know."

Maybe I have a subdural hematoma. Maybe I'm hallucinating.

JoAnn hooked an arm around me, grimacing at the blood on my chest, and begrudgingly helped me to my feet. "Come on. That's it; I'm taking you directly to the hospital."

"Damn it, JoAnn, will you ever shut up?" Christ, I can hear her pulse. I can smell her blood! I was in a panic as we headed for the bathroom door.

"Don't you cuss at me!"

This can't be happening!

"This is all your fault, certainly not mine, and living with a bunch of dead carcasses hanging on our walls doesn't set a good example for poor Tootles! It frightens her."

She pulled me toward my Jeep Wrangler. I moaned in pain, my eyes riveted on her neck as we stumbled along.

In the Jeep, I leaned against the window in the backseat, my stomach cramping, my throat dry, my gums burning.

JoAnn put the Jeep in gear. Tootles began to bark and jump around on the console. "Poor little Toot-Toots, Mommy's going to give you a big dish of baked chicken as soon as we get home."

My mouth salivated as I locked my eyes on the dog. I smelled her blood and, with an uncanny clarity, heard Tootles rapid heartbeat enticing me, pulling at me as the car sped through the parking lot.

A loud rumble started in my chest and fangs ripped through my upper gums. Two worn-out canines dropped onto my lap. I stared at them, my body vibrating, and my skin felt like it was burning, stretching. My eyes jerked to my sister's reflection in the rearview mirror, and then back to the dog. A growl moved up my throat and out my mouth.

JoAnn's eyes jumped to the mirror. She screeched and turned around in her seat. "You… you… you have big teeth! What the? And… and… your skin is stretching… you look so… Oh my Go-"

The car plowed into a light pole so hard everybody shot forward. The airbags deployed and bounced Tootles into the back seat where she landed right in my lap. I looked down at the dog, saliva dripping down my chin, sharp pains in my stomach, my head pounding with each pulse of the dog's blood.

Tootles whimpered. I pulled her close to my chest, placing my nose in her curly fur as I stroked her. "Ith othay, I got ya now." My words of comfort sounded funny over my fangs.

JoAnn hysterically wrestled the airbag, guttural moans coming from her mouth. She opened the car door and the interior light came on, giving her a picture perfect view of the horrendous scene in the back seat.

"Stop biting Tootles!" she screeched. "For God sake, are you crazy? Do you have mad cow disease?" JoAnn stared at me with a look of horror on her face.

I shook my head, dropped Tootles, and my fangs slipped back into my gums. I gagged, trying to clear my throat, and hacked up a bloody hairball that hit JoAnn right between the eyes. She yelped, frantically wiping her face.

I looked down at Tootles dead in my lap, and began to shake violently. What have I done? I stared at my sister. My baby sister! "I… I think I'm a vampire, JoAnn! Do something!"

2

Dorius picked up his cell for the fifth time, punched in Angelina's number, and heard the same message, "The party you wish to speak to is no longer available."

"Oh for the love of blood." He broke the connection, quickly punching in another number. This time he got a pre-recorded voice message with the snappy tune, 'Werewolf in London' in the background, "Not available to take your call. Probably out in the woods. Leave a message after the howl."

"Son of a bitch! The only link to finding my wanna-be-mate is out howling at the moon."

Dorius left a message after the howl. "Paul, call me back immediately. We have an issue to resolve." He looked at his watch. "It's ten o'clock." He closed the cell and tossed it on the dashboard.

"The Gods be damned! I hate waiting!" He ran his hands through his long black hair and tugged at the leather bolo around his neck, unbuttoning the first two buttons of his burgundy silk shirt. His square jaw cracked as he ground his teeth and smoothed out his black goatee, while peering at his deep blue eyes in the rearview mirror.

His fangs dropped with an angry growl. He yanked open the door of his black Mercedes SUV, stepped out and immediately began to pace. His dark jeans scraped softly over his black, pointy-toed boots, the silver tips shining in the glare of the street lamps.

"Where the hell are they, damn it?" Dorius slapped the hood of his car, putting a small smudge on the shiny black surface. "If Christopher fucked this up, the little bastard will die a second time."

He glared at the greasy print for a few seconds, then buffed it with his elbow, while he contemplated whether he should just drive to the park and find out for himself.

Why the hell did I have to go join the others in the hunt? Shit, what a mess.

He slid back into the SUV and slammed his fist against the steering wheel. "Damn it! Damn it all to hell!"

Who let the dogs out? Who… Who…who-who…his cell phone sang.

Dorius grabbed it, flipped it open and pushed the speaker button. "It's about time, Cujo."

"Don't be a smart ass. You know it's my day off, Dorius. I'm in the Everglades with a few friends for the moon run. I just got your message. Whaddya need?"

"Sorry to interrupt your little frolic in the swamp. I need you to go to Tavares. There's a park there on the water. Do you know the one?"

"Yes, the marina off Nineteen, - on Main, right? The one with the wooden gym set."

"That's the one," Dorius hissed.

"It'll take me at least three hours to get there. Can't you get one of your Rogue Hunters on it?"

"No, I want to handle this discreetly so get your hairy ass out there." Dorius glared at the cell phone in his hand.

"What am I looking for?" Paul sighed.

"Christopher. He's missing."

* * *

I was somewhere between sleep and consciousness when I realized I was methodically grinding my teeth to the sound of metal scrapping metal. My nostrils flared with the strong odors of musk, animal pelt, death, and blood.

I sat up and opened my eyes. The nose of a deer hung inches from my face. A drop of blood fell into a bucket underneath the deer. I yelped at the acoustic sound and cupped my ears. Large teeth dropped from my upper gums as the events of the evening flashed before my eyes. The kid. The dead lady. The dog… Tootles… I killed Tootles!

I was in my butcher shop out in the barn. How the hell did JoAnn accomplish that? I must have passed out. Holy cow, I haven't passed out and not remembered how I got somewhere since I was twenty-five and toked on the hookah!

Another drop of blood splashed into a bucket under the doe's nose. My stomach convulsed. My nostrils flared and I licked my lips.

This can't be real! My eyes played over a cup, ladle, box of bendy straws, my sleeping bag and a pillow, all stacked in a neat pile beside the bucket, adding clarity to the moment. Shit! Did I really frigging kill my sister's little ankle nipper?

The sound of blood dripping along with the methodical scraping noise ricocheted around in my brain. I frantically looked around the room. I need to get out of here and find JoAnn.

I bolted to the door way too fast for my tired old bones, suddenly feeling lighter, more agile. I grabbed the handle and gave it a firm pull. It didn't budge. She's locked me in? Son-of-a-bitch! I kicked the door.

Immediately the scraping noise stopped, followed by the sound of feet shuffling on the other side of the door.

I noticed I didn't feel an ounce of pain in my usually sensitive feet as I stared at a dent in the metal door; a very small one, but nonetheless a dent.

"Susan, you killed Tootles! My baby! You drank her - oh God, I'm gonna puke again." JoAnn gagged outside the door.

Another drop hit the bucket. My head jerked toward the deer. I eyed the blood - I wanted the blood - I was salivating for the blood. Oh man, I'm a blood-sucking vampire!

I began to make a mental list as my body pulled me toward the bucket: I'm gonna need a casket, and dark curtains for my bedroom and the living room windows. Get someone to take down the cross hanging over my bed. Warn the neighbors to keep their pets in at night - and… and - oh God, I killed Tootles!

I picked up the glass and filled it with the ladle.

"Damn it Susan, say something!"

"What was all the scraping, JoAnn?" I asked, my eyes riveted on the glass.

"Nothing."

"I heard it. What where you doing?" My stomach growled.

"Nothing."

"You're in my barn. What are you playing with, JoAnn?"

There was a long pause before she answered, "Well… when I was digging Tootles grave, and by the way, that was a dirty job - I cried the whole time. My makeup is a mess. My face is laced with grime. And poor Tootles..."

Joann sobbed and sniffled, and then finally continued, "Anyway, I thought about putting the tent up. It's supposed to rain later and… well, I didn't want the grave to… anyway, one thought led to another… and I decided to sharpen the stakes so… just in case… um… while I waited for you to wake up."

I leaned over the glass and inhaled the aroma with the satisfaction of a wine connoisseur's first sniff. I took a small, tentative sip from the glass while I gave her statement some thought. The blood tasted old, stale, but I shuddered with delight as the thick coppery liquid slid down my throat.

"Your stakes won't kill me, JoAnn." I think - hell, I don't know - it sounded good, maybe she'd buy it.

"Yes, they will! I've been reading Diary of a Vampire, Susan. I know what you are. You… you turned thirty years younger right in front of me and you grew fangs!"

I made another mental note to get rid of the tent stakes. Did she say thirty years younger? I chugged the rest of the blood, quivering in ecstasy, then bolted for the butcher table, set the empty glass down, and grabbed for anything that would give off a reflection in the dim nightlight plugged into the wall over the table. I settled for a big spoon, and held in front of my face.

Holy shit - will ya look at me. I fluffed my hair and turned my head from side to side to get a better view. "I… my God, I'm young again. JoAnn, I'm really a vampire!"

"I know! I can't believe it either," JoAnn shouted. "Thank the Lord I didn't sleep through the whole Dracula movie the girls dragged us to last October. You're staying right where you are!"

I laid down the spoon and tried to stay calm. No sense pissing off the idiot with the tent stakes in her hands.

"Sweetie, I'm not going to drink your blood," I said in the sweetest voice I could muster.

I ladled up another glass.

"I broke three fingernails dragging you out of the jeep and into the wheelbarrow! And then I had to get you inside the cooler and, well, I hope I didn't hurt you when I dumped you in there and your head cracked on the cement."

I rubbed my head, checking for lumps. "I'm sorry about Tootles. I would take it back if I could." Sh-yeah, right? I sucked down another big mouthful. My stomach growled for more. "I didn't mean it. I couldn't help myself, but better her than you, right? Now let me out so we can figure out what to do. I need your help, JoAnn."

I lifted my shirt; my Cross Your Heart, Playtex 18 Hour Bra hung on the tips of two perfectly shaped firm breasts. Oh hell yes! My tits don't hit my waist anymore!

"I'm waiting for the sun to come up. Then, I'll let you out," JoAnn said, whipping my attention off my new chest.

I curled my lips back and glared at the locked door. "What, you intend to lure me out at daybreak and watch me fry?"

"I don't know. You scare me," JoAnn choked out. "You could kill-"

"Why bother locking me up in here? Why didn't you just tie me to a goddamn tree over Tootles' grave and send me off in a burst of flames when the sun comes up? I'm your sister for Christ sake, and all you're worried about is the dead dog! Let me out!"

I chugged the blood, eyeing the half-empty bucket. Even though the lights were off, I realized I could see everything as if I were wearing night-vision goggles.

I was pondering that bit of information when JoAnn said, "I'm not letting you out."

"I need blood," I hissed, looking at my empty glass.

"I know it's dark in there but I didn't want you to wake up to blaring lights. I hate waking up like that. There's a bucket of blood under the deer carcass. And it's almost full."

No, it's almost empty. I may be drinking dead deer blood, but my second chin is gone and I have perky breasts… and just maybe… I pulled at the elastic on my jeans and gasped. No flab - no gallbladder scar! Weeeeeeeeeeee!

"Drink the deer blood," JoAnn ordered all smart-alecky. "Because, I'm not letting you out."

"What are you gonna do when it's gone? You gonna let me wither and die in here? Then stake me and burn my emaciated carcass?" I wish my daughter Resi was here! She'd kill for this firm body. I ladled up again, feeling like a bloodoholic.

"Susan, I swear, I'm not going to shove you in the sun, or stake you - even though you deserve it - unless you try to kill me. Then I will have to do something, right? I mean, I really don't want to, but if you leave me no choice. I will be prepared!"

She's tapping the frigging tent stakes on the door. I swigged the blood, my body vibrating with delight. "Sooner or later you'll have to let me out, sun or no sun, because I will need more blood." And if you don't find a way to get me more of this iron-rich delicacy, you're gonna be my next meal.

"Darn it," JoAnn said. "I'll be right back."

Before I could ask what idiotic scheme she had in mind, my Kubota RTV revved up and took off.

I looked around the butcher shop and knew I couldn't get out. No windows - the metal walls were lined with asbestos insulation to keep it cool when the refrigeration system was on. The bolt on the door was solid. Funny, it was only forty degrees in here and I didn't even feel cold.

I was thinking about my new abilities when the RTV came to a grinding, gear-gnawing stop outside the door. I had to laugh. JoAnn's not outdoorsy, and the barn’s at least a football field away from the house, through the woods and a small field. And I don't think I can remember the last time she walked into what she so commonly called 'The Death Chamber'.

There was a soft tapping at the door. "I'm getting you blood. It will be here in a few minutes. Can you wait?"

Oh God, tell me she's not having someone come over so I can drink his or her blood. I could just see her opening the door and shoving someone in at me. God, that would make a great horror flick, now wouldn't it?

Maybe we could install a camera and charge five bucks a pop for a look at a real immortal sucking the life from unsuspected victims.

"Where are you getting the blood, JoAnn? I know it's not on Pizza Hut's take out menu. Who did you call?"

"Zaire."

Zaire, my younger daughter's lover, is a Maintenance Manager at the local hospital. As if my life wasn't bad enough, every estrogen producing person in my immediate family were now living under my roof.

After a brief dabbling in the methamphetamine production business, Resi and Zaire found themselves evicted from their apartment due to a smallish explosion they were able to attribute to a microwave malfunction. Resi promptly planted her happy little ass back home with me, dragging Zaire with her.

To make matters worse, God in his infinite wisdom sent a hurricane barreling through Dora Pines Mobile Home Park. This brought my eighty-three year old mother, sister, and the damn dog to my door, dragging the soggy remains of their previous life behind them in cardboard boxes.

I had led a nice, quiet life with my older daughter, Jeni, before they'd all showed up.

"Are you sure she'll bring it?" I asked. "Where's she going to get blood? I bet she thinks you're nuts."

"She didn't think I was nuts after I told her you killed poor little Tootles. And she said the sun won't kill you, darn it." I could hear JoAnn sigh and lean against the door.

Vampires were fiction before tonight. We don't know what will kill me, but I'm not going to share that little tidbit of information with her. I paced, knowing if Zaire didn't bring blood, as soon as Resi saw me, she'd lay her neck in front of my fangs faster than heading to the store to cash in a winning lottery ticket. "Where is everyone else?"

"They don't know about you yet, Susan. They were all gone when we got here."

Boy are they in for a surprise.

"Jeni and Mom are at bingo. Resi's at the bar waiting for Zaire to get off work. I can call Jeni, I suppose, but then I'd have to tell them about Tootles, separately, and…"

I saw red. Can't she just get past the Tootles thing, already? "I'm a frigging vampire! I'm dead, you idiot! I need help, here! Work with me, damn it!"

"Fine! You always get what you want! I have to go back to the stupid house again. At least I can get the flowers off the dining room table for Tootles' grave." Her voice stepped up an octave as she spoke.

"There's a portable phone and phone book in the roll top desk by the riding lawnmower." I wasn't going to wait for her to arrange flowers on Tootles' grave.

"You have a telephone in here? Well, you could have told me that, before I went all the way to the house to call Zaire." I heard her footsteps as she stomped away.

If you helped with the yard work occasionally, you'd know what I have in here. I added another note to my mental list; someone else is going to have to mow the lawn. The neighbors would freak if I cranked up the ole John Deere after dark.

I listened to the ping of numbers punched into the telephone. "Hello, can you please page my niece, Jeni Stech, to the phone?" There was a short pause. "Yes, it's a family emergency."

JoAnn tapped the stakes on the wall near the door. "You don't have to get anyone to play her stupid cards. She'll be leaving, anyway."

She tapped a little harder. "Look lady; just call her to the phone! You can keep your darn money!"

JoAnn let out a sigh while she waited.

"Jeni, hi, can you and Nanna come home right away? Your mother… she's not…"

A frustrated sigh.

"Your mother was… well, in a confrontation, and now she's…."

My hearing was extraordinary, but I couldn't pick up my daughter's softly spoken side of the conversation.

"She's not… herself."

A slight tapping of her foot.

"No, she's right here in the meat cooler."

Her foot sounded like a metronome in quarter time.

"I put her there."

And I'm going to let her out when the sun comes up.

"Because she's a zombie and she killed Tootles! I had to bury my baby in the yard, all by myself!"

A zombie, boy she really needs to read a few more of Resi's books.

JoAnn let out a long, noisy breath. "I wouldn't have her in the meat cooler if she was really dead, now would I?"

She huffed in frustration.

"Not Tootles, your Mom! She's probably drinking deer blood right now as we speak!"

That did it. I started laughing.

JoAnn's hand slapped the door. "This is not funny, damn it."

"Tell her you were going to let me out when the sun comes up and watch me sizzle."

"I'm not talking to you, Jeni. Your mother is laughing at me. And I'm not going to let you fry in the sun, Susan!" She kicked the door.

"No, this is not a joke! I'm trying to tell you, damn it. Your mother's a fucking vampire! And she killed my goddamn dog!"

JoAnn hit the door with something, probably the telephone.

"No, I am not off my estrogen! And yes, I know I'm cussing! You'd cuss too if you went through what I did tonight, damn it!"

I threw back my head, closed my eyes and smiled. I could imagine her standing there, hand on her hip, face as red as a tomato.

"Jennifer, go get Nanna and come home, right now! This is not a joke. You know I don't joke, especially about Tootles being dead."

The conversation ended abruptly.

Jeni, at the very least, would think her aunt had lost her mind and come running home to handle it. I smiled in spite of myself. "Are you going to call Resi?" I pleasantly asked, leaning over the bucket. The blood was almost gone. I felt like licking the bucket.

"Yesssss," JoAnn hissed.

3

I heard feet stomping up to the barn and Zaire shouting, "This better not be a joke! I just ripped off the hospital. Resi said she was gonna kick some ass if you guys are screwing with us."

I'll be damned, she's got blood.

"I saw the light on in the shed. She's in here, isn't she?" Zaire asked with way too much enthusiasm.

"In the cooler," JoAnn said. "You don't have to be so happy about this, you know. My sister killed Tootles and her body actually transformed in front of me. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would never believe any of this."

"Well open the damn door. I wanna see her, man!"

"You're not getting the key until the sun comes up! I am not dying so my sister can have a meal, Zaire!"

"Aunt JoAnn, I told you the sun won't kill her."

"And you know this how? Because in the movie I saw, it would," JoAnn huffed.

I ground my teeth, losing at least a layer of enamel. "I can hear you guys, and I'm not going to bite anybody. Did Zaire bring blood? If she did, what the hell are you gonna do, slide it under the door?"

JoAnn let out a stressed sigh.

I listened to them argue in hushed whispers, a low rumble in my chest.

Finally someone withdrew the padlock and the door swung open.

"Hoo-ly shit! Oh. My. God!" Zaire laughed. "This is real! This is real! Fuckin'-A! Fuckin'-A! Fuckin'-A!" She bent her knees, slapping her thigh.

"Get away from the vampire!" JoAnn screeched.

Zaire pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, shot JoAnn a grin, and snapped a picture of me. "I'm sending this to Resi. She's gonna have a freakin' cow! Damn, you look younger than her." She pushed the send button and punched the metal door at the same time.

Vanity… The mainstay of our household.

"I'm anemic. You don't want my blood!" JoAnn shrieked, backing up a few steps.

I sucked in air through clenched teeth, and turned to Zaire. "What's in the red trash bag?"

Zaire looked from me to the large red garbage bag in her hands, her beautiful gray eyes twinkling. "Blood! What the hell do you think it is?"

She still had on her white uniform and it looked stark next to her rich coffee colored skin. Long shagged hair framed a flawless face with full lips that smiled at me.

My eyes fell to the garbage bag and my fangs slipped from my gums.

"Your teeth! My God, this is really happening," Zaire exclaimed with way too much white showing around her irises. She grabbed her cell phone again as if it were a double fudge brownie with no calories. "Oh, shit, look at her friggin' fangs!"

JoAnn hobbled back a few more paces, shaking her head.

"Yes, it's real," I said, but it came out, 'yeth ith's rllll'.

Zaire set the bag down beside her and laughed. "You need to practice talking with those babies, Mom."

I stared at the bag.

"You look bitchen," Zaire said, snapping another picture. "Your hair is longer, curlier, bright red, and your eyes… your eyes are intense; green with a circle of gold around them. Friggin' awesome. I bet you can kick ass."

I focused on her throat, licking my fangs.

"Oh God, don't bite her… don't bite her… pleeease, don't bite her." JoAnn looked away, gagging.

My new fangs retracted like a well-oiled switchblade.

"Aunt JoAnn, come on!" Zaire didn't look concerned. "Do you know what this means? We can all live forever, looking as young as she does!"

"But… but…" JoAnn protested.

Maybe a little growl, a lunge in her direction, or a good snarl would shut her up. I picked the trash bag up, my nostrils flaring.

Zaire eyed the tent stakes JoAnn held firmly to her chest. "You really need to read one of my vampire books. Stakes, holy water, crosses - all a myth, JoAnn. She's just about unstoppable."

JoAnn grimaced and turned away, shuffling her feet. "I skimmed Diary of a Vampire. A lot of killing going on in that book. I couldn't find a single chapter without blood sucking vampires in it. It was disgusting."

Zaire burst out laughing, slapping her hip. "Oh yeah, baby! She has to drink blood, but she's a frickin' machine with a body to die for. I'd suck a rat for that!"

I pulled a clear bag out of the mess of jumbled plastic stuff in the trash bag and held it in front of my face.

"What the hell is this? Mathew Barnes?" I glared at the label on a used bag of human blood, waving it like a flag at a fourth of July parade. It had tubing running from the end with a plastic needle attached. It was only half-full. I really wanted to bitch-slap the both of them.

Zaire turned to me a bit put out. "I had to rob the hazardous waste bins in the operating rooms. Where the hell did you think I would come up with blood at the hospital? Fuckin' drain the patients? I'm in maintenance for Christ sake, not the blood lab."

"Just drink the stupid blood, Susan," JoAnn whimpered. "Mom and Jeni will be here soon and we need to say… a few words over the grave."

My Dracula teeth reappeared. I shot her a look, faked an attempt to jump at her, and growled. She fumbled back, arms swinging, brown eyes wide, and fell flat on her ass in the doorway of the barn.

Zaire put a hand on my chest and smiled at JoAnn. "I think we should forget about Tootles for tonight, Aunt JoAnn." She grabbed the bag from my hand and slammed it into my new fangs.

"Damn you Susan, I pissed myself," JoAnn sniveled, trying to get up.

I growled around the bag as my sister crab-walked further out the door, sitting about two feet on the other side of the threshold.

I sucked hard and a shiver ran up my spine. It felt so good and tasted so much better than the bucket of stale deer blood.

Zaire grinned at JoAnn, who was still squirming near the door.

I drained the bag with the sound of two straws sucking air. Zaire pulled it from my teeth, slapped another half-full bag against my mouth and my fangs searched for the liquid like a puppy rooting for a teat.

I finished my second bag, pulling it from my fangs and felt them immediately retract. "I'm going to go take a shower before everybody else gets here. I'm filthy." I leered in JoAnn's direction.

She jumped a good six inches away. The way her skin wobbled made her look tired and old. I couldn't help but laugh inside. Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, who's the younger sister now? Poor JoAnn.

Zaire grabbed the hazardous waste bag, turning to follow me.

JoAnn got up, blocked the door, and put her hand up, palm facing me. She took several steps back. "I am not letting you in the house stinking like a slaughtered pig. We can hose you off right here first, put some flowers on the grave and then go inside. I brought out a couple of towels and a nightshirt for you."

I smiled. "I'm getting a shower. You can use the damn hose and the frigging nightshirt." I pointedly stared at the wet spot on the front of her shorts, then started toward the door.

JoAnn flattened herself against the wall just inside the barn, instantly looking like the work of a skilled, if not slightly deranged taxidermist.

"Susan, you better be nice or I'll stake you myself while you're sleeping." JoAnn held two tent stakes, one over the other like a cross, pushing them at me.

"Like that's gonna happen." Zaire shook her head in amusement. "Get the blowtorch. You can hang it from your hip like a gunslinger. That might work if you can catch her. Fire and decapitation. That's about it. And it's friggin', Mom, not frigging. If you're gonna look twenty-five, talk like you're twenty-five."

"You say friggin' - I say frigging. Deal with it." None of us really knew what the hell would kill a vampire. Zaire was basing her assumptions on the fiction novels laying around the house. I stared at the stakes and rubbed my chest.

JoAnn looked from the tent stakes to Zaire with a frown. Her knuckles turned white.

I glared at JoAnn. "Get out of my frigging way."

"I got these stakes and I'll use them, Susan!" Her arms were raised, both hands extended. Screeching like a lunatic, she flattened herself against the wall again.

I leapt at her, grabbed her by the throat and lifted her two feet off the floor, fangs hanging from my mouth.

JoAnn screamed just like a woman in a horror flick and stabbed me in the chest with the stakes.

"Ouch! Ow! Daaa-mn it all to hell!" I let go of her, looked down at the stakes hanging between my new set of tits and yanked them out, my chest rumbling.

Zaire slapped another bag of blood on my fangs. I sucked and lifted my blouse to watch the hole in my chest heal.

"See JoAnn, I told you they wouldn't work," Zaire said with a smile.

"That's it! I'm getting the blowtorch!" JoAnn yelled, heading for my tools.

I curled my lips and dropped the stakes on the floor.

"Okay, where is it? I know that blowtorch is here somewhere," JoAnn mumbled, frantically tossing tools around on my workbench. "Here torchie-torchie," she yelled as if expecting the damn thing to run up barking and licking her leg.

It was official - my sister had lost it. She just might torch my tight little ass. I made a mental note: Lock up the blowtorch that was in the garage attached to the house.

I pulled the empty bag off my fangs and walked out of the barn. I didn't make it very far. Headlights swung around the corner of the dirt road leading to the house, blinding me for a minute. My fangs retracted and I handed Zaire the empty blood bag as JoAnn reluctantly stepped out of the barn, her eyes jerking in the direction of the car.

Resi's red Mustang convertible came to a halt beside my Jeep Wrangler. She jumped out and stood gawking at me for about two seconds before she erupted.

"My God, you look better than the picture Zaire sent me, but you're like… disgusting!" Her eyes whipped over JoAnn's grimy clothes. "God Damn it, this is real!" Resi turned back to me. "Is that blood? Is that blood on your lips?" Her eyes jumped back to JoAnn. "God Aunt Jo, you look like shit, worse than ever. I've never seen your makeup all drippy like that." Resi turned back to me, grabbed my arms, and held them out. "But Mom, wow, you're a fantastic mess. Can I see your fangs? Do something immortal - like… try to pick up your Jeep!"

I yanked my arms away and tried to figure out a way to dodge around her so I could get to the shower. But she just kept going on, and on, jumping in front of me. Damn, I wanted to slap her.

"You look so young!" She twirled her finger at me and I raised an eyebrow. "Where did all the sagging ass and tits go? God, if I knew this was going to happen, I could have saved ten grand on this balloon tit job." She ran both hands down her jaw, over her neck and across her store-bought breasts, lifting boobs that were already threatening to choke her.

Resi scrunched her nose. "Your hair is…well… it's too red, but maybe you can dye it. Oh man, this is really, really, real!" Resi let out a shrill little giggle, clapping her hands and turning circles. Then she sang, "This is RE-AL... so God damn RE-AL… I can't BE-Leave it… oh, my, my, my, I…"

"Shut the hell up!" I snapped. Her song cut abruptly to a pouty, frustrated sigh, with cupid lips. "Don't screw with me Resi. I'm going to take a shower."

"Wait! I just got here, damn it," Resi whined, and started to follow me.

"Doesn't anyone care about Tootles?" JoAnn stood in the frame of the barn door, looking like an encrusted, limp noodle.

Another set of headlights lit up the area before I could grab her by the throat.

"Shit!" I kicked Resi's car and it moved about fifteen inches, making a nice big dent in the bumper.

"Oh wow! Do that again!" Zaire ordered. "Holy shit! F'n-A, man!" Zaire tossed the trash bag over her shoulder, a shit-eating grin on her face.

Resi punched Zaire's arm and glared at me. "Don't you dare! Why don't you go all vampire on Zaire's car!"

My mother's face was plastered against the passenger window as the car rolled by on its way to the garage.

I headed for the house.

"My mother's a goddamned vampire. Oh, hell yes! Zaire, babe, this is a damn dream come true!" Resi sprinted after me.

With my extraordinary hearing, I heard the rest of the conversation as if I were standing right beside them.

"You know, JoAnn, Resi's gonna be a vampire before the night is over," Zaire said.

Great. Just what I need. Resi's enough of a drama queen without the three-inch fangs.

"You mean Susan can actually make you guys immortal?!" JoAnn asked in horror.

"Hell yes! This is a chance in a lifetime, baby. Un-fucking believable."

"Well, why didn't Tootles become a vampire?"

"Animals can't be vampires, JoAnn. Read another book."

I turned back. Zaire was sprinting toward the house. JoAnn was walking slowly across the lawn in her pee-stained shorts.

I bolted up the front steps and through the front door, knowing I'd be in my bathroom, door locked, before Jeni could get my mother out of the car, up a flight of stairs and into the kitchen.

Three down and two more to go. But I know my mother will not be beating me with a Bible, nor staking me with a cross. Hell no! The woman is eighty-three with the mind of a teenager, and a body that can't keep up. I think she has a dildo, for Christ sake! I've heard something humming in her bedroom. And she damn sure knows what a vampire is. I've seen her reading Resi's fantasy books. She probably knows more than I do and she'll fight Resi for a chance at immortality - or die trying.

4

My body was craving sustenance; the heady scent of blood surrounded me, tempted me, and pulled at me. I slid down the wall and sat at the top of the stairs, clutched my stomach and listened to the conversation downstairs.

"This is a damn miracle, Jeni." Resi sounded excited. "You do realize we can all live forever, young and beautiful."

"And kick-ass strong," Zaire added.

I looked down at my shapely legs, flexed and watched muscles pop up all over the place.

"Well, Tootles isn't living forever," Joann whimpered.

I sighed. Sure I'm a hottie, but I killed my sister's dog, and now have to drink blood to keep this body. What if I have to spend the rest of my days sealed up in a coffin, never seeing the light of day? I made another mental note: Find out where I can buy a coffin.

"That's not her fault, Aunt JoAnn," Resi educated. "I'm surprised she didn't bite you. The lust for blood is very strong at first. It must have taken a lot of control on her part."

No shit! My nostrils flared with the smell of fresh blood.

I heard my older daughter, Jeni, laugh. "Are you guys on drugs again? Wha'd you two do, give Aunt JoAnn and Mom a contact high? Vampires are fiction, Resi. Have another cup of coffee."

Boy is she gonna be surprised.

"Go put on one of Nanna's Depends," Zaire said. "You're gonna shit yourself when you see your mother."

"She made me wet my pants," JoAnn added in a small voice.

"Susabella! Get your new ass down here!" my mother yelled. "This, I got to see."

My mouth began to salivate. Christ, I'm gonna bite one of them. I don't know if I can stop myself. Maybe they should all put crosses around their necks. Wal-Mart is open 24/7, isn't it? I could suggest they go buy some. Hell, a truckload of them. Shame they don't sell coffins.

I sucked in all the air in the hallway, got up, let it out, padded down the stairs and peeked around the refrigerator.

They all sat at the oak picnic table on the other side of breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the dining room, a coffee cup in front of each of them. The blood coursing through their veins sounded like an amplified wave machine.

"Did ya fall in? I'm not waiting all night!" my mom shouted.

"She's not shitting Nanna. She's taking a shower," Zaire said, and laughed.

I shuddered and stepped into the kitchen.

Everyone turned in my direction. No one said a word. Everyone's heartbeat kicked up a notch.

Jack Nicholson's face popped into my head, his eyes bulging, ax in hand. "Heeere's Johnny." My fangs dropped.

Jeni gasped.

Resi got up, leaned over the breakfast bar and sucked the tension right out of the room. "How can something so horrific look so damn good?" She ran her hand across her head and flattened her bleached-blonde flattop, but it had so much hairspray in it that it bounced back into place the minute she let it go. "Your ass looks tighter than mine, damn it."

"She looks like a blow up doll humped back to life," my mother announced. A face full of wrinkles rested on a skeletal hand, her other arm splayed across the table, knotty fingers drumming on the table in front of her. "Would I look that young if she sucked on me?"

So much for scaring them. My fangs magically slid back into my gums. I really needed to work on these babies.

"This… this… it's past crazy - that's what it is," Jeni ground out, a look of horror on her chubby face as realization set in. "How the hell could this happen?"

I quickly answered, "Some little kid bit me in a public restroom. Next thing I know, Tootles is hanging from my new teeth."

No one said a word, so I walked over and poured myself a cup of coffee, trying to act nonchalant.

"Your teeth aren't getting anywhere near my throat again, I tell you!" JoAnn’s chocolate brown eyes narrowed as she reached for a Bic lighter on the table and flicked it on, extending it in my direction.

Okay, so now I really want to bite the bitch! I glared at JoAnn with a firm grip on my cup.

Zaire started giggling. "Put down the lighter before you burn yourself, 'cuz that ain't gonna do shit to her."

"Can she drink that coffee or will she puke if she does?" Mom asked.

"Does anyone else think this is absurd?" Jeni's eyes were the size of two quarters. "It's a damn fantasy book nightmare. She has blood-sucking fangs for crying out loud, and you three are acting like we have a new pet. Who is this damn kid? And can he take it back?"

My gums tingled. "Calm down, Jeni. When you get all excited…I get-"

Resi bubbled with chaotic laughter, then pointed at her sister. "Take it back! That's a good one, Jen!" Then she got all smarty-pants like. "Nanna, she can eat and drink that coffee, although she doesn't have to. All she needs is blood." Resi looked straight at me, her green eyes sparkling. "And as soon as she finishes her coffee, I want her to make me one."

"You get what, Susan? What do you get when Jeni gets upset?" JoAnn whimpered, still on the last page.

"I get all hungry. Hungry for blood." I studied JoAnn's throat and edged toward the end of the counter. "And make your own damn coffee, Resi."

"Not coffee, Mom. A Vampire."

My eyes jerked in her direction. That took all of five minutes.

"This can't be happening!" Jeni shouted, slipping her arm around JoAnn.

Mom got up and walked over to the coffee table in the living room. I ignored her and pranced around the counter.

"So you really want me to bite'cha?" I teased with a small self-conscious giggle. My damn stomach growled for attention.

"Bring it on be-otch." Resi tilted her head with a cocky smile, causing Jeni and JoAnn to gasp.

"What if I kill you?" I asked, watching her pulse pump in her throat.

"Just drink your coffee and then bite my fucking neck."

"I'm here for ya baby," Zaire said, as her eyes jumped from me to Resi.

My mother's voice floated into the dining room. "Yeah, a coffin. Do you have one with a camouflage pattern?"

Everyone's head jerked in the direction of the living room.

"No, I can't wait for a special order," Mom snapped. "I need one by sun up. Do you deliver?"

Resi sprinted into the living room and yanked the phone out of my mother's hand. Her brows fought each other for the center of her forehead. "Sorry… um… my grandmother has Alzheimer's and she hasn't been taking her meds."

Mom slapped her on the back of the head. "A fongoul! I have more brain cells than all of you put together! I don't want her ass going up in flames before she bites me!"

Resi glared at her. "Christ, can't you be a bit sympathetic? I'm sooo sorry if she got your ass out of bed in the middle of the night for nothing." She dramatically clicked the disconnect button on the phone and turned to my mother. "What the hell were you thinking? You can't just window-shop for a coffin! And she doesn't need one anyway. The sun won't kill her."

Mom hit the inside of her elbow with the side of her other hand and flipped her granddaughter the bird, then ambled over to the table and sat back down. "Bite the bitch, Susan. Let's see if it works."

"She is not biting anyone!" Jeni started hyperventilating.

"I don't want to bite her," I lied, drool dripping down my chin.

"That's it. I'm getting my Bible and the cross over my bed," JoAnn said. "You even get close to her neck and I'll put a tattoo on your forehead. I mean it, Susan! I watched that Dracula movie! I know what works." She frowned at Zaire.

I whipped my head in her direction and hissed. My fangs slipped from my gums. JoAnn cringed.

"A cross?" Zaire giggled. "Go get it. I want to see you try that." She laughed out loud. "You're really outta the loop, Aunt JoAnn."

So much for the idea of sending them to Wal-Mart for crosses. I mentally crossed them and the coffin off my to-do list.

"Okay, Mother! Just suck those teeth right back in your mouth and let's pump the brakes a minute, people. She is not going off willy-nilly, turning out more dead women with fangs!" Jeni put both hands on her well-supplied hips, her gray eyes shooting daggers at me. "You don't even know what the hell you're doing!"

I gulped, my fangs retracted, and I wanted to run and hide somewhere, but I couldn't take my eyes off Resi's throat.

"Oh shut up, Jennifer," my mother ordered. "I want to be young again! Bite her, Susan. Let's see if it works. I'm old as dirt, and if this vampire thing can make you look like that, I want a piece of it." Mom studied me with excited anticipation. Her sable eyes flashed mischievously. Spandex covered her scrawny body. Slate gray hair tucked under a black headband running across her wrinkled forehead stuck out in every direction.

Shit! The louder they get, the faster their heart's beat, and the more I want…

"Nanna, sweetie," Jeni pointed at the laptop on the table, her other hand rising and falling over her generous chest with each rapid breath she took. "Let's do a little research on the Internet and educate ourselves with something other than dime store literature before she does something really stupid."

"Give it up Jeni. I want to die tonight," Resi said.

With a matter of fact nod and a wave, my mother dislodged herself from the picnic table. Her feet, clad in tennis shoes, slid across the wood floor to the end of the table. She stood with her hands on her bony hips, directly under a deer head mounted on the wall. The tongue lolling from its mouth really added a bit of comedy to the moment.

"Let's get this show on the road," my mother said.

My stomach convulsed. My head pounded. I want blood, anyone's blood. I'm gonna kill one of them and I can't stop myself.

"Hold it, damn it!" Gold highlights that etched Jeni's severe red bob whipped her cheeks as she jerked her head around to face me. "You don't even know if this is possible!"

"It's possible," Zaire said.

"It sure is," Resi agreed as she stepped a little closer to me.

How do you know? How do you know it's possible? All I know is I'm gonna bite one of you any minute! "Where's the red trash bag?" I asked, my eyes frantically searching the room.

"You don't need it," Zaire answered.

"Everyone back it up and hit rewind. What if she kills one of you?" Jeni asked, then tried another angle. "And even if she can do this, there's a lot to consider here. Mom doesn't even look the same. How do we explain all the new residents to the neighbors?" Jeni's thin lips formed a tight line disappearing between her nose and chin.

I started taking shallow breaths, my eyes jutting from one neck to the other. I'm dying here! Somebody shut her up before I latch on to the closest warm body.

My mother took up the slack. "Screw the neighbors. Most of them are a damn hemorrhoid on the inside of my ass anyway! I've been sitting around waiting for death for the last ten years, hell twenty, and just like President Bush, I am The Decider." My mother stared challengingly at Jeni.

I swear I could feel my own heart hammering in my chest. I thought vampires didn't have a heartbeat.

"Blood! Blood! Blood! It's sickening!" JoAnn blurted. "And…and… she can't just gorge herself sucking on all of you. What if it kills her for Chr… heaven's sake?"

Resi's laughter came out in high-pitched little jerks. "She's already dead, and I don't believe I've read anywhere, in any of my books, that you can kill a vampire with blood."

I'm dead. I'm dead and my body is screaming for their blood.

Resi slapped the counter and I jumped. Letting out a sarcastic sigh, she waved her arms at me. "She's immortal. That means forever. We'll all be dead and dust before we know it, and she'll look just like that…" Her hand pumped up and down the length of my body. "…for eternity…" She paused for effect, looking at each of the other women. "…and THAT is something we all have to think about."

An eternity? Without them? I can't watch them die, then mentally chided, who the shit am I kidding? I'm standing here salivating.

"Ah, vanity," Jeni said sarcastically. "So that's what this is really all about. Let's all just ignore the fact that she's already killed the family pet for a firm body."

I wonder if cursing God for his humorous answer to my prayers would be appropriate at the moment.

"And what if she kills one of you?" JoAnn whimpered, holding her ears.

"There is that," Jeni said with a nasty smile.

"She can do it," Zaire gave me an encouraging smile.

My head started to spin. My stomach clenched with pain. My ears echoed with every heartbeat I heard.

"How the hell do you know that?" Jeni asked.

"I say we take a vote," Mom announced, raising her hand. "All in favor."

"A vote? A vote? Jesus H Christ," JoAnn shrieked hysterically. "This is crazy. I am not going to live with a bunch of blood sucking zombies!"

"Okay, enough with all the bullshit," Resi said. "I'm ready to die. So either drink the damn coffee or put it down and suck some blood. From right here." Resi pointed to her neck, shoving it in front of my face.

My breath caught in my throat.

JoAnn ran to the book basket on the floor by the couch, shuffled through them and pulled out Every Which Way But Dead. "Here, at least read this and see how to do it right."

Zaire laughed. "Good choice, Aunt JoAnn, I'm sure it's in there somewhere. Why don't you start reading and let us know when you find it."

Resi grinned at her and then turned to me. "All you have to do is suck a little of my blood and then let me drink some of yours."

"Done deal," Zaire added.

"Start sucking, Mom," Resi said.

I looked into my daughter's eyes. I could feel the air in the room fill everyone's lungs and stay there as my fangs popped out of my gums.

My mind screamed for me to walk away, but my mouth filled with saliva. My eyes slid to Resi's throat. I heard her blood flowing through her veins in short quick thumps. My stomach sounded like an angry tiger. If I don't turn away now it's going to be too late.

The smell of excitement mixed with fear wafted toward my nostrils. Just suck a little blood and give a little back. That's what Resi said, right?

I drew closer. My heart started pounding and I was scared shitless. I pulled her neck to my mouth and dug in.

Jeni screamed.

"Holy shit," Zaire yelled, locking eyes with mine as she jumped over the top of the table. She slid to a halt, standing directly in front of me. I began to draw on my younger daughter's throat. "Easy Mom, not too much," she said, sounding like one druggie instructing another. I shuddered and took another swallow.

"Oh, God, I can't watch!" JoAnn made a hurp-hurp sound.

"Stop her, Zaire," Jeni cried, hugging JoAnn.

"She's doing just fine," Zaire said. I heard her heartbeat kick up about ten notches.

How much? How much do I have to take?

"Just till you hear my heart slow, Mom," Resi said in a soft whisper, like she was reading my mind, her eyes flashing to Zaire as she spoke drowsily, "ssss gon-nna beee finnn, baby."

"Get the hell out of my way!" My mother pushed Zaire aside. "How do you feel Resi? Is there a lot of pain?"

A voice in my head screamed with every beat of Resi's heart; Don't kill her. Don't kill her. Don't kill her.

My idiot sister made it hard for me to concentrate. "I'm gonna be…oh God…oh God…" JoAnn, her hand over her mouth, gagged her way around the kitchen counter. I heard her retching into the sink.

"Don't kill her, Susan. Take it slow. I'm sure you'll get the hang of it." My mother leaned over our faces with an eager grin, her instructions hanging in my gut like a midnight snack of nachos.

Jeni stood frozen in horror as I listened to my sister puking.

I shut my eyes in an attempt to shut out my mother's anxious face as she leaned in asking questions. "What does it taste like? It doesn't make you want to gag does it?"

Her heartbeat is slowing down. Damn it, waaake up!

"I think she's getting drunk on the stuff." Mom breathed right in my face. "Look at her. Someone better stop her. Christ, I'm glad she's practicing on her first."

My nostrils flared. Mom's breath smelled like a dirty cat box. Can't one of you grab her for Christ sake! I can't concentrate! I was frantic. I couldn't seem to stop.

The garbage disposal came to life behind me, jarring me back to reality. I popped my eyes open to see Zaire's concerned face, my fangs still implanted in Resi's neck.

"That's enough, Mom," Zaire cautioned.

"I'll say. Jesus, she's sucking her like my old Hoover." My mother tried to pull me away. I swung at her, slapping her in the face.

I could kill my daughter right now, just as easy as swatting a mosquito.

"MOTHER! STOP THIS IMMEDIATLY!" Jeni's strong voice resonated through the turmoil in my mind.

I jerked away from Resi's throat and fell back against the counter. Resi slid to the floor with a moan. I ran a hand across my lips and watched her body go limp. I could hear my sister panting in the kitchen.

"Okay, okay, okay. I think maybe everyone better stand back," my mother said. She back-pedaled, shaking her head, hand over her mouth, eyes locked on Resi.

Jeni put her arms around Nanna. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

My mind franticly searched for answers. Did her heart stop while I was drinking? Is she still breathing? Oh God!

"Oh, fucking shit, goddamn it. She's killed her own daughter." JoAnn was back on the bus of obscenities as she ran around the counter, and stumbled to a stop in front of Resi. "I knew this would happen! I just knew it! Somebody do something! NOW!"

"Does she have a pulse? Oh God, is my sister dead?" Jeni whimpered.

Zaire placed her fingers on my daughter's throat and the world stood still.

5

Paul arrived at the park just before sunrise. He slid his Corvette into a vacant lot on the opposite side of the street, got out and headed for the restroom.

Spotting a place to shift, Paul ducked behind a cluster of trees on the side of the building and removed his clothes. Almost immediately his body began the transformation. He jerked and writhed under a soft rain in the pre-dawn humidity.

Face, hands, and feet disappeared - paws and muzzle taking their place as he moaned and groaned with the change. In a matter of minutes he was no longer a tall, well-muscled man with crystal blue eyes and long black hair.

He stood on four paws, lifted his hind leg and a small yellow stream fell to the ground at the base of one of the trees. He kicked up grass with his hind legs and leapt toward the restroom, head bobbing, nostrils flaring.

Inside the door he stopped, shaking himself free of the tiny droplets covering his jet-black fur. Alert blue eyes darted about the area. Lowering his head, sniffing, he licked a few drops of blood on the tiled floor and whimpered.

Padding through the restroom, his long tongue lolled out the side of his mouth as he carefully hugged the wall, avoiding the blood spatter on the floor. He came to a stop and his eyes darted around the wheelchair stall in the back of the bathroom, a low growl vibrating in his chest.

Lowering his front quarter, he leaned behind the toilet, sniffing the floor. He snorted, his forepaw pecking at something behind the lavatory.

Paul whined, pushing his muzzle in the small space behind the porcelain, nosing a woman's handbag on the floor. Gently he wrapped his teeth around the handle, picking it up. He backed out, setting it down outside the stall.

He padded back to the other side of the toilet, sniffing and rubbing his snout on a trail of blood on the wall. Growling deep in his throat, he turned, snorted, and nosed the changing table. He snorted again, trotted out of the stall, his snout in the air, sniffing, head turned slightly. Shaking from muzzle to tail, he leaned down, secured the handbag in his mouth, and quickly pranced through the restroom and out into the night air.

A tractor-trailer pulled into the center of the parking lot, its diesel engine hissing as the driver hit the brakes. A hefty human, enough to feed a whole pack of wolves, jumped from the cab. The mortal started toward the restroom, her form clearly visible as she walked through a haze of light rain and stepped under a light pole near the door of the bathroom.

The wolf licked his snout, sitting on his haunches in a cluster of trees nearby. The purse and his clothes sat on the ground beside him. He watched in silence, ears pinned back, hair bristled on the back of his neck.

The meaty woman ran from the restroom seconds later, a cell phone against her ear. "That's what I said. Blood. And it's everywhere. Someone definitely died in there."

Paul ran his tongue across his maw, growling deep in his throat.

The woman turned in his direction, cell phone still hanging from her ear, and sprinted toward the cab of her eighteen-wheeler. "Look officer, I got a run to make and I'm already off schedule. I'm not sticking around. I can give you my cell number if you have any questions and meet up with you later, but I'd send an officer out here pretty damn quick before some mother and her kid show up and all hell breaks loose." She reached her truck, yanked open the door, and pulled herself into the cab. The engine roared to life, chugging slowly out of the parking lot.

The wolf circled the building, sniffed the air and headed for the lake. He stopped abruptly and latched onto a piece of clothing tangled in a gnarly bush. He hooded his eyes, pulled vigorously, hindquarters up, back paws digging in the grass for traction. He yanked the fabric free, dropped it by his front paws and nudged it with his muzzle. Picking it up, he sprinted off, depositing it under the trees with the rest of his things.

Nose to the ground, the scent led him to a retention wall by the foot of the lake. He ran his snout up and down the cement, snorting and sniffing as he padded back and forth.

He stopped, his tail wagging, as he licked a long tongue over a few drops of blood on the edge of the structure in front of him. A low growl emanated from his throat, eyes scanning the water in front of him.

He turned and pranced back across the wet grass, pausing a few times to sniff the air as he headed into the trees.

A few minutes later, fully dressed in a tight pair of jeans and a baggy T-shirt with a BassPro logo on the front, Paul stepped out of his hiding place. With the purse and shirt in his hands, he sprinted toward the Corvette, pulling his cell phone from his jeans, and hit speed dial. A voice answered almost immediately.

"You better have something for me, Wolf," Dorius growled.

"We've got a problem."

Sitting in his car on a dark street across town, Dorius glared at his cell phone. "What kind of problem?"

"A human died in that restroom, not an immortal. And Christopher's scent stands out. He was definitely there, also one other immortal. A trail of the dead human's blood led to the lake. I'm betting the body's in the water."

"So, we definitely have immortal activity besides Christopher?" Dorius held the cell phone to his ear, his hand pulling his long black hair off his rugged face. His jaw was tight and he audibly ground his teeth.

"Yes, and I found identification and clothing, same scent as the human blood. Angelina Westwood is the mortal's name."

"Angelina Westwood? So, you have a driver's license, but no body?" His hands went to his forehead, a bit of hope in his voice, as he listened.

"I'm sure there will be a body as soon as the police get here. A trucker just called the station."

"Is there any sign of Christopher?" He let out a long sigh, finally accepting the inevitable.

"No, and the trail will be gone if it keeps raining, but I'm on it."

"Let the police find the body, but hang around. I want to be sure it's Angelina."

"Do you know this woman?"

"Yes. That's all you need to know right now. Tonight you can do a grid search. Hopefully you'll get a scent leading us to Christopher." Dorius leaned back and his eyes closed.

"I think following Christopher's trail is crucial. You sure you want me to wait until tonight?"

"Yes. Call me later when you see the body."

Dorius laid the silent phone on the dashboard of his Mercedes as a growl of rage spewed from his mouth.

* * *

"I'm glad she practiced on her first," Mom said, standing over Resi's prone body.

I pulled my hands away from my mouth, held my breath and whispered, "Why isn't she waking up? It's been twenty minutes. Are you sure she's alive?"

"Give her a good slap," Mom suggested, "That might wake her up."

"She has a heartbeat. Chill," Zaire said with a big grin. "She'll wake on her own, Nan.

"Thank God, Susan," JoAnn said. "Because I was about ready to shove this cross up your-"

"Oh, let's all thank God, why don't we," Jeni hissed. "It seems so appropriate."

Resi's eyes popped open, her nostrils flared and she immediately started bitching. "Oh God, I hurt all over. I feel like shit. Your frigging heartbeats are giving me a migraine. Christ, can't you all tune it down a bit? I'm sooo damn thirsty."

"Well Mother, it seems you've successfully changed Resi into a monstrosity just like you," Jeni spat at me sarcastically. "And she's thirsty, poor thing. Shame we've run out of pets."

"Hey, I didn't ask for this! She did!" I'll just totally ignore the fact that I wanted the blood as much as she wanted to give it.

Jeni's brows clashed. "And your parental approach to that request was to slap her on the proverbial train headed straight for hell."

Resi hissed, "Jennifer, just shut the hell up. I'm in pain here!"

"And I'm doing my damnedest to lengthen your little inconvenience with idle chit-chat," Jeni spat.

Zaire looked up at me. "Time to bite something and bring it over here. She needs your blood first."

"Yeah, move your ass, Susan," Mom said. "I wanna see what happens next."

"Can we talk about this first?" JoAnn asked.

Resi dropped a nice set of fangs and growled, "Bite your damn arm, Mom!" I was a bit put out that her fangs popped out so soon.

Zaire grinned at Resi. "I just love this family."

I took in a deep breath, bit my wrist, licked my lips, and placed my arm in front of Resi's mouth. She latched on like she was made for vampirism.

"Go get a couple of bags of blood out of the refrigerator," Zaire said, grinning at Jeni and JoAnn. "She'll need more blood than Mom's unless you two are ready?"

Jeni and JoAnn turned on their heels, heading for the refrigerator.

Mom didn't. "Why don't we save the blood bags and let her suck on me when she's finished with her mother?"

"Sure!" Jeni yelled over her shoulder. "Why the heck not? I mean, the more the merrier. I'm hitting the Internet to find out what kills you bitches, because if one of you brings those fangs anywhere near me, I won't hesitate to put you out of your misery."

I felt Resi grin against my wrist as she slowly drank.

"Let's give this a few days before we turn anyone else," I said sheepishly.

"That's the first smart thing you've said all night." JoAnn walked in from the kitchen.

"This is so wrong," Jeni remarked, as she rounded the counter with three bags of blood in her hands. "You're relying on cheap fiction novels for what comes next and now there are two of you."

"How do you feel?" Mom grunted in a bent over position, hobbling toward Resi.

Resi raised an eyebrow, shook her head from side to side with a 'so-so' expression on her face, and kept sucking.

"I think that's enough," Zaire said. "You're a new vamp, Mom, and I don't-"

Resi growled, grabbed my arm with two hands and sucked like mad.

"Ow, ow, and ow! Shit, that hurts! Someone get her the hell off my wrist!" I shouted, one foot on Resi's chest, pushing, my hand yanking a fist full of hair that was growing and changing color rapidly.

Jeni smiled. "Maybe if we all stand back, they'll kill each other."

"Suck her dry, Resi!" JoAnn shouted. "Then we can bury her by Tootles."

"Hey, lookey there, her hair is changing color and it's growing faster than my Chia Pet," Mom commented.

Jeni passed a bag of blood to Zaire. "And it's red; your favorite color."

Resi spit out my wrist, her fangs retracted and she pulled her hair in front of her face. "What the hell! Get me the scissors. I'm cutting it off tonight and I'm hitting Wal-Mart later when-"

"You better buy a case of that Clairol shit." Zaire rolled her eyes. "'Cuz you know it's just gonna grow back." She slapped a bag of blood to Resi's fangs and Resi's eyes hooded as she sucked on it.

I plopped down on the bench of the picnic table and watched Resi drink, her skin tightening, her chest and waist shrinking, her hair turning a lovely chestnut brown.

Jeni powered up the computer that sat on the picnic table.

"Are - you - in - pain?" Mom enunciated each word, one eyebrow at half-mast, her spandex hanging haphazardly around her small frame.

Resi growled.

"If that blood doesn't taste good, I have some that's aged to perfection," my mother offered.

Resi yanked her fangs out of the drained bag and blew her hair out of her face. "I friggin' hate red hair!"

Jeni, dressed out in a nasty grin, casually said, "But you're as full as a tick."

Resi pulled at her hair. "Damn it all to hell!"

Zaire slapped another bag of blood on her mouth. "Be quiet and suck it up. You look great and I can't wait to see the rest of you."

Resi made a half-smile around the bag.

"I'd be more worried about where I have to suck blood from later today, instead of what my hair looks like," Jeni told her. "There are only a few bags left. Maybe you and Mom can reduce the rat population around the shed."

Resi sucked down the blood in seconds flat, yanked her face away, and immediately spat, "Oh, give it up Jeni. Just because you don't give a shit what you look like, doesn't mean we can't."

"I care what I look like, Resi. I'm just not willing to kill a beloved pet to have less cellulite." Jeni smiled at her.

Resi curled her lips back.

"I'd kill the damn dog twice to get a body like that," Mom said.

God bless us, we sure have the vanity thing down pat.

"I can't believe you said that," JoAnn whimpered.

"You should have done me first, anyway," Mom said, ignoring her. "I could die tomorrow, you know. I haven't felt good in a long time. I'm dizzy all the time and I hear voices singing in my head. I get palpitations too." She clutched her chest for dramatic affect.

Jeni hammered the computer keys.

"Nanna, you wanted me to be the Guinea Pig, remember? And you're as healthy as a horse. Don't worry, if you look like you're going to kick the bucket, I'll run right over and bite the shit out of you."

Zaire grinned at Resi. "I'm thinkin' a little wet sex in the shower. Some of that warming oil, maybe the little toy we just got. You up to it?"

Resi laughed. "You just want to see me naked."

"Damn right!" Zaire snickered.

Oh God, now that's a little too much information. "No biting, Resi."

"Can't promise that, but I won't turn her tonight."

Zaire fanned out her hands. "I'm not getting any younger, baby."

"A couple of days won't kill ya." Resi gave Zaire a peck on the cheek. "We can wait, Hon."

"And God knows, none of you are cursed with self-indulgence," Jeni said, tapping the keys with determination.

"Are you hungry Susan?" Mom smacked the inside of her arm like a druggie trying to find a vein, pumping her hand into a fist. She held her arm near my face. I could smell the blood pumping slowly through her withered veins. I pushed it away, frowning at her.

"I think I'm going to make a trip to Saint Charles Church for crosses and holy water," Jeni said.

JoAnn stared at the crucifix in her hands. "You are not getting mine."

"I say we starve them. Maybe then one of the little shits will take me up on my offer." Mom craned her neck in my direction, stretching the usually saggy skin into a taut position. "Susan, you-vant… to-suck… my-blood."

JoAnn stumbled between us like a goalie in front of a soccer net and slapped the cross on my forehead, screaming like a banshee. “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus…"

Jeni abruptly stopped typing and started laughing.

"Don't kill her. I ain't made yet!" Mom yelled.

I slapped JoAnn away and listened for the sizzle. Hearing only laughter, I ran to a small mirror by the couch, shoving my face at it. In the reflection my forehead wasn't tattooed with a cross.

Jeni huffed and clicked a few more keys on the computer.

"Well shit," JoAnn said, strutting over to Jeni. She placed the cross on the table.

I ignored them both, turning to Resi. "Get your shower because you and I should make a food run before the sun comes up. There's plenty of deer out there."

"I told you, the sun won't hurt you," Zaire said, giving Resi a slap on her firm new ass.

"Why don't we toss one of you outside in the morning to make sure," Jeni suggested. "I vote for Mommy Dearest."

"She won't fry, Jeni," Resi stated, as if she were an authority on immortal do's and don'ts. Hell, they'd both been right so far.

"They just need to be careful how long they stay out during the day. And, of course, they’ll need more blood," Zaire educated us.

JoAnn and Jeni exchanged a look of trepidation.

I'm still not going out in the sun anytime soon. "Zaire, can you grab a few more blood bags at work later?" I tried to move the subject to a more palatable one.

"It'll be a bit tricky, but I'm the one that empties the operating room bins." Zaire yanked Resi toward the downstairs bedrooms. "Let's go sweetie, I need a shower." She wiggled her eyebrows at her.

JoAnn huffed. "I think you should leave the poor deer alone and, like Jeni suggested, reduce the rat population. I can live with that."

"I'm not sucking a rodent, Aunt JoAnn. Just keep being a bitch, because your neck is still available. And I'd really enjoy watching you rid the world of rats," Resi yelled over her shoulder as she and Zaire headed for the shower.

6

We'd just finished taking the tent down after saying a few tense words over Tootles' grave, with JoAnn weeping the whole time. I felt just awful. My fangs kept dropping.

We sat around the picnic table, half-finished cups of coffee scattered in front of us. I looked down at my cup. It wasn't doing anything for me. I mean, it didn't make me sick or anything. I just didn't enjoy it. I pushed it away.

It would be light in a couple of hours and I was thinking about sun proofing my bedroom windows before getting some sleep. Funny thing, I wasn't the least bit tired. But I was thirsty again and concerned about what we were going to do when the bags of blood ran out. Zaire couldn't keep ripping off the hospital. Sooner or later, she was going to get caught.

"I was thinking, we should consider humans as well as animals," I offered, my eyes on JoAnn's throat. "We could find wanted criminals in our area."

"Oh, no you're not! I am not living with a bunch of cannibals," JoAnn snapped, her infernal eyebrows fighting for the center of her forehead.

"JoAnn, you idiot, I'm not talking about roasting humans on a spit in the front yard." I was thinking more along the lines of sucking the life right out of her.

"Mommy Dearest, we have a judicial system," Jeni warned. "They pay educated men and women to sentence criminals, and police officers to apprehend them. Everyone has the right to a trial. You can't go out willy-nilly on a killing spree."

"Oh, screw that!" Zaire yelled. "I'm up for barbeque. Bring out the spit, dig the pit and bite me, baby. " Zaire smiled at Resi, definitely on the death and destruction bandwagon.

"I'll grab the honey mustard sauce," Resi chimed in, her eyes fighting mine for a good place on Zaire's neck.

"This is not funny!" JoAnn whined.

"JoAnn, you're a blood bubble on the inside of my ass," Mom snapped.

"We could be like that guy Dexter we watch on Sunday nights - find pedophiles and bad guys." I worked at getting back on point, and tried real hard not to leap at Zaire before Resi did. "Hell, the newspaper prints pictures and last known addresses and it's delivered to our front door every morning."

"Only second offenders, or worse," Resi sang, adding a bit of assistance. Her hair, fluffed and dried, hung about her face in soft wavy tendrils. She battled it out of her eyes with an exaggerated wave of her hand, tossing her long tresses in Zaire's face.

Zaire loudly spit out a mouthful.

I glared at both of them while Resi made air kisses at Zaire, eyes twinkling.

"You can just suck some of their blood, right? From everything I've read on the Internet, humans don't turn if you just suck a little," Jeni said with a newly educated mind. "I would think all you need is some self-control. Of course, that's a bit of a stretch for you two."

"Bite me, Jennifer." Resi's fangs poked out of her lined and glossed lips.

"I think not. You're tainted."

"I'd bite her if I thought she'd bite me back," Mom added.

I turned a 'not now' look in Mom's direction, her neck the only one I was not interested in at the moment.

Jeni frowned at us, her shoulders square, her jaw set. "If you're going to do this, I can't stop you. Anyone who messes with kids is fair game as far as I'm concerned. I'll search the Net to make sure you don't pick a junior high kid who got a blowjob from his girlfriend."

"Well, if I were a vampire," JoAnn said, "I wouldn't kill anyone, nor would I drink blood."

Once again, my pain in the ass sister just didn't have a clue.

"JoAnn, go get Accidental Vampire and read it again, for Christ sake." Resi pointed in the appropriate direction as she sniffed at Zaire's neck. "It's in that basket over there." Zaire pushed her throat closer to Resi's lips, wiggling an eyebrow.

I growled, Resi moved her salivating mouth away.

JoAnn glared at the book in question. "Oh, for the love of God, this is all so crazy. You're talking about killing people, for heaven's sake. Can't you find a way to do this like human beings?"

Bats in the belfry.

Mom waved her remarks away with an age-spotted hand.

"We can all be vampires by next weekend." I licked my lips, my eyes now glued to JoAnn's neck.

"I'll hit the emergency room up for more blood tonight. Then, it's my turn," Zaire shot Resi a big smile. Resi looked up at her, a small string of drool running down her chin.

"I guess I'll read all those books," JoAnn said with a sigh. "There must be a way to do this without all the blood stuff."

JoAnn clearly did not see the whole picture.

"Two down and four to go," Resi said, her nose back in Zaire's neck.

"Have you lost your math skills along with your mortal blood?" Jeni asked. "I am not dying any time soon."

Resi whipped her eyes in Jeni's direction, fangs retracting. "So how'd the Internet research go? You figure out a way to stop us?"

"Don't test me Resi," Jeni spat. "I know the blowtorch is in the garage."

JoAnn's face jerked in the direction of the garage.

Christ, I forgot about that. I made a mental note to move it to the shed. "That's enough. I think we all agree, no one is getting turned that doesn't want to be. She's just yanking your chain, Jeni."

Mom was bent over the basket of fantasy books. "I've already read most of these. The ones filled with sex are the best." Mom grinned wickedly. "And if I can do all the stuff in these books, it's bye-bye dentures, so long Depends. I'm a dead-woman-fornicating."

I grimaced, thinking of my mother's legs wrapped around anyone.

"You'll all be blood suckers soon enough. Remember, patience is a virtue." Jeni frowned at her grandmother.

"I'm not interested in being virtuous," Mom said stubbornly.

I left them arguing and headed up to my bedroom, strung some old blankets over anything that would let light into the room, and dragged my huge dresser in front of my locked bedroom door. I really didn't think JoAnn or Jeni would try to kill me, but I wasn't taking any chances. I crawled under the covers and quickly fell into the deep slumber of the undead.

Twelve hours later, the sun sinking behind the horizon on the other side of the lake, I headed back down to find out what everyone had been up to all day.

Jeni shut the computer as I walked into the kitchen. "Well, we searched the internet for pedophile candidates. So far we have two possible prospects."

"Yeah, and we're in the process of tracking them down," JoAnn added.

I froze. "So you guys are onboard with all of this?" Way too easy. Something's up. My eyes darted around the room looking for the blowtorch.

"Do we have a choice?" Jeni asked, and when I didn't answer she added, "I didn't think so."

JoAnn smiled. "But at least we can control who you-"

"In the meantime," Jeni interrupted, holding up computer print-outs, "I think, but I'm not sure, because this is all supposed to be fantasy, you may be able to drink without killing someone. I suggest you practice with the animals on the property first."

"Yeah, you may not like killing," JoAnn piped up. "I mean, you should at least try not to, anyway."

"Okay, so where's Resi? Did you tell her all this?" I was a bit concerned she hadn't protected herself from them.

"Zaire ripped off another trash bag full of half-used blood," Jeni said. "She put it in the refrigerator and then ran downstairs to wake Resi right after she informed us she'd quit her job."

* * *

An hour later we were sitting around the living room, waiting for the girls to come up, perusing a few of the fantasy books.

"When I die, I'm going to get laid," Mom said. "Yep, I'm gonna par-ty til' I walk like a bow-legged cowgirl on hot pavement. Where's that yoga video? I need to work on getting my ankles behind my ears." Mom pulled her spandex out of her ass and looked at my sister with an audacious grin.

"You sound like a truck-stop floozy." JoAnn kicked her Nike clad feet up on the coffee table and crossed them. Her crew socks were scrunched down around each ankle with a matching fold on top that wasn't a smidgen off. "You know, now-a-days there's a lot of sexually transmitted diseases out there. You could get crotch rot."

I stared at the pressed creases of her tan shorts - her crisp green t-shirt, sleeves creased with an edge sharp enough to slice through meat - tucked neatly into her shorts. I wanted to ruffle her perfectly coifed hair.

JoAnn highlighted a line in Dead Witch Walking, and placed it on the couch next to Jeni, picking up another book.

"Are you actually reading those books or are you just making colorful little marks on the pages?" Mom tossed Vampire Interrupted on the coffee table by JoAnn's feet and headed for the kitchen. "Vampires don't get sick, you bischero! You definitely take after your father's side of the family."

"Where does it say that?" JoAnn shuffled through the pages of Renfield, Slave of Dracula.

We heard the clink of glasses, the glug, glug, glug of something liquid pouring and then a grating scrape of glass against wood. Mom strolled back into the living room with four fingers of brown liquid in an old grape jelly jar. She took a sip, smacked her lips and let out a soft sigh.

"What are you drinking, Nan?" Jeni lifted her head from Dead Until Dark. She turned a small triangle of page over and closed the book, laying her colored markers on the table beside her chair.

"Some of the stuff Susan made for me. It tastes like Kahlua, and it makes me relax." Mom took another lip-smacking sip.

"Umm, good for you." Jeni picked up Every Which Way but Dead.

"That's because it's made with 100% grain alcohol, Mom," I said. "Go easy on that stuff or you'll fall down the stairs on your way to bed tonight." I studied JoAnn's throat as she leafed through her novel.

"I only have one, maybe two-a-day, tops. It helps me sleep, Susan."

A loud crash came from the girl's room downstairs and we all jumped to attention, books scattering on the floor.

"All of you stay right here until I see what's going on." Did they listen? Hell no. They huddled at the top of the stairs.

At the bedroom door, I was greeted by the tinkle of breaking glass. "Zaire, you ok? Resi, what the hell are you doing?"

"I could use a little help in here, Mom!" Resi screeched from inside.

I turned to the stairs when JoAnn moaned. Jeni put her arm around her, trying to comfort her, while Mom - on the opposite end of the emotional spectrum - looked way too excited.

"Shit!" I grabbed the doorknob and slowly opened the door.

Resi was lying across Zaire, her lips dripping blood. Zaire, her mouth as bloody as Resi's, was fighting her tooth and nail to get away.

"What the hell did you do?" I jumped for the bed.

"We wanted to share this moment alone. Bad idea?" Resi gritted her teeth.

She had handcuffs wrapped around a large cherry wood column in the center of the headboard, one cuff attached to Zaire's wrist. She was trying frantically to capture Zaire's free arm for the other side of the cuff.

I pulled at Zaire's hand, which held a fist full of Resi's hair in an immortal grip.

Zaire hissed and yanked hard. Resi turned and glared at me. With a rumble in her chest, Zaire dug her fingers in deeper, lifted Resi's head, and spit at her.

Resi cocked one eyebrow and threw her a look that I wanted to turn away from.

"What the hell were you thinking?" I jerked Zaire's hand out of Resi's tangled hair, only to have her grab mine. I let out a screech as she yanked me around in front of her face.

"Just hold her for Christ sake. We can argue later, damn it!" Resi spat.

7

I puffed a stray hair out of my eyes and checked the handcuffs. They were secure. "Watch her, I'm going to go get blood and tell the others Zaire's a vampire."

I opened the bedroom door and looked right into my mother's anxious face.

"Did you just say Zaire's undead?" she asked, leaning around me.

I grabbed her arm and pulled her little butt right back up the stairs, shoving her at Jeni. "Resi did Zaire and she's a bit wild. But we have her attached to the bed with some handcuffs. Now I need blood. Can one of you get me a few bags?"

JoAnn did an about face and headed for the refrigerator.

Zaire's obscenities hit the hall like a tidal wave. "Bitch, get these mother-fuckin' cuffs off me or I'll kill you a second time! I want some goddamn blood. Now!"

"Be right there, Zaire!" my mother hollered, yanking her arm free from Jeni’s grasp and hobbling toward the stairs. I grabbed the back of her spandex as she sped by. I didn't expect her to rubber-band her way back to me. We both rolled down the stairs, hitting the bottom with a thump.

Jeni stared down at us with an amused look.

JoAnn rounded the corner with two bags of blood and I pulled them out of her hand. "Keep her out here," I ordered as I stepped over my mother.

"Damn it, I'm willing and able!" Mom grabbed my leg and I bounced down the stairs. "You don't need the blood-bags, I tell ya!"

I gave her a set of nasty eyebrows, picked up the bags of blood and pushed myself off the wall.

The minute I entered the bedroom, Zaire's head jerked toward the bags in my hands. She let out a blood-curdling war-whoop and yanked hard on the cuffs, putting her feet and chest into it. Resi slid off her and onto the floor beside the bed.

Zaire growled and immediately yanked at the cuffs again. I heard a splintering crunch as she tore the post from the bed, followed by shattered glass as it flew through the window on the other side of the room.

Running footsteps pounded down the stairs.

"Don't any of you come in here!" I dropped the bags of blood, slammed the door shut, locked it, then leapt at the bed.

Unfortunately, Resi was flying in the same direction. Our heads banged together in a loud pop that had me seeing stars.

Zaire grabbed my shirt with both hands and tossed me like rag doll. I flew across the room, slammed into the closet with a loud bang, taking the metal doors with me.

"Open the goddamn door, Susan," the eighty-two-year-old-pain-in-my-ass yelled as she hammered the door, my head pounding with each bang.

Zaire reacted to my mother's voice with a violent shriek, her head jerking toward the door.

"Mom and I can handle this!" Resi screamed, trying to get control of Zaire.

Zaire tossed Resi into the wall by the bed. Broken plaster sent intricate tributaries all the way to the ceiling as she slid to the floor. Resi’s fangs slipped from her gums and she hissed. With lightning speed, she flew toward the bed.

The best catfight I'd ever seen ensued: hair pulling, nails scraping, hands slapping, teeth biting. It went on for several minutes before I scrambled out of the closet and jumped on the bed.

"We need to get blood into her before she kills someone that isn't already dead." I looked at the two bags on the floor as I struggled to get on top of Zaire.

"Well you should have thought about that when you were down there sitting right in front of them, for Christ sake!" Resi snapped at me from behind her hair. I glared back, pulling Zaire's teeth from my cheek.

Banging fists jolted the bedroom door.

"Nanna, back away from the door!" Jeni yelled.

The banging stopped.

Resi curled her lips at me, inhaling through her teeth. "She can't kill us Mom! Pick up the goddamned blood!"

The very angry, very new immortal, began bucking her up, down, and sideways. Resi hung on to Zaire's tank top, riding her like a bronco, one arm grabbing for air, knees clamped at Zaire's hips.

"Shit." I looked at my younger daughter with rage. "We need help!"

Zaire bit my shoulder and I heard my clavicle crunch. My fangs slid from my gums and I sank them into her arm, shaking it like a dog with a play toy. She jerked her arm free, my teeth zinging from the assault.

I reached for one of the bags with my foot and managed to pull it a bit closer, but it was slick and my toes couldn't get a grip.

"I can't reach the blood, damn it," I grunted.

Zaire tossed me sideways as she tried to get out from under both of us. Resi was still covering her hips.

"JoAnn, I need your help in here!" I yelled at the closed door.

"Oh, that's a good choice," Resi said sarcastically.

I heard the scraping of metal, saw the knob turning and the door opened. Jeni had the key, tossing it in the air and catching it in her hand. JoAnn was the furthest from the door. Mom wiggled her fingers at me from behind Jeni.

Zaire bucked and growled. Resi and I were splayed across her body, blood seeping on the white sheets from all of us.

"I can't reach the bag of blood!" I glared at all three of them. They looked like the rest of the insensible furniture in the room.

Jeni finally stepped forward and picked up a bag of blood. She tossed it toward me with a scowl. It hit Zaire in the head, sending her into another fit of rage. Resi went flying five feet in the air, landing against the dresser in a back-crunching slam. The mirror broke, sending glass shards over all of us.

Jeni and JoAnn screeched. I slid to the floor.

My mother let out a war-whooping scream, headed for the bed in a hobbled run and jumped over me onto Zaire's face. Zaire yanked at my mother's hair with a fierce roar. Mom's saggy arms fought Zaire like a little hellion. I got up and threw myself across Zaire's stomach.

"Nanna! Get off of her!" Jeni grabbed my mother's foot, trying to pull her from the pile of writhing bodies. "Are you nuts? She'll kill you!"

"Jennifer, you are not helping!" Mom kicked at Jeni's hand with her free foot. "Let me go, damn it! I know what I'm doing!"

"Resi, get your undead ass over here and help Nanna," Jeni screamed, my mother now fighting both Jeni and Zaire for all she was worth.

I looked at my sister plastered against the wall on the opposite side of the bedroom door. "You could help, JoAnn!" I hissed. She pushed back against the wall, shaking her head in a stupor.

"Nanna, let go!" Jeni tugged on one of my mother's feet, the other pumping as if she were riding a bike.

I grunted and scooted down Zaire's body, trying to keep her legs and stomach still while my mother struggled with her upper half. Resi jumped in a flying leap toward the pile of flailing limbs and landed on top of me, pushing the air out of my lungs.

"Goddamn you, Resi," I grunted, sucking in some air as I wiggled out from under her, up Zaire's body and toward my mother. I was just about to help Jeni when Zaire stopped struggling.

I let out a long breath of relief, thinking she'd finally passed out.

Zaire made a muffled growl under my mother.

"Ouch! Ooh, she bit me!" my mother said in an excited voice.

Zaire sucked noisily.

Jeni stood stock still, hands on hips, lips in a tight line between her nose and chin.

"Oh, no! She's making Mom a Vampire! I can't watch this!" JoAnn slid down the wall and buried her face in her knees.

Resi and I froze, glaring at each other, both looking like Buffy on a bad hair day.

"What a cluster-flock," Jeni said, surveying the damage.

"Sooomme-wheeere oo-ver the raaain-bow..." Nanna crooned, sounding like an old tired woman for the last time.

"Okay, so I suppose Nanna has to drink from Zaire?" Jeni asked, her hands on her hips. "That should be interesting."

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Zaire spat. "She friggin bit me! One of you get her goddamned fangs out of my arm!"

"Or not," Jeni said.

"She has fangs already?" I pouted.

8

Dorius lounged in the Micro Motel on Highway 441 in Leesburg. It was Sunday evening and the day was just about to wink out behind the parking lot. His eyes danced around the asphyxiating room, stopping on the woman sleeping at his side.

He'd spent most of the day waiting for an update from Paul, dozing on and off until the maid showed up and he decided to amend her title to room service. He always mixed feeding with sex and she delivered a luscious Latin apéritif. Her craving for sexual pleasure was almost as tantalizing as her blood.

Dorius' chemistry didn't allow him to drink the processed blood that his company, BAMVC, sent out daily. He and the nine other Seraphs were allowed to hunt, but according to the almighty rules, not allowed to kill their mortal victims. Unfortunately, when a Seraph feeds, the blood lust is almost overpowering, making it hard not to kill the donor. Learning control took a lot of concentration. Having sex with the donor helped.

It would be much easier if he could sip blood from a wineglass like his brother Marcus, basking in pretense. After fifteen hundred years of immortality, hunting Rogues and having to drink from humans, Dorius found it hard to pretend.

He reached over and patted the ass of the naked maid. She yawned, stretched her long slender body and rolled over, smiling up at him. Her fingers trailed the fine line of black hair from his chest to the thick nest of curls cradling his manhood. She grinned at him, licking her pale lips.

"You wouldn't want to play with that, sugar. It turns into a big, ugly monster at night."

"Mmmm…yes…I see." The woman's mouth joined her hand, and she began to pleasure him again.

Dorius laid back and closed his eyes. His fangs slid from his gums as his hand played over the softness of her hair. He pushed his thoughts into her mind, It's time for you to leave now, love. Be a good girl and get dressed.

The woman pulled her mouth from his swollen shaft, her tongue teasing as she stared up at Dorius' unmoving lips. She shook her head, got up with jerky movements, dressed and walked away from the bed like a marionette. She wouldn't remember him the minute the door closed behind her.

His cell phone vibrated on the dresser as the door shut.

Dorius jumped up, taking long strides toward the phone. The mirror over the dresser caught his naked frame. He stopped to admire himself as he flipped open the phone, hit the speaker button and grinned at his reflection. Long fangs glistened in the lamplight as he tossed his hair over his shoulder for a better view of his chest.

His eyes jerked to the phone when he heard the collected voice of his older brother, Marcus. "Dorius, have you cleared up the rogue issue? I assume they are all in custody and you will be bringing them in for judgment when you return?"

"No, we have… a situation here. Not one I can't handle. Don't worry, I don't intend on missing Antoinette's wedding." Dorius rubbed his chest as he watched the muscles expand over his rib cage.

"Good. Because you're the best man, remember?"

"How could I forget?" Dorius smiled into the mirror. "Antoinette wanted me to do the honors instead of you, didn't she? And we both know why, don't we?"

"Don't forget Christopher is ring bearer." Marcus said, ignoring his brother's remark. "Make sure you have a talk with him. We don't want his bad attitude ruining our sister's day."

Dorius took in a deep breath. The mental picture of him dressed in his new black leather tux as he waltzed Antoinette down the aisle fell in a swirl down the gutter in his mind. "Christopher's… missing."

"Damn it, the boy's your responsibility. You didn't let him join in the hunt did you?"

Dorius' chest rumbled. "No, I left him with a friend… who's now dead. Christopher was gone when I got back but the wolf is on it and we'll find him tonight."

"Dorius, you have a habit of forgetting obligations in favor of your self-centered agendas. I expected you to keep your eyes on him, not one of your little tarts. Find him and bring him back in one piece. Do you understand me?"

"Yesss and I would suggest you remember who you're talking to. I handle this side of the business at BAMVC. You handle yours. Do you understand me?" Dorius ground his teeth and broke the connection, glaring at the cell phone.

Who let the dogs out.. Who.. Who…

Dorius hit the answer button. "What's the status, wolf?"

"I just watched the cops pull the body from the lake," Paul said. "It's the same woman as the picture on the driver's license. They should be clearing out soon. There's still a faint scent of Christopher here. I'll phase and find him."

"Exxxxcellent…"

* * *

Monday morning, all six of us were sitting at the picnic table in the dining room.

Jeni had her hand wrapped firmly around a machete.

JoAnn held a Bic lighter in one hand, thumb positioned and ready, my blowtorch in the other. Four tent stakes sat on the table in front of her.

We sat across from them; four brand new immortals with no more bags of blood.

"Ok, so let's not panic," I said, while mentally chastising myself for not hiding the blowtorch. "We do have a hundred acres with plenty of wildlife, and there are still a few glasses of blood left in a pitcher in the fridge from the deer I bled last night."

"Then why do you all keep drooling over our necks?" JoAnn spat, holding up the purple lighter, her fingers shaking on the trigger of the blowtorch.

"None of you will be sucking on either of us." Jeni fingered the machete.

Zaire growled.

Resi let out a nervous giggle.

Totally unaware of the fight brewing, Mom sat with her bare feet tucked up under her, wearing one of Resi's short skirts. A hot pink tube top hugged her perky new chest. She played with her new blonde curls, gazing at herself in the magnifying mirror in front of her. "Your father was never good in bed, ya know? It was always wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am, and then I had to douche."

I ignored her, focusing on Zaire. She looked about ready to pounce.

"I'm so ready to get me some nookie." Mom just wouldn't shut up.

Zaire licked her lips.

"Nanna, sweetie, will you get your face out of the mirror and listen to me?" Jeni's eyes flashed to Mom before jerking back to Zaire.

Zaire's chest rumbled.

"Resi, I think you should get Zaire a glass of blood," I suggested.

"I don't want any more friggin' deer blood." Zaire's fangs dropped. "JoAnn, you ready?"

"You come near me and I'll use this!" JoAnn had a death-grip on the blowtorch. She flicked the Bic and a long, blue blaze shot six inches into the air, igniting her bangs.

Resi reached over the table and snatched the blowtorch. JoAnn started screeching, dropped the lighter, wobbled around and then began to slap her forehead.

"Ummm, smell that flame-broiled-flesh? It's bitchen," Zaire hissed.

Jeni grabbed a lap blanket off the recliner and threw it over JoAnn's head, tossing quick glances at Zaire. "I won't go down without a fight." She swung the machete in a daring arc, the point coming dangerously close to Resi's throat.

JoAnn slid the blanket down off her face. The stench of sizzling hair, smashed against a pink forehead, permeated the air.

I started laughing.

"We need to set some new ground rules." Jeni was still holding the machete in front of her in an 'en-guard' position.

"Now I have to cut my bangs," JoAnn whined.

"No. You don't," Zaire informed her.

"I like the way my eyes sparkle," Mom said.

"Nanna, sweetie, did you not see your daughter's hair flaming?" Jeni asked.

"She's an idiot." Mom leaned into the mirror and ran a finger over her new fangs. "Let me bite you Jo. Then your hair will grow back."

JoAnn backed slowly over to the couch.

Nonchalantly, I walked to the refrigerator and pulled out the jug of blood. "Have we figured out if we can go out in the sun?" I asked, hoping to end the stand-off. I poured four glasses and passed them around, starting with Zaire. "I mean, none of us have gone out during the day yet. I know you think we can, Zaire, but I'm not convinced."

"I'm damn sick-and-tired of goin' over this. I say we toss your ass out there and chalk that one off our list." Zaire grabbed the glass and scowled at me before she chugged it.

Jeni tapped the machete against her hand, eyeing Zaire. "I say we toss your ass out there, Zaire."

Zaire pounded the empty glass on the table and locked eyes with Jeni.

Mom broke their concentration. "Damn, I like the way my tits reach out for a hand." She adjusted her tube-top over her breasts and pushed her glass of blood toward Zaire.

Zaire growled.

"Oh for Christ's sake. Do I have to do everything?" Resi set her drained glass on the table and headed toward the front door.

"Oh, this is gonna be good!" Mom jumped up. "Do we have any aloe?"

"I do." JoAnn headed for the downstairs bathroom. "And I can use it on my forehead too."

"JoAnn, if she goes up in flames, I don't think a tube of aloe is going to fix it." I ran for the front window, blood dribbling from my glass onto my hand.

The others followed.

Resi was turning circles in the front yard, face lifted to the sun as she sang, "Nibbling on sponge cake, watching the sun bake, all of those mortals laden with blood. Strummin' my new fangs... in some big deer's vein... wishin' for humans and searchin' my so-o-oul. Wastin' away again in Vascular-venison-ville…"

By the end of Resi's little performance, it was clear the sun wouldn't fry us.

Resi came back in with a bad case of the giggles, drank the rest of the blood in the pitcher, after which she promptly headed for her bedroom, Zaire right behind her, grabbing for Resi's ass.

"Well, it's nice somebody's getting some," Mom grunted and picked up a book off the coffee table, then settled down on the couch flipping the pages.

"Mother, do you have to be so vulgar?" JoAnn's eyebrows slammed together on her pink forehead as the girls bedroom door slammed, accompanied by a burst of laughter.

"So we can cross the sun thing off our list," Mom said. "Anybody got any holy water?"

"No, and Zaire said that won't work either." JoAnn pouted.

I grimaced at the empty glass in my hand. "I think if you'd just find us a couple of pedophiles it would take our attention off your damn necks. Zaire's right. This crap is good in a pinch, but… Have you narrowed down any possible human donors?"

"Yes," Jeni said, tucking the machete into her belt.

JoAnn looked up at Jeni from her side of the couch, a book propped in her lap. "Tell them who they are, Jen." She scooted further away from Mom.

"They're owners of an Orlando daycare center, Handle With Care. A husband and wife, both charged for suspicious activity with minors, but they got off due to a screw-up on the part of a young officer that gathered evidence without a warrant. But they're guilty, all right. They closed the day care in Orlando a year ago, opened a new one in Leesburg three months ago."

I rubbed my hands together. "So we can draw straws to see who-"

"JoAnn, are you going to do this, or not?" Mom blurted, her fingers wrapped around a copy of Hotter Than Hell. She studied JoAnn's neck with a wee bit too much enthusiasm.

"I don't know. I can't make up my mind. I've been praying about it all day."

Jeni rolled her eyes. "JoAnn, honey, I think-"

I burst out laughing. "JoAnn - you - you-" I couldn't stop laughing.

Mom asked, "Does God have black sideburns and wear white spandex jumpsuits with sequins on them while he croons, 'Love Me Tender' in your ear?"

I laughed harder.

Jeni hooded her eyes. "There's nothing funny about any of this, Mother."

"Susan, you're going straight to hell and I will not be joining you," JoAnn spat.

My laughter caught in my throat. Get out of my face, JoAnn, before I bite you. Go do the dishes or something. And while you're at it, whistle 'Jesus Loves Me', cuz, he sure as hell doesn't love me. You go too, Jeni. The floor needs sweepin' and you could sing along.

JoAnn shook her head, got up, blinked rapidly, and said, "I think I'll get the dishes done."

Jeni got up and headed for the broom closet. "I'll sweep the kitchen floor."

I about shit my pants when JoAnn started whistling and Jeni started singing along."

Mom locked eyes with me. "Looks like my pretty little hands won't have to wash another dish for the rest of my immortal life. I heard your thoughts, Susan."

9

After leaving the park Saturday night, Christopher walked to the nearest convenience store and hid behind the dumpster on the side of the building. A middle-aged woman in a battered, baby blue Ford Falcon pulled up, her car clanking and sputtering as she shut it down. She jumped out, grabbed a grease-spotted handbag off the seat and staggered toward the store. Christopher scurried across the lot, hopped in the passenger seat and waited.

The woman walked out of the store, opened her newly purchased cigarettes, lit one, opened the door of her car and stuffed herself into the driver's seat.

"Wha-? Hey, where'd you come from kid? Where's your mother?" She placed her soiled cloth purse between her and the driver's door, staring at him through a smoky haze.

"I'm lost. Can you help me, Ma'am?" Christopher fingered his dirty coveralls.

She laid the newly opened pack of Virginia Slims on the dashboard and sucked on the cigarette hanging between her lips. "Get out of the car, kid." She let out a long stream of smoke with a whooshing noise.

Christopher looked into her eyes and mentally pushed, I need your help, bitch. You're going to make a couple of phone calls for me. Then you're gonna feed me. Got it?

The woman shook her greasy hair, blinked her tired gray eyes and adjusted her baggy, flowered housedress. She shuffled her dirty feet, clad in worn flip-flops, and pushed the key in the ignition. "Sure kid, but I can't take you home. Charlie won't like that." She took another drag off her cigarette, her eyes focused on Christopher.

His smile didn't move. You're not going home. We're going to make those calls from the phone booth over there. Then we're gettin' right back in the car and you're gonna take me somewhere after I get up close and personal with your neck. Do I make myself clear? Christopher pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket.

The woman turned the key in the ignition, put the car in gear, backed out of the parking space and drove up to the phone booth. Her cigarette dangled from her lips as she said, "Sure kid, no problem. Who do I call first?" The woman eyed the piece of paper Christopher handed her.

"The police."

* * *

"What do you mean you lost the scent?" Dorius yelled into the cell phone. "If you'd stop howling at the moon, maybe you'd find time to do your friggin' job, mutt."

"Cut the shit, Dorius," Paul's tired voice floated into the car from the other side of the speaker.

"Look, I leave for Italy tonight in…oh…" Dorius looked at the Rolex on his silk clad arm. "…four hours…and Christopher's going to be with me, damn it. Sniff again. And this time find him!"

Dorius pushed a button on the side of his seat, giving his long legs more room. He was parked on a side street in Leesburg, watching his team load five immortal rogues into a black Suburban, Christopher's absence painfully clear. He'd hoped they were the ones responsible for his abduction and the death of Angelina. They were not.

"The last place I smelled him was near a Shop-N-Go and then the scent just disappears. You're sure the rogues don't know what happened to him?"

"They haven't seen him. There's no recollection of Christopher in any of their minds," Dorius growled as he watched the last body tossed in the back of the Suburban. He fiddled with his leather bolo, fingering the large turquoise stone hanging from it.

"Did you…"

BEEP…

"Hold on Paul, I have another call coming in." Dorius hit a button on the cell phone and growled, "Talk to me."

"Daddy, can I come home now?" Christopher's sarcastic voice filled the car.

"You little shit! How did my mate die? And this better be good."

"Fuck you, Dorius. I did all I could. Check out the evening news?"

* * *

The evening news blared in the background as we all settled in front of the television while keeping weary eyes on each other.

"I started a list of ground rules," Jeni announced, her little black book in her lap. "And the first thing on the list is-"

"Don't worry Jennifer, you're off limits. You've made your choice clear." Mom looked at JoAnn and licked her lips.

"Don't even think about it." JoAnn hugged the armrest on her side of the couch. "Why don't you go suck on something outside?"

"The first thing on the list is no biting without consent. Do I make myself clear?" Jeni said.

"Aw, come on. Give me an F'n break, man," Zaire snapped. "Make up your mind, JoAnn." She sat in the recliner by Mom's side of the couch, her long legs stretched in front of my mother's path to my sister.

"All of you get away from me or I'll grab that blowtorch." JoAnn pointed at the picnic table.

"Sweetie, you have fetus bangs already. You sure you want to play with fire again?" I sidled slowly around the coffee table, heading for her side of the couch.

"So, what's with the cut on your wrist, Aunt JoAnn?" Resi sucked in her lower lip, sounding like Hannibal Lecter. She slowly sidled up near me.

I whipped my eyes in the direction of JoAnn's wrist. How the hell did I miss that?

"All right you coffin hugging bimbos, back off!" Jeni warned, getting up from the fireplace hearth.

JoAnn pushed the wrist in question under her butt. "I just wanted to see if I could…well… I licked it and it wasn't that bad, actually, but-"

I took another step closer. Resi eased up behind me. Mom's fangs puffed out her upper lip. Zaire leaned forward in her chair.

Chief Inspector Simms of the Tavares police department has disclosed they are now looking for two elderly women in the brutal slaying of a young woman pulled from Tavares lake Sunday afternoon. The woman was murdered in what can only be called the most gruesome crime scene in the history of Tavares. The police received an anonymous tip that two elderly women, believed to be in their late fifties, one blonde, one a redhead, both around five feet tall, left the scene shortly after sunset Saturday in a black Jeep Wrangler. If anyone has any information on the identity of these women, they are encouraged to call the Tavares Police Department. The number-

Everyone's eyes in the room were riveted on the television as they flashed a telephone number across the bottom of the screen.

Jeni broke the silence. "Well, isn't this is just dandy?"

"That little shit!" I spat.

"Susan, I am not going to jail for you!" JoAnn yelled. "I'm claustrophobic."

"I didn't touch the damn woman!" I noticed my mother edge closer to JoAnn.

"Yes you did!"

"I did not. The kid killed her. I can prove it! Where the hell is my cell phone?" I put another foot forward. Resi took up the slack. My mother's eyes bounced in our direction and she slid her feet in front of Zaire's.

"I don't believe you! And… and, I don't know where the phone is, darn it."

"JoAnn, I won't go to jail, you will." I said. "Do I look fifty? No, I didn't think so. So you better find that phone or there is another solution." I edged a little closer, my fangs did the little dropsy thing, then quickly retracted.

Zaire blatantly shoved her legs in front of my mother’s.

"I am not making a hasty decision because you lost your temper, darn it!" JoAnn's brows slammed together and her eyes jutted from one side of the couch to the other.

"You don't want to go to jail, do you?" Resi sidled closer. "Who will put flowers on Tootles grave?"

"All right, everyone freeze!" Jeni yelled.

A loud rumble emanated from my mother's chest and before we could stop her, she jumped over Zaire's legs, pounced on JoAnn and sank her incisors into her throat.

JoAnn let out a yelp.

Jeni gasped.

Zaire growled.

Resi moaned, fangs hanging from her mouth, saliva dripping down her chin.

"Goddamn it, Mom!" I scurried closer.

JoAnn's arms pumped like a windmill. "One of you get this bitches', goddamned, mother-fucking fangs out of my neck!"

"Dang, she sounds like a ho during a turf war!" I laughed.

"Jesus, can't any of you be trusted?" Jeni shouted. "Nanna! Get your fangs out of JoAnn's throat! Now!"

Mom sucked fast - emitting big, gulping wet sounds - then jerked her fangs out of JoAnn's throat, looking sated. She bit her wrist and shoved it in JoAnn's face.

JoAnn vomited all over the glass coffee table and the stuffed gator mounted underneath.

Jeni ran into the kitchen, came back with a dishcloth, and tossed it at JoAnn.

Resi waited for her to dab her mouth, then grabbed Mom's wrist and pushed it to JoAnn's lips. "Aunt JoAnn, you have to drink from Nanna."

JoAnn clutched her stomach, turned her head and retched little runners of bile into the dishcloth. Panting like a dog, she said, "I can't… I can't suck on my own mothers arm!"

"How long before it's too late, Resi?" Jeni asked with a concerned look.

Zaire grabbed Mom's wrist. "Bite it again, Nanna."

"Ahh, fannullone, you're a pain in the hemorrhoid on the right side of my ass," Mom spat. "I am not going to bite my arm all night. This is it. Last chance. If you don't take it this time, I'll pay for your funeral myself." Mom gnawed on her wrist until it was dripping again.

"Can you at least put it in a glass and get me a bendy straw?" JoAnn groaned.

Zaire put my mother's wrist over JoAnn's face. Three big drops fell on her tightened lips. Frantically wiping her mouth, JoAnn gagged.

"This is just so vile. Do any of you see how vile this is? At least get her a cup, Mother!" Jeni backed away, plopping onto the fireplace hearth with an irritated sigh.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" I yelled, heading for the kitchen. I yanked a glass from the cupboard and brought it to Resi.

"I'm not drinking it without a straw," JoAnn whined, looking up at me with big eyes.

I watched Zaire milk some blood from my mother's arm, while Resi held the glass. "You don't need a frigging straw. Just drink the damn blood!"

"Shut up, Mother," Jeni cried. "You're making it worse. If she doesn't want to drink it, leave her alone!"

"Aaaand, she can be Nanna's bee-och, " Resi snorted.

"What are you talking about, Resi?" Jeni wore a horrified look.

Resi smiled, holding the glass out to JoAnn. "She won't die if she doesn't drink this, but she's been marked by Nanna, and-"

"What she means is, she would be at my mercy for blood," Mom snickered. "It's in all the books, Jeni. Catch up."

"Oh. My. God! You mean, she wouldn't die or be like you guys?" Jeni moaned, her eyes the size of cup saucers.

JoAnn shuddered violently.

"The books even say she'd WANT to do what I say," Mom informed her. "Like that bug-eating guy in the mental hospital from the Count Dracula book; Renwhah. You'd be my slave, JoAnn."

"I believe its Renfield, Nanna," Resi said with a grin, shaking the glass at JoAnn.

JoAnn's eyes wandered to a picture of her beloved pet. She started whimpering, reached up, grabbed her nose and pinched it closed.

Zaire took hold of her hair and chin, pulling her mouth open.

Resi tilted the glass over her face. A long trickle of blood went into JoAnn's mouth. Her whole body shook with the assault. Zaire snapped her mouth shut and I started rubbing her throat.

JoAnn swallowed, eyes shut, her brows hammered together.

Jeni backed up toward the kitchen, holding her neck and shaking her head. "Oh God - I don't want to be a vampire!"

"Christ, you sound like a broken record," Mom said.

10

JoAnn's hair was long and light brown with soft sandy highlights. Her eyes changed; now they were deep brown with a silver ring around the iris. She had perky, itty-bitty nipple nubs for breasts, with a small waist and nice curvy hips. However, her sexy new body did nothing for her fifty-six year old mentality. She just loved speaking to us without moving her mouth. And no one likes to have someone in their head all the time.

I am not sucking on an animal! JoAnn mentally pushed. It just reminds me of poor Tootles! Someone has to get me blood and they have to do it right now! JoAnn stood by the foyer, pointing at the front door with a frozen piece of raw meat wrapped in a napkin.

"JoAnn, it's survival of the fittest, you fannullone," Mom announced, plopping herself down on the couch in front of the television. "So get your scrawny butt out there and find your own deer like the rest of us. I'm tired of bleeding animals for you."

I have principals, you know. I will not go out in the dark chasing poor innocent animals. I want to drink from a glass like real people! JoAnn popped the meat in her mouth, sucking on it like a Popsicle.

"We got you blood last night and told you it was the last time," I reminded her.

Jeni rounded the corner, having just finished cleaning the bathrooms after a little prompting on my part. "Nanna, get up off your undead ass and go get her blood. You made her what she is today."

Mom raised a brow at Jeni and stared her down. Jeni shook her head with a blank stare, tied an apron around her waist and headed to the kitchen to check the roast she had in the oven.

"You do know they're pushing thoughts into your head to make you do their chores, don't you?" JoAnn took a bite of the raw meat, rolling it around her mouth like an ice cube.

"Excuse me?" Jeni pulled her apron off, threw it on the counter and stomped back into the room.

"They did it to me, too. That's why you sang 'Jesus Loves Me' while I did the dishes."

Mom started giggling.

"This is not funny!" Jeni yelled. "I will not be manipulated by a bunch of blood-sucking children of the night, damn it! We sure as hell are going to add that to our list." She strutted over to the table by the couch and scribbled in her little black book, throwing nasty brows at all of us.

"Aw, come on Jeni, its funny. Admit it," Mom giggled.

It is not funny. And I'm hungry!

I turned on JoAnn. "Get out of my frigging head!"

"Not so funny now, is it?" Jeni smirked. "Rule number two. No playing puppeteers!"

"Are any of you going to get me some deer blood?" JoAnn asked, looking at the lump of gnawed flesh in her hand.

"Oh, this is priceless," Jeni smiled.

"No, we are not. You need to grovel like the rest of us," I said.

Great, if I get eaten by a bear out there, I'm blaming all of you. JoAnn headed for the door.

"It might be a good idea if you leave the meat here and wash your hands. A bear can be attracted to the smell of raw meat." I shot her a wicked grin.

She stomped to the trash can, tossed the meat in and wiped her hands on Jeni's discarded apron, then went out the front door in a huff.

* * *

JoAnn started around a bush, slowly sneaking toward a doe in the field in front of her, but a low-lying branch snagged her shoelace. She slowly pulled her foot back, but the branch wouldn't let go. She leaned down, her hand searching, her eyes on the doe as she muttered, "Why do I have to do this? I wasn't made to hunt. I'm a lady, damn it."

The doe looked up.

"Oh darn, don't you go running away just when I have my nerve up," JoAnn whispered. She tugged at the branch.

"grrrrr… fhithtt…fhithtt…grrrrrrr…." the bush spat.

JoAnn jumped three feet off the ground with a tree-limb attached to her shoelace. The doe sprinted, its tail dancing in the air as it bounced off across the field.

"Damn it!"

"Grrrrr, fhitthttt…"

JoAnn let out a little yelp, her eyes trained on the noisy bush. The moonlight played off two silver orbs tucked in the bush, not six inches from her feet.

She froze.

The raccoon growled, leapt from the bush and turned circles, nipping at the air like it wasn't right in the head.

Backing up a few steps, dragging the tree branch with her, JoAnn made ready to run.

The raccoon hissed and jumped at her, its pointy teeth sinking into her bare calf. It shook it's head.

"Help! I'm being attacked by a rabid raccoon! Someone help me!" she screamed at the trees laden with rustling leaves in the night wind. JoAnn frantically shook her leg, sending drops of blood in the air around her. The raccoon held firm.

She flung her leg back and forth, jumping on one foot. "Get off me…ugh… you little monster!" Her white socks spotted with blood, she hopped in circles, grabbing at the raccoon as she hollered obscenities.

"Goddaaamnyoutohell, you little sonofabitch!"

Giving one hard thrust with her foot, the animal flew from her leg, bouncing against a tree. It licked its red muzzle, growling as it crawled in jerky steps toward her.

JoAnn turned to run, tripped, fell on her side, knocking a scream from her lips and it was on her again. It had a mouthful of shirt, bra, and her nipple tight in its jaws, shaking its head from side to side, her water-bra spraying both of them.

"Let my boob go! Oh, you so deserve to die! " She grabbed the raccoon by the throat with two hands and ripped it from her chest. Her fangs aimed for its neck, missed and tore a hole in the raccoon's ear before she finally found its neck.

The animal jerked in her hands, digging at her wrists as she began to suck, snorting at a large clump of fur tickling her nose.

With a shudder that made her whole body shake, she pulled the raccoon from her mouth and threw the limp animal twenty feet away into some palm fronds. The raccoon scurried away.

JoAnn looked at her wounded leg, wiping blood away from the cut as it healed in front of her eyes.

"God forgive me. I sucked on an animal and it wasn't very satisfying, either." She pulled at her ripped t-shirt, rubbing her bruised nipple. "And my new breast-enhancing water-bra is ruined!"

She got up, brushing dirt clumps off her shorts, and slowly walked toward the house.

* * *

"What the hell happened to you," Mom asked from the recliner, glaring at the disheveled mess standing in the foyer.

"I don't want to talk about it." JoAnn headed for the couch.

"Awww… you have a hole in your new Tommy shirt." I teased. "Have a fight with a tree?"

JoAnn pulled a twig from her dirty Nikes. "A raccoon bit my tit."

Resi started laughing hysterically.

"Where's Jeni?" JoAnn ignored her.

"Putting a load of laundry in the washer." I tried not to giggle.

"You better not be mind-pushing her, Susan!"

Zaire sauntered in from the kitchen. "A raccoon? No shit? Did you kill the bastard?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it, and stop laughing at me, Resi!" JoAnn sat down on the couch in a huff.

Fine with me, because I was thinking about the two-daycare owners. They made the news the day before yesterday with allegations of child abuse. The police were searching for them, but so far were unable to find them. We knew where they were. We'd been watching them.

"JoAnn, we're going out tomorrow to get the pedophiles." I tucked my red curls behind my ears. "So I hope you got some practice out there."

"I am not killing a human, no matter what they did."

"We drew straws. You're coming with me," I muttered.

* * *

"Did you tell the wolf about the two women in the restroom?" Christopher asked. He was sitting beside Dorius in a cushy seat aboard BAMVC's private jet, headed for Italy.

The interior of the jet was all business. Computers, printers, phones and surveillance equipment sat on desks on one side, their link to the corporate offices anywhere in the world. Couches and recliners upholstered in soft black leather sat on the other side with black ebony tables.

The carpet was thick and dark red, the walls black and gold. Beautiful sconces made of copper glowed on the walls every few feet.

"Tell me again - exactly what happened, Christopher." Dorius ordered. "The news reporter said they were old women. Vampires are not old."

"Yeah, it's bullshit! How come I don't look twenty-five like every other vampire I've ever met?"

"Don't try to change the subject. You know very well when a human is turned before they reach twenty they stay the same age. I asked you a question."

"Look, I told you what happened and it isn't going to change. The old hag gave the wrong description. The one that bit Angelina was young. I didn't see the other woman, but I heard her." He was animated in his navy linen suit, and his shiny black shoes bounced off the recliner as he talked.

A cigarette dangled from Christopher's lips, threatening to ignite his silk shirt as it bobbed with each word he uttered. "The bitches were there, I tell ya, and the one that attacked us was stronger than hell. She about made me piss my pants." His arms flew in all directions as he went on. "I tried to stop her and she threw me against the wall. I couldn't help Angelina, Dorius. I swear I tried. I know what she meant to you." He took a long drag and blew the smoke in the direction of the window beside him.

"You look ridiculous with that thing." Dorius fingered a large ring on his pinky. "Put it out before you set yourself on fire."

"Fuck you, Dorius." Christopher took a deliberate drag and exhaled small circles of smoke that drifted in front of him.

"Did you see them throw her in the lake?"

"No, I ran away."

"Paul followed your scent to the Shop-N-Go and it disappeared. Where the hell were you?" Dorius pushed at his hair as he talked, fanning it out around his leather clad shoulders. His black leather pants whispered softly every time he moved.

"I told you, I went to the store to find someone to make the calls. And before you fucking start yelling, think about my situation. I can't even reach a goddamn pay phone. This damn body is worthless." He took another drag and blew smoke in Dorius' face.

"You better be straight with me because I'm not getting Paul involved only to find out you're leading us on a wild goose chase." Dorius waved at the smoke and pulled his hair back, tying it in a black piece of leather. "I smell like a damn bar."

"Speaking of which." Christopher shook a glass, ice clinking as he motioned at the man walking toward them. "I'll have another, Dennis, and can you make it a double this time?"

"Oh, my… the bi-ig boy is going to tie one on, is he?" Dennis said with a frilly wave of his hand.

Dennis, an immortal, worked for Dorius at BAMVC doing errands, paperwork, and anything else Dorius asked him to do. He was tall, blond, and very femme fatal.

"Don't encourage him, Dennis. He shouldn't be drinking or smoking." Dorius shot Christopher a nasty look.

"God damn you, I am not your kid! I'm over a hundred years old - in case you forgot. I'll have another Dennis. Back off Dorius, it's been a long two days." Christopher shoved the glass at the manservant.

Dennis tossed his blond hair off his chiseled face, reaching for it. "Yes, Master Christopher. I live to serve your little immortal ass." Dennis left, batting his baby-blues at Dorius.

"Call the wolf. The women need to be found." Christopher stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray on his lap. "I have just as much a bone to pick with them as you do."

Dorius pulled the phone off the table in front of them. "Describe the one who killed Angelina, Christopher."

"She has red hair and green eyes. Her name is Susan and the other one's name is JoAnn."

11

JoAnn and Jeni stood in front of the kitchen window pass-through, stacking dishes into the dishwasher as I passed them in from the back porch. The rest of the girls, sitting in lounge chairs, watched two otters play with a fish on the dock. A gray egret, balanced on one leg at the end of the dock, also kept a wary eye on the otters.

Resi's amused voice whispered, "Oh, Mom, look… the egret is going for it."

I glanced at the dock. It was dusk, the show pleasantly backlit by a pink and orange sunset. The egret strutted toward the two otters, reed thin legs bending in half. Its neck waved as it approached, its head tilted, one eye focused on dinner.

"Move your head Susan, I can't see," urged JoAnn's irritating voice.

I snarled at her and shoved a platter of vegetables through the pass-through, spilling a few black olives in the sink.

"Mother, was that necessary?" Jeni's caustic question peaked my anger.

"Yesss. She's being a bitch because she has to go out pedophile hunting with me later." I strolled over to the screen, putting myself directly in front of JoAnn's view.

"I am not," JoAnn groaned.

The matriarch of the family found the need to add her two cents. "Will the two of you shut the hell up? You're gonna scare them away."

"Look, look, he's going for the fish!" Resi chuckled, moving closer to Zaire.

"Survival of the fittest," Zaire laughed, patting Resi's leg.

"If Susan would get her big head out of my way I might be able to see," JoAnn hissed, plucking olives out of the garbage disposal. I smiled, trying to make myself bigger.

A very loud growl came from the patio by the lake.

Flowers separated two layers of cement, and on the steps leading down to the lake, a pair of glowing red eyes floated in the dark shadows of the azalea bushes.

"Hit the light switch on the deck, JoAnn. Let's see what's out there," Zaire whispered, walking toward the door.

"Heck no! It's probably a gator," JoAnn warned. "Don't encourage it. Get away from the screen, both of you."

Loud hissing came from the patio at the sound of JoAnn's voice.

"Turn on the frigging light," Zaire whispered, peeking out the screen door as the sun winked out behind the far shoreline.

A flash of movement and nasty growling had the egret flapping his wings, and both otters slid over the edge of the dock.

A raccoon scrambled up the steps. It stood on hind legs, walking toward the porch, bright red eyes trained on the kitchen window.

"It's the raccoon that bit my tit! Get your gun, Susan," JoAnn screeched.

The raccoon spit, rubbed its mouth with clawed paws, and strutted up the steps like a human, its face turned in JoAnn's direction.

"How the hell do you know that?" I snickered, "It's probably just rabid, stupid."

"Jesus, JoAnn," Mom laughed. "I suppose God told you a damn raccoon has a death wish for you, right?"

I glared at my sister. "Turn the damn light on."

"Aunt JoAnn, did you bite the raccoon that bit you?" Resi asked, with a concerned look.

"I don't want to talk about it. Get your gun, Susan!"

The animal in question scurried up the porch steps, throwing itself at the screen door.

JoAnn screamed, "It's him, I tell you! Look at its ear! I did that!"

Zaire kicked the door, shouting, "I can take this little shit. Gimme the broom."

JoAnn came around the counter, tossed Zaire the broom, then scurried back into the safety of the kitchen.

Mom and Resi followed me through the sliding glass doors into the dining room. I pulled them shut behind us.

Jeni leered at me. "Go get some pepper spray, Mom."

JoAnn closed the kitchen window and hit the light switch, cloaking the room in darkness.

"Oh, that's smart. Now we can't see our noses in front of our faces, you idiot," Mom yelled.

"I thought it wouldn't be able to see us in the dark," JoAnn whimpered. "I don't want it to know I'm in here." She rubbed her right nipple.

"Aunt JoAnn, sweetie, raccoons are nocturnal." Jeni stood behind the counter and snuggled up to JoAnn.

The raccoon slammed itself against the screen, digging at the mesh covering the door. When it stuck its head through a long tear in the screen, Zaire gave the raccoon a good whack with the broom. The raccoon tumbled off the wooden deck and down onto the cement. It rolled about four feet into a hibiscus bush, hissing and spitting at us.

"Now that's scary as hell." Zaire speed-walked to the sliding glass doors as the animal scurried back up the wooden steps, through the hole, and then flung itself into the glass door as she slammed it shut.

The raccoon smashed its face against the glass, claws working, little rivulets of saliva dripping from its long fangs. It backed up, shook its head a few times and headed out the hole in the screen door, scampering away.

"Ummm, does it say anything about animal vampires in those books, Resi?" Zaire asked.

"Not in any I've ever read."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, I walked into the kitchen with the car keys in my hand. JoAnn was wiping down the kitchen counters. "Get your stuff together because you're coming with me, JoAnn."

"I'll go, but just don't count on me to play Walker, Texas Ranger." JoAnn walked by, headed to her bedroom.

I hit the stairs leading to the garage. "I'll be waiting in the Jeep."

* * *

It was almost eleven o'clock when we finally got to the warehouse where the man and woman were hiding. JoAnn followed me through a dark alley, away from the streetlights of downtown Leesburg, mumbling to herself. "I don't like this. It's dirty, there are things scurrying around, and it stinks like puke back here."

"JoAnn, if you don't be quiet the things scurrying away won't just be rats. You're like a freakin' alarm system."

"I'm petrified after the raccoon episode. What if it followed us?"

I turned angry eyes in her direction, thinking I just wanted to stuff something in her mouth.

"I'll wait in the car." She started to walk away.

"The hell you will," I hissed through clenched teeth, latching onto her arm. "I need you to cover me in case someone comes into the alley. Don't you move an inch," I warned, headed for the door at the end of the alley.

"I have to wait in the dark, alone?" JoAnn's eyes bugged out of her head.

"If I yell for help you better come running. Got it?"

JoAnn stared at her Nikes.

I glanced back as I opened the door to the warehouse, gave her one of my mother's Italian looks, sliced my throat with my right hand, and then pointed a finger at her. She waved me on so I stepped into the warehouse.

The room was about thirty feet deep and forty feet wide, with rows of crates and boxes lining the back wall. On the left wall, I spotted a door with light coming from under it.

I edged toward the door, every part of my body on full alert. I got to the corner of the room and stepped over feces on the floor—human feces. Their toilet, I deduced by the assorted wadded up pieces of paper.

The door flew open, casting a light in my direction. I froze, feeling like a frigging comedian, center stage.

"I gotta take a leak. You just hold that thought, nasty boy." The woman slammed the door shut and froze as we sized each other up.

She had on a soiled pair of khaki shorts and a bright purple T-shirt. Her hair was dark brown and hung in greasy curls on her shiny round face. She was a good two hundred pounds and wobbled as she stepped back, grabbing for the doorknob.

I flung my thoughts at her. Don't touch that doorknob!

The woman hesitated.

I looked dead straight into her shocked eyes and pushed, Move your butt out in that alley! I narrowed my eyes and pointed in the direction of the door.

The woman shook her head twice, blinked, and started to open her mouth, hand extended over the damn doorknob.

Something hissed in the far corner on the dark side of the room. My head jerked in the direction of the noise. I saw two beady red eyes peeking at me from behind a stack of boxes and immediately thought of the damn raccoon with fangs.

The woman's head slowly pivoted in the direction of the boxes, her hand reaching for the doorknob again.

Oh no you don't! Turn back around and walk toward that alley! I pushed, keeping an eye on the closed door with the light under it.

The blob of dirty flesh shook her head again, eyes blinking like mad, but this time she walked toward the door. I took her hand, wincing at the stench wafting off her smelly body.

A loud scraping sound accompanied by falling boxes had me jerking around, just in time to see a gator slowly moving in our direction. I yanked the woman out into the alley, wondering how the hell a gator got inside the building.

My idiot sister was nowhere in sight.

The gator picked up speed, closing the distance between us. I shoved the woman at it and headed for the car. Loud screams and crunching noises filled the air behind me.

I flung open the door of the Jeep and pulled JoAnn out. She had a backpack slung over her arm and wouldn't let go of it.

"What the heck happened?" JoAnn gasped, pointing down the alley. "Is that a gator? I'm not Crocodile Dundee, Susan!"

"We still have one more to get, and that's your job," I said, watching the gator pull the lower half of the woman down the alley and around the corner.

A large, shirtless man in faded jeans burst through the door of the warehouse. I dragged JoAnn toward him.

"What the heck do you think you're doing?" JoAnn fought like a tiger. Her red nails sliced my arms as I shoved her toward the man.

"My wife! Oh Nat. What the hell happened?" the man shouted, his eyes large and round with panic as he stared at what was left of his wife on the pavement in front of him.

JoAnn tried to tug her arm away. I dragged her right up the alley and deposited her by the man.

"It was a gator!" JoAnn yelled.

The man grabbed for JoAnn. She backed up, showing him both her palms. "I was in the car. I didn't do nothing!"

"Where's the goddamned gator? All I see is you two and… and…that!" The man pointed at his wife's upper body, shook from head to toe, and then reached for JoAnn again.

She jumped back and pointed a waggling finger at him. "I did not want to suck your blood, even though you are not a nice man and your wife wasn't nice either. The rest of the girls wanted to suck your blood and kill you because you hurt children, and…" JoAnn stammered.

My chin dropped. This was good material for a Twilight Zone episode.

"What the hell are you talking about, you crazy fuck?" he asked, glaring at my sister.

"That was a vile woman!" JoAnn pointed at the pile of chewed up flesh on the ground. "But you're lucky because I'm a good vampire." She raised her chin, making me want to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. "And if you'll just look into my eyes, I can make you forget all of this." She opened her eyes wide and her perfectly coiffed hair lifted softly away from her face with an unexpected breeze.

A nervous giggle burbled from my mouth.

"You fucking women are nuts… My wife… she's dead… Oh, God… my wife is… Where's the rest of her? Did you do this?" The man fell against the brick wall of the alley gripping his chest, shooting glances at the horrified face on the ground, a scream frozen on its face.

"No we didn't. The gator did. Aren't you listening? Like I said, you don't have to be dinner." JoAnn was really rocking now. "Because I believe in second chances, so just look into my eyes. Don't freak out if they start glowing, that's supposed to happen."

I burst out laughing.

The man suddenly growled deep in his throat and pushed off the wall. He grabbed JoAnn's arm. She yelped and my laugh cut to a squeal.

The man pulled my sister to his face. "You better start making sense, bitch!"

I made ready to pounce.

JoAnn waved a hand in front of her nose. "Your breath smells." She pinched her nose and looked into the man’s eyes.

I held my breath and watched.

Let go of me, I heard my sister push.

The man blinked rapidly, his body went slack and he dropped JoAnn's arm.

JoAnn let out a long breath. I listened to her mental words. Okay, I'm gonna implant a message - I suggest you listen to me or my sister will suck on your neck.

I raised an eyebrow and dropped my fangs just in case.

Little children are sweet and innocent, and never, never, never, will you ever, ever, ever, go anywhere near them again. Got it?

The man nodded his head up and down.

"Good! And you can never have any of your own children. Ever." And if you so much as think about a kid in a sexual way, you will throw up violently, until you die. Understand?

The man's head bounced.

I leaned against the wall, arms folded across my chest. My fangs retracted.

Now you're going to turn yourself in to the nearest police station as soon as possible, but not before you do something with the rest of your wife's body. Drag it to the lake behind Sadie's Clip and Dip on First Street and dump her in. You got all that?

The man's head bounced again. He blinked several times, looked down, and then obediently leaned toward his severed wife.

I watched in awe.

JoAnn pulled a half-full water bottle of blood from her backpack and stuck a bendy straw through the top. With a dismayed scowl, she began to drink, watching the man curiously as he walked down the alley in the direction of the dog grooming shop, dragging his wife by her hair.

We watched him throw the woman in the lake, then followed him to the police station doors.

"I'm impressed. But the purpose was to drink from him, JoAnn," I said as we headed back to the Jeep.

"No, that was your purpose. I just wanted to get him and his wife off the streets."

12

The church was old, musty, and cold. Dull stained-glass depictions of twelve saints, the blessed Virgin and Jesus hanging on a cross covered the dark windows on both sidewalls of the sanctuary. It was an amusing backdrop for the rows of immortals, all standing in pews watching Dorius walk the bride down the aisle. Organ music muted the whispers of their guests as they passed.

Who let the dogs out…who…who… Dorius' cell phone sang. He turned to Antoinette with a sheepish grin.

"Darling, are you going to shut that off or am I going to have to deck you before we get to the pulpit?" Antoinette whispered, intensifying her grip on a cluster of red roses.

With a fixed smile, she turned to her guests. A dark cream dress covered in red opaque hearts fell around her tall, thin frame. She had a long trail of tulle, satin, and lace following ten feet behind her down the aisle. A veil covered her face in shaded whispers of lace over rich black hair pulled up in a French twist, dotted with blood red pearls.

Christopher stood at the altar, a toothpick in his mouth, flipping the wedding ring in the air and catching it on a velvet red pillow in front of him.

Marcus peeked around the groom and shot him a frown.

Who let the dogs out…who…who…

Dorius reached into the inside pocket of his black leather tuxedo jacket, working the buttons on his cell phone.

"Can you at least get me to the groom before answering it, dear?"

"Sorry," Dorius growled softly, fiddling with the phone.

They reached the altar, the organ music stopped abruptly and the church suddenly became extremely quiet. Dorius handed his sister off to Camillio.

Christopher smiled at Dorius as he turned the ring around in his fingers. Antoinette reached over and plucked the toothpick from his mouth, tossing it on the floor.

Who let the dogs out…who…who…

Camillio smiled, his eyes on his fiancée as they turned to the man behind the pulpit. "Dorius, can you put the phone on vibrate?"

"I just did," Dorius hissed.

The minister looked from Camillio to Dorius, smiled meekly and began reading from his notes. "We are gathered here this evening to witness the joining of Camillio DeVieto and Antoinette-Marie Morizzio in…"

BZZZZZZZZZZZZ

"Son-of-a-bitch," Dorius hissed, tossing his cell at a tall blonde vampire in the first pew.

* * *

Two hours later, champagne glasses filled with crimson liquid clinked against silver knives as Dorius slipped out the balcony doors of the ballroom. He flipped open the cell, punching in Paul's phone number.

"Dorius, I've been trying to contact you. How's the wedding going?"

"You better have something, Wolf."

"Actually I do, and it's good news. I've found our ladies. There are five immortals and one mortal. They live on one-hundred acres bordering Lake Harris. I've sent the fairy, over to observe them. He'll be moved into the rocks behind the house by tomorrow. I also took the liberty of contacting Dennis. A welcome packet from BAMVC is on its way to them. I don't think these immortals are who you are looking for, though. They're all new—very new."

"I'll alert Marcus of this new clan. Since they're on a lake, get the troll over there. He can observe and relay information to one of my men. You keep contact with the fairy. Let me know if they make a move. I have to believe Christopher. These are the immortals that killed the woman."

* * *

"Who the hell is that banging on the front door?" Resi shouted over the television blaring in the living room as she stacked dishes in the dishwasher.

"Nanna'll get it," Zaire yelled back from the couch.

"Nanna and Jeni are not here. Go get the damn door!"

"Where the hell is your mother and Aunt JoAnn?" Zaire stomped to the front door and yanked it open.

"They're out sucking a deer! Go answer the goddamned door!" Resi yelled from the kitchen.

Three needy looking African Americans froze. 'Watchtower' pamphlets clutched in their hands, they smiled with hopeful anticipation at Zaire.

Two old men stood glistening in sweat, dressed in dark brown rumpled suits too big for their withered bodies. The woman in her Sunday best wore a gold lace jacket, glittering from her shoulders to her knees. A satin sheath-dress peeked out from under it on her small frame. An ash blonde wig adorned a face full of faded memories as the old woman held out a piece of literature, a humble smile on her face.

Zaire smiled back and shouted, "Resi! Get your dead-ass - shit! Just get over here!" The water turned off in the kitchen. The television muted and Resi sauntered down the hall to the front door.

"May we help you?" Resi dried her hands on a dishrag and glared at Zaire. She had on a tight bright green shirt, the words, 'The Gayer The Better', printed in large letters across her chest.

"We just wanted to pass on the word, young ladies." The woman handed Resi a pamphlet with a picture of a cemetery on a dark wet day. A red rose lay atop one of the tombstones. In big bold letters, 'AWAKE' was written across the top, and under it, 'Is There Life Beyond The Grave?'.

"Do you know Jehovah?" One of the old men stared at a hole in Resi's T-shirt.

* * *

As JoAnn and I walked out of the woods by the house, I noticed an old Ford Taurus with its windows rolled down. Beside the automobile, three squirrels and a raccoon stood on hind legs, sniffing the car.

"They're hissing! Look at their eyes. My God, they're all… vampires!" JoAnn whimpered.

The animals were forming a cute little conga line, circling the car, strutting like diminutive police officers working a crime scene. One of the squirrels eyed the house, its red eyes blaring, a tiny paw outstretched in front of him, pointing. The raccoon growled, then strutted in the direction of the front door.

"Susan…it's him… he's…"

"Don't panic! We have to get there before they do. Come on."

"I'm not fighting that raccoon again. I just replaced this water bra, darn it." JoAnn rubbed her chest.

"Yes… you are."

"Oh, nooo, I'm not."

I dragged her with me around the side of the house at a fast pace, making my way toward the front door.

* * *

Resi shoved the pamphlets at the man smiling at her, his hand still extended in greeting. "We're Catholic. We believe in… sorry."

"We just want you to read this publication. If you have questions, there's a phone number and website on the back. The world is changing, ma'am. We can help you prepare. Because there is life after death."

"No shit," Zaire mumbled. Resi shot her a warning look.

The man opened a little yellow book entitled, 'What Does The Bible Really Teach?'. Finding the page he was looking for, he faced it toward the girls and began to recite from memory, "The bible teaches that God will bring about these changes on the earth." The man's finger ran across colorful faces on a rich blue background as he quoted the scripture printed on the page, "He will wipe out every tear from their eyes, and death will be no more, neither will mourning nor outcry for pain be anymore.'--Revelation 21:4."

"Well, umm that's true, I'm sure. But-" Resi started.

A rustle of leaves accompanied by loud screeches, hisses and chatter, caught their attention. All of them turned to witness three squirrels and an angry raccoon headed toward them at a frightening speed.

"Shit, it's the fucking raccoon from hell and he's brought friends," Zaire yelled.

All three Witnesses jumped. Not one of them smiled.

* * *

JoAnn and I rounded the corner as Zaire let out a war-whoop. She pushed the gawking bible-thumpers aside and ran at neck-breaking speed in attack mode, her fangs slipping from her gums.

Resi was right behind her with a broom gripped in both hands raised over her head.

I headed for the squirrels. JoAnn ran inside the house, shoving the three mortals aside. The three messengers from God sprinted for their car, pamphlets scattering a trail behind them. A squirrel fell from the driver's window, carrying a set of car keys in its teeth. It stood boldly, its little arms folded across his chest. The three old humans hustled right toward it.

"Friggin' great! Now there are five of the little fuckers," Zaire announced, coming to a grinding halt in front of the ringleader. She leapt at the raccoon, sliding across the grass on her chest, grabbing a handful of dirt and the end of its tail. It wiggled away. "Damn it all to hell!"

JoAnn huddled on the porch with my .22 caliber Remington rifle, aiming at the raccoon. A shot rang out, missed the animal by a good five feet, and a puff of dirt exploded inches from Zaire's face.

Resi swung the broom, hit the squirrel with the keys hanging from its mouth and sent it flying in the air. It landed on the back of the old woman. She flung her arms to the sky.

"Oh God, save me, I've been hit!" She fell to the grass, rolled onto her back, her arms flying in the air in front of her face.

"Someone get the friggin' rifle out of the hands of the only one in this family who can't shoot a goddamned gun!" Zaire yelled, spitting dirt.

"JoAnn, put my rifle down!" I yelled from behind a tree.

Resi dropped the broom and headed for the three Witnesses quaking by the car. She helped the old woman up and turned, glaring at me. "I'll take care of the mind-push, thingy. You guys get the critters."

I chased the squirrels around a tree and turned abruptly toward the car when all three of them headed in that direction. "Grab one of them, Zaire!"

Six rapid shots had dirt flying everywhere.

Everyone yelled, "JoAnn, drop the damn gun!"

Zaire scrambled to her feet, leapt for one of the squirrels, and caught it in her hands. It immediately bit her. She screeched, tossing it at the car as Resi shut the door for the last smiling Jehovah's witness after cleansing their minds of the fiasco.

The squirrel landed on the front window, gore splashing across the windshield as the animal slid to the hood of the car. Another shot rang out. A bullet pinged off the car. All three of the bible-sporting Witnesses jumped from the car, knocking a box of pamphlets out, scattering them at their feet.

"Great! Okay, let's go over this again, shall we?" Resi said a bit too loud, angry eye on Zaire as she helped the threesome back into the car.

13

Mort the troll treaded water under the overpass on the other side of the lake. In between dives, he munched on the algae coating the support beams jutting into the lake. His big rock-like body resurfaced every ten or fifteen minutes to see if Warren had arrived.

He was about to make his fifth trip down to the bottom of the lake when he spotted Warren's white Ford F-10 pickup rumbling down the embankment toward the lake.

The hefty immortal got out, tucked his red plaid shirt into his jeans, pulled a hunting cap over his short brown hair and sauntered toward the shoreline. "You have any news for me, Mort?"

The troll lumbered closer, his big gray eyes blinking water droplets. "They have a fairy… living in the rock-garden… by the house. I… hate fairies. All they do is… bitch, bitch, um…and bitch. He buzzes around… all night… dusting the water… with red sparkles. I can't… relax. You didn't tell me… there was a fairy… on this, Warren."

"Don't worry about the fairy," Warren said, already annoyed with the slow-talking troll. "He's working for Paul. I'll talk to the wolf. He won't bother you again. What do you have to report? Dorius is waiting for a call."

"Not much. Four of the immortals… had an episode… with a few animals… um… and… um… three black mortals… ah… yesterday… before the fairy got there, but… nothing Dorius… would be interested in. One of the… um… immortal women… is very black… and… she acts like… she owns the place. Shame she… um… lives there. This is… well… um… a nice neighborhood." Mort ran a thick fingered hand over his hairless head.

"I'm not interested in what color they are, Troll. Just infractions. Did they drink from the three mortals?" Warren spit a wad of gum over his left shoulder and adjusted his hat.

"They're not… sucking on humans… as far… as I can see. They've…um… all been drinking…. from deer… on the property." Mort rolled in the water, bathing his back and shoulders slowly as he spoke. Waves of steam wafted off the lake as he sunk up to his eyes and peeked at Warren from just above water level.

"I'll let Dorius know. Keep watching. I'll meet you here again tomorrow, same time." Warren turned on his heel, pulled his cell phone out of his jeans, and headed for the truck.

The troll sunk under the water, looking like a large algae encrusted lump of mortar, and slowly began to make his way back across the lake.

* * *

Gibbie the fairy spotted Paul leaning against a tree, staring out at the water mottled with color from the sunset. He flew over; landing on his shoulder with a flutter of iridescent wings, grabbed a handful of the wolf's black hair in a sparkle of purple dust and began to chatter. "The one they call Nanna, mother of Susan and JoAnn, grandmother of Resi and the mortal Jeni, is giving them trouble."

"Has she killed anyone?" Paul swatted at the fairy, getting another dusting for his effort. This time it was an angry red.

"I don't know. But she's very amusing, always talking about sex. I like her. She's feisty and full of the devil." Gibbie smiled mischievously as he hovered in front of Paul's face.

"Are any of them drinking from the mortal, Jeni?"

"Oh, hell no. That one has more brains then all of them put together. No one messes with her." His wings buzzed in a high-pitched whine.

"What happened yesterday? Dorius just called. The troll told Warren that there was a scuffle in the front yard."

"Not sure, I wasn't moved in until this morning—got held up doing a little recon for a friend. But I did hear them talking about immortal animals."

"I'm sure at this stage in the game they think all immortals are animals. I have a sneaking suspicion this was forced on them. Where are they getting blood?"

"The animals on the property, as far as I can see. I am not fond of JoAnn at all. She was out gardening half the day and has managed to pull out all the clover around my rocks. It's nice and shaded in the garden and she wears a big straw hat and lime green gloves. She can weed for hours. It pisses me off. I did, however, send her screaming for Benadryl and running for the house. Dusted her pretty little ass."

"Don't let them catch you, fairy. I want your arrival to remain unnoticed for the time being. And stay away from the troll."

"The slime ball is tearing up the silt around the cypress trees, making a real mess. I can't even see the fish swimming around, it's so murky. And he keeps waking me up during my noon nap. Who the hell sent him, anyway?" Gibbie asked, sounding like he took a hit off a helium balloon. He circled Paul's head, his wings all a flutter.

"Just leave him alone or you'll have Dorius to answer to."

"Can do boss." Gibbie blushed blue, took flight, and headed in the direction of the girl's house.

* * *

I stood in the kitchen, ready to call it a night, but Mom was nowhere in sight. Again. She had been teetering on a tightrope over a cavernous hole with no safety net for the last two days. She left each night at twilight, alone, and didn't return until morning. And when I asked where she'd been, she simply said, "getting some" and then went promptly to bed.

Resi and Zaire were in bed. Jeni and JoAnn were headed out the back door to check on our boat tied up at the dock.

"Do either of you know where Mom is?" I asked, leaning over the kitchen sink, peeking out the pass-through.

"Mom, get off Nanna's back. She's just having a little fun with her new body," Jeni yelled over her shoulder. "And she can clean a mind as well as the rest of you."

"She better not be sucking on mortals!" I shouted back as they walked across the patio. Jeni wiggled her fingers behind her head and kept walking.

I heard a flutter of wings coming from the fireplace, momentarily taking my mind off my fanged-loose-and-fancy-free Mother.

I walked through the living room and leaned into the hearth, checking the flue. It was cracked open and I wondered if a bird had made a nest up in the chimney. I glanced down at the cold ashes and frowned. A sparkly red dust covered everything. I touched it and my fingers began to itch. I stood there for a minute shaking my head, wondering what the red powder was.

Stumped, I rubbed my hands on my jeans and headed for the garage for some gardening gloves and a broom so I could clean out the fireplace and then shut the flue.

After rummaging in the garage, I stepped into the kitchen with a broom in one hand, a dust pan in the other, and gloves stuffed in my back pocket. A tall, extremely attractive man sat at our dinning room table with my favorite coffee cup in his hand. He was scratching his naked chest, dressed in only a pair of worn jeans. His rumpled blond hair bounced on his shoulders.

"Do I know you?" I tried to stay calm.

"Your um…roommate? Um… brought me home with her last night and we…. I'll let her explain." The tousled young man looked a bit embarrassed.

Mom walked into the kitchen with one of Resi's silk robes hanging off one shoulder, her hair a bunch of white messy curls. Her eyes went from sable brown to a lively brindle with golden sparkles as she smiled at our guest.

"I see you've met Max," my mother said. "I found him at the bar across the highway last night. Cute isn't he?" My mother directed a seductive grin toward the man at the table.

"Maybe you could find the rest of his clothes. I think he should go now." I glared at her.

"I can do that," she giggled, running past me.

I walked toward the stairs, yelling, "And put some clothes on!"

Mom came out of her room a few minutes later, her arms full of shirt, shoes and jacket, still dressed in Resi's robe.

"Resi's gonna be pissed when she finds out you have her clothes on again."

Mom sidled by me. I stood at the top of the stairs, tapping my foot.

"Sorry about all of this," Mom said, shaking her ass across the kitchen. "I should have told you about my… um… roommates, but we had other things on our minds now didn't we?"

"We sure did darlin'."

I was sure as hell not handling this by myself. I took the stairs two at a time and hammered on Resi and Zaire's bedroom door as I planned my mother's demise.

Resi opened the door, her hair all-askew. "What the hell?"

I wickedly grinned at her. "I think you might want to come into the kitchen and see what your Nanna brought home last night."

"Great, just what I need. Where's Jeni?" She stumbled over to the dresser and picked up a pair of dirty jeans, smelled them, then pulled them on with a grimace, grabbing for an equally used T-shirt. "I just got to sleep, damn it. Close the friggin' door so we don't wake Zaire." She sauntered by, pulling the shirt over her head.

I shut the bedroom door with a big smile. Oh yeah, Mom really did it this time.

Resi hit the top of the stairs, her mouth popped open and her eyes went wide. "Oh my God!"

I leapt up the stairs to find my mother sitting on the kitchen counter with an undulating young man between her legs. His head was on her shoulder, his tongue licking her ear. Her incisors extended.

"And who might this be, Chickie?" Resi asked.

Mom's fangs retracted like a switchblade. She pulled Resi's silk kimono tight to cover breasts that were straining to jump into Max's hands. "This is Max. Max this is Resi." Mom's eyes danced whimsically.

God, I want to just wrap my hands around her… "Resi why don't you take yourself over there and shake hands with Max. That is if he can take them off Chickie's chest for one minute," I told her, my teeth clenched.

"My pleasure." Resi laughed, extending a hand to Max as he pulled up his pants. She tugged him from Mom and looked into his eyes for a moment. "Not much in there, is there?" she asked, continuing to stare at him. "But you two certainly had a lovely evening now didn't you?" She looked at my mother with a grin.

"But she was about to suck on-" Max’s voice trailed off.

"I got it Mom," Resi said.

Max picked up the rest of his cloths like a puppet and followed her to the front door.

"I could have handled him, Resi," Mom yelled after her.

Damn it, this is not going like I expected!

"Let's just take a little walk, you and me? Okay Max?" Resi gave me a wicked grin and closed the door.

I turned to my mother and sucked in half the air in the kitchen through flared nostrils. "Mother, what the hell were you thinking bringing that man home?"

I heard another flutter of wings in the living room and made a mental note to find the culprit as soon as I straightened out my mother. "Get down off the goddamned counter and get dressed. You look ridiculous sitting there."

"I think she looks kind of cute," Jeni said, followed by JoAnn as she stepped past the sliding glass doors into living room. "Nanna, you make me smile."

"You look like a trollop," JoAnn huffed, giving Mom a frown.

"And wait until you hear what she brought home last night," I hissed.

"Nanna! You didn't?" Jeni laughed.

A man's scream came from the front yard, followed by Resi yelling at the top of her lungs, "The friggin' raccoon is back!"

"I think you're about to meet him," I said with a big grin.

14

I yanked my mother off the counter and we all headed for the front door.

"I wouldn't open that if I were you!" Jeni shouted from the window.

My hand paused on the doorknob. "Why not?"

The door flew open and sent me back a few paces. Resi ran in, Max in tow, followed by three squirrels. The squirrels screeched and scurried down the hall and up the stairs.

A raccoon scampered across the porch. I managed to slam the door in its face, almost catching one of its paws. It growled and clawed at the other side of the door. I turned to follow the squirrels and Mom stopped me in mid-stride.

"Susabellaluna, I really think you should see this," Mom said, pointing at the front lawn. I cringed at the nickname. She knew I hated it and only used it to make me mad. She stood by Jeni with a big grin, Resi's robe hanging off both shoulders.

Before I could get my words out, loud scratching noises came from upstairs, followed by my sister's cries for help.

"OHMIGOD! THERE'S AN ANIMAL TRYING TO GET IN MY BEDROOM. IS IT THE RACCOON?"

I ignored JoAnn. "I hate that frigging name and you know it." I sneered at my mother, and headed for the window.

"SUSAN, CAN YOU HEAR ME? I THINK THE RACCOON IS AT MY DOOR!"

I sucked in a breath.

"Max is taking a nap." Resi stepped over the body sprawled on the living room floor.

Jeni stared at Max with a smile.

"Susabellaluna. It just rolls from my tongue." My mother, looking young enough to be my sister, grinned at me.

"One more time and I deck you."

"Can you two be civil for one minute? What are we going to do about that?" Jeni asked, pointing to the front yard.

I strutted up to the window.

On the front lawn, hissing, squawking, and growling, a motley crew marched in single file in front of the living room window, all of them staring at us. The raccoon with the split ear was leading, followed by three gray squirrels, a red fox, a large rat, and a six-foot gator. They looked like a small platoon. All of them had red eyes gleaming, fangs hanging, and the gator was swishing its long tail as it marched, nudging a rat in front of its nose.

"I think it's time to take care of these guys. Weapons anyone?" I suggested.

"I'll hit the safe." Resi announced at a run toward the garage where we kept the gun-safe.

A much louder, ear-piercing scream came from upstairs. "HELP! THE RACCOON IS TRYING TO KILL ME AGAIN!"

Every creature in the front yard jerked its eyes from us, straight up to my sister's second floor bedroom window. The raccoon let out an angry screech, its little paw pointing up, and the whole platoon headed for the wall under the window.

"NOT THE RACCOON, JOANN! IT'S JUST THREE SQUIRRELS! I sprinted through the living room, jumped over Max and headed for the kitchen, Mom and Jeni at my heels.

JoAnn banged on her bedroom door. "SUSAN! MOM! SOMEBODY! HE'S UP HERE! I NEED HELP!"

"Shouldn't we handle that?" Jeni pointed up at the ceiling.

"LOOK OUT YOUR WINDOW, JO!" Mom yelled with an evil smile on her face.

"I think she can take care of three squirrels, Jeni," I growled. "I'm more concerned with you. Go lock yourself in the Jeep in the garage." She made no attempt to move.

"DO IT NOW!" I shouted.

Jeni grabbed the keys to the jeep off the wall and headed for the garage.

Resi entered the hall, kicked on her bedroom door and yelled Zaire's name as she ran up the kitchen steps past Jeni. She tossed me my rifle, a 260 Rugar, Leupold scope attached, and shoved a handful of rounds at me.

She turned and tossed my Remington .22-caliber rifle at Zaire as she entered the kitchen in silk pajamas, her mouth hanging open in an unspoken question.

"The raccoon is back and he's brought friends." Resi pulled the bolt back and loaded rounds into my .72 gauge, Big Kodiak Express shotgun, her pockets bulging with shells.

"A bit of an overkill, that." I pointed at the shotgun.

Resi put on an evil grin. "There's a gator out there! He's mine, baby!"

"Oh, hell yes! An F'n gator with fangs!" Zaire grabbed for the shotgun. "Gimmie that bad-boy!"

"I think not!" Resi held on to the double barrel shotgun like her life depended on it.

Zaire started to argue, looked at the weapon in her hands, loaded the clip, then headed for the door with the Remington rifle. Having the only rapid-fire weapon, she could shoot up the front yard in a heartbeat.

"So what the hell do I get?" my mother, the sore on the center of my ass, asked.

Resi reached behind her, pulled my small .38 Smith and Wesson handgun out of the waistband of her jeans and handed it to my mother. I figured with only five rounds, we'd be somewhat safe. I'd never seen Mom shoot, but at least she wasn't packing too much of a punch.

I walked passed Zaire and opened the front door slowly. I stretched, leaning around the cement wall separating me from the front of the house where all the ruckus was coming from.

Three gray squirrels were standing on each other's shoulders, balancing on top of the raccoon. Evidently, finding the cement wall hard to scale and no nearby trees to leap from, had encouraged their creativity.

"Okay, easy does it," I whispered. "They're all under the window. I say we…"

"F-that!" Zaire ran past, grinned at Resi, then scattered leaves and dirt as she sent bullets flying around the yard.

The platoon from hell scattered.

"So much for surprising them, Susabellaluna," Mom said, grinning at me as she sidled by. I wanted to grab her by the throat.

* * *

Gibbie flew out of the fireplace the minute the women went out the front door. He buzzed over to the man on the floor, landed on his chest, and then strutted up to his neck and began to search for bite marks. He was studying the two circular wounds on Max's neck when he heard scratching and chattering inside the house.

Three squirrels ran into the living room, their paws frantically scraping the polished oak floor as they slid by. They headed for the closed sliding-glass doors and abruptly plastered themselves against the glass, sliding to the floor, little arms out-stretched.

One of the squirrels shook its head, eyes shining, and pointed to the open kitchen window over the sink. All three scrambled up the barstools by the breakfast counter. They scampered out the pass-through, dropping to the cement floor on the porch.

Gibbie watched as they scurried to the back door and made their way out through the hole in the screen. He followed after them, on his way to find Paul.

* * *

With animals running around the front yard, Zaire was shooting up dirt all over the place.

The gator batted the rat with its tail, sending it flying to the overhang outside JoAnn's window where it landed against the glass, paws flailing for purchase. JoAnn's silently screaming face provided a humorous backdrop.

Resi took her first shot and flew backwards, landing on her ass, shaking her head. She took aim again and sent another blast, blowing dirt all over the gator's tail as it ran for the lake.

I knew gators could move fast, but this one shot off like it had a rocket powered asshole. It streaked for the lake, disappearing under the dock. Something rolled in the water and a small wake followed whatever it was toward the cypress trees. I took aim but thought of the playful otters and couldn't shoot.

Something darted in my peripheral vision and I spotted the raccoon. It headed for some scrub on the other side of the driveway. I followed it with the barrel of my rifle, its right shoulder in my crosshairs. I flipped off the safety, squeezing the trigger slowly, and took the shot. The raccoon leapt ten-feet in the air, somersaulted, landed on his feet and scampered out of sight.

"Shit, are we hitting anything?'" I watched as it ran out the other side of the bush.

"I did," Mom yelled. "But the bugger healed right in front of me.

"I think we have to put a bullet in the head or heart!" I shouted.

Meanwhile, Zaire was shooting at everything that moved, sending immortal squirrels running in all directions.

Mom—gun in both outstretched hands—bent at the knees, one eye closed, followed a rat as it rolled off the roof, landing in the grass. It headed for a cluster of trees in the middle of the yard. She took three shots. One sent wood chips flying, the other two kicked up dirt. The rat scampered behind a tree.

Zaire pointed the Remington up into the tree and emptied her clip. Three squirrels dropped to the ground. She strutted toward them, a big smile on her face. She got about two feet from the first one and it rolled into a ball, jumped and ran. Zaire growled, the trigger of her empty rifle clicking helplessly. "I hit that one. Damn it!"

I looked around the yard for something to shoot at. Not an animal in sight.

All barrels turned toward the front door as JoAnn came bounding from the house shouting, "Why didn't you help me! They scratched the heck out of my door. Did you kill the raccoon?"

* * *

Dorius paced in front of the speaker phone on his desk, listening to Paul as he tried to dissuade him from sending out his Hunters to bring in the five immortal women.

"How can you justify picking them up, Dorius? They haven't displayed any rogue behaviors. Gibbie reported nothing more than the immortal women drinking from animals on the property. What exactly has Warren reported?"

"The troll said they had a shoot-out with some wildlife in the front yard."

"What the hell does that buy us?"

Dorius took in a deep breath and leered at the phone. He paid special attention to his well-manicured fingernails, biting at a stray cuticle. "Damn it, I know these women had something to do with the woman's death." He spit a piece of dead skin onto the red carpet in front of his desk.

"Have there been any mortals at the house?" Paul asked.

Dorius buffed his nails across the cuff of his pristine linen shirt. His eyes went from their usual deep blue to almost black. "Just a couple of old men and a woman passing out religious brochures."

"Did they drink from them?" Paul asked.

"No." Dorius walked behind his desk.

"What would you like me to bring them in for? A shoot out with a bunch of rodents on their own property? I would highly discourage that. We're not fish and game wardens. What are you going to tell Marcus?"

Dorius sat in his chair, laying both hands on his desk, his fingers dancing as if they were playing a piano. "I want you to introduce yourself, Paul. I mean really introduce yourself. Get my drift?"

Paul let out a long breath. "And…"

"And, Dennis sent another warning letter. They evidently tossed the first one I sent. You make sure they get this one. Instruct them to call the Miami office and set up an appointment to answer Christopher's charges within twenty-four hours of its arrival. I will also expect them to order blood. If they do not respond this time, I think I can talk Marcus into letting me fly out and pick them up. Can you manage a few pictures? I'd like to see what we're working with."

"I can do that."

Dorius disconnected the call and hit another button on the phone.

"Yes, Mr. Morizzio?"

"Get Christopher in here.'

"Yes sir."

Dorius reached in his desk, pulling out his iPod. He scanned through several selections, finally choosing one. The weeping sound of a saxophone floated to his ears as a soulful woman whispered, 'Strangers in the Night'. Dorius closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair.

A few minutes later Christopher strutted into the office, leading a large German Shepherd by a short leash attached to the animal's studded black collar.

"Buster! Sit!" The dog immediately sat down at his feet, its head reaching to Christopher's shoulder.

"I've told you that dog belongs in the kennel. Not in the offices. Take him into the hall and I'll have Buffy pick him up immediately." Dorius shut off the iPod.

"Buster goes where I go. Don't worry, he's house broken." Christopher sat in the chair opposite Dorius. The dog followed. "Buster! Down!" The dog sat at the foot of the chair. Christopher pulled a pack of Virginia Slims out of his pocket and started to light one.

"Don't even think about it, Christopher." Dorius leaned over the desk, pulling it from his mouth when Christopher flicked his Bic lighter in defiance. Dorius tossed the unlit cigarette in the trashcan by the desk, glaring at Christopher.

"What do you want, Dorius? I got better things to do than listen to your shit." Christopher tried to cross his jean clad legs, gave up and scooted back in the chair placing the leash on his lap. Buster softly growled.

Dorius sneered at Christopher. "We found the immortal women. They don't seem to be acting like rogues. They're new, Christopher. Brand-new. Someone just turned them. Do you want to tell me what really happened?"

Christopher jumped from the chair, jerked the dog to attention and started toward the door. "I told you what happened."

"And it doesn't quite gel."

Christopher grinned and patted the dog's head. "Piss on you, Dorius."

Buster lifted his leg and drained his bladder on the chair leg.

Christopher smiled and walked out the door, Buster at his heals.

"Don't you walk out on me, you little shit!"

"Fuck you, Dorius."

15

Gibbie spotted Paul lying on the ground, knees bent, one arm tucked under his head, chewing on a piece of white clover. He flew in jerky, hummingbird motions, stopped abruptly an inch from Paul's nose and treaded air.

"I know that look, Gibbie. What don't you want to tell me?"

"I like them Paul… and basically they're all good women… well… maybe not JoAnn, but..."

"I'm listening." Paul tossed the clover on the grass beside him, sat up, and leaned back on his hands.

Gibbie landed on a cypress knee at the edge of the water a few feet away. "Well, it's a couple of things and Dorius can hang them on both of them. Damn it, and I gotta tell ya, the damn troll saw half of it. I dusted his hard ass. Probably won't even faze him but it was fun watching him rub his ugly eyes."

"I told you to leave the troll alone. Dorius will not be amused."

"I'm not worried about Dorius."

"Accomplices are not dealt with kindly. Remember that. Dorius has a lot of power."

"You gonna help me or not?" Gibbie placed one hand on his hip, the other held the hilt of a small, silver sword hanging from a sheath on his belt.

"Dorius wants me to introduce myself." Paul leaned with his elbow in the grass. "He ordered me to make it clear that the last warning letter is on its way. Then it won't matter what you know, will it? Because if they don't respond, he's flying here from Italy."

"You've got to help them, Paul!" Gibbie jerked up and down in the air, his wings buzzing.

"I don't have to do anything of the kind. Whatever they did, they did on their own."

"But they didn't ask for this," Gibbie squeaked out. He always sounded like he'd taken a hit off a helium balloon when he was excited. "They don't know what they're capable of."

Paul's chest rumbled.

"Alright… Alright…" Gibbie squawked. "Here's the deal. One of them - I think JoAnn - did I tell you I don't like her?"

"Yes. Several times, in several ways," Paul said through clenched teeth.

"Shit! You aren't going to believe this, but here it is - I think JoAnn turned a raccoon and the raccoon has made vamp-friends."

"I am not playing with you fairy," Paul warned.

"I told you it was hard to believe, but I saw the fangs. They're immortal, red eyes and all."

"That's not possible and you know it." Paul pulled a small flask from his pocket, shaking it between two fingers. "Tupelo honey. Fess up Fairy. I have more where this came from."

"Nanna's drinking from men and having sex with them," Gibbie rapid fired, eyeing the honey.

"Has she killed anyone?" Paul was on his feet, headed for the house.

"I'm not sure." Gibbie flew after him. "But she brought a mortal man home this morning. He left alive. In fact, the women rescued him from the vamp-animals. It might have been one of the animals that bit him."

"You don't lie well, Fairy." Paul lengthened his strides. Gibbie had no trouble keeping up.

"Just observe them. You'll see. Don't hurt them, Paul. Well, you can take a chunk out of JoAnn's ass. I'd bite her myself if I could."

"Dorius wants me to record them. I'm gonna need your help, so meet me after I huff and puff and blow their front door down." Paul ran toward his car, pulling off his cloths on the way.

Gibbie bolted for the house.

* * *

The minute we got Max out of the house - none the wiser, and on his way - I let Mom have it. "You can't go around sucking on mortals! And you sure as hell can't bring them to our home! Enough is enough! You're gonna have the cops at our door."

"I can't help it," Mom whined. "I need human blood or I get diarrhea, blurry vision, and the damn voices in my head drive me nuts. Sex keeps me from killing them."

Before I could knock the voices right out of her head, the doorbell rang.

JoAnn jumped up on top of the breakfast bar in one fluid movement. "The raccoon is back!"

Resi did an about-face and headed for the front door, Zaire two steps behind her.

"And you think he'd ring our doorbell?" Mom shook her head and slapped the picnic table as she sat down. "You're such an idiot."

"Don't change the subject, Mom! I 'm sick and tired-"

"May I help you?" Resi asked, loud enough to shut me up.

I shook my finger at my mother. "We're not done discussing this." She smiled and wiggled her fingers at me as I turned away.

"I'm from TransLine Express Delivery," a man's voice announced. "I have the five coffins you ordered."

"Are you kidding me?" Zaire said, as I came up behind her.

I noticed my mother wasn't following. "What coffins? We didn't order any coffins."

"Is this the Stech residence?" the man asked, reading his clipboard.

"Yes, but this must be a joke," I mumbled. "No one died here."

In the dining room, Jeni burst into laughter. I ignored her, waiting for the man to answer.

"But they were paid for with… hold on… let me look… here it is, Concetta Stech's credit card. And she paid for a rush delivery."

"There's been a lot of stolen identity shit going on," Mom yelled from the living room. "I see it on the news every day."

"I just love you, Nan." Jeni was still laughing.

"The order form states that … um… give me a minute… yes, that Graveyard Productions is making a movie and needs them for props?"

I sucked in air through my teeth. "Oh, the props… yes, sorry, that would be my… um… sister… um, well, she didn't inform us that they would be delivered to our home address. Can you put them in the garage?"

"Sure can, just show me the way."

As I walked out of the house, I noticed a large dog surveying us with angry blue eyes from a cluster of bushes right near the front door. Coal black fur prickled on the back of its neck. Ears back against its head, it lowered its muzzle, a deep rumble in its chest.

"Does he bite?" the delivery man asked.

"I don't know. Let's just move slowly toward the garage."

The man scurried off, throwing glances back at the dog. The dog didn't move so I followed, making a mental note to check it out as soon as I got back.

After two men unloaded the caskets and drove away in the delivery truck, I bolted back to the front of the house, no dog in site. I opened the door, stepped into the foyer, and immediately saw my family standing in the living room in a circle, the big black dog snarling in the center.

"How the hell did he get in here?" I joined the circle.

"I thought he might be hungry," JoAnn said. "And since Tootles-"

The dog growled. I growled.

Zaire's fangs slipped out.

"Don't worry, fella, they don't bite." JoAnn held her hands at her stomach and leaned over the dog. "Are you hungry, sweetie? I bet you'd look cute all cleaned up with a nice dog collar. I'm gonna call you Buddy. Would you like that?"

I rolled my eyes so far up, I almost fell backwards.

Zaire grabbed the poker off the hearth and stepped forward. "Get over it, JoAnn. He smells like shit. He isn't staying."

"Don't hurt him." Jeni grabbed Zaire's arm. "Look at him, he's beautiful."

I glanced at the open door, thinking maybe we could shoo him out.

Zaire poked at him. "Go! Out! Scat!"

The dog backed around in circles, snarling at her. Then he began to vibrate.

We all stood, slack-jawed, as his body seemed to break and bend with horrendous speed; paws disappeared, hands and feet taking their place. His face shook violently as it turned from hair to skin. A nose appeared where a snout had been only seconds ago.

The dog was gone. A gorgeous six foot tall man with twinkling blue eyes stood before us, completely naked. Long black hair fell in waves over his smooth tan shoulders, and full lips displayed a cocky grin on a chiseled face.

"Holy shit! It's a werewolf!" Resi yelled.

"Will ya look at the size of that thing." Mom pointed at his manhood sticking straight up in the center of a mass of black curls.

Wolf-man looked at Mom with an amused smile. She walked up and ran her hand across the curls trailing down his chest as she gazed into his eyes. "Why don't you and I take a walk up to my bedroom before the doggy comes back."

"Mom, let go of the man's penis," JoAnn ordered.

Jeni pulled Mom away. "Nanna, sweetie, although he has all the right equipment, let's not forget he's a lycanthrope."

Damn, the girl's been reading.

He smiled at Jeni, looked at the dead animals on the walls and walked over to a wolf mounted over the fireplace. "You girls kill these animals?" He played his fingers across the wolfs teeth.

"I did… before… um..." For some reason I felt the need to explain myself. "…but we ate the meat."

"I've never eaten wolf meat," Zaire growled. "Yet."

"I'm willing to try wolf meat," Mom announced. "Just give me a few minutes alone with him. Maybe an hour? That's a lot of wolf to get down."

"Mother!" JoAnn yanked Mom closer.

Jeni snickered, "I prefer a good steak, well done. The rest of you seem to like it still kickin'."

Wolf-boy turned to Jeni, his eyes twinkling. "Ahhh, an honest one in the bunch, and with a sense of humor. You must be the one who ordered the caskets."

"No, I can't take the credit for that one, and you're sporting a pretty good… umm… sense of humor yourself." Jeni eyed the center of his masculinity.

He held out a hand to Jeni. "And you are?"

Jeni offered her hand readily. "Wondering what you're doing here. And you?"

His eyes locked on Jeni. "Holding the hand of a very lovely-"

"What the hell are you doing in my living room?" I finally spat.

He slowly kissed Jeni's knuckles, his eyes riveted to hers, let her hand go and his head pivoted in my direction. "I was sent by the… Otherworld council, because you are not responding to their requests to contact them. You will receive another welcome package in a couple of days. It will contain a book of rules, a DVD and a business card. I strongly suggest you call the number on the card, order containers of blood and make an appointment to meet the council. It seems you've committed several infractions."

"What Council? What infractions?" Zaire spat. "And where are your friggin' clothes?"

"Sorry if my nudity bothers you. I have no shame about the natural state of my body."

When no one said anything, he continued. "I presume you received the first welcome package and discarded it. That was a mistake."

"We never received a package." I was finding it hard to concentrate with Mr. Wolf's wanger dancing in such a lascivious way. I closed my mouth and swallowed the drool about to drip down my chin.

He looked straight at Mom. "You're drawing a lot of attention to yourselves and they can't have that."

"Like you're not?" Zaire just wouldn't let up.

"Hey, I didn't know we wouldn't need the caskets," Mom rebutted.

"What the hell did we do?" Resi glared at him. "Besides the casket thing?" She rolled her eyes at my mother.

"It seems you're making your own rules as you go along. That's not acceptable."

Jeni started giggling, picked up Dead Until Dark off the coffee table and sat in the recliner, flipping through the pages. I hissed at her.

"Look you piece of… of… wolf-bane… I don't know what the rules are," JoAnn said, with her extremely uneducated mind. "I haven't had time to finish reading all those books." She pointed at Jeni. Jeni covered her mouth and started turning pink.

He pulled two shiny black adorable brows together, gave the books on the coffee table a glance, then burst into laughter. "If you would have responded…" He ran a hand over his mouth, hiding a grin. "…to the phone calls, or the… the mail they sent-"

"Don't you fucking laugh at us, Alpo breath," Zaire said with curled back lips. "We never got shit from anyone. Not by mail. Not by phone. So, just take your flea ridden carcass back to whoever sent it here and tell them that."

He turned on Zaire with a loud menacing growl. "Well you're getting one now! And you'd better respond, make an appointment to meet with them and order containers of blood so you don't have to suck on anything you're not supposed to be sucking on."

I watched Zaire's facial expression go all, 'I'm going to rip your throat out', in seconds. "Who the fuck do you think-"

"I know who I am. Evidently you don't, and if you refuse to immediately respond this time, it won't be me on your doorstep with a cordial invitation."

"What did you say your name was?" JoAnn asked sweetly. I almost leapt at her.

"I didn't. It's Paul, Paul Forrest. There are a lot of questions about how you were brought into the immortal world, and your actions can be grounds for destruction."

"Screw that!" Resi said, moving closer to Zaire. "We were left to fend for ourselves when Mom got bit in that restroom."

His head jerked in my direction. "Who bit you?"

I snapped, "Some brat, and he killed a woman. I was just trying to help her."

"No you weren't. You were-"

"JoAnn, shut the hell up! The kid bit me and the next thing I knew, I was seeing this Dorius guy behind my eyelids!"

"Susan, you know you're lying through your teeth," JoAnn said. "You were-"

"You ran out of there like a bat out of hell!" I shot back.

Paul hooded his eyes.

"Screw the kid. What if we don't want to be part of some damn council?" Zaire snapped.

Paul didn't pull his eyes off me. "Unfortunately, you don't have the same liberty to stand alone as some of us do. Each species is ruled by a set of laws depending on the powers each individual group has, but we are all held accountable." He forced a smile, causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end.

"You're at the top of the food chain, so to speak," he continued. "Vampires are… extreme. You could run cities, ruin lives, mold mortal behaviors, and no one can be allowed that much power to do with as they see fit. I hope I've made your situation crystal clear."

"You didn't make shit clear!" Zaire yelled.

"Yeah, what exactly did we do?" Mom snapped.

He turned, bare butt swaying as he walked away from us. "Make the call." He strolled through the door, never looking back.

"How ya doin', ladies?" Jeni said with a smirk.

I turned on my mother. "What the hell did you order coffins for? And the damn werewolf saw them delivered. Christ, Mom, you're the one that's gonna get us killed!"

"Oh, lighten up. How was I to know we wouldn't need them?"

"You ordered five," I choked out.

Mom waived me off. "I knew we'd all be vampires before they arrived. Well, except Jeni."

"Hey, maybe I can dig up Tootles and put her in one." JoAnn tried to help.

"They're going back! They probably cost five grand a piece!" I snapped.

"No, I ordered them on the internet from Best Price Caskets," Mom informed me. "They were having a eighty and ninety-percent off sale. I got'em all for under seven thousand bucks, shipping included."

"Shit!"

"Hey, I could've jumped out of the box and ordered you an urn for much cheaper, but then I would have had to fry your ass," Mom said, eyebrow arching. She turned to JoAnn. "And you can do whatever you want with yours."

"I'm going to go pick one out for Tootles." JoAnn headed for the garage. "I hope there's a pink one."

"I got two pink ones, a red one for me, a black one for Susan and a silver one for Zaire. Have at it."

"I'm making a planter out of mine," Zaire said.

"I'm sleeping in mine," Mom said, following JoAnn. But Jeni held out a hand, stopping them dead in their tracks.

"If I were you guys, I'd be trying to figure out what infractions Paul was talking about and figuring out how to defend yourselves."

"Mom and her boy-toys are the reason they're after us." I tried to whip her into shape. Did it work? Hell no.

"What about the 'don't make other vampires' rule?" Mom whipped it right back at me. "That's a no-no in every book. You started all of this, Susan."

"Oh yes, the dime store literature," Jeni said with amusement, "Your immortal bibles."

"Dry it up, Jeni," I shouted, then turned on my mother. "I only turned Resi!"

"Well, I only did Nanna," Zaire said.

"And I just did Zaire, but she's my mate," Resi added.

"I didn't make anyone," JoAnn said.

Mom stared at JoAnn through lowered eyelids. "Ohhh - nooo, you didn't make anyone. Let's not count the raccoon that partied-down and turned a whole army of fanged horrors loose on everyone."

"I didn't do it on purpose." JoAnn looked kind of tense.

"Suck it up, baby. You screwed up with the rest of us," Zaire added.

"We're all dead meat." Resi informed us, studying her reflection in the glass on the coffee table.

"All for vanity; the bane of your existence," Jeni said with an insolent smile.

16

Paul reached into his Corvette, pulling the cell phone off the dashboard. Gibbie watched as he punched in a number, waited, and then said, "Tell Dorius the women have been warned. He can leave for Miami in two days." He hung up

"I don't think Susan bit that woman in the restroom, do you?" Gibbie asked, hovering by the car door.

"I don't know. But I'm sure we'll find out. I set a camera in the mouth of a wolf, mounted on the fireplace."

"But you heard Susan. She said Christopher killed the woman and turned her."

"And I'm sure you heard JoAnn disagree."

"She did not. She said-"

"I heard what she said." Paul climbed in his car. "And you know perfectly well, Susan didn't give her a chance to take it further. I'm going to my place to monitor the camera. You coming?"

Gibbie buzzed through the open window, landing on the rearview mirror with a frown on his face. "They ordered caskets, come on!"

* * *

Dorius entered the BAMVC jet, Marcus a few steps behind him.

Christopher sat in one of the leather recliners, a lit cigar hanging from his mouth. Buster panted at his feet.

"That dog is not joining us, Christopher." Dorius snarled.

Christopher took a long puff off the cigar, blowing circles in front of him. "I told you, Dorius, Buster goes where I go from now on."

"Take the mutt off the plane." Dorius slid off his leather jacket, folded it inside-out and laid it over a computer chair.

"He ain't going nowhere. He's police issue and trained to anticipate my needs." Christopher tapped the edge of the cigar on a shiny copper ashtray in his lap. He lifted a crystal glass to his lips. Ice cubes clinked in the amber liquid as he took a sip.

"Dorius, leave the boy alone. If he feels the need for a bodyguard, I see no reason to discourage it." Marcus took the seat next to Christopher.

Christopher grinned.

Dorius sat at one of the computer tables, flipped on the PC and shoved a bowlful of mixed colored dog nuggets out of his way with his foot. Typing in a password, he brought up the BAMVC web site.

"Dorius, Dorius, Dorius… all I have to do to find you is follow the trail of insults." Christopher took another long drag off the cigar and blew the smoke in Dorius' direction. Buster's muzzle appeared over the arm of the chair and Christopher reached into his pocket for a doggy treat.

"Put out that damn cigar, "Dorius hissed. "It smells like the back room at a cock fight in here, already."

"Make me," Christopher hissed back.

Dorius jumped up, tripped over the dog's dish, and landed face down on the plush red carpet in a pile of Kibbles-n-Bits. "The Gods be damned!" Dorius sent the dish flying against the wall of the cabin. "He and that damn dog will be in body bags before we get to Miami."

Christopher started laughing.

Marcus hid a grin with his hand. "Christopher, Dorius does have a point. The cigar is offensive. Please put it out." Marcus pulled at the lace cuffs of his white linen shirt, stretching his arms under his suede jacket. A diamond ring sparkled on his pinky as he pushed black hair, braided in a thick strand, over his shoulder.

"Look, this is an expensive Cuban cigar. I paid good money for it and I'm damn well going to enjoy it."

Dorius pulled himself off the floor and fell into his computer chair.

Buster growled.

"Buster! Down!" The dog obediently dropped to the floor. Christopher gave Dorius a smug smile.

Marcus, his full lips in a half grin on his chiseled face, addressed Christopher. "You know that pup can't hurt us, don't you?"

"No, but he can take a huge hunk out of Dorius' ass." Christopher warned, glaring at Dorius.

"What is this newfound need for protection, Christopher?" Dorius eyed Buster. "If I find out you are part of this, I will personally preside at your funeral, your head in one casket, your body in another."

Christopher grinned calmly, his eyes dancing in amusement as he rearranged his neat black suit, pumping his little feet encased in red, Mickey Mouse cowboy boots that matched his dress shirt. "Why are you so interested in these immortal women, Dorius?"

"I'm interested in all rogue behavior. That's something you should not take lightly," Dorius warned, dusting bits of dog food off his black leather pants.

Christopher jerked Buster's leash. "Buster! Speak!" The dog jumped to attention and barked loudly, its angry eyes on Dorius. "Don't push me Dorius."

"Enough!" Marcus pulled a pale blue silk handkerchief out of his jacket pocket, blotting his forehead. "Christopher, you go too far sometimes. Don't instigate an argument. And put out that cigar. My eyes are watering."

"Shit, I am so fucking tired of this body. If I were your size, I'd wipe the floor with you, Dorius." Christopher took another long, defiant drag, puffing a trail of noxious smoke around the cabin.

"Tell us more about these women," Marcus said, his eyes buried in the handkerchief as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "They seem harmless, Christopher."

"I'm not going over this shit again. I told you what I know. Let's all just sit back and enjoy the ride home." Christopher stubbed out the cigar. Tipping his glass up, he finished his drink. "Where's Dennis?"

Dennis glided across the cabin in a flourish of silk. He fanned out his arms and a colorful cape flapped around him like a puffy cloud. Soft green eyeliner adorned his lower lids, making his eyes glitter blue-green. "You should buckle up, we're about to take off."

"I'd like another drink, Dennis. And make it quick. Dorius is aggravating me. I need to inebriate myself." Christopher shook the glass, ice clinking.

Buster whimpered.

Dennis took the glass and turned to Marcus with a playful smile. "It seems inebriation may be a desired state for all of you." He toed the Kibbles-N-Bits littering the floor. "Dorius, are you finished playing with the dog food?"

Dorius sounded like a stormy night, but didn't turn from the computer.

"Good. I'll get the broom, then." Dennis smiled at Marcus, tilted his head, eyes opened wide in question.

"Thank you, Dennis. I'll have a bag of blood and a wine glass," Marcus ordered, leaning back in the leather recliner and buckling his seatbelt as the plane moved down the runway. He picked up a Rolling Stone magazine from the table next to him and opened it.

Dorius sneered, his eyes on the computer screen. "The women received the package at seven o'clock. So far, they have not made contact. That gives them…" He glanced at his watch. "…twenty-two hours to contact the Miami branch."

"They'll call," Marcus mumbled from behind his magazine.

"Dorius?" Dennis asked, an empty glass in one hand and Christopher's ashtray in the other. Dorius waved him away.

"You got any cashews back there?" Christopher asked.

Dennis followed Christopher's eyes to the computer screen. He smiled and walked off, his long silk cape whispered softly over a tight, lavender pair of briefs.

17

Two days later, Resi walked into the living room with a large yellow envelope and tossed it on the coffee table in front of my mother.

"The welcome package came." Zaire pointed at the BAMVC logo in the corner.

"Did you open it?" I asked.

"Nope," Zaire said as she took a seat on the couch next to Resi.

Mom grabbed it, tore it open and dumped the contents on the coffee table. She plucked out the DVD and popped it into the player on top of the television as the rest of us got comfy on the living room furniture.

JoAnn picked up the remote and started pushing buttons.

Jeni smiled at Mom.

Mom shook her head. "You want me to get it, Jo?"

JoAnn ignored her. The picture on the screen fast forwarded, rewound, fast forwarded, rewound…JoAnn shook the remote at the television.

"I can do it if you want," Mom offered.

JoAnn hammered the remote buttons.

The speakers vibrated. "Hello ladies, I am Marcus Morizzio, the head of BAMVC…"

JoAnn frantically pushed at the buttons. I looked at Resi and Zaire cuddling on the sofa. They smiled. The girls were notorious for cranking up the volume when no one was around.

"I am speaking from our-" the beautiful man on the fifty-four inch television screen announced in a deafening, head banging volume.

I grinned at JoAnn's bouncing backside as she kept throwing her arm with the remote at the television.

"I'm sick of being scared to death every time I turn this thing on," JoAnn shouted, hammering at the remote.

"It's the white one, JoAnn," I yelled.

She turned to me with her eyebrows slammed together. "What? I can't hear you!" She glared at the girls.

"The white remote on the top of the television," Mom yelled. "It controls the sound on the DVD player, you idiot!"

"Enough arguing, you guys," Jeni spoke loudly from the recliner.

The booming word VAMPIRE came from the set drawing all of our attention in its direction.

My sister turned to grab the white remote from the top of the television. She now had two remotes, one in each hand, and it looked like she was pushing buttons on both of them.

"I find it hard to believe you are…" Marcus' voice droned on at a pitch that had me placing my hands over my ears.

"Nanna, honey," Jeni yelled. "I think-" she stopped abruptly as the volume became manageable.

"Aunt JoAnn, pause the DVD," Jeni requested softly, giving her something else to find on the two remotes.

The voice of the handsome man on the television screen stopped in mid-sentence, his mouth in a laughable pre-statement gesture.

JoAnn hissed at the girls on the sofa.

I heard the sound of wings batting against the kitchen window, followed by cussing. I frowned looking over my shoulder. "Did anyone hear that?"

"Alright Mom, enough games." Jeni looked at each one of us with one of her no nonsense frowns. "I would really like to watch this DVD. Can you start it from the beginning, Aunt JoAnn?"

JoAnn threw herself dramatically down on the sofa next to Resi with both remotes in her hands. Resi tried to help - JoAnn pulled the remote away, pressed the button Resi was reaching for, and the DVD started over.

The screen went from a logo of a black bat, the gold letters BAMVC printed across its chest, to the sexy man named Marcus. He was sitting at a large walnut table flanked by eleven other men and women. All dressed in black.

"Hello Ladies, I'm Marcus, the head of BAMVC Corporation and the oldest member of the Morizzio family. I'm speaking from our location in Italy." He turned to his left and nodded at a man who resembled him, only his features were harsh and strong. "This is my brother, Dorius, and we've both been responsible for leading the council of members you see before you for over fifteen hundred years." He paused, looking down the table.

"Holy shit," Resi said, turning to my mother. "And you thought you were older than dirt, Nanna."

"I'll be damned. There is a vampire named Dorius," JoAnn said.

"I told you!" I gave her a nasty smile.

"Oh, hell no!" Zaire pointed at the television. "Look at them! Not a smile on their friggin' faces and only one woman in the bunch!"

Resi snuggled into her shoulder, kissing her on the neck.

"And you, young ladies, have gotten our attention," Marcus said, with a stomach warming cocky little grin that sent goose bumps up my arms. "Dorius has the responsibility of investigating rogues, and putting an end to the behavior you have shown us in the weeks past." His blue eyes sparkled.

"We have offices all over the world," he continued. "Our company is made up of over two thousand registered vampires and other species, all distributed throughout the world. We have over one thousand BAMVC members in the United States alone. Yours is a country hard to manage." Marcus seemed to be staring directly at me.

"You guys are in deep shit," Jeni admonished as she leafed through the rule book in her lap. "Let's let him finish what he has to say. I'm sure he's not going to do anything rash like chop your heads off or set you on fire, like it says in this book."

"Chop off our heads!" My mother screamed, grabbing for the book. "What the hell are you talking about, Jeni?"

"Do they look amused?" Jeni asked, pointing to the TV screen.

All twelve men and women were looking directly at us, as if they were listening to our conversation. A shiver ran up my spine. They were absolutely, positively, un-amused. Crap.

"This is friggin' bull-shit!" Zaire wore her 'bring 'em on' scowl, eyes flickering like light bouncing off metal in the sun.

Resi grabbed her throat and yelped, "Ouch, shit, something bit me!"

JoAnn paused the set and shoved her face in Resi's neck.

Curse words came from somewhere behind me. I turned in the direction of the sliding glass doors.

"It's not funny, Susan. She has a big lump on her neck." JoAnn had Resi's hair pulled back, her eyes two inches from a small bump, definitely not a big lump.

"I am not laughing," I turned to Mom, sitting at the dining room table.

"What?" Mom looked innocently at me.

"Owww!" JoAnn jumped from the couch, throwing the two remotes behind her.

"Now what?" I asked looking at my drama queen sister.

"I got bit too. Look at this. It looks like a little arrow." JoAnn walked over to me with a very small, sharp needle that looked like a stinger with a bur on the end.

Giggles wafted in from the porch. "Did anyone hear that?"

"This is not funny!" JoAnn yelled, shoving the little sharp object at my face as she glared at Mom.

"Don't look at me," Mom said.

I plucked it from her fingers and tossed it on the floor. "It's just a stinger JoAnn."

JoAnn sat back on the couch, her eyes making jerky movements around the room.

Jeni looked amused. "Can all of you powerful immortals forget about the little insect so we can finish watching the DVD?"

JoAnn dramatically plucked the remote off the couch and clicked the television back to life.

Dorius started to speak in a strong, intimidating voice. "I had our Miami office send you a welcome packet the minute we were aware of your clan, offering you blood, training and counseling. When you did not respond, I ordered one of my men to issue a warning letter and make telephone calls to your home. With no response or changes in your behavior, we are through being cordial. Read the book and order blood. A business card has been added to your packet. If you do not respond immediately, we will be forced to handle this matter personally. By the time you receive this, we will be stationed in our Miami branch. Just a two hour drive as the bat flies." He grinned, but his grin looked as deadly as Zaire's eyes.

The set faded to the bat logo.

"JoAnn?" I asked. She turned to me, eyes wide with fear, scratching a nice sized lump on her face.

"Did you get anything from BAMVC, Aunt JoAnn?" Jeni interrupted, calmly.

She usually handled the mail. If we did get anything, she probably would have been the one to toss it.

"I don't know," JoAnn said. "I don't remember anything coming in the mail, but I throw out all the advertisements. You know, credit cards, time share invitations, magazines, sales catalogs." She turned to the television. "Oh shit, I've seen that logo…" JoAnn reached out at the television with the remote and shut off the set.

"I don't like the sound of that," Mom said.

"I might have thrown it away," JoAnn whined.

Mom shook her head. "You're a pain in my-"

"I'm sorry, and I think we should take this serious, Susan," JoAnn said, looking guilty as hell.

"We're going to read that book," I said, glaring at her. "Then I'll call the Miami office and explain the whole thing. And we'll order the damn blood. At least we won't have to go out at night sucking on deer." I was not getting on a plane with my mother. I could just see her with a whole plane full of mortals. It'd be like a frigging buffet at the Golden Coral.

JoAnn's eyes bugged out. "I think we should consider going to Miami. That's all I'm saying."

"I am not getting on a plane," Mom countered, making me smile. "In case you idiots haven't watched the news, there are terrorists out there. We're talkin' Miami here. I'll just stay right in this house and wait for you to get back."

Jeni smiled at Mom. "If we have to go to Miami, you'll be sitting in a seat between me and the window, Nan."

"Look, you little shit. You drag me on a plane and anyone looking even remotely Al Quida-ish is fair game. Consider yourself warned." Mom stuck her finger in her ear, giving her hand a shake.

"Let's just find out what is expected of us, alright?" Jeni walked into the dining room, sat at the table and opened the book. "The rules are very simple. I'm guessing they were written a long time ago without much updating."

We took seats at the picnic table in the dining room and settled in.

Jeni began to read. "Rule number one: No biting of humans for sustenance, unless it is sanctioned by the council as in the case of a Seraph, or falls under the category of rule number two."

"Shit," Resi said. "In the fantasy books, a Seraph is an immortal that can't drink processed blood. I don't think any of us are Seraph's."

"I might be," Mom announced. "I get sick if I don't suck on a human and I didn't mean to kill that first one, either. But Susan killed-"

"I did not! The gator did!"

"Wait, let's see what rule number two is," JoAnn ordered.

"Don't matter. We fucked that one up," Zaire said.

Jeni looked at us. "Are all of you finished?" No one answered. "Number two: No immortal is allowed to turn a human, unless they are a willing Blood-Mate, and the union is established and sanctioned by the council."

"I'm good!" Resi said with a big smile. "Zaire IS my mate." Resi patted Zaire's leg.

"See, we can erase one off the list." JoAnn smiled at all of us as if this were going well so far.

Jeni burst Resi's bubble. "First of all, you're not sanctioned by the council, and I believe by 'Blood-Mate', they mean a married couple that can procreate. Let me finish."

"Oh hell no. Tell me they aren't a bunch of homophobic assholes like the rest of the friggin' world," Zaire yelled.

Jeni raised an eyebrow and continued. "Number three: You may bear only one child with a Blood-Mate, every five-hundred years."

"I hope they have immortal rubbers, because I'm not having no more kids," Mom announced. "Damn, just when I thought my womb was shriveled up and dead, you throw this shit at me. You two are enough of a pain in my ass. I just want sex. I ain't havin' no little bloodsucking swaddler fangin' up to my new tits!"

"Nanna, sweetie, I'd bet my eye teeth your uterus is still dried up." Resi laughed.

"Whaddaya talkin' about, Resi?" Mom spat.

"Whether her baby-making days are over or not it won't make a shit of difference if they kill all of you, now will it? May I continue?" Jeni really looked pissed.

"Son-of-a-bitch, all this sanctioned shit sounds like control issues to me," I yelled.

"Mother, you are what you are," Jeni sighed. "I'm sure there are good reasons for all of these rules. And let us not forget that they've been enforced for over a thousand years. So for once in your undead life, just shut the hell up and listen."

"I just don't like it." Control was one of my hot buttons and the reason my three marriages didn't work.

"Rule number four: Disclosing the origin or the immortal nature of our being is punishable by death. Number five: An immortal is forbidden from stealing, borrowing, or buying blood from a human establishment."

"Oh shit, that gets me another one. I did it. I fuckin' burn in hell," Zaire pounded her fist on the table in front of her.

"Yes, weee…stole blood," JoAnn said. "But the hospital was just going to throw it away." Once again, my sister was in her own little world.

"But I bet the bastards chalk that one up as two, because I could've got caught," Zaire said.

"Number six:" Jeni ignored us. "No immortal shall ever kill or be involved in the death of another species, unless approved by the council, sanctioned by council and assisted by the council members.

"Well no surprises there," I said.

Jeni was on a roll. "Number seven: An immortal cannot expose another species, and in parenthesis, Shape-shifter, Witch, Fairy, Elf, Troll, Demon, etcetera."

"I guess screwing with Alpo Boy is out of the question," Zaire said.

We all made sounds of amusement. Even Jeni laughed.

Giggles echoed off the kitchen wall and blended with ours. I scrunched up my face and began to think I was hearing Mom's voices in my head.

"Let's finish this so you can get your shit together." Jeni looked at Nanna. "And I really think you guys should give a trip to Miami some more thought."

"I am not getting on a plane." Mom shook her finger at Jeni.

Jeni let out a long slow breath. "I don't know why I even bother, sometimes. Shut the hell up and listen! Rule number eight: Never betray the family or its council."

"Right! They shout and we jump. Screw that!" Zaire was not happy.

Jeni ignored her. "All rules are grounds for serious judgment and penalized by internment, death by fire, or beheading. The penalty is determined by the number of rules broken and the circumstances surrounding them. Two or more justify full punishment. The rules established and sanctioned in the year sixteen-hundred-and-ten, will be in complete accordance with the decisions of the Council. Forever walk in their shadow."

"Forever walk in their shadow?" Nanna guffawed. "What kind of Count Dracula bullshit is that?"

18

The next day we called the number on the card. Two rings and a soft, feminine voice came out of the phone.

"You have reached the offices of BAMVC in Miami. If you know your party's extension, please proceed by entering the four-digit number now. If you want to place an order, please press one. If you wish to report an infraction, please press two. If you want to leave a recorded message for one of our Miami representatives please press three. All other inquiries please press zero. Thank you and forever walk in their shadow."

I pressed zero. The rest of the girls were smiling at me, except JoAnn. She had her eyebrows plastered together.

"Thank you for calling BAMVC. All of our representatives are busy with other calls at the moment. Stay on the line and someone will be with you in approximately five minutes."

We sat listening to 'I Put a Spell on You' emanating from the speaker.

"Great. Five minutes of vampire muzac," I said.

"Well, at least it isn't at a deafening volume," JoAnn glared at Zaire and Resi.

Jeni hummed as we waited. My mother held the Book of Rules in her hands 'just in case', she informed all of us.

"Hello, you have reached the customer service center. If you want to place an order, please press or say one."

"I don't want to order… yet, I want a warm body to talk too, please," I enunciated, getting my face closer to the speaker on the phone.

"Good luck with that," Zaire mumbled.

I frowned at her.

"I'm sorry; I did not understand your request. If you want to place an order, please press or say one. If you want to report an infraction, please press or say two-"

"I want to talk to a real PERSON," I yelled.

"I'm sorry I did not understand your request. If you want to place an order, please press or say one. If you want to report an infraction, please press or say two. If you want to-"

"Mom, there are probably no warm bodies, or real persons. Try the expression, Representatives. That's R E P R E S-" Jeni spelled.

"Shut the hell up, Jeni," I ordered.

"I'm sorry, I did not under-"

"Is there someone alive I can talk to, DAMN IT?" I spat out.

"I'm sorry-"

"You sure as hell are. Get me SOMEONE to talk to, damn it!" I shouted at the phone, slamming my hand on the coffee table.

"One moment please, while I connect you to one of our representatives."

Jeni smiled at me. I growled back.

"Werewolf in London, ah oooh," the next song began, goading me further.

"Shit."

"Susan, if you're too upset to handle the damn call, give the phone to Jen," Mom suggested as the song continued and Jeni hummed along with a smile.

"I'm waiting for a representative, MOTHER, to a background of Werewolf in London, for Christ sake, but I can't enjoy the music if you prattle on!"

Mom let out a long, aggravated sigh as I continued to wait, tapping my foot to the music.

After listening to, 'Christ, You Know it Ain't Easy', the theme song to 'Blade', and some frigging song about a devastated necrophiliac in Bolivia losing the love of his life to some bonfire in a local field on the other side of town while he sat helpless in a locked tomb, someone answered.

"Hello, thank you for calling BAMVC. My name is Buffy. How can I help you today?"

"Oh hell no," Zaire bellowed.

"You've got to be kidding me." I said to the phone on the coffee table.

"Oh, this is good," Jeni giggled.

"I'm sorry; do you have the wrong number? This is BAMVC in Miami. Can I help you with something?"

"Hello Buffy, dear…" I started, glaring into JoAnn's frowning face.

"You're fucking with us, right?" Resi shoved her face into the phone, stifling a laugh.

Buffy ignored her so I pressed on. "I'm Susan Stech. I received the package that the Morizzio family sent us and I need to talk to one of them please."

There was a shuffling of pages.

"Yes, I have you on my list. But I'm sorry, the council doesn't speak to anyone on this phone."

"Well, can you give me a number to reach one of them, please?" I asked as nicely as I could muster while the rest of the girls looked at the phone with amusement.

"No, I'm sorry., Unless one of them gives you a number, you cannot reach them by telephone. I can set up a meeting though, if you like."

That rankled. I was about to rip the little bitch a new one when she went on. "Let me see," she said, flipping through pages. "Would Wednesday at two AM be good for you?"

"I am not getting on a frigging plane," Mom yelled into the speaker. I grabbed her by her tube top and yanked her back from it.

"Nanna, it's friggin', not frigging," Zaire said.

"I'll talk like I want to talk," Mom spat. "It's always been frigging. You kid's changed it."

"Have you looked into a mirror lately?" Resi asked.

Mom shook her head. "Yeah, and I look hotter than you!"

I smiled at Mom.

Oh, well then, how about… The sound of pages fluttering wafted from the phone.

"No, Wednesday at two AM will not be good for us, neither would any other day, Buffy," I said, getting back on point. "I just want to talk to one of them, please." I hissed, my teeth grinding.

"I can't let you talk to anyone on the council over the telephone," she said again, a little irritation in her voice.

"Sorry if I am upsetting you, BUFFY, but I need to get a message to them, please. And I also need to order blood."

"Well, I can help you with that." She used her cheerful voice. "How many bags do you need?"

I continued. "I don't know. There are five of us. We're… umm…new customers. How do you deliver? And what do we need to do to get set up on regular shipments?"

"We deliver as often as you need it and the amount is up to you." Her saccharin voice told us.

"Alright," I said, lifting my shoulders at the girls with a silly smile on my face. "We'll take three a day for each of us. That's fifteen. You can ship once a week or daily, or whatever everyone else does." I grinned at Jeni, who was leaning back with her pad and pen poised in anticipation. Resi and Zaire started to giggle. JoAnn, alert, hovering with her face close to the phone, hung on every word.

"May I suggest that we ship at least biweekly to insure freshness?" Buffy offered.

"Biweekly is fine. Can we set up regular week days so we can make plans for one of us to be here for the shipments?" I asked, thinking this was way too easy.

"Are Mondays and Thursdays good for you?"

Resi covered her mouth as I sent a questioning look at them. They all nodded their heads.

"Yes, that's good. So, that means we will get fifty-three bags on Mondays and fifty-two on Thursdays. Is that correct?"

"I would suggest getting a few extra on Thursdays in case you run out, or need more than you anticipated. We can overnight you blood, of course, but having, let's say, twelve extra, delivered on Thursdays, might just keep you from running out if there is an emergency. We've found that our clients need more on the weekends. Usually they end up calling for extra bags during the day, or on Sundays when there is no one here staffing the phones. We hate to have you run out." Buffy was overflowing with information.

JoAnn was busy adding the sums in her head and mine. My Mother was looking at me as if this were some kind of joke. Jeni jotted everything down, and the girls were laughing under hands stretched across their mouths.

I tried to concentrate on the call. "Okay, so we'll get fifty seven on Mondays and sixty on Thursdays. Right?"

"Yes. Now can I have the name of your clan and the address you want it sent to?"

Zaire and Resi got up and left the room, their laughter echoing into the living room from the kitchen as they came up with several names for our Clan. I heard, 'The Slaughtered House Five', 'Death Becomes Us Beautifully Fanged', and 'A Family that Slays Together, Stays Together', before turning them out.

"Stech. The name of our Clan is just Stech. What kind of credit cards do you take?" I asked, glaring in the direction of the kitchen.

"Oh, we don't take payment for blood. You're a member now. All you will need to do before we ship out the second order is fill out the registration forms and sign the contract. They will be in the first shipment. The council requires the information so they can reach you if they need your help."

That shut everyone up.

"What contract? I don't understand?"

"Well, BAMVC can monitor their members by delivery of regular shipments. The contract simply assures that you know the rules. In addition, from time to time the council needs information on… others… that may reside in and around your area. When you sign the contract, you are stating that your clan is willing to assist if necessary. It's a trade-off. You get what you need, they expect you to give back. But I assure you, it doesn't happen very often."

Somehow, I felt by sending back the contract, I would be signing my soul away to the devil.

"And if we don't send back the contracts signed?"

"Well then, you would be on your own. I suggest you sign. Your membership gives you all the benefits of belonging to the BAMVC family, protection being the biggest perk."

I thought about checking out the possibility of a swimming pool and gym as part of the package, but asked, "Can you hold on a minute?"

"Of course, take all the time you need."

I pushed the mute button. "Okay, so now what?"

"Mother, just finish the call. We can read the contract when it gets here. I really see no problem. Look at it this way, instead of losing a mortal life; you gain a whole family of blood suckers."

I wanted to wipe the smirk off Jeni's face but, instead, I opted for pressing the mute button to get us back to Buffy the Customer-Slayer. "Thank you. Now I would like to get a message to the council."

"You can do that on our Web site. It's www.BAMVC.com. They pick up correspondence daily."

Jeni got up and headed toward the computer. I was not ready to give up. "So, there's no way to talk to or leave a verbal message?" I asked, wishing I could be in the same room with her for just five minutes.

"No." Buffy stated emphatically, getting a snicker from Jeni.

"Thank you Buffy. Have a nice evening," I spat out sarcastically, "AND FOREVER WALK IN THEIR FUCKING SHADOWS."

"Burning your bridges, Mommy Dearest?" Jeni smiled at me, typing away.

"I am not getting on a plane, Susan," Mom said with a snarl.

"I think we should go meet with them, Nanna." Resi was standing in the kitchen, trying to crank up my mother a bit. I gave her one of JoAnn's looks.

"We can't just do nothing." JoAnn's arms were hugging her chest again, eyebrows in their usual position.

"We don't have to go anywhere… yet." I smiled. "We just need to sign on to their Web site. Jeni can explain everything in an email.

JoAnn pushed, Sure, easy for you to say, Susan. We just email them and we wait, again. Right? I'm tired of waiting. I say we make a flight for tomorrow night and get this whole thing straightened out. I am so tired of you holding the ropes.

"Talk out loud!" Everyone yelled, except Jeni.

Jeni tapped the keys on the computer, smiling at us. "The Web site is very impressive. Everything is coded. We can even order blood from here. They call it bags of fertilizer."

"What? Well, I wish we would have seen that before we all turned ourselves into shit sucking immortals." Mom rubbed her stomach.

* * *

Dorius stepped into the boardroom at BAMVC, Miami with a big smile and strutted up to the table. "They ordered blood and refused to make an appointment. I think it's time we paid the ladies a visit."

"They've made no further contact, Dorius?" Marcus asked.

"No," Dorius answered.

"I told you they're rogues. But nooo, none of you would believe me. I say we burn their friggin' house down with them in it," Christopher suggested from the corner of the room. Buster, sitting beside him, growled his approval. Christopher looked a bit out of place, dressed in a black business suit, black dress shirt open at the collar, a thick gold chain around his neck, and a pair of Keds with a picture of SpongeBob on the toes.

"Nobody is burning anyone, Christopher," Marcus said in a soft, condescending voice as he took a sip of blood from a wineglass, his pinky ring flashing on his extended finger.

"I have some footage of the women on their property. I believe it will make all of you aware what we are dealing with." Dorius lowered the lights to a soft glow as he hit a remote. A large screen fell from the ceiling behind him. He stepped aside and turned to the twelve immortals watching his every move. "Paul was nice enough to film the women for me. They seem to be… well…" He sent his smile around the table. "…let me just show you." He clicked the remote again and the screen came to life.

The scene Dorius chose to display was Jeni reading the rules to the five immortals. When the thread finished Dorius turned to the group. "As you can see, they did make each other, stole blood from a hospital, and more importantly, at least one of them has killed a human and is still drinking from mortals."

Christopher strolled over with Buster at his heels as he flipped on the overhead lights. He opened a wrapper, shoved a big pink blob in his mouth, and started chewing. "So, like I said, a few cans of gasoline and a Bic lighter, and burn baby, burn, disco inferno. What'cha say?"

"The rules clearly state that they have the right to a hearing," Marcus interrupted. "We will leave immediately. When we return with the Stech women we will set up a hearing and do this by the book."

"Buster and I are coming with," Christopher announced. He blew a big pink bubble, sucking it loudly back into his mouth.

"I think not, Christopher," Dorius growled.

19

Christopher clapped, concentrating on the burgundy shaded chrome fixture in front of him. The lamp came on. "Wow, man that is so far out."

He turned to Dorius with a smile. "You need to take care of this, Dude. I mean, those fuckers really wiped out your bitch. That's hated, man. If you don't want the family to find out you - you know, let a possible mate slip through your, well, blood-tainted hands and all - just because you had to play-"

"Enough! I understand the ramifications completely, Christopher. I certainly do not need you to explain them to me." Dorius rubbed the back of his neck, bending his head from side to side, staring at his cell phone on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

"Just sayin, man. I mean, it doesn't take, like, brain science to figure out when she sunk her teeth in Angel, she got the message. Ya know what I mean, dude? I'm sure she saw it in Technicolor, dickwad. She has this mate thing planted somewhere in her friggin' brain, man."

Christopher rolled his tongue against the top of his mouth, coating it with Bazooka bubble gum. He filled the pink mass with a hissing breath, letting it burst around his face. The lamp went out. "That is just sooo cool!" he mumbled through the gum plastered from the bottom of his eyes to the underside of his chin.

"Do you look for things to aggravate me, you little shit? What's with the gum and the God-awful language? And where's Buster?" Dorius walked up to Christopher and plucked the gum from his face. He tossed it into a piece of ceramic pottery by the couch.

"I'm trying to quit smoking. Deal with it, man. I'm bitchy. Buster's at Puff-n-Fluff getting his weekly bath. He should be home soon. I sent Dennis to fetch him an hour ago, dude." He wiped his face and reached into the pocket of his Hawaiian print shirt for another piece of gum. He unwrapped it, tossed it in his mouth and began chewing with loud sucking noises. His little sandal-clad feet gave Dorius a view of spider-man tangled in a bright red web across all ten toes.

"Christopher, you do not surf. You've never surfed, and I don't even think you've been in the same room with a surfboard. So can you please tell me why you have adapted the persona of a wave-catcher high on marijuana?"

"Just trying to find, like… my niche, man." Christopher blew another large bubble, sucking it into his mouth with a loud pop. The light came back on as he jumped off the couch and walked toward the door. "Later dude." He wiggled his fingers over his shoulder as he opened the door.

Dorius watched the small immortal strut out the door. Growling, he picked up the cell and punched in the wolf's number, then set the phone back on the coffee table.

"Yes Dorius, what can I do for you?" Paul answered.

"Are the women still at home?" Dorius pulled the cuff up on his cranberry silk shirt, looking at his Rolex.

"I assume so. I'm waiting for the fairy to show up with the latest information."

"I'll be leaving with Marcus in a couple of hours. We should get there before dark. We intend to bring them back here to address the council. Make sure they stay on the property."

"Can do. What's with Marcus tagging along? This more than a bag and drag?"

"I have no clue," Dorius said. "He insisted on joining me and he only wants Camillio and Warren to accompany us. I'd like you to stick around in case we need you. Is there anything I should know about as far as their skills?"

"JoAnn, the blonde, is useless. She's afraid of the wildlife on the property," Paul answered. "The black one's a bitch. I'd keep my eye on her. Chick seems preoccupied with sex. Susan, the curly-haired redhead, might give another immortal a run for their money, but she'll be no match for any of you. Resi, the one with straight, chestnut colored hair, and the black immortal seem to be mated. You may have trouble mind-pushing them if they know what they're doing."

"I'll brief the others," Dorius growled.

"I find it interesting that Marcus left Italy for five immortal women." Paul's statement had a questionable tone. "Did you show them the footage I sent?"

"Parts of it. Only what they needed to see. They have definitely committed more than enough infractions to warrant us picking them up. Especially since they did not make an appointment."

"They got the package and still didn't call or try to contact you?" Paul asked.

"I don't have time to go into the details with you, wolf. Just be ready this evening in case you're needed."

"Do you want me to call you if the fairy has anything useful?"

"Not unless it's in the next hour. I would rather not carry on a conversation with the other immortals in the car. You can text me if it's something of major importance."

"I'll stay close to the house. Just whistle if you need me." There was amusement in Paul's voice as he cut the connection.

"Exxxcellent."

* * *

Gibbie flew out of the exhaust fan on the roof at the back of the house. JoAnn kept locking windows and he had resorted to making his way in and out through the ventilation system in the attic. As he flew by the dock, the troll immerged, swimming in the water toward the cypress trees.

"Fairy,…yo…step over here… for a second…will ya."

Gibbie landed on a nearby branch, looking down at Mort. "What do you want, troll?" he squeaked, fluttering his wings, letting red sparkles rain down on the troll.

Mort slowly submerged, sending the red dust floating away from him in the water. He lumbered closer, blowing air in the water through his nose. "Did you know… Warren, Marcus, Camillio… and Dorius… will be here today?"

"Why?" Gibbie was airborne, glitter flying everywhere in a multitude of shiny colors as he flitted back and forth in front of Mort's face. The water around the troll looked like a rainbowed oil slick.

"I think… they may be picking… up the girls. That black one… sure is a bitch. You seen her… act all mighty… and sassy? She must… think she's… one of us." His voice was deep and excruciatingly slow.

"She is one of us," Gibbie announced with a flourish of red sparkles.

"You know… what I mean."

"No, I'm sure I don't. Is that all the news you have?" Gibbie asked in a high-pitched screech.

"Umm…yeah…well…let me think a minute." The troll rubbed his face, and turned up to Gibbie with red droplets dripping off his gray chin. His big black eyes blinked several times. "Oh… I remember… it's the mortal one," he said in a deep rumbling voice, sounding like an old forty-five record played on low speed. "The one… that lives here… but isn't one of us. She… packed the boat… today. There's enough… weaponry on board… to kill an army. Looks… like they may… be getting ready… to take a hike… if ya know what I mean."

The troll sank in the water, showing only his eyes as he waited for the fairy's reaction.

"I better get going. I need to report this to the wolf. I guess I should say thanks." Gibbie dusted the troll's head with a flurry of wings, taking off in the direction of the woods, his sword shining in the sunlight.

"Yeah… and you're… welcome… bug." The troll submerged and a small wave of water followed him to the underside of the dock.

* * *

The wolf lapped at the shoreline and then playfully rolled in the water at the edge of the lake, his paws kicking at the air above him.

Gibbie flew out of a cropping of trees and landed on a cypress knee. "You look like gator bait."

Paul got up, shook from head to tail and trotted off toward the trees.

A few minutes later, he waked out of the woods, long black hair sending little rivulets of water down his human body. "I can handle a gator Gibbie, been a Florida-boy for way too many years. You got anything for me?"

Gibbie talked as he preened his wings. "Yeah, JoAnn continually pisses me off. Always cutting flowers, pulling weeds, and yesterday she was packing a blowtorch. The trigger kept getting caught on the rose bush, sending noxious fumes in my home. It took all day to air out."

"Fairy, if you blow your cover, I'll personally tan your winged ass." Paul sat bare-assed in the grass.

"Look at me wolf. Do I look like I'm shaking?"

"Do you have anything I can actually use?" Paul laid back, popped a long blade of grass in his mouth and tucked his arms under his head.

"The women have just been doing the same old shit, mostly arguing, but the troll stopped me on the way. He said Jeni, the mortal, loaded the boat with guns. He thinks they might run."

"Shit, just what I need." Paul shot up, spit the grass out of his mouth, scooped up his clothes and headed for the house. "I'll watch the back from the woods. You keep an eye on the lake. I want you on that boat if they make a run for it."

"The troll also said that Dorius and Marcus are on the way with Warren and Camillio. You know anything about that?" Gibbie was animated, buzzing around Paul's head.

"Yes, evidently the footage I sent has the council members concerned. Dorius was tight-lipped about Marcus. It makes me nervous. I don't want any bloodshed. I'm growing fond of these women." Paul looked off in the direction of the house, a frown on his face as he trotted along.

"Are you going to tell Dorius about the guns?"

"Not yet. I don't think they'll use them. Let's just see how this plays out."

Gibbie buzzed off in the direction of the boat dock. "Yeah-right. Good luck with that, Cujo." The air filled with a chaotic high-pitched laughter that slowly faded.

* * *

Dorius, flanked by Marcus and Camillio, on the way to meet Warren, strolled through the entrance hall of BAMVC Miami, headed for the limo idling in the parking lot.

Christopher walked in through the big glass doors, dwarfed by a huge purple surfboard hanging under his arm, tethered to his right leg with a long piece of leather and an ankle strap of Velcro.

Buster dripped and tracked sand along the black slate floors as Christopher swaggered toward them. He looked like a regurgitated billboard advertisement for Panama Jack, dressed in a pair of bright orange jams covered in large white magnolias. A long, brightly beaded piece of leather tied around his waist, hung to his knees and swayed as he walked. A royal blue shirt littered with palm trees hung open, showing off his skinny chest as his flip-flops squeegeed along on the floor.

"I caught some sick waves out there, man. It's hard trying not to swallow the chowder, you follow? You kooks grubbing already? Choka, dudes! You need to wipe-out those junk-yard-dogs. Buster! Sit!"

Buster sat.

20

I sat on the back porch with JoAnn, Zaire, and Resi, sucking blood bags while watching the sun float down through lazy gray clouds toward the opposite shoreline. Jeni was in the kitchen dishing out ice cream and Mom was making obnoxious suggestions to a contestant on 'Wheel of Fortune' in the living room.

I frowned at my sister's slurping noises as she finished her bag of blood.

The first shipment of blood had arrived yesterday, and no longer having to hunt for deer, JoAnn was elated. She'd plucked another plastic bag of blood out of the shipped package, stuck a bendy straw into it and sucked like a contented kid with a bloody juice box. The rest of us used our fangs.

Mom yelled from the living room, "Hey guys, four big ass dudes just got out of a limo at the front gate. One of them has a bolt cutter in his hand."

We all skidded into the living room and came to a stop in front of the surveillance monitor we'd just had installed.

"Shit, there goes our new padlock. Anybody got any ideas?" I asked, staring at the four men at our front gate.

Jeni calmly walked out of the kitchen and pulled a spoon out of her mouth. "Why don't we all go for ride? JoAnn and I packed the boat. We can be on the lake before they get to the front door."

Sounded good to me.

Jeni put her bowl of ice cream down and took Mom's arm, coaxing her toward the back porch. We all moved quickly toward the screen door.

"Jennifer, why in the hell couldn't you have come up with something other than escape by water? I am not getting in that damn boat." Mom wiggled her arm out of Jeni's grasp only to have both Zaire and Resi snag her by each elbow, swinging her between them as they leapt down the porch steps.

"Suck it up, sweetie. The Morizzio boys got dibs on the only other exit," Jeni said, and stepped through the screen door.

"Damn, look at that dragonfly." I pointed as it zipped by my head, heading for the boat.

Susan, it's just like you to notice a damn bug when we're about to get our throats slit, JoAnn pushed at me as she ran out the screen door behind me.

"Get out of my head, JoAnn," I growled, running down the steps.

Everyone momentarily jerked to a halt at the sound of wood splintering. Then we all headed for the dock like a gator was nipping at our asses.

"Shit, move it, Mom," I spat, dodging my mother and the girls. I landed on the patio at breakneck speed, running for the dock.

My mother screeched, "Damn it Jeni, I am not drowning today!" Her feet bicycled between Zaire and Resi as they carried her down the wooded dock toward the boat.

"Honey, you're already dead, remember?" Jeni, bringing up the rear, hobbled down the dock toward us.

I stood with the boat lines in my hands and saw a tall blond man circle the side of the house. "Mom, quit fighting them and get in the damn boat!"

"Where the hell is my Valium when I need it?" Mom gasped, eyes filled with terror, her body rigid as the girls, literally, tossed her in the bow, jumping in after her.

Jeni and JoAnn stepped in after them.

I threw the lines in, pushed the Pro-Line away from the dock and jumped into the bow as the blond immortal stepped onto the edge of the long wooden walkway connected to the dock.

I made my way to the back of the boat, watching three other men run across the patio. All four of them walked to the edge of the dock as the boat slowly motored fifteen feet away. I wiggled my fingers at them, but stopped laughing abruptly when I saw little beady red eyes heading around the house toward the immortals.

"Holy shit!" I pointed at the dock.

"Let's move it!" Resi yelled over the noise of the outboard motor, nudging Zaire on the shoulder.

Zaire hit the throttle and the boat shot off. She made a big circle about twenty feet from the dock, kicking up a nice wake.

Behind the men, two raccoons, several squirrels, a red fox, three rats, a possum, a porcupine and an armadillo, all with glittering red eyes, strutted their way across the cement patio. A gator emerged from the lake grass beside the dock, eyes hooded; studying the four immortals as it silently made its way toward the shoreline. The men watched us, unaware.

"Friggin'-A, man!" Zaire yelled, eyeing the motley crew. "I think we should stay and fight with the vamp brigade.

"JoAnn and I loaded all your weapons in the compartment in the bow," Jeni announced. "Just in case." She smiled at me from the bow.

"We have an arsenal in this boat?" Zaire made another sweep, turning the boat around in front of the dock. "Oh, hell yes! I got dibs on the big-daddy shotgun this time."

The immortals didn't look happy. I was kinda' hoping they'd turn around and see the freaks of nature flanking the deck behind them. "Let's not pull out the firearms just yet," I suggested, getting a loud grunt from Zaire.

My eyes skipped a little tango across the two men's faces we'd seen in the video. Dorius was filled with rage. That made me smile. Then I locked eyes with Marcus. My undead heart jumped in my throat, my naughty bits did a little dance, and the hair on my arms stood at attention while each little follicle tingled.

I heard masculine, bellowing laughter in my head.

Marcus was grinning at me, his eyes shining, his jeans way too tight, and his body way too sexy. I wanted to kiss that grin right off his face. God, he was beautiful.

The gator waddled down the dock. All four immortals jerked around when it opened its mouth and hissed.

JoAnn grabbed the window of the dashboard for dear life when Zaire hit the gas, turned the wheel starboard, and threw all of us port side.

On the dock, the gator swiftly moved toward the vampires.

As usual, JoAnn was humping my mind like Tootles joy riding the leg of the recliner. Son-of-a-bitch! We're going to capsize! The boat is on its side!

I sucked in a breath and shot a scowl at her tight lips; she gave me nasty eyebrows.

The engine sped up. I grabbed for the motor, the transom, anything that flew by me as the boat turned in circles on the choppy lake.

Zaire pumped one hand in the air and shouted, "Let's see you exterminate a vamp-gator you blood-sucking bastards. Sanction that, assholes!"

Dorius put his fingers in his mouth and whistled as the gator leapt at him. They both hit the lake, the gator's teeth wrapped around one of his legs. The gator did a death roll and pulled him under the water, cutting off his shrill whistle.

A huge rock with arms emerged from the lake. It grabbed the gator's mouth by its snout, pulled it open and Dorius' swam away. The rock tore off the gator's head and tossed it against a cypress tree, then slipped back into the water.

Dorius pulled himself up onto the dock with a loud growl. The rest of the vamp-animals scattered.

"What the hell was that big ugly gray thing with arms?" I asked, my jaw an inch from my chest.

Where are we all supposed to sit? JoAnn didn't give a shit about the live rock with arms. She hung onto the windshield for dear life, the boat on its side, as Zaire made another pass.

Jeni, JoAnn and Mom were all wedged between the split windshields in front of the seats, half in the bow, fighting each other to get to a seat.

JoAnn shoved my mother at me.

Mom fell to her knees at my feet, bared her fangs at JoAnn and cussed like a ho. "I'm gonna slap the fucking shit out of you, you goddamned, son-of-a-bitch!"

JoAnn pushed, Put your teeth back in your filthy little mouth, Mom. She turned to me. Get behind the steering wheel, now!

Mom scaled up my body, latching onto my shoulders.

I glared over Mom's shoulder at JoAnn's tight lips. "I've got my hands full, you get behind the steering wheel, smart ass."

JoAnn reached for the wheel, fell on her ass, and the boat kicked up a good wake.

Zaire, more alive than I'd seen her in months, yelled, "I got a big mutha-F'n shotgun! Bring it on, boys! I'd love'ta blow your undead hearts right out'a'ya friggin' chests!"

I can't get up! JoAnn pushed.

I tried to help my mother; we danced toward one of the seats like a whore and a drunk doing a tango.

"Jeni, this was your idea! Do something!" Mom screamed, pulled away from me, landing by JoAnn and grabbing her ankles as they both scrambled for the seat.

I hit the deck, landing against the transom.

Fist pumping circles in the air, Zaire let out four masculine grunts.

"I'm going to shit myself," my mother yelled, still wrapped around JoAnn's legs.

Resi high-fived Zaire.

Mom, let go of my legs! Damn you, you little demon! JoAnn slapped at Mom's hands and both of them rolled back into the transom with me.

Jeni tried to grab the steering wheel but fell backwards, arms flailing as she hit the floor of the boat next to my mother in an ass cracking smack. Her head fell in my lap.

I looked down at her.

"I think it would be a good idea if we all just stayed down here for a minute," I said, the four of us in a heap like fish dumped from a net.

I turned back to the dock and Marcus shook his head, a big grin on his face. Dorius, dripping wet, looked livid. The other two men, apparently waiting for instructions, glanced from us to the two brothers.

"This is about all I can take!" Jeni was not in a happy place.

My mom wasn't either. "Zaire! Goddamned idiot! Straighten out this frigging boat and get us the hell out of here!"

As all of this was going on, I could hear the continuing saga of JoAnn's sarcastic voice. I glanced at her. She had a crazy-eyed look that would put Jack Nicholson in 'The Shining' to shame. I hate snakes! I hate gators! I hate getting wet, and I am not going to swim all the way to shore!

I tried to stand up but my Mother took the opportunity to grab me by my hair. She yanked me inches from her cute little nose and with spittle flying from her mouth, she spat, "Susan, I am not gonna drown tonight!" Her eyes gleamed gold fire, her white hair blew in cute little curls around her face.

Everyone in this boat is in my personal space! JoAnn looked at me with wrestling eyebrows as I tried to free my mother's hand from my hair.

Zaire, looking a bit put out, yanked the throttle into neutral and ambled over to the starboard seat behind JoAnn.

Resi slid in beside her.

The boat rocked in the water.

Mom got up, plopped down in the seat behind the driver's seat, and tucked a big white bumper under her butt.

"And you have a bumper up your ass, why?" I asked, rubbing my head as I got to my feet.

"It floats, doesn't it?"

Jeni crawled over to the driver's seat and wiggled into it. She firmly gripped the throttle and asked, "Everyone ready?"

Deep bellowing laughter ricocheted between my ears. My head shot toward the boat dock. Susan my dear, I am very much looking forward to meeting you, a deep throaty voice announced.

I broke out in goose bumps and frowned at the only immortal with a smile on his face, as Jeni eased the throttle forward and the boat headed toward the other side of the lake. "Did anyone else hear that hot looking immortal talking in their head?"

"You're so full of shit," JoAnn barked.

"Hot! I'd like to flame up their immortal asses, alright," Zaire huffed.

"Tomorrow's another day, sweetie," Resi giggled.

"So, how are all you dead-chicks doing?" Jeni quipped.

I shook my head in confusion as I watched the men on the dock fade into the distance.

"Well, we sure as hell showed them, didn't we?" Mom said, cozying up to the bumper.

21

"What the hell was that all about, Dorius?" Warren paced on the edge of the dock as the other three immortals watched the lights from the boat wink out in the distance. "Without the trolls help, that damn gator would probably be halfway across the lake by now, with you still in its mouth."

Mort plucked the head of the gator out of the water, turning it in front of his face. "I think… I know… look… this is straaange." Mort slowly waded over, pointing at two extra-long fangs protruding from the reptile's jaw.

Dorius, dripping wet, tried to dry his hair on Camillio's shirt. Camillio pulled his shirt free, muttering to himself as he walked over to Marcus who was on his haunches examining the reptile fangs.

Paul appeared around the side of the house, strutting across the cement patio onto the dock, butt-ass naked with a wriggling fox in his hands. "I've got another one here. It tried to take a chunk out of my ass." He turned, showing the four men and the troll two long gashes across his derrière.

Marcus grabbed the fox by the scruff of its neck, its eyes blazing red. It squirmed and hissed with large fangs extended. "Dorius, how could this be possible? They both have blood-sucking fangs."

Dorius squeegeed his wet hair between dirty fingers, pulling out bits of green slime. "How the hell do I know?"

"Do you think… this gator… turned the women?" The troll set the reptile's head on the edge of the dock, then sank back into the water. The top of his head inched up from the lake until his eyes peeked out.

"Great, there goes the species," Warren muttered.

"Better… yours… than mine." Mort's brow-less forehead wiggled, bubbles boiled around his slate gray lips and water escaped between his toothy, algae-coated smile.

"Where the hell were you, mutt? Didn't you hear me whistle?" Dorius flung his hair over wet shoulders with a moss-covered hand, his leather pants squeaking as he sloshed toward Paul.

"Sorry. I had a fox attached to my ass." Paul ran a hand over his butt, checking for blood. He turned and smiled at Dorius, wiggling his fingers in front of his face. "At least it's started healing. Gibbie's in the boat. I should hear from him as soon as they settle somewhere. I'll have them back before sunrise, Dorius."

"I will be joining you and the fairy, but first I'm going inside to shower and change." Dorius scowled at Paul, making shoulder contact as he forced his way by. "Get dressed. I'm not going to watch you swagger around with your cock swinging."

"If you need dry clothes, I suggest Zaire's. She's about your size and has a lust for leather." Paul grinned, watching Dorius leave a trail of water and slime as he headed for the house.

"Easy wolf, I'm in an unpleasant mood," Dorius growled back.

"I want to know how this fox became immortal." Marcus twisted the animal's neck and severed its head in one quick movement.

"Do you think those women are capable of turning animals into immortals?" Camillio pointed at the bloody mess with a scowl.

"Let's not jump to conclusions, Camillio," Paul said. "Just because we've never run across any immortal animals, doesn't mean it can't be done."

"It can't be done. We've tried it in the lab," Camillio rebutted. "No one, not even our Seraphs, the cream of our crop, have been able to turn animals."

Warren growled, "I'll tell you one thing, I think we need to call in reinforcements if these women did this. The black one could be some voodoo princess or something."

A rumbling laugh fell from the troll's mouth.

"Did any of you stop to think that maybe the animals turned the women?" Paul glared at both immortals.

"I believe… I asked… that question." The troll leaned his crusty chin on the edge of the dock with a green toothy smirk for all of them.

"Whoever turned this fox and that gator is much more than a mere immortal. There's demon-blood in the one capable of this," Marcus said. "I don't believe it's possible without it. Moreover, since we know that all Seraph immortals have unusual powers, it makes sense that whoever did this is a very special immortal. There are only ten Seraphs in the world that we know of, and Dorius and I are still testing their capabilities."

Marcus tossed both pieces of the fox into the lake, kicking the gator in after it. He leaned down, dunking his bloody hands in the water, shaking them dry as he watched the carnage float around the troll.

Dorius' baritone voice wafted out of a screened window, under the balcony by the back porch, in a cloud of steam. I can't get no-o…da-da…naa…na… Sat-is-fac-tion… no-no-noo-oo…

Everyone looked toward the window.

Paul turned to Marcus. "Walk with me a minute."

The oldest immortal and the wolf strolled off the dock toward the woods. As soon as they were out of site, Paul stopped, turning to Marcus.

"I don't think we need a lynch mob, boss. Let me go after them myself. I've talked to these women and I don't think they killed that woman in the restroom. Dorius seems to be taking this too personally. He's out for some kind of revenge."

"I don't know how long I can hold him, but I agree," Marcus said. "These immortals are too new. The little show on the boat tells me they have no idea what they're capable of. If one of them turned these animals by mistake, and I believe that's exactly what happened, we will certainly want to get them back to BAMVC and test their blood. They could be Seraphs with unusual powers. Just think what that would mean to our clan if we can harness that power." Marcus had a faraway look in his eyes.

Paul watched him intently. "Why are you here Marcus?"

"Let's just say I have a desire to see who these women are. I'm going to the house to do some snooping around. You take off and see if you can find the fairy," Marcus said, turning on his heal.

"Dorius is not going to be happy about our decision," Paul said.

"Dorius won't be a problem. Just make sure you call him as soon as you find them. I wouldn't want a band of Rogue Hunters arriving at the doorstep before we have the little scamps in custody." Marcus smiled, one eyebrow cocked, his eyes sparkling with little bits of silver spinning around the blue irises.

* * *

Joe's Marina is a bar/restaurant/fish-camp with cabins. They mostly rent out to locals who want to get away from the wife and kids, go on a weekend binge and drive boats around the lake, fishing poles forgotten in a drunken stupor. On the weekends, you really needed to motor around the area with care, so as not to get involved in their aquatic rendition of bumper cars.

"I know the owner, Carl," Jeni said, batting her eyes. "He's a peach. I sang at his piano bar last week. He loves me."

"They have a piano in there?" I asked, looking at the rundown wooden building.

"Yes, and it's lovely. A black baby grand." Jeni climbed out of the boat.

"No shit," Zaire remarked as she joined her. "This, I gotta see."

"I'd be a bit low-keyed if I were you guys." I frowned at Resi's T-shirt with 'I had a crush on Pippi Longstockings' clearly emblazoned across her chest.

"Screw that," Zaire spat, pulling Resi out of the boat. "I'm gay. She's mine and I'm damn proud of it."

Mom tugged on my shirt. "Can we get something to eat before we hole up for the night? You can't war on an empty stomach, Susan." She had the bumper in a death grip.

I glared at her. "No biting! What the hell are we doing here, Jennifer? I'm in no mood to fight a bunch of homophobic rednecks." I pulled my mother and her bumper out of the boat.

"Carl has a cabin on the Dora Canal and he's offered to let us use it." Jeni gently took the bumper from Mom, tossing it back in the boat. "We just need to go in, have a quick drink, make nice and get the key. Now let's pull the boat around behind the dock so it can't be seen from the lake."

"Jennifer, unless those immortals have a boat and know the chain of lakes, it will be hours before they find us. Shit, there are miles of shoreline on Lake Harris alone, never mind the interconnected waterways."

"Better to be safe than sorry, Mother Dearest." Jeni was once again being her pain in the ass logical self.

"Come on Zaire, let's hide the frigging boat." I ended the argument.

Mom sniffed the air, "It smells good in there. You think they got pizza?"

* * *

Gibbie, wedged in the side compartment of the boat with the fishing poles, listened to the women's conversation as they walked away, then carefully tried to squirm around the fishhooks and monofilament, but snagged his wing on the burr of a hook.

He twisted around until he could grab it, gently pulling it free. "Great, just great. This will take weeks to mend," he grumbled as he leered at a small hole.

Fluttering his wings in a high-pitched buzz, he flew toward the bar. He hovered around a large oak as the women walked into the back door of the bar. "I better get time and a half for that little trip. Paul's going to hear about this, I tell you." He buzzed off toward the lake.

* * *

The minute I entered the bar, I put my hand over my nose. The place smelled like a hooker trying to cover up crotch rot. A flowery aerosol bathroom spray tangoed with the smell of frying fish, cigarette smoke and way too many body odors.

JoAnn just kept walking right toward a door with a restroom sign above it, while the rest of us sat at a table in the corner with mix-matched chairs.

Almost everyone in the room was crowded around the piano, shoved into a corner. An older man tickled the keys as an assortment of off-tune singers' chucked fried food into their mouths between choruses.

The server walked up looking like she needed an introduction to a bar of soap. Her hair - teased into a style that reminded me of our rose bushes - smelled of cigarette smoke and stale beer. Her nails were bitten down to half colored lavender nubs. Dark plum lipstick filled in the cracks above and beside lips that were pencil enhanced in a garish pout. "Hi-ya-all, I'm Stella. Whaddya’all want from the bar?" she asked, pencil poised.

I definitely felt out of place.

* * *

Paul stripped off his clothes and tossed them in his Corvette. He pulled his car keys off the dash and plucked his fanny-pack out of the backseat. He pointed his remote at the center console and the door locks clicked. He tossed his keys, cell phone and wallet in the fanny-pack, zipped it closed, clipped the strap shut and hung it over a limb near the car.

Paul lay down on the damp grass. His body began to vibrate. With popping noises, grunts and groans, he transformed into the large black wolf.

The wolf got up and shook its massive body. He pushed his muzzle under the strap of the fanny pack and it slid around his neck as he trotted toward the lake.

Paul threw back his head and howled. He pranced in front of the lake, his eyes trained on the horizon.

Panting, he padded in the shallow water with his tail at attention, butt swaying, and ears straight up. He sniffed the air as he trotted along whimpering. He tossed his head in the air and howled again.

"For the love of Jiminy Cricket, I hear you. Can you stop with the whining?"

The wolf turned to the buzzing fairy and growled.

"Glad you phased. It's a long trot to the fish camp. Let's get going before they high tail it out of there." In a flutter of wings, the fairy took off following the shoreline.

The wolf leapt over cypress knees along the water's edge, following in hot pursuit.

* * *

My mother lay sprawled across the top of the piano, her ass hanging out for the whole group of toothless rednecks to ogle.

"Saint Lo-o-oouey women, with a yearn for men, went to bed with her…," Mom crooned, rolling on her stomach, her feet crossed at the ankle, pumped toward the curve of her butt cheeks peeking out from under her short skirt.

"This is a frigging nightmare," I said, grinding off a few layers of tooth enamel with equal parts of nausea, horror, and embarrassment.

"…fou-n-tain pen… The pen was broken, fell…"

"Someone hide me." JoAnn's look matched mine.

"Can we hurry Stella along with the check?" Resi asked, looking around the bar.

"Nanna's showing some ass, girl," Zaire said, grinning at Resi.

"Jennifer, I feel now would be a good time to get those keys from Carl," I suggested.

"Now… Saint lou-uuy women… got a bro-o-o-ken heart." Mom finished, rolled over and swung her legs over the piano. She pulled a dirty baseball cap covered with fishing lures off the man between her legs. He smiled up at her through a mouthful of pink gums. She put the cap on her head backwards and leaned in to give him a kiss.

I gagged, thinking I needed to make sure she brushed her teeth as soon as we got to wherever we were staying tonight.

Mom jumped from the piano in a flourish of red t-back, smiled and waved at a crowd of men, cat calling and booing at having been abandoned. She wiggled over to our table, bent over, her half-naked ass in my face, and shook her bulbous breasts at the men still yelling obscene descriptions of desire at her from the piano.

"Swell, so much for being inconspicuous," I whispered.

We were on our third round of drinks when Carl walked over to Jeni. He handed her a key attached to a green tag with the number four on it.

"There you go girly-girl. I got the electric turned on yesterday, aired the place out all day, and then closed it up this morning. It's nice and cool, and the icebox is full. I also left the back door light on so you can see it from the canal. Enjoy." He winked at Jeni.

"Thanks Carl." Jeni smiled up at him.

"You wanna use my van? The waterways are awful dark this time of night," Carl asked, shaking the car keys.

"No, we'll be fine. We have running lights and a good spot light. I think we can manage. It's the park off 441, right? The one in the Dora Canal, past the dock on Lake Eustis?"

"Yep, at the end of the canal. Only cabin out there, probably nobody around for miles, so it's very private. I don't think your sister's boyfriend will find you tonight. You can stick around until the police pick him up." Carl turned a smile of sympathy in JoAnn's direction as he walked away.

"All righty then," Zaire said, looking at JoAnn with a big smile.

The rest of us turned to Jeni.

"Don't ask. I had to come up with something. Sorry Aunt JoAnn," Jeni said, her shoulders reaching for her ears.

"Couldn't you have used your mother as an excuse? Now I'll never be able to face that man again. I bet he thinks I'm trailer park trash." JoAnn pouted.

"Look around you. I think this crowd does ass-hole control on a daily basis," I remarked with a saucy grin.

"Let's just get out of here. I'm so embarrassed." JoAnn sidled toward the back door, her hands in front of her face.

22

Dorius peeked into Susan's bedroom and caught Marcus as he stood over a clothes hamper with a pair of red silk panties held up in front of his nose.

"Marcus, what are you doing?"

Marcus shoved the panties in the pocket of his jeans. "Just looking for clues."

"I'm sure those panties have all the answers," Dorius said with a smirk, his eyes glued on the front of his brother's jeans.

"Just getting their scents straight." Marcus dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

"I can see by that lump in your pants you've gathered quite a few clues." Dorius snickered and left the bedroom.

Marcus rumbled.

A few minutes later, Dorius paced around the women's living room, throwing frowns at all the animals mounted on the walls. "I can't believe you just let the wolf trot off without us. He better get his hairy ass back quick, or I'm calling in the troops."

"Why don't you read one of those books in the basket on the floor?" Marcus said. "Try 'Accidental Vampire'. That sounds apropos, or maybe a trip to the package store across the street might calm you. When did you feed last?"

"Just before we got here. This damned Seraph blood! The endless hunger is barely worth the extra powers." Dorius rifled through the basket. He held up a set of Tarot cards, waving them at Camillio. "Just a toy, or do you think they really know how to use these?"

"Don't be snide, Dorius, although it does suit you," Marcus answered. "They're dime store cards. Maybe you didn't notice the five-dollar and ninety-seven-cent price tag on the back."

"How long are we going to wait?" Dorius glared at him.

"We'll wait until the wolf calls." Marcus pulled a blood bag from a cooler by the coffee table. "I found cheap books on spell-casting downstairs. If you were doing your job instead of following me around earlier, you would have noticed them. These women are nothing more than immortals trying to learn the trade. Now be patient and find a chair before you make me angry." He held back mentioning the set of runes he'd found upstairs in Susan's panty drawer, forged from an oak tree with human blood staining the symbols.

"Why the hell are you here getting in my shit, Marcus?" Dorius growled.

Camillio shot both of them a nasty look. "Okay you two, let's not turn this into a pissing match. Everybody settle down. I'm going to call my mate. She's been in my head all day. Dorius, you going to call Dennis to check on Christopher, or should I ask about him?"

"I'll do it. I need to make sure the men are ready in the event we need them." Dorius glared at Marcus, tossing the cards on the coffee table.

"I believe we can handle this without your entourage." Marcus cut the corner off a blood bag with a pair of scissors he'd pulled from a knife block on the kitchen counter.

"I don't like you working this end of the business," Dorius growled. "I've been doing just fine without your assistance in the field."

Marcus watched Dorius strut toward the front door, cell in his hand, pulling at the ass of the jeans he'd borrowed from the downstairs bedroom.

"I bet many a war has been started because someone had a wedgie," Warren commented, smiling at Marcus.

"He's going to have more than those jeans up his ass if he calls in his boys before we talk to those women." Marcus eyed the tarot cards, poured some blood into a coffee cup, and then put it in the microwave. He hit the buttons, standing back to watch the cup circle as it warmed.

Outside, Dorius punched in the number for Dennis at BAMVC.

* * *

Dennis sat behind his desk at BAMVC. Christopher sat across from him, his surfboard leaning against the wall behind him.

"You know you're really pulling Dorius' chain with this new guise, don't you? Not a good idea, Christopher. He could nail your little beach-bum-ass to the wall, dude."

"Screw him, man. I'm just trying to do what he wants and slide into something that feels right."

The phone on the desk rang. Dennis smiled at it. "Speaking of the mouth that clothes your bitchen little ass." He hit the speaker button. "Hello Dorius, what can I do for you?" Dennis grinned at Christopher.

"Where's Christopher?" Dorius' voice exploded from the phone.

Christopher pulled a strand of hair in his mouth and sucked on the tip. His new dreadlocks curled about his face, hanging haphazardly around his shoulders in masses of white and yellow twirled sticks.

"He's sitting right here in front of me, looking very… beachy."

"I don't want him out of your sight." Dorius' angry voice floated around the room.

"I can hear you, dude. No need to get all aggro on me, man." Christopher spit the dreadlock out of his mouth. He pulled at his 'Ron Jon's Surf Shop' T-shirt, kicking his Spiderman sandals in the air as he played with the colored beads around his neck.

"Christopher, I am not putting up with your shit for much longer," Dorius yelled from the speaker.

"I can always find another place to crash, Frube." Christopher popped out of the chair to answer the scratching at the door. When he opened it, Buster pranced in and licked his face. "Whoa, choka, man," Christopher giggled.

Buster wore a red bandanna tied around his neck, and in lieu of the studded collar, he now donned a necklace made of puka shells and leather.

"Are you still there, Dennisss?" Dorius hissed.

Buster turned to the desk, growling. Christopher giggled.

"Did you find the women yet, Dorius?" Dennis asked with a smile.

"They eluded capture today but the wolf will find them. It's just a matter of time, Christopher," Dorius warned.

"Yeah, man, but time is irrelevant, isn't it, dude? I'm just enjoying the clidros, coasting on the cutbacks until they start dumping. Got nothin' better to do." Christopher plugged his iPod into his ear. "I get bugged driving up… la-la-la-laaa… Gotta find a new place… hm-hm… hm-hm-hmmm… I get aro-ound, whaa, ooo…" He led Buster out the door with a wave of his hand, shaking his head in time with the music.

* * *

"JoAnn, will you stop throwing shit out of the boat?" I yelled. As we motored in a canal between Lake Harris and Lake Eustis, JoAnn kept tossing French fries out for the fish. Mom was equally bad with the crust from her pizza as we puttered close to the shoreline where she evidently felt comfortable.

"Why? It's not like littering. The fish or wildlife will eat it," JoAnn mumbled through a mouthful of hamburger.

"Because it's not good to feed them junk," I said. "There's enough food in the water and on land for the animals. When you feed them, you humanize them. That's why we find gators in our yards, or raccoons in our trashcans. You don't want any more hungry raccoons, do you JoAnn?"

Zaire was shining the hand held spotlight hooked up to the cigarette lighter on the dash, occasionally catching a fleeting animal. No glowing eyes, though.

"How much further, Jeni?" Mom interrupted.

"We have to go through Lake Eustis to the Dora canal, Nan. That's where the cabin is. Maybe another half hour." Jeni studied a map of the interconnected waterways in Lake County with her small Mag-light.

"Everyone needs to sit somewhere. Lake Eustis will be choppy. I'll motor close to shore but you can still lose your footing if I hit some waves." I turned the boat around the last corner before heading out onto the bigger lake, the Dora Canal about three hundred yards away.

"I have to pee," JoAnn announced.

"Hang it over the transom." Zaire tried to be helpful.

"I will not. I am not falling in that water if you hit a bump."

"A bump? We're not on a highway, Aunt JoAnn." Resi giggled.

"I have to go, too," Mom said. "Can you pull up to land for a second?"

I idled up to the shoreline, not at all happy with the interruption. The waves nudged the boat broadside. I pushed a button on the dashboard, raising the outboard motor.

Mom and JoAnn sat on the gunwales, the soft patter of urine hitting the water every few seconds.

"Ah - shit - nothing like pissing in the wind," Mom said, then wiped her backside with a napkin and tossed it on the shore.

I growled.

* * *

"The boat isn't at the dock," Gibbie declared in a flurry of red dust. "We better find them quick or Dorius is gonna cut my wings and shave your ass."

The wolf let out a soft growl. Turning his nose to the ground again, he sniffed around, padding in circles.

"Now what?"

The nose of the wolf shifted toward the canal, south of the bar.

"You think they headed for Lake Eustis? So, what? You want to follow the shoreline around?"

Paul made snuffling noises, liquid flying from his nose with the effort.

"Eeew! Cut the flying body fluids, fleabag." Gibbie zipped three feet higher, wiping his shirt.

The wolf pranced off toward the shoreline that connected with the canal. Gibbie flitted after him.

They had just rounded the edge of the canal, moving along the beach running by the highway on Lake Eustis, when the wolf stopped abruptly and sniffed a napkin close to the water's edge. He rubbed his muzzle along the grass, up to the curve of his neck, flipping on his back, wiggling with all four paws dancing over him.

"Great! That better not be raccoon shit you're rolling in."

The wolf got back on all four paws, shook his furry body, and then nosed the napkin. With nostrils flaring, he turned to the Eustis boat dock.

Gibbie landed by the napkin, sniffing. "It's one of the women, isn't it?"

The wolf snorted and took off, leaping over scrub along the water's edge, Gibbie close behind.

* * *

"There's the tributary we're looking for! See the marker?" JoAnn gave me instructions.

"I see it, Jiggles. It's not like I haven't been up this canal at least a thousand times in the last thirty years."

"Then why are you moving so damn slow?" Mom had her hands on her hips, smears of red pizza sauce across her tube top sticking out under a bright orange life-vest.

"Nanna, sit down somewhere before you fall again." Resi laughed, tugging her toward a seat.

"I'm going slow because I have to raise the motor to get through the canal. It's hard to maneuver since the hurricane last year. There are a lot of branches in the water." I eased back on the throttle, hitting the button to lift the engine a little higher. "Resi, get up front with Zaire and lean over the bow so you can see any trees lying in the canal."

"This is stupid. Just hit it and get us there," Mom ordered.

"Nanna, Mom knows what she's doing. Slide down in your seat so Zaire and Jeni can look for the cabin," Resi said, her ass in the air backlit by a small flashlight as she played it over the water in front of the boat.

Fifteen minutes later Jeni said, "Look! There's the cabin!" She pointed at a small wood frame building with a light shining over the back door.

After tying the boat to the small dock on the canal, we entered the cabin and my mother wrinkled her nose. "Jesus, it smells like month old tuna and Aqua Velva in here."

"Okay, so I guess the couches are fold-outs?" Resi stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at two worn pieces of furniture.

"Looks that way," I said, thinking I'd lay claim to the bottom bunk of an equally worn bed against the far wall. "Let's just get everything put away and then discuss our next move." I walked over to the little kitchen area and turned on a small radio sitting on the breakfast bar. The twang of Clint Black filled the small room with his country drawl.

Zaire pulled five bags of blood from a cooler and laid them on a small plastic table, shoving the cooler underneath.

JoAnn, blood bag in hand, popped in a bendy straw and started sucking. She pulled a small laptop from her duffle bag, set it on a plastic table and began to hook it up.

Mom snatched a bag of blood, headed for one of the couches, laid the blood bag aside and began rummaging for something, elbow deep in the bowels of the black abyss she called a handbag.

"Why is it that every time I look into this damn purse, I can't find a thing?"

"Move, let me look. What is it that you just have to have right now?" I yanked the purse from her and shoved my hand inside.

Mom smiled at me. "My vibrator."

I dropped the purse to the floor, took two steps back and rubbed my hand on my jeans, my whole body revolting at the thought of my hand connecting with my mother's sex toy.

Resi's eyes jerked around the single-room accommodations with disgust. "Surely, you are not going to…."

"Oh please," she said, pointing at a door off the kitchenette. "I'm going to take a hot bath and enjoy my bag of blood and my fantasies. Get the hell out of my way."

"Lalalalalalalala," JoAnn sang, her hands over her ears.

Zaire laughed, pulling a drained bag from her mouth. "Damn, I love this family." She reached under the table and tossed it in the cooler.

Mom and I faced off.

"Mother, leave her alone," Jeni said. "At least she's making an effort." Jeni hooked the laptop up to her cell and cranked it on. "I'm going to check my mail, cancel our blood order, then find us plane tickets online. I think going north would be a good idea. Any ideas on what state we want to explore?"

"Yeah, Alaska." I smiled at my mother, kicking the purse in her direction.

She frowned at me, picked it up, and with a look of pure spite, stuck her head halfway in. Her hand followed her face and she came out with the biggest, ugliest sex toy I'd ever seen. It looked like an obnoxiously large jellybean penis. She held it up like a sword, pushing it toward my face. I jumped back like it was a loaded gun.

She tossed the purse behind her on the couch with the rest of her stuff and turned the damn thing on. It began to undulate with a purring noise that brought bile up in my throat.

"If I could suck on a man instead of this frigging bag of blood, I wouldn't need this!" Mom shoved her alternative toward my face again. I held my breath, praying for my nose to fall off my face.

"Go ahead, put me in a tin can with a bunch of warm bodies and just see how many of them make it to Alaska." She strutted by us with the vibrator singing in her hand. "Pick a state within driving distance, Jeni."

Jeni shot her a grin and kept typing.

"Well, all-righty-then." Zaire grinned.

"That's just so…sick! Does anyone else see… how dysfunctional this is?" JoAnn yelled a little too loud, her hands covering her ears.

I cringed and tried not to think about the little woman with the big dildo in the bathroom. Resi smiled at Zaire, got up, walked over to the radio and pumped up the volume. An announcer's voice ricocheted off the walls of the cabin.

It's another all night bowl-a-thon at ‘Meet Me On The Alley’ in the Silver Pines Plaza on Old 441. Get your balls polished and join Mickey for six hours of fun and games starting tonight at midnight. This year Mickey's giving away ten-thousand in cold hard cash to the winning team…

"Holy shit! You guys hear that?" Zaire became animated. "Ten big ones! It could pay for our trip."

As I pondered that, the announcer gave us more information.

…and Tom Jenkins, our bouncing, announcing, man with the tan - a real smooth talker, gets around real good with his new walker - will be on site to spin-'em and watch you win-'em. So come on all you seniors, and even you wieners…

"We don't have time to hit the bowling alley, Zaire." I said, thinking my bowling skills would not get the desired results, anyway. "Find another channel. That man's beginning to nauseate me."

"I'm just saying…" Zaire flipped the dial, cutting the announcer off in mid-sentence.

"As soon as Jeni finds us a flight, we need to get going." JoAnn took another swig from the bendy straw. "I'm sure it won't take those guys long to find us."

"I think we should stay and kick some ass." Zaire wrapped her arms around Resi.

I shot her a look.

"Well, I do," she spat. "Why should we leave our lake for those bastards?"

"Uh, because they're going to cut your heads off?" Jeni said. "Or have you forgotten that little tidbit of information?"

23

JoAnn and I were dishing out large scoops of blueberry buckle ice cream, listening to Zaire, Jeni, and Resi discussing the pros and cons of entering the all night Bowl-a-thon.

"I just think ten grand is hard to pass up," Zaire said.

"We don't need the money. Mom's loaded," Jeni tapped the keys on her laptop, causing it to wobble on the small table.

I had to admit, she was right. After three divorces, I was sitting pretty. I owned a boat, a Jeep and a pricey lakefront home, not to mention the two sizable alimony checks and the retirement check I got every month. We didn't need the ten grand.

My mother, all rosy from her bath, walked into the kitchen fully dressed with a towel around her head and the dildo in her hand. "Ahhh, I feel so much better."

An abrupt knocking on the door nipped any witty comments.

"That's probably just Carl checking on us. Go let him in, Aunt JoAnn," Jeni ordered.

"Not until she puts that ugly thing away." JoAnn pointed at the dildo with a scowl.

Mom shoved the object in question into the silverware drawer. JoAnn gasped and put her hand over her mouth. I strutted by, lips curled back, and opened the cabin door.

Paul stepped in with a big smile on his human face. "I came to rescue your cute little asses."

JoAnn took one look at him and shrieked. She made a beeline for the kitchen, opening doors under the sink, shoving things all over the floor, looking for God knows what.

She finally jumped into a fighting stance with a can of bug repellent in her hand, tore off the lid and began spraying Paul.

"A stronzo, you think you're gonna scare him with a can of Raid?" Mom coughed, fanning her nose. She raised her arm, turned her knuckles at JoAnn and shook her hand. "Allocco!"

"Give me that damn thing." I grabbed for the can.

"He has a big bug on his shoulder!" JoAnn yelled, yanking the can free. A cloud of noxious fog followed it. "Grab a flyswatter, somebody!"

"Yeah, grab one, will ya, Susan?" Mom said, still shaking her hand at JoAnn. "So I can knock some sense into la allocco with the can in her hand."

The bug peeked out from behind Paul's long black hair, sputtered, and wiped his cute little face, wings all aflutter. "JoAnn, if you don't put that can down, I'm going to dust you with something to put you out of your misery."

JoAnn yelped and made the sign of the cross with her free hand. "The bug can talk. My God, that's a talking bug!"

Paul reached out and plucked the can from her hand. "You might not want to piss the fairy off any more than you already have." He tossed the can in the sink, then picked up a dishtowel and ran it across his face.

Resi strolled over and stopped in front of the fairy with a big grin. "Damn, you're adorable. I'm Resi," she giggled.

The fairy wore itty-bitty jeans hugging his cute little ass, a billowy purple shirt tucked into a red bandanna tied around his waist, with a sword hanging at his hip. Orange cowboy boots with tiny gold stars adorned his feet, matching his hair color, which was cut in a cute little pageboy that bounced around a heart shaped freckled face, and split over his pointy ears. He looked to be no more than two inches tall. A scowl rounded out the ensemble.

"The name's Gibbie," the fairy said, his hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes on JoAnn. "And I'm not fond of you."

Mom put a hand over an open mouth, backed up two steps, narrowed her eyes and stared at the little anomaly.

"Is he cute or what?" Resi asked.

I noticed Jeni was not looking at the fairy on Wolf-boy's shoulder, but instead, smiled at Paul. Their eyes locked on each other.

"So how the hell did you and the fairy find us?" I asked, pulling Paul's attention in my direction.

"Gibbie stowed away on your boat," Paul said.

"I live on the patio in the rock arrangement with all those beautiful orchids growing around it," Gibbie said, his hands resting on his hips as he turned to JoAnn. "You really piss me off when you work out there doing what you so commonly refer to as gardening."

"Our garden? You live in our garden?" JoAnn asked.

"Yes."

"Shame raccoons don't eat bugs," Zaire snickered.

Gibbie shot her an icy look.

"How come we never saw you?" I asked, looking at a creature right out of one of our fantasy books.

"Oh, JoAnn knew I was there," Gibbie squeaked. "Every time she poked her lime green gloves in my home, she went inside yelling for the Benadryl, now didn't you, lady?"

"That was you?" JoAnn howled. She moved closer to the offending incongruity, her finger going for his chest. The fairy flew out of her reach and landed on Paul's other shoulder.

"Bet your ass!" Gibbie hooded his eyes at JoAnn.

Mom still had her hand over her mouth as she followed the conversation.

"For a little shit, you got big balls," Zaire said with a laugh.

"So, you're the spy that squealed to Marcus about us?" I snapped.

"Not me. The troll's the stoolie," Gibbie shrieked at a pitch that made my ears hurt. "A real pain in the butt too. He lives under your dock."

Paul shuffled from one foot to the other looking guilty.

Jeni smiled. "A fairy in our rock garden and a troll under the dock?"

"A troll?" I immediately thought about the rock with arms at the boat dock earlier. "Just exactly what does a troll look like?"

"A big, ugly, obnoxious piece of mortar." Gibbie pointed at Zaire. "And he's not fond of you, little black woman."

"How does a troll have contact with a vampire?" Jeni asked.

"You made me itch?" JoAnn was still several pages behind the rest of us.

"I feel like stomping some troll ass," Zaire interrupted.

"I wouldn't screw with the troll if I were you, little black woman," Gibbie warned, hanging from the wolf's earlobe like an earring.

"Can you buy explosives on the internet?" Mom asked.

I was slowly losing my mind. I shook my head a couple of times and closed my eyes, but when I opened them, they were all still standing there.

"I don't need explosives. I got me a big ass shotgun in the boat." Zaire's silver eyes shot daggers at Gibbie.

"How do you know it was the troll?" I casually interrupted, as if I weren't talking to a two-inch creature with wings about a troll that lives under my dock. Any minute now I was going to wake up in some insane asylum coming down off a medication high.

"I followed him across the lake to the bridge on the other side," Gibbie stated. "He met with one of Dorius' cronies, Warren, and they had a long chat. He's been over there several times since. Dorius has enough shit on you guys to fry your asses."

"How about a sandblaster? Whaddaya figure one of those would cost?" Mom asked.

Paul swayed nervously under Gibbie.

"Screw Dorius, I'm not goin' down without a fight!" Zaire's face was two inches from Paul's nose.

"Little black woman, one more word about kicking someone's ass, anyone's ass, and I dust your ass." Gibbie flew behind her making a shrill noise with his wings. She whipped around reaching for him with angry eyes. Her fangs extended and retracted. Not a good sign.

"Do they make a handheld, battery operated saw that cuts rock?" Mom asked.

"Call me that again you leprechaun wannabe, and Rover's gonna be pulling those wings outta your butt cheeks," Zaire growled through clenched teeth, reaching to swat at him again.

With a wide grin and a flamboyant swing of his sword, Gibbie zipped through the air and swung from the bottom of the light fixture. With the rebellious tone of a six-foot swashbuckler, he chanted, "Little bitty black-woman, spouting lots o' flack! Little bitty black-woman better watch her back!" He cocked his head and buzzed from the fixture, hovering in front of Zaire's face.

"It's African-American, bug."

"Weeell eexcuuuse me, your highness. Cuz all I see is a plain ole black vamp with her thong up her ass," he said, with a flutter of wings that blew Zaire's hair in her eyes.

"Did'ya find that flyswatter, Mom?" Zaire gave her hair an angry puff as she strutted around the kitchen, making a big deal out of searching the counters. She finally settled on an old newspaper that she rolled up and turned at him.

"Oh, hell yeah, bring it on little black be-otch!" Gibbie zigzagged in front of her face, a blur of red sparkles, his sword swinging dangerously close to her nose.

We all watched as she did a boxer shuffle, combined with a few swings of the newspaper. He only screeched louder, avoiding every move she made.

Although I was amused watching Zaire try to swat a fairy, I tried to nip it. "Alright Zaire, I think we have enough to worry about with head hunting vampires, a rock that squeals like a pig, and Lon Chaney over there. So knock it off because if you keep it up, all I have to work with here is an old lady sporting a dildo and my idiot sister."

"What am I, pond sludge?" Resi asked.

"Look, screw these two. We can take 'em." Zaire whipped the newspaper in an arc over her head.

"What about a jackhammer?" Mom asked from the computer, clearly intent on decimating the troll.

Gibbie flew in a flash of orange sparkles and abruptly stopped one inch from her nose. "Get your undies out of your ass. We came to help all of you! Well, except JoAnn. I don't like her." Gibbie pushed his cute little eyebrows together, pointing a small finger at my sister.

The wolf's chest rumbled. "I told you the day I met you that I worked for them. I also told you to contact them as soon as you got the package. You did not do that."

"We called and ordered blood and asked to speak to the council, but Buffy wouldn't let us," Resi said.

Jeni added, "Paul, I personally emailed Dorius and explained the girl's actions as well as the fact that we read the book and they were now playing by the rules. We got no response. They did send them the blood Mom ordered, so the girls thought our explanation was accepted."

Gibbie fluttered around Jeni as she spoke, wings humming a high-pitched buzz.

Paul turned to me. "I believe I made it perfectly clear that you would need to make an appointment. Now I'll have to take all of you to them and explain as best as I can that it was my error, not yours." The wolf's eyes found Jeni. "I don't make mistakes, so let's hope they buy it."

"I'm not going anywhere with you, flea bag," Zaire growled.

Gibbie landed on Resi's shoulder and adjusted his sash. "Little black woman, Dorius has an army of vampires and I've seen what they're capable of. You won't win this one and your attitude is going to get all of us killed."

"If you think any of us are just gonna waltz outta here with you two you're nuts!" Zaire tried another poke with the newspaper. Wings buzzing like a band saw, the fairy flew three circles around her and landed on Paul's shoulder.

"I'm with Zaire," Mom shouted over her shoulder. "Ohio Power Tools has everything we need for troll blasting. Placing an order…" she sang.

"We were thinking about going north," Jeni said, ignoring both of them.

Gibbie flew up to the kitchen light fixture, perched on its edge and studied us.

"Dorius will find you wherever you go, Jeni," Paul warned. "It's not a fight your family has a chance of winning."

"Maybe not, but I'm gettin' a piece of the big-mouth troll," Mom spat. "He's gonna be minus one butt cheek when I'm done with him." She looked at me. "Susan, I need your debit card number. I left mine at home - unless you want me to have them send this stuff COD."

"I told you guys we should've just made an appointment," JoAnn hissed, her eyebrows meeting in the center of her forehead.

Paul ignored everyone but Jeni. "The only chance you have is to talk to Marcus. He seems to have a reason for wanting all of you to remain undead."

"Ladies, it's time to pay the devil his due." Jeni smiled up at Paul.

"The hell you say," Mom snapped, fingers wagging at me. "Debit card, Susan."

"I think we should find someplace public where they can't attack us," I said, making the decision final.

"That's a good idea," Resi agreed.

"Not Little Joe's!" JoAnn added.

"How about the bowling alley?" Zaire asked with a big smile.

"Think they'll bring the troll?" Mom queried, her finger hovering over the send key.

24

Who let the dogs out…who…who…

Dorius flipped open the phone on the table in front of him. "Cujo, you better have good news for me."

"I just picked up the women and they're willing to meet you in a bowling alley tonight, Dorius." Paul's voice wafted from the phone.

"I am not going to a bowling alley. Bring them here," Dorius growled.

Marcus smiled as he shuffled through a pile of the girl's mail he held in his hands.

"Look, we're not stupid," a woman's voice announced. "If you want to meet us, we'll be waiting at 'Meet Me On The Alley' in Sliver Pines Plaza."

"What the hell?" Warren said. "It'll be a cold day in hell before we hit a bowling alley, right?" He raised an eyebrow at Dorius.

"Ohhh, this is going to be amusing," Marcus said. "Where's your sense of humor, Warren?"

"This is getting out of hand," Camillio shouted.

"Susan, tell them to bring bowling shoes if they have them," another woman suggested.

"Jesus, JoAnn," someone else said. "You always know how to take the fun out of everything."

Marcus laughed. "Tell them we're looking forward to meeting them, Dorius."

Dorius' chest rumbled.

"Either you meet us at the bowling alley or we catch a plane out of here," the phone blared.

"Guess it's on to the bowling alley." Marcus smiled.

"I'll call you with directions when we arrive," Paul said.

"The God's be damned!" Dorius hissed and flipped the phone closed.

A pretty girl…is like a melody…

Dorius glared at the phone and flipped the lid back open. "Yesss, Dennis?"

"Christopher asked me to take him to Key West and when I refused he huffed off in a dither. I gave him about an hour to calm down and went looking for him. Buffy said a yellow cab picked him up out front. I high-tailed it off to the beach - a seagull shit on my new shirt - it's ruined, and he wasn't even there. I'm really getting tired of sand in my shoes, Dorius. When are you getting back?"

"I told you not to let him out of your sight. How long has he been gone?" A deep rumble came from Dorius' throat.

Marcus' eyes twinkled as he flipped a page of a daily planner.

"Oh, don't get your tightie-whities in a wad." Dennis' disgusted sigh came through the phone. "He'll be back with his surfboard by morning. And I deserve a break anyway. I'm sure he's out playing 'Beach Blanket Bingo' with his new friends. How much trouble can he get into in one night?"

Marcus raised an eyebrow at Dorius.

Dorius ignored it. "Call the cab company he hired and find him, pronto. I have enough here to worry about. Handle it." Dorius flipped the phone closed, and glared at Marcus. "What?"

"You know what Christopher is doing, don't you?" Marcus asked.

"Why don't you tell me," Dorius huffed.

Marcus shook his head. "You tease him about his size, repeatedly. You throw your women friends up in his face, knowing he will never have one. You won't let him work with the Rouge Hunters and you demand he be something he's not - a child. He's just throwing it back at you, Dorius. He's doing exactly what you've requested him to do. You've created this monster. He's taunting you with this surfing thing."

"I don't give a rat’s ass what he does. He's not hunting with my rogues. He's not capable of it and you know it."

"Maybe you should give him a chance to prove you right." Marcus smiled.

"I think it's time we leave for the bowling alley." Dorius pulled the planner out of Marcus' hand and tossed it on the table.

"Not until the wolf calls to tell us they've arrived, brother dear," Marcus quipped. "It seems like the ladies are calling all the shots."

* * *

Christopher stood outside a bungalow door in Key West holding Buster's leash, sizing up a tall scruffy young man in a pair of holey jeans.

"We don't want any, kid," the scruffy guy said. "Go find your mother, cuz whatever you're sellin', I ain't buyin'."

"You Dean 'the Cuda' Swellter?" Christopher asked.

"Who's askin'?"

"Never mind who's askin'. Are you Dean or what, fuck-wad?"

Buster growled.

"Whoa, man. You're just way too damn little to be givin' me shit, dude. That dog bite?"

A short, stocky boy dressed in a brightly colored pair of jams sauntered up to the door and leaned on the threshold, surveying Christopher through lazy eyes.

"Shit, it's just a kid. Whaddya want, fella?" Jams boy asked, scratching his crotch with one hand, holding a joint with the other.

"I'm not a kid. I'm older than both of you two dipwads and I'm looking for Dean. Which one of you assholes would that be?"

The two boys started giggling. The one in the jams slid down the door to the lime-green, shag carpet. Laughing hard, the dead joint stuck in a roach clip in his hand, he said, "He's so fucking cute. Look at those dreads, man. You think he's really small or is it the weed, cuz he sounds older than he looks. Do I look that small? This stuff is good shit." He started looking himself over, twisting around on the carpet. He lost interest and sucked hard on the joint, feeling around his pocket-less shorts.

The other kid in the jeans looked at his chest, running his hand over his stomach. "Wow, dude, I'm like wasting away here. Look, you can see my freakin' ribs, man. No shit. Let's go take another hit. I'm trippin', man. We got some fuckin'-trip, shroom-weed or something! Too fuckin' cool!"

"No shit. If we hit it again you think we'll disappear, dude?" The guy in the jams asked as he wiggled his toes, watching them in awe as if they were not part of his body.

"You guys do much jail time?" Christopher asked.

Both kids sucked in a breath and stared at him. Jams boy plucked the joint off the roach clip and stuffed it in his mouth, swallowing hard. The guy in the jeans went back to searching his chest for body fat.

"You the fucking heat? No fucking way, man," Jams boy mumbled as he tried to choke down the rest of the joint.

Buster stood up, teeth bared, growling.

"Whoa, is that like, one of those cop dogs? Shit!" the kid in the jeans asked, no longer tripping on his lack of body fat. He started backing up.

"Buster! Sit!"

Buster sat.

"He's not a police dog and I'm not a cop. Who's Dean?"

Both kids pointed at each other.

Twenty minutes later: "Hey dude, how about a hit off that bong, man?" Christopher sat on the floor of the bungalow, pillows surrounding him on a dirty shag carpet. Buster snored beside him.

"How'd you say you found me?" Dean stared at Christopher. His stringy blond hair hung around his bare chest, his lanky body sprawled over a futon, bare feet stretched out in front of him.

"I told you man, I Googled you. You're a legend, Dean. You made it all the way to Cuba on your Dewey Weber, man. That's way too cool, dude." Christopher turned to look at the surfboard leaning against the wall by the door.

"We got too much water in this fucker," Dave said, tipping a large bong over a plastic cup half filled with soda. "It's hard to get continuous suck-age, dude."

"Yeah, but my fucking father found me before I hit the beach. Friggin' hated, man," Dean said through a smoky haze.

"You got there, Dean. You made it all the way to Cuba, man." David leaned against the futon at Dean's feet. He took a big hit off the two-foot party bong in front of him, then passed it to Dean, sucking in his breath. "Sooo fucking cool."

Dean took a hit, bubbles floating around under the stem as the tube filled with smoke. He moved his finger off the carb, sucked in more air and passed it to Christopher.

Christopher shoved three pillows under his ass, leaned the bong at face level and stuffed his whole mouth and nose in the mouthpiece. He flicked his Bic to the bowl, covered the rush hole on the side of the chamber with his big toe and sucked in a nice big hit. He held his breath, smiling at Dean.

"Shit man, this stuff is choice. You look three feet tall. How old are you, dude?" Dean asked.

"I'm older than you, rag-ass. I'm just a little person. You got a problem with that?" Christopher let out a long puff of smoke, handing the bong back to David, who started giggling.

"You're a fucking midget? No shit? A fucking midget? Rad, dude," David said, choking on a toke.

"I'm not a midget you asshole. I'm a little person. Get it right, fucker." As Christopher watched Dean take a hit, his eyes changed, glittering, and his incisors fell from his gums and immediately retracted.

"Wow, this is really good weed. I swear I just saw your teeth grow, dude. It's cool. No sweat, man. We're cool, right Dave?" Dean blew out a puff and handed the bong to Christopher again.

"Yeah, man, we're really cool. Can I get another hit, dude?" Dave asked Christopher.

"I'm thinking about trying the trip myself. I'm here to find out how you did it. So how 'bout you start explainin' it to me." Christopher got up, leaned over and stuck his face in the bong again.

"Sure man, no sweat. I got charts and everything. I can get them for you. It's cool."

"Yeah, it is. So get me the fucking charts because I'm getting hungry, dude." Christopher smiled.

* * *

Dorius paced the living room, his cell phone in his hands. "And you're sure Christopher was in the bungalow?"

"Yes, and Buster's scent is all over the place. I can also smell two mortals. They haven't been gone long," Peter, one of Dorius' Rogue Hunters, replied.

"What's the little shit doing in Key West? Any indication?"

"Looks like a party pad. The smell of cannabis permeates the air. I'd say a major high was had by all and then they decided to go out surfing."

"We'll be heading out to pick up the women soon. Find Christopher, and I expect to be informed of any changes. Did you dispatch the Rogue Hunters?"

"Yes, they're on the way to the bowling alley."

"Did you tell them not to come inside?" Dorius paced in front of the couch.

"They've been instructed to stand down and call you when they arrive."

"Good work. Now find Christopher."

"Can do boss."

Marcus, Warren and Camillio walked in the front door as Dorius ended the call.

"The car's packed and ready. Did they find Christopher?" Marcus asked, his left eyebrow reaching for his hairline as he studied the phone in Dorius' hand.

"They found where he went, but he was gone when they got there. It seems he had a pot party and then hit the beach. Peter's going to retrieve him."

"You gotta love him. He's everything you wanted him to be." Marcus laughed, strutted over to the couch, picked up the cooler of blood and headed back out to the waiting limousine, chuckling.

Dorius' chest vibrated with anger.

* * *

The convertible, a 1979 Volkswagen Beetle, white on white and in mint condition, pulled up to the sand dunes with the top down, radio blaring and Dean 'the Cuda' Swellter's Dewey Weber sticking out four feet over the backseat. Buster sat on one side of it, tongue hanging from his mouth, panting, and Dave, mouth open, snoring, slept on the other side.

"This is where you started, man?" Christopher kneeled in the passenger seat, watching the ocean waves hammer the sand at the edge of the beach in front of him.

"Yep, right there by that old shack." Dean pointed fifty yards down the shoreline to an old abandoned structure threatening to collapse with the next gust of wind. "The currents will take you were you want to go, dude. Come on, I'll get you all rigged up." Dean opened the door, walked around to the front of the Volkswagen and pulled open the trunk. He retrieved an inflatable raft, a cooler and three bulging trash bags.

Leaning over the raft, he pulled a plug. With a whoosh, it filled with air. He loaded the gear in, grabbed the rope attached to the bow and headed for the water, dragging it behind him.

Christopher jumped over the passenger door, Buster following, and pulled the surfboard from the back seat. Dave didn't budge. The two small, circular wounds on his neck were almost healed.

"Buster, you and I are going on a little adventure. Can you speak Spanish?"

"Woof."

"Me neither."

25

My mouth fell open as I took in the organized chaos in the bowling alley.

"Well, we certainly picked the right public place," Mom announced with a grin.

Long lines of humans, ranging in ages from twenty to eighty, were getting shoes, filling out forms, setting up alleys and shouting threats at each other as they made ready for the night's events. The crack of pins falling as teams warmed up filled in the background, and loud yells of encouragement followed.

A DJ was setting up a long table with electronics against the far wall. In several areas, tables were set up with employees assisting teams in preparation for the big game. Banners strung across the lanes on the walls and over the counters screamed phrases of thanks to the many supporters and sponsors who evidently made this night possible.

Someone had possession of a reverberating microphone and was directing teams in a number of ear-blaring commands followed by piercing protests from eight foot speakers mounted in all four corners of the room.

As we stood just inside the door, a middle aged woman approached us. She wore a bright purple T-shirt with 'Meet Me On The Alley' embroidered over her right breast. Under it she wore a circular plastic pin with 'Sally' printed under 'Operations Manager'. Her muddy brown hair stuck out in all angles, putting Phyllis Diller to shame.

She wore a pair of jeans hugging a waist-less stomach, stretching tightly down her lumpy body, embracing small ankles. Her feet covered in red, white and blue bowling shoes, had size nine printed on each side.

A clipboard hanging from her elastic waistband slapped against her hip as she approached. A big smile spread clear across the bottom half of her face, showing way too many silver fillings through bright purple lips.

"CAN THE OWNER OF A 1979, BABY BLUE, BUICK SKYLARK PLEASE ATTEND TO YOUR VEHICLE? YOU LEFT YOUR LIGHTS ON."

Sally's eyes scrunched, her shoulders went up, and she shot the bald man behind the desk a dirty look. She turned back to us with a painful smile. "You can register at one of the tables and pick up your shirts as soon as they're stenciled. What's the name of your team?" Sally held a pencil poised, awaiting our answer.

Mom jumped in front of me. "The Immortals."

"Good name. Hope you can live up to it." Sally handed Mom a sheet of paper off her clipboard and in a voice that could only have been attributed to large amounts of nicotine consumption, began to go over the rules with us. "I'll need the names of each of your team members. All competitors are required to wear a team shirt, which we provide as part of the hundred-dollar entry fee. I assume you're the manager?"

Mom nodded as we all watched. I figured she deserved the title and since none of the others protested, I curbed my tongue.

"I NEED SOMEONE FROM 'THE BALL BUSTERS', 'CALL-US-FORN-ICATORS', 'IVEY'S LEAGUE', 'THE TASMANIAN DEVILS', AND 'SEXY SADISTS SINGLES', FRONT AND CENTER IMMEDIATELY. YOUR SHIRTS ARE READY."

Sally flinched as she continued through clenched teeth. "You need at least four players, no more than eight. Four players from each team will match-up head-to-head in each game. If your team wins a game, you get one point."

The DJ, a short round man in his sixties, in competition with the bald man, yelled, "ALL RIGHT ALL YOU BOWLERS AND HIGH ROLLERS, IT'S TIME TO SUIT UP AND PUT OUT! I'M TOMMY-BOY SPREADING THE JOY. COME MAKE YOUR REQUESTS BECAUSE I ONLY SPIN THE BEST!" And with that, he cranked up the music. The first selection was the Macarena at an ear splitting volume.

Sally pulled out a bottle of extra strength ibuprofen, dumped three in her hand and popped them in her mouth, crunching as she went on, "In the event of a tie, each team will receive half a point. Substitute players may only replace active players between games. The team with the most total pins for the game will receive three additional points. If tied, each team gets one and a half points."

"I HAVE A PHONE CALL FOR PHONDA PETERS; PHONDA PETERS CAN YOU PLEASE COME TO THE FRONT DESK - THE BUICK'S LIGHTS ARE STILL ON, PEOPLE! SOMEONE GET OUT THERE BEFORE THE BATTERY GOES DEAD." The man at the microphone overrode the sound system as he spoke, cutting the music off in mid-phrase. The cracking sound of pins hitting the alleys rang out in abrupt shattering waves of calamity before the music started again.

Sally cracked her neck from side to side, her teeth clamped together as the music blasted from the speakers. "At the end of the tournament we will total points and the winning team will be awarded the prize. In the event of a tie, the teams will have a play-off until one team is victorious. Any questions?" Sally's head bobbed as her eyes fell on each of us.

"'LITTLE LULU'S WHO-WHO'S', 'BREAKIN' WINDY'S BLOW HARDS', 'SANDIES CANDIES', 'GATOR BAITERS', 'THE TERMINATORS', AND 'ACEE'S DEE-CEE'S: YOUR SHIRTS ARE WAITING FOR YOU AT THE FRONT DESK."

As "Mustang Sally" blared over the sound system, Tom yelled into his microphone, his voice competing with the music and a group of off tune bowlers screaming, "Ride, Sally Ride!", "IS EVERYONE READY TO PAR-TY? PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER, AND SHAKE THOSE HIPS, BECAUSE IT'S TIME TO THANK THE MAN WITH ALL THE TRICKS! LET'S HEAR IT FOR MIKEY, BOWLERS!"

The crowed agreed boisterously as bowling balls slammed into pins against the back of the alleys. I was ready to hit Sally's ibuprofen bottle.

We gave Sally our names, adding Dorius and Marcus to the list, with a description of who she would be looking for when they arrived. She promised she'd direct them as soon as they got here. We paid her for a chance at winning the ten big ones and headed for the registration tables. Sally headed for the bald man with the microphone.

* * *

Outside, Marcus got out of the Suburban, the other three immortals joining him as they headed for the bowling alley.

"Dorius, you and I will do all the talking," Marcus announced as he reached for the door. "I want as little attention drawn to us as possible. Just go with the flow and maybe we can get them out of there in a hurry."

"This is ridiculous. I think we should just drag their asses out and be… Holy shit!" Warren whipped his head around as the door opened and the obnoxious sounds of the rowdy crowd enveloped them to a background of Steppenwolf, singing 'Born To Be Wild'.

"Shit is exactly the word I was looking for," Dorius said as he walked through the door scanning the room. "Warren, Camillio, hang around by the front and back doors. If anyone asks you what you're doing, tell them you're observers. If one of the women tries to leave, stop them."

Warren and Camillio split up, heading for the front and back entrance.

"'LAWDY'S MAUDY MAMA'S', 'THE CALYPSO'S', 'CHILLER THRILLERS', 'THE IMMORTALS', 'HONKY TALK HERO'S', AND 'THE GAY BLADES', YOUR SHIRTS ARE AT THE FRONT DESK."

Dorius stepped forward into the mass of confusion, rubbing his temples, his eyes searching for the women. Marcus scanned the area, his smile falling on Sally as she approached.

"Are you guys looking for 'The Immortals'?"

Marcus burst out laughing. "That we are."

"Dorius and Marcus, right?"

Dorius ground his teeth. "Where the hell are they?"

"Lane thirteen. Let's get you over there before the games get started."

As if on cue, the bald man behind the front desk nipped the music and yelled, "ALL RIGHT BOWLERS, GET YOUR BALLS, SUIT UP AND PICK YOUR FIRST TEAM. ONLY FOUR PLAYERS ARE ALLOWED ON THE PLATFORM. THE SEATS DIRECTLY BEHIND THE LANES ARE RESERVED FOR THE REST OF YOUR TEAM. THE FIRST GAME BEGINS AT MIDNIGHT - THAT'S TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES, PEOPLE! AND WE WILL BEGIN ON TIME!"

As Joe Cocker blared from the speakers croaking, 'You can leave your hat on', Sally grabbed Dorius by the sleeve of Zaire's 'Born to be Bad' T-shirt and ushered him toward lane thirteen. Marcus exploded in laughter as Dorius turned back glaring at him, wincing each time pins cracked in protest.

Dorius was deposited onto the lane by a hurried Sally, and Zaire immediately glared at him. "Are those my jeans and T-shirt? Those better not be my friggin' pants!"

Sally turned and wiggled her eyebrows in Zaire's direction while sizing up Dorius' ass. Zaire snorted in disgust.

Sally ran off in another direction, waving her pen at an old bald man in a bright green team shirt with a German Shepherd on a leash following behind him. "Hold up! No pets in the lanes! That dog has to go outside, now!"

I turned to Paul with a nasty grin.

"Did you go through my dirty underwear too, you pervert?" Zaire asked, still hot for a fight.

"Not me… I'm not into dirty laundry sniffing." Dorius smiled at his brother. Marcus gave him a warning glance. Paul watched the two, intently.

Gibbie hovered in front of Zaire in a flutter of silver dust. "Don't start, black woman. We're letting the wolf handle this, remember?" Gibbie told her through cute little clenched teeth, his shrill voice adding to the calamity.

Zaire immediately shot a concerned look around the alley.

"They can't see me, little black woman," Gibbie squeaked.

Dorius bent and tugged at the ass of Zaire's jeans.

"I asked you if those are my F'n clothes, you blood sucking bastard." Zaire had her nose close enough for Dorius to take a bite out of it.

Bowling balls hit pins, music blared, and I still heard Dorius' growl as he used up another inch of space between his face and Zaire's. "You don't want to do this here, do you?"

Marcus cleared his throat.

Zaire didn't move a muscle. "You didn't answer my question, Fang-Face."

Mom huffed onto the lane carrying a handful of pink t-shirts. Resi stepped up behind Zaire, ready for an altercation.

Gibbie buzzed to Paul and back to Zaire, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Jeni and JoAnn were cooing as they picked through the t-shirts Mom held.

Just another fun filled night with my new immortal family, I thought, watching Marcus' eyes sparkle.

"LETS PUT THOSE HANDS TOGETHER, ALL YOU FANS, WITH A LITTLE FO-OD FOR THE SOUL, GRABBING THAT MO-OD FROM 'ELECTIRC LIGHT ORCHESTRA', NOTHING LIKE ROCK TO ROUND UP A FLOCK," Tom announced, as 'Strange Magic', filled the air.

"Stop standing there in a damn daze and put this frigging shirt on." Mom handed me a team t-shirt and turned away to hand out the rest of them.

"Oh, this is my favorite color, Mom," JoAnn told her, donning hers as pins crashed in time with the music.

Zaire was still in Dorius' face. He smugly smiled at her. "Yes, they are your clothes. But I left a pair of Rufskins black Truxton's hanging over your shower with my new Gordini silk crew. I think I got the bad end of the deal. Nice cologne, by the way. I love Ferrari Black."

"TWENTY MINUTES BOWLERS. LET'S GET THOSE LAST MINUTE PRACTICE BALLS - WE CUT YOU OFF IN TEN MINUTES."

Four very butch looking women, followed by four very lady-like men strutted onto the lane throwing bowling ball cases, shoes, jackets, and bags of food under the chairs by Dorius and Zaire. Gibbie wedged himself in between the two of them. "Both of you knock it off or I start with the itch dust."

A team two lanes over got everyone's attention with obnoxious war cries, as pins crashed and a bowler jumped in the air. "STRIKE! OH, HELL YES! WATCH AND LEARN, 'THE TERMINATORS' HAVE ARRIVED!"

Dorius flinched and Zaire turned her cheek to his lips. "Pop a mint, Casket-Breath," she said, eyeing up the opposing team settling into our alley.

They all stood proudly wearing black t-shirts sporting 'The Gay Blades' across their chests. They didn't look like gaiety was part of their persona, though. I watched them bang around doing an Alpha routine that had Paul frowning. I assumed gay referred to sexual preference, while blades referred to something that actually slices and dices.

Dorius pulled his face from Zaire's chin, turning to the other team. He smiled at the largest woman I'd ever seen in my life. She was at least six foot tall and weighed in at around two hundred and fifty pounds. She had a gold nose ring the size of a kumquat and spiky carrot red hair tipped in black. I didn't think they made jeans big enough or long enough to cover an ample body like hers, but she wore a black pair, snuggly covering her bulbous lower half. Her name, Nadine, was stretched across a pair of knockers that looked like two fifteen pound bowling balls.

Pins slammed against alleys, bowlers whooped and hollered, and the DJ hit the microphone. "FOR ALL YOU PLAYERS WITH A KICK, I THINK THIS IS A GOOD PICK, LET'S SWING AND SWAY WITH WAYLON AS HE CROONS FOR ALL OF YOU THAT ARE TRAILIN'. Waylon started wailing, 'You Don't Mess Around With Me'.

"Nadine, a pleasure to meet you. I'm Dorius, this is my brother Marcus and these women are…'The Immortals'. Dorius smiled, extending his right hand.

"Fuck you, asshole." Nadine sneered. "We play to win so get your scrawny butt in your painted-on jeans over where it belongs."

Zaire cackled.

The other three women vibrated with the anticipation of a fight. They stood in front of the chairs behind the lane with curt smiles on their faces. The men huddled beside them, all eyes on Dorius' ass.

Dorius sarcastically looked them over. "Well now, aren't you just a bundle of someone else's joy."

I turned away, trying to ignore them as I sized up Marcus again. The minute our eyes met, he grinned a cute lopsided smile.

It's a pleasure to meet you, Susan. I have waited a long time for this moment.

I shook my head, the noise in the room fading. Son of a bitch, he's pushing my mind. He's playing me.

For a brief second, his eyes jumped to my mouth, and then his grin turned to a smile as he pushed his thoughts into my head again. I'd love to play with your mind, or any part of your body, my love. Be patient, my sweet destiny.

Like a door slamming against a harsh breeze, I sharply shut my mind, the sound of locks clicking in my head. I glanced around to see what reaction the other girls had to his words. None of them seemed to know he was communicating with me. I frowned, turning back to his grinning face. I actually felt him moving around in my head. Goddamn it, I just closed my mind. How the hell are you rummaging around in there?

The phrase ménage a' trios' assaulted my senses as JoAnn joined Marcus in my head. Susan, can you stop looking like you're going to punch that man? Don't start a fight before we even get introduced. God, I have to pee.

"FIFTEEN MINUTES, PLAYERS. IT'S TIME TO GET ORGANIZED. I STILL HAVE T-SHIRTS FOR 'CHILLER THRILLERS'; YOU CAN'T START WITHOUT THEM. PHONDA PETERS, PHONDA PETERS, I HAVE A MESSAGE FOR YOU FROM FULLER WHOLE. HE WANTS YOU TO CONTACT HIM AS SOON AS POSSIBLE."

JoAnn shot me nasty eyebrows. "Go find a frigging bathroom and stay out of my head, damn it," I said out loud.

Would you like me to block your sister's intrusions? Marcus injected with a grin.

"Susan, can you pull your goddamn eyes from that man for one minute so we can get on with this," my mother growled at me, handing Resi a pink T-shirt.

Paul stepped forward, trying to get Dorius' attention because he was back to glaring at Zaire.

Resi turned to Marcus as she pulled her team shirt over one that read, 'Nobody knows I'm a lesbian'. "So what do we do now? Because we're not leaving this alley until this is settled."

"I'm sorry. I seem to have been lost in thought. I believe you were going to do some explaining, Mr. Forrest?" Everyone turned to Paul except me. I stood glaring at Marcus.

Lost in thought, my ass.

Marcus favored me with a quick dicey little grin and turned back to Paul. I heard my mother sigh obnoxiously and shot her a nasty look as Marcus pushed himself back into my head. Your sister will not be mentally bothering you again tonight. You can thank me later, my sweet.

"ALL RIGHT NOW HERE'S A BLAST FROM THE PAST. IS EVERYBODY HAVING FUN?" The DJ hit the switch, sending 'Boz Scaggs' off and running with, 'Lowdown', reverberating around the alley as the crowd clapped.

"Here, put this on and go get some shoes. Then we talk." Mom handed Dorius a pink T-shirt.

"I am not putting this on. Let's all just stroll out to the car and we can have our discussion there." Dorius tossed the shirt over the little desk that was used to keep score. The pink shirt was projected to an overhead screen, the word, Immortal, glowing purple, displayed for all to see. It didn't stay there long before one of 'The Gay Blades', picked it up and threw it at Dorius. It wrapped itself around his left shoulder.

"There is no need for hostility…" Dorius said, glancing at the name printed across the thin blond man's chest. "…Terrence."

Terrence smiled, snapped his fingers and answered, "Keep it in your own yard, stud muffins. But if you want to meet me in the men's restroom later, I'd love to swap spit with you."

Dorius was livid as his cell phone beeped. He pulled his eyes off Terrence and walked away from the chairs, his phone against his ear. "What have you got, Peter?"

"We found one of the mortals sleeping in a Volkswagen on the beach. He told us Christopher's headed for Cuba on a surfboard."

"He's what? I don't have time for this shit. Get the BAMVC copter and head out to find him. When you get back, call me. There's going to be hell to pay when I get my hands on him. I haven't heard from the team yet. Any idea on their ETA?"

"They should be arriving soon. They have orders to touch base with you when they get there."

"Good. It’s turning out to be a fiasco here. Never mind. When you get the little fucker, do not, and I repeat, do not let him out of your sight."

"Got it boss. Is that 'Creedence Clearwater Revival' I hear in the background?"

26

"Susan, darn it, stop ignoring me!" JoAnn yelled. I sent a look her way that shut her up in a heartbeat.

Marcus glanced at me with knowing eyes and a sassy grin. I wondered how Marcus was keeping my sister from blasting me with her comments.

Dorius walked onto the lane and Marcus picked up his shirt and handed it to him. "I think we should get suited up. If the ladies want to play, I say we play."

My stomach did a little flip and the hair on my arms tingled. I ran my eyes over his square jaw that had just the right amount of stubble.

Dorius was not amused. "If you think I'm going to toss a ball down an alley wearing a pink T-shirt with 'The Immortals' printed across my chest, you're out of your mind."

I am out of my mind, brother dear, and I intend on staying there, Marcus pushed at me, his eyes on Dorius. "Look around, brother. Do you think we have any other choice?"

Dorius flinched as two teams started a full-fledged fight near alley seven. They were swinging fists, tossing obscenities and climbing over chairs to get at each other. Beer bottles broke, a pizza box went sailing across the lanes and hit the alley; pizza flying all over the place as one man dragged another down the lane toward the pins through all the mess.

"I NEED A FEW MEN ON LANE SEVEN. CLEAN UP AND SECURITY GET YOUR ASSES OVER TO LANE SEVEN! WILL THE TWO TEAMS RIPPING EACH OTHERS HAIR OUT ON LANE SEVEN STOP IMMEDIATELY OR YOU WILL BE ESCORTED FROM THE PREMISES!"

Marcus patted the seat next to him as he looked into my eyes. Come here my pet; let's get to know each other a little.

I raised one brow, put my hand on my hip, my nether parts all a thunder as I pushed back. Certainly, you do not think beckoning me like a small animal has my body all a-tingle. Maybe you should cruise the alley. I saw a blonde woman with most of her teeth lingering in the bar.

Marcus' laughter roared in my head.

"TEN MINUTES BOWLERS. EVERYONE BOWLING, THROW YOUR LAST BALL AND GET OFF THE LANES." Mike announced in a reverberating squeal.

Oh, Suzie Q screamed John Fogerty as my eyebrows met in a kiss.

Nadine turned from the ball sailing down the alley, a confident look on her colossal face. She winked when all ten pins came crashing down behind her.

Jeni whispered to Paul, pointing at Marcus' feet, then walked toward the front desk.

Paul cleared his throat and got Marcus' attention. "After talking to the ladies this evening, it seems they misunderstood my directions. Evidently they felt contacting you by email was enough to set your minds at ease. Especially when their…(ahem) order was delivered the next morning."

Will you get those damn sexy eyes off my ass? I didn't hear a thing Paul said.

I am afraid it's hard to remove my eyes from your ass when you stand there swaying it around in front of me. Marcus reluctantly turned his attention to Paul as he pulled his pink shirt over his head.

"You assholes gonna play or are you gonna stand around all night?" Nadine asked. The other three women sat awaiting instructions. The men were huddled together listening to Terrence with what appeared to be the attention span of three gerbils as he gave them orders in a flurry of animated hand gestures.

Jeni walked up with two pairs of size ten bowling shoes, laying them on one of the chairs by Marcus.

Mom strutted toward Nadine. "Look, just back off lady, before I lose my bowling ball in that cave you have decorated like a mouth on your fat face."

She turned to Dorius before Nadine could come up with a rebuttal. "You, Mr. Hot Pants, get your ass in that shirt, put on those shoes, and get on the lane. You, Zaire, Susan and me are first up. Marcus and Paul can spot us."

She looked at JoAnn with a scowl. "We don't use her unless we get really desperate. She can keep score. Jeni, you can help her. She doesn't have her calculator with her." Mom pointed to the chair in front of the small desk. A short sassy woman in spandex sat in the other chair. She looked like Cyndi Lauper, her hair in about thirty multiple colored ponytails sticking out in various angles around her head. She smiled as JoAnn sat next to her and Jeni moved up behind them.

"I did not receive an email from any of them, Mr. Forrest," Marcus said as he slipped on his shoes. He looked so totally in control and my damn clitoris was now zinging with the hair on my arms.

"That's because we didn't send you one." I glared at him, at the same time trying to get my libido under control. "And none of you want to be bothered by a phone call, either," I spat. Paul and Gibbie let out a sigh in unison.

Marcus' eyes judged my statement, his lips curving up ever so slightly as my damn sister started yelling at me.

"Okay, if you want to be a bitch and not listen to me, I guess I will have to say it out loud," JoAnn snapped. "We're letting Paul handle this, remember!"

Dorius swaggered onto the lane, donned in shirt and shoes, with a ball in his hands, glaring at Nadine as she searched for hers.

"JoAnn, why don't you go pee or something so I can keep track of the game. Jeni can keep score," Mom ordered, waving her hands around in front of her.

Gibbie flitted over everyone's head, dusting frantically.

JoAnn, eyebrows slammed together, said, "I don't have to go now."

"IS EVERYBODY READY? FIVE MINUTES, FIRST BOWLERS TAKE YOUR MARK. AND I DO NOT WANT TO SEE AN OUTBURST LIKE THE ONE ON LANE SEVEN OR THE GAMES WILL BE CALLED!"

The crowd gathered behind the chairs with mixed wagers. The lanes fell silent as players ambled up to get ready for the first game. Bob Seger started wailing, 'Rock And Roll Never Forgets'.

"Get out of the friggin' way, dick-wad. I bowl first." Zaire pushed Dorius, grabbed her ball, her eyes daring him to say anything.

He carried his ball off the lane with a rumble in his chest.

Resi and Jeni watched them with amusement.

Marcus cleared his throat, finally ready to address my statement. "I assure you, I was not made aware of your call or your email, Ms. Stech."

"Then why in the hell don't you educate your staff to make sure you get called to the phone when you're asked for?" I asked, hands on my hips, nostrils flaring.

JoAnn let out a sigh. "Oh, for heaven's sake. Can't you let the men talk? No one can get a word in edgewise when you're around."

I ignored her, glaring at Marcus waiting for his refutation.

"Are you saying you did or did not contact someone on the council? I'm sorry, Ms. Stech, but I seem to be having a bit of difficulty in understanding you." His boyish grin made me seethe with anger.

"Oh, here she goes! I've got one simpleton for a daughter and one loud mouth. If I ever have another kid, it's gonna be a boy. I can bitch-slap the hell out of a frigging boy," Mom announced, swinging at Gibbie who was dusting her with silver flakes.

"What I'm saying, Mister Morizzio, is that I did not contact you because your receptionist at BAMVC told me that you did not take calls from just anyone. None of the council did. So, Mister Morizzio Sir, we went to your website, and only found an email address for Dorius and we did email him about your concerns. I ordered… fertilizer… from the only voice I was allowed to talk to, and when it was delivered the next da-ay, we thought Dorius and the rest of you were fine with our explanation." Then I mentally pushed, So take that, Fang-Boy!

"Well, she certainly made herself clear that time." Mom wore a devilish grin.

"Jesus, Susan," my sister whined.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, ONLY TEAM MEMBERS ON THE LANES. THE GAMES ARE ABOUT TO BEGIN. EVERYONE NOT WEARING A TEAM SHIRT AND BOWLING SHOES, MOVE BACK FROM THE LANES AND GIVE THE BOWLERS ROOM, PLEASE."

"Shit!" Dorius, flustered, strutted off the lane and sat in one of the chairs, waiting for his turn.

Marcus' eyes followed him with a smile.

Resi tossed Zaire a grin. "Make me proud baby."

"Yep, I'm a real ball buster." Zaire shot Dorius a snide grin as she picked up her ball from the return rack and readied herself on the lane.

"LET THE GAMES BEGIN."

Zaire stepped up to the mark, eyeing the pins as a hush came over the crowd. She took three long steps, letting the ball sail down the alley at a speed that was clearly not human.

"Ooops!" She turned to Nadine, mimicking her walk earlier, winking at her as ten pins literally exploded at the end of the lane in shards of wood.

The crowd went crazy.

"CHRIST, WE NEED CLEAN UP ON LANE THIRTEEN. CLEAN UP ON LANE THIRTEEN, PRONTO! DAVE, YOU ON IT BUDDY?"

Dave's hand fell from the end of our lane, waving. The rest of his body dropped into the pile of busted up pins and he started picking up wooden shards as the tone of the wages shifted dramatically and pins cracked up and down the alleys.

John Denver started ringing out, 'Rocky Mountain High' as Dorius got up and stepped onto the lane. He shoulder butted Zaire as she walked by.

"Put your ball where your mouth is asshole," Zaire remarked with a saucy smile, waving at the crowd as they cheered her on.

The shards of broken pins were replaced with new ones and Dorius shook his butt to the ball return while 'The Gay Blades' eyed his swaggering posterior. He selected his ball, flipped his long hair over his shoulder, pulled Zaire's jeans out of his ass and threw a gutter ball. He turned to Zaire with a big smile. "We're on the same team, asshole. How'd you like that move? Do I know how to bring down the numbers or what?"

The crowd booed. Zaire fumed. Terrence eyed Dorius with wet lips.

"I say we go out in the parking lot and F'n end this right now!" Zaire snapped.

"I couldn't agree with you more." Dorius took the seat beside her and placed his hand on her knee with a squeeze that wasn't at all friendly.

She viciously dragged it away, grabbing him by the hair.

"Oh goodie, two down and six to go," Nadine said.

Gibbie zipped toward them so fast my eyes hurt. "Little black woman, you are about to get squished. Let go of the thousand-year-old vampire’s hair," Gibbie screeched in her ear.

"I am not your little black woman," she spat, giving Dorius’ hair a good tug.

Everyone held their breath and looked at Dorius.

Dorius yanked his hair out of her hand with a growl.

Mom stepped onto the lane with Terrence.

"What'cha got, small stuff?" Terrence asked.

"More balls than you, Grace." Mom walked up to the diamonds embedded in the wood, wiggled her left shoe on the second mark, eyed the lane, swung her arm back, pranced toward the pins and tossed the ball. It hit the gutter. She pointed at the ball and it bounced out, heading for the pins, dead center. She flicked her finger and it sped up, smacking the head pin and knocking all of them down with a loud crack.

The crowd exploded again, drowning out the background music as the DJ passed out gifts with a weary smile.

Her finger action did not go unnoticed by Zaire.

"What the hell was that hand jive shit?" Zaire asked."

"Nanna, did you move that ball with your mind?" Resi whispered in Mom's ear.

"Just a little something I've been practicing in case the vamp-brigade shows up again," Mom answered with a smile.

The three men and the fairy exchanged looks.

Marcus got up and changed the subject. "Did you get an email from them, Dorius?"

"I did, and immediately deleted it. There is no explanation. The rules are the rules," Dorius said in a smug tone, then waved his hand at Marcus, signaling he was up next. But his eyes were on Mom. I could feel my teeth extending slightly and clamped my lips down.

"You prick! Just who the hell do you think you are?" Zaire blurted out, her face in his again.

"I'd say a hubris filled blow-hard," Jeni offered, surprising me.

"A cute one, though," my mother said, batting her eyes at Dorius.

A wiry man with black hair in an out-of-date pageboy and tight leather pants sauntered up, grinning at Marcus. "You gonna bowl sweetie, or should I?"

Marcus smiled back and gracefully waltzed down the lane, bowling a strike.

The crowd behind the chairs yelled their approval.

I watched the anger wage a war with his senses as Dorius glared at my mother. "I know exactly who I am. You girls, on the other hand do not."

"All right, ladies. I understand your frustration. Dorius, why did you not tell me they tried to explain themselves?" Marcus asked. He sat in one of the chairs and watched me as I picked up my ball. I nodded at a tall woman with bleached blonde hair dressed in a short tight jean skirt. She picked up her ball and stood back with a smile, her eyes on my chest.

"I have a copy of the email, Mr. Morizzio," Jeni told him sweetly, disengaging herself from the group to dig in her purse.

I turned back to see Marcus smiling at me. Get your eyes off my ass. I felt self-conscious as my arm went back, my legs carried me toward the line, and I let the ball go. It rolled down the lane, bounced off the back wall and took down seven pins.

I eyed the slim woman, her hair falling in her face. She shook her head, giving me a 'too bad' look and took aim. She let the ball go and waited with anticipation as it curved close to the gutter before heading toward the pins. She left four standing.

I shot her a smug smile as I picked up my returned ball and got in place. I took in a deep breath.

My, you have great form. I could watch you bowl all night, my sweet.

I clenched my teeth and hammered the remaining pins against the back wall.

The crowd yelled their approval.

"IT LOOKS LIKE 'THE IMMORTAL'S' ARE WORKING IT. BUCK UP BOWLERS, IT SEEMS THEY ARE CLEARLY IMMORTAL TONIGHT!"

The crowed agreed.

I heard Marcus in my head again. Susan, you are a treasure and every one of the other women you brought into our immortal world will make us feel alive again. I long to put a smile on your cute little face.

I jerked my head in his direction. Yeah, well good luck with that.

He grinned at me, eyes sparkling, legs crossed, as he leaned back in the plastic chair dressed in his pink t-shirt, his beautiful body relaxed. Only a matter of time, my love.

I glanced at my sister. JoAnn was adding up numbers with all ten of her fingers, completely ignoring us. Why the hell can't you hear me, JoAnn! I pushed at her. She didn't budge.

Mom was on the lane again. Terrence jumped up and down beside her after bowling a strike.

"Easy sweetie, you wouldn't want to muss that Elvis hairdo you're sporting," Mom said, resuming a bowling stance.

She tossed the ball at the pins and it sailed in the air landing mid-lane, heading straight for the head pin. I could see her fingers wiggling in front of her chest. The pins fell, leaving two standing. One on each side, hugging the gutters. A split.

She huffed off the lane, waiting while Terrence bowled.

Silence fell over the room as Mom stepped up to the ball return.

Terrence turned to her after leaving only the nine and ten pin. "Wanna bet who gets the spare?"

"I'd love to shove this ball up your well-oiled rectum," Mom said.

"Oh, bite me, bitch." Terrence snarled.

"Don't tempt me." Mom picked up her ball, walked slowly to the markers, and put the ball at eye level. She hesitated only a moment before taking three long strides, sending the ball gently over the lane as she froze, one leg back behind her body, her hands resting on her other knee. Her eyes followed the slow path of the bowling ball as it made its way down the lane hanging on the edge of the gutter. The ball glided toward the ten pin, slicing it across the lane to tap the other. In slow motion the pin rocked a few seconds, not a sound in the alley, before landing side down on the lane.

The crowd went wild.

Dorius frowned at her.

The announcer called a break before the next round and Zaire walked out of the lane, heading for the bar with Dorius' eyes on her.

Jeni handed Marcus a copy of the explanation we emailed to Dorius and he read it as she stood watching. His face changed several times as he stood there like a frigging sex toy. I tried to pull my eyes off his sumptuous, leather-clad, tight little buns as he turned to my daughter, giving her his attention.

"You pen a very believable tale, Jennifer," he told her with a soft smile.

Dorius growled.

My mother sucked down a beer, her eyes on his body.

I believe you're watching my ass now. Marcus pushed with a laugh that bounced around in my mind.

I simmered, prying my eyes from his tightly packed butt. He never even looked at me, his smile still focused on my daughter.

Jeni smiled back. "Thank you Mr. Morizzio. I am sorry for all of this. They were, after all, gleaning rules from fiction that my mother and sister picked up in supermarkets."

Susan, I have waited for you for fifteen hundred years. You are my first suitable mate.

Jeni kept on, none the wiser. "I did try to do some research on the internet for them. Have you ever tried finding legitimate information about… well, your people?"

Whoa, Fang-Boy, I am not mating with anyone.

"Well, there isn't anything," Jeni went on. "Unless you expect us to take as gospel what we learned in paperback books..."

You feel it Susan. You can't deny it. It's fate.

"I assure you, having rules brought to our attention would not have been taken lightly by me," Jeni continued.

Oh please, get over yourself. What I feel is lust, plain and simple. So if you're looking for a long term, total commitment kind of thing, you’re barking up the wrong immortal, Markie-boy.

"I would have been glad to educate the others. And if I knew you'd sent something, I assure you, I would have contacted you immediately upon reading it," Jeni said as she turned to Dorius.

I heard Marcus' laughter in my head as he turned to me and smiled. Ah, this is going to be such fun.

Mom passed me, headed for the bar and a refill. I frowned at her, then gave Mr. I-Am-Oh-So-Sure-Of-Myself some attention. Look you arrogant…

"Marcus, I'm through playing," Dorius grabbed me by the elbow. "Let's take it outside. Now!"

27

"We're going to Miami and the council will handle this, Dorius." Marcus folded the letter and handed it to Jeni. "We will not stand here and discuss the matter in a public place. Let Susan go, immediately."

Are you out of your freaking mind? I am not going to Miami with you, Marcus. I yanked my arm away from Dorius.

Marcus turned a heart-stopping smile my way. Be patient, my little one. There is protocol to be followed. All is well, I assure you.

I glared at him. That's easy for you to say. It's not your ass on the line, mister. And I'm not going to mate, have sex, whatever, with you or anyone else to get all this settled!

"I'm tired of this shit. Get the hell out of here and leave us alone!" my mother yelled. She strutted toward Marcus with a fresh beer in her hand, Zaire right behind her.

Marcus turned his lethal grin in my direction. Ahhh, we need to talk, you and I.

"I ain't going anywhere with anyone," Zaire announced. "I'm bowling!"

I let out a loud frustrated sigh.

"Ladies, I think it would behoove you to get this taken care of, " Dorius said, "You made your beds."

Jeni grabbed her purse and shoved the letter inside.

Gibbie flew up to the score-keeping monitor with a flourish of fluttering wings, his sword drawn. He looked so damn cute.

My eyes fell on Resi and Zaire, both leaning against the seats separating us from the crowd, arms folded across their chests, eyes shooting daggers at the Morizzio brothers as Janis Joplin croaked out, 'Get It While You Can'. They were ready for anything the immortals were about to dish out.

"FIFTEEN MINUTES, BOWLERS, AND THE SECOND GAME BEGINS. WE HAVE A TIE FOR FIRST PLACE BETWEEN 'THE IMMORTALS' ON LANE THIRTEEN, AND 'SEXY SADISTS SINGLES' ON LANE NINE. FOLLOWING IN CLOSE SECOND, WITH JUST FOUR PINS SEPERATING THEM FROM FIRST PLACE IS, 'THE GAY BLADES'," Mike yelled in the microphone from the front desk.

Nadine let out a war hoop that had me three inches off the floor.

"I'm finishing this. I want that money." Zaire was livid as she glared at Nadine.

"Oh for heaven's sake, your lives are on the line and all you can think about is money? Typical!" Dorius spat.

Buzzzzzz…Buzzzzzz…Buzzzzzz…

My eyes shot to the front of Dorius' jeans. He fished out his cell phone.

"We're through playing," Nadine shouted. "You're all dog meat in the next set!"

I smiled at her and her motley crew.

My mother by-passed Marcus and sashayed around the chairs to better position herself next to Dorius. She was about three feet from him, calculating her next move.

Susan, If you all come along quietly and meet with the council, we can have all this settled by tomorrow night. You can drive with me in my car and we can have a nice long talk about mates and our future together. I'm sure when you realize…

Oh, SHIT. Not now damn it.

I felt Marcus' head jerk in my direction.

Once again I beg your pardon. You have to be patient with me, amore. I have never found…

Not about you this time, Markie Boy. I pushed back as I sidled toward Dorius. It's my mother. She's going to hit on your brother. I kept moving very slowly toward my mother. She sent me a nasty smile and took a step closer to Dorius, daring me to stop her.

Did you just say your mother was going to HIT Dorius? That would be unwise.

My mother had her eyes on Dorius' crotch as he clicked the cell off, trying to shove it back in his pants pocket.

Not fight. Hit ON, you idiot. Make a pass. Get a little warm and fuzzy with him. Oh God, what's the use?

"Concetta, will you join me for a minute dear? I wish to talk to you while the rest of your clan makes ready to leave." Marcus asked Mom.

Every Stech woman's head jerked in Marcus' direction the minute he used my mother's birth name. No one called her Concetta except for her father and he was dead. My own father had even called her Chick.

I watched in horror as my mother turned from Dorius and shook her ass so hard that I was sure it would come off her damn hips. She sashayed up to Marcus, placing her hands on his chest. "I'd love to talk with you, handsome. Can we do it in private? I suggest the locker room. It's quiet back there."

Over my undead body, I pushed at him, much to my surprise. At least I got a chuckle out of him.

"I'll be right back and then we are all leaving," Dorius said, walking toward the front door of the alley.

We're not going anywhere. You better tell your brother to back off Marcus.

"We're not leaving!" Zaire yelled. "We still have a game to finish!"

The DJ, back on his microphone, yelled, "THE NIGHT IS STILL YOUNG! WE HAVE JUST BEGUN! LET'S ALL SIT BACK, TAKE A BREAK, AND THEN HIT THOSE ALLEYS WITH WHAT IT TAKES!" With that he hit the off switch on the microphone sending a reverberating backlash around the alley. ZZ Top cranked up, with 'Got Me Under Pressure' and practice balls began cracking pins.

"Come sit with me, Concetta," Marcus said, smiling, placing his hand over hers and escorting her to the end of the chairs by our lane.

Marcus turned to Zaire. "If you agree to leave without a fight I will personally give you the prize money. Will that be satisfactory?" See, Susan? Concetta is putty in my hands and I think I have placated Zaire for the moment.

"Are there any strings attached?" Zaire asked.

"None." Marcus sat down, beckoning Mom.

My mother placed her hand on his knee as she sat next to him. Marcus smiled down at her hand. She snuggled closer. The girls were leaning over to watch. Mom's hand slid further up his thigh, dangerously close to Marcus' joy stick.

JoAnn frowned at my mother and turned to me, eyebrows holding each other in conspired conversation.

I ignored her.

It didn't stop her; she walked over, grabbed me by the elbow, and whispered in my ear with frustration, "I think you should get over there and do something before Mom makes a fool of herself and gets us all in trouble. He looks an awful lot like that Steven Segal guy she swoons over."

Jeni motioned for me to join them by the chairs, her eyebrows tucked together, her lips puckered like a tight little butt.

I watched through hooded eyes as my mother's hand slowly ran over his zipper, making its way to his hip. She looked like she was ready to jump into a straddle position.

I glared at Marcus' amused face. Jesus! Great, just great! I blurted silently as I watched my mother wrap her leg over his. In about two seconds she was going to be humping him. You're really blowing this all to hell. Christ, you don't dangle a penis in front of my mother, idiot!

"Mom, are you going to untwine Nanna from that vampire's body or should I?" Resi hissed in my ear. I jumped with a small yelp and glared at her.

My mother started giggling and Marcus let out a loud chuckle.

"He does seem to be attracted to her, though." Resi just wouldn't let up.

I eyed Marcus, wondering why none of the girls seemed to hear the mental conversation we were having. I was about to ask Resi when Marcus pushed me.

You seem to have little faith in me, Susan. I would be truly grateful if you would trust me, my beloved.

"TEN MINUTES BOWLERS. SECOND TEAMS ON THE ALLEY. ALL FOOD AND DRINK BEHIND THE LANES."

Marcus, you don't know my mother.

He gave me a major grin. I tried to ignore it but it really pissed me off when Mom laid a big wet kiss on his chin and he beamed at her.

I wanted to strangle them both.

"Aww, the little vamp is smiling at us," Resi told Jeni. "She's just trying to get on his good side."

It's not his good side she's trying to get it on with. I fumed, trying to figure out my next move.

"So, do you want a little foreplay first or do you want to set up a rendezvous for the real thing?" Mom asked, her eyes taking all of him in.

There you go Mister Trust-Me-I-Know-What-I'm-Doing.

Mister Wonderful shot me a wink and answered my mother. "No, my dear. I am not available to sample your um… very ample charms. You are a lovely woman Concetta, but I am afraid my heart and soul belongs to another. If it were not so, I would take you away to a quiet room and revel in your passion for lust. I bet you would make a very talented bed partner. But I am unable to partake in good faith, for I could not provide you the undivided attention you so much deserve." Marcus flashed her a grin.

Not bad, Fang-Boy. Let's see if she buys it.

Jeni nudged my arm, sliding by me to stand in front of my mother. "Nanna, sweetie, I need to talk to you. We need to go tell the man at the desk that we are forfeiting the game," she interrupted, before we could find out if Marcus could indeed control the feisty little woman.

My mother glared at her with a frown. "Screw 'em. Everyone get your shit and let's move it," she said, looking at Marcus with fluttering eyelashes while Jeni yanked her away.

Ah, now that is a delightfully passionate and independent woman. It is safe to say, my beloved, that you are the spitting image of her.

If there was anything he could have said to piss me off more, I couldn't think of it. I am not like my mother!

His laugh rolled in my head like a tidal wave hitting a moonlit shore.

I growled, ready to pounce. "So what do we do now?" I asked.

"First, we need to get the boat," Jeni said. "I have to give Carl back his keys and I want to go home to pack a few things because I will be joining you."

Dorius strutted into the alley with a big smile for Marcus. "Everything is under control. Time to go."

28

We stood in the parking lot surrounded by twelve immortals, a wolf and a fairy. Behind us were three Suburban's - four if you counted the one we arrived in.

"So Dorius, how many immortals does it take to change a light bulb?" Resi asked, her eyes jumping from one immortal to the next, a smile on her face.

"I suggest you keep your humor to yourself before I enlighten you as to how many immortals it takes to drain one of you." Dorius held up one finger in her face.

Zaire stepped in front of Resi, eyes stormy, lips curled back. "You evidently feel it takes more than you. You ever get your fangs dirty, prissy-boy?"

"Which one of you boccalones' is going to take us to get our boat?" Mom interrupted.

Dorius didn't take his eyes off Zaire. "None of you are going anywhere near that boat and those weapons. Camillio, drive Paul to the cabin and pick up the boat. Leave the cabin key on a counter. Jeni can call her friend and tell him it's there. We'll meet you at the house when you've finished. Warren, you and David can stop by the Micro Motel and bring us a change of clothes."

"Yeah, and then you can burn the ones he has on," Zaire hissed. "Because it'll be a cold day in hell before I put them back on my ass."

Dorius sounded like a caged animal.

Mom pointed her finger at his face. "I'm really getting sick and tired of you walking around like some fare il grandee. I'd like to see if you act so big without your fanged warriors to back you."

"Mother! That's enough," JoAnn huffed. "I just want to go on record as saying I am not stooping to a fist fight. I happen to be a lady."

I started giggling and got a frown from Marcus. Susan, my love, get the women in the SUV's before we get into a tussle out here in the parking lot. One you will not win.

I snapped right back with tight lips and hooded eyes. Gimmie a break, they're just letting off a little steam. Your brother may be an idiot, but my family is not.

"I'm sure you feel we're all beneath you, Dorius," Resi hissed. "But I assure you; I will never be beneath you."

Marcus rumbled a warning in my head. I smiled at him, thinking I'd just let this play out.

Mom was working that hip, baby, and I was lovin' it. The cute little ruffles on her short skirt bounced around her thighs. All she needed was some gum.

"Maybe the less you say the better," Mom suggested, rolling her eyes at Dorius.

"When we get this all settled, shit-for-brains, I want at least five minutes alone with you. Just five. I'll wipe the friggin' floor with your ass." Zaire hissed.

"Oh, I'd just love for you to try." With cold eyes, Dorius pointed to a clear spot behind the Suburban. "You want to step over there for about one minute? That's all it will take."

Zaire let out a war-whoop, leapt at him, wrapped her hands around his throat and they flew ten feet into the Suburban behind them.

Everyone sucked in a whopping breath.

Dorius' fangs slid from his mouth and he bit Zaire on the shoulder. She sank her fangs into his neck, he yanked her by the hair, she yelped and dug her fingernails into the skin on his jaw.

Resi buzzed by me, jumped on Dorius' back and grabbed him by the hair right before the three of them went through the passenger window. Glass shards rained down them and three sets of legs hung half out the window. Growling noises permeated the air.

All eleven immortals dropped their fangs and closed in on the rest of us.

Marcus stepped in front of me. "That's enough! Everyone stand down this minute!"

I looked back at the bowling alley. Not a soul in site.

Dorius let out a growl that would put a full grown lion to shame and Zaire and Resi shot from the window, landing in a heap on the pavement in front of us. The other immortals, fangs extended, circled them.

Marcus started shoving me toward a vehicle. With a sneer on my lips I shook my head. He let go of my arm.

Zaire pulled Resi on top of her. Both had huge grins on their bloody faces.

"That went well," Mom said, shaking her head at Dorius, who was still stuffed half in and half out of the SUV. "Everybody still undead?"

Dorius removed himself from the window. "Scrape them off the ground, load them up, and let's get the hell out of here before someone walks out of the bowling alley." He brushed glass from his shoulder. "Once again, you've endangered our existence, ladies."

"Dorius, I believe you assisted in that little endeavor," Marcus snapped. I wanted to kiss him.

Zaire jumped up, pulled Resi with her and they both glared at Dorius. "We can walk ourselves to the car," Zaire hissed. "Don't push your luck, shithead."

Dorius wiped blood off his mouth and shot Zaire a raised eyebrow. "It's a little after two. By the time we get the boat and store the guns, it will be too late to start for Miami. We'll leave at sundown tomorrow. Marcus and I will stay at the house and guard the women. The rest of you will stay at the hotel."

"Can't we just leave tonight? Surely you can see the value of getting on with this," Jeni surveyed the broken window.

Dorius turned to her with a smirk. "Surely you see the value of not taking them out during the day when traffic is at its peak." He dramatically waved his hand toward the rest of my family. "No, we will not be driving anywhere during the day."

"Can you all just shut up so we can go home? I have to pee and I'm not going back in that alley." JoAnn pushed Mom toward one of the SUV's.

"Let's get this over with. I'll drive in whatever car he's not in," I said, pointing at Marcus.

And hour later, Marcus stood in my living room with a grin so adorable I wanted to kiss it. I also wanted to wake up from this nightmare and go back to sleep to dream another dream. It had been a long night and all I wanted was for it to end. The boat was moored, the guns in the safe, and everyone had just finished a bag of blood.

Mom and JoAnn headed upstairs. Jeni hung back, staring at Paul.

"The sun will be up soon," one of Dorius' men said. "I think we'll head back to the hotel, Marcus. I'll order more blood as soon as we get there. It should be here sometime today before we leave." He headed for the front door, taking the other six immortals with him.

"I'll be back in a few hours, Jeni," Paul said. "I just need to get a few things from home. Will you ride with me to the compound later?" He paused at the door.

"That sounds lovely. I'm sure it will be a much more pleasant drive without having to witness everyone trying to tear each other's eyes out." Jeni gave him a smile, walking toward the stairs. Paul smiled back and walked out the front door.

Gibbie flew off the table to the sliding glass doors leading to the lake. "I'll see all of you this evening. I'm going to catch a few before we leave."

I turned away from Marcus' smiling face and stopped Resi in mid-step. "Resi, I need a word, please?"

"Okay," Resi said with curious eyes. "How about you walk Zaire and me downstairs?"

When she closed the bedroom door, I stared at them, chewing on my cheek. I sucked in a long breath and blurted, "Marcus says I'm his mate. He's been talking to me in my head and none of you seemed to notice. He also blocked JoAnn from pushing her thoughts at me. He knows everything I'm thinking and it's annoying as hell. How do I get him to leave me alone?"

"Why the hell would you want to do that? Do you know how hard it is to find a mate? God Mom, he's the oldest friggin' vampire in the world. Christ, this is great!"

"Well, at least it isn't Dorius," Zaire said, tossing her soiled shirt on a pile of clothes in the corner of the room.

"I don't want this. I feel… violated. I hate him knowing what I'm going to say even before I say it. How do I get out of it?"

"You can't, and I bet you feel drawn to him," Resi studied her face in a mirror attached to the bedroom door. "And once you mate, you're done for."

"You mean sex?"

"Not just sex. Didn't you read the same books I did? You need to drink from each other."

"No problem, because that isn't going to happen," I grabbed the doorknob.

"Wanna bet?" Resi grinned. "Did I tell you Zaire and I are mates? It's so damn cool. I know what she's doing at all times. I know what she thinks, feels, everything."

Zaire smiled at Resi. "Yeah, and that can be a real pain in the ass, but at least JoAnn doesn't rant in our heads."

"Well it isn't going to happen with me. I sure as hell am not sucking on anything of his, never mind having sex while I do it!" I didn't believe myself for one moment, but it sounded real good. Just the thought of Marcus up close and personal sent tingly sensations up and down my spine.

"Like I said, wanna bet?" Resi snickered.

I walked out the door and Marcus was standing in the kitchen waiting for me. I didn't give him time to say anything. He looked too damn cute. "I'm tired, Marcus. I'm going to bed. Alone. You can bunk on the couch."

"As you wish, my love." He flashed way too many teeth as he stepped back with a gracious wave of his hand, gesturing at the stairs up to my room.

I walked into my bedroom more drained than I had ever been as a mortal, with thoughts of the evening's events running around in my head. All I wanted to do was slide under my covers and sleep for a couple of days. No, what I really wanted to do was go downstairs, drag that immortal with his kissable grin and penetrating eyes up here to my bed, and find every part of his body with my lips. I headed for the shower instead.

I turned on the hot water and got undressed, staring at my reflection in the mirror as it began to fog. "You will not sleep with that immortal. Do you hear me?" I didn't look at all convinced.

I stepped under the tepid water, wishing Marcus was there to join me and hated myself for thinking it. Damn, but I felt lonely without him chiding me. I closed my eyes, saw his handsome face and immediately opened them again. Goddamn it.

I swore I heard him chuckle. I shook my head and grabbed for my shampoo, lathering my hair. The smell of lavender filled the shower stall, soothing me. I inhaled deeply trying to get the intoxicating need of having his body wrapped around me out of my mind. I rinsed my hair and grabbed the big brush from the rack on the wall. I poured a generous amount of rose scented soap on it and tried to scrub Marcus off my body and out of my mind.

A half an hour later I was toweled dry, under my covers, dressed in my little red silk pajamas, ignoring the fact that I hadn't wore them in years.

It was still dark out. I couldn't see the sun rising from this side of the house leaving it darker a bit longer. I tried to relax, taking deep breaths. A soft breeze blew in through the screen of my sliding door, mingling with the flow of air from my ceiling fan, playing with my curtains. I smelled lavender, lake water, roses, and Marcus. Damn it.

I punched my pillow into submission, squeezing my eyes closed. I listened to the water on the beach hit the cypress trees and finally drifted off to sleep.

I was dreaming of my fantasy immortal, watching as he jumped over the balcony rail outside my sliding door. He stood for a moment, silhouetted in the early morning darkness. I heard him laugh softly as he stepped under the curtains. They slid from his beautiful body and glided across the floor at his feet as he approached the bed. I let out a long sigh knowing what was coming next. He would slowly pull the covers from my body and watch me sleep.

The covers caressed my arms as they slid from my body and the cool air from the ceiling fan played over my exposed flesh.

Then he would touch my hair, trailing a hot flame of heat down my neck and shoulder as his hand moved to my back.

I felt a trail of hot flames follow his fingertips as they pulled my hair back from my face and neck, lightly grazing over my cheek. His fingers lingered in their descent, softly playing over the skin at the nape of my neck. I felt another trail of warmth as his other hand slid under my silk top following it up my spine.

Shivering with desire, I knew that he would soon kiss my neck and graze his incisors across my flesh.

I felt his hand slide further down my back and over my bottom caressing my thighs, making my breath come in short, panting gasps. I heard a soft chuckle as he nibbled at my neck. Then he bit me as his hand slid between my legs, teasing me.

Wait a minute… Something pulsed in and out of my mind and vanished as quickly as it arrived.

I felt a soft sucking on the side of my neck. I was on fire, every fiber in my body responding to his touch as I wiggled myself over his fingers.

I heard him growl, taking his teeth from my throat for a minute, making me wish he hadn't. "I want you, Susabellaluna," my immortal dream lover whispered in my ear. He slid his teeth back in my neck and began to suckle again.

I blinked. What the hell? Did he just call me Susabellaluna? My dream immortal never called me that.

I turned over yanking his hand and teeth from inside me as I sat up in bed, now wide awake, to find Marcus over me with blood dripping from his mouth.

"Did you bite me? Did you fucking bite me? And you called me that infernal nickname, didn't you? Where in the hell did you hear that name? Did my mother tell you to call me that?"

"Susan, my beloved, I only answered your call. You invited me to your bed, my darling, and I did as you directed me to do."

"Oh, no you didn't. I did not call you, Fang-Boy. I was sleeping, for Christ sake, and you know it. Where the hell did you get that name? Is this how it's going to be?"

"I'm sorry, my love. I found the name tucked away deep in your mind. It's endearing. And you wanted me just as much as I wanted you." He frowned at me, reaching out to touch my hair.

"Oh, now that's rich. I suppose since you bit me, I have no choice in this matter! You marked me, damn it. Why didn't you wait? I wanted to talk. Just talk. I wanted to know what the hell this was about and make a rational decision. I didn't want you making it for me by seducing me with the most erotic moment I have ever had in my life. You played my dream immortal, damn you. But this was no dream. This was you seducing me—using me. I did not want to belong to you. But you just made that decision for me, you controlling son-of-a-bitch!" I glared into his eyes, wishing he'd kiss me and, at the same time, I wanted to slap the insufferable bastard.

"First of all, there has been no binding. We need to drink from each other while we mate, like mortals trying to produce a child," he said with a shy grin, as if he was talking with an inexperienced child about the birds and the bees.

I wanted none of it. I was pissed. "So—what—we just start all over again like none of this ever happened?"

"I don't think that's possible. Do you, my love?"

"No," I said, pouting. I even batted my eyelashes. I'm an idiot!

He smiled at me and drew me close to him in an embrace that had my frigging traitor of a body burning with desire for him again, and I sure as hell didn't want that. I eased away from him and held his chest firmly at a distance.

"I don't think we need to be this close just yet, either," I said, feeling that oh so special place zinging into action again.

"You want me, sweetheart. I can feel it. And I want you as much."

"Okay, down boy. Just back up and take your hands out of my hair. Let's just go to sleep. In separate beds. We can talk about this tomorrow on the four-hour drive to Miami. His face dropped and I felt just a bit guilty. That damn gene all Italian women seem to be born with was pulling me in his direction. I had no idea why I felt like this was all my fault, but damn it, I did.

"I have a few questions I want to ask you, later, on the drive, and you can tell me why you have chosen me to attach your teeth to," I said, trying not to answer the damn tingling sensation in my unfaithful crotch.

He let out a long sigh, eyed my king size bed, and one corner of his mouth lifted in a spine-shattering smile that made me want to kiss the other side up.

"The couch is not comfortable. I am much too big for it, Susan."

"There you go, bragging again." I smiled in spite of myself.

"If I sleep on top of the covers, can I stay here by your side?"

I was thinking that would last for about five minutes before he was all over me and I would be unable to stop it since my traitor of a body seemed to be doing whatever the hell it wanted to.

"I will not touch you again unless you ask. I promise my beloved." He chuckled because the damn man knew what I was thinking.

My teeth slammed together and I sucked in a breath, trying not to think of all the erotic possibilities. Well hell, I don't want him walking downstairs alerting everyone that he'd been up here with me, I told myself, trying to justify the wrong decision I was about to make.

"Okay, so let's discuss the matter of my asking for it. I didn't ask the first time. I was dreaming. There is a difference, okay? So, no touching unless I take my two hands and place them on either side of your face, look into your eyes, and ask for it. Got it?"

"I do. And I thank you," he said, making himself comfortable.

"Fine. Just stay on top of the covers." Oh God, this is so very wrong.

I slid back under my quilt, pulling it to my neck and closed my eyes tight. Thoughts of my mother undulating between Max's knees flashed across the back of my lids like a bad movie. That did it. The zinging in my nether parts did an abrupt halt, like a car smashing into a brick wall.

I heard Marcus chuckle as he rolled over. "Well, at least you are accompanying me on the trip to Miami. I will make sure we are alone."

"Did I say I was driving alone with you tomorrow?" I moved further away from him and prayed for dreams of hunting, fishing, disembowelment…anything but my handsome dream immortal.

"No. I did." He chuckled again. "Sleep well, my love."

29

I walked into the kitchen and headed straight for the coffee pot, ignoring everyone sitting around the breakfast bar. My mother, however, was clearly going to start some shit before I could get there.

"She never wears a dress unless someone just died or she's entertaining a man. Who died?" Mom asked me.

Marcus laughed from the dining room.

I ignored him and turned to Mom. The hair on the back of my neck prickled. She glared at me, one long eyebrow doing a slow roll across her creased forehead. "Don't start, Mom. It's too damn early. Where's JoAnn?"

"JoAnn's still in her room," Resi pulled six bags of blood out of the refrigerator. As she passed them around the room, her head bounced in Marcus' direction. "And don't change the subject, Mother. You have good sex written all over your face. You slept with him didn't you?"

Marcus cleared his throat. I shot him a warning glance.

"Oh hell, you did, didn't you?" Zaire laughed. "Go Mom!"

I sucked in a lot of noisy air through my teeth, really working the spoon in my coffee cup.

Jeni raised an eyebrow in my direction. "Resi, let's not be obnoxious. I'm sure Mommy Dearest didn't copulate with anyone last night. So who died, Susabella?"

I took a big gulp of caffeine.

"Come on. Give it up," Zaire slid down the counter toward Jeni, waggling her eyebrows at me.

"Do all of you usually discuss your personal lives and who you do, or do not fornicate with, so openly?" Marcus asked from the picnic table in the dining room, his eyes twinkling.

"We have no personal lives. It's like living in a bee hive with six queens." Mom took a sip of her coffee. Resi handed her a bag of blood. She grimaced and pulled it toward her.

They do not know anything about last night. Marcus pushed at me. Although, you probably should have covered the two red marks on your neck with a little more of that foundation you have on.

I jerked my head in his direction and my hand flew to my throat.

Marcus laughed out loud; one of his sexy thick eyebrows looked like a cat ready to pounce.

I felt the need to be a bitch. Just a little bit.

"I am not, nor will I be any time in the near future, having sexual relations with anyone!" I spat, giving my disgusting underwear a tug. I may have a dress on, but underneath, I donned a pair of my old white granny undies, just in case. No one was going to see those babies.

"What've'ya got under the dress, Susabella?" Mom queried.

"Alright, everyone cut the crap. I didn't have sex with Marcus," I said.

"Dorius?" Mom asked. "Cuz, you're glowing like the morning after."

I heard Marcus growl in my head.

"Fess up, Marcus - she's lying, isn't she?" Resi said.

My lips went back in a snarl and I strutted to the sink, turning away from all of them. I peered out the window as Gibbie flitted out of his rock and hovered by the cypress trees for a few seconds before heading toward the hole in the screen door.

"God help me, I can't take another man in your life, Susan," Mom spat. "You turn into a sfatto, eat way too much chocolate and start throwing our good china around the-" Mom stopped abruptly as Gibbie came flying in with a flutter of wings. He landed next to Zaire and started making weird noises that sounded like the theme song from 'Boston Legal'.

Zaire sucked in a big breath and blew hard, sending his tiny body somersaulting away.

"Can you say mouthwash?" Gibbie landed on the edge of Jeni's coffee mug, dipped what looked like a half-thimble with a handle on it into the coffee, pulled it to his lips, sipped, and then asked, "What did I miss? I hate missing anything."

Paul walked onto the screen porch and through the sliding door. "What are we fighting about tonight?"

"We're not fighting about anything, Mr. Forrest. It seems they were trying to find out if Susan and I had sex last night. Much to my chagrin, we did not."

Paul looked shocked.

"She ain't wearing that dress for nothing'," Mom commented.

The front door opened and Dorius yelled, "What the hell do you mean he had a mortal with him, Dennis?"

All eyes turned to the front of the house.

"The mortal was out cold in a life raft attached to a surfboard. He was evidently using him as fodder." Dennis' voice wafted from the phone.

"Where is he?" Dorius hissed.

I leaned across the counter and peeked down the hall. Dorius was pacing in front of the front door with his cell phone in one hand and his other hand raking through his hair.

"He's right here in my office, listening to you. He just finished kissing me on both cheeks," Dennis' said.

"He should be kissing your ass! Don't let him out of your sight."

I heard the phone slap shut and Dorius strutted into the dining room with Warren, Camillio, and a bad attitude. His eyes found my neck and then drifted up to join mine. He sniffed the air and smiled at me. "Sleep well?"

"Yes, I did, thank you," I said with as sweet a smile as I could muster. I didn't like the way he was looking at me.

"What's that on your neck? Cut yourself shaving?" Dorius asked. He didn't give me time to answer before locking eyes with Marcus. "Having trouble keeping your nose out of her undies?"

Marcus jumped up, snarling at his brother. "That's enough, Dorius!"

An excited squeal erupted from Resi's mouth, turning both men in her direction. "You bit her! Oh, hell yes! I knew-"

"He did not." I lied, staring at Dorius' smug face.

Mom groaned. Jeni started laughing. Zaire snorted and Gibbie and Paul both had their mouths open in a pre-statement gesture.

"Let me see your neck. Move your hand." Resi walked closer, evidently not ready to give it up.

I moved away. "No!" I yelled, thinking my choice of clothing wasn't as smart as I'd thought.

Dorius examined me with hooded eyes. "It seems my brother has found a distraction." He looked at Marcus with a scheming expression. "I smell your mark on her. I suggest you back off Marcus, before you are unable to preside on the council as mediator."

"He can't back off any more than she can." Resi jumped up and down. "They're Blood-Mates."

Dorius strutted in my direction. "A mate? Is this true Marcus? Is this woman a suitable mate? I thought you were just…"

Dorius was not reacting the way I thought he would. He looked way too cunningly excited.

"She's screwed," Zaire remarked. "He's had her in a mind-lock since he met her."

Resi grinned at her.

"Yes, she's a possible mate, Dorius." Marcus' chest puffed out noticeably. "And we both know what that means."

Okay, I needed to put a stop to this. God, I hated being treated like a piece of prime beef. "Hold it. Just hold it. How many times do I have to say that I am NOT interested?"

"Yeah, right," Mom said. "She's acting like a stracciamanici, anybody else believe her?"

Dorius burst into laughter, shaking his head. "Marcus, Marcus, Marcus, fifteen hundred years and look at the first thing you pull out of the gutter."

Dorius turned to me. "It's just a matter of time, Susan. Your mother hit the nail on the head. You are sexually insatiable. A true Blood-Mate cannot resist. And the strength you could bring to our clan is a moot point if you are convicted of infringements."

He turned back to Marcus. "I'd say this certainly disqualifies you from mediating anything I or the council decides on this case."

Marcus smiled. "I will not stand down unless voted to do so, Dorius. Until then, Susan will remain in my custody. Shall we all head for Miami?"

Custody? I sure as hell didn't like the sound of that.

"Who's in who's custody?" JoAnn asked as she walked into the kitchen with bags draped all over her body. She had a backpack on each shoulder, a duffle bag in one hand, and was pulling a suitcase with the other.

I let out an exasperated sigh, drawing a smile from Resi.

Mom grunted, shaking her head at my sister. "JoAnn, what in the name of hell do you have in those? We're just taking a short trip, for Christ sake. I'm not carrying any of those, so don't ask."

"Just the necessities and you don't have to be so nasty," she said, giving Mom a dirty look, and then turned to Dorius, dropping all her bags. "Don't worry about me." She made two fists out of her hands and shoved them in Dorius' direction. "I won't put up a fight. I hate all this blood and guts stuff. Cuff me up."

Once again, JoAnn was not on the same page as the rest of us.

"Let's all move in the direction of Miami. The council waits." Dorius waved his hand at the door, a smile on his face. "JoAnn, there is no need for handcuffs." Paul picked up Jeni's small duffle bag and they headed for the front door.

Marcus changed the subject as we all left the house. "I take it they've found the boy?"

"Yes, he's being held for tonight's meeting," Dorius answered, clearly not happy with the question.

30

"Five more miles till we hit I-75. Anyone need anything before we hop on?" a faceless voice floated through the speakers from the black Suburban in front of us. I knew this because every time someone spoke, a number flashed in red on the monitor mounted on the dash, marking their place in the line of vehicles.

"We will wait until the first rest area. It's usually quiet this time of night," Dorius ordered from number three SUV, behind us. Resi, Zaire, and another immortal were all aboard that equally large gas-guzzler.

"I have to pee," JoAnn informed us from number four. Camillio and another Rogue Hunter were the unfortunate lost souls accompanying Mom and JoAnn for the next three and a half hours.

"She can wait. I got an empty coffee cup here if she gets desperate," Mom shouted and everybody heard JoAnn slap her.

"We're good back here," Paul announced from number five with a bit of amusement in his voice. I heard Jeni and Gibbie in the background singing. It sounded like, "Ebony and Ivory" but I wasn't sure. They were in Paul's Corvette, the only car that looked out of place and the only one that wasn't black.

The immortals in the last Suburban made no comments so we all headed for the on ramp.

We looked like the 'Dark Shadows' cast and crew on a road trip as we all came to a stop before the tollbooth entrance. The driver of the first car pointed back at the five cars behind him. They had a heated conversation for a few seconds and then the tollbooth guy, looking an awful lot like Jack Nicholson, stepped out like a puppet on a string and waved us on.

We all began to roll forward, windows up, moving at a safe funeral procession speed of ten miles per hour.

Camillio's frustrated voice floated out of the monitor from car four, over muffled yells and the loud rapping of hands on bulletproof glass. "How far to that rest area, Dorius? I had to put the glass window up behind the seat. JoAnn is putting up quite a fuss."

"Damn, Mom, this system is F'n'-A!" Zaire announced from car three. "I think we need to get one of these babies in the Jeep."

"I would like to discuss the importance of finding a Blood-Mate, Susan." Marcus smiled at me, clearly trying to ignore the chattering monitor.

"Mom, you okay up there?" Resi asked. "We haven't heard a word from you?"

I reached up and pressed a red switch. "Can you guys keep all of the women away from the little red switches on the monitors, please?" I asked, smiling back at Marcus.

"There's one on each seat Ma'am. Sorry," someone said.

"Great, and now he just gave-" I started.

"Hey, this is cool," Mom said. "Look JoAnn, a button to talk on the car thingy, right under the arm of your chair."

"I have-"

"You have to hold it down, dummy. Like this. See," Mom said.

"-to pee."

"Can you hear me out there? JoAnn is a pain in my ass," Mom yelled from the dash. "Stop at the next pee hole before I have to knock her out!"

"Put that thing-"

"Take your hand off the button and use this-"

"-down. I am not peeing-"

"I'm gonna slap you. Let the button go."

"-in a coffee cup. There's still coffee in it."

The swift erratic sounds of slapping hands bounced around my head.

"Can we shut that off?" I meekly asked Marcus.

Marcus chuckled. "I'm afraid not. Dorius is quite unhappy with the seating arrangements as it is. I really don't think we should press our luck."

"Big wheels, keep on turnin'-"

I slammed the red switch on. "Mother, this is not a karaoke bar! Get your hand off the red switch!"

"I need to pee!" JoAnn yelled.

Camillio said, "Where's the damn rest stop?"

"-proud vampires keep on burnin'-"

"Nan, I just love you," Jeni laughed.

During one of the entertainment lulls, Marcus decided to begin his queries again. "Do you understand what a Blood-Mate is, Susan?"

"I suppose you're going to tell me whether I want you to or not, so have at it."

"First of all, there's the attraction. Do you feel an attraction for me? An uncontrollable attraction?"

"Yes, but that's because it's been four years since I've had good sex. So don't go flattering yourself."

"Ummm… four years. It's been twelve-hundred years for me. The most important thing is-"

"Christ, one-thousand and two-hundred years? Are you freaking kidding me? Hell, are you sure it still works?" I suddenly felt the need to do something, anything for this poor man, immortal, whatever.

"We'll be taking the next exit into the rest stop up ahead," Dorius announced.

"It's about time!" JoAnn yelled.

"It's about time," Camillio grumbled.

"You're family knows they don't have to eat or drink like a human, right?" Marcus asked as the first car pulled up in front of the restrooms and the rest of us filled in spaces alongside.

I rolled my eyes. He smiled.

There were only two other cars in the rest area and one was pulling out. I opened the door.

"Need any help?" he asked, watching two immortals take places outside the women's restroom.

"I think I can handle it." I walked away, my granny undies just begging to be tossed in the trash.

Twenty minutes later we were on our way again, the speaker on the monitor blessedly quiet. I kicked off my sandals and pulled my feet up under me in the seat. I seductively adjusted my dress well above my knees, put the seat back, closed my eyes and turned my head to the window with a big smile on my face.

"I would really like to take a more active part in your orgasms, darling," Marcus said.

I shot a glance in his direction and he shot back a wicked little smile.

"Oh, now that is just not fair. I didn't ask you to come to my room last night and put your hands and teeth all over me."

He chuckled. "Oh, so we're going to play that game again, are we?"

I gave him a nasty little smile of my own as I innocently asked, "What game?"

"Are you trying to seduce me at seventy-five miles an hour, Susan? I do have cruise control, you know."

"That's your game, Fang-Face."

"I like Dream-Boy better. Can we agree on that love name?"

"In your dreams."

"No darling, in yours."

I glared at him and turned to the window again. I felt him watching me, my heartbeat accelerating as we drove along the highway with a car full of vampires in front and behind us. I was playing this for all it was worth. I mean it's not every day a woman gets to tease a man that hasn't had sex in twelve-hundred years. And I felt very comfortable doing it at seventy-five miles an hour in full view of the others.

I was totally in control until he put his hand on my knee, sliding his fingers up my thigh in front of a trail of fire. I worked at ignoring his hand, while I watched the scenery fly by my window.

He started rubbing the soft skin on my inner thigh and I was getting dangerously close to asking him to pull over. That was not going to happen. Before I totally lost it, I took his hand and placed it on the steering wheel. "Not this time, Marcus."

He let out a long sigh. "Susan, you tucked your legs up under your cute little ass, no longer incased in panties, and you have no bra on. You adjusted the hem of your dress, sent the smell of your wet little love nest wafting toward my nostrils and I assumed you wanted me to fondle you again."

I shut my mouth, tight lips pressing together, dropped my feet to the floor with a thud, and angrily pushed down the hem of my dress. I stole a glance at his zipper and was happy to see a very large lump trying to burst from his illegally tight pants. "You mind watching the road and that ditch you're getting dangerously close to?"

"I can pull over. I'm sure the others will understand," he said.

I tried to stop the throbbing in my damn clitoris. The frigging thing was not listening to me, again. "I was just trying to…"

"I am fully aware of what you are trying to do. You have accomplished the task quite satisfactorily as you just witnessed by glaring at the way my pants have become dangerously snug for my body."

"Good. I wanted you to see how it feels to get that close to…"

"However, you seem to be in quite an uncomfortable state yourself."

"So you turn me on. Not the first time that a man has done that, Marcus."

His body tensed as he spoke, "Have you ever had sex with an immortal?"

"No."

He relaxed and chuckled. "I can't wait to show you what it feels like to be fully sated. It's just a matter of time, Susabellaluna."

Okay, so now I was pissed. He was puffing up like a blowfish. "You know, I really hate that name. I mean I really do. I sure would appreciate you dropping it from your vocabulary."

"I know my beloved. Moreover, I hate getting all hard and ready for you just as much. Shall we call a truce?"

I was going to, at some point, get control of my bodily functions so I could enjoy making him just as miserable as I am. "Damn it, Marcus. I do not like being controlled…" I glanced at the bulge in his pants, thinking how much I'd love to get my hands on it. "…and why do you have to be so…so…"

"You have my mind wandering with a need to taste you again. All of you this time. Can I tease you with my tongue, darling?"

Ho-boy! My breath caught in my throat at his brash words, but not so brash that I didn't give some serious thought to his offer and immediately regretted the vivid image of his head between my legs. I sucked in a deep breath. "Okay, I realize it's been a long time for you, but that kind of talk is not something…. Let's just not go there since you have both hands on the steering wheel and we're moving at, what…" I glanced at the speedometer. "…seventy-five miles an hour?"

His mouth formed a small circle that made me want to stick something of mine into it and he patted the edge of his seat on the other side of an upholstered compartment.

"You really have to stop treating me like I'm your pet poodle, sweetie." Suddenly I was annoyed, again. He kept jerking me from lust to anger in a heartbeat. I wondered how he'd feel on the other end of the leash.

He whistled softly, beckoning me, his damn hand tangoing with the storage compartment at his side.

"Why do you keep thinking that's going to get you the reaction you're looking for?" I said, all sugar and spice. "And how come you haven't just controlled my mind to get what you want?"

He laughed at me with twinkling eyes that were just begging to be kissed closed. "Unfortunately, I can't. That's how I knew we were possible mates. It's one of the benefits. Neither of us can control each other's actions. And no one else can control us if we are in a mind-lock. Which we are, and we will stay that way."

Okay, so with that little bit of information tucked nicely in my mind, I could play the sultry little redhead. I thought maybe it was time to teach this immortal a lesson. I slid across the seat and placed myself on top of the leather compartment between us. He pulled me into his lap, facing him, with the steering wheel in my back.

"You're going to get us killed," I told him, twirling his hair around my fingers.

"I have it under control, darling," he said, breathing into my neck.

Right. After twelve-hundred years of abstinence you're on top of this Markie-Boy.

He pushed my head back with his jaw and bit me. My whole body screamed, 'pull over', and son of a bitch if it didn't feel way too good. He sucked slowly, sending shivers down my body, lighting a flame that had barely had enough time to go out.

He took one of his hands from the steering wheel, slid it between my legs and began to massage me over my dress.

Oh, shit. I 'm losing it. I looked over his shoulder through the back window to find Dorius glaring at me.

"Mommy Dearest, what are you doing in Marcus' lap at eighty-miles an hour?" Resi asked.

I heard screeching tires and the 'vette broke from the line of cars, vying for a better position. Horns began to blow and Paul was gaining on us.

"Susan, get off the vampire!" Mom yelled.

"Shut up, I was sleeping," JoAnn whined.

With a sharp intake of breath, I opened my thighs wider, thinking there was an impossible amount of material between his fingers and my skin. He was slowly taking just enough blood to make me dizzy.

"Go, Mom, with your bad self!" Zaire yelled as car number three slid in between Dorius and us with a blast of horns and screeching tires.

I pulled my neck from his mouth, jumped to the other side of the leather compartment and slid my face down to his zipper, my eyes riveted to the side mirror outside his window.

"Oh, now, I don't think that is a good idea, darling," he said.

I unzipped his pants, letting a very hard erection jump out at me. "I have it under control, dear," I mocked, and then slid him between my lips.

"Mother! Aww, shit, you went down on him," Resi moaned through the speakers on the dash. "Christ, this is going to give me nightmares for months."

My eyes shot back to the window. I watched the cars in the big side mirror as Dorius nudged Paul's Corvette ahead so he was running parallel to our car. I sucked harder, like an anxious baby with a pacifier stuffed in its mouth, and Marcus groaned in a noisy breath.

My eyes flew up to Marcus' face, his penis hanging from my mouth. I watched him turn toward his brother's car as he nodded at the passenger window with a smile, finger's waving.

"She did what?" JoAnn yelled.

"Oh, sweet mother of…" Marcus said, wiggling under me. "Should I pull over? Susan, oooh, sweet-blood, have mercy," he panted, breathing the windows into a fog.

"Oh, no, just keep driving, I can handle this, sweetie," I said, smiling around his hard shaft. I patted his jaw with my free hand and removed my mouth, long enough to pull my dress up.

Hearing his breathing accelerate did wonders for my ego. I grinned and tickled the little helmet with the tip of my tongue.

"Marcus, acknowledge yourself immediately or pull over, damn it!" Dorius yelled in an irritated tone, the speakers reverberating.

Pulling him deep into my mouth, I began to suck softly at first, then with more persistence when he groaned his encouragement. I was just about ready to tuck Mr. Happy back in his pants when his mouth found my wrist lying across his shoulder and he bit me again.

"Susan, what the hell are you doing up there?" Mom yelled from the dashboard.

"There is a time and place for everything, Mother!" Jeni's voice floated around my head.

I was totally losing control and I wanted him to stop drinking from me. I sucked harder. Of course, that didn't stop him. Instead, he ran his hand between my legs. "Stop," I mumbled around the head of his penis. He sucked on my wrist harder. "STOP!" I yelled, letting him slip from my mouth.

I couldn't get my arm free. I felt the blood from my wrist course through my veins into his mouth, sending thrills of hot fire to my core, longing for him to fill me. I took him in my mouth again as we sped down the highway.

"Marcus, pull over! Now!" Dorius screamed at us from somewhere. I thought I heard horns, yelling, and screeching tires, but I can't be sure.

My head swimming with blood lust, my body ready to explode, he pushed himself deeper into my mouth. He was moving frantically under my lips as he sucked from my arm.

My incisors extended and I bit down hard, trying to slow his movement. I heard his fast intake of breath and tasted blood in my mouth. He became perfectly still at seventy-five miles an hour.

I tried to pull away. I really, really did. But couldn't. The warm, salty blood filled my mouth as my fangs dug deeper. I swallowed. Sensations I could have never dreamed of filled me with heat. I began to suck harder, lost in the moment, gulping the fast flow of blood like a marathon runner at pit stop.

The car abruptly came to a jerking stop, horns blaring, tires squealing, as the entourage screeched around us.

I felt like I was in a dream as the car seat slid back in a bucking crash and my mouth was pulled free of him. I moaned when I found my body impaled on his lap, his fangs in my neck drawing hard. Waves of excitement flowed through me, begging for more of his blood. I was filled with wave after wave of zinging hot desire as I sank my incisors into his shoulder and began to drink again, frantically at first, then slower. I slid back and forth across the hair on his stomach, his warmth filling my soul with his.

Bells ringing in my ears, and an orgasm so strong I was left breathless, joined in one confusing ball of heat. And then there was nothing.

31

I woke cradled like a child in Marcus' arms, wet between my thighs, my dress wrapped around my waist and his head resting on my shoulder.

I tried to wiggle free. The car rocked. I looked out the passenger window and noticed that the car was on the side of the road, halfway in one of the swampy ditches Florida was so famous for. I nudged Marcus. He opened his eyes and blinked at me. A big grin spread across his face. "I think we're about to slide into the ditch." I pointed out the passenger window to the dark hole threatening to suck us in.

He reached for the key and cranked the engine. Sliding the car into gear, he edged further onto the highway, his left tires still sitting in grass, and cut the engine.

I exploded. "How, in the name of hell, did we fall asleep on the side of the road?"

He yawned, stretched, looking very sated, then finally answered me. "We did not fall asleep, Susan. When Blood-Mates join, they sleep for oh…" He glanced at his watch. "…two hours." He smiled at me, way too happy with himself.

My teeth were already doing their grinding thing and he'd only just opened his damn eyes.

He continued before I could pull my teeth apart long enough to let him have it. "It's a miracle that someone did not find us. It usually only happens the first few times. But, not to worry darling, the next time we engage in sexual gratification, it will not be in an automobile at seventy-five miles an hour." He hugged me closer.

I pushed as far away from him as the steering wheel would allow, a soft rumble coming from my chest. "Well, you sure as hell should have told me that little tidbit of information, before I started-" A light went on in my head as I realized what he just said. "Whoa, just backup a minute, Fang-Boy! When did all this joining shit happen?"

He laughed at me. "I believe it was when you bit into my… um…"

I heard his joyous laughter in my head and groaned softly, the whole nasty episode forming in my mind with a clarity that made me want to die a second time. The girls were going to have a field day with this.

Two hours later, after a very quiet ride, we drove through ornate gates and a large redbrick complex loomed before us. BAMVC of Miami was painted impressively across the building front, black over gold, gleaming in the artificial light over the titled letters. Somehow, I could not grasp the enormity of the corporation. I just wanted to get this over with and go home to my own bed. Alone. I got out of the car and headed for the glass doors, Marcus right behind me.

We walked silently into the lobby and my mouth fell open.

A long spiral staircase was the center of attention, winding its way from floor to ceiling, touching briefly at each landing. The black onyx banister with translucent posts looked suspended over floating stairs of 14k gold with a runner of lush black carpet held in place by thin gold rods. The whole circular room, an impressive five stories high, gleamed with mirrored walls, allowing the stairs to be seen many times from different angles.

Not a picture anywhere, the walls were rich and shiny, with small twinkling lights that wrapped around the floors marking each level. Above each ring of lights, a solid black circular wall carried gold doorknobs every fifteen feet, but you couldn't see where each door was cut, making it one solid ebony circle with dots of gold.

The black marble floor in the lobby was spotless, like it was Windexed every time someone walked across it. The ceiling was a glass dome filled with dark sky and sparkling stars.

I turned to tell Marcus how beautiful it was, but a tall, thin blond man with a big smile walked out of the wall, closing a seamless, doorknob free entranceway behind him. He was dressed in a knee-length caftan of brightly colored silk, yellow cotton pants peeking out from underneath, and a pair of leather huaraches covering tanned feet. His blond hair fell around his shoulders and face as he strutted toward us.

I looked at the wall, trying to find the invisible door as his soft, amused voice came at us with a flamboyant giggle. "Marcus, welcome." He grinned and slid his arm around Marcus, waving his fingers at me as he sized me up and down.

"Does everyone know?" I asked Marcus, defensive.

"Susan, any immortal can smell…our encounter…a mile away. I'm sure Dennis can see my mark on you, as well," Marcus announced with as much flourish as Dennis had just addressed him.

"That I can. Moreover, I congratulate you. You've waited a long time for a mate and she looks like a little spitfire." He batted his eyes at me. "Look at all those curls, and what a dazzling color, darling. Is it natural?" Dennis asked, his hand fluttering to his lips.

"Yes, it is," I spat at him through clenched teeth. My jaw ached. I really needed to get a grip on the grinding thing before all that was left in my mouth were two big fangs.

"I would love to give you some details of the last few hours." Marcus puffed up like a damn blowfish.

"Nip it before I climb up on something and slap the shit out of you!" Jesus, could he work any harder at pissing me off?

"Oh, God, aren't you the lucky one?" Dennis offered, hugging Marcus a little too close, again. If I didn't know better, it looked like the tea bagger had a piece of him somewhere along the line. My feathers furled.

Marcus laughed and I didn't have time to kick him in the shins before we heard loud singing.

"Mother di-id Mar-cus. But I knew she wo-ould!" Resi's irritating attempt at humor came floating from the stairs with her after it. "Did you find a motel somewhere and have wild sex, mating yourself to this beautiful man that is soon to be my new father, Susabella?"

Resi danced up to Dennis. They grinned at each other like long lost friends. It had only been what, maybe four hours since her arrival? And she was, as usual, the belle of the ball. Dennis giggled, grabbed her, and they whirled about in a circle of laughter and colorful silk that had me blowing smoke from my ears.

"No, we did not find a room and mate!" I yelled, my voice echoing off the walls of the tall room, bouncing up five floors, only to roll back at us while I watched my daughter's smile deflate.

"You didn't mate?" she asked, in a less smart-alecky tone.

I stood smiling, and paid special attention to my cuticles, fingernails, and nail beds while I waited for her to stew a bit. I heard Marcus huff in my head.

Marcus, you better be nice or you'll regret it later, I pushed, acting like a wife already, and hating it.

My supposed mate ignored me. Turning to Resi with one of his heart stopping grins, he announced, "Your mother is right, Resi. We certainly did not join in a motel room. Although I must say, I did try to persuade her to at least pull off the road." He smiled wickedly at me.

Dennis laughed with the shrill giggle of a stracciamanici, or in English: a sexually insatiable girl.

I stood there glaring at them while my daughter started jumping in circles, Dennis joining her in a little dance. She bumped into his hip, pumping her arms, pointing at me at the appropriate times. "I told you. Ha-ha-ha. Ha. You couldn't stand it." Sidling around Dennis' now gyrating hips. "You had se-ex and you sucked his blo-od." The two of them slapped palms. "And now you're mai-ted. Ha-ha-ha. Ha!"

Marcus laughed out loud.

Dennis grinned at him and started his own chorus. "You got joi-ined," then both of them together, "Ha-ha-ha. Ha! I…"

"Shut the hell up, both of you, and get out of my face before I kill you a second time, Resi." Her song cut to a squeal, getting copious amounts of laughter from both Dennis and Marcus.

"Oh, my, my, Fang-Boy, you really did find a treat, now didn't you? Are the rest of the family members like these two, and do they have any brothers?" Dennis asked, with flurry of hand movements.

The fact that he used my pet name to address Marcus did not go unnoticed. I slammed my eyebrows together, frowning at Dennis.

"A proverbial jackpot, Dennis, my boy, a proverbial jackpot." Marcus beamed at me, getting another round of laughter from the flamboyant young man.

"Give me all the details Mom. Last I saw you were…" Resi's hands flew to her ample bosom. "Ohmygod, you didn't bite his…"

"Well, your mother decided to-"

"Oooh, no you don't, Blood-for-Brains," I nipped him short with a smirk in Dennis's direction. I'd show him. I had a virtual cornucopia of pet names.

"Holy shit. You did! Didn't you?" Resi's eyeballs tried to pop out of their sockets.

"Oh honey, that one's going to be all over the party lines tonight," Dennis said with a snap of his fingers and a big grin.

Zaire appeared looking like a Nubian Lara Croft, Tomb Raider, dressed from head to toe in leather. "They want all of us upstairs in the conference room. The 'Night of the Living Dead' team is awaiting our arrival."

32

We filed into the long conference room. Ten immortal men and women sat in silence at a long cherry-wood table, all of them as white and hard looking as alabaster in contrast to the black clothing they wore.

Dorius sat at one end of the table wearing a self-satisfied expression. Paul, with Gibbie on his shoulder, sat at the other end with a copy of Jeni's email to Dorius on the table in front of him.

The little shit who bit me was sitting against the far wall in a chair way too big for him. He was wearing a shoulder holster with a .45 caliber Smith & Wesson tucked safely inside its glove, and a German shepherd at his feet. His black suit looked like he'd bought it in the children's section of some vintage Halloween shop. He had on yellow rubber gardening boots with a cartoon picture of Spiderman on the toes. His feet hung in the air in front of the chair, his knees supporting an ashtray as big as his face.

Christopher tapped a smelly cigar on the ashtray, a grin plastered across his face. His hair shined, slicked back with gobs of some greasy substance, and his cheeks puffed as if he had something stuffed inside his jaws.

Dorius cleared his throat. "The council will discuss the impact of the email and your infractions. Then they will vote and give me their decision. I administer the punishment based on the Book of Rules. And there will be punishments."

Marcus frowned, a burble of anger rumbling in his chest.

"Talk to the kid," Zaire said with eyes shooting daggers. Resi wiggled closer, putting her arm around Zaire's waist.

None of the council members showed any signs of emotion.

My mother stared at Christopher under hooded eyes.

"Go ahead, ask him what happened," I snapped, shooting Christopher a scowl. "Because until you do, we're not sitting back with our mouths shut like little children, got it?"

JoAnn pinched my arm, getting a swat.

"Damn right," Zaire, blurted out, "I'm not sitting here while you dead-heads let him get away with murder."

I glanced at the council. Their faces looked like blank sheets of paper.

Christopher grinned, his jaw buckling over whatever the hell he had stuffed in his cheeks. He gestured to Paul to give Zaire a drink, then studied me.

In a forced voice, Christopher patiently wheezed, "In Sicily, women are more dangerous than shotguns. You found paradise in the immortal world - had a good time - made a good living. I understand, um, it's all about family. Nothin' personal, right? So, go ahead, um, make him an offer he can't refuse."

"Can I slap him? I really want to slap him," I snapped.

One of Marcus' eyebrows reached for his hairline.

"That boy has shit in his mouth," Mom said.

"Is he mentally retarded or something?" Resi asked.

Jeni smiled at Christopher, her eyes in deep concentration. "The Godfather, right?"

"He sure didn't sound like that in the restroom, I tell you." JoAnn said, frowning at him.

"Christopher," Dorius warned. "I don't know what the hell you're trying to prove with this new Mafioso persona, but I suggest you sit there and keep your mouth shut until it's your turn to answer questions. And put out that damn cigar!"

Buster growled, getting to his feet.

"Buster down!" Christopher hissed.

Buster laid down.

Jeni giggled.

None of the ten immortals sitting at the long table even blinked. I wondered if they were really alive. I pulled my gaze from them to the boy. "You bit me you little shit. My family's not gonna take the fall for you! And you killed that woman! Not me!"

Dorius growled.

Marcus shot me a strained smile. "Let's all calm down before this gets out of hand."

I was trying to come up with a rebuttal when Marcus favored me with a gentle push, Susan, my love, take the women out of the room. Clearly, none of you can sit without words of anger spewing from your mouths.

Boy did that tickle me in all the wrong places.

Resi took up the slack. "We don't have discussions without everyone concerned in the same room. That's the way we operate." She grabbed the email from Paul and slid it in front of the alabaster brigade. "Here, read this, and you'll clearly see we didn't even know all of you existed until the wolf came to our door!"

Zaire's fangs slipped out and she stood up in front of Christopher. He didn't even bat an eye.

Gibbie flew off Paul's shoulder, hovering between Zaire and Christopher, silver sparkles flying everywhere. "Sit back down and pull your thong out of your ass. I'm sure they intend to talk to the kid, and you aren't helping."

Zaire shot Gibbie a 'shut the fuck up' look, and turned to me. "Mom, I'm gonna bite something real soon if this little shit doesn't do some explaining, fast." Her eyes had those little gray sparks crackling around her irises and she was definitely ready to duke it out with Christopher.

Pheromones were flying all over the place, my nostrils flared with the heavy scent. My first thought, and it was a purely selfish one, was that maybe with all those pheromones flying around the room, the alabaster brood couldn't smell Marcus all over me.

JoAnn shook her head, still staring at Christopher. "You look so cute and innocent, and so very inappropriately dressed." I had no idea what that had to do with anything, but then JoAnn was always on a different page than the rest of us.

Christopher did not favor JoAnn with a glance. His eyes were locked on me. He rubbed his chin, took another puff off his cigar, plucked a crystal glass off a small table next to his chair, and sipped as everyone stared. I waited as he ran his hand over his jaws, sucking on whatever he had stuffed in his cheeks.

Finally he spoke. "I understand. The wolf protected you, and you didn't need a friend of me. But, uh, now you come to me and you say - 'Christopher give me justice' - but you don't ask with respect. You don't even think to call me Godfather."

"What the fuck?" Zaire waved Gibbie aside. Resi grabbed her, getting a look that could wilt flowers.

"Does anyone else want to slap that little shit?" Mom asked.

"Does anyone else see how old he really is?" Jeni asked.

I wondered what the hell Jeni was up to.

"Christopher, I warn you," Dorius grumbled.

Marcus was back in my head. He was smoldering. I suggest before you speak, Susan, you understand that what you say you will seal your fate. I will fight for you until my death, no matter what your decision, but I can assure you, it will not be necessary if you get control of your clan.

Mom shook her head. "Kid, you're essere un po' di fuori!"

"Ohhh, I don't think he's out of his mind," I told Mom, glaring at Christopher.

Marcus, still strutting around in my mind, was growling so loud I wanted to cover my ears. Susan, it would behoove you to make your stand in a diplomatic manner. I've waited too long for you, and don't intend to lose you. Say something! And make it good.

I sucked in a deep breath and winged it. "All right, damn it, listen up. Sure we fucked up. We didn't know what we were doing was wrong." I pointed at Christopher, "And he didn't tell us shit. He just disappeared after he killed the woman and made me."

I eyed each alabaster knick-knack. "He bit me and left me for dead. We dealt with it ourselves when I grew fangs." I glared at Dorius. "And then a damn werewolf showed up at our door, yapping about some package you sent. JoAnn thought it was a timeshare advertisement and tossed it. But we immediately stopped when we understood what you expected of us. We're not rogues."

My eyes passed over my family. "I believe these men and women have a decision to make and we're not going to change that with a cocky attitude or a fight. It will only make them believe we had it coming to us when we die in a battle we can't win. They out-number us, and out-power us." I looked right into Zaire's angry steel gray eyes. "Our fate is in their hands, so suck it up and let's all behave while they read the email."

Very well said, Susabella. Now speak only when you are spoken to. The council has presided over issues like yours for hundreds of years. They will make the right decision.

Before I could bitch-slap Marcus, JoAnn piped up, "Oh, for heaven's sake - do I have to do everything?" She got up and walked over to the assortment of suitcases and duffle bags that were in a pyramid in the corner of the room. Everyone watched as she reached into one of the bags and pulled out a cell phone.

Holy shit, that's my phone! She found it!

Marcus looked at me with question marks for eyes. I smiled wickedly.

JoAnn leaned in front of Dorius, placed the cell phone on the table and started giving directions. "Here, you see this little black button? You just push it right there, and-" She slapped his hand away as he reached for it. The phone spun in a circle. "Wait, I'm still-"

Dorius curled his lips back and jerked the phone off the table.

"I was just trying to turn it around so you can see the screen better. You don't have to be-"

Dorius narrowed his eyes and showed an awful lot of teeth.

"Well, just push the black button then," JoAnn said all huffy-like, pointing at the phone.

Marcus tilted his head in curiosity.

I smiled at Christopher.

Christopher took a long drag off the cigar, sat back and grinned, cool as a cucumber.

Dorius looked down at the phone in his hands and pushed the black button. Everyone in the room turned to look at Christopher as his voice wafted from the cell, mingling with mine, JoAnn's, and Angelina's.

Christopher blew smoke rings into the air, tapping the ash off the cigar.

Dorius sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes glued to the cell sitting on the table. The buildup of rage on his face told us he had a clear picture of exactly what happened in the restroom. Dorius threw back his head, his fangs fell from his mouth and he literally flew across the room.

Marcus leapt, catching him around the waist, and both of them crashed into a wall, and landing on the floor beside the old immortal trapped in the child's body. Every single council member flew over the table, pulling them apart before any of us could blink, proving they were not just alabaster adornments. The brothers, each held back by four immortals, glared at each other.

Christopher took a sip from the crystal glass, put it down, got up from his chair and strutted up to me. He grabbed my head, kissed both of my cheeks, and before I could slap him, he was back in his chair smiling at me. "Someday, and that day will come, I'll call upon you to do a service for me. But, uh, until that day, accept this justice as a gift on… your day of, uh, judgment."

"Jesus, that kid's crazier than hell," Mom said.

"He's not a kid, Nan," Jeni said, smiling at Christopher.

33

Marcus leaned over the table in a heated conversation with Dorius. The alabaster forum listened with animated interest, shooting us an occasional questioning glance.

I heard bits and pieces of the conversation. The word demon, closely followed by witch, came up several times, also something about testing our skills. I was going to have a serious talk with Marcus later about his choices of descriptive adjectives.

Marcus turned to us, his hands still firmly planted on the table in front of Dorius. "Ladies, we have a couple of questions about-"

"What about him?" Resi growled, pointing at Christopher.

Christopher snickered, patted Buster's head and sipped his drink, ice clinking in the silence.

Dorius glared at him and then addressed us. "I assure you, he will be dealt with, but first-"

"Just so you know," Zaire snapped, her eyes flickering with gray sparkles, "I'm not leavin' this frickin' room until I hear what he gets."

"And it better not be less than what we get," Resi added.

"Yeah, the little shit's the reason we got fangs," Mom sported off one of her shrewd Italian scowls.

I was thinking none of them mentioned the fact that the true culprit was vanity.

Marcus gave me a heart stopping grin. I kept forgetting he could read my thoughts. Damn, that sucked.

Jeni just had to lay it out there. "And I'm sure none of this had to do with younger, firmer bodies, did it ladies?"

Dorius opened his mouth before I could. "Ladies, we're dropping all charges… for any idiotic behavior you've all deemed suitable out of your dime-store literature. However, there will be consequences regarding the immortal wildlife on your property."

JoAnn wiggled in her chair.

"That wasn't me!" Mom blurted. "I killed every frigging deer I sucked."

"And the mortals you killed, Concetta?" Dorius asked.

Mom waved her arms around like an idiot. "Avere un chiodo fisso in testa! I was fixated, I tell you. The bags of blood didn't help, the animals didn't help. I got heart palpitations, shortness of breath, and I heard singing in my head unless I drank human blood, and the only way to stop from killing them was to hump like a frigging rabbit while I drank."

Everyone at the table acted like Mom's outburst was a confirmation of whatever the hell they were discussing. I couldn't believe it.

"The council has been researching your family tree, Concetta," Marcus told her. "It seems Paul was right. They've found some extraordinary facts about your heritage that should explain all of those symptoms. There's demon blood in your family. There's also a long line of female witches. If one of you has indeed turned an animal into an immortal, all of you may be Seraphs."

"We'll need to do blood testing to be sure," Dorius said with a spiteful grin. "And I want to put all of you through some physical tests as well."

I didn't like the sound of that. I wasn't going to be stuck here with a needle up my arm, while running on a treadmill.

"Wow! That's kind of neat." JoAnn perked up with a big grin.

I wanted to slap her.

All of a sudden my mother was Miss-Immortal-Sunshine. "The demon would be my father and everyone says I take after him."

I wanted to slap her, too.

Gibbie started giggling.

"Actually, Concetta," Marcus said, "it's your father and your husband's father who are half demon. Your mother carried the witch gene as did your husband's mother."

"Are you telling me my grandfathers could still be alive?" Jeni asked, concern written across her face. "Do half-demons die? Because everything I read on the Internet said demons don't die."

Didn't any of them get it? I pictured small cages, us locked inside.

Mom acted like she was sitting around a table with a bunch of her Italian relatives shooting anisette. "My husband was probably part demon too. He was a real asshole!"

"What part about us being lab rats did you not understand, Mom!" I yelled, and immediately smelled pheromones flying all over the place.

"That's not happening," Zaire growled, eyes shooting daggers at the immortals around the table. "I'm hittin' the road, and my mate's coming with me." She wrapped her arm protectively around Resi.

Resi spat, "We're not sitting around with needles in our arms, waiting for you to figure out what we are capable of!"

Dorius paced back and forth with a forced smile on his face. "We don't intend to turn you into lab rats. We only need a few vials of blood from each of you, and we will also do a few practice demonstrations in our gym… to bring out... Never mind, that's not the issue."

He paused and I wondered what he had up his sleeve. He looked smug.

Dorius put his hands in the pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels. "However, a bunch of immortal animals wandering around multiplying is the issue. They can destroy our anonymity, never mind the fact that they may be able to turn mortals and we need mortal balance to exist. Surely you can see the dilemma we find ourselves in. One of these animals will need to be captured alive for testing, the rest will need to be destroyed…" Dorius smiled at Christopher. "…and Christopher... you will also be held accountable for every one of them. That is, unless you prefer death. Those are your only two options."

Christopher sipped his drink quietly.

"What a frickin' nightmare!" Zaire just couldn't let it alone. "I'm not working with that little shit!"

"I wasn't made for killing anything!" JoAnn screamed, skipping along the yellow brick road of delusion. "The raccoon attacked me and I just defended myself. It's not my fault!"

Dorius' head jerked in JoAnn's direction "You? You're the one that did this?"

"Well, you don't have to look at me like that. None of the books said anything about animal vampires. How was I supposed to know?" JoAnn stammered, evidently tripping around the poppy fields at the moment.

Jeni started laughing. "Oh God…Oh God, I'm sorry, but just the thought of Aunt JoAnn screwing up the whole eco-system all by herself is just too damn funny." She covered her mouth with her hand.

"There's nothing funny about any of this!" Warren yelled. "How the hell are we ever going to stop it? Single-handedly, your Aunt has jeopardized our livelihood! God only knows what the rest of you women can screw up!" He glared at Zaire.

"Oh, bite me, you homophobe!" Zaire shouted.

"I don't eat dark meat," Warren belted out.

"Oh that's it? I'm the wrong color? Step outside, Bubba." Zaire stood.

Warren got up. "Let's take it to the gym right now. The hell with waiting for this practice shit!"

Marcus growled.

"Warren, tomorrow we go to the gym - and not before." Dorius warned.

"Everyone sit the hell down!" I leered at Dorius. "I'm not going to be some glorified Animal Control Officer. Do I look like Ranger Rick?"

"I'm gonna kick some redneck ass tomorrow!" Zaire snapped, her eyes on Warren.

Jeni was still giggling.

"Ahh, fare impazzire qualcuno—all of you!—crazy!" Mom spat.

Gibbie buzzed in front of Zaire. "I'm getting a front row seat."

JoAnn clicked her sparkly red shoes together, praying for a reprieve. "I think once we're tested, we'll find that some of us are better suited for death and destruction than others."

Jeni stared at JoAnn with mild amusement and then turned to Dorius. "I assume you have some kind of training program?"

Paul leaned back with a sigh.

Dorius had a smile plastered across his smart ass face. "As a matter of fact we do, and I'm in charge of all new recruits. I educate, field train, and decide team formation and placement."

Jeni's face turned red, holding back her laughter. "Everyone feeling pretty?"

Resi glared at her, flinging her hair off her shoulder, adjusting her shirt around her chest. "I don't do critter control, thank-you-very-much."

Marcus' laughter barreled in my head. I turned to him, one eyebrow raised in warning. He smiled at Jeni and they both started laughing. I was seething with anger.

"Junior over there should do the animal control! Alone!" I spat. "He's the root cause of this shit. Not us!"

"A pretty girl…is like a melody," Jeni sang.

Christopher grinned.

"Hey, piazzaiolo, you know what il cacio sui maccheroni, means?" Mom asked, giving Christopher a nasty smile. "It means just what the doctor ordered. I'm gonna be all over you."

Christopher turned his smile from Mom to Dorius, his voice deep and dry. "No, no, no, not this time, Consigliary. No more meetin's, no more discussions, and no vamp-deer-dung for me. You give them the job…uh, I want an all-out war. They go to the mattresses on this one." Tipping his glass, he finished off his drink.

Dorius let out a long arrogant sigh. "Like you said Christopher, it's just family business. And you've always wanted to be part of a team. Now you are. Their team, along with Paul, Gibbie, the troll, and anyone else I deem necessary after the training sessions."

We all exchanged looks. No one said a word.

Christopher nodded toward a bottle of anisette sitting in the middle of a bar at the end of the room. "Give me a drop," he ordered Dennis, who was placing blood bags on the long table in front of all the council members.

"Last meal before you hit the zoo?" Dennis asked, shaking a bag of blood and shot glass full anisette in front of Christopher.

Christopher grabbed the drink, gulped it down in one swallow and turned to Dorius. "What are you gonna do, uh? You want to gun me down, captain? Why? Because I slapped you in the face a little? What do you think, huh? This is like the army where you can shoot 'em from a mile away? No, you gotta get up like this…" Christopher popped off the chair and strutted over to JoAnn, grabbing her hair and pointing a finger to her temple. "…and, badda-bing, you blow their brains all over your nice leather suit."

JoAnn wiggled free, climbed the back of the chair and plastered herself against the wall.

Christopher ignored her. "C'mere," he said to Dorius. "You want a piece of me? You c'mere and take it. Nobody gives me orders anymore! Yes, I killed your mate. Quite efficiently, I might add. I fuckin' turned Susan, too. Because you wanted a kid. A kid doesn't think. A kid gets pissed. A kid does stupid shit. I played the stupid little surfer dude with big angry fangs because my daddy tossed me aside for his new mate. Fuck you Dorius. I'm not a kid. This is who I am!" He hammered his fist against his chest.

Dorius' fangs slipped from his gums. He took three quick steps and had Christopher against the wall, his lips on his ear. "You had to fuck with me, didn't you? I saved your ass. I took care of you, damn it."

All eyes were riveted on the two immortals.

Christopher turned his face and spit two large pieces of wet cotton in Dorius' face, sending the smell of anisette around the room.

Dorius slammed him against the wall and dug his fangs into Christopher's neck.

The council sat riveted to the table. Marcus didn't move.

Christopher hissed, "You treated me like a joke and I mentally got older - and a whole hell of a lot angrier. Then you found a mate, something I will never have, and you just had to rub it in my face. Insult after insult until finally I lost it. Hell, you can't blame a woman for wanting a normal sized man. I sure as hell wouldn't hook up with someone that looked like a six-year-old. But you gave me no outlet for my frustration. Actions create reactions, Dorius. You got what you deserved."

Damn, even I could see the kid's point.

Dorius pulled his teeth from Christopher's throat. He swiped his lips with the back of his hand.

No one in the room breathed.

Christopher looked up at him. "I fucked with you, man. So go ahead and kill me…." He grinned at Dorius. "…or let me be all that I can be."

34

Marcus opened the doors of the training room and my lungs sucked in way too much air when the noise of a loud boisterous party flooded into the hallway.

Gibbie flew up in a sparkle of fluttering wings. "You ready to show your stuff?"

My eyebrows slammed together. "I thought this was just a training session, Marcus!"

"Every frickin' vamp in a fifteen-hundred mile radius, and God knows what else, has showed up for this. You guys are big news," Gibbie giggled.

"I am not getting in front of all these people to fight anyone!" I yelled.

Marcus moved forward, pulling me with him. "Alright fairy, enough! Let's not get her all cranked up before she even gets out there." He put his hand at the small of my back and guided me in the direction of a long table against the far wall of the gym where the girls were pulling out chairs.

I followed him, a mass of disconnected muscle from nerves.

My mother was out in the middle of the large room, dressed in tight, black leather chaps over a pair of lime green tights. A purple halter top exposed most of her upper body and clashed mindlessly with the green leggings. She had a black studded collar around her neck with long silver daggers for earrings and black, ankle-strapped, three-inch heels on her feet. I wondered how in the hell she was going to fight in those babies.

I felt the strings of my sanity snapping as I sat down between Marcus and my grinning sister.

Christopher was sitting against the wall in a folding chair at our far left. He winked at me. I hooded my eyes and dropped my fangs with a snarl.

Gibbie strutted across the table and up to Resi, colorful wings falling behind his shoulders as he jumped on her arm.

Zaire placed herself on the opposite side of him with eyes shooting those daggers they were famous for. Jeni and Paul were at the far end, leaning toward each other, both with smiles on their faces. I made a mental note to find out what was going on with those two…

Dorius walked into the middle of the gym to stand next to Mom. "Alright, everyone quiet down." Dorius shouted, the room becoming a whisper as he went on. "I assure you, none of you have witnessed anything like what Chick is about to demonstrate." The crowd hushed, giving him their full attention.

I looked around at the anticipation on everyone's faces. The spectators were lined up on benches, shoulder to shoulder on both sides of the long room. There was no freaking way I was getting out there.

Dorius shot me a glance. "We'll go through a short demonstration of Chick's gift, then some attack patterns with Susan, Resi, and Zaire. I've worked with our new immortals independently over the last few days and I have elected to put JoAnn and Jeni in charge of communications for this new team. They will not be in the field with the rest of the family."

My body began to vibrate. He hadn't done shit with me.

JoAnn wiggled her fingers at the crowd and then pointed at Jeni. Soft sounds of amusement filtered around the room when she sucked loudly on her bendy straw stuffed into a bag of blood.

Dorius pointed at a group of men against the wall. "Ladies, the immortals you see on the left side of the room are trained to take punishment and they heal fast. They work with new recruits on a regular basis, much like our mortal police department does with the training of attack dogs. They can withstand whatever you can dish out, so don't worry about being forceful. I'm interested in seeing what you can do."

"You mean we're fighting real immortals? What the hell?" I leered at Marcus.

"Shush, Susan. Just listen," Marcus smiled. I wanted to slap him.

Dorius bowed to a handsome Latin man, who returned the bow. "The immortal on the right, Jake Blu Lopez, is a Draco Americanus Lat, born of the Blu Lpozane Clan. Dragons, known for their ability to heal with lightning speed, are a valued part of our team. If the immortals are stabbed or bled, Jake will heal them quickly. He uses his saliva to…" I turned away from Dorius as he prattled on.

"Marcus, tell me my mother isn't going to try to kill one of those men? I thought this was about animals not humans."

Marcus chuckled, watching me with twinkling eyes. "Watch, Susan. Your mother is about to show you something extraordinary."

I was trying to come up with a snappy remark when Dorius' loud voice got my attention again. "Chick, Darren, places please."

Mom faced off with an immortal that outweighed her by at least a hundred and fifty pounds. Darren had blond hair, angry black eyes and a chest you could play baseball on. I trembled with the urge to get up when she lifted one hand toward him in a 'bring it on' gesture.

I eased to the edge of my chair, ready to pounce if she needed me. Marcus put his hand firmly on my thigh. The rest of my family looked relaxed. I clenched my teeth. "Hey, do any of you care that she's going to get her ass beat out there, or what?'

"I've seen what she can do and I'm not the least bit worried," Jeni said, smiling at me.

"Just watch, Susan. Mom's fine," JoAnn said.

"I didn't see shit! Am I the only one who doesn't know what's going on here?" I felt like the odd girl out.

Gibbie flew over to land in front of me, his hands on his hips. "We all promised to sit here and keep quiet. Don't make me dust you."

I watched Paul lean back, crossing his arms over his chest, a smile on his face.

"I don't like this," I said, my back rigid.

A war cry sent me three inches off my chair and my head jerked in the direction of the little clown center stage. Darren was running at my mother so fast, he was a blur. I tried to push Marcus' iron grip from my leg. It was impossible.

I watched a bolt of gold light shoot across the room and followed it back to my mother. An energy field extended from her outstretched fist to the immortal's midsection. She threw her hand open, flipping it in the opposite direction, her knuckles facing him, and the force-field of gold propelled him at a neck-breaking speed into the far wall. He slid to the floor, unconscious, blood running from his nose.

The room came alive with the thunder of immortal screaming and applause.

The Latin man, his black hair fluttering behind him, ran toward Darren. His boots drummed on the floor.

I laughed. "OK, so what kind of parlor trick was that?"

"It's not a trick, Susan," JoAnn announced with the clarity of a perfectly sane woman. She picked up her "juice box" of blood, lipped the bendy straw sticking out and sipped on it.

"Damn…" Marcus said, letting up his grip on my leg, "Your mother's ability with telekinesis is magnificent!"

Dorius looked like a proud peacock. "That was a mild example of Concetta's ability at telekinetic power." He turned to my mother with admiration. "Concetta put Darren on the bleachers for us. Gently, please."

My mother lifted her hand, much like a conductor in an orchestra, opened her fist and wiggled her fingers at Darren. The huge immortal slowly floated from the floor in a gold haze. The weighty bundle, following her hand, turned circles, swinging from side to side, and then started to spin around in a blur.

What a little actress! She's enjoying this way too much, damn it. It can't be real.

I assure you, my love, it is real. Marcus pushed with an amused smile.

Dorius cleared his throat. Mom stopped her spinning fingers, pointed at Darren, and he floated gently away, landing lightly on the bleachers, shaking his head.

The room leapt to their feet with another round of applause.

My mouth fell open, Marcus laughing in my head.

Dorius looked at us. "Resi, will you step forward?"

"How come I get to be first?" Resi teased.

Resi walked over to Dorius. Mom stepped to the side. I couldn't help feeling this was all a joke. On me.

Dorius began, "Resi has the gift to confuse as well as direct and implant. We call your rare gift, a Manipulator."

They grinned at each other. I seethed with anger.

"Warren, can you come out to the arena, please?" Dorius ordered.

"Give 'um all you got, Baby," Zaire yelled.

Gibbie strutted to the end of the table and smiled at me.

Warren walked forward dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt that strained against his large upper body. He snarled at Zaire. She snarled back.

Dorius nipped it. "Resi, I want you to use your mind to manipulate Warren. Surprise us." Dorius looked directly at me.

"OK…" Resi said, studying Warren.

"Big deal, we can all read minds and plant thoughts," I said.

Marcus gifted me with a sexy grin.

Damn him. I started to tell him just what I thought of this charade when I suddenly forgot what I wanted to say. I got up, shaking my head, frantically. My feet, with a mind of their own, walked toward Christopher, who was sitting on the far side of the room. My lips joined my legs in complete disobedience and smiled at him. "Christopher, have I told you lately that I love you? I appreciate the way you sank your fangs in my neck and made me look thirty years younger."

"No problem, Suzie-Q," Christopher smiled. "I'm a breast man, by the way," he said, eyeing my chest. "Can I touch 'um?"

I battled with myself in my head. I wanted to scream, 'Oh hell no,' as my frigging voice, completely ignorant of my orders, came out as sweet as honey. "I owe you big time, buddy. Step right up and cop a feel." I shook my head violently and heard laugher coming from the whole room. Even Marcus was laughing.

Christopher started walking toward me. I frickin' couldn't move.

My head, totally out of my control, turned to Resi. She winked at me and I was myself again.

"Don't you come near me you little shit!" I immediately yelled at Christopher.

Christopher laughed and wiggled back into his chair.

I faced off with Marcus. His lips turned up in a wicked grin.

"I thought after we were mated, no one was supposed to be able control my frigging mind," I scolded to a background of laughter. "I felt like a damn wind-up doll—you shit."

Marcus burst out laughing. "Sorry, darling, but Dorius asked if I would step back for a few minutes. They were sure you would have a hard time believing all of this so he suggested Resi helps you out a little."

My teeth clenched down hard enough to crack my jaw as I sucked in lungs full of air. "You are in, OH, so much shit!"

I heard Jeni giggle and shot her some angry Italian eyes just like my mother gives me.

Gibbie was all a flutter with laughter as Resi came sauntering up, grinning at me.

"I'm going to kill your happy little ass as soon as I find out what it is I can do to make this little foursome complete," I said with the room full of immortals and God knew what else watching us fight, and loving every minute of it.

"Sorry, Mommy Dearest. Dorius made me do it," Resi said, clapping her hands.

I was steaming to a hard boil as I glared at all of them.

Marcus patted the chair beside him.

"Zaire's turn," Dorius said, saving his brother's ass.

I walked around the table, took a seat next to Marcus and grabbed his thigh in a vice-like grip.

"Ohhh, that's nice, and I believe pleasuring you under the table would top the interlude in the car. Don't you agree?" Marcus' hand slid up my thigh, tickling a place I didn't want tickled.

I sat there trying to find a snarky response, but once again, Dorius got our attention.

"Alright, we have a Seraph with telekinetic power and an immortal with the ability to confuse and manipulate." Dorius shot me a nasty grin. I gave it right back to him, and then some. "It's time to show you what Zaire adds to the combination."

I wanted to puke. I seemed to be the only one in this damn room that didn't have a clue.

"Victoria, Megan, Peter, and Camillio; on the floor please," Dorius shouted.

I'd never watched Zaire in action as a mortal, but I knew she was a boxer before she met Resi. I was looking forward to seeing her fight. It seemed Dorius thought her a formidable opponent to have brought out four immortals to fight her.

"And begin, please," he told them with a wave of his arm.

Zaire advanced slowly with eyes like daggers, mouth in a snarl, her fangs hanging out. With hands in tight fists, her knees bent, she danced around them, glancing in several directions while they split up into two groups.

Victoria came at her with a scream of rage, incisors extended, legs pumping. Zaire leapt in the air, right over her head, landing a sharp kick on the small of Victoria's back as she descended. It sent the immortal woman flying into Peter. Both of them hit the floor, sliding at least twenty-five feet from the others.

Camillio and Megan danced closer, and then there was a blur of movement that a mortal would never have been able to keep up with. They were circular winds of flashing bodies as they fought each other. Zaire landed two good kicks, a right hook that had my head spinning, and took a blow to her stomach that sent her flying. She was up in a flash, heading for Megan. Camillio was prancing beside the immortal woman, both waiting in anticipation.

My adrenalin pumping, I sat on the edge of my seat, my incisors extended, and my body ready for a battle I had no business in.

Peter and Victoria recovered to join the other two immortals, all of them spinning around her in a fight that now seemed unfair. Zaire side-kicked Megan in the mouth, just below her nose, blood spewing over the both of them. Megan fell to the floor again, landing hard on her ass, sliding ten feet, a trail of blood following her.

I felt Marcus' eyes on me as his grasp loosened on my knee. I sucked in my breath, my nostrils flared with the smell of blood.

Camillio grabbed Zaire from behind, pulling her to his sharp teeth as Veronica and Peter approached fast. I waited, but knew she was pinned by them, my heart thumping, my mind screaming with a need to assist. I was so caught up in the action, I forgot the others in the room, couldn't hear anything but Zaire's fast heartbeat, and felt her fear.

Instinct took over. With a loud angry growl, I jumped up, hit the top of the table and leapt twenty feet, landing on Camillio's back, pulling him from Zaire's neck. She stumbled forward, shook her head, regained her footing, and shot toward me. I pushed Camillio and Zaire pounced on him.

Victoria smiled, angry fangs dripping saliva. Accompanied by Peter and Megan, they swiftly approached me, all growling with angry fangs flashing.

I could hear screams of encouragement in the background. I ignored them and pounced on Megan who was the closest. I had her by the throat, using her for support like a flagpole; I whirled around swiftly, kicking Peter in the chest with both feet, pushing him away. Zaire had my back and pounced on Peter before his ass hit the floor.

I wrestled with Megan, glancing around to find Camillio. I couldn't see him. I flipped Megan over my head and sent her sailing across the polished teak floor.

Peter was on his feet again, flanked by Victoria. Zaire jumped between them, slamming them both with a roundhouse kick that was frigging awesome.

I stood panting as I watched Megan crawling across the floor, trying to figure out where I was needed next. I heard Zaire somewhere behind me again, breathing heavy. Dorius yelled from the sidelines, getting my attention. He bent, slid something shiny at me, and grinned.

Three small daggers glided across the floor in my direction. With the speed of a demon on an adrenaline high from hell, wondering where in the hell Zaire disappeared to, I lurched toward them, grabbing all three knives the second they were in reach.

I sat on my haunches, still worried about Zaire, but I had a good eye on all four immortals, and shot the first knife at Camillio. It hit him in the chest, dropping him like a fly. The second was for Peter, who growled at me from the left. I threw the knife with as much force as I could muster, while watching for the others. It buried itself in Peter's chest up to the shank before he could rise to come at me. I held the third knife, looking at Victoria as she approached with a wicked grin.

Zaire had her fangs in Megan's shoulder before I could even track her movements, and the immortal fell limp under her.

I turned to Victoria. I could drop her in a heartbeat but I wanted to dance, at least for a little while. I'm getting into this, I thought, glancing at Zaire with a smile. She dropped Megan on the floor in front of her, giving me a bloody grin.

I circled Victoria, waiting for her to pull a weapon on me, daring her to come closer.

This is almost over and we did it, I thought, with adrenalin coursing through my body. I taunted Victoria, waving her on with the knife, feeling pumped and ready for a fight. She stood there watching me with sparkling eyes, and an anticipated silence waved across the room.

In my peripheral vision, I noticed a figure coming at me from my left at a very fast pace. I heard a loud growl. I swung left, and fired the third knife right into Dorius' chest. He fell with a smile on his face.

I stood there shocked. I couldn't move.

Victoria ran at me. I lifted my arms and, out of habit, I prayed for the strength of the elements, just like I did when I was an old woman, playing with my spell books. Only this time, my body responded as if it was being pumped with electric current and suddenly I was looking at the rest of the room through a shield that shimmered and vibrated around me. Victoria hit the shield, bouncing off, laughing as she slid across the floor.

"Wow! Did I make this?" I asked in awe.

"Excellent," Dorius gasped, grabbing the dagger in his chest. The Rican Dragon rushed to his side and the whole room exploded.

"I hate when my mother takes the wind right out of my sails," Resi said from the outside of the shield. "How did you know, Dorius?"

"Your great grandmother was able to draw up a shield. We've found a lot of history on your family in our archived files. The runes at your house were etched in blood - Susan's blood. We were hoping she could shield like her grandmother." Dorius answered, pushing the dragon away, his chest almost healed.

Resi tried to push her hand through the shield but it didn't break. She started laughing with me as we danced around the ten-foot circle shielding me. We were playing like kids in a Mickey D's fun room when Marcus cleared his throat.

"I think you should try to put it back, love," Marcus said with a chuckle.

I looked up at him in a panic. I didn't even know how the hell I brought it here, never mind how was I going to put it back.

"Uh, we may have a little problem here," I said, moving back.

Marcus poked the shield. "I assumed you had never done this before by the way you were running around like a child chasing butterflies, but it never occurred to me that you might not be able to bring it down."

"Anybody got any suggestions on how I get out of here?" I shouted at all of them on the other side. I felt like a hamster in a ball, wondering if it would roll around the room.

Mom ran at the shield, sinking her long fangs in the shimmering force-field. The shield held her captive as she mumbled obscenities at me.

"Oh, this is sweeeet," Gibbie said, hovering in front of Zaire.

"What did you do to make it come out?" Jeni asked, pulling at Mom's flailing arms as everyone gathered around the shield, the whole room exploding with laughter.

I searched my fingers for hangnails, picked at the cuticles, checked the length of each nail and finally raised my eyes to my struggling mother. "I just did a little chant I do when…I'll be damned if I know, Jeni."

JoAnn frowned. "Susan, you can just rot in there for all I care. I get tired of your messes." JoAnn put her hands on her hips, matching the little two-inch fairy on her shoulder. "First you turn into one of my worst nightmares. Then you change the whole family into the Munsters, and now you're playing Alice in a bubble."

I lurched at her, thinking it was time to strangle the bitch. The minute I came in contact with the shield, the whole thing disintegrated. Mom was on the floor scrambling to get up. My hands were wrapped around JoAnn's neck.

"I just love this family," Zaire said.

"Well, that was easy," Jeni remarked.

* * *

Three days later, after more extensive practice sessions in the Gym, we were standing outside of the compound ready to be dispatched on our first Critter Control mission. Jeni and JoAnn were inside at a communication's command post at the BAMVC compound until some equipment could be installed at the house. The rest of us had orders to capture the original raccoon and rid our property of all infected animals.

As we waited for the rest of the team, Marcus decided to enlighten me with another little annoying thing about our new relationship.

Having fun darling? He pushed from somewhere in the compound.

Oh, this is rich! I suppose you can talk to me no matter where I am, I pushed back.

Yes, love, and I can see what you are doing as well.

You can see me? This is a frigging nightmare!

While I argued with Marcus in my head, the sexy Latin man stepped out the doors of the compound. He wore khaki linen Docker cargo shorts showing off muscular calves, a light taupe linen shirt rolled up to the elbows, unbuttoned to the center of his chest, a brown leather belt and pair of Minnetonka Moosehide moccasins.

"Jake, you're late," Dorius snapped.

Jake hiccupped, burped a puff of smoke from his mouth, and said, "Sorry, I had to tie-up some loose ends, Sir." He gave Dorius a frightened little smile.

"Ew… what the hell died?" Zaire asked, fanning the air in front of her nose.

Everyone started looking at each other, hands flapping in front of their faces.

"Sorry," Jake said with a coy smile, and let out a loud burp accentuated with a small flame. "I have a bit of a… well it's sometimes hard to control my flatulence issues when I'm nervous."

"Jesus," I said, moving further away from him.

"Ladies," Dorius interrupted. "I've decided to add Jake to your team. His shape-shifting capabilities will be an asset, as well as his ability to heal, should a fang sporting gator nip one of your lovely little asses."

I kept Jake in my peripheral vision as I listened to Dorius continue. "Usually a team consists of a Seraph leader, two surveillance operators and ten immortal Rogue Hunters; thirteen members. But in your case, we made an exception since you are only hunting animals." He looked directly at me with a nasty smile. "Concetta is the team leader since she is the only one that tested to be a true Seraph. She will give each of you instructions - following my orders - dispensed through Jeni and JoAnn. Under no circumstances will you attempt to hunt anything but the animals on your property. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir!" Mom said, like a good little ass-sniffer.

I did some flame blowing of my own. Mom had an obnoxious smile on her face that I oooh-so-much wanted to smack off.

I was livid. Our new, electronically equipped van with bear logos painted on both front doors only added to my anger. "Come on, Dorius. Give me a break. That signage will get us way too much attention."

Dorius ran his tongue across his upper teeth, holding back a grin. "I've alerted the authorities that BAMVC is now dispatching trained Animal Control Officers, and since they seem to be undermanned and underpaid, they're grateful for our assistance."

Dorius looked self-satisfied. "Paul will be the liaison between your team and the local Animal Control offices. He will handle all correspondence with them. You ladies will use as little verbal acquaintance as possible. Do I make myself clear?"

"This is bullshit," I said, eyeing the damn logo.

"Your uniforms are in the van," Dorius said with a smile. "You will all wear them in the field."

"Wait until you see them. They're cute little jumpsuits with our team logo on the breast," Mom said proudly. "Mine has my name and 'Team Leader' printed under the logo."

Laughter rolled around in my head. You're cute when you're angry. I forgot he could see me. Damn it, this sucked.

35

I sat crammed in the short middle seat between Jake - his flatulence issues very apparent - and Christopher slumped against the window as we rolled down I-75 headed for home. Resi and Zaire were stretched out in the far back. Paul was driving and the fairy was perched on the rearview mirror holding the small metal rod attached to the front windshield.

"Jake, as soon as we get home, I want to see your dragon side," Mom commanded in a boisterous voice.

"I don't shift unless it is necessary!" Jake blurted. His went eyes wide, he farted, then burped a bright flame, igniting the headliner above us.

Gibbie zipped off the mirror toward the floorboard by Mom.

I whipped off my shirt and Resi grabbed for it.

"Let go, damn it!" I tugged it in my direction, patting at the smoking headliner.

"I got it Mom!" Resi yanked it back and flapped it at the roof of the Suburban.

Zaire curled into a ball, hands over her head. "Put the friggin' thing out - I got oil in my damn hair!"

My mother turned around in her seat. "Jesus, we just got this car! Dorius is gonna shit!"

I curled my lips back, yanked the t-shirt away from Resi and palmed it against the roof above my head.

Jake belched and shot a stream of liquid out of his mouth. The headliner sounded like a hissing steam iron.

Christopher's window slid down and he shoved his head out, sucking in fresh air.

"You can come out of the door pocket, Gibbie. The fire's out," Mom said. "Jake, next time we talk about your...other side…it will be outdoors."

Paul turned on the radio and soft jazz wafted into the cab. "Why don't we all just listen to the music and try to keep quiet until we get to the house."

Gibbie buzzed out, landed on Paul's shoulder, grabbed a fist full of hair and placed his hand on his sword. "You need a damn Valium, dragon. I'm not fond of steam baths."

Jake covered his ears, whimpered and farted.

"Let's not freak out the dragon again." Mom fanned the air in front of her nose.

I looked down at my soot covered, damp t-shirt and sighed. Zaire tried to hand me one of the frigging jumpsuits. I slapped it back at her and pulled my shirt over my kinked up hair.

What are you guys doing? We can see your location on our viewing screens, and your car is smoking, JoAnn's annoying voice blared from the monitor on the dash.

"Oh God, and the games begin." I leaned into the wind coming from Christopher's window, plucked my shirt away from my skin and flapped it a few times.

"Just a little fire, Aunt JoAnn," Resi said. "Nothing to worry about - it's out."

Zaire snickered.

Paul began to whistle to the music.

Christopher started laughing.

"You got any sightings on our furry friends?" Mom asked.

Ummm… well… JoAnn said, and then there was a long moment of silence.

I turned from the window and stared at the monitor. "Well?"

Jeni's voice came from the dash. Actually, there are quite a few. We can direct you when you get there. Not to worry. Are you planning on getting started tonight?

"How many?" Zaire yelled.

Jake burped.

I leapt for the window, getting a slap from Christopher.

Zaire and Resi plastered themselves against the back window.

"Yes, we are gonna get started as soon as we get home and suit up." Mom hooded her eyes at us.

JoAnn sang, Oh good. I can't wait to start directing you guys in the field! This is so exciting.

"Can we shut that frigging thing off, Mother?" I had my eye on Jake.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Concetta," Paul said.

"I'd like all of you to address me as Chick," Mom announced. "Concetta's a girly name."

"No problem, Mom," I answered.

"Not you, stupid."

We arrived home, unloaded the van, equipped ourselves with knives, donned our zoot-suits, walkie-talkies, and headed out.

Mom shouted orders, "Susan and Christopher, head toward the barn. Paul and Gibbie tell the troll we're here, get him started covering the shoreline, then head for the woods on the east side. Jeni says there are at least twelve sets of eyes there. Zaire and Resi can reconnoiter around the perimeter of the property. Jake and I will head for the woods on the west side of the house. Let's move it!"

Marcus' voice tickled my mind. Susabella, are you thinking about me? I find myself filled with desire for you and…

Can't talk, sweet cheeks. Got a walkie-talkie plugged in my ear. I stomped my way across a field.

Marcus' laughter echoed between my ears.

Christopher and I walked stealthily toward the barn as Zaire and Resi separated from us, headed for the front gate.

"Sorry about the bathroom thing," Christopher whispered. "I was angry with Dorius and you were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Forget it," I hissed. "Let's just get ours and call it a day. We'll check the inside first."

"Sure," Christopher answered. "Just wanted to clear that up. It's nothing personal."

"Alright already - let's just get inside," I snapped.

"You don't have to get all bitchy on me. Hey, I did you a favor."

I glared at him and started to unlock the barn door, trying to be as quiet as possible, but I was pretty sure if anything was in there, they sure as hell knew we were out here.

Susan! Hold it! JoAnn's loud voice sent me four feet in the air. I yanked out my earpiece, stuck my finger in my ear and wiggled it, then stuffed the damn thing back in my ear.

"JoAnn, you scared the shit out of me!" I hissed into the walkie-talkie, watching Christopher giggle and adjust his earpiece. "What the hell do you want?"

There are four sets of eyes behind the barn. Go around back first. JoAnn ordered.

"Can you see me?" I figured that if she couldn't, then screw her, I was headed inside.

Yes, I have a visual and you need to go around back first.

"Don't you dare tell me how to hunt!"

Christopher turned away, his shoulders up around his jaws.

In the handbook, it says to go after the ones most likely to escape, JoAnn answered smugly. That would be the ones out back.

Christopher grinned at me, his hand hugging the headset.

I hit my chest with my thumb, a little too hard, then signaled I'd go left. I pointed at him, flipping him the finger, signaling right. Christopher hit his elbow with his hand, pumping his arm up in another sweet gesture, and then nodded as he headed right.

Susan! JoAnn shouted at me.

I squinted, a growl rumbling in my chest. I raised my hand toward Christopher, stopping him. He gave me a thumb up and stood waiting, his other hand cupping his headphone.

"Yessss," I growled into the walkie-talkie.

Did you spray the Sure Kill scent remover all over you? I hope so, because they'll smell you a mile away if you have that patchouli stuff on.

"JoAnn, you idiot, I've hunted for years. I think I know how to remain down wind and mask my scent."

Just saying, I can smell you a block away with that stuff on, wind or no wind, and in the book, it says…

I turned off the walkie-talkie.

Christopher's nostrils flared, he shook his head up and down then grabbed his nose.

I growled, slicing my throat with my hand, my teeth bared.

Marcus' voice assaulted me. Susan, turn the hand-held back on. You need them to guide you... unless you want me to guide you, because if you do, I can think of a few things I'd have you do. Just for me.

I took in a long, deep, cleansing breath and turned the frigging thing back on.

* * *

"I'll phase, you go talk to the troll." Paul told Gibbie. "I can cover more terrain on all fours."

"Why do I always have to talk to the rock?" Gibbie flew off in a huff toward the boat dock. He rounded the corner of the house, spotting a large black lump protruding from the water by the cypress trees lining the shore.

"Bout time… one of you came out… to clue me in. Check… the dock," the troll said, rising from the water and ambling onto the shore in front of Gibbie.

"What's on the dock? I don't eat fish."

"Not…fish…go look," Mort said with a smile, his teeth full of green slime.

"God, I need to introduce you to a toothbrush. You're disgusting. Close your mouth when you eat, for crying out loud." Gibbie buzzed toward the dock.

Mort slid back in the lake, water roiling around him. He emerged at the edge of the wooden platform where the boat was tied.

"Holy shit! These all vamps?"

"Yep… I take… my job… ser-i-ous-ly. Got all of them… today. So, what's the…the… plan… tonight?" Mort peeked out of the water at Gibbie, blowing bubbles.

Gibbie stared at the pile of aquatic mammal and reptile pieces neatly stacked on the edge of the dock.

* * *

The wolf rounded a group of trees. Nostrils flared, ears back, he stood perfectly still, waiting. His whole body vibrated as a squirrel scampered out from under a bush, red eyes darting. The wolf leapt, grabbed it by the head and shook vigorously. Bones cracked. The animal went limp. He placed the squirrel on the ground, front paw on its back, dug his teeth around the animal's neck, reared back and tore its head off.

* * *

"Can you please stop farting?" Chick had her hands on her hips, glaring at Jake. "We'll never get close enough to kill anything, for Christ sake."

Jake's eyes got big and round, his cheeks flushed bright pink, and he cowered. "I'm holding my butt cheeks as tight as I can. I'm sorry! You scare the wind right out of me!"

Nanna, there's six sets of eyes directly in front of you by that scattering of bushes off to the west of the field, Jeni's voice floated from the earpiece.

Chick raised her hand, wiggled her fingers at the bushes, and all the foliage, two squirrels, a raccoon, a fox, an armadillo and a pit bull flew twenty feet into the air.

Jake yelped. A huge flame erupted from his mouth and set the whole west side of the field on fire.

Chick stood slack-jawed as the animals hit the ground, engulfed in flames. She pushed the button on her walkie-talkie. "We got ours."

* * *

"Zaire, look. By the mailbox," Resi whispered.

Zaire's head jerked in the direction of the front gate.

That's right. There are five of them out there by the fence. Circle around the path beside the barn and hit them from the other side. Jeni whispered.

"10-4," Zaire said, signaling Resi toward the path while she went the other way.

Resi stood at the gate watching the pack of animals baring long fangs at Zaire. She clicked her tongue against her cheek. They all turned to look at her. She scrunched up her face and all of them froze, fangs retracting.

Zaire sighed.

Resi wiggled her eyebrows and all of them closed their eyes and laid down.

"Well, that was sort of anticlimactic." Zaire picked up the first one and slit its throat.

"I drop 'um, you chop 'um," Resi chuckled. "Looks like we got us a nice routine going here."

Zaire wiped blood from her face. "Damn it! I wanted a real fight!"

* * *

Susan! Hurry! JoAnn screeched in my ear. Off to your left about thirty-feet, by the woodpile! Get 'em before they run!

I grabbed my ear, shaking my head. "Damn it, JoAnn! Can you give me some kind of warning before you scream in my frigging ear? You're giving me a frigging headache!"

Christopher was already at the woodpile pulling his knife.

I ran up and we both eyeballed a big, angry porcupine with huge fangs.

"Put up your shield so it can't run off," Christopher whispered.

"Hell no! I'm not trapping myself inside a force-field with a fanged porcupine!" I inched closer.

"Wimp! I'm not afraid of a little porcupine." Christopher flung his knife. It flew by, inches from my cheek, sinking into the porcupine's chest up to the handle.

A shitload of quills exploded from the porcupine and hit me in the chest, arms, and legs. I turned to run, getting at least fifty more in my back and ass.

"Ow, ow, ow! Ooouch! Damn it all to hell, that hurt!" I yelled. "They're not supposed to be able to shoot those things, are they? I'll sure as hell remember that!"

I heard a loud whistle in my ear, my hand shot up, grabbed my head and I stabbed my temple with at least a dozen quills embedded in my hand.

Susan, who's shooting at you? JoAnn screamed in my ear. What's going on?

"JoAnn, you made me stab myself; damn it!"

You said to warn you! I thought a whistle would work.

"Just click the call button or something! Christ."

Sorry. I could hear the amusement in her voice and I thought I could hear Jeni laughing in the background. I also heard Marcus. Susan, my love, your family amuses me so. I miss you, darling.

Before I could whip out a snarky remark, five squirrels and the raccoon with the split ear leapt from the woodpile, heading straight for us.

I ran toward the animals, kicking up dirt. "That's the raccoon with the split ear. We have to take it alive!"

I grabbed one of my knives. Three squirrels leapt at me, impaling themselves on the quills hanging from my chest. I looked down at them as Marcus’ laughter ricocheted around in my head. "I got mine," I sighed.

Christopher ran for the others and was quickly rolling on the ground with the raccoon.

The other two squirrels turned abruptly and ran at me. I whipped up my force field. They slammed into it, clinging to the other side. Damn spiffy! Thank God for all that practice in the gym. Woohoo!

I plucked the squirrels dangling from my chest, one by one, slicing their heads off, and stuffed them into my jumpsuit pocket, keeping an eye on their furry brethren still attached to the force-field.

Christopher got up, holding an angry raccoon firmly in his small hands. It was hissing and clawing his arms. "I could use some help here."

"Sure, I mean I only killed three and seem to have the other two trapped. I live to assist you, oh useless partner of mine."

"Look, I had to capture mine alive. Deal with it."

I walked up to the wall that held the two animals captive, pulled another knife out of a sheath on my thigh and slammed both through the shield, into the squirrel's bellies. The shield disintegrated - both squirrels hung from a knife.

"Can you move it along, or I'm gonna have chop-meat for hands!"

"Damn, I'm good!" I leaned over, stepping on one, pulled the knife out and severed its little head off its shoulders, then repeated the process with the other, sliding them into my jumpsuit. With bloody hands, I pulled a canvas bag off the belt clipped to my waist, popped in all the bodies and heads, walked over to Christopher and opened it under the raccoon.

"It's about friggin' time." Christopher dropped the raccoon inside and I tied off the top and hung it back on my belt.

Christopher pointed at my boobs decorated with porcupine quills. "You wanna pull those out first or head to the barn?"

I smiled at his scratched-up hands. "The barn."

I ran after him, yanking quills out of my chest.

* * *

"So how many did we get?" Resi asked, putting two large black trash bags of vamp critters on the back porch.

"Sixty-two and that's not counting the pile on the dock," Gibbie squawked.

"There's… twenty-seven… bodies…on the… dock." Mort's slow drawl wafted up to the porch from the lake.

"Eighty-nine! Christ, and all because JoAnn bit a damn raccoon," Resi said.

"She's evil and she must be destroyed," I whispered wickedly.

"Damn, and we've got two weeks left," Zaire said. "I bet we're only half-way there."

* * *

Two weeks later, we stood in front of the sliding-glass doors staring out onto the porch. It was packed with black trash bags, reeking of death.

"Any idea how we get these heads back to Miami?" Mom asked, fanning her face. "They sure as hell aren't gonna fit in the van."

"We need a friggin' eighteen wheeler, that’s what we need," Zaire said, turning to take a breath.

"I got it all taken care of. They'll be there when we arrive," I said, exchanging a grin with Christopher.

"That doesn't sound good, Susabella," Mom said. "What are you up to?"

Marcus rumbled in my head.

Can't do a damn thing, can you Fang-Boy? I pushed.

"We put the raccoon in a cage in the back of the van. He is not a happy camper," Paul said, walking into the living room.

"Let's go say goodbye to Mort," I suggested with dancing eyebrows.

"Fuck Mort," Zaire said.

"Yeah, fuck Mort," Gibbie agreed.

"Children, be nice," Mom said.

* * *

Four hours later we pulled up in front of BAMVC, the raccoon screeching in the back of the Suburban. I made a suggestion. "I think we should park around the side of the building, walk along the path, stand in front of the building and wait for Dorius to come out." I pulled out a pile of sunglasses from my purse.

"Oh cool, we’re going to do a Blue's Brothers thing," Christopher smiled at me. "Got a pair for the fairy?"

"As a matter of fact-" I pulled out the small pair of sunglasses I'd ripped off a Barbie doll in Wal-Mart.

Mom got out of the car as I handed out sunglasses. "Okay, I'll play along since we accomplished our mission and things are looking good. It might even get a smile out of Dorius."

I handed out the sunglasses.

Marcus and Dorius strutted out the front doors, flanked by JoAnn and Jeni. We all stood at attention, hands saluting, glasses on, dressed in our Critter-Control jumpsuits.

"Dorius, come on out and congratulate your team!" Christopher yelled.

Dorius smiled, walked down the steps, and looked up. A helicopter circled behind the compound. He swaggered toward us, a big nasty grin plastered across his face.

Remember the episode of WKRP in Cincinnati when Carlson thought dumping live turkeys from a helicopter into the parking lot of a shopping center on Thanksgiving was a good publicity stunt? As the heads hit the ground around Dorius, slamming him into a kneeling position, I imagined shoppers running for their lives as turkeys plummeted to their death.

Les Nessman yelling 'Oh, the humanity!', over and over in my head, created a burble of laughter.

Resi giggled all the way to the back of the van, shaking her head as she pulled the raccoon cage out. We all walked toward Dorius, who was lying in a bloody mess of smelly, dead vamp-animals.

Marcus stood on the steps grinning at me. JoAnn was giving me nasty eyebrows, but Jeni hid a smile behind her hand.

Dorius' chest rumbled, eyes shooting daggers at all of us as his cell phone started singing, 'Wild Thing, you make my hear sing…' He dug into his messy jeans, pulled out the cell phone and hit the speaker button. "Yesss.."

"Hello, this is Darth at the Leesburg Animal control office. This Dorius?"

"Yesss," he answered with eyebrows warring on his forehead. A big blob of animal matter clung to the side of his chin.

"I need you to dispatch a van over to Gatorland in Kissimmee. We have another animal problem. This one's gonna hit the news if we don't get right on it, Dorius."

Dorius grinned at us and wiped the slime from his face. "No problem, Darth. My team is on its way."

"We just got here!" I whined.

Marcus didn't look happy. JoAnn did.

"Well, at least we don't have to suit up." Mom poked me in the ribs and headed for the van. "Move it! We got us a gator to catch."

THE END

* * *

The story continues with Gator Baitin’

Read Gator Baitin’ now

* * *

Thanks so much for reading me!

Come by and visit Susan’s website:

http://thegratefulundead.blogspot.com/

About the Author

I love laughing with my daughters, class B scary movies, fine cuisine and hamburgers from Wendy's. I'm addicted to electronics, dark chocolate, vintage eyeglass frames, and fuzzy warm socks.

There isn't just one thing I'm passionate about. I'm married to a wonderful man, have two adult daughters, three grandsons, and three dogs. I live on fifty acres, and hunt and fish. I will get up in the middle of the night to listen to the coyote sing. I sculpt stained glass, paint watercolors, make jewelry, but most of all I write. I write because I have to and because it amuses me to live vicariously through my characters.

For more information on Susan Stec:

- @Suesan0814

- GratefulUndead

www.thegratefulundead.blogspot.com

Read more from Susan Stec

http://www.amazon.com/Susan-Stec/e/B004H6YF7M

Chameleon

Inkubus, Book III

K. De Long

Chameleon © copyright 2016 Katie de Long

Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

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About the Book

Chameleon

Shapeshifter. Fugitive. Pet.

There's a demonic war heating up, and Reza's right in the middle of it. When an assassination attempt wounds Reza and he's forced to hide by transforming into a dog, he knows the woman who rescued him will be on the hit list, too.

As the animal Alisa's tending heals, weird phenomena keep popping up. Along with a handsome stranger, who seems to think she's in danger. But Alisa's fought tooth and nail for the life she's built for herself and isn't going to leave it because of a handful of creeps.

Reza will do anything to ensure the debt he owes her doesn't become a blood debt with her death. But he's ready to go home…with Alisa as his hostage, if he must.

1

Reza

“Don't you know what neutral means?” I ask, not appreciating my demonic guests and appreciating them cornering me in the real world so much less. Just the sight of them puts my hackles up. My twin, Eren, has a much smoother touch with these pricks. Or at least he enjoys it more when he has to bludgeon an errant demon back into toeing the line. I could chase them away, but it would require revealing more power than I like to show.

“Never let others know what kind of enemy you are,” my mother always said. “Be the enemy they make you, no more, no less, unless it suits your purposes.”

I can't let them know that Eren and I bear our grandfather's mantel. If they knew the full range of skills imparted by it, they'd murder us in a heartbeat.

It's a cutthroat world. Ordinarily, I'd say that's the way I like it. But I also normally like to get my morning coffee unmolested.

Morena, the Reapers' head bitch herself, raises an eyebrow. It's taking her companion everything he has to block her appearance from registering to the crowd around us. Scale-covered women are rare out in the human world. It's one of the reasons I like it.

Her companion glares at me, flexing his biceps. Obviously wondering when they step this thing up. “Want me to remind him to be polite?”

I can't help but challenge him; give my unwelcome companions an inch, they'll drag you along for the full marathon. “And that's a great way to win allies. I thought you fucktoys were good at making special friends.”

That nearly makes him go for my throat. His reaction's worth laughing at. Incubi don't take kindly to being reminded that they're basically living blow-up dolls. Especially the ones who work as Hounds with the Reapers under Morena…those guys are very sensitive to the implication that they're useless but for sex. Makes it easy to rile them. As a bonus, it keeps them from seeming too imposing, despite the amount of blood that even the least senior of them has on their hands. Time was, the Reapers were simply enforcers, bludgeoning the worst of us back into line. They seem to have grown some ambition recently, however.

“Easy, boys,” Morena says, leveling a glare at her trained Hound. “It's a simple question to answer, Reza. Will the Hemlock clan canus be standing with the incubi, or with the Alliance?”

“The Hemlock stand with themselves. We have no interest in power-mongering.”

“When the incubi attract hunters' attention, we'll see how your neutrality serves you then.”

“So you're gonna strike at them preemptively, in case they might attract too much power for the truce? No. I won't be a party to it. It's a flimsy excuse for genocide.”

“So you choose their side then. What would your grandfather—”

“My grandfather's not here. And I choose no side. I simply refuse to cast any blows. And if you push it further, don't be surprised to see it backfire on you. Free choice is one of our most guiding principles. Do you think your own allies would stand for you coming here with your lapdog, leveling threats?”

“I haven't threatened you yet—”

“You being here is a threat, instead of coming to the Well to talk it out with Eren, too. You came here looking to splinter us. With a demonic assassin who specializes in hunting demons down. What part of that isn't a threat?”

Morena leans forward, her reptilian eyes narrowed with agitation. “Trust me, canus. If I were threatening you, you'd know.”

“Then tell your ankle-biter his lipstick's showing.”

“My name's Barrett, asshole—”

“And I give precisely no fucks, gigolo. Why don't you shake your wares somewhere else?”

Barrett reddens, his green eyes shadowed with fury and a desire to attack. But he can't. If they touch me, there'll be an army of wolves flanking them to tear their throats out.

Eren said I was too attached to my walks outside the Well. Maybe he was right. I can't believe the Reapers are becoming so brazen. Who else have they pressured into allegiance this way?

I've got to get away, tell Eren that we've gotta beef up our security. This isn't gonna end well.

“Well, it's been a great talk. But I've got more important things to get back to.”

She looks at me with a tilted smile, not phased in the least. “It's always a pleasure, Reza. You take care, now.”

“Places to go, butts to sniff?” Barrett jokes, and I flatten him with a left hook. Several people at the neighboring tables look up in surprise. Morena's disguise flickers as he loses concentration.

“Put a goddamn leash on your animal, Morena. Otherwise, I'm gonna neuter him.”

I leave the chaos behind me and blink at Morena as people flutter around Barrett. Her disguise is back in place; that means there's another bodyguard here who is taking over for Barrett. And as I walk through the sunlit streets, I don't need to look behind me to know Barrett's following me. That confirms the hunch; Morena wouldn't give up her bodyguard unless she knew she had another.

That I noticed Barrett isn't a good sign. Either he's damn bad at what he does, or he figures I'm not going to live to tell. His substance flickers as he swaps one host for another, jumping himself around to keep close to me. The little split-second glimpses of nothing between glances at him are more than a little nauseating.

I should probably get back to the gate, approach the center of my—and Eren's—power, the sanctuary we've built together. The best thing to do is hide with Eren as we decide how to react to this affront. But I don't know that I'll make it that far. The incubi are fierce hunters, and if Barrett wants a fight, he'll get one. If he was an ordinary incubus, I might assume inexperience. But he’s a Reaper. I have to assume that Barrett doesn't give a shit if I know he's on my trail.

Suddenly, I transform, pulling on the memory of a thousand smells and memories to warp my body. My jawline lengthens, and my body hair thickens. Smells become sharper, sights dimmer and less full of color. My clothes drop free of me, torn in some places and too big in others.

I throw myself into Barrett's nearest host, knocking the man down, and Barrett with him. Barrett yells, and there's a splash of something fluid, bubbling, burning. My back and arm ache, sending spasms and shocks into my paw, and I try to seize the moment of surprise to run, taking advantage of my new body's speed. It's hard to put weight on my paw, but I can stomach the pain. It helps that I now have a tail for better balance.

It's been a long time since I ran like this, but it feels good. Somehow, wearing a dire wolf's skin has always felt more natural to me. The world's simpler, and I know my place in it. Less of the confusion and constant paranoia of seeing the world's true threats. A true wolf would make things simpler yet, but I need at least some of my mental faculties intact.

The run would almost be pleasurable were it not for that pain. Were it not for the awareness of Barrett barreling after me. I've gotta get to a more secluded gate, one with no people around for him to piggyback. The incubi exist symbiotically in this realm, relying on the energy of the humans around them to give them presence. Alone, he'll be crippled, unable to follow. It's one of the reasons Eren and I placed the entries so far from civilization, to make it more difficult for others to stake them out and harass our guests.

If I can just lose him long enough to make it to the woods.

There's no point to hiding—the incubi have more senses than the usual six. Their parasitic nature draws them toward other spirits. Were I to hide, he'd simply suss out the weight of my mind.

That gives me an idea. I let the change alter the synapses and neurons of my brain and rewrite my body to be simpler yet. My sleek, lupine form gives way to something bulkier, slower, and softer: a Saint Bernard.

Please, let the idiot feel the simpler mental presence and assume it's nothing.

His steps slow as he surveys the street. I amble by as nonchalantly as I can. Once I'm further away from him, where I won't draw his attention, I'll run. So far so good.

Eren's gonna have a shit fit when he hears about this. He said it was too dangerous for me to be taking these walkabouts. I can't wait to hear his “told you so”. If I can make it back to hear it.

Barrett looks toward me; the jig is up. I break into a full run, dodging more of that fucking acid. At least there's few people around for him to pull from in a residential neighborhood like this. Soon, I can't see or smell him. That doesn't necessarily mean I've lost him, but it's a good sign since there's no one else in eyesight. I let my steps slow, saving my strength for the long trek ahead. I only have a small advantage now.

Lights flare, blinding me. And then there's brakes squealing, a burned smell, and metal impacting with me, shoulder to haunch. I should run, should keep moving…but I can't. Pain tears through me, making it impossible to move my limbs.

A car door clicks open, and all though I can't see them past the headlights, I'm awash in a light vanilla perfume—a woman—and a heavier, masculine cologne.

At this point, the dog form is the only advantage I have left—Barrett may know what he's looking for, but it's harder to sense animals, so I'll still be harder to track.

I need to move. I start to struggle to my feet, despite the voices around me.

“Oh my God, he looks awful.”

“You're worried about the dog? Worry about my car, Lis!”

“Oh, fuck your car. You've been itching to buy the new model anyway. You're happy to have the excuse to get the upgrade.”

“But my insurance will—”

“Stop whining and give me a hand. There's gotta be a vet or something who'll see him.” The woman sounds calm, for the circumstances. Tense and excitable, but calm.

“What?”

“You heard me. Help me get him in the car. We'll get him some help, and then—”

“You were the one who wanted this fucking date night, and now you're tapping out to care for someone's mutt?” The man, on the other hand, sounds like he's spasming around the stick up his ass.

“Stop being a boob-punch and help.”

“Oh, Christ, look at my grill. Fucking asshole.” A booted foot comes dangerously close to my ribs, its owner taking out his displeasure on me. A smaller foot in delicate heels kicks it away before it can get to me. I can hardly make out either; the world blurs in my vision, and in the absence of colors, I'm at a significant disadvantage.

“Jesus, are you really this much of an asshole? I thought you were an animal lover.”

“Mine, not fucking strays. I don't see a collar, do you? Who's gonna pay his medical expenses if he doesn't have an owner?”

The heels' owner comes into view as she crouches down and puts a hand out toward me hesitantly. “You okay, big guy? I'm not gonna hurt you…you're okay, you're okay—”

She smells delightful, and under other circumstances, I'd enjoy the moment savoring it. But she's brisk and businesslike, once she's assured I'm not pain-crazy to the point of biting her. She slips her shoes off and hooks them on her wrist by their ankle straps. “Help me get him in the car.”

“Fucking Christ, you were serious.”

“Damn right. Now, come on. He's huge. No way in hell I can handle him without a hand.”

“Fine.”

The boots' owner reeks, his smell almost drowning out hers. And if it were up to him, I'd stay here, potentially dying. And they say demons are soulless. I don't want to be close to him. He tries to slide his hands under my shoulders, and I can't resist growling at him.

“You're okay, you're okay, big guy,” the woman repeats, and elbows him. “Come take his hips and let me handle his shoulders.”

He sighs but obeys. Between the two of them, they manage to heft me, carrying me the short distance to the car. The jolting, halting steps cause the pain to balloon to a roar. I can hardly keep the spots out of my vision. I shouldn't snap at her, though my every instinct demands I try. They're both heaving by the time I'm laid across the back seat.

“What the fuck are you doing, Lis? You don't have the money for the vet. Where do you think you're gonna get it? How? You're so impulsive. He's probably not gonna make it through the night anyway—”

“Stop talking like that, Evan. He deserves the chance. And I'll figure it out. I might just have to sell off a costume or work a few extra shifts.”

“I just wish you'd think befo—”

“You're not my father, so cut the disappointed voice-of-reason bullshit. Stop patronizing me.” She doesn't sound angry, simply firm. And the calmer she is, the more her companion loses his shit.

“I'm not patronizing you. I just wish you'd use your head sometimes—”

“Evan, date night's definitely over now. Help me get him home, and then you're off the hook. He's my problem. And neither of us are yours.”

“Aww, c'mon, hon. Don't be like that. Don't throw a hissy fit—”

“It's not a hissy fit. If you can't take me at my bleeding heart-iest, then you don't deserve the rest of me.”

“Fine.” His voice is curt. “Home it is. Good luck with that.”

She ignores him, reaching a hand into the back to lay it across my shoulder. “You're gonna be fine, big guy. I've got you.”

With that quiet warmth in her voice, it's impossible to disbelieve her.

2

Alisa

Maybe I should be more torn up about dumping Evan, but after three months together, he just hadn't wowed me. Finding out that he can kick an injured animal—not just an animal, one that's likely someone's pet—and let it die without remorse…that's the last straw. Life's too short to waste it on lackluster people. I'm not idealistic or foolhardy enough to think that his reservations are wrong or that others wouldn't just drive on. But it negates his good qualities—namely his washboard abs and his sense of humor. It's not the worst thing someone's done on a date, but it's right up there.

I'll put in a call to the all-night emergency vet, see if they can do a home visit or something—I don't think that he's gonna be okay if we switch him to my tiny car, and Evan's obviously not onboard to help. Besides—the damage doesn't look as bad as it did at first glance. The dog looks dazed and bloodied, but I don't see anything obviously broken. I could have sworn that his ribcage looked dented at first glance, but he seems fine now. I must have been imagining things. This hasn't exactly been the relaxing night I had planned when I hinted at Evan that I'd like to leave the house for a bit.

My landlady's gonna kill me. Big dogs mean big poop. And I'm not supposed to have pets, anyway.

Maybe Evan's right, and I should just say “not my problem”. But that's just not me. I'd have nightmares for weeks if I had to. A clean conscience is worth the strain taking the critter in will put on my finances.

I make a padded bed of blankets and pillows on the floor and then go help Evan drag the poor animal inside to his new nest. The dog's eyes flutter shut, and I turn away. “Thanks for that.”

Evan shuffles from foot to foot before storming into my kitchen to get a paper towel to clean the blood off his hands. As he wipes himself up, he inspects his cuffs, wrinkling his nose to find spatters there, too. Really? He's concerned about his clothes right now? I press my lips together to hold in the fury. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who wasn't wowed. I know I'm not a catch or anything, in the traditional sense, but I'm not impervious. It would be nice if he could pretend he's bothered that we're in the middle of a fight and that if he doesn't do his part to extend an olive branch, we're gonna part on fairly bad terms. That is gonna bother me more than anything else. Maybe he's right and I am soft.

The distance between us hurts. Evan's still angry and bemused, and it's the most toxic combination it could be for me. But still, for all his disappointment, he did help in the end. I'm not sure whether to tell him to go or give him a chance to man up and apologize. “Everyone's gotta grow up sometime, Lis,” he says and turns toward the door. “You're gonna make a fine mother, someday.”

I can't restrain an eye roll at that. I have nightmares about having to babysit kids. Having an iota of empathy isn't a high enough bar for motherhood. And apparently, he's not invested enough in us to back down, either. Nothing to do but shrug and let him go.

I refuse to look at Evan, staring at the animal on my floor until the door clicks shut behind him. And despite the heady guilt knotting my insides—any more thoughts of him, any second-guessing myself—all gets set to the side. I've got more pressing matters on my plate.

Time to settle in my new houseguest. I'll need food and probably bones or some shit. I check him again for a collar, but it's not like one was gonna just materialize there, was it?

He's huge. Black and brown brindle markings spread over him in patches. Not neutered, either. Great. Here's hoping he's not some alpha asshole who pees on the carpet and snaps at strangers.

He seems to be a healthy weight, not too bony or too fat. It seems like he should be skinnier if he's been a stray for long. No scars or disfigurations, aside from raw flesh on his neck and shoulder. It doesn't look like any abrasion I've ever seen, nor any burn, either. No signs of fleas, which seems off. Maybe he is someone's pet. I'll have to take a picture of him and print up signs to see if I can locate his owner. Though whether I give him back depends on their answer to how he got the wound on his neck. Mistakes happen, sure, but I'm not gonna give the beast back to an owner who hurts him.

I retrieve some iodine and a soapy rag from the bathroom. Time for the fun part. It seems stupid talking to myself, but he seemed to find my voice reassuring, earlier. Almost like he understood what I was saying, as irrational as that thought is. “Hey, again, big guy. You gonna let me see how badly hurt you are? Maybe clean you up a little?”

His eyes open, unevenly. One's blue, the other's brown. I hold my hand out to him, again. “You remember me? See? I'm not gonna hurt you.” I pet his head, working around the abrasions and burned area. “This is gonna sting a little. I won't yell if you try to bite me. So long as you don't actually do it. You could probably take my arm off to the elbow in one chomp. You gonna work with me?”

He whuffs at the smell of the chemicals, but watches as I reach for his shoulder. He doesn't flinch when I run a little iodine over it. Thank god.

I work slowly, cleansing him, wiping the dirt and automobile grit off his wounds, sanitizing them. Just to be safe, I take as many pictures as I can. My adoptive mother Annie always told me that was just common sense—photograph everything in case things go wrong and you need to prove exactly what happened when, in court. Her partner thought she was paranoid, but the lesson's served me well over the years.

I gently probe his ribs, his back, his hips, checking for tenderness or broken bones. He gives me a throaty growl when I prod a few places, but otherwise seems calm. I doubt there's much the vet would do for him that I can't. And doing it at this time, under these circumstances, is likely to cost extra. If he's okay through the night, and I can take him to a closer vet in the morning... I can be pragmatic where needed, contrary to Evan's condescending put-downs. I'm a night owl anyway. I'll monitor him myself, once I've taken the edge off the pain. Annie always gave her dog Benadryl or baby aspirin. And this guy is easily three or four times the size of that beast. It won't hurt him, though I don't want to fuck around with the dosage.

“Think I've got some baby aspirin around here. That'll probably help. My poor big guy. Let me Google how much you can have.”

I put the pills in peanut butter, and offer it to him. His eyes are glassy, and he doesn't seem to know what to do with it. “It's food, see? Yum.”

I lick a little bit of the peanut butter off my finger, and offer it to him again. He halfheartedly licks it, then stops. He seems to have forgotten about it halfway through. I lick a little more of it, and encourage him to take the rest off my finger. After several tries, he gets the whole thing down, thankfully not spitting the pills up.

Thank goodness. I couldn't force his jaws open to get the pills back in, if it had been needed. Maybe I do need a hand with him. I really didn't think this through. “Think you'll be okay by yourself for a bit, big guy? You're gonna need some real food, if you're here a while.”

He whines when I back away and reach for my purse. “It's okay, big guy. You're safe here. And I'll be back soon.”

His eyes drift shut, and I scritch his head one more time. I'd better make this fast.

3

Reza

My head's swimming. Remembering my purpose, I struggle to articulate what it feels like to be a man. I can't figure out how it should feel, having extremities without claws, a body without hair.

My limbs lengthen, and the hair recedes. I'm laying splayed out on blankets, felted ones that tickle and itch my naked skin.

I start to stand, getting to my knees, but the world rocks and sways enough that I collapse back in place. Shit. I'm not gonna get anywhere like this. I must've hit my head in the accident.

There's the click of a key in the door. It must have taken me longer than I thought to find my way into my own skin. Either that, or I blacked out at some point. Double shit. What's she gonna think when she comes home to a strange nude man? Hurriedly, I focus on the now-familiar feeling of the wind in fur, and the ground under padded paws. The door opens just as the last of the transformation takes hold. Her eyes land on me.

“Oh, you're up. I was kinda hoping the pills'd knock you out. Sometimes it's easiest to just sleep through the worst of the pain. And this all probably seems really strange.”

She's beautiful. I wish I could look at her as myself, to see the full range of colors shading her. Dark hair, large eyes, and rosebud lips. All carefully polished, no doubt for the date I interrupted. More living art than person. It's a rarity to see; when your physique is even a little mutable, there's not much point to that kind of artifice. Most of the women I encounter don't bother with makeup or primping.

“So what'm I gonna call you?” She pets me carefully. It's unnerving being treated like a beast, even knowing I look like one. I've spent too much time in the demonic realms, where people rarely make the assumption that animals are wordless. “I've always sucked at naming things. I should've made Evan do it, before he took off.”

Her touch is surprisingly calming, peeling away tension and soreness like the layers of a onion. I shouldn't encourage her to treat me like a dumb animal or to get attached, not when I'm just waiting for the next chance to run.

There's a noise outside, a car peeling away, and for a moment panic grips me—even now, one of Morena's Reapers could be on my tail. We could both be dead. I howl, trying to warn her to grab whatever's on hand. My head is swimming, and I can hardly stand.

“Felt like singing, hunh?” She laughs. “You'll be Ballad, then. Unless your owner turns up and has a better name for you. Mi casa es su casa, right?”

She walks into the kitchen, and pours a bowl of something. Dry food clinking off freshly-washed ceramic. The noise makes my head pound sharply.

I'm already fading, lulled by her soft footsteps and soothing voice. Maybe I should just sleep a little, wait for the Reapers to get bored of searching, and thin out. A prolonged possession isn't their style. If they think that they missed me, or that I'm not coming, they'll move on to other targets eventually, leaving me free to amble through the gate without interference. When I'm healthy, and my body no longer aches.

4

Alisa

The dog seems exhausted. He doesn't touch the food I've put out, but at least it's there. I have to remind myself not to trip over him as I go through my evening cooldown, removing my makeup, stretching, putting my heels away and my dress in the hamper.

This is gonna take some getting used to. I never got to have a pet as a kid, so this is a totally new experience. Annie taught me a bit when she’d finally persuaded Reba to get a dog, but I've never been in the driver’s seat, or even truly in the passenger's seat as a pet owner. I was already out of the house by the time they adopted Marceline. It stung at the time, since I'd wanted a dog all my life, but somehow, they were always convinced I was too flighty to care for it. And not two months after I moved out… Ugh. I don't begrudge them the happiness that puppy brings them, but the thought of being found wanting when I was there stings a bit. And Evan had a point—I shouldn't spend what it's gonna cost to feed the dog, even if there aren't huge vet bills when I can get him in to the one that's closer. Maybe I have bitten off more than I can chew.

But what else was I supposed to do? Leave him there in the road, waiting to get hit again? The next car to come along would have made him a smear; cars coming off the freeway take that stretch way too fast. It's not his fault he got out of his yard, was wandering off-leash and took off, or whatever happened. It seems like caring for even stray animals is part of the social contract we made with dogs when we persuaded them to leave their wolf-y days behind.

Still, a big dog like that doesn't exactly go unnoticed. Someone must have seen him or chased him. I've really gotta get the posters made, just in case his owner's worried. He seems sweet, even despite his injury.

I count through the cash in the basket on my counter. How much does a vet visit cost anyway? I guess, worst case, I can probably talk Lenny into letting me take a shift before my electricity bill's due.

I don't know how I'm gonna sleep with the dog's gentle wheezing—even when I have someone in my bed, I need to be touching them. I'm not honestly sure where the aversion to having people in the room when I rest comes from, but it's there, and it’s strong. Maybe I should exhaust myself before I try.

There's not a lot of room around my stripper pole, certainly not enough for some of the more sweeping spins. But there's more than enough room to practice.

After the day I've had, I deserve to blow off some steam.

I put on my mid-tempo pop playlist and bite my lip when the dog flinches at the noise. I'd been hoping I wouldn't disturb him.

Since you need exposed skin to stick to the pole properly, I drag my oversized T-shirt over my head and turn away to look for my exfoliating lotion. It sounds strange, but the best product I've found to help my hands stick to the pole is a weird, tacky product that's intended for pedicures. And I like the ritual of going to the beauty supply store, shoving through shelves until I find the right brand. Just a little of it on my palms and my knees will make it a lot more fun, since I don't fully trust my skills enough to not drop myself on my head.

No point to digging out a sports bra—I doubt I'll be at this too long, from how sore my hands already are.

Ballad looks at me curiously. Shit, what if he's one of those dogs that's gonna want to investigate and get underfoot? I'll have to train him to sit in his bed when I'm dancing. “Stay,” I tell him, hoping he knows the command. He shouldn't be moving, anyway.

The music starts with a reasonably brisk beat, and I step into one of the easier spins, twirling around the pole with it held between my knees.

It feels good to be moving. I don't think I'll actually mind picking up those extra shifts.

Sometimes it stuns me, that although I may not be making a fortune, my job is cavorting around and dancing. The stripper pole's just for fun—I'd never have the balls to do it for an audience. But it's relaxing and keeps me raring to go. My speed's more go-go dancing at a few of the more edgy nightclubs. Shimmying on a platform about ten feet off the ground, watching everyone around me having the time of their lives.

Tips are hit-or-miss, but when they hit, they hit hard. Some guy shoved a hundred-dollar bill with his number written on it into my boot. Of course, I never called him. Not my fault he's got more money than common sense when faced with an attractive woman working the room.

Rory asked me why I didn't call, when the bar closed up—there could be more money where that came from. But where do you even start with something like that? Hey, I'm glad you enjoyed my dancing. If you want to take me out, it's this much. And I won't screw you. There's plenty of other women out there who would, though... maybe you should give one of them a Benjamin with your digits instead? But if you want me to hang out with you otherwise, and keep tucking benjy's in my shit, I'll totally be your best friend...

Ouch. So I told her that she could always write it down for herself, but that I was spending the cash.

Never quite know what the new day will bring. Case in point, the giant beast pointedly staring at the wall away from me. I would've thought he'd be more curious than that. Rory brought her little chihuahua over to hang out once, and the beast freaked out the moment I attempted a spin. My ears are ringing just at the memory of it. But Ballad's probably still feeling crappy enough to not want to focus on things.

I climb the pole and invert. Rory also strips, when the bar thins out her schedule, and she taught me this new move, where you tip yourself upside down, gripping the pole with your legs, and then loosen the grip just enough to let yourself slide down the pole. It's nerve-racking, but I love the thrill of a new skill. And you never know when it'll come in handy.

My skin screams from the friction as I slide, and the dog jerks his head back toward me, eyes wide. “Shh, it's okay,” I call out to him. “The noise isn't a threat.”

He jerks his head away again, pointing it away from me.

So strange.

Oh, well. At least I won't trip over him.

I tighten my stomach to pull my torso up, grab the pole, and release my legs. The pole spins me slowly as I hold a pose, one knee bent but the other straight, toe pointed. Then, I lower my feet to the ground and use the pole's momentum to spin on my own feet.

I love the flow of this. Love every solid object within arm's reach being something to interact with.

I always feel whole when I pole dance. One with the universe and all that shit.

I've really gotta get Rory a thank-you card for the lessons.

I veer into another spin, enjoying the way the metal bites into my hands.

5

Reza

Fuck. Fuck.

I wish to hell I could sleep, but every time she moves, she sweats a little, and the smell wakes me up. There's excitement. I should be watching. Protecting myself. Maybe her, too, since I don't want her to come to harm for having sheltered me. But waiting the worst of the pain out is something entirely different than watching the lithe woman slithering her way up and down a pole, topless and completely nonplussed by my presence.

Of course, why should she be shy? I'm a dog to her. Her pet, if she wants to get possessive about it. At least for however long I'm here.

I'm an animal. Not a voyeur. Not a red-blooded man who would otherwise love the excuse to savor her lean curves, the shape of her muscular legs and ass, the swell of her breasts, and the way those curves soften as she hangs upside down, those flushed areolas and perky nipples—

I can't watch. It's rude on so many levels. Yet again, I turn my head away and strain to ignore her light gasps, her womanly musk, and the rustles and noises of her feet on the carpet. Perhaps it's the balance of canine senses that makes them so much more consuming, makes it impossible for me to just avert my eyes and think of baseball.

Evan was a lucky man to have had her. If he knows what's good for him, he'll be back in the morning with flowers and dog biscuits, begging her to take him back. She's beautiful, kindhearted, and not afraid to stand up for herself.

And in danger because of me. I've got to get away from her. If the Reapers come after me again, track me here... I don't think I could live with myself, seeing her become collateral damage.

She puffs slightly, and her skin squeaks against the pole. It takes everything I have to keep my eyes shut.

The morning can't come fast enough. I'll see how I feel then and get my ass away as soon as fucking possible.

“Oh! I almost forgot.” Her voice is a cute, little chirp. Automatically, I turn to look. She's breathing heavily, those round breasts heaving, her smell permeating my nostrils. Goddamn it. I'm a cur chasing a bitch in heat. And I can't even truly chase her. I curse myself for not being able to completely shed my manhood. Who'd have thought so much sexuality would be shared between my waking self and my bestial one? The swing of her arm casts shadows over her chest as she walks past me. In a moment, I'm taken to the view of her ass, no less heart-stopping than when she first reached for the shirt's hem.

I could transform, let my true self shape my body, take her into my arms, and—

This is torture. I'm her fucking pet. If I revealed my true form, she wouldn't fall into my arms. She'd be scared to high hell to have a strange, naked man in her home. And if she saw the change, it would definitely make her a target. It's gotta be the painkillers making me feel floaty and fixated.

She picks her way through a bag on the counter and tugs something out: a collar with a tag. “Until I know that someone else is taking care of you, it makes sense for people to know you're mine. Don't want to end up in a shelter, do you?”

The light catches on the tag as she kneels in front of me: The Big Guy. If Found, Please Contact Alisa Swanson. And her phone number. The gesture feels all the more possessive as she reaches around my neck to fasten it, bringing her breasts to my face inadvertently.

Up close, her fragrance is even more intoxicating. I can't hold myself back from a desperate lick. “Oh, kisses,” she says and laughs, and there's a little click as the fasteners lock into place.

The collar's weight is alien on my neck. I think my ideas about what it means to this canine body are dulled, otherwise, I'd want to chew her out for that kind of casual dominance. I barely know her, and the collar symbolizes her ownership. That means something to me—the man part. Even if the meaning is warped to high hell by her casual nudity and gentle touch.

I turn around, ignoring the creaking and soreness in my bones. She rubs my ribs and stands back up. “Sleep well, big guy.”

Her fragrance grows softer, and there's only the noises of her dancing again.

6

Alisa

Rory sits next to me on the couch. “So what're you gonna do with the lug?”

“Well, if you can help me,”—I wink at her cheekily and flutter my hands by my face—“and put up a few of these, it would help.” I offer her a sheaf of papers with Ballad's face printed on them, as well as my info and the location where Evan and I found him.

“The things I do for you, girly. If you weren't so damn cute…” Rory winks back and pinches one of my cheeks. “Like a Cabbage Patch Kid doll. I just want to put you in my bag, bring you home, and set you on Lily's shelf.”

“Yeah, but I'd feel creepy watching your kid sleep.”

“You're her godmother anyway, why not be her fairy godmother, too?”

“Because my butt's too big for me to wear the wings?”

She snorts. “Liar. Seriously, though. That is a big dog. He looks like a handful.”

“I tried, one Halloween. Pinky swear. The bottom edge of them kept hitting—” I fidget and swat at my rump, patting the offending curve. “And, I'm still hoping someone'll pop up to claim him. But—” I can't take my eyes off the burned patches of skin marring Ballad's bulky frame.

“But someone who does that to such a handsome fellow probably doesn't deserve to get him back.”

“Heh, yeah.” I shake my head, relieved I don't have to justify it to her.

She snaps her fingers. “I know what you should do. What’s ‘isname? The doctor. The financial sub.” The one who pays me to let him watch me futz around on my errands. “Tell him you're bringing the new dog home, and get him to buy you some stuff. Bones, Frisbees, that kind of shit. Maybe handle the vet bill. Then, you can make him carry it all in for you, and tell him he's lower than the dog and doesn't deserve to see the dog play with the treats he bought. Let him clean up the shit, though. He'd love that.”

“Remind me not to get on your bad side.” I laugh. “Still, you might be onto something. Maybe I can tell him the dog chewed all my shoes and clothes, too. Still, I'd feel a little bad making that one the villain.” I scratch the dog's ear. He must still be feeling really crappy. He hasn't so much as looked at me all day. If I didn't know better, I'd say he's mad at me. But animals don't really behave that way. And he hasn't eaten, either. “Maybe I'll text Pete to set something up. I can pick up some wet food on the way home. He hasn't eaten anything since he's been here except for a little peanut butter, so maybe I just need to offer him something yummier. He licked at a little bit of my leftover stroganoff, but I only let him have a bite, so—”

“Really? You were feeding him off your own plate? Gross.”

“Pffft. You live with an animal, you live with their germs.”

Rory shudders. “And that's why, when I got the urge to bring home another puppy, I got knocked up instead. If I'm handling someone's poop, it damn well better be someone who can eventually say thank you for it. Rox is bad enough, and at least she's learned where the pads are for when her bladder craps out. Think that guy'd soak it clear through in one piss.”

“Oh, come on. I know he's kinda out of it now, but maybe, eventually, he'll perk up and be fun—”

“Yeah, and you'll ride him like a pony when you get those fairy wings, spreading hustler magic through all the land.”

“He's practically big enough for it,” I have to admit. I stretch out a toe to stroke Ballad's shoulder.

“And you don't want me to make Derek talk to his friends?” Rory bites her full lower lip, knowing that the question might piss me off. “One of the guys at the factory might know someone who can take him off your hands.”

“That's okay. I want to see how this all shakes out.”

“Well, so long as you're happy, girly.” She shrugs, bouncing a multitude of twisted braids against her shoulder. “I've gotta get going—Cara's only watching Lily for a few hours before her class.”

“Yep. I'll let you know how he settles in. Give the rug rat a kiss for me.”

“Will do. I'll see you at work, Alisa. Have fun with your new friend.”

7

Reza

Alisa grabs her purse when she leaves to show the other woman out. On the assumption she might be gone a while, I let my humanity take over, heaving gasping sighs as I take stock of the damage. It's a relief having the run of the place, even if I shouldn't enjoy it for too long, lest I get caught when she returns. Or the other possibility that I can't dwell on right now, that Barrett is waiting for me to shift back, and that even now, I'm tempting fate—both mine and Alisa's. But if they are gonna catch me, I'd rather die in my preferred body as my most comfortable self. Plus, I've got more of a chance fighting as a man.

I get myself a glass of water, down it, and refill it again. When I've finally drunk my fill, I empty the remainder of the water into the sink and tuck the cup back into the cabinet. Next, I walk into her bathroom to use the mirror. My ribs and face are a mess of bruises, and the skin's burned off my neck and one of my shoulders. I should be glad the damage isn't worse.

My legs don't seem to be broken, though it's tough to move and the bruises are almost black. I definitely can't run. I should probably try to eat something, but even the thought makes me want to hurl.

I may as well use the bathroom and get comfy. I'm gonna be here at least another day or two, until the aches fade. It's a risk, but I'm not sure what the alternative is. The Reapers will have an easier time finding me if I'm in a crowd, and I have no money to try to take a cab or bus. The last thing I need is scrutiny from the human authorities, so I shouldn’t try to steal a vehicle.

Why has it taken the Reapers so long to look for me? They should've easily been able to track me by now. I dig my nails into the raw skin on my shoulder until I can touch one of the shards of dragon bone implanted into me to connect me to the Mantel. I beg it for dragon senses, remembering my grandfather's distinct smell and the sound of his voice. It helps me focus, helps me connect to the source of the claw's power, the old man who loved me despite my being a mutt. And when I open my newly-slitted eyes, Alisa's bedroom is bathed in a gentle glow emanating from the floor.

I walk, finding the glow's epicenter, and squint as I pick apart the pattern traced into the carpet by wear: a sigil for exclusion. One of the few things that can keep a true incubus away. So long as I'm here, I'm safe. They won't even be able to get close enough to sense me. If they know where I am, they can send a reaper, one of the incubi's cousins who specialize in possessing corpses. Morena's Reapers use both, although the corpse riders are the group's namesake. But them sending an attention-getting, obviously undead assassin after me is a big if when I'm practically invisible.

This brand of magic, it's used only by a very particular bloodline of witches, a familiar one. How the hell did it come to be in Alisa's home? Was a previous tenant the witch who laid it down? Or is there more to Alisa than simply the jaw-droppingly beautiful wisp of woman who twined around that pole?

It takes me a minute to figure out how it's there. The carpet smells familiar. Like Alisa. Moisture and skin oils from her feet. And parts of the carpet have been tamped down along the sigil's curves. She paced the pattern into the floor, and the connection her sweat provided sealed the spell. It's a roundabout way of doing it—did she even know what she was doing? It would be so much stronger if it was etched in blood or spit.

I shiver as the thought hits me—what if she's in on it? I doubt the Reapers would have recruited her, but Morena has her informants. But if she was helping Morena, I'd already be dead. That and the incompetence of the spell reassures me. I doubt she'd be using such rudimentary craft if she was on Morena's radar.

The door cracks open, and I hurriedly focus on dog thoughts and let the world shrink away from me. She sets down a bag and raises an eyebrow at me. “Hello again, big guy. Good to see you, too.”

She looks uncertain. Was I a moment too slow in transforming? But then she blinks the confusion away and shrugs, turning to open a can and upend it into a bowl: wet dog food. She places it next to the dish of untouched food on the floor.

When I don't show any signs of eating, she sighs. “That can't be normal. Aren't you hungry? Maybe you do need a vet.”

If she takes me out of this house, the protective magic won't shield me. And more scrutiny might let her know I'm no dumb animal. I've got to eat.

It wouldn't be my first time eating raw meat, though I've never understood how the humans' animals can stomach the food they give them—too bland. She's got a granola bar in her own hand, half eaten, so I put my paws on her leg and tug it out of her hand. I've wolfed it down before she's managed more than a startled laugh.

“If the chocolate makes you shit everywhere, I'm kicking you out.” She punctuates the harsh words with a scritch to soften them.

I heave a sigh of relief that her first search on her tablet isn't for a vet, but for information on canine food allergies. It could take a while for the aches to fade, for me to be ready to outrun or outfight an incubi trained to kill. As much as every second feels like it might kill me—or Eren—I know it's better to make my plans slowly and deliberately. Alisa's place is safe with her magic protecting it. I don't dare leave her radius until I know I can handle the next fight.

Her phone vibrates with an incoming call, and she glares at it and hits the ignore button: Evan. Still, her lips are tight. I lick her hand, trying to distract her. If she decides I'm not worth the trouble and kicks me out while it hurts to walk, let alone run…

She rubs my neck vigorously. “Don't worry about it, big guy. He was kind of a prick anyway. Don't trust a man who won't tip 15 percent. And he was getting pushier about work, too. Even if you hadn't come along, I'd give it a fifty-fifty chance I'd have dumped him within the month. He was never really gonna be okay with the entirety of my life, only feigning tolerance. And I was never gonna put up with that long-term.”

I drop my chin to her leg, uncertain of what else to do. She pets me and eventually dozes off with her hands still draped over me.

My skin itches fearfully, the burns Barrett left on me healing so much more slowly than every other injury. I roll my head on my shoulders, trying to pull the skin taut enough to ease the itch. It wakes her up. “Okay, big guy. I'd better sleep if I'm going in tomorrow.” She pats my ribs and slips into the bedroom.

Through the open door, I watch her go through the motions of getting ready for bed. As I'd suspected, her feet follow that worn pattern in the carpet, and her entire body's a conduit for the magic pouring through her. All while she obliviously combs her hair, brushes her teeth, and stretches. It's an accidental work of art, how precisely she moves.

I can't help but bask in gratitude. Out of all the places I could have wound up, I ended up with someone who's capable of protecting me, in her own way. No doubt, once I've evaded the Reapers, no one will be able to track me to her with the strength of her protective shield. She'll be okay, so long as she keeps up the ritual to keep it whole.

She flicks the light out, and the sheets crinkle. I lay in my own little mattress. The warming tingle of her power subsides—a little too much for my liking. She's not skilled at all, is she? The power flared up like a fireball, but it's already dying down to embers. What if it dies further during the night? I should be able to feel it from in here. If I can't, how am I supposed to know it's still strong enough to cloak me?

Lashing out against my better instincts, I make my way cautiously into the bedroom and lay on the floor near her. The increased tingle of the power in the air is reassuring already. She shifts when she hears me. “You okay, big guy? You can come on up.” She pats the mattress beside her. “C'mon…”

Grudgingly, I obey, not really wanting to pick the fight by ignoring her. She needs to think I'm a dumb animal. I curl up at her feet on the soft bed, reassured to be near the center of her protective power.

“There you go,” she murmurs and pets me again, curling around herself to be closer to me. Her lashes drift shut, and her breathing evens out.

I lay awake most of the night, calmer, feeling safer but thoroughly unnerved by the woman wrapping her arms around me and burying her face in my fur. I'm not cut out to be a house pet, and there's no telling whether the soporific effect of her magic might have other consequences, like dulling my reflexes or slowing my thoughts.

Still, it's comforting. Her body heat, her soft breathing, and her aroma—they all combine into a whole that makes me lethargic and content. I'm not in a hurry to leave. Not at all.

And maybe that's the problem.

8

Alisa

I sleep in and leave Ballad napping in the bed when I can't procrastinate on waking up any longer. I've gotta run to the bank, and then there's lunch with Lesley, one of my sugar daddies, before it's time to come back and get ready for work.

It's nice having someone to come home to. I've never really been the domestic type, so pets, live-in partners, all of that seemed like stuff for some hazy future that I never really wanted to contemplate. But having Ballad around, having a reason not to get drunk at work, go home with Rory to sleep it off, and deal with it all later—it's a pleasant sense of responsibility.

It's not that academia isn't fun and all, just that I don't really want all the student loans weighing on me. And half the work felt like make-work, rather than honest labor. Sometimes this does, too, talking to lonely men and making them smile, dancing in cute clothes…but at least I don't have to pretend to take myself seriously when I do it.

With my hair pulled back and a thin layer of makeup on, I look ready to face the world. And just in time—Lesley's not known to be patient. I throw on a well-tailored sundress and heels and hurry the few blocks to the bistro he usually meets me at.

Lesley looks up at me when I arrive, a marginally disapproving yet relieved look in his eyes. “Good. I was worrying about what kept you.”

“I meant to call, but figured it would only slow me down. I just got a dog, and I'm adjusting—”

He grins. “What breed? I didn't know you wanted a puppy. I'd have gotten you one from my sister; she breeds the most beautiful Lhasa Apsos…”

“I didn't know I wanted a dog, either.” I squeeze his hand. “He's a stray. I'm just holding on to him until I've found him a safe home.”

“Oh.” He smiles, paternally. “That's what I love about you. Don't ever lose that optimism.”

He reaches into his wallet and pulls out several bills. It's definitely more than the usual. He slips it across the table to me. “Buy something nice for him. From me.”

I grin and nod. That'll definitely pay for the stuff I already bought Ballad and some of what's probably gonna be a dramatically increased meat budget if he keeps insisting on eating my food and ignoring everything I put in his bowl.

“So he's not microchipped, then?”

I pale. “Shit, I didn't even think about that. I put up signs and such, but he seemed like he didn't need medical treatment, so it never occurred to me.”

Lesley pats my hand again. “You better get on that then, short stuff.”

“Yeah. I'll take him in tomorrow. Maybe wait a day or two so he's on his feet steadier. He's still really lethargic.”

He looks at me and raises an eyebrow. “I, uh, took him in after a friend hit him with his car,” I explain. “He's a big beast, though. Seemed a little dazed, and that's it. He's been fine.” I duck my head sheepishly. The whole story sounds silly, put like that. And Lesley loves to do that mentor thing anyway. He doesn't actually want me to be able to keep up when he goes on a political tangent. He likes the idea that my life is just messy enough for there to be shit he can come in and fix. He likes the idea that, though he may be insignificant everywhere else, with me, he can be strong and worth listening to. He wants someone to say “thank you” without it sounding like an aggrieved attempt to placate him or positive reinforcement.

He shakes his head. “God, the way you live, short stuff. You make me feel old.”

I smile and cock an eyebrow, not entirely sure how to take that.

“In a good way, I mean.”

I shrug and pout a little. He strokes my cheek but pulls away before I might tell him to stop. There's not any physical contact in our arrangement, beyond flirting or handholding. Maybe, eventually, he'll want that to change, and I'll think it through—he's not a bad sort, and sort of handsome in a silver fox kind of way—but for the moment, it's just something to keep an eye on.

“I promise. I've got it in hand.” I smile at him as brightly as I can.

“Good. That reminds me—when I was in Paris last time, I bought something for you.”

I move my plate out of the way before I reach for the box he's offering. It's probably clothes or something, which I never say no to. I've only got a little time before I need to get ready for work, but I don't dare let Lesley catch on that I'm in a rush.

9

Reza

Time stretches on interminably while she's gone. Did Barrett hunt her down despite her limited protection? Or is it a more mundane threat? Is she okay?

To ease my mind, I comb over her home while I wait. Family albums: her in the arms of people who look nothing like her. Outside of my canine form, I can see the rich colors that shade her, her flushed cheeks, even skin, chocolate hair. Scattered around the apartment are a handful of framed images of her with other women, including the striking brown woman who was here the other day. They're in skimpy, two-piece outfits, short skirts and bandeau tops, or bikinis. It looks like there's a party happening behind them.

Her cheeks are flushed and glossed with sweat. There's a pink mark on one sharp cheekbone where her friend must have just kissed her in a previous attempt at nailing that selfie.

It's so strange being in her space.

In a box in her closet, there's a collection of papers. A birth certificate for Alisa Reynolds and a name change petition proclaiming her new last name as Swanson. Reason: adoption.

I return to the family album and manage to peg a change. Around age five, the people holding her disappear and are replaced with two new women. The other articles explain it: New DUI laws in committee after two people killed in collision with drunk driver. Apparently, her birth parents, Angela and Larry Reynolds, died in that crash, and Alisa was injured. The other driver had repeated convictions for DUI and public intoxication, some involving narcotics, and had been skipping out on the drug tests that were a part of his parole.

Beneath the articles, a handwritten letter on aged stationary:

Alisa, we're so happy to have you staying with us. Your parents were far too special for anyone to replace them, but I hope you'll consider us family, too. They'll be smiling on you from heaven, and I'll take as many pictures of you as I can so that when I beat you there, I can get them all caught up on the amazing woman you're gonna grow up to be. Your mom was my family when I needed it, and I'm honored to be your family, too. I miss them. Almost as much as you do, probably. And I'm here for you.

Much love,

Reba (and Annie)

It's uncomfortable reading such personal stuff. I put the papers back and replace the box. The note didn't even reveal how she came to know the magic she's plying. Not that it would, but it's the most personal thing here that might have given me a clue.

There's a thump on the doorstep, and I tense, torn between adding some more wolflike weapons and playing meek. Then, her voice comes through the door with a giggly lilt. “Shit.”

I reach for the dog, becoming Ballad as she again opens the door. Another friend is with her, a pretty blond woman who's obviously less tanked than she is. Her friend props her up on the walk to the couch and sets her down before walking to the kitchen to start throwing together tea.

Alisa hardly notices, she's so entranced in the story she was telling. “What kind of creep buys these—” she waves her heels, nearly knocking a lamp down. “I mean, I can see buying them for a frenemy, but for someone you like? Who does that?”

“Someone who has no fucking clue that, with a heel that tall, you need to have at least size nine, size ten feet before the slope won't be a hobbling device? What kind of idiot leaves the house in them? I thought you were going to keel over like a rotted tree.”

She laughs. “What? I thought, he knows my size. Surely it'll be fine, and he'll just smile to know I remembered he gave them to me. Did I really look that bad? I thought I had the brave face on—”

“With the help of lots of liquor. Lots. Do you want me to stay over, make sure you don't pass out in your own vomit or something?” The other woman hands a mug of tea to Alisa.

“Ugh. No. You know I've got that thing…” Alisa trails off, resting her head against the couch and taking several gulps of tea. She must have burned her tongue from the way her nose wrinkles.

“Yeah, yeah. That thing where you don't do roommates, and you kick every bedmate out before you'll shut your eyes.”

“It's just weird. In the dark, you hear a noise, breathing, and it could be anything. How can anyone sleep like that?”

“So you're afraid of the dark, then?” the woman teases, sweeping her hair behind her ears.

“No, not the dark. Just the things in the dark.” Alisa puts the cup down and begins pacing. Her steps are uneven, but still, she's tracing out the same shape as on her bedroom carpet.

“Will you sit down? You're making me sick. Why do you do that?”

“I don't know. My mom told me to when I was young. Said I'd feel better if I did it when I was scared. It works. It's habit when I can't sit still.”

“What're you even worrying about, anyway? You said you'd gotten help with the dog, and it wasn't gonna cut into your rent money, so—”

“I don't even know. The past few days, I've just had this…I don't know…this feeling of being watched. I visit the store and it seems like there's always someone standing next to me. I know it's just paranoia, but…”

Paranoia, or an incubus who can tell I've been with her, even if he can't tell where or how. I've got to warn her. Just as soon as her friend leaves.

“You want one of my Xanax? It might do you some good.” The woman rummages in her purse until Alisa clumsily shoves her hands out of the way. “Suit yourself. Anyway, I've gotta take off…if you're sure you're fine.”

Alisa nods and downs the rest of her tea. “I'm a big girl. I've got it. Thanks for the ride home.”

“Thanks for buying the booze tonight. Catch ya soon. The Hump Day thing, right? You're on the schedule for that?”

“Mmm.” Alisa nods, already wilting. She lays on the couch, not even bothering to go to the bedroom.

“Okay. See ya then.”

The woman leaves, giving me my chance.

I drop my attempts to keep canine form, straightening as a man as the fur melts back into my skin and my bones condense into more natural human shapes. The air tickles my newly-hairless skin, still somewhat chilly from having the front door opened and closed so much. Alisa's eyes widen as her gaze lands on me. “Holy shit. I'm drunk,” she chuckles, turning her face away.

“Hey. Hey. We need to talk,” I say, but she doesn't seem interested in looking at me again.

I can't let myself get caught up staring at her, finally face-to-face with every vibrant color that's come to life. Even the dullness of her sweet fragrance, compared to my canine nose, seems to reveal new nuances as the smells blend into one vague, though pleasant, whole.

She mumbles and rolls over, putting her back to me. I shake her shoulder, and her eyes travel up my chest, making me realize it's bare. But they're half lidded. With her protection spell replenished, she must be feeling some relief. Or the spell tired her out. I won't be able to talk to her tonight. Her eyelids sag lower, and her cheeks redden, a silly grin on her face. At least she's aware of that. Still won't respond to any questions, though.

I sigh and pick her up. The air's cold against my furless skin, and she's entirely too light in my arms. I put her in bed and return to the front room to lay down. In the morning, I'll come clean. In the morning, I'll tell her she's not paranoid—she needs to run. Sometime when she'll be less inclined to ogle herself into a coma. You'd think the woman had never seen a penis before.

I put my head in my hands, wondering if she's out of it enough to notice me steeping the teabag in her mug for another cup. I want the warmth, want something to pass the time. Tea sounds heavenly. Her markings flicker, the spell's strength straining to cover two fully-grown people, not just one and a dog. Reluctantly, I sink back into the dog's mind and body and try to shut my eyes.

I'm half asleep when a soft cry disturbs me. Fearing something's wrong, I nose my way into the bedroom. Alisa's right where I left her, but her skirt's riding high, and her hand is between her legs.

Oh.

For a moment, I lose my form and hurriedly blink to clear the image out of my head. The sight of her rosebud pink lips parted with arousal, her neatly trimmed curls brushing against her fingertips. The swell of her breasts, her nipples taut peaks despite the fabric of her dress, her chest heaving with her urgent gasps. But being canine again makes it worse, as I have just enough of my humanity to crave the smell of her cream and strong enough senses to almost be able to taste it.

Her eyes are fixed on me. Did she see me flicker?

She snaps her fingers and points to the door, her meaning plain. I leave, shaking my head to clear it away. But when her soft gasps and muted cries resume, I'm lost. I can't keep my changed form in mind, not when every bit of me demands that I storm back in there, gather her in my arms, and kiss her until she listens to me, drunkenness be damned. God, even as a man, I can still smell her arousal, the heady smell of sex. I sink onto her couch, head in hands.

Maybe the dog's rubbing off on me…to have dragged me so far from my senses. I barely know anything about the woman, except that she's got a good heart, a creative mind, and a luscious body. I shouldn't crave her with this intensity. I don't dare let myself, not knowing the likelihood that they will target her for harboring me.

If she'll flee, maybe I should steer her to the Well. Maybe I should protect her in deed as well as word. But if she's unaware of her family's magical background, I'd be dragging her into a wider, worse world. One where she'd be solidly over her head.

The hours pass by slowly with my bleak thoughts until she finally nudges the door open and stumbles to the bathroom. She doesn't even notice me on the couch, and if I'm here when she gets out, it's gonna be terribly frightening. I force myself to remember the air against my lolling tongue and the smells and grays of dogdom. My body sinks back into that of her dog. The water runs for a while, and there's the smell of mint—she must be brushing her teeth. When she's done, she kneels in front of me and pats my head. I open my eyes warily.

“Sorry about that, big guy. It's just weird, y'know? Not the least because the moment you try humping someone's leg, your fun parts are gone. It just seems a little cruel.”

Like hell. I can't resist a whuff at the idea of her castrating me like so many pet owners do. She smiles and ruffles the fur on my head. “Wanna go back to bed? It feels like a mouse died and rotted in my head.”

I follow her into the bedroom and lay at her feet. Same as last time, she twists in bed until her arms are around me. She washed her hands, but I can still smell her scent on her fingers, honeyed and tangy.

At some point, the musky tones erode my ability to grasp the canine mind. My limbs lengthen and lose their fur, and large swaths of her skin rub against mine, bare and soft. I doze off with that womanly scent still gripping me.

I should be ashamed to steal these moments, but there's a feeling of rightness to it that jars me. I put my hand over hers, tangling her fingers with mine.

Alisa, you're not gonna die because of me. I promise.

10

Alisa

Warmth surrounds me, not just the soft canine stink I'm rapidly growing accustomed to, but something more masculine, more appealing. My arms are wrapped around someone with corded muscles. Since there's no way Riley would have let me bring home a stranger last night, not as tanked as I was to survive the heels from hell—how the hell did I have the idea that liquor would help that?—I must still be dreaming. Half asleep.

Yeah. Now I remember. A strange, naked man looming over me, his mannerisms comfortable and his voice a protective rumble. I'm still dreaming that he's beside me.

I bury my face between his shoulder blades and smile. I love a good sex dream. Every nerve in my body sings—I touched myself last night and saw him above me. He didn't join in. I woke to Ballad staring at me and my hand between my legs. Not exactly a proud moment. I might have to start shutting the bedroom door at night to get some privacy. Either that or develop a new love for shower masturbation since I doubt he'd follow me in there. I've never known a dog without an aversion to baths.

Anyway, I must have drifted off again, my mind not deterred from the fantasy in my arms. But if this a lustful dream, why is his breathing so deep? Why isn't he gathering me into his arms, guiding me on top of him?

Whatever. Dreams have no logic. None. It's still pleasant.

I shut my eyes and memorize his scent, a soft note that might be rainwater buried among masculine spices and…something that smells like my own shampoo?

Shit. I'm too drunk for this fuckery. I count my breaths and let the dream proceed at its own pace. And eventually, I open my eyes anew—to the real world this time. I wake up feeling like someone's hammering the inside of my skull. My feet ache as though they've been run over.

Ballad's in bed with me, his chin draped over my chest and his ribs and stomach exposed to the air. His skull is surprisingly heavy. No wonder I dreamed of something firm pressing against my chest. I rub his stomach and ease out from under him. He doesn't wake, though his tail wags halfheartedly.

I've gotta run to the bank and deposit last night's tips. I don't like having this much money on hand. It just seems like an invitation for someone to come rob me.

While I wait in line, my eyes slitted with my hangover, I try to piece together everything that happened after Riley left. I don't even remember walking to bed. I didn't even drink that much—but I've apparently got the tolerance of a kid half my age. Remind me not to do that again.

I remember the strange man, the way I held him. The burns on his shoulder, and strange ridges where his neck meets his collarbone, as though something was pushing against the skin. Somehow, it just felt natural. I don't think I've had many dreams where I'm actually at home; they're usually more fantastical than that. Still, “not many” doesn't mean none.

Maybe dumping Evan is getting to me more than I thought. Maybe I did push him away because I'm afraid of the dark, like Riley said.

Maybe that's why my pleasant dream is having a hunk like the mystery man in bed with me, in my arms, but not doing anything that might posit him as ally or foe. Maybe there's more eroticism for me in a blank slate than in a full-fledged person. That's a bleak and sobering thought.

I shake my head and shove several bundles of money forward, paper-clipped into twenty-dollar bundles. The teller knows the deal by now. He nods and works quietly. No doubt he doesn't trust himself not to ask where I'm working so he can come watch me later. I wish I could take it to the ATM to deposit, but I don't think the machine could handle two hundred dollars in singles, at least, not without pissing off every person in line behind me waiting to withdraw some pocket money.

What did the man even look like? I felt him more than saw him. I couldn't tell what color his eyes were. His hair was sandy, and he had a square jaw and deep-set eyes. But other than that, I couldn't say. His face was in shadow.

Ugh. I'm never going to drink that much again. Never.

The teller slides the receipt across to me, and I fight to get my mind back on the day-to-day tasks that keep my life running smoothly. I've got better shit to do than pretend a weird dream means anything.

11

Reza

I wake up alone. Damnit. She's already gone for the day, and I haven't yet been able to talk to her. Her smell lingers on my skin, whatever form I wear.

Maybe it's for the better. If I were to appear before her now, no doubt she'd get the wrong idea and try to call the police. She'd never listen. Maybe I need to insinuate myself into her life as someone she'll listen to a different way.

There's a handful of men's clothes in her closet, remnants of Evan's; they smell like him. I throw on a pair of jeans and a shirt and step onto her porch. I can still feel the protective barrier, though it's weak. Hopefully, she won't notice that I'm barefoot and have none of the other trappings of her society, like a wallet or phone.

A little, beat-up car parks across the street, and she steps out, the sun dappling reddish tones into her hair subtly. She looks up at me, surprised to see someone so close to home.

I take a gamble. “Hi, miss? We spoke last night. You told me to come by today—”

“About the dog?” she asks, taking a stab of her own. She bites her lip, recognizing that she was drunk enough that she might have given her address to a stranger. Or at least, she can't rule it out. She doesn't look happy with that realization. “He's yours?” she finally continues, her face falling.

“Yeah. One of the boards in my fence was rotten. You've seen him?”

“One? I'd have thought he'd have to knock out three or something. C'mon inside then,” she says, hurrying to open the door. I think it's as much an excuse to look away and hide her emotion as a real desire to not leave me waiting.

But something else pricks in her eyes under her uncertainty: recognition. Shit.

“Do I know you?”

Just say it. Just open your mouth and say “Yes. You've been providing me a place to stay for a few days, and I believe you might be hurt for your kindness. You see, that dog is a demon who can take several animal forms, but who is predominantly a man. And there's a demonic war brewing, and other demons hunting him…”

Like she'd ever believe that. I open and shut my mouth but can't quite find a place to start. Especially not once she leads me into her front room, where the stripper pole gleams bright.

“No? I know it was a stupid idea. Guess you've just got one of those faces. I'm sorry—I'm blanking on your name.”

“Reza.” Her eyes trace my face, taking in my odd-colored eyes and birthmarks. One of her eyebrows cocks slightly, and a half smile pulls at the corner of her mouth.

“I'm Alisa. And yeah. I found the beastie. What the hell happened? His shoulder was all torn up.”

“Maybe it happened when he was digging out of the fence?”

She shrugs. “What's his name?”

I can't think of how to answer that. I need to ease her in, but questions like that will just become awkward down the road.

She shrugs. “Never mind. It's not really any of my business. I've just been calling him Ballad or The Big Guy.” Every time she says it, the words roll off like a compliment. Hearing her name me with that affection warms me clear through.

“Where is he?” she asks, bemused. “I'm so sorry. I must have left the back door open. The yard's fenced, but it's a decorative one, not a privacy or security fence. He must've wiggled out.” Her eyebrows knit together—maybe she perceives that she's let the dog down by allowing him to escape. “Is he usually that fidgety? Does he usually take off like that?”

I shrug and give her the most winning grin I can. “He's a rambler, I guess.”

Her brows lower further. “Have you thought about having him fixed?”

That again. “If I can't handle him with his manhood intact, I don't deserve to be the one handling him, do I?”

She bites her lip, plainly taking offense. “I don't know much about dogs, Reza, but I've heard that it calms them down. And if he's running like this, it's probably boredom. My yard's not huge, but he also hasn't spent a lot of time outside since he hasn't been feeling well.” She hesitates, steeling her courage. “What's your excuse?” she finishes tartly.

“Easy, sugar. Not side-eying the care you've taken of him.” I glance at the toys. “You seem like a good samaritan.”

She rubs her temples as though her head aches. Her instincts warning her of something? I automatically reach out to sweep her hair back gently and take over massaging her face. It might not be an appropriate social grace, but it's gratifying that she lets me. “Are you okay? Has everything been okay over here? Anything…weird…going on?” I brace myself for the bit that's gonna sound strange. “Anyone weird?”

She rolls her eyes. “No more than normal. I just—I live hecticly. And with what I do, I spend a lot of time watching my back. It's just me being stressed. Happens this time every year.”

“Why's that? What do you do?”

She ignores both questions. “So you're from Mulberry neighborhood? I'm assuming that, based on where I found the Big Guy.”

I shrug, not knowing how to answer. She takes it for unfriendliness. Her eyes flick to the clock. “I'm sorry, really, but I've got to get ready for work. I have your number to call you when he turns up. Or do you want me to help you look for him now? I've got a half hour or so, if I skip showering…”

Her fingers are sketching a shape on the arm of her couch—that same protective pattern. I take her hand, and automatically, she keeps sketching it on my palm. Her eyes widen and her shoulders pull back; I might be on the edge of getting slapped. I can't make myself care, though, not with her magic roaring through me. It feels like being doused in hot water after spending the night outside during the winter. My skin goes to pins and needles with the power. She finishes the design and prepares to start again, but I enfold her fingers in mine. Her hand feels so small, so fragile. I've got to find a way to make her see.

Her eyes dart to mine, intrigued but frightened. She's still biting her damn lip. And that erodes the last of my inhibitions. I direct her face up, just enough to ease my mouth over hers. She gasps into my mouth, and her fingers tremble in mine. I kiss her slowly, tenderly, needing to know she feels as safe as I can make her. “Thanks for taking care of”—I start but have to correct myself halfway through—“him.”

She blinks and pulls back, her lips flushed and parted and her breath coming fast. It arouses every predatory instinct I have. I'm not the only one feeling that raw magnetism. If she only knew I'd seen her work that pole, heard her breathless moans as she stroked her clit in fast circles…

I lose myself in the moment, only to come crashing back to earth. She stands, plainly intending to show me to the door. “My pleasure, Reza. And thanks for not being a dick about the pole.”

She smiles, and I smile back, and in that moment, giddy with the force of her influence, I'm hers. The collar in my pocket isn't a shackle, but a bridge.

12

Alisa

I show the handsome stranger out. He seems the type to want to stay as long as he can. Perhaps he's just antisocial and bad at taking hints. Perhaps he saw the pole and figured I'd be a pushover and he'd have my legs wrapped around his waist in another five minutes. Or perhaps he's just lonely, and I'm the first friendly person he's spoken to in fuck knows how long. Not really my business to ask. But I can't miss work, and no matter how I might play it off, I am anxious about Ballad's disappearance.

Sure, some of it might be embarrassment—Reza is, well, unorthodox-looking, not conventionally handsome, but he makes up for that in this raw…power. Or masculinity. He walks with an easy confidence and machismo, smiles with undeniable charisma… I'd guess he's a genetic chimera from his disparately-colored eyes and the distinctive birthmarks, but to see him in action, you'd never believe any woman could turn him down. He doesn't carry himself like a man who surely must have been picked on for his strange appearance.

Everyone says people look like their pets, right? He looks like Ballad, I think to myself then snort. Maybe that's how they found each other. He looked at the litter of puppies, picked up that one, and said “I like the cut of his jib”, while stroking the edge of one of those mirror-image birthmarks.

A flight of giggles overtakes me. What the hell is wrong with me?

More importantly, why the hell did I let him kiss me?

See, I've been around the block a few times. I may not be a stripper or a whore, but in most people's eyes, I'm basically there. A sugar baby, a gold digger, a slutty dancer, maybe even a homewrecker—fairly few of my benefactors actually volunteer their living situation, and I never felt it was my place to ask, or that they would answer honestly. Most men, the more they learn about me, the less they want to. Either they cut their losses and run, or they become hypersexual. After all, if my whole existence is defined by my sexual availability, surely that means I'm available for them, too.

The nice boy you go on several dates with and only kiss a few times suddenly tells you all the things he wants to do to your ass, mid-date. The grad student who previously complimented your ability to keep up with him intellectually and enjoyed your spirited debates suddenly decides you're an “airhead” and not smart enough to do something with yourself. He makes mean-spirited jokes and then tries to get you to blow him in his car when he takes you home. The shy boy opens his mouth more and more to voice a steady stream of deprecating comments about how you should take the whole check, since money just falls into your lap without you even having to work for it. The laid-back man who complained about all the other women who wanted something serious turns the flirtation on overdrive, post-revelation, convinces you that because it's casual, you two are on the same page, and then—whether or not you come to an agreement to sleep with each other—never calls you again.

I still keep myself in the running, because I don't want all my interactions to be transactions. But I also don't hold my breath. And I've learned to pay attention to the red flags. I've got my whole life to find someone who wants to see all of me, and I'm in no rush to put myself in a bad situation.

My black mood costs me dearly. I do end up skipping the shower and driving around looking for Ballad. But I can't find him. Eventually, I run home for my work bag and throw on makeup as quickly as I can manage it. I may not need to buy Ballad's food for much longer, but I've still gotta bring in some money. I'm not gonna call out of a shift because some stranger rattled me.

I always knew his owner coming back was a possibility. I shouldn't be this attached to the dog. But as I go through the motions of prancing around and pushing other people's party moods higher, all I can do is hope he'll be there on the back step when I get home.

13

Reza

Her mark glows on my hand to my enhanced sight. Unwittingly, she gave me the best gift she could: the opportunity to get away. Before it fades, I could go to Eren undetected.

But most certainly the story of how I got there would circulate—no way the other guests in the Well would fail to notice her sigil, and they're a hotbed of gossip on an uneventful day. They would inadvertently cue the Reapers in on how they can find her. The Reapers take losing their quarry personally and tend to hold tight to grudges.

If I go back now, I'll drag scrutiny and hellfire onto her. Maybe even get her killed.

I need to persuade her to come with me. I need her here, where I can protect her.

I can't risk something happening to her. My conscience couldn't bear it.

I pace on her doorstep well into the night. One of her neighbors gives me the stink-eye. The moment his back is turned, I drop back into the canine form. No one else notices I'm not staked outside.

The hunger is just getting bad when Alisa pulls into the parking spot in front of her house. She looks exhausted, and instinctively, I put my paws on her shoulder to sniff her face. Has she been drinking again? She nearly buckles under my weight and picks up my paws to put them back on the ground. “Couldn't stay away, could you?” She ruffles my ears and heaves a sigh of relief. “Someone was here today looking for you, big guy. Can you smell him on me?”

She smiles, and there's something a little wistful and hungry in it. The strange attraction I felt face-to-face with her…she felt it, too.

She hooks her fingers in my collar as she gropes in her purse for her keys. But I'm pressing forward, almost pulling her off her feet. We can go, now. Together. She can be safe. If I can just get her to the gate.

She tugs hard on my collar, killing my momentum. The key's in her hand, and the door's open. She strains to haul me inside, and because I don't have it in me to truly fight, lest I hurt her, she manages to get me over the threshold. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she asks, a little out of breath and more than a little confused.

I could change, try to convince her. But if I did, she probably wouldn't believe me. I'll come back tomorrow as myself and try talking to her again, when she's not in shock at me appearing, naked, in her home as she would be if I showed her the transformation now.

She wraps her arms around me, planting her ass on her front room's floor. She buries her face in my neck, and it takes a moment for me to realize she's crying. Tormented by indecision, I freeze. Finally, she lets me go. “Now that you're back, I'll give Reza a call in the morning. Tell him he can pick you up.”

Her fingers are digging into her forearm; she doesn't like that idea in the least. Because she disliked me—human me—or because she doesn't want to let me go? It's touching. But she seems too worn-down to deal with it, sweeping imperiously toward her bedroom, leaving her work bag on the floor.

I follow her to bed, wishing I could truly offer her comfort. I never meant to hurt her, never meant to endanger her. She drapes an arm over me and murmurs, “You're going home.”

I never thought I'd be less happy to hear those words.

The moment she's fallen asleep, I let myself fall into my true form and put my hands over hers. She feels so small, so fragile against my back. Unable to bear it, I roll toward her and rest her head on my shoulder. She burrows into me with cute, little nuzzles. She fits in my arms like she belongs there.

I don't know what the hell I should do. I've already said fuck self-preservation; the mark she left me is far too weak for me to attempt the journey now. Maybe I should stay here with her, as Ballad. Take my true shape to tell her she can keep the dog; he'll probably be happier with her.

And then never reveal that shape to her again. Let the demons' wars continue without me. Find a way to pass a message to Eren so he knows I'm safe, but trust him to figure things out himself; he's always been the far more resourceful, though less book-smart, brother.

It's the coward's way out, and I doubt it even would satisfy me. No. What would satisfy me is tasting Alisa's lips again, being able to touch her skin with actual fingers and know she's watching me and letting me.

I'm allowing my feelings for her to get in the way. Better to let the protectiveness carry the day. I'll get her—and myself—to safety. Only then can I consider the position I've put us in. Only then can I try to make her see the big picture and pray that she accepts me as I am—Eren, too. And the Well. That place isn't for the easily frightened.

I don't want to see her innocence and optimism tarnished. I don't want to see her suffer for what was supposed to be a kind deed.

I don't know that we're friends. I don't think I know who she is. I don't think there's anything to my fascination with her other than lust inspired by our close confines and entirely too much intimacy I haven't earned with her. I don't dare address the attraction, lest I have to tell myself how shallow it truly is.

14

Alisa

I can't find Reza's number in my phone, which seems a little weird. How could I not have it? How did he find me in the first place, if he didn't call the number on the flier? I guess he'll drop by to check in or something. Or find me at work, since I apparently had him meet me there the first time. It makes no sense that I don't have his number.

Yeah. Definitely not drinking that much again. Too many weird pieces to pick up afterward. What the fuck was I thinking? I go through the morning's motions on autopilot, letting Ballad out while I get dressed to run errands, then throwing a cup of tea in the microwave.

At least, until I go to let Ballad in and find him gone. “Shit. What the fuck, big guy?”

I wince as a knock sounds on the door. Please let it be a neighbor coming to tell me he wrecked their tulips. “Coming,” I yell.

Reza's on the doorstep.

“I swear to hell, I was looking for your phone number. You must be cursed or something, because the beast was just here—”

He cuts me off with a kiss. It steals my breath, and if I was a little less stressed, it'd melt my panties, too. “Whoa, whoa, dude.” I plant my hands on his chest to force him back. “We've gotta talk about your boundary issues. The dog's better trained than you are.”

He grins lopsidedly. “Listen, Alisa… I know how this is gonna sound, but you're in danger. I need you to come with me.”

I laugh. “He's not really your dog, is he?”

“He's—” He struggles for words.

“You're just fucking with me. You saw a drunk girl and decided to mess with her. You're not here for your dog. So why the fuck are you?”

“Please, just hear me out. I'm in danger. And you're in danger, too, so long as the dog's around.”

“Excuse me? You're fucking insane. Lord, why do I always find the crazy ones? Get the hell away from me.”

“Lis, please, just listen. The dog isn't what you think. And they're gonna come looking. You've gotta run. Go into hiding.”

I can't contain the chuckles. “I think you're confusing my life for the story of That Darn Cat. Do you even know how delusional you sound?”

“You have no idea what they're capable of. Even your magic won't—”

The chuckles morph to an open guffaw. “I'm two seconds away from calling the cops, Harry Potter. You're cute, but I don't go for the crazy ones. I've got enough crazy myself. Get the fuck out of here. Put your address down, and I'll bring the dog by later. If he is your dog.”

“Alisa, please—”

I cringe and go for my purse and the container of pepper spray tucked in the side pouch. “I'm serious. Unless you want me to set your eyes on fire, you better get the hell out. And next time I see you, I'm filing a restraining order. On that note, what's your full name? And your address, for whoever serves you that paperwork?”

He reaches for me, his fingers caressing my cheek. “You're stubborn, I'll give you that.”

“No. Don't touch me. You're honestly kind of scaring me right now. I'm laughing, but it's not a 'ha ha you're a clown’, laugh, it's a 'if I take my eyes off you, will you club me over the head and chain me in your closet?’ laugh. You don't want to hear a woman laugh like that. I don't know what the hell you're selling, but I'm not buying. Go.”

I raise my hand, the pepper spray clutched tight. Our eyes meet for a heated moment, both of us torn between laughing and anger at the ludicrousness of the situation. What does he think is so weird about it? He's the one acting like he's on a bad trip.

He glares at me, then reaches for a paper on the island. How the fuck did he know I kept a pad there? I don't remember him taking stock of the place last time. Has he been stalking me? Maybe he broke in and turned the dog loose last time just to have the excuse to come back.

No. I have to be overreacting.

He scrawls an address down. “Fine. Go here. Bring the dog. I promise, it'll all make sense. It'll—”

“You're talking crazy again, buddy. Get the hell out.”

His eyes meet mine, fierce and wild, as though he might throw me over his shoulder and refuse to put me down until he'd said his piece. I back up a step. “Now. Please, thank you, and it's been nice knowing you.”

“Please, Alisa, I don't want you to get hurt—”

“Right now, the only one hurting me is you, Reza. You're scaring me. You're refusing to leave my home.” I'm not as scared as I'm saying, but I've found that men who're convinced they're always in the right are particularly vulnerable to someone playing the feminine weakness card. “You're scaring me.”

There's a challenge and an apology in his eyes. I don't know whether to interpret it as him apologizing for something he's about to do while recognizing that I'm pushing him into it, or what.

He glances away and turns toward the door. “Stay safe, Alisa.”

“You, too. See a shrink, okay?”

The door falls shut behind him, and I rub my eyes. I'm already well on my way to a headache. What the hell was that?

Paws scratch at the back door, and I turn toward it in a haze. Ballad's there. “There you are, you scoundrel,” I mutter, opening the door so he can get in.

Fuck. My hands are shaking. “Your owner's a real asshole.”

I tap the address he wrote down into my phone; it's in the middle of the woods about two hours away. And that's not creepy at all. He's obviously luring me somewhere he can hurt me in privacy. No doubt about it, Ballad's not even his. He's just an opportunistic stalker. And I played right into his hands.

Damn shame, that. My lips are still tingling from his kiss, despite the ugliness that came after. Why're the cute ones always bat-shit? And I don't want to sound like an asshole; my best friends are fucking crazy. The world is fucking crazy. Crazy isn't bad, except when it's existence is enabled with no other perspectives.

And Reza…he's something special. Did he really think I'd just drop my life and run away because some weirdo said I had a cursed dog, or whatever the hell he was implying?

I play with Ballad's ears, taking comfort in his softness and his attentive eyes. For not having had a dog very long, I'm already getting to love it. Who needs a boyfriend when you can bury your face in a dog's side? Err, aside from the obvious, naughty stuff. Still, the companionship is nice. It's grounding, when I'm dealing with explosive creepers and clingy clients.

“Guess you're stuck with me awhile,” I tell Ballad. “Though we've gotta figure out how to keep you from running away.”

He looks at me with sad eyes.

“I know, I know. But we don't want you to get hit by a car again. And you seem to have shit luck.”

I twiddle my fingers on his back, tracing patterns into his fur. He's a beautiful animal, and truth be told, I'm relieved that I caught on to Reza's game before I gave him back. “What're we gonna do with you, big guy?”

15

Reza

My back blazes with Alisa's power. Somehow, her fingers found their way to shape two sigils in my fur: one for healing and the other for protection. I feel better than I have in weeks, my body coursing with adrenaline and a limitless impression of invincibility. I should run. I've given her the gate's address; whether or not she comes is up to her. I'm in the best shape I'm likely to be to evade anyone the Reapers have watching the gate.

But she's not gonna heed my warning. I knew it when we stared each other down across her pepper spray. I knew it even before she confirmed it afterward. She's a smart woman accustomed to taking care of herself with a healthy dose of skepticism and courage. She faced me down without any hesitation, and even her ploy that I was scaring her was well done. I should wish she was just a little easier to push around, but it's much more intriguing imagining what she might do if someone other than me was the target of her ire.

I don't dare wait for her to come around, especially since she'll probably call the police next time I turn up. I don't have a mouthpiece to convince her. My only choice is to leave her as well-prepared as I can. I can put off my escape for a day or two to put my plans in order.

She's given me the opportunity to help her and a window in which to do it. The marks are stronger now, feeding off each other. I should have a good forty-eight hours before it's weakened too much for me to escape notice on my trip to the gate. My skin itches as though charged with the worst static possible.

She picks up her purse and plants a kiss on my forehead. “See you later, big guy.”

Two seconds after her car's pulled out of the driveway, I nudge her door open, shift back into the dog, and leave on my own rambling mission, a backpack looped into my harness.

I don't dare trust the spell enough to risk changing to my own body, and I have no money, besides. But the park near her house yields fruit in the form of several indigenous herbs I can use to create a sort of holy water substitute. It'll be weaker, but it'll give her time to get away if I can treat bullets with it.

Several times in my meandering, I have to shift to a smaller dog's body to get through a doggy door, but by the time I've robbed every house in a four-block radius, I've managed to get her a handgun and ammo and a variety of knives.

Feeling well satisfied with the day's work, I return home, slipping inside to mash the herbs into a paste and put my own power into it to bind the mess together. I roll the bullets in it and put them in a Ziplock to let it set. The longer it stays that way, the stronger it'll be.

I don't know how long she'll be gone, and I don't want to risk coming back while she's here. It's better to not risk the trek to any of the local reagent vendors for stronger ingredients. It's a start. If I just get them somewhere she'll find them…

I apply the paste to the blades, too. I would put it on her kitchen knives, just in case, but I don't know human biology well enough to know if the mixture is poisonous, and she might accidentally get sick from it.

Her key clicks in the lock, and I shove the whole mess into the drawer below her oven. I've only managed to get it closed and myself back into a canine form when she steps in, obviously in a foul temper.

She collapses onto the couch, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was glaring at me. “You know how bad things come in threes? I think weird ones do, too. God, what I'd give for things to go back to normal.”

What happened? Did she notice a Reaper? Are they closing in on me? I sniff her hand as though I'll be able to smell a stalker on it, but that's a fool's errand. Incubi don't have any more substance than they shape themselves. No odor, oftentimes not even anything real enough to touch.

A tear leaks from the corner of her eye, and I butt her face with my nose, attempting to get close enough to lick it away. Some of it's instinct, but the rest of it is guilt over upsetting her so much. I'll watch over her, just for the night. And then I'll leave a note letting her know where the gun is and trust that she's as strong, as resourceful, as she seems. That she'll be okay.

She pats my head and rises, pacing that same pattern into the floor as she gets ready for bed. I follow her automatically, her stresses becoming mine. When she lies down, I'm right there beside her.

She'll be okay on her own. The Reapers who may be circling her will see their mark's moved elsewhere and leave her be. I have to believe she'll be fine. If any harm comes to her because she tried to do me a favor…

She buries her face in my fur, her breath a damp heat against my skin. She strokes me long into the night, long past when her breathing's evened out and she's obviously well on her way toward dreamland.

When she's out cold, I let myself take my natural form. All of the distress at how today went down comes back, and my arm tightens around her. She feels so small against me, so fragile. Not the firecracker who threatened to neuter me.

The soft rise and fall of her chest against mine lulls me to sleep. And that's where the trouble starts.

16

Reza

Alisa sits near me, legs splayed. Her hand's between them, two fingers inside her and her sex blocked from view by the back of her hand. She meets my gaze squarely, her knuckles soaked in her cream and catching the light as her fingers work in herself. Her sensuous lips part, her eyes dark with need. She moans.

I need her. I crawl between her legs, her thighs falling to the side under my weight, and her head tipping up toward mine as she charts my motions. “Reza, you beast.” She laughs, a sound that's half cutting, half wanton moan.

My fingers curl to a fist in her hair, cradling her chin at the perfect angle for me to claim her lips. She kisses me harshly, her tongue warring with mine, demanding my very breath. God, her assault releases a primal part of me, the alpha dog used to being in charge. I bite her lip and pull back, using my grip on her hair to prevent her from following.

Her hand rests on mine, her fingers cool. “How about doggy style?” she asks, a wicked grin playing across her face.

Her words go straight to my cock but only inflame my mind. She's taunting me. She's not saying it to be sexy. She's saying she knows what I am. The truth is in her eyes.

Alisa's eyes go dark, not with need, but with the true face of the being wearing her appearance. Black irises, black whites. She blinks, raising an eyebrow. She knows she's in control. And why wouldn't she be? She's an incubus, a demon accustomed to seducing people in dreams. This is her home turf, and this whole dream is entirely to flush me out, to let me know that the Reapers know who my host is.

Claustrophobic energy overtakes me. I need to wake up, need to wake Alisa. Need to get her the hell out of here. But the creature worming its fingers through my psyche isn't about to let me go. I can hardly breathe, hardly move. She's sapping energy from me, draining me all but dry to keep me there.

She knows I know. “You want to watch her die, Reza?” Not-Alisa's busy hand's pace picks up, and she moans lustily. “Oh, the things we could do, your girl and I…”

I try to move my hands, try to back away, but I can't do anything. I can't even support my own weight. I tumble forward, her thigh breaking my fall. With my chin resting on it, I'm all but face-deep in her pussy. Yet another annoyance and violation to add to the pile.

Wait. That's it. She's an incubus. Or succubus, since I don't actually know who's in there. It might be Barrett, or it might be a woman I've never met. I'd rather not ask. But the connection binding her here, binding my strength to her, is in my reaction to Alisa's sexuality, expressed through Not-Alisa. So long as she has that hold, so long as I'm preoccupied with the erotic sight of her pleasuring herself, I'll be in this creature's thrall.

There's things I want from Alisa that this illusion can never give me. The casual intimacy of her holding my furry body as she sleeps. The protective impulse that turns even her motions into magic. The way she stumbles and laughs when she's drunk. The way she refuses to tolerate any callousness, cutting out every person who fails to live up to her standards for human decency. The way she can switch between strutting confidently in heels to cleaning a giant dog's injuries. All the things that make her her, none of which are visible in the creature holding sway over me.

I steel every bit of strength in me to seize the creature's hand, stilling its motions. With each centimeter I pry its hand away from itself, my strength returns. It stares at me, dumbfounded, then licks its lips. “You want to play rough, Reza? You want me to struggle?” It grins wickedly, leaning its weight back until my knee is between its legs and it's all but grinding against my thigh. My strength begins to fail.

I focus on the deficiencies to break the illusion. The air is sterile, devoid of Alisa's honeyed scent. The creature moans like Alisa, sure, but I doubt it could imitate Alisa's timid titter or intoxicated chuckle.

The creature's losing its facade, revealing something faceless and malevolent but unrecognizable. The dreamland around us flickers. It's losing its power.

I direct my focus toward controlling the landscape, putting my own will into it. The ground reaches up to seize Not-Alisa, and it curses. Its eyes fade to Alisa's brown, and it cries out in a disturbing facsimile of her voice. Still, I refuse to let up. It's not Alisa.

The vulnerable look drops off its face. “Dogfucker, if you think this changes anything… The Hounds are baying, Reza. And tonight, they come for you.”

“Right,” I tell her and reach out to break her neck.

Snap.

I open my eyes. The creature in my dream won't be hurt too much; the incubi can't be killed by such mundane means as a broken spine, especially in dreams. But I'm awake and free. Perhaps her mission was to hold me prisoner until others could come to collect me, or perhaps it was simply to rattle me. Either way, my own mission is clear.

They know who Alisa is. They'll hurt her to get at me. I have to get her out of here. And if she won't come willingly, she'll have to come as my prisoner.

I untangle my limbs from Alisa's as she sleeps peacefully. Perhaps there's an incubus in her dream, keeping her docile. What face would it take for her? I can't worry too much if that's true; it just makes it more imperative to restrain her, just in case the creature tries possessing her.

I can't find any actual rope or handcuffs; I think I'd be heartily embarrassed if I had. Not even any duct tape or zip ties. The best I can do is a silken scarf. I gather her hands as she sleeps and wind it around her wrists. I'm just finishing the knots when her eyes flutter open. They widen, and she screams as she sees me kneeling over her.

I lean down, covering her mouth. “Shh, shhh. Lis. Let me explain.”

She rears her bound hands and punches me in the balls, flushing mightily when she realizes I'm naked. Her eyes well with tears, but her struggles cease. I uncover her mouth. “Please don't rape me,” she gasps out, her chest heaving.

“What? No—no. I'm not gonna…no.”

Even the thought hurts more than her punch did. And she's right; it looks awful, me kneeling above her, naked, uninvited. “Hang on. I'll throw some clothes on.”

The moment I turn my back, she screams again. I seize the first item of clothing that comes to hand and ball it up to shove into her mouth. “Stop that. Just let me explain.”

“Reza? Please, you don't have to do this, you don't—” Her words peter off as I shove the gag in place. I aim right for the back of the closet where the rest of Evan's clothes are stored. Once I've at least got a pair of jeans on, I return to her. This is gonna take some explaining.

“Alisa, listen. You deserve to know what's going on. Ballad isn't my dog. He's me. I'm an ancient demon, and I'm being hunted by other demons.” She interrupts me with a scream. Shit—I always forget how squeamish humans are about demons. In their eyes, we're the source of all evil. “Not like that. Just an ancient being a helluva lot older and different from you.”

She struggles and kicks out at me as best she can. I dodge it easily. “I'm on your side, woman. I'm not gonna hurt you.”

She raises her hands, tears in her eyes. A mute then untie me. I wish I could obey the plea, but I can't. Not until I know she won't run away. I try to explain. “They're gonna come after you. They haven't caught you yet because you have a magical birthright and have been able to protect the both of us. But it won't hold now that they know what they're looking for. I have to get you—get us—to safety.”

She's shaking her head in denial. Shaking from head to toe. It's enough to make my heart bleed.

“I'm serious. You have no idea the world that's looking for us. You have no idea the danger we're in.”

She shakes her head again, and I do the only thing I can think of, letting go of the many emotions her tears inspire in me to focus on the canine protective streak. Though they've only been together a short time, Ballad would die for her. The air stirs my fur.

She screams again, though it's stifled by the gag. I shove my wet nose against her neck, trying to comfort her as best I can. She thrashes, trying to roll herself away from me. That wounds me enough to make me lose my form. Once again, I'm me, and once again, I'm naked. I grab the pants again, dragging them up.

She faints.

I tie her feet up, too, just for good measure. I'm sure the moment she wakes up, she'll try to run. She probably would have already if I hadn't positioned myself between her and the door automatically.

I dress her as best I can, picking out a halter dress I can get on her without fucking with the restraints. It's unnatural moving her limp limbs. She makes me feel like a monster.

Even if I get her to safety, we'll never talk. I've effectively lost all of the stuff in her that I enjoyed, that made me want to protect her. But that's the cost of honor. At least she'll be safe, where I can guard her, even if it's from as close to afar as I can get in the Well's limited confines. And who knows? Maybe we'll rediscover her family, and she'll choose to stay with them, if any are left. Maybe she'll be more okay with them watching over her than me.

I dig out the weapons I'd stashed and make a happy discovery: duct tape. Wedged between the cabinet and the fridge for no reason I can guess. I shove it into the bag I'm gathering, to be on the safe side.

And then comes the knock at the door. Reflexively, my mind sinks into the dog, and a familiar stench makes me recoil—a dead body. A true Reaper, a corpse-rider, not one of Morena's Hounds.

“Little pig, little pig…” the horror trills through the door.

Shit.

17

Alisa

Reza comes running, a knife in his hands. He's gonna fucking kill me. I start to struggle, though it's fruitless unless I can get my hands free. Instead, he cuts the scarfs binding my hands and feet. The moment they separate, I'm shoving him away, and he's knocking my hands aside easily. Christ, that man is strong. “Run. Go to the address I gave you.”

He tears the gag out of my mouth. “What?” I gasp and lash out at him, struggling to put some distance between us. There's only a few feet farther I can crawl on the bed, but I'm out of arm's reach.

“If you stay here, you'll die. I'll try to lead him away. I'll buy you some time.”

“What the fuck is going—”

The door crashes open. “Little pig,” whoever's at the door calls, his voice eerily tuneless. A smell rolls over me, thick and rotten. I gag, a wave of fear taking me under.

“Go,” Reza roars and shoos me toward my bedroom window. He shoves a bag toward me, keeping the blade he already had for himself. I peer inside: more knives and a gun. Why the hell did he bring those here? They certainly aren't mine. My hands start shaking.

“I won't get far without my keys. No one's gonna answer the door to let me in—”

“I'll distract him. Get your keys and run,” he says, putting his back to me.

I creep out behind him as he walks into my living room. My keys are on the counter. But between me and them is… I don't even know what it is.

Rotten flesh and dead eyes, still sentient. Not the braindead torpor of a zombie movie, but the fierce intellect of an apex predator. I want to quote Men In Black at it, except that I think there's something a lot worse under that formerly human skin than a giant beetle. Romero never imagined this kind of life after death.

“Duck,” Reza yells as something comes flying toward my head. I throw myself forward, seizing the keys and ducking below the counter. A knife thuds into my bedroom door where my head just was.

My hands tremble enough that I almost lose my grip on Reza's weapons. I steel myself to take the gun. I don't know fuckall about loading it, but it can't be that hard, right? I slide a few bullets into the chambers, and pray I've gotten it right. Reza yells in pain—I don't have much time.

I straighten and take aim. I'm not braced for the pistol's kick, and it throws me off-balance, crumpling backward into the cabinet behind me.

The creature howls, my bullet in its chest, but it doesn't drop. It claws at it, as though I'd doused the wound in poison ivy. But that's it. It starts toward me, milky eyes glowing with anger, and Reza throws himself on its back. “Go,” he yells, and the last of my courage is gone. I take off, running for the front door and the scant distance to my car.

Their yells follow me, and it's several tries before I can slide the key into the lock. Even once I'm in the driver's seat, it's several more tries before the key sinks into the ignition properly. But, finally, I pull away, tires screeching. All along the street, there's beings made of shadow approaching, their faces like some listless half recollection of what human features should look like. What the hell, what the hell, what the hell, what the hell…

I drive past them, tears stinging my eyes, the world utterly alien.

18

Reza

The Reaper grimaces, his wounds obviously bothering him. Alisa was clever, I'll give her that. Unpracticed with the gun, but brave and smart. I punch the Reaper in the chest wound, digging my fingers in as deep as I can. He roars with pain.

“Just sit tight, Reza. Others are coming. They'll get your pretty friend soon enough.”

“Fat chance, plant food.”

The Reaper yells, and someone else answers. Its words are broken and garbled, and I flinch when I see it in the doorway.

Abriel. The incubus who brought me to Morena's attention, begging me to spy for them, pass on information about the demons who filtered through the Well. Only it's not Abriel. It has his eyes, but its flesh is formed awkwardly on its bones, an elementary mistake that could be forgiven in a freshly reborn incubus, but not one a being hundreds of years old would make.

Another figure steps up behind not-Abriel. It has Abriel's distinctive cheekbones, complete with the scar he always insisted on wearing. But everything else is wrong; its eyes are the wrong shade, its skin, too. Really, sunshine yellow is the closest descriptive that comes to mind for the inhuman tint.

What the fuck?

The first not-Abriel laughs, repeating whatever garbled thing he'd said before. Both the Reaper and I narrow our eyes, not comprehending it.

What the ever-loving fuck?

The Reaper glances at the doorway, at the creatures lingering in it. There might be more out there for all I know, but if there are, they won't be shoving past these two. That defeats the point of numbers. Apparently, he's not happy with his calculation, because he seizes my arm and hurls me through Alisa's front window. Glass shatters around me, and I yelp as I hit the cement walkway outside.

There's at least seven or eight more of the not-Abriels in her driveway. No one Abriel is right, but each seems to get at least one of his features down the way only Abriel could. I search their faces for someone familiar, but strangers stare back at me. I've never seen anything like it. What the hell happened to him? Abriel's taken a change for the terrifying.

I can't fight this many of them. I'm out-gunned. Especially if they take the time to seize Alisa's cutlery. The Reaper's on his way out through the same window he threw me through, dodging a blast of some kind of liquid thrown by one of the creatures in the doorway. Smoke pours through the window as something catches fire. I'm not sure what the fluid is, but it may as well be liquid fire for how quickly the flames are spreading through Alisa's home.

I take off running, my mind racing too fast to so much as change my form.

19

Alisa

My guilt gets the better of me before I've hit the freeway. I pull a U-turn and drive back home. I'm having a nervous breakdown, but that's okay. I'll go back home and realize things are normal. I've daydreamed the whole thing.

Only my front window is a burned wreckage, and there's at least one half-human creature stumbling around on my lawn. The others are up the block, and I hit the gas. I plow through them, though the sickening lurch under the wheels brings tears to my eyes. What the fuck am I even doing?

I'm gaining ground on another figure: Reza. The brakes squeal as I slam on them hard. I pop the doors. “Get in,” I shriek, and he throws himself into the backseat.

“Thanks.” His voice is breathless, almost feral.

I sob as I accelerate again, getting us the fuck out of dodge. I don't know what I'll do then. I'm living in the moment, rather than considering the full implications of what I think just happened.

“Do you believe me now?” he asks.

“This isn't happening. This isn't happening—” I make the words my new mantra. If I say them often enough, I'll believe them, and I'll open my eyes, safe in my bed with Ballad curled near me.

He shakes his head, the motion only visible in my rearview mirror. My hands are trembling wildly, and I can hardly keep the wheel steady. It's all but impossible to pull a deep breath into my lungs. There's spots in my vision from the lack of air. I pull to the side of the road to rest my face against the wheel and sob.

“We don't have much time before they catch up. Let me drive if you want, but we've gotta keep moving,” Reza says, tapping my shoulder. I swat his hand away angrily. This nightmare is all his fault. When he fails to get a response, he gets out of the car, opens the driver's door, and shoves me until I scoot into the passenger seat. “I told you; we aren't safe.”

This is an exceptionally vivid hallucination. I've been drugged. There's no other explanation, short of total psychotic episode. I've got to get away from him to sober up before he doses me again.

He's adjusting the seat, making himself good and comfy. And while his gaze is averted, I throw the door open and run. With any luck, he'll be more interested in keeping the car than pursuing me.

20

Reza

Shit. Alisa's no match for me on foot, but it's precious time I'd rather not waste chasing her. Still, I owe her doubly after her timely hit-and-run. I slam the emergency brake down and take off after her.

There's enough trees and scrub to obscure her. Just to be on the safe side, I shift to someone better suited to tracking. In my favorite dire wolf's skin, her trail stands out. I barely take a moment to untangle myself from the clothes caught awkwardly in my lupine limbs.

Her smell is intoxicating; the wolf would be at her heels even if I wasn't demanding it.

I run her down mercilessly, reminding myself at the last second to change back so I can restrain her, rather than ripping her throat out as the wolf's instinct demands. Every moment of irritation at her stubbornness, every bit of insolence seems a grave insult to my bestial self—one I shouldn't have to bear. We crash to the ground in a flurry of limbs and hair. “Please,” I beg her, hating how things between us have taken a turn for the violent. I don't want to be her captor; I want to have her back.

She shrieks. “Help, help, I'm being kidnapped—”

“Shit.”

I wrap my arms around her and drag her back to the car. The duct tape is in the bag in the backseat. I use my weight to keep her down while I go for it, wrapping her hands tight and then putting a piece over her mouth.

Her eyes are bright with anger and humiliation, and she doesn't stop trying to scream at me. I can't distinguish the words, but they clearly aren't pleasant. Probably curses, knowing her. I hold the back of her head and touch my forehead to hers. “I really am sorry. You'll come around.”

When I retreat and finish shoving her into the backseat, she flips me the bird with her bound hands. I climb back into the driver's seat and hit the road. “I'm sorry.”

This shouldn't be the way to show gratitude. She's saved me twice now, protected me, fed me. And I've made her my prisoner. I know my reasons, but she doesn't. “Please believe me,” I ask again. “This is for your own safety. You're so fucking brave—braver than any human woman I've known. You'll get through this. You might not forgive me, but you'll get through this.”

She lets out a muffled yell, probably a “fuck you”. I sigh, my heart heavy. I never wanted it to be like this.

“The Reapers seem to have some new weapons. So we've gotta be gone, like, yesterday. I have no idea what the hell they did to Abriel. He'd never have helped the Reapers willingly, and there didn't seem anything of him in there. I've never seen anything like it.”

I have no idea what the next noise she makes means, but I take it for encouragement to continue. “I'm scared, Lis. One, two enemies? I can take 'em down. A pack like that? Maybe I just need my pack. I need to get us back to the Well. Get Eren to shut everything up tight.”

I find her eyes in the rearview mirror. She's glaring, crying, and obviously not listening to a word I'm saying. Either that, or they're hitting her hard. Maybe she's looking to me for confidence.

“It'll be okay, Lis. We'll be okay. An hour or two's drive, and—”

She writhes in the seat until she's managed to wiggle herself onto her back, then onto her other side. The message is plain. She doesn't want me to think, even for a second, that I can whitewash this.

I sigh and bring my eyes back to the road.

21

Alisa

I have to escape. I don't think I'm high anymore, but I'm certainly a hostage. Who knows what Reza will do to me once we've reached his suitably isolated location? I saw the weapons in that bag.

I only have one way I can think of to do it. I have to run, but if I try, he'll chase me down again. Instead, I squirm and make enough noise that he finally pulls the tape off my mouth. “I have to pee,” I say, trying hard to make it convincing.

He blanches and then blushes. I have to bite back a laugh at that. “There's no gas stations nearby. And besides—the more people around, the more likely another Reaper can attack us.” He sounds convincing, for a madman.

The car slows to a stop, and he gets out, opening the door. He hesitates, looking at me. “Do you promise not to run? Or do I have to help with your clothes?”

I shudder at the thought of him watching me pee. And if he tries, I'll never be able to get any kind of start. “I'll behave.”

“Good.”

I yelp as he tears the tape off my wrists and ankles, and sit up, shakily. “Don't look. Let a girl have some kind of feminine mystique.”

“Like I want to watch,” he says. “Remember. You promised.”

He gives me a hand out of the car. Even that physical contact is an unwelcome distraction, sending my blood roaring through my veins. Why do I always fall for the crazy ones? Maybe that's why I prefer my patrons, since even when they're crazy, I have some kind of distance.

I walk until he calls after me, “That's far enough.”

I squat down as though getting ready to pee, but instead start crawling. In the tall grass, he won't see me easily. And when I have some distance, I can run again. The ground digs into my bare knees, gravel biting into tender flesh, and I can't prevent myself from a wince and a gasp. “Alisa?” he yells, and I know the jig is up. I straighten and run again, toward what looks like it might be a roof in the distance.

The air's cold in my lungs, and a pang develops in my side. Apparently, I'm not as in-shape as I'd have hoped. Still, I keep running. I have to get away from the fucking naked psycho who woke me up, who held me captive in my own car. I still have no fucking clue what happened to his clothes. They were just gone when I ran last time. That he's still naked doesn't make me feel any better about the odds of this shaking out in my favor. Though it might help call the police's attention to him, if he drives by a speed trap…no. It's a long shot, and I don't dare get my hopes up.

The grass behind me whispers—there's something following me. Him, no doubt. I have to outrun him. I have to. No doubt he'll never give me another chance to get away. I have to—

Weight crashes into me, knocking me off my feet and waking the bruises from the last time he did that. My breath escapes my lungs before the thud of the impact's faded. I shiver, feeling soft fur against my shoulders rather than human skin. Reza's not on top of me; I'm staring into the mismatched eyes of a giant wolf. Its nostrils flare, all but touching my face. A second later, I'm wondering if I'm going insane. The wolf is gone, and the tickle of fur against my skin with it. I'm staring into Reza's hooded eyes, trembling in fear of his aggressive focus.

All of it, the mounting terror, the anxiety of being stalked by someone I thought was the decent sort barely a few days ago…it's too much. I sob underneath him, the tears mixing with the dirt on my cheeks. “What do you want from me?”

Thankfully human fingers stroke my hair. “I want you to be safe.”

“You're the one holding me prisoner. I was safe.”

“When are you gonna believe me, Lis? I never wanted any of this. It's not what you think—”

I bury my face in my arm, still trapped underneath him. His fingers tangle in my hair, and his chest rises and falls against my back with his own gasping breaths. I flatten myself to the ground, trying to avoid feeling the contours of his body against mine. It doesn't go unnoticed.

Reza backs the hell up, though he keeps ahold of my hand. “Watch, Lis. Watch carefully.” His fingers tighten around mine, then the nature of the grip changes as his fingers melt into stubby paws tipped with thick claws. Fur creeps up his arms, over every exposed inch of flesh. His bones push against his skin, and I blink tears back. The dog is there again. And there's no way I'm still drugged now.

Mother of God, what if he's telling the truth? What if all that bullshit about demons and reapers is all real?

I've fucking gone over the deep end. I don't know what to believe.

I cover my eyes and let the tears overtake me.

22

Reza

“We'll be safe if we can make it to the Well. I promise, you won't have to so much as set foot in the same room as me if you don't want to after that.” I look away, hating how she's been avoiding my gaze since I escorted her back. Now she's in the front seat, doing her best to pretend she's alone in the car.

“So what's this…Well…like?” Her eyes narrow, and she burrows her hands deeper into her crossed arms.

“It's home. A consecrated gathering ground. Neutral. The protections around it have teeth; Eren and I have worked hard enough on them.”

“If it's so safe, why are you here?”

“Because I wasn't there when I was attacked. I was getting fresh air.”

“Stupid you,” she says bitterly and bites her lip. I can't blame her.

An engine revving behind us draws my attention. A motorcyclist is pulling up alongside us, with others near him. Something smells off, even to my human nose. Alisa lets out a little cry and screws her eyes shut.

“What's wrong?”

“I think I'm hallucinating. Does he look right to you?”

I take another look at the biker and finally see what she was talking about. Though he's less decayed than the Reaper we fought off, he's obviously another corpse-rider, just one in a fresher body. I veer into the next lane, and he follows a second behind. “Shit. More reapers. Whirlwind, I think.”

“Whirlwind?” she asks, her voice raising.

“Yeah. Mercenaries. Rejected from the official Reapers, usually for insubordination issues. Think they usually roam in a gang. We don't let them into the Well, since they sometimes take bounty hunter gigs. I've never heard of Morena enlisting them, but the way things are going, I imagine the Reapers aren't too happy with her leadership.”

“I think I only got one word in three. Say it again for those of us who live in the real world, and use real words?”

“Look. Just—switch seats with me. Drive. Keep driving, no matter what.”

“Excuse me?”

I try to keep my foot on the pedal and the wheel steady as I wiggle out of my seat. Thankfully, she takes the hint and slides into the driver's seat. I reach into the back for the weapons. Alisa glares at me. “What're you—”

The bike tries to cut her off, force her to slow down. He pulls out a gun, aiming it at her. She stiffens and swears, then changes lanes. Once she's out of his sight, she speeds up again. I need to slow them down, and there's no way I have enough ammo to do it properly.

“No matter what, just drive. You have the address. When you get there…” I grimace. I don't have time to craft an entry charm for her. But it's linked to the sigil for protection—all of the sigils for protection. With my signature and her power… I reach up to my head and yank out a single hair. “Here. Keep this.” She looks at me like I'm crazy, but I wait for her to take it before continuing. “When you get there, eat it. And then walk in that shape you did earlier. It'll recognize you're with me and let you in. Eren'll probably ambush you with questions, but—”

“Eren?”

“My brother. Don't let him push you around.”

“I hardly think there's a danger of that,” she answers dourly. He's probably in for an explosion if he tries.

“You can remember all that?” I ask, dragging my legs under me so I'm crouched on the seat.

She stares at me. “Can you get down? You're hanging brain in front of my face whenever I try to look in the side mirrors.”

“Do you remember all that?” I roll down her window, not daring to waste a second more.

“Yeah, yeah. Eat the hair and walk weird. Bitchslap Eren. Got it.”

“Good.” I take a swig of the makeshift holy water I prepared, swishing it against my teeth so they'll hurt more, and jump. I transform as I go, first into a smaller dog so I can fit through the window, then into Ballad's body in midair.

Her scream echoes behind me, but my jump was true. I land on the first biker's motorcycle, knocking him off-balance. Before he's recovered, I tear as much tissue as I can away from the back of his neck. It'll make it harder for him to wield the body. The foul-tasting poison is already slowly burning my mouth. It's not as devastating on demons as it is on incubi, who the dead-walking reapers are closely related to, but it'll do the trick. As the bike spins out of control, I leap onto the next one. Two other Whirlwind hunters are too slow to avoid the careening bike, and they go down in their own bloody crashes. There's two left.

I tense midair as a gunshot nearly deafens me, but there's no accompanying agony. He missed me. He only has time for the one shot before I land on the next bike. I manage to throw him off his bike before he's figured out what's going on. Before my brain can take over for my canine instincts, I throw myself at the bike next to my victim. I have to trust my agility and reflexes, rather than letting fear make me second-guess myself.

This one's fast and manages to stick a knife into my leg as I land. Then he draws a shotgun, sawed down to a nub, and before I get my balance, he raises it at Alisa. I tear bloodless flesh from his cheek with my teeth while we wrestle for the gun. She turns in time to see it and swerve before he empties the first barrel into the air. I manage to twist his arm away from her. I'm stronger, and I break his arm at the elbow, then the shoulder, but the stubborn bastard won't drop the gun.

Another shot reverberates in the air, and pain blooms in my shoulder. I lose my grip on my body automatically and barely manage to keep ahold of the biker to steady myself. But if my recovery time is bad, his is worse. With the mangled arm, he's still at a disadvantage, and I manage to throw him off his bike before he's figured out how to compensate. The air whips my naked flesh painfully, but I keep his pace, alongside Alisa. The pain is so much worse.

I've got no use for the bike, and I can't protect Alisa as, um, exposed as I am. Even if the rest of the drive goes quietly, someone's going to report me for public indecency or the blood. I aim my trajectory and tense to jump. “Keep it steady,” I yell at Alisa, uncertain whether she'll hear me.

She glances over, and then her eyes widen as I jump.

I land on the hood of the car, and she screams. I have a grip on the frame on either side, and I'm not going anywhere for the moment. But that could change.

“Slow down gradually,” I call, and the engine's revving quiets. When I have a handle on the air whipping me, I pick my moment to crawl across the hood and thread my legs back through the window. I climb inside. “You can speed up again.”

She obeys, her face gray with anxiety and her cheeks wet with tears. “You did well,” I tell her, trying to comfort her. Her cheek's soft under my fingertips as I wipe the tears away, but my fingers leave a red streak across her. It doesn't go unnoticed.

“Shit. We've gotta get you to a hospital.”

“No. We've gotta get to the Well. There'll be more of them along soon enough. Keep driving.”

23

Alisa

My heart's racing like it's about to burst. Away from the violence of a few minutes ago, the situation seems both surreal and nightmarish. There's so much goddamn blood, it seems like Reza's bleeding out in my front seat. And that leap—the man's got a death wish, that's for certain.

I'm being chased by motorcycle-riding zombies with a naked man who jumps out of and onto moving cars. What the fuck happened to my life?

If I ever get out of this, I'm taking a simple nine-to-five job and being grateful that the most interesting thing in my life is the feud with Beth in Accounting.

I loosen my grip on the wheel. There's still more blood streaming down Reza's chest. And I can't even look at his thigh. “You're gonna fucking die if I can't get you to the hospital. You can still die, right? If you're really a demon?” I can't keep the sarcasm out of my voice. I believe that he's…something…far beyond the rational, but I thought demons were The Exorcist and Ghostbusters.

“Yeah, I can still die. But I'll get treated when we get there. We don't dare lose the time—they could already be closing on us again. Plus, hospitals are full of people, and if we stop, there'll be an incubi on us in minutes. And they're a lot harder to kill than me. Not to mention presenting lots of opportunities for reapers.” I'm not sure I believe him, but he fixes me with his eyes. “I'll be fine, Lis.”

I glare at him, gasping for some way to continue the argument. Finally, curiosity wins out. “Does it hurt?” I've never been shot before.

“What the hell kind of stupid question is that? Of course it hurts.”

“Then we should get you to a hospital.”

“Faith, woman. You don't give up, do you? We're not going to a hospital.” He walked right into it. It was a clumsy attempt to get him to see reason, but an attempt, nonetheless.

“Then take the wheel and at least let me try to bandage you.”

“Fine. If it'll make you put it out of your head.”

We trade places, though I end up in his lap at one point in the process, made all the more surreal by his nudity. Maybe I am dreaming this whole thing, or maybe I'm still drugged.

I don't have a first aid kit, but I have paper towels in here. I tear a few off and wet them with an old water bottle. I doubt it's especially sanitary, but it's not like I intend to plug the wound with it, either. There's no way I can reach across him from the front seat, so I climb in back and half stand to wedge myself between his seat and the window.

I wipe away as much blood as I can from around it to get a sense of how fast the new blood flow is coming. I wish I'd gone to nursing school like Annie wanted me to. Maybe then I'd feel less helpless watching a—whatever Reza is to me; a friend?—bleed from a nasty looking gunshot wound.

He winces as I work. It's already starting to close. Perhaps he was right to not be worried about it. Still, it just seems overconfident. Shouldn't he be more concerned? Is it shock? Should I be afraid of him driving if it is shock?

I'm not cut out for this. Not by a long shot.

He glances my way with raised brows, and only then does it hit me that my fingers were moving on top of the paper towel I was holding on the wound. “Sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“You don't know what you just did?”

“Hunh?”

He brings his hand to mine and peels both it and the paper towel away from his skin. I jerk my hand away from him; there's still a subtle electricity that warms my blood at his touch, and it's the last thing I want to be reminded of now. “Keep your hands to yourself—” I start.

“Just look.”

I obey on instinct, though it's hard not to peek at his cock when I do. The wound is all but gone, barely more than a red scar. My knees go out from under me, and the window thumps against my back. Somewhere in that little freak-out, I let out a shriek.

“Shit, Alisa. That was in my ears.”

I collapse into the backseat, in tears. He thinks I did that?

I saw the blood. It's still on my hands. On my face. I didn't imagine his wound. It's still easier to think that I have been hallucinating every time I've seen him become a dog. But I couldn't have made this up. And he thinks it's me.

“No—no. What'd you do? I didn't do shit. There wasn't, I dunno, pixie dust in that water. Just whatever ChapStick I left on the rim—”

“It was your touch, Lis. You've got power in it. And you know the sigils, even if you don't know what they are or how to use them, beyond instinct. You drew one. A powerful one that should have taken years to learn. But you belong in the Well, where you can learn. We can use you.”

“No. I'm going home. When we get you there and things die down—”

“If they die down. I'm gonna keep you safe, Lis. You've saved my life now, multiple times over. I'm gonna return the favor.”

“You held me hostage.”

“Trying to return the favor.” His eyes seek mine out in the rearview, pleading for understanding. “I'm not a bad person—”

To not feel quite so powerless, I climb into the front seat. “No, just the one who wrecked my fucking life.”

He looks away, hurt, and we lapse into awkward silence.

24

Reza

“Do you see that?” I've been trying not to worry her, but there's a car on our tail. He's been there for about ten minutes, but we were close enough to our destination that I'd hoped I might be imagining things.

“The silver SUV? Yeah.”

“Tell me if he changes lanes when I do.”

“You think he's after us, too?”

“It's a possibility. Maybe even a probability. I'm not familiar with the Whirlwind's tactics, but corpse-jackers—incubi reapers—are only good for some kinds of tasks, so they usually don't send them after people on their own.”

“So what now?”

“Drive fast and hope like fuck we can make it out. Oh. And do you still have that gun?”

She sends me a nasty look. “I don't think me and guns mix.”

“Fine. Give it to me. But we may need to buy ourselves time.”

She casts another glance over her shoulder as I change lanes. “Yep, he's still on our ass.”

“Damnit. If he's cutting it that close, it must mean he expects backup. Otherwise, he'd be more careful about being spotted when he's on his lonesome.”

A hoarse gasp escapes her throat. I reach out to take her hand, the noise upsetting me on a primal level. “It'll be fine, Lis. You'll see. We're so close to home. You'll meet the others and see what the world's really like—”

“That's what I'm afraid of.”

“As you should be. But you'll see things no human's ever dreamed. New worlds, creatures your mythology couldn't dream of—”

“All ready to kidnap or kill me.”

That stings. I understand her frustration, but it doesn't make it any easier to not let it raise my hackles. “Among other things.”

Tears are glistening on her cheeks, but just now, comfort wouldn't be welcome. It's infuriating. The woman is stubborn as a fucking mule. I'm just trying to take care of her. But oh, no, she couldn't make it easy—

It's the turnoff. Well, not a turnoff so much as a gap between the trees lining the highway. Ordinarily, I'd pull over and walk, but that's not an option just now. I swerve off the road, and she jerks straight in her seat. “What the fuck—”

“You want to meet that thing on foot? Trust me. No.”

She grits her teeth but doesn't respond. Instead, she clenches the handhold above the car door and clings for dear life.

“We're almost there. On the count of three, get out and run. The entry will open for me, but you need to go through first.”

“What entry? We're in the middle of the goddamn woods.”

“Trust me. You'll know.”

Sensing my presence, the ground around the gate is revealing itself. Around us, glowing patterns cut through the leaves and detritus. She makes an indescribable noise.

“One, two, three—”

I slam on the brakes as she opens her door and throws herself out of the car. She runs toward the center of the pattern in the ground, and as soon as I've yanked the car out of gear, I follow. Our stalker is still riding our ass, and he crashes into the car as soon as I've cleared it.

I raise my hand to the gate, and it calls to me, recognizing its master. It opens wide, and Alisa falls through the hole opening in the ground as it accepts her. I jump in a second later, and demand that it close. The car's driver is still hot on our heels, and I pop off two shots to slow him down. It closes before I can see whether the shots hit. It doesn't matter. We're home.

We land hard on the floor. I stare at the Well's ceiling before turning to see whether Alisa's okay.

Every inch of the Well is familiar, sculpted carefully out of the ether using the power in our Anguis grandfather's bones, the same ones that are implanted into my back to give me access to the rest of his power. From the wood-paneled walls to the Polaroids largely put there as a joke when Eren said it looked like we were recreating a Tom Waits song.

There's the sound of chairs scraping and people walking over the creaky floor to lean over us. Most notably, Eren, my better half. The cunning brother, the one who didn't get a whole contingent of Reapers on his tail. He offers me a hand up, and yanks me hard enough to pop my shoulder. He's all but wagging his nonexistent tail. Shit must have been bad here. “Imogene, some clothes, please. From the room next to mine.”

“Really? You're asking the woman? This better not be a sexist thing. I was just starting to like working here—” The woman speaking is familiar to me in a very vague way. Perhaps I've passed her in the Hub before. She's a powerful-looking little thing with cold eyes and a sarcastic demeanor. Even in the old days, I wouldn't have dared flirt with her. She looks like she'd take a man's head off for glancing at her wrong, despite her alluring features.

“How long's it been?” I ask. Sometimes, time's passage between worlds isn't exactly a one-to-one ratio.

“Seven months. I thought you were dead.”

“I would've been. Maybe even should've. Reapers on my tail, and I had a run-in with the Whirlwind on the way here.”

“I assume that explains the—” he jerks his chin at Alisa, who's moving much slower than me. She still seems to be somewhat stunned, sitting on the floor with her head in her hands.

“Before you say a word, she saved my life. I owe her a blood debt. I couldn't leave her behind. It's not—”

“Not another one of your flings?”

That makes Alisa look up. I wince. “I have fun sometimes, but I'm not—”

“Sure you are. You've always been a goddamn puppy where women were concerned.” He nods at Alisa. “Watch yourself, little one. My brother's a manwhore.”

“Now that's hardly fair—”

“Speak for yourself,” another voice chimes in. I grimace. Abel. Three hundred years ago, I tempted a woman he was working away from him, right out from under his handsome nose. No—he may have been working her, but he cared, too. And it was a stupid thing to do. It was a dare. And she had a sexy laugh. He'd stolen a woman I loved from me not one hundred years earlier, and I wanted payback. Abel must have said something to Eren, since I'd only ever told Eren about the woman he wooed from me, not the woman I stole from him. But neither is anything I want him rubbing Alisa's nose in with her already pissed at me.

“Oh, this is getting good,” she says, her voice an irritable rumble.

The other woman comes back, a pair of jeans and a T-shirt on her arm. “I missed drama?”

Abel's jaw clenches when he looks at her, and he backpedals. “Nope. Nothing, Gene.” I'd put money on it that he's doing his best to avoid rubbing her noise in our earlier quarrel because he'd rather not cause friction with the girlfriend. And if he tamed her, he's a lucky man, and certainly a better one than I gave him credit for. Hearing her name again makes me realize how I know her. She's with the Reapers. A goddamn prodigy, at that. Had she been on my trail from the start, I wouldn't have made it to Alisa's. What's she doing here?

“Reza, you know Abel. And this is Gene, our new security. I had to beef it up with you gone.” Eren laughs at my expression. “Where the hell were you?”

I get dressed as I answer. “Morena threatened me and set one of her bitches on me.” It occurs to me that that's a shitty thing to say in this company. I thought I'd heard Abel joined with the Reapers, too. And I certainly don't need Imogene raking me over the coals. “No offense intended, and present company excluded.”

She grins recklessly. “You're right. We aren't Morena's bitches. Anyone we know?”

“Barrett?”

“Shit. I owe that guy a good kick to the groin.”

I wince. “Sidetracked. At any rate, he followed me, and on my way back to the gate, I was hit by a car. Alisa here rescued me. She has protective magics. I sheltered with her until I was strong enough to make the trip home. By then, they'd found out where I was hiding and knew who she was, so it made sense to drag her along.”

“And when he says drag, he means literally. Kicking and screaming,” Alisa quips but gives me a glare. At least she's getting her feet under her enough to speak for herself.

Once I'm clothed, Eren tugs me close for a hug. He can't decide whether to be pissed or relieved, and that confusion makes him more pleasant than normal. As my mom would say, he got the “miserable prick” from my dad's side of the family: the dragons. Lest I look like I'm bragging, here, she'd also say that I got the “simpering paws-and-tails puppy” from her side—though she'd insist it must be a recessive gene. Mom was always the alpha bitch, to a degree that surprised everyone. It takes a strong personality to bend a dragon demon to your will. And she was ornery as hell, too.

I always loved her for it. She was an outsider, outwitting and bludgeoning others into falling into line as needed when we were still pups getting teased for our unorthodox appearances. Seeing her subvert what people expected of a woman in the pack hierarchy gave us the courage to take pride in our own crossbreed idiosyncrasies. Maybe that's why I enjoy Alisa's no-nonsense sarcasm so much. Or maybe it's just a relief knowing exactly what she thinks about me, not having to focus very hard to guess.

“It's good to have you back,” Eren mutters to me. I can't think of a response; after the events of the last week, I can hardly believe I'm home again.

“Glad to be back,” I finally manage and offer my arm to Alisa. “Let's find you a room.”

25

Alisa

As much as I don't want to make an ass of myself in front of so many new people, I think I'm entitled to a little standoffishness. I have no clue where I am, I was just held hostage—maybe I still am, since it's not like I can go home anytime soon—and the strangers surrounding me obviously aren't human. Two of them, Abel and Gene, look mostly human, except that from some angles, the whites of their eyes turn black as sin. Eren and Reza are obviously twins, but Eren's the wild one, with longer hair, as though he might wolf out at any moment. Maybe it wouldn't unnerve me so much if I wasn't convinced Reza had the exact same wildness in him, just concealed better.

I'm beginning to conclude that I got fucking lucky things played out the way they did. Reza seems reasonable-ish—but I have no clue about the rest of them. It seems to be a busy bar; there were a number of other inhuman silhouettes tucked in the shadows, sitting quietly and watching Reza's reunion. I don't like the idea of these nightmares gossiping about me.

Reza leads me up a flight of stairs to a hallway. When he's found a door near the end of the hall, he stops me. “Put out your hand. Press it against the door. It needs to know you.”

I stare at him with narrowed eyes but obey. The cool wood heats up under my hand, almost burning me, and I yank it away, startled. He puts his hand over mine, closing all but one finger. He tugs my hand up, fingertip pressed to the wood, drawing a straight line. Then, he curves the line into a snail shell spiral, cutting it off after overlapping past a third of the original curve. My finger leaves a glowing trail on the wood, bright enough to sear my vision. I can hardly see the sequence of lines that follows, nor the dots that punctuate it.

“That's your key,” he says. “Draw that to get in. I can remind you if needed.”

The door clicks and opens, leaving my hand still outstretched, joined with Reza's. He edges me forward into the room ahead of him.

I wrinkle my nose and tug my hand away from his. manwhore, his brother had said. I never got that sense from him. At least, not when he wasn't kissing me. Though maybe I should give his kisses more weight in that balance.

My one connection here is probably staring at my ass. That's not a pleasant thought.

I want to turn to glare at him, but I'm far more taken with the view from the windows. The landscape out there isn't really a landscape. Shifting clouds, as though I were floating in the night sky.

He steps into the line of my vision, his eyes on my face. “I love that panorama. It's something, isn't it?”

“Yeah.”

“The bar's been here for generations, but we built this part from scratch.”

I swallow, hard. I can't even see ground for it to be anchored in. This world isn't mine, and yet I'm here. Now what?

The silence stretches longer, and Reza shifts uncomfortably. “I'll get some clothes and such for you. Anything else you need? Food? Books?”

I don't know how to answer. I need to be home. With my friends. In my bed. I need to be safe.

But I'm not. I'm here. With Reza standing just a little too close and my wrists and ankles still sore and sticky from the tape he restrained me with. I turn back to the view, staring intently. It's beautiful, like being in a spaceship furnished like an old-timey dive bar, one that catered to sailors and ruffians. I can't help but chuckle at the decorations.

He notices me staring at an antique-seeming lantern sitting on the nightstand. “Many of our guests are ancient. I update it as I can, but this comforts them. Makes the world feel familiar. And trust me—you have a room full of demons, you don't want them on edge.”

“You've really got…something…here.” I'm struggling, unable to reconcile any of what I know about Reza with everything I've learned about him in the past day.

“So…this is good-bye, then? Or hello-in-passing?” He puts his hand on my shoulder, his fingers draping over the back of my neck as his thumb tilts my chin up toward him.

“Yeah. I guess. Hello-in-passing.”

He sighs and kisses my forehead. “I'm glad you're safe.”

“You, too.” It's the polite thing to say, and I've never been the type to cause unnecessary harm. I'm not gonna say what's on my mind—that I wish he'd never come within fifty feet of me.

I put my back to him so I won't have to consider how strange, how fucked up this all is. His footsteps recede.

I'm alone again, in my new home, at least for the moment.

26

Alisa

I meander back to the bar area. The space feels so empty, so alone. I can't call a friend to hang out, I can't practice my pole dancing, I can't go take in any sights. I don't know where the fuck I am or if there's even any kind of a space to walk in.

I could ask Reza, but I'd rather keep my distance. After all we've been through, my blood hums whenever I see him. It's gotta be anger at him endangering me.

Eren looks up when I approach. His brows knit together, and his lips tighten momentarily. Maybe I should have talked to Reza. “What is there to do around here? Somewhere to go walking?” I can't keep a little of my strain from my voice; Eren and Reza are identical. If it wasn't for the scars on Reza's shoulders from whatever injury he sustained when we met, I wouldn't be able to tell them apart.

He sighs. “Reza didn't give you the full tour?”

“No. He was…in a hurry to get back to things.” It's a little white lie, but I'm not in a terribly talkative mood.

He jerks his chin at Gene and steps out from behind the bar. She walks toward us, likely to take his place. “Come on, then.”

I follow meekly, scrambling to keep up with his long steps.

“Main bar area. Keep your mouth shut, and don't stare at people. Kitchen's back here—” He leads me through a door next to the bar. “You're welcome to help yourself. You're under Reza's wing, so no one will bother you.”

Except that bothers me. “No, I'm not. Under his wing. I've got my pride.”

“Trust me. You're under his wing. At least until you get your feet under you. Otherwise, you're gonna get killed in a minor dispute before the week's out. Mortals don't usually last too long here; you've moved too far from your primal urges to be as aggressive as you need to be. Sometimes, you've gotta throw the first blow, and it's gotta be a knock-'em-out punch. It's dog eat dog.”

I shudder; that seems a little on the nose coming from a man who likely spends quite a bit of time as a dog.

In the back of the kitchen, there's a set of stairs. “You wanted somewhere to walk, it's through here.” The stairway spirals downward into darkness, though I can see far enough my legs ache just looking at it. I'm gasping by the time we get to the bottom.

He opens the door, and I blink. Out here, it looks like a perfectly normal culinary garden. Rows of tomatoes, cucumbers, and some other plants I can't identify, along with herb bushes like lavender and rosemary. It's expansive, with plenty of room to walk.

“This is a pocket world—it only extends as far as we make it. If you want something else, you'll have to talk to Reza about shaping it—or make him an offer to get his attention. He was always better at that shit than me. There's enough work to do maintaining it that you better give him a damn good reason for putting another task on his plate, though.”

It seems polite to take an interest. “So what are you better at?”

“Organizational things. Keeping the place running smoothly and maintained. And cracking skulls. Reza's the architect; I'm just a hard-bitten beast who enjoys keeping the other animals in line.” His voice is a little sarcastic—it's impossible to tell what he thinks of that. “I'm the mouthpiece and the muscle. You don't need to know more than that. Just come to me if Reza's not around and someone's testing you.”

“So he's the reasonable one,” I tease. “Good to know.”

“On that note, stay away from Reza.”

“Excuse me?”

“He's gotta keep his wits about him. And I know him; he falls hard and fast. And he's got his eye on you.”

“Oh, I know that. I was more giving you the chance to back down and think about it logically. He held me hostage. I appreciate that I'm still alive and all, but you're delusional if you think I want to be near someone I have to mistrust that much. I think you underestimate the degree to which your brother is in the doghouse, in my eyes.”

“Good,” he says emphatically. It's unnerving being treated so coldly, since as we walk, it's more and more difficult to remember that I'm not walking with Reza. “Moving on.”

He leads me back inside, away from the garden, and back up the stairs from hell. Through the bar area is the main set of stairs Reza took me up to my room. “You're on the second floor, but if you go up to the third floor, we have the library. Now that Abel's here, he maintains it.” He glances at me. “Abel's got some skill as an e-ink; an incubus with access to manipulating digital information. It's a hobby of his, translating novels from the codes, and creating physical shells for them. If you want something in particular, you might have to make it worth his while. Mainly, he just does a variety.” He grins, cheekily. “Lots of smut, though. You can take an incubus out of the bedroom, but you can't take the bedroom out of the incubus.”

I blush furiously. He leads me through the third floor hall to the first door. He sketches out that same symbol that Reza used on mine. Shit. I am gonna have to remember it.

The room inside is massive; despite the fact that I know there's a ceiling above it, I can't actually see the ceiling. Only the night stars above us. And even though it must be directly above my bedroom, there's stairs down. However this place is laid out, it's not laid out in simply three dimensions. It doesn't make architectural sense.

Reza made this? It's strange considering him to be capable of producing such beauty. I'd thought him at least somewhat of a brawler, solving his problems with fists.

The walls are lined with books, the sort of old-school, leather-bound tomes with gilt edges that no one realistically reads anymore. Wouldn't it be easier for Abel to build paperbacks? I think I'd be terrified about bending a page in one of these.

The more I see of the Well, the more surreal it seems. The sweeping, non-linear architecture, the dizzying heights, the old-world opulence mixed with a mishmash of other things that must've been chosen from other worlds.

These fantastical surroundings bring one thought crashing down on me—there's no place for me here. I don't belong in his carefully laid out world. I shouldn't be sketching magical shapes to open doors or keeping company with shapeshifters and demons.

God, I want to go home.

“That's the gist of it. I've got to get back. Do you want me to walk you to your room, or are you okay on your own from here?” Eren looks absolutely thrilled at the idea of staying with me. I'd rather not antagonize him.

I put on a brave smile. “Yeah. I'm good. Can you show me the unlocking drawing again?”

“Sigil. It's called a sigil.” He walks to the wall and skims through a few shelves before he finds the book he's looking for. He opens it to a specific page and passes it back to me. “It's right there. You shouldn't have any issues learning it.”

“Thanks. I'll practice it. Thanks for your help. And your hospitality.” I can't quite sound sincere, but I have to make the effort to stay on his good side.

He nods, even as he's already walking away. I sit on a plush chair to look at the book he's given me: Basic spellcraft Even A Demon Can Do: A How-To Guide To 100 Simple Spells.

Dorothy, you're not in Kansas anymore.

27

Alisa

About three hours into my reading—the first book long since set to the side in favor of a more advanced tome on obscure regional spells—a sigil makes my eyes widen.

The Mother's Love Ward

Nicknamed such for its most common presentation, carved into cradles or embroidered onto christening dresses, this protective spell originated with an Icelandic coven around the 1800s, specifically the family of the renowned norn laeknir Ársæll. It's a variety not often used, despite its ease of execution, in part due to its limited practical utility. It draws on a connection between the caster and the subject it's intended to protect. The stronger that connection, the stronger the spell. Because of this, it has limited utility commercially and can often be broken, except when done between individuals who are lovers or blood relatives. It can generally protect a home, in its weaker incarnation, however, for maximum efficacy, it must be repeated to keep up its strength. Why expend so much time and energy learning, executing, and maintaining such a spell when you could devote that energy to a more all-purpose protection? However, for those struggling with precision in their spellcraft, particularly kids or those with less articulate hand movements, this spell can be a particularly useful teaching tool.

Despite that, it has fallen into disuse since the clan who pioneered it was wiped out. After all, if it couldn't protect them, what good was it? The knowledge of it was all but eradicated, and particulars of how to execute the ward are not known. Our records of it mainly exist through the discovery of physical goods it was imprinted upon, from children's clothing, to talismans, to illustrations of women with their hair braided to shape it in their coils, in astral worlds known to have been frequented by Ársæll.

And the picture. The little doodle my mom taught me. The one Reza said was a protective ward.

I had no idea about any of this. I thought Reza was lying or misleading me. But he was right. There is some piece of me here, even if I don't know where or how it fits.

Footsteps startle me. I glance up into Reza's mismatched eyes. There's a spark of warmth in them. “You were right,” I concede, pricked by at least a little guilt over disbelieving him. Saying it makes it real, and the loss of equilibrium is almost enough to make me cry.

“Hmm?”

I offer him the book. His fingers brush mine as he accepts it and turns his eyes to the page. I draw my feet up onto the chair and wrap my arms around my knees. He skims the page and passes it back. “I ran into one of Ársæll's great-grandkids when I was young. She had your eyes.”

I shudder. I don't know that I'll ever get used to feeling eternally the baby.

“We were toddlers at the time. I was just beginning to discover how to shift. We were roughhousing. I got startled when her father saw us, and I changed back to human. He thought I was biting her. I wasn't allowed to play with her again.”

I smile tightly, not sure how to respond.

“I'd hoped to apprentice with them to train; I had an interest in spellcraft, even young. Though more from a historical perspective than a practical one. But by the time I had persuaded my mother it wasn't an attempt to abandon the Pack, the clan had made some enemies. They were attacked. I'd thought no one survived the massacre. Apparently, I was wrong.”

“So what'd you do?”

“What?”

“Instead of apprenticing with them.”

“My mom never really let me live it down; she thought it was a sign that non-Pack was unreliable. So I spent a hundred years or so trying to get on her good side and hating every minute of it.”

“What happened then?”

“My grandfather died. Bequeathed his power to me and Eren. And if we hadn't taken pains to learn spellcraft, we could never have used it—it could have even destroyed us without an outlet. We studied under the woman who used to own the Well, a doddering old thing with the nastiest streak I've ever encountered. She had a fear of authority and mainly ran it as a fuck you to some of the leaders of the Hub at the time, who feared that with in-between points like the Hub, it would encourage cross-species allegiances. She didn't even like her customers, but she devoted her life to protecting their discretion and anonymity. When she died and left it to us, we decided to do the same. Pack life, it's just not suited to spellcraft.”

“And your mom didn't mind?”

“She didn't have much choice in the matter; she knew a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Our grandfather's power stretches much further here. The changing nature of the between-worlds where we're situated removes a lot of the constraints. With barely a touch of his power here, I can create worlds, where in other realms, it might only be enough power to light a candle.”

I smile just a little. “Don't get cocky now.”

“It's not cockiness. Just honesty. So long as we're here, we're somewhere all but impenetrable.” He hesitates, warmth and a guarded frustration warring in his face. “I can teach you a few tricks if you want. I don't know your brand of spellcraft, but you can see if other disciplines might work for you.”

I'm not sure that I could stomach working in such close proximity to him. I'd certainly never learn anything. “Maybe.” And there's still a question that haunts me. “You said I protected you. The book says the spell is weak.”

“Except when done to protect an individual one's closely bonded with. That book, the author's a demon who never saw an animal he didn't want to kill and eat. He never considered pets as a possibility. And you brought me into your home, accepted me as your family. Every day I was there, you let me into your heart just a little deeper, and the spell got stronger. Even when I was a man, the power knew I was still the same person you'd brought into your life to love.”

I shudder. “It must be weak now. If I had to try it again. Because we're not family. You're not my pet. And you're not someone I love.” Fuck, that sounded harsh. “You know what I mean,” I try to amend, but the awkwardness still reigns supreme.

Reza glances away. “Yeah. That stands to reason. I'll get out of your hair. Just let me find something to read.”

“It's—it's okay. I'll head out. I was mainly trying to brush up so that I wouldn't be locked out of my room.”

“If that's what you want. Goodnight, Lis.”

He turns away, and I skedaddle as fast as my legs can take me. I learned a lot, both about him and about myself. So why do I feel like shit?

28

Reza

The room seems empty without Alisa. I've gotten used to being in such close quarters with her, and the new space just doesn't sit well with me. That's the problem with canine instincts. And her voice… When she broke down why she'd no longer be able to protect me the way she used to? That was a kick in the stones. Nothing I hadn't known already, but still not a pleasant truth to hear.

Everything is too claustrophobic here. I'm gonna have to create a new floor or something once I've settled in. We're at capacity already, with more clients coming every day. No wonder Eren was shitting bricks. I'm looking forward to the work, both for the extra space and for the distraction. It shouldn't bother me as much as it does—that whatever liking or trust was between me and Alisa is gone.

The door opens again. I look up, a spark in my heart at the thought it might be Alisa coming back to talk some more. But it's Abel. Shit. I doubt the woman in our past meant anything to him, but it certainly would have wounded his pride at the time.

“Nice collection.” I offer an olive branch. And it is a nice collection. Abel's created shells for such a broad variety of books, and it's plain that he loves every one.

“Thanks. Might need more shelf space soon.”

“I'll set that up this week.”

He shuts his eyes and begins working, creating a book out of the raw materials in the air. It doesn't look like much now, just a cloud of sparkling filaments weaving themselves together. But I can feel his raw power as he works. It's honestly pretty relaxing to watch, and I've always enjoyed the way my nerves hum when someone else shapes magic.

Eventually, he opens his eyes. “You're staring. Why?”

“Why're you here?”

“Because I was bored and wanted to take advantage of the relative quiet to get some work done.”

“I mean here. In the Well. You know that.”

His eyes narrow; he was testing me, and now he knows that just because he has Eren's okay to be in our domain doesn't mean he has mine. “Eren needed the help, and I wanted the change. Gene and I were bitten one too many times by unreliable bosses. We wanted to do business our own way, make our own place.”

“So you two are—”

“Yeah. And if you look at her wrong, it's a toss-up which of us will come down harder on you.”

“Don't worry; I don't have eyes for your girl.”

He cocks an eyebrow. Maybe I should confront the elephant in the room. But before I can figure out what to say, he does it himself. “Don't worry about Katerin. It's water under the bridge.”

“No, I was cocky. It was a dare. And she was a sweetheart. I took a good thing away from you.”

“I got someone better. Someone I probably would have overlooked if I'd still been pining for Katerin even a few decades later. Getting that broken heart out of the way fifty years earlier is probably the best thing that ever happened to me. I just—I hope you treated her well. Like you said, she was a sweetheart.”

“She left me. A year after. I wasn't around enough; she thought I was a sailor in those days. So she found someone who was around to pay her the attention she deserved. I met her kids. She had a beautiful family. Lived to a ripe old age.”

“I'm glad.”

“So what're you gonna do when Alisa—”

My heart skips a beat at the sound of her name. “When Alisa what?”

“I just thought…that's gotta be the frightening thing about loving a mortal. One of the incubi got himself a mortal wife and baby, but she has the blood and the birthright. At least his family won't be broken up when her time comes.”

“Alisa and I aren't together. You misread.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Did I?” I hate incubi sometimes, so smug about their insights into romance. But for an instant, my chest tightens. Does he mean Alisa might feel something for me other than betrayal? I want to ask, desperately, but I shouldn't. It's a bad idea to give even that glimmer of hope purchase in my thoughts.

“She's just laying low here. Eventually, she'll go back to her old life, catch up with her old friends, boyfriends, and this'll all just be a strange, dreamy chapter in her life. I'll always owe her a few favors that I don't doubt she'll be too proud to cash in, but there's nothing more than that between us. We've shared some weird shit. That's it.”

He shrugs and goes back to his work. I take my book, ready to walk away. Maybe I'll have a drink with Eren before bed. I've been too rattled to really be inclined to be social, but it's such a pleasure being home, knowing he's safe, too, that together we can weather anything. It's good to be back with my family. It would be good to bullshit with him. Shift and wrestle, just to keep our fighting skills in shape. Plan improvements to the place or just shit-talk the regulars. The Well never really sleeps, and there's no shortage of interesting characters to observe.

“And when are you going to go back to work?” I look back at Abel before realizing the question didn't come from him. Eren's standing on my other side.

“Work?” I ask, not understanding.

“You weren't the only one they tried to hit that day. You seriously haven't noticed more familiar faces haunting this place? It's not because our goulash recipe got better, though you didn't complement the changes I made to our goulash…never mind. It's because we're one of the few places in any of the worlds where people feel safe from Morena and her Reapers, butt-hurt incubi lashing out, or paranoid demons. And not everybody was as lucky as you, either. They eviscerated Jai and then tore him limb from limb when they discovered him harboring a succubus. No one knows what became of the young lady; she hasn't turned up here, either. But there were witnesses. I'm no longer fool enough to believe this is anything but the first salvo in what could very well be a generational war.”

“I didn't know.”

“How could you? You've been mooning over the girl since you got here. Did you even get those wounds properly looked at?”

“One of the witches helped me,” I say, almost sheepishly. I hadn't wanted to track Alisa down to have her finish what she started in her car. Eren knows me well enough to really twist the knife. “And I wasn't mooning.”

“Lie to yourself if you like, but don't presume the rest of us are as naïve.” I think I catch a smirk out of Abel and wish we weren't having this conversation here. “I just… We need you, okay? I can barely run this place on my own, let alone keep the spells up. And I have a feeling our same old defenses won't cut it anymore. We need your head back in the game, not up your own ass or wedged tight in some girl's—”

“I got it,” I put up my hand. “And you're right. I've been too wrapped up when we all need to be pulling in the same direction.” I squeeze his shoulder. Then I grab a book from the shelf behind him. “This should get me started.”

I'll have a nap, first, though. My room is next to Alisa's. No doubt, Eren planned it that way so that I'd be close if anyone got out of hand with her. But it's a blessing and a curse. I'm gonna have to walk by her door and pretend that everything's okay and that it doesn't sting that there's no chance of us even being friends or allies.

Her door's open, and she looks up as I walk past. I pause. “You're gonna want to close that. Not all of the other guests will be inclined to respect your privacy. They might see it as an invitation.”

She grins. “Just let them try.” And she thought I was cocky. “Think violent thoughts, and try to come in.”

“Excuse me?”

“I'm testing a modification of the ward. If you have any ill will toward me, it should stop you in your tracks.”

“Really? How'd you do it?”

“Blended a few different sigils with some of the divination stuff. I have no clue if it'll work.”

“So you left the door open to test. That was stupid. What if it failed?” I step through her doorway to not be talking in the hall. The ward washes over me like warm water. Apparently, the Well amplifies her power, too. That's a little odd; it's written into every stone of this place that only its masters have that privilege. She shouldn't have even been able to cast, aside from general healing and opening charms. Even the unlocking sigils would only work on common-area doors and her bedroom.

It's the hair. The one that I told her to swallow so the gate would consider her connected to me. She must have eaten it, just in case I got held up or died, leaving her to find her way in on her own. Its presence in her has fooled the Well into accepting her as a mistress. That's…good to be aware of. Though I don't issue blood invitations like that as a general practice.

“That's a strong casting.”

“Thanks,” she says, beaming. Apparently, her curiosity's gotten the better of her, and she's excited to explore her powers. It's a good look for her. “You have no ill will toward me. At least, if it's working.”

“Let's test it.”

“How?”

I twist my fingers to shape a window to Eren. The air parts in front of my face, and I talk quickly. “Grab a knife or something and come up here now. We need to kill Alisa.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

The air closes up the window, but the magic in the atmosphere only intensifies. I choke, the air in my lungs on fire. Some unseen force jerks me backward, and then I'm outside her door, able to breathe again. That's a good sign.

Eren comes up the stairs, knife in hand, and sees me. “Why the fuck aren't you doing it yourself? You too soft to kill the deadweight? Regretting adopting her? Is your debt of honor not enough to cover the inconvenience of taking care of a pet?”

I glare at him, wanting to defend her. But I want to know if her ward works. I'll hold him back long enough to explain if it doesn't.

He starts toward the door, not feeling the ward. Eren never had a good nose for that stuff. He bounces off the air in her doorway as though it were cement. “What the fuck—”

He tries again. A grin spreads across Alisa's face, and he looks a little ashamed to know that she heard everything he said.

“It works, Lis.” I call in to her. “Scratch that, Eren. I just needed you to want to hurt her so we could test something. You can drop the knife.”

He glares at me and follows the instruction, setting the knife on a table in the hall.

“So long as you're not gonna try to hurt her, try to go in again.”

He does so, and this time walks through easily. “What was that?”

“A variant on the warding,” she says proudly. “Targeting intent, not just whether you had any weapons on you. It kicked Reza out when he told you to come kill me.”

“You're letting her cast?” Eren asks, his eyes boring holes into me. “Is that a good idea?”

“Letting might be strong. I didn't know at first.”

“Then how?”

I pantomime plucking a hair from my head and swallowing it.

“Ah.”

“But I trust her. And she's new to the craft. It's good for her to practice.” And if she takes Eren's bitch-fit to heart, she might not try again.

“But—”

“Trust me, Eren. Lis is okay. Better than okay. She's not gonna hurt anything.”

He shrugs, glaring at me a little. “Okay. If that's all you needed, your majesty, I've got beers to sling.”

“Sounds good. I'll be down for a drink, later. After I catch a nap.”

He walks away.

Alisa's spell presents a ton of possibilities, all cascading through my mind. “Now, show me exactly how you did that. Show me your hybrid.”

She obeys, the words tumbling over each other in a machine-gun patter. But it all sounds workable. I have some research to do, but if I can put this spell in the gates to the Well, we can weed out unwelcome intruders. Once again, she's found a way to protect me. And the rest of my family too, apparently.

She's happy to be useful, but the smile on her face quickly shifts. “Why was your brother so surprised I could cast? Abel can form books, and you and Eren can build places.” And then she freezes, her face going pale. “God, he'd have done it. He'd have killed me. Because you said he could.”

“Had to. There's a difference.” I should have asked Eren to have someone else test it. I shouldn't have eroded her trust in me bringing her face to face with a potentially ugly demise at our hands.

“We have prohibitions woven into this world, which only allow Eren and I to cast. Abel's restricted to only certain kinds of magic—and even that's more permissive than we are with most of our guests. You can cast because of the hair you swallowed.”

“Oh…” She shudders, feeling suddenly vulnerable again. Her brow furrows. “How long will it last?”

“The hair you swallowed will eventually be dissolved by your stomach acid. That probably happened the first night you were here. But its nutrients will flush from your body, so your casting might get weaker. Odds are, some of the proteins will be with you for a very long time.”

“I'll still be able to cast?”

“Maybe,” I tell her. It isn't something I've ever tested. She draws her legs beneath her, obviously worried. I sigh and pluck another hair from my head.

“Is that wise?” she asks. “I've been reading. Magic is connection. I could hurt you with it.”

“You could. But I don't think you will. I trust you.” I turn to go. “I'm going to get a few reagents. I want to apply your spell to the main gates, and I'd like your help, if that's all right?”

She's preoccupied, still staring at the hair in her palm. “Sure,” she says.

“Let me go get some stuff. I'll be right back.” I smile as I close her door behind me. Once again, Alisa's found a way to keep me and mine safe. I don't know why I'm so surprised.

29

Alisa

When the technical talk dies down, all of Eren's dull antipathy hangs heavy on my shoulders. I slump in my seat on the bed. “What Eren said—is that what's gonna happen? Is that what I am to you? A pet?”

“Don't like the shoe on the other foot?” Of course, he can't help but tease. “Of course not. I want you to feel like you have free reign here. I know I hurt you, and you need space and to know I won't tie you up again.”

My eyes dart toward the doorway for reassurance from the easy glow there. “It works. So you can't tie me up.”

“Well, not unless you wanted me to, and the intention wasn't hostile…” Damnit, he's needling me again. I flush scarlet but can't help laughing.

“It's…I don't know what there is for me here. I don't belong here. I want to go home.”

His mouth tightens. “You can—you aren't a prisoner here. But it isn't safe yet. The Reapers who attacked us, they'll be waiting at your home. They'll have figured out by now that you mean something to me, or I would have left you there. They'll use that, hurt you to try to draw me out.”

“Would that work?” I ask. The question stings, though he tries to hide it.

“I don't know,” he says, but it's a lie I'm not sure even he believes. “But this is your world. The Well's putting its power behind you; that's rare. You could wield true power, shape this haven alongside me—”

His mind's running away with him. “That's not me, though,” I protest.

“Sure it is. Or it could be. Even if you go back, things are gonna be different. You can't be who you were; you can't unsee the things you've seen. So the only question is who you'll become.”

“I don't want to be someone different.” Tears well in my eyes. “I want to be home, getting ready to go dance while other people party. I want to be babysitting my friend's kid and be in my own space.”

Knowing he can't hurt me here gives me the courage to actually talk to him, free from the other baggage. But he doesn't look thrilled at what's coming out. “I want you to be happy, Alisa. You can't be happy if you're not safe.”

“Your brother hates me. He would have killed me.”

“My brother hates everyone. He always has. He's an old man's soul in a young whippersnapper's body. It's nothing personal. He'll like you well enough once you've stuck around a little, and he's seen that you can contribute. We grew up within a pack; everyone pulls their weight. But this ward you're playing with, that's a big contribution. Once we integrate it into our defenses, he won't say a fucking word against you.”

Reza sits next to me on the bed. I tense, despite myself. His arms so close remind me of the last time he tackled me to the ground. My bruised body still hurts. He flinches. For a moment, my stomach knots with guilt. I don't like that that wounds him, but we both know that he earned it. Then a little smile creeps onto his lips, and he starts to become Ballad. I've never seen it in good light, at least, not when I was calm enough to understand what I was seeing, and it's odd watching his clothes slump to the floor as his legs get shorter. He puts his head in my lap. I let him. I don't fucking know why, but I let him. Maybe I just don't have it in me to be mad at him anymore.

I want something familiar, something comforting. Something that makes sense.

I fall asleep with my face buried in his fur, and I dream we're back home in my bed, that the rest of this was an elaborate nightmare. In the dream, I wake and get him some food. I take him for a walk, mentally thumbing through my calendar to make room for my regulars. I never would have thought something so normal could seem so ludicrous.

A few hours later, I wake to Reza's taut stomach flexing subtly under me. He's trying to slide back into his pants. “Sorry,” he whispers. “I didn't want you to have to wake to this.”

“It's okay,” I yawn, sitting up. He buttons his pants shut, and I see why he was in such a hurry to hide away from me. He pretends not to notice. It all reminds me of that night I came home drunk and saw him, the real him, standing over me, how he carried me to my bed. I wanted to touch him then, have my way with him, but the booze haze made me move so slowly I was in bed and asleep before I could. And I thought I was dreaming, so I didn't try too hard.

“I was thinking,” he says, “maybe we could use lemon and sea salt to juice your spell.”

“Aren't those for dream protection?” I ask, hardly paying attention to anything but the subtle tensing of the muscles in his chest as he bends over for his shirt.

“Technically. But this place is almost more like a dream than where you come from. And some of those we most want to keep out can travel through dreams.” He shudders, but when I raise an eyebrow, he shakes his head. Clearly, he doesn't want me to ask. And ordinarily I would, but despite every garment blocking his body from view, my mind is still elsewhere. He pushes his head through the neck hole, but the shirt doesn't fall into place because my hands are already against his stomach. I stroke my fingers along his abs and realize its close to how I'd pet Ballad's tummy. “Lis?” he asks breathlessly. I lean away from him and pull his lips down to mine.

His palm splays between my shoulder blades, his body so sturdy and hard against mine. Like nothing could break him, and while he's wrapped around me, nothing could break me, either. I need that right now. I need him.

It's a terrible idea; I like him well enough, but that liking is a muddle, confused by the memory of that first moment, waking up with him naked, standing over me. Our history…it's full of secrets and little violations. I can't pretend to be a blushing virgin, not knowing he's seen me naked, seen me pole dance, seen me pleasure myself. He's already seen every secret of mine I might reveal while letting him have me tonight. Only he's seen it all without permission. I shouldn't do this, shouldn't jump in headfirst, drowning my cares in his eager, handsome body. Not without unpacking all that means. Whatever we might have, whatever we might do, it's a lot more complex than a simple hookup or booty call.

And still I can't drag myself away from him. I'm panting, breathless as his teeth catch my lower lip gently. I'm moaning, arching into him as he clutches me close.

I need this.

I need him.

I'm all but crawling into his lap, wrapping my legs around his waist. He moans, his cock hard against my center, a promise of things to come. My fingers catch in his hair and play under the neckline of his shirt. Every bit of his warm skin that I can touch fills a want, deep down. A desire to return to when things were simpler. When he was only that eccentric, cocky man who liked me a little too much for helping his pet.

Maybe, just for a few minutes, I can let this all go.

“Lis—” he groans, twisting his lips away from me. I kiss his earlobe, blazing a trail to his jawline, then his neck. My fingers are knotted in his shirt, dragging it up over his head. He refuses to raise his arms so I can tug it the rest of the way off. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” I answer without hesitation. Even I'm surprised at the force in my voice.

He raises his arms, and the fabric slips away from his skin. His eyes catch mine, full of heat, urgency, and delicious temptation. I know the feeling.

I explore his skin with my hands and mouth, my lips lingering over the scar where he was shot just earlier today. Just earlier today. That still seems like an alien thought. It's barely a bad memory…because of me. Because of the symbol I drew, which I now know enough to recognize. He thinks I belong here. Have a space here. Am worth teaching and encouraging.

I still don't believe it. Can't.

His fingers pull apart the knot holding my dress's neckline up, and slide the zipper at the back down. The fabric falls away from me, catching between us. His skin is hot against my breasts, though I'm not sure whether the heat is his own or just the powerful awareness of every bit of skin touching.

In this strange, strange new world, this makes sense. Sex. Affection.

I reach for the button on his pants, but he puts his hand over mine and glances toward the open door. I stumble to my feet and close it, wiggling out of the dress as I go.

There's no self-consciousness when he surveys me. He's seen it anyway. I shouldn't dwell on the fact that thought is still bitter.

He stands, already undoing the fastener on his pants. They drop to the ground, and he kicks free of them as his hands find my skin again.

He kisses me, lifting me off my feet to do it without slouching. I lock my legs around him, nothing inside me but the wanton urge to savor every bit of him against my skin. He gasps, and his tongue strokes my lip. Mine darts out to meet it.

The bed creaks with his weight. He lies back, taking me with him. My weight falls across his chest, and he holds me there, not giving so much as a centimeter of distance back. Nor would I want him to.

I grind against him, unable to so much as articulate my desire. But I'm sure he feels it in how wet I am, in how his cock slides against me, coated with my arousal. He jumps to attention, his erection flexing at my entrance. Our eyes find each other's for an electric moment, mine pleading and his ravenous.

His hands catch my hips, pulling me down and impaling me onto him. The first penetration is heaven and hell, his cock feeling enormous inside me, like there's no way I can take it all, yet setting every nerve alight as he proves that yes, I can take it all. With him buried in me to the hilt, I'm full, breathless, and on the edge of begging for everything he'll give me.

I'm free. In my skin and out of my head.

His thumb strokes my lip, and I begin moving, riding him slowly at first, then desperately. His nails dig into my shoulders, and the pain is delicious, heightening every other pleasant sensation to new highs.

I shut my eyes, only for a moment, and his voice rumbles through me. “Lis, look at me.” He sounds raw, and my eyes pop open.

The view's pretty spectacular, every muscular dip and angle bared for my view—when I can take my eyes off his face and the place where we join. His body looks right against mine. Like he was made for me to be touching him.

My feet slide under his thighs as I strain to feel him deeper, harder, anything just to feel him. With his hands tracing my curves and the look in his eyes, my body is a live wire, ringing with every sensation until the echoes are almost deafening, overwhelming me in wave after wave of ecstasy.

His hand slides between my legs, teasing my clit as I writhe on top of him. He knows just how to touch me to send me over the edge, crying out his name and clinging to his shoulders. My pussy tightens, the rest of me almost exploding from the pressure. His dick flexes. “Lis—” I can hear it in his voice. He's close, too. And I want to watch him experience the pleasure that I just did. I reach behind my back and caress his balls.

His eyes widen, a cheeky grin playing across his lips before the expression's overtaken in another moan. He holds me where he wants me, gripping my hips to guide his rhythm. And then he's gasping, giving himself over to his own release. I bring my arm back in front to support myself and smile at him.

He drags me down by his side, brushing the hair away from my face. I bury my face into his neck and heave a soft laugh. He kisses my forehead and pulls me closer to the center of the bed. “Lis—” he starts but can't seem to think of what he was gonna say next.

“Thanks. I needed that.” I'm all but holding my breath, hoping he's not going to say something that ruins it.

“I wasn't expecting that. I should have used a—”

“Do you guys use birth control?” If I'm reading that right, it seems like a strange place for his mind to go. “I've got an implant.”

He flushes, and I can't help but laugh at his awkwardness. “What was—”

I know what he's trying to ask, but I don't have words for it, either. “Exactly what I wanted.”

His arm tightens around me, and I laugh anxiously. There'll be hell to pay for this in the morning, I'm sure.

But that's in the morning. And this is now.

30

Alisa

In the morning, I try to talk to Reza again over breakfast at the counter by the bar. Sleeping in his arms helped; it felt familiar…but waking up in this strange place, it's not something I want to do again. If I truly know magic, if I can truly protect myself, I'd rather do it myself and not be in the circle of his protection. Maybe it's stubbornness or a sense of pride…I don't know. I just, I disagree with letting other people do things for me that I should be able to do for myself.

“That ward worked. I could use it at home—”

“Are you so eager to get away from me, Lis?” He flashes me a hurt glance.

“It's not about leaving you. It's about being home. Handling my own life. Not being stuck in a situation that makes me feel useless, ignorant, and trapped without everyone I miss at home.”

“Where you have no clue whether your spell work will be strong enough to protect you. You're new to it yet. You should practice. And the Well, it can do things to your power. Amplify it sometimes. How do you know how much of your spell's efficacy came from that? You'll be even more helpless out there. The people you have waiting for you will still be there when things calm down. But you can't spend time with them if you're dead, a Reaper having evaded your protections. And you might even bring them to the Reapers' attention.”

It's probably coming from a place of concern, a place of protectiveness, but it's the last thing I can stomach right now. I shove my plate to the side and storm up to my room. I sketch the sigil for locking on my door. I have no clue whether it'll keep Reza out, but at least he'll be perfectly clear that he's not welcome if he tries to break through it.

I'm not used to being a pawn. Not used to running my life by someone else's rules.

Is it because of last night? Because now there's sex-fuzzies in the mix, and he's hoping he'll get lucky again if I stay? Realistically, he probably would. I think if I am stuck here, fucking him is gonna be the high point of my existence. I've never handled boredom well, and reading alone is not enough to keep me busy.

It all seems so juvenile, me hiding here like I'm a kid who's been exiled to her room. I fucking hate it. I fucking hate him for insisting on grounding me to his house. I fucking hate myself for locking myself in here as the only way I can assert myself.

I may not be a prisoner, but I'm also not exactly allowed to stand on my own two feet, am I?

If I'd known then what I know now, would I have rescued him? Had I known that I'd lose my independence and my self-determination to his protective instincts?

Probably yes. I don't think I could have let him die. I doubt it would play out any differently if it happened again. But that doesn't mean I've forgiven him for putting me in this position.

Damnit, Reza? Why can't things be as simple as they seem when you kiss me?

31

Reza

Alisa takes the warmth in the room with her, leaving me eating cold cereal with an unhappy expression. Eren raises his eyebrows. “I was organizing shit under the bar. You want to tell me what that was about?”

“Not really. It's self-explanatory. You think you'd be happy being uprooted like that?”

“I meant you pushing her that hard. And I know what you got up to last night.” He rubs the side of his nose. “I smell her on you. It's not just that you owe her a blood debt. It's that you're in love with her.”

“You're full of shit.” I don't expand on that out loud; it'll only convince him I'm defensive. I'm not in love with her—I just value her and want her to stay safe. I pick at a knot on the bar with my fingernail. I shouldn't have screwed her. The moment carried me away, but in the aftermath, I can't help thinking that, somehow, I was taking advantage of her. She was afraid—that's understandable. And she reached out to me, not because she wanted me in her bed, but because she didn't have anyone else to reach out to. I'm a shithead for letting her.

“No, I don't think so. And what it comes down to, I guess, is what you're gonna do with that. If you force her to stay, she'll never love you back. And you can protect her; you know it. But you know what it'll cost you.”

“I'm not in love with her. Fuck.”

“You're playing happy homemaker with her, pushing her to share your interests, to scratch her name into your home where you can see it every day. You don't just want her forgiveness for uprooting her. You don't just want her friendship. You want her partnership. And if you don't find a way to tell her that and reconcile what both of you want, you're gonna hate yourself in a century, when she's gone and all that's left is the ‘what if's’.”

“Since when are you the people watcher?”

“Since you disappeared and I had to start being the sympathetic damn bartender. God, I can't wait to get away from that shit.”

I laugh at his dour look. “Good thing I'm back, then. Because you're damn bad at reading people. It's a debt, that's it. She's a delightful person, but there's nothing like that between us. Nothing.”

“You're an idiot.”

“It runs in the family.”

“So if there's nothing like that between you, why did you sleep with her?”

“Why do you sleep with anyone? Because, in the moment, it seemed like the right thing to do.” No way in fuck I'm gonna elaborate on the awkward details, like the confidence in the way she looked at me as I took in the sight of her naked or how perfectly she fit in my arms. How her tight pussy gripped me and created heaven on Earth knowing it pleased her, too. That we'd given and taken equally.

Eren cocks an eyebrow at me. “Gutter-mind. Spare me the details.”

“Wasn't planning on spilling. I don't kiss and tell.”

He wrinkles his nose. “I'm gonna pretend it was no more than kissing.”

But he knows from my dopey smile that it was so much more. And yet, it was so much less than it could have been, too. It was rushed. Urgent. I didn't get to kiss every inch of her, or finger her. I didn't get to act out every inappropriate urge I'd ever had. I didn't get to learn her body's responses. And I'm not gonna have the chance to again. Not if it comes with this kind of guilt.

“Off topic, though. It was a physical thing. Nothing more.”

Eren rolls his eyes. “You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink, I guess. When you pull your head out of your ass, I won't even say 'told you so'.”

“Were you always such a know-it-all?”

“No. Usually I'm the one with my head up my ass. But since you've taken that responsibility on, despite your busy schedule, I've had to expose my head to the harsh light of day. So enjoy your warm, cozy, dark place while you can stay there.”

“Asshole.”

“Just let me know when you've got your head screwed on straight.” Eren whaps at the back of my head, and goes back to his work.

My cereal tastes like ash. Today's gonna suck, I can already tell.

When I'm done eating, I'll shower more thoroughly. I'll wash Alisa's fragrance off me if I have to claw my skin off to do it.

32

Alisa

Reza and I pass each other twice on my way to get more books, but each time, he ignores me except for a short nod. It's infuriating. Out of all the people to play dumb post-banging, I'd expected more from him. Not flowers and chocolates or anything, but I'd expect him to at least be civil. I guess I upset him this morning.

The second time, it's too much to take. “Look, you've made the risks clear and everything, but I want to be home. I've got a life. And I'll never have one here. You're the closest thing to a friend here that I have, and it's pretty damn obvious how far from friendship what we have is. I get it. Fucking was a bad idea. But you cold-shouldering me only makes it worse. So I'm going. I don't give a shit what you say, I'm going. I don't give a shit if I do die, so long as I can be with my friends before I do. I'm not gonna die alone, a stranger in a strange world. And, in case I'm not being clear, this isn't a discussion. No matter what you say, I'm leaving, even if I have to tear the gate open to get it to work for me.”

Reza glares at me, sparks of irritation and hurt in his eyes.

“It's nothing against you; you've been just peachy, aside from the whole nearly-getting-me-killed thing. I'm not even saying I blame you; I had a talk with Abel about…everything. I understand you and I were both swept up in something bigger than us. But you're wrapped up in some of the most frightening moments of my life. I want to feel safe here—want to feel right with you. But I don't right now, and I'm not sure if I ever could. So don't look at me like that.”

“You're not leaving to get yourself killed. Not after everything. The magic will have worn off; the reality won't work with you anymore. If you think you're strong enough to punch through, be my fucking guest and try.”

I pull out the hair he gave me; it may not have been the use he had in mind for it, but… “I'll—”

His nostrils flare at the challenge, and his jaw clenches with hurt. “Give it a try. You don't know what to do with it to get out.”

Damnit. He's right. My face must be beet red. It feels hot and itchy. And I'm furious. No more Mr. Nice Guy, I guess. I slap Reza, for my own pride, and storm out. The way my palm stings is satisfying—I hope it hurts him far worse. If he's serious, if he's not wrong…I am a prisoner.

I want to trash my room, want to leave at least some mark on my space here, but every item I throw shatters, reassembles itself, then flies back to its former place. The world knows where everything should be, I guess. It's yet another unpleasant reminder of my own helplessness. And Reza's hold on my life.

A knock comes on my door, and I glower as I peer through the crack. If it's Reza, I'm gonna slam it shut in his face.

But the eyes are too grumpy to be Reza. Flat grumpy. None of the chaos I see in Reza's. “Eren?” I ask, still hesitant to open it all the way.

“Yeah.”

Grudgingly, I take my weight off it and let him push it open wider. “I'm not really in the mood for company—”

“Shut up.” He shoulders his way in and shuts the door behind him. That makes me uncomfortable. I know how precarious everything is already. The same things that keep me trapped here would still keep me if this turns dangerous. I haven't forgotten how ready to kill me Eren was.

“You want to go home. And if you stay here, you two are gonna tear each other apart. So I think I can get you the best of both worlds. I'll help you get away—and I'll help you fortify your own home. You'll be safe—that'll make Reza happy—and you'll be free again. That should make you happy.”

If it seems too good to be true, usually it is. “What's the catch? Why're you doing this?”

“I should think it's obvious. You're both stubborn, and this place is gonna be a war zone with you two butting heads. He's an ass about showing it, but he cares about you. So I want to do what I can for his sake. He's too caught up in the moment to see the harm he's doing. So until he comes around, you have my loyalty. Because he's sure as fuck gonna thank me for it eventually, and if something happens while he's on his self-righteous rampage, he'll never forgive himself. It's up to me to be the man that he should be and to support you. He cares about you, and that's getting in the way. He's not used to being challenged, and I'm having the time of my life seeing you defy him. He needs someone who's not afraid to get in his face a little.”

I can't find fault in anything he's saying. No hint of a lie or signs that he's just using me for some other end. And he could be my only ticket out of here. “I—okay. Thanks. When can we leave?”

“Right now,” he says and sketches a mark into the air. In front of us, an opening appears. The view on the other side is blurry, as though we’re underwater during a hurricane. He sketches another mark onto my hand and his and leads me through the makeshift gate.

The night air is crisp and tickles my lungs and throat. We're not in the gate we came through. I have no clue where we are. But Eren leads me through the woods until we find a little garage. He digs out the keys to the car inside there and offers them to me. “You know where we're going.”

“Not really. Where are we?”

“We'll find a sign or something and see. Reza's usually the one roaming. I just didn't want to open the same door, in case they were watching it.”

“Makes sense.” I get in the driver's side.

It feels natural being out in the big, wide world again. My old self comes through more with every second of familiarity until I'm singing along with the radio. I turn on the heat in the car, and the sound of its fan blowing eases the tension in my neck. I let myself show a little, satisfied smile.

Five minutes up the road, there's a sign. We're about two hours away from home. I'm so close.

Guilt eats at my mind as I let the road calm me. Reza's gonna be pissed. I've turned his brother against him and defied his wishes. But the selfish fucker deserved it. And this is what I wanted.

So why am I so sad to be parting on these terms?

Eren thumps the bag he had hanging over his shoulder when he sought me out. “There's some textbooks in here. You'll want to study them. I can come by to work with you. You seem like the type of woman who'd rather know how to do this stuff herself.”

“Yeah. I started reading up, but I'm sure the skills won't come easily…”

“You'll get them. And in the meantime, I'm gonna set up a schedule to check on you and renew my own protections over you. We take blood debts seriously, and I'll not shirk Reza's obligation to you.”

“That's a little…old-fashioned.”

“It's the Pack way. You humans have a phrase—'it takes a village to raise a child'. What you fail to see is that it takes that village to do anything worth doing. No one is meant to survive alone. And those who try deprive themselves of worlds they can't even comprehend.”

Is that a barb? Him taunting me for insisting on not relying on Reza and accepting Reza's methods of protecting me? I bite my lip. Two hours of this is gonna be hell.

“If I can ask, what's between you and my brother?”

“What?”

“I smell you on each other. Canine senses.” He scratches the side of his nose.

“Nothing you need to worry about.” I shift awkwardly in my seat. “I was upset and alone and looked to him for comfort. And he hasn't stopped regretting it since.”

“Do you?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Not in the least. Your brother's an ass, but he's a good man. And it's not his fault that things are so sour between us. I just want to be in my own world, not a hanger-on in someone else's. I can't be his damsel in distress. He might play the protector role well, but I'm not okay with that taking priority over every other story I want to shape with my life. If that's what this is, how he sees us, then his power comes directly at the expense of mine. So long as he's powerful, I must necessarily be powerless. I'm not okay playing into that.”

“And that's why he's gonna come around. Trust me on that.”

“I hope so. I guess, when he gets over it, you can tell him I'm happy to talk.” I shrug. “If he gets over it.”

“Just trust me. He'll be fine.”

We finish the drive in silence.

33

Reza

After centuries maintaining the fabric of the Well, I can read it like a book. How many people are there, where they are, even patterns of energy associated with specific people.

And one person's missing. Alisa. Goddamnit.

How did she do it?

Eren's at the bar when I stomp down, looking for answers. “She's gone, Reza.”

“No shit, Sherlock. How?”

“I took her. And I've got alarms and wards set up for her. She'll be fine. She's a strong one. And I'll see that she stays safe. But you should stay away from her.”

“Like hell—”

“Because she refused to obey you? That's not a good reason to follow her. This is what you wanted, and what she wanted. If there's truly nothing between you two, why is it so hard to let her go?”

“The moment we tell the incubi that they're safe with us, Morena's gonna be on us like a sack of bricks. And for everything Alisa did to help me, she's gonna have a target painted on her back.”

“I know. And that's why I'm teaching her. She's gonna be as able to defend herself as anyone else. But you're not gonna do anyone good moping at the disobedience. And would you love her if she was obedient?”

“I don't love her.”

He snorts. But even putting aside my protest, she wouldn't be the person I like had she folded when Evan demanded she leave me behind. Somehow, I admire her force of will when it's directed it at others, but I can't handle it when we disagree.

She's Pack. And I've been so accustomed to being the alpha, that it only seems natural to expect her to accept her own role in it. That's not good. Maybe Eren's right, and I am being a grade-A jackass.

“She's gone. That's that. Thanks for taking over babysitting duty.” I sound bitter, and maybe I am. But I've got too much to do to dwell on the one person who doesn't want my help.

Eren huffs a “you're being an asshole” sigh, but he lets me ignore him and walk away.

I drown myself in my work, repairing and rebuilding sections of the Well and adding Alisa's protective ward. Eren comes and goes, and every time, it makes me want to punch him. He gets to see Alisa. Gets to know she's safe. He gets to watch her progress, see her strength. And how do I know he doesn't get more? How do I know that she's not reaching out to him as she did to me, finding comfort in his arms? I haven't seen any obvious signs, but the suspicion is still there.

Why do I care if she does? If they make each other even a little happier, they both deserve it. And if Eren's coming around to see the sharp-witted, strong woman I'd come to admire…

“You're giving me that look again,” Eren says a few weeks after Alisa's abrupt departure.

“What look?”

“The one that says I just stole your meal.”

“No I'm not.”

“I know that look when I see it, asshole. So have out with it. What're you pissed about this time?”

“I'm not pissed. Just—how's Alisa?”

“She's okay. Coming along. Her place was trashed, so she's in a hotel for the moment. But she figured out a revision for one of the other wards that specifically targets incubi, so the presence of other people isn't actually a disadvantage like you'd think. Any incubi who tries to break through it will find themselves unconditionally evicted from their mortal host.” His eyes narrow. “What's Alisa have to do with anything?” There's a wily glint in them. He thinks I'm about to admit something.

“It just weighs on me…the way she left. How's she doing?”

“She's happy. Practicing her wards on her friends' homes, feeling strong. Feeling purposeful, learning about her family's history. You don't have to worry about her. That's my job.”

“And are you two—”

“For fuck's sake, Reza. You're the one in love with her. Even if you don't admit it, you know I know it. Do you really think I'd make a move on her knowing that?”

Put that way, it does seem like a nasty, jealous idea to have taken root. “Sorry. You wouldn't do that. Though you could—”

“God, you're stubborn. If you're so interested in her life, go see her yourself. Fuck.” Eren rolls his eyes and shoves past me, the conversation clearly over.

“Fine, then. Don't mind if I do.” It's childish, needing that last word, but his sanctimonious smugness has a way of getting under my skin. “I will.”

34

Reza

Alisa faces me from the other side of the little table in her generic hotel room. Her lips are tight. “Reza. This is a surprise.”

“Yeah. I thought I'd drop by. I needed to stretch my legs.” Uncomfortable silence hangs between us. What do I even say? “I'm sorry.”

“What?” Her eyebrows snap together.

“For how you left. How you had to leave. I'm sorry I chased you away.”

She breathes an unhappy sigh but does it so quietly that I wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't been fixated on her plump lips. “You didn't chase me away. You just stood in the way of me leaving. And it's fine. Eren's been a huge help. I'm learning lots.”

“You two are getting along better then?”

“He's warmed to me; you were right about that. Maybe he just likes having someone else be a pain in your ass for a change.” She bites her lip. “You want me to order room service or anything? I don't really have a kitchen at the moment…”

“I'm okay. I just came to see you. I wanted to know that you're safe.”

“I can take care of myself, you know.”

“I do. But I'm happier to see that you have all the help you need. I—I feel responsible for you.” I take a deep breath. I need to just say it. I consider you family, consider our burdens the same. You didn't let me deal with mine alone, and I couldn't live with myself if I condemned you to do the same. You'll always have a home with me, if you decide you want it. However, if you do come back to the Well, it'll be voluntarily.

“Don't fret your pretty little head, worrywart.” She looks to the side, a little amused but still entirely too ill at ease for my tastes. Whatever she says, it's obvious that there's still a lot of baggage between us.

“I know. But I do. You're—”

A knock comes at the door, and she sketches a sigil to make the lock temporarily forget that it's locked. The mechanism clicks as the tumblers fall into place. Eren opens the door, waving to her. Her face lights up with relief. “Hey, you…”

He bites his lip. “Didn't know you were here, Reza. Thought you were getting supplies.”

“Figured I'd drop by.”

He seems to know that I'm never gonna be able to get shit off my chest while he's here, but it's too late to leave. I pat Alisa's shoulder and stand. “I need to get back to work. I'm glad you're safe.” It's not what I came here to say, but it's what comes out.

“Me, too. And, Reza?” She pauses. “Thanks.”

Why do I have the sense that it wasn't what she meant to say, either?

35

Alisa

The look on Reza's face when he leaves hurts. But it's for the better. There's just too much between us to be able to talk like friends. There's still some ghost lingering in his eyes when he looks at me. I'm not sure what it is. Maybe it's the memory of the night we spent together. Maybe he's the type to fall hard with sex and he hasn't managed to shake that.

But it's easy to put him out of my mind with Eren there, combing over the newest lessons I was working through in the textbook and making me show him runes for purification and expulsion.

I've come a long way. And if Reza is bitter upon seeing that, it sucks to be him.

I can see the changes every time I talk to someone I used to know. Though the time I spent in the Well seems like only a night, apparently several weeks went by here. Lesley's no longer paying for my company. We had one date, and he insinuated that the innocence was gone from my eyes. Really, the fatherly spark was gone from his, knowing that there were now worlds in which he could teach me nothing. Knowing that I'd seen those worlds and seen just how impotent he is, even though I would have never described it that unkindly, had he asked. Rory has been hesitant, too; she knows something's going on but not what.

I can't tell any of them what I've been through. That barrier…it makes it seem like I'm now a ghost in my own life. I wish I had it in me to hate Reza for that. I thought about lying, saying that my place got wrecked in a domestic incident with a stalker, but since all my friends have been there once or twice, it would only lead to more questions and the push to reminisce openly about my scary experience. I don't dare make the lie even more complicated.

People always looked to me for something specific—companionship, admiration, validation—and my disappearance and reappearance has unfortunately broken the illusion. Rory's pissed at me, since I'd had two days on the calendar I was supposed to babysit for her, and it's not like I can tell her the real reason I didn't show and didn't call to cancel. She thinks it's just the carefree selfishness of the childless. I can't tell her I was running for my life and being held prisoner by a shapeshifting demon. And since I can't explain where I was, they think it's callousness—me not caring how worried they all were.

I may have made it back, but I've lost what I was fighting for anyway. It's a depressing thought, and the one that keeps me running back to Eren's textbooks and the genealogies he's brought me. Maybe if I understand more about who I am, I won't have to mourn who I was.

The wound Reza exposed when he came to see me is infected, consuming me slowly. Even the throbbing bass and dancing 'til I'm sore at work—both things that've comforted me in the past—even that's not enough. My dreams are restless and strangely empty, a side effect I can only attribute to the layers of charms and wards Eren helped me set up around my hotel room.

Some homecoming.

The room all but echoes with the weight of everything I'm missing. I grit my teeth and try to tune out the distant noises drifting through the walls: everything from others laughing, crying, and screwing, to running water and creaky floors.

There's a strange chatter in my mind, as though I'm listening to a game of Marco Polo through earplugs. Snatches of sentences tossed back and forth between voices. It's nauseating and jarring, and I can't make out their meaning. Maybe it's Telephone, not Marco Polo.

I open my eyes as it sinks in what the voices sound like. They sound like the strange half-people who attacked us with that first Reaper. The disjointed cadence, the sense that somehow they were all thinking and saying the same thing, even if it took all of them to get it out in pieces…

One of them's coming.

My heart racing, I sketch the sigil in the air that'll ensure my wards are armed—and let Eren know I've done so.

There's a ward outside, a line of herbs that Eren helped me spread around the hotel property. It's my first line of defense. It's tied to a sigil for pain, designed to target parasitic beings. The bigger I draw the sigil, the more powerful it will be. I fix the pattern to the back of my eyelids and start pacing, trying to remember the precise number of steps needed for peak efficacy.

With my heartrate elevated and my body humming with nerves, I can't fix the rhythm of the steps into my head properly. But my music's on in the background since I was relaxing—at least I have that to focus on instead.

It doesn't matter what my hands are doing. So I sketch a sigil for strength and serenity and continue my steps.

Muscles in my neck loosen, and I straighten my shoulders. For the first time, I'm breathing deeply. I raise my chin and focus solely on my feet.

It feels better if I point my toes. I can see the lines of my body scorched on the back of my eyelids. It makes it easier if I imagine it as some kind of a dance. Even if it probably looks stupid as all hell.

Something shrieks—no, several somethings. Surely someone must have heard the intruders. I whisper the syllables to activate the window points Eren helped me set so I can see what's going on.

The air outside my door seems to be as thick as honey; several creatures are trapped in it, shrilling in pain. They look the same as last time but different, as though they were crafted from the memory of a particular human described by several different people. They look like they were created from the work of an amateur caricaturist dreaming of being a police sketch artist. It would almost be comical, if it wasn't for how many of the inaccuracies seem to veer into the realm of the threatening: slitted eyes, sharpened teeth, fingers that are more claw than digit. Just imagining those monstrosities reaching for me…

No. If my concentration breaks, so do the wards. I mouth the words to the music and keep up my breathless dance. So long as I keep moving, I can hold them there. But what happens if this stretches long enough for me to falter?

Eren said that the only tried-and-true way to chase an incubus or reaper out of its host when it chooses not to leave is to burn it severely enough with holy water that it flees. But I don't have holy water; he said the making was extremely complex, and it would take him time to acquire the ingredients.

So I'm stuck. Unless there's something he was missing; he freely admitted that Reza was a stronger enchanter than him because he'd slacked off in his studies. But if even he doesn't know that trick, how am I supposed to? I'm a beginner who's read a few rudimentary texts. The guys might think I have the power, but there's no way I'm ready for this.

Reza was right. I should have stayed with him. The thought's bitter, bringing bile to my throat.

No. I've never been anyone's stupid damsel in distress. Even when I've played the part, I've played it for my own purposes.

I wasn't a helpless daisy then, and I'm not a helpless daisy now.

If I can just ramp the pain up until it mimics the effect of holy water…

Mentally, I chart my course. If I want to enlarge the sigil that much, I'll have to walk in the hall. And climb down a gutter or something to get to the ground floor to finish it. There's not physically enough space in here. If I was better trained, maybe I'd know some supplemental runes or shit to amplify it—at least I'd guess there's more I could do if I wasn't a raw fucking newbie.

I have to try it. Obviously, climbing or risking dropping or breaking the sigil—that's a no-go. But if the spell takes even a few seconds to break down, I can run past the creatures outside and throw myself into the parking lot to dance on the broad canvas. So long as there aren't cars in my way, I'll have ample space to manipulate.

It's the best plan I have. And with a little luck, Eren or Reza will be on their way to help soon enough. I just have to make it too big of a pain in the ass for these hunters to continue attacking me until the cavalry comes.

I slow my steps, gathering my breath to make a break for it. “One…two…three…” I mumble and then run for the door as though my life depended on it. I lose a second fucking with the dead bolt, and my heart hammers in my ears. I don't have enough space now to sketch the sigil out and try again.

The carpet's grody and rough under my bare feet, but I don't dare grab my shoes. In the hall, the frozen creatures are slowly returning to normal. As I weave through their ranks, taloned hands reach toward me and glowing eyes follow me. I duck through the flurry of limbs, doing my best not to lose any forward momentum.

There's more of them in the stairwell, and these ones are much more spry. A stream of something liquid shoots toward me, and I dodge as best I can. It smacks into the drywall, and there's an awful sizzle and a burned stench. The drywall's disintegrating before my very eyes. That could be my flesh.

Shit. I should've stayed put, walked the sigil until my feet were bloody and raw and my eyes were heavy from exhaustion. I lost my temper and got cocky. And I'm probably gonna die for it.

My side twinges, a stitch making itself known. I must have been hyperventilating more than I realized in my room; running this distance should not be winding me that way. Still, I refuse to let myself clutch my ribs. I can't get distracted.

I throw myself into the bar for the fire escape door, and it opens, an alarm shrieking nastily behind me. But I'm in the open air by the parking lot.

Feeling like somewhat of a madwoman, I throw myself back into the pattern, running through the initial shape and only slowing down once I've felt its effects in the air around me. It takes form under my feet, and this time, it's different. I can see the ground glowing beneath me, the light exposing all the dust motes in the air. And with every repetition, that glow grows brighter and nastier, making my bones jitter and my muscles spasm. Still, if I fall, I'm dead. I stagger through the motions, relying on the gold light to show me my path as I lurch along.

Red hot pain sears my foot; there's a piece of broken glass that I'm no longer coordinated enough to avoid. I can only pray it hasn't gone in too deep.

My heart hardens, only the demand to live present. No longer any worries about the other bystanders in the hotel streaming out and screaming, seeing the burned-out stairwell. They're fodder even now for the creatures converging on me. I stare hard at the ground, refusing to see whether the crowd's cries are simply confusion and fear, or whether the demons are hurting them. I might faint if I raise my eyes to discover a massacre.

As I make my rounds, my bloody footprints become more obvious; I've avoided the glass since then, but it must have hit something nasty. The pain makes it difficult to keep weight on that foot. It seems like I'm grinding it in deeper and worsening the bleeding.

Someone yells my name, and I glance up, startled. Abel is there, eyes flashing black as sin, along with a woman I don't recognize who's plainly dead—a reaper then? A second later, the undead woman collapses and Abel vanishes…as do the monsters.

I shiver, not quite believing that it's finally safe to stop walking. The air still hums with electricity and charge, and somehow, that, too, feeds into me, like a shot of adrenaline.

Strong arms catch me, holding me in place. I have to assume it's Reza—I doubt Eren would be so free touching me. Whichever twin it is, he wraps me in his arms, and I bury my face in his chest, the last of my energy leaving me.

36

Reza

Alisa's trembling in my arms, obviously well into shock and exhaustion. I felt the power of her spell from miles away. I had no idea she had it in her without the privilege I'd given her in the Well.

Ever since Eren's alarm went off and I rushed to cross worlds and make my way to her, my whole body's been all but shaking with the need to hunt, to kill, to protect.

Abel and Imogene have whatever attacked her well in hand. But that was their job for so long. I'm grateful they came to help, not the least because Alisa looks like she needs a hug and a hefty rare steak to put the spark back into her.

I'm so fucking proud of her, proud of her resolve and her resourcefulness. Walking the sigil out here was daring but brilliant. Her hunters were barely clinging to their bodies. Had she kept it up another twenty minutes, they'd have been gone. And their struggle with her probably kept the creatures from trying to kill people to lure her out. Imogene and Abel apparently have met these creatures before. I was just trying to study the literature in the Well when I saw the alarm. They seem to be related to the incubi, though she's not sure how.

People are staring, having seen the strange monsters, and having seen people disappear. And Alisa out here, half dressed, pacing a glowing, strange symbol into the ground…it's not exactly the fairy tales of their childhood. We should get out of sight. But we can't go back inside, not until the fire department's cleared the building.

I should tell her. I should put into words the whooping, wordless cry of joy that I nearly let out, seeing her alive with all of the creatures in her control. I should tell her how the pride sings in me, that I couldn't be more proud if she was family or had truly been my student.

I release her and open my mouth, struggling to find a starting point.

And Eren lopes up and wraps his arms around her from behind, plainly thrilled to see her safe, too.

She yelps, her fingers automatically twisting to sketch a sigil so strong that Eren flies back about fifteen feet. But I know the sigil she used—it's a beginner's variant. It shouldn't have done much more than force him back out of arm's reach. Why was it so strong?

“Oh my God,” she says when she turns around. She limps over to him surprisingly quickly to help him up. Her eyes are already glassy with unshed tears. “You scared me. I just—”

“Don't apologize, kiddo,” he says. “You did good. That was a solid spell. And your instincts were good. I should've warned you.” Despite the kind words, he winces. He seems to be in far more pain than the casting should warrant. How powerful was it?

“Gene and Abel got the bastards,” I tell him. “We should be okay here now.”

“She held them back on her own? Outside the protections I left?”

“Yeah.”

Alisa doesn't seem interested in our conversation. The tremors are worse than ever, and she's well on her way toward crying, letting the tears fall. I clench my hands into fists to restrain myself from offering her my chest to cry into. “I can't fucking do this.”

“What's wrong? You did fine. And it's over now—”

“I can't fucking do this,” she sobs. “I'm a loaded weapon. I wish I'd never learned how to do this shit.” Her arms are crossed, her fingers tracing shapes idly on her arms. Only, those shapes are glowing, gathering a power I'd never imagined she could wield. And she doesn't realize it. I blink, demanding dragon's eyes for myself to see the magic that's feeding her.

It's coming from me. Well, the Mantel. She's somehow using my power. She should not be able to do that, even intentionally. My gut knots, my mind seeking out the little telltale signs I should have picked up on from my own trembling hands to the faintly charged taste in the air when I exhale.

“How're you doing that?” I ask her. Maybe Eren taught her some trick he never told me about.

“Doing what?” she asks with a horrified look. “I just want to be normal.”

“You're siphoning power away from me. Without my permission.”

She pales and lets out a choked gasp. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I see it, too,” Eren says, his own eyes now slitted and transformed.

“You shouldn't be able to do that. You don't have the bones—the implants. You don't have my permission. How can you—”

Eren cuts me off with a look that plainly says “are you fucking stupid?” The look falls away when I glare back, hard.

“I'm not doing anything, Reza! I can't do this—I can't do this—”

She's hyperventilating, deep in denial. I'll have to tread carefully.

I reach for her, to gather her into my arms, but she pulls away, hobbling toward the chaotic building with a pained wince every time her weight goes on her left foot.

Eren puts an arm out to stop me from following her.

Shit.

37

Alisa

It's all too much. Knowing I'm a witch, and seeing what that means are completely different things. I'm bleeding my friends dry, if what Reza said is true. And I hurt Eren. I don't want to fucking touch this power. I don't want to be around it. I don't even want to know it exists, but that cat's out of the damn bag.

When he told me of my heritage, I thought it was a “maybe it's luck”, or “maybe you moved the needle” kind of thing. Even when I cast that first ward in the Well, he thought it was only powerful because I'd tapped into his strength.

I didn't figure I'd be a terror, harming friends and bystanders alike. They're making me into a monster. And I won't let that happen.

“Are you okay?” Reza asks and reaches for me.

I jerk my arm away from his hand. “Get away from me.”

His eyes widen with hurt and that limpid look that an animal gets when it's begging for your food. “What's wrong?”

Either they're making me into a monster, or they're lying. He could as easily have cast the spell. He could just be saying the strength is mine to encourage me to go along with his will. He could be manipulating me, as he has this whole time.

“Alisa—” Eren starts, but I cut him off. He's complicit in this, too.

“Get away. Leave me alone. I'm not a part of your world. I want nothing to do with you, or this—this—this curse.” I fumble, grasping for the right word.

“Please, Lis, just talk to—” Reza pleads, but I know better than to trust those puppy-dog eyes.

“Get away,” I scream, and one of the women who evacuated her hotel room steps between us. She wraps an arm around me, and though I should pull away—lest I drag her into this the way Reza did me—I can't.

She straightens, her arm around me. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course. We're—”

She cuts Reza off. “It looks to me like the lady's done talking to you. Do you want me to call the cops, hon?”

It's so easy to take comfort in her commanding voice. At least she knows how to handle fucked up shit.

“Don't worry about it,” Eren says, giving Reza an irritable look. “We were just leaving, now that we know she's okay.”

He hauls Reza away.

Reza glances over his shoulder as they walk back to their car. I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to confront the pain in his face.

38

Reza

I can hardly contain my rage on the drive back to the gate. We endangered ourselves for her, and she looked at us—at me—like we were spoiled food. Maybe it was just the sweeping emotions from such an intense casting, but that doesn't make the frustration any easier to bear.

Eren's barely driven a block when he opens his goddamn mouth to talk. He should know, better than anyone why that's a bad idea. “Are you fucking stupid?”

“What?”

“Still playing dumb. So again I ask, are you fucking stupid?”

“Are you having fun being the know-it-all for a change, or are you gonna just say whatever's rattling around between your ears?”

Eren sighs, huffily. “You know why your power went to her. You're in love with her. Whether or not you say the words, the rest of you knows it. Your body, your spirit, it's already given her permission to use your power without any say from your mind. You two have bonded. If you'd pull your head out of your ass, maybe you'd even be able to claim her as your mate, since it's obvious she's the one.”

“Oh, come on. You know that one fated soulmate stuff is superstitious bullshit.”

“Tell that to your stolen power. I'm not sure why you've dug your heels in on this. You clearly care about her enough that you're making superstitious bullshit magic happen. But that's not the scary thing. The scary thing is that you're so bullheaded, you're ignoring it completely. Putting it on that poor woman that it's just that she's wrong and breaking rules and fucking things up. That she's somehow uncontrollable, or that her powers are strange. And you wonder why she flipped out.”

Eren stops talking, and rather than press him, I actually consider what he said. We were both raised on the same stories. Raised to believe in the same love-at-first-sight force that could transcend individuals' powers to create something beautiful, unique, and thoroughly blended, even without the awareness of the powers' owners.

The idea seems invasive. But I'm not the only one violated by it.

I should be happy. I should be thrilled to have an explanation. Instead, I'm awash in guilt. Alisa's made her opinions known; no doubt whatever bond we have will wither away, and she'll be gifted only with her own powers in time. If it is what Eren says, and I'm subconsciously giving that piece of myself to her.

It's a problem far above my pay grade. She can take care of herself—that's the relevant point. And maybe she is better off without me around throwing a wrench into her ideas about how her life should go.

Damn. I'm gonna miss her.

39

Alisa

I start regretting my words the moment Eren and Reza disappear from sight. I can't solve anything by running away from it, and now I've chased away the only people who could have helped. It's not Reza's fault that my life's been singularly strange since we met. He was just a convenient scapegoat.

I have to know what I can. That means reading those damn genealogies again and seeing if Annie kept any of my parents' old stuff that might have other clues.

I wish I could ask my mom. I hardly remember her—just hazy recollections of her singing and teaching me to dance, teaching me to walk that pattern when I was afraid of the monsters under the bed, and making me sandwiches with green apples and peanut butter. Who was she? The usual explanations I was given—college cheerleader, semi-professional dancer, nursing student, and drama geek—seem far too shallow to cover someone who taught her child a spell for protection disguised as a game. Or what if she was like me, and had no clue what she was doing? And who was my dad? Did he know what she was? Did he know magic, too? I remember his voice, his hands, but not actually any of what he said. He worked nights, so I barely saw him.

It's an exhausting series of thoughts, one that keeps me up night after night. I can't ask Annie directly, and without more specific questions, my halfhearted queries fail to yield anything other than some very awkward pauses on the phone.

I didn't expect I'd feel so alone without Reza. Eren's charms are still effective, but things are quiet. And there's no telling whether the brothers would actually respond if something set them off. For the first time since I brought that dazed dog home, it truly seems like I'm alone.

I hate that thought. So I pull out my family album and stare again.

Only now, something catches my eye. One of the paper clippings on the car accident that killed my parents had a picture of the bottom of the car after it stopped rolling. And I'd never noticed before, but there's a series of lines drawn under the car. I know those lines. I've sketched similar myself, though the exact contours of this one are new.

It's a hex.

Whatever my family's secrets were, they died with them. And I'm not sure I truly want to dig them up. The foundation stones of my life are cracked and shattered in discovering my parents' secret heritage and how thin the ice I'm skating on truly is. Magic brings only death and pain in its wake.

I'm well rid of it.

Still, I can't put the thought out of my mind, the feeling of Reza guiding my finger to sketch that sigil on my door. The miracles he built into the architecture of his home. He was as extraordinary as the world he created.

I'll never know his secrets, as I'll never know my parents'.

At least, in the case of theirs, I'm not sure I want to. Not now that I know it got them killed.

If only I could make myself feel the same about his.

I'll hold my secrets close. I'll smile, dance, and pretend that I'm okay until I actually am.

40

Reza

The alarms are silent, but she could have disabled the charms. If she was truly as anti-magic as she claimed, she might well have. I shouldn't have pushed her. Shouldn't have trusted her to take my academic confusion as just that, rather than taking it as a judgment of her.

When the worry gets the better of me, I gird up with protective charms and sneak out. I wear the dog's form, rather than risk the incubi tracking me again. I watch her from a distance. She looks happy, her full lips stretched in a smile, and her face painted with pretty colors. She looks like she belongs here. I should never have removed her from her world.

I should let her go. Let her move on in her old life.

But I can't. So night after night, I sit inside the edge of her protective charms, behind the hotel's dumpster, and watch her leave for work. I follow her there, wishing I dared transform back into myself to go in and look for her. If she's smart, she's dancing spells there, too, to protect herself.

The urge to follow her is an unhealthy impulse, one I hate myself for indulging. I can't bring myself to tell Eren or the others where I'm going. But there's a sanctimonious twinkle in Eren's eyes that says he knows. And a coldness that says he doesn't want to hear about it. That works for me; I don't want to talk about it, either. I'm surprised he's talked to me as much about Alisa as he did, with him having a particular aversion to discussing “mushy stuff” with me. Ever since our first crushes, we've borne them in silence, our souls heavy with the unspoken fear that a stranger might break our Pack. It's only worsened since our paths diverged from our family's. For better or worse, we're all we have. So if we can't trust each other, who can we trust?

The unease is causing problems for everyone, except maybe Gene and Abel. Those two are antisocial enough that I'm not sure they even know the difference. But Eren's been more forceful with the clientèle, and we've had a steady rush pouring in: incubi who have too many painful memories to stay in Limbo, their home base, but who don't want to risk the Reapers harassing or hunting them, as well as the demons accused of harboring them.

It seems like the world is crumbling, ages-old clans rousted from their communities by fear. Even when I was restricted to Alisa's home, fearing my own demise, everything felt more ordered.

I've had my hands full using the Mantel to build more lodgings in the Well by day and following Alisa, trying to get the courage to seek to repair our relationship, seek solace in her companionship by night.

Returning from one of my midnight walkabouts is always dicey. I don't want to run into Eren. But tonight it's unavoidable. He's scrubbing up mugs behind the bar and watching the last few patrons who haven't retired to their rooms. I can't meet his eye.

“You're an idiot,” he says, an accusatory note in his voice.

“Guilty as charged. and you're an asshole.”

Ordinarily, he'd laugh and quip “guilty as charged” right back at me. I stiffen, waiting for him to ask me where I've been so I can play stupid. But he has no such intentions. “If you want her, just fight for her already. Not just by protecting her, but by willingly sharing your power.”

“I don't know what you're—”

“Cut the shit, Reza. You're not the only one who can sneak out at night in a strange body. I know where you've been going. Just talk to her, since it still bothers you that much.”

“She won't want to see me. You heard her—”

“I heard a woman speaking out of fear in a moment of anger. I heard her lashing out at someone who offered her answers and then withdrew them, forcing her to fear herself instead. But she's had time to live with that fear. And she'll understand that you were just doing the same, if you go and tell her. And tell her why.”

“But—”

“I'm not just playing matchmaker here. We need all the help we can get. We're past capacity, and you know that's straining your protections. If you two can learn something from each other, it's well worth all of the disgust I'm going to wallow in watching you make kissy faces at each other for the next…however fucking long you're being insufferable about it.”

Gene must have been coming out, either sensing trouble, looking for some food, or taking a walk. “I had no idea it was possible to be such a misanthrope and a romantic at the same time.” She cocks her head and laughs, daring Eren to comment.

He rolls his eyes. “Just because I'd rather not see it doesn't mean it's not nice knowing it's out there.” He stares at me, his eyes half lidded. No doubt he's waiting for another outburst or something.

“I—”

“I won't say ‘told you so’ if you just stop being an ass and figure your shit out.” Eren turns, putting his back to me. If he wants to be done with the conversation, I'm certainly not gonna look that gift horse in the teeth.

I walk away, shaking my head.

41

Alisa

It's a beautiful day for a jog. And running has always been one of the things that made me feel in control of my life. My favorite trail hasn't frozen over yet, so I should savor it while I can.

I go through the motions with hardly a thought: getting a water bottle, putting on comfortable clothes, pulling my hair back. The usual. It's a bitter reminder that, back in the old days, this kind of mundane stuff felt intentional. I actually cared how tight the ponytail was or whether the athletic clothes came off my floor or from the laundry basket.

It's supposed to rain later in the evening, so my best chance to go is early. I hurry out to my chosen path and set up an even pace. The air's chilly against my skin, but even that is a pleasant change from the sterile confines of my temporary living space. My feet still ache; my doctor would be pissed to see me running on my half-healed foot injury. He didn't even want me wearing my work heels, but it's not like I can afford to stay home. And sometimes you have to know when to break the rules. It's worth the pain every time my foot hits the ground.

The woods close in around me, the underbrush dense and the trees so thick I can almost feel their age, just in the way the air tastes. Some strain that was constricting my ribs loosens, and I gasp a deep, cleansing breath. God, I've missed this. I've been so afraid to so much as leave my bedroom.

When the pain in my sore foot is too biting to ignore, I slow to a walk. But that only reminds me of my dazed footsteps in the hotel lot, struggling to maintain the sigil despite my blood on the pavement. There's a rock to the side of the path, so I seat myself on it and stretch over my toes, loosening my hamstrings.

The leaves on the ground behind me crackle, and before I've so much as considered it, I'm on my way to sketching a sigil to protect myself. But the shaggy body that emerges from the underbrush stills my hand. It's so strange seeing Reza as Ballad after all that's happened. And I should be distressed to see him, rather than riding a wave of heat as my blood runs to my cheeks. What's he doing here?

The answer's obvious; he has no reason to be here other than to see me. How long's he been following me?

“This is weird, right? I look insane saying hello, but it would be way weirder if I tried to pet you.” I chuckle at the surreal nature of the interaction.

Reza steps closer and nudges my hand with his nose. The moment my fingers peel off the stone, he nudges it again, working his face under it so that my hand rests on top of his head.

“I'll take that as permission,” I mumble, watching a couple jogging the way I just came.

They glare at me as they pass, the woman mumbling something about a fucking leash. It makes a hysterical giggle bubble to my lips. But I don't have a reason to linger here, not with my feet at least somewhat rested. I let them get some distance on me, and then I stand to continue walking. Ballad follows on my heels, walking at the perfect pace to keep my fingertips on the back of his neck.

“Funny how this should seem normal, but it's all just…a shell…” I tell him, as much to be avoiding thinking as to be talking. “That woman thinks the worst thing in the world is you walking around off-leash.”

He whuffs, and shakes his head. I thump his ribs affectionately.

“I was like that, too. And now…how can I be? Every time I say I wish I could go back to it, it hammers the point deeper; I can't. Because who I was when I believed that…that person's already dead. All that's left is me. Disillusioned, fearful me. The more I learn, the worse it gets.”

He headbutts my hip. Even though he's being gentle, it's nearly enough to take me off my feet. I'd forgotten just how big he is, how sturdy. It's so easy for the dog's power to be overshadowed by the power of the man within him.

“There was a hex on the car. I don't know what my parents were involved in, but it was definitely magical, and it definitely got them killed. It…makes all this so much bigger than you and I or the Reapers. But what am I supposed to do with that?”

He rests his head against my side as we walk, the proximity making my arm drop from his shoulders to lay along his ribs. Strangely, it's comforting.

“I'm sorry I yelled last time. It just—it never really seems like this could be me. It felt like I must be living in someone else's life. Like it couldn't be mine. But if this is something that's been a part of me since before I was born, well, it looks really awful taking that out on you, doesn't it?”

I heave a sigh, almost relieved that Reza can't talk.

He glances around, and then his fur starts melting back into his skin. I flinch as he straightens, naked and human. No one else was around to see, though, so it could have been worse. Still, I'll never get used to that. I glance away from his bare skin. If I keep looking at it, I'll start remembering how it felt under my fingertips, how the muscles shifted when he moved, how the bumps on his shoulders felt under my palms.

Of course, he has other ideas. He pulls my cheek to his chest and wraps his arms around me. In his space, inhaling his musk, with everything forgotten—or at least forgiven—I shut my eyes, straining against the promise in his heartbeat, steady against my cheek.

42

Reza

It was a spur of the moment decision, not waiting until I'd followed her home. Of course, I doubt they'd have let her bring a dog the size of a small bear into the hotel. So maybe it was a pipe dream anyway. She just looked so melancholy, and wearing a dog's body, I didn't have the capability or the wherewithal to console her the way she deserves. And I came here with a reason.

“Lis, you're still who you always were. It's me you've changed. I love you.”

She snorts, her breath hanging warm against my chin. Damn, it's freezing out here today. I hold her closer, drinking in her warmth. “I mean it. I love you to my bones. Your power, I know it seemed scary, but it came from me, willingly. My body understood before I did, but what's mine is yours. I don't know if you read anything about an Anguis mantle… My brother and I had to implant my grandfather's bones in under our skin to utilize the old man's power, but you can do that naturally with me. Now that I've taken my blinders off, I realize that's because I want you to. I want you to bleed me dry, if that's what it takes to protect you. You aren't scared of yourself, you're scared of me, of what I inadvertently thrust on you.

“And I know you don't think my world is your world. But it is. You have a place with me if you want one. Always. I'll help you find your secrets if you ask me to. I'll teach you if you wish it. But the only reason you have a place in that world is because your place is with me. In my heart. In my life. You are my world.”

“That's sweet of you to say,” she demurs, obviously not convinced it's anything other than an attempt to make her feel better.

“I mean it. Most witches never do anything with their power. Even those who become demon hunters usually stay here, as it's not worth the sheer effort it takes them to cross between worlds. I wanted to believe the larger world was your birthright, as it is mine, but it's not. Only if you choose to step into it.” Her brows knit together at the implied by my side I'm leaving out.

“What do you want, Lis?” I stroke her cheek, my skin tingling with the hope that she'll give me the answer I need.

She changes the topic. “Your grandfather's bones? Really? And here my parents didn't even have an open casket.”

“Yeah. It's tradition. I cut the flesh away from them myself. Eren prepared the reagents and soaked the bones in magic. I inscribed sigils into the most perfectly shaped pieces once we'd sanded them down. It's a funerary rite, along with a transfer of power, just as my grandfather requested.” My fingers close over hers, guiding them to my shoulders. I won't be hurt if she shudders; the ritual must seem doubly repulsive to her.

Her fingers trace over their ridges and bumps. “I wondered what that was…”

“I'll show you a little more, later. Their power, all of my power, is yours, if you want it. We're stronger together than apart.”

Her eyes seek mine out, soulful and hesitant. Her lips are so close to mine, but I don't dare kiss her, not with the uncertainty hanging over both of us. She knows where we stand now. What will she do?

She tucks her head under my jaw, and her fingertips curl against the back of my neck. It's not the unconditional yes I might have hoped for, but it's far from a bad sign. “Show me now,” she whispers.

My fingers find her chin and tilt her face toward me. I'm not sure what she's asking for, but this seems like as good of a starting point as any. Her palm slides away from the back of my neck, alighting nervously over my hands, but she doesn't push me away. Her fingers close over mine, and her eyes shut halfway with pleasure.

Her breathing is ragged; it makes me perversely happy to see her as shaken as I have been. So long as I can find in her some conviction that she wants me, too, I'll be okay.

Her lips find mine. She kisses me gently, catching my lower lip between hers. My heart stops at that light brush and the almost possessive edge to it. I growl and kiss her harder, needing her to know that she's mine. That after all we've been through together, she's family, she's my world, she's Pack.

Her lips part in surprise, and her fingers tighten in mine. Every bit of space between us is too much. But we're not somewhere safe. We shouldn't risk becoming targets, lingering too long with our guards down. Not to mention that any passerby wouldn't appreciate my nudity.

“Think hard, Alisa,” I tell her and guide our joined hands away from her face. “Just focus on the sigil. I'll shape it, but the power has to be yours.”

She raises her eyebrows but holds my gaze, trustingly. I guide her hands in the succession of lines and curves that marks the most common spell for transformation that her kind uses. I've never had a need for it, but growing up in an Anguis line, we had very thorough tutors. Helping her to cast it… I hope it'll let me show her something of myself.

She funnels her power into it as I work, and the mark hangs large in the air, glowing faintly. She stares at it as it pours back into her skin. And then her eyes widen. She bends forward, bracing her weight on her knees and breathing deeply. Fur sprouts from her smooth arms, and her jaw lengthens. She looks at me in surprise as the transformation takes hold, shaping her into a wolflike dog only a little smaller than my preferred canine form. Only her unusual eyes betray her humanity.

I put my mind into the patterns and senses that shape Ballad's existence again, letting the transformation overtake me, as well.

43

Alisa

I riffle through my clothes to dig my wallet out of my pocket. I can't imagine we're just gonna stand here.

It's confusing and almost nausea-inducing adjusting to such different senses. I can't keep up with the flow of scents my nose finds, but the colors around me are gone, so it seems like an even trade. Moving is awkward; my depth perception seems off, too. I can only hope I'll adjust.

It never would have occurred to me to try shifting forms. I have no clue why it seemed so important to Reza. But it's a new experience, and a strange one, at that.

My thoughts feel…different. Simpler, maybe. It's easier to let go of the confusion that had tormented me.

Reza slowly and clumsily sketches a word into the dirt path: Home? I don't need his clarification to know he means his, not mine. But mine was already gone. Unsure how to tell him yes, I lower and raise my chin in an awkward nod and headbutt his shoulder.

He nudges my rump to get me to my feet and takes off, wending his way through the underbrush. I struggle to stay on his heels, despite the unfamiliar way the dirt feels under my paws. How can he move so naturally? How much time does he spend in a dog's body anyway?

In time, the right gait comes to me, though it still feels wrong as hell. Somehow, this body itches me like a too-small pair of shoes. If my spirit could get blisters, it'd be well on its way. Perhaps this is second nature to Reza, but I doubt it ever will be for me. As enlightening as it is seeing the world through his eyes, I'd give anything to be back in my own body.

Reza's tail wags like a puppy bounding circles around me. When I slow too much, he veers toward me and nips lightly at my hindquarters. It's more affectionate than irritating, and it's impossible to be mad at such a happy dog. I can only imagine what he'd be like in his own body with this kind of enthusiasm. I don't think I'd realized exactly how many of his instincts came from being a canine, but it makes a lot of sense. The first time he kissed me…

I don't understand my life's new shape. Not in the least. But it certainly seems like I couldn't ask for a better companion and guardian. Our tails thump against each other's as I finally get the hang of wagging mine.

I may never uncover the mysteries that killed my parents or the intricacies of my heritage, but I can damn well take care of myself and Reza. Especially with a little more practice.

I think I need the new start. Maybe I even need the anchor Reza provides. Either way, I'm gonna run with it.

He has more endurance than me, but he makes his way at a pace only marginally faster than I'm comfortable with, leading me back to a very familiar clearing. I've lost track of the time it took us to get there; for a while, there was nothing but the ground under my feet and his smell further up the trail.

He transforms back to himself and puts a hand on my paw. “Brace yourself.” When I nod, he sketches a sigil into the dirt, and immediately, the spell binding me to this body frays. I squeeze my eyes shut as colors dart into my vision, and my body grows rapidly in a small time span. My body is the icing in a piping bag, being squeezed into decorative and unfamiliar patterns. But in the space of breaths, I realize that the patterns are familiar. I'm myself again. It just feels unfamiliar.

Reza grins at me, panting slightly from the trek. He wraps his arms around me, his skin so warm against mine, chasing away itches and shivers from my transformation.

“Will you come home with me?” He fixes me with a heated gaze, actually waiting for my answer.

My hands are trembling, either from the strangeness of playing Adam and Eve in the woods or from the spell's aftereffects. The words freeze in my throat. No more go-go dancing, no more babysitting for Rory, at least not for a while. No more pretending I'm normal. Or lamenting my failure. I'm giving all that I've known up, and for what?

Reza's smile fades as the pause hangs heavy between us. His thick lashes shadow his eyes, and I'd give anything to chase his anxiety away.

For him. I'm giving it all up in the hopes that with him, I can carve out the space I want for myself. A space by his side. Because I want to be there.

“Yeah. Lead on.”

He kisses me, holding my face to his as though he'd die if I pulled away to draw a breath. And then he releases me. “You know the sigil.”

I do. I turn away, and he wraps his arms around me from behind. The air parts under my fingertips as the gateway opens. He beams as he helps me through it. “Welcome home.”

44

Alisa

Eren's waiting with a bottle of champagne and two sets of clothes. Reza blocks me from his sight while I slip on the loose dress, relieved for the fabric's kiss against my skin. If I didn't know better, I'd say he's jealous. I swat at him to let him know he'd best look after his own nudity. He gives me a sheepish smile and turns to his own clothes.

Eren gives me a “don't mention it” smile to dispel the awkwardness from the last time we spoke. And he reaches for the bottle on ice next to him. “To you two.”

Reza tugs me close and kisses my forehead as Eren uncorks the bottle and pours several champagne flutes. “Welcome home, sister,” Eren says, as he offers me one.

I duck my head, my cheeks red with self-consciousness. “Welcome home, Lis,” Reza says, hiding my embarrassment by kissing me.

Muted cries rise up around us as the rest of the bar holds their glasses up. I wrap my arms around Reza's neck and cling tight, not used to this much attention. How can I be so easily flustered right now?

The talk carries on around us in fast eddies of sound and motion, but I'm numb to everything other than Reza's muscular bulk against my body and his arms holding me to him. It feels safe being there. Even the air here tastes like security. No wonder Reza's built his all into this place. If I'm honest, I kind of envy him that clarity of purpose. Maybe I'll savor taking part in it, in my own small way. I have no doubt I'm going to learn lots of useful stuff.

It seems strange accepting this as my world. But somehow it is. I'll make it be.

While everyone else is carousing or doing whatever the hell else they do when killing time in their strange oasis, Reza leads me to the garden. He sketches a sigil on the gate behind us, and it seals shut. “Sometimes I spend the night out here when I can't sleep. There's not seasons, per se, but periodically it's cold, and I grow a coat of fur.”

He sits on a section of grass and pulls me down next to him, half into his lap.

“It seems strange, thinking of a world where everything's flexible. Where everything changes. I don't know any of these constellations.”

“It takes getting used to, I'm sure. But in my experience, changes aren't usually bad. No matter how painful they are, they're opportunities for growth. Look at us. If my mother hadn't broken tradition for love, I never would have inherited my grandfather's power. If my grandfather hadn't liked his son's black-sheep bride and broken his own tradition to pass his gifts to his half-breed grandchildren, I'd simply be a man who doesn't always look like a man. I wouldn't have my true power. And if I didn't have the Mantel, I never would have learned spellcraft, ended up at the Well, or been put in a position of meeting you. Life is a spider web. Everything intersects. You can appreciate the intersections without devaluing the pain they represent.”

“That's a good way of looking at it, I think.” I sigh and tip my face toward his for a kiss. If he's right, I may not be through the difficulties. So I should enjoy him and all the nice things we have, to hold them in balance against the alienation and the hopes that I'm helping Rory, and Riley, and Annie, and Reba more by staying away from them. It still stings, but that ache is soothed by his eager lips.

The smells drifting to us on the nighttime air seem almost familiar. No alien perfumes or spices.

For the first time, I can almost imagine the Well as home.

I shut my eyes, focusing on the fragrance, the cool breeze, and the warm man enfolding me in his arms.

45

Reza

Even an idiot could see that Alisa's preoccupied. It's been an eventful day. I'm surprised she's still on her feet after learning to transform. I've heard those spells are particularly rough on humans. But it was worth it to walk alongside her as Pack and know she knew everything that was in my mind and my life. Even if she had turned back when we reached the gate, I'd have treasured that memory.

It's even more perfect now, though, holding her under the starlight, listening to the wind in the plants. Utterly safe in the most magical, most protected part of the Well. It's impossible not to revel in every inch of her pressed against me. But I need to get my mind back on things before I get carried away and drown myself in her flesh, making love to her with only the stars as witnesses.

I promised her more than just my body and my love. I promised her my power.

I shift Alisa's weight off my lap and crawl over to one of the rosebushes that I put in while she was gone. Apparently, Gene's got a thing for roses. She asked me to create a few not long after Alisa left. I was happy to oblige, more so now. I clutch one of the stems, my finger placed over a thorn. It bites into the fleshy pad, but I don't ease the pressure of my grip until there's blood.

Alisa's sitting up, waiting for me to come back. She cocks an eyebrow, her elegant features wary.

I drop to my knees next to her and tug her neckline down slightly to make room to work. “Someone's frisky,” she teases, though she seems to know it's not simply lust making me expose her silky skin.

My blood stains her skin as I press my finger to her, sketching a mark onto her, over her heart. She shivers as an electric tingle goes through both of us, the magic in the world reacting to the spell taking shape. Our eyes meet, hers bright with trust, and mine bright with pride that this beautiful woman now bears my mark. That our home will bear the marks of her power, as well as mine.

I close the sigil, and a charge ripples through the air as the power of the Well surges into her and against my finger. It knows its new mistress.

“Whoa,” she whispers. “What the hell was that?”

“A key. Making what you had here last time permanent. Telling the Well that it's safe to listen to you.” I squeeze her trembling fingers. “Now it's truly your home.”

“I—I don't know what to say.”

“Then don't. It doesn't need a response.”

We lapse into a shaky quiet, the energy in the air putting both of us on edge. “So what do you want to study?” I ask, hoping the change of topic helps.

She twists to look at me and bites her lip before she speaks. “Protection. I want to focus on learning protection. I don't want what happened to my family to happen to anyone else. And from what you've said, things are gonna get really bad out there. So whatever you teach me, whatever we study, I want it to be with the goal of protecting you and the people here.”

My heart swells. She couldn't have chosen anything that would make me more proud of her. Truly, I chose someone whose heart is in the same place as mine. She'll be a striking pack mother, alluring and dangerous to those who threaten our community.

“You're making me feel silly,” she mumbles, glancing away. The pause has stretched entirely too long.

“As you wish. Between the two of us, we'll work some magic.”

“Of course we will. I am a witch,” she says with a chuckle.

I kiss her again, stealing the rest of the laugh from her throat. The power's coursing through me an entirely different way now, demanding we share our bond in a rather simpler kind of union next.

I can't fucking wait to give in.

46

Alisa

My hair's standing on end, some strange energy coursing through me as though my blood was carbonated. My skin itches and then hums. I've never really been one for getting high, but I can only imagine this is what it feels like if you take every drug offered at a party. It feels like I'm breathing pure static electricity rather than air, and my vision's filled with fairy lights and dust motes drifting to form sigils in the breeze. Reza's lips against mine are pure ecstasy with my supernatural awareness of their fullness, their softness, the power in his own breath.

His fingers playing across the back of my neck overwhelm me, sending shivers of shock down my spine and making heat well between my legs. He curls his fingers, and his nails scrape lightly along my skin. I moan, only to blush. I suppose the door out here's locked, but I still have the paranoid idea that someone might hear, might see us. Perhaps it sounds contradictory, but I'm not that kind of exhibitionist.

Reza growls deep in his throat. Somehow, the aggressive noise has a promise in it, one that's possessive and full of demand and love. I never could have imagined so much being communicated in something wordless. His hand slides between us, pushing my skirt up above my knees. He traces a slow path up my thigh, and my legs tremble. In the wake of his touch comes a searing warmth, like sparkler trails across my skin. My breath comes fast.

He cups my mound, teasing his middle finger into my slit, but affectionately, not lustily. No. He's planning to take his time with me. We've had each other before, but it was rushed. There's no chance of that now. Reza wants me, body and soul, and it'll take a lot more than just a handful of frenzied kisses and a desperation fuck to soothe his inner beast.

I put my hand over his, laying my fingers over his, too. His fingers interlace with mine lightly, and in the process, part my lips, brushing so close to my throbbing clit I almost shoot off the ground. God, I'm impatient for him. If he makes me wait another second to touch me, I'm going to grind into his hand. The charge running through me makes me feel wanton, desperate to experience everything with him. I want to feel the power shared between us as though his fingertips against my skin closed a circuit inside us to keep the desire there, ricocheting through on a steady loop, heedless of whose body it started in and whose body it's currently in.

There's a spark in his eyes and a catch in his breathing that says he feels it, too. And that it's taking everything he has to move slow the way he wants to. I add a little fuel to the fire, bucking my hips into his hand and closing my legs to trap his fingers between my legs. Two fingers curl, teasing into me deeper, finally, and I unclench my thighs, spreading my knees apart to let him have as much space as he needs. His touch drives me higher as his fingers work me inside and out and his eyes drink in every unconscious reaction that makes it to my face. It's a relief knowing he echoes my hunger.

I reach out to caress him through his pants, caressing his package. He moans, his eyes half shutting with pleasure. He leans his forehead against mine, and our breath washes over each other's skin. Even that is a revelation, one that makes me crave his lips on my earlobe, my neck, my throat—

Reza gathers me close, supporting my weight as he eases me backward. When I'm safely on the ground, his muscular bulk positioned above me, he untangles his fingers from mine and tugs my skirt up the rest of the way, leaving the fabric pooling around my waist. My legs break out in bumps to be subjected to the whims of the breeze, but the raised flesh is soon kissed away as he retraces the path his hands took earlier with his mouth.

I gasp at the first touch of his lips against my wet heat. It feels like I'm burning, roasting alive under the weight of my own desire and his need. His lips are so soft, so plush against me, gentler than I could even have dreamed.

The whisper soft brushes stoke the heat inside me to a ferocious want. His lips part, and his tongue traces the curve of my hood, taunting me. My eyes shoot open to find his. I don't know whether I'm pleading, or whether I'm simply witnessing. I'm not sure that he does, either, as his lips caress me more firmly, and his tongue swirls around my aching clit.

He whispers words I don't understand, peppering me with kisses and gently sucking on my sensitized button between each sentence or word. The soft rumble of his voice echoes through me as though it were more than simply flesh connecting us. And maybe it is. The mark he drew on my skin is riveting, his bright blood standing out against my creamy flesh. It's primal, dangerous, and reassuring all at the same time. For better or for worse, we are connected. For better or for worse, I've picked my team. I'm his.

It's impossible not to lose myself in his agile tongue, the way the sparks explode in my center with every subtle shift in his motion. The worries fall to the side, nothing left of me but the panting, eager woman cowed by his touch. I tangle my fingers in his hair, resting my hand on his head. Somehow, the texture of his hair against my palm makes it more real yet. This isn't a sex dream or some magical experience, despite the power still coursing through my blood. It might seem surreal, larger than life, with the world around us narrowed only to my gasping, halting breaths and his own ecstatic moans, muffled by my thighs on either side of his head, but at its core, it's just us.

I love Reza. Even though he's lorded over the most upsetting period of my life. Even though I still don't know what the hell to do with the fear, the anxiety, that's plagued me since he opened my eyes to the real world—well, worlds. All of them.

His tongue swirls lower, stroking my entrance, and all my nerve endings come alive. My body still remembers how he felt in me—how he's gonna feel in me again. My body's already ready, already begging for him, as though anatomy-be-damned, the next sensation I feel might be the blunt head of his cock pushing in, filling me, making my body arch into him for more.

He pulls back up, his hot tongue leaving a blazing trail of sensation in its wake as he licks his way back up to my clit. I want to be self-conscious when I realize that I'm bucking into him, angling my hips against his lips to better drink in every sweet sensation. But his eyes are dark with pride and want, heading off my awkwardness in its tracks. I give myself over to the crescendo building inside me with a wordless cry.

His tongue teases me down from the peak, easing off as my nerves flare and tingle with pleasure. But I want more—everything—the orgasm, the shivers, the trembling, spasming muscles, the twitches. I don't want him to back off.

My fingers snarl in his hair harder, refusing to let him back off, and he gasps. My body crests the edge, spots dancing in my eyes as I come hard, my whole body arching, my clit pulsing, and my heart pounding.

Reza straightens, his chin glistening with my arousal and a wicked grin on his face. It's infectious, and between that and the afterglow, it's all I can do to keep the laughs contained in my throat. I'm out of breath, giddy, and begging for him.

“God.” My lips are shaping the words, but I can hardly feel them forming in my mouth. “Please.”

Reza bites his lip, his eyes dancing. “Since you asked so nicely.” He braces himself between my legs, the tip of his cock hovering at my entrance.

It's barely brushing me. It slides against my wetness almost like his tongue was a minute before. I'm writhing, straining to take him into me, even as he keeps himself just out of my reach.

Only when I still my trembling body and look him in the eye does he thrust home, our souls sealed together in that fragile point of contact. I wrap my legs around him to bind him to me, adrift in the soft motion as he begins rocking, holding me to him and impaling me deeper.

I lock my arms around his neck and bury my face against his shoulder. The skin is slightly rough, the remains of his injury, and with my breath trapped against my face, I can almost feel a little of that searing heat.

He's strong, so strong, from his rigid cock flexing inside me to the muscles corded hard as he pumps into me. And with the static tickle in my throat from the power in the air, it's impossible not to remember that just as he shaped this world, he's gonna shape mine, too.

I sink my teeth into his neck for the reaction, though it's only a light nip, and the shapes floating in the air around us shift, reacting to us. The whole world is waiting for his touch, not simply me. I can feel its ripples as his power unfurls inside me, bound by blood and love and lust and pain. He takes my hands, pulling first one, then the other away from his neck. He laces our fingers together on the ground on either side of my head, his touch reverent yet forceful.

In his touch, in this world, is the connection I've been missing, the last piece of the puzzle that can quiet my fears. My world is in his eyes, the way they crinkle when he gasps. It's in his scars and the events that have shaped both of us together. It's in his fingers entwined with mine and our forearms pressed together. Only with each other can we be powerless, because we can rely on each other for protection. And that give-and-take is everything.

His fingers tighten in mine as his thrusts grow more urgent. I spur him on with my heels and push my hands against his to give him more leverage. I won't break if he manhandles me a little, and he knows it, too.

His weight shifts, pushing my hands into the ground harder as he lowers himself to me, his lips grazing my throat, my chest, and then my breasts, his tongue caressing my tightened buds through my dress. I gasp at the fabric's scratch and at his breath caught in it, a tantalizing reminder of what it'll feel like when he pries me out of the fabric and claims me for real.

I can almost taste his lips. Just the thought of his tongue darting against mine leads me back to the way his mouth felt against my sex, leads me to… I don't know, really. I'm torn, incapacitated by the need to experience everything alongside him. The impulse is part impatience and part indecision.

Reza moans, his speed picking up. There's something of the baying hound in it, a wild, reckless cry into the universe. And I'm the only one around to hear it. I'm not used to seeing this side of him; for so long, I bound myself to only see his hard side, the side that could hold me down and tie me up despite his obvious remorse.

But now, I'm determined to see every side of him that I can. I want to watch him study, memorize the way he looks when he's relaxed. I want to watch him sleep and wake him up with a kiss.

He pauses, extricating his hand from mine to palm my breast. I don't want to feel fabric between us. I arch into his touch and slide my hand between us to pull my hemline up. He takes the hint to help me. I miss his hands in mine, but it's worth it when he presses me back to the ground and it's bare skin against bare skin.

I'm drowning in my own senses, filtered through the charged air. As keenly as if I were still in a dog's body, I can smell us, the sweetness and spice of my arousal and his precome. As keenly as if I were blindfolded, I can feel the way the air whispers against my skin, the way his balls slap against me in his eagerness to take me as deeply as possible. I strain to push my knees to the side even more, to expose myself to him even further. Our minds might be along different paths, but they're traveling to the same place. We need the same thing, and we don't need words to say it.

Someone knocks on the door, no doubt coming to see where we wandered off to, and Reza jerks his head to the side to look. Unconsciously, he slips out of me—only for a moment before he returns his attention to our tryst. He repositions himself to take me again, and I caress him, trapping his erection between my caressing palm and my slick sex. He thrusts to slide against me, urging me higher. My fingers are coated in my own arousal, and he slips against me effortlessly. I gasp, bucking my hips into him, and our mutual pace accelerates. I shut my eyes to blot out the fireworks in the sky. I'd rather see nothing but him. Feel nothing but him. His moan startles my eyes open. Automatically, I find his gaze, my whole body trembling at the possessive need in how he looks at me. I arch my back to savor his body against mine, and he moans, his fingers tangled in my hair. A hot dash of come streaks across my stomach. His eyes immediately return back to mine and then down. He's breathing hard, and his eyes are wistful to have missed that last moment together. Someone knocks on the door again. “I'm gonna kill whoever it is,” he says.

“I guess that's a hint to move inside then.” I laugh, dryly. And then an idea occurs to me. We might need a break to talk about what just happened, but that doesn't mean we're done.

I dip my finger into the small pool of seed on my stomach and trace it upward, sketching the shape by memory. The sigil he first taught me originally meant welcome, not strictly open. It meant the kind of possession that says you are safe. I will take care of you. Everything we've done for each other.

I can't think of a more fitting thing to wear than my promise to him, shaped and bound with his essence. My finger glides slickly against my skin, though it takes me a few minutes to remember all of its curves. His eyes widen as I complete the sigil. The glow is almost blinding, with our eyes adjusted to see in comparatively little light.

A bashful grin plays across his face as he surveys me, completely naked and covered with that mark. Then he grins and reaches between us, his finger slipping between my legs. It comes back glistening with my arousal. The liquid leaves a glistening trail across his chest as he mirrors me, shaping his sigil confidently.

The knock comes again, louder this time.

Reza passes his hand over my stomach, smearing the sigil and dissipating the glow. I break his, and then as one, we reach for our clothes.

He leads me back inside with a strong arm around my shoulders. Whoever interrupted us didn't wait around that long.

47

Alisa

“Wake up.”

“What?” The words come out muffled. I sit bolt upright, and Reza has his hand over my mouth.

“We're under attack. And we have to be quiet. Follow me. It's Morena, some of the Whirlwind, and one of her mutant hounds. Nobody I recognize this time. So far, the barriers are keeping them out. But I'd rather not give them a chance to probe our defenses for weaknesses.”

“Morena? What do you need from me?”

“Two things. I've opened up a path outside. Too small for us, at least in this form. Once we're out there, I need you to erect another barrier for us. Doesn't have to be pretty, just enough to keep hostiles out. I'll do the rest. And just in case, get the hell back to the Well if the casting falls. Under no circumstances should you tangle with Morena yourself.” He remembers my question and clarifies it for me. “Morena's their leader. You'll know her by her scales. She's half dragon, too. She just got a completely different set of skills from the bloodline. Now come on.”

He leads me in the shapeshifting spell, now that I can sketch the sigil myself. It's easier this time. I follow him to a board he pushes out of the way with his snout. I'm sure this path is new, fabricated sometime while I slept.

Suddenly, we emerge into trees along the edge of the Well. Towards the entrance, several Reapers are casting with a woman elegantly dressed standing behind them, obviously their leader. Her neck shimmers with scales. The way they catch the light, even at that distance, is more than a little hypnotizing. Still more creatures stand around, looking bored, no doubt waiting for our defenses to fall for their fun to start.

Reza straightens on two legs, his form already returning to a man's. I'm an instant behind him. I start on the barrier immediately, feeling extra exposed since neither of us have any clothes. I don't have time to form the barrier out of whole cloth, so I simply stretch the Well's barrier around us. When it's done, I nod at him.

“Great,” he says and steps out from the underbrush. It's then that I see what's happening. He's working on some spellwork of his own, a casting requiring some incantation I don't recognize. The earth beneath the Reapers falls away, leaving only the sheer cliff beyond the Well.

Some notice him at the same time others begin to run from the approaching cliff. They bounce off the barrier comically, and he keeps moving forward, pinching the Reapers and the woman leading them between our defenses and a fall of several hundred feet. He leaves them just enough room to stand, but not to turn, then leans his head over the woman's shoulder.

“The fall won't kill you, Morena,” he says through a grin so wide it shades his voice, “but it's a long-ass walk out of the Charyndis. And it's somewhere in the vicinity of a thousand degrees down there. Centigrade.”

“I'm an American,” I deadpan, “so, all I know is that means it's hot.” Really, the centigrade comment is the least confusing bit of that.

He smirks. “Real hot. Hot enough it might kill even you in a different plane. But here…it would just be unpleasant.”

“How unpleasant?” I ask. He glances at me as though surprised to remember I'm still here.

“Cook all the skin off her bones hot. Probably leave her enough meat to keep crawling. And in a few years' time, she might even be able to crawl back up here to one of the exits.”

Morena sighs coldly. “Name your terms.”

“You leave us be. And us includes anyone under my roof. I don't care if they're demonic enemy number one—they stop existing when they cross my threshold.”

Her shoulders shrink.

“Sealed, on pain of death.” He presses his advantage.

She tenses, but she's between a rock and a three-hundred-foot drop into the Charyndis. He draws a sigil in the air, and Morena glares back over her shoulder but completes the mark with her own hand. The sigil burns into the skin of her exposed bicep before disappearing.

Reza reaches through the barrier and pulls her through. “Think peaceful thoughts, fellas, or the magic will knock you right off the cliff.”

“Do it,” Morena says. He pulls them through, one at a time. One bristles at Reza's touch. “Our business is done here,” she snaps at him, then turns to leave.

Something bothers me, but I hold my question until the last of them are gone. “What was that pain of death stuff?” I ask. Reza turns me back toward the gate.

“It's an old spell, some say the oldest…a demonic oath with some teeth to it. We needed such a thing to have any kind of civility at all; it's tough to build a society when everyone operates in shades of gray. The oath takes care of that. If she raises a hand to the Well, her blood will corrode her from the inside out; it's about the most painful death I could imagine, and I've seen some pretty nasty ways to go.”

“And that works.”

“Sometimes too well. The spells can be terribly literal; she could get pretty nasty indigestion just raising our taxes too high. Let's go in; better not tempt fate.”

48

Alisa

Eren greets me with a cup of coffee when I nod at him after walking blearily down to the main floor. “You look like you need it.”

“Just a bit.”

“Up all night?” he asks and then winces. “Never mind. Don't tell me.”

“Yes, but studying. We were testing some variants—it seems to fizzle out after two rooms; we can't stretch it large enough to cover so much as a single floor. And I can't figure out why; there's nothing in the spell that should limit it, and the pool of power it's drawing from is plenty—”

“Don't tell me,” he says and shakes his head. “But after yesterday, you two kids deserve a little rest and relaxation.”

“We were just studying.” Now more than ever, we need the Well's defenses as strong as they can be.

“I only meant the two of you did well. You protected our home.” He puts his hand over mine, and for an instant, I see just a hint of his brother in him before he stuffs it down and goes back to dusting off a glass. “I never had the patience for spellcraft shit. I'm glad Reza's got someone else to talk about it with.”

I take a sip of the coffee, praying its almost magical, energy-giving properties will kick in. “I never figured on myself enjoying it, either. I've never really been big on book learning.”

He hesitates, looking away as though debating his next words. “Everything okay?” I ask, a little unnerved by it.

“Everything's fine. Just—I felt it. The spells were jumping around something fierce. Make him teach you control. Between the two of you, the sky was in flames. I'm not gonna watch that every night, or just before break—”

If only I could peel the blush off my face. “Sorry,” I mutter.

“It's fine. Just work on your casting. I felt it.”

“What?”

“When he bound you to the Mantel. I felt it shift, felt its power redistribute. It was strange.” His jaw clenches, but I can't figure out what about it has him so tense. Certainly, his fixation makes me wonder exactly what it was like, whether I really ought to be blushing to share some weird connection with him, too.

“It was strange,” I mumble, not knowing what else to say.

“There's plenty to go around…more than we could ever use. But it's weird thinking that there's this…thing…that's bonded us since birth that's no longer just ours. When Pops first started training us, knowing his death wasn't too far off, that shaped who we grew into. That power was something that was always just ours, for better and worse…and now it's not. It's yours, too. It's strange watching you two cast together, feeling the power move through you and realizing that this is something final. That it's a piece of my brother that's now no longer mine. It's a stupid bit of jealousy, but it's…lonely.”

“I—I can imagine. But only sort of. I don't have any siblings, and my adoptive mothers, well, they were loving but in a distant sort of way. They were both always so busy at work, so we never really tried to know each other. Sometimes it felt more like I was just a houseguest, and they were making conversation to be good hostesses. One of them was my mom's college roommate for a few semesters, and the other was one of her friend's sisters. I'm grateful for them, and I love them, but I don't think that I've ever felt either of them knew me that way.”

Eren shakes his head. “I've got better shit to do than envy you guys, but…it's an adjustment.”

I manage a tight smile. I'm not entirely sure what to say, but Eren being on edge with me underscores the little moments when I miss everyone back home. Reza promised to work out a system for me to pass messages to them, and although the new distance hurts, I hope we can slowly close the gap. I miss getting to talk about the shape of our lives with the girls, and even cleaning up Lily's messes and trying to kid-proof the room. The little things I never thought I would. They burn in my gut, and although I know why I made the choice I did, I still wish I hadn't had to choose between Reza and my heritage and them. I still miss the normalcy—going to work, talking makeup, and trading anecdotes with the others before we took our spots for a night go-go dancing.

I'm afraid to talk to half the people in the Well; it's not simply that they look strange, inhuman, really. It's that they act it, too. Not one of them has attempted to flirt or grab my ass, and aside from a few coolly predatory looks, it's like I don't even register on their radars. Gene and Abel don't seem to be social people; I hardly even see them, and the other guests seem too dangerous for me to push my luck.

But with every day learning alongside Reza, I'm getting more confident. Every time the Well's power courses through me, I remember that first kiss with Reza, the feeling that I was home as that magic bled into me. It feels like a part of me now. That magic is still in every kiss, but I'm used to it. It no longer seems as acute, as forceful. It's just as well; I don't think I could keep up otherwise. As it is, our studies are punctuated with frequent breaks when the joy of touch becomes just as vital as the need to learn and act.

My life is strange, without question. But in that strangeness is beauty and a thousand sights I couldn't have imagined. A thousand touches that set my blood on fire. And a purpose that brings out steel I didn't know I had inside me. Maybe that's what I was looking for all along.

49

Reza

Every morning waking up with Alisa's head on my chest is a blessing. Every evening I lie down and pull her into my arms is a revelation. But despite her eager kisses and the deep affection in every word, something's missing or hidden. She hasn't responded to my declaration of love. Maybe she's just using my affection for the power I can give her. There's nothing in the superstitions that says that love has to be reciprocated for the bond I have with her.

That's probably for the better. As easy as it is to get caught up in her touch, in her fierce strength, she's still a mortal. I've got a thousand or so years ahead of me—and that's if I don't use the Mantel's power to slow my own aging. We'll love each other while we're together, and I'll make every minute with her count. I can't deny that some part of me thinks it's masochistic, falling for someone who will die a wink later in the grand scheme of things.

Perhaps I could show her how to use the Mantel's power to strengthen herself, to fight back the ravages of age. And for a moment, I imagine it, a millenia with her, her hair barely silvered by the centuries, only the faintest laugh lines marring otherwise ageless skin.

But the thought turns to ash in my mouth. The Mantle's power isn't without limits. We'd burn through it much faster, maybe not so fast as to expose the Well and its patrons to this war, but there's always another. There's always been another. Dalila first built the Well as a refuge during the final Gargoyle purge, when the Anguis hunted them to extinction and then murdered anyone thought to bear even a hint of their blood.

I know some of it is my canine instincts. Everyone in the Well is a part of my pack. Even Abel, who I clashed with more than once before, feels like family here. I'd fight for any one of them. Die, if need be. I don't know how I could choose. No. It's worse…I know I couldn't. But I also know, Bael help me, that if she asked, I'd drop the Well and everyone in it over the cliff into Charyndis. So I don't dare ask. I don't dare find out what she'd do when the chips are down. I don't dare betray my brother, my closest friend. I don't dare ruin my whole family, my whole world.

Not that I think she would push for immortality, not yet, anyway. She's young, still, vital. But even the most staid heart trembles as death looms ever closer. I've seen mortality turn kind men cruel, bend peaceful women into torturers. I'm terrified my power could corrupt her, make the both of us monsters, and that I'd let her.

I should have thought this through before I let Eren talk me into embracing my love for Alisa. I trust that it's worth the eventual pain, but how can I know for sure? Would I be better off—her, too—if we'd stayed apart and let our fondness peter out?

Alisa doesn't know that not all the research I'm doing with her is for the Well. When I have a moment here or there, I dig through old texts, trying to discover if any other witches had uncovered the secret to immortality so that she can stay with me. Along the way, I find myself doing a surprising amount of digging into her genealogy. Perhaps it's simply the sense that if I could answer the questions that still haunt her, I would have truly done something for her.

I'll find something, sooner or later. There's no secret buried so deep that it can't be dug up eventually.

50

Alisa

Reza kisses my forehead when I bring a plate of food up to him one brisk morning. He loops an arm around my waist and leaves it there while he eats, and I poach bites of his food. Although we're discussing the barrier spell we were attempting to rework the night before, it doesn't seem like his heart's in our chatter.

He says everything's fine, but I know better than to believe it. For weeks now, he's been quiet. His touch is as gentle as ever, and his love's played out over dozens of lustful encounters, but there's a distance between us, even when we talk magic and learning. Perhaps he's tired of playing the babysitter and the teacher. Perhaps he's tired of entertaining me, showing me the ins and outs of my powers and his so we can find tasks to keep me busy and find a way for me to feel useful at some point in my future.

“Can I get you anything else?” I ask him, in case it's simply that he's still hungry or something.

“Nope,” he says and tugs me into his lap to prove the point.

I trace the patterns forming under his skin, memorizing the sharp curves of the small pieces of bone implanted there. I still haven't figured out the specific spells used to shape them. I probably won't, either.

“Are you annoyed with me?” I ask for the tenth time. Both of us have been unable to give voice to what's truly wrong. I can't articulate why it seems like he's distancing himself from me, and he hasn't even acknowledged that he is.

“No, Lis. I'm just preoccupied. I've got errands to do. Kiss me good-bye, and then let me get dressed.” He cups my cheek, drawing my face to his for another breath-stealing kiss.

When he touches me, it feels like everything's okay. It's only when he talks that I have to wonder whether he regrets us moving so fast, jumping from declarations of affection to all but living together here. Maybe that's why I still haven't been able to actually say “I love you” back. He has to know it, but it's still not something that comes naturally to me to say; Reba was pretty stoic, and even Annie wasn't really the gushy type. It's just not something that comes intuitively to me. I'd say the words are the cherry on top of the sundae of truly being loved and loving, but even that's giving it too much credit. Like Reza already discovered, the words come after everything else already has. He gave his heart to me without so much as a statement of interest.

It stings being around him, knowing something's off but not knowing what or why. I'll leave him some space, get some distance from this. For my own good. “I'm going down for more coffee then. Don't forget about me when you're off running errands.”

Reza smiles, a little of his cocky self shining through in the lopsided grin. He kisses me again and then releases me with a swat to the rump. “Wouldn't dream of it. I won't be gone long.”

I hightail it out of there, taking his plate downstairs with me.

Eren catches my dour look and refills my cup without me so much as asking. “Rough morning?”

“You could say that. I just—I don't know what's going on. It just—it seems like we're more roommates and fuckbuddies than anything else, and I don't think he likes that, either. Maybe Reza's tired of me already, or something.”

Eren's eyes narrow. He knows something.

“He is, isn't he?” I hate how flat my voice sounds. “He overstated things and wishes he'd slept on it. If he'd brought me here as a collaborator, we'd be okay, but because he wanted me here as his lover—”

Eren grudgingly steps out from behind the bar and hooks his arm over my shoulders. “Don't think too hard, Alisa. Reza's happy.”

Some kind of potent joy blossoms inside me at the idea that he is happy…but Eren's glib reply doesn't actually address any of my frustration. Tears well in my eyes, and I blink them back. Eren's stoic enough that I can't help but think that he would think less of me if he saw me cry.

He sighs a little too huffily for my tastes, and his arm tightens around me. I bury my face against his side, relieved that he can't see me. “That's the problem. You're both pigheaded.”

I snort, wetly. “That's comforting.”

“It's not my job to be comforting. You're both holding back and wondering why you each think the other is.”

I pull back to glare at him. “Excuse me?”

“Sister, I've got lifetimes on you. Just because I don't want to dip my toes in the dating pool doesn't mean I can't recognize varying forms of masochistic heartbreak when I see 'em.”

“Masochistic?” I can't help but laugh at his bleak outlook.

“Isn't it? The both of you want something static, something constant, without looking at the ways you deny or sabotage it. The problem isn't that you don't love each other, it's that you don't know how to love each other. You're wrapped up in being alone, and he's wrapped up in…” He trails off, likely realizing that Reza wouldn't want him to talk about it with me. I want to ask, but I'm afraid of what he might say.

In the end, I don't dare let the opening float by unquestioned. “What?”

“Never mind. I'm sorry, Alisa, I can't help.” Seeing him shaping my full name with Reza's lips only underscores the isolation. Maybe my friendship with Eren is what Reza and I will become once the initial infatuation fades.

He hugs me again, but I can't stop wishing it was Reza holding me.

51

Reza

After some time tracking the slippery bastard down, I finally have something to show Alisa. Or someone. His name's Noe, and he's an incubus, one whose mother was of her clan.

She looks up as the gate opens and Noe and I step through. I had to barter a favor with him to get him to come. We've had some encounters over the years, none of them pleasant. His mother was the witch I knew and played with as a kid. It bothers me knowing that; she deserved better than an anonymous dalliance with an incubus who was only trying to get her to carry his child. Even with Abel's help tracking Noe down, it was an endeavor. And I only got him here by promising him Eren and I would cooperate in helping him see if a friend of his was among our guests.

Alisa glances away, something tight and closed-off in her face. I don't like it in the least. Then she smiles, and the shadows in her expression are gone. “Reza.” She gets up to claim a kiss before turning away. She has no idea all this is for her.

“Lis, brought you a friend. Noe, this is Alisa. Alisa, this is Noe.”

She raises a hand halfheartedly.

“Alisa, Noe knew some of your ancestors. He learned magic from your great-great-something-mother. I want to say…I can't keep track.”

Her eyes light up, just as I hoped they would. “Really?”

He shrugs, fixing her with dark, hypnotic eyes. “I'll leave you two to it,” I say and gesture at the seat next to her. “Want anything to eat, Noe?”

“Sure,” he says, but his attention is on Alisa. I swear, that fucking manwhore never turns it off. If I have to watch him smile at her like that for another second, they're gonna be scraping telepathic sex demon entrails off the ceiling.

I make a face as I turn away, relieved to have the excuse not to look. As I walk past Alisa on my way to the kitchen, she reaches out to me, squeezing my hand as I pass. I breathe a little deeper and even manage a small smile. I may not be able to find out her parents' secrets, but at least she'll be able to learn the magic that's in her heritage from Noe, as close to the horse's mouth as it can get.

Their conversation floats around me in bits and pieces as I tend to business, including shoveling a plate of the day's special at Noe, a fish native to another dimension cooked on a wood plank carved from a tree from yet another plane. “So how old are you, anyway?”

“Don't you know that's rude to ask?” Noe asks but somehow manages to make the retort sound playful, almost flirtatious, rather than rude. “Any incubi less than five hundred is a baby in the grand scheme of things. Never ask one his age.”

She laughs, a silvery sound that makes me feel warm all over. “So under five hundred then.” I can't help but smile that she's still not backing down from the question.

“Slightly. But I've been in touch with them more recently than that. Even had an assignment with one, a second cousin or something, three or four generations back.”

Wait—three or four? If that's so, and he's directly related to Alisa, that means there's a likelihood that she has enough incubi blood to be reborn after death. We could have a lifetime together and then have centuries more. Provided that neither of us has another run-in with Morena or her Reapers.

It's a fool's hope. There's no way of knowing, not until it's too late. I don't dare tell her in case I'm wrong.

I'm gonna have to get in touch with Lorelei, one of the older, more devoted succubus leaders. It's personal now. If Alisa's going to live on as…one of them…I need to do my part to ensure she has the best world possible awaiting her, free from violence based on her demonic clan.

If I tell her it may make her reckless. Daring fate to affirm her incubi heritage, she might refuse to fight or might take undue risks. So I won't tell her. Not if it might take her from me a minute sooner. It's no secret that the incubi scrap and recycle identities at a whim; the woman who returns from Limbo reborn, as her birthright allows, might not be the woman I've chosen to make my life with. And I don't think I'd blame her if that happened. I don't think I could resent her for their nature. I'd like to think I'd wish her well and let her walk onward to the new life she might choose.

It's another pressure I don't need, reminding me that whether or not my full heart is hers now, there's no true future for us.

I just have to make the present sweet enough to stain the bitter future with its pleasant memory. I'll build the best life I can with her and pray every night that we'll have her next life, too.

52

Alisa

The longer Noe speaks, the more I wish I'd asked Reza to stay with me. “I know how your parents died, or rather, I know why. Incubi aren't terribly familial. Both the process and the prospect of flashing leave us untethered in ways that few consciousnesses can really understand. But in its place, there's often a…yearning, I guess you'd call it. One of my—for simplicity, we'll call him a sibling—looked into his bloodline. He discovered Dalen. His was held up as a cautionary tale, a fable about the pitfalls of confusion, getting tied up, emotionally or otherwise, with humans. He was an incubus. One night—in what would have been, for your mother, indistinguishable from a dream—he seduced her. She was only one of many; she may not have ever realized what happened; most of our partners don't.

“Normally, that would have been the end of the story. But as I've said, we incubi often yearn for things we were told not to want, and he returned to her. I don't have particulars, but he managed a moment alone with you and came to believe you bore some of our lineage, which we had always been told was impossible. Incubi, so the legends went, were sterile creatures, hence the complicated ways we continued our species.

“That was never true, and, not to put too blunt of a point on it, but that lie forms the backbone of the impending civil…conflict. But that truth had not yet come to light then, and those who sought to keep its secret tried to silence Dalen. He knew he could not resist them—they were our oldest, in command of our fiercest. All he could do was protect the child he had accidentally placed in harm's way.

“So Dalen flashed himself, wiping away every shred of the man he'd been. When the elders found him, he was laughing like a loon and wouldn't stop. He laughed for ten years, unceasingly, through interrogation and torture, eventually passing from this world to myth.” Despite Noe's charismatic and cheerful tone, he shudders.

“They say he was the first experiment in the dire Hounds, that his mad corpse was turned into a legion of laughing assassins. But they stretched what remained of his mind too far, too thin, far beyond the breaking point—to a point that the pieces of him could never be controlled. They were a wave of death, crashing on all in their path. Only Morena knows what became of him after that.”

He stops and grins. “I think I'm getting away from myself. We incubi are, at heart, storytellers. What is seduction, after all, but two people writing a love story together.”

“Some more actively than others,” Reza says, setting down a flagon.

“So do you know how they died? I saw a sigil on the underside of their car.”

“Would you mind showing me?” Noe asks.

“Draw, with your finger, in the air,” Reza says.

Something inside me tingles with power that's not mine, but I hesitate. He takes my hand in his and begins with a line, and to my surprise, plasma congeals at the tip of my finger, hanging in the air like a glowing fog. It takes me a few moments to adjust, both to his touch and to the eerie sensation of trailing charged lines.

“I don't know it,” Noe says.

“I do,” Gene says, waving her hand through the floating sigil, causing it to dissipate. Abel nods in agreement but lets her explain. “I've seen it used before. A coven of witches Morena sometimes contracts with. They use them to make assassinations out in the flesh world look like accidents. They're a contravention of some of our treaties, so not many live to tell that tale. They're a pack of crazy, crazy, crazy bitches. I worked with them, once. I lost a hand. I mean, I was only borrowing it, anyway, but that's not the point. I could have lost a hell of a lot more. They were dangerous, even to those working with them.”

“I had wondered,” Noe says, smiling conspiratorially as though he were a cat grinning around a canary it had caught. It's impossible to take my eyes off his rugged features and crisp movements. He has to be the prettiest man I've ever seen, all power and temptation. No wonder Reza was uncomfortable leaving me alone with him. Of course, having seen Abel move, too, I'm beginning to wonder if it's an incubus thing, some pheromone or trait that amplifies their natural appeal to make them irresistible. It's unnerving, since I'm not really the type to perv out on a hot stranger.

“What?” I ask.

“That other part of the puzzle. I knew, from my sibling, that a striking number of Dalen's, um, to put it delicately, conquests, met untimely ends shortly after his demise. Their families, too. But my sibling managed to track an errant child who had escaped one of the accidents, somehow forgotten by the Elders, to a pair of witches.”

“Witches?”

“Yes. Your adoptive mothers. He left it at that, however, self-preservation winning out over his catlike curiosity. I hadn't wanted to know even that much, but some people just can't be convinced to shut up.” His eye glints, as if he wonders if that's him, at this moment.

53

Alisa

My head's spinning after spending nearly every waking minute with Noe, talking long into the night and barely retiring to my room long enough to doze off with my arms around Reza, who seems to have decided it's preferable to be a dog. Maybe it's simple jealousy, or maybe he's not up for talking and is warning me off, subtly. I don't fully understand his moods.

But it's a pleasure listening to Noe talk about those of my family he's known, tell me those secrets of theirs he was privy to. I don't like the way he looks at me—it's a little too predatory for my tastes, though I don't doubt that he's aware that both Reza and I would come down hard on him like a sack of bricks, if he so much as tried holding my hand. It's just the look of a practiced flirt, one who's so accustomed to playing the sex object that he doesn't quite know how to relate to people without the soulful looks and entendres. It's strange thinking that, at one point, I played that role in some small way.

When Noe finally takes off, insisting he has some work to do, I almost skip back to our room, determined to finally have some time with Reza.

I'm not gonna close myself off. I'm not gonna let him hold his distance. I made my choice to be here with him, same as he made his choice to share his world with me. The words are the only thing left, and they're past due.

I scratch canine-Reza's head and thump his ribs. “Come hang out with me.”

He looks up, and his features stretch and distort before settling into those of the man I've come to love. “You and Noe are all caught up?”

“Yeah, I think so. He said he'd be back later to talk with you. I guess you two have unfinished business?”

“You could say that.”

“Nothing violent, I hope?”

“No, Lis. Just helping him with some information for an endeavor of his own.”

I take a deep breath, reminding myself why I'm not just picking up a book and sitting near him, basking in his presence. “Look, Reza—”

His brows knot together, as though he expects the worst.

“Oh, no—don't take it like that. Just, I know I'm not good at this shit. I'm good at playing a role, but I'm not good at being myself. If I was gonna try to tell you I love you because you needed to hear it, I'd have no problem. But saying it because I feel it should be said…it's different.”

He raises an eyebrow, letting me twist on the hook. I should have known that that manner of side admission wouldn't be enough. “I love you.” I come out and say it, marginally relieved at how confident my voice sounds. He won't know that I'm quaking in my boots. “I came with you because I love you. And I'm staying because I love you. Even if it's taken me this long to say it.”

Reza's eyes light up. “Promise me, Lis. You're not just my lover, you're my mate. My Packmistress. My family.”

“I am.” My heart swells in my chest at the pride and possessiveness in his smile. A second later, a disturbing thought hits me. “So long as I'm not gonna have to carry any puppies, anyway. I'm not birthing any puppies.”

His grin turns reckless and elated. “I promise. Human ankle-biters only.”

He sweeps me into his arms, and his lips chase all doubt from my mind.

54

Epilogue: Reza

Forty years later...

Alisa lies grey-faced in our bed. It's been ten years since we reworked the magic to put the room on the ground floor, when her joints got so achy that I feared she'd take a tumble if she wasn't careful. The past decades have flown by, for me at least. Three kids and the end of a war later, everything has changed but our bond. “I think I see one,” Alisa quips. “Finally.”

“What?”

“A gray hair. I've been dying for you to get one so I wouldn't feel so—”

“Distinguished?”

“Old.” She sighs.

I've kept the promise I made so many years ago. I've built the life I wanted with her and savored every moment. And as much as it pains me to admit, I can't pretend that it won't be long now. Even the best medical care can't change the fact that human bodies wear out. Gene helps with the kids more often than not because some days it strains Alisa too much to even play tag with them. And with Eren's kids in the picture, too, Gene's got her hands full.

Dread's my daily companion, but also relief. We've lived the way we chose, and if she's reborn as someone who chooses not to love me, I'll still have our litter to remind me of her. Seeing her eyes in our daughter's face, her mischievous smile in our sons' laughs…it's the only thing that can salve the wound I'm bracing myself for.

“Are you gonna come to bed yet? The lamp's bothering me.”

“Sure.” I curl around her, draping an arm over her chest. She wiggles closer to me with a badly hidden wince.

Halfway through the night, my fears are realized. I wake up to her cool skin and the knowledge that her chest is no longer rising and falling. She looks peaceful; she went fast. At least there's a benediction in that.

Footsteps sound on the floor near me, and numbly, I look up.

Gene and Abel are there, Gene with one kid clinging to her leg and another in her arms. She glances at Abel, her eyes dark and sad. My heart races. How did they know?

“We felt it,” she says, her voice hoarse. Abel approaches hesitantly and reaches out to shut Alisa's eyes. His hand comes away with a black stain. Our eyes meet for one frenetic moment as I realize exactly what that means.

Thank God. At least there's hope yet.

Abel salutes me. “Don't wait up for me. You can't come on this trip, and it's liable to take a while.”

“You're—”

“Taking her home. She's one of the first of a new generation of incubi to know true freedom. In time, she'll rejoin the world.” Rejoin the world. Not me. He knows the truth as much as I do.

I bow my head and hold my hand out to him. He puts his own shadowed palm into it, and for a moment, I can almost hear Alisa's voice. My eyes fill with tears, but I refuse to let them fall. Whether or not she returns, whether or not she becomes someone different, I'll still love her. Even if I have to do it in silence as she lives out her second life.

Wordlessly, Gene offers the kid in her arms to me, our second-born child, Lila. She teeths on my finger with canine fangs; she'll be transforming before too long and will be even harder to keep from escaping.

Alisa's body's gone, unmade to give her spirit strength for her transformation. She's safe in Abel's care. It's a relief and a horror all in one. My eldest son, Coram, comes to sit on the bed next to me. He's not a big talker, but he knows when something's wrong. He shifts into a little golden retriever puppy and headbutts my hand until I put it on top of the back of his neck and pet him.

“I'll get you Sy, too,” Gene says, walking through the empty doorway on her way to the remaining child's bedroom. Abel's long gone. She returns with the infant and passes him to me. Infant is perhaps deceptive, since he's twenty or so in human years. “You guys should be together. I'm gonna walk with Abel. I think that one of the others might want to come, too.”

I can hardly focus on her words, can hardly pinpoint that she's speaking of the new rituals the incubi have been working to establish now that they are free to pursue a kinder society of their own. She must mean that Noe or one of the other incubi who sometimes passes through will want to walk with Abel and Alisa.

It's an honor. Through the dark days of the war and all of those who fought, lost, and sacrificed, the incubi have become fast friends to us. Had Abel not been able to carry her spirit to Limbo, she'd still be an honorary incubus.

There's nothing to do but wait and care for the family she's given me. It's out of my hands.

In time, a phalanx of incubi pours through the gate into the Well. Abel's at their head, flanked by several others. They all nod at me with mute congratulation and condolences, and I can hardly smile to return them. I'd rather keep my mind on my children. Coram butts his wolflike head against Gene's calves, plainly saying he missed her. She scoops him up, fluffing the fur on his belly as he squirms.

His fur is now the color of Alisa's dark hair. My hands tremble.

No one says a word to me, recognizing that there's nothing to say. What happens next will happen. Nothing will speed it up or make it unfold differently.

“How is she?” I ask Abel quietly.

“She survived the trip, and survived it well. You picked a fighter.” He bows his head. “We took a shorter path, so it shouldn't take her a century to put herself together. Not like the rest of us.” He offers a self-deprecating grin. “We don't know how long it'll be, but your girl has the blood. That's all we—”

“Could have hoped for. I know.”

Eren presses a flask into my hand and pours drinks for the others. He squeezes my shoulder and raises his shot glass. “To Alisa.”

They all murmur, “To Alisa.”

* * *

Perhaps time will heal the wound, but the awareness that Alisa's still out there helps far more than distance ever could. Two, then five, then seven years trickle by as I drown myself in the day-to-day work of raising our kids. I even take Eren's off his hands, leaving the brunt of the maintenance of the Well to him. If I have to raise a ward, I'll remember raising them with Alisa, designing the spells that have kept our brood safe and built the Well into an even more solid fortress.

It brings me some measure of peace to see our children playing, to finally feel like we've carved out a space in the world safe enough for us to protect each other. So long as I have Lila demanding I look at the fur she's just learned to sprout, and Coram learning to howl, I can breathe past my own pain every morning I wake up without Alisa.

The air in the Well changes, pulsing with excitement. I look up, old instincts that never faded demanding I sketch a sigil to add strength to the protective wards.

But it's a lone woman stepping through the gateway. Her hair obscures her face, but even without seeing her, I know who she is. The Well knows who she is.

She tips her chin up, her hair falling away from her face, and I'm drowning in her familiar eyes.

My heart races; does she know me? None of the incubi have passed on anything, no doubt assuming it would be less painful than hearing that she still couldn't recall me.

The stranger carries herself with serenity and the same dancer’s gait that Alisa prided herself in until the arthritis stole it. My gut twists, and my breath catches.

Her eyes are knowing. I approach her hesitantly, praying that I'm not simply reading into it. I reach for her, smoothing my thumb over cheeks that should have fine lines and wrinkles from a lifetime laughing. But there's no lines there, and as my fingertips pass over the slight crows' feet at the corner of her eyes, those, too, fall away.

She pulls my face to hers with trembling hands. Her cheeks are wet, as are mine.

Alisa's home. She's returned to us. She'll be here watching her children grow up, watching the world change, and striving to change the Well with it. I haven't lost her.

She kisses me, though she must taste our tears.

She's still mine. For eternity.

The End.

* * *

Read the Inkubus series from the beginning,

Inkubus on Amazon.com

The Inkubus Series at delongkatie.com

* * *

K. de Long's Newsletter

About the Author

USA Today Bestseller K. de Long lives in the Pacific northwest, realizing her dream of being a crazy cat-lady. As a kid, she flagged the fade-to-blacks in every adult book she encountered, and when she began writing, she vowed to use cutaways sparingly. After all, that's when the good stuff happens. And on a kindle, no one asks why there's so many bookmarks in her library. K. de Long also writes contemporary romance, romantic suspense, and dark romance under Katie de Long.

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Brooding City

Brooding City, Book One

Tom Shutt

Brooding City © copyright 2015 Tom Shutt

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Created with Vellum

About the Book

Brooding City

A human lie-detector homicide cop must take down a violent drug lord.

Cursed with the supernatural ability to know when others are lying to him, Arthur Brennan, homicide detective with Odols Police Department, sees deception everywhere he looks.

Following a betrayal at the hands of fellow Sleepers several years ago, Brennan has left behind the life of a clandestine dream-stalking assassin and taken up a silver detective’s badge. The eyeless corpse of a dead pharmacist sets Brennan on the hunt for a ruthless madman, one whose product is leaving its own mounting body count.

Meanwhile, young Jeremy Scott suffers a grisly head wound in the valley his family owns outside the city, and his own power suddenly awakens. He’s not sure he likes ‘downloading’ other people’s memories on touch, though, and when the memories he gains begin to unravel family secrets, it’s all he can do to save everyone he holds dear.

1

The tabby had a complete and utter disregard for the sanctity of the crime scene.

It avoided the still-damp bloodstains closest to the body, but its tail flicked and papers fell as it jumped to the desk and then the wardrobe, from the top of which it watched the entire room through half-closed eyes.

A steady rain muted the light of the ever-burning streetlamps, its pitter-patter a comforting background noise that drowned out the sounds of the city. It was as if a shade had fallen around the ramshackle apartment.

The corpse reclined on a large, brown leather sofa facing a wall-sized plasma screen. Hooked up to the television were a set of studio-performance stereos and one of the latest generation gaming consoles, an unassuming black box with only a single cable connecting to the screen. A controller lay on the floor by the dead man’s feet. His clothes were thoroughly soaked through with red, and a shallow pool of blood had collected in the seat of the leather cushion.

Detective Brennan flashed his badge to the officer standing guard and carefully ducked beneath the yellow tape that blocked the doorway, balancing two brown cups in one oversized hand as he entered. He replaced the badge in his jacket while he looked over the crime scene, casting a critical eye at the body and frowning at the perched cat. He tried to ignore the strong metallic odor that hung in the air, but it left a coppery taste in his mouth. His partner of several months, Noel Bishop, beckoned him to join her in the kitchen.

“Arthur, over here,” she said.

He nodded in greeting. “Bishop,” he said, handing her one of the coffees. At an easy six-five, Brennan towered over her by nearly a foot.

She took a long sip from her cup and sighed, the tension visibly easing out of her as she drank. It had been a long week for both of them, and Brennan realized that she had probably been on the verge of sleep when the call dragged her from home.

Brennan drank from his own cup and rolled his shoulders. Several joints popped in place. “What do we have here?” he asked.

“Zachariah Nettle. Body was found about an hour ago by the landlord, who was responding to a noise complaint from the tenant downstairs. Time of death is placed at around 10 p.m. No sign of forced entry.”

“So he knew the person, or someone sneaked in.” Brennan rubbed at his scalp. “That doesn’t exactly narrow it down.”

“He was sitting down when it happened,” Bishop said, “and the television was still blaring loud when we got here. It’s possible he never heard it coming.”

“All right, then I’m leaning toward a sneak. And he was playing a video game?”

“Right.”

“Imagine that would be difficult without eyes.” Brennan frowned and walked toward the body. The tabby hissed from atop the wardrobe as he passed. He crouched in front of the corpse; it smelled worse from up close. He looked at the pale face of the late Zachariah Nettle. Rivulets of dried blood trailed from the empty eye sockets. There was some kind of irritation around the dark, sunken holes, and the mouth was agape in a frozen scream. Noel was speaking from somewhere behind him.

“Multiple stab wounds to the chest punctured the heart and both lungs,” she said.

“So why take the eyes afterward?”

“Maybe the killer has a thing for collecting trophies,” Bishop suggested. “A knife wouldn’t cause that kind of irritation around the eyes unless it was coated with something.”

“Did the forensics team find anything?”

“Came up empty on the eyes.” She grimaced at her choice of words. “They took swabs from the chest wounds back to the lab, just to be sure.”

Brennan looked around the small apartment. The stereo systems, the gaming console, the furniture, even the kitchen appliances—they didn’t feel right. It meant something, he was sure of it.

When he was younger, setting off on his own without help from his family, his apartment had been terribly rundown. He could barely afford to live in the city, and it was only once his parents had passed away that he had lived in anything more than a glorified closet. His apartment now wasn’t exactly a palace, but it was nothing to sneeze at. And it had taken him years and some amount of chance to reach that point.

“Bishop, how old was our victim?” he asked.

“Twenty-four,” she supplied. “Why?”

“Because,” he said, gesturing to everything in the room, “I don’t think our victim bought all of this on his own.” As he said it, he felt in his bones that he was right.

And everything in this apartment felt very, very wrong.

2

The Tower loomed ominously in the darkness.

Jeremy Scott crouched low, peering from the tall grass just beyond the old fort’s crumbling outer wall. There was no other term for the monument that stood before him. Illuminated intermittently by the moon peeking through the clouds, the Tower appeared black against the already dark backdrop of the mountains behind it. The range of peaks surrounded the entirety of his father’s valley. The central, rounded structure literally towered over the rest of the fort’s meager surviving structures.

He hissed in discomfort as one of the long blades of switchgrass sliced a fine cut along his cheek. Kneeling as he was, his face was in the thick of the slender, dangerous plants. He had worn long sleeves and jeans for the express purpose of pushing the grass away, but he had moved too suddenly without thinking.

He took careful strides through the grass as he made his way toward the fort. It was the closest he had ever been, only ever seeing faint glimpses of it from the trail as he passed by with his father. His birthday had been last week, though, and this was his personal celebration.

In daylight, the fort might have been less intimidating. As it was, the rusted iron bars that rimmed the decrepit entrance looked like grasping metal claws in the moonlight, an image which did little to put Jeremy’s worries to rest. He took a deep breath and grasped one of the metal bars, using it for leverage as he pulled himself up from the ditch that surrounded the fort.

Small rocks crunched beneath his feet as he entered. He squinted to see in the dim glow from the moon; husks of low, squat buildings greeted him from the shadows. The nearest one looked like an old storage shed, with fragments of broken pots and tools lying scattered on the ground. One of its large, wooden support beams had long since fallen, and the structure looked ready to collapse beneath its own weight.

A gust of wind suddenly rose from the west, and Jeremy shied away, covering his eyes from the dirt that swirled in the air. A booming crack resounded from one of the shed’s other support beams, and the stone wall closest to him gave way with a grinding groan of protest. Jeremy jumped away just as the entire building caved in. Dust and dirt threatened to suffocate him, and he coughed severely as he moved away from the cloud that slowly drifted outward from the rubble.

That, he thought, was awesome.

It was a shame nobody had been around to see his nimble dive away from the collapsing shed. Little enough happened in the valley that Jeremy took every opportunity to seek excitement. Their ranch was fine for a weekend getaway from the city, but in the case of staying for the entire summer, he very quickly ran out of things to do indoors. While his sister could content herself with imaginary friends and playdates by the pond, Jeremy needed more activity. It was the very reason that he was wandering around in the valley after dark, very much against his parents’ wishes.

A large figure on horseback was silhouetted against the imposing Tower, and a broken sword was held aloft toward the starry sky. Jeremy slowly approached the stone soldier, admiring the statue even as he paced around it from a wary distance. From hooves to hilt, the statue was nearly fifteen feet tall, and a low, empty basin encircled it. The blade of the sword had broken off and lay in stone shards beneath the horse’s raised forelegs. There was a plaque attached to the statue, but it would have been too dark to read even if the words hadn’t been worn away by the elements.

A soft rain began to fall. Jeremy found it harder to see as the moon and stars were obscured by incoming clouds. He looked up wistfully at the Tower; this was the closest he had ever been, and now a fast and fierce storm was coming into the valley. If he did not turn back now, there was a good chance that he would be caught in the worst part of the deluge.

Reluctantly, he turned away from the Tower and jogged to the fort’s entrance. The ditch that surrounded the fort was now lined with a thin layer of mud at the bottom, and Jeremy realized that it would soon be a full-on moat—without a drawbridge to cross—once the rain started falling in earnest. He slid down the dirt wall and scrambled up the far embankment, spurred on faster as the raindrops grew bigger and more frequent.

Switchgrass tugged at his long sleeves and jeans as he rushed to beat the storm home.

3

“Jesus Christ.”

Bishop bridled. “Brennan, little respect, okay?”

“Jesús Cristo.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Now who’s cursing?”

The weekend had been full of nothing but dead-ends and false leads, and the stress was getting to Brennan. The rain had persisted all throughout, lingering until dawn broke on Monday, clouds parting to reveal a warming early sun hanging low under an azure sky. Of course, the view would have been better from one of the corner offices. The police station had a generally open floor plan, with little regard for the detectives’ personal space. The only divider was a low wall of opaque glass and plaster which separated the working detectives and the hallway along which offices and the elevator were situated. On the other side of the desk farm were separate rooms for interviews and observations.

Ordinarily, Bishop was able to handle a lot more verbal sparring with Brennan, or at least hid her frustration better. Working in the boys’ club that was the Odols Police Department, she had to be thick-skinned to survive. But Brennan recognized that going in on her religion was a low blow; he was backing off just as footsteps approached from the elevator.

Sam McCarthy, a former detective turned private investigator, sauntered into the desk farm at exactly the wrong moment. Lean of build and crowned with a short crop of curly hair, the sharp-tongued redhead put the “ass” in “sass”, and his horribly failed relationship with Noel Bishop had in no way bettered her view of him.

“Morning, Detective,” he said cheerily to Brennan before turning to Bishop. “And good morning to you, too, Detectess.”

Her glare would have warded off a cobra, but Sam’s grin remained intact. “I’ve already had too much masculine bullshit to deal with today,” she scowled. “Why are you here?”

“Language, please,” Sam said, feigning shock.

“I know, right? She’s on a roll with that today,” Brennan remarked. Bishop sent him a dark glare.

Sam leaned a casual hand against her desk. “Can’t a fellow just be courteous and drop by to see his friends at work?”

“If we were friends, I could believe that, but since we’re n—”

“I can’t have other friends in the department? Arthur here, of course, and then there’s the Chief…” He started listing off names, counting one on each finger and cycling through both hands before starting over. “And Wallace, down in the morgue…”

Brennan sighed. “All right, stop antagonizing her, Sam. Were you able to find what I asked for?”

Sam smirked and turned his back on Bishop, who was quickly turning red in the face. The wooden armrests of her chair groaned beneath her white-knuckled grip. “Have I ever failed you?” He dropped a thin manila folder onto Brennan’s lap and casually availed himself of the last stale donut from the box on a nearby desk. He took one bite and scowled, then tossed it clear across the room. It landed in the trash bin with a smooth swish of plastic.

Brennan, meanwhile, looked through the folder. It wasn’t much, but Sam had compiled some useful information on Zachariah Nettle during the weekend. He reached for the donut box only to find empty air, and his stomach gave a loud grumble of protest.

“Detective?”

“Hmm?” Brennan looked up and caught Sam’s expectant eyes. “You’ll receive payment the usual way.”

“I always insist on cash, Arthur, you know that.”

“And I always pay by online deposit. Now get out of here before Bishop trades in that grip on her chair for one on your neck.”

Sam glanced back at Bishop, whose poisonous glare had lost none of its bite, and grinned madly. “I miss our little tête-à-têtes, Noel,” he said. “Perhaps we should split a bottle of Chardonnay and smooth things over.”

“Get out.”

“Ah, I remember now, you’re a rosé sort of girl. We’ll talk!” He called out that last part as he disappeared behind the partition. A moment later, they heard a ding as the elevator was called for. Bishop turned to level a stare at Brennan. Though it no longer held the vast arctic iciness she held in reserve for Sam, there was still a measure of anger behind those eyes.

“How are you still friends with that pig?”

“He’s not a pig, remember? He left the force years ago.”

She sighed wearily. “God, you two are impossible.”

“Hey, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t take His name is vain. It’s a personal kind of thing for me, you know?”

Bishop’s eyes became harsh slits.

Brennan cleared his throat. “How about we get some breakfast?”

The proposition came unexpectedly, and for a moment Bishop’s anger subsided. “Breakfast?”

“Yeah, it’s something I do most days. Silly little thing, food, but my body seems to like it.” The moment was punctuated by another grumbling of his stomach, louder than the first.

“I know what it is,” she said evenly. “But your impersonation of Sam is improving. For a moment, I thought he hadn’t even left.”

Brennan stood, picking up the folder Sam had given him. “So your answer is…?”

Bishop sighed. “Yeah, I’m coming. I’ll never say no to a free meal.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Who said I was paying?”

4

“Where did you go on Friday?”

Ellie’s voice startled Jeremy out of his daydreaming. It had rained for the better part of the past two days, and he was going stir-crazy in the house with only his kid sister around as company. She was on the cusp of being a teenager, yet Ellie still acted like a girl half her age. It could be cute and endearing sometimes, but only in small doses.

Everything in moderation.

Jeremy rubbed at his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play stupid,” she said, small hands on her hips. “You snuck out after Mom fell asleep. Where did you run off to?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, and you can’t prove otherwise.”

Ellie bit her lower lip and frowned at him. “I’m almost thirteen,” she said proudly. “You don’t have to treat me like a child.”

Ah, so today she’s being mature. I wonder how long that will last. Jeremy sighed. “I’m not trying to patronize you. I just don’t want you tattling on me again to Mom or Dad.”

She moved a finger across her chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Stick a needle in your eye?”

“Hmm.” She considered it for a long moment. “No, not that far. I hate needles.”

Jeremy weighed his options. There was always the risk that Ellie would break her promise and run her mouth off like she usually did. However, if he kept her in the dark, she could simply run to their father and say that Jeremy was keeping a secret from her. An indirect tattle, but with the same end result. Telling her outright at least had the added benefit of some peace and quiet from her incessant questioning.

“I went to the Tower.”

Ellie wrinkled her nose. “That place is dirty and old. Why would you want to go there?”

Because being cooped up in here with you is driving me crazy. “It’s the coolest thing we’ve seen since coming out here,” he said instead. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about what’s out there?”

“Mom said we’re supposed to stay close to the house.” She reported the cardinal rule with an adopted voice of authority. It was a voice he had heard before, and one which signaled that she might flip on her vow of secrecy.

“Look at me,” Jeremy said. “Do I look hurt? Everything is fine, I promise.”

She still appeared unconvinced.

Jeremy frowned and looked directly into her eyes. “If I promise not to go back there, will you promise not to tell Mom and Dad?”

Ellie chewed her lip for a few seconds before nodding.

“I promise to stay away from the Tower,” he said solemnly. He felt bad lying to his sister, but it was the only way to make her keep quiet. Besides, he was still mostly being honest with her. The Tower wasn’t dangerous, and it was the most interesting thing they had seen in the valley.

“Good,” Ellie said, nodding again. “Do you know when Mom is getting back today?”

“No idea.”

Even though the two of them were home for the summer, their parents still had busy work schedules that kept them in Odols. While his mother was able to return to the valley ranch most nights—whenever she wasn’t staying late to host some fundraiser she’d organized—Jeremy’s father typically stayed in their large city apartment except for the odd weekend visit. This hadn’t been one of those weekends.

Ellie hid a yawn behind her hand and stood unsteadily, her long, black hair wafting silkily in her wake. “I’m going to go take a nap.”

“Don’t let the Sleepers get you,” Jeremy teased, a grin tugging at his lips.

In an instant, Ellie became her much younger self. “I’ve been a good girl,” she said, her voice childish and sweet. “They won’t come for me.”

“Good girls keep promises.”

She nodded sleepily. “Cross my heart,” she repeated, “and hope to die.”

Jeremy watched her until she rounded the corner, then listened attentively. Once he heard her door shut, he sprung up from his seat by the window and retrieved a small pack that he had secreted away beneath the cushion. Inside was enough food for the trip to and from the Tower, plus an umbrella, in case the rain decided to start again. He wrote a note to Ellie, telling her that he had gone to roam around the orchards and read, and left it on the kitchen table for her to find.

Jeremy opened the door and squinted. The clouds had parted, and sunlight shone from a light-blue sky above. His mood was greatly improved by the change in weather, and he was upbeat about returning to the Tower during the full light of day. He set off boldly, eager to start the hike that would take several hours, and he followed the southward trail away from the ranch.

5

Driving in the city was never enjoyable.

Traffic was a nightmare, any given hour of the day. Taxis were belligerent, swerving madly in and out of spaces just wide enough to squeeze by if they suspend any sense of self-preservation. Pedestrians walked out in the street whenever they liked, crosswalk or not, and the sidewalks were more like temporary auxiliary lanes for cars.

The OST was hardly a better option. Odols Shuttle Transit wound in a wagon wheel circuit beneath the city, leading to all the different sectors in the fastest way possible. It was the preferred mode of transportation for many in the city, which was precisely why it had become as dirty and crowded as the streets above.

Brennan, having worked in the city for years, was aware of all this. Most of his social life took place within one shuttle stop of the police headquarters. He lived in an apartment less than a block from the station, and the diner which he and Detective Bishop were now sitting in was one of his local favorites. The walk was a short but healthy addition to the day.

Especially for an aging detective subsisting on stale donuts and coffee.

The Box Car Diner had the typical morning crowd. Coffee drinkers at the counter chatting up the head waitress. A pair of blue-collar workers grabbing a quick breakfast before work. There was a family of four in the corner. The children eagerly scribbled on the backs of their menus with crayons.

Bishop was still irritated from before, though the walk had released some of her tension. Her need for food was also a mitigating factor, and Brennan knew it would soon be a non-issue. It was hard to be angry on a full stomach.

“How are you doing?”

Bishop looked up at him with tired eyes. “How do you mean?”

“I mean with everything that happened between you and Sam.”

“Sam and I aren’t anything anymore. I just wish he’d stay out of my life.”

“He’s my friend, Noel.” Brennan sighed. “Look, I’m not asking you two to get back together—”

“Lord knows that’ll never happen,” Bishop muttered.

“—but there must be some way you can bury the hatchet. Call a truce. What happened, happened, and we can’t go back and change it.”

“Nobody’s asking you to do anything, Brennan. You aren’t a part of this.”

He held his hands up. “Sorry, poor choice of words. You can’t change the past, is what I’m saying. But he’s my friend, and he used to mean something to you, too. And we both know he’s damn good at his job.”

“I’m damn good at my job, too,” she said, her voice hard. “And I don’t appreciate you treating me the same way he does. You’re my partner, Brennan. We’re supposed to trust each other, but that’s hard to do when you act like a jackass.”

“Bishop,” he said, stunned. “I was just joking, I didn’t mean—”

“What was in that folder he gave you?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

Bishop shifted and crossed her arms, her eyes resolute. “Well, your jokes aren’t funny, and I don’t want to talk about it, so we might as well work the case. What did he find out?”

Brennan looked at her for a moment, his own eyes hard. A few years his senior, Noel was a tough nut to crack. She was resilient, but some wounds took more time to heal, and adultery was one hell of a wound. Nothing he could say right then would sway her, and he knew that particular conversation was over. For now.

He took the manila folder from the seat and opened it on the table so Bishop could read. Her eyes scanned each page as she cycled through them, picking out relevant details.

“You had him look into Zachariah’s financial history? Why? We know what he makes, he’s just a part-time pharmacist.”

“Right,” Brennan said. “But did you look at where he was living? He had some things even I couldn’t afford.”

Bishop raised an eyebrow. “We don’t make much.”

“True enough. This kid is fresh out of college, though. He should be worrying about student loans and making enough money just to keep the heat on.”

“The neighborhood was pretty bad. Maybe he took a cheap home in exchange for having his luxuries inside?”

“That could—”

Their food arrived, and Brennan pushed the folder toward the window so the plates could be set down. Sausage links, hash browns, two buttermilk biscuits, a Belgian waffle, and a glass of O.J. for Brennan. Coffee and a plate of “short stack” pancakes were placed before Bishop. Brennan thought of making a height joke, but wisely reconsidered.

“That could be true,” he continued, cutting into his food. “What does it say about relatives?”

“Relatives?”

“He could be a trust fund baby,” he said, shoving a piece of sausage into his mouth.

“Your parents secretly run a trust fund, don’t they?” Bishop asked jokingly. She took a bite of her pancakes as she reached for the folder.

“Did everything come out all right here?” asked the waitress, suddenly reappearing. Brennan gave her what he meant to be an appreciative nod. “Great! I’ll check back with you in a bit.”

Papers rustled in Bishop’s hands as she looked past Zachariah’s financials and into his family history. “Says here that his parents are both living in Michigan, some small town in the middle of nowhere. They haven’t had contact in years, so it’s doubtful they’re the ones supporting him.”

Brennan grunted. It was puzzling, but it was also a dead end. “Let’s put that aside for now,” he said. “The motive: what was it? Cut a man up like that, that’s personal. Bad blood between Nettle and our killer, that’s for sure.”

“He didn’t even have time to stand,” Bishop added. “The killer planned this out.”

They both sat chewing their food noiselessly, thinking of the implications. It could have been a relationship gone wrong, like Bishop and McCarthy’s, with the girlfriend turning into some sort of femme fatale. Another possibility was that Zachariah had somehow gotten himself into trouble, maybe borrowed money from the wrong people to pay off his loans and couldn’t repay those debts. He did live in a rough neighborhood, after all. Or maybe they were completely off-base and it was a robbery gone wrong. The fact that Nettle had been caught off guard could just be a coincidence. The kinds of toys Zachariah had kept in that apartment were worth a small fortune. But none of it had gone missing, so—

“Might I interest either of you in some coffee?” asked a sweet voice. The waitress had returned.

Without raising an eye or turning her head, Bishop casually reached up and adjusted the strap of her shoulder holster. The butt of her gun just barely showed through the unzipped opening in her jacket. There was nothing overtly threatening in the gesture, but the waitress visibly gulped and took a step back.

“The bill is ready whenever you need it,” she said hesitantly. She backed away quickly. “Thanks for coming in.”

“Don’t you think that was a little cruel?” Brennan asked.

“No harm done,” Bishop murmured into her coffee. She looked toward the retreating waitress and smiled. It looked more like she was baring her teeth.

“You’re insane,” he told her, chuckling.

“We all have our flaws. So I’ve been thinking—and don’t you dare say ‘That’s a nice change’ or I will brain you,” she threatened as Brennan opened his mouth. “I’ve been thinking that maybe someone knew who would want to hurt Nettle. His parents are estranged, but somebody who worked with him at the pharmacy could know something.”

Brennan nodded. “Good thinking. Need me to come along?”

“No, I can handle it.” She looked up at Brennan, taking in his lined face and sunken eyes. “Maybe you should head back home, get a few hours of sleep,” she suggested. “You look like death.”

“Death wished it looked this good.” Brennan grinned, standing from the table.

“Oh, shut up. Go get the bill from our waitress.” She smiled fiercely. “I think I’ve frightened her.”

6

Jeremy regretted not bringing a hat.

The storm clouds were a distant memory, and the sun beat down mercilessly upon his head. The blond atop his head reflected some of the light, and he was certainly better off than Ellie would have been with her curtains of raven-black hair, but his cheeks felt hot and his mouth had dried up entirely.

He had forgotten to change into pants before setting out for the Tower. While he was thankful for the breeze that blew against his bare legs, each step through the switchgrass left long, thin scratches on the exposed skin. Now, in addition to the accumulating cuts, Jeremy had to contend with impending dehydration.

The walk was longer than he realized, and he arrived at the Tower later than he would have liked. He jumped into and out of the moat with relative ease, his shoes breaking through the crust of dried mud at the bottom. He was grateful for the cool shelter provided by the shadowy interior of the largest building the fort had to offer. His heart pounded in his ears as he looked around the Tower from the inside for the first time.

The doorway opened into a large, circular chamber. As his eyes adjusted, Jeremy noticed that light actually filtered down into the room through the broken ceiling above. Dominating the center of the room was a massive stone table, square and imposing. It was a solid slab that merged seamlessly with the ground, as if it and the Tower had been hewn from the rock of the mountain itself.

Along one edge of the room was a short series of steps, also solid stone, which seemed to end abruptly as they met the wall. Jeremy walked closer and felt against the wall, looking for a pressure plate or hidden mechanism that might open a secret door, but his fingers only met cold, smooth stone. He flattened his palms against the wall and leaned his whole body into it, but the wall was unyielding. If there was a door, he couldn’t open it.

He turned away, dejected, and noticed a strange series of deep, rectangular furrows that ascended a narrow strip of the wall. It took him a moment to recognize that the width and spacing formed a ladder leading up to the next floor. He crossed the room to it. His fingers fit easily in the smooth, regular openings made for a man’s hands, and he climbed up and onto the most curious platform he had ever seen.

The light below had not, as he had thought, been filtering through breaks in the floor. The openings looked as regularly spaced and carved as the ladder had been and, taken altogether, the floor resembled a bicycle wheel, with a solid circular center. The ladder emerged between two of the wheel’s spokes.

At the end of each spoke was a tall, curved window, five in total, though he didn’t remember seeing the windows from outside. Each window had an embedded shape of stained glass, each one a unique image pulled from nature. Otherwise, the room was empty.

A light tremor passed through the stone, almost undetectable. Jeremy briefly considered leaving, worried that the building might come down around him as the other had, but the shaking stopped almost as soon as he felt it.

Jeremy tiptoed along his spoke until he had reached the center, and there he crouched, one knee resting against the stone. The building was old, older than old, and he couldn’t be sure that this floor was as secure as it seemed. His shins were caked with dust as he kneeled.

Patiently, he waited, and minutes crept by with nothing happening. The stone didn’t shift or crumble beneath him; nothing extraordinary unfolded. He sighed out a breath of relief. And disappointment.

What was I expecting?

“I should have climbed back down the ladder,” he said to no one, shaking his head. “Stupid.”

He stood again, feeling slightly foolish, and started walking back to the stone-etched ladder when a glimmer of light flashed in the corner of his eye. He glanced around, caught it again in his other eye, and turned to squarely face one of the windows—its stained-glass imprint looked like a puddle surrounded by sticks. Through the clear glass around it, light shimmered off something in the distance, and as he approached he could make out a ring of trees around a shimmering lake that looked almost black from so far away.

Something pulled at the edge of his awareness, grabbing for his attention, but he waved it off. It was almost mid-afternoon, and he could still make it home before sundown if he left now. Still, he could look out the other windows, just once, before he started the long walk home. He returned to the center and chose the next spoke to the right. Clockwise, he went to each window, and he saw in turn an orchard of fuzzy peach trees, a huge collection of flowers, and the familiar wild, open fields of the valley.

He walked confidently along the final spoke and looked out into a veritable blizzard of white flower petals. The ground was completely covered in them, and a flurry of the petals danced in the wind, obscuring much of the view.

No, he thought, that’s…snow. There was snow, right here before his eyes.

He took a step back. This was summer; there was no snow in the valley.

Another step and, unaware of his surroundings, Jeremy’s foot slipped over the edge of the spoke and robbed him of his balance. He had enough time to realize that his orchards had pears, not peaches, before slamming his head against a neighboring spoke and plummeting to the stone floor below.

7

Brennan’s apartment was furnished for comfort and function, rather than fashion.

The living room served as an entry point, housing a single couch, a reclining chair, and an unimpressive television set. On either side of the television stood bookshelves crammed with an assortment of well-thumbed titles that spent as much time on the shelf as in his hands. On the opposite wall was the door to his bedroom and adjoining bath.

He knew he should retire to the bedroom and at least try to sleep, just as he knew it was a useless endeavor. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t rest until the case was solved. Truth be told, he ached in his bones and would have given anything for twenty-four hours straight of safe, solid sleep. But he knew better.

The fact was that he hadn’t slept more than a couple spare hours on any given night in years. It had aged him before his time, wearied lines worn heavily into his once young face. Sleep was a luxury that he could no longer afford.

No, sleep wasn’t an option, so he threw himself into the habit he’d followed for years: calm, calculated detective work. He would take the frustration he carried with him and throw it into his work, chasing murderers as if they were the ones who personally robbed him of his rest. It wasn’t an easy job, but it was safer than sleep.

He spent the day reviewing Sam’s files. They knew the pharmacist, Zachariah Nettle, had been living beyond his means, though there was no explanation yet of how. The murder weapon, a knife, was easily concealable. There were no signs of forced entry, which indicated that Zachariah knew whoever had killed him. He didn’t really buy the idea that this was a random attack. Why sneak in through the window, murder Nettle, and then leave all the valuables? The luxurious lifestyle and the violently personal nature of the murder were linked somehow.

So he looked over the pages again and again, not certain of what he was searching for yet certain that there was something. He pored over Sam’s financial history on Zachariah Nettle, but there was no record of supplemental income from either the parents or any second job.

He rubbed his hand over his eyes, willing himself to stay awake, but his eyes were heavy and he was losing focus. When his phone rang, he jolted in his seat. “Yeah?”

“Um, Uncle Arty?” It took Brennan a moment to recognize the voice on the other end.

“Greg? What’s up? Is everything all right with your mother?”

“That’s why I’m calling,” he said.

His nephew sounded on edge, and Brennan sat up a little straighter. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s having one of her fits, it’s really bad. I don’t know if I can handle her this time. Can you help me? I think she might need to see a doctor.”

A weight dropped in Brennan’s gut. He knew what they would be told if she was taken to the hospital in her condition.

“Do you think you can come over?” his nephew asked plaintively.

“Yeah, Greg, just keep her calm until I get there.” He grabbed his jacket and was halfway through the door. “I’ll be over in ten minutes.”

8

The first sensation he had was of pain.

It felt as if someone were going to work on the inside of his skull with a sledgehammer. His shoulders were stiff, and small flares of pain burned along the left side of his body as he struggled against the heavy sheets that were wrapped around him. Scrapes and bruises called out their existence to him as he slowly regained consciousness.

He hadn’t yet opened his eyes, but his other senses compensated. He felt a dry heat against his face and heard the crackling of a well-fed fire, and he knew he was back in his bedroom at the ranch house. Only one ear seemed to be hearing properly, though. His lips were cracked and his throat yearned for water. He heard a low growl and realized it had come from his stomach.

Jeremy opened his eyes and tried to rise in bed, but the simple sheets proved too much for his feeble strength. The fire continued to crackle as he lay there, though he couldn’t manage to fall back asleep. He was too painfully aware of the aches in his body.

“You’re back with us,” remarked an unfamiliar female voice.

Someone shifted by the door, and footsteps rapidly approached the bed. “Jeremy?” That was undoubtedly his mother’s voice.

He hadn’t realized there were other people in the room until just then. Jeremy struggled to rise, and this time succeeded in gaining a more upright sitting position, his back leaning against several pillows. In addition to an unfamiliar Asian woman and his mother, Jeremy noted with surprise that his father, Nathaniel Scott, stood by the fire, his face half lit by the flickering orange light. His arms were lightly wrapped in bandages and he held them crossed against his chest.

“Dad,” he said uncertainly.

The strange woman gently placed a hand on Jeremy’s head. “Don’t overexert yourself.” She felt for his temperature and evidently found it acceptable. “My name is Dr. Kai,” she said, taking a stethoscope from around her neck. She placed it over his heart as she asked, “Can you tell me where you are?”

Jeremy’s mind was too fragged to come up with a clever response. “I’m at home,” he told her directly.

Dr. Kai nodded. She replaced the stethoscope and took out a short, thin flashlight, no wider than a pencil. “I want you to follow the light with only your eyes.” He followed the light as she moved it in straight lines, this way and that. “Do you remember what happened?”

“I was—” Jeremy faltered for a moment. The memory came to him, but it seemed an absurd fabrication now. Of course there was no snow. “I fell,” he said simply.

“You remember,” she said, her voice pleased. “That’s good. I don’t see any signs of concussion, which is fortunate.” Her dark eyes met Jeremy’s for a moment before she looked away. If there was something significant in that glance, he didn’t know what it was.

He raised an uneasy hand and felt a long strip of gauze wrapped around his head over a thick bandage. “I’m not in a hospital,” he said numbly.

“Dr. Kai works with me,” his father said, speaking for the first time. His gray eyes turned from the fire to look at Jeremy, and then the Asian woman. “You can go,” he told her.

Dr. Kai nodded. “If anything else happens, or his condition worsens, you will need to take him to a hospital,” she warned him.

Nathaniel nodded. “I understand, thank you.” He opened the door for Dr. Kai, who gathered her supplies and left quickly and silently. A prolonged, awkward silence reigned. There was only the crackling of the fire to fill the room with sound until they heard the engine of the doctor’s car come to life and fade as she drove away.

“Anna,” his father said quietly.

“He just woke up.” Annabelle spoke firmly, dismissively, then turned to face her son.

Jeremy took note of the wearied look in her eyes. The skin of her face was anchored less tightly to her high cheekbones than it might have been a few years ago, and her chestnut hair had lost its luster, but the loving smile she gave him had remained unchanged throughout his life. It was a comfort, even in the darkest of times.

“Jay,” she said softly. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Jeremy said, swallowing hard. Honestly, his throat was parched, and he cringed to think of what he would see if he looked in the full-length standing mirror across the room.

“Do you need me to bring you anything?” his mother asked. “Some more blankets?”

Between the fire and the heavy covers, he was already sweating. “A glass of water?” he suggested.

She nodded, rising fluidly from her chair. “I’ll be right back.”

Jeremy’s father waited for her to disappear before he left his post near the fire and walked slowly to the bed, all leonine grace and poise. He wasn’t terribly tall or broad in the shoulders, but he carried a certain sense of purpose that gave him an air of subtle, implacable power. Nathaniel replaced his mother on the stool by his bed and looked into Jeremy’s eyes. He sat there patiently, eyes never wavering. “You were playing in the ruins,” he said finally. It wasn’t a question.

“How did you know?”

His father’s patient stare gave him all the answer he needed.

Jeremy’s heart fell. “Ellie told you,” he concluded.

Nathaniel nodded. “You shouldn’t have left her here alone,” he said. His voice was harsh, his words reproachful.

Jeremy cowered beneath the gaze of his father’s gray eyes as his mother returned with a glass of water. “Thanks,” he mumbled, taking a sip.

Annabelle looked between Jeremy and his father, and they stared back at her in silence. With a sigh, his mother left the room again, closing the door behind her.

“I didn’t mean to leave Ellie alone,” Jeremy blurted out. “I meant to be home before Mom showed up, I swear.”

His father shook his head. “You aren’t in trouble because you were caught,” he said. “You’re in trouble because you did the wrong thing. It’s never safe to go off on your own, especially when your mother and I aren’t around.” His face softened for a moment. “And you know how lonely your sister gets without your company.”

Jeremy tried to shrug, but the movement hurt his shoulder. “I tried to hang out with her yesterday, but she wanted to be alone.”

“Really?” His father sounded skeptical. “That’s not like Eloise.”

“I don’t know what it is about this place,” Jeremy said, referring to the valley. “She seems to love it, but at the same time I feel like she’s a different person here.”

“Regardless of how your sister is acting,” his father said, “family still comes first.”

Jeremy let out a harsh laugh. “When did that become your motto?”

He wished he could bite back the words as soon as he said them. Anger flashed across his father’s eyes like a bolt of lightning, sparking from nothing before disappearing. If he hadn’t been watching, Jeremy might have missed it altogether.

His father sighed, his face suddenly much more haggard than Jeremy was used to seeing. “I’m sorry, Jeremy,” he said, his eyes taking on a quality that was as rare as Bigfoot. They looked almost warm. Friendly, even. “Living with me, dealing with the effects of my work schedule—I know that it must have been difficult for you. I’ve always been one step too far away from you kids for my comfort, but that’s just the nature of the industry. Business is a beast, and I’m in its clutches.” He placed a long, slender hand on top of Jeremy’s, and he smiled. “But I am trying the best I can to be your father.”

Jeremy tried to respond, but he was suddenly gripped with an overwhelming sense of vertigo. His eyes danced with light as the world around him was swapped out, piece by piece. Gone were his desk and schoolbooks, the mirror and the fireplace, and even his father.

In place of his bedroom was a large office of some sort. A long, oval table of sturdy wood ran the length of the center of the room, and men and women in smart business suits sat along both sides. An entire wall of the room was made of plate-glass windows, and the office had an incredible view of Odols. The sun was setting, silhouetting the city’s skyline in inky black contrast to its vibrant red and orange and purple.

Jeremy stood by one of the other walls, and every member of the meeting had their eyes trained on him as he spoke. His voice was confident and powerful, and his arms accompanied the speech he was giving with animated gestures. He ignored his phone as it vibrated once in his pocket.

“As I’m sure you are all well aware,” Jeremy said, speaking with his father’s confident voice, “the acquisition of Brüding Pharmaceuticals represents a significant opportunity to increase SymbioTech’s share of the biomedical consumer market. In the first year, we will recoup the total investment cost of the acquisition.”

Heads nodded approvingly around the table. The only exception was a beak-nosed man named Lester Crowe. His face darkened when he met Jeremy’s eyes, and his mouth twisted in a sneer. “Those are rather bold claims, don’t you think?” he challenged. His tenor voice carried a distinctly Scottish accent, and his general temperament was one of conflict and complaint. Jeremy had been expecting his contestation since the start of the meeting.

“A bold claim, yes, but not without merit,” Jeremy said. “Within the last five years, Brüding Pharma has grown in leaps and bounds. Their research and development department outpaces their closest competitors, and they will pose a significant threat to our economic security unless we act now.” He straightened his crimson tie and cleared his throat, commanding even Crowe’s attention. “We have the capital to buy out their executive board, and I know at least two of the seven sitting members are already in our pocket. Turn two more, and we will have the controlling interest of pharmaceuticals in Odols for the next twenty years.”

Jeremy held his mutual glare with Lester Crowe, who remained stone-faced even as the rest of the room filled with applause. He felt his phone begin to vibrate persistently with an incoming phone call. He raised one finger in apology to the assembled group of executives and excused himself from the room. Once in the hallway, he raised the phone to his ear and winced as his wife’s plaintive request arrived, unprompted, to his inner ear.

“Anna, I can’t come home right now. I’m in the middle of a very important meeting.”

“I can’t find Jeremy,” she said. “It’s getting dark and Ellie says he hasn’t been home all day.” Annabelle sounded as nervous as he had ever heard her.

As Nathaniel, Jeremy sighed and looked at his watch. “I can leave in fifteen minutes. The entire executive board is here, and we are about to break ground on a new—”

“You can come home right now,” Annabelle argued, “and the board be damned. I don’t care how important these men think they are, your family comes first.”

Jeremy nodded wearily and checked his watch again. “Family first,” he agreed. “Of course. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

He replaced the phone in his pocket and made sure his tie was perfectly straight. He stepped back into the conference room to apologize, and a moment later he called for a close to the meeting. The gathered men and women stared at him with blank, confused looks, but he was already out the door before they could protest, phone in his hand.

“Put me through to Kai,” he said, and after a second continued, “Dr. Kai. My driver will be downstairs in three minutes; I expect you to be waiting for me there.” A pause. “Excellent,” he said. “And bring your kit.”

Jarringly, the vivid, mad hallucination ended.

Jeremy was abruptly back in bed, staring up into his father’s gray gaze. He recoiled from the touch of his father’s hand. Less than a second had passed; the slight smile which had graced his father’s face slid away to be replaced by a thin frown.

He felt violently ill, as if he had been reading while riding a rollercoaster that had just pulled out of a quadruple corkscrew. It was motion sickness on steroids. The conference room, his father’s conversation with his mother, the—well, everything—had been so real. His father asking a question was all that kept him anchored in reality.

“Jeremy, what were you doing so far from home?” Nathaniel asked, his voice at once regaining its former edge.

“I was exploring the Tower,” Jeremy choked out. He bit back the bile that threatened to rise in his throat. His head was pounding worse than ever in the aftermath of his…experience, hallucination, whatever it was he had just gone through.

“You were exploring the tower,” his father repeated. He stood and moved to stand by the fireplace once more. Jeremy glimpsed his father in the mirror, and he looked like he was wreathed in flames.

“Your mother was nearly hysterical when she came home to an empty house,” he said quietly.

“I didn’t mean to worry her—”

“And more than anything you disappointed me, Jeremy.” His father turned, his gray eyes briefly ablaze before cooling, and he contemplated the wounded boy whose head was half-wrapped in fresh bandages. It covered both ears, wound beneath his chin, and was stained crimson by one of his temples.

“I was worried for you, Jeremy,” he said, approaching the bed. Jeremy flinched back, afraid of making contact again, and his father stopped just outside of arm’s reach. He crossed his arms as he addressed his son. “I don’t know what I would have done if you had—” His father paused. He wasn’t welling up with tears, on the verge of an emotional break; that would have been truly unnerving. He was simply taking a moment to choose his words.

“This,” Nathaniel finally said, gesturing to Jeremy’s bandaged head, “could have been so much worse.”

Jeremy wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t been expecting a tearful confession or anything, but his father’s words still spoke measures. It was as close to a bonding experience as they’d had in years. He looked his father directly in the eyes.

“Family comes first,” Jeremy said, his tone even.

Nathaniel eyed him appraisingly and nodded. He patted Jeremy’s knee through the blankets and left the room without another word.

Unable to move, uncomfortably warm now beneath the blankets and basking in the fire’s glow, Jeremy watched his father’s shadow disappear down the hall. He didn’t know what to make of the memories that lingered in his head, as fresh as if he had experienced them himself. His father had received the call about Jeremy’s absence, he realized, just as he himself must have been lying unconscious on the floor of the Tower, head bleeding profusely against the cold stone.

And it had indeed been his father who rescued him from the old fort. The vision had flooded into him with the others, as vivid as his own memories. Unbidden, the captured images flooded his mind as he laid back down to rest.

His father had entered the first level of the Tower sometime after sundown, though light still filtered in through the windows of the second floor. His face had turned ashen when he saw Jeremy’s motionless body lying against the stone table, and he’d carried him in both arms like a child. Nathaniel had stepped through the doorway of the ranch house while the moon hung low in the sky, and the next few hours had been frantic with Annabelle’s fussing, Ellie’s plaintive cries, and the attentive care of the doctor.

Another memory pushed to the fore, picking up earlier in the evening when his father had been leaving from work.

Jeremy emerged from the elevator and turned to see Dr. Kai waiting as he strode into the parking deck.

“Why am I here, sir?” she asked, her tone just barely on the side of tolerant politeness.

“I need some bloodwork drawn up discreetly, and I know you are loyal to this company and to me. I understand you requested updated equipment in the diagnostics lab.”

Dr. Kai nodded.

“Consider it done,” Jeremy said in his father’s voice.

“Th-thank you, sir.”

“Of course. And remember, absolute discretion.”

The memory dissolved as a powerful wave of agony pulsed from Jeremy’s temple and he lost his fight with consciousness.

9

Brennan arrived just two minutes late of his estimate.

The apartment smelled stale, stagnant, and the specter of death loomed close by. He let himself in and marched straight back to his sister’s room. A pair of lit candles feebly fought against the cloying odors emanating from Madison Warner’s body, but they were no match for the final stages of her Fractured decay.

He was dismayed at the state in which he found her. It was obvious that she had not been able to leave her bed for several days. Her skin, once full and beautiful, now clung tightly against her bones, giving her face a hauntingly gaunt impression. The full bags under her eyes were colored like watery tea, and her eyes themselves were equally moist and ruddy. They stared lazily at one corner of the room, and she was either uncaring of Brennan’s presence or unaware of it altogether. Her body writhed in bed, unattended, with her arms and legs shooting out violently at random intervals as she babbled at invisible phantoms.

Brennan grasped one of her clammy hands and held it between his own. He rubbed the top of it reassuringly as he spoke to her soothingly. “Maddy,” he said. “Mads, I’m here. It’s Arty.”

His nephew, Greg Warner, appeared in the doorway. Greg was on the cusp of manhood, average height now but with a few inches still to grow. He brushed some of the dark hair from his eyes as he looked down on his ailing mother. “Thank you, Uncle Arty,” he said, biting at his thumb. “She was like this when I got back. I did exactly what you told me to do, but I don’t know, I guess it didn’t work.”

“When you got back?” Brennan echoed. “Why weren’t you here? You’re supposed to look after her!”

Greg’s uncertain frown turned into a scowl. “I have a life, too, you know. It was only for an hour!”

“I send money to support you two,” Brennan said, failing to keep the frustration out of his voice. “What was so important that—?”

His voice had risen to a near shout, and Maddy stirred beneath him in another bout of fitful struggling. Brennan gave his nephew a withering look and focused again on his ill sister. He held her down until the shaking ceased again. Her long-term patch use had left her body devastated. Brennan lifted the sleeves of her shirt to reveal her thin, pale arms. Faded scars lined both arms, their square shapes barely visible after years without using.

“She didn’t get her hands on anything?” he asked, repeating the visual exam with her legs. Maddy moaned incoherently and pushed at his arms. Her eyes focused on the empty space behind him and followed something that could not be seen. Brennan frowned down at his older sister.

Greg shook his head. “She’s getting worse, isn’t she?”

The question twisted a knife in Brennan’s heart. He knew that his sister might never recover from the damage her addiction had inflicted. It had robbed her of her family, her sanity, and now perhaps even her life. It was made worse by the fact that the moment the question was asked, in Brennan’s heart of hearts he knew it to be true. Knowing the true nature of things was something he’d always been gifted with, though it felt like a curse at the moment.

“Right now, I think it’s too soon to tell.” He heard the falseness of his own words, but the hope he was giving his nephew was of the same kind that he himself held on to now. “We’ll do everything we can for her.” That much was true.

“Of course,” Greg said, nodding.

Maddy was back under control, and Brennan succeeded in getting her to drink some water. When he was sure she wouldn’t relapse into spasms, at least not for the moment, he gestured to Greg to leave the room so they could let her rest. They retreated to the living room, where Brennan sat down directly across from his nephew.

He was tired. The case of Zachariah Nettle’s murder wasn’t any closer to being solved, and he realized that Bishop should have called him by now, or even earlier in the evening. He was about to enter a fourth day without sleep. And he was fairly certain that his nephew was lying to him, or at least not telling the whole truth.

His power had never led him wrong before, and of all the problems he could think of, this one was the most immediately reconcilable.

“Greg,” he started, and he heard the detached detective tone of his own voice. “Do you love your mother?”

“Yes.”

True.

“Would you do anything for her?”

“Of course.”

True.

Brennan sighed deeply. “Why did you leave her this afternoon?”

There was a fraction of a second when Greg hesitated before answering, but Brennan saw it. “I went to a friend’s house,” Greg said. “Just for an hour.”

True.

“What did you do at your friend’s place?”

“You know, just played games.”

False.

“You’re lying to me,” Brennan growled.

“I swear I’m not!”

Brennan leaned forward and gripped the armrests of Greg’s chair, his face only inches from his nephew’s. Greg stared with wide eyes as Brennan searched his face. “Are you using, Greg?”

“What do you mean, using?”

“Don’t play games with me!” His hold on the chair was painful, white-knuckled, but he was in control of his anger. Greg sunk back slightly into the cushion. “Patches. Are you using patches?”

“N-no, Uncle Arty,” he stammered.

He didn’t need his power’s input to know that the kid was lying. Brennan sighed, grabbed his nephew by the arm, and tore his shirt’s sleeve off at the shoulder. Greg shouted in protest, but Brennan’s attention was entirely devoted to the blistering square of seared flesh, the signature mark of a patch. The drug was soaked up through the skin, and the strong toxins in the patch ate away at the flesh.

“You’re lying,” he growled, his hand tightly gripping Greg by the elbow.

Greg tried unsuccessfully to squirm out of his grasp. “Okay, I did it once. Today was the first time.”

False.

Brennan gave his nephew a look which barred any contention, and Greg’s face crumpled. Words started spilling out of his mouth, tripping over one another to get out in the open.

“Almost two years now,” he admitted. He sounded guilty—ashamed, even—though no color rose in his cheeks. “But it’s fine. I never use too many at once, and it isn’t often. I have it under control.”

“Your mother never thought she was abusing the patches either.”

Greg scowled. “You have no idea what it has been like living here. With her. She can go days without recognizing me. When she does talk to me, it isn’t really me she is seeing, but as if she’s talking to somebody she wants me to be. Her ideal son. Or maybe an old friend of hers, I don’t know. The way she is now is the way she has been for years.” He made a crazy sign with one hand. “Completely detached.”

“Watch it,” Brennan growled. “She’s still your mother. And my big sister.”

Greg held up his hands. “I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

Brennan could feel that truth, which stung worse than the words themselves. He had no idea that his sister’s condition had deteriorated to such a level. Or maybe he had simply not wanted to see it.

“So one night,” Greg continued, “I was curious. I took one of the patches from her nightstand when she was in one of her stupors. It was incredible.” His voice became mystified as he recalled the memory. “The room started swirling, like when you get the spins from drinking too much—”

Brennan gave him an even look.

“—which I would have absolutely no idea about.”

He gave a skeptical harrumph.

Greg’s eyes glazed over. “And when you’re patched, it’s like—you’re free of everything. You see the world not for what it is but what it should be. The perfect world. You’re a free spirit.” The mystified tone left his voice. “Then that world breaks apart, and you’ll do anything to get back to it.”

Brennan lightly shook Greg’s horribly burned arm. “This is the price for that ‘perfect world’,” he said dryly before releasing his grip. He stood up and backed away from his nephew.

If what his nephew said was true—and he knew that it was—then the patch had made a fantasy world for Maddy to escape to, even as it caused her real life to crumble around her. She was in that world even now.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Greg asked.

“Mad?” Brennan supposed he should have been, seeing as how he was the only real adult in the kid’s life, a life which was on the verge of being hopelessly wasted. “I’m not mad. Disappointed, I should say. You’re a bright kid, Greg, when you aren’t repeating your mother’s mistakes.” It hurt to speak ill of his sister, but he had to be honest with himself; she had made some terrible choices, and her son was now flirting with following that same path.

Greg, for his part, mostly just stared down into his lap. He chewed his lip and went to bite his fingernails several times, always checking the motion before his hand reached his mouth. Brennan realized that he was probably itching for a patch, even now.

“I’m taking all of the patches you have here,” Brennan said. “Now.”

“What?” Greg looked up in alarm. “Why?”

“Really? You’re really asking me that?”

Greg stood, and though he was a full head shorter and a hundred pounds lighter, he stared directly into Brennan’s eyes. “I don’t have anything here,” he said.

False.

Greg’s eyes wavered, unable to keep focused on one spot for long, and they darted to one side as he licked his lips. Brennan raised an eyebrow and started walking in the direction of his nephew’s nervous gaze. “There’s nothing here,” Greg repeated, a hint of desperation in his voice.

The apartment was small, and space was at a premium. Chairs and tables were arranged in just the right way to allow for legs to pass by, yet Brennan noticed a wide-backed chair positioned strangely against one wall. Sitting in it would have been awkward for conversations, and it didn’t directly face the television, either. Ignoring his nephew’s plaintive noises, Brennan grabbed the back and one arm of the chair and shoved it aside. Behind it, set low in the wall, was a black metal ventilation grate no larger than his hand.

“See? Nothing,” Greg declared quickly. “What are you—?”

Brennan silenced him with a raised hand and knelt down to peer into the vent. It was dark, but he could just barely make out the shimmer of plastic about a foot inside. His fingers looped around the fine metal filigree and pulled, and the vent pried free of its casing. He reached in with one hand, cringing as he broke a fresh spider’s web, and tightened his hand around the small bag inside. It was full of two-inch square patches.

“You can’t just come in here and take my stuff!”

“I’m a cop, Greg. You’re lucky I’m not arresting you right now. That’s what would be happening if it were anyone but me.”

“This is an illegal search and seizure,” Greg argued. He made a grab for the bag of patches, but Brennan held him back with a stiff arm.

“No, this is a concerned family member holding a cold-turkey intervention.” He marched into the kitchen and tossed the patches into the trash bin, then lifted the trash bag out and pulled the elastic bands tight. “Is this everything?”

Greg nodded sullenly.

“Say it out loud.”

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth.

True.

“Good.” Brennan felt the tension easing out of his face, and he placed a fatherly hand on Greg’s shoulder as he looked his nephew in the eye. “I’m serious about this. You cannot go near this stuff. It’s toxic, and I can’t let you follow your mother’s path.”

“I’m not having nearly as much—”

“Greg! This is not a negotiation. What your mother is going through…” His voice trailed off as he shook his head. “I should have been looking out for her. It’s my fault that she is the way she is now. I won’t make that mistake again.”

His heart chilled slightly at his own revelation. He had never admitted, never recognized before, that his sister might not have been Fractured if only he’d been more attentive. Even if it was just a speech to set his nephew on the right path, there was a vein of truth to it as well.

“There’s something else you should know,” Greg said quietly.

“What is it?”

“I told you how it feels to be patched, right? How liberating it is? Well, it also made me see things…”

“It’s a hallucinogen, Greg. Whatever you saw was just an illusion.”

Greg bit the corner of his lip and frowned. “That’s just it, though. It felt so real, and it concerned your partner, the lady cop.”

“Bishop?” His eyebrows stitched together in confusion. “Why would you be hallucinating about her?”

“I’m trying to tell you, I think it was more than just the drug!” Greg ran a nervous hand through his hair. “She was lying there on the stage, surrounded in blood. Her clothes were drenched with it, and she was holding her hands against her stomach like she had been shot.”

Brennan wasn’t sure what to believe. It sounded like a horrible trip, except his power was telling him that Greg’s story was true. “You think you had some sort of…what? A vision?”

Greg shrugged. “Maybe. There are always psychics claiming to know the future, right?”

“They’re always charlatans, though,” Brennan said, perfectly aware of his own hypocrisy. Here he was, a human lie-detector, denouncing the possibility of psychics. “Bishop is fine. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Greg nodded slowly. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he said. He didn’t sound entirely convinced. There was a long, silent pause.

“You mentioned a stage?”

“It looked like some kind of theatre,” Greg said, with another one of his patented shrugs.

“We’re in luck, then,” Brennan said, suddenly grinning. “Bishop hates the theatre.”

A reluctant smile formed on Greg’s lips. “How fortunate. Still, if you two do see a play or something, maybe you should go in first.”

“That doesn’t sound very gentlemanly of me.”

“Is that a word? And chivalry is nice and all, but it might get her killed.”

Brennan looked at his nephew for a moment before forcing a smile. He hefted the trash bag over his shoulder as he turned to leave. “Get some sleep,” he said. “And take care of yourself!”

“You should sleep, too, Uncle Arty. You look like death.”

“Hey, death wished—ah, forget it.”

* * *

Brennan awoke the next morning to a message in his voicemail.

“Arthur, it’s Noel. Sorry for the late call, I figured you’d be awake. Guess you needed the sleep, though. God knows we both do.” There was a small laugh. “Anyway, I visited the pharmacy where Nettle worked. Turns out he had had a casual girlfriend, but she’d only come by once or twice, and not a word of her in the past few months. I asked around, but nobody knew any more than that. Sounds like they were over a while ago, which leaves us back at square one. I’m going to grab some zees before I go mad. See you at the station.”

Brennan hadn’t meant to fall asleep in the first place, and he rubbed the crustiness from his eyes. In the bathroom, he wiped a wetted hand across his face and stared at himself in the mirror. The sleep had been dreamless, and he felt as if he had gotten no rest at all. The clock indicated it was a quarter to eight. He thought about what Bishop had said in her message.

No ex-girlfriend, at least not recent enough to make a real suspect of her. It wasn’t much, but it narrowed down the direction of the investigation. If it wasn’t a domestic dispute gone wrong, then there was something much more sinister afoot. But there were too many inconsistencies to make heads or tails of what happened that night.

Brennan shaved, changed clothes, and walked across the street to the station. Odols Police Department was housed in a squat, ugly building that was dwarfed by the high-rise apartment complexes and business offices that rose up on all sides. This late in the morning, nearly everybody was already at work. Bishop looked better rested than she had in days. The change a few hours of sleep could make was a minor miracle.

“What happened to you? Did you sleep on the curb?”

“Good morning to you, too, sweetheart,” Brennan said to her, affecting his best impersonation of Sam.

Bishop shuddered. “Don’t you start on that. If you ever asked me on a date, it would be too weird.”

“You aren’t my type.”

“Strong-willed? Independent? Blonde?”

“Short.”

“Go to Hell.”

“Not yet! I’m not quite ready to die.” He poured himself a steaming cup of what passed as coffee and joined Bishop at her desk. She had the Zachariah Nettle files open on her desk.

“I’m assuming you got my voicemail,” she said, and he grunted the affirmative. “I’ve been looking at these files all morning and there is one thing I’m confused about.”

Brennan raised an eyebrow. “One thing? I looked at these all day yesterday and turned up nothing. In fact, since you ruled out the girlfriend angle, I think we’ve actually lost ground. Nothing seems to add up.”

Bishop smiled ruefully. “That’s what I thought at first, too. Inconsistencies abound with Zachariah. He should have been poor by all rights, just scraping by on his pharmacist’s salary, but the things he had in his apartment said otherwise.”

“Actually, I looked into that,” Brennan said. “Pharmacists pull in a lot more than we thought. Six-figure salaries, and that’s just within a few years out of college.”

“Really? Maybe I should change careers,” Bishop mused aloud. “But still, without financial help from his parents? Nettle should still have had student loans to pay off. That kind of education wouldn’t come cheap.”

“He was living pretty luxuriously, from what I saw.”

“Exactly. And as far as we can tell, nothing was stolen, so burglary isn’t a likely motive. I think whoever came to visit Zachariah already had murder in their heart, and I’m relatively certain it has something to do with the extra money.”

Brennan scratched at his chin; he had missed some stubble. “If that’s true, then we’re looking at some pretty serious suspects. Mobsters, gangsters, junkies and their dealers, loan sharks—the list goes on. Anybody who had money to give and the means to take it back when the time came. We could search half the city and not find our guy.”

“True,” she allowed, “but the suspect pool gets a lot shallower once you look closer at the victim’s body.”

“Did our guy leave behind fingerprints? Or some stray hair?”

Bishop sighed. “Unfortunately, nothing so obvious. But we can be reasonably certain that Zachariah knew his killer, and that the attack was induced by some horrible fit of rage. When we saw that Nettle’s eyes had been removed, I thought it had to have been someone who was ashamed to be seen by the victim as a murderer. That profile pointed toward a family member or intimate lover.”

“Both of which we eliminated,” Brennan pointed out.

“Right. But once those options were gone, it left the question of why the killer took the eyes. And then it suddenly dawned on me!” She swiveled in her chair and brought up the computer screen. She spoke while she typed. “I asked the lab techs to analyze a tissue sample of the skin around his eyes, where we saw…ah, here it is. Remember the skin irritation we saw at the crime scene? It was caused by some kind of corrosive substance, not a result of the knife gouging the eyes out.”

Brennan followed her train of thought. “So we don’t have a motive yet, but you think the killer removed Nettle’s eyes because he was covering his tracks?”

She nodded. “Whatever the substance was, our killer thinks it can be traced back to him.”

“Was the lab able to determine what exactly we’re dealing with?”

“Unfortunately, no. There wasn’t enough tissue to work with. But considering Nettle’s profession, I’m thinking it’s something you might find in a pharmacy.”

“Something you’d find in a pharmacy,” Brennan echoed. “So if there’s something missing from Zachariah’s workplace—”

“Then we can find out what burned our victim’s eyes—”

“And follow the clues back to our murderer!” Brennan finished triumphantly. His grin was mirrored on Bishop’s lips, and they stared at each other in mutual excitement.

“Well, aren’t you two just adorable?”

Brennan was surprised by the familiar voice. He looked up to see Sam leaning casually against the glass divider with the hallway. Sam was watching them with an amused look sprawled across his face.

“Sam,” he said. “What are you doing here? Don’t get me wrong, it’s always a pleasure, but…”

“But you didn’t call me, I know,” Sam finished. He gestured to Bishop. “I’m actually here to pick up that one.”

“Noel?” Brennan’s eyebrows reached for the ceiling as he turned to her. “You asked him to come here?”

Bright crimson flowed high into her cheeks, though it was impossible to tell whether from anger or embarrassment. “We are working together on the case, so yes, I asked him to come as a consultant. Only to consult on the case,” she stressed, looking Sam pointedly in the eye. He nodded, his solemn expression belied by his amused, dancing eyes.

The light perfume, revitalized energy, and visibly happier demeanor all suddenly made sense. Brennan glanced incredulously between the two of them.

“You two are going on a date?”

Sam held up his hands. “Hey, I’m just a paid consultant. I wouldn’t know a date if it called me up out of the blue and asked me to brunch. Certainly not after impromptu drinks together the night before.”

The blush in Bishop’s cheeks deepened.

Brennan shook his head. “This is a dream. A crazy, delusional dream and the Sleepers are coming for me soon.”

“It isn’t a date,” Bishop said firmly. “And I needed a strong drink after the day I had yesterday. Sam happened to be there, and he offered to pay. Then I walked home, alone. Which is exactly what will happen today,” she finished, directing the last part at Sam.

True, chimed the little voice in Brennan’s head.

As he watched them go, his right hand fell unconsciously over his left, where his fingers touched upon the smooth metal of his commitment to Mara. His heart still ached for her after so many years. He waited until Sam and Bishop were out of sight before collecting his things and heading back home.

10

Jeremy had never let go of a dream so reluctantly.

He had been reliving a memory, one very familiar to him.

In the Jardin des Anges he stood, admiring the beautiful flowers as an equally lovely specimen of a woman, her arm looped in his, leaned gently into him and rested her head against his shoulder. A harpist played soothing music from an obscure corner of the gardens, the notes dancing softly in the air as they were carried by the wind.

“Annabelle,” he said.

The blonde, blue-eyed girl stirred from her reverie and looked up at him with the most heart-warming smile. “Yes, my love?”

“I think this is the best date we’ve ever been on.”

“Really?” she asked, her smile deepening. “You aren’t bored to tears yet? I was sure that a visit to the Jardin des Anges would finally scare you away.”

“I never said I wasn’t bored,” he grinned, pulling her in for a kiss that lasted several seconds. “But I love you.” Her eyes glittered in response to that. “I love you, and you will have to try so much harder to dissuade me.”

“Mmm. Maybe I don’t feel like trying all that hard,” she cooed, melting into his embrace.

“Good.” He kissed the top of her head.

They started walking toward the exit of the Jardin.

“I’m just glad you didn’t get down on one knee,” Annabelle said. “If I get proposed to someday, I want it to be an intimate moment, not surrounded by strangers.”

Jeremy had his free hand stuck deep in his pocket. He toyed with the small, velvety box that hid there, secreted away until the perfect moment. He feared that moment had just passed.

“A proposal? In the Garden? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

With a jarring transition, Jeremy awoke into the present. He was delirious for several moments as he took stock of the room. The fire had died down to smoldering embers, and the warmth of the room had greatly diminished with it. His head pounded and he was reluctant to leave the embrace of his bedcovers. He probably would have succumbed to the allure of further sleep if he hadn’t smelled breakfast cooking.

Outside, the day was already well underway. Flowers of red and orange and blue opened up happily to the sun, greedily drinking in its energy. Even further, the orchards were in full bloom with pears and apples. But not peaches, Jeremy reminded himself. And even further out beyond those, almost invisible from the window, he could just make out the broad, rounded tops of the black walnut grove. A murder of crows flew in that direction.

The hardwood floor was cool on his bare feet and Jeremy hurried to slip on a pair of loafers. His bandages, he noticed by way of the mirror, had been changed. There was only a small, bright dot of red right over the source of the throbbing pain he felt. He was having difficulty wrestling with his father’s memories; they felt so real, as real as any memory properly his own.

“Get your breakfast while it’s hot or all of this will be for naught!” his mother called out loudly. Jeremy groaned inwardly at her rhyme as he padded his way quietly down the hallway to the kitchen.

To call the Scott country home a ranch was something of an understatement. Strong, wooden beams, as thick and rough as freshly felled trees, framed the residence over an area about the size of an acre. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the south walls, and the golden sunlight filled the main lounging room. Shelves had been built into the chairs and couch, each one filled with books of all sizes and colors. Hardwood flooring was covered here and there by soft area rugs, upon which sat the furniture.

Adjacent to the lounging area was the kitchen; all polished stone and smooth granite, the kitchen was very modern with an aesthetic feel that somehow meshed with the natural décor of the rest of the house. Inside was his mother, with an apron around her waist and her blonde hair pulled back into a bun.

“Hi, honey,” she said, smiling sweetly at him as he entered. “I’m glad you’re finally awake, it’s been so quiet all morning.”

“Morning, Ann—uh, Mom,” he replied, covering his slip-up with a yawn. “I slept like the dead.”

She looked at him worriedly for a moment.

“Breakfast,” Jeremy said quickly, gesturing. “Smells good. Pancakes?”

“Of course, my baby’s favorite.”

“Mom,” he groaned. He was hardly a baby anymore.

“Pancakes are just about finished, and I have scrambled eggs coming up in a few minutes. There’s bread waiting to be toasted, butter and jam on the table. I’m guessing you want milk?”

“Yes, please,” he said.

“Well you know where to find it,” Annabelle replied, gesturing toward the fridge. He grinned to himself. She hadn’t changed a bit in the twenty-three years he’d known her.

Jeremy frowned.

She was his mother. She was also Annabelle. His head throbbed as he struggled to make those two facts, the two sets of memories he held, compatible with one another.

His mother saw the stages of Jeremy’s confusion play across his face but said nothing.

Another thready pulse of pain, only a minor irritation, and Jeremy shelved the problem. He poured himself a glass of milk from the carafe in the fridge and sat down at the table. In addition to the food his mother had listed, there was also sliced ham on a large plate, each sliver the size of Jeremy’s hand.

“Wow, Mom, you made way too much food for just the four of us.”

“The two of us, actually.” His mother glanced at the door with a look of irritation. “Your father watched over you while you slept, but he was on his way right back to the city at the first light of day. He promised that it would only be for the morning, to finish the business meeting that was interrupted yesterday. He’ll be back by this afternoon,” she said, wearing her best smile for him.

If memory served him, he knew now that the cheer was false. Jeremy wasn’t fooled. But he could still beg ignorance, for his mother’s sake. He smiled in return as he sliced his stack of pancakes into quarters.

“You said the two of us. What about Ellie?” he asked.

His mother shook her head. “Wild child, that one. I’ve been trying to get her inside, but she’d rather get her hands and knees dirty chasing after rabbits.”

Jeremy shrugged. “Her loss, more for me,” he said, spearing a healthy portion of ham with his fork and depositing it on his plate. He ate like a ravenous wolf. He had never consumed as much in his life as he did that morning. The stack of pancakes, buttered and drowned in syrup, hardly made a dent in his appetite. The slices of ham, a half dozen total and each slice as thick as his pinky finger, brought his hunger down to a level approaching “gnawing”. He followed the first tall glass of milk with an equal amount of orange juice. His thirst slaked, he scooped up the scrambled eggs with his pieces of toast and put them down with bites of prodigious size.

His mother smiled and filled her plate with a quarter as much food. “Easy, Jay, don’t forget to chew.” She regarded him a moment. “Or breathe.”

Jeremy attempted to respond, stuffing food into his cheeks to make room for his mouth to work. It was completely unintelligible.

“Mum,” he finally managed. It came out British-sounding by accident, by virtue of the food still in his mouth. “How did you manage to make—well, everything—taste so good?”

“Why, thank you, sweetheart. But it helps when the person eating it has been knocked on the head first.” Her eyebrows furrowed with concern. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

“I’m feeling much better now,” he said, smiling. He looked outside for a moment; Ellie ran past the window, giggling, followed closely by a small, red-furred squirrel. Jeremy’s eyes returned to meet his mother’s. “Mom, I’m curious how you and Dad met.”

“Really?” she asked. “Surely we’ve mentioned it to you before, when you were younger. You probably just forgot.”

He frowned and reflected, searching his memories. His father’s recollections threatened to crowd out his own, though, and he struggled to find an original memory of his that told of his parents’ first meeting.

“It’s okay if you forgot,” his mother interjected, “I don’t mind talking about it.” A small smile fluttered on her lips. “Your father was a very charismatic man when he was younger. Very charming. The two of us went to university together, as you know, though he was two years ahead of me.” She pursed her lips in concentration. “It was the end of November, I remember. All of us were preparing for our end-of-term exams. And your father, well, he was in his senior year and already had a job lined up after graduation. It didn’t matter what grades he received in the end, so long as he passed and got his diploma.”

Here she paused, spreading her hands in front of her, a cautionary gesture. “You’ll have to take his word for it, because he only told me this story after we were already dating for several months, but he swears that the first time he saw me his whole life changed. Heart skipped a beat, jaw dropped to the floor, tripped up head over heels; he was such a romantic back then, your father.

“Anyway, I am sure that I looked like a train wreck. My hair was a mess, I wasn’t wearing any makeup; I had been practically living in the library for the last several days. And in walks your father, tall and handsome, with a nice smile and kind eyes, and the moment he saw me, I knew.”

She leaned in conspiratorially. “I knew he would be the death of me. He was all grace and collectedness and I was a mess, flustered over finals and papers for which I was in no way prepared. His eyes met mine and he walked directly toward me, never breaking stride from entering the room, and stopped just a half-step away from where I was seated. He said—and I’ll never forget this—he said, ‘When did angels stop living in the Jardin des Anges and start studying in the library?’”

Jeremy choked on his last piece of toast, snorting with sudden laughter. “He said that?” he asked incredulously. His mother laughed as well.

“Your father has always had a way with words. He knows exactly what to say, as well as how and when to say it. If he had been any less serious, I would have blown him off, and if he had tried an actual, suave pickup line, I would have screamed at him in frustration to let me study in peace.” She chuckled to herself. “As it was, I was speechless. It was my jaw’s turn to drop, and I just stared at him with wide eyes. He had spoken loud enough for the entire room to hear, which only made it more surreal.”

“So what happened next?” Jeremy asked.

Ellie burst into the house, slamming open the screen door with youthful exuberance as she cried “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!” and threw herself into her mother’s embrace. Only too late did Annabelle realize that her daughter was liberally covered in grass, leaves and mud. Lots of mud. Jeremy grinned to himself. Perhaps he had given too much credit to his sister’s maturity.

“Ellie!” she cried out. Her white apron was already soaking up the moist mud. She sighed. “Jeremy, do you mind? I’ve got to make sure this one is cleaned up, right now.” She emphasized the last words at Ellie, who squealed in delight as she was tickled under her arms. “I’ll tell you the rest of the story later?” she suggested.

Jeremy made a split-second decision and steeled himself against the nausea he knew was coming. “Sure thing, Mom,” he said, touching her lightly on her exposed arm. A rush of memories flooded over him, disorienting in speed and vividness, and he was thankful that he was already sitting down.

Before she had even stood from the table, Jeremy knew everything.

11

Detective Brennan woke in a hospital.

He was sitting in an uncomfortable leather chair with metal armrests, and his neck twinged from sleeping at an awkward angle. There was very little to be heard going on in the hallway, and a glance at the clock confirmed that it was very early in the morning, hours before dawn. A steady series of beeps toned from a machine. The room was otherwise quiet.

He turned and looked at the pale woman lying prostrate in bed. She had a slender face, gentle lips and early laugh lines around the eyes. Had she been awake, Brennan knew, blue eyes like sapphires would have glimmered back at him. When the two of them had met, she had been a rare kind of beauty. Beyond her pleasant looks, she had borne a steady strength within her. She had a compassionate heart and loved those around her more than seemed possible, and wherever she would go, smiles would appear.

His wife, Mara. She had been the greatest gift to this world, the single saving grace of Arthur’s life. That had been before she Fractured.

Now, the skin clung tightly to her bones, making her fine cheeks stark, almost mountainous protrusions on a light, deeply sloping landscape. Her eyes sunk deep in their sockets, dark as bruises against her ghostly complexion. Her hair grew out long and thin, untended to, sickly. Her gentle lips, so pink and luscious before, were now an ugly purple.

A knock on the door, and a man in a long, white coat entered quietly.

“Mr. Brennan,” he said, “can I speak with you for a moment? Out here, in the hallway, please.”

Arthur rose heavily from the chair and followed the doctor out of the room. He had not recognized the chill before, but he realized that the hallway was considerably warmer than Mara’s room. The nurses’ station was empty except for one, and she was dozing at her desk. The hallway was otherwise deserted.

“Mr. Brennan,” the doctor began solemnly, “I cannot tell you how sorry I am. You have my condolences.”

Brennan leveled a look at the shorter man. “My Mara isn’t dead.”

The doctor nodded sympathetically. “I understand that this is a difficult time for you, but there is nothing more we can do for your wife. She can be kept on life support for a time, but I would not be optimistic for a change in her condition. We can move her to Ridgewood, a long-term care facility, but—”

Brennan shook his head. “She would want me to keep fighting for her. Her body is still here, and I know her mind is in there, somewhere.” Now the doctor shook his head slowly, unconsciously. They were effectively alone, but his voice dropped to a whisper. “A Sleeper could go in, find her, and bring her back—”

“Sleepers are myths, Mr. Brennan,” the doctor said. His eyes screamed concern for Brennan’s mental well-being. “And even if they weren’t, it’s a fool’s errand to go tampering with a Fractured brain. The best thing to do is to let her go peacefully.”

Brennan held back his emotions. They raged against his heart and soul like rapids against a dam; one slip of his control would open the floodgates. He willed away the tears for his lost wife. She wasn’t lost, he reminded himself. He would not allow it.

“Then I will go myself,” he said softly.

“Then you’re a…” The doctor gazed wide-eyed, mouth agape. “That…would be madness.” He shook his head, and his voice regained some vestige of strength. “Even if you could, I would not allow it. It would be suicide.”

Brennan felt numb inside. He knew that what the doctor said was the truth. But while his mind could understand, his heart still rebelled. His thoughts had turned sluggish even as his heart raced. How dare this man presume to know what was best for his wife, what was best for him. But that was it, wasn’t it? He was no longer thinking of Mara, but rather only of himself. He was the one who wasn’t ready for her to go.

Something in the air changed. Maybe it was a pressure shift from an opened door, or perhaps his ears heard something his brain didn’t register, but Brennan was abruptly aware of another presence.

There, over the doctor’s shoulder, he saw a man who had not been there the previous moment. He was slender of build and wore a nurse’s outfit, scrubs of light blue. There was an intensity in his stare that was unnerving.

For a moment, the entire scene held in perfect stillness. The doctor’s mouth hung in mid-air, an unspoken word frozen on his lips. The beep beep beep from Mara’s room had gone silent. The newcomer nurse, however, moved with a gentle grace that Brennan was familiar with, once upon a time. Moving with caution, as if any abrupt movements would shatter their reality, the male nurse reached for the back waistband of his scrubs and retrieved a small pistol.

Brennan struggled with his body. Instead of being frozen in place like the doctor, he moved with the alacrity of one wading through chest-deep pudding. A single step took an eternity. A heavy pressure fell upon his chest, stealing the wind from his lungs. He gasped for breath as he tightly closed his fist. Sharp pain shot through his palm, jerking his arm with unexpected speed. The slowing, painful pressure around him vanished.

Brennan leapt to the side as a bullet sped from the gun. He crashed through the door to Mara’s room, the impact accompanied by the sound of breaking glass, not the thud of solid wood he’d expected. He glimpsed her prone form one last time before the entire world shattered around them.

* * *

He woke from the nightmare to find himself in his apartment. At some point in the afternoon, he had succumbed carelessly to sleep while reclining in the leather chair. From the chair, he had leapt upon the low, glass table in the center of the room and shattered it. Slivers of glass sliced scores of small cuts on his face and arms and made a mess of his shirt, but it was better than staying in the nightmare with the Sleeper for one moment longer.

He stood and brushed some of the glass from his body, taking care not to push any shards in deeper than they already were. Still cradled in one hand was a small, sharp thumbtack, and a slim trail of blood trickled from where it had punctured his palm. It would join the several other dozen such scars.

He stumbled to the kitchen and grabbed his phone from the counter before going into the bathroom. He dialed Sam’s number and told him to meet him at the apartment in fifteen minutes. He caught his reflection in the mirror.

“Better make that twenty minutes.”

“Can do, partner.”

He placed the phone on the sink countertop and shed his clothes. He let the shower run for a few minutes, then winced as he stepped into the steaming-hot water. Red rivulets ran from a dozen minor cuts. He groaned as the warmth spread through his body, relieving tension he hadn’t realized he’d had. The cuts stung, but the pain was manageable.

When he felt ready, he used tweezers to remove any slender pieces of glass that remained in his skin. It was ugly and painful, and at one point he accidentally stepped on one of the fallen shards and had to remove it once more from his foot, but he managed it. Brennan closed his eyes as he let the water flow over his face. After what had seemed to be only seconds, a polite knock came from the front door. It devolved into heavy poundings with a fist by the time Arthur had dried and dressed himself.

“Come on, some people are trying to sleep,” he grumbled, opening the door for Sam.

“No, they aren’t, it’s three in the—Jesus, you look like hell.”

“Is that an improvement from looking like death?”

“Certainly not.” Sam eyed the living room as he entered. “Your furniture giving you trouble?”

“Yeah, table got out of line, acting like it owned the place. I showed it who pays the rent around here.”

Sam nodded. “So, what’s up?”

Brennan grabbed two Cokes from the fridge and passed one to Sam. “Bring me up to speed on the case. What did you and Bishop discuss over brunch?”

He huffed and sat on one of the bar stools. “Never got brunch. Her idea of a date was us going back to where Zachariah Nettle worked and getting a full look at their logbook. Everything in and out of the pharmacy over the past three months.”

“It wasn’t a date,” Brennan corrected.

“Yeah, well, clearly. I guess she’s having trouble admitting her feelings for me.”

“You slept with another woman while you two were dating.”

Sam shrugged. “Women. So territorial. It’s not as if we had agreed to be exclusive—” He caught Brennan’s look. “Right. Getting off topic. Noel flashed her badge and we got everything we asked for. Looked over the logs for about an hour—you wouldn’t believe how much traffic a pharmacy gets, these were no quick reads—and we saw some interesting figures.”

“What did you find?”

“Everything in the books was solid except for one product. NicoClean, some kind of prescription nicotine patch for chronic smokers who want to quit. These patches came in huge amounts each month, I’m talking boxes of the stuff, and sold out every two weeks like clockwork. Patches come in, patches go out.”

“Patches…” Brennan murmured. It was familiar.

“Now, get this,” Sam continued. “The pharmacy says they weren’t even aware of so many boxes of NicoClean being sold, and the financials match. Their profits only match for a fraction of what the record says was sold. And I bet you can guess who was working each time a large quantity of NicoClean was sold.”

“Zachariah Nettle.”

“Exactamundo!”

“Are NicoClean patches worth that much on the street?”

McCarthy faltered. “Well, that’s the thing…they aren’t. The mesh is a bit thicker, so it can hold more nicotine per patch, and it gets in the bloodstream faster than the generic stuff, but if you’re looking for a quick fix then you’d just light up the old-fashioned way.”

“And nobody would buy nicotine patches in dark alleys and on street corners.”

“Exactamundo,” Sam said, less enthusiastically. “We’ve got nothing.”

“No,” Brennan said. “This is too close to our victim, there has to be something here.”

McCarthy leaned against the counter, a mocking smile on his lips. “You know, as much fun as it is reading pharmaceutical records and looking at your ugly mug, I don’t do this work for free.”

Brennan grunted. “Bishop hired you this time. Look to her for money.”

Sam’s eyes lit up. “Ah, I see. Go collect from the lady for, ah, services rendered.” He winked. “Gotcha.”

“I want you to explain that to her using those exact words. Then we’ll see who has the ugly mug.”

Sam shook his head and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “So, you going to explain your grievance with the table?”

Brennan frowned. The motion hurt, and he turned away from Sam as he grimaced. “Not yet,” he said. “Perhaps another time.”

Sam gave him a long stare. “Another time, partner.”

12

It was well into the afternoon when Jeremy heard the front door open noisily.

The sun was settling in among the mountains, and it would soon disappear from view. For now, light filtered in through the windows of Jeremy’s room, casting a golden hue on the whitewashed walls and solid wood beams. He was sitting up in bed, struggling with a book from his summer reading list, when a bass-like voice bellowed out a greeting from the kitchen.

“Hellooooo!” The absurdly loud roar could only belong to one man. “I brought presents and souvenirs, but I guess there aren’t any kids here.”

He was sixteen and hardly a kid anymore, but Jeremy leapt excitedly to his feet and raced to the kitchen. Ellie had already beaten him there, and she was scooped up by a pair of enormous hands, connected by beefy, hairy forearms to the largest man Jeremy had ever met. His naturally faded jeans were frayed around the ankles, and a spattering of mud stains clung to his pant legs. A weathered plaid shirt strained against his broad chest. A tuft of dark hair reached up through the neck of it, and he had an untrimmed beard of several months’ growth. Ellie writhed in his grasp as he tickled her under her arms and around the waist, and she was breathless when he finally released her.

“Jay!” he boomed. His voice was deep and rumbled through the room like thunder through the sky.

“Uncle Rick!” Jeremy ran into his uncle’s welcoming embrace.

The older man was rocked back on his heels. “Whoa there. When did my nephew get replaced by this giant? Last time I saw you, you were barely this high,” he said, holding a hand by his waist. He smiled as Jeremy laughed and pulled away.

“We weren’t expecting to see you,” Jeremy said.

Ellie grinned and shook her head emphatically. “Where have you been? Where’s Dad?”

“Carrying my little brother’s bags,” Nathaniel grunted as he crossed the threshold of the front door. He heaved a pair of heavy traveling backpacks through the doorway, one strap in each hand. “Because apparently I’m a pack mule. How in the world did you carry those things?”

Uncle Rick grinned and winked at Jeremy and Ellie. “It’s a secret. Only international men of mystery such as myself can know.”

“Fine,” Nathaniel grumbled. “My international brother of mystery can carry it the rest of the way to the guest room.”

“We can help!” Ellie volunteered, rushing over to one of the bags. Her reed-thin body bowed as she heaved at one of the straps, but the bag hardly moved. She settled down on the ground instead and started to unzip one of the larger pockets.

“Hold on there, little lady,” Uncle Rick said, casually lifting the bag away with one hand. “No presents until after dinner. That’s your mother’s rule.”

“And you’ll tell us all about where you’ve been?” Jeremy asked.

Uncle Rick let out his rumbling laugh again. “But of course! There will be jungles with temples, hidden treasure from the bottom of the ocean, bizarre rituals from secluded tribes—”

“You brought us treasure?!” Ellie bounced up and down, her hair flapping madly with each jump.

Uncle Rick winked. “You will see. After dinner.” He slung a bag over each massive shoulder and walked away to the ranch’s guest room.

“He’s hiding something good in those bags,” Ellie said greedily.

“After dinner,” Jeremy parroted, and he left her alone in the kitchen as he returned to his room. It was still warm, and red coals smoldered silently in the fireplace. Jeremy felt a sensation of unease that had nothing to do with the heat of the room. He had not expected Uncle Rick’s arrival, but these visits were always a surprise. His father was ordinarily frustrated by them, but he seemed perfectly aware of the arrangement today. Perhaps he had mentioned it in conversation and Jeremy had forgotten about it.

Jeremy reached up and gingerly touched his bandages. His head ached more strongly now, and the assigned reading would do little in the way of distracting him from his pain. He sighed, left the room again, and walked back to the kitchen. Ellie had disappeared, probably off playing with squirrels.

His mother entered as he was reaching for the medicine cabinet. She had a bushel of freshly picked pears from the orchard supported under one arm. “Jay, I saw the car out front. Where is your father?”

“He’s helping Uncle Rick with his bags,” Jeremy said off-hand, reaching for the bottle of painkillers.

His mother froze in place. She looked between the front door and the hall that led to the guest bedroom before settling back on Jeremy. Her face calmed and her features smoothed over. The change had been less than a second long, but he had seen it all the same.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she replied. “I just wasn’t expecting your uncle, that’s all.”

Jeremy shrugged. He let the tap fill a glass with water, then threw back two of the white tablets. “My head has been bothering me,” he explained, in response to his mother’s inquisitive stare.

She nodded and placed the fruit basket on the counter. “All right, well let me know if it gets worse. We might need to take you to the hospital for a scan.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Jeremy said, forcing as much cheer into his voice as he could. He wasn’t sure what else they might find if they scanned his head. Whatever was going on with the memories freaked him out more than he cared to admit.

When his father’s hand had brushed against his during his recovery, Jeremy had thought the world was ending. His head had erupted in searing pain, and the memory came unexpectedly—and it was so vivid. He thought back on it and it came as clearly in his head as his own memories of venturing to the Tower, playing with Ellie in the garden, and picking fruit with his mother in summers past. They were more than just a part of his father—they were now a part of him. And there was so much to go through.

He left his mother and returned to his room. The infernal book from his summer reading list was still open to the first page, which was as far as he had managed to concentrate with the pain in his head. The painkillers would need more time to take effect, so he went to move it away. As he lifted it from the bed, however, a sudden realization came over him. He had not even passed the first page, but he already knew what was going to happen in this chapter. And the second, and third, and so on, all the way to the end of the book. It was a fuzzy memory, but it was there. He flipped to the last page of the book and read it, just to be sure.

He had read this book before.

But it was impossible. The price tag was still on the back cover; they had bought the books on his and Ellie’s summer reading lists at the beginning of summer, but this was the first time it had been opened. The crisp paper still crinkled as the spine flexed in his grip, and Jeremy understood where he had read it before.

It was his father’s memory.

Somehow, more than just that first flash of memory had made the trip into his head. As he thought about it, concentrating, the pain in his head increased tenfold. And he remembered so much more.

None of them were his memories, but they belonged to him all the same. Places he had never visited, people he had never met, all flashed through his mind. A rush came over him.

He flipped open a notebook and took a pen in his left hand. He was a righty, but his father was left-handed. He wrote out his signature—Nathaniel Scott—on the page. It was an exact copy, except for when he thought about it a little too consciously and marred the double-T at the end of ‘Scott’.

He looked down at the book again. The Picture of Dorian Gray—it had been years since he had read it. He opened it to the first page and read, “The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.” The words greeted him like old friends—the passage was made familiar again. He looked around at the changed room in which he found himself.

The cheap linoleum was cold beneath his feet. A foldout table was propped against one wall, with three low stools sitting around it. He held a worn book in his hands, a secondhand copy with a sticker on the back indicating the library’s ownership of it.

The room was small and dank. Mildew crept out from beneath the peeling wallpaper. He studiously ignored the shouting and sounds of crashing glass from the apartment next door. Beyond the mildew was the smell of something else, like warm beer left in the sun for too long. It was late, and he read by the light of the streetlamp filtering in through the dirty window. He didn’t know where his father was, but that was a good thing; better elsewhere than here. His brother was gone, too, which bothered him somewhat more.

“Derrick?” he asked. Empty silence answered him.

He got up and walked into the only other room in the cramped apartment. A queen-sized mattress and a bunk-bed dominated the room, and what little space remained was taken up by a dresser that held clothes for the three of them. The room was dark, and his eyes hadn’t adjusted yet.

“Rick?” he called again, but his words were swallowed in the black.

It wasn’t altogether surprising; Rick often strayed from home, especially when he knew their father wouldn’t find out. He was a wanderer by nature. But it always made it worse for the few times he was missing when their father stumbled home.

Somebody was calling out a name now, but it wasn’t his. The neighbors were still going at it.

He turned back and ducked into the tiny bathroom that he never considered a full room. The shower worked, but irregularly, and even then it ran only cold water. Here, too, the wallpaper was folding in on itself. He washed his hands under the frigid tap in the sink and ran wet fingers through his untidy hair.

His eyes were bright and blue—though he could have sworn they had always been dark gray—and shadows crept in beneath the lids. A messy rag of blond hair sat atop his head. Despite having eaten little for as long as he could remember, his cheeks held a youthful fullness that was unfamiliar to him. There was a gash on his temple, too, from some wound he didn’t remember. It oozed through the bandage he hadn’t felt before.

Somebody was calling his name.

His name. He remembered all of a sudden that he was Jeremy. Jeremy Scott. Blue eyes, light-blond hair, bleeding head. Bleeding head. There was something important about that.

“Jay, hold still,” he heard a woman saying. Annabelle, his memory supplied.

“Anna…”

“Jeremy, sweetie, it’s going to be all right.”

“What happened?” It was his brother—no—his uncle, Rick.

“I don’t know. I was coming to get him for dinner and he was lying on the floor.”

“How long was he like that?”

“I don’t know,” Annabelle said, an edge to her voice. “Here, help me get him up.”

Jeremy felt himself being lifted up by strong arms and cradled against a solid chest, and a moment later he was back in his bed with a whumph. They covered him with a heavy comforter that smothered him and he felt like he was in a furnace, but lying on his bed again was like resting on a cloud. He stopped trying to keep his eyes open; it was just too difficult. He fell unconscious.

13

The shuttle carried Brennan around the city rim to the far side of Odols.

He disembarked a short distance from the pharmacy where Zachariah Nettle had worked. The store was a few blocks from Nettle’s apartment, still part of the same rough neighborhood. Unsavory types leaned against rundown buildings and eyed him suspiciously as he passed, but he walked with purpose and kept his head down, and he felt their attention wane and shift away. Brennan soon arrived at his destination, a brightly lit building with glass double doors.

It was one of the chain convenience stores with a pharmacy in the rear corner. He entered and walked straight to the back, approaching the assistant at the counter.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

“Hey, I’m gonna need a patch of NicoClean.”

“One patch?” the young pharmacist asked. “We only provide them in packs of fifteen and thirty.”

“Fine,” Brennan said. “Give me a fifteen-pack.”

“I’ll need your prescription first.”

Brennan made a show of patting his pockets. “I don’t have one of those.” His hand slapped the wallet in his pocket and his eyes widened in mock surprise. He flipped it open and smacked it down on the counter, his silver badge showing prominently. “But hey, I’ve got this. Police business. Go get me a box.”

“I—I don’t know if I can do that,” the pharmacist stammered.

“I’m a detective,” Brennan said solemnly. “And you’re about to be brought in for obstructing a police investigation.”

“We have generic brands that you—” He was silenced by Brennan’s glare. The young man gulped visibly, then turned and disappeared behind a shelf. A moment later, he returned with a box of NicoClean, one with thirty patches.

“Here you go,” he said. “I’m not in any trouble, am I?”

“Not if you keep your nose clean and your head down.” Brennan held his stare for a moment more, then retrieved his badge from the counter and stalked out of the pharmacy.

Once he was outside again, he stepped under the light of a streetlamp and looked critically at the box. It was standard in every way, with a Surgeon General’s warning on the back. He broke the seal and took a single patch from the box; it was square-shaped, about the thickness of a credit card, and wrapped in clear plastic. It looked like any other patch.

So who would buy them in bulk? Brennan wondered. And why kill the supplier?

He put the patch in one of his pockets, then carried the box in one hand as he walked back toward the shuttle station. It was a quiet night; the moon was full and low on the horizon, and it inched its way over the city’s towering skyline. A pair of cats were getting it on in an alley; he didn’t care to look, and he quickened his pace a bit.

He wasn’t paying attention when a lead pipe slammed him from behind.

It didn’t quite hit his neck—the blow landed across his broad shoulders—but it hurt enough to stun him. He staggered forward and fell to the ground, his arms only partially absorbing the damage. A moment passed where he was kicked in the ribs and the box was ripped from his grasp, then he rolled to the side and lurched to his feet.

The lead pipe was wielded by a younger man with a red and white Badgers cap, maybe in his late twenties. His partner, holding the box of NicoClean, circled around Brennan to flank him. Badgercap swung the lead pipe in his hand and lunged at Brennan with a savage cry.

Brennan took a glancing blow to the arm and spun with the swing of the pipe, grabbing the man by the wrist and hurling him bodily at his partner. The throw was poorly aimed, and the other man dodged as Badgercap flailed and nearly brained him with the lead pipe. He dropped the box of patches and brought his fists up to bear. His punches were direct and connected, but Brennan was a much larger man, and the blows caused bruises instead of broken bones. Brennan covered his head as the boxer tried to break through the defense, his fists landing on hard flesh and layered muscle.

Meanwhile, Brennan edged toward the rising moon.

If he could put himself between his attackers and the shuttle station, he could make a run for it. His size meant that fights tended to go in his favor, but he didn’t like his chances going toe-to-toe with two prepared assailants. The lead pipe gave them a distinct advantage, too. His shoulders twinged painfully, and he couldn’t raise his arms any higher than his face. He had to end this fight while Badgercap was still out of it.

He focused on the boxer and closed the distance. There was almost a rhythm to the punches, and he tried to gauge their timing. He took a blow high on his shoulder and closed to within inches, too close to be hit effectively. Brennan drove a knee into the man’s groin, and the boxer’s face twisted in agony. As he bent over protectively, Brennan brought his elbow down upon the man’s neck, knocking him to the ground.

The lead pipe cracked across the back of Brennan’s knees.

His legs crumpled with a sickening pop, and he shouted out a curse. Pain coursed through his legs and his vision turned blood red. He was seeing scarlet as Badgercap lifted his beaten friend to his feet. He held the end of the lead pipe against Brennan’s chest.

“I’m only going to say this once,” Badgercap growled, his voice hoarse as he breathed heavily through his mouth. “Stay clear of Leviathan.”

Brennan brushed the pipe away and received a blow to the head for it. The cold pipe pressed against his chest again.

“This doesn’t have to be difficult,” the armed man said. “Keep out of our business, and we will see that you are rewarded for your wise choice. I will not be so lenient the second time.” He paused to take a swift kick at Brennan’s injured side. “Tell your partner, the little blonde chick, that this is a message. We’ve got our bases covered, and you’ve struck out.”

He swung the lead pipe again, and Brennan saw stars.

He had been knocked Looney Tunes senseless, sure, but now he saw actual stars as he sprawled onto his back. Thousands upon thousands of blurry pinpoints of light suspended millions of miles away. They weren’t supposed to be blurry, but his eyes refused to focus properly. His head was killing him, and he couldn’t even lift his arms to cradle it. He could only listen with one good ear as Badgercap and his crony took off. They took the box of NicoClean with them.

Sometime later, he regained his sense of self. He could think clearly enough to know to get up. It was raining lightly. It must have been falling for a while now, since his clothes and jacket were plastered to his skin. He stood unsteadily and took quick steps to lean against the nearest lamppost. His ribs ached, and each intake of breath was fire in his chest. His shoulders were stiff as a corpse; he could barely lift his arms out straight, and shrugging would be a chore for the next few days. The sidewalk swayed beneath him as he walked like a drunkard down the street. The shuttle station lay ahead, and he knew where he had to go from there—if his body held together long enough.

14

As with any garden, the most remarkable thing about the Jardin des Anges was its flowers.

Tourists came annually from all across the States to look upon the gardens. Every color imaginable was found in the petals of the Jardin, and the quietude created by the enclosure was one of the most serene and romantic settings in the country. One could hardly walk along its cobbled lanes without being awestruck. A secret garden flourished when the winds were harshest and the temperature was at its lowest. It was the reason for which the Jardin had earned its name.

But the Jardin which Jeremy visited in his dream was its summery sister, the same one he had first witnessed in his father’s memory.

He walked along the cobblestone paths with bare feet. It was smooth and cool to the touch, despite the warm sun high overhead. As he walked, his ankles were tickled by slender vines that had overgrown their assigned plots of land. He moved quietly among the peaceful gardens, and he soon found himself padding softly on an earthen path deep in the Jardin.

A jade beetle hummed its wings and flew across Jeremy’s path, less than an inch from his face. He flinched away from it, and when he opened his eyes again, he saw an older gentleman turning the corner ahead and disappearing out of view.

It was odd, because there had been nobody in front of him a moment ago. He hurried after the man, and as he turned he saw a dark coattail flit around another corner. Jeremy followed the gentleman through the maze of the deep Jardin, always a second too slow to see his face.

He paid no attention to where he was going until his feet landed upon solid stone. It was not the cobblestone of the earlier paths, nor the packed earth he had just left. Somehow, without realizing it, he had walked straight into some lower floor of the building that stood beside the Jardin.

“Old man!” he called. His voice echoed loud and long, and he flinched at the sudden idea that he might not be welcome here. “Old man,” he said more quietly, addressing the nearby hallway juncture.

“I’m not that old,” came a reply.

A man of middling height, equal to Jeremy’s own, stepped out from a connecting hallway. His hair was white and short around the temples, and deep grooves were worn into the fabric of his face. He was dressed to the nines, an impeccable suit that one might wear to the opera—if the performance were taking place a hundred years ago. His eyes were hidden by dark sunglasses and bushy eyebrows.

No way he ran that fast. Jeremy fought to catch his breath as he stared incredulously. The old man wasn’t even winded.

“You have the most curious dreams,” the man said without preamble, shifting his attention to look out the window.

Jeremy frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The Jardin des Anges. Beautiful place, just beautiful.” The old man turned to stare directly at him. “But you have never been here.”

Jeremy didn’t know how to respond to that. It was true, but there was no way the old man could know. He’s a figment of your imagination, one part of him rationalized, and he nodded. It made sense. But then why would he imagine this blind man?

“Your head,” the man continued, “is so full of memories. Too full. How ever did you manage that?”

Jeremy was uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “Who are you?” he asked. “Have we met before?”

The old man barked out a laugh. “No,” he said, “and I suppose this is all rather strange to you. I appear as I wish and I have many names. But you may call me Benjamin.”

“All right, Ben. How did you get here?”

“I walked here, just as you did.”

“Not the building,” Jeremy said, frustrated. “I mean, how did you appear in my dream?”

“You know you are dreaming?” Benjamin asked. His white eyebrows raised slightly. “Few people are lucid dreamers.”

Jeremy shrugged. “As you said, I’ve never been here before, and I’m certainly not here now.”

“But your father has been here?” Benjamin asked.

He ignored the probing question. “You’re changing the subject.”

“As are you.”

“Why are you here? Answer my question!”

“You are…unique, Jeremy.”

He shivered at the sound of his name; he had never given it to the old man.

“You are unique,” Benjamin continued, “just as I am. You ask who I am, and I will tell you.” He moved in closer, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “I am a Sleeper.”

If that simple statement was meant to unnerve him, it worked. Sleepers were fairy tales, ghost stories, the kind of thing that little children played about because they were simply too unreal. The fable went that Sleepers could enter the dreams of anyone they wished, tormenting them or driving them to madness. Men with tinfoil hats claimed that there was a ward in the hospital for such Fractured minds.

If what Old Ben said was true, Jeremy was in deep trouble.

“I can see what you are thinking,” the old man said softly. “And I must tell you that it is false, all of it. I am not the boogeyman come to steal your dreams, nor am I the maker of madmen. If it helps, you may think of us as the Dream Police.”

Jeremy wasn’t sure if he believed him. His heart calmed a little, though, and he had not yet run away from the man.

“You do not believe me,” Benjamin said, seemingly reading his thoughts. “I do not blame you. Perhaps a demonstration is in order?”

Before Jeremy could say another word, the floor and walls shook violently around them. Ancient dust shifted loose from the ceiling overhead, and the stones that formed the foundation of the wall vibrated dangerously in place. It was like a great, rumbling earthquake had suddenly overtaken the Jardin des Anges, prepared to swallow them up in an instant.

With sickening abruptness, they were no longer in that stretch of hallway.

Jeremy looked out over a field of peonies, a green landscape dotted with innumerable blooms of pink and red and orange. The flowers swayed in the gentle breeze, and he smelled their collective aroma carried on the wind.

“We use our power for good, Jeremy.” The field of flowers disappeared in a blur of colors, as if Van Gogh were given free rein of this ride, and the two of them were suddenly standing aboard one of the shuttles, back in Odols. There was only one other man sitting in the car, and he was bleeding from a cut on his lip. “But there are few of us, and the darkness grows,” Benjamin continued. “Odols is not as safe of a city as it once was. It is time to recruit, and I am here for you.”

Another disorienting shift in the world, and they now stood in the hallway once more, only a few feet apart. Jeremy could see the heavy lines of Ben’s face even more clearly. They were the marks of a hard life, one fraught with danger and darkness…

And purpose.

“Who was that man?” Jeremy asked.

“A former agent of mine, turned away from our order by doubt and selfish desires.” Benjamin peered at him through the dark glasses as if he could see perfectly well. “These are not traits that I sense in you.”

“You want me…to be like you? To become a Sleeper?”

“Not right away,” Old Ben said. “There will be years before that is necessary. You are yet uneducated, untrained. I am simply here to tell you that, when your schooling is finished, you have a place here.” Silence hung in the air between them for several seconds.

“You said that I was special like you,” Jeremy said slowly. “How are you special?”

“I do not speak lightly of what I can do,” Benjamin said curtly. “It is a valuable asset. It is why you have not yet acknowledged what you are capable of.”

“Fair enough. Truth for truth?”

Benjamin nodded. “Trust is a bridge that extends both ways.”

“Fine.” Jeremy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I can…see other people’s memories. Kind of like I’m downloading their entire lives into my brain.”

The pinched lines around Benjamin’s eyes sharpened. “As I suspected.”

“You already knew?” he asked incredulously.

“The last time you fell asleep, your dreams lit up like a beacon. You have so very, very many memories in that head. When that kind of number is accumulated, the memories are usually fuzzy and gray, aged alongside the person who holds them. But yours…” Ben said, waving a finger. “Each one of yours was crisp and fresh, like a freshly fallen autumn leaf. And so vivid. They were as new to you as breakfast this morning. It was this anomaly that attracted me,” he said simply.

The two of them stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Dream time moved very differently from waking time. Their entire conversation could have taken place in the first few moments of him passing out in bed.

“And how are you special?” Jeremy finally asked. Old Ben shrugged.

“I am a Pathfinder. I find things, and people.”

“And paths?”

Benjamin laughed. “Exactly.”

Jeremy asked the question that had been on his mind since the Tower. “How can I do what I do? What made me get like this?”

“You make it sound like a disease,” Benjamin said. His eyebrows knitted together into a solid line. “Nobody knows for certain what sets us apart. The hand of God? A mutation in our genes?”

“But I haven’t always been like this,” Jeremy protested. “All of this started when I hit my head a couple days ago. Could brain trauma be the cause of all this? Am I just imagining everything in my head?”

Old Ben smiled wanly. “I should hope not, or else I might find myself quoting the late Albus Dumbledore.”

“He’s a fictional character.”

“Yes, a figment of one author’s imagination. Why should that make him any less real?” He smiled ruefully. “You forced my hand.”

Jeremy didn’t smile. “You still haven’t told me anything. Why are we like this?”

Benjamin shrugged. “Why does it matter? We are who we are, whether by another’s hand or our own. Scores of men have searched their entire lives for the meaning of life, the why, and many more have quested after the how.” He folded his hands over his cane. “I am content with knowing that I am.”

Jeremy digested the old man’s words. “And everyone who is a Sleeper, they’re all special like us?”

“Not everyone,” Benjamin said. “There are others with powers such as ours, though they are few in number. Any individual with sufficient willpower could learn to do what Sleepers do. But our abilities appear to be from a different set of gifts entirely.”

“Finding things…forgive me for saying so, but that doesn’t sound like such a great gift.”

“We do not choose the gifts we are given,” Benjamin said. “In any case, I found you.”

Jeremy lifted his chin. “I’m a beacon. That’s different.”

“Do not let your head swell too big for your shoulders.”

“So what exactly would I do as a Sleeper? I’ve heard only bad things, and that was when I still thought you were just a bedtime story. If even half of it is true—”

“We do what is necessary to protect this city,” Benjamin said tightly. “There are forces that are simply too powerful and mysterious to be handled by the police. We are the self-appointed protectors of the people.”

“That’s a great pitch, but I meant day-to-day, what will I be doing?”

Old Ben seemed to contemplate this question for a long moment before answering. “There is no right or wrong in this world, Jeremy. You must understand that in order to bring balance to others, we must first find balance within ourselves. This will not be an easy life, nor one filled with thanks from those you help—they will never even know you were there. You will make hard choices, decisions that will leave others bereft of their autonomy. But with my guiding hand, you will accomplish great deeds and protect countless innocents during your service.”

“That still doesn’t answer—”

“You will kill. You will maim. You will steal, lie, and deceive. Nobody will know who you are, or what you do, or when or where you will strike next. It is a dangerous life, but one that is necessary for the continued survival of this city. The people will never acknowledge your sacrifices, and they will continue to fear and despise the myth that you represent.”

There was a pregnant pause before Benjamin spoke again.

“Do you have what it takes?” he asked.

Jeremy stared at him for a long moment. “You need to work on your sales pitch.”

“It is not typical for so many questions to be asked so early on.” Benjamin’s head tilted as he seemed to consider something off to the side. “I fear I must be going now. Time is short, and I have many more to contact before the night is through. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Collector.”

Jeremy frowned at the title, but he decided not to ask any more questions. He felt Benjamin had told him all he would. “Nice meeting you, too, Benjamin.”

“I hope you do give serious consideration to what we discussed here.” He rapped his cane lightly against the stone floor. “You will make a fine Sleeper one day.”

Jeremy nodded. “Put me down as a definite maybe. Though I’ll have to ask my parents about it.”

“This is not something you ask permission to do. This is something you are born to do.” The old man started to leave, but stopped mid-turn and glanced at Jeremy again. “I would have that wound tended to by a doctor, if I were you,” he advised.

As Benjamin walked away, the walls of the building around them didn’t crumble so much as waver out of existence, gradually replaced with the wood and glass of Jeremy’s bedroom. The old man turned a corner, and a door materialized behind him, completing the room’s transformation.

Damn, he’s good, Jeremy thought.

* * *

There were no voices in the room when Jeremy came to. The fireplace was lit once more across the room, and the heavy blankets that had been lain upon him were still smothering. But this time he did not wake to pain and misery; his head hurt, but only a little, and he felt perfectly rested, as if he had not just spent the entire night speaking with Old Ben in his dream.

And he hadn’t. He looked outside to see the night barely half spent, the moon hanging high in the sky as if at the peak of a rollercoaster, poised for its inevitable descent. It was full and bright, lighting the whole valley in dull gray and blue accented here and there by lingering shadows.

He pulled himself from beneath the covers and put on a fresh set of clothes. Voices carried from the kitchen, and he walked out to investigate. His mother, father, and uncle were all seated around the table, talking and laughing animatedly.

“Look who woke from the dead!” boomed Uncle Rick. Jeremy’s parents hushed the boisterous man, and Annabelle glanced at the closed door to Ellie’s room. His sister must have fallen asleep hours ago. “How are you feeling?” his uncle asked in a quieter voice.

“Pretty good,” he admitted, rolling his shoulders. “I’m starving.”

“We saved you some dinner, sweetie,” his mother said, rising from her chair. She gestured for him to sit down while she heated a bowl of leftover stew over the stove.

“And after that,” Nathaniel said, “you’re going straight back to bed.”

“Oh, come now,” Uncle Rick argued. “He’s been asleep all evening. Let the boy stay up with the adults for once.”

“I’m not a boy,” Jeremy said quietly.

“I’m sorry, of course you aren’t,” Uncle Rick said, throwing him a jovial wink with his apology. Jeremy smiled, and his mother brought over a steaming bowl of stew. She also set down a glass of water and painkillers.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Careful, it’s hot.”

“You don’t need to coddle him,” Uncle Rick chided before focusing on Jeremy. “I was just telling your father here that we should open up the valley.”

“Open up the valley?”

“Yessir, bring in some developers and make a resort hotel out here. Maybe some camping grounds, for hikers and the like. Some people will pay a small fortune to have a getaway location like this, even for a week or two. We’d become barons of our own piece of paradise,” he said, laughing deeply.

“It isn’t your land to develop,” Annabelle said sternly. “Ultimately, the decision rests with Nate.”

“You’re right, of course, Anna,” he said, his tone placating. “But I would stay on as an adviser, naturally, providing my expertise for rolling everything out.”

“And what exactly do you know about running a resort hotel?”

Uncle Rick raised his shoulders and said, “What can I tell you? I’ve been around a lot. I know what a good place looks like and how it should run. With an opportunity like this, you’ll recoup your investment in just a few years, and then it’s all profit.” He ruffled Jeremy’s hair. “Investment for this guy and Ellie to live off of when they are older.”

“This valley is their inheritance,” Nathaniel interjected. “All of this land, this fresh, fertile, clean land, will be theirs one day.”

“I’m not saying we should pollute it—just the opposite, in fact! We’re offering a place for city-dwellers to escape all the smog and traffic. Everybody wants to get away once in a while, and we’d offer the full package. You aren’t using this whole valley, anyway. Not even a twentieth of it. The rest is potential profit, unrealized returns.”

Jeremy could see his father smiling now at the opportunity. His mother, though still uncertain, looked less upset than she had earlier. A sudden thought occurred to him.

“We could rebuild the Tower!” he blurted out.

Uncle Rick gave him a look. “The tower?” he asked.

His father waved a dismissive hand. “It’s a rundown old building that Jeremy ran off to alone.” He stared hard at Jeremy. “That place is a death trap. It nearly got him killed.”

“Boys will be boys,” Rick said with a laugh, but the joke fell flat. He looked compromisingly between Jeremy and Nathaniel. “We can rebuild it,” he said, “and improve upon it to make it a proper building, with all the safety regulations you could wish for. We can set out for it first thing.”

“Maybe now isn’t the best time to be discussing this,” Annabelle said, getting up from the table.

Uncle Rick placed both hands flat on the table. “Right. Best save the details for tomorrow, when we’re all rested and ready to begin.”

“Yes,” she sighed. “That’s exactly what I meant.”

Nathaniel rose as well, brushing her cheek with his lips as she walked toward the bedroom.

Uncle Rick looked at his brother with a wide, toothy smile. “You know this is the right thing to do,” he said in his baritone voice.

Nathaniel’s face broke out in a grin at his brother’s words. “I know it is, of course.” He pointed a thumb at Jeremy’s retreating mother. “Somebody still needs a little convincing, though. I’ll see you in the morning. Come on, son, let’s get you to bed.”

He placed a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder and the two of them walked back down the hallway. The fire crackled merrily and Jeremy was reluctant to get back under the stifling bedcovers. He sat on top while his father rested on the edge of the bed. Nathaniel had gentle lines in his face, premature aging brought about by stress. The gray in his temples grew a little bit each day, accentuating his gray eyes more and more.

“Jay,” he began, “I know I haven’t been the best father to you. I’ve said this all before, but you need to hear it again, because I truly mean it.” He bit his cheek, an unfamiliar gesture. Jeremy felt something stir inside that he had never felt for his father before. He flashed back to the memory of his father, as a young boy, sitting in that rundown apartment.

“You’re doing the best you can for us,” Jeremy said quietly. “Nobody blames you for not wanting to be like your father.”

Nathaniel looked at his son for a second, then let out a quiet laugh.

“Sometimes I forget how much you’ve grown,” he said. “You’re practically an adult now.”

“Practically?” Jeremy asked, eyebrow raised.

His father laughed again. “Don’t grow up too fast,” he said, slinging one arm around Jeremy’s shoulders. They sat together in a companionable silence for several seconds, then a few minutes. Neither one moved from the half-embrace. From the living room, the grandfather clock tolled twice before falling silent again. “You really want that old fort rebuilt?” he asked.

Jeremy sat back then and looked at his father. Those eyes were worried, and calculating, and loving. The three would have seemed incongruent in another man, but Jeremy acknowledged that his father wasn’t just any other man. He was the one who had looked out for him his whole life, working himself to the bone and nearly losing his marriage so that his children wouldn’t grow up as he had. Jeremy recognized that now, just as he recognized that this offer was one of reconciliation with his father.

He nodded. “Yeah. That’s what I want.”

Nathaniel nodded. “Then that’s how we’ll do it. I’ll let your uncle know in the morning.”

“And Dad?”

“Yes, Jay?”

Jeremy bit his lip. “How did you…why was there already a doctor here for when we returned?”

Nathaniel wringed his hands together as his face fell. His eyes held the saddest expression Jeremy had ever seen, and there was a somber tone to his voice when he spoke. “Jay, I’m…I wanted to have everyone’s blood drawn for a routine checkup.”

Jeremy could hear the lie in his father’s voice, but he wasn’t sure why it was there. “Why do you need our blood?”

“Just making sure that everything is fine. Can never be too careful, right?”

“I suppose not…”

Nathaniel patted Jeremy on the arm before standing and going to the door. “Time for bed, all right? I’m glad you’re well,” he said sincerely. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

15

Brennan was very close to passing out on the shuttle.

It was dark now that he was underground, and the rhythmic motion of the shuttle and its low, constant hum were lulling him to sleep. He took ragged breaths and scowled each time one of the tunnel lights passed by the window. They were too bright and only served to worsen his headache. He was contemplating going comatose—which seemed like a really good option at the moment—when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

Thankfully, his arms could still move in the downward direction, though it was a chore bringing it close enough to his ear to hear.

“Brennan,” he rasped.

“Did I wake you?” It was a female voice. Bishop.

“No, actually, just about to fall asleep. What’s up?”

“You sound terrible, or maybe it’s just the reception.”

“Both,” he said dryly. “I’m on the shuttle home now from uptown. Oh, and I got jumped.”

“What?” Alarm colored her voice. “You were attacked? By who?”

Brennan shrugged, then regretted it. Fire seared across his shoulders, and Bishop couldn’t see the gesture at any rate. He hissed in discomfort.

“Brennan?”

“I’m fine,” he told her. False. “Two guys, one had a Badgers cap and a lead pipe.” He lifted his chin slightly. “They ran, in the end.”

Bishop’s voice was apprehensive. “Well, all right. Glad to hear you came out on top. Who would attack a cop?”

“Don’t know. Guess they were watching the pharmacy. They mentioned you, by the way. We’re supposed to stay away from the Nettle murder.”

He heard a snort through the receiver. “Yeah, like that’s going to happen,” Bishop said. He felt his lower lip crack with a sharp burst of discomfort, but the grin was worth it.

“All the same, this case is getting more dangerous. We should probably check things out together from now on.” His nephew’s drug-induced vision suddenly came to mind. He thought about telling Bishop what Greg had seen, but then decided against it. She would dismiss it as nonsense and possibly bring Greg up on drug charges, to boot.

“Hello?”

Brennan had lost the thread of conversation. “I’m sorry, uh, connection must have dropped out. What did you say?”

“I said I called because they found out something new about our body during the autopsy.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“You remember the irritation we saw around the eyes?” Brennan shuddered at the mental image of the horribly mutilated eye sockets. “Wallace’s report just came in: the redness we saw was deteriorated tissue caused by the corrosive substances in patches.”

“Patches?” Brennan echoed. The single NicoClean patch he had removed from the box was still in his pocket. He was definitely not going to mention Greg’s patch problem.

“Yeah, that psychoactive drug that’s giving the boys in vice such a hard time. Damn hallucinogens. It’s not what killed him, but Nettle was alive long enough for the patches to take effect.”

Brennan felt bile rise in his throat. “And some sick bastard put a patch on each eye. Zachariah must’ve been in agony right until he bled out.”

His partner’s voice wavered slightly. “We’re hunting a psychopath.”

* * *

It was just past three in the morning when Brennan stumbled into the precinct.

He was the definition of misery. Every bone in his body ached, and he hadn’t had a decent sleep in days. Hell, the last time he’d slept, he’d relived the worst moment of his life and a Sleeper had tried to put a bullet between his eyes. Alarms were blaring in his head, warning him that something was messed up inside him, urging him to go home. He lived on the same block; all he had to do was cross the street.

But he didn’t. As much as his body longed for rest, he still had a job to do. Once, long ago, he could have gone home to a wife, slept easy at night, and come back in the morning. It was a sweet memory, tinged with bitterness with the knowledge that he could never again lay claim to that kind of happiness. Now, the job was all he had, all he could do.

The precinct was brightly lit, even at this hour, and Brennan scowled in protest. His feet shuffled past a concerned-looking receptionist and he thumbed the button for the elevator. It was only one floor to the morgue, but he doubted his ability to tackle stairs at the moment. Bishop was waiting for him with the evening pathologist when he reached the basement. She nodded her greeting, and Brennan nodded back.

“Brennan,” he grunted to the pathologist, offering a hand.

“Wallace. We’ve met before, actually,” he said, taking the handshake politely.

“Have we?” Brennan squinted through bleary eyes at the unfamiliar man. He was a slender man of Indian descent, and he was short for a grown man, almost of a height with Bishop. A single line of jet-black hair led from his forehead to the base of his neck. Studded piercings gleamed from both ears. The three of them started walking to the morgue proper, a large, sterile room that dominated three quarters of the basement.

“At the policemen’s banquet two years ago,” Wallace supplied. “You and Sam were working on the Red Eye murders then.”

“Sorry, Wally,” Brennan mumbled. “It’s been kind of a long day, and I’m bad with faces.”

“Wallace is just my last name, actually. My first name is—”

“Brennan, you said you were fine.” Bishop gave him a concerned glance.

“—Jeffrey.”

“I’ve never felt stronger. And I think ‘Wally’ sounds better.”

“Well I—”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Bishop protested. “If I’d known you were coming in such shit condition, I wouldn’t have called.”

“Maybe we should—”

“I’ve run longer on less. I can sleep when I’m dead.”

“Probably not the best euphemism to use in the morgue.”

“Detectives!” Wally had stopped dead in his tracks. “It’s late, we’re all tired, and there’s a sadistic drug dealer-turned-murderer running around! A little focus, please!”

The two detectives glanced at one another, then followed the pathologist in silence. Brennan did what he could to hide his limp, and Bishop reined in her concern.

Wally led them to the too-pale corpse of Zachariah Nettle laying on a slab of cold metal. His big toe had a small yellow tag looped around it, and a folded surgical towel covered him sensibly. The cavities left in his face where his eyes had been removed looked more garish now than they had a few days ago. They were deep, sunken pits that added purple to the mottled red and yellow of his visage. The chemical burns on the skin around the eye sockets were turning a sickly brown color in some places.

“Always a shame to lose a professional peer,” Wally sighed. “Not a pathologist, mind you, but trained in medicine all the same.” He turned to the other two with an upturned mouth. “We medics patch you up and get you on your way with hardly any thanks in return.”

Brennan raised an eyebrow. “What’chu talkin’ ‘bout, Wallace?”

Bishop snorted, then turned it into a cough.

“You work with dead people,” Brennan continued. “And Nettle filled prescription bottles.”

“At least you got my name right,” Wally grumbled before regaining his composure. “Medicine is indistinguishable from poison when administered improperly. Do you know how many bodies I have coming through here because they OD’d on what should have been life-preserving medicine? Take our victim, for instance. What would you say is the active ingredient in patches?”

The two detectives shared a glance.

“It’s a name too long for you to understand even if I told you,” Wally continued. “But the common name is Chamalla.”

“I thought there wasn’t enough viable tissue left to sample,” Brennan said skeptically.

“I’m better than most,” Wally said with a smirk. “It’s corrosive, right? Bleeds right through the epidermis. There was too little surface tissue, sure, but there was more than enough to sample beneath the skin.”

Brennan grunted. “Clever. So what is Chamalla?”

“Once upon a time, it was thought to be an alternative cure for cancer. They did a whole miniseries about it, but it was eventually debunked. Instead of tossing the project, other applications were looked into. It showed promise in treating patients with Alzheimer’s. You know how memory works as you get older?”

They really didn’t, but neither detective interrupted the pathologist.

“New memories accumulate over time and older, less important memories are stored away. Not gone, not like we used to think, but put away somewhere. Just like how you put Christmas ornaments in the basement when you aren’t using them,” he clarified, his eyes hopeful.

Bishop nodded politely, while Brennan stood stone-faced. He didn’t know anybody in the city who had a basement.

“Right. Well just like that, you still have all your memories, they’re just put away somewhere that you don’t think about, or else it’s just difficult to reach. They say that every person you see in your dreams is someone you’ve actually seen in real life, but I think that’s bogus. Since you don’t remember every single thing you’ve done in your life, your brain creates filler material for the parts you no longer remember. Over time, this filler material accumulates and can take on a life of its own, and so we get elderly patients who remember an entire life that never happened.”

“Kind of running away from us here, Wally,” Brennan warned. “Is there a shorter explanation?”

Wally looked at Brennan and Bishop alternately with the strangest expression on his face. Disappointment, perhaps, that they weren’t as engrossed in all the details as he was.

He cleared his throat. “Right. Anyway, this medicine, Chamalla, clears away all the filler. Or it should, anyway. I’ve never used it myself, personally.” Heat suddenly entered Wally’s voice as he gestured to Nettle’s body. “But then someone decided to take that medicine, crank up the dosage to insane levels, and sell it on the streets as dope—”

The drug was medicine. Brennan’s mind was fuzzy, as if the gears were trying to turn with gum jammed up in the works. Bishop had no such trouble thinking clearly.

“You’re saying the drug is medicine, but used improperly, is that it?”

Wally was still in his own rant. “—and they add to it with chemicals and narcotics and—sorry, what? Oh, yes. Of course,” he said, looking at her as if she were a simpleton.

“How much more Chamalla would you need to use to go from medical to recreational?” she asked.

“Not much,” Wally said. “The difference is in milliliters.”

“Why do the patches burn the applied surface? This is supposed to be medicine, after all.”

“All things in moderation. Remember, they were trying to use this stuff to treat cancer. The alternative was blasting the cells with radiation, and we know the kind of toll that takes on the body. Considering the options, the toxicity of the extract was deemed acceptable. In small doses, it works wonders on our Alzheimer’s patients. With an increased dosage, you would start to run into the more toxic side of things.”

Wally touched the cold body for a moment, gingerly, on the head. “It’s really ingenious,” he said, “using the patches as an application method. Slow, steady release of the drug, and the epidermis takes most of the blow instead of the internal organs. If—when—you catch our culprit, I would love to have a few minutes to discuss his thought process.”

“But Wally—er, Wallace,” Bishop corrected herself at his sharp glance. “The patches are practically worthless. Why kill the pharmacist supplying patches when the Chamalla is what is worth killing somebody over?”

Brennan’s brain finally made connection with his mouth. “There are two points of vulnerability,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Bishop asked.

“I’m…not sure.” He didn’t quite understand the words himself. He shivered in his still-damp clothes, and something shifted in his pocket. Brennan reached a hand inside and felt the square shape of the NicoClean patch. He pulled it out absentmindedly.

“The men who jumped me,” he said. “They were prepared by the time I came snooping around. One of them told me that they ‘had their bases covered.’”

“Which meant they were watching the pharmacy,” Bishop concluded.

“No, no,” he said, waving a hand. “I think he slipped up. You said it yourself, there are two aspects of the patch: the physical patch itself, and the Chamalla. I think when he said bases, plural, that it meant they have something—or someone—else under their control.”

Bishop put two and two together. “They need to be getting their supply of Chamalla from somewhere.”

“When we kept visiting the pharmacy, they must have thought we already knew about the role of the prescription patches in Zachariah Nettle’s murder and that we planned on shutting down the operation. By running us off, they could move back in and press somebody else under their thumb.” Brennan thought of how easily the other pharmacist had rolled under his pressure, and he had barely even been trying. “We need to solve this soon,” he said, “before they draw in anybody else.”

Bishop faced Brennan squarely, hands on her hips, her mouth set in a stern frown. “We aren’t going to keep them from rolling on Nettle’s pharmacy?”

Brennan shook his head. “If we stay there, they’ll just move to another pharmacy. The patches are easy, and it would be impossible to cover every store that sells them. There can only be a handful of places that can supply the amount of Chamalla that they need, though. If we hit their source of the drug, we’ll put them out of business.”

“This is so cool,” Wally said, watching the exchange with wide eyes.

Brennan placed the damp NicoClean patch over one of the corpse’s empty eye sockets; its edges lined up neatly with the red, ruined skin.

Bishop made a sign of the cross.

16

When the sun rose, it did so in secret.

Thick clouds, dark and foreboding, moved in from the west and settled over the valley. The light drizzle of the night before had been replaced by a steady downpour that hammered against the roof and drenched the valley. Every so often, the fabric of the sky would be torn asunder by a bolt of fire, followed by the beat of a god’s drum that left the earth trembling. Wind howled outside the Scott ranch like a horde of banshees.

Storms like these were not infrequent in the Midwest, and each time one came along, it was a terrible thing to behold.

“Out of nowhere!” Uncle Rick remarked, his loud voice managing to rise over the cacophony around them. Though it was impossible to tell by looking at the sky, it was midmorning, and everybody was gathered around the table for breakfast. His father and Uncle Rick had been talking about their plans to renovate the valley when Jeremy joined them, though that conversation fell quiet when his mother emerged from his parents’ bedroom. The topic had abruptly shifted to the weather.

“Oh, please,” Annabelle said. “You two don’t fool me for a second. Go on talking about whatever it is I interrupted,” she added, feigning indifference.

It’s a trap! Jeremy mouthed, and his uncle hid a smile behind a napkin as he pretended to dab at his mouth.

“I have never seen such temperamental weather,” Uncle Rick blustered. He gestured at the rain that pelted against the windows; pellets of hail had joined the mix. “Sunny just yesterday, without a cloud in the sky! A light drizzle last night, sure, but this is just obscene!”

“Come on, Derrick,” his father said. “You’re exaggerating now. You’ve been all around the globe! A little rain isn’t anything new to you.”

“This is not a little rain.” Uncle Rick shook his head. “You Midwesterners.”

“You were born here, too, you know.”

He ignored Nathaniel’s comment. “One time,” Uncle Rick began, looking between Ellie and Jeremy, “I was in South America, in Brazil. The climate down there is damp. Humid. The clothes were clinging to my back, but my sweat must have smelled like honey, because we were getting bitten left and right by mosquitoes. The air was so thick with them that we couldn’t open our mouths, in case we accidentally swallowed one.”

“Eww!” Ellie exclaimed, wrinkling her nose.

Uncle Rick laughed. “It’s true! My buddy Jimmy and I, we shed all but our lightest fatigues, and there was still no respite from the heat.”

“Fatigues? You were never in any military,” Annabelle argued.

“We were dressed as local militia,” he confided, “so we had to look the part. Anyway, we were lost and dying of thirst. The closest town was over thirty miles away through dense rainforest.” Jeremy opened his mouth to talk, but his uncle overrode him. “I can guess what you’re thinking: we were in the rainforest, so there was water everywhere for us to drink. But there wasn’t.”

Uncle Rick licked his lips, the phantom sensation of thirst apparently getting to him. “We were disguised as local militia, but the men we encountered were nothing but thugs, men who offered their ‘protection’ services and burned down entire villages if they refused. Their boss was a drug lord dealing mostly with heroin, and—”

“I don’t think this is a story you should be telling the kids,” Annabelle said, frowning.

“But he was just getting to the good part,” Jeremy pleaded.

His sister echoed him. “Yeah, the good part!”

“Ellie, you’re definitely too young to hear this.” Annabelle looked sharply at Uncle Rick. “Another time in more adult company, perhaps.”

Her tone would brook no argument. Ellie protested by refusing to eat the rest of her breakfast, which would only make her more irritable later when she got hungry. Jeremy had finished eating by then, as had his father and uncle, and they excused themselves quietly from the table.

“Breakfast was delicious, thanks, honey,” Nathaniel said, kissing his wife on the cheek.

Uncle Rick mirrored the gesture, and a peculiar expression flashed across her face. ‘Pleasant surprise’ was how Jeremy would have described it. Everybody helped clear the table, with the exception of Ellie, who stalked off to her room.

“She adores his tales,” Nathaniel said.

Annabelle accepted his dirty plate. “She’s too young for that kind of story,” she insisted.

Nathaniel nodded. “You’re right, there. But Jeremy isn’t.”

She vigorously scrubbed the plate clean before placing it in the drying rack with a little more force than was necessary.

Jeremy listened discreetly; he had his face turned toward the window, as if he were wholly focused on the tempest outside. His face gave no indication otherwise; he had long ago learned the art of eavesdropping.

He found it difficult to think of them as Mom and Dad anymore. Ever since he had absorbed their memories—a fact which still freaked him out—he remembered every moment of both their lives with crystal clarity and surround sound. They had been together since their time at the university, and to each other they were simply Annabelle and Nathaniel. Jeremy rubbed at his uninjured temple. The memories were affecting his own perception of them as well. And then there were the nightmares.

For the past two nights, he had had cripplingly terrifying dreams. He never remembered what they were when he woke up—not like he remembered his encounter with Old Ben—but rather they left a kind of psychic scar. Sometimes, he had difficulty reaching a memory of his father’s, or he couldn’t recall a particular day in his mother’s life. They were little things, the kind of absence that would go unnoticed over a lifetime. But he, Jeremy, who had taken in those lifetimes in a matter of seconds, saw them as clearly as missing pieces from a jigsaw puzzle.

Somehow, whatever he had done to absorb his parents’ memories had been incomplete.

The scarred memories lived out their existence in forgotten dreams, though; his unconscious mind suffered each night from whatever horror resided in those missing moments. And each morning, he awoke with an awful feeling inside, like a sickness in his heart.

Even now, as he watched the rain fall and listened in on his parents’ now idle chit-chat, he felt the phantom memories.

He looked across the room at Uncle Rick, who reclined easily in a chair that was decidedly not facing one of the windows. He considered taking his uncle’s memories, too, but quickly decided against it. There was already too much to absorb right now; between his father, his mother, and himself, he had almost a solid century of memories. No wonder he had stood out so clearly to the Sleeper.

Jeremy bit his lip. Old Ben was a mystery, too. Jeremy had never given much consideration of what to do after high school; he had assumed that the university would be the next logical step for him, just as his parents had done. But what if that wasn’t the case?

What if my destiny is to become a Sleeper?

He frowned. When he was younger, Sleepers had always been the boogeymen. Every child in Odols grew up with that belief. Over the years, he had come to know them as a make-believe tale, something told to children to make them behave, similar to Santa giving coal to those on his naughty list. If the encounter last night was any indication, Jeremy realized, it meant that his entire upbringing had been a lie. Sleepers were real, and they were keepers of the peace.

Old Ben had offered him the chance to be an agent for good in Odols. By operating in the shadows, never mentioned outside of old wives’ tales, the Sleepers were rendered all the more effective.

The aching in his head returned. He didn’t mention it outwardly to his family, especially not after the fainting episode from last night, but he felt their eyes watching as he abruptly left his spot by the window. He thought about grabbing a few painkillers before heading back to bed to sleep out the storm, but it would have only confirmed their suspicions. He gritted his teeth and walked straight to his room. He threw a log on the fireplace and it fell with a burst of sparks before slowly catching flame. Within minutes, the room was dry and warm from the crackling fire as a deluge poured down just outside.

He looked at the summer reading book that he had set aside on the table. It was still open to the first page, face down, just as he had left it. Near it was a small stack of other books, also on the reading list, none of which Jeremy had bothered to open. Now he had no need; they had all been read before by either Annabelle or Nathaniel. There was something conspicuously off about the surface of his reading table, though, and it took Jeremy a moment to realize what was different.

The sheet of paper on which he had written his father’s signature was missing.

It wasn’t hidden beneath any of the books, nor had an errant gust of wind blown it to the floor. It was simply gone. Neither hidden nor misplaced, there was only one other option: it had been taken. Jeremy’s stomach pooled in his feet. His parents had been in here last night after his collapse; surely his father must have seen the paper. Would they suspect it had been a simple forgery? He had done it before for class field trips. It had its flaw, of course, with the awkward ending to the double-T that deviated from his father’s muscle memory signature.

But then where was the paper now? And why had it not been mentioned at breakfast?

17

Noel walked Brennan across the street to his apartment and shoved him firmly onto the bed.

“To be honest,” he said, “I’m half-hoping this is heading in the direction it looks like.”

She punched him on the shoulder, and it wasn’t gentle. “You’re a pig.” He tried to rise, but she pushed him down again until he was resting against the pillow. It felt like an angel’s bosom beneath his head.

Brennan patted the open space next to him. “You’re welcome to join.”

Bishop cocked an eyebrow. “I think not,” she said flatly.

“Sorry,” he slurred. “Get tired when I’m weird.” He frowned. “Wait, that didn’t come out right.”

“I understood what you meant,” she said, smiling slightly before her expression sobered. “The answer is still no. Sleep now. You haven’t had a decent night’s rest since this all started.”

It had been years, actually, but he thought it best not to correct her. The bedspread was heavy and warm, especially since he still wore all his clothes from the previous day.

Bishop laid a hand on his arm. “Sam told me you’ve been having nightmares,” she said gently. “And there’s broken glass all over your living room floor.” He began to protest, but she held up a hand. “I’m not looking for an explanation. Not yet, in any case. But if you’re having any kind of trouble, I’m here to listen. That’s what partners are for.”

Brennan looked at her through heavy-lidded eyes. They had spent the dark hours of the morning working side-by-side, narrowing down the list of places where Chamalla shipments could be unloaded. Long hours passed during the tedious work, and by the time the rain started to fall in earnest it was a miracle either of them had managed to stay awake through it all. Brennan suspected he might have nodded off on one or more occasions.

The short walk from the precinct to his apartment had left them both drenched. He had already been thoroughly damp even before their conversation with Wally, so the downpour was only an unfortunate escalation for him; Bishop was completely unprepared for the state she now found herself in. Heavy rain fell outside even as she sat on the edge of his bed. He rose feebly, and she pushed him down again. “Sleep,” she said firmly.

He couldn’t tell her what was troubling him. Not yet, anyhow. But he also wasn’t about to make her trudge home in the rain. “Aye aye, cap’n,” he replied. He mumbled slightly, and the muscles that kept his eyes open had already decided to shut down. “There’s a couch,” he said lamely, gesturing blindly with one arm.

“Why, yes, I believe there is,” he heard Bishop reply.

“Sleep,” he suggested, as much to her as to himself.

He felt the bed shift as he stood, and a second later heard the bedroom door close softly behind her as she left. His body was spent, and he could feel the long pull of sleep tugging at him from not too far away. Still, he didn’t want to ruin his bed with wet clothes, and the fix would take less than a minute.

Wearily, he freed himself from the comforter and stood up abruptly before he could change his mind. His fingers worked clumsily to unbutton his dress shirt, and he had to peel it off one sleeve at a time. The same went for his pants, which clung tightly against his thighs. Finally, he divested himself of the last bit of clothing he had on and collapsed back into bed. He had barely rotated into position and lain his head on the pillow when he was transported to another place.

* * *

The room was wide enough to fit two buses side by side, and large, ornate crystal chandeliers hung on long chains of copper from the vaulted ceiling far above. The walls were adorned with blurred portraits of men and women with firm jaws and narrow noses, wearing clothes that dated back gradually through the centuries; some were as far back as the Old World, across the Atlantic.

Brennan stood upon an expansive tile mosaic of black and gold and white. The tiles were irregularly shaped and, seen from where he stood, were arranged in a way that formed a symbol in the floor, but its shape was unknown to him. Brennan’s mouth opened in a small circle. He recognized the hall of the mansion he had once called home.

“Just when I thought I was out,” he muttered.

The portraits on the walls resolved into the distinct faces of Brennan’s ancestors. Short tables were spaced along the walls as well, topped with doilies and vases which were worth more than what he now earned in a year.

The hall, large enough to host a hundred people—as it once had on numerous occasions—was eerily deserted.

Brennan descended a curved marble staircase and pushed open a heavy door of solid oak, entering into one of the adjacent rooms. It was smallish, dimly lit, and a hazy smoke hung lazily in the air. A single light hung over a green felt pool table. The smoke had a rich scent to it, and Brennan had a fleeting sense of nostalgia as he inhaled. This was his father’s office.

Brennan had never been allowed to enter during his father’s meetings, and so he had had no idea as a child what sort of treachery the man was up to. On one occasion, he had barged in by accident, unaware of a meeting in progress. He had been greeted by empty stares and an ugly scowl from one of the men, a large brute with a scar over one eye. The younger version of himself had been terrified, though the man was far less intimidating in retrospect. He had almost certainly not been a rival of Brennan’s own current size, and being half-blind could only have been a hindrance to him.

In fact, as a cop, he now saw the entire room in a different light.

There was a surprising amount of malice hanging in the air. Perhaps as a child, that had been what unconsciously kept him from entering the room. The smoke was not only hazy, but it was also thick and cloying; in the small confines of the room, it was suffocating. But his father was nowhere to be seen.

Brennan left the room and wandered around the rest of the house, walking down long hallways and climbing great staircases. Everywhere he tread, empty furniture and deserted rooms greeted him. His footsteps echoed loudly in the barren estate.

Where is everybody?

He called out, bidding anybody to appear, but his voice was answered by silence. As he walked, no longer taking heed of where his feet carried him, Brennan recalled the first memory he had of living in the house.

“One, two, three…” Maddy counted, covering her eyes with both hands. She paused and peeked out at Brennan. “You’re supposed to go and hide now, dumdum.”

He nodded sharply, and she began her count anew—at ten. He had ninety seconds to find a hiding spot, and he knew exactly where he would go.

Brennan took off at a dash, his footsteps silenced by the thick socks he wore. He climbed two flights of stairs and turned corners blindly as he distanced himself from her, his body invigorated with the energy only extreme youth could provide. He arrived in front of the room he had found the day before, an enormous room with empty shelves lining all four walls. Mom and Dad had yet to order new furniture, and there were only a few of the previous owners’ pieces remaining, all covered in large, white tarps. He flung himself beneath one of them, rested on a chair, and quieted the excited giggle that rose to his lips.

“Ready or not, here I come!”

Brennan found himself standing in that same library now; his steps had led him here without thinking. He smiled slightly as he looked around the room. The shelves, solid units set inside alcoves in the wall, were less imposing than he had thought as a child; the tallest one was still within arm’s reach for a man of Brennan’s height. But the ambience had remained unchanged. The twilight of the setting sun filled the room, and motes of dust floated in and out of sight as they passed through the sunbeams. Brennan breathed deeply; the library had a delicious aroma to it, the smell of books and wood. He sat down heavily in one of the luxurious leather armchairs and let his fatigue flow out of him, down through the chair’s pegs and into the aged hardwood floor. The room took away his pain and worries and it left him feeling relaxed, refreshed, and rejuvenated. He closed his eyes and let himself sink into the chair’s comfortable embrace.

There was nothing in the world except his calm, steady breathing of the rich aroma of books. He felt a sense of ease and comfort that had been estranged from him for many years. The soft, golden light of the room was like a warm blanket over his weary eyes. In a way, this solitude was Brennan’s personal form of paradise. He didn’t believe in an afterlife, neither heaven nor hell; but this, here, this library and the life of leisure, this was his dream.

He had had it once, long ago.

“And it could be like this once again,” said a soft voice. “Forever.”

Brennan’s eyes shot open. To his left, in the doorway, stood a slim figure of average height and reddish skin. It was the same man who had been impersonating a nurse in his nightmare. This time, he was dressed in the attire of a butler from Brennan’s youth, complete with the Brennan family crest embroidered on the blazer.

“You have a beautiful home,” the man commented, stepping lightly into the room.

Brennan watched him through veiled eyes. “You tried to kill me last time,” he said. He shifted slightly in his seat, positioning for a better view of the would-be assassin.

The butler shrugged. “Those were my orders. Why would you leave such a life?” he asked, gesturing to the mansion in general.

“You’re already inside my head,” Brennan replied. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

“I have tried,” he said simply. “Your defenses are—” The butler hesitated. “You aren’t the man I was expecting.”

Brennan, sitting as he was in the comfortable chair, barked out a harsh laugh. “That would be an understatement, to say the least. Were you even told why I was assigned as your target?” He chuckled in spite of himself. “I mean, come on, assassination on the first meeting?”

The butler stared at him silently, but his eyes spoke volumes.

“That’s not what we do,” Brennan continued. His voice was quiet, but it carried across the room like a deadly curse.

“I don’t question orders,” the butler said. There was an accusatory tone in his voice.

“And I don’t follow them blindly. That’s what can get a man killed.”

“You know that we Sleepers can never retire, not with what we know.”

“I’m out,” Brennan said. “I’m living a normal life; just leave me be.”

“Not with what we know,” the butler repeated. “You’re a threat, whether you realize it or not. With the knowledge you have, you can’t be allowed to wander around unprotected and unsupervised. I’m here for your memory in service, nothing else.”

“My memory…” Brennan said uncertainly.

“As a Sleeper, yes,” the man replied, his voice measured and reasonable. “Nothing else.”

Brennan was surprised, but the only reaction he showed was narrowing his eyes by a hair. The powers of a Sleeper were incredible enough on their own. As far as Brennan knew, though, there was no such ability as memory-stealing in the repertoire of a Sleeper. If such a thing were possible, their dispute could end right here. But it would mean sacrificing his memories as a Sleeper, years of his life given to service. Years of obedience, betrayed by the actions of his former mentor.

And above all, Brennan didn’t think it wise to let the Sleeper take another step closer.

“My memories are mine,” Brennan growled. He sensed the other man tense in response, and he tried a different approach. “There was a reason I left the service. If I could just talk to you for a moment, man to man, you might realize you’re playing on the wrong team.”

The two men stared at each other from across the room.

“Those aren’t my orders,” the butler said softly.

The temperature of the room dropped suddenly. Wood groaned and creaked and splintered as the water trapped inside froze and expanded rapidly. The air became thick, like mud, and time slowed as the butler Sleeper went to draw a concealed knife from behind his back. From years of experience, Brennan knew that the Sleeper would turn the draw into a fluid throwing motion.

But he was prepared this time.

The moment that he had stepped into the library, he’d known that it was a trap. As wonderful as that room had been for him in his youth, the light had never been that beautiful nor had the books ever been that ornately arranged. The memory had been altered, romanticized, to make him want to stay and be calm and relaxed.

In a word, it was too perfect. And if Brennan knew anything by now, it was that the world wasn’t perfect.

“This is my dream, dammit,” he said, rising from the chair. His movement was fluid, prepared—and as fast as a striking cobra. He wrested control of the atmosphere away from the Sleeper and kept the slowing, numbing influence from touching him. Brennan crossed the room in two short strides and knocked the Sleeper off his feet with a powerful strike to the chest.

Upon later reflection, the fight was horribly one-sided.

The Sleeper arched gracefully as he glided slowly through the air from the punch. Brennan grabbed the man by the ankle and lashed him bodily in the opposite direction. He heard a pop as the Sleeper’s ankle dislocated, and bones crunched when his face collided with the hardwood floor. The wooden boards, already weakened from the abrupt drop in temperature, cracked violently under the impact, and splinters of wood buried themselves in the man’s face. His mouth gaped in a voiceless scream of agony.

Brennan approached the nearest block of bookshelves. With groans of protest, he gouged handholds in the wood with his bare hands. He ignored the blood that flowed in rivulets down his fingers. The wood shattered beneath his grip as he took hold of one side. He heaved mightily, his arms popping under the strain and the muscles of his back flexing painfully. Slowly, the bookshelf tipped forward from its alcove.

It moved slowly at first, like a tentative snowball rolling down a hill. As Brennan pulled it further and further toward its tipping point, it gained momentum, until it became an unstoppable avalanche. Books flew from the shelves like canaries from a mine, and then with a rush of air the entire structure fell upon the slowly writhing Sleeper with a terrible, sickening crash.

The pressure of the room abruptly vanished. Brennan’s breath was still visible, but as he pulled back his mental efforts he no longer felt the Sleeper’s numbing aura. He stood there, panting, bleeding. He could hear his pulse beating heavily in his ears, and his hands twitched as they regained feeling and instantly regretted it. Shards of wood up to an inch long pierced his palms and fingers.

Brennan stood there and contemplated the fallen bookshelf for what seemed like a long time. The room around him never changed; the sun stayed perfectly poised in its position in the sky, and motes of dust swirled in the air without any regard for what had transpired. The other bookshelves, likewise, were neither impressed nor worried about their own future. His image of a perfect evening remained untouched by the Sleeper’s passing.

The illusion wasn’t of the Sleeper’s making, said a small voice inside. Brennan ignored it. There was no perfect future in this house. Not anymore, not for him. He made his own way.

He left the library and walked down yet another hall. He was becoming more aware of the very real fatigue his body had felt before falling asleep, yet despite being aware of the dream, he was unable to wake up from it. He took it as a sign. The house was identical to that of his youth, and there had only been one adult-sized bed in the mansion at that time. He trusted his feet to carry him by memory to the master bedroom.

It was a large room, even for two people, and it was clean and orderly in the fashion following a visit from the maids. The bed was wide and long—perfect for Brennan—and he threw himself upon the soft covers. He laid his head to rest upon a platoon of pillows and let his eyes shut of their own accord.

It was his first peaceful sleep in a very long time.

* * *

Brennan’s eyes fluttered open and he rubbed the sleep from his face.

He cast a glance at the clock by his bed and had to do a double-take. It was afternoon already, and he had slept soundly for nearly seven hours. He felt a pang of guilt. Of course, he hadn’t slept soundly. His mind dredged up the events of his dream, from the empty mansion of his youth to his brutal attack on the Sleeper. He hadn’t killed the man—not physically—but he may as well have. The Sleeper would very likely be Fractured, lying near comatose in a room somewhere in the city. Brennan’s stomach twisted with the thought.

A noise from the other room made him sit up in bed.

He prepared himself for the corresponding pain, but his body felt better. It felt great, in fact. There were still bruises on his ribs, but the aches and pains of the past twelve hours had melted away into merely uncomfortable reminders that made themselves known if he stretched the wrong way. He tested his shoulders, rolling them forward and back, and turned his head each direction until the stiffness in his neck cracked and popped away.

Another noise, and Brennan remembered that Bishop had taken the couch. Suddenly conscious of his nakedness, he slipped on a fresh pair of pants and checked himself in the mirror. He buttoned up a collared shirt as he left his bedroom.

On the couch, covered by a large gray blanket, was Bishop. Her head lay against one of the armrests, and gold hair fell across her sleeping visage. The blanket had been made for someone Brennan’s size, and it wrapped around her small form twice. Very tightly around her form. Brennan’s eyes drifted to the closet, inside of which were his washer and dryer. He could hear the telltale sound of clothes tumbling in the dryer, and he realized Bishop was completely naked beneath the blanket.

He gulped and moved quickly to the kitchen, grabbing a tall glass from the highest cupboard. From the fridge he grabbed orange juice and eggs, and he popped a slice of bread into the toaster as he heated up a skillet on the stove. By the time Bishop woke, he had breakfast sizzling and the dryer had finished its final spin.

“Brennan?” she asked sleepily. She rose slowly, keeping the blanket held against her. Sleeping against the armrest of the couch had given interesting temporary lines to her face. “Sorry, I must have dozed off longer than I…” Her voice trailed off. “Are you making breakfast?”

“It’s the most important meal of the day.”

Bishop inhaled sharply. “I am starving. Brennan, I could kiss you.”

He wrinkled his nose and grinned. “Best not. You probably have morning breath right now.”

“Alternatively, I could kill you,” she suggested.

“Your clothes are ready,” he told her, his grin growing wider.

Bishop wrapped the gray blanket more tightly around herself and marched over to the closet, liberating her warm, dry clothes and cradling them in a bundle under one arm. She paused at the entrance of the bathroom and looked back at him. “You look…healthy.”

“I think that was almost a compliment.”

She shook her head and laughed lightly. “Sorry, that came out poorly. But seriously, you look ten times better than yesterday.”

Brennan lifted both arms and clasped his hands high over his head. His knuckles brushed against the ceiling. “Fit as a fiddle,” he said. Truthfully, his shoulders were still sore and the movement was a bit stiff, but there was something about a full night’s sleep that rejuvenated his spirit. Even though his body wasn’t fully recovered, he felt better. “In fact, I need to call Sam right away.”

Bishop grimaced, but she said nothing. She knew the score; McCarthy was part of the case, as aggravating to her as he might be. The bathroom door closed behind her as he pulled the phone from his pocket. McCarthy picked up on the third ring.

“Brennan, what’s up?”

“I need you to look into something, Sam.”

“I don’t know,” McCarthy said. “I’m still waiting on this weekend’s payment. Two days’ work, cash.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill.”

“And I’m still on retainer for Noel.”

“Well I’m using her time, then. She’s here with me now.”

“Really? I’m near the station right now, I’ll meet you—”

“No,” Brennan said, cutting him off. “We aren’t at the station, we’re at my place.”

There was a pause before Sam spoke again. “Arty, you sly dog,” he said. Brennan could hear the grin in his voice. “I didn’t know I had you to compete with as well.”

“It’s not like that,” he sighed. He glanced uncertainly toward the bathroom, even though he knew Bishop couldn’t overhear the call. “And I wouldn’t get too hopeful on that front, if I were you. Look, I’m taking Bishop back to her place now, so I won’t be able to meet you at the station for another half hour. I need you to look into something while I’m away.”

“What do you need?” Sam asked, sobering up instantly.

“We found out that the hallucinogen used in the patches is a drug called Chamalla.”

“Chamalla? Huh, they must be a fan.”

“A fan?”

“Battlestar Galactica?” Sam spoke slowly. His voice rang with disbelief. “Only the best sci-fi show to come out of the early 2000s.”

“Huh. I didn’t take you for a nerd, Sam.”

“I believe the proper term is ‘geek’.” There was a brief pause. “And no, hey! That’s not me!”

“Uh-huh, sure. Anyway, I need you to look into everywhere that Leviathan could be gaining access to it in large quantities. Hospitals, factories, anywhere.”

“Leviathan, huh? Never heard of them.”

“New outfit on the scene, I guess. If we move fast enough, we can shut them down here and now. My guess is we only have another day or two before they find another source of NicoClean patches, and if that happens, we’ll have to start off from square one.”

“Right.” Brennan could hear a pen scribbling on paper on the other end. “I’ll start looking and get back to you when I have something.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

Brennan ended the call, and Bishop emerged from the bathroom fully dressed in her dry clothes. Her face was bright and alert, though she still frowned at the phone in his hand. He wondered how Sam thought he had even the slightest chance of getting back into her good graces. Brennan doubted that she would ever open up to Sam like that again.

“What’s so funny?”

Brennan didn’t realize he had been smiling. “Just a bad joke that came to mind.”

“Want to tell me what it was?”

“Maybe another time,” he murmured.

The two of them dug into the breakfast Brennan had prepared, eating in companionable silence and letting the warmth of the food fill their bellies. When metal scrape against porcelain, Brennan collected the plates and rinsed them under the sink, leaving them in a pool of sudsy water to be washed later.

He got the door for her, and they walked out into the hall. A minute later, they reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped out onto the street. The rain had stopped falling, and sunlight peeked through the clouds. His pocket vibrated just as they started walking toward the precinct. “One second,” he said to Bishop. He lifted the phone to his ear. “Greg? What’s going on? How is your mother?”

“Bad,” his nephew replied. His voice shook speaking just that one word. “Uncle Arty, you need to come see her.”

A heavy pit formed in Brennan’s stomach. When Greg had called him the other day, he had sounded worried but still somewhat in control. Now, he seemed on the verge of hysterics, and Brennan found something incredibly unnerving in the way his nephew had chosen his words. Come see her.

“All right,” he said, forcing his voice to remain calm. “Try to soothe her, keep her in bed, and I’ll be right there.”

“We aren’t at home!” Greg said in a panicky voice.

“Where are you?”

“Come to the hospital.”

18

The living room of the Scott ranch was a mess.

Before the storm abated in the valley, Nathaniel and Uncle Rick had taken over the living room, laying out a strategy for surveying the southern reach of the valley for future development. Their plan was to get to the Tower, assess the surviving infrastructure, and then see what could be done with the surrounding land. On the floor around the two men was a smattering of essential hiking supplies: boots, jackets, a compass and topographical map, several bottles of water, and some dried food.

Jeremy walked into the room just as his father shrugged on a waterproof jacket. “I want to come with you,” he said.

“Absolutely not!” The three men turned toward the bedroom from which Annabelle’s voice emanated.

Nathaniel frowned. “I have to agree with your mom on this one,” he said. “We’re going into some wild territory, and there’s no telling what we might find there. Besides, the ground is slippery and unstable, and the storm could return at any minute.”

“But you only need to look at the sky to see if it’ll rain!” Jeremy argued. He leaned to peer out a window. “Oh, looks clear to me! And as for not knowing what is out there, that’s exactly why I want to go! There could be more to the Tower, and I’m the only one who’s been there for more than five seconds.”

“Again with your tower,” his father grumbled, swiping a hand across his chin.

“Well, hold on now,” Uncle Rick chimed in, his voice placating. “Jeremy’s right, we can see a storm coming from a good way off out here. And he is hardly a child anymore.”

“Yeah, I’m not a kid,” Jeremy agreed. But even he thought his voice sounded petulant. He puffed up his chest a bit under his father’s scrutiny.

“All right,” his father said finally.

Jeremy stared at him, his mouth slightly agape. “All right?”

“Yes,” Nathaniel said. He shared a glance with Uncle Rick. “You can come with us.”

“What?!” Annabelle sounded livid. She stormed into the living room and stood toe-to-toe with Nathaniel. The air around her felt charged with anger.

Jeremy took a small step back from the meltdown about to happen.

“When did it become acceptable to make choices like this without me?” Her voice dripped with malice. “This is our son we’re talking about! The last time he went off unsupervised, he nearly died!”

“He won’t be unsupervised,” his father challenged. “He’ll be with me the whole time.”

“He is standing right here,” Jeremy piped in. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Uncle Rick shake his head. Jeremy’s eyes found the floor, chagrined, and he stayed out of the argument.

Annabelle scoffed. “Oh, yeah, big man in the office. Always the man with the plan. Tell me, what do you know about surviving in the wild? What happens if a mountain lion attacks, or if you get stuck in quicksand, or if anything happens?”

“Surviving in the wild? What do you think this is, a Robinson Crusoe survival story? We’re basically camping in our own back yard, not wrestling crocodiles in the Amazon. We will be gone for a day, two days at the most.”

“And I will be with them the entire time,” Uncle Rick said, his deep voice sounding calm and reasonable.

His mother’s glare danced between Nathaniel and Uncle Rick. “If anything happens to my son—”

“Everything will be fine,” Uncle Rick assured her, his eyes staying locked with hers.

The expression on Annabelle’s face softened with those words, and she looked gratefully at him. “Keep them safe, won’t you?”

Uncle Rick nodded. “I promise. You can count on me.”

Placated, his mother hugged Uncle Rick briefly and turned to head to her room. She stopped at the threshold, though, and looked back at his father.

“This isn’t over. And when you get back, we need to talk.”

Nathaniel stood there, unmoving. “When we get back,” he said. Annabelle nodded and entered her room, closing the door behind her. Jeremy looked at his father’s back as their conversation echoed in his head.

Divorce.

He knew it the instant the thought came to mind. He had both sets of memories, and he knew the most recent years had been rough on their relationship. His mother had felt neglected as his father spent more and more time at work, away from her and the children. She had suspicions of secret lovers, or a mistress secretary, but Jeremy knew they were unfounded ideas.

His father, on the other hand, felt a constant compulsion to provide for his family. That meant long hours in the office, deals that kept him working even on holidays, and family vacations cut short at the ring of the phone. It wasn’t that Nathaniel was unaware of his wife’s growing discontent. He had simply never been able to change.

Jeremy’s thoughts leaped in an entirely different direction, and his mouth was moving before he could stop it. “I don’t think mountain lions even live around here,” he blurted out.

Uncle Rick smirked in amusement. “What train of thought took you there?”

“It just kind of jumps around sometimes,” Jeremy said, feeling a burning sensation in his cheeks. “Do you think we could actually run into them? Mountain lions?”

“They’re territorial and less likely to migrate than most, but those territories are huge, and they like to roam.”

“When in Rome,” Jeremy said. Uncle Rick cocked his head, and Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “Well, because you have a big territory,” he explained to his father. “And because we’re about to…roam. When in roam.”

Uncle Rick erupted with laughter, a deep bass rumbling that filled the room. Nathaniel cracked a smile. Even a light chuckle could be heard coming from his mother’s bedroom.

“That”—Uncle Rick wiped a tear from one eye—“was terrible.”

There wasn’t much time for talk after that as the men were swept up in a flurry of action. Nathaniel had purchased hiking supplies years ago, and the boots that Jeremy had received at that time were long since outgrown. He put on an old pair of his father’s boots—which were a hair too large for his feet to fit in them comfortably—and shrugged into an oversized jacket. The sleeves hung down almost to his knuckles.

They set off later in the afternoon than Uncle Rick would have liked—he loudly voiced his opinion on the matter—and kept the rapidly falling sun to their right. In addition to their other supplies, Uncle Rick brought along a hunting knife, and Nathaniel now carried a deluxe, family-sized tent. “Now it’s really like a camping trip,” he had joked while packing. By the time they reached the one-mile point, Nathaniel was breathing heavily and straining from the weight on his back.

Likewise, blisters quickly emerged on Jeremy’s feet. He was used to walking, both in the valley and around Odols, but the ill-fitting shoes meant that they chafed uncomfortably at the heels and sides of his feet. Still, he was thankful for them; they kept out the damp that seeped up from the ground with each soggy step.

The earth was completely saturated from the storm. What had before been rolling hills were now slippery mounds of mud which easily gave way underfoot, and the flat grasslands had been transformed into half-inch-deep marshes. The air never quite warmed up to the temperature it had been the day before, and now the sunlight was beginning to wane on them. If they didn’t get dry soon, even the summer night air could settle a chill in them.

“I see it,” Uncle Rick called finally. The sun was touching the slopes of the western mountains, and the trio had fallen into unequal paces during the hike. His uncle was at the top of a rocky outcropping, one which Jeremy knew had a good view of the Tower. Jeremy quickly joined him, jumping agilely from rock to rock until he reached the top. His pack was light, carrying only a few bottles of water, dried fruit, and the map. His father was less fortunate. The tent weighed heavily on him, and the five miles they covered before nightfall wore him down considerably. As formidable as he was in business meetings, he simply wasn’t a man of great physical strength.

Up ahead was the old fort and the Tower at its center. The walls still looked as imposing to Jeremy as they had several days ago. It took another fifteen minutes or so for them to walk the distance between the rocky outcropping and the square entrance of the fort.

“My god, would you look at that?” Uncle Rick marveled, eyeing the stonework and the rusted portcullis still nestled in its recessed alcove above.

Nathaniel walked toward one of the outlying buildings and pushed hard against one of its wooden beams.

“Careful with that,” Jeremy warned. “Some of these buildings are pretty rickety.”

“And just how would you know that?”

“Um…they look old?” Jeremy felt his father’s stare intensify. “And one sort of, kind of fell on me.”

Nathaniel grunted. “So, naturally, your first impulse after that was to go further into the dangerous ruins.”

Thankfully, Uncle Rick stepped between them with raised hands. “Enough of this.” He placed one palm flat against the building and leaned. “I’m willing to bet this’ll hold up. But we’ve got the tent anyway, and it doesn’t look like rain tonight. Let’s not chance it.”

They eventually chose a spot in a corner of the fort; Uncle Rick reasoned that nothing would fall on them, but they’d still have walls on two sides to help the tent keep out the wind. The three of them worked in unison to assemble the tent, and Jeremy was astonished at the size of the thing. It could have easily housed a group twice their size—with room to spare—and the material was insulated without making the inside sticky and cloying. It was top-of-the-line and had never been used. They put the last piece in place just as the shadows were reaching their full length, and Jeremy knew the entire valley would soon be dark.

“Let’s see the map,” Nathaniel said. Jeremy retrieved it from his backpack and Uncle Rick laid it out in front of them. It was a large, rectangular sheet of heavy paper, and it was completely blank.

“Nate, I thought you brought a—”

“You have to turn it on,” he sighed. He placed a thumb against one corner and swiped downward. The paper burst into life as light and shadow danced across its surface. Small beads embedded in the paper shifted and molded themselves, and in an instant there was a topographical map of Odols and its surrounding areas. Nathaniel double-tapped the valley, and the beads rearranged themselves. The edge of the paper lined itself with miniature ink-black mountains in an almost-complete circle, and the rises and dips of the valley came into relief.

“Cool,” Jeremy said, his fingers grazing along the ridges of the mountains.

Uncle Rick huffed. “A simple map of ink and paper would have sufficed.”

“When you’re a millionaire, then we can discuss how you spend your wealth.” Nathaniel pointed at a spot on the map. “We walked a good distance today, so we can probably survey as far as here tomorr—”

“I disagree,” Uncle Rick interrupted. “Today, we were walking in a straight line, and it still took hours to walk five miles. Turn that into a circle, even with three people, we probably can’t check out much further than this in one day.” He moved Nathaniel’s finger a few inches to the side, nearly halving the radius of their surveying circle. Just then, the map disappeared, its power flickering out.

“Right,” Nathaniel coughed. “Umm, I never really opened the map after buying it. I assumed the charge would hold.”

Uncle Rick sighed. “Never fail with paper and ink,” he muttered.

“So what are we looking for?” Jeremy asked.

“Before we can start building anything, we need to know what to build and where to build it,” Uncle Rick said. “This valley is breathtaking, so I’m thinking maybe a resort for all seasons. Sledding in the winter, camping in the summer, with a beautiful landscape all year ‘round.”

“Okay,” Jeremy said. “So we’re looking for somewhere with a nice view, basically?”

“Precisely,” Nathaniel said, clasping Jeremy’s shoulder.

Uncle Rick rubbed at his chin. “Before we left the outcropping, I saw what looked like a large lake glimmering a few miles to the west. We could reach it by midday if we set out early tomorrow, and then we won’t be squandering our efforts on a small circle around this fort.”

Nathaniel groaned. “My back is killing me,” he said. “And these boots really cut into your feet.”

“We could leave the tent here,” Jeremy suggested. “Keep it set up for tomorrow night. That way we don’t have to break it down in the morning, and we have a place ready for us after we go see the lake.”

“And I won’t have to carry the damned thing on my back,” his father added.

Uncle Rick frowned at the two of them, clearly uncomfortable with the idea, but he agreed. “Get some sleep,” he told them. “It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

* * *

Jeremy knew instantly that he wasn’t dreaming, nor was he drawing on any of his stolen memories.

Once again, he was standing in the Jardin des Anges. It was a strange night, though; there was a chill in the air, and the temperature dropped even more in the minutes that followed. Plants withered before his eyes, their leaves crumpling inward in a desperate attempt to escape the oncoming freeze.

“Hello, Jeremy,” said an old, kind, and familiar voice. It was Benjamin. The man made himself visible as he stepped out from behind a hardy shrub with prickly leaves. “It is good to see you again.”

“I’m supposed to be sleeping…is it still considered rest if we’re doing, well, this?” Jeremy asked. He glanced around the garden, but it seemed that they were alone. “What am I doing here?”

“I brought you here.”

“You can do that?”

Old Ben smiled. “There are many things of which you are not yet aware. This is but one skill you will learn…in time. For today, we will start small.”

“Today?”

The plants fell away into the ground, suddenly being replaced by solid brick walls and a large plot of sand, dotted here and there by wide rocks. Old Ben took a few steps forward and looked at the room appraisingly, apparently unhindered by his lack of sight. “A Zen garden…hmm. Not what I would have expected.”

“Wh-what is this place?” Jeremy asked.

“You do not recognize your own mind? This is most unfortunate.” Benjamin sat directly on the sand with his legs crossed under him. “No time like the present, as they say. Jeremy, tell me everything you know about Sleepers.”

“I don’t understand…”

“I do have all night, but I would rather that we moved along quickly,” the old man said somewhat shortly. “Tell me what you already know about Sleepers.”

Jeremy sat as well and scratched his nose as he thought. “You…enter people’s dreams and make them go crazy?”

Old Ben gave no reaction. “Go on.”

“You’re kind of on the same level as Bigfoot and Nessie, in terms of actually existing. Now I know better, but a few days ago, I was in the same camp as everyone else. I didn’t think Sleepers were real.”

“Hmm.” He sounded disappointed. “And what do you suppose this place represents?”

“My…mind?”

“Yes and no. This is your Sleeperscape. Every Sleeper has a dwelling such as this somewhere in their minds. It is a place of retreat, of safety, and also the source of our legendary power.”

“I don’t understand.”

Old Ben gestured to a nearby rock. “This boulder represents the mind of someone in Odols, and particularly one whom you have met.” He glanced at the brick walls and grimaced. “But you have lived a sheltered life, one with barriers that prevent you from experiencing much of what this world has to offer. Thus, your Sleeperscape is small and secluded. You have few nodes through which to access others’ minds.”

All of this information was almost too much for Jeremy, but his brain raced to keep up. “What happens if I touch one of the rocks?” he asked hesitantly.

Benjamin’s lips spread in a crinkly smile. “Finally, a question worth asking, and deserving of an answer. Why not find out for yourself?”

Jeremy stared at the nearest rock. It was smaller than a lot of the others in the room, with smooth, rounded edges. He reached out to it across the sand, but his hand hesitated just above the surface. “It won’t hurt, will it?”

Benjamin solemnly shook his head.

And Jeremy touched the rock.

His brain was flooded with a swirling torrent of images before he found himself sitting in an almost familiar place. Soft dirt and sand molded between his fingers as he pressed his hand against the ground. Placid, black water filled a shallow pool surrounded by soaring black walnuts. Chirping laughter drew Jeremy’s attention to the side.

Ellie came running in from the forest. Two large, red-furred squirrels followed closely on her heels. She giggled as one of them leapt onto her pant leg and scurried its way up onto her shoulder, and they fell in a heap just a few yards away from Jeremy. She didn’t seem to have noticed him.

This must be what Ellie dreams about, Jeremy realized.

She stood and raised a hand high over her head, and the squirrels abruptly fell still and watched her with small, beady eyes.

Jeremy wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing. He’d witnessed Ellie interacting with the valley animals before, but never to such an intimate extent. When had she had time to tame them to that extent? He knew this was only a dream, but it was so starkly reminiscent of her daytime behavior that he wondered how much of it was based in reality.

“Wow, that’s awesome,” Jeremy murmured.

Ellie whipped around and stared intensely at where he sat. Her eyes scrunched a bit at the corners. “Jeremy? Is that you?”

He waved, and her eyes lightened. “Hey, Ellie.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I just…” His voice trailed off. How would he explain his presence in her dream? “Uh, Mom sent me to bring you in for dinner.”

“Oh.” She looked down at the squirrels, but they’d scattered back into the trees. Her face fell when she saw the empty patch of grass. “I guess I’ll get headed back…” She turned back to Jeremy. “But how did you find—?”

A curtain of black fell over the landscape, and Jeremy was knocked back into his sand garden. Benjamin sat absolutely still, not having moved an inch.

“It all just went away!” Jeremy said. “How do I get back in?” He placed his hand against the rock, but it was cold and unyielding.

“They are awake, I imagine,” Old Ben said. “May I ask whose mind you entered?”

“It was my sister.”

“Intriguing. And what did you learn?”

Jeremy laughed. “That I’m not very good at being a Sleeper. She woke up almost immediately after I arrived.”

A bemused smirk crossed Old Ben’s lips. “Subtle immersion is a learned skill. Given time, your talents will improve. I once had a student who took years to become proficient in the art of seeing without being seen, being present without being noticeable. That you were able to enter the dream at all is a tremendous feat, though. Your future holds promise.”

Pride swelled in his chest, and Jeremy grinned like an idiot. “Thank you.”

Old Ben nodded. “Now, get some sleep.” Suddenly, the room was empty, but his voice lingered even as his body faded from view. “Until we meet again.”

19

Maddy was on her death bed.

Brennan had arrived at the hospital in the early afternoon, but he could do little but wait helplessly as the doctors and nurses worked to stabilize his sister. He and Greg sat in stony silence as the night wore on. His nephew seemed strung out, worse than he had looked the last time they’d met, and Brennan knew he was going through Chamalla withdrawal. The timing couldn’t have been worse for the young man; he would want to escape reality now more than ever.

Before the clock struck eight, a doctor emerged from the operating room. His gloves were coated with blood. He threw them in the trash before removing his surgical mask. Greg blanched at the sight of his mother’s blood. He looked like he was going to be sick to his stomach. Brennan’s heart felt for the young man. He was struggling to cope with his sister’s sudden downturn, too.

It had seemed like just yesterday they were playing hide-and-seek.

“Doctor,” he said, shaking hands with the man in white. “How is she?”

“She’s stable, but still critical.” He led Brennan a little way away from Greg and spoke in a hushed whisper. “We had to drill holes to relieve some of the pressure in her skull. It has slowed the swelling, but—” The doctor hesitated, and Brennan felt his heart turn cold. “Your sister slipped into a coma shortly after surgery.”

Icy tendrils spread throughout his body. His hairs raised on end, and he felt his mind go numb. The doctor said something that he couldn’t hear, as if the words were drowned before they could reach him.

“What was that?” he asked. His voice betrayed him, and the doctor put a hand on his shoulder.

“I said that I would seriously recommend seeking professional help.”

“You’re a professional,” Brennan said. “That’s why we’re here. Help her, please.”

The doctor frowned and shook his head sadly. “Not help for her,” he said. “A grief counselor, for him.” He gestured with his eyes toward Greg, who was huddled on the floor with a vacant expression on his face.

It was a moment before the full impact of his words hit Brennan. “No,” he said. “Not again. Maddy is my sister, she’s all I have left!” His voice was a harsh whisper. His eyes, bloodshot and rimmed with tears, searched the doctor’s desperately. He kept his words low so that Greg wouldn’t overhear. “There must be something else you can try. Anything.”

“I’m afraid there is little more that we can do,” the doctor replied. He looked mournfully back at the operating room. “Even if this were a normal case, the chances of recovering from a coma diminish with each day that passes. In her condition, I’m not sure such a thing would even be possible.”

In her condition. Brennan understood. Hell, he had even gone through it before. But knowledge and experience did nothing to soften the blow, to lessen the loss he felt. His sister was all he had left. And she was all Greg had ever had.

The mind was a fragile thing. Strong mental assaults could Fracture a mind, such as he had done to the Sleeper in the library. In Maddy’s case, it was the result of an overzealous use of Chamalla’s predecessor in the drug market. Her mind and body no longer connected properly. It was no great secret that Maddy’s life had been shortened after being Fractured; in many ways, she was already dead.

“Damn you,” Brennan growled. He didn’t know if he was cursing God, or the doctor, or even himself, but he knew that someone, somewhere, had hell to pay for this. He looked at Greg with the knowledge that his mother was on death’s door. There was no coming back from that.

The doctor patted his arm lightly and gave them a moment. Brennan walked over and joined his nephew on the floor. Greg continued to stare at the wall, disconnected, obviously trying to keep his emotions from overwhelming him. Only the occasional sniffling of his nose gave him away. Brennan waited patiently, knowing that no amount of words could console him if he wasn’t receptive to it. It was a while before Greg finally wiped a hand at his eyes and spoke.

“What did the doctor say?” he croaked.

Brennan chose his words carefully. “They operated on her,” he said, “and they managed to relieve some of the swelling in her brain. She’s stable now.”

“Do they know what happened?”

“He didn’t say. My guess is that her condition just got worse.”

“It’s treatable, though. She’s better since the surgery, right?” he asked hopefully. “When can we go see her?"

Guilt banged relentlessly against Brennan’s heart. Receiving the news—and accepting it—was the worst part of the grieving process. He had heard it years ago when Mara had been slipping away. His reaction had been less than stellar; in fact, he had tempted fate in his mad denial of the truth. Brennan wished he could be anywhere other than here, yet he knew this was exactly where he needed to be. With Greg, and with Maddy, until the end.

“Greg,” he started, “I don’t know any other way to say this but to give it to you straight. And I need you to listen to me when I say this, because it’s the truth. Do you understand?”

His nephew nodded slowly, his lower lip trembling. Brennan steeled himself. It was one thing to receive the news, to go through that kind of anguish; it was another thing entirely to be the messenger.

“Maddy was a kind and loving sister to me, even when we were little kids growing up. She always looked after me, and she always had time to play games on my schedule. And as we grew up, we stayed close—though now I wish I could have spent more time with her. Perhaps I could have kept her on the straight and narrow…” He broke off and chuckled at the absurdity of that thought. “Though the straight and narrow was never a path that interested your mother.”

Greg’s eyes were glossy with unrealized tears, but he still managed a weak smile.

“Anyway,” Brennan said with a sobering sniffle, “she soon became pregnant and had you. You could not have found a more glowing mother anywhere. She absolutely adored you, and you were the light of her life ever since that day. To hear her go on about you, your first steps, first words, first crush in school—it’s what eventually convinced your Aunt Mara and I to try and start a family of our own. You were everything to her.”

At those words, Greg broke down in unabashed sobs. Brennan pulled his nephew against him and let his shirt be darkened with tears as he cradled him under one arm. Not all of the tears were Greg’s.

“It would be an injustice to say she didn’t live a full life. She laughed, she lived, and she loved. There isn’t anything left here for her to do,” he said gently. “Now it’s our turn to honor her life, her legacy, and let her move on.”

Greg shook as he huddled against Brennan’s massive frame. His sobs racked his whole body, and they rose in volume as he poured out his grief. It was a deep release of emotion, and Brennan knew that his nephew understood that his mother’s body couldn’t stay plugged into the machines any longer. Brennan grieved, but he found that most of his grief was transformed into sympathy for his nephew, who would not soon forget the pain he now felt.

“Greg,” Brennan said after a long while. It was deep into the night when he spoke. “Do you want to say goodbye?”

His nephew looked up wordlessly and nodded.

They entered the hospital room where Maddy Warner was still hooked up to a machine. It was a dark room, empty of anyone but the two of them. Greg went and took his mother’s hands between his own. Brennan watched fresh tears roll down his nephew’s cheeks as he spoke quietly, his last words to her a secret soliloquy. Some time passed, and the boy finally let go of her hands. She was a pale and silent statue, and Brennan took a moment to remember her as she had been, a smiling little girl playing with her brother.

A single tear escaped and slipped down along Brennan’s jaw as Greg returned to him by the door. He said one final farewell to his sister, and uncle and nephew alike were reluctant to leave the room. Finally, they departed in silence, leaving Maddy’s spirit to find its way.

20

The morning sun was a welcome relief in the valley.

Warm light dried the caked mud of their footprints and helped turn much of the marshes back into grasslands. Unfortunately for Jeremy and his father, Uncle Rick insisted on starting their trek two hours before sunrise, and today’s hike hardly fared better than yesterday’s.

Still, the chill in the air following the storm had dissipated, and the skies were clear for as far as the eye could see. It seemed that fortune was finally favoring them. They made good progress without having to break camp and carry the tent, and the journey to the lake that Uncle Rick had spotted was an easy one. They passed through open fields broken here and there by small forest glades. The grasses grew as high as Jeremy’s waist, and he heard small creatures scurrying about in the underbrush near his feet. This was an untamed wilderness that was unaccustomed to humans; they had never learned to fear them. Maybe that was how Ellie had gained such easy control over them, both in reality and in her dreams.

They crested one final hill before the lake was in sight. It reflected the morning sun and stretched for at least a mile before them. A forest of tall pines surrounded the lake, and its shimmering surface was spotted with a smattering of tiny islands. A flock of birds flew over the water as the three men looked on from the hilltop.

“It’s beautiful,” Jeremy said in awe.

“That it is,” Nathaniel agreed. “I bet we’ll be getting visits all year ‘round just to see a view like this.” The lake glittered like a diamond under the rising sun.

Uncle Rick cupped his hands into fleshy binoculars and peered about. “There,” he said, pointing to an adjacent hill. “That’s where we should build. It’ll have a perfect view of the lake during the day and still be able to see the sunset from indoors. Imagine a seasonal hotel with swimming in the summer and ice skating in the winter.”

Nathaniel nodded. “We should go check it out, though, and make sure that it’s solid enough for building.”

Uncle Rick nodded. “Get the lay of the land.”

“Exactly.”

Jeremy took off before his father had finished the word. He was getting hungry, and the sooner they arrived at the other hill, the sooner they could break for lunch.

He grievously misjudged the distance. It was a solid hour of hiking through tall grass and thick brambles, and the three men were sweating heavily by the end of it, even Uncle Rick. The heat of the summer sun was returning, and it didn’t do them any favors.

“Let’s stop here,” his uncle suggested. Jeremy and Nathaniel both fell onto their knees without protest. Uncle Rick leaned against a boulder and took out a water bottle. “You two should be drinking, too,” he said firmly. “You need to stay hydrated, or you’ll collapse before you even realize there’s a problem.”

Jeremy nodded tiredly and retrieved a bottle each for himself and his father.

“Look at this view, Nate,” his uncle continued. He breathed deeply, his barrel chest expanding to an impressive size. He clambered on top of the boulder and sighed in contentment. “This is definitely the spot. Smell that fresh air! When that lake freezes over in winter, you’re going to have yourself a fantastic place for ice skating.”

“Uncle Rick,” Jeremy said, “can you finish your story from yesterday? The one where you were lost in Brazil?”

He looked down at his nephew in surprise. “That’s right, I never completed it, did I? All right, well, I’ve forgotten where I was in the story…”

“You were disguised as local militia,” Jeremy supplied immediately. “And there was a drug lord.”

Uncle Rick gazed at him with a peculiar look in his eye. “Yes, of course. You have the memory of an elephant,” he praised.

You don’t know the half of it, Jeremy thought. His father moved in closer to hear the story as well. Uncle Rick positioned himself so his feet dangled off the boulder and he cleared his throat.

“Right, well. My buddy Jimmy and I were deep in hostile territory now, deep in the shit. We couldn’t drink a lick of the water; breathing the air was bad enough, humid as it was.”

“Why couldn’t you drink the water?” Jeremy asked.

“It was poisoned,” his uncle said matter-of-factly. Nathaniel sat up a little straighter upon hearing that. “That was our mission, you see? We couldn’t stop their drug smuggling; there were just too many shipments on the ground and coming by sea for that kind of approach. And if we dropped in and snuffed el jefe, the next man in line would just take charge.”

“I think they speak Portuguese in Brazil,” Jeremy said.

“Would you stop interrupting?” His words were plaintive, but Uncle Rick’s smile betrayed his natural amusement. “As I was saying, there was no stopping the shipments and no headhunting. So we poisoned the water supply. Hell of a drug, it was; knocks out the immune system in hours and carries pheromones at the same time. We lowered their ability to fight infection, then the pheromones attracted mosquitoes and other nasty things.” He scratched at a phantom itch in his neck. “I think that’s what attracted so many of the blighters to us, actually. We must’ve breathed in enough of the water vapor to make us attractive, but without the lowered immune response.”

Nathaniel held up a hand. “Hang on,” he said. “That was a lot of unfamiliar mumbo jumbo bio-talk coming from my big brother, the harmless world traveler. And since when did you start killing people?”

“They were bad guys, Dad,” Jeremy said in his uncle’s defense. He turned to look into Uncle Rick’s face. “You only killed the drug lord and his cartel, right?”

“Of course! Nobody else got hurt,” he reassured them.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Nathaniel said. He stood and stretched, and a few places in his spine popped in response. He took a long stride away toward a copse of trees. “Back in a minute. Nature calls.”

“I’ll alert the media,” Uncle Rick yelled after him. He jumped down from the top of the boulder and landed heavily beside Jeremy, who could have sworn the ground quivered slightly.

“Woah, watch it there!” Jeremy cried, sidestepping his uncle’s landing. The two of them leaned against the enormous rock and admired the beautiful vista. “Was that story true? Did all of that really happen?”

Uncle Rick chuckled and tugged his beard scruff absently. “Every word of it,” he replied, his voice deep and rich and jolly again. “I really enjoyed my time down south, though, apart from the work. Nice people, great food.”

Something still nagged at the edge of Jeremy’s thoughts, and he had to concentrate to realize what it was. “Growing up, I always thought that you were a world traveler.”

“I am! All seven continents, many times,” he boasted.

Jeremy sighed. “No, I mean, as a peaceful traveler. Like, sightseeing, getting your picture in front of the Louvre and the Pyramids. Something more along the lines of Peace Corps, or the Foreign Legion.”

“You have to be French to do that.”

“The way you tell it, it sounds like you were a mercenary.”

“I prefer to think of myself as a sort of secret agent,” he said, puffing out his chest.

“I don’t think secret agents are supposed to announce that they’re secret agents,” Jeremy said with a laugh.

“I’m retired.” Uncle Rick peered out into the distance. “What’s that?”

Nathaniel came crashing through the trees, screaming incoherently. His pants were unfastened, and he held them up with one hand as he sprinted toward the two of them. He waved with his free arm as he shouted.

“Bear!” he yelled. “Run, move, NOW!”

Behind him, a roar rose up from within the trees.

Nathaniel tripped and fell as he secured his pants, and Uncle Rick moved to pick him up even as he pushed Jeremy forward with one arm. They moved with speed that only hysteria could inspire, the mania that pushed bodies past their breaking point and gave mothers the strength of ten bodybuilders. Jeremy had never pumped his legs so fast or so hard in his life, and he heard his heart pounding against his skull.

Running was awkward in his too-large boots, and more than once he threatened to twist an ankle on an unlucky step. It was only Uncle Rick’s constant speed and strength that kept them moving, and they reached the hill from which they’d first spotted the lake in under twenty minutes. The last part of the run was the uphill climb, and Jeremy collapsed on the ground when they reached the top.

His father was in no better shape. He wheezed and clutched at his chest, which his sweat-soaked shirt was clinging to tightly. Uncle Rick breathed loudly beside him, winded but without any other obvious discomfort. Jeremy felt his aching feet covered in a thin film of fluid; most or all of his blisters must have broken during the sprint.

“Did you get a good look at it?” Uncle Rick finally asked.

Nathaniel shook his head. “It was…big. Really big.” He looked him up and down for a moment. “Maybe even bigger than you.”

“At least you have the energy to make jokes,” Uncle Rick said grimly.

Nathaniel sobered quickly. “Right. It was enormous—”

“You’ve already said that.”

“—and it had black fur all over.”

“A black bear in these parts…during summer? Are you certain?” Uncle Rick earned a level look from his brother. “All right,” he said, hands up. “Then the best thing for us to do—”

Another roar sounded, not too far away from where they stood. They could hear something large scraping the bark from trees as it lumbered through the nearby forest. Uncle Rick squarely faced the two of them.

“You need to go. Now!”

“What about you?” Jeremy asked.

His uncle gripped him by the hand to hoist him up, and Jeremy’s vision blurred and magnified at the same time.

It was a wholly unnerving experience, and it took Jeremy a moment to realize what had happened. In all their time together, he and his uncle had never made skin-to-skin contact. The firm grip was like a vise on his arm, one he couldn’t escape. Memories flooded his waking mind without warning, sudden recollections of a past that wasn’t his—only now they were. Experiences filled his brain to bursting, every recounted story from his childhood suddenly reinforced with visceral knowledge, the memory of every adventure. He was drowning in it.

“Jeremy, pick up those feet and run,” came his uncle’s urgent voice.

There was something else in there, too. It was engrained in his voice, burning with its own dancing fire of life. It was something deep and rich. Why hadn’t he noticed that before?

“Take your father and go! Don’t stop until you get home!” commanded the fathomless voice.

Jeremy felt his legs moving without his brain telling them to. But it was a good idea, wasn’t it? He was supposed to run. His clumsy steps lengthened into a loping run, and he felt his father’s presence beside him. But that was the only presence. Jeremy glanced over his shoulder in alarm.

Behind them, armed with only a small knife, his uncle stayed to confront the bear.

21

Brennan’s apartment once more became a den for two.

He didn’t think that leaving Greg alone last night would be a good thing, so the two of them had returned to his apartment after leaving the hospital. He let his nephew take the bed while he slept on the couch, but Greg’s soft sobs could be heard through the wall, and neither one of them got much rest until Greg finally cried himself to sleep. It was an exhausting thing, being miserable, and Brennan sympathized for the kid. He had made his peace with losing Maddy a long time ago; it was just hitting his nephew fresh that she was gone.

Brennan made the executive decision to stay home that day. The two of them needed a personal day, and he cracked open two bottles of Coke just as Greg emerged from the bedroom. He didn’t say anything, and Brennan didn’t want to overstep his bounds. It had occurred to him sometime in the early morning that Greg would need someone to watch over him. He was eighteen, but his age mattered little with no job and no aspirations for college. He was an addict, and Brennan was the only family he had left.

“Good morning,” Brennan said, offering a Coke.

Greg turned it down. “It’s afternoon,” he replied. He sat on the couch, which protested with a whoosh of air as he sunk into the cushion. “And that stuff rots your teeth, you know.”

Brennan grunted. “More for me. Do you want to watch something?”

“Yeah, sure,” Greg said. He picked up the remote and turned the television on, but didn’t so much as glance at the screen. Brennan sighed and joined him on the couch, placing the second bottle of Coke on the end table.

His nephew looked at the floor. There were a few shards of glass that Brennan had missed in his hasty clean-up last night. Greg raised an eyebrow. “Should I ask?”

“Best if you don’t.”

“That wasn’t really an open question,” he countered. “What happened?”

Brennan chewed at the inside of his mouth. Greg was a good kid, and he was hurting for some kind of connection right now. Brennan had become accustomed to shutting away his thoughts and feelings, compartmentalizing everything, and he had never been the best at opening up to people. Now he had been asked to do it twice in less than twenty-four hours.

He had never been forthright about his past as a Sleeper; in fact, every Sleeper to date had served until death, and Brennan’s situation was unique as far as he knew. Nobody had bothered with the details of retirement. Which, he supposed, meant that there were no restrictions against revealing his past. Still, Sleepers were feared by many, regardless of their status as fact or fiction. He wasn’t sure how his nephew would react to the news.

“It’s complicated,” he hedged.

Greg looked at him and sighed. “Look, if you just went on a bender and lost it, I’m old enough to understand.”

“What? No! It wasn’t anything like that.” Brennan wished it were so simple. He took a deep breath and turned to face his nephew. “Okay, what I’m about to tell you, you can’t repeat to anyone. Understand? Absolutely nobody.”

“Got it.”

“I’m serious,” he said gravely. “If anybody were to find out that—”

Greg met his eyes. “Uncle Arty, you can trust me.”

True.

Brennan didn’t need any further proof. He pursed his lips, choosing his words carefully. “A couple of nights ago, a Sleeper visited me in one of my dreams.” Greg arched a skeptical eyebrow, but said nothing. “I was dreaming about your Aunt Mara, she was—I was visiting her by her bedside. It wasn’t a dream, really, so much as a memory. Every detail was exactly the same, right down to the doctor pronouncing her dead while her heart was still beating. I was just about to try the impossible when the Sleeper appeared. I didn’t even notice him until it was almost too late.”

“But it was just a dream, right? Sleepers aren’t real, and even if—”

“No,” Brennan said, cutting him off. “It’s never just a dream, not when Sleepers are involved. They are very real, Greg.” He hesitated, but remembered what his power had told him. Greg could be trusted. “I used to be one of them.”

“You were…no. You’re a cop, a detective.”

“I am now,” he said simply.

Greg gaped at him for a long moment, then reached over Brennan and grabbed the second Coke from the end table. He took a long drink from it, several swallows, before sitting back and staring into empty space. “Okay,” he said finally.

“Okay?” Brennan looked at his nephew incredulously. “That’s all?”

He shrugged. “It’s in the past, right? Sleepers are the boogeymen and whatever, but that’s not you.” He looked at Brennan with mature eyes. “Now you’re a cop.”

They exchanged that stare for a moment, and it was Brennan who looked away first. His eyes burned with unfamiliar tears—not of sorrow, but of pride. His nephew was growing up.

“Thank you for understanding,” Brennan said, his voice heavy. He took a long sip that finished his Coke, and he reached forward to put the empty bottle on the glass tabletop—the one that had been shattered. He checked the motion and instead replaced it on the end table.

“So you still didn’t explain that,” Greg said with a smile, gesturing to the empty space before them. A sliver of glass gleamed against the wood in the afternoon sun, and Brennan picked it up tenderly.

“I woke up,” he said, grinning like a wolf. “I’ve always known the day would come when a Sleeper would appear in my dreams. I slept with a thumb tack curled in my palm, in case I ever needed to wake up in a pinch.” He walked over to the kitchen and tossed the glass shard into the trash.

“Slept. Past tense,” Greg noted. “You aren’t still using it?”

Brennan shrugged. “The last time we met, it didn’t end well for him. I figure I have some breathing room for the time being. As long as I keep quiet, they have no reason to come for me.”

“Keep quiet about what?”

He looked at his nephew, and his tone was very solemn. “Sleepers are the boogeymen.” His pocket vibrated then, and he took out his phone. “Sam,” he said. “What’ve you got for me?”

“Arty, I have good news and bad news. Which would you like first?”

“Surprise me.”

“Bad news is that there were a surprising number of places that either produce or store Chamalla, and it was a pain and a half tracking them all down. I’m charging double for all of this legwork.”

Brennan remembered that Sam was still technically on retainer for Bishop. “Done,” he promised. “What’s the good news?”

“Being the trusty and thorough friend that I am, I found all of these places for you and managed to narrow down the list of likely suspects to two locations.”

“Excellent!” Brennan said. “Sam, I could kiss you.”

“Please don’t.”

“All right, what are the addresses?” He wrote them down as Sam read them to him.

“But there’s a catch,” Sam added. “These spots are across town from each other, too far apart for you to visit one and then the other.”

Brennan followed his logic. “Leviathan could be watching both of them, and have enough of a warning to move shop if we don’t hit the right one first.”

“Exactly. So what are you going to do?”

“I’ll call Bishop and organize strike teams on both locations. We’ll converge simultaneously and mop them up before they have a chance to react.”

“Sounds good, partner. Need anything else on my end?”

“No need,” Brennan said. “Thanks for your help. I’ll see to it that you get your money when this is all over.” I don’t know how the hell I’m going to break that news to Bishop, he thought, ending the call. He motioned for Greg to join him. “I’m taking you back to your place,” he said. “Something came up at work, and I have to go.”

“Can’t I stay here?”

He hesitated. He rarely had guests over, except for Bishop yesterday and Sam’s occasional visits. With Maddy’s passing, would Greg have to live with him now? It was probably safer for him—mentally, at least—not to go back to his place just yet.

“I, um…sure,” Brennan finally said. “Teeth-rotting fluid is in the fridge, and you know how to work the television. Just watch your feet. There could still be glass lying about.”

Greg grinned. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Brennan smiled back, but then he noticed something. His nephew’s eyes were sunken, and the skin around them was sallow. The rest of his face had a grayish tinge to it. He had chalked it up to poor sleep, or maybe he had just been too tired himself to recognize the symptoms, but now he saw that Greg was still suffering from Chamalla withdrawal.

He forced cheer into his smile and said his farewell, then descended the stairs to the street while dialing Bishop’s number. She answered on the second ring.

“Brennan, how is Maddy?” He broke the news to her. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I know what it’s like to lose somebody you love.”

“It’s never easy,” he said. His voice was suddenly hoarse, and he forced the sudden surge of emotion away. It was time to work. “That isn’t why I called, though.”

“Oh? Did Sam find something?”

Brennan ignored the tone she used when saying Sam’s name and told her what he had found out. “You and I will be leading the strike teams,” he said. “I’m heading into the station now to round up everyone I can. There’s no time for you to come here, so I’ll send the team to rendezvous with you uptown.”

“Understood,” she said. Her voice turned mournful for a moment. “And Arthur? If you need someone to talk to—about Maddy, or anything—I’m here to listen.”

His heart thudded heavily in his chest. “Thanks,” he said, and then he hung up.

It took less than an hour to organize the uniforms they needed and divide them into two strike teams. One was sent uptown to assist Bishop while the other remained with Brennan to move in on a warehouse on the eastern fringe of the city. They took the shuttle and arrived just as the sun was starting to touch the skyline to the west. It was a large industrial park, full of different buildings ranging from old, square cinderblock monstrosities to newer, prefabricated modular units. An abandoned smelting workshop sat beside a dilapidated lumber mill, the kind that had cut and stored thousands of logs per day over a century ago. They were now silent relics in an industrial graveyard.

Brennan and his men took up positions outside of a long warehouse made of steel and stone. They all wore bulletproof vests and carried semiautomatic rifles slung over their shoulders. Despite all of the added weight, they moved like ghosts alongside the building. Brennan wore a simple band of black glass on his wrist. He tapped it twice, and an acknowledgement light winked twice in response. He just hoped that nothing gave away their position until he received the signal. A quiet breeze drifted through the air, stirring up dust around their feet and causing rusted metal to creak somewhere in the park.

This was the hardest part of any mission—the waiting. Being on guard and prepared for anything was fine for a few minutes at most, after which point the tedium could set in with little effort. Snipers were trained to maintain alertness for hours or days at a time, and Sleepers were similarly conditioned, but it was not something typical of uniformed police.

Lights flashed on his wrist, a single dot of light in a rapid three-burst pulse. That was the signal that Bishop was ready at her position uptown. Brennan sent a confirmation back and silently signaled his squad into action.

They entered in a burst of sound and light that brought the warehouse to life. Brennan slid open the sheet-metal door that separated his squad from the interior, and thick boots made heavy footfalls as they stormed the building. They flicked on the flashlights mounted to their rifles, and beams of light swept corners and catwalks as they entered. Empty wooden pallets lined the walls on either side, with only a few still bearing large, wooden crates. Steel beams crisscrossed overhead, the lights hanging from them having long since burned out. It was a large warehouse, but seemingly empty; their footsteps echoed off the cavernous walls.

No cries of protest rang out; no gunfire, no fanfare. Two men entered the back office and yelled, “Clear!” Similar shouts were called from the upper walkways. Whatever this place had been, it wasn’t Leviathan’s source of Chamalla. Brennan swore and swept a hand across his sweat-beaded brow.

“Sir,” one of the officers called. “You’ll want to take a look at this.”

He moved to join the officer, who had his rifle trained on one of the crates. It was labeled ‘FRAGILE’ on the outside, and one of the sides had already been cracked open and left that way before they entered. There was a single square package laying inside, no thicker than a travel brochure. One solitary patch.

“Discarded NicoClean, sir,” the officer said upon seeing what was inside. “Sorry, thought it was important.” He moved to replace the missing side of the box.

“Hold on,” Brennan said, moving to pick up the patch. He looked it over on the outside and didn’t find any tear in the wrapping. It definitely wasn’t the refuse of some random person quitting smoking. Tentatively, he ripped a small tear in the top of the wrapper and gently wafted the scent toward his nose. The hairs on his neck stood on end. He felt the room spin slightly beneath his feet, and he quickly sealed up the patch again. It was definitely saturated with Chamalla—a fully converted patch.

“They were here,” he growled, his anger rising. He felt his pulse quicken and he ran his fingers through his hair. The reason behind leaving a single patch to be found was only too clear. “Damn it, they were here and now they’re toying with us!”

Even as his emotions raged, some compartment of his mind was still trudging along logically. They had stormed a warehouse, a storage facility of some kind. It wasn’t where Leviathan was receiving the Chamalla, but they had definitely used the location to store the finished product. It made natural sense to have appeared in McCarthy’s search, what with the area being an industrial center; the entire facility was basically one big refinery.

But if that was the case, Brennan realized, then Bishop must have had the right location. Hope swelled in his chest as he sent a series of flashes through the wristband. Negative position, it told her. He felt a weight lift from his shoulders. It was disappointing that he hadn’t been the one to finish the case, but the point of their plan had been accomplished. With both locations stormed, Leviathan was finished. He put the patch in an evidence bag and stored it in his vest pocket.

Brennan stretched his neck and heard several pops. Around him, the men were getting the message and generally putting themselves at ease. A few continued to check in and around the warehouse, but it was obvious that the place was deserted except for them. The mission was over and night was falling. They would soon be home with their families.

He looked at his wristband again. Bishop was taking a long time to respond. He sent a prompt for acknowledgement and waited a minute with no reply. A cold feeling crept into the pit of his stomach. He pulled out his phone and dialed Bishop, subtlety be damned. It rang for half a minute and died without an answer.

He dialed again. On the fourth ring, the call was picked up.

“Bishop! Why didn’t you respond?”

A male voice coughed. “Detective Brennan?”

“Yes, who is this? Why do you have Bishop’s phone?”

“Taken, sir,” the man said. He coughed again, and there was the sound of something wet landing on the floor. Christ, Brennan thought. He’s coughing up blood.

“What happened, officer? Where is Detective Bishop?”

The response was weaker now. “They were armed, sir. The men—they’re all dead. Jesus, they’re all dead.” His voice edged toward hysteria.

Brennan fought to control his stomach. The entire uptown squad had been wiped out. Men and women of the badge, killed, just like that. And Bishop…

“Taken. What do you mean, she was taken?” He heard more coughing, accompanied by more blood splattering on the floor. A loud clatter followed; Bishop’s phone had fallen to the ground. “Officer—” He realized he didn’t even know the man’s name. “Respond!”

The men in Brennan’s squad watched him with wary gazes, questions plain on their faces. Some of them wore grim masks; they had already guessed what must have happened. Brennan held the phone to his ear long enough to hear the wounded officer’s final gasps.

Silence.

22

The moon was partway through its ascent when Jeremy walked through the front door.

In spite of his father being out of shape and Jeremy being in pain, their legs had kept moving into the night with unnatural determination. Jeremy felt the burst blisters on his feet with acute clarity, the abrasive pain announcing itself anew with each step. His father, in no better condition, managed to shamble on. Both of them were pushed well beyond the point where Jeremy would have normally called for a rest. In fact, he had tried to just sit down and stop several times, but his body had refused him. It moved of its own accord—or rather, of his uncle’s accord.

The pace set by his uncle’s imposed compulsion, however, meant that they moved at a much faster pace than the day before. Much of the ground had dried in the day’s sun, and traveling unburdened, the two made excellent time through the thick fields and flat grasslands. Even the hills hardly slowed them down; Jeremy felt the lactic acid in his legs, and sweat poured freely from his brow, but his uncle’s word had somehow given them incredible endurance.

It was only when he was stepping through the door that Jeremy realized his body was not any stronger than it used to be. His bones ached, his feet were sore, and there were more cuts on his body than he cared to think about, not to mention the dehydration that came from nonstop cross-country running. He was reaching a breaking point.

“Where have you been?” Annabelle asked as they entered. “You promised to be back hours—Oh my God!” she exclaimed. “What happened to you two?”

Jeremy looked down at himself. His outfit was tattered and torn in a dozen places; he hadn’t realized how rough the terrain had been on their clothes until just now. On the exposed skin were fine lines of blood from pushing stubbornly through thorny bushes and catching himself whenever he fell. While they had been running, nothing had existed except for following Uncle Rick’s order. Now, he was beginning to think clearly again, and he tried to respond to his mother. His voice croaked incoherently.

“What?” she asked.

“Water,” he finally managed. His father was breathing heavily, and he either would not or could not talk. He blinked furiously and searched about the room with a confused look. Annabelle handed them each a tall glass of water before stepping back and folding her arms, still clearly upset but patiently waiting for Jeremy to regain his voice.

“Trip took…longer…than expected,” Nathaniel gasped.

“You think?”

“Mom, we didn’t mean—”

“This is so typical of your brother,” she said to Nathaniel. “Every time he comes around, he has another harebrained scheme to involve you in. I can’t believe you still go for it!” Her voice turned inward. “You know, for a second—for one brief, shiny freaking moment—I thought Rick had changed.” The edge to her tone returned as she said, “And I thought you had changed. But no, I was wrong. And I am sick and tired of being disappointed by you. Jeremy, go to your room,” she added absently, her eyes still on his father.

“Mom—” he started to protest.

“Room. Now.” Her voice never rose and never quavered, but it was deadly in its quietness. He walked unsteadily down the hall toward his bedroom. His legs shook violently and threatened to give way beneath him; whatever his uncle had done to them, it left his body running on fumes. To emphasize that point, his stomach growled loudly, like a small bear cub.

Bear cub, Jeremy thought. His eyes widened and he turned around abruptly. “Mom, there was a bear!”

She faced him with hands on her hips. “What are you talking about?”

“In the valley, there was a big black bear.”

Annabelle looked suddenly around the room, apparently just noticing the missing member of their party. “Where is Rick?”

Nathaniel pointed toward the dark window, and Jeremy supplied the words. “Last time we saw him, he had turned to face the bear.”

“On his own?”

“We…didn’t really have a choice,” Jeremy said. He knew now what his uncle was capable of—supported by the memories he had absorbed—but he had no idea how to broach that topic with his parents. And if he revealed that his uncle had a power, he didn’t like where the resultant line of questioning would lead to.

Straight back to me.

His mother nodded and somewhat regained her composure. “I’m certain he can look after himself,” she said.

“We aren’t going to go look for him? We should call the cops, at least.”

“I will not put you in any more danger, Jay. And the police have better things to do than tromp through the woods looking for a man and a bear. Your uncle will be fine, now go to bed.”

Jeremy saw that the argument would not move any further, and trudged painfully to his room. He removed the ripped, oversized clothing. His open blisters clung to the inner lining of his boots, and the skin tore fresh as he peeled them off his feet. There was a strong, damp odor to the clothes as well; they had slept in the same gear and walked or run almost nonstop since leaving the Scott ranch. He was tempted to simply throw everything in the fire, but he settled for dropping them in the farthest corner of the room.

He donned some loose-fitting sleeping clothes and collapsed face-first into bed, his nose squished against the pillows. His brain was exhausted. He had had one hell of a long day, and when he added his uncle’s memories to those of his mother and father—on top of those from his own life—his head felt full, heavy, and dull. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to fall asleep, but some tiny part of his brain kept moving along despite his wishes. He closed his eyes, and scenes from Uncle Rick’s past came to him, unbidden.

It was a bright, sunny spring day, and the blossoming trees that lined the brick pathways of Odols University were in full bloom. Jeremy stood in front of a young, sandy-haired Nathaniel, and they were loitering outside of the admissions building. Students passed by with backpacks and books, and Jeremy was talking to his brother encouragingly.

“I guarantee that you’re going to love it here,” he said, patting his younger brother on the shoulder.

“You never went to college,” Nathaniel argued. “Why can’t I stay at home and work with you and Dad?”

Jeremy shook his head. “Mom always wanted us to go to college. At least now, she can be proud of one of us.”

Nathaniel’s brow furrowed the way it always did when he was upset. “She left us, though. And she left Dad.”

Once again, Jeremy shook his head, but he only smiled at his brother. “One day, you’ll understand,” he said. “And you’ll thank me for this.”

“But what if—?”

“Nate, I don’t want to hear any more complaints, all right?” His voice took on the deep, rich suggestive tone that he would exude continuously as a grown man. “Do well in school, be successful, and make us all proud.” He gestured to the campus around them, adding, “And while you’re here, if you can, find a girl you like and make her yours.” His voice was joking, but Jeremy watched as his father’s expression never changed.

Derrick probably never even knew what he had done that day. This was the day that had shaped his father’s life—forever.

In the blink of an eye, another memory pushed its way to the fore.

Jeremy was in a living room, though none that he had ever known. He checked his father’s memories and found the answer: it was his and Annabelle’s shared apartment, shortly after his own graduation. But Jeremy could see in the reflection of the mirror that the body he was in was not Nathaniel’s.

Derrick’s eyes reflected back at him, and he had his arms wrapped loosely around Annabelle’s waist. He held her close—too close—and they were swaying back and forth in rhythm to a slow song of piano and saxophone. Annabelle’s head rested against his chest, and her delicate lips were slightly tilted in a smile.

Abruptly, almost violently, Jeremy was ripped from that memory and transplanted into a living nightmare.

The air was thick and humid, and the ground he walked on was soft beneath his feet. Everything around him was vibrant and alive, and the noise of so many animals crying out at once was overwhelming. He avoided breathing when he could, and took short, shallow breaths when his lungs finally demanded air. As he looked around, Jeremy saw purple lines that coursed along tree roots and visibly spread their tendrils up the trees even as he watched.

The howling of the monkeys, the calls of the birds, and the cries of the insects nearly drove him mad, and he realized what was causing the uproar: the rainforest was dying.

Whatever they’d used to poison the air, it hadn’t been restricted to a few guerrilla rebels. Everything that breathed air and drank water was now falling to the ground in submission to death.

Jeremy woke with a start. He was back in his bedroom, and he pinched himself just to make sure it wasn’t another dream. The hearth was dark, and the room felt cold without hungry orange flames licking at the blackened stone frame of the fireplace. He breathed deeply, his lungs begging for fresh air even as his brain tried to slow his rapidly beating heart. Adrenaline pumped fervently through his veins. He looked at the clock by his bed. It was the middle of the night, and he had only been sleeping for a few hours. His head ached horribly, and it felt like only moments ago that he had been closing his eyes.

Another thing became glaringly obvious to him: the reason why his father had had a doctor with him coming to the valley. It wasn’t for a routine blood test; it had been for a very specific reason. And after seeing the way Ellie interacted with animals and the stark differences in their appearances, her hair dark while Jeremy’s was fair, Jeremy realized that his sister was very possibly only half that. They shared a mother, certainly, but Ellie’s father…Jeremy shuddered. What had Uncle Rick done to their family?

He swung his legs out over the edge of the bed and rose with purpose. He changed into fresh clothes that covered his arms and legs, mindful now of the briar patches and long fields of switchgrass that lay before him. The borrowed memories had felt like a curse ever since he’d gotten them, but now he knew the purpose for his newfound power. His uncle was dangerous—one of the seriously bad people that Old Ben would want him to fight. But how could he hope to stand against a man with Uncle Rick’s ability, a man who could force people to bend to his will with a single word?

Jeremy glanced around the room, hoping for inspiration, when his eyes fell upon the full-length mirror that stood in the corner. He pursed his lips and nodded. It could work.

From one of his drawers he pulled out an old t-shirt, one he hadn’t worn in years, and wrapped it around his hand. It was cinched tight with a knot he held in his closed fist. He pulled back a nervous fist and punched, but it was weak and lacked conviction. He was too scared of his knuckles being sliced open. The cloth-bound punch hit the mirror with a dull thud. The glass vibrated for a second before settling again.

Jeremy was struck with a thought, and he silently opened the door to his bedroom. The house was dead silent, and the only light to be seen was that of the moon shining in through the windows. He stepped forward on the balls of his feet, willing the floorboards not to creak beneath his weight. His sneakers—unworn since the Tower—were settled next to each other by the door. He picked them up and made a hasty retreat to his room, shutting the door behind him. He wadded up several shirts and stuffed them in the crack under the door, hoping to muffle as much sound as he could.

He faced the mirror with a shoe held aloft in one hand. Confident in his safety but worried about the noise, he struck the glass with the hard rubber heel. It vibrated more violently than before, but the surface remained unbroken. Smudged, but whole.

Frustrated, he swung harder than he meant to, and the top half of the mirror shattered beneath his shoe. He jumped away before any shards could land on his feet, which were covered only by socks. Glass smashed loudly against the floor, and Jeremy cringed as he waited for the entire house to wake up.

Miraculously, nobody came running. His rudimentary soundproofing had been enough to keep the noise from reaching the rest of the house.

He reached down, picked up a shard of glass the size of his palm, and wrapped it in cloth so that it was completely bundled up. Reasonably certain that the sharp edges wouldn’t cut through the fabric, Jeremy tucked it in his back pocket and put on his sneakers. He would sweep up the rest of the broken mirror in the morning when he returned.

His stealthy retreat from the house was interrupted by footsteps approaching from the other side, and he froze as Ellie appeared in the moonlight. She was barefoot and dressed only in pajamas, but her eyes were fully alert as she looked at him skulking in the hallway.

Should he tell her what he’d uncovered? He quickly discarded the thought. Even if he could convince her of the memories he’d absorbed, what would it solve? There was no upside to her knowing the truth. If Uncle Rick was actually her father, it wouldn’t change anything. She was still his little sister.

“Where are you going?” Ellie asked.

“What are you doing up?”

“I heard a noise and got out of bed.”

“Well, go back to bed.” He felt bad being curt, but he didn’t have time to deal with her, not with the fate of their family hanging in the balance.

“Not until you tell me what is going on,” she argued, literally putting her foot down with a small stomp. “Where were you and Dad all day? Where is Uncle Rick?”

“I really don’t have time to explain, Ellie, please. I’m going to find Uncle Rick now, and I’ll be back in the morning. I promise.”

“You didn’t keep your last promise.”

“Neither did you,” he countered. Ellie shifted on her feet, and Jeremy could have sworn he saw her blush, but it was too dark to be certain. He thought quickly. “Look, it’s really important that you keep this one, okay?”

“Keep this one what?”

“Keep this secret,” he said patiently. “You can’t tell anyone where I’m going or what I’m doing, not until morning, at least. When I get back, I’ll explain everything to you.”

She frowned and bit her lip. “You have until eight to spill the beans.”

He looked at the clock mounted behind her; it was nearly one o’clock. “Ten,” he countered.

“Nine o’clock, and if you’re a minute late, I’ll tell Mom everything.”

Jeremy grinned. “You don’t know anything,” he said, “but go ahead and try. I’ll be back way before then.”

“You promise?”

“Yes, Ellie,” he sighed. “Cross my heart, blah, blah. Can I go now? We’re going to wake Mom up if we talk any longer.”

Ellie nodded and stepped aside to let him pass. “Be safe, big brother,” she whispered, sounding more serious than he had ever heard before.

He looked at her and gave a quick smile as he touched the bandage on his head. “I’m always safe.”

She snorted, and Jeremy ducked out the front door. He started off in the direction of the Tower, taking the dirt path that was most easily visible in the moonlight.

His thoughts flashed back to the jungle memory, obviously of his uncle’s time in Brazil. Everything had been dying, and he knew now that the earlier story had been a complete lie. They had taken out the drug lord, but not without also poisoning the rest of the jungle. Plants and animals had died by the thousands at the hands of one man, the very same man who felt confident in facing a grown black bear with only a small knife.

And now he was here, planning who knew what with the fate of the valley.

His uncle was the most dangerous man alive, and Jeremy had to confront him.

23

It was past one in the morning when Brennan finished typing his report of the failed raid on the warehouse.

By then, news of what had befallen Bishop’s team had reached the rest of the precinct. They had already sent a relief squad, but the only officers returning from her squad came in body bags. Bishop herself was still missing, whereabouts unknown.

He cursed as he slammed the door to his apartment shut behind him. I should have been there with her. It was stupid to split up; even if they had hit the wrong place first, at least they would have known where Leviathan was. The door to his left creaked open, and he had his sidearm up and ready with a twitch.

“Woah, woah!” Greg said, slowly emerging from the bedroom. “Uncle Arty, it’s me.”

Brennan had forgotten that his nephew was staying with him. His heartbeat slowed precipitously as he lowered the gun. “I’m sorry,” he said. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “I’ve—it’s been a long day.”

“Long week,” Greg said morosely. Brennan nodded sympathetically. He shrugged out of the bulletproof vest he still wore and slung it over a chair. Greg raised an eyebrow. “They let you keep those?”

“Occupation just got a lot more dangerous,” Brennan said. “We lost half a dozen good officers tonight.” The words were raw on his tongue. He still couldn’t believe how far south their plan had gone. His plan. He had never consulted Bishop on what they should do with Sam’s lead; he just made a plan and ran with it.

“What happened?”

“We had a lead that went horribly wrong. And Bishop…” Brennan said, his voice trailing off. “She was taken.”

Greg’s eyes widened with comprehension. “Was it a theater? Did she go missing at a theater?”

“What?” Brennan looked at him, confused, until he remembered his nephew’s Chamalla-induced vision. “No,” he said. “It was an, uh, a factory, in uptown.”

“Oh.” Greg looked everywhere else in the room for a few seconds before his eyes finally fell back on Brennan. “I’m sorry. To hear that she’s missing, I mean.”

Brennan grunted.

“It’s better than if she were dead, right?” Greg continued. “I mean, she wasn’t among the dead officers, so they probably want her alive for some reason.”

“What reason would that be?” Brennan snapped. He moved to tower over his nephew. “How is that supposed to make me feel better, knowing she’s probably suffering somewhere? These people wouldn’t spare her out of pity, or because she’s a woman! No, they’re going to make her miserable for every second of life she has left. She is going to die, and it won’t be quick, and it will all be my fault!”

Greg retreated to the couch, and Brennan realized he was putting a safe distance between them. “I was only trying to help,” he said. “Even if she is being tortured, that means she is still alive somewhere, and that means you still have a chance to find her. Are you really going to waste your time wallowing in self-pity, or are you going to rescue her?” His eyes held a flinty gaze that made Brennan look away in shame.

“You’re right,” he admitted. Brennan felt his anger, hot and roiling inside. Slowly, it oozed out of him like a toxic sludge, something that would only harm him if held on to. His fists unclenched, and the lines on his face became less severe. With a wearied sigh, he grabbed a Coke and joined his nephew on the couch. “We still have no idea where Bishop is being kept. Her phone was dropped during the assault, and they must have destroyed or discarded her communicator.” He held up his arm in explanation, showing the black glass band wrapped around his wrist.

Greg winced. “You don’t all have GPS locators embedded in your neck or something?”

“You’ve been reading too much science fiction,” Brennan said. His gaze moved carelessly around the room as he spoke. “No, none of that, and Sam can’t find her any more than the department can.” His frown deepened. “There’s no other—”

His eyes landed on the bulletproof vest hanging from the chair. There, poking out of one of the side pockets, was an evidence bag. Grimacing, he lifted himself from the couch, set down his Coke, and retrieved the small zipped bag from its hiding place. Inside, clearly visible through the plastic, was the single Chamalla patch from the warehouse crate.

“Is that what I think it is?” Greg asked. There was something covetous in his voice that Brennan didn’t like.

“Yeah,” Brennan said absently, moving to put it away again.

“No!” Greg shouted, holding up a hand. “Just…no. Hold on,” he said. “I think I know a way I can help you.”

“You do?” Brennan arched an eyebrow. He followed his nephew’s hungry stare to the bag in his hand. “No,” he said. “Absolutely not.”

“Please, Uncle Arty,” he said. “I can find her.”

True.

The small voice in his head rocked Brennan on his heels. That simple statement, more than anything, convinced him of his nephew’s sincerity.

Brennan knew he wouldn’t find another opportunity like this. There was too much going against him and not nearly enough time left for Bishop. But Chamalla was potent, even deadly. Was it worth the risk of Fracturing his nephew?

Even if he came through it safely, Brennan didn’t know if he could live with that choice, if he could knowingly put his nephew in such a dangerous position. He moved ever so slightly toward the couch. “You realize what you’re suggesting?” he asked. Greg nodded, his eyes never leaving the patch. “And you realize the consequences it might have?”

Greg sharply locked gazes with him. “I can find her,” he repeated.

True.

Brennan sighed, and he knew his soul would be tarnished by his selfish choice. He tossed the evidence bag toward his nephew. Greg caught it a little too eagerly out of the air. Brennan watched as he ripped the patch free from its packaging and positioned it delicately over the broad side of his bicep. It sizzled slightly as it made contact with his skin, a sound that horrified Brennan, but then his nephew arched his back and he knew it was too late—the Chamalla was already working its way through his system.

When his head lowered again, his brown eyes were dull and unfocused. Greg sighed in bliss. “Ahhh, that’s so good,” he murmured.

Brennan pressed a fist against his forehead. “Greg,” he said patiently, “I need to find Bishop.”

“What? Uncle Arty, what’re you…?” The question trailed off as his eyes trained on a bare spot on the wall.

“Greg!”

“Hey!” he suddenly cried. “Don’t go in the theater! Uncle Arty, you need to go ahead of her! It’s chivalrous!”

“I need you to focus, damn—”

Greg’s eyes suddenly zeroed in on Brennan. The intensity of his stare was unnerving, but not nearly as unsettling as the slender rings of blue that surrounded his pupils like azure halos. “She’s in uptown,” he said, his voice eerily calm. “In the abandoned hospital.”

“How do you know?” Brennan asked. A chill ran down his spine as he kept his nephew’s gaze.

“There isn’t much time.” Greg’s head suddenly lolled, and when it bobbed up again, the blue rings had disappeared from his eyes. Whatever prescient power had been there before had evidently vanished. “There isn’t much time,” he repeated thickly, sounding drunk.

His heartrate soared as adrenaline surged through his veins. Brennan reached out and quickly tore away the patch from his nephew’s arm; he didn’t want him to be any more exposed than he already was. Still, several minutes had already passed, and there was no way of telling how much of the patch had been absorbed into his skin.

The patch squelched as it unclenched its hold on Greg’s arm, and his nephew cried out in sudden pain as red, welted flesh revealed itself beneath. “Don’t take it off!” he yelled, but it was too late. Brennan held the patch by the tiniest bit of its corner, a rim of unsaturated cloth that didn’t hold any of the corrosive chemicals. He curled it into his pocket and hurried for the door.

Brennan couldn’t waste a second. He knew where to go now, and Bishop’s life hung in the balance. The bulletproof vest hugged his chest snugly. He looked over at his nephew and frowned. He didn’t want to leave him here alone, but there was no time to make better arrangements. It took a moment to secure the small liquor cabinet and the bedroom door, and he left the bathroom unlocked for when Greg eventually needed to purge his body of the toxins surging inside. He locked the apartment door behind him.

As he hit the stairs, he pulled out his phone and made a call.

“Yeah, Sam? I need you.”

24

The full moon shone on Jeremy as he made his way toward the Tower.

Pale, ghostly light gave sinister shadows to the black walnuts that inhabited the valley, and he passed Ellie’s favorite pond on the way; its water was inky black in the dead of night. His feet ached and the sore muscles in his legs protested when his stride lengthened out. Still, with firm ground beneath his feet and the strong light of the pregnant moon to guide his path, he managed a solid pace. Familiarity was making the distance pass more quickly as well. He could see where their steps had sunken into the mud a day and a half ago, and when he reached the rocky outcropping, the faintest outline of the fort was visible off in the distance. It was only logical that his uncle would return to their campsite.

All the while, he kept his ears perked and his eyes open for the black bear. Crickets chirped in the night, and once or twice he was spooked by a rustling in the bushes, only to find that it was a squirrel or small skunk running from the sound of his footsteps. The whole trip, the only apparent danger he faced was the possibility of falling in the dark and injuring himself. If he was left alone out here, tired and hungry and injured, he could very easily die. His parents wouldn’t notice his absence until morning, and by then it might be too late to do anything for him. The best he could do was to remain alert and move with caution. It wasn’t until he was walking through one of the denser patches of trees that he realized his uncle might not even be around at all.

“If I were him,” Jeremy said aloud, pushing past a stubborn branch, “I would have moved far, far away from here by now. And now I’m talking to myself; probably not the best indicator of my mental health.”

He walked until he broke through the tree line and then collapsed to the ground. He simply lay on his back; the wrapped-up mirror in his back pocket rubbed flat against him. Unobstructed by trees, the infinite majesty of space looked down upon him. Jeremy’s eyes had adjusted to the dark, and without any real light sources in the valley, he paid witness to countless stars in the sky above him.

Three thousand stars. The figure appeared in his head, and he realized it was one of Annabelle’s memories resurfacing. Astrology had been one of the areas of her studies at the university. Approximately six thousand stars were visible at any time from the equator; compensating for living in either the northern or southern hemisphere, that number was halved.

“Three thousand,” Jeremy murmured. It seemed like there were so many more. There were more people in his high school than there were visible stars in the sky. His mother’s memory wanted to go on, to point out that some of the lights were actually galaxies that contained billions of stars. In that case, there would be—

He shook his head and curled up his legs, holding them close within his arms. There was so much he knew now, so much that had come from the memories of his parents—and now his uncle—that threatened to overwhelm him. That knowledge was too much to keep in one head. He felt it, even now, the cumulative life experience of a century and a half. Uncle Rick’s memories had been the hardest to absorb because Jeremy knew—he knew—that each story he had told them as children was darker and truer than they had ever suspected. Absorbing all of that misery, that chaos, would surely drive him to madness. He would need to learn how to control these memories before they consumed him, especially if he wanted to become a Sleeper like Old Ben.

Before he had gained this power, whatever it was, there had been no question of where he would end up. He would have gone to Odols University, graduated with whatever degree he wanted, and then returned home to live off his father’s wealth. Perhaps he would have traveled like Uncle Rick, but that was before he’d discovered the truth behind all of those stories. His uncle was not a man to be admired or copied. But Old Ben had been drawn to his power and offered him another life, one with purpose. Not a boogeyman, as the children’s tales told, but a peacekeeper. A Sleeper.

But that dream could never be fulfilled if Uncle Rick was allowed to stay.

Jeremy’s joints popped as he stood, and the moon watched him balefully as he began to walk. The leaves rustled as the wind blew gently through them, and keeping his mind occupied on other things made the steps pass more easily. It was a pleasantly warm summer night—early morning, Jeremy amended. It was easily a couple hours past midnight by now. It was the hour that ghosts walked the earth, when humans were supposedly closest to death.

His short rest break had done wonders for his body, and he didn’t realize the progress he made until the land started to slope gradually upward beneath his feet. His eyes glanced up and caught the distinctive rise of the fort’s stone walls. Flickering orange light danced against the stone archway of the entrance.

His heartbeat sped as he crept up the ditch in front of the fort and leaned against the wall to peek around the corner.

There, seated on a hunk of rubble and tending to a small fire, was Uncle Rick.

He hunched over the little source of warmth with a haggard look, and there was a fresh cut that ran down the side of his face. His clothes were tattered, and he didn’t seem to notice Jeremy as he moved closer to the edge of the fire’s light. Beside him, to Jeremy’s surprise, was a long, crude wooden spear. Its shaft was longer than he was tall, and the last half foot of it tapered to a deadly point. The wood of its tip was darkened, stained with blood.

Jeremy must have made some noise, a scuffle of his shoe, because his uncle suddenly rose from his seat. He turned toward Jeremy with startling speed, the rough-hewn spear gripped tightly in his calloused hands. It was half extended toward him out of sheer reflex.

He gulped. “Uncle Rick,” he said quickly. “It’s me, Jeremy.”

“Jeremy?” his uncle whispered. “What the hell are you doing here?” He lowered the spear and brought forth a flashlight from his side. It shone brightly in Jeremy’s face, which was good, because the hand he raised to shield his eyes also hid his bared teeth. Uncle Rick might have been caught off guard by the meeting, but he was prepared.

“I came to find you, Uncle,” he said, his voice breathy. He tried to sound nonchalant, but his heart was hammering on the inside. Nearly getting run through with a spear could do that to someone. “Where is the bear?”

Uncle Rick leaned the spear against the heavy canvas tent. “We came to an understanding,” he said dryly, gesturing to the equally dry stain at the pointed tip. He sat down again by the fire, affixing Jeremy with a critical eye. “You didn’t have to come all this way,” he continued. “I would have been home by sunrise, or maybe midday at the latest. Your dad made it home safely, too?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy said. He struggled to maintain his composure, to keep any emotion from slipping into his voice. He took a step closer. “He and Mom are at home, sleeping.”

“As you should be,” his uncle said sternly. “What on earth were you thinking?”

“I thought I needed to come find you.” Another step closer. “You worry me.”

“You could have gotten lost,” Uncle Rick scolded, “or injured yourself, or there could be more dangerous animals around. I can take care of myself. You, on the other hand…what you did was reckless!” His face reddened. “I don’t care how worried you were for me. And when we get home, I’m—”

“No, Uncle. I didn’t say I was worried for you.” Jeremy was nearly within arm’s length of the spear now. One more step. “I said you worry me.”

Confusion drained some of the color from his uncle’s features. “I don’t understand.” He seemed to just now realize how close Jeremy had come to him, and dancing flames were reflected in his eyes. His lips curled at the edges. “If this is some kind of joke—”

“No joke,” Jeremy said. His voice was utterly calm, eerily dead of emotion. Likewise, his hand reached out and grasped the haft of his uncle’s spear as if it were the most natural thing. It was rough on his palm and slightly too wide for his grip, but it would do.

“Jeremy, put that down!” Uncle Rick rose to his feet and placed the fire between the two of them. “I don’t know what game you’re playing at, but it needs to stop this instant! Stop it!” His voice was deep and rich, tapping into his power of persuasion.

Waves of haze-inducing command crashed against the walls of his mind, and he fought to resist Uncle Rick’s influence. Jeremy laughed harshly. He idly caressed the tip of the spear, as if testing its point. The bear’s blood had dried, and flakes of it came off beneath his touch. “That won’t work on me anymore, Uncle,” he said. His eyes flashed with firelight as he looked up sharply. He was aware of the flush in his face, a heat for which the flames were not altogether to blame. He shook the spear as he spoke. “See, it took me a while, but I finally have you figured out. It all makes sense now, really. I can’t believe I didn’t see through you before.”

“I have no idea what—”

“Do not lie to me!” Jeremy feinted with the spear, and his uncle took several steps back. “I’ve only just discovered mine, but you’ve had your power for a long time now, haven’t you? Ever since you were young.”

His uncle’s mouth gaped a few inches, though no words came out.

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. And who did you first use it on?” Jeremy checked his memory. “Oh, that’s right. You told the kids who were picking on your little brother to leave him alone. You were smaller then, no bigger than any of those older kids, but they listened to you. And you wondered.”

They took another step together, Jeremy advancing and his uncle retreating, the space between them always just barely longer than a lunge could carry the spear.

“You wondered, and you tried it on your parents. Your mother was gone, so you tried it on your dad. He got his shit together, and soon you boys no longer lived in the uptown slums. It could have stopped there, but it didn’t. You wanted everything to be the best.” Jeremy broke off in a laugh that bordered on maniacal. “And you know what? I can understand that. I sympathize, I really do.” Another tandem step; they were in the middle of the courtyard now, equally far away from the entrance and the Tower. “You used it on my father—your brother—and even then you meant well! Do you remember what you said to him?”

Uncle Rick’s face was a mask of horror. “How do you know all of this?”

Jeremy ignored him. “You said, ‘Do well in school, be successful, and make us all proud.’” The memory was fresh and crisp in his mind. He fixed a venomous glare at his uncle. “And then you added, ‘Find a girl.’ As an afterthought. And he did! He did all of that! Poor as he had been, terrified as he was of being alone, you helped him become successful and happily married.” Jeremy’s heart grew heavy as he lived out the emotional memories of both his mother and father. “They found love,” he said quietly.

“Jeremy, I think this has gone far enough. There are some things in my past that I haven’t told you, and I’m not proud of that, but if you could just put down the spear so we can talk—”

“No!” The rage and fury he had discovered in those memories boiled up inside. He gripped the spear in both hands and jabbed. “Does this look like a negotiation?!”

His uncle dodged away from the weapon’s point and fell back on his hands and rear. He scrambled backward toward the main entrance of the fort.

“Your command drove my father to do great things, just like you wanted,” Jeremy said. He was surprised by the strength of his own voice; if he hadn’t kept his arms moving with the feinting jabs, they would have been shaking. He was at his limits, both physically and mentally. “But his work never ended, and you jumped into the void it made between him and my mother!”

“We were in love,” Uncle Rick argued. His power still flowed into his voice, but the deep tones that hinted at persuasion rolled off of Jeremy, incapable of swaying him.

“She was confused, and you took advantage of it,” Jeremy accused. “You still come and go as you please, and they never question it because you make them think it was their idea to begin with! You’ve come and had your time here—now I think it’s time for you to go.”

“Go? Please, Jeremy, think about what you’re doing.” He rose to his feet, snarling, uncaring of the spear pointed at his chest. “If you’re going to kill me, you’ll have to do it like a man.”

Jeremy was dwarfed by his uncle, and he fought to hide the rush of fear he felt. If he screwed up, if his plan didn’t work or his uncle resisted, he could easily be overpowered by the larger man. He gulped as he reached behind his back and grabbed the mirror that had been tucked away in his waistband. Some of the cloth had come loose, and jagged glass bit into his fingers as he gripped it.

“I want you to go,” Jeremy said. He carefully held the mirror aloft, aimed at his uncle; the spear in his other hand kept his uncle from making a grab for it. Drops of blood fell from the edge of his palm as the two locked gazes. “And you’re going to give the order yourself,” he said, “so that you can never return.”

Uncle Rick glanced between Jeremy and the mirror. “Is this really what you want? For me to go and never return?”

“Did I stutter?” His knuckles cracked as he tightened his grip on the spear. “Look straight into the mirror and give the order.”

“Or what?” his uncle challenged. “You’ll stab me?”

Jeremy leapt forward and bit at his uncle’s thigh with the tip of the sharpened wood. Uncle Rick dodged to the side at the last second, but its point still dug a furrow in the muscly flesh there, a cut three inches long. He growled in surprise and clamped a hand over the wound.

“Don’t test me,” Jeremy said. More blood seeped from the fingers holding the jagged piece of mirror. “Do it. Now.”

Uncle Rick gave him a stern look and then shifted his attention to the glass. “Go home,” he said, his voice rich and deep. “Leave the valley and never come back. Don’t bother your family ever again.”

Several moments passed, and nothing happened. His feet stayed firmly planted on the ground, showing no sign of the forced compulsion that Jeremy had felt hours earlier.

A tight knot formed in his gut.

Uncle Rick advanced a step. “You see, Jeremy, I built up an immunity to this a long time ago. I know my own power better than anyone else alive. And while you’re just coming into your own”—his voice became infused with an even greater level of resonating power—“I have had decades to perfect it. Give it up.”

Jeremy buckled under the pressure that was resonating from his uncle’s voice. His knees scraped hard against the ground. Trembling overtook his hands, and the mirror shard fell with a tinkling clatter. The spear remained in his grip.

“I didn’t come here to cause any trouble,” Uncle Rick said. “All I want to do is open up the valley for development.”

“But why?” Jeremy asked.

Uncle Rick’s eyes darted beyond him to the Tower.

An overwhelming sense of protectiveness rose up within Jeremy. That was his place. He didn’t know what his uncle had planned for it, but he’d seen into all of Uncle Rick’s past deeds, and he knew there could be no good future where that man was concerned. He would lose all control of his body in a few seconds’ time.

With the little strength he had left, Jeremy lunged forward and drove the spear clumsily into his uncle’s shoulder, embedding it there. As soon as the point pierced the skin, he felt the tremendous weight lift from his mind. He could move again, and he took advantage of the momentary reprieve. Jeremy spun on the spot and sprinted for the Tower as fast as he could.

His uncle screamed in pain and rage behind him, a primal roar of defiance. Jeremy ducked inside the cylindrical tower of stone and desperately wished that the enclosure had a door. There was no place to hide in the little room. Uncle Rick would be here soon, and without a weapon, Jeremy had no way to hold him off a second time.

There was only the stone table and the staircase to nowhere. The emptiness of the room was aggravating. Light from above caught Jeremy’s eye, though, and he suddenly remembered the second level of the Tower. Would Uncle Rick even be able to climb the recessed ladder?

Jeremy slipped his fingers into the grooves in the wall and started scaling his way to the second floor of the Tower. Outside, he heard an ungodly howl of pain. It sounded like Uncle Rick had managed to take out the spear.

The five windows met Jeremy as he reached the wheel spokes landing. A soft glow emanated from their edges, even though the interior landscapes were all shrouded in night. Hours had passed since he’d left the house, and Jeremy realized that the sun would be rising any minute now. Even as he watched, the windows grew brighter, their details coming into sharper relief.

If Uncle Rick looks up here, he’ll see me right away.

There was only thing left to do. Taking off his shoe, Jeremy repeated the same operation he’d performed on the mirror at home. He brought his hand back and then swung hard with the hard rubber heel. With experience, he knew that he had to hit it as hard and as fast as he could.

The glass shattered, and solid stone lay on the other side. It felt like pieces of Jeremy were breaking as he hurried to the other spokes and smashed the next few windows. By the time he reached the fifth and final window, the sun had definitely peeked over the horizon. The snowy landscape was almost blinding with its iridescence. Jeremy knew there was something incredible going on in this Tower, that there was something at work beyond even his wildest imagination. But he couldn’t risk being seen, and the magic window was just too bright. Reluctantly, he brought back his shoe and then smashed the window to smithereens.

As the light went out and the glass fell to the floor, a snowflake the size of a thumbnail flitted into the room and landed on his nose, chilling him for a second before turning to water.

Heavy footsteps echoed up from below, and Jeremy ducked down just in time as Uncle Rick staggered into the lower chamber. His shirt was stained crimson from the wound on his shoulder, and he used the spear as a makeshift staff for support. “Come out, Jeremy. I know you’re in here.”

Jeremy lay flat on his stomach and only leaned over the edge far enough to keep an eye on his uncle.

Uncle Rick trudged to the stone table and checked all around it, and then he went to the pretend staircase and felt all around at the wall where a door should have been. It was clearly too dark for him to see the recessed stone ladder.

The entrance to the Tower was getting brighter, though. With enough sunlight, Uncle Rick would put two and two together.

“Come to me,” Uncle Rick said, infusing his voice with power.

A rumbling came, and the whole foundation of the Tower shook. Jeremy held on for dear life as the wheel spokes did their best to shake him off. Uncle Rick stumbled against the stone table and grasped at its edge to hold himself steady.

Stone gave way, and Jeremy went into freefall as the spoke crumbled into huge chunks and plummeted to the floor. One chunk hit Uncle Rick high on the shoulder and seemed to hit a sensitive nerve, and his body went limp.

Jeremy screamed out as he fell headlong toward the ground. His fall was stopped short, though, as the lower half of his body smashed into the hard edge of the stone table. The wind exploded from his lungs as he curled into a ball and lost consciousness.

25

Sam was waiting at the shuttle station when Brennan arrived.

“Christ,” he said. “Brennan, you look like—no, actually, just no. Because every time I tell you how bad you look, you try and one-up yourself.”

Brennan grunted. “Just when I was getting used to your candor.”

Sam spared him a smile that lasted for a scant second. “What happened to Noel?” he asked soberly. Brennan filled him on the details as they boarded the most direct shuttle going uptown. “Jesus, Arthur! When were you going to tell me this?”

“I told you just now,” Brennan said. “We knew her side of the assault went south a few hours ago—”

“And you’ve waited this long—”

“—but we didn’t have enough intel—”

“—to respond!” They finished at the same time, though Sam’s voice was incredulous whereas Brennan had tried to sound reasoning. “Look,” Brennan said, “I didn’t want to keep you out of the loop any longer than I had to. But—hey, Sam, listen to me—we couldn’t do anything until now. Her entire squad went down, and there was no lead on where she was taken.”

“What, and now there is?” Sam faced him squarely and his eyes narrowed. “Exactly what kind of intel are you working from?”

Brennan kept his face an opaque mask. He couldn’t rightly tell Sam that he had willingly drugged his nephew in exchange for a psychic vision, one that was the product of a well-known and powerful hallucinogen. When he said it in his head like that, even he couldn’t believe half of it. No, he wasn’t ready to reveal what Greg could do. And who knew where the conversation could lead after that? He hated lying to his friend, but it was for his own good.

“The important thing,” Brennan said, forcing calm into his voice, “is that we know where she is now.” He clasped a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I need you with me on this.”

Sam stared resolutely out the window for a long moment. He shrugged off Brennan’s hand and looked at him with reproach. “I don’t appreciate having things kept from me,” he said. “But yeah, I’m with you.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Sam leaned against the back of the seats nearest him. “So where is the police contingent on this?” he asked, looking around at the shuttle conspicuously devoid of uniforms.

Brennan shook his head. “Not enough men in too little time. Her team went down hours ago, and who knows how long she has left? Besides, we went hot and heavy last time, and you can see how that went. No, you and me—”

“You and I,” Sam corrected.

Brennan gave him an even look. “Me and you,” he said heavily. “See what you did? Now you don’t even come first. We are going in dark, as quiet as we can. If we go in with dozens of men, they’ll kill her and go down shooting. Or worse, use her as a bargaining chip against us. The hospital is a big place, and we don’t know how many men Leviathan has inside.”

“Ballpark?”

“Probably a lot of them.”

“That helps. I’m glad I asked.”

“This is Bishop we’re talking about. Does it really matter how many of their men stand between us?”

Sam shook his head. “Move heaven and earth, right?”

Brennan grinned fiercely. “And march through hell to get there.” He glanced up at the small screen that announced each station as they passed through. “This is our stop coming up,” he said.

Sam read the sign as well. “It’s too soon. The uptown hospital isn’t until the one after.”

Brennan frowned. “The shuttle station is right next to the hospital; I guarantee they’ll have someone on watch there. Our best bet is to get off here and walk the rest of the way. We can try and gain access through a service entrance.”

“Even if it takes longer?” Sam asked. Brennan knew how much Sam cared for Bishop, despite his polyamorous tendencies. He resisted the urge to look at his watch. Every second delayed could mean the end of Bishop’s life, but there was no other way.

“We won’t do Bishop any good by getting shot fresh off the shuttle,” he said, just barely loud enough to be heard over the automated voice announcing their stop. “This is the way we’re doing it.”

* * *

The now defunct Odols General North Hospital was a building of enormous size, an entire city block of whitewashed stone and marble. It wasn’t the tallest building, but what it lacked in height it made up for in sheer square footage. It had fallen into disrepair over the years and passed away silently as the newer, better-equipped Odols General Central opened closer to the city’s center. The rights to the property stayed in government hands, though, so no new development had taken over. Most abandoned buildings fell to squatters, and the police were too occupied with more serious matters to heartlessly evict them.

In some cases, though, the open spaces attracted the likes of Leviathan, and as an officer of the law and employee of the government who owned the building, Brennan felt fully within his right to persecute the trespassers.

He and Sam jogged from the shuttle station and circled around the back to the medical bay, where ambulances would drop off critical patients directly. Sam jimmied the lock while Brennan stood on guard, and after a moment the two slipped inside. The corridor was long, lined with doors, and surprisingly clean. A few pieces of ceiling tile now lay on the floor, and the electricity was shut off, but neither made the hallway impossible to navigate. Sam reached for a flashlight from his belt, but Brennan stopped his arm.

“No,” he whispered. “No light. If anyone is around, they’ll see us coming well before we see them.” In the empty hall, there was nothing to stop the light from traveling the entire length of the corridor. Sam nodded, though Brennan could just barely see the motion.

The two walked as quietly as they could with weapons drawn. They kept their sidearms holstered; even with a silencer, pistols were noisy as hell, and it would only take one fired shot to attract every Leviathug in the building. Brennan extended one hand and let his fingertips brush along the wall for guidance, while in the other hand he held a short double-edged knife. Sam carried a hunting knife, the kind that woodsmen might use. The toothed edge opposite the blade doubled as a saw for cutting through small branches.

Brennan reached a corner and motioned for Sam to pause. He wouldn’t see the curled fist that raised by reflex, but he would hear the stop in Brennan’s footsteps. Tentatively, Brennan peeked around the corner. He couldn’t see anybody in the pale gray of the darkened hall.

“Come,” he breathed, and the two moved onward. They reached a lobby with a large double staircase; one set led to the second floor, while the other set descended into the basement of the hospital.

“Even odds in both directions,” Sam said. His voice barely carried to Brennan’s ear.

Brennan agreed. “Fifty-fifty.” There was safety in numbers, but it would also slow down their search effort by half. “Split up,” he suggested. “You go high, I’ll go low.”

Sam grunted affirmatively. “Heaven and hell,” he said. “Good hunting.”

Brennan descended the stairs without another word. He made it no more than a dozen steps before someone rounded the corner just an arm’s reach away.

Reflex and training brought his knife arm swinging, and the blade plunged noiselessly into the man’s neck, slicing through the jugular. He clamped his free hand over the man’s mouth and moved with his body, gently easing the fall so that neither his gun nor body made a sound as they met the ground. Blood continued to pour as he slid the knife out and wiped it against the man’s jacket. The dead man had a semiautomatic rifle slung across his chest, but he was otherwise unarmed and unarmored. Brennan wiped the blood from his hands as well as he could.

Thirty seconds on his own and already he had run into trouble. Brennan hoped that Sam was still hidden, still safe. He took a deep breath to slow his hammering heart and then continued. His eyes had adjusted to the dark, and he could see everything relatively clearly in differing shades of black. He stalked through the empty hall, sweeping his gaze left and right with each door.

Every room he searched was eerily empty; he had grown so accustomed to hospitals being full—of gurneys, nurses, whirring machines, men in white coats, visiting families, pictures, paintings, binders full of papers—that the opposite was intensely unnerving. The pervasive emptiness of the building shook him more than anything.

One long room finally showed promise. The door creaked loudly on its hinges, and Brennan cringed; he forced it all the way open with a sharp but short burst of sound. He checked the room for more members of Leviathan, but there was no movement except for the low ripple of fluid in the two basins in the room.

Each container was the size of a refrigerator on its side and twice as tall. They were laid end to end, and there the similarities ended. One held a clear substance, and one whiff of it was enough to tell Brennan that it was bleach.

The second basin held some kind of dark liquid with the thick consistency of cold maple syrup. He didn’t take the risk of smelling it; it didn’t take a scientist to recognize the sickly, toxic odor of Chamalla.

He retreated slowly from the room, past the syrupy hallucinogen and then past the basin of bleach that purified the patches before they were infused with Chamalla. He left the door open as he ducked back into the hallway, silent as a phantom.

He took a pair of steps around another corner before his eyes were suddenly flooded with light. Something very, very solid smashed into him, connecting with the back of his head just below the ears.

Brennan didn’t pass out, but the temporary stars in his vision and disorientation were enough to make him lose track of time as a pair of strong arms wrapped under his armpits and dragged him.

He wasn’t carried for long, though, and he hit the floor hard when he was deposited. His arms felt like lead pipes; the same strong person who carried him grabbed those pipes and tightened a coarse loop of rope around his wrists, binding them behind his back. Even if he could have moved, he doubted he’d have the strength or mobility to break free.

His blurry vision cleared, and he looked dizzily around the room. It was barren, just another former patient’s room. Drab wallpaper peeled on the walls, and the joined bathroom was a small husk of a room without the plumbing fixtures. Hinges squealed as the door opened, and Brennan’s head snapped around to see a familiar figure stepping into the room.

It had been a while since they had seen each other, but the man still had the same college cap he had worn during their first encounter outside of Nettle’s pharmacy.

“Badgercap,” Brennan muttered. The word came out thick and slurred.

The man known as Badgercap carried a light into the room with him, which he held aloft as he leered at the captive detective. “Oho, oho, this is my lucky day, isn’t it?” he tittered. The light jittered in his grasp, and his eyes were glazed over. A lazy smile hung on his face, which twisted with scorn as he looked at Brennan. “Another detective to start off today’s body count. I had quite the success yesterday, but today is a new day, I suppose.”

“You’re high,” Brennan said absently. Even through bleary eyes, he could see a patch on the drug lord’s exposed forearm.

Badgercap opened his mouth to speak, but just then Sam appeared from around the corner, carried by the hem of his shirt. He was in the grip of a large, heavily muscled man, and his hands were bound in the same way as Brennan’s. The mountain man had a massive revolver secured in a custom shoulder holster. Muscles threw Sam bodily, and he slammed against the wall beside Brennan. The sound of his body hitting brick was thick and dull, and the air rushed out of him as he slumped to the floor.

“Found this one skulking around upstairs,” Muscles explained to Badgercap. His voice was a strangled growl, and the tendons in his neck were tight against his skin. “He took down two of our lookouts before I found him.”

Badgercap turned and looked at Sam with a hungry smile. “Did he now?” He waved a dismissive hand toward Muscles. “Stand guard outside. There may be more than the two of them.”

Muscles grunted and lumbered out of the room, firmly shutting the door behind him.

Sam seemed to be collecting his wits and lurched into a kneeling position. Badgercap moved forward and savagely kicked him onto his side.

“Stay down, dog!” he cried, adding another vicious boot to the groin. Sam’s eyes screwed up in pain as he contorted, twisting his body to better protect himself.

“Hey!” Brennan shouted. “Leave him alone!” He received a swift strike to the head in response, but he rolled with the lazy blow and kept Badgercap’s focus on him. “What? That all you got?”

Badgercap’s smile twisted into a malicious snarl, and his eyes danced with manic fervor. “You are becoming a nuisance,” he said. His voice was high and crazed, and he swung another fist that caught Brennan on the ridge over one eye. A thin line opened where he struck, and a sheet of blood began to pour down his face. “I thought my last message was clear, but apparently you need a reminder. Stay out of things that are none of your business!”

Before he could turn around toward Sam, Brennan head-butted him at the knees. There was no real power behind the attack, but hurting him wasn’t the intention. “When you killed good men and women and kidnapped my partner, you made all of this my business.”

With a haughty demeanor, Badgercap gathered himself up. “You could have stopped at ‘killed good men and women’,” he said, breaking off into a fit of giggles. As the madman paced about and leered at them with unrestrained excitement, Brennan and Sam shared a glance.

“What do you mean?” Sam demanded, anger rising in his voice. “What did you do to Noel?”

“Me?” the maniac giggled. “I didn’t do anything! But your partner didn’t look too good last time I saw her.”

True.

Sam struggled against his injured body as he rose to his feet. His lip was cracked, several fingers bent at unnatural angles, and he moved with the signs of dozens of untold injuries. His face was a mask of pure fury, and the glare he gave Badgercap made Brennan’s hairs stand on end.

“If you touched one hair on her head,” he growled, “I swear to God I’ll—”

Badgercap produced a handgun from his waistband and shot Sam twice in the chest.

Brennan watched in horror as his best friend of over a dozen years recoiled from the shots. Sam’s eyes dulled as he fell to his knees, and momentum carried his limp body to the side. He couldn’t see his friend’s face from where he knelt, but Brennan felt his body begin to shake as Sam lay there, unmoving. The two gunshots in the small, confined room were deafening, but they were nothing compared to the roar of rage that tore its way from Brennan’s throat, a wordless howl of noise and fury.

He had murder in his heart. He had killed before in self-defense, or in the cause of protecting others, and he had never shied away from that fact. But here, now, he bore a personal hatred for the man who stood before him. Bloodied, bound, and beaten, he didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of winning. It didn’t matter. He had lost two of his closest friends to this madman, and he would give everything for the chance to make him pay. Blood pumped furiously through his veins and it still came down in sheets over his face. He saw red as he rose to charge the man.

With almost casual arrogance, Badgercap turned and cracked Brennan square in the jaw with the butt of his gun. He heard the pop of a dislocated jaw as mind-numbing pain jolted through his skull. His head snapped to the side, nearly splitting itself open on the wall, and he lacked the strength to turn his face back toward his attacker.

“Now,” Badgercap said, kneeling before him. He cupped Brennan’s chin forcefully, the grip agonizingly painful. “Listen when you are being spoken to,” he commanded. “I am Leviathan! You are nothing!” He released Brennan and stepped away sharply, pacing anxiously. His stare never left Brennan’s face, and after a moment he stopped, his mouth parting slightly as if struck by inspiration.

“This should be fun,” he said, his teeth gleaming, “and you don’t look like you’re having fun. So let’s make this a bit of a game, eh? I’m a generous man, and you’ve got nothing left to live for, do you?” He leaned in close, and his rancid breath was warm and moist against Brennan’s face. “Here’s the game,” he said. “You get to ask me questions, finish your investigation, and maybe die content.” He lifted the pistol before Brennan’s eyes so he couldn’t avoid seeing it. “But for each boring question you ask, I get a whack at that ugly mug of yours. How long d’you think you’ll last?”

Brennan spat in Badgercap’s face. The other man wiped at the spit slowly, still showing his manic grin. He tried to think of an escape, a way out of this situation alive, but those options didn’t present themselves. He could charge Badgercap, though that would only reward him with a bullet to the head. Likewise, he gained nothing by refusing to play his game and staying silent; if anything, that would only infuriate his captor and bring death all the more swiftly.

Though a quick death might be better.

Brennan sighed. “Zachariah Nettle,” he said slowly, his jaw stiff. “You killed him.”

Badgercap’s eyes danced madly. “Is that a question?”

“Are you responsible for the murder of Zachariah Nettle?”

“There, that’s much better now. You aren’t as thick as your skull suggests.” He paced slowly, holding the pistol delicately in his hands. “Yes, I killed the pharmacist. We had a good thing going until he tried to haggle with me. With me, the thankless wretch. He wanted a larger cut, so I agreed.” His lips parted in a grisly grin. “Oh, yes, I gave him a very large cut,” he said, pantomiming a knife slicing through the air.

Brennan felt the truth of his words. A madman he might be, but he was being honest—he was following the rules of this ghastly game. His brain worked furiously to come up with another question, but one left his lips unbidden while he thought.

“You aren’t a thug,” his mouth said. “The night you jumped me outside the pharmacy, you talked like a street urchin. When you just spoke now, though, that accent was gone. It was just a mask,” Brennan said, meeting Badgercap’s glare. “Who are you?”

“Boring!” Badgercap declared. “I’m not interested in talking about myself.”

He hit Brennan with a fast left hook that stunned him more than it hurt him. Badgercap shook his hand after the punch, wincing, and then slammed the butt of the gun in his other hand in a backhanded strike to Brennan’s jaw. Rather than a pop, Brennan felt something in his jaw crack. Badgercap stooped to grab him roughly by the collar of his shirt and pulled him close, speaking into Brennan’s ear.

“Do not think for a second that I will hesitate to kill you. I thought I proved that with your friend here. I don’t want to kill you right off because, frankly, you have been a huge pain in my ass. It is going to take months to put my network back together, not to mention the sales I’ll lose in the meantime—No, no, this is not going to end quickly for you,” he whispered harshly. “I am going to prolong your suffering for as long as I can, just as hers was. And I will enjoy every second of it.”

Brennan’s mind was foggy, and he was having trouble thinking clearly even as alarm bells went off in his head. He and Sam had been too late—Noel was lost even before they entered the building. Sam had paid for it with his life, and it looked like Brennan was destined to go the same way. He needed to buy more time to think of some clever escape.

“Okay, okay,” he gasped, slumping to the floor as Badgercap’s grip eased. His voice slurred, and it hurt to speak through his fractured jaw. “I have a quethtion,” he mumbled.

Badgercap grinned, fierce and sudden, and danced back toward the door. “Well, go on, athk away!” he said excitedly, mocking Brennan’s lisp as he broke down in another burst of demented laughter.

Brennan gave him a bleary glare and hoped he looked more intimidating than he felt. Kneeling on the floor with his hands bound behind his back, he didn’t like the chances of that. He heard a low noise from the hallway, likely Muscles coughing.

“Why did you do it?” he asked, thankful there were no soft consonants in the question. His voice cracked with the words. “Why did you take Bishop?”

Badgercap leaned in very suddenly, smacking Brennan across the face. No, not smacking, he realized. In his excitement, Badgercap’s motion turned the gentle swipe into a partial slap.

“Are you crying?” he asked incredulously. “Oh, but this is delicious! But I don’t have an answer for you, Detective. See, I’ve already grown tired of our game. Your questions aren’t as interesting as I’d hoped they would be.” He cocked the gun and pressed it against Brennan’s skull. “I hope you got the answers you were looking for.”

A shot rang out, and Brennan’s face became a gory mess of blood. Badgercap’s chest exploded outward as a second round worked its way through his body, and he fell limply to the floor with a stunned look on his face. Behind him, leaning heavily against the open doorframe and holding Muscles’ enormous revolver, was a haggard and injured Detective Bishop.

“Brennan!” she cried, dropping the gun and rushing to his side. “Oh my God, what are you doing here?”

“What am I—what are you doing here? I thought you were dead!”

Bishop untied the rope that bound Brennan’s hands and he pulled them free, flexing them with newfound freedom. “Reports of my death,” she muttered.

Brennan pointed to Sam. “He’th not bleething,” he said.

“Oh God! What the hell were you two thinking?!” She rushed to Sam’s side and rolled him over. His eyes were closed, and his face was starting to turn blue. “Oh God, oh God,” Bishop half muttered, half prayed. Tears welled in her eyes as she crouched over Sam, her hands spreading over his chest as she leaned against his body. “What the—?” she started. “He’s not bleeding.”

“That’th what I thaid.”

She ripped apart his shirt so the buttons flew all across the room. Beneath his clothing was a thick, black vest. Two shiny bullets were embedded in the thick material over his heart and lungs, and Bishop tore at the Velcro straps, ripping the confining vest from Sam’s body.

With an enormous gasp of breath, he sat up and looked wildly around the room.

Brennan looked at him in disbelief. “Welcome back to the land of the living,” he said, still not believing his eyes. “How did you—?”

Sam coughed and gripped his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. “Sweet Jesus, that was close. How long was I out?”

“About three minutth,” Brennan said.

“Is that all?” He sounded disappointed. “Well, I must’ve gotten CPR,” he said mildly. Sam looked hesitantly at Brennan, whose face was a bruised pulp of flesh with a dead man’s blood still freshly dripping from his chin, and then looked hopefully to Bishop. “Noel, please tell me it wasn’t him.” In that moment, he seemed to notice Bishop crouched next to him for the first time. “Noel!” he cried, wrapping his arms around her in a sudden embrace. “You’re alive! Oh, thank God.”

She accepted the hug with reluctance, though a wan smile touched her lips.

Sam looked at Brennan with shining eyes. “Your voice sounds ridiculous, by the way. So you saved her? How’d you accomplish that?”

Bishop looked suspiciously between the two of them, and Brennan gave her a guilty grimace.

“You two were on a rescue mission?” she asked. Her tone took a sharp turn for the worse. “What, you think I’m some damned damsel in distress?”

“It’th nothing like that—” Brennan started, but she overrode him.

“Don’t feed me bullshit, Arthur! I have been on my own here for hours,” she said, speaking slowly for his benefit. “Hours, Brennan. Do you understand? I had plenty of time to work my way out without your help. You had no way of knowing where I was, so I sure as Hell wasn’t waiting for—” She broke off suddenly, turning her glare slowly toward Sam. “Were you in on this?”

Sam held up both hands. “Completely his idea,” he said, pointing to Brennan. “He just said you were in trouble, and I hopped to. When he told me to bring my gun, I figured the vest would be prudent.”

“It’th true,” Brennan added. “Trutht me, I’d know.”

Bishop looked between the two of them, seeming mollified. “Well, thanks. Even though I ended up saving you.” She cocked her head. “How did you know where to find me?”

Brennan waved off the question; that was getting into dangerous territory. “Another time,” he promised. He winced as he stood, his legs slow to respond to his orders. “And you’re welcome.”

“This is all very touching,” Sam drawled, “but I think now’s the point where I could really use a hospital. A real hospital,” he added, glancing at the rundown room they were in.

Bishop smiled in spite of herself, and she offered Sam a hand up off the floor. “Come on, you lugs. Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said. She looked sideways at Brennan and grimaced. “You look terrible.”

“One day,” he said, “thomeone will apprethiate me for more than my lookth.”

26

Jeremy’s eyes fluttered open and he looked up into the face of the man who had betrayed his family.

He gasped out for breath, but he couldn’t get as much air as he needed. His lungs were seizing, and he reached out desperately to his uncle for help. But his arms refused to move with no oxygen to burn.

He wanted to hate his uncle for everything he had done. Because of Uncle Rick, his father was driven toward obsession with his work. He had nearly destroyed his parents’ love for each other, and now he was here again for more unknown reasons. It didn’t matter what he was here to do.

“Uncle,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Derrick leaned over Jeremy until they were mouth-to-ear. “Jeremy, just stay with me,” he said. “I’m going to get you help, you won’t die here.”

Die? Jeremy thought blearily. He must have been in worse shape than he’d realized.

He heard the sound of Velcro unstrapping, and Uncle Rick muttered a curse. “No cell signal. Should’ve figured. Don’t worry, Jeremy, we’ll get you some help.”

“How?” he rasped. It felt like his body was made of lead.

Uncle Rick frowned down at him. He took a deep breath—a spike of envy coursed through Jeremy as he stared up breathlessly—and then he started speaking. “Jeremy, stand up. Do it now.”

His words were laced with power, and for once, Jeremy didn’t fight the sensation as it inundated him. His arms, which had been dead to the world just a moment before, pushed against the floor as his legs gathered up beneath him. It was an ungainly rise to his feet; he felt like a reanimated corpse freshly brought from the grave.

Jeremy’s mind raced with the implications. He was completely under his uncle’s spell. If he let another one of those whispered words worm its way into his brain, he would be powerless to stop whatever his uncle had planned. And if he died on the way home, what would his family believe? Surely they’d know that it was his uncle who’d killed him.

Unless he simply convinces them otherwise, whispered a small voice in his head.

Uncle Rick moved in to help Jeremy stand, and that was when he made his move. Jeremy lurched forward—he was too weak to do anything else—and wrapped his arms around his uncle’s neck. Uncle Rick, taking it as either a gesture of affection or a plea for support, caught him and held him steady.

Jeremy planted his hands on either side of his uncle’s head and forced his way into his mind. It felt like he was fighting a waterfall, the sheer immensity of it beating him back. He had no idea what to do, what to expect of this, but he had to do something. He forged ahead, exerting his will, and then like the popping of a balloon, the world changed.

Instantly, he was consumed by a rolling fog that seemed to dominate the landscape. It was not unlike the rainforest in Brazil. Large, leafy trees crowded each other for light. Thick, ropy vines climbed their way up the trunks and connected with neighboring trees. On the ground, red and brown mushrooms proliferated, each the size of Jeremy’s head. Small beams of gold and bronze were visible beneath the soil, and they seemed to run everywhere and connect with everything.

And absolutely every living thing was infected.

Sickly purple tendrils pulsed along the trees and mushrooms like an encroaching disease. The leaves of the trees were wilted already, and the vines which hung from them lacked the vibrancy of life. Jeremy reached out a hand and touched one of the nearby trees. He recoiled from the wave of nausea that rolled over him, but he gained the insight he needed. Each one of the trees, every sickly mushroom and flower that bloomed in the landscape of his uncle’s mind, was a memory. What’s more, they were all slowly being infected by the very thing he had come to remove.

“What are you doing?” His uncle’s booming voice seemed to come from everywhere at once.

Jeremy ignored it, and instead concentrated on the memory he wanted. Motes of amber light collected in one of the lines beneath his feet, and a moment later a burst of gold shot forward. He hurried after it, following it along a path through the damp, dark forest.

A minute in, a log tripped up his footing and he lost sight of the beam for a moment. Panic rose in his chest as he glanced about, but it was nowhere to be seen. He took off at a run, and a moment later a path opened up to his right; the beam had turned a corner around a wide and particularly sickly tree, and its golden light pulsed again as he reached it.

“The phantom memories,” Jeremy said, not bothering to raise his voice. “There were moments in my parents’ past that I couldn’t see. You ordered them to forget, didn’t you?”

The earth trembled beneath him, and Jeremy realized his uncle was shaking with dark laughter in the real world. “I knew the moment I saw that note on your desk that there was something about you,” the ground roared.

“So it was you,” Jeremy mumbled. He noticed with impending dread that it was hard to catch his breath, even though, technically speaking, he had no lungs here. His body was steadily failing him in the physical realm, and Jeremy realized that his uncle was attempting to stall him with all the talking. “It’s not important,” he said, stepping forward. “Just tying up loose ends, before the end.”

As he navigated over fallen branches and small streams that ran along the forest’s floor, he saw more and more ghastly tendrils. They became so numerous that, more often than not, entire plants appeared purple by nature.

“It needn’t end like this,” came his uncle’s voice, issuing forth from the streams and damp undergrowth. “I could command you not to die.” The trees swayed where they stood, as if they were rooted on the shoulders of a shrugging giant. “Who knows if it would work, but what is the alternative? You’re dying, Jeremy.”

His hairs raised on end and his stomach did a backflip. It occurred to him that his uncle wasn’t keeping his body alive while all of this happened. Time was now his biggest enemy.

If what his uncle offered was true—was even possible—would it be worth the trade? He would live to fight another day, and he could confront his uncle on more even ground. Perhaps there was even something in his memories that could be used against him.

The beam of light stopped, and it pulsed consistently beneath a single mushroom the size of a beach ball. It was a solid, angry violet, and it was undoubtedly the source of the corruption which had taken over his uncle’s mind.

It was the memory of his power.

Jeremy placed a hand on its crown and was overcome with revulsion. The thing exuded evil. He recoiled and clutched his hand close to his chest.

Is this kind of thing inside of me? The thought horrified him. His own power had come to him suddenly, and without instructions, but Old Ben had told him it could be used for good. If he kept using his power, if he kept absorbing the memories of others…would he be corrupted just as his uncle had been?

Would he become the very monster he was trying to stop?

Suddenly, he didn’t feel too anxious about dying.

Jeremy steeled himself and crouched beside the enormous mushroom. He wrapped his arms tightly around its base, gritting his teeth against the waves of nausea that hit him, and he lifted up with his legs. The mushroom squished in his grip and noxious ooze slid out from its pores, but otherwise it remained firmly rooted.

The wind rose to a deafening howl and the earth shook violently beneath his feet. Uncle Rick was trying with all his might to expel him from his mind. Jeremy knew his body had little strength left.

He tugged harder, and the ground beneath the mushroom broke unevenly. Tendrils as thick as his arm connected like roots to the nearest mushrooms, and Jeremy realized that there was no way to lift it out by sheer force, not the entire system. He started kicking viciously at its stem, and bits of it gave way. He gripped a nearby rock and started using it like a crude axe against the mushroom. More of its base broke away.

Jeremy felt a strange beat inside of him, and he realized it was his own thready pulse. His body was weakening, getting ready to relinquish its hold on the world; he worked all the harder because of it. He had never attempted to remove a memory before, and the possibility had only come into his mind just a few minutes ago. But if it was his last act on earth, he would take his uncle’s power away.

The rock tore through chunks at a time, and finally Jeremy felt that it was weak enough to try again. He braced himself, gripped under the mushroom’s hood, and heaved. More tendrils broke, but not all of them. His body was in its death throes.

Jeremy was out of breath. His mind was fuzzy and his whole body clamored for him to sit down, to rest. He had done enough.

He snarled in defiance and pulled, again and again. More roots snapped each time, and he felt it giving way. The world inside his uncle’s mind roared like an oncoming tide; everything was connected now to the power he was taking.

Memories flashed before his eyes, and it took him a moment to recognize them as his own. His mother, beaming at him as she returned with a bushel of freshly picked food. His father, brooding solemnly by the fireplace while he recovered from the Tower. Ellie—sweet Ellie—running carefree through the garden with her squirrel friends in tow. He wouldn’t be able to keep his promise to her.

The mushroom—and the memory of power that it contained—broke free.

Then he was gone.

* * *

If you plan to continue with this series, there’s an epilogue…but I suggest you stop here if you don’t like cliffhangers and don’t plan to continue.

Thanks for reading!

Epilogue

Brennan tightened his somber black tie and flattened the collar of his dress shirt.

His jaw had been set, and scans showed only a hairline fracture in the bone. No surgery required, but his face was still far from a pretty sight. The bruises had started to fade over the past few days, but they were still clearly visible in patches all over his face. At least he could pronounce soft syllables correctly again.

Greg sat on the couch with a bouquet of flowers, an untouched glass of water resting nearby. He was already suited up and ready to go, and the shakes that had accompanied his withdrawal from the patch subsided yesterday. He looked healthier, but he hadn’t said a word all morning, and Brennan knew he was still hurting inside.

They were getting ready in Bishop’s apartment. She had been acting as de facto caretaker for Brennan and Sam after they were cleared from the hospital, though the latter had recovered much more quickly. Sam sat on a bar stool beside the kitchen counter. He was staring into the middle ground, keeping the entire room in view with unfocused eyes and a neutral expression on his face. He was respectfully quiet, knowing what today meant for Brennan and his nephew.

The door to Bishop’s bedroom cracked open, and an orange tabby cat sprinted out into the living room. Brennan raised an eyebrow at the furry intrusion. Bishop was half a step behind it, and she delicately scooped up the cat before it could jump on Greg’s lap. She held it at arm’s length, not wanting to get any fur on her clothes, and she dropped it back inside her bedroom before swiftly closing the door again.

Bishop wore a black dress with a dark jacket over top, and she went without any jewelry. She wore enough makeup to hide her injuries as best as was possible. Her eyes met Brennan’s briefly and she nodded sympathetically.

“Was that…?”

“Nettle’s cat?” Bishop nodded. “I couldn’t leave the poor thing to starve.”

“Careful,” Brennan said, thinking back to the yowling he’d heard earlier in the week. “She might be pregnant.”

“He’s a boy.”

“That significantly lowers the odds, then,” Sam noted.

Brennan gave them both a brief smile before the solemnity of the day brought his mouth back into a frown. He grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair and shrugged it on, smoothing out the wrinkles in front of the mirror. The four of them left in silence.

It was a short drive to the cathedral of St. Agabus, located on the western edge of the city. Nestled within one of the more affluent quarters of Odols, it was the only church Brennan knew of that served mass every day of the week. The stained-glass windows of its sanctuary were aligned with the rising and setting sun, and it was the largest cathedral in the Midwest. It was also where Brennan’s family was buried.

They followed the side path that led around to the back of the cathedral. A field of standing stones rose to greet them, each one a marker for the dead. The memorials ranged from unadorned headstones in simple plots to one squat, very ornate mausoleum in the back corner. Some of the graves were adorned with recent tokens of love from visiting family members: pictures, flowers, or trinkets that carried some special meaning.

The ceremony for Madison Warner was simple and straightforward, just as she would have wanted it to be. An older priest presided over the burial, sprinkling holy water on the casket as a thurible swung on its chain from his other hand, wafting incense over the grave. Finally, he petitioned to God that her soul should rest in peace.

No other words were spoken, and no other words were needed.

Greg stepped forward and placed the bouquet on top of the casket, over his mother’s hands. His shoulders trembled, and he couldn’t stop fresh tears from streaking down his face.

Brennan held him close as her body was lowered into the grave.

Goodbye.

The four of them stood around the grave for a while after the priest had departed. Time passed—minutes or hours, it didn’t matter. Sam and Bishop stood in solidarity with them, for which Brennan couldn’t express his gratitude enough. They were better friends than he deserved. When they were finally ready, they left the same way they had come, taking the path around the side of the massive cathedral to the parking lot.

The sky was a clear one that day, and the morning sunlight was shining directly into Brennan’s eyes as they approached, but he could make out a figure standing idly by Bishop’s car. He shielded his eyes with a hand and made out more features; an old-fashioned dark suit, sparse white hair, and small, dark glasses. He was small in stature, barely taller than the car he leaned against.

“Arthur Brennan,” the man rasped. “We need to talk.”

Bishop cast a glance between Brennan and the newcomer. “Brennan, who is this?”

“Benjamin,” he growled.

His response was terse, and Bishop must have recognized the tension that suddenly settled in Brennan’s shoulders. She took a half-step to the side and turned slightly, presenting a slimmer profile. Sam mirrored her movements on Brennan’s other side, his eyes never leaving the strange old man.

Benjamin sighed, a sad sound coming from the frail old man, like the last bit of air fleeing a deflated balloon. “Whatever your feelings toward me may be,” he said, “I am afraid you must put them aside. We have larger issues that must be dealt with.”

Brennan’s hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. “Any business we had together ended long ago. You have no right to be here!”

“Ah. The death of your sister is regrettable, and you have my condolences,” Benjamin said lightly. “I only need a moment of your time, to convince you of my—”

“No,” Brennan cut him off. “I don’t want to hear it. Bishop, start the car.”

Bishop unlocked the car doors with the fob in her hand. Benjamin stepped aside carefully, testing his cane against the ground before shifting his weight. Sam and Greg exchanged a glance before walking toward the car, keeping a wary distance between themselves and the strange man as they piled into the backseat. Brennan made a move toward the passenger side, but he was stopped by the wrinkled hand that shot out and grasped his arm.

“Detective,” the old man croaked. “You have your reasons for disliking me. But trust me in this: death is coming to Odols.”

Brennan shook off the old man’s hand and put the car between them. The vehicle shifted beneath his weight as he sat down. “Bishop, we’re leaving,” he called before resolutely slamming the door. She joined them a moment later, her face a blank mask, and pressed a button to bring the car to life. They pulled out of the parking lot in silence.

Brennan watched her repress a shudder as they put the church in their rearview mirror. He knew all too well what thoughts were crossing through her head, since the same fear had taken hold in his own mind. Doubly so, for his power confirmed the truth of Benjamin’s words.

Death was coming to Odols.

To be continued…

* * *

Continue the Brooding City series in book two, Patient Darkness.

http://amzn.to/1S8fPip

About the Author

Tom Shutt writes paranormal suspense with generous helpings of humor and a sprig of mystery thrown in for good measure. Sometimes he dabbles in fantasy, but in all cases, he strives to push the boundaries of modern fiction in search of good answers to hard questions.

He lives on the perpetually rainy East Coast with some cats, dogs, and a basement full of mistresses. His favorite authors are Jim Butcher, George R. R. Martin, Jonathan Stroud, and Eoin Colfer. He knows how to hide a body from the police, and the research for his novels has likely landed him on a few security watch lists. He enjoys reading, gaming (Halo, Civilization, BioShock, Call of Duty, Minecraft), playing pool, chasing deer, hunting deer, riding deer, and lying about what activities he does with deer. His favorite shows include Supernatural, Game of Thrones, iZombie, and anything created by Joss Whedon.

For more information on Tom:

- @TomShutt

- thomas.shutt.9

www.TomShutt.com
thomasjshutt@gmail.com

Read more from Tom Shutt:

http://amzn.to/1RTo9js

Death is But a Dream

Book One Of The Elysium Legacies

Erin Hayes

Death is but a Dream (Book 1 of The Elysium Legacies) © 2013, 2016 Erin Hayes

Edited by Felicia A. Sullivan and Lateia Elam Sandifer

Cover art by Damonza

Typography by Whit and Ware Design

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Created with Vellum

About the Book

Death is But a Dream

Caught between life and death, all Callie wants is to live again.

Homicide detective Callie Saunders knows that death isn’t all pearly gates and angels. After being hit by a bus, she finds that it's the ancient gods and goddesses of Greek mythology who are in charge of everything.

So when Hades offers her a deal, she accepts. If she wants to be brought back to life, she’ll have to figure out who is trying to kill his son. But if she fails, both her soul and the world will be destroyed.

With the odds mounting against her, it’ll take everything she has within her to wake up from death. But the rules are constantly changing. And someone wants her to stay dead.

Prologue

Barnabus, the dog handler lay dead on the floor. His lover lay crumpled next to him, sobbing hysterically as she grasped his hand. Who could blame her? Her entire world had been shattered by his death. The two of them had been close, two parts of a whole, and seeing her like this was terrible. Heartbreaking.

He watched them and felt a wave of remorse.

He had dealt with life and death every day, saw it on the faces of everyone who crossed through his gates.

Even after thousands of years, it never got any easier.

He stood with his arms crossed, watching her cry over the servant's body. Some of the other servants along with several members of the security force known as the vigils tried to pry her away from the body, but she fought them, managing to stay with her lover just a little bit longer.

A deep, empty pit formed in his stomach.

That could have been his son there. It had been all too close to being his own son. After all, the assassination attempt had been intended for Plutus.

But to what end?

He shuddered at the thought, both relieved and ashamed because he was glad that it wasn't his son on the floor. But while his relief wasn’t going to help the ones who loved the dead dog handler, there would have been severe consequences had Plutus died.

After all the dog handler had been a mere servant.

The assassination attempt had been well-thought out and well executed. They must have been planning it for a long time to have gotten this close.

They didn't count on the fact that due to previous assassination attempts, the royal family always had the servants test their food. It had been Barnabas' day to take the first bite of food.

“You should've let them kill me,” his son muttered bitterly, running his fingers through his hair. He was shaken. They all were, but he seemed to be taking it worse than anyone else. He had been close to Barnabas. And Plutus had so few friends so it was even more devastating.

“You should've let them kill me, Dad.”

“Plutus...” he said, trying to soothe his son.

“I'm not worth it,” Plutus answered. He gestured toward the weeping form of the woman crying over the body. “Not if it means that.”

The man swallowed, trying to force down the lump in his throat.

“You are worth it, Plutus,” he whispered. “You are.”

His son shook his head furiously and stormed out of the dining hall. Barnabas' lover didn't even notice him leave, she was so wrapped up in her despair.

“They won't stop,” another voice told him, this one far more authoritative than Plutus' distraught mannerisms. “They won't stop until he's dead, you realize that, right?”

“Hello, brother,” the man said, forcing his lips into a thin, grim line. “I see the news has spread all the way to you in the heavens.”

“How could it not?” His brother seemed amused, a contradiction to Plutus a moment before. “There's been an attempted murder on your son. I came as soon as I could.”

The man closed his eyes. Suddenly the weight of all his years pressed down on him making it hard to breathe. There were too many years to count and for the first time in thousands of years, he was scared. Only this time, it wasn't fear for his own well-being. It was for his son.

“Plutus thinks he should be the one who's dead,” he said.

“And?” his brother asked. “You know better than anyone that he must not die.” He waved his hands in a grandiose gesture. “Why, if he died—”

“...the world would be thrown off balance,” he answered reluctantly. He hated admitting that out loud.

“Which brings me to what I said before,” his brother said. “They won't stop. They've had a taste of success. You know that better than anyone.”

Yes, he did. He always knew everything better than anyone else. Someone who nearly killed their target would always try again. Time after time, mortals proved that they never quit trying to kill each other.

Everything always fell onto him.

He deferred to his brother and asked for his opinion. It was something that he only did every once in a few thousand years, but if it meant keeping Plutus safe, then he'd gladly turn to his brother for help.

“What can I do? He doesn't even want to help himself.”

His brother's eyes glittered with his usual mischief. That usually meant a bad thing. “A bodyguard.”

He scoffed at the suggestion. A bodyguard? The entire palace was filled with bodyguards. What could one bodyguard do to protect Plutus?

“We've already increased our guard.”

His brother waved that away. “That won't help. You know as well as I do that they'll still get in. No, I mean a bodyguard who will stay with Plutus, who will watch after him, and get to know him. Someone they'd never expect. And maybe we can figure out who's doing this.”

“I have my suspicions.”

His brother nodded sagely. “As do I.”

Silence hung between them like a heavy curtain.

“Plutus would never agree to it.” The idea of putting complete trust and faith into one person made him feel sick. He fought the wave of nausea that threatened to overtake him. He was getting too old for this. Way too old.

“He doesn't have to agree to it. You're his father, aren't you?”

He was, but Plutus was a grown man himself now. He did things his own way, which was part of the problem. Perhaps a bodyguard would help. Maybe it would be good for Plutus, and possibly prevent the worst from happening.

“All right,” he said. “I'll see what I can do.”

1

It started on Market Street. Instead of going into work, I’d dressed in plain clothes and decided on a walk to clear my head. It was the first time I’d been off-duty on a Saturday in a very long time and while I felt a little guilty for taking a mental health day, the sunshine felt wonderful on my shoulders. I loved being a cop but sometimes the weight of the job got too heavy, the price of the badge was often too high. I’d been thinking about my ex-boyfriend and the work that had split us apart when I saw a small family ahead of me.

They were nothing special, just a family of four. Mom, dad, five or six-year-old daughter and a sleeping toddler in a stroller. They looked like so many other families in the Soma neighborhood. I have no idea why they caught my eye.

The little girl was talking animatedly to her parents. In her chubby hands, she held a stuffed teddy bear with a vice-like grip.

I smiled absently, watching them. The girl was cute. I saw a lot of myself in her. She was spunky, tomboyish, and I could tell by the way she looked up at her father that she was a daddy’s girl. My heart hitched up into my throat, and I sucked in a deep breath.

I should have gone into work today. At least I wouldn't be reminded of my own father.

Then everything turned to shit.

They were crossing the road at busy intersection. The little girl slowed, trailing behind her father. She dropped the teddy bear right in the middle of the intersection. She stopped, her hand slipping free from her father’s and turned back to pick it up.

The light changed, and there was no way the waiting Muni Bus could have seen her.

I don’t know what spurred me to move. Maybe it was being depressed from my recent break-up. Perhaps it was the realization that if I continued on the same path, I’d never have a little girl like her. Mostly, it was because instinct took over. If it was the last thing I did, I’d save that little girl’s life.

I ran toward her. Time slowed down, each second like a snapshot, frozen in time. I panicked knowing there was no way I’d make it in time. I pumped my legs harder and they burned with exertion.

Somehow I made it to the young girl in just enough time to push her out of the way, but time had run out for me. The Muni Bus saw me and honked, a desperate plea for me to get out of the way.

It was too late.

I crashed against the windshield of the bus, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs. My head cracked the glass, sending slivers of silver onto the pavement. I felt an immediate flash of white-hot pain that quickly dissolved into numbness as I was hurled into the middle of the intersection. I crumpled to the pavement, broken and fractured.

Someone screamed. I heard the high-pitched keening and dimly realized it was the little girl’s voice. Someone I didn’t recognize hovered over me. He was shouting but I couldn’t make out the words. The sounds were muted, bubbly, like we were all under water. They yelled for help. The bus’s horn blared loudly making everything even more confusion.

I faded, bounced between the oily smell of the asphalt and some gauzy ethereal version of the world where everything was soft and blurry.

My time was up.

I didn’t have a chance to say good-bye to my mother, but if there was some sort of life after death, I’d be seeing my father soon. Hopefully. If there was any justice in the world, I’d be seeing my father again.

At least the little girl was alive. My only regret was that I never learned her name.

I sucked in one last breath and let the darkness envelop me.

And that was how I, Callie Saunders, aged twenty-seven, died on November 2nd in the middle of a San Francisco street on a beautiful Saturday afternoon.

2

Turns out, there is an Afterlife.

When I opened my eyes, I was in the back of a long queue. Newly deceased beings popped into existence behind me, looking as dazed as I felt. The line grew longer and longer. The whole place reminded me of the DMV and that wasn’t a compliment. No one seemed particularly happy to be here.

To be honest, it felt rather ordinary and anticlimactic.

There were no golden gates and Saint Peter must have been on break.

I stumbled, shaking the porridge from my head. Thankfully, the pain and confusion were gone, but it had been replaced with this. Monotony.

I glanced around, glimpsing at the people behind me. The little girl wasn’t here. Good. Hopefully that meant I saved her.

Looking around, I got a better view of where we actually were. We were standing in a cavern so large I couldn’t see the ceiling. Yet, there was the suffocating feeling of claustrophobia. Deep down, my soul knew that I was in a cave. Beautiful, luminescent gems glittered around the cavern, some as large as me. They bathed the entire place in an eternal twilight.

To the far left stood an imposing office building, one of the largest I’d ever seen. In front of me was a maze of switchbacks full of people waiting to be processed. And further, beyond even that, at the very edge of my rage of sight was a placid lake that branched off into five rivers.

The elderly woman in front of me watched me dubiously. I met her eyes, questioning her in my facial expression. Judging by the deep wrinkles on her face and her thinning hair, she probably died of old age instead of something gruesome. She looked to be whole, while others were literally in pieces. Some were such a mess, they looked like they had stepped out of a zombie movie.

In my regular life, I’d loved horror movies, the more blood and dismemberment the better, but this was real. My stomach gave a lurch and I swallowed hard.

Oh God. I touched my face and ran my hands through my hair. Ten fingers, two arms, two legs, ten toes. I was still whole as far I could tell. It was strange, considering that I could see some other dead people who looked like they had been hit by a car. I’d been hit by a bus. Why was I in such good shape?

“What are you here for?” the old woman in front of me asked.

“I tried to save a little girl who dropped her teddy bear in the middle of the street,” I said. “The bus hit me instead.”

The woman harrumphed. “You don’t look like it, sugar. You actually look like you’re still alive.”

I chuckled uneasily. I did feel lively. I gingerly touched my ribs. Those were still under my skin. I leaned toward one of the glimmering jewels and checked my reflection. My face wasn’t scratched to hell. I was...fine.

“Why're you...in such a good shape?” a man behind me slurred. He breathed and I could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“Let me guess, drunk driving?” I asked tiredly. As a cop, I’d dealt with a few DUIs and my patience with drunk was non-existent.

He frowned, trying to decipher my meaning. I turned my back to him, shutting him down. Hopefully he hadn’t brought anyone with him when he showed up here.

By that point, other people had taken notice of me and started gathering around me. They barked questions, voiced their opinions about how unfair it was that I was still complete. They reached out, grabbed my clothing and trying pulling me towards them.

“Hey!” I cried, trying to get out of their reach. There were too many of them swarming around me and the claustrophobia was getting worse by the second. “Help,” I yelled as loudly as I could manage.

“YOU!” The voice was strong and authoritative. A man in a police uniform made his way down the line and stopped beside the cluster of people. Standing on my tiptoes, I didn’t get a good look at the badge, but he looked official and people were moving to let him pass.

“Oh thank God, officer!” I cried, happy to see a fellow cop.

He didn’t look happy to see me. He had parted the swarm and pointed an accusatory finger at me. What did I do? I was the one who was being mobbed. He grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the line.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he growled at me. It seemed, I caught him on a bad day. Lucky me.

“Where am I supposed to be?” I asked, exasperated.

“Don’t sass me, young lady.”

He continued to pull me through a roped off security area. A few guards checked his credentials. After wanding me, one of them gave me the nod and cleared me. “What am I going to do, shoot someone?” I joked, trying to be good-natured about the whole thing.

These cops apparently didn’t have a sense of humor. Not one of them cracked a smile.

I was shepherded past the gate into a pastel hallway lined with plain gray doors, the kind I’d expect to see in a hotel or a hospital. It was a long hallway and I had lost count of the number of doors we passed before I was hauled into a small office. I sat in an uncomfortable chair and stared at the walls.

Bored and curious, I looked over everything in the office.

The Afterlife wasn’t nearly as exciting as I’d hoped it would be.

A desk dominated the 10x10 space, complete with a computer that hadn’t be upgraded since once of the Bushs was president. Little knickknacks filled the shelves. I smiled at the outdated Far Side wall calendars and laughed at the mug that said, “Kiss me, I’m Egyptian.”

Whoever worked here kept their workspace like a still-alive office worker without imagination. The place was entirely bland, without character. If the occupant of this office had tried to spruce it up, he’d failed miserably.

It was as depressing as any cubicle in the living world.

Office investigation finished, I sank back into the chair and took a deep breath. At least I was out of that line.

I was alone for a long time. Apparently, being dead removed urgency.

I was frowning when the door opened and a short, dark-skinned man with black hair cut in a regulation corporate style, bustled into the room. Pudgy around the middle, he looked like he’d eaten a few too many Twinkies. He rifled through a manila folder filled with papers.

“Miss Callista...Saunders...” he muttered as a way of introduction.

“Call me Callie,” I corrected him automatically.

He looked over the edge of his file and looked me up and down. “Of course,” he said. “My name is Ra and I will be your caseworker.”

“Caseworker?”

He sat down at his desk, plopping the folder in front of me. I saw a bad copy of my driver’s license photo and fought to hide my grimace. “Everyone who comes to Limbo under special...circumstances...has to see a caseworker in order to determine where they need to spend eternity.”

“I’m a special circumstance?”

“According to this, you are. You were causing quite the ruckus out there, Miss Saund—”

“Callie.”

He didn’t address my correction and gestured at a small pad with an indentation on it. “If I could have you place your thumb here?”

I did as he asked and screeched involuntarily when something pricked my thumb. “Ouch! What is this?” I cried out.

“We need to confirm that your identity,” Ra said nonchalantly, “with a blood sample.”

“You could have warned me,” I muttered. I nursed my sore thumb by putting it in my mouth. Okay, so even though I was dead, I definitely still felt pain like a living person. This really sucked.

I glared at him from my side of the desk. He ignored me, and punched a few commands into his computer. He did that two-finger type thing that drove me nuts, although judging by his decorating skills, I should’ve expected it.

“You have my file there. Isn’t my picture in there?” I asked him.

“We’re having a problem keeping up with illegal immigrants.” At my blank expression, he said, matter-of-factly, “Those who get lost in the Underworld.” Another blank expression. “Ghosts,” He said exasperatedly.

“So you’re like an immigration officer?” I asked, feeling almost disappointed. Was I going to have to jump through hoops to go to Heaven?

His irritation disappeared when the computer beeped at him upon pulling up my profile. He looked at the screen, looked at me, then back at the screen and whistled appreciatively. “You are a special case indeed, Miss Saunders.” This time, I didn’t bother telling him to call me “Callie”. I got the feeling he wasn't a first-name basis kind of guy. “You threw yourself in front of a bus?”

“To save a little girl,” I told him. “She was trying to get her teddy bear out of the street. I was just trying to help.” It was the honest truth. Nothing more, nothing less. Instinct had taken over and I didn’t have a logical explanation. The need to save the girl had overwhelmed me and I didn’t even know what her name was.

Ra was nonplussed. “She was supposed to die,” he said. “You’ve ruined quite a few timelines for the future.”

“Better me than her.” And I meant it completely.

He looked at me for a heartbeat too long before continuing. The silence made me wonder if there was something he wasn’t telling me, but he continued without revealing anything helpful. “That’s probably why the Big Boss wants to see you. As soon as possible, in fact. Come, I’ll get you clearance.”

My mind reeled with who the Big Boss could be. “Who's the Big Boss?” It sounded like something from a cartoon instead of a real title.

Ra gave an enigmatic chuckle. “Why, he’s Lord Hades, ruler of the Underworld. You’re on his turf now, Miss Saunders.”

3

Hades?

Was I living in some sort of Greek parody of the Afterlife? After all I’d seen as a cop, I had actually become an atheist. Sure, I’d considered the possibility of some omniscient god, I just never expected it, him, whatever, to be Greek.

Without a further glance, Ra said, “Come along, Miss Saunders.” He said it like he was commanding a dog to do a trick and I didn’t like his tone. In my other life, I’d have balked, made a smartass comment but here I felt confused and out of my element so I bit my lip instead.

I allowed myself to be dragged through the hallways. Again, I lost count of all the doors we passed. We walked until we came to an elevator at the end of the hallway. I would have guessed the elevator to be at least half a kilometer from Ra’s office. This place was absolutely enormous.

Ra punched the down arrow. When the elevator dinged and the door opened, he gestured for me to step inside. As we were heading down, I couldn’t help but feel that we were burrowing deeper into the bowels of hell.

I should have been scared out of my wits, but instead, my mind wandered, tried to pull up everything I remembered about gods and goddesses but high school had been a long time ago and I couldn’t remember all the details.

Could there be an actual Hades? Were the myths real?

My mind reeled.

Although it had been awhile since I’d read anything about Greek mythology, I’d been obsessed with Hercules and Xena when I was younger. I couldn’t quite remember all the details, and I couldn't trust those stories because they probably took certain liberties with the source material.

Damn, I should have listened to Mom more when she talked about that stuff. Mom’s side of the family was Greek, and even though she was born in Connecticut, she embraced it proudly. She’d always talked about Greek mythology, and it was her interest in those myths that drove me to watch Hercules and Xena, I was trying to connect with my heritage.

I hoped that my meeting with the Lord of the Underworld didn’t involve a test about mythology. Or was it actually history?

I went through a few more security gates, and was wanded a few more times, as if the guys before had missed something on me. I was beginning to feel violated and it was making me irritable.

After the fifth one, it was just me and Ra waiting at a gate by ourselves. Through a small window, I could saw what looked like a ferry terminal. A dark river swirled beyond us stretching to the horizon.

“Who’s this?” the gravelly voice asked.

I looked up and saw an elderly guy that reminded me of my crazy uncle, Gary. He was one of those weather-beaten, fisherman guys who would love nothing more than to spend a day out at sea reeling in a huge fish. He was well-groomed, but it looked like sea salt had buried its way deep into his tanned skin. His sea green eyes scrutinized me. Stubbornly, I met his gaze.

“Charon, sir,” Ra said. His entire demeanor changed and I could tell he was nervous. Charon? Who the heck was Charon? “This is Miss Callista Saunders.”

“It’s Callie,” I muttered halfheartedly.

“Lord Hades would like to see her.”

Charon looked me up and down once more. There was judgement in his eyes and it made me feel vulnerable and exposed. “Does she have payment?”

What the hell?

“Lord Hades is paying her way across,” Ra said. His voice went shrill at that last word, and I winced at the sound. Why was my caseworker so nervous around this sailor-looking dude?

The puzzle pieces finally clicked together for me. Charon was the ferryman. I was looking at the guy who ferried people in the Underworld, and he always expected some sort of coin donation. Self-consciously, I patted my pockets. I hadn’t brought any change with me into Death, so it was good that Hades was picking up the tab. I hoped he didn’t expect anything in return. Although at this point, I was highly doubted there was anything for free in the Underworld. I did remember one thing: The Gods loved to play games with the lives of mortals.

“Pah,” Charon snorted and turned away. “The girl smells different anyhow. Keep an eye on her. We can’t have people like her runnin' rampant in the Underworld. But she can go across. She’ll need to be baptized to stay though afore long, you know that, right?”

Ra nodded vigorously and swept me into a waiting boat. I sat across from Charon and Ra, looking out at the spread of the river before us.

“Is this...Styx?” I asked. The lyrics to “Come Sail Away” floated around in my mind.

Charon cackled at me, and I frowned. I didn’t like the way he made fun of me. “This is Acheron, lil mortal. This is the river we'll take to get to Hades’ palace.”

I was the only mortal passenger on the boat. Neither of them talked to me They didn’t talk to me, nor did they talk to each other.

After a while, Charon started whistling a tune that sounded incredibly familiar. His pitch was off and the rhythm was too slow but some part of my brain recognized it but I was so nervous I couldn't place it. He noticed me watching him and then gave a wide, toothy smile. Instead of making me feel more comfortable, it rubbed me the wrong way.

He opened his mouth and began to sing.

“Row, row, row yer boat

Gently down the stream

Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily

Death is but a—”

“Please stop that,” Ra interrupted. His face was pale and he’d gone a little green. “You're making me seasick.” By the way he clutched the side of the boat, his knuckles white, I got the impression that he was afraid of the water. And looking at the bottomless black of river, I understood why. A feeling of unease settled over me looking at the placid and dark surface, and if I looked at it too long, I felt the urge to submerge myself in it. I was pretty sure that would be a bad idea.

Charon scoffed. “Should've thought about that before setting foot on a boat, then, eh?”

Ra didn't answer. Charon started whistling again, leaving my rattled mind to fill in the words. Ra kept his silence.

Time seemed to stretch out forever before we finally pulled up to a palace. I tried not to gawk. The palace loomed over us like some sort of monolithic beast. It was white marble, complete with Greek columns and statues lining the waterfront property. And while it was absolutely enormous, it was still tasteful in its design. It was more European palace than McMansion.

I guess it made sense that the Lord of the Underworld had to have grand digs. It wouldn’t surprise me if it had six living rooms, four basketball courts, some pools, its own IMAX theater, and a bowling alley.

The grounds were immaculate. “I’m surprised plants grow here,” I said absently. We were underground after all. I blinked up into the hazy sky. The luminescent gemstones gave off a permanent dusky light but it wasn’t nearly enough for plants to grow. Yet, it looked like spring was in full swing here, as flowers of every imaginable color surrounded the house.

“The Master’s wife is back from holiday,” Charon muttered offhandedly. “An' she likes her garden.” Based on the tone of his voice, he apparently didn’t like her.

My mind reeled, trying to put the rusty pieces together. Persephone. He meant Persephone, who Hades had abducted and made his wife. Her mother brought her back to the surface, but because she ate some pomegranate seeds, she had to spend six months on the surface and six months in the Underworld. Her presence here made everything flourish. I briefly wondered what it looked like when Persephone was above ground with her mother, Ceres.

The injustice of the whole kidnapping and marrying thing made my cheeks burn. As a cop who dealt with real-life domestic situations like that on a regular basis, the story wasn't sitting well with me.

I wasn’t going to get on well with this guy, was I? I would have put anyone who tried to pull that shit nowadays in jail. Abduction and forced marriage? Hades sounded like a douche bag of the first order.

We docked the boat and Charon helped me and Ra off the boat. “Be seein’ ya,” he cackled. He pushed off and disappeared quickly into the mist that enveloped him, his whistle drifting back on the fog that rolled in off the water. A chill ran down my spine at the thought of seeing that creep again.

Ra ushered me through the palace. Security here was even tighter than it was on the other side of Acheron, almost like they were protecting the President. Or hiding the Hope Diamond.

Hades must be a really big deal.

We entered a hallway and Ra began to fidget. I watched him as he chewed on his bottom lip and rubbed his palm across the thigh of his pants.

“You must address him as Lord Hades,” he told me. “Don’t meet his eyes. Treat him with respect. And...”

I tuned him out. I wasn’t interested in groveling in front of this guy. He was a god and had lived for countless years. Anything that I could possibly do must have seemed inconsequential right? At least that was my theory, anyway.

A set of double doors opened as if by magic, and Ra ushered me into a brightly lit office. He abandoned me there, leaving alone in the expansive, grandiose room. It was so huge Donald Trump would have been jealous. Not intimidating at all right? The doors shut quickly behind me with a heavy thud.

Thousands, if not millions of books lined the wall to my left. If every book in the San Francisco Public Library were shelved there, they would probably only fill half the space. The adjacent wall was a floor-to-ceiling glass window, where I could see quite a good distance into the rest of the Underworld, which glittered with an ethereal beauty. From here, it looked like a fairly ordinary city scape from here. For a moment, I wondered who else lived here, other than the Dead and a few gods.

A large, elegant desk, larger than my apartment in San Francisco faced me. In this room, it looked small only because of the size of the room. A gorgeous leather office chair was positioned behind it. I couldn’t see who was sitting in it, as they were facing the window.

“Sorry about all of the security,” a warm, soothing, baritone voice told me from the other side of that chair. “We’ve had to take certain precautions recently, as you’ll see. I trust it wasn’t too bad.”

I swallowed to clear my throat. “It was like going through customs twenty times at the airport,” I croaked. Ah man, why did I try telling a joke? I nearly giggled in spite of myself, but I managed to hold it in; it wouldn’t be good to crack in Hades’ presence.

Hades laughed. The chair swiveled around so he could face me. I had no idea what to expect. But it wasn’t what was in front of me.

Hades was middle-aged, dressed in a finely cut Giorgio Armani suit. I’d bet my last paycheck it was custom. He had a stylish haircut, peppering from a dark brown to a light gray at his temples. He looked like the CEO of a big company. I just wasn't expecting him to be smiling at me. Or to look so...happy.

It felt weird.

“Don’t look so uncomfortable, Callista,” he chided. He gestured to a chair in front of the desk. “Here, have a seat.”

“It’s Callie,” I told him.

“Callie then,” Hades corrected himself. “Have a seat, Callie.” His voice was as smooth as butter.

Before I had the chance to reconsider, I quickly sat down on the chair—which happened to be the most comfortable seat I had ever sat on—and I perched to attention.

With a wave of his hand, Hades produced a tablet, which he flicked through with detachment.

“Callista...Callie...Saunders. Twenty-seven years old. Graduated first in her class at the University of Pennsylvania. Degree earned: a Bachelor’s of Science in Criminal Justice. Joined the police force at San Francisco PD. Worked the beat for two years before becoming a police detective.”

I closed my eyes, wondering how much information was in that tablet of his. I suspected he knew everything. This felt a whole lot like a job interview. My gut instinct told me that, in a way, it was. And my gut instinct was rarely wrong.

Where the hell was this going?

“In three years, you’ve earned quite a few awards for your work,” Hades went on. “You’ve solved many murder cases, even prevented a few. You’re devoted to your job, and you’re very good at it. You're highly respected by your colleagues. You’re an excellent marksman. A black belt in Tae Kwon Do and a brown belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu. You spend most of your spare time on side cases, and you especially are trying to bring down underworld Kingpins, like one Stephen Cross, for which your boss suspended you once.”

I flushed deeply. That part wasn't my fault. And if no one believed me that the underworld mob bosses were a big problem, then I was going to have to bring them down myself. Granted, many would have argued that I had been too involved in that case but I couldn’t help it. Once on the scent of a criminal, I was like a registered Bloodhound.

Hades continued. “You have a deeply seated sense of right and wrong. You live alone. Survived by your mother, Kathleen McCormick, and your stepfather Seth McCormick.” He flicked through another page. “And you recently broke up with your boyfriend of four years just two months ago.”

My eyes widened at the mention of Ben. “That’s personal,” I snapped.

“Hit a nerve, have I?” He seemed amused.

“I don’t see what any of this has to do with me being dead.”

Hades’ eyes sparkled. “Dead, no. Mostly dead, yes.”

Talk about sentences I never thought I’d hear.

My heart thudded heavily in my chest. “What?”

He feigned disinterest as he flicked through the tablet. “You threw yourself in front of a bus to save a little girl. Now the little girl is alive, when she was meant to die. And you...” he grinned down at me, “you’re in a very deep coma at UCSF Medical Center.”

The news hit me like a ton of bricks. My knuckles were white and the room suddenly felt very hot. “I’m...I’m alive?” I looked down at my hands in disbelief and held them up to the light to inspect them.

No wonder everyone was treating me strangely. I was different. I was still alive.

Hades nodded somberly. “For the moment, yes.”

I gaped at him. “For the moment?” That sounded like a threat.

“You weren’t supposed to save that girl, Callie. She was meant to die. To become the martyr behind a movement towards stricter punishment for reckless driving. It would have saved many lives down the line.”

I swallowed. My throat felt dry. No matter what he said, I wouldn’t regret saving that girl. I would never regret that decision, yet it still felt strange to hear all of this.

“Because of that change of plans, I have a whole bunch of paperwork to fill out, you see. And there’s a spot in the Underworld that you’re currently occupying. I could have you fill her place and take elements from your future to put on hers and vice versa. It would make my life so much easier. Unless...” His voice trailed off and he looked at me expectantly.

He wanted me to jump on that word, thinking that I would demand to know what I could do to get me back to Life. I didn’t rise to the bait. This whole thing smelled fishy, and the thought of it was pissing me off.

“You’re blackmailing me,” I sneered at him, fury raging within me at the realization. “You want me to do something in return before you allow me to wake up.”

I hated corruption and I hated being manipulated, both of which Hades was doing to me right now.

He raised his hand in a gesture of supplication. “Not blackmail,” he assured. “I’m looking to employ you for a time.”

I recoiled. “Employ me? As what? Muscle? Is this the Underworld's version of the Mafia?” Now that I thought about it, Hades did remind me of a mob boss. He even looked like some I knew. “I don’t play that, sorry.”

He waved those questions off with a chuckle. “Funny analogy, but no, Callie. I was looking to employ your detective skills in protecting someone who’s very dear to me.”

“Persephone?” I tiredly guessed. My guess made him laugh even more.

“Gods, no, Callie,” he chided. “She wouldn’t let me protect her like that at any rate. No, someone else.” He gestured to the double doors. “Remember when I said we had to take more precautions as of late? Someone has been attempting to take the life of my son. I want you to find the culprit and bring him to justice.” As he talked, his tone became more serious. I was a good enough judge of character to know that he genuinely cared about this assignment.

My mind reeled at the mention of his son. A son? I flipped through the pages of my memories of myths, and I couldn’t recall anything about Hades having a son. He was supposed to be the God of Death—no Life could ever come from Death, right? So what was this about him having a son?

“You have a son?” I asked dubiously.

Hades gave me a sad smile. “After a string of threats, someone tried to kill him about six weeks ago. I've no idea who could be doing this or to what end. But you must understand, Callie, my son must not die. That would throw off the balance of the world.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I thought gods were immortal?”

“We are. Mostly. Well, it is possible to kill a god, and this someone figured out how to kill us easily. If we die, we just...fade into nothingness.”

I placed my hand on the desk and leaned forward. “So you’re saying that if I do this, you’ll restore me back to my body and I’ll continue living as if I hadn’t, uh, died?”

Hades grinned. “I’ll make a deal with you, Callista.” I didn’t bother correcting him at this point. “You find out who is trying to kill my son. Give me a name and a motive. Then I’ll restore you to life.”

“Don’t you have someone else who would be...better at it than I am?” I asked. I immediately thought of a whole bunch of possibilities, monsters, immortals, and gods who would probably fit the bill better than a lowly mortal like me.

Hades shook his head. “I’ve already tried that, and our culprits are getting closer than ever to succeeding. No, I think I need to try a different tactic. Someone they wouldn’t ever expect to succeed.”

“Someone like me?” I should have been offended. After all, this was bigger than I could have possibly ever imagined.

His eyes glittered with a preternatural glow. “You shouldn’t doubt your abilities, Callie. Your credentials are among the best out of any I’ve ever seen come through these gates. You have a lot of potential.”

“I just think this is a pretty huge project.” I shrugged. “I mean, there has to be a catch, right?”

“No catch. Just keep my son alive. I don’t care how you do it.”

“What happens if I can't find out who's doing it?” I asked. “Is there a time limit on me...” I swallowed self-consciously. “Will they unplug me if I can't solve it soon?”

A look passed across Hades’s face, something that he couldn’t hide. “You have as long as you need, but yes, the longer you wait, the harder it will be to restore you back to life.” He smiled. “Don't worry, I have faith that if you put your mind to it, you’ll be able to find out who’s trying to kill Plutus.”

The name immediately made me think of Mickey’s dog Pluto and I nearly laughed out loud, although that would have been very inappropriate. I stifled the laugh by biting the inside of my cheek. Plutus. It was ridiculous name. I imagined the bearer of that name to be a spoiled little brat. Could I babysit someone and conduct an investigation? I looked down at my hands.

I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

4

I was ten years old when I watched my father die.

He was taking me to school on his way into work. We stopped at a gas station to pick up a bottle of juice for my lunch since I’d forgotten to pack one. Dad hadn’t wanted to stop

“You can drink water for one day,” he’d said.

“I don’t like water,” I’d whined. “I want juice!”

I threw a bit of a tantrum in the car, and he begrudgingly stopped the car at a Stop and Go just outside town. He followed me inside, tapping his keys against his palms.

I didn’t even notice the hooded man come in. I doubt it escaped my dad though—he was a cop before me, and even though he was off-duty, he was still committed to protecting everyone. The man was tall, in his mid-twenties, scruffy-looking, and strung out on drugs. I only know this because I had to identify him in a line-up later.

It all happened so quickly. One minute, Dad and I were by the freezer, and in the next, someone was shouting for everyone to get down on the floor. Gunfire rang out. Screams filled the store.

After forcing me to the ground, he’d whispered into my ear, “Stay put.”

Those were the last words he ever said to me.

I heard the soles of his department issued shoes striking the tile floor. Clack, clack.

“Put the gun down.” Dad’s voice was calm, carefully modulated.

“I’ll kill you,” the robber had snarled.

The high-pitched wail of police sirens sounded in the parking lot. The convenience store clerk must have pressed some sort of alarm. Regardless, the robber fired. Three gun shots, one to the head, two the chest, and my dad dropped to the floor. The robber ran out the back, where police officers arrested him.

Later, they said the man had done it because he wanted drug money.

A high. My dad was gone over a fifteen-minute high.

I’ve spent the last eighteen years blaming myself because I’d wanted a stupid bottle of juice.

I haven’t tasted juice since. Never will. It’s a promise I made to myself.

After his death, I went through a very dark period in my life. I was the reason why my father wasn’t in our lives any more. I was the reason why my mother cried every night. I was the reason why I was growing up without my father.

I retreated into myself. Mom put me into therapy, which didn’t help either. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, I got angry easily, and I lashed out against everyone. It wouldn’t bring Dad back, but anger was the only thing I could feel.

It was like that for two years. I had gotten kicked out of one middle school for fighting, and I was hanging on by a thread at my new one. My mother was at wit’s end, and maybe that’s why she’d asked Carl to talk to me.

Carl was Dad’s old partner. After Dad’s death, he’d been assigned a new partner, but he still stuck around my mother and I, like the uncle I’d never had. If Carl couldn’t get through to me, no one could.

He’d taken me to the park, bought me a cone of cookie dough ice cream. Side by side on a bench, he’d put one arm around me.

“He wouldn’t have wanted you to be angry like this. Continue down this path and you’ll wind up like the perp who killed him: angry, frustrated and looking for a way out.”

It struck a nerve deep inside me.

“I don’t know what to do,” I’d told him as the tears fell freely and plopped onto my forgotten ice cream cone.

Carl pulled me into his chest and wrapped his arms around me. “Maybe you should work towards putting people like the man who murdered James behind bars.”

Something clicked.

It wasn’t an overnight transition. I had a lot of emotional baggage to shake off. I worked at it. I knew then what I was going to do with my life. I threw myself at the one objective that mattered: I was going to be a homicide detective, and I was going to stop bad people from hurting good people.

The lines were drawn and I was going to be one of the good guys.

There are plenty of ways a person can become a police detective. As Hades had pointed out, I went to the University of Pennsylvania and studied criminal justice. I utilized every scholarship I could scrounge up to afford the tuition. There was one for being tall. There was one for being part Greek. There was even one for being both tall and Greek. I graduated at the top of my class, then I followed my friend, Aimee, to San Francisco, where I joined the police force. Two years later, I became a detective.

I was really good at my job. The news is always blasting those police procedural dramas because they’re unrealistic in the amount of time it takes to solve a murder. I’ve matched those times on some of the harder cases. More than once, I’ve scared myself. I've been worried that I was borderline psychotic, that there was something wrong with me that enabled me to quickly piece the crime together, to understand some of the things I’ve seen. And I’ve seen some sick things.

It didn’t hurt that I lived and breathed my job. I had very few friends apart from Aimee and my partner, Dion Stubbins. I worked at least eighty hour weeks. Usually it was more.

“You’re working yourself to death, Callie,” Dion would tell me, his thick Chicago accent never failing to make me smile. He was a veteran detective in his mid-50’s with the whole porn star mustache, beer gut and everything. A badge-toting stereotype. He was a great foil to my serious determination. While I was staying late reviewing cases, he'd go out drinking with his friends. Dion loved his booze.

I knew I was working too much. But there were so many crimes to solve, so many lives to save. I had taken on huge projects. I was addicted to work.

I couldn’t stop. If I did, maybe the bad guys would win and I wasn’t going to let that happen. Not on my watch.

My job, or at least my addiction to it, was the major reason Ben and I broke up. I was a workaholic; I was more committed to my job than I was to him. I made the mistake of admitting it to him. I chose my job over my love life.

I’d spent the last few weeks beating myself up over it but now I realized I’d made the right decision.

My detective skills were going to save my life.

“Let’s get started,” I said to Hades. “The faster I can get back to my life, the better.”

He smiled, revealing perfectly spaced white teeth. “On that we can agree.”

One of his aides, Alecto, a slim, green-skinned girl, brought me my own password-protected tablet. Hades threatened me within an inch of my fragile life to not lose the tablet with all of the classified information about the case.

“How did the assassination attempt happen?” I asked.

I watched Hades’ knuckles and his demeanor while he answered. Body language reveals more than words ever do and even though the god seemed like some sort of rich snob, I was quite surprised to see how much he cared about his son.

“We have our servants sample our food before eating it,” he explained. “Being a god— especially our family—you make a lot of enemies. A houseboy died mysteriously after sampling Plutus’ meal six weeks ago, and an assassin tried to kill Plutus shortly afterward.” He paused. “The assassin didn't leave relevant information before it expired.”

A thousand questions swirled in my mind. One thing at a time, Callie, I reminded myself. I swallowed nervously. “Expired?”

“It disappeared.”

“Couldn’t you just...interrogate the spirit of the assassin? You're the God of the Dead, after all.”

“Underworld,” Hades corrected, like I should know the difference. “And not these assassins,” he added bitterly. “Whoever is trying to kill Plutus is smart. They know to use a Shadow Assassin. These conjured spirits have the souls of the freshly dead, so they're confused and don't know what happened to them. Think of it as a curse.”

“Oh,” I said. Like that made sense to me. “Why would someone want to kill your son?”

Hades allowed a small smile. “You have no idea what kind of god Plutus is, do you?”

I shook my head. “So...he is a god?” I’d been wondering if he was like Hercules: half mortal, half god. Mythological genealogy was a subject I knew very little about.

Hades laughed then. “Yes. He is Persephone’s and my child.” He paused, as if waiting for me to ask another question.

I looked at him blankly. I had no idea what Plutus controlled. My knowledge of Greek mythology was stretched to its limit already, and I was pretty sure I’d never heard of a god named Plutus. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know that you and Persephone had a son.”

He sighed and sat back in his chair. “That’s by design. Because if more people knew about what kind of god he was...well, a price would’ve been placed on his head long ago.” He paused again, intentionally waiting for the silence to turn awkward. “Plutus is the God of Wealth.”

“Wealth,” I repeated evenly. That was the big reveal? I thought it was going to be something like the God of Death. Or the God of Huge Power. Or something with more of an “awe” factor. To be honest, I was disappointed. “Why would someone want to kill the God of Wealth?”

Hades’ eyes glittered. “You really have to ask that, Callie?” I stubbornly didn’t answer that, because I had already asked the question. “If someone slays a god correctly and they do the proper ceremony, they manifest his powers.”

I raised my eyebrows in surprise and gave myself a little shake. I thought about all of those gods like Poseidon or Zeus, or even Aphrodite. I couldn’t imagine having power like that. And if I had the power of wealth...it was all starting to make sense.

“You're saying that someone wants to be incredibly wealthy.”

Hades nodded. “You mortals have a saying that money is the root of all evil. Here is your proof. If this person succeeds in gaining Plutus’ power...that would throw off the balance of the mortal world.”

Then he did something unexpected. He reached out and grabbed my hand. I nearly recoiled but something akin to a curtain descended over my eyes, and I was swept away to another place—the Surface. And it wasn't pretty.

I stood in Union Square in San Francisco, amidst dilapidated buildings. At first, it looked like a zombie apocalypse, with scores and scores of people in tattered clothing. Then, as I saw the decaying buildings, and the cardboard houses, I realized that these were people weren’t zombies, they were poor. They had no money for their clothes nor did they have money to feed themselves. Children crying, dogs fighting, grown men weeping.

Then I was standing in a similar situation in dozens of other big cities all across the globe. All of these places and faces of depraved people flashed by my eyes, each one more terrible than the last. I saw untilled farms, desert overtaking landscapes, pollution getting worse. It was the worst fate I could imagine for the human race.

The wealth was gone from the world. Where it was, I didn't see. All I saw was what happened when it was gone.

I felt the pressure on my wrist release and then I was standing in Hades' office. The god himself was watching me curiously.

“H-holy shit,” I stammered. I was shaking pretty badly.

“That's what happens if Plutus' powers fall into the wrong hands,” he told me. “And that's the tip of the iceberg.”

“It’s ridiculous!” I exclaimed. “Going to these lengths...just for money.”

“No length is too great for some people,” he sighed. “You find that out after being Lord of the Underworld for many millennia.”

I swallowed, wrapping my arms about my body, looking away from the god. He didn't pressure me to talk while I stared off into space, lost in my thoughts. Who would ruin whole world? Just for money? I felt absolutely sick to my stomach. Who was behind this? A mortal? Another god or goddess? Someone down here? My gut clenched at that. Something about that felt right.

“You have a mole here,” I remarked quietly. “Someone who’s on the inside.”

Hades pushed his chair back and stood up. “I, too, have come to that same conclusion.” He gave me a sad smile. “I think I've made a good decision in enlisting your help, Callie. Any more questions?”

“A few more,” I said. “How do you kill a god?”

A shadow crossed over his face and he grimaced at the very thought of it. “It’s simple, really. You make them mortal.”

I nearly laughed at that. “That’s it? That’s how you kill a god?” It seemed like there should have been more to it. “How do you make a god mortal?”

Hades shrugged. “It varies, depending upon who it is. Sometimes, it's a lack of belief in the god that turns them into mortals. Other times, they eat the wrong thing. Others, it was their decision. We’ve...allowed gods to turn mortal before, but that was because they’d lost the will to be immortal.”

“Is it possible that Plutus has lost the will to be immortal now?” The question popped out before I could stop it.

Hades shot me a dark, pointed look that silenced me immediately. I tucked this moment away to refer to later. Apparently I had struck a nerve with Hades and he didn’t want to continue on this conversation. This Plutus guy was certainly going to be interesting.

“You’ll be partnered up with someone who can help you, of course,” Hades continued, completely dodging my question. He dug around in his desk while he continued to speak. “She’s like you, a cop of sorts, and she knows her way around. She’ll be a great asset to you. And...” He placed a pistol on the desk. “Here is your gun issue.”

Gingerly, I picked it up. It was heavier than I expected, but it fit my hand perfectly. Almost eerily perfectly. It was gold, glittering even in the dim light of the Underworld. I didn’t recognize the make of the gun, then again, that didn’t surprise me. I checked the magazine. .45 caliber, 12 rounds.

“I’m guessing this isn’t a normal gun,” I said softly.

“It’s a blessed gun,” he said softly. “One-shot kills for most of the monsters, nymphs, demi-gods, et cetera around here. The only thing it won’t kill is a god, but it will still hurt them.”

“I’ll need to interrogate everyone,” I said.

Hades waved his hand nonchalantly. “I’ll get you the warrants. Everyone understands that you have important work to do. The only thing is...” His voice dropped into a warning tone. “You’re not allowed to interrogate my family.”

“How am I supposed to conduct an investigation if I can’t talk to Plutus?”

“I don't mean Plutus or Persephone. I'm talking about the Olympians. The major gods…”

A few heartbeats passed while I considered this. “That’s...that’s impeding my investigation, Hades,” I said. “How am I supposed to do this if you’re forbidding me to talk to them?” Not that I wanted to have a heart-to-heart with Zeus. Or Ares. Or anyone else. I couldn’t just skip them, could I?

Shit, I was going in way over my head.

But the upside was that it wouldn’t be the first time.

“My immediate family has nothing to do with these assassination attempts on Plutus, I assure you,” he said evenly. “I’ll give you all the information you need regarding them, but to interrogate them would be an act of war. You are not to interrogate them, Callista Saunders.” His voice was low, dangerous. For a brief second, I had a glimpse of the powerful god underneath.

“Any more questions, Callie?” He was looking at me intently, an underlying threat to his voice. He was daring me to push the issue further.

I swallowed. “One,” I said. “This whole thing sounds very dangerous for me. What happens if I...die? Here? In the Underworld?”

His eyes narrowed. “Things happen differently in the Underworld,” he said, sounding tired. “If you die here as a nearly dead soul, you'll die on the Surface, and your soul will not have an Afterlife.”

My blood ran cold. So my eternal life was on the line too. The odds were worse than the ones at Keno.

It seemed incredibly unfair. I didn't want to put my eternal soul on the line. All I’d done to end up in this position was save an innocent kid from being plowed over by a bus. But he was the Lord of the Underworld after all. So I didn’t push it. I had the feeling that even if I turned him down, Hades would make sure that eternity was hell for me.

It truly was blackmail. There was no sugarcoating it. And based on his sly smile, he knew he had me trapped. I hated him more than anyone else I'd ever met in that moment. Even more than asshole who’d killed my father.

This was bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit.

“All right,” I said, the words choking in my throat. “I'll take the case.”

5

If Hades didn’t quite match my expectations of the God of the Underworld, Plutus blew any ideas I had out of the water. After getting my marching orders from the Big Boss, he decided it was time to meet the victim in question.

“We're running out of time,” he said cryptically. “I warn you, Plutus isn’t very...sociable.”

I nodded dumbly. My mind must have been overloaded at that point. I was having trouble processing all that was happening. Everything seemed to be a farce at that moment, bouncing off me because it felt so surreal.

“And if he approves, you’ll have another test to go through.”

“A test?”

He didn’t answer. Rather, he silently led me through the maze of the palace. Nymphs and servants ducked out of the way as we passed. I got the feeling that this wasn’t an everyday occurrence, the Lord of the Underworld showing a guest around the house. I felt like I was some sort of show dog, something to be scrutinized. I was a stranger in an even stranger land.

I hated it.

Hades led me directly to a courtyard that lay in the middle of the palace. I was surprised to step out into direct sunlight. It was an oasis. It was absolutely beautiful, the light nearly blinding after being in the dimly lit Underworld. Trees flourished in every corner. Flowers of every color and shape blossomed over every spare inch of room. A babbling brook bisected the courtyard, filled with koi. There were even birds perched on the branches of the trees.

“Wow,” I said softly. I stepped out there, blinking into the sunlight. “This is amazing.”

I gingerly touched a flower and it shrank back from my touch. The whole place teemed with life.

“Sounds like we have a visitor.”

I whirled at the sound of the voice and stumbled backward, crying out in surprise. I hated being surprised. Someone else had been hiding in the courtyard. “Sorry...” I mumbled, but I stopped when I saw who had spoken.

The man appeared to be my age but that meant nothing here. He was tall, taller than me, which was saying something since I was only an inch short of six feet. He had a shock of short, dark hair that had that voguish messy look, although I suspected it wasn’t styled that way purpose. His skin was pale, like he had never seen sunlight but his body was lithe and muscular and reminded me of a swimmer or cross country runner. He looked at me through a pair of designer sunglasses so I wasn’t able to see his eyes.

He was absolutely gorgeous and the arrogance in his posture told me that he knew it.

“Hi,” I said. I tried pasting a smile on my face. Not working.

Hades stepped in between us. “Callista, this is Plutus. Plutus, Callista Saunders.”

“Callie,” I corrected automatically.

I reached out to shake his hand. He didn’t even acknowledge the movement. He just watched me from behind those sunglasses. I slowly retracted my hand, feeling immediately offended.

Okay, so when Hades had said “son”, I was imagining a kid, or a teenager perhaps. Not this good-looking young man that made my heart beat faster. I felt immediately put out, like I was way out of my league. Which was probably true.

“Callista Saunders,” he said softly. He raised his voice so that Hades could hear him. “And why is she here?”

“She’s figuring out who's trying to kill you,” Hades answered, like he was chiding a child.

“I’m a police detective,” I added. “Or was. Still am.” I straightened up and tried meeting his eyes through the lenses, but they were so dark, I only had impressions of his eyes beneath them. It was hard to stare someone down when you didn’t know if you were meeting their eyes. For all I knew he could be looking at a spot ten feet behind me.

“I told you, Father, I don’t need help,” Plutus said.

“Plutus,” Hades said, a hint of a warning entering his voice, “just put up with her. For now. It would make your mother and me feel a lot better about your safety.”

Put up with her? I bristled at the way they were talking about me, in front of me, no less.

Plutus gave a short laugh. “Mother doesn’t care what happens to me,” he sneered. “She’d be happy if I died.”

Hades started rubbing his temples. “Do it for me then.” He didn’t argue with his son and I made a mental note to look more deeply into that relationship. “Just tolerate Cassie, please.”

My anger boiled up. They were talking about my deal like they were deciding on what to order for dinner. Not like my life hung in the balance or anything.

“Put up with me?” I cried. “What the fuck? I’m here trying to keep Plutus’s ungrateful ass safe.” At that, I moved forward and poked Plutus very hard in his chest. It must have surprised him, because he stumbled two steps backwards. “Don’t treat me like I’m some sort of...thing.”

To my horror, Hades was smiling. “I’ll leave you two alone,” he announced. “Callie, I’m sure you want to ask my son some questions. He’ll be more than willing to answer them, right?” Plutus didn't answer. “And if he approves you, you will be baptized.”

I had no idea what that entailed. Charon had mentioned it before, yet no one had told me what that really meant.

As he left us, I wanted to crawl under a bush and cry. There was no way now I was going to be able to save my life. Not with the supposed victim who didn't want me around.

Contrary to what I had seen only seconds before, Plutus warmed up by a degree or two. Only just. “Callista...” he said softly. “It means ‘most beautiful’ in Greek, doesn't it? So are you?”

“Am I what?” I snapped.

“Beautiful?”

I threw my hands up in defeat. “What do you think?” I exasperated. My temper was short at this point.

The corners of his mouth turned up the barest amount. “Well, I would tell you, except for the small fact that I can’t see to tell you.”

“What?” I asked. His words were sinking in a bit slowly after my brain was saturated with everything I had to take in. “What did you say?”

Plutus reached up, took off his sunglasses, and looked at me. I involuntarily gasped. His eyes were golden, a strange, beautiful color that I had never seen in a person before now. The pupils were cloudy, giving his eyes the appearance that he was seeing the world through a milky white coat.

“You’re blind,” I stated. I winced at the accusatory tone in my voice.

Everything was making sense. From him not accepting my handshake, to my surprise poke, even to his weird assessment of me, all signs pointed to the fact that I should have been able to pick up on that. I felt my cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

He blinked at me, the wry, sarcastic smile still on his face. “I’ve apparently left you speechless,” he said.

“No it’s...I wasn’t expecting...”

“You weren’t expecting a disabled god?” he asked. “Neither was anyone else. Especially my parents.”

He turned away from me and then I noticed for the first time that he used a cane, and heavily favored his right leg. I gaped, and shut my mouth, which must have made a noise, because he tilted his head in my direction. “Blindness isn’t my only disability,” he bitterly explained.

“How...?” I started, but my voice trailed off. I didn’t want to offend him when he seemed to be in such a pissy mood; it was an anomaly I hadn’t expected. Gods were supposed to be perfect, right? I didn’t want to point that out to him, so I changed tactics. “Your father...he mentioned that an assassin came about six weeks ago...”

Plutus shook his head, a gesture I hadn’t been expecting from a blind man, and paused before speaking. “No, this isn’t from that.” He patted his thigh. “Good old Uncle Zeus saw it fit for me to be blind and lame. Blind so I could dispense wealth without judgment and lame so that it took time for my power to arrive to any of the fortunate.” He grimaced. “So he condemned a baby to be...well...me, all because I was born with the power of wealth.” He laughed mirthlessly.

I didn’t know what to say. I just stood there. “I’m sorry,” I said, although I didn’t know why I was apologizing for the whim of a god I’d never even met. “It seems like such a waste.”

“You’re telling me,” he snorted. He moved deeper into the courtyard away from me. I could saw how pronounced his limp was. He was fighting the entire time to correct his walk, and it was still very bad.

I felt sick about the whole thing, mainly because I didn't know what to do, what to say. What to not say. After all, he was a god and I was a mortal.

I didn’t have to worry too long—he took over the conversation.

“Why are you really here?” he asked over his shoulder.

The question spurred me into motion, and I followed him. “I’m here to figure who’s trying to kill you. And why.”

“We already know the why,” he grumbled.

“But why now?” I asked, combing a hand through my hair.

He chuckled dryly. “Well, isn’t that what you’re here for? To find out?”

I had the feeling he was mocking me, so I glared at him, full well knowing that he couldn’t see me. Or so I thought, because he muttered under his breath, “Quit glaring at me.” And then my glare turned into a gape. “I’m a god,” he explained, clearly unimpressed. “Not your average blind man.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I told him. Then to piss him off and push his buttons, I gave him the middle finger.

He didn’t retort or really acknowledge my gesture. Gone was the cocky god from a minute before. He watched me—as best a blind man could, I guess—for a few heartbeats more and then seemed to shake himself.

“Okay,” he murmured softly. Interestingly enough, there wasn’t any sort of mocking or malice. “You’ll do.” He sounded resigned, except it wasn’t even that. It was almost apologetic.

“I’ll do?” I repeated.

“Yes,” he said in that strange, apologetic way. “I approve of you taking the case.”

“Thank you?” I said, turning it into a question.

“We'll just have to dip you to protect your soul here,” he said offhandedly.

“What?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

He whirled back at me, and he looked shocked, and also a bit scared for me. “Wait,” he asked, “my father didn't tell you what would happen next?”

I shook my head, then remembered he was blind and said, “No...”

He cursed under his breath. “How long have you been here?”

“What—?”

“How long have you been here?”

“I don't...”

The entire garden blurred. The air around us shimmered, and I thought for a good moment that it wasn’t an actual garden we were standing in; instead it felt like hologram. It followed what I had expected from sci-fi movies, but the scene didn’t disappear from view. Once it was done shimmering, it came into blinding, bright focus. I gasped and realized that I couldn’t breathe. I was suffocating. Darkness edged into my vision. And because I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t ask for help.

A hand reached out to steady me. It took me a few seconds to realize that Plutus was holding me up. He was yelling, with words that seemed as muddled as my vision. He was concerned. I think. I was burning up.

Delicate hands grabbed at me from behind, their skin ranging with different hues from olive green to the color of beach sand. They looked fragile, yet they held me with such strength, it hurt.

I managed to find my voice. I shrieked in terror. “Plutus?” I cried, my voice hoarse. I don’t know how I was able to get enough air in my lungs to speak. “Plutus, what’s going on?”

Instead of answering, he watched as I was roughly dragged away by those strange hands. They held my head in place, so I couldn’t see who was pulling me back.

The hands dragged me through the palace, Plutus’ face swimming above mine at points. It seemed like it only took us about thirty seconds to make it outside, which was impossible—the palace was enormous and it would have taken at least a few minutes to make it through that maze. Yet, somehow we ended up outside.

Hades swam into view, sharing a few angry sounding words with Plutus until the younger god left in a huff. The Lord of the Underworld reached out and grabbed my shoulder. The world briefly came into focus, enough for him to speak with me.

“You’re fading, Callie. In order to stay in my palace, we need to baptize you in the River Styx. Do you understand?”

Of course I didn’t understand. I just wanted this paralyzing, agonizing feeling to go away. I let my head loll forward, hoping it came across as a nod.

Hades took it that way and gestured severely to the people that were holding me up.

“This is going to hurt, Callie…” his voice echoed in my brain.

Somehow, that didn't surprise me.

I was pushed forward into the moat that surrounded the property. The water was murky, black, teeming with nightmares, floating spirits, and dead dreams. It was so much more sinister than I could have ever imagined. In fact, it was terrifying.

I screamed and struggled, but the hands were too strong, forcing me into the water. As I was submerged, I opened my mouth to scream and the water rushed in.

I fell into darkness and remembered no more.

6

I’ve passed out quite a few times in my life. It's one of the hazards of the job. I’ve gotten into fights, had a couple of concussions, been clocked in the head, and been shot more than once. And on every one of those occasions, unconsciousness was a blissfully black void.

Not this time.

I felt like I was floating. Shapes and voices drifted along with me, here in my dark little bubble, but not immediately accessible by my hazy mind. It was so easy to sink further into the darkness, I simply smiled and let the darkness take me. There was no pain. There was no reason why I should fight it.

My father’s voice rang in my head, clear as the day I remembered it all those years ago. You are strong, Callie. Don’t ever let anyone bring you down.

Those words echoed in my brain, drowning out all of the shapeless forms and voices that fluttered around me. I hugged my father’s words close to my chest, held them there. They were my anchor to life.

I was going to get out of this.

I had to get out of this.

I exhaled, the murky water of the River Styx pouring out from my lips. That was inside me? I recoiled at the thought and dry retched. I felt the overwhelming need to get it out of me.

My body shuddered violently, falling into a fit of seizures that took control over my entire being. I screamed in agony as pain consumed me. This was awful. I couldn’t believe what was happening.

I found my voice. “No.” I swallowed and then put my willpower behind it. “No.” It was louder this time. I wasn’t going to go out this way. I wasn’t going to stay in the Underworld. I wasn’t going to drown in the River Styx. I was going to go back to the surface. And I was going to live.

“NO!” I screamed.

I bolted upright.

I was no longer in the realm of nothingness; I was in a bed in an unfamiliar room. For a second, I thought I was in the hospital, waking up from my coma, the Underworld, Hades and Plutus nothing more than neuron flashes, the result of trauma and too many sci-fi shows. Then I realized I wasn’t in a standard hospital bed. Instead of a hospital gown, I was in a flirty red nightgown. The comforter was plush. The door opened and a tiny woman, maybe a faery, entered.

She would have stood up to my shoulders if I was standing upright. A pretty waif of a creature, she was green-skinned with her fiery red hair trimmed into a stylish bob. Bright, intelligent blue eyes watched me. Even with her strange ethereal looks, she was gorgeous, reminding me of Mystique from X-Men.

She bounded over to me and perched right on the nightstand next to the bed like some sort of bird.

“You’re awake, Callista,” she said, showing me a smile full of sharp teeth. It wasn’t an unkind smile, just strange.

“Callie,” my voice croaked. It felt like someone had taken a bunch of razors and shoved them down my throat. “Where am I?”

The girl raised an eyebrow. “You’re in the palace,” she said matter-of-factly. “Or have you forgotten that?” She let out a sigh. “I swear, humans...” she muttered under her breath.

“I haven’t forgotten that,” I retorted, feeling my cheeks burned with embarrassment. Who did she think she was, mocking me like that? I already didn’t like her. “But the last thing I remember was being shoved into...” My mouth dried up even thinking about it. “I was thrown into the River Styx.”

A flicker of remorse crossed her pretty features, just briefly. “Yes, you were.”

“Why did that happen?” The last thing I really remembered before being plunged into watery darkness was that Plutus approved me as a choice for an Underworld Detective.

I fought the urge to gasp for air from the horrific imagery I’d seen while I was in the Styx.

The girl tut-tutted me, her blue eyes sparkling with mischievous humor. “Basically, the almost dead, like you—”

“I'm in a coma,” I corrected. The distinction felt different, better somehow.

The girl sighed. “The almost dead like you cannot exist here. Being stuck in Limbo, your soul isn’t permanent and wants to wander. Like a ghost, if you really want to put an asinine word to it. So you had to have the essence of your soul strengthened in order to stay here indefinitely.”

“By the River Styx? The same place where that dude Achilles got dipped in order to make himself invincible?” That seemed like overkill. My heels itched thinking about it.

She nodded. “Myths always blow things out of proportion. You’re not invincible, so don’t go doing anything stupid. Even though you look like you would.” She smirked. “You’re almost dead, and it won’t take too much to make you completely dead. And if you succeed in this wild goose chase...it won't last when you wake up from your coma.”

It almost felt like a threat, yet I was too tired and peeved to pursue it. Really peeved. The River was terrifying. I’d been in several situations during my job where I was scared, but they all seemed like a cakewalk compared to the River Styx. It was the stuff of nightmares. I was nearly consumed by it, and the only reason I had fought so hard was because I refused to let it do me in.

“Why didn’t that happen before? Why did I have to wait until I was slipping away?”

The girl shrugged. “I suppose Hades wanted to make sure that Plutus would approve of you before putting you through something like that. It was bad, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” I replied softly.

“Very few are able to survive that,” she said. She turned away quickly and wiped at her eyes. I wondered if she knew someone who hadn’t survived the River. “You’re very lucky, Callie,” she said, playfulness edging back into her voice.

“I don’t understand. Why didn’t anyone tell me what to expect. A little bit of warning would have gone a long way.”

“You would’ve never agreed to do it. Hades thought it was best that everyone approved you before subjecting you to that. Especially so you could meet Plutus and see the predicament he's in. Your time just ran out before it was explained to you.”

My cheeks flared red, this time with anger. I was pissed. Pissed off at Hades for his lack of information, pissed off at Plutus for his smugness, pissed off at this damn faery-girl who looked at me like I was some sort of toy. I was dealing with people who used humans like pawns in an epic game of chess. I hated chess almost as much as I hated these Underworld clowns.

What chance did I have of solving this case? I was dealing with things that were bigger than me. I couldn’t compete with gods and goddesses and monsters and millions of other things I couldn’t even imagine, much less defeat. I was still alive, somewhere, hooked up on life support in a strange hospital in San Francisco. In order to go back to my body and live out the rest of my life in ignorant bliss, I had to play this game and play by rules that I didn’t even know.

“Assholes.” I wiped at my eyes; I hadn’t realized that I had started crying.

The faery-girl had an amused smile that played across her lips. “Lord Hades, definitely. Plutus, not so much.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, my voice rising in anger, remembering his smug smile. “He did nothing while I was being dragged to the River.”

She raised an amused eyebrow. “What was he supposed to do?” she asked. She flashed me a wide grin. “He and Hades argued for hours over how it should have been handled differently.” She rolled her eyes with that. “Their voices shook the palace walls. I’m surprised that didn’t wake you out of your stupor.”

I watched her, trying to gauge how serious she was. I got the feeling that she was usually a devious little thing, however, sincerity reflected in her eyes, which caused some of my anger to evaporate. I tried imagining the blind, younger god with a cane standing up to the Lord of the Underworld on my behalf. The thought was both humbling and bizarre.

“What’s your name?” I asked, realizing that I hadn’t heard it yet.

“Tisiphone,” the nymph said. She grinned wickedly. “I’m an Erinyes.” She said that as if that should ring a bell. I still looked at her blankly. She rolled her eyes. “You humans are so dense. Erinyes. The Furies. The Kindly Ones.”

That still meant nothing to me.

“Callie,” I introduced myself. “Although you already knew that.”

She flashed her pointy teeth. “I did. I’m here to watch over you and be your partner in...” she waved her hands nonchalantly, “in your endeavors. So, Callie, what is it you want to do next?”

The question actually caught me off guard. She was waiting for my answer, seeing if I was still accepting the case.

I hesitated. Did I really want to through with this? Was there even a chance? I was going up against some impossible odds for a mortal, even if I had been dunked in the River Styx. And I was dealing with people who didn’t really care what happened to me. All they wanted was to maintain the balance that had been established for millennia.

I was just a means to an end.

My father’s words hung in the air in front of me.

You are strong, Callie.

On a table in a corner of the room, my tablet flared to life as I received a message. I regarded it for a moment, debating if I should answer it or if I should hurl it against the wall, smashing it into a million tiny pieces. My gut instinct told me to trash it. My logical brain cautioned me to use my head.

Could I really do this?

I thought back to Plutus. He could become a victim sooner rather than later. And it was my duty as a police detective to figure out who was trying to kill him.

Not that I’d win a jurisdiction argument if it ever went to court.

As much as I hated the idea of sorting out the gods’ problems, I really wanted to get home. I wanted to get back to my life, the one I’d carefully built.

I wanted to live. And I wanted to show Hades that I was the best detective anywhere.

My knees were weak as I swung them on the side of the bed. Tisiphone’s eyes glittered as she watched me, probably waiting to see if I could hold myself up. I got to my feet and stumbled over to the table. I thumbed in my password and an email from Hades popped up. It was the image of the warrant giving me carte blanche to interrogate everyone in the Underworld. He suggested I meet with his head of security first, Daedalus.

The sooner I got started, the sooner I could be back on the sofa in my apartment. Above ground. Appealing wasn’t a big enough word to cover it.

“I need to see the dining hall where the servant died and Plutus was attacked.”

She looked momentarily confused before her grin settled back into place, although this time it was far icier. I wondered what had caused her expression to change so rapidly.

I couldn’t interrogate people in the red nightgown, so I checked the wardrobe for some more suitable clothes. Beneath some weird ballroom dresses, bed sheets that might have been the material for togas, and some other stuff that looked like it would barely fit Tisiphone, I found my freshly washed jeans and loose white shirt. I pulled them on, ignoring the fact that Tisiphone was in the room as I changed clothes.

I felt like I was putting on a mask of normalcy and it actually felt amazing. Even my fake leather boots were there. I pulled them on, grinning at the joke. I didn’t make a whole lot with my salary, so I couldn’t afford real leather. I still loved these boots, despite the fact that they were cheaply made. They were my hunting boots, as I liked to call them.

I was so glad they had survived the River Styx.

Tisiphone didn’t hide her distaste in my choice of clothing. “You look like a human,” she muttered.

“Good,” I told her. “That’s the look I was going for.” My badge was also there. I debated on whether or not I should wear it, and decided that I should. The San Francisco PD might not have a whole bunch of weight here, but it was the best I could do. I should probably ask Hades for a badge or something, although Tisiphone was a part of the law enforcement presence here and she wasn't wearing one.

I was starting to feel like my old self. I clipped the shiny gold star just above my jean pocket and bunched up my t-shirt on the side.

The last thing I did was quietly tuck my new handgun into the back of my jeans. I’d have to ask for a holster later. My jeans would have to do for now. Tisiphone was looking out the window at that moment, so she didn’t see my new pistol. For some reason, I felt that it was a good thing to keep it secret. At least, until I knew more about her.

As a cop, I’d learned that trust was something that had to be earned.

I checked myself out in the mirror and fought the urge to gasp. I was radiating with an ethereal kind of light. I looked a million times hotter than I did when I was alive. I mean, I wasn’t that pretty when I was alive. I wasn’t ugly, but I was someone men would overlook to check out some other girl. I was tall, nearly six feet tall, with shoulder-length curly brown hair that was untamable so I always wore it in a ponytail.

I was athletic, having not been blessed with that slender model physique that you find in fashion magazines. I was a lot curvier than I would have liked, especially with my too-large breasts that actually hurt when I went out for jogs. The muscles I had turned off a lot of guys too. I wasn’t ripped, necessarily, but I had definition to my body that a lot of women didn’t have. That part was okay for me though. I’d be damned if I was defenseless, so I worked out and made sure that I had enough strength to beat up the bad guys.

A small, scripty tattoo ran down the length of the inside of my left bicep, with the words “The half-true rhyme is love” from Seamus Heaney. I found it engraved on a tombstone near my father's grave and the knowledge that it comforted someone else gave me a bit of comfort.

I was never bitter about my looks, but it would have been nice to be prettier. I’d admitted that to myself more than a few times.

Now, however, I looked...amazing. No amount of makeup or hair preparation would have made me look anywhere near this great. I was still curvy, still myself, yet there was something that made me look dazzling.

“Wow,” I said, more for myself than for Tisiphone’s sake.

“Yes, you wear Death very well,” Tisiphone replied, amused. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay dead?”

“No,” I told her automatically. “I want to live.” There was no question about it.

And even though I knew I’d lose that radiant look if I lived again, I was emboldened by my good looks. I turned on my heel and strode out of the room.

And ran straight into Plutus with an oof. I didn't just bump into him: I barreled the god over.

“Shit!” I cried out. I reached out and managed to pull him upright before he tumbled to the floor.

He let out a small chuckle. My ears perked to that. I don’t think I heard a genuine chuckle from him when I first talked to him. “Kind of contrary to your objective if you kill me yourself, Callista,” he said softly.

“Sorry,” I apologized, wincing. I fussed over him, made sure my charge was okay. Everything seemed to be in order, and he hadn't dropped anything. I realized how close I was standing to him and nearly jumped back to give him space. Personal bubble, I reminded myself.

He peered at me through his sightless eyes, although I got the feeling that he could see me through other mysterious senses. He was a little bit taller than me, so we were nearly at eye-level with each other.

I swallowed, realizing my mouth was dry.

“I trust you’re feeling better?” he asked. The cold, impassive facade slipped back into place, and I was once again looking at the perfectly still, stone face of a Greek god.

“Yeah,” I said. “Better.” I debated on whether or not I should bring up the fact that I was pissed off at both him and his stupid father. Just because Tisiphone said that he was concerned didn’t mean that I believed her.

I realized that while I was lost in my thoughts, the silence between us had stretched out to an uncomfortable length. Now, I didn’t know what to say.

“You’ve been hovering around a lot, Plutus,” a voice said behind me. I turned to see Tisiphone smirking at the two of us.

Plutus inclined his head slightly her way. “Tisiphone,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “You know that my bedroom is next door.” I fought the urge to widen my eyes. I guess it made sense if I was supposed to act as a bodyguard for him, but the thought sizzled in my brain, an unexpected surge of attraction pulsed to the surface. “And I’m busy with my work,” he added. There was a note in his voice that was a warning cautioning her not to push it any further. I wondered what kind of powers the God of Wealth would have. If he did get really pissed off, would he turn her into a pile of gold?

The image made me smile.

She pretended to inspect a nail and let the silence fill the gap. “Uh huh.” Her eyes flashed up to me, and she grinned wickedly. “Sure.”

He frowned in yet another awkward pause and I wished I was somewhere else. “Be seeing you, Callista,” he said coolly before he turned away and walked down the hallway.

“Callie,” I called behind him, the habit as ingrained as a reflex. He must have not heard me, because he didn’t indicate otherwise. I shivered, watching him walk away with that slow uneven gait of his. I wondered what was exactly wrong with his foot but decided it would be rude to ask. I was here to save his ass not decipher his medical records.

“Someone has a crush,” Tisiphone said. She was suddenly right next to me, and I jumped at her close proximity. She was watching him go, a bemused look on her face. “Join the club, Callie.”

“What?” I asked, reeling on her angrily. “You think...? No. No, I don’t.” I shook my head. There might have been a little sizzle but it was nothing more.

“You wouldn’t be the first,” she said, eying me suspiciously. “A lot of us here have had crushes on him. He’s slept with most of us. But the dude has such a complex about his blindness and limp, he won’t let anyone get close to him, so he’s still officially single.” She grinned looking like she was baring her teeth. “Be best to let it slide. Wouldn’t want to complicate a professional relationship, now would we?”

I glared at her, thinking about the arrogant god. “Don’t worry. There’s nothing there.” He might be every bit as hot as Michelangelo’s David, but I was going to observe a strict hands-off policy. I looked down at my watch. “We need to get going if I’m going to get around to talking to some witnesses.”

Tisiphone paused, visibly paling.

“You really want to go to the dining hall first?” she asked, a worried note in her voice.

“Why not?” I gestured for her to start walking with me, to which she sighed and started following me down the hallway.

“It’s the very first place any of us looked,” she said a little too hastily. “You won’t find anything there that we haven’t.”

I glared at her. “Well, I’m new to the case,” I reasoned. “I need to get all the facts before I can start piecing together the puzzle.”

She frowned and I saw the muscle in her jaw working as she ground her teeth. There was a reason why she didn't want to return to the dining hall. I ignored her and took a different tack.

“Why did you get stuck working with me?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I’m a Fury,” she said simply. “Basically a lowly Goddess of Vengeance. We’re the law enforcement around here. Hades thought that it would be good to pair us up.”

I raised my eyebrows at that. “A cop and a Goddess of Vengeance?” She didn’t really look old enough or mature enough to have the experience to be in law enforcement but maybe Furies aged differently.

“Yep.” She smacked her lips loudly on that single word, making me grimace. She didn’t seem to notice. “As someone who specializes in vengeance, I’m very good at finding the bad guys.” She gave me another wicked grin. “Simpatico and all that.”

“So you’re an Afterlife cop?”

“I suppose so,” she said doubtfully. “Look, I don’t want to be buddy-buddy cops with you. Furies work alone. I’m only doing this because the big guy ordered me to do it. I’m just here to follow you, offer some advice, and make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

Ouch. She didn’t pull any punches. I wasn’t going to let that bother me though. I didn’t want to push my luck with gal who specialized in vengeance.

I swallowed and said, “Understood.”

“And as far as advice,” she added, “you’re going the exact opposite direction to the dining hall.”

The dining hall was enormous. An entire block in San Francisco could fit inside with room left over for a bowling alley. Its ceiling stretched so high, I couldn’t see the top. Clouds floated by like we were looking up at open sky, and it was so high, it very well could have been. The long table and chairs were bathed in ripples of light.

It was beautiful.

I stood in the doorway of the hall, gaping at the spectacle, while Tisiphone pushed her way past me without regard for my personal space.

“So as you know,” she said, gesturing around her, “the royal family was celebrating the Autumn Equinox on September 21st.” She didn't bother waiting for my stupid question. “It’s the changing of the seasons from Summer to Autumn. Lord Hades always hosts a large celebration to celebrate Persephone coming back from the surface.”

“Sort of a welcome-back dinner,” I mused.

Tisiphone gave me a mocking Cheshire-cat-sized smile. “A good way of putting it, yes.” She pointed to a table setting near the head of one end of the table. “Plutus was sitting there. When...a servant...” She grimaced, the words getting stuck in her throat. I looked at her questioningly. “When a...friend of mine named Barnabas tried the meal prior to serving it, as is procedure, he got sick and died. Almost immediately.” She pointed to a spot on the floor behind the chair. “He died right there. In my arms. Apparently, a poison meant to turn a god prince into a mortal kills lesser beings like us.”

I watched her. Gone was the smile. Gone was her cockiness. She was mourning Barnabas. Judging by her desolate expression and the way she’d hesitated when she’d called him her friend, they might have been lovers. No wonder it was difficult for her to stand in this room.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly.

When she turned her gaze back to me, her eyes were steely blue, glistening with unshed tears. “I swore that I would take revenge on whoever killed Barnabas. And a promise of revenge from a Goddess of Vengeance...well, there's a reason why we're called that.” She brushed her eyes with the back of her hand. “So you see, Callie, that was why I was a good match for you. The Goddess of Vengeance, avenging her friend’s death. And you with whatever the hell you're doing.”

A moment passed between us then. A moment of understanding. We weren’t that different. Perhaps we actually could be friends.

“I'm really sorry, Tisiphone,” I mumbled. The pain between Ben and I still felt fresh, and he hadn't even died. It was only a breakup. Barnabas had died in her arms. I could only imagine the despair and the anger that must consume her.

How long had they been lovers?

She swallowed and straightened up, as if recovering her composure. She pointed to the table. “About ten minutes after Barnabas died, an assassin came and drove a sword through Plutus’ heart.”

“What?” I asked, shocked. “Really?”

She shrugged, and I felt the tension in the room ease a bit. Apparently, getting off the subject of her friend Barnabas buoyed her mood.

“He’s immortal,” she said. As if I denser than a block of marble. “Of course a simple sword wouldn’t do the trick. After that, they killed the assassin and Hades tried to interrogate it. It was pretty twisted and was unable to answer the right questions.” I started to ask the next question, but she waved it off. “It was a Shadow Assassin, Callie, the result of a spell that can reanimate dead beings. They'll find a cursed, tortured soul and bring it back to life. And if we try to interrogate it, usually they have no idea who they are and what they're doing here. That’s why they’re used extensively. Stop asking questions, you’re getting annoying.”

I frowned and didn’t pursue the matter, didn’t mention I hadn’t actually voiced a single question. Earlier, Hades had briefly mentioned the Shadow Assassins.

Seeing where the attempt on Plutus’s life had happened brought home how much trouble he was in.

I inspected the entire room. I looked at each chair, the table, the walls, and as far up as I could see into the ceiling. Nothing looked off. Despite what Tisiphone had requested, I was going to ask questions.

“Are the doors on either side of the hall secure?”

“Of course.”

“Any broken or unlocked windows?””

“Nope.”

“Any idea who send the Shadow Assassin?”

“That’s why you’re here.”

Since I wasn’t finding anything useful, I input all of Tisiphone’s information into my tablet’s file and photographed every square inch of the dining hall, which took a long time. After six weeks, there was no use dusting for prints, especially if it was a Shadow Assassin that had tried to kill Plutus.

It was an entirely different game we were playing.

Cold cases were much harder to solve, on either side of the ground.

“Wow,” I breathed, realizing the weight of this investigation.

“You’re telling me,” Tisiphone mumbled. Her eyes lingered on the spot where Barnabas had died.

I sighed and straightened up from taking a photograph of the underside of the table. “C’mon, we can have a chat with Daedalus.”

She bowed and gestured forward. “You’re the boss, Callie.”

7

I certainly didn’t feel like a boss.

Daedalus was the head of security in the Underworld. I remembered his story. My mom had told me about him when I was a child.

He’d created the Labyrinth that housed the Minotaur. Hades employed him as the gatekeeper to the palace in his retirement.

His office was in a tower that stood at one corner of the palace’s perimeter. I stood outside of the palace, taking stock of my surroundings for the first time since arriving. One side of palace was bordered by the bright, sparkling waters of the River Acheron. The other side was bordered by the murky, dark waters of the River Styx. And Daedalus’ office was perilously close to the River Styx.

I swallowed self-consciously as we neared the guard tower. Styx was there, black and placid, yet I could feel it watching me from underneath that still surface. It was a creature all its own, beckoning me. As if I wanted to go back there again.

I shuddered.

Tisiphone snickered, feeling a bit bolder now that we had left the dining hall. “Are you feeling a pull, Callie? Want to finish the job?”

I sighed tiredly. “Can you stop saying my name like you’re trying to insult me?”

Tisiphone pouted. “But it’s so much fun.” At my glare, she held up her hands in defeat. “Fine, fine, Callie.”

“What’re you doing here?” a gruff voice asked beside me. I turned my head and shrieked in fear. A corpse was talking to us. It was mostly skeletal, with bits of white bone peeking through holes in its otherwise decaying skin. I was looking at a zombie. A zombie wearing a security uniform.

“Daedalus?” I asked weakly. He nodded. Tisiphone looked like she was about to burst from laughter.

Daedalus looked pissed off that I was scared by him. He looked like if he frowned any deeper, his lips might to fall off. I stood my ground and looked at him. We were on the same side, right? I wasn’t about to show him how intimidated he made me feel.

Then again, everything in this damn Underworld made me feel intimidated.

Thankfully, Tisiphone stepped in. “Lord Daedalus, this is detective Callie Saunders. She’d like to ask you few questions about...the incident.” She said it with such reverence and flourish, I wondered if I was still dealing with the same Fury from a few moments ago. I realized then how helpful she would be.

“I know why you’re here,” Daedalus huffed. “All I have to say is, it wasn’t my fault.”

So he was going to be one of those tough guys, who wouldn’t yield information without a bit of a fight. I bristled, trying to calm myself down. Usually guys like this didn’t bother me but he did. It had been a really rough week.

“Is there nothing you can think of that might help me?”

He shook his head.

“Anything strange you remember from the night of September 21st?”

He sized me up and down. “Shouldn’t you have a badge or somethin'?” he grouched. I showed him my SFPD badge. “Pah,” he said. “That don't count down here.”

I scowled at him. I didn’t know it would be so hard to get someone to cooperate, especially when it dealt with the safety of Underworld’s Royal Family. His employer.

On my tablet, I pulled up the scan of the warrant that Hades sent me. Daedalus inspected it and sniffed derisively. “Could be a fake.”

In the background, Tisiphone rolled her eyes. “It's not,” she grumped.

I tried a different tactic. “Don’t you want to find who’s doing this?”

Daedalus snorted. “For that little punk, Plutus?” He grumbled under his breath. “He’s a disgrace to the royal family.”

Obviously Daedalus and Plutus weren’t best buddies. “What about Lord Hades?” His eyes—both the one that was still there and the blank hole where one should be—widened at that and I knew I struck a chord. Tisiphone snickered and I fought the urge to grin at my small victory.

Daedalus stiffened, tilted his head back, and glared up at me, trying to look as imposing as possible. “Of course, I would do anything for my Lord Hades, you—” Tisiphone clucked her tongue in a warning and Daedalus stopped before he called me a bitch, which wouldn’t have gone over very well. He shut his mouth, took a breath, and then continued. “If there'd be anything I'd do differently, it would have been not wasting my time talking with people who're trying to waste my time. So...have a good day Detective Saunders.”

And he stormed off into the tower.

I felt the heat in my cheeks. This reminded me of so many cases I’ve had in the past. There were always people who just did not want to talk during investigations. Sometimes they were hiding something, other times they just didn’t want to get involved.

“Rude asshole,” I muttered to no one in particular. Tisiphone was there to hear me.

She shrugged. “What did you expect?”

“What do you mean?”

She gestured at the door that Daedalus had disappeared into. “He’s afraid. Daedalus was supposed to go to Tartarus for his sins, but he made his case to Hades. He said that he could create uncrackable locks and codes that could protect the Royal Family. So he was put on security duty. And if it looks like someone got in because of him, then he’ll be in deep shit with Hades. So,” she shrugged again, “you can see why he’s nervous.”

I combed my fingers through my hair. Of course, I should’ve realized it. Being almost dead was making me lose my touch. My head began to throb.

“I think I should lie down,” I mumbled.

Tisiphone raised her eyebrows. “Giving up already, Callie?”

“No, I’m just not feeling very well.”

She scoffed. “You’re dead, you don’t feel anything anymore.”

“Almost dead. I’m not dead yet.” I shot her a look and started walking back towards the mansion. All I wanted to do was get back to my room. I left her standing there and wandered back. She didn't follow me, and it was good to be alone and lost in my thoughts.

I knew what to expect now. Apparently, everyone was afraid of Hades, and no one liked Plutus. I was used to being on the Surface where disabilities were treated with care and respect. The rules were different down here. Go figure.

No wonder Plutus was moody. Everyone treated him like an outcast. I had no idea how old he was, yet if he had endured eons of this, well, I’m sure it grated on his nerves.

While I wasn’t going to get anything else out of Daedalus, I knew how to handle him now. My gut told me that he wasn’t hiding anything. He was too terrified of Hades to do anything that might piss him off. At least on purpose.

I knew what I needed to do. I’d make a list of people I wanted to interview and then I’d request files on each of them. I was pretty sure Hades was one hell of a record keeper. I’d profile every suspect and every lead.

Going in blind was never a good idea. Instead, I had to get inside of everyone’s heads, try to access any motives and connections before actually talking to them. Time was ticking on the Surface, so I had to get serious. I had to live and breathe this case, because everything hung in the balance.

And my life wasn't the only one that depended on it.

Movement flashed in my peripheral vision and I turned, too late, to see a black German shepherd puppy streaking towards me. No, not just any German shepherd puppy—a three headed slobbery one that came up to my shoulders. I was about to yelp in alarm when he ran past me and his right head caught a red ball. The other two heads weren’t happy about losing out on the ball and snapped at the right. The right head growled, defending his ball.

I would have laughed at the sight if I hadn’t been so terrified a moment ago. Dogs were dogs, even if they had three heads. Even if they were in the Underworld.

“Cerberus!”

I winced, recognizing the voice. I so didn’t want to deal with him right now.

The dog—Cerberus, who I now recognized as the guard dog to the Underworld—howled happily from two mouths and a muffled howl escaped from the one with a ball in it and trotted toward the voice. I watched him and then let my gaze settle on Plutus, who ambled towards me.

I saw something I hadn’t expected on his face.

He was grinning widely, petting each dog head as they struggled to get into a prime spot to get scratched. This was the first time I had seen him completely at ease. If the man I’d met earlier was night, this one was day.

I thought he hadn’t noticed me but he called out, “Hello, Callista,” without even looking over at me.

My cheeks burned. What the heck? Why was I reacting to him this way?

It wasn’t like I was attracted to him. Not much, anyway.

“It’s Callie,” I said. “How did you know I was here?”

“I’ve told you before, I’m a god,” Plutus said. “And even though I’m blind, I have my own way of seeing things.”

I was about to ask him what was so bad about his blindness then, but held my tongue because I was marveling at the way he was treating the puppy. He ruffled Cerberus’s middle head and moved his hand out of reach as the left head snapped at his hand.

“Cerberus,” he warned. The left head whined and the entire dog rolled on his back for his stomach to be scratched. Plutus bent and obliged him. The look on all three faces was that of pure bliss.

“I swear this dog is trouble,” Plutus muttered, with a hint of amusement in his voice.

He seemed relaxed. At peace. This was a side of Plutus I hadn’t seen yet and I felt myself softening. Gone was the arrogant god. He’d been replaced by a playful man who obviously loved dogs.

“Is that the mighty Cerberus of mythological fame?” I asked. “I thought he’d be...bigger. Not that he isn’t huge.”

Plutus threw the red ball with strength that rivaled an NFL quarterback. Cerberus howled happily and clumsily galloped away to fetch it.

“He’s the current one,” Plutus explained. “Hellhounds aren’t immortal. So when one dies, another takes his place.” He frowned, reminiscing, and I regretted my question. “The last one died about six months ago.”

“Died?” I repeated, the homicide detective in me continuing the interrogation. I inwardly winced. I was talking about such a tender subject. Plutus obviously loved this puppy. I wondered if he loved the other one as much.

“Killed,” Plutus said bitterly. His impassive facade was slipping back into place, hiding the easy going man he’d been seconds ago.

“What? I asked, shocked.

“He was killed.”

A red flag in popped up in my mind and my detective instincts took over. I sidled up to Plutus and followed his gaze over to the big puppy, who let out three loud barks that he had found the ball.

“He’s just a big puppy,” I said. “Is he guarding the gates to Hell?”

Plutus shook his head. “He’s too young. Can’t even fetch a ball without getting into an argument with himself.”

I bit back a nervous giggle. The whole thing was ludicrous, a dog getting into a fight with himself. “So no one is guarding the gate at the moment?” I asked. “There’s no giant hellhound blocking the gate and now anyone could get through?”

He turned his head and regarded me with his sightless eyes for a few moments before responding. “We have other measures that are replacing Cerberus at the moment.”

“Like?”

“Daedalus has created a more complex way to get in and we've upped our security.” He frowned when Cerberus pounced on him. “Whoa, boy!” he shouted. I cried out in alarm and grabbed a pair of collars to pull the dog off him. Plutus winced as he sat up. “See? He’s trouble,” he muttered, amused instead of really irritated.

“Plutus!” another voice called.

I turned at the sound of the voice and I blinked twice before my eyes could process what I was seeing. A woman was walking over toward us from the garden. She wore a simple summer dress, with a sunny, flowery pattern on it on it. Her golden hair was pulled back, most of it covered by a sunhat, even though we were in the eternal twilight of the Underworld. She had on gardening gloves and was barefoot. Vines and flowers sprouted up in her footprints behind her.

To say she was beautiful was an understatement. It was actually hard to look at her without blinking too much or instantly dropping into a mental body-shaming loop.

So much for being happy about how death becomes me.

Cerberus whined at her presence, which strengthened my resolve to turn away. I looked at Plutus who sighed heavily. He held a hand for me. “Help me up,” he said.

Wordlessly, I helped him to his feet. He stood, favoring his right leg. “My cane?” he asked. I grabbed it and handed it to him.

The woman was close enough to us by then that I could make out her expression. She looked unhappy, however it did nothing to diminish her beauty. I fought the urge to fall to my feet and bow before her, asking forgiveness for whatever made her unhappy. I stood next to Plutus who seemed bored as he looked at her. Cerberus, however, cowered behind us. He apparently did not like the woman before us.

Therefore, neither did I.

I trusted the opinions of dogs way more than the opinions of humans.

“Mother,” Plutus said stiffly. “What brings you here?”

She stopped and glared at him. Even her glare made her more beautiful than everyone else. I swallowed self-consciously. She looked like she was only a few years older than both of us, old enough to be wise, and young enough to still have unlined skin and glossy hair.

Persephone. The woman who was abducted by Hades to stay in the Underworld for six months out of the year. No wonder she looked unhappy.

“Son,” she said sternly, although her voice came across as a lilting overture and I held my breath, determined not to be swayed by her melodic voice. “Plutus, what did I tell you about being outside the palace?”

“I’m a god,” Plutus said quietly. “I am not afraid of stepping outside.” There was something else in his voice, and I couldn’t quite place my finger on it.

“It’s not you that I’m worried about,” Persephone said.

A look of pain crossed Plutus’ face. It took me a moment to realize why. It wasn’t that she thought Plutus couldn't take care of himself; she was worried that him getting hurt would do something else, damage her pride or something.

“I’m with Cerberus and Callista,” he said evenly. “Nothing is going to harm me.”

I fought the urge to shrink away at the mention of my name, because at that moment, her shrewd gaze fell upon me. It was pretty harsh. I fought not to wither under her evil eyes.

“Callista Saunders,” she mused. “So you’re the detective my husband—” she spat that last word out with such force, her voice cracked out of that lilting melody, “hired to find out who’s trying to kill my dear, sweet Plutus.” The way she said it sure didn’t seem like she thought Plutus was “dear” and “sweet”.

In fact, I got the feeling that she thought he was a disappointment.

“It’s Callie,” I said automatically. I shouldn’t be correcting a goddess, but hell, I was getting tired of people calling me by my full name. To try and make matters better, I held out my hand to shake hers. “Pleased to meet you, Persephone.” I secretly cheered inside. Score one for Callie, who was bold enough to stand up to a goddess.

She sneered at my proffered hand. “Can’t your father do anything right, Plutus?” she asked tiredly. “We need a professional, someone who knows what we're dealing with. Not some...girl.”

“I’m sure Father knows what he’s doing,” Plutus said icily.

She whirled on him. I swear I saw doves sprout from the ground and fly away with beautiful majesty. How could the Goddess of Spring be such a bitch?

She reached out and cupped her hand to Plutus’ cheek. “If I had it my way, I’d lock you up in a tower and never let anyone hurt you.”

Plutus didn’t say anything and looked straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge her hand on his cheek. If anything, all I noticed was the slightest flush of his cheeks.

“Callista,” Persephone said, without looking at me.

I stiffened. “Yes, your highness?” What do you call a goddess? Your majesty? Your grace?

She glanced over at me. She put up her index finger and held it under my nose. Holy crap, she’s threatening me, I realized.

“You had better find out who is threatening my son’s life,” she warned. Plutus couldn’t hold in the retort that escaped his lips. Persephone ignored him, and I continued to hold her gaze, defiant to my very end. “Because if anything happens to Plutus, so help me...” Her voice trailed off ominously.

“Your godliness,” I said, trying to keep the tremor from my voice, “I was first in my class at the University of Pennsylvania. I’m one hell of a cop and I’ve solved many cases in my time, ones that made twenty year veterans look like chumps. I’m the best chance you’ve got at finding out who is behind these assassination attempts. If there’s any chance of stopping them, it’s through me.”

There. I’d stood up to her. Just because she was a goddess and could turn me into a lily or something didn’t mean I had to take her crap. And from the thin line her mouth made, she wasn’t used to others standing up to her either. She looked so unhappy, her beauty dropped by a notch. But that notch was another small victory.

“You’d better watch yourself, Callie,” she sneered. “I wouldn’t make enemies with a goddess. Especially when you’re dealing with her son.” With that, she pivoted on one heel and walked away.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Plutus bent and scratched Cerberus behind the ears. The dog whined again, happy that the bitch was gone.

“What Mother didn’t mention was that she’d want me locked away because I’m imperfect,” Plutus said softly. “She’d rather have none of her friends see her only offspring like this.”

“She’s so...cold,” I shuddered. “Why is she such a bitch?”

He laughed somberly. “It’s because she’s a misunderstood bitch.”

I nodded. I was familiar with the story now, and I made a mental note to remind myself that his father was a creep. “And Hades kidnapped and raped her. She ate a pomegranate, which is why she has to come back six months out of the year. I’d be bitter too, actually.”

Surprisingly, he shook his head. “That first part isn’t true. Mother fell in love with Dad too, and when they consummated it, my grandmother found out. The only good excuse she came up with was that Dad had kidnapped her and raped her. True, she ate a pomegranate so she has to stay here for a bit each year. But Dad isn’t a misogynist and Mother isn’t oppressed. Dad lets her use that story because it makes her happy.”

I hid my shock at that. “So Persephone really is just a bitch.”

He gave me a bitter smile. “My grandmother is an even bigger one. I can see why Mom let the lie spread. It doesn’t give her any right to do it, but I can see why.”

I went back to the palace after that. My cheeks were still red when I returned to my room. Tisiphone was out front, and she grinned wickedly.

“Are you sure you’re not crushing, hun?” she taunted.

“Shut up, Tisiphone,” I barked.

She laughed.

I planned to go to my room to lie down, but I decided against it, and it wasn’t just because she was in the way. I needed to blow off some steam before I tried to relax. This helpless feeling was pissing me off and I had to banish it.

I looked at Tisiphone for a second, debating whether I could trust her. I decided I had no choice. She had backed me up with Daedalus and cooperated with me, even if she was a bit snarky. She lived in the Underworld, and she would know the best places to go. I needed her guidance. And, I kind of liked her attitude.

Besides, I felt like I owed her something for causing her pain in the dining hall.

I was going to trust here.

“Is there a shooting range here?”

Tisiphone smirked. “Want to shoot something?”

“No,” I said, not rising to the bait. I took out my new gun and inspected it. “But if I’m supposed to be protecting someone, I need to be used to this gun, and I haven’t fired it yet.”

“Oh!” she cried, surprising me with her sudden reverence. Her eyes glittered enviously. “Hades gave you a God Gun,” she said softly. She reached out to touch it, tenderly, like she was touching a baby. “I’ve never seen one in person before.”

“You don’t have one? I thought you were a cop.”

Tisiphone nodded. “There’s only two of these guns in existence,” she said. “Hades carries one. And now you have the other. He thinks they’re too dangerous to be entrusted to just anyone. And now you have it.” The longing in her voice made it sound like she was talking about a long lost lover. “I don’t carry anything because I have supposed goddess powers.” She rolled her eyes. True, I hadn't seen her use any powers yet, but surely they were better than a gun like this.

An idea popped in my mind.

“Do you want to try it?” I asked, hoping that this might lessen the rift between us.

Her eyes shined as she looked over at me. “Are you serious?”

“Yep.”

She couldn’t get me to the shooting range fast enough. She squealed with excitement, grabbed my hand, and—to my utter surprise and horror—winked us out of existence. Luckily, we came back into existence the instant we left. My reflexes were so slow that I had only just started screaming as we teleported back to reality. It was so quick and sudden, and I had no idea she was capable of doing something like that.

People in the Underworld obviously weren’t big on warnings.

I shrieked again when I realized we weren’t in front of my bedroom any more. We were standing in a fluorescent indoor stadium, and the unexpected sound of gunfire blasted me out of my stupor. Immediately, my cheeks burned as everyone in the warehouse stopped firing to look at me.

“Ugh, you’re such a girl,” Tisiphone said, her usual persona back.

“Am not,” I muttered, trying to fight my grin. This was progress, at least. I suspected that despite what she said about us never being friends, she’d come around. At least I hoped so. I could really use a friend.

I glanced around me, taking stock of where we were. There were about twenty people scattered about, although many weren’t quite what I’d call human. A few looked exactly like Tisiphone, red hair, green skin, blue eyes, and everything. I guess they were other Furies. Some of the others were taller, too skinny to really be considered human. And then there were those that were part animal, like centaurs and satyrs. There were also what I'd call entities, beings that were merely an imprint on the environment and constantly changing their shape.

I was definitely not in San Francisco any more. I mean, San Francisco was weird, but this brought eccentric to a whole new level.

They watched me with a sort of wary curiosity. I realized that I was the only one who was mortal. I was the strange one here.

“Everyone,” Tisiphone called, “this is Callie. She’s Hades' watchdog for the next few months. And,” she added with a smirk, “she has a God Gun.”

I winced at the stunned, reverent silence that hung in the air. As if I wasn’t different enough, here was another reason to treat me differently. I was mortal, I wasn’t dead, and I was so out of my league. I also didn’t like being referred to as a watchdog.

One of the beings there said as much. “Why? She’s nothing special.”

Tisiphone eyed the guy, a satyr that was even shorter than she was. “You dare question Lord Hades’ authority?” The satyr shrank from her gaze. “Callie’s here to protect Lord Plutus,” she said, in her commanding voice. “Let’s see how well she does.”

I quirked an eyebrow at her cryptic meaning. I didn’t have time to ask because all of the people in the training facility descended upon me like a flock of vultures. They didn’t surge into me or shove their way towards me, unlike the newly dead had done when I first arrived in the Underworld. They were touching me with what felt like religious fanaticism. I guess, if you were looking at someone who was charged with saving a god and they had what was probably a legendary weapon, you’d do the same too.

I didn’t feel threatened or anything, even though a man with a bull’s head moved a little close to me for comfort. These were all just citizens of the Underworld. Still, it made me uneasy.

The whole thing died down after a bit, and while everyone kept an interested eye on me, they went back to what they were doing. Some were firing at targets from guns, others from bows and arrows. A few were spouting off magic spells. Some creatures wrestled.

“Where are we?” I asked Tisiphone under my breath.

“We’re at a training facility for all of the enforcement in the Underworld, just outside the Asphodel Meadows.” At my blank look, she sighed. “We’re a ways away from the palace.” She nodded, cocking her head towards the center of the warehouse. “This’ll be the best place to learn how to use that gun.” Her eyes hungrily raked over the pistol tucked into my jeans.

“Well, let’s find a target then,” I said with an awkward grin.

She pushed me over to my own section. I put on a pair of goggles and ear muffs, feeling oddly like I was back in San Francisco, training for work. For being an Ancient Greek Underworld, this whole setup certainly felt pretty modern. I even had a mechanical hook to move my target back. A few of the creatures nearby stopped what they were doing so they could turn an eye and watch me.

I pulled out the gun, noting that it fit my hand like a glove. If I didn’t know any better, I would say that it had been made for me. But that was impossible, right? Hades had only known that I was dead since yesterday, yet I inferred from Tisiphone that my God Gun had been around for a long while. Maybe it molded itself to whoever owned it.

God Gun. Such a stupid name.

My target, a simple silhouette of a human’s head, watched me from twenty-five yards away. I held my gun with both hands, stood with my feet shoulder-width apart, aimed with both eyes open, and fired.

One instant the target was there and gone the next. For a .45 caliber bullet, my shot literally disintegrated the target. That wasn’t the worst thing: The recoil whipped my arms upward, nearly over my head and I took a few steps back to regain my balance.

“Whoa.”

I had muscles. I worked out to be able to hold my own in a fight. I’ve shot quite a few guns, mostly handguns, and a few rifles. I’ve dealt with loads of kickback. I have never felt anything like that. It was like I was firing a handheld bazooka, souped up with even more power.

“That’s why we’re here to train,” Tisiphone said with a smirk. “Otherwise, you’d be pretty worthless. A dangerous gun, yes, but we only want to make it dangerous for the bad guys.”

I gave her a grim smile, excited at what this thing could do. “Let’s take turns,” I said.

Her smile was genuine. “Let’s!”

Despite her eagerness to try out the gun, after a few shots, she insisted I spend more time firing at the target than her. Because she was so petite, I she was having real trouble dealing with the recoil. It wasn’t easy for me either but I refused to look weak, especially when all these other people, creatures, were watching.

The crowd of creatures watched every shot. My biceps and shoulders were killing me and I knew that I was going to suffer for it tomorrow. When it felt like I wouldn’t be able to bring my arms above my head, I decided to call it quits.

Tisiphone winked us back to the palace in front of my room.

“I should really learn how to do that,” I muttered sleepily.

“You’re mortal, you can’t.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Another reminder that I was absolutely powerless here. I couldn't really do anything, being mortal. In a flash, I remembered the question that was bothering me from earlier.

“Earlier today, Plutus said that the previous Cerberus was killed,” I said.

Tisiphone stilled. “Yeah,” she answered. “He was poisoned.”

“Like Barnabas?” I asked. Tisiphone's wince was answer enough. “Did you investigate that?” I asked. It seemed like it would have been, yet I figured I'd ask.

“Yes,” she said. “He died a horrible death. It was...awful. I can send you the report.”

“I'd appreciate that,” I said. “Who trains and takes care of the dogs? I'd like to ask them a few questions about the former Cerberus.”

Tisiphone was shaking her head, and several tears fell. “You can't. Barnabas took care of them. He was the dog handler.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I'm sorry.”

She numbly nodded. “As I said, I'll send you the information and I'll take you to see Barnabas' replacement, but he won't know much about what happened. Pretty useless if you ask me.”

I thanked her and awkwardly gave her a hug. She hugged me back, nodded at me, and turned away. I nearly stumbled into my room, and even though I was disgustingly sweaty, I was too exhausted to really care. I collapsed on my bed and passed out within a few seconds.

Sleep was the only place where I felt at home.

8

It was unnaturally dark when I woke up hours later. I was still on my stomach, still fully clothed. I supposed the Underworld had a day and night cycle. It was definitely darker than what I was used to in San Francisco, but I couldn’t be sure if it was because I was away from city lights, or because I was nearly dead.

I grimaced and rolled on my side. I hated sleeping in clothes, and I was so tired, I hadn’t even thought to take the God Gun out from where it was tucked in. Someone had snuck in and thoughtfully laid a blanket over me, which was a nice gesture, since my room seemed to be without heating.

I smiled at the irony. I was in Hell without a furnace.

I sighed and closed my eyes, coming to terms with what waking up in the Underworld meant. It wasn’t just some crazy dream. This was really happening.

A rustle caught my attention, and my body immediately went on alert. Too late, I realized that I hadn’t woken up of my own accord. I’d heard something, and it had torn me from whatever dreams I was having.

A low growl issued from an especially dark corner. I held my breath, trying to get my focus on whatever was in my room. Slowly, so as not to alarm it, I reached my hand to grab my handgun.

I wasn’t slow enough.

Faster than I could follow, a dark blur streaked across the room. I screamed and brought my hands up to block whatever it was. I managed—just barely—to catch it before it locked its mouth around my throat.

At first, I thought I was dealing with a bona fide zombie. If there was an Underworld, then why not have zombies? As my mind adjusted to what I was seeing, I realized that I was dealing with something totally different. My assailant, while a solid mass, was entirely encased in a film of smoke. There weren’t any sort of defined facial features, only two burning pieces of coal where eyes should be. A gaping maw kept changing shape as it snapped at my throat. It growled, a low rumbling noise that shook me to my core. And the bastard was strong. After burning my arms out at the firing range, I was having a lot of trouble trying to keep it off me.

A Shadow Assassin. It was the only thing that made sense.

No one had described what they looked like, but I knew deep in my gut I was dealing with one of the things that had attempted to kill Plutus. Even then, it succeeded at sticking a sword through his chest.

What chance did I have against one all by myself?

“Help!” I screamed. I was in a palace with tons of people, someone had to hear me. “Somebody help me!”

My arms gave out momentarily, and that awful mouth snapped again, this time closer.

“Someone!” I screamed. Why wasn’t anyone coming? Surely there’d been enough time for someone to hear me and come running to my aid.

Movement from my doorway caught my eye and the overhead lights flicked on. In that split second of diverting my attention, the maw clamped down on the fleshy part between my thumb and forefinger on my right hand with a squelching noise. I screamed in pain.

Another blur, this time a red-haired, green skinned one, moved past me and decked the Shadow Assassin, flinging it to the opposite end of the room.

“Tisiphone?” I mumbled. I shook the sudden onset of static in my brain. There was something in that bite, something bad that was mixing with my blood. A poison, or something. It was getting hard to focus on a single thought. My vision was also going blurry.

“Shoot it, Callie!” she was yelling. “Or are you that fucking useless?” She held her clenched fist out, holding it in a grip of psychic energy. It growled at her, struggling. And even in my delirium, I could see that she wouldn’t be able to hold it for much longer.

I fumbled with my gun and raised it to point at the Shadow Assassin. My hands were shaking so badly that I was afraid of shooting Tisiphone.

“Shoot it!” she yelled, as the Shadow Assassin roared and broke free.

Strong arms embraced me from behind, and a hand clasped over my injured hand. A sense of warmth spread through me and I could see and hold my hand steady enough to fire.

I pulled the trigger, fighting the recoil as much as my sluggish body would allow.

The Shadow Assassin exploded in a firework of gore. I winced, hearing the bottom half of the assassin’s body thud to the floor. The entire top half was plastered to the walls and ceiling of my room. Tisiphone was covered in it and she was glaring at me as she wiped off smoking gobs of liquid flesh from her face.

I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep in there another night.

“She’s been bitten,” a familiar voice announced by my ear. Plutus. He held a hand over the bite, and I still felt that warm sensation between our hands.

“What...what does that mean?” I struggled to ask. My tongue felt like it was too big in my mouth.

“It means you’re dying.” No sugar coating, no apologies, just the raw fact that instead of being almost dead, I was quickly heading to being fully dead and without an Afterlife. I felt sick to my stomach, and it wasn’t from the poison.

“What the hell happened?” Hades stood in the doorway in a pair of silken pajamas you’d expect a billionaire to be wearing, flanked by Persephone and a few other faces that I didn’t recognize. I presumed they were servants.

Plutus stiffened beside me. “Shadow Assassin,” he said simply. “They tried to kill Callista.”

“Callie,” I grumbled drunkenly. He started lightly shaking me, and it took me a moment to realize that he was laughing at me.

So glad that he was in a good mood.

“Go get Asclepius,” Hades commanded with a gesture. One of the servants bowed curtly and teleported out of the room.

“Asclepius?” I said.

“God of the Art of Healing,” Tisiphone explained. She knelt next to me. “He’ll be able to help you.” I might have imagined it, but she looked concerned.

Behind her, I saw Persephone glaring at me. I swallowed and looked down at Plutus’ hand clasped over mine. After her lukewarm reception of me, I guessed that she didn’t want her son being this close to me. I tried pulling away. Plutus held firm.

“No. I’m what’s keeping you from dying at the moment, Callista.” I stilled, sitting there with wide-eyes, hearing my heartbeat in my ears, probably pumping the venom throughout my body even quicker.

It didn’t stop Persephone from harrumphing at me and crossing her arms.

“At least it didn’t try killing Plutus this time,” she announced. Her concern would have been more believable if I didn’t already know she was a bitch.

“Can you speak to it?” Plutus asked his father, pointedly ignoring her.

“Depends on how recently it died,” Hades said. “Although I doubt it would have any information.” He strode over to the mess and knelt down in the grime. “Good job restraining it, Tisiphone.”

The Fury next to me nodded proudly. “Just doing my job, sir.” She wrapped an arm about my shoulders and gave me an encouraging squeeze.

Hades reached out a long, elegant hand and dipped it into a puddle of red goo, leftovers of the Shadow Assassin. He closed his eyes, and for a few moments, nothing happened.

“It’s fresh,” he noted. He took a deep breath.

Another few moments passed, and I thought that he was communicating with the dead in his mind through his touch and we wouldn't be able to see. Then the lights flickered and went out, throwing us into darkness. A blue light emanated from the center of the room, next to Hades, growing in size until it was so bright, I had to blink. Standing there was a little boy, no older than five, who was shivering, looking at the God of the Underworld. My blood ran cold.

They used a boy to try and kill me?

“I want my mommy,” the boy said brokenly. “Where’s Mommy?” His voice quivered as if he was the on the verge of tears. I was on the verge of throwing up. I’d seen some sick things as a cop, but I’d never talked to the victim like this before.

“What’s your name?” Hades gently asked. His fingers never left the corpse at his feet.

“Preston,” the boy sniffled. “Preston Woods.”

“Preston.” Hades said that reverently, like he was respecting the dead. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

The boy stilled and considered the question. “I was at the playground with Sarah and Shane—they’re my best friends.” He started crying. “We were playing. I was at the top of the slide, the big one Mommy doesn’t like me going down, when the kid behind me didn’t wait for my turn. No...” His voice trailed off. “It was a grown-up. And they pushed me off and...” He went silent again, tears running down his face.

“And?” Hades prompted.

“And I fell off. Please, I want my mommy,” Preston sniffled.

“What happened then?” Hades pressed.

Preston’s eyes widened. “I...I hit the ground. And...and...” The boy’s face went feral, the eyes changing into those pits of coal. The blue light surrounding the boy went dark, and smoke started pouring out. What was left of the boy opened its mouth, impossibly wide, and it lunged at Hades. Some of the servants cried out in surprise at the change in the boy.

As quickly as it happened, Hades removed his fingers from the remains and the entity immediately disappeared. He flung the gunk from his fingers in distaste. “So the boy didn’t know who killed him either,” he nearly spat.

“Whoever it is...killed the boy to get to me?” I said with a thick voice. I was going to be sick. I was going to retch all over everything.

“Yes,” said Hades flatly.

Okay, now I really was going to throw up. I might’ve imagined it, but it felt like Plutus stroked my hand with his thumb, avoiding the wound.

“I’m here,” a new voice announced.

I looked up to see a man with a head full of curly hair and an equally curly beard enter my room. He was dressed in a pair of scrubs with a stethoscope hanging from his neck. He looked like he would have been in his late fifties, yet I knew he was a god and probably older than I could even guess. However, that knowledge was at odds with what I was seeing; he looked like he could have stepped off the set of Grey’s Anatomy.

“Hello Asclepius,” Hades said. He gestured to me. “Please help our guest.”

Asclepius sat next to me on my bed. He gingerly removed Plutus’ hand from on top of mine and for a split second, I felt the world swim underneath me. Asclepius closed his eyes and touched my wound. I grimaced at the initial contact. Warmth, stronger this time, spread throughout me, and I began feeling far better.

Another man stepped into the room. He appeared younger than Asclepius, with a clean-shaven face and a pair of glasses with thick brown frames. He reminded me of a biology teaching assistant I’d once had a crush on at college. He looked scholarly, like anything he said would have been backed up by reams of published papers, most of which he’d written. His eyes fell on me, and he nodded crisply.

“Hello,” he acknowledged.

“Apollo,” Hades said stiffly. “I wasn’t expecting you.” Ah, so an Olympian was standing in my room. As if this entire thing wasn’t strange enough.

“Milady,” Apollo said, nodding to Persephone.

As usual, she snorted derisively. “Apollo.”

Apollo leaned over. With all the people around me, I was starting to feel a bit claustrophobic. Tisiphone must have noticed my discomfort and she patted Plutus’ leg. “Up,” she ordered. “Let’s give the girl some room.”

Plutus silently limped out of my room. Tisiphone met my eyes and raised a curious eyebrow. I was about to say something to him—what, I wasn’t sure—but Asclepius yanked my hand closer to him.

“Ow!”

The doctor gave me a grim smile. “Don’t interrupt when I’m trying to diagnose the problem.”

“How is it?” Apollo asked quietly.

“Bad,” Asclepius muttered. “We might be too late.”

Apollo frowned and my heart leaped into my throat.

Too late?!

“What are you doing here, Apollo?” Hades demanded. “You know you’re not allowed in my realm without my permission.”

Apollo looked up at the God of the Underworld, unwavering under his angry gaze. The two of them held a staring contest for a few moments before Apollo sighed and looked back at my hand.

“I heard that a Shadow Assassin bit your new homicide detective,” he said. “And considering how nasty those bites can get, I wanted to make sure that I was here in case my son couldn’t handle it. I figured that her safety was worth a little trespassing to you.”

Son? There wasn’t anyone here who could be his son, unless he meant Asclepius. And now, looking at them, there was a family resemblance, from their dark curly hair to their blue eyes. Asclepius was older. Or at least, he looked older, so that didn't make sense.

My shock must have been evident on my face, because Asclepius smiled at me and gave me a wink. “We get that all the time,” he said good-naturedly.

I watched him, bewildered, as he continued working. He bent over my hand, waving his own hands over my wound. I was feeling better, but I could feel the venom rippling underneath it. I swallowed.

“Please make it better,” I pleaded.

“Allow me,” Apollo said calmly.

He placed his hand over Asclepius’ and I felt the warmth spread throughout my entire body. My cheeks burned with a sudden fever. Sweat broke out on both gods’ faces.

“Wow,” Apollo muttered, his eyes closed. “It is bad.” His brow furrowed even more.

I was burning up, my insides felt like they were smoldering with the heat. I sucked in a deep breath.

Please be all right. Please be all right.

After what seemed like an eternity, Apollo and Asclepius sat back with a relieved sigh. I inspected my hand, now taut with pink, scarred skin in the shape of a half moon. I flexed my hand, feeling the healed-over wound stretch a bit. It was going to ache for a long while but the upside was I wasn’t going to die.

“Thanks.”

Tisiphone smirked at me. “Ugly scar.” I frowned at her, although her smirk quickly turned into a smile.

Asclepius insisted on checking my vitals to make sure that I was okay. He finally got to use that big stethoscope around his neck.

Despite having just survived a murder attempt, my ticker was working just fine.

“We'll have to conduct a search to see if there's any evidence,” Hades said tiredly. He looked about as pale as I felt. “I can't have assassins threatening our guests. And my son.”

I struggled to my feet. “I'll help...” I started to say, but Asclepius put a hand to my chest.

“You won't be doing anything for a few days, Miss,” he said. “As your doctor—” Tisiphone snorted derisively, “—I am prescribing bed rest. We got most of the venom out, but we can't have you running around and spreading what's left around. You'll get sick again.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Apollo commanded, as he stood up. “Doctor's orders. Hades, if I may have a word?”

Hades stood to leave. “Tisiphone, can you help Callie to another guestroom?”

“Of course,” she snickered.

“Persephone, would you like to join us?” Apollo offered. Persephone gave me one last glare as she silently stood and followed them out the door. “Nice to meet you, Callista,” Apollo said, and he and Asclepius left me alone with the Fury and the servants.

Tisiphone gave my shoulder a squeeze as she helped me to my feet. She wasn't very good at it though. Her diminutive height made it difficult to help. She clucked her tongue and three more sets of hands from the servants grasped me as they helped me out of the room. I was a lot weaker than I thought I was. That simple bite on my hand took a lot more out of me than I expected. I carried the God Gun with me, because I didn't want to be without it. Not if Shadow Assassins were going to try and kill me in my sleep.

“Don't worry,” she whispered. “I'll see if I can find how our assassin got in.”

They deposited me in a guestroom across the hall. Close enough to still be of help to Plutus, but away from the tainted room. I felt marginally better moving, but bed rest was going to drive me nuts. What if there was evidence that Tisiphone didn't catch? Something she missed? What if another Shadow Assassin snuck in right now to kill Plutus? I was in no shape to fight another one off.

Speaking of, where was Plutus?

Tisiphone tucked me in and checked the security of the room. When she was satisfied that I was safe, she gave me a rare warm smile. “Try to get some sleep,” she offered. “You'll be useless if you don't.”

Like I was going to be able to sleep after what I saw but I laid down like I was going to try.

Tisiphone left me alone then, and in the dark, I focused on my breathing.

That was close. And I was really weak at the moment. How was I supposed to protect someone else when I couldn't protect myself? How could I conduct an investigation with Shadows and mythical creatures most of whom I didn’t even understand?

My thoughts trailed back to Plutus. Was he worried? Why did I care?

Somehow, I managed to fall back to sleep. And while I'm not quite sure, I think that at one point in the middle of the night, the door cracked open a bit and someone poked their head in. Maybe it was to check on me.

Then again, maybe not.

9

Bed rest was worse than watching paint dry. The magazines in the Underworld were very dated and they’d never heard of Harry Potter. After I'd spent years of my life always working and never stopping, it seemed weird to take an actual vacation.

Even though I was mostly dead, it felt good to take a rest and refocus on who Callista Saunders really was. I guess getting hit by a bus really does that for you. You start to look back on your life and wonder what you could have done better, what you could’ve done differently and how you were going to get over the big screw-ups.

I had two big regrets: breaking up with Ben and not staying close to my mom. I knew that Ben and I were very different, but I also knew I never allowed myself the chance to get close to him. I kept a strong wall between us and I wondered if I’d missed out on the love of my life because I’d been too stubborn to let him in.

I stayed close to my mother until I went away to college. By then she’d remarried and I figured that I was in her past, and Seth, her new husband, was in her future. I didn't want to get in the way. But now I realized that it probably hurt her that her daughter became distant. I wanted to be close to her again. I missed her sharp wit and her warm laugh, but most of all I missed her stories.

Were both Ben and Mom mourning over my comatose body right now? I could imagine Ben sitting by my bedside, sleepless, my mother sobbing her eyes out as Seth stood stoically behind her in his strange, quiet way.

I was actually fairly certain that something similar was indeed happening on the surface, and I didn't know if there was a way of reaching them.

I'll be safe, guys, I mentally told them.

There was nothing to do about it now, except get to work.

Even while I was resting, I was reviewing files of all the suspects. Hades' secretary had been kind enough to email me all of their prior investigations, along with any notes. I looked at them on my tablet, thumbing through photos, possible motives, and creating further questions.

Sure, there were people, gods, and immortals that wanted to hurt the Royal Family of the Underworld. The only thing that didn't make sense was the timing. Why now?

I believed that once I could answer that question, I could get to the bottom of who was trying to kill Plutus.

True to her word, Tisiphone emailed me all the information she had about the former Cerberus and his death. The dog was found in his kennel one morning. Originally, they thought it died from old age but Hades had ordered an autopsy because the foam coming from the animal’s mouth suggested poison. No one could figure out where the poison came from or how it had been administered to the hellhound. Transcripts of interviews with Barnabas revealed that he was incredibly distraught over the whole thing.

Other than that, there was very little information about it, and based on her notes and write-ups, Tisiphone was very thorough in her assessment. I couldn't see anything that she missed. Sure, I was going interview the new dog handler, but there wasn't going to be much more for me to find.

Yet another cold case.

After my third day of rest, I shakily got to my feet, dressed in my t-shirt and jeans, and stumbled out in the hallway. Luckily no one was around to turn me back to my room, so I used the wall as a support and I leaned heavily against it to walk down the hall. I didn't have anywhere in mind but I had to get out of bed. The walls of my room were closing in on me and it was making me a little crazy.

I still wasn’t myself. I easily got winded and each step was harder than the last.

All of this from one bite? These Shadow Assassins were really bad news.

God, I was getting tired.

I leaned back on the wall and slid down into a crouch, trying to catch my breath. I put my head in my hands and focused on getting my breathing under control.

Some bodyguard I am.

“You okay there, Callista?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

“It's Callie,” I grumbled, refusing to groan.

“Oooh, you're feisty,” the voice laughed, tinged with genuine laughter.

A pair of red high-heeled feet came into my line of vision, I looked up at who was talking to me. My jaw dropped. Grinning down at me was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. This woman put Persephone in the shade.

The woman in front of me was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen. The color of her hair was constantly changing, flickering from brilliant color to brilliant color. Her eyes did the same thing. She was a combination of Marilyn Monroe, Madonna, Beyonce Knowles, and Miss America. She was about five six but her shiny red heels made her as tall as me. She wore a designer outfit, which was probably cost more than my entire year's salary. On anyone else, the haute couture piece would have looked ridiculous; on her it looked flawless.

“H...hello?” My tongue felt too large for my too small mouth.

Was being a goddess really just some sort of beauty contest?

“Here,” she said with a genuine movie-star grin, extending a hand down to me. “Let me help you up.”

I took her proffered hand and she hauled me to my feet, somehow managing not to topple over in her six-inch stilettos. I was more wobbly than her and I was barefoot.

“You need to take it easy, Callie,” she giggled. “You're going to fully kill yourself if you don't.”

So enthralled I was by her, I felt like an immediate dork for not taking it easy. “Sorry,” I mumbled, feeling like a scolded five-year-old.

She regarded me with her crystalline blue-green-brown-hazel eyes. “So you're the woman my uncle hired to protect Plutus,” she said.

Uncle? I blinked, trying to place her based on that bit of information. The Greek family of gods was so big and incestuous that I couldn't figure her identity out from that one statement. It also didn't help that my brain was mush just by looking at her.

“Yeah, Hades hired me to figure out who's trying to kill Plutus.” I said. I was trying to be conversational, but I was just parroting what she’d already said. Her beauty was scrambling my brain and I had to get away from her.

It was the first time that I realized that beauty could be as dangerous as hate or anger. If I had to do anything complex around her, I wouldn't be able to.

She kept watching me, like she was conducting a science experiment with a mouse in a maze. I swallowed nervously.

“Can I...help you?” I asked when I felt way too uncomfortable.

“Nope, just looking at you,” she said cryptically. “You're kinda cute.”

She reached out, as if to touch my hair, and I recoiled, stumbling back in the wall with a thud. Normal people don't touch a stranger’s hair, right? Not that she was normal—she was too pretty for that. She blinked at me, then started laughing.

“Oh, you're so transparent, hun,” she chided, clapping her hands as if she were applauding something. “I can see through you as easily as if you were glass.”

I didn't quite know what to say. Thankfully, I noticed some movement on the corner and turned my head to see Plutus standing there, leaning heavily on his cane.

I'm sure they both heard the sigh of relief escape my throat.

“Aphrodite, leave her alone,” he said tiredly.

The woman—Aphrodite, I now knew—pouted. She crossed her arms and made a point to stand with her feet shoulder-width apart as she cocked her hips, faced her cousin and stared him down.

“I was trying to get to know her,” she whined. “I wasn't doing anything to her.”

Plutus didn't look impressed. “Leave her alone.”

Waves of anger emanated off of Aphrodite. Apparently, she wasn't used to things not going her way. She glared at her cousin for a few seconds more before unexpectedly wrapping an arm around me and giving me a hug. I squeaked in something kind of like horror at the overly friendly gesture.

Plutus groaned. “Aphrodite...” he warned.

“Fine, fine,” she pouted. “Just don't get her killed, you hear me, Plutus?” She glanced back at me. “She's kinda cute, it'd be a pity if she went fully dead.” Then, as if to make her point, she slapped my butt.

She slunk over towards Plutus and gently touched his arm. “Be careful, cuz,” she said quietly. There was a note of genuine concern in her voice, completely different from the goddess who was standing there only a split second before. It seemed that the gods could switch emotions on and off like a light switch.

Plutus' severe face softened, and he nodded his head towards her. “I will, Aphrodite,” he said. A small smile flitted across his handsome features. “I'll still be here tomorrow.”

“You'd better be.”

As she sauntered off, wiggling her assets with each step, he turned his attention towards me. The smile grew a bit larger and he shook his head. “She never changes. Good to see that you're up and out of bed,” he said.

I shrugged. With Aphrodite no longer scrutinizing me, I immediately felt more like myself. “I got really bored. I already looked over all of the suspects and read all the notes about the case. I couldn't look at them anymore.”

“Well, if you're bored,” he said, “would you be interested in going on a little adventure with me?”

I wasn't sure if I had the energy but I wasn't going to turn him down. Not only was I his bodyguard, but he was compelling. Something about him was pulling me closer to him. “Where are you going?”

“I'm heading to the Surface,” he said wryly. “I'm off to go do my job. And I guess if you're my bodyguard, the best way to keep an eye on me is to come with me.”

“Your job?”

He nodded. “Have to go play the God of Wealth for a few hours.”

It was going to feel strange going to the world of the living when I was practically a ghost. As Plutus explained, we were going to be something like observers on the Surface. We'd be invisible to everyone, they wouldn't be able to hear us, and we couldn't touch anything.

“So what good will we be?” I asked, feeling a bit surly.

“You'll see,” he answered cryptically.

He grabbed my hand, and we teleported to the Surface.

It must've been because there was no direct sunlight in the Underworld, but it felt so bright outside. The yellow-white light of the sun burned my eyes and it took me a few seconds to adjust. Plutus, because of his blindness, didn’t seem to notice.

He immediately started walking, leaning heavily on his cane. He moved with singular purpose and travelled as quickly as if he'd been powerwalking. I followed him closely. It didn’t take me long to realize that we were in an unfamiliar city. In the middle of a market, deep in the heart of a large city, we moved among a large crowd of people, bustling about and going about their own lives.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“Mumbai,” Plutus called behind him. “India.”

Wow. I hadn't expected to end up here, of all places. People kept walking, no one noticed us, and people walked through both of us. Talk about a weird sensation. It was incredibly disconcerting to be a ghost.

“What are we doing here?” I asked.

“We're here to make a kid's day.” He slowed before stopping, his head turned slightly.

Curious, I looked to see what had caught his attention. Then I saw the little kids.

They looked to be about five or six years old and judging by their dirty faces and tattered clothes, they’d seen hard times in their short lives. My heart clenched.

“What's going to happen to them?” I asked, feeling that something bad was about to occur.

“Watch,” Plutus whispered. He couldn't hide the little smile that escaped his lips.

A tourist couple walked by, out of place among the market-goers. Maybe they were on their honeymoon. They looked around, open-mouthed at everything they saw. I knew what they were thinking, because I felt the same way.

While they were gaping at the market, something sparkled out of the woman's purse. I saw it like it was a glittering diamond. It wasn't. It was a 100 Euro note, which was ridiculous, because they were in India, they should be carrying Indian money, right? Still, there it was, the 100 Euro note, which fluttered from her purse and down to the ground.

They didn't even notice.

Timidly and quickly, the boy snatched it up and scurried back to his sister. They were looking at it in disbelief that someone would drop any amount of money. Slowly, hopefully, the little boy smiled and hugged his sister.

“Do they look happy?” Plutus asked quietly.

“Yes.” It was a sad, beautiful scene. “Did you do that?”

Plutus turned away. “Let's get going.”

He grabbed my hand, and a split second later, I was standing in a living room where an elderly couple was excitedly watching TV, a yellow slip of paper in their hands. It took me a second to realize what they were watching so intently. An announcer was speaking, and they were repeating everything he was saying.

“...38...”

They were watching the lottery drawing.

“Are you doing this too?” I whispered to Plutus. Standing in someone's living room felt a whole lot more personal than standing in the middle of a market in Mumbai.

“You don't have to whisper,” he said at a normal volume. “They can't hear you.”

“And you haven't answered my question.”

“...17...!”

“Yes,” he said.

“...29...!” the man cried. They both got to their feet, screaming with unadulterated joy. They were hugging each other, tears streaming down their faces. “Fifteen million dollars, Marie!”

“Wow,” I exclaimed, blinking. “They won the lottery?”

“Yep,” Plutus said. “It's going to help them live well for the last five years of their lives. Their family is going to fight over their remaining assets, and it's going to tear them apart.” He spoke softly, with a hint of sadness.

“What?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

“Wealth isn't all good,” Plutus said. “Many times it's often a curse. A lot of people who fall into a bunch of money often wish for things to go back to the way they were. They end up...hating their wealth. Wishing it'd never happened.” He was frowning. “It's not my fault. But you can see why there might be someone who wants to kill me. To be in control of this power.”

He grabbed my hand and we zapped to more locations. I saw a court divorce, splitting up the assets of a sad eighty-year old man and his gold digging twenty-two-year-old wife. I saw a teenager steal money from his mother so he could buy drugs. We stood by as a father died way too early and his two young daughters watched the life fade from his eyes. Luckily, he had taken out life insurance, but you got the feeling they would have traded all of it to get their dad back. The stock market went up; people were rich; an earthquake decimated a sweatshop in a third world country, and the company offered to pay the grieving families two months' compensation for their loved ones dying in the collapse of the building.

The whole thing felt both beautiful and awful. All at once, I saw both sides to wealth. The good side that allowed people to live their dreams. And the bad side that shattered people's lives. Plutus was pretty stoic about the whole thing, while I had tears streaming down my face.

“This is insane,” I said.

“Yeah,” Plutus agreed. “You grow really tired of it after a while. As a god, there's so much you impact, but you have little effect on the outcomes of what happens. It's all a part of Fate. My job is to dispense the wealth. After that, it’s up to the mortals to decide if they’ll use it for good or bad.”

“What if you stopped doing it?”

“The balance of the world would shift and that could be catastrophic.”

“Do you always have to do it?”

His blank eyes looked at me for a few moments before answering. “Yes,” he said softly. “Some gods can get away with a proxy doing their work for a few years. But not me. I'm...I'm really the only one who can do this.”

I remembered the vision that Hades showed me, when this whole thing started. I remembered seeing everyone starve in that vision of an apocalyptic future.

“Is that why you can't help third world countries?”

“I can't do anything about it at the moment,” he said softly. A pained expression crossed his face giving me far more insight into his work than any words could have. “I've been trying for millennia to create equal societies. It's getting there, but it's hard.” He clipped the last word, like he was biting back what he really wanted to say.

“Does it suck?” I asked. “Having tons of power and not being able to do anything meaningful with it?”

He laughed mirthlessly. “Yes,” he said. “Yes it does. Being powerless is the worst feeling in the world.” He raked his fingers through his hair.

I reached out to touch his arm, but he recoiled from me. I let my hand fall to my side. I knew how far to push someone before they completely closed up.

“Let's keep going,” he said. “I can't stay up here too long.” His voice sounded strangled.

He grabbed my hand and we were whisked away to another location. I involuntarily shrieked, as we were standing on the roof of a very tall building looking out at a white-capped mountain in the distance.

Before I could ask, Plutus said, “Tokyo. Japan.” He pointed over to the mountain. “That's Mt. Fuji.”

I was glad that the wind swept through my body, because at this height, we would have been blown off to our deaths if we’d been in mortal form. Even though I was somewhat dead, I was shivering like I was still alive.

“What are we doing up here?”

Up until now, we had been traveling, seeing people interact with each other and the world around them. This was the first time we were up here by ourselves with no one else to observe.

“I need to rest,” Plutus said tiredly.

I tore my eyes away from the spectacular view to look at him. He looked ragged, worn around the edges. I saw the bags underneath his eyes and wondered how long it had been since he’d gotten a good night’s sleep. I'd never seen a god look so tired.

“You said before we teleported here, that you couldn't stay up here too long.”

He sighed and sat down on the very edge of the roof, letting his feet dangle off the edge. “Yeah,” he acknowledged. “The longer I stay topside, the weaker I get. It saps my energy.” He grinned bitterly. “One of the major drawbacks of being my parents' son is that I am bound to the Underworld.”

I sat next to him on the edge. It was a little too close for my liking, but I wasn't going to look weak next to him. I was sworn to protect him.

“That's...” I fought for the right words. Nothing came to mind. “That's really shitty.”

He chuckled. “Yep. But what can you do?”

A horrible thought crossed my mind. The cop in me really wanted to ask a question, while the human being underneath told me it was insensitive.

He must have sensed my unease, because he asked, “What's wrong?”

I swallowed to clear my throat. “Mind if I ask you a question?” I asked. He nodded. I really don't want to ask this, I thought, to acknowledge the possibility. “You aren't the one who's trying to kill you, are you?”

He blinked at me, momentarily confused. “How...do you mean?”

I gestured out to Mt. Fuji. “I mean...” Spill it, Callie. “You're a god, yet you're blind and lame. Other gods consider you to be weak. Your powers are...brilliant...but you really can't do anything with them. You're the only one who can do your job, and you can't stay away from the gloom of the Underworld for too long. You're not the one who's trying to...off you, are you?”

He blinked one more time and then leaned back, chuckling even harder. “No, no, I'm not trying to 'off' myself, Callista. There're far easier ways to kill me than what they're trying to do.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Far easier ways. Besides, if it really was me, I'd succeed.”

That wasn't a very reassuring answer. In fact, it sounded like he had at least thought of suicide. I didn't blame him, especially after seeing how the other people in the Underworld treated him. I couldn't imagine thousands of years of that. The whole thing was sad. And a waste.

Oh God, Callie, it sounds like you like him.

Trust me to make something far more complicated than it had to be.

I looked back at Mt. Fuji. “Good,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “I'd hate to be doing all of this work for nothing.”

“I imagine so,” he said bemusedly. He sounded even more tired, like the conversation had zapped what little energy he’d had left.

“We should get you back to the Underworld.”

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. For some reason, it seemed like the wind wasn't messing up his hair too much (while it was throwing my hair all sorts of ways, even if it was blowing through the rest of me), and he looked serene for a moment or two.

“I like it here,” he said in a low voice. “Mortals are just so...interesting...”

“And very mortal,” I said with a short laugh. I stood up from my spot and wiped off my jeans. “It is time to go back.” I held out a hand to help him up.

Plutus regarded my hand for a moment before sighing and taking it. I pulled him up to his feet and steadied him against the dizzying height of the skyscraper.

“Good thing I'm about your height,” I told him with a blush.

He quirked an eyebrow, and I giggled self-consciously. Something passed between us then. I don't know what it was, some sort of understanding, maybe. I believed him when he said that he wasn't trying to kill himself, although I felt like I had had seen into a part of him that very few others had.

He reached out to grab my hand, presumably to take me home.

“Look, Callista, I...”

Then—at first I didn't know how it happened—I was swept off the side of the building. It all happened in slow motion, at one point, I was looking at Plutus, the next I was falling with my back to the ground, reaching up like I was expecting him to grab me. Except, by the time I could reach out, I was beyond his reach.

WHAT THE HELL?!

What the hell had happened? Had Plutus pushed me off? Or were we being attacked? I remembered Hades warning me that if I died in his service, there wouldn't be an Afterlife for me. This was it. I was going to die, plunging to my death off the top of a skyscraper in Tokyo. Would people even see my splattered body? Or would I die as a ghost without anyone noticing, the life inside my body in San Francisco just slipping away?

No, I thought. No.

Oh, God. I was terrified of death.

Of course, even as I was thinking these thoughts in slow motion, everything happened far quicker than I could describe.

“CALLISTA!” Plutus cried, breaking through my thoughts.

Then—insanely—he threw himself off the building, reaching out towards me. He was perpendicular to the ground, making himself as aerodynamic as possible to try and catch me before I hit the ground.

“Plutus!” I shrieked, the wind tearing the words from my mouth. At least I knew he wasn't the one who had thrown me off the building. That would have been too perfect. As he drove his body towards me, I saw what had thrown me off the building—and it was far more terrifying in the daylight than in the dark of my bedroom in the Underworld.

A Shadow Assassin reared its ugly head and shrieked in anger, a sound that made my blood run cold. How the hell did they find us here? When Plutus was doing his rounds?

I didn't time to think about it. I had to take care of it now.

I reached into the waistband of my jeans, grabbing my God Gun, which was becoming a lifesaver, aimed at the black shadow that had launched itself behind Plutus, and fired, which probably increased my descent even more.

The Shadow Assassin splattered into red gore that the wind blew away.

I didn't have much time to celebrate. Somewhere below me, the ground was quickly rising up to meet me, and Plutus wasn't going to make it in time.

However, he certainly looked like he wanted to.

I thought briefly about firing down at the ground—the kick of the God Gun was surely enough to slow me down, even a little bit, yet I had no idea what it would do to the people below.

I watched as his hand edged agonizingly closer and closer to me, but it wasn’t close enough. Then I felt the touch of the concrete hit my head, just as his fingertips touched mine, and we teleported away from Tokyo, away from the what remained of the Shadow Assassin, and my imminent death on the sidewalk.

I landed roughly on my back in my bed, breaking the posts of the bed with a loud thud. Plutus came crashing on top of me.

My head hurt from the almost-impact of the sidewalk, the rough landing on the springs in my mattress, and Plutus' body weight holding me down. We were alive. I was alive, rather. Mostly.

I puffed heavily trying to regain my breath. Tears sprang in my eyes and I couldn't see straight.

“That...” Plutus was heaving as he got up on his elbows. “That was...too close.” He shook his head. “I could...I could've teleported to the ground and caught you...but I didn't know if I'd have enough...strength...”

I was speechless.

The door burst open, and Tisiphone was there, half in and half out, looking like she was rushing to save us, halting in the doorway. Her face went from surprised to smug as she saw Plutus lying on top of me.

“And here I thought I was coming to rescue you,” she muttered.

Plutus rolled over, and we both laid on the bed, breathing heavily.

“I can't slow down my pulse,” I gasped, putting a hand over my heart. “I think I'm going to have a heart attack.”

“Can't,” Tisiphone announced.

“She can...still feel like she is,” Plutus retorted between breaths.

A moment later, Hades pushed his way past her and knelt next to Plutus on the bed. “Are you all right?” he asked his son. He looked concerned, but not as concerned as I would have thought after yet another attempt on his son's life.

“Yeah...” Plutus breathed. “Shadow...Assassin.”

Hades' expression was grim and he was absolutely pissed off, and rightfully so.

“All right then,” he said, raising his voice. “It's now confirmed. You are not to go the Surface. I forbid it.”

Plutus put a hand over his over his eyes. “Dad, I'm all right. I had a bodyguard with me the entire time, and she killed the Shadow Assassin.”

“Yes, and nearly eradicated herself in the process,” Hades said.

“She's good,” Plutus reiterated. “I trust her. And she protected me.”

“Me?” I asked, my voice squeaking. Did we experience two different falls? I’d barely gotten out of it almost-alive this time. What if the Shadow Assassins were more prepared next time? What if they found a more fool-proof way of killing me? Or Plutus?

There were so many unanswered questions, and so many of the answers were possible, I didn't want to think about it. “I didn't do anything,” I said.

He shook his head in answer. “You got the Shadow Assassin,” he said. “You saved my life as much as your own.”

I turned my gaze onto him, but he wasn't saying anything or looking at me. I laid back in time to see Persephone appear in the doorway. She was standing next to Tisiphone, her arms crossed and her frown only slightly taking away from her beauty. Based on her angry expression, she wasn't impressed with my performance.

Neither was I.

I had nearly died today, for really, the second time in only a few days. If the attacks kept getting more frequent and more dangerous, my odds of going back to the Surface were getting slimmer and slimmer.

Damn. I was way in over my head.

The only way out of this was to find out who was trying to kill Plutus. I glanced back at him, feeling that bit of spark of attraction in my gut. Yes, I had a crush on him, but I wanted to protect him for other reasons too. I wanted to test myself, to accomplish the impossible.

You can do it, Callie.

“All right,” I said weakly. “I'll accompany him while he's on the Surface.”

Hades, who had been watching me intently the entire time, gave a slow nod of approval. Persephone threw her hands up and left the room.

I couldn't help feeling like I was going further and further down the rabbit hole.

Plutus finally turned his head back to me, a look of concern crossing his handsome features. I tried to reassure him with the best smile I could manage but it was pretty weak.

I'll protect you.

10

My next few weeks in the Underworld were filled with interrogations and interviews. I talked to nearly everyone in the Underworld—the Royal family, the entire guard, the servants, the immigration officers, everyone I could think of. Initially, I spent more time talking to each person, then when I wasn’t getting anywhere, I shortened the interviews. Some people made themselves readily available but others claimed to be so busy that I had to schedule the meeting days or weeks in advance. Apparently when you’re dead, you work yourself to death.

Tisiphone stayed with me for all of those interrogations. Though she did get a bit annoying, she shadowed me the entire time, offering up advice. Even when I was exhausted, she was like a slave driver making me work. And work. And work.

We talked. I got to know her and she got to know me. She told me about her past, all forty-seven centuries of her life, most of them spent with Barnabas. She'd briefly touch on her life with Barnabas and then clam up, like she didn't want to talk about it. I didn't pressure her knowing how deeply death can effect a person. I understood her grief.

Plutus and I maintained an awkward friendship. I conducted my investigation when he was in the palace. Whenever he left the grounds, to perform his godly duties or otherwise, I went.

Plutus was one moody fellow. For every winning smile, I got ten mood swings in return. He’d brood and withdraw proving to be a complete enigma. The emotional walls he built were impossible to break down.

That didn’t mean my attraction to him was waning. In fact, the opposite was true. The more time we spent together, the more I wanted to get closer and closer to him. Not only was he a Greek God, I liked him. Really liked him.

Not that a relationship between the two of us was possible. He was a god; I was a mere mortal. And I knew I’d never like him enough to give up my life on The Surface for a life in The Underworld.

I had fallen for him. Tisiphone was right. She’d picked up on it even before I admitted my feelings to myself. I threw myself at my work, determined to get rid of those fizzy, sizzly feelings.

Eyes on the prize, right?

But forgetting my feelings for Plutus was a tall order. Because of the nature of the case, my mind was constantly on Plutus, what he was doing, how he spent his time, who wanted to see him dead. I’d often have to sit down with him and discuss his life, possible suspects, and everything else under the sun. Our conversations lasted hours over cups of coffee at the local Livin’ La Vida Mocha Cafe, which was across the street from the training facility where I kept my gun skills up to speed and also did daily workouts.

At night, usually after dinner, I went to my room to compile any new information I had gathered. My room looked like it belonged to a stalker, someone who was obsessed.

And, if I was completely honest with myself, I was.

Just like when I’d been a detective on The Surface.

I hung up every picture I printed from my tablet. Photos and profiles filled every wall surface. I used string to connect them and The Underworld version of PostIt notes to paste new ideas on motives and timing.

I met with Hades on a weekly basis, and if he was disappointed in my lack of progress, he didn’t show it. When I’d review with him everything I’d come across, he’d listen to me grasping at straws. I wasn’t getting anywhere and we both knew it. He had to be increasingly worried about his son’s safety, but he didn’t let on.

“I have faith in you, Callie,” he would say.

I wish I had faith in myself.

The Underworld was just as complex as The Surface, nothing was quite seemed. Relationships were complicated and since I hadn’t been able to make any friends, unless I counted Tisiphone, I didn’t have a set of objective ears to bounce my ideas off of.

Plutus was a very divisive figure to the people of the Underworld. Everyone who appeared to be around my age thought he was a decent fellow. Especially the girls who thought he was cute and mysterious. The dash of sadness only added to his draw. The older people thought he was a drain on their resources. The judgmental set thought that he deserved what was coming to him, because they thought that his blindness and limp caused him to do his job poorly, even though Zeus had made him that way.

Persephone saw her son as mistake.

Between Tisiphone's promptings and my own observations and conclusions, I built a sequence of events of the assassination attempt that took Barnabas’ life. As far as I could tell, it had happened like this:

The last time anyone ate in the dining hall before Barnabas’ death was on September 19. Two days before his death. On that night, Hades, his three judges and a few of his closest friends had eaten and departed the room around 9:30 that night. Plutus hadn’t been present. Instead he’d eaten in the courtyard with Cerberus because he and Hades had argued earlier in the day.

After dinner, the staff had cleared the tables, finishing in about fifteen minutes. Of course, between then and the dinner on the 21st, there had been people zipping in and out of the dining hall, vacuuming, cleaning, or passing through. But there hadn’t been any CCTV footage of anyone coming in there.

Daedalus didn’t like me asking questions but I had to find out why there were no security cameras.

“There’s no security cameras?”

“No.”

“Nowhere in the House of Hades?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“We ne'er needed one before. They’re gods, for Pete’s sake.”

I ordered him to install security cameras all over the house immediately. I would have pegged his lack of attention to such an important detail as suspicious, but Hades had assured me that it had been his own idea—for the longest time, he didn’t trust modern technology.

I’d interviewed the entire kitchen staff and no one had seen anything out of the ordinary. I’d inspected the kitchens for anything out of the ordinary and come up empty. There was the possibility that Plutus’ food was contaminated before it arrived but finding out the whens and wheres of that was going to be one heck of a challenge. Regardless of who added the poison to the food, the culprit had to have known which plate was Plutus’. Which meant that either someone was lying or something happened that no one saw.

Food preparation began three hours before dinner service on the 21st.

At approximately 6:38pm, Hades, Plutus, Persephone, Zeus, Hera, Demeter, and the rest of the Olympian Gods sat down for dinner, along with a few select immortals, including Tisiphone. I had a list of everyone in attendance, but not everyone had a motive. Because Hades forbade me to interview the Olympians, I couldn't talk to them directly. I wasn’t sure that any of them had a motive, though.

While I wanted to get as much information as I could, they intimidated the hell out of me. They had their squabbles, yet nothing that suggested they wanted to kill the son of the Lord of the Underworld. Meeting Aphrodite, Apollo, and Asclepius had taught me that.

At around 7pm, the food was served. Barnabas had literally just set down Plutus’ food when he collapsed upon the ground. Tisiphone, who was there as a guest, ran over and held Barnabas as he died in her arms. He was dead by 7:08pm.

At exactly 7:15pm, while the house was in an uproar over the death Barnabas, a Shadow Assassin burst from the northeast corner of the dining hall and ran a sword right through Plutus’ heart. When the gods and goddesses turned on the attacker, the body disintegrated. That was because, Hades explained, they had used an older corpse in the spell.

That was it. No other evidence to suggest who or what tried to kill Plutus.

I was at a loss. I honestly didn’t know what direction to go in next.

As a damn good detective, it was a feeling that made me very uncomfortable. And pissed.

I needed a break from the investigation. A change of scenery.

At Hades’ suggestion, I made arrangements to go see my father in Elysium. It’s a big to-do in the Underworld. It took two weeks from the day I submitted an application to obtain a visa and diplomatic immunity for my visit to the Elysium Fields. As Ra had said when I first arrived here, you had to go through a bunch of procedures to ensure that you weren’t a lost soul, or wouldn’t lose your way and become one.

That was a problem here: if you went where you weren’t supposed to be without taking the proper precautions, you could wind up as a ghost. Or be stuck in a place like Tartarus, which was worse than any nightmare. Not even Plutus had visited Tartarus, because it was like a black hole that could suck you in if you weren’t careful.

Thankfully, Dad hadn’t ended up there.

That was how I wound up on a ferry on my own with Charon, the otherworldly ferryman who brought me to the palace in the first place. It was my first day off since I arrived and I was enjoying a mental break from the case.

After Hades paid my fare to Charon (a generous amount, it seemed, based upon Charon’s reaction when he counted it), he wouldn’t stop talking to me.

“How’s your little investigation goin’?” he sniggered. He cut a skinny figure, reminding me somewhat of a pirate. He had a single pole to push us along, much like the gondolas you’d see in Venice.

I sat on the other side of the boat, as far away from him as I could. I didn’t like him.

“Fine,” I answered, keeping my answer short and curt.

He didn’t take a hint. “Oh really?” he cackled. “Bah, I doubt it. You’re just like all the other insufferable mortals that I ferry 'cross the Underworld. Pathetic. Full of dreams and never achieving them.”

“Yes, really,” I told him. I crossed my arms and turned away. I could have wasted my breath arguing with him that he was wrong, that mortals weren’t pathetic. However, I figured that Charon had met a lot more people than me, and if that was his opinion, my argument wouldn’t change it.

It was hard to hold my tongue though, especially when he continued pressing me.

“Have you found out who’s trying to off our little prince?” he taunted.

“Not yet. I’m close though.”

“You’re lying, mortal,” he growled. Then he chuckled unkindly. “No matter. I doubt you’ll figure out who’s trying to get rid of that little weasel, Plutus. He’ll get what he deserves.”

Plutus wasn’t very popular, especially among those who could remember a time before him. By the looks of it, Charon had been around much longer than Plutus.

Even though I’d already interrogated him, I decided to ask a new question. “What does he deserve?” I prompted

Charon peered back at me and gave me a toothy grin. “Do you know what happens when gods die, little mortal?” He didn’t wait for my answer. “You see, when mortals die, they go to the Underworld, an Afterlife where they can rest for an eternity. Rest in peace or what have you. But not gods. When gods die, they evaporate, straight into thin air. Kaputz. There’s no Afterlife for them, because even though they’re mortal when you kill them, they don't have a soul. They simply cease to exist. And it scares every so-called immortal god because there’s nothing for them beyond what they already have. Just non-existence. That’s what Plutus deserves. Nothing.”

Hades had briefly mentioned it to me, but this was deeper than I had ever imagined it. Why had everyone skirted around this topic when I had interviewed them? Perhaps it was a sense of their own mortality. Maybe that was why Hades was so interested in saving his son while Plutus himself seemed almost ambivalent to it.

I was agnostic when I was alive. Obviously, being in the Underworld made me realize that there were people upstairs, or downstairs depending on your perspective, even if they had their heads up their asses. Still, I had always wanted to believe that there was an Afterlife for me to see my dad in, so I guess I had wanted to believe in something. It seemed strange to me that gods had to be almost atheist, even unto themselves.

“We’re here,” Charon grunted.

I looked around. A thick, dreary fog surrounded us. My hopes fell. I thought Elysium was supposed to be paradise. In fact, the fog was so thick, I was surprised Charon knew where we were going.

“Doesn’t look like Elysium,” I said suspiciously.

Charon cackled ominously and I glared at him. The boat knocked against something, jarring it to a halt. I gave a surprised cry.

“Look again, mortal.”

I did, and I saw the mist blow away, like clouds on a summer day. I gasped at the phenomenon, and was even more shocked when I saw beautiful rolling fields. It was something out of a fairy tale, one of the happily ever after ones. It was beautiful. My breath caught in my throat.

Purple and blue butterflies lazily floated around. Wisps of flower petals blew by. The entire landscape was a verdant green grass that seemed to stretch forever.

Groups of people were scattered about the field, glowing with good health. They were dressed in simple robes, and they were talking with each other. They all looked happy.

Elysium Fields, where the good went when they died.

Our boat was flush against a pier, bobbing lazily. Charon hobbled over to the side of the boat and tied us to a wooden pole.

“You have one hour,” he croaked. “Then visitin’ time is over. And you wouldn’t want to be stuck in Elysium, Callista.”

An hour. Doubt flickered in the back of my mind. With so many people around, how was I going to find my father in time?

I shouldn’t have worried. As soon I set foot onto the field, the group of people parted, showing one lone figure standing there, his arms open. I ran toward him, eager to feel his arms around me.

“Dad!” I exclaimed, burying my face into his shoulder like I did when I was a little girl. I had almost forgotten his smell, the feel of his chest again my cheek.

“Hey, Callie.”

Just Callie. I didn’t need to tell him not to call me Callista, and I didn’t feel like there was some sort of ulterior motive to him talking to me. I started crying.

I’m not a crier. Even when Ben left, I stared at the door with wide eyes for a long time before going out for a run. That was how I dealt with strong emotions that made me want to cry. I thought about something else, did something else.

Dad didn’t say anything. He just held me. A huge wave of different emotions washed over me. The combination of seeing him for the first time in such a long time, the stress of the case, and the overwhelming feeling that I was alone was overwhelming. I didn’t realize that I needed a good cry like this until it had started.

I managed to stop crying before too long. I only had an hour with my dad. I didn’t want to spend it bawling my eyes out. I didn’t want to leave us with memories of me crying. I took a deep breath, pulled back, and looked up at him.

“How are you, Dad?”

He smiled, shining with that strange, beautiful glow that everyone in Elysium had. I felt pretty dingy compared to all of them.

We sat down among the tall grasses and talked, father and daughter. I was young when he died, so it was surreal having the chance to catch up with him. It was like watching a home movie, except I could talk to the movie. Dad was here. I was talking to him.

I had taken after him. I wasn’t much shorter than his height of 6'4”, and I had his eyes and his chin. It was strange. I didn't realize that I had forgotten his face.

I wanted to freeze frame this memory and keep it as a memento when I needed some inspiration.

* * *

“You haven’t mentioned a boyfriend or anything,” Dad said at one point during our conversation.

I initially thought of Ben, then Plutus flashed through my mind. There’s a reason for that, I wanted to tell him.

He laughed. “Hey, I never got to clean my shotgun when my baby brought home some punk.”

I chuckled at the very thought of it, and then sobered, really wishing I’d had that growing up. “There was one, but we broke up a few months ago,” I said softly.

Dad reached out and wrapped an arm about my shoulders. “His loss,” he assured me.

I nodded, although I wasn’t quite sure how big of a loss I actually was. Ben was right, I had been working too much. I had chosen my work over our relationship. Was it worth it?

“There’s...someone else. Now,” I said haltingly, unsure whether or not I should talk about my growing crush on Plutus. It was stupid, pointless. I could tell myself that. I didn’t need my father telling me that it was hopeless.

“And?”

I opted for the easy road out. “I died, well almost anyway. Kind of puts a damper on things, doesn’t it?” It was a bit of a lie, considering that Plutus was actually here in the Underworld with me. I didn't want to elaborate and sound childish about my silly crush.

“No it doesn’t, Calls,” Dad said.

“Yes, it does. It’s not going to work out between us.” It was the first time I had stated that fact out loud, which drove it home. My throat closed up.

I must have looked distraught because Dad offered me a smile. “If he’s worth it, he’ll be waiting for you when you wake up.” He sounded so sure, my one cheerleader in Elysium. “Now speaking of waking up, how’s your case going?”

I raised an eyebrow, grateful for the change of subject. “How’d you know about that?”

Dad grinned, his eyes twinkling like they always did when he felt mischievous. “The messenger that told me you were coming mentioned it.”

“How much do you know?” I asked, knowing that I couldn't discuss too much with him because of all the confidential information.

“Not a whole lot,” Dad said. He waved absently with his hand. “Now, I remember what it’s like being on the police—you’re not allowed to talk about cases you’re working on. But if you do need help—”

“I do,” I blurted out before I could stop myself. “I’m out of leads.”

“Ah, yes,” he said with a frown.

I gave him a brief rundown of everything, of all of the people I had talked to. He knew that it was difficult, even from my brief explanation.

“Maybe you should cast out your net farther.”

“Cast it out farther?” That was going to be my next move. It was so daunting; I didn't want to seriously consider it.

“Yes. Somewhere, someone has a motive. They always do.”

“Dad, I don’t even know where to start.”

“Think for a moment, Callie,” he urged.

I thought about how much further I could take leads. The Olympians were out of the question. Other gods? No. I had a gut feeling they wouldn’t do this to each other. So that meant...

My mind reeled. Talking to mortals? How would they even know about something like gods and goddesses, let alone know how to kill them? If I were to start interrogating mortals, it would be a huge, Herculean job that I’d have to do in such a short amount of time. A murky memory surfaced in the back of my mind.

Herculean.

Like the name Hercules.

“Demigods,” I mumbled, my jaw going slack.

“What?”

I clapped my hands together. That was it. “Demigods,” I repeated. Dad waited patiently for me to elaborate. “Half human, half god. I have to start talking to children of gods.” After weeks of not having any sort of direction, the thought of this made my chest swell up with determination. Demigods. Maybe they were the key.

I wrapped my arms about Dad, giving him another hug. “Thank you, Dad,” I whispered.

“No problem, Callie,” he whispered back. “No problem.” He pulled back a look of regret crossing his features. “Our hour is almost up,” he said sadly.

That sentence cut like a knife through the air.

“No…” I turned my head. The fog around the pier parted and I saw Charon standing at the boat, leering at us. “Dammit!” I cried. I scrambled to my feet, shaking my head. I was going to take him with me. If they could bring me back to life, then they could bring back my dad. I’d include it in my contract. I found him after seventeen years. I didn’t want to lose him again. “I can get you out of here. You can come with me.”

He sadly looked up at me and shook his head. “I have to stay here, baby.”

“No, Dad…”

He stood up and gave me another hug. “Callie, you’re going to have to let me go.”

I stood there, millions of thoughts tumbling through my mind. I didn’t realize it was going to be this hard, losing my father for the second time.

I closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. “I love you, Daddy.”

He squeezed me tighter, just like he did when I was a little girl. “I love you too, baby. And I’m so proud of you.”

What happened next was a blur. Dad and I separated; I made my way back to the ferry, where Charon was glaring at me. We disembarked from the pier and floated back to Hades' mansion. Charon made some snide remarks, but I was too numb to let it bother me.

Leaving Dad felt like there was this void, deep inside my chest and nothing could ever fill it.

The trip back to the palace seemed quicker than the trip to Elysium. I trudged back over the hill to the mansion, having half a mind to run away and disappear.

I didn't care if I would turn into a ghost. That seemed like a kinder fate.

Mentally, I was in a dark place. I mean, what had I expected by visiting my father? It would have hurt, regardless. I was glad I saw him, he helped out a lot, even if it wasn’t on purpose. Seeing him had both reinvigorated me and depressed me. I had a new lead, so the detective in me was pumped. Yet the scared girl in me was just as confused and as hurt as ever.

What was the point? Everyone was going to end up dead, either in Elysium or somewhere far worse. Why fight the inevitable any longer? Being alive felt like such a distant memory.

“Oohf.”

The next thing I knew, I was on my back on the ground, three German Shepherd puppy faces licking me all at once.

“Gah!” I cried, nearly choking on the doggie drool. “Cerberus, gerroff!” They’d nearly knocked the breath out of me and my lungs burned with effort. Cerberus was growing faster than his maturity level and he bowled over anyone he liked, no matter how many times we told him not to.

I pushed the three-headed dog off me. Cerberus whined unhappily, melancholy that I didn’t want to play. I had taken to going on my morning jogs with the guard-dog-in-training, so he was ecstatic to see me and pressure me for another run. I scratched him behind the ear, waiting for his inevitable companion. Because wherever Cerberus was, his master wasn’t far behind.

“Cerberus!” a familiar voice yelled, not unkindly. “Get back over here, mutt!” In response, Cerberus backed up, giving me room to breathe. I coughed and straightened myself up. I wasn’t about to let anyone see me distraught, even if he was blind.

“He’s fine, Plutus,” I assured him.

“No he’s not, he needs to learn to behave,” Plutus said. Cerberus gave a high bark and put his tail between his legs.

“Stop being so overprotective of me,” I said. It slipped out before I could stop it.

Not acknowledging my comment, he extended a hand to help me to my feet. I hesitated, trying to avoid contact with him as much as possible. There was such thing as me being too big of a bitch, and I was tired of feeling that way today. I grabbed his hand, ignoring the electrical jolt between us as I stood up.

“Really, he’s fine,” I grumbled.

Plutus blew out an exasperated sigh. “Why must you always be so damned defiant?”

“I’m not—”

“See?” A small grin crept across his face. I tried to ignore that too but it wasn’t easy.

I scratched Cerberus behind the ears of his middle head. The other two bumped into my hand, demanding that they be scratched as well. I had no idea how the pup ate. The three heads always seemed like they were trying to one-up one another, so I don’t know how he could have been patient enough to let one head eat. A puppy indeed.

“Did you just come back from seeing your father?” Plutus asked.

I closed my eyes as the fresh emotional wound was prodded again. “Yes.” It felt like my throat was still burning.

“Sorry,” he offered. “I know that it is hard for mortals. I promise to put in a good word for you so you can go to Elysium when it is time.” I think he was trying to be funny, but it didn’t come across that way, especially when that time could be so close. Apparently, he realized his mistake, too. “Sorry,” he repeated.

I smiled weakly and turned to go back to the palace. I wanted to crawl into a hole and fall asleep. That was all. I didn’t want to deal with the Prince of the Underworld at that moment.

And if I didn’t want to deal with Plutus, I certainly didn’t want to see Tisiphone but she was hard to avoid.

She had a habit of popping out of nowhere, so of course she was there when I made my first step to dash.

“Whoa, who died?” she asked when she saw my face. I shoved my way past her. “Seriously, who died?” she called after me.

“Take a hint, Tisiphone!” I shouted behind me.

A satyr ridiculously dressed up in a doorman’s uniform let me into the palace. I glared at him for no good reason because I was frazzled, and I stormed to the only place where I could think. I should have asked to see Hades, to get a list of demigods, but I didn't feel like it at the moment. I had to get rid of all this anger, this hurt.

11

At the back of the mansion, there was a boxing gym. It seemed like I was the only person who ever used it and that made it even more appealing. I’d discovered it a few days after arriving in the Underworld and I’d begun using it as soon as I was well enough to start training. There were a couple of punching bags, an assortment of dumbbells, a boxing ring, and everything else I needed to blow off some steam.

And I definitely needed to blow off some steam right now.

When I was alive, I practiced a combination of martial arts to keep me in shape and to defend myself. I had a black belt in Tae Kwon Do, a brown belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu, and I had dabbled in others, including kickboxing. I was quite good at it. too, my height being an obvious advantage against some of my opponents. It had also gotten me out of several scuffles where, if I hadn’t known how to fight, I would have been seriously hurt. Or worse.

Even though I was in the Underworld, I kept up with my exercise routine. Some days, I went to the training facility for target practice. I spent at least an hour a day, if not more, in the gym, going from weights, to core, to yoga, to boxing, which was what I was doing when he found me.

I was so upset and so engrossed in my hits to the punching bag that I didn’t notice the door opening. Nor did I notice when he moved across the gym. But I did notice it when he put a hand on my shoulder.

I instantly reacted, swinging a left hook to the intruder. He deflected it easily enough. I was prepared for that and threw another punch, then a kick. He kept knocking my blows aside and it was starting to piss me off, especially since he had been the one to interrupt me. I gave him a groin kick and succeeded, thought it felt like my knee had hit a boulder.

It didn’t even faze him, but it was enough for him to stop. To prove how unimpressed I was, I turned back to the punching bag and continued my warm up.

“A blow like that was cheap, Callie,” his arrogant voice teasingly rang out.

“Cheap for mortals, yes,” I said. I landed one last good punch and then finalized sized up my intruder. “But you’re not a mortal.”

He seemed impressed. He looked like an older version of Jake Gyllenhaal in Jarhead, except much more muscular and he had the air of a football jock from high school. There was no innocence behind those baby blue eyes, framed by thick eyebrows, with one arched into a quizzical look as he watched me. In any other context, I would have found him attractive. I wasn’t interested at the moment.

“So you do know who I am.”

“Of course I do,” I said. “I wouldn’t be a good detective if I didn’t know what everyone looked like.” I allowed a smirk. “Even if I’m not allowed to interrogate them, Ares.”

He smirked back at me. “You look like you’re trying to blow off some anger,” he remarked.

“And you’re trying to distract me.” I sighed and put my hands on my hips. “What do you want?” So what if I was picking a fight with the God of War? He wasn’t going to hurt me. Not in Hades’ palace. At least I hoped not. Not that I cared.

“I’m drawn to a warrior’s spirit,” he said. “And what a warrior’s spirit you have.”

In a split second, he was right next to me again, this time way too close for comfort. Fine, I’d show him my spirit. Before I thought about it enough to chicken out, I head-butted him.

Instead of reeling back like I thought he would, he let out a mirthless laugh, reared an arm back, and decked me across the face. Apparently, while I couldn’t feel as much pain in the Afterlife as I did on the surface, I could feel it enough to collapse to the floor and gasp, more in shock than in pain.

Anger exploded through me. I moved, far quicker than I ever did when I was alive, and I fought back with serious intensity.

Fighting with a god wasn’t as fun as it sounded. Ares had no qualms about beating up a girl, and I was beyond caring what happened to gods. I was pissed, and Ares was my punching bag.

Even though I wasn’t a beginner when it came to fighting, I was absolutely schooled by Ares. I’d taken down men who were twice my size during my time as a cop, yet Ares was a lithe, muscular beast of a man who could move faster than lightning. No one moved that fast. Except maybe a god.

The good thing was, my anger was dissipating. For every one of his teasing kicks to knock me off balance, the hits I managed to land were enough for me to congratulate myself at every little victory. Ares was playing with me; I was fighting the good fight.

This was how fighting should be—an all-out brawl. I had found a worthy opponent, even if I wasn’t quite up to his standards. It was exhilarating. For the first time in a long while, I felt alive.

I don’t know how long we fought but it was something that I desperately needed, to get death off my mind, to get the case off my mind. And to get Plutus off my mind.

At least it was fun, until it stopped. Ares had me pinned against the wall, my arms above my head. Still in a fighting mood, I struggled, growling. He was smiling at me, in an all-knowing way.

“And that is how a good fight ends,” he announced.

Suddenly all my anger dissipated. Everything left me, and I felt exhausted. I then realized how close he was to me, how close his lips were to mine. I was breathing heavily. The fight had really taken a lot out of me, so I didn't have the strength to push him away. Ares' smug smile showed that he knew it too.

An uncomfortable cough broke our staring contest.

I looked around Ares and saw Plutus standing in the doorway to the gym, frowning uncomfortably. I didn't know how long he had been standing there. I was in a compromising position with Ares so close to me, and even though Plutus couldn't see us, he knew we were standing so close together.

“Hey, cuz,” he said lazily, egging his cousin on.

“Ares,” Plutus said with a curt nod. “For once, you've managed not to destroy everything.”

I glared at Ares and pushed him off me. “Thanks for the spar,” I said gruffly.

“Any time,” he drawled. He apparently thought that a spar like that would turn me on. Or something. Regardless, I felt sick to my stomach, and it wasn't from the intensive workout I'd just had.

In response, Plutus turned to leave and shut the door with a slam.

I watched the door, feeling like my stomach had been scooped out with spoon. “You knew he was there, didn't you?”

Ares shrugged nonchalantly. “So? Wasn't like he could do anything about it. Being a cripple and all.”

I turned my head and glared at him. “Why does everyone hold that against him?” I cried, throwing my hands up. “He's a good man, and just because he's a bit different doesn't mean he should be an outcast.”

Ares watched me with interest. “Huh,” he muttered in amazement. “I didn't think those stories were true.”

“What stories?”

“Those stories,” he said with an absent wave. “That you're in love with Plutus.”

I went from a blank look to one of shock. Ares responded by laughing in my face.

“Yes, it's true!” he crowed, like it was some huge joke. “You're in love with the cripple.”

“Ares,” I said through gritted teeth, “shut up.”

I punched him in the face, surprising him. I didn't even wait to see the damage. I turned to leave, to make some sort of amends with Plutus. For what, I didn't know exactly. I hadn't really done anything wrong, and it wasn't like we were together. I wasn’t even attracted to him. As I reached the door, Ares' voice stopped me momentarily.

“What's the point, Callie?” he called after me. “Nothing can come out of your infatuation with him!”

At first, I was surprised that he knew what the word “infatuation” meant.

“I know,” I said softly. “I know. But that's not the point.” And before he could say any more, I pushed the door and ran down the hallway, hoping to catch Plutus. I wasn't sure what he thought of the whole thing, but I wanted to fix it.

I turned a corner, jogging to catch up. I found him limping along the hallway, heavily leaning on his cane. I’d learned that his limp was more severe when he was upset and based upon how badly he was walking at the moment, he was really upset.

“Plutus!” I yelled at him. “Plutus, wait!”

If he heard me, he didn't make any indication of it and kept pushing on.

“Plutus!” I said, catching up to him.

“What?” The coldness in his voice made me stop for a second, while he kept charging on ahead, like he wanted to escape me.

“It wasn't what it looked like,” I said. “I was just sparring with Ares.”

“Yeah, I bet you were,” Plutus retorted.

I stopped. “That's not fair,” I said, my voice wavering.

Plutus paused this time, sighed, and turned back to me. “It doesn't matter anyways,” he said softly.

That's what Ares said.

“Stop this!” I exclaimed, throwing my hands up in the air. “I can't fucking take this.” And I turned on my heel to leave him there. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's not looking behind me when I was trying to make a point. And granted, Plutus didn't say anything to me as I walked off, but I wasn't about to turn around.

Nothing would ever happen between us. It couldn't.

“How was your father?”

I jumped, mid-walk, and turned to see Hades. I had been in such turmoil I didn't see him fall into step next to me as I was storming off.

“He was good,” I said cryptically. My throat closed at the thought of my dad on the fields alone. Man, today was trying to kill me emotionally.

“Anything of interest?” he asked. I watched him raise a quizzical eyebrow. Somehow, he had heard that I was upset after meeting my father.

Back to work. Even if I was trying to protect someone who thought I was a hussy. Screw Plutus and his stupid assumptions and jealousy.

“Yes,” I said, my voice sounding thick, even to myself. “I might have some more people to interview.”

Hades raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I need a favor. Can we go into your office?” Considering that I truly believed there was a mole in the palace, I didn't want prying ears to hear my theory.

Hades caught the seriousness in my tone. “Of course.”

A few minutes later, we stood in Hades’ office. He shut the door and closed the blinds to the large wall of windows. He knew the gravity of the situation, so I was able to let out a breath of relief.

Hades clasped his hands on his desk. “What do you need from me?”

“A list of the demigods. All of them. Children of the Olympians, children of minor gods, any that could be wanting to take their place as a god.” I looked intently at Hades. “Is that doable?”

The color drained from Hades' face at my request. I hadn't expected that.

“Why...” Hades’ voice was slightly strangled. He swallowed and spoke, this time stronger. “Why do you want that?”

“It's a possibility I haven't investigated yet,” I said. “And it's the only path I can think of pursuing now.”

Hades was silent for a moment, considering my request. He sat back, and let out a loud sigh. “All right,” he said at length. “I'll get you a list. Do you want all of them? The living and the dead?”

I hadn't considered that. “Can a dead demigod threaten Plutus? You would know better than anyone.”

The corners of Hades' mouth quirked up. “It's unlikely.”

“Then I'll start with the living.” It seemed as good a start as any. From the way Hades made it sound, it was going to be a long list. “If I can't find anything from there, I'll go through the dead ones.”

“I'll have my secretary email you a comprehensive list. It might take her some time. She'll have to contact Ilithiya to get all the details. The others won't be so forthcoming about their own children.”

“Who's Ilithiya?”

“The Goddess of Birth. She's usually around to relieve birthing pains, but like a good midwife, she keeps track of everyone born.”

I made a mental note to look up Ilithiya later.

“I warn you, Callie, it will be a long list. My siblings were never very, ah, monogamous.”

“That's all right,” I said with a nod. “I have nothing better to do.” Truly, I didn't, other than working out or keeping an eye on Plutus. At least it would be something different.

I stood up to leave. “Oh, and Callie,” Hades said quietly, refusing to meet my eyes, “the information in this list is confidential.”

“All right.”

“No, I mean, there's names on there of children who do not need to know who their godly parent is. There are children on there that the partners of those parents don't need to know about. In other words,” he looked at me with steely eyes “don't go telling gods and goddesses that their partner has slept around.”

I swallowed nervously.

“Especially,” Hades added, even more quietly, “especially Persephone.”

I blinked. “You...have other children?” I asked, my voice squeaking.

He nodded gravely. “Yes, and my wife does not need to know about them. Nor does Plutus.”

I watched him, horrified. “You haven't told your wife yet?”

He started massaging his temples. It was for show; I doubted gods could get headaches. “Yes,” he said. “Our marriage is already rocky. Please, Callie. Don't tell Persephone or my son.”

I felt the flush hit my cheeks. I was getting angry and I shouldn't. I needed Hades to send me the list.

“Think about all those children you've abandoned, Hades,” I said bitterly. “Just think about them.” I couldn't help thinking about myself, growing up without a father. I missed him like I missed a limb or a best friend. And I couldn't believe he'd knowingly left his children behind.

“I think about them every day,” he said. “I know that they miss their father. But I can't do anything for them. Not with my duties.”

I wanted to say more, to beat him into a pulp, to make him pay for abandoning his children. He had really shown his true colors since I'd been there. First blackmailing me, then this. He really was a prick.

“I'll be waiting for the email.”

And I left him there. I didn't care if I pissed him off. I couldn't stand to be in his office one minute more.

12

I was lying on my stomach in my bed when I heard a tentative knock at the door. I was facing away from it, so I closed my eyes and groaned. I didn't want to deal with anyone. I feared I had a migraine coming on and dealing with stuff was going to make it worse.

“If you're not an email, go away,” I croaked. I stuffed a pillow around my head, trying to block out my intruder.

“No,” a soft voice said. I fought the urge to groan again: it was one of the people I didn't want to talk to, especially since he had spurned me in our last conversation. Plutus.

I turned and glared at him. “When someone says 'go away', that's usually because they want to be left alone.”

He sighed and shifted his feet. “You should know me well enough to know that I try to respect your wishes. But I need help, and it's kind of your job to do that sort of thing.” There was an earnestness in his voice that wasn't there before.

I narrowed my eyes. I wasn't about to give in so easily, especially after the way he treated me when Ares and I were sparring. “What sort of help?”

“It's Cerberus. He's missing.”

I sat up. “What?” I found it hard to believe that the gangly, awkward puppy would stray too far from Plutus. The dog loved him with all his goofy heart. And while the palace was large, as Plutus' constant companion, Cerberus just wouldn't run away. “When was the last time you saw him?”

Plutus helplessly held up his hands. “After you left Tisiphone and me out there. I played with Cerberus a bit to give you your space, but then I decided to come in...to...apologize.” He mumbled those last two words and I raised an eyebrow. That part was news to me, especially with how he acted.

Not a good apology, then.

“So I tied Cerberus up outside. And then after I found you...with him, I went out to go find Cerberus and all I got was one of his collars. Undone.” He swallowed, clearly concerned. And to be honest, I would be too. He held up the lone dog collar. I frowned.

“Surely one of the servants moved him,” I reasoned.

“I hope so. I've checked the grounds. I need to go outside to check, and Mom would have my head if I went out without protection.”

“Hence why you need my help.”

“Hence why I need your help,” he repeated with a nod. “Please, Callista.”

I stood. “Sure, on one condition.”

He looked tired as he asked, “What?”

“You call me Callie, like I've asked many times.”

He gave me a mirthless grin. “Unlikely, but I'll try.”

I guessed that was the best I was going to get. I pulled on my shoes and, as an afterthought, tucked my God Gun into the waist of my jeans. I really need to get a holster.

I followed him out of my room. “I'm sure he's fine, Plutus,” I said. “I bet he's out terrorizing some poor nymph or something.” Although my words sounded hollow to my own ears, I offered a weak smile.

We didn't say anything as we moved through the hallways. Plutus didn't offer up any apologies and I wasn't about to start talking about that or making excuses for myself.

When we stepped outside he turned right, past the entrance and limped to a post with a chain link running from it. “This was where I left him. So he could pretend to guard the palace.”

I knelt by the chain and picked it up, running each link through my hands. Cerberus was set free. By who or what, I didn't know. My blood pumped harder, the pulse of it in my ears once again; my senses heightened. My gut told me that something was wrong. Judging by Plutus' reticence, he felt it too.

“Stay by me,” I commanded, getting to my feet.

“Should I alert the servants?” he asked.

“Not yet. If someone has Cerberus, scrambling the palace would alert them too.” I felt sick to my stomach, thinking about what could have happened to the lovable dog. “You've already searched the palace and the grounds?” At his nod, I chewed my bottom lip, a bad habit that reared its ugly head when I mentally flipped through different scenarios. “Let's see if we can find him.”

Hopefully he's all right, I thought.

The palace grounds were surrounded by a three-meter-high stone wall that wrapped around its perimeter. Daedalus still maintained his guard tower at the entrance, but there was a narrow bit of land between the walls and the Styx and Acheron rivers. We searched this area first, walking the outside bit of land. I couldn't help but wonder if someone had drowned the poor dog in one of the rivers. I didn't know what would happen then, but I didn't like that thought.

Plutus kept up with me, so fought the urge to jog. If someone had stolen Cerberus, I didn't want to think of what they might do to Plutus. I was so worried about Cerberus, I had to keep reminding myself to look after Plutus.

I learned a long time ago that in order to successfully track down a criminal, you have to think like one. Different things that could have happened to the pup filtered through my mind, each more horrible than the one before it. I crossed off the more preposterous ones like kidnap and ransom. If someone had stolen the dog, I feared they wanted to make a statement.

As we were about to turn a corner to the back of the palace, Plutus held out an arm, blocking me. “Wait,” he said softly and even though he was already pale, I saw the remaining color drain from his face. The hand in front of me clenched into a fist. He must have been able to sense what was ahead. “Wait.”

“Plutus, let me see.”

I pushed through his arm and walked around the corner. I stopped cold.

Someone had wanted to make a statement.

“No,” I said in disbelief, walking towards the mess. “No.”

Cerberus had been impaled through the chest with a steel rod driven directly into the stone wall that bordered the palace. All three heads hung limply, blood dripping from each muzzle. All four paws dangled above the ground. He was dead. Someone strong, someone powerful had to have stuck that rod through his chest, impaling him to the wall.

Plutus wouldn't have come across him if he'd been searching on the interior of the wall.

Gingerly, I reached out, and lifted the head closest to me by holding it by the jaw. While I could tell that Cerberus had been here for about an hour or two, I couldn't think who would have done this to the dog.

“Damn,” Plutus said, anger rippling underneath his words. He pet Cerberus' heads, mumbling some words to him so low, I couldn't hear.

“I'm...I'm sorry, Plutus,” I crooned. He shied away from my hand as I reached out to touch his shoulder.

“Don't,” he warned.

I retracted my hand.

It was hard to believe that only a couple hours ago, Cerberus had tackled me as I headed back to the palace. He'd been a happy, healthy, alive puppy then. Not this.

“Is there...any way of bringing him back?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.

“No,” he said, his voice sounding strangled. “That's against the rules.”

Of course. As the son of the Lord of the Underworld, he knew the rules better than anyone. Cerberus was dead and gone. I'd never again be able to go for a jog with that puppy.

“Plutus,” I said, my throat closing up. I was in danger of crying again, the second time today, when I hadn't cried in years. “Plutus, we have to let the palace know. If whoever did this is still around, we need to find him. Can you contact them with...I don't know...your powers?”

At first I thought, he didn't hear me, because he made no indication he had. I reached out touched him. “Plutus—”

“I heard you,” he snapped. “And yes. I already did that.”

I bit my lip and grabbed the hand that was petting Cerberus. “I'll have to investigate this, Plutus. We're looking at a crime scene. Let me make sure that I have everything documented, all right?”

He whipped around to me, blinking furiously. “I'll have Tisiphone bring your tablet,” he said softly. “You're going to need that.”

And then he turned away from the mess.

I gulped down some air and searched around the scene. The rod went right through the hellhound's heart. There was no telling if he had died instantly or a minute or two after he was stabbed. I hoped it was the former, otherwise he would have suffered greatly before he died.

The rod was about an inch in diameter, made out of steel, and sticking about two meters out from the wall. I didn't know how far it had been shoved in, but it had to be enough for it to be able to hold up a fifty-pound puppy.

I would have given anything for a pair of gloves and the usual kit I brought on investigations. Fingerprint powder, gloves, pliers, tweezers, plastic baggies—everything that made investigations sterile and scientific.

I needed crime scene tape. Plutus had alerted the palace, so there was going to be a circus here soon and I had no way of blocking them off.

My eyes scanned over everything, memorizing every detail, every little bit and piece I could manage.

Whoever did this obviously had the strength of a god. They also knew what they were doing not to leave this massacre behind. Or they didn't leave behind traces anyway. Did monsters or gods or demigods leave any sort of trace? Otherwise, if they muddled in mortal affairs, they would have been found out a long time ago.

I was way in over my head.

I gently moved Cerberus' heads. His mouths were all slack, their tongues lolling about uselessly. “I'm so sorry, Cerberus,” I crooned softly.

I noticed something tucked into the collar of his head furthest from me. I initially missed it because it was hidden from view. Protocol be damned, I reached out and plucked it from the collar.

It was a folded up newspaper clipping. Gingerly, I unfolded it. When I saw what it was, I fought the urge to drop it. Adrenaline filled me.

How? How had someone gotten this?

It was cut from a newspaper article that featured picture of me dressed up in a gown for a police ball three months before I died, right before Ben and I separated. Even in black and white, I looked unhappy. In any other case, it would be because I hated dressing up for functions like this. In this case, I was especially unhappy because on my arm, looking as smug and as debonair as he always did, was billionaire Stephen Cross. Stephen Cross had been the subject of an intense investigation when I was alive.

Why had they put this onto Cerberus?

“Oh my God,” I said in shock.

Stephen Cross was a playboy who lived in a penthouse in San Francisco, sipping champagne from huge bottles and sleeping with every woman he came across. He was a handsome man in his mid-thirties who’d built an $8 billion fortune from nothing. He'd been raised by his mother, because his deadbeat father had disappeared before he was even born. He was considered San Francisco’s most eligible bachelor and was constantly doing things for charity. The ladies loved him, the men were jealous of him, and he seemed like the nicest man you’d ever want to meet.

The thing was, his global, multi-billion-dollar business, Cross Inc., was linked to dirty money. Drugs, human trafficking, slave labor in other countries, blood diamonds—the works, really. If there was some way to get money illegally, Cross Inc. was involved. I shuddered at the memory.

Cross Inc. came across my desk because there was something suspicious with their accounting. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t have gone to a homicide cop, except his investment banker was dead. After looking into it, I found that one of the smaller businesses bought by Cross Inc. was responsible for a human sex trade ring. I made some arrests from the company and shut it down. Stephen Cross made all the correct apologies, talked to the right people, and made a considerable donation to the city. He was untouchable.

Except something else came up. There was drug money in another one of Cross Inc.’s corporations. And then another. And then another. As a homicide detective, you don’t believe in coincidences. Oh sure, the people who were arrested were directly responsible for the things that were happening were indeed guilty and responsible. Most of Cross Inc.’s little companies were involved in some bad stuff. I knew that Stephen Cross was behind all of this.

After every arrest, every hiccup, Stephen Cross evaded jail. He was untouchable. I talked to the Police Commissioner, who had had it out for me for my entire police career. He even threatened to discipline me for stalking an innocent civilian. Everyone thought I was obsessed.

Even my partner Dion wouldn’t believe me. He thought I was on a wild goose chase. That part really hurt. I'd spent the few months before specifically investigating the death of a young woman who had been a psychic. Poor Beverly Dean had been heavily into drugs and was found overdosed on cocaine. I had traced her phone records and found Stephen had been in contact with her a few times before she died. Yet after interrogations and lack of evidence, I couldn't directly connect him to the case. No one believed it was a murder, or that Stephen was behind it.

He was suave, and he knew his way around red tape. What's more, he knew that I suspected him.

And then he kissed me.

It had been at that very police ball, the one where the photograph was taken. It was to celebrate a huge donation from—you guessed it—Stephen Cross. I had gotten gussied up at Aimee’s and Dion’s request. The two of them cornered me and made me put on a lavender ball gown, something that I normally wouldn’t be caught dead in. Ben came with me, looking dapper as he always did. I had felt ridiculous and not myself.

At the time, Ben and I were already on the fritz. After I was forbidden from working on the Dean case, I’d been working constantly on the Stephen Cross case in my spare time. I was obsessed. I kept telling myself that if it saved lives and stopped the threads of mass spread crime, then it was worth it.

Ben didn’t see it that way. He and I had gotten into an argument the day before about my obsessiveness with the Cross case, so we were a bit tense with each other.

I could tell he was hoping that this police ball was our chance to reconnect. To me, it was the final nail in the coffin of our dying relationship. We had a few nice dances, a few laughs, but it had all felt empty to me. And Ben felt it too, because he left me alone, while he had a cigarette in the back garden.

I had been alone when Stephen Cross walked up to me.

“For being such a pain in the ass, you look very lovely tonight, Detective Saunders,” he told me, giving me a dazzling smile.

I looked up at him and fought the urge to sneer. To anyone else he would have looked like a knight in shining armor—expensive white Armani tuxedo, his black hair with silvering sideburns slicked back, his clear blue eyes watching me intently. I knew better.

“Is that how you earned your reputation as a playboy?” I asked. “Picking up women by calling them pains in the ass?”

He grinned at me, showing a row of perfect white teeth that cosmetic dental surgery surely helped with. “I’ve found, in my years of being a playboy, that women like being treated like that, Saunders. Why else do you think they all go for the bad boys?”

What a misogynistic pig!

“May I have this dance?”

I glared at his proffered hand and was about to throw it back at him, when I saw Police Commissioner Forrest glaring back at me from across the room. His meaning was simple: Dance with the police department’s biggest benefactor or you’ll be fired.

I didn't want to be fired. I took his hand.

With a flourish, he pulled me up to my high-heeled feet and led me to the dance floor where he showed me how much three years of ballet as a child helped me out with dancing. In other words, I had two left feet and no sense of rhythm. I let him lead and he twirled me around exposing my less than capital dancing skills.

“How did a lovely young lady end up as a homicide detective?” Stephen Cross asked.

“None of your business,” I croaked.

“You make every detail about my life your business,” he said with a shrug, undeterred. “It’s only fair.”

I glared at him. I wasn’t about to tell him about my father’s death.

He sighed, resigned. “Relax, Saunders,” he said. “I’m trying to get you to relax.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” I said, pulling away from him, but he held my wrists. “Let me go.”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” he whispered, his voice threatening.

“And what is that?” I asked, exasperated. “Trying to take down a megalomaniac?”

He grinned maliciously. “Trying to seduce one, you mean.”

I would have laughed if I wasn’t so shocked at the accusation. “Seduce you? As if.”

His eyes glittered at me. “You will, Saunders. You will. Once you see what I will become, you'll be begging to have a piece of me.”

And then he kissed me.

It caught me off guard so much, he kissed me longer than I would have let him. I was so angry, I pushed him off me and staggered backwards. He was lucky I didn’t slap him. Then someone snapped a photo of us, quite unexpectedly.

I blinked the stars from my vision because of the flash, and I saw Ben’s hurt face as he was re-entering the ballroom.

“Ben,” I called, as he turned away and left me there. I knew how bad it looked to him, since I had been obsessing over Stephen Cross for two years.

That night was the final straw in our relationship. Ben asked me about it later, and I told him what happened, that Stephen Cross was a jerk and he was trying to mess with me. That, combined with the rest of the burned bridges between us, dissolved our relationship.

And now, this photograph had resurfaced over Cerberus' dead body. As a calling card?

No, a taunt.

“I know who's doing this,” I said. I looked at Plutus. “I know who's trying to kill you.” I didn't have a motive yet. I knew.

Tisiphone, along with an entourage from the palace, appeared from around the corner. She halted when she saw the mess. “Oh, gods!” she cried.

“Do you have my tablet?” I asked, running up to her.

“It's here,” Tisiphone said, taking the tablet out from her backpack.

“Great,” I grabbed it from her. “We need to alert the security around here, and increase everything, okay?”

“We have already doubled the security...” she said softly.

“I don't care!” I cried. “Whatever we have, we need to increase it. Have Daedalus triple our security. Somehow, someone's killed Cerberus. I'm not letting them get to Plutus.” I felt like a madwoman. I didn't want to create a stir or a riot or anything, but this was getting too close, and if Stephen Cross was willing to kill an innocent puppy, I had no doubt about what he'd do to get to Plutus.

“Just do it, please, Tisiphone.”

Without waiting for an answer, I quickly snapped photographs of the crime scene. I didn't need much else, just something to document Cerberus' death. I didn't want to spend too long here. I had a lot to do to keep Plutus safe.

“All right, you're clear to clean the scene,” I commanded to the servants. I grabbed Plutus' hand. “I need you to go back with me to the palace and stay in your room. I need to keep you safe.” He gave me a slow nod. I took that as a sign that it was okay to bring him back with me.

I practically dragged him back to his room. I was doing a stilted run, pulling him along at his limping pace. He didn't argue or say anything during this time. The only indication he was surprised with the entire thing was his heavy breathing. He wasn't used to running like this.

I deposited him into his room. “Stay here,” I ordered. “Lock the door and don't let anyone come in unless it's me, okay?”

With that stoic mask in place, he stiffly relented.

“Please be safe,” I said, closing my eyes.

I turned to leave.

“You too, Callista” he replied, although I couldn't see his face.

I closed the door behind me. The lock slid home and I rested my head on the cool wood, closing my eyes.

Focus on your next steps, Callie.

I went to my room and shut the door, locking it myself.

You are strong.

My father's voice reverberated in my head.

I sat at my desk, looking at the wall where I had everyone's picture posted. This was preposterous. How did Stephen Cross know about this entire thing? He was a conniving billionaire without morals. But he wasn't a god, he was a mortal. Or...or was he? In my distress, I had failed to link the two together. He was a demigod.

“I'm such an idiot.” Some all-star detective I was, failing to miss all that. Why had I missed all the signs? Stephen Cross had grown up without a father, and because of that, he had sworn to not live impoverished all his life. That was surely because his father was a god.

Hands trembling, I took out my tablet. There was an email from someone named Alecto, with the subject: CONFIDENTIAL List of Living Demigods. I opened it, and found there was no message, only an attached spreadsheet. I clicked on the link and was rewarded with a list over 7800 names long.

I paused, my hand hovering over the screen, trying to digest that. 7800 names? And those were just the living ones.

Damn.

The list was sortable based upon whatever variable I wanted. I searched by first name and had a list from A-Z of all of the names. I scrolled down to the S's and found four Stephens, yet none of their last names, nor their dates of birth matched Stephen Cross'. I had memorized the facts of his life by heart. I knew exactly when he was born and when his first million was made, what his mother's name was, everything. I searched by last name, and while there was one Cross, it was a girl born in London only fifteen years ago. I knew I wasn't going to find his name there, no matter how many ways I tried to sort it.

It had to be there. Had to be. I flung the tablet away in frustration and put my head in my hands. None of this made sense. Not that it did before, but now, it really didn't make sense.

He had to be a demigod, yet his name wasn't on the list. Unless someone had tampered with it.

Had someone taken Stephen's name off the list? The only people I knew who had touched this list were that birthing goddess Ilithiya, Hades' secretary Alecto, and Hades himself.

I ran an internet search on Ilithiya. Based upon what I read, she had no motive to kill Cerberus or Plutus. Alecto was a Fury, much like Tisiphone (Wikipedia even said that they were sisters), was acting as one of Hades' secretaries for the moment. I doubted she would have taken the initiative to leave Stephen's name off unless she was asked to.

By Hades.

I looked back over at the newspaper clipping. Why hadn't I seen it before? The dark hair, the nose, the silvering sideburns? I didn't need a list of demigods to see the connection.

Almost-death was making me really dense.

I grabbed the newspaper clipping and the tablet, and I practically tore the door off its hinges to get out. I stormed down the hallway towards Hades' office. I hated being played for a fool, which he had already played me for once. I hated it when things didn't make sense. And this whole thing certainly did not make sense.

I almost barreled into Charon in a hallway and nearly dropped everything I was carrying.

“Charon?” I asked, confused. “What are you doing here?” Wasn't he supposed to be out on the ferry, taking the Dead from one place to another?

I noticed the harpoon in his hand, one of those fishing ones that you'd picture in stories like Moby Dick. Not in the Underworld. He grinned at me with a wide, toothy smile that sent chills down my spine. I realized what it was that I didn't like about him.

He was crazy.

“This,” he said in his craggy voice.

He speared me through my left shoulder. I screamed as it drove me backward onto the floor. Charon was surprisingly strong. He leered down at me, and the harpoon went all the way into the tile on the ground, cracking it and holding me there. Indescribable pain exploded throughout my body. A sob escaped my throat. He'd missed my shoulder blade, so it went through without too much damage, probably puncturing a lung. If I was lucky. Otherwise, I had a long wait to die.

It felt like I was breathing through a straw.

My mind flurried through everything. Why didn't anyone come running? Surely my scream had alerted someone that something was wrong. Unless…oh shit, I had just put more reinforcements on the outside of the palace. There was probably no one else close by. I wasn't close enough to Hades' office yet. We were in the hallway, and no one had heard me scream.

“You…” Oh God, it hurt to speak. “You...killed Cerberus.” I coughed, and I spat out blood. He had hit something inside that was very important. “You're helping Stephen Cross.”

Charon peered down at me. Next time, I should make a note to trust my instincts. Anyone I didn't like, I should treat as suspects. I was never wrong. And now I was fully dying because of it.

“Why?”

He cackled, his wrinkled, weather-beaten face breaking into a crazy grin. “Yer asking me?” He bent his skinny, spider-veined legs and brought his face close to my level. “I been working fer Hades fer thousands o' years. Thousands. An' 'ave I ever gotten a raise? No. Not a once. I learned 'bout a thing called inflation, an' I'm makin' next to nothin' these days. Nada. Zip. So how do ye get more money? Ye change jobs.”

“Working for Stephen Cross.”

He grinned serenely. “Yep.”

“You brought the Shadow Assassins here.”

“Yep.”

“You tried killing Plutus.”

“Yep. That little punk.”

I took in a shuddering breath, feeling more than physical pain at the moment. “How...how did Stephen get into contact with you?”

He gave me a toothy, huge smile. “He said you'd ask questions,” he groused. “He had an...oracle...a woman who tol' me about him.”

“You talked to an oracle?” I closed my eyes. Beverly. He was talking about Beverly. The poor psychic whose death I had been investigating. I had been right. Stephen had a hand in her death.

“He offered me more money so I took the job.” He nearly spat out the words, completely satisfied with himself.

Even though it hurt, I started laughing, a coughing, rasping laugh that probably meant that I sounded like a dying, crazy woman. For all I know, I was. Things were slowly starting to fall into place. I should have picked up on it when he was talking about what Plutus “deserved”. Stephen had used the psychic, poor Beverly Dean, to make contact with the Underworld. That's how he would have found out who his father was. That's how he had a mole. And that's why he killed Beverly when she knew too much.

I should've known. I guess that could go on my list of should'ves.

“I've never liked you, Charon.”

“Same,” he cackled.

“How did you poison the food?” That was the last bit I didn't know. If he answered that, at least I knew he was working alone here.

“Pah,” he spat, spraying spittle across my face. “You'd be surprised at how easy it is to sneak into the kitchens. They talk a big talk about security, but they're stupid. Just like you.”

That was confession enough for me. He was the only mole among Hades' servants, which was a relief to me.

With my right hand and whatever strength I had left, I pulled my gun out from the back of my pants. He was too wrapped up in my suffering to really notice and held me by my chin so he could breathe his hot breath in my face.

“You...do realize…that you're...just a pawn, right?”

At such a close range, I didn't even have to aim. I simply pointed it in the direction of his head and pulled the trigger. His smug little head exploded into a spray of red. The recoil from the gunshot threw me back onto my back with such force that I lost control of my head, cracking it on the tile floor.

I passed out. This time, I wasn't expecting to wake up.

13

At first, I thought I was waking up in a hospital in San Francisco. The light coming in from the window seemed too bright for the Underworld, and I wasn't in my usual room. Being somewhere different gave me a little sliver of hope. I slowly adjusted my eyes to my surroundings.

Was I back? My shoulder hurt, badly, but I didn't feel any bulky bandages.

“Morning.”

I froze, hearing a familiar voice, and even though I'd been half delirious when I heard it last, I couldn't mistake it. I turned my head to the left and saw Apollo sitting there, watching me.

“Ugh,” I grunted. “I'm still here.” I groaned, shutting my eyes, and writhed on the bed, turning away from him, and away from what was now my world.

“Not quite the greeting I was hoping for,” said Apollo blithely. “I'll chalk that up to you being a bit disoriented.”

“Where am I?”

“You're still in the palace, but we moved you to be closer my guest room and to the sunlight. It seemed to be healing you a bit more than I ever could.”

“Let me guess,” my voice sounded weak, even to my own ears, “you and Asclepius healed me again.”

“Just me this time,” he said, sounding amused. I heard the creak of him sitting back in his chair. He loudly sighed, and I was reminded that despite his scholarly, nerdy looks, he was still a god. “You were in such bad shape by the time Plutus found you that they had to call in the big guns right away.”

I swallowed, trying not to focus on the fact that it was Plutus who had found me. He was supposed to be back in his room. What was he doing out in the hallways, when I warned him that he should stay safe?

“Was it worse than my poison bite?”

He nodded gravely. “The bite was immediate death for you, but we only had to remove the poison. This time I had to repair your left lung, a couple of ribs, and quite a few arteries and veins, which was quite intense. You were bleeding out when I arrived.”

So I had nearly died. “I need to stop dying.”

He grinned. “You're telling me.”

I glanced back behind me to try and look at him, although my neck didn't stretch far enough. “Is everyone safe?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is...is Plutus safe?”

“Yes.” It wasn't Apollo’s voice.

I turned on my back, so I could see the doorway. Plutus stood there, leaning heavily on his cane, a tray of food in his other hand. He gave me a small smile. “Welcome back.”

“You idiot,” I rasped. “You were supposed to stay in your room.”

The smile turned into a frown. “If I hadn't left my room, you would have died for real this time. And there wouldn't be an Afterlife for you.”

I glared daggers at him, not sure what to say. If he hadn't found me, I would be dead. If he had been out when Charon was still prowling, he could have been the one who was in my place. I shivered thinking about it.

Apollo chuckled, and got up out of his seat. “I'll go get Hades.”

“The servants can do that,” Plutus said.

“No, that's all right,” Apollo said. He gave me a pointed look. “I need to go for a walk anyways.”

He left the two of us alone.

It was awkward. A long, heavy silence separated us before we spoke, and when we did, it was both of us at once.

“Listen, Plutus,” I started. He held up a hand, shushing me.

“I'm glad you're all right,” he said softly. “After losing Cerberus, I didn't want to lose you too.”

The gulp stopped halfway in my throat. I felt my cheeks heat up, and my heart fluttered like a flailing bird. “Are you saying that you'd miss me?”

Another smile, although I could tell it was pained. He sat down next to me and gave my hand a squeeze. It was a tender gesture that I hadn't expected.

Beneath his carefully constructed façade, did he care about me too?

“Listen.” The squeeze on my hand lessened. “I know who did it,” I said. “I know who's behind all this.”

He smiled sadly. “Yeah, it was Charon all along.”

“No,” I said, the lump in my throat. “It was—”

“Am I interrupting anything?”

I turned my gaze onto Hades, who had entered the room, flanked by Tisiphone and Apollo. Tisiphone looked as if she could barely contain herself. In fact, when Hades moved out the way, she rushed over to me and wrapped me up in a huge hug.

“You're a dumbass, you know that?” she chided, not unkindly.

“And you're a judgmental bitch,” I told her.

She smiled. “That’s why we make such a great team.”

Hades cleared his throat and she dropped me like I was a cockroach. I ignored him. “Can you grab my tablet?” I asked her. “I need it.” Tisiphone quickly ducked out of the room.

Hades cleared his throat again, and I turned my attention to him, making sure that I didn't look very impressed with him. I was mad at him.

He acted like he didn't notice my hostility. “You're awake, I see.”

“Yeah. Surprisingly.”

“I trust you're feeling better?”

Apollo gave a mock-offended snort. “Of course she is,” he muttered under his breath.

Hades smiled, although it didn't reach his eyes. “We have a lot to be thankful for then.”

Plutus said something so quietly, I didn't even know if he had spoken or not.

Hades didn't acknowledge it, so I must have imagined it.

“So now that we've found who is behind all of this, I guess we need to talk about sending you back to Life.” He smiled, although I could tell it was forced. “You've fulfilled your end of the bargain, Callie, it's time for me to fulfill mine.”

The entire room broke into pandemonium. Persephone pushed her way in, exclaiming about a party, a young, green-skinned girl who reminded me of Tisiphone winked into existence and began taking notes right away, and Apollo clapped Hades on the back. Plutus was silent.

It was so loud that I couldn't speak above the din.

“We'll have to have a ceremony,” Persephone said. “Like a party.” It was the first time I'd heard her excited about anything. The only time I’d ever seen her happy was when she was planning to get rid of me. It didn’t surprise me at all.

“See, you thought she wouldn't be up to it,” Apollo told Hades.

“I'll arrange everything,” the green-skinned girl said.

Persephone nodded. “Yes, we'll need everything booked, Alecto. So much to do...”

“Now that we've determined that it was that treasonous Charon...”

“But—” I tried.

“We'll have to put this thing in a dress,” Persephone was saying, gesturing at me. Alecto dutifully wrote everything she was saying. At least the goddess didn't leer at me too long.

“But—”

“My son is safe,” Hades said with a proud pat on Plutus' back.

A dam inside my head. “But Charon wasn't the one who did all of this!” I shouted.

Everyone stopped and looked at me in shock.

“I—”

“I think everyone should leave right now,” Hades said, a dangerous tone threading through his voice. He looked scary and the entire room picked up on that. I felt the tendrils of his dark power reaching out, trying to suffocate me.

At that moment, Tisiphone came back to the door, carrying my tablet. She glanced at him, and her usual smirk immediately fell.

“Out,” he commanded. “Out!”

Everyone in the room slunk out quietly. Tisiphone met my eyes and pressed my tablet into my hands. She didn't say anything and followed the others.

Plutus didn't move.

“Get out, Plutus,” Hades said, that dangerous tone still there.

“No.”

I got the impression from Hades' face that while he and Plutus had their disagreements, it was rare that his son flat-out told him ‘no’. Things in the room startled rattling, the hair on the back of my neck rose. Hades was unhappy, and his was losing his hold on his powers. I'd seen him use his powers a few times before; I didn't want him to lose control.

“It's fine, Plutus,” I said. His frown deepened, an uncertain look on his face, but he didn't budge. The rattling in the room was increasing. “It's fine.”

He considered this for a moment. A switch finally seemed to go off in his head. “All right,” he said, resigned, and he hunched over himself, like a scolded dog. “I'll be just outside if you need anything.”

Then I was alone with an angry god. Oh well, I'd dealt with hot-shot billionaires, Shadow Assassins, an ancient mariner, and getting hit by a bus. If it was my time, it was my time. I was going to talk to Hades about this.

“You can’t accuse others of trying to murder Plutus, Callie,” Hades said, his tone far worse. “Especially with the evidence stacked so highly against Charon.”

“Charon was just a pawn,” I said. “The real culprit is someone far more dangerous.”

I turned on the tablet and ran a quick Google search on Stephen Cross. The very first image was a photo from an article about his bachelor status. I fought to urge to gag and touched it so it filled the screen.

“Are you familiar with a man named Stephen Cross?” I asked. I laid the tablet down with the image of Stephen facing him.

Hades looked at the image, all of the color draining from his face.

At last, I had caught the bastard off guard.

“Do you recognize him?”

“Yes.” The word was quiet, barely audible.

“I know him from when I was alive,” I said, my voice wavering. “I was investigating him for a string of murders, embezzling, sex trafficking, drug trafficking...” I stopped myself from rattling off his offenses. We would have been there for a while if I did. “When I checked Cerberus, I found a photo of him and me there. A calling card.”

Hades had gone very still.

“I know why he, of all people, is trying to kill Plutus.”

Hades still didn't say anything.

“He's not on the list you gave me,” I pressed, “but I believe he's your son.”

I saw it then. I saw a flicker of something pass across Hades’ face. I’d seen it once before in another case, when I confronted a widower about the murder of his wife. He too, had been a well-to-do business man who had secrets, too many secrets. He had been practiced enough to hide his emotions, but when I asked him if he had hired a hitman to do the job, there was something that reared its ugly head deep inside. He knew who had done it.

It was the same expression that passed across Hades’ face now. He knew. He’d known all along. And he had removed Stephen's name from that list himself.

Fury boiled up inside me. “Why?” I asked, my voice low, dangerous. It was wavering because I was so desperately trying not to reach out and throttle him. If I were in San Francisco, I’d have arrested him for perjury and interfering with an investigation. As it was, Hades was the one who had hired me to find out who was trying to kill Plutus, which left me with few options. I was going have to pressure him into talking. “Why did you blackmail me into doing this investigation if you already knew who it was?”

Another expression passed across Hades’ face and this time, he didn’t even bother hiding it. “I needed to have evidence.”

“Bullshit!” I slammed my hands down on either side of me and gripped the bedspread. “You’re the Lord of the goddamn Underworld!” I shouted. “You don’t need evidence, you’re an omniscient god! Don’t try feeding me that, I'm not stupid. Again, why did you hire me?”

Hades met my eyes. “I did it for my son.”

“Which one?”

He sighed. I had made my point. “Plutus.”

At the mention of Plutus, the edge of my anger softened if only for a moment. And then I steeled my resolve back into place. “You could do a far better job of protecting him than I ever could,” I said evenly.

“I can protect him from people who are trying to kill him, yes. You can't protect someone who does not want to be saved himself,” he said. He sighed and leaned back against the wall.

“What?”

“I said that he didn't want to be saved,” Hades repeated, angrier this time.

“Does Plutus know?” The thought made me sick.

This is why you don’t get involved with someone in the investigation.

I was in so deep into now, I had no idea which way was up. Or right. Or entirely wrong. If Plutus had lied to me too...

“He does not,” Hades said quietly. “That still doesn't change the fact that he didn't care if he continued on existing. Surely you picked up on that, even just talking to him.”

I had. I’d even suspected that he’d considered suicide. Who could blame him? Gifted with a power that was both exhilarating and devastating, he was unable to control the consequences of the gifts he bestowed on mortals. Crippled and blind, he was often the object of ridicule. I understood his depression but I’d thought he was resigned to his fate.

Had Plutus really wanted to die?

“You keep talking about that in the past tense,” I said with a frown. “He ‘did not’ want to be saved. He ‘did not’ want to continue existing.”

The look on Hades’ face was of absolute apology. “That's because cares now.” He let that hang in the air between us for a few moments before continuing. “He's met someone who has given him the will to live, a woman who’s given him hope.”

Me.

My heart pounded in my ears. “And that’s why you hired me? To be a...a whore?” Nausea washed over me and my stomach catapulted up into my throat. I was going to vomit.

“I hired you because I wanted you to give him purpose again.” Hades leaned forward, apparently not caring that I was going to retch in his face. “You have to understand, Callista, my son is not well loved. His mother hates him for not being a vision of perfection. Most of our family treats him the same way. He was shunned for being different. Even I...” his Adam’s apple bobbed, “even I held it against him for not being as perfect as Ares or Athena.”

“That’s because you’re all fucked up.”

Instead of smiting me, he nodded. “We have a warped sense of what beauty is. After millennia of being treated like that, Plutus would gladly die and fade into nothingness. He did not want to live any more. Until he met you, that is.”

“Why me?” When Hades didn’t answer, I repeated it. “Why me?”

“You are an exceptional woman, one who knows her place.”

I frowned, balling my hand into a fist. I really wanted to deck him.

“I figured if you did happen to find out that it was Stephen, you knew who you were dealing with. And I could put you together with Plutus, under the guise of an investigation and he would not second guess it.” He straightened and craned his neck, like he had a cramp in his neck. “I knew you would fall in love with him, that he would fall in love with you, and even just a touch of love would buy him enough time to appreciate life once again.”

I straightened. Hades knew it was Stephen?

My mind flipped through the pages of my mythology book, landing on one particular goddess. I recoiled in horror. “Oh G-God,” I stammered. “Aphrodite. You had Aphrodite make me fall in love with him?” My throat closed off. I remembered that day, meeting her in the hallway outside of my room. She had touched me, and I felt a flutter then. And that was when I really started developing feelings for Plutus, and when he’d started acting a bit differently around me. “She did the same thing to him?”

He didn’t bother to deny it.

I wrung my hands, unsure of what to do with them. Not that Plutus and I had ever kissed or had anything other than a platonic relationship.

I should have been overjoyed to hear that the man I loved felt the same way in return; instead I saw it for what it was. A sham. I wasn’t going to let it continue. I refused to. No one messed with my life and my heart.

“So what? You were going to let a madman potentially kill your son while we shoot googly-eyes at each other?”

“I'm a god, Callista. I have the whole situation under control.”

“Under control? Does 'under control' include having a puppy murdered in cold blood? Does it include having me stabbed by your ferryman?”

He didn't answer. Even though it hurt like hell, I pulled the blanket off me and struggled to my feet. I was going to leave him here, like the pathetic little guy he was. “Fuck all of you. I don’t care if I go back to the Surface or not. You're not going to control me. You guys can all stew in Hell. Which is what this—” I gestured at the room around me “—is.”

“If you leave here, Callista,” he said warningly, “you will not have another chance to go back to Life.”

“That's fine,” I told him coldly. He was making an idle threat. At least I hoped it was idle.

“I forbid you from speaking about this to anyone, Callista.” He looked sad as he said it, but he was sealing how ridiculous this entire thing was.

I gagged when I opened my mouth to make a retort. Apparently the over-bearing son of a bitch had put a spell behind his edict, and I couldn't even speak against him. I tried again. It didn't work. I flicked him off, turned on my heel and left. He didn’t try to stop me.

I was in a different wing of the palace than I was used to, so I had to navigate my way out. My shoulder throbbed, the pain constant. Apollo said that he had to repair several organs and arteries. Based on how badly I felt, he might have missed one or two.

I eventually located my room, and I threw open the door. I didn’t know what was going to happen to me, but I didn’t care. I’d kept my end of the bargain for Hades. It was up to him to follow through on his end of the deal, though I didn't think he would after I blew up at him. He’d already shown his true colors. I searched through my pile of dirty laundry on the floor, planning to grab my police badge and go. I had to leave. Before Plutus...

“Callista?”

I stiffened for a brief second, debating on what to say. I couldn't explain what happened. I couldn't tell him that his father had betrayed him. Every time I tried to speak, I gagged on the words even before I formed them.

I wanted to warn him, and I couldn't. The only thing I could do was leave.

I shook my head and continued looking for my badge. “Go away, Plutus,” I said, my voice husky. “I don’t want to see you.” I didn’t want to make this harder than it was, but it was devastating to leave him behind when I knew how his father had betrayed him.

“What're you doing?” he asked, stepping into my room.

I didn’t invite him. Anger boiled up in me. I was tired of being manipulated, tired of no one taking my feelings into account for anything they did. At that moment, I didn’t care that he was being manipulated just as much as me.

“I’m leaving,” I said. I shoved another pile of shirts aside, and something glittered in the dim light. My badge. The only anchor I had left to the life above. I grabbed it, deliberately ignoring the God Gun that glittered tantalizingly at me. I didn't pick it up. Now that I was effectively discharged, I wasn't going to bring it with me.

“What? Why?” Plutus sounded frantic. I guess he would be, after being under the influence of the love goddess. “You're leaving before Dad can send you to the surface properly?”

“And if I stay here another moment, I’m going to go postal. Get out.”

I stood up to leave, but he was blocking the door. For someone who was blind, he knew exactly where to stand to make it difficult for me to leave.

“Move out of the way,” I pleaded. I didn’t want to do this. Not now, not ever. It was only a love spell I was under. Nothing more. I really didn't love him. I never did. He didn’t love me either.

And that hurt more than I wanted to admit.

“No,” Plutus said. “Not when you are so close to being restored to life. You have protected me, you have saved me. I won’t let you throw it all away.”

“I’m tired of being manipulated. That’s all anyone’s ever done to me since I’ve gotten here.”

“I've been manipulated all my life too,” he said quietly. “I mean, look at me. I am blind and lame because someone else decided that it would be the best for the God of Wealth.”

“So stop being manipulated by them,” I said, “and leave.” As I said that, I realized that he was trapped here. He couldn't go to the Surface. He couldn't escape the gods. His fate was tied to the Underworld and even if he was a god, he was a doomed one.

Before I realized what was happening, he’d moved closer. I smelled the intoxicating scent of his cologne and the fluttering feeling was back.

He kissed me. My eyes fluttered closed. Raw intensity mixed with scorching heat. He tasted like an exotic candy and I loved the feel of his lips on mine. Whatever spell Aphrodite had placed on him, it was strong. I knew that, because it was strong in me too. I clung to him, shivering.

He broke our kiss and put his forehead against mine. “Stay. Please.” He swallowed. “I just want what's best for you. What will make you happy. And then you will not have to deal with any of us for a long time.”

I swallowed and closed my eyes, strengthening what little resolve I had left.

No. And that one word was enough for me to leave.

“Be careful,” I whispered to him. “Don't trust anyone.”

I pushed past him without another word and nearly stumbled down the hallway, away from him. Away from being manipulated. I wasn't in control of my destiny anymore. Then again, I didn't think I ever was.

At least I could do this.

He didn't follow me or try to stop me after that. It was just as well, too. I didn't think I could say no another time. I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced myself to walk. One foot in front of the other.

I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. It was getting easier with each step. This would be the last time I'd walk down these hallways. I didn't feel sad about it, only a bit apprehensive that I had no idea where I was going to go and what I was going to do once I got there. It was about a five-minute walk to get to the front of the palace, and with each step, I felt lighter and lighter.

“Hey!”

I recognized Tisiphone's voice behind me and continued pushed forward. I was almost out. I was at the front doors and almost free. Why the hell was she bothering me?

“Hey, Callie!”

She was much closer now. I closed my eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and turned around to face her. “What?” I snapped.

For once, she was speechless, looking up at me with her mouth slightly agape. I frowned down at her, daring her to speak, and she still didn't say anything. I was irritated at the whole thing.

“What, Tisiphone?”

She swallowed. “Plutus told me you were leaving.”

“That was fast,” I growled, even though it felt like it was physically hurting me. I used it to fuel my anger at the entire thing. “If you're trying to stop me, you can forget it.”

“I'm not trying to stop you,” she told me. “I was going to help you, but you're being a bitch about it.” This time, she wasn't being playful when she called me a bitch. She was pissed.

“Help me how?”

She crossed her arms, cocked her hip and she looked up at me. “If you walk out beyond those gates, you're going to become a lost soul forever. No one will be able to help you after that.” She sniffed derisively. “No one will ever even care.”

“So?”

She rolled her eyes and groaned loudly. “They make such a big deal out of where to place you when you die, so you're not put in the wrong place. But they're not going to care if you're a lost soul. If you roam the Underworld by yourself, you're going to get so lost, you won't even know what plane of existence you're on any more.”

“So?” I asked again, feeling belligerent. I didn't care if I was being childish. I didn't want to admit I was wrong, to be manipulated into doing something else that I didn't want to do.

“I can help you go back to being alive,” she blurted out.

I blinked a few times, this time to try and get rid of the tears that were trying to furiously fall. “What? Why didn't you help me before?” I could have avoided, well, everything if there was an easy way to circumvent working for Hades.

“Don't be mad at me,” she snapped. Her voice dropped, and she shifted her eyes from left to right, watching to see if someone was listening in. “It's highly illegal for you to go this route. Hell, even talking to you is putting my ass on the line.” She sighed, her anger seeming to dissipate. She combed her fingers through her hair in exasperation, seeming calmer now. “Do you trust me, Callie?”

Did I? That was a good question. I didn't trust anyone here anymore, including myself. My feelings were all over the map and I didn’t trust them either. Tisiphone had always had my back, and even though she joked about it, she always took my part in everything seriously. Even though she had proclaimed the opposite when we first met, we had crossed the line into being friends.

“Yes,” I said. “I trust you, Tisiphone.”

She nodded slightly, her decision made. “Then stay close to me.”

She grabbed my hand and we winked out of existence, reappearing at the steps of what looked like a courthouse. She led me up the front stairs to the building. There were an awful lot of steps. I followed, my stilted steps slowing us down. She roughly grappled me towards her and moved me along.

“Do you remember when we interrogated Minos?”

I mentally flipped through the pages of information I had stored in my mind. A vague recollection of a sly man with an arrogant smile floated through my head. Ah, him. Minos was one of Hades' Judges who made the easy decisions where the Dead would go. Had I not been enlisted in Hades' service, I would have been judged by one of them as to where I was headed in my Afterlife. And if I remembered correctly, Minos wasn't a very nice guy. In fact, he had hit on Tisiphone with a creepy, stalkerish familiarity, and when she rejected him, he set his sights on me.

Yeah, I didn't like him.

“What about him?”

She glanced back at me, biting her bottom lip. “He's one of the few who can return you to Life.”

“What? He can bring me back to Life?”

We made it to the landing of the courthouse, stopping so she could face me.

Her nod was barely perceptible, her cheeks flushed, like she was ashamed at the admission. “Of course. He's a Judge. He'll be able to pardon you. And the good thing about Minos, he's the final vote if there's a dispute. So he's the most powerful of the judges.”

“Why haven't you told me this before?”

She glared at me, although her anger was gone. She simply looked tired now. “Because it's highly illegal, like I said.” Her voice wavered and she dropped her voice. “He's not supposed to do it, and he could get into big trouble if Hades ever found out. Spirits are only supposed to go one way: into the Underworld, not the other way. Not without Hades' blessing.”

“Why would he help us?” After all, we’d both turned him down and he’d thrown us out of his chambers.

She sighed, putting her free hand on her hip. “Because for about the last two thousand years, he's wanted to go on a date with me. So,” she said, giving me a tired smile, “I'll go on a date with him. In exchange for him holding up Hades' end of the bargain.”

She pushed through the doors.

“Hurry,” she said. “Before Hades puts a ban on your file and you're not allowed to go anywhere.”

Minos lived in his courtroom on the west side of the gates of the Underworld. When he'd heard we were there to see him, he made room in his schedule to meet us.

Now, he was regarding us with a smuggish sneer of a smile from behind his desk, like he had won something. Perhaps, in his eyes, he had.

To Tisiphone's credit, she seemed to be in complete control of herself. Meanwhile, I was nearly shivering in fear. I didn't like putting my fate in someone else's hands, especially someone like Minos. I didn’t have any other option.

“You want me to what?” he asked, amused.

“Hades has some unfinished business with Callie,” Tisiphone answered for me. “In exchange for finding out who was trying to assassinate Plutus, he said that she could be brought back to life.”

I noticed how carefully she worded everything. She could be brought back. Not, He'd bring her back to life. Not necessarily a lie, just bending the truth in our favor.

“And?” Minos' eyes sparkled as he looked at her. “I already knew that, Tisiphone.”

She gestured to me. “She's found out who the assassin is—”

“Who is it?” he asked, cutting her off.

Tisiphone hesitated, and despite what I had planned, I stepped in and spoke for her. “That's...confidential information.” My mouth gagged slightly as I said that; apparently, the spell had extended to even that. So it would stay as confidential information.

“And since it's her time to be brought back to life, we want you to do it,” Tisiphone said. She must have noticed me struggling with my words. I gave her a grateful glance before turning my attention back to Minos.

He leaned forward, steepling his fingers as he looked between Tisiphone and I. He totally enjoyed having us at his mercy.

He took out his own tablet and put in a few commands. “Callista Saunders...” he muttered absently. He must have pulled up my file.

“It's Callie,” I said, hoping that we weren't too late.

“It says you're due to leave tomorrow, with Hades accommodating,” Minos said, suspiciously. He peered over the top of the tablet at me. “Why are you going through me? Trying to leave early?”

I swallowed. “Yes,” I said softly. “I can't stand to be here for another minute.”

Minos raised an eyebrow. “Why should I help you?” he asked. “You wanted nothing to do with me when you came earlier to ask me questions.” His hand snaked its way across his desk, as if he wanted to put it over mine.

I fought the urge to shudder. I hated the way he undressed me with his eyes. If it wasn't for me facing an eternity as a ghost, I'd have told Tisiphone it wasn't worth it. From her tense jawline, it looked like she felt the same way.

“Her heart belongs to someone else,” Tisiphone explained. I felt myself pale at that. Did it really? I'd just learned that it was all fake, yet the ache was still fresh.

“And you're still tied up in your feelings for that Barnabas character,” Minos put rather bluntly. He watched her with keen eyes.

Tisiphone's hands clenched on her lap, away from his gaze. “I'm ready to try someone new,” she said reluctantly. “Since...since Barnabas...passed on I’ve been lonely. I miss having a man in my life. So I was wondering if, well, I could take you up on your offer and go on a date with you.”

At first I thought he'd laugh. After all, it was ridiculous—make me alive again and she'd go on a date with him? It was a stupid proposition, and I thought he'd turn her down. Instead, he watched her intently without saying anything, as if to judge her sincerity. Finally, he sat back with a huge grin.

“All right,” he exclaimed happily, clapping his hands together. He looked back at me, a lecherous smile on his face. “Let's make you live again, Callie.”

He stood up from his desk and reached out to grab my hand. I glanced at it dubiously. Tisiphone lightly kicked me in the shins and I took it, ignoring the pain in my right leg. He walked me over to the center of the room, positioned me there, and then stepped back.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

This was it? No preamble or magic potions or animal sacrifice or anything? I glanced over at Tisiphone and she gave me a slight nod. Yep, apparently this was the whole ceremony to bring me back to life. I have no idea why Persephone wanted to have a party if this was it. Maybe it really was to celebrate me leaving.

It was slightly disappointing that this was what I'd been working towards for months. Then again, I reminded myself, I hadn't really been working towards that. Hades would rather I'd stay and become trapped and bound to his son, and I just didn't play that way.

“Close your eyes,” Minos commanded. “And whatever you do, keep them closed.”

I fought the urge to raise an eyebrow, but I obeyed without protest. Home. I was going home.

When Minos spoke, it wasn't with his normal weaselly voice. He spoke with a voice I hadn't heard yet, one that a god would use. There was power behind his words, compelling the very air around him to take heed of them. It made me want to shrink into myself, yet I held my ground. I wasn't about to be intimidated by him, of all people.

“I,” he commanded, “Minos of Crete, son of Zeus and Europa, Judge of the Underworld, and loyal servant to our Lord Hades, do invoke the rite of resurrection for Callista Saunders. The hour of her departure has arrived and we go our separate ways.” His voice sounded reverent now. “I to Death, and her to Life.”

His voice boomed around me like a rush of wind, making me feel vulnerable to all of the outside forces affecting me. I jumped when I felt his thumb touch my forehead. It was wet, and it left a thick liquid on my forehead. He drew a symbol, and then stepped back. I had no idea what it was, but it felt like a “T”.

He murmured in a foreign language, words I couldn't understand, and I shivered as the temperature dropped. Something was happening, and I fought the urge to open my eyes.

A sonic boom clapped around me and I jumped, shrieking involuntarily. Luckily, I didn't open my eyes, or else I might have ruined this little mini-ceremony. Minos continued his chant, although there was now a note of disapproval in his voice.

The wind picked up, making wisps of hair tickle my face. Two more thunderous peals sounded one after the other. I was more in control of myself this time; but it was disorienting that the booms were so close together. After the last and loudest crack of thunder, my ears rang, and I couldn't hear a thing. With my eyes closed, I had no sensation of what was happening. It was like being in a deprivation chamber.

Abruptly, my hearing came back with distinct clarity. Minos was still speaking, but he wasn't chanting anymore.

Something was completely and utterly wrong.

“Who—what are you doing here?” he stammered.

I opened my eyes and to both Minos and Tisiphone being flung towards me. Minos barely missed me, while Tisiphone hit me with enough force to knock both of us into the wall. I gave a strangled cry as my back struck the wall and I slid down in disbelief.

The air in front of where I had been standing shimmered, and I saw folds in the fabric of time, dimension, and space. It was a bright light, like a shimmering curtain revealing another world.

Life. It wasn't me being brought back to life, though; someone else was trying to come through from the opposite direction.

As soon as he stepped into the Underworld and turned around, my stomach tied itself up into tight, unhelpful knots. He looked like he always did, except there was something crackling around him, an aura of power.

“Stephen Cross,” I gasped. “What? How?”

He looked exactly as I remembered him from that ball several months ago, except now he was wearing a simple white linen shirt and pants. The clothes didn’t make him look angelic. He still had that cocky, arrogant smile I'd grown to hate over the years.

My worst nightmare was standing in front of me.

“I told you I’d be seeing you again, Saunders,” he said, giving me his all-knowing smile. “I knew that you'd be of use to me at one point, despite all your pesky interferences. The oracle told me so.”

There weren't many options available to me. Tisiphone slumped like a ragdoll next to me, apparently knocked out. Minos whined from where he lay.

I was going to have to deal with Stephen on my own, so I was going to play it cool.

“The oracle?” I echoed.

“Yes. They might be out of fashion on the surface but they’re still a valuable tool. When you were investigating the psychic’s death, Gods, you were so irritating. Poor Beverly never fully believed how powerful she really was. But,” he gestured around himself, “how do you think I found out about this place? I hired an oracle, the best money could buy. I wanted to know who my father was. I discovered it was better than I could have ever imagined.” He grinned. “Beverly seemed surprised by the whole thing. Right up until I killed her to keep the secret.”

“So I guess I was right about you,” I said coolly.

He burst out laughing. “Oh, Saunders.” He knelt in front of me and roughly brought my chin up to look into his eyes, which were a startlingly blue color.

Keep talking, Callie. I swallowed nervously, meeting his eyes. “How were you able to strike a Fury and a Judge like that?”

“I am my father's son. And I'm where I belong now. And that includes assuming all of the powers I should have had.”

Then he pulled my lips to his and savagely kissed me.

I reared back and head-butted him. A thick, golden liquid stained his forehead when he staggered back. Whatever Minos had wiped on me, it was now smeared on Stephen's forehead. He grimaced and backhanded me. I grunted and spat out some blood and spittle.

“You always were a handful,” he said bemusedly. “But I'm not here for you.”

Something deep inside me cried out at that. Plutus. I didn't know if it was Aphrodite's love spell or what. I didn't care at that point. I didn't want Plutus getting hurt, even if that risked everything.

“Please,” I said. “Please don't.”

Stephen chuckled. “It's too late for that, Saunders. I'll make him mortal. Then kill him and eat his heart.” He grinned widely. “There will be a new God of Wealth and things will be just as they should be.”

Before I could utter another word he disappeared, leaving nothing behind him. I knew where he went, and I knew what he was doing, and it wasn't good for the man I loved.

Panic enveloped me. I cried out in disbelief, a loud, hiccupping sob escaping my lips. There was no time to be wallow in despair. I had to do something. I had to save Plutus.

“Tisiphone!” I shouted, shaking her, trying to rock her out of her stupor. “Tisiphone!” She groaned, her head lolling. “Wake up, Plutus is in danger.”

Her eyes opened slowly. She regarded me for a heartbeat and then bolted upright and shouted angrily. “Fuck!” she cried. “That fucking asshole!”

“He's gone to the palace,” I said harshly. “We have to go there.”

She looked at me. “If you're going back to Hades, then—”

“I don't care!” I cried. I was beyond reasoning at that point. I didn't want Plutus to get hurt. He was innocent and I wasn’t going to let anything happen to him. Even if I couldn’t be with him, I wouldn’t let anyone hurt him. “Take me back to the palace.”

She grabbed my hand, and I felt the momentary vacuum of nonexistence, and then we were sitting on the foyer of the palace. I scrambled to my feet, setting off down one of the long hallways.

“Thanks!” I yelled behind me. “Stay here!” In her groggy condition, she would only slow me down. I was still injured from my confrontation with Charon, but I was in better shape than her.

Please don't let me be too late.

I sprinted down the hallways, unsure of where I was going. I ran off, yelling both Plutus' and Stephen's names. This was going against everything I'd learned in police academy, where stealth and planning were the rules. I didn't care if I gave away my position, I just didn't want to be too late.

“Plutus!” I screamed. “Plutus!”

Doorways blurred as I rushed through the palace. I lost all sense of direction but I forged ahead, determined to save Plutus. I had let down so many people I loved in my life. I couldn't save my dad; I couldn't save so many victims of my past cases; I couldn't save my relationship with Ben. I was going to save him. I just didn't know how.

“Plutus!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

I barreled into a solid form, cursing myself when I looked down at the person I had knocked onto his butt.

“You're not much for saving me if you keep running into me,” Plutus commented. His voice was low, accusing. “I thought you were leaving.”

I wanted to cry in relief. He was still alive, even if he didn’t lookhappy to see me. I held out a hand for him to get up which he begrudgingly accepted. I pulled him to his feet.

“You have to get out of here,” I said. “You have to leave.”

“What happened, Callista?”

I swallowed, not even bothering to correct him. I could give him the short story, so long as I could drag him down the hallway with me where I could lock a door and keep Stephen out.

“I tried leaving,” I said softly under my breath. “I went to Minos and—”

He jerked his head around. “You went to Minos?” His grip on my hand tightened and I fought the urge to cry out. “Callista, that's so illegal!”

“Stephen Cross came through. He—” My throat constricted around the rest of the sentence. My express orders not to tell Plutus who was trying to kill him silenced me. I shouted a stream of obscenities at his father at that moment, wanting to strangle him for being such an arrogant prick. “Please, you just have to trust me.”

“So says the person who stupidly left before she was supposed to,” Plutus said bitterly.

I chewed on my bottom lip and wrapped an arm about his shoulders, trying to usher him to safety. Not for the first time, I was secretly glad that I was nearly his height. “I need to keep you safe.”

He let out a derisive snort, but didn't say anything else as I helped him walk back the way I came. We were in the wing of the palace near his rooms. Even though I had been frantic, I had run straight there first, so I could hole us up and keep him safe. I closed my eyes and gave a silent prayer of thanks.

“What is the meaning of this?” another voice asked, breaking into my thoughts.

I glared up at Hades, who was blocking our path. “You have no idea how to control anything,” I told him. “You are an asshole.”

Hades' cheeks flushed with anger. I didn’t give a shit.

“Let me take Plutus to a safe place,” I told him. “Stephen passed through to the Underworld using my portal.”

A look of disbelief flashed across Hades' face.

“I was going to go back through illegal means,” I explained.

I reached down to my jeans, meaning to grab my God Gun, and remembered with a stab of fear that I had left it in my room. My heart quickened when I realized that we were totally exposed and defenseless. I needed to arm myself or I wouldn't be of use to anyone. My room was two doors down and I hoped my weapon was still where I’d left it. “You can punish me later. I'm here to protect Plutus.”

“You two are acting like I can't take care of myself,” Plutus spat.

I looked at him, my heart breaking. “Plutus, I—”

An invisible wall hit me from behind me, sprawling me on the floor of the hallway towards Hades. I cried out as pain hit me, threatening to throw me into unconsciousness. I fought it like a wild beast, but it left me weak and breathless.

Hades held out a hand, and I felt the whoosh of a similar wall blow past me with a crack, although it wasn't as strong as the blast that sent me flying. Hades wasn't fighting to hurt, only to subdue. Laughter sounded, so familiar to me now.

“Father,” Stephen said, emerging from the corner, “is that any way to treat your long lost son?”

I looked up in time to see Plutus whip his head around to his half-brother. “What?” he asked, turning even paler.

Stephen sneered and threw another burst of power toward the god. Plutus crossed his arms in front of him, shielding himself from the blast. It pushed him back about two feet, displaying the power behind the blast. He turned his head slightly to me, while I was broken on the floor, and then turned back to the demigod with a roar, and ran headfirst into a battle with Stephen. The demigod was only too happy to oblige.

I'd never seen Plutus fight before. Whatever handicap the gods thought he had being blind and lame was nonexistent—he fought with the fury of a demon. He unleashed a few quick blasts in succession and physically sparred with Stephen. Even so, Stephen evenly matched him.

“You're his true born son?” Stephen asked him disbelief. “A blind cripple?”

Plutus roared, letting his anger fuel his actions. I scrambled to my feet, rushed to my room, and grabbed my God Gun. I came back out to see that the half-brothers were still fighting furiously. Their bodies were a blur and I couldn't even separate one from the other, let alone get a clean shot. And with how destructive this gun was, I didn't want to risk hurting Plutus.

Hades stood by, watching in disbelief. Doing nothing.

“Why aren't you helping?” I screamed at him, trying to aim for an opening.

“He's my son, too, Callie,” Hades said. He visibly shook himself. “I shouldn't get in the middle of this.”

“Plutus is in trouble, and you're just going to let him get hurt?”

“I can't decide the outcome of this,” he answered, his voice strangled. “Only Fate can do that.”

“Plutus is going to die if you don't do something!”

“And they could both get hurt if I interfere,” Hades said sharply.

Fucking gods.

The fight was vicious. Both of them fought with everything—Stephen with the doggedness of a man without anything left to lose, Plutus with the tenacity of someone who had to prove himself—and between their punches and magic blasts, one of them was going to get hurt. I hoped it wasn’t Plutus.

With a sound like a clap of thunder, the two brothers separated. I took aim at Stephen and squeezed the trigger. My gun fired in his chest, my own heart soaring with hope.

Two things happened at once. Stephen's chest didn't explode into a spray of red. He staggered backwards while Plutus collapsed to the ground, wheezing heavily. He was clutching his neck, and when he turned his head in pain, I saw a dart sticking out from his throat.

Oh, God. I knew exactly what that was.

Stephen started laughing with huge, heaving breaths, despite the gaping hole in his chest cavity. “You underestimated me, Brother.” He looked over at us victoriously. “He's turning mortal now. And he can't survive here as a mortal, you know that, Father.”

Plutus' breath went ragged, and he was taking short, shallow breaths. He was dying. Tiny slivers of golden light were escaping him and winding their way towards Stephen.

He smirked at me, as if expecting me to give up. I raised my gun, aiming higher this time, and I shot the bastard in the face. Stephen's body collapsed like a rag doll.

I didn't wait to see if he was dead. I suspected he wasn't, but he was stunned. I knelt by Plutus and raised him into a sitting position. I looked back at Hades.

“Do something!” I screamed. “Do something or you're going to lose Plutus!”

Hades knelt next to me and put his hands over his son's heart. Plutus' breath was becoming increasingly shallow. Hades closed his eyes and murmured something, a bluish, glowing light emanating from his hands. Nothing happened. If anything, Plutus was getting worse.

“It's not working,” Hades said in disbelief. “I don't know what's happening.”

I could've lectured him on how it was proven that he really didn't have it under control. I could've held a long, laundry list of things against him. But right now, my entire being was consumed with the need to save Plutus. I risked a glance back at Stephen, whose body lay crumpled in a growing sea of red. I didn't know what that meant, only that we didn't have much time for Plutus.

“He can't survive here, can he?” I demanded. Hades started shaking his head as I was talking. He looked like he was in shock. “Because he's mortal, right?”

Hades gave a slight nod.

“What if we dipped him in the Styx?”

“I won't risk it.”

You risked me, I wanted to say. I was strong and partly dead when I had been dipped into the Styx. Not like Plutus right now. I stroked the side of his face. If it was possible for him to look worse, it was happening. The man I loved was dying. Unless...

“Send us back,” I whispered.

That snapped Hades out of his stupor. “What?”

“Send both of us back to Life. And I'll protect him there and find a way to send him back to the Underworld.”

Heh. Just when I was about to leave, something like this had to happen and I was sucked back into service.

“There's no guarantee that you will be able to help him in the Land of the Living,” Hades was saying. “He could arrive as a vegetable. Or worse.”

I opened my eyes and glared at him. “It's a chance to survive, which is better than dying here,” I snapped. “And regardless of whatever happened between us, I think...deep down, that I do love your son.” Even as I said it, I knew it was true. Aphrodite or not, he had burrowed a spot deep in my heart. “Please tell Aphrodite to back off and let me make my own choices.”

Hades watched me for a few heartbeats before making a decision in his mind. He then placed a hand on both of our foreheads. “You'll be returning directly back to your body,” he said softly. “Plutus will end up...somewhere else. I'll try to get him as close to you as possible, but there are no guarantees. Please, find Plutus and find a way to bring him back to being a god.” He took in another ragged breath, considering. “Your best chance is to find the prophet Tiresias, in Hunts Point, New York. He'll know how to turn Plutus back to a god.”

I dimly heard him, mentally storing that information for later. For now, I was worried about Plutus dying while we talked.

He noticed my worry and murmured some low words in Greek, so I couldn't understand what he was saying. Instinctively, I closed my eyes because of Minos' request. I felt lightheaded, like I was losing consciousness. He continued murmuring, and the feeling spread throughout my body. I clutched Plutus' hand. I'll find you, I told him fervently. I'll find you and I'll send you back to the Underworld.

The feeling spread over me like a warm liquid. Everything felt fuzzy, like I was wrapped up in a wool world. My reality was fading, being replaced by something else. Home.

I felt a hand grip my ankle and I risked a glance down to my feet. Stephen's half-skeleton, half-hamburger meat face grinned hollowly back at me. The bastard was still alive.

And then darkness submerged me and I remembered nothing more.

14

I was floating, flying through space. My entire body hurt almost as badly as when Charon had stabbed me with his spear. Sure, I'd been through worse mental trauma, being dipped in the Styx ranking up there pretty high. Now I just felt awful.

I was tired. Really, really tired.

The next moment, I sat straight up in a hospital bed, taking in a loud, shuddering breath. Alarms from monitors blared beside me as my pulse and vital signs sky rocketed. I blinked furiously in the darkness all around me. I held my hand up, noted the outline of it, and then looked around with fresh eyes.

I wasn't in the Underworld anymore; I was in UCSF Medical Center. I’d been here before for a gunshot wound, and I’d recognize the drab gray interior anywhere.

I sighed and leaned my head back against the pillow. An overwhelming sense of weakness took over me and I felt that I needed some well-deserved rest. I didn’t want to fight it. I wanted to sleep like the Dead.

Dead.

The thought of that made me force my head up again. How long had I been here? Already my time in the Underworld seemed like a distant dream.

All except for one man’s face.

“Plutus,” I rasped through a mouth that felt like it had gauze in it. I had to find him. I had no idea where he’d be, yet I had to find him. Hades' face had indicated that he doubted I would find him here, but I wasn’t going to let the man I loved die. I had no idea where to start looking for him, but I wouldn’t find him sitting in a hospital bed. The doctors would come, leave me here for further testing, and insist that I didn't do the things I usually did. They'd make me stay in the hospital for observation or further testing to make sure I wasn't going to go into seizures or die the second I was in public.

I didn't have time for that. Plutus didn't have time for that. And Stephen Cross certainly wouldn't give us enough time for that.

I was going AMA—against medical advice.

Thankfully I had woken up in the middle of the night when the hospital ran on a skeleton crew, so they weren't yet tuned into the fact that I had woken up. With a grunt, I unplugged the monitors so they would stop beeping, but that still didn’t give me a long time to get out of here. I probably had less than thirty seconds before a nurse or a doctor came in.

I winced, using rusty abdominal muscles to pull me out of bed. I had definitely been in a coma long enough for my body to atrophy. Muscles and joints cried out in protest as I plucked my IV out of my arm, wincing at the sharp pain. I pulled out the nose plugs that aided my breathing and then froze when I realized I had a urinary catheter to remove. I had no idea what to do with it, so I'd have to deal with it later, a fact which I wasn't very happy about.

Some dignified way to wake up.

Don't think about it.

I grimaced and swung my too-skinny legs over the edge of the bed. Had I not been exercised the entire time I was in the hospital? Granted, I didn't know too much about comas, but I thought they would have exercised my legs a little bit using electrodes and stuff. My arms certainly did feel a lot less muscular.

I'd fret over that later.

My feet hit the ground, unsteady under wobbly knees. I fought the panic as I forced myself to stand. It took way too much mental effort. I grunted and used the bed to support my shuffle. Stars danced across my vision, and it felt like my body was threatening to give out.

Of course they didn't have any appropriate street clothes for me, only a simple bathrobe draped over the back of a chair. At least it would cover up my butt, so that would have to do for now. I grabbed it and put it on. I had enough foresight to grab my chart and stuff it into the pocket of my robe. If there was anything else wrong with me, I wanted to know.

The door was easier for me to open, although it still felt too heavy. I padded down the hallway, ducking around windows, trying to get as far away from my room as possible. The further I was away from there, the safer I felt.

I wove a zigzag pattern throughout the hospital floor, knowing that there were probably security cameras watching my every move, so I didn't stay in one place too long and I didn't take direct routes. I refused to take the elevator, because it was too easy to lock the doors and capture me.

I made it to the stairwell on the opposite side of the floor and started going down. I was on level 4, so I tore down the stairs, taking two steps and hops at a time.

With each movement, my legs threatened to give out underneath me. I fought it the entire way. I couldn't take a break, not now. At any moment, they'd notice I was gone and sound some sort of alarm. I had to find and protect Plutus.

I hit the bottom level and paused at the doors, peering through the window. My breathing was shallow.

Damn, why did that take so much out of me?

I swallowed, trying to still my erratically beating heart.

You're not much good to anyone if you're dead, Callie, I mentally chided myself.

The bottom level housed the emergency ward. Even from the tiny window in the door, I saw people milling about, some frantic, some in shock. There were pregnant women, children, entire families, the elderly, and a mass of doctors and nurses running around with the efficiency of clockwork, combined with the panic of people's lives on their hands. From my vantage point, I saw both the waiting room and the ambulance entrance, where a new patient was being brought in.

I froze. “Plutus?” I said incredulously.

Sure enough, Plutus was on the gurney they were wheeling in, covered by a thin sheet. He looked pale and dirty, blood running from a cut on his forehead. What the hell had happened to him? I could guess that he was still groggy from that dart Stephen had shot him with, but that wouldn't explain why he was now bleeding on his head.

I crouched again, as they passed the door.

Finding Plutus here, this easily was completely unexpected. I expected a cross-country trek but he was right under my nose. What if I’d left the hospital through another exit? Would I have even known he was here?

I closed my eyes and tried remembering the god (or goddess) of luck. I hated that the name escaped me. As soon as I found a bookstore, I was going to buy a book on Mythology and memorize it.

Thank you for bringing him to me.

Now I had a new problem. I had been hoping to get out of here quickly and quietly before they put the entire hospital on lockdown and found me. Now, Plutus was here, and I had no idea how to get him out. My mind reeled through the possibilities, each one more ludicrous than the next. One thing was certain—I had to get him out now.

I took a deep, steadying breath and pushed through the doors.

The group pushing Plutus had passed me and turned a corner. I hurried down the hallway, hugging close to the wall, trying to look like I wasn't. I hoped I didn't meet anyone there because I was pretty sure that I looked like a deranged mental patient.

I turned another corner in time to see a double door close behind the group. I slowed my jog and watched them through one of the windows.

It was a room with plenty of other patients. Doctors and nurses flitted about like bees from patient to patient, checking their vitals, and asking them questions.

Watching them, my hopes fell. How the hell was I supposed to get him out of here with everyone watching?

My answer was there next to me: a janitor closet on my right.

I slipped into it and shut the door behind me. As luck would have it, there was a discarded janitor's uniform that thankfully looked like some mint green scrubs. I pulled that on, along with a pair of men's shoes that were a few sizes too big. I pulled my hair back into a high ponytail, giving me the look of someone who was in control. I stuffed my chart in the waistband of my pants and pulled the shirt down over it. I even pinned a janitor's badge facing the wrong way on my chest, hoping that it made me look a bit more legitimate. If no one came too close to me, they'd just notice the badge swinging and not ask too many questions.

I hesitated a moment, noticing a purse nearby. It felt incredibly wrong, but I reached into it and rummaged around for a bit and grabbed a dollar in change. Stealing any more felt like I'd be going too far.

As if I hadn't gone too far already.

I took a deep breath, practiced a smile in a small, hanging mirror. I looked like shit, and there was nothing I could do about that.

I left the janitor's closet, and pushed through the double doors. I headed straight towards Plutus, walking with the determination I knew that doctors had when dealing with patients. He was facing away from me, curled up on the bed, radiating waves of depression, unhappiness, and overall despair.

I didn't blame him. He'd been wrenched from his world and spat into mine. He had no idea what to expect. There, he was the Prince of the Underworld. Here, he was just John Doe.

I quickly picked up his chart and rifled through it, trying to make sense of it.

When I saw what happened to him, I nearly laughed. Of course, that was why he was now in the emergency room of one of the largest hospitals in San Francisco. At least he wasn't in as bad shape as I had been.

“First thing you do as a mortal is get hit by a car?”

He rolled onto his back at the sound of my voice, and blinked painfully up at the light. “Callista?” he asked incredulously. “What are you doing here?”

“You're in the hospital. I just woke up here.”

He reached out, searching for my hand. “I can't...I can’t see you...”

I knelt and took his hand. “Of course not, Plutus, you're blind,” I said.

“I know, but I can't see anything.” So he really didn't have his god powers. Being a mortal was entirely alien to him. His grip on my hand was tight, like he was holding onto me for dear life. Which I suppose he was.

“I'll make sure you don't get hit by a car again,” I promised. I noticed a wheelchair nearby and grabbed it.

“Callista?” He sounded panicked.

“Hush,” I whispered. “Just play along. I'm going to get you out of here.”

When I pulled off the sheets, I realized that he was naked, probably because he had arrived in the Living world not very long ago in his birthday suit. I quickly averted my eyes, but not before getting a good look at the whole package. Plutus might have been the son of the God of the Underworld, but it looked like he could be the son of the God of Love. I wrapped him up in a hospital gown that was folded up on a chair nearby. I didn't tie the back, because he was about to be sitting in a wheelchair, so no one would be staring at his very nice behind. We were running out of time.

I bent and wrapped his arm about my shoulders, noting how blue his skin looked in the December chill. “C'mere, I'll help you get to your chair.”

He didn't move. “I didn’t want you to find me,” he said, his voice as hoarse as mine was. “I wanted you to live your life in peace. You’ve already done enough for me.”

“You know that’s not true,” I said. “Your life is still in danger. And running around naked and getting hit by cars isn't going to keep you alive for very long.” I let out a determined sigh. “I’ll get you out of here.”

“I didn't want you—”

“Too late, I'm here,” I said, cutting him off. “Do you trust me?”

He paused for a moment. “Yes.”

I fought the blush in my cheeks and helped him to his feet. If my legs were wobbly, his were like shattered glass. He put his entire weight on me, and I nearly fell over. His bad leg, which I now saw for what it was for the first time, was in an extremely bad state. It was twisted and too thin compared to his other leg. It looked like something had chewed on it from the knee down and then spat it out. No wonder he couldn't walk without a cane.

Somehow I managed to wrangle him into the wheelchair. I held my head up, trying to look like I belonged here, and pushed him out of the room. We passed an emergency exit. I paused only momentarily, debating what to do, before pushing through the exit, ignoring the alarm that started blaring.

If they were looking for me, they'd have to stop and get out all of the patients they could. While we only had a slight head start, I could get the two of us pretty far before they could gather themselves and run a search for a missing John Doe and a coma patient.

In the dead of night, ignoring the blaring sirens of the hospital, I pushed Plutus two blocks east before finding a pay phone. It was the only one I’d seen in years and I was thankful to the Gods that it was on this block.

“Wait a minute,” I told Plutus.

I went into the phone booth, leaving the door open so I could keep an eye on him. I picked up the receiver and dialed Dion's cell number from memory. I'd learned a long time ago to remember all of the important phone numbers in case I didn't have my phone on me. In situations like, you know, if you'd just woken up from a coma and escaped the hospital.

Even after three months of being comatose, I still remembered it.

Of course, it was a huge risk in calling Dion. He never strayed from what was morally right, and if I couldn't convince him that I simply could not stay in the hospital, he'd call up the doctors and keep me there, if only to make sure that I was okay. His heart was in the right place, but sometimes he went too far with it.

At the same time, I only had the clothes on my back, Plutus was practically naked in a wheelchair, and I now only had fifty cents. We needed help. Mom would freak out and be of no help at all. My friend Aimee could barely take care of herself. Dion was the only one I could trust.

The phone on the other end rang, each second lasting an eternity to me. Would he pick up? Especially if it was a number he didn't recognize?

“Hello?” The familiar voice on the other end was frantic, a bit slurred as if he had been in a fitful sleep a few minutes before. I'd recognize that Chicago accent from anywhere.

“Dion,” I said, feeling a smile grow. “I need your help.”

There was stunned silence on the other end.

“Callie?” he asked. “Callie, what the hell...you're supposed to be in the hospital. They've called me to ask if I'd heard from you. Do you...do you realize what a state your mother is in?”

Even though he was lecturing me, I was still smiling. I had worked with Dion every day for years, and I didn't realize until then how much I missed him.

“I missed you too,” I told him. That stopped his lecturing in its tracks. “I need your help, Dion.”

“What do you need?”

I told him, and I promised him that I'd explain everything once he saw me and begged him not to call the authorities, that our lives depended on him keeping quiet.

“And,” I added, with a grimace, flipping through my chart to see if there was anything else I needed. “Could you find out how to remove a catheter?”

15

An hour later, a bewildered Dion met us in an alley three blocks away at a local McDonald’s. He brought each of us a change of clothes and a cheap cane from a pharmacy. While Plutus was getting dressed, Dion and I were trying to figure out what to do with the catheter.

He’d printed some catheter removal instructions he'd found on the internet, and luckily, the doctors had used the easier version of urinary catheters on me, so after a bit of fiddling and trying with a syringe Dion had bought from the pharmacy, I was able to be free of it.

I never wanted to do that again.

“You mind telling me what this is all about?” Dion grumped in his heavy Chicago accent when I came back. He and Plutus had been standing idly next to each other. I hadn't even introduced them properly (Dion had gruffly told him to call him Detective Stubbins, which didn't get them off on the right foot), so it was extremely awkward for everyone.

I actually couldn't believe that Dion was here. A short, plump, balding man in his mid-fifties, he was a contrast to me both in looks and in personality. Where he was far more laid back than I was, I was a bit sharper when it came to putting together pieces. In the game of good cop bad cop, he was the good cop, but I was still a better shot.

“What time is it, exactly?” I asked.

He sighed. “Sometime after four. In the middle of the night.”

“Well, I'm hungry,” I declared with a disarming smile. “I'm sure you are too, Paul,” I added, nudging Plutus in the ribs. I'd given him that alias when Dion arrived. It wasn't that I didn't trust Dion with Plutus' real name. It was to protect him because I knew Stephen was going to try everything in his power to get us. Unfortunately, I had forgotten to mention it to Plutus, so he turned his head to me when I said it, but didn't question the name.

“McDonald's?” I offered. “We'll explain everything there, I promise, Dion.”

He looked dubious; however, he nodded his agreement.

The McDonald's next to us was a 24-hour one. We were the only ones there at that time of night, so I quickly ordered two Big Mac combos for Plutus and I, and we sat down at a four-seater table on the opposite end of the restaurant, away from the two employees.

I was all too happy to start chomping down on my hamburger. Plutus had never had one before, so I had to coax him and tell him how to eat it. Dion watched us with the fascination of someone watching two cockroaches have a conversation in Japanese. He was looking at us like we were totally alien.

“So what is it?” he asked eventually.

I gave him a tight smile.

What should I tell him? The truth? Then I’d be going back to the hospital and put into the mental ward. A half-truth?

“Stephen Cross,” I answered between mouthfuls.

I don't know why, but I expected incredulity. I thought Dion would huff and demand to know what Stephen had done now. He sighed and put his head in his hands. “Not this again, Callie.”

I watched him for a few moments. He didn't believe me. I was going to end up back in the hospital, this time for breaking out of the hospital with a John Doe. They might even press charges.

“Stephen Cross is trying kill Paul,” I said, exasperated. I gestured with my thumb towards Plutus.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Dion insisted.

“It's true,” Plutus said quietly.

Dion was still adamant. “What the hell would he want from you?”

“He's my brother.” Even Plutus sounded somewhat amazed and shocked about that. “He wants what's mine.”

Dion glared at him for a few moments before huffing out a deep breath and sitting back in his seat. “How do you two know each other anyways?” he said gruffly. “Callie's been awake for only a few hours, and who the hell knows where you came fro—”

“Do you believe in Heaven, Dion?” I interrupted. “I met Paul in the Afterlife when I was unconscious.”

Dion paled and his jaw dropped. Yeah, this wasn't going very well.

“You have to believe me.”

“All right,” he said slowly. “Let's say this is true. Tell me.”

I gave him an abridged version. Plutus chimed in whenever Dion was a bit too skeptical about what had happened, corroborating what I was saying. I gave him the gist, leaving out the parts that would otherwise shatter Dion's view of the world. While I knew he could handle it, I also didn't want to give him all the information, just in case. I left out the parts involving Greek gods or who Plutus really was, portraying him as someone who needed help. Dion gave me an understanding look at that. Being naked and lost made Plutus look the part, so we were pretty safe.

Dion believed us, more or less. If I’d been alone, he probably would have brought me to the psych ward, but with Plutus' story corroborating mine, he had to believe me. Two people didn't usually have crazy stories that worked so closely together. I knew that from being a cop. So did Dion.

He heaved a great sigh.

“So you two have the most powerful man in San Francisco after you...”

And he's probably pissed, I thought, remembering Stephen's half face after I shot it. I found myself wondering what he looked like back in the world of the Living. Was he walking around with half a face, the other half a bloody mess?

I shivered. He could have even been at the same hospital Plutus and I were.

“...like you guys need to go into hiding,” Dion said, cutting into that horrible mental image. Even as I processed what he said, it made sense. Once Stephen got back in control of everything, he'd retaliate and everyone I loved would be in danger.

“Yeah, I guess,” I muttered. It felt like an icy hand was squeezing around my heart. I wanted to see my mom. I wanted to rest. I'd found Plutus, couldn't I get a break? I closed my eyes, thinking about it. Always on the run, always trying to stay one step ahead of someone who wanted us dead, because after what happened, Stephen would always be after both of us.

Another memory surfaced, what Hades said to me right before he sent us back to the mortal world. Find the prophet Tiresias in Hunts Point, New York. The side of my mouth curled up as I marveled at my memory remembering the name. Tiresias.

Hunts Point was a notorious neighborhood in the Bronx, New York, considered to be a Red Light District for its crime and prostitution. I hadn't been there myself, but I'd heard heartbreaking stories about some of the people who lived there. If this Tiresias guy was there, this was going to be interesting. If it was the only lead I had, so I had to run with it. I made a mental note to talk to Plutus about it later; I didn't want to put Dion at risk by letting him know about it right now.

“I know what we need to do,” I said. Plutus' head turned towards me and he reached out a hand to grab mine. I took it and gave it a quick squeeze.

Dion watched our exchange with quiet intensity, his eyes glistening in the bad light of the McDonald's.

“Right,” he said, as if reaching a decision. “You're going to need money. And you're going to need a car.”

I argued with him about that.

I mean, I'd only called Dion out here for a few clothes and some money to get us on our way, not so he could bankroll our entire chase. I know that money was tight for him, and what he was willing to give me was far beyond the call of duty for my partner. Dion won out by telling me that I would owe him double when I got back.

If I got back.

On the way to his little house in Oakland, we stopped at Wal-Mart and picked up clothes for Plutus and me along with toothbrushes, shampoo and soap.

Pulling up to Dion's house, I felt an immense wave of nostalgia and loss. I'd had dinner here so many times with Dion and his wife, Glenda. They were like surrogate parents to me. Now I wasn't even going to go in to say hello to Glenda. We had all decided on the drive that it would be best if we kept Glenda in the dark. The same went for my friend Aimee. And my mother and Seth. To them, I'd just be someone who disappeared from her bed at the hospital.

I hoped it wouldn't be too long before I saw them again.

“I'm so sorry to be such a pain,” I told him as we pulled up.

“Nonsense,” Dion said with a wave of his hand. “I'll be right back, stay here.” He slipped out of the car, leaving Plutus and me alone.

I sat back in my seat and closed my eyes. I felt drained and absolutely exhausted. I didn't know what Dion had in mind when he headed towards his house, but he had a plan. He always had a plan.

Meanwhile, I was thinking about my own plan. It didn't sound too great.

I'd have to find a car and drive to New York City. Plutus wouldn't be able to drive at all. It wasn’t like he had a license. My chart said that I'd had some brain trauma from being hit by the bus and I worried about driving. While I felt mostly fine now, would I go into a seizure while driving and crash and kill both of us?

“I like him.” Plutus' words broke into my thoughts. “Dion. Officer Stubbins, I mean.”

I glanced at him. He was staring forward, not reacting to anything. Without having his god powers, it was a bit disconcerting seeing him completely blind. My heart went out to him.

“Dion's the best friend I've ever had,” I said. “He's kind of like a surrogate father to me.”

We sat idly for a few moments. I didn't exactly know what to say to him or how to react to whatever he would say to me.

“You called me Paul,” he said.

I chuckled. “Plutus isn't a very common name.”

“You could've warned me.”

Welcome to my world. “It didn't even occur to me until I introduced you guys,” I said.

“Paul,” he mused. “I kinda like it.”

I found myself smiling. “It kind of suits you.”

“Before your father sent us here, he told me to seek out a prophet named Tiresias. Does that sound familiar?”

“Yeah. He's a prophet. A druggie too.”

I was getting the feeling that a lot of the old Greek legends were deeply flawed in one way or another, but I didn't press the issue.

“Would he be able to help us?” I asked.

He frowned. “Depends on what you need to know.”

“We need to figure out how to turn you into a god again. Until then, you won't be safe.”

In the twilight before dawn, he found my hand and give it a quick squeeze. “If you want my permission to say that Tiresias is our best bet, then I'll agree,” he said softly. “He might be able to give us some sort of direction at least.”

“It's a very long drive.”

“Well,” he said, and I could see the flash of a smile. “I might not be immortal any more, but I think I have the time. So long as it's with you.”

Dion opened the door, and sat in the driver's seat. “Hand,” he commanded. Numbly, I complied and he dumped an old car key into my hand. It wasn't just any key though. It was the key to his prized 1978 Honda Prelude.

“Dion...” I started, choking up.

“I'd sleep easier knowing that you two have a decent car,” Dion said.

Decent car wouldn't be how I'd describe the Prelude. It was a weekend project that Dion babied, and he hadn't driven the car for any sort of distance in years, probably because its reliability was a bit spotty. It was far better gift than I could have ever expected.

What's more, he gave me five thousand dollars in cash.

“Really, Dion, this is too much,” I protested. The back of my throat closed up and now I really did threaten to cry.

He responded by putting the wad of money in my other hand and giving me a warm smile.

“Thanks, Officer Stubbins,” Plutus said with a smile. “It means a lot.”

I glanced at him sitting in the back seat stoically, but without special powers, he couldn't meet my eyes. The cane Dion had bought him from the pharmacy was gripped tightly across his lap.

“Thank you, Dion.”

We hugged each other across the seat. He fondly ruffled my hair. “Now, I have to be up in two hours and you need to get going so you can come back to us,” he said. “Before you go, I need to speak to you, Callie. Alone.” He looked at Plutus pointedly, although Plutus couldn't see.

“We'll be right back,” I assured Plutus. He nodded, although something like suspicion crossed his face.

I managed to muster enough strength to drag myself out of the car. Dion met me outside and crossed his arms. “Are you sure you want to do this, Callie?” He sounded as tired as I felt.

“What do you mean?”

“You're acting like you're on a mission from God,” he said, his Chicago accent strong on the word “God”.

I nearly laughed. You have no idea, I wanted to say.

“I just want to make sure you're in control of yourself.” At my blank look, he leaned forward and gave me an intense look. “That boy in there, you like him, don't you?” He didn't wait for me to answer. “I've worked with you for years, Callie, and you've never acted this way around any of the victims.”

I sighed and rubbed my forehead, then passed my hand over my eyes. “Nothing can come from it. So there's no point.”

Dion watched me. “Promise me you won't let your feelings get in the way. You have a job to do, Callie.”

“I know.”

“Please don't get carried away.”

“I know.”

The look on my face must have been incredibly desperate, because he reached across and hugged me to his chest in a protective, fatherly way. I didn't cry. I'd already cried enough in the Underworld. It was good to be held though. It felt like my dad was holding me, like everything was going to be all right.

“Don't get yourself killed,” Dion said softly, pulling back so that he could look at me.

“I'll try not to,” I replied with a bittersweet laugh.

I hoped that trying would be enough to keep both of us alive.

Dion opened the garage door to reveal his treasured Prelude. I came around to Plutus' door and opened it. “Come on,” I said tiredly. “We have a long drive ahead of us.”

I helped him to the passenger side of the Prelude and buckled his seat belt. He gave me a sardonic smile, which I ignored. I went around to the driver's side, buckled myself in and threw the car into reverse.

And as we drove off, Dion waved at us.

It wasn't going to be the last time I saw him. I wouldn't let it be.

16

There was one more place we had to stop, and luckily, it was still in Oakland. Admittedly, I felt a bit bad showing up on someone’s doorstop at six in the morning but I didn’t have a choice.

We headed to an apartment that housed a family who was staying in the US illegally. A few years ago, I had stumbled onto the patriarch's business of counterfeiting drivers’ licenses, passports, and Social Security cards for any other illegal immigrant that had the money. He begged me not to arrest him or deport his family. I don't know what it was, his five kids who were absolutely adorable, or something about his story, but I let him off. He promised to discontinue the business, and I've been checking in on them periodically to see if they were all right.

I knew he was still doing illegal stuff, though I never saw it.

I was going to him to ask him to help Plutus and me. The irony wasn't lost on me.

If we were traveling across the entire country to get to New York City, we needed identification. We couldn't use our real identities, so we'd have to adopt fake ones. Fake IDs were only good for some things like hotels and airports. I’d have to be careful not to get pulled over because they wouldn’t check out if the cops ran them.

I took Plutus' hand and we walked up the steps to the apartment building, up three flights of stairs and stood in front of the only door that didn't have loads of graffiti painted on it. I swallowed, reached out and knocked.

A little Malaysian girl shyly answered the door, the chain on it allowing only her right eye to peer up at me. Her name was Caroline, and she was four years old and utterly adorable. I'd met her a few times before when I visited her father. She'd always been incredibly shy so I’d never actually heard her speak, but she hovered around whenever I was there. And if I tried to speak to her, she'd run off without a word.

“Hi, there,” I said, “is your daddy home?”

Rather than answer, she shut the door with a dull thud.

Plutus chuckled. “That went well.”

“She's grown a bit since I last saw her,” I told him, straightening up. “Still very shy though.”

The door opened again, revealing a tanned man who was about a head shorter than me. He looked at me and his mouth dropped. I'd forgotten how terrified he was of me. No matter how many times I assured him I wasn’t going to bust him, he always thought I might.

“Hello, Bo,” I said, trying my best to not look menacing. Even though I felt like crap and there was no way I could have looked scary at that point, he watched me like I had threatened to eat his insides.

“Detective!” he cried. His voice squeaked on the middle syllable. “I didn't—”

I waved my hand. “I'm not here to arrest you, Bo,” I said.

He blinked. “Oh?” he squeaked. He paled even more. I could almost see the horrible possibilities filtering through his brain as he breathlessly looked up at me.

“Do you still have everything you need to make fake licenses?” I asked. “And tell me truthfully, Bo. I know when you're lying.”

His eyes widened, threatening to pop out. “Yes,” he said slowly. He paled even more, which I didn't think it was possible.

“I need you to make IDs for us,” I said, gesturing between me and Plutus.

He went really still for a few heartbeats. “You...” he started, fumbling over his words. “You need license?”

I nodded. “You're the only one I can trust with this, Bo.”

He shut the door again. The noise on the other side announced that he was undoing the chain and a number of other locks. Living in this apartment building, I could sympathize that he wanted to keep his family safe.

He shouted at people behind him in Malay—what he said, I don't know—and finally, the door opened.

I smiled warmly, trying to alleviate the tension, wrapped an arm around Plutus to guide him, and we stepped inside.

Caroline peeked at me from behind an armchair. Bo's four other kids were watching us with the same stunned expression. His wife, Yean, shushed their kids and corralled them into the kitchen and shut the door. I had never been a welcome guest here. Today, it actually hurt me to see them shut away. Bo gestured over to me, still cautious, but growing a bit more used to us being here.

“What you need?” he asked. He opened up a closet, revealing a computer, a card printer, some other machines, a camera, and a shabby white sheet on the back of the door.

“I—we,” I corrected, “need fake identities.”

“Fake identities?” Apparently, a cop had never needed an alias from him before.

“Yes,” I said. “Some bad men are after us.”

“Bad men?”

“Yes,” I said, nodding. “Very bad men.” The worst.

“Who this?” he asked, gesturing with his head to Plutus.

I was about to reply when Plutus answered for me, giving him the alias I told Dion earlier. “Paul. Paul Jones.” He held out his hand for a shake towards the general direction of Bo's voice. Bo dubiously took it and shook it.

That raised some other questions for me. We had to make up some information about Plutus. How old did he look? Where could we say he was born? What did we tell people about why he was blind?

“He need passport card,” Bo said. And he vaguely gestured to Plutus' eyes. “No driver license for him.”

Right. I should've known that. I wonder if the knock on my head really did impact me.

“Can you make passport cards?”

“’Course,” he huffed, a bit of feistiness coming through. Now that he knew I wasn't here to arrest him, he was all business. “I do everything.”

He snapped our pictures with the camera and told us to sit on the couch while he put together our identities. Plutus was now going to be Paul Jones, aged 31, which was believable. My fake license said that I was Kelly Smith. It somehow made me feel even more uneasy because the name was so close to Callie. I did feel a bit smug though; if Plutus had to call me by my alias, he'd have to say something close to “Callie”. I was going to get him to say my nickname yet.

Bo assured us that it would take only an hour to get everything done. I made idle chit chat with Bo while he worked. Mostly I was glad for the rest. We had a long drive ahead of us and even the thought of it exhausted me. I was fighting how badly my coma had impacted my body, but I wondered how long my resolve would last.

I must have looked tired because Bo yelled something in Malay to his family in the kitchen, and a few minutes later, Caroline came out with two mugs of coffee. It was like drinking tar, and probably not good for my zonked brain, but it snapped me out of my daze.

“You don't have to do this,” Plutus said softly. He wouldn't turn his head towards me.

“What?” I asked, grimacing at my coffee.

“This,” he said. “You've already done too much for me, Callista.”

“Kelly,” I corrected with a laugh.

He smiled, which I marveled at because even though he was no longer a god, he was still extremely good-looking. “Seriously, Callista,” he said, the smiling fading. “You can walk away from all this. Go live your life and forget about all this. Please.”

“What would happen to you then?” I whispered so Bo couldn't hear me. He didn't answer, although I saw that his hands were clenched so tightly the knuckles were white. “You're mortal now, Plutus. And you're stuck here until you figure out how to go back to the Underworld. So no, I can't not do this.”

A muscle in his jaw clenched. “Why?” he asked. “Why are you doing this?”

Now it was my turn to be silent. What was I supposed to say? The cop in me was absolutely appalled at myself. Then there was the part of me that was the scared, insecure girl who watched her father die, had no friends, and was absolutely shattered when she broke up with her boyfriend several months ago. And that part of me wanted to be loved by the god sitting next to me on the couch. I couldn't say it because I didn't know where we would go from there.

Luckily, Bo interrupted our conversation. “Done!”

I got up from my spot on the couch. My legs had turned to jelly after sitting for an hour. How was I going to be able to drive with legs like this?

Bo held out the new IDs. A shiny Michigan driver’s license for me and an American passport for Plutus.

I took them and inspected him. Granted, I looked awful and Plutus' picture didn't fit the requirements of a passport card (the colors were slightly off and he wasn't looking directly at the camera), but the quality of the job was decent enough, and as long as another cop wasn't looking at them, they would pass as legitimate.

“Nice,” I said. “They're very good, Bo.”

He blushed scarlet, obviously proud of his handiwork. “The best for Detective,” he said.

“How much do I owe you?” I asked.

He looked appalled that I'd even offered. “No charge,” he said, shaking his head. “You been nice. No charge.”

I didn't know what to say to that, so I nodded dumbly, said a few thanks, and Bo practically kicked us out of his home.

“Well,” Plutus said. “That was interesting. He had a lovely family.”

“I feel like I used him.”

“You've shown him kindness when he needed it,” Plutus said. “You didn't deport him. I think he was trying to say thanks in his own way.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah.”

We got into the Prelude. I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the impending drive upon me.

“All right, let's do this.”

17

Eight hours later, at a little past three in the afternoon, I pulled the car into a seedy motel on the outskirts of Las Vegas. While the hotel definitely wouldn't have been my first choice, the thought of another five minutes behind the wheel was enough for me to stop anywhere and sleep on a cactus.

I didn't mind sleeping at a place as dirty as this one. They had an hourly rate, which told you the caliber of the motel.

A bed—any bed—was calling me, and I wanted to sleep soon, so I parked the Prelude, told Plutus to wait, and went into the office and checked us in. A trucker and what I could only assume was a prostitute passed by me on my way back to the car. Please have clean sheets, I told myself. That was all I wanted. Although, if I was completely honest with myself, I didn't even care about that.

The room was on the first level. Considering the way both of us were walking wounded, I was relieved we weren’t going to have to tackle another flight of stairs. I collected Plutus from the car, went to our room, and crawled into the lone double bed. If I had been more conscious of it, I would have asked Plutus if he wanted the bed or the couch.

I fell asleep as soon as I hit the pillow.

Thankfully, Plutus didn't disturb me as I slept. I could have kissed him for that.

Then again, there were lots of reasons why I wanted to kiss him.

When I opened my eyes, Tisiphone was peering down at me. I shrieked and scooted away from her. We were in the courtyard of the palace, sunlight streaming too cheerily to be real.

I was back in the Underworld. My stomach threatened to hurl that Big Mac I picked up before we left the state of California.

Instead of asking if I was all right, she just laughed.

“Where the fuck am I?” I asked. I felt like I had a headache, and a part of me was panicked that I was back in the Underworld. Had everything been a dream then? Was I back in Hell?

Tisiphone was still laughing, which made me even more irritated.

“Why am I back in the Underworld?”

“You're here in spirit, Callie,” Tisiphone chided. Before I could ask what she meant by that, she pushed a hand through my shoulder. It passed through me, like I wasn't really there. “You apparently passed out early, if I'm up to date on the time zones.” She gave me a toothy grin. “A little worn out from acting like a superhero after waking up?”

I groaned. “I'm dreaming.”

“Something like that.”

“I can't even rest when I sleep,” I muttered.

“Nope,” she agreed. “Not when you're in charge of watching the God of the Underworld's son.” She leaned over me. “Who's mortal now. Tell me, Callie, is he still incredibly good looking? All of us girls down here want to know.”

“Tisiphone…” I groaned.

“Have you boinked him yet?” She made a jealous face and sat back. “Is that why you're tired?”

“Tisiphone!” I barked, fighting the blush coming onto my face. “Why am I here?” Let me sleep in peace at least. “Is Plutus here?” I looked around me.

Her features darkened and she shook her head. “No,” she sighed. “You're here in spirit. Since Plutus doesn't have a spirit, we can't bring him here, not like you.”

One thing about Tisiphone, it was amazing how quickly she could change between topics.

“You guys are being chased by a madman,” she continued. “Whatever you're going to do, you'd better do it.”

“Tell me something I don't know.”

“Well, if you want to be a pain,” she huffed. She crossed her arms and looked away, trying her best to look offended, but I knew better. “I was simply trying to let you know that you guys are on your own.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said. I pushed myself up to my feet and stood up. I wiped imaginary dirt off me. Of course nothing had stayed on me since I was some sort of spectral spirit, but that didn't stop old habits.

“No, I mean, you're really on your own,” she corrected. “No gods are meant to help you on your way. Zeus has declared it so.”

Zeus. Even the Greek legends said he was a dick. “And that's different how?” I threw my hands up. “When have the gods ever helped us?”

“Well, two have already helped, and you've only been awake for twelve hours,” she said, sobering me. “So I wouldn't scorn them just yet if I were you.”

“Two?”

Tisiphone counted on her fingers. “One, the goddess Tyche has given you two the gift of good luck. She kinda...swayed the odds so that Plutus would be brought to your hospital and that you'd get him out safely. And two,” she held up another finger, “Dionysus aided by giving you money and a car.”

“Dionysus didn't...” I stopped, nearly choking on my disbelief as I said the name. “Wait...Dion?” I gasped. “You're saying Dion is actually Dionysus?” Granted, Dion always had that gruff look about him, he was always working on beat up old cars, he had that thick Chicago accent...

“Oh my God.” I felt even worse now. Holy shit. A thousand possibilities flew through my mind, about what that meant. My partner and one of my best friends was a god. I couldn't exactly comprehend what that meant at the moment.

Had I been set up? Was I meant to get hit by a bus so I could be here?

It was too overwhelming to consider.

Tisiphone nodded somberly, taking my horror for shock. “They're being reprimanded by Zeus at the moment.”

My stomach lurched. I had never met Tyche, and yet she helped me find Plutus so quickly. And I didn't want her to be in trouble because of us. Dion…I didn't know what to think about him. I did know that Zeus could be terribly severe in his punishments. He was a tyrant who was intent on making sure he maintained control.

“Oh my God,” I said again, rubbing my eyes. The enormity of this revelation was too much. I was going to have to process it later. Right now...I couldn't handle it.

“They're fine,” Tisiphone said with a wave of her hand, although her expression was a bit distracted. “The point is this: you're not getting any more help from the gods.”

“And you're okay to give me help?” I asked.

She grinned wickedly. “I'm okay to give you updates from down under,” she said. “Consider me your confidant here. Which, there's another thing I want to tell you.” She looked at me, her eyes boring into me. “You two have a price on your heads.”

“A hit?” I asked. “You mean Stephen can't come after us himself?”

“Oh, he's after you alright, and he's using some other nasty creatures, too.”

“Shadow Assassins?” I asked weakly, feeling my blood go cold at the thought. If they were after us, we were pretty much as good as dead right now. Both times I had run into them, they had nearly fully killed me. And now that I was alive, I didn't want to take any chances.

She gravely shook her head. “No, not Shadow Assassins. Word is on the street that Stephen is trying a new tactic. He's hiring special hitmen to take care of you. And I don't mean of the mortal variety either. Vicious monsters. Stuff you don't see every day. You'd better watch it and get to wherever you're going to. These guys are nasty.” She shuddered involuntarily.

“How do you know about these hitmen on our tail?”

She grinned enigmatically. “I've been around for thousands of years, Callie,” she said. “I have quite a few friends on the Surface who give me information. They're not the sorts you want to trust with your life, but they are the sorts who give out accurate information.”

I nodded, my mouth feeling dry. “I'm driving us to—”

She covered her ears and made a loud Annnnh noise. “I don't want to hear it in case we're being watched by someone who's on Stephen Cross' side.”

“You really think that?” I asked, incredulous. “That someone's watching us?”

“I don't want to risk it.”

“Yet it's all right to warn us about a hitman on our tail?”

She laughed bitterly, her entire easy demeanor gone. “I didn't tell you anything they don't already know, Callie. Yes, it is dangerous. What I am going to do, though, is wish you luck.” She wrapped her arms around me unexpectedly, not exactly touching, since we weren't able to, but I felt the hug nonetheless.

“Best of luck, Callie,” she said. I felt something heavy at my back get tucked into the top of my jeans, which was quickly covered up by my shirt. She held me at arm's length. “Don't get too comfortable wherever you go, promise me. Trust no one. Including me.” And then she laughed in spite of herself. “Just kidding on that last part.”

“You had me going there,” I answered with a grin. This whole thing was happening too fast.

“Tell old grumpy that I say hi. And take care of yourself, Callie. Unlike the rest of us, you're not a superhuman. Don't pretend you are.”

Thanks for reminding me. “I won't.”

The next heartbeat, I opened my eyes and immediately grimaced at the pressure of a cold metal cylinder on my back. I writhed on the bed, away from it, and looked around to see my God Gun gleaming up at me. Tisiphone must have given it to me while I was dreaming in the Underworld. And I somehow brought it back with me when I woke up.

“Are you awake over there?” Plutus' voice rang out from between the two dirty armchairs they had stocked in the motel.

I squinted in the darkness. “What time is it?” I asked.

“Like I would know,” he grunted. “It's been at least several hours since you laid down.”

Plutus' sardonic remark was enough for me to laugh out loud. “You didn't have to sleep on the floor, you know.”

He didn't answer me as I rolled onto my side to look at the digital alarm clock. It was 9:34pm. I turned on the light by the bed, casting the room in a sickly yellow light. The place was so disgusting, I immediately regretted bathing it in light. Since I had had a bit of rest, I cared a bit more about where I was sleeping.

“Ugh.”

Plutus smiled over in my direction. “Be glad you aren't dependent on your sense of smell,” he said. He wrinkled his nose. “Or hearing. We've had a few overly enthusiastic neighbors while you were asleep.”

At that moment a loud manly groan and a louder female moan issued from the other side of the wall, followed by some loud thuds against the wall. At least someone was having a good time. I swallowed, trying hard not to imagine Plutus and I in that situation.

It's never going to happen Callie, so drop it.

“Shall we order pizza?” I asked weakly, offering up the least sexual food I could think of. Alone in a hotel room with Plutus, I definitely was going to need to take a cold shower too.

“That sounds good,” he said.

I flipped through the phone book and dialed a local delivery place. I ordered a large pepperoni, some garlic bread, and a three-liter bottle of Coke. The thought of big, greasy slices of pizza set my mouth to watering. I’d have to be conservative with them money Dion had given us but I needed a large dose of calories and a jolt of caffeine.

I dug a twenty and a ten from my purse and placed it on top of the television. “Here’s the money for the pizza,” I told Plutus.

I to tell Plutus about my talk with Tisiphone, , but another female voice joined the ruckus our neighbors were making on the other side of the wall.

“I’ve got to go shower,” I said, slipping out of the bed and running to the bathroom to escape the sound.

All I could think about was my memory of Plutus' naked body in the hospital and how long it had been since I'd been with someone. Even when Ben and I were still together, we had gone the two months before we split up without having sex. My body craved someone. I kept telling myself that my attraction to Plutus was just that: longing for something to make me feel human again. It wasn't his handsome face or his boyish smile or him trying to protect me while I was trying to protect him. It was only my body wanting that.

I turned the water to extra cold, and it had a cathartic effect on me. I hadn't realized how grimy I felt until I started showering. It felt glorious, even though my teeth were chattering.

...his lips on my skin, making me gasp with anticipation and need as I arched into his arms...

My hand on the wall turned into a fist and I clenched my teeth, tearing that thought away from my mind. No, I told myself firmly. It's not going to happen. He's a god. You're a mortal. God. Mortal. God. Mortal...

But making love to a god…

“Callista?” Plutus' voice rang out in the bathroom, followed by a knock.

I nearly slipped in the tub in surprise. “Ye-yes?” It was stupid though, being embarrassed if he was in the bathroom—he couldn't see me, after all.

“Pizza's here.”

“Okay,” I called out. Had I really spent that long in the shower? “No problems with the pizza delivery guy or anything?”

He chuckled. “Not that I know of. I might've given him a big tip though. I don't know which notes I handed to him.”

“That's fine, I'll be right out,” I said. I nearly stumbled out of the shower, quickly toweled myself off, and got dressed. When I got out of the bathroom, he was already helping himself to a slice. The TV was on, showing a local news channel with the anchorwoman spouting off that day's news

“It's quite a bit different than I thought,” Plutus admitted. “The pizza.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, scarfing it down. “It's not the best, but it fills the void.” The Coke called out to me and I poured myself a glass.

“I think it's pretty good.”

“We're headed to New York,” I said with a laugh. “I'll show you some proper pizza when we get there.” I remembered when I was younger and going to New York with my dad. We had some New York style pizza that would have made what we were eating now cower in shame. After growing up Chicago, Dion hated New York style pizza.

Speaking of...

“Hey,” I said, “Did you know that Dion was Dionysus?”

Plutus considered this with his head cocked. He smirked and shook his head. “I thought he sounded familiar.” He was grinning. “So that's what happened to cousin Di, that scoundrel,” he said with a bitter chuckle. “I haven't seen him in quite a few years. I thought the nymphs had thrown him out for a few years and he was too ashamed to come home.”

“Tisiphone told me that he's Dionysus. I...never knew. After so many years working with him, I never knew.”

The silence between us passed for a few moments, and I could hear my heartbeat in my ears.

“Don't,” he said quietly. “Don't think that Dionysus was a part of Dad's master plan. Even though he's a bit of a drunk, Dionysus is very loyal. He wouldn't set you up like that. Hell, all of this only started happening about six months ago. There are things in the future that even the big gods don't know about. Don't think that you were pegged.”

I finally opened my mouth to say something, the tears stinging my eyes, when what the anchorwoman on the TV said broke through my thoughts.

“...story, Billionaire Stephen Cross has been hospitalized after a horrific attack in his San Francisco home,” the anchorwoman announced. “Police are now on the hunt for his attackers, a police detective from the SFPD named Callista Saunders and her as yet unidentified male companion.” My police ID picture, which wasn’t one of my better photographs, was displayed on the screen, along with a police sketch of Plutus, which eerily looked too much like him. Of course Stephen would give an accurate description of Plutus. How did no one else see the likeness between the two brothers? How come I before I was told about it?

“It is not yet known why or how Detective Saunders was able to get into Mr. Cross' home, but officials believe she experienced a psychotic episode after a coma that has had her hospitalized for three months. Inside sources say that Detective Saunders earlier displayed stalker-like tendencies towards Stephen Cross...”

“...because he's a fucking liar!” I yelled at the screen, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks.

“...is suspected to be traveling with a male, aged thirty, blind, and with a limp.” From the corner of my eye, I saw Plutus pale perceptibly. “Authorities don't yet know how her male companion is involved. Please report any information you may have about their whereabouts to the police. They are considered armed and dangerous, so if you do see them, proceed with extreme caution.” The anchorwoman nodded smugly, and I hated her guts.

“So he's setting the entire world against us,” Plutus commented. He seemed amused.

“Well, I hope the office manager didn't recognize me,” I groaned, turning off the TV. I combed my fingers through my hair, so angry I didn't know what to do with my hands.

“It's not too late to turn back,” he said slowly. “You could go, say that I forced you into it and—”

“Stop playing the martyr, Plutus,” I said bitingly, still very angry at the TV. “I'm not going anywhere, so shut it.” I felt flustered, unable to contain my anger and fear that we were going to get caught. Was this it? Was this what Tisiphone meant? No, she said some particular nasties were after us. And that they wouldn't be humans.

I closed my eyes and leaned forward in my chair. “I'm so worried that we're going to get caught.”

Plutus found my knee and give it a quick squeeze. “If you refuse to do the smart thing,” he said calmly, “we find Tiresias, we see what he says, and we go from there.”

“What if it doesn't work?” I asked. “What if Tiresias doesn't know what to do?”

“What do you think?” he asked gently.

I looked at the dark TV. “I need to sleep again.” Everything will be better in the morning. “This time, you take the bed.”

“I'm fine on the floor,” he said. “Besides, you're the one with the long drive tomorrow.”

Something inside me said that he would continue to argue and waste time when I could have been sleeping. “Fine,” I said, not wanting to draw it out. I already felt exhausted thinking about it.

Drive. And don't get pulled over. Tomorrow would be a new, different day.

Until then I was going to sleep.

“Good night, Plutus,” I called out to the darkness, a part of me wishing he'd come join me in the bed.

There was a pause. “Good night, Callista,” he said.

Thankfully, I didn't dream of the Underworld this time. Just blissful, easy, dreamless sleep.

Which was exactly what I needed at that moment.

18

I woke up before sunrise, which meant that I must’ve slept about fifteen hours the day before. I felt like a new woman. I was a bit groggy. However, compared to how I felt yesterday, it was definitely a welcome improvement.

I took another shower, not because I needed it, but because I was delaying the inevitably long drive. Part of me wanted to get on the road while another part of me wanted to curl up, fall back asleep and pretend that none of this had ever happened.

If I drove for sixteen hours or so, we would be in Oklahoma City. And then tomorrow, it would be a fourteen-hour drive to Columbus, Ohio. And then (finally), we would get to New York. Forty-six hours of driving in total, if we didn't run into any trouble.

If the cops didn’t pull me over and throw me in jail for identity theft.

My body felt numb at the thought.

It was nearly seven when I got out of the bathroom. Plutus was ready, our small bag packed. He whipped his head up at the sound I made when I closed the door. I was struck by how tired he looked.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.”

“You didn't wake me,” he replied. “I couldn't sleep very well anyway. Being mortal kind of does that to you.”

“I guess you could say that you're aware of your own mortality,” I said wryly.

There was a long silence between us. I hadn't meant for that to be a conversation stopper. Finally, he broke it. “I'm highly aware of yours,” he said.

“I'm fine,” I answered. I shrugged on my brand new, bargain bin hoodie from Wal-Mart, picked up the room key, and slung the bag across my shoulder. “Let's get going,” I said, anxious to get on the road.

I helped him out of our room and helped him into the car. “I’ll be back as soon as I drop off the key.” I reached across him and buckled his seatbelt. “Need anything else?”

“Stop doing everything for me, Callista,” he ordered, unhappy at the situation.

“I have to check us out,” I explained. “And I don't want too many people seeing the two of us together. The fewer people who see us together, the less of a chance we have of being spotted.”

He looked unhappy about it. I turned on my heel and went into the office. It was true, I was absolutely terrified that someone would recognize us. This whole thing would be stopped so quickly if the attendant at the office called the cops on us.

I needed to dye my hair or change my appearance in some way. A mental image of Plutus and me in Groucho Marx glasses entered my mind and I fought the urge to laugh hysterically at it. I was losing my nerve. I did tuck the idea that I needed to dye my hair away in my mind. When we stopped in Oklahoma City, I'd find some dye.

God, I felt like such a criminal.

I walked into the office. Luckily, the middle-aged man behind the counter wasn't interested in doing his job so he barely even acknowledged me setting the keys down on the desk and waved me out of there.

I passed by a stack of that day's newspapers, which were free to take. I picked one up, and sure enough, Plutus' sketch and the photo from my police department ID were on the front page. Ugh.

“Thanks,” I muttered. I took the newspaper with me as I opened the door with a jingle and got in the car.

“I'm going blond,” I declared. “We should decide what to do with you too.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

I plopped the newspaper in his lap to illustrate my point, even if he couldn't see it. “We're in the newspaper. Everyone is going to be looking for us. We need to change our appearances.”

“They don't care,” Plutus muttered, moving the newspaper aside.

I snorted as I turned on the car. “I'm sure they don't, but we can't afford to take the risk.”

I reversed out of the parking spot and drove away, trying not to think about all the miles in front of us.

I stopped only when the car needed gas or we had to go to the bathroom. I picked up food through drive thrus. It made me feel better to be close to the car in case we needed to hightail it out of there.

Plutus and I made small talk, although it felt strained the entire way. There were too many unspoken words and too many nameless fears that we didn't talk about.

He told me some stories about his childhood, from millennia past. He could tell me what happened in some of the biggest events of the past two thousand years, how he had impacted those events, and he told me about how awful some of the things were. I listened to him, and I realized just how much he had been able to witness in his lifetime.

He had been there for some of humanity's biggest triumphs, and for humanity's biggest falls.

Sometime after Amarillo, I saw the car. A brand new black Escalade with tinted windows. At first, it hung back about a hundred yards from me, while on the open stretches of road that were straight and uninterrupted, it kept pace with us, even with me going under the speed limit. It caught up to us and stayed just behind the Prelude.

I remembered what Tisiphone told me while I was asleep, that we had hitmen after us who were not necessarily human. With the tinted windows, my imagination went wild.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath, as the light on the fuel gauge came on.

“What?” Plutus asked.

“We're being followed.”

He stilled. “How do you know?”

“They've been behind us for the past fifty miles,” I said. “I'm going so slow, they would have passed me a long time ago if they weren’t up to something.” I gripped the steering wheel even harder. “And we're low on gas.”

Plutus sighed. “We're running out of good luck.”

That's because Tyche can't help us anymore.

We were out in the middle of nowhere, somewhere between Amarillo and Oklahoma City on the flat plains of Texas. There was nowhere for us to hide, and there weren't any cities for me to really turn off and lose them between buildings.

We were on our own.

We drove by a sign advertising a gas station in a mile.

Would they take a shot as us with people watching us?

My gut told me yes. “Shit,” I muttered again.

“We're running low on options, aren't we?” Plutus asked sardonically.

“Yep,” I said. “We have to stop at the next gas station. Otherwise, we'll be stranded. And I'd rather take our chances with other people watching.” I laid the God Gun across my lap, within easy reach. “We're not going down without a fight.”

Unfortunately, the gas station wasn't the popular, big place I'd hoped it would be. There were literally two pumps, a small service station, and no cars out front. Despite my hopes that there would be people watching, we were pretty much limited to the gas pump jockey inside.

Maybe he'd call the cops and they could take care of whatever was after us. I dismissed that thought, though—it would be bad if he did call the cops, because they'd be able to detain us for questioning, and then they'd find out who we were.

I pulled up to a gas pump, stopped, and turned off the car. The Escalade pulled up behind us. I fought to get my breathing and racing heart under control. I was scared, even more so because I didn't know what was in that car. I'd been in shootouts and burst into homes before. I hadn't been scared then because at least then I knew what the possibilities could be.

I had no idea what was behind us, however, I was going to face it head on.

I sucked in one last breath, rallying my last shreds of nerve, and got out of the car. I shut the door and paused when I heard the echo of the passenger door shut as Plutus got out, leaning against that cane of his.

“Get back in the car, Plutus,” I commanded without turning to look at him. I didn't want to take my eyes off the car.

“No,” he answered back. “If you're out here, I'm out here too.”

Three of the doors to the Escalade opened.

Two men came out, one from the driver's side, one from the passenger's side. They were both equally short, barely reaching my shoulders, while their arms and their legs were too skinny and too elongated to be proportionate to their short, squat bodies. Their ears were long and pointy as well, their heads round with scraggly unkempt hair.

“Kobaloi,” Plutus muttered under his breath. “I can smell them from a mile away.”

I repeated the Greek word, although I completely mispronounced it and it felt like I was rolling marbles in my mouth. “What are they?”

They leered at us, not moving any closer.

“Tricksters. Nothing more.”

Stephen Cross wouldn't just send tricksters, I thought. So what were these, henchmen?

My question was answered a moment later as another man left the Escalade. This man wasn't like the other two. He was huge, over seven feet tall and built like Arnold Schwarzenegger in his Conan the Barbarian days. He had a full head of red hair and a full beard that made him look almost like a lion. That wasn't all, although I couldn't quite put my finger on it. He kept blurring at the edges like I was looking through a foggy mirror.

“What the...?” I asked as Plutus cursed under his breath. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. “Can you smell that too?”

“Callista Saunders?” the man called out in a loud, booming voice. “Plutus?”

I swallowed, gripping my gun even tighter behind my back. I didn't want to draw attention to us and have the attendant call the cops. I wasn't going to shoot until this guy made a dangerous move. Still, he made me uneasy. I felt that at any moment, he would make a dangerous move.

“Who wants to know?” I yelled back.

“You know who,” the man said.

The man grinned and even from twenty yards away, I could see rows upon rows of pointy teeth. Which wasn't…right in a human being.

“You can fuck off!” Plutus yelled.

Don't antagonize him! I wanted to shout. While the man didn't make any hostile movements towards us yet, he oozed evil. It felt like I was choking.

“Oh, you see, I can't,” the man said. “My...employer...isn't happy that you shot off his face.” He gestured at me. “And he also wants you,” he gestured to Plutus. “Alive.”

“He's a manticore,” Plutus muttered under his breath. “Part man, part lion, wings, and the tail of a scorpion.”

“Wait...what?” I asked, turning my head to look at Plutus.

Of course, that was when the manticore chose to attack.

A barb whizzed by my face. I immediately crouched to the ground and moved along to the front of the car, using it as a block. Other barbs flew by me, embedding themselves into the ground with an unhappy sizzle.

What the hell?

Plutus joined me at the front of the car a second later, feeling his way around the car.

“Spines?” I asked him.

He was breathing heavily. “Poisonous spines,” he elaborated. “He shoots them from his tail.”

It wasn’t the first time I’d have like a little warning.

I peered around the car. The manticore gestured for the kobaloi to circle us. “Okay, so watch out for the spines,” I said.

“And the tail and the teeth,” Plutus cautioned.

I cursed under my breath. “I wish you had stayed in the car,” I said through gritted teeth.

“I'm the reason why they haven't killed you yet,” he told me. “They need me alive.”

“I need you alive too,” I reminded him, peering around the side of the car. The kobaloi were a little too close to us for my liking. “Stay here.”

I didn't wait for him to respond. I rushed our attackers. I didn't have a plan, but it didn't really matter. I surprised the kobaloi nearest me and tackled him, bringing it to the ground with my weight. His head hit the concrete with a sickening crack, and when I moved on to the second guy, the first didn't get up from his spot on the ground. A concussion hopefully.

The other kobaloi was more prepared. He growled and leaped towards me. I grappled him and punched him in the face, so hard that I busted the knuckles of my right hand. He instantly went limp and I threw him aside.

They were pathetic little worms though I was glad they weren't more trouble. It could have been very bad if they were a bit harder to immobilize.

A poisoned spine sizzled by me. I screeched involuntarily and backpedaled away from it. Quick movement flashed on my other side and I stopped abruptly.

Scorpion tail, remember the scorpion tail! my mind screamed.

I turned to face the manticore head on. I was no longer seeing the man in disguise; I saw the manticore in all his terrifying glory, closer to me than I had thought he was.

I couldn't help it: I screamed. The manticore reared back, and one, vicious lion claw flung out, catching me by the throat. He lifted me up by the neck, automatically blocking my windpipe and causing me to choke. It had been a while since I was restrained like this, and I forgot how much it hurt.

I fumbled for the gun, but my hands weren't working the way they should. The gun clattered to the ground, desperately far out of reach. I would have cried out in frustration, except that I couldn't because my throat was closed.

The manticore demanded my full attention. I was staring into his mouth, three rows of terrifying teeth that could rip me to shreds if he wanted. Which he probably did.

I uselessly pummeled at the lion's paw with my bloodied fist. He held me fast, and my punches on his arm weren't really doing anything except making me look pathetic.

The manticore picked up on that.

“Some form of protection you are,” he sneered at me. “You're not even worth the effort. I don't know why Hades decided to put the fate of his only son in such...incapable hands,” he crowed. He actually turned me from side to side, as if he was inspecting me. Like a cat plays with a mouse.

“So pathetic,” he spat in my face. Those teeth were so close to me, that tail so menacingly near my face. My eyes widened when I realized this could be it. I could be dead any second now.

Abruptly, he reared back, dropping me gasping to the floor.

“Not quite!”

Plutus appeared behind him. At that moment, I saw what he did. He had taken one of the poisonous barbs and driven it into the manticore's shoulder blades. The monster was screeching, reaching unsuccessfully to get the barb out of his back.

I didn't have time to marvel. I grabbed the God Gun and scrambled to my feet, drove the barrel into the creature's chest and fired. The blast was so loud, like the sonic boom of a jet engine, and I was sure the entire world heard it. The manticore's face went slack and he crumpled to the ground, revealing an ichor-covered Plutus behind him.

The manticore wasn't done with his taunting. Even dying, he was still trying to insult us.

“Heh, you are so foolish, mortals,” the manticore sneered, spluttering blood. “You...really...are...stupid...”

He stilled. The image of the man/lion/scorpion beast flickered once and reverted to the big, hairy man from before. Then, to my utter shock, his body disintegrated into a fine dust.

“What?” I asked. God, my voice sounded hoarse and gross.

“Did he disappear?” Plutus asked, wiping the gunk off his face. It was crumbling and disintegrating as he did so.

“You can't smell that?” I managed to joke. Plutus allowed a grim smile. “Yes, he disappeared. Like dust.”

“It's because he's a monster,” he explained. “They don't really have physical bodies on this plane, so they disappear when they're killed.”

“Makes cleaning up easier.” I'd been worried that I would have the body of a monster on my hands, and I wouldn't quite know what to do with that.

Clean up. Shit, the gas station attendant would have seen everything and had probably already called the cops.

“Stay here,” I told Plutus.

I flipped my hoodie over my head to hide me from prying video cameras. I jogged into the gas station to deal with the gas station attendant. To my utter disbelief and great relief, the attendant's counter was facing away from us. In addition, the teenaged attendant had a pair of earbuds in, listening to music that I could hear even from the entrance to the gas station.

Apparently, he had gone to the same hospitality school as the motel attendant in Las Vegas. He couldn't have cared less about what happened to the gas station.

There might have been video cameras, but if the attendant didn't suspect anything, they wouldn't check them until far later, if ever.

I paid for twenty-five dollars' worth of gas and two bottles of water. The attendant didn't even look up at me; he was texting on his phone the entire time.

I breathed a sigh of relief. We were so lucky.

I jogged back out to the Prelude and started pumping gas. I wanted to get out of here as soon as I could, just in case the station attendant wizened up.

“All good?” Plutus asked.

“Hopefully,” I told him.

One of the kobaloi stirred, waking up from his stupor. I saw my chance to get some answers. I moved over to him and hauled him up against the Prelude. That completely woke him up. At first, he snarled at me, but I increased the pressure on his chest and he started whimpering like a few spineless gangsters I've dealt with in my time.

“Please don't hurt me!” he whined. His voice was high-pitched, like a squeaky mouse. In fact, I felt a shred of sympathy for the little guy.

Then again, he had just been hunting us with a manticore, so I didn't feel too bad that he was frightened of us.

I swallowed, putting on my bad cop persona. “How are you following us?”

He sniveled and started crying. I repeated my question and gave him a rough shake, at which he only cried more.

Apparently, I needed to ratchet up my bad cop routine.

“If you don't tell me, so help me, I'll...” It was a bit much, but he really believed me.

“Meester Stephen Cross!” the critter cried. “He has eyes on every highway watching for you...”

Of course he does. I sighed. Leave it to a billionaire to have hitmen all over the place looking for us. So there really was no other option left for us except to hurry to New York. Although I could take a circuitous route to the East Coast, all that would do would add driving time, making us more tired, and less ready to take on monsters, like manticores.

I didn't think I could handle that again.

The gas pump finished. We really had to get going.

“I'm going to leave you and your friend alive,” I nodded with my head over at the other limp kobaloi. The one I was holding sighed with relief. “But you have to do something for me.”

“Yes! Yesyesyes!” the little guy chirruped excitedly.

“You have to tell Stephen Cross to back off.”

The little guy's face fell. I saw it. He was more terrified of Stephen than he was of me. Whatever I did to threaten him, Stephen was still scarier. And that scared me in return.

He nodded gravely. I wasn't sure if it was an okay or if he was trying to get rid of me. I finally let him go. He quickly dusted himself off, watching me warily. I waved him on, and he scurried to grab his partner and throw him into the Escalade.

“Come on,” I told Plutus, “let's go. Hopefully that kobaloi can turn a few hitmen and monsters from following us. I doubt it though.”

He was grinning. “Kobalos,” he corrected. “Kobaloi is plural.”

“I like them even less now,” I grimly declared as I got into the car. Plutus felt his way around to the other side and got in. I watched the mirror as the kobaloi...kobalos threw the car into a U-turn and careened away.

While I doubted they would do anything, I was glad that we were at least in the clear for now.

19

Perhaps it was because of the kobaloi telling Stephen about what happened or maybe we were that lucky, but we didn't hit any more trouble on our drive. We stopped in Oklahoma City that night at another seedy hotel.

After another pizza delivery, I made Plutus take the bed with my promise to him that I would sleep in the bed the next night. Luckily there was a couch at this place, so I got some decent sleep on it.

I was exhausted, so I appreciated the extra bit of comfort. Driving so much by myself was brutal, and after my coma, I was pretty wiped. I slept for a good ten hours that night, slipping into a dreamless sleep. Tisiphone wasn't there on the other side to warn me about anything else. It seemed like everyone was giving me my space to sleep.

However, I did have trouble with my thoughts about Plutus. He'd saved my life today, and as much as I didn't want to admit it, I wanted to find some sort of reason why. Some reason other than a professional one.

The next day, our drive to Columbus was blissfully free of any sort of trouble. Both Plutus and I were exhausted, so much of the drive went by in silence. One of the major shortfalls about the Prelude was that it only had AM radio, so the listening material sucked. I managed to stay awake through sheer determination and biting the inside of my cheek. A few times, I even felt myself drifting off.

Gotta get to New York, gotta get to New York, gotta get to New York.

It became my mantra.

At a small pharmacy somewhere in Missouri, I stopped to pick up a pair of scissors and hair dye to make my hair lighter. It was going to ruin my hair, which was my one feature that I loved. It was a small price to pay for a bit of anonymity. In my haste to get away from the kobaloi and any other hitmen waiting for us, I'd pretty much driven both the car and myself into the ground. I had forgotten to dye my hair the night before, but if we were going to New York tomorrow, I wanted at least a little bit of a disguise. So, no matter how tired I was, I was still going to change our hair styles.

I pulled into a decent-looking hotel around 8pm. At that point, I didn't care if we were recognized. All I wanted was a decent bed without loud neighbors and without feeling like I was destitute.

To my delight, they had a room option with two twin beds. They also had room service. If we both got caught tomorrow, at least we would have had a good night's rest and a full stomach.

I collapsed on my bed as soon as we entered the room. After inspecting his bed and the surroundings with his hands, Plutus let out a loud, contented sigh as he eased into it.

“We should've been staying in hotels like this the entire way,” he said.

“Should we order room service?” I groaned, reaching for the table card on the night stand. “Something other than pizza and burgers?”

He flashed a grin at me. “That'd be great.”

I dialed the kitchen downstairs and ordered some pasta and a Caesar salad. As an afterthought, I also ordered a bottle of pinot noir. A few glasses might help me to relax. I had no idea what would happen tomorrow; I was going to enjoy tonight.

They took my order and said they'd be delivering it in forty minutes.

Even though I was still exhausted, I rolled out of bed and forced myself to put the bleach in my hair. Afterward, I would cut a fringe and shorten it. I aimed to change my appearance enough to avoid that dark-haired look that was gracing newspapers and bulletins across the country.

After slathering my hair with the concoction (and coughing from its fumes), I went into the bedroom and ordered Plutus to sit at the foot of the bed on some newspapers while I cut his hair into a short, choppy cut that was closer to his head.

“Don't make me look bad.”

“That would at least be a step in the right direction,” I replied. “Plus, you won't know the difference.”

It briefly crossed my mind to bleach his hair like mine. I dismissed the thought as soon as it formed. It would be pretty weird for both of us to be seen together with badly bleached hair. Plutus would escape my own hair's fate.

Tonight, due to some political stuff in Washington, DC, we weren't the big item on the news. A brief mention for people to still report us if they saw us and nothing more. I breathed a sigh of relief. Our pictures weren't even displayed.

The food came while I was washing out the bleach in the shower. I avoided looking in the mirror, instead opting to go eat my salad without seeing the state of my hair.

“How does it look?” he asked when I came out.

“Don't know,” I answered. “I was afraid to look.”

A beat passed.

“I'm sure it's not that bad,” he finally answered.

I swallowed both my food and my heart down. Why did I feel like this around him? It felt like an ache deep in the pit of my stomach that I couldn't get rid of.

Suddenly, I wasn't hungry. I trudged back into the bathroom and risked a look at myself in the mirror.

To my relief, it wasn't bad. I mean, it wasn't luxurious blond hair or anything, it looked a bit gray with too much brown streaked through it. I hadn't put the bleach on it evenly, so I had patches of white. It felt coarser and less soft and silky. I knew that it could have been so much worse, so I was somewhat happy with the result. At least I still had hair. I'd heard horror stories of people's hair falling out even with salon grade products.

I took the pair of scissors and hacked it off. I kept it long enough to brush just above my shoulders. With the fringe, the new cut immediately transformed the shape of my face. Thankfully, I had a steady hand, so the end result wasn't too bad. It wasn't going to be mistaken for a real salon job, but it wasn't bad.

I looked at myself in the mirror again, shocked at the transformation that had taken place. I didn't recognize myself. I looked like a completely different person.

I met my eyes in my reflection and I could see the tears brimming at my lower eyelids. I thought I was stronger than this. I mean, it was only hair, right? It would grow back.

I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry.

How the hell did I get into this damn mess? My hands clenched tight at my sides, and I wasn't sure what I was going to do with them.

I left the bathroom.

“I'm going out,” I called to Plutus. He started to ask me something, but I ignored him and charged out of the hotel room. I caught the elevator down to the bottom level and nearly jogged out of the entrance across the street to a little convenience store.

I only smoked a couple of cigarettes during my rebellious years because I thought it was cool. I almost got addicted to them, and probably had been on some level, but I stopped before it became a habit. Since then, I'd always hated smoking, even being around smokers. The smell of it stirred something deep inside me, a combination of longing and disgust.

I don't know what it was; I just wanted to have a smoke again, almost in defiance of still being alive.

I bought a pack and a lighter and stood outside the hotel smoking one before crumpling up the rest of the pack and throwing it in a public trash can. My hands smelled like nicotine and I felt both relieved and depressed.

I stayed out front for about another fifteen minutes by myself, not really doing anything, except thinking. I wanted to be by myself for a bit. I didn't want to have to worry about protecting some mortal god. I didn't want my life to be in shambles at that moment. I didn't want to be in love with the one guy I really couldn't have. And I wanted my damn hair back.

Was that too much to ask?

I noticed a pay phone by me and thought about the one question that had been bothering me for a few days now. We hadn't used a phone at all since leaving San Francisco, so no one knew where we were.

The phone booth could be wire-tapped by some professional hitmen, however, it wasn’t likely. I had the feeling that nothing big was going to happen. At least that night.

Then again, I didn't really care.

I dug into my jean pocket, fished out two quarters and fed them to the machine. I knew his number by heart. After all, I'd worked with him for years.

Dion's voice filled the earpiece. “Hello?” He sounded exhausted and like he had been hitting the bottle again. I've heard that voice when we stayed late working on horrific cases. Dion drank when the case became too much.

I could guess what he was stressed out about.

“It's me,” I said quietly.

There was a beat as he realized who I was.

“Oh, Gods,” he said. “Callie. What's happened? How...where are you...?”

“Why?” I asked, ignoring his questions. I hadn’t called him to answer his questions. I called to have him answer mine. “Why me, Dion?”

We knew each other well enough to where we knew what the other one meant. Well, I thought I knew him. I could almost hear the unspoken question from him, but he didn't ask it.

“It...I...” he stumbled over his words and it wasn't from the copious amounts of alcohol. “I know what it looks like, Callie.”

I gritted my teeth. “And what does it look like, Dionysus?”

I could almost hear him wince on the other end of the line. “It looks like I was partnered with you, to set things up,” he said, resignedly. “It looks like the gods have been manipulating you for years.”

I didn't say anything. My heart was too high in my throat to really say anything without my voice breaking.

“I swear on Olympus that it wasn't like that,” he continued, his own voice breaking. I felt a bit of power behind the promise, but I fought it. I knew what gods did to mortals.

“Gods like to...live...as mortals...every so often, Callie,” he said. “Ever since the cop shows starting hitting television in the 1950s, I wanted to be a cop. So...I took a sabbatical from my godly duties. I became a mortal and became a cop. But...you know how I was never able to get away from the bottle.”

I nodded, even though he couldn't see. I knew. And I knew that his alcoholism was the reason why he never was promoted higher than a detective. He couldn't stay sober enough to finish anything by himself. It was the reason why his marriage with Glenda had been on the rocks a few times. Dion was a functioning alcoholic, never straying too far from liquor, so when it got bad, it got bad.

“They partnered me up with this new recruit, who in two years had proven herself to be better than her peers. She made me remember why I wanted to become a detective in the first place.” He was smiling, and even through the phone I felt it. “We worked well together, you and me.”

In spite of myself, I was smiling, too.

“A few months ago, just after the...accident...the bus...when I visited you at the hospital,” Dion continued, “I knew that it wasn't your time. It just...wasn't, Callie.” Hades had said that much. “And even though it wasn't, they don't let mortals come back to life. Not easily,” he added hastily. “I knew that...Hades...was looking for a bodyguard to protect Plutus, so I recommended you.”

A flutter of a memory surfaced. I remembered Hades telling me that I was highly recommended by colleagues. I had simply thought that he had meant performance reviews. I didn't actually think that one of my colleagues had recommended me to Hades, my own partner no less.

“I didn't know how dangerous it was going to be,” Dion said. He hiccupped once. “I didn't know that they were going to try and manipulate you. I didn't know a lot of things. But I knew you could handle it.”

The last statement stopped me. He thought I could handle it? Handle all of this? I nearly laughed out loud. No one could handle this sort of thing.

“We'll see if I can handle it.” I was really starting to doubt that now.

True, Dion could have been lying, yet I believed him. Though he might have been a god for thousands of years, he was a horrible liar, and there was sincerity in his voice. He was telling the truth. I knew that I hadn't been set up, and that my best friend actually was a friend.

“I've been so worried about you since you left San Francisco,” he said. “I haven't been able to sleep.”

My throat was suddenly dry, a cross between a laugh and a ridiculous snort trying to force its way out.

“We're okay,” I told him quietly, trying to ease his worries. “I promise. We're okay.”

He didn't speak for a few moments, letting my words sink in. After a bit, he sighed heavily. “I'm really, really sorry, Callie.”

“I'm sorry too, Dion.”

I hung up the phone without a further word. There was nothing else to say. While I still didn't quite feel like myself, I was calmer now.

I stormed back up to our hotel room again before I got so exhausted I wouldn't have been able to walk. I entered the room, collapsed onto the bed, and cuddled a pillow.

“Good night,” I said in Plutus’ direction.

Plutus didn't say anything for a few moments, then he said, “Callista means beauty, if you remember. You still are, even if your hair is different.”

I wanted to tell him that it wasn't just about my hair. That it was Dion, that it was him, that it was because my life was so beyond screwed up right now. Then my tears started flowing and I silently cried myself to sleep.

20

Tisiphone was waiting for me on the other side. I opened my eyes to see her peering down at me. We were back in the sunlit courtyard, me on my back, she crouching next to me. It was probably like some ethereal landing pad for my sleeping self.

“Tisiphone,” I groaned, sitting up from my spot on the ground, “leave me alone.”

She cocked her head, looking at me curiously. “Your hair looks different. Did you do something to it?”

I bit my lip and waited for my anger to subside. “Yes,” I snapped. “To avoid being recognized.”

“It looks...well, it is a change.”

She must have sensed my bad mood, because she was grinning mischievously. I swatted her away, even though my hand passed right through her. She sat back on her heels, offended.

“What do you want, Tisiphone?” I pressed my fingers to my temples and winced. How the hell could I have a headache in a dream?

She crossed her arms, unyielding. “Well, I'm not sure I want to tell you now, Grumpy,” she pouted.

To her surprise, that didn't bother me.

“Fine then,” I answered as I lay back down and rolled onto my side facing away from her. “How do I go back to sleeping normally?”

She clucked her tongue angrily. “Would you get up, Callie?”

I thought about telling her to go away again, then thought better of it. I grimaced and sat up. “What's up?”

“I'm trying to warn you,” she sighed, exasperated.

“Another warning?” I asked. “Plutus and I are on America's Most Wanted. From what I've heard, every hitman in the U.S. is looking out for us, including some mythological nasties. We’ve got the bad guys and the good guys hunting us. Thanks for the head's up about the manticore, by the way,” I added sincerely.

“He's the least of your worries now. You've also managed to frighten all the kobaloi in North America, too.”

“That's good, right?”

“It would be, except for the fact that you now have even bigger problems. Stephen Cross has put meaner monsters on your tail.”

“Like?” I couldn't imagine anything worse than lion/scorpion/monster men, Shadow Assassins, or a lot of the monsters I'd seen in the Underworld.

“Harpies,” she answered with a distasteful frown. Apparently, she didn't think too highly of harpies. “And Lamia is hot on your tail.”

I searched my memories for what exactly a harpy was. “Chicken...women?” I asked weakly.

“A lot worse than just chicken women,” Tisiphone sneered. “And not only women. Harpies can be male too. They're gossipy things that tattle on everything they see. I'd watch out for them. The majority of those looking out for you are harpies. They can blend in with whatever your surroundings are. Think of them as homing pigeons. They'll blab about you to anything nearby.” She cleared her throat. “Now Lamia...”

“Labia?”

This caused her to erupt in unexpected laughter. “Nonononono,” she said. “Lamia. A vampiric bitch of a demon. She devours children as revenge, Callie,” she emphasized. She leaned into me for dramatic effect.

That actually didn't sound as bad as I had originally thought. At least she didn't sparkle.

“What does that have to do with us?” I asked. “Plutus and I are both adults.”

“But you're still children of parents. Lamia can...bend...her curse to do what she wants. And if you task Lamia with hunting after someone's children...”

“She'll go after them regardless of age,” a new voice said. “It's all just semantics.”

We both turned to see Hades enter the courtyard. I wanted to run up to him and punch him in the face, and felt even more angry that I couldn't because I wasn't really there. I had to settle for holding my fists tightly at my sides. It was very hard, considering I was furious at the god.

“So you're saying that she's after Plutus, specifically,” I said, “and she'd...devour him, as you'd say?”

“Rather,” Hades corrected, “she'd deliver him to Stephen so he could steal Plutus' powers and then devour him. How is my son, by the way?”

“Well, one's blind and crippled, the other is actively hunting the two of us.”

Hades sighed. “You know who I meant.”

I shrugged, sarcastic laughter bubbling up inside me. “He's finding mortal life to be pretty hard. Other than being blind and lame, he's been hit by a car, been in a fight with a manticore and a couple of kobaloi, forced to ride forty hours in a car across the countr—”

Hades held up a hand to silence me, which irritated me to no end. I could have gone on, but that wouldn't have done anything. He knew he was a dick. For Plutus' sake, the least I could do was hear him out.

“I know it has been hard on both of you,” he said at length. “But it sounds like you're almost to Tiresias.”

“What is he going to tell us?” I asked. It was a question that had been bugging me the entire drive, one that I hadn't been prepared to face if there wasn't a good answer.

Hades looked at me blankly. “If I knew, then you wouldn't be driving to New York City.”

Gods. “No, I mean, is he going to be able to give us an answer—how to turn Plutus back into a god?” I couldn't imagine that a guy like Tiresias would know something that a god like Hades didn’t.

Hades nodded, so that shut me up once again. “If anyone knows, it will be Tiresias,” he said. “Other mortals have found the way to become immortal, but there hasn't been a successful one in eons. Why do you think Stephen is so keen to kill Plutus and eat his heart? It's the only established way to turn into a god and receive their powers.”

“You think that's what Tiresias is going to suggest?” I asked. “Eating the heart of another god.” I shuddered to think of it.

Hades waved that off. “No Tiresias wouldn't suggest that. We're not cannibals.”

I wasn't going to bring up the fact that I distinctly remembered a few myths about gods eating each other.

“So,” Tisiphone interrupted, because she must have seen my sneer, “what if Tiresias doesn't know how to...cure...Plutus of his disease?”

“So mortality is a disease now?” I snapped. She smirked at me.

“He will have an answer,” Hades stated firmly, as if that was the end of the topic.

I pressed my mouth into a thin line, fighting the retort that was climbing its way up my throat, and I opted to change the subject. “You could have told me that my partner was a god. That he was the one who recommended me for the job.”

“That was extraneous,” Hades said nonchalantly. “Gods who are living as mortals are meant to be anonymous. To tell you would give away his position. It was on a need-to-know basis.”

“Need-to-know?” I asked incredulously, looking at Tisiphone. “Need-to-know?”

“We don't need to tell you why we do what we do,” Hades said evenly.

I was going to reply, but I decided against it. The fury was slowly building inside me though, and I had to bite it back down.

“Speaking of why you do what you do,” I asked quietly, hiding my anger, “I thought you said that Aphrodite would back off.”

Tisiphone cocked her head towards me as if hearing an interesting thing for the first time in her life. “Wha...?”

Hades, meanwhile, was shaking his head. “She has, as you put it, 'backed off', I assure you,” he said.

I gave myself a little shake and hugged my arms to my chest. “Then why do I still have these feelings for him?”

Hades didn't answer, and Tisiphone was watching me with stunned silence. “I knew it!” she mouthed. I ignored her.

“I'd like to wake up now,” I said.

“Tisiphone,” Hades commanded.

“You're going to have a lot of explaining to do,” she snickered.

“Not today though,” I said, giving her my biggest, cheekiest grin.

She snapped her fingers and I found myself gasping awake to the sound of the alarm bleeping annoyingly. I groaned and slammed my hand on top of the machine, snoozing it.

Seven am already and I felt like I hadn't slept at all.

“Are you all right?” Plutus' voice called out in the darkness of the early morning.

“Yeah,” I answered, combing my fingers through my chopped hair. “Your father's such an asshole.”

He chuckled. “That's news to you?”

I guess it shouldn't have been. Despite myself, I laughed.

21

Despite Tisiphone's warnings about Lamia and harpies looking out for us, we finally arrived in New York by four the next afternoon. I’d stayed under the speed limit so we wouldn't be pulled over by the police, stopping only when we had to.

It had been a long haul and only one instance outside of Allentown, Pennsylvania at a McDonald's drive-thru, where the attendant paid too much attention to me. Her nose was shaped like a beak, her hair looked suspiciously feathery, and her glasses magnified her eyes to three times a normal size. She watched me open-mouthed as I gave her the money for our Big Macs, with no regard for making me uncomfortable. I couldn't get out of that drive-thru line quick enough.

It would have really helped if Tisiphone had told me what harpies looked like. It took a while before I felt safe again and stopped checking my rear view mirror every thirty seconds after we left Allentown.

Despite the odds against us, we exited for I-895 and we were in the Hunts Point neighborhood of the Bronx. I realized that, deep down, I actually hadn't believed we'd make it this far. I had no idea what to do now that we were here.

I didn’t know what Tiresias looked like. What would a prophet kind of guy actually look like anyway? I imagined him running one of those tarot hotlines. Call for a free life assessment, or something like that. That was what Beverly Dean did before Stephen murdered her.

There was also the problem of what to do with the car. While I knew about Hunts Point from being on the police force in San Francisco, I'd never been there before on my visits to New York. The neighborhood was considered a “Red Light District” for crime and prostitution, one where half the population lived under the poverty line. Drugs were rampant here, so there were plenty of addicts. Just the place you wanted to meet a prophet. It broke my heart thinking about it.

I held my breath as we took the exit for the Hunts Point Market. This was it. This was where we were going to find Tiresias.

First things first, I had to find a good spot for the Prelude. Dion would kill me if something happened to that car. Despite the fact that he knew what could happen if he gave it to us, I wasn't looking forward to having the wrath of a god rain down on us. The wrath of one demigod was enough, thank you very much.

The thing was, I knew that we would find Tiresias in either the place with the most prostitutes or the place with the most drugs. My luck was working out that way these last few days.

I took the turnoff for a parking garage a few blocks from a park. I wasn't sure if it was absolutely secure. There was a parking attendant and everything seemed fine, so it would have to do. I didn’t want to waste time trying to find someplace better.

“Whatever happens,” I warned Plutus before stepping out of the car, “you need to stay with me, all right?”

“You're acting like we're going into a war zone,” he said suspiciously.

“We're not,” I said. “But we're going to be in a strange place, I don't know where we're going, and we have a few baddies after us. Isn't that enough reason to be careful?”

He leaned in to me, his breath tickling my skin. For a second, I thought he was going to kiss me, one of those heroic kisses before the male protagonist runs off to save the damsel in distress. I was hoping for too much. He gave my hand a quick squeeze.

“It's going to be fine,” he assured with a tight grin.

I hoped so.

I hailed down a cab outside of the garage, a typical New York City yellow taxi. The driver, too, was stereotypical.

“Where yeh headed?” he rumbled.

I swallowed, my mouth dry. “Hunts Point Avenue,” I answered. I had to start somewhere. The main artery of the area was a good enough start, right? It was also the only place I knew here.

I sucked in a deep breath.

Why the hell was I so nervous?

Because I was going to have to ask another question, which sounded totally absurd coming from me. I had to play it up. The driver had to believe that we were really addicts, otherwise he might think we were cops. I was a cop in what seemed like another lifetime but these days I was operating like a criminal. I'd asked questions like this before, but then I'd always felt protected, and rarely did it ever go wrong. The odds felt so much higher here when it wasn't only my life on the line.

I squeezed Plutus' hand, trying to reassure him with what I was going to say next. Trust me.

Act casual. “Paul and I here are wanting to do something…could you help us?” My hand was tight on Plutus', and I was trying to ignore the fact that my knuckles were white. “We're looking to score a pack of H.”

I couldn't have sounded more awkward if I had tried.

The driver was silent for a few moments, where the only sound was the radio. “Youse guys cops?” he asked.

“'Course not,” Plutus answered nonchalantly. I guess it would have been strange if I was the only one talking.

I took out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill and handed it to the driver. He took it from me and held it in one sausage-fingered fist, considering the offer.

“Not cops?” he asked again. We must have really not looked like regulars.

I shook my head, meeting his eyes in the rear-view mirror. “We're not.”

The driver thought for a few more moments before answering. “A’ight then,” he said. “I'll get yeh there.” The car veered off into a different direction.

I forced myself to not breathe the sigh of relief that I so desperately wanted to release. I leaned back in my seat. Think like someone who's happy they're about to get their next hit.

For me, that was staring off aimlessly into space.

Hunts Point didn't really look too different from the Tenderloin in San Francisco. The sun was setting, and people were out and about, huddled together in their jackets. It was pretty cold this time of year in New York City, so they were bundled up in several layers of sweaters and jackets.

A few streets over and a few blocks later, the taxi stopped.

The driver turned around in his seat to look back at us. “Here,” he said. “I ain't takin' youse any further.”

Rather than complain or anything, I handed him our fare money and ushered Plutus out of the car. The driver had gotten us closer, that was all I could really ask for.

Our breaths came out in little bursts of white clouds as we started walking down the sidewalk. It really was cold, and I was finding it hard to control my shivers.

People watched us from the streets, in their groups or by themselves. It didn't matter. They knew as well as we did that we didn't belong. We stuck out like a sore thumb here and it was only going to be a matter of time before someone would start asking questions. Or start asking for trouble.

Were there any harpies here? How long would before they started hunting us?

I made eye contact with a woman across the street who was watching us keenly. She reminded me of the lady I saw at the McDonald's. It could have been my imagination getting the better of me; the cross-country drive had made me more than a little paranoid. As I met her too-big eyes, I saw them widen perceptibly. She nodded once, as if to herself and she briefly talked to a john before she left.

Had we been discovered?

Time was of the essence.

“Have you met Tiresias before?” I asked Plutus, fighting to keep my teeth from chattering. “Like, could you describe him to me?”

“Other than his voice,” he said, “No, not really.” He gave me a sideways, lopsided smile, and I realized my mistake.

“Oh, yeah,” I muttered. “This is going to be very hard.”

“Callista and Plutus?”

We both turned at the strong Jamaican accent, and I was faced with a man who didn't appear much older than me. He was a little bit shorter, with a bit of a stoop, dressed in a New York Yankees hoodie. His dreadlocks were longer than my hair before I cut it, complete with a Rasta cap on top. The most interesting thing I realized, was that his eyes had a milky white film over them, much like Plutus'.

Plutus was in good company, because Tiresias was blind as well.

“Tiresias?” Plutus asked.

The other man laughed wholeheartedly, and I saw that his pupils were absolute pinpoints. I made a mental groan. We were dealing with a heroin addict high off his mind.

“Nobody call me dat for years, man,” he said.

“So...you are Tiresias,” I said.

He laughed harder. “Tyrese, dey call me now.” He held out a hand, and for a moment, I didn't know what to do. Finally, I grasped it into a handshake. He once again surprised me by grappling me into a sloppy hug. “Callista, I take it. And Plutus,” he added, reaching out for another handshake. Of course being blind, Plutus didn't see it. He retracted it quickly with a wry smile. “Seems like you suffer de same as me.” He turned back to me. “I been expecting you.”

“Expecting us?” Plutus echoed, only slightly sarcastically.

Meanwhile, I was a bit less diplomatic. Anger bubbled up inside me. “You could've made it a bit easier to find you. We've just driven the entire country to come talk to you.”

“Why would I want to do dat, man?” he said, giving a toothy grin. I noticed he had a few teeth missing. “When I could stay here wid all de good stuff? And it's cheap.” I had the feeling he was talking about the heroin.

“Not even a phone call or something?” I asked to press my point.

I was expecting another laugh, but he just peered at me with those milky, tiny-pupiled eyes. Could we trust him when he wasn't even in this stratosphere?

“Do you know why we're here, Tiresias...Tyrese?” I asked.

“'Course I do,” he said, offended. “I am de prophet. And you—” His eyes were sober, the pupils normal sized. A moment of lucidity. “You want de answers.”

I nodded, transfixed. Talk seemed useless because I had the feeling that he knew everything about me, like I was transparent from the inside out. He knew I had a thing for Plutus. And he knew that I wanted to know if there was a future for me and Plutus.

My palms began to sweat.

“Let's finda more comfortable place to sit, yeah?” Tyrese said. His pupils dilated close again, and he looked like the addict we met only a minute before. “We have much to talk about and not enough time to say it.”

I nodded even though that last part sounded ominous to me. “Sure,” I said.

“Yeah,” Plutus agreed.

22

We ended up on the waterfront in the industrial district of Hunts Point, sitting on a stack of moldy cardboard boxes. Not exactly comfortable, especially since Plutus and I had been cooped up in a car for the last four days, but we didn't want to peeve Tyrese.

A few yards away, some homeless people were warming their hands over burning metal drums of garbage. It was such a cold night, and snow was falling lazily over us. A mental image of a post-apocalyptic future flashed through my mind and I shivered uncontrollably. Plutus was no better off than me. I think it was because he had been an immortal god, he'd never felt cold before he was mortal. Now was a bad night to get used to it.

Tyrese didn't seem fazed by it at all. Then again, I think Tyrese lived without worrying about anything.

“You both came a long way to see me,” he said, grinning wildly. “In olden days, I'd be flattered. Now, dough...” he frowned, “I just feel tired, man. You know wud I mean?”

I nodded because I did. The trip had tired me on a different level. My very bones ached. I was tired of being scared. I was tired of being tired.

Plutus surprised me by actually speaking. “Yes.” He closed his eyes and put his head in his hands.

Tyrese had a satisfied smirk on his face, like he had expected Plutus' response. “Trust Hades to put yous on such a journey,” he sighed, leaning back. “When dere's no easy answer.”

“No easy answer?” Plutus groaned. “I thought there were other beings that were turned into gods?”

“Tis different for everybuddy. Hercules had to die. Dionysus had to be born twice.”

I closed my eyes at the mention of Dion, feeling a bit angry that Dion hadn't mentioned this part. I guess if it was different for everyone, then there was no point. In fact, it probably would have given us false hope.

Tyrese kept going, not picking up on my mood. “Dey're called Apotheothenai,” Tyrese kept going, not picking up on my mood. “You,” he waggled a finger at Plutus, “are quite a bit different, my friend.”

“What, you're saying I can't die to become a god?” Plutus asked sarcastically, although there was an edge to his voice. “Or be born twice. Or whatever?” He seemed even paler than before. He was scared.

Tyrese grinned that Jack-o-Lantern smile at Plutus. “You're different. You started out as a god, turned mortal, and now want to be a god again. Different circumstances.”

Plutus sat back, his face pulled down into a frown. “What do I need to do?”

“Answer me dis,” Tyrese said. “Dis is what you always wanted, innit? To die?”

Once the statement left his mouth, it hung in the air between the three of us. I tried to not let my heart scream at that statement. It was true that Plutus hadn't cared if he lived or died a few months ago; I thought that had changed. Hades had told me as much when I confronted him about Stephen. Tyrese had brought it up now after such a long journey, and it stung. I could feel the tears spring to my eyes. I sat there stoically, not wanting to breathe or do anything that could sway the answer.

Plutus was frowning, his head moved away from me as if he was trying to avoid being around me.

I watched him, fury boiling up inside me with so much intensity, it was probably emanating off me in waves. I couldn’t help it. After everything I’d done for him, protecting him, putting my life on the line, driving across the whole country. He still wanted to die? I didn’t even want to touch on the obvious part, that I had feelings for him that I didn’t want to think about right now. Because if I did, then it would hurt even more. It would feel like a betrayal.

I was the one who broke the silence. “Is this what you always wanted, Plutus?” My voice was low, dangerous.

It took several heartbeats for him to answer, during which I wanted to claw at him, tear out his hair and walk away. “It was.”

I felt like the air was sucked out from my lungs. Was this what I wanted to hear? Him admitting to the fact that he wanted to die? And did I want to hear that I was part of the reason why that changed? Wasn't this going to only get my hopes higher when I didn't want them in the first place?

“It was, Callista,” he said. “Not anymore.”

“Since when?”

“Since I met you.”

He answered that angrily, in reaction to me. I didn’t really know how to react to that now, and I rubbed my hands on my jeans to give them something to do. I got up from my seat and started pacing. I didn’t want to be sitting any more.

“Well den,” Tyrese said, interrupting us, “Plutus wants to live. And not as a god. And dat’s de trouble.”

“What is?” Plutus asked dryly.

“I can’t help you,” the prophet answered. “You want to be mortal now. And I can't help you if you don't want to be a god.” Plutus opened his mouth, but Tyrese shushed him. “No,” he said, “I mean deep down you really don't want to be a god. And de Fates dey know dat. So you can't become a god again. You want to live a mortal life with her.” I must have looked shocked, because he looked right at me and repeated the four words I didn’t want to hear. “I can’t help you.”

“But Hades…” Hades had told me that there would be a way Tyrese could help us. That this whole thing wasn’t a lost cause.

“Hades has his own agenda,” he said. “Surely you’ve picked dat up by now. Why else would he have said for youse to be in a car driving across de country? Alone?”

Plutus was nodding. “Dad wanted to be sure,” he said. He combed his fingers through his hair. “He wanted me to continue to get closer to Callista. Because we’d get along. Because I…” He looked at me with those sightless eyes with a desolate look. “…I…”

“And dat would be de answer to your question, Callie,” Tyrese said softly.

There it was, and my heart fluttered up into my mouth, tasting bittersweet. The answer, as plain as it was now, was that Plutus did love me.

We loved each other and yet there was nothing we could do about it.

All I felt was dread at that moment. I had a timeline of events spread out before me. I didn’t know what we could do.

Stephen would hound us until Plutus was dead and he was a god. I shouldn't have gone on such a wild goose chase and traveled all the way to New York. Maybe we should have had our last stand. If only I'd known that Tyrese wouldn't provide the answers. I seriously could have strangled Hades then. I could have shot him with the God Gun and I would have gladly watched him squirm in pain.

I saw it from his point of view though. He had hired me, not necessarily to find out who was trying to kill Plutus, but to create a distraction so that his son would fight for his life. And when I'd failed to keep him as an immortal god, Hades knew that Plutus wouldn't have wanted to be a god again. In a way, his original plan backfired. I had kept Plutus from treating his life like a trinket, and I was now the one that was keeping him grounded in the mortal plane. And that was why he had sent us on this wild goose chase.

So that I'd fall for him without Aphrodite's influence.

I didn't know what to do. What was next? I was scared and I didn't know how to handle it.

Plutus reached out to touch me as I passed him.

“Don't touch me.” I didn't want to be near him. He was...stuck. And there was nothing I could do about it.

“Don't be dat way, Callie,” Tyrese called out to me. “Dis is what you wanted.”

“No it's not, Tyrese,” I said. “Happy ending. I wanted a happy ending.”

“Dis is your happy ending,” Tyrese said, sounding confused.

“No,” I demanded. “Plutus remaining human isn't a happy ending.” He was supposed to be a god. I was supposed to...I don't know. There couldn't be an us if he was a god. Maybe this was what I wanted.

I realized that this wasn't the best thing for Plutus. No matter what Tyrese said about wanting it deep down, this wasn't what was best for him.

“What do we do?” I asked softly.

“Live,” Tyrese answered simply. “It's not de happiest ending, but it's better than wudda lot of people get.” I knew that. It still didn't make it palatable.

“It's better than what I get,” he added.

At first I didn't understand what he meant. I looked at him, waiting for an elaboration. He closed his eyes, looking like he was at peace.

Then I saw the red dot. It took me a second to realize what it was. It made its way across Tyrese's chest, up his face, and onto his forehead. Another moment for it to register, and I started screaming.

“Move!” I yelled, moving to shove the blind prophet out of the way. I heard a slight impact with his head, the explosion as it exited his skull with a hole the size of a tangerine, and the spray of blood flew across both Plutus and me.

Tyrese dropped like a brick, dead. He didn't even have time to know that he had been hit by a sniper. I fell on top of him, completely off balance since he fell before I could save him. His blood splattered across my face.

“What’s happening?” Plutus yelled, jumping at the sound of the blast. The homeless people around us screamed and scattered, not wanting to be the next victim.

The danger wasn't over yet. I saw the red dot move over to Plutus, across his chest, right to his heart. And even though I had been angry moments before, it dissolved away when I was faced with losing him forever.

“No!” I screamed.

I willed my body to move faster than I ever thought possible. I scrambled, closing the space between us. I wasn't going to make it. I wasn't going to make it.

My left arm made it to him first and I used that and my momentum to push him out of harm's way. I heard that short, clipped sound as the bullet hit flesh and exited. Was I too late? Was Plutus dying or dead like Tyrese?

Pain exploded through me. No, it wasn't Plutus who was hit, it was me. The bullet hadn't hit me in the head. Somewhere on my torso, I thought. At least I was still in control of all my mental faculties. A strange sense of relief spread throughout me. Plutus was alive. And I was alive for the moment.

“Callista!” Plutus' agonized voice filled my world.

With my right hand, I reached into the waistband of my jeans and pulled out the God Gun. I really need a damn holster.

The shot came somewhere around 10 o'clock from where we were standing, which was across the road, so I searched the building facade for a sign of our sniper. On the fourth floor of what looked to be an abandoned factory, I saw an open window with curtains billowing in the breeze. And, granted my eyes were fuzzy with tears, but I saw the definite silhouette of a rifle against the curtain, its owner, a shadow against the wall.

Lamia. I knew it, even though I had no idea what she would have looked like

I wasn't a fan of firing at someone, especially in a crowded place like New York City, but I didn't know what else to do. I held my breath, waiting for my hand to steady.

Please, I pleaded. Please let me hit her.

I fired, the blast way too loud for my liking.

I didn't even wait to see if I had gotten our assailant. I hauled Plutus to his feet and half stumbled, half ran to the corner.

Someone was yelling my name and it took me a moment to realize that it was Plutus.

“Callista! Callista, you're hit!”

I felt it too. My left shoulder throbbed. Hopefully the bullet missed any vital organs. Hopefully. My mind reeled through possibilities. None of them were pleasant. I couldn't go to the hospital to get it looked at. Normally, that wouldn't be so bad, except for the fact that my entire left arm wasn't working at the moment.

“Fuck! I'm so fucking worthless!” he was saying. He followed with a stream of curses and a punch to the wall. If it hurt him, he didn't show it.

“I'm all right,” I said, although the pain was intense. “You're not hit are you?”

“No,” he said, “but you...you're...” Rather than finish that sentence, he pulled me into a tight embrace. My shoulder screamed in protest, but I was so shocked by the move, that I didn't even wince. “You're hurt.”

“I'm all right,” I repeated. Other than a bullet in my shoulder and being unable to go to the hospital. And if I hadn't hit Lamia, she'd still be after us. We weren't safe.

As if on cue, I heard the wail of a police siren. We couldn't be around here when they showed up.

I grabbed his hand and started leading him away, desperate to keep us safe. “We have to get out of here.”

In answer, he shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders, covering up the wound. Hopefully no one else would see the blood. “Lead the way.”

I had no idea where we were going. I had only the dull pain in my shoulder that was slowly starting to spread to the rest of my torso. I was going into shock, and I wasn't sure what would happen if I passed out.

Plutus took the role of the protector. He wrangled a taxi and get me into it. I don't remember getting out of it or where we went, but sometime later, we got out and he led me to another seedy hotel.

I leaned against the outside wall of the office, breathing heavily. It scared me. I wondered if a shard of the bullet had hit my lungs or something. I hadn't fully died when Charon speared me, so I was sure that my lungs on my physical body were fine. If one had gotten in there...I'd be dying right now. Not ideal.

It didn't help that blackness kept creeping into my vision. I didn't remember what dying was like the first time. Maybe this was what dying felt like when it was permanent.

Plutus checked us in to the place. It was dangerous, leaving him by himself. I couldn't muster up the strength to challenge it.

Next thing I knew, we were inside a hotel room and he was helping me out of my hoodie. I had tears streaming down my face from the pain, and I was fighting him and cursing at him because it hurt too much.

“Callista,” he said, steadying me. “Let me help you.”

I could barely see him through my film of tears. It really hurt. All I wanted to do was lie down and sleep. I was dimly aware of his fingers exploring around the wound in my back. It didn't even bother me that I was topless in front of him. “I don't know how much I can fix it. I can't see to fix it...” His voice trailed off.

“I'm fine,” I mumbled to him. I didn't want him to feel bad. He was doing everything he could to help, and it honestly felt like nothing could be done.

I didn't even notice my head hit the pillow. I collapsed onto the bed and passed into oblivion.

23

I must have been hovering between sleep and the Underworld, because Tisiphone's voice was yelling at me, trying to will me awake.

“Callie!” she was crying. “Callie!”

I retreated even further into my sleep. If I was even beyond the Underworld's reach, then who the hell knew where I was? I just wanted to sleep. If that meant ignoring Tisiphone, then that's what I'd do. The last thing I heard was her screaming for help.

I pushed that world away and slipped deeper. It seemed that all my problems would go away if I faded into nothingness. I welcomed it.

I woke up.

My eyes slitted open, and as I took a breath, it felt like there were shards of glass in my lungs. It was well into nighttime now, and we were in the middle of a thunderstorm, based upon how hard the rain was beating against the window. A clap of thunder confirmed it, and I jumped involuntarily. I immediately regretted that, and hissed with the pain.

“Told you she'd be in pain when she woke up,” an unfamiliar voice said.

I lifted my head up off the pillow, enough to see Plutus sitting with someone across the room. There was only one lamp on in the hotel room, so it cast them in a lot of shadows, but it looked like his companion was a very short man wearing a hoodie.

In fact, I'd say he looked like a gnome.

“What the…?” I asked. “Who the hell are you?”

The little man hopped off his seat, putting him below my range of vision. He reappeared at the side of my bed, and a little hand reached up and felt my forehead. The entire time, I was watching him, bewildered.

He was a dwarf. His big blue eyes were closed as his fingertips touched my hot skin. He had a goatee, which suited his heart-shaped face. He looked friendly enough, though that didn't explain what he was doing here.

“Slight fever, but she should be all right,” the man said to Plutus, completely ignoring me.

“You didn't answer me.”

He blinked up at me and a slow smile spread across his features. “I'm Telesphorus,” he said flamboyantly, as if that explained everything. At my blank expression, his face fell and he looked absolutely disappointed. “They always remember the big twelve,” he called back to Plutus, throwing his hands up. “Zeus, Hades, Aphrodite, Ares...” He glanced back at me. “Do they ever remember the rest of us?”

“She didn't even know who I was,” Plutus grunted.

“Sorry, I didn't—”

“I'm the God of Convalescence,” the dwarf said, cutting me off.

“Convalescence?”

“Recovery,” he explained, not unkindly. My ears burned. While I knew what the word meant, it wasn’t one I used every day. “And you need a lot of time to recover. You've already pushed your body to its limit. After getting shot in your shoulder... well, you could do with a vacation, darling.”

“Can't.” I grimaced and sat up in bed, only then realizing that my shoulder was bandaged, my left arm in a sling. “Did you do this? Did you bandage me up?”

Plutus allowed a sheepish smile. “I told you I couldn't see to fix it.”

Telesphorus watched me sympathetically. “Plutus called me when you passed out, and your friend Tisiphone also sent out a distress call.” So she was really calling for help. “I came here with my sister and we helped put you back together.”

“Sister?” I asked. “Distress call?”

“You call 911—what else, darling?” Telesphorus picked up the phone to make his point. “Distress call. And my sister, she's just getting some food for you.”

“I hope it's not pizza,” I muttered, trying to make a joke.

“Chinese,” Plutus said. “Figured you wanted something different.”

“I'm surprised Hygieia allowed it,” Telesphorus added amusedly. “Usually she doesn't like grease and mess.”

“Hygieia?”

Telesphorus threw his hands up again with a laugh. “Everyone knows her.”

“You confuse people knowing who she is for people recognizing her name,” Plutus said dryly. “Hygieia is remarkably close to hygiene.”

“I guess so,” Telesphorus conceded. He crossed his tiny arms across his chest. “Goddess of Cleanliness and Sanitation. It'd be so much easier if my name was close to what I did.”

There was a knock at the door, and Plutus got up and limped over to it. He was limping pretty badly. He must have strained his leg trying to help me. He opened the door and let in a blond woman about my age and height who was literally wearing a sexy nurse's outfit, like what you'd find in a porno movie. She held a brown paper bag, which had the Chinese food in it.

“Sorry it took me so long,” she said with a sheepish smile. “I couldn't find anywhere that had a high enough standard of cleanliness for a while. Oh, hi,” she added, noticing me for the first time. “I'm Hygieia.” She smiled widely. She was pretty in a girl next door sort of way. Other than her scanty dress, the thought that came to mind when looking at her was pure. And perhaps the dress was meant to combat that thought.

Telesphorus rolled his eyes. He hurried over to her and took the paper bag from Hygieia. “Lo-mein for Plutus, sweet and sour chicken for Callie. I trust that's all right?” he asked looking back at us.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, trying out how steady I felt on my feet. I should at least be able to make it to the table and eat. Once I had some food in me, I would feel a bit better. I had to.

“Wash your hands first,” Hygieia called out.

Telesphorus rolled his eyes and took a few packages of moist towelettes from the paper bag. “These should do,” he said.

“But...” Hygieia protested.

“Callie can barely hold herself up, Sis,” Telesphorus told her. “Do you really think she cares about going to the bathroom and washing? She's going to use chopsticks anyway.” He winked at me.

Hygieia pressed her lips into a thin line. “Germs...” she muttered under her breath, but she didn't push the issue.

I complied with her request and allowed Telesphorus to wipe my hands with the towelettes. I tucked into my food. Plutus joined me and ate as ravenously as I did. I must've been hungry—it tasted really good. “Aren't you two going to eat?” I asked. It felt awkward eating in front of them like a pack of starving wolves.

“We're not hungry,” Hygieia said quickly with a glance around. “Plus this motel isn't doing too much to whet my appetite.”

“Ambrosia's the only thing clean enough for cousin Hygieia,” Plutus said lightly. I kept forgetting that all of these gods are related to one another. So incestuous.

“Thanks for helping us,” I said awkwardly, trying to change the subject. “But I thought that Zeus said gods couldn't help us?”

“He doesn't pay attention to the little gods,” Hygieia said. She was rewarded with a punch from Telesphorus, who had taken offense to her assessment. “So we're pretty much able to do what we want.”

“You aren't worried that you'll be in trouble?”

“Nah,” Telesphorus said. “We're not afraid of Zeus.”

Based on how he said it, I got the feeling he was telling the truth. It was nice, compared to how the other gods trembled around the King of the Gods. Hygieia stood next to him. I could tell that they were comfortable with one another, although they traded insults all the time. Plutus joined in as well. I imagined them growing up together as part of the same, huge family. Collectively, they would have seen so many things—things I could only guess at, being a mere mortal.

I felt like such an outsider.

We ate dinner. The pain in my shoulder dimmed to a dull ache as we ate. I actually felt refreshed and rejuvenated. Afterward, Telesphorus checked my shoulder again, gave me some medicine and care tips for my shoulder. I doubted the medicine could do as much good as the food I had just eaten, though. I felt much better.

I even managed to walk the brother and sister to the door. In the parking lot outside was an old-style ambulance that I suspected was theirs. I guess rather than ride in a chariot or on a horse, these two drove an ambulance. Gods were so...strange.

“Thank you,” I told them. “Thank you for everything.”

Telesphorus grinned up at me. “Any time, Callista.”

“Really, thank you,” I said.

He winked. “You need to convalesce now. Rest.”

I knew it wouldn't happen, not with Stephen after us. I wasn't going to tell him that though. I was going to spend the night recuperating, but after that...I didn't know. We'd have to figure something out. I just didn't know how yet.

“Stay safe,” Hygieia said. “We're all on your side.”

“We will.” Plutus' hand appeared on my arm. I hadn’t even noticed him get up and cross the room. I watched his hand from the corner of my eye, my heart pounding too high in my chest.

Hygieia made eye contact with me, and gave me a secret smile. I didn't realize what it meant until the door closed and I was alone with Plutus for the first time since getting shot.

At that moment, I didn’t want to be.

I was scared of what he was feeling, what he now knew about me. I was scared of what I was feeling too, because you don't jump in front of a bullet for just anyone.

You did it for someone you loved.

Behind me, he asked, quietly, “May I ask you something, Callista?”

I didn’t respond, and he continued anyway.

“Why'd you push me out of the way?”

I closed my eyes, really not wanting to have this conversation right now. Some other time, maybe, but not now. “Look, Plutus, I—”

“Why?” he interrupted. The question was barely a whisper. He was listening to me intently, poised, ready for any answer. What should I tell him? I didn’t know. “You’re alive. You’re free of your duties and yet...you took a bullet for me, Callista.”

“It’s nothing.” I sat up, not successfully hiding my grimace. Even though he was blind, I flinched so much, I was sure he heard me.

“Why?” he pressed. “Why, Callista?”

“Because…” I whispered. Tears filled my eyes and I couldn’t see him anymore. I really couldn’t handle this right now. “Because I would have lost you.”

There. I said it. He knew now that it wasn’t a silly crush that I had on him. He knew that I was completely and utterly under his spell, to the point that I was putting his life before mine.

He regarded me silently for a few heartbeats that lasted eons longer than they should have. His fingers rubbed my cheeks, found their way to my lips. I held my breath, afraid to speak.

And then he kissed me.

My eyes fluttered closed and I relished the touch. His hands moved to my face and held me to him. The kiss, tentative and chaste at first, turned into something more. The heat between us increased as his tongue explored my mouth. I clung to him for dear life, trying not to hope.

He pulled back and I was able to breathe. He was breathing hard too. I searched his face. He looked determined, like a decision had been made in his mind. “Callista,” he whispered. “I...”

All resolve I had dissolved away, and I grabbed his shirt with my one good hand to bring him back to my lips. I didn’t want him to speak. I didn’t want him to say that I shouldn't put his life before mine. I didn't want to him to say anything. All I wanted was him. That was all that mattered at the moment.

“I’m not perfect,” he whispered when he needed to breathe. “I’m blind and crippled and...”

“I’m not perfect either,” I reminded him. “And that’s what makes us...us.” When he hesitated again, I somehow summoned up the nerve to go on. “I just want you, Plutus. Please.”

After that, he didn’t protest any more. I pulled him into the bed with me, ignoring the pain that shot through my shoulder at the moment. He willingly complied and I was lost to him.

There, during the thunderstorm, in between the sheets, Plutus and I were together. I didn’t care what happened tomorrow. I didn’t care if this would be the only time. All I cared about was Plutus.

And that was all that mattered to me.

24

I woke up to sunlight streaming in through the window. The morning after the storm last night was glorious. I felt like I was glowing, like there was something different about me.

I guess, in a way, there was.

I turned my head, and saw him lying there, still asleep from our lovemaking. He looked almost angelic in the morning light. The way the light caught his hair and haloed around his face. I found myself gaping at him.

I blushed, remembering what we did the night before and covered my eyes. I'd been with three other men in my time, the longest and most recent was Ben. This...this was different.

I'm sure everyone thought that though, making love to a god. Even if he was mortal now.

Maybe it was because he'd had a lot of practice. He admitted that I wasn't his first, not by a long shot, which Tisiphone had warned me about it initially.

He was in the middle of gingerly taking my shirt off when he said that. “Callista,” he said softly, “a long time ago, I slept with a lot of women.” He swallowed nervously. “A lot of women.”

The admission caught me off guard, so I was thrown out of it all momentarily. “A lot of them?”

He nodded.

“Why?” The question slipped out before I really thought about it.

He laughed nervously. “I’m the blind, crippled god. No one wanted anything to do with me. I think it's because I wanted to feel something.” He paused. “To feel loved.” He turned away, as if he was ashamed. “I stopped when I realized that I was hurting them. Hurting them more than me.”

I looked down at him and stroked his cheek with my thumb. I understood. After seeing how he was treated by his family and by everyone else, I could understand why.

“I love you,” I whispered. The admission came out quickly, although as I said it, I knew it was true. It took Ben and I over a year to say that we loved one another. It was a different feeling compared to this.

I loved him, heart and soul.

He kissed me deeply. “I love you too,” he said reverently.

This was far different than how it was with Ben. He explored every available inch of me. He said that since he couldn’t see, he was seeing my body in another way. His delicious mouth was everywhere I wanted it to be and when I wanted it to be there. He was gentle with my wound, and it didn’t matter after a certain point. He had me gasping, writhing, and making noises I’d never heard issue from my mouth before.

In fact, he was being slow with the whole thing, to the point where I was begging him to keep going. “Not yet,” he chided. “I’m enjoying this.”

“You could enjoy it so much more.”

“Perhaps.” He sounded amused. “But I’m liking what this is doing to you.”

Truth was, I was liking it too.

And when he entered me, we both cried out in pleasure at the sudden, deep connection.

I searched his face, and then kissed him deeply, trying to hide the single tear that fell down my face.

He started moving, building up a delicious friction between our two bodies. I grasped at his back, feeling a warm sensation deep in my stomach that grew the faster and harder he pushed into me. I started crying out his name, clinging to him for any sort of anchor to this world.

We both came together, his body collapsing on top of mine with his release. And then we lay together in bed holding each other until we fell asleep.

No matter what happens, I told myself. I’ll always have this memory.

Somehow I knew that this would never be enough. I didn’t want to think about it at that moment. All I wanted at that moment was Plutus’ arms around me, and I could pretend like this was forever.

He stirred and my heart turned over and leaped into my mouth. Here it was, the moment of truth. What was he going to say?

He grinned at me in the morning light and stretched, much like a satisfied cat. “Hey,” he said softly. “What're you doing?”

“Watching you.”

He smirked. “I thought that’s what you were doing.”

“You’ve been awake?” I asked, alarmed, wondering how much of my staring he had been awake for. I’m sure it’s a creepy feeling to have someone watching you while you slept. Even if you can't see, you'd know if someone's eyes were on you.

He had a sly grin on his face. “Your heartbeat and breathing changed when you woke up,” he explained. “You’re excited about something.”

I slid across the sheets and kissed him deeply. “I’ll let you figure out what.”

25

We missed check out time that day. I took a few minutes to put on some clothes and go down to the office to pay for another night in our hotel, but otherwise we stayed in bed, convalescing, as Telesphorus said.

Which is just what the doctor ordered. By taking the day off and not worrying about anything, I felt refreshed in a way that I hadn't felt in such a long time, even before I died.

When we weren't knocking boots, Plutus and talked. For the first time, we talked about the future.

“What are we going to do now?” he asked.

“We need to confront Stephen,” I told him. “And I think I know how we're going to do it.” While it wasn't the safest of ideas, it was the quickest way to end it all. Stephen wouldn't give up, not when he so desperately wanted Plutus' powers. I knew him too well to believe he would.

Plutus didn't like it, but he saw the wisdom.

“When all of this is over,” he said to me, “I want to stay with you.” He'd grinned, and I saw the whole world in his smile.

For the first time, I allowed myself to hope that everything was going to be all right. If he was going to have to stay mortal, at least we'd stay like this.

That night, I slept curled up in Plutus' arms, fully prepared to be thrown back into the Underworld.

I wasn't disappointed.

* * *

“Oh good, you're alive,” Tisiphone sighed as my environment came into view. “I was actually worried about you.” Her tone of voice suggested otherwise, but by now, I was used to Tisiphone's mannerisms.

“Yeah, what'd you expect?” I groaned, sitting up. My arm was still in its sling, still feeling like an achy deadweight. Couldn't I visit the Underworld a bit more complete?

“Well, I knew you weren't dead,” Tisiphone said, “because we didn't see your face around here.” She extended a hand and I reached out to her, then remembered that it wouldn't do any good here. “You could've been dying. Or...something else.” She frowned. “We were all worried about you.”

“We?”

She shrugged, non-compliant.

“Telesphorus and Hygieia didn't tell you that they helped me out?” I asked. I gingerly touched my bad shoulder. Yep, it was still bad, even in my dreams.

“No,” she answered. “Those kids...” Her voice trailed off as she shook her head. The comment made me wonder how old Tisiphone really was. She turned back to me, with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You look...different.”

I shrugged.

She giggled like a high school girl. “You boinked him, didn't you?” She was grinning wildly, making my ears turn bright red. “You had sex with the big guy's son!”

My burning cheeks gave me away, even if I didn't answer.

“You little slut!” she cried with a hearty laugh.

“What?” I asked, appalled that she would call me that.

“What were you thinking, Callie?” she asked. She couldn't stop laughing. “You're turning into a legend. Like Alcmene. Io. Leto. Mortals that all slept with gods.” She was grinning widely. Then the smile withered. “What?”

My face must have shown my sadness. I bit my lip, trying keep back the retort.

“What is it?” she pressed.

“We saw Tyrese…Tiresias,” I said. “He's dead.” The look on her face was that of shock.

“What?” she asked. She waited for me to answer, but I cast my eyes down. “He's been alive for...eons,” she said. “Longer than me.”

“Lamia shot him,” I explained simply. “Before he died, he told us there was no way to make Plutus a god again.”

“What?” Tisiphone shook her head. “That's...wrong. That's impossible. There has to be a way.”

I told her about what he said, and that it was impossible for Plutus to become a god again. Tears started falling down my cheeks and I didn't notice. My heart went out to him. I really wanted him to have a happy ending. And I was going to try my damnedest to give him one.

At the end of it, Tisiphone hovered her hand over my shoulder, just touching, not enough to go through it. “It'll be all right.” She was being uncharacteristically sympathetic.

I closed my eyes, not wanting to start the next sentence, but I had to.

“I need you to do something…”

“What?”

“Stephen Cross is still after us. And there's no end in sight if Plutus is mortal.”

She nodded. “He won't stop until Plutus is dead.”

“Yes, and he won't stop until he becomes a god himself.” I leaned down so we were eye to eye. “We need help.”

Her eyes widened and I realized how much all of the gods and deities feared the big guy upstairs. “Zeus said—”

“We've already established that he's an asshole. But we need help from the gods. If no one wants a change in the order of things, we need help. Please, Tisiphone. Please.”

She watched me for a bit and gave a short, bitter chuckle. “Maybe it's because you're a human in love,” she said, her voice trailing off as she smiled sadly. “I'll try. That's all I can offer you, I can try to get them to help. No promises. I'm only a lowly Fury, after all.”

“Please try,” I said.

“You'll have to make it seem like there's no good way out,” she said, her voice dropping. “The lower the odds, the more likely they'll be to step in.”

“I know,” I said. Fear was gripping my stomach at the thought of what we were going to have to do. “We're going to have to be captured by Lamia. Or the harpies.” For some reason, they sounded a lot less harrowing than Lamia herself. Maybe it was because I'd gotten shot in the shoulder by Lamia; or maybe it was because they were basically chicken people.

“That's going to be dangerous,” Tisiphone said.

“So's running for the rest of your life. We have a billionaire after us. And he's not going to stop until we're dead.”

It took a bit more to get Tisiphone to agree with me. Hell, I didn't want to be a part of it either. It sounded dangerous, and I didn't want to put the man I loved and myself into danger. It seemed there was no other way.

Tisiphone offered up a few more suggestions. Witness protection, leaving the United States, different identities. Each of those propositions ran into their own respective problems. That's what happens when you have a dogged billionaire after you.

It had to end or else I was going to go crazy.

“I will try,” Tisiphone promised. “But you know what the gods are like.”

“Talk to Hades,” I said. “If nothing else, Hades will want to protect his son.”

“Which one?” she asked bleakly.

I saw her point.

I woke up in bed, spooned by Plutus. Morning light was streaming through the window. It was time to start.

“Plutus,” I whispered, gently rocking him awake. “It's time to get going.”

He stirred. “Did you talk to Tisiphone?” he asked. His eyes weren't open.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“We're going to have to wait and see.”

While it wasn't the answer he wanted, staying in one place in fear was driving me absolutely mental.

“Do you trust me, Plutus?” A bad question, considering that I didn't trust myself to get us out of this mess.

He tenderly kissed my lips. “Yes.”

He sounded like he completely believed in me. I wished I did.

26

We made to leave the motel, our makeshift plan ready and our one bag packed.

Plutus admitted that he didn't know where the hotel was in relation to where I had parked the car, so it was going to take a bit of to-do to find that parking garage.

I had the God Gun tucked in the back of my jeans, within easy reach of my good arm. My left arm was going to be out of commission for a while, even with Telesphorus and Hygieia's help. I still wasn't quite used to it being in a sling. I'd often forget about it and try to move it, only to cry out in pain. Plutus hovered by my left side, overprotective of my injured state.

“You're getting in my way,” I told him amusedly as he slung the backpack over his shoulders.

“Get used to it,” he said. “I'm not letting you out of my sight.”

I chuckled at that.

The man behind the counter at the motel peered up at us with big eyes, and I was reminded of the fact that we had to watch ourselves. We were always being watched, which was now actually going to work in our favor.

“Thanks,” I told him and we turned to leave. I couldn't help feeling, though, that we were being watched. Keep it calm, Callie, I told myself.

We hailed a cab and I gave the driver the address of our parking garage. It turns out that we weren't that far from it, which was good. What wasn't good, though, was the amount of parking tickets on the Prelude when I finally found it.

“Oh dammit,” I groaned, seeing the amount of paper underneath the windshield wipers.

“What?” Plutus asked.

“We've had our car parked too long,” I told him. I picked up the tickets and inspected them pretty quickly. “Dion's not going to like these.” I quickly did the math. About two days with tickets every two hours. How much was that going to add up to?

“He's a god,” Plutus said with a shrug. “He won't mind.”

Oh yeah, I kept forgetting that. It was hard to reconcile that fact with the mental image of my partner I had worked with for years.

“Plutus, if you were a harpy,” I asked, opening the car door, “where would you be?”

I felt the cold metal at the back of my neck even before my assailant spoke. “I'm not sure about harpies,” a deep, feminine voice crooned, “but I do know where I'd hide.” The voice reminded me of Kathleen Turner with an Australian accent.

I bristled, steeling myself for it. This is what I had been waiting for, even if it was earlier than expected. Still, even though I was scared shitless, I couldn't show fear. I had the feeling she relished fear.

“Lamia, I presume?” I asked carefully.

“How astute of you.”

I couldn't turn around—the gun kept me looking forward, so I looked at Plutus. He was white with fear. He must have been able to sense my eyes on him because he nodded imperceptibly.

“I was wondering when you'd show your ugly face,” I taunted.

“Callista,” Plutus said warningly. As he stepped forward, the gun at the base of my neck jutted into my neck with such force, I cried out, despite myself. He stopped moving.

“How do you know it's ugly?” the voice behind me asked. She sounded amused, but she also sounded like she was speaking through gritted teeth, so I had to tread carefully.

“I aimed for your head when I shot at you,” I said. I hadn't, but she didn't need to know that. “Did it work?”

She chuckled behind me. “No.”

I winced as pained exploded through my bad shoulder. She had punched me in the wound with her gun. It hurt. Plutus started forward at my cry of pain, but Lamia stopped him.

“Nuh, uh, lover boy,” she warned. “Another step and I finish the job.”

He stopped.

“You are two highly sought after fugitives, you know that, right?” she said. The barrel of the gun went back to my neck. This time, I didn't wince. I was going to show her that I wasn't a weakling. “My employer really wants to get his hands on you. I daresay he wants you more than he wants him.” She seemed to think that was funny and threw back her head and laughed. “He has special plans for you.”

“He'd better—” Plutus said before being halted mid-speak.

A quick jab with the butt of her gun brought me to my knees. I landed with a cry and my assailant cackled. “What did I warn you about, Plutus?” she asked. “I have no qualms coming back with Callista's dead body. Stephen Cross might not like it, but I don't mind.”

“It's...Callie,” I said. I spat out some blood “And fuck you.”

“Oh, don't make me hit you again, Callista.” Then she stepped in front of me, and I saw what Lamia really looked like.

Imagine a cross between the Crocodile Hunter and an 80's rock star and you'd get something like Lamia. She was tall, about a head taller than me, and her face was built like David Bowie's, especially her cheekbones. Her cowboy hat, jacket, pants, and boots were all made from the same color of tan snakeskin. It was a lot of snakeskin. PETA would have had a field day with her. Underneath her jacket, she wore a black leather corset. Her eye makeup was intense, with way too much black eyeliner and her long blonde hair fell straight and flat. She was pretty in a severe sort of way, and she definitely looked the part of the rogue bounty hunter.

I stared at her open-mouthed for a second because she was such a character, before I took in her rifle pointed at me. It was a genuine AK-47.

“Isn't that a bit overkill?” I asked. And illegal?

“No worse than that God Gun you're carrying,” Lamia answered wryly. “Which, speaking of, Plutus, can you be a dear and take it from her and give it to me?”

Lamia noticed Plutus’ hesitation and jabbed the AK-47 into my face again. “Now, Plutus. My trigger finger's really starting to itch.” She grinned down at me. “I wouldn't want it to slip and blow her face away. Like she did to Stephen's.” She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “He was such a handsome man.”

Plutus moved over to me, and fumbled around with his hands, feeling around and trying to find the gun.

“It's on my back,” I told him.

He grabbed the gun from the waist of my jeans, his hands lingering a little longer on the small of my back. “I love you.”

“I know.”

“This is touching and all,” Lamia said with a sigh, “but I'm growing very tired of this lovey dovey crap. Give me her weapon, or I'll blow her brains out.” She cocked the AK-47 and aimed it right at my head. “As I said, I'm not afraid to come back with her in pieces.”

Plutus handed her the gun. She inspected it briefly. “Not bad,” she murmured appreciatively. I could have charged her then to end this whole stupid situation, yet something told me that she was pretty experienced at this sort of thing. She wouldn't let me charge her. That gun was pointed right at me and she wouldn't hesitate to pull that trigger.

She holstered the gun and I felt all sense of hope deflate.

To my surprise, she tossed me a length of leather cord. “Tie him up,” she ordered, gesturing with the point of the gun towards Plutus. She looked exasperated, like I should have known what she was thinking.

With the gun trained on me the entire time, I bound up Plutus' hands behind his back. I had to use my bad shoulder, which didn't want to work properly, so it took me a bit longer than she would have liked. It also hurt like a bastard.

Lamia kept insisting that I keep tying it tighter and tighter until I was sure that he was going to lose his hands from lack of blood. I glared at her as I stepped away.

“Such a pathetic excuse for a god,” she said snidely.

“Don't say that!” My cheeks flared up with heat—I didn't want her to insult him like that.

“Sorry, such a pathetic excuse for a mortal,” she corrected with a snigger.

“Do you not have harpies to do this for you?” I blurted out.

She grinned at me slyly. “I work alone, Callista. And I've been doing it for a lot longer than anyone else.”

I didn't doubt that. I still glared at her and didn't say anything else.

She tested the cord and nodded to herself, satisfied with my handiwork. She then bound my hands in front of me, disregarding the sling and my injured shoulder which made me cry out in pain. Plutus paled at that, but he didn't move, knowing that she had the gun. She kept the AK-47 on him in case he made any sudden movements. I mentally pleaded that he wouldn't, and when she roughly tested how well it was tied, I was relieved that he hadn't.

“Now, both of you in the car, Plutus in the back, and you Callista, in the front.” She gestured to the Prelude. I was getting really tired of her ordering us around.

I guided Plutus as best as I could with my shoulders to the back seat (which was difficult for him to sit comfortably in because his hands were behind his back) and I moved to sit in the passenger's seat.

“Nuh uh,” Lamia said. “You're in the driver's seat.”

Some demented part of me marveled at how thorough she was. A lot of criminals do stupid things. Not Lamia, she knew how to take care of two hostages by herself. She knew how to keep us separated, what to look out for, what not to do...in fact, I would have been impressed if not for the fact that she was pointing a gun at me.

I moved over to the driver's seat and she got into the passenger's side. She put the key in the ignition, but didn't turn the car on. She took out her phone and thumbed in a few buttons (all the while, keeping a hawk-eye on both of us) and called someone.

As soon as I heard his muffled voice on the other end, I froze.

“Hello, Boss,” she purred into the receiver. “Guess who I'm looking at right now?”

The short answer on the other line told me that they didn't have to guess. My mind reeled. What was she doing? And what could I do to get out of this? This really wasn't going to plan.

“Oh, you'd like to talk to her?” she asked. She chuckled maliciously, looking at me directly in the eye. “Here she is.” She extended her arm, putting the speaker under my ear.

On the other side was a voice I had hoped never to hear again.

“Saunders, Saunders,” he chided. “So good to hear that you're doing well. Did you miss me?”

“Hi, Stephen,” I sighed. I sounded a bit more defeated than I wanted to.

He laughed into the phone, loudly, like I had told the best joke in the world. I pulled my head away slightly, but Lamia's murderous glare made me put my head back to the phone. “Oh don't be that way, Saunders,” he said. “Not after all we've been through.”

“Yeah, shooting off someone's face tends to create a connection between two people,” I said sarcastically.

“Yes, it does,” he agreed. “Yes, it does. Which is why you—and my brother—will be seeing me really soon.” He wasn't laughing. His voice dropped into that lower, warning octave. My skin turned cold at the sound. I'd heard this tone, in person a few times and a few times when he was being interviewed on TV. His voice went like this when he was about to rip someone a new one. He had used it to condemn my investigation of him. It had been used to make his opposition cry, quite literally, on national television.

I rose to the bait this time to humor him.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I'm on my way to see you as we speak,” he explained. “You will pay for what you did to my face.”

I couldn't help it then. The vehemence in his voice made me turn my head away from the speaker. Lamia took this as her cue to take the phone back. After listening to it for a few seconds, she must have gotten her orders, because she said, “Will do, sir,” then she hung up with a chuckle and turned to me. “You certainly don't rank highly on his list, do you, Callista?” she sneered, shaking her head. “And you—” she said, raising her voice and looking back at Plutus, “—luckily, your days as a mortal are numbered. Be thankful, Plutus. Being mortal sucks.”

He didn't say anything. I wanted to assure him in some way, to tell him that everything was going to be all right. I wanted to be assured myself, though if Tisiphone didn't come through, then we would have a bad time, really soon.

I was doubting myself. I was doubting everything. Whose idea was this whole thing again?

Lamia turned on the engine and it roared to life. “Drive,” she ordered.

“Where?” I asked.

“I'll let you know. Just drive.”

It was hard to drive with a bad shoulder, especially with my hands tied together. I couldn't signal. It took me a few times to get used to shifting. I had to take both hands off the wheel shift and quickly put them back on the wheel to avoid crashing. Not to mention my shoulder was screaming in protest every time I moved it.

I really hated Lamia for that.

She directed me through traffic and through winding roads to an abandoned warehouse in Brooklyn.

“An abandoned warehouse?” I guffawed. “Really? How predictable.”

She glared at me. “Just be glad we're not going somewhere else.”

Oh yes. I'd been a homicide detective for a few years now—I knew what other kinds of places we could be going. While taking a page from a bad action movie, an abandoned warehouse was a great location for murders. It was secluded, no one could hear us, and it would be a while before anyone noticed the funny business that happened there.

I didn't want to think about what would happen if the gods didn't come to our rescue, but reality was staring at me in the face as I looked at the hulk of the building.

I pulled up right into the warehouse through a loading bay. It wasn't completely abandoned. I recognized some chicken-looking people—harpies, I now realized—sitting there, waiting for us to arrive. They pulled down the metal roll door behind us. Lamia got out of the car, leaving Plutus and I alone momentarily.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, I'm fine,” I answered back softly.

“You've been breathing heavily for the entire time. Like you're in pain.”

“It’s my shoulder.” I wanted to rub it, to rub some life back into it, but my hands were tied together and right now, it felt like I needed to let it rest. “It's...really bad at the moment.”

“It's not too late for you to get out of this. I'm the one Stephen really wants.”

I sighed resignedly. “You didn't hear what Stephen said to me. We're both in this.”

“Tisiphone had better come through for us,” he said, an edge to his voice.

I didn't say anything. I didn't want to hope.

During the silence, a harpy came to Plutus' door and started helping him out of the car. Meanwhile, Lamia came around the driver's side. “All right,” she growled. “Out.” She roughly grabbed my bad shoulder to haul me out and I screamed out in pain, doubling over with it, it hurt so badly.

Plutus didn't take my scream very well. He tackled the harpy next to him and made his way over to me. Lamia silenced him quickly by hitting him in the face with the butt of her rifle. I cried out, from worry about him. He collapsed to the floor, blood spewing from his smashed nose.

Lamia huffed angrily. “Pathetic,” she muttered, before pushing me to walk.

“Callista?” Plutus asked behind me. His voice sounded muffled, like she had broken his nose.

“I'm all right,” I said. “Are you?”

A harpy hauled him to his feet. “Fuck you!” he yelled to the birdman, who responded with an indignant chirrup. The harpy looked like he was about to retaliate when Lamia stopped him.

“Kevin,” she barked, “bring him here and let him be. He's trying to piss you off.”

Kevin, the harpy, glared at him and brought him along. The other harpies gave the four of us wide berth, both curious and afraid of us.

We ended up in a large room full of old crates and plastic wrapping. I wondered briefly who would leave those boxes behind. Then I realized that it had nothing to do with what was happening now and that I shouldn't be worried about it. A catwalk encircled the top of the room with a set of rusted stairs leading up to it.

It looked like a meat packing plant, it felt like something you'd see in a horror movie.

“Are we waiting for Stephen here then?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Lamia smiled at me. “Get comfortable.”

Apparently, to her, “getting comfortable” meant tying the both of us to chairs, once again, without regard for my shoulder, which was in absolute agony by this time. It really was going to be screwed up for the rest of my life. However short that was going to be.

She placed our chairs back-to-back. I couldn't see Plutus unless I turned my head painfully to the side, but I could feel him behind me. My right hand nudged his hands, trying to comfort him.

Stay safe.

The harpies chattered around us. It surprised me that they weren't even speaking English. If someone was really paying attention to them, their cover would be blown. Or they'd be thrown into an insane asylum.

Normal people don't really pay attention to anything, do they?

Lamia, however, was watching us like a hawk. Her AK-47 lay across her lap, at hand if she needed it. We were bound so tightly to our chairs, we couldn't have moved even if we wanted.

“Why are you doing this?” I found myself asking her.

“For money,” she answered. “Highest bidder wins.”

“Why did you become a bounty hunter?”

She raised her eyebrows, surprised that I'd even ask. She uncrossed her legs and sat forward, looking at me like I was some sort of weird alien creature she had never seen before. I imagined that she didn't hear that too often.

“Why do you ask?” She sounded weary, her Australian accent getting stronger.

I shrugged with my right shoulder. Truth was, I didn't know why I asked. Then again, I was curious. How did someone get so far deep down the rabbit hole they ended up like her?

“I was a queen once,” she said slowly, contemplatively. “The queen of Libya.”

I blinked, thinking of Gaddafi and the recent events that happened there.

“Ancient Libya,” she snapped, agitation flashing in her eyes. “Quite a bit different than modern Libya.” I could feel the disdain emanating from her. “I was beautiful.” She elegantly extended her slender arm out, as if to make her point. I agreed, even now, she was beautiful. In an I'll-kill-you-if-you-blink-wrong sort of way, but still beautiful. “I had seven children. Seven beautiful, lovely children that I loved with all my heart. When my husband died, I was looking for a suitor, for someone to help me lead my people to prosperity. All of the men loved me and vied for my hand in marriage, even...” Her voice trailed off, as if it was painful for her. “Even...”

“Zeus,” Plutus completed for her. He nearly spat out the words, showing his love for his uncle.

“Zeus?” I repeated incredulously.

She grimaced at Plutus at the mention of the King of the Gods' name. “Yes,” she said defensively. “And I loved him back.” She stopped speaking, letting us digest that. “And someone wasn't happy about our love.”

I only had to guess. “Hera?”

“Heh,” Plutus sighed. I could almost feel his smug smile behind me. He knew his aunt pretty well. All I knew was that she was a jealous sort of woman.

Lamia was nodding vigorously. “She wasn't happy that her husband was sleeping around with someone else—a mortal, even if she was the queen of Libya.” She sneered. “What a bitch. I should have killed her when I had the chance.”

“Hera never likes catching Zeus in the act of adultery,” Plutus agreed.

“Why does she stay with him?” I asked.

Lamia laughed. “She's the goddess of marriage and family,” she explained. “Don't you think that would kind of ruin her reputation? Even though she ruined mine. When she found out about Zeus and me, she killed my babies, and she cursed me to be a monster and to kill other babies.”

“A monster?”

Lamia rolled her head. I thought I had pissed her off or something, then I realized that her legs were shimmering. The harpies in the room noticed the change in the air and screeched unhappily. They disappeared into the shadows, afraid of what was happening.

“Chickens don't like wolves and they don't like foxes,” she said. She laughed, dark tendrils of power threatening to consume me. “But you know what they don't especially like? Snakes.”

Her pant legs burst, practically exploding as each leg inside rapidly expanded. I watched in horror as she leered toward us, now about seven feet tall, with the lower half of her body transformed into a serpent's tail. She laughed again, showing snake fangs in her mouth.

“You see what I've become, Callista?” she asked. Her fangs impeded her speech slightly, enough to make me wince. “I'm a monster. A child-eating demon that no one loves. What else did I have to do with an eternity? I decided to become a bounty hunter for the children of foes.” She gestured to Plutus. “Like your lover boy over there.”

“But why?” I pleaded. “Why are you doing this, Lamia? You're just a pawn in Hera's plan.”

She sneered. “I am not.”

“But you are,” I insisted. I was ignoring the little voice in the back of my head that was begging me to stop. Something in me snapped and I wanted to reach Lamia, to make her realize that what she was doing was wrong. She was threatening Plutus' life and mine and I wanted to hurt her, even though I was the one who was strapped to a chair. “You're just a pathetic person who's letting her curse destroy people's lives.”

“Shut your mouth,” she warned dangerously.

“You're worthless!” I shouted at her. “You're-”

I didn't get any further. She came over and backhanded me so hard, I fell, still strapped to my chair, landing on my bad shoulder. I heard a crack somewhere, although I wasn't sure of what it was, and Plutus screaming my name as I blacked out.

I seem to be doing that a lot lately.

27

I woke up in the Underworld and scrambled to my feet.

“Tisiphone!” I yelled, fully expecting my friend to be here. “Tisiphone!”

For a few horrible moments, I thought she wasn't going to be around. I didn't know the rules of my presence here, so if she wasn't here, I was going to try and find a way to reach Hades. Otherwise the worst was going to happen to us.

“What?” Tisiphone asked, entering the courtyard. She was rubbing her eyes like she had just woken up. “Usually you hate waking up here.”

“Have you gotten through to Zeus or Hades?” I asked, wasting no time with our usual bickering. We didn't have time to play around, not with Stephen on the way and a murderous Lamia staring down at Plutus.

Tisiphone's face, though, said it all.

“You didn't,” I said softly.

“Callie, I tried...I tried so hard...”

“Do you realize that there's a bitch who has Plutus and me tied up in an abandoned warehouse with Stephen Cross on his way over, as we speak, to come kill us both?” I started pacing.

She looked genuinely heartbroken. “Callie...”

“Oh, fuck you, Tisiphone!” I cried, too angry to calm down. I mean, our lives were on the line here and she couldn't come through? “FUCK!” I shouted up at the heavens, although I wasn't sure where heaven was compared to here. I didn't care—I wanted someone to hear me.

In fact, I was going to try a different tactic. “Hera!” I screamed. “Hera, you bitch!” I knew that gods and goddesses could appear and disappear anywhere they wanted. And I was going to try to piss one off enough to show herself. “Hera, you'd better show up. I have one of your husband's old lovers trying to kill me, and it's all your damn fault!”

I stopped and waited a few heartbeats, hoping she'd show her damn face. Tisiphone was staring at me, open-mouthed that I was so brash to say something like that to gods and goddesses.

“Hera, so help me...”

“I heard you,” a new voice said, sounding as angry as I felt. Okay, maybe not quite as angry as I felt. A beautiful woman dressed in white traditional Greek robes, with flowers interwoven in her hair, appeared in the garden. Like all of the other goddesses I've met, she was stunning, if not for the fact that she looked pissed. Unlike the other goddesses, she didn't wear anger well.

“Lamia captured Plutus and me,” I said. “Stephen Cross is on the way to kill Plutus so he can become the next god of wealth. You have to help us.”

She raised an eyebrow, obviously not impressed with my pleading. “Why should I help you? All you've been doing is insulting me. I don't take kindly to that.”

I threw up my hands. “Oh my God, is everything about your pride?” Behind her, Tisiphone nodded solemnly, to which Hera shot her a warning glare. “You don't want the balance to shift, yet you're not willing to step forward and fix it yourself.”

She narrowed her eyes up at me. “My beloved husband,” she said, nearly spitting the word out, “has forbidden anyone from interfering in the lives of mortals. That's why you were hired, wasn't it? And you can't perform your duties?”

I rolled my eyes. As if a mere mortal had any chance against the odds I was facing. “You're the Queen of the Gods, Hera, and you're going to take shit from your lying, backstabbing husband?”

Power emanated from her, angry and unyielding. She was on the verge of exploding, and would have a meltdown if I kept pressing. Good thing I was feeling a bit suicidal today. “Lamia—your creation, I might add—is about to help a demigod tip the scales. You remember demigods, right?” I pressed. “I thought you hated Hercules.”

“Don't mention his name,” she said threateningly. So I had touched another nerve, and she still wasn't budging.

Spineless bitch.

I laughed, slightly crazed. “All right, well, if you won't help me...” I sneered. There was another goddess that I was loath to call, but she was the only other one that came to mind. And if she wasn't going to help, then no one would.

“PERSEPHONE!” I roared. “Persephone, your only son is about to die!”

Hera put her hands on her hips. “I know you think that calling us like that works, but—”

“What?” another voice asked, coming into existence before me. Persephone. She looked peeved as well. I seemed to be on a roll today with pissing gods and deities off. At least they were listening. Kind of.

“Currently,” I told her, “Plutus and I are sitting in an abandoned warehouse waiting for our deaths because your husband’s bastard son is on his way to kill us.”

“I thought you were meant to protect him,” she accused, pursing her lips. “You came here and said that you would protect him. And now you want my help?” She eyed me like I was some sort of traitor.

“I’ve been trying,” I said. “But I’m only human.” I crossed my good arm across the bad one, as if to shield it from their stern glares, feeling a sudden blast of cold. “And so is Plutus,” I added softly.

That last sentence completely changed her. The color drained from her face and she had to hold onto a tree for support. I didn’t see the cold Queen of the Underworld any more. Instead, I saw the face of a mother who truly cared about her son. I actually didn’t believe the transformation myself, yet there it was. It was completely at odds with the woman I first met a few months ago.

“He said he’d be safe,” she said.

I knew who “he” was and I gave a short laugh.

“Yeah, well guess what? Hades was wrong.”

If it was possible, she paled even more. In fact, I thought she’d faint.

“Why should we listen to you?” Hera asked stepping in front of Persephone. Now, I got a glimpse of the hierarchy between these two women. Hera was the older, higher ranking goddess, and while Persephone was the queen of this realm, Hera was top dog.

Or top bitch, rather.

“After all,” Hera continued, “you’ve already failed us once. If you hadn’t screwed up, Plutus would still be immortal, he’d still be here, and he’d still be safe.”

That stung a bit.

“You don’t think I know that?” I asked. “No one feels worse about that than me. But no one—no one—cares more about him than me. I took a bullet for him, I’ve driven across the country for him, I’ve done things that most people wouldn’t do for anyone else. You know why? Because I love him.”

There. I put it out there, in front of the Queen of the Gods and in front of his mother. Both of them looked stunned, Persephone especially. I swallowed self-consciously. Now I really was in for it.

Hera didn’t smite me and I was still standing there.

“Hera,” Persephone pleaded, turning to other woman, who still wasn't yielding.

“There are reasons why my husband is doing what he’s doing,” Hera said.

“And because of those reasons, we’re about to die,” I said coldly. I wasn’t afraid. By now, it was a simple fact to me. We were going to die if we didn’t get help.

“Don't preach to me,” Hera sneered.

“And don't act like you're the victim when your husband cheats on you,” I spat, “if you're not willing to stand up to him. If you took out your anger on Zeus and acted like the queen you're supposed to be, then we wouldn't have monsters like Lamia around, would we?”

Hera looked like she was about to strike me. I'd never been hit by a goddess before, but I'm sure it would hurt. I'm sure that even though I couldn't touch anything here, she'd be able to hurt me.

Luckily, Tisiphone ushered me away. Persephone stepped in as well and started rapidly talking to her. I could tell from their rising voices that it was quickly escalating into an argument between them, Persephone actually defending me while Hera huffed and puffed like the Big Bad Wolf.

Tisiphone led me to the far side of the courtyard, out of earshot of the goddesses. At least I hoped.

“I'm still seeing if I can get the others to step in,” she whispered, barely audible.

“Like Telesphorus and Hygieia?” I whispered back, my heart fluttering with a bit of hope.

She nodded. “There are those who don't listen to Zeus. He doesn't pay attention to the minor gods and deities. I'm sure the twins told you that.”

I fought tears of relief from my eyes.

“I'm not sure how good they'd be,” she added with a sheepish shrug. “Plutus was a pretty powerful god, and if Stephen gets that power...” Her voice trailed off.

“Thanks,” I said. “Thanks for all your help. Please hurry.”

She gave me a sad smile. “Give me a hug,” she said, holding her arms out. I gladly met her embrace and we hugged, kind of awkwardly since we couldn't really touch. It was one of the few times we'd ever hugged, even though I'd begun to consider her one of the best friends I'd ever had.

“It's going to be all right,” she assured me. “After all, this is the stuff legends are made of.”

I woke up with a gasp.

28

Someone had slapped me again.

My head spun around my neck, stretching it to the absolute limit that it could turn. I coughed loudly, my cheek stinging with the impact. Someone had put my chair in an upright position: I was sitting straight once again. My shoulder was on fire, feeling worse than it had before I was knocked unconscious. I remembered that I landed on it when Lamia hit me. I probably broke the damn thing.

However, I managed to smile.

“What is it with everyone slapping me today?” I asked. I spat out some blood and looked forward, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness of the warehouse. It was darker now. How long had I been out? As I focused my eyes on the person in front of me, I realized that I had been out too long.

“I think it's because you're such an annoying bitch, Saunders.”

Stephen's face swam into view in front of me, only it was a contorted, messed up version of his face. One side of it—the side that I realized looked vaguely like Plutus' face—was still its handsome, billionaire playboy self. The other though, the side that I fired my God Gun at from a point blank range, was barely recognizable as a face. It was a swollen red and purple mass that was shiny in some areas from stretched scar tissue. Where his eye should have been there was only a black, gaping maw. It looked like the entire side had melted off and the disease had spread across his cheek, ear, and the back of his head. It was worse than any horror movie I’d ever seen.

“Everyone leave us!” he yelled, and I realized that we weren't alone in this warehouse. In fact, there was all manner of different creatures and beings in this space. I looked, not having the time to register what all they were. Centaurs, minotaurs, ogres, giants—I couldn't process all of them at once. “I want to deal with them myself.”

The crowd dispersed, some of the more savage looking beasts glancing at me hungrily like I was their prey.

Sorry boys, it looks like it’s going to be just me and Stephen tonight.

Lamia appeared at his shoulder, looking as bored and disinterested as she normally did. “You know that my invoice is due directly after—”

“Yes, I'll pay you for a job well done,” he snapped without looking behind him.

She moved on legs that were human once again, towards the exit. Something glinted in her hands. With a sinking heart, I realized that it was my God Gun. My hope of having a weapon immediately dissipated.

She glanced behind her, directly at me. Very deliberately, she placed the God Gun on a shelf. She didn't say anything, just met my eyes and winked, as if to tell me something. It was so smooth, I thought I would have imagined it if not for the gleaming gun on the shelf.

I'll see you later, she mouthed as she turned to leave. I didn't know her motives, but this was incredibly strange. It was like she was offering us a way out.

I swallowed and turned my attention back to the deranged man standing before me. There was hope. I just had to know how to use it.

I opted for conversation.

“You've looked better, Stephen,” I coughed.

That's right Callie, when you're beyond scared, act natural. Which in this case, was trying to piss off Stephen Cross.

Stephen laughed. “So've you, Saunders.” He patted my sore cheek, and it tingled.

“It's because people keep hitting me...” My voice trailed off as I looked beyond him to a figure sitting slumped in his chair that was revealed when all of the beasts cleared out of the room.

“Pl...Plutus?”

My heart jumped to my throat as I looked at him. He didn't respond, didn't even shift at the sound of my voice. Even in the dim light, I saw that he had been stripped and beaten. Huge welts covered his skin, and certain areas were already purpling with huge, deep bruises. Someone had beaten him within an inch of his mortal life. His face wasn't much better. In fact, he looked oddly like Stephen at the moment.

And my heart broke for him.

“What did you do to him?” I cried. I struggled, but I was stuck in my chair. It only hurt my shoulder and my aching body more.

Stephen shrugged nonchalantly. “He was trying to interfere.”

“Plutus,” I called. “Plutus!”

He didn't stir. What was worse, he was so far away, I couldn't tell if he was alive or not. There wasn't a perceptible rise and fall of his chest. He looked...dead.

“If you killed him, so help me...”

Stephen loomed over. “You'll do what?” he asked, raising the eyebrow on the good side of his face. He smelled of sickness, like the bad flesh was rotting off his bones. “Your time to die isn't too far off, my dear.”

Then, surprisingly, he cut through my restraints with a pocket knife. I stumbled out of my chair, catching myself with my good arm. I made my way over to my lover, reaching out to him. I was afraid that I would feel a cold, stiff hand. You can imagine how relieved I was when his palm felt burning hot. With a fever yes, but corpses don't have fevers.

He stirred. I sobbed.

“Callista?” he asked weakly. His hand moved slightly, reaching out. I gently entwined my fingers through his. “Why...are you crying?”

Stephen grabbed the back of my shirt and hauled me to my feet. “She's crying because you're about to die, big brother,” he said.

“Please,” I pleaded. “Please. Just let him live.”

Stephen chuckled and leered at me. “Oh no, you see I can't do that. Not when he has the last bit of power I need to become a god. And finally be recognized as my father's son.”

I started laughing, despite myself. “Is that all this is?” I scoffed. “Because you wanted to be loved by Daddy?” I was hysterical, laughing until it wracked my body. “And here I thought it was because you wanted more money, or the power, or even immortality. But for Hades, of all people, to love you...” My laugh went even higher pitched. I really had lost it. “Sorry, but that's not going to happen. He doesn't even love himself.”

Stephen responded by backhanding me so hard I collapsed on the floor. Luckily, this time I didn't land on my shoulder, so while I had to fight it, I didn't black out. I did cough out blood though; I think he knocked a few teeth loose.

“Do you see what your lover is reduced to?” he asked Plutus, who didn't respond. He gestured grandly towards me. “A sniveling excuse for a human.”

My vision swam, but I noticed some broken wood near me. I had two options: see if I could wait for Tisiphone to bring the other gods or try to take care of it myself. The end of a plank next to me was sharp, probably sharp enough to kill someone if I aimed right. Was it enough to kill Stephen? The man took a bullet from the God Gun and lived.

“Pathetic,” Stephen was saying, his attention diverted to Plutus for the moment. “She's pathetic. Just like you.”

That was it. Something in me snapped. My decision was made.

I grabbed the plank with my right hand and scrambled to my feet. I moved without really thinking, and I didn't make a sound as I moved. I streaked to Stephen, moving as quickly as I could to end this once and for all.

Even though I moved as quickly as I could, I was too slow. Stephen caught my good wrist and laughed in my face. I realized that it was too late to do anything, and he held my entire body fast to him.

“And what are you trying to do?” he roared with laughter. Then, just to make a point, he kissed me, so roughly it probably bruised my already-swollen lips.

I struggled, but I couldn't do anything. Tears of frustration fell from my eyes, and I continued fighting him as much as I could. The man was like chiseled rock.

“You could have had it all,” he whispered directly into my mouth. “I was willing to have you as my queen. If you remember from that ball...”

“Fuck you,” I told him when he let me breathe again.

In answer, with a deft motion, he snapped the wrist on my good arm. I screamed in agony, and while part of that was in anger, it hurt like a son of a bitch.

Then, to make matters worse, he grabbed the falling plank and drove it through my chest.

That was when I knew I was going to die.

He released me and I crumpled to the floor again, a wooden plank in my chest and a wrist that was no longer connected to my body. Being stabbed this time was a lot different than when Charon speared me. I knew then that while I might have eventually died, it wasn't like this. There's a difference between lifeblood and wounds. Now I was mortally wounded, I wouldn't have long to live.

“Callista!”

Suddenly, Plutus was there, getting in between me and Stephen. In my haze, I saw that he was breathing heavily. He had broken free from his chair and even had the pieces of the arm rests still stuck to his arm. I don't think he noticed.

In fact, I think he had transcended to another state of being. This sure wasn't the Plutus that I had been with the past several days.

I knew that he was mortal, but now he was pulsating with power that was completely foreign for a human. His eyes weren't their usual milky white—they glowed a fiery red. His muscles bulged with almost supernatural strength. I realized that he was something else entirely now. A moment ago, he was out cold. And now, he was some berserker beast.

He had special powers now.

“So you've woken up, big brother,” Stephen chided. He himself was poised, ready to attack. I could both see and feel that he was emanating power. Half of it was the warm, friendly power that I felt when Plutus was completing his duties as the God of Wealth. Half of it was something else that I had never encountered before.

The two brothers attacked, at speeds I didn't know were possible. Plutus was still mortal—how the hell was he moving that fast? Stephen was a blur, hitting Plutus with blows that would have killed someone else.

Plutus was able to block and parry each strike. With what, I didn't know. How he saw it, I didn't know. How he moved with his bad leg, I didn't know either. He was moving with the speed and heart of a vicious animal.

They weren't limited to the floor either. I swore I saw them jump off the walls and fly through the air. Like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. I watched them fighting, fruitlessly trying to keep up with them.

They were two men fighting to the death. Plutus had nothing to lose. Stephen would lose his shot at being a god.

I had to do something. I looked back at the God Gun on the shelf. I didn't know why Lamia had left there for me. And I could use it.

I started pushing with my feet towards the shelf, wincing with each movement. I left a smear of deep, dark blood on the floor. I didn't want to waste energy thinking about the horrible things that were happening to me.

I had to stop Stephen. I had to save Plutus.

If Tisiphone arrived with backup, I'd be okay, I just had to make it until then. Even if I was bleeding all over the place.

Oh God, I was dying.

I swallowed, wincing in pain as I inched my way over.

I glanced back at the two men fighting in the warehouse. “Plutus,” I hoarsely whispered, trying to will him to win.

He must have heard me, because he paused for the blink of an eye to look back at me, our eyes connecting across the space. Even though he couldn't see, I knew that he could see me. We connected in that space and time.

He collapsed on the ground. Stephen towered over him, roaring as he held a clenched fist over Plutus. Another wooden plank was in his other fist, ready for the kill. His triumphant cry chilled me to the bone, even as I let out a weak yell for Plutus to get up.

In a movement that was too quick for me to see, Plutus was standing in front of Stephen, the two brothers facing each other. I was struck by how much the two of them looked alike. They were the same height, same dark hair, and same intense glare.

Stephen coughed and spluttered a mouthful of blood. I realized that Plutus' arm was sticking out of his torso. Incredibly, Plutus had punched him cleanly through the chest. His bloodied fist appeared on the other side of Stephen's body.

Stephen coughed again and let out a shuddering chuckle. “You...think you've won, huh?” he grimaced. “All I have to do...is live longer than you...”

I saw what was happening before it even started. “Plutus!” I screamed.

The wooden plank in Stephen's hand came down, stabbing Plutus in the back, exploding through his chest.

That broke the spell that held the two of them together. Plutus cried out in pain, as did I, and he stumbled backwards. Stephen staggered backward as well and they both fell to the floor.

“J-just...have to s-stay alive...” Stephen stuttered.

“We're both...dying, Stephen,” Plutus told him weakly. My heart broke for him. “Give it up.”

Give it up, a voice told me in the back of my mind. I had the overwhelming urge to sleep. To curl up and fall into blackness and forget all of this. But if Plutus was dying, he wouldn't be there on the other side for me. That realization hurt more than anything else I'd ever felt.

A tear fell. The least I could do was make sure that Stephen died first.

I summoned all my strength and reached up with my bad shoulder. My broken wrist was worthless now, so I had to use my left hand with the shoulder that didn't want to work correctly. Somehow, miraculously, I touched the God Gun.

I closed my hand around the handle. Yes, I thanked silently. Thank you.

I slung it down to me and used my right elbow to cock it, crying out in pain. My aim was going to be shit. I was going to miss.

I raised it up, trying to get the right shot. Ten feet, I thought to myself. I just have to aim ten feet.

“Please,” I whispered.

Stephen had enough time to meet my gaze, a look a horror crossing his face as he knew what was happening. “NO!” he hoarsely screamed in a futile attempt to stop me. It was the death rattle of someone who was quickly fading, yet determined to hang on just a few minutes longer.

I pulled the trigger.

Stephen's head exploded into a mess of flesh, bone shards and gore. It splattered the wall behind his body and all around him. The rest of his body slumped to the ground, never to move again.

My gun clattered to the floor. I couldn't hold it anymore, didn't want to. I was done with this and with everything. I took two very painful, steadying breathes before making my agonizing way across the room to the man I loved.

“Plutus,” I said raggedly. I winced, reaching out my left hand to him. I didn't want to look at my right arm, the one that Stephen had broken. I didn't want to take in how damaged my body was.

He was short, shallow breaths and the pool of blood beneath him was spilling out faster than mine. His wound was more serious than mine and he was fading faster.

The thought of spending an eternity without him in my Afterlife was unbearable. Not when I knew there were so many other people that got to spend their afterlives with the ones they loved. I started crying more as I reached out to touch his face.

“Don't...cry, C-Call...ista,” he whispered in between the loud, harsh coughs wracking his body.

Of course that made me sob even harder.

“It's...Callie,” I told him. I didn't know what else to say. He choked out a short breath, which I think was intended to be a laugh. I couldn't stand it anymore. If these were our last few moments together, I wanted them to be memorable. I leaned down, ignoring the bursts of pain everywhere else in my body and kissed him gently on the lips.

After a few seconds, the short, staggered rises and falls of his chest stilled and his body slackened.

My heart was pounding in my ears as I searched his face, touching it with my hand to try and get a response—any response out of him. I couldn't believe it. Sobs wracked my body, making me shudder with the weight of what had happened. I couldn't believe that this was...it.

“No!” I screamed hoarsely. “NO!”

My screams echoed throughout the warehouse.

The door to the warehouse burst open, revealing Tisiphone and a band of what looked to be misfits. I snapped my head up as quickly as my neck allowed and looked at them.

“Oh my Gods,” she said loudly as the rest of her group filtered out around her and into a loose circle around Plutus and I. Stunned, she met my eyes. “Oh Gods,” she repeated, “we're too late.”

As best as I could, I tried covering Plutus' body with my own. I didn't want anyone to see him broken like this. They had already judged him so harshly; I didn't want them to see this. Someone picked me up kicking and screaming. I was crying, hurting my body even more than it was, but I didn't want to leave his side. He had depended on me, and I had failed him.

“Please,” I was whispering. “Please help him...”

“Callie,” a familiar voice commanded. I turned my head to see Asclepius looking down kindly at me. His hand was covering my broken wrist, and I felt the nice, calming sensation of my bones being knitted back together. “Let me have a look at you.”

“Plutus,” I told him. “Look at Plutus...”

Asclepius sadly shook his head. He put his hand out and placed it around the shard of wood in my chest. The same warming sensation spread across my middle.

Another person, someone I didn't know, bent over Plutus' body, checking for his pulse. He was shirtless, with tanned, rippling muscles coiling all around his body. Golden hair topped his head, giving him the air of nobility. He looked like someone I should recognize. At that moment, I didn't care to think too hard about it.

“The God of Wealth is dead,” he said softly, reverently. Ordinarily, it would have been too quiet for me to hear from my vantage point, but because the rest of the warehouse was so eerily still and the man had an air of authority about him, I heard him very plainly.

Across the way, I saw Tisiphone stiffen. The rest of the group was stunned. I looked around at the myriad of faces, some human, some monsters. I saw Telesphorus and Hygieia in the crowd. The humans and harpies that were helping Stephen were all captured, their hands bound. They had the decency to not make any mocking noises. Lamia was nowhere to be found which, of course, didn't surprise me.

“That can't be,” another familiar voice proclaimed. “There always has to be a God of Wealth.”

I turned to see a hooded figure step forward. I narrowed my eyes, trying to place the way he held his shoulders and the walk. The figure knelt next to Plutus' body. He removed the hood, revealing himself to be Hades.

The other man stiffened. “You're not supposed to be here, Brother,” he boomed accusingly.

“Neither are any of these other gods,” Hades replied calmly. “Seems like your subjects are starting to make their own decisions.”

I went still. That's Zeus, I realized. Asclepius took that moment to pull out the shard of wood with a quick, sharp movement. To my credit, I didn't cry out too loudly, however, if I thought I was beyond pain, I was wrong. That really hurt.

“Hades,” Zeus said warningly.

Hades met Zeus' gaze calmly. “There always has to be someone at each post, or have you forgotten that, Brother?”

Hera appeared at her husband's side. She glared at me, then put a strong hand on her husband's arm. “No, he has not forgotten that, dear Brother.”

Zeus crossed his arms, neither giving Hades an affirmation, nor telling him otherwise.

Hades looked back down at his son. “I've lost one son tonight,” he said. “I'm not going to lose Plutus.”

He reached out with one pale hand and touched Plutus' still forehead. Instantly, it got very cold in the warehouse. Everyone's breaths turned into white clouds as they watched, transfixed by what was happening in front of them.

The light seemed to dim around the two of them, and Hades glowed with an ethereal blue light, which spread to Plutus' body. It seemed that whatever Hades was doing was leaching the very energy out of the air around him. I could see that Hades' body was shaking with the effort, sweat beading up on his brow. I'd never seen a god sweat before.

An eternity passed. The only sound I could hear was the pounding of my heart in my ears.

Hades reached down and gently lifted Plutus' upper body off the ground. He grunted as he deftly pulled out the stake in his back, then gently set his son back down.

Just when I thought I would go crazy with worry, Plutus' chest rose raggedly. Another few heartbeats passed and it rose again. Slowly, his eyes opened, and a high-pitched, strangled noise escaped my throat.

Hades staggered backward, his once salt-and-pepper hair now completely white. He looked older, more haggard. I also noticed that Plutus' sleek black hair was peppered with white. Like he had come back from the dead.

“This is breaking the rules, Hades,” Zeus protested, although the vehemence was gone from his voice. “You broke your own rules.”

“I am the God of the Underworld,” Hades said. He extended a hand to Plutus, who took it to stand up. “The Dead are my subjects, even if they don't have souls.” He glanced back at me.

Asclepius let go of me and I stumbled my way over to Plutus with a cry. I collapsed in his arms, and he held me tight.

“I came back to tell you,” he whispered in my ear, so softly, I was the only one who could hear, “that you're Callista. It means beautiful in Greek. Which you are.” He nuzzled my neck.

“Don't ever die again,” I told him firmly, not realizing what I was saying.

Plutus heavily sighed with a hint of sadness. “I can't. Not anymore.”

I leaned back to look at him. Those blind, milky white eyes searched me with a recognition that he hadn’t had as a powerless mortal like me.

“Oh my God,” I whispered in shock. “You're a god again.” I touched his face, not believing what I was seeing.

“Plutus!”

Persephone appeared, crying her eyes out. Unlike her other emotions, sobbing did not look good on her. I stepped back, allowing her to embrace her son. She had just been about to lose him as well. It had taken something like this for her to realize how much Plutus meant to her.

“I'm so sorry for all those horrible things I said to you,” she was saying. “I'm so sorry, I've been a horrible mother.”

“It's fine, Mother,” he told her stiffly. He nodded curtly to Hades. “Thanks, Dad.”

“There always has to be a God of Wealth,” Hades repeated. He seemed tired now, yet he was smiling. “I'm glad it's you.” He grinned, looking at me. “Thank you, Callie.”

All I could do was shrug, which now didn't hurt because my shoulder was healed. Around the circle, several others appeared. I instantly recognized Dion and grinned at him. Everyone was here to witness the fact that Plutus was alive and in control of his powers again.

There was still one question that remained for me.

“How are you a god again?”

Plutus shrugged. “Tiresias said that Hercules had to die to be deified,” he said. “Maybe that's what happened.”

“But he said you can't go back to being a god,” I said. I couldn't connect the dots. Some part of me was afraid about the implications of this.

“I couldn't very well tell him 'bout dis, could I?” I turned my head and nearly jumped when I saw Tiresias step forward beside me, grinning blindly. “If I had, he never wudda been able to do dis. It's about knowin' how much o' what you're gunna say is gunna impact de future.”

I must have looked absolutely shocked because the prophet laughed. “Ye t'ink dat a bullet would kill me?” he asked. “I'm immortal. I'll live so long as dere's a future to tell.”

I wanted to beat him up for not telling us about that sooner. It seemed like the wrong place for that, though.

Plutus reached out to me. I grabbed his hand and was pulled into another embrace. I never wanted to let him go, not again.

“We were busy fighting Stephen's cronies outside,” Tisiphone was explaining behind me. “We would have gotten in sooner, but they were vicious bastards. If I had known we had Zeus and Hades with us...well, we would have arrived earlier.” She sounded a bit peeved about that.

“Thanks, Tisiphone,” I said sincerely. She'd come through for us.

Plutus held me in a strong embrace, and I held him back. I didn't want to let him go. Except there was something in the back of my mind saying that this wasn't going to last.

Finally, Zeus stepped forward, putting a gentle hand on Plutus. “We'll all leave to give you time to say your good-byes.”

I reared my head back at that. “What?”

The others were already dissolving into the background. Tisiphone looked remorseful and Dion met my eyes with a slow, sad nod. Hera was watching me keenly, and I swear she was smiling at me. Smugly?

“What?” I repeated.

Plutus had a stricken look as he gently stroked the side of my face. This was what I was dreading. I didn't want this. I thought I had lost him only moments ago. How could I lose him for real this time?

“As the God of Wealth,” he whispered huskily, “I have to stay in the Underworld. I can't live in the mortal world with you.”

The answer came to me and I perked right up at the idea. “I'll just jump in front of another bus,” I said. It made complete sense. It happened once, I could have it happen again. “I'll stay with you.” I hugged him.

Plutus was shaking his head. “You can't just commit suicide like that,” he said with a bitter laugh. “You wouldn't end up where you wanted to in your Afterlife.” He held my face in his hands, forcing me to look at those beautiful milky white eyes. “So that means you have to live, Callie,” he told me. “Live your life. Enjoy it. And if you still want me in forty, sixty, eighty years…” he gave me a small grin, “I'll be here for you.”

My heart was breaking all over again. “I can't do that,” I whispered. Dammit, I was crying again.

“You're going to have to,” he told me, embracing me. “You're going to have to live your life.”

That didn't make me feel any better. He ran his hands through my hair, letting me cry into him. I knew this would happen, ever since I first allowed myself to like him. I knew that we were doomed to be kept apart. Sure, whenever I did die, I could go to him. That was small comfort right now, when the rest of my life stretched out like an eternity in front of me.

“I'll always be watching you,” he promised.

Watching but never with me.

“It's unfair,” I said. “It's so, so unfair.”

He kissed me deeply, brushing my tears away with his thumb. “You gave me a reason to exist again, Callista. You gave me peace. And I'll be waiting for you when you pass into the other side. I love you.”

“I love you more.”

He kissed me again. I clung to him, not wanting this moment to end. We stayed like that for way too short a time. He held me tightly. My rock, my love.

Suddenly, I fell forward to the ground, catching myself on my hands and knees. I couldn't stop crying. He was gone. While he might have been able to watch me at points, I couldn't be with him. Not the way I wanted.

I must have stayed like that for a long time. I don't know. When you want decades to pass by in the wink of an eye, even minutes seem to turn into millennia.

Eventually, a hand touched my shoulder. I turned my head through the tears to see Dion kneeling next to me. A look of remorse crossed his features.

“I am so, so sorry, Callie.”

I moved and wrapped him up into an embrace. He held me as I cried. Right now, I needed a friend.

And luckily, I had one.

Epilogue

Three months later

I was suspended from the San Francisco Police Department. The evidence mounted against me suggested that I had stalked the billionaire Stephen Cross, used police resources to do so, and was somehow caught up in whatever group shot him in the face and eventually killed him.

Luckily, Dion came to my rescue with a bunch of fabricated evidence to exonerate me. As a god, it didn't surprise me that he could that, but the efficiency and the airtight alibis were amazing. He presented all of the facts, had fake documents for my transfer from UCSF Medical Center to another hospital, which explained my disappearance, and a whole host of other bits that worked in my favor.

They condemned Stephen for his involvement in a whole bunch of dirty crimes. What I had been investigating before the bus accident was only the tip of the iceberg. Stephen had his hand in many pies. That hit the media like an atomic bomb.

Instantly, I was a hero. People praised my intuition. I actually became a little famous, as the woman who stopped the corrupt billionaire from hurting thousands, if not millions of people. I even got an apology from Commissioner Forrest, which in itself was worth the whole suspension ordeal. However, by that point, I'd had enough of the politics dealing with the police. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

I quit and moved in with my mother. After my coma and my heroic deeds, she was only too happy to fuss and worry over me. I was just glad for the break and for the chance to allow my hair to grow back.

Then I started throwing up in the mornings. I should have realized that it would have happened. I mean, having sex with someone without birth control tends to create babies. When you're in comas, they don't keep you on birth control. And I was so distraught after losing Plutus that I didn't even think about taking a morning after pill.

We had conceived a child.

Even though Dion had offered to drive me to the doctor, I insisted on going myself. I went to the doctor's office only to confirm what I already knew.

Three months along. I couldn't believe it. The doctor couldn't believe that I had waited that long to see her. After the ultrasound and seeing that little bean that would eventually turn into our baby—something inside me stirred.

I remembered Hera's slight nod as she left the warehouse that day. She was the Goddess of Fertility and she knew. She had known that I was pregnant.

Perhaps that was why Lamia had left the God Gun for me. Had she known I was pregnant too? Had she seen something of herself in me? Maybe she was letting me go to live the life she'd never had.

Or maybe someone had given her a better offer to leave the God Gun for me to get. I tended to suspect that's what it was. I guess I'll never know.

Leaving the doctor’s office, I put my hand across my stomach, feeling a fluttering sensation. Could I do it? Could I raise the child of a god by myself? Was my baby even half god? Or was it going to be a mortal since Plutus was mortal at its conception?

I sucked in a deep breath. I could do it. There was no question. No matter what happened, I was going to raise this child. My baby’s father wasn’t dead. He was alive and well and waiting for me. There was no point in me mourning the time we were going to miss together…he was waiting for me. And what was sixty years when you had an eternity after that to spend together?

I nearly laughed. I’d known that I was pregnant for twenty minutes and already I was devoted to the little life living inside me.

Still, I closed my eyes and sighed. “I miss you,” I whispered to one person in particular. I knew that he had heard me.

It was going to be a rough road ahead. My mom raised me by herself after Dad died and I saw how hard it was on her. The thought of going back to the police force was absolutely unappealing after I'd quit. I suppose I could become a private investigator. The pay would be better, and the hours wouldn’t be as long. It would certainly be safer too.

It would be enough.

I reached in my purse to fish out the keys to my car. The God Gun gleamed at me, hidden in my purse in case I needed to defend myself. I had picked up the gun before leaving the warehouse with Dion on that fateful day. I kept it to myself and no one had asked about it.

Still needed a holster for it though.

I stopped rummaging in my purse, seeing a yellow slip of paper. I pulled it out in disbelief. It was a lottery ticket. I hadn’t bought a lottery ticket, knowing that my odds of winning were the same as someone coming back from the dead. I had already done one, so I had figured that my odds were shot when it came to winning the lottery. This had to have magically appeared here. I didn’t have to check the numbers to know that they matched the winning numbers from two nights ago.

I had just been given twenty-four million dollars.

“Plutus,” I said with a laugh and a shake of my head. I looked around, but I knew I wouldn't be able to see him. I sighed in disappointment, and looked back at the ticket.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

The wind fluttered my hair as confirmation that he heard me.

“Better hold onto that,” a familiar voice said. I looked up to Tisiphone leaning against the car. Her green skin was transformed to light skin, making her look like a normal redhead to blend in with mortals. Otherwise, she looked like her same, snarky self. “Wouldn't want to lose it.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked playfully.

She raised an eyebrow. “Word has it that you have a bun in the oven.”

I grinned. “And?”

She shrugged. “I figured you needed a babysitter.”

“Wouldn't that get in the way of doing your job?” I asked. I unlocked the door and got in. She sighed, came around to the passenger's side and got in.

“Not really,” she admitted. “I haven't had a vacation in over three thousand years. Might be time to take one. Since Barnabas died, I need something to take my mind off things. And Minos thought our date went so well, we're now an item. Besides,” she added with a wicked grin, “I'm good with kids.”

I laughed. “Doubtful.”

“I'll help too.”

I looked in the mirror at the backseat and saw my familiar partner sitting in the back. “You too, Dion?”

He smiled widely. “You betcha.”

I turned on the car and it shuddered to life. “I guess we have a deal.”

I was going to be happy, even if I had to fake it for the first few years. I knew that I was going to be reunited with my true love, I only had to live life to the fullest until then. I was going to start by loving my baby with everything I had.

Happy endings don't happen to everyone. I was going to make it one.

* * *

He watched the car leave from his spot on the rooftop, his sightless eyes still able to follow the vehicle pulling out of the parking lot. He smiled grimly, fighting the urge to go down and do something, to say something to her.

She wouldn't be able to see him, which would be kinder for her than it was for him at this point. She had smiled, her first smile in a long time, and he didn't want to ruin that. He'd been watching her, true, which was something akin to torture. It was worth it just to see her smile today, even though it still hurt him.

“A baby,” he said aloud, still in shock.

He had suspected it, even before he really knew about it. He was going to be a father. There had been a time long ago when he had slept around with lots of women, yet he had always been careful not to get his lovers pregnant. For other gods and goddesses, it was a game to be as prolific as possible. Not him. Back then, he didn't want to have children who would be ashamed of their father for being what he was.

And now...

Something twisted inside his gut, as he acknowledged the fact that he wouldn't be able to be there to raise it. Would their child resent that fact? Were they going to create the same cycle that had created Stephen?

No. He knew Callista. She was going to be a great mother. It was his guilt that he was feeling right now, which contributed to him giving her a winning lottery ticket. There'd be hell to pay when his family found out, but it was worth it.

She was worth it.

“Until we see each other again, Callista,” he murmured. “My love.”

He pressed two fingers to his lips and blew slightly to the wind.

Then he was gone, and the wind blew the lonely bit of leaves left behind.

The End

* * *

Continue The Elysium Legacies in book two, Life is but a Nightmare, coming soon.

www.erinhayesbooks.com

* * *

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About the Author

Sci-fi junkie, video game nerd, and wannabe manga artist Erin Hayes writes a lot of things. Sometimes she writes books, like the fantasy mystery novel Death is but a Dream, the sci-fi middle grade book Jacob Smith is Incredibly Average, and the Her Wolf paranormal series.

She works as an advertising copywriter during the day, and she moonlights as an author. She has lived in New Zealand, Texas, and now in Birmingham, Alabama with her husband, cat, and a growing collection of geek paraphernalia

You can reach her at erinhayesbooks@gmail.com and she'll be happy to chat. Especially if you want to debate Star Wars.

For more information on Erin Hayes:

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Power Shift

Hunting the Bounty Hunter beneath Haunted Alaska Skies

Calinda B

Published by Sumner McKenzie, Inc.

Kingston, WA, 98346

Ebook Edition

Copyright ©2015 Calinda B

All Rights Reserved.

Cover art copyright by The Art and the Writing

Editing by Tina Winograd

License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people, but it can be lent according to the retailer’s coding. If you would like to give this book to another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to an online retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Created with Vellum

About the Book

Power Shift

A mystery hovers around the Haunted Bear Glacier near the remote town of Charming, Alaska. Town manager Chia Petit is determined to solve it.

There's nothing Chia loves better than a good Alaska adventure--when she's not obsessed by her sexual needs or her obedience to rules, that is. Hindered by her annoying practical joker vampire roommate, helped by her happy-go-lucky dog shape shifter best friend, Chia has more than a few challenges ahead.

Saddled with six stupid ghosts - the demons of past transgressions - as her constant companions, keeping the town of Charming safe and law-abiding should be her only worries. Not so. When Hung Durand, ultra-sexy bounty hunter and shape shifter extraordinaire comes to town, with romance on his mind, all bets are off. His tantalizing presence makes her adherence to rules vaporize as she contemplates shameless, naughty acts with the outlaw.

The sharpshooting gal is prepared for bloody battle, the likes of which neither Hung nor Red Mountainbear, a blowhard, money-grubbing conservative from Fairbanks, has ever experienced. Her mission is to keep the peaceful, shape shifter refuge out of the clutches of those that would just as soon destroy it as they would mine it to fatten their wallets.

Will Chia lose her town to those with dollar signs clouding their judgment, or will her undeniable, wanton attraction to Hung distract her efforts? Or, worse yet, will her vampire roommate take his crazy pranks too far, resulting in her untimely death? Find out in this humorous, Alaska paranormal adventure.

Limitless love and thanks to the Official Sweetie Pie, my loving partner, and truly honest guy, John. Thanks to Tina Winograd, the boss-dog editor of editors! Thanks to the most awesome street team in the world, the Wicked Hot Street Team.

And thanks to Ron and Brandon, as always, just because.

1

“Stop!” yelled Chia Petit as she raced through the heart of town along the pre-dawn, street-lighted road. Few were up at this time. “This is a violation of city ordinance six two seven.” Like he cares what law he’s violating.

Her “weather inappropriate” sneakers pounded the icy road, the sound bouncing back and forth between the vacant buildings.

In the distance, the outline of Haunted Bear Glacier was barely discernable in the moonlight. That’s where he’s headed. I’ll bet my life on it. She’d been summoned less than an hour ago, and told an unregistered bounty hunter was making his presence known in area.

Bounty hunters had to register…state their business before they rolled through town, get business done posthaste and move along. As town manager, she made the laws, earning her the nickname Charming Queen of Rules. She tried her best to enforce said laws. All townsfolk usually complied. That’s how she knew who to look for—the male who refused to follow the rules.

The slick, frigid road made it nearly impossible to gain any speed—not that it would help—the person she pursued was extremely tall, very fast, and very male. She, on the other hand, stood a mere five feet if she stretched tall. “Hung Durand, you son of a bitch, stop!”

A faint laugh, low in the vocal register, sexy as hell, met her ears in response.

The six ghosts who were her constant companions…more like constant pains in the ass…swirled around her head. They chattered and laughed excitedly in ghost-speak—ethereal high-pitched sounds to which she’d become accustomed. She batted at them—not that it would help—as they darted in front of her eyes. “Get away from me!” As usual, they obscured her vision of the blurred form in the distance, growing increasingly smaller by the second.

Eager to share in the excitement of the pursuit, no doubt alerted by her cries, the local dog pack raced around the corner, tongues lolling, eyes bright.

“No, no, no, no, no!” she lamented, too late. One of the dogs, a border collie named Peaty, with no flock to tend, nipped at her heel. She lost her balance and flew into a pile of cardboard boxes on a corner, awaiting breakdown for the recycling truck. The dogs circled her, licking her face, barking, and adding to the mayhem. “Dag nab it,” she yelled, struggling without success to get to her feet. “You mess of mongrels made me lose him.” Like I would’ve caught him, anyway.

Another dog, a huge, beautiful brown and white husky, with a thick, lush coat, licked her face extra vigorously, his glacier blue eyes glimmering.

Chia pushed him away with her palm, disgusted. “Stop it. I hate having my face licked.”

Undeterred, he began humping her leg, his tongue dangling from his mouth, his eyes practically rolling back in his head with ecstasy.

She shoved at him, appalled, letting out a few choice curse words.

And then, with a burst of light, he shifted into Cecil Carpenter, the town drifter and barhopper, his hairy human legs trapping her jeans covered thigh.

“Get off of me, Cecil! And cover yourself!”

Cecil laughed, rolled to his side and stood, stretching. “Great game, Ms. Manager. Who were we chasing?” He scratched at his crotch, seemingly unaware of his naked form.

The rest of the pack, real dogs, sat and nipped at fleas, chewed, licked, rolled on the sidewalk, or rooted in the boxes for something to eat.

“I can’t un-see what I’ve just seen, you moron. I said, cover yourself.” Chia put her hand in front of her face, trying to shield her view of him. She raised her sleeve to her cheek to scrub off his slobber.

He picked up a piece of cardboard and held it over his hips. “Settle down, captain. Haven’t you ever seen a male body before?”

“Of course I have.” Just left a fine one this morning to race after Hung Durand. And my ovaries are pissed at me for leaving. “I prefer to choose the male whose body bits I’m viewing.”

“Hey! These are no bits, I assure you.” He shifted the cardboard, cupped himself and shook the flesh in his palm, still slightly turgid.

“Ack! Stop with the show and tell!”

He quickly covered himself with the cardboard. “Sheesh. Calm down. Here, let me help you.”

She accepted Cecil’s hand and easily got to her feet, prompted by the tug of his strong arm. Suddenly remembering he had just jingled his junk with the hand she held, she jerked away, thinking, Ew! Brushing herself off, she answered his previously asked question. “The bastard I was chasing was none other than Hung Durand.”

Cecil whistled. “Dang. You’ve been trying to snag him for years.”

“Ever since I became town manager. He’s the only one who’s ever evaded me, the son of a bitch.” Her ghosts calmed and draped themselves across her torso like wet paper. She plucked at one of them, the ghost of sexual transgressions, peeling it away from her and flinging it into the sky.

It spun, startled, eye sockets wide. Then settled back on her torso, letting loose whiffs of pheromones and the scents of hot, tawdry sex.

“Go away!” she protested, her loins beginning to ache in response. At the “prime breeder age” of her mid-twenties, or so her shifter friends said, she often found herself following the directive of her hormones, rather than the task at hand. In other words, she often felt consumed by horny, lusty thoughts and sensations. She longed for a boyfriend or two but pickings were slim in these parts. If she were honest, she’d admit she hungered for Hung, but she refused to allow that pesky little fact to get near her head.

Cecil chuckled. “Can’t get rid of em, can you?” Being a canine shifter, he was one of the few who could see her ghosts.

“Oh, I can, but it means reliving and sorting through pieces of my past I’d rather forget. It means dealing with emotions. I’m too busy for that,” she said, thinking, mind your own beeswax.

She walked gingerly along the frozen sidewalk, her breath forming white clouds with each exhale. Sneakers are so not appropriate for this weather, she muttered inwardly. She tugged her winter parka around her body. At least I managed to find my coat this morning. Whoever took my winter boots is going to pay. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee? Coffee shop should be opening in about fifteen.”

“Sure, thanks.”

“Can you find some clothes first? You know how touchy people get when a naked shifter appears in their line of sight.” She glanced at his bare-assed form, the cardboard once again clutched to his hips. A hairy chested man wasn’t on her list of turn-ons but Cecil had a nice covering of dark blond hair…nice pecs…fine abs…and… She blinked rapidly. What are you doing? The man humped your leg, for God’s sake. And he’s a town drifter—No job. No goals. Not even a house to call his own. Only a guy in search of a good time.

His eyes danced as he regarded her, as if he’d spied on her thoughts.

“What? Do you or don’t you have any clothes to change into?” she huffed.

“As a matter of fact…wait here.” He slipped down a dark alleyway.

Chia waited, thinking about Hung Durand, wondering how she’d ever manage to get the wily bastard. What’s he doing here anyway? The last time we had contact, he assured me I’d never see him again. And I assured him, if I ever saw him again, he would be a dead man.

Her panties grew wet in protest to her bold declaration. Like his name, the guy was hot, hung, and sexy as hell. They’d almost had sex a time or ten ago. Okay, last time. Okay, every time I see him we almost have sex. She gritted her teeth as her inner truth-telling continued to taunt her. You want him, dead, remember, dead? Disgusted with herself, she blew out a gust of breath.

A few minutes later, Cecil strode out of the alleyway, wearing grubby jeans, a whitish color wool fisherman’s sweater, and winter boots that had seen better days. Strips of duct tape wound around one of the boots to keep the sole from flopping like a circus clown shoe.

“Where’d you get those clothes?”

“Down the way.” He stabbed his thumb toward the alley. “I try to keep spares around town when I go on the prowl. Snag them from the Goodwill drop-off before they get put into the store. You never know what can happen in the night.” He winked.

“Are you ever going to grow up?”

The look he gave her—like she needed her head checked—almost made her laugh.

She gawked at his scruffy appearance lit by a lantern shaped streetlight. Two days beard stubble, messy brown hair, mischievous pale blue eyes, he’d be attractive if he made the effort. “You ever get laid looking like that?”

He barked out a laugh, his eyes twinkling. “Are you propositioning me?”

“Ew, no.” She brushed aside his comment and tromped toward the coffee shop.

“What do you mean you’d have to relive your past?” he asked, referring to her earlier statement about her ghosts, pushing aside his bushy mop of hair.

“You want to go here or across the street?” Chia asked him, pointing to the two rival coffee shops in town, ignoring the question. His query bordered on personal, something she was loath to share with anyone. These ghosts represented her most shameful, horrific actions in this lifetime. The only way she’d ever get rid of them was to deal with the act, apologize to the person or persons involved, and with her luck, have to do community service or penance or some such.

She’d decided long ago to keep her secrets, deny her transgressions, and live with the pesky things. She stared at her red sneakers, desperate to not have to answer. “Man, my feet are freezing. It’s warm for this time of year, but it must be, what, seventeen degrees? Twenty? Are you cold? You don’t have a jacket.”

“Me? Nah, my husky spirit keeps me warm as toast. You should try me sometime.” He leered at her. “I’m better than a bonfire.”

“No, thanks. You’ve shown me what you’ve got by humping my leg.” She shuddered.

“Hey! That was instinct at play. When I’m in dog form, I can’t control my actions. I’m an unneutered male,” he added, as if that explained everything. “Jeez.” Appearing offended, he swung open the door to his chosen café, Sunshine Sally’s, for her to enter.

They strolled toward the counter. A wood fire blazed in the gigantic fireplace. Logs snapped and crackled. Dead deer, bison, elk, and moose stared blankly into space from their perches on the wall. Antlers arranged as chandeliers hung over the heads of patrons. Chia had once threatened to hang human bones in the café, too, “in keeping with the spirit of death in here.” They’d only laughed at her, affectionately calling her a soft-headed liberal. She didn’t consider herself affiliated with any political party—she simply didn’t like dead things on display. Let them rest in peace and dignity.

She waved and nodded at the patrons, mostly fishermen and guys who worked at the boatyard. Two stern looking fellows she didn’t recognize sat in the far corner. They looked up as she strode through, then leaned in close to one another and began to talk, taking sneaky glances in her direction. Who the hell are you? She scrutinized them for a moment, thinking them transient fishermen. A few hung-over revelers from the night before, their eyes bloodshot and faces yellowish and waxy from drink, clutched mugs of coffee like lifelines. “You might want to head home and sleep it off, boys.” She tapped their table with her knuckles.

“With you?” one of them said. “I’m in.”

They all guffawed.

“Sorry, my dance card’s full.” Sort of…okay, not really.

She scoffed and started to swish by them, when one of them said, “She’s got her eye on the rebel bounty hunter.”

“Yeah, Hung Durand,” another said, making a lewd gesture with his hand. “I hear he’s back.”

She whirled to face the table. “The only thing I want from that rat bastard is a clean shot right between the eyes.” She held an imaginary rifle, aimed, and fired, making a loud sound.

The ghosts, startled from their slumber, shot to the ceiling. Recovering, they drifted back and settled around her calves and thighs.

She shook her leg, trying to dislodge them, momentarily forgetting no one besides Cecil could see them. They’d probably wonder what the hell she needed to shake her leg for. Goddamn pests.

“Yeah, right,” the first one said, and they all laughed. “Is that your bounty hunter dance? Needs some work.”

“You’ll see,” she said, confidently, striding away from them.

When she and Cecil had taken space at the counter, she whispered, “What am I going to do? He’s eluded me for years.”

“It’s about to turn into a bigger problem, honey,” said Fawn, the friendly, chubby waitress who worked the counter in the morning. “Love the pink streaks in your hair, by the way. Against your dark hair, they make you look edible, like a dark chocolate cupcake with pink frosting.”

“I’d like a nibble,” Cecil said.

“No, no and hell no.” Chia rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Fawn.”

The two men sitting in the corner stood and sauntered toward the counter. As they passed by her back, their voices grew louder.

“Yep, I hear new leadership is coming to Charming,” one of them said.

“About time,” the other remarked. He jabbed her back with his elbow.

“Hey! Watch yourself!” Chia snapped.

The men ignored her.

“Who the hell are they? And what are they talking about ‘new leadership’?” Chia’s face furrowed into a frown. She glanced at the TV screen. The logo of Lemming News blared from the corner like a beacon. Hate that news show, she thought. A picture of her face blipped across the screen. “Hey! Why am I on the news?”

Fawn picked up the remote and switched the channel.

“Turn that back on. I want to see.”

“I’m trying to tell you.” She poured them each a cup of coffee and slid the cream and sugar their way. “Like I was saying. Back to your problem. Like your job?”

A chill spread along her scalp, even though it must be ninety in here from the blazing fire. “What do you mean? I love this job. I’m good at it. I manage the shape shifters, the vamps, all the supes like no one else. Maintain peace among the strange and stranger. I keep the town running like a good fishing trawler. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

“That’s what I thought. Then you’d better find Hung Durand and improve your reputation in the community.”

Chia bristled. “My reputation is fine.”

“Not if you don’t catch the bounty hunter. Not this time. Some folks is grumbling about him. He’s nothing but a nuisance. A fine piece of eye candy, but a nuisance nonetheless.”

“Whatever. He’s all right.” Chia swept her hand through the air. She tried to ignore Cecil’s stare and her own raging hormones, screaming, He’s the hottest male in Alaska! “What are you looking at?” she said to Cecil, feigning indifference.

“Someone else has got Hung in his sights,” Fawn said.

“Who’s that?”

Fawn placed her palms on the wood top, leaning toward them conspiratorially. “Red Mountainbear.” She enunciated each word like revealing a sacred secret.

“That guy from upstate? Near Fairbanks? With the reputation as a blowhard?”

“That’s the one.” Fawn’s head bobbed up and down. “That’s his news show I switched off. The one with your picture.”

Chia’s eyes narrowed. “What about him? What does he have to do with me?”

“He’s coming to town and he wants your job. He’s determined to show he’s a better man. He wants Hung’s head on a platter, and he’s just the hunter who can do it.”

2

Chia drove her black Jeep Commander 4-wheel drive SUV up the narrow road to her log cabin home at such a furious clip, her ghosts clung to the back bumper rather than be in the car with her. “It’s a good place for you,” she yelled out the window. “You should try it more often!”

Knowing better, but not caring, she slammed on the brakes and felt a surge of satisfaction at losing control of the truck as it skidded along the icy driveway. She cranked the steering wheel at the last minute, causing the SUV to lurch and spin before coming to a stop inches shy of her barn, millimeters from colliding with her snowplow. Her ghosts scattered throughout the yard, flung like rolls of toilet paper. She leapt out of the truck and said, “And you thought yourselves safe. Ha!”

They pried themselves from tree trunks, pulled free from snowbanks. Bunching together, they regrouped and swirled around her head in a lazy circle, like buzzards.

The sun had barely started its morning hellos. It winked on the distant glacier oozing through the split between the mountains. The glacier appeared like a static flow, pouring on the frozen lake at the base of the ice field.

Chia already had a massive headache. Fawn had given her the skinny on the discontent of a few town fringe dwellers who wanted her gone. They were an angry hive of denizens who liked nobody, her even less, and made trouble wherever they went. She called them the Cretin Clan, but not to their faces.

The ringleader, Dick Nighthawk, had always had it in for her. Now, having organized his stupid crew of assholes at the request of Red Mountainbear, and recruiting a few more, he intended on ridding the town of Charming of their manager—namely her.

He thought he and Red would then be in charge of town. According to Fawn, he probably didn’t know Red all that well—if he did, he’d know Red was merely using him to gain access to town politics and get his way. Red Mountainbear, a man with opinions to spare, never shared responsibilities.

She pushed open her massive timber front door to her rustic home and yelped. Hanging from the ceiling, naked, wrapped like a butterfly cocoon in clear packing tape and his toes stuck in the shafts of her winter boots, hung Dillon, her last night’s playmate.

“My boots!” Chia exclaimed. “Where did you find them?”

Her TV blared. She raced over and switched it off, after seeing her face next to a photo of Red Mountainbear with the headline, Trouble in Charming - Has the Charm Worn Off? “Disgusting,” she muttered. “No, Lemming News, no charm has been lost.” She turned her attention to Dillon.

A strip of duct tape had been plastered to his mouth, catching a few locks of his ebony hair in the process. His lean arms, also wound together with duct tape at the wrists, stretched to breaking, hooked over her forged iron chandelier.

Her surprised silver-gray eyes met his angry brown ones. “What the hell happened?”

He mumbled through the duct tape, kicking his bound legs, causing her boots to fly free.

“Okay, okay, you can’t tell me through a taped mouth.” She eyed the room for a way to get him down. At five foot, weighing a mere ninety-nine pounds, she wouldn’t be much help to her six foot something cocoon of a lover. She strode toward a side table, catching sight of a note taped to the bottom of one of her boots. “What’s this?” She crouched to retrieve it, peeling it away from the sole.

Someone locked my coffin…again. Who could it be? I’m in the hall closet, pissed. You’re going to pay. Oh – you know how you couldn’t find your dumb boots? They were in the closet where they’re supposed to be. Yours, Demonio Julius Alexander.

“Always a kidder, my roommate.” She laughed nervously. Not having any idea she’d be called out of the house to look for Hung Durand, she’d meant to play a prank on the vampire, her newish roommate, known around town as D’Raynged.

He was supposed to slink in the house at the very last minute, as usual, bloated with blood and gorged on sex, find his basement coffin locked, and promise her a favor for unlocking it before sunlight blasted through the egress windows, hit his skin and sizzled him.

Yeah, it was extortion, but what the heck? He yipped and snipped at her messes and chaos in the house, and it was her house. He deserved to be toyed with. Now she’d managed to piss him off and she’d be the one owing favors. Lots of them from the sound of it.

Dillon’s angry swings of protest, causing the chandelier to creak and squeak, caught her attention.

“Hold on, hold on.” She pushed and tugged the heavy, solid wood side table until his toes touched. Then, realizing no way in hell could she reach his wrists, she pushed over a sturdy wooden dining chair. She hefted it, nearly losing her balance.

Dillon made some smothered pissed off noise.

“Chill out, I’m trying.” She positioned it next to him, climbed on and realized she forgot to get scissors or a knife. “Oops! One more second, Dillon.”

He mumbled something unintelligible, but she thought it sounded angry.

She climbed from the chair, slid from the table, and rushed to the cozy little kitchen, complete with a huge six burner range and industrial dishwasher—her grandma used to feed the loggers. She rummaged around in her junk drawer for a box cutter. “Ah ha!” she said, wielding the cutter, and headed back to the front room. “Now, don’t move. We both don’t want me to slip and slice the veins in your wrist.”

His eyebrows launched skyward.

“I know, right? Bad for both of us. Hold still.” She stretched tall, and carefully, slowly, slid the sharp edge through the sticky gray and white tape.

His arms flew free and, as his legs were still bound, he fell from the table onto the timber floor, landing with a thud and an inarticulate curse. He wrenched the tape free from his mouth, causing an angry red stripe to form on his cheeks. “What the hell kind of roommate do you have here, Chia? I awoke, heard someone banging around the front room, so I got up, got your rifle, and pointed it at him.”

Chia cringed, thinking a bullet would have only made him more pissed.

“I thought he was an intruder,” Dillon said, ripping the packing tape from his legs with rage-filled movements. His dark hair clung to the tape, leaving smooth red striped skin behind in a kind of candy-striped effect. “Only he said he lived here and wondered where you’d gone off to. Said he couldn’t find the key to his room and you probably had it. I told him to calm down, you probably had town business to attend to. The guy went ballistic. Fucking hell! As quick as lighting, he had me trussed up, hanging here like a slab of meat in a meat locker.”

“Yeah, he gets a bit anxious when he can’t get into his, uh, his room.” She didn’t dare tell him his room happened to be a coffin. And no way would she mention his status as a vamp. Part of her efficacy as the town manager came from making sure the humans didn’t learn of their supernatural neighbors.

Sure, long-timers knew or suspected they lived next to supernatural beings. But newcomers, like Dillon--up here to get in on the herring run in March, once he was done with the late winter Pacific Cod plunder--were kept in the dark as long as possible. It simply wasn’t discussed.

The supes didn’t care, they did what they were told—as long as they were left alone to party and play, or engage in territorial disputes and general mayhem, they were cool about anything she said. Chia had to spin stories like you wouldn’t believe to make such things sound normal. Sometimes she felt like nothing more than a zookeeper.

“Anxious? Anxious? This is anxious.” He climbed off the floor and scurried around the room like he was nervous or fretful. “Your roommate came fucking unglued.” He leapt from sofa to recliner, waving his arms like a mad chimpanzee.

Why do you think they call him D’Raynged? she thought, chewing her lower lip.

He stalked into her bedroom and marched out, clothes in hand. “This has been fun, but…”

“Where you going?” she asked, worried. A new playmate, he’d done her right in the pleasure department last night. She didn’t want to part on bad terms.

“Anywhere but here. You’re in a mess of trouble from the sound of the news. I want no part of it.”

“What did you see?”

“Only bullshit about you losing a grip on reality, and Red Mountainbear feeling the need to step in and give the land back to the people it belonged to.”

“Losing a grip on reality? Me? Oh, dear. He wants to take it away from the…” She started to say shifters but caught herself. Dillon didn’t need any more alarming news.

He stormed toward the door, realized he wore no clothes and tape still clung to parts of his body.

“Can I help?” Chia asked, inching toward him

“No!” he shouted. He ripped the tape from his genitals and chest, cursing and shouting. When finished, he crumpled the tape into a wad and pitched it across the room. He yanked on his trousers and strode from the house, bare-chested and bare-footed.

Chia quickly snagged his sturdy boots off the floor, holding them in the air from the front landing. “What about your boots?”

He whirled, stomped toward her, snatched the boots, and whirled away, yelling over his shoulder, “I’ll call you…maybe. Probably not.”

As he sped away in his Chevy Tahoe, Chia sighed. Her head dropped to stare at her grandma’s worn welcome mat, bearing the words Loggers Welcome. “He was fun. I guess this is one of the job hazards of being manager of a strange little town and having an unpredictable roommate.”

She wandered in the house, casting a wary eye at the assorted remnants from last night—beer bottles, a joint—both courtesy of Dillon, tequila—her drink of choice, her socks and bra, his underwear. She started to pick up the beer bottles, then thought better of it. “Later,” she said, and sauntered down the hall. She banged her clenched fist on the hall door. “I could open this thing and fry your ass,” she yelled.

“You’d burn in hell for murder,” came his muffled response.

“You’re already dead, jackass.” She placed her back against the door and slid to her rump, landing on the red, gray and black wool runner her grandma left with the house when she bequeathed it to her. Everything, from the sturdy sofa, its fabric covered with bold, chunky red, black and aqua designs from the Tlingit tribe, to the massive timber bed, had been her grandparents. She’d replaced the mattress, of course, but couldn’t bear to part with anything else. She’d loved her grandparents.

“You’re not crying are you?”

“No, I’m not crying. Merely angry. And disappointed.”

“Puh-lease, child. There are plenty of fish.”

“He was fun.”

“There are plenty of fun fish. Trust me.”

“Not in this town. Only a seasonal now and then.” She picked at a drop of dried blood, no doubt from the fangs of her roomie.

“Feeling sorry for yourself?”

“Maybe. I have a problem—a huge problem, from the sound of it.”

“Can it wait? I’m exhausted. I had quite the night with a delightful little vamp named Sultana. Lives a village away. I plan on spending some serious time getting to know her.” His low chuckle seeped from the closet.

“Spare me the deets, D. Yeah, it can wait. Dark will be here soon enough.” Sunrise still came late these days and darkness resumed early, even though spring was around the corner. Vamps loved Alaska for its abundant winter nightlife. Many migrated south for the summer, since the daylight consumed most of the twenty-four hour cycle the farther north you went.

“Care to tell me the topic? I can ruminate on it.”

“My job. Red Mountainbear wants it.”

“Isn’t he the one always on the news? What’s that network? Lemming News?”

“That’s the one. He’s broadcasting stuff that was news to me until I saw it. It’s like watching a version of my life I didn’t agree to and don’t even know about. Talk about a spin.”

“You’re good at your job. The townsfolk won’t have it.”

“They might. He’s going to try to prove my incompetence and my supposed loss of grip on reality.”

“By doing what?”

“By doing what I should be doing. That’s the reason I had to leave suddenly. I forgot I’d locked your coffin.”

“What’s the reason? You haven’t told me anything.”

She blushed, feeling sheepish. “It’s…it’s Hung Durand.”

“Not the bounty hunter you talk about like a chattering magpie. Tell me it isn’t so.” Several loud thumps whacked the door behind her, as if D’Raynged were banging his head against the door in frustration. “I could make short work of him, you know. One bite, and…”

“And you know you can’t. It’s in the town constitution. He’s as much a protected species as you are. Only a qualified town leader, of which I am one of two, can kill a bounty hunter, and only with extremely good cause.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

She smiled. “Nice try but….you know I can’t allow that.”

“I know. You don’t like to break the rules. I however, adhere to no such rules as your little town holds dear.”

“No, D’Raynged. The answer is no.” She thought she heard a sigh.

“So what do you need from me?”

“A plan. I can’t let him elude me this time. And I can’t let Red kill him and parade his head around town on a platter.”

“Yum, sounds delicious.”

“Stop it. If I lose this job, you lose your place of residence. I can’t afford to live here by myself. I’ll have to sell.” Her grandparents had mortgaged and re-mortgaged this property during their lifetime, leaving her with a ton of debt. Several seconds of silence fell around her. She let her head fall back, glancing at the ghosts, still circling overhead. Maybe I should quit my job. Work at the crab factory. Assume defeat rather than give it away. Then, maybe I’d have time to deal with the ghosts of my emotions.

“Tell me you’re not thinking of quitting again.”

“Only if you tell me you’re not reading my mind again.” She sat up and let out a breath. “So. Will you help me come up with a plan before you head off for the evening?”

“Yes, child, I’ll be at your service. But you still owe me.”

“I’m sure I do. What are your terms this time?”

“I haven’t fleshed them out yet.”

“Fleshed? Ew.”

“Stop it, it’s merely a term. Let me get some rest and I’ll get back to you.”

“Fine,” she huffed, getting to her feet.

“Fine,” he said amicably from his dark closet.

“Thank you,” she called, as she headed toward the kitchen. “And now I have just enough time to clean up this mess and get back to town for work.” She glanced around at the disarray, reliving last night. They’d had sex everywhere, on nearly every surface. Living room lamps were knocked over, spices spread on the kitchen floor, kitchen towels strewn everywhere… D’Raynged would hate to see this mess. Feeling deliciously passive aggressive—not that it would help matters—she shoved her feet into her boots, grabbed her coat and strode out the front door.

3

“Hurry,” Socyone Williams, Chia’s trusted advisor called to her as soon as Chia pulled into the parking lot of the downtown administrative offices, a wood and brick death trap. A tall, slender woman, with golden eyes, golden-brown hair sticking out in tufted dreadlock clumps all over her head, golden everything, Socyone shifted into a giraffe when the mood struck. It seldom struck since there were no savannahs here and giraffes didn’t do well in the snow. It came in handy, though, when something needed to be reached way up high. Chia had clung perilously to Socyone’s long neck to rescue a few cats from trees when the fire department had been out on a job.

Chia hopped from the truck. Decrepit building is still standing, Chia thought darkly, glancing at the two hundred year old structure. Every day she came here, she wondered if it would be her last, fleeing from the flaming building or ducking as the bricks tumbled down. She glanced at the whitecaps dotting the Bering Sea in her line of sight, as if making an escape plan.

“Let me grab my stuff. What’s the hurry? Where’s the fire?” Chia reached across the front seat of her truck, grabbed her pink fake-furry purse, and hustled toward the circa 1700s building. Her jaw length hair blew in her face, as gusts of frigid wind picked up, heading straight from the coastline. Her ghosts clung to her shoulders, ethereal hands and fingers digging into her. She experienced their ghostly touch as bristling buzzing. She shook her shoulders, trying to dislodge them.

“Are you okay?” her assistant asked.

“I’m fine.” Stupid ghosts.

“The fire is going to be your ass if you don’t get it in here. An emergency meeting has been declared.”

“I’m the only one who gets to declare emergency meetings,” Chia spluttered.

“Not today. Not since Hung Durand rolled into town.”

“What, so he called it?” she scoffed.

“Hardly,” Socyone said, holding the door open to her boss. “It was our regional leader, Joseph Ashoroc, summoned by none other than Red Mountainbear.”

“Holy crap, this day has gone from worse to horrible, and it’s not yet lunchtime. Didn’t I recently return from a blissful vacation in Tahiti?”

“A couple weeks ago, yeah,” her assistant said, literally breathing down Chia’s neck as they raced to the conference room.

“After today, I can barely remember what I did there or who I went with, if I went with anyone at all.” She burst through the double doors to the conference room. The same room served as the local theater for plays and music events, thanks to the large stage at the front.

The space hummed with a mixture of common townsfolk, local leaders, Joseph, and several elders and their kin from neighboring territories. People shouted, yelled, and pushed against one another to be heard. Statements like “it’s her and her goddamned preference for their kind,” and “she’s given them better rights than the lot of us,” could be overheard, giving her pause.

I thought I was a local favorite. I thought they loved me.

Another protest rang out. “Damn shifters brought this on. She should know this.”

Everyone deserves a fair shot at life, she thought. Before she’d been elected manager, the townsfolk had been at war with the shifters. Shifters came out of hiding, making themselves known to the neurotypicals, the so-called “normal” people, with supposedly “normal” nervous systems. The neurotypicals thought the shifters were freaks, abhorrent creatures not to be trusted. Fear abounded. Casualties had been a daily occurrence. Once she took office, she got to work erecting iron clad rules and ordinances, her specialty, thanks to her practical-minded parents.

Chia shook her head. She suspected they came for the excitement alone. Winter was often an inward time of year in these parts, where people closed doors, kept warm and socialized when they could. It made for bad moods, short tempers, and a craving for new experiences like this one provided.

The room felt stifling, far too warm, lending to a choking sensation. Chia fanned her face with her hand. Unable to organize her thoughts, she tugged at her collar, taking gulps of air, then scanned the crowd, looking for allies.

There were a few friendly faces and she smiled at each and every one. Only a couple shifters showed. They glanced at her with wary expressions. Shifters tended to shy away from public office and meetings such as this, finding the grandstanding of mere mortals beneath them.

They had their own governing bodies, which usually consisted of pack leaders—alpha males or females—or they kept to themselves. Most of them bowed to their shifter species instincts. Some of the supes were members of organizations known as arcane clans, loosely bound collectives that served as more of a social club, as far as Chia could tell. And the vamps?

No one ruled the vamps, not even other vamps. They were an unruly, largely uncooperative lot. In any case, since she didn’t recognize some of the people from outlying areas, she hoped the shifters would mind their manners.

Chia put her fingers in her mouth and let out an ear-splitting whistle. “Quiet!”

The entire room shut up and turned to stare at her.

“What’s the meaning of calling an emergency meeting without my knowledge?” She marched to the front of the room, Socyone on her heels as close as the border collie had been this morning. Once at the front, she climbed the steps to the stage, stepped onto the undignified wooden crate she stood on and glared at each person. “Well?”

Joseph pushed through the crowd, appearing somewhat sheepish. A big, gentle man with long, curly brown locks any girl would die for, Joseph lived in the closest town to Charming, a bustling mountain municipality named Bewilderment, about a hundred miles east. He usually kept peace and order through reason and listening, putting his foot down only when necessary. “Good morning, Chia. I’m afraid Red’s the culprit.”

“And is he here?” Chia put her hands on her hips in bitch wing fashion.

“He’s here by proxy,” someone in the back of the room shouted.

“Is that you, Dick Nighthawk?”

The male said nothing and she couldn’t see his face through the crowd. “Proxy isn’t allowed in an emergency meeting,” Chia said. “If you’re here, whoever you are, you’re here as Red’s spy.”

The crowd erupted in protest and agreement.

“Quiet,” she called again. “Quiet!” When the din only increased, she searched the room for Walt, a howler monkey shifter. Howler monkeys had one of the loudest vocalizations on the planet. Finding him, she nodded and he slipped discretely onto the stage, ducking behind a curtain.

Out of the corner of her eye, Chia caught the burst of golden light behind the curtains, heralding his transformation, and a few seconds later, ear splitting, ninety-decibel calls came from backstage. She pressed her palms to her ears, almost laughing as all her ghosts followed suit. Why we have so many jungle shifter species in Alaska is beyond me. It’s not like they can blend in.

The shouting immediately stilled, yet Walt continued to screech, no doubt enjoying himself. He’d have to sleep for hours to recharge, but he never seemed to mind using his voice where needed.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Chia yelled over the new din. She pumped her hand up and down to get Walt to stop the sound effects.

“What the hell is that?” one of the villagers asked.

“New audio system we’re trying out. It got your attention. So tell me…what did Hung do this time that has you all in a twist?”

The answers blurred together in a roar.

“One at a time,” Chia yelled, signaling Walt with a finger gesture.

Walt silenced them once more with his monkey howl.

“One at a time,” Chia repeated. “You,” she pointed.

“He stole my best coat off the back porch,” a male answered.

“How do you know Hung did it?” Chia asked, wiping sweat from her brow.

“I smelled him. He’s got a distinct odor.”

She whispered to Socyone to take notes, adding quietly, “Is it hot in here or is it me?”

“It’s hot, boss. Something doesn’t feel right.”

Chia nodded, her suspicions confirmed. As far as she knew, she didn’t have a supernatural bone in her body, unless you could call her ghosts some sort of weird power, but she could sense when something felt off or under the influence. “And you there. What did he do to you?”

“Stole one of my prize calves.”

“And you saw him do it?”

“Nope. Dude’s too wily. Smelled him.”

One by one, people recounted Hung’s dastardly deeds, all giving the same signpost of how they knew it was him—the smell. Sure, he had a distinct smell. Most bounty hunters did. And they sure sounded like things the rat bastard would do, but so many? And in such a short period?

In less than two hours, if the group could be trusted, he’d managed to take coats, calves, a sheep, a minx, two rabbits, screw the barber’s wife—she had to bridle her immediate jealous response to this bit of information—and take a few knives from the smithy? This sounds like trickery and foul play. It sounds like Hung has been framed. As much as she despised the guy, she hated dishonesty and flimflam even more. She made a mental note of her growing shit pile: A) Save my job. B) Find Hung Durand. C) Find who framed Hung Durand. D) Take pleasure with HD. E) Kill the bastard, in order to, A) Save my job.

“You do realize, even for Hung Durand, he would have had to be a busy guy to get all that done in such a short period of time, right?”

No one said a word, shifting back and forth on their legs like musk oxen on the tundra, looking uneasily at one another.

“You’re telling us we’re not speaking the truth? Now you’re accusing us of being liars?” the proxy male shouted from the back.

A few people from the back murmured in assent.

“Get him out of here,” Chia said softly to Socyone.

Socyone nodded and slipped from view, snagging two burly looking males who worked security at one of the local bars. “So what are you all hoping to do by calling this emergency meeting?” She directed this question to Joseph.

Standing at the front of the stage, Joseph cleared his throat. He rubbed his bearded jaw, tugging the trim, reddish bush over and over, seeming to gather his thoughts.

Shouts of protest came from the back as the proxy male was escorted from the room in an undignified manner, one huge male on either side. After he’d gone, several of his “friends” slunk from the room as well, no doubt fearing repercussion.

As soon as they were out of the room, Chia felt the room expand, as if a strange strangulation spell had been released. Magic? Was this some sort of spell? Admittedly, Chia knew little of magic and its uses. She spent too much time doing her job, creating rules and ordinances, to worry about magic.

In that way, she took after her mom and dad, practical people if ever there were some. Her dad practiced clinical research in New York City. Her mom held a position as a biochemist at a pharmaceutical company. She hadn’t spoken to either in years, but still, their influence had been strong. “And?” she asked Joseph, prompting his answer to her question. She climbed off her box and crouched next to him from her perch onstage. “Your purpose?” She spoke softly, attempting to keep this from the onlookers.

Joseph let out a sigh. “Thank goodness someone adjusted the heat. It was pretty warm in here.”

“Yes, thank goodness. Your answer?”

“Chia,” the older man said, loudly and indulgently. “You know I think you’re doing a great job in Charming. I think most of the townsfolk would agree.” He gave an expectant nod to the group.

A murmur of assent spread throughout the crowd.

“But politics is politics.” He spread his hands wide, as if nothing could be done about it, speaking in a lower tone.

“Yeah, but…” Chia spluttered.

“And Red’s pouring a lot of money into this community.”

“Yeah, but…”

“And you’ve had plenty of opportunities to rid this area of Hung Durand. The man’s a nuisance, a trouble maker and a rule breaker.”

“Yeah, but…”

“I’ve always been on your side.”

“If you interrupt me one more time, Joseph…” Chia felt her rage growing like a stoked furnace.

“Things always change, you know that. I’ll do what I can, but…”

“But nothing! Red’s nothing but a bully, a cheat, and a liar. You know that.” Chia stomped her foot in frustration. “Charming is a safe place. It’s an amazing place. I do a great job keeping the peace and order here. All of us, the typical, ordinary, neurotypical people and…” She scanned her brain for a word other than supernatural, not wanting to alarm any of the outsiders. “Ordinary and unique types of individuals. We do our thing, and cohabitate nicely in these parts. Charming, Alaska is our Switzerland. It’s a safe space. Neutral, more or less.”

Joseph appeared extremely uncomfortable. He wrung his hands together. Chewed his lower lip. Stroked his bushy beard. Finally, he spoke in extremely quiet tones, his eyes not meeting hers. “Ms. Petit, I’ve always been impressed with the way you’ve done things around here. But Red and his kind, they want to rid the town of, well…you know, the…”

“The supes?” Chia breathed out the word in a barely audible voice. “He wants to rid Charming of the supes?”

Joseph looked right. He looked left. He met her eyes, blinking rapidly. “There’s been discussion, yes.”

The doors at the back of the room exploded open and slammed shut, no doubt by supernaturals leaving the building, enraged, having heard Joseph’s quiet comments with their extraordinary hearing.

Socyone, standing close to Chia, stiffened.

Chia groaned and threw back her head. “There will be war. In my Switzerland, there will be war. We’ll go backward instead of forward!”

“Durand’s going to serve as an example.”

Chia hissed in a low voice, laced with rage. “He’s a nuisance, yes. Troublemaker, I get it. But he’s being framed. There’s no way in hell he’d done all the shit—excuse my French—all the stuff he’s accused of. In fact, Red’s proxy or one of the people he came with might have used magic to strangle normal thought in here,” she whispered. “Don’t you think that’s a little hypocritical? It caused people here to twist facts. Before they entered this room, none of them would have said that. They’ll probably leave here and wonder why the hell they said the things they said.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You’re right, I don’t. But besides the fact all of these things occurred in a short period of time, no ordinary human can sniff out a bounty hunter. Someone fed them that line. Someone handed them a load of crap to explain their losses and they bought it. Only supes, and well, I can detect the bounty hunter signature smell. I’ve got some sort of singular supe sense.” She ran a hand through her pink and black hair. She pushed away the sensation of what Hung’s scent made her want to do to him…with him…under him…on top of him.

Joseph looked pained but didn’t say anything. His hands kept wringing, ‘round and ‘round.

Chia lifted her gaze to glance at him. Her head felt heavy. Her limbs felt heavy. Everything about her felt heavy and fatigued. And it’s not even lunchtime. “Let me guess. The regionals are coming up, right?”

“Yeah, but…” Joseph began, repeating her earlier words. He huffed out a sigh and said, “Yes. And I want to be re-elected. It’s as simple as that.”

The crowd had begun to talk among themselves, unable to hear what was being said near the stage. Chia stood, getting out of her crouch. “Can I have your attention? Everyone. Please.” She put her fingers in her mouth and blew out a loud wolf whistle, not wanting to subject them to any more howler monkey cries. When the room silenced, she asked, “How many here want me gone?”

The group shifted nervously, like cattle in the presence of a predator. The door in the back opened and fell shut, but Chia couldn’t see who had left.

“What we really want is to be done with Hung Durand,” someone shouted.

“Or, keep him busy with other things,” a seductive female voice called out.

Titters of laughter rippled throughout the room.

“Yeah, he’s one fine male, I tell you what,” another female said.

Chia’s jaw clenched together. One of her ghosts, the ghost of jealousy, wound around her arm. It made her want to leap off the stage and strangle the women. She shook her arm vigorously in an effort to dislodge the wraith.

“Get the bastard out of these parts,” a male countered, no doubt the husband of one of the females who’d expressed their appreciation of Hung Durand.

Chia nodded. “I want that, too. We all do. I’m going to get him this time. You have my word.”

People looked right and left, shrugged, then clapped and cheered.

“You’ll see. In one week’s time, he’ll be history. Nothing, not even his scent will remain.” Her lower body kicked up a fuss of protest. You can’t mean that. You love his scent. She almost slapped herself, trying to quench her desire. Stop this. Would you rather have your job or what’s hanging between Hung’s legs between your … A gush of silky fluid onto her panties gave her answer. Stop it! “Okay, so this meeting is adjourned. Thank you all for coming, but I need to plan and scheme. I’ve only been alerted to his presence this morning. As far as we know, he’s in the wind. All of this could be a moot point.” She smiled and nodded as the participants took their leave. When only she, Socyone, and Joseph remained, she said, “Sorry you had to come all this way for nothing.”

“Oh, it’s always a pleasure,” he said, congenially.

And you’re always a politician, she thought, shaking her head at his show of good will.

“Anything I can do to help, let my people know. You’ve got Dora’s number, right?”

“Yes, Socyone has your assistant’s number. We know who to call.” Not you, from the sound of it. “Head on over to Sunshine Sally’s. Get some lunch before you leave. It’s on me.”

“That’s a mighty fine offer. I’ll take you up on it. Would you like to join me?”

“No, thanks, I’ve got some business to attend to. Mr. Ashoroc,” she said, extending her hand. “It’s been a pleasure.”

They shook hands and the big man left the building, leaving Chia with a head full of worry and no plan to remedy it. “This is going to be one long week,” she said.

“Do you have a plan?” Socyone asked.

“No clue. But I’d better find one, and fast, or it’s going to be my head on a platter, not Hung’s.” She shuddered, stroking her neck with her palm. “And I’d like to keep my head right where it sits.” The better to put my mouth around Hung’s….

4

The second she slid into her Jeep to head out for lunch, she knew she’d made a mistake. Distracted, worried, unable to think of a plan, she stepped on the running board and pivoted to slide her butt in. Her dopey ghosts bunched along the ceiling, flattening themselves like interior padding, as if offering up a clue. She got in without thinking or looking in the back.

Two male hands wrapped around her head, obscuring her vision and preventing her from saying a word. She shrieked into the press of male skin. One of the warm hands peeled from her eyes and dropped to her neck, stroking her skin with lazy, calloused fingers. Her eyes flew to the rearview to see the blue and gold eyes of Hung Durand staring at her. Damn.

When her hands started to lift in protest, a rope swiftly circled her waist and cinched her torso to the seat. Crap! She tried to struggle but he only gripped her jaw harder, pinning her to the headrest like a stuffed deer.

“Your new tinted windows are a nice touch.” He leaned forward between the seats so his face rested mere inches from hers, his breath warming her neck. “But here I thought you, a mere mortal, could scent me. That’s what you’ve told me. It always made me think we had a special bond,” he purred in that damn sexy voice of his.

She made a muffled sound, thinking, I’m stressed. Distracted. About to lose my job over you.

“Someone’s trying to frame me. Some trumped up charges of vagrancy and theft. Like I have the time to do that. Might you know who that is?”

She nodded her head as best she could, her eyes wild in the mirror.

“Oh, don’t look so scared, my pet. You know I’d never harm you. You’re too much fun.”

Yeah, well, the sentiment isn’t shared. I want to kill you, bastard.

“Love the pink streaks in your black hair. Makes you look like a delicious, edible, dark chocolate, mercury eyed cupcake.” His fingers continued their lazy, unhurried exploration of her throat. The masculine scent he threw off made her want to rip off her clothes, climb in the back seat and straddle him. About six foot two, he always wore a three-day scruff on his face. Had wild, light brown hair that looked untamable. Tan skin, no matter the season. Lips that she could get lost with for days. Blue eyes that always had glints of gold, like he carried around his own sunbeam. Muscled masses where muscles usually weren’t, even in his fingers and no doubt his toes.

Why, oh, why do I have to kill you?

“I’ll remove my hand from your mouth if you promise not to kill me,” he said, as if reading her mind. “Oh, wait. I took your bullets out of the revolver in the glove box. And that tiny pistol under the seat? It’s secure in my pants, along with my huge one.” He chuckled and made a low growl in his throat. The darkly dangerous sound made her panties wet, wet, wet. “I sure hope you have permits to carry, you--the Queen of Rules.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, pissed at herself for being so unaware. “Of course I have permits,” she hissed under her breath.

“So do you promise not to try anything?” His big arm, the one attached to the hand she didn’t want to stop touching her neck, dropped to her chest. It smashed against her breasts, gripping her against the seat.

The painful sensation of her breasts being squashed only stirred her arousal.

“You want to feel how hard I am, woman? Like you wouldn’t believe.” His lips curved into a half smile, laced with seduction.

Again her eyes closed, desire brewing like strong, thick, heady liquor in her body.

“Yeah, baby,” he murmured. “I feel it, too. But. Don’t try anything stupid, got it? Let’s not mess with the mood we’re both in.”

Pushing against his grip, she forced her head up and down as best she could. Still, her mind whirled. I could turn the truck on, lock the doors, and race over to Dead Man’s Cliff, leaping out at the last minute before my Jeep sailed off the cliff. Nah, he’d have sprung himself free, miles before we got there. Okay, I could leap from the truck, yelling, ‘I’ve got Hung!’ Ix-nay to that idea. He’d leap from the truck, and turn into a bat or a snake or a hawk or something. The dude has limitless shape shifter abilities as far as I know. One of the extremely rare. I could…

“Are you done thinking of all the things you could do to get rid of me? Things that will never work? You know me better than that.” He tsked in her ear and rubbed his arm back and forth across her now aching breasts.

Her nipples, swaddled in a bra, woolen undergarments, a sweater, and a down and fake-fur coat, puckered in response. God, I wish I hated him more than I wanted to have sex with him. Again, she pushed her head up and down in assent, realizing the rat bastard was right. She didn’t stand a chance.

“There,” he said, once he’d released her mouth.

She opened and wiggled her jaw, coaxing feeling back into it. “Damn you.”

“If you’d said fuck you, I’d have taken you up on it.” A seductive sneer spread across his handsome face.

“How did you get into my truck in broad daylight?”

He shrugged.

Arrogant asshole. “And how do you know you’re being framed?”

“I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere, love, you know that, too. Only thing is…I know the what, but not the who. Who’s trying to frame me?”

“What do I get if I tell you?”

“You’ll live to see another day.”

“You told me you’d never harm me.”

“That’s only partially true. If I had to, as much as it would pain me, I’d off you in a second.” His eyes appeared cold and menacing in the rearview as he spoke, not like the lover’s eyes he’d flashed at her mere seconds ago.

“Not if I killed you first,” she blurted, much to his apparent amusement. She squinted, assessing him, wondering how much truth rang true from his statement. Figuring it an honest sentiment—the guy did, after all, hunt and kill for a living—she winced, her teeth ground together and she spit out, “It’s Red Mountainbear. He’s using Dick Nighthawk to organize their hive of hornets.”

“Those two Native American wannabes?” Hung scoffed. “They shame the tribespeople, what with their assumed last names. You know Red’s given surname is White, right? Randall White ass. And Dick’s? Worthington. Ha! It should be Worthless.”

“I didn’t know that.” Chia rubbed her jaw, still trying to coax it back to life.

“You should hang out with me more often,” he said, smirking.

Sweet baby Jesus, don’t tempt me. “And you should follow the rules! None of this would be happening if you did what you’re supposed to—register, state your business, get your business done and get lost.” She would have crossed her arms if she could have moved them into position and she wasn’t trussed up like Dillon had been this morning. Hung seemed to possess Herculean strength. “That’s one of the rules that keeps Charming safe.”

“More like it keeps it antiquated. These lands were not founded by following stupid arbitrary rules. When I have a job to do, I like to get it done, not pussy foot around signing agreements.”

“Yeah, but that agreement keeps Charming a safe place for all concerned.”

“Said agreement,” Hung said, moving his arm leisurely in a small circle on her plump breasts, “alerts the target, or haven’t you ever thought of that?”

“No,” she stated argumentatively. “Not if it goes through the proper channels. Jack Towne and I are the only two allowed to witness the treaty.”

“And what happens when neither you nor Jack are around?”

“One of us is always around.”

“You weren’t last night,” Hung said, easily.

Chia’s face flamed hot, thinking of what she’d done to Dillon, what Dillon did to her, what they did to each other…

“Yeah. That’s what I thought. Again, I thought you and me shared a special bond.”

“Right, like you never seduce other women?” Chia snapped. Her boobs began to ache, slammed against the seat by Hung’s heavy arm.

“I have to stay in practice somehow.”

A surge of hopeful longing rocked through her. “Practice for whom? Me?” The words slipped out, as if a truth spell had been cast.

“Come, come, Ms. Petit. I don’t need to answer the question for you, do I? All you have to do is give me keys to the garden gate and I’m yours.” One brown eyebrow cocked along his forehead.

Oh, so, tempting. But I don’t believe him. “I can’t…you can’t…we can’t…” She spluttered, then snapped her mouth shut. “Look, Hung…”

“Oh, how I love when you vocalize your appreciation of my endowments.” His lips curved in a wicked smile.

“Damn. Stop it. Look, Mr. Durand, my main job in this town is to manage Charming. Your main job is to do whatever you do, and no, I don’t need any details. One of the requirements for you getting the job done in this town is to register first.”

“If I were to follow your fucking rules,” Hung said, his temper flaring. “My target would be in Barrow by now and I wouldn’t have one hundred thousand dollars waiting for me in my bank account in the Caymans. I got in last night, actually tried to follow your ridiculous rule, got nowhere and barely caught up with my hit. Then, I had to ‘bend the rules,’” he made air quotes, “around your mariner laws to get safe passage for him back to the client. The fishing vessel I’d secured with a hefty portion of my profit almost gave up on me and left, profit in hand, thanks to you and your goddamned laws. Happy now?”

Chia blinked. “You…you tried?”

“I tried. First and last time, ever.”

“But, you tried to follow the rules?” She felt giddy with delight. In the three years she’d managed Charming, since she turned twenty-three, Hung had never ever, not once, tried to follow the rules.

“Yes. Don’t look so happy. It will never happen again.”

“Why’d you even try?”

“Doesn’t matter.” His gaze slid away from her.

“It does to me.”

“I thought you and me…we could…you know…catch up. It’s been a while.”

Her eyes narrowed and it became her turn to smile wickedly. “You wanted to bed me, didn’t you? Times tough in the tundra? No willing females?” The blood in her body pooled between her legs in response to the idea.

“Maybe,” he said, eyes trained out the window. “And no, times aren’t tough. I’ve never sampled you before…”

“Much.” She almost purred like a cat.

“Much,” he agreed. His eyes slid back to meet hers and she almost gasped at the feral heat pounding into her from his fiery blue orbs. He brought his head close once again and took a long whiff of her. “Oh, yes, Chia Petit. I had a hankering for your kind of sexy.”

Oh, God. Her eyes wanted to roll back in her head in a swoon. Focus, girl, focus. You want him dead remember? Your job’s at stake. “Stop with the seduction,” she managed to say. “I’ve got a job to protect, namely, mine. Red wants you, he wants my job, and he wants to parade your head around town on a platter.”

“And how do you plan on preventing that? Or should I take care of it? I sure as hell don’t like being framed.”

“No!” she exclaimed. “You’d be tried for murder.”

“Let me guess, some ordinance or other stating I can’t act in self-defense?”

Chia looked away from him.

Hung scoffed. “Dang it, woman, you’ve got this place so protected there’s no room to breathe. Your town is laced with laws. Tangled, trussed up, bound tight.” He shook his head, his face lined with disgust. “I’ve got orders to hang around until my next hit rolls through town. I might get bored…so many restrictions on what I can and can’t do, you know.” His eyes pierced hers with hidden meaning.

“Hung, don’t do anything stupid,” she said, thinking of him going after either Red or Dick.

“Who said anything about stupid?” he said, looking at her with seductive, hooded eyes. “I assume some things are within the jurisdiction of this fine community.”

Oh, Lord, that’s what he meant. She wrenched her gaze away.

“Know anyone who might be available?”

She almost offered herself in willing sacrifice…you know, take one for the team…but her head shook back and forth in reluctant negation, as if without her consent. “Think how it would look. I…I can’t.”

“Damn, Chia. I know you want to. You want it as much as I do.” Hung made an angry sneer. “You and your goddamned rules. Suit yourself. Anyway, my hit should be here any day. Might be here already, but I don’t think so.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Doubt it. Some bitch vamp named Sultana. Tracking a vamp isn’t easy. Don’t need any more complications. Got my silver at the ready. I’ve got to bring her head back as proof.”

Where did I hear that name? Her eyes flicked to the rearview, past Hung, to the parking lot. Two of the administrative assistants strode in her direction, laughing and talking. “Uh, oh, we’re about to get company.”

Hung looked to see what she referred to, and without another word, he shifted into a fly.

“How can you do that? A dumbass fly?” she spluttered.

One of the assistants, a gal named Debbie whose brain cells had all lodged in her boobs, strode up to the truck. She tapped on the tinted window with a long painted fingernail, indicating Chia roll it down.

Chia groaned inwardly. She’d bet money this stupid girl let Cecil have his way with her, whenever, wherever. She shook her head, shouting, “Too cold.” She didn’t want Hung to escape.

“What?” the ditzy blond assistant yelled. She reached for the door handle.

“Wait!” Chia yelled. She didn’t want anyone to see her roped like a calf in her own vehicle. With great difficulty, she wriggled her arms and maneuvered one of her fingers to the window controls. She stabbed it until the window parted a crack. The fly crawled up the window and flew free.

Chia groaned, inwardly.

“Hi. Just want to let you know I ordered those supplies you asked for. You know, paper, pens and ink for the printer.”

“And you had to tell me this right now, why, exactly?” Chia wanted to fire the woman on the spot. “Or, why ever? It’s your job to do as I say.”

“You’re here. I’m here. Seemed as good a time as any,” the blonde said, shrugging. “Anyway. Now you know. Later.” She turned and sashayed away, with a small wave of her red nail painted fingers.

“Dag nab it!” Chia said, frustrated. She loved the phrase. It usually made her happy when she said it. It had been her grandpa’s favorite. “Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she added. “Stupid ass Debbie and her stupid ass blond ideas.” Then, like an arrow shot through her cranium, Hung’s last statement registered in her mind, waving like a blood soaked flag.

Vamp named Sultana? Wasn’t that the name D’Raynged mentioned about his last conquest? Something about how he wanted to get to know her better and play with her for a while? One thing she knew with certainty: no one, not a bounty hunter, not a shifter, not another vamp, and definitely not a mortal—no one got between a vampire and his latest lust project. She groaned, struggling against the restraints Hung had bound her with. “Could this day get any worse?” Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, she turned her head to see Cecil striding purposefully toward the passenger side door.

As if they had an arranged date, the passenger door opened, startling her. Cecil folded his tall body into the seat. “Turn the truck on. Let’s go.”

“Why should I? Where are we going?”

“There’s something I need to show you. Right fucking now.”

“Right,” she said to herself. “I guess it can get worse.” She glanced at the rope around her waist. “Uh, can you untie me first?”

5

“So, do you ever do Debbie?” Chia sped toward Haunted Bear glacier, the place Cecil said to head toward. Her ghosts circled high in the sky, like soaring eagles. She wished they’d stay up there.

“Do what to Debbie?” Cecil asked, clearly confused.

“You know, fit the bits together?” Chia asked, blushing, sorry she’d broached the subject.

They zipped last the cemetery with its plain headstones and decomposing wood crosses, marking the so-called “first families” of Charming, those who staked their claim in the mid-1700s. The town founder, Octavius Charming, a nefarious gay gold miner, had his headstone here. In the summer, the Hail, Charming Festival was held on this very ground to celebrate.

Tell that to the native peoples, Chia always thought when one person or another spoke of their first-family heritage. She didn’t want to get into arguments, though. People around here were proud of their history. Who was she to make waves? And hell—even she carried pride at her family’s origins here in Charming. Her mom and dad were the first ones to leave and never look back, a fact that bothered her to this day. How could anyone leave Charming?

“We already discussed the so-called bits. Mine’s way more than a mouthful.” Cecil grimaced at her. “You’ve got the wrong impression of me. God said ‘super-size this one’ and his angel said, ‘yes, sir!’”

“Oh, puh-lease,” Chia said, rolling her eyes. Apparently, he regarded his man-parts seriously. She glanced at the snow covered tundra, longing for the breakup when snowmelts would yield lots of mud, flowers, and lushness out here. In the late spring, it would be a teeming meadow. Now, it stayed shielded in white, like a well-kept secret.

“I’m just sayin’,” Cecil said, a solemn look on his face.

“Answer the question. Have you or haven’t you bedded Debbie?” She lifted her hand to wave at Graham, a local dog musher, last year’s winner of the Iditarod. I wonder if he has a girlfriend.

Graham, out feeding his dogs, seemed to squint and his face brightening, waved back.

“Who’s Debbie?”

“Big busty blond who works for me? Kinda dumb?”

Cecil frowned. “It rings a bell. Maybe. I don’t ask their names. Why, want to ask her how I am in bed? I can tell you straight up, I leave the ladies’ satisfied.”

“Okay, okay, too much info again.”

“You asked. For someone who doesn’t sound interested, you sure sound interested.” He shrugged and looked out the window, peering intently at their surroundings. “Let me know. I’ll always fit you in.” He turned toward her, his eyes suspicious. “There isn’t some sort of law against doing Debbie is there?”

Chia blushed, waving a hand at him. “No, there’s no law. Laws in this town are only meant to keep people safe.”

“There seems to be a lot of them. I don’t know how you remember them. My way is simple. I live by the canine code. Stay friendly, stay aware, keep to your territory, do what you like and stay out of the garbage.”

Chia spluttered out a laugh.

“You can get sick,” Cecil said, looking at her earnestly.

They zipped past the turnoff to her land, the property her grandfather and his father had homesteaded. The same land her parents left behind, taking her with them to live in the big city of New York. She’d made such a fuss, they finally shipped her back to live with her grandparents. She’d hated big city life in the lower forty-eight.

Cecil opened the glove box and rooted around.

“Can I help you?” Chia said frostily. She tugged at his hand. “Stay away from my gun.”

“Can’t stand guns, don’t worry. Looking for a map.”

“No need. I know this area well.”

“Humor me.” He retrieved an ancient looking paper map, and peered at it, hunching forward in his seat. “Here! Right here, turn left,” he said, bouncing in the seat.

Chia swerved and fishtailed into the barely there snowy dirt road, almost repeating the same out of control maneuver she did in her driveway this morning. Which was a long, long time ago, she grumped. Will this day ever end?

“Good driving, Ms. Manager. Now head toward the base of the glacier.”

“Roger, copy that,” she said, her stomach growling with hunger. “Except the road is snowed in up ahead. Let’s take our chances on the Two Mile Lake. Think it’s still solid?”

Cecil looked thoughtful. “Probably still good. Usually is this time of year. Just take it nice and easy.”

Chia eased the Jeep onto the frozen lake.

Cecil studied the map, as if it held some clue.

“You know you didn’t need a map to get out here. The glacier borders my property. I can see it from my living room window with the binoculars. I know this land.”

“That’s not why we brought the map. We brought it to emphasize a point.”

“What point is that?”

“You’ll see,” he said again.

Her stomach pitched another fit. “I don’t suppose you have anything to eat, do you?”

“Nah. Had a fine omelet after you left the café this morning. Followed by a romp in the hay with--”

“Never mind, Cecil, zip it.” She jacked the steering wheel to avoid a herd of musk oxen, in no hurry to get out of her way. “How far?” she asked.

“All the way to the glacier.”

“What are you going to show me?”

“You’ll see,” he said, cryptically.

When they reached their destination, Cecil said, “Okay, here’s the spot. Park the car and let’s get out.”

Chia headed for the edge of the lake as if pulling into a parking spot, out of habit—no one would come out this way—and trekked in the direction Cecil indicated. The hard-pack, end of season snow crunched and cracked beneath their boots. “What are we looking for?”

“You’ll see,” he said again.

They rounded the bend and continued their hike. Her ghosts rocketed to the ground, not wanting to be left behind. They spun around her shoulders, while she batted at them, her hands simply moving through them, as if they were puffs of smoke. It felt like a cluster of wispy cats rubbing against her, coming at her from every direction.

“You know, very few, as in one or two people can see your ghosts, right?” Cecil said. “And when you bat at them, it makes you look crazy.”

“Thanks. If you were in my place, you’d bat, shake, and try to dislodge them, too. They feel like bursts of buzzing energy, they get in my way, they obscure my vision…total pests.”

Cecil gave her an enigmatic stare. “You might want to do whatever it is you don’t want me to know about to get rid of them. Just a thought.”

She fluttered her hand at him, dismissively. “Show me why we’re here and mind your business.”

He lifted his hand to point at something. “Here’s the first one. Under that outcropping, there.”

Chia gasped at the scene before her, not believing her eyes. One of the shifters—one of her shifters, a fond friend from town—lay dead, his bloody, torn lower limb trapped in a steel-jaw leg trap. His legs still in the visage of a wolf, half his torso naked and human, his mouth open in an endless scream, it looked like he’d died an agonizing death. “What the holy hell happened?” Chia asked, her hand flying to her mouth to trap the sob inside.

“I think you can see for yourself.” Cecil smirked.

“Yeah, but I mean why? And why didn’t he shift back and free himself?”

“You know a shifter in agony or under duress has no control. Hell, he probably started to shift back as he died in some sort of instinctual impulse to return to his form of origin.”

“How would I know that?” Chia snapped, clearly distraught. “I don’t shift.”

“It’s common knowledge, Ms. Manager.”

“Not to me it isn’t.” Chia struggled to hold back the rage and tears. “This violates city law six zero five, prohibiting the use of animal leg and body traps,” she said, sadly, softly, as if to herself. The laws she’d fought for, tooth and nail, were in place to protect the shifters and animals alike, and to keep the residents of Charming safe.

Two of her ghosts, the broken hearted spirit and the rage-filled one circled her head. The broken hearted ghost pulled on her, making her feel weighted and heavy. The rage-filled ghost buzzed like an angry hornet, pissing her off even more. She waved her hands frantically, shooing them away. “What do you mean the first one?”

“First of many, I’m afraid,” Cecil said, hands on his hips.

She dropped to her knees beside him, crushing the icy, brittle snowbank. She gently closed his wide, frozen in fear eyes. “Oh, Michael. Looks like you died a violent death.” She leaned closer to examine the trap. “This looks like one of the traps I confiscated a couple years back. Remember that? When I ordered everyone with a trap to hand them over? I locked them in my barn. What the hell?”

“Don’t know about the traps, but what I do know is Red did it. Either him or Dick. This whole passage into the glacier is Hung’s place of exit, right?”

“It’s usually the way he enters and exits, true.” Chia often fantasized of him making a beeline right for her house when he entered via the glacier gate. Skip the trails heading for town. Land on her doorstep with a naked smile, having shifted out of whatever form he arrived in. We’d share some skin, swap some spit, get busy, get it on, and then I’d kill him. “It’s the safest passage for him since no one comes out here. Superstitious humans and all. Why wouldn’t Hung have seen him? He must have been here for days.”

Cecil lifted one of his shoulders and let it fall. “Who knows? Maybe he scented it and thought it roadkill. Man on a mission wouldn’t stop for roadkill.”

She cast her gaze at the glacier up ahead. Known as a valley glacier, it spilled between two mountains, like a waterfall of non-moving water. The dome on the right gave the glacier its name. The top of the craggy rise looked like the back of a grizzly bear, including the hump. Smaller protrusions served as ears, leading down to a slope of a bear nose. As many had died trying to cross this passage to get wherever they needed to go, the name Haunted Bear glacier had stuck for centuries. “Why are you asking about Hung?” she asked, still horrified.

“You know that woman you didn’t want to hear about? My after brunch fuck?”

“Jesus, Cecil.” Chia shook her head at him.

“You sure can be a prude sometimes, Ms. Manager. What do you call it?”

“I call it…I call it…I don’t know, I call it fun when and if you can get it, let’s move on. What about her?”

“Her uncle hunts out here. Said he came across poor Michael yesterday. Left it alone for you to see it. He found lots of other traps set out here. Suspects there’s even more. Said they’re going to catch a mess of innocent animals, shifters, and hopefully Hung Durand, which is stupid because we know most people are scared of this place. That’s why I brought the map.”

“Except for the shifters,” Chia said, sadly. “They don’t care.”

Cecil dusted the snow from a flat boulder, unrolled the map and said, “Look here. Here’s our town.” He stabbed the parchment with his grubby fingertip, indicating Charming. The population of six hundred ninety five was scribed along the map in elegant letters. “We’re bordered by a wilderness preserve to the north. The Bering Sea to the west. Tribal lands to the south, spreading out southwest along the Contrary Islands.”

“Yeah, what are you telling me that I don’t already know?”

“The only way in and out of Charming is by bush plane, boat, from the south if you’re granted passage through tribal lands, through the wilderness if you want to take your chances, or through this passage.” He pointed to the valley glacier. “There’s one narrow passageway to the east people use during the thaw but basically, we’re in our own little world out here.”

“I’m still not following.”

“Think about it, chief. Red and Dick putting traps in Hung’s only traversed path in and out means easy pickings. I know you want him dead but I also know you have a soft spot for him, too.”

Chia’s face burned with heat. “Not really. No soft spots here.”

Ignoring her, Cecil continued. “Lord only knows what Michael was doing out here.”

Chia got to her feet, brushing the snow from her calves, and grimaced at the stiff male lying on the ground. As much as she wanted Hung’s hide, she wouldn’t wish this kind of death on anyone. “Okay. Let’s make a plan. Can you contact the wolf clan? We’ll have them conduct a burial ceremony to consecrate Michael’s life. I’ll get in touch with his family. That’s going to suck,” she murmured to herself.

“All right, I can do that. But, there’s more.” Cecil propped his hands on hips once more, surveying the scene with disgust.

“What? Spill it.”

“My fuc…the person I shared sex with this morning, said her uncle suspects traps in every known area surrounding Charming. This could cause a lot of deaths, Ms. Manager. A lot of deaths. Your reputation could take quite a few hits.”

“Come on, I’m not responsible for this.” Chia threw her hands in the air. “Why would my reputation take the hits?”

“You’re the manager. I’m just reporting back. Telling you what I heard.” He looked at her, his eyes suddenly dancing with mirth. “Fawn was right. You look like a little bitty chocolate cupcake, full of spitfire.” He began to laugh.

“Quit it.”

He laughed even harder.

“Stop it, Cecil, I’m not in the mood.”

“Itty bitty pink frosted cupcake,” he hooted.

Without warning, she barreled into him with all the force she could muster.

Cecil lost his footing and fell backward, with her on top. The air whooshed from his lungs and for a moment, he looked like a fish out of water, gasping for air. Finally, his chest expanded like a bellows and he took several restorative gulps. “Damn, girl. Where’d that come from?”

“I’m not in the mood for being today’s topic of humor,” she said. Balling her hand into a fist, she slugged his ribcage.

“Ow, stop it.” He curled his broad palm around her fist, pushing her hand away from him.

She sat, breathing hard, straddling Cecil’s hips.

He lay, breathing hard, looking at her intently.

When she felt the stirrings beneath her crotch, she knew why. “Oh, no, you don’t, Cecil, you’re not going to get a boner with me, buddy.”

“You’re so cute, how can I help it? How can any guy help it? Better than dwelling on death.”

She paced from him, furious her body had begun to respond. Oh, my aching ovaries. My hormones are working overtime. Apparently excited, the ghost of sexual transgressions wound its way up her leg like a snake. She slapped at her thigh. “Get off of me.”

Cecil got to his feet, shook his hair out with both hands, and straightened his jacket.

She regarded him for a few seconds. Yep, if he bothered to comb his hair, the man could be considered sexy. Strong jaw, super smile, square shoulders, muscled chest… “Uh, let’s head back. I’m famished.” She didn’t dare look at him, focusing on the dead shifter instead. Her temper flared at the act of violence before her. The ghost of past angry misconduct taunted her, his silvery form turning a bright, blood red. She felt unnatural anger course through her body. She brushed at her torso, feeling as if attacked by bees.

Cecil, once again standing with his hands on his hips, gawked at her. “If I couldn’t see those damn ghosts, I’d think you were touched in the head, Ms. Manager.”

“Thanks, Cecil. I’m fine. Let’s get rolling. I’ll buy you lunch, what do you say?”

“Thanks, but if you can give me a few dollars for the bar tonight, I’d appreciate it.”

“Seriously? You want me to pay you to get drunk?”

He shrugged. “I can get the money in other ways, but…” He trudged in the direction of the truck. “You offered.”

She stomped away from him, making him step up his stride until he quickly caught up with her.

“You’re sure in a snit today. Are you certain you don’t want to…you know? The word you don’t want me to say? It does wonders to ease tension. I can have you back to happy in no time at all.” He looked at her with complete sincerity, as if offering to help her weed her garden.

“Thanks, Cecil,” she said, almost laughing. “You’ve got the best heart of anyone I know.”

“It’s not my heart that’s the good part. It’s my--”

“Got it. Thanks again, but it’s a no.” She strode silently back to the Jeep. Once she and Cecil were in their seats, she rummaged in her purse, pulling out a ten. “Here. It won’t get you drunk, but it will get you a good buzz.”

Cecil brightened. “Thanks, Ms. Manager, but you didn’t really have to do that. You know I do odd jobs and such.”

“Take it. You’ve done a good deed today by taking me out here. It’s the least I can do.”

“Well, I’ll let you know if any more information comes my way. I’m telling you, the ladies are so pleased when I’m done with them, they talk to me. They tell me things.”

For a split second she wondered what it would be like to try Cecil. That thought was shoved away by memories of Hung Durand breathing on her neck in the SUV a while ago. His lips had been so close. Thinking of his arm wrapped around her chest made her nipples ache. Oh, Lord, I want that man. And then, God help me, I want him dead.

6

Chia arrived home after dark, at around six p.m., exhausted. All she wanted was a long bubble bath, bottle of wine, and a good romance novel. Pure heaven. She dragged herself up the front steps, pausing for a moment to listen to the gurgling creek that ran adjacent to her property.

Bordered by a beautifully rusted iron fence with abundant viewing cutouts, the whole setup designed to re-route the bears while allowing her to take in the creek’s majesty, the bubbling water often served as solace. Today, since the day had been so horrid, it only served as mild distraction.

Sighing wearily, she stepped through the massive timber front door. She hung her coat on a hook, turned, and stepped unaware into a pile of slimy, slippery, red, gooey something-or-other that made her do the splits. She landed, with a curse and a thud, the crotch of her jeans split.

“Oh, you’re home,” said D’Raynged, stepping out of the kitchen holding a wine glass filled with deep red liquid—probably not Cabernet. “I see you found my hairball. Something in my throat.” He placed an elegant hand on his elegant neck and made several elegant voice clearing sounds. “Yep, I think I got it. I knew you wouldn’t mind since the place looks like…” His lip curled in derision. “Like this.”

“You did this on purpose!” She lifted her smarting hands, covered with his bloody stomach projectile. “You yakked on the floor! This is disgusting! I can’t believe you did this.”

“And I can’t believe you choose to live in a pig pile of trash and remnants of your human encounters. I almost slid to the floor when I stepped on a jizz-filled condom next to the dining table. Your living room stinks of weed, cheap beer, and even cheaper tequila. There are filthy dishes in the sink…Puh-lease, child, you test my good nature,” he sniffed.

“I’m a busy woman,” she snapped. She got up from the floor, shaking her hands free of crimson slime. Her ghosts simply hummed and swirled along the ceiling, watching.

“When are you going to do something about your apparitions?” D’Raynged said.

“You can see them?” she asked, distracted by the bloody mess on the floor, on her pants, on her hands and splattering her shirt. “You’re a dead man if these stains don’t come out.”

He chuckled. “I’m already a dead man.” He strode into the front room, looking every bit like a GQ cover model—The Southern Edition. He wore a pair of crisply ironed pants and a linen shirt. About six foot four with dark blond wavy hair, high cheekbones, a roman nose, full lips and green eyes—when they didn’t glow red—he held himself tall, as if he expected heads to turn and ears to listen to his every word.

The man had turned vamp in the mid-1700s in Connecticut when a group he headed, as a staunch, prominent abolitionist, suffered brutal attack by their slave loving counterpoints in the south. Born and raised to a wealthy family on a plantation in South Carolina, he’d moved north, and fought valiantly and tirelessly to abolish transatlantic slave practices.

Once turned vamp by his maker, he took solace in knowing his former self had been the poster child to the cause. “At least the cause lived on though my handsome face,” he’d told Chia early on, when she interviewed him for the vacancy in her house. “And as vampire, I easily took care of more than a few of my detractors.”

Watching her, an amused expression on his handsome face, he let out a low laugh. “Do you want to know the answer to your question?” he asked, settling down with his glass of…dark red whatever.

“What?” she asked, hurrying to the kitchen to retrieve cleaning supplies. She returned a few minutes later, wearing latex gloves, carrying a bucket filled with Murphy’s wood cleaner and hot water, paper towels, and a sponge. Her pants and shirt were wet where she’d tried to remove the splatter stains.

“Your question. You asked, ‘can I see your apparitions?’ I’m surprised you even have to ask. Dead man over here, remember? Supernatural abilities? Ring a bell?”

“You’ve never mentioned them before,” Chia said, dropping to her knees and attacking the bloody smears. First, she wiped up the chunks and big stuff with the paper towels, fighting to keep her dry heaves from becoming wet heaves, adding to the pukey mess. Next, she scrubbed with the wood cleaner. The ghosts dipped and dived in front of her face as if playing a game. She had to keep waving her arms to get them out of the way so she could see what she was doing.

“You honestly don’t think your every move is all that interesting to me, do you?” He sipped at his beverage.

“I’d think something as odd as six ghosts would qualify as interesting,” she said, scrubbing hard.

“I’ll give you that,” he said. “But try abolishing slavery. Now there’s an interesting topic. Something I gave my life to, quite literally.” He nodded, as if in self-congratulating appreciation for his good works. “Moving on, I believe you wanted to have a chat with me. Let’s get it over with so I can get on with my date with Sultana.”

Hearing the female vampire’s name, she stiffened, the brush suspended mid-scrub, dripping Murphy’s scented water. Sultana. That’s Hung’s next hit.

“What’s the matter, my pet?” D’Raynged asked. He cocked his head and studied her, eyes narrowed.

“Nothing, except for this mess. Almost got it.” She finished cleaning, then used a few fresh paper towels to get the remains. “There. You’re safe now. I won’t kill you.” Smiling sweetly, she got to her feet, grabbed her supplies and headed to the kitchen.

“Stop,” D’Raynged stated, eyes aglow, doing one of his vampire tricks.

Chia froze, poised mid-step, one foot several inches from the floor, the other balanced on her toes. “Will you please unfreeze me, you jackass?” If her muscles worked, she’d have jerked, startled. The words emerged without her having to move her mouth or jaw.

“Not until you tell me what gave you pause a second ago. There’s something whirling around in your puny human brain you don’t want me to know.”

“You’re the vampire. You figure it out.” She stared straight ahead, eyes unable to move, realizing even her ghosts were frozen. Well, that’s kind of cool, she mused. As translucent, colorful, shimmering wisps of energy, they looked like beautiful, crystalline Christmas ornaments, suspended in the air.

As for herself, she felt her heart beat, heard herself breathing, but nothing, not a single muscle seemed under her command. This has got to be one of the strangest things I’ve ever experienced. She didn’t feel tired. More like bewildered at being unable to move. “Come on, D, let me go.”

“Not until you’ve told me what you don’t want me to know.” He used that tone, the evil vamp tone that made her blood grow cold.

“What if I don’t want to?” Her head turned in his direction, but not because she willed it. Oh, this is weird. I don’t like this, not one bit.

“What if you don’t have a choice? Which one of us can truly make the other dead, hmmm?” He finished his glass of bloody claret and turned to glare at her, his eyes still glowing from the magic he’d performed on her. “You merely threaten. I follow through.”

The look made her feel ice cold inside.

“Tell you what. If you confide in me, I’ll help you with your ghosts. I might have a suggestion or two, if you tell me why they hang around you all the time.”

If she could move her face, she’d have scrunched it up with apprehension. “Oh, super choices, D. I get to not only tell you something that’s going to make you howl, I get to share my worst, most private secrets.” It’s fricking freaky to speak while the lips aren’t moving.

“I don’t howl, my pet. Wolves and shifters howl. And Sultana when she’s in the throes of ecstasy.” An elegant shoulder rose and fell. “Your choice, child.” He rose with languid grace, then paused. “Guess I’ll get on with my date sooner, rather than later.”

If she had any control, her eyebrows would have risen and her eyes would widen. Instead, she simply stared straight ahead, lips parted. Shit! She might already be dead! “What if I merely sketch out a few facts about the ghosts? No real details?”

He brought a long finger to his perfect lips and tapped, thoughtful. “I need details about two of them. Then, we have a deal. That’s after you tell me your other secret.”

Hmmm. He might be so pissed, he’ll forget about the ghosts. “Okay, deal.”

His eyes stopped glowing and her foot landed with a hard thwack on the floor. She stumbled as motor control was restored.

D’Raynged strode toward the kitchen.

“Asshole,” she muttered, when he was out of earshot.

“Excellent hearing, don’t forget,” he said from the kitchen. “Can I get you anything? Glass of wine? Tea?”

“Wine, please.” Her feet dragged as she tromped to the sofa. He’s going to kill me, kill Hung. Then, I won’t have to deal with losing my job. I can hang out with my ghosts and haunt someone else. Good plan.

D’Raynged emerged from the kitchen a short time later, holding one of her grandma’s silver trays bearing another goblet of his translucent red beverage, a glass of wine for her along with the rest of the bottle, cheese, and crackers. “Your refrigerator lacks sustenance. This is all I could find. You look…” He lifted an eyebrow and studied her. “Peckish. Yes, that’s the word. You look rather peckish.”

“If that means pissed, frustrated, this horrible day keeps going on and on and on, I’m with you on that.”

“More like famished, haggard, emaciated…”

“Okay, all right.” Chia put her hand up to silence him. “Point taken. And thank you for the food.” She reached for the glass of wine from the tray he extended, and set it next to her, before taking a few crackers and cheese. What she really wanted was to pour the entire glass of wine down her throat in one gulp, refill, and repeat. Instead, she nibbled on the cracker, trying to appear polite while her mind schemed. “What’s that you’re drinking? I’ve never seen you drink anything.” She glanced at her crotch, spying the split seam. Quickly, she grabbed a sofa throw to pull over her lap, thinking, Dag nab it. Another pair of pants, destroyed. Dealing with shifters on a daily basis had its side effects—namely, sharp claws.

D’Raynged sat in the armchair opposite her. The scene could very well be from the Gone with the Wind movie, all genteel sensibility and politeness. If D’Raynged bore a mustache, Chia thought he’d look like Rhett Butler’s blond haired brother.

“This,” he held up his glass of red to the lamp light, causing it to sparkle and shimmer. “This is a human serum and plasma mixture, along with other ingredients. Some friends and I are experimenting with something that could serve as a pick me up between feedings, and not alert others in social settings as to whom they’re breaking bread with.” A dark chuckle escaped his lips. “It’s important to blend in.”

“You don’t have to worry about such things in Charming. I’ve made it a safe, Switzerland kind of place.” Her chest puffed with pride.

He looked down his nose at her. “You honestly don’t think I spend all my time in this quaint town, do you? Child, I could be in Anchorage, like that.” He snapped his fingers. “And truly, my kind has to worry about being discovered all the time. We’re not safe anywhere. Your kind, even the shifters, fear us. The mere fact you’ve managed to make it somewhat safe is truly commendable.” He sipped his beverage, swishing the mouthful back and forth before swallowing, regarding her coolly.

“Thank you,” she said, brightly, feeling pleased by the compliment.

“That’s why I appreciate you allowing me to rent a room from you. Not that I enjoy the state of cleanliness, or lack thereof.” He arched an elegant eyebrow and cast a look of disdain at their surroundings.

“I see. And, you’re welcome.” Her eyes swept back and forth, too. “I’ll clean it, I promise. I need to rest a moment and then, I’ll get to work.” Trying to buy time, she said, “So the ghosts aren’t really ghosts, not, like the spirit of dead people. They’re combined energy from certain acts I’ve done in this life. Acts I’m not proud of.

“They’re sort of like the offspring between me and the person or persons I had the encounter with. I have no idea why I have them and other people don’t. It’s not like I’m the only person who ever did anything wrong. People commit foul acts daily. Every minute of every hour something is occurring, you know?”

She realized her words were flying out like she’d snorted cocaine or ingested speed—not that she’d ever tried those substances…okay, once or twice at a party. “That one over there,” she pointed at one of them. “He represents the worst thing I ever did sexually. I took revenge on someone using his body.” Her face grew warm and sweaty as she regarded it. “And that one? That came from something I did in absolute rage. He…the guy…he didn’t deserve it.”

The vampire’s face grew so cold, Chia almost yelped. “What? What did I say?”

“You’re trying to distract me. I don’t care about your ghostly bursts of energy at the moment. What I care about is your secret. Then, we’ll get to your trivia.”

She let out a long, low breath. Dag nab it. Goddamn Hung Durand. He’s a thorn in my side where I’d rather have him be a…

“I’m waiting. Patience is growing thin, however. I’d say you have about three seconds left.” He looked at an imaginary wristwatch. “Three, two…”

“Okay, okay, okay. Hung’s next hit is Sultana.”

The room grew so still Chia wondered if D’Raynged had done one of his magic freeze thingies. She wiggled her toes. Nope, they’re still under my command.

He burst out laughing.

She smiled, confused.

“You’re such a winsome kidder, Chia. Surely you jest.”

“That’s me, always joking around,” she said. Could I really be off the hook so easily? She reached for her glass and took a long, long swallow of wine.

“So what’s the real secret?” the vampire said, after regaining his composure.

“Um,” she said, her mind whirling. “Red and Dick want to eradicate all shifters in this town. Red wants my job.”

“You told me that bit of news earlier in the day.” D’Raynged drained his glass of liquid, appearing unperturbed.

“Not the part about eradicating shifters. I only got that news this afternoon. I even saw it for myself. One of my…” She looked away, a sudden bout of grief capturing her heart.

“A friend, am I right?”

She nodded, unwilling to speak or even look at him, lest she lose it and start crying.

“It’s difficult to lose someone you care about,” D’Raynged said, in a flat tone.

“Yes,” she agreed, sniffling, growing suspicious about his comments.

“Harder still when there are not that many of your kind around. Not that many who catch your fancy, I should say. Like the fellow who walked out this morning. A lover, right?”

She lifted her head and met his cool, calculating stare. “Right,” she said, eyes narrowed. “So you agree with me about the lack of fun fish in Charming?”

Ignoring her question, he asked, “And you enjoyed him, true?”

“True enough. We had a good time.”

“As evidenced by…” He swept his arm in a half circle, indicating the tequila, joint, beer bottles, and other assorted remains.

“I was sorry to see him go. I thought we clicked…sort of. In a ‘we had to get drunk or high to enjoy one another’ kind of way. But he left because of you,” she blurted.

“People leave for all sorts of reasons. Some of them might go away. Some of them might be killed.” He shrugged.

She stiffened, waiting for him to make his chilling point.

“My point is, when you lose someone you care about…” He turned his green eyes on her. “You might do something you wouldn’t normally do. Say, out of grief.”

“Like what might that be? And who are we talking about?”

He picked imaginary lint from his pale shirt. “That depends on whether or not the loss could have been prevented.”

“What are you saying, D?”

“I’m saying, you’re a terrible liar and if I lose Sultana, I don’t know what might happen in your little town. Switzerland might turn into Somalia. A blood bath.”

“You knew all along, didn’t you?” Chia said, defeated, her mood falling into sub-zero territory.

“Not dignifying that with an answer,” he said.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Take care of it, what else? You’re a bright and courageous woman. I’d suggest you get a move on. My date commences in an hour.”

Her cheeks puffed with air and she let it out slowly. “So much for a bubble bath, huh?” She got to her feet, feeling like she weighed two tons. “Did you even want to hear about my ghosts?”

“Not really, not tonight. I might, though in the future. It depends on your outcome tonight. If things go well for you, I may be quite generous with my advice. I suspect it has something to do with your skills in isolating your emotions.”

“You mean not dealing with them, as in denial.”

“You say denial, I say isolating.” D’Raynged swished his hand back and forth. “It all serves a purpose of allowing you to do your practical, boring job rather than live a life of passion.”

“Fuck off, D. Leave me and my passion out of the conversation.”

“As you wish.” He sipped his serum mixture.

She poured the rest of her wine down her throat, refilled, and repeated her actions, the effect of the alcohol already hitting her system.

“You’re going to go out drunk?”

“I think well when I’m drunk.”

D’Raynged scoffed. “I seriously doubt that. You’re putting yourself and others in harm’s way if you try operating a motor vehicle.”

“Do you want to drive me around?”

He rolled his eyes.

“There’s no one on this road for miles. When I get to town, I’ll walk.”

“Whatever. It’s your life. And no, I won’t be your maker. I don’t want something like that on my conscience.”

“Do you even have a conscience? Never mind, I don’t care. I’m out of here.”

“Do you have any kind of plan?”

“Not really. Still planless.” Other than pleasuring myself with Hung Durand before making him dead. She got to her feet, weaving slightly as the wine shook the sense from her system. For good measure, she seized the bottle and poured a glug down her gullet. “Where do you suppose a bounty hunter would go for the evening?”

“A bounty hunter has three objectives—eat, fuck, and kill or capture, not in any particular order. Rather, the order is served by the day and the duty. Those should be fairly simple to discern. You know he can’t be seen in public to do any of the three, so that should narrow things even further.”

“You’re kidding, right? Once you hit town’s edge, it’s a literal wilderness out there.” She waved her hand angrily at the windows feeling both peeved at the task ahead, and jealous at the thought of Hung in some other woman’s bed. “How do you know he hasn’t already accomplished his mission, huh? I could be heading out on a fruitless mission when I could be taking a bubble bath.”

A mirthless smile crossed his face. “Let’s hope that isn’t the case. For your sake, as well as for your townspeople. All of this could be so simple if you didn’t have your silly restrictions and protections on shifters and bounty hunters. I could take care of everything.” He snapped his fingers. “And get a filling meal in the process. Now, if you’ll excuse me…wait.”

“What?” she said, glumly.

“Hasn’t it crossed your mind that Red and Dick…aren’t those the names you used?”

“Yes.”

“Hasn’t it crossed your mind that the Red Spotted Dick plans on violating your city ordinances? Sounds like they’ve already begun.”

She almost laughed at the phrase Red Spotted Dick but weariness took over. I’m going to have to use that. “Yeah, well, you know how long it takes to intervene when government gets in the way. And Joseph, the regional manager, has an election coming up. The laws were only made by me, one handshake at a time. That’s why they’ve worked so well. But an election, a new person in office, and my rules are dust.” She ran a hand through her pink frosted hair. “This sucks. And, you’re part of the sucking, asshole.”

“I should hope so,” he said, lightly. “Sucking and biting is something I do very well. Now, shouldn’t you be on your way?”

7

“Good luck,” D’Raynged called cheerily from his perch on the sofa. He lifted a hand, not bothering to look up from the magazine he read.

“Fuck you, too,” she answered. She heard his chuckle as she slammed the door. Chia marched out to the barn, a small flashlight in her hand, her ghosts resting benignly along her body like layers of silvery ectoplasm. Or, maybe they’re tipsy like me. She needed two things—to check on the confiscated steel body and leg traps she’d taken from every citizen who owned one, and get more bullets for her gun. Maybe grab another gun or two. She flicked on the outdoor lights as she opened the front door, illuminating her frigid surroundings.

She stomped…okay, more like staggered out to the barn, slipping and sliding. Once housing her grandparent’s livestock, the large, well-made wood and brick structure, shadowed from overhead branches bare of leaves at this time of year, stood to the side of the driveway.

Leaning against the door to steady herself, she jammed the penlight between her teeth and hefted the sturdy lock she used to protect the space. Sure enough, one side of the rugged shackle had been sliced, making it appear secure.

Instead, the entire lock pivoted in her gloved hand. “Dag nab it,” Chia uttered. She removed the padlock, threw it into the stand of trees, and opened the barn door. Her tools stood neatly against the wall. Her snowmobile sat at the far end of the long barn. Her metal gun case loomed in the corner, and it appeared to be locked tight. “They would have had to use dynamite to get in there,” she said, her words sounding a little slurred. She peered inside one of the stalls that used to house horses, and sure enough, all of the traps she’d confiscated were gone, gone, gone. “Goddamn it,” she swore. “Goddamn Red Spotted Dick.”

She strode to the gun case, entered the combination in the lock and the door swung open easily. She retrieved bullets, along with a Nosler, her favorite rifle. She held it at eye level, imagined viewing Hung through the scope and pretended to shoot it. “Wham! Right between the eyes.”

She knew she was a good shot, even on her worst days, like today. She’d even competed in some of the local shooting contests Charming held each year and won, much to the chagrin of the male contestants. They made up endless excuses as to why she won and they didn’t. She locked the gun case, made a mental note to buy a new lock for the barn door, and tromped to her SUV, growing used to the sloshing sensation in her head resulting from slamming the wine.

Focusing hard, she managed to maneuver the Jeep along the slick, arctic road. She paused at a crossroads. “Which way would a bounty hunter like Hung go, if hunting a vampire, looking for food, or seeking a good fuck?” She blushed, thinking herself as good a fuck as any, probably better. “Hormones are hormones,” she mumbled, in her defense. “And preferences are preferences. And he fits my ideal male…sort of…at least in the physical department.”

She grimaced, chiding herself at wanting to have anything remotely sexual to do with Hung Durand. “I barely know the guy. I don’t know much about him except that he rolls through town when he has business here.” Her fingers played along the edge of the steering wheel, as she stared into the starry night sky. “Hmmm. There’s a little known hangout for one of the arcane clans outside of town a couple miles. That’s a start. Maybe one of the shifters knows where he is?”

Although everyone knew the bounty hunter registration laws, the shifters lived by a “don’t ask and we won’t tell” kind of code. In other words, as long as no one got hurt, they didn’t need to snitch.

She turned in the opposite direction of town, heading toward the rocky outcropping where the arcane clan gathered. Even in her wine sloshed state, she managed to avoid most of the potholes on this desolate road. Her truck seesawed along, lurching and sliding in the muddy places, much as she would have done had she been on foot.

Spying the dim lights of the club ahead, she parked several yards away and got out of the Jeep, her ghosts still apparently snoozing on her body. “Good that you guys are getting some rest,” she said, sarcasm evident. “Or are you sleeping it off?” She reached for her leather chest holster, strapped it on and stuck one of her revolvers—a robust Smith and Wesson—in the opening. After that, she pulled on her coat and wove her way toward the hundred-year-old timber lodge. She knocked on the iron door with her fist. A tiny door slid open and a gold and green shimmering eye appeared in the peephole.

“What do you want, Chia? This is a private club,” the bouncer said.

“I need to ask some of your members about something. It’s vitally important. It could mean the difference between peace and war in our fair hamlet.” A heavy sigh followed, the peephole covering slid closed and the bouncer yelled something to the inhabitants. Then the gigantic, heavy portal eased open.

Chia walked in, still unsteady, her eyes adjusting to the extremely low light. Her ghosts stayed sandwiched to her body as if they were tired. She didn’t possess the visual skills many of the shifters possessed. Nor did she possess their hearing ability. Or their scent capturing ability, for that matter, save for her ability to sniff out bounty hunters, one in particular.

She lifted her nose and sniffed the air, but her olfactory senses were assaulted by wet fur, sweat, marijuana, tobacco, alcohol, and other assorted smells. No scent of Hung. Once her eyes adjusted, she peered around the now silent room, removing her gloves and shoving them in her jacket pocket.

Several sets of eyes peered back at her, most human, some in their animal form. It gave her the heebie-jeebies to be the focus of attention, as if she were prey. Once they seemed satisfied she was who the bouncer apparently said she was, their eyes turned away and talking resumed. After taking a deep breath of relief, she sauntered to one of the tables, occupied by a few of her shifter friends. “Boys,” she said, nodding to the males. “Carmen,” she said, nodding to the lone female. “Any of you seen Hung Durand?”

They all looked askance at one another, avoiding her eyes.

“It’s important. All of your lives could be in danger if I don’t find him.”

“We don’t know anything,” the bobcat shifter said. He lifted his glass of greenish sparkling liquid and drained it.

“Not a thing,” a wolf shifter said, his golden glowing eyes darting toward the corner of the room.

She turned to look in the direction he’d cast his gaze and spotted a staircase. “Okay,” she said, rapping the wood table with her knuckles. “Thanks anyway.” She turned and wobbled toward the staircase, hoping she didn’t appear too out of it. That was too easy. Maybe my day’s about to turn around.

Upstairs, wandering through the brothel, which harkened back to the 1800s, she trekked along the narrow staircase, lined with a worn paisley wool rug. The walls were lined with old tintype portraits of historical figures, sternly gazing out of the paper reality as if in perpetual judgement.

Hearing the moans and groans from satisfied coupling inside the rooms, she searched for clues. The last door on the left revealed no sound whatsoever. Light shone from underneath the door. She doubted if the participants were sleeping and they were far too quiet to be doing anything else. Suspicious, she lifted her hand and softly rapped.

“Come in,” called a weary female voice.

She turned the crystal door handle and let herself into the room.

Ruby, one of the local whores, lay propped against the headboard, bare breasted, the sheets in disarray around her. Her beautiful face appeared annoyed, obsidian eyes glaring at her hands as if wishing they held something other than a wad of silk bedding. Her bluish black hair looked messed from pleasure.

“How’s it going?” Chia asked the voluptuous woman.

“It goes,” the woman said, avoiding Chia’s gaze.

“What’s the matter?”

“Oh, I was in the middle of a very satisfying encounter, when you showed up.”

“I don’t see anyone in here. Is he under the bed?” Chia, missing the clue, smiled, wanting to reassure Ruby she meant no harm. She sniffed the air, but there were too many competing smells in the dank room to discern Hung Durand. Unless…maybe…is that his smell? Nah.

“No, he’s not under the bed,” the prostitute muttered. One of her ring clad hands reached for the joint still smoldering on the side stand.

“Where is he?”

Ruby reached out and fiddled with the ashtray, as if rearranging it. “He told me you could smell him. I guess that’s a lie, huh?” The woman brought the hand-rolled to her lips and inhaled.

“What?” Too late, Chia caught the true smell of Hung, mixed with the scent of weed and sex.

He dropped to the floor, directly behind her, wrapping his powerful hand around her mouth, as he did in her SUV this morning.

She yelped into his warm hand, inhaling the strong fragrance of musk, body odor, and alcohol emanating from his skin.

He pressed his entirely too-naked, muscle-laden body into her fully clothed back, his head lowering to nuzzle her hair. “Come to play, did you? Ruby and I were about done. I’m all warmed up for you.” His hand slid down to her throat, tipping her head back against his chest as he ground his massive erection against her. He moved in slow circles, his other hand finding her breasts, in the same way he’d found them earlier today—without the barrier of a truck seat between them.

Oh, shoot me dead, right here, right now, Chia thought, her body responding in wet readiness. “What’s this? You get excited hanging from the ceiling like a bat? Seems a little odd, don’t you think? You’ve got a hard-on the size of Alaska.”

“And it’s oh, so ready to please you.”

Chia almost moaned from the hot nearness of him.

Ruby sent dagger-filled gazes in Chia’s direction.

He breathed whiskey and the musky odors of a woman, no doubt Ruby, toward her nose. Chia grew instantly jealous. I’m so done with this fucking day. She lifted her booted foot and brought it down hard on Hung’s bare one.

He cursed, releasing her. “That wasn’t very nice,” he yelled, limping around the room.

She opened her coat and retrieved her Smith and Wesson, aiming it at the bounty hunter. “I’m not in a very nice mood, thanks to you. In one short day, I lost my latest lover, I lost a friend to an agonizing death, and I’m about to lose my job, all because of you. I need to talk to you, jackass, before you start a bloodbath in this town.” She kept her back to the closed door. “And then I’m going to kill you.”

“Me? I’m about to start a bloodbath? Sounds like Red and Dick’s plan, not mine. Or maybe yours,” he said, eyeing the revolver. He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his foot. “You going to shoot that thing or merely wave it around?”

“Depends on you. Care to discuss your options?”

“You’ve got me. I surrender,” he said, putting his hands in the air. He slowly stood, favoring the foot she hadn’t crunched with her sturdy hiking boot.

Footsteps pounded the hallway, either from someone coming down the hall or someone going to his room so he could come in other ways. Chia smiled at her little joke. “That’s the spirit.” She cocked back the hammer on her revolver, squinting at her target. Spreading her legs wide in a study stance, she made a two hand grasp of the gun, holding it as steady as any inebriated person would—in other words, not very steady. She had to keep blinking to focus and her dumbass ghosts kept sailing in front of her eyes.

Ruby lay back against the pillows, stoned.

The door behind Chia flew open, thwacking her in the back, causing her to stumble, cursing viciously. Her ghosts shot to the ceiling in alarm like small, bright Roman candles. The firearm went off, shattering the window. Ruby screamed, and Hung lunged for Chia. He swiftly grabbed the gun and resumed his restraint of Chia, while still, oh, so naked.

The goddamned bouncer stood in the doorway, calling, “Everything okay? You rang, Ruby?”

Chia’s eyes widened. “What? You called for him?”

Ruby shrugged. “A girl’s gotta be safe,” she said, turning her attention toward the male. “It’s better now you’re here, Leroy,” she said, batting her lashes at the beefy bouncer. “It looked like things were going to get ugly in here.”

“Yeah,” he said, eyeing Hung. “You’d better leave, man. We don’t want trouble.”

“On my way,” he said gruffly.

“And you’re going to have to pay for that window, Ms. Manager.”

“Understood,” she said, sighing.

Continuing to clutch Chia, Hung moved around the room, grabbed his belongings, shoved his feet in his boots, wincing slightly, and slipped from the room, gripping her wrists behind her back with his free hand. “You’re helping me stock my firearm collections. Nice Smith and Wesson, by the way. You’ve got good taste when it comes to weaponry.” He roughly thrust her forward.

“Thanks. Happy to help.” Chia ground the words out, as she stumbled in front of him. “Is this how you do foreplay? It’s not putting me in the mood, sorry,” she said.

He let out a low rumbling laugh.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, as they headed for the unoccupied end of the hallway. “The club’s back there.” As if awakened by Hung’s manhandling of her, a fresh wave of wine sloshed through her system, making her feel woozy again.

“Freedom’s straight ahead, as well as a nice, cozy place to take advantage of you. You’re at my mercy, in case you didn’t notice.”

She kept her lips pressed together, trying to keep her inebriated wits about her. None of this would have happened if you didn’t drink all that wine, stupid. He’d either be dead, or we’d be in bed, and then he’d be dead with a hole in his head. She smiled grimly at her poem.

Hung pressed a knob on the back wall. It seemed to be a door of sorts, as it slowly swung open, revealing a dark stairway. “Private entrance for VIPs,” he breathed into her ear, as if she’d asked a question. “I have special status here.”

“What? You shouldn’t have special status anywhere in Charming. Not without registering first, dipshit.”

“Tell that to Trixie. And Ruby. And Noel. And--”

“Zip it, Durand.”

“Oh, how I love when you talk dirty to me,” he purred into her ear, followed by a deep throaty growl.

Chia’s body surged with passion. She shook her head, clearing it of drunken, lusty thoughts as best she could. “You can’t kill Sultana,” she said, as she staggered down the stairs.

“Like hell I can’t. That one’s important. It will lead to bigger, better, badder things for me.”

“It will lead to horrid things for me. For everyone. You can’t do it. You can’t kill the vamp.”

“And what business is that of yours?”

“She’s lovers with my roommate.”

“Ha! You have a vamp for a roomie? You have balls, I’ll give you that. But the answer to your request is in the negative.” He kicked the panic push bar open with a booted foot. A loud alarm immediately began to blare. “Damn it, who activated the alarm? You’ve seriously messed with my day, woman. Now, run.”

Shouts, followed by pounding, booted feet, blasted from downstairs.

Chia stumbled in an ungainly trot, held captive in the back. “I’ve messed with your day? Me? My day is ruined because of you. A friend is dead and more will follow, not to mention my job.” She bumbled through the crisp night air, her breath forming wispy white clouds as she exhaled. The ghosts circled her head closely like a halo of bike racers on a velodrome, zipping rapidly in front of her eyes. She stuck out her jaw and blew at them ineffectually. “You’re in a lot of trouble, Durand. Red and his crew have set traps everywhere near the Hunted Bear glacier.”

“Traps? I thought you made sure the citizens of this town got rid of them.”

“I did. But somehow Red got his hands on them.”

“Shit. That’s my go-to exit.”

“Yeah, shit. But you’re the badass shape shifter. Can’t you simply shift and slither away?”

He barked out a laugh. “Good one. Ever seen a snake’s movements in the snow? They hibernate. Cold-blooded, remember? Mine’s quite warm, I assure you.”

“So turn into a lynx or a snow leopard.”

“Nope.” Hung flashed a secretive smile at her. “Let’s simply say I’m one of a kind. Anyway, you try flying through the valley of a glacier. Tricky winds and air currents. Deadly. Broken wing reality. You don’t ever see the eagles soar out there, right? I’d rather take my chances with the polar bears and trudge through the passage as a human.”

She scoffed. “My people are going to get killed because of you.” She tripped, and would have fallen save for Hung’s powerful grip on her wrists, wrenching her arms behind her. Ouch! “Aren’t you cold? You’re fucking naked,” she snarled, being pushed at a frantic pace as more angry cries came from the lodge.

Two coyotes, no doubt shifter friends, raced by, several yards from her and Hung. A crow cawed, no doubt another shifter, and flew past her head.

Again Hung’s mouth landed against her ear, breathing warm air against the side of her face as he shoved her forward. “Not cold. Warm as hot buttered toast. And that’s what people do when they’re naked. They fuck.”

Her core sizzled with longing. Damn the man twice over. Still obsessed with her one, lone, ridiculous plan—sex with Hung, then make him dead—her mind whirled with non-ideas. She rarely came out here. She didn’t know this area. She stared at her ghosts, wishing they could come up with a plan, or at least a little advice. You’re useless.

The sound of the alarm blare grew quieter as they slunk through the night. It shut off abruptly as they headed down an incline, crunching through the remnants of late season snow. “Where the hell are you taking me?” She shivered, despite her bulky coat.

“Somewhere warm and quiet,” he purred into her ear. “I’ve got a mighty itch that needs scratching. Here. Feel.” He brought her restrained hands next to his erection.

Damn, damn, damn, you feel good. She closed her eyes for a second, savoring the throbbing heat with her fingertips. “Feels like some kind of growth you’ve got there. It probably needs to be excised,” she snapped. “Got a knife I can use? I’ll take care of it. One good slice is all it would take. Don’t think I have to saw at it. You’re not that big.”

He shoved her hands against her jeans. “You sure know how to kill the mood,” he grumbled. “And you already said, I’m as big as Alaska. But I don’t believe your protests.” This time his mouth landed on the other side of her head. “I know you want this fine piece of meat inside your juicy pussy.” He poked the soft, bulging head between her hands. “Thrusting and sliding inside your wetness.” He rocked into her palms, gripping her wrists even harder.

She managed to wrap the fingers of one hand around him and squeezed hard, digging in with her nails.

He roared, yanking away from her. “Want to play rough, huh? I’ll show you rough.” He halted abruptly, dropping the clothes and her gun, and grabbed her hair, pulling it hard.

“Ow!” She winced against the pain. “Let go of me, you bastard!”

“Nope.” He kept his other hand firmly on her wrists and bent her head back, using his grip on her hair to guide her where he wanted her. His nose nuzzled against her cheek, his whiskers softly scraping against her skin. He progressed to her lips, bringing his to softly kiss her.

Damn. The man’s intoxicating.

Feeling her response, he pulled away slightly, then resumed, giving her several soft butterfly kisses before deepening the kiss. He let his tongue dance along her lips, taunting her, teasing her, inviting her to let go into him.

Her mouth ignored the warning protest her mind insisted on issuing. All concerns for her beloved town vanished as their lips connected. She opened further, begging him to plunge his tongue inside her, not caring her hair was practically being pulled out by the roots.

He obliged, pushing in and out of her with slow, relentless insistence.

She moaned against him, held taut by his hands. One of her ghosts slithered against her cheek in a most annoying fashion, like an electric, high voltage hum. She wanted to brush off the wraith but Hung held her wrists tightly. The buzzing grew more intense, distracting her from the kiss. She shook her head slightly, trying to free herself of the apparition.

Hung must have thought she wanted more, so he deepened the intensity, widening his stance, grinding his mouth against hers.

The damn ghost now made little, biting electric shocks against her cheek. She shook her head violently, breaking contact with Hung’s lips.

“Had enough, huh?” He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, staring at her, perplexed. “You’re lying to yourself, woman. I know for a fact you want more. I can smell you.”

“No, I…I…” She started to say something, she wasn’t quite sure what, when the snap of a breaking branch and the brush of branches against a body caught both their attention.

Hung clamped his hand over her mouth, and dropped into a crouch pulling her with him. “Don’t move. Don’t even breathe.”

An owl hooted in the trees.

“That ain’t an owl. It’s a human pretending to make an owl sound.”

She would have asked, “How do you know?” but his palm squashed harder against her mouth making it impossible to speak. Poised stock-still, nestled between his bare thighs, his flagging man-parts somewhere against her jacketed back, they both listened.

Another owl hooted from another tree.

“Shit,” he whispered. “We’ll have to continue this fine moment another time.” Without another word, he shifted into a bat and fluttered away, leaving her to land on her butt on the frigid forest floor, falling into the snow and leaves, next to her gun and the man’s clothes.

She let out a yelp. In the dim light, she searched for the gun but only found Hung’s pants. At the sound of footsteps, she abandoned her search and duck walked toward a large boulder, keeping her back toward the rock.

“Anyone out there?”

Dag nab it. It sounds like Red Spotted Dick.

“Hello? Anyone?”

The two men stalked into the clearing, glancing around. From what Chia could tell, they wore what looked like high tech night vision goggles.

Her ghosts huddled around her, flaring into blurry glow sticks, making it impossible to see anything.

“What’s that?” the guy who sounded like Red asked.

“What?” Dick answered.

“Over there. Looks like…looks like ghosts or some shit.”

“Take your night goggles off,” the other man said. “Still see ’em?”

“Nope,” Red said. “You?”

“Let me check.” A rustling sounded as he apparently removed his high tech headpiece. “Nope.”

Chia barely breathed.

“Okay, put em back on. One, two, three.”

Red let out a high-pitched screech. “Still there. Let’s get out of here. This place is haunted, too, same as the glacier. Damn shifters and ghouls,” he said, as he hustled farther down the incline. “Can’t wait to be rid of them.”

Chia continued her silent vigil. When the world resumed its nighttime quietude, she slowly stood. Her ghosts made lazy circles overhead. “Which one of you alerted me to danger by annoying the shit out of me, buzzing along my face like an electric eel?” she whispered. “Anyone care to answer?” No response came. “And how did you think to shield me with light? Thanks, guys. Maybe there’s a use for you yet.”

Wandering back to her truck, she peered into the night sky, searching for directional guidance. She hadn’t really paid attention to where she was being pushed earlier, but she knew how to get back up the hill.

Sore, adrenaline and arousal still coursing through her alcohol induced state of mind, she picked her way up the incline, in the dark, wondering what her next move should be. “Haven’t a clue,” she muttered as she got to her truck. “I lost my favorite gun and now hold the man’s pants, as if that’s any consolation.” After giving them a sniff of longing, stoking her hormones, she pitched them into the back seat and fired up the engine, prepared to head somewhere—she just wasn’t sure where that somewhere should be.

8

In the wee hours of the morning, Chia dragged her weary, bone-tired body into the comforting surroundings of her home. She’d hunted for Hung all night but hadn’t made any headway. Dawn would arrive soon enough.

Hanging up her coat and removing her boots, she planned on straightening up the living room, for my asshole roommate, and going to bed, to sleep for days if need be. Not that I have the luxury of sleeping for days, she grumbled. “And if Hung flew off to do his job and Sultana is dead, I’ll either be awake or joining her in the afterlife in a very short time when my lovely roommate returns. What a fantastic greeting that will be,” she added, snark lacing her words.

She snagged an empty box from the pantry, and stomped into the living room. Cursing as she cleaned, she dropped the shot-glass, the tequila bottle, the beer cans and bottles, devoid of beer, the joint, stems and seeds, the ashes and ashtray, chips, whips, used condoms and other reminders of her night into the container.

Using a damp towel, she made listless swipes along the burl end tables and similar coffee table her grandfather had made. She made her fatigue-footed way into the kitchen, prepared to dump everything in the trash, when inspiration struck.

Lifting the small, stainless steel trash container, she poured the remains of the vampire’s undigested stomach heave into the box, complete with bloody, Murphy soap scented, soiled paper towels, and strode valiantly toward the basement stairs in the corner. Tromping down the wooden stairs, whistling, her footfalls echoing in the large space, she hoped the bastard would return home at the last possible minute and not have time to kill her. Her ghosts tittered and whizzed around her head as if excited.

Opening the coffin lid, she dumped the bloody, liquor, dope-scented contents on the satin bedding and pillow, slammed the top shut and grinned. “He’s going to be so pissed when he climbs in bed.” With a lightness to her step, she made her way upstairs and tossed the box on the back porch for the recycling bin. “There,” she said, brushing her palms together. “Done and done.” She peeked out the kitchen window. “It should start getting light in about forty-five minutes. Let’s hope I’m right about his typical timing.”

She stumbled down the hall toward her bedroom, locking the door behind her, barely managing to remove her clothes, peel back the quilt her grandma had fashioned, and climb onto the high mattress, using the small stool she kept next to the bed. Her eyes swept the room blearily, landing contentedly on the gleaming, polished posts of the bed frame her grandfather had also made, before falling into a dead sleep. A short time later, a loud shout caused her to awaken, but her drowsy mind still spider-webbed in slumber, dismissed it, and she drifted once more into a deep, dreamless sleep.

9

Chia glanced at the wall clock when she woke, refreshed from several hours of delicious, undisturbed slumber. Noon? Are you kidding me? Half the town could be dead by now! Outside her bedroom window, a weak pre-spring sun shone through the clouds, highlighting the ghosts with sparkling lights, as they swirled to and fro in her line of sight, like lazy fish in a pond.

As she came to, she realized she lay outstretched in the bed, not curled on her side in her usual sleeping pattern. Intending to throw back the covers, she found she couldn’t move. Her arms and legs, poking from the bedding, had been duct taped to the corner posts of the bed, her hair felt like it had been duct taped to the pillow and a foul, dead-smelling stench emanated from somewhere in the room. She groaned. “What did I think? He’d tuck in without a fight? How am I going to get free?”

After thirty minutes of wrenching, tugging, and tearing maneuvers, accompanied by the kind of swearing her grandma would turn in her grave over, she managed to wrench her now bruised and bloodied right wrist free. Fishing under the sheets, she retrieved some lube called Silky Stuff. She poured a glob onto her bound wrist to make the sting of duct tape being torn from her flesh less biting. This allowed her to free her other hand.

When she tried to sit up to untape her ankles, however, the pillow came along with her head, tearing out strands of hair. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!” The tape tore easily from the cotton pillowcase, not so easily from her hair. Sitting up, her hips and legs swaddled in sheets and grandma’s quilt, she gingerly, gently tried to peel the tape from her locks without causing too much pain, losing handfuls of pink frosted hair in the process. “Damn you, D’Raynged. This cut and color cost me a bundle.”

When she tossed back her covers to attack her bound legs she saw D’Raynged had put a finishing touch at the apex of her pelvis. A big X had been duct taped across the “short and curlies” at the front of her pelvis. She hadn’t a clue how he managed to be so busy—and so intimate with her private parts—without disturbing her but Dillon had said he moved like a whirling psycho when pissed.

“You’re going to pay for this, jackass.” Deciding to make an appointment this very day to get the remaining hair sugared from her vajayjay, she grabbed one end of the taped X and yanked, screeching at the pain. “Dag nab it, you bastard vamp!” After removing the adhesive from her ankles, she swung her feet to the side and placed them on a very squishy, bony, furry, dead pile of rats, their tails bound together by none other than duct tape. She squealed, jerking her legs back to the bed. No more duct tape in this house. It’s all gone as of today. Lying on her stomach, she read the note attached to the pile.

Brought you breakfast in bed. Love, D.

“More like next to bed,” she muttered. “Get the details right.”

The loud bays and barks of a dog pack sounded from outside her window. She rolled off the other side of the bed and sauntered to the window, seeing the entire band of mongrels from town. “Hello, local dog pack,” she said. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

The big brown and white husky threw back his head and let out a glorious howl when he saw her, making her realize she stood naked in the window. She quickly crouched, snagging her robe from the floor and slipping it around her body as the entire dog pack yipped and howled with glee. Standing, she retrieved the pile of rats, threw open the window sash, and pitched the horrid remains into the snow. “Snacks for all,” she called, as the dogs fell to.

The husky trotted to the window, and leapt easily over the three and a half foot high sill, landing in her room with a flash of light as Cecil. “Nice body, Ms. Manager. I couldn’t help but howl. You should try it.”

“What, howling?”

“It’s a fantastic way to express yourself. Nice rat catch. Thanks for providing snacks for the boys.”

“Uh, anytime.”

“I try not to eat roadkill, but once it’s served, instinct takes over.” He shrugged. “I only hope it digests before I shift into human form, otherwise I get an upset stomach. What happened to your hair? New cut?”

Her face burned with embarrassment. “Sort of. Something new I’m trying. Uneven lengths.” She looked away from him, finding it hard to keep her gaze at eye level and off his fantastic body. “And here you are, naked again. Come out to the front room, dawg-man. I have a pair of pants you can wear.”

She strode down the hall, looking for more signs of the vampire’s revenge. Nothing. “What are you doing out so far?” she asked Cecil, plucking Hung’s pants from the floor where she’d dropped them. She tossed them to Cecil without looking at his half hard man parts hanging between his powerful legs. Okay, I can spare a short glance. Damn, that man is large.

“Pretty nice, huh?” Cecil said congenially, smiling broadly.

“What is?”

“I saw you checking me out. Anytime, Ms. Manager, any time.”

“Thanks, Cecil, but no thanks.” There was something about having a guy in her bed who could turn into a husky dog at any moment that didn’t inspire arousal. Not to mention his status as town drifter and barhopper. She preferred a guy with a job.

“Okay, but you might change your mind.” He tugged the durable pants over his legs and zipped them. “Where’d you get these? They fit perfectly.”

“Keep ‘em. They’re yours. So tell me why you’re here. I doubt if you needed the exercise,” she said, eyeing his bulging biceps. Chia stepped into the roomy kitchen and started coffee, then pulled bread, butter, and eggs out of the fridge. “Care for some French toast?”

“Sure, thanks. As to your other question, it’s always fun to romp with the pack, but, no, I’m on here on urgent business.”

She groaned. “What now?”

“Another shifter death. You know where that outcropping is? The one near the lodge where the arcane clans meet?”

A shivery chill launched up her spine, as she pictured either her or Hung springing one of the deadly traps around their ankles as they stumbled around in the dark. “Yeah. I was just out there last night. That place is supposed to be a secret,” she added.

“Come on, Ms. Manager. Every shifter knows where it is. The townspeople might not know but I suspect they mind their own business about it if they do know. Good thing you didn’t get caught, Ms. Manager. I’d miss you.” He shook his head sadly.

“I’d miss me, too.” She broke eggs into a bowl and beat them to a froth with a fork, frowning. I’d also miss the guy I’m supposed to be killing. She caught her lip between her teeth and bit down hard, trying to quell any lingering desire from last night’s kiss. “Hand me some milk, please.”

Cecil stepped to the fridge, retrieved a carton of milk, and handed it to her.

She poured some into the egg mix. “So. Tell me. Who’s dead?”

“Thomas Rockwell.” Again, his head moved back and forth with deep regret.

Chia threw back her head and made an anguished noise. “I saw him. Last night. He and another coyote shifter were racing away from the lodge. He was my friend.”

“He was a good friend to me, too.” Cecil put his large, bare arm around her, patting her shoulder. “Now, wouldn’t a big old howl be nice right about now?”

“I suppose. I see your point.”

“Or a hug. Would you like a hug?”

“Uh, no thanks.” She didn’t think she could resist all that male heat wrapped around her body, preferences or no preferences.

“He’ll be sorely missed.”

“I’ll say. He has a family. Wife and kids. Goddamn it!” Angry tears sprang into her eyes. “My peaceful hamlet has turned into a war zone.” She dipped pieces of bread in the egg mixture and spread them on the hot, buttery griddle. They sizzled when they touched the pan. “Pour us a couple cups of java, will you please? I need fortification. It’s going to be another long, long day.”

He obliged, handing her a huge mug of the dark brew.

She added milk and sugar in hers, stirring it with a spoon, deep in thought. “Today we’ve got to have an emergency meeting. A real one. This situation has gone from bad to worse.” She flipped the perfectly browned pieces of toast. “There’s an unopened jug of maple syrup in the pantry. Get it for us, will you please?” She slid a pancake turner under the crisp egg soaked bread, and divided them between two colorful ceramic plates.

Settling at the small kitchen table, she sipped her coffee and forked a bite of French toast.

“These are great,” Cecil said through a full mouth. “Awesome,” he mumbled.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full. You look like a…” She caught herself before the word “dog” came out.

“I know, I know,” Cecil said. “I look like a dog. Hey, I am a part-time dog and this man-dog hasn’t eaten since yesterday brunch. Too much fun to be had.” He polished off his pancakes, using his finger to wipe the plate clean of syrup.

“You’re a good guy, Cecil.”

“Thanks. And you’re a good woman. We’re fortunate to have you.”

“Aw. You’re going to make me blush.”

“When I could be making you howl.” He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.

Chia laughed. “Dawg-man.”

“Yep.” He sucked the sweet syrup from his finger. “I could be your dawg-man.”

Ignoring him, she said, “So, we need a better plan than yesterday. All I did was stumble around. How fast can you and the pack get back to town? You don’t have to follow the road like I do.”

“I’d say twenty-five minutes tops.”

“That’s better than me, even at high speed. Okay, you head back to town and tell Socyone I’m calling an emergency meeting—a real one. I’ll shower and head into town. Tell Socyone the meeting’s at two.”

Cecil gave her a strange look.

“What?”

“Well….not that I mind doing things for you…but…why can’t you call her and set it up?”

She let out a short laugh. “No cell signal out here. No internet. Nothing.”

“Right. Makes sense. What would you do in an emergency?”

“Smoke signals.” She smiled.

“What if it’s snowing?”

“I’m kidding, Cecil, sheesh. I have a marine radio but honestly, I’ve never had to use it.”

“Get one of those dog whistles. You know, the kind your ears can’t hear? I’d come when you called.” Cecil grinned at her.

I bet you would, Chia thought, sensing the double meaning. “Thanks, Cecil. I don’t think that will be necessary.” She stood and began clearing the dishes. The dogs outside began baying and barking. “I think you’re being summoned.”

“Yeah. They’re a restless bunch. I’d rather stay here with you.” He gave her a liquid look of longing with his big crystalline blue eyes.

Oh, I’d better nip this in the bud before he develops feelings for me or my ongoing lust causes me to do something I’d regret. “Yeah, but we both have jobs to do. I’ve got to save our town.”

Loyal, duty bound dog shifter he was, Cecil immediately stood, ready to depart. “You can save these pants for me…for next time,” he said, winking.

She didn’t even have time to respond. In a flash, he shifted into his husky self and whined to be let out. She opened the back door and away he went. He’d be great in an Iditarod race, she mused. Run all day, shift to human and keep his musher warm and happy all night. Win, win.

Feeling comforted by their companionship, before she left the kitchen to get ready to depart for Charming, she rustled around for chocolates she’d bought for Valentine’s Day. And had no one to celebrate with. She pulled one of the dark chocolate hearts from the cellophane bag, removed a post-it note from the junk drawer, and scribbled, DR - Peace. Love, CP.

She placed it on the counter next to his favorite goblet, arranging it just so. Next, she slid one of her sharpest knives from the wood block, flipped on one of the burners and held it over the flame to sanitize it. Then, she pricked the end of her finger, and squeezed a drop of blood onto the chocolate. I sure hope this won’t give him some supreme power over me, she thought. I hope he takes it as a peace offering and nothing else. Satisfied, she rapped the counter with her knuckles and strode to the bathroom, heavy hearted over another shifter death, determined to set things right.

10

When she reached the downtown admin offices, she winced, seeing people everywhere, spilling out the doors, milling in the parking lot, all dressed like winter warriors. Angry mob? She wondered how the next few moments would play out, glad she’d strapped on her chest holster, and tucked one of her revolvers into it before exiting the vehicle.

A surge of humanity, like a dark, furious, frothing wave, surrounded her as she approached the building. Shouts, questions, and comments assaulted her ears. Her ghosts pressed close to her. She didn’t know if they were trying to shield her or were afraid for their own lives—not that they had anything to worry about. She figured whatever they were doing, it probably had nothing to do with her.

“Let her through, let her through,” called Socyone, using her height to her advantage. She pushed and shoved, clearing a pathway for her shorty-sized boss to get through.

Cecil, dressed in decent clothes for once, his hair actually combed, bulldozed through and fell into step on her other side. He played protector dog, while Socyone seemed to morph into a Dahomey Amazon warrior, one of the most fearless female African regimes. Between the two of them Chia felt as safe as one could get in circumstances like these.

Inside was no better. Chia felt like she was about to enter the Roman coliseum as the main act, pitted against creatures of every kind. Hell, even the shifters came out for this event. And why wouldn’t they? They’re being hunted.

Propelled by her two trustworthy guides, she found herself jostled to the front of the conference room by Cecil’s hard body. He lifted her easily with his broad hands and placed her on the stage.

Wow, he’s strong, Chia thought, impressed. She scanned the crowd, trying to find a friendly face, save for her self-appointed bodyguards. Instead, fearful, anxious gazes from every square inch met her eyes. She stuck her fingers in her mouth and made a loud whistle, not wanting to resort to howler monkey tactics.

The crowd grew quieter and finally stilled.

She looked into their faces, fraught with worry. “I know these are fearful times, everyone. I’m devastated by the recent deaths. Both were my friends. There are some who want all shifters gone from this community. There are some who want me gone, as well. I’ve worked hard to make this a safe space for all. You’ve seen it. You live with the results. Now my work and your well-being are being threatened by a willful few.” She gave them a stern stare, determined for her words to sink in. “You all know I’m a good shot.”

A couple of the shifters guffawed. They’d probably heard she shot out the windows at the brothel.

She glared at them and they looked away. “I’m going hunting for the guy who started all of this. I’m going to keep Charming a safe place, if it’s the last thing I do.”

Again, the shifters at the front of the stage rolled their eyes, no doubt thinking, “Yeah, you’re going to hunt the guy who took off with you outside of the club?”

Once more she gave them an icy glare.

“Just what are you going to do?” a woman sobbed. “My coyote man, Thomas, the love of my life, is dead because of you.”

“Yeah, and my friend Michael is gone,” another cried out.

“We need strong leadership! Maybe a man like Red is just who we need!”

“Yeah, we need a man in charge. A man would never have let things get this far.”

Right. Men cause wars, Chia thought. How many millions have died in battle?

An uproar ensued in the room, stirred by grief, rage, and fear.

Chia made several loud whistles to get their attention. “I’m as enraged by the shifter’s deaths as you are. I confiscated all those traps, remember? I sure as hell didn’t set them.”

“You must not have locked them securely,” someone shouted.

“Yeah, women don’t know how to make things safe.”

Ouch. They’re turning on me.

“They wouldn’t be used had you not rid the place of Hung Durand in the first place. This is all your fault,” another shouted.

Their misogynistic statements made her angry. Their blame made her deeply ashamed. As guilt took root in her gut, she could see their point. Her wishy washy regard toward Hung was a problem. As much as I boast, I’m not sure I can pull the trigger. And, he was right. Her rules made it impossible for him to do his job.

Maybe we need new rules? But then, how can I be sure the bounty hunters or the townsfolk won’t kill a shifter? Don’t bounty hunters hunt criminals? We don’t want criminals in our safe town. Is Sultana a criminal or does Hung want her simply because she’s a vamp? Her thoughts grew as tangled as the mob before her.

She worked tirelessly to make Charming safe for shifters and humans alike. No hunting, not even for squirrels, was allowed inside the bounds of Charming territory—if you wanted to hunt you had to head for other parts, not occupied by shifters. You could fish, that’s it, or purchase a license from the tribes to hunt on their land, but only during a very short period of the year and only in certain spots. No hunting, therefore no bounty hunter hunting, right? But then, doesn’t the bounty hunter catch criminals trying to hide in Charming? Her head began to ache from all the conflicting thoughts.

She glanced at Cecil who stood watching her intently, the same way a dog would, watching, waiting, ready to back her up when she made her next move. The man’s as loyal as they come. “Get me down. I’m done.”

He leapt up to the stage, as easily as if he were in husky form. He faced her, placing both hands on her shoulders in reassurance. Bending low to whisper in her ear, he said, “No, Ms. Manager, you can’t leave yet. As mad and as frightened as they are, they need guidance from you. You’re the town manager. You’re the pack leader. You’re the one people look up to. Sure, we all tease you and think you’re odd but we all love you.”

“Aw. It’s a strange compliment, but thank you.” If he had a tail right now, he’d be wagging it, Chia mused. And, licking my face. She wiped at her face involuntarily. She did not like having her face licked, not by anyone, dog or human. Well, maybe Hung. She shook her head, eyeing her ghosts, lazily circling overhead. She placed her hands on her hips, stared at the buzzing horde filling the room and waited…and waited…and waited. Finally, all eyes turned to her. They stood expectant. Her ghosts seemed to stiffen, hovering at attention, as if something incredible might happen.

“I think there are some things that need to change around here. New rules put into place. But that can wait. What can’t wait is finding all the traps Red…” She started to say Red Spotted Dick, but caught herself. “All the traps Red or Dick stole from my barn, which was locked tight. Someone sliced through the lock as if it were butter.”

“Get a dog!” someone yelled. “You live too far out!”

She glanced at Cecil.

He beamed.

I’m sure you want the job, dawg-man.

“They could have used magic. I’ve seen it done,” another called.

Magic? To cut the shackle of a lock? She knew about all the shifters but wasn’t aware of any real magic inn these parts. She made a mental note to look into that one. “Okay, okay, okay. Enough. I’m making an agreement with you, right here and now. If I don’t restore safety and security to Charming in the next twenty-four, I’ll resign.”

“That’s a tall order,” a man yelled. “And you ain’t tall.” He and a few others snickered.

“But then Red would be in charge,” someone lamented.

“Or Dick,” another moaned. “Can’t stand that man.”

“We like you. You’ve done amazing things with our town.”

A fickle crowd. A minute ago you wanted him and thought I did nothing right. She pumped her palms up and down, indicating silence. “Those are my terms. I won’t remain in leadership if I can’t do my job and keep you safe. Twenty-four hours. If you don’t see results, you can kiss me good-bye.”

“With tongue?” a man called.

Laughter spread through the group, easing some of the tension.

Sometimes Chia felt like the only way they knew how to regard her was through sexual innuendo. Still, she smiled. “All right, have your fun at my expense. I’m used to it.”

“You’ll never get used to me,” another man boasted.

More laughter.

Feeling the time right to leave, as spirits were being restored, she turned to head down the side stairs.

Cecil simply picked her up, jumped off the stage and strode through the crowd with her positioned on his shoulder like the Queen of Rules should be transported.

Wondering if she should make a royal wave, she called out instead, “Twenty-four hours!” and ducked when they reached the doorway.

Out in the hall, Cecil placed her on the ground. “I thought you needed a grand exit.”

“Thank you, it worked.”

Cecil stayed silent as they strode through the hallway, heading for her office.

“Cat got your tongue?” Chia said, smiling.

His eyebrows bunched together. “Hell, no. No cat’s ever going to get close enough to me to get my tongue. What a stupid idea.”

“Why so quiet?”

“I was thinking…” He stopped outside of her office and turned to face her. “Getting a dog might not be a bad idea. You’re out there all alone.”

“I, uh…I have a roommate.”

“The vamp? He’s not going to protect you. I know all about that. The pack told me.”

“They did?”

“Sure. We communicate better than humans. Simple. To the point. No bullshit.” He glanced at her face, saying, “Excuse my French.”

“No worries. So…” She narrowed her eyes. “Which dog were you thinking would be my protector?”

“Well…” he shuffled side to side. “I could use a room now and then. I’m getting a little tired of bedding down wherever I find myself. It might be nice to have my own dog house.” He grinned at her, making her laugh.

“I don’t know, Cecil.” She opened the entrance to her small office, gesturing for him to enter. She left the door ajar, wanting privacy but not wanting Cecil to think this an intimate moment.

The TV monitor affixed to the wall, next to photos of her shaking various politician’s hands in acceptance of this ordinance or that rule, showed Lemming News and another report about her, apparently. “Jesus, I can’t escape myself. I feel like someone produced a play with an actress who looks like me.” She turned up the sound.

Tensions flare in Charming, the headline read. A coat and fury hat clad reporter appeared, standing in a snowbank, saying, “Tragedy has happened in Charming. This picturesque little seaside town is experiencing unexplained deaths by animal traps. We thought traps were outlawed but apparently, anything goes in the wilds of Charming, Alaska.”

“Dag nab it,” Chia sputtered.

“We’ve asked Red Mountainbear of Fairbanks, Alaska, to give his thoughts. Red?” The reporter listened as a picture in picture display of Red appeared onscreen. The bald man had a ruddy, pockmarked face and thinning hair. “It’s a tragedy, to be sure. Innocent lives are being lost. It seems the manager of Charming, Chia Petit, has done her best to restore Charming to its Wild West days. I’ve offered my assistance but so far, she’s refused. She’s determined to do things her way, not taking the needs of the people into account.”

“What the? That’s all I do is take other people’s needs into account. The man hasn’t said a word to me. I only learned of his schemes yesterday.” She ran her hand through her hair, switching the channel. A scene from the old movie, The Matrix, flashed on the screen. Neo’s love interest, Trinity, ran along a wall, sideways, her gun locked and loaded. Neo cartwheeled past flying bullets. “Love that movie,” she said. “What if the world really operated under those principles? Wouldn’t that be something?”

Neo’s face filled the screen. Sunglasses covered his eyes but Chia had the creepy sensation of being studied by him. Ridiculous. It’s a movie from 1999. She flipped off the TV. “But let’s get back to reality…mine, not Red’s asshat version.”

After seating herself at her desk, she said, “I told you, you’re a great guy but I keep wondering if you want more from me than merely a room to rent.”

The ghosts gathered in her lap like silvery lap cats, all piled on top of one another. Their shimmery forms produced a cacophony of sensations, from extremely pleasurable to incredibly annoying, bothering her concentration. She waved her hands vigorously through them, like creating suds in the sink, and they all dispersed. As she did this, she noticed a mass of papers she’d been mulling over for a stupid, secret project. She picked up the stack, studied the top sheet, thinking the same thoughts she’d had since she concocted the scheme—this will never work—opened a drawer and shoved them inside. She slammed the drawer with resignation.

“What do you mean?”

“You know.” Her face reddened. She glanced at the black and white spotted plovers skittering along the distant shore, glad her office had the soothing view. They’re back from their southern vacation kind of early, she mused. Maybe the temperature will start to climb into the forties, instead of the usual tens and twenties this season is known for. Late February in Alaska was no picnic weather.

“I’d have to pay for it?” he spluttered, ignoring her discomfort. Or maybe he thought she’d offered him a room with paid for “benefits” on his dime. “I’m offering you protection. Loyal friendship. My services as a guard dog.”

Chia laughed. “You’re kidding, right? Graham told me his huskies are the least likely dogs to take out a bad guy. They’re known for their sociable likeability.”

Cecil looked like a paddled dog. Chia expected him to slink into the corner, curl up into a ball and sulk.

“But when it comes to loyalty, companionship, and athleticism, there’s no finer breed.”

He seemed to puff up a bit. “Right! And, let’s not kid ourselves. I’m a wanderer…a nomad. I really don’t mind not knowing where bed is at night. It might end up being next to a willing female.”

“Just not me,” she blurted, wanting to set the record straight.

“Whatever.” He waved his hand breezily. “I was only offering my services. I don’t lack for female companionship. But…” He strode to her desk, placed his palms flat on the beat up wood, and leaned down to look her in the eyes.

She leaned back slightly.

“I do have friends who are fiercer than me…real dogs…you know Shep?”

“The German Shepherd? Sure I do.”

“He’s vicious. I’m glad we’re in the same pack or I’d be looking over my shoulder.” He stood, putting his hands on his hips.

Chia leaned forward, staring up at him. Tall, lean and sexy if you like them scruffy.

His lips curved in a slight smile, as if sensing her thoughts. “Ms. Manager. Are you sure you don’t--”

“What were you saying?” she said, quickly cutting him off.

He tsked. “My point is, where I am, the pack usually finds me. Or we arrive and leave together. This could be a win for all.”

“I don’t have to feed the lot of you, do I? I’d go broke from dog food.”

“Nah. Rat snacks now and then like you offered today. A bone or two. Dog treats. That’s all they require. I’ll get them to accept you into the pack. You won’t be sorry. A fiercer, more loyal bunch, there’s never been.”

“What about all the…you know…dog excrement? I don’t want to have to watch where I step.”

“We’ll have to mark the yard with piss but I’ll tell them to do their other business elsewhere. They like me. They listen.”

“Are you the alpha?”

“What, me?” He smiled congenially, shook his head, and then chuckled. “You said it yourself, I’m not the go-to guy in a fight. I like to have fun, is all. No, Shep has that role cinched tight.” He folded his arms over his chest.

“Where were you thinking to sleep?”

A mischievous glint sparkled in his eye.

“Outside. Where were you thinking to sleep outside?” Her cheeks blazed with heat.

“I don’t really care. Spread some hay in your barn. I come in at all hours and wouldn’t want to wake you.”

“No girls.”

“No girl whats?”

“No bringing home women to bed.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Seriously. I like my privacy and if someone like Debbie saunters into the kitchen in the morning to get coffee, I think I’ll throw up.”

Cecil’s face darkened. “All right, all right, all right. You and your rules. So what do you say?”

“Why not? We try it on a trial basis. It either works, or it doesn’t.”

His face brightened. Again, Chia thought his tail would be twirling if he shifted into husky.

“Okay, and no face licking or leg humping.”

He tsked. “I told you when I’m in dog mode, instinct takes over.”

“And I’m telling you if you hump my leg or lick my face I’ll plant a boot to your backside.”

“Sheesh. You’ve got to loosen up more, Ms. Manager.”

“One more thing.”

“Now what?” He looked as if he might be reconsidering the offer.

“You don’t have to call me Ms. Manager. Chia’s fine.”

“Okay, um, Chia.” He shook his head. “Sounds strange to me. Do I have to?”

She frowned. “No, of course you don’t have to, but why wouldn’t you want to call me by my first name? Ms. Manager sounds so formal.”

“I don’t know. Can’t put my finger on it. How about I call you Petit? Your last name?” He pronounced with a French accent, emphasizing the first part of the word.

“How about you get used to calling me by my name—Chia? Sheesh, Cecil, what’s the big deal?”

His face grew red and he turned away from her.

“Cecil…”

“It’s nothing. Only I got sick eating chia seeds out of the garbage when I was in husky form. Threw up all over the place. Disgusting.”

Chia blinked at him. “I’m sorry to hear that. I think ‘garbage’ is the operative word though, dawg-man. You ate the seeds out of the trash. There could have been all sorts of bacteria in there.”

“Yeah,” he conceded. “And I quickly changed back to human when a pretty girl appeared.”

“And what,” Chia said, laughing. “She saw you rooting around in the garbage and wanted to bed you? Cecil, you’re a hoot.”

“No, she didn’t see me rooting around in the trash.” Cecil scowled. “I’m not that stupid. I’d had my eye on her around town for quite a while. She doesn’t know I shift. Anyway, that’s why the name bothers me.”

“I see. Would it help knowing it’s a Spanish name and it means summer? My last name is French and it means little. Hence, I’m Little Summer.”

He snapped his fingers. “That’s your name then. Little Summer, it is. Wait – lil’ Summer. We’ll make it like a rapper name.”

Chia opened her mouth to speak but Cecil cut her off with his cheery rant.

“Well, this dog has things to do. I’d best be on my way. Leave a rag or a piece of clothing or something on the place you want me to use for a bed. I’ll find it. Super sniffer, right?” He tapped the side of his nose. “This has been fun. Although for a sad reason.” His mouth quirked to the side, as if he were thoughtful. “I want you to know something, lil’ Summer.” He pointed a finger at her. “I believe in you. This dog is a believer.” With a sudden blur of light he shifted into canine form, rising up on his hind legs at the windowsill to be let out. She lifted the sash and he leapt outside, turning to give her a friendly bark, a generous howl and a tail wag.

“Hey. You looked great today in those clothes.” She glanced at the pile on the floor. “Where do you want them?”

He scratched the snow and dirt with his front paw, and pushed leaves and snow into the hole he’d made.

“Hide them somewhere?”

He barked.

“Okay, I’ll leave them out next to the trash cans in a plastic bag. But no dumpster diving, got it?”

Giving her a dog grin, he turned and trotted away in the snow, leaving her blinking with only her six ghosts as witnesses—like they’d ever say anything.

11

Chia left her office right before dusk, intending to scoot home, grab some food and maybe a nap, and make a bona fide plan before heading out for the night to pursue said plan. Whoever declared her one day statement of intention a tall order had been right. What the hell do I think I can accomplish in twenty-four hours?

Thirty minutes later, barely a flicker of light shone on the horizon. Her ghosts draped themselves across the seats, apparently snoozing or stoned with some vibrational narcotic. She puzzled at them for a second—useless wisps of energy—then quickly looked up as an elk slowly stepped across the road, illuminated by her headlights, his head down. She braked, quickly, spilling the ghosts onto the floor.

One of his fine antlers had been broken, and the poor thing limped as if severely injured. A flap of his skin hung from his side, revealing bloody muscle and fascia. It almost looked like he glowed with a sickly yellow light. She blinked to clear her vision, thinking it a trick of the night sky or maybe her headlights.

Since the rut happened in the autumn, she wondered what had befallen this magnificent creature. She thought about getting her gun out and finishing him off, but figured whoever had done the damage was no doubt in the vicinity, waiting for her to leave so he could eat in peace. Life and death—we’re never more than a whisper away from the end, you know? Ask Michael or Thomas.

Once the elk had disappeared into the blackness, she stepped on the gas and eased the truck forward. Night had fallen in earnest, completing the job the cloud cover started during the late afternoon. She hoped D’Raynged would accept her peace offering. He’d be up soon, if he wasn’t already, and she’d find out.

Even though the air temps were in the teens, she cranked up the heater and rolled down the window. She loved to hear the sounds of night…the gurgling creek…the small, tumbling waterfall up ahead…the sound of owls and wolves and other night stalkers. She stopped the Jeep to listen, leaning her head out the window into the crisp air. A weird warbling sounded from the small stand of trees. “What the hell is that?” She cocked her head but didn’t hear it again. “To heck with it. Let’s get out,” she said to the ghosts. “Maybe an idea will form.”

The crunchy tromp, tromp, tromp of her footsteps seemed to echo in her ears in an unnerving manner, like each step set off an explosion. Smells swirled around her nose, both animal and vegetable, some pleasant, some not so pleasant as if she lumbered through a zoo, piled high with animal dung.

She crouched in front of the babbling brook and stared into the black waters, jerking when she saw small glowing fish make their way up the stream. “Crap,” she said. “What the hell is going on? It’s like the time I ate shrooms with some shifters.” She stared at the glowing fish, perplexed. A light flash caught her eye and she lifted her head to see a large, strange shimmering creature staring back at her. “Holy heck!” she said, falling back on her palms.

One of her ghosts, the ghost of sexual transgressions, swirled toward the creature and wrapped itself around the energy blob, freakishly coiled, the same way she’d seen slugs mating on a nature show. They pulsated with light as if she were witnessing the aurora borealis copulating with itself.

“Ew. Get a room, you two.” Her own body throbbed with desire as if plugged into the pair’s electrical circuit. “Sweet baby Jesus, what the holy hell is happening to me?”

The creature threw back its head—if that’s what you called it— and laughed—or that’s how it seemed. A pleasant trilling filled her ears.

Chia wiped off her hands and got to her feet, dusting her rump off in the process. Her wrist, the one she’d badly bruised freeing herself from duct tape, glowed in a similar sickly yellow as the elk, while the rest of her shimmered in vibrant shades of violet, gold and blue. Her brow knit together in confusion. She placed her hands on her hips, standing akimbo.

The world around her seemed alive, way more alive than usual. The piercing sound of howls came from the distance, stabbing her eardrums. Coyote yips sounded in the other direction, like high-pitched gun fire. Eyes glowed in the brush. She swore she heard mice breathing, bears hibernating. Forms shimmered, incandescent.

Something that looked like what her grandma used to call shades—the actual spirits of dead people—fluttered by. Even her ghosts took on a more luminous appearance. An anguished bellow came from far away and she instinctively knew the elk had left his body. She heard the footfalls of something or somethings racing along the distant tundra, hot in pursuit of something else, followed by growls, a whimper, then nothing but the crunching of bones and the ripping of flesh. Freaked, wondering who slipped what to her when, she stumbled toward her vehicle.

The creatures twirling in the sky seemed to grow more aroused, as if nearing climax. Her own arousal grew maddening, like off the charts. Sweet baby Jesus, I feel as if I could orgasm right here and now. I’m so turned on. She briefly thought about making haste to the truck and taking care of her needs, but her pre-occupation with her state of mind took precedence.

In the darkness, she made out the appearance of a spectral white form, making absolutely no noise whatsoever, propelled by downy soft, ghost-like feathers. It flew overhead, toward her, as if summoned by her arousal. As it got closer, she stared at the graceful winged creature, recognizing it as a snowy owl, one of her favorites. She teetered backward as the bird dove straight toward her, head first, colliding with her face, hard. Shit.

A strange, fractured explosion shattered her mind, scrambling her brain cells. She expected the bird to drop to the ground in a dead faint but it whooshed right through her skull, snagging her mind in the process. “What the…?” As the bird exited, she experienced the most unbelievably pleasurable sensation she’d ever experienced.

Enraptured, she fell onto the arctic road, yet her consciousness seemed attached to the flight of the owl. For a few moments, she sensed the spirit of the bird, hunting for prey. She seemed to see through the owl’s eyes, heard sounds like an amazing high-tech speaker system was wired to her brain. Soaring silently, caught by a strange communion with the bird, her whole body thrummed with pleasure, like she’d drunk iron fillings and her body, surrounded by a magnetic current, grew taut with sensation. Sweet God in Heaven, she thought. This is incredible.

Then, as if she’d reached the end of a tether, her mind boomeranged back into her body with another whoosh, making her flesh and bones jerk in response. “Holy cannoli,” she exclaimed. “What the hell is happening to me? I’ve gotta go lay down and wait this out.”

She stormed back to her Jeep, threw open the door and leapt inside. Powering it up, she sped along the frozen-over road, toward her home, always glad for snow tires, trying desperately to ignore the myriad of lights around her. Small tiny sprite looking things flew in front of the window, some forming luminescent splatters on the windshield.

Larger looming lights floated by her side, whirling into dust devils as the vehicle sailed by, then re-forming into the “whatever the heck they were.” Once in her driveway, she made the same crazy maneuver from yesterday, barely missing the barn as she one-eightied to a stop. This time her ghosts simply flew overhead, having learned their lesson. She grabbed her purse, burst from the cab, sped for the house, threw open the door and came face to face with D’Raynged.

He gave her a wide, toothy grin, as if eager to see her. “You’re home!”

The vampire glowed so brightly she had to look away, putting her arm in front of her eyes for good measure. “Turn it down, D.”

“Turn what down?” he asked, innocently.

“Whatever you’re doing that’s making you glow so bright. My eyes can’t take it.”

“Child, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play innocent with me, vamp.” She dug in her purse, pulled out her sunglasses and put them on her face, turning tentatively toward her roommate. Still squinting, she found it tolerable to look at him. “What did you do? Tell me. Have such good sex with Sultana she made you glow?”

D’Raynged appeared truly perplexed. “She called and told me she had to rush out of town. We’re to reconvene tonight, if your bounty hunter hasn’t already done her in. I still sense her, though, so I think you’re safe.”

“I’m safe? Me? I’m on some sort of hallucinogenic trip only I don’t know what kind, how I did it, who did it to me, or when it happened. Therefore,” she snapped, “I don’t know when it will end.”

“Oh.” He drew out the word in a long, knowing manner. “Come. Sit with me before I depart. I’ve prepared some refreshments.”

“More dead rats? Headless chickens? Snakes?”

“My, child, whatever is the matter? You’re in a worse mood than yesterday. And here I thought things would be pleasant between us tonight.” He shook his head, turned, and strode toward the front room.

A crackling fire burned in the fireplace.

“You made a fire?”

He rolled his eyes. “No your dead grandma made it, what do you think?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Seriously. Who made the fire?”

“Me. Who else? What’s got you so suspicious? I know how you humans like to be warm. I’m not that old. And definitely not out of touch,” he added with a sniff. He poured a glass of wine for her, lifted his goblet of serum bloody awful whack juice, and said, “Thank you from the bottom of my dead heart for your gift. It meant a lot to me. I consider us back to even ground, as long as my vampire lover lives. No human has freely offered me blood as a gift in such a quaint, endearing manner.” An actual tear seemed to form in his eye.

Chia squinted at him through her dark glasses. Okay, it’s a blood droplet but it’s in the correct place for tears. “Um, you’re welcome. I’m sorry. I’m having kind of a weird, stressful day.”

“You shouldn’t be now,” he said, lifting a tray of crackers and cheese. “Same old cheese from last night. You really need to get to a grocery. But I found an unopened box of crackers in the pantry.”

“Thank you. And why shouldn’t I be stressed?” She took a cracker and nibbled the edge. Hunger took over and she popped the whole thing, cheese wedge and all, into her mouth and chewed like a…well, like a dog.

D’Raynged arched an elegant eyebrow. “Because I accepted your gift. I ate it, although much more politely than you’re eating right now. And while I found the chocolate cheap and tasteless, the blood was delicious.” His eyes took on a dreamy appearance. “Type A, I think.”

“Yes, you’re right. Um…I hope it doesn’t…um….well, you know, I hope you don’t have some sort of power over me now. You know, like the literature suggests?”

“What, control you like a puppet? Like I have the time to do such a thing.” He waved a hand at her. “Child. You have the oddest ideas. While I’ll be able to sense you easily until the blood digests, you’re the one who should be experiencing a difference. Oh, my!” He pressed his palm against his smooth, unlined forehead. “Your current state of mind…why didn’t I put two and two together?”

“What about it?”

“It could be…yes, it might be…you might possess latent skills and our energy exchange has enhanced it. You could be more than a mere human. Wouldn’t that be something?” He snorted. “You, an itty bitty woman who looks like a cupcake having supernatural powers?” He hooted with laughter. “Or even strength?”

“Stop trivializing me. I get so tired of men sexualizing me or dismissing me because I’m cute.” She glared at him, furious. “Stop it! D’Raynged, cut it out!”

“I’m sorry,” he wheezed. “Really, I am.” He worked to quell his laughter.

“Look,” she said, exasperated. “I’m short, I’m cursed or blessed with cuteness and sexual appeal but there’s far more to me that that. I’m intelligent. I have good instincts and a mind for strategy, although there’s been no evidence of it lately. All you males see is my appearance.”

“Honey,” D’Raynged said, arching an eyebrow. “You smell like you’re in heat all the time. You need it more than most, I’m guessing, but you get it less than many.”

“Come on. It’s not that bad. I’ve been far too stressed. Now I’ve set myself up good and stupid. I promised the townsfolk results within twenty-four hours…now it’s down to eighteen and a half…or else I’m resigning.”

D’Raynged grew still. “You said I’d have to move if you lose your job.”

She shrugged. “I did. And you will.”

“I like our living arrangement. I like you.”

“You do?” Her mouth fell open.

“Of course. I love our practical jokes. No one’s ever retaliated.”

“Or lived to retaliate, I presume. I’ve got other things to think about.” She made the same swishing motion D’Raynged had done. “That’s why I need to use my strategic skills to their fullest and not be distracted by weird ghostly things that twirl with my ghosts, or tiny sprites or supernatural hearing.”

“You met the Fae, I take it? And the wee sprites?”

“I didn’t meet anybody. I witnessed quite a bit. And I think I killed a few of them. They were splattered against the window as I drove.”

“It happens.” D waved his hand. “Daily. The little ones are like insects. They have short lifespan anyway so…” He scoffed. “No harm, no foul. And yes, there’s a fairy who’s taken keen interest with one of your ghosts. They’re often hermaphrodites, did you know? The Fae, I mean.”

“I didn’t, no. I thought they were fictitious creatures.”

“Oh, Lord, no. I’ve witnessed quite a few encounters between your ghosts, as you call them, and the supernatural world. This one seductive fairy in particular. I’m surprised you don’t feel it when you’re awake. They take off at night, while you’re sleeping and do all sorts of naughty things. Since you’re ‘all one,’” he said derisively, “you should feel what they feel.”

Hmmm, I do feel horny a lot. “Hey, speaking of feeling what they feel, could they have alerted me to danger?”

“How so?” He sipped at his bloody drink.

“Last night…I was with…never mind. I was out near the outcropping on the other side of town, where another shifter got killed I might add, and one of the ghosts started buzzing around my face. A few seconds later I heard a branch crack and Red Spotted Dick stepped into the opening. Then, they flared around me, concealing me. Do you think they did that intentionally?”

He brought a slender finger up to his lips and tapped, thoughtfully. “It’s possible. If they’re offspring of acts you’ve done and feel badly about, as you’ve told me, they’re intrinsically a part of you. Don’t think of them as separate. What qualities do they represent?”

She pointed in the air at the energy bursts. Currently, they hung from the overhead fan, set on low to disperse the heat from the fireplace. They spun around and around as if on a merry go round. “The red one, that’s rage. Orangish one is sexual transgressions. Green is, um, envy, jealousy, whatever you want to call it, resulting in a broken heart. Yellow and pink one is greed. Pale orange is a lesser sexual transgression. That colorless one is a ‘better than thou’ situation.”

D’Raynged chuckled. “You have your own version of the seven deadly sins of Christian origin. All you’re missing is sloth and greed. I’m curious why you have them and others don’t. People do ridiculous, horrific things every day.”

“I know, right? That’s what I tried to explain to you last night.”

He lifted his eyebrow again. “We had other, more pressing things to discuss, if I recall. I do hope they’ve been taken care of.”

“Sort of. I’m working on it.”

“Anyway, it’s hard to tell if your energy bursts do things to protect and serve or merely to protect and serve their food source.”

“Their food source? Me?”

He rolled his eyes again. “Use your bright mind.” He tapped the side of his head with a tapered finger. “They come from you, so you say. They’re part yours, so you say. They can’t exist without you giving them energy. Of course, you’re their food source.

“There must be a way to utilize that energy until or unless you’re willing to deal with it at all.” Once more he made the dismissive hand wave. “Let’s move on. As for the other phenomena you’re experiencing, all I’ve done by ingesting a drop of you, if I’ve done anything at all, is awaken you to the world around you. You probably saw Fae, sprites, shades, ghosts, spirits and all manner of bothersome things outside, am I right? And your senses were no doubt keen, right?”

“I suppose. It overwhelmed me, to be honest.”

“Make use of it. It won’t last forever, any more than my connection with you will. You’d have to bring me more blood offerings and I may or may not be in the mood to consume them. There are no guarantees. It depends on the day and the quality of chocolate.” One of his eyebrows arched. “Splurge a little. And on your reasons for offering—they’d better be good ones. I will not be bought.” Again, his long hand lifted in a dismissive swish.

“Understood. So how do you think I should use it?”

“How should I know? Scout around. You can hear things like I hear things, I assume, am I right?”

“I guess so. I hear things far away. And my vision seems sharper.”

“There you go. Restore yourself from this paltry repast, then go and have fun.”

“Fun? This situation I’m in is more a matter of life and death. How is that fun?”

“I’m not going to explain everything to you. It’s like a game. It’s fun to hunt. Think like a boy for once.”

“If you say so.” She reached for another cracker, added three more to her palm and proceeded to wolf them down. “Oh. We’re going to have yard guests for a time.”

“What kind of yard guests?”

“Local dog pack. They’re serving guard duty.”

“Mmm, tasty.”

“Don’t even think about it. One of them is my friend. Speaking of which, I need to leave a t-shirt or something on his bed so he knows where to rest.” Better yet, Hung’s pants. “I’d better keep moving. Thank you for the nourishment.”

“Thank you for the blood droplet.” He lifted his glass to her once more. “And good luck saving Sultana’s existence.” The vampire’s demeanor swiftly turned from warm and friendly to cold and deadly. “I’d hate to have to kill you now we’ve made peace.”

Chia stood, draining her glass of wine, but prudently not refilling. Not going to make the same mistake twice. “Yeah, me, too.” She giggled nervously. “I’d hate to think I got my hair all pink frosted and other places waxed for nothing.”

12

Unable to come up with a better plan than the one D’Raynged suggested, Chia wandered outside to listen and observe. When she made new rules, she had a reputation for being cool, calm, and collected. She fought, she explained, she rationalized. In the end, everyone signed on the dotted lines. Never in all the years she’d been in charge, had she been faced with such a dilemma. They want me gone? They want to get rid of the shifters? And never in her life had she felt as weirdly high as she did right now. It was one thing to smoke a little weed now and then, or catch a tequila or wine buzz, but this high seemed bewildering.

She brought a thermos of hot chocolate to stay warm, an old waxed canvas piece on which to sit, as well as her revolver snug in a holster strapped to her hips. Best to be prepared. The minute she stepped outside, her senses were assaulted. “Augh! Too much.” She shielded her eyes and ran back in the house to get earmuffs. “How do you cope with this level of sensation, D?”

He looked up from the TV, then flipped to a news channel showing the logo for Lemming News.

“Hold on. Stop there.”

Red Mountainbear grinned from the television screen, talking about changes coming to the town of Charming. “All the industry locks, from fishing, to mining, to hunting, to building, currently in place by local town manager Chia Petit are about to come to an end. This is a resource rich region and we need to act, and act fast. Plans to bulldoze new roads into and out of Charming are in place, ready to roll. Once the leadership transition takes place, you’ll see a whole new Charming.”

“Oh, God,” Chia groaned. “I can’t deal with this right now. Tell me how to deal with the sensation assault. It’s all I can handle at the moment.”

“Imagine you’re channel surfing. Choose your channel.” He shrugged and focused on the screen. “Like this.” He pointed the remote and pressed, flipping it to another station. Another scene from The Matrix played--Neo dodging bullets in slow motion.

What, we’re begin treated to a Matrix marathon? Same as last time, Neo’s face loomed onscreen. He seemed to stare at her for a few intense seconds. She shook her head. Maybe I really am losing my grip on reality. “Splendid advice,” she grumbled, placing the earmuffs over her ears.

Once she stood outside again, she appreciated the muting the muffs provided. I had no idea so much life happened at night, she thought, crunching through the snow. This is incredible. She followed the iron fence for several yards until she reached the edge of a wide clearing that stretched for miles.

The burbling creek sounded like it was being piped through a loudspeaker, even through the fluffy padded ear warmers. The fence came to an end, punctuated by a solid wood post carved into a humungous bear standing on its hind legs, head thrown back, teeth bared. Her grandfather had been a true artist. She cocked her head and studied the giant totem.

Is it glowing, too? Sure enough, it shimmered as if infused with magic. She turned to study the land surrounding her home. This parcel of land, acres and acres, had been in her family since the 1800s when the gold miners swooped through Alaska in a lustful feeding frenzy of golden greed.

The acre surrounding the house and outbuildings glimmered in a delicate spider web cocoon of light strands heading toward the sky, connecting in a pyramid point. Huh. How could I have missed this? Some ancient protection spell? A Star Trekkie force field? Had my family known shamans? Had my grandfather known some sort of secret magic? Puzzled, she turned to the task at hand.

Big animal tracks, no doubt grizzlies or other bears, led from the creek into the clearing. She sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “Pee-ew. Bears stink.” Lifting her head, she caught more scents, but since heightened senses were new to her, she didn’t know what they were.

Resting on the waxed canvas, with her back between the carved bear’s legs, she tried her best to get a handle on all the sensations. With her vision, she caught all manner of shapes slinking through the night, and illuminations of every kind—glowing eyes, glowing beings, glimmers and glitters of light.

If she softened her gaze and didn’t try to look at anything in particular it became a kaleidoscope of color. Okay, this isn’t so bad, she thought, growing comfortable with the vibrant, shimmering world around her. Tiny sparkling lights appeared and twinkled around her head. She pushed her hood back to get a better look. A strange tingle, like feathers tickling her scalp, indicated the sparkly things settled in her hair, making a nest. “Great. I’d hate it if they were like head lice. I hope they don’t breed and lay eggs in my hair.”

Ready to see if she could handle the aural assault, she shifted one of the fake fur ear pieces behind her ear. Sounds were everywhere. As before, she heard mammals breathing in the distance. Animals’ paws crushing through the snow. Somewhere up stream, something filled its belly with water, accompanied by the slurp, slurp, slurp of its tongue.

Chia gently slid the muffs around her neck, disturbing the sparkles on her head, uncovering both ears, creating a richer, stereo sound. The glitter beings settled back into her hair. Grasping the thermos, she unscrewed the stopper and poured hot chocolate into the accompanying cup.

For a moment, she closed her eyes, savoring. Everything, from the taste of chocolate to the burbling creek, to the scents and smells around her, felt like a gift of exquisite richness. “I miss so much stuff in life,” she said in a low voice, “caught up in the business of running this town.”

“You do,” a masculine voice answered, just as her nose caught the scent.

She opened her eyes, dropping her cup of cocoa in her lap as she stared into the sun-kissed blue eyes of Hung Durand, bundled from head to toe in winter gear. “Shit!” She fumbled for her holster, desperate to get her gun out.

Hung quickly crouched before her, placing his broad, gloved hand on hers. “No gun. I’m here in peace.”

“What are you doing out here? How did you sneak up on me? I have enhanced senses tonight.”

“Enhanced senses? How so?”

“I gave my…never mind.” She tried to pull free of his grasp. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you?”

“Well, for one, I’m holding the hand you shoot with.” He cocked an eyebrow at her.

“True but when you release this hand it’s going to grab the gun and plant a bullet in your chest.”

“You know you don’t want to do that,” he said. “Any more than I want to kill you. We’ll both only do it if we have to, with heavy hearts.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel all warm and cozy? ‘Oh, Chia, by the way, if you wake up dead, I’m sorry but I had to do it.’”

Ignoring her snark, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles. “You look so pretty with sparkling sprites in your hair. It makes you look like the queen fairy.”

“How much have you had to drink tonight?” Chia squinted. Is he high? He’s giving me a compliment?

“Not a drop.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe what you like. You do know how to accept a compliment, don’t you?”

She ignored this question. “You can see them? You can see this enhanced world around me? The world I can only see when a vampire has my blood in him?”

As fast as a strike from a cobra, he swiftly peeled off his glove, bringing his hand to her neck, pushing aside the earmuffs and coat to inspect. Appearing satisfied with what he saw, he moved his hand to the other side. “There’s no mark. Where did he get you? I’m going to kill the son of a bitch.”

Puzzled by his caring statement, she pushed his hand away. “Easy, it’s not like that. It’s a long story involving a truce. I gave him a weensy drop, that’s all. It turned on a light switch inside of me so I see and feel the world he sees and feels.”

Hung nodded, his handsome face pensive in the light of the moon sparkling along the snow. “Interesting.”

Feeling intimidated by the largeness of him looming over her, she got to her feet.

He did the same. He still loomed but she no longer felt small and helpless, like a child sitting innocently near the creek with her cup of hot cocoa. Now the hot beverage spread as a cold, damp spot on her jeans, soaking into her winter undergarment, fueling her sudden, pissy mood.

“What’s the real reason you came out here? Are you the owl?”

His eyebrows knit together. “The what?”

“Never mind. State your business, bounty hunter and be gone. You’re trespassing. This is my land.” And why, exactly are you talking so tough? The guy’s within reach, he’s acting all soft and squishy, he wants you, you want him…

“I see. We’re back to rough and tough, are we? That works. I actually like it more. It turns me on. Want to check?” His gaze flicked to his groin and back to her.

She glanced at the giant bulge. “No, thanks, I’ve got eyes. Doesn’t look all that interesting to me.”

His eyes narrowed while the corners of his mouth cocked upward slightly in a smile. “I see. Tough woman like you isn’t interested in sex…with me.”

Damn, damn, damn, she thought, as her panties moistened. She closed her eyes ever so briefly and opened them to see him smirking at her. “Your business?”

“Besides seducing you? I told you I might get bored waiting for the vamp to show. Thought I might check to see if she showed here. You know, see if she’s on a date with your roommate.” He grinned at her mockingly. “Doing what people do when they’re on a date.”

Kill him or kiss him? As usual, conflicting emotions swirled inside her, as annoying as her ghosts, which were now high overhead from what she could tell. “She’s not here. She’s away somewhere, or so my roomie said. And if you kill her, Hung, especially where my roommate sleeps, so help me God…”

“It’s important, woman. This is a big, big job.”

“Money isn’t everything.”

“True. But career advancement is. And this is my business, not yours.”

“It’s going to be everyone’s business if you kill the vamp! My roommate will go ballistic. You should see what he does when he’s merely doing practical jokes. Don’t think for a minute you’ll be safe from a vampire. Not even you with all your badass bounty hunter skills can defeat him.” She stepped away, feeling uncomfortably trapped between the fence post and his sexy body…the body she wanted…and really didn’t want to want.

“I’ll be long gone, sweetheart. Don’t worry about me.”

“Oh, thanks. Leave it for me to clean up. Nice.”

“It’s what you do so well…clean up after others.” He gave her a pointed glare, loaded with hidden meaning. “So, do you want to know the real reason I came out here?”

“Sure. Lay it on me.”

“Oh, don’t tempt me, woman.”

She blushed, realizing her faux pas. “Talk to me.”

“You’re in over your head.”

“What? You came out here to give me advice?” Her hands flew into the air, palms up.

“Think about it. You’re in a battle for power.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve had this job, what, maybe three years?”

“Yeah, so? I’ve made the town a better place. Done a good job.”

“You’ve made the town a better place for shifters. They’re like your pets. Everything you’ve done, all the rules and laws and ordinances you’ve put into place have been to protect them, am I right?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Yeah, but nothing, Chia. All you’ve done with your laws and foolish rules is set the stage for someone like Red to waltz in and assume real power. The shifters are lazy. Sure, some of them are good people, but they’re on vacation in your town.”

“How is that a bad thing? People love a good vacation.”

“They eat, they drink, they fuck…they sure as hell don’t have to worry about their survival, since you’ve made it so goddamned restrictive around here. They don’t have to watch their backs. An animal, even if it’s only part animal, needs survival skills. The world is not your personal zoo, love.” He swept his strong arm in a circle. “They’re like sitting ducks for Red and Dick. And since you’re the one who made all the laws, you’re the one who gets the blame when things start falling apart. And it’s only going to get worse.”

Coyote yips resounded, their gunshot-like sound blasting into Chia’s eardrums. Startled, she pressed her palms over her ears and closed her eyes, trying to ward off the auditory assault. Her hands were gently removed by Hung’s strong ones. She opened her eyes to see him inches from her face, clutching her wrists, staring into her eyes with a seductive, hypnotic gaze.

“It’s only going to get worse.” He repeated the words soft and low, like a caress. “Unless you make it better.”

Ignoring the double entendre, she said, “No, it won’t. I promised to resign in twenty-four hours…only now it’s more like half a day…if I don’t get results.”

“Foolish woman. You walked right into their trap. You’re merely handing them what they want.” Hung released one of her wrists and stroked the side of her face. “You don’t want to do that. I don’t want you to do that.”

“What’s wrong with the idea? I could hang out here, at my home.” She waved her one free hand at her surroundings. “I’ll work at the crab factory or the fish processing plant. I’ll learn pottery or dressage or permafrost gardening like my grandpa.”

“You’ll be miserable. You like being in charge. You like being in control. As much as I don’t like to admit it, I like you being in control. I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

“You sure you’re not drunk?” This true confessions side of Hung unnerved her. Here he stood, getting soft and mushy gushy with her, and instead of prompting desire, she felt unease and suspicion.

He slowly turned his head side to side, his gaze never leaving her face.

“Well, you’re not going to have me, anyway.” She dropped her eyes away from his soulful gaze.

“Think I won’t?” He dropped his head until he was so close she could see the fine lines around his eyes. His warm breath puffed against her face. He still held one of her wrists while his other hand caressed her cheek. “Make them work for it, Chia. Don’t simply hand over the reins to Red and Dick. They’re nothing but assholes.”

Chia swallowed. Licked her lips. “What should I do?” The words came out in a whisper.

“You don’t have to worry about Dick. He’s a manipulator. He uses people to his gain. You’re strong. You’re assertive. He’s no match for you.”

Chia puffed with pride.

“Red’s the aggressive dick. He’ll have no problem exploiting you for his own needs. He won’t even bat an eye to finish you off.”

“How do you know all this?” She wrenched her hand from his grip and pushed away his other hand from her face.

“What do I do for a living? I’m a professional hunter. I hunt. I kill. I watch people. I observe. I’m an alpha,” he said, leaning toward her. “Top of the food chain. I need a strong woman, not a willing whore. I need a woman who matches me.”

Oh, Lord. I want him so badly. “I still don’t get why you’re telling me all this.”

“I’m offering some of my experienced wisdom. I want to give you a fair shake. I want to keep you around. You’re fun to spar with.”

“Seems to be my best asset. My roommate likes me because he can play his practical jokes and I, at least, retaliate. That and my ‘cuteness’ and sex appeal.” Chia rolled her eyes.

“You’ve got fire.” He took a step toward her. “But you and your rules have my hands tied around here. I’m going to be tried for crimes I didn’t commit. The shifters are pissed because Ruby ratted on me when you showed up. Setting off the alarm brought major attention to their ‘secret’ club. If you hadn’t shown up, all would be well. She’d be happy and satisfied, I’d have scratched my itch at least…” He paused, his gaze slicing through her. “If I can’t have you…”

Chia inhaled sharply, jealousy and arousal making her insides blaze.

“The only option left is to get my job done and get outta here. It’s got to be up to you to figure this out and it’s going to take way more than a day to accomplish. Buy some time. Do one thing tonight then beg for more time.”

She backed away. “Why don’t I demand it? Seems like that would be the stronger play.”

“Good plan.” He took another step.

“Why aren’t you glowing?” She glanced left and right, trying to plan an escape route.

“Excuse me?” Hung looked at her as if she were nuts.

“The world around me…enhanced by vamp…everything glows…even me.”

“Afraid I can’t answer that.” He stepped closer.

She stumbled into the arms of the carved bear fence post, trying to avoid the icy creek.

“Think about it. You’ve got me by the balls, woman. Besides being framed, I can’t take care of Red, according to you or I’ll be tried for murder. There’s no such thing as self-defense, so you’ve told me, which I think is bullshit. The entire state of Alaska lives by statute 11.81.335. Justification: Use of Deadly Force in Defense of Self…may use deadly force in self-defense upon another person when and to the extent the person reasonably believes the use of deadly force is necessary.”

“I had to make a change! People were killing shifters and calling it self-defense. It was nothing but bullshit. That’s what it was.”

Hung ignored her. “But, no…not Charming. Charming’s a protected space. It would be so easy to rid this world of Red Mountainbear, love.” He emphasized his point with strong fingers placed along her neck, gently palpating the vulnerable bridge between her shoulders and head. “But I’m doing my best to adhere to your rules.”

She inhaled, sharply, hypnotized by the man.

“You’ve got to up your game. Red’s aggressive. What can you do to best him?”

“I’ve got ideas.” She placed her hands on his chest, ready to shove if necessary.

“I’d like to hear about them,” he said, bringing his lips within kissing distance, maneuvering his hands until his fingers laced with hers, drawing her arms overhead, pinning her to the fence post. “Later…” He brushed his nose up and down her cheek. “But you might have to break a rule or two,” he said in a voice so damned seductive she nearly forgot her whereabouts.

Her mouth parted. Sure, she could duck under his arms, scoot out of the way, grab her gun and shoot him. Okay, maybe not…he’s got my hands in his vise grip clutches…again. Right at the moment, the kiss option appealed to her crazy, overactive hormones, holding sway over the kill option. “A smart woman never plays her whole hand,” she breathed.

“No?”

“Never. Not even when the big, strong male has come to save her, offering up thoughts she’s already considered.”

“I see,” he said against her mouth.

“Do you?” she breathed into his. Off in the distance she heard a rustle of bodies. They seemed to be racing along the snow in her direction. She heard faint barks and yips, and grumbling growls and glanced to see soft shimmers of apricot and lavender like tiny glowing seed puffs floating in her direction. Dog pack. Great. I can see the aura’s of the dogs. She extended the tip of her tongue, letting it slide along Hung’s luscious upper lip. She pushed her hips into his, feeling his hardness.

He brought his lips to hers in a crushing, consuming kiss.

Oh, sweet Jesus. She hummed into his mouth, overcome with sensation, staying tuned to the approaching canines. Are you telling me I’ve got the advantage over him? He can’t hear them? She sighed into his mouth as his tongue slid into hers. His solid chest pressed into her full breasts, making them ache. The dogs came closer, appearing like larger specks, their loping stride sounding more like horse hooves with her enhanced hearing. I don’t want to do this but I can’t let them see me kissing Hung Durand. She turned her head to break the kiss.

“Playing hard to get?” he smirked. Backing away from her slightly, he positioned one hand to secure her wrists and used the other to guide her jaw back toward hers.

“Not really. Playing another card, more like it,” she murmured. “Sorry.” She brought her knee to his groin in one swift, violent move.

He doubled in pain, wheezing. “You little bitch. What the hell?”

The dogs came loping into view, still yards away.

“Don’t you ever assume I’m weak or need answers, asshole,” she yelled at the top of her lungs, hoping the dogs would hear her. In the blink of an eye, she unsheathed her gun, pointing it at Hung’s folded over body. Damn, damn, damn, he’s never going to want me now, she thought, remorse making a quick appearance.

She fired the gun, aiming near his head, barely missing him as Hung quickly shifted into some kind of winged creature and weeble-wobbled into the sky, away from the pack.

So much for shifters not being able to shift under duress. That kick had to hurt his stiff, hard…. She almost groaned. So close!

The dogs increased their pace, the brown and white husky in the lead. Cecil burst into human form, sprinting toward her, concern evident on his face.

“Who was that? Hung Durand?” Cecil, naked of course, stood panting, trying to catch his breath while the other dogs jostled around him, tongues lolling, heaving from their exertions.

“Yeah.” She spit the taste of him into the snow in a show of toughness. “Jackass was snooping around my property. I showed him.”

“Are you all right, lil’ Summer?” His eyes scanned her face.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine, dawg-man. Is it time to rest already? So soon? I didn’t put out your signpost.”

“No, nothing like that. It’s barely eight. We came out to tell you we found Red’s den. His hideout. We’ve got to move like stealth dogs. Grab your cross-country skis. Get them. Go!”

Chia turned and ran toward the barn.

When she returned, skis and boots in place, gliding effortlessly along the snow, backpack on her back, she asked, “Where to?”

“We’re headed for that hill way over there.” Cecil studied her. “What’s in the backpack?”

“Snow shoes in case the terrain gets rough.”

“Good call. Do you have any kind of halter or rope? I’m thinking of pulling you so you can keep up with the pack. We’re fast.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m pretty fast on these skis.”

“Lil’ Summer, please get a halter. It’s called skijoring. It’s a known sport.” He told her as if patiently explaining something to a stupid or slow person. “Top speed of the pack is about forty five miles per hour. Of course, I’ll slow having to pull you but I think I can still pull you faster than you can ski. And together?” He whistled. “We’ll ride the winds.”

“Okay, okay, be right back.” Chia slid back to the barn, removed her ski boots, and rummaged around for an old halter her grandpa used when plowing fields with his donkey. He’d developed a method for thawing the frozen soil, clearing and nourishing each field with manure, composted tundra and a “slurry” of salmon, some creek water, and a small amount of other ingredients to “increase biological life.”

He grew greens and root vegetables in raised beds amidst endless protests that he couldn’t do it. Not only did he do it, the entire town partook of his bounty. Not possessing a green thumb, Chia hadn’t been able to keep up the tradition. Still, she was proud of the kind of stock she came from. Her people gave back to the community. She carried the tradition in her own way.

She grabbed the halter and hustled back to the pack. Cecil had already shifted to husky. He threw back his head and made some sort of rumbling bark which Chia interpreted as, “Saddle me up, lil’ Summer and let’s go!” She fastened the halter around him, making it as small as she could, grabbed the reins, stood tall, and said, “Mush.” Almost jerked from her balance as Cecil found his rhythm, she began to glide across the plains, leading to the hills….leading to the place her enemy—one of them, at least—hid…on her land.

That thought alone nearly made her cupcake-frosted hair burst into flames. She would not, could not let the presence of the man who wanted her job, who wanted the shifters gone, who wanted Hung Durand, sully the land she treasured.

13

The sky spit sleet as she joggled over the snow, as if sent as a deterrent. It stung her eyes, making her wish she’d brought ski goggles. It also tended to blur the light show around her, which seemed helpful for the task at hand…namely, keeping her wits about her, keeping grip of the leather halter, and trying to keep track of where they were headed.

They traversed several miles until Chia felt so chilled, she’d bet her life her blood moved through her ice-cold veins like a Slurpee. She’d bundled in her usual winter attire, from high tech undergarments, to tried and true outerwear, layer by layer, head to toe. The weather, though, had turned frightful, making her wonder if it were infused with magic. She’d been so busy she hadn’t had a chance to look into the history and use of magic in these regions. Perhaps another law would need to be implemented on its use and practice.

Finally, the sleet turned into tiny snow spits, as if the cloud gods were intermittently coughing. The air still clung to sub-zero promises. This damn weather is warm one day, back to arctic temps the next. At least I can see. Chia looked around as she glided across the icy snow, once again immersed in a sparkling wonderland.

The landscape felt familiar, the way things feel when you’re dreaming, and then you wake up and say, “that wasn’t my home, but in the dream, I was certain it was.” She wondered if they’d transported through a space warp kind of divide. This is so odd. I’ve traversed this land for miles. I’m as familiar with it as my own skin and bones. This place looks both known yet completely unfamiliar.

Cecil, in keeping with his husky spirit, tugged tirelessly, keeping up with the pack.

As they approached Two Mile Lake, Chia yelled, “Can you dogs do the lake?”

The husky barked and entered the solid, arctic mass at a sprint. His legs spread into a sprawling clip and he, Chia, and all the dogs slid along the ice on their backs, sides, or bellies.

“Okay, I guess that’s a negative.” She got up, dusted herself off, grabbed the halter and they gingerly made their way to the edge of the lake. They proceeded through the snow at a slow, lumbering gait.

They reached the base of a sharp incline bordering the glacier and the group came to a stop. Without thinking, he blurred into human form, standing naked, trussed by the straps.

Chia burst into laughter. “Nice, Cecil. You’re my submissive.”

“I’ll play that way with you if you scratch my belly,” he grinned. “Or fondle other areas.”

“Stop it,” Chia said, blushing. “Yours are…” She glanced at his crotch despite her inner admonition to not look. “Sort of in hiding at the moment.”

“Don’t you worry. They’ll come out of hiding for you like that.” He snapped his fingers. “I’ll leave on these leather straps for inspiration.”

Chia’s blush grew warmer. “What’s going on that makes this place look unfamiliar? It doesn’t look like my property.”

“Didn’t you see the wall of energy we ran through?”

“I could barely see anything at all. The sleet kept stinging my face.”

“That’s it. That’s the wall of energy. Canines sense energy,” he said proudly.

“Huh. So then…where are we?”

“Your property as seen through the eyes of someone else.”

Chia cast her eyes about. The contours of the land looked the same but something didn’t feel right. Something felt alien and unfamiliar. “It doesn’t look all that…inviting.”

“Nope, it doesn’t. This is how it looks through Red and Dick’s eyes, I imagine. Like enemy land.”

“Makes no sense. So, are you telling me, someone, maybe Red or maybe Dick, cast some super spell out here? On my land?”

“They’re up to no good. You’ll see. And if they cast it on or near your land, there’s a reason for it. They’re sourcing you.”

“Sourcing me how? Like my ghosts? Apparently, I’m their food source.”

Cecil scratched the side of his head. “I don’t know about that. Either you have some mega power none of us are aware of that they’re trying to tap into, or…I’m not all that familiar with magical practices but one of the women I fuc…” He glanced warily at Chia. “One of my sex partners told me about the laws of magic. When you cast a spell against someone, or against something that person loves or cares for, you have to use something of theirs. Everyone in town knows how much this land means to you, being as it was your granddads. Since they don’t have a lock of your hair or one of your teeth…”

“One of my teeth?” Chia asked, horrified. Her hand pressed against her mouth as if to protect the contents.

Cecil waved his hand in the air. “I wasn’t paying all that much attention to her when she told me. We were busy doing other things. Anyway, something about sourcing and the size of the spell. This promises to be a big one.”

“Dag nab it! I’ve spent the last three years making this a safe place to live and haven’t put much time into understanding or even being aware of magic. I assumed it wasn’t a…you know, a thing.”

“Oh, it’s a thing, all right. You need to keep your ears open. Sniff around more. There’s a lot that goes on around here under your radar.”

“I guess so. I’ll have to add it to my growing to-do list. This is alarming.”

“There’s nothing you can do about it now, lil’ Summer. Save it for another time.”

She blew out a breath of despair wondering what on God’s green earth she’d done to set off everything happening around her. “A couple days ago, life was simple,” she groused.

“For some,” Cecil answered. “But not for everyone. There’s been growing discontent. Some feel like industry and trade are gridlocked because of all the rules. Others feel the shifters don’t pull their weight around here. You’ve been too preoccupied to pay it any mind.” His eyes dropped to the other dogs. “Sorry, but I had to say it.”

Chia felt dumbfounded. How could I have been so blind? It’s my obsession with sex, isn’t it? Maybe a nun’s life is in the cards for me. Angry tears welled in her eyes. She brushed them away with her glove, turning her attention to the dogs.

A fine looking boxer, Shep, Peatey the border collie, a standard poodle, and a couple mutts, all stood in the snow panting from their run.

“Don’t cry, lil’ Summer.” Cecil patted her back. “You got any kind of backup plan?”

“No,” she shot back. “Didn’t think I needed one.”

An awkward silence fell between them.

Cecil shifted back and forth in the snow. “The fellas are tuckered. You’d best get on your way so we can head back sooner than later.”

Chia glanced at Cecil’s nakedness. “You’ve got to be cold. Here,” she said, turning away. “Lucky for you, on impulse I brought your new pants.” She removed her backpack and dug around for Hung’s pants. She handed them to Cecil, averting her eyes from his lower region, crisscrossed with leather straps.

“Thanks. But I only shifted to give you the skinny on what’s next. You’re going to have to climb that hill. Snow shoes will cut it halfway up, but right there?” He pointed to a distant high up ledge.

Chia stared up the side of the mountain, grateful for her enhanced senses. Otherwise, she might have been unable to see it. “Yeah?”

“That’s where you’re headed.”

“And what will you be doing?”

He shifted uncomfortably back and forth. “I’ll, uh…I’ll need to be here with my homeys.” He patted Shep’s head. “Right, boy?”

The German shepherd barked in agreement.

“I don’t think so, Cecil. I’m not climbing up there by myself.”

“You need to see for yourself. Go ahead. Go on now. Get on up there.” Cecil shooed her with his hands. “Once you’re up on the ledge, look down toward the east. Plain as day.”

“Come on, Cecil. You’re the guide. Guide me.”

His head shook back and forth like a rattlesnake tail, his blue eyes terrified.

“You’re not…you’re not scared of heights are you?”

“Nah. Nothing like that.” He looked away from her.

“You’re scared of heights.” Her jaw hung open. “Your breed are known climbers, Cecil.”

“You’d better go. They might have left already.” He quickly shifted back to canine, the leather straps hanging around his sides, leaving her gaping.

“Whatever. Watch my skis at least.” She removed her equipment, thrusting the skis, points up, into the snow, and retrieved her hiking boots from her pack. Once she’d donned her snowshoes, she took off up the hill, moving carefully with catlike grace. She glanced over her shoulder once, to see the brown and white husky watching her. He barked encouragement…or something…to her. She lifted her hand in acknowledgement and continued.

She performed a herring bone step up the hill until it grew too steep, then switched to a kick-step, jamming her toe several inches into the powdery incline, forming small steps. She winced, realizing the climb down would be a real bitch and a half.

When snow shoeing no longer seemed prudent, she removed them, stuck them into a drift, and looked up at her destination, squinting into the darkness. Not a lot of illumination out here. Must not be much life. Or else the vamp blood exchange is wearing off. She carefully proceeded up the icy, slippery slope, wishing she had her crampons and climbing gear. “Cecil could have mentioned this part,” she grumbled. Her body neared exhaustion, muscles shaking like a sewing machine needle as she pulled with her arms, pushed with her legs, and paused, resting against the snow. Why, again, is this important? Can’t I merely take someone’s word for it that Red and Dick are up to no good?

Her dumbass ghosts kept swirling around her face, making shivery movements as if even they were cold. She had to consistently shake them from her eyes so she could find her next handhold or foothold. Climbing with gloves proved difficult, as well. While she appreciated the bit of warmth she got from them, she didn’t have the dexterity she’d have from her agile, uncovered hands.

Finally, she hauled herself over the ledge and lay back, exhausted, her breath chuffing in white vapor puffs, providing little bits of warmth for her mouth and cheeks. Her gaze landed on a bird a few feet away, resting on the tip of a rock poking through the snow like a crocus, his eyes trained on her. “Hello, sexy snowy owl,” she said, remembering the strange sensation of being in flight with the beautiful bird.

The owl let out a harsh kek, kek, kek, like rasping metal, and his head pivoted away from her, like an apple on a smooth metal rod. It spread its wings and took off silently into the darkness.

“Fine. Be that way.” She sat up and scanned for whatever the heck she was supposed to see. A frigid wind howled, blowing small flurries of powdery ice down the hill toward the valley glacier below. Her ghosts huddled close, as if afraid of being blown away. No other life could be discerned.

She closed her eyes and listened intently for any signs of human activity on the mountain. Wind. Wind. More wind. And…a man’s voice? She strained to hear. So much for enhanced senses. The sound came in and out of focus, buffeted by the wind. Where are you and how did a dog pack far below find you? Dag nab it. I can’t tell where you are.

“Is that her?”

Chia heard that phrase, loud and clear. She shrank back into the side of the mountain.

“Where?”

“Up there. On that ledge. See a shape up there?”

“What the hell would she be doing out here? Its miles from her house.”

“Hell if I know. She’s got cotton for brains as far as I can tell.”

“Yeah, but it’s not what’s up top that matters. It’s what’s between the legs. She can be brain dead as far as I’m concerned and I’d still do her.”

The two men shared a laugh.

Assholes, Chia thought. I’m smarter than they are, by miles.

“Can’t see a darn thing without my night googles. Hold on. Shit. It’s those fucking ghosts we saw the other night. This damn glacier is haunted.”

“Thought that was an urban myth. Fucking hell. As soon as we’re in power, the entire area is going to be purified, all weird shit eradicated. This is ridiculous. Get back inside the cave, now.”

“Should I say thanks?” she whispered to her wraiths. “Or are these random acts of protection not connected to anything in particular?” Of course, no response came. “How the hell am I supposed to get closer to listen? I sure don’t want to start an avalanche.”

She got to her feet, hands on her hips, and surveyed the down climb. “Not good. No clear path.” She stepped carefully to the other edge of the ledge, looking for any way down the mountain in the direction of the voices.

Without warning, something slammed into the back of her head, making a dull thud. Her arms whirled like a pinwheel as she struggled to keep from plunging to her death. Suppressing her shrieks, she imagined the shape of an owl streaming from her forehead.

Again, her consciousness embedded itself in the snowy owl’s flight as it soared downwind toward the cave. Up so high, her fear got the best of her, and her mind flung back toward her body, crouched on hands and knees on the ledge, landing with a shiver. She got to her feet, shaking her head to clear the sensation of disembodied night flight.

The owl circled, working against the wind currents. One big blast sent it sailing into the darkness.

What did Hung say about bird flight in the mountains? Treacherous? Don’t do anything stupid, bird! She watched the owl as it struggled to rise above her, then it turned and soared for her once more. “Whoa!” she said, trying to get out of its way.

On the small ledge, there was nowhere to go. She fluttered her hands wildly, but the bird persisted, head down in her direction. Again, it slammed into her face, snagging her consciousness as it emerged out the other side.

As before, she experienced free flight as they soared down the mountain. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she would have screamed, or maybe her body sat screaming above. She calmed herself by realizing this crazy ride was similar to a dream—her body slept and her mind went for a ride through all kinds of psycho.

The owl dipped and swooped, navigating currents until it reached its destination, settling atop a rock lining the cave opening.

A strange nasal, guttural sound, like Inuit throat-singing, emerged from the bowels of the cave. Odd light flares accompanied the chants, punctuating the resonant sounds, bursting out the opening of the cavern. Light rolled in big, luminous balls to the valley glacier and onto the frozen water, making Two Mile Lake throb with eerie colors. The strange harmonies produced a lilting, hypnotic sensation. If Chia had been in her body, she would have shook her head to clear the effects—or sunk into a trance. Instead, she watched and listened through the awareness of the owl.

“So, what should we do? Abort? Keep going?”

“Maybe. Let me think. Dumb bunny female thinks she can outsmart us and get to Durand herself. She doesn’t know who she’s dealing with, does she?”

Sure sounds like Red Spotted Dick. That one’s Red--in charge.

The other male snorted. “Hell, no. We’ve hunted more wily creatures than Durand in wildernesses far more dangerous. And with weapons far less effective. We’re going to turn the…into…and then…”

The wind howled, making it impossible to hear what they said.

“She’s out of her league,” the same male continued.

And there’s the Dick part. What the hell are they talking about?

“Loop back and set the explosives. Remember, nothing big. Give her a fright, is all. Let her know we’ve got her in our sight.” Dick sounded gleeful.

Chia wondered if her body was back on the ledge barfing because she sure felt ill listening to them. Where? My home? Explosives?

“Okay. Then we head back here to see how our weapon’s coming. A hell of a lot more than just shifters are gonna have a snapped leg.” Low laughter followed.

Red answered, “Let the whole fucking town die.” He let out a laugh. “As long as the oil and gold rights are mine, I don’t give a fuck.”

“Roger that. Let’s move out.” Dick seemed decisive. But his voice changed to indecision and hesitancy when he asked, “What do we do about them?”

“They can’t exactly go anywhere, can they? All shamans can do is sing their little hearts out and do what they’re told.”

I’m starting to hate that man, Chia thought. Red’s a complete jackass. Shamans are revered people around here.

“Shouldn’t we…shouldn’t we at least leave them something to eat?”

“I said, they’ll be all right. Drop it. They exist on some mystical spirit energy shit or something. Leave it. We’ll be back soon enough.”

Scuffling sounds emerged from the cave and the owl took flight, taking Chia’s awareness along for the ride. The great owl worked the currents, giving Chia an idea of how perilous winged flight could be. When it reached the ledge again, it landed briefly, shook its great wings and she bounced back into her body like a rubber ball. The bird lifted into the air once more, heading for the rock she’d first seen it on, a few feet away. Once there, it stared at her as if waiting for her to figure out what to do.

She scrambled to her feet. “Holy shit. I’ve got to get back to the house. They could be planning to blow the whole place to smithereens.” She glared at her ghosts. “Stay out of my eyes. I need to see. I hate down climbing.” She lowered herself off the ledge, finding it difficult to grip the icy ground. Her legs dangled, searching for something solid to land on, disturbing several rocks. They tumbled and bounced down the mountainside, landing in a snow bank.

“What’s that?” Red Spotted Dick said.

Through the howling wind, Chia couldn’t quite tell who spoke.

“Look! It’s her! What’s she doing up here?”

“And how’d she get past the barrier these crazy shaman coots erected? Get the gun.”

Gunshot shattered the air and a bullet whizzed past her head. Chia screamed, dropping from the ledge, sliding down a slick bank of snow. Another gunshot exploded and she scurried out of sight, away from their direction. Petrified, she scrambled, slid, and tumbled toward the bottom. Where are they, where are they, where are they?

Snowshoes forgotten, she made haste toward the dog pack, her legs faltering as they missed the steps she made, and sunk into snow up to her knees, sometimes having to use her arms to dig herself free. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” she shouted, once she’d reached the flat lands.

The dogs, excited, barked and jostled about her. The movement of her hands and legs felt clumsy, as if she were a toddler. She managed to jam her feet in her ski boots, shoved her toes into the skis, grabbed the poles, the backpack and the halter straps, and took off at a brisk glide tugged by Cecil. “Go, go, go, go, go!” she shouted.

They slid, raced, heaved along the snowy landscape, bumping and jostling until Chia wondered if her bones would shake loose. Her vision sharpened into tunnel focus, whether from vamp senses or adrenaline-pumped fear for her life, she didn’t know. She continued to lurch, struggling with ungainly coordination, feeling as if she slowed Cecil considerably.

They reached the barrier of ice and sleet and she struggled to see, the ice bits stinging her face with sharp bites. She blinked, scrunched her face, tried to wipe her eyes with her sleeve, anything to keep her vision clear.

After what seemed like forever, in the distance, she finally spotted the shimmering, lacey sparkles surrounding her property. Can Red Spotted Dick get through that? Is it some kind of protection spell I never knew about? What a stupid thought. Magic against men with guns. Bah!

Her ghosts clung to her shoulders like streamers, waving behind like a cape ripped to pieces. Lungs heaving, muscles burning, she heard the whine of a snowmobile to her rear. Shit. Just a few more yards and we’re there. She crouched slightly, tucking her ski poles under her arms like a slalom downhill racer. The dogs raced ahead of her, the husky pausing now and then to look back. “Go!” she shouted.

The engine noise grew louder. Gunshot ripped through the sleet. A dog yipped and fell.

“Oh, no!” She and the husky zipped past the fallen form, red blood oozing into the white terrain. She fumbled for her gun, taking a couple wild, one-handed shots into the night in the direction of the gunshots, letting the ski pole dangle from her wrist. Unable to keep her balance, she fell onto her side. The husky yelped, jerked by the straps. She scrambled to her feet, replaced the skis and away they went. “Come on, Cecil, keep going.”

A gun was fired from the other direction.

“Fuck! We’re surrounded!” She poured every last ounce of strength into her still clumsy limbs, poling with her arms, pushing with her legs. From what she could tell, guns were blazing from every direction.

She raced toward the dome shaped force field filaments surrounding her property. “Come on,” she breathed. “Come on, you can do it.” She willed herself onward, imagining a riding crop slapping her flanks to get her across the finish line.

As her ski tips sailed through the shimmering filaments, a gunshot rang through the air. A horrid sensation sledgehammered into her back. She stumbled and slammed forward into the ground, her head striking something solid, right inside the sparkling, shimmering force field surrounding her property. So much for my twenty-four hours, she thought, before plunging into a black hole of unconsciousness from which she never wanted to emerge.

14

“Come on, woman. Come on. You can do this. You’re stronger than this. Stay with me. Come on. Stay right here.”

Confused and disoriented, Chia slid in and out of consciousness, one minute aware of being held by strong arms, the next, caught by agonizing, burning pain, like a fire blazing through her body, the next, drifting into a warm pool of bliss.

“This is nothing. Flesh wound. You’re stronger than this. You’ve survived worse. Stay with me.”

Each time she came to, she wanted to vomit. She wanted to say “I’m okay, let me up.” But then the nausea took over. Her left eye seemed to be swollen shut. Can’t be the ghosts, right? They haven’t bunched up in my eye, right? Maybe I’m about to die. That will suck. How will I protect the shifters if I’m dead? The arms seemed to rock her, as if she lay in a cradle.

“Stay with me,” the male said. “She’s gone into shock. Do something useful, mutt. Find her goddamned keys. And put some clothes on, for Christ’s sake.”

She was handed off from warm embrace to warm embrace, heard the slamming of doors, the roar of a truck engine, and then, felt the jostle and see-saw lurch of speeding along the road while being held tightly, wrapped by caring arms.

Sometime later, she awoke to the whirring of a helicopter, doors opening, and cold air hitting her face, accompanied by fierce rotor wash from wingtip vortices. My grandpa’s airfield. More strong arms hefted her body, she was placed on some sort of stretcher and found herself being air lifted, needles jabbed in her arms and hand, voices, talking, pulling her away from the darkness she sought.

Still enhanced with vamp energy, eyes closed, she found herself looking through her mind’s eye at the earth below. Like a movie, planet Earth appeared as a vibrant, throbbing, living entity. The trees below, caught in their winter slumber, were waiting for springtime to exhale—literally. Once they bloomed and let go their breath, they’d infuse the planet with oxygen.

The waters were pregnant with life, herring about to make their move to this region, dropping from the tip of the crescent moon according to the native peoples. Once they’d arrive, they’d spawn, lay millions of eggs, and nourish mammals, from the immense humpback whales, the sea lions, and other marine life, to the wolves and bears along the shore, eagles, cormorants, and other birds, and even the forest itself.

The whole incredible, intelligently designed system seemed brilliant, the way the herring roe fed life in and out of the waters, the way the animals and birds feasted on the spawn and fed the soil and the trees. Her resolve to protect and nourish, acting as steward to this slice of life known as Charming, grew even stronger in her drugged out, vamp-enhanced mind.

“You with us, Ms. Petit?” A friendly uniformed male’s face loomed over her.

“I’m here,” she said, weakly. The words came out slurred, like she’d been drinking. She felt a strong hand holding hers and looked over to see Cecil, staring at her anxiously, his glacier blue eyes flooded with worry. Her ghosts lay tucked all around her like small, see-through insulators. Man, this sucks.

The roaring of the chopper ceased, and again she was lifted, placed on another stretcher, and wheeled to an ambulance where still more questions and jabbing needles and soothing voices lulled her into a surreal, morphine fueled landscape. After that, she drifted, sailing through the sky in dreams of owl flight. And then, she slid from sight, into stillness and dark safety, oblivious to the world around her.

“Lil’ Summer. Wake up. Wake up for your dawg-man. Please.”

Chia blinked, wondering where she was. Her mind felt fuzzed with cobwebs of memory. She pushed through the silken strands, caught between dream and sleep, finally landing in a hospital bed in a dimly lit room. Her ghosts appeared unconscious, draped over the sheets like sleeping cats. A needle connected a tube to her hand, snaking up to a bag of clear liquid. Her shoulder had been bandaged and her arm propped up like some kind of table in a hard sling, and monitors surrounded her. Her mouth felt dry and papery. “Water,” she croaked.

The ghosts stirred from their slumber, shook, and drifted into the air like helium balloons.

Cecil, dressed in a nice dark blue and gold flannel shirt and Hung’s pants, his face haggard and lined with worry, trained his blue, blue eyes on her face. “You’re back. I’ve been worried.” He reached for a stainless steel pitcher and poured her a Dixie cup of water. “Here, lil’ Summer. Need help?”

“I don’t think…” She tried to push herself up with one arm. “Okay, maybe a little.”

“I think this bed sits up by itself.” He fumbled with a white gizmo, pressed it and the upper part of the bed slowly lifted.

She gratefully took the water, swishing it in her mouth before swallowing. “Thanks, dawg-man. More please. What time is it?”

“Oh, sometime in the afternoon,” he said as he refilled her tiny cup. “Maybe four. Haven’t paid much attention. Got impatient for you to wake up. You’ve been in and out for a while, now.”

“Crap. How long have we been here?”

“A while. The coast guard picked you up around midnight last night. Took them a while to get to Bewilderment where the closest trauma center’s located. It’s a level three.”

“Excuse me?” Chia winced at the stabbing pain in her shoulder, somewhat dulled by drugs.

“The trauma center. One of the nurses filled me in when we were…”

“Oh, sweet Jesus, if you tell me you screwed one of the nurses to get information…”

Cecil’s brow knit tight. “Hell, no, lil’ Summer! I’ve been by your side the whole time. The nurse and I made a date for whenever you’re better. What kind of a guy do you think I am?”

“Sorry.” Her head fell back against the pillow.

“The surgeon recently got back from fishing in Canada. You’re lucky, lil’ Summer. He’s the only surgeon in these parts.

“Yay, me,” she said, weakly. “What’s going to happen to my house? I heard Red Spotted Dick say they were going to set off explosions or something to let me know I’m in their sight line. Bastards.”

“Don’t you worry. We’ve got it covered. Your house is protected. Dog pack is going to stay and guard things. And…” He looked away from her, fiddling with the plastic gizmo. “Height okay? Need to go up more? Down? Comfortable?”

“And, what?”

Cecil chewed his lower lip.

“Come on, Cecil. I’m not in the place to figure things out or beg you to tell me things.”

“Well…” He swallowed. “I know you make a show of being all tough about Hung Durand, but the dude saved your life. And he’s going to watch for signs of…what do you call them? Red Spotted Dick?”

“Yeah. Crap. That’s going to make it harder to kill him. Now I’m going to owe him.”

“Don’t be so hard on him. It’s obvious he cares about you. He staunched the blood flow with his own shirt, radioed the coast guard, handed you off to me so I could hold you in the back seat while he drove to where the helo could pick you up.” His fingers worked the cord attached to the bed lift.

If her mind wasn’t so drugged, she might have felt cheered by this bit of news. “Driving what car?”

“Your Jeep. He drove. I held you in the back seat until we arrived at the place. He got you on the stretcher. Told me to stay with you and if I let you out of my sight, I’m a dead dog. I’d have stayed no matter what, lil’ Summer. I don’t need threats to know who my friends are.”

“You’re such a good pal, dawg-man. And Hung’s a…he’s a…he’s somewhat…” Her eyes fell shut. “What do they have me on? My eyelids feel like they’re weighted with sandbags.”

“Morphine cocktail drip. That’s what Annette told me. If you need to adjust it, you can use this. Here. This button right here.” Cecil’s face appeared anxious.

“Thanks, buddy,” she mumbled from her trance-like state. “Things have gotten really, really bad, haven’t they?” She opened her eyes to stare at him balefully.

“They have, true enough.” He chuckled. “Hung said you winged one of them with your wild shots. Probably Dick. Made him laugh. He said the chances of you getting a good shot off were one in a million. Said even he couldn’t get a good sight on them.”

“So he was the other gunner?”

“Seems so.”

“He sure seems to know my property well. It’s like he’s been there before…a lot.”

“He…” Again his eyes slid away from hers.

“Just say it, Cecil.” She blew out her breath wearily.

“He called to check on you. He doesn’t want you to know he called. I gave him my number before we took off with the coasties. Said Red and Dick are laying low. Hiding somewhere. Things got out of hand. They panicked. They didn’t intend to shoot you, at least that’s the word from Charming.”

“Hmmm.” Her eyelids fell shut again. How do people find out these kinds of things? “How long do I have to stay in here? What did they do to me?”

“They had to do surgery. You should let the doctor explain. He’ll be back in the morning. Or I could get Annette.”

“That would be great,” she murmured, halfway to sleep again. When Cecil left, she drifted away, surprised to hear voices a few minutes later. As before, she had to push through the sludge in her brain to focus. Her eyes opened, she blinked, and closed them.

“Ms. Petit,” a lovely young woman said.

“Mmm hmm,” she replied, attempting to pry open her eyelids once more.

“You’re an extremely lucky woman.”

“Define luck,” she mumbled. “I’ve been shot.”

“Better than dead. The bullets missed the lungs, missed the major arteries.”

“Bullets, plural?” Chia asked.

“Yes. You were hit twice.” She tapped the bandage. “Right here. That’s where one bullet entered and exited. The other got your scapula. That’s going to hurt for a while but you should regain most, if not all of your normal limb functions, with good physical therapy.”

“Good to know.” Chia smiled and let her eyelids fall. Too hard to keep them open.

“It’s a miracle that you weren’t hurt worse. I doubt a sharpshooter could hit a target so cleanly.”

“Uh huh,” Chia mumbled.

“Your head injury…that’s what we were most worried about. You have a concussion, true enough. Got a gash in your head where you fell on your ski tip and split your forehead. We stitched it up. Might leave a scar.”

“Uh huh.” She patted her bandaged head with her free arm. “Let me see what I look like.”

Cecil and Annette exchanged glances.

“Come on. Let me see.”

“I don’t…” Cecil began.

“We don’t…” the nurse added.

“Let me see my goddamned face. I want to see for myself what those assholes did to me. I intend payback.”

The nurse left and returned a few minutes later. She handed Chia a mirror.

Chia winced, regarding herself. Her left eye still somewhat swollen, a huge white bandage across her forehead, scrapes and scratches on her cheeks, her arm in a humungous sling, it strangely comforted her to see the damage done. Not as bad as I thought. And it fuels my need for revenge. “This bandage. It goes past my hairline. Did the slice go that far?”

“Yes,” said Annette, reaching for the mirror. “We had to alter your hair somewhat.” She smiled ruefully. “Shave if off in places.”

“That sucks. Pink frosted hair doesn’t come cheap.”

“It’s cheaper than a life. You could have nicked an artery, collapsed a lung…you could be dead now, Ms. Petit. Consider yourself lucky.”

“Oh, I do. Sort of. Real luck would have had me not shot at all. But…I’m good. And tired.” Satisfied with what she’d been told, she fell into darkness once more, soaring on soft, white, downy wings to the soft chatter of Annette and Cecil, planning their date, discussing her options, talking all manner of blah, de blah, blah.

15

As the red and white deHavilland Beaver bush plane approached the landing strip near Chia’s home, Cecil, outfitted with a voice-activated headset, like Chia, said for the thousandth time, “I sure hope nothing happens to you from flying. You sure can be stubborn.”

“Did you want to be transported to a trucker, who would have driven us to the harbor to take a pokey tugboat back to Charming? Or become a dog pulling a sled and show your nurse your true colors? Oh, and face the townspeople first thing?” She flashed him a dark look. “I only want to get home, not take the long, slow way home and face my public.”

“Yeah, but Annette said they strongly advise against flying after a concussion.”

“And I don’t care what Annette advises,” Chia scowled. While she’d been the “patient under observation,” the entirety of the last few days had hit her, hard. She’d slipped into a dark hole of depression and anger, ping ponging between the two until Cecil had stalked from the room in a rare, pissed off mood. And they’d been quibbling ever since.

She shifted in the small seat, attempting to get comfortable. They’d fitted her with a sturdy sling that crisscrossed along her back, holding her broken scapula in place, and bisected her front, making her boobs stick out. A large band, attached to the top straps, wrapped around her waist like a corset. No doubt a man made this device, she grumbled, once she’d been swathed in it. At least it beats the table-like sling. Before, I could have served beer using my arm as the serving tray with my dumb ghosts draped over like towels. She glared at them, as they circled the cockpit, pestering no one but her.

She had no idea what she’d be home to face. Guess I’ll have to deal with my indecision, first, she thought. And find out what’s happened since I’ve been gone. She looked at Cecil, and narrowed her eyes. “Sorry. While you were off screwing Annette, I had loads of time on my hands to think. My thoughts drifted into the negative.”

“I didn’t simply screw her,” Cecil said, his voice a few decibels louder than needed.

The pilot let out a guffaw.

“We conversed, too. She told me what you should expect as you heal.”

“Why couldn’t she tell me?” Chia supposed she was taking out her bad mood on her buddy but it felt good to let it all out.

“You told her to get lost. You told me to get lost. Where was I supposed to sleep? What was I supposed to do? Sit on my hands until they decided on your release date? I think I’ve been more than a good friend to you these last few days.”

“You two were ridiculously goofy,” Chia said, rolling her eyes. “Oh, Cecil, I’m going to miss you,” she said in a high-pitched voice. “I’ll be back, Annette. Don’t worry, baby,” she countered in a low voice. She pinned him with her gaze. “You know you won’t be back, dawg-man. You’re a nomad, remember? You’re setting her up for heartbreak.”

Cecil’s forehead furrowed. “What’s got you into such a bitchy mood, huh? My business is my business.” His face brightened, as if his inner light bulb lit. “Oh,” he said, stretching out the word. “I’m the one who’s sorry, lil’ Summer. You have every right to be upset. This is about Hung, huh?”

Angry tears pricked at her eyes. “No,” she said, a little too quickly. “It’s about…it’s about everything. That news report…”

“Yeah,” Cecil said. “I should never have turned it on last night.”

“Yes, you should have. I need to know what we’re dealing with when we get home. I wouldn’t have been ready for such mass chaos.” She blew out her breath. “Frankly, I wish I’d violated my own rules and killed Dick. Whoever put him in the hospital I should give an award,” she said, swamped in self-pity. “I’m modifying that frigging self-defense rule. People need to defend themselves.

“Red’s got to be hiding somewhere up north. I bet that Mike White guy the news mentioned was one of Red’s relatives joining in. Who the hell killed him…with my frigging gun…in my frigging town?

“And that reporter looked positively gleeful when he said Hung’s the wanted man, asking the residents of Charming to call the police if they see any signs of him. He’s probably finished his business in Charming and is in the wind, literally.” And I’ll have to come home to a burned down house, thanks to D’Raynged and his grief over losing Sultana. “I know Hung didn’t kill the female vamp.”

“They said his fingerprints were all over the gun.”

“That’s because he took it from me. He dropped it in the woods outside the arcane club when he led me out into the woods.”

Cecil’s eyes narrowed and he smirked. “To do what, lil’ Summer?” He began to laugh, easing the tension somewhat.

“Not that,” Chia snapped, making sure the arguments continued. “Shut up.” Although I sure would’ve liked to. “It’s a long story.” She let out another deep breath. “What do you think about the news saying Charming being overrun with animals? We have as many animals as the next town, even more if you count the shifters.”

“I don’t know. It’s probably some kind of spin on something. Probably one of Red’s takes on your hunting laws.”

“I don’t know, it sure seemed odd.”

“Okay, get ready,” their pilot said. “We’re landing in about ten minutes. It turned out to be a beautiful day, didn’t it folks?”

Chia glanced out the window, barely registering the breathtaking, snow-kissed landscape. “Did you leave the Jeep at the landing strip? Who’s going to drive us home? It sure won’t be me.”

“Uh,” Cecil said, glancing out the window.

“Uh, what, dawg-man?”

“Uh,” he said again.

Chia let her head fall back on the headrest. “Cecil, please. I’m not in the mood.”

“You’re not in the mood to hear good news, let alone dubious news.” Cecil glared at her.

“So tell me, already, so I can blow up and we can get it over with.”

“I can’t wait to go for a run with my boys and get away from you, you know that?”

Chia began to laugh. “We sound like kids, don’t we?” She reached for Cecil’s hand.

He squeezed it and let his next words out in a burst. “That guy you don’t want to let anyone know you care about is picking us up.”

“What?” She snatched her hand away, glancing at the pilot, hoping he’d mind his own business. “Have you been in contact with him?”

“Maybe,” Cecil said, his eyes darting back and forth.

Chia banged her head once against the headrest, then stopped when it began to throb. “Ow.”

“Take it easy. You only have a few painkillers left. We have to fill your prescription when we get back.”

“I don’t want to live on painkillers. Dag nab it. I can’t even express myself by banging my head against something.”

“Try howling. Or, here’s a great idea…adjust your attitude.” Cecil glared at her, making her feel like crap on burnt bread.

She groaned as the wheels touched down, not wanting to see Hung Durand and wanting nothing more than to feel Hung Durand, all in the same breath. Make up your goddamned mind.

They taxied to a stop and Cecil and the pilot helped her from the plane and onto the ground with minimal jostling and pain.

Chia scanned the snowy surroundings, looking for signs of the sexy male. Her Jeep sat several yards away, but no one sat inside. “He’s not here. Do you have keys?”

“Just wait,” Cecil said. “We’ve got this,” he said to the pilot. “Thanks a million for the ride.”

“Oh, you’re welcome, but you can thank Joseph Ashoroc. He paid for it.”

Chia turned to Cecil. “I thought you told me the plane ride had been donated.”

“That’s what Annette said,” Cecil remarked.

“Annette, Annette, Annette. Find another topic.” Chia’s hands would have flown into the air had she not been strapped into a sling. “Now I’m going to owe him, too? He should be owing me!” A thought whispered through her head that maybe Joseph felt some guilt and wanted to appease it by offering her the plane. Wouldn’t that be swell if someone owed me for a change? She continued her rant. “D’Raynged is pissed, Hung Durand wants my hide, Red Spotted Dick wants my job…what next?”

“Stop with the bad mood, girl, or I’m going to leave you here to cope by yourself.” Cecil slipped back into quarreling sibling mode.

“Well, I’ll be leave you two now. Got to head to the other side of Charming and fuel up.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, where are my manners? Thank you for saving me from a long, arduous journey. Safe travels.” She smiled and shook hands with the man, and Cecil did the same.

“So you do have manners,” Cecil snapped.

“Of course, I have manners. Politeness matters when you’re in public service.”

“What about friendship?”

Chia sighed. “I know, I know. Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

“You said that already and yet still you snipe at me.”

They stopped speaking and watched the plane taxi down the short runway.

After the plane departed, Chia said, “Do you have any kind of backup plan?”

“Don’t worry. He said he’d be here. Since he’s a wanted man, he couldn’t actually be sitting here, waiting to be found, could he?”

“He’s probably a hornet or a vulture or a gnat or something. He’s probably sitting in your hair.”

“Nothing quite so glamourous,” a sexy male voice said to the back of her head. “No shifting for me, I’m afraid.”

Chia felt an instant jolt of arousal. “What do you mean?” She whirled to face him, noticing the fatigue etched on his face. “How did you sneak up on us? There’s no tree cover for miles.”

“It wasn’t hard. I was hiding behind the rise back there…downwind, lest you really can detect my scent.” He stabbed his thumb behind him. “You two are yapping like a couple of dogs. All I had to do was ghost walk over here.” He shook Cecil’s hand and said, “Thanks for watching over her.”

“I’d have done it no matter what,” Cecil said.

Hung nodded, then, he tipped his head to the side to study her.

She lowered her eyes, suddenly shy and uncomfortable.

“Let me see, woman.” He placed his finger under her chin to lift her jaw, touching her cheek tenderly with his other hand. “Eye’s still bruised. Cut’s scabbed over. Looks like its healing nicely. Sorry about the scapula. I’ve kicked myself for days for not getting a good shot off. I should have protected you.”

Her heart jumped for joy at his kind regard. Endlessly suspicious, she sobered it with a practical question. “Speaking of shots, did you…”

“Nope,” Hung said, quickly stopping her line of questioning. “I’ve had other things to deal with, like not being able to get out of Charming. I didn’t kill Mike White.”

“Why can’t you leave? Didn’t get your last job done?” Her need to take out her frustrations on others got the best of her.

His lips pressed together but he didn’t explain. “Let’s get you comfortable in the truck. Love, whatever they used to brace you,” he said, eyeing her with appreciation. “It works.”

“It wasn’t done for your enjoyment.” She pulled her coat closed over her shirt, scowling and wincing from the stabs of pain.

“Easy, sugar. You should probably leave everything on display. So you don’t, you know…” He gave her a gold glinted, blue-eyed wink. “Hurt yourself.”

“Shut up, Hung.” She stalked ahead of him and Cecil.

When they reached the SUV, Hung said, “You’re in the front with me, dog.”

“He has a name,” Chia groused.

“Dog’s fine,” Cecil said. “Don’t sweat it. Don’t start again, okay?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m taking out my frustrations on you both.”

“I’ve prepared the back as best I could for you.” He opened the door and guided Chia into the seat on the passenger side. Having lined it with pillows, he positioned his glorious, musky smelling, heat radiating body around her to adjust everything until she rested comfortably on the cushy pile. He paused, lingering, their bodies inches apart. His eyes swept over her face, examining every square inch again. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but then he shut them and smiled slightly. “Good that you’re still here,” he said, quietly.

“Thank you, Hung.” Her eyebrows drew together at his show of compassion. “I don’t know what to say, other than thanks.”

“Works for me,” he said, leaning to kiss her cheek.

He smelled like pine tar, fresh air, and hot man, like he’d been walking through the woods all day. She wanted to swoon, to melt into his arms, to kiss and nuzzle and roll with him on every surface of her house, but rules were rules and he didn’t follow them. The townspeople would kill her if she hooked up with Hung.

“Need anything? Oh. I’ve brought you both water. Hand one back for Chia, please.” Once Cecil had passed her a bottle of water, Hung gently shut her door, then strode around to the driver’s side.

“So,” Hung said, heading toward the one lane road to her home. “Which bad news do you want first?”

Chia winced. “The worst, I guess. Let’s get it over with.”

“I’m not sure if one is worse than another but, okay. Seems Red and Dick are responsible for casting some sort of spell, making it impossible for the shifters to shift back, once they’re turned into their animal selves.”

Chia’s stomach slid to the floor. “Are you kidding me?” Her muzzy, drug soaked brain tried its best to wrap her mind around this new development. Is that what the shamans were doing in the cave?

“Nope.” Hung studied her in the rearview mirror, no doubt wondering how much she knew. “Hence, I’m still in town, being hunted by every jackass in these parts. Your place, at least, is safe, hidden somehow. Thank fuck. Apparently there’s a reward for bringing me in.” He chuckled. “The bounty hunter has a bounty on his head. Go figure. Oh, and there’s some sort of ordinance in this town to prevent me from acting in self-defense.” His gaze grew hard in the reflective glass.

She blushed and turned away. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about making a few changes.”

“Do ya think?” His voice held justified sarcasm.

Chia wanted to yell, “I’m doing the best I can! So I overdid it a little,” but she kept her tongue.

Hung slowed the Jeep to ease through some potholes, glancing at Chia as he did so, concern once more evident in his eyes. “Did that hurt? Still okay?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“So, are you saying, if I turn into my husky self, I can’t turn back?” Cecil, who’d been quiet until now, sounded shocked.

“Afraid so, mutt. People are pretty freaked. It’s lucky I changed back before the spell took hold or I’d be stuck, too.”

“What have you been doing since I was gone?”

His eyes met hers in the rearview. “This and that. Scouting. In human form. Even if I can’t shift, I still have skills. Trap detection, however, isn’t one of them. I don’t want to find them with my legs while traversing the valley glacier. Or anywhere, to tell the truth. I’ve been pretty careful.”

Chia studied his eyes. “So, have you been…um…sleeping at…”

He let out a soft chuckle. “You want to know if I’ve been sleeping with the whores, right? At the arcane club? What if I have?”

Her gut twisted, held in a knot of jealousy. “I’d think nothing of it. I’d expect nothing less.” She turned to stare at the white landscape, kissed by a pale, end of winter sun.

“Because I’m such an asshole, right?” His face hardened. “Who only thinks of himself?”

“You said it, not me.” Her lips pressed tightly together. She turned to squint at him.

“I’ve been watching your house, woman. Sleeping in your barn. On a bed of hay where I found my pants. Thank you, by the way. For, at least not shredding them.” His eyes met hers with steely regard.

Her insides turned to slush. She didn’t know whether to hug him in gratitude or tell him he trespassed on her property.

Cecil let out a laugh. “You’ve been keeping some mighty fine secrets, lil’ Summer.”

Chia wanted to stuff a sock in his mouth. She glared at him to keep quiet.

Hung continued. “You have a dog pack hanging around. They’re doing a good job guarding the perimeter, but they’re no match for a gun.” He turned to look at Cecil. “I found a dead dog far out in the field. Killed by gunshot. A boxer. Friend of yours?”

“Damn it,” Cecil said. He shook his head. “He was a good friend. Steady on his feet. Real loyal.” He swiped his eyes and looked out the window.

“I figured. I did my best to bury him but the ground’s pretty solid.”

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. I’ll pay my respects if you tell me where to go.”

Chia watched the exchange, stunned. Who are you, Hung Durand? I’ve never seen this side of you. Or, maybe, I never wanted to.

“What’s going on in that clever mind of yours?” Hung turned his attention back to her. “You’re surprised I show signs of caring? For your information, I haven’t been back to the club since you found me there. I’m waiting to see what your next move is.”

A strange, seductive warmth filled her chest and groin. “You’re waiting to see what my next move is?”

“Yes. You’re still in charge here, remember?”

Not knowing whether he spoke of her job as town manager, or something else far more deadly and intimate, she said, “Guess I’ll have to keep you posted.”

“I won’t wait forever.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence. When they rounded the bend toward her house, a pack of wolves stood by the side of the road, their golden eyes bright and focused. Spying the truck, they raced alongside, like common dogs.

“And the shifter wolves have arrived. They were preceded by foxes, coyotes, mountain goats, and if you can believe it, a hyena or two. Strange. As if you can do anything.”

She flicked her gaze at him, then, flicked it away.

“You know something, don’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Probably the same thing I know.” When his head pivoted around briefly to look at her, she saw glimmers of the fluid turning rotation of an owl.

“You’re the snowy owl,” she accused.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, making the last turn toward her driveway.

“Then how do you know what I know?”

“Maybe I was up there stalking those bastards. I told you. I’ve got skills.”

Her attention came to an abrupt about face when she saw her house.

Ringed with all manner of warring animals, it looked like a poorly managed zoo or a wilderness gone wrong. The dog pack lunged at the wolves as they loped toward the house. The wolves went for the dog’s throats. The mountain goats retreated in a wave of white fur and curved horns, wary, ready to kick the shit out of any predator who approached. The hyena circled, watching, waiting for some species to die so he could feed.

Cecil immediately exited, trying to keep his boys safe from the wolves. “Someone’s got to do something,” he yelled, waving his arms wildly at the wolves.

The wolves crouched, backing up, snarling, baring their flesh tearing teeth.

All eyes turned to Chia, as Hung helped her from the vehicle. Growls, yips, bleats, and whimpers indicated their displeasure.

“Ms. Petit needs rest. She’s had quite an ordeal,” Hung said crisply, helping her from the vehicle. “She has two bullet holes in her back and a concussion. Let her through.”

The yips and whimpers ceased. Eyes and ears trained on Chia. One of the wolves rolled on her side and bared her belly in supplication.

She lifted her foot to scratch the wolf’s belly, clutching Hung to keep her balance.

Another wolf licked her hand. His golden eyes looked at her with clear regard.

Hung helped her up the front steps, nudging her in front of him. “This situation will be dealt with posthaste. But not by her. Cecil and I will devise a plan.”

“Hey!” Chia hissed in his ear. “I’m not incapacitated, you know.”

Hung gently guided her into the house. “You need rest, woman, and rest you’re going to get. Don’t even think of doing something foolish. Let me and the dog take care of things. You heal.” He looked around once he’d stepped inside the foyer. “Where’s your bedroom?”

“Going to make a move?” she snapped.

He whirled to face her. “Goddamn it, Chia, no. I’m going to make sure you get comfortable and then I’m going to leave. Stop thinking me completely without feeling.”

“Stop thinking of me as frail and incompetent.”

“I never think of you that way.” The veins in his neck pounded and pulsed. “Why on God’s green earth would I continue to take jobs in Charming? Except for my previous job, and the one I’m neglecting, the jobs that slink through Charming rarely pay that well.”

She looked at him with soft, confused eyes. “I thought you came to challenge my rules, mess with the system and make me fail.”

“What, like I’m a practical joker? A teenage prankster? I think twenty nine is too old for that kind of behavior.” He scoffed, pushing his hand through his tangled locks. “I come here hoping to get a shot at seeing you.”

“Then why do you fall into bed with whores?” Her nerves felt like frayed wires, sparking in the atmosphere.

“Because you won’t give me the time of day and I have needs.”

“Well, I have needs, too, and all my goddamned needs make it hard for me to do my job. I’m constantly distracted by my desires.” Feeling shaky and weak, she leaned against the wall.

“It’s the not getting the needs met that’s a distraction. Trust me.” Hung grinned. “When I’m not getting any I turn into a real bastard.” He kept grinning at her.

Chia stared at his smiling face. When he smiled, her insides lit up.

“When you do let someone in, you’ll find you’re much more efficient at your job.”

“There’s no one around.” She started to throw her hands into the air, but caught herself before stimulating any pain. “My last lover left me because I had to deal with you.”

“No one around, huh?” Hung’s eyes grew dark. His smile vanished.

“That’s not what I meant. I’m…I mean…I need to get to bed. I can barely stand.”

“Then let’s get you to bed. To rest. Because lord knows that’s the only thing you’ll be doing in there.” He followed her down the hall, placing his hand at her elbow to steady her, marching stiffly at her side. He peeled back the covers, assisting her in getting into her high bed, plumping the pillows for her.

“Don’t look,” she said. “I need to remove my pants.”

Hung grinned. “I can help with that.”

“No thank you,” she said, wanting his hands all over her. “Turn around.”

He sighed, but complied.

She tugged her boots off, unzipped her pants and flung them on the floor. “Okay, you can look.” She quickly tugged the covers up to her chin.

He spun quickly, trying, no doubt, to catch a glimpse. “Damn, woman. You’re far too fast.”

She smiled.

“Need anything? Water? Food?”

She closed her eyes. “No, thanks. My cupboards are pretty bare. I think I need to take my meds now. Ask Cecil to get my bag from the Jeep.”

She heard his trudging steps head down the hall. Heard him open the front door and shout orders to Cecil. She started to drift off when footsteps sounded in her bedroom. “Leave them on the side stand,” she said, eyes still closed.

“Nope, I’m going to make sure they go down the hatch,” Cecil said. “What did you do to piss off Hung?”

“Everything,” she said, opening her eyes, seeing her good friend, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. She took the pills and the water and washed them down her throat.

“You’re crazy, lil’ Summer. You’re one of the smartest women I know and you refuse to see what’s right in front of your face.”

“What’s that?” Her eyes darted to the window.

“Hung Durand is in love with you. Or wants to be.”

16

Left to herself, Chia dozed and roused, dosed and roused. Each time she became conscious, Cecil’s words hung in the room like a slow burning fuse, the blasted words waving in the air like a flag.

The sentiments seemed to accompany the ghosts around the room, as if they, too, were an apparition. Does he love me? A bounty hunter in love? The idea seemed preposterous. As to her feelings—hormonal raging more like it—for Hung Durand? She wasn’t inclined to give the topic another thought. Unwilling to deal with the situation in any shape or form, she closed her eyes and willed herself back to sleep.

When she awakened again, ready to stay awake for a while, darkness had fallen. She flicked on her side light, blinking, trying to orient herself to her surroundings. The ghosts whirled around her head, agitated, as if quarreling. She squinted at them, counting them like sheep. One, two, three, four, five, six…seven?

She blinked, furrowed her face and counted again. One, two, three, four, five, six…another blurry form swirled along behind them. It came in and out of focus, like it was trying to take shape, another newly hatched apparition in her world.

She recognized it instantly as the feelings Cecil had given name to…the ones she didn’t want to face. “Grrr. Another goddamned ghost. And I’ll call you, ‘he loves me, he loves me not,’” she said. “Although tossing around the L word might be a bit premature, I should think, unless you call it lust.”

She grimaced and rolled her eyes. “Dag nab it. What is it with me? I can’t make up my mind about something, I do something I feel ashamed about and wham! A baby energy blip is born.” If she could have, she’d have kicked something. In her condition, that seemed unwise. “Meanwhile, I create rules and ordinances and laws until the entire town can’t breathe. It’s like my practical self runs smoothly while my emotional self needs to learn how to tie its own shoelaces.”

She watched the ghosts for a few seconds, perplexed. They seemed to dislike the newcomer. They appeared as upset and angry as the shifters outside, circling it like a pack of wolves ready to attack. At intervals, glimmers of red and orange light burst from all but the hatchling. She wanted to protect the baby energy blip. It seemed like her most vulnerable ghost. “Stop it,” she called. “Stop it right now.” Of course, they didn’t listen.

Groaning, she gingerly sat up. Her shoulder ached with a throb only partially dulled by the pain meds. Her last dose had already disappeared from her system.

Knock, knock, knock. Delicate tapping came from the closed door. Hung? She straightened her attire, plumped the pillows and tried to put on a cheery face. It felt forced, however, like she had a coat hanger rammed in her mouth, so she let it fall, prepared to let him see her as is. “Come in.”

D’Raynged peeked his head around the door. “I brought your mail.” He waved a stack of envelopes. “I went to the post office today.”

“Put it on the dresser, please.”

“You don’t look so good.”

“Thanks, D.” She slumped into the pillows at the sight of her roommate and his snark.

“I’d have said you look like the dead but, then…well…I look fantastic and I’m the dead one.”

“Yeah, we neurotypicals might need to modify that statement. Come in, please.”

The vampire stepped in the room, placed the mail on the dresser, and leaned against it in casual indifference.

Chia knew better. “What can I do for you?”

He looked like a million bucks—flawless face, smooth skin, hair swept to the side. Ever the Southern gentleman, he always looked like a million bucks. “Nothing much. Except for the little problem with a growing menagerie we have outside, the world is great.”

Chia tensed, wondering where this was heading. “It’s a spell of some sort. Not being an expert in magic, I’m not sure what to do about it.”

“I see.” His lips snapped shut making his face look like an impassive piece in Madame Tussauds’s Wax Museum.

Dag nab it, he’s displeased again. Two words, loaded with meaning. He might has well have said, watch your back, watch your front, watch your step and watch where you go. A whole lot of watching. “I’m, uh…a little incapacitated, in case you hadn’t noticed. Not exactly peppy. It will get taken care of.”

“By the dog or the hunter?” A chilly smile crossed his face.

“Not sure,” she said, cautiously. “Which dog? We have a whole pack of them outside.”

“Your friend. The good natured male.”

“Yes, he might be coming up with a plan.”

“With the hunter, am I right? Sultana’s would-be killer?”

“Maybe.” She stretched out the word like taffy, cocking her head to study him.

“Ah. It’s in the maybe status. Shall I bring you anything? More cheese and crackers? I can see if anything’s left in your fridge.”

Her stomach rumbled in answer, while suspicion swirled in her mind. “Yes, please. I’d appreciate it.”

“Anything for you, pet.” The words emerged with crisp precision and icy calm.

Why, oh, why did I rent my basement to a vamp?

His eyes narrowed. “I pay rent on time, remember? More importantly, I actually pay. I don’t freeload. I clean up after myself, I never make a mess, I’m polite and courteous. And I like you.” He nodded curtly, like she should be used to the mind reading stuff.

She stretched her lips into a smile, not sure if his liking her was a good thing. And the whole town will be dead if Hung kills Sultana.

“I’m merely efficient,” he said, answering her unspoken statement again. “I do what I say. The only reason I’ve tolerated your male hanging around the place is, one, Sultana is still alive and, two, he’s watching out on your behalf. You’re my landlady so it behooves me to wait to act.”

“He’s not my male. But thank you.”

“Please, child,” he said with a swish of his hand. “He’s pissing around the perimeter of the yard along with the other dogs and wolves.”

Chia choked back a laugh.

“That’s a territorial gesture used by a mate or protector. And you’re welcome. My fangs, however, are getting a mite twitchy. Besides him, there are a host of delicious beverages to choose from outside.” He swished his elegant hand into the air.

Chia groaned. “D, please, let me have one day of rest. Don’t kill any of the shifters. Or feed from them. Or whatever you do. Don’t.”

“I’m doing nothing to interfere with your rest. Merely thinking of my needs.”

She wanted to scream. Everyone and their damn needs.

“Let me prepare your repast.” He spun on his heel and exited the room.

Chia listened to the low growls, yips, and rumbles outside. The maniacal laughter of the hyena made her skin crawl. Everything outside seemed tense, poised for action but not knowing what to do. Like me. Occasionally, sounds of fighting or attack burst out.

“Knock it off,” a male commanded.

Hung? He’s outside keeping the peace? Warmth filled her chest and tugged at her loins. The new ghost seemed to sigh in contentment.

A while later, when footsteps fell on the hall again, she readied herself to face D’Raynged. Again, the knocks sounded. Again, she said, “Come in.”

Cecil popped his head in the doorway bearing a tray overflowing with food. His hair looked exceptionally messy as if he’d been rolling in the hay.

“What have you been doing?”

“I went to town.”

“What did you do there?”

“The thing you don’t want me to say. I’ve been without for hours. I have needs, you know.”

“Yeah, apparently everyone does.”

He held the tray out to her. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I got buffalo jerky, and fixed some bacon, eggs, and toast with jam. I can’t cook anything but breakfast kinds of things.”

Chia’s jaw dropped open. “Where’d you get the money for all this?”

“Where do you think, lil’ Summer? He sent me into town with plenty of cash. We can’t keep playing this game. The dude cares for you, whether you like it or not. Now, where do you want it?”

“On my lap.” She sat, stiffly, like a child.

Cecil placed the tray on her legs, handing her a soft, blue and white checked cloth napkin. He lifted the prescription bottle from the tray and shook it, making the pills rattle. “After you get some food in your gullet, it’s meds time. I refilled your prescription.”

“Thank you.”

Without being asked, Cecil walked to the other side of the bed, plumped up the pillows and stretched his lanky body beside her. “Where’s that new ghost come from?” he said, eyeing the ceiling.

“From my persistence in not dealing with things of the emotional kind. I’m a practical gal.”

“That one’s for Hung, huh?”

Her cheeks flushed hot. “Maybe.”

Cecil nodded, but thankfully didn’t comment. He reached for a slice of bacon from her plate. “Excuse my reach. I made extras, in case you didn’t notice.”

“I wondered why you brought so many strips.” She picked up a piece and chewed it thoughtfully, sitting in easy companionship with Cecil. Their friendship had surely been strengthened these last few crazy days. “Any plans or ideas yet?”

“We’ve thought of a couple.” Cecil’s foot began jiggling on the bed. “It’s getting worse outside. Your front yard looks like a barnyard.”

“So how is it that they can all get in the yard, let alone find me? The night I got shot I remember seeing lines of energy around the place. I thought they might be some sort of protection spell.”

“Finding the place was easy. Your house shows up on Google maps. Everyone knows where you live. There’s never been a reason to come out here.”

“That sucks. You realize most of this region isn’t catalogued by Google, right? So much for privacy in remote Alaska.” She forked a bite of eggs and shoved it in her mouth. It tasted delicious. She fell to devouring the plate of home-cooked food.

“As to the energy lines, they’re there for sure. But when the shifters have shifted, well…” He shrugged his large, strong shoulder. “They can slip right in. Unless one of them wants to do harm to you. Then, he wouldn’t be able to find the place.”

“Sounds like they all want me dead.”

“There’s unrest, to be certain. But they want help, not vengeance. Me and the vamp just switched on the news while I was cooking. It’s like a feeding frenzy out there. You know what it’s like when it’s herring season? Everyone, fishermen, sea mammals, birds and beast partake.”

He shook his head, his ever-messy hair flopping around his face. “You seem to be the herring. People have lost their minds. They’re acting irrationally, fear being their motivating emotion. Crazy.” He snagged another bacon strip. “Reporters say the bounty on Hung was increased. Red’s spinning a tale about you being dangerous. Said you hunted Dick while he slept in his home. Said you terrified his wife and kids.”

“What? This is like phone tag on crack. Stories are spinning in every direction and all I’m doing is being shot at and wallowing in indecision.” Again, Chia wanted to bang her head against the headboard, but chose to roll her eyes instead, a far less satisfying gesture. “All I’ve been trying to do for the past three years is to make Charming a safe and satisfying place to live for all. Now it seems it’s all going to hell. What did I do to deserve this?”

“I don’t think it has anything to do with deserving or not deserving, lil’ Summer. It’s more of an evolution. Hung’s been telling me you hold a lot of power in this town. People want it. It’s not as personal as you make it.” He shrugged.

“What, you and he are best buddies now?” Envy crawled in her gut like a worm eating a hole in an apple.

“Don’t start. Please.” Cecil shot her a look and patted her hand. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Is it? Is it really? Because I’m not so sure. Me, with all my so-called power…I’m powerless to do anything. I can’t exactly hike up the mountain and see if the shamans set the spell…or cast it…or however spells are made.”

“You’re not exactly powerless. You have your second in command.”

“Really? And who’s that?” Chia let the words drip from her tongue.

“Who do you think? Hung and I. We’re putting together a plan of attack.”

“I see. I rule you, do I?” She arched an eyebrow. It pulled against her stitches so she quickly made her face impassive. “And what might that plan be?”

Cecil’s foot began jiggling on the bed again.

Chia eyed it, eyed Cecil’s face and said, “What’s got you so riled?”

“Hung thinks…” He gulped and looked away. “He thinks…”

Chia saw, clear as day, the apprehension coloring Cecil’s features. She reached for his hand. “What is it?”

He turned his ice blue eyes on Chia’s silvery ones. “He wants us both to shift and climb the mountain. Check and see what the shamans are up to.”

“What? No. Absolutely not. I forbid it.” Releasing his hand, she started to lurch upright but pain got the best of her. “No, no, no, and no. You’re not shifting. I won’t lose you or…” She started to say Hung but stopped herself.

“It’s not the shifting I’m worried about. I’d be happy living life as a dog. Well, sort of. I’d sure miss my time with the ladies. I’d miss my time with you.” He gave her a moon-eyed gaze, filled with longing. “That would suck. It’s the climb I’m worried about. You were right. I’m terrified of heights.”

“Cecil, huskies are born adventurers.”

“Not this dog. I experienced a fall from a mountain when I was only a pup. It’s the same as me and chia seeds. Once burned, lesson learned.”

Chia laced her fingers with his and gave his hand a squeeze.

Cecil’s eyes shot to hers, filled with hope and longing.

Watching his sudden, intense reaction to her affection, she tried to slide her hand away without hurting his feelings…or stirring her own interest into the damn need zone. “Don’t do it. We’ll find another way. Speaking of heights, how did you and your pack find that hideout in the first place? If you’re afraid of heights you wouldn’t have wanted to go up there.”

“I didn’t. I stayed on watchdog duty with the other dogs. Peaty found it. He’s always getting into mischief. He and a couple of the others were bored. They dared each other to see who’d be brave enough to climb up the side of Haunted Bear. They spied the cave, sniffed around and raced down the hill to report in.”

Chia let out a gasp. “Did you ever think about the animal traps? You could have been caught.”

“We didn’t know about them, no. That’s part of the danger of Hung’s idea. We both know there are traps out there. I’d be the dumb dog of the team putting my four legs at risk. He’d be a snow bird or something winged.”

The snowy owl. “Is that what he said? He’d be a snow bird?”

“Not exactly. He mentioned an albatross or something. I wasn’t listening. I’m too worried about climbing a mountain and staying a dog forever. No more fun with the ladies. Hung would simply fly away and change back when he gets to wherever he’s headed next.”

His foot wiggled so hard, Chia felt her insides shake. “Dawg-man, stop. It hurts with you wiggling the bed.”

“Sorry.” His foot ceased moving.

“Don’t do it. No shifting, no climbing. I don’t want you to do it. Town manager’s orders.”

“Nope, I’m doing it. There’s no other way. Hung thinks they’ll be on the lookout for humans, not a dog and a bird. It’s a done deal. I want to do it.” Again, his piercing blue eyes met hers. “I’m doing it for you, lil’ Summer. This dog is stepping up to the plate and facing his fears. For you…”

Chia stared into Cecil’s sincere, windswept gaze. Her emotions began to unravel, spinning into tiny threads to billow about in the winds. She didn’t like this sensation. It felt out of control, completely foreign.

“Say, lil’ Summer,” Cecil said abruptly, saving her from sinking into places she didn’t want to examine.

“Yeah? What is it?” She felt yanked into the room by his question.

“I’ve always wanted to ask you. What was it like when you met your first shifter? Did one of us, you know, come out of the closet for you?”

“Oh, my God, yes. I split apart on that day. Completely split apart. My parents were living in New York. I hated New York. I returned to Charming at the age of seventeen to live with my grandparents. Missed my friends. Wanted to finish high school with the kids I’d grown up with.

“My best friend since kindergarten Skylar said when I returned home she had something to tell me. I thought it might be a new love, or maybe she wanted to come out as a lesbian. Whatever it was I vowed to accept it. But man, oh, man, when she came out as a shifter…well…I didn’t do well with it. I mean, come on…I grew up with the world being one of neurotypicals—you know, us so-called normal humans. And animals. Not mash ups of the same.”

Cecil smiled gently. Ran his fingers up and down her thigh. “What did you do?”

She returned the smile and gently removed his hand from her leg. It felt far too good to be touched. “Before or after I passed out?” she scoffed. “She was so nervous. She paced the room. Said she’d been hiding something from me for years. I started to get scared, wondering if she murdered someone or worse.

“I finally told her to stop beating around the bush and tell me. She told me to close my eyes. I did. I sensed a light flash in the room and when I opened them, a hundred and thirty pound mountain lion stood in front of me. I screamed bloody murder.” Chia grimaced, remembering the day in vivid detail.

“Grandpa taught me some wilderness skills over the years. He always said to get in a cougar’s face. Make myself big. Throw things at them. Make eye contact. But knowing that and doing that when confronted are two separate things. Shaking like a leaf, I couldn’t move. Finally, I stood and waved my arms.

“I picked up a school book and threw it at her. It hit her in the face and gave her a black eye. She lunged at me, shifting in front of my face, pissed, angry. We fought out of fear, unacceptance, betrayal, who knows?” Chia shook her head. “After that I said I needed time. I stopped hanging out with her.”

“Oh, man, that’s harsh.”

“I know. When I finally decided to make up to her, it was too late.” Chia’s eyes teared.

“What happened?”

“Charming happened. I know you all make fun of me for all my rules, but townsfolk used to kill animals freely for no good reason.”

“I remember,” said Cecil. “I grew up north of here. I used to have to pretend to be the family pet when strangers came over and I was in husky form. But we all heard of Charming.”

“Right? There was no such thing as hunting season. Instead, it was ‘game on’ all the time. My friend…Skylar…was shot and killed.”

“Oh, no,” Cecil said quietly. “How’d you know it was really her?”

“I knew. The first time she shifted, I noticed the same scar on her human face on her cougar face. She split open her lip at sixteen. The cougar bore the same marking. And I saw the dead cougar with my own eyes.

“My grandpa—he wanted me to know the kind of behavior people in Charming participate in. It made him sick. So he made me look. I guess he knew about the shifters. He accepted them.” She sniffled. “After that, I found them everywhere. All over Charming. It’s like gay-dar only I call is shift-dar. I can spot ‘em on sight. I vowed then and there, for gramps and Skylar, to find a way to protect all shifters. Rights are rights. We’ve all got to learn to get along on this fine planet.”

More growls and roars sounded from outside.

“Help me up, will you please? I want to look.”

“You might not like it. It’s grown since we arrived.”

She waved away his concerns. “Just do it. Come on. Help me.”

Cecil eased off the bed and assisted Chia off the high platform holding her mattress. She shuffled to the window and peered outside. “Oh, my God, you’re right. It’s a mess out there. It’s a wonder they don’t all kill each other. There are warring species outside.”

“I know. We’d better get this fixed, fast. My boys are doing all they can to keep the peace but they’re only canines. They’re no match for lions or wolves or--”

“We have lions outside?”

“Yep. Look over there.” Cecil pointed to the farthest reaches of the yard where the lions stood.

Two hyenas paced back and forth making their maniacal yips. One of the lions, a huge male, lunged and swiped at the hyena but the smaller carnivore leapt out of the way. Beyond the lions stood Hung. He held a powerful high lumen flashlight which he swept back and forth across the menagerie. The light beam slid across the window briefly, illuminating Cecil and Chia. Hung’s arm dropped to his side and he stood, motionless, facing her, the light beam bouncing from the ground, casting his face in deep shadow. He simply stared.

Caught by his attention, Chia experienced conflicting sensations of arousal and fear. She longed for him. Wanted to touch him. To explore whatever frightened the hell out of her. But rules were rules and besides not following city ordinances, Hung Durand was now wanted for murder.

How would it look if I slept with the enemy? And then, there are my other, more personal rules. She swallowed and wrenched her gaze from the male. Her eyes landed on the stack of mail D’Raynged had brought in. At the top of the pile sat a letter, written in a bold script. The return address read The Office of Red Mountainbear, followed by his address. “Cecil, look. It’s from Red Spotted Dick.” With trembling fingers, Chia tore open the envelope and removed a crisp piece of white paper. It bore his letterhead and looked very formal.

“What does it say?”

“Dear, Ms. Petit. You are requested to turn over land and sea rights to Mr. Red Mountainbear at your earliest convenience. In return, Mr. Mountainbear will cease the pursuit of all shifters, including restoring them to their prior state. All charges against you and the bounty hunter will be dropped.” She stared at Cecil, her stomach in knots. “That’s it? I can simply turn the land rights over to this jackass and things will return to normal?”

“No, lil’ Summer, we do it our way,” Cecil said.

“Your and Hung’s way is going to get you both killed. What are a bird and a dog going to do against guns, huh? Or to get the shamans to stop what they’re doing? Hung’s going to peck their eyes out? You’re going to bark at them?

“No. You’re going to end up with your legs caught in a trap, or worse, with a bullet in your head and Hung’s going to be a dead Albatross. Damn it! I need to think.” She glanced out the window to see Hung watching her, his head cocked to the side. “I’ve got to walk. I can’t simply lay about. This is so fucked up.” She lifted her arm to run her hand through her hair. Pain shot through her shoulder blades. “Crap! I can’t even lift my arms. Give me my meds, please. I’m going outside.”

“I think you should rest, lil’ Summer.”

“Fuck resting. There will be time for recovery, either when I’m in jail on trumped up charges or after I get this mess sorted and dealt with.” Maybe I’ll have a jail cell next to Hung’s. She washed down the pills Cecil handed her with a gulp of water and slowly made her way into the hall, a plan forming in her pain-filled, distressed, drug-numbed brain.

17

“You’re driving me to town,” she said to Cecil, easing her arms into her jacket. She strapped on her hip holster and shoved one of her guns, a Glock, in the sheath.

“What? No! I’ve got plans with Hung, remember?”

“You’re second in command, you said so yourself. That makes me…first.” She jabbed her finger into his chest.

“Whoa, lil’ Summer, let’s think about this. Hung’s and my idea is a decent one.”

“It’s a fool’s game. Too much risk. Where’s D?” She moved as quickly as she could to the kitchen, rustling about for the Valentine’s chocolates.

“He’s in the basement getting ready for a date or something. What are you doing?” He lunged to snatch the knife out of her hand.

“Give that back to me.”

“No. You look like you’re going to do something stupid with the knife.”

“Fine.” She opened the drawer and got out another, whirling away before he could seize that one, too. Figuring she could use some super enhanced skills and awareness tonight, she sanitized it with the gas flame, poked a hole in her finger and squeezed out several drops onto the chocolate. She withdrew her hand, paused, and then added several more drops for good measure.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Cecil tried to grab the blade.

“Back away, dawg-man. I’m the one with the knife. You already set yours down.” She swished the cutlass back and forth like a tiny sword to get him to back off. Then she grabbed a notepad and scribbled, D, I promise, swear, give my word that no harm shall befall Sultana. I owe you twice as much as before. Love, Chia, your landlady. “Let’s go,” she said.

“Why the rush?” Cecil said, taking her knife and putting it next to the other one, out of harm’s way.

“Please. You call this rushing? I call it making do. My whole upper body feels battered.” She shuffled to the door, headed outside and stepped toward the SUV. “I’m merely inspired and I intend to change things.”

Hung rushed over to her. He stood between her and the Jeep. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To town. To do something I should have done a long time ago.” She turned to look at the shifters. “Hold tight, everyone. I have a plan for the long run and a plan for your immediate needs. We’ll get this taken care of.”

“I’m going with you.” Hung opened the driver’s door.

“Right. Not a chance. You’ll get us both shot. There’s a bounty on your head, remember? You’re on guard duty here. Make sure none of the shifters gets out of hand.”

“Is this your idea, mutt?” Hung gave Cecil an icy stare.

“No way. I tried to talk her out of it. I don’t even know what she’s doing but I wanted her to stay put.”

“Come on, woman, go back in the house.”

“No, dear.” She smiled sweetly and batted her eyelashes at him. “This is important.”

He glared at her, giving her a look that conveyed his total displeasure about her idea. “Come on, Chia. You’re in no shape to go anywhere.”

“And yet I’m going. I’m done with indecision.” At least when it comes to practical matters.

“What’s your goddamned rush?” Hung looked like a bomb about to detonate.

“This.” Chia fished in her pocket, pulling out the letter from the Office of Red Mountainbear. She fluttered it in front of his face. “Bribery.”

He snatched it from her grasp.

As swiftly as she could, which wasn’t fast at all, she moved to the passenger side of the Jeep while Hung read.

Cecil climbed in the driver’s seat.

“Turn on the truck. Let’s go!”

“Wait!” Hung roared. “You are not going to leave me on babysitter duty. Cecil and I have a plan.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re not in charge of this town. I am. Now go, Cecil. Get. Go on.”

Hung bellowed, “Goddamn it, woman, if you give the land rights to Red Mountainbear he’ll shoot every one of the shifters, including me. You’re making a huge mistake.”

“I thought you could take care of yourself. That’s how you always boast. Bye, bye,” she said, gingerly lifting her hand in farewell.

The Jeep lurched along the road, with Cecil turning to and fro to avoid hitting any of the shifters.

In the dark, with her shoulder aching, the drive seemed to take forever. Chia kept peering out the truck window, trying to identify familiar landmarks. Everything seemed bewilderingly unfamiliar. Thirty minutes into the drive she knew why. “You know how I squeezed a few drops of my blood onto the chocolate with a note for D’Raynged?” she asked Cecil.

“Yeah, what was that? I thought you were acting crazy.”

“I might have been. I think I overdosed. I’m not feeling like myself over here.”

Cecil slammed on the brakes causing the Jeep to jerk and slide to a stop.

“Ow! Damn, dawg-man, watch it with the sudden stops.” Chia lifted her hand to softly touch her shoulder but paused, looking at the space where her hand was supposed to be. Instead, she found herself looking at shimmering, psychedelic, colorful lines of energy, pulsing with light. She let out a laugh. “Oh, shit, did I give D too much blood, or what?”

“What’s going on, lil’ Summer?”

“I, uh. I have a strange connection with my roommate.” She turned to look at Cecil and nearly wept with joy as she gazed at him. He glowed with pure, clear, colorful light, like a puppy at play. Looking at him, she saw vistas of fields and mountains, wind ruffling his fur like a spirited hand. She saw jubilation rippling through him. The guy didn’t need to follow a normal plan of “get a job, buy a house, and find stability.” He lived life the way he saw fit and it was perfect. “My God, you’re beautiful.”

Deep lines marked his face. “And you’re freaking me out. What’s the matter? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I believe I’m seeing your essence. You know that old movie, The Matrix?”

Cecil’s face furrowed into a frown. “Yeah, what about it?”

“I keep seeing it on TV. Neo keeps staring at me. It’s like he has a message for me.”

“You’re crazy. It’s Matrix month on the movie channel.”

“No, no, no. Neo…he keeps staring at me. I think it’s the partial truth.”

“What do you mean by partial?”

“Imagine the special effects multiplied by a hundred. The world is a beautiful and terrible place, dawg-man. I’m witnessing the beauty right now, and man, oh, man is it beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

“And you’re not making any sense.”

“Doesn’t matter. Drive.”

Cecil stared at her a few seconds longer, his head cocked, and a funny expression on his face.

Chia laughed. “Go, dawg-man. I’m fine.” She felt immortal, like a gazillion bucks instead of D’Raynged and his million bucks appearance. Her shoulder didn’t even hurt. Maybe I’m healed. Thank you, D’Raynged! She gazed in wonder at the world around her, in its fluid, throbbing, mind-blowing glory.

Lines of energy in a full spectrum of hues intertwined all around her. Even though darkness loomed, it didn’t matter to her sense of sight. She could see as clear as on a sunny day—even more so since she saw the essence of life vibrating all around her. Animals were color bursts. Their murmurs, yips, and vocalizations created a tapestry of sound. She felt in awe of the beauty of life.

When they reached the edge of Charming, the town pulsated in full nighttime swing. Noise and ruckus came from the bars and restaurants on either side of the road. Vibrant air glowed everywhere. Even the vacant buildings glimmered in muted hues. “Take the roundabout way to my office,” she told Cecil. “Park around back.”

They parked and Chia slowly emerged from the truck, tripping-out hard on the vamp’s blood. She giggled as she unlocked the door. As they entered, she heard voices as loud as if they were shouting. “Shhh,” she said to Cecil. Her own whispered voice sounded like a hurricane. “Great, first visual enhancement, now auditory.”

“What are you talking about?”

“High on vamp, remember? Let’s quietly make our way through the building.” She tiptoed as stealthily as she could, hoping her footfalls didn’t sound as loud to the people in the building as they did to her.

In her ears, she stomped along the wooden floors with cans on her feet. They crept down the hall toward the voices. A light shone underneath one of the doors. Dag nab it! They’re in my office. She waved Cecil behind her and kept up her stealth maneuver, hoping she could ghost walk as good as Hung could.

“I think we’ll knock this wall down. I’m going to need a bigger office.”

It’s Red! Is this a convenient coincidence, or what? She started to laugh at the absurdity of the moment. “I’ve never met the man and now he’s in my office?”

Cecil clapped his large hand around her mouth. “Quiet,” he hissed in her ear. “You’re acting like a lunatic.”

“Yeah, same here. I’ll need something fine, too.”

And Dick! I thought he was in critical care in Anchorage. Cecil’s hand felt scrumptious against her mouth. With her vamp high, even touch had a different, more intense sensation. She arched her back like a cat and wiggled her rump at him.

“Jesus, lil’ Summer, this is hardly the time or place.” Cecil’s voice sounded strangled, as if caught between pulling her into a closet and dealing with the situation at hand.

“About that. I don’t think I’m going to need you. You can keep your job. It will look better that way.” Red spoke with the confidence of an arrogant man.

“What? No fucking way. You promised I’d be your vice-manager or whatever your second in command will be called.” Dick, his underling, sounded pissed.

“You forget you’re supposed to be critically injured. Good thing you have a twin who got shot up pretty bad in a barroom brawl.”

“I am injured. The bitch got me in the leg.”

“She missed your dick, didn’t she? Count your blessings.”

“Goddamn it, you’re a fucking liar.”

“No, I merely manipulate facts. Put a spin on things. Let’s check on the other room. I’d like a big bar in my new office so I can entertain.”

“If I’m not getting a new office, you’re not getting a new office.”

“Calm down, Dick, I was only playing with you. Of course you get a new office.”

“Seriously?”

“Of course. I’m a man of my word.”

Their footfalls approached the door where Cecil and Chia stood. She shoved him into the ladies’ room across the hallway.

Cecil’s eyebrows shot up, not doubt thinking they were going to do it in there. “I still don’t think this is the time or place, but…”

“What do you think I am?” She gave him a cock-blocking stare, making him shake his head at her.

“You confuse the hell out of me, lil’ Summer. Do you want me, or don’t you?” His eyes appeared deeply wounded and perplexed.

“Welcome to my world. I confuse myself, all the time.” She giggled and glanced in the mirror, stopping when she saw her reflection. “Whoa! Look at the ghosts.”

“Yeah? So? They do that all the time with you.”

“You’re kidding.”

They appeared to be interwoven, like the shimmering, resplendent, high-backed, lacy ruff of a queen. They hadn’t accepted the newcomer ghost, however, and it sailed left and right searching for a spot to land. Finally, it coiled itself along her head like a crown.

“Nope. I always thought you were royalty. Apparently, they do, too.”

Suspicious, Chia narrowed her eyes and studied her appearance with a critical eye. “Not my choice of costume, to tell the truth.”

“Whatever.” Cecil shrugged. “It does look a little old-fashioned but it makes you look regal.” He cracked the door and peered into the hall. “They’re gone.”

When they heard the men talking from the next office over, Chia whispered, “Follow me.” She and Cecil tiptoed to her office. She carefully slid open the drawer where she’d shoved her long overdue secret project. She intended to call in a big favor. Flipping through the pages, she signed everywhere indicated, folded the papers and slid them into a large manila envelope. Her mind kept veering south, into the psychedelic vamp communion zone, as she watched paper morph into dead trees, and felt certain she walked on the bones of miners from days past. “Here.” She shoved the envelope into Cecil’s hands.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he hissed.

“Take it to Socyone’s office. Put it inside her top desk drawer. She’ll know what to do with it.”

“What if she’s shifted? She won’t be coming to work anytime soon.”

“That’s a chance we’ll have to take. Shoo. Go.” She waved her hands at him, mesmerized with the stream of colorful light emanating from her skin.

“What are you going to do?” Cecil appeared nervous, studying her intently.

“I’m making it up as I go.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Look. You’ll be back in two minutes. What harm can I get into in two minutes?” She smiled sweetly at him.

“Whatever,” he said dubiously. He poked his head out the doorway and crept from the room.

Feeling like a badass, Chia inserted the clip, fingered her Glock and slunk from the office space. Her hallucinations increased as she proceeded. Sounds roared in her ears, like she stood inside a turbo engine room. “Maybe I’m The One, just like Neo.” She started to giggle, then caught herself, clapping her hand in front of her mouth.

“Who’s there?” Red Mountainbear called out.

“Crap,” Chia whispered.

“Here. Take her gun and deal with it, whatever it is.”

Wondering if she might be able to pull off a Neo-Matrix stunt like run up the side of a wall, she sprinted toward the end of the hall. She easily bolted up the wall, flipped in a slow motion arc in the air and landed directly in front of Dick. Whoa, how cool?

“Fuck!” he yelled. He cocked the trigger of her gun and prepared to shoot.

Okay, and now the bullets move through the air so slowly I can catch them with my fingertips.

Dick got off a wild, scared shot.

It zinged past her shoulder, scaring the bejeezus out of her. Dag nab it! Guess that scene truly was a special effect. She bounced up the wall and leapt back and forth, like a petrified spider monkey.

Cecil came racing around the corner. Seeing her zipping toward him like a pinball pinging between the walls, Dick huffing and puffing behind her shooting wildly, he grabbed his hair with his hands. “Aw, Jesus, lil’ Summer, what the hell?”

“I think I was wrong about The Matrix. Not everything was true, especially the slow motion bullets. Run!”

Cecil turned and hotfooted it, his long legs carrying him down the hall.

They bolted outside into the freezing air.

“This way, dawg-man!” Chia led him around the back to a small, rickety staircase.

Cecil stared at it doubtingly. “Not going up that.”

“Yes, you are,” Chia insisted, as the front door banged against the wall. She grabbed Cecil’s hand and yanked him along, pulling him to the top of the building.

Cecil’s teeth began to chatter when they reached the top.

“On your belly, now!”

“Wh-wh-what is th-th-this place?” he stammered, through his clacking teeth.

“I don’t know. It could be an old lookout. That’s the urban legend. Now, shhh.” They lay with their heads barely peeking over the edge.

Cecil’s teeth clattered noisily.

“I thought you didn’t get cold?” Chia whispered.

“N-n-not c-c-cold,” he insisted. “S-c-c-cared of heights. Already t-t-told you.”

Feeling compassion, she said, “Close your eyes. I’ve got you.” She ran her hand along his back, soothing him. “And no boners, buddy. This is for comfort.”

“B-b-but it feels so g-g-good,” he said, rolling over to gaze up at her with his puppy dog, glacier-blue eyes.

She stroked his side, intent on calming him.

His leg started twitching as if she’d been scratching his husky dog back, right in front of his tail. He bent the leg and pounded the roof with his foot.

“Jesus, Cecil!” She eyed his tented pants and slapped the side of his head. “Roll over. Stay! Quiet!”

Like a good dog, Cecil did as told. “Spoilsport. I know I could make you feel good and happy.”

“And I got your teeth to stop chattering, so shut up.” Her insides seemed to whine in protest, as if she were the girl dog who wanted the boy dog, badly.

Footsteps thundered from inside the building. Red Mountainbear burst outside. “Where are you, you fool?”

“Over here!” Dick whisper-yelled.

From their vantage point, Chia and Cecil watched as Red barreled toward Dick. “What did you see? Who is it?”

“It’s the bitch herself and her shifter dog friend.”

“What? Where did they go?”

“Not sure. They disappeared. She…she…my eyes must have been playing tricks on me because it looked like she ran up the wall.”

Red scoffed. “You’re a bigger fool than I thought possible. Let me see the gun.”

“I’ve got this,” Dick spluttered.

“I said, let me see the goddamned gun.”

Dick passed Chia’s Smith and Wesson into Red’s huge gloved hand.

“I love that gun,” Chia whispered. “It was grandpa’s favorite. I really want it back.”

“I’ll g-g-get you a-n-n-nother one,” Cecil said, his shivers resuming.

“Oh, no. Your fear is back?”

“It never left m-m-me. Heights t-t-terrify m-m-me. I g-g-got dis-t-t-tracted. Maybe you should t-t-touch me some m-m-more.”

She tsked. “No, dawg-man, it makes you horny.”

“I’m always h-h-horny. Even when I’m s-c-c-cared. You could help me get un-scared, you know. You’ll like it.”

“Jesus Christ. Close your eyes. I need to think.”

“You go that way,” Red said to Dick.

“I’m unarmed,” he protested.

“I’ve got your back,” Red said.

Dick skulked toward the corner. Red lifted the gun and shot him in the back. “See what I mean?” He let out a maniacal laugh, worse than a hyena’s.

The injured man fell to the ground, a pool of blood seeping into the snow. He groaned.

Chia gasped.

Cecil yelped. “Ha-t-t-te g-g-guns worse than h-h-heights.”

“Now, you tell me. I’m learning all kinds of things about you.” Chia glared at him.

Red looked up. “There you are, you little bitch. Come on down and no one will get hurt.”

Chia pulled her gun from her holster, cocked it, and aimed. “I’ve got a better sight on you.”

“Going to make this fun are you?” Red called. “Tell you what. I’ll give you a head start. You climb on down and I’ll give you the lead. I’m going to shoot you, like I shot Dick, put the gun in his hand, and make it look like he did it. Unless you turn over the land and sea rights. We can put this matter to rest right here and now.”

“Yeah, right. I turn over rights to you and all my friends are dead anyway.”

“I’m a fair man, Ms. Petit.”

“Haven’t seen signs of it yet. You shot a man in the back, for Christ sake.” Her goddamned ghosts, no doubt afraid, whirled in front of her eyes making it impossible to see Red. She shook her head, trying to dislodge them.

“There you go a-g-g-gain, looking all c-c-crazy,” Cecil said.

“Shut up, dawg-man. Are you a good down climber?”

“B-b-better than climbing up-p-p.”

“Crawl across the roof to the other side. There’s a sturdy down spout. Grab hold and let yourself off the roof. Throw something to distract Red.”

“O-k-k-kay.”

Chia gave Cecil a glance. Poor guy. He’s white as one of my ghosts. He’s even sweating. “Go. I believe in you.”

He gave her a wan smile and crawled across the roof like a lizard, keeping his belly low.

“What’s going on up there?” Red said. He leaned his head back and squinted to see up the two-storied roof.

“Nothing. Just trying to get comfortable.” She waved her hand in front of her face in an attempt to move the ghosts out of the way. Peering through the ectoplasm, she took a shot at Red. It went wild.

He leapt out of the way, cursing. “I thought you were a hot shot. All those awards I heard of. Were the results all dummied?” He laughed.

A clatter and a yell sounded from the other side of the building.

Oh, Cecil, I hope you’re okay, but you were supposed to sneak down, not fall down.

Red jogged out of sight. “Well, lookie here,” he called from the other side of the building. “I’ve got a mutt man in my grasp.”

Shit! Chia belly crawled across the roof. She looked down to see Red grasping Cecil’s arms behind his back with one hand, the other holding the gun to his head. “And then she went crazy and killed her friend. Lemming News will have a field day with this story.”

“Leave Cecil alone.”

“Throw your gun on the ground. Come down with your hands up and your friend lives.”

She positioned her gun over the top of her other arm.

“I wouldn’t shoot if I were you. The odds are in my favor.”

“I’d l-l-listen to him if I were you,” Cecil said.

“Your friend’s about to wet his pants,” Red spluttered.

“Dag nab it,” Chia said. She tossed the gun over the side of the building, in Red’s direction. “Watch this, asshole,” she yelled, and she scrambled to her feet and leapt off the side of the building, Neo-style. She fell, aware of everything—her breath, her thoughts, her longing for Hung Durand, her stress and distress, and her desire to help Cecil get away. It seemed like it took a long, long time to get to the ground. Maybe I really should yield to my desires for Hung. Get my needs met. These were the last thoughts to whirl through her brain as her feet landed squarely in front of Red.

“What the fuck?” he yelled, startled. “What the hell are you?”

Her ghosts swirled in front of his eyes, finally helping, it seemed.

He batted at his face. “Goddamn it. What did you do, shoot spider webs at me?” He waved the gun frantically, pulling the trigger in the process.

Cecil yelped, shifted and yipped, racing away.

She grabbed Red’s shirt and yanked his body forward, slamming his nose onto her head. His hands flew to cover his face, gun still gripped. She ripped it from his fingers and tossed it aside.

She held his weakened stance closely to her. His breath smelled foul, like booze and old man. “You asshole! Scaring my friend like that. You can fuck with me, but never fuck with my friends.” In one swift move, she brought her knee to his groin. As he doubled over, she said, “Best move I ever learned in self-defense. What a wimp. No contest at all.” She fisted her hands together and slammed the hard ball on the back of his head.

Red crumpled to the ground.

She slung her booted foot to his head, putting her might into the kick. Staring at the fallen form, she scooped up her gun, loving the feel of the weapon in her hand. “Should I, or shouldn’t I?” Deciding she shouldn’t—rules were, after all, rules, she shoved it in her coat pocket. When she started to pull out her hand, her index finger wedged between the gun and the thick glove taking all the pocket space, keeping her knuckle too close to the trigger as her arm moved back. A wisp of wind dashed passed her thigh and the palm of Red’s hand jerked.

She stumbled back a few steps, surprised by the sharp burst of noise, then a curious thing caught her eye.

Red’s blood oozed from his palm, as black as the night. It sizzled like acid on metal, causing the snow to steam and spit.

“What the…” She crouched and shoved his coat sleeve up.

A mystifying pattern, like light fractals, crept up his arm. As the light moved, strange symbols appeared on his forearm. Not knowing what they were, Chia dug for her phone and took a few pictures for future examination. “Sure didn’t expect that.”

Then Chia scrambled after Cecil’s trail, following the dog tracks racing through the snow. “Come on, puppy. Come here. Cecil. Here, dawg-man. Come here, puppy.” She found him huddled under the Jeep, shivering and shaking. “Come on, dawg-man, let’s pursue your plan. Mine is done. Things are going to change around here.” She opened the back seat and the husky crawled out and leapt inside. She got into the driver’s side and ignited the engine. As she headed through town, a couple of the bar-goers stumbled outside, probably to see about the gunshot a minutes ago.

“Look! It’s her! She’s responsible for this shifter mess!”

More people poured from the bar. They lunged for the Jeep, angry faces pressing into the windows, fists battering the glass.

“It’s not my fault,” she cried, stepping on the gas while trying to carefully avoid people’s toes.

In the rearview, she watched the crowd gathered in the middle of the street. Some picked up rocks and threw them at her. Others simply shook their fists in the air and shouted obscenities. Finally, they disappeared from sight, enfolded by her beloved town of Charming, Alaska.

She and Cecil headed back to her home, Cecil in the back, tongue hanging from his mouth, and her in the driver’s seat, tripping hard on vamp power, shamed and bewildered, as well as determined to set things right. And then she’d resign, if that’s what the people wanted.

18

Hung ran to the Jeep to meet her when she pulled into the driveway. She guided the SUV carefully, as she could barely make it through the menagerie. Even more shifters had arrived since she left.

“Are you all right?” Hung asked anxiously when she stepped from the driver’s seat.

“Sort of. My ego’s a bit wounded. Let’s pursue plan two. We’ve got to find a way to get the shifters to shift back.” She stared at Hung. In her enhanced state, he appeared like a god, huge, terrifying, and sexy as hell. Her panties moistened in greeting.

“You should be in bed,” he protested.

She mumbled, “Only with you.”

Hung squeezed the tops of her arms. “What?”

“I said I’m going with you.”

“Like hell you are. Chia, you were in surgery a couple days ago. I’m putting you to bed.”

“Not on your life. I’m healed. I’m high as a kite on vampire right now, I feel like a gazillion bucks, let’s go.”

“Jesus, woman, what’s with the vampire high?” Hung glowered at her.

She waved his concerns aside. “We can march right up to the hideout. You don’t need to worry about Red and Dick. They’re incapacitated right now.”

Hung arched an eyebrow. “What did you do, exactly?”

“Red shot Dick in the back. He was still alive when I left. I kicked Red in the groin, bashed his head with my fists and I may have unintentionally shot a bullet through his shooting hand.”

Both Hung’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead. “You, who follows the rules all the time? Maybe there are other rules you’d like to break with me.” He smirked.

She swallowed back her desire, staring at him like a hungry dog. Lips parted, jaw slack, she wanted to taste him, to devour his mouth with hers, to run her hands up and down his muscular body, to kiss and suck and…. Get a grip. “Not happening. Not on your life.”

“You can kid yourself all you like, but you know you want me.”

“It shouldn’t be hard to deal with the shamans,” she said, veering the conversation in a new direction.

“You’re right about that, but they left a small army guarding the cave. We still have to go in stealth. And by ‘we,’ I mean me and the dog.”

“How do you know about the army?” She opened the back door for Cecil the husky.

He jumped out, shook his coat and licked the faces of his pack in greeting.

“I’ve got spies.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Like snowy owls?”

“What about snowy owls?”

“Never mind. Let’s go.”

“Are you going to walk all the way? It’s miles.”

“No, I’m getting my skis and Cecil’s going to pull me, right, dawg-man?”

The beautiful husky wagged his tail and woofed.

“See? I’ll be right back.” She trudged to the barn, retrieved her skis, poles, and ski boots, grabbed the halter, and trudged back out. “Where did Hung go?” She turned in a circle, looking for him.

Cecil barked, jumped, and barked again.

“He shifted? So now I’ve lost both of you to your shifter selves?”

Cecil wagged his tail. He pranced. He shoved his nose into her hand. He soft-mouthed her hand and gently tugged. Clearly, he was trying to convey something, but Chia hadn’t a clue what.

“Damn. I sure hope this works. And just so you know, when I lay in the hospital, thinking I might have died, I thought I’d yield to my feelings for Hung, to try them on for size.”

Cecil woofed, rubbed against her and barked again.

“Yeah, yeah, I knew you’d be pleased. Now let me halter you up.” When she was ready to glide, she turned to the mess of animals in her yard. “Everyone, can I have your attention? We’re heading out to try to fix your abilities to shift back. Wish us luck. And keep the peace. Don’t any of you dare eat each other. I will so throw your butts in jail before you even get a chance to change. Even you two.” She stabbed a finger at the hyenas.

To a chorus of yips, growls, whines, and that damn freaky hyena laughter, Chia took off, hanging onto the reins of Cecil’s harness. She’d barely taken a few glides when a large blur tackled her, taking her to the ground. Her skis snapped from their bindings as she went down.

“Hey!” she yelled, through a mouthful of dirty snow.

“I said, you’re not coming. You’re going to bed.” He swiftly handcuffed her wrists behind her back. Just as fast, he rolled her onto her back, kneeling between her legs.

She glared at him, confused, as a volcano of lusty heat exploded between them. “Is restraint the only way you can get a woman to bed you?” She kicked, aiming for his head.

He ducked, seizing her ankle. “It won’t be the only way I want you in bed. I’ve got lots of ideas.”

She yanked her leg to get free of his grasp.

He dug his fingers into her flesh, pushed her pants above her boot and kissed her calf, grinning.

She stilled, falling into the spell he had on her. Sweet baby Jesus. Her core sizzled with want. Can’t let him get to me. Her other leg kicked at his stomach, landing a solid blow. “I’m going with you.”

“Oof,” he grunted. “You’re not. You don’t give in easy, I’ll give you that much.” He clenched the other ankle, holding both legs aloft.

With her legs spread wide, the man she wanted to explore lusty communion with poised between them, the tension grew tight as a bowstring. I’ll bet he’s hard as a rock under that bulky jacket. Her breath puffed slow and deep, making white clouds. Their eyes locked, she stared into his sun-kissed blues. A world of possibility shimmered between them.

Hung laid one of her legs over his shoulder, holding her gaze. He nuzzled the material in his grasp, biting her softly through her pants.

Chia hummed with delight. “I’m still going,” she said softly.

The shifters began to circle them, perhaps eager for entertainment. Barks and yips of excitement filled the air.

“You’re not,” he said, low and deep. He kissed her knee through the fabric. “See, woman?” he said. “This isn’t so bad.”

“No,” she murmured, pleasurable sensation rolling through her like a wave. “Not bad at all.” Lost in her lust, bundled in snow gear, eyes closed, she didn’t notice the metal ring positioned around her ankle. Snick. Her eyes flew open.

Hung leapt to his feet. “Up with you.” He rolled her onto her stomach. “On your knees, woman. Get to your feet.”

“What the fuck? No!”

“Suit yourself. I’ll chain you to the barn.” He stepped toward the structure, holding a sturdy, slender cable affixed to the cuff around her ankle.

“Hell, no! Get me up!”

“As you wish.” He grabbed her handcuffed arms.

“Ow!” she yelled.

He quickly released her.

She fell to the ground with a thud. “Ow!” she yelled again. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“I thought you were healed, woman!”

“I thought so, too.” Angry tears pricked her eyes as pain lanced through her shoulder. Damn vamp connection is wearing off. “Get me up.” She wiggled onto her back, glaring at him with rage-filled eyes. “Bastard.” She kicked, landing a solid blow on his chin.

“Fuck!” He winced. “I’m trying to take care of you.”

“I don’t want to be taken care of. I want to help. You should have seen me in town. I was like Neo in The Matrix.”

Hung gently guided her up to sitting. “I’ll bet you were,” he said soothingly. He crouched, put one hand behind her back, the other under her knees. “One, two, three.” With a grunt, he got to his feet, cradling her.

“I climbed the wall, just like Neo and Trinity. Ran right up it.” The tears spilled out her eyes. Humiliated, ashamed at being watched by her people as Hung trussed her up like a pig, she wanted to march into town, resign, and hide out at home for the rest of her days.

“I’m sure you did. You’re amazing,” he said, as he trudged toward the front door. “And you’re also injured. Badly. Probably worse than before, thanks to me believing you were healed.” He stepped onto the porch and maneuvered one of his hands to turn the doorknob.

“I am amazing, dammit.” The words came out in a whimper, pissing her off. Her shoulder throbbed. Stabs of pain shot through her scapula and down her spine. “Son of a bitch, this hurts.”

“I’m sure when you’re resting once more, and the adrenaline surge drops, the vampire juice will take over again. Your beautiful silver eyes are pretty dilated. Looks like you’ve got junkie eyes. You better not make a habit of this.” Hung trudged toward her bedroom. He kicked open the door and made a few short steps to her giant bed. He set her down and kissed the top of her head.

Chia didn’t know whether to like the kiss, or hate the kiss. “I despise you, you know that?”

“I’m used to it,” he said, making swift work of binding the slender filament to the corner of the bed.

“Think I can’t snap that slender cord?”

“You can try.” He proceeded to unlock her handcuffs. “It’s a titanium alloy used in aircrafts. It should keep you busy until I get back. If your shoulder pain lessens.”

“I’d punch you if my shoulder didn’t hurt so badly.” She glowered at him.

“I’d expect no less.” He slid her jacket from her arms, letting the palms of his hand sweep along her long-sleeved shirt. The heat radiated through the fabric, warming her. “Lie back.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Then don’t.” He plumped the pillows at the headboard, readying them, lest she change her mind. Then he lifted her legs onto the bed. He removed her gun from her holster, unloaded it, and placed it on the dresser. “Lest you get any ideas about neutering me. I like the equipment intact.”

She almost chuckled, but suppressed it, and lay back against the soft pillows. “I got my Smith and Wesson back.”

“Good for you.” Hung removed one of her ski boots, then the other, dropping them on the floor. They landed with a clunky clatter.

“Red planned on framing me with it.”

“I’m sure he did.” His strong hands massaged her socked feet.

She nearly gasped with joy.

“I hope to God the handcuffs didn’t cause more damage, but I suspect, if you really were practicing some Neo ninja moves, you managed to further injure your shoulder all by yourself.” He picked up a throw she kept at the end of the bed, unfolded it and shook it out, gently placing it over her. “You’ll have to show me your moves sometime.”

“You actually believe me?”

“Why wouldn’t I? I told you. You’re amazing.”

“You already said that.”

“And I’m saying it again.” He tucked the blanket around her body. “I’d better be going. The sooner we get this done, the better. The shifters will be happy. I’ll be happy. And your dog friend will be happy. We can all shift freely again.”

“The townspeople hate me.”

“They’ll get over it. Public opinion can be quite fickle.” He turned and stepped toward the door.

“Wait!” Chia said.

Hung turned around. “What is it? Going to say thanks for taking care of you?”

Chia studied him. He almost looked hopeful, like he really did want to hear her say that. “What’s the real reason you’re acting like you believe me?”

His shoulders fell, as if resigned to her dismissal. “You honestly don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“Your grandfather was one of the greatest magic men who ever lived in these parts. A true shaman. He understood the arts. The dark and the light. The interplay. He was a man who made The Matrix look like child’s play.”

“He what?” Her jaw dropped open.

“What I said. It skipped a generation. Missed your mom altogether. But I suspect you’ll keep the magic alive.”

“How can I do that? I didn’t really give much consideration to magic until lately. This is rather stunning news. I guess I’ve been too busy trying to make the world a safer place.”

“You’ll figure it out.” He turned, then paused. “Oh. Keep an eye out the window. You never know when you’ll be needed tonight.” He winked, spun on his heel and trudged from the room.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me.” Further down the hall, he lifted his hand in farewell.

She stared at his retreating back. Why can’t I accept his kindness? She glanced at her bound foot. “Well, he said he did it out of care, not machismo.” She sighed and settled back on the pillows. “Thank you,” she called, too late, as the front door snicked closed. “Sort of…”

19

Chia stared out the window at Hung, skiing toward the Haunted Bear glacier, no doubt using my skis and my friend to pull him. “I thought you were going to shift. No sir, you’re going to rely on my loyal friend, Cecil, and not take a chance at shifting. Bastard.” She glared at the picture of her grandparents hanging on the wall. “Why didn’t you tell me you practiced magic?” She shook her head. “I get it. You probably didn’t want my parents to know you talked to me about such stuff.”

Her parents, mostly her mother, often fought with her maternal grandparents. Her dad tried to say out of the fray by simply staying away. One conversation in particular had always stuck in her mind. They’d driven out to the old house for her mother to make her final goodbyes to Charming, Alaska.

“We’re not going to take part in your superstitious nonsense,” her mother shouted at her grandfather.

Her grandmother had tried to soothe her mom. “There, there, honey. You’re simply overwrought. It’s the endless darkness that’s getting to you.”

“No,” her mother had said, whirling to throw something in her open suitcase. “It’s not the endless darkness. It’s the endless superstitious conjecture. I believe in science. I believe in an evidence based reality.”

“There’s evidence everywhere to support the mystical world,” her grandfather pleaded. “Magic is nothing more than the understanding and manipulation of energy. How much more scientific can you get? It’s all about atoms, cell structures, and systems.”

“While waving around rattles and chanting in tongues? Wandering through forests with elk horns strapped to your head? Puh-lease. You’re nothing but an old fool, you know that? I’m taking Chia and we’re moving to New York to be with Mark. He’s got an apartment and a job, based in reality.”

She never had a chance to chat with her grandparents about that topic. After that, Chia found herself in New York, missing the wilds of Alaska and small town living. Charming ran through her soul. It pumped her passion, gave meaning to her life. She cajoled and argued, fought and rebelled until her parents let her move back to Alaska to “stay with her heathen grandparents.” She never regretted moving back. And the one time she asked her grandpa about magic, he’d replied cryptically.

“Magic is in the eyes of the beholder, sweetheart. Look. It’s all around us every day.”

She thought he was being vague and mystical. Maybe the guy had a point, she thought, eyeing the blips of energy she now knew as sprites. And as usual, Hung’s right—now that my earlier upset has worn off, vamp communion is a full on, mega-tripping color and light show again.

Her mental state now overtaking her physical state, she pushed aside the warm throw and slowly eased from her bed, careful to not move her body abruptly and set off the shoulder pain. Standing at the window, she gazed at the glowing wilderness.

In the distance, barely discernable through the weird energy shield of sleet, the Haunted Bear glacier appeared to have a gold waterfall of sparkling energy rolling down the valley. It spread across the frozen lake. Puffs of the golden-hued vibration billowed in the air. She puzzled for a moment. That must be the spell cast by the shamans. Why would they do such a thing? They live among the shifters and accept them. Many of them are shifters.

Her attention moved to her yard. The big, bright shapes of the Fae drifted above the shifters. Her ghosts had moved outside to be with them. Even the newbie ghost, the one she’d named He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not, seemed interested in play. The other ghosts kept it from its quest, however, darting and dodging in front of it as it sought the swirling, pleasurable communion her counterparts were engaged in.

Chia found herself rooting for the recently hatched energy blip, silently cheering it on. “Come on, little ghost, find your passion.” She jerked, startled, when one of the Fae darted to the window. Hovering inches from her face, it seemed to be looking at her with aqua-green eyes of arousal. “Go away. Shoo.” She waved her hand at it, trying without success to not look at it with her own hungry, sex-starved eyes.

It leered at her. Its shimmering, rainbow hued, see-through arms moved along its sparkling, see-through body. It appeared to be a male, although she now knew they could be either sex at any time. As it stroked its body with slow, languorous touch, Chia felt her own heightened arousal. Not wanting to participate with a foreign, unknown creature, she staggered back against her bedpost, but the pressure of the wood poked her wounds. She shifted to the side to rest against the cushiony mattress.

The Fae made a gesture indicating she should open the window.

Chia shook her head back and forth, vigorously.

The Fae nodded his head up and down with equal exuberance.

Arousal and curiosity winning the moment, she took a few timid steps and pried open the sash. Cold air gushed into the warm space. “What do you want with…” She didn’t have a chance to finish her sentence.

The Fae sped into the room and wound itself around her like a thick, vibrating snake.

Completely flooded with sensation, she fell back against bedpost once more.

The fairy undulated around her. It felt like smooth, weighted silk. It cackled and cooed, uttering strange sounds and sensual murmurs.

Overwhelmed by this strange occurrence, she pushed at it, trying to get it off. Her hands simply slipped through the creature, causing it to burble with strange laughter.

It began vocalizing to her, but she didn’t understand it. “I…I don’t understand Fae or whatever it is you speak.”

It cocked its head, its beautiful face looking at her questioningly. It tried again, speaking in a different dialect or something.

Again, she shook her head.

“You,” it said, slowly enunciating.

The word vibrated and warbled in the air.

“That’s what I heard when I saw the dying elk,” Chia said, excitedly. “The same sound!”

“One.” It said, stroking her cheeks with translucent fingers.

“I’m the One?”

“One of the Ones.”

The words shimmered, reverberating against the walls.

“Come,” the fairy said.

Strong, invisible arms guided her toward the window, as far as the ankle cuff allowed. She stared, delighted, to see the Snowy owl circling near her open window.

When it saw her, it flew high in the air and rocketed toward her window. Hung said to be wary, but this time she yielded. This time, she didn’t flinch. The impact, however, caused her body to stagger against the bed and fall, her torso supported by the mattress, one leg dangling over the edge, the other ensnared by the metal cuff at an awkward angle.

The fairy took advantage of her prone position, rubbing against her body like a huge, see-through cat.

The beautiful bird circled and sailed from the room taking her vamp connected mind high above the shifters, the dog pack, the Fae and the wee sprites, into the crisp, starry night, toward the glacier. Exhilarated, aroused by the fairy, she felt once more invincible, like pure energy, a goddess in her own right.

Marveling at the nightscape, they flew swiftly toward the cave. When they reached the energy barrier of sleet, she spied the prone form of Hung, mouth slack, laying deathly still. “Wait,” she conveyed to the owl’s mind. “We have to go back for him! He couldn’t get through the barrier as a human.”

The bird kept up its swift flight with Chia tethered to its mind.

“He’s going to die! He’s going to go into hypothermic shock and die!” The bird kept climbing the currents, swaying, soaring, and bobbing. It seemed to wrestle with the golden energy streaming from the cave. The owl persisted, deftly working the air as it sought its destination. Below, she spotted the brown and white husky, crawling up the mountain on trembling legs.

Whimpers, whines and yips could be heard from Cecil’s husky form as if he had to cheerlead himself.

“Come on, dawg-man, you can do it,” she wanted to yell to him, but since her mind was embedded inside the owl, speech proved impossible.

The dog lifted its head, and spied the owl. He gave several feeble wags before proceeding up the mountain, his legs shaking, his feet slipping on icy surfaces.

The three men left behind to guard the cave sat or stood near the opening, appearing bored, smoking, or toying with their guns.

“Did you hear something?” one of them asked.

“All I hear is that damn chanting coming from the shitheads, on and on and on,” another answered. “I’m going to lose my mind if I have to keep listening to it.”

“You heard the boss. We stay put until he returns.”

“No, I swear I hear something. It sounds like a dog or something. I’m going to check it out.” He got up from his crouch and took a couple of steps, slipping on the icy ground. “Hey, it’s one of those sled dogs.” He lifted his rifle to take aim.

“No!” Chia cried in the owl’s mind.

The owl folded its wings and hurtled at the man.

“Fuck!” He batted at the owl, losing his footing and falling.

The other men stepped to where the first man lay, struggling to get up.

“Damn owl clawed at my face.”

“I don’t see an owl. I think you slipped, dipshit. Where’s the rock climbing dog?”

“I don’t know, he ran behind a boulder or something.”

“You been hitting the hooch?” The male lifted his hand and pretended to pour a drink.

“Fuck, no.” The fallen man got to his feet. He took a swing at the other man.

Chia peered through the owl’s eyes, watching Cecil the husky slink around to the other side of the cave. Still trembling with fear, the husky belly crawled toward the opening.

Good boy, Chia thought.

The owl dipped down to get a better look.

“Stop fighting, you two,” the third man yelled, prying them apart.

Cecil crept into the cave.

The owl ghost-landed at the opening, peering inside.

Chia gawked.

The shamans appeared exhausted. Chained to the wall, they kept up their chants, eyes sunk in their skulls, faces drawn with fatigue.

Cecil the husky kept up his belly crawl, slinking toward the magic men. He grabbed one of the chains in his mouth and tugged without effect. He turned to look at the cave opening, saw the owl and whined, perhaps hoping for guidance.

“Hey!” One of the men yelled. “There’s the owl. Jordan was right.” He lifted his rifle and took a shot at the bird as it lifted in the air.

Shocked and frightened, Chia’s mind boomeranged into her bedroom, landing with a snap inside her body. Several Fae coiled around her, feasting on her body with lust. Her ghosts spun overhead, their expressions appearing bewildered or perhaps betrayed by the Fae’s inattention to their needs. Chia roared. “Get off of me! Go away! Fun time’s over.”

The Fae took flight, soaring from the room.

Chia sat up, distraught, aroused by Fae, still high on vamp, scared for both Hung and Cecil. “There’s no one to fix this but me. I’m it.” She eyed her bound ankle. “I may not be able to break this metal band, but I’ve got practice getting out of bindings, thanks to my roommate and his duct tape fetish.” She wiggled toward the pillows, pulled open the drawer of her side stand and retrieved her bottle of Silky Stuff lube. Pouring a generous glob on her ankle, she twisted and tugged. “Think small.” She pulled and wrenched. “Damn!” She glowered at her ghosts. “Any advice? No? You’re useless.” She tugged until her skin became raw. Tears of rage flooded her eyes.

“Damn, damn, damn! D’Raynged,” she yelled. “Are you here?” She cocked her head to listen. Nothing. “Trinity! Neo! Where are you when I need you? What do I do?” Overwhelmed by despair, swamped by grief, the only thing she could think was to chew and claw off her foot, like a fox in a leg trap. She truly understood what it must be like to be caught by a piece of toothed metal. At least her bindings were smooth and rounded.

20

The same fairy who sexed her earlier, doing God knows what while her mind was away, returned, perhaps summoned by her pleas. “You,” it said, shimmering before her. “One of the ones,” it slowly enunciated, in its warbled, melodic voice.

“A lot of good it does me. I’m one of the trapped ones.” She sat, slumped, hands laying listless between her legs, not caring whether or not her shoulder throbbed. “Why should I even care? The townspeople don’t care.”

“One of the ones,” it repeated. It reached for her hand but slid right through her flesh. It frowned, looking consternated. “Come.”

She looked at it sadly. “Can’t go anywhere, fairy. I’m as stuck as the shifters outside. Hung’s the only one with the key and he’s probably dead by now.”

“Come,” it said again, beseeching her with a watery gaze from its translucent eyes.

She shook her head. “I wish I could, believe me.”

The fairy tried again to take her hand. “Give.”

“Why? We’ve just proved your kind and my kind are not the same stuff.” She thought about her earlier recollections of her grandparents’ and parents’ last interaction. Magic is nothing more than the understanding and manipulation of energy, her grandfather had stated.

“Come,” the fairy said for what seemed like the millionth time.

She lifted her head to snap at him, when she saw her ghosts actually listening to him.

The fairy rested his palm on her sore, scraped ankle, and repeated the word to the ghosts. “Come.”

Her ghosts fluttered toward her ankle, paying close attention to the fairy. It spoke in rapid Fae or whatever, and they listened, apparently understood, and slipped under the metal ring.

Chia watched, amazed, as her ankle blurred, surrounded by ectoplasm, then disappeared. Startled, blinking rapidly, she jerked it away from the ghosts. It slid free of the metal. “Holy cannoli, we did it! Thank you,” she said, but the ghosts—all except number seven who tried in vain to find a place in the group—had already begun to twirl around the fairy, as if hypnotized or totally turned on by it. “Thank you,” she said to the fairy, as it floated from the room. She got to her feet, wincing from the pain in her back, spied her pain meds and poured a couple into her palm. Washing them down with water, hoping they didn’t interact in a bad way with the lingering vamp high, she moved as quickly as she could, putting on socks and warm clothing and heading toward the door.

Outside, many of the shifters had bedded down for the night, bunching together for warmth. Others sat, alert, watching. She lifted her hand in greeting. “I’m still trying, guys and gals.” She made her way to the back of the barn. She pulled open the big barn door, the one that allowed her grandfather’s farm machinery to pass in and out, and trudged toward her neon green and white Arctic Cat Sno-Pro snowmobile.

She made a quick pass by the gun cabinet and retrieved her Nosler 26 and her Glock. Securing the Glock in her shoulder holster and the eight-pound rifle across her back, plenty of ammo in her pockets, she donned her goggles and climbed aboard.

She drove slowly out of the barn, allowing it to progress along the dirt floor and driveway before she reached snow, hopefully without much damage to the belts or the carbides. Once she hit the snow, she gunned the engine, getting it up to 118 mph.

Turned her head a split second to see her ghosts streaming like smoke behind her, riding the currents like a boat wake. She ignored the pain in her shoulder blade, the jostling ride, the vibration between her legs, focusing instead on the glowing terrain and the glacier ahead.

She arrived at the sleet barrier, searching frantically for Hung. “Damn it! Where did he go? Did he already die, and a night critter got him?” The thought sickened her. After making a few passes with the Cat, she zipped through the barrier and headed for the glacier, her heart heavy. One down. I missed my opportunity with him. I hope Cecil’s okay, at least.

The once golden energy streaming from the cave now appeared sickly and stagnant, like a slow moving pond, overflowing with water weeds, mossy slime and bacteria. It even carried a foul smell, making her gag. She pulled her wooly winter scarf over her mouth and nose, and continued on.

She sped toward the Haunted Bear, zooming across the frozen lake with as much caution as she could allow. Once she reached the bottom of the glacier, she stared up toward the cave, listening intently for sounds of owl, dog, chanting, or men with guns. The entire area seemed smothered in silence.

She started to climb toward the cave, the Glock at her side, the Nosler 26 strapped to her back, but pain got the best of her. She slid into a crouch, whimpering softly. A familiar, welcome smell, one that had eluded her for days, tickled her nose. “Hung?” she whispered.

“What are you doing out here, woman?” he said softly, ghost-walking behind her. “Breaking the rules?”

She pivoted her head to look at him.

Bundled in fur and animal hide snow gear, he gave her a sweet, saucy smile that melted her heart.

Who is this soft, mushy guy? “I thought you were dead. I saw your body at the barrier.” Her words came out all breathy and weird, not to mention muffled from the scarf. She hunched forward, not wanting him to see her vulnerability.

“Yeah, I couldn’t get through the barrier. I had to…take other measures.”

“Like what? You looked dead.”

“Isn’t that how you want me? Six feet under?” He pressed gently against her back, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

She tsked and rolled her eyes. “No. Not really. I…only….well…” She pushed her furry hood back from her head and tugged the scarf from her mouth. The cold quickly settled around her face but with Hung’s heat behind her, she didn’t mind.

“You only what?” He nuzzled the back of her head with his cold nose.

“I…never mind.”

“Tell me.” He nibbled the sliver of exposed skin between her scarf and jaw.

“I’d be breaking my own rules if I ever…you know…did anything with you.”

“And why is that?”

“I’m…well…” What the hell was she scared of? Who told her Hung was in love with her? Was he just looking for the next notch in his belt? What did she care? Soon he’d be off on his next job and since she’d be hiding at home, she’d never see him again. With a heavy sigh, she spilled. “I’m afraid to let you in. I already like you too much. It’s easier to have sex with men I don’t know or like. That way, they don’t get too close.”

Her cheeks burned at her true confession. It must be the meds or the vamp high that made me say it. “Forget I said anything. I’m being stupid.” She shook her head. “And I can’t climb this frigging mountain. My back hurts like a motherfucker.”

“I told you to stay put.” He brought his lips to her temple, pushing her furry hat to the side. “But you never listen to me, do you? How’d you get free of the metal band? Chainsaw?”

She heard the smile in his voice. “Long story.”

“Ah. I hope you tell me all about it. But for now, I need to rescue a friend of yours. He’s chained to the cave with the shamans.”

Chia snapped to her senses. “What? And you have the nerve to sit behind me, cooing in my ear with platitudes?”

He sighed. “Here we go again.” He released her and she grew instantly chilled. He guided her up to standing and spun her around. “I confess.”

She took a quick breath. Is he going to tell me he loves me?

“I took out two of the men guarding the cave.”

Her heart sank like the sun behind the horizon. She sighed, deflated. Of course you did.

“The other one is trying to keep the dog muzzled while keeping a lookout for me. I climbed down the mountain partway to throw him off his game. Make him think he’s safe. He’s going to be mighty agitated. And, when I saw you, well…” He shrugged.

“What if he’s harmed Cecil? I’ll break your neck.”

“Is that before or after you have me tried for murder for breaking your rules of no self-defense?”

“After,” she griped, eyes blazing.

“This part of you is getting a little tiresome,” he said, with another sigh. “I could deal with your job as town manager and all your goddamn rules, but this?” He swished his hand up and down in front of her body. “You’re armed inside and out.” His eyes grew steel blue and cold as an iceberg. “Well. I’ll be getting on my way up to save your friend when I could be doing other things.”

“I’m coming.”

“Not with me, you’re not.”

“Please? I need your help to get up the mountain.”

“That puts us both at risk. I can’t be helping you and focusing on getting a shot off should the guard rush outside.”

Chia frowned. “How is it that you can see so well in the dark? Owl eyes?”

“What’s with the fucking owl? How is it that you can see so well in the dark?”

“Vamp blood connection.”

“Shifter sight. Now we’ve solved that mystery. See ya.” He turned and began to climb.

“Hung, wait!” Chia huffed out a protest.

“What?” he snapped, turning to look at her, all softness vanished.

“I’m sorry. I…I…don’t know how to deal with you when you’re all soft and mushy.” She cast her eyes at the snow. “It’s easier when we’re at odds.”

His face creased into a slight smile. “I see. Well, woman, we don’t have time to solve that mystery. I gave myself twenty-five. It’s now approaching forty-five minutes and I’m hoping the guard didn’t get bored and take it out on the mutt.”

“He has a name, asshole,” she said.

“I know.” His eyes grew narrow. “So do I and it’s not asshole, at least not usually. Now. I’m heading up that glacier and you, armed to the teeth and full of rules, piss and snark, can join me or not. I won’t help you and I sure won’t listen to your whimpers. I’m done being nice to you.” Without another word he began to climb.

Angry, determined to make the climb and save her friend, she followed him. Each time she started to cry out or whimper from pain, she swallowed it back and channeled it into tenacity.

When they got within a few yards from the cave, huddled behind a snowcapped boulder, Chia felt a flood of relief hearing the husky’s whines and growls.

“Easy, mutt. Which one of us has the gun, huh? Don’t get all crazy on me,” the guard said.

Low growls emanated from the cavern.

“Easy. Easy.”

Fierce snarls and snaps followed, as if Cecil the husky had lunged.

“Goddamn dog!”

A whack and a yip rang out, sounding like the guy had smacked the dog.

“No one hurts my friends. I’m taking the bastard out,” Chia hissed. She reached for purchase on the snowy mound.

“Not so fast, woman.” Hung held her back with his hand. “Don’t go all commando on me. Let’s make a plan.”

“Yeah, I go in, guns locked and loaded and shoot him in the head.”

Hung’s eyebrows rose. “And break your own rules?”

“I’d…I’d do that for a friend. My friends’ rock.”

“I see.” Hung’s eyes grew colder than the glacier ice. “You’ll break rules for a friend but not for me.”

“Come on,” she spluttered. “That’s different. You’re…you and I…Gah!” She let out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know how to deal with you! I don’t know who you are to me or who I want you to be. Don’t you get it?” Her words emerged in a whispered rush.

Hung sighed. “Not really. All I know is you frustrate the hell out of me. I think we’ve reached an impasse here. Let’s get the goddamn job done, so I can get the hell out of Charming.”

She blinked. “You want to leave and never return?”

“You leave me no choice! If I’m not tried and hung for murder, that is. I’ve been through that before. How do you think I got my name? I escaped the gallows.”

She blinked at him. “You did?”

“Yes. When I was only eighteen. I’d barely begun my career and a job went south. I’d been framed, same as what’s happening here. I came this close…” he held out his thumb and forefinger to her, a whisker’s width apart, “to being a dead man. It’s an experience I don’t care to have again.”

“You won’t be,” Chia said softly.

“And why is that?” He regarded her with cool, walled off indifference.

“I…I might have…” She bit her lip. “I may or may not have…”

“Created a new rule?” He cocked his head, his jaw clenched.

She turned her head away from him. “Maybe.” The close, continued contact made her feel strange inside. “We’ll see if it goes through. I called in a few favors tonight.”

He reached for her chin and turned her to face him. He gave her a long, piercing gaze. “Did you do it for me? Am I one of your so-called friends?”

She shook her head back and forth. “No. You’re more.”

Hung let out a long, slow breath, like he’d held it for years. His eyes softened into sun-kissed skies of blue possibility.

Chia began to lean toward him, mouth parted.

The husky let out a barrage of barks in rapid fire, like bullets.

“Oh, shit.” Chia quickly shifted gears. “I’m going in.” She started to move but Hung caught her arm and stopped her.

“At least do it safely. Your commando idea is not what I had in mind. How about this? I lure him out of his cave and then you shoot him. I’d love to see you break a few rules.”

Chia studied him carefully. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No! I’m telling it true. I think breaking a rule or two would be good for you for a change. When it comes to rules, you’re as trussed up as your town.” He stood suddenly and shouted. “Hey, asshole. I’m back.”

A shuffling sound came from the cavern. “Where are you?” A wild shot rang out from the cave, zinging overhead.

Hung quickly crouched behind the snowy boulder. “What, you can’t hit the side of a barn door? Eyesight growing dim?” he taunted.

The guard crouched in the opening of the cave and searched for Hung. “Show yourself, asshole.”

“That’s the second time in a few minutes I’ve been called that name,” Hung called. “You can do better than that. Get creative.” He turned to Chia and whispered, “Go! Around that way. I’ll keep luring him out of the cave. I don’t dare shoot him where he is right now. Might hit the mutt.” He glared at her. “I mean Cecil.”

Chia nodded and slunk in the direction he pointed.

Hung peered around the boulder and took a wild shot at the guard.

The guy yelled and leapt in the cave.

“Get out here where I can see you.” Hung continued to provoke the man. “Hurt the dog and you’re a dead man.”

“We’ll see about that,” the man groused.

Chia kept up her creeping around the back of the cave, oblivious to her pain. She climbed up over the top the cave entrance, slipping slightly on the frozen, snow covered rocks. “Crap!” she muttered under her breath as she lost her footing.

“What’s that? Who’s with you?”

“Come on out and see,” Hung called. “I may or may not have a whole team of sharpshooters at the ready.”

Curses floated from the cavern.

Chia listened as chains rattled, and Cecil growled and barked. She watched as he was dragged from the cave, tugging at the chain around his neck. His whines of protest and distress cut through her like a knife.

“Shoot me and the dog gets shot.” The guard crouched behind Cecil and pointed his gun at the husky’s head. His gaze darted in every direction. “Where are the others? I don’t see anyone.”

Hung grinned. “I only wanted the company. I lied.”

The guard glared at him, suspicion evident. “What, now we’re going to get all chatty? Fuck that.”

“It gets lonely out here.” Hung pulled a sad face.

“Tell me about it,” the guard said, still looking suspicious.

“Why haven’t you shot him already?” Hung called.

Cecil the husky crouched, trembling and shivering.

“Thought he might make a great pet for the family. He’s nothing but a foul tempered pound dog, if you ask me.”

The canine let out a low growl.

“Good thing you didn’t ask. I’d have to agree with you. Got him off an ill-tempered fisherman. Dog’s been a nuisance ever since.” Hung waved his arm at Chia, pointing at a spot directly beside the cave.

From her vantage point she could see him, while the asshat cave guard could not. She crept to where he pointed. As she raised her rifle to take aim, she noticed the ghosts were missing. Where did they go? Maybe they went back to get their dumb needs met.

She pulled a twenty-six long range cartridge from her pocket and loaded it in the push feed. Grateful to have a clear shot, without them obscuring her vision, she propped the rifle along the boulder, positioned the butt at her shoulder, and peered through the spotting scope. The kickback better not screw up my shoulder, she thought, wincing at her arm position. But if it saves a friend, it’s worth the pain.

Hung waved his hand at her.

Wrong angle? Too close to Cecil? She repositioned, moving the Nosler forty-five degrees to the left. Come on. Work with me, she said silently to the rifle. You’re known for your long range accuracy.

He gave her a thumbs up, keeping his hand low and out of sight of the guard. “So are you going to keep cuddling with the dog or are you going to release him and face me like a man?”

Chia had a clear sight through the scope. She swallowed. Felt herself sweating beneath her clothes. Her heart hammered in her chest. I’ve never killed a man, she thought. Never killed anything. Only target practice.

Hung made a hurry up gesture. He brought his gun out of his holster and pointed it at the guard.

Come on, you can do this. She blinked, as an icy droplet of sweat rolled into her eye. Wiped her eyes with the back of her gloved hand.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” the guard yelled, sounding cocky. “This here mutt’s shaking like a leaf. I might need to put him down.” He cocked the hammer on his gun.

Cecil let out an unearthly, high-pitched cry, as if he’d been hit.

Oh, that’s it, you bastard.

The guy started to speak again as Chia pulled the trigger, catching him neatly in the back of the head.

He jerked forward and fell on top of the brown and white husky. Blood and brains spattered the pristine snow.

Cecil yelped and wriggled out from underneath the male. He shook out his luxurious coat and wagged his tail.

“Good shot, woman,” Hung said, standing. “Let’s see to the cave dwellers.”

Pumped with adrenaline, Chia down climbed as fast as she could, given her screwed up shoulder, and met him and the husky at the mouth of the cavern. “Are you okay?” she asked the husky? She patted his head and rubbed his pelt, grateful he seemed all right. “I was so worried about you,” she said.

He licked her face.

“Okay, all right, that’s enough,” she said, pushing his sloppy tongue away.

They peered inside. Lit by sputtering torches, they eyed the five shamans, dressed in traditional attire of animal hide clothing and fur-lined boots. The men were slumped over, passed out or dead, Chia couldn’t tell which. She rushed inside, feeling for pulses in their necks, pushing back their sealskin coat collars to find the veins. “They’re barely alive,” she told Hung and Cecil the dog. “Weak, erratic pulses. What should we do?”

“They probably need water, for starts. Let’s grab handfuls of snow and try to hydrate them.”

Chia and Hung got to work, scooping handfuls of snow, holding them over the lips of the shamans and letting the droplets leak into their mouths. Cecil the canine acted as inspiration, jumping, barking, licking the men’s faces, and digging in the snow, no doubt thankful to be alive.

“I’m not sure if this is working. All we’re doing is busy-work,” Chia said, twenty minutes later.

“Yeah, I’m starting to wonder, too. We don’t know what they’ve endured. Let’s scout around for some food. Maybe the guards have some stored around here somewhere.”

They got to work, searching the dimly lit cavern.

“Hey!” Chia cried. “Cecil! Come here, boy.”

The husky romped to where she stood.

“Sniff around for food, okay? Find something.”

With a bark of acknowledgement, the husky put his nose to the cold ground, and set his sniffer free. He moved in a zigzag, back and forth, in super speed. His sniffing led him back into the depths of the cavern.

“Still got that flashlight?” Chia asked Hung.

He fished around in the inner pocket of his coat and retrieved the small, powerful light. “Here.” He extended it to her.

Chia took it from him, their fingers connecting briefly, the sizzle of lusty heat making her heart soar. She gave him a look of depth and longing, then turned and followed the canine, aiming the light at his zigzagging form.

Cecil stopped near a group of stalagmites and barked, his tail wagging furiously.

“Find something? Show me.” Chia raced to where he stood and pointed the flashlight beam behind the mineral deposits. She stooped to retrieve a red and white camp cooler. Opening the sturdy plastic lid, she found stores of jerky, dried packets of soup and beans, cans of beer, and a couple bottles of water. A silver flask rested on the bottom. Chia unscrewed the lid, sniffed and jerked her head. “Whew! Vodka!” She screwed the lid back on and yelled, “Hung! Help me with this. I can’t lift this heavy load the moment.”

A few seconds later, Hung appeared. He easily hefted the cooler.

The husky put his nose down and continued sniffing. He barked, his tail wagging like a weather vane.

Chia peered behind the mineral formations. She reached down and retrieved a canvas backpack. Unzipping it, she said, “A first aid kit! Good news. Let’s see if there’s something we can use.”

“Bring it to the front of the cave.”

They hustled to the unconscious men, holding their supplies like gold.

Chia got to work cleaning and dabbing ointment on the cuts and scrapes of the shamans whose bodies had slid down the jagged wall.

One of the shamans, a wizened old man with a wrinkled face like an elephant’s hide, had come-to and pushed himself to sitting. “Who are you?” he croaked, his throat raw, no doubt from overuse, lack of hydration and undernourishment.

“We’re here to help, that’s who. You’ve got to undo the spell you cast. But first, we’ve got to get you all back to life.” Hung passed him a water bottle and said, “Drink slowly. We only have a couple bottles for all five of you.”

“Thank you.” He took the bottle with trembling fingers and poured a small amount into his parched throat. “I can sing the others back to life,” he said.

“No,” Chia said. “You’re dehydrated. Parched. Don’t ruin your throat. We’ll get them roused.”

“You can’t. They’ve gone into the deep trance between worlds. Some are so weak they’ll be tempted to continue their journey to the otherworld. Only I can bring them back. I’m their elder.” He took another swallow of water. “This spell-cast required we give of our souls, our life essence. We’ll be doing penance for our crime for lifetimes.” His brown eyes flooded with tears.

Chia crouched before the elder, gripping his gnarled hand. “No. I suspect you did this against your will.”

“We didn’t. They promised us needed supplies. We live in a village far north. Times are hard in our village. We lack medical supplies, food, goods for building shelter. They told us the spell was for the good of the town of Charming. That we’d be doing a service.”

“They lied to you!” Chia said.

The elder shook his head. “It was up to us to know the difference between truth and deceit. When they chained us to the cave…” He burst into a phlegmy, lung-racking cough. When he got it under control, he continued. “When we heard the gunshots…when we were given no food or water…we knew we were being used. But by then, the spell had already been cast.”

“So, then,” Chia said, smiling. “No penance required.”

The elder gave her a rueful, sad smile in return. “We’re revered in our village. We brought shame upon our people. Rule are rules. We did harm to your people. We violated the spirits who fill this sacred valley by using them to cast our spell.”

“Spirits? So it really is haunted?”

The shaman nodded. “The souls of those seeking redemption wait here for their final judgement. When the star cluster you call Ursa Major looms directly overhead, they are called to the afterworld or sent to the underworld.”

“Wow. There’s so much about this land I don’t know.”

The elder continued. “And now we have soiled this ground by our actions. We must follow the guidelines handed down by our ancestors and do penance.”

Chia glanced at Hung, cocking her head to study him, for a moment, as if to say, “See?”

He shrugged.

“Rules can be changed,” she said softly, turning back to the elder.

“We can’t simply change them based on a whim. We can only modify them if the evolution of the people demands it. If the original rule no longer serves. But the rule of doing no harm…there’s no reason to modify it. It is a good law, shared by cultures the world over.”

A stab of guilt wound its way around Chia’s gut. “I…I killed a man. That’s the ultimate harm.”

“Did you do it in self-defense?”

“I did it to protect my friend. The man would have killed him.”

“Well then.” The elder smiled gently at her, his eyes conveying vast wisdom. “There are justifications for taking a life if the actions warrant it.”

Chia winced, not wanting to meet Hung’s eyes.

Hung coughed out a laugh of sorts, and Chia glared at him.

The elder took one final sip of water, cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and began to chant in the strange, guttural throat singing of his people.

Chia stood and made her way to Hung. She whispered to him, “You can laugh all you want but…he’s right, you know. I can’t change a rule on a whim. I can only do it if the original rule no longer serves.”

“We’ll have to see how things roll, then, won’t we?” He gave her a non-committal smile, his arms folded over his chest, his gaze trained on the shamans.

One by one, the men woke from their trance. They glanced at Chia, Hung and the dog, took the water passed to them, sipped, and joined in the throat singing. Slowly, their voices grew stronger, joining with the others, until one strong voice rang. As they sang, they rose as one and made their way to the three of them. They stepped in a stately circle around them, continuing their chant.

Chia felt her spirit lift, the same way the owl had taken her mind for a ride. She experienced restoration of mind and body, in a manner that she knew would yield swift healing from the broken bones and the assault on her ego. On impulse, she reached for Hung’s hand, now hanging by his side.

Surprise coloring his handsome face, he folded his large hand over her smaller one, and squeezed. Turning to face her, he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her in a delicious embrace.

She melted into his arms, ready to yield to her desires, to get her needs met, and by God have fun with the man for a start. This felt good. It felt right. It felt like long withheld food. And if she had to break a rule or two—hell, I’ve killed a man, shot a man’s hand, I’m on a roll here—so be it. Maybe her intimacy rule hadn’t been needed in the first place.

The husky put his head back and howled.

21

“How does it feel to have broken a few rules, my sweet, rebellious, cupcake queen?” Hung loomed over her, his hips snug between her legs, one of the most delicious parts of him buried inside her smoothly waxed valley.

“Oh, don’t remind me of rules. I’m too immersed in pleasure to care.” She grabbed his fine, hard ass and squeezed. I’ll probably pay for my crimes somehow. No doubt, I’ll get a new energy blip.

He ground against her, making slow circles.

“Ahhh,” she moaned. “Too good. This is too good.” She glanced at the ceiling. Still no ghosts. Odd.

“Damn, you’re a good shot. The sight of you wielding that rifle put wood in my britches.”

Chia gave him a saucy smile. “Did it now? Wait until you see me fire the Glock.”

Hung’s luscious mouth dipped down to meet hers. He dropped to his forearms, careful to not put weight on her, cupping his palms around her head, using his fingers to massage her scalp while he kissed her, long and deep.

Releasing her lips with a juicy smack, he rolled onto his back, gently taking her with him. “You drive for a while. I want to sit back and watch your gorgeous self.” He laced his calloused fingers behind his head and grinned at her. “Touch yourself. I love to watch your face when you come. It scrunches up all cute and hot.”

She smirked at him. “Like the pink frosted cupcake I am, back brace and all.” She dropped her head to look at her pointy breasts, held in position by the damned brace.

“Exactly. Positioned for my pleasure.” He licked his lips. “Bring ‘em here so I can suck on your succulent nipples.”

She leaned forward, back as straight as she could, dangling her breasts in his face.

He brought his hands to them and caressed them, sucking hard on one nipple, then the other, making them pucker with pleasure.

She hadn’t been in as much pain as she’d feared when they’d returned. In fact, maybe, just maybe, the vamp juice and the shaman chants had sped up the healing process. Chia held hope in her heart, while letting caution guide her movements…sort of. When she and Hung had kissed for the first time, in her house, all caution flew out the window.

Currently, filled to the brim with passion, she did as he requested, rocking against him, letting her fingers add to her arousal, delighting in the visual of him beneath her. A study in dark and light, he evoked both the stormy glacier wilderness and the softness of a summer day.

Curly blond hair covered his strong, rugged chest. His muscular arms could caress as easily as they could kill. His mouth…don’t get me started on his lips. I love those babies. His whiskered face could turn into a fierce, unfeeling wall of steel, then switch into soft clouds, rolling through her horizon.

As her pleasure built, he moved his arms to grasp her hips. “Jesus,” he growled. “You’re going to make me lose it, woman.” His eyelids closed as he fought control.

“Give it to me, Hung. Lose yourself in me,” Chia gasped. She let out a long, low moan as her own climax crested. Outside the window, the faintest of morning light begin to appear, she heard the howl of a husky. Crap. Busted. Get away from the window, dog.

After they’d arrived home from the Haunted Bear glacier a few hours earlier, Cecil had changed into his human form, to prove he could do so, then changed back, racing away with his boys. The other shifters popped into human form like fireworks when Chia told them the spell had been lifted.

They congratulated her on her safe return, telling her they knew she could do it. She felt like the biggest heroine ever. She smiled and waved like a queen as they all made their way home, naked as the day they were born.

Now, apparently Cecil the husky had returned from his trek and sat outside her bedroom window, an audio voyeur dog, listening.

Shaking her head, she focused on her own pleasure, as Hung roared with release.

Afterward, she fell on top of him, replete and exhausted. It felt good to be with someone who matched her. No way in hell could she boss around this man. She began to drift into a blissful snooze when Hung interrupted her meander toward dreamland.

“Hey, baby.” He eased her to the side, kissing her temple along the way.

“Mm hmm?” she said drowsily.

“Gotta go relieve myself. Be right back.”

After he returned, he slid under the covers with her. “You should see the news. TV’s on in the front room.”

“Nuh uh,” she said. “Later.”

He pulled her back against his warm torso, spooning with her. “Thanks for giving me a chance,” he whispered in her ear.

“Thanks for not giving up on me,” she murmured. She fell into a slumber, soaring on the wings of owls, held in place by Hung Durand.

* * *

Several hours later, she stood in the kitchen, cooking potatoes and bacon. Several brown, white, and light blue-green eggs rested on the counter. She cracked them against the side of a ceramic bowl and whisked them to a froth.

Her insides felt both soothed and edgy. “Don’t think I’m going to be all soft and compliant all the time. You know, making you food and all that.”

A ghost popped from her forehead, startling the hell out of her.

Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, highlighting his sexy physique, Hung shook his head, before lifting his cup of coffee to his lips. “Good grief, woman, at least give me twenty-four hours before you start.”

“I’m just saying,” she said, stirring the eggs in the pan. She chewed on her lower lip, wondering, what’s next? How do I deal with this?

Four more ghosts popped out of her head.

Chia let out a yelp of surprise. “Sorry,” she said, sliding her eyes toward Hung. “Must be the hiccups.” Why are they emerging now?

The five energy blips circled her lazily.

“Chia…” Hung began. “We barely got out of bed. We had a good time. Don’t start.”

Cecil sauntered in from the outside, naked, as usual.

“Put some clothes on,” Chia said.

The sixth ghost flew free from her.

“Sir, yes, sir,” he said, giving her a snappy salute. “Should I wear yours or the vamps? Do you think he’ll care?” He turned to Hung and said, “She sure gets in a snit about stuff, doesn’t she?”

Hung gave a grunt of agreement. Chia bit her lip.

“She doesn’t like to be vulnerable. It scares her.”

“Same here,” said Hung, one eyebrow raised. “Not my favorite thing. I’ve trained to be a cold ruthless killer.”

“And hell yeah to that. When that guard cocked the trigger on his gun, holding the metal to my head, I lost it, big time.” Cecil shook his head, making his shaggy hair bob.

“So give me some slack, here. This is all new.” She waved her hand in the air.

“Same here,” said Hung. He reached for her sugar bowl, adding another scoop.

“I see. You’re over there taking it all in, at ease with the newness of it, while I’m over here sorting and fretting about what it all means.”

“Pretty much sums it up,” he said, stirring his warm beverage with a spoon.

“Good summary,” Cecil said, grabbing a mug from the cupboard.

Chia barked out orders, feeling the need for control. “Clothes, dawg-man, or no food or drink.”

“Where am I going to get them? My stashes are all in town and there’s nothing out here.” His hands moved wildly, gesticulating. His eyes sparked with fire.

Hung quickly interjected. “I’ve got a pair of sweatpants you can borrow. Go look in my bag in the foyer.”

“Thanks, man. It will get her off my back.”

After Cecil had left, Chia said, “Changing the subject here. You know how I told you I shot Red in the middle of his hand?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

He patted his lap and she put down her spatula and turned the stove burner to low. Then she sauntered over to sit on his warm legs.

“But no changing the subject yet.”

She pursed her lips and blew out her breath. “I’m done with it.”

“I’m not. I noticed when you started to get tense all your little ghosties popped out of you. I wondered where they’d gone.”

“Oh, great. You can see them, too? I thought only D’Raynged, Cecil and his dog pack could see them.”

“Of course I can see them. Shifter sight, remember?” He pointed to his eyes.

She groaned. “So all the shifters know I’ve got them?”

“Don’t know about that. Doubt it. You’ll have to ask them. But, yeah, I can see them. Do you know what they are?”

“No. No clue. I don’t know what they are, I have no control over them. They seem to come and go as they please, help me on occasion and generally make a nuisance of themselves.”

Hung nodded, his messy bangs falling in his face. He swept them away from his forehead. “Maybe they represent things you’d rather not deal with.”

How does he know? Her stomach bunched in knots. “Maybe,” she said slowly.

“I went to Tibet once, on a job.”

“You did? That must have been magical. What’s it have to do with my ghosts?”

“I’m getting to that. It’s an amazing place. I was young, barely nineteen, searching for meaning. I grew up rough and hard. Wild life. I didn’t give a shit about much of anything. I needed some kind of guidance. A female shaman did a ritual with me.”

“I’ll bet she did.” Chia’s jealousy prickled her skin.

“Not like that,” Hung said, stroking her cheek with his fingertip. “And I’m done with that, if you can truly let me in.”

Chia sighed, unsure if that was possible.

“She said I needed purification. She took me into a cave and did all sorts of weird things. Lots of strange chanting. She bashed her head against the rock wall and cried. Held her hands over me and vibrated like a machine. Shook me like a ragdoll. I saw the weirdest shit I’ve ever seen in my life. She spoke in tongues and all sorts of strange languages. All kinds of darkness swirled out of me. I sat there for over two hours, freaked out, unable to move or speak. Finally, she slid to a crouch and said we were done.”

“Did you feel cleansed after that?” Chia asked.

“I felt…different. Odd. Actually I didn’t know what I felt for a while. But before I left, she told me to watch out for the one who walks with ghosts.”

An icy chill spread across Chia’s scalp, making her hair stand straight.

“She said this person’s ghosts were her demons. Things she wrestled with. That I shared a destiny with her and it’s unclear what that destiny is. When I first met you…when I saw those spirits around you…well, I freaked out. It brought the entire time in Tibet back to me. I don’t believe in woo-woo bullshit. My world is cut and dried. I get jobs, I hunt, and I capture or kill. I remove nasty characters from humanity.”

“Don’t you think shifting could be considered woo-woo bullshit?” She stood to finish breakfast. Poured the egg mixture into the cast iron pan. Stirred until they were golden fluff. Hefting the fry pan, she slid scrambled eggs onto red ceramic plates, saving some for Cecil. Next, she added hash browns, golden and crispy, and bacon, broiled to perfection. She dropped a plate in front of Hung and sat next to him.

“Nah, it’s a ‘what is’ kind of thing. It’s my and all the shifters’ reality.” He forked a bite of eggs, chewed, and swallowed. “Anyway, I fought the whole you and me thing for a while. I don’t believe one’s destiny is foretold.”

Chia nodded, munching thoughtfully.

“It’s been years since I first laid eyes on you. I find I can’t stay away. I finally decided to find out if there’s something between us. I told myself this time around would be the test. We’d either connect of we wouldn’t, but if we didn’t, I’d never come back.”

“Seriously?” Chia said, her heart beating rapidly.

“Yep. You’ve eluded me for years. Made it known in every way possible that you aren’t interested and then, to drive me insane, respond to my kisses and seductions. And I sure don’t know of any other gal with ghosties. One’s missing, by the way. I counted seven yesterday.”

“Yeah,” Chia said, blushing. “That one…we may have…” She pressed her lips together and shook her head vigorously. “He or she might be…”

“What?” he said, in that new soft, mushy voice she was starting to like.

“Oh,” she rolled her eyes skyward. “Cecil’s been yammering at me. Something about you having feelings about me, or I’m ignoring the obvious or some such.” She swished her hand dismissively in the air. She blinked, rapidly, trying hard to avoid him.

“Chia, look at me.”

She turned her head to face him, continuing to blink her eyes like a lunatic.

“Chia…” Hung placed his palms on the side of her face. “I might have feelings for you. Not sure I’m willing to admit that yet. I never let people in. It’s dangerous. You think it’s hard for you; it’s triple hard for me.”

“Honestly?”

“Yes, woman. But I’m not the kind of guy to back away from a challenge. And you’re an incredible challenge. I don’t see myself getting bored with you. Most women bore me.”

“Honestly?” she said again, feeling like a parrot.

“Honest to God. And who else do I know who has the most incredible silver eyes and pink frosted hair.” He chuckled and gave her a soft kiss. He released her face and picked up his fork, continuing to eat. “So I may or may not have feelings for you. I’m waiting to report in.” He winked at her.

“What are you waiting for?”

“For you, who else? I’m not going to bulldoze myself into your life.” He reached for his coffee and took a generous sip. “We’ll have to see how this plays out.” He gestured between them with his fork.

Chia’s lips parted to speak, but she stopped, seeing her shifter friend.

Cecil strode in the door, interrupting their private moment, wearing Hung’s sweatpants. They hugged his body, emphasizing his slim hips and broad chest. “You should see the news.”

Chia didn’t know whether to thank him, or curse him out for bad timing. “Why?”

“Take a look.” He seized the remote from the kitchen table and turned on the small television on the back wall. Pressing the up arrow, he found the Lemming News channel. A picture of Red Mountainbear flashed on the screen along with the headline, Mysteries in Charming, Alaska.

“While Dick Nighthawk continues to be in critical care with further unexplained complications, Red Mountainbear has vanished with no word. His friends and neighbors say they haven’t seen him for several days. Investigators are launching a search.”

“Turn it off,” Chia said. “That’s going to spoil my mood.”

“Yes, boss,” Cecil replied.

“Your mood could use some spoiling,” Hung said, smirking.

“Now can I eat, General?” Cecil asked.

She gave him a smile. “Now you can eat. I didn’t want your danglies all over my kitchen chairs.”

“So now they’re danglies? First they were bits, now they’re danglies?” He set his mug on the counter with a thwack.

“Stop, you two. Give it a rest. Topic change?”

“Excuse me?” Her eyes slid back to Hung’s.

Hung eyed her with an arched eyebrow. “You wanted to change the topic a few minutes ago.”

“Oh, right,” she replied, blushing. “Speaking of Lemming News and mysterious disappearances, you know how I told you I shot Red in the palm?”

“And I said, yes, I remember. What about it?”

She strode to the foyer, retrieved her phone from her coat pocket and returned. Flipping through the photo gallery, she said, “Look. Here’s what happened when I shot him.”

Hung stared at the images of symbols and black blood, stone-faced, revealing nothing.

“Let me see,” said Cecil. He seized the pink sparkly phone, looked at it, and whistled. “Freaky shit, lil’ Summer.”

“Do you know what it means, Hung?”

“Yes.” He scooped the last of his scrambled eggs from his plate, chewed and swallowed. “Those symbols are occult symbols representing big time evil. Bastard’s a shadow shifter.”

“A what?” She hugged herself, feeling apprehension cloak her.

“A shadow shifter. He shifts into a shadow. There aren’t too many on the planet. He’s a bad dude, Chia. I wish you’d offed him. But then again, he probably wouldn’t have died. He’d probably have shifted into a shadow when he knew your intentions. What did you do before you shot him?”

“Kneed him in the groin. I think I surprised him so he didn’t have a chance to react.”

Hung’s hand instinctively dropped to his lap, as if in memory of her knee. “You’ve got quite a kick.”

“Then I stomped on his head.”

Hung coughed, spitting out his coffee. He grabbed his napkin and dabbed at the liquid drops on the table and wiped his mouth. “Damn, girl. I told you, you’ve got balls.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Real problem here. The son of a bitch has prestige, status, and on top of it, probably no one knows what he is, in truth. This fight ain’t over.”

“Well, we have an incredible team to deal with things,” Cecil said through a mouthful of food.

Hung and Chia glanced at the shifter.

“Not kidding. You should have seen me. Hung told me to go on ahead. To face the bad guys. Man, was I terrified or what? But I did it. I even got a few good bites in.” He chomped the air and shook his head like he had a hold of the man’s pants.

Chia laughed. “I’m sure you were, dawg-man. I actually, uh…”

“What did you actually?” Cecil popped more hearty grain bread in the toaster.

“I, um…” She glanced back and forth between the two men. “I seem to have a special relationship with an owl. A snowy owl. That’s why I keep asking if it’s you, Hung. When I’m high on vamp, he flies into my forehead and snags my mind.”

“Get out,” said Cecil.

“Interesting. Sounds like you have a lot of untapped abilities,” Hung said with a straight, non-committed expression. “How do you know he won’t do it when you’re not high?”

She studied him for a second, trying to discern his level of honesty. Can’t tell if he’s hiding something. “I don’t. I’ve only experienced it when D’Raynged has consumed my blood.”

“You might try it when you’re straight. I’d hate to see you become addicted to a vampire.” Hung’s mouth twisted into a sneer.

“I’m not convinced it happens at any other time.”

Hung shrugged. “Interesting fact about snowy owls. Every year a few of them retreat from the Arctic, but a lot fly south during years when their favorite food supply drops in number.”

“What’s their favorite food?” Chia asked.

“Lemmings.”

“You’re making that up.”

“No, ma’am, I’m not. True fact.”

“Isn’t that something?” Chia smiled. “My owl eats lemmings for lunch. Food for thought.” She let out a chuckle. “Anyway, I saw you struggling up the mountain. I could tell you were fighting your fears, dawg-man. I felt such pride for you. You’re unbelievable.”

He seemed to stand a bit taller, fill out his chest, and puff with pride. “Thanks, lil’ Summer.”

“So what are we going to do about Red?” she asked.

“Don’t know.” Hung stood and placed his dirty plate inside the sink. “Observe, watch, and wait. I need to find a way to get out of here, first. I have a job waiting.”

“It can’t be Sultana. Tell me you won’t kill her.”

“For you? Almost anything.” He stepped close and kissed her temple, before tipping her chin up with his finger. He planted a long, lazy kiss on her lips.

“Mmm,” she hummed into his mouth. When he released her, she said, “That almost seemed too easy.”

“I can be nice.”

“So, do you still have to leave? Where’s your next job?”

“Yep, I have a job up in Fairbanks. If I can figure a way out of here that doesn’t involve any of my limbs going missing. Not looking forward to tromping along the glacier.”

“Um. You might need to stick around a teensy bit longer.” Chia swiftly made her way to the sink. She grabbed a sponge and began powering it around the plate in her hands.

“And why might that be?” Hung said, coming to stand beside her.

“Because, I told you, I called in a few favors. If said favors are granted, we’ll have both a nature and animal preserve in Charming, effective immediately, extending seventy-five miles outside the town border in every direction, two miles outside the harbor. The fishermen still need to earn their keep. The fish inside the preserve will spill out into deeper waters and increase the fish supply. And, on land, tourism will be hot for animal lovers. Fawn at Sunshine Sally’s will be stoked. Can’t wait to tell her. It’s a win all around. We’re going to be known as the shifter community.”

“Wow,” said Cecil. “Now that’s creative thinking.”

Hung cocked his head, his eyes growing flinty. “How does that affect my business as a bounty hunter and being tried for murder? You indicated changing that rule.”

She dropped the sponge, water splashing her arms, and faced him. “No bounty hunter hunting in these parts. Not for human or animal.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest, felt the tug of healing bones and muscles in her back, and dropped them, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Are you kidding me?” He looked like he’d like to strangle Chia.

“Nope, not kidding.” She stepped away from him.

“Good thing I agreed to not off the vampire, at least not in this vicinity.”

“Hung…”

“I didn’t agree to never kill her.”

“All right. I’ll have to deal with D’Raynged. I promised him she’d be safe. I hate breaking promises.” She huffed out a sigh. “Anyway, you said your jobs didn’t pay that well for the most part. You’ll have to roll through town to see me.”

His expression brightened somewhat. “I can live with that. If…what about your self-defense ordinance?”

“I’ve applied for an emergency injunction, modifying it. If we can prove you and I acted in true self-defense for the safety of ourselves or others, we should be granted pardon. We’ll have to head into town tomorrow to see if it worked. Or I can head in and you can be a gnat on the window until we determine if you need to face the justice system.”

“A gnat. Please, woman, give me some credit.”

“Well, you turned into a fly.”

“I had to escape out the window.”

“Does Charming even have a justice system?” Cecil asked. He picked up his plate and began licking it.

“Cecil! Put it down.”

“Oh, sorry, forgot I’m in human form.” He placed the plate on the table. “Sometimes I get mixed up.”

“And we need to see if the town still wants me as manager,” she continued. “We’ll have to see if a power shift took place.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

“As to your departure, don’t worry about the glacier. The shamans agreed to find the leg traps. They said they can go into trance and find them psychically. They’ll sketch out a map for us to collect them. Cecil, maybe you can do that with some of your shifter friends. We’ll need bodies to swiftly gather the traps. After you bring them back, I’m taking them to a smelter or metal recycler in town. Hung and I might be caught up in the legal system for a while, if my emergency injunction works. We’ll have to stand trial. So we’ll rely on you.”

“Roger that. I can round up a bunch of willing participants. I’ve got friends everywhere.”

“I’ll bet you do.” She gave him an affectionate smile. “Anything else we need to deal with, Hung?”

“Other than the huge problem of dealing with a shadow shifter, can’t think of a thing. You’ve thought of everything. I’m impressed.” Hung grinned at her.

“Honestly?”

“Would I lie?”

Chia stared at him long and hard. “I don’t know, Hung Durand. Would you?”

Epilogue

“You want me to wear what?” Chia spluttered, glaring at her vampire roommate, standing in the doorway to her bedroom. “This see through bit of cloth?” She dangled the lacey drape designed to hang off one shoulder, revealing the top of her breast. “No! And these stockings?” She spun the silken stockings around and around. “There’s no way I’ll dress in anything like this. Not my style. Nor will I wear a garter on my thigh or a velvet choker around my neck.”

“It’s only for an evening, darlin’,” D’Raynged drawled. “I saved these garments for centuries. It will entertain, delight, and you’ll be off the hook for everything you owe me.”

“By dressing like a hooker?”

Deftly avoiding the question, he said, “How did your town meeting go, by the way?” He smoothed his perfect blond hair with his elegant hand.

“It went well. As you know, several days ago, I got an emergency injunction declaring true self-defense holds up in court in Charming. That allowed me to appoint several townspeople to hold those positions. That’s job creation.” She grinned. “They, in turn, swiftly gathered jurors and Hung and I were tried and found innocent today.

“Big relief, right? Several shifters testified on our behalf. Apparently, some of those stuck in animal form witnessed everything.” She glanced down the hall toward the living room. Hung, Cecil, a few shifters and several vampires from the reaches of Alaska sat, drinking, laughing, and chatting by the fireside. “My wilderness preserve status was granted as well. It’s even going to be presented to the President of the United States, posthaste. Turned into a national treasure. I appealed to Joseph Asheroc’s political self, telling him this would increase jobs in the area, and give him a leg up in his campaign. You know he went for that line of reasoning, right?”

“A politician is always a politician.”

Chia laughed. “Besides me telling him that if he didn’t grant me a few favors I’d ruin his reputation. I happen to know why he likes to come to Charming and what her name is. His wife would be pissed.”

“Clever. Blackmail. It works every time.”

“Back to the present. So I’m supposed to entertain your guests by dressing up like a tart…”

“By dressing like a courtesan from my time of origin, yes. Those girls knew how to strut their stuff.” He inclined his head and scrutinized her. “I wish you’d do something about your hair, though. It looks like a child’s botched haircut.”

“You’re responsible for the haircut. I tore it out with duct tape, remember?” She waved a hand at him.

“Aw, yes. Fun times.”

She scoffed. “And everything will be off the table? I won’t owe you a single favor?”

D’s eyes slid evasively away from her. He swallowed and licked his lips. “Most everything.”

Chia groaned. “What will I still owe?”

“I think it’s something we can mutually benefit from.”

She squinted. “And what’s that?”

“Your blood. I’ve grown rather fond of it. I’d hate to merely take from you. I prefer when you give it to me. It’s of remarkable essence and quality. It makes me feel incredible, especially when given so freely.”

“Does it now?” Chia filed this away in her mind under “power moves.”

“Don’t think you’ll hold power over me,” he said, arching an eyebrow. “You might experience cravings now and then, yourself.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Chia threw back her head and groaned. “You should have told me you have side effects! Not fair, vampire!”

“I never dreamed you’d do such a thing.” He lifted his crystal goblet filled with his bloody drink and sipped.

She sidled away from him. “How are things with Sultana? Gone stale by now?”

“Not in the least.”

She sighed. Might as well get this over with. “I managed to get Hung to agree to not kill her for a while…I’m going to keep working on it.”

“Don’t be such a kidder. Hung and I already made agreements.”

“You what?” Her jaw fell to the floor. “When?”

“When you were in the hospital. He agreed to not kill her…yet.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Turns out, sugar, she’s here to spy on me for the competition.” He smoothed his linen shirt along his flat abdomen.

“What competition?”

“The serum concoction I told you about. Ours is superior to all. Her company got wind of it and sent her to get secrets from me. I’ve been feeding her lies.”

“Because you knew her for a spy?”

“Because I never share trade secrets, especially with a woman. I do enjoy her, though, so when I found out, Hung and I spoke and he agreed to let me take my fill of her while she’s in town. When she’s up in Fairbanks…well, child, I can’t be held responsible.”

Chia felt like flames would shoot from her head. The ghost of rage turned a bright red and rocketed for her gut. She waved her hands frantically to shoo him away. “Hung’s a dead man. I thought he made a promise to me. I’ve been sweating telling you this for days.”

“Relationships,” D’Raynged said, acting like a co-conspirator. “Aren’t they a lot of work?” He scoffed. “Well. I’d like to see to my guests. You’ve got a show to do.”

“I’m not doing it. The deal with Sultana ended up being a done deal. I owe you nothing.”

“Oh, child. There’s the locked coffin.” He tapped his index finger. “The dirty house.” He tapped his middle finger. “The…”

“Okay, okay, okay. Get out of here and let me dress.”

“I knew you’d come to your senses.”

After he left her bedroom, she put on the skimpy clothing, grabbed her down coat from the bed, added her fur cap and wool scarf, and for good measure, added leg warmers. Maybe I can add hot peppers to Hung’s beer. Or make him my love slave all night. He’ll have to call me mistress and…nah, he’ll enjoy that too much. And he probably loves spicy food. I’ll think of something.

She regarded her slowly circling ghosts, all six of them. “No one said I couldn’t dress warmly. This is, after all, Alaska. Even courtesans had to bundle from the cold.” She couldn’t tell if they were laughing, smirking, or ignoring her. She didn’t care. She’d deal with her inner demons and bad deeds in good time.

For now, as long as He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not stayed inside her, she could live with the rest of it. She had a good feeling that he loved her, if not now, then someday, and she might love him sometime soon, too. In the meantime…

THE END

* * *

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About the Author

Calinda B is a bestselling author who crafts erotic short stories and paranormal, sci-fi and contemporary romance novels. An avid adventurer and outdoor enthusiast with a quirky sense of humor, she's always finding ways to torture her characters, and to entertain her long time love, her two cats or her kids and friends. She lives in the breathtaking Pacific Northwest, a place that soothes her soul and gives her plenty of time to write, scuba dive, work, write, bike ride, write, kayak, write and write some more.

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Silenced

N. R. Larry

Silenced © 2016 N.R. Larry

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

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About the Book

Silenced

The end of the world doesn't need heroes--it needs monsters.

Pike Richards would do anything not to work with Compound Six, but they have his only weakness--his daughter, Sadie. They want the cure to a virus that has devastated humanity, a cure that only Pike, one of the last descendants of the gods, can retrieve from its mystical location known as the crossroads. Led by a ruthless woman from the Compound, Pike and his small team battle their way across the landscape filled with terrible creatures.

As the loss and sacrifice grows, Pike is forced to confront his inner monster as a magical being designed for killing. When he falls in love with his fiery teammate, he dreams of a future for the first time. The only problem is, no descendant has ever returned from the crossroads.

1

The Enforcers of Compound Six throw a body part into my cell each time I say no. On day seventy-two, it sounds like a rotted arm. It lands on a fleshy pile with a light thud. Means it’s petite. Possibly female.

I’m in near constant pain, but at least I’m a body part savant.

Fifteen ticks later, my cage floods with white light. The blinding kind in long stretches of desert. The kind that is unending. I try to blink it out. Two ticks later, metal clamps force my eyes open. I sputter, trying to inflate my lungs, but the air stings. Breathing was easy before I had a titanium mask strapped around my face.

The constant torture doesn’t help much either.

I wonder why I’m not dead for five ticks. Then, I remember my life is about numbers and my ticks haven’t run out.

My eyes prickle, unable to get moisture under the blazing lamps. Red orbs swim above me, until all I see is a crimson smudge. Even without my sight, I know how many claw marks float above the white light.

Seventy-two slashes on the ceiling of this cage. All left by me.

That means I only have eight days left.

A click clack sound distorts in my ears, echoing like drunken footsteps. The clicks are high pitched. Heels this time, not boots.

The lights dim, and I try to blink. Pain rips into me and I make myself stop before the clamps rip off my eyelids. I’m about to fail when soft hands remove the jagged metal, and I blink for the next thirty ticks. It almost feels good until thirst burns my throat, and I crave the salt water in my eye sockets.

“You need fluids, Pike.”

Juliet’s pale, oval face floats above me. Her ice blue eyes are calm. She smiles down at me, the angel of bullshit. A gesture of mercy after Boomer and the twenty lash whip. I want to taunt them, my tormentors, but hunger is eating my insides. My back feels like hamburger meat.

Metal shrieks against the floor of my cage. Juliet has pulled up her silver stool. She sits beside me like a nurse. “Pitch was scheduled for this slot, but I switched with him because you’re not sweating. You need fluids.”

Exhaustion takes away any smart-ass comment I might normally make.

“I’d like to remove your muzzle so that you can drink and eat. Do you think we can do that? Or do you prefer another IV?”

Thirty days ago, my fists would have balled up. Right now, in Juliet’s sixty-minute slot, I could give a shit about fighting back. I go to my head, the only safe place here, and fantasize about Juliet on her knees. The thought rushes through me for twelve ticks. It’s enough. It means my mind is still here. They won’t get to me.

I hope.

“Well, what’s it going to be, hon?”

I blink three times.

“That’s my boy.” She stands, click-clacks to the corner of my cage, and knocks three times. There is a whip of wind from the small chute in the cage door, then the clang of the golden key.

The evil bitch floats back to my side. She cradles my head like a mother before she reaches around to unlock the facemask. As she pulls it off I choke on copper. She coos to calm me down, and yanks three wires out of my throat.

I want to be stoic, but I hack and wheeze. My cell smells like shit and dead bodies. I almost ask for the fucking mask back. Instead, I’m thrashing against the wrist and ankle restraints and gagging. Juliet rushes to unlock the cuffs. As the last one on my right ankle falls open, I arch my back and spew vomit everywhere.

Juliet doesn’t even make one of those noises girly girls like her make when nasty shit comes out of their men. She cleans me up with a bright smile and does more cooing. She props me up and holds the lip of her metal water canteen to my cracked lips. As soon as I gulp it down, my spongy throat needs more. I make myself sip the third canteen.

Then, I feel almost human again. Well, not human, but what the fuck ever. I sit up on the sleek board they strapped me to. My muscles go numb, then scream with the tingle of a dozen wasp stings. Juliet is beside me, looking down at my swollen feet like a wide-eyed dove. Innocent. So sweet, this little demon wench.

The hunger in my stomach growls and claws at my insides. I grunt food at her, and she pats my shoulder. She stands. Three knocks. The thud of hard bread. Then she’s back at my bedside. I tear into the bread, eating like a berserker, spraying hard crumbs all over the ivory cage and into Juliet’s hair.

She actually giggles while she shakes it out. Then smiles at me like I’m her little man, and touches me. My eyes slide shut as she traces designs on my arms and over the lashes on my back. God, I hate how good this bitch’s touch makes me feel. I miss that tingle. Human touch.

Human life. Even one as twisted at Juliet’s.

She is a stone cold liar, but her hands are fresh air on my skin.

“Fuck.” I shrug away from her hands and chuckle. “You’re good at what you do, Juliet.” I glance sideways at her.

She pretends to enjoy me praising her. She reaches out to stroke my face. Her fingers brush through my snake-like dreads. Her voice drops down, husky.   “I can stay tonight, you know.” Then, she flips her goddamn hair. “All you have to do is change your mind. You don’t belong down here in this cage.”

“No, shit,” I shoot back, giving my best retort to the only Enforcer that lets me get away with lip.

“Then, why?”

I almost sneer at the false innocence in her question. What a bad actress. We both know why. I smile over at her. My lips split and blood pools into the cracks. I lean over and plant a red kiss on her milky forehead.

“I don’t remember the question.” I rub my blood into her skin. Her shiver is the only genuine moment she gives me during her slot. “Ask me again.”

“Are you singing?” Juliet’s breath is heavy.

“Of course not. You made sure I can’t.” I stroke her flushing face, and offer my best smile. “What do you want from me, Juliet?”

Her eyelids hang slightly open. “I want you to go to the crossroads and bring back the cure.”

I want to roll my eyes at the word “cure,” but I stretch my smile wider instead. “And, why do you want me to do that?”

“Because…” Her eyes fly open. She’s hard now. Done putting on a show. She stares down at me, her eyes like a blazing storm. “The cure he has will save us. I want you to save us, Pike.”

We stare into each other for twenty ticks. I want to piss her off, but know I can’t. Nothing shakes this evil bitch.

I sigh into her face. “Can I ask you a question, Juliet?”

“Of course.”

“Do you think you deserve to be saved?” I ask her like I’m asking if her shoes are comfortable. I stare at the stark wall in front of me. I don’t need to look at Juliet any longer. I know she’s iced over. Mercy isn’t going to work on me.

Again.

Even though I don’t want to, I shift my gaze to her. “Because I don’t. And I hope my blood lasts long enough to watch those animals rip down your walls and do things to your flesh that will follow you to whatever hell evil whore rags go to.”

She dashes to my cell corner, grabs a rotting arm no longer attached to its owner and I take a second to be pleased that I was right about the body part being a female arm. Then, she smashes it into the side of my face. I crash back against the table. The grip of metal clamping across me makes me laugh maniacal clown style.

She throws the arm and smiles down at me. All I can do is laugh as I slowly lose my shit. Then she flips her hair and says, “Shock the black off his mythological ass.”

The lights snap off and I’m still laughing. Jolts punch through my skin and claw into my muscles. I clench up, and thrash for thirteen more ticks. After that, it’s not funny. The ice-cold bitch goes shock happy and gives me a goddamned heart attack.

* * *

As soon as I come around, more light floods my eyes. White and too bright. My heart beats like a slow crawl, and I’ve lost my ticks. I blink, trying to un-see the light. Trying to un-think the pain. The rumble of footsteps echoes from several floors up. I jerk, meet restraint, and slump back against my torture table.

I know I lost my ticks because I have no idea how long I was out for. Marking the passage of time was the only thing keeping me sane. It was the only thing that allowed the acceptance that made my coming death feel like an old friend.

It shouldn’t be this hard. To find the ticks. But that damn light is too bright and hot as hell. The pain in my muscles feels too real, and my throat feels raw and stuffed with crab grass.

I lick my lips and try to regulate my breath. But the light keeps slicing in. Making me thirsty until my blood starts to feel like it might boil with need. Footsteps echo outside my cell door and I cough up a bitter laugh.

I grapple for a reason to tell them no again.

My jaw clenches when I see Pitch. The balding, squat of a man with his Indiana Jones complex. His whip is clenched firmly in his right hand. A serene smile paints his scarred face. He grabs the chains tying me down, then rips me up and down to my knees. He paints the stark cell with my blood.

I still tell him no and start counting again. Try to get back the time I lost. Pray for the blood curse to hurry and burn me alive.

Thirty ticks after Pitch leaves, Juliet comes back.

My back is ripped with welts draped in blood when I tell her no. Each of them get the same answer and the only thing holding my insides together is that I know every no is a fatal blow to their race.

The only thing that throws me off is the girl. She’s around eight, and she pleads with me silently with strange gray eyes while hugging a nasty ass teddy bear under her chin. Her angelic face almost undoes me. Then I remember these assholes took my parrot, and tell her to go to hell.

She falls into a puddle of tears, and I refuse to need to save her. I refuse to need food and touch, and refuse to miss the song. The blinding light seems to dim and I relish in stale, dead air and accept the end of everything.

* * *

Hours or days pass. My cursed blood slams into the walls of my veins. I’ve stopped healing. Soon, I’ll lose my power entirely. Shuffled footsteps meet my ears. The white lights they had on turn dull yellow. I blink him into focus.

It’s Colonel Jax, the top dog of Compound Six. Their fearless leader. I’m surprised to see him, even though I shouldn’t be. His steps are very distinct. Too light. Like a dancer, even though he’s this brick wall of a man. His dancer stride matches his whisper of a voice. It doesn’t make any sense. His voice should thunder. His feet should thud.

One of his C6 lackeys follow him into my cage.

“Bag him,” Jax says in that woman’s voice that I fucking hate. The lackey steps around him and closes in on me, then throws a pillow case over my head.

This should be good. I’m almost dead, which means they’re running out of time. Whatever sadistic bargaining chip they have planned will have to top the beatings, the shock, and the solitary confinement.

“Observation room three,” Jax whispers again over the sound of my chains being undone.

I want to laugh about how desperate they must be. But everything is hunger and pain. So, I try to guess what Colonel Jax has left in his book of horrors. More kids maybe, only younger and with big dreams? My mind starts to go over the possibilities when another set of feet shuffle behind me.

Four hands pull me up and drag me from my cage. I try to count how many ticks they pull me down the hall, but my mind can only stutter unfocused thought. I have no idea how long it is until they throw me into another room. Into another chair.

Someone strips the stifling fabric away from my face. That same someone chains me back up, puts the muzzle back over my mouth, then backs away. The door slams shut. I blink the room into focus. Not much to look at. A little bigger than my cage. I’m seated at a small, white table.

Light flickers in front of me, drawing my gaze. A two-way mirror flickers into focus. The other side is a dark mirror of the room I’m in.

I squint through the darkness and thick glass. There is a blur of movement. I try to clear my throat and swallow more crab grass. In the middle of my hacking, a young girl, probably around twelve years old is led into the room.

My dying heart stalls. Then picks up speed, painfully pumping searing blood through my body until I sit twitching from the pain.

The girl. She’s actually exactly twelve years old. Since I lost my ticks, I don’t know exactly how twelve she is. Maybe she’s been twelve for a week. Maybe she’s almost thirteen.

Her polished green eyes are wide, eyebrows twisted in fear. Her head darts around the room as she struggles with the group of Enforcers that chain her to the chair.

It’s Sadie.

“No,” I say, trying to lean forward. I blink and shake my head. How?

My eyes burn. I twist my arms into painful knots. Jerk against my restraints.

On the other side of the glass, a small door I can’t see squeals open. The clink-clang of iron chains pounds in the speakers of observation room three.

Sadie’s mouth gapes, a mangled scream rips from her throat.

The scream turns my fatigue into violent desperation.

A huge, grey-bodied blur flies at her, teeth snapping.

It’s a berserker. One of their monsters.

The thing stops just inches away from her. Growling and chomping on its own arms to free itself. To get to her.

I spit curses at the bastards.

They found Sadie.

They found my fucking voice.

For the first time in however many ticks, I tell Compound Six yes.

* * *

I wake up feeling like crap. My blood swims with something that makes me hazy. I feel weighed down. Like the six Enforcers it took to put me down are laying on top of me. I blink to get the darkness out of my eyes. Then, I try to shake of the lingering nightmare of Sadie eating her way through whatever is left of the world.

How the hell did they find her?

I pull myself forward and meet resistance. Of course. When I jerk my arms, metal cuffs bite into my wrists. With a grunt, I jerk them up and down, bouncing chain metal off the walls, trying to free myself. I try shouting her name. My tongue feels buried under a pile of rock salt. A parched shout that sounds like gibberish when it hits my ears is all that comes out.

By the time the door squeals open, I’ve tired myself out trying to get to her. My eyes narrow as the bald and towering Colonel glides toward me.

“I want to see her.” The words burn up my vocal chords. I hack like a veteran smoker. “Now.”

“First thing’s first, Mr. Richards.” Jax pulls a key from the pocket of his flowering trench coat. I glare at him as he unlocks my cuffs. As soon as I’m free, I ball my hands into fists and shove them behind my back.

It would be bad to pound his meaty head in. Not before I know that Sadie is safe.

“You agreed to help us under duress. You understand that we need to make it official?”

My teeth grind. “I’m not agreeing to shit until I see her.”

Jax pouts and lowers his gaze like a woman. It makes me want to pry his lips off his face. During my fantasy, footsteps echo off the walls from further down the hallway.

“Mr. Richards,” Jax whispers again. “Are you going to be difficult?”

A huge dude enters the room and freezes behind Jax. He’s stuffed to the ears with sci-fi looking weapons. Scars are etched into his face. Like from fingernails.

He’s a C6 Wrangler. A monster cowboy. He’s probably the same fuckstick that brought the berserker to threaten Sadie with. The two assholes just stand there like we’re waiting for a hot bitch to pour us tea. Like this another Sunday afternoon.

My tongue hardens in my mouth. I hope nothing emotional is on my face. I don’t want them to have anything else. They already have enough.

“Fine.” I push the word out. “I’ll get your damn cure. Just, let me see her.”

Jax claps, and then waves the Wrangler off. “Very good.”

He leans over to help me up. I throw him off, but he just wraps his arm around me and guides me to the door.

Nothing homo. He’s just letting me know he owns my ass. That he owns all of us. Then I realize I don’t know how many of us are left.

I trudge beside him through the stink of unwashed flesh and decay. I try to keep my eyes forward and hum music in my head to shut out sound. But it’s hard to black out wails like this. High pitched. Desperate. A symphony for all things inhuman. I swallow down what feels like gravel in my throat.

I hate how my blood rushes in response to it—the need to call out to them—to give them what they need. Doing nothing about the misery makes me weaker, forcing me to lean into a motherfucker I hate just to stay on my feet. At the end of the hall, I breathe relief, and topple into an elevator. I pay no attention to the buttons or lights, or to how many seconds it takes before the ding sounds out, signaling we’ve reached whatever floor.

I just let Jax pull me along. Stumbling behind, I snap myself back awake. My gaze waves in and out of focus. We’re in a room lined with small, silver boxes on either side. They look like high tech phone booths. Bodies enter and exit, crossing one another all busy and blank faced. At the far end of the hall, I spot two cream colored double doors. My eyes are locked on a petite woman rushing beyond those doors when Jax shoves me into one of the booths.

With a gasp, I crash onto a hard, cool bench.

“What the…” I scrunch up in the small space, and Jax slides the door shut. I glare out at him through the smoky glass. He’s poking at something I can’t see. I only hear the beeps. Like he’s dialing a telephone.

A low hiss fills my ears. Then, a small drawer shoots open in front of me. A gleaming, red hand imprint blinks off and on. My head tilts onto my shoulder as I study the rest of the booth. There is a small screen embedded in the wall before me with a keypad at the left side.

Another drawer shoots open, this one with metallic headphones. I jerk my head back to glare at Jax and mouth, “What the fuck?” He mimes for me, covering his hands with his ears, and pointing at the headset.

I’d laugh at the bastard if my blood weren’t ripping at my insides. But it is, so I roll my eyes and turn around to put on the headset.

A robotic, feminine voice drones in my ears. I only catch every fourth word or so. Something about a contract I’m entering and something about a team and a mission.

My eyes start to droop. The words run together in my skull until they don’t make sense. Then, something searing clamps around my wrists. It jerks me awake in time for she-bot to ask for my handprint.

I blink at the silver cuff as it forces my hand to the blinking surface. It heats under my fingers, then a gust of air shoots into the booth, blowing out my dreadlocks and making my ears pop.

I scream, ripping off the headset. I start to turn to glare at Jax again, when more machine parts clamp on my neck. The headphones are forced back on my ears. Another metal restraint secures itself around my waist.

“What the…”

“C6 Soldier Pike. Scan incomplete. Please resume,” she bot says, then my hand is forced back into the mold.

“Pike Richards identified. Tagging.”

I let out a stupid, jock-like grunt. “Say what?” Another low hiss fills the cramped area. Then, something sharp and white-hot stabs into the back of my neck.

“Ah! Fuck me!” I pull away from the pain, but whatever the hell is slicing into me doesn’t want to let go. It actually wants to see how deep it can go. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” I slam my free hand into the sides of the booth. The bitch whirls and vibrates. There is a low pop. Then, whatever is in my neck retreats.

As soon as I’m free, the metal restraints let me go and I collapse to the floor. My face smashes into the side of the glass before the doors slide open, and I topple out. Jax reaches down, grasps me by the shirt collar, and helps me up. I lean against the rape booth for support.

“Very good!” Jax whispers. “The mainframe is just printing your mission objectives. Then, I will take you to Miss Evans.”

I pant and shudder, listening to the sound of an ink jet printer, and glare at the Colonel. “Fuck was that?” I almost snarl.

After months of torture, letting my cursed blood slowly off me, and getting my ass handed to me by a phone booth, the snarl isn’t very impressive. But right now, it still makes me feel better.

“Oh, these are the Compound Six manuals. Our workers receive orders and, often, training in them. They are each programmed to specific skill sets. Then these beauties feed into our mainframe.”

I wipe my mouth with my hand, wondering why he didn’t just say a bunch of fucking computers, and then my eyes rest on his eye patch and move on.

I’m still breathing hard when he hands me a dark blue folder. “No... Colonel. What did it do to my frickin' neck?”

Jax half smiles. “That’s just a little insurance. You will, after all, be leaving the Compound. I have to be able to keep eyes on you.”

I match his smile. Tagged like a fucking blue whale. I rub the tender skin at the back of my neck. Then, I sway on my feet and grip the booth tighter to stay upright. Jax extends his arms so that they hover over me without touching, just in case he needs to catch me.

“Perhaps you should rest up first. Eat maybe. Then, I can arrange for Sadie to…”

“No.” I cough, then shake my head to push back the dizziness. “No, I see her now. That was the deal.”

Jax stares me down with his good eye, then nods his head over my shoulder. A woman appears at my left side. She tucks her shoulder under my armpit and pulls me away from the booth I’m clinging to for life.

I glance down at her in surprise. She’s stronger than she looks.

I let her lead me all the way down the hall and through the double white doors at the end. There, the only pair of eyes worth living for, hell worth dying for, study me in disgust.

2

Strong girl leads me into a room with a big, round conference table. All the other structures float to the periphery. The only thing I can really see is the table and Sadie. She turns from where she’s seated and jumps up.

I breathe a little easier. She’s still human and she’s running toward me. I hold out my arms, and she skids to a halt. I shift my weight between both legs and open my arms wider.

“Shorty?”

As she backs away she pinches her nose and her face screws up like she smells shit. I sniff the air and almost wretch.

She does smell shit. My cheeks puff out because now that she smells me, I smell me too. And, real talk, I smell worse than a pile of troll vomit.

“Um, you can stay over there.” She returns to the chair she was just seated in. “You smell like ass.”

“Watch your mouth,” I say, walking over to sit a considerate three chairs away from her. This bitch is comfortable. They still have leather at the end of the world.

“So,” I say, leaning across the table to get a better look at her. “You okay? Hurt? Hungry?”

Her chin juts out. “I’m fine. They wouldn’t have caught me if I didn’t go back for…” She shakes her head, fanning out the massive pile of dark curls on top of her head. “Anyway. I’m doing better than you.” She leans over the table and mirrors me. Her lips press into a thin line. “I can’t believe you let them catch you.”

“I missed you too, kid.”

“Or that you agreed to help these asshats.” She leans farther across the table and pinches my arm.

“Ow!” I rub the spot as she jerks back out of my reach with a smug grin. “I said watch your mouth. You sound like a dirty douche. And try some manners on, jackass.”

She shoves out her lower lip, and her face wrinkles until her eyes disappear in a mess of creases.

“What have I told you about making this face?” I trace a circle in the air in front of her. “Shit ain’t cute.”

She swats at my hand, and I jerk away with a grin. All I get for my charm is another glare.

“Please don’t tell me you’re doing this for me.” She glares at me with double-dare-you eyes.

I square my shoulders and hit her with my stern face. Eyes narrowed with quiet warning. “Don’t worry about all that. How are they treating you?”

She shakes her head. “You’re an idiot.”

Her mother was better with stern face. I sigh. “You used to be so adorable.”

She slaps her hand down on the table and sits up straight. “Are you helping them because of that stupid promise you made to my mom?” She raises her eyebrow, giving me her full on know-it-all pose.

My stomach knots like one of those big ass pretzels we used to eat from the mall. I sit up straighter, gulp down my remorse. By the time I have a speech ready, she’s running at the mouth again.

“God, Pike! Get over it! You can’t help them get this cure! They did this shit! And you haven’t been out there. It’s crap. Floods, darkness, women eating their own fucking babies!” Fear shrink-wraps her eyes. “And you’re helping the people responsible.”

My throat tightens. Something that tastes like bile tickles the back of my throat. I let her get away with using the f word. Once kids see women eating babies, the innocence is gone.

“They were going to turn you into a monster. And... I promised your mom I’d…” I try straightening up. “And I’m not just helping them. I’m helping you. I’m only helping you.”

“My mom won’t care. She’s dead remember? You killed her.”

Ouch.

I miss Sadie being eight. Good year. They don’t have any claws at that age. Puberty hits and they can’t get over anything. Like, people killing their mothers. In my defense, the woman, Hope, was going to kill herself anyway. I tried to keep her alive as long as I could, for Sadie. Not that it helps the guilt. Or Sadie’s anger.

“Well, I do care.” I square my shoulders harder to exert my authority. The muscles scream at me in pain, and I try not to wince. “And for the last time. Watch. Your. Freakin’. Mouth.” I know she’s going to ignore me, but I have to say it, anyway.

Reflex.

I also know she’s about to get dramatic when she leaps to her feet, hands ready on her hips.

I lean back and cross my arms behind my head. “Make it good. I haven’t watched Jersey Shore since all this crap went down.”

She stamps her foot. “I’m serious!” Her voice gets higher on the whiney ass kid scale. “I don’t want you to do it. I want you to let them die.”

I wince away from her words. “Don’t talk like that.”

She pouts and slumps down into her chair. “Just call me and let better people start over. Because that crap out there isn’t worth saving.”

I have to strain my ears to hear her. Then, her words settle into my skin like toxic fumes. The kid used to have so much lightness in her. She was actually a fucking figure skater. No joke, Olympic potential good. I used to braid ribbons into her hair for flair during competitions. It was our thing.

I even offered to adopt her after I killed her mother, but she threw a tantrum and went to stay with an aunt.

She eventually came around and we were good before all this started.

What the hell has she seen? How much worse has shit gotten since C6 locked me into the Pit? When she meets my eyes, she fills me with nothing.

“Call me,” she whispers.

My jaw tightens. “Never.” It’s the firmest my voice has sounded in my ears for months. “Not while there’s still any other option.”

The nothing in her eyes flashes to hate. It only lasts a second, but that’s all it takes to stir the need in my blood.

“If you don’t do what’s right, I’ll never speak to you again.” She jumps up, storms to the door, and knocks three times.

I swivel in my chair and throw my arms up. “Come on, shorty…”

The door swings open and Sadie says, “I’d like to go to my room, please.” An answering female says something I tune out. When the door shuts again, I sit alone and the silence around me piles on.

Slowly tears my flesh.

Pecks at my insides.

The defeat in Sadie’s eyes flash in my head like a broken movie reel. My chest sinks in. My vision tunnels. Everything I’d been holding onto dissolves, and I can’t imagine Sadie’s laugh.

The grind of her skates on the ice distorts in my memory and stabs my eardrums. A low roar starts whining in my ears.

The sounds drops me to the carpet. I curl up under the table and cover my ears. The whine gets louder. Invisible nails stab my skin.

I breathe slowly and try not to die. I’d like to laugh, but my muscles tighten like a day old corpse. I might be screaming. I can’t hear over the crash of waves in my head. Then, it starts to take my sight.

My reality washes away and brings flashes of all their faces. Mostly women. Different sizes. Varied colors. Some with sad, appealing smiles. It’s my life flashing before my eyes.

And it’s showing me all the people I’ve killed.

Sadie’s mother, dark and delicate in her scrubs, lingers awhile. Then, a jolt of black electricity stills my convulsing body. The vision fizzles out as I descend into the darkness.

* * *

When my eyelids flutter open, everything is blurry. I blink, trying to figure out where I am. It’s like trying to see through rushing rain. The more I blink, the clearer things get, and slowly, my other senses return.

A blur of movement sweeps across my gaze. I squint it into focus and make out a stranger. She is rubbing, nah, make that scrubbing some greasy shit onto my chest.

My mouth opens to ask what the hell she’s doing, but my throat closes around the words. Glancing down, I spot a spider web of raised scars on my stomach and chest, which is where this strange female is rubbing the greasy shit.

Souvenirs of Pitch and me playing a game of master and slave. With narrowed eyes, I peer through rising steam and realize I’m in a bathroom. I’m also skin ass naked and suspended in a marble tub.

“Ow,” I mutter, swatting the stranger’s sponge away. I take a whiff. Smells like a witch’s garden.

“Mr. Richards, welcome back.”

My eyes tiredly lift toward a kind, heart-shaped face. She wears a gentle smile. And she’s hot. Too bad I feel like something death shat up.

I sniff again. “What is that?” My voice crackles in my ears. “Eucalyptus?”

She nods, screwing a top onto a white jar. “You know your herbs.”

“Won’t work,” I say, trying to sit up straight.

“I know, this is just to keep you well until you can…” She turns toward a table sitting next to the tub.

I almost smile. Until I can kill someone. I can see why she doesn’t feel the need to say it. I bend over my knees as she turns back toward me. She leans over me, with a thin glass in her chocolate hand, and presses it to my lips.

Raising an eyebrow, I sniff. The stench punches through my nostrils and burns my throat. I hack, eyes watering, and pull away. “Hell no.” I massage my eyelids.

“It’s for the pain.”

“No cayenne,” I say leaning back. “I’m good.”

She casts a stern look with her cool, dark eyes. “Drink.” She presses the glass to my lips and I force it down, gagging. Once the glass is empty, she wipes the dribble from the sides of my mouth and nods, satisfied.

As she stands up I lean over and dry heave.

She giggles. “Drama queen.”

I ignore her. She walks behind me in the tub while I try to swallow the rest of the burn. My muscles begin to numb, and I start to feel a little more alive. Not that I’m going to admit it.

There is a squirting noise behind me. I start to turn to see what it is, when this girl digs her fingers into my scalp and jerks me up and down. The scent of patchouli saturates the bathroom.

“Ugh,” I mutter as she scrubs my long, dreaded hair. Brown crap drips down my shoulders and tints the creamy water, turning it the color of dirt and blood. “Damn, girl. Take it easy.”

Without warning, she dumps scalding water over my head. I cough and swipe my hands across my face, trying to get the water out of my eyes.

She walks back around the tub and holds a towel out to me. I blink up at her and snatch it away, then wipe off my face. A half grin settles on her lips.

Now that the pain has subsided a bit, I can appreciate her smooth skin and short, curly hair. I scan her up and down and wish she weren’t in baggy, light blue coveralls so the below the neck goods were easier to make out.

I eye her up and down. “Now that you’ve shampoo-raped my head, can I get your name?”

She smiles and holds out her hand. “Kenya.”

“Kenya.” I toss the towel over my shoulder and grip the sides of the tub to pull myself out. I wobble on my feet and she rushes forward to steady me.

I chuckle. So much for any smooth move. “Thanks, I’m good.”

She lets go and I wrap the towel around my waist and slowly get out of the tub. I run a finger over my scars and snort.

“I look like a roots extra.”

She frowns. “They’ve already starting to heal.”

I nod. She’s right. The scars used to be gaping and blackened with blood. Now they’ve healed into a gentler pink. Won’t last long unless I do my thing soon. With a sigh, I glance around at the sandy brown tiled bathroom with its large vanity mirror and pedal operated sink.

It’s the nicest bathroom I’ve ever been it. Seems kind of wrong, like my situation doesn’t match the scenery.

“Where are we?” I ask as I stumble toward the middle of the room.

“The Fox Estate,” Kenya says. “This is your bathroom, and your room is just through there.” She points to a door to the left. “Your roommates are on the main grounds, they’ll...”

I shake my head. “Where is Sadie?” My arms cross over my chest. “And Oscar? I need to see Oscar.”

“Oscar?” Her lips turn down. Then, a glint sparks in her eyes. “Oh, your bird? He’s fine. I’ll bring him to you tomorrow. You also have time with Sadie scheduled tomorrow. Tonight you must rest for the Presenting.”

A zap of pain races up my spine. I swallow and steady myself on my feet. “The Presenting?” I stumble left. An instinctual burn sears my throat; it’s hard to swallow.

“You okay?” She drags a chair over to me and I slump down onto it. She puts an arm out to steady me. I gesture her away with a hand.

Another shock buckles me over at the waist.

I’m about to lose my shit. Four months without it, the song, is too much. I’ve been hanging from a death ledge for too long.

Another zap steals my air. Pain twists my mind, tunneling it around one thing. The thing that turns me into a monster. The instinct to drink down need. Another jolt. I jerk backward and clench my jaw.

I force my gaze toward Kenya, whose face is becoming a milky blur. “Get.” I gulp. “Out.”

Kenya’s mouth forms a small “o.” Her face dissolves in front of me. Soon, I won’t be able to see her as a person.

The pain knots my muscles and I contort into exorcist like angles. I smile up at her with a face full of crazy, but manage to jerk my head at the door.

“Now.” The command stutters out of my throat.

Her form dissolves and I feel it. Fear. A sense of being trapped.

“Oh.” She turns and her blurry form rushes across the room.

But somehow I’m on my feet, and I’m after her. I reach out to grab her arm. She twists out of my grasp and I jerk to a stop.

A manic growl escapes my burning throat and beats against the walls. Glancing down, I grunt at the line of rusty brown powder at my feet. It’s thick and airy looking, like cinnamon. A sweet smell rushes up my nose.

Sandalwood.

Slowly, my mind unfolds. Away from the twisted animal. Back to myself. The smell takes me somewhere. My brain slows, and I can hear skates scraping on ice. My favorite sound. I can even feel the bite of frost on my fingertips.

It makes me feel a little more human. Or something.

My lips twist into a tight smile. Sandalwood. Forces people into a meditative state. Smart girl.

I stand there for several moments getting my shit together. Sucking in large breaths and letting them out after a few moments. This isn’t how I get down. I haven’t been that out of control since my first time. When I’m sure I’m in control, I pass over the powdered herb and into my room.

Well, the room. Nothing at Compound Six is truly mine.

The room is draped in pale, yellow light and furnished with maroon furniture. I glance to the corner and find Kenya cowered there, a look of obvious fear on her face. I hold up my hands and make no move to close the distance between up. “My bad. Not a great apology, but it’s all I got.

She glowers and points to the desk beside the full sized bed. “Eat.” She tries to straighten. “Then, someone will be by… For you.”

I nod.

“If you don’t need anything else…”

I wave her off. I just tried to kill her, and she’s asking me if I need anything. “I’m good. Go.”

She hugs the walls, never taking her eyes off me as she creeps toward the door, then vanishes behind it in a rush. I reach up to rub my shoulder and glance at the beige tray. Steam rises from a small, ceramic bowl and something thick and mushy is piled onto the tray. I shuffle toward the desk and sit in a ratty old office chair with chunks of leather upholstery missing and grab a water spotted fork.

As I shovel food into my mouth—tasteless beans, a hard roll, and watery cream of something soup. I think about almost ripping Kenya’s head right off. I almost lost control. Been locked in silence for too long.

When the last of the roll and the rest of the food are gone, I toss my fork down and brush crumbs out of my unkempt goatee. It’s probably more of a gross, homeless dude beard at this point, but at least it matches my insides.

My stomach growls, still hungry. Sure, the food is crap but getting something in me helps drown out the other hunger. For a while.

Drawing in a deep breath, I stand and pace. I try to feel my legs under me. I try to steady my movements. I try to focus on anything other than that cool spray of a kill that nourishes the burning inside my chest.

I’m not doing a good job.

A knock on the door halts me. I gaze toward the sound and after a few seconds, it comes again. Trudging across the room, I pull the door open. Another strange face is staring up at me.

I raise an eyebrow and scan her up and down, from the rusty mess of wild curls to the light blue slippers on her small feet.

“Yes?” I open the door farther and lean against the back of it.

“Um.” She twirls a few curls and teeters between both legs. “I’m here for Pike?”

She speaks in whispers and doesn’t seem very sure of what she’s saying. It makes me grin.

I point at myself. “Pike.”

Her moss green eyes lighten, reminding me of sunlight darting through leaves. “Nice to meet you. Juliet sent me.”

Now that she sounds sure, I have no idea what the hell she means. My face tightens.

“Sent you for what?”

She frowns and fiddles with the pockets on her coveralls. Her full lips part, then she wrinkles her nose and shrugs. “Um, I’m here to… Help you heal?” Unsure again.

Slowly, I realize what she means. My eyes narrow. I can’t decide if Juliet is sicker than I thought, or if I should be grateful. The burn sears my throat. I wince. The girl bites her lip, clearly uncomfortable.

I get myself together so I don’t freak her out. “Right.” I pull the door all the way open as I step back. “Come on in.”

She nods, bobbing her wild curls, and saunters in. My gaze follows her nice round ass as she does.

Nice. Very nice.

I shut the door and clear my throat. Gesturing to the bed, the most comfortable place in the room, I say, “Have a seat.”

She lets out a giggle of nerves and bounces across the room. She sits cross-legged on the bed. How adorkable.

I walk over and hold out a hand. She places her own in my palm, and I bend to kiss it. I get another girlish giggle.

Smiling as I straighten I ask, “Got a name, giggly?”

She nods. “Tahlia.”

“Tahlia.” I sit on the chair next to the bed. “I’d offer you something to eat, but all I have is beard crumbs.” I smile.

She laughs again and waves me off. I find myself leaning over, as if the sound of her laugh has strings that pull me in.

“I already ate. But thank you.” She tucks her hair behind her ears. Her eyes meet my gaze, a half smile on her lips. “So, how does this work?”

My mind stutters, unable to think of an answer. “How… this works?”

“Yeah, you know… You calling me.”

“Calling you,” I mutter, a surplus of useless replies. My body slowly tightens as the reality of the situation sets into my muscles.

Juliet sent this girl here for me to kill.

I squeeze my eyes shut, disgust swarming my insides. Not because it’s not the same thing that I just realized only moments ago, but because this is not how I do things. Not anymore.

What’s even worse is that I don’t know if I’m disgusted by the fact Juliet sent this girl here to die, or by the fact that I’m going to kill her anyway.

3

I pace the room while this girl, Tahlia, prattles on like I’m not about to take her life. Her youth and eagerness crash into me like jagged waves. Thoughts roar in my head at high speeds, none of which stick around for very long. Well, none but the one.

Juliet sent this girl here to hear my song. For me to kill.

Like I’m one of her murderous Enforcers.

And I want to.

I grit my teeth and dart my gaze at her. I want to real bad.

Her energy jabs at me like a heavyweight pinning me to the ropes, until my throat is an ache of rug burn. Sweat beads up on my brow, and need sends jolt after jolt of pain through my body.

Yeah, I’m going to kill this fine ass, prattling girl.

No!

I stop pacing and ball my hands up at my sides.

I try to inhale control on my breath. As I hold it into my lungs, I repeat a revised version of the little engine mantra.

I will not kill. I will not kill.

“Pike?” Her strained voice darts through my storm-swept thoughts, and I pause to glare into those thick, green eyes. She stands and inches toward me.

I go rigid.

She juts up her chin, an expectant look on her face.

My eyes narrow. “You say something?” I back a few inches away from her.

She folds her arms with a smirk on her lips. “I asked if you play.” She gestures across the room toward the bed. I follow her gaze and spot a worn, black guitar case leaned against the foot of the bed.

My body jerks in pain.

She gasps. “You okay?” As her arm reaches to steady me, I stumble a few feet away.

I breathe through the pain and force my attention back to the case. It’s the first time I’ve noticed it. Almost killing Kenya must have distracted me. I gulp down the even stronger want—no, not want, need--to kill Tahlia-and clear my mangled throat.

“Uh, yeah. That’s Gip.”

Her footsteps shuffle and my gaze follows as she moves back to the bed and runs a finger down the case. She turns her head, a sly smile settled on her face.

“Gip?” she asks.

“It’s what I call my guitar.”

She giggles. “I’ve never known a guy that named his instrument.”

I grin at the double meaning and she blushes.

“Will you play for me?”

The laugh I choke up almost sounds demented. “Nah.”

Her eyes go wide and white. “Why not?”

I reach behind my head and pull my dreads back. I need a hair tie; this shit is hotter than a mofo. But pulling on it delivers sharp little pains to my scalp. It distracts me from the fact that I want to kill her now.

Breathe.

I will not kill.

I will not kill.

I clear my throat and force my face into the most neutral position I can manage. “Because if I did that, it’d only kill you faster.” Angel and demon Pike go back and forth in my brain.

Her mocha skin flushes slightly, unaware of the war inside my mind. She raises her thin, arched eyebrows. I stand, tightening every muscle in my body as I study her reaction. As she lifts herself up on her tiptoes, then back onto the balls of her feet, I try to keep her desires out.

Which is…

Impossible.

Just when I’m thinking one of us needs to go before things go bad for her, she shrugs.

“Well, I know what I signed up for.”

When she releases the guitar case, she actually smiles. My mouth falls dumbly.

“Come again?”

She nods, lowering the case onto a pile of clothes and stuff I once again, just noticed.

“Yeah, my roommate was tapped for this. She was a sympathizer so…” She runs a finger across her neck and makes a croaking noise. “But when I heard about you, I made a show of stealing her bread.” A smug smile paints her lips. “And the only thing worse here than sympathizing is rule breaking.”

She sounds proud, a fact that interests me.

Not that this is new to me. I’m used to people, especially females, seeking me out. Most of the time they don’t even know they’re doing it. Maybe her being so intentional is what intrigues me.

“So…” I stroll back to the seat at the desk and spin around to face her. “You want this?”

Shuffling across the carpet, she takes her former place on the bed. Her head tilts against her shoulder and a thoughtful look graces her face. “If what I’ve heard about you is true, then yes.”

I stop myself from rolling my eyes. Like I said, I get this a lot. The ones that come looking. Apparently, bitches love sirens.

That’s always been part of the problem.

I clear my throat. “Depends. What have you heard?”

“You know… beautiful women, draped on rocks luring sailors to their doom.”

I shake my head. “That would be water nymphs. Nasty bitches. They eat people.”

She laughs, and again, the sound digs into me, adding fuel to the inferno. I take deep breaths and grapple for control. My fingernails dig into my palms.

“That’s what I heard as a young girl.”

“And recently?” I say, teeth clenched.

She shrugs. “That the beauty of the song is worth it. And that you are all… irresistible. That the males can…” She places a hand next to her mouth and leans in like she has a juicy secret. “Give women everything they desire.”

Yup, that’s pretty much the standard, romanticized truth.

I force my gaze away from her face. “How old are you, Tahlia?”

“Twenty-two,” she says.

Another wave of her energy smacks me in the face. I force in a shuttering breath and close my eyes. My head swims. Soon, the pain will rip me away again. Soon I will be a brutal monster.

My body jerks forward.

Not soon, now.

Tahlia gasps. I double over and bite down a grunt. I can feel her hovering over me as my body wrenches from painful bolts.

The agony rips my mind, wraps silence around my nose, my mouth. Steals the air.

“How long has it been?” Her voice comes at me like there are miles between us.

I try to swallow and wind up croaking. I gasp for air, but it sticks to the edge of my lips, closing off my throat and caving in my lungs.

I can’t answer.

I can’t control it much longer My gaze lifts toward her, my movements wooden, my fingers buried on either side of my face.

No time to bang my head up against my inner moral compass. I smile. There is a monster pulling the strings. It draws her in.

Her eyes go blank, and I taste her.

She’s had a great loss. Maybe a parent. Maybe a sibling. I peer around the hole it carved in her. Black and tinged deep blue from the swelling power. I chew the part of herself she gave up to deal with loss between my teeth. My chair crashes down as I lift myself up to stand before her.

Her eyes are locked onto my face.

Her energy floods me with pins and needles. I burn to fix her. And she’ll let me. She’s nothing locked in my gaze. A source. A pleasure. I’ll rip her out and send her over.

A face flashes across my gaze and my breath hitches.

There are no features, just a feeling. It snaps an inch of me back in to quell the monster.

That inch doesn’t want this to be on Juliet’s terms. I used to follow certain rules; she’s making me break them.

Fuck her.

“Tahlia,” I mutter, shutting my eyes. “If you don’t leave now, you won’t leave alive.”

Her breath is so labored I hear it go in and out of her in rushed waves. “I don’t care.” Her hands rest on my chest. “Promise me you won’t let them take me back to the main grounds.”

The urgency in her voice doesn’t slay the monster. But it gives me control.

I’ll always be a monster, after all. But she is more than my prey. She is Tahlia, and her eyes plead to me.

I nod my head, screw my mouth up, and whistle.

* * *

My song sweeps the air around us. I feel clean. Like I’ve been air lifted off a mountain of shit. My body seems to forget the months of abuse and hunger. The months of isolation. The months of not being able to use my voice.

My lips vibrate with song. With each note they form, my mind buzzes. My muscles sing, and god damn, it feels…so good. No more jolts of pain. No more patches of ragweed clogging my throat. All of it, replaced by fluid energy.

By vitality.

A cool mist massages into my muscles. Filters my blood. Satisfies the curse. My body feels so relaxed I almost stumble into her and take us both to the floor.

I shake out my arms and legs, and somehow manage to stop whistling. Glancing down into her eyes, I know she’s answering the call. I know she’s mine.

The fiery need in her eyes is gone. All that’s left is the gaze of a woman that has everything she’s ever wanted.

She has no more questions; all her answers having been given in the song.

Seeing that, the rush comes. No, the high. It swirls in my brain and makes me giddier than the front row of a Snoop Dogg concert.

I should feel bad that I’m killing her—I should.

All I can do is smile. And she smiles back, then drags her fingers down my forearms. My eyes slide shut. Human touch. Her warm fingers leak the blood from my brain and into my lower organ.

I start panting like a thirsty dog.

“Wow,” she says, running her fingers up and down my chest now. “You look so… different. It’s… incredible.”

The awe in her tone snaps my eyes open. I glance down. The spider web of scars has dissolved into my skin. I can’t heal without using my power, but when I do, it’s almost instant.

Wrapping her arms around my neck, she gazes up at me in interest. “There’s blue in your eyes now.”

I nod, more interested in her than me. “How do you feel?”

Her eyes widen, and lightheartedness rubs against me. “It’s gone, Pike.” She shakes her head. “All the emptiness. You’re… Incredible.”

I start to speak when she presses her body close to mine again.

“More,” she whispers.

Her arms twist around my neck, forcing my face downward.

“Tahlia.” I breathe into her hair.

“More,” she moans, clinging to me.

Taking in another deep breath, I pucker up and whistle for her.

The second rush shoves me out of myself and up into the high. We call it the siren wave. I reach for her and pull her up into my arms so that we can ride the wave together. My song shoots out of me, a thousand tiny strings that attach to her, feeding her the knowledge of what she needs. What she desires.

A light moan falls from her parted lips.

The longer I fuel her with what she needs; I go from feeling vital, to fu-cking Superman. I’m Superblack. On the verge of becoming power drunk, I let the song drift off and she collapses into my arms.

I hold her easily as she trembles like a woman that just got her nut off.

“Mm,” she mutters, pulling herself straight. “I want to stay with you tonight, Pike.”

I wet my lips. “For sho?”

She just stares up at me for a few seconds, then shrugs. “Is this part of it?”

I shake my head, not understanding.

“Do you have to make love for the call to work?”

I hesitate. No one has ever cared enough to ask that. Too busy being horny. “No.” I shake my head. “The call works on its own. But the way it makes women feel… love making usually follows.”

Her gaze drops to her feet. “I’ve heard it’s worth dying for.”

With a chuckle, I wet my lips again. “Well, I do—“

She cuts off my speech by lowering herself down and taking my towel with her. Before I can react, her lips wrap tightly around me.

Hard to argue with that.

My head falls back.

My breath hitches in my chest and my mouth drops open. It’s been a minute since I’ve had a bj, so it doesn’t take long to feel that tingle. I let out a chuckle and reach down to pull her to her feet. Breathing hard, I run my fingers back through her hair.

“What’s wrong?” She frowns. “You don’t like it?”

“Oh, I like it.” Instead of finishing my though, I undo her buttons. I get harder with each inch of skin revealed. By the time her coveralls hit the floor I’m almost foaming at the mouth.

She bites her lip and brings her hand to the back of her neck. “You like?”

I nod. “Hells yeah.” I start to walk, forcing her back against the bed. Then, I lay her down and run my hands across every inch of her skin. She squirms and rolls over so that she’s on top.

“You’re driving me nuts.” She huffs, pressing her palms down across my chest.

With a smile, I wrap my arms around her, flipping her over. She lets out a squeal as I place her onto her back and gaze down.

“Quiet, girl. They gonna think I’m hurting you in here.” I gather her wrists together at the top of her head and lean down to run my tongue over her hard nipples. I take a nibble and she whimpers.

“They’d be right.” Her voice is husky.

I rise up and stare at her. “Oh, I’m not hurting you yet.”

Tahlia gulps and a chill rushes down my back. It’s energy from her.

“You scare me a little.”

This makes me smile. Lowering my lips to her ear, I enjoy her go rigid against me. “I should.” I brush my lips against her ear. Then her neck. She shakes and whimpers beneath me.

“Sing again,” she says, snaking her legs around me.

I do.

The next few hours pass in a blur of sensation. For all the shit I talk, I don’t hurt Tahlia. She brought me back from months of hell. I owe her more.

I slide in and out of her with the tenderness of a lifelong lover. We rock together, moaning and sweating until her back arches with orgasm.

And Tahlia has a lovely fucking orgasm. So lovely, in fact, that I make her show me over and over again.

Then, I start killing her.

4

I struggle awake. Somewhere in the distance, a dull moan interlaced with a gargling noise meets my ears. A low booming rings out. The sounds warp in my head like I’m listening through a hangover.

As my senses crisp, the banging gets annoying as hell. The throaty gargling inches closer. I force my eyes open and blink the room into focus. When I try to sit up I meet resistance and my head falls back down to the pillow.

That’s when I feel pressure and realize Tahlia is wrapped around me like a boa constrictor. The booming at the door makes my head pound.

“Pike!” Juliet’s voice calls through the door.

With a grunt, I force myself up and reach up to pry Tahlia’s hands from around my neck. I try to undo this naked pretzel we’re locked in, but she’s sealed to me like Elmer’s glue. The gargling is coming from her.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

“Alright!” I yell at Juliet’s knock. “Give me a sec!”

Gathering all my strength, I manage to straighten up and remove Tahlia’s limbs from around me. I cup her face and gaze down into eyes coated in a frothy layer of white.

My heart punches the inside of my ribcage. I slept too long. She’s been dying in my arms all night. I shake my head to get rid of the guilt, wet my lips and prepare to whistle.

Too bring her back.

The door rushes open. My eyes dart over to Juliet, who is casting her evil shadow into the room. She’s flanked by two buzz cuts that stand back while she saunters toward the bed.

My eyes narrow to slits. I’m used to chains standing between us. Now that I’m not locked up, the urge to choke her out… to pay her back for months of torture, puts a sneer on my face.

She answers my threatening expression with a light smile.

Guess it needs some work.

She flips her hair and holds up a syringe full of clear liquid. “Good morning, Pike.” She nods at Tahlia, who is still gurgling in my arms. “You done with her?”

My jaw tightens. I suck a hot breath in through my nostrils. “Come again?”

She starts toward me, removing the plastic cap from the needle. A little of whatever is inside spills down the plastic.

“I asked if you were finished.” She comes to a standstill at the side of the bed. Her cool, blue eyes gaze down at me.

Nothing moves behind them. As if she knows she’s being talked about, Tahlia starts to moan like a gutted seal. “More.” She digs her nails into my sides. “More.”

Her body goes into convulsions, vibrating the bed. I tighten my hold around her, trying to get it to stop.

Above me, Juliet sighs. “Move her hair.” She leans over and I reach up and grab her wrist. We stare at each other over Tahlia’s convulsing form. She hits me with that super polite smile that sets my teeth on edge.

“I need you to take your hand off me.” Her smile stretches. “Can you do that for me?”

Something about that look makes me feel like I’m in chains again. There isn’t anything menacing in it. Which is what screws with me. There is nothing in it.

Despite the fact that she freaks me out, I match her smile and tighten my grip.

“Sure thing, Jules. After you tell me what’s in the syringe.”

After a few seconds of sizing me up, she nods. “Lethal dose of morphine. Now, will you move her hair? I need access to her neck.”

Tahlia’s convulsing worsens and I drop Juliet’s wrist.

“I can bring her back,” I say, not addressing anyone in particular.

Juliet sniffs. “Pike, this is more humane. And you’re clearly finished. You look so much livelier.”

I snap my gaze up to her face. My lips press together in a hard line. Without saying anything, I sweep Tahlia’s hair away from her neck, then hold her body as still as I can. Juliet leans back over, injects her, and then waves her hand at her two lackeys.

They march over and reach for Tahlia, who is now stone still. The two buzz cuts step to either side of the bed and reach down for her.

I glare at the one on my left still. His features crumple into a fear mask and I smile.

“Tell your boy to turn around so I can wrap her up. This is a female, man.”

He hesitates, eyes darting across the bed. Then, he shrugs and they both turn around. I wrap Tahlia up in a blanket, slide her eyes closed and clear my throat. The lackeys turn, lift her from the bed and march her out.

I stare ahead while Juliet clears her throat and shuffles over to the dresser next to the door. She removes a set of blue coveralls, then turns toward me.

“Where are they taking her?” I ask.

She sighs. “Away.”

My gaze shifts over to her and I stare.

She does another frickin’ hair flip and smiles. “She’ll rest comfortably, then she’ll be cremated.”

My jaw tenses. I’d like to cuss her ass out. Shame her, but I’d just be trying to feel better. Truth is, her way is more dignified than my way. How she can serve up one of her own like a chicken dinner is none of my business.

“I need you to get ready for the Presenting.”

I blink. “Yeah, what is that exactly?”

She places the pile of clothing on the bed. “A formal ceremony to introduce the team to the rest of the compound. Colonel Jax wishes to boost morale.” Her arms fold across her small chest.

I laugh. “So, you’re going to tell everyone what’s what. Just say what you mean.” Pressing my hands down on the mattress, I lift myself up. “Is that really necessary?”

“Yes, but first you need to clean up and put on clothes.” Her gaze flitters up and down before resting on my face. “You’ll take lunch with your team.”

My hand goes to my face and I scratch my eyebrow with my pinky nail. “Yeah, I want to see Sadie.”

“You’ll see her at the Presenting.” She nods at the pile of stuff in front of the bed. “Take a bit to go through the things I brought here when I… recovered you. You have an hour before you need to be downstairs.”

I scoff at her choice of words. What she really means is kidnapped. “Where the fuck is my bird?”

She turns and heads to the door. “I’ll have Kenya bring him by the end of the day.” She pauses and turns her head to speak over her shoulder. “That is, if you can manage not to kill her.”

With that she leaves, closing the door behind her. I growl, an excess of cutting retorts piled on my tongue. I manage to swallow them down to the pit of my stomach, then I can at least shit out insults at her.

Kneeling beside the bed, I start to dig through a large black duffel. I pull out a few doo rags, pairs of boxer briefs, and random mementos I kept on me while in hiding. I feel rich yanking out a ball of hair ties. I tie my hair away from my neck before pawing around some more.

My fingers dance across a smooth surface and I halt. I pull out a worn, sandy brown journal. The sight of it makes me chuckle. It even still has an old pen secured across the lip of the book. I push myself up onto the bed and fan out the textured pages.

As I slow down, tiny lettering streaks across my vision. Faces flash in my mind, floating behind my eyes like the phantoms of memory. I promised myself I’d never write in this damn thing again.

I said Sadie’s mom, Hope, would be the last entry.

Juliet’s voice echoes in my head. Are you done with her? My jaw tightens with something. Anger? Frustration? Or fear? How am I supposed to go back to this?

To being a collector of names.

My heart hummingbirds in my chest, and I wipe the sweat from my palms onto the blankets. I try to focus on Sadie and tame the emotion running around all willy-nilly in my skull.

I suck in a steadying breath and open the journal to the next blank page. I drive away that bitch called guilt, remove my pen from its holder, and scrawl Tahlia—

My mind blanks. Tahlia…

With a sigh, I realize I never got the girls last name. I scribble an X after her name then lift my gaze to the ceiling. Studying the bits of plaster, I bring her energy to the front of my mind. What she was in her time with me. After a few moments I look back down and write: Trapped. Loving. Accepting.

Once I finish, I clap the book shut, cap my pen, and place it back in its holder. I toss the journal onto the desk as I stand, then reach for the pile of clothes Juliet left. Then, I cross the room and duck into the bathroom.

The soles of my feet scrape against the rough, almost rock-like floor. Dragging my hand along the wall, I locate the light switch and flip it. The too extravagant bathroom is coated in yellow light.

I feel out of place in this room. I should be in a bathroom tough guys wear shower shoes in, some prison-like shit. Then I remember that my experience in the Pit wasn’t why Compound Six was created. It was created to be one of mankind’s safe havens.

I guess now that we’re getting along I’m worthy of sanctuary.

I trudge across the room, duck into the stand-alone shower and turn on only the hot water. As soon as I do, a dial on the shower wall flashes bright red numbers at me.

5

Steaming water rushes into my face. I leap back.

“Shit burger!” My arms raise in defense. Something thuds to the floor, and I glance down to find a bar of soap flying from its plastic container. I bend my knees and snatch it up, then slowly extend my arms into the spray.

Once I adjust to the heat, I get on with the business of washing my ass. The soap is a bar of musky patchouli. I scrub myself down and squint through the stream of water, back at the number display.

Forty-five.

Forty-four.

Forty-three.

It takes me longer than it should to realize it’s a countdown. I rush through the rest of the scrub down so that my rationed water doesn’t run out before I can rinse. I decide to focus on the important shit, then stand under the showerhead and rinse the lather down the drain.

The water snaps off almost as soon as I finish. I step out onto the rocky surface and glance around for a towel. There is a small drawer next to the door leading back to the bedroom. I rush toward the drawer and yank it open.

Piles of towels are folded up inside. I yank one from the top and pat myself dry. I wrap the towel around my waist as I head back to my room.

No, not mine.

I can’t turn this into a home.

I pull on the coveralls still piled on the bed and finish dressing. I match all the other residents of Compound Six. Damn, I miss my old threads. As I slip on the matching boots. Movement echoes below me.

Furniture bangs. Things slam shut. Muffled voices pulse up through the floor. I head for the bedroom door and stick my head out. I’m staring down a long hallway that leads to a set of stairs on my right.

More low murmurs float up to me. I creep down the hall. The closer I get to the stairs, the easier it is to make out the voices. It’s two people, a dude and a female. I press my back to the railing and slide down the stairs. I focus on their energy and try to get a taste for what they are.

I can tell they’re both like me. My feet hit the bottom step and I crouch down like I’m on a secret ninja mission. No idea why I’m sneaking around, but I go with it.

I test their energy again. After several moments, I can tell neither are Muses. They’re the easiest for me to feel because I’m one of them. That leaves Spirits and beasties, or for the PC minded, Shifters. Me, I’m sticking with beasties.

A feminine laugh rings out, then the clomp of footsteps closes in on me. I rush to stand up straight as the skinniest white boy I’ve ever seen in my life rounds the corner.

He eyes me with interest, and I give him a head nod. Then, he shuffles toward me and rests his skeletal hand on the ball of the bottom railing.

“Pike?” His beady brown eyes widen, and he leans in toward me like he knows me like that. “The Pike Richards?” His face flushes a tomato red that travels to his Dumbo-like ears. He extends his hand toward me. “Been waiting a long time to meet you!”

Discomfort floods through me, but I manage to offer my hand. He grabs it and pulls me into an embrace.

Awkward.

He’s stronger than his shoestring physique lets on. I stare over his bony shoulder, trying to back away. No dice. “Uh… Okay.”

With a loud chuckle, he pulls away and grips my shoulders. He grins down at me like he’s on that good shit. I reach for his hand and try to pry him off. It’s like trying to lift a boulder. I only manage to raise his hand a few inches.

He laughs again. “Names Tripp Mason.” He jerks me out into the hall, and swings me around a corner and into what looks like a living room.

How does this place have steroids?

Gripping me around the shoulder, he points to a girl seated on a maroon couch. “Meet the other member of the warrior’s three.”

“The what?”

He pounds me on the back and I go flying into the middle of the room. I scramble to keep my balance. My jaw clenches. Someone needs to learn a personal space lesson. Before I can say so, he’s beside me, pointing again.

“This is Kiwi Grunder.”

I glance back over at her and my jaw sinks to the floor.

Dayum,

This girl is fine as hell. The stripper name suits her because, dayum. She glances up and regards me with a neutral expression.

“Hm.” She folds her arms over her award-winning chest and raises her thin eyebrow. “So you’re Pike.”

She’s nowhere near as impressed with me as I am by her. She’s not traditionally beautiful, but she is impossible not to stare at. Her hair is close shaven except for the long, thick bang that swoops over the right side of her face. Big, bright eyes that almost look black. There’s some reddish brown powder rubbed around them. At first it looks like make up, but as I inch toward her I see that it’s a natural part of her skin. A mark of some kind from the gods.

I shrug. “That’s me.” I flash the best smile in my I-wanna-tap-that arsenal. A gesture she returns by sucking on her teeth.

“Well, whoopee for you. Glad you finally got it together.”

I blink as Tripp laughs like a high otter. Shaking it off, I lean over and offer my hand. She stares at it, then gazes back up at me.

“If I’d known such a beautiful lady was waiting, I’d have hurried my ass up.”

Behind me, Shoestring chortles. Kiwi shakes her head and grins over my shoulder. She lifts herself up and saunters away, still shaking her heard. My gaze follows her.

That body is ridonculous. That’s what my white buddies used to say about a body that won’t quit. Fit, yet curvy. Nice, plump ass. She can definitely get it.

“Ouch,” Tripp says now that she’s out of the room. He strolls around and faces me. “Guess you aren’t her type.” He winks.

He reaches out and runs his fingers across my cheek. I freeze, my brows furrowed. “But you are mine.”

His eyes scan me up and down and I narrow my eyes. A hand plants on his hips and I shake my head. Oh, hell no.

“I’m not gay, Shoestring.”

He frowns. “They never are.”

Before I can respond, a loud knock interrupts us. He winks again and sashays across the room and around the corner.

I rub my eyelids. What the fuck is going on here? I’m in a house with Tripp and his super white name in some reenactment of Brokeback Mountain.

Then there’s Kiwi, with her unwarranted black girl attitude giving me blue balls for no reason.

“Kenya!” Tripp bellows from out in the hall. “Come in, girl.” The door slams shut and two pairs of feet pound their way into the living room.

“Pike.” Kenya nods at me. I nod back. She looks around. “Where is Kiwi?”

A bang rings out from another room in the house, and Kiwi comes rushing in. She smiles at Kenya. “I’m here.”

Kenya claps. “I’m here to escort you to the main grounds where you’ll take lunch in the main cafeteria. Colonel Jax will lead the Presenting. All you three have to do is sit on stage next to him. From there, Juliet will brief you on the rest of your day.” She smiles. “If you’ll follow me.”

Kiwi is on her feet first and the two of them start for the front hall. Tripp glances at me. I take it as a cue to stand up and get moving. He follows suit. Together, we rush to catch up. They’re halfway through the door. As we close the distance between us, Tripp lets me go ahead of him and closes the door behind us.

Outside, the light is sickly yellow. The four of us trudge across the grounds of Compound Six, which is on an old military base in what used to be Alabama. As we walk, I step closer to Tripp.

I nod ahead toward Kiwi. “She always that mean?”

He shakes his head. “A little intense, but no, the attitude is new.” He grins. “Showed up at the same time you did.”

My hand rises to shield my eyes from the weird interrogation room glare.

I grin. “Well, I like a challenge.”

Tripp sniggers. “I’ll take that bet.”

I shake my head. “If you win, I’ll let you give me a blow job.”

Laughter gushes out of him and I glance up at the sky. There is something off about it. A flicker of yellow ripples across a space that is more silver than blue. For some reason those ripples put me on edge.

I’m so busy looking up that I barrel right into Kiwi. My head jerks down toward her. “Sorry,” I mutter.

She hisses up into my face.

Surprise doubles me back, eyes narrowed. “The fuck?”

Everyone stops in their tracks and Kiwi is the first to set back off in the direction of what looks like an old hospital. Kenya offers a sympathetic smile and turns to follow her.We pass beside a small, man-made pond settled beside an old golf club. Everything is beige and maroon bricks, gated in by fences with wisps of electrical charge making the air buzz.

Scattered in the distance sets a row of watchtowers with armed Enforcers atop them. Beside me, Tripp clears his throat and my eyes dart over to him. He nods up at the sky.

“Weird, isn’t it?”

I raise my gaze again. “Doesn’t feel natural.”

“That’s because it’s not.”

My eyes widen and he nods. “Yeah, we’re boxed in.”

“Meaning?”

“There is an energy field around the entire compound,” Kenya says from a few paces in front of us.

I turn my attention toward her. “Why?”

“Because berserkers aren’t the only danger out there,” Kenya says, leading us left. “The energy field went up after the last fire storm.”

I blink. “Fire storm?”

She doesn’t get a chance to reply because we stop at a row of low, concrete barricades with a few armed guards at each end. Kenya flashes a badge at the nearest one and he nods us forward. We have to zig zag through the barricade maze, then trek up a small hill.

I clear my throat and again ask, “Fire storm?”

“Yeah.” She glances over her shoulder. “We lost twenty people in it. After that, the field went up. It’s manipulated to look like the real sky. Most people don’t notice it.” She eyes me as we approach a rectangular building with rows of boxed windows. It stands five floors high. As we approach a set of glass double doors Kenya turns to me, an interested regard on her face. “It’s rumored the gods are back,” she says in a low voice.

Dead weight drops onto my shoulders. She turns, leading us past more guards and into a sea of light blue-cloaked bodies. People bump into me from every direction as I weave through the crowd, losing sight of Kenya and Kiwi. I edge near the corner of the room. That’s when I spot them by an elevator. I rush to meet them, followed seconds later by Shoestring. My stomach twists into knots. The elevator ding makes me jump. As we pile inside, her words circle through my head.

It’s rumored the gods are back.

If that’s even close to true, for what? To protect the creatures they made? I sure as shit don’t think so. To help the mortals? Not likely. And which gods? Hopefully not any from the former U.S. of A.

The elevator dings again, batting away those questions. I sweep my gaze over another sea of blue bodies. Pairs of eyes dart toward us as we walk through the cafeteria. A low buzz of mumbles swirls in the air. It swells until every eye stares into me. Then it cuts to total silence.

6

It’s so quiet you could hear a silent fart shake someone’s butt cheeks. I stare straight ahead and try to ignore the hundreds of eyes following our movement toward the front of the room.

My gaze fixes on Colonel Jax seated on a platform, looking like a confused asshat trying to decide between being a pirate and being Goth. Anger rushes from my flared nostrils at the sight of him. To make things even more fun, Juliet is seated on his left along with some Indian dude-dot, not native-in a wheelchair.

When we’re closer to the platform, Jaxass stands and holds out his arms, then holds his hug pose.

“Friends, welcome the guests of honor,” he says in his whisper of a voice.

My eyes narrow further until I can barely see. Blurs of movement flash in my periphery. Almost as if commanded, everyone in the room stands. I take in a sharp breath and freeze. Unnoticed, the rest of my team march up the steps and onto the platform.

My hands ball into fists, and I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face with a tire iron. A wave of want and need pricks every inch of me.

Shit burger, there are so many of them…

So many humans. And I want them all. Deep blue stains my vision, and the call buzzes my lips. I try to bite it down, try to move.

Can’t.

I form an “o” with my lips and prepare to ease the buzzing pain.

Yeah, I’m going to call each and every one of them. The song swells in my throat.

“Pike!” Sadie’s voice slices through. Brings my ability to reason with it. I turn left, toward the sound of her voice. She stands there, her face twisted into a what gives expression. We lock eyes and I don’t dare look anywhere else.

That girl is the only thing keeping me human, so to speak.

Hands clamp down on my shoulders. My head jerks forward, and my eyes take in Jax. I didn’t hear him move, but now he’s planted right in front of me.

“Are you alright?” he whispers with a concerned dad tone.

“Um.” I gaze around the silent cafeteria and slowly nod. My eyes touch Sadie’s face again. This time she wears a half scowl. I grin before Jax pulls me up onto the platform.

The buzz in my limbs ebbs away as I trudge up the stairs and take the empty seat next to Kiwi. I keep my eyes averted. The last thing I need right now is a death glare.

My fingers lift to my temples and I rub out the last of my need to kill buzz. It falls away slowly; I swallow it to the pit of my stomach. When I get control of myself, my normal senses return. Sight first.

Juliet says something I don’t catch, then the room fills with applause. As she takes a seat, Jaxass steps up to the podium. He lifts a silver flask to his lips and takes a long sip. Then he places it into his inside pocket and swipes both hands over his lumpy, baldhead. The clapping dies down. He doesn’t speak until the room is still.

“We’ve all been living in hard times.” His voice, usually a soft whisper, becomes a louder whisper.

I sweep my gaze from him to the crowd. The better to see if they’re going to swallow this bullshit. Everyone is leaned forward and tense. As if one escaped word from Jaxass is a matter of life and death.

“We’ve all lost people we love, our sense of security.” He pauses. “Our civilization teeters on a scary cliff of the unknown.”

Heads nod. Tears roll. I surprise myself by not snorting. Instead, I let my gaze flitter over to Sadie. Her arms are crossed over her chest. She glowers at everyone around her with clear frustration.

And I can’t help but smile. Momma didn’t raise a fool. Glancing away before I start laughing, I place a fist under my nose to keep out the smell of BS.

“Well, I am here to tell you that hope is not lost,” Jax says, raising his fist in the air.

Someone in the crowd whoops. He goes on. “It is true that things may never be the same, but what is lost can be recovered.” Two of his fingers stab the podium. “And we will rebuild.”

Applause explodes inside the cafeteria, drowning out all other sound. Their happiness drizzles onto me. It makes for a nice little high.

I haven’t tasted hope like this in a while. Every human feeling in this space swells. Every. Human. Feeling.

Something makes me frown despite the light energy swirling inside my head.

Every human.

But, there have to be others. My kind. I focus my power and reach for them. Seconds trickle away. I have to block out Kiwi and Tripp’s energy. Minutes run out, and I find nothing.

“Residents of Compound Six,” Jax’s voice slithers out again, robbing my focus. “I submit to you that there is a cure beyond our protective walls.”

Stone silence. I glance over at the Colonel. Both his hands are draped on either side of the podium. “But we cannot continue like this. Divided… scared.”

I roll my eyes. He sounds like a poorly done Abe Lincoln.

He steps back and gestures to the three of us, eyes locking on mine. Then, in the loudest voice I’ve ever heard him use, he says, “I present to you… this brave team. A group of people and descendants of the gods who have dedicated themselves to retrieving our cure.” With a smile, he turns back to the awed crowd. “The new world rests on their shoulders.” He points at Tripp. “Tripp Mason.” He stands with a gesture from Jax. “Kiwi Grunder.” Ditto. “And, the hope we’ve been waiting for… Pike Richards.”

My eyes stretch open. It takes me a few seconds to stand with my new teammates. Colonel Jax starts the clapping, and my mind tunnels around that last remark.

The hope they’ve been waiting for? Hell does that even mean? It takes several moments for the applause to still. Jaxass motions for us to sit, and I stumble backward, confused as a mofo. As I lower myself back into my chair, my arm brushes Kiwi’s.

I know that you like to do it.

My body tenses and my eyes dart around the room. I dig my hands into the sides of the chair.

You like to sing. Like to kill. Want to kill now, don’t you?

I try shaking the voice out of my head.

I see you. You like it. Crave it.

My fingers press into my temples, hard. Like the action will drive whatever the hell it is out.

But—maybe you can’t live with yourself. Maybe you should kill--

My jaw clenches.

Yourself. Do it. Do it now. Do it. Now.

A scream punches its way up from my gut and slams the walls. Blood red falls across my vision. I dig my nails into my face and start to rock. I must look like I’m up batshit nuts creek. And I try to stop, but something has put me under.

In the back of my mind I know it’s an attack. With another pained howl, I grunt and push back, hard.

And again. Until finally, the red floats away like droplets of blood.

There is no way to tell how long everyone has been gaping at me. Clearing my throat, I lower my hands to my sides. Masks of horror paint all their faces, which I get. But I can’t think of shit to say so we sit in thick silence together.

My gaze snaps over to Kiwi. She’s looking over at me. Then, her lips curl with a half-smile. My eyes narrow.

Shit on a limp dick. It was her crazy ass. Light footsteps interrupt how much I was just about to hate her. I look up at Colonel Jax.

“Are you okay, son?”

Son, huh? That’s unnecessary. I manage a tight grin.

“Yes, sir.” I keep my voice low, so that only we can hear. “Must be a little PTSD, ya know, from my time in the Pit.”

Crinkles set in beside his narrow eyes when he smiles. Without a word, he nods and returns to his place in the center of the stage.

I try not to glance at Kiwi as people set up trays in front of us. Hushed conversation fills the room, and Colonel Jax announces it’s time to eat.

Biting the inside of my lip, I lean back and listen to the clatter of forks hit trays and gulps from people drinking. It fades into the background, and I just sit. And stare.

My gaze settles on a tall, muscular dude. I notice the bulging tattoo on this throat. It bobs up and down on his Adam’s apple.

It’s an equal armed cross.

A symbol I know real well.

A symbol of purity. A cross to separate us from them.

My eyes slide up his beefy throat and lock onto his gray eyes. His eyes are locked on me too, burning like drugs injected into muscle. The longer our gazes meet, the harder the lines in his face get.

Yeah, I know that look.

Means he wants to step to me. Do something violent.

A smile stretches my lips wide. I flash him all the teeth.

His eyes turn to slits and I wink at him.

It’s worth it. The fury on his face flushes him sunburned red. His mouth opens and closes like a fish that can’t figure out a bigger fish. I feel the emotion rolling off him. He can’t stand to look at me anymore. Finally, he looks away, leaps up and storms out of the cafeteria, not bothering to bus his tray.

I chuckle until my eyes dart over to Sadie. She’s not eating, either. Her mouth is turned down in a frown, and she just stares. Then she shakes her head. I slump back into my chair. She’s right. Fuck am I doing here? The buzz of chitchat makes my head pound. I stare as Sadie makes a point of looking around at the crowd.

And that’s when something clicks in my brain.

Something I realized earlier. They are all human. Each one of them.

It makes no sense. I know there are more of us here. I heard their wails in the Pit…

I close my eyes. No.

No way.

An image of the equal armed cross, a symbol these people piss all over, bobs inside my head.

What lie to Jaxass tell?

We can’t live divided.

Yet, here we are.

I’m still deep in thought as the cafeteria empties. When I finally move again, I gaze over at Colonel Jax and point at him.

“I have words.” I smile. “They want some alone time with you.”

* * *

I tap my fingers against my knees in the empty cafeteria. All that remain are the Colonel and Juliet. They stand several feet away, speaking in low tones. By the time they stop I’ve tapped two hundred and thirty-eight times. I force myself to quit, then wrap my hand around my thigh to lessen the temptation.

I glance over just as Juliet starts heading toward me, fingers rested lightly on her side arm. She pauses in front of me, peers down, and reaches into a pouch on her belt. My eyes widen when she pulls out a syringe.

“Pike, I need you to hold out your arm.”

I shrink back. “The hell for?”

Her eyes flicker back to my face and she waits.

Gulping down a dry patch of nerves, I study the liquid swimming inside. Light blue, and it is in no way getting into my veins.

“It’s an infusion of monkshood.” She swings her hair over her shoulder.

I raise an eyebrow. “And… why would I let you inject me with that?”

While she stares down at me, unmoved, I try to burn her with my gaze. For people that want nothing to do with us, they know their shit.

Well, I guess that shouldn’t be a shocker. Know thy enemy and all that crap. I hesitate because a monkshood injection will magically sedate my black ass. It’s not a good time, not as bad as nightshade, but that’s not exactly a silver lining.

I shake my head. “No thanks.”

“It’ll wear off in ten minutes.” She sniffs. “And I’m sure you can understand that I can’t leave you alone with the leader of this compound without taking precautions.” Her head tilts to the side. “So, take it or this conversation doesn’t happen.”

Fuck my life.

I shoot a hateful look at Jaxass, then glance back at Juliet. My jaw clenches as I nod and pull up my right sleeve. She squeezes a latex strip around my bicep, taps my arm at the crease of my elbow, and then slides the needle in.

I wince when she pushes in the infusion. An icy burn tears up my arm, then ripples of pain burst to the rest of my body. Tears pool in my eyes. I struggle for air that burns my chest.

The room swims in front of me like a bad acid trip.

“That’ll give you ten minutes.” Juliet’s voice warps in my ears. I shut my eyes as her feet thunder away from us.

I feel like I’m buried under a crap ton of ice. Reaching up, I cover my eyes and try to pull it together.

My head starts to steady, not much, but enough. Jax clears his throat. I drop my hands and try to turn my head. After a few minutes, I finally manage to twist my body in his direction.

He’s seated in a chair across from me, leaned over, hands clasped in a ball.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Richards?”

I struggle to keep my eyes open. To meet his calm stare. This, I manage, but the only other thing I seem capable of is panting and sweating.

I hold up my hand and fingers streak across my vision. I blink, then stare. As I lower it, Colonel Jax leans back and crosses his legs.

It’s a warped, alpha dog move.

And that’s the point. I shake my head again and force my thoughts pass the burn.

“You can… Arrange for us to be in a room without this shit in my veins.” My voice slurs, but insulting him helps clear the infusions effects, namely to repeal curses.

Might not be able to hurt him, but I can do something else. The thought presses a weak smile to my lips. I clear my throat loudly.

“Eight more minutes, Mr. Richards.”

I nod. Right. I get to it.

“Unless you let all the people you’ve got locked in that Pit out, I walk.”

He laughs, a hoarse humorless laugh and rests his fingers on the side of his face. “Now, that simply isn’t true.”

I cock my head sideways. “Bet it.” I flash every tooth I have.

Jax uncrosses his legs and leans toward me. “Need I remind you…”

“Yeah, yeah.” I put my hand up to stop whatever threat is about to fall out of his face. My body feels a little lighter. Some of the ice is lifting, making it easier to move. To think. Leaning over, I match his posture.

“I call bullshit.” I stab the air between us with a finger. “See, I think you need me. Matter fact, I’m betting you’ll do a lot more for me than you wanna admit.”

Anger flashes in his eyes, which please me. I fold my arms and scrutinize him while the monkshood slowly lifts out of my muscles.

After that initial rush of anger, his eyes go blank. Face immobile. He starts to button up his jacket. Then, he cracks his knuckles.

By now the winter chill biting down on my power is more of a shiver. Juliet was generous about that ten minutes.

Good.

After a few more moments of waiting, Jax taps his wristwatch and raises it to his mouth.

“Juliet.”

Seconds later the doors squeal open. I shift my gaze and follow as Juliet saunters to the platform. She stops at the bottom step and looks at Jax only.

“Have the staff prepare thirty rooms.” His gaze sweeps back toward me. His expression is relaxed. I don’t feel anger from him. Or anything negative for that matter.

“Then, have the prisoners in the Pit assimilated into the general population.” He stands fluidly. “And, take Mr. Richards with you when it’s cleared.”

Juliet huffs. “Sir, you can’t possibly…”

Without another word, he glides down the steps and sweeps across the room. “To more tolerant times,” he calls back before ducking out of the cafeteria.

Juliet stares at me, then jerks her head to the doors. “Shall we?”

I stand and go down the steps, then follow her out. As we head down the hall she shoots me a smile.

“I have a feeling this isn’t going to go the way you want.”

I match her grin. “Keep talking, bitch. That monkshood is out of my system.”

7

Sweat beads up on my forehead as soon as we get to the Pit. With a groan, I cover my nose and mouth, knowing full well it won’t block the moist, foul chemical smell suffocating the narrow corridor.

As I trudge behind Juliet through rows of cages, I can almost feel the cage I was locked in as we pass it on the left. My eyes drop to the aged, rocky floor. I run into Juliet’s back, and glance up. She’s shuffling from one side of the Pit to the other, pressing in numbers to the keypads.

Sheets of glass shoot up, one after the other, in alternating sides of the hall. Bodies stumble out of cages and stand beside them. This happens until we reach the end of the hall.

Juliet opens the last cage and a figure darts out and throws her arms around my waist. I lift my hands, glancing around, as the girl sobs into my chest.

“Shh,” I say, reaching down to pat her scarred, shaved head. I catch a glimpse of Juliet reach for her waist and my mouth falls open.

She jams a Taser into the girl’s neck, and she collapses onto the floor.

“Hey, what the fuck?” I yell over the buzzing voices now swimming through the Pit.

“You were instructed to stand by your cell until further instruction,” Juliet says to the convulsing mound on the floor. I shake my head, then bend over the girl.

She probably used to be beautiful. Her skin is lined with scars and grime. With a smile, I reach for her hand and look into her sunken eyes.

She’s a Spirit. I feel it right away. I plant my feet, preparing to help her up. A rumble rings out from behind me. Juliet clears her throat.

“Return to your position, C6-14, or I’ll have to administer another dose,” she says.

I roll my eyes, sliding one hand under the Spirit with a smile. She gazes back up at me and tightens up, resisting my attempt to lift her.

Her eyes widen briefly. I frown. Then, the Spirit rolls around me, and darts an arm out. I spin in time to see the Spirit throw both hands around Juliet’s ankles. I panic, not sure what this is. An attempt to take down an Enforcer. Can’t say I blame her.

I push myself up with my hands and gape down at her. Rumbling footsteps close in, forming a circle around the three of us.

The Spirit’s eyes shimmer, pulling me into their depths and locking me down. A hand clamps my shoulder. I’m dragged back. The dark Pit swells with power.

I know what she is. A water nymph. A rush of wind knocks me back. Juliet vibrates on her feet. I grab the nearest body and force my way back to her.

A glint of silver flashes across my vision. The metal blade sings through the air.

“No!” I throw myself at Juliet, trying to grab the sword.

A group of Enforcers hold me back. Juliet swings down, kneels over and straightens with the nymph’s head in her free hand.

Time slows. My heart drums in my ears. I can’t move. I can only stare. Blood trickles from the girl’s head, along with strings of flesh. The blood encircles Juliet’s pale arm. She hands the head to me, and then a group of Enforcers go in for the rest of her.

They lift her headless body and carry her out, but it doesn’t reach my mind. It feels more like a nightmare.

I gaze at Juliet’s blade as she wipes it on her coveralls. When she looks up at me, I force my lips together. Everything in me wants to take her then and there.

I flex my neck muscles, trying to control myself.

She lifts an eyebrow. The gesture feels like a triple fucking dog dare. I give her my best poker face. And I block out all the pain, outrage, and hate around us.

Juliet nods, then turns and stares down at everyone in the Pit. She gives a rundown of the rules, with me behind her, like a good fucking puppy.

God, I want to kill her.

She claps, and then turns to me. “This opportunity is part of the C6 initiative to work with descendants. Pike Richards is going to head this effort. Any words?”

I glare and shake my head.

The Spirit’s blood is still on her hands. It splashes on her pants in a red and yellow mosaic. Her blood—her essence--is still running down the hall floor, marked with footprints.

I manage to look at the rest of the descendants. “Follow the rules ‘cause they’ll kill you for it, and damn quick.”

She flips her hair. “Time to move, Richards.”

I stomp my feet to wake up my limbs and start back down the hall. We’re almost at the end when someone grabs me. I turn left, toward the hand on my shoulder.

“Why?” a sturdy looking male whispers to me. His grip is strong, but not aggressive.

Another Spirit. No time to feel for what kind. I use the few moments I have down here to look at him.

To actually look at him. To focus my gaze at him. After staring at me a few moments, he gives a slight nod. Gods, I hope he understands.

“Richards,” Juliet shouts. “Come on.”

He squeezes my shoulder right before I walk off. As I trail behind Juliet, climb into the elevator, and return to the upper levels, I reach up to touch my shoulder.

I can still feel where he grabbed me. I can still feel the silent understanding between us.

That quiet moment is the only thing that keeps me upright.

* * *

I really hate trying to wash off blood. It’s sticky as hell. Clings to the skin like maple syrup, which isn’t fun enough to justify what a pain in the ass it is to get off. The fact that I’ve used my rationed shower for the day doesn’t help.

I stand over the sink with the water on melt-your-skin-hot, and scrub deep blue blood off my hands. Literally and figuratively.

Out motherfuckin’ spot, out.

The water shuts off because it’s been running more than one minute. My jaw tenses. I shake out my raw hands, and then rub them against a towel next to the sink. Then I swipe the towel up and down my face, trying to get as much blood off as possible.

Draped in the darkness behind my towel, Juliet sneaks into my thoughts. Her. Holding that innocent girl’s head like it was a prize-winning pumpkin at the county fair.

I wish I could scrub that image off the surface of my brain. That, and the guilt. Should have kept my damn mouth shut. Now I realize why Jax was so calm.

He had no problem letting the prisoners from the Pit. And he doesn’t plan on making their stay on the main grounds easy. I shuffle backward and sit on the side of the bathtub.

Staring to the other corner of the room, I try to un-see the nymph dying. Dying because of me.

Not that it’s a first.

Still, it bugs me. Not that killing in general doesn’t bug me. Well, I’m pretty sure it does, but it might not.

That does bother me. Being born to like it. Being cursed to do it.

Ball salad, I need a drink. Or several.

A crash makes me jump. I jerk my head toward my room and bolt to my feet. Creeping to the door, I grip the doorknob and strain to hear through it. All is quiet. Slowly, I turn the knob.

Knocking makes me stop. Seconds later, I finish turning the knob and ease the door open a crack, just enough to peer though.

A tangle of gray, like still shots of a thunderstorms progress. My eyes narrow. I push the door further. Shades of gray colors flash again. After a few seconds I realize it’s the spread of wings.

It’s a bird.

It’s my frickin’ bird.

For the first time since I saw Sadie alive I feel light. I shove the door open.

“Oscar?”

A tiny head twists around and stares at me with two beady, black eyes. I inch toward him, face stretching into a huge smile. He turns all the way around, spans his wings, and rushes into the air. Then he swoops back down.

Right at my face.

Talons dig into my cheeks.

“Ah!” I swipe at him and stumble back. He swoops back into the air, only to bank left, and zips down at me again. And again.

“Godamnit!”

He answers with a few more pecks on my neck and forehead. I swat him back with a grunt. “Cut the shit.”

As he floats back to the desk, he makes a low, sputtering noise. Like a lawn mower engine. His feet click when he lands. Then, he turns his back and starts shoving sunflower seeds down his beak.

Ain’t this a bitch?

This isn’t exactly the reunion I had in mind. I shuffle closer to him and clear my throat.

“I haven’t seen your ass in four months, and that’s the welcome I get?”

His answer is the tap-tap of his beak against wood.

“Wow.” I wipe a hand across my mouth.

I’m used to giving the silent treatment, not getting it. This is bush league. I wave him off and trudge to the dresser to pull out clean clothes. Once I’m out of the bloody coveralls, I turn and walk up behind Oscar.

“What’s with you?”

He shakes out his feathers. My eyes narrow. I lean over and flick him in the back of the head.

“Not a good time for your douchery.”

I wait a few seconds.

Nothing.

Some best friend. Little bastard birdie was the only nice thing the gods ever gave me. Now he feels like any other familiar I’ve ever met.

I wave him off, and then stomp pass him and flop on the bed. He raises his head and I glance away. I won’t lie. The shit hurts. I feel the way about my parrot that most rich white people feel about their dogs.

Hurts like a ball pinch.

He goes back to tapping the desk, and I try to ignore it. Try to be hard. The tapping just grows more consistent, making it more difficult to block out. Then, I realize it’s a pattern. I roll my eyes.

“Oh, just talk.”

More tapping. Okay, if we’re going to clear the air, I have to play his little avian games. Perking my ears, I listen to the patterns. When the message becomes clear I shake my head, confused.

“Leave you?” My voice comes out in a near growl. “I didn’t leave you. I was man napped in the middle of the night. Then locked in a cage for months!” Fury boils in my gut. I toss him the finger. “Pull your head out of your ass.”

His head lowers. Light chirping meets my ears.

“Really?” I sigh and sit up. “How am I the bad guy?”

He rolls his neck and looks back up. We sit there a while in quiet. He starts to whistle. This time, the tune sounds familiar. When I recognize it, I bite down a smile.

“Oh, no.” I cross my arms. “I’m not that easy.”

“And I’d, never thought I’d feel this way…”

My mouth twitches. He sounds just like Dione Warwick, real talk. One of Oscar’s talents is imitating all voices.

And I mean all voices.

“Don’t,” I say, clearing my throat.

“And as far as I’m concerned, I’m glad I got chance to say that I do believe I love you…”

That gets a real smile out of me, wide and cheesy as all hell.

“And if, I should ever go away, well then close your eyes and try to feel the way we do today…”

I pat my shoulder and he swoops over and perches there. My fingers ruffle his feathers.

“Missed you bro.”

He squawks.

I sigh. “Rough day, Oz.”

Light chirps buzz my ear.

“Got a girl…a Spirit killed today. A water Spirit, too. They’re the only ones that don’t act like their shit doesn’t stink.”

Another familiar melody fills the room. Some blues number. I lean back against the headboard and listen. Try to let it go. Try to find something that at least looks like peace of mind. My eyelids start to feel heavy. I yawn and start to close them.

A loud boom on the door jerks me from drowsiness.

“Who is it?” Oscar calls, sounding just like me. I give him a look and swipe my hands down my face. The banger doesn’t answer, just knocks louder.

With a sigh, I crawl off the bed. “Coming!” I shuffle across the room and pull the door open. It’s Shoestring. Well, Tripp. But that’s what I’ve decided to call him.

“What’s up, man?” I let the door open all the way and step back.

He points his finger at Oscar. “See you two have been reunited.”

Oscar chirps. “And it feels so good…”

My eyes roll up into my head. “Us, and all of Motown’s greatest.”

Tripp laughs, then his face twists into an expression of concern. “I came to check on you.” His hands plant on his hips. “I heard what happened to Sonya.”

I raise a brow.

“In the Pit?”

Sonya was her name. My mind replays Juliet decapitating her over and over. I shake my head like my brain is an Etch-a-Sketch, and moving it up and down can blank the slate.

I gaze past him and stare for a few awkward moments. A clicking noise draws my attention back to Tripp. My eyes dart to the doorknob he’s fiddling with.

He stops and asks, “Is there anything I can do?”

I turn and stroll back across the room. “Nah, thanks, Shoestring.”

He saunters in and leans back against the wall. “You sure? Blowjob? All you have to do is ask.”

I snigger. “Does that actually work on dudes?”

“Only all the time.” He grins.

Sitting at the desk chair, I tilt my head to the side. “That’s amazing.”

Tripp laughs again, then his expression shifts back to concerned. “No, but seriously. You need anything at all?”

I shrug. “Unless you’re a beer or a time machine, I don’t think you can help.”

We both get quiet, so Oscar fills the silence with chirping. After too long of a pause, my mind starts trying to think up a polite way to tell Tripp to get the hell out. I just want to be alone with my shitty thoughts. His fingers snap.

“Not a beer or a time machine, but do have something that can help.” He pushes himself off the wall. “Come on.”

I shake my head. “Nah, man. Really, I’m good.”

He snorts. “I think you’ve been alone long enough.” His hands wave me toward the door. “Oscar can come too. Come on now.”

I sigh. Clearly, I’m not going to be getting rid of my new bestie. So, I drag my ass off the chair, turn to sweep the rest of Oscar’s sunflower seeds off the desk and into my front pocket, then turn toward Tripp.

“Fine, where we going?”

“Surprise,” he says before ducking out the door.

I follow, swinging the door shut behind me.

“Not really a surprise person,” I say as we head down the hall.

“You’ll like this one,” he says over the clomping of our feet on the stairs.

I roll my eyes and follow him down the front walkway and toward the front door. Once we’re outside I squint to adjust my eyes to the lighting change. The artificial sky draped across C6 is dimming, so it must be nearing dinnertime.

Dinnertime. I remember that being a thing.

We trudge down the front stairs, and Tripp leads me around to the back of the house. I take in my surroundings and reminisce about orange chicken. When dinnertime was still a thing, I would frequent this Chinese joint smack dab in the middle of the ghetto. Their orange chicken was worth the risk of getting mugged. Even as a memory, my mouth waters.

Once we make it to the back of the house, my gaze sweeps across a long field of brown grass. Some two hundred feet away, a yard littered with armored vehicles sit behind a low, bolted gate. My gaze darts ahead, to the alcove Shoestring is headed for. Another set of stairs leads toward a small space on the basement level of our house. Looks almost like a baseball dugout.

My feet pound down the stairs. Tripp sits on a short, concrete bench at the bottom. I stand in front of him, glancing around.

“Hell is this?” I ask, resting my vision on Tripp.

He grins and reaches into his pocket. “This,” he says, holding up a small, plastic bag with a greenish-purple herb bundled inside. “Is a bag of happy. Not as good as a time machine, but better than a beer.”

Oscar nips at my ear. I grab some sunflower seeds from my pocket and hold up my palm. He swoops toward it and eats from my hand.

After I get him right, I focus on Tripp and his little bag. Leaning over, I spot what looks like glitter sprinkled all over the herb. I squint.

“Is this…”

“Orc weed,” Tripp says, pulling a smooth, green pipe from his other pocket. “Some of the last in the world, too.”

Straightening up, I whistle. I’m impressed. I’ve heard things about Orc drugs. Claims of it helping solve formerly elusive mysteries of the universe. Claims of it being used in cancer research facilities to give scientists cutting edge ideas. Never been able to get near the shit, because only Orcs grow it.

And if an Orc doesn’t want to sell you something, you don’t argue. You shut the hell up. When he starts to pack the bowl, I turn and place the rest of Oscar’s seeds on the bottom step. Then, I wave him off. Once he’s eating, I turn back to him.

His arms are extended, holding out the bowl in one, a lighter in the other. “My people call this the answer.”

I raise an eyebrow. “The answer to what?”

“Name it,” he says, waving the bowl and lighter at me. I hesitate, remember where I am, then reach for the bowl. Holding the pipe to my lips, I pause with my thumb on the lighter.

“Come on Pike, man up.” He grins.

I narrow my eyes at him. “It’s not that, just haven’t done this shit since college. And even them, I’d burn regular shit.”

He chuckles.

I suck in a deep breath, then light the pipe and press it to my lips. It doesn’t even burn on the way in. I inhale the smoke to the bottom of my lungs, then hold my breath.

All it takes is one hit and I...

Am something else. At first I think I’m high—higher than shit—but I’ve been high. I’ve never been this. This is some other shit.

Colors brighten, snapping everything into focus. Green leaves on towering trees wave to me. The wind that rustles them sings. Even the air, so stagnant before, goes in like it’s been filtered through a machine.

Yeah, this is some other shit.

Sure, the world is over, and I got someone killed, and I’m off the no killing wagon—whatever fuck I had left to give was gone as soon as I inhaled.

If I were gay, I’d throw Shoestring a good dicking. He’s a genius. And so am I.

I wonder if I can cure the berzerkers. Screw the C6 plan. I can think of a cure for the flesh eaters outside our gates.

No, I’m thinking small.

I can cure… All the things.

And I will. Right after this walk.

I stumble, and jerk my head right and left. When the hell did I start walking? Where am I even going? My gaze drops to my feet for proof of movement because I can’t feel anything.

They damn sure are moving. Right, then left, then right.

Nice.

“Something wrong?”

I lift my gaze toward Shoestring’s voice. He’s a few feet in front of me. I shake my head. Gray is sweeping on the left side of my vision. A feather light touch on my ear.

Oscar.

I love my frickin’ bird.

“Hit us up with some walking music,” I say, the words slurring from somewhere else. Looking around, I try to locate who said it and how they knew what I was just about to say.

Oscar starts to chirp the melody to some old school rap song. Can’t think of the name. Nothing matters but the beat though—

That’s what I should have done. Created a rap label. Should have passed up on my scholarship to University of Georgia.

I could have been Jay-Z, boats and fine women, instead of—

Something soft and mushy oozes in between my toes. I jerk to a stop and look down. My toes wiggle and a few of them pop. When did I take off my shoes?

Man, Orcs smoke some good shit.

That reminds me of an epiphany I had about Tripp earlier. I glance up to find him regarding me with amusement in his eyes. I point at him.

“You. Are an Orc. That’s why you’re mad strong.” I smile at how clever I am, then start walking again. Tripp chuckles. The sound echoes and swirls around me like a distant bell.

“Yeah, I told you that five minutes ago.”

“You don’t look like any I saw on TV.” I glance sidelong at him, eyebrow raised.

“I’m liminal. Not all monsters can shift, and looking human makes it easier for everyone.”

I reach my arm toward him, and two more float out beside them. Shit, I have three arms now?

Now that’s a keep kids off drugs commercial.

Ignoring my extra limbs, I clap his shoulder. “You may be a monster, but you’re all right with me.”

He reaches up and squeezes my hand. Tingles jump all over my skin.

“Thanks.”

I take another step. My foot slips and Tripp reaches out to steady me. I blink the kaleidoscope of a world into focus. The front of the house edges into my swimmy vision.

“I think I need to sit.”

His grip on my arm tightens, then I’m guided down to the bottom step. It feels like a cloud is under my ass.

“It’s almost dinner time.” Tripp’s voice, amused.

I roll my gaze up and nod at him.

Without looking at me, he says, “That was a good thing you did. For the prisoners in the Pit.”

Orc grass still has my give-a-shit out of order, but it’s not that absolute not give-a-fuck from—

However long ago.

Curiosity buzzes my brain. “Why was it good? Sonya is dead, and these Enforcer fucks aren’t going to treat them equally. Probably push them to break the rules. In the end, I accomplished jack shit.”

A smile stretches his boney face. “Not true. Every action accomplishes something. And it’s good to know that I’m fighting with a good man.”

Orcs are known for their Zen like calm. And I just smoked the reason that stereotype is true.

I snigger.

“I’m not good. Not a man. And this isn’t a fight.” I lean against the side railing. “And, if it is, it’s not one I want to fight. Not on the team that drafted my ass anyway.”

“Then why did you give in?” Tripp lowers himself next to me. “Just to save Sadie?”

I shrug.

“You must really love her.”

Darkness rattles in my head. The drugs must be wearing thin, because something like guilt twists my gut.

“I owe her.” I turn my head and study him. “What about you? Why are you here?”

He smiles. “I volunteered.”

My eyes widen. “You... Why?”

Looking out at the compound, Tripp shrugs. He doesn’t answer right away. My thoughts float upward, with cartwheels and jazz hands, for what feels like a few hours. Tripp clears his throat. I dart my eyes over at him. He’s still staring ahead.

As I follow his gaze, he says, “Out there, the panic was… That kind of shit happens in history and movies. Being in that kind of reality… without government telling everyone what to do. With that sickness spreading. Turning people into a new species….”

He cracks his knuckles.

“The compounds went up, and I and the rest of my tribe were sent to Compound Four. They guarded the walls, and I signed up for search and rescue squads. When they announced a confirmed cure, and that it was being sent to Compound Six for organization and execution, I signed right up.”

His face darkens and he casts his gaze down.

“After gathering so many of them up… The ones that just stopped doing anything but waste away. The ones that would just roam around for days, feet bleeding and covered with bruises. Even the berserkers, ripping through everything they could, including their own families… I had to help stop it. I have no desire to live in this world.”

After several seconds of quiet, he turns his head toward me. A weak smile settles on his face. “My tribe disowned me, so we better pull this off.”

I smile. “What is it anyway? The cure.”

He shakes his head. “No clue. All I know is we can’t get it without you.”

My mouth folds down into a frown. “Wonder why that is.” Several theories bounce around in my dome piece, but none stick around for long enough to make sense out of.

“My guess is power. You don’t go through the extremes they went through to force a guy to cooperate unless he has a skill set you need for a mission to work.”

The frown on my face deepens. “All I do is kill people. Lots of other descendants do it better.”

“You kill people in a specific way.”

I shake my head. “Yeah... but unless the cure is a lost soul, I’m not going to be too helpful.” I drum my fingers against my knees.

“Well, Juliet is supposed to brief us tomorrow.” Tripp stretches his arms overhead. Footsteps shuffle in our direction; I glance up as Kiwi stands on the other side of Tripp.

I lick my lips. Kiwi, bet she’s good enough to eat.

Ha. Like, the fruit. I scan her up and down while she ignores me.

“We’re supposed to eat in the main hall tonight. Show of unity or something. Wanna walk over together?”

The steps creak when he stands up.

“Sure,” he says, then nudges me with a toe. “Pike?”

I wave them off. “Nah, go ahead without me. I’ll holler at you when I get there.”

He nods, then holds up his skinny arm for Kiwi. She takes it and they stroll away. Muttered speech and laughter float back to me, until they roam out of hearing range. When they do, I glance at the fake sky and lean back.

I send Oscar off, and he takes to the air in a rush of muted silver. Alone, I enjoy feeling empty. It’s a good empty. No monsters to disturb the hollow space inside.

I can’t remember the last time I felt peace like this. Even though the serenity isn’t real, I sit with it as long as I can just in case this is my last chance at it.

8

When I make it to the cafeteria, it buzzes with activity and speech. Keeping close to the entrance doors, I peer through the movement of bodies and try to locate Sadie. When I don’t see her anywhere, I start down the middle walkway, scanning the crowd on both sides of the room as I go.

Something brushes my side, and small groups of people dart pass me. I sidestep to the edge of the walkway so I’m not a roadblock and continue my search.

Finally, I spot her three tables down, seated with a group of kids that look her age. I break into a huge grin. Nice to know there are still kids running around.

Sadie doesn’t seem as happy as I am with her company. She’s the posture of attitude, arms crossed, lips puckered. I start toward her, because clearly she needs a reminder of how the hell she was raised. She glances up almost as soon as I close in on her and stares.

The look gives me pause. Her eyes dart around the room, then jab into me. She does this several times, until I glance around to find out what she’s trying to tell me.

It’s subtle at first. The left side of the room. The right side. The left line to get your food. The right one. An invisible line is set up, humans on one side, and descendants on the other.

At the front of the room, two crudely painted signs announce the same thing.

Out of the Pit, but still not out of the compound.

This is some separate but equal shit.

My gaze rests back on Sadie. Then I avert my eyes and trudge over to my line. I feel her glare on my back the entire time. Shuffling ahead inches at a time, I start to wish for more Orc grass.

This is bullshit.

I mean, I’m used to being regarded with fear. I’m a six-foot tall black man, so yeah, been around soft racism back before this. You know, the kind of thing where white guys act surprised that I pay my bills and graduated Summa Cum Laude.

But this is some before the civil rights era mess. But it’s not my color these people fear. It’s the myth. The make believes.

I get my tray and turn around, intending to find Tripp, only to freeze in front of the room. The memory of Sonya’s head in my hands stab at the inside of my chest. I glance at the descendent side. Several pairs of eyes study me in curiosity.

I glance back at Sadie.

She shakes her head.

Yeah, I’m a shit role model. Not like this should be news to her. Ignoring the contempt-filled glare she’s shooting me, I sit down at the nearest descendent table. Everyone goes silent. I bend over my tray and start to eat.

Movement from the other side snaps my eyes up. Some kind of instinct, as well. Sadie is walking across the room. Across the line. To my side of the cafeteria. After one last hate glare, she sits next to another table of kids. The make believes her age.

My eyes dart around. I make out a few whispers, some surprised speech from the ones that notice. For several tense seconds I wait for her to be forced back across the line. Keeping my eyes trained on her, brightness lights up her face.

Nothing happens and the tension eases out of my muscles. Not that it stops me from keeping an eye on her. She’s leaned next to the little girl next to her, a powder white bald shorty with silver eyes. One of the graces. I can sense her energy right away. It’s a Muse thing. Graces, though, they’re the best of my kind.

In that moment, I’m so frickin’ proud of that kid. She has bigger balls than me. And an allergy to injustice that’s annoying, but impressive.

Fuck it.

I stand and trek to the table. My tray plops down before my butt hits the chair. Again, the table goes silent. Again, I ignore it and eat. I glance up at Sadie. Her bright grin is trained on me now.

I wink, then open my mouth to greet her when the lanky kid I sat next to leans against my arm. Slowly, I turn to look at him. He pushes his glasses up his nose.

“Wow, I’ve never seen a siren before.” He leans even closer until I think he might try to climb inside. I place a finger on his forehead and push him back.

“Geez, kid. Personal space.”

He pouts and slumps back into his chair. With a chuckle, I glance back over at Sadie, who’s twisted around in her chair whispering to a wiry little girl with pigtails. The girl grabs her, trying to pull her up. Sadie snatches her arm away. The girl stumbles back.

“Back off, Ash!”

My eyes dart around. More people are starting to notice us. I let out a low whistle… not the focused kind, just a regular one to get their attention.

“Scram, shorty.” I jerk my head toward the other side of the room.

The girl Sadie was talking to, Ashley I assume, eyes widen, and she backs slowly away, lip trembling. A shot of fear storms my system. Before I can react to it, the girl spins around and darts to the nearest Enforcer.

I sigh.

It’s about to go down.

“Ugh, I can’t stand that little bitch.” Sadie slams down her fist. The table vibrates.

My eyes don’t leave the little bitch as I mutter, “Watch. Your. Mouth.”

The little bitch points at me, directing a buzz cut my way.

Did I say I was happy to see kids running around?

“Sadie, get back to your side of the room,” I say under my breath. “Now.”

“I’m not afraid of these fascist fucks.”

I roll my eyes. So much stupid bravery. “Do what I say.”

Her chin thrusts up. “You’re not my dad.”

I’m about to hit her with my serious face, when a group of two Enforcers close in on her seat. Two more walk up behind me. My entire body tenses. I push my tray to the side.

“You need to return to your designated table,” one says to her in a gruff voice.

Her face twists into a sarcastic smirk.

Just do what he says, Sadie. Just go.

“And, if I don’t?”

“Shut up,” I say in a terse voice.

“You are in violation of Compound Six rules of conduct. Return to your…”

“Why don’t you shove your rules of conduct—” Sadie begins, and I close my eyes. Goddammit. “ —right up your ass?” Her laughter booms around the silent room.

I close my eyes. There is the echo of static mutters and grunting. Slowly, I open my eyes and stand up.

“No need to call your buddies.” I nod to buzz cut’s wrist comm. “I’ll take her back to her side. It’s all gravy.”

As I back away, I lock eyes with Sadie. My stare says I’ll mess her up if she doesn’t zip it. I knock into the two Enforcers behind me. There is a thud. Something crashes to the floor. I twist around.

The little girl that pointed me out is sprawled on the linoleum. Her face screws up, and she starts to wail. Footsteps close in on me. I turn back around.

The Enforcer she mouthed off to jerks Sadie to her feet. An alarm blares. A curtain of deep blue drapes across my vision.

* * *

Armed guards enter the room at a running march. Descendants are jerked to the floor. Their faces press to their sides. Many of their hands cover the heads. On the other side, guards usher people out of the cafeteria.

Speakers set in the corners of the room announce that this is a lockdown.

An Enforcer snaps my arms behind my back. I make it easy for him, all the while my eyes are trained on Sadie. She jerks away from buzz cut. In response, he grabs her again, slams her to the table, and twists one arm behind her back.

A wide smile stretches across my face.

Buzz cut done fucked up.

Sadie whimpers. “Let go of me!”

I lean forward, bringing whoever’s got me from behind almost off his feet, then snap my head back. My head pounds into the guard. He lets out a pained shriek and thuds to the ground. I whirl around and slam my boot down into the side of his jaw. Darting out, I slide across a table and clamp my hands around the neck of the Enforcer holding Sadie down.

“Get. Your. Fucking hands. Off her.”

His eyes bulge. Slowly, he lets go. Sadie pops up.

“Come over here. Get behind me.” I tighten my grip on this asshat’s neck.

Sadie blurs past the side of my vision and stands behind me. I tuck buzz cut under my arm and force him in front of me, hands still clenched around his neck.

Glancing up, I notice a crap ton of guards have their weapons trained at me.

“Let him go and get down on your belly,” someone calls out to me.

I grin. “That’s a no go.”

“You have ten seconds to comply.”

“I just want to take her to her room. Ease up.”

Movement from the floor catches my attention. I turn my head. An Enforcer is lifting the powder white grace from the floor. He trains a gun to her head.

“Now, Mr. Richards,” he says.

The girl’s eyes widen in fear.

“Let her go!” Sadie cries.

My muscles tense. I glance around, then nod at the guard. I let the buzz cut go. He swings around, gun trained at my forehead.

Sparks of red explode in my vision. I blink, then start to lower myself to the ground.

“Come here, Miss Evans,” the Enforcer that has the grace at gunpoint says.

Sadie glances down at me. I nod, and she inches toward them.

More red sparks float across my sight. Cool metal presses against my temple. I keep my head turned toward Sadie, Enforcer Ass, and the grace.

“This is what happens when you violate rules of conduct.” A glint of silver rips through the air. My heart almost seizes.

He slams the grace down on the table. Another guard comes and holds down her arm. The other one holds a sword to her flesh.

“No.” Sadie bursts into tears. “I won’t do it again.”

My teeth grind together. I start to push up. The red sparks come again.

No. Don’t move. You’re too weak. Stay.

Stay. Why do you kill everyone important? You think you can save her—

I pound my temples with fists, then dart my gaze around the room. My eyes zero in on Kiwi. I raise my eyebrows. Why is she attacking me?

Another flood of red grips my body. I inhale a sharp breath. Push back against her. When I open my eyes, it’s all in blue. I hear a loud smack and jerk my head to the side.

Sadie is running forward, holding the side of her face. The sword swings down toward the grace. Sadie grabs her, throws her to the floor.

I slam an elbow backward into the guard with a gun to my temple, then leap up. His gun explodes. Wind rushes past my ear. Grabbing the gun, I slam it up into his throat, pull it away, and smash it across the face.

I whirl back around. Guards block my view of Sadie. I rush forward.

“Cover your ears!” I pucker up and whistle, then slam my way through the circle of bodies.

* * *

I bend over, panting. A few things fight for my attention at once. Sadie is curled up next to the grace, who’s hands are over her ears. She is next to a growing puddle of blood. Juliet is inside the circle, frozen in place like the ice queen she is. Her vacant eyes stare at me.

I kneel beside Sadie. “You hurt?”

She’s bathed in sweat and trembling. Her lips can’t form words to tell me what they did to her.

The grace looks up, tears in her eyes. “It’s her arm. They took it.” She sniffles. “She just met me. Why would… I’m so sorry.”

My breath hitches in my chest. Sadie’s arm. They couldn’t have cut it off. No way.

The grace nods to the blood soaked bundle in her arms. My eyes shut; rage and other biting emotions swarm me.

I pick Sadie up. “You.” I nod at the nearest guard. “Call the infirmary. She needs to be looked at.”

He taps his wrist com and speaks something I can’t make out into it. Too many thoughts in my head, the main one being that I caused this. I fucked up.

Tripp rushes toward me and holds his hands out. “I’ll take her.”

I nod dumbly. The guard has to pry her cold, shaking body from my arms. The grace Sadie was protecting leaps up.

“I want to go with you. I might… I might be able to help.”

Tripp says something to her, nods at me, then they rush out of the cafeteria. I stand, glancing around for several moments. Finally, I clear my throat.

Pointing at all the descendants on the ground, I say, “You all, get off the floor. Go back to your rooms.”

People shuffle to their feet in intervals and stumble to the door. The ones that can move, that is. Everyone human is mine. Frozen in place by the siren song.

I spy Kiwi rushing toward me and glare down at her. She ignores me and snaps her fingers in front of Juliet.

“What the hell have you done?” Her tone is harsh.

I stare, then lick my lips. “If you don’t want her dead, I suggest you take her out of here now.”

Her eyes spark. With anger? No, frustration.

“You just fucked us,” she says, grabbing Juliet.

I shrug, following them with my gaze until they’re out, behind the double doors.

I start to spin in a small circle. Eyeing each of the guards. Nice, slow circles. I count twelve of them. Seemed like there were more. Doesn’t matter now.

I stop spinning and lean my head back. Then, I shove my power up, from the bottom of my throat, into my head. Once I see it, swirling like a black cyclone of raw fury, I stretch my mouth open wide.

My siren wail shoots into each of the Enforcers one by one. Their eyes swell out of sockets. Two by two, they pop. It makes a wet sound, like grapes exploding. Blood trickles out of those empty holes. Their skins ripple, pressed back onto their skills. Bits of brain and eyeball shoot all over the room, spatter the walls and stain the floor.

When the wail stops, there are no guards left, just a collage of their insides. I step through my artwork and trudge toward the doors. Before I can push them open, a gush of pain explodes at the back of my skull.

It takes my ability to see.

I crash to the floor.

* * *

I come to, handcuffed to a chair. With a grunt, I jerk against the restraints. Cuffs dig into my wrists. I clamp down on my bottom jaw. From the corner of the small, dark room, a throat clears.

Panting, I stop struggling and sweep my gaze toward the noise. Kiwi. She stands there, legs crossed at the ankle and arms over her chest, shaking her head.

“You’re an idiot.”

I smirk at her. “Get me the fuck out of these cuffs.”

She shakes her head. “Can’t do that, not until you tell me if there is any way to save Juliet.”

I stare.

After several moments of my not answering, Kiwi hisses at me. “You need to tell me. Now.”

“Or? You’ll attack me again? You’ll water board me?”

Her eyes narrow. “I didn’t attack on purpose.”

I scoff. “Right.” I jerk against the cuffs again. When I do, energy slices through my angry thoughts. A familiar one. I sniff. Then give Kiwi a huge, fake ass smile.

“Well, in that case. I’ll tell you what I can do for Juliet.”

Her head perks up.

Still smiling, I sense Juliet on the other side of the door. I imagine her standing, the picture of calm, waiting for results. Then, I see her banging her head into the steel-fucking door.

The boom makes Kiwi jump.

“Boom,” I whisper, seeing her do it again. The crack vibrates the door, and gives me a manic energy. I start to laugh.

“You hear that Juliet! That’s what I can fucking do for you!”

My head falls back, and I laugh louder.

There is a low click. My head explodes in agony, then there is more blackness.

* * *

When I come around the second time, I’m swimming in sweat. My head is slumped over my chest. Every breath I take is agony. My throat feels like it’s coated with slime. I try to gulp it down.

Something presses against either side of my face, lifting my head. Kiwi’s pitch eyes stare back at me. For the first time, she doesn’t give me a hateful glare. This time, she looks worried.

“Unless you give me something, I can’t help Sadie. She jumped in front of Axley and lost an arm. Now, Axley can salvage some of the arm, but only if I take them useful information.” She bites her plump lower lip.

For a good length of time, I just stare back.

At length, I clear my throat and ask, “You okay with that? Them using children like poker chips?”

Her eyes narrow. “You killed twelve men tonight. Are you really trying to climb a soapbox?”

I lean back, and her hands fall away. Feeling no need to justify my actions, I stare ahead. “There is a way,” I finally say. “Bring Juliet to me.”

Kiwi backs up a few inches. After sizing me up, she nods, then saunters to the door. It clicks, then opens, and she vanishes from the room.

I wait, slumped over in my chair like a limp dick. There is a numbness building up inside me. I can’t handle the slightest emotion now. Not after failing Sadie.

Again.

I have to figure out a way to do this. To admit that no matter what situation I’m in, I’ll always belong to someone. Free, my life is dependent on people hearing my song. In here, innocent children get mangled to force my obedience.

I have to get my shit together. I have to remember my place.

There is another light click. I don’t look up as the door creaks open. Footsteps thud toward me.

My hands bob up and down, as Kiwi unlocks my handcuffs. I pull my arms around to massage my wrists. Her movement flashes across the side of my vision.

“Explain.” Her voice is firm.

Slowly, I sit up straight and glance over at Juliet. She’s a blank slate. Her eyes are flat and dead. She’s waiting for me to fill her with something.

Not that. Something magical.

“The song of submission,” I say, my voice gnarled and husky.

“What is it?” Kiwi asks.

“The only way to keep her alive.” I glance over at her.

Her eyebrows lift. “I thought once anyone heard the siren song, they were cursed to die.”

I nod. “Most of the time.” My knees pop as I lift myself off the chair. “Depends on the siren.”

Kiwi sucks on her teeth. Her eyes dart between Juliet and me before deciding me.

“What do you have to do?”

I shrug. “A little magic.”

“Will she be hurt?”

Sighing, I scratch my eyebrow with my pinky nail. I almost ask her why she cares, but I don’t give a rat’s ass.

“No,” I say.

“Give me a minute.” She exits the room, leaving me to stare at Juliet.

I tilt my head to the side, scrutinizing her. I wonder how long Kiwi will be gone. My eyes flitter up to the bluish, swollen knot in the middle of her forehead. It makes me wonder if there is anything I can do to her that will make me feel better.

Will killing her make me feel better?

My eyes slide close.

Maybe we’re not so different, Juliet and I.

The door creeks open again, and I sigh relief. Brooding isn’t something I do well. I open my eyes and peer over at Kiwi.

She closes the door behind her gently, like it got fragile. Her eyes wander over to me, then she nods.

“They want you to do it.”

I clench my jaw and nod. Rubbing my hands together, I close the distance between Juliet and I. My fingers perch under her chin, I lift her face toward mine.

“What are you going to do? Make out?”

I shoot Kiwi a glare. She shrugs, backs into a corner, and waves me on.

I turn back to Juliet and start to take in deep, measured breaths. In and out. In and out. I repeat this ritual until my mind is blank. Until no stray thoughts try snake around my brain.

Blood pumping through my ears is all I hear. I use the focused calm to push myself up. To be outside of myself. When I get there, I see the room from all angles. I shove power out of my body.

The air ripples. Energy crashes into the walls. Juliet gasps loudly. I lift her up, outside of herself. The part of her that responded to my call. I lift her up with me, and wrap myself around her, tight.

Then, I tie the knot.

“You are…” I say I in a voice that doesn’t sound shit like me. It thunders like something not human.

“Being,” Juliet says, her eyes swirling with a deep blue spark.

“You are…”

“Becoming.”

“You are…”

“Passing away.” She breathes.

I pause for several seconds, then pull the power back into myself. And back into her.

“Into what?”

“Into your charge.” She bows her head. “I submit to you.”

The room goes still. I back away from her and nod over at Kiwi.

“Alright, it’s all good.”

She’s staring at me, wide eyed and out of breath. “What the hell was that?”

“You wanted her not to die. That’s what that was.”

Kiwi’s eyes narrow. “Why did she say… that she submits to you?”

I sigh, not really in the mood to explain this shit to her. It’s been a long day. I need sleep.

“I enslaved her. Long as we’re connected, she won’t die.” I let out an eye-watering yawn. “I need to see Sadie.”

“You… enslaved her?”

Fuck steak!

I sigh, and nod.

“She needs to be able to make her own decisions.”

I nod again and focus on Juliet. “Whatever you need to do to get this cure, I grant you free will to do it.”

She nods. “I need to go.”

I sweep my arm toward the door.

She turns and shuffles away. Kiwi grasps her at the elbow and turns toward me.

“Sadie will be okay. I can’t get you in to see her until tomorrow. Just…go back to the house.” She sounds tired. I’m with her.

After killing enough men to define a massacre and enslaving a psycho, I’m drained. Soon, I’ll need someone else. But for now, Sadie is safe. I force myself to focus on that. I try not to think of what punishment I’ll endure for enslaving Juliet. Not that I did it on purpose, she was just in the line of fire. I wonder if they even knew I could do it. It’s a gift, if you want to call it that, rare among sirens.

I shake my head.

At least she’s alive, which means we’ll be able to continue our mission, then maybe I can kill her. Slowly.

Shaking myself out of a stupor, I notice that I’m alone. A fact that shouldn’t surprise me because I saw Juliet and Kiwi leave.

I need rest.

I trudge to the door and lean against it for a while. Then, when I work up the energy, I leave the main grounds and head back for the house.

9

Hours later, I catch a second wind and can’t sleep. I almost go find Tripp for more monster dro, but that would disrupt whatever mental gear I’ve shifted to.

I seem to have reached some level of not giving a crap that feels important. It feels like survival, a concept that is becoming less and less likely by the minute.

So, I don’t get high and trip balls. Instead, I go down to the basement of the Fox house and hit the gym.

When most dudes get locked up, they come out more ripped than a mofo. My prison was a little different. I feel weak as hell. And I know I have to get my strength back.

My mind shelves all of the crap: the fact that I got Sadie’s arm hacked off, and the general fucked-up-edness that is my life. I shelve it at the back of my head.

Focusing on the burn in my muscles as I do bicep curls helps. Sweat drips down my face, stings my eyes. My pulse gallops. I set the weights down on either side of the bench. Then I lift up and settle face down onto the floor.

I start my first set of push-ups. After the first thirty, I go on autopilot. I have no idea what number I’m on when I feel the urge. I really need to kill someone.

Not only do I need it, I want it. Another thing I want is to feel some level of guilt about that. I suck in a loud breath and lower myself down to the mat, then turn my head.

I listen to my heart sputter, let my eyes slide shut. Rolling over, I prepare for a few sets of crunches when a rush of movement passes through my vision. Hands behind my head, I turn left, toward the movement.

I freeze, blinking up at an unfamiliar female. She waggles her fingers at me. I raise an eyebrow.

“Pike Richards?” she asks.

I push myself up straight and nod. “Who are you?” I ask as I stand up and head to the weight bench. Grabbing the towel, I wipe sweat from my face as I turn back to her.

“My name is Valene. Your roommates said you’d be down here.” Her summery, hazel eyes take me in. “Juliet sent me.”

Draping the towel over my shoulder, I lift my gaze to the ceiling. I wonder if Juliet sensed my mood through our new bond, or if she just has good timing.

“What’s your last name?” I ask, sweeping my gaze back down to her face. Don’t want to make the same mistake twice.

Confusion flickers across her face. She plants her hand on her hip and purses her lips.

“Does it matter?”

I chuckle. “Are you being intentionally glib?”

She shrugs. I bend over to pick up a water bottle and take a swig as I lift back up. Her silence is a cue for me to explain myself.

“If you’re here for the reason I think you are, then yes.” I fold my arms.

She nods, bouncing her wavy, dull red hair over her shoulders. “Spencer.”

“How old are you?”

She huffs, then taps her foot. “What is this, a job interview?”

We stare at each other. She’s the first to break rank with a smile. Her cheeks redden, which is nice. Makes me hungry for strawberries.

But Valene will do.

“Okay, that was intentionally glib.” She rakes a hand back through her hair. “Twenty- four. You?”

“Twenty-two.” I offer my hand to her. When she reaches to shake it, I lick my bottom lip. She’s warm. And soft.

And probably not just on her palms.

“Nice to meet you, Valene Spencer.”

She bites down on her thin, lower lip. “You always this polite?”

Holding onto her hand a little longer than I need to, I smile, then slowly release her.

“Why are you here, Valene Spencer?”

She laughs. “Because I’ve been a bad girl.” She turns around and sticks out her ass. “And we both know what they do to bad girls at Compound Six now that you’re back in business.”

My eyes widen. Was not expecting that response. When she turns back to face me, she laughs louder.

“You should lighten up, Pike.”

She’s about to die, and she’s telling me to lighten up.

Interesting.

All I can manage to do is stare at her. She rolls her eyes and sits on the nearby weight bench. Crossing her legs, she sighs.

“Fine, you want an actual answer?”

I nod.

“I’m a bit of a trouble maker. Stealing food. Conning people out of extra shower time. And my latest offense, talking to one of your people.”

“My people?”

She nods, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Oh, yeah.” She holds up her hands in the air, an admission of guilt. “Was shooting the shit with this earth Spirit. Nadine. She’s pretty cool.”

I inch toward her. “Oh, my. You have been a bad girl.”

Leaning back, she grins. “You gonna teach me a lesson?”

I smile. “I am in the lesson-teaching business.” I furrow my brows, having fun with this flirtation. “Let’s see, I can have you write, Do not to talk to the things the gods made, on the black board one hundred times.”

Her lips press together, a thoughtful expression settling on her face. “That’s a good start. But, seeing as how it’s my last lesson, maybe you could make it a little more fun.”

Laugher booms out of me. I shake my head. “I’ll see what I can do.”

She straightens the pants of her coveralls. “Good.”

We stare at each other for a few charged moments, enjoying the anticipation, then I clear my throat.

“In all seriousness, aren’t you scared?”

Her head tilts to the side. “Of?”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Oh.” Her bright eyes narrow. “Of you? Of dying?’ She snorts.

Again, not the reaction I was expecting. I reach out to wrap my power around her because I’m curious. And that’s all I feel when I taste her, my own curiosity.

Well, goddamn.

That’s rare.

“No, I’m not afraid.” Her expression almost crumples. “I’m more excited than anything. Never met a siren before.”

“Why?”

She shrugs. “Just never ran into one?”

I sigh, then stare at her. Realization brightens her eyes.

“Oh! Why aren’t I afraid?” She frowns. “This conversation is getting depressing. And counterproductive.”

With a smile, I sit down next to her. Leaning over, I brush her hair away from her ear. “If you humor me, I promise to make it up to you.”

Her body trembles. I scan my gaze down the length of her leg to the toes that are curling on the mat.

After a few moments, she huffs. “Okay, only… If I give you one, you give me one?”

I lick my lips. “Bet.”

With a small smile, she tucks her hair behind her ears.

“I’m not afraid of dying, because there’s nothing left to be afraid of.” Her head turns, and she stares straight ahead. “Before this, my life was good. And after... I watched the love of my life turn into this… creature that ate her own frickin’…” She shudders, shaking the bench with emotion. With a sniffle, she pinches her eyelids down with her fingers.

We sit there for however long. I clear my throat.

“I’m sorry,” I finally say.

She turns to me, waving me off. “No, I’ve accepted it.”

Something about the expression makes me curious again. I reach out to taste her. And again, nothing but my own shit bounces back at me.

“Anyway, my turn.”

Straightening up, I nod. “What do you wanna know?”

She purses her lips and studies me for a while. Finally, she claps, then nods her head. “Got it. Is it because you feel guilty?”

I shake my head. “No idea what you’re talkin’ bout.”

“Well, a siren started all of this.” She stares at me with a meaning it takes me awhile to comprehend.

“You’re talking about ole’ Harley, the suicide siren.” I shake my head at memories of her.

“Are you going after this cure because you feel the need to right things, or what?”

With a shrug I say, “I honestly never thought about it that way.” I turn my head and gaze at her. “So no, it’s not guilt.”

“Did you know her?”

I wag my finger at her. “That’s two.”

With a scoff she says, “Serious?”

“’Fraid so.”

She pouts, which makes me smile. Girl is a weird mix of adorable and kick-you-in-the dick independent.

“Can I have just one more? Not about Harley.”

I stare at her for several seconds, pretending to think. “Make it good.”

Her face breaks into a wide grin. “Why does it kill you? Hearing the siren song?”

I hesitate, mouth falling open. No one’s ever asked me that before. Slapping one hand against the inside palm of the other, I shrug.

“It’s not hearing it that kills you,” I say. “Technically, it’s not hearing it.”

She squints at me. Her mouth starts to form and O. I reach out to press my finger to her lips.

“I’m sick of talking,” I say huskily.

Her eyes glaze over, then her breath shallows. “You… started it.”

Ignoring this, I lean in closer to her. So close our noses almost touch. “Think of something you want, right now.”

Her quivering mouth parts. “Other than the obvious?”

“Yeah, something you miss. From before.”

She bites down on her lip again. Her gaze lifts to the ceiling. The flesh around her eyes wrinkles. Then, slowly, a grin spreads across her face.

“Got it?” I ask.

She nods.

“Alright, baby girl. Picture it. Close your eyes and see yourself with it.”

Another nod. Her eyelids flutter shut. After a few minutes, I push my power out of my body, let it touch her. Bumping into something hard, I can tell she has a strong mental picture in her head.

I take a deep breath. “You ready for this shit?”

With her eyes still closed, she jerks her head up and down. I inch a little closer, then I whistle.

* * *

Valene’s body goes limp. Her breath comes out in puffs. Leaning over, I brush my lips against her hair as I slide it back. Then, I caress her lobe with my mouth.

As I back away slightly, I say, “Open them.”

Her thin eyelashes flutter as her eyes open. For a moment, she has no reaction, then she gasps and leaps to her feet.

“Holy fuck!”

I laugh and stand next to her. As soon as she looks up at the sky, elation hits me. Yeah, I don’t usually use words like elation, but this feeling deserves a big ass word. This is definitely some elation type shit.

Her face flushes, jaw drooping toward the floor. Her eyes dart toward me, then back up again. Her head shakes slowly from side to side. Warmth rises from my gut. I raise my head and stare up with her.

A deep blue sky sprawls over our heads. Streaks of white trail through, and on the horizon, a bright, pulsing sun casts shadows on the grass under our feet.

This is what she misses from before. Being under a real sky.

“How are you doing this?” she asks.

Tearing my eyes away from the view, I look down. She’s standing right in front of me, wearing an expression that reminds me of a young boy that’s just discovered masturbation.

“Technically, you’re doing this.”

She looks up again. “I don’t understand.”

Twisting my shoulders inward, I lean closer to her. “I’m using you. Your wants created this illusion.”

Birds chirp off in the distance, and she laughs.

“Illusion.” She shakes her head. “It seems so real. It even…feels real, and warm.”

“Yeah,” I say, staring at her.

Her lips curl into a grin. “Wow, you’re frickin’ amazing.”

Her compliment lands in my gut like hot coal. I rub the side of my nose.

“No, I’m not,” I mutter. The scenery around us flickers, replacing endless sky with the gym for half a second.

“What did you say?”

Shaking my head, I square my shoulders and smile. “Nothing.”

She turns all the way toward me and rests a hand against my chest. “So, what else can you do?”

Her fingers slide down until both her hands clamp around my waist.

“Pike,” she breathes, tightening her grip. “Does your singing always make women horny as hell?” Standing on her tiptoes, she presses her lips against the fold of my neck, then trails them across my skin to nibble my earlobe.

A slight tingle rushes me. My eyes close. “Easy girl.”

Her lips trail back to my ear. “Do it again.”

I reach out and twist my fingers into the hair at the back of her neck. Pulling her back, I gaze down at her and grin.

“What do I get if I do?”

She’s practically panting. I feel her desire like a lit fire in my chest. She presses her tongue up against her top lip and backs away. Reaching out, she start to unbutton my coveralls, then pulls them back over my shoulders. Then she peels them down until they’re hanging around my waist.

I try to keep my breath level. My eyebrows lift. Before I can say anything, she reaches a hand down the front of my pants.

“Mm,” I grunt as she runs her hands up and down the length of me.

“You’re hard,” she whispers. “Makes me think that what you want in return… is me.”

As she stares up at me, the blue-sky flickers and we’re back in the gym. I open my mouth to say something that will get her inner freak going, and only manage a grunt.

Smooth.

She grins and slowly takes her hand out of my pants. Then, she grabs my hand and guides it between her legs. Her body trembles at my touch. She soaks my fingers.

“More,” she says, reaching up to wrap her arms around my neck.

I lean over and press my lips against her ear. As my fingers slide inside her, I whistle again. She belts out a moan, and her eyes roll up into her head. Sliding my hands up her body, I stop singing and her eyes pop open.

“What? Why’d you stop?”

I grin. “Want to see another trick?’

She bites her lip. “You trying to torture me?”

I ignore her question while I stare at her. “Take off your clothes.” My voice comes out firm and low.

Pink flushes her skin. Breathing heavy, she slowly pulls back her coverall, exposing inch after inch of toned, modest curves. With each inch she shows me, I grow an inch for her. I tighten my jaw.

She’s not much in cup size, but her nipples are hard and perfect. Porn nipples. I lick my lips.

Not usually what greases my man stick, but she pulls it off. I gesture with my head to the weight bench.

“Sit.”

Her eyes narrow. “Ask nicely.”

With a grin, I saunter toward her, inching her backward until she backs into the bench. After stumbling, she has to sit down.

She glares up at me, and I wink.

“Stay.”

I can feel her glare as I go to kneel down. “Don’t act like you’re not turned on.”

She juts her chin upward as I gather her coveralls, and then start ripping them to shreds.

“What are you doing?”

I place the first, long thin strip of frayed clothing over my shoulder.

“Put your arms up, all the way above your head.”

Her eyebrows tighten as hesitation washes over her face.

“Now,” I say, ripping a second strip of clothing free. “Or, I can do it for you.”

She lets out a nervous little chuckle, then slowly, arms shaking, she does as I ask. I bind her wrists with the strip of clothing.

When I tighten it roughly, she gasps, then gives another nervous giggle.

“So, sirens are kinda freaky, huh?”

I kneel own and bind her ankles together. “I told you this was a magic trick.” Once I’m satisfied with the knot, I stand back up and rip off the third strip of cloth. Leaning over, I tie it around her eyes, then wave a hand in front of her face.

“Can you see?”

“No,” she says with a gasp.

I back up a few inches. Pausing a moment to enjoy the sight of this hot ass female, blind folded, tied, and butt ass naked. I rub my hands together.

“And now… I shall make you come without laying a finger on you.”

She snorts and starts struggling against the restraints. “Yeah, right…”

I whistle and ease my power over to her like a soft touch. With a gasp, she bites down on her bottom lip and her head falls back. Continuing the song, I focus my mind on one thing. Physical ecstasy.

Her lips part. She groans. “P… Pike.” Her arms tense as she attempts to lower them. She starts to sway from left to right, trying to slide either arm free.

Resisting the urge to snatch her up and tear that ass up, I keep going. My jaw clenches with every groan that falls off her lips. I go rigid when she starts to beg.

“God, oh god-Pike!” She leans over on her side, then lets out another moan. “Please… please just untie me.”

I inch forward for a closer look at the show. And the show is damn good. Leaning over, I can feel how close she is.

“Oh, God!” She cries out and, then grinds her teeth together. “Fuck! Untie me!”

I smile and stop whistling. For a second her body relaxes. Then, I start up again. She tenses up like rigor mortis hit her. Her mouth forms a wide O, then she pants as her body jerks forward. She repeats this a few times, the lets out a long, low wail and rolls onto the floor.

Leaning over, I watch her squirm while sweat spreads out over her skin. I take in a deep breath. She’s close. To the point of pain.

I pause the song, inhale, then go again, focused on how I want to make her climb the walls. She rolls over and arches her back, then she screams. I feel the climax with her. It makes me want to touch her.

I reach over and trail my fingers down her moist stomach.

Her body clenches.

“Don’t touch me,” she says, panting.

I lift my hand and wait. She moans in between each labored breath. When her trembling abates enough, I reach back over and start to untie her.

When I pull the blindfold off, she gives me a spaced out look, then blows out her breath and runs her fingers through her hair.

“That was…” She exhales. “Fuck me… after that, no need to feel bad about killing me.

I smile. “Sure you don’t need a minute?” I wink. “And I wasn’t going to feel bad.”

She rolls over onto her side and gives that look. Then she gets up on all fours and crawls over to me. Holding herself over me, she lowers her mouth down and pecks my stomach. Then she looks up and says, “You really don’t feel bad?”

I sweep her hair back and shrug. “No.” My voice comes out raspy.

A half smile touches her lips. “Is it screwed up that I think that’s hot?”

Before I respond, she lowers her head and bites my shoulder. I jump, gripping the back of her neck. She starts to claw at me, pulling my clothes off, breathing heavy.

“Fuck me, Pike,” she breathes.

I lean forward, then pick her up. Her legs wrap around me.

“How do you want it, baby girl?”

“Hard,” she says against my ear. “Slow at first.”

I back her against the nearest wall and slide inside of her. I exhale relief. She’s feels like warm honey, and tight.

I take my time sliding in and out, then thrust my hips forward hard at the end of each stroke. When time I do, she rewards me with a sensual moan. Her fingers dig into my scalp.

“Faster,” she pants before biting into my shoulder.

I scramble to balance her against the wall, then take her faster. A warm tingle rushes my nuts, and I slow down. She’s starting to feel too good. I take in a few breaths, then get back to it.

“Oh, hell yes,” she mutters.

Reaching around, I unwrap her legs, then let her slide down the wall. I take her from behind, grabbing a fistful of her hair. She growls like a frickin’ jungle cat.

Fucks like one too.

“Oh, god, Pike.” She slams her hand into the wall. “Don’t stop. Don’t you fucking stop.”

Sweat rolls down my face and drips onto her back. I force one of her legs up with my knees and take her that way. The tingle is back, and my eyes squeeze shut. Damn, I want to come. But I hold back. My legs start to quiver, and she’s filling the room with moans and profanity.

Valene is a screamer.

I like making her scream.

Raising my hand, I swipe down and spank her little white ass. She turns her head as much as she can and bares her teeth. I spank it again. She thrusts her hips backward.

The tingle turns to full blown-about to nut mode. Which means I have to work harder to get her off first. Nothing in the world feels better than a woman’s orgasm.

I pull back, angle myself upward, and then slide back in slowly. I thrust, half in, all the way out, over and over. She loses her mind. My toes curl, trying to hold out as long as I can. Just when I think I might lose my fucking mind, she lets out a high squeal, bends further at the waist, and damn near convulses.

A quiet grunt echoes from my throat, then I come inside of her. My mind blanks, and for the next thirty seconds or so, nothing else matters.

When she goes limp, I reach out and grab her around the waist. I lower us both to the floor. She lies back against my chest and lets out a light moan.

“Wow,” she says after a few minutes. She wraps my arms tighter around her. I grin, still out of breath.

“Damn right,” I say.

She twists around slightly to look at me. “You look different,” she breathes.

I smile. “You look beautiful.”

Almost as soon as the words leave my mouth, need nibbles at the back of my skull. She turns back around and giggles.

“No need to work me, I already let you onto the love rug.”

I chuckle. “Great rug.” The buzz of power in my veins is watered down a little once I’m able to feel her. Means she’s starting to need me.

Means she’s starting to die.

I turn her over in my arms and cup her face. “How do you feel?”

She gazes at me, her eyes a little less her own than when she walked into the gym. She doesn’t answer right away. Then, her eyes pop open, and a lopsided grin slides into place.

“I feel like I could eat a mountain of fried pickles.”

I blink, then tilt my head. “Fried…pickles?”

Her laugh is damn near lyrical when it comes out again. “Yeah, I always used to have some after a good fuck.” Her smile widens. “You’re the second person in the world that knows that about me.”

Another wave of need slices into me. My hands squeeze the sides of her face, not rough, but urgent. Her expression tightens, probably in response to something in my eyes.

“Try to remember what they tasted like,” I say before she can ask what’s wrong.

She squints at me.

I stick my lower lip out and say, “Please?”

She laughs. Finally, she nods and closes her eyes. I wait a while, ignoring the rising sense of loss in her energy.

When I’m sure enough time has passed, I ask, “Got it?”

“Mm hm.” She runs her tongue over lips.

“Good.” My grip on her tightens.

I whistle.

She sniffs the air, then her eyelids flutter.

“That’s amazing,” she says. “I can actually taste it.”

“Good,” I say again, letting my fingers slide to the sides of her neck. My eyes squeeze shut, and I swallow the lump of guilt I feel because I can’t afford to feel it.

Not now.

Maybe not for a while.

Still, my hands tremble. Valene’s lips buzz with speech that I can’t hear. My heart punches in my chest, drowning everything out.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I roll her back around, resting one arm across her neck and the other at the top of her head.

I take in a sharp breath.

Then I snap her neck to the side. A nasty crack echoes in my skull.

Her body goes limp right away. I stare over her head. I’m as still as she is. My breath is caught in my throat. The room spins and blurs.

I don’t know how long I sit holding her like that. I don’t know what’s going on inside me. All I do know is slowly, I start to feel okay. The wave of power washes over me.

One of them dies.

I get to live.

Carefully, I lower her to the floor, then crawl a few paces away and grab the towel I was using. I whip it in the air, then drape it over her body. It doesn’t cover all of her, but it’ll do.

I lift up to my feet easily. Then I drag myself across the room and duck out the door. Once there, I lean against the wall just outside the gym. The first stirrings of daylight stream in through a boxed shape window in the wall opposite me. Rows of lockers are draped in that artificial light. With a sigh, I lift myself from my body and into that place people call the mind’s eye. I search my own head for Juliet; I find her at a desk sorting through documents.

I’m done, I tell her through our connection.

I see her nod. I’ll have someone pick her up.

Lowering myself back into my physical body, I start across the room and take the stairs up to the main house two at a time. Once I’m in my private room, I dig through the drawer of the desk and pull out my journal.

In the next empty space I write: Valene Spencer.

And that’s it, because that’s the way she came to me and the way she left.

She will always just be Valene.

10

A few hours later at breakfast, Kiwi shoots so many die fucker glares that it’s hard to focus on what Tripp is telling me. We’re all at the small kitchen table crammed into a corner. Juliet thought it best we take our meals in our own personal kitchen from now on. I take her point.

Tripp is directly across from me, telling me what he knows about Sadie.

Putting a hand against my forehead, I shield myself from Kiwi’s hate gaze.

“I’m sorry, say it again.” I dart my eyes at Kiwi, then rest them on him.

Tripp bites down laughter, lifts a cup of orange drink to his mouth, and then sets it back down on the table. It clangs against the aging wood.

“They’re going to be able to fix her arm.”

The pressure in my chest starts to leak out slowly. I breathe easier. “Thank gods.” I bite into a hard biscuit. “When can I see her?” My mouth is still almost full when I ask the question.

He shrugs. “She’s still asleep. Hasn’t been through the ritual yet.”

“Ritual?” Crumbs spray across the table.

“Ugh, wait till you’re finished eating,” Kiwi says, her tone flexed with annoyance.

Lowering my hand, I glance over at her. Without a word, I salute her. She snorts, and I turn back to Tripp.

“What do you mean, ritual?”

He finishes the rest of his breakfast and grabs a nearby cloth napkin. He swipes it over his mouth, then drops the napkin on his plate. Then, he looks up and nods.

“Yeah, the compound doesn’t have the tools to re-attach limbs. The only reason they’re able to do anything is because of Axley.”

Axley. My eyes narrow.

“She’s a healer,” I say slowly. “The compound is letting her use magic?” My lips press into a hard line. “What’s the catch?”

“Don’t know yet.” He points at me. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t even look at anyone sideways.” His voice is hard, but it doesn’t take long for his expression to soften. “That little girl adores you.”

Warmth seeps into my skin. I smirk to keep any emotion from showing up on my face. I’m about to add a sarcastic remark to go with it when Kiwi sucks on her teeth. Very loudly.

Sighing, I turn toward her. I rest my chin on my fist and say, “So, Kiwi. How are you today?”

Her eyes narrow. “I’m okay. Just a little tired, what with some little hoe bag squealing all night.”

I start raking the hair under my chin with my fingers. “First, hoe bag had a name, and second, all night is a little dramatic… She couldn’t have been squealing for more than two hours.”

“Do you think you’re cute?”

I wink at her. “Do you?” Lowering my arms on the table, I lean closer to her. “Are you jealous of the hoe bag?”

She sneers, then hits me with that look all females get when they’re about to say some foul shit.

“And to think, that sweet little girl looks up to you.” She shakes her head while my nostrils flare. “You should be…”

“Hey!” I slam my palm into the table. The boom rattles the dishes, knocking some over. “Watch it, Kiwi. You don’t know me like that.” My jaw tenses. “You don’t know her like that, either.”

Her eyes, which had widened slightly, relax and she smiles. She almost looks pleased. “You’re right, I don’t know her all that well. But you… Well, I know what you are. It’s enough.”

Tripp sighs loudly. “Okay, you two.”

I stare at Kiwi for a few seconds, then stand, holding my hands up above my head.

“Oh, you got me!” I fold my arms over my chest and narrow my eyes. “I know a lot of Spirits look down on, ‘what I am,’” I say with air quotes. “But now I have to take shit from a fury?”

I dart my eyes around the kitchen, then roll them back to her. “Are your two sisters going to show up next? Or are you to busy worrying about what’s been on my dick to keep up with them?”

Her metallic glossed eyes turn to slits. We stare each other down. Something flickers on her face that makes me feel like a cock stain. A ten-year-old cock stain. I don’t show her that. From back behind the table, Tripp clears his throat.

Wood squeals against the yellowing linoleum as he pushes his chair away from the table. I catch a flash of his movement from the corner of my eye. Then, he’s standing beside Kiwi, hand resting on her shoulder.

“Fuck you,” she says, shrugging Tripp off.

She rams a shoulder into me as she brushes past. I sigh, listening to her stomping though the walkway. I glance at Tripp to find his mouth puckered like he just ate something sour.

“Don’t.” I close my eyes and rub my hands down my face.

“Can’t do it.” He steps up to me and sticks his nose all over my personal space. “Don’t talk about her sisters… Ever again.”

I study him for a few seconds before nodding. No idea why he cares about Kiwi’s drama with her sisters, or why they’re not with us on this get-the-cure mission, but I can also see it doesn’t matter.

“My bad.” I back up and lean against the wall. “What’s the story?”

“They’re dead,” he says without hesitation.

My eyes widen. I don’t get it. A chilled memory of the few times she attacked me fuel confusion.

“That shouldn’t be true… she wouldn’t have any power.”

Tripp just nods. I stare at him, mentally fumbling for whatever he thinks should be obvious. When I trip over it, I close my eyes and bang my head back against the wall I’m against.

“They were murdered.” It’s not a question. For some reason, I just need to say it out loud.

“Yeah.”

“And furies inherit their sister’s powers if they are murdered.” My eyes pop open, and I look back at him again. “Is that why she’s here? Because someone here knows who murdered them?”

Tripp shrugs. “I don’t know for sure, but I’d shit a kitten if I found out she’s helping Compound Six for another reason.”

A loud banging comes from the other side of the wall. I turn my head towards it. Seconds later, Kiwi calls out that she’ll get it. Glancing back at Tripp, I nod again.

“I’ll apologize, and it won’t come up again.”

Footsteps pound toward us from the front hall. His face eases into a smile.

“Good, thank you.”

I nod for the third time, just as Juliet enters the kitchen.

“If you’re done eating,” she says in her always calm tone. “I need you in the gym.”

“Yup.” Tripp nods at me as he follows Juliet out of the kitchen.

I linger for a while, then leave to join them. When I enter the gym, Juliet is standing in front of three piles of black clothing. Hills of what looks like protective gear. Army style canteens and packs. And weapons. Badass looking weapons.

I go to stand on the other side of Tripp. Juliet stands before us, hands on her hips.

“Okay, before I ask you to gear up, I want to take a moment to discuss our mission.” Her arms lift, and she brings her hands together in front of her.

For a second, I think she’s about to lead us in prayer.

“As you know, the rise of berserkers started with the mutation of Atera, a tech virus engineered by a group of scientists who discovered a technological way to make people immune to descendant magic.” Her eyes swept toward me. “My race wanted a scientific answer to counter the effects of you all… The things the gods made.”

I narrow my eyes but remain quiet.

“The virus, as I said, mutated and had a… devastating effect on everyone it was given to. The general population uses the word berserkers to describe them, because people did literally go berserk. Mad. To the point of self-destruction.”

I sigh. “To the point of the destruction of all things.”

Juliet pauses and coughs into her elbow. “Six months ago, Compound Four located a cure and sent the details to us for execution. That’s where you all come in.”

Tripp plants his hand on his hip. “Okay… what is it, and where do we go to get it?”

“That’s classified.” Her eyes dart toward me and the muscles in her neck tighten. I almost grin. She’s not afraid of me, but she feels my presence inside her. A tiny pull in her gut that feels the need to ask my permission.

Luckily, I don’t want to do anything to fuck with this thing.

“The cure is located at a place of crossroads. A sacred ground near what used to be Virginia Beach.”

A dump truck of nasty shit builds up inside my throat. I try to swallow it down. Sweat beads up on my forehead. Now it makes sense. Now I know just why they needed me, and how badly.

My hands ball into fists. The rest of what she says starts to float away. The cure, whatever it is, is in on grounds sacred to the gods.

The crossroads.

A door to the immortals. A path to the gods.

And not just any crossroads, but the one that I can't enter and leave again, alive. The one guarded by the god that cursed my bloodline.

I am a black dude pulled over in Mississippi fucked.

As my eyes close, Kiwi asks, “When do we leave?”

“In three days.”

Shit burger.

I clench my jaw.

“Now, I need you to gear up and get used to it, because out there you will be in this gear at all times. Meet me out back in fifteen minutes.”

I glance up in time to see her do the hair flip and saunter out of the gym. I glance sidelong at Tripp, who shrugs and bends over to pick up his gear. I follow suit, then shuffle into a corner to change.

Shit is shiny black and skintight. Kevlar, I realize. When I put it on, I feel like I’m smearing black icing on to my body. Then I add the weapon holsters and padded vest. When I’m done, I’m decked out like the token black guy an action movie.

Turning around, I spot Kiwi and Tripp kneeling over the weapons. I shuffle over and join in, loading myself down until I almost forget about the crossroads bomb that was just dropped on me. Yeah, I’m ready to shoot things.

Kiwi is the first to leave. Tripp and I follow her out of the house, and into the back yard. I squint as the harsh yellow light streams its fake glow onto the ground.

Juliet is positioned in front of us, hands behind her back, like drill Sergeant Barbie. I lift my hand to cover the smile on my face.

“You all have skill sets vital to this mission, and you all know your way around weapons. Now, there are lots of dangers outside the compound that we need to prepare you for. The changing climate, displaced descendants, and, our focus for today, the berserkers.”

She removes her side arm. A Browning. Dual action pistol.

“As you know, we have designated Wranglers at each of the operating compounds, and they’ve discovered berserkers come in different classifications.” She glances at her gun, then back at us. “The less rabid ones are slower. They usually go down pretty easy.” She places the handgun back on her hip. “However, the ones that are most far gone… Well, you don’t stand a chance unless you can pick them off from a distance. So today, we’re going to do a little target practice.”

She gestures to a nearby assault rifle. An AR-15. I grin. Pretty nasty. I’ve always wanted to try one of these things.

“Go for kill shots. It’s best to get to higher ground. Now, our Wranglers have mapped one large pocket on our route that these berks are most populous in. Don’t try to engage them.”

She paces back and forth in front of us, pausing to look us each in the eye.

“Do you understand?”

I glance down the short line. Tripp and Kiwi nod, very serious. Very official. Turning back to Juliet, I copy their gestures.

“Today, I will team you up with some of our best Wranglers. Then, this evening, I will put you through an obstacle course designed to stage a real life berserker attack.” She gives us that pleasant, shit eating grin.

More nods. More seriousness.

Juliet glances at her watch, then turns around. I follow her gaze to find three unfamiliar people marching toward us. They come to a stop behind Juliet, who nods at them before turning back to face us.

She points at each of them as she says their names. “This is Vaughn, Scotty, and Flo.” From the position of her finger when she introduced the spiky haired, slightly dumpy middle-aged white lady, I’m paired up with Flo.

Juliet claps after introductions are made. “Alright, I’ll see you all this evening.”

With that, she turns around and marches off across the yard and out of sight. Seconds later, dumpy Flo is in my face.

“Pike Richards!”

I raise an eyebrow. I have no idea why she’s yelling.

“It’s nice to meet you!” She grins, exposing a yellowing, incomplete grill. I force myself to smile back.

“You, too.” I reach out to shake her hand. She starts chuckling like I’m some kind of entertainment monkey.

When I drop her hand, she points at me. “Can I call you P Diddy?”

I narrow my eyes. “No.”

“P Dawg?”

I sigh. This woman can’t be for real. “That would be no.”

“P…”

I hold up my hand. “Please, stop.”

Her eyes widen and she rushes at me, forcing me to back away. “Can I touch your hair? It’s so cool.” She doesn’t wait for an answer. No, she just dives right in. I clench my jaw while she digs through my hair like we go way back.

“Amazing.” She shakes her head. “How long did it take to get it like that?”

I clear my throat, reach up, and remove her curious hand. “Flo? Let’s say we keep this professional, ’kay?”

She frowns, and a disappointed look shadows her leathery face. Then she nods and claps me on the shoulder.

“You ready to learn how to tap into your inner badassitude today?”

I stare. “Um, come again?”

“Your inner badassitude!” She starts moving and waves at me to follow. We come to a stop at a high workbench with a rifle case perched on top. Flo pats it.

“This is your partner, okay there, Pike? Together you will become an overwhelming force for creating meat sacks out of those monsters.”

My eyes widen, then my mouth drops open. Did she just say meat sack?

“Now, partners got to have a name.” She leans over and clicks open the case. “Go ahead and give her a look, then name that meat pile makin’ gal.”

I stand and stare as she bobs up and down on her feet. No idea what to do with this information. She nudges me closer to the table.

“There ya go.”

My lips turn up in a smile. I reach out and run my fingers across the collapsible site stock. Yeah, this is the shit.

“Think of a name?”

I sigh. “I’m not going to name my—“

“Pick it up. Name her.” Her voice comes out firm this time.

Lifting my hand, I scratch my eyebrow with my pinky nail. Then, with another sigh, I pick the semi-automatic weapon. Surprisingly light.

A loud pop explodes the air around me. I jump, almost dropping the rifle, and spin around. Flo cackles like a pleased witch. I glimpse Tripp and Kiwi, rifles already set up, taking aim at something across the sprawling field. I almost forgot they were here. Clutching a hand over my jack hammering heart, I follow where the barrels of their guns are aimed.

Targets.

Kiwi is a pretty good shot. Tripp, a pretty bad one. Another loud boom, then a series of them pound the air. I turn back around and start set the rifle onto the stock.

“Whoa, whoa!” Flo smacks the side of my arm. “You always jump right in like that?”

Ignoring her to the best of my ability, I pick up a magazine and prepare this beauty to shoot things.

“You have to name her if you want her to work hard for you.” She’s shouting over the now consistent rounds of fire Kiwi and Tripp are getting off.

I sigh, guessing she’s one of those people it’s easier just to give in to. Through narrowed eyes, I study the rifle like I’m actually giving this a lot of thought. Then, I say the first name that comes to mind.

“Lily.”

“No way, she looks more like a Mia.”

“Fine, Mia it is.” I drop to the ground and set Mia up, all the while pretending to listen as Flo run off at the mouth about something or another. When I’m all set up, I peer through the scope.

Targets are spread all over the yard, in differing distances and sizes. The farthest one looks about four hundred and fifty feet away. A draft of wind rushes past my ear as I line up my shot.

I tune out the gunfire.

I tune out Flo’s manic chatter.

I force myself to only see my target in the distance, small round and wooden with dark blue paint on its surface. It’s settled between two bare trees. There, in the stillness I create in my mind, some advice given to me when I was ten years old echoes back.

Shoot between heartbeats, my keeper always used to say.

I breathe.

My heart thuds.

I wait, then pull the trigger before the next beat of my heart. The small target splinters into wood shavings, and I grin. Hardly any recoil. I feel like a kid playing laser tag again, and I shoot the damn thing off until its lunchtime.

* * *

The rest of the day consists of target practice and working out. After we eat a quiet dinner, we head back outside and prepare to take on the obstacle course. I glance over at Kiwi, and for the first time today, Tripp is not flanking her.

My eyes dart to him. He’s seated on the ground, staring up at the darkening sky. I trudge over to her.

“Hey,” I say when I’m only inches away.

She looks up and glowers at me. I offer a forced smile, a gesture she returns with a hiss.

I ignore her usual reply to me and say, “Hey, look… About earlier, I’m sorry for being a dick.”

Her eyes narrow. “What?”

I hesitate because I didn’t expect her to be confused. “Um, I’m apologizing?” My face wrinkles. “I didn’t mean to…”

She reaches over and pats my shoulder. “It’s all good, Pike.”

My shoulders relax. “Oh, good. Because you seemed…”

“I said we’re good,” she says, not interested in the rest of what I was going to say. “Not friends, but we can be civil.” Then she turns and saunters off in Tripp’s direction.

I try not to stare at her ass as she goes.

I try, but it’s a great ass.

As we all wait outside for Juliet the ground starts to shake. I dart my eyes around, trying to find the source of the quaking. Finally, a streak of silver flashes across my vision.

I squint against pale yellow sky.

“What is that?” Tripp asks.

I shrug, folding my hand over my eyes to see better. The closer it is gets, the harder the ground rumbles. Within seconds, its close enough to tell it’s a large a mining truck. A smaller, armored car is trailing it.

I start to back away as the vehicle’s monster tires come digging through the dead grass. When it vibrates to a stop, I slide my gaze across the bed of the truck. Six silver cages sit in the back.

There is a loud rattle. It goes from being a patient knock on the door to a persistent banging heard by everyone. Doors open and slam shut, followed by the sound of a machine flaring to life.

A wheeled excavator starts to inch the cages toward the back of the truck. I assume there is something at the other end to catch the cages because all I see from where I’m standing is them falling off, one by one.

A flash of pale hair sweeps across the right side of my vision. I glance over. Juliet is marching toward us.

“Hello, everyone.” She stops when she is in hearing distance. “I take it you’re all ready for this evenings obstacle course?”

The words come out of her mouth, but I’m not paying any attention to them, or her. My eyes are sealed on the cages. They are being wheeled on carts into a staggered formation. A group of worn looking dudes are walking with them, a few carrying one end of a thick, silver chain. Wranglers.

Where there are Wranglers there are berserkers.

Squaring my shoulders, I try to play off the fact that I’m close to shitting bricks. As hard as I try to take my eyes away from those cages and the snarling monsters inside them, I can’t. One sprays a mist of green saliva onto its bars, looks over at us with bulging, yellow eyes, and half-howls, half-growls, choking the air with an unnatural sound.

The Wrangler sticks something long and black through the thick bars. Through the murmur of Tripp, Kiwi, and Juliet’s muted speech, a high buzz hits the air, and then there is a loud zap. The Berserker growls, backing away from the bars and batting the air. I gulp and turn my attention to one closer to me. Flakes of its skin drip to the cage floor with sickening plops.

“Jameson.” Juliet says, addressing one of the Wranglers. “Release them.”

Time slows.

My brain dumbly tries to wrap around what she just said.

The doors to the cages squeal open. A blur of movement streaks from its prison, zips forward, and spews green saliva right into my face.

* * *

Adrenaline floods my body. I don’t even think to wipe the green slime off my face. I barely hear Juliet yell, “Release them all in thirty…”

The world crawls around me. A blur races past the side of my vision. I glance over. Kiwi is zipping for the distant line of trees. Shaking myself, I take off after her, ducking down to grab my rifle on the way. Even though I almost knock Tripp over, who is frozen in place, I don’t slow down. I’m moving so fast I almost smash into the oak trees.

I shove my arms in front of me to stop the impact. Then, I climb. I can barely feel my body because I’m so focused on getting to the tree box above. I toss the rifle case over the side of the box, then flip in after it. With shaking hands, I rip open the case and start to assemble the collapsible stock.

There is a loud clink below, like the sound of chains ripping. I jerk toward the movement and don’t see anything. No, it’s not that I don’t see anything. It’s that movement is all I see. Blurs and wisps of movement.

I squint through the rushing monsters and see that Tripp is still there. What the hell is he doing? Tightening my jaw, I glance down and finish mounting the rifle onto the collapsible stock. Then I mount it on the side of the tree box.

Lowering myself as much as I can, I peer through the scope and turn on the emergency flashlight.

A howl cuts though my focus, a cry of agony like I’ve never heard before, and I freeze. Down on the ground, Tripp’s body snaps backward. There is loud, wet crack. He cries out again, the noise high and sharp.

My mouth drops open. A gush of wind passes over my face. My eyes narrow to keep it out, and I spot a berk closing in on Tripp, who is writhing around on the ground in a mess of groans and snaps.

There is loud crash from the tree across from me. I glance over.

“Over here, shit for brains!”

The gun goes off, and the sound of it is followed by a gust of wind. I rush to look back through the scope. Bulging eyes turn in Kiwi’s direction. Another loud pop, and its head explodes, spraying chunks of grey flesh across the yard.

Five monsters snap their bulging, gray necks toward us. I shake it off and look back through the scope, then turn the dial on my flashlight. Taking a breath, I pull the trigger. My aim is off. The bullet slices into the berk. Leaning back, I realign my sights, and press the trigger again.

The last shot makes it home, dropping the berk to the ground.

Tripp lets out another howl. The sound puts knots in my stomach. Lifting my head, I glance at the tree Kiwi’s in, trying to decide if I should get down there or not. A train of wails echoes through the night air. I wince because I’m sitting up in a tree while Tripp is on the ground crying in agony. I peer back through the scope.

My jaw drops.

Tripp’s clothes are ripping from his body. A body that is inching toward the sky while it contorts into unsightly bulges and impossible angles.

Another berserker goes down, only five feet or so away from him. Good looking out, Kiwi, because I’m useless. All I can do is stare as his boots rip off and his feet and stretch to the size of small islands. Another scream rips from his throat.

It soaks into the air.

His spine snaps in half, leaving the front half of his body to topple over his torso. My mouth gapes wider and wider. Then, his spine fuses back together, and his muscles vibrate, sending hunks of flesh everywhere.

My weapon thuds to the floor. After what seems like hours, Tripp’s body stills. He huffs and stomps his foot through the earth, and a tremor reaches me.

Then, his massive fist puts a crater-sized hole into the ground. His head rolls around on his neck, and huge black eyes stare into me. When he huffs again with nostrils big enough to drive a car through, my eyelids flutter, until he stops and I’m able to open my eyes again.

There is a blur of movement behind him. Tripp, still staring at me, reaches an arm out and raises something into the air. Leaning over the side of the tree box, I squint at the berk he has between his thumb and index finger. He pinches, then rubs his fingers together like someone trying to get excess crumbs off their hands.

Badass. I start to smile when something sparks to life. Sounds like an engine. I don’t think anything of it and go to pack my rifle back into its case when there is a low crash.

My eyes dart up and to the side. Kiwi is scrambling in the tree, trying to get down as fast as she can. She almost falls three times.

The fuck is she doing?

I wince when she slips and crashes to the ground on her side. With a moan, she rolls over, then pushes up to her feet. Then, she zips off in Tripp’s direction. I spot Juliet coming at Tripp from the back, some kind of pole held out to him. My lips turn down into a frown. That won’t do. I close my eyes and in my mind see her stop, and then lower her weapon. I fill her with the feeling that she has no intention of hurting Tripp.

As soon as I create the mental picture, Juliet ceases, then glances across the distance at me. I wave with a smile.

Kiwi stops at Tripp’s toes and flaps her arms up at him for several seconds before he finally looks down. I can’t make out what they say, but he reaches for her and she hops onto his palm like they do this shit every other Saturday.

He places her on his shoulder and they stomp around the house, shaking the branches of the tree I’m still standing in.

* * *

Minutes later, I stumble into the house and trudge up the stairs to my room. I really need to stop doing that. Thinking of this as my room. It’s theirs. Thinking about anything as being mine can get dangerous.

Once in their room, I remove my gear and jump into the blue coveralls that are standard issue at C6. I shuffle to the bed and rub a kink out of the side of my neck. I kind of wish Oscar was here right now. Just to shoot the shit, but I made him promise he’d be there when Sadie woke up.

I need to make it a point for Juliet to let me see her tomorrow. Movement from downstairs climb into my thoughts, prying my attention away from Sadie. A bang, probably from something hitting the table in the kitchen, drifts up to me.

With a yawn I stand, duck out the door, and head down the stairs. I slow down as I round the corner leading from the front hall into the kitchen. Tripp in his human form is sitting at the table with a steaming mug.

Smells like mint tea. Kiwi is next to him, draping a blanket over his shoulders. Tripp is pale, and his skin looks like its sagging off his bones. Leaning against the doorframe, I clear my throat.

Kiwi’s gaze snaps over to me. Tripp raises his head slowly. When he sees me, he almost manages a weak smile.

“How you doing, big guy?” I straighten and stroll across the room. I stand beside the table, hands in my pockets. He sets down his cup and shrugs.

“Well, I think we all failed the obstacle course,” he says in a raspy voice. “My bad.”

I laugh and sit across from them. “You need anything, Shoestring?” I figure I owe him for the Orc weed, plus, he’s starting to grow on my ass.

He taps a finger under his chin. “Well, I could use a cock rub.”

I roll my eyes, and Kiwi sputters laugher. Ignoring her, I lean across the table on my elbows.

“So, holy fucking Orc mode, right?” I raise an eyebrow. “You just rage out, or what?”

The inch of humor he had on his face floats off.

With a sigh, he shakes his head. “I don’t know, honestly. The adrenaline hit, and I haven’t had practice shifting in so long… I guess I just lost it.”

I nod. “So, how does that work, then? Are you in your right mind? Or is it some Mr. Hyde shit?”

From across the table, Kiwi snorts. “He’s not a monster.” Her words come out attached to a hiss.

I glance at her. “Didn’t imply he was.” I look back at Tripp. “So…”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to answer your questions, Pike.” She emphasizes my name like a fed up mother might do with her kid. Keeping it a point to ignore her, I stretch my eyes wide as I look at Tripp, and only Tripp.

“Shoestring, did any of my questions offend you?”

His mouth twitches, but he manages to keep a smile off his face. “You two are impossible.” He holds his fist in front of his mouth and coughs.

I wince and lean away from the phlegm quality of it. “No, and please…” He turns to Kiwi with wide eyes. “Don’t start.”

The two of them stare at each other for so long I feel like I’m interrupting. Finally, Kiwi gives a curt nod, then turns and flashes me the fakest smile I’ve ever seen in my life as she pats Tripp’s arm.

“Thank you.” Tripp turns to me and grins. “No, I’m aware of everything happening.” His eyebrows crease. “Too aware for my taste. Everything is sharper, like the sky thing…” His eyebrows lift into his hairline. “I never noticed it before.”

I grin. “Seems pretty obvious to me.” I rake my hand across my beard. “So, you haven’t shifted since you’ve been here.”

He nods. “Almost a year.” His expression morphs into the expression of a man that’s just realized something. “Wow,” he says, lowering his gaze to his steaming cup. “Anyway, now you can see why most Orcs just stay in Orc form. Shifting is…” He shudders.

“Yeah, shit looked painful.” I lean back in my chair. “You scared the wrinkles off my balls.”

He laughs, and Kiwi ducks her face behind her hand. I’m guessing, or maybe hoping, it’s to hide a smile.

“I’m glad to have some kind of effect on your balls,” Tripp says.

I start tapping my thumb and forefinger on the table. Trying not to smile, I cast my gaze at the ceiling and assume a serious expression. “There’s a love song in there somewhere.”

Tripp’s laughter sounds pained, but at least he’s laughing. Kiwi scrapes the floor with the legs of her chair as she stands up.

“I’m going to bed.”

I follow her movement with my gaze as she bends over to whisper something in Tripp’s ear. His thin lips twitch with a grin. As she pulls herself straight, he shakes his head.

“You’re mean.”

“Goodnight, boys.” Kiwi waves at us, then saunters out of the kitchen. Listening to her feet clomp up the stairs, I wink over at Tripp.

“Least she didn’t hiss at me.”

He shrugs and resumes drinking his tea. “That’s probably because you saved me from Juliet’s shock treatment earlier.” His face scrunches like he found something he wasn’t expecting in his cup. “Thanks for that.”

I wave him off. “No need. I got your back.”

His eyelids start to droop. They are turning a shade of plum that doesn’t look healthy. The coffee cup in his hand bangs onto the table as he lets out a yawn.

“Ugh, I should just sleep here.” His eyes open and he laughs. “No way I’m making it upstairs tonight.”

I yawn myself, then stand up and round the table.

“I gotcha. Let’s go.” I lean over to reach for him, and he pulls back.

“Let’s go what?”

I chuckle and pull his arm around my shoulder. I lift up, pulling him with me. Once he’s all the way up, I wrap my free arm around his hip.

We trudge down the front hall and up the stairs, Tripp laughs. “Maybe Kiwi was right.”

When we reach the top landing, I glance sidelong. “’Bout what?”

He winks at me. “Maybe you are gay.”

We both chuckle. I glance over at his door, and he pulls away from me and limps the rest of the way. He waves over his shoulder.

“Goodnight, Pike.”

“Night, man.”

As I pass Kiwi’s bedroom door, it’s open a crack. Unable to help myself, I glance over. Her bright, dark eyes stare back. It’s kind of creepy. I halt and drop my gaze. Even though the crack is only a few inches wide, I can appreciate her smooth, dark legs.

Yeah, she can wrap them around me anytime.

A hiss meets my ears. I glance back up, and she slams the door. With a chuckle, I head to my room and hope to crash soon.

* * *

I don’t sleep well. Or long. Each time I touch down into unconsciousness, some worry snaps me back awake. And I got a truck ton of worries. Sadie. Berserkers. Whether or not I’m going to die. Finally, I sit rod straight in bed. Listening to the sound of Oscar chirping in his sleep, I pace the room.

And yes, he really does chirp in his sleep. Always has. Every once in a while he’ll mutter, let the bodies hit the floor, then go back to chirping, but I’m pretty sure he’s just fucking with me.

With a sigh, I shuffle to the dresser and open the top drawer. Scattered inside are my boxer briefs, a few head scarves, and a few other of my personal possessions.

I pull out a black pouch, close the drawer, and then take it back to the bed where I sit down. I undo the drawstring and empty out the contents of the pouch.

It isn’t much.

Three guitar picks, one blessed by the gods. Or cursed, depending on your point-of-view, and two more for just playing regular stuff. I pick up a red one with my first initial on it. On the back is a trident. It’s from my mother. That was before she knew, when she thought I was a mermaid or some shit. With a smile, I palm it. Glancing at the bed, I spot an aquamarine bracelet. Nothing fancy, just shiny blue-green beads. Okay, there is a charm on it, of an ice skate.

I always meant to give it to her.

Sadie.

I need to see her. Now.

I scoop all my crap back into the pouch, pocket the bracelet and pick, then leave my body.

Not for real, just in my head. I need to get out of there to find my little servant girl. After sweeping most of the compound, I find her alone in a bedroom with one hand rested on a handgun. No shock there.

I roll my eyes then shout, Ay you, Juliet. Get up.Master needs a favor.

Her eyes flutter open.

I test her for annoyance, then anger, and find none. This isn’t as fun as I’d hoped. Convenient, though, since I don’t even have to think the words at her. She knew what I wanted the moment I felt it. And she has the pull here to do it.

11

Juliet and I stand beside Sadie’s bed in the infirmary and stare down. There is a bandage around her mutilated, but now reattached, arm. Through the sheet white gauze, I can make out gleaming glints of silver intertwining with her flesh.

Axley made a little cyborg out of her.

“Most of the tissue was damaged. We saved what we could, and Axley filled in the rest,” Juliet says.

I nod.

There is another bandage on the top of her left hand, holding in an IV. I sit down in the chair next to her, pull my guitar into my lap, and glance up at Juliet.

“Her arm, will she have full use of it?”

Juliet nods. “Yes.”

“How is Axley?”

Juliet nods across the room, I follow her head to a bed spaces away from Sadie’s.

I frown. “She okay?”

“Yes, from what I understand, building cybernetic flesh is taxing. She’ll be released as soon as she’s rested.”

I nod again. “Okay, you can go now.”

She flips her hair and nods, then her footsteps trail away from me. With a sigh, I shut my eyes and start to play. Just random notes. Not one song stays on my mind long enough for me to see it through.

A tiny cough stops me. I glance toward the bed. Sadie’s eyelids flutter. She coughs again, this time louder. Standing up, I go to prop my guitar against the foot of the bed, then I lean over her.

“Sadie?”

With a groan, she opens her eyes and frowns.

“Hey, shorty.” I smile.

She scowls at me.

“What time is it?” She struggles to sit up, and I rush to help her.

I chuckle. “It’s eleven.”

She pauses and stares. “Really?”

I fluff her pillow, then sit back down. “Nah, girl. You know that time isn’t a thing anymore.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re a fucktard.”

My eyes narrow. “Watch. Your. Mouth.”

Her face wrinkles and she swallows, then coughs again.

I stand up. “Thirsty?”

She nods, and I tip toe to the other side of the room, grab a thermos of her rationed water, and take it back to her. She throws it back eagerly. When she’s finished, she exhales loudly, then hands me the thermos.

“You don’t know the time, but you know why you’re here.” She sounds like her normal self, which lightens the ton of bricks weighing on my chest a little. I sit back down.

“I wanted to see how you were doing.” I bend down and put her thermos on the floor. When our eyes meet again, she looks guarded.

“What?”

“Did you change your mind?” She swallows again. “About helping them?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Sadie, you just had major…”

“Promise you won’t go,” she whispers, eyes wide and voice trembling.

“Hey.” I lean over and take the hand on her good arm. “Listen, I don’t want you to sweat this. I’ll be fine.”

I leave out the stuff about the crossroads and the theory that I’m heading out to an almost certain death. This is the first time since I’ve seen her that she sounds like a kid. I want to keep her sounding that way.

“No.” She shakes her head. “No, you won’t. When you help them, they won’t have any more use for you. They’ll probably kill you as soon as you get it. Try and say you died fighting bravely. But, they won’t…”

“Sadie.” I make my voice firm. “I don’t want you worrying about me. I will be fine.”

She pokes out her lower lip and jerks her head in the opposite direction.

I sigh.

“I brought you something.” I stand up and pull the bracelet out of my pocket.

She doesn’t budge.

“You can wear it when you make the Olympics.” I jingle the jewelry, hoping it will coax her into turning around.

It doesn’t.

“Okay, I’ll let you rest, shorty.” I put the bracelet on the table next to her bed. As I go to pick up my guitar, I glance over at her. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

I linger for a few seconds, hoping she’ll stop throwing this grown child tantrum. She doesn’t, so I turn on my heels and head to the door.

Something hits me in the back. I stop at the same time there is a plop against the floor. Glancing back, I see Sadie, sitting all the way up, arms crossed over her chest, glaring like she wants to set my ass on fire. My gaze darts down to the bracelet.

I clench my jaw and lean over to pick it up.

“If you’re doing this for me, you really are just a big idiot!” Tears stream down her face, which kills all anger I was starting to feel.

I saunter back and sigh. “I have to—“

“You want to save the world for me?” She barks laughter. “But without you, I don’t have anyone. You’ll be dead. My mom will be dead.”

I wince with every word she speaks.

“And I’ll be here, with them. In this… fucked up world. There isn’t going to be anymore skating. No more gold medals. I’ve already lost almost everything! We all have!”

Her body convulses with sobs. I sit on the edge of her bed and try to pull her into a hug. She throws me off and punches me in the chest with her good arm.

“Don’t act like you care.” She glowers at me. “I still have you, and now you want to take that from me too.”

“Hey,” I whisper, leaning as close to her as I think she’ll allow. “I’m not leaving you. I’m not going anywhere. I pro…”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” She sniffles. “Unless you promise you won’t work with them, I don’t care about what you say.”

I hesitate. This is the first time I have no idea what to say to the kid. I knew what to say when her mom died. I knew what to say when she got the silver in some bullshit ass local tournament to a girl that delighted in beating her. I knew what to say when she asked if she could date demigods with passive powers.

And when she asked if she could date anyone… ever.

Fuck to the no.

Now, my tongue is in a rattrap. All I can do is sit there.

“Do you even know what the cure is?” she asks, finally breaking the silence.

I shake my head.

“You know why they need you so bad to get it?”

I start to nod, then catch the knee jerk reaction and toss it away. I shake my head.

She scoffs. “Do you think they deserve it? After all they did. All they’re still going to do?”

I throw my hands in the air. “I know you deserve to skate again and to, you know, not be eaten.”

Her lips twitch into an almost grin. She averts her eyes and starts to toy with her blanket. Her mouth opens and shuts a few times, then we go back to quiet.

“Shorty, I know you’re pissed at me, but I need a favor.”

She shrugs her thin shoulders.

“I need you to lay low while I’m gone. Follow the rules. Look out for the kids younger than you.”

Her head snaps back up. “Why can’t I just go with you?”

I clench my jaw. “Just listen to me, okay, for once without arguing.”

She shoves herself back into her pillow and huffs.

“Promise me,” I say, “that you’ll stay safe until I come back.”

She chuckles and shakes her head. “Yeah sure, I fucking pinky swear. And you can believe I’ll keep my promises as much as I can believe that you’ll keep yours.”

I go into deep breathing, meditative mode. No use in telling her to watch her mouth, or that she’s a little pint-sized ingrate… Nah, that’s counterproductive. After my last deep breath, I say, “I’m serious, Sadie. Your mother would want you here, and she’d want you to be safe.”

Sadie turns her gaze on me, and I raise an eyebrow. Yeah, I played the dead mom card. She’ll probably play the mom killer card, but I’m ready.

“I see you’re doing it again.” She purses her lips. “And I haven’t seen any dying or elderly around this place… So, is this the old you?”

I just stare.

She leans toward me. “Good. You should just kill them all. Why don’t you? You’re stronger. Why are you working with them instead of just getting them out of the way and taking the cure by yourself?

I continue to stare. I haven’t really thought about it. Now that I do, I suppose I could. Could make Juliet tell me what it is; I already know the where it is. I could sing every Council member into death or submission. Sure, there’s the thing in my neck…keeping track of me and probably threatening my life in some way, but it’s not like I couldn’t figure it out.

The biggest reason is the threat to Sadie. But, if I killed all of them…

No, I have a reason to play it their way, I’m just not sure it’s a good one.

“Listen,” I say, scratching my eyebrow with my pinky nail. “I’m working with them, because it’s right. Not that I have to explain myself to you.” I put on my hard face. “Now, stay out of grown folks business, and promise me.”

For several moments neither of us speak.

Finally, I sigh and say, “I want that promise before you leave.” I stand and put the bracelet back on the table beside her. “You have two days.”

* * *

I manage a few hours of sleep before it’s time to start the next day. After breakfast, we gather outside and run more drills, more target practice, more learning about end of the world threats. I listen, do as I’m told, and get through it on autopilot.

After lunch, I think it’s going to be more of the same. I tune out Juliet’s rambling. Then, she holds up a trident in front of me.

I blink several times, then glance over at her. “What’s this for?”

She smiles. “It’s for you.”

I slide my gaze up and down the weapon. It’s badass for sure, jet-black, with a dark blue polish. It looks half ancient, half modern. The prongs are old school. The buttons along the shaft are clearly modern.

I shrug. “What I’m supposed to do with it?”

From where he is, on the other side of Kiwi, Tripp chortles.

“I was just saying that your abilities won’t always help you against some of the more powerful displaced descendants out there. Guns won’t do the job either. As such, we’ve managed to secure a few magic weapons that should be effective.”

I glance sidelong at my teammates. Tripp isn’t holding shit, but he turns into a huge monster, so I guess that’s his weapon. Kiwi is strapping a pair of copper colored, steam punk looking goggles over her eyes.

I turn my gaze back to Juliet. “That’s one of Poseidon’s. I am not a mermaid.” I wave her off. “I’ll make due with guns and guitars.”

She sighs and reaches for my hand. I start to tell her to back off, but she’s quick in placing my hand on the shaft of the weapon. It cools under my touch. I turn to stare at it. It sparks electric blue and spits something out of the middle spear.

I jump back, so that Juliet is left holding it. Tripp laughs hard, and Kiwi just sucks on her teeth.

“Come on, siren. Let’s just get this over with.”

I glance over at her rolling her eyes, then stumble forward and take the trident.

“Where did you even get this?” I turn it over in my hands, trying not to display how surprised I am by its feel. It takes me back to the first time I held my guitar. Feels like I know how to use this thing. Like it belongs to me.

“We have Scouters. They recovered a lot of weapons such as these.”

I stare back at the weapon. She asks if there are any more questions and I shake my head. She claps, and we start more drills.

I don’t get how this weapon is suited for me, but I like using it. Each button I press unlocks a new function. Lightening dances from the tips when I hold down the silver button. Rushes of water that I can command come with the press of the blue button. I feel like an old school gladiator. You know, if they let brothas into the arena like that.

Not only do I like using it, I’m pretty frickin’ good at it. I train with it, going up against Kiwi and practicing on the wooden mannequins in our training space, until my muscles shake. Until sweat streams into my eyes, blinding me. Until I feel like the only thing I can do next is fall over.

* * *

Smoke from the crackling fire spirals upward toward the false sky. At first, our farewell party doesn’t look like much. Then, Tripp reaches into his bag of party tricks and convinces a Spirit to conjure up some wine, and everyone livens up. The Enforcers allow this. I guess even they can look the other way for the people saving their asses.

It’s good to know.

Once people start getting their drink on, they stop standing around looking at each other. A good amount of people showed, human and descendant alike. I sit back with my rationed water and take everything in.

Still nothing from Sadie. I’d say what that makes her, but she’s only a kid. I stare into the fire, thinking back to the first time I saw her land a triple axel. I can almost see her, landing on those hollow blades and the smile that lit up her face, dancing in the flames. It makes me grin. Then, booming laughter snags my attention. I cut my gaze to the left and spot Tripp and the wine making Spirit wrapped in each other’s arms. The wine maker is barking out laughter.

With a chuckle, I take a swig of water. I lift my arm to wave at them when a shadow casts itself on the ground in front of me. I glance up to find who created it.

“Hi.” A sexy little blonde thing flips her hair. “I’m Amber.”

Of course you are.

I smile and point at myself. “Pike.” This is the fourth one that’s approached me in ten minutes.

“Hi, Pike.” She rolls her tongue over her shimmery lips.

I try to smile again, but I’m just not feeling her. Or anyone else at this party.

“What’s up.” I glance everywhere but at her. Then, I point over her head at nothing. “Ah, shit. I see…” I jump up and sidestep the fire, disappearing into the crowd at the other side. When I turn, Amber is standing by herself, pouting in my general direction. I would feel bad, but I’m in no mood to chat up some girl tonight.

There is a tap on my shoulder. I spin around, dribbling water down the front of myself.

“Oops, be careful there, Pike.”

It’s Tripp. Now he’s got some beefy mixed looking dude hanging from his neck. They’re both cheesing hard enough to break a camera lens.

I pat at the water with my free hand. “Yeah, that’s my bad.” There is an edge of sarcasm in my tone. With a smile, I ask, “What’s up wit cha?”

“Not much.” Tripp lifts his arms, and the guy around his neck stumbles into his side. “I just wanted to give you one more chance with this ass, you know…” He smiles and gestures at drunk dude. “Before it becomes his.”

I laugh and reach out to clap drunk dude on the shoulder. He almost topples over when I do. Tripp and I steady him, and I go to cup his face.

“Fine piece of ass you landed, man.” I let him go and place my hands several inches apart. “I heard it’s like, this big.” I whistle, then turn on the balls of my feet and walk away. As I do, I call, “Don’t be up all night,” over my shoulder at Tripp.

His inebriated laughter echoes in the air as I finish making my way through the crowd. Turning around slightly to glance back over my shoulder, I take a final look at the party before climbing the stairs to duck inside.

Once inside, I lean against the back of the front door and let my eyes slide close. I stand there, trying to still the swarm of buzzing thoughts in my skull, when a low female voice rolls through my ears. My eyes pop open, then narrow.

What sounds like low arguing is coming from the living room around the corner. I take a step forward. There is a hissing noise, like a snake. Then there is a shh.

I’m on my tiptoes as I round the corner. I grip the side of the wall and peek my head into the living room, expecting to see at least two people.

All I find is Kiwi sitting on the couch with her eyes squeezed shut, a worn novel in her hands.

“I know.” She hisses. “Just back off.”

My eyes widen. Looks like Kiwi is cray-cray. I clear my throat, and she jumps.

“Mother truck stop!” Her eyes pop open to large white orbs, and she slams her book with a loud smack. “You scared me!”

A laugh stops the obvious question from passing my lips. “Mother what?” I round the corner and raise an eyebrow.

Her eyes squint so hard they almost disappear. “You scared me.”

I hold up my hands. “My bad.” I glance around the room, and back at her. “Was someone just here? Or…”

She hisses. “Yes, he just got here. And he should go away.”

Inching a few steps toward her, I ask, “Were you talking to yourself?”

She scoffs and tucks her bang behind her ear. Her arms fold across her chest and she fixes her gaze off to the side of the room.

“Of course not.”

Then she mumbles a stream of something I can’t make out and makes faces like a five-year-old.

I whistle.

Bitches be crazy.

Her eyes snap back to me.

And scary. I gulp.

“You still here?”

I ease farther into the room, like one of the white guys on the shows Sadie used to watch on her laptop approaching a wild beast. The ones that are always British, or British adjacent.

I throw an arm in front of me, defensively. “You a’ight?”

She points a blood red polished finger behind me. “Out.” Then she holds her book back in front of my face.

I squint against the yellowish light of the lantern beside her as I inch closer. “Jane Eyre,” I say after seeing the title. I grin a little. “Ah shit, girl. That’s my jam.” I cross the room and plop down beside her. “Have you made it to the first tense scene between Jane and Rochester?” With a wink, I hold my arms at my sides and thrust my hips. “Dude wants to tap it.”

She shuts the book again and squeezes her eyes shut. Fury rolls off her in waves, pun intended. I stop thrusting and stare as she rubs the skin above her nose and breathes in and out.

I lean away. I don’t want her to flip out and try and make me kill myself again.

“My bad,” I say lightly, trying to dissolve her tension. “I should have said spoiler alert.”

Her head jerks at me and the thick bang falls back over her eye. A spark of red flashes deep from the dark of her eyes, then flickers out, like a dot from a laser pointer shutting off. I clamp down on my lower lip.

“Why are you doing this?”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Trying to be my friend. Do you sense anything…” She shakes her head slightly, like she’s trying to rattle the rest of her question to her lips. “Do you sense anything friendly in me when you’re around?”

I grin. Kiwi has claws.

“No, not really.”

“Then why bother?”

I can’t tell from her etched from stone expression if she’s being serious. She sounds less harsh. Curious. I don’t risk dipping into her for a taste because last time I felt her I almost clawed my face off. Clearing my throat, I half shrug.

“Last night before we leave this place to face death.” I shrug my shoulders up further. “Our lives will be in each other’s hands… figured it might increase survival odds if you like me.”

Her expression settles into something a fraction livelier than still water. A low fraction.

“I don’t need to like you to have your back.” She starts to open her book again. When I don’t respond, she lets her gaze drift back to her novel. As she does she mutters, “Don’t have a voice.”

I lean toward her slightly.

Don’t have a voice. A choice?

“What was that?” I say, trying to keep the frustration out of my tone.

She just rolls her shoulders and makes a low air running out of a tire noise. Not a hiss. Just a low whistle of exasperation. My frustration mounts with each second she ignores me.

Finally I clap and ask, “Wanna bang?”

Her head turns slowly with a kind of I know-he-didn’t reflex. “I don’t. Like you. Why would I want to…” She flicks her tongue across her lips. “Bang?” Her nose scrunches at the end of her question, and I smile.

Can’t help it.

That’s the difference between female things and male things. We don’t have to like you to fuck you. Not at all. I don’t bother explaining this to Kiwi.

“You sure? Might be our last shot.”

“I’d rather get fisted by a grogan.”

What the actual deuce you drop after a late night of Taco Bell kind of crap is that to say? For some reason, I have to stop the smile that starts to curl my lips. Shaking my head, I stand and wave as a farewell gesture.

I don’t get a reaction of acknowledgment, so I scoff and trudge out of the room.

I consider going back outside to reel in one of the females that were nipping at me earlier. But I don’t want to. I’m not really a womanizer; I’ve just had a lot of relations. Side effect of being a siren.

I’m not feeling it tonight. I drop my feet heavily on the stairs as I head to my room. The footsteps echo rhythmically, letting my mind tunnel, then expand like a firecracker. By the time I reach my room, I find a female I didn’t even realize I needed to see.

Not in the actual room but in the space inside my head. The slot that the submitted slide into.

* * *

Juliet’s icy eyes regard me as they always do. There is no wiping away that poker face. I can feel her changed, though only slightly. I don’t know if it’s because I yanked her out and found shallow waters, or if it’s because I allowed her more autonomy than my last submissive.

For the mission’s sake.

Now I need something. Something I’ve been avoiding.

“Sadie still hasn’t come by.” I avert my gaze. Am I ashamed? Annoyed? Unable to look the psycho that tortured me as easily as some people paint by number, in the eyes yet? Not without ripping the life out of her and delighting in that monster piece of myself instead of steering it away?

Doesn’t matter. She nods.

“I will make sure she’s there at breakfast in the morning.”

My mouth gapes and the words thank you flit through my head. I beat them away. I clap one hand on top of a closed fist and nod, glancing back up. “Good. That’ll do it.”

Her mouth starts to part, and I shut my mind to the size of a pinpoint before I hear what she was going to say. Can’t deal with Juliet too much. Not tonight.

I have some shit to face. Something I should have manned up about a long time ago. I lay in bed and string words together in my head. Words that need saying. Words that might be the difference in who, or what, I wind up being.

12

Something digs into my shoulder and rips me from the pit hole of a nightmare. My eyes snap open, and I struggle to a half seated and sweaty position.

“Pike?” Something whispers my name. Low. Terse.

My gaze darts around the room until it lands on a form slightly lighter than the pitch-black room.

“It’s me, Kiwi.”

A switch clicks. Darkness is washed away, replaced by dim, yellow light.

I close my eyes and grab my chest. “What. The fuck?”

“Didn’t mean to scare you.”

I let my lids rise slowly, giving my eyes time to adjust. My heart time to stop punching my insides. Whatever I was going to say hangs from my lower jaw when I see that she’s wrapped loosely in a bed sheet.

And that’s it.

Her plump mouth is pressed together, making her lips swell. Her expression is cautious. Maybe. I have to guess what’s happening because she doesn’t say anything.

I throw an arm over my knee and lean over it. “Okay…” I start to ask the obvious when she lets the blanket fall to the floor.

I hear a typical R&B song about fine asses and thighs, then my mind blanks. She steps closer, blocking the flickering lantern light, and perches one knee up on the bed.

I’m surprised my mouth doesn’t water.

She sighs and gives me an almost resigned look. “Look, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve…” Her eyebrows lift toward her hairline and I nod. She presses her lips together like that’s enough.

She inches for me like she’s testing pool water. Like she’s deciding if she can just jump in or not. I can’t do anything but stare like I’ve never seen a naked female.

Which is a huge ass compliment to her and every tempting inch of skin I can’t pry my gaze from. She has that kind of body that makes you do things you know you shouldn’t.

I struggle to maintain eye contact. It’s almost doable. The red smudges around her jet almond eyes glint like they could burn into you at any second.

Which in her case, is not a clever Muse metaphor.

Her breath hitches right before she touches me. Her head tilts against her shoulder. “So, you in?”

I extend a hand to her. “EWB.”

The flirt of a grin touches her lips. “What?”

I almost wink but my head swims. “Enemies with benefits, girl.” My voice comes out just above a whisper.

She nods, then pushes me back onto the bed and straddles my chest. My muscles tighten with electricity. Unlike her temperament, she’s soft, a west wind. My hands go for her waist. I dig my fingers into her flesh, not rough, but not gentle.

She stifles a gasp. “What do you want, Pike?” She raises one eyebrow, and I feel a rise of excitement. I swallow and try to get some of my smooth back.

“I want,” I say, tightening my grip, “to make you come,” I breathe the rest out. Her eyes glaze over. Legs tighten at my sides. I hit on something she likes.

I sense a bit of a freak.

I roll my hand around to the small of her back and push her toward me as I sit up straighter. Our faces are inches apart. Blurs of movement from her chest rising and falling graze my vision.

I decide to play. I run my finger up to the back of her neck, trail it around, and trace a line down to her navel. By the time I get there, her breath is as uneven as my own.

Raising my leg, I force her down my body a few inches and lean in, grazing her neck with my lips. I close my eyes, listening and feeling her responses.

I drag my lips to her sternum, then drop my head into the valley of her breasts. Her hands dig into my loose dreads. I pinch my fingers around her dime-sized nipple, rolling them back and forth.

She half squeals and half gasps like a confused little pig.

It’s cute. I smile.

“What are you..?”

I place my hand between her legs, and she gasps outright. Sure this time. Then I slide my fingers inside her. She squirms and lets her head fall back.

Shutting my eyes, I enjoy how she feels. Like thick honey dripped over my fingers. I enjoy her noises. A clipped moan here. The swell of an “oh, god” there. Moments later she tightens around me. My jaw clenches because I start to think she might rip off my fingers.

She loosens, then tightens back up a few more times. My fingers are safe. I slid them out and up to her clit. She almost brays and slaps her palms into my chest.

“N… no.” Grabbing my hand, she pulls me away, and I smile. She sits trembling with my hand clasped under her chin, eyes closed as if in thought. I squirm, wanting her so bad it’s starting to feel wintry blue in Pike Jr. land.

Then she forces my hand between her legs. I only hesitate a moment. Then I play some more. This time she sounds almost like she’s in pain. On the verge of crying out. Then she sucks in a breath and holds it.

I think to lay her back. I’ve always loved kiwi fruit, but she comes again. Hard. My muscles tense, trying to keep her steady on my lap. I give her a moment. Just long enough so I can lay her back without rushing, when she rears back and smacks me across the cheek.

My head snaps left, and I freeze. Then, my mouth stretches open. I press a hand to the sting in my face as I slowly turn back toward her.

She’s postured on the bed like a fucking cheetah. Her teeth are bared. I scoot my ass back until I’m pressed against the headboard.

“What the hell was that?” My voice comes out half drunk and turned on, and slightly pissed the frick off.

“That was… amazing.” She breathes. Then her eyes narrow and something flickers in them. “But I still hate yo ass.”

I laugh. What else can I do? This female is get-you-fucked-up crazy. I try not to read too much into the fact that I still want to pound her all night long.

Before I can say anything, she launches at me. She smacks into me and my head cracks into the headboard. Tears well in my eyes. Teeth gritted, I grab her wrists and jerk her back. She rips out of my grasp, grips my hips, and drags me down. Then she climbs back on top, and my breath hitches.

For a moment I worry for little Pike. Slowly, I reach for her wrists again. I hold on tight. She yanks my arm toward her mouth and sinks her teeth in.

“Ah!” I jerk away and glare up at her. “Goddamnit, girl.”

“Don’t be a little mitch.” She smiles. It’s the lightest I’ve seen her look.

Godamned sadist.

As a one hundred percent real nigga, I hit her with my warning face. It says stop playing. I don’t look at the bite mark ‘cause I’m not, as she cautions, a man that acts like a bitch. Or a mitch. Her thighs tighten around me. A slow smile reaches my lips.

I decide not to get into it with her. Not when I can fuck the crazy right out of her. I ready myself for a full night when she slides on top of me.

Gently, thank god.

And oh, my damn.

Maybe it’s the possibility of her being my last lay but I’ve never felt anything this good in my life.

My face contorts with an oh, oh, oh, on my lips. I can feel my expression get dumber with each thrust of her hips.

I try to think through the buzz. I clench my jaw around a groan and squeeze my eyes shut. She leans over and sinks her teeth in again. A shot of pain rips through my neck.

I throw my arms around her and hold her against me. She tries to rear back, but I hold her tight. With a grin, I press my lips to her ear.

“The safe phrase,” I say. “Is greasy snow plough.” I grab a handful of her sculpted ass. “Greasy snow plough.”

She giggles. It sounds out of place, but kind of nice. I let my arms loosen, and she straightens.

“I don’t give a shit about safe phrases.”

So much for my mandom.

It’s the last moment of clear thought I’m allowed before she rides me into a stupor.

* * *

The whisper of a familiar song drags me away from sleep I don’t want to leave.

“Let the bodies hit the floor…”

I let out a lawn mower sound and flip over onto my stomach.

“Let the bodies hit the floor…”

I wave my arms and swat something at my ear. A booming knock jostles me wide awake.

“Hello?” I shoot up in bed, a sheet over my head, glancing around in blank-eyed confusion. The door creeps open. I pull the sheet down in time to spot Tripp’s smiling face.

For a moment, I panic. Another quick glance around soothes me. Kiwi is gone. Last thing I need is to acknowledge whatever we did last night. It was great, but also terrifying.

“Time to get it moving.” Tripp’s voice is crisp, like he’s been up for a while.

I rest my gaze on him and nod through a yawn. “Thanks, man.”

He sniffs the air and throws me a question with his eyes. His hands plant on his hips. I sniff like it’s as involuntary as watching someone yawn, and a grassy, sweet smell greets me. I glance at my nightstand and notice Oscar for the first time. A swirl of smoke rises at his back. The flaking remains of a bundle of what smells like white sage sits in a fan-shaped blue shell.

“Why you burning incense?” Tripp’s voice snaps me back from trying to remember the last time I saw that shell.

As I focus on his suspicious expression, I realize it must have been with the shit Juliet brought here.

I’ve always run with witches. We seem to have an affinity for one another. Kiwi must have found it in my stash of herbs given to me by a good friend. A witch that died saving my life.

“Uh, just trying to relax. To be on my game,” I lie as I climb off the bed. I let out a short whistle, and Oscar swoops to my shoulder.

“Uh huh.” Tripp’s way of calling out my bullshit. “See you downstairs in twenty.” He softly closes the door behind him, and I sigh relief.

“Let the bodies hit the floor…”

The song that crept in my head through sleep echoes from Oscar’s beak. I turn to him. His beady eyes are inches from my face.

“Can you not be a dick when you know I’m leaving in a few hours?” I rest my hands in the praying pose against my lips. “Or is that too much to ask from my lifelong wingman?”

He cocks his head. Finally— “Let the bodies hit the floor…”

He used to sing that every time he caught me the morning after. Oscar’s idea of a joke, rude little bastard. His song hangs in the air until I’m laughing.

It is a good one.

You know, because usually females don’t make it anywhere but to the floor after a night with me.

It shouldn’t be funny, but my shoulders shake with laughter. It almost gushes out of me. I can’t even explain to him that Kiwi made it through the night because she isn’t human. I didn’t sing for her. I don’t bother to explain it because I enjoy the laughter rippling through my body.

I enjoy the memory of how he used to sing up the pretty girls in the park of downtown Oxford for me. How he’s always felt like a brother despite being a blessed African Grey parrot. To me, he’s just Oscar. The brother that used to fret around my shitty two bedroom apartment like an OCD remix. So I stand and laugh with him.

And he lets me.

He knows that I have to leave him here with Sadie. He knows why, and he knows I’m depressed about it. So, he lets me laugh through it. He lets good memories fill me and doesn’t say a word to interfere.

* * *

Whatever I shovel into my mouth is mushy and lands with a plop on my tongue. Some egg product that’s hard around the edges. After I finish them off, I pile in something else without bothering to look at it.

I’m head down, shoulders hunched over my breakfast, trying to avoid eye contact and the scolding glare of sunshine streaming in through the small window.

Tripp buzzes in my ear with polite conversation, while Kiwi and I mumble and grunt, eyes averted, making it obvious that something is up.

I’m betting we’ll both deny it.

Oscar pecks seeds from the wooden table, adding rhythm to the grunts, mumbles, and murmurs.

Compound Six pulled out all the stops for our last meal. Okay, the eggs are nasty, but there is fresh fruit. I shovel it in, but barely taste it.

A blur of movement across the table catches my gaze. Wooden legs scrape on linoleum, and Kiwi’s chair clacks back into the wall behind her. She scurries out like a raccoon after a trashcan dinner.

Tripp clears his throat, then drives a foot into my shin.

“Mm!” My leg jerks back. I glance up, and throw my hands in the air. “The fuck?”

He’s leaned over, face pinched and flushed. “You two… You fucked last night?” He scoffs.

I drop my fork onto my plate and wipe my mouth. “Burn one this morning?” Turning to Oscar, I ruffle his plume of grey feathers and chuckle. “And also, mind your business.”

“You two,” Tripp stammers. “So stupid. Why not stick it to one of the skank army all over you last night?”

I gaze back over at him, my lips pressed tight, eyes steady. “Mind your business, shoestring.”

His mouth gapes, big ass ears flushed. “Do you. . .” He laughs. “Do you like her?”

I just stare. The longer I gaze at him, the tighter his face pinches together. He starts to look like a skeletal Cabbage Patch doll. I whistle, scratch Oscar’s head, and then look away.

Tripp sighs. “Look, songbird. Don’t get attached to her, okay?”

No emotion twitches in my face, but it takes effort. I want to ask why. Then, I shake the question off because it’s not an issue. She hates me. I’m a little scared off her ass.

I’m good.

I still want him to explain, but instead he stands up. A throat clears behind me. I twist in my chair, and something presses against my chest.

Juliet is standing in front of me. she motions Sadie toward me. A half smile is on the kid’s lips, and she inches forward.

“You’ve got fifteen minutes,” Juliet says. “And Tripp…” She removes an envelope from her front pocket. “Can you deliver this to Ms. Grunder?”

I notice Juliet never uses Kiwi’s first name. She likes to use first names with everyone else. Maybe it’s the stripper origin of names like Kiwi. With a sigh, I try to stop thinking. Try an easy smile as I stand, Oscar swooping to my shoulder.

“Come outside with me,” I say, placing a hand on Sadie’s narrow shoulder. As I lead her toward the front porch, my Kevlar suit, designed to feel like part of my skin, is hard to move in.

* * *

Sitting next to Sadie, I tap my fingers against my knees. My mouth flops open. Closed. Open. Closed. I stretch out my fingers, then turn to her. She stares at me, mouth twisted to the side, and I laugh.

Her features drop. Eyes roll. “Are you having meltdown?”

I shake my head and hold up my hand. Expelling a quick breath, I force out the rest of the laugh.

“Willyouchangeyourmind?” A hiccup bounces from her throat.

I lower my hand and sigh. “I can’t.”

She hugs herself and I reach out and lightly shake her. I don’t want to hurt the cyborg arm.

I half grin. “Your new limb looks badass.” I cup my hand under her chin and force her to look at me. “I need to tell you something.” My voice doesn’t come out as even as I want. I clasp my fingers together and sniff. “Shorty… you deserve to know that killing your mother…” Something thick coats my throat, like maple syrup. I clear it out and say, “I’ve never regretted anything more in my life than—than taking her away from you.”

I manage to say the words without my voice shaking, but I feel raw. Exposed. Sadie pushes my hand away, then leans over and toys with her shoes. Her tongue clucks in her mouth, and I wait.

Engines explode in the air. Our surroundings rattle as the noise sputters down to a tiny roar. I glance at the armored convoy. Buzz cuts load black duffels. Cased weapons. Food rations.

“It was easier to hate you for it.”

Sadie’s voice guides my attention back to her face. I tilt my head to the side.

“Because I couldn’t hate her… She was fuc…”

My eyes narrow, and she clucks her tongue again.

“She was dead. So I couldn’t…”

I scoot over and drape my arm around her. “It’s okay to feel whatever you’re feeling.”

She shakes her head.

I lick my bottom lip. “Well, you do whatever you need to. But I’m a grown man, and I was angry. So, if it’s hard for me to understand suicidal people… I can’t imagine what it’s like for you. And when I saw you, and her… I thought I could help, so I…”

“Called her.” Her lips twitch with the start of a smile, before pressing into a hard line. “She was the best she’d ever been after. Attentive… Not always in tears.” She sighs and shakes her head. “Maybe I hate you both.”

I pull her against me. “That’s okay.”

She turns to meet my gaze. “You promise me.” Her face struggles between expressions. “You can’t leave me alone here. You make it back.”

The door creaks behind us. Bumbling footsteps. Long shadows loom in front of us. Sadie seals herself in closer to me.

“It’s time, Pike,” Juliet says.

“Wait!” She fumbles in my pocket and pulls out the aquamarine bracelet. “Take this. You’ll need it more.”

I start to shake my head, but she forces the bracelet onto my wrist. She lifts her head and smiles as her hand reaches and tugs at her ponytail. A move I’ve watched her do after each of her competitive skates. Right before the scores were given.

I reach out to ruffle Oscar’s feathers. “You take care of each other.” As I struggle to my feet, I pull her with me and up into my arms.

She pushes her face into the side of my neck. Lose strands of hair tickle my face.

“I don’t hate you.”

Her words light a flash of clarity in my mind. The reality that those are the last words I might hear from her.

For a nano second, I consider telling her I might die. I lower her to her feet and ruffle her head. I smile, big. Goofy. Chill. She turns to Oscar and giggles as he pecks her ear.

Tripp mutters something. Kiwi clomps down the stairs. I wave at Sadie; an Enforcer leads her off. Then, Juliet is pulling me away. I feel heavy, like I’m wrapped in a layers of free weights.

My thoughts swarm like worker bees. Then something falls away. I’m pushed inside one of the vehicles. My teeth dance from the engines vibration. We start to move, the wheels rolling over gravel, and everything comes to me in a haze.

The buzz of the front gates lock mechanism. The squeal as the gates open to let our convoy through. My hearing doesn’t sharpen until those gates close behind us.

I feel the weight of not being behind those gates.

A slight sting digs into my neck.

“Ah!” I raise my hand to inspect. Cool metal digs into my wrists. I jerk both my arms. I’ve been cuffed to my seat. “Fuck is this?” I spray saliva everywhere. Before I can go off, I sink into a hole of Arctic pain. The pain jabs at me. Into my sides. I twist in my seat, my vision clouding, my thoughts rush from here to there.

“I’m sorry,” Kiwi says in a hushed voice.

“What did you inject me with?” I squeeze my armrests until my knuckles start to cramp. I try and turn my head. I try…

Kiwi leans over me and places a rectangular device in front of me, and then taps the screen.

I blink, trying to focus my eyes on her. “You dosed me with monkshood? Why?”

Her answer fizzles out under the weight of the burning under my skin. I open my mouth. My throat burns. Agony.

Colonel Jax flickers onto the screen. His baldhead and trench coat flicker a few seconds before they sharpen.

My eyes widen. What is this?

“Hello, Mr. Richards,” he whispers.

My mouth twists down, hard.

“Now that this mission is active, I just wanted to tell you a few things I neglected.” He leans back, and a table comes into view. “One, the tracker in your neck will release a surprise into your blood should you decide to go off mission.” He smiles. “And last.” He lifts his hand and waves forward someone off screen.

Two buzz cuts appear at his side. They wrangle with a smaller, flailing form. Jax stands. Sadie’s face, lips twisted in defiance, takes his place.

My mouth gapes. What is this? Something bad. Something…

Colonel Jax lifts a needle. Sadie’s head is slammed down, and the screen slows.

“No! No!” My voice thunders out of me. I jerk against the restraints, snapping the left one. “You motherfuckers!”

He lifts her head. Her eyes are gone, turned to blind, white marbles.

“She’s infected. The virus was taken from one of the tamer specimens. The ones we can most likely salvage.” He grins again. “Toe the line, Mr. Richards. Sadie needs you to remember where you stand.”

I slam my head into the tablet. The glass spider webs, then goes blank. For several moments, I sit in stunned silence.

“Juliet,” I say, my tone like the edge of a razor. “You knew about this?”

She turns from where she’s seated beside Tripp. “Yes.”

Evil fucking Enforcer bitch. My nostrils flare. I shut my eyes. I don’t want to look at her.

With my eyes still closed, I say, “Give me the key.”

Her movements feel like coals being tossed on top of me. With each one, I burn with more hatred. She undoes one of my wrists. The key clanks down on the table in front of me. I force my eyes open, snatch the key, and release my other wrist.

The herbal infusion has burned out of my blood

Remember where you stand, I recall his words and almost smile.

I’m sorry, Kiwi’s words jab back at me.

Without looking at, her I say, “Why did you do it?” I remember Juliet’s orders to Tripp.

Take this to Ms. Grunder.

The enclosed space goes still, apart from the occasional intake of breath. A cleared throat. After I wait for an answer longer than I should have to, I make myself look at Kiwi. Each muscle in my neck pinches.

Kiwi just swipes her bang behind her ear and stares ahead. From the driver seat, Tripp sighs.

“Tell him, Kiwi,” he says.

She doesn’t say anything. Coward. I almost laugh at her. Then, an alarm blares. My gaze darts forward. Scornful orange light fills my vision. Another boom. Another lurch, and tires screech to the side of the road right before we roll over.

* * *

From inside the car, Tripp moves fast. Flips a few switches. A rush of air and a clank clank clank sound drown out our grunts and curses. The hydraulics force the vehicle right side up. We sway, then sink into the ground. The clack of the 16-guage steel panels adds a second shield to the bombproof coating.

The next collision rocks us, but the ole girl stands her ground. A monitor mounted to the middle dash up front lets us witness the fire and lightning storm. Bolts of silver stab the dead landscape. The sky spits wrecking balls off fire to the ground.

The gods are rumored to be back, Kenya had told me before the Presenting.

Looks like they aren’t happy. They aren’t happy for several moments. I go back to ticks. It’s seventy-two ticks later that the orbs of fire get sucked back into the sky.

Tripp wipes his forehead. His face is flushed in the rear view as he flips the switches again. The panels shutter back into their slots. I gaze out the window and sink into my seat like a deflated doll.

The engine roars, and we swing back onto the road.

Snapshots of hell roll by, and something in me falls away. I thought I had seen bad before I went into hiding. Riots and herds of fear on every TV screen. On every social site. Commercial airplanes crashing. Executions going viral.

But that was not bad. Not displayed beside this. This is the world I left sucked into itself and spat back out into wastelands.

Blackened pools of water. Billowing smoke without fire. Bodies piled into formations that should be impossible.

“Goddess help us,” Kiwi mutters.

I pull my gaze and stare ahead. Sadie’s eyes bob in my memory. I grip the sides of my seat. I’m angry with Kiwi for her cowardice. Angry at Colonel Jax for using Sadie to control me. And, most of all, angry at myself for not protecting her.

Remember where you stand, Mr. Richards.

I swallow. Inside my head, I nod at him. I take his advice. I remember.

I remember the cursed monster. Remember him well. I tried to be something else for her. For Sadie. A father figure. In my head, I laugh.

I can’t be that for her.

In this world, I am her monster. In this world, that is a good thing.

I rock forward as the vehicle slows. My thoughts release Colonel Jax, then I peer through the front window. A low-sitting, rust-kissed gate rolls into view. We stop behind the first car in the convoy. I purse my lips, realizing I have no idea how long we’ve been driving.

“This is our first check point. Twenty minutes.” Juliet pushes open her door, and Kiwi and Tripp follow suit.

I hang back, open my door slowly, and then step out.

I glance up. Dots of feathery red lace thread through the sky.

I follow the others. As I near the gate, I notice the copper remains of a train in the foreground on what’s left of a track.

I linger behind Tripp and Kiwi, who stand near four others, part of the support team I don’t know. Up in front, Juliet speaks to a big ass dude. With a big ass gun. And a big ass, salt-sprinkled beard.

My eyes swing back to the four unknowns. Two of the three men have buzz cuts, Enforcers. The more scarred up buzz cut probably wrangles on the side. I remember their names are Jameson and Stein. Don’t remember when I acquired that info, but I’m pretty sure I’m right.

“Alright, everyone. This is Roscoe,” Juliet’s voice rings out.

I glance ahead. His beefy fingers wave.

“Good. Good to see yins.” He waves us forward. “Come on in while we get yah supplies packed in for yins.”

I grin. Dude sounds like he used to spend time four wheeling for beer.

As the buzzcut’s turn and unlock the gate, Tripp mutters, “Not this time. This deserves an explanation.”

His feet pound away, crunching black gravel as he goes.

“Hm.” I stroll by Kiwi without a glance. “Trouble in loon town?”

I pass through the gate. Roscoe points out the bathroom. A blue porta shitter perches near a ruined, three story concrete building.

People saunter in between plywood structures that serve as homes and makeshift flea market style stands, wrapped in strange combinations of clothing. One woman adorns what looks like a duct tape suit. Another, some young guy, wears a dark Harley helmet and a poncho.

I hit the porta shitter after one of ours, the Asian I now remember from the Presenting, and study the wall.

Symbols are written in heavy, black marker. All kinds, from crosses to pentagrams. As I zip up, I see something from the old world. A small set of boobs.

I laugh and turn to step out. I almost run right into Juliet, who has a little old white lady in her grasp. My eyes narrow.

“This is the last chance you’ll get,” Juliet says. “You’ll need the strength.”

I grin. “I can funnel a little from you at a time.”

She nods at me, then at her offering from the Golden Girls. “Susan.” She turns back to me. “Eat fast, we leave in five minutes. You’re driving to the next check point.”

I shake my head, then hold my hand toward Susan. “Pike.”

“Pfah.” She waves me off, grabs my hand, and then pulls me into an embrace.

I go rigid, glancing around toward a chorus of feet shuffling and doors banging shut. I’m about to politely remind her about personal space, when she releases me.

She peers up at me with blue eyes that make me miss the old sky.

She smiles, then lets out an even sigh. “Father, can you grant me absolution?”

She blinks at me, and for a moment, it looks like she’s holding her breath. I swallow something thick. Something human when I realize she has no idea who she is. What I am.

My mouth opens. I almost tell her the truth, but why bother? I take her hands in mine.

“What’s your confession, Susan?”

She darts her eyes left, takes in a shuddering breath before her gaze locks onto mine.

“My lack of faith… My cowardice, it got my grandchildren k-k-killed.” Her features drop, shoulders trembling in quiet grief.

A horn honks. I jump, and then fire a glare over at the convoy as something pinches in my chest. I stopped breathing. With an inhale, I peer back down at Susan.

Her eyes are wide. “Will you grant me absolution?”

I nod and rush a cross in front of her. Her eyes close, features relaxed. As I lean in to place my lips close to her ear, I try to stamp down the human thing in my chest that felt for her.

I try not to see a little old lady.

It’s almost too easy.

I pucker my lips and whistle. I gulp down her need, and then let her drop to the ground.

Thud.

13

As I trudge back to the car, I catch a glimpse of Kiwi wincing. With a smile, I waggle my fingers at her. The skin around her eyes tightens. Her mouth screws up with attitude. Then, she squeezes her eyes closed and shuts the passenger side door.

It feels good to drive again. So good that I take over the next two driving shifts. I tap my fingers on the wheel as I zip this bad bitch through the remains of Tennessee. The only thing that would make it better would be music.

Damn, I miss my smart phone.

I click my tongue because it’s too damn quiet. After a while, I start to study my surroundings. It’s not all bad. Stars salt the night sky as I pull up to a row of concrete barriers with a sprinkling of armed guards.

“Stop,” Juliet says from the back.

I tap the brake and put it in park.

“Give me a moment,” Juliet says, opening her door and sliding out. The door slams closed. She passes across the front of the car and saunters toward an approaching guard.

“This place looks familiar,” Kiwi mutters, her voice rough.

“It’s the old University of Tennessee,” Tripp says.

I nod as I glance around, about to remark on how well it’s kept, when a blur of movement stops the small talk. Juliet waves us forward.

Slowly, we all grab our shit, then stagger out of the cramped car. I slide on my pack as I trail Tripp and Kiwi toward the guard, who mumbles a name into his walkie-talkie.

Crackle.

“I’m on my way,” a distorted, female voice says from the walkie-talkie.

The guard, a short tan guy with no neck, gestures with his gun at a security booth.

“You all are clear with Gus up at the booth. The doctor will be up to fetch you shortly.” He nods at us, then strolls back to his post.

Juliet faces us. “You all go ahead. I’ll join you as soon as I can.” Her trademark polite smile stretches her lips, then she walks around us and back toward the convoy.

Tripp starts up for the booth, and we fall in a lazy line behind him. When we reach Gus, he gives us a gummy smile, then smacks down on something in his booth.

There is a low buzz, then a zap before the massive white walls creak open.

Gus waves us through. I’m the last one inside and I crane my back and stare at Juliet, wondering what she’s doing.

A clap makes me blink. I twist my head back around. There is a thirty-something, pale woman with thick-framed glasses beaming at us. She flips her raven hair over her shoulder and slides her hands into the pockets of her teal scrubs.

“You must be Colonel Jax’s people.”

My nostrils flare at the sound of his name.

“My name is Doctor Phila. Welcome.” As she smiles, the Asian guy steps out in front of Tripp.

“Doctor Lee.” He holds out a hand, and they shake. Lee gestures at each of us, rattling off names. Her gaze lands on me last.

“You must be tired.” With a tight smile, she points her thumbs back over her shoulders. “If you’ll follow me, we’ll get you settled in.”

I follow my group toward a two-story brick structure with white columns. Moonlight glistens off a glass booth in the center of the top step.

“Welcome to Brown Theatre,” Doctor Phila says as we make our way up the steps. “The citizens here at Compound Four like to use this space for prayer meetings and whatnot.” She leads us through a lobby with candles against the wall and names scrawled where play posters used to hang. “For your stay, we’ve set up lanterns and cots. You won’t be disturbed.” She stops next to the entrance of the theater, then jerks her head over her shoulder.

Tripp gasps as he saunters into the dimly lit room. His head jerks left and right, and I imagine his eyes are wide even though I can’t see his face.

He’s probably getting a gay guy boner.

Sorry, that’s not right. I’m sure not all gay guys love the theater. I just never met one that didn’t.

As we pass rows of theater seats, my throat tightens. I sniff. Something doesn’t feel right. I’m not psychic, but I tend to know when something is going to pop off.

I press my lips tight as I step onto a stage lined with cots. Whatever it is, isn’t my concern. My only concern is getting that cure. And the upper hand.

* * *

We eat and mingle with a few of the residents of Compound Four. They all seem to be science geeks of some kind. Med students. Nurses. Doctors. Researchers. I even overhear that one of the legendary biochemists on the team that came up with the Atera vaccine is somewhere on the grounds.

I tuck that information away for later use. Then, I take my shower and head back to the theater. I plop on a cot in front of Tripp and pull at my collar.

“Another things I miss,” I say. “Men’s clothing.”

Tripp chortles and backs up to lean against the wall. “And shoes?”

With a snort, I reach under my bed to pull out my guitar case. As I snap open the lid and pull out my guitar I say, “You must be thinking of yourself, or one of your former fag hags.”

He gasps. I sit up and glance over at him, then laugh at the look on his face. As I straighten, he winks at me.

“We both know your black ass owned a ton of shoes.”

I run my fingers over the strings, careful not to pluck any of them. “The thing all black men and gay men have in common. A love for shoes.”

He laughs and nods at the Gip.

“I’ve been wondering what’s up with that,” he says, stifling a yawn.

I run my gaze up and down the medium blue finish. The two white stripes on the left side. A Les Paul traditional, and one beautiful bitch.

The strings flicker with jolts of stored energy. That’s not me romanticizing. There’s literally power coursing through Gip.

“This is my focus,” I say, plucking the pick from the back compartment. “This is what gets us over and into the crossroads.”

There are a few moments of silence, followed by the stirring of our group. Kiwi slides in bed on the other side of Tripp, flips onto her side, and points her back at me.

“What does it do?” Tripp says, voice hushed.

I slip the pick over my thumb and hang it inches over the middle of the strings.

Warmth rushes into me, pounding my heart faster. I suck in a breath. My hand, the one holding the pick, trembles. My muscles tighten as I try to pull my hand back. With a gasp, I manage to slice through the call. I jerk my hand away, then quickly place the pick in its home.

I laugh and glance up at Tripp. “It magnifies my power a fuck ton.” Leaning over, I put the guitar in its case, then slide it back under the bed. I sit up, about to explain what else it does when something crosses my vision from the left.

Juliet has one foot perched at the edge of the stage. She leans over it, then raises her eyebrow at me. I mimic her expression, and she shifts her gaze to the other side of the stage.

“If everyone is settled, it’s two minutes till lock down,” she says,

A throat clears. I scan the stage until my eyes land on Lee.

“You’re locking us in this room? What if…”

Juliet holds up her hand to cut Lee off. “No worries. Support will sleep outside the door in shifts.” She flips her hair.

My eyes narrow almost out of instinct.

“Alright everyone. I need you to focus on getting your rest.” She nods. “Goodnight.”

As she turns to walk away, I reach up into my mind, he part of me that can visualize things into being, and watch her stop. She turns and meets my gaze with visible strain.

A flash of her ripping out my back teeth rushes my mind.

No, I don’t want to hurt her. I just want to remind her.

Her teeth clamp. “Do you need anything, Pike?”

I tilt my head to the side and pretend to think about it. Trying to get a rise out of her. Nothing.

The dynamic between us has changed, she knows it, I know it. This isn’t the Pit where they had me doped up on monkshood and my face covered in a mask. Here, I can make her do anything, and yet she refused to admit it. If she were anyone else, I’d be impressed.

I lift my hold on her and shake my head. “Nah, you can dip.”

With a nod, she turns and marches down the steps. I yawn, then start to reach for my lantern. A snort echoes on the stage. I pause.

“Were you gonna try and fuck her?” Kiwi says in a crabby tone.

I glance over at Tripp, who rolls his eyes as he lays down.

Shaking my head, I turn off the flickering light and lie on my back. The lanterns in the corners cast long shadows on the walls. I follow their ghost movements. My lids start to feel heavy, and I yawn again.

“Well, I told you I’d give you until tonight to spill. I guess it’s on me to tell him.” Tripp’s voice snaps my drooping eyelids awake.

A loud creak rings out. Then, the brush of movement.

“You keep your mouth closed or I will…”

“Girl, stop.” Tripp cuts Kiwi off. “You know I love you, but I don’t do secrets like this.” He clears his throat, and I sigh. Before I can tell them to shut the fuck up, Tripp says, “Kiwi was a part of what they did to Sadie because she can’t help it.”

I blink into the dim room, then prop myself up on an elbow. “What do you mean she can’t help it?”

There is a thud, then a blur of movement followed by Kiwi stomping down the stage. She throws herself onto the cot farthest from us. I shake my head.

“I mean, she has to. She’s a fury. They use her to ask about things that might screw up this mission. Well, they ask her sisters.” He pauses. “And when they asked them if you thought getting back to Sadie was more important than following orders, they said yes.” A cough. “They said you were already trying to think up ways to get Sadie out and bring Compound Six down.”

I sit rod straight. “They asked her… sisters?” I shake my head in confusion, even though I know he can’t see me.

“They told Colonel Deuce that the only way to guarantee you’d follow orders to the letter was to put Sadie’s life on the line.”

“I’m sorry, but how did they ask her sisters?”

“Through Kiwi. She hears them in her head.”

I’m not amused, but I burst out laughing. “Right. The voices made me do it. Gotcha.”

“I’m serious, honey. She’s the last of the three. She gets orders that lead to her sisters’ murderers. And she has to follow.” His voice is softer. “I’m sorry, Kiwi.”

Miles and miles of silence stretch out as I ponder what Tripp has just told me. I wait for the truth to thaw me. To stir some understanding.

It doesn’t happen.

Finally, Kiwi coughs. “Fuck you both.”

After that, no one speaks. My eyelids start to droop, and I’m out cold.

* * *

Something twists in my gut and my eyes shoot open. My ears perk, straining to catch what stirred me awake. It wasn’t a nightmare. Light snoring and measured breathing flow through my ears.

Nothing else. Nothing that should be tightening my gut.

I sit up, slowly, trying to breathe evenly. Then, I open my eyes and glance around the theater.

Still nothing.

Just flickering shadows and bodies shifting on cots. I give myself a few moments, then lower myself back down.

Shake it off.

I gulp in a few breaths, then start to lower my eyelids when it comes again.

The twist of panic in the gut. Then, a low hum, like an army of slowly approaching crickets, perks my ears.

Fuck is that?

I sit up slowly again. The hum grows louder. I swing my legs over the side of my cot and ease onto my feet. The hum grows even louder. I creep across the stage. To my right, a body stirs.

Juliet.

There is gasp. The room seems to stir, then the theater doors fly open. Black, darker than an anthrax wound, rushes the room. Before I can react, I’m pushed back. I crash onto the hard floor. Three more crashes. My head explodes. Dark, unnatural pain. I twitch. My breath hitches.

I’m sealed to the floor, surrounded by wave after wave of screamed agony.

They float above me, draped in sheer sapphire and blue fabric. Their long limbs extend like tree branches. An army of dark predators. Their eyes beam red. Three slick spikes stick up on each of their heads.

Wraiths.

Shit burger.

I try to fight. Try to block their gaping mouths. Their long, black, searching tongues dart into my mouth, inside each ear, trying to eat me from the inside out.

I try to fight.

My own gurgle meets my ears, and saliva foams out of my mouth. They steal my air. My body freezes. They keep going until I feel stretched to the point of ripping in half.

Seeping tongues crawl up my nose and nip the corners of my eyes.

There is too much air.

Then, not enough.

A scream rips through the crippling hum. I think it’s me. And I think I’m dying.

14

Pike!”

The sound scratches the edge of a maddening wall of noise. A thousand yellow jackets buzzing the harmonic styling of hell. I try to close my eyes but it’s an effort. Feels almost like my eyelids have been drizzled in super glue.

“Pike!”

When my eyelids finally shut, I turn my head toward the call of my name. Sweat pools on my forehead, then a burning rips into my chest. With a grunt, I jerk upward, toward the pain. A sea of black wraiths pin me back down on the stage.

I feel like I’m being turned to ash. Juliet is calling my name from somewhere in the distance. I know this because of the connection I have with her. That’s all I can tell. I don’t know if she’s trying to reach me. If she’s made her escape. Or if the wraiths are making a meal of her screams.

My body convulses. My head smashes against the floor. I lose an inch of consciousness with each blow. Then, my entire frame quakes, and I start to scream.

Another forked tongue slithers down my throat. It cuts of the scream so completely it’s like I never made a peep. My lungs and stomach swell like a drowned victim. Blackness starts to wash me away at the same time one of the things I cannot see starts to suck something out of me.

As I struggle to breathe, I hear the voice… Juliet, screaming my name again. I can’t answer. I’m being smothered in a burning hive. My body heaves with the effort of trying to draw air, or anything else, into my body.

All I feel are burning stabs. I’m about to get snuffed the hell out. My thoughts turn to Sadie, then a brilliant red light tears the dark veil from my vision.

The wraiths scatter, a blur of grey and black. A sound like bat wings flapping echoes in the theater as they whirl toward the ceiling.

Then I start to fall. I don’t remember them pulling me off the floor, but the proof is in the few feet I stumble through the air and in the crash as the floor comes up to meet me.

“Ugh.” I pant and roll over, then crawl to my hands and knees.

More flashes of red cut into my vision, forcing me to shut my eyes as I try to scramble to my feet. My legs feel like used rubbers as they wobble, trying to support my weight.

A chest-rumbling roar fills the air. The ground shakes, and I almost lose my footing. I grab the nearest cot to steady myself. I recognize that growl. My ears fill with the wet snap of Tripp’s bones breaking and reforming.

There is another growl, followed by the piercing shriek of a hundred wraiths screaming in harmony. The floor shivers, and a rush of black momentarily cloaks my eyes. Struggling to breathe, I squint through the commotion in time to see twenty or so wraiths hiss at the monster Tripp has turned into, then rush off through a rip in the ceiling. Tripp bolts forward, leaving a Tripp the Orc sized hole in the side of the theater.

Another blur of red snatches my attention left.

“Pike!” Juliet yells as her and Kiwi rush toward me.

I scramble to get to my feet. A single wraith slams me to my knees. Another stream of light tunnels from Kiwi’s eyes. I duck. Heat rushes over my head, and another crazed wail shreds my eardrums.

“Come on.” Juliet is panting as she rushes past me.

I jump to my feet and turn in time to run back to the row of cots beside Kiwi, who is going backwards to keep the wraiths off us with her Superman heat vision thing.

I fall to my hands and knees, and pat under the cot I was sleeping in. I grab my pack and hoist it onto my back, then grasp the cool metal of my trident. When I glance up, a wall of wraiths meets my vision. With a smile, I flick my wrist, and the shaft extends and three metal prongs glint in the pale lantern light.

“Come at me,” I whisper.

A single set of fist sized jet eyes set on me. No, not eyes. Some other shit. Whatever soul suckers use to see with. Almost as soon as those eyelike things look at me, the wraith wall moves and swirl around us.

Juliet, Kiwi, and I are boxed inside a cyclone of these spike-headed bitches. With my pinky, I push the blue button on my trident. Electricity crackles, jumping the prongs to life. The three of us form a back-to-back formation. As soon as I’m in place, I spin and thrust my weapon into every wraith its reach can near.

For each one I spear into black smoke, another ten swirl around us. The air grows thick, and I can feel my skin tighten like I’m walking through hard wind. With a clenched jaw, I force one foot in front of the other, fighting through them. I only gain inches at a time. Then, I stop. My mouth is forced open, and again I feel the pained pressure of something being ripped from my body.

But it isn’t me. It can’t be. I know they are close, but not close enough to eat me. Not yet. I try to force my mouth closed with no luck. Panic starts to creep into my veins, then there is a loud thud behind me.

Then I realize it’s not me. It’s Juliet. I made her my bitch and now that little piece of siren magic I put on her is going to get both our asses killed.

I plant my feet and try to will my arms to work. A long red finger of light slashes through a few dozen wraiths. They shriek louder than banshees and turn into inkblots of smoke.

“Juliet’s down,” Kiwi hisses at my back.

I try to nod, to acknowledge that I’m aware of how much we’re fucked, but I’m rooted to the floor. There is a low buzz followed by another gut clenching scream, and I take in a gasp of air. Just like that, I can move. I whirl around to find Kiwi helping Juliet to her feet under a canopy of wraith dust.

“Get her out of here” Kiwi hisses. “I’ll keep these mother truckers off your back.”

I frown. Somehow, the idea of swooping this bitch up and whisking her off to safety doesn’t seem appealing. I tongue the part in my gums where my molars used to be, then shake my head.

“No, you take her. Find the others and get to the car. I got these things.” Five or so wraiths pass over my head, and I duck. Then, I nod Kiwi toward the door. “Go on, now. Get the hell out of here.”

She looks at me through narrow eyes for a few moments, then places her arm under Juliet’s shoulder and staggers toward the door with her. I follow, blasting sirens on my left and right with electronic pulses from my trident. After a few moments, I’m alone. I reach out and feel for the girls. I need to makes sure they’re out of my range.

I don’t want to blow their heads off.

Not yet, at least.

Once I know they’re safe, I peer up at the cyclone of wraiths dive-bombing me. Half my mouth curls into a smirk. I suck in a huge breath, throw my head back, and wail.

My lips vibrate in time with the walls and windows of the theater. Every inch of me shakes with power. With otherness. The sound of me is too much for them. They pop-pop-pop right out of my reality and back to the Underworld.

* * *

I stumble through the front doors of the theater and down the stairs. Silver moonlight spills onto the cracked brick and combs through whispering tree branches. Shadows dance on the ground. I pass over them and duck around the side of the building toward the parked vehicles.

As soon as I round the corner, my feet sink into the earth. I glance down and make out a small crater in the shape of Tripp’s footprints.

I hope he made it out okay. Not that I’m too worried. Smart money is always on the monster in any fight. My feet crunch the dead leaves on the ground until I make it the other side of the building, where my feet hit cement again.

Within seconds, a glaring yellow light floods my eyes. I lift my hand to fight off the brightness. A horn blares. I squint through the light. A small armored car speeds toward me. I side step out of the cone of light and the car rushes forward, slowing to a crawl for long enough for me to see that the side door is open. Without thinking, I jump inside and slam the door shut.

Panting, I glance around. Juliet is in the seat across from me, passed out. Kiwi is driving, glued to the steering wheel and tense with concentration. Beside her, Doctor Lee is crouched down in his seat, hyperventilating.

I take a moment to regulate my breathing then ask, “Tripp?”

Kiwi’s eyes meet mine in the rear view mirror. “Heading east… At least I hope so, I’m following his tracks.”

As I slide back into my seat, I peer out of the window.

“He shouldn’t be too hard to find,” I say, noting the collapsed trees and ruined landscape.

“Is she going to be okay?” Kiwi’s question draws my gaze to Juliet. I note the steady rise and fall of her chest. With a shrug, I switch my gaze back to Kiwi. “I guess. We have bigger problems than her.”

Kiwi sucks on her teeth. “You guess?” She snorts. “Oh, shit…”

The car comes to a stop, propelling me into the back of Lee’s seat. He lets out a gasp and twists slightly in his chair as I flop back.

“Damn, woman.” I say. “What the hell?”

Without answering, Kiwi shoves her door open and jumps out into the still night. I rub the back of my neck and gesture with my head at Juliet. “Doc, do me a solid and keep that bitch alive.”

Before he can say anything, I duck out after Kiwi, glance back at the two vehicles that trail us, then trudge around the front of the car. Kiwi is kneeled over a naked Tripp. I pause a few inches behind her as she gasps and strains in her attempt to get him off the ground by either arm.

I’m too worn out to laugh. Instead, I tap her on the shoulder.

“What?” She almost growls it without bothering to turn around.

“Get back in the damn car, girl.”

“Screw you.”

I scoff. “Look, do you want to do this for the next few minutes then ask for my help, or do you want to save some time and just get back into the damn car?”

She drops his arms with a clunk, then turns to me with a huff. She doesn’t scowl like she usually does. It makes me wonder briefly is she’s trying to be a little less psycho with me to make up for screwing a kid over. Just as quick, I decide it doesn’t matter, and she strolls back to the car, leaving Tripp and me in the harsh glow of headlights.

Glancing down, I groan at the sight of him. He’s naked and in human form. Of course. Because why would things get any better from here? I glance up and pinch the bridge of my nose. With a sigh, I bend over with my eyes half closed. I grip one of his arms, then wrap my other hand around his waist. As I stand up, I pull him with me, then fling him over my shoulder.

I turn around and head back for the car and try to ignore his face slapping against my ass. I reach for the back door, slide it open, and then lean over to let Tripp flop onto back seat. I’m panting when I get back into the car. I wipe a pool of sweat that has gathered on my forehead.

“You okay?” Kiwi asks from the driver’s seat.

I shut my door and kick the back of Doc’s seat. “Hey.” Huff. “Man.” Huff. “I need you to make sure he’s Tripp’s ass is alright back there.”

Lee’s nod is curt. He twists in his seat and makes his way past Juliet and myself, stiff as a Popsicle stick. I lean back into my chair and close my eyes.

“Drive. Get us somewhere to sleep tonight,” I say in a heavy voice.

After a few moments, the car glides forward again.

Kiwi clears her throat. “You giving the orders now?”

“No,” a strained voice pipes up beside me.

I glance over as Juliet struggles to sit upright. “But I am, and he’s right. We need…” She pauses and places her hand to her throat. After she clears it, she continues, “We need to rest.”

“Agreed,” Lee says from the back. “Tripp is well, but in need of nourishment and rest.”

“Okay,” Kiwi says. “Any suggestions?”

“Yes.” Juliet starts to stand. Her knees buckle, and she falls down between our seats. She glares up at me, and I shrug. Then, she shakes her head, reaches for the passenger seat, and pulls herself up into it.

I buckle in and let out a long sigh. Juliet pushes a few buttons on the front console, and a map populates on the screen. I let my heavy eyelids close, and after the next few beats of my heart, I slide into unconsciousness.

15

Something smacks me hard in the chest. I jerk awake and throw my fists in front of my face. I blink Tripp, now thankfully clothed, into focus.

He leans away from me. “Take it easy, Sleeping Beauty.”

A rush of chilled air stings my eyes. I close them and groan, then stretch out my legs and rip off my safety harness.

“Where are we?” I ask through a cough.

He holds his hand out toward me. I take it, and he pulls me out into a flickering, butter-tinged light.

“Bristol, or what used to be Bristol. Close to what used to be Virginia,” he tells me, looking around.

The sound of feet smacking pavement, car doors slamming, and people muttering buzzes in my ears as I take in my surroundings. Like most of what I’ve seen up to this point, everything is a ruined pretender of the world I used to know. We’re in a parking lot with shredded metal décor and rocky asphalt. It looks almost like a horde of giants came through and gnawed on everything, just for kicks, leaving behind ruined shells.

Everything except the fenced-in building on the left.

Tripp mutters something to me as he hands me my pack and my trident. I nod at him like I’m listening and peer through the fence to get a better look at the building. After a few seconds, I realize it’s a small country jail. It’s so well preserved, looks like a mirage in the middle of a wasteland. Like something spat it back from the pre-shit world. Tripp smacks me on the shoulder, leaving a low, throbbing pain. I peel my eyes from the jail and narrow them at him.

“You heard anything I said, beauty?”

I open my mouth to answer, someone claps. My eyes dart around the parking lot before landing on Juliet.

“Okay, people,” she says with her hands still pressed together. “We’re staying here for the night. According to our Scouters, this is the most secure location in the area. That being said, I don’t want to take any chances in light of the recent attack we came under. So, we’re going to clear the entire area before settling in for the night.” She pulls her Browning and cocks it before aiming it at the ground. “Anything inside gets a death blow. I don’t care what it is.” She nods behind her toward the jail. “Let’s move.”

I slip my trident into its holster and pull out my side arm. I nod at Tripp before following Juliet, Kiwi, and the rest of the group through the fence and toward the front doors. My heart pounds my mind wide-awake.

Juliet brandishes a long, silver stick and places one end of it into the lock, securing the fence. One of Compound Six’s gadgets. Universal lock pick. There is a low click, then Juliet slides the lock off and opens the gate. It lets out a whining creak.

We all pass through and wait for Juliet to close the gate behind us.

“Lee, Jameson, Stiles,” she says. “Stay out here while we clear the building.”

Jameson nods, and we continue forward. Juliet picks the lock on the glass doors that lead into the jail, and we turn on our flashlights at almost the same time. The room fills with four tunnels of light, each one of them darting around to focus on various corners of the room. I train my light on the center of the jail.

A mid-sized, circular desk sits in the middle of the room. I pause at it and then wave Tripp by me so that I can bring up the rear. From the main room, there are three separate hallways. Kiwi and Juliet take the one to the far left while Tripp heads down the middle hallway, leaving me with the one on the far right.

The corridor is wide with six doors lined up on the left. Pressing my back against the wall, I creep up to the first door and point my flashlight and gun inside. The room is empty except for a bare cot pressed up against the wall opposite the door. I step in and peer behind the door to make sure no monsters are hidden, ready to spring out.

I repeat this ritual as I move down the hall. In the last cell, I almost slip on something near the door and have to reach for the wall to balance myself. Pointing my flashlight down, I see a small pool of black liquid.

“Ugh.” I run my boots against the floor in an attempt to get the shit off of them while I examine the pool closer. While I’m flicking my flashlight along the floor, I see something that makes my gut tense.

Bits of hair and sheets of flesh are scattered throughout the black pool. I realize it’s blood. I follow the trail of hair, blood, and teeth and find a woman dressed in a cop uniform squatted in the left corner of the room.

I say woman, but it’s more like a woman-thing. Something that used to be human.

The woman-thing is slowly ripping her hair out with one hand, while gnawing on the other. Her fingers, long and bone pale, are ruined flesh sticks that look like they’ve been through the meat grinder.

I gag.

Her dead eyes snap over to me.

I pause and wait.

Her eyes roll back into her head, turning into oversized, milky white marbles. A low moan fills the room. The thing takes her fingers from her mouth and plants them on the floor on either side of her. I holster my gun and remove my trident. I snap it open to its full length and creep closer to her.

Footsteps echo behind me. It tries to slide closer to me using her ruined hands. In one swift movement, I plunge my trident through her skull. She tumbles to the floor. Behind me, someone clears their throat.

I turn to take in Juliet. She looks past me and nods. Another set of footsteps echoes from down the hall and, within seconds, Jameson and Stiles come up behind her.

“The rest of the place is secure,” Juliet says. “Jameson, Stiles, get that body out of here. Richards, I need you to come to the main room for a minute. Then everyone can turn in.”

I nod, press the button on my trident, then wait for it to shorten. As I put my weapon back in its holster, I step away so that Jameson and Stiles can remove the body from the room. I make my way down the hall at Juliet’s heels. Tripp, Lee, and Kiwi are already there. Kiwi and Tripp are on the circular desk, leaned into each other, sharing some conversation. Tripp looks up first, and then their muted voices stop and Kiwi straightens.

I saunter over and lean against the desk on the other side of Tripp, then train my eyes on Juliet. She claps her hands.

“Okay, people. The good news is that we’re making great time. This place is secure. We can eat and rest up here.” Her ice blue eyes flicker to me and she sighs. “The bad news is, something is on to us. Something that doesn’t want us to reach the crossroads.”

Tripp straightens at this. “What’s onto us?”

Juliet shrugs. “No idea. Most likely a witch.” Her eyes are still locked on my face. Her voice is matter-of-fact.

“Why would you think that?” Tripp asks.

She sighs again and doesn’t say anything for a few moments.

“Because of the wraith attack,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

Kiwi looks between me and Juliet. “Okay, you obviously know something we don’t. Why does a wraith attack tell you someone is on to us?”

“Yeah, why can’t it just be what we expected? Monsters running around unchecked.” Tripp’s nose scrunches up.

I shake my head. “Because wraiths don’t just run around. They’re conjured and sent after specific people.”

Juliet nods. “He’s right. They hunt specific souls. As far as I know, a god can control them, or a powerful witch. Either way, something sent that hive after us.”

I glance back over at her. For someone that hates my kind so much, she sure is schooled about our world.

“So, what does that mean for us?” Tripp asks Juliet.

She stares over at him and flips her hair. “We stick to the plan. But we stay alert. We have to assume that whatever sent the soul hunters has a few more surprises to send our way.”

Tripp chuckles. “Doesn’t sound like much of a plan. Do what we told you, but look out for even more dangers than anticipated.”

“Well, it’s the best option we have,” Juliet says.

I straighten and tap my fingers on the desk. “Did the wraiths attack Lee, Stiles or Jameson?”

Juliet looks at me with a furrowed brow. “What?”

“The wraiths. Did they attack them?”

Juliet frowns, so I look at Kiwi, then Tripp, for an answer. Kiwi just shrugs while Tripp gives me a blank look.

“Where is this going, Richards?” Juliet asks.

I slide my gaze back over to Juliet. “I’m just betting they weren’t. Humans… they don’t tend to survive a thing like that. The only reason you’re still kicking is because you’re bound to me.”

Juliet’s expression doesn’t change. Not that I expected it to. It never does.

When no one speaks, I sigh and say, “I’m just wondering if you have a witch back at Compound Six… and if that witch has any ties to our group. And by our group, I mean those three motherfuckers.”

I flash her a wide smile. Her face still doesn’t change, but I can tell I’ve given her something to think about. Well, it’s more that I can feel that I’ve given her something to think about. There is a quick stab of suspicion in my gut.

She flips her hair, then claps. “I’ll look into it,” she says in the same polite tone she always uses. The one I can’t stand.

She picks her pack off the floor and points to a door at the far right of the room. It’s set next to a wall with a large plastic window. I can’t make out what’s on the other side of the plastic.

“We found some kerosene lamps in there. Pick a spot and get some rest. We leave at first light.” With that last command, she stalks away, down the far left hallway, where she vanishes into the dark.

I’m not feeling too social so I give Kiwi and Tripp a small smile. “Night, guys.”

Then I turn on my heels and head for the room with the kerosene lamps. After grabbing one, I head for one of the holding cells and slam the door shut behind me.

The room falls into absolute darkness. I mean, I can’t see shit. I wave my hand in front of my face to prove it. I take my flashlight from my pocket, then set it on the cot where it fills the cell with a narrow cylinder of light.

Then I peel the pack off my back, along with the trident, and place them under the bare cot. The yellow light from the lamp casts looming shadows on the peeling walls. The cot whines under my weight.

I start the long task of removing all the weaponry I’m saddled down with:

The two Browning BDM’s, the 870, extra ammunition and four ka-bar, fixed blade combat knives. Good thing the AR-15 is still in the car, or I might be at this all night.

I know I’m supposed to stay dressed and combat ready, but fuck that. After the wraith attack I’m tired. I just want to feel normal for one night.

I rip my protective vest off and toss it on the floor, then peel the tight Kevlar suit down to just below my waist.

With a sigh of relief, I pick up my flashlight and flop down on the cot. The frame squeals its welcome. I turn off the light and try to drown in darkness. I lay back and pretend the mattress is comfortable. I try and hide from all the shit falling down all around me. But most of all, I try not to think. After a few moments, I let my eyes shut.

My thoughts drift to Sadie, and I try and bat her face away. It bounces back like its being served by an enthusiastic tennis instructor. The fourth or fifth time her face fills my thoughts, I sit back up. Then, my door creeps open.

I glance up. Tripp is there with a smile and dangling a lamp on two fingers.

“Thought you might want this, but I see you have one already.” He comes in without waiting to be invited. I guess after you carry a dude naked, there’s really no point in observing any social contract.

“Thanks, man.” I rub my eyes with my thumb and index finger.

“No problem.” He places the lamp next to the cot, then sits next to me. “You hungry?”

“Nah, man.”

“You okay?”

I glance sidelong at him, then stare back toward the door. “I mean we’re in a world of shit, but other than that…”

“No, I mean about Sadie.”

I clench my jaw and try not to let anger bubble up in my gut. I can’t think of anything to say, and I don’t want to talk about it so I remain quiet.

“Oh, tough guy routine, huh? Hot, but bullshit.”

I clench my jaw tighter.

“Kiwi is real messed up about it. She feels really…”

I clear my throat and quickly change the subject. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Um, what?”

I turn my head slightly to look at him. “Out there, with Juliet. That there might be a witch back at C6.” I shake my head, angry with myself. “I should have kept my damn mouth shut.”

Tripp’s face wrinkles in confusion. “Why?”

I peel my eyes away from him and shrug. “Just seems like… the witch is one of us. I’m afraid Juliet will retaliate. I hope I didn’t help.” I drop my gaze to the floor. “Seems like a dick move is all.”

Tripp crosses his legs and sighs. “Well, what else were you supposed to do? We have enough to worry about without worrying about some wayward witch on our tails.”

I laugh, but it’s a chopped off sound. Not a bit of humor in it. “Wayward, huh? What if it’s just someone trying to stop us from saving these…” I clench my jaw again. “These people?”

There is a long stretch of silence after my question. Finally, Tripp clears his throat.

“Are you saying you don’t think getting this cure is right?”

I laugh, another bitter, humorless sound. “I don’t know, man. Maybe I don’t. Nah, I don’t think it’s right. They did this to us. To themselves.” I turn my face away from him and stare at the wall. “But it is what it is.”

There is another length of silence. Then, Tripp laughs and claps my shoulder. I try not to wince away from the pain. He really needs to watch that shit.

“I call BS.”

I turn back to him. His eyebrow is lifted. It makes him seem like he thinks he’s clever. Like he just figured something out. Before I can say anything, he goes on.

“I think that you’d be here, doing the right thing, even without Sadie hanging over your head.”

Now I laugh like I’ve heard a damn good joke. “Well, you don’t know me very well.”

Tripp stands, exacting a squeal from the cot. “Whatever, beauty. Maybe you just don’t know yourself well enough yet.” He pulls something out of his pocket and tosses it to me. I glance down at a pack of crackers in brown wrapping. “In case you get hungry.”

As he heads for the door, I clear my throat. “So, you think we’re doing the right thing?”

He turns around, and I raise my eyebrow at him. “Is that why you’re here?”

He stares at me for a few moments, then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I think we’re doing the right thing.”

My nose wrinkles. “Why?”

He shrugs. “What the hell else are we supposed to do? Watch the world go to shit?” He smiles. “Goodnight, Pike.”

I nod at him as he makes his way to the door. It snaps shut behind him. I open the dark brown packet by its serrated top edge. Inside are two wheat crackers. Without thinking, I stuff them into my mouth. Keeping my mind on the act of chewing helps keep the shit I don’t want to think about at the back of my mind.

When I polish off the last bit of cracker, I crumple the wrapper up in my hand and shove it into my pack. I pick up my flashlight, aim it at my pack, and try to locate the one box of matches I have stuffed somewhere inside. After only a few seconds, I give up and lay back down on the cot.

I try to close my eyes, knowing that I’m not going to be able to sleep. About what I guess is five minutes later, I prove myself right. I stand up, grabbing my flashlight, , and leave the holding cell. I swing the flashlight beam out into the hall, splashing the chipped walls in yellow light.

I walk down and into the main room with the circular desk. The room is washed in silver light. I glance out the front glass doors and consider going outside, before deciding against it. Instead, I stroll around the desk and saunter down the middle hallway. No idea what I’m up to. All I know is that I need to be up doing something that will distract me from the racing thoughts in my head. Walking seems as good an activity as anything else.

I come to the end of the hallway, turn around, and start to leave. A low muttering from the door on my left catches my attention. I glance over and notice a pale yellow glow coming from the crack in the door. With a frown, I wonder if something could have snuck in here. I peer back down the hall and consider going back to the cell to get something quiet—a knife, maybe—when the muttering gets a little louder.

As I inch toward the door and place a hand on the knob, my heart shoots off.

Please don’t be something that can kill me.

Shoving the door open, I utter a silent prayer that the door doesn’t creak. For once, the gods actually listen, and I enter the room noiselessly. I spot a desk with a lantern perched on top, and as I approach, the light throws my shadow onto the wall.

“No, shut up! You don’t even know him!”

My eyes dart left, toward the sound of the voice, and I find a figure huddled in the corner. She’s facing the wall so I shine my flashlight onto her back.

She freezes.

“Kiwi?” I ask in a measured voice. “You alright?”

She doesn’t turn around, so I glance around the room, hoping to find someone else. And I don’t.

Woman is definitely crazy.

“Who ya talking to?” I ask, pivoting back to her. I try to sound casual.

She whirls around and levels me with those pitch dark eyes. I gulp and try to keep my face neutral.

“No one,” she says with a hiss.

She raises her hand to shield her eyes, and I realize I’m shining my flashlight in her face. I lower it.

“What the hell are you doing up, anyway?” She crosses her arms over her chest.

My mouth opens, but I can’t think of anything to say.

“And why is your chest all out?” She sounds annoyed as she stalks toward me. Without thinking, I back up until I hit the wall.

“Uh, I… it got tight.” I shake my head to clear it. “Wait, you’re avoiding the question. Who the hell were you talking to?”

She glares at me and I meet her gaze, unblinking.

“My sisters.” She shrugs, like what she just said wasn’t crazy as hell, and turns away from me. Then, she hops up on the desk and adds, “You should get some sleep.”

“Yeah, so should you, crazy. What do you mean, your sisters?”

She actually smiles. A small, almost sexy and impish grin. She raises her chin. “You want to help me with that?” It comes out with a purr.

I raise my eyebrows. “Come again?”

She pushes her chest out. “I could use a little help getting to sleep. Do you want to help me?”

There is a tingle of desire in my man stick and have to fight not to roll my eyes. So don’t want to go there. Not after what she did to Sadie. Not after I’ve just confirmed she’s crazy.

“Uh, I don’t know if we should go there again, cra… Kiwi.”

“No?” She hops off the desk and sashays toward me.

There is no denying her strange beauty. She wraps her arms around my waist and kisses my chest. Another tingle, more persistent than the first, dims whatever arguments I just had in my head.

Then she steps back and starts to peel her suit away from her body.

“Um.” I raise my hand to block the view. “I don’t know…I’m gonna have to ask you not to do that,” I say, while I still have blood in my smart brain.

Instead of stopping, she tilts her head and bites the corner of her mouth. When the suit hits the floor, my jaw lands with it.

She’s naked, walking back toward me.

“Pike.” She stands on her tiptoes and presses those full lips against my ear. Her breath comes out heavy. “I want you to fuck me until I can’t think.”

I remember there were several good reasons I don’t want to do this. I can’t, however, remember any one of those reasons. I can only lean down and wrap my arms around her waist. I press my face against her neck. She smells like grime and gunpowder. It’s hot as hell.

“You sure about that?” I ask before dragging my lips along the crook of her neck.

She shivers in my arms and clings to me tighter. I take that as a yes and pick her up, then walk across the room with her and sit her gently on the desk.

I pull away and she looks at me for several seconds, before hopping off the desk. I open my mouth to ask where she’s going, when she tangles her fingers in the fabric of my suit. I’d almost forgotten that it was still hanging at my waist. She peels it away from my body slowly, lowering herself down in front of me as she does. When the suit is around my ankles, I step out of it and watch her lift herself back to standing.

I let my gaze fall up and down her body, then nod at the desk. “Get yo sexy ass back up there.”

She smiles and slowly does as I ask her, sliding one butt cheek, then the other up onto the desk. I saunter forward and place a hand on each of her thighs. As slow as I can manage, I trace my fingers up and down her smooth legs. Her nipples grow hard.

I have to swallow because she makes my mouth water. I lift my hands and run a few fingers up her stomach and cup one breast.

I lean forward to whisper into her ear. “No hitting this time.”

I feel her nod, then I pull away and bend my head over her right breast, the one I’m cupping. I give it a squeeze and gently place her nipple between my teeth.

She gasps and rears back.

“No hitting,” I remind her.

With a smile, I flick my tongue across her nipple then move over to give the same attention to her other breast. Then I run my tongue down her taut stomach, and she grabs a handful of my hair. I plant a kiss on the inside of each thigh.

“Oh, Pike,” she moans. “Just fuck me.”

I grip her legs at the back of her knees and pull her toward me until her ass is almost hanging off the desk. She bites her lip.

“I can do that,” I say in a hoarse voice as I rub myself gently against her clit. She gasps again and, for a few seconds, I enjoy the sight of her trying to catch her breath.

“Come on. Please,” she whispers.

I clench my jaw because I wasn’t going to be able to tease her for that much longer. I slide inside her. Gently at first. My eyes want to roll back in my head, she feels so good. She feels more than good. She’s the best I’ve ever felt.

There are so many things wrong and right about that.

She slides closer to me and clamps her arms around my neck.

“Harder,” she grunts between clenched teeth.

I roll my hips faster, thrusting in and out of her so fast and hard the desk starts to slide across the room with our movement.

“Oh, God… Pike. Oh, yeah.” She lets out a moan that bounces off the walls, then her eyes widen slightly. She pushes up into my arms and buries her face into the crook of my shoulder, I guess to stop herself from calling out again.

I still do my best to wake everyone in this goddamned jail. I take her from every angle I can think off. I take her until she moans that she can’t take anymore. I take her until the first hint of morning sun trickles in through the box-shaped window above us. She’s mine until the morning yawns hello and we must continue our march toward death.

16

I wake up with Kiwi’s head lodged against my neck. My first thought is that I’m sore. My second thought is how the hell did we get back here? I peer through the darkness, and even though there is only a trickle of light illuminating the room, I can tell we’re in the holding cell I originally intended to sleep in. I lift my head a few inches and glance at the floor.

Our shit is piled up in a mound next to the bed. Weapons are scattered everywhere. And the last hint of light is dancing within the lamp Tripp brought me the night before. With a sigh, I glance down at Kiwi.

I’m about to shake her awake when I hear, “Everybody up! We move out in forty-five!” It’s Tripp.

“Shit.” I scramble for a blanket before I remember that I don’t have one. Then, the door squeals open and a bright light is shining on us.

“Hey, get up, ma—“

I glance, frozen under Tripp’s flashlight and narrowed eyes. We stare at each other for a few long moments. Finally, I manage a small smile. Then, I wave. “Hey man, gotcha. I’m up.”

He plants a hand on his hip and shakes his head. “Mm hm.” With that, he closes the door, and his steps trail away from us.

I let my head fall back onto the pillow and sigh.

“Great.” That’s just what I need.

After a few seconds, I shake Kiwi awake. She moans in protest.

“Come on, craz… I mean, Kiwi. We got to get up, girl.”

She moans again, before slightly lifting her head. She covers her eyes with one hand and pouts. It’s pretty damn cute, and my heart responds to it by beating faster. I shake off that feeling and smack her on the ass.

“Come on, girl. Get cho ass up.”

She removes her hand and hisses at me. I try not to smile. No. I do not like this woman. Not this crazy, child-screwing-over woman. I sit up and push her off of me.

She backs up on the cot, sits up on her knees, and scowls. “You know, you can be a real ass cannon.”

I pause in the process of swinging my legs over the side of the cot. I shoot her a glance, then plant my feet on the floor.

“Right,” I mutter, grabbing my suit so I can seal myself back inside of it. “I’m an ass… whatever.” I lean over and shove my legs into my suit and start working it up over my torso.

“So you’re still mad about the…” She doesn’t finish her sentence.

Not that she needs to. We both know what she’s talking about. It’s a good question, and one I don’t have an answer to. I’m angry about so many things.

Finally I say, “I don’t think we should talk about it.”

“Fine.” She snatches up her suit, stalks to the corner, and starts getting dressed. I stare at her for a few seconds before I finish putting on the rest of my gear.

Once my suit is on, I reload myself down with weapons. I’m almost finished when the door opens and shuts. When I look up, Kiwi is gone. With a sigh, slide my last knife into my forearm holster, put my backpack on, and stand up.

When I make it to the main room, everyone is standing around the circular desk, chowing down oatmeal from dark plastic bags and canned peaches. I plant myself on one side of Juliet and as far away from Tripp as I can manage. He stands across from me, eating and glancing between Kiwi and myself. I try my best to ignore him and work on my own breakfast.

I finish after everyone else. Beside me, Juliet claps, and I glance over at her.

“Alright, people. We have to get going. Make sure you have all your things, find a place to relieve yourself, and get loaded into the vehicles. Remember, we have to make part of this next stretch on foot.”

Everyone rustles to life, moving this way and that. I start off to find somewhere to take my morning piss when Juliet places her hand on my arm.

“Wait, I need you.” She raises her voice. “And, Jameson, I need you here as well.”

As soon as everyone clears the room, I look down at Juliet.

“What do you want?” I ask.

She flips her hair, then glances from Jameson and back to myself.

With a sigh, she says, “You were right.” Her gaze travels from me and lands on Jameson. “I need you to kill him. Is that okay with you?”

My eyes dart to Jameson, whose face is crimson, and raise an eyebrow. “Um, I guess I’d need more information.”

“You were right,” Juliet says without looking back at me. “There is a witch back at Compound 6. And this… traitor has been working with her.” She glances back and flashes a polite smile. “I was going to put a bullet in his brain, but I figure you could use the fuel.”

“Hey!” Jameson shouts, sweat streaming down his face. “I don’t know what in the hell you’re talking about!”

Juliet turns back to him, clearly unfazed. “Don’t, Jameson. The witch, Lester Sinclair outed you.”

“He’s lying!” Jameson backs away from us, shaking his head.

“Really, darling? Then how else did he come to know the specifics of our mission? How did he come to know where we were and when?”

Jameson’s mouth gapes open, and I kind of feel for the dude. Only for a second. I don’t have room for all that anymore. I have to be the monster. I have to be Sadie’s monsters, and I have to get back to her.

Juliet turns back to me with wide, expectant eyes. “Well, are you going to do it? Or am I? We need to get going.”

I shrug. “I’ll do it. Wait outside.”

Juliet nods at me and heads for the front door.

“What the…” Jameson swivels back and forth between us, face angry but pleading. “Now hang on just a damn minute!”

Jameson pulls a gun. I barely have time to blink before Juliet closes the distance between them, snaps the gun out of his hand and aims it at his head.

“Get down.” Juliet hovers over him.

He lowers himself to the floor, arms raised above his head.

“Give up all your weapons.” She cocks the handgun. “Right now, please.”

“Juliet… Ms. Burke. Please, don’t do this.”

She just stares at him. All three of us know how this is going to go. After a few minutes, a shaking Jameson starts to remove all his weapons. He slides them away from himself. Juliet bends over to retrieve them.

Before she heads back to the door, I call out, “Hey, wait a second.”

She slightly angles toward me, half her body still facing the door.

“What’s going to happen to him?” I cross my arms over my chest. “To the witch.”

She turns her head more so that her eyes gaze directly at me. There is a slight tension in her jaw that tells me everything I need to know. That witch, whoever he was, is dead. I swallow and drop my gaze to the floor. Juliet leaves, letting the door swing shut behind her.

“Damnit.” I punch the circular desk and close my eyes.

I stay like that for a few moments, when the sound of feet slipping on the floor meets my ears. My head snaps up. Jameson is making a run for it. I smile and whistle.

Not that kind of whistle. He isn’t mine. Yet. But, for some reason he does stop and turn before he reaches the door.

I stroll closer to him. “Where ya going, there?”

Jameson backs into the glass double doors. His face is almost purple. “Come on, man. You don’t need to do this.”

He isn’t wrong. Not that it’s going to help him.

“Why don’t you step away from the door?” I hold my hand out to him. “I promise it won’t hurt.”

His face contorts into what can only be disgust. “Fuck you if you think it’s going to be that easy.”

I want to laugh, but I don’t see the upside of being a dick.

“Okay, man, just relax.”

“Nah, fuck you, asshole.” His murky gray eyes narrow at me. “You don’t tell me shit. Fucker.” He spits at my feet. “And what you gon’ go and kill me for? To fight for the wrong side, that’s why.”

That gets a pause from me. I don’t know what passes across my face, but whatever it is must amuse Jameson because he laughs.

“Or are you too stupid to know that you’re on the wrong side?”

I wince and grab for him. My hand closes into a fist around his neck, and his eyes bulge. He beats at my arms. I barely feel it as I drag him closer.

“Of course I know it,” I hiss into his face before letting him go.

He stumbles forward, gagging and gasping for breath. I watch him for a few moments. For some reason, the longer I watch, the angrier I get. The longer I watch, the longer his words have to bounce around in my head. Finally, I grit my teeth and grab him by the collar again.

“Come on, man,” he says as I drag him away from the door. “Please, please don’t do this.”

“Shut it.” I slam him into the wall on our right, farthest from the door.

His expression falls, and his lips begin to tremble. “P… Please. I have a d…a daughter.”

I place my hands on either side of his head. “I said shut the fuck up!” Saliva sprays him in the face. I clamp my hand over his mouth. “Don’t say another frickin’ word.” I’m breathing hard. I have no idea why I’m letting this guy get to me. But he’s getting to me. I have to get this done.

I have to get it done quick.

I can’t think about his innocent daughter bawling because a monster killed her daddy. I can’t think about the fact that what he said to me is true.

I can’t.

And yet, I am.

“Fuck!” I clamp my hand harder over his mouth.

He lets out a tiny whimper, which only works to piss me off.

“Do it,” I mutter to myself as Jameson’s eyes bulge.

Just fucking do it.

You need the juice.

He’ll die anyway.

Nothing you can do.

“Fuck!” My scream bounces off the walls. I press my hand into his face hard enough to leave a handprint, then push away from him. “Fuck!” I punch the wall next to him, then cover my face with an arm.

He starts panting. Then, his feet pound against the floor as he runs. I look up.

Dumbass.

Why is he running that way?

I take off after him. His hand is on the knob. He’s about to push it outward.

No.

Before he can make another move, I pucker up and whistle. His body thuds to the ground at the same moment a bullet pierces the glass. Shards fall like jagged hail all around us.

I keep whistling, taking all of him into me. I breathe him in and bury the pain.

There wasn’t a damn thing I could do.

I take him into me and forget the fear and guilt.

He was dead, anyway.

When I’m done with him, I glance up and meet Juliet’s icy eyes. Both of her hands are over her ears. A gun is folded up in her right fist.

I stop the song and straighten. Glass crunches under my feet as I move out to meet her, Kiwi, and Tripp and Lee.

There never seems to be a damn thing I can do.

* * *

We’re on the road for a little over an hour before Tripp announces he has to take a piss. They are the first words anyone has uttered since we set out this morning, or at least the first words I’ve noticed. Kiwi speaks in to her wrist comm and relays the information to the other two vehicles.

A few minutes later, we pull over to the side of the road. I get out and the harsh sun wraps around me and squeezes. Despite the fact that it’s still early morning, the sun is high, punching the landscape with its heat. I start to sweat almost as soon as I’m outside. Using my hand to shield my eyes from the sun, I stumble away from the car and head for the back of the last vehicle in our convoy.

When I get there, I see Lee has the same idea. He gives me a tight smile, which I return, then trudge a few feet away from him. Once I’m far enough away, I whip it out and relieve myself right there on the pavement.

A throat clears. My heart punches against my ribcage, and I look up, startled. I freeze when I see what’s in front of me.

It’s a woman. An older woman. She is draped in a long, light blue gown that hits the ground. She has a matching, silk bonnet wrapped around her head and her skin is onyx. Her eyes are the strangest I’ve ever seen. They look like two milky pools. The contrast against her skin is unsettling.

I gulp, still holding Pike junior in my hands.

“Pike Richards, you seem to be finished. Put that away so we can have a little chat.” Her voice is smooth and soothing, despite the freakish fashion in which she just showed up out of nowhere.

I’m frozen. Unable to move. I dart my eyes back behind her to see if my group is okay. I’m shocked to find that they are frozen as well.

Literally.

I blink and slowly tuck my dick away. I peer at Tripp, who is the tallest. He is frozen in the midst of zipping up his suit. Slowly, I train my gaze back to the woman. I open my mouth, intending to ask if she’s responsible for the involuntary game of freeze tag, but for some reason, nothing comes out.

“I am Salya,” the woman says.

Hearing her speak is disconcerting. First, there’s a rush of power in that voice that makes me want to run like a small girl. And then there’s the fact it’s one of the most beautiful sounds I’ve heard in a hot minute. She makes me realize how much I miss the beauty in things.

I take a few steps back and nod. All I can do is stare at her like a full on mantard. After a few moments of me not saying anything passes, she laughs.

“I’ve startled you.” She walks toward me.

I try and back away but find myself rooted in place. I glance down at my feet and try jerking them up. No luck. When I look back up, the woman is almost on top of me. She reaches out a knobby, bone-thin hand and strokes my cheeks.

“My. Look at those beautiful, swirling blue eyes. Reminds me of the seas. So powerful.” She pulls her hand back. “You recently feed.”

My eyes narrow. “Who…” I scratch my eyebrow with my pinky nail. “What are you?”

Instead of answering, she just smiles again. “It’s hotter than the sea of souls in the Underworld.”

She waves her hands, and her sleeves billow. As soon as she does, my stomach lurches toward my toes and I get the sensation that I’m falling.

Then, I land on something soft. I grip the arm of a couch and dart my head around in quiet panic.

I am not where I was.

I have no idea where I am.

“Tea?” The woman—Salya—appears in front of me holding a steaming cup.

My mouth drops open and I wave her away.

“No. What the…” I glance around.

I seem to be in a room. On a couch. There are maroon walls and earth-toned furniture.

The woman sits across from me in an oversized chair and crosses her legs. “I thought this would be more comfortable.”

I rest my gaze on her and try to breathe normally. As calm as I can, I say, “Take me back. Now.”

She laughs again. It freaks me out. Reminds me of beauty, yet makes me feel like pissing my pants.

“I will take you back, Pike. As soon as I have a talk to you about your fate.”

17

As soon as I hear the word fate, I jump up and point an accusing finger at her.

“Oh, hell no. Take me back. Now.” I snarl the command down into her face.

She just folds her hands and smiles up at me like I’ve just offered her the most wonderful compliment in the world.

“Pike, please. Calm down. Have a seat.” She gestures at the couch behind me.

“Sit down my ass.” I scoff. “You’re one of them. You’re a frickin’ fate.”

“Astute.” She smiles again. “I can see why my sisters like you.”

I start to pace. “Your sisters, huh?”

“Yes,” she says in that lyrical voice. “They’re all rooting for you.”

“Great.” I gesture in front of me with my arms. “Send me back.”

“You seem nervous, Pike.”

I stop pacing and laugh as I face her. “I don’t want to know my fate.”

She nods as if she is used to hearing this, and she probably is. Nobody likes it when a fate turns up. Whatever they tell you is pretty much set in stone. And it’s rarely good news. No one knows if this is because they are all-knowing, or because they have some kind of messed up power to alter circumstance so that their premonitions come true.

I’m a fan of the latter theory, but I’ve always been a cynic.

“You’re in a very…monumental position, Pike.”

I turn and face her. “Meaning?”

“Meaning… no one has been in a position to alter the course of history in such a significant way in quite a while.” She touches the small pearl earring attached to her lobe. “I’ve come to offer guidance.”

I start to pace again. “I don’t want any guidance. I just want to get back and do what I gotta do.”

I don’t hear her move, but now she is in front of me, grasping my hands between her own. She peers up into me with those silky eyes, and I freeze.

“I implore you to reconsider,” she says.

For a moment, I can’t move. Just like when she first showed up. All I can do is stare into those moving eyes, trapped under their power. My mouth slowly starts to open. I try and pull away from her, but I can’t.

“I ask you again, Pike Richards.” Her smile is slow. “Would you like to hear your fate?”

My mouth is all the way open. I’m trying to form words with a dead tongue. Beads of sweat curve down my nose. It occurs to me that this is how they get things done. Nobody with half a brain would consent to hearing what a fate has to say because nobody wants to know how it’s all going to play out.

And a fate can’t tell you shit unless you give them permission. Kinda like vampires, only they really exist and they don’t just want into your house.

They want into your destiny.

Her smile is almost blinding by the time I find the strength to pull away. I turn away from her to catch my breath. When I look up, she is there again.

“No.” I point my finger into her face. I realize I need to slow my roll. Fates are no joke. “With all due respect,” I say with a change in tone. “Please send me back. I don’t want to know.”

Her face falls. “May I ask why?”

“Because I have the funny feeling that you’re going to tell me I’m going to die… or something worse.” I clench my jaw. “And I can’t… I can’t think about that. I need to get this done.”

She nods slowly, then pulls me into a hug. It’s uncomfortable and soothing at the same time. I tighten every muscle in my body, trying not to let any emotion seep out.

Finally, she lets go. “As you wish. I shall send you back.”

I nod, about to say something like damn straight, when a thought occurs to me.

“Hey, wait a second.”

She lifts her gaze to mine.

“Can you… I mean, would it be possible for you to tell me…someone else’s fate?”

She smiles in a knowing way. Seconds later, she is right in front of me again. With a pat on the hand, she says, “No, my dear.”

“Oh.” I look at my dirt encrusted boots. “Alright.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

I glance up and shrug. “We’re good.”

She reaches out and rubs my shoulder. “Okay, are you ready to get back to it?”

Hell no, I think. Instead of saying it out loud, I give a tight smile and nod. Moments later, I get the sensation that I’m flying. Before I know it, I’m on my feet, stumbling in the hot sun.

The heat turns the surroundings into waves.

“Hey, Pike! You ready to go now?” Tripp’s voice echoes in my ears.

He is the only one standing outside of the convoy. I hurry toward him and duck into the car after him. As I strap on my safety harness, I look around at everyone else. They all seem pretty clueless.

When we start up, I stare out of the tinted window and try not to think about what the fate wanted to tell me.

* * *

I take a small swig from my canteen and watch the quickly shifting landscape from my window. We’ve gone from brown earth to dead black, and now, a deep, unnatural purple. The trees have grown thicker and almost humanoid, with branches reaching out as if to grab at anything that gets near them. The sky has lost its blue and taken on gray hue with rolling red clouds racing across the surface. After an hour or so in the car we come to a stop.

“We take it on foot from here.” Juliet turns around from where she sits in the driver’s seat. “An armored van will meet us at our next checkpoint. Make sure to grab as much food and water as you can carry. Just in case.”

Slowly, we all step out into the rancid air. It’s not hot anymore, but the wind is thick with smell. Like a paper factory is near and hard at work. I let Tripp get out, then reach in and pull out all of my crap and hoist it on.

“Ready to get some exercise, beauty?” Tripp asks as we head back to the car holding the food and water.

“Why you keep calling me that, man?”

He grins as we stop in a line behind Lee and Kiwi. “Because you look so lovely when you sleep.”

I laugh. It’s a tired, worn laugh, but it’s still a laugh. “You’re a dumbass.”

“I’ll take that as high flattery coming from you.”

“It is, man.” I clap him on the shoulder. “It is.”

As Kiwi and Juliet step aside, Tripp moves in to load his pack up with supplies. When he’s done, he hands food and water back to me and I stuff in as much as my pack will fit. I trail the group back to the first car, wondering why we have to make this part of the trip on foot. As soon as we’re all in front of the car, I no longer have to wonder.

“Shit burger,” I mutter, taking in the stretch of land reaching out in front of us.

If you can call it land. It looks more like a watered down wasteland. Literally. Cars, buses, and hunks of buildings float in a sea of purplish water. It’s the same purple of the land, and it’s the most eerie thing I’ve ever seen.

“So, when you said on foot, you meant we swim for it?” Kiwi stares out in front of her with an expression as daunted as I feel.

“Yes.” Juliet gestures toward something hanging off her belt. It looks almost like a key ring and it’s attached to a thin, clear string. “If you’ll pull on this, and make sure you have all your belongings, we can head out. According to Scouters, this stretch of the trip will take about two hours.”

I close my eyes. “Shit. Burger.”

Something that sounds like air being pumped into tires snaps my eyes open. I glance at Tripp, who has a long finger hooked through a keychain-looking thing on his belt. His Kevlar vest has inflated into a floatation device.

I glance down at my own belt and do the same. The fabric tightens, then balloons out across my chest.

Juliet claps, bringing my focus back to her. “Is everyone ready?”

We all just stare at her, so she nods politely, and turns on her heels. As she saunters away, we slowly follow. For a few minutes we are on pavement, but soon enough, water laps around our ankles.

“This is bullshit,” I mutter.

Beside me, Tripp laughs. “Try not to think of it as swimming through a watery hell. Think of it more as a nice day at the beach.”

I glance sidelong at him. “You on that Orc shit?”

He chuckles again. “No, beauty. I’m just in a good mood.”

My mouth gapes open as the water rushes in around my knees. “How?”

He shrugs. “How could I not be? We’re out, saving the world.”

Now I laugh. The water is swiftly approaching chest level. Only Tripp’s ass could focus on only the positive given our situation.

“Alright, shoestring. I’ll try and look at it your way.”

I clear my head and try to picture a beach, with hot bitches in bikinis rubbing me down with sun block. I try not to think about how this thick, nasty water is now at my throat.

Hot bitches and beaches. Hot bitches and beaches. I say it over and over again in my head.

After a while, it becomes impossible to stay within the safe confines of my freaky daydream. After a while, shit gets real.

* * *

What feels like hours later, I throw an arm onto the hood of a submerged van and let out an exhausted grunt. I spit out a mouthful of soupy water and have to scrabble to maintain my grip on the slippery metal.

“I gotcha,” Tripp says behind me in a hoarse voice.

A hand grabs my ass while another grips me on the upper thigh. Soon, I’m being boosted up out of the water. I gasp my relief and crawl off the hood and onto the top of the van. Once there, I throw a hand down to Tripp, who waves me off. In three quick movements, he is seated beside me.

At this point, I could give a shit about manhood. I flop down on the top of the van and suck in air like an eager stripper tucks dollar bills into a G-string.

“You guys okay?” Tripp yells out to someone.

“Yeah, let’s take it easy for ten minutes,” Kiwi yells back from somewhere in front of us.

“Nah, damn that.” I pant. “Just leave my ass.”

“Oh, you’re fine.”

“Fork me, I’m done.”

Tripp laughs, and then forces a hand under my neck and forces me into a sitting position. I have to press my weight down on the dented roof to keep my balance.

“See, I would think you’d be in your element out here.” He shoots a tired smile at me.

“Ha-ha.” I cough and pull my backpack off to get to my canteen. “That might be funny if being a siren had anything to do with literal water.” I force myself to take slow, measured sips, when what I really want to do is gulp the whole thing down.

Tripp takes a sip from his own canteen. “Well, it must have something to do with water. Everyone thinks you guys are born of the water gods.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Are you serious?”

He shrugs and points at his face. “For future reference, this is my serious face.”

I grin, then take another sip and put the water away. “I expect this from the humans, but from my own people…”

He laughs and pulls out a pack of dry crackers. He hands me one, and I shove it in my mouth.

“Sorry for my ignorance, but I still think sirens must have something to do with water.”

I turn my head, swallow my food, and wink at him. “Maybe. You gotta remember I’m a Muse, not a Spirit.”

The skin around his eyes crinkles. I’m guessing he’s abandoned his serious face for his thinking face. It’s goofy as hell.

Finally, his eyes widen and he snaps his bone-thin fingers. “You weren’t made by the gods. You were thought into existence by the gods.”

I give him a thumbs up. “Trademark of a Muse. That a boy.”

He points at me. “So, sirens are manifestations of what your parent gods thought of the qualities of water.”

“Another gold star.” I strap my backpack on and try to stretch out my burning limbs.

“Who was that, by the way? Poseidon?”

My eyes narrow. “Nah.”

Tripp doesn’t say anything, probably assuming that I’m going to answer him. He has no way of knowing that I don’t talk about that dick bag. When Tripp’s eyes stretch so wide they look like they’re going to pop right out of his head I offer a tight smile.

“You’ll meet him soon enough.”

“Ah.” Tripp replaces his canteen. “I love a boy with baggage.”

Laughter bursts out of me and, for a moment, I feel like I’m back in my crappy living room, having a beer and cutting up with a good friend. I lean into him, nothing homo.

“Thanks for that, man.”

“Thanks for what?”

I start to shake my head when Juliet screams, “Alright, we have to get going!”

With I sigh, I throw my head back. “Crap stain.”

Tripp laughs, already lowering himself back into the murky water. I shut my eyes and give myself an inner pep talk before going in after him.

A shiver races through me as I paddle behind Tripp through a maze of submerged cars, bodies, and random objects that used to be a landscape for life.

A child’s teddy bear.

A worn copy of some piece of literature.

A full sized mattress.

A box of Christmas ornaments.

Now all they represent is unnatural death. The leftovers of fear. Mankind’s new hell. I wade through all this shit and try and picture Sadie in this world.

I can’t see her.

I can’t picture her doing anything but becoming another empty shell of a world that chose fear.

They are destructive thoughts that my twisted gut is starting to accept as true. I push them to the back of my mind and swim on. Swim through the shit. That’s all that’s important now. Get to the other side.

Hell, there might even be something better there.

I just highly fucking doubt it.

It seems like hours, days, or months before we get to the end of this stretch of water. When it starts to shallow, I feel a new burst of energy buzz in my muscles. By the time it’s on my knees, I begin running as much as anyone can run in thick water, until finally I drop down on all fours and crawl out of the watery hole, then flop down onto my back.

I smile up at the strange, cloudy gray sky and take comfort in the pavement under my ass. Kiwi plops down on her butt near me, while Tripp squats down, breathing hard. Juliet and Lee are the only two still on their feet.

“That. . .” Kiwi pants. “Didn’t feel like two hours.”

Juliet nods and flips her hair. “All the debris we had to navigate around tacked on to the time.” She sucks in a breath. “Take a minute. I’m going to comm our contact.” With that, she walks several feet away and starts talking to her wrist.

Grunting, I roll up to sitting, then stagger to my feet.

“See, beauty, you made it.”

Kiwi snorts. “Beauty.”

Tripp points between him and myself. “It’s an inside thing.”

She rolls her eyes. “Adorable.”

Tripp retorts with something that I don’t hear. My attention is caught up in a figure stalking our way from the distance. I narrow my eyes and step away from the two of them to get a better look. The figure is a person, draped in a hooded, moss green cloak. Juliet turns toward the figure as it passes her, and she freezes.

That can’t be good.

I reach behind me and grasp my trident.

“What the hell is that?” Kiwi says under her breath.

Almost on cue, the figure lifts her head. A green cowl covers the figure’s face, but I can tell it’s a woman because a mess of long, violet hair tumbles out of her hood. She’s still several feet away from us, but close enough to make out the olive hue of her skin. Something about her face, half draped in shadow, almost stops the pulse in my throat.

Despite her cowl, I can make out the tears running from her eyes. They run all the way down her chin where the droplets dance a few moments, then drip to the ground.

Her tears are black as pitch.

“Oh, no. Ohmygod,” Kiwi says.

Three pairs of feet start to back away. I’m moving with them, almost against my will. As if that will stop this. After a few moments of tense silence, I release my trident. It won’t help. Neither will any of my immortal given gifts. There is nothing I can do. There is nothing any of us can do to stop the incarnation of death before us.

The woman—no, girl—stops ten feet away from us.

“For gods sake, no,” I say.

It doesn’t matter.

The girl sweeps her hands out, opens her mouth, and inhales a large breath. When she does, tension grips my body and doesn’t let go. My heart hardens in my chest.

No, please, don’t do it.

A gust of wind rushes the air. The girl’s hood flies off, and her violet hair blows up and away from her head. Black tears rush like rivers down her cheeks. They make tiny black ponds on the ground.

She freezes, then a mind numbing shriek rips through her lips and crashes into all of us.

18

The Banshee’s scream stops time. Even with my hands mashed over my ears, I can’t keep the death wail out. I try to move toward her, but invisible waves keep me rooted to the pavement. I shut my eyes and grit my teeth, helpless against this bitch that’s totally fucking us.

After what feels like decades, her scream starts to die down. After a few moments, I can open my eyes. I squint at the black tears running down her face. My eyes water in response. Then, just as if she was never there, she is gone. The quiet she leaves sticks to my insides like something that will never wash away.

I stand to my feet and wipe a rainstorm of sweat from my face. We all look at each other in tense silence. We all know that one, or more, of us is dead.

We just have no idea who.

And right now it doesn’t matter.

The rumble of an inhuman growl stops anyone from saying anything.

I don’t so much see them as feel them.

The banshee’s scream brought them down on us.

I close my eyes as my heart sputters, then slowly open them again.

With a knot of dread in my stomach I turn in a slow circle.

We are surrounded by berks.

* * *

Get to higher ground.

It’s the only thought in my head as we all take off running. No one has to yell anything. We just all know that if we don’t move, and move fast, the banshee will have predicted all our deaths.

I set my eyes on a line of tall trees in the distance. The low rumble of a steady growl rumbles in the background. A chorus of teeth snapping at my back. Even in my complete exhaustion, those sounds make my movement possible.

It feels like my muscles will rip open with every stride. As the soles of my feet hit the pavement tiny knives slice into them, yet I keep moving. The warm breath of more than a hundred berserkers slide up and down my spine. Air hardly moves inside my lungs.

I crash into a small hill of rocks and fall forward. I scramble onto my hands and knees and pull myself up. After a few moments, my feet hit plush soil. I keep going, darting between bare trees. Something tight clamps down around my ankle. My face plants into the ground.

Without thought, I reach into my holster for my gun as the thing that used to be human picks me up around the ankle and slams me onto my back like I am nothing.

I glance up into those yellow, saucer-sized eyes and blow a hole right between them. Blood and chunks of brawny tendons splash down into my face.

“Arg.”

His body falls down on me, rooting me to the earth.

“Fuck.”

With all the strength I can call on, I shove him up and over me. By the time I’m free, dozens more of them are circling me. Wheezing, I turn in a circle, throwing them off and taking headshots until I am no longer pinned down.

I twist out of another grasp and tumble through the woods as fast as dead legs can carry me. Somehow, I manage to find the tallest tree in the area. Taking in a deep breath, I start to climb.

I feel my energy wane. Get to higher ground. I ignore the snapping teeth below me and get to the highest branch that can hold my weight. I wrap my arms around the branch like it’s a long lost lover. Once I have a sure grip, I take a moment to catch my breath.

My limbs shiver to the point of shaking the leaves off the branches around me. I glance down at a sea of monsters crawling all over one another trying to get to me.

“Goddess fuck,” I mutter.

Good thing they aren’t so great at climbing. I wait until I’m reasonably sure I’m not going to get my head snatched up to reorient myself in the tree so I can have a look around. I manage to get myself to a standing position. Blowing out my breath, I squint and dart my gaze around. Whatever fear is chewing out my insides is soothed because I see Kiwi and Juliet right away.

Kiwi is in a tree two hundred feet away from me. I squint past her and see a streak of blonde hair in the wind. It speaks to the fucked-upedness of the situation that I’m actually glad to see Juliet.

The ground lurches. I start being ejected from the tree, but I grab a branch and manage to hold on. I shift my gaze below me and see that it’s not just the horde of berserkers.

It is Tripp in his Orc form.

He is a massive, growling beast pounding down monsters dozens at a time.

He is the one giving us a chance.

* * *

I set myself up in the tree and get ready to take out as many of these monsters as I can. As soon as my rifle is out, I start splattering monster blood on the trees and grass below. The air is saturated with the smell of lead, rotted meat, and smoke. Through the debris, a flash of black streaks across my vision.

Then another.

And another.

“Pike.” It’s Juliet in my wrist comm. “We have to get the hell out of here before more of them come.”

As soon as she says it, more of them come. My eyes try to follow them and fail. I shake my head and reload, then train my scope on the mess below me. With shaking hands, I drop as many as I can. But I can only dead the ones I can see, and the ones I can’t keep my eyes on are swarming us like African bees.

A sharp scream stabs the air. I dart my eyes over to the tree Kiwi is perched in. The blurs are climbing toward her like ants up a log. They are adapting, using the bodies of their fellow monsters to form a flesh ladder.

I train my weapon on them and start to shoot. Soupy liquid explodes in the air. Two red beams emanating from Kiwi’s eyes slice through berks, and together we spill bodies to the forest floor like rain.

I run out of ammunition and pull back. I sling the weapon over my shoulder and unsheathe my trident. After a deep breath I tap my wrist comm.

“If we’re going to get out of here, we’re going to need a path.”

“And how do you expect us to do that, siren?” Kiwi hisses the question back.

I sigh and look down. “I got this.”

I snap my trident out to its full length and take in another deep breath.

“What do you mean, you got this?” Kiwi asks.

Ignoring her, I press the electricity function on my trident. Then, before I have time to think, I start to swing down through the branches and toward the ground.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kiwi yells from my wrist.

I grunt and tap my comm off. I land on the ground hard and spike the tongs of my trident into the ground. A burst of electricity ripples outward and cracks into the nearest dozen bodies.

Then, I’m on autopilot.

My trident swings through the air as if it has grown its own mind. I let my arm follow. Bodies smash to the ground in rapid succession. I climb over them to decorate the forest floor with monstrous dead. I’m all spins and stabs.

Don’t think about it, I tell myself. Just keep moving. And I do. Spin, stab. Spin, stab. Spin, stab. It helps that I can’t see. I can’t see what just grabbed my ankle, or what I have to shove off me. It’s all streaks of black. I keep this up until I finally make out something.

A long, bouncing stream of red.

My muscles tighten. I’m alert. More alert than I want to be.

Kiwi.

I slow for a moment. “What the hell is she doing?” My feet start running toward her before my brain makes the decision. Then, my mouth is moving. “Hey! What the hell are you doing?”

Her head swings in my direction and she lets out a burst from her magic, laser beam eyes. Twenty or so monsters are sliced in half only inches from me. Their sticky insides spray me straight in the face. Quickly, I wipe the hot mess off on my sleeve and continue toward her. She falls in step beside me and we run, clearing a path out of the woods together.

Something heavy bounces around inside my chest. I wonder if she feels it.

That we’re not going to make it.

Before I can dwell on this much longer, a blur rushes across the right side of my vision.

Kiwi.

I slow to a stop and glance up to see she’s been snatched up by a berserker. The monster moves fast. Unnaturally. Gives me a rotten smile that dribbles yellow saliva to the ground. Without a thought, I ram my trident into its bumpy, gray knee.

The thing makes a noise somewhere between and laugh and a snigger at the back of its throat. I glare into its dead eyes and swipe a blade across its belly. Its insides plop to the ground like rotten tomatoes. Its top half slides off sideways. As soon as it hits the ground, I jam my trident into the middle of its forehead.

Kiwi rolls to the ground in a puddle of nasty shit while I jerk backward to remove my weapon. Once it’s free, I reach down to help her up.

By the time she gets to her feet, we are surrounded.

There are too many for us to mow down.

Our escape route has been cut off.

I lower my weapon and grab for Kiwi’s hand. Then, a ground trembling growl cuts through the wind.

* * *

I glance up at Tripp. He’s all beast. Big yellow eyes staring calmly as he swipes dozens of monsters up into the air. He launches them into trees. They collide and the earth rumbles. Wood splinters, falling like rain all around us. My eyes are locked on him. On his display of power. My body is glued to the ground by blood and sweat. Beside me there is a thud, followed by a scream.

I shake myself and glance to my right.

No.

Kiwi.

Another scream pounds into my brain.

I whirl around. There she is, hands reaching toward me. She’s being dragged by one of them. Soggy dirt and bits of ruined trees splash up into her face. I start after her.

And don’t make it far. Something grabs me from behind. Without seeing, I know it’s another one of them. It latches onto my leg. I fall to the ground. A hand vice grips my head and slams my head into the dirt. Struggling, I force my head back up and suck in a huge breath.

Then I have to watch as Kiwi is ripped into the air. The creature dangles her in front of its mouth.

“No!” Then my face is back into the moist earth.

There are hands everywhere. Pressing down on me. Crushing me. My spine. My neck. Everywhere. I can’t move. But I have to. I have to move. I struggle to with these manmade monsters, trying to get them off. Soon, I’ll be struggling to breathe.

I have to get to her.

I have to get us out of here.

Why’d the dumbass have to leave that fucking tree? It’s the last thought I have before a thundering roar shakes the world. Right before I’m about to pass out, I’m snatched up into the air. I gasp and glance around.

It’s Tripp. He has me in one of his massive hands. His yellow eyes look at me. His head nods slightly. Then he stomps a few feet, where he snatches Kiwi up with the other hand. Blood is running down her face, but other than that she appears fine. She grabs onto Tripp’s wrist and looks into his eyes with an expression I don’t quite understand. An expression that sets my nerves on edge.

I frown. A bad feeling stirs in my stomach.

I start to shake. I drop my gaze, then realize its Tripp. He’s shaking berserkers off his legs. Then, he starts running.

I’m jerked forward. I start to fall when I take a cue from Kiwi. I grab onto his massive thumb and pull myself up. I hang on while he runs out of the dense forest. Away from the blurring monsters at his back. I grit my teeth and swing my legs up, landing back in the palm of his hand.

He comes to such a sudden stop at the edge of the woods that I drop to my stomach and hold onto his fingers in order to avoid being thrown off his hand again. The bad feeling in my stomach isn’t just stirring now. It’s twisting around and jabbing my insides.

Tripp lowers us to the ground and points off into the distance. Then, without a word, he turns and starts back for the tree line.

“No!” Kiwi almost trips over herself running to him. She grabs onto his leg the size of a tree trunk and starts to sob. “No! Tripp, don’t do this.”

My stomach has been batted down to my toes. I glance behind Tripp. With a clenched jaw, I realize we don’t have time. Tripp picks Kiwi off and sets her down next to me. He looks down into my eyes for seconds that seem like hours.

“Go,” he says in a gruff voice I don’t recognize.

I swallow and nod.

“No!” Kiwi shouts as I grab her around the waist. “No!” She screams as I sling her over my shoulder. She starts to pound me in the back. Then, I take off running. I don’t see him, but I know when he turns around. I feel it in the movement of the earth.

I run faster.

Tears and wind burn my eyes.

“You fucking bastard. We have to go back. We have to go back for him!” Kiwi pounds into my back harder, but I keep running.

I have to.

A pained howl pierces the air and my heart at the same time. I don’t see him, but I know those things are taking him down. With all their attention on Tripp, they’ve stopped chasing us.

We’re going to make it.

We’re going to make it because of him.

The pained howls turn into something inhuman and unnerving. It is a scream of agony. Draped over my shoulder, Kiwi has stopped fighting. Her body goes limp. My chest tightens, and I fight off a swell of emotion.

I can’t afford that shit. Not now.

Up in the distance, I see a bridge. It’s split in a jagged edge along the middle, but I can use it to get us out of here. I reach into my side pocket and pull out my zip line kit.

I don’t know how I manage. Maybe because I’m on auto pilot. Whatever it is, I put the thing together, while running with Kiwi draped over my shoulder. Then I load it into my launch gun.

As I near the bridge, I aim for the side of it and shoot. I catch a glimpse of blonde hair blowing like a flag at the other end of the bridge. I also catch my target. I yank on the line to make sure its secure, then drag Kiwi’s limp form down and hold her to my chest.

I tie the line around both of us only inches from the bridge. I jump up on the side and leap off. We plummet. Kiwi grips me around the neck, hard. Then, we come to a crushing halt and rebound back into the air, before falling again.

As we swing silently together, suspended in midair, I hear the monsters above us. They growl. They shriek. But they can’t see us. We bounce on the line as berserker feet trample across the bridge. They come to the gap in the bridge and run off. One after another, too mindless to know what they’re doing.

Their bodies splat like old pumpkins right beneath us.

I close my eyes and try to tune out the sounds.

Try to forget Tripp’s wails.

Try to not feel Kiwi shaking with grief against me.

I can’t do any of those things. I gasp at the emotion rushing into me. My own body starts to shake. As the last monster crashes to the ruined road below us, I scream.

I can’t get myself to stop.

19

Moments later, we’re sitting on the edge of the bridge looking at the bodies below. I shouldn’t call them bodies. What do you call a monster’s corpse?

Dead as shit is what I call them.

I’ve turned off the comm device in my ear so I don’t have to listen to Juliet’s prattling. She wants to go. She wants us to get our asses in gear. Can we do that for her, please?

Turning off the device is my way of telling her to fuck off.

I clear my throat and glance at Kiwi. I don’t know what to say. She was much closer to Tripp than I was. But even I’m smart enough to know he was the best one of us. The most human, whatever that means, of anyone on this messed up road trip.

My eyes start to water. I dab at them. Never been much of a crier. I clear my throat again.

“I’m going back to get him.”

Kiwi turns to me. She pulls her goggles onto her forehead. Underneath, her eyes are dark and narrow.

“What?”

I nod as if I’m convincing myself. “I’m going back to get him. Tripp.”

“Why?” She stands up. “He’s fucking dead.”

I get up with her and brush my pants off. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to leave his body there.”

She just stares at me like I’m some kind of fucktard. Across the bridge, Juliet is yelling something. To hell with both of them. I turn on my heels and start walking back.

“Pike, just get back here,” Kiwi says. “We have to go!”

I ignore her and step over a pile of mangled bodies. I stare straight ahead. I’m not going to leave him here. I can’t leave him here. Behind me, feet pound against pavement. I spot the line of trees ahead of me, although most of them have been ripped down. By Tripp. By berserkers. It doesn’t really matter now.

She grabs my arm and forces me to a stop. I turn and peer down at her.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks.

I jerk my arm away, turn, and keep walking. Her feet shuffle along beside me, her mouth shooting off questions I don’t hear. I’m on auto pilot again. It’s a safe place to be. A quiet place. I know I don’t walk for long, but it might as well be hours, or even days. Finally, I come to the forest’s edge. Side stepping a broken berserker at almost every turn, I stop in front of another snap shot of hell.

Beside me, Kiwi gasps. Then, she falls to her knees and begins to weep. The sight freezes me. And the smell. The smell of rotted things further rotting in death makes my stomach heave. I turn and dart to the nearest tree that’s still standing, lean over. and hurl my guts out.

I do this until there is nothing left inside. No sick. No thoughts. No feelings. Then, I turn and trudge back to this particular room in hell. I whip my trident off my back, find a place not covered in body parts, and start to dig. I don’t know when Kiwi got up to help me. All I know is we dig, her with her bare hands and me with my trident, for what seems like lifetimes.

Glancing down into the hole, I estimate it’s at least seven feet deep. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I glance at Kiwi, who is sitting beside the shallow earth, peering down. I turn and stumble over to Tripp and pick him up.

He’s back in his human form. And that human form is mangled to the point that a professional butcher might gag at the sight of him. I don’t focus on that. I focus on the horny fuck that tried to get my dick in him. The goofy mofo that didn’t let the fact the world was ending all around him kill his spirit. The guy that got me high when I really needed to get high.

That is the Tripp that I lower into the grave. Kiwi gasps and extends a hand that doesn’t reach down to Tripp. A tear spills out of one of those jet eyes. She stands up and blows him a kiss. Together, we cover him in dirt.

We bury our friend.

A guy that died to save people he barely knew.

A guy that believed this isn’t the end of us.

Kiwi pats his grave when we’re finished. Gone is crazy Kiwi. Before me is a tender woman who just lost her best friend. She glances up at the darkening sky.

“We have to go,” she says in a rough voice. “Got to find shelter before it gets dark.”

I nod. Then together, we head for the broken bridge. I zip line us across, and Juliet with all her cruelty is smart enough not to say shit to either of us.

* * *

We walk, and walk, and walk. Okay, walk is too strong a word. We drag our feet over broken pavement, or at least I do. It’s just the three of us. We lost Lee and Stein.

We lost Tripp.

Night has turned from some idea that was coming soon into solid reality. Even with my flashlight, I can barely see inches in front of me. I can make out busted street lights that give off no glow. I know that surrounding me are collapsing and fully collapsed buildings.

We need to stop, and soon. I open my mouth to say as much, but only manage to leave it hanging open. Any words in my head get stuck between my brain and voice box. At least I’m not drooling. I’m not drooling because I haven’t had a drink in a few hours.

After forever, Juliet comes to a stop.

She turns in our direction and nods to the left. “If we keep going for sanctuary, we might not make it. This place looks secure enough. Let’s clear it. Stop for the night.”

Without speaking a word, I reach for my side arm and aim it at the ground. We creep toward a three story brick building with most of the windows busted out. As the head of the line, Juliet tries the door. It opens with a long creak. She glances back at us. I nod, then we file in one by one.

It smells like mildew and lye. As if someone tried to erase the stench of death, only to make it worse. Juliet starts up a staircase to our immediate left. She shines her flashlight all the way up, craning her neck to get the best view.

“Watch the holes,” she says.

We start by clearing the top floor, and make our way down. To my relief, there is nothing. No monsters. No descendants to awaken the monsters. Just that shitty smell and silence. Juliet shines her light on a bookcase in the corner. It’s made of the same cheap wood lining the floors and the walls in this dump. But, it’s warmer than outside. And it means I can stop moving.

Juliet trudges toward the bookcase. She starts to pull it across the floor. Books thud to the ground, kicking up dust. Kiwi rushes forward.

“Wait!” she says, bending over to pick up the books. She piles them neatly in the space formerly held by the bookcase, then stands and removes the five or so remaining books on the shelf and does the same with them.

Juliet stares at her. “Do you mind if I go now?”

Kiwi waves her off and slides to the floor beside the books. With a yawn, I cross the room to help Juliet move the bookcase in front of the door. We find planks of wood and use those to hammer up to the holes in the wall the best we can. Once we’re satisfied that the place is secure enough, I plop down on the worn, rat eaten couch and close my eyes.

In front of me, Juliet’s feet whisper against the floor. Back and forth. Back and forth. She mumbles something into her wrist comm. Behind me, pages shuffle. Turn. Turn. Turn. Without opening my eyes, I pull out my canteen and take a sip of water. I let my head fall back onto the couch. It isn’t what’d I’d call comfortable, but it’s better than being on my feet.

As soon as I start to feel relaxed, images of Tripp screaming stab into my brain. Memories like bullets shoot me. Tripp screaming. Tripp being ripped apart. Eaten. I snap my eyes open and sit up straighter.

In front of me, Juliet stops and places her hands on her hips. “We’ll have to start out early in the morning. For now, eat. Rest. I have supplies and transport on the way.” She reaches over and grabs her pack, then heads up the stairs.

With a sigh, I let my gaze sweep the room. I locate my own pack, then stand up to go get it. When I yank it from the ground, something thuds out. I’m too tired to see what it is and figure it will be there in the morning.

I dig through the pack, pull out a ready-made meal, army style, and dig in without tasting, which is probably for the best. I chug a good portion of my water, then let out a belch.

Behind me, Kiwi scoffs.

I’m so tired it’s easy to ignore her. I pull out my sleeping bag and settle on the floor, leaving Kiwi the shitty couch. I am, after all, still a gentleman. I’m only laying down for a few seconds before sleep finds me and rips me into dreams.

* * *

I don’t know how long I sleep for. I don’t even know if I’m awake. I might be dreaming the sound of pages rustling. I can’t tell if my eyes are open, or I’m looking into a dream. Just inches from me, a tiny cone of light bobs up and down. I blink, or at least I think I do. Then either a real me or a dream me frowns.

I lay there for several moments trying to figure this shit out. The knowledge that I’m not dreaming that light comes swiftly, like blinds being snapped open.

I sit up in my sleeping bag.

There is a gasp.

My eyes narrow. “What the hell are you doing?”

Kiwi, who was hovered over a book, hides it behind her back like a child caught posting a questionable selfie on a social website.

I lean forward. “I asked what you’re doing.”

She shrugs. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

I whip the top of my sleeping bag off. I don’t like the vibe she’s giving. I mean, more than usual. “What’s behind your back?”

“Nothing.” She’s too snappy about it. Her gaze falls. Means she knows I care what she’s hiding. Means it’s not one of the books she rescued from the case. I drop to my hands and knees and scoot over to her.

She backs away on her butt. “Back off.”

“Just show me what you have.” I slip my hand around her side, trying to nab the book. She twirls, jumps to her feet, and darts across the room. I roll my eyes.

“Are you shitting me right now?” I lift myself up and follow her, hand extended. “Give it here.”

“No.” She backs into the wall.

With a smile, I reach for her arms and jerk the book away from her. I expected more of a fight. When I glance down at the book, my insides tighten with anger. It’s my journal.

“It fell out of your pack,” Kiwi says quickly.

I glare over at her. “And that explains why you’re reading my journal?” I cross my arms over my chest. “Are you shitting me?”

She says nothing. Just sways back and forth on her feet.

I hold my worn journal up in the air. “You had no right.” As I turn to head back to my sleeping bag, she hisses.

“You know, this is your fault.”

I swing back around and widen my eyes. “Say what?”

She nods, then juts her chin in the air. “You heard me.”

I tilt my head to the side and stare at her. Finally, I say, “How is it my fault that you’re snooping through my shit?”

She stalks forward and actually jabs me in the chest. “I was just trying to get to know you.”

My mouth drops open. Too many smart ass responses come to me. I can’t pick one, so I just stare at her with my mouth open.

“You think I just sleep with guys I don’t know?”

I’m still just staring. She keeps going.

“I can’t do that. Sleep with some guy I don’t know. And since you won’t talk to me, I figured this was my only option.”

I can’t help it. I laugh. This chick is off the nutter scale. I have no words.

“What’s so funny?” she says in a pointed tone.

I turn my back to her.

“You are,” I say, leaning down to tuck the journal back into my bag. I sit down on my sleeping bag. “You’re real funny.” I point at the bag. “You shouldn’t have read that.”

She sits in front of me on the bag. I raise an eyebrow. Clearly, Kiwi has no idea how to feel a room. Before I can tell her to get the hell away from me she asks, “What are all those names?”

“None of your damn business.” I point up to the couch. “Get away.”

She doesn’t budge. “And why are there three words after each name?” Her nose wrinkles. “It’s kind of creepy.”

I laugh again, this time louder. “Oh, wow. You know what I think is creepy? Yo ass.” I wave her off. “Get. Away.”

She shakes her head. A bit of hair falls across her eye. “Not until you tell me what it means.”

I stare at her for several moments. Slowly, her full lips curl into a smile. “I can make you, you know? Furies can make people admit their deepest secrets. Their shame.” She reaches out and trails a nail down my forearm.

I hate that she makes me shiver with desire and tremble with anger at the same time. I match her smile with my own. My monster smile. The one that sends bitches running.

“And I can kill you with a whistle.” I bat her hand away. “Or worse.”

Her smile doesn’t falter. She holds up her hands. “Go ahead.”

I chuckle and shake my head. I can’t stand her, but she’s impressive.

“Look, girl. You don’t want to know what those names mean. Just let it go.”

“I don’t want to.”

I peer at her. “Why?”

She glances down. “I already told you why. I don’t know you. I don’t know why you went back to bury Tripp. Or why you care so much about Sadie.” Her gaze raises back to mine. “Are you a good guy… or are you a monster?”

There is a tenderness in her eyes that raises hairs on my arms. It makes me uncomfortable. I might like it. And I don’t think that’s good.

I lean forward and pierce her gaze with my own. “That journal… All those names… They’re people, mostly women, that I’ve killed.” My voice comes out flat and detached.

Her eyes widen. Then she slowly nods. “A… And the words under the names?”

I clear my throat. “Memories of them.”

“I don’t understand.”

I slam my hand down on the floor. She jumps.

“You don’t have to understand! Why the hell do you want to?”

For a split second she looks frightened, then her face tightens and she glares at me. “Because we’re this together, dumbass. And Tripp saw something in you. And I know Tripp was a good guy.” She sniffles and seconds later, tears run down her cheeks. “He was a good guy.”

I freeze. I don’t know what to do. So I just sit there.

At length, I nod. “Yeah, he was a good guy.” I sigh and close my eyes. “But, I’m not. I’m the monster that turned all those people into what you saw in that journal. They’re names. Just names now.”

My mouth tightens, and I stare down at the dusty floor. Tap my fingers against my thigh.

Kiwi sniffles again. “Are you a coward, too?”

I scoff. “Probably.”

I don’t see her looking at me, but I feel it. Feel that gaze that probably sent more than one man past the point of madness.

“They’re just impressions… Impressions of who they were when they came to me.”

I still feel her gaze. She wants more from me, and for some reason I want to give it. To get it out of me.

“Who they were when they came to me… or I came to them. Who they are when they hear the call, and who they are when they go to the other side.” I flex my fingers in the air. “Being. Becoming. Passing on.”

She wipes her face. “That’s what you said to Juliet when you… You know.”

I smile. “Enslaved her?” I nod. “Yeah.”

“Is she going into your book?” She asks the question so casually that it stumps me.

I clear my throat and decide not to answer. It’s her turn now. “So, what did Tripp mean,
when he said you had to do what you did to Sadie?”

She glances away and shrugs. “Exactly what he said.”

“You can give me a better answer than that.”

She looks back at me. “When my sisters died, my only purpose became finding out who killed them. These people know, but they won’t give me a name until you get this cure for them. I knew, from my sisters, that you wouldn’t cooperate unless Sadie was in real danger. I’m forced to make sure you cooperate.”

“By what?”

“My sisters. They’re always in my head. It burns when I’m not on task.”

I nod, unable to think of anything to say. I’m familiar with burning. I’m familiar with doing things I don’t want to.

“Look, I’m not excusing it. Using children is just…” She shakes her head. “But I had to.”

I nod again. “And, what happens when you find their killer? Will the voices go away?”

She takes her turn to nod. “Everything goes away.”

My eyes widen. “Not sure what you mean.”

“When I find my sisters’ killer… I join them on the other side.”

I stare at her so long she finally looks away from me. Something turns in my stomach. I don’t know what. It’s something else uncomfortable. Something not good. Tripp’s voice echoes in my head. Don’t get too attached.

This must be why.

Kiwi is going to die.

I feel like I should comfort her, but what do I say? Ain’t that a bitch? Sucks to be you? Rattle off the five stages of dying?

The awkward moment stretches on until Kiwi clears her throat. “Wanna have sex?”

I raise my eyebrows.

She’s going to die, but she’s still crazy as hell.

“It’s the only time the voices stop.”

I tilt my head to the side.

She sighs. “When we fuck! When we fuck I don’t hear voices.” She shakes her head. “Damn, you slow.”

I laugh. “And you’re bad at pillow talk.”

“But I’m good at everything else.”

“Not in the mood, girl.”

She starts to peel off the Kevlar suit clinging to her body. I try to look away, but let’s get real. By the time she lowers her top to her midriff, I’m in the mood.

“Don’t really feel right,” I say. My voice is weaker than the first time I said I’m not in the mood.

Moments later, she’s out of the suit and crawling toward me. I lean away from her until I’m on my back. She slithers on top of me, smooth as a snake. Her head lowers, and she presses her lips against my neck.

I shiver. It’s a good shiver and a bad shiver all at the same time. Her fingers wrestle with my suit, trying to take it off. Trying to get her skin against mine.

I grab her wrists and squeeze my eyes closed.

“What’s wrong?” she says against my ear.

What’s wrong is it doesn’t feel right. She knows too much. Knows I’m the bad guy. I feel like an exposed nerve. Too much feeling. It’s my worst nightmare.

I force her body up gently so she has to look down at me.

I shake my head. “Why the hell would you want to be this close to someone who’s done so much…” I bite down on my lower lip. “Bad shit.”

She shrugs. “To get peace from the other side.” She brushes one of my dreads off my cheek. “I’ve done bad shit too.”

I stare at her, unable to reply. I want to tell her the whole truth. That sometimes I liked it. That most of the time I like it. Turning all those physical bodies into words on paper.

But I don’t tell her.

I am a fucking coward.

I close my eyes and pull her close. Minutes later, I’m out of my clothes. I force her as close to my body as I can. We don’t fuck around with any foreplay bullshit.

I grab her around the waist and have to force myself not to slam her down on my sleeping bag. Sliding inside her, I let out a groan. It’s a relief not to be able to think. She pretzels her legs around me and lifts her hips up to meet me.

I’m not gentle. I stare at her long enough to make sure she doesn’t mind. She grabs my head, entwines her fingers in my hair, and pulls.

I take her harder.

Her mouth gapes open, and she lets out a scream. Her body shakes.

I take her even harder, pressing my hand roughly over her mouth so her moans don’t reach Juliet upstairs. She bites the palm of my hand. I grunt, but I don’t move it. I might even press down harder. And I fuck her harder. So hard I can barely breathe. I rain down sweat on her body.

Each passing second makes it harder to keep everything bottled in. I want to explode this orgasm.

I put all my pent up shit into my thrusts. The second she comes, I let myself go, then fall on top of her.

We lay, drenched in sweat and silence, breathing heavily. The only word spoken the rest of the night comes from her.

“Dayum.”

I half smile, a gesture she can’t see, and then slide down into twisted dreams.

20

Kiwi and I barely sleep and are up and dressed before Juliet comes strolling down the stairs. Her ice blue eyes skim the room and land on me, then Kiwi, then back to me. I wave a plastic spoon covered in greasy peanut butter, the last of my foodstuffs, at her.

“Good morning Pike. Kiwi.”

I narrow my eyes at her. Something about the tightness in her features makes me suspicious. It’s not like her. As far as her face tells, nothing ever gets to Juliet. This is the face of a woman who can get gotten to.

I raise my eyebrow. A moment later it comes to me, and I lower my head and chuckle.

“Is something funny this morning, Mr. Richards?”

I snort. Mr. Richards. “Nothing funny, Ms. Burke.”

Other than the fact you felt me fucking the shit out of Kiwi last night.

My smile widens. One of the downfalls of a being a siren’s slave. She’s much more aware of me than she’d like to be.

But, at least she isn’t dead.

Yet.

From in the corner, Kiwi stands up. Her mouth opens, but before she can say anything, the house starts to shake. A loud thump sounds from outside the front door.

I jump to my feet and reach behind me for my trident.

Juliet waves her hands at both of us. “That’s probably our supply drop. Listen.”

I perk my ears. Loud gusts of wind reach them. I eye Juliet as she reaches for her side piece and creeps toward the door. I cross the room and remove the furniture barricading it before she has to ask. Once it’s out of the way, she opens the door slowly. Her yellow hair rushes away from her face and her eyes squint up toward the sky.

I follow her gaze. “Is that a helicopter?”

Juliet nods, and her gaze drops to the ground. Three large, brown boxes, dented in on the sides, lie a few feet from the front door.

“The only helicopter left in the world that we know of. Only used in Compound Six emergencies.” She glances back at me. “Cover me.”

I nod, pulling out my gun. Kiwi brushes past me to help Juliet slide the boxes into the house. As they do this, I scan the area, ready to take out any threat anywhere near us. As soon as they are done, I slide backward into the house and block off the door again.

I turn to find Kiwi and Juliet already slicing open the cardboard with knives and lining up supplies on the floor.

When Juliet makes her way through the last box, she stands and rubs her hands together. “As you know, we’ve lost our support staff. The loss of Lee was major. As such, I’m going to need you two not to die.”

I shift my gaze in her direction and try not to laugh. “You mean until we get to the crossroads?”

She shoots me the same look she always gives me. The look that gives nothing away. We stare each down for several seconds before she casts her gaze somewhere between Kiwi and myself.

“I received a comm from Colonel Jax. We’re on our own from here on out. If we needed to be on our guard before, that goes double for now. I will not lose any more assets. We will not fail this mission.”

It’s as keyed up as I’ve ever seen her, and her voice still sounds like lukewarm water. She eyes both of us in turn, then nods her head as if our silence satisfied her in some way.

She claps. “Now, pack as much of this as you can carry. Our transport will be here within the hour. We move out as soon as it does.” She leans over and grabs a few items, then heads back upstairs.

My gaze follows her until she disappears from sight. When my eyes sweep back to Kiwi, she’s kneeled in front of her pack, rubbing her temples.

I go to grab my own pack, then sit down beside her. “You alright?”

She looks sidelong at me, then shrugs. Half a smile paints her face. “Yeah, just a headache.” She starts to pack water into her bag. “I’m used to it.”

“Happen a lot?” I grab a few cans of beans and water to shove into my own pack.

“Yeah.” She laughs darkly. “My sisters. They were loud in life, and even louder in death.”

I nod and don’t say anything. I don’t like this. Getting to know her. Her getting to know me. Even if we weren’t both set on a path to the other side, I just don’t know about her. I still think she’s nuts, but I also find her interesting.

I don’t like that I find her interesting.

I finish packing and stand up. Then, I head back across the room to pack my other shit. The last thing I grab is my journal. A wave of nausea crashes into the lining of my stomach. I clutch the book harder, then shove it into my bag.

I hoist it onto my back and start pacing the room. As I do, I can feel Kiwi’s eyes on me.

I don’t return her stare. Don’t want to have to guess at what she’s thinking. I have to focus. Focus on getting back to Sadie. Or at least having Kiwi get the cure back to her.

I’m not betting on getting back.

The roar of an engine interlaced with the squeal of tires grabs my attention. My eyes dart to the front door.

Seconds later, Juliet comes bounding down the steps. “That’s our transport. You two ready?”

We both nod. I trudge to the door to remove the furniture for the last time. When I open the door, the sun streams down into my face. Dust is being kicked up by what looks like a huge, black tank. I squint and use my hands to protect my eyes from the dust and sun.

“Who drove it here?” Kiwi asks from behind me.

“It’s remote controlled. Let’s move.” Juliet edges past me and heads straight for the tank. I glance back at Kiwi before following Juliet’s lead. I study her as she gets on the ground on her belly and scooches under the massive, armored vehicle.

“The fuck?”

Kiwi pushes past me and mirrors Juliet. I sigh and look up at the blistering sun before doing the same. As soon as I’m under the tank, I turn onto my back and find an entrance hatch. I climb up into it and am met by steel, seats with harnesses, and blinking lights.

There are two seats in front and a matching two in back. Juliet harnesses herself into the driver seat and punches in what looks like coordinates into a clear display on the control deck of the tank.

I have to duck to avoid hitting my head on the roof. Awkwardly, I twist off my backpack and toss it behind the two back seats. Then I sit and strap myself in. Kiwi opts to sit up front by Juliet.

That’s fine by me.

It isn’t until I’m seated and settled that I notice there is no wheel. Nothing that looks like it controls the vehicle. Yet, the monster on wheels lurches forward.

Juliet claps and turns around. “Our next stop will be at what used to be Oceana Air station. Last we heard, it was secure. From there we will travel to the crossroads.”

I nod. I remember the plan. Glancing to my right, I start wishing this damn thing had some windows. Then I remember the hell on earth outside of this tank, and I take the wish back.

I settle back into my seat. Get as comfortable as I can. As we speed along the back roads, I try not to think of Tripp, or how much worse this journey is going to be without him.

* * *

I must have fallen asleep. I’m jolted awake by a sudden stop. My eyes shoot open, and I’m leaned against my harness. I grunt and dart my gaze around.

A blurry vision of Juliet is turned in her seat toward me. I blink her into focus.

“Why don’t you two get out and stretch your legs? I have a private communication I need to take.”

I yawn and grapple with the buckles on the harness. As soon as I’m free, a black blur sweeps across my vision. I jump and glance down, then back up. Kiwi half grins at me.

“It’s cold out.”

Nodding, I take the long, fur-lined coat and slide it on. Then I slip out of the bottom hatch and outside.

The cold is a bitch that slaps me. With a shudder, I pull the coat tighter around me to keep the bitch out. My feet crunch through ice and thick snow as I trudge away from the tank.

This is what used to be the south. I know we’re traveling north, but it shouldn’t be this cold. Nowhere should be this cold. I’d almost forgotten about the god’s assault on nature. Harsh winds blow snow in tiny cyclones around us.

All I can think as I shiver and rub my hands together is that the gods can be real shit burgers. It seems like forever until Juliet is summoning us back into the tank. We are only a few inches from the damn thing, but walking into the wind makes it feel miles away. Kiwi goes up the hatch first, moving slowly like a frosted, wooden doll. By the time I drop to my knees, my muscles feel dead. I manage to slide back under the tank, then I suck in a cold breath and the frost grips every inch of me.

I lay there for seconds that feel like ages. Finally, Juliet grabs one of my arms, and Kiwi, the other. Together, they pull me back into the tank and close the hatch.

“F-f-fuck, it’s cold,” I say, shivering on the floor.

Ignoring my complaints, Juliet steps over me and back into the driver seat.

With a sigh, she turns and peers down at me. “I just got off the comm with Colonel Jax.”

My first instinct is to ask if she told him to go fuck himself, but I’m too cold to be a smart ass. I just blow into my hands and listen.

“He’s informed me that a small community slightly west of here… Wisteria Haven. . . has come under attack. Colonel Jax wants us to make a slight detour to see what we can do for them. He said he wouldn’t normally ask this of us, but these people… They are young and healthy. As such, they will prove valuable once the cure is in circulation.” She stops to glance at Kiwi, then me. Her lips set in a tight line. “I disagree with him completely.”

This gets my attention.

The queen bitch disagrees with her fearless leader?

“I think we should focus on what we left the compound to do. If we lose our lives saving…” She shakes her head. “If we fail, those people are as good as dead, anyway. Maybe even worse. Jaxen doesn’t see it that way.”

I raise an eyebrow.

She glances at me, then shakes her head again. “My apologies. Colonel Jax. He doesn’t see it that way.”

It’s the only time I’ve heard her use his name informally. Must be her way of showing disrespect.

Interesting.

“What is attacking them?” Kiwi asks.

Juliet flips her shiny braid over her shoulder and eyes Kiwi. “Shifters.”

Something curdles in my gut. I feel sour inside.

“From where?” Kiwi says.

Juliet shifts her icy stare to me. “Wee lings. From the Underworld.”

I’m warm enough to laugh. And I have to laugh. “Oh, the Colonel is on that good shit.” I shake my head, still chuckling.

Kiwi straightens up. Her shoulders tighten as if she’s guarding herself against bad news.

“Well, what are we going to do?”

Juliet doesn’t answer right away. I stare up into her face, searching for something. Anything. As usual, I get nothing. That is, until she speaks.

“If I disobey orders…”

A thick nothingness fills the steel vehicle. It seems to swallow her words. She doesn’t have to finish. We all know what will happen to an Enforcer who disobeys, no matter how loyal she’s been until now.

I clear my throat. “Wee lings are the most dangerous kind of shifter. Are we really going to do this?”

Juliet turns in her seat and starts to put her harness back on. “We don’t have much of a choice.”

I glare at her back. “Of course we do. None of us signed up for this shit. We’re not heroes.”

“I’m not suggesting we are,” Juliet says, punching coordinates into the control panel.

“He’s right. We should stay on mission,” Kiwi says.

Juliet snaps her head in Kiwi’s direction. “Oh, is that what you think, girl?”

My eyes narrow. “Why don’t you watch your mouth, psycho.”

She starts to turn her head. I feel it. I reach into her with my power like I would a candy jar and stop her movement. A jolt of excitement hits me. My lips twist into a smile. Controlling her always makes me feel good.

“You know we’re not going anywhere unless I let you take us there, right?” My voice sounds sinister in my ears. For a second, I feel like a dickbag, but I brush the feeling aside.

This bitch pulled out my back teeth while I was awake. Plus, she seems to love putting me into shit where I might get killed.

She can’t move, but she lets out a low grunt. I hold onto her a little longer just to prove my point, then release her.

She jerks her head around. “Do that again and…”

“And. You’ll. Do. Nothing.” I smile.

She matches my smile. Cool, poker-faced Juliet is back. “So, you’d just let innocents die?”

I shrug. “Seems to me like people let other people die all the damn time.” I glare at her. “Especially you people.”

We stare at each other for several moments. My stare is full of hostility. Hers, cool as ice. Kiwi breaks up the staring contest by clearing her throat. “Maybe she’s right.”

I roll my eyes. I’m stranded in the middle of hell with a psycho and a politician. We shouldn’t go. We should go.

Make up your mind.

She turns around and gives me a look. I flex away from it. I don’t know what it is, but it makes me uncomfortable. She’s been doing that a lot lately.

“Wee lings are fucked up creatures. If we can kill a few, we should,” Kiwi says.

I stare at her, trying to dispel that discomfort she fills me with. Finally, I nod. Can’t really argue with her logic, even if it is going to get us killed.

21

Miles away from Wisteria Haven, the flames burn unnatural. Greens and purples spit their way up toward the sky. Smoke blots out everything. A mush cloud of pea soup green and violet.

“Fuck man, suck my dick,” I mutter to myself.

Kiwi turns slightly in her seat. “What’s that?”

I shake my head even though, clearly, she can’t see me. “Nothing, just talking to myself.”

She shrugs. “I can relate.”

I glance at her and almost smile. Did cray-cray Kiwi crack a joke? Who knew she was a little funny?

As we pull farther toward the community, some Little House on the Prairie type shit comes into focus. Wooden cabins. Wooden sheds. Discarded rakes and spades. All dancing behind flames that burn without touching anything. Those flames float above the worn wood, threatening but not destroying.

A community hostage to a potentially terrorist fire.

I sink back into my seat. “This is a shitty idea.”

I catch Kiwi bob her head in my sightline.

“Yeah.” She peers at the display on the control panel. “I don’t see anyone, do you?”

Juliet coughs. “Too much smoke.”

The tank comes to a stop and dread bites into me at the same moment.

“We’re going to have to go in on foot,” Juliet adds.

Famous last words, or more appropriately, stupid last words.

This is some dumb shit.

Juliet and Kiwi release their harnesses and make their way for the hatch. I just stare at them. I don’t know what else to do. Follow them into a shit storm? Before Kiwi ducks through the hatch, she catches my eye, and then vanishes.

I roll my eyes. With a sigh, I release my harness. I reach behind my seat and grab my trident. Lowering myself to the ground, I have to laugh. I swing my weapon onto my back and think, if only my niggaz could see me now.

They’d say this is white people shit, don’t do it.

And yet, I go through that hatch anyway. Dead negro walking.

The smell hits me like a crazed woman’s smack in the face. Rotten eggs and smoke mingle together to create a stench that beats itself into my eyes and nose. My eyes water, and I try not to breath. Then I remember my mask, put it on, and breathe in something less foul. Once I have relief from the smell, I notice I’m not shivering. The temperature has gone mild. We’ve gone from the angry north to mild mannered Middle America.

Or what it used to be.

“Stay alert,” Juliet says.

She’s the first one to move forward. Kiwi follows suit almost right away. The unnatural flames cast their shadows long and stick-like on the dry ground. The last to follow, I remove my trident and twirl it a few times before tightening my grip around its shaft.

Might as well save ammo.

We make our way around a log cabin with scorched wood and its sign hanging half off, and into the heart of what they call Wisteria Haven.

There is no haven here.

Black smoke wisps toward us, and even with masks on we cough at its greeting. Unnatural flames bear their heat on us. So unnatural. I stare into their strange colors. Not raging orange or blue, but green and violet swimming into bruised purple. I stare.

And stare.

And stare.

And then I’m young again. A siren with mother’s milk still dripping off my lip. I watch myself, young and confused, listening to the woman who I thought was my mother explain to me what I am. Explain who made me.

Then, I’m no longer watching.

I am that young siren.

My skin itches and crawls with that desire. To drink in what my mother is, all of what she is, and ride the wave. To end her in song.

“No,” I hear myself say, shaking my head.

I glance around at familiar surroundings. The small apartment I grew up in. Police cars throwing blue and red flashing lights in through the window. Casting shadows on the peeling wallpaper and never quite clean living room with its stacks of magazines falling off the coffee table. A blue glow is cast on my mother’s face. The washing machine whirls in the background.

“It’s going to be okay, Pike.” She embraces me in her beefy arms.

I take in the scent of laundry detergent and lilac her housecoat was always drenched in.

But other scents are there, too. The smell of gumbo her mother used to make. The iron in her blood when she skinned her knee playing basketball. The smell of the man that was her first love. After shave and tobacco.

And I wanted it all.

And I had the power to take it.

“No!” I shout the word this time and wrench away from her.

She doesn’t react, just looks at me as if she understands something I don’t. That face I love. The face I now want to kill.

Something slams down on my arm and jerks me slightly left.

I turn my head toward it and find Kiwi squinting up at me.

“Don’t look into the flames.”

I’m back in Wisteria Haven. I shake my head, gulp, and dart my gaze around.

“It’s wee ling fire,” Kiwi says. “Creates fucked up visions and shit. People have died watching their own hell in the flames.”

I try to steady my breathing and nod. I glance at Juliet who is slightly ahead of us. She stares off into the distance, and I follow her gaze.

There they are. Twenty or so people, various colors and ages, are fixed in place by the flames. My stomach ties itself into a knot. A scream breaks out, and I jerk my head away from the people, toward the source of the sound. A little girl darts at us. She is barefoot and clutching a headless doll in her left hand. I stare at her, take in her yellow complexion, wild hair, and large, scared eyes.

My stomach knots itself tighter.

“Help!” the little girl screams, and she weaves around the fires toward us.

As she gets closer, I kneel. She almost crashes into me. I reach out hands to steady her.

“Help me!” Snot bubbles pop from her nose. She can’t be any older than five or six.

I nod. “What happened, Shorty?”

She wipes her nose on her sleeve. “I know not.” Sniffles. “They come. Torch place. Can’t find… Can’t Mommy. They come… Kill Daddy.”

My eyes narrow. “How many?”

Sniffles again. “Know not.” She shakes her head. “Twenty? Thirty?” She grabs my hand and tries to pull me with her. “Come, please. Help.”

I stand and smile down at her. “Yeah, sure. I’ll help, little bitch.”

Before she can react, I plunge the tongs of my trident through her chest. I lift her up, then slam her back to the ground and twist it through for good measure. Her eyes and mouth open wide. A tar like substance spills from that gaping mouth. Placing my foot on her stomach for leverage, I yank my weapon from her flesh.

With a shudder, she dissolves into that same tar that leaked from her mouth. Bits of flesh and nasty ass liquid seep into the dry ground.

“Ugh.” I shake off as much of the thick ooze as I can, then rest the end of my trident against the ground. I lean against it for support as that knot in my gut tightens until I’m sure my stomach will cave in.

“How did you know?” Kiwi says from beside me.

I glance at her. “Know what?”

“That she was a wee ling.”

I shrug, then stare ahead. “Well, don’t know much about them, but one of the things I learned is that their English ain’t shit.”

She laughs. “Maybe I should stab you through the chest.”

I look back at her and smirk. “I wasn’t certain until she touched me.”

She nods, opens her mouth and is about to reply when a throat clears up ahead of us.

“Mr. Richards. Ms. Grunder…”

I switch my focus to Juliet. She’s turning in a small circle with her gun gripped firmly in her hands, looking toward the sky. I follow her gaze.

An ohfuck moment hits me.

The things are everywhere. Perched on wooden rooftops. Crouched on the ground around us. Every one of them in the form of a child. My eyes rest on the youngest, not old enough to walk, as it crawls toward me with drool dripping from its lip.

Wee lings.

A rush of the nasties run down my spine. The fires burn hotter.

* * *

Juliet starts to creep toward us. Kiwi holds her hand out in her direction.

No, don’t, she mouths.

Juliet stops in her tracks. The steel of my trident grows hot in my hand. That’s how hard my grip is. To my left, Kiwi slowly lowers her goggles over her eyes. She fixes me with a stare, then clears her throat.

“You and Juliet,” she says barely above a whisper. “Get out of here.”

When what she’s saying registers, I narrow my eyes. Like that shit is going to happen.

I say in a whisper, “If you think we’re leaving you alone with these things, you’re crazier than I thought.”

She waves me off. “Just go.”

Before I can reply, she turns and races toward the first red-headed wee ling. As soon as she moves, the things start screeching. It’s a loud, high sound. The kind of sound that makes you cringe.

Without knowing what I’m doing, I take off after Kiwi. As I reach out to grab her, something sharp and scalding hot bites into my ankle.

I grit my teeth and face plant it into the ground. Another sharp pain just above my ankle. It makes the sound of a Band-Aid being ripped off a moist wound. I barely keep myself from crying out. Before the little shit can take another slice out of me, I force myself onto my back.

A blur rushes past my vision. I reach for the most ready tool in my arsenal without thought to who else it might hurt; I open my mouth and let a wail rip from my lungs. The wee ling freezes over me, then splatters. Nasty black shit rains down toward me. I squeeze my eyes shut just before it washes all over my face.

“Ugh.” I grit my teeth and turn back around. Then, I push myself up onto my knees. I’ll look at the damage later. I force myself onto my feet and limp in the direction I was going before I was attacked.

Nothing that meets my eyes makes any damn sense. Bright sparks of red light up in varying intervals. Gun fire fills the air. Wee lings dart this way and that. A red beam rips into one, cutting it in half. Its body explodes to the ground. I glance down. I don’t know why. Some instinct.

It’s the baby.

No, not the baby.

The wee ling.

It’s crawling toward me. I shake my head and back away. Through the noise and the fog of gun smoke, I think I hear someone call my name.

“Damnit, just stop!” I’m yelling at the thing. Backing away, I keep yelling. “Just fucking stop!” The thing looks up at me with big, bright eyes.

Brown eyes. I’ve never seen Sadie as a baby, but in pictures her eyes were still this same warm brown.

My favorite color.

It half smiles.

I sink to my knees and grip my trident.

“Just stop! Stop it! I can’t!” My voice comes out a broken wail. The trident in my hands hits the ground with a clang. I feel the thing’s soft, chubby hands on my arm. I close my eyes and start to shake.

“I can’t.” My voice is a whisper now. “I fucking can’t.”

“Pike!” Kiwi’s voice comes at me from far away.

The wee ling baby crawls into my lap. I open my eyes and peer down.

I know what it is, but all I can see is a baby. Small. Innocent. Everything the world has lost. That everything freezes me. Even when the thing opens its mouth and reveals sharp, triangular shaped teeth. Even when its eyes glow red.

I’m still frozen.

It’s just a fucking baby.

“Pike!” Kiwi’s voice is closer now. Too close.

I glance up and see her darting toward me.

“No!” I shout at her, and clutch the babe protectively in my arms.

“Pike! You have to move! Now.” She comes to a halt in front of me, then reaches toward me and tries to force my arms open.

“No.” I shove her away. “Get the hell away from me.”

She lifts the goggles off her eyes and stares at me. Then, she shakes her head. “Fuck. We don’t have time for this.”

A red beam darts from her eyes. It hits my arms.

“Ah! What the fuck?” I drop the baby and grab the small burn on my arm with my left hand. As I look up, another set of beams spill from Kiwi’s eyes. I follow their target.

There is no more baby.

Just scorch marks where it used to be.

Where innocence used to be.

I start to scream. I don’t stop until something hard bashes me in the back of the head. Light explodes across my vision. Then, I don’t do shit.

* * *

I wake in flashes of heat and pain. Sweat clings to me like a blood sucking tick. It seals me to something almost soft. I’m guessing a mattress.

There are buzzing voices. Only Juliet’s is familiar. My eyes fly open. Ice blue orbs stare down at me. All of the events come streaming back to me.

Then, I’m back in that tiny cell. An animal caught by the Enforcers. Juliet, my main tormentor, stands over me.

I jerk to sitting and latch my hands around her throat. Her eyes bulge, but her expression doesn’t change.

I hate that. I hate that her face never tells me shit.

“Where is she?” I say in a warped version of my voice. “Where is Sadie?”

“He’s delusional,” a voice I don’t recognize says. “I hope she gets back soon.”

Ignoring the voice, I tighten my grip on the bitch’s neck. “You come for more teeth?” I hiss the words. “What have you done with Sadie?”

A touch on the shoulder steals my focus from Juliet. I let go Juliet slipping away, and turn toward it. I stare up into a stranger’s face. She looks loving, face framed by unruly brown hair.

“You’ve…bitten. … Times. You… lay down.”

I narrow my eyes, trying to understand what she’s saying, but her voice sounds like it’s coming at me through white noise. Nothing she says makes sense. I turn back to Juliet. My mind seems to notice her for the first time.

She looks like bitten shit. Hair matted to her forehead with sweat. A vacant look in the eyes. A slight shiver keeps coursing through her. Looking at her brings me back to reality. Back to more recent events.

I suck in a pained breath. “Were you… were you bitten?”

Juliet shakes her head.

I can’t think of anything to do but nod. She’s suffering with me. Because of the curse I used to bond her to me. I think about feeling bad about that, but only manage to collapse back onto the semi-soft mattress.

Someone above me says, “He’s burning up.”

I wonder if it’s the kind-faced lady. Seconds later, a cold towel is pressed onto my forehead. It helps.

Barely.

I have another question for Juliet. About Kiwi. I can’t manage to open my mouth to ask. I let my eyes close and fall into more nightmares.

About the Compound Six pit. About Sadie’s life being in my hands. About the discomfort Kiwi is starting to make me feel.

I swim through all those terrors, until I find a safe and still darkness.

I stay there a while.

* * *

The darkness doesn’t last. It never does. Not for people—creatures—like me. Soon, the darkness ripples and light punches through.

Then, I’m back in that hole. Back in that pit.

Only, it isn’t Juliet who comes for me. Not even Boomer and his whip.

It’s Sadie.

I try to move toward her but I meet resistance. Glancing down, I realize I’m in chains. When I look back up, Sadie is creeping toward me. As she moves, a high screech fills the room. It comes from the axe she drags on the ground behind her.

I blink, trying to un-see the image. This isn’t my Sadie. My Sadie uses ice skates, not axes. My Sadie doesn’t have that look on her face. That blank calm.

The look I want to rip so often from Juliet’s face.

“Sadie?” My voice comes out like a wad of sandpaper. I try clearing it. “What are you doing, Shorty?”

Half her mouth turns up into a sneer. “Why did you do it?”

I shake my head. “What?”

Without warning, she raises the axe and slashes it down into the metal of the chair between my legs. My heart shoots off, and I look at her, blinking and panicked.

I open my mouth but no words come out. Only hard breath. Only terror.

“Why did you do it?” she asks again. Only she doesn’t sound like herself. She never did.

From far away, I smell sage and rosemary.

I swallow and blink harder, as if the action will make this go away. Somewhere down deep, I know it isn’t real. But it is real.

She rests the rusty blade against my thigh.

“Why did you do it?”

Sucking in air, I glance back up at her and try to be cool. “Do what?”

She leans forward her greenish eyes stabbing me through the heart. I know what she’s asking. Of course I know what she’s asking.

I can’t bring myself to admit that to her. The chair I sit in vibrates. That’s when I notice I’m trembling. And I’m cold. I hope she doesn’t ask me outright.

The scent of sage grows stronger.

“I think he’s coming out of it,” a voice that doesn’t come from Sadie says. I dart my gaze around, searching for its owner.

No one else is there.

My shivering grows violent. More sage.

Gods, I hope she doesn’t ask me outright.

Sadie leans in so close to me that our noses almost touch. She wears a full sneer now.

“Why did you kill my mother?”

I swallow a ball of dread, open my mouth to reply, but can’t. The violence shaking my body chatters my teeth. My only options are to be cold as shit and shiver my nuts off.

“Why did you do it?” Her voice rises.

I shake my head. Find something that resembles my voice. “I d-d-didn’t… She w-w-w-would have…”

“Why did you kill my mother, Pike? Why did you take her away from me?” She’s yelling outright now. It’s a crazed yelling. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever heard come out of her mouth.

“N-no. S-s…” I lower my head until my chin touches my chest. I can’t look at her. I can’t see that wild hate in her eyes.

She keeps screaming, the noise growing more desperate. It turns me into a big ball of nothing. I’m useless. I sit there and start to sob. I start to tell her she would have taken her own life, anyway. That it was my twisted way of helping…

Something hard strikes me across the face.

I jerk my head up to find Sadie, unmoved. I shake my head in confusion. Before I can question how she hit me without moving, another hand slaps me across the other cheek.

I jolt awake.

The pit fades away, Sadie fades away, and I’m in the unfamiliar room I first found the darkness in.

“What the… fuck.” I dart my eyes around wildly.

I find Juliet, looking much better. Beside her is Kiwi, peering down at me with what looks like concern, and seated beside me on the mattress is a figure in a worn, dirty gray cloak.

He or she is smearing green shit all over me. I jerk away. Then, I notice my leg is on fire. I glance down to find white gauze wrapped around my lower leg. Right where that wee ling took a bite out of me. It smells like sage and rosemary.

“Who the fuck are you?” I say in a scratchy voice.

He or she ignores me, opting instead to keep spackling me in green stuff. Has to be some kind of healing balm. It’s my best guess because I feel a little better.

Still weak as hell, though.

Still picturing Sadie lobbing my head off with an axe.

“This is XJ,” Kiwi says. “I found her at a small settlement a few miles from here. It was lucky as shit.”

I stare at this XJ as she works me over. I can’t tell what she is: Human, or something the gods made.

I’m weak as hell. That wee ling must have zapped whatever juice I had left.

“Yes, you’ll have to feed.” The voice comes from XJ. It is a thick, older-sounding voice. Husky. She finally looks at me with one gray eye and one white eye.

I raise an eyebrow at her, wondering if she somehow heard my thoughts. Not many things in nature can do that. I’ve never met one. She pulls down the hood of her cloak to reveal a shock of purple hair. It’s a mass of curls. Piercings fill her face. Nose. Eyebrow. Lower lip.

She’s younger than her voice lets on. No more than a few years older than me.

Without saying another word to me, she stands and turns toward Kiwi. “I’ve done what I can. We’ll have to make use of that volunteer.”

I try to sit up, but pain presses me down to the mattress.

“What the hell is going on?” I manage to ask. “What volunteer?”

Juliet eyes me. “Your song saved this town. We have a volunteer for you to make use of. To get your strength back. So you can heal yourself.”

I want to roll my eyes, but can’t. “No, no way.”

“Pike, you don’t really have a choice,” Kiwi says. “There’s still wee ling poison in your system. If you can’t get it out…”

“You’re dead,” Juliet finishes, brushing her hands together like there’s dirt on them. “And if you’re dead, our mission dies with you. And that can’t happen.”

I squint up at her. “Maybe I’ll just use you.”

As usual, her expression doesn’t change. She just stares down at me with Juliet poker face. One day, I will turn that expression into something new. Something that pleases me.

“You know we can’t do that, Pike,” Kiwi says.

Before I can reply, a throat clears from the corner of the room. I crane my neck around XJ and spot a middle aged woman, face framed with brown hair. The kind face from before I blacked out. She stands up off a rickety stool and paces toward the group.

“Um, if it helps the woman volunteer, she has no family.” The kind faced woman wears a weak smile. “No one to miss her. And she was most eager. And as these ladies have told me, you’ll die without… well, whatever it is you do. I really must insist.”

I almost laugh at her use of the word ladies. And on her insisting that I kill one of her friends. I open my mouth and find nothing to say.

My throat starts to burn.

They’re right. I need to sing.

I need to kill the burning in my veins.

I don’t even know why I bother with the mental back and forth. I picture Sadie. The real one, not the thing of nightmares, and know I’m going to do it.

They all know I’m going to do it.

Again.

“After he feeds, he should rest here a few days. Just to be safe,” XJ says to Juliet.

Juliet shakes her head. “That isn’t plausible. We barely have a few hours, let alone a few days.”

XJ shrugs her broad shoulders. As she does, I notice her height. She’s at least as tall as me. “Do whatever you wish. My recommendation is still a few day’s rest. Even after he heals himself, there is risk of delusions. Hot flashes. Things that may risk… what did you call it, your mission?”

The two women stare at each other for several seconds.

Finally, Juliet switches her gaze from XJ to me. “Pike, I need you good to go in a few hours. Are you going to be able to do that?”

My eyes narrow. Sadie floats in front of them.

I shrug. “Not like I have a choice.”

Juliet nods, then flips her hair. I still hate it every time she does it.

She waves everyone toward the door. “Let’s clear the room.”

I struggle to sit up as the group staggers out of the door. Kiwi brings up the rear. She turns and gives me a look. I can’t read it. What she’s thinking. What she wants to tell me. I can only tell that she looks pained. Her expression makes me feel that discomfort I’m not a huge fan of.

Before I can say anything, she ducks out the door.

As soon as I’m alone, I reach down and gingerly touch my leg. I wince in pain and whip my fingers away like my leg is a hot stove and shake my hand in the air.

“Gods, that stings,” I mutter to myself.

My throat starts to burn hotter. I look around the room, hoping to find some source of water. A light knock rings in my ears.

I glance at the door, my stomach twisting into knots. After a few moments hesitation, I say, “Yeah, come in.”

As the door creaks open, I manage to swing my legs around the side of the bed and plant my feet on the floor. The door clicks shut, and I glance up. Almost as soon as I do, I burst into bitter laughter.

“You have got to be shitting me.”

The volunteer twists one leg around the other and stands with her head slightly down. The shy type. I glance her up and down and shake my head.

“Get out,” I say, averting my eyes from her face.

There is no movement. We sit in the room in an awkward silence I want to be rid of as soon as possible. With a sigh, I stare back up at her.

The look on her face stops the words on my tongue. Her face is flushed, making the freckles stand out even more. She opens her mouth, then shuts it.

The child still has braces on her teeth for fucks sake.

I sigh. “You okay?”

She nods her head too quickly.

I bite down the pain. Apparently, next to dying, I have to help this girl with her feelings.

“You got a name?” I say between clenched teeth.

She nods again. Too quickly. A nervous little thing.

I stare at her for several seconds, then stop myself from rolling my eyes. “You want to tell me what it is?”

She shrugs and twirls a finger through her greasy, auburn hair.

“Well, I’m Pike. Richards.”

She sniffles, making her seem younger than she is. Then, she opens her mouth and says, “I’m Ana.”

The muscles in my face feel tight, but I try a smile anyway. “Nice to meet you, Ana.” I fold my hands in my lap and peer up at her. “Now, you wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

She looks at the floor and shifts her weight. “It’s just… It’s just you… You don’t approve of me?”

I have to stop the urge to laugh. And it’s a very strong urge. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep it in. I gesture toward her with one hand.

“Ana, how old are you?”

She peers up at me through long eyelashes. “Twenty.”

I cringe. She looks younger than she is. I lean away from her almost involuntarily.

I point at the door behind her. “Yeah, you need to get the hel… You need to leave, girl.”

She shakes her head and creeps toward me on tip toes. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

I hold up both hands to stop her. “Look, you don’t need to understand. You just gotta go.”

“Please.” She brings her hands together in front of her face like she’s in prayer. “It’s an honor for me to make this sacrifice for you.”

Something about her words makes. Me. Snap.

I start laughing. Not regular laughing. Crazy, maniacal laughter. Whatever expression my face wears with this laugh must make Ana uncomfortable. She backs away until she’s pressed tightly against the door.

If I could stand, I would. But the laughing hurts enough on its own.

“You’re only twenty,” I sputter once my laughter fizzles out. “Do you even know what the hell you volunteered for?”

She nods her head with enthusiasm. “Yes, my sacrifice will mean that you’ll be strong enough to get the cure. To put the world back right again.” She smiles, flashing the wires on her teeth at me. I’ve seen grown women with braces, but again, it makes her look much too young.

“It’s an honor to go out in service of a hero,” she says.

I scoff. That’s one word I’ve never been called.

Bastard, asshole, killer, sure. Hero? Never.

“I’m no hero.” Again, I point at the door behind her. “Please, go.”

She doesn’t budge. “But, you are.” She smiles again, this time it’s softer. “You’re a siren. You came here and saved us. You’ll continue on and save the world.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What do you like to do, Ana?”

She presses her lips together. “What?”

“Before all this.” I lift my brow higher. “What did you like to do?”

“Um.” She shrugs. “I’d take care of my baby brother… And I’d write.”

I nod. “Did you love it? The writing?”

She smiles once more, but this time she sports a glint in her eyes. It’s a nice picture. I know that glint. As a Muse, I often fuel that glint.

“Here’s how this is actually going to go down. You’re going to go on… write some awesome shit…” I manage a pained smile for her. “And I’m going to get my ass out of this bed and save the world.”

She breaks out into a fourth smile. The one I’ll remember her for. Then she rushes forward and throws her arms around my neck. I try not to wince at the pain. After a few seconds, I pat her on the back.

“Alright, girl, gon’ and get out of here.”

She stands up, sniffles, and wipes a tear from her cheek. “You sure you’re going to be alright?”

I nod. “I’ll be just fine.”

She leans over and kisses my cheek, then turns on her heels and leaves. As soon as she’s gone, I close my eyes.

The pain from the wee ling venom is twisting my insides in pain. The sweats are coming back. I need a plan B. As I lay down, the door creaks open again. Soon, Kiwi is standing over me.

We stare at each other for several moments.

“You didn’t kill her.” Kiwi bites down on her lip.

The way she says it, with hushed surprise, pisses me off. I push the anger down. I’ve got bigger problems. “Yeah, she was a fucking kid.”

Kiwi nods, then sits on the edge of my bed. “Well, what are you going to do?”

I shrug. “Gloat? I told you guys this was a bad idea.”

She glares at me. “Well, you weren’t supposed to get bitten.”

I laugh. It comes out coarse and tired. “Sorry for not sticking to the plan.”

She falls into silence and I’m happy to join her there. I start to drift off when she says, “Can you use me?”

My eyes shoot open. Shaking my head, I say, “Nah, it works best with humans. I’ve done it a few times to other descendants… It never ends well.”

“Well, you have to do something. Why don’t you just… Just have your pick of the town? Plenty of others here. I’m sure there’s an asshole that wouldn’t weigh on your conscious.”

I laugh. Then I close my eyes. I won’t kill anyone this time, but there is something I can do. Something obvious.

It’s not a perfect plan, but it will do.

“What are you smiling about?” Kiwi says.

I glance at her and try to make my expression neutral.

“Go get me Juliet,” I say in a soft voice.

Her eyes narrow. “For what?”

“Just—” I wave her off. “—go get her. We need to have a little talk.”

22

Juliet comes in and gives me as much of a glare as she’s capable of. Then, she flips her hair and crosses her arms over her chest.

I actually manage a smile. Classic Juliet.

“Pike,” she says and she inches toward me. “We don’t have time for this. I need you to do what you need to do. Can you do that for me?”

I narrow my eyes, shake my head. “No, I can’t.”

“What?”

I shrug. “I’m not going to kill any of these people.”

Juliet sighs and shakes her head. “Bad time to grow a conscience.”

“Maybe.” I lean forward as much as I can. I grind my teeth at the pain. “But we came here to save these people, and you sent in a little girl for me to kill.”

She scoffs. “She volunteered.”

“She has her whole life in front of her.”

Juliet looks down at me. With a slight smile, she nods. “I guess you’ve forgotten about Sadie.”

I match her smug little smile with one of my own.

“No, I remember her.” I lean forward just a bit more. “And, do you remember me?”

She starts to open her mouth when I whistle. Her eyes go wide, and she crashes to her knees. Already feeling stronger, I sit all the way up and lean over her.

“What are you doing?” She gasps.

I wink at her and whistle again. She collapses onto her face. Siphoning off her makes me strong enough to stand. The burning in my blood, in my throat, is almost gone. I reach over and grab her by the neck, forcing her to stand up with me.

Turning her around, I look down into her face.

Her expression hasn’t changed.

“Tsk, tsk.” That won’t do.

I whistle a third time. A long, sensual tune. The ice blue of her eyes go white as I ride my siren high.

Her mouth opens wide, but she can’t speak. And something dances in her eyes. Something different. Something that feels like fear.

I smile wide, then drop her.

“I’m tired, Juliet. Of being your bitch. Of being Compound Six’s bitch.” I toss her onto the bed and start to pace the room. “I come out here and put my black ass on the line. You put Sadie’s life on the line. We lose Tripp, and now…” I realize I’m yelling, and I spin around to take in Juliet.

She is gasping for air, clawing at her own throat.

“And now, you ask me to kill a fucking child.” I place my hand beside my head, then descend on her. “Consider my god damned limit reached, bitch. If you ask me if I can do anything one more time, I will fucking kill you.”

With that, I sit down, let out a final whistle, then loosen my control on her.

Her remaining link to me will keep her alive. Just barely.

And not for long.

* * *

Even when I’m strong enough to stand and go outside, we don’t set out. We probably should, but darkness has cast itself all over the ground, and it’s just not smart to move at night.

Not with monsters everywhere.

Fires burn all over the place. A main fire rushes toward the sky from the middle of the town, and smaller fires burn here and there, giving off some nasty stench.

Wee ling bodies being burned.

Little fuckers.

I take a seat around the main fire beside Kiwi, who presses herself in close to me and whispers, “You look better.”

I grin. “You flirting with me, girl?”

She ignores my charm and glances around at all the faces around the fire. I notice they’re all shooting looks our way. Fascinated looks. Curious looks. Awed looks.

“No one here is dead,” Kiwi says to me softly.

I nod. “No one.”

She’s quiet for a little while, but I can feel her gaze on me. Feel her question burning a hole in my side. I don’t give her the obvious answer she’s fishing for. Might be dangerous; the woman can shoot lasers from her eyes.

Finally, Kiwi clears her throat. “Where is Juliet?”

I glance at her. “Um, she told me she needed to rest.”

Kiwi’s eyes narrow. Even when she’s glaring at me, I find her so damn fun to look at. More fun than any woman I’ve ever met.

That feeling of discomfort creeps along my skin.

“Is she dead?”

I roll my eyes. “Why are you asking me some shit you know the answer to?”

She hisses at me, and I jump. She hasn’t done that in a while.

“Just answer me!” Her voice is a little too loud.

The buzzing of conversation that was going on around us ceases. All eyes are on us for a few seconds. When the last pair of eyes glance away, I look at Kiwi and sigh.

“She’s not dead. Which you know. Because we still need her, and I’m pretty sure you would have tried to kill me if I killed her.”

She stares at me for several seconds. Finally, she nods and sweeps her gaze toward the fire.

“Yeah,” she says. “Did you release her?”

I shake my head even though she’s no longer looking at me. “No, if I did that she’d only have a few hours.” I cross my arms in front of me and enjoy the fire spitting its heat toward my face. “I only did a partial feed. Neither of us are one hundred percent, but it’ll get the job done.”

She doesn’t say anything, but I can feel her. Something is making her anxious. I place a hand on her shoulder, and she turns her head toward me.

“Hey, no worries, girl. We’re still gonna get this shit done.”

She nods. “I know, but you’ll…”

I feel another wave of anxiety leak from her. I frown, trying to guess what’s causing it. Then, the obvious hits me.

The thing she won’t say.

That I’ll die if I don’t do a regular feed.

I drop my hand and turn my attention back to the fire. We sit in silence until the woman with the kind face comes and offers us both plates.

“It’s eggplant,” she says as I reach for the plate.

I glance down at the mass of purple on my plate and nod. “Smells good…”

She splays her fingers across her chest. “Rosemary, like the herb.” With a smile, she reaches for my hand. I take one away from the plate to shake hers.

“My favorite herb,” I say with a wink.

She blushes and nods, then scurries off, almost tripping on her own feet.

Beside me, Kiwi snorts. “You’re such a flirt.”

“Nope, just smart.”

“Since when?”

“Ha!” I toss a wink at her. “Longer than you’ve been funny.” I take a bite out of my eggplant and close my eyes. It’s rubbery, but one of the best things I’ve tasted in a hot minute. As soon as I swallow, I say, “My momma always taught me to compliment a woman that brings me food. Otherwise, she might put some shit in it one day.”

Kiwi actually laughs. My eyes pop open. Pretty sure it’s the first time I’ve heard that kind of sound come out of her face.

“Well.” She takes a small bite out of her own eggplant. “Your mother sounds like she’s a smart woman.”

My face tightens. I try to smile. “Yeah, she was.”

Kiwi looks toward me. I don’t know this because I’m not looking at her. She just has that kind of stare you can feel.

“Was?”

I nod tightly.

“What happened to her?”

I take another bite to keep my mouth full. She seems to take the hint and peers back out at the fire.

“Wow, look at this place,” she says. “As close to normal as I’ve been in a long time.”

I glance around at all the people. Elderly faces. White faces. Black faces. Yellow faces. All laughing like the shit isn’t raining down around them. Embracing each other. Resting their heads on the shoulders of those next to them.

It all does look pretty damn normal.

Something claws at my gut. It makes me feel good, well, better than I have in a while, to be here. But I still don’t feel a part of it. I feel on the outside of it.

I always feel on the outside of it.

I finish up my food and stand up. Casting my gaze down at Kiwi, I say, “I’m going to check on Juliet.”

She nods.

“Don’t kill her,” she calls out to me as I walk away.

That brings a light smile to my lips. I wave at a group of people as I pass and make my way back to the cabin Wisteria Haven’s residents have let us borrow. I open the door and my heart almost collapses in my rib cage.

Juliet is standing up, glaring at me. Well, not glaring. Giving me stoic Juliet face.

I wasn’t expecting her to be standing for a while.

“What are you…”

Before I can finish asking my question, Juliet holds up her arm. The one connected to her comm link with Compound Six. I narrow my eyes and shake my head in confusion.

“You remember that chip that was placed in your head when you signed on for this mission?”

Shit. This isn’t going to go well.

I nod slowly.

“Well, it wasn’t just to keep tabs on you. It was in case you got out of line.” She flips her hair. “And I’m afraid you’ve gotten out of line, Pike.”

I pucker my lips to whistle.

But I’m not fast enough.

Juliet slams a button on her watch, and a red hot pain slices up my spine. My head jerks back, and I let out a scream. Pain beats into me. Pain so intense it feels like I’ve been under its grip for a lifetime. Then, just as quickly as it came on, it stops.

I stumble backward, crashing into the door.

I look in Juliet’s direction, but I barely see her.

I barely see anything.

And I’m hungry. My insides twist with it. Everything else has gone out of my head. With a growl, I turn toward the door and stomp through it, aching to kill.

23

When I step back into the night, everything is different. I can barely see any of it, but I can feel it, pecking at my veins. The woman with the kind face, I can’t remember her name now, passes me with a huge grin. Something on my face gives me away for what I truly am and the smile dissolves from her face.

She thought me a hero.

Now she’s backing away from me, clutching her scarf closer to her body, and scurrying off.

I smile.

I’ve never been a fan of wearing masks. Let them all see me.

I stalk toward the fire. After a quick glance I don’t see Ana. Taking in a deep breath, I close my eyes and feel for her. It’s a matter of seconds.

Now, she’s mine.

A hand grips my arm. I open my eyes and dart my gaze down at Kiwi.

“Hey, you okay?” Her eyebrows raise. “You don’t look like yourself.”

I rip my arm away from her. “Go to bed, little girl.”

Her eyes open as wide as small planets. “Fuck off, Pike.”

I laugh as she walks away. “Yeah, fuck me, indeed.”

I turn left and trudge toward the cottage. Ana’s cottage. I clomp up the steps and stand before the door. Reaching out, I touch it and draw in a deep breath.

It’s like white folk smelling their wine before they indulge. Makes it taste all the sweeter. And she does smell so sweet.

She smells of creativity. Of innocence. Of playfulness and fearlessness. Some of my favorite things to eat. Unable to hold off any longer, I push the door open.

The room is dimly lit with an oil lamp. Shadows dance off the walls. She’s seated at a small desk in the corner. She turns to me and smiles.

For about half a second.

Then she leaps up. Her chair clatters to the floor. I smile. “Relax, it’s just me.”

She backs herself up against her desk. Several books and pens spill to the floor. I move forward and lean over to pick them all up.

“Here,” I say, handing them to her with a smile.

She shakes her head. I can smell the fear wafting off her. My mouth waters.

“You look different,” she says.

I nod. “I feel different.”

“Wha…what do you want?”

My smile widens. I think about that. Not about what I want. That’s clear. But, I do wonder if I should make her feel better about what’s going to happen.

It’s a matter of seconds before I decide against it. She did, after all, volunteer for this a few hours ago. I close the gap between us and wrap my arms around her neck.

Then, I whistle.

Her eyes glaze over in ecstasy, in all the worldly goods a human girl could possibly want. I’ve given her a small slice of heaven, hand crafted just for her.

In return, she’s given me her life.

It doesn’t take long. I’m that hungry. When I’m done, she hangs, a limp dish rag in my arms. Without thought, I snap her head to the left and listen to the pop of her neck. Then, I let her fall to the floor.

And just like that, everything goes back to normal. Colors sharpen. Sounds reach my ears. I feel myself again. I stare down at Ana’s limp body.

At her dead body.

My eyes widen so hard I feel like they’ll pop out of my head.

“No,” I say, backing away from her.

Everything comes rushing back. Juliet. The button. The pain. The hunger. The monster. This.

This…

This horrible thing I’ve just done.

I crash to my knees. I didn’t want to kill Ana. Why did I do it? “I didn’t mean to kill her.”

“No, no no.” I start to rock myself like a self- soothing child. “No.”

I cover my face. My mouth rips open into a silent scream.

Tears roll down my face in huge globs. I don’t even feel the siren high. I feel like an endless pit of this horrible thing I’ve done.

Soon, my screams are no longer quiet. They are loud. Loud and scary enough to render the entire haven silent.

* * *

I’m so caught up in my own grief, in my own bullshit ass weakness that I barely hear Kiwi. I cradle Ana’s broken body—Ana, who is only a few years older than Sadie—in my arms and wail. Not a siren’s wail. A very human wail. A wail that instead of ripping others apart, almost cracks me in two.

She has to shake me out of it. “Pike!”

I turn my head, and she’s sitting beside me. She’s looking at me, not with disgust, but shock and what I guess is sympathy.

“Gods, Pike. What happened?”

I try to speak, but when my mouth opens all that comes out is another howl. She winces and rubs my shoulders.

“Gods,” she says again. “What happened, Pike? Why did you do this?”

I shake my head. My mouth is still stretched wide open. I can’t answer. I can’t find the words to answer.

She touches the side of my face and nods. “Okay. Just let me…” She starts to pull Ana out of my arms.

It takes a great effort because I don’t want to let go. After several moments of struggle, I resign. Once Ana is on the floor in front of me, Kiwi jumps up. Her footsteps shuffle behind me. Finally, she returns with a blanket and covers Ana’s body.

I close my eyes and let my head hang.

I can’t believe I did this. I didn’t want to do this.

“Pike.” Kiwi’s arm is on my shoulder again.

I shake my head before looking at her. Her eyes are wide with questions.

I rub my nose and laugh bitterly. “Juliet. I think it was Juliet.”

She scowls, tilting her head.

I clear my throat. Now that some words have come to me, maybe I can find the others.

“I went to check on her. And she had this… this button on her watch. She pressed it. Then…”

Kiwi’s already widened eyes widen further. “Oh, gods.” She closes her eyes. Her small hands ball into fists. “She must have gotten orders from Colonel Jax.”

The sound of his name puts the taste of shit in my mouth.

“The chip in your head… it must have a mind control function. I heard about them from Tripp. They put one in his, in case he Orced out when he wasn’t supposed to.”

As soon as she finishes telling me this, Male laughter swims around in my skull. I press my hands to my ears. In the distance, Kiwi calls my name. She shakes my arm, but the laughing only gets louder.

Then, the word bubbles away.

An image of Colonel Jax, eyepatch and all, swims into my vision.

“Hello, Pike,” he says in that fucking whisper of a voice. “Juliet says you were getting out of control.” Then he holds up a head with vacant eyes. It’s Sadie.

Well, it’s a thing that looks like Sadie. Her bones punch up against her skin, and her eyes are the stain milk leaves on a clear glass.

My teeth grit. I try to stand, but stumble back to my knees. Kiwi is still shaking me.

“Don’t get out of line again,” Jax says. “Remember, you’re my monster now.”

Before I can say anything, his face swims away. The thing that looks like Sadie swims away, too, and the room oozes back into focus.

I glance from Ana’s dead body, to Kiwi, who is still saying my name.

“It was Jax,” I say before she can ask what happened again.

Her hands cover her mouth. “He has a retina projector installed in your chip, too.”

I don’t give enough of a fuck to ask what she means by that. All I know is I have to get out of here. Away from Ana’s dead body. Away from the innocence I curse from existence.

“I have to… Leave.” My voice sounds like a power sander on low. I feel powerful and weak at the same time.

“Okay.” Kiwi shakes my head. “Okay, I’m going to get you out of here.”

She stands again and goes to lift up Ana’s body. I close my eyes. Not wanting to know what she’s doing with the body. Feet shuffle all around me. Then, Kiwi is slipping her arm under my shoulder.

She lifts and lets out a grunt. “Come on, Pike. Help me out a little.”

I gather whatever strength I have left and stumble to my feet. I let myself lean on her a little bit as we scramble out the door and into the night.

I would thank the gods that almost everyone is tucked away inside their little prairie cabins, but the gods are assholes.

24

Kiwi and I wind up going to the tank because I can’t stand being in the haven anymore. I roll my sleeping bag out on the floor then crumple down on it like a deflated blow up doll.

Kiwi crouches over me. “Are you going to be okay?”

I give a grunt of confirmation.

“Well,” she says after a few seconds. “I’ll let you have some alone time.”

As soon as she moves toward the hatch, I grab her arm.

“Please,” I say, trying not to sound like a little bitch, “I don’t want to be alone.”

She stares at me for a while, then nods. “Okay.”

We sit forever in silence. I’ve always hated it. The quiet. I hate the shit even more now. Silence lets in thoughts, and mine are torturous right now. Tiny demons dripping straight from the lips of Hades.

I feel every inch of myself tightening. Trying to keep out what I just did. It doesn’t work. Not even a little bit. Kiwi finally shatters the unbearable quiet by touching my shoulder.

Lazily, I turn my head in her direction.

“Hey, this wasn’t your fault.”

I stare at her for a long time. So long, her shoulders fall forward, making her appear smaller than she is. I’m making her as uncomfortable as I am.

I laugh, surprising both of us. Not a dark, bitter thing either. An I’m losing my fucking mind laugh, loud and dangerous. I sit up and stare at her with what must be crazy eyes.

“Not my fault?” I ask, my tone higher in pitch than I’ve ever heard it. “Does that even fucking matter?” I’m yelling now. “Does it fucking matter if I made the choice to kill her myself, or if Colonel Jaxass was pulling my strings?” I grab her by the shoulders and shake her. “Isn’t she just as fucking dead? Isn’t she just as dead because of me?”

Kiwi goes as still as Ana. As lifeless. She stares at me, but nothing moves behind her eyes. The likeness in that moment, between Kiwi and Ana, freaks me out. I drop my hands and bury my head in them.

The quiet returns. I run my hands back through my dreads so hard they tighten and threaten to come right out of my scalp. Then, I peer back up at Kiwi.

“I’m sorry,” I say in a shaky voice. “But I’ve killed so many people.” I look down. “So many. And most of the time, I liked it.” I scoff and shake my head. “No, all of the time, I loved it.” I look up into her eyes. “I loved it, Kiwi. But I didn’t want her to die.”

I start to shake. After a moment, she puts her hand on my forearm. After another moment, she says, “When my sisters were alive, all I had was the laser vision.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“I’ve killed lots of people, too. But I always knew it was righteous. My other sisters would locate them, the ones that needed to be sent to the Underworld, and I’d just send them there. Zap, dead. No questions asked.” She sighs and sits with her legs crossed beside me. “After they were murdered and I got all their power, it became more complicated. I could see people’s darkest selves. The worst of them… it was easy to twist their minds, to make them think they wanted to kill themselves, but I found a gray area.” She meets my eyes. “And killing in that gray area is hard as hell. Harder than my sisters ever made it look.”

We stare at each other for several charged moments.

“So, we’re both killers,” she finally says. “Sorry I was such a bitch to you when we first met.”

I nod, still staring at her. Somehow, her face is the only thing keeping me together at the moment. “It’s cool.”

“And for what I did to Sadie. That was… hard.”

My answering smile is tight. “Let’s not talk about that.”

She nods and glances down. Man, she is so hard not to stare at.

I ask, “So, what do you see when you look at me?”

She glances back up and widens her eyes.

“Am I in that gray area? Would I be hard or easy to kill?”

She shrugs and tucks her bang behind her ear. “Most times I think it would be easy.”

I cough. “You serious?”

She shrugs again, and I clutch my hand over my heart. “Damn, girl. That’s cold.”

She gives me a look, like a challenge. “Whatever. You know you could kill me easily, too.”

I nod. “Without a thought.”

She swats at me, and I duck out of her reach. “Bitch ass.” My laugh is tired when it comes out. “If it makes you feel any better, I’d fuck you a few more times first.”

With a glare, she hisses at me, but the hiss quickly dissolves into a giggle. It’s a nice sound. When she laughs, her face is softer. I can almost forget this woman could probably kick my ass.

“Yeah, me too,” she finally says.

I grin and stare at the tank floor, not knowing what to say now. I try damn hard not to think. I try, and fail. Like I failed to not kill Ana.

Like I failed Sadie so many times.

I sigh. “I don’t even know why I’m doing this shit anymore.”

Kiwi doesn’t say anything for a few moments, then she clears her throat. “For Sadie. And because…. Because it’s right.”

I peer up at her. “Right?” I rub my eyebrow. “Nothing about this feels right.”

“It will.”

“Yeah? You sure about that?”

She nods. “Yes.” She stretches her legs out. “And besides, what choice do we have? Live like this?”

I roll over on my side and prop my head up on my hand. “It’s like choosing between two shit bombs about to explode. You go with the one furthest from you to minimize the shit that’s going to spray you in the face.”

Her face scrunches up. “Nice metaphor.”

“Well?”

She sighs. “Yeah, I guess you can look at it that way. But, you are saving people.”

“People that want to make me their bitch. People that made me kill an innocent…” My throat tightens, and I shake my head. No need to finish that thought.

“You’ll find a way out from under them.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“I am.”

I lock eyes with her and furrow my brows. “Why?”

She half smiles. “I believe in you, dumbass.”

I shake my head. “Why?”

She extends her arms out behind her and lounges back. “Mostly because Tripp believed in you.”

Hearing his name is like having tiny rodents scratch up my chest cavity. I close my eyes. I can’t go there. I can’t remember losing him.

Not after seeing Sadie.

Not after killing Ana.

I’ll lose my footing and won’t be able to stand. And I have to stand. I have to keep going.

I open my eyes and try on a smile. I try on having a short memory. I try forgetting all the shit bombs.

“I really should have given him the dick before he died.”

Kiwi’s eyes widen, then she bursts into laughter. Not just any laughter. She sounds like a horse-dolphin cross breed. It’s almost ear splitting, but contagious. I laugh with her. And it comes easily. After all that’s happened, it comes easily.

When our laughter dies down, I stare at her and smile. A warm, cookies just came out of the oven smile.

“Thanks Kiwi.”

She frowns. “For what?”

I roll my eyes because I think it’s obvious. “For not leaving,” I finally say.

She nods. “No problem. We’re a team.”

I sit up slowly, still staring at her. She freezes in the wake of my movement.

“Yeah? Is that all we are? Teamies?”

Her mouth falls open. I lean over and press my lips to hers. Her mouth moves against mine in the warmest kiss I’ve ever received.

It’s also the kiss that made me hard the quickest.

25

I’m so wrapped up in the kiss that when she pulls away, it’s like having my head snatched out of water after I’ve been under a long time.

I open my eyes. I’m about to ask what’s wrong when she rears back and cracks me across the face with a fist. Pain slices into all the good stuff I was feeling a second ago. I grab my cheek and gape at her.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

She backs away from me. “What the hell are you doing?”

I drop my hand and stare at her like a dumbass. “What?”

“I said, what are you doing?”

I feel like this is a test. “Kissing you?”

She hisses. “Obviously. Why are you kissing me?”

I should have studied my text book for dealing with crazy women before this test. “Uh, it felt like a kissy moment?”

“You can’t be frickin’ kissing me!”

I gesture to my warm cheek that feels like its swelling already. “Clearly.”

Crossing her arms across her chest, she says, “Just when I decide to give you some credit, it turns out you really are a dumbass.”

Failing the test, I close my eyes and rub my forehead. “Okay, I’m not going to get offended. I’m just going to ask, what the hell?”

She doesn’t respond, so I open my eyes and widen them at her.

She looks at me, expression tight, like I’m the dumbest thing she’s ever had the displeasure of speaking to.

“I can’t be intimate with you, Pike. I can’t feel anything for you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Well, a little too late, don’t cha think? We’ve already fucked.”

“I know.”

I expect her to explain herself so I wait. She doesn’t. She acts like I know.

“Okay, like we’ve fucked hardcore. As in, hard core fucking.”

She nods. “I was there.”

This time I raise both eyebrows. One just isn’t enough. “And, sex is intimate…”

She shakes her head. “Not like that. Not like kissing.”

I roll my eyes. “You’ve seen too many chick flicks.”

“No, actually I haven’t. It’s true.”

I sigh. “So, you didn’t like it?”

“No!” She hisses. “I did. Why the hell did you have to do that to me?”

She’s more upset by the fact that I kissed her than by the fact that I just killed someone. I don’t know what to call that.

I hold up my hands. “Okay, calm down. I really don’t get why you’re so. . .upset.”

I almost said crazy. That would not be good.

“Because, Pike.” Her shoulders deflate. “I’m going to die.”

Her words pump suffocating silence into the room. The kind you choke on. The kind you run away from. As hard as I try to forget them, the shit bombs keep on dropping.

“So I can’t feel something for you, because I’m as good as dead.” Tears form in her vast eyes, but she quickly blinks them back. “And you just made me feel something.”

I have no idea what the hell to say. I don’t know what this is with her. I don’t know what I’m feeling, only that it’s something, which is better than nothing. She’s the first woman to bring this out in me.

Sadie’s mother didn’t.

Nor any of the female company I’ve ever kept.

I don’t know what it is, I just know that I want it in the middle of this shit storm I’m in. It feels like a weapon, and I’m not ready to put it down.

I reach out for her arm. She slaps my hand away. I draw back.

“Come on, Kiwi.”

“No, Pike.”

I reach for her again. This time, she doesn’t fight. She hisses, but she lets me pull her close to me, anyway. It’s not until I wrap my arms around her tighter that she starts to struggle.

“If you kiss me again, I’ll make you kill yourself.”

I laugh. “I can’t believe I still want to.”

She frowns and peers up at me. “Why?”

I laugh harder. “Because you’re kind of fucking cracked.”

Her frown deepens. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Girl.” I cup her face in my hands. “Just shut up.” I press my lips to hers again. She beats against my chest. Resists me. I pull inches away from her and peer down into her eyes. “Come on, Kiwi. Feel something with me.”

She freezes. I inch her closer.

“Feel something with me.” Then I brush my lips against hers. She’s still as ice water at first, then slowly, she starts to kiss me back. My body fills with warmth like I’m drinking hot coco. I drink her in.

As I kiss her deeper, I lean back and pull her on top of me. I grip her firm ass and squeeze her closer. With a gasp, she lifts up and frowns down at me.

“What? What’s wrong?” I rub her back, trying to keep another crazy outburst tucked inside her. I hate the blue balls.

“I don’t wanna do it in a tank.” She sniffs. “It smells like gun powder.”

I glance around. “Well, we can… We can go outside.”

She grins and brushes my hair away from my face. “Can’t you just do that siren shit?”

I mirror her smile and wink at her. “Oh, you want me to do my thing?”

“Will it kill me?”

“No, it only works that way on humans and lesser descendants.”

She smiles. “Then I want you to do it.”

“Where you wanna be girl?”

Her lips purse and her gaze drifts toward the ceiling. “Hm.” Her eyes slowly drop back to my face. “I’ve always wanted to fuck in a textile factory.”

I freeze.

Talk about random as all fuck.

“Um.” I sit up slightly. “Like, where they make shirts?”

She smiles, wide and sexy. “And pants.”

I stare at her. “But, why?”

She frowns. “Does it matter?”

After thinking about that for a few seconds, I decide that no, it doesn’t. I reach into my memory bank for a textile factory. It’s not as hard as I thought it would be, because I can feel her thinking about it. I reach in through her skin and draw out the fantasy. Then I project it all around us.

We’re laid out on a long table with large sewing machines all around us. It smells like cotton, lavender, and sweat. The table is wet with perspiration. The lighting is dim.

“Yeah,” Kiwi says, clasping her hands around my neck. “This is hot.”

I stare down at her. “This is weird.”

“Just go with it.” She reaches up and kisses me again. I fall into the kiss and decide to listen to her advice.

Kinda stupid to not listen to a woman when she’s about to give you some.

Without taking my lips away from hers, I reach for her shoulders and start to slide her suit down. Once her suit is at her navel, I stop and trace my fingers up and down her arms. Between those fantastic brown tits. From her navel to her throat. She shivers in my grasp.

I like that.

I pull away and press my lips to her neck. She clings tighter to me. Opens her legs and wraps them around me. Her lips part in a moan. I want more of that. I like to hear her enjoying herself.

I kiss down between her breasts. Flick my tongue out across her left nipple as I pinch the right one between my thumb and index finger. She shudders. I continue my journey down her body, kissing my way toward her navel. Her hands shoot out to the edges of the table. I grin as I keep kissing her, down and down, pulling the rest of her suit off as I go past her navel, down the insides of her thighs, toward her ankles.

“Mm, Pike.” She digs her fingers in my hair and pulls.

I grin as I run my lips back up her thighs. My eyes slide closed as I flick her clit with the tip of my tongue.

She bolts upright, and I stumble backward. I narrow my eyes at her. She’s seated, cross legged and covering herself like that Venus painting, only with short hair. I lose concentration, and we’re back in the tank.

“What the hell are you doing?” she says.

I open my mouth and stare at her. I shrug my shoulders. Once. Twice. Three times. No idea what to say.

“I asked you a question!”

I shake my head, then clear my throat. “Um, I was…” I know what I was doing, but the words don’t come easy. “I was… going down on you.”

“What?”

I furrow my eyebrows. I can’t figure out if she’s serious or not. She certainly looks serious, but there’s no way she doesn’t know what I’m talking about. I inch closer to her.

“Um, I was going down on you.” I place my hand at the fold in her legs. “I was kissing you right here, and if you’ll open up, I can do it again.” I wink at her.

She swiftly shakes her head. “No, I don’t want you to.”

That’s a first.

“Um, why?”

“Because it’s weird. Just fuck me like a normal guy.”

I scratch my eyebrow with my pinkie nail. “Um, I assure you that it is normal. And if you’ve never been kissed down there, you’ve been with some lame ass dudes.”

She scowls at me. It only makes me want to eat her up more. I have to laugh.

“Look, cray. Just lay down and let me blow your mind.”

She pouts, a move I’ve never seen on her face, and shakes her head again. With a sigh, I gently push her down by the shoulders. She gives me resistance at first, then eventually allows me to push her back to the floor.

Her body is a taut rubber band. I massage my hands into her legs.

“Relax,” I say as I wrap my arms around her upper thighs.

I glance up at her before I dive and flick my tongue over her clitoris again. She flinches. I smile. Then, I wrap my lips around her and gently suck. Her body tightens even more, then, just as suddenly, she relaxes and lets out a loud moan.

That’s more like it. I alternate between sucking and tongue flicking. In a matter of seconds, she comes in my mouth. As soon as she does, she tries to scoot away from me. I tighten my grip on her thighs. Then I blow on her so she’s not so sensitive, because I want more, and I intend to get more.

As soon as I’m sure she’s ready, I go back to licking her, slow, like a Blow Pop. I don’t want to get to the gum too soon. Gently, I slide one finger deep inside her, then two.

“Oh, Pike! My gods!” Her body raises up into the air like some exorcist shit.

She starts to scream so loud I’m afraid she’ll shatter the armored steel around us. Then I remember that’s more my thing.

I love every second of it. Everything about it. The way she tastes. The way her body contorts with pleasure. The way she hollers my name. The way she shakes like she’s having a spell when she can’t take any more.

Then, and only then, do I pull away. Subtly, I wipe my mouth and smile down at her.

She closes her eyes. “Oh.” Huff. “My.” Huff. “Shiyay.”

I burst into laughter as she wipes sweat from her brow. “What in the hell is a shiyay?”

She shakes her head. Her eyes are glazed over, and she appears bewildered.

“I have no idea. I just know that was amazing.”

I smile. “I love that I can make you feel that way.”

She arches an eyebrow. “You love it?”

I half scowl. “I like it.”

With a half-smile, she climbs into my lap. “Well, I kinda like doing the fury shuffle with you.”

I would have laughed, but she slides herself down onto me and humps the laughter right out of me. We don’t do it like we usually. Hard. Fast. Desperate.

We do it slow. I pull her bang back away from her eyes and peer into them. We fuck deliberately. Feeling her against me in this way makes me shiver. She’s a summer breeze hitting me. I close my eyes and rest my head on her shoulder and make being inside her last as long as possible.

I come hard as hell, and she comes with me. Soon after, I fall asleep and wake up what seems like minutes later with someone kicking me in the back.

26

My eyes snap open, and I look up at blurry surroundings. Juliet stands in the glint of yellow, morning light. I squint up at her.

“What the hell do you want?” I ask.

Under me, Kiwi groans. I glance down at her. It’s only then that I realize we’re still naked, wrapped around each other. I contort my body to shield hers. Seems like the gentlemanly thing to do.

Then, I stare back up at evil bitch. “What?”

She grins and flips that frickin’ hair. “I hope you had a good night, because it’s time to go. I need you two to get dressed. Can you do that for me?”

My eyes narrow. Her expression doesn’t change.

“I’ll wait outside. You have five minutes.” She kneels toward the hatch and places a hand on the handle. “By the way, how’d you enjoy that Ana meal last night? You look well fed.”

Before I can respond, she ducks out of the hatch and I imagine ripping out that hair she’s always flipping, one strand at a time. I press my lips together. It was a shitty comment. I decide to ignore it. Kiwi was right. I have to get this cure to Sadie and find a way to get out from Colonel Jax’s thumb.

Gently, I nudge Kiwi awake. She lets out a groan and stirs. After a few seconds, she sits up and blinks up at me.

“Juliet was just here,” I say. “Time to go.”

She lets out a huge yawn, which I mirror, then nods her head. Together, we get dressed while shooting almost shy looks at one another.

This shit is weird.

It doesn’t feel as uncomfortable as it did, but it’s still weird.

True to her word, Juliet is back inside the tank within five minutes. As she sits in her seat and starts up the tank, I expect Kiwi to take her place beside her. Instead, she straps into the seat beside me. The tank lurches forward, then comes to a sudden stop.

“What is she doing?” Juliet says.

I glance up and notice a figure blocking our passage. My eyes narrow. It’s XJ.

“She wants to talk to me,” I say under my breath.

Juliet turns and stares at me. “How do you know that?”

I shrug as an urgency presses down on me. Without thinking, I undo my harness.

“What are you doing?” Kiwi asks as I make my way to the hatch.

Without looking at her, I mutter, “She needs to talk to me.”

“Make it quick, Pike,” Juliet says. It’s the last thing I hear before I duck outside.

Slowly, I round the tank. XJ saunters over to meet me.

“What is it?” I ask, again, without thinking.

XJ, her face half hidden by her hood, smiles. She gestures me forward with her hand. “Take a little walk with me, siren.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “It’s Pike.”

I don’t know why I’m wary of her. Sirens and witches get along like cornbread and collard greens. But this one, she makes me a little twitchy.

“My apologies, Pike. Come take a little walk with me.”

I frown slightly, but follow her, anyway. It’s not until we’re several feet away from the tank that she says anything.

“First, let me say, I admire your courage. And try not to beat yourself up over Ana.” She stops and looks up at me.

I wince and back away a few inches. Hearing her name sets me on edge. Once again, without thinking I say, “I don’t like the smell of bullshit this early in the morning, so why don’t you just get to what you got up this early to tell me?”

She laughs, which makes me even angrier. I’m an eight year old boy she kicked with a chuckle.

“You’re more powerful and far better a man than you know.” She smiles. It’s a warm, open thing like blankets of sunshine.

It doesn’t make me feel any less uneasy.

“If you think I’m good, you’re one of the less talented witches I’ve meet in my day.”

She shrugs. “I know you dwell on what you were forced to be, instead of what you’ve done to resist it.”

With a sigh, I glance back at the tank, then at her. “Look, I don’t have time for riddles.”

“Ah, yes.” She rubs her hands together. “You have to get on with putting the world right. And that’s sort of what I want to talk to you about.”

I raise my eyebrows, a prompt to go on.

“You must convince Kiwi to reject the knowledge of who killed her sisters.”

My insides tighten. No matter how much I forget about all the bad stuff that’s about to happen, I can’t.

I shake my head. “Why?”

“Because she’ll die once she finds out, and you need her. You need her to travel back to Compound Six and watch after Sadie.”

I don’t ask how she knows about any of this. About Kiwi, about Sadie. Some witches just know things.

“Why do I need her to do that?” I ask, even though I know the answer. It’s why a fate showed herself to me. It’s why I didn’t want to see. To be her victim. It’s what I’ve been dreading since I left Sadie at Compound Six.

I’m not going to make it back.

“I think you know why. You just don’t know that it has to be Kiwi.”

I glance toward my shoes and kick the gravel. “Why?”

“It just does. She’s the only one at that place that truly cares about Sadie’s wellbeing. And Sadie must make it.”

I nod. That we can agree on. She makes it sound like destiny, but for me Sadie has to make it because Sadie has to make it. I can’t imagine a world without her.

“And…”

I look up at her in time to catch her staring intently into my face. “If she knows who kills her sisters, she will not look out for Sadie. Or for anyone. She must never know.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You know who killed her sisters?” My voice comes out hushed, as if I’m afraid furies have super hearing.

She nods. Her face twists into a grave mask.

Dread hits my stomach like some tangible thing. It makes me ache all over.

She nods as if confirming some recurring nightmare.

“You did.” She touches my arm to offer comfort. “You killed them.”

* * *

I walk back to the tank on phantom legs. I don’t know how they carry me, but they do. I get back into the tank without remembering going through the hatch. Then, I’m in my harness and we’re rolling forward again.

It all feels like a dream.

An incredibly shitty dream.

Kiwi nudges me and offers a small smile. That tangible dread shoots me in the gut again. “What did she want?”

My mouth gapes open, and I try to think of an answer for her. Finally, I just shrug. “I’ll tell you later.”

She nods, then offers me some crackers from her pack. I force myself to smile and accept them.

We enjoy a dry breakfast together.

I almost choke on mine.

* * *

We’re on the road for an hour before I nod off and memories slip in, catching me off guard. They take me before this. Before this tank. Before Compound Six. Before Kiwi. They take me to the beginning of the shit bombs. When I was in hiding with Lorna, a witch that was my best friend and saved my life.

Wisps of memory seep in and out of wrinkled brain passages. They give off smoke. There is a fire. Back then, there was always a fire. They were trying to smoke us out, the descendants, and either kill us or send us to camps.

Later to become known as compounds.

Fire was their chosen weapon. The Enforcers called this purifying. One day I woke up under the smell of heady, black smoke. After cracking open one eye, a plank came crashing to the floor.

The plank was on fire.

I sprung up and darted my eyes around. Smoke was everywhere, from the spitting fire eating its way into the shitty wood of our hideout, I knew they were here.

“Lorna!” I coughed, jumping up to cram all my shit into my duffel bag. “Lorna, we gotta move!”

I’m halfway to the door when a feeling of dread digs into the soles of my feet. I stop dead to rights. The curtains shrivel up in flames. That same fire drives oxygen from the room.

I should have my ass outside. But I don’t. Something grips me inside that burning shit shack. Something magical. Something powerful enough to stop me.

I grind my jaw until it pops. Then, I call her name again.

“Lorna!” Sweat drips into my eyes, stinging them and blurring my vision. “Lorna?” It’s a whisper now, because part of me knows something has happened.

Something terrible I slept through.

When I get the use of my feet back, I turn around. Away from the door, back into the fire. Slowly, I walk toward the back door. It’s awash in flames s puttering tiny orange sparks at me. I cover my face with my free arm to avoid them. Swinging my bag over my shoulder, I throw my leg into the flaming door. Wooden splinters explode outward. Avoiding the fire as much as possible, I duck through the hole.

“Lorna!” I start forward and trip on something. I crash to the ground. Once there, I turn and peer at whatever tripped me up. Orange light casts ghost figures drawn in a child’s hand atop a green tarp. The tarp rises in key areas.

Those lumps let me know someone is under there.

I close my eyes for several seconds. I ignore the sirens crying at me from the distance. Enforcer sirens, not the call of my people, and try to remain still.

As if stillness would undo what I already knew had been done. When I open my eyes, I inch forward on my hands and knees, one arm extended. Taking in a deep breath, I grip the tarp and snap it up into the air.

As it flutters through the air like a fall leaf, I whip my head away from the body and puke up all my insides. When I feel empty, I wipe my mouth on my tattered sleeve and glance back at her, tears stinging my eyes.

Lorna. The toughest witch I’ve ever known. Dead. Her ebony skin turned charcoal and scale-like. Whatever killed a witch as talented as her was good. Not a Muse, but a Spirit of some kind. A dead fucking spirit of some kind.

I’m so in my head that I don’t notice I’m not alone until bright spotlights flood my vision. They hit the wet grass in cones of lights. I glance up, using my hand to block out some of the white glare.

“That’s him,” an unfamiliar, female voice says.

I pull my hood down over my face.

“Take him.”

I stand up and squint through the light, trying to make out any facial features. All I can manage is dark forms wearing even darker clothing.

Two females step forward, smiles on their faces.

I’m well fed, so I know exactly what they are.

Furies.

The same furies that killed Lorna.

I smile, well fed and hungry for revenge. Before they can even think about lashing out at me with their power, I stretch my mouth open and wail.

The two females freeze. Their skin stretches tight over their bones. They start to vibrate, their feet sinking into the damp earth. I wail louder.

The blinding light crashes to the ground. Everyone tries to move, but they are tied down under the weight of my wail. A wail said to shatter a person from the inside out. I hear a plop. Then another, and another. Their blood splatters me, but I don’t stop. More plops, like a horse galloping through mud, reach my ears.

Blood sprays me, the tarp, the side of the house, and the brown grass, until each and every one of them lies dead and liquefied at my feet.

I close my mouth and breathe hard. I wipe the blood from my cheeks. From my forehead. I glance back at Lorna and sigh.

“Sorry, I didn’t wake up, Lo Lo.” That’s what I called her. She usually called me asshole. She was usually right.

I look around for something, a shovel, to bury her. I don’t find one, but I find a spade, which is close enough.

I dig quickly. More of them will be coming now. Lorna had shielded me as long as she could. Then I dropped the ball. Now, they may just be able to find me.

I wind up with a shallow grave. I roll her body into it and cover it up. On top of the moist dirt, I trace Here lies Lo Lo, the baddest ass witch I’ve ever known. Yours, Asshole.

I want to smile, but my muscles stay paralyzed under the weight of grief. This would have made her grin. But she can’t smile, because she’s dead.

I don’t have time to think about that. I have to get out of here.

I struggle to my feet and trudge on unsteady legs toward the body remains. I dig through pockets and shove whatever may or may not be useful into my duffel.

I’ve just shoved a green plastic bag with peanut butter marked on it into my bag when I hear more sirens.

I take off away from the house, toward the tree line, and away from Lo’s remains forever.

27

Someone is shaking me awake. My eyes shoot open, and Kiwi is staring down at me with a frown.

“What?” I throw my arm over my face so she can’t look at me.

“Who the hell is Lo Lo?” Her voice is light with a sharp edge underneath.

I sit up and avoid her gaze.

I notice the tank has stopped.

“Where are we?” I ask, deciding to avoid her question, and her gaze, for as long as I can.

“About thirty miles from the crossroads,” she says, the incarnation of dread wrapped around her tone.

That dread is contagious. I feel it in the pit of my stomach. My now pounding temples. Every inch of muscle in my body.

“Why are we stopping?” I ask.

Juliet gets out of the driver seat and heads for the hatch. “Bathroom break. Whatever we meet out there is going to be vicious. I don’t want anyone pissing their pants.” She flips her hair, bends over to open the hatch, and disappears through it.

I narrow my eyes. “I’m going to enjoy the shit out of killing her.”

I’m not looking at Kiwi, but I can feel her gaze on me.

“Who is Lo Lo?”

I force a laugh. “I’m about to die, and all you’re worried about who Lo Lo is?”

I can feel her still looking at me.

I stand up and say, “I’ve gotta piss.”

Then, I duck through the hatch. I can feel her almost at my heels. I walk a few paces away from the tank, whip my dick out and let and stream flow. She stands beside me.

I glance at her. “Do you mind?”

She folds her arms over her chest and just glares.

Apparently she does.

Her standing there, watching me piss, makes it harder to empty my bladder. Finally, I sigh, and look up at the dark sky. It’s the first time I notice we’re surrounded by darkness. Unnatural darkness. Seeing as how we left at the ass crack of dawn and haven’t been on the road long enough for it to be dark, the creeps run up my spine.

Another trick of the gods.

I’ve always heard it’s darker the closer you get to the crossroads. I don’t want to think of that, so I answer Kiwi.

“An old friend,” I say. “She died before I was captured by the C6 Enforcers.”

I shake out the rest and tuck myself away, then turn to face her.

“Actually, she was murdered.” I don’t add by your sisters, who I killed soon after. Stuff like that never helps a relationship, if that’s what this is. I sigh. “I need to talk to you.”

She stares at me for several seconds, then nods. “I have to pee first.”

I nod as her feet shuffle off.

I stand there while Juliet calls out, “Five minutes!”

The sound of clambering into the tank follows. I roll my eyes.

“Kiss my natural black ass,” I say under my breath.

I tap my foot, waiting for Kiwi to come back, trying not to feel swallowed by the surrounding darkness. Purple streaks that look like they were painted in the sky by jets stretch across the inky darkness. And there is no sound.

Something I just notice. Except the foot shuffles coming from Kiwi and sounds echoing from inside of the tank there is nothing. No birds. No crickets. No wind.

Darkness and silence.

I swallow as Kiwi comes walking back up to me. I can’t think about that now. I have to convince her to give up on her sister’s murderers. Sadie’s life depends on it. I don’t know why, but my gut tells me to trust XJ. So that’s what I’m going to do.

I take Kiwi’s hands and bring them to my chest.

Her eyes widen

“What’s going on, Pike?”

I close my eyes. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to express how desperate I am for her to agree with what I’m about to ask. My momma’s words come flooding back to me.

Just do it.

I sink to my knees and peer up at her. Her features distort into a worried mask.

“Pike, what the hell?”

“Kiwi. I need you to do me a favor. And it’s more than I deserve, and it’s too much to ask of you. But, I need you to do this.” My voice cracks.

Her eyebrows furrow. “What is it?”

“I need you to give up this hunt for your sisters’ killer.”

She rips her hands away from mine and backs away. “Why the hell would I do that?”

I scoot forward on my knees and reach for her hands again. I decide to be as honest as I can.

“You remember the witch at the haven? XJ?”

She nods.

“She says that Sadie is going to need you. And I believe her. I need you to go back to Compound Six and look after her, and you can’t do that… You can’t do that if you’re dead.”

She stares down at me for what seems like a forever stretch of time. My gut twists. I’m afraid she’s about to say no. I can see it in her face, so I offer her more truth before she can refuse me.

“And I can’t do this… If I know you’re going to be dead. I need you alive, or I can’t…” I drop her hands and look at the black soil.

I shake my head. The weight of my futile plea sinks into my shoulders. They droop. I start to shake.

Her fingers dug into my hair, and she pulls me close.

“Pike, I don’t know what to say.”

I nod, without looking back up at her. She’s going to say no. It takes everything in me to look back up into her face. I’m surprised to find warm sympathy there. I take one more shot.

“I need you, Kiwi. I need you to do this.”

Her eyes water. She blinks back the tears before they roll down her face. “Does this mean… Does this mean that you don’t plan on making it back?”

I go with even more truth. I shake my head, and she gasps. I quickly stand and pull her toward me. She has to say yes.

She has to.

“At least not right away. But I will find my way back to both of you. I just need you to do this. I’ve never needed anyone more than I need you right now.”

And it’s true.

I didn’t think I’d ever need Kiwi Grunder, but I do.

She has to say yes.

She lets me hold her for a while. Juliet is shouting something that we both ignore. We just stand there, gripped around each other tight, waiting for her decision.

She finally says something that I can’t understand because her lips are pressed against my chest.

I pull away. “What?”

My heart stops, waiting for her answer in order to beat again.

“When you make it back to us, will you help me find my sisters’ killer?”

I close my eyes, the weight of her decision floating away from my shoulders and into the impossibly dark sky. I’m still holding weight, though. She wants me to help her find me. Can I do that?

As I open my eyes, I nod, giving her another bit of truth. A truth I know I’ll regret as soon as I have to deliver.

“Yes, we’ll find them together,” I say.

She half smiles and hugs me. “Then I’ll give it up, for now.”

I don’t know what to say. There is nothing to say. I’ve never been more wrong about a person in all my life. Because I can’t think of anything to say, I pull her up into my arms and press my lips to hers.

Juliet is still yelling. We continue to ignore her.

* * *

There’s this bitch I sometimes hate. I like to call her time. As soon as we pile back into the tank to close the gap between us and the crossroads, she starts messing with me. It’s nothing new. She’s always doing this to me. The first time I got some, time speed up. It also got me a nick name, Five Minute Pike.

My last few moments with Sadie, she sped up again. In a moment I wanted to last as long as possible, time rejected my wish. It’s only now, as I ride toward my death. Toward the god that made, then cursed me, she gives me my wish. Only, it’s the wrong situation. The wrong time for time to go so fast.

It seems like we made the forty-five miles to the crossroads in record time. In seconds, not minutes. And, as our surroundings grow darker and quieter, all I can hear is time, laughing her ass off at me.

In the silence I almost hear her whisper, it’s time.

28

We come to a stop. The silence in the tank is filled with a hardness I can break a window with. We all sit there for several moments. Me, trying to swallow my terror.

I have to do this.

“You’ll go out first to open the crossroads…” Juliet says.

“We can’t let him go out there himself!” Kiwi says, a bite in her voice.

Juliet stares at her. “We went over this plan at the compound. I need you to stick to the plan. Can you do that?” She flips her hair.

Kiwi’s eyes narrow. A red spark goes off in them, I reach for her arm and squeeze. “She’s right. They won’t open for anyone but a siren. If the gods sense your presence, we came out here for nothing.”

She bites her lip. It’s sexy. I kind wish we had time for one more bang, but like I said, time is a bitch. At least nasty thoughts keep me from terrified ones.

“So, Pike will go out first,” Juliet repeats. “Open the crossroads. Soon as you summon Apollo, we’ll show ourselves.”

Hearing his name sets me ablaze. The bastard. The king of Muses. Total asshole. Cursed his own creations, beings meant to be bringers of light and creativity, to get out of a grudge with some bitchwax goddess. But that’s a tale for another time. Right now, I have to get ready.

As I reach for my guitar, my trident, and my sidearm—not that it will help—I say, “You know you never told us the rest of the plan. You make yourselves known, then what?”

Juliet shakes her head. “All you need to know of the plan is your part.”

I strap my trident across my back and rest my guitar against my shoulder. I stare at her, but she gives nothing away. I have a feeling the plan is to offer me up for the cure.

Not that I’m valuable.

But then again, there might be something I don’t know.

I take in a deep breath, peering out into the darkness. My heart beats like a mad masturbator. I try to regulate my breathing. It doesn’t work.

Kiwi rubs my shoulder. “You should really get going, Pike.”

I nod. Usually that comment would piss me off, but I’m too scared shitless for anger.

The brave hero that’s going to save the world.

As I make my way to the hatch, Kiwi grabs my hand and I glance back at her. The look on her face doesn’t help. It says, don’t go. It says, we’ll never see each other again. I force her expression out, and I picture Sadie. Before all this. Ribbons braided into her hair, flipping through the air, landing on the ice.

That image gives me some of my nuts back.

I squeeze Kiwi’s hands. I don’t say anything, because I don’t want to lie. Not more than I already am. Then, I duck through the hatch and step out into nothingness.

* * *

I can’t see. The silence from before has become total. Absolute, like an equation for fear. There is no light from the moon. There is no moon. The only thing I can do is smell salt in the air wafting in from what used to be Virginia Beach. But I don’t hear the waves crashing to the shore. And I can’t see the ocean from here.

I take in a deep breath and trudge forward. Toward what? I don’t know. I’m following intuition, hoping to get lucky. My hands are held in front of me like a blind man traipsing through the unknown. After several moments of walking, movement gets harder. It feels like I’m trudging through thick mud. With a grunt of effort, I try to keep moving. Eventually, I have to reach down with my hands and move my legs like I’m a big, black Ken doll. The longer this goes on, the harder it is to move. Soon, I come to a total stop. I peer up at the blank sky and grunt, trying to move my legs.

It’s a no go.

That’s when I hear the first hint of sound.

A low hum, like the buzz of fluorescent lights flicking on. I dart my head around, but I see nothing. I reach down and try to pull my legs free from whatever I’m stuck in, when I hear it again. This time it is louder.

Closer.

I remove my trident and pose for a fight, as much as I can with my useless legs. A shock of pure, golden bolt strikes the air like lightening. I close my eyes to protect my vision. I can see the glare through my eyelids. A mix of reddish, golden light. The buzz hums louder. A horde of mad hornets.

Slowly, I open my eyes and gasp. Stretched out before me are two intersecting, golden lines. They blaze golden. Pulse with life.

My breathing thickens, becomes in tune with those pulsing lines. In the center of those lines is a golden statue. He holds a golden lyre in his left hand, and a crown of laurel frames his head.

Apollo.

Even though I’ve never seen this, I know what it is. Why I can’t move.

This is the crossroads.

This is where I’ve come to die, or worse.

When I try to look directly at the statue, a weight presses down on me. Forces me to avert my eyes. The air around me is harder to breathe in. It’s like I’m standing under some pressurized system.

Like my skin is about to get ripped off.

I suck in as much air as I can and, moving like a wooden doll, twist my guitar so that it’s in front of me. I grit my teeth from the effort. When I’m finally able to place my hands on the strings, I let my power flow out of me and into my weapon.

Gip pulses with it, almost vibrates out of my hands. When it’s fully charged, it stops and I almost smile. The power always makes me a little giddy. Then, I start plucking a tune that I never learned, but has always been in my blood.

It’s intricate. Elegant. And sets me on fire with lust.

A paean. A hymn to the motherfucker that created me with a thought.

As the music dies down, the air grows thinner. It’s easier to breathe. I can move. I walk along the pulsing lines of light, my skin buzzing with power. I sling the guitar back against my shoulder. Rumbling fills the air. The earth starts to quake as the statue of Apollo slowly twirls until its facing me.

I pause for the briefest second before moving forward. They are letting me in, I have gained access to the crossroads. Now comes the hard part. I’m about to signal for Juliet and Kiwi to come out and meet me when a short figure walks out from behind the statue.

She wears a white hood and is pulsing with that same blinding, golden light. She stares at me with a wicked half smile on her cherry lips.

The air leaves my lungs and I fall to my knees. My head bows like I’m worshipping on Sunday with my momma. Only, I’m not in control of my movements.

She is.

And she isn’t Apollo.

Fear presses against me. I have no idea what’s going on. I can’t see her, but I can feel her walking toward me. The closer she gets, the more out of control I feel.

Have to signal Juliet and Kiwi.

Have to signal.

Have to…

Sweat drops down my brow, and just like that I forget what I’m supposed to do.

“Pike Richards,” a female voice says.

Her voice is like pine needles in my ears. Hard to listen to. Hard to focus. I feel a hand under my chin. She raises my head and stares at me with unnatural eyes.

Golden and red, swirling to the center of her eye, blending into ocean blue. They are beyond hypnotic. I feel my mind bending, pulling me out. Pushing something else in.

“I didn’t think you would make it,” she says.

It’s pain itself to focus on her voice. The only reason I can look at her is because she’s in a different form. A child’s form, the easy on the eyes form for a god or goddess to take.

“Many of my brother’s enemies didn’t want you to make it. They knew what we know. That you can change things.”

I open my mouth to speak, even though I know nothing will come out. Not until she allows it. She turns around and gazes toward the statue.

“You really are quite lucky I arrived before you. The gods meant all manner of things to be here. Grogans, dragons, lamias, nasty beasts! Most of them would have succeeded, I’m afraid.”

I scrunch my face up. The longer I have to listen to her speak, the more it feels like rusty nails are biting into my skull. I want to bring my hands up to cover my ears, but I’m stuck bowing like a little bitch.

She turns and frowns. “Is something wrong, dear?”

I grit my teeth, try to shake my head. Nothing.

“Oh! I wasn’t thinking. The power coming from you is unlike anything I’ve ever seen from a siren. My apologies.” She waves her hand across her throat. A brilliant, golden spark ignites. “Is that better?”

Her voice sounds normal now. No more pain. I still can’t move, but it’s progress. She raises a sculpted eyebrow at me when I don’t respond.

“Sorry, again. It’s been awhile since I’ve been around a descendent.” She raises her hand through the air, and I stand with it.

Without looking directly at her, I wipe the sweat from my brow and clear my throat.

“Yes, it’s better,” I say. “Thank you.”

She smiles. It’s almost as blinding as the golden light cast all around us.

“So polite.” She saunters over to me. Runs a finger down my forearm. “Such a nice specimen.”

I shiver. It feels like she hit me in the face with a big bag of the creeps. She’s beautiful, sure. Almost all of them are. But she looks like a beautiful child. She pulls her hand away and I breathe relief.

She laughs. The sound is the loveliest thing to hit my ears in I can’t remember how long.

“This form bothers you?”

I open my mouth, then hesitate. It never ends well to insult a goddess. Or to make her think you’re insulting her.

I clear my throat again. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”

She frowns. “You, of all people, should recognize me.”

I open my mouth again, unable to do words. I bow my head because I’m not trying to die at the hands of what looks like a twelve-year-old.

It’s just not how I want my story told.

She laughs again. “Pike, you must learn to relax. You’ve probably only seen me in my true form.”

My eyes open wide. Fear clenches its fist around my throat. For a moment, I think she’s going to show it to me. Her true form. Better men than me have died looking upon a goddess. Her form doesn’t change.

Instead, she says, “I am Apollo’s sister.”

I shake my head at first, understanding washing over me slowly. Then I raise my eyebrows.

“Artemis,” I say.

“Very good.”

“Goddess of the hunt.”

She points her long, ivory-flecked finger at me. “I like you, Pike.”

I sigh. “Well, that’s a relief.”

She laughs again. I wait until she’s finished before I ask, “But why are you here? Why hasn’t Apollo come to meet me? He guards these crossroads.”

Her eyes darken. I take a step back. The gold and red of her eyes swirls into black and bruised purple.

“He no longer guards these crossroads.” She looks toward the nothingness in the sky. “But he will. That’s where you come in.”

I frown. “I don’t understand.”

She looks down, a sort of demented smile twisting her lips. “Do you know why you came to be cursed, Pike Richards?”

Anger rolls through me, but I keep my face composed. I don’t want to cross her. I don’t want her to see or guess how much I hate the gods. Especially her brother.

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“Apollo traded us, specifically my blood line, to get out of a grudge with Demeter and Zeus. He cursed us to cover up the fact that he failed to escort Persephone to Kore tower. He failed and now she has to spend half her time in the Underworld. Demeter demanded that something be done to Apollo. Apollo offered up his most precious Muses, the sirens, to be cursed in his place.”

She nodded. “Very good. Only one fact in your tale is untrue.”

I furrow my brows. I know this story like my own heartbeat. I have no idea what she’s talking about.

“The untruth, something very few people know, is that it was I who failed to escort Persephone. Apollo covered for me. He helped me avoid a term in the Underworld, a sentence he is still serving for me.”

My mouth gapes open. Didn’t see that shit coming.

“So, I am here, Pike, to pay a debt. To get my brother out.”

I nod. “Okay.” It’s all I can think of to say.

“And for that, I will need your help.”

I back away a few more inches. If there is one thing I know, it’s not to get into the middle of the gods shit. Nothing good can come from what she’s about to ask me.

“I know you will be reluctant to help me,” she says.

No shit.

“That’s why I need you to tell me what you came here for.”

My mouth opens wider. I remain silent.

“Come on, siren. Let’s make a deal. And let’s not waste each other’s time. We both know you’re going to make this deal.”

The fuck I am.

She smiles and waves her hand through the air. Another blast of light, and there she is. Sadie. With ribbons braided into her wild hair. Ice skates slung over her shoulder. That look I saw in her eyes at the compound is gone. It is replaced by innocence.

She is my Sadie again.

I reach out, taking a step forward, stumbling. Just like that, she is gone. I crumple to my knees and cry out.

“Oh, Hades.” She waves her hands up. I stand at her command. “Be a man, I don’t suffer weakness. You are here for her, correct?”

I just stare at her. Her face darkens.

I speak quickly. “Yes, yes I’m here for her.”

“For a cure?”

“Yes.”

She glides over to me and places a hand against my chest. “A siren with heart. Do you know how rare that is?”

I stare down at her. “I don’t have much of a heart.”

She smiles. “And yet here you are. For that little girl. And you had to know you wouldn’t leave this place, where you are banned, alive.”

I keep staring.

“Like I said, siren with a heart. You will be very powerful, and useful to me.” She steps a few paces away and peers up at me. “And I will help you save the world, Pike Richards. All you have to do is agree to come with me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Come with you where?”

She laughs. “But you can’t ask questions. Obviously.”

Fuck my life.

I pictured a great battle on these grounds. Slaying dragons. Getting to the cure and leaving my life behind. I’d rather that than this shit.

“Well? I don’t have much time. The other gods can’t guess what I’m up to. Or that I have you.”

I sigh, thinking. Hell, I don’t even know what there is to think about. If I don’t agree to this, Sadie is dead. The world remains a self-made hell. And Kiwi…

Kiwi.

My thoughts rest on her face. That bang that always falls into her eye. The red lights that sometimes flash in them, I feel the want to say fuck it to this goddess and get far away from here. With her.

But Sadie.

Sadie is my life.

I can’t fail her. I’m her monster. I have to come through.

I sigh again and nod.

“Wise choice, Pike.” She grabs my hand, and an energy stabs into me.

I gasp. My skin flattens against my bones. I start to rise in the air. Pressure is going to crush me. It’s going to cru…

And just like that, I’m released. I fall back to the ground, land on my feet, and suck in a deep breath. Then, I lean over. Rest my hands against my knees, panting.

“What the.” Huff. “Fuck did you.” Huff. “Do to me?”

She circles me as I struggle to get my breath back right.

“You just swore a troth. It can only be broken by death.”

I manage to half stand up, all my weight resting on the right side of my body.

“Peachy,” I say with a cough.

“And now, it’s time for me to uphold my end of the bargain.”

I nod and stand all the way up.

“Shall we bring your companions over?”

Before I can respond, another flash of light. Then, Juliet and Kiwi are standing on the golden crossroads with us, glancing around, eyes wide.

“Kiwi Grunder and Juliet Burke,” Artemis says while they’re still looking around. “Welcome to the crossroads. Let’s get on with saving your world, shall we?”

Kiwi and Juliet glance at me, then look back at Artemis and nod. The goddess strolls over to Juliet and places her hand on her cheek.

My eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“You are tied to him, which is to be tied to death.”

Juliet nods.

“But you knew what would happen when you got here, correct? What the gods require. What we always demand?”

Juliet nods again. Her face is blank. Poker faced ass Juliet.

“Good, let’s get this over with, shall we?”

Before anyone can do or say anything, Artemis produces a golden blade from under her robe. She slashes out toward Juliet.

I blink.

A line of purple fluid forms from a gash in Juliet’s neck. She clutches her throat. A gurgling gasp fills the room. My heart pounds, and my eyes widen. The blood gushes from her wound, and all the time, the look on her face never changes.

Even in death, the bitch gives nothing away.

29

When her body hits the ground, I am too stunned to do shit. I barely register Kiwi screaming beside me. A blur of movement flashes across the side of my vision. I blink, realizing it’s Kiwi.

Then I realize it’s Kiwi lunging at an ancient goddess.

I reach out and grab her. She struggles in my arms, still screaming. Artemis looks at the both of us, an amused smile coating her face.

“What the fuck did you do that for?” Kiwi growls, flailing her legs, trying to get out of my arms.

I tighten my grip around her so that she can’t move. Placing my lips against her ear, I whisper, “Shut the fuck up before you get yourself killed.”

She goes limp in my arms. As Juliet’s blood runs along the crossroads, the lines of golden light alternate between blue and red. I can almost smell magic in the air. I should have known, the gods always demand blood. They always will.

Artemis is still smiling her ancient, smug smile. “Ah, one of Hades little bitches.” She kicks Juliet’s body. “You mourn this thing? This thing that made hell on earth. Who rounded up your kind like slabs of beef?”

I can’t see the look on Kiwi’s face, but I imagine her glaring.

“It’s not mourning,” Kiwi growls. “I needed that bitch to get back.”

Artemis looks stunned for a moment, then she bursts into laughter. High pitched, animal like laughter that is so human it borders on creepy. Confused, I let Kiwi go. I’m still too stunned to do anything, let alone laugh. We just stare at Artemis until she is done.

“Well, I can assure you,” she finally says, “you will have no trouble getting back. And you will go back a hero, and tell of Pike’s brave sacrifice.”

From underneath her robe, she produces a bow. It is small, and pulses with silver light. She hands it to Kiwi.

We both stare at the pulsing object in her hands.

Finally, Kiwi asks, “What is this?”

“Your cure.”

“It’s a bow.”

“It’s a bow and arrow,” Artemis says.

I rub my eyelids. “I don’t get it.”

The look on Kiwi’s face tells me she doesn’t get it, either.

“The arrow are plague arrows, and as such, cannot be seen until one draws back on the string.”

“Plague arrows?” Kiwi asks. “How is that a cure?”

Artemis smiles. “Apollo’s plague arrows. They can induce and cure any plague.” She tucks her hands back under her robe. “Use them as you see fit.”

Kiwi glances from Artemis to me, then places the bow in her duffel.

“It is almost time for us to go. I’ll allow you some time to say goodbye.” With that, Artemis turns, her robe flapping behind her, and saunters back to Apollo’s statue.

Kiwi peers up at me and shrugs. “So…”

I nod. “Yeah, so…”

She glances around. “This was easier than I thought.”

I want to laugh. I want to tell her that for me, the hard part is just beginning. But I don’t. No point.

“Where are you going with her?” Kiwi asks.

I glance toward Artemis, then look down at Kiwi and force a smile. “No idea.”

She frowns. “I don’t trust her.”

“You’ll be safe. Sadie will be safe.”

“What about you?”

I raise an eyebrow. “What about me?”

She laughs. “I can’t believe I used to think you were a monster.”

I frown. My mind flashing back to Ana. To Tahlia. To Hope. To all the people I’ve killed.

I grit my teeth and speak between them. “I am a monster.”

“Monsters don’t do things like this.”

I smile at her, reach down, and rub her shoulders. “One good act doesn’t make up for a lifetime of bad ones, sweetheart. Don’t forget who I am.”

She lifts herself up onto her toes and brushes her lips against mine. It fills me with warmth. I wrap my arms around her and pull her into my arms. Parting her lips with my tongue, I kiss her deeply. She sighs. My eyes flutter shut.

I only wish we had time to do more.

She pulls away and points at my chest. “I won’t forget who you are as long as you don’t. Remember who you are and get your ass back to me.”

I nod. I don’t want to make a promise I can’t keep, so I don’t say anything. But I intend to make my way back. To her. To Sadie. I don’t intend on being someone’s little bitch forever.

Kiwi blinks tears from her eyes and places a soft kiss against my cheek. Against my dirty ass beard. I give her my most charming smile, hoping it makes her feel better.

A throat clears behind us. Artemis.

She nods toward me. “It’s time.”

She clicks her tongue. Intuition shifts my gaze toward the statue. Out from behind it slithers a long python. My asshole pinches at the sight of it. It is the biggest freakin’ snake I’ve ever seen in my life.

And it’s slithering right toward us.

Kiwi jumps into my arms. “What the hell is that?”

I grip her tight. My mouth has gone dry so I can’t echo her sentiment. I try to keep my face manly and cool, but even as I do, I grip Kiwi tighter.

“Relax.” The snake comes to rest at Artemis’ feet. “Her name is Bex. The python of Apollo.” She waves her hands in the air, and the snake stands up so that they are face to face. Then, she blows in the snake’s face. It lowers its muscled body and slithers toward us, resting at my feet.

It takes all of me not to shit myself then and there.

“She will serve you, fury. Protect you on your journey. I gave my word to Pike, and you will be safe.”

When we make no attempt to move, Artemis lets out a sigh. “She’s not going to hurt you.”

Kiwi glances at me, then slowly lowers herself to the ground. Bex lets out a low hiss, and Kiwi backs up a few paces. Bex simply follows her and rests her massive head, the size of a bull’s skull, at her feet.

Kiwi reaches for my hand, squeezes, then leans over and strokes the head of the snake. The snakes tongue lashes out and brushes against her hand.

I laugh. Girl’s got bigger balls than me.

And my balls are pretty huge.

“We can no longer afford to dawdle, Pike. It is time.” Artemis waves me on.

More shit bombs going off. I turn to Kiwi and before I can say anything, she presses her lips against my ear. “I’ll be waiting.”

I smile and pull her face toward mine. I kiss her deeply, until we both tremble. Her warm tears run down my cheeks. I pull away from her and hold her tightly by the shoulders.

“Don’t do that.” I wink at her. “You’re my badass bitch and don’t forget it. We don’t cry. We fuck shit up.”

She wipes her tears and laughs. Then she punches me in the gut and hisses in my face.

“Don’t call me a bitch.”

I wink again. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Pike!” She frowns at me.

I sigh and close my eyes. “I need you to leave first. I can’t go… If you’re here.”

I stand there for a few moments, but I can still feel her presence in front of me. I suck in a deep breath. If this isn’t quick, I’m going to break. I can feel it in the tremble of my knees.

“Please,” I say again, barely able to keep my voice from cracking.

Her lips press against mine one more time. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter. My hands ball into fists at my sides. Then, after a little bit, I can no longer feel her.

I open my eyes and my bad ass bitch is gone.

30

I move without moving toward the statue of the god that created me. I move without feeling any bend in my knee. Any beat of my heart. I walk alongside Artemis, unsure how I have the strength of will to be walking beside her.

And yet, I am.

I reach the statue and place a hand out to steady myself.

“Are you ready?” she asks.

I glance at her, unsure of what to say. Ready to leave behind everything I care about for gods know what?

Sure, let’s do this.

I open my mouth, about to respond, when I hear a distant chirp.

I glance up at the starless sky and see a flurry of silver. So out of place. So right on time. When he chirps again, I actually smile, my heart doing ninja kicks in my chest.

With a final chirp, he lands at his rightful place on my shoulder and I start laughing.

“Oscar!” I ruffle his feathers. “What’s going on, buddy?”

He squawks. “We stick together.”

I laugh harder. “Damn right we do.”

Artemis smiles. Then, she pushes a button in on the statue. Before my eyes, it transforms into a small, golden boat with golden oars attached. She nods toward it and I get in, taking a seat on one of the two benches.

Oscar buries his head in my shoulder. As soon as Artemis is seated, the oars start to move on their own and row us out to sea. I sit there, petting my oldest friend in the world and thinking maybe the gods are looking out for me, after all.

Not that they aren’t still motherfuckers.

After ten minutes or so of traveling farther and farther out into the ocean, Artemis hands me a cube.

“What’s this?” I take the small, black box engraved with bone-white sigils on all sides from her and examine it.

“A gift. Because I like you.”

I look up at her briefly, then back down at the box. It’s then that I notice a moving picture on the box’s smooth surface. It’s Kiwi, in a place I don’t recognize, planting something in a vegetable garden alongside Sadie.

Sadie. Looking like that little ice skater that proved I had a heart. Tears roll down my face and splatter against the moving picture.

“It’s a time cube. That is six months from now.” Artemis smiles. “You saved the world, Pike.”

I glance up and clear my throat. “Thank you.”

She frowns. “Don’t thank me yet. The gods never give anything for free.”

I nod. If anyone knows how true that is, it’s me. I stare out into the middle of the ocean and ruffle Oscar’s feathers. The waves around us dance outward, creating a funnel through which we sink. As we travel under the waves, I try not to think about where I’m going or what price I’m going to have to pay.

She’s safe.

They’re safe.

And even if I never see them again, it will have to be enough.

I close my eyes and imagine Sadie skating around on the ice like an air bound ballerina. From a distance, Kiwi watches.

They’re going to be okay.

And there isn’t a price I’m not willing to pay for that.

The End.

* * *

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About the Author

N.R. Larry was born and is now a total nerd. She writes multicultural paranormal fantasy for teens and adults. When she’s not doing this she is raising an awesome daughter.

For more information on N. R. Larry:

- @natashalarry

- natasha.larry1

www.natashalarrybooks.com

Read More from N.R. Larry

https://www.amazon.com/Night-N-R-Larry-ebook/dp/B01D9KKXI6

Bound by Destiny

Destiny series, book I

Laxmi Hariharan

Bound by Destiny Copyright © 2012 by Laxmi Hariharan

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Created with Vellum

About the Book

When Tiina accompanies Yudi on a mission to retrieve the Isthmus from the ruthless Shaitan, she seeks more than the end of the tyrant; she seeks herself.

Driven by greed and fear for his own survival, Shaitan destroys everything in his path, including Tiina’s best friend Rai. The universe is at stake, the combatants are determined, will Tiina and Yudi face up to their feelings for each other and fulfill their destiny?

A delicious blend of gods and humans, sacred and profane, an epic fantasy that gives you more than a glimpse of your own power and potential.

1

Java, 3017—Present Day

Tiina wakes with a start.

The nightmare is fresh in her mind. She does not scream, though. Save her heightened breathing and an increased pulse, nothing gives away the horror and dejection the dreams evoke. Swept along by a tide of the inevitable, she faces her destiny.

After rousing herself, she pulls on her sturdy neoprene jumpsuit and snaps on a pair of sleek streamlined running shoes, and then hesitates before stepping out the door. She turns back toward her study table and picks up a sword from its place next to her laptop, running her thumb over the ruby in the centre of the hilt.

It has a three-foot blade and at five-foot-four herself, it is heavy enough that she has to use both her hands to secure it in its leather scabbard, which fits snugly across her back. Since her early training with the sword master on her home planet of Ka Surya, she feels naked if she does not have her blade. Royal blood runs deep. She tests to make sure it does not get in the way of her movement. Its weight feels good, reassuring.

Early morning frost greets her as she steps out of her small cottage on the outskirts of Java City. She jogs at a slow pace, then picks up speed, and reaches a steady sprint by the time she arrives at the canal. Within seconds, sweat pools at the base of her spine, and chills of anticipation crawl across her skin. The lush rows of suikerriet cultivated on both sides of the water offer the perfect chance to glimpse the leaves rippling in the breeze.

After a lifetime of greys and browns, the green is sheer joy. It is one reason she chose to live outside the rush of Java’s cities. This is her second time living on this planet, and she is happy to be surrounded by trees instead of crumbling skyscrapers, snarling air traffic, and humans and half lives fighting each other as they struggle through a working day.

The half lives were the result of cross breeding between humans from the mother planet Earth, and the non-human races from the other planets in the solar system.

Tiina smiles, her delicate heart-shaped face lighting up, relieved to be away from it all, and breathes in the relatively clean air. Why! I almost feel content. Her warm brown eyes sparkle as her slim body settles into a well-known rhythm, leaving her mind to wander. This is Java, her adopted planet, where she can shut down the chatter in her mind, and in that stillness, touch that silent space within. This quiet is nothing like the tossing, churning emotions, the only baggage she has from Arkana. The memories reignite doubt and despair. Not wanting to lose her contented state of mind, she tries to rein in the direction of her thoughts.

Deciding to treat herself, she flicks on the flying activator using a small button on the right sleeve of her suit, and goes airborne.

Most Javanese used spacecrafts to travel on the planet, but she loves the thrill of teleporting and prefers to use it whenever she can. Of late, she has taken to running to her destination whenever possible as a means of training. Gotta keep fighting fit, for you never knew what is around the corner.

She stretches her hands in front and with her slight frame as straight as an arrow, whistles through the air, making an arc before settling parallel to the ground below. Just as she recaptures the earlier feeling of well-being, something hits her from the side, bringing her to the ground with a jolt.

She lands among the shrubs bordering the suikerriet fields with a heavy weight on top of her. The shock of the sudden landing vibrates through her and pain lances along her side. Then the weight lifts off her and the breath rushes back into her lungs. Only momentarily dazed, Tiina swears and straightens herself. Thick shoulder-length golden brown hair waves before her eyes, and after pushing it aside, she looks into a familiar face.

Yudi helps her up, and then takes his palms off her shoulders. A black neoprene suit similar to hers covers him from head-to-foot. At six-foot-two, he towers over her.

She looks into his eyes. Not blue or violet, she has always thought of them as indigo. His thick black hair falls over his forehead, and in a familiar gesture, he brushes stray tresses away only to have them settle right back where they were. Somehow he manages to look attractive, even in the middle of the melee. Just as she thought that she was over him, he appeared before her.

“It’s me.”

“How did you—?”

"How did I find you? How many good looking girls of half human origin do you think there are on this back-of-beyond planet?”

“Well, it is not like I was trying to hide!”

“No. You just buried yourself where no one would look.”

“This is a beautiful planet.”

“Sure! A happening place making headlines across the galaxies.”

“It has its virtues…”

“Like what? The trees?” He gestures at the giant metasequoia trees towering over them.

Tiina is about to reply when he puts a finger to his lips, then angles his head as if hearing something in the distance. Following his example, she tunes out the nearby sounds, focusing on the larger space, and picks up a strange low-pitched buzzing, similar to the static on the main frequency of a radio transmitter.

Giant killer bees fly straight at the two of them. The insects are so prevalent on Java that they give the planet a characteristic reddish colour when seen from space. They come in a large seething swarm, an army with a one-track mind and disciplined ranks.

Each creature is massive, about thirty feet long, and at least thrice as tall as Yudi or Tiina. Their legs are coated in wiry hair, mouths dripping mucus, wings whirring like massive twisters and just as deadly if one were to touch them. Descended from thirteen queen bees released from the now-defunct beehives of Java, which were famous for their honeyed delights, the killer bees are an amalgam of the best of their home planets. The innocent beauty of nurturing Java fused with the murderous instincts of the warrior planet Mars. Their short lives are spent in equal parts killing all other species while mating in abandon. The survival of the species is almost guaranteed by their strange powers of reproduction instilled by generations of inbreeding.

With little preamble, the bees are on them. Yudi puts an arm out in front of her to protect her. Both assume a synchronistic defence manoeuvre. As one, they whip out their swords and swing, slicing through some of the zipping bugs. Others collapse on the ground. Each fallen insect explodes in a flash of white smoke, scattering its life force. Yet for each one that dies, others spring up to take its place. Every drop of fallen blood gives rise to new life, and the amassing hive stretches out into the distance; a sea of bright red.

The inherent horror of the situation dawns on Tiina. Legends and mythology, like history, have a habit of repeating themselves. There is no getting away from the past or from one’s destiny.

She winces as a particularly large bee slams into Yudi. The force throws Yudi to the ground, knocking the sword from his hand. The sound of whirring wings fills the air, followed by the pungent smell of the creature. Once recovered, he manages to avoid the massive legs of the insect, rolls over to the side, grabs his sword, and then swipes at the beast with all his strength and decapitates it.

He launches at the head of a long row of the insects, taking down quite a few and disappearing into their midst, the rest crawling over him.

Meanwhile, Tiina is pulled into a battle of her own. Another creature attacks her and she swings her blade at it with all her might. This one dances away. It stays almost stationery, observing her out of beady eyes.

She pauses to wipe the sweat on her brow and looks up at the sky. The bees have formed a living, moving carpet, undulating before her, covering the hills, stretching out for as far as she can see. As she gapes, her line of sight fills with the giant insects, which block out the light blue of the vapour skies. Tiina shivers as the bright light of the Javanese sun vanishes and the temperature dips.

She jumps in after Yudi, shoves as many of the creatures as possible out of the way, and, reaching him, pulls him from the ground.

“We have to get out here, now. Now!” she says.

Yudi wraps his arms around her and touches the small button on the side of his left sleeve. They teleport; one minute she is on Java, the next, she is inside his spacecraft docked in orbit around the planet. Small streamlined capsule-like crafts are built for speed, yet made of some of the strongest and lightest metal, reinforced many times over to withstand the pressure of atmospheric entry.

Tiina feels a little out of breath from their quick trip through space. The blinding lights of the stars that flashed by still spin across her vision. She shakes her head and follows Yudi toward the driving pod of the craft.

He slides into the driver’s seat and grabs hold of the joystick. “Hang on!”

Tiina secures herself in the seat next to him.

With a practised move, he inches the lever forward and slides the craft out into the skies.

As the ship pulls away, she looks back at the planet. While craning her neck, she is amazed to see the familiar hills and valleys of Java taken over by a mass of brown, as if a giant dark veil is casting its shadow over the landscape.

The doomed planet shrinks as they glide away and he turns to her. “I agree. It really is a nice planet. Very welcoming, don’t you think?”

Her heart sinks as she continues to watch her fast-diminishing home. “Why? Why did they attack us?”

“It’s classic. Species turning against each other. The beginning of the end.”

“Why did you come in search of me, anyway?” Then it dawns on her. “Wait, let me guess.” She pretends to think for a moment, and then snaps her fingers. “That old story…we have to find the Isthmus and stop Shaitan! What happened, Yudi? Couldn’t you and Rai do it without me? Wait a minute, is that how you found me? Rai…”

“Don’t blame him, Tiina. It took many months of pleading before he finally told me where to find you.”

“I hope he made you grovel.”

“Did he ever!”

“Well, you sure took your time. Almost nine months to the day since you walked out on me.”

“Ah! Counting the days, were you?” He grins. “May I remind you that I did not walk away? It was you who left.”

“How dare you.” After realising they had picked up exactly where they left off, and not liking it one bit, she changes track. “How is Rai, anyway? Has he decided whether he prefers the male of a species yet?”

“I don’t remember you being so cynical, Tiina.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“You haven’t forgiven me.”

“No. Though thanks to you, I did find a new life…” Her voice tapers off. “Which I just lost.”

The empty space where Java once was stretches out behind them. It is difficult for her to equate the vacant expanse with the home she had until just a few hours ago. Tears fill her eyes and, angry for being so weak, she tries to swallow them away.

“I am sorry, Tiina.” Yudi reaches across and places his left hand on hers, his right still maintaining control of the ship. “Sorry for then and sorry for now.”

“You apologising is a first. You never did say a word when it mattered.”

“I’m saying it now. I am here to give us a chance.”

“Among other things. You thought I would go along with your promises again, eh?”

He beckons, “Come, let me show you what’s happening around us.”

Once the spacecraft is put into auto, he gets up from his seat. Tiina follows him out of the main deck to the living quarters. Yudi stops just outside of the quarters and switches on a small screen tucked away in the wall.

Tiina is transported to horrifying scenes of destruction. Helplessness grips her, and fear snares her heart as scenes of violence unfold before her eyes. Men pick up arms against their will. Women commit suicide. Cities burn. The most sacred places on the planet are invaded, realizing her deepest, darkest fears.

Finally, she can take it no more, and pulls away, shaken. “Turn it off. What do you want from me?”

He cuts the images. “Come back to Arkana, Tiina. We need your help in finding the stolen Isthmus, and time is running out.”

“So Mimir told us when he called upon the three of us to take on the mission. But that was months ago. Are you sure Shaitan still has it?”

“You saw for yourself how powerful he has become. His control continues to grow. He already has some form of presence across most of the planets in the galaxy, but if we don’t stop him, he will become invincible.”

“I still don’t understand why it has to be me. Why can’t you and Rai do it together, or find someone else?”

“Mimir insists the three of us do this.”

“Yeah! And that’s still a mystery to me—why he thinks the three of us can work such magic.”

“Don’t forget, we were the best of our class at the Academy.”

Tiina rolls her eyes. “So modest. Good to see that you haven’t changed, Yudi.”

He has the grace to look shamefaced. “Since it was my fault we split up the last time, he insisted it was up to me to get the three of us back together and continue the mission.”

“So…we are…still…the…saviours?”

He nods. “You knew it was only a matter of time before I found you. Mimir can be adamant. What Mimir wants…”

“…Mimir gets! But do I have to come with you to Arkana? Why can’t we just meet Rai somewhere else?”

“It’s not like I have a choice, believe me.”

“You would drag me back to the place…where you dumped me?”

He speaks in a patient voice, as if talking to a child. “I didn’t dump you, Tiina.”

“No, you only cheated on me!”

Perhaps she should just outright refuse to help him. After what he did to her, spending more time with him does not appeal to her. It’s not like she owes him anything, yet…yet that pull of attraction or something between them tugs at her and stops her from saying anything else. Let him suffer a bit more. Just as he let her live in a vacuum these past months. Not a word, nothing, and then he drops out of the skies.

He rushes to fill the silence. “So, we’re on then, right?”

The supreme confidence with which he has just assumed she will agree to go with him she hates. That and the annoying, cocky smile he wears, which she loves to hate. Unreasonable anger bubbles up inside. It is a familiar reaction, one he has always managed to elicit from her from the time they first met. He calls it chemistry.

For her, it is more like biology. Senseless lust, combined with wanting to possess and being possessed, akin to a suicidal one-way street.

“You know, Yudi, this is not a rewind situation, where the scene is frozen, and the characters don’t know what to do with each other!”

“Do we know what to do with each other?” he jokes. “Look, I was stupid, completely dense. You are never going to forgive me…or forget the past. But can we bury our differences, for Mimir’s sake, and get on with it?”

“Can’t you just tell me what’s really on your mind? If you could but speak your heart, you would save us both so much time!” She punches him in the eye. “Now we can.”

“Ouch!” He gasps, bringing his hand to his left eye.

“Be friends, I mean.” With a grin, she holds out her hand, hoping his eye pained him.

“Yes, of course.”

Then, putting his hand over hers, he pulls her to him. They look into each other’s eyes for an instant, and she is taken aback to find that his lips are not far from hers. After only a moment of hesitation, she breaks his hold, pulls him, and throws him over her shoulder.

“I went to the same school as you, remember?”

He winces on the floor. “Ah! How can I forget? Twice in two minutes. Does that make you feel better?”

“The fight is not over.”

He nods and, much to her satisfaction, clutches his side in pain. He picks himself up and walks toward her with measured steps. “This is just the beginning.”

“And I’m going to win!”

He holds out his hand. “Shall we shake?”

After brushing past him, Tiina goes through to the main deck and slips into her seat. “Now that we are over the initial pleasantries, can we get on with the business of piloting this craft?”

“Arkana it is.” Yudi puts them on course for their destination.

2

As they approach Arkana, Tiina’s excitement rises. The thrill of a journey and the anticipation of arriving at a new destination is something that she still loves. She hopes she will always feel this way, no matter how old she gets.

The planet comes up on the main screen. The circular land mass in the centre—the island-city called Arkana after the planet’s name—is a distinctive purple surrounded by water of pale green. Its atmosphere is similar to Earth, one of the reasons the half human, half alien race thrives here. Yet the higher concentration of silica in its soil and water is enough to completely change the appearance of the planet from space.

Yudi sets about securing the ship with fast and much-practised movements. His familiar routine soothes her. So riveted is she that when he has completed his task, Tiina blushes when he walks to her. He wipes his hands on a piece of cloth, which he stuffs into the back pocket of his spacesuit.

“Enjoy the show?” He continues past her, toward the entrance of the docking station.

Enormous grey walls rise around them, towering over the ship. Windows of multicoloured glass glimmer in the later afternoon sunlight.

Angry at being caught looking this time, Tiina admonishes herself at showing any outward sign of weakness and she pulls herself together. Yudi leads the way along a corridor, which has a massive wall of glass on one side, showing the vista of the city below. Ahead, the corridor opens off into rooms, each of a different colour, and they all echo a different theme.

Tiina does a rough count of the doors and notes there are probably more than twenty such rooms. The entrance to each is made of glass. It is not unlike being in an aquarium.

Soon curiosity gets the better of her and she can’t resist peering inside each of the rooms she passes. Unable to get her fill of the occupiers of the rooms while running to keep up with Yudi, she comes to a standstill.

They are in the newly built fourth wing of the Academy of Half Lives, which was on the verge of completion when she was at Arkana. It is set apart from the original four-storey building and has three wings. Classes are held in the first wing, with the armoury in the basement. The second wing houses the dormitories for the students. The third has the residences for Mimir and the professors who teach at the Academy, as well as its various administrative staff. This, the fourth wing, houses Mimir’s Ark.

The Academy crouches on top of a small hill. If she peers to her left she can just make out the Temple of Arkana on another hill slightly taller than the one the Academy is situated on. Just below the hill, like a garland around the Academy, is the slim Arkana River, a body of water not more than half a mile at its broadest point, which flows through the city, separating the Academy from the main city of Arkana.

Beyond the river are rows of tall towers. Each is about one hundred floors tall, with most doubling up as both official and residential blocks for the citizens. A few of them are even taller, and come to the height of the Temple of Arkana. Commuter spaceships ply the airways between the two hills.

The buildings housing the Academy are unique on Arkana, and are the only ones on the planet built in the classic Georgian style. Such buildings resonate with the architecture so favoured by the English-speaking countries on Earth in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

“Slow down, Yudi. While I am in pretty good shape, you forget that your legs are much longer than mine.” Tiina is determined to make him adjust to her pace.

Far ahead of her, he slows down so that she is able to catch up. She steals a glance inside various rooms as she strides toward him. Two nubile angelic beings from Jupiter who resemble beautiful human females, but with large dove-like wings on their back, flutter around the room; a pair of multi-hoofed horses from Ka Surya trot through fields in the next room; a transparent spirit wafts through the next chamber from the multi-dimensional planet of Mars; a trio of beautiful mermaids from Venus swim through a gigantic water tank in the next.

As they pass one of the rooms, Yudi waves out to and is acknowledged by the kangaroo-like marsupials inside, who jump around, engaged in a game of mind dice. The cubes they are playing with float between them.

Tiina glances at him.“Your friends?”

He shrugs. “We shared an adventure.”

“Aren’t they from Neptune?”

“Yes.”

“And they are happy to be kept here in a cell?”

“They are rooms, not cells!”

“Are they happy to be trapped in a small enclosure? Would they rather not be out in the open?”

“Shaitan destroyed their planet. These were the only survivors and were more than happy to come to Arkana. We recreated the best conditions within that space so they could live there. Guess it works for them.”

Then he adds in a conciliatory tone, “They need a very specific breathing mixture and did not object to being in that room. On the contrary, they all seem to be thriving.”

“So they are the last of an endangered species?”

“I just told you that.”

“I am amazed at how quickly this wing has filled up.” She peers into another chamber.

“Mimir was insistent that we complete it in record time to accommodate all of them.”

Something very familiar inside one of the rooms brings her to a halt. She gives a cry of pleasure on seeing the familiar scenery of Java. The setting is complete, as if she painted it herself. Java’s characteristic large orange flowers bloom; the golden beach where she spent many afternoons lazing by the shores glistens in the golden sunlight. Giant bees buzz around the flowers. The paddy fields that made Java the granary of the universe are in the distance, and in them, the traditionally dressed Javanese rice harvesters. One even looks up and waves to her.

“What is this?”

“Don’t you get it yet?”

“It’s not what I think it is, is it?”

He nods.

“So each room reflects a different lost culture of the universe?”

A sad smile crosses Yudi’s lips. “The galaxy under one roof. Shaitan’s violence does not spare much. These are the remnants.”

“Ah, so these are the extinct. Is this Arkana’s version of a rogue’s gallery?”

“More like Mimir’s Ark. Remnants of lost planets.”

“And is that how he sees us? Specimens?”

“I hope not. I see Mimir’s summons as a chance to erase everything and rewrite our future.”

“You’ll have to change the past to do that.” She baits him.

“The two of you are still engaged in idle chatter, I see!”

They turn to face the figure walking toward them.

Her heart alights at seeing him again. “Mimir!”

Mimir approaches them with a curiously floating gait, white robes fluttering behind him, eyes crinkling as he smiles. His white beard is much longer than Tiina remembers. There are definitely more wrinkles on his face as well.

An old, much-remembered feeling of sparkling power radiates from him and flows over her as she walks toward him. The hairs on her forearms rise, and a shiver of recognition runs through her. Complete surrender to the ultimate source of power floods her, bringing tears to her eyes. She has forgotten how truly overwhelming it is to be in his presence.

“Welcome back, Tiina.” While continuing to gaze at her with his peculiar, piercing eyes, he raises his arms. Turning to Yudi, Mimir says, “I am pleased you found her.”

“Did you doubt it?”

“I was sure you would reach her, but females are the toughest to win over, as I hope you have learnt by now. Seeing the two of you together so soon is much beyond what I expected you to achieve.”

Tiina’s tone is grim as she recalls how he sneakily convinced her to come to Arkana. “We managed to arrive at an understanding…of sorts.”

“You could say that.”

“The first of many lessons to come on this journey,” says Mimir.

“All this and save the world, too?” It is easy to lapse into the familiar banter with Mimir. I have missed him…and Arkana. I missed this place; why, I even missed Yudi.

“First, save yourself.”

“Mimir, as usual you are full of interesting facts.”

He chuckles. “I am allowed to indulge in mysteries.”

“Isn’t that a feminine prerogative?”

He shakes his head. “We can talk later, Tiina. Right now, it’s time for you, Rai, and Yudi, to start your mission. We have already lost much time. Shaitan’s power has grown since he stole the Isthmus. If you do not act fast, he will become unstoppable.”

This time, Tiina asks the question she held back the first time Mimir called them to take up the mission to find the Isthmus. She tries to overcome a strange superstition she has of not voicing her fears. It’s okay; just because I say it doesn’t mean it is going to come true.

“And if we don’t succeed…?” Nervousness echoes in her voice and she berates herself for showing Yudi any sign of weakness.

“Then…” says Mimir.

“Then…?”

“If this is not done, then others will meet the same fate as your home planet, Ka Surya.”

Blood drains from Tiina’s cheeks. “Destiny repeats itself.” I knew I should have not asked.

“And the wheel keeps turning ’til you isolate the evil and take it out once and for all.”

“Why choose us when there are others more powerful, who could do this with less effort?”

“So you still don’t believe that it has to be the three of you?”

Tiina blushes at being called out. It isn’t so much going on the mission as much as being on it with Yudi which disturbs her. She does not relish being in such close quarters with him for any extended period of time, and prays her true feelings do not show on her face. “You set too much confidence in us, Mimir.”

“You have more than you know to help you along; you have each other.” Mimir puts an arm around their shoulders and walks them to the large window overlooking the city. “The two of you with Rai in the same place at the same time, and with true intent, is really powerful.”

“Alchemy to neutralise?” comments Tiina.

“A tune that revives?” retorts Yudi.

She frowns, wondering if Yudi is making fun of her with his attempt to rhyme with her sentence. You think you are funny, don’t you? Just you wait. At the first opportunity she has, she’ll get him back.

Mild frustration pinches Mimir’s lips.

“Sorry…sorry, just couldn’t resist that one.”

“Okay, we are each unique. I’ll give you that. And together we are a strong combination. We thrive off each other,” concedes Tiina.

“Real purpose,” says the older man. “Together you have unadulterated power.”

“But is that enough to overcome evil as strong as Shaitan?”

“It will not be easy.” He pauses. “You will be tested, and there will be casualties.”

“But Mimir, you have the power. If you look for the Isthmus, you would find it like that!” Yudi snaps his fingers.

“If only it were that simple. I can guide, but this is your destiny, not mine.”

Another question is on Tiina’s lips when Mimir interrupts her. “Let’s find Rai, shall we? There will be more time for questions later, I promise.” He motions for them to follow.

The seemingly never-ending corridor slopes gently upward and then abruptly turns to the right. Before them is a space overlooking an open-air arena, and right in the centre is an old-fashioned boxing ring.

After they step into a viewing gallery, it disengages from the main structure and floats over the circular arena until they are in a prime position for a ringside view of the action. The figures in the centre of the ring carry on, not disturbed in the least by their new audience.

A familiar profile catches Tiina’s eye. “Rai! What is he doing here?”

Rai’s engaged in a strange game, pitting his mental powers against a striking being. The figure facing Rai is half man, half lion. His face and torso are a lion tapering to a narrow, sexy waist, with the strong legs of an athlete clad in black shorts made of a stretchy material, but with a powerful lion’s tail swishing back and forth.

The two gaze at each other across the length of the boxing ring, the surface of which is clear enough to reflect back their images as if a frozen lake. Given the dimensions of the figures and the force of their actions, it has to be something a little stronger than ice to hold the weight of Rai and Lion Man—a surface tough enough to withstand their actions.

The area between the two figures suddenly erupts. It is as if they grew tired of the mental game, and Rai and Lion Man explode into the physical plane. They pull out their swords and fling the weapons at each other. The swords clash and a blinding light flares out so intensely that she can feel heat and almost hear the static.

Tiina puts up a hand against its brilliance. The sheer power from the conflict is such that she almost blacks out. A feeling of déjà vu whips through her mind, but is unable to comprehend or catch up with the memories triggered by the explosion.

Rai and Lion Man engage in fierce warfare, each of them charging the other from opposite ends of the field. Both have moved onto riding metallic beasts, which are as translucent as the surface of the boxing ring. The sunset in the background, with its red and gold, frames the figures. The sunshine bounces off the metallic animals and creates a rainbow.

The two figures close the distance, and when they are within inches of each other, the animals they are riding melt away. Then it is just the two of them on their feet. They rush toward each other and lock in a death grip. The tussle continues for a few evenly matched seconds. When it seems that neither of them will give way, Lion Man morphs into a complete lion and catches Rai by the neck. The lion shakes him once, as if he were a rag doll, before dropping him to the ground.

It is an illusion, yet Tiina is relieved that her friend has been spared. The lion walks toward them and as it approaches, a low growl rolls in its throat. She takes an involuntary step back, inching away from the lion and closer to Yudi. Then the lion freezes, and the growl is replaced by a low purring as its eyes suddenly melt with warmth.

Why, the lion likes Yudi. She darts a glance up at his face.

Yudi’s expression is inscrutable as he stares back at the lion before furrowing his brow in confusion. The illusion breaks, the lion fades, and Tiina expels a breath she did not know she was holding.

Rai gets to his feet, dusts himself off, and walks over, limping a little, a sheepish look on his face.

Mimir turns to him with a steady, piercing gaze. “You need to listen to your intuition. Anticipate.”

“Sure thought I was doing just that.”

“Trust. Leap and you shall be caught.”

“How do you do that?” she asks.

“Do what?”

“You always manage to look good every time I see you.”

If anything, he looks younger, fitter. Rai’s five-foot-ten frame is clad in a brown neoprene suit. The stretchy material of the jumpsuit defines his filled-out muscles in a way she does not remember. Straight black hair cut short clings to the shape of his scalp, lending a hard edge to his triangular face with its narrow forehead, pointed jaw line, and wide cheekbones. His stark profile is relieved by the soft grey eyes twinkling down at her.

He looks happy, far from the young uncertain boy who had arrived at Arkana more than a year ago dazed from the teleporting.

Rai laughs. “Hey, you look good, too, Tiina.”

She gestures to the scene behind him. “So was that really an illusion? You could have fooled me. It felt very real. Why, I swear I could feel the lion’s excitement at spotting Yudi.”

“You mean Lion Man?” replies Rai, then without waiting for her answer, continues, “If you mean the creature I fought with? Then yes, it was an illusion, too.”

“He is not real?”

Mimir corrects her. “No. He does exist. Simh—the lion man, the one who taught me the skills of the fight.”

“So that was an illusion?”

“No, he was there,” says Rai at last. “Only in spirit, though. What you saw was a fabulous illusion, which simulates the real impact of your opponent, and it’s potent, because it taps into the strength of the person or thing you’re battling. So you are right there in the moment, caught up in the fight.”

Overwhelmed by the changes made to the Academy in such a short time, Tiina feels a little lightheaded and glances around. “When did all this happen; how was all this built?”

“After you left…uh!” Rai clears his throat, looking from Tiina to Yudi. “Well, after you left, Yudi and I were set to go our separate ways as well.”

Yudi completes his sentence. “But Mimir held us back.”

“We didn’t want to stay, but Mimir convinced us to complete what we had started.”

“Trust Mimir to discipline both of you.”

“He was…most persistent.” Rai grins.

They are silhouetted against the glass wall, beyond which lies the city. It is a moment in time that will stay forever burnt in her mind’s eye. Perhaps this will be remembered by those who come after us, a story to be passed down generations. Despite being barely a few months past her seventeenth birthday, Tiina feels as if she has already lived a lifetime.

“So, what have you decided?”

Rai rubs the back of his neck. “You know this is our last chance. This is the time to speak up, if we have any doubts.”

“Else hold our words forever,” agrees Yudi.

“We are together, for better or worse. Is anything stopping us?” asks Rai.

Yudi does not hesitate. “I am in. This is how I change the course of my destiny, so why not?”

They both look at Tiina, who bursts out, “Okay! Okay! I am not thrilled. I would do anything else rather than spend more time with him.” She nods toward Yudi. “But I don’t want to be the one who calls this mission to a halt. So I suppose I don’t have a choice.” For a second, she thinks about it. “I am in, but on one condition.”

A frown crosses Yudi’s lips. “What is it?”

“One false move, one wrong word from you, and I am out.”

He nods slowly.

Not convinced, she says again, “You get me? Just try not to get in my way.”

“Don’t get in your way! I get it!”

When he glowers at her, Tiina feels a lot better.

“What about you, Rai?” she asks. “Why are you doing this?

“For a long time, I wondered why I didn’t feel comfortable in any place. I wandered the entire galaxy, and never found a space that felt like home. And then…,” he pauses and turns to them, his brown eyes piercing and warm, “and then it dawned on me. It isn’t the place. It is the people that make it feel like home. I found the two of you at Arkana, and for the first time, I felt I belonged. It was as if…” He struggles for a word to describe how he felt then. “As if I were whole again, you know? I was safe, and could just be myself with both of you. I did not have to pretend anymore. If I could only hold onto that feeling forever, well, then I would die happy.”

“That was from the heart, Rai,” says Tiina. “Almost poetic.”

Yudi asks, “The words, you mean?”

“No, the feelings.” More than he would know, they struck a chord in her heart. Blinking back the sudden tears that spring unbidden in her eyes, she clears her throat and says in a husky voice, “So that settles it then. We are all in then Mimir.”

“Great!” exclaims Yudi. “Shall we leave?”

“Hang on. Do we even know where to start?” Her brow pinches.

Mimir eyes them. “You will be guided every step of the way. When you need me most, I will be there. Just follow your instincts to find the way.”

“Where do we begin?”

“Never a better place than the beginning. See where it takes you.”

It’s not the answer she wanted to hear, and she presses him further. “Mimir, you are a true-words wizard, but give us a clue, a direction—something to go on.”

“You are too impatient, Tiina.” He hesitates before giving in. “Okay then, I’ll make it a little easier for you. You have to find the Eye-Mountain first, then get to the summit where you will find the lake. This is no ordinary lake, though; it is the Gateway to the Other Side. Once you cross, you will be on Saturn, where you will find Shaitan and the Isthmus.”

“Uh! That sounds easy,” says Yudi.

Too easy, she thinks, unconvinced. “What’s the catch?”

“Aha! Well you will face challenges, and let’s say some…interesting situations on the way. However, know this—reach there, you will. So don’t give up!”

“So we’ll make it in one piece?”

“Much improved for the experience,” agrees Mimir.

“Much wiser, no doubt?” asks Rai.

“All you have to do is cross over to the Other Side, then follow the signs to your destination.”

“Is that all you have for us? Not much to go on, then, is it?”

“You are as mortal or as invincible as you feel, Yudi.”

“So how do we get to the Eye-Mountain? I suppose we can always teleport.”

“Aha! Teleporting is too lonely a way to travel, and the distance is too great anyway. You have to travel as a group, or you will fail and Shaitan will destroy all. Besides, you need to get to know each other better on the journey.” Delight warms his wrinkled face. “Won’t that be fun?”

Tiina mutters under her breath, “Yeah, that’s just awesome!”

“What was that Tiina?” Mimir sounds innocent enough.

Damn, he may be ancient, but his hearing is as sharp as a fox. I bet he is just as sly too. “No I was just saying…ahem…you know, at least tell us how we can enhance our strength. How do we face Shaitan’s power?”

“With our bare hands?” ventures Yudi.

The old guardian walks up to him and holds up his palm. “There’s more power in your hand than in the entire universe.”

“What do you mean? How can I possibly have more power than everything and everyone in the world put together?”

“The energy of intent can move a thousand mountains. Yet given your doubts, here are a few real props to shore up your confidence.”

They follow him to the docking station and through a group of panels that melt away, and step into the control room of a spaceship. “Welcome to Artemis.” Mimir spreads his arms toward the deck.

In response, the walls promptly dissolve and change shape.

“This is more than a ship, I warn you. This is the only shape-shifting travel device in the entire galaxy. She is alive, real, and quite responsive, as you are going to find out very soon.”

Tiina places her palms on one of the two driving pods. A grin spreads across her lips as warmth seeps from the wall into her hands. “I can sense her; she’s an incredibly optimistic and adventurous soul.”

In response, the lights of the ship brighten a shade, taking on a rose-tinted hue. The panel in front of Tiina illuminates and glows in shades of blue and violet and the headlights switch on, lighting the way.

Yudi nudges her. “You said the right thing, obviously. Artemis sure seems ecstatic.”

When Artemis settles down, her shape is sleeker, like a powerful streamlined bullet. The nose of the ship extends out, as if to pass right through any obstacles; the sides are tapered with flowing, arching wings that fold over like a crane’s when not in flight, and she has an extended tail. Artemis is as slim as a silver snake on the exterior, yet spacious enough on the inside that they have enough room not to get in each other’s way.

The trio gape in amazement.

It is as if Artemis has no self-imposed barriers. Tiina admires her sheer fluidity and freedom to do as she pleases, her ability to take on whatever shape she chooses, to go where she wants. A thrill runs through her as Tiina recognises a kindred soul. A free spirit.

“Wow!” she gasps. “That was impressive. I do believe my doubts are receding. So with such a fast machine, why not just fly to Saturn, and go straight for the Isthmus?”

“Now, here’s the thing. The way through the Eye-Mountain is a shortcut not known to many. This way you’ll get to Saturn in half the time it would have taken if you were to use a spaceship, but as amazing as Artemis is, she can’t fly through this lake, at least not on the way to the Isthmus. So you’ll have to do it the old fashioned way. Walk up the Eye-Mountain, find the lake, and go through the gateway. If you do that, you will actually reach Saturn.”

Yudi stops fiddling with the controls of the ship and cocks his head to the side. “Wait a minute. You said she can’t fly through the lake, at least not on the way to the Isthmus, but once we have the Isthmus?”

“Once you retrieve the Isthmus, she’ll find you and bring you back.”

“How will she find us?”

“Trust me, Yudi!”

Hearing the impatience in Mimir’s voice, Tiina nudges her former boyfriend.

Mimir places his hand on the wall closest to him. “Artemis, guide these three to their destiny. Protect them, but first, take them to the essence, the Elixir of Half Lives.”

In response, the walls dissolve again and the ship changes shape once more. For a few seconds, they are surrounded by shifting beams of light, some of which seem to have travelled many light-years, like other energies of many frequencies all focus right in this space and time to bring a massive boost to the moment.

“The Elixir?” Yudi turns to their old friend.

“That is my final gift to the three of you. Once you drink from the Elixir, its powers will guard you long enough to get you past Shaitan’s army and to the Ishtmus. And its effects will last long enough to see you back home.”

“That’s amazing, Mimir!” They might make it through the mission.

“Remember, you must drink of it; if you don’t, you may well not fulfil your purpose.”

Yudi rubs his chin. “I thought just the three of us coming together was enough to help in completing the mission!”

“That is the minimum!”

“Well.” Rai rests a hand on Yudi’s shoulder. “Guess we’ll have some fun along the way, at least.”

“And that’s important. For when the adventure is over and you reflect upon it, you will regret that you did not make the most of every minute you spent during it.”

A calming vibration runs through the machine and Tiina leans against one of Artemis’ walls, enjoying the sensation. “It is always easier to laugh in hindsight. No?”

“That is why you are half human; you still have faults. Enjoy them, for this is what the gods envy.”

“So, if we already share their faults, is there any difference between us and purebred humans?”

“Your lifespan; most humans live to a hundred years. Half lives live much shorter lives. You tend to age faster as you grow older, and many of you will not live past fifty.”

“Is that good?”

“It is, Tiina; it gives you half lives a sense of urgency, so that you pack a lot more into your existence. In fact, you experience emotions much more intensely.”

“I’ve always hated that. It is exhausting, feeling all those ups and downs.”

Just as Rai is about to speak, Yudi interrupts him. “So if we get the Elixir of Half Lives, then will we make it through alive?”

A hint of impatience lights Mimir’s eyes. “There are no guarantees, Yudi.”

“But you are God, or close enough, right?”

“Am I?”

“But, aren’t you immortal?”

“I am…almost.”

“Tell us more Mimir, please.”

“Even spirits are not immortal. Sure, we lead very long lives, centuries more than humans, but each of us has a weak spot. An Achilles heel, as the humans on Earth would say.”

“What is your Achilles heel? Go on Mimir, you can’t come this far and not tell us everything.”

Mimir hesitates, his lips pulling into a frown. “Well, I hold the secret of my life at the base of my neck. If I were to be pierced there by a weapon, I would probably die.”

“Probably? So you don’t know?”

“I haven’t tried it yet, Yudi.”

She giggles at the expression on Yudi’s face, and before he can ask anything else, she interrupts. Rarely does Mimir get irritated, and on this occasion, he has been pushed to the brink of his infinite patience.

Not a shred of common sense in this one. This is one half life who will never grow up. “Let’s go, Yudi. I am sure we will find out more in good time.”

“When you are ready, we will speak again, and I hope you will have more to tell me from your experiences.” Under his breath he adds, “About your Achilles heel, perhaps.”

Taking that as a sign that they were dismissed, she gets into the main driving pod of the spaceship. In response to her imperceptible signal, Rai takes his place at the parallel driving pod. They turn to their companion, and with a resigned groan, Yudi sits in the pod behind the two of them.

She turns to Mimir. “When will we see you again?”

“At the appropriate juncture.” He gives them a familiar all-knowing, all-seeing smile and raises his hands in farewell.

“Where to?” Rai asks her.

“Plot a course for the Eye-Mountain!”

She shakes her head. “No, Yudi. First stop, the Elixir.”

Rai slides the lever forward, and they prepare to take off.

3

Ka Surya, 2990

An intermittent shining in the distance catches his eye. Thinking it is perhaps a piece of jewellery belonging to the royal family, he goes toward the light.

It leaps at him right from the bushes; a snarling lion club. Athira draws back, whipping his sword out from its scabbard. They stare at each other, the lion cub and the sword master. The cub quiets and cocks its head to the right, as if listening to some sound in the distance. Then, purring, settles back on its haunches and licks its feet.

The sudden change in its attitude surprises Athira. He cautiously sheaths his sword and approaches the animal before patting it on the head with a quaking hand. The lion cub looks up; its unblinking brown eyes lock with Athira’s blue ones. It gets back on its feet and, turning around, walks into the bushes. Athira follows the animal into the undergrowth, his hand gripping the dagger sheathed at his hip. A brilliant light reflects straight into his eyes and he is blinded for a second.

When it clears, he spots the lion cub just ahead. It circles a child and settles down next to it, licking a paw and waiting.

In form and feature, he looks so royal, thinks Athira of the baby wrapped in the bright orange cloth.

Athira approaches with caution, realising that what he saw earlier was the glow reflecting off the child wrapped in a golden cloth. As he picks up the child, the cloth falls aside and reveals a birthmark over his left hip. Strange. He runs his fingers over the mark. It is familiar, yet he is unable to place it.

The infant yawns and smiles in his arms, and its indigo eyes gaze up at Athira. It snuggles into his arms, yawns again and, after closing its eyes, falls asleep peacefully.

Athira takes the baby back home with the lion cub in tow, which purrs as it follows him. The boy is named Yudi, after Yudishtra, the righteous one, the one who never lies.

Yudi grows up in the shadow of the enormous palace of Ka Surya with his companion, the cub. The lion cub and Yudi are inseparable and are firm playmates; two bodies, one soul, laughing, rolling together in the first blush of childhood, gawking at the universe.

Yudi grows fast, shooting up like a tall sunflower, but Athira notices that the cub stays the same. The realisation dawns on him that the lion cub is not ordinary by any means. The cub is divine in some form, blessed by something from beyond this realm.

“Perhaps it has been sent just to see the boy to me,” he considers.

With Yudi safe, Athira wonders how long the cub will stay. His answer is not long in coming. On the day Yudi turns five, the lion cub disappears. The two of them are playing together by the waves on the beach. They are flush with the joy of youth. Caught up in the exuberance of life, they surf the crest and are unaware of their surroundings. It is then that the lion cub comes to a standstill, looking into the distance as if it has sensed something. Then, its chest heaving with exertion, it turns to Yudi with those special melting brown eyes, as if engaging in a conversation from which there is no return.

Abruptly, it turns around and paddles out into the sea. The cub jumps over the waves and swims out, further and further, appearing first like a dolphin, then fading to a speck in the distance.

Yudi watches the cub, at first enjoying the sense of freedom, then it hits him that his friend is not coming back. It is the first loss of his young life and Yudi takes it to heart.

While the child experiences such pain, Athira tries to comfort him. Yet somewhere in the back of his mind, he notes that his son grieves in a very adult manner. He would have expected his young boy to throw a tantrum and be done with it, but he does not.

Instead, Yudi indulges in a flurry of activity; climbing walls, fighting imaginary dragons, bouncing around from room to room in the house, the garden, and the mountains, trying to surf the waves, until, finally, he falls into a coma of desperate exhaustion on the sands. Nights are spent on the beach looking up at the shadowy sky, which turns to day as the sunrise paints the heavens red.

His soothing words are like silken cream poured to cover his child from head-to-toe, but Yudi just slithers away, crying harder as he does so. Stuffed toys remain untouched.

When Athira tries a headstand to get his attention, Yudi exclaims, “Dad! I knew yoga long before you were born!”

“Really?” his father asks, happy to have at least distracted him a little. “How is that?”

“Just do. Just like I know this.” He takes Athira’s bow and arrow, aims at a bird flying in the distance, then lets loose and brings the bird down. He hands the weapon back to his dumbstruck father.

This only confirms that Yudi is not going to stay for very long, either.

“He is going to leave, just like the lion cub.” It lends his fatherly heart an edge of desperation. He cannot avoid that which has been staring him in the face for so long.

Since first finding the child, he suspected Yudi had illustrious lineage, but he had assumed he was an illegitimate son of someone related to the royal family of Ka Surya. Then, something he had never thought of comes to mind.

“What if, what if…he is actually the boy Shaitan is searching for?” It is the only thing to explain why his sudden appearance coincided with the worldwide hunt for little boys born around the time Yudi was found.

News of Shaitan’s cruel hunt of newborn boys had reached Ka Surya around the time that he had found Yudi, yet he never really thought to make the connection until now. Perhaps Yudi is related to the most powerful, the most evil man in the galaxy. Athira does not want to believe it, yet it seems inevitable.

The unusual birthmark on Yudi’s skin could be proof. When Yudi was an infant, Athira spent many hours gazing at the mark, wondering what to make of it. Over the years, the anxiety has faded into a corner of his mind. A scar to be worried about sometimes, but not something he carries around with him.

The same mark recently caught his eye. As he rummages around in his memory, the last piece of the puzzle falls into place. He remembers having seen it on the public statement posted by the king of Ka Surya a few months earlier in the town square. In it, the king had warned the citizens of Ka Surya to prepare for Shaitan’s invasion. To sharpen their swords, clean their weapons, brush up their fighting skills, and keep their spacecrafts in readiness.

“Shaitan is coming,” said the king. “It is just a matter of time.”

They had been asked to prepare for the worst, to be ready to evacuate the planet if necessary, given Shaitan’s track record of razing almost every place he attacked.

Of course! Athira slaps his forehead as it all rushes together. Shaitan is always represented by this symbol, and it closely resembles Yudi’s birthmark.

The evidence is there, but part of him refuses to believe it. Surely this is all a mistake… And yet he has a sinking feeling that Yudi is connected to Shaitan. It is the only way to explain his extraordinary intelligence. He can already feel the pain of the forthcoming separation.

Shaitan had mercifully spared Ka Surya long ago and Athira had become engaged with finding a way to cheer up the young Yudi. He simply replaced one animal with another and got Yudi a white horse and hoped it would renew the vanished companionship of the cub, and distract the boy a little.

It was wishful thinking on his part that the horse turn Yudi into the proverbial knight in shining armour, which would one day take the young boy to safety.

If only it were that simple, he thinks, drawn back to the present.

So the cub slowly fades from Yudi’s memory, and Athira trains Yudi to ride the horse, to look to the horizon, to his future.

* * *

Ka Surya, 3000

Yudi, a few days shy of his tenth birthday, is racing his horse. In his mind, he imagines being the hero who will save the world. He approaches the palace walls of Ka Surya. It is one of the biggest hurdles in his mind, one that he has consciously skirted around. On this particular day, however, he is filled with blind confidence; a “challenge the world” feeling blooms in his heart.

With a kick, he urges his steed straight for the walls, and jumps over in one movement. Breathless with excitement, heart thudding in anticipation, he and his horse land inside the palace grounds and tear a path through the bushes growing close to the boundaries. He emerges onto open lawns and, before he is aware of its presence, knocks down a doll, forcing him to rein in his steed.

Alarmed, he dismounts and scurries toward the figure to make sure he has not broken anything. Then another girl runs toward him from the trees. She appears about the same age as him.

She stops, wide-eyed, and asks him in a soft, melodious voice, “Is she dead?”

“Dead? It is alive?”

“Sure, and we were playing hide-’n-seek.” She peers at him through the fringe of hair partially covering her eyes.

“So that’s why she was hiding near the grass next to the bushes.” He points to where his horse had landed and torn a path through the boundary bushes, a hair’s breadth away from her.

Eyes flashing, the girl declares, “You’ve killed her!”

“No, I’ve not!”

They are about to come to blows when the figure on the ground groans. Eyebrows raised in surprise, the two children whip to each other and cease their quarrel long enough to reach her.

“Maya, how are you? Maya!” The girl rests her palm on the brow of the doll-like figure.

“Maya?” Yudi rolls the name around in his mouth.

The other girl glares at him. “That’s her name.”

They stand over the girl on the ground, who is utterly still. While gazing at her, Yudi wonders what to do next.

The injured child sighs, rolls over, opens her eyelids, and groans again. Then she looks straight at Yudi, who is taken aback by the directness of her gaze, and shifts uncomfortably at the eerie light in her green eyes, which consumes him in fierce concentration. The uncanny sixth sense that tingles whenever something unpleasant is going to happen warns him that she has already developed a crush on him. She holds her breath and dissolves into utter stillness. Only her eyes are open, and she continues to look at him, unwavering in her attention.

“Maya. Maya! Are you okay?”

Maya does not reply, and instead, holds out her arms to him.

Despite his many questions, he picks the figure up from the ground and follows the other girl through the gardens into the palace.

They enter a gigantic chamber and Yudi examines the interior, enchanted at the high ceilings, the jewels in the arches, the plush carpets in the colours of the rainbow. He places the girl on a large, soft couch, which is almost as big and as wide as the entire living room floor of his home.

The queen runs out of her rooms to meet them in a furore. She drops onto the couch and pulls the girl to her chest, hugging her and running her hands all over her hair and body to make sure she is not hurt.

“Oh!” The queen looks at the girl who is still standing. “What has happened to her?”

All of a sudden, Yudi understands that he has run into Tiina and Maya, twin princesses, of whom his father has spoken many times.

He folds his hands together in greeting to the queen. “I am Yudi, the royal sword master’s son, at your service.”

“Then you have to curtsy to me, too,” says Tiina. “For one day I will be queen of Ka Surya.”

Her mother laughs. “And so he should, Tiina. But first you should thank this young man for helping your younger sister.”

Yudi smiles, not for the first time noticing how incredibly alike the two girls are. “So, the two of you really are identical twins?”

“Yes, except—”

“Except for the eyes!” he exclaims.

Where Maya has the greenest of eyes, Tiina has soft brown ones that sparkle. His heart skips a beat, and he pales.

The queen notices. “Quick, sit the boy down before he faints.”

To Yudi’s embarrassment, Tiina takes a firm grip on his hands and guides him to the couch. Then, realising that this is his one chance to feel her hands on him, he gives in to the pure pleasure of being fussed over by the various women. He closes his eyes.

When he comes to, it is dark outside, and he wonders how long he slept. He is in a room, on a bed, covered by a feathered quilt. Bright light shines in his eyes and starlight pours through the window. He rises from the bed and pads toward the balcony, from which he can see the ocean crashing far below. It is far enough for him to spy the white tops of the waves, but not hear them.

He looks up at a shooting star as a gentle touch brushes his arm.

Tiina asks, “Awake at last?”

The moonlight plays on her skin. A song from long ago runs in his mind, clouding his senses. With some effort, he snaps out of his reverie. “I must have passed out.”

She laughs. “Is that all you have to say?”

He smiles and holds out his palm, but she hesitates and he nods to reassure her. The breath squeezes out of him as she rests her hand in his. Pure joy of the moment lights her eyes and cheeks. Yudi’s chest tightens with excitement. She’s the one! Never before has he been so sure.

“Wow!”

He teases her, “Wow?”

“Who are you?”

“Your true love.”

He leans forward to kiss her and grins when she melts into him and, stepping forward, he holds her close, so that not even a ray of light can find its way between them. The noise of someone approaching penetrates his consciousness.

Yudi breaks the kiss, though he is still unwilling to part their clasped hands.

She opens her eyes. “It’s Maya, she…”

“…should not learn about this.”

He kisses her smile one more time, then waltzes over the balcony and whistles for his horse, which comes galloping out of the darkness. He vaults over the rail and lands on the back of the steed below. Silhouetted against the moon, she stands where he had been just a few moments ago.

Then involuntarily, he gasps as he retraces his steps back from the morning, taking his horse across the lawns, through the bushes, and after a jump over the wall, disappearing into the darkness.

Yudi looks back one last time and can just about make out her profile as she raises her face to the heavens as if in prayer.

Storing the last image of Tiina in his mind, he takes his horse across the palace walls. He rides through the adjoining cluster of palm trees and emerges onto a beach, then heads along the shore, enjoying the warmth of the first rays of the sun. Something has shifted within him, and for the first time, he feels completely alive. Within twenty minutes, he is home.

Athira is pacing the garden outside their house waiting for him. “Where have you been?”

The boy in Yudi is a little scared of his father’s anger, yet somewhere in the previous twenty-four hours he has grown, almost a man in many ways. He merely glances at Athira as he dismounts and leads the horse into a small stable to the right of the garden. In the next stall, his father’s horse looks up, butting him affectionately. Every movement is relaxed as he takes the harness off and pours water into the trough.

In a fine rage now, Athira stomps up to Yudi and shakes him by the shoulder. “Shaitan is about to destroy our planet, and you…you are happy to just groom your horse.”

Yudi catches his father’s hand in a surprisingly strong grip. “Don’t push it, old man.” It is the first time he has spoken to his father as if they were equals.

He releases Yudi and takes a deep breath. “I was worried about you.”

“Worried? What happened?”

“I received a transmission from Pluto.”

Dirt lifts into the air from the horse’s short hair as Yudi continues to rub down the animal, using circular patterns with his brush. “I didn’t know you still kept in touch with those on Pluto. Thought you had left all that behind.”

“Not completely; I am in touch with some of my old buddies. You never know when we may need friends. One of them reached out to warn me.”

“Warn you?”

“Yes. Shaitan is on his way to Ka Surya. They showed me what had become of other planets where he has been already. Tortured and burnt by—”

“Shaitan?” Yudi stands still for a few seconds, then resumes his earlier actions.

“It was just a matter of time. We always knew this was going to happen.”

Yudi throws down his grooming brush and walks around the horse to Athira.

“After destroying Uranus and Neptune, he seemed to have slowed down. I thought he may even have forgotten Ka Surya. No such luck. We must leave.”

“Why, Father? Why not stay and fight?”

Athira puts his arms around his adopted child. “Yudi, you are my son and nothing can change that.” Love and sorrow fill his eyes. “Yet…yet I live with this nameless fear that you will be taken away.”

He sounds once more like the petulant young boy he really is and he snarls, “Nothing will happen to me!”

“What about the birthmark?”

“That doesn’t mean a thing.” He rubs his left hip, where he bears the strange mark that is the bane of himself and his father. “I don’t want to leave!”

Father and son stare at each other in challenge, the same obstinate expression on both faces. “You don’t have a choice, Yudi. Where I go, you follow, at least until you are sixteen.”

Fed up with all this talk, Yudi grabs a bag of oats for the horse. His mind is still full of his earlier meeting with Tiina, and he just wants to keep that sweet feeling close.

“I have a surprise for you, and when you see it, I promise you will feel differently about leaving Ka Surya.”

“Hmm!” Right! Likely story. “You are not going to show me another yoga posture, are you?”

“It’s something you have never seen before. You don’t want to miss this, Yudi, I promise. Come on.” Athira drops the brush and slaps the horse on its rump. “Let’s get some food and water for the journey, shall we?”

A reluctant Yudi drags his feet as he follows his father from the stable. It’s not fair!

They cross the garden before entering the house. Then a thought strikes Athira. “Hold on! You never told me where you were all night.”

Yudi barely pauses in the middle of packing his backpack with essentials. “I was at the palace.”

Athira chokes on the quick sip of water from his bottle. “The palace? What were you doing there? Playing hide-and-seek with the princesses?”

Yudi chuckles. “You could say that!”

“Yudi!”

“Okay, okay! Well it seems…,” he hesitates, “it does seem like I’ve met her.”

“Who?”

“You know who…um…the one…you know!”

“The one?” Confusion pinches his father’s brow, then suddenly his face smoothes as understanding dawns. “Ah! You mean the one! You are too young to know what you want right now, let alone decide about the one. What do you know about the one, anyway?”

“That’s not fair! When did you know?”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. But I was much older than you when I met her and had seen the world already.”

“You always said that age has nothing to do with it.”

“When it suits me, yes.”

“You mean when it makes you feel young.”

“You are growing up too fast, Yudi.”

“I can’t wait!” He rolls his eyes.

“And I’m proud of you, too, but we have to leave.”

“Yes. I know. What will you tell the king?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? So we just slip away…?”

“We don’t have much time.”

The words are hardly out of his mouth when the walls of the house shake, sending the pots and pans on the shelves crashing to the floor.

After shipping his bag over his shoulder, Athira springs into action. “I am going to get what we need for the journey.”

“Father!”

He disregards his son and runs up the stairs into his bedroom.

Yudi walks to the window and looks out in time to hear an explosion in the distance. A huge burst of flame rises to the sky near the palace. Open-mouthed, he gawps as the flame becomes a cloud of smoke, then he is shaken out of his reverie by Athira, who runs down the stairs with two swords in protective sheaths.

He throws the smaller one across to Yudi, who secures it on his back with the leather scabbard strap across his chest. The sword is almost as a big as him and is heavy, but he does not complain. Athira mirrors Yudi’s movements, cinching his own sword between his shoulders.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Yudi has not moved from the window. Tiina! As the fire continues to burn in the distance, he tells Athira, “We must get her.”

“Who?”

“I can’t leave without her.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Athira has not even finished speaking when Yudi walks over, and much to the surprise of both of them, strikes Athira on the shoulder.

“Ouch!” Athira gasps more in surprise than pain.

“Don’t say that again!”

Unhappiness tightens his jaw. “Wow. Perhaps it is true love after all.”

“You have no idea. Are you coming?”

“We are so going to regret this!”

They run out of the house, lead their horses out of the stables, and mount them before racing back along the beach, retracing Yudi’s earlier route.

In just a few hours since his last journey to the palace, the scene has changed a great deal. The beach is filled with the bodies of dying human soldiers and the peculiar gooey, messy remains of slaughtered snake-like beings. Shaitan’s attack came from nowhere; even with the king’s warning, few were prepared for battle.

“Ugh!” Yudi shudders as his horse steps over various severed body parts covered in a horrible slimy liquid—blood. “Where did they come from?”

“Don’t be surprised. There are all manners of creatures in Shaitan’s army and these are just one of them.”

Some of those who are not dead try to attack them, and the two riders pull out their swords, cutting their opponents down. One particularly tenacious creature gets onto the saddle behind Yudi, and he spurs his horse forward, the creature hanging off for almost half a mile before Athira gets close enough to kill it from behind.

Finally, they arrive at the palace and dismount.

Athira shakes the sweat out of his eyes. “This is bad, Yudi! Really bad!”

He does not reply and runs into the palace, passing the bodies of dead guards and wounded maids moaning for help. The corridors and rooms are untouched, as if someone took a sharp blade and let it scratch against the walls all the way through, leaving only a single trail of destruction.

Yudi and Athira follow the line zigzag fashion, cutting diagonally through the rooms and up to the balcony where Yudi stood less than twenty-four hours before. With a sinking heart, he enters. The bed is in complete disarray, but the rest of the room is untouched. Tiina is such a vital presence that her absence sucks all the energy out of the space—the quiet at the centre of the storm.

Yudi’s heart beats fast and then stops. I am too late.

Athira, who had fallen behind, finally bursts into the room and brushes by Yudi. “She is not here.”

Where is she? Had he found her just to lose her so quickly? Her laughter echoes in his ears, fading away until all he can hear is silence. Refusing to accept reality, he squeezes his eyes shut.

Sympathetically, his father squeezes his shoulder. “We must go.”

“And leave her here?” He stands his ground.

An unusual softness eases the edge of his father’s urgent words. “I am sure she escaped. She is too smart to be captured, and you are of no use to her dead.”

“I am no use to myself alive!”

“Get a grip on your emotions. It doesn’t help if you give into your feelings.”

Yudi nods and, with an almost physical effort, pulls himself together. “I will find her.”

“I know you will.” Athira hugs him, then turns around and runs back the same way they came in, pulling Yudi with him.

This time Yudi is hard-pressed to keep pace with his father. On the way out, they encounter three of Shaitan’s soldiers. Before Athira can react, Yudi pulls out his sword and swings, his pent up emotions powering his arm. Within seconds all three are beheaded.

The head of the last one rolls along the corridor, coming to rest at Athira’s feet. He kicks it out of the way and sheaths his unused sword. Heavy footfalls echo along the hallway as he walks up to Yudi, who is panting heavily, his eyes still fixed on the figures on the ground. Yudi blinks as Athira silently takes the sword from his hand, shakes it so that the blood drops scatter, and then places it back in its sheath. With an unspoken understanding, they break into a run out of the palace, and within minutes are at the horses.

They reach the house, pass the stables, and with Athira leading, race across the field behind the stables, heading to where the edge of the property backs into a small hill. Then, to Yudi’s shock, Athira dismounts and walks over to the side of the small hill, places his palms together, closes his eyes, and goes into a meditative state. After a few moments of utter stillness, he opens his eyes, rubs his palms together, and places his right palm facedown on a prominent boulder.

Nothing happens for a few seconds, then the mountain shakes and dissolves. It fades, leaving a massive shining globe in its place. The globe catches the sun and reflects the rays into Yudi and Athira’s eyes. The glow dies and they open their eyes, adjusting to the scene in front of them.

“You have a spacecraft?” asks Yudi in awe.

“We. We have a spacecraft.”

“How did you do that? Obviously you are more than just a sword master to the royal family. ”

“I take it you like our new means of transportation?” All the pride of a new father radiates from him as he grins.

“What’s not to like?” He walks around the gleaming vehicle. “It looks…uh…fast.”

“It is. I think!”

“You think? Meaning…? Don’t tell me that you’ve never been on it before,” he says as Athira shakes his head.

“I did take it for a spin, once…after a fashion. Well, I only finished fixing it up a few days ago!”

“How long have you been working on it?”

“Since you were born.”

Yudi looks at him in amazement. “You kept it a secret all this time?”

“I found it very close to where I found you.”

“And you’ve been fixing it up ever since? I’m supposed to believe you knew that we would need it someday?”

“Something like that. I have followed Shaitan’s progress across the galaxy. It was only a matter of time before he came to Ka Surya. A small, healthy, rich planet such as Ka Surya is an ideal target for him.”

Athira approaches the spacecraft and taps the side closest to him. The panel slides open with a healthy lack of vibration and no hint of sound.

About to follow, Yudi hesitates. “The horses?”

“What about them? No, Yudi, we can’t take them on this journey. Animals simply don’t do well on interplanetary journeys—it puts a strain on half lives and humans as it is, but would kill them for certain.”

Just like the lion cub, he must leave his best friends since the cub behind, and he frowns, refusing to budge. “Father!”

“Trust me on this, Yudi. They are better off if you let them loose here.”

“Can I come back for them?”

“Okay. I promise we will be back for them. Go on. Let them go. Hurry!”

Somewhat mollified by Athira’s words, Yudi runs post-haste to the horses and unties them. When they refuse to move, he rubs the nose of his favorite.

“This is not good-bye; I promise I will be back.” He slaps him on his flanks. “Go on! Get out of here.”

With a whinny, he runs to the field, followed by the other. Dejected, he turns toward the spacecraft without a backward glance.

Athira has the spacecraft ready for takeoff by the time Yudi drops into the co-pilot’s seat.

“Where are we going?”

“Pluto. We’ll stay with my friend ’til things calm down.” Athira pulls the lever forward and the craft rises into the air a few feet, then settles back with a thump, the lights on the console clicking off.

“Oops, sorry.” Athira laughs in embarrassment. “Let me try again.”

Once more the craft rises up into the air, this time a few feet higher than before. Just as it feels like it is about to take off, the ship drops back to the soil.

“Dad!” cries Yudi, impatience writ large on his face. “Why don’t you let me take over?”

“You? And where did you learn to fly spacecrafts? You barely know how to ride a horse.”

“You are not the only one with secrets. Come on, let me just give it a try.”

Athira reluctantly takes the seat vacated by Yudi, who confidently slides into the driver’s seat and flicks on the controls. In seconds, the craft vibrates and takes off into the air, rising straight into the sky. Yudi positions it at the correct height and moves forward smoothly so they sail straight up over the trees, with the sea dropping away rapidly below. In minutes they are above the shoreline of Ka Surya.

Athira examines the navigation console and plots a course to Pluto. As the spacecraft pulls into the atmosphere, Ka Surya fills the screen, and for a few seconds, looms large. Then, as they pull away, it shrinks. Soon it is a small circular planet, its surface a healthy green interspersed with blue. The bottom of the circle begins to fill up, as if a large tap has been opened, and water flows through, first slowly in drops, and then faster. The blue rises.

At first they both admire the spectacle, until they realise at the same time that the planet is being destroyed.

“The Sea of Infinity!”

Athira nods. “It is rising, overrunning the land, wiping it out.”

“Is that really possible?”

“I’ve heard about it, read about it, never thought that it could really happen.”

“Isn’t Ka Surya supposed to be indestructible?”

“Water…it was foretold that Ka Surya would meet its end through water.”

“It seems the prediction is true.”

“Only Shaitan’s powers could have commanded the seas to rise up and devour the land. That’s what we are now, a mere statistic in the history books.”

“So we will not be returning for a while.”

Athira shakes his head. “When the land rises again…”

“I will be back,” vows Yudi as the planet recedes in the distance. He closes his eyes, holding back the tears he rising perilously close to the surface.

4

Saturn, 3000

Some things one just has to do by oneself. Like making love to a beautiful female. Or feeling the rush of delight in journeying through space in my spaceship, from where I can watch the comets blaze by.

Of late Shaitan had simply sat contemplating the breadth of his empire.

Still trying to show Father that you are the best of all his sons, eh? A voice whispers and he pushes it away. Shiva is likely not bothered by what his illegitimate son is up to.

Just like you didn’t want your own son to live? his conscience whispers again, and Shaitan wonders if he is simply getting old and mellowing a little to feel such emotions.

Unlike humans, half lives are less sentimental, but it seems that just like their human cousins, they feel protective toward their young. Shaitan reminds himself that he does not have a choice. It may have been ten years since he started on his mission of conquering new planets and making them part of his kingdom, yet he feels as hungry as on his first voyage.

As his spaceship approaches Ka Surya, the beauty of the planet has even a cynic like him in its thrall. What all the space pundits say is right. This is the jewel of all the galaxies. He could have mistaken it for pictures of ancient Earth, with its blue waters framing the green landmasses that studded its surface. It is much smaller of course, about one-fourth the size of Earth.

As he sets his spaceship upon the shores of the sea, joining the more than fifty smaller vessels already parked there, he feels the familiar excitement that comes from another conquest. Ka Surya was one of the farthest planets from his home planet of Saturn. This was one of the reasons he had not ventured to it, but having fought and defeated almost all the other significant ones, its turn had eventually come.

Shaitan had sent most of his chosen army ahead to get the siege on Ka Surya underway, and had followed at a more leisurely pace.

As he sets foot on the shore, he pauses to admire the beauty of the early morning with the sun just beginning to rise over the sea. The sunrays catch the soaring spires of the royal palace in the distance, its windows glinting in the morning sunlight. After hefting his favourite long blade over his back—he does not think there will be need to use it—he walks at a steady pace through the sand toward the building in the distance.

His heavy black leather boots sink into the sand, imprinting the grains with his mark. So like the siege about to befall this planet, he thinks with delight, comfortable in his black leather trousers and his favourite turquoise armour vest. Around his forehead is a band of dull beaten gold with a dark blue sapphire glowing in it. Shaitan doesn’t normally wear jewellery, but occasions like this demand a certain level of pomp and pageantry, hence the more formal clothing showing his official status.

His contemplative mood is broken by a distant scream. And so it begins. After picking up his pace, he walks in the direction of the scream. The sandy beach gives way to the carefully tended palace gardens, but Shaitan does not notice the various exotic flowers growing there. Tulips, nor roses, nor fragrant jasmine creepers hold his attention. As he crosses the threshold of the palace, he reaches for his sword and steps into the building. Ignoring the sounds of fighting from the rooms he passes, he runs up two floors and then walks down the long corridor to the room at the very end. The sounds grow muted, for his soldiers have not yet reached this far.

He walks into the room and pauses for a second, looking at the figures sleeping in the twin beds at the far end against the windows. On his journey to Ka Surya, he had decided to spare the lives of the twin princesses and instead adopt them. He could not let any of his own children live thanks to Shiva’s curse, so the next best thing would be to adopt children. As long as they were not of his flesh and blood, he would be safe and could finally have a family of his own. The twin princesses were famed for their beauty, and being of royal blood, they would do nicely for his children.

His eyes flick over the posters on the walls and he smirks. The girls seem to be fans of rock ’n roll bands from the 1960s and 70s. They are from another lifetime; now long gone they had been popular many centuries ago on ancient Earth, but of late their music enjoyed a revival amongst the younger generation around the galaxies.

A very strange coincidence, Shaitan muses, since he too is partial to music from that era. We are going to be one big happy family.

He must have chuckled aloud, for though his footsteps make no sound, both the girls open their eyes. The one on the left cries out in terror at seeing him.

With a smooth movement, the other girl swings up, grasping a sword at her bedside. After standing on the bed in her bedclothes, her long hair streaming behind her, she challenges him. “Fight me!”

Shaitan laughs at her audacity, scaring the other girl, who runs from her bed to her sister’s, and clings to her legs in terror.

“Help me, Tiina! He’s here for me!”

He raises his eyes, training his gaze on the terrified girl, and smiles a slow, luxurious, hypnotic grin. After transferring his sword into his left hand, he beckons her to him with his right.

The one who is standing holds onto the other girl fiercely. “Oh, no you’re not!”

Shaitan betrays no emotion and beckons again to the girl clinging to Tiina. This time she gets to her feet. Her movements are slow, as if in a trance, as strides across the bed toward Shaitan.

“Maya!”

Tiina screams and lunges toward her. She tries to hold onto Maya, only to be struck by Shaitan’s sword and thrown off the bed. Smack, her head strikes the side of the bed, and she lies on the ground, unmoving.

5

When she regains consciousness, Shaitan is gone and so is Maya. With an effort, she gets to her feet, holding her bleeding forehead.

As the adrenaline kicks in, she runs out to the palace grounds and is greeted by complete silence. Not even the birds chirp. The fires burning in the city make the air smell like sulphur. She continues walking and is assailed by a sweet, almost aromatic, smell.

Curious, she jogs toward it, not quite understanding the smell’s source. Her foot catches on something and she stumbles. It might be a rotting tree branch. She prods it curiously, turning the limb over with her toes. Then it hits her—a burnt leg still attached to a corpse.

Tiina gapes at the scene in front of her, taking it all in for the first time, then she falls to the ground, heaving at the edge of a sea of dead people. Soldiers killed, massacred. Bodies stretched out across the beach, rushing out to meet the waves, the waters turning red with blood, reflecting the red sunset.

It’s almost pretty in a gruesome way, she notes, rising to her knees and burying her head in her hands.

The sound of approaching footsteps breaks her out of her reverie. It is far from safe.

Once on her feet, she races to the stables, past the horses still munching away, which turn to look at her, a little disturbed by her abrupt arrival. Amazed that they are still alive, she slows down and quiets them. Then, after walking to the back, she slips into the shadows. She hides in the quiet and, losing track of time, nods off, exhaustion and her pounding head wound catching up with her.

She comes to with a start, not sure what has disturbed her. Nervous tension builds in her and sweat trickles down her face before stinging her eyes. She draws in a deep breath, trying to quell the heavy, dark fear threatening to leap out and grip her again, then freezes as a shadow enters the stables, followed by another.

The two creatures walk noiselessly around the stalls and, by the light reflecting off their swords, she can see fleeting glances of their swarthy faces. Half human, half animal, almost snake, is the closest that she can tell, yet they are much scalier, like prehistoric beasts, and walk with a slithering grace.

They have a soft spot for the horses, which in turn reciprocate their affection. One of the scaly things slithers to the closest palfrey, patting it on the nose, and the creature nuzzles him affectionately. The other steeds shake their heads, snorting in appreciation.

One of the snake men looks up, cocking its head as if listening to something beckoning him from afar. It signals to the other and they change to a fully reptilian form, and then slither out in a flash.

Tiina takes a deep breath and falls back against the wall of the stable; the strength goes out of her legs and she sinks to the floor, fresh tears springing to her eyes as overwhelming relief pours over her. She lies spent for a few minutes, which seem like hours, before dozing off again.

When she next wakes, she wipes the dry tears from her eyes. From somewhere deep inside her core, strength bubbles up, and she reaches a threshold, a decision. She has had enough of being the victim, of being chased, of hiding.

“I am the princess, the future ruler of Ka Surya,” she whispers. Perhaps hearing the sound of her voice will restore some semblance of normalcy to the situation. “I will not hide here like a coward while everything around me collapses.”

Enemies wait for her, but determined to make her escape, she rises. “And if I die trying, so be it,” she says with vehemence. She checks to make sure the coast is clear and walks out of her hiding place and up to her favourite mare.

Patting it on the neck she leans in close and coos, “My life depends on you.”

Fresh tears threaten to engulf her again, and she hastily saddles the horse and mounts. They leave the stables and she coaxes the animal through the shrubs and the rocks before riding down to the shore. Her heart is in her mouth as the mare slips and slides on damp rocks to the beach below. Finally picking up speed, they fly through the sand, her face close to the horse’s mane.

“I am not afraid, I am not afraid, I am not afraid!” she chants and hangs onto the familiarity of the words, drawing courage from them, blocking any doubts or fears from entering her mind.

She keeps looking behind anxiously, but no one gives chase. All through the night she rides, and by daybreak, emerges on the far side of the city, at the base of a plateau that marks the easternmost boundary of the kingdom. She urges the mare as far up as possible, and when it gets too precarious to ride further, dismounts and walks the rest of the way, leading the animal. Once on the flat plateau, she shushes her mare and hides behind the silver buildings that form the periphery of the base station.

Other residents of the planet have had the same idea, for various spaceships of all sizes take off, packed with people and families. After getting back on the horse, she races toward the royal spaceship, which is being filled to capacity. She wordlessly guides the mare up the gangplank with the other streaming hordes of people, but is stopped before boarding.

“No animals,” says a guard. “They can’t survive jumps.”

Reluctantly, she dismounts and pats the mare’s nose before removing the bridle and saddle. Until now, she had managed not to cry, but leaving her favourite horse behind is too much, and the tears spill forth. She hugs her companion and then backs off, watching as she trots away.

Tiina huddles down inside the ship, having secured herself, and takes a last look at the planet through the window, knowing in her heart that she will never see it again.

The spaceship doors shut and the craft takes off just as Shaitan’s men surge up the mountain from all sides. One of them points up at the spaceship, straight to where she is peering through the window. He beckons to others, who run toward the ship, but it is too late, for they are already on their way.

She can only watch helplessly as the rest of the base with her people and the remaining ships are torched. Flames from the buildings on the perimeter of the space station leap up, forming a circle of pain. She shuts her eyes, only opening them much later.

6

Saturn, 2990

She names him Darich after Keane Richards of the Rising Drones, the most infamous rock act in the galaxy, thus setting the tone of his life. Yet with his first drawn breath, her son renounces any association with the band and insists people call him Rai. He claims it is shorter, easier to pronounce, and translates across all cultures around the galaxy.

Thalia, Rai's mother, is the favourite groupie of the Rising Drones, their designated navigator, showpiece eye candy, sometimes stand-in stage performer, carrier of equipment, pleasure partner, and, on occasions when the driver is too inebriated, even spacecraft pilot. Like every other devoted groupie, she has followed them all around the universe.

On this occasion, the Drones are on their way to perform for Shaitan. It is the once-in-a-lifetime gig that all bands dream about—singing at the court of the king of the universe. The reward for a successful performance is a planet to call their own. The smallest celestial body in Shaitan’s kingdom, an empire which has now grown to gigantic proportions and stretches from Neptune to deepest space, could be theirs.

Shaitan is the new Alexander; a self-crowned king of all he surveys. The Drones are in thrall, deluded by the fantasy of a life lived in freedom. They are not aware of being manipulated by Shaitan. His control is absolute. Weaving dreams of ecstasy from thin air, he gives them what they want to feel.

Thalia is the highlight of their act, a naked human female swinging on a trapeze high above the crowds. In addition, as onlookers gape at the climax of the show, she loses her balance and falls into the crowd, straight into Shaitan’s lap. There, she holds onto him and there she stays.

What Thalia does not realise is how much of an end-of-the-line place this is. Almost three months to the date after meeting Shaitan, she finds out that she is pregnant. A possibility never considered blooms to life. In less than six months, Shaitan will be a father. About to walk into Shaitan’s rooms to tell him the news, she pauses to hear a conversation between two of his guards.

One guard says, “I thought everyone knew about the curse of Shiva.”

The second guard shakes his head. “No. I didn’t know, either.”

After shifting to a more comfortable stance, the first says, “Legend is that, angry at Shaitan’s impudence in claiming that he is as powerful as Shiva, the god curses him. ‘Your own son will kill you one day,’ he says.”

“Really? Cursed by Shiva the supreme himself, and yet all these years Shaitan lives without any worries that it may come true?”

“Yes, because in response to Shiva’s outburst, Shaitan simply bows his head.”

“Ha! That’s a surprise. Shaitan’s temper is second perhaps only to Shiva.”

“Like father, like son!”

The other chuckles.

Sounding pleased at his own wit, the first guard continues. “Yes, no tantrums from Shaitan; he doesn’t lose his cool this time.”

“A rare display of sanity.”

The first guard nods. “You bet! Shiva, too, is surprised by his calm acceptance. He asks Shaitan if he isn’t worried by what this will mean for him.”

“And?”

“And Shaitan replies that life finds a way; it always does.”

“Now, that is really rare—Shaitan quoting philosophy.”

“Ah, but he is smart. He obviously knew how Shiva would react to this.”

“And then?”

“Well, of course, Shiva’s generosity takes over. He is impressed by Shaitan’s cool acceptance, and feels perhaps he has been rash. So he tries to make amends for his earlier outburst.”

“This is really impressive. You know my esteem for our dark lord just went up quite a few notches.”

“Shiva throws him a lifeline. He tells Shaitan that there is one way to avoid the earlier curse.” He pauses for effect.

“Well? Go on!”

“He tells Shaitan that the only way to avoid his fate is to not have any children. Shaitan realises that he really could overcome the curse and its consequences. So, in reply, Shaitan simply bows and accepts what his father has said.”

“Go on.”

“Well, he leaves, but Shaitan being Shaitan cannot hold back from his usual actions, can he? He resumes his bid to rule the universe and continues his expedition.”

“So there is no change whatsoever to his cruel ways?”

“Ah! But there is. He takes a vow—which, by the way, he seems to have just broken with that groupie—of not letting any of his lovers live, just to be sure that there are no children.”

Their conversation is interrupted by a shuffling noise from the far end of the corridor. Both come to attention and snap out of their earlier jovial mood before running toward the source of the sound.

The full impact of the conversation she has just overheard has Thalia rooted to the spot. The enormity of the situation makes sense to her. Shaitan mates and then kills, making sure not to leave anything to chance. There are no messy endings. Still, she had not expected him to be happy at the news, but had at least hoped for his support. How she could have missed that Shaitan always kills his mistresses is beyond her.

“So, this is why our lovemaking is always so intense. It’s almost like he dies with each climax. This is why he really does see only me when we are together.”

Only during this most intimate of occasions, does Shaitan reveal his true self. All of his experiences are distilled into those few seconds, for there is no hope for him after. A protective instinct swells in her, focused on her yet unborn child.

“He will not hurt my son!”

That night, Thalia makes love to Shaitan as if it is the first time. Matching him move for move, she is the exhale to his every inhale. The touch of her hand sets his skin on fire, maddens him to a passionate high from which he can only look forward to going all the way down. She circles his neck with her fingers in affection.

“You and me, we are the same, yet so very different,” she says.

Still inside her, Shaitan looks at Thalia through eyes glazed with passion. She reaches for the knife on the table beside the bed and plunges it into his neck. Stunned, Shaitan falls unconscious. Thalia runs out into the corridor and past the guards, who race into Shaitan’s room.

Without a backward glance, she races to the other end of the corridor and onto the adjoining rooftop quadrangle, toward Shaitan’s personal space-pod. After clambering into the driving seat, she fumbles around the controls, trying to start the machine. The guards have already emerged from the palace onto the open terrace, intent on stopping her. One of the guards drops to a knee; the other remains standing. As one they raise their bows, slip out the arrows from their quivers in well-rehearsed fashion, and take aim.

Sweat pours down her face, and with a sob on her breath and a prayer on her lips, Thalia hits the pale blue button below the steering control. The ship fires up and rises into the sky, hovers for a second, then gains momentum and zooms straight up into the heavens. The soldiers on the ground let loose their arrows in pursuit.

A pre-planned trajectory takes the pod halfway over the city in under a second before the space-pod gathers more speed. The force pushes Thalia back against the seat and, breaking the light barrier, catapults her out of the orbit of Saturn.

Thalia collapses against her chair, adrenaline draining out of her as she escapes with her newly-conceived child. She lets the space-pod carry her along, and weeps in gut-wrenching sobs, burying her head in her hands, desperately hoping Shaitan never finds her.

7

Shaitan recovers quickly from the grazing wound she dealt him and gets to his feet, runs out of his room, and onto the open quadrangle. He looks to the skies in time to see his space-pod disappear into the next dimension. After working up to a fine rage, he yells for Yaksha, his right hand man. One of the few pure bred humans on Saturn, Yaksha was retained by Shaitan not just because of his fighting prowess, but also because his very presence is enough to drive many an enemy to commit suicide rather than face death at his hands.

“Yaksha!” Shaitan’s voice has not even died away when a tall mountain of a man with shoulders as wide as a small planet and a face as dark as the night sky looms in the entrance to the terrace. He is dressed in a fitted armour vest that covers him to his waist and fatigue trousers ending in combat boots. In his right hand is his favourite weapon, a gigantic axe, and on his face he wears a smile.

Shaitan merely raises his eyebrows at the enormous man, and watches as Yaksha’s smile breaks into a grin, happy at the prospect of a quick spot of entertainment to brighten up his day. He walks over to the soldiers and strides around them, then kicks their feet out so they fall on their backs. Both close their eyes as he takes careful aim and swings his massive axe down, first on one, and then the other, slicing off their heads.

Shaitan is quiet as he continues to stare at where the space-pod had been originally docked. Anger sears through him. “Find her, Yaksha. Tell me where she is, so I can put an end to this story before it begins.”

Yaksha nods and retreats, making very little noise for a man of his bulk.

* * *

In the year 3000, there were still ten planets in the solar system, but gone was the old order. Earth continued to be the third planet to orbit around the sun. Mercury and Venus were where they had always been, orbiting around the father-like figure of the sun, and still the closest planets to the sun.

Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn stayed in that order, following Earth. Saturn was Shaitan’s home planet, and they were made for each other. Both were dark, brooding, temperamental, filled with surprises, and too restless to stay in one place for long periods of time. The planets after Saturn had changed; the force of Shaitan’s personality and the burden of his conquests had been borne by the planets closest to it. Gone were Uranus, Neptune, and the planet of Ka Surya, which had been discovered more recently. By following in the footsteps of the human conquerors before him, Shaitan had taken one planet at a time. Before long, common sense dictated that if he destroyed all the other planets in the solar system, he would be left with nothing and no one to rule. Instead of destroying planets, he had merely contented himself with bending them to his will.

After Saturn came Pluto. Unlike Ka Surya, which was governed by the royal family, Pluto was more of a democracy, though a barely functioning one at that. It was not as rich in mineral resources, either, and so had escaped Shaitan’s attention.

Hiding behind Pluto and the equivalent of being just a peck on its cheek, was the much smaller planet of Java, with Ka Surya right behind it. It had been discovered much later, and for a while, its position as the second from last planet in the solar system protected it from Shaitan’s wrath; yet, he eventually reached and destroyed it in search of his progeny.

After which, Shaitan had slowed down, sparing the other planets complete destruction. Mars and Jupiter had been plundered at length by him for all manner of possessions, from arms and weaponry, to armies and beautiful females of all species to add to his palace.

But he had stopped short when it came to Earth, for nature had beaten him to it, unleashing its own secret chest of horrors on the planet, ravaging it with tsunamis, tornados, earthquakes, volcanoes; every natural disaster that had laid dormant had spewed forth over the last decade, destroying many of its proud cities. While Shaitan had been to Earth a few times, he had stopped short of looting it further. Giving into his weakness for the female of the pure human species, he had contented himself with stealing away an occasional human and sometimes a half life.

Bringing up the rear and on the edge of the arm of the Milky Way, after the erstwhile Ka Surya, was the newly discovered planet of Arkana.

8

It takes six months to track Thalia down. Yaksha sends soldiers to all the planets in the galaxy looking for her. Shaitan wants to search for her himself, but Yaksha convinces him that his time is better spent putting his army together and assures his ruler she will be found. Days, then months, trickle by without any sign of Thalia, and Shaitan grows impatient.

His anger has calmed into a burning curiosity after the first few weeks. It is as if Shiva himself has conspired to help her stay hidden. Mixed with it all is an unfamiliar feeling. He misses Thalia, her vitality, the way she lights up the space around her. The sheer joy for life she has, for enjoying what she has, and her fierce emotions have vanished, leaving him empty. The intensity of her passion has always taken him by surprise. The physical he always had, but with Thalia, he wonders if she had begun to awaken his human side. Is that why I have to go after and destroy her? Or is it still because I cannot not let any children of mine live?

When Yaksha’s spies finally track Thalia on Earth, he springs into action. One way or another, he will face his doubts and answer his questions. Action! Something he understands better than sitting around biding his time and waiting to strike.

Shaitan smiles in anticipation; his excitement is almost child-like. The familiar thrill of the chase kicks in. Earth! He has a reason to pay the mother planet another visit.

The ruby in the centre of his sword’s hilt glows deep as he straps it to his back. Then out of habit, he takes the dull gold band with the dark blue sapphire in the centre and places it around his head. He strides across the open terrace to the other side, presses a few buttons on the wall and the panels slide back, revealing a spaceship thrice the size of the one-person space-pod Thalia escaped in. He jumps into the pilot’s seat. The spaceship shoots out into the sky and toward the setting sun.

* * *

Thalia turns the space-pod toward Earth. Bombay is where she grew up and she decides that is where she will hide herself from Shaitan. Unaware of the shortcuts through wormholes, she takes the normal interplanetary trade routes past the planets of Jupiter and Mars, finally reaching Earth.

After landing in Bombay, she docks the ship on top of one of the abandoned buildings of the city. She walks out of the space-pod and onto the terrace of the building. It is not a high structure and is surrounded by much taller towers.

As she tries to orient herself, she spots a familiar signpost in the distance; a simulated holographic image, the Goddess Mumbadevi, the patron goddess of Bombay towers over the city.

The four limbed, curvaceous figure with long black hair flowing to her waist, is clad in an ochre coloured saree draped in the traditional Indian nine yards style. She has a trident clutched in her upper right hand, in her lower, a sword. Her upper left hand holds a pink lotus bud, and from her other left hand, a steady downpour of gold coins rains down on the city, bringing hope to the souls of Bombay. She extends halfway up to the skies, watching over the city, following the citizens going about their lives.

Thalia looks to her for a minute in awe.

If only she could find a way to stay hidden for the next six months, yet she does not know where to go. And then inspiration strikes. What better place to hide is there than in front of the figure of the goddess herself, where she would be protected? Surely the goddess would keep an eye on her. It may be just an emotional crutch, but that is all she has to go on right now. She is young and healthy, and she wants to live at least until her son is delivered. I have to get through it for him.

After returning to the space-pod, she guides it across to the tower and situates it right in front of the image. The space-pod was not made for interplanetary travel and is on its last legs. She lands it on the building just as the engine loses power. Better get used to it, she thinks of her loneliness, for this is her home until her son is born.

There's no other world out there where everything is going to be peaceful. There is just this, Earth, my reality, where I, a woman on my own, am nothing. Had I actually hoped that we would be a family? That I could tame the most powerful being in the galaxy? She didn’t know what she had been thinking anymore.

Looking around her at the planet on which she had once lived, she feels nothing. She doesn’t care about anything anymore. It is just about him; she touches her womb. Her son would stand in his own light, she is sure of it, or she would die trying to make sure he would.

* * *

The first labour pain cuts into her, as if someone has plunged a hot knife into her and is tearing it along her side. The agony grows in intensity, and she pants, trying to breathe into it. Is it possible to actually fan this agony further? She wonders as it radiates from the centre of her back until it covers the entire upper half of her body.

She holds up her hands, wondering in desperation if she could shake out the rays of pain from her fingertips, then she doubles over as it whips into her before subsiding.

Then just as she begins to relax, the coming onslaught, which is more concentrated than the previous wave, strikes; her stomach muscles tighten and her neck muscles harden as if preparing for war. It is war!

She screams out in terror as the torture rushes through her, overwhelming her. Tears pour down her cheeks as she tries to breathe through it, focussing on the single glowing light on the control panel of the space-pod. A prayer to the goddess, whose eyes follow her every move, does not help. The goddess is unresponsive, grinning back as the energy fades out of Thalia completely. The ring of fire gripping her centre forces her to grit her teeth, bracing for the final tidal wave of hurt, which carries her into the final stage, gushing out of her, bringing Rai into the world. She sees the child through a bewildering dream-like haze, the edges rippling with the aftereffects of the fading agony, before losing consciousness.

Quite some time passes before the baby’s cries finally penetrate her awareness. With a groan, she manages to sit and clutches the baby to her chest before wrapping him in her scarf.

The child stops crying as she kisses his forehead. For a few seconds more, she looks at him, her perfect creation. Then her eyes are drawn to a speck far behind the holographic goddess and she watches it head in her direction. It flies right through the hologram, toward her—a spaceship, similar in design to the pod, yet much bigger.

“Shaitan!”

The wrath of Shaitan is coming and she must save her newborn, hide him away before the self-proclaimed king arrives. Still sluggish from the pain of childbirth, she gets to her feet with superhuman effort.

Clutching the child, now asleep in her arms, she dashes to the nearest entrance and heads down the staircase. As she descends, she searches in desperation for a place to hide the baby. She continues to run down the steps and then across the floor below, and there finds a panel to an opening in the wall—a transportation shaft, normally used to dump trash.

She hesitates only for a second. As an afterthought, she takes off the chain around her neck and places it around the child. After pausing only to wipe away her tears, she places the child on the shelf behind the panel and closes it. She plays with the keypad to make sure that it drops all the way to the bottom of the building. The gears change and the shelf is transported down, taking the sleeping child with it.

Then Thalia climbs the stairs and walks onto the terrace. Shaitan steps out from his ship and swaggers over to her. As she watches him approach, Thalia tries not to show how terrified she is. He is the very picture of the devil, yet even in that weakened state, a thrill runs through her and she cannot help but note how magnificent he appears.

A gust of wind lifts thick black hair that hangs almost to his shoulders. The turquoise vest over his torso sets off his ebony skin, and a smile plays around his lips. In silence, Shaitan pulls out his sword and continues toward her. His pace is measured, and with each step he takes, she quakes. Finally, her legs give way and she falls to her knees.

Shaitan pulls her up by her hair, exposing her neck. She raises her eyes and notices the dark blue sapphire on the gold band around his forehead glitter as if welcoming her to death. With hypnotic relief, she fixes her gaze on the shining stone, jolting in surprise as he leans over to kiss her. He runs his hands over her eyelids, gently closing them so that she does not see the sword descend before her head is swiped off in one stroke.

9

Yudi’s Journey: Pluto, 3016

The lightning strikes him down, charring him black with smoke ebbing out, and he awakes to the gut-wrenching pain.

Thump. Kreeee. Thump. Kreeeeee…

Yudi jolts into consciousness from the sound. He throws off the covers and pads onto the small terrace adjoining his bedroom, wearing just the pair of black shorts he sleeps in. He is on the eighteenth floor of a fifty-eight storey apartment block. The distance does not hinder the noise, which carries to him through the dawn air, growing louder by the second: Thump. Kreeee. THUMP. KREEEE…

Not again!

Down below, he sees the aged Plutonian female going about her early morning ritual of dragging the large steel pole, bumping down the sleeping escalator steps. Every morning at five o’clock without fail, that annoying noise wakes him up. And every morning he looks out the window to see her walking down the escalator, which would normally be running in the upward direction if it were switched on.

Why does she not take the path next to the escalator? It would make the going much easier for her. And where does she go with that one single steel pole every morning? He ponders her routine just as he has every morning.

Another of life’s great mysteries…just like the question of who my real father is. The thought comes unbidden, as if the urban chemistry swirling in the air is mocking him. The smog of the early dawn creeps in—a reminder of the clogged, urban city where he lives—masking the scene below until all he can see is his own face reflected in his mind’s eye.

Without turning, he reaches for the half-empty cigarette pack placed within arm’s length on the small wrought iron table on the terrace. He flicks on the vintage Ronson gas lighter, its golden casing long since rubbed away by frequent use to a dull brown. The cigarette paper crackles as it lights up. He pulls in a drag and exhales, watching the smoke as it melds with the smog, hitting the sticky side of the taller one hundred and eight storey-high apartment buildings on either side of the street. The smog slithers toward the other open window of the apartment diagonally opposite, where the young man living there often parades his women.

His heart begins to beat in sync to the thump, kreeee, thump, kreeee, even as the sound fades. He shuts his eyes. I am safe. I am safe. No. I am scared, so scared. Feeling so helpless is unstoppable, and the sensation grows within him.

After stubbing out the half-smoked cigarette with jerky movements, he reaches for another.

Athira’s voice rings in his ears. “Being sixteen isn’t permission to smoke your lungs out all in one go. You’ve got the rest of your life to live. Space it out a bit.”

He steels himself against the prick of consciousness that was bound to follow and continues to light his second cigarette of the day. As he pulls on the cigarette with his right hand, he plays with the faded Ronson in his left. Its smooth, much rubbed surface is a slight comfort. It’s the only reminder left of his father.

Adopted father, he corrects himself.

However much his logical mind tried to believe what Athira told him, his heart refused to listen. Athira would always remain both his father and mother. The man had not just raised him, but had showered him in love in a strong affectionate manner, which had bound them forever.

As usual, thinking of Athira sends his mind into overdrive and he shuts his eyes against the pain. He can feel every separate beat of his heart, realise the full breadth of his life, and discern each individual moment in that space.

So, this is how it feels to be powerless. His thoughts hang alongside the window and then hurtle against the glass, crashing into a thousand pieces in his mind.

Stop! Breathe! He admonishes himself, and clinging on, tries to haul himself up. Mentally, he stays suspended over the precipice for a few seconds, and then he is there, back on stable ground.

Yudi sighs and opens his eyes. Panic attacks have an annoying way of creeping up on him when he is at his most vulnerable. The images will come rushing back and once more his mind races over that well trodden memory path.

10

En route to Pluto, 3000

Pluto is the equivalent of a day and a half in terms of travelling time, yet a few light-years’ distance from Ka Surya; to the ten-year-old Yudi, it feels like they had been travelling forever. His terror at seeing Ka Surya meet its watery grave had been replaced with mounting excitement at the prospect of being on his first trans-planet trip on a spacecraft and his head is half giddy at the thought of the adventures in store for them. The ancient spacecraft shudders at the speed it travels, but has been holding firm on its course to Pluto.

Seeing Athira deep in thought, Yudi realises his father mourns the loss of his planet.

In respect for his grief, he had tried to stay quiet for as long as possible, strapped into the co-pilot’s seat to Athira’s right. At first, he had distracted himself by counting the stars they passed, but as the hours dragged by, they went deeper into space and even the stars stopped showing up.

Soon Yudi tires of staring into the black space. He glances at the clock on the control panel and realises that they have been travelling for the equivalent of almost an Earth day. He thinks he had already shown admirable restraint in not disturbing his father so far, but time is wearing on him.

Athira is as still as a stone statue with his hand steady on the joystick of the spacecraft. The occasional flick of his wrist coaxing the ship along is the only outward sign of life. His brow remains furrowed, showing deep contemplation.

Yudi wonders how to distract him without showing his boredom. He squirms around first discreetly, then openly. Finally, he snaps off his safety belt as the spacecraft tilts to the left to avoid an incoming meteor. Yudi promptly falls and strikes his head on the control panel between the pilot and co-pilot’s seat. That catches Athira’s attention and he turns to Yudi. The fact that he did not reprimand Yudi for undoing his belt is a clear sign he is still upset by the destruction of his home. Yudi sinks into the seat, straps himself back in, and rubs his forehead to soothe the pain.

“How much longer, Dad?” He uses the more endearing term instead of the more formal ‘Father’ he would normally use, hoping to ease Athira somewhat.

“A few more hours…or days.” Athira shrugs. “What difference does it make?”

Pleased to have a response, Yudi comments, “I always wonder why we still count time in Earth hours, even though we don’t live on Earth anymore.”

“Well, Earth is our mother planet; it is where all of us originated from. After we interbred with non-humans and populated other planets, it turned out that Earth’s concept of hours, days, and years was the easiest to follow for everyone. So even today, that is what we use.”

Athira smiles and stretches out his hand to ruffle Yudi’s hair.

Happy that he has Athira’s full attention, Yudi asks the question guaranteed to distract his father. “Have I always had this birthmark with all these dots arranged in such odd fashion?”

“It has five dots arranged in a quincunx.”

“A what?”

“Quincunx. Q-U-I-N-C-U-N-X. It’s pronounced ‘kwin–kenks,’ with a k.”

“Wow! You are smart, Dad!”

Athira’s voice turns hard. “What are you up to, Yudi?”

“What?”

“You never like to talk about it, and all of a sudden you ask me the very question you have always refused to discuss?”

It is delivered in a casual tone, but Yudi actually means it. “Well, I figure if I have to take revenge for Ka Surya, then I better know who I am going head-to-head with, right?”

Athira hesitates, then shrugs again, the fight visibly going out of him. “I suppose you have to know one day, and we have a few more hours to go after all.” He sets the craft to auto-pilot and turns to Yudi. “You already know how I found you.”

“Yes, the orange cloth.”

“Golden. It was golden just like your birthmark was.”

“Yes, the birthmark in the form of the five dots…a…a…” Yudi hesitates not brave enough to pronounce the word.

“Quincunx.”

Instinctively, Yudi touches the space over the side of his left hip where the birthmark is. “But it’s not golden now.”

“It’s faded over the years, but it’s there and as I recall, the quincunx is also Shaitan’s emblem.”

“Really?”

“So I guess you two have a connection.”

“Is he my…my birth father?”

“Maybe…actually, yes. I think you are his son.”

“That’s not so bad, right? I mean he is powerful and famous and rules over so many kingdoms. So, does that mean I am a prince?”

“You could say that. But you must be careful, Yudi, for Shaitan has sworn to kill his children. He has sworn not to let them live.”

“Why does Shaitan hate everything so much?”

“It’s a good question. Be sure to ask him if…when you meet him.”

“You think I will meet him?”

“He will find you one day, Yudi. Don’t underestimate him.”

“Why is he so angry?” He frowns, mirroring his father’s earlier contemplative expression.

“You would be, too, if your father cursed you to die a ghastly death at the hands of your own child.”

“But you found me!”

“I did.”

“You are my father, too, aren’t you, Dad? My true father.”

“I am.”

Yudi grins, glad to have pleased Athira. “I am going to be a great swordsman just like you.” As an example, he pulls the sword on his back from its scabbard and brandishes it in mock-threat.

His father’s voice fills with pride. “That you will be, too! If it is the last thing I ever do.”

Then, his attention is pulled back to the screen. Following his gaze, Yudi gasps in excitement, for they are almost upon an asteroid belt.

Athira exclaims aloud, and the explicit four letter word hangs in the air between them. “Belt up Yudi; this is the last mile before we get into orbit on Pluto.”

“I am already!” He almost jumps out of his seat in excitement, enjoying the exhilaration of the flight. Then a thought strikes him. “The horses.”

“Uh?”

“The horses. We are not going back for them, are we?”

“No, we are not.”

Upon hearing the finality in his father’s voice, Yudi subsides. It’s not fair!

Athira concentrates on navigating through the minefield of rocks. They clear the rocks flying at them from all directions and cross the asteroid belt without incident.

As the black and brown planet comes into view, both father and son absorb the view of their new home. Young as he is, Yudi realises their adopted world is nowhere as pretty as the place they left behind.

“I promise you, Father.”

At Athira’s absentminded grunt, Yudi clarifies.

“I promise to become accomplished at swordplay, and I will avenge the horses.”

Before Athira can comment, the radio crackles and his friend on Pluto—the same one who alerted them to Shaitan’s march on Ka Surya—makes contact, guiding them to land in a deserted field just outside Charon, the capital city of Pluto. This is where Athira and Yudi spend the next seven years of their lives.

With the enviable resilience of youth, Yudi takes to his life on Pluto like he grew up there. His days are full with academics at school and every spare minute is spent on practising swordplay with Athira. It doesn’t take him long to realise that his father misses his home planet and never really gets over seeing his childhood home destroyed.

In his first year on Pluto, Athira obsesses with teaching Yudi to master the blade. At ten, Yudi is quite adept at swordplay, but that is not enough for Athira, who pushes him to practise for more than five hours every afternoon after school, and without recourse to wearing armour.

Yudi often protests, his young body aching, his arms and chest bearing the brunt of Athira’s blade as he struggles to parry and thrust and evade the older man’s sword. Yet Athira is never sated, relentless in driving Yudi to be the best.

On a particularly tough day when Athira challenges Yudi more than necessary, he snaps, and finally gets the better of his father. With a skill born of anger and desperation, Yudi fights back, and in a surprise move, disarms Athira for the first time. After the two look at each other, panting, Athira bends to pick up the sword, which fell between them. He wipes the blade and puts it back in its sheath, then, taking Yudi by the arm, he leads his son home from the gym to the small flat they share in one of the typical multi-storey apartments of Pluto.

They sit down to an early dinner.

“You must wonder why I push you so hard at being good with the sword.”

Yudi doesn’t reply, too busy trying not to wince at the aches and pains riddling his body. Though they fight with real swords, the blades are covered for their protection. “Who cares?”

“Well, you should. It is the sword that may one day save your life.”

The urgency in his voice catches Yudi’s attention.

“It is the way of our world now that technology can only be used for transportation. It cannot be used in battle or hurt anyone.”

“Why are you telling me this? Its something I have already learnt in school from reading the Laws of our World.”

“What they probably haven’t told you is what I remember from when I was your age, when humans used guns and lasers.”

Wow! The talk of guns and strange weapons fascinated Yudi. “Really? And have you used a gun or a laser weapon?”

“I remember holding a gun before it was outlawed.”

“Why would they do that? It would be so much more exciting to fight with guns, like in the old movies.” Yudi makes his right hand into a mock gun and fires.

Athira smiles. “As humans started mating with species from other planets, they were exposed to different cultures and different ways of life. Many of the other non-human races had already realised technology was best when used for the good of all. They showed humans the error of their ways. For the good of the new generation comprising of humans and half lives, Earth finally agreed to and signed the Laws of the World, and one of the rules of the constitution was that technology could only be used for transportation or communication, not to hurt and definitely not in battle.”

“Wow! I never knew that!”

“I tell you this because you need to be aware that the only way to defend yourself is with your hands and with your weapons. So you cannot slip up.” Athira pauses, then says, “Promise…promise me that you will excel with the sword, you will be the best at swordplay in the entire galaxy.”

Since it is important for Athira to hear it from him, he promises, knowing quite well there is little chance he could live up to this. Yet, under Athira’s watchful gaze, Yudi’s skill with the sword grew.

He learnt everything Athira could teach him, and by the time he was fifteen, had won most minor and a few major fencing championships on Pluto.

Years later, Athira no longer picks up the sword, content to watch Yudi practise most mornings. As Yudi grows taller, he realises his father only seems to grow older and quieter. In his sixteenth year, Yudi puts on a final growth spurt, reaching six-foot-four. Looking down at Athira, who wears his fifty years poorly, he notices his father’s once black hair had turned a silver-gray somewhere along the way.

Yudi also shows a flair for painting, much to Athira’s surprise, who could barely draw a straight line. He wonders if this particular gift comes from one of Yudi’s real parents.

On one occasion, looking at one of his latest creations, Athira asks him, “What inspired that particular drawing?”

“Well, I don’t really know.” Yudi pauses, lighting up his first cigarette of the evening. “But you could say that it is in homage to Spider-Man.”

“Spider-Man?”

He nods. “A Spider-Man who spins his web between the tallest towers of Arkana and the highest mountain on the moon.”

“Ah! Arkana! That is the dream destination of most half lives, isn’t it?” Then, noticing the cigarette, Athira reaches out to fling it away. “When did you pick this awful habit?”

“Uh! I kind of like it…helps me think…create.”

“What is it with this artist stuff, Yudi? I thought you wanted to become a master of swords.”

“I am. Holding a paintbrush is very similar to holding a sword.” Noticing Athira’s disbelief, he offers over the brush. “Here, you try.”

“Me? No way.”

Yudi laughs at his father’s horrified expression. A canvas hides at the back of the room, and Athira walks toward it and pulls it out. It is a painting of a beautiful girl with haunted brown eyes in a delicate, heart shaped face framed by golden brown hair.

“Tiina—you still remember her.”

“This is how she would look as a teenager.” Yudi hesitates, not wanting to talk about her. “Father, why are we called half lives, anyway?”

“What a strange question. This is what happens when you get into this artistic stuff…” His finger raps the edge of the painting before Athira sets it down once more. “It’s because we are only half human, I guess.”

“You mean half mortal, half not? And if I am indeed Shaitan’s son, does that make me half god, half demon?”

“We can go on and on! Any which way you look at it, we are only half human.”

“But the other half, the more exciting one, the physically beautiful, therein reside the possibilities. No?”

“All it is, is that the other half is from some other planet, really.”

“The part of me that beats most.”

“How long will you continue denying your human existence?”

“Half human,” Yudi corrects him.

“Half life.” The conversation tires Athira.

“You are losing your temper often these days, Father.”

Then, his father strides across the room and nabs his ear. Yudi lets out a howl of pain as Athira twists it.

“And you are becoming more of a smartass every day. Just because you are taller than me doesn’t mean you can get away with your clever comments, young man.”

“Ow! Let go, Dad! You’re hurting me.”

Athira relents and Yudi rubs his ear, which turns red.

“Let that be a lesson.”

“Okay, okay! Just because you are my father doesn’t mean you have to be so boring, though.”

“You think I’m boring? In my day…,” his voice tapers off, and as if reminded of something, he turns and walks into the next room.

Before Yudi has time to wonder where his father went, Athira returns holding something.

“Here, take it!”

Yudi puts down his paintbrush, and after wiping his hand on the painting smock, he examines the rectangular object. “It’s beautiful! Where did you get it from?”

“It’s one of the few things I managed to save when we escaped from Ka Surya. There aren’t very many of these left in the galaxy, I imagine.” Athira’s voice cracks a little. After clearing his throat, he continues. “I don’t suppose you could keep it as a token from me?”

“It must be very valuable.” Yudi clutches the antique Ronson lighter. “I don’t get it. First you scold me for smoking, then you hand me a priceless lighter.”

“I am surprised myself, but I figure you are old enough, and I don’t know how many days we have left together.”

“Enough. Enough talk about dying.” In a rare gesture of affection, Yudi hugs him. “Thanks, Dad!”

Mind already on the excited reactions this latest gift will elicit from his friends, he plans how to show it off. It will appeal to the girls, too, no doubt.

Athira, however, closes his eyes tight as tears run down his cheeks.

* * *

That is one of the last memories Yudi has of Athira. A few weeks later, all that remains is the charred skeleton of the building where they had spent the last seven years of their life. It was gone just like that, with everything of the life he had built on Pluto.

As he gazes moodily at the lighter, he wonders if he might get over losing his father. The rest of his life spreads out before him as he stands on the terrace, and the enormity of the before and the after slice through him.

I may never sleep again. The dawn breaks.

First, “Tiina,” he says her name aloud, testing it. He wonders if she is still alive. And then there’s Athira. Numb at the thought of living without the two people dearest to him, his life is surreal, devoid of meaning. What should I live for, anyway?

Everything around him has grown distant. Perhaps this is all a bad dream and I will wake up to find myself back on Ka Surya; back with Tiina, with Athira, my life as a young boy with my favourite playmate, the lion cub, and my horse in the stables.

Broken hearted, he buries his face in his hands. The tears he had not allowed himself to cry earlier, both while leaving Ka Surya and at Athira’s funeral, run down his cheeks. He is all alone on Pluto.

The sun has climbed higher and its rays reflect off his parched lips as he lets the last drops of emotion run down his hands, his legs, and drip onto his feet. Of late, he finds he can calm the sadness for a few seconds on occasion, only for it to return stronger.

He wonders how long he can continue to stay sane in the aftermath of that terrible night when it all came undone. The raging fire tore a path through Pluto, burning everything, including his life.

“The irony,” he mutters. “Leaving Ka Surya to escape Shaitan, building a new life on another planet, only for nature to get us.”

Fires from lightning storms are common on Pluto. He had just never thought it would consume his father, and with him, his heart.

With a deep breath, he attempts to clear his head. Thunder grumbles in the distance, and lightning flashes somewhere else. It echoes the turmoil in his heart. Perhaps it is that simple? Just make sure it is my turn next…but how do I do that when lightning never strikes twice in the same place?

Too far gone in his own misery to think about death, he closes his eyes, opens his heart, and asks the universe if someone is out there who can help. He doesn’t want to be this alone ever again.

Yudi looks up when a shadow falls across him. A figure shines before him, suspended in midair, his white robes fluttering in the light breeze, a long beard as white as starlight hanging to the man’s sandal-covered toes.

“You took your time. I thought you’d never ask.” Mimir opens his arms.

Yudi walks into his embrace.

“Welcome to Arkana.” Mimir smiles, his eyes crinkling around the edges.

11

Tiina’s Journey: Java, 3016

Tiina’s space taxi groans as, with great effort, she zooms away from the normal lane used by smaller space-pods and into the upper highways; then higher into the night skies above them.

Silence greets her and the unusually bright stars in the distance are her only company for a few seconds. Then the stars lose their form, blending into one, and she goes higher, this time breaking the light barrier and moves into a different dimension. She is there only for a few minutes, but that is enough to take her off the radar of the air patrol cops giving chase.

Still high on adrenaline, Tiina heaves a relieved sigh. She relaxes enough to switch the space taxi back to the current dimension, making a huge boomerang-like arc through the night sky, retracing her steps through the stars, then to the upper airways reserved for the heavy-duty space vehicles, and finally back to the lower set of airways meant for lighter air transport.

All the airways have four lanes with traffic flowing in two lanes in each direction. She thanks her lucky stars that she has landed in the same direction as the traffic flow. As she struggles to keep the space-pod upright, she notices the hologram on the moving billboard space-pod, which is gliding slowly alongside the rest of the traffic.

“Mimir wants you,” it blares, making her wince at its decibels as she passes.

Her eyes are drawn to the hologram of the wizened old man, who looks like a wizard in his silvery robes and with his long white beard. He gazes right at her, a twinkle in his eyes as the hologram version of him points a finger at her.

A shiver runs through her as the speaking billboard continues. “Find yourself; enrol in the Academy of Half Lives and learn the ancient arts of destroying evil.”

Yeah! Right. One has to be really desperate to believe this load of nonsense!

After pushing it out of her mind, she sets the nose of the space-pod toward her favourite bar, the Wanch, intent on reaching it before the end of happy hour. Before she can lock in her destination, her space-pod groans once more and continues its downward descent. Embracing gravity, it passes by the crumbling shells of the high-rises of the city of Java, and drops through screaming vehicles, which brake and honk in protest. The pod falls at a terrifying speed, and she shuts her eyes as the ground races toward her.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry I pushed you into the next dimension. I know you are not equipped for it. Please, please, keep me safe, and I promise I’ll never do it again.”

The usual habit of talking to her vehicle and closing her eyes takes over, and she prays for an easy death. The taxi hits ground level almost leisurely, bouncing once, twice, screeching to a halt in front of a massive construction site.

She has no idea which part of the city she has landed in, but at least she is still alive. Not trusting herself enough to open her eyes, Tiina expels the air she has been holding in a rush and leans forward to rest her forehead on the wheel. She wonders when she will learn to keep within the air-speed limits enforced by the new government of Java. Somehow, once up in the air, she always seemed to lose track of time and speed—everything but the thrill of flying.

If she keeps this up, she risks being grounded, and that isn’t exactly conducive to her current job as a space taxi driver. Of course, it is a simple matter to bribe her way through it. And spend what little I earn on that.

She sighs. As if in response, a last jolt shudders through her bones as the space-pod settles. The various rattles and moans from the vehicle fade and her ears pick up the massive drills digging outside.

About ten years ago, it was Java’s turn to be plundered by Shaitan. At least he left the planet intact, she thinks as memories of her destroyed home run through her mind.

She escaped Ka Surya to land in a different place. As usual, Shaitan carried out a thorough job of destroying the planet, leaving the survivors with barely enough to live on.

It had been a few years before the Javanese had managed to organise some kind of governing body. With the zeal of the newly converted, however, they had put in place some stringent laws, including the speed limits she chafed at.

Java is a planet-city and is the smallest planet in the solar system—small enough for the government to rule it like a city and control everything much more efficiently than other planets, she supposes. It means things work on the planet, and for that she is grateful. Still, she hates some of the restrictions.

It was only as recently as five years ago that the government of Java got its act to together enough to rebuild homes for its survivors. The air traffic had, however, grown exponentially. Many who had no permanent homes had opted to live in their space transport vehicles. It gave them interplanetary mobility while allowing for easy escape in case of another attack by Shaitan.

Tiina gathers herself and steps out of the space-pod, still recovering from the sudden drop. Bulldozers are hard at work clearing the debris from skyscrapers destroyed by Shaitan.

Is there hope?

They tear down and clear away the empty skin of yet another destroyed building.

As always, she is fascinated by the sight of these giant machines at work. She rises to the tips of her feet and, putting her arms up in the air, stretches to her full height, sighing as some of the tension from her neck drains away. In a smooth movement, she bends down to touch her toes, extending the muscles in her hamstrings and calves. Her standard black neoprene jumpsuit stretches, clinging to her every curve, ending in her one concession to female vanity—thigh-high red boots with high padded heels that give her height a much needed boost while being comfortable to run in.

A gust of air blows through the area, whipping her thick hair around her shoulders. It is short in front, where she has cut off the strands in an attempt to style it by herself, and she pushes it away from her eyes.

As she surveys the site, she spots a patch of red that fades in and out. It is just ahead of her, not far from one of the massive machines. Curious, she walks toward it, coughing from the dust from the site. While fanning her hand in front of her face, she tries to create a pocket of fresh air to breathe from, then coughs again and tears run from her eyes, stinging from the fine particles. As the dust settles, she blinks the grains out of her eyes and stares through the haze, making out what looks like the shape of a small girl running among the broken pillars.

For a minute, her heart lifts at the thought of the little girl being Maya. Yet she knows it cannot be. Too many years have passed since her escape from Ka Surya, and Maya, like herself, would be a grown woman now, almost sixteen. Still, finding her twin in the worst possible condition is something she lives in fear of.

Pushing the thought from her mind, she runs into the demolition site. Part of her registers that in doing so, she is breaking another rule. As if echoing her, a robotic voice blares, “Citizen of Java, for your own safety, step away from the demolition site.”

She shrugs, adding this to her long list of crimes. Almost as an aside, she pulls out her sword from its sheath on her back and puts on a burst of speed, hoping to be in and out of the site before any patrols arrive.

As she gets closer, she spots the girl’s tiny tail swishing from side-to-side and realises she is not a half life, but a catun, a cross between cats and humans normally found on another planet just outside the solar system. The female catun are the best of both worlds. Beautiful human facial features, big eyes, lustrous hair, a graceful gait, and characteristic long, slim, feline bodies. Not surprisingly, they are much sought after by flesh traders.

Tiina slows and walks with care to the catun-girl, but the catun shies away, her body shivering with fright. Tiina comes around a fallen pillar where the catun girl is hiding. After sliding the sword back into its sheath, she stretches both arms toward the terrified girl. In a flash, the little one reacts, spitting in fury and digging her claws into the fabric covering Tiina’s arms.

“Ouch!” Tiina swears as pinpricks of pain shoot through her, but persists in speaking in a soft voice, trying to calm the catun down. “Come on, sweetie; we’ve got to get you out of here. You really don’t want to be in the path of the bulldozers, and I promise, you don’t want the flesh-traders to catch you.”

The tone of her voice seems to work, for the spitting subsides, and the catun clings to her with all the strength of an alley cat. Her eyes look into Tiina’s, and her small lips scrunch into a plea as a mewl escapes her.

Emboldened, Tiina ignores the pain from the girl’s death-grip and hoists the catun girl from the ground. Surprisingly, she is as light as a feather. Once back at the small space-pod taxi, Tiina straps first the girl in, then herself.

As she takes off, the ever-vigilant air patrol spots her and gives chase with flashing lights and screaming sirens. Tiina zooms off with extra strong propulsion. In her hurry to give her pursuers the slip, she turns onto the wrong lane of the airway and into oncoming traffic. While dodging oncoming crafts, she curses her luck. It’s like she has made a career out of engaging the police.

This time she manages to direct her space taxi to her destination, and brings the craft to rest in front of the Wanch without any of the police pursuing her. There is utter silence followed by a loud pop as one of the door panels next to her comes undone and falls off with a crash. The entire craft collapses a few more inches. Grimacing, she opens the door on her side, which also crashes to the ground. A hysterical giggle bursts through her lips as she looks at the fallen door. She closes her eyes, lets out a deep breath, and calms her heart, which is fluttering as if she just downed a few cans of her favourite high-adrenaline asteroid nectar.

Not surprising, as this is by far the longest high-impact journey I have experienced, since, well…since I escaped from Ka Surya.

She pushes the thoughts of her charred mother planet away and squeezes out from below the dilapidated driver’s section. Then, carefully replacing the fallen spacecraft door panel, she limps to the other side, pushes open the door, and the catun-girl leaps into her arms, resuming her earlier position of a wrap-around koala.

Cuddling her, Tiina asks, “What’s your name?”

There is no reply.

She gestures to herself. “I am Tiina. What’s your name?” She taps the girl on her chest.

The girl blinks, long and slow, like a lazy kitten. “Mini.”

“Mini?” A half smile breaks out on her lips. The name is so apt and fitting for the tiny bundle of fur.

Tiina cuddles her and walks into the Wanch, where she plops onto a barstool. After catching the eye of the bartender, she orders a shot of whiskey and some milk for Mini. Before placing the milk on the counter, she manages to untangle the little girl’s hands from around her waist and plunks her down on the nearest seat.

Just as she’s about to order, she stops and gawks down at little Mini, amazed that the glass has already been licked dry. “Hey, you finished all your milk really fast.”

She is met with an unblinking stare.

“Are you still hungry?”

Mini does not reply.

Tiina beckons the bartender. “Can I get some cookies, please?”

The bartender gapes at her, a spotted glass in one hand and the tap of some micro-brew in the other.

“Everyone around me is struck dumb today! Not for me, for her.” And she jabs her finger at the catun-girl.

The bartender nods and returns with a bowl of cookies, which he places in front of the catun. As both Tiina and he watch, Mini flicks out a tongue and grabs them all, then swallows them in one gulp. Then, licking her lips, she turns to Tiina.

“So, what am I to do with you, Mini?”

She puts out her hand to pat the girl’s head, and Mini rubs her forehead slowly against Tiina’s hand. Her attention is drawn to the doors of the bar, past which she can just see another space-pod draw up. A pudgy man with the legs and tail of a Plutonian reptile, but the torso of a human and a round face, crowned with a mop of blonde hair, steps up. Tiina picks Mini up and walks toward him, reaching him just as he steps inside the gates.

“Hey, Edgar.”

“Hey, Tiina!” He nods a reply.

“This is Mini.”

“Another one?”

“What can I say? Every time I see one of these little catun-girls, I think it could be Maya. I have to do something. Can’t just leave them to die out there or…,” she says with a shudder, “meet a fate worse than death.”

“Surely you dramatise!”

“You know I am correct. Well…?”

“Well, what?”

“Well, will you take her and send her back to Orvieto?”

He demands, “All the way back to her home planet?”

“She’s even smaller than the others. There’s no way she can make it back on her own.”

“That’s what you said last time,” he growls in mock anger, his lizard lips curling in a smirk.

“Well, the catun was tiny last time.” Tiina flutters her eyelashes for good measure.

Edgar clears his throat and his pink tongue slips out as he speaks, checking the temperature of the air. “Okay, okay. You don’t have to pull all your feminine wiles on me.”

“Great! You are amazing. One in a million, after my own heart—”

She is about to heap on more compliments when Edgar interrupts her.

“Enough, enough. Save some of it for later.”

“That’s a good point.”

When she tries to unravel the catun-girl's arm from around her, Mini burrows further into her and refuses to let go, so Tiina turns to him for help.

Edgar shrugs a horned shoulder and bends down, then waves his palm over the little girl’s face. Mini shuts her eyes, her breathing deepens, and she falls into a deep, restful sleep

“Wow, that’s a handy talent. I sure could use it for one uninterrupted night’s sleep.”

“You think too much. The weight of the universe and all that…”

She chuckles. “You mean you don’t believe that I must save the world?”

“Whatever.”

Edgar shakes his head, and after pulling Mini into his arms, walks out of the bar to his space-pod, Tiina in tow. He opens the panel at the back and takes out a small, cosy travel carrier, into which he carefully places Mini, then eases the case onto the seat beside his and straps it in.

“I drop in for a casual drink, and you saddle me with a chore.”

“You know you’ll do anything for me, Edgar.”

“Yeah! More fool of me than not… Well, so long then, Tiina. Try to stay out of trouble.”

She leans over and kisses his scaly cheek. “I love you, too.”

He blushes, his green skin turning a little red, then gets into the space-pod and waves at her before taking off. Then, squaring her shoulders, she walks back into the Wanch.

Examining her surroundings, Tiina draws in the familiar reassuring sense of the place—the walls crowded with posters of familiar pop and rock stars including the Rolling Drones, who, while getting on in years, still continue to be among the most famous acts in the galaxy despite missing one of their famous groupies.

The posters always remind her of the room she and Maya shared back home. They had been so young and naïve, caught in the first flush of pre-teen years, just discovering their budding sexuality, entranced by the music that hit a chord in their hearts. As twins, they had that uncanny ability of reading each other’s thoughts.

Tiina smiles as she returns to the bar, once more in the company of friends.

The first time Tiina walked into the Wanch, it all seemed so curiously familiar. Nostalgia, the thick taste of homesickness, coated her tongue and the well of melancholy erupted sharply in the pit of her stomach. The year when she had lost Maya, they had both been almost ten and the music from the nineteen-seventies had enjoyed a revival. The music had been downloaded, re-engineered, remixed, re-sung, and had achieved cult hits. That was the year when Tiina and Maya had recreated their own summer of love on Ka Surya, the same year she had met Yudi and lost him. The memories of Maya and Yudi were forever intertwined in her heart. She had found love and lost family in the space of less than forty-eight hours. A coming-of-age with a vengeance, she liked to call it.

Over the last few days, she has come close to reliving those same feelings. Life often repeats itself, and she thinks back to how Egreog had appeared in her life the previous weekend.

* * *

She spots him at the weekly Saturday Salsa night at the Wanch. While seated at one corner of the dance floor, she admires his dancing skills. Still an amateur, she had taken up dancing just a few weeks ago. Egreog loved to salsa; right off, she notes he is really good at it, too. To her surprise, he looks straight at her, smiles, and approaches, leaving his beautiful dance partner stranded in the middle of the floor.

He holds out his hand and she takes it and is swept off to where their moves and the music matter more than life.

Their next meeting takes her as much by surprise. On her way home to her small apartment on Hollywood Road in the central suburb of Java City, her mobile device beeps.

When she answers, he asks, “Enjoying your walk?”

“Where are you?” She smiles, recognising Egreog’s voice.

“That was you in orange, right?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like talking to yourself?”

“What?”

“I saw you talking to yourself.”

“Oh!” Tiina laughs, embarrassed at having been caught in the act.

“It’s cute.”

Then, realising that he must not be far away, she asks, “Where are you?”

“In the transporter that just passed you.”

“Oh!”

“I’m seeing you tonight, right?”

“Yes.”

“What time will you be there?”

After regaining her composure, she answers, “Mmm, not too early, not too late? At the right time.”

“The right time…”

She can almost sense him digesting that.

“Okay, then,” he agrees.

A scene from When Tiina met Egreog etches in her mind, a tableau of sorts. So innocent, yet her mind replays it over and over again in the coming months—him watching her watch the rain.

“That was innocent, right?” she asked herself many times. Then why does it bother me so much?

Later that night, waving to the few people she recognises at the Wanch, Tiina walks to where the regulars are chatting.

The music changes to a tango and an elaborately dressed middle-aged, intergalactic couple strides onto the floor, taking the first tango stance. The man is human enough, but his female partner is arresting to the eyes. Extraordinarily beautiful, she is of mixed extraterrestrial race. Long, perfect deer legs end in elegant hooves, doe-shaped eyes skim the room, and she has a pointed head with blue hair that cascades down her back, almost to her feet.

Tiina follows them across the floor until Egreog catches her attention. He goes to the end of the long chrome bench on which she is seated and, to her amusement, asks the four people between them to get up. He squeezes in next to her, his face shining with pleasure.

“Hi,” he says. “How are you?”

“Fine. You?”

“A little tired. So, what did you do today?”

“Well I bought these new dancing shoes.” She holds out her feet for his inspection.

“I liked the sneakers you wore this morning.”

“Sneakers? Does anyone call them that anymore?”

“The short cut-off trousers, too.”

“They were not cut-offs!”

“I could see your ankles.”

The comment feels intimate coming from him. It wasn’t as if he saw me naked. A blush rises into her cheeks, and she is embarrassed at how her thoughts race so far ahead. “Did you like what you saw?”

“I liked that you put out your hand to feel the raindrops and then started talking to yourself.”

Tiina is speechless, like she had been caught in the act of making love to herself.

“I was in a transporter going down to the other end of the city. As we passed Hollywood Road, I remembered you saying that you lived there, and then there you were, walking along not four feet away.” Egreog stares into her eyes. “Do you know the odds of that happening?”

She shrugs, trying not to show how moved she is by the coincidence. “So that’s why you laughed?”

Just then, the music goes up a notch to the much faster salsa beat, and Egreog puts out his hand. “Shall we?”

The unerring precision of being caught in that act by him sends goose pimples up her arms. She plays it out in her mind, examining it from different angles. Every bit of attention he gives her sends her heart racing.

So why does it disturb me so much?

Because I feel like I am cheating on Yudi. I don’t even know if he is still alive, and anyway I’ll probably live to be sixty. So will I only sleep with one person my entire life?

With a shrug, she wonders why that still does not ease her conscience.

Face it; you still have feelings for him.

Yes, but it’s not like we promised each other anything.

Didn’t you?

About to burst with the war of emotions going on inside her, Tiina comes back to the present and decides to focus on the live band on the small stage at the front of the bar. The Wanch is one of the few places in the city that still hosts live bands; most of the other places prefer to play music electronically mixed by DJs. There are other places, which boast holographic bands and piped-in music, but she much prefers the real thing. It is another reason she loves this bar so much.

The Wanch is named after Wanchai, the most hedonistic of all the suburbs on Java. It displays peepshows, nudes, and neon’s. Various bars with names like The Groovy Mule and Joe Bananas serve liquor and drinks from all over the universe. One can find women with blue eye shadow, unshaven armpits, and greasy, shiny hair. Often, shuffling intergalactic sailors fresh off the spaceships, crew-cut and clean shaven, float in groups, sniffing hopefully for one-night stands. Others from galaxies unknown shuffle in anyway, own-country rejects with fifteen-year-old nubile humans on their arms.

She often had to remind herself that the place she calls home is also on the edge of the galaxy. It is located beyond Pluto, even beyond Ka Surya, which many think is the last planet in the solar system. It is only the more frequent intergalactic travellers who know of this small planet-city, the last outpost before one crosses over to the other systems. While the new government has very strict rules, they are pragmatic enough to encourage commerce. They play its geographical location to their advantage. It is the first inhabited space that weary travellers reached when they come in from the long galactic journeys.

So they had constructed it as the equivalent of space Sin City. They were smart enough to limit the hedonistic activities to a few of the outer suburbs likes Wanchai, but Java is so small that Tiina can get from her apartment in Central to Wanchai in less than half an hour in her space taxi.

The enjoyment here has a touch of desperation to it. Despite its seamier side, Java suits Tiina just fine. There is enough commerce to earn her living, yet the floating population gives her anonymity.

The passenger ship from Ka Surya had deposited her on Java eight years earlier. Since then she had used her wits and common sense to survive on the streets. Most of her first few months on Java were spent sleeping on the streets and in the alleys. It was just her luck that she had landed in the middle of a hard winter on Java. One night, she had crawled out into the warmth of the Wanch and had begged and pleaded with the owner until he had relented. He gave her a job cleaning up the place and a small room over the bar. In a few years’ time she was bartending.

The year she had turned thirteen, she was approached by Hector. He was in his mid-thirties, looked strong, and seemed to be a warrior of sorts, for he carried an enormous sword on his back. Yet he told her he was a magician by profession, performing at shows, fairgrounds, and gatherings for the well-to-do citizens of Java. He had been entranced by her budding beauty, her devil-may-care attitude, and she had played along. So, when he asked her to be his muse and play a leading role in his illusions, she accepted. Soon he became her mentor and her guardian. Hector taught her to use the sword, training her every day, pushing her until she was as skilled as him at using the weapon. From him she also learnt to play the crowds, to use illusion to connect with people’s emotions, to bend them to her will, to give them hope and create just enough fear to make life interesting, and help them realise their dreams. Yet it had not been enough. Nothing would fill that empty space inside her, and so she had sought comfort in the familiar and had gone back to bartending at the Wanch and to her old room.

She had not felt guilty about Hector liking her; in fact she had even encouraged him. It seemed harmless. It was as if through me he had wanted to relive his childhood. No, she had not felt guilty in the least about leading him on. Her practical nature dictated that she do what was needed to survive. It was different with Egreog. With him, she felt a stirring of emotion that she thought was buried a long time ago. Not since Yudi had she endured this kind of emotion. The pull scared her, and she was dangerously close to finally moving on from him, too.

12

As the night wears on, Tiina realises that she does not want to leave him. Dancing for four hours straight is not enough. They kiss on the dance floor and walk to her apartment and make love.

Tiina turns to look at Egreog, his head on the pillow next to hers. Perhaps I can trust again.

He opens his eyes. “Is this real?” Then he pulls her lustrous locks away from her heart shaped face and runs his right palm over her olive brown skin.

She gazes at him and places her hand over his.

They are on her bed, which is so narrow that the only way they can both fit is by spooning. As they lie facing each other, their noses almost touch. The cool wind blowing in through the open windows raises goose bumps on the curve of her back.

“Is that real?” Tiina asks back. “Your name?”

He laughs and rolls over her, his elbows balancing on either side of her chest, the length of his legs touching hers all the way down to her feet. The smell of his skin cocoons her and she sighs, already missing him though he has not yet left.

Exotic, he is tall, almost six feet, with well-defined chest and stomach muscles. He is much lighter in colour, almost yellow in comparison to her darker tone, with a round face and high cheekbones pointing to jet black eyes, which narrow at the sides.

“Close your eyes.”

His fingers flutter her eyelids down and she sleeps. In her dreams, she is pulled into a vortex of images. In another life, in another place she does not recognise, she sees Egreog with blonde hair. She has long blonde hair, too, and they live in a lush green countryside. They laugh, making love by the fire, running through the forest. And then he leaves her and dies in battle and she marries his brother.

It doesn’t end there. The dreams take her into the lifetime after that. The place she recognises as India, near the Taj Mahal. Now she is his mistress, his secret desire in the grand Hawa Mahal palace. He lavishes turquoise jewels and rose petal silks on her. The attraction between them becomes so strong that he could not stand it if any other person dares look at her. So he builds her a special palace where he keeps her hidden from the eyes of the world. All of it ends when she hurls herself onto his funeral pyre.

In this lifetime, they are finally together, or perhaps not. The question echoes in her mind, the fear of losing him grips her, and Tiina’s eyes snap open.

The place next to her is empty and she jumps out to find Egreog sitting just outside the door of the bedroom on the floor, naked, his hands around his legs and his head bent over.

“Is it true?” She dares not touch him just yet. “All that you showed me. Is it?”

“You saw it all. Didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Why the doubts, then?”

She hangs her head. “It feels right. But…I belong to someone else. I met him before I came to Java. And sometimes…I can’t even see his face clearly anymore. But in my heart I know it’s not over, I know he is waiting for me. What you just showed me now, though… A part of me wants to believe it, for it is true, right?”

“You felt it. Didn’t it seem real enough?” he snaps at her.

Tiina’s voice breaks. “The pain.” As she remembers the gut-wrenching agony of separation lifetime after lifetime, her face twists into a grimace. It’s not time for them to be together yet.

Egreog holds his arms open before closing them around her. “I could fall in love with you again so easily.”

“Make love to me,” she pleads.

“I would be lost then. I could not return.”

“Just once more?”

He kisses her slowly, absorbing her lips.

“Give me this time, at least…,” she begs, swallowing her pride. Then for some reason, is compelled to ask, “Who are you?”

“You know who I am. Just believe it.” He gets up to put on his clothes, and once dressed, walks toward the door of her apartment.

Desperate, she casts about in her mind for something, anything that could make him stay longer. Then, “Wait!”

Seeing the misery on her face, he walks back to her, picks her up, and carries her into the tiny closet-like bedroom.

After placing her on the bed, he covers her with the warm quilt. “Sleep.” He rests his hands over her eyes, fluttering her eyelids shut. “Sleep…”

“But…” Exhaustion makes her eyelids heavy, but she manages to open them once before drifting off. His face hovers near hers, so close she could touch him if only the will to move hadn’t vanished from her limbs.

He kisses her on the lips, taking her to the edge and back in just a few seconds.

“You’ll see me again, I promise.”

She is unable to protest as he leaves, vaguely hearing him as he completes his sentence under his breath “…perhaps in the next lifetime, then.”

She closes her eyes and falls asleep

* * *

All of this takes place just a few months before her seventeenth birthday. The weeks that follow are tough. The craving for more of his touch wars with her conscience, and she has to find a way of closing her story with Yudi. Yet what Egreog has shown her still echoes in her memory. The feeling of fusing into him and flowing across dimensions, across their different lifetimes together lives on. Could I dare believe what he showed me? Is this what I have been looking for? All those years of searching, and then he entered and slipped out of her life. She cannot understand why the series of coincidences brought them together only for him to walk out of her life.

“Who are you, Egreog?” she wonders aloud. The question tears her apart, disturbing her so much that she searches in vain for an answer.

One day, immersed in familiar unhappiness, she is walking near Pok Fu Lam—a strip of land used by the spaceships taking off from Java to the adjoining planet of Arkana. It is long, narrow, and well lit so that it can be seen for miles from space. Disregarding the spaceships landing and taking off, she walks to the very edge of the airstrip, which ends with a sharp drop into a valley. The pit is so deep that when she peers in, all she can see is a black expanse.

This is it, then. She closes her eyes and wonders if she should step off the edge of the universe, and take the easy solution to her heart’s problems.

When she opens her eyes, he is there. Her first sight of Mimir is how she will always remember him—floating in front of her, his white robes wavering behind him in the breeze, long white beard rippling, and a twinkle in his eyes, as if he is laughing inwardly at a personal joke.

He holds out his gnarled right hand to her. “Surely you are not stupid enough to end your life over a love affair?”

She wonders if she is going slightly crazy. “Actually, I was.”

“Come with me, Tiina. There is better use to your life.”

“Just like that? You’ll take me away from all this?”

“I’ll take you away, but whether it will be easier than what you are leaving behind is up for debate.”

“I know who you are. Mimir!”

“Clever girl. You are the only one of my recruits who has recognised me to date.”

“Isn’t it all a farce, though? This entire Academy of Half Lives thing.” Doubt crosses her mind as she recalls the billboard calling out to her. A place where she could hone her skills and be of use against Shaitan and other enemies seems far too perfect. “Is it?”

“Find out for yourself.” When she hesitates, he prompts her. “What do you have left here, anyway? Give yourself a chance to discover your real future.”

“Is this how you find your recruits? Those who have lost all hope to become broken pieces of life?”

“I prefer to call them those who deserve a second chance.”

It is still a mystery to her how he tracked her down her—a question she decides to ask Mimir at the appropriate time. For now, his explanation satisfies her and she nods.

“What are we waiting for?” She places her hand in his and is pulled into a wormhole that transports them to Arkana.

13

Arkana, 3016

Tiina reels from the sudden change in time and space. The journey to Arkana is a blur of images melding into each other. Home. Is this going to be home at last?

It is a bright and sunny day when she walks through the front gates of the institute. “Academy of Half Lives,” the dull letters next to the gates declare.

She is about to step over the threshold when a young man hails her.

“Hello?” she says.

There is something very familiar about him. He is tall, almost six-foot-four, she thinks, and is dressed all in black, his broad shoulders in a casual black vest worn over black leather trousers and on his feet he wears black boots. Thick dark hair frames a face with a determined square jaw. A wide smile reveals square, white teeth and reaches his eyes, making them twinkle. His eyes are not blue, not violet, but indigo. Indigo eyes with a devil may care twinkle in them. She knows him.

It has to be him, and yet she has to ask, as if to be doubly sure, to hear it for herself.

“Uh! Do I know you?”

“I am Yudi.”

“Yudi,” she says with a hesitant laugh. “You are…Yudi?”

“Ah! That’s what I just said, didn’t I?”

“You don’t really want to know my name…?”

“Try me!”

She puts her hand forward. “Um! Zara.” She bites her lip. It’s easy to lie.

The sweetness of their final meeting is forever etched in her memory, married with the pain of having left her twin behind. She is not ready to reveal her name to him. Can he come back into my life, just like that? Slide right in as if nothing has happened in all those years?

“Where are you from, Z?” He takes her hand, enclosing her fingers within his warm palm.

Raising her eyebrows at the flippant way he has shortened her name, she says, “From a place far, far away.”

“Well, Z from far, far away, let me buy you a drink before we head in there. God knows if they have alcohol in this place.”

“Why not? A place filled with young people—surely they serve recreational drinks?”

“Recreational drinks, eh? That is cute,” he says, and then adds, “You are cute.”

“Uh!” Tiina swallows in discomfort. “You’re direct.” She tries to squeeze by him. “I’m in a hurry. I really do need to get on.”

“Oh. Surely not. Z, come on. If not alcohol, then coffee. There’s nobody else here I’d rather be with than you!”

“You’ll do anything to avoid going into the Academy, is that it?”

“I came of my own free will, but school has never been my strong point.”

He holds onto her hand as he speaks, looking into her eyes, his lips curved into a half-smile, while indigo eyes twinkle down at her, his hair ruffling just so in the slight breeze.

“Come on… Just the one.”

I am over the “love at first sight” thing, she reminds herself. And it is not lust…well, not just lust, either.

There is an intense pull, however, an attraction and affinity and a strange sense of immediate trust, as if she has known him all her life. It does not seem to matter that it has been almost eight years since they last met; he still has a strange hold on her. All he has to do is look at her with his indigo eyes and just ask, and she could never refuse him.

So, in pursuit of the dream she has kept alive for a lifetime, Tiina is a grown woman in pursuit of today being the first day of the rest of her life; Yudi, the reluctant hero, who is putting off the inevitable until the very last instant. The two of them get a coffee, which turns into two. They move onto a few drinks at the nightclub nearby. It is an evening that degenerates into an old-fashioned full-blown bender. Swept along on a tide of good feelings, the night reaches its inevitable climax as they make love under the night skies.

Strange. A part of her almost observes their lovemaking in a dispassionate fashion. I didn’t think he would be so aggressive. It is as if he is taking everything I have, squeezing me of my last drops of energy, as if he is absorbing me completely. So there is no more him. No more me. Is it possible to feel so close to a person and yet so separate?

She takes the full brunt of his desire as he kisses the corners of her eyes, the centre of her lips, the stretch of her neck, the curve of her belly button, the dip of her thighs, the soft undersides of her feet. Then as if he can’t stop himself, he speeds up until he is touching her everywhere at once, absorbing her through every cell of his skin, sucking her very spirit, channeling it straight to his heart.

She looks into his eyes as he plunges into her brutally, choking down the cry of pain escaping her lips, and feels the sweat trickling from his forehead to join the tears on her cheeks.

He collapses, covering her, and lies his head in the crook of her neck. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to be that rough.”

She tries to make light of the situation. “So all that lighthearted banter during the day was just foreplay? Beneath that smart, foolish exterior beats a heart, which is every bit as intense as Shaitan’s.”

At her words, he jerks away and lies on his back next to her.

“Sorry. That was meant to be a joke.”

“Never joke about Shaitan with me.” The threat running through his voice barely masks his attempt at staying calm.

For a few minutes, they lie quietly, his words casting a pale shadow over both of them. Tiina shivers, wondering just what kind of a man the young boy she knew has become. Then, he puts his right arm under her head, pillowing it, and after pulling her close, he kisses her forehead.

Tiina closes her eyes and burrows against his chest. They stay still for what seems like a few minutes, but she realises must have been longer, for she dozes off, only to be woken when he finally asks, “How long are you going to keep up the pretence?”

Still dazed by the events of the day, Tiina shifts. She does not want to open her eyes in case all this is a dream. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

Finally, she opens her eyes and joins him in gazing at the heavens. “It is gone, you know. I’ve looked for it many nights.”

“Ka Surya. So far, yet so near.”

“It will always be in our hearts.” She turns to him and rests her palm on his heart.

“No…,” he says, smiling when she looks at him in surprise. “You know, there is only space for you here.”

“When did you know?”

“As soon as I saw you. Did you really think I would not know you, Tiina? Many nights I have gone to sleep with the touch of your lips on mine.” He bends over and kisses her. “And how could I forget this?”

Much to her shock and amusement, he smells her neck.

“That’s what I missed the most.”

“We meet after all these years and all you can say is you missed how I smell?” she asks, not sure if she should be flattered or indignant.

“Ah! But it’s so potent, so uniquely you, something I never thought I would smell again.” He sniffs her once more. “If I were to bottle it and sell it, I would become very rich.”

She laughs until tears come to her eyes.

“I missed that, too.”

“What?” She chortles, wiping her eyes.

“That full belly laugh of yours.”

“You have a good memory.”

Seriousness returns to his tone. “Why did you lie to me?”

Tiina unwraps herself from him, putting distance between them. “I just couldn’t, Yudi. How could I, when every time I look at you, I still see her?”

“Maya.”

She nods, unable to say her sister’s name aloud.

He turns to the skies. “Maybe she is out there somewhere.”

“Maybe.”

He puts his arms around her, drawing her into his embrace again.

The two of them came together immediately, again, she notes. Yet, she has changed so much in the last few years. Their attitudes to life are now remarkably different. She wonders if he notices the changes in her. No longer is she the carefree ten-year-old he had known. In place of the girl, he would find a sober, more focused, more meticulous, sixteen-year-old, or at least, she imagined that is how he found her. More boring, a voice within her whispers.

Yudi has weathered the years better. Always lighthearted, he has turned out to be one of those gifted people with a natural ability for many tasks and is always happy-go-lucky.

Then there is me, she thinks. Average abilities, perhaps even good at a few things. Yet there is not one specific attribute, no specific trait, at which I excel. Except perhaps…swordplay?

Nothing about her truly stands out, but all of this makes her fiercely determined to keep moving, to find something that truly inspires. What she does not realise is that it is this drive to make a difference that makes her stand out.

The first few months at the Academy are, for Tiina, the best days of her life. Yudi balances out her intensity. The strange tone of their first encounter is forgotten as his easygoing attitude and happiness for the small things in life become infectious. Everyone around him seems to love him.

It is something Tiina envies. In comparison, she feels cynical, used up, wise beyond her years. Unlike her, he makes friends quickly; indeed, he revels in the closeness of others. For once in her life, thanks to Yudi, Tiina is in the company of those she likes. It is a new sensation of belonging.

14

Rai’s Journey: Bombay, 3016

After Thalia died at the hands of Shaitan, Rai is lucky enough to be taken in by one of the few surviving orphanages in Bombay. Over the next few years, he learns to beg, borrow, and steal his way to adulthood. Sometimes, he wonders about the medallion he wears around his neck, and often comes close to selling it to eat for a while. If he knew how much it could really fetch on the market, he may have sold it even faster.

Yet, in some recess of his mind, a faint memory pulls, declaring it to be a token from his mother. Below that veneer of street smarts lurks a soft heart after all, one which would get him into trouble many times over the years. So, on some level Rai realises that it is the only tenuous link he would ever have to his past, and decides to keep it. Tiring of yet another attempt when someone had tried to steal it though, he had made sure it always stays hidden among his clothes.

Over the years, the necklace became as much a part of him as his eyes, until he forgot about its existence, and he becomes too busy trying to survive to worry about his origins.

As soon as he turns fifteen, he fulfils the one desire he had always had—to see the world. He runs away from the orphanage without a backward glance. After stowing away on ships, intercity jets, trains, buses—any moving vehicle he can find—he finally makes it to the hot deserts of Rajasthan, a once beautiful and historic part of the country now razed to the ground by Shaitan.

There, he first experiences a true awakening of the senses when Gerald takes him in his arms in the midst of the desert and shows him the honest, sweaty emotion of healthy male lust. Rai stays to lead many tours around the region, navigating through the spirits of those slaughtered by Shaitan, searching the skies above the ruins of the Taj Mahal, among the living dead of Agra.

After a year of wandering, Rai comes full circle and is back in Bombay.

* * *

All through the ninetieth and the twentieth century, the city had grown unchecked to become a gigantic megalopolis, among the world’s alpha cities. It was one of the most populous urban areas in the galaxy and among the richest. Bombay’s growth had continued unabated until it was proclaimed as the commercial and entertainment capital of the universe. Then it was razed. For once, Shaitan was not the culprit.

Nature had taken its revenge for the centuries of greed, which had turned the city into the centre of corruption and commerce. In the year 2930, a giant tsunami had come out of nowhere and drowned Bombay. When the waters receded, there was no more maximum city. All that remained was Bombay as it had been at birth—a virgin city made of seven separate islands.

When Shaitan’s conquering footsteps reached the city, there had not been much for him to destroy, and so he had moved to Ka Surya, leaving the remains of the islands to grow and flourish.

The temple of the Goddess Mumbadevi, after whom the city was named, emerged unscathed from the tsunami, igniting a deep faith in the survivors. They also believed she had prevented Shaitan from further destroying the city. In tribute to her, the Bombayites simulated the holographic image of the humanoid goddess—the patron of the salt collectors and kolis, the fisher-folk, who were the original inhabitants of the seven islands of Bombay. They came to her, calling her the Great Mother. Many who came chose to stay and the city grew once more.

The tsunami had also wiped away all the filth from its once crowded, dirty beaches, leaving miles of pristine coastline where children could frolic and music lovers could dance under the watchful eye of the full moon until dawn. The city also became a magnet for DJs from around the universe to come and play their best; for them it was about finding their faith by playing from the heart. It seemed as if in this avatar, the soul of the city was about finding oneself, and it could be through prayer or through pleasure.

* * *

Perhaps it is this that Rai understands, for even as he sets foot in Bombay once more, he senses the heart of the city beats for him and him alone. It is a place that consumes him, lives through him, drives him to struggle toward hopes and dreams he might never have achieved elsewhere. Here he will find the pinnacle of his life, where he will meet his love and perhaps lose trust, but he is ready to risk that, for the city excites him. It makes him breathless, as if something monumental is just about to happen. Here, he can be himself—no inhibition, nothing weighing him down.

The city welcomes him with open arms. On arriving in Bombay, it takes him less than a week to find an apartment on the most happening of all the islands—Colaba. Soon, the highlight of Rai’s life is the Saturday night rave parties held on Colaba beach, where the once magnificent structure of the Gateway of India now lies reduced to a ruined arch by the tsunami. It provides a great backdrop for weekend celebrations. Surreal by moonlight, the techno beats bouncing off the structure and the laser beams lighting it up cause people from all over the country to come and dance on the sand.

The morning following a rave, Rai nurses a fierce hangover and a broken heart in the sunshine at Nina’s café. It is one of the few surviving coffee shops in the city, serving up steaming cups of the rare brew. Already coffee beans are in short supply in the galaxy. Only the better-off can afford it. The rest can only stare at the steaming concoction with greed and lust. The café is tiny and has only four tables. The dozen chairs are so small Rai can just barely squeeze his five-foot-eight frame into one.

After fumbling for his sunglasses, he puts them on and presses his right palm against the fierce pounding in his temples, which springs out of nowhere. The morning is hot, the temperature already in the eighties. The small ceiling fans overhead lazily turn the air, which settles right back down, hot and dusty on his brow.

Rai is dressed for the heat, but a thin trickle of sweat runs down his back. His once pristine white kurta, a loose shirt-like item worn by many in the city, is creased from the night. He wearily stretches out his jean-clad legs ending in open sandals in front of him.

Obviously a coffee is not the answer, he thinks. Then sighs, wondering if anything can heal the hole in his heart.

The temple next door is one of the many replicas of the original temple of Mumbadevi that have sprung up all over the city. Opposite is a new age shop with roaring business, hosting females of many species from different parts of the world who have come to get their chakras fixed.

Just then the old woman next to Rai, with skin stretched so tight across her face that he is sure it will snap any minute, makes appreciative noises. Nina serves her a tofu, which trembles in its dish.

“Oh my,” says the old woman, fanning herself with red-tipped fingers. “Too much. Too much. I wanted just a little.”

Well eat up, bitch, thinks Rai.

There seems to be too many of these old women around with acid-peeled faces, white tights, and yellow, nicotine-stained fingers, hanging onto equally-aged companions dressed in ridiculous holiday attire. Light blue cardigans, ironed jeans, and old-fashioned Nikons with large lenses adorn them. All of the tourists smile at the quaint scene of the Indian temple with the café opposite playing Bollywood love songs, as if they have come to gloat at the remnants of the once proud city.

Bombay retains a certain exotic appeal, definitely more than whichever city these pests come from.

He wonders again why people still like to play tourist when so much of Earth has been destroyed by natural disasters over the last decade. Few Earth cities are worth visiting these days.

What is the appeal in going from one broken metropolis to the next? Some perverse kind of dystopian porn?

The woman seated at the next table digs into the white, jelly-like substance. The tofu slithers around the plate and she chases it with her spoon until she finally captures and eats it with relish.

Somehow, the entire incident reminds Rai of his current obsession, Flaccid. This, of course, is the real reason behind him leaving the solace of his apartment in Colaba to head to the grungier party island of Juhu.

Flaccid—the one he picked up at the most happening same-sex hangout in the city. Rai chanced upon him at the bar situated right behind Nina’s coffee shop.

Next door is the more affordable communication-café, with backpacking students on their one-year-to-see-the-galaxy routine, surfing the mind waves with their invisible antennae, trying to appear occupied, but really on the lookout for cheap sex.

Rai had stumbled across the bar by accident. The combination of the loud rave music pouring out and the charms of the muscular bouncer at the door had drawn him. He had walked in and ordered a martini. Before he had even picked the olives out, Flaccid strode into his life.

To the sound of trip-hop, Flaccid had taken the drink from his hand and sucked down a long, drawn-out sip, looking at Rai over the rim of the martini glass. Rai had watched; without breaking eye contact, Flaccid had put his arms around him. They had kissed with eyes open wide. That was how it was all night long. Swallowed up, Rai could do no more but taste the magic of his lips. He could not even remember touching or being touched anywhere else by his lover. It was all about the lips.

When finally he could stand it no more, he had made the only direct move in their relationship—reaching down between his lover’s legs—to find the nub of their relationship, the ghost of the ex-wife, the evidence of that which was to lead to their breaking up; the flaccid member.

So this is how it feels to reach the end of desire, thought Rai as Flaccid pulled back, leaving Rai in the agony of his unconsummated desire.

He had looked on, helpless, as Flaccid pulled on his bikini shorts, then his trousers and his tee-shirt, and left. Then, reaching out, he closed his fingers around the old-fashioned pocket watch Flaccid had left behind.

The next day at Nina’s coffee shop, Rai is still in the misery of his not pre-nor-post stuck-in-the-middle coitus as he goes over each individual mind-connected, soul-stirring moment of their encounter.

How, Rai wonders, am I going to find Flaccid in this crazy city, among the mildewed dregs of coffee shops, incense-filled temples, painters’ exhibitions, antique fairs, flea markets, and karaoke bars? All spread around him, overwhelming him with their noise, and sucking him into the vortex of a man he knows of only as Flaccid.

It is time. Time then, to go back to the basics. Perhaps tease the past into revealing Flaccid’s whereabouts. Or else, is it time to move on?

Suspended in agony of the decision, the kind which is difficult to make, yet once made, will change the course of the future, he taps his fingers on his coffee cup. He picks himself up.

“Goodbye, Nina.” He waves to the familiar slim, beautiful girl behind the counter and walks out of the shop toward the highest point of the city on Malabar Hill.

He crosses the narrow canal, which runs through the tall towers of the few remaining old-fashioned nineteenth century skyscrapers, which had survived the tsunami, straggling reminders of the past. Then he proceeds past the central market, teeming with all manner of life and mementos for sale from across the galaxy, and across the art exhibition situated in the clearing after the flea market.

He takes the final turnoff for the peak and boards the antique cable car, which takes him to the top. Perched at one end of the row of seats, he fingers his eyelashes in nervousness, reveling in the sick sorrow bubbling up from his core as he considers his future.

Surely the end of a relationship should not have affected me so much. Once again, he had put much more into it, mistaking the temporary solace of a lover’s arms as a joining of the souls. I should have learnt by now. Yet he could never resist the allure of finding out. This time he had been so sure that he had found the one. He couldn’t have been more wrong for me.

The cable car stops and he departs toward the end of the world, the peak of his life. As he reaches his destination, his calm stance melts, a thin trickle of tears runs down his cheeks. He reaches the end of his patience. Despite being in the most amazing city on the planet, it is nothing if he has no one to share it with. No, not anyone—just my true love. The one I can call my own. But perhaps he does not exist. Not in this life, at least.

Rai stands on the small shelf-like space jutting out from the peak overlooking the city, gazing toward the future he never had. Then bracing himself, his feet spread out wide, pushing down against the rocky surface of his life, he is ready to take off.

He shuts his eyes, takes a deep, purifying breath and then, just as he is about to let go and jump—

“Rai?”

He shakes his head. Once again taking a deep breath, he tries to focus neither on the past nor the future, but on the moment, gathering his emotions to make that leap.

“Rai? Rai!” This time the voice is more insistent. “It’s not yet time, Rai.”

An apparition in white robes floats before him. Wisps of hair from a long white beard blow in the breeze; the man’s face is serene. Their eyes are level. Rai looks toward his feet and realises that he is suspended miles from firm land.

He gulps. “Who are you?”

“I am Mimir, and I am here to help you fulfill your destiny.”

The base of Rai’s spine prickles, his feet tingle, the hair on his forearms rise up, the shackles around his heart crack, whisper, finally melt and break away.

“Destiny?”

“You do have one, you know.”

“I do?” A cynical part of him denies what he has just seen and yet some core of him wants, needs, to believe.

“Yes, a future larger than life, bigger than everything you have ever imagined—a place where anything is possible.”

Rai hesitates, taking a fleeting look at the lights of Bombay below.

“Change. It is coming to you now, Rai. Everything you ever asked, indeed, prayed for. Grab it now, for your time has come.”

“How would you know?”

“I am here to take you on your chosen path.” Mimir continues to smile. “Come with me.” He holds out his gnarled hand.

Rai takes a final look at the city spread in front of him, then removes the old-fashioned pocket watch Flaccid left behind. It falls from his grasp. His eyes strain to follow it through the darkness until he finally tears his gaze away and looks at Mimir. Rai places his palm in the elderly man’s outstretched hand.

“I am ready.”

Mimir transports him through the wormhole, the tunnel which spans time, across the seven colours of the rainbow, to where his destiny awaits. His future on Arkana, at the Academy of Half Lives, dawns.

* * *

Rai opens his eyes to see a girl and a boy, hand-in-hand, taking a walk in the grounds of the Academy. They look up from their conversation. Mimir and Rai land in the garden adjoining the Academy in a flash of white light.

Shaken and confused from the journey, not yet sure about what has actually happened, he allows Mimir to help him to his feet and lead him to the two people.

“Meet Beauty and the Beast,” Mimir jokes. “Tiina and Yudi, this is Rai. He’s just been through the wormhole and I am afraid must be feeling rather discombobulated.”

Rai’s head spins even more. “Dis…dis…?”

“He means you must be dazed from your journey. Don’t worry, you’ll soon get used to Mimir’s way of speaking.” Tiina walks to him. Of slim build with dark brown hair and brown eyes that could melt any man’s soul, she is unlike any woman Rai has met before.

The look on Rai’s face is so confused it is comical. She laughs and embraces him.

“This is just the beginning.”

Rai wonders if he should believe her.

15

A few days later, after Rai has acclimatised, he starts classes with the rest of the students and often notices Tiina and Yudi together. They seem like a finely-tuned instrument, though not always in perfect harmony. When they do get it right, they can make the most melodious songs. Tiina is as graceful as a veena, the ancient instrument of the gods. He compares Yudi to a saxophone, someone who straddles many cultures, with keys that can be played by those in the know, to make him perform the actions they want, sometimes even against his will. Yet Yudi would be game enough to comply, despite knowing the consequences might not be in his best interests.

It is no accident that the three of them get together in a group exercise during the class of self-ascension where they are being taught to travel across dimensions. Rai has just managed to calm his senses and ascend into the other plane when he runs into Tiina.

“Rai! So, how is the yoga practise coming along?” She goes straight to the point.

“How did you know?”

“Hard not to miss you. I have seen you in yoga class, practising the various asanas. You are good.”

“Been practising it for a long time. You don’t grow up in Bombay without some of the philosophy rubbing off on you.” A thought strikes him and he pauses. “Though, it is only after I left the country that I actually started practising it.”

“How do you manage to stay in the headstand for so many minutes? I have been trying for years and am still unable to go beyond a few seconds.”

He grins. “It’s just practise; I like the feel of blood rushing to my head, clears things up.”

“So is that why you also wear linen trousers most of the time, too?”

Rai looks down at his clothes, surprised that she noticed. “It’s the effect of growing up in a warm climate—there’s no way you can wear jeans, forget leather trousers…” He glances at Tiina’s brown leather pants, which mould to her frame. “…in the heat and humidity of a tropical climate. And now I am just used to the cool airy feeling of cotton against my skin. That’s why I like yoga, too. They both make me happy.”

“And are you happy, Rai?”

He nods. “Especially here with people I am very comfortable to be with. My kind.”

Before she can reply, Yudi comes across to them and asks her, “So, how about some introductions?”

Rai smiles at him. “We already know each other. Don’t you remember? We met as Mimir brought me to the Academy.”

“Ah! So you are together already.”

They look up to see Mimir walking toward them, holding a hooked cane.

“Mimir!” exclaims Rai.

Tiina bows her head in deference.

Mimir’s face breaks into a broad smile. “Tiina! So, you have met your fellow voyagers.”

Rai notices Yudi grin at the rapt expression on Tiina’s face.

Yudi says, “If I could paint, then the mood of this scene would be peaceful, exquisite, all in white.” Then, seeming perturbed at having shared his innermost thoughts, he adds, “I have no idea where that came from. Was that poetic or what?”

Mimir nods. “White is my favourite colour.”

“Isn’t purple the colour of spirituality, though?”

“I had no idea you also painted.” Tiina rests a hand on Yudi’s arm.

He shrugs, trying to brush aside his artistic inclination. “Sometimes.”

“Purple is also good,” replies Mimir. “Though it has more connotations of passion than what I am comfortable with. I do admit that I feel like that sometimes. The passion, I mean. I am familiar with that emotion. You don’t get to my age without sampling a range of all the delights that life has to offer.” A wicked twinkle lights his eyes.

“Oh!” exclaims Rai. “I do believe you are trying to embarrass us, Mimir.”

“We elevated spirits have our moments of weakness, too.” The guardian chuckles. “Though, I get that way more when I am faced with yet another ‘good versus evil’ kind of situation.”

Yudi asks, “Humour being the panacea to such intense situations?”

“You talk as if it were a common occurrence,” says Tiina.

“Good versus evil? Well, when you get to be my age, it seems to get annoyingly repetitive. As if all the bad stuff is compelled to occasionally raise its head, remind us that it is still around, lest we forget about it, and get slapped down again.”

“You mean, be put in its place,” says Yudi.

“Yes, exactly.”

Tiina frowns. “It sounds awfully boring when you put it that way.”

“It can get quite dull and solitary. Therefore, it is almost a relief when someone such as Shaitan comes along. An out-of-the-ordinary situation, needing a very different approach and raising some very interesting possibilities.” Mimir casts them a meaningful look.

Yudi shifts his weight and crosses his arms. “Uh-oh! I do not like the sound of this.”

“Well, you are right. The three of you are the answer this time.” Mimir nods at each of them in turn.

Rai looks on, fascinated as Mimir holds up his hooked cane so that the moonbeams reflect off its polished surface and into his third eye. A whoosh of pure energy sweeps through him, in an implosion of colour, emotions, sensations, and sound, which surprises all their senses. It sends him reeling with conflicting sentiments that threaten to overwhelm him.

I will not make it back, realises Rai.

“Arise, chosen ones!” Mimir proclaims. “You have a mission.”

“Uh-oh! Hear it comes,” whispers Yudi.

The elderly man throws a warning glance at Yudi, who promptly shuts up. “As you know, Shaitan has held sway over our universe for many years now. Each of you has had your brush with him already.” He pauses and looks at Rai, who nods slightly.

Tiina and Yudi’s expressions mirror the mixture of pain, fury, and resignation in his soul. A shared past; we already have that in common.

Mimir bows his head. “What you don’t know is that a few weeks ago, Shaitan attacked Arkana.”

“Arkana?” Tiina exclaims. “But everything seems so…so untouched.”

Mimir bobs his head. “Yes, he came with only a select group of his army. In a daring strike, he raided the Temple of Arkana—”

“The one there on top of the hill?” Tiina points to where the soaring white tower of a shrine is not far off in the distance.

“Yes. He was very precise in his goal. He swept in, killed the guards, and stole the Isthmus.”

“So it’s true?” breathes Yudi. “The Isthmus is real? It actually exists?”

Mimir continues as though not noticing the interruption. “And with it, he is on his way to becoming invincible. For he who holds the Isthmus commands unlimited power.”

“What kind of power?” asks Rai. “Can he command armies? Bend us to his will?”

“Worse, or better if you want to put it that way. He commands destiny and can bend the fortunes to favour him. As long as he holds it, fate will open its gates, and with luck on his side, nothing can stop him. Not even the most superior of all half lives.”

“If the Isthmus is so lucky, how can it be stolen? Wouldn’t it be able to protect itself?”

Mimir beams. “Good question, Tiina! And therein lies the contradiction. He who holds the Isthmus dictates fortune, but the Isthmus is still just a device, and like any other object, it can be stolen. Whoever takes it commands it, and can order divine intervention to side with him every time.”

“Incredible!”

Rai casts a shrewd glance at Yudi and wonders, What it is about commanding the future that strikes such a chord with my new friend? “So what do you want us to do?”

“Retrieve the Isthmus from Shaitan and return it to its home at the Temple of Arkana. Restore the balance of power to the universe.”

“Wait. So you are saying that we have to save the world?” Yudi’s expression turns from surprise to disbelief.

“To restore peace to the living.”

Yudi rolls his eyes. “Steal it back from Shaitan, only the meanest half life who has ever lived. That should be easy!”

“It should not be very difficult; as long as you are together, there is not much you cannot do.”

“Wait! Why did you choose us?”

“Why is it that young people ask so many questions? I guess you realise by now that you are connected. You share a future.”

Tiina nibbles on her lower lip. “So, this is meant to be? It’s a little too convenient, isn’t it? Is that your explanation on the random choice of the three of us, being chosen for this…this mission?”

“Can I add, three very different people picked at random,” says Yudi.

“It is not random at all. You have been chosen to be here at this time and place to undertake this journey.”

“So it is our destiny?”

The guardian’s robes ripple as he strides through the dimension they are in. “You said it, Tiina. But yes, it is your future, so to speak.”

“So that is why you searched for us?” she asks.

“I meant it when I said that I was looking for those who deserved a second chance, but it couldn’t be just anyone. It had to be the three of you. Only you together can do this. I must warn you that you will be tested, and you will discover new things about yourself.”

“Sounds fun!” says Rai. “What do you think, Yudi?”

The other half life’s tone is sceptical. “Yeah. Sure.”

“But it will be. You will have amazing adventures while finding your way, and that, I think, is the best part. It is so much more exciting to lose your way first. It will not be boring, I promise you that.”

“Mimir, you sound wistful,” says Tiina.

“Wish I could come along, but I am a bit too old to go adventuring around the galaxy.”

A thought strikes Rai. “Do spirits grow old?”

“No, I just became weary of responsibility,” replies Mimir. “But the three of you are young. Your experiences make you hungry for answers. You still see the promise of the future through kind and trusting eyes, and this is what will keep you going on the journey.”

“You will still be with us, won’t you?” asks Tiina.

“I will. When you really need me, just call for me and I will be there.”

The three are quiet, taking everything in. Rai eyes his two new companions, two people he has never before met, but is thrust into saving the universe with.

Then Yudi asks, his tone calculating, “And if we defeat Shaitan…do we get a reward?”

“Ah! The old ‘what’s in it for me?’” says Mimir. “Surely the journey is the reward in itself.”

The three of them voice their protest and he concedes.

“But that’s not—”

“Really?”

“Okay, I’m kidding you.” He grins. “If you defeat Shaitan, then rest assured you will be rich beyond your wildest dreams.”

A huge smile breaks out on Yudi’s face. “Did you say riches?”

“Pay off, both spiritual and material, is to be had. We the spirits are not completely alienated from reality. We know what is important to you.”

Tiina’s voice quivers and she rubs her hands together nervously. “Mimir, will you be really there for us when we need you?”

“I promise.”

“Hey, but what about graduation?” asks Rai.

Yudi groans. “Why did you have to remind him about that? We don’t have to complete our course, do we? We have a world to save now.”

Mimir laughs. “Afraid that does not get you out of studying, Yudi.”

“What? Shaitan is not going to wait around doing nothing while we finish the coursework, you know.”

“Even heroes need to get their basics right. This is no ordinary course. It’s going to equip you with important mental and physical survival skills. And you have to admit, you are yet raw when it comes to fighting on the battlefield.”

“Don’t forget I learnt from the best sword master in the world—my father.”

“But you need more than that. Such as learning to think before you speak.”

“Boring!” mutters Yudi.

Mimir prepares to depart, opening his arms and twirling his staff about.

“Wait! Mimir, ah! I have just one more question.” Tiina clears her throat. “It is a…uh…a personal one. How can I reach my heart’s desire?”

“You already have it in the palm of your hand, Tiina. You just have to reach out and take it, accept it without fear.”

Rai tries to hide his laughter as she looks down to see her palm clasped in Yudi’s. She hastily releases it and turns back. Mimir has disappeared. The way they fit each other, the fact that the two of them were quite complimentary to each other had yet to sink in for Tiina, Rai realised.

Yudi breaks the silence. “I so hate it when he does that. Just creeps up on us and then disappears.”

“Really? I kind of think its cool. I’d love to do that myself.” She grins.

Rai realises she already knows the power she wields over Yudi, that such a comment would just rile him further. Before Yudi can reply, Rai turns to his companions.

“You know what this means, right?” When they look at him questioningly, he says, “Well, there is no way out once you take this on.”

While tapping his chin in thought, Yudi replies, “You heard him, though; there is a payoff at the end.”

Tiina tries to reassure him. “Who can refuse when Mimir asks? He is clever, though. Making it look so good that you cannot refuse.”

“Don’t I know about that? He brought us to Arkana, said all the right things, and now sends us off on this crazy mission.”

“What do we do, then?” asks Tiina. “It’s not like we have a choice, do we?”

Looping his arms around his head, Rai replies, “We always have a choice.”

Yudi rubs his chin. “He has challenged us. I see no option but to accept.”

“Fate, here I come!”

Rai shakes his head. “You young people are so impetuous.”

“How old are you, anyway?” she asks.

“Older than you, at least in my head.” He walks away from them, wondering if he dare tell them what he saw in the earlier visions Mimir showed him, then decides against it. Why bother them? If this is my fate, then so be it.

“Wait,” she says.

“I need a little time alone to think this through.” Still, Rai stays close enough to overhear them.

Tiina asks, “What’s with him? I wonder what he saw in the visions Mimir showed us that has upset him so much.”

“I don’t remember much, I have to say. I am kind of getting used to being flung around space. So much so that standing on solid ground is a shock.”

“Really?”

“No, I am kidding. Don’t worry; I am sure he’ll come around. Come on, Tiina, we should celebrate. We have been given our mission, and as Mimir said, we’d better use every moment we have here at Arkana.”

“You know, this is possibly the first time that we have agreed on something.”

“Oh! Really? I hadn’t noticed.” His eyes alight with mischief.

“I do believe that you are growing up, accepting your place in the larger scheme, and all that.”

“Who, me?”

Before Rai can hear Tiina’s reply, the vision fades and they are back in their classroom in Arkana.

16

After the strange encounter with Mimir, the three companions spend every free minute huddled together, discussing their future. The three discover they actually like spending time together. They share a fun, easygoing friendship; an “all is well with the world” kind of attitude. They like hanging out and the possibility of the future adventure seems far away. The year passes quickly and soon it is graduation night.

Tiina, Rai, and Yudi join the other half lives at the graduation ceremony. They are excited to face the future; their hearts alight with the hope of dreams and adventures to come. The ceremony is held in the Hall of Great Mirrors at the Academy of Half Lives. This is the first time they have had the opportunity to be present in this stately room, and its grandeur silences the normal chatter among the students.

The hall is rectangular with ceilings that soar forty feet into the air. Fifty students line up single file along one of the long walls, barely taking up one fourth of the space. The rest of the area is taken up by returning seniors, the batch that will join Arkana after them and are there to witness their initiation into the real world, as well as various class prefects and teachers.

The principal feature of the hall is the seventeen mirror-clad arches that reflect the seventeen arcaded windows overlooking the gardens of the Academy. Each arch contains twenty-one mirrors reflecting the faces below. Some are emotional about the end of this phase of their life, a slice of time when they could afford to be carefree, despite much in the world that was wrong. A few are fearful about stepping into the wide world. Others look forward to entering the race of life, to beginning the true experience of existence without responsibility to anything except themselves.

For now, though, it is time to celebrate. All the formalities of the evening being done with, the new graduates of Arkana, still clad in their formal graduation robes, head off to party at the only bar on campus.

Yudi and Tiina are wrapped up in each other on the dance floor. He draws her closer, then twirls her around in an exaggerated move, only to bring her right back in an even further intimate gesture.

“I adore you.”

Love shines in her eyes. “That is the first time you have said that.” About to reveal her own feelings, she stops when she notices that his eyes are fixed elsewhere.

She follows his gaze to a breathtakingly beautiful female standing not very far away, wearing an odd out-of-fashion white and gold dress, which sweeps behind her in a train. It is a timeless design, tailored to meet the demanding requirements of modern fashion.

Her body calls to Yudi, seduction in every step as she takes to the floor and dances; her movements slow, just for him. Their eyes lock over Tiina’s head. The DJ takes a break and the music winds down into a slower beat.

Tiina leaves to get them another drink at his request. As soon as she is swallowed up by the crowd of students at the bar, Yudi follows the other woman as she leaves the dance floor and walks out the door. She pauses at the threshold and turns around, locking eyes with someone behind him. Then her eyes flick back to him and she walks out of the dance hall and through the open field, heading in the direction of a small hill not far from the Academy.

Halfway up the hill, she turns, taunting him to follow. Desire rips through him in a surprising rush. To his fevered imagination, flowers bloom with her every step, grass springs up underfoot, a gentle breeze wafts over his skin, scented now with the smell of seduction. The entire space sighs with pleasure.

They reach a grassy ledge on the top of the small hill. Yudi has eyes only for her, though, and fails to see the lights of the city beyond her. After tearing off her clothes, he makes violent love with her. When he is spent, he turns to her.

“Who are you? A goddess?”

“Your lust come true.”

She breaks into laughter as he stares into her blue eyes.

“Remember, you are mine!” she whispers before walking away, leaving him weak in the knees.

Wham, wham, wham, his heart beats fast and a feeling of déjà vu washes over him. He has set in motion an entire sequence of events that seem vaguely familiar. Both ecstatic and unhappy at the same time, he realises he has been here before, but does not regret the pleasures of the past few hours. Still, he has lost Tiina a second time.

* * *

Tiina looks up from the bar to see Yudi follow the woman toward the exit of the dance hall. At the threshold, the woman turns and locks eyes with her for a few seconds. There is something disturbingly familiar in the tilt of her head, the look in her eyes, which Tiina is unable to place. Then the gorgeous woman breaks eye contact and is gone with Yudi.

She downs the plastic glasses filled with beer in her hands one after the other before heading back to the dance floor and flinging herself into the rock song blaring from the speakers.

The next morning, Tiina wakes with a sense of something being extremely wrong. She lies in bed, emptiness washing over her, and cannot remember what has changed. Then the events of the past night rush back.

Without even looking for him, she knows that Yudi is gone. No more will she hear his stupid jokes, feel his calming presence. Everything was okay as long as he was with her, but now she has lost him again. All her old insecurities tumble back and bitter tears run down her cheeks.

That evening, Rai enters her chamber; she is still in bed, not having moved an inch from the morning.

He tries to reassure her, picking up the pieces one-by-one, but not sounding very confident. “You’ll see him again. I promise.”

“I am not sure I really want to.”

“That is what you say now. Things will change.”

“Time and new memories?” She sniffles.

“And new adventures to replace old dreams.”

“I know, I know.”

“Your heart will heal. I promise.”

“Surely you don’t believe that, do you?”

“No,” he admits. “I was just trying to be nice. But remember the mission? We have to find the Isthmus; we have a world to save. Go on adventures together. Don’t we?”

She rolls out of bed and walks away, putting a little distance between them. At last, she looks at him, disbelief writ on her face. “My heart is breaking and all you can think of is this stupid mission.”

Rai’s brow wrinkles and his mouth hangs open helplessly. “You are still coming, aren’t you? You have to come.”

“Why should I?”

“You heard Mimir. We have to go on this mission together.”

“Do you believe everything Mimir says?”

“Not everything.” He hesitates. “But almost—”

“Ah!”

“You have to admit, he is more accurate than not.”

She nods without spirit. “Well, he is wrong this time. I am not coming with the two of you. This is one task you’ll have to take on without me.” After wiping away fresh tears, she drags her suitcase out from under the bed, then heads to the wardrobe and after flinging it open, proceeds to dump clothes from it into the suitcase.

“What are you doing?”

She snaps, “What does it look like?”

“You don’t have to make it easy for Yudi.”

“No, I won’t. And when he comes crawling back, I am not going to be around.”

A dark grin spreads over Rai’s lips. “Make him grovel!”

“And even then, it will take a lot for us to be together again. There will be adventures, but for now they will be my own. I am going to take a little trip.”

“Where are you going?”

“To the only other home I have known, Java.”

“You are leaving?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“What…what should I tell Yudi?”

“Nothing! In fact, that is what I want you to do. Don’t tell him where I am going, Rai.”

“But…but…you two are so cute together.”

“Yeah! Right! So cute that one minute he declares his love…his worthless love…” She dumps more clothes into the suitcase and then slams it shut. “…and the next he is off chasing another pretty face.”

“I am sorry, Tiina.”

Bitterness makes her arms heavy, and she shrugs, exhausted from the emotional toll Yudi has taken on her. “You guys always stick together, don’t you? But if you are my real friend at all, then don’t…don’t tell him where I am going, okay?”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

Tiina merely smiles.

17

Arkana, 3017—Present Day

Round two! Yudi stares into the darkness, wondering how to proceed. So far, so good. At least I have managed to convince Tiina to accompany me back to Arkana. He is still unsure why she agreed to come along, but at the moment he is too relieved to probe her motives further. And together with Rai, we are about to embark on the mission, finally—with Mimir’s blessings, of course.

Yudi sighs in relief, though Tiina seems impatient. Artemis, the super intelligent tell-it-like-it-is spacecraft, has been idling for a few moments, the most patient of the four and not in much of a hurry to set off on their journey.

Then Yudi exclaims, “Ah!”

“What? Have you plotted the fastest route to the Eye-Mountain?”

Even after all this time, she makes me nervous sometimes. Especially now, when he is aware that he is not in her good books. It’s a good thing she isn’t aware of it. Yudi fumbles around, trying to figure out how to get Artemis started, while Rai tries to keep the peace by distracting her.

“So, in the past few months I’ve discovered a bit more about it. The Eye-Mountain is supposed to be the junction between Heaven and Earth, where the most good and the most evil reside side-by-side.”

“A place of extremes! Like us.”

Yudi, who has been quiet so far, finally murmurs, “Okay. Let’s take the road straight ahead.”

“It took you a quarter of an hour to come up with that piece of amazing advice, eh?”

Not paying her any attention, Yudi tries to gently disengage the ship from the holding bay, but for some reason, it refuses to slide off its perch. A grumble of annoyance escapes his lips, and his friends turn to him.

“Here, let me,” Tiina offers.

“What? You would take the driving seat while I am still here?”

“I do believe Artemis responds better to a female touch.” She smirks.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Trust me.”

Yudi finally gives in and vacates the main pilot’s seat and slides into the co-pilot’s seat to the right.

Barely has Tiina touched Artemis’ controls when the panel glows, the powerful light beams at the front of the ship switch on, and with a low, smooth, almost feline purr, she slides out of the landing bay.

Tiina grins, happy to be at the controls of a spaceship.

If only it were always that simple to keep her happy, so we keep going from adventure to adventure, without ever reaching the end. He looks into the darkness spread out before them. “Well, I’ll be! I swear this thing is alive.”

“Sure she is.” Tiina pats the pulsing panel, and in reaction, the internal lights around the driving pod glow pink, bathing her in a soft blushing radiance.

Rai chuckles. “Better watch out, Yudi. I think you have a competitor for Tiina’s affections.”

“Don’t be silly.”

She blushes while Yudi realises that it is not a great feeling to be left out of the secret dialogue between Tiina and Artemis. Jealous! I am jealous of a spaceship. Good grief.

They continue in silence until Tiina says, “On my previous journeys through space, I have always seen the stars from a distance, and on one memorable occasion, the spaceship even had television.”

“I am sure we can do something about it,” says Yudi, desperate to please her. “Since you like music from the nineteen-seventies…” He leans forward and flips a switch above him, so that Led Zeppelin's “Stairway to Heaven” fills the air and a three-dimensional image of the music video appears in the viewing gallery. So incongruous and yet so apt it is, the three burst out laughing, breaking the earlier tension.

“I officially title this trip ‘Starway to Heaven’!” Tiina grins.

Both Rai and Yudi nod, though the knot in Yudi’s gut has not lessened, even with her so happy and relaxed.

At least I got this one thing right. That’s the key then, one step at a time. Even if it takes him his entire life, he is going to slowly crawl his way back into her heart. Not that I want to crawl. Now if only it were as easy to resolve the question of where I come from. Am I really connected to Shaitan; is that what the strange birthmark on my left side is about? And what if I really meet Shaitan once we reach Saturn? What would I say? Hello…Father?

He must have said something aloud, because Tiina waves a hand in front of him.

“Hello…come back to us, Yudi.”

Shaken out of his inner dialogue, he asks, “What is it now? Can’t I even get some private thinking time?”

“I am in the driver’s seat now, don’t forget!”

“Tiina, really—”

“How long is the trip going to take, then, do you know?”

He peers over the console in front of her, trying to read the numbers. “Well, if these directions are right, then we have to first go through the heart of the galaxy, which leads to the Eye-Mountain, and then through that to Saturn.”

“What is that in terms of time?” she asks.

“Time is relative on this journey.” Yudi sees Rai grin in appreciation of his attempt toward humour and frowns, trying to ignore it. “But it should not take us more than a day and a half Earth time, in terms of travelling. Everything else…”

Rai comments, “Isn’t it strange how soon one gets used to the entire concept of stars and passing galaxies?”

Seeing that Tiina is focussed on driving the spaceship, Yudi corrects himself as he peers out into the darkness. And then a face at the window gazes right into his eyes. It fills the window through which he is looking out. Thick, dark, wavy hair frames an oblong face with sharp cheek bones and a strong jaw with a prominent cleft in the chin. Reddish brown skin, almost terracota, looks familiar and seems too smooth for his strong features. Broad bushy eyebrows curve over widely spaced almond-shaped light brown eyes, which burn with an intensity that can see right through to his soul. He knows me.

Hysteria bubbles up and control slowly slips away and, as he feels himself approaching the void, the person in the glass whispers, “Yudi…Yudi?”

As the face grows clearer, it looks familiar, though he cannot yet place where he has seen it before.

“I saw you go there,” the reflection says, the words falling over his skin, making him shiver. “And I had to pull you back.”

Once he has pulled himself together, Yudi asks, “Who are you?”

“I am the person you have always wanted to meet. The fountainhead of imagination. Dip into me every time you want to feel new beginnings. I live in you. Don’t you know me, Yudi? I am your father.”

Shaitan. The word rushes through his head. Adrenaline pumps through him, intertwined with disbelief, and strangely enough, a rush of joy sweeps through him. The climax of all those years growing up when he wondered what it would be like to come face-to-face with his birth father slams into him. He hyperventilates and reaches out a trembling hand to touch the face, mesmerised, and as the image retreats, an incredible urge to follow it overcomes him. Stretching his arm, he tries to throw himself against the large transparent windows. The seatbelt restricts him and he falls back with a groan of pain.

Tiina gawks at the strange, desperate expression on his face. “Yudi!”

Alerted by the tone of her voice, Rai unsnaps his seatbelt and steps around to his companion, who has gone pale and looks shaken.

“What happened, Yudi?”

He bends down and puts his left hand on Yudi’s right shoulder.

Yudi rubs his chest where the seatbelt bit into his flesh. As if he really did look into my heart. “It’s crazy, but I actually wanted to follow the vision I just saw. There was this incredible urge I had to try to touch it.”

“What did you see, Yudi?” Tiina asks, craning her neck toward him. “Who was it?”

When Yudi hesitates, Rai urges him to speak.

“Go on, tell us.”

“Uh! My father.”

“Athira?” Tiina frowns.

“No…the real one. Shaitan.”

In the silence that follows his announcement, both Tiina and Rai gape at him.

“Really?” asks Tiina when the silence has stretched on long enough. “So now you want us to believe that you are the son of Shaitan? The one he has been looking for a very long time?”

Rai’s tone is gentler. “And for whom he has turned half the galaxy upside-down?”

With a miserable nod, Yudi hunches forward and squeezes his eyes shut. “What can I say?”

“Ah!” Rai steps back from him, letting his hand drop. “There’s not much you can say after that, now…”

Surprise is still fresh on her face. “So, this is why Mimir wanted you on this trip…you really are the Chosen One? The one meant to kill Shaitan?”

“I don’t know. I don’t feel like his son. What am I supposed to feel, anyway?”

“Take it easy,” Rai says.

Grateful for his companion’s understanding, Yudi bows his head. “Thanks.” In need of reassurance, he holds out his right hand.

Rai clasps it and pats him on the shoulder. “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together.”

Yudi nods and Rai moves back to his seat before strapping himself in.

Tiina stays silent, and when Yudi glances at her, she seems intent on playing with the various buttons on the control panel. Artemis suddenly picks up speed. “Oops. Sorry guys, still learning how to speak with Artemis.”

“Aha!” Yudi clears the catch in his throat and tries to assume a light tone in the hope of distracting himself. “No secret dialogues allowed, okay? In the spirit of this voyage, at least.”

Mischief lights Tiina’s brown eyes. “Careful, Yudi. You don’t want to upset Artemis.”

“I don’t think this damned ship even knows I am around,” he says in mock seriousness. “All it feels is you!”

In response, Artemis moves up in speed a few notches, slamming them against their seats.

“I suggest you strap yourselves in.” Tiina grins as the ship revs up and Artemis breaks the light barrier, heading straight for the heart of the galaxy.

After going through a wormhole, it crash lands on the other side, jolting them unconscious.

* * *

A million thoughts run through Tiina’s mind, as if she is inside a whirlpool of information. The first tremor wells up and thralls her as the data of life downloads into her. First come the equations, then the colours and sounds and implausible sensations, and finally vibrations, which have travelled from across many dimensions to seed her with all she needs to see them through the journey to Shaitan.

An incredible amount of energy runs through her, and she senses that she is at the epicentre of a grid connecting her to the source and to the various focal points in the larger universe. The radiant power runs through her continuously, anchoring her, yet somehow setting her free, so that she is one with the energy, and she opens her eyes and sees the truth.

When Tiina comes to, she finds Rai and Yudi's anxious faces peering down at her. She gazes at them, unblinking. Then Yudi leans forward and kisses her and she slaps him.

“Ow!” Yudi gurgles in surprise. “You didn't have to do that, you know!”

Rai relaxes in relief. “We thought we’d lost you there! How do you feel?”

She struggles to come up with an emotion that describes how she feels. Is it possible to put the journeys of many lifetimes into words? How can one even begin to explain the images I have seen? Yet if she tells them the truth, they would probably laugh and disbelieve her anyway. She settles for a lame, “I feel fine!”

“I feel the opposite, as if I have many streams of information running through my head. I feel like I have been…well…” A quizzical expression crosses Rai’s face.

“Reprogrammed?” offers Tiina, hiding her surprise at his candid answer. Perhaps he is more open than Yudi to the changes taking place within them on this journey.

“Exactly.”

“Rai’s not the only sensitive one, you know,” whines Yudi.

In an attempt to ignore the grumpy Yudi, Rai says with finality, “I would love to know the result of our journey.”

“For me, I’d just like to resolve it one way or the other. Don’t you think?”

Tiina nods. “But I so, so want it to end my way.”

“That would be preferable.” Rai leans back on his elbows.

Half-jokingly, Yudi asks, “Any last words or thoughts that you guys want to share before we tread on this path to nothingness?”

“Ah! Yudi, always the positive one!”

“Sorry. Guess I can’t help but always think the worst of the situation. Perhaps when all this is over, we will have a real chance at being together, like a normal couple.”

“Keep dreaming!” The stolen kiss has set off a myriad of conflicting emotions in Tiina, not all of which make her happy. Below all that outward bluster, she has a sneaking suspicion that she is not as resistant to Yudi’s charms as she would like to be.

Determined not to spend a minute more than necessary with him, she looks around, wondering where they are. They are in a grass covered clearing, which rolls out in front of them. At the far end of it stands a small mountain. It will take at least an hour, perhaps more, to reach. At the foothills of the mountain is a forest. She feels drawn towards the trees. As she is trying to decide which direction to set off in, she suddenly remembers Artemis.

“Where is she…Artemis?” She clarifies before either Yudi or Rai can ask.

As if hearing her, the spaceship materializes. Tiina smiles in welcome, and the ship shrinks in size, further and further until she is small enough to fit in Tiina’s palm. The craft then rises up into the air and glides forward before stopping in front of Tiina, dipping a little as if in acknowledgement. Then turning around, she continues ahead. When they show no signs of moving from their positions, she stops and then bobs up and down, lights flashing.

“Oh!” Tiina exclaims. “She wants us to follow her.”

“I could have told you that,” says Yudi. “So there is no letting go of her, then."

“You weren’t thinking of leaving her behind now, were you?”

He shrugs. “It crossed my mind.”

“Well, I, for one, am glad she is with us.”

“Better Artemis than us alone to help negotiate our way through this place.” Rai looks out over the unfamiliar terrain.

With Artemis leading the way, they start toward the forest.

Yudi and Rai follow, each one immersed in their own thoughts. Perhaps half an hour of hiking passes and they are halfway to the mountain when the Goddess of Love appears, shimmering, in front of them.

Tiina comes to a halt so that Yudi, who is behind her, almost bumps into her, and puts his hand on her shoulder for support. The figure steps of her chariot not four feet in front of them.

18

A calming fragrance of roses reaches them. Yudi feels compelled to drop to his knees and he looks up at her through narrowed eyes.

So this is what a real goddess looks like.

She has a true hourglass figure—voluptuous breasts taper into a tiny waist, which in turn flares out to curvaceous hips. A pink saree is wrapped around her in a fashion designed to show off the best parts of her figure. She wears intricately designed jewellery—a beautiful golden necklace bearing a pendant in the shape of her peacock and a sheaf of belly chains, which radiate out of a central eye-piece placed just over her navel, and wrap lovingly around the curve of her body to the base of her back, where it ties just above her rump.

Her hair is light brown, almost blonde, and flows in soft curls to mid-waist. Glittery golden jewellery is threaded through her tresses.

As he gazes at her, he wonders why her beauty leaves him cold. Earlier, seeing her figure alone would have sparked off a kindle of desire. Have my tastes changed so much that even the sight of such beauty fails to move me?

“Stand up, stand up, boy,” she says, “and tell me, what will you give me in return for guiding you to the Eye-Mountain?”

“Uh, well, but you are a goddess already. What is it that you lack?” Tiina seems compelled to draw her attention away from Yudi.

Sure enough, the goddess's eyes lift to her and she fixes Tiina with her forceful gaze, silencing the half life.

“Let the one I have asked the question of speak. Even goddesses have needs that only humans can meet, after all.”

“What do you want?” asks Yudi.

“Love.”

“But are you not the Goddess of Love? How can you be looking for love when all humans and half lives normally pray to you for it?” He is a trifle amused at the strange apparition.

“All we need to give you is love?” asks Rai with delight.

The goddess barely seems to register this remark. “If I show you the next stage of your route, then will you become my companion?”

Yudi exclaims, “Me?”

“Yes. You, the Chosen One who holds the future of the mortals in his hand. You have superior genes, too. I couldn’t find a better partner with whom to have children.”

“Hey! Hold on. That’s my entire life you are talking about. It’s good to know that I have genes that are of interest to you. I am flattered that you would choose me as your mate, but sadly I have to turn you down.” As he speaks, he inches closer to his friends, as if trying to hide from the gaze of the goddess. “You see, I have a mission I need to fulfill first.”

Sensing his hesitation, the goddess says, “But if you refuse…,” and at the thought her eyes glow with an unearthly fury. “If you refuse, then I am going to make the rest of your journey impossible. If you thought what you faced earlier was difficult, then I promise that you haven’t seen anything yet.”

The trio frown at one another, puzzled, and then Tiina says, “That is the most bizarre request ever, and not befitting of a goddess!”

She laughs. “You think greed is only the prerogative of you mortals?”

“Yes, absolutely. After all, you, the gods who have achieved Nirvana, are liberated from the circle of life and death, right?”

“Exactly, and still need a companion.”

“Why would you need a mortal, though? Considering there are so many thousands of you out there to keep each other company and all. Could you not choose from among one of your own kind?”

The goddess glares at her. “There aren’t that many of us to go around, actually, and most have paired off already.”

“It sounds exactly like—”

“The dating cycle in your world? You are right. It is not far off. All the good ones are taken. As for the ones who are not, well, you can imagine that there are good reasons why no one will have them.”

“Wow!” gasps Tiina. “Even goddesses would have the same fear as us girls?”

“Of ending on our own, scared and lonely…”

“I know!”

They are two sides of the same coin. One, a mortal who has stepped into her own power. The other, a goddess who has the power, but has not claimed it fully. Yet, he senses that Tiina feels a strange kinship with this extraordinarily beautiful, yet sad,creature.

The bonds of sisterhood exist even between immortals and mortals. United in their point of view of the world, he wonders. Do they share the same opinion of me?

Tiina says, “You haven’t told us your name, by the way.”

“It’s Uma, and I need a mortal companion! Someone who can keep me company through the days and nights of this never-ending life”

“Tell me about it,” agrees Tiina. “And it’s worse for you.”

“Because I will live forever.”

“In which case, what help can a mortal half life provide you with?”

“As the story goes, if an immortal consummates love with a mortal—”

“Then the immortal loses powers of never-ending life and becomes mortal, too, right?”

“To be mortal is the real deal.” Then, noticing their surprised faces, Uma adds in a voice dropping a few octaves, “Or haven't you got that through your stupid heads yet?”

Tiina gapes at her.

“Well? Why do you look so upset, Tiina?”

She hesitates. “Ah, well…”

Yudi speaks up. “She’s probably just happy to see me go. Isn’t that right, Tiina?” The trip so far has exhausted him and he can’t seem to get anywhere with Tiina, as if his back is to the wall. Perhaps this is the way to end it. If Tiina doesn’t want him, then he may as well find out what this goddess has to offer. I have nothing to lose.

“Is that what you think?” asks Uma, laughing without humour. “You sure don’t know much about the female of any species, do you?”

“Uh! What are you talking about?” Yudi pulls himself up to his full height, as if by doing so he could assert his masculinity in the overpoweringly female environment.

Then, upon hearing a thud behind him, he turns to see that Tiina has drawn her sword, letting the heavy black scabbard drop to the ground. She assumes a fighting stance, holding the blade in her right hand and beckoning to the goddess with the left. He can only stare in surprise, having expected her to laugh and bid him goodbye, leaving him for the goddess to do with him as she wanted. This response is quite the opposite and it leaves him befuddled.

Uma continues, but this time directs her conversation to Tiina. “I am only asking that he stay with me upon your return. He can come with you to save the universe, or whatever makes you happy, but then have him back to me—forever.”

“N-o…w-a-y!” Tiina enunciates every single syllable. Then she glances at Yudi with a glint in her eye. “Unless, of course, Yudi, you fancy staying back. After all, you do have a taste for women from other worlds, as I recall…”

Yudi frowns at her. This is no time for jokes. Rather than speak, he tries to signal with his eyes, looking from Tiina to Uma and back again. “I am still here, you know.” He vainly tries to draw their attention back to himself. When they don’t pay him any attention, he says, “You are kidding, right?”

Barely are the words out of his mouth when the goddess says in a voice descending an octave and growing deeper by the second, “Well then, mortals, don’t blame me for what happens next.”

He looks on, his mouth agape as the goddess pulls a trident from thin air and rushes at Tiina.

She waits until the goddess is almost upon her, but before she can move, Yudi is there and takes the full brunt of the first thrust from her trident. A line of fire burns his right side where the weapon has pierced him, and he holds it with both hands and watches in fascination as blood spurts out, flowing over his fingers and staining his clothes.

“Ah! You stabbed me.” Yudi realises he has just spoken, though it seems to be coming from a long distance away.

Then, Rai intervenes, pulling at Yudi. “I suggest we get out of the way. Let the girls fight it out.”

“You are joking.” Yudi tries to protest, but in his wounded state, he is no match for Rai, who half drags him to a safe distance.

With him out of the way, the two turn on each other. Tiina blocks Uma’s next thrust. They are all over the place, moving so fast that his eyes can barely follow them. A blinding flash results every time their weapons clash.

Rai tears a strip of cloth from the bottom of his linen trousers and ties it around Yudi’s waist and chest, just above the wound, stemming the flow. Yet, Yudi barely notices, completely entranced by the fight.

The length of time between the clashes reduces until it is almost one continuous flow of light so brilliant that Yudi has to put up a hand to shield his eyes from the glare. Suddenly, the sounds stop. When he lowers his palm, the two of them are circling again, both panting hard.

Sweat pours down Tiina’s forehead and she holds her free left hand to her right side, where Uma has managed to slash her with the trident.

Uma’s lips are curled in a devious smile, and she is enjoying the fight.

The two rush at each other, meeting in midair with a resounding clash. This time they are both trapped in a twister, which descends out of nowhere and lifts them up so that they disappear while fighting.

Yudi and Rai follow the arc of the twister and break into a run, Yudi’s wound slowing him down, to where it has landed about fifty metres ahead in the direction of the forest.

When they arrive, they find Tiina flat on her back, still holding her sword. Her clothes are torn further, and her hair is in complete shambles. Ragged breath escapes her in wheezes and her eyes are shut. Forgetting his pain, Yudi bends over her, reaching out to touch her face. He jerks back as her eyes open, and electricity sizzles between them when their gazes meet.

“Uma?”

Still unable to speak, the breath coming out in pants, Tiina points up to where they can see the tail of a comet disappear into the horizon. “ G-o-n-e.”

Rai exclaims, “You beat a goddess!”

His words barely penetrate the moment that Yudi and Tiina are trapped in. The pain in his side forgotten, Yudi holds out his hand in silence. When she grasps it, he pulls her to her feet and higher, so that for a second she is dangling, her legs barely touching the ground, and then she wraps her hands around his neck and her feet around his waist for support, the sword still clutched in her right hand behind his back.

“Careful with that sword,” Yudi says, his face serious, not able to explain what he feels right then, except that there is nowhere else he wants to be but in that field at the edge of the forest with her.

In reply, she brings the sword between them and holds it to his neck, unsmiling. Yudi leans forward, not caring if the sword cuts him, and kisses her. He is pleased when Tiina kisses him back fiercely. They finally break apart, gasping for breath.

Still holding her, Yudi walks. Adrenaline drains out of her as her hand goes limp. He reaches between them to take the sword and passes it to Rai, who trails behind him, with the scabbard she dropped earlier. As Tiina rests her head on his shoulder, her breathing slows. A tenderness he has never experienced before runs through him and he kisses her forehead.

Artemis materialises again in front of them. Taking this as a sign to move on, Yudi follows her, still holding Tiina, with Rai bringing up the rear. Her body jerks a little as she relaxes and dozes off. After about ten minutes of walking, he stumbles on a slight outcropping, waking her.

“Sorry.”

The earlier encounter has left her drained, and her exhaustion resonates in her heavy voice. “It’s okay. Let me down; I should walk, anyway.”

Yudi places her down carefully, maintaining his hold on her. When he is confident she can stand on her own, he clasps her hand, leading her forward. With his other hand, he holds his side, where the pain from the wound has faded, numbed by the blood circulation slowing down, thanks to Rai’s crudely applied tourniquet.

19

Rai follows Yudi and Tiina, with Tiina’s blade in its scabbard, which he now wears on his back. The earlier events have somewhat bemused him, but he is pleased that his two best friends have made up.

They look so cute together. He glances to where they are walking and can make out Artemis leading the way, though she is far ahead of them. Silence descends for a while. The sun bathes him in a warm glow, and he relaxes his arms and shoulders, glad for the warmth.

Soon they are walking through the forest and climbing the foothills of the mountain. Rai scans the trees and the surrounding scenery. The ground slopes upward, yet the trees growing here are massive.

Something is not quite right, he thinks, and realises it is because he would have associated trees like this with flat ground. As they continue hiking, though, the ground slopes quite steeply, and becomes covered with the needle-like leaves from the tall giants growing there. The trees are at least a hundred metres tall and tower into the sky, as if celebrating life.

Their footsteps are hushed by the green carpeted ground. The roots of the trees are monstrous, twisted, and he has to step carefully around them to avoid tripping. The trees themselves must be many hundreds, if not thousands of years old. Wind whispers through the leaves, and just as he begins to enjoy it, the breeze dies down, so that there is complete silence.

There are no birds; isn’t that strange?

Barely has the thought occurred when without warning the sun hides behind the clouds, darkness descends, and the breeze picks up. The wind blows faster and faster, howling into a tornado. A snowstorm slams into them out of nowhere.

“Over there!” Rai screams to be heard over the gale, and gestures at them to follow as he makes his way through the biting sleet toward a large banyan tree just ahead.

They tie the massive roots around their waists, holding onto the solid trunk. Tiina grabs Artemis to stop her from being thrown around in the wind and her grasp on the tree slides. “Yudi! Rai! Help me!”

Yudi reaches for her and pulls her back to safety. The three of them embrace in death’s grip, shutting their eyes against the elements. Then the wind picks up another notch and pulls the tree’s roots free of the Earth with a loud whoosh.

Rai yells as he hurtles through the air, up through the layers of the atmosphere, and through space—past meteors, stars, the rings of a planet; shooting stars cross his path so closely that their fiery starburst tails miss him by inches. On and on the journey goes, and he travels past apparitions of monsters, which loom out of nowhere, brushing him, some even hitching a ride with them briefly. Memories of old descend on him— old ghosts of dead parents, lost first loves, previous lifetimes of pain, anguish, war, misery, and loss. He is trapped in his own private hell, until writhing in misery, tears stream down his cheeks. When he can cry no more, utterly spent and completely numb, he closes his eyes.

After a few minutes in that position, Rai senses the wind dying down. Unsteady from the previous rush, he opens his eyes cautiously. Not able to let go of the roots to which he is clinging, he tightens his grip.

Then there is a soft touch on his face and he moans, not yet ready to face reality.

“It’s okay,” says a soft-spoken woman.

He opens his eyes to see a woman of amazing peace, grace, and beauty, tall and beautiful, her dark bluish-black hair falling in long braids that almost reach her knees.

“Oh no!” he moans. “Another disgruntled goddess!” He closes his eyes and grips the tree roots even more firmly.

“It is okay,” she repeats. The words sound reassuring and real and flow over him like a gentle stream.

Looking at her, he feels more hopeful. “Who are you?”

“I am Ishtar, the protector. I mean no harm. Follow me.”

He trails after her as if in a trance. Where Uma had been curvaceous, Isthar is all long, lean, graceful lines. Golden robes that shine in an unearthly way garb her from head-to-toe. Part of the robe is draped over her hair and held in place with blue sapphire studded pins, which match the rows of turquoise beads draped around her neck. Her eyes, when she turns to beckon to him, are also a piercing blue. In her right hand she holds a device, which looks like a wand attached to an eight-pointed star. She leads him a few feet away and points with the wand to the distance.

The clouds part so that he can peer through the clearing they create. On the horizon, there shimmers a shape that resembles a rough pyramid. Mist floats all around it. The scene is so serene, perfect, and quiet. Every single object seems marked out clearly in relief, its outline glowing in unearthly light.

“The Eye-Mountain!” he exclaims.

“Yes! And the next stage of your journey.”

“And you don’t want anything in return, right?”

“Not at all. You must be hungry.”

As she mentions it, Rai realises that he has not eaten in days. In fact, he has no recollection of his last meal.

She leads him into the woods to a clearing that appears out of nowhere. In the clearing are a table and two chairs, almost as if she had been expecting company. Right next to it is a tinkling water fountain.

The table is rectangular, made of some transparent material, which glows. It holds the plates and goblets lovingly in its grasp, and is set with dishes of different shapes and sizes laden with food. There is a crystal wine glass next to each chair, filled to the brim with a liquid he assumes to be wine.

Everything is as it should be, yet there is something different about the scene, some niggling detail, which he cannot quite pin down. The entire setup is light, ethereal, and floating a few inches off the ground. As soon as the realisation strikes, the table, chairs and the fountain lift off in one go, and the soaring notes of an aria fill the air. It is as gentle as the first raindrops pattering onto leaves. The music is muted and the entire effect is very much similar to a luxurious restaurant at the end of the galaxy.

“All the comforts of home, eh?” jokes Rai.

“You are home.”

Surprise takes him. “It may be home to you, but I can assure you that where I come from, this is more like Heaven.”

“Heaven and hearth, is there much difference between the two?”

“You mean Heaven and Earth?”

“No Heaven and hearth.”

“Ah! A goddess with a sense of humour!”

“Yes, where I come from I am known for my jokes.”

“The Goddess of Small Puns?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, now,” she says, “but let’s just say that I am better humoured since, unlike others, I am one of those who did not lose touch with my inner mortal.”

“I should be grateful that you found me, then, shouldn’t I?”

“You could have done worse! Eat now.”

Rai takes his seat on one side of the rectangular table. The goddess sits down on the other. With gusto, he tears into the food, not realising how hungry he actually is, and soon has finished more than half the food on the table. He looks up to find Ishtar watching him.

“Aren’t you eating?”

She shakes her head. “We spirits do not get hungry. We can’t eat.”

He pauses, the food on his fork midway between plate and mouth, and asks, “You mean you’ve never tasted all this?”

“No. I can find enjoyment in yours, though.”

Rai is tempted to say something more, but there does not seem much point, and the meal is calling out to him. He pauses to pour himself more red wine and turns back to the plate of potatoes, meat, sauces, curry, and rice, devouring everything on the table. Finally feeling quite satisfied, he puts down his fork, leans back, and sighs with contentment.

“Coffee? A smoke?” she asks.

Rai feels that he should at least act surprised by her question, but decides to go with the flow. She sets a humidor in front of him and pours him coffee out of a silver flask.

“Cuban, of course.”

“Of course,” he echoes her, wondering why it did not surprise him more. Rai lights up and puffs. After a few drags, he sighs and says, “So, now that we are over the formalities, let’s get down to the real thing. Why are you meeting me now?”

“I’ve been waiting here a long time.”

“All of you gods say the same thing.”

“Don’t you believe me, Rai?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just that—”

“Look!” She shows him a flurry of images.

Seasons change. Various people come and go, yet she is the only constant, always in frame, appearing ageless, beautiful, and unchanging. No emotions show on her face. She stands rooted in time, and only the clothes she wears change, reflecting the decade she is in, giving clues to the avatars she has taken over the ages. The shifting scenes gather speed until he feels drawn into a vortex against his will and is forced to take a step back.

Rai gapes at her with dawning comprehension, only slightly stunned. “You would think I am used to these crazy trips,” he says, speaking softly, almost to himself. “Okay, so you did wait for me. What do you want?”

The goddess laughs. “It seems that you have met my dear twin sister.”

“You mean the Goddess of Love?”

“Yes, but alas poor Uma…no longer that loving, is she? Having given of her love to so many people, she wanted a little for herself and made the mistake of getting involved.”

“Is that wrong?”

“Afraid so. It is the beginning of the end. Once she loses her heart, her power starts to weaken.”

“Oh, really?”

“The heart is the power centre. It holds the key to life. Am I making sense?”

“You do talk funny, but I sort of follow you. You mean, lose your heart and lose your world? That kind of thing?”

“Yes! Why do you think men never really give away their hearts easily? They seem to think it weakens you, but you know it makes you stronger.”

“Are you sure? Every time I fall in love, I feel terrible.”

“That’s because you chose the wrong person each time.”

“You are quite clued in!”

“So I am told by many of you lost souls. Though, you are somewhat different.”

“I know. The missing links, the saviours, we have been called various names. But all we’ve done is move from adventure to adventure. It is not as if we get hurt, either.”

“Careful,” Ishtar warns. “Don’t tempt fate.”

He chuckles. “Thanks for the advice, though.”

“I do want something from you.”

Uh-oh! Here it comes. “Just as I am beginning to like you…”

“Relax, now. I don’t want much. Just promise me something.”

“A promise?”

“A promise that when you reach your destination, you will not let Yudi give into the final temptation.”

“And if I do?”

“Well, then, it’s not going to do any good for any of us.”

“And the fate of the world lies in my hands now, I suppose?”

“It’s actually Yudi’s hands, but you play a key role in helping him get there.”

He lifts and lowers a shoulder. “It’s not like I have a choice, right? So let’s get a move on.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Okay, then,” says Ishtar, and claps her hands.

* * *

Rai returns to the land of the living. He opens his eyes to a sliver of pain shooting through his head and cringes and rubs it.

“Where did you go this time?” asks Yudi, helping him sit up.

“You will not believe it…” He lets the sentence hang.

“Why is it that only you and Tiina keep having all these experiences? I feel left out,” complains Yudi.

Rai points out, “You did take the most incredible trip the last time. You just don’t seem to remember it.”

“Perhaps you are special?”

“Actually, no.” He sends Yudi a secret smile.

“Uh! What do you mean?”

“Seems you are the important one, the one who will take the final step. I am but the trigger, and so is she.” He nods toward Tiina.

“I don’t want it.” After openly yearning to be in the spotlight all along, he now appears uncomfortable at the thought of wearing all that responsibility.

“Don't want what, Yudi? You don't even know where this is taking you.”

“Oh! But I do. I am beginning to get an idea of my role in all this.”

Tiina asks, “Well, what do you make of it?”

“I am not sure.”

“Ha! You don’t have a choice. You can’t keep running away, Yudi.”

“No, he does not have a choice,” agrees Rai. “Not yet, anyway.”

“So I can get out of this crazy mission in the future?” asks Yudi.

“I’ll remind you of this when you decide not to make the choice to walk away.”

“That’s so not possible!”

“Believe me. It’s your choice.” Rai gets to his feet and dusts off the seat of his trousers. “Ah! The faithful Artemis.” The palm-sized spaceship hovers far ahead, and Rai gestures to her. “She is almost halfway up the mountain. Let’s hurry and catch up.”

“Wait,” Tiina calls to him. She breaks into a quick jog to reach him before she matches her steps to keep up with his longer strides. “What about me?”

“You will be there every step of the way with Yudi.”

“And you will not?”

Rai merely smiles and shrugs, taking the lead.

“Wait; don’t go all manly on me now, okay?”

When Rai does not reply, she shakes her head and continues with him, this time with Yudi bringing up the rear. The path winds around the mountain, sloping upward with every step.

Soon the trees give way to grasslands. The nearer they come to the summit of the mountain, the taller is the grass on either side of their path. By the time they are about one-fourth of the way to the top, the grass is almost as tall as Tiina, coming up to Yudi’s lower chest, and up to Rai’s shoulders.

They stop; not far away cows graze contently to their right where the grass is shorter. The sunlight grows in intensity, bathing them in its warm, vivid radiance. The air they breathe seems lightly spiced and tastes delicious. They can see that they are almost at the summit.

Yudi asks, “Where’s Artemis?”

In the space of a few hours, the entire dynamic of their relationship has changed. As if reassured about his relationship with Tiina, Yudi now looks on Artemis as more of a guardian angel than competitor for Tiina’s affections.

“I can’t see her,” she replies, turning to Rai. “Can you?”

Rai scans the distance and shakes his head, for all he can see is the path straightening a bit and then abruptly disappearing around the bend. Yet they are almost at the summit. As Rai and Tiina look around for the ship, Yudi trips over a shape on the ground. He stumbles and falls, turning at the last minute to protect his injured right side.

20

Tiina looks back just in time to see Yudi fall. Even as she runs back to him, he moves to straighten himself. A low growl stops them both in their tracks. The shape that he had tripped over, which had been hiding in the grass, reveals itself. Not a fully grown lion, yet not a tiny lion cub, it is a teenager like them. It stands there between Yudi and Tiina, growling softly and bends its front legs as if getting ready to swing.

Tiina’s hand goes to the hilt of her blade and her heart sinks when she realises that it is still with Rai, who is further ahead from her, too far to notice the drama taking place. Without taking her eyes of the lion cub, she starts forward slowly, so as not to make any movement to alert it. She comes up short, her gaze narrowing in apprehension as the half grown cub straightens itself.

Then shaking itself, the growling cub changes his tone to a warm purr, and the animal walks forward and licks Yudi’s face, bathing him until he protests. He puts out his hand to rub the lion cub, which relaxes back on its folded four legs, enjoying itself. Using the cub for support Yudi sits up and continues rubbing its rough fur.

Tiina relaxes a little, her hand falling back at ease, still unsure about what has happened. Then she recalls when Yudi had tracked her down and they had returned to Arkana, the lion that had been fighting with Rai had a similar reaction to Yudi.

What is it with Yudi and lions? she wonders, retracing her steps to walk toward him.

He sits up, holding his side in pain. As she reaches him, she notes that the fall has reopened the wound, so she sits down next to him and reties the loosened tourniquet. To stop the flow of blood, she puts both her palms on the wound and glances at Yudi’s face; he has gone pale.

Rai reaches them and squats down next to her, patting the lion cub absentmindedly. “Do you know him?”

“I used to have a lion cub when I was very young…he was my best friend. That was a long time ago, though, so it can’t be the same one. But…,” his voice tapers off.

“What do we do about his wound?” Rai asks Tiina.

“How are you feeling, Yudi?” She is worried about the pain.

“Weak, tired…thirsty.” He touches his tongue to his lips and closes his eyes.

The other two exchange glances, then Rai gets to his feet. “I am going in search of water. Why don’t you stay with him? The two of you can rest a while.”

She nods, then as he turns to go, hails him. “My sword?”

After hesitating, he unhooks the sword from his back and throws it to her. Tiina catches it and straps it on, glad to have it back in place.

Yudi still has his blade safely around his waist, below the wound, so she is reassured that it will not hurt him further. Then following the example of both Yudi and the lion cub, who doze in the warm sunshine, she lies back on the grass and closes her eyes.

The rising wind finally wakes Tiina. The sun has gone behind the clouds and darkness creeps in, a mist inching in from the direction of the peak. She opens her eyes and shivers. In the growing cold, she finds Yudi still asleep. The lion cub looks at her without moving. Rai has been gone for a while and she wonders why he is not yet back. Without thinking, she places her hand on Yudi’s shoulder and shakes him.

He jerks awake and whips his head to her. Sensing her concern, he sits up. The short rest seems to have revived him somewhat.

“It’s Rai. He’s not back yet.” She gets to her feet. “I am going in search of him.”

Yudi protests, running his tongue over his cracked lips. “I feel really helpless now. It should be me, not you.”

She raises her eyes and motions at his wound. Unhappy with the idea, he falls silent.

To appease him, she says, “I am sure you’ll get your turn at saving me, but for now, just rest and get your strength back. Besides you must be really thirsty…”

The fact that he does not protest when he nods bothers her even more. She leans forward to touch the lion cub, which is sitting next to Yudi, breathing loudly in the way animals often do when they are resting.

“Take care of him.” She rubs his head as he butts her hand affectionately.

“Right! I can take care of myself.”

“Of course.” She prepares to set off, then leans forward to kiss him on his forehead, too. “Stay put. I won’t be long.”

21

Yudi watches her go with mixed feelings. As she disappears around the bend, he tries to rest, but this time the raging thirst inside him keeps him awake. He frets, trying to find a more comfortable place on the grass, but the ground grows harder by the minute. The lion cub watches him as if waiting for him to make the next move. He stops his restless shuffling, his mind running through the possibilities of what he could do next. Half life and half-grown lion stare at each other in mock face off. Stay or go?

He tests his side, looks down at the wound, and finds that the bleeding has stopped. It still hurts, but at least the throbbing is down to a dull ache now. The cut’s appearance doesn’t fool him, though. If he starts walking, he is sure it will open up again.

All the more reason to make the most of this window when the aching has slowed down, he thinks. How could I have let Tiina go off on her own, anyway? Sure she is more than capable of taking care of herself. Besides, I am the man in this relationship, aren’t I? I am meant to protect her, not the other way around.

At this slug to his ego, Yudi sits up straight, disregarding the pain, and gets to his feet, gasping a little as little needles of agony radiate out from the wound. He stops to catch his breath. The lion cub gets to its feet as well, and even though he is not fully grown, he is already about three feet tall, reaching Yudi’s thighs.

“Come on then, Simh.” He calls to the lion by the same name that Mimir had referred to Lion Man at Arkana.

The lion cub seems to like the name, for it pads after Yudi, butting him gently on the side of his legs, then strutting forward, takes the lead. Yudi follows the lion at a slower pace. It takes him almost twenty minutes to reach the curve in the path. He despairs a little, for if he had been unhurt, he would have covered the same ground in half the time.

As if encouraging him, Simh waits, patiently looking back at him. Yudi nods, and taking a deep breath, hurries his pace. They round the bend and come upon a small clearing. Not more than thirty feet ahead in the middle of the clearing is a small lake. As he continues toward the lake, he sees Artemis hovering in the middle above the water near the centre, but unlike the other times, she is almost stationery.

As if she has been waiting for me, he realizes.

He walks a few more feet and spots the two lifeless figures on the ground about forty metres away. A cry of alarm escapes his lips and he stumbles as fast as his body permits. It takes him another five minutes to reach them at the edge of the lake. He sinks down into the soft muddy ground between them.

On his left is Rai, motionless, but with a serene expression, his lips almost turned up in a smile. On his right, Tiina lies partially turned away from him. She holds the sword in her right hand, which is flung out, her left on her chest, just on her heart.

He places a finger below her nose and, to his alarm, she is not breathing, so he touches his palm to her forehead, which is smooth and cool. Cold fingers of fear creep up on his heart as he bends to place his ear over her heart, confirming that there is no beat.

He turns to Rai, but even before he checks for a heartbeat, he knows he will not find one. A tear runs down his cheek, and he turns to where Simh is calmly lapping water at the edge of the lake. The lion cub cocks its head toward him.

Yudi raises his eyes to the skies, a cry of despair escaping his lips, and he gets to his feet. Pulling out his sword, his pain forgotten, he screams, “Come out and show yourself, whoever you are!”

“Come out, come out, come out!” his voice echoes around the lake mockingly before it dies down.

Yudi heaves, hoping that he is caught in the throes of a bad nightmare, but knowing it is not. With another shout, he lifts his sword and walks toward the lake, then raises his voice again.

The stress and fear of having lost his best friend and his lover crack his voice. “You coward! Why are you hiding? Come out and face me!”

Misery washes over him and with tears running down his face, he sinks to his knees in the soft sand. The sword slips from his hands as he buries his face in his palms, his shoulders heaving silently. He collects himself and turns to the water, aware again of the desperate thirst burning his throat. He yearns just for a taste of the sweet liquid.

Just a taste. He runs his tongue over his cracked lips. A sip, and then I can mourn them properly.

Then he stops thinking altogether as instinct takes over and he walks to the water. He sinks to his knees once more and his reflection stares back at him for a minute before he scoops up the water in his palms.

As he is about to bring it to his lips, a voice calls out, “Wait. Yudi.”

A being has appeared in the middle of the lake, the most hideous little man Yudi has ever seen. Not more than four feet in height, his skin is pale green like a water snake. His short legs are clad in a cloth draped in the traditional style of a sarong. On his upper torso he wears a white kurta, a loose shirt made of cotton, with golden embroidery on the sleeves, which cover him from neck-to-wrist. Around his throat he wears a heavy golden chain, which hangs to his swollen potbellied stomach. He has no hair on his head, but seems to have made up for it with a luxurious beard and mustache. As he walks toward Yudi, he seems to skim the surface of the water, making a final dainty hop over the edge of the lake.

Yudi gets to his feet and grips his sword. As he looks at the man closely, he notices that the dwarf’s left eye is golden yellow, the right is black. Two small tusks protrude from each end of his mouth. His ugliness sends a shudder of revulsion down Yudi’s spine, which he does not bother to hide.

“Ah!” The dwarf smiles so that his lips stretch and the tusks on either side tremble to accommodate his grim grin. “Not yet! Yudi, you can’t drink the water yet.”

“Who are you?”

“I am Kubera, the nature sprite who guards this lake.”

“What have you done to my friends?”

“They were both greedy. I warned them not to drink the water until they had answered my questions, but they were both so selfish that they had no patience. Despite my warning, they decided to drink the water, and paid with their lives.”

“What do you want?”

“You are hurt?”

At his reminder, Yudi touches his wound and winces, the pain creeping back. “Again, what do you want?”

“You want the Elixir, I assume?”

“How did you know?”

“I…just…know.” Kubera’s smile is a little freakish, and starts to bother Yudi. “All you have to do is answer my three questions. If you get them right, I’ll give you the Elixir.”

He considers the proposal. Sounds simple. “I assume there is a catch?”

Kubera laughs loudly, the noise echoing around the surface of the water, and disturbs Artemis, who trembles a little.

“If your answers are incorrect, your friends will never recover their lives.”

“And if I get them right?”

“Well, then, your friends will return with their lives.”

“And the Elixir?”

Kubera nods. “Yes, you get the Elixir, too, to help you in your quest to return the Isthmus. You have no choice.”

With a last glance at the figures on the ground, Yudi nods, then noticing the pleased expression on Kubera’s face, he regrets accepting the challenge. Before he can protest, Kubera speaks. “Remember to listen carefully and answer after due consideration. You only have one chance to get it right.”

“Enough already! Get on with it.”

“So here is my first question. What is more important than the mother planet Earth, yet higher than heavens, but faster than the wind, and more numerous than stars in the galaxy?”

Aha! Tricky. Yudi thinks about the question and the strange little man who asked it. Guardians often like to ask questions that are fairly philosophical. They don't ask complicated questions that have difficult answers, instead preferring complicated questions that have simple answers. Mimir’s words, from one of his classes at the Academy come flooding back and he steadies his mind and plunges in with an answer.

“One's own mother is more important than Mother Earth; one's father is higher than the mountains. The mind is faster than wind and our worries are more numerous than all the stars in the galaxy.”

A slow grin spreads across Yudi’s dry lips at Kubera’s stunned reaction. Didn’t expect me to get that one, did you? His heart feels ready to burst with secret delight at having got the first one right. Calm down. Calm down. Not yet there.

Kubera nods. “Not bad, but you are not there yet.”

“Stop echoing my thoughts,” Yudi retorts in disgust. “At least be more original in your commentary, dwarf!”

The short man continues, unprovoked. “What enemy is invincible? What is incurable?”

Hmm… Obviously, the questions are only going to get tougher as it goes along. Yudi pushes his luck. “Can you give me a clue?”

Kubera acknowledges his clever move and says, “Think of your emotions. They are often your worst enemy, aren’t they, Yudi?”

He nods, his mind clearing. “Anger is the invincible enemy. Optimism is incurable. Hope is the only thing that keeps the universe going. It is the only explanation for what keeps us going on this journey.”

The importance of his answer sinks in and Yudi realizes that in answering Kubera’s question, he has resolved one of the more complex confusions in his life. For as long as he can remember, he has despaired of acting too spontaneously, without stopping to think of the consequences. Now by being forced to think of the outcome of his emotions, he has been given a clearer direction by which to live.

Much more confident now in his own ability to answer the final question, he asks, “What’s your next question, Kubera?”

Acknowledging his gesture of respect, Kubera says, “My last and final question then, son of Shaitan, is also the trickiest. Take your time before you reply. Can you tell me what the greatest wonder is?”

The words spill out without hesitation. “Day after day, many of us mortals die. That is inevitable, yet the living wish to live forever. On the other hand the immortals, including the goddesses we have met on this journey so far, want to be mortal. Isn’t that the greatest wonder of all?”

The dwarf is pleased with his answers, his mouth wrinkling in a sly smirk.

Yudi is surprised and strangely satisfied at the depth of his knowledge. So Mimir was right. It was important to go through the process of learning at Arkana to prepare for the tests life would have to offer. For once, he is happy to have toed the line, and he finds that there is no sense of ego in realizing this, just that he is happy to have done the right thing and to have saved his friends.

Kubera bobs his ugly head. “Well done, Yudi.” He takes a bottle with a transparent liquid from the folds of the cloth tied around his waist over the sarong. “Here is the Elixir.” The bottle glints as he hands it over. “Remember, all three of you have to drink it so that you can get through the next stage of your journey unharmed.”

“So, where is the Gateway to Saturn, then?”

In reply, Kubera looks to where Artemis hovers stationery in the centre of the lake. The dwarf raises his right arm in farewell.

“Wait, what do you mean—?” he asks, then is distracted when he notices Tiina stir.

As he turns to bend down to help her up, he finds that he is no longer thirsty. In fact, when he touches his side, he notes the wound is gone, and his clothes have returned to their original untouched condition. Both of his companions appear to be sleeping peacefully, their clothing intact. Tiina’s hair is all in place, its usual long and glossy self once more, as if she has just washed and set it.

He touches Tiina’s cheek and she smiles at him sleepily.

“Open your mouth.” When she obeys without a murmur, he pours a little of the clear liquid between her lips and waits for her to swallow it, then pours a little into his own mouth. It tastes like water, and is just as neutral in smell as it is transparent.

Rai sits up, rubbing his eyes. “Did we fall asleep?”

“Yes.” The bottle is almost empty, and he hands it to Rai, glad there is just enough to go around. “That’s the Elixir; drink it up. Finish it.”

His companion takes it from Yudi and is about to drink it when Simh walks up to him, butting him on the shoulder with his head. The lion cub opens its mouth as if asking for some. Rai shrugs and pours the liquid into the cub’s mouth, then he tilts it to his mouth, but there isn’t anything left. He lifts the glass bottle upside-down and captures the last remaining drop, swallowing it.

Yudi’s lips purse into a frown when he spies the questioning tug of Rai’s mouth. “All done?”

Rai nods and places the bottle on the ground, and after digging a hole in the soft dirt with his bare hands, buries it so as not to spoil the appearance of the beautiful scene. Then, while washing his hands in the lake, he asks, “Well, what’s next, then?”

Yudi and Tiina look to each other and laugh. It feels good to lighten up after the intensity of the last few hours. He gazes at her, love swelling his heart and warming his body, and she turns to Artemis, who is once again bobbing up and down, impatient to move on. After getting to his feet, he pulls her up, and embracing her in a familiar gesture, kisses her forehead.

“You know I am never going to let you leave me now?”

“I’ll remind you of your promise when we come face-to-face with Shaitan.”

Yudi begins to protest when, realizing that her old habit of baiting him hasn’t changed, he decides to give her a dose of her own medicine. “Whatever makes you say that?”

“We’ll see if things don’t change when he offers you his kingdom as his son.”

“Ah! You are right. Between you and Shaitan? There’s no choice.”

“Hey!” Her body grows rigid as she tries to pull away from his embrace.

“Two can play at this game.”

“You are catching on fast, Yudi. It’s no fun if I can’t provoke you anymore. So, where to next? Where is the Gateway?”

Remembering the same question he had asked of Kubera, he searches for the dwarf, but the mysterious guardian is nowhere to be found. “Uh! I believe we were told to follow Artemis.”

Rai gets to his feet as well, dusting off the mud from his clothes. “Should we?”

“I suppose,” Yudi replies uncertainly, then follows Rai as he steps into the lake.

They wade through the water, which at its deepest, comes up to Yudi’s waist. Tiina hangs onto him, as the water is almost chest-high for her. Then Artemis sinks under the surface of the lake and vanishes.

Rai makes it to the spot where Artemis was earlier and similarly slides through an unseen tunnel. Holding hands, Yudi and Tiina arrive where the others vanished, then Yudi turns around and signals to Simh. As if he had been waiting for permission, he dives in, and together they ease through the tunnel hidden under the surface.

They follow Artemis, who has switched on her headlight, providing enough illumination to light the way, and emerge one by one, bobbing up on the surface of the waves near a beach. The three of them laugh and dive right into the waves. Even Simh joins in for a while before retreating to watch them from the beach. To recover from the swim, Artemis stays stationery just above Simh’s head.

The lion reaches up to snap playfully at the small spaceship. Artemis retreats a little, then comes right back to where she was earlier and Simh chases Artemis again, and before long, they are engaged in a full-blown game of dodge.

Yudi, Tiina, and Rai continue to frolic in the waves for a while longer, simply having fun, trying to stay in that feeling of not-having-a care-in-the-world for a little longer.

At last, they emerge from the tide onto the golden sands. The three of them lie near Simh, who having eventually tired of the game with Artemis, rests his head between his front paws to take a nap in the sun. Completely spent, the three give in to the sheer pleasure of the sunshine beating down on them, drying them off. A sense of wellbeing emanates from them, and they remain motionless like colourful wall lizards.

22

“Are you sleeping, Tiina?”

It takes her a minute to find her voice, so caught up in the serenity is she, but finally she replies, her tone husky with relaxation. “No.”

Yudi rises to his elbow and kisses her on her forehead, her closed eyes, her nose, and finally on her lips, continuing his journey down to the hollow of her throat, her breasts, her navel and the secret place between her thighs, until her entire body is enflamed.

The once serene beat of her heart is replaced with a growing restlessness until she opens her eyes at last, brings his head up, and kisses him with the pent-up intensity of a lifetime. The days pass in a haze of building a small house just by the beach, and the nights in lovemaking. They discover the sheer pleasure of each other’s company, becoming so self-sufficient in that warm cocoon that the world reduces to just the two of them.

Tiina gives birth to twins, who they call Luv and Kush. Life has changed for Tiina overnight. They are completely dependent on her, and her love for them knows no bounds. Nothing could be more important to her than her children.

My life before them was good, but it wasn't complete. It is as if she has discovered this well spring of love within her, always there, though she just didn’t have anyone to share it with. It was great that she found Yudi, but the children make her life complete.

So this is how living life should be. Just taking it a bit slower and we'll keep on going with our way of living as the years pass.

In that utter peace, watching the children grow up, it seems that nothing could ever go wrong she thinks watching them frolic in the water.

“Watch me, Mother,” says Luv, and, to her horror, he runs into the sea, dives into the waves, and disappears underwater.

“Luv!"

She dives in after him and brings his limp body to shore, where Yudi wades out to greet her. They frantically try to revive him, but he is not going to breathe again, and, giving into the horrible, sinking feeling, that incredible sense of overwhelming loss, they cling to each other and Kush and weep. Tiina shakes away the hand on her shoulder and then, angry, turns around and uses her fist to shove away whatever is there.

Rai blocks her and says, “Come back to the real world, Tiina. You’ve just been dreaming.”

She opens her eyes and blinks back cold tears. “That was horrible!”

“It’s just a nightmare,” Yudi murmurs.

“Well, these tears are real,” she says stubbornly, touching her cheek, “and the grief I felt was real.”

“What was it?”

Now that she is awake, the entire dream seems like an illusion and she hesitates, wondering what the significance of it is.

Am I pregnant? Her hand automatically goes to her womb. Does this mean I should not have children? Why twins?

The memory of being with Yudi, having a family, being a mother—all of this brings hidden desires to the surface. Feelings that she is not familiar with rear their heads, yet she is unable to put them into words. What do I want? Her emotions are still raw and she’d rather leave them alone for now. She conceals the weird sensations in her heart until she has figured out what to make of them.

Simh nuzzles her, and she puts her arms around his neck and, burying her face in his soft fur, lets him comfort her for a few minutes. Then she gets to her feet; her clothes have dried in the sun and are stiff with salt. After picking up her sword, which she had earlier placed next to her on the sand, she heaves it into place on her back-scabbard and looks at the other two.

23

“We’d better be going.” Yudi gets to his feet before lifting up his sword and hanging it in its secure belt around his waist.

Tiina searches for Artemis, who appears magically from where she has been hiding. They follow her up the beach into a grove of palm trees, which grow close to the water’s edge. It is cool under the trees after the sunshine on the open beach and they walk through the large grove for almost half an hour before the trees thin out.

As they near the end of the grove, they hear sounds of struggle. Simh growls and Yudi places his hand on the cub’s head to quiet him. He turns around, putting a finger to his lips to indicate they should be quiet. They move with caution, taking care to conceal themselves behind the trees.

Abruptly the trees end, and in the clearing ahead, two giants of immense proportions spar with each other. One is male, for he is wearing a yellow sarong wrapped around his legs in the traditional style such that it is tucked in at the back, leaving his legs free to move. Around his waist is a saffron loin-cloth. Towering above them, almost twenty-five feet tall, his bare torso is covered in sweat and specked with dark hair, and he has long matted black tresses ending in large sideburns. Around his neck is a massive snake, which is stationery and not particularly bothered by the fight.

This one is well put together; definitely can’t call him ugly. The giant is in good condition; the muscles on his upper body are well defined in a six pack. The same couldn’t be said about his fighting partner.

She is a little shorter than him, still towering above them at almost twenty feet, and is thinner with straggly grey hair. Like her male partner, she is dressed in an identical sarong. Unlike the bright yellow-ochre coloured clothes of her companion, her sarong is a dirty brown, almost the same colour of her skin, which shines likes polished ebony. The sarong is pleated in the front in concession to her femininity and tucked in at the back, so that it can lend her legs freedom of movement. She is also bare from the waist up, her pendulous breasts sagging almost to her waist. On her ankles she wears large silver anklets. The tinkling of their bells is a womanly sound, which is at complete odds with the brutality of the scene.

Then he notices something very strange. Just below her breasts, she has an additional mouth in the centre of her stomach, from which there is an occasional flare of purple fire.

Ugh! Disgusted by her ugliness while simultaneously feeling sorry for her, he turns away and starts as Tiina taps him on the shoulder. He indicates to her by hand signs that they should try to creep around the fighting giants, until they are past them on the other side.

Tiina shakes her head, her mouth an O of alarm.

Yudi nods insistently and turns to Rai, who comes up to them.

“Don’t look them in the eye—” he begins to whisper when Yudi places his hand to his mouth, cutting off the words.

He glances toward the sparring giants, making sure that they have not been noticed, then indicates the same to Rai, who glares at him with disbelief. The clearing beyond extends for miles on each side; their best chance is to try to creep around the giants, and hope that they are not noticed.

With Artemis leading the way and Simh bringing up the rear, the three of them scuttle to the right until the trees thin out and don’t afford much cover. Yudi pulls out his sword and Tiina mirrors his actions. Together, they race around the monsters, as they are halfway through the clearing, Artemis darts to the left, toward the giants. He speeds up, wondering what she is up to, and to his disbelief, she makes an arc around the monsters and sails serenely under the overhead arc created by the grappling giants.

He has almost reached the other side when a sixth sense makes him look around. The beasts have stopped fighting, and the giantess reaches out her massive palm and grabs Artemis. As he is about to turn to come to her rescue, Artemis slips through her fingers—he swears he hears the spaceship giggle—and then she sails toward them.

No, no, don’t come this way! You are going to lead them straight to us. Barely has the thought crossed his mind when the male giant glances in his direction.

Giving a mighty roar, he raises his enormous sledge-hammer like finger and points in their direction.

“Run for it!” Yudi puts on a burst of speed to reach the trees on the other side, and keeps going through the undergrowth, closely followed by Tiina and Rai.

The giants crash through the trees behind them. The thought of being a tasty morsel of food for the oversized monsters, or more precisely, the second mouth in the female’s belly, drives Yudi to keep running.

With adrenaline pouring through his veins, and his heart pounding as if it were to leap out of his chest, Yudi keeps going until he is out of breath. Simh is faster than him and overtakes him, disappearing among the vegetation. To make sure that Tiina and Rai are still with him, Yudi turns, and his aching legs finally force him to slow down and he comes to a standstill next to a fallen tree. Blood beats in his ears so he can no longer tell whether the giants are chasing them or not.

Tiina and Rai come to a stop next to him and collapse on the log beside him. Artemis glides in next to him, almost next to his ear, and alights on his shoulder. Another giggle seems to chime from her, though he cannot be sure.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he pants to the spaceship. “Were things getting so boring that you had to liven them up?” Then turning to Tiina, he says, “She sure has a strange sense of humour.”

A nervous laugh escapes her. “I can do without such a scare again!”

By now, the sun has dipped under the horizon, and as their breathing returns to normal, Rai says, “I hope that is the last we see of horrible gigantic beasts. Did you see the female?” He shudders.

Yudi nods. “Shall we keep going before it is completely dark?”

Both Rai and Tiina agree, and they continue with Artemis once more leading the way. Within a few minutes the forest thins out again, and a natural path appears, which seems to have been used by others before them. They follow the route single file as it runs through a clearing and then into a field filled with rows of flowers.

The sky fades to purple with stars twinkling. In the distance at the end of the path, not more than a kilometre ahead, Yudi makes out the gopuram, a traditional temple tower. He silently points it out to Tiina and Rai.

“The temple of Shaitan!” exclaims Rai.

The three of them stop to take in the sight. Just behind the gopuram, Yudi spies the twin moons as well as the rings of Saturn.

“Now I really believe that we are on Saturn.”

“It’s beautiful,” breathes Tiina.

As the others admire the scenery ahead of them, Yudi’s attention is drawn to the flowers on either side of the path. Sunflowers, except they are much larger. He walks up the path, admiring the blossoms. Each is at least a foot across with massive petals. The rows closest to the path reveal that hidden among the rows of sunflowers are people bent over the flowers, harvesting the seeds. One of the flowers leaps out, lengthening its stem, elongating its petals, and neatly slices off the head of the closest man. The flowers are carnivorous, like elegant Venus Fly Traps, he realises in horror, and the beings bent over them are not harvesting, but are each bound to the thick stalks like sacrificial offerings.

Another flower changes shape, and this time he spots its vicious white teeth as it bites off the head of the man attached to it. The people are likely drugged, for there is not as much as a whimper from the victims.

Yudi hears Tiina stifle a scream, and figures she has spotted the disgusting tendencies of the flowers, too. With unspoken consent, as if by not acknowledging the horror of what they see it would fade away, they don’t stop or exchange any comments, preferring to follow Artemis, until they reach the end of the path and cross over the threshold of the outer courtyard of the temple.

Shaitan built the temple to represent his dominance over the home of the gods, which was said to have been on the Himalayas. The central constellation of one main and four smaller gopurams temple towers symbolizes the five main peaks of the mountain range, and the moat around it, the surrounding ocean. They cross over the dry moat and pass through the outer wall, walking through nearly fifty metres of open ground, which separates the outer and inner walls. The temple is accessed by a bridge to the east and a sandstone causeway to the west, which is how Yudi, Tiina, and Rai enter.

There are gopurams at each of the cardinal points of the complex. The main gopura hides and echoes the main holy sanctum.

Galleries run between the towers and as far as two further entrances on either side of the gopura, which are often referred to as “elephant gates,” as they are large enough to admit such enormous animals. A nearly hundred-foot causeway connects the western gopura to the main temple with statues of nagas, the half human, half snake-like beings loyal to Shaitan.

The main temple stands on a terrace raised higher than the rest of the complex. It is made of three rectangular galleries, which rise to a central tower, each level higher than the last. The galleries are dedicated to the trimurti—the three main celestial beings in the universe, Brahma, the creator, Vishnu, the preserver, and Shiva, the destroyer of evil. Each of these three inner galleries has a gopura at each of the points, and the two inner galleries each have towers at their corners, forming five coplanar points. Four of them form a square with a fifth at its center. It corresponds to the five-spot on a six-sided domino.

The three companions are completely entranced as they pass through the inner square-shaped courtyard with galleries connecting each gopura at the extreme outer point with the central shrine in the middle. Yudi cranes his head to look up at the towering central gopuram, which is raised above the four around it. He squints, trying to make out the carvings decorating them. They seem to be a mix of dragons, snakes, and long limbed stately humans. He wonders what they symbolise, but has no time to dwell on it, for soon they are in the inner walls of the courtyard of the main gopuram. Here there are well-maintained gardens with blooming roses and tulips of almost every colour; fountains spray the plants with droplets. The flowers fill the air with their heady perfume.

“Well, Shaitan may not be our best friend, but I sure like his taste in flowers,” says Yudi, eliciting a nervous laugh from Tiina.

They walk cautiously, for they are almost upon the main inner chamber of the temple. After passing through massive doors, which open out from the inner courtyard, they enter a large central hall with a domed ceiling holding up the main gopuram. On either side of the rectangular room are eight ornately carved pillars. Yudi stops in front of one of them, trying to make out the carvings, and guesses it to be a statue with the body of a human ending in the head of lion.

Lion Man? He wonders, and that reminds him about Simh, who disappeared in the forest earlier when they spotted the two giants fighting. The lion cub has not yet returned, and he wonders when he will see his friend once more.

As they cross the length of the room, Yudi’s steps slow, for at the end of the room is a pristine white structure in the form of an upturned jellyfish curving up on either side to form a container. The structure is made of transparent crystal, and is illuminated by a beam of light falling on it through an opening high up in the central tower. As he walks closer with Tiina on his left and Rai on his right, he notes that the structure floats a little above the ground. In the curved centre is a shining turquoise jewel in a bracelet-shaped crystal setting.

“The Isthmus!” Tiina gasps as the three of them stop in their tracks.

Only Artemis continues to sail ahead, stopping directly above the ornament so that the beam of light from above lights the ship up before hitting the bracelet below.

The Isthmus floats gracefully from where it was placed and hovers in front of Artemis; the spaceship and the bracelet engage in a strange cosmic dance, moving around in circles. Then the Isthmus moves away from Artemis, gliding to the left toward a door in the wall, which opens on cue.

In steps a woman, about the same height as Tiina. She is slender, yet nicely curved, and her long blonde hair falls to below her shoulders, curling at the ends. A corset-like top hugs her breasts and waist, and is paired with figure-hugging black leather trousers, which flare around her ankles. She has teamed them with black leather boots with golden tips. A silver threaded whip is coiled on her right side and she holds out her left palm, on which the Isthmus lands. She looks at Yudi with piercing green eyes, and smiles. Instead of walking, she glides toward them and comes to a stop less than five feet before Yudi. She holds up the Isthmus with her right hand, dangling it between her thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t you want this?” she asks in a melodious voice.

Yudi feels as if she has seen right through to his soul and he swallows nervously. “Yes, I do.”

“Well, then, come and get it, won’t you?” She chuckles mockingly, continuing to hold it with the thumb and forefinger, and waits as Yudi takes one step forward, then another, and another.

Tiina slides between them. “I know you.”

The woman lifts her eyes from Yudi’s, and in doing so, breaks the connection with him. “You took your time, dear sister.”

For the first time, Yudi notes the resemblance between the two of them. They have the same slender build and graceful gait, and hold themselves with the same fluidity of limb. It is the eyes, he realises, where they differ. Where Tiina’s are warm and expressive, a mirror to her emotions, the eyes of the figure in front are vacant. He feels the slight chill of an empty grave.

* * *

Tiina stares as if hypnotised. “Maya?”

Maya beckons to her sister with her other hand. “Come and get it!”

Tiina approaches her twin, a gamut of contradictory emotions welling up in her. Dizzy with expectation, she hopes that this is her long lost sibling, yet worried at how much the years might have changed her.

What she hadn’t prepared for is this avatar of Maya who looks back at her with hate-filled eyes. Tiina shrinks back at the loathing. Pure hate rolls off Maya in waves and flows over Tiina, physically pushing her so she is forced to take a step away.

“I tried to find you. I looked everywhere”

“A…likely…story,” she says haltingly. “You wanted to…to have all of Ka Surya for yourself, so that you could be the…future queen…” Maya bursts out laughing, the noise shrill and harsh.

“No, no. Maya, that is not true. I searched for you, but—”

“But you were more worried about yourself. Too busy making your own life.”

“Yes. I had to survive.” Determined to keep her pride, Tiina holds her head up and sets her jaw.

“That’s you, ever the practical one.”

“I missed you.” Unwanted tears prick at her eyelids.

“I did not miss you,” Maya hisses, venom dripping from her gaze. “I hate you. At least Shaitan had the decency to tell me the truth about you and Ka Surya. I was better off without you.”

Despite the untruth of the words, she is wracked with guilt that perhaps she should have tried harder to rescue her sister. Maya glowers at her with revulsion, pity, and if possible, something almost akin to adoration. Tears threaten to run down Tiina’s cheeks and she closes her eyes, trying to blink them away, struggling to regain her composure.

“And you believed him?” she asks, her tone husky.

“Why not? He gave me everything, brought me up as his own daughter. Made me who I am.”

“But you were never his flesh and blood.”

“And that’s why he loves me so much.”

Shaitan is like a father to her. Is this why he captured her? So that he could enjoy seeing sister taking on sister? To battle Maya was like confronting herself.

“I am not going to fight you, Maya,” she says, determined not to fall into Shaitan’s trap. Let him do his dirty work himself.

With a scream, Maya drops the Isthmus, which is caught by the agile Artemis before it hits the ground. After pulling out her whip, Maya rushes toward Tiina, who stands motionless, watching the oncoming sisterly tornado, then, just as Maya is upon her, close enough for Tiina to feel her hot, angry rage and make out the separate pores on the skin of her familiar yet different features, a shape detaches from the pillar to her right. It hits Maya with such force that it carries her away and they slam into the pillar on the opposite side, breaking the stone column in two. The figures roll to the ground, Maya’s maniacal laughter echoing off the walls, intertwined with growls of anger from the other.

Both beings move so fast that all Tiina can see are two streaks of white light zigzagging and crossing each other above, all through the hollowed beehive like inner arc of the temple tower, like twin tails of a comet in the sky. As she tries to make where Maya is, the tableau speeds up even more, until all she can see is one continuous band of white light. The laughter from Maya builds up to a crescendo, only to turn into a scream as she crashes to the floor.

The figure which rolls away and stands up is not of a young woman but of… Lion Man, Tiina exclaims silently, no longer surprised to see him. She has come to think of him as her good luck charm, and somehow it seems fitting that when she is paralysed by the twin emotions of shock and sorrow, he has materialised.

Maya is sprawled on the ground, her hands flung out on either side of her body, her whip a few centimetres away. As she pushes against the floor, struggling to sit up, the angry gash on her forehead bleeds as if her soul is seeping away.

The sound of thunder in the distance filters through Tiina’s engulfed consciousness, but her eyes are riveted by the scene in front of her.

Lion Man stands over Maya. The epitome of splendour. The thought springs unbidden in Tiina’s mind. Unlike the last time when he was wearing shorts, he is now in full battle armour. His glorious mane of golden-brown hair covers his head, running down to meet a beard, which frames his face like a halo. A crown studded with a single red ruby in the centre glitters with every move and ends in three peacock feathers, and on his forehead he wears a traditional tilak, the auspicious vermillion mark of spirituality and strength. Around his neck is a golden chain with a large ruby, which echoes the brilliance of the precious jewel of his crown. Both his wrists, as well as his left muscled upper arm, display golden intricately carved amulets. His torso is clad only in muscles and his burly legs are draped in a bright red sarong, its edges embroidered in golden thread. The nails of his feet and on his hands are long and sharpened into claws.

Tiina shudders as he reaches down and, placing his long forefinger below Maya’s neck, raises her up, blood trickling from the wound.

As if sensing her gaze, Maya turns to look at her.

“You haven’t won yet, Tiina. Shaitan will hunt you down wherever you go.” In a sudden move, she breaks free of Lion Man’s grasp and, swooping for the whip, she snatches it and tosses it toward Tiina. Maya drops, prone on the ground, her head twisted at a strange angle, her face draining of the colour of life.

Tiina looks to Lion Man, who growls back at her. Then in an expression of anger or perhaps triumph, he slaps his left palm to his left thigh, thwack, then his right palm to his right thigh, thwack, both sounds echoing around the room. He raises his head to the domed ceiling above letting out a roar. Tiina covers her ears to block out the terrifying sound.

In response, a rumble grows closer, and the ceiling trembles, showering small pebbles upon them.

In death, the figure on the floor looks like a frail, fallen young girl, her features eerie in their likeness to Tiina.

Tiina’s eyes fill with tears of anger for the wasted life of her twin. Shaitan, the word echoes through her mind. Where are you?

Artemis is suspended in front of Yudi, who picks up the Isthmus, which the spaceship has worn around its circumference as if it is a crown, and he straps it onto his right wrist.

She waits with bated breath, wondering if anything would change, exhaling with relief when nothing happens. There is silence as Lion Man walks up to the three of them. They stand against the right wall of the large room, the cracked pillar in front of them. As the dirt and stones continue to rain down from the ceiling, increasing in velocity, Tiina lifts her gaze from her sister.

“Tiina,” Lion Man’s voice rumbles out over her skin as his cheeks stretch in a smile.

“Why?”

“That is not you.”

“She was my twin.”

“And it was either you or her—you do know that.”

The truth of his words run through her broken heart, but does nothing to assuage her conscience.

“I should have tried harder to find her. I should have gone after Shaitan.”

“And then you would not be here, with him.” He glances to Yudi. “With us.”

“He is right,” adds Yudi. “You can’t blame yourself for what she became.”

“No, but I can take revenge for what he made her.” When she meets Lion Man’s eyes, warmth and courage slowly eat away the fear, anger, hate, and desolation within her gut. “Why are you helping us?”

“Thanks to the Elixir, I am now bound to protect you and this mission.”

“Elixir?”

Lion Man smiles a tooth-filled grin at Rai, who flushes a little.

“Uh! He just looked really soft and cuddly, and when he looked at the Elixir so longingly, I just gave him a drop.”

“Cuddly?” she asks again, searching the faces of Rai and Lion Man, wondering if they are talking about the same person.

“I meant the lion cub.”

“Simh!” Yudi exclaims. “You were the lion cub who was my best friend when I was growing up on Ka Surya.”

“You are his guardian angel?” Could that really be true? Tiina wraps her arms across her stomach.

“You could call me that, I suppose.” This time he really does smile, the gesture softening the ferocity of his face and making him look more human than animal.

It must be so confusing to be stuck between two nuances. How does he decide what he wants to be? Before she can voice the question, she notices Artemis tilting up the fringe of her circumference, too.

The spaceship is becoming more and more like their human halves. Another of us stuck between two worlds.

The ceiling caves in on them, chunk by chunk, and Tiina yelps, jumping aside as a large hunk of marble crashes to the floor not three feet away.

“The Isthmus?” asks Simh.

Yudi raises his right hand, where he has strapped on the amulet.

“Let’s go,” he says.

There is a loud pop and the distinctive, jelly fish like crystal structure on which they had found the Isthmus bursts, spraying everything around it with sticky liquid. She tries to move her hand, which had been pressed against the wall of the chamber, but it remains stuck for a long, gut-wrenching second, before finally coming away with a pop. It is as if the walls of the beautiful structure are weeping.

“Maya was the guardian of the Isthmus,” Lion Man says. “With the Isthmus taken and her dead, this structure will not stay standing for long. We must leave before Shaitan and his army arrives.”

Needing no further urging, they follow Simh down the length of the hall. The ground under their feet shakes as they step over the threshold of the big hall into the inner courtyard. They are halfway through the beautiful gardens when up rises a creature that has lain concealed in the shadows of the flowers. It is directly in their path blocking their retreat, a hybrid of Heaven and Hell, the drawing of a favourite god gone wrong. Not for the first time since they embarked on this adventure, Tiina is dumbstruck, taken aback by the sheer audacity of the being as it reveals it’s misshape. It is like the half human, half snake figures they had seen earlier carved into the walls.

“The Naga!” she cries.

As if reciting verbatim from the pages of the mythological texts they studied at the Academy, Yudi adds, “Mythical snake-like beings with virulent poison, great powers, and excess of strength.”

“Uh! You forgot the part that they are ever bent on biting other creatures,” adds Rai in tandem.

“No, I didn’t; just hoped they had got that part wrong.”

“Obviously not!” Tiina ducks away as the snake mounts up on its tail, stretching a good seven feet tall, opening its wide mouth, its forked tongue darting out hungrily toward them.

It is almost as tall as Simh, who stands firm. He stamps his left foot in a gesture that Tiina interprets as anger combined with excitement.

“Run!” he snarls to them. “Run, now!” He extends both his clawed hands and leaps at the snake, which coils around him.

* * *

Without waiting to see the result of the battle, the three take off toward the exit with Rai in the lead. They are running up the final stretch leading out onto the road and away from the temple when the heavy weight of Simh crashes down in their path.

He lies stunned, and they stop, not believing that someone as powerful as him could be struck down with such little effort. And then the Naga lands after him. Without a second thought, Rai, who is the closest to the creature, runs toward it and flings himself at it before holding onto its massive trunk. Yudi throws Rai his sword, and after catching it, Rai plunges it into its flesh, cutting off a part of its tail.

The Naga roars in profound pain and, maddened with agony, bends its enormous head, biting him. As if that was not enough, the serpent twists and turns, trying to shake off its annoying burden with movements so vigorous that finally both beast and man are thrown against the outer wall of the temple. Both collapse into a heap.

By then, Simh has recovered enough to get back on his feet. He shakes his head to clear it and runs toward the two figures and, gathering speed, he presses his weight against the ground, using it to springboard onto the creature. Then he wraps his legs around the serpent’s legless body at the junction of the torso and its head. He digs the claws of both his hands into its eyes, blinding it.

The Naga lets out a very human like screech of rage, which turns into a scream of fury, as it tries to dislodge Lion Man. They crash into the outer wall a few times; the immense combined weight and force of both the giants is enough to bring a huge section of the wall crashing down. Yudi and Tiina run to look into the hole and see a steep drop illuminated by a bluish-green light. Once recovered from shock, Yudi runs to the motionless Rai and puts his arm below his head and raises him up. Tiina comes up on his other side and binds the wound on his side.

Rai’s eyes flutter open, red-hot pain choking his throat. “That was…,” he coughs, spitting blood, “that was not nice. How bad does it look…?”

Tiina looks up from binding his bleeding side. “Not good. We have got to get out of here.”

He coughs again and closes his eyes. “It bit me…”

Yudi shakes him awake. “Come on, Rai; you can’t sleep now. We have to keep going.”

“Can’t you use that for help?” Tiina points to the Isthmus still strapped to his wrist.

“I have no idea what this thing does; do you?"

They help Rai to his feet and, supporting him between the two of them, run out of the temple onto the road winding past fields of sunflowers. As they keep up the pace, Yudi turns back to the temple.

“Look!”

Simh is crawling out of the crater he had fallen into, dragging the now inert body of the Naga. He sits on the fallen ramparts of the wall and places the serpent’s long torso over his thighs and sticks both his clawed hands into the creature’s gut, and then tears it apart, again, again, and again. The Naga’s body jerks once, twice, and then goes completely motionless. Finally, he gets to his feet; shaking his head, he draws up to his full height, stamps his foot, raises his hands and his head to the stars, and roars in triumph. The last vestiges of the crumbling temple form a background to his conquest.

It seems as if molecules of power are radiating from him, cocooning him in a halo of energy, as his mane ripples in the soft breeze. The temple behind him then collapses completely, sending tremors radiating through the ground to where they are standing. Simh bounds towards them and, taking hold of the hurt Rai, places him on his shoulders.

“Let’s go. We don’t have much time now. Shaitan will not let the death of the guardian of the Isthmus and the destruction of his favourite temple go unheeded; we need to get Artemis to her normal size and out of here before that.”

Artemis, who is ahead of Tiina, enlarges, extending to its original spaceship dimensions. After parking in the middle of the road, she flings her doors open, extending the gangway to the ground.

From his vantagepoint on Simh’s shoulders, Rai sees Tiina and Yudi run the twenty or so yards up to the ship; a new sound, like the whispering of bees’ wings comes from the direction of the temple. It grows louder by the minute. Tiina and Yudi pause on the gangplank as it catches their attention, and he looks up as the night sky brightens, as if the sun is rising right next to them.

“That is him,” says Simh, and then grunts.

Agony whips through Rai, and he gasps, blood spurting from his lips. He has been hit from behind by a thunderbolt-shaped weapon, which has clean gone through him. Simh eases Rai down, and then, without a word, turns and walks back toward the source of the noise.

“What is he doing?” asks Tiina, her voice filled with panic.

Rai groans, but does not move from where he has been placed; his face pales. So this is what it was about. This is why I shared my Elixir with Simh. Our fates are intertwined.

“Come on, Rai!”

Tiina’s shriek jerks his attention away from the pain. Rai hesitates, looking from Artemis and his friends on one side and Simh walking back to face Shaitan’s fury on the other.

Coughing, he spits out blood, the sight of which helps him make up his mind. “I lied,” he mumbles. “I never took any of the Elixir. There was but a drop left, which is what has seen me through so far, I suppose.”

The temple complex fills with figures silhouetted against the sky. Shaitan’s army of Nagas has arrived. Their hissing, like a thousand murmurs, reaches out to him seductively. The poison rushing through his system makes him delirious. Through his already fading eyesight, he can make out Tiina beginning to go back down the gangplank to him. She struggles against Yudi, who has clamped his arms around her holding her back.

From far away, he hears her call out his name again. Rai gets up, slowly, and looks from them to where Simh has reached the temple. Lion Man flings himself over the broken wall into the army of Nagas, taking many of them down with him as he disappears from sight.

Rai raises a hand and yells in a voice alien to him, “Go!”

He sees Tiina break out of Yudi’s hold and start down the gangplank, but Yudi runs after her and, after picking her up, throws her over his shoulder before carrying her inside the spaceship. She struggles and hits Yudi’s back.

“Go!” Rai screams, hoping his voice will carry to Yudi over the short distance.

Then he rejects them as he turns back to the army of serpents ,which have slithered nearer. My life, my death, he thinks, muttering only half in jest to himself, “Go! Before I change my mind!”

He manages a weak smile.

24

Tiina dashes down the gangplank, intent on getting to Rai. She is rudely interrupted by Yudi, who slams into her from behind. Without bothering to argue, he picks her up and heaves her across one shoulder, then turns around and walks up the gangplank.

“Let me go, you big bully! Let me out. Rai! Rai!” she screams, hitting his back, punching him on his side, hating his superior physical strength.

She kicks him in the groin with her bowed knee and is satisfied to hear his groan of pain, only to feel thwarted when he wraps his hands around her legs, holding them down.

“You idiot! What do you think you’re doing?” she screams at him, but Yudi’s grip is vice-like.

For once, he does not budge, taking the brunt of her anger as he carries her inside. As they cross the entrance, she sees Rai raise a hand as if in farewell and thinks she can hear him yell for them to go. The bright light from the direction of the temple complex catches the medallion he habitually wears around his neck, illuminating his face so she sees his features clearly for a second, before it dies away.

And his lips move, maybe, though she’s not certain, and the words are lost in the distance between them. He smiles before he turns around. The gangplank closes, cutting him from sight.

Yudi throws her down in the co-pilot’s seat, but she jumps right back up, slamming into him. With another grunt, he slaps her, stunning her into silence.

Tears of frustration run down her cheeks as she collapses against the chair while he snaps her seatbelt in position. In silence, he walks to the pilot’s seat to switch on the controls.

So even Artemis has deserted me, she thinks, feeling sorry for herself.

Without a murmur, Artemis lifts into the night skies, out into orbit, until she is but a speck on Saturn’s cheek, before making a wide arc in the sky and setting on direction to Arkana.

Tiina stares straight ahead. That didn't happen. It didn’t, it didn't…she repeats to herself over and over again, as if by denying it, she could turn back time. The scene replays in her mind over and over again, revealing her last sight of Rai before the gangplank cut him out of her life forever. Her heart feels like it has stopped beating, leaving behind a numb black hole.

This can’t be goodbye, she thinks, remembering all the times he had been there for her, holding her hand whenever Yudi had broken her heart, whenever she had felt lonely. Her best friend, he had always been there for her, until the very end.

“You have to let him go.” They are the first words Yudi dares venture.

She barely hears him. “Why, why did he do it? Why did he have to be a bloody martyr?”

“He’ll always be with us.”

As Yudi’s softly spoken words penetrate her subconscious, her grief turns to anger.

“It’s all your fault!” she says in a low voice. “Yours!”

Yudi glances at her in surprise, then back to the console, ensuring Artemis is stable on her return path before he takes his hands from the panels and sighs. “Yeah! You’re right. I wanted him dead.”

At his rough words, all the bottled tension of the last few days of the journey rushes back. From the time when he had found her on Java and persuaded her to return to Arkana, to the emotional lows of the guardians’ test, to the startling discovery of finding that she still loved him, to the gory killing of her twin, and now to this, the final crushing guilt of leaving Rai behind. Everything races back, engulfing her, crashing over her heart in a killer wave of contradictory emotions, until she is unable to breathe. She chokes, then gasps for air when the blood rushes to her head, pushing her over the edge into a rage so fine that she sees red, unaware of exactly what she is going to do next.

After snapping off her seatbelt, she throws herself at him over the horseshoe shaped control panel, and hits his chest with a thump that forces the air from him.

“So you want to fight? Do you?” he snarls, and after disengaging his seatbelt, he pushes right back at her so that they spring out of his seat, wrapped in a death grip as they hit the floor.

Yudi manages to twist around so that she lands on him and for the third time, he has his breath knocked out of him as she buries the edge of her elbow in his solar plexus. She reaches behind for her sword, but he is too fast for her.

“Oh, no, you don’t.”

To her fury, his long hand flashes out. After pulling out her sword, he flings it to the side so that it hits the back of the ship’s cabin and bounces to the floor.

“Let’s do this the old fashioned way,” he says, and he flips her over as easily as if she were a weightless rag doll.

She slaps him with her right hand, at which point he captures both her wrists with his left hand, making an effective restrictive bracelet and forces them above her head. With his legs around hers, she is his prisoner.

Incensed, she struggles under him. Even through the haze of her fury, she feels him getting aroused.

“Don’t you dare!” She is silenced when his mouth descends to her, plundering her. Desire curls in her lower belly, mixing with anger and something more. Refusing to give in to it, she bites down on his lip and has the satisfaction of drawing blood as he jerks back.

He brings up his right hand to wipe the blood from his lower lip.

As one, their eyes are drawn to the amulet with the turquoise stone on his right wrist. Reminded of the challenges they undertook to retrieve it and their promise to Mimir, the anger drains out of her. A fresh memory of Rai wells up and so does a tear, which trickles down her left cheek.

“Don’t cry,” he says, helpless against the onslaught of her misery. After bending his face, he gently kisses away the tear. His tender gesture undoes her, more potent than his earlier coercive force.

As he brings his lips back to hers, this time she takes from him, trying to replenish her hopes, her dreams, her love, frantic to rekindle the embers of the dying fire in her soul. With a strength born of the desperation of wanting to be reborn in a world where everything is as it had been, she heaves and pushes him over so that she is the one on top. She plunders to her heart’s content until she can take no more.

25

It is the first time she has been so aggressive in her lovemaking. Where earlier he had been the one hungry for her, this time it is she who catches fire. Ravenous, she consumes him whole, as if she had joined her soul to his and transfused all the energy, draining him and filling herself until she was replete and he had nothing left to give. He didn’t think he could move.

They lie on the floor of the spaceship, their legs still intertwined. Yudi pillows her head under his left arm. Her right leg is flung over his left. They had not bothered to remove their clothes before making love. Both of them had been so impatient to simply touch and feel her living breathing vitality that it was almost as if they had wanted to assure each other that after all that death that there was still hope, that life still went on. The taste of her fills his mouth, wiping away the flavour of loss, replacing it with something more heartrending.

Love. I am in love with her.

He hadn’t known Rai very well, but Rai had been Tiina’s best friend. Somehow they had understood each other, communicating on a level where he hadn’t been allowed to enter. Rai had propped her up emotionally when she had fallen apart after Yudi had cheated on her.

For the first time, Yudi acknowledges the consequences of his actions, understanding he had been wrong to do that, but perhaps one has to make mistakes to grow up. Mimir had been right. This journey was changing all of them.

Feeling Tiina shiver, he turns and puts his arm around her, covering as much of her with his body as he can. Burying his face in her neck, he breathes of that essence that is so uniquely her. He raises his face and sees her staring into his eyes.

“Shaitan will come after us for revenge, to take back the Isthmus.”

He nods, wondering what was going on in that mind of hers.

“You must avenge Rai. You must kill Shaitan.”

“An eye for an eye, Tiina?”

“Rai was innocent. He gave up his life for us.”

“He knew what had to be done for the greater good, for the mission.”

“And, what about Simh? Will you let his death be in vain?”

More disturbed than he cares to admit by her words, he retreats from her and lies back on the floor, his skin barely touching hers. His thoughts are in a twist; he understands Tiina’s need for revenge. As for him, he just feels numb, somewhat insulated from the reality of death. Is Rai really dead? Was Lion Man really my guardian angel? And if he is gone, who will look out for me now? Is it selfish to think of myself first?

Probably. He mentally shrugs, but then again, he was a selfish bastard to begin with, and topmost of his concern is how to take care of Tiina so that she does not do anything stupid. Adamant as she is, chances are she is going to do something reckless. Unless he promised her, told her what she wanted to hear, so that she would calm down.

He looks at the Isthmus on his wrist. Wearing it makes him feel responsible for his actions. It is as if he is being made to pay for years of being happy-go-lucky. Ah! To be able to act without worrying about the consequences. He wishes for a simpler time, when all he had to do was worry about where his next adventure came from.

“I will take revenge, Tiina. After all, Rai was also my friend. I promise that he did not die in vain.”

Her face is devoid of emotions, as if she has shut off, refusing to let him in.

Why can’t I tell what she is really feeling? Trying to get a rise out of her, he blurts out, “I love you, Tiina.”

When she does not react, his heart sinks. How stupid can you be? he berates himself. Her best friend just died and all you can do is tell her you love her. Obviously, she doesn’t feel the same way. Not after what you did to her. And then, only making things worse, he asks, “What are you thinking?”

“That I am too good for you.” She cracks a smile.

That wasn’t quite the answer he had been hoping for, but it wasn’t complete rejection, either, and he relaxes a little. “Stay with me, Tiina.”

“That sounds suspiciously like a proposal, Yudi. Are you?”

“What?”

“Proposing to me.”

Artemis, who has been quiet all along, makes her presence felt right then. The lights inside the ship’s deck flash on and off, changing from the earlier soft lighting to a glare and then to an angry red. The icons on the control panel flash erratically.

“Uh-oh! She’s not happy, is she?”

“You don’t have to sound so pleased, you know.”

Grief cracks her voice. “She is my only friend in the world now.”

“I am here for you, Tiina; I will always be here for you.” He wraps his arms around her and speaks to the general atmosphere around him, addressing Artemis. “I’ll take care of her, you hear? When she breathes, I want to be the air for her. I’d die for her.”

When he doesn’t get a response from the spaceship, he injects a note of pleading in his voice, “We can both be her friends, can’t we?” His voice breaks as he lets the grief trickle out. The events of the last few days finally catch up.

Adrenaline drains, leaving him exhausted. He closes his eyes and tightens his hold on Tiina, willing his limbs not to tremble, and decides to wait for Artemis’s mood to settle.

A few minutes later, when her lights restore to their original warmer glow, he sighs. Tiina snuggles into his embrace.

If she had been more conscious of her actions, less tired and unhappy, she would likely have caught herself doing so and pulled back. For now he is content to take what she gives.

26

The return from Saturn to Arkana is different from their expedition to the planet. Artemis uses the directions to the wormhole, which Mimir programmed into her system prior to their journey. She has them back in Arkana in two days. In the normal course, on the interplanetary trade routes, it would have taken them at least a full day to cross from one planet to the next. They have gone past Yudi’s adopted planet, Pluto. Thanks to Mimir’s shortcut, though, they take half the time to complete their journey.

They arrive to a muted heroes' welcome, Yudi having transmitted ahead both news of the retrieval of the Isthmus and of Rai’s death. On landing they are met by one of the administrative officials from the Academy of Half Lives, who tells them that Mimir is waiting for them in the Hall of the Great Mirrors.

Tiina asks to stay behind, wanting to spend time alone with Artemis.

In truth, Yudi realises that she is not ready to face the world, needing more time to come to terms with everything that has happened. Between the deaths of her long lost and briefly found twin as well as Rai, her innocence has been wrung out.

She looks exhausted. Worryingly, the only time she seems to come to life is when there is talk of Shaitan. Nothing else matters. With reluctance, he agrees to leave her and, accompanied by the official, is ushered straight into the Hall of the Great Mirrors.

This is Mimir’s way of welcoming them in a formal manner. He has only been in this room once before, during their graduation, and had been a different person then. A rough, young boy more concerned with cutting class than saving the world. This time there are no crowds of eager students, no congratulatory speeches, no Rai to thump his back and ask him whether he wants to get out of there and get a drink. The Academy is empty. The students of the last batch have graduated, and it is two weeks before the new term begins.

There is only Mimir dressed in unusually formal robes, which are deep purple in colour, worn over his normal white. He is waiting for Yudi at the bottom of the long room, looking out from the windows, his back turned to him. The official leaves, and Yudi walks down the long corridor toward Mimir, who turns around, a smile lighting his face. Disregarding any protocol, he opens his arms and embraces Yudi.

“It is good to see you back safe.” Brows pinched in question, he looks behind Yudi.

“She’s with Artemis; she’ll be along shortly I expect.”

Mimir nods. “Losing a friend is not easy.”

“And her long lost twin—it is cruel, don’t you think? That she met Maya after all these years, only to lose her.”

“Perhaps it is better that way.”

“Really?”

There is more to what Mimir is saying than just the words on the surface. Without explaining, Mimir holds out his hand. For a second Yudi is confused, then his brow clears. He has forgotten the reason they had made the journey and looks at the turquoise bracelet sitting around his right wrist. After taking it off, he holds it out to Mimir, who touches it reverently with both hands, then leans close to kiss it.

“I don’t feel any different, you know. Are you sure this is supposed to restore the balance to the universe?”

“So you didn’t pay attention in class, then did you?”

“Enough to get me through the harrowing adventures of the last few days, so you can’t blame me completely.”

“Let me enlighten you, then. As you pointed out, the Isthmus keeps the balance of the universe. It balances out the creative and the commercial, but it is not just all the doing of the Isthmus. It has to do with who is wearing the bracelet. In the hands of someone evil like Shaitan, it amplifies the bad. But in your hands, it assumes the qualities of your innocent heart.”

“Me? Innocent?”

“Yes, mischievous though you are, but pure of intent—whether you like it or not, Yudi, you always end up doing the right thing.”

He really does know me. “Perhaps,” Yudi says in a cautious voice.

“You are selfish, but only because you want to protect those you love. Isn’t that true?”

Yudi doesn’t reply, uncomfortable at having his worst qualities reflected back at him. “Uh! You were going to tell me about the Isthmus?”

“Ah! Yes, the turquoise bracelet.”

To Yudi’s relief, Mimir goes along with his change of topic.

“So, legend has it that turquoise is made of bones of those who died of unhappy love. It is hence the stone of happiness. According to the ancient race of Aztecs on Earth, turquoise stones are tears of the Goddess of the Skies, a symbol of health, prosperity and love. A symbol of spirituality also sometimes associated with the Goddesses of Love: in ancient Egypt, Isis; in ancient Greece, Aphrodite; in ancient Rome, Venus.”

“And to Uma, the Indian Goddess of Love?” The events suddenly make sense in a strange way for Yudi. Perhaps it wasn’t all as random as it seemed. There are no coincidences after all.

“Yes, also Uma. Now you know why she wanted you to stay back. She knew you were going to retrieve the Isthmus.”

“I suppose you want it back now? To place it back in the Temple of Arkana.”

For the first time in memory, Yudi sees Mimir hesitate. “No! Keep it, Yudi. You must have realised that the Isthmus removes danger. It is your talisman. The Elixir has done its part. Let the Isthmus play its role now.”

Mimir comes closer to Yudi and places his right hand over Yudi’s heart. “Let it in. Allow it to eliminate fear and protect you from falls. Let the Isthmus strengthen your heart, tune your intuition, and increase your independence. Let it be your guiding force for the days ahead. Let it heighten your bravery and give you an insight into your enemy’s heart. Above all, let it help you establish peace in the family.”

He pauses, and without giving Yudi a chance to take in everything he has shared, says, “You have a visitor.”

He gestures to the other side of the room. Yudi has not noticed that the time they had been speaking, there was another person in the chmaber. An elegant figure dressed in blue with black hair flowing to her waist is standing in profile. After taking him by his hand, Mimir leads him toward her. They are almost upon the woman when she turns and smiles.

A simple red saree with a yellow border is draped over a matching yellow blouse. She wears no jewelry except for a small diamond nose ring on her right nostril, which glints. Hair threaded with greys lines her temples, lending an air of solemnity about her and a strong square jaw makes her seem both confident and stubborn. Her lips are painted bright red and on her forehead between her eyebrows, she wears a bright red coloured bindi, the painted dot signifying her status as a married woman. Marring the smooth beauty of her face is a gash on her forehead. It is a fresh wound, for the blood glistens on its edges, matching the crimson of her bindi.

He comes to a standstill near her and peers down at her shorter frame, wondering who or what had hurt her.

Her eyes are not blue, not black, but indigo, and lined with kohl so that they are startling against her unlined dusky brown face.

There is only one person I know with eyes like that. Yudi frowns, trying to form an image of who she is, but his heart feels as if an enormous fist has suddenly tightened around it, squeezing it dry.

About to voice his doubts, he is interrupted by Mimir, who answers his unasked question. “Yudi, meet your mother.”

27

Saturn, 3000

So, he had killed Thalia and is sure it was the right thing to do. He is Shaitan, after all, the most powerful half life in the universe and did not need some human female to hold his hand and tell him how much she loved him.

Do I? The doubt crosses his mind and he is annoyed. Human emotions! He curses his half human side. It simply weakens his heart, detracts him from his real goal—to conquer the planets one-by-one. To become the most powerful half life in the galaxy, that is his goal, he reminds himself.

Yet of late it is not enough. He feels the need for companionship and smiles bitterly. Even his half-human side needs something more than just the taste of power.

He had his chance with Thalia, yet when he had found out she was pregnant, he had seen no choice but to kill her. Perhaps next time I can find a way to make it work. Strike an arrangement of some kind.

Out of habit, he touches the sword on his back, making sure it is still secure in its protective leather casing. The gold band around his forehead shines dully in the lights reflected from the control panel of his spaceship. At just nineteen years, he is already the ruler of Saturn. Over the last few years, he had gone about building his army systematically, wooing the best warriors in the universe. Once his troops are in place, he will conquer the other planets.

He would be more powerful than any of the gods, more powerful than Shiva himself, which is all that matters to him. No matter how he tries to convince himself, it doesn’t feel like enough.

* * *

The journey from Earth to Saturn is swift. He knows his way around the various shortcut routes in the galaxy, and aided by his powerful spaceship, he avoids Mars and Jupiter completely. Instead, he uses a complex series of interconnected wormholes between the planets to reach Saturn within a day.

He lands on the open terrace of his palace, docking his spaceship in almost exactly the same position from where he had taken off a few days earlier. Yaksha, his right-hand bodyguard and sometimes guardian, walks into Shaitan’s room. His face is unreadable. At thirty years of age, Yaksha is older than Shaitan and has already begun to grey around the temples, yet his immense strength makes him invaluable. He has been the one constant through Shaitan’s last few years and he has come to depend on Yaksha’s impassive presence in many ways.

Yaksha silently accepts Shaitan’s sword and head gear, helping him out of his vest. Then he places them back on the table in the centre of the room, where they would never be more than an arm’s reach from Shaitan.

To refresh himself, Shaitan walks to the bowl of water in the corner of the room and splashes some on his face. Water is a precious commodity on Saturn, to be used sparingly even in his palace.

Feeling the first stirring of hunger in nearly a week, he moves to the next room, where wine and fruit are kept. As he sits down to eat, he realizes what is missing. Much as he hated his human weaknesses, Shaitan acknowledges for the first time that he needs company, preferably of the female variety, and human at that.

When he is not out conquering the galaxy, he needs to be entertained, and it needs to be little more than the sporadic encounters with females either human or half human. He wants someone who will actually live with him and be part of his life. Was it a mistake to let go of Thalia?

He dismisses the thought almost as quickly as it creeps in. After calling for Yaksha, he proceeds to fill him in about his trip to Earth.

* * *

The following week, Shaitan organizes a massive hunting expedition to the thick forests located on the far side of Saturn. It has been almost a year since he last visited these jungles teeming with varied wildlife from around the galaxy. The forest houses animals from various planets, many crossbred with each other. It is the most fantastical collection of species that anyone could find in one place, an aquarium of the weird and the wonderful that always manages to lift his spirits.

On the hunt, Shaitan plunges straight into the chase, hot on the heels of a deer. For the first time he decides to go after a traditional purebred animal instead of the more bizarre, which is his usual preference.

The deer is magnificent and runs fleet-footed with Shaitan in pursuit, leading him deeper and deeper into the heart of the tangled woodlands, where the trees whisper the secrets of the world to each other. They are towering giants, more ancient than time, surviving many an apocalypse and carrying within them secrets that could make the world recede to insignificance.

The deer leads him into the thick vegetation and, putting on a burst of speed, disappears into the under growth.

Shaitan finds himself in the middle of an extremely thick grove with nothing but the whispering fronds for company. The rest of his hunting pack fall behind and his prey is nowhere in sight. He is not concerned though; his natural confidence in his abilities keeps him going in anticipation of the kill. Not only armed with a hunting bow and arrow, he also has his sword in its leather scabbard slung across his back.

He has barely gone another few yards when he hears gurgling, like an animal drinking water.

Then he slows, taking on the stance of a hunter and closing his eyes, he concentrates on the kill and lets loose his arrow. He comes out of his reverie to find that the sound has ceased. Cautiously moving toward the original source of the sound, he stumbles upon a clearing with a small rivulet running through it. A burst of colour on the ground near the far end of the water draws his attention and he jogs over to it.

Looking down at the fallen figure, the bow and arrow drop from his hands, for he is gazing into the face of the most beautiful creature he has ever seen.

Slim and shapely, she is no more than five-foot-three, yet what there is of her is perfectly formed. Dark hair falls to her shoulders, framing a stubborn square jaw, adding character to her face. Dusky brown skin covers a slender waist and gently flaring hips, which end in shapely legs, clad in elegant deer skin, now in shreds.

Her arms are askew, the left flung out to her side as if to protect herself from the fall, the right folded carelessly over her swelling breasts. The arrow he had shot earlier scraped her right arm and is embedded harmlessly in the soft mud of the river bank. As he reaches out to touch her, to make sure that she is still alive, her eyes flash open and her lightning gaze strikes him.

A startling indigo stare catches him off guard. It is something he has never seen before. The curve of her eyelashes is matched only by her slim thighs. Both seduce him.

Is she a goddess? he wonders. No a shape shifter.

The female had probably taken on the form of the deer he had been chasing. Shape shifters are not uncommon on Saturn, but it is the first time he has been so close to one.

Her ebony skin pales with pain from the wound setting in, and he picks her up gently, so as not to hurt her further, and carries her back with him to the hunting party, his bow and arrow forgotten. How the mighty fall.

As ferocious a warrior as Shaitan is, over the next weeks and months, he is filled with love for this essence of femininity who has stumbled into his life. From the time Yana opened her eyes and looked at him, first with terror, then with growing lust, he had fallen in love with her.

Shaitan’s armor and weapons lie forgotten as he discovers the narcotic of a soul mate. For the first time, he understands the heady feeling of living for someone else, of another being filling his every waking thought. He breathes in her essence, aware on some level he is falling into the trap of fate, and yet not caring.

The stars may warn, but immortals and mortals plot their own course.

28

Saturn, 3000

Yana opens her eyes in Shaitan’s palace and finds that he does not allow anyone near her—not the palace doctor, not even Yaksha, preferring to treat her wounds himself. Seeing to her every need himself, he wins her over.

She is touched by his attention and mindful that he is the most powerful half life on Saturn. Before she is completely recovered from the wound caused by his arrow, she sleeps with him. Like many on Saturn, she knows about Shiva’s curse, his declaration that Shaitan would be killed by his own child, and hence Shaitan’s oath of not allowing any of his children to live.

On the condition that she hands over every child born of her, Shaitan proposes to her. He tells her he cannot afford to let them live. It isn’t that he has anything against children, but with Shiva’s curse, he has no choice.

Yana is appalled by what he asks of her. Yet it would be foolish to walk away from his status and his power, she thinks. The promise seems a small price to pay to share Shaitan’s future and fulfill her own thirst for power through him, so she accepts his proposal.

A few months after marrying, the attraction between them settles from a tornado to a quiet storm. Having put the final touches to his powerful army, Shaitan embarks on the first of his conquering trips, this time to the planet of Neptune.

While he is away, Yana discovers she is pregnant. After praying for him to be away long enough for her to give birth, it is only when Yudi is born, his screams piercing her heart, that Yana jerks out of the comfortable routine she has fallen into. With this comes the cold realization that she has set the dice rolling on not just her future, but also that of her newborn son. Anxious to fix the crack in her fortune before Shaitan’s anger wrecks her future, she forms a plan to protect her child.

Yana is struck by how much Yudi looks like her, for he has her characteristic strong square jaw and Indigo eyes. He also has a peculiar birthmark, four golden dots forming a square with a fifth in the center, and an unusual golden colour. It is Shaitan’s emblem, the symbol he uses on his flag. How could my child’s birthmark bear the same sign? It is as if Yudi has been marked by Shaitan before birth.

How the patterns pass on from parent to child amazes her. Not only do I have to get my son out of the palace, but I have to get him off planet, hide him so that Shaitan will never set eyes on him.

Between Yudi’s uncanny resemblance to her and the damning birthmark, there would be no mistaking who he is on Saturn. Before her heart forces her to change her mind, she wraps the child in a bright yellow cloth and calls her fellow shape shifters to help ship the infant to Ka Surya.

It is the farthest, hence she thinks the safest, planet; among the more prosperous in the galaxy. She feels reassured that he will be cared for there.

Then to be doubly sure, she substitutes Yudi with a servant’s baby girl. When Shaitan returns, surprise spreads on his face when he sees the child feeding at her breasts. He touches the infant and seems to wonder what it would feel like to keep her. Then, to her shock, he admits he is surprised to feel the emotional pull toward what he sees as his own daughter, yet he tells Yana that he has no choice; he reminds her of the promise she has made him. Yana hands over the child to him without another word.

When Shaitan is about to leave with the baby, Yaksha reveals her secret. He tells Shaitan about seeing Yana send away their son to another planet for his safety. This little girl is not Shaitan’s, but belongs to a palace maid.

When he confronts Yana, she flies into a rage and demands if he had actually expected her to simply hand over her child and live on as if nothing had happened. Seeing his reaction to the baby when he had thought she was his own, she realises not even Shaitan can resist the innocence of a newborn.

Even the merciless Shaitan has a heart. He does love me, in his own way—doesn’t he? Surely he must feel my pain, she hopes and is crushed when his only reaction is to remind her of their bargain.

In an act of defiance, feeling as if her heart is about to burst, she tells him that he can turn the entire galaxy upside-down, yet she would never reveal her son’s whereabouts. Shaitan looks at her calmly and then tells her that is exactly what he intends to do. He orders Yaksha to put Yana under house arrest.

She glares at Yaksha with hatred. As he leads her away, gripping her slender upper arms with his massive shackle-like fists, she decides to bide her time to take revenge against his betrayal. Yudi is safe in Ka Surya, yet a part of her dies with the child that is not hers that day.

Her full breasts ache with no newborn to feed, and with it she is overwhelmed by the sorrow of her loss, and she is not as resistant to the pain of separation as she had hoped. All her dreams pale before the single most important desire, her hope that her child is safe somewhere in the wide galaxy. The chasm of self-destruction beckons, but she must live so that Yudi stays safe.

29

Arkana, 3017—Present Day

Yudi looks into the face of the woman whose existence had been unknown to him. As she narrates her story, it all feels unbelievable, as if he is caught in a strange dream.

How is one supposed to feel on meeting someone who claims to be your birth mother?

Yana sits in a chair that Mimir has brought for her, while Yudi mirrors Mimir’s earlier stance at the window, staring out of it. Mimir has left after introducing them, giving them a chance to get to know each other.

“You look so much like me,” she says, breaking the strained silence between them.

He turns around to observe her closely. I suppose I can see something of myself in her face. “Really? I don’t think we look anything like each other.”

Disappointment fills her eyes and her expression falls at that, and he wonders if he should feel at least a little sorry for her. If only I could feel something.

As if reading his thoughts, she says, “Don’t you feel anything?”

Yudi shrugs, unable to meet her eyes. “You never made an attempt to contact me, not in all this time, and now you turn up with this fantastic story. I don’t know what to make of it.”

“I could not afford to get in touch with you.” She stands and walks over to him. Clutching his arms, she says, “Do you understand? I could not be that selfish. If I had tried to find you, then it would have been all over very quickly.”

“And so—”

“And so…I have stayed silent for the last seventeen years.”

“So all this time, you just stayed?”

“Yes, in Shaitan’s palace.”

“As his prisoner? You expect me to believe that someone would survive for so long?”

“I did. I had to make sure you were safe.”

“Why are you here, anyway?”

“You stole the Isthmus, and he is furious.”

“Why? Because, I am just a boy?” Yudi is delighted to discover Shaitan’s reaction. That’s one for me!

“You hurt his ego, showed him down in front of the entire universe.” Urgency strains her voice. “It doesn’t matter what you think of me. I am not important. Only you are important.”

Uncomfortable at how quickly she had dismissed herself, he protests, “Hang on a second—”

She continues as if he hasn’t spoken. “Shaitan is on his way to take revenge. He knows you are his son, and now there is no way he will let you live. When he finds you, he will kill you.”

“You told him about me?”

“Yes, I had to. When I heard about the Isthmus, I knew it was you, and then I simply couldn’t stop myself from telling him. I had to hear it aloud for myself, feel that you were alive.”

“How did you get here?”

“I escaped, but that is not important. We should not waste any more time. While we sit here talking, he is coming. He will not spare you.” With indigo eyes so like his own, she pleads with him. “You must believe me!”

“And if I do?”

“You must kill him, Yudi! Destroy him and the evil he stands for.”

“That must be a first, a mother asking a son to kill his father.” He pauses. “But, anyways, look, lady, he’s not my father. Athira was my true father. I have nothing to do with Shaitan or…or you.”

“You can’t deny the birthmark.”

“You know about the birthmark?”

“Of course! I am your mother.”

How does she know about that? It was his secret, his and Athira’s; he had managed to hide it from everyone so well that sometimes he forgot about that strange mark on his body.

“So perhaps you are my mother. I admit, I do look a little like you. I guess you had your reasons for sending me away. But now you land in my life, just like that, without any warning, so I am sure you will understand if I don’t scream for joy and hug you and welcome you back as if nothing has happened.” Even to his own ears he sounds like a spoilt child.

It is as if I am a five-year-old again, he thinks in disgust, wondering why he feels compelled to be so unkind to this woman. She is his mother; the resemblance said everything. And she even knows about my strange birthmark, yet I do not feel anything.

Yana smiles for the first time. “You also have my stubborn streak, I see.”

“Ah!”

After releasing his arm, she holds up her hand. “I’ll leave you for now. Just promise me you will wear the Isthmus at all times to protect yourself.”

Mimir walks into the room. “You have my word on that. Come, Yana, let me take you to your room. You should spend the night with us.”

“What? She is going to stay here?” He had hoped she would say her piece and leave, and the thought of having her around fills him with dread. Out of sight, out of mind. So he had hoped. Fat chance of that happening now, with her hanging around like a ghost.

“Stop acting like a little boy, Yudi. Your mother is tired from her long journey. Interplanetary travel is not a joke, especially when you are older. You will know when you get to her age.”

He doesn’t reply. With a last glance at him, Yana follows Mimir from the chamber. Yudi sinks into the chair that she vacated. My mother. The phrase sounds strange in his mind, and he rolls it around in his mouth as if it has an unknown taste he is trying to decipher. Hmmm! What next?

All he needs is for Shaitan to beg him for his life.

30

“Kill him,” Shaitan says softly, the underlying threat in his calm tone doing more to frighten the messenger who had brought him the news than if he had yelled. At least it has the desired effect of making the man pee in his sarong.

“Hey!” The half human, half alien runt with a face that looks like a rat protests. “Haven’t you heard about not shooting the messenger?”

“If I followed every single piece of advice that was once popular on Earth, well, I would have turned to be like you, no doubt!” He signals to Yaksha to do the deed, and as the man is dragged away, asks, “How many were there?”

The real question he does not voice aloud is, How did a young boy and girl, mere teenagers, break into the Temple of Saturn, steal the Isthmus, kill my ward, and raze my pride and joy to the ground?

“They were helped by Simh—Lion Man.” Yaksha’s voice emerges in its usual gravelly tone.

“So? They had just one guardian on their side.”

“They escaped on a powerful shape shifting spaceship.”

Curious! “And how many such shape shifting spaceships exist in the galaxy?”

“Just one.”

“On Arkana. Mimir!” he swears. “I should have killed him when I stole the Isthmus—never too late, I suppose.”

“Should I alert the army to march on Arkana?”

“Hmmm! It’s a long journey, and this is a battle of wits. With Mimir on their side, we have to outthink them. No. Not the entire army. Just the Nagas; they are fast, vicious, and travel better than the others. And pick the best strategists in the army. For too long have I let Arkana be, because of my memories of the Academy of Half Lives. This time I will not spare the planet or its people.”

Yaksha nods. “They must feel your anger. Let this set an example to the rest of the galaxy for what happens when you provoke Shaitan.” He hesitates. “There is one other thing.”

Shaitan waits for Yaksha to complete his sentence

“Yana is not in the palace. She has run away.”

“How did that happen? I specifically gave orders to have her killed, and immediately.”

“She begged to get a token belonging to her son, so she could have something of him with her when she died.”

“And you agreed?”

For the first time in all the time Shaitan has known Yaksha, he looks uncomfortable.

“Uh! She told me that I had betrayed her once already, so this was my chance to make up for it.” He touches his freshly bound ear, drawing Shaitan’s attention to the wound for the first time.

“She did that?”

Yaksha nods, his lips tightening into a thin line, eyes downcast in shame.

Shaitan laughs, unable to contain his mirth. “You let that…that slip of a woman get the better of you? I do believe you are losing your touch!”

The enormous guard growls back, the words almost incomprehensible, “I have sent soldiers after her; she will be found.”

“Ask them not to kill her. I want her back. After all, she is still my wife.” He wonders again if it was a mistake to marry her.

Yana, the love of his life, yet after she had been forced to get rid of their first child, she had changed. He preferred to remember her as he had first chanced upon her. Flashing eyes, a living breathing, vigorous presence. Not the Yana she had become. Gone was the warm responsive human female, replaced by a numb, frozen parody of her previous self. Is the real Yana still somewhere inside there? It was as if she had forgotten how to live. Beautiful still, but as if she is in suspended animation, perfectly preserved forever in a parody of its former existence.

Yaksha nods and makes as if to leave.

“Wait. How many were there, you said?”

“It was a male and a female who got away on the spaceship. The Nagas killed Lion Man. The second male who was with them was bitten by the Nagas, but he survived. He is in a coma and probably will not live through the night.”

“Hmm… What is the name of the one who took the Isthmus?” For the first time, Shaitan is curious enough to ask about the name of his opponent. Normally it didn’t matter who they were, for they were all going to their deaths the same way. This time, though, a sixth sense compels him to ask the question.

“Yudi.”

“And he’s just seventeen?”

Yaksha nods and raises his eyebrows, silently asking for permission to leave. Shaitan dismisses him. Am I paranoid or just getting old enough to worry about a young upstart pulling the world from under my feet?

Ah, to be seventeen again. Just starting out on my conquest of the galaxy. To have that boundless energy on the battlefield and in bed.

Why, I am jealous of the boy, of his youth, of everything he stands for! he realises in dismay. He resolves to find Yudi and put an end to his life.

* * *

Yudi walks toward the temporary rooms Mimir has allocated him at the Academy of Half Lives. The chambers are in a different wing from where the current students of the Academy are staying. These were normally used by guests, and resided in the same wing as where Mimir and the other teachers lived.

It’s been a long day, a longer week, and a real crazy month, he thinks, peeking into the room next to his through the connecting door between the two.

Tiina’s sword is on the small study table next to the bed. The two rooms are identical in the arrangement of the furniture. The only difference is the placement of the windows. Yudi’s room looks down over the inner gardens of the Academy, while Tiina’s looks out over the city. He crosses the floor of her room and over to the window. The rooms are on the third floor of the five-storey building. The Temple of Arkana is not far off on the next hill, which is slightly higher than the one where the Academy is situated. The sun is setting behind the hill, the sky seems to be on fire, lighting up the Temple with hues of red and orange.

Between the two hills, life on Arkana goes on as usual. Just below the hill, the slim Arkana River continues its sluggish flow through the city. Beyond that are rows of tall towers.

All those humans and half lives going about their daily lives not realising that everything they know may change forever. He pushes away the morbid thought. Stay positive, Yudi, positive, as Tiina would say. There is little air traffic in the city, just a few commuter spaceships plying the airways between the two hills.

As he absorbs the scene, his left hand toys with the Isthmus on his right wrist. He stops. Don’t get used to it; it’s just on loan. It feels strangely comforting to have its protective presence on his person, knowing that somewhere not very far off, Shaitan is probably pissed off with him.

In fact, he is sure the most powerful half life in the universe is marching toward Arkana, plotting his downfall. He shivers slightly and puts it down to the rapidly cooling air outside.

Coward! He wonders what he would do on coming face-to-face with Shaitan.

Not cheered by that thought, he turns back to the table. Spotting Tiina’s sword, he remembers that he needs to ask Mimir to get him a new one. He needs a little time to practise with it, get used to it, too.

Quite suddenly, Mimir walks into the chamber through the connecting door from his room. “Ah! There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Uh! So she’s…she’s—”

“Your mother, you mean?”

“Yeah! Yana. Guess she is resting in her rooms?”

“Yes. She is not far off, just up the corridor to your left.”

Yudi nods, discomforted at the thought of her being so close. For the first time, there are two women in his life, and right now they are placed on either side of him, with Tiina’s room to his right and Yana’s to his left.

“Come, we need to pick out a new sword for you, right?”

“How did you know?” he asks, and says in the same breath, “Okay, forget I asked.”

“Come along, then. We can talk on the way.”

Yudi hesitates, looking at Tiina’s sword. He very much wants to see her again, to reassure himself that she is fine. It isn’t every day a man declares his love for a woman, and it is important to look into her eyes and make sure she does not hate him for it.

“I think you’ll find her where we are headed.”

“Oh! Really?”

“She went straight to the armoury to pick out more choice weapons to use against Shaitan.”

“Ah! Revenge! Is that all anyone around me can think of?”

Mimir puts his arm over Yudi’s shoulders, both calming him and leading him back through the connecting door and through his room. They turn left, away from the direction of Yana’s room, and walk toward the steps to take the bridge connecting this wing with the main Academy. Down the steps they trot, toward the armoury, which is located underground in the main wing, a level below all the classes. Yudi nods to the guards who are always posted there.

They walk in to find Tiina examining one of the swords. It has a distinct long, thin curved blade ending in a sharp point. As he walks up to her, she throws it toward him. He has to spring to his left to catch it, and then he holds it with both hands, testing it for weight. The grip feels good and it is unusually long, even for a long sword almost five and a half feet from tip to handle.

“Almost as good as my old one.”

“Just longer and thinner, so it cuts better,” Tiina retorts.

He holds up the sword handle, which is made of black iron. There is an engraving on it in a language he does not recognise. He peers at it and makes out what looks like the ancient devnagari script. In the middle of the hilt is a design in the shape of a turtle, its shell made of turquoise.

“A turtle?”

“A long time ago, the shell was a symbol of Heaven, and the square underside a symbol of Earth. Just like the turtle was an animal whose magic united Heaven and Earth, so will you unite the mortals and immortals, the humans and the aliens,” Mimir replies.

“Heavy!” Yudi shakes his head. “Just because it has a design inlaid with turquoise to match the Isthmus—”

“Yudi!”

At Tiina’s warning tone, he subsides.

He drops into a classic fighters’ stance and slashes the sword in front of him. “It feels good,” he concedes before he slips it through the empty scabbard around his waist and walks experimentally. “Good!”

Another sword catches his eye; it is placed in a holder mounted on one of the walls near the far end. This time it is a classic talwar, a sabre like sword with a two-edged blade about two and a half feet long.

“One of the best cutting swords ever devised, the Indian talwar,” says Mimir. “It has a broad and sharp edge.”

After walking up to it, Yudi runs his fingers over the sword.

“See its distinctive hatchet point, wider near the tip than at the centre?”

The design on the hilt is in the form a rising sun, painted bright yellow. He holds it up and tests it, cutting the air in front of him. “It’s surprisingly light.”

Mimir nods. “It’s made of light-weight carbon steel, so unlike the more traditional swords, this one is a younger and faster cousin to the scimitar.”

An inkling of mischief makes Yudi turn to Tiina and throw it in her direction, handle first. She neatly catches it and drops into a fighting stance; holding up the sword, she slashes the air in front of her in a parody of vengeance.

When she stops, panting from the exertion, he claps. “Feel better?”

“It’s strong.” She turns to Mimir. “Can I keep this one, too?”

He nods. “You’ll need them both”

The blade belongs with a scabbard made of wood covered in black leather and capped at either end with a thick brass throat as well as a leather sword belt She slides the sword into it. The talwar is almost as long as her legs, but falls short of touching the ground.

As they walk out, Mimir places an arm on each of their shoulders.

“Come.” He guides them upstairs, back into the Hall of the Great Mirrors. They walk to the end of the corridor.

As they approach the double doors at the end, which open out onto the terrace, Yudi hears an unfamiliar noise. He angles his head, trying to make out what the commotion is about.

Tiina notices his actions. “What is it?”

“Can’t you hear it?”

Mimir pushes open the doors and they walk out onto the viewing terrace. As if a dam has broken, a wall of sound rushes up to meet them. The noise rises and falls in troughs and crests; it is joined by another hum, like a thousand wings flapping. They peer up into the night sky, filled with massive birds.

Gigantic creatures flap their wings and circle in the sky. There are about a dozen of them and the existing flock is joined by another group until the sky above is packed with their bodies.

The harsh sounds of screeching swell until the noise is almost overpowering. Then, one of the birds, which has been hovering close, breaks off and flies toward them, speeding up before sweeping down to perch on the ledge.

He is at least eight feet tall from head to tail and each of his wings, stretching between his human arms and legs, has a span of thirteen feet. Long wings flap and settle down on his back, his beak and crown of feathers recede, and he assumes a more human form. His body and face are that of a normal man, and he has intelligent brown eyes in a warm honey-coloured face and thick curly hair, which is blackish-brown. Around his neck he wears a simple golden chain with a round pendant of solid gold; another band of beaten gold around his forehead proclaims his status as a prince among his people. Bare-chested, he stands tall, and around his waist is a simple red sarong tucked up at the back. His strong legs end in large, naked human feet.

He reaches with elegant human hands, plucks out a feather from his left wing, and hands it to Tiina. She examines the quill, and then turns to him.

“Garuda!”

“Didn’t mean to surprise you; just had to say, ‘hi,’ to you guys.”

“Who are they?” Tiina points to the sky behind him.

“My Bird People—they are all here. It is incredible, a huge reunion of all the brothers in the extended family. Never before have all of us assembled in one place!” Garuda stands to attention, then nimbly leaps off the ledge and kisses her on the cheek. “Didn’t I tell you, that I would see you…?”

“At the appropriate juncture,” agrees Tiina, laughing and embracing him.

Yudi pats him on the back, forced to look up at someone for once. “I didn’t think I would see you so soon after graduation.”

“It’s been just a year, but so much has changed,” Garuda agrees.

“We are different people.”

“We should have realised you were royalty as soon as we met.”

Garuda slaps him on the back in a friendly gesture, which is nevertheless strong enough to unbalance him. “We are all friends here! So here’s your army, then.” He points to the circling flock. “Just say the word. We are with you!”

“Army…fight?”

Garuda turns to Mimir. “He doesn’t know?”

“Thought it would be easier to show him first.”

“Show me what?” No, no! This is so not happening, thinks Yudi. I knew it was coming—should have left when there was time. Or never come back, perhaps. Taken Tiina and run…as if she would have come with me. The thoughts are all jumbled up in his head. His fear must have shown, for Mimir puts his arms on Yudi’s shoulders.

“Come.”

Leaving Tiina and Garuda to catch up on the terrace, he takes Yudi to his chambers, which are on the floor above the Hall of Great Mirrors.

“The last time I was here, it was for detention.”

“Cutting class and being caught smoking a joint with some celestial drug.”

“G.”

“What?”

“It’s called G—you know Ganja, marijuana. It’s organic made from dried Cannabis flowers, and it’s not really celestial.”

“Really? I stand corrected then.”

“It was popular at one point on Earth, and it grows wild in some parts of Arkana.”

“In the gardens below.”

Yudi shrugs. “I can’t reveal my sources.”

“Sit.” Mimir takes a seat in his comfortable armchair behind the ancient redwood table with carvings based on motifs from the ancient East Indian civilisation on both sides. The table is rectangular and covers almost the length of the entire room. Behind Mimir is a window open to the night sky. Lamps are lit in the room, giving it a cozy atmosphere.

Yudi walks over the faded rugs and sits down, glancing at the rows of books on the walls.

“Have you read them all?”

“I have the benefit of many centuries over you.”

“How old are you?”

“Old enough, Yudi.”

“You can be annoyingly taciturn.”

“Well done; your vocabulary is improving.”

Yudi gives up. “Okay, I’ll never defeat you at word play.” He pauses. “I am not doing it, Mimir.”

“What?”

“I am not going into this crazy war, this bizarre fight that is not even mine. And I am not going to kill my father.”

“Isn’t Athira your father?”

“Yes! And so is Shaitan. And by the way, it seems I also have a mother now.”

“It’s understandable if you are confused, Yudi; it’s natural.”

“But…? There’s always a but, right?”

“But only you can do this.”

“Fulfill my destiny, go through and perform because of some stupid curse which some god bestowed on Shaitan?”

“Your vocabulary really is improving. And it was Shiva who cursed Shaitan to be killed by his own child.”

“And you think that is me.” It was more a statement than a question.

“Everything points to that.”

“Then why am I not convinced? I know I have this strange birthmark that ties me to Shaitan, so it has to be true, but I really can’t bring myself to just kill him.”

“Why, Yudi? Why can’t you kill him?”

Yudi’s voice rises as he stands up and paces the room, caught up in confusion. “He is my father.”

“You know, only the body may be killed; the self is immortal. As a warrior—and I believe you are one, since you learnt the ways at the Academy—you have a duty to uphold the natural law of the universe by destroying evil, which in this case just happens to be Shaitan. But you can call him by any other name, if that helps you.”

“Okay, so here’s a question. It’s you who always said that thoughts are more important than action. So if that’s the case, why can’t I just think him away? Why should I fight him?”

“Because you are indulging in actions, which will benefit the greater good of the galaxy—for your friends and for everyone who has suffered at one time or the other at the hands of evil. The difference here is that you should not be attached to the results.”

“So it doesn’t matter what the outcome of the fight is? It’s more important to push back on what is wrong?”

“Yes. In other words, don’t let anyone push you around.

“Okay, I get that—makes sense I suppose, in a weird kind of way. You’re not messing with my head, are you?”

“Who, me?” Mimir smiles, all innocence. “Remember, no attachment to results is the appropriate course of action. It is the journey that counts, not the destination.”

Yudi simpers; he stops pacing and once more comes back to stand in front of the desk. “Who are you, Mimir? How do you know so much? Why are you so wise?”

“Everything is a part of me and I am in everything.” The smile on his lips fades, the wrinkles around his eyes smooth, and he becomes serene once more.

As if he has this kind of conversation every day with panic-stricken mortals like me. “I believe you. I’ll do this then, but on one condition.”

Mimir’s face does not change expression as he waits for Yudi to continue.

“Show me your real self. Show me who you really are.”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Yes.” Yudi wonders if he will regret this forever.

White robes flutter behind Mimir as he walks around the desk to the centre of the room. In front of Yudi’s baffled eyes, he grows in size, and grows and grows filling the room, the skies above and the ground below, becoming a transparent being who radiates the power of a thousand suns. Everything is mirrored in him—the sun, the planets, the stars, the galaxies known and unknown. He can see humans, half lives, immortals, himself, Rai, Tiina. Yudi marvels at what he sees. It’s all so simple. Why was I so worried? I will never be the same again.

Mimir’s voice echoes in his ears. “Just surrender, Yudi, for this is the ultimate perfection of life.”

31

Yudi wakes in his bed in his room at the Academy with Tiina’s anxious face peering over him.

“I’ll fight him. I’ll face Shaitan.”

“I know.”

When he closes his eyes, she sighs, not knowing what else to say. The earlier conflict within him has faded. In its place is a serene acceptance. How is he really feeling?

“Come on in.”

After walking around the narrow single bed, she slips in under the covers and pillows her head on his arm. She turns on her side and puts her arm around his chest, hugging him close.

“We’ll do it together. I’ll…you can even have Artemis to take you to him.”

“An offer I can’t refuse.” He grins. With a slight turn of his head, he bends a little and kisses her on her forehead.

“What did Mimir tell you?”

“Not tell as much as showed. He was right about that.”

“What did he show you?”

“That he is one with the universe; he is the universe.”

She waits for him to continue; a shiver runs through him and she hugs him closer.

“And I must protect it.”

The curve of his jaw is set and dark stubble peeks from his almond skin. She runs her hand through his hair, tracing her fingers down his chest, over his shirt to where the Isthmus glows dark blue on his wrist.

“It is time, Yudi.”

He closes his eyes in preparation for what is to come.

Shaitan and Yaksha, along with a small group of his best human strategists and a hundred chosen Nagas, land on Arkana in the middle of the night. They pitch camp on the hill next to the Temple of Arkana. The guards positioned at the Temple had put up a spirited fight when Shaitan stole the Isthmus, but had been no match for Yaksha and his best troops.

So it ends where it all started, thinks Shaitan, looking to the hill not more than five miles away, on top of which is the Academy of Half Lives. The view is familiar. The Temple had been one of his favourite places when he had studied at the Academy. Little did he know the route his life was going to take then, and that his next visit would be to destroy the planet. He shrugs. Some things one simply had to do oneself.

The hundred Nagas tunnel into the sides of the hill, each creating a burrow to rest in for the night. Within hours, the hill is pockmarked like the face of Earth’s moon with small mounds of mud, each indicating the presence of a Naga in the ground. Each opening is not more than five feet across and about thirteen feet deep, but comfortable enough for the half human, half serpents to stay warm in the womb of Arkana.

Yaksha pitches a spacious tent for Shaitan on top of the hill so that he can survey the city. The tent is a sea of stark black broken only by Shaitan’s flag which flies on top—a rectangular piece of black cloth carrying Shaitan’s chosen insignia in gold. This is his first trip back to Arkana. He was sixteen when he had graduated from the Academy, recruited by Mimir to be among the first batch of half lives. Twenty-one years have passed since then, and at thirty-seven, he feels ancient seeing this place once more.

No. Not ancient, but not young anymore. He turns to see one of his half human soldiers pass by, dragging a young female, and beckons the man to approach. The female is not more than sixteen and she is tiny, just five feet tall with a slender curved body, tiny breasts, and a waist the span of his palm. Thick, curly reddish-blonde hair falls to her gently flaring hips.

The soldier stops in front of him still holding onto her. When Shaitan stretches out his hand, the soldier looks reluctant to relinquish his prize, yet when Shaitan’s hand goes to the long sword on his back, the guard gives in and walks away, leaving the female behind.

Is this the answer? Shaitan wonders. Get them younger. Her fresh beauty reinvigorates him, running through his blood like a heady narcotic, recharging every part that it touches. The tips of his fingers tingle as if sensation is returning after a long time. He goes to the opening of his tent and holds the flap open. Where earlier the girl had seemed reluctant, now there is only curiosity in her bright blue eyes.

She walks toward him, her weight barely making a mark in the dirt below, pausing for a second to look up into his eyes at the entrance to the tent. Whatever she has seen there seems to satisfy her, for with a smile, she enters, followed by Shaitan. Yaksha, who has finished pitching Shaitan’s tent by then, stands guard at the entrance.

Within minutes of Shaitan’s landing, news of his arrival is carried to the Academy of Half Lives by Mimir’s spies. Yudi and Tiina are woken up by the old guardian’s summons. Shaking herself awake, Tiina follows Yudi to Mimir’s living quarters to discuss their best course of action. When they walk into his chambers, where Yudi was just a few hours earlier, Mimir is back in the chair behind his massive desk, writing, and he gestures to them to wait until he has finished.

Yudi drops into the chair opposite him and yawns before settling into a half snooze. Feeling restless and unsettled, Tiina walks to the windows of Mimir’s offices. From there, she can see the hill with the Temple of Arkana outlined against the night sky. The skies behind the Temple are already lightening and she is surprised to see that she has slept most of the night away, for dawn is not far off.

As she continues to gaze at it, Mimir says, “That’s where he is. Shaitan is here.”

Tiina jerks in surprise and turns around to see that Yudi is sitting up straight, mirroring what she assumes would be a similar expression of astonishment on her face. Mimir is serious. In fact, she has never seen him look so solemn before. He has made up his mind. Gone is the normal wry look in his eyes, indicating that he regards everything around him as one big joke, replaced by steely determination, and an unsmiling focus as if saying, “Make no mistake; this is the real deal now. There is no getting away from it.”

She turns back to the hill. If he is already there, then it is too far away for her to make out any details of Shaitan’s chosen army of soldiers, but she imagines he is there, looking back at them, ready to attack the Academy.

Both of her companions wait for her to turn, face them and speak. “Well, what is he waiting for, then? Why doesn’t he just strike?”

“He went to the same school as you, Tiina, and he was one of my best pupils.”

Aghast, she rests her hand at the base of her throat. “He graduated from the Academy?”

“It’s not something I am proud of. I consider him my personal failure.” Mimir pauses for a moment. “He knows the importance of positioning. His decision to place himself by the Temple of Arkana is based on both objective reasons and subjective.”

“It gives him a clear view of Arkana, so we cannot catch him unawares?”

“Very good, Yudi. Perhaps you will make a good general yet.” Mimir nods. “Yes and also on the subjective beliefs of others, us in this context.”

“So he thinks that by placing himself next to the Temple, it gives him an emotional advantage?”

“Perhaps. The Temple is the holiest place on Arkana. It is also where he struck last time, so it has become our weakest point.”

“We must be prepared for any more surprises he may have in store for us.”

“We all have secrets, it seems.” Tiina offers a sly smirk.

Mimir throws a warning glance in her direction, which she meets with a direct gaze. And I have a few which you’ll never know. She tries to listen as they continue to debate merits versus disadvantages of certain action, discussing the best time and formation to attack, when her ears prick up.

“We have lost our element of surprise,” Yudi points out.

“Not all of it. Garuda and his Bird People are with us. Shaitan doesn’t know that yet. And who do the Nagas fear the most?”

“Eagles, the birds, from whom the Bird People are descended.”

“Of course!” Yudi smacks his forehead. “They are natural enemies of each other, and have been for centuries.”

Surprise—come at him from the skies. It is clear to Tiina. Yudi and Mimir could sit around discussing, thinking, strategizing until the celestial cows came home. She believes in action, though. Damned if she is going to hang around here until they make up their minds. They had forgotten about another element of surprise.

Me! She knows what she has to do for Maya, for Rai, for Ka Surya. Oh! Yes! She does, and only she can do this.

“So while you make up your minds, I am going to grab a few hours of sleep while I can.” A pretend yawn does the trick, letting her excuse herself from the conversation. “I still haven’t recovered from the journey to Arkana from Saturn.” Seeing Yudi’s surprise, she pretends to sway. “You forget, I am much weaker than you. I simply don’t have the strength you have, Yudi.”

There! I know exactly which buttons to push.

As she expects, Yudi walks over to her and touches her face. “You poor thing; sometimes I forget how fragile you really are. Let her go, Mimir. We can wake her up once we have decided the best course of action.”

Mimir’s gaze pierces her soul, as if reading her thoughts, and Tiina cowers inside, but is steadfast in holding his gaze. She tries not to think about what she is going to do next, thinking instead of her and Yudi’s violent lovemaking on their way back from Saturn. It seems to work, because Mimir averts his eyes, as if embarrassed by what he has seen. He nods.

On tiptoes, she kisses Yudi. “Wish me luck!” At Yudi’s quizzical look she hastens to clarify, “So that Shaitan doesn’t invade my dreams.”

He smiles and kisses her back.

Before either of them can change their mind, she leaves. She hadn’t lied when she had said that she was going to her room, and she walks to the wardrobe tucked away in the corner, opens it, and pulls out the only suit hanging there. After tugging off the simple trouser suit she is wearing, she shrugs into the arms of her well worn sturdy neoprene jumpsuit, running her finger lightly over the flying activator on the right sleeve.

No one uses the flying activator to transport on Arkana. It is viewed among the elite of the Academy as outdated technology. Most here prefer to use their sleek spaceships for interplanetary transport and space-pods within Arkana, unlike Java where half lives and humans use whatever they have available.

The first of the many firsts. She exchanges her sandals for her streamlined running shoes. It seems a lifetime ago when she had left home on Java similarly dressed. The journey had turned out to be a crossing that had taken her to the other side of herself, forcing her to explore parts she had not known existed, to acknowledge who she really is. It is only fitting that these silent objects be her only companions on her last journey.

She goes to the desk where she has placed her sword. In a habitual gesture, she pulls it out of its leather casing, as if to reassure herself that the blade is still sharp, and runs her thumb over the single red ruby, which glows dully within the design of the eye in the hilt.

You’ve been through a lot with me, a lifetime of adventures, of love and betrayal. Through your eyes I have seen my future and cheated destiny many a time. Don’t fail me now.

Overcome by a strange emotion she cannot explain, perhaps seeking a time when she was more innocent, when the sword was more of an accessory to be worn with pride, when it had been more a badge of confidence rather than a device of destruction, she snaps it back in the scabbard and secures it across her back. She looks at the talwar Yudi handed to her earlier.

After securing the sword belt in place, she slips her new weapon into it. The two swords weigh her down. It’s probably ridiculous to carry every single weapon I have. This time, she does not trust fate to fall into place, to provide the footsteps to her future. This time, she knows this is her destiny.

She thinks with regret of Artemis, who has been her faithful companion on the journey so far. She would have much preferred to have travelled in the safety of her shadow. But if she wants to retain the element of surprise, she must go it alone. In a moment of weakness, she decides to go by where Artemis is docked on her space-pod for a final goodbye.

She makes almost no noise, her running shoes muffling her footsteps as she jogs across the corridor and down the steps to the floor below. Yet, she slows down near Mimir’s chambers, and taking no chances, straightens up on tiptoe to walk past the closed door. Their voices come through the door and she is thankful that they are still deep in discussion, then she continues down the two remaining floors, and breaks into a run once she is on the grounds, taking the path toward the docking stations to the far end of the Academy, where Artemis is resting.

Artemis’ lights flicker on as she comes close and touches her hull. She makes a noise, which sounds suspiciously like a purr to Tiina.

“You are not a cat, you know! You are a lean, mean, fighting machine, right?”

Artemis’ engines rev in response to the compliment. The sound feels really loud in the still of dawn.

“Shhh!” Tiina pats Artemis on her side, and putting her cheek to the wall of the spaceship, says, “I have come to say goodbye. You don’t have a say in this. You can’t come with me. This is something I have to do on my own.” She moves back and places both hands on the ship. “You understand, right?”

All the lights die as Artemis shuts down, going completely quiet.

“Right?” she emphasises.

This time there is no response.

“Okay! Well be like that, then.”

With a heavy heart, she turns to leave. There is a slight squeak from behind her. She whirls around to find that a single pink light has come on at the very front of Artemis’ round hull. She runs back in delight and hugs the ship.

“Thanks! I couldn’t have left with you angry with me. I have to go.”

Still looking at her friend, she takes a few steps back. Then with a final glance up to where she can see the light in Mimir’s chambers, she breaks into a run toward where the grounds give way to the Arkana River. On reaching the banks, she presses the flying activator on the right sleeve of her suit and springs into the air, then arcs over the river and climbs higher, so that within a few minutes, she is almost touching the low-hanging clouds before she begins the downward descent toward the Temple of Arkana on the next hill.

She clenches her fists as much to keep her courage steady as to still her heartbeat. The anticipation of the fight and the upcoming encounter flood her system, almost making her feel faint.

She aims for the largest tent of those pitched next to the Temple, sure it is Shaitan’s. As she nears it, she sees the flag fluttering at its apex. She just has enough time to take in its distinctive five pointed quincunx design before crashing through the upper covering of the tent.

32

Mimir is worried about Tiina. It is unusual of her to have cut and run when they had been in the midst of discussing her obsession, Shaitan.

Something isn’t right. He expected her to be at the forefront of leading a possible quick attack on Shaitan. So why did she leave? His mind is only half on Yudi’s reply to his earlier question, and he looks out of the window and sees Tiina leave the docking stations, running toward the river.

“Yes, let’s leave at first light,” he agrees, wondering if he should share what he has just seen with Yudi. In better judgment, Mimir decides against it. You don’t want to deliver the boy straight into the devil’s hands.

“I’ll alert Garuda and the Bird Men,” agrees Yudi. “Is everything fine, Mimir? Don’t worry; we will not fail you.”

No, I know you will not, but it’s what comes before that worries me. Mimir offers a weak, forced smile. “I know, Yudi. Go on then, we don’t have much time.”

As soon as the door has closed behind Yudi, Mimir transports quick as lightning to where Artemis is hovering at the ready. As he appears in front of her, Artemis’ lights flick on. He places his hands against her walls.

“Tell me!” So saying, he closes his eyes and sees the earlier scene unfold as Artemis plays it back for him.

Mimir opens his eyes. “Yes, I am going after her. No you can’t come, you have to stay here for Yudi…no! You don’t have a choice!”

Artemis sighs, all her lights shutting down as she sags an inch closer to the ground.

“I am sorry. I know how much you love her.” His tone softens. “But that’s why I am going after her, and you need to stay behind. Someone has to be in charge, right?” A faint smile lights his lips as a couple of Artemis’ lights, white and purple, flash on at the front of her hull.

Without another word, Mimir vanishes.

Tiina lands on the balls of her feet with just enough presence of mind to bend her legs, keeping them tightly together, as she moves into a forward position. She collapses her legs, tucks her head under her arms, and rolls over onto her back. Her elbows splay out in front to cushion her head from impact as much as possible.

The adrenaline pumping in her blood protects her from all feeling. She recovers, springing back onto her feet lightly, this time keeping them apart and bending them slightly, taking guard. The talwar is heavy as she pulls it from her belt and extends it in front of her, taking care to keep her elbows close

“Relax!” Her breath whistles out as she takes in her surroundings. On this side of the rectangular tent, she is almost alone. Her eyes dart from left to right, finding a large bed on the far side. It is rectangular in shape, mirroring the tent, and piled with mattresses. The shape of a body moves under the covers.

The sound of her own laboured breathing echoes in her ears as she tries to calm herself. It seems unbelievable that she has actually taken Shaitan by surprise. Could anyone have slept through the din of my landing?

As if in answer, she stiffens on feeling the pressure of the edge of a flat blade prick the base of her neck. It urges her in the direction of the bed. It doesn’t feel like a sword, but she is unable to place what weapon it could belong to.

She swallows, trying to hang onto the slim thread of confidence that has brought her this far. Projecting an outward calm and confidence she does not feel, Tiina walks forward. She wonders if it is her imagination or if the pressure is growing more insistent by the minute.

As she nears the bed, the figure sits up and stretches. Shaitan…?

No, it’s a woman with curly reddish-blonde hair in disarray around her shoulders. It falls all the way to her hips so that she seems to be wearing it like a thick cloak around her. As if noticing them for the first time, her eyes grow round in fear. Out of the corner of her eyes, Tiina spots a long muscled arm with black hair gesture to the woman and her eyes follow her as she steps out of the bed naked and, without bothering to get her clothes, rushes to the door. The pressure on her back grows lighter for a split second. Whoever stands behind her is distracted by the sight, and Tiina turns, bringing her talwar down in one smooth flowing movement on the outstretched arm, neatly slicing through it.

Blood spurts out, and he screams in pain, sinking to his knees. Strange, she thought Shaitan would be more handsome. The man in front of her resembles a massive mountain with thick dirt brown hair that falls in dreadlocks to his shoulders. His wide shoulders shake with pain, and are covered in a fitted black armour vest over filthy fatigue trousers.

She takes a step forward to finish what she has started when the man-mountain gets to his feet and rushes at her with a massive axe.

What Tiina lacks in brute strength she makes up for in agility. Waiting until he is almost upon her, she steps aside so that he stumbles and almost falls to the ground, righting himself at the last minute. He rushes back at her and again she slides aside. This time he turns around and eyes her. Pure rage floods his face.

Good, he is really pissed off!

She smiles to madden him further and, holding up her talwar, which is half the size of his axe, she beckons, mocking him. Anger darkens his eyes, and shaking his head to clear his rage, he throws his axe at her, this time catching her by surprise. She dodges at the last minute, and the axe misses her chest but brushes her left side, before it falls to the ground behind her. The jolt from the weapon combined with her sudden move is enough to loosen her grip on the sword, which falls from her hand.

Pain floods her and blood flows out from the gaping wound. Tiina refuses to look at her injury, knowing that the sight of her own blood would weaken her. Instead, she focuses on gathering her energy, but this time he is faster. He is on her in two giant steps and grabs her by the scruff of her throat with his right hand as she reaches for her sword. After raising her up in the air, her feet suspended almost two feet from the ground, he shakes her until every bone in her body jostles. Stunned, she goes limp, and he carries her out of the tent into the open.

She is dimly aware of the change in light and can smell fresh air as her eyes flutter open to see the ground rushing up to meet her. She hits the floor on her hurt side and gasps as the pain kicks through her, almost knocking her unconscious. Clenching her teeth, determined not to let out a cry, she swallows the bile that rushes up to her throat.

Let me not be sick, she prays. Then, willing herself to block out the pain, she uses her right hand to support her body as she pushes back against the muddy ground and gets to her feet. The world whirls around her as she looks at someone standing in front of her.

He is tall but not as tall as the earlier creature, and his back is to her. The first thing to catch her attention is his mane of thick black hair, which hangs almost to his shoulders. The tresses billow in the wind so that as he turns to face her, it flies around his face, framing broad eyebrows over widely spaced almond shaped light brown eyes. A turquoise vest covers his torso, which sets off his reddish brown skin. Black leather trousers hug his strong legs to end in knee-high leather boots. He raises his sword, and the rising sun catches the ruby in its hilt. It reminds Tiina of the sword she carries.

The pain makes her weak and confused. She closes her eyes and focuses internally, trying to find her central point to stabilise herself. For a second, she loses herself in the calm, disregarding everything around her. The mists in her mind fade, and she opens her eyes to find he is still looking at her. Behind her, the man-mountain breathes heavily; his each in-drawn breath is harsh, like the wind rushing into a mountain hole to be expelled with a loud ahhh! through his bellow-like mouth.

He stands so close to her that she can feel the ugly warmth from his body, and she shivers in revulsion. Using her good right hand, she pulls the sword from her back and plunges it into his heart, the move taking every last ounce of her strength. His scream is echoed by her harsh cry.

She collapses on top of him, at the last minute twisting her body to roll off him, coming to rest on her back, looking at the skies. A faint speck of golden light up in the heavens grows bigger as it comes closer. Delirious from the pain hammering through her side, she thinks otherwise when there is an explosion of white light.

A nova of bright energy speckled with flashes of red and metallic blue bursts, and Mimir is at the heart. His pristine white robes and flowing beard stand out in relief as the light creates a halo around him, forcing her to close her eyes against its intensity.

“Magnificent.” She smiles, calmness sweeping over her. The pulsing beat of her heart carries her into the whirlpool of her subconscious.

* * *

Shaitan puts up a hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the bright light. Within seconds, it has faded enough for him to look once more. Mimir steps out of it, between him and the fallen girl.

He has not changed at all. Shaitan stays where he is, the sword grasped in his right hand. While I have.

As if drawn to Mimir, Shaitan takes a step forward, then another. The old much-remembered feeling of power radiating from the old guardian reaches out to Shaitan. Despite himself, the hairs on her forearms rise up, and that innate human part of him shivers in recognition, wanting to surrender to that ultimate source of power, the final good. Drawn toward Mimir, Shaitan feels as if he is fifteen again.

No there are more wrinkles on his face, he thinks surprised, when he is close enough to see them.

“Is she that important, then?”

Mimir smiles, recognising the petulance in his voice. “So were you.”

“No! You never supported me.”

“You were among the best.”

“The best.”

“Among the best.” Mimir stays his ground. “But near the top.”

“You never took me seriously.” An obstinate look comes into Shaitan’s eyes.

“You have my attention now.”

“And how. You actually came to me, and for that I am honoured, but it’s not enough to spare her life.”

“You have to get through me, first.”

“The great Mimir, begging for a life.” Shaitan laughs at his own joke. The fit echoes around the hill, wrapping both of them in a cocoon of hatred. The animosity between them crackles to life, fanned by the flames of the past.

“Not so fast,” says Mimir, holding up his right hand. “Come, Shaitan, this fight is long overdue.”

In response, Shaitan bares his teeth, then with an exultant roar, he holds up his sword and charges forward, only to crash into a force field of energy. He flies in a wide curve through the air, his back arched as if over a pit of fire, before he hits the ground shoulder-first at exactly the same spot where he was standing before. He is stunned only for a second before he recovers, shaking his head.

How could he have forgotten that with Mimir, he is dealing with more than just weapons—it’s his trickery he must watch out for. Find his weak spot. Shaitan sits up, weighing his surroundings. His eyes chance upon the girl, who hasn’t moved from where she collapsed. Of course!

“So, tell me, Mimir,” he says, getting to his feet, “what is so special about her that you feel compelled to put your life at risk?”

“That you could know what it is to love the innocence of a child, when you would do everything in your capacity to protect it, nourish it, and watch it grow. You, who are cursed never to be humbled by that awe for life, for death seeks you.”

Mimir’s answer maddens him, for he knows it is true. His half-human side wants for the soft love of a pretty woman, the fragrant love of a blameless child, the massive love of humanity, all warring with the other side, seeking revenge, striving to assuage the thirst for power. As he is pulled into the dilemma of conflicting emotions, logic takes over. He focuses on his immediate sensations, feeling the pain of the fall in his physical body, quieting his mind, allowing him to hone in on just one particular thought. Kill.

He takes a step back, and another and another, until he has moved diagonally all the way back to the edge of the hilltop. After pressing his feet into the ground, Shaitan breaks into a run, using the extra space to give him the velocity needed to spring up into the air and over Mimir, his legs climbing through space, forming a perfect semicircle that takes him above Mimir’s head to then curve back and land on his other side, right next to Tiina.

Before Shaitan can turn to face Mimir, the old man raises his right arm and hits him with a ball of pure energy, which has Shaitan gasping with the pain from the vibrations, like millions of thorns embedded deep in his body, running through him. He spins a few feet away from the girl. Mimir follows the attack with another from his left hand and then again with his right, until Shaitan has been pushed too far to reach the girl with his sword. Every part of him is in agony as he sits, paralysed.

33

“Wake up…up…up…” The voice in her mind is insistent. She tries to shrug it away, wanting to crawl back into the dark comforting hole she is in, clothing herself in its seductive softness. She just wants to sleep. “Get up now!”

The voice is deafening, loud enough to penetrate every cell in her body. Breath gushes out of Tiina, and her eyes snap open as she springs out of the deep sea of unconsciousness into the pain of reality and sits up. For a moment, she looks ahead, disoriented, seeing only the sky and the city spread out below her. Then turning her head to her left, she sees Mimir walk toward the dark-haired handsome being she met with before; he is moving his hands alternately, hitting the other man with his power, physically moving him away inch-by-inch.

He moves behind her, then turns to look at her without taking his full attention away from… Shaitan! It is Shaitan. Barely has the realisation sunk in when Mimir’s voice echoes in her mind again, and this time he speaks at her, raising his tone above his normal pitch.

“Go!”

As she opens her mouth to protest, she finds that she can’t speak. Instead, her body acts on its own. Her mind wars with her body, and she turns to look at him, and so with her feet leading, she takes a step back, then another, then another, echoing the route which Shaitan had taken earlier, until she reaches the edge of the peak and then as her mind screams to Mimir, begging him to let her help him, her body takes another step, plunging her over the edge.

* * *

Not ten feet in front of Mimir, Shaitan is a little stunned. He cannot quite believe that the old guardian would have sent the girl over the edge of the hill. Mimir turns his head back from the girl and holds out both his hands, carefully flicking one wrist then the other, so as to get the overhung sleeves of his robe out of the way of his fingers, which he flexes as he continues to walk toward Shaitan.

The satisfied look on Mimir’s face is the proverbial last straw. In pushing the girl over the edge, he had pushed Shaitan off the deep end, forcing all reason out of his mind.

The last vestige of his half-human self recedes as his other half takes over. He gathers his every reserve of physical energy, drawing from his inner well of determination, dipping into his experience from the many fights over the years. He waits, frozen, yet his body readies, his muscles as coiled as one of his Nagas. Mimir walks toward him, closing the distance between them.

One step, then another, and another… With agonizing serenity, he watches, waits, counts the seconds until Mimir is in range. Closer, still closer. There.

When the god-like old being is not five feet away, Shaitan springs into the air, his long body uncoiling, shuddering from its release of pent-up tension. He arches like a taut bow, his sword thrust out, and this time, makes contact, pushing into Mimir’s throat, all the way to the hilt.

Mimir pauses. Unlike mortals, he does not bleed. For a second, nothing happens, then with a soft sigh, white light carrying a stream of sparkling motes flows out from the wound, gently swelling until every part of his body is covered. A million stars pour sunshine over him.

Then, Mimir’s body lightens, as if his accumulated lifetimes are unfurling, one-by-one, easing to become one with the outside. Shaitan is close enough to feel a flash of fear, which slips into an enveloping warmth, and finally a soothing silence. The light brightens to a vivid violet and pours through his body in a stream of sparkles. The stream splits, rearing up into two elliptical flames, still joined at the base. Each wing extends into the sky, as if saluting the being that Mimir was, then they fracture into infinite sparkling flickers, which fade away.

Have I touched the other side? Shaitan stands spellbound.

* * *

Yudi walks away from Mimir’s chambers, intent on heading to the Hall of Great Mirrors to call Garuda and his Bird People to attention. Halfway down the stairs, he changes his mind and bounds past the floor with Mimir’s chambers, and to the floor where the guest rooms are. He walks past Yana’s room and then his to knock on Tiina’s door.

Without waiting for an answer, he pushes against it and it swings open. He walks past the untouched bed to the table and chair set before the wide window overlooking the city. The sword she had placed earlier is gone. There is nothing in the room to show that someone occupied it earlier. He frowns, wondering where she could be and feels a sense of foreboding. A chill runs down his spine.

A premonition, but of what? Dread fills his mind and he looks out the window toward the twin hill with the Temple of Arkana, just in time to see a ball of white light materialise next to the Temple. He crinkles his eyes, trying to see it better. As he watches, it fades away. He shrugs, turning back to the room, trying to decide if he should go find Garuda or look for Tiina.

A second glow of light, this one bigger and brighter than the previous one, catches his eye. Even at that distance, it is dazzling enough him for him to blink. The light fills the horizon with a slash of violet at its centre, and in turn soars into two rivulets of white the likes he has never seen before. The two streams glow then leap into the horizon and vanish. He stands transfixed by the extraordinary scene and for how long he does not know. As his eyes refocus and his mind returns from the journey, he notices that the scene has returned to what it had been earlier. To reassure himself, he looks around him and finds that the room around him has stayed unchanged. Tiina!

Galvanized into action, he runs down to the Hall of Great Mirrors. After crossing the silent room, he opens the massive double doors at the very end and moves onto the terrace where he had last met Garuda. As if waiting for him, Garuda swoops down from the sky to land feet-first on the square of open space. Despite his growing worry about what he witnessed earlier, Yudi is still amazed by the sight of his beak and crown of feathers collapsing to form the smooth lines of a human face as his massive wings flap once and settle back. The frown on his face echoes the anxiety in Yudi’s heart.

“You shouldn’t have let Mimir go alone, Yudi.”

“Go? Where? I just saw him a few minutes ago.”

“And that’s all the time he needs to transport. He travels faster than the speed of light, or have you forgotten?”

“What we just saw…the white and violet…uh! Flame?” It’s the best Yudi can do in terms of describing the light.

“Not an ordinary happening Yudi. It was—”

“Mimir…” It sinks in. Yudi shakes his head, refusing to accept it. “But he…isn’t he immortal?”

“Even immortals have their Achilles heel.”

“His neck…” Yudi recalls a conversation with Mimir from their early days at Arkana when he had told them about his weak spot. “But where is Tiina?”

Garuda falls still, every muscle in his body freezes as he listens. In a single pronounced movement, he jerks his neck, as if hearing something from a distance. His nostrils flare then wrinkle, and his gaze narrows as a low growl, more human than bird, rumbles from his stomach.

“They are coming.” He flicks his head.

Yudi looks past the short width of the Arkana River to the next hill, where he saw the earlier light shine. The stretch of the hillside closest to them turns brown as if a mudslide has been unleashed. It advances toward them at a rapid pace, covering everything in sight, leaving the land behind flattened. It strangely reminds him of the scene on Java as he and Tiina had pulled away from the planet. Now as then, it is as if a giant dark veil casts its shadow over the landscape.

One of the towers at the base of the next hill falls as if something has tunneled right through it. The giant blot moves forward at breathtaking speed, cutting a path through the buildings, which fall, taking with them a few of the flying air vehicles in their path; other space-pods manage to scream out of the way. In a few seconds, the brown sludge has reached the opposite banks of the river and then fallen into the waters.

With a burst of colour, the dozens of Bird People who were resting on the grounds of the Academy take off one at a time in rapid succession. Soon there is a chain of them flying wingtip-to-wingtip, forming a protective boundary around the perimeter of the Academy. They glide almost stationery in the act of riding the air currents. As the wind ripples, each rides the swell in turn in the parody of a rhythmic dance.

Garuda turns to Yudi. “I must go join my brothers and sisters.” He rubs his hands, and his forked tongue flicks out to lick his lips, a sight which sits strangely with the rest of his well-groomed body. “For now we feast like there is no tomorrow.”

Yudi pulls out his sword. “I am ready.”

34

From the time that Garuda’s ancestor, who was also known as Garuda, had cheated the Nagas of their share of the nectar of immortality, the Bird People and the Nagas have been sworn enemies, hating the sight, and more profoundly, the smell, of each other. The Bird People had more in common with their human cousins, while the Nagas preferred to be associated with their reptilian kin, looking down on any similarity to humans as a sign of weakness.

If Shaitan is surprised to see the Bird People, he doesn’t show it. He uses the distraction of the warring factions to his advantage as he leads his army of a hundred Nagas onto the river bank, which borders the hill of the Academy of Half Lives.

There is a lull for a brief moment as he looks up to see the colourful string of Bird People engaged in a poetic wingtip-to-wingtip dance up in the air. Behind him, Shesha, the leader of the Nagas, holds up his hand, calling the fan of half human, half serpents behind him to attention.

The restless slithering settles into a quiver as each Naga draws up to its full seven-foot height, standing up on the base of their elongated bodies, their scales undulating and hoods poised with forked tongues flicking out in anticipation. The vivid rainbow of purple, red, gold, and yellow of the feathers of the Bird Men above is reflected back in the duller yellow, golden brown, dark brown, and black of the Nagas below.

Between is Shaitan. He turns and nods to Shesha, who raises himself to his full eight-foot height, unusual for a Naga, towering over the ruler of the solar system. His broad hood spreads out over Shaitan, screening him from view of the Bird Men above. Then with a mighty hiss, which reverberates through his followers like a ripple, Shesha flies into the air, his body as straight as an arrow at Garuda, who in turn swoops down, screeching to meet him. The two clash in midair with Shesha coiled around Garuda, and a hail of feathers showers down on the Nagas below. They crash to the ground. Their movements are echoed by similar twin couplings of Naga and kindred Bird Men.

Shaitan lets the fight rage around him, and then taking advantage of the distraction, runs up the small hill toward the Academy. Quickly, he reaches the gardens bordering the building and crosses them, past the empty space-pod docking berths, and by force of habit of his days at the Academy, runs into the main wing where the classes are normally held. Realising his mistake, he turns around and instead hurries across the gardens to the wings with the guest rooms. He runs up, his sixth sense directing him to the Hall of the Great Mirrors.

He bursts into the room, slowing as he walks across the floor, coming to a halt near the centre of the grand room just under the massive chandeliers reflecting the sunrays coming through the open double doors at the end.

The boy on the terrace turns around and their eyes meet. Shaitan realises his arrival must have alerted the young man. The boy is taller than him, and once more, he feels his age in front of the vigour of youth.

Quick reflexes, he notes as he holds his long sword in front of him. His attention is caught by the bracelet the boy wears on his right wrist. Even at that distance the turquoise sapphire on it flashes.

The boy walks into the room, stopping just inside.

A safe distance, prudent.

His eyes and face are familiar. The distinctive square jaw and the stubborn tilt to his face remind him of Yana. Fascinated, he moves a few more steps forward.

As if curious himself, the boy takes a step closer. Shaitan is close enough to see the colour of his eyes. Not blue, nor violet, they are indigo! Shaitan realises with a shock, confirming what he sensed earlier. Should I really be shocked coming face-to-face with my son after all these years, after almost two decades of searching for him, seeking him out, hoping to put an end to him before the opposite took place?

Probably not. It was the logic of the circle of life, destiny if one wanted to call it that. He had been trying to change the line of his fate forever and is still trying.

Shaitan holds out his right hand and gestures to Yudi, pointing to the Isthmus then to the plain gold band with the blue sapphire around his forehead. “You see this? I had it specially made so that it could pair with the Isthmus. Hand it over before you make me do something I regret.”

The boy’s brows arch in surprise. “So that makes the Isthmus, what, a matching accessory?”

“That’s good enough, isn’t it?”

“Who are you?”

“Impudent aren’t you?”

“I am told that I take after my father.”

“Who is that?”

“Athira, the royal sword master of Ka Surya.”

“Ka Surya. The name sounds familiar.” He shakes his head. “No, don’t quite recall how I know that name.” Satisfaction runs through Shaitan at seeing the boy lose his cool as temper licks his face.

“When I hold the tip of my sword to your face, you will remember. I promise.”

Shaitan laughs; he throws his head back and chortles a full-blown belly laugh until tears of mirth run down his cheeks. “Ha! That felt good. Remind me to thank you later for this brief amusing interlude when I have you on your back at my feet.”

He pulls out his blade from his scabbard, relishing the thought of taking on this foolish, but brave, boy. At least he tries. I have to give him that.

As they face each other, a voice calls out from the entrance to the grand hall. “Shaitan.”

He does not take his eyes off the boy, not bothering to turn around. The boy’s eyes dart to the door, and a frustrated look, almost comical in its childishness, comes to his face.

“What is this, a family gathering?”

“Yudi!” Yana’s voice is frantic.

“Keep out of this.” The boy hesitates before adding in a small voice, “Mother.”

“Ah! So the fond reunion has already taken place, then.” Again Shaitan has the satisfaction of seeing his comment hit home.

Yudi’s cheeks turn bright red.

A mixture of embarrassment and fury, he concludes. Perfect. Another step toward angering him enough to make a mistake. “What are you waiting for? Are you going to ask your mother to come to your rescue now?”

Yudi growls in frustration.

Shaitan continues to berate him, enjoying himself enormously. “Go on, call out to her. ‘Mother!’” he mimics in a high-pitched voice. “Run along, little boy. Go play with your toys; you can’t hold your own in the real world.”

As he intended, the final words are all the provocation needed to push Yudi over the edge. He lunges at Shaitan, who sidesteps neatly so that Yudi almost loses his footing, righting himself at the last minute.

“Told you.” Shaitan laughs. “Save me the effort. You may as well kill yourself.”

* * *

This time Yudi does not rise to the bait. Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes for a second, focusing within; simply concentrating on finding his centre. He struggles to rein in the fury threatening to bury him, and infinitesimal second by second, manages to pull himself above it. The first soothing tendril creeps over him and opens his eyes. He can feel his feet, the ache in his calf muscles, his clenched thighs, the tightness around his heart, the blood pounding in his arms, and the smooth surface of the sword handle clenched in his hands.

As if tiring of the game, Shaitan charges this time. Yudi waits for him, preparing to step aside at the last minute, but before he can, a body flings in front of him to take the blow.

“Yana! Mother!” The words are barely out of his mouth when she falls against him, cut from throat to chest, blood already bubbling out.

After switching his sword to his left hand, he lowers her to the ground with his right, and finds that his hands are trembling. Tears prick the back of his eyes and he looks up through them at Shaitan. Gripping his sword with both hands, he puts the force of his full body behind the thrust, catching his father square in the chest with a good portion of the edge. He twists the blade so that the blood rushes out, bathing his face and his clothes.

Yudi stumbles back without his sword. Shaitan freezes in mid-motion, his own sword still clutched above his head, and his hands shake and as his hold loosens, the sword falls toward Yudi, who catches it.

Shaitan crashes to the floor with a thud that reverberates through the building. For a few minutes more, his body shivers, blood bubbling out through his mouth and eyes. After raising Shaitan’s sword with both his hands, Yudi plants himself on the balls of his feet and brings it down, severing his father’s head with one blow.

Numb but calm, Yudi looks at the sword in his hand and at the ruby gleaming in the middle of the hilt. He leans forward and wipes the blade on Shaitan’s clothes. Then, sliding it in his belt, he walks over to where Yana is lying on the ground.

After bending down next to her, he places a gentle hand on her forehead. Her skin is still warm. As he slides an arm under her neck, lifting her shoulders up gently, her eyelids flutter open. Understanding floods her eyes and spills over onto her cheeks. Yudi smiles back with a slight upturn of his lips, and carries her inside.

35

Yudi is dressed in a black neoprene suit similar to what she is wearing and his thick black hair falls over his forehead. In a familiar gesture, he brushes the locks away only to have them settle right back where they were before. She smiles at how attractive he looks.

Nothing to show that in the last few days he has killed only the most evil half life in the universe and wears the Isthmus still.

She turns to the window of Mimir’s chambers. Yana looks down at her and smiles. She looks stronger and happier than the wan woman bleeding to death. The woman had been fighting for her life until one of the only medical experts in the city who survived the Nagas had been tracked down to help her. It had still been touch and go for a few days. But it probably helped bring mother and son together.

Garuda approaches the two of them. He wears his battle scars lightly. After Shesha had wrapped his coils around him, they had both plunged head first onto the river banks, Garuda’s right wing taking a nasty cut on the sharp stones from the fall. They had bounced off, still clasped in each others embrace, into the Arkana River, sinking down to its shallow bed. Being in water had given Shesha an early advantage. As they had struggled on the river bed, Shesha’s coils had tightened around him, and he had tried to bite Garuda.

Then Garuda had managed to use his sharp razor claws to hack away at the coils enough to free one of his hands to clamp it around the Naga’s neck, just below its hood with its venomous teeth, keeping it at bay. Just as his breath began to thin out, he had fastened his broad hooked beak, which was almost as long as his head, around Shesha, and in a final rush of strength, bitten his way right through the tough scales and skin and insides of the serpent, tearing him in two. As Shesha’s coils loosened, Garuda had freed himself and pushed up to the surface, gasping for breath, but victorious.

Still, his right wing had taken a nasty beating in the fall, and while it was on the mend, he wasn’t sure if he would fly again. The Nagas had outnumbered the Bird People two-to-one. The fighting between the two species had been fierce. While each of the Bird Men had managed to kill more than their fair share of Nagas, they had been well matched. The Nagas had put up a strong fight, poisoning more than half of the Bird People. Seeing Shesha dead, and with Shaitan having vanished from the scene, their morale had plummeted and rather than fight to the last, most had chosen to retreat. The entire fight had taken less than a half hour, and yet the toll had been high.

This fight is far from over, she thinks.

The remaining Bird Men had sworn vengeance and were regrouping to go after the Nagas at their home base on Saturn to wipe them out.

Yudi smiles down at her and pushes a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“How do you feel?”

“I am fine.” She smiles back.

He touches her left side lightly where a massive bandage is wrapped around her waist.

“I am fine, really. It just looks a lot worse than it seems.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am. It’s time for me to really live. To travel around the universe without the worry of running into that monster.”

“To find yourself.”

“To find myself, but you are not alone anymore. You have Yana, and Garuda will stay with you to help run Arkana.”

Disbelief echoes in his voice. “Can you imagine? Me? Running Arkana?”

“All that responsibility! What were you thinking?”

“I am sure I’d be quite good at it, with Garuda’s help, of course,” he hastens to add, looking at the Bird Man, who has raised an eyebrow at his confident tone.

“Aren’t you the modest one?” She grins. Some things didn’t change.

Yudi removes the Isthmus from his right wrist. “Here.” He holds up her wrist and snaps the bracelet into place. “For luck!”

“I have Artemis.” With a happy shake of her head, she pats the hull of the spaceship next to them in the docking station. At Tiina’s touch, the pink light at the front of Artemis’ hull blinks to life, and a light purr emerges.

Yudi’s brow furrows. “Does she think she is a cat?”

“Only when she is around me. If it hadn’t been for her, I’d have plunged right off that hilltop and…” She shudders letting her imagination complete the rest.

“I still don’t know how she knew where to find you.”

“Perhaps Mimir told her.”

“Perhaps,” he agrees. “Thank you for saving her life, Artemis.” Yudi pats the hull next to where Tiina’s hand is placed. “I will owe you forever.”

Silence resonates around them, and then a second light, an indigo one this time, glows next to the pink on the ship’s siding.

Tiina raises her eyebrows. “Well, I’ll be! I have never seen her do that before.”

She touches the Isthmus on her right wrist. It feels right, gives her courage. Happy, she is ready to leave. After rising on tiptoes, she kisses Yudi full on his lips, and feels a familiar quick pull in the depths of her womb.

She backs away. Putting a finger on his chest, she says lightly, “You had better go get that Academy in order. It’s barely a week to term and you want things in top shape before the new ones arrive.”

“Guess I am going to have my hands full.” He replies, his voice light, yet hitching on the last word.

“I guess you are.” She agrees

“Bye, Tiina.” He seems about to say something more, then steps back as if changing his mind.

“Don’t forget us, Tiina,” Garuda echoes Yudi.

She smiles and turns away before her will to leave weaknes. Running up the short walkway, she enters Artemis’ control room. Yudi’s eyes follow her all the way. He doesn’t take his eyes off her.

Barely has Tiina touched the controls when the lights on the control panel fire up, the powerful light switches on in front of the spaceship. With a low, smooth, almost feline purr, Artemis slides out of the docking bay.

Glad to be once more at the controls and setting off on an adventure, she grins. With a whoosh, Artemis changes shape. When she settles down, her exterior is sleeker, like a powerful sword. The nose of the ship swoops out, as if to lance through any barriers; the sides are tapered with flowing, arching wings that fold over when not in flight, and she has a smooth elongated tail.

Slim as a silver ring, yet spacious enough to hold all my foolish dreams. If only it were always this simple, to keep going from adventure to adventure and never reach the end.

* * *

THANKS SO MUCH FOR READING ME

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Glossary

Avatar — An avatar refers to the incarnation of a divine being in human form, but with a higher vibration than humans

Garuda a.k.a Bird Man — Bird Shifters

Mahabharata — One of the two major epics of ancient India

Nagas — Snake shifters

Shiva — In Indian mythology, he is said to be the Destroyer or Transformer of Evil. He is one of the Holy Trinity of the divine.

The Trimurti (three forms) — The great trinity; a concept in Indian mythology in which the cosmic functions of creation, maintenance, and destruction are personified by Brahma, the creator, Vishnu, the maintainer or preserver, and Shiva, the destroyer or transformer.

About the Author

I am fascinated by the unseen in the real world and in relationships. I write fast-paced urban fantasy with a paranormal twist. My stories feature intense love-interests, kickass heroines, moody heroes and surprise plot lines.

Married to a filmmaker and fellow author, I live in London and am the proud owner of a mononym twitter handle @laxmi

For more information about Laxmi Hariharan:

- @laxmi

- laxmihariharanauthor

www.laxmihariharan.com

Read More from Laxmi

http://www.amazon.com/Laxmi-Hariharan/e/B007M6E542

Netherworld

The Chronicles of Koa, book 1

K. N. Lee

Netherworld © 2016 KN LEE

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons

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Netherworld/ K.N. Lee. – 1st Ed.

Created with Vellum

About the Book

Angels protect us, demons seek to destroy the balance, and one half-blood is torn between the two worlds.

Introducing Koa Ryeo-won, a half-blood vampire with an enchanted sword and a membership to the most elite vampire castle in Europe.

A vengeful demon threatens everything Koa has worked hard to protect. Not even Halston and his legendary infinity gun can stop him, but Koa's mother might be strong enough to do it--if only her curse can be broken.

There is one vampire that can help.

First stop, the Ivory Tower, where only the most notorious supernatural beings are kept. But even that won't be enough. Koa must prepare herself to return to the place that nearly killed her. The Netherworld.

1

THE CLOCK STRUCK MIDNIGHT, and for once Koa didn’t have anyone to track…or kill.

A buttery aroma wafted into the air as Koa opened a bag of freshly popped popcorn. There came a low purr from behind and she glanced over her shoulder at the stoic black cat that sat on the countertop.

“Smells good, Raven. Doesn’t it?”

Raven stared back with her ethereal green eyes. The cat blinked, and licked her paw.

Koa shrugged and blew her dark blue bangs out of her eyes. “Fine. More for me.”

Through the archway and into the grand hall, Koa walked through the large empty manor. There was a chill in the air, but Koa didn’t mind as she wore nothing but a black lace panty and bra set. The sound of her soft footsteps echoed, and she found herself humming as she always did.

She didn’t pay any mind to the gothic statues that glared down at her on either side of the wide corridor. There was a time when Koa had been frightened by her father’s relics. As a girl she would avoid walking down the hallways at night for fear that they would awaken and grab her with their cold stone hands.

Now, Koa was used to the statues of angels and demons. She barely glanced at them anymore. Such things were a part of her daily life and she no longer feared their artistic replicas.

It took her a few moments to cross the cold marble floors to the large den she had converted into an entertainment room. Koa used a remote to turn off all of the lights. She lit a scented candle just as Raven brushed past her leg. She rubbed her soft fur onto Koa’s bare flesh.

The scent of vanilla made her smile.

Koa flopped onto the plush sofa and put her feet up on the ottoman. She sank into the cushions and closed her eyes in bliss. “Halston has given me a few nights off.” She turned on her television. “Finally, I get to catch up on some reality TV!”

Raven seemed to roll her eyes and Koa grinned. “I know,” she said as she relaxed her back on the orange pillows and popped a handful of popcorn into her mouth. “I can be such a girl sometimes.” She laughed to herself. She was happy. Life had been so busy lately with the rise of supernatural crime that a single moment of solitude was rare.

Koa glanced at Raven and held her arms out. “Come sit with me.”

Raven snuggled next to her and rested her head on Koa’s lap. Koa smiled and stroked her black fur. Sometimes it seemed as if Raven was all she had left in the world, besides Halston.

Koa just started to crunch on a kernel when she heard the faintest creak in her hallway. It was so faint that she almost didn’t catch it. She didn’t want to catch it. She wanted the night to go smoothly, but it was the way Raven’s ears perked up that confirmed that Koa had indeed heard something.

Scrunching her small nose, Koa grumbled and put her bowl of popcorn down on her glass coffee table. All of her senses were heightened. There was a definite warning deep in the pit of her stomach. She sniffed the air. There was the faint stench of coal and something rancid.

Odd, she thought, frowning. She had smelled that distinct odor before. It was not from this world. Very odd.

Raven looked down the dark hallway and made a low sound of warning deep in her throat. Her black fur stood on end. Koa shushed her with a hand.

She came to her feet and headed toward the sound. She could feel that someone was there. Like the telling smell of oncoming rain, Koa had an uncanny sense of knowing when something bad was about to happen. She hoped that this time she was wrong.

Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. Her one day off, and someone decided to bother her. Raven lowered her head and waited back on the sofa.

“Scaredy-cat,” Koa mumbled.

Koa softly tiptoed into the darkness. She now wished that she was properly dressed. She didn’t want someone catching her in her underwear. She sighed. She was probably overthinking things. Two-hundred-year-old French manors tended to creak in the night. Koa should have been used to the sounds after all these years of living there.

The truth was that Koa was still afraid of the dark, and with good reason. She froze when something crashed to the floor. She quickly pressed her back against the wall and waited. One of the statues had broken.

Voices.

Koa cursed in her head. Someone was definitely in her house. Her breath quickened. Koa could hear Halston’s voice in her head, telling her that it wasn’t worth it—that she should run. She didn’t run.

Instead, she peeked around the corner of the wall and saw flashlights. The harsh, fluorescent light pointed in her direction. Two men. Bald and big. They were dressed in black with tattoos all over their pale white faces and scalps. They clutched silver-barreled crossbows.

Koa’s face paled. Their black eyes searched her hallway.

No, Koa thought with cold realization. Her skin crawled with dread. It’s not possible. “Syths,” she whispered in a hiss. They heard her. Four black eyes looked up and met hers.

Koa pulled back. Her pulse raced. These were creatures of folklore and mythology, but Koa knew the truth. Such creatures did exist. It was just that they shouldn’t be in the human world. She gulped. Something was definitely wrong.

“Shit!” No time to run now. Boots stomped down the marble floor. Dread washed over her, making her skin feel prickly.

Two Syths, equipped with crossbows. Koa knew what those arrows were laced with. Her stomach pumped with anxiety. Why were they in her house?

Raven came around the corner and leisurely sat in the middle of the hall. Koa’s anxiety was replaced with fury. No one had ever invaded her home.

Koa glared over at Raven.

“Fine. Just sit there and let me do all of the work,” she said to the black cat. Koa yelped as a large hand reached for her long black and blue hair. She grabbed the hand and with a push off the ground, she leapt.

Her feet climbed up the air as if by invisible stairs. With a surge of energy, she took flight. She grunted as she lifted the large man’s weight off the ground and flew upward. He used his other arm to direct the point of his crossbow at her.

Koa’s eyes widened and she pursed her lips. She saw the red poisonous bolt ready to be released. The second Syth waited below as Koa went higher and higher up the tall, vaulted ceiling. It was cold up there, and pitch black, but Koa could still see the Syth’s illuminated face.

An arrow zipped past her and she gasped. “Come quietly, Koa, and we won’t have to hurt you,” the Syth below shouted. “Our master doesn’t want you dead. He just wants us to bring you in.”

She snorted. “No thanks. I like my world just fine.” Koa looked down at the Syth whose hand she held. It was rare to see one of his kind.

His lips curled into a malicious grin. “Yes, come quietly, my pretty,” he whispered. His voice was like nails on gravel. “You know you don’t belong here with the humans…”

Koa gazed into those soulless black eyes and felt her stomach churn with dread. They were like small, black beads. The tattoos around his eyes were inscriptions of a dialect that didn’t exist in this world. Someone was letting rogue nephilim out of the Netherworld.

“And neither do you,” she said and with an evil grin, she let go of his hand.

He cried out and fell nearly fifty feet. Koa heard a satisfying crunch of bones. She smirked. Still, it wasn’t enough to kill a Syth. Those bones were probably regenerating already. Koa hadn’t encountered many since she’d become a Netherworld agent, but Netherworld beings were extremely hard to kill.

Koa darted away from another arrow and into the darkness of her empty manor. She stood on the ceiling, upside down, yet defying gravity as she looked down at the two shadows below. She considered all of her options. She could fly out of that window ahead or she could go back and kill them.

Syths were dangerous. She couldn’t let them get away. But her weapons were in her vault. In order to reach her vault, she would need to go past the Syths. How silly of her to think that she was safe. Not even her home was sacred anymore.

Nearly five years as an agent in Halston’s Netherworld Division, and Koa was still caught off guard.

Koa frowned. Halston was right. She should have moved a long time ago. She could already see Halston’s self-satisfied smile. She hoped she’d make it out alive to see that smile again.

Something caught her attention: a glittering light below. Raven’s green eyes glowed.

Like a bolt of lightning, Koa shot through the darkness to Raven. Determination filled her veins. She could make it. She had to.

Bolts bounced off the walls and sparked along the floor. Her heart pumped, but her face was set with purpose. She smiled when she saw her Lyrinian sword lying on the floor, like a beacon of hope in the darkness.

The second Raven stepped away from it, Koa grabbed the silver hilt. A jolt of power slammed into her palm and flooded her body. She gritted her teeth and embraced the euphoric pain the sword caused her. The blade shot out, lengthening from the size of a small dagger to that of a full-sized sword. The jagged blade was a dark metal, rippled with black engravings.

Netherworld dialect.

Koa grinned. Once the initial pain subsided, the power made her feel invincible. The Lyrinian sword had been her father’s. He had trained her to use it when she was only a little girl. This weapon was not of this world—and would not be put away until all evil was vanquished.

“Thanks, Raven.”

The cat seemed to nod.

Koa cried out as a bolt nipped her right cheek. The pain was surprising. It sizzled. Blood dripped from her face as her hand shot to cover the wound.

Her green eyes went dark. She balled up her fist and tightened her grasp around the sword. She narrowed her eyes and turned around. They pulled the triggers on their bows and heard empty snips.

Koa gave them a cold grin and yet there was no amusement in her voice. “You picked the wrong girl to mess with.”

They were out of bolts. Both Syths skidded to a stop. Almost frantically, they reached behind them and into their quivers to reload.

As Koa took a step forward, their eyes went wild with fear of the small girl before them.

Koa held her sword’s black blade at her side. It pulsed with craving for blood—the blood of the evil ones that would increase its power.

Charging at them, Koa was lifted to her toes and. She spun and slashed one of the Syths across his side, a sizzling sound filling the air around them. Her white teeth flashed as the blade burned an iridescent red at the first taste of blood.

The blade craved blood and she would sate it.

It didn’t stop at the bone. It didn’t even pause. The glowing blade sliced through his spine with ease until the man was cut in half. It sped up only when it came through his other side and into the cold air of the manor.

The Lyrinian sword’s red light encased the black blade and heat radiated along her flesh.

She clenched her jaw as the blade went cleanly though the other man, separating him at his waist. Their cries filled the entire manor as she sliced them to bits.

Both Syths lay on the floor in pieces. Koa kicked their crossbows away, not that they had hands connected to their arms anymore. Her chest heaved as she stood over them. Smoke rose from the blade of her Lyrinian sword. Koa watched their pale white faces, waiting. Blood pooled onto her floor. She watched it gather around her bare feet.

Raven sauntered over. She sat down and licked her front paw. Her green eyes looked up innocently into Koa’s matching green eyes. “Shall we leave now?” she asked, in her mother’s voice.

Koa’s shoulders slumped. She looked over at the cat. “Yes.” She nodded and looked down at the blood pooling between her white toes. “But first, I must clean up this mess.”

2

KOA SAT BACK in her wooden chair and watched as Halston entered the little bistro. She hid her smile as his eyes scanned the room. He was like a golden light, come to spread joy throughout the room. She wasn’t the only woman to notice him. Koa was very aware of the looks he got whenever he stepped into a room.

She sipped her coffee and sighed. She wasn’t ready to tell him about the night before, but Halston was more than her best friend.

He was her boss.

Halston didn’t have to look long for her. Koa tended to stand out, especially in the countryside of Paris. Her pale face, green eyes, and long blue hair were a stark contrast to everyone in the room. The fact that she was Korean didn’t help her blend in either.

Their eyes met and his the corners of his lips lifted into a smile.

How could anyone have a more perfect smile? Koa set her cup down and rested her elbows on the table top. She twirled her hair with her finger as she watched Halston check his watch.

Always late, she thought with an impish grin. For someone who loved rules and decorum, Halston never seemed to think twice about punctuality.

Halston shrugged as if he just realized that he was thirty minutes late and it wasn’t a big deal.

Bright blond hair was revealed once he took off his navy fedora and crossed the small room with tables set close to one another.

Perfect white teeth smiled at Koa as Halston stood before her.

Koa secretly enjoyed the dirty looks the other women were giving her when they realized that this masterpiece of a man had come to see her.

“Good morning, Koa,” Halston said, sitting across from her. He reached over to take a piece of her bacon. Koa slapped his hand.

“Hands off,” Koa scolded as she hid a mischievous smile. “You didn’t even ask.”

Halston’s eyebrows drew in as he sat back. “Someone’s moody today,” he grumbled and motioned for the waitress.

Koa folded her arms across her chest. “And someone’s late…”

That perfect smile returned. It should have made her grimace. Instead, it did exactly what he wanted it to do. It softened the lines in her face, making her smile in return.

“I apologize. Why couldn’t we meet somewhere familiar? I’ve never heard of this place”

“I like it here. Don’t question a Parisian about her bistros.”

“But you don’t know how hard it is to get out here with all of the sheep in the streets and whatnot. And you’re not really Parisian—you’re Korean.”

Folding her arms across her chest, she leaned back in her chair. “I’m offended, Halston. I’ve lived in Paris since I was six years old. That’s long enough to be considered a true Parisian.”

Halston swiped one of her macaroons and popped it into his mouth. “Pardon me, Mademoiselle. You will forgive me, right?”

Koa rolled her eyes, but her smile widened without her permission. She could listen to him just talk for hours. “Sure. This time.” She flicked her bangs out of her eyes. “How could anyone resist that British accent?”

Halston shrugged with a grin. “I suppose it has its perks.”

Koa didn’t think Halston knew just how much it affected her. He could ask for anything.

The tiny waitress took his order. She made eyes at him as if Koa wasn’t sitting right there. Koa shook her head. Good thing Halston wasn’t her boyfriend or husband; she might have felt inclined toward jealousy. She put her elbows onto the table and drank from her small café au lait.

Koa rolled her eyes as Halston spoke in French. He told the waitress how she looked like Audrey Tatou in Amelie and the girl swooned—her cheeks reddening as she giggled.

Koa almost wished she could show her fangs to the waitress and wipe that smile off her cute little face, but she resisted. She would be good today. Leave it to Koa to contemplate outing the entire vampire race to the poor, blissfully ignorant humans.

The waitress sauntered off with a beaming smile. Halston turned his attention back to Koa. She wondered if he knew that he’d just made that woman’s day.

“Why, sir,” Koa said as she mocked a British accent. She put the back of her hand across her forehead and pretended to be one of the girls from her favorite Jane Austen movies. She batted her eyelashes. “Aren’t you just the most charming, handsome gentleman I’ve ever laid eyes on? I could just hand you my sweet innocence right here on this table.” She burst out laughing and Halston made a face.

“Your British accent is dubious at best,” Halston said with a chuckle.

“It’s not that bad. I’ve worked with you in London long enough to have picked up a little of the accent.”

“Not nearly enough,” he muttered.

“Funny,” she said.

His smile faded. “You look tired.”

Leave it to Halston to figure something was wrong within the first five minutes of arriving. She was surprised he didn’t notice sooner.

Too busy flirting with doe-eyed waitresses, she thought, taking a sip from her coffee cup.

His gaze roamed over the surroundings.

“Thanks. That’s exactly what I needed to hear this early in the morning. You look as if you just fell from Mount Olympus. Congratulations for making me feel like a spotted monkey.”

Halston sighed. His face turned serious. This was the face of her boss.

“Out with it. What happened?”

She carefully sat her cup down before her and leaned in. “Syths. Two of them. Ugly bastards, bathed in the stench of burnt coal.” She grimaced at the memory. “I’d say they’d only been in our world a few hours.”

“What?” he whispered, his eyes widening with the levity of what she’d just told him.

“They attacked me, Halston. In my house.”

“Are you sure they were Syths?”

Koa tilted her head, giving him a blank look. “Want to go check the graves I dug for them? You know, just to be sure?”

Halston let out a long breath.

“Give me some credit. I may still be the new kid in the division, but I think I know my Nephilim.”

Halston shook his head. “There have been more unusual deaths of children lately, particularly little girls. Bloodless corpses are scattered about in the streets.” Halston looked at her. “I told you, Koa. I told you a long time ago. You cannot stay there anymore.”

Koa grinned then. She knew he would say that.

“What are you smiling at? This is serious.”

Koa laughed lightly and shook her head. “Nothing, Halston. Nothing at all.” She drank some of her coffee. She looked at it with a perplexed expression as something dawned on her. “I thought you told me that the nephilim were locked in the Netherworld. I thought they could not get free.”

The Netherworld, the world of the nephilim, creatures of supernatural origin, had been her main study since the death of her father. From all that she learned, they were not supposed to be able to come and go freely. There were supposed to be rules and boundaries keeping the human world safe from those creatures. Someone was deliberately breaking those rules.

“I never said that. They can come and go as they please, if they have permission. And I am the only one that can do such a thing.”

Koa sat up straight. “So, there is no one else that can give them permission? How could they have escaped?”

Halston waved her to settle down. “I’ll handle it,” he said. After a moment of silence, he lifted his brows as their eyes met. “I want you to move.”

Koa examined his face. It was apparent that he feared for her safety. Unfortunately, she feared for her own as well.

“Whatever you say.”

“Really?”

“Let’s say we go shopping for houses today, shall we?”

“That was almost too easy,” Halston said.

Koa put money on the table. “Don’t press your luck.”

* * *

Koa wasn’t sure if it was the professional thing to do, but whenever she and Halston weren’t on missions or working, he always reached for her hand when they were walking together. Koa never protested, it was instinctual and her hand would slide into his naturally.

They walked down the gray pavement and stopped before a newly developed high-rise. Koa looked up into the sky. It was tall. She would be able to fly out whenever she wanted, as long as no one was looking.

She frowned. This is not going to work.

Her father’s mansion was her home. How could she leave it? She still remembered when he had come back for her and Raven. For years, Koa and her mother had lived in a one-room cottage in Daegu, South Korea.

Each day Koa would look out their window and wait for this elusive father of hers to return to the woman he had impregnated and the child he had held only once. Raven had been confident that he loved them both, and that he would come back for them, when the time was right. So, she would sit on the floor and spend the entire morning cooking for the field workers while Koa struggled to learn how to hide her fangs and resist slaughtering the people of that village.

Being a half-blood was hard. It was hard not having a vampire father around to teach her how to curb her cravings. She could eat food, but each week, the blood lust would hit her and she would be bedridden until Raven brought her blood from an animal. Koa would never forget just how good a mother Raven had been when she was still human.

Koa sighed, pushing the memory of her mother’s beautiful face away. It always stung her heart to remember such things. The curse had almost ruined them. Halston had been the one to help them cope with the curse that had been put on her mother. She gave Halston a sidelong glance and squeezed his hand.

“So, what about this one?”

Koa didn’t hesitate. She shook her head. “I don’t like it.” She motioned around them. “There are too many people around. It’s not safe. People can be nosy, and you know how I get when I’m hungry.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Halston said with a sigh. He checked his watch. “But Koa, I’m not going to be able to find you another secluded manor in the countryside. Homes like your father’s manor just aren’t practical. Sooner or later you’re going to have to get used to being around people. You can blend better than any vampire because you can walk in the sun. You must get used to life with humans.”

Koa frowned. “Come on Halston, I’ve watched Pride and Prejudice, Emma, Sense and Sensibility, I know. Europe is made up of such things. Go to London and make one of the lords move out.”

“Just being a Jane Austen fan doesn’t make you an expert on England, Koa.” He chuckled louder. “I don’t think that’s exactly how we want to relocate you, by moving a lord out and eliciting a bunch of unwanted attention.”

“Who cares about unwanted attention?”

Halston’s smile faded. “I do.”

Koa folded her arms across her chest.

Gently unfolding her crossed arms, Halston stepped closer. He brushed her bangs from her eyes. “You’re being bratty right now,” he told her softly.

Just having him so close made her heart beat a little faster.

Her tongue went dry.

The smell of blood everywhere filled her nostrils and made her dizzy. She nearly stumbled and held onto Halston’s arm.

He held her up. His voice was concerned. “The hunger?”

She nodded and took a deep breath. “I need to get to Wryn Castle.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I haven’t had human blood in weeks.”

Her fight with the Syths the night before had drained her a lot sooner than usual. She and Halston had developed a schedule for her feedings. The battle last night had thrown it off.

He held her hand and patted the back of it. “I’ll take you. I want to keep an eye on you.”

Koa shook her head. “No. You cannot come. They don’t take kindly to your kind.”

“And I don’t take kindly to theirs either.”

Koa looked up and gave him a coy smile. “But you like me, don’t you?”

Halston let out a breath and looked away. “Of course I do, Koa. You’re not a typical vampire though.”

“Good. But you know that I must go alone.” Koa looked around to make sure no one was close enough to hear her. She lowered her voice. “The Wryn are not bad vampires. They are the best kind that we could ever hope for. At least they don’t kill people. I swear, they are all registered and they follow the rules the Netherworld Division has set.”

“Fine. Be careful, Koa.”

She nodded and looked away from his concerned eyes. She knew how much he hated that she was about to go to the castle of one of the oldest vampire clans in Europe.

3

BLOOD WAS LIKE liquid chocolate to Koa.

She savored the flavor and the euphoric rush the moment its warmth touched her tongue. Eye closed in bliss, colors flashed behind her eyelids.

Koa licked Ian’s neck clean with three long strokes, leaving two small puncture holes. As she wiped her mouth, her canines returned to normal.

“Are you done, Mistress?” Ian spoke to her in an almost timid voice, as if he didn’t want her to be finished. He craved more. Koa rolled her eyes and crawled from on top of him. He reached for her and she pushed his arms down by his head.

Koa lowered her tone. “Did I tell you to speak?”

Ian shook his head and she smiled. She enjoyed such dominance. It excited her that such an attractive young man thought of her as a goddess.

“Good boy.” She played with his soft hair and sighed. “I’m sorry, Ian, for being so rude. I didn’t mean it.”

Ian had such an innocent face. She wondered how many hearts he had broken with that face. It was odd to think that they were the same age. Sometimes Koa contemplated what a normal life would have been like. College, boyfriends, parties… it seemed like such a foreign idea to her.

She traced his lips. There were many times when she’d almost kissed him, just to remember what a kiss felt like. She trusted Ian, and felt safe, therefore she didn’t want to ruin the arrangement they shared. It was far too valuable, for both of them.

She had just drunk a full blood meal, and she still felt like sleeping for a week.

Still, Ian was beautiful, smelled nice, and looked at her with pure adoration. She almost leaned down for a kiss. His lips were soft under her fingertips. She craved physical satisfaction beyond a meal. Her skin crawled with desire.

Koa snatched her hand back and hopped off of him. She darted to the door and held it open for him. “Run along.”

Ian gathered his backpack and did as he was told. He was enamored. She could see it in his eyes. She wondered if he knew just how strong she was. Even though he respected her, chances were, Ian only saw a small girl with a pretty face. He smiled at her as he left the room. He was attractive, but Koa was saving herself for someone else.

Koa didn’t make eye contact with Ian. She didn’t want to look her meal in the eye at that moment.

Koa sighed. She supposed Ian wasn’t just a meal, he was her pet, and he had been so for nearly three years.

Lexi, the keeper of the castle and one of the four leaders of the Wryn clan, came around the corner and stopped before her door. Koa smiled at her. They were both friends and business associates. She was just as small as Koa, but far more advanced in her vampire skills.

At over two hundred years old, Lexi still looked like a woman in her early twenties. She had bouncy brown hair cut just above her shoulders and large dark brown eyes. She wore the tallest heels Koa had ever seen and skimpy dresses.

Lexi watched Ian walk down the hallway and gave Koa a sidelong glance. “When are you going to use that lovely young man for more than his blood?” She smirked.

Koa rolled her eyes but laughed. “He is more like a brother than a lover.” She raised an eyebrow. “If he’s so ‘lovely,’ why don’t you take him to your bed? You have my permission, but you cannot glamour him. I don’t want him confused about who his mistress is.” Koa grinned. “I doubt you have a chance with a sweet human like my Ian.”

Lexi flicked her hand. “I don’t want that little boy. You are more my type.” Lexi winked and reached for Koa’s long dark hair. She sniffed it. “Just as soon as you get over your Goth phase. What’s with the blue hair and thick black liner?”

Koa flashed an amused smile and leaned against the door. She folded her arms across her chest. “Great, everyone is insulting me today. Let’s all pick on the poor little Asian girl.”

Lexi leaned in close to Koa’s ear. “Oh, sweet pea. One night with me will have you forgetting your name, let alone your race.” She frowned. “And you’re a mutt anyway. You’re not a full Asian, just as much as you aren’t a full vampire!”

Koa burst out laughing. “Don’t make me tell Greta that you’re flirting with me. I know it’s blondes that you really like. And sorry, I’ll never go blond.”

Lexi folded her arms. “Greta is one of many. You think she has any say in what I do?”

“One of many, huh? Sounds exhausting,” Koa said as she imagined having one boyfriend, let alone many.

Lexi glanced behind Koa into the room. “Staying the full night this time? You waste so much money paying for a night when you only stay an hour or two.”

Koa grinned. “Are you complaining?”

Lexi shook her head. “Of course not. I’ll accept as much money as you’re willing to waste. But come on, have a drink with me. We can have a girls’ night out.” She thought a moment. “That is what you kids are calling it these days?”

Koa cringed at being called a kid. Just because she was twenty-one, didn’t mean she hadn’t seen enough of the world and been through enough to make her just as seasoned as Lexi. Koa’s watch buzzed over on the side table.

“I have to go now, Lexi.” She began shuffling Lexi away from her door. “If I don’t see you on my way out, book me for the same time next week.” She remembered something and turned serious.

“I almost forgot. Please transfer a thousand pounds out of my account and into Ian’s. Tell him that I don’t want him staying at shabby hostels anymore. I can smell it on him.”

Lexi nodded. “Sure. Good night then.”

“Night.” Koa closed the door and darted over to her side table. Halston’s face appeared on the bright face of the watch. The fluorescent light only illuminated his pale skin, making him look more angelic. She smiled and pushed the side button.

“Good evening, Halston,” she purred rolling onto her back and holding the watch over her. He stared down at her for a moment.

“How was your supper?” Halston asked.

“Young. Fresh. Eager. The same as always.”

“Well, it’s better than the alternative. I know you. You’d never forgive yourself if you killed someone for a meal.”

Koa sat up. “Unless they deserved it,” she noted. “I’d forgive myself just fine.”

“Well, don’t get too eager with those college kids. We don’t want any accidents.”

Koa scoffed. “It was an honor,” she said. “For him.” Her grin widened.

Halston shook his head in disapproval.

Koa’s smile faded in mild annoyance. Why does he have to be so good all of the time? It was practically in his DNA to be the good guy.

“Besides, Ian is not just some college kid. He is special, and I don’t feed from anyone but him. We have a good arrangement. You don’t give the Wryn clan enough credit for what they’ve done for the registered vampire population.”

Halston gave her an odd look. He cleared his throat. “You don’t… sleep with him? Do you?” He seemed embarrassed to even ask the question.

Koa laughed lightly. “Of course not, Halston. What do I look like? Ian is hot, sure, but I could never.”

“He’s hot you say?”

“Oh yes, Halston. He’s like totally drool-worthy. I mean, I can’t keep my panties dry whenever he looks at me,” she joked, mocking an American accent. She gave him a look under her long thick lashes. “Jealous?”

He remained serious. “Then, tell me. What do you do with him?”

Koa peered at him, curiously. Why does he care now? She looked up at the ceiling and blew her bangs out of her eyes.

“I don’t know, Halston. It starts with a seductive smile. Then, there comes the glamour. Just like any person I’ve ever fed on, I press on his thoughts a little here and there. He dreams while I drink. He dreams of all of his deepest desires coming to true. And then, when he looks at me, it’s instant infatuation. They see me for the first time after I drink, and to them, I look like an angel. No offense,” she said to him, cringing at the word angel. It sometimes made him withdraw when she mentioned it.

Halston looked at her for a moment, and then nodded. “It all sounds pretty intricate.”

“It is. I’m not sloppy. Even a full-blood can make a mess of things. I may be young when compared to other vampires, but I’ve developed my own little ritual. And it works.”

“And no one dies.”

She nodded, with a small smile on her lips. “That’s right. No one dies.” Koa rolled over onto her belly and set the watch in front of her. “See, I’m a good girl. I promise.”

He seemed to perk up again. “Good. Meet me at the safe house. We have a mission.”

Koa shot to her feet. “Really? I get to work with ‘the boss’ tonight?”

Halston smiled. “Indeed. And you’d better follow orders.”

“Don’t I always?”

“That’s up for debate.”

Koa smiled. She slipped her skirt on, and then her black leather boots. She pulled her blazer over her tank top and slipped her watch back on.

Halston waited patiently on her screen. Koa ran toward the balcony and with a leap, she jumped over the edge. The wind blew at her face furiously. It was late fall. She didn’t care. The chill didn’t affect her. She closed her eyes as she descended from the dark tower of Wryn Castle.

Wryn Castle was an exclusive venue. It had once been a gothic castle, and now, the vampires had transformed it into a modern hotel of sorts, where fresh college kids were delivered by room service. It was one of the few places that didn’t tolerate reckless killings of their charges.

Koa, and everyone else who were members of the Wryn Castle were unique, for they had mutual arrangements with their charges.

“Mission? Will this be fun, or will I have to get dirty?”

“Depends on how you play it. Oh, and I found you a new home.”

Koa breathed in the cool fresh air. “New home?”

“Right. In London. Now you can be close to your beloved Wryn Castle.”

Koa raised an eyebrow, letting her body pick up speed. “London?” She glanced at the watch with a grin. “Bringing me home to mother, Halston. So soon?”

Halston returned the grin. “Giving you what you asked for. You really are spoiled, did you know that? And five years isn’t so soon, Koa Ryeo-won.”

“For me it is.” Koa swept to the side. She avoided a tree branch from slapping her in the face and ascended.

“Nonetheless, no, Koa. I don’t have a mother, remember.”

Koa nodded. “Of course not.” She thought of her own mother then and felt a brief stab of guilt. The pain of remembering her mother before the transformation was too much. She pushed the memories of her mother’s beautiful face and her smile out of her mind.

“London it is,” Koa said with a nod, and she flew into the darkness.

* * *

The next morning, Koa could tell that Halston was pleased with his work. They had been out all night, tracking rogue vampires and making them either register or leave the country. Halston did not tolerate any human deaths due to vampires, not in his territory. There had been no jokes or smiles last night. When he was the boss, there was no denying his authority.

Now, Halston was her friend again, and full of cheer. He presented the quaint little cottage to her like a gift. She cared too much for his feelings to show her disappointment. The cottage was small and bleak in comparison to her father’s manor in Paris. Sure, it was cute, and made of stone like something in a Jane Austen movie. That should have made her happy, but she hated to admit that she wanted something a little more grand.

Koa would miss the vineyard and gardens of her manor. She and Raven would read classic literature and enjoy the grounds for hours. Those days in the garden had been her first glimpse into the romantic British lifestyle she had read about and longed for.

Koa thought about the grand piano in her father’s music hall. She would close her eyes and play with Raven curled on top, listening in painful bliss. The music always reminded them of when her father used to play before they sat down to formal dinners.

Koa remembered how much she enjoyed those nights. Formal dinners had been unheard of in Korea, when one or two small meals a day had been a privilege.

She sighed and hid her true feelings for this little cottage that reminded her too much of her days of poverty. Halston had no idea what this meant.

“It’s nice. A bit small don’t you think?” She asked offhandedly to not reveal just how deep her hatred for it was.

Halston shrugged. “I don’t think so. It’s quite a gem. It’s lovely on the inside. Three bedrooms, a nice little kitchen… not that you cook,” he joked under his breath. “It’s well-kept and secluded.”

Koa looked around. She could see cottages a couple of yards away on each side. “It’s hardly secluded.” She pointed with a skeptical look. “I can see into the neighbor’s yard. That means the humans inside will see me when I come and go. That’s dangerous. What if I want to fly? You do recall Rome, don’t you?”

Koa could still remember the faces of the couple who had seen her take off from one of the buildings. It was a good thing that no one believed their fantastical stories of a flying girl.

Halston winced at the memory but didn’t address it.

Koa could tell that he was a little annoyed. The Rome incident was one of those times when Halston had told Koa not to do something, and she had done it anyway.

“We’ll build a privacy fence, a stone one, just like the sturdy stone your house is made of.” He held his hand out for her hand. “Come on, let’s take a look inside and you’ll see what I mean. Raven is waiting.”

Koa sighed and put her hand into Halston’s. They went inside and she was surprised by how much natural light it got. That was a good thing. No sneaky vampires would dare hide out and wait for her in this house.

She smiled at her mother when she came running down the stairs and leapt into her arms.

“This house is lovely, Koa,” Raven said as Koa snuggled her under her chin. “I’ve always wanted a nice cottage like this.”

Koa sighed in defeat. She flicked her bangs out of her eyes. Her mother loved it. It was official. This was their new home.

“Yes, Mother,” she grumbled. Koa pursed her lips. Raven gave her a look.

“Koa,” Raven whispered. “You cannot call me that, not even in private. You never know who is listening or spying on us.”

“She’s right,” Halston added. He opened the shutters on all of the windows and let even more light into the cottage. “Never let your guard down. Even at home.”

“Yes. I forgot. It’s hard to call you by a pet name.”

Raven purred. “It’s all right, darling. We just cannot take any chances. Our enemies think I am dead. We must keep it that way.”

The thought of someone finding her mother and harming her made her throat tighten with fear. “I understand.” She shoved horrible thoughts of her mother being killed out of her head and tried to distract herself. She looked around, trying to figure out where she would put all of her things. If Koa would be forced to live there, she could at least try to make it feel like home.

Halston hooked both thumbs in his belt loops and looked proud. “Right. I’m going to head back to the safe house. You get settled and meet me there at sunset. You’re with me again.”

Koa nodded as he left the house. She met Raven’s eyes. “Another mission tonight, Raven. Sure you will be all right here by yourself?”

Raven’s eyes glittered. “You underestimate me, Koa. You forget it was I who saved you the other night when those Syths had you running around like a chicken with its head cut off.”

“I know,” Koa said. “What would I do without you?”

Raven rubbed against her leg. “That’s something I hope we never have to worry about.”

4

HALSTON DIDN’T MIND helping Koa find a new home. He enjoyed being needed. He sat in his car for a few moments contemplating her facial expression when he presented the cottage to her. It was obvious that she didn’t like it.

Now, he frowned and as he waited for her in the safe house. He leaned back in his desk chair. That young half-blood was hard to please. It was their joke that if something was too easy, then Koa lost interest pretty quickly. Finding a new home wasn’t easy. She didn’t like being around too many people. She loved her father’s manor, but things had changed. The Netherworld was catching up with her faster than he expected.

Halston had hoped that they would have more time to prepare. Now it seemed that Koa would have to face her demons a lot sooner than anticipated. He rubbed his temples. He did not think that she was ready.

A loud scream broke Halston from his thoughts. The sound seemed to come from far away, like an echo. There was desperation in that scream as it grew louder and closer. He felt the blond hairs on his skin stand on end.

Micka and Rohan both looked up from their work stations. They came to their feet in unison and reached for guns that were strapped underneath their desks.

Halston sat up and watched as Galena fell through the inkwell portal. There was a loud shriek as the black liquid spit her out onto his clean, white floor. Galena collapsed and Halston ran to her.

Halston left his seat and slid to Galena. He held her head up from the floor. Galena looked like a frail, crumpled rag doll. She was covered in blood. Her eyes were wet from crying and her blond hair was sticky with something foul.

“Don’t let him in!” Galena called out weakly. She squeezed her eyes closed and started to weep. Her entire body shook with her racking sobs.

Halston’s heart pumped with worry. He looked over his shoulder at the two agents that looked at him with fearful eyes. They lowered their guns. This was not normal… even for Netherworld agents.

“Get me a clean, wet cloth and some water!”

Rohan nodded and rushed to complete the task. Micka stood ready, with her gun pointed to the portal, in case someone followed Galena.

Halston pulled Galena’s hair from her face and she screamed. He withdrew and noted the bruises on her face and the cuts in the corners of her mouth. He drew a breath and looked at the inkwell portal. The portal stood in the center of the safe house. It was a large circular device held stationary by shiny black brackets. The portal was only supposed to be used in dire situations. There had to be a major emergency, for once a portal was revealed, the person escaping could easily be followed. The last thing Halston needed was a nephilim coming through that portal and causing havoc… or worse, damaging equipment in his laboratory. He wasn’t done with his latest invention.

He looked down to see Galena looking up at him. He held his breath. He’d rarely seen such terror in a person’s eyes. The way she looked at him spoke volumes. She had been frightened nearly to death.

“Galena,” he said. “What happened?”

Her face contorted and she started to cry again. Her sobs came from her soul. They were sorrowful, deeply hurt, cries of pain. Halston felt his skin grow cold. This woman was one of his best agents. She was human, but she was one of his best. From the poor streets of Russia, Galena had been orphaned early after vampires killed her parents.

Halston had found her just the way he found most of his Netherworld agents: angry, ready for revenge, and trying to seek that revenge in foolish ways. He had found her, trained her, and put her out there to be a spy. Halston had given her the tools to find her parents’ killers, and bring them to justice.

Halston didn’t seek out to simply kill all vampires and other nephilim, he tried to protect the humans. Sometimes that meant finding vampires that were willing to try a new life. Those vampires, like the Wryn clan, were open to finding ‘pets,’ people who sold their blood for money or care. They registered with his Netherworld Division, and lived their lives clean and free of murder and chaos. It wasn’t a perfect arrangement. There were still vampires that loved to kill, and resisted the Netherworld Divisions of the world that tried to bring order.

Rohan knelt down and handed Halston a wet towel. Halston wiped Galena’s face clean. She winced and jerked away. Like a frightened animal, she crawled far from both of them. Her eyes darted around the safe house.

“Did they follow me?” Galena’s voice came out ragged and almost too soft to hear.

Micka ran up with a bottle of water and paused when she saw Galena with her back pressed against the wall. Galena grabbed her by the leg. Micka’s almond-shaped brown eyes looked to Halston.

“Don’t let them hurt me anymore,” Galena begged.

Halston sighed and came to his feet. He didn’t move closer to Galena. She was too afraid, and he didn’t want to make the situation worse. He stood there and thought about what to do. She had been missing for about a week now. There was no telling what she had been through. He put his hands in the pockets of his trousers and looked down at Galena.

“Galena,” he said. “We won’t hurt you. You are safe. We are the only ones here. Rohan, Micka, you, and me.” He knelt down and looked at her with a small, friendly smile. “I’m Halston. You do remember me, don’t you?”

Galena tilted her head and stared at him. Her eyes were as big as saucers, and for a moment, Halston doubted that she recognized him. Her shoulders slumped and she slowly nodded. “Yes. I remember you, Halston.”

Halston nodded. “Good. Good girl. You remember that I am your friend, and that I care about you, right?”

Galena let go of Micka’s leg. She ripped the black stockings the woman wore with her ragged nails. Halston noticed that her fingernails had blood caked into her cuticles. Micka adjusted her glasses but ignored her ruined stockings.

“I remember,” Galena said. She folded her legs and rested her head on the wall. She looked exhausted.

“What happened?”

She shook her head and her bottom lip trembled. “I’ve been through a lot in my life, Halston,” she said in a wavering voice. “But nothing like this.”

Galena looked from Rohan to Micka. “I will tell you,” she said. She met Halston’s eyes. “And only you.”

Micka and Rohan got the point. They both collected the files that they had been working on, and took them to a back room of the safe house.

Halston stood and walked over to Galena. He sat down beside her and looked toward the secret hatch door at the far end of the safe house. He didn’t want to sit right in front of her. Whenever someone did that, it just made the conversation feel like an interrogation. He wanted Galena to feel comfortable.

He reached for her hand and she flinched but didn’t run. Halston had a soothing effect. He took her hand and cradled it in his own. Somehow, that relaxed her.

Galena took a deep breath. “It was last Monday.” A tear fell from her eye. Halston gently brushed it away. He pulled her hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. “I found the man you had me look for. Bund. I was surprised that he was a young guy, but that also made me feel a little more comfortable around him,” she said and looked to Halston. “You know what I mean?”

He nodded. He knew Bund’s game.

“But once he got me inside, he changed on me.” She hugged her arms and shifted her weight. Her brows furrowed. “There were so many of them, Halston. I told them, I would only sell my blood to the one you sent me for.” She closed her eyes. “But they didn’t listen.” Her voice lowered. “They locked me in there. Somehow, Bund knew I was coming. He knew you had sent me. He punished me.”

Halston clenched his jaw. He should have never sent her alone. He couldn’t understand how Bund could have known that Halston had sent Galena. Halston had to remember, Bund was smarter than he seemed. Like Halston, Bund was a great deal more than he appeared to be.

He didn’t say anything. He waited for Galena to go on. He knew it was hard for her, but he needed to know what they were dealing with.

She took a while to continue. She kept looking at the portal to make sure no one was going to step through.

“I might as well spit it out, right?” Galena asked the question, but Halston could tell that she was speaking to herself.

He nodded anyway. “Go on. It’s just the two of us. Whatever you tell me will stay between us. I won’t tell a soul.”

Galena gave him a look. Her gray eyes narrowed. She pursed her lips and examined his face. “Not even Koa?”

Halston’s eye twitched, not because he was lying, but because Galena seemed to have suspicions about his relationship with the young vampire. He knew that would be a problem if people suspected that he and Koa were more than professional associates. He would have to find a way to eliminate such suspicions.

He swallowed and shook his head. “Not even Koa.”

Galena looked unsure. She watched him for a while longer and sighed. She looked down at her feet. “You know… it’s all right if you like her. We all like Koa.”

Halston pulled away from Galena.

She watched him. “You don’t have to go all pale on me. We all see it.”

He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.

Galena slumped against the wall and stared at the portal again. “Well, there were so many of them that I lost count, but they raped me, fed from me, and kept me locked in a cage.”

There was a long stretch of silence. Halston held her head to his shoulder and she started to weep again. It was unnerving to hear that woman cry. She was always so strong, even cold. She had been broken.

She looked up and rubbed her face. She threw her hands up. “Bund didn’t even feed from me! You know what he said to me? He said that I was too old. What the hell?”

Halston shook his head. He knew Bund’s preferences. Children gave him more energy than adults.

“Bund just watched the others with a stupid grin on his face!” She slammed her fist into her thigh so hard that Halston feared she’d bruise herself. “I hate that man more than anything in this world,” she said through clenched teeth. “Please, tell me how to kill him.”

Halston took her fist and gently opened it. He took her hand into both of his. “You don’t worry about it. I’m terribly sorry that I put you in that situation, but even I can’t kill him.”

Galena’s shoulders slumped. “Great.”

He tilted her chin up. She was still shaking a little. “But, I know someone who can get rid of him. Forever.”

“Well, I want to be there when you do it, so that I can spit in his face.”

“I’ll try to arrange that.” He smiled for her, hoping it would soften her angry face. Tonight… his smile wasn’t working.

“If it wasn’t for one of the dumber vampires, in his drunken stupor, forgetting to lock the cage, I would still be there. I might be dead now.”

Halston patted the back of her hand. “It’s all in the past now. I don’t want you to worry. I can erase this event from your memory, if you’d like.” He came to his feet and held a hand out to her.

Galena took his hand and pulled herself up, but she held tight to his hand. Her eyes were serious. “No, Halston.”

He tensed. The tone of her voice was unexpected. She sounded like herself again, cold and serious. She looked… ready to hurt someone.

“I don’t want to forget. I need to remember this. You’re not getting out of letting me spit in his face when you kill him.”

Halston nodded and tried to take his hand back. She held steady.

“Listen,” she said. “There’s more.”

Halston sighed. “What else?”

She leaned in close to him. Her eyes were hardened, her grip unyielding. “He knows about Koa.”

There was little in this world that would make him react recklessly. He would have to restrain himself while he listened to what the Russian woman had to say.

5

THE SAFE HOUSE was an unassuming abandoned warehouse that Halston had purchased decades ago. The entire strip of land was abandoned. Once a power plant, no one dared come near it for fear of radiation exposure.

Koa had the suspicion that Halston probably had a dozen or so safe houses. Whenever one was compromised, he always had a backup, and he didn’t always tell her his plan. He was clever. People tended to assume that such an attractive man couldn’t possibly be such a genius. They didn’t know that he was always at least ten steps ahead of them, and that his brain functioned at a superhuman level. They could never guess that he was not, in fact, human.

She walked into one of the secret entrances in the back and covered her head with her hand. The exposed pipes still tended to drip cold water onto her head. It was dark and silent, except for the incessant drips. She rolled her eyes and lifted herself a few feet off the ground to avoid stepping into the black puddles that covered the flooring.

Halston was good. This was all a diversion, in case anyone dared come inside. They would see the oil spills and the oozing green gases that seeped into the air from cracked pipes along the wall. Anyone would be discouraged from going any further, but Koa knew better.

She ignored the mutilated rats and followed the labyrinth-like tunnels to a small door that one might never have noticed because it seemed to blend into the darkness. The door was rusted and covered in a slimy film of green goo. She pulled the hidden lever and pushed. With a creak it opened, and her eyes were affronted by bright lights.

Koa groaned and hurried inside. She pushed the door closed and set the lock on the digital keypad attached to its back.

“Glad you finally decided to join us,” Halston called.

Koa sighed and turned to face him. With clean, white walls, the sterile space reminded her of a lab or a hospital. The constant buzz of electronics hummed in the background. The sleek white desks and long bare tables were spaced apart like a study hall.

Halston’s love for technology was apparent at first glance into that room. He had flat screens everywhere and prototypes for weapons and various gadgets and devices. Everything was neat and tucked away into its proper place. Then then she saw it, locked away in its glass case.

Halston’s infinity gun.

Koa shivered as she looked at it. She loved that weapon. She almost wanted to trade in her Lyrinian sword, just to wield that shotgun one time. She’d only ever seen Halston use it a handful of times, and each time she had been appalled by its power. He refused to let her touch it.

She shifted her gaze to Halston and Galena, a female assassin from their Russian office. She gave Koa a forced smile and returned her attention to Halston. Koa felt the tension in the room. Galena looked as if she had been crying. Her dull blond hair looked dirtier than normal, and she had suspicious cuts on her arms that were barely hidden by a bunch of bangles.

Galena had first been seen by Al, their recruiter, and later brought into the Netherworld Division by Halston. She was a charge, or ‘pet’ for hire, similar to Ian in that she sold her blood to paying customers, but Galena worked with the most notorious of them all. Now, she went undercover for the Netherworld Division and sought to expose the most evil of the vampires and kill them. She was ruthless, cold, and calculating.

Koa swallowed and silently took a seat a few feet from them. She glanced at Galena and saw that her eyes were red and swollen. She had bruises on her cheeks and neck.

Koa didn’t like to see that. Koa looked at Halston with questions in her eyes. He gave her a look that begged her not to ask any questions.

“Right. Here’s the plan. Galena, I want you to go home, clean up, and rest. Let me know if you need anything. I want you to consider this a vacation.” He looked to Koa and then held up a holograph device that showed her a small, shabby, building. “Koa, you and I will visit the Oracle.”

Galena stretched her long legs and took a deep breath. “What if he finds me?”

Halston clenched his jaw. “It’s not you he wants. I will take care of it.”

Galena’s voice cracked. “I don’t know, Halston. He seemed different from the others.”

Koa tensed. Galena was frightened, which made her feel worried.

Halston sat before Galena and his face softened. Galena looked at him with fresh tears in her eyes and Koa felt a tug at her heart. Halston took her hands inside of his. Halston could be the most serious man she’d ever met, and he could also be surprisingly tender.

He spoke to Galena and Koa leaned forward to hear him. She couldn’t wait to find out what had happened to their most trusted informant.

“Listen, Galena,” Halston said. “I will not let anything happen to you. Wear the earrings I gave you and I will track your location. I have two of my best Shadows following you. They will be like bodyguards and defend you if anyone tries to hurt you again. I don’t care if they’re human, vampire or whatever, the Shadows will provide a defense for you if you need it. And if someone tries to hurt you again.” He handed her a vial.

Koa’s brows lifted. This must be serious. Vials could only be bought in the Netherworld, from the Alchemist.

“You throw this, and you run like hell.” He gave her a pointed look. “Got it?”

Galena nodded and looked down at the black vial that Halston placed in her hand. She curled her fingers around it and attached it to the holster underneath her skirt. She wiped her eyes but smiled. “Thank you, Halston.”

Halston nodded and wiped the tear from her cheek. “Don’t mention it.”

Galena gave a confident nod. She obviously felt better about what she now had to do and came to her feet with her head held a little higher than before. Koa watched Halston sweep his hands behind Galena and two Shadows emerged from the floor. They were translucent beings that walked in unison behind the woman.

Koa never liked Shadows. She sat back in her cold metal chair and watched them vanish. They might have vanished from their sight, but they still lingered unseen, and would follow and protect Galena. Koa shivered. She remembered when Halston had attached Shadows to her one time. She could always feel their cold, unearthly presence. Sometimes Koa would look behind her and frown, wondering if they were still there.

Galena didn’t seem to mind. She was comforted by the knowledge that they would always be with her.

Galena nodded. “I’ll be at my cottage in Greece.” Halston nodded and came to his feet. He folded his hands behind him as she gathered her bag and headed for the exit.

Galena gave Koa a look. Her gray eyes made Koa hold her breath. There was something hidden in them that made Koa afraid.

“Good luck out there, Koa.” Galena’s voice lowered. “Watch your back,” she said and left the room.

Once the door was secured, Koa shot a glance at Halston. “What happened? Tell me?”

Halston sighed and leaned back against one of his computer stations. He shrugged and looked off toward the door that Galena just went through. “We have a problem, Koa.”

Koa frowned. “Obviously.”

He gazed at her. He looked paler than usual. Koa sat on the edge of her seat. Something was definitely wrong.

“I think something is brewing. A war, perhaps. Someone is letting nephilim out of the Netherworld at an alarming rate. They are gathering and mobilizing.”

Koa felt her face flush. “More Syths,” she whispered.

Halston shook his head. “Not just Syths, but Netherworld vamps and even demons.”

Koa fell back in her chair. “Why do you think that, Halston? Why would they mobilize?”

Silence.

Koa saw that Halston was holding back. She sat up. “What is it?”

Halston ran his hands through his hair, making it messy. “You remember who killed your father?”

She could feel herself shaking. She ground her teeth. “How could I forget? It took us a long time to find out who did it.”

Halston sucked in a breath. “Well, Bund has returned.”

Koa put both hands over her lips, as if in prayer. One of her deepest fears was being realized. “He is free? From the Netherworld?”

Halston’s silence answered her question. Koa whimpered and felt acid from her stomach enter her throat. Fear washed over her like hot water. She covered her mouth. “No, Halston.”

Halston held his hands out to calm her down. “Did I tell you to start worrying? I have this under control.”

“Halston, he killed my father.”

Halston sighed in exasperation and turned away from her. He slumped into his chair at his computer station and began typing away. “I have a plan, Koa. Don’t I always have a plan?”

Koa nodded. Her throat felt dry. When Halston found Koa and recruited her, it had been only weeks after her father had been killed in a Parisian alley. Koa had only been seventeen, and just returned from a nightmare that she couldn’t remember, to find her father killed and her mother cursed to live as a cat.

It would be an understatement to say that Koa had turned to the dark side for a while. She didn’t like what she had become, but Halston had given her direction. Halston helped her find out who had killed her father. Someone named Bund. For five years, Koa thought about what she would do once she found that person, and yet, she was fearful of him. Her father had been the strongest vampire she’d ever known.

Her father had trained her, loved her, and protected her. She felt her adrenaline start to simmer. She might get her revenge sooner than she thought.

“Now, I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

Koa nodded again, but her entire body felt as if it had been stuck with pins and needles, like a foot that had fallen asleep. Was she ready to face her father’s murderer?

She grabbed her arms and massaged them. She tried to shake off that horrible feeling of fear. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like being reminded of the horrific events of her past.

“Halston.” Her voice sounded almost childlike. Koa couldn’t explain why she almost felt like a child again. A terribly frightened child.

He stopped typing and turned his attention to her. “Koa. Don’t. Just don’t.”

She pursed her lips. “But, you don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“You were going to ask me if you could go to the Netherworld.”

Koa lowered her head and pulled a loose string from the hole in her jeans. “Perhaps, I could go there and find out what is happening. Maybe I can find out the truth about my past. I mean, look at my sword…” She held the hilt out toward him.

He didn’t look at it. He knew already.

“There are Netherworld symbols on it. How could my father have such a weapon? Why did he take me there as a child?” More questions crowded Koa’s mind, but she was afraid to ask them. “If I knew the answers to these questions, I could have my memories back. I mean, an entire chunk of my adolescent life is missing!”

Halston didn’t speak for a moment. Koa’s eyes brightened. There was hope. Maybe he would finally let her go. Maybe she could finally recover the missing memories of her past. He didn’t know what it was like to lose years of memories and have no clue as to why.

All she knew was that her father had taken her to the Netherworld when she was twelve. Then there was nothing… a white void. When Koa woke, she was in a strange place with no recollection of what had happened, or how much time had passed.

Halston finally broke his silence. He shook his head. “No. It is out of the question. You are not ready.”

Koa’s eyes narrowed. “How the hell can you say that? How do you know? You may be the ‘boss’ in this Netherworld Division, but you don’t control me!”

Halston shook his head. “You don’t get it, Koa. I don’t want to control you. I am trying to protect you.”

Koa sneered. “Yes,” she said sarcastically. “I suppose it’s for the best. I suppose I’m not meant to have my memories back. I mean, they are my memories and all.”

Halston gave her an odd look. “Perhaps you don’t know just how lucky you are to not have those memories back. Have you ever thought of that?”

Koa glanced at him. “What do you mean?” Her face was hot with rising rage. She hated being told what she could and couldn’t do. She was an adult, not a child. “What do you know, Halston?”

Halston’s watch began to ring. He answered it and Koa sighed. He hung up and came to his feet. “The Oracle is ready to meet with us. Let’s go.”

Koa nodded and watched Halston arm himself. For the first time, she felt as if Halston was hiding something important from her. He wouldn’t tell her what happened with Galena, but she had an idea.

She frowned down at her hands. She couldn’t shake the feeling, but she felt a small spark of doubt that she could fully trust someone who kept so much from her.

Halston glanced at her, and it was as if he could read the concern on her face. She thought that he would say something, dismiss her doubts. She wanted him to. Instead, he simply nodded for her to follow and left the room.

6

KOA WAS A little taken aback by their means of transportation. Out of every car that Halston had, they drove an old sedan to the Oracle. She was confused. There were so many better ways to get there—that is, until she saw where the Oracle lived.

They arrived at a tiny flat in a lower-class complex. A seedy hole in the wall that most people of means would try to avoid. Koa knew better than to judge, though. Her childhood home wasn’t much better. She knew what it was like to be dirt poor.

She overlooked the dilapidated buildings and pot holes in the street and looked into the faces of the children. They played in the street with nothing more than their imaginations. She knew what it was like to not even have a toy. Most people would have felt uncomfortable in this neighborhood.

Koa felt the exact opposite, and she was glad that Halston had chosen the old sedan instead of a shiny Maserati or Mercedes. She would have felt ashamed in the midst of these unfortunate people.

Halston stopped the car and they stepped out into the sunset. Halston closed the door and looked over the car at her. “Are you ready?”

Koa nodded quickly. “I am. I’ve been waiting to finally meet her.” She smiled and Halston did the same.

“Good. She has been looking forward to meeting you too. Don’t forget that she can be dangerous though.”

“Please, she’s a sweet old lady,” Koa replied as she followed behind Halston to the woman’s flat.

“And she can be more dangerous than a man with a gun,” Halston said over his shoulder.

Koa just nodded when they stopped before a door. Halston knocked.

Koa smiled at a little boy who nearly ran into her. The little boy returned the smile, and she giggled at his missing two front teeth. He hid and peeked around the corner as if playing with her. He made a silly face and hid again.

Koa covered her eyes and pretended that she was scaring him when he peeked around the corner again. He burst out laughing. Koa beamed. She loved children more than anything. Sometimes she wondered if she’d be able to have a child someday.

Koa should have never been born. Vampire children weren’t born to human mothers. As far as Koa knew, she was the only one.

The door opened and Koa turned her attention from the child. She waved to the boy before she stepped into the flat. The Oracle was a small Chinese woman. She wore a warm smile on her thin lips. Her wire-rimmed bifocals made her dark eyes look abnormally large. She wore a red nightgown that seemed like it needed a wash. There were food stains all over it.

“Koa, right?” the Oracle said with a heavy Chinese accent.

Koa nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

The Oracle looked her up and down and nodded. “Come in.”

Koa had to hide her disgust as she entered the flat. It was a small home, and unlike Halston’s safe house that was an illusion on the outside, this place was just as rundown on the inside.

Koa covered her nose. The smell of cat urine made her want to gag. The smell was as intense as ammonia and with Koa’s heightened sense of smell, she felt like she might faint if she breathed it in too deeply, so she took small, quick, breaths behind her hand.

The house was a cluttered, revolting mess. The Oracle seemed to be a mixture of a hoarder and a victim of a chronic obsessive-compulsive disorder. Koa watched her step away from the door and flick the light switch four times after she closed the door. She spoke Mandarin under her breath in what sounded like a chant.

Koa and Halston stepped to the side and waited for her to complete her rituals. She touched the doorknob a few times to make sure that it was locked, before turning her attention to them. She waved for them to follow and walked down the narrow hallway to the back of the flat.

A cat jumped onto the Oracle’s shoulder and seemed to cradle her head as she walked. Koa grimaced at the stains in the old, disgusting carpet. There were open cans of cat food scattered about and small piles of cat feces. Koa wanted to vomit. She averted her eyes and swallowed the acid in her throat.

“No time to clean up today,” the Oracle said. She pushed a pile of newspapers off her tattered sofa and motioned for them to have a seat.

Koa wanted to stand, but she didn’t want to offend the older woman. She sat on the very edge of the sofa and kept her hands and legs close, so that she wouldn’t have to touch anything. A cat ran under the coffee table and looked up at her with its yellow eyes. Koa smiled at it, almost expecting it to say hello. No, only her mother could do such a thing.

“You come much sooner than I expected,” the Oracle said. She sat in a rocking chair and folded her hands in her lap. “I am surprised.”

“Your messenger came by this morning. I saw no reason to wait,” Halston said.

Koa listened. She was so anxious that her knees bounced with nerves. The Oracle knew so much about both worlds, and Koa felt like such an eager novice on the subject.

“Well, I suppose that is just as well.” She leaned back and her eyes settled on Koa. “It is nice to finally meet you.”

Koa nodded. “Yes. Nice to meet you too, Oracle. I’ve been waiting for Halston to bring me here for quite a while.”

The Oracle’s smile spread across her small, sagging face. “Well then, now that we’ve met, you can visit me anytime. I teach you a thing or two about life.” She glanced at Koa’s hand. “You married?”

Koa was aghast. She shook her head and pursed her lips.

The Oracle grinned. “How old are you?”

Koa glanced at Halston. She was uncomfortable already. “Twenty-one.”

The Oracle waved her hand. “Oh, just a baby. Still… not too early.”

Koa looked away. She pretended that she didn’t hear.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked.

Koa giggled nervously. Change the subject lady, Koa thought.

The Oracle sat back in her chair. “I married one man. At nineteen. He was good man.” She nodded her head at the memory. “He never judge me for what I am. When he die, I lost more than love. I no longer care what happen to me. I give up.”

Koa looked at her. She felt bad. She looked around. It made sense. She wondered if the Oracle’s home had been this messy when her husband was alive. Something told her that it hadn’t.

“Because I treat him good, he good to me.” The Oracle pointed at her. “But you see? All men the same. Rich man, poor man, white man, Asian man, black man… all the same. Just pick one.” She laughed. “You cook for them, you clean, you take care of them, they all yours. They have no reason to act up.” She laughed harder. “Understand?”

Koa glanced at Halston who just looked ahead at the Oracle with an expressionless face. Koa couldn’t help but narrow her eyes. “Yes,” she said, but she had no idea what the older woman meant. Koa didn’t think all men were the same. She’d seen too many evil men out there to have her ideas changed by a strange woman with bifocals as big as saucers.

The Oracle scoffed and slapped her knee. “Nonsense. I know you don’t get it, child.”

Koa’s face turned red. She hoped to God that the Oracle couldn’t read minds.

“But one day, you will get it.” The Oracle stared at her.

Koa nodded. She tried not to think too much… just in case the Oracle could read minds. She tried not to think about how disgusted she was to sit in that smelly house and have cat fur all over her clothes. She tried but she couldn’t help but to think those things. Koa and the Oracle were in a stare-off with Koa trying to figure out if the Oracle was fiddling in her head, and the Oracle simply giving her an intense look with her magnified eyes.

Halston cleared his throat. He was all business on this night. “The message said that you linked with someone. Someone from the Netherworld.”

The Oracle ignored him. Her eyes narrowed as she continued to look at Koa. “You want something, child, don’t you? You want to know the truth of your past.”

Koa nodded. She leaned forward in her seat so much that she nearly fell off.

“I sent the message because I wanted Halston to bring you here. I wanted to finally meet the girl of prophecy.”

Halston looked at Koa. He looked perplexed. “But…”

Koa smiled and looked to the Oracle who winked at her. The Oracle had tricked him.

“Do not worry, Halston. I did not lie to you. I did link with someone from the Netherworld last night, and that link wanted one thing. They want Koa. Koa the key… and she must be used to set the world right again.”

Halston turned to the Oracle. His brows were furrowed in annoyance. “Is it true then? Is he behind everything that’s been happening lately?”

The Oracle nodded. “He is.”

Koa looked from one to the other. “Who are you talking about?”

Halston sat back and Koa nearly yelled at him not to. He would get cat fur all over his clothes. She restrained herself.

What is wrong with you? Koa thought to herself. That is not important right now. Focus.

“Then we have lost already.” Halston ran both hands through his hair. Koa knew that meant he was worried. His brain was already trying to calculate a solution. He was lost to them for now. He would not speak until he thought of a solution.

Koa put her hands on her hips and leaned forward. “Who is he?”

The Oracle shrugged. “The Bringer of Death.”

Koa raised an eyebrow. “Sounds a bit dramatic…” Koa hid her rising apprehension. Such a title, said by the Oracle, must be serious.

“Well, he the creator of the ‘new world’ vampires. Before him, nephilim were only in the Netherworld. He the reason we have vampires in the human world. He also the one who ordered your father killed.”

Koa frowned. “Bund killed my father, who are you talking about?” Koa felt her skin tighten.

“Bund is general. He not the commander in chief. He not a king. The king… he is free. You should be afraid of him. Humans all over should hide their children from Bund, and lock their doors to keep Greggan out. They are a terrible pair. I’m thirsty.” The Oracle smacked her lips together. “Want some tea?”

Koa sat frozen. She couldn’t speak. She shook her head to the Oracle’s question. The Oracle shrugged and came to her feet. She walked back to her kitchen. Koa heard cabinets opening and being slammed shut. She heard dishes clanking together.

Koa nudged Halston. “Is she talking about who I think she is? Is it really the king of the Netherworld?”

Halston groaned. He rubbed his temples. “No, Koa, there isn’t just one king of all the Netherworld, just like there isn’t one king for all of the human world. Greggan is but one, though he is one of the worst that we could dare to face.”

Koa grabbed his arm. “He’s the reason my father was killed? He’s the one who sent Bund to murder him?”

Halston shrugged his shoulder to his ear and made a face. “Well, yes. Well, not necessarily. Sure he sent the order, but there’s a little more to the story.”

Koa shook him. “Tell me, then!”

The Oracle returned with a platter of tea cups and a tea pot. She set the tray on the table that was covered in dust and poured Koa a cup.

She simply sat there, staring off as the Oracle handed her the cup of tea. Koa didn’t have the energy to protest. There were too many thoughts in her head. She absentmindedly drank a sip and frowned.

It’s cold, she thought, but didn’t dare say it.

“The only way to solve this problem is to send the girl back.” The Oracle spoke directly to Halston.

Halston shook his head. “I cannot let her go there. You know that.” He stood and reached for Koa. “Let’s go.”

Koa took his hand.

The lights in the room turned blue and everything in the room seemed to glow. “Sit down.”

Both Koa and Halston froze. The Oracle’s voice took on a dangerous tone. Halston gave Koa’s hand a reassuring squeeze and sat back down. Koa looked around and felt a cold chill sweep through the room. She held her breath and looked at the Oracle.

The Oracle’s face seemed to be shrouded in darkness and shadows. It was eerie. Her bifocals turned black and hid her eyes.

“I want peace in my world. My link knows the only way is to return the girl to her proper place.”

“Your link has his motives.”

“Do not speak,” she hissed. She was on her feet and towering over them. The Oracle was a small woman, but somehow Koa felt intimidated and looked away from the dark glasses.

She gripped Halston's hand as fear crept into her. She wished she knew more about what was happening.

“They will keep coming after her, until you return her.” She waved a hand in the dark and Koa gasped. Mists swirled around before them. White swirls of air that danced in the dark revealed a tall gate of some sort. Koa felt her heart pound. She had seen this gate before. It was the Gate to the Netherworld, the portal that some of the nephilim had escaped from.

“You are smart, Halston. Smarter than the men of this world. Clever and resourceful. Use your skill to find a way around this bargain. Give them what they want, and get what you want.” She leaned forward. “Find an ally… outthink your enemies.”

Koa watched Halston’s face. He was on the same track as the Oracle. “An ally? Do you think he will help us, after everything?”

The Oracle shrugged and sat back down. “One way to find out.”

The lights returned to normal and they were surprised to see that the Oracle was sleeping. Her little snores filled the room. Halston pulled Koa up and put a finger to his lips.

She nodded. They quickly and quietly walked out of the den. They left the tiny flat, and Halston didn’t stop when they were outside. He hurried with Koa in tow until they were at the car.

He held her door open. “Get in.”

They drove off much quicker than when they arrived. Koa looked out the window. She was already formulating a plan of her own. She couldn’t trust Halston to give her the freedom to search for answers, so she would have to do it without him.

If he wanted to keep secrets from her, then she would do the same. She knew of a nephilim clan that would definitely have answers. She just didn’t know if they’d give them to her without a fight.

Koa sighed and gave Halston a sidelong glance. She was tempted to tell him her plan, but that spark of doubt nagged at her once more. She shook her head and looked out the window at the dark streets. Soft rain began to fall.

I guess I’ll just have to find out on my own.

7

HALSTON DROPPED KOA OFF at the safe house. She would be occupied with paperwork that would last her for at least a couple of hours. He hoped that was enough time for him to execute his plan. Now, he stood before Koa’s new cottage with the passenger door open… for Raven. She ran from the house, jumped over the gate and scurried into the front seat.

Halston closed the door and looked around. No one was around. The night was dark and quiet. He walked around to his side and got in.

“Where is Koa?” Raven asked.

Halston knew that would be her first question. She was a good mother to the girl. He wished she didn’t have to get cursed.

“At the safe house. I gave her enough paperwork to keep her busy for a while.”

Raven curled into the leather seat and looked at him with big green eyes. “Well, you know Koa…”

Halston shrugged a shoulder. “Yes, I do. I thought the same thing, but she has no idea what I have planned.”

“You better hope she doesn’t. My daughter can be more than a bit headstrong at times. I still worry about her as much as I did when she was a toddler.”

Halston smirked. “Who are you telling? I learned that the day I met her.”

“So, it’s true then, Bund is looking for Koa?”

Halston’s face turned serious. He nodded. “Yes.” He tightened his grip on the leather steering wheel.

“Do you think he means to kill her?”

“No,” Halston said. “If there is one thing we can depend on, it’s the fact that Bund will do anything for payment.” He gave Raven a look. “And Greggan pays very well.”

Raven shivered. “Too bad it’s not money Bund wants.”

Halston thought of all the children’s bodies he’d seen sprawled around London. They had been mutilated, gutted, bled, and left in artistic poses, as if to taunt Halston. Bund had a particular taste for little girls. Halston’s stomach turned at the thought of what that foul creature had done to the poor children before he killed them.

Raven sighed. “I can’t help but think we need to do what we’ve been trying to avoid these past few years. Maybe we should go ahead and send Koa back now, before it’s too late. Jax is the only one who can free me from the curse, and I need to be free so that I can help protect her. I am the only one that can get rid of Bund… for good.”

Halston thought a moment. He watched the dark road ahead as they cut through the countryside. Rolling hills passed by and he glanced at the full moon. Too many bad things happened on nights with full moons. He was glad that, for once, the full moon was on their side. They would need the power that it held for what they were about to attempt.

“You need me, Halston. I can only do so much in this ridiculous, body.”

“I know. But the cost is much greater than the reward. Koa is not ready yet.”

Raven sat up. Her black fur mocked eyebrows and she bunched them in dismay. “How do we know if she’ll ever truly be ready? We cannot shield her from the truth forever.”

Halston knew she was right. He just cared too much for Koa to watch her suffer. He wished he could keep her past from her forever. Once she knew the truth, he feared she would never look at him the same.

“Halston?”

Raven broke him from his thoughts. He looked at her. “Yes?”

“If you refuse to speak about the Netherworld, at least tell me what happened with the Oracle?”

Halston sighed. “Jax.”

Raven inched closer, eager to hear more. “Yes… I knew it! Another sign that we need to act now! Go on… what else?”

“He’s been linking with the Oracle lately.”

Raven seemed to smile. It looked odd on her feline face. He tried to picture her smile from before the curse. It was difficult.

“But that’s good!” Raven exclaimed.

Halston shook his head. “Why is that good? He’s the enemy as far as I’m concerned.”

“But he can free me! We need him.”

“The price we pay for the things we need,” Halston said under his breath.

“Exactly. But it’s not your need, Halston, it’s mine. And I deserve to be changed back. If not for me, it needs to be done for Koa.”

Halston didn’t reply. His head was full of too many thoughts, doubts, and scenarios. There was truth to what Raven said. He knew that soon he’d be making the journey back to the Netherworld. The Netherworld held too many of his secrets. He couldn’t admit that he wasn’t ready to face the past.

8

KOA CREPT THROUGH the narrow alleyway as soft rain trickled down onto her head. She welcomed the cool shower. She needed something to calm the nervous anxiety that began to fill her belly. She knew it would take more than a sword and a straight face for these vamps to take her seriously.

The evening was late and Koa had grown tired of paperwork. She had more important things to attend to. When Halston dropped her off, she had almost blurted out what she was planning. Instead, she pursed her lips and left without a word. She couldn’t let him even suspect what she was doing.

Koa approached the lair of a secretive nephilim clan that had escaped into the human world centuries ago. They were quiet and kept to themselves, because they were smart. Not only that, but they were afraid. They were hiding… and now Koa knew who they were hiding from. A common enemy. That was all the leverage she had against them.

Koa had never encountered a Netherworld vamp. They were a completely different breed from the vampires walking around in the human world. The vampires of the human world were considered new world vampires, the children that were created by the Netherworld vampires in ancient times.

New world vampires could not reproduce because they had once been human, and so their only way of increasing their numbers was to bite and turn other humans. They were not as powerful as the Netherworld vamps, because Netherworld vamps were born from pure-blood mothers and fathers.

Koa knew that what she was doing was dangerous, but as Halston liked to always say, Koa preferred to learn the hard way. If it was too easy, then she just wasn’t interested. This time, however, Koa could feel deep down that this was not a good idea. She almost turned back—that is, until she smelled blood.

Human blood. Her eyes nearly rolled back into her head at the overwhelming scent. It wasn’t just a hint of blood. It was a feast of it.

Spilled blood. She pushed her anxiety aside and checked to make sure her sword was intact. It was attached to her belt and in its closed state it wasn’t much bigger than a dagger in the guise of a simple baton.

Her face was set in newfound determination as she walked up to the metal door. She cracked her knuckles and drew a breath of the cool night air.

Koa needed answers. She refused to wait any longer. All she wanted in the world was to avenge her father’s death and break her mother’s curse.

Koa knocked twice and waited.

Koa expected to be immediately dismissed once they took a look at her, but when the young looking vampire opened the door, she was beheld with bewilderment. The tall, gangly lad stuttered when he laid eyes on her. His eyes looked her up and down.

Koa felt her stomach flip. He knew who she was. This is not good, she thought, but stood her ground.

“Wat you want, ey?”

Koa had practiced so many answers to this very question. Now as she stood before a real Netherworld vamp, her throat went dry.

He stared at her with the same wide-eyed expression. He blinked. His eyes were a dark blue, like the sea at night, and were set under the thickest eyebrows she had ever seen. His face was thin and hollow as if he was malnourished. She could see the bones in his face.

“Your leader,” her voice cracked. She swallowed and tried again. “I wish to speak to him, or her.”

He nodded and rubbed his fist in his hand. “Right. Right. Come in then.”

Koa watched him step out of the way and hold the door open for her. She looked into a large open studio and gulped. The Netherworld vamps were everywhere. The place was set up like a lounge. The lights were dim and cast a soft orange glow on everything. Koa hated how loud her heels sounded on the gray concrete floor.

There were women walking around in nothing but their panties. They walked around as if in a trance. Glamour, Koa thought as she watched some of the rough looking vamps feast on the women who did nothing but sit in their laps with blank expressions on their paling faces.

There was a cloud of smoke that lingered in the air, making the room look as if a fog had settled.

Koa hesitated. She felt foolish for leaving her communication watch at the safe house. She didn’t want Halston to track her. Now, Halston would never find her if something went wrong.

You can do this without him. For a second, she almost believed it. Too late to run now.

She nodded, sucked in a long breath to motivate herself, and stepped inside. The close of the door behind her sounded so final. Every inch of her was on alert. These vamps were unlike any she’d ever encountered. The Netherworld vamps were the purest of them all, and the males looked at her as if she was a piece of meat.

Koa’s eyes scanned the room. There were four windows, barred and covered with black tarpaulin. A standard wooden bar stood in the corner of the large room. One vamp tended it, wiping it down, and pouring liquor into shot glasses. She immediately counted twelve other vamps and six dead human bodies being drained of their blood.

She was a little late for the party. The six women that were still alive looked as if they had been picked up from a sleazy club somewhere. All high-heeled pumps and miniskirts, sheath dresses and shiny costume jewelry. Koa wanted to help the women. She hated seeing them treated so carelessly.

Koa’s jaw tightened when she saw a vamp snap the woman’s neck he’d been feeding from. Koa’s eye twitched. She resisted brandishing her sword. She was outnumbered. There was nothing she could do.

Koa felt herself become a little woozy at the scent. She should not be hungry right now, but the blood was everywhere. The sweet aroma was almost too much to handle. She closed her eyes and remembered the face of the young man she had accidentally killed when she was seventeen, and immediately regrouped. She would never forget the look of fear in the poor man’s eyes.

In an alley, like an animal, she had feasted foolishly. Koa never killed a human again. The guilt would remain with her until the day she died. Koa ignored the scent of blood and eyed the other vampires in the room. They looked to be various ages ranging from early twenties, to early thirties. One could never tell how old a vampire was, especially one from the Netherworld. Because they were born vampires and not made, once they reached maturity, their bodies would remain captured in that state of youth for an eternity. These male vamps all looked young and strong.

And dirty and ugly. She raised an eyebrow at one who stood propped against a wall, staring at her. Except that one. He’s not too bad. He almost looked attractive in his clean suit and tie.

Koa shook her head. You’re ridiculous, she scolded herself.

The young looking vampire that had let her in settled onto the floor and rolled one of the girls over onto her belly. He slit her other wrist and held it over a bowl.

She stood there, feeling awkward, as she watched the blood trickle slowly into the bowl. Perhaps he doesn’t know who I am, she thought.

“Oh, I know ya, Koa Ryeo-won. Every Netherworld creature knows the little half-blood.”

Koa paled.

“Yeah, I read ya mind. No big deal.” He drank a gulp of the blood. He glanced over his shoulder at the vamp who leaned against the wall. “Aye, Brice, our guest thinks you’re right handsome.” Everyone laughed. Brice revealed sharp, crooked teeth, as he laughed with the others.

Gross. Her eyes widened. She had to control what she thought about.

The young vamp grinned that he had heard her thoughts once again. He chuckled to himself. He wiped his mouth clean and came to his feet. “Hungry?” He offered her the bowl of blood.

Koa shook her head, but her chest heaved at the scent. She looked away.

“Ah, what’s it? Too good for slut blood?”

The other vamps chuckled. He motioned for four of the vamps to end their game of poker and they all got up and went to sit on one of the leather sofas placed before a large projector screen. He slid a chair out from their poker table and nodded for her to sit.

“Why these are the best sluts in town. It’s a delicacy, it is.” He licked his thin lips. His grin sickened her.

Koa held her head up high. Her heart was beating so loudly that she could hear it. She was aware of all of the eyes on her. “Your leader. I will only speak to him… or her,” she said.

He thought a minute and bit his lip. He gave her a look from under his thick dark brows. “You’re lookin at 'em, lass.”

Koa tensed. Everyone was staring at her in silence. Is he joking? Koa thought. He looks to be about sixteen.

“One thousand and sixty-two, but who’s countin’ anymore?” He sat in the chair and motioned for her to sit before him again.

Koa averted her gaze from the other vamps that looked at her with scrutinizing eyes and sat in the chair.

“You answer your own door?” Koa frowned at the concept. If she was the leader of a Netherworld clan, she’d have all kinds of goons doing her bidding.

He licked the blood from his teeth. “Aye.”

Koa was uncomfortable. She didn’t know why. He looked so young. Why should she fear him?

“A little short on help?”

He shook his head. “I like to check out visitors me self. That way, I can kill 'em and return to me business.”

“Who are you?”

He sat back in his chair and played with the poker chips. “Should’a been ya first question, lass.”

“My name is Koa, not ‘lass.’”

He chuckled and the others joined in. “Didn’t I already say we all know ya?” He leaned his face in close to hers and she nearly fell backward in her chair at his speed. He was no longer smiling. “But you gotta earn the privilege of learning me name…”

There was something about him. It was like Koa could tell that he was trying to be as unintimidating as possible. Why would he do that? Why would someone want to appear weaker than they were? The possibilities made her begin to fear him even more.

She cleared her throat. She put on a brave face. “Well, I just need a few answers.”

“Depends on the questions.” He swirled his finger in the bowl of blood as his dark blue eyes watched her.

Koa shifted in her seat. Her knee started to shake under the table. She hid it as best as she could. He wasn’t so much as staring at her as he was leering at her. She hoped her voice would come out steady. “Tell me about this king from the Netherworld. You’re all hiding from him, I know that much.”

He snickered. “I hide from no one.” He leaned in close as if he was going to tell her a secret. “Maybe some of them blokes fear this king, but not me.”

Koa made a face. “Sure,” she said sarcastically. She instantly wished she’d kept the sarcasm out of her voice.

He sat back and looked at her for a moment as his smile faded. His eyes darkened.

He licked his finger clean of the blood. “What ya want with Greggan?”

“I want to know why, you… I mean, those ‘blokes’ over there are afraid of him. Why does everyone know me?”

He nodded and kept his face serious. “Good questions. I can see why ya’d want to know those answers, lass.” He tapped the table with a sharp, dirty nail. “But, me question is why do ya think I would tell ya anything? Why did ya walk in here, all alone, and think we’d just become quick friends and whatnot?”

Koa bit her bottom lip and tried not to look nervous. “Because,” she cleared her throat again, “we have the same enemy.”

His grin returned. He lifted an eyebrow. He shook his head and chuckled. “Silly girl. Silly girl.” He came to his feet. “I sure thought ya’d figure it out. Thought you were all book learned an such.”

Koa looked around. Everyone had stopped drinking. They looked like hounds, ready to pounce. Her palms started to sweat. She wiped them on her jeans.

She tried to turn the tables. “We are allies. We both want to stop Greggan. He wants to kill you for some reason, and he wants me for some other reason. I simply wanted to compare notes, you know?” She kept talking, hoping to buy herself some time to think. “I mean, if we work together, we can send him back to the Netherworld.”

He walked around behind her, as if pacing, and mulling over her words. The room fell quiet. Everyone stopped feeding and looked up at their leader.

Koa prayed inside her head. There was something about him that just felt… evil. Something in his eyes made her feel worried. She should have told Halston where she was going.

“Well said, lass.” He nodded his head as he thought. “But ya’ve still got one thing wrong, missy. Me and me crew are mercenaries and we ain’t hiding from Greggan.”

Something tugged at Koa… warning her. She gave him an odd look. Her eyes started to widen with realization. Her voice shook. “Who are you?”

He grabbed her by her hair and yanked her from the chair.

Koa panicked. This was not a good idea, she thought as she reached for his hands.

“You’re right. It wasn’t.” He threw her across the room and straight through the wall. Koa cried out as she fell through the wall and into the pile of crumbed stone. She squeezed her eyes shut. She saw lights flashing under her lids. The pain was sharp and unwavering.

“Call me Bund,” he said and Koa felt her face drain of color.

Bund. Her father's killer stood only a few feet away.

Koa started to count to herself. It was something she had done since she was a child. It sometimes calmed her when she was really afraid.

9

She lay in a pile of rubble. Her heart raced too quickly for her to control her adrenaline.

10

Koa was outnumbered by Netherworld vampires that were ten times stronger than her.

11

She could barely move. Her head hurt from crashing into the stone wall.

12

Koa looked over at Bund who simply waited.

“Get up, you sneaky, stupid bitch. I’ve been waitin’ for this.”

13

Koa looked at that smirk on his white face and narrowed her eyes. “I won’t kill ya. Naw, I’ll slice ya up real nice, and present ya on a platter to King Greggan. How’s that? And then, I’ll roast that mother of yours right nicely.”

14

A spark ignited in her head at the mention of her mother. Rage boiled within her. He had killed her father and now her mother was in his sights. She would harness that fear. She would fight like a madwoman. Rage filled every vein within her body, making her feel hot and sensitive to everything around her.

15

Koa felt the power of her Lyrinian sword explode through her veins and let the rage loose.

16

HER PULSE BEAT LOUDLY in her ears. Koa shot into the air. Her body moved too quickly for their eyes to follow. She grabbed her sword and flew straight for Bund. He seemed interested in what she was doing but not afraid.

Koa clenched her jaw. The hurt inside overwhelmed her. She missed her father.

Bund smiled at her. He knew what she was thinking.

Koa hated his hollow, pale face. She hated everything about him. She wanted to gouge his eyes out with her nails and smash the rest of his face in with her boot.

Read this, you asshole, she thought… just for him. She ran the blade along spilled blood and it burned red with hunger. The Lyrinian blade started to glow.

Bund smirked. He nodded. “Nice weapon. I’ll give ya that.”

The other vamps were up and ready for a fight. More than a dozen leisurely reached for weapons. Guns, crossbows, Netherworld weapons she’d never seen. Koa wouldn’t wait until they grabbed them. She swept through the room like a cyclone of rage. Her sword glowed red hot and screamed for more blood. It was an extension of her. Her actions were no longer her own. The blade used her in order to quench its thirst.

Koa didn’t mind. She needed the Lyrinian swords collection of skills to make it through this night. Her body ducked and dodged oncoming attacks. Her legs kicked through bodies, slamming organs to the floor. Her free arm grabbed loose hair and smashed heads to the tiled wall. The sword slashed with red hot, lightning speed.

Bund took a step back.

The lights in the room went out and Koa paused. She hovered in the air for just a moment, to get her bearings and let her eyes adjust. She couldn’t see as well as them, but the Lyrinian sword worked like a heat missile. It would find its target no matter what.

She dove back in and closed her eyes. Like a blade dance, she swirled in and out of the crowd, listening to only cries of pain and angry shouts. She heard bullets. It didn’t matter, the sword deflected it all. The bullets clinked against her blade and sizzled into dust at contact. Her movements were fluid.

Koa was as loose as a rag doll, and no one could touch her. Every time they tried to grab her, she would swirl out of their reach and dive to another vamp. Their hands tried to hold her, and it was as if she was as slippery as a marble; they hadn’t a chance when Koa was in her trance.

There was so much blood that, in the end, Koa was drenched in it. When all was quiet she came to a stop and held her sword up. The red glow of the sword bathed the room in its dim light. There were bodies everywhere. Arms, legs and heads were sprawled about in a big mushy pile.

Koa nodded in satisfaction. She was surprised that she had killed them without suffering any serious wounds. Her arms were sore and she had a cut on her calf, but other than that, she felt fine. Her father had trained her in the ways of the sword. He had taught her well.

Koa felt her heart skip a beat when Bund reappeared before her. Her other hand slid a stake from a holster attached to her back. She threw it at him before he could even blink.

The stake lodged right into his heart and she grinned triumphantly. Koa would have cheered, but to her surprise, Bund grinned as well.

He looked down at the stake and his shoulders bounced lightly with his snickering. At first he laughed lightly, and then it became louder and louder until his laughter filled the room. “You stupid, stupid girl.” He laughed even louder.

Koa gasped and covered her ears. His voice seemed to be everywhere. It filled her ears and made her shiver. His voice seemed to grate on her eardrums. There was something purely evil within it. Something she’d never encountered.

“What?” Koa breathed in disbelief as he pulled the stake from his chest.

Bund shook his head with a smile spread across his face. He tossed the stake to the floor and took a look around. “Nice job you’ve done here, lass.” He clapped and took a step forward.

Koa sucked in a breath and held her sword out in front of her, hoping it would stop him. She was confused. A stake to the heart always worked. At least, she thought it did. Her only hope was that her sword would work.

Bund made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Sorry, Lyrinian blades only work on the dirty nephilim.”

Koa knew he was reading her mind. All she could think was, what are you then?

Koa heard something. She stepped back and looked around with wide eyes as the carnage around her started to… move. She clutched her sword.

“Holy shit,” she breathed as the pieces of bone started to reform. She looked at Bund with wide eyes. “What’s happening?” She started backing away. She jumped when a hand reached for her shoe. She yelped and kicked the bloody thing away, sending it crashing into a wall.

She looked back at Bund. Her face was twisted in worry. This was not how she imagined this night going. This was not how she imagined she’d take out her revenge. Bund blocked the door. Koa hoped there was another exit.

Bund looked around and held his arms out. He lifted a brow. “Don’t tell me this was ya first time killin’ Netherworld vamps?”

Koa gulped. The bodies were reforming into grotesque creatures. The crunching sounds and squishing noises turned her stomach. She couldn’t bring herself to speak. The fear clutched her even tighter than before.

When she looked back at Bund, his face had darkened. Red lines stretched across his face like pulsating red veins. His smile was gone. His face looked different, as if all the shadows in the room had absorbed into his flesh, turning it into an ash-like gray. His hair was already dark before, but it seemed to become even darker and shinier, like gloss had been applied.

“What are you?”

His shoulders jutted out and she could see his bones mutate.

Koa knew then that she was about to die.

Bund’s voice deepened. He no longer sounded like a man, but a creature of darkness. The voice that she had heard in every nightmare she’d had as a child echoed through the room. His was the voice that one imagined a monster would have, like that of a…

Koa covered her mouth as a horrified squeal escaped her lips. She knew what he was, and she knew that she was not strong enough to kill him. Bund wasn’t a New World vampire, he wasn’t a Netherworld vamp.

Bund was a demon.

“Good girl,” he sneered. His hands turned into bony claws and his legs bent like those of a beast from ancient myths.

Koa’s brows furrowed. She felt like she might cry for her mother.

Bund tossed his head back and let out a feral laugh. “Go on, cry for ya mother for me. I love it when little girls cry.” He pounced. His weight knocked Koa off her feet with such power that her scream was cut off. She fell backward into the blood. She banged her head against the cement floor and cried out. Lights flashed behind her eyelids as she squeezed her eyes shut to block out the pain.

Bund slashed her face and drew blood. She could smell the poison on his claws. She felt the blood leak from the wound. He licked her face, sopping up the blood with his rough, leathery tongue. Koa felt as if she was looking into the eyes of Satan himself.

She held up her sword and closed her eyes. “This is it then,” she whispered to the sword as she prepared to fight with every ounce of life she had left, even though she knew the odds were against her. She opened her eyes and whispered a prayer. “It was a good run.”

Bund cackled and held her face down with one strong claw. Koa stabbed him with her sword. Nothing. Not even a drip of blood.

He laughed louder and she held back a sob. His other claw jabbed her in her side and ripped upward until it reached her underarm, splitting her skin to the muscle. She felt hot tears soak her face. Her wounds stung as her salty tears pooled into them.

Koa was tired and weakened. She was completely exerted. She couldn’t move. So, she lolled her head to the side and prepared for the end.

Bund leaned down to her ear. “Your blood will repair me men, and when they are whole once again… I will keep me promise, and roast that mother of yours.”

Koa felt her face heat. Her eyes narrowed into slits of hate. She couldn’t let him escape into the night and kill her mother. She would give anything for the strength to stop him. She wanted to scream out for Halston, but she knew that he would not hear her.

“But have no fear…” He licked her ear. His hot breath came out in a whisper. “I will not kill ya, love. No, you will be my prize and I will keep you as a pet for all eternity.”

Koa felt her blood chill. Every inch of her flesh crawled with disgust and horror. The studio door crept open. Koa’s eyes searched the doorway. No one was there. She looked out to darkness.

She screamed so loud that it made her ears ache. “No!”

Raven walked into the room and her green eyes started to glow. Koa frowned. It wasn’t the normal glow that she was used to. There was something different about it.

Bund paused and looked over his jutted out shoulder.

“Run mother!” Koa shouted. She realized her mistake when she saw the look in Bund’s eyes.

Bund looked stunned. “Mother?” He reached out a hand to Raven. “No. It can’t be.” There was real fear in his voice.

Raven sat. Everything stilled.

All sounds were sucked from the room and Koa started to shake. Koa didn’t know what was happening. She thought that she was going mad. After all that Bund had said about roasting her mother and killing her, he sounded truly afraid.

Koa’s vision started to fade. Her vision became blurry. “Raven… run!”

Halston stepped in behind her mother, and Koa nearly shouted for joy. He was like her guardian angel, always there when she needed him. She wasn’t sure if she was dreaming but the room filled with the most radiant light she’d ever seen. Everything turned white in her eyes and she felt as if she was being lifted up to heaven. Her vision cleared.

Bund glared at her and howled. Then, he dropped her and flew from the room so quickly that he looked like nothing more than a black shadow.

Halston stepped into the empty space that Bund left behind and grabbed Koa into his arms.

Koa clutched his neck. “Oh, Halston, you came,” she whispered and her eyes fluttered closed.

17

HALSTON’S HEART BROKE when he saw Koa in such agony. She passed out in his arms and he held her there, close to him. He was furious. He was hurt. Koa had lied to him, and now she was injured. Bund’s poisonous wounds would not be easy to heal.

Too many emotions filled Halston. More than he was used to feeling at the same time. Anger and grief. Fear and frustration. He no longer felt… in control.

Bund had escaped. Bund, a demon from his past, and a demon by nature, had escaped Halston yet again. Halston had spent centuries hunting him down. Once again, he had failed. He balled his hand into a fist and pounded the ground. The entire room shook.

Bund had seen Halston. Halston had taken his prize… Koa. Now, Halston feared that the demon’s revenge would be more than they would be prepared for.

Raven ran over to him. “Halston! The vamps! They’re taking their second form!”

Halston looked up from under his brows. His eyes were full of rage. He watched the pieces of bone reconnect in a new form. The Netherworld vamps had taken their second form. They had reanimated themselves.

Twelve reanimated men stood before him. They were deformed creatures. They looked like giant, feral wolves: all muscle and bone. No skin or fur, or anything but large fangs, yellow eyes, and sharp claws. Their legs were bent in, and even though they stood on all fours, they were nearly as tall as Halston.

Halston held Koa up with one arm and pulled out his infinity gun with the other. A metallic ring echoed throughout the room as the silver infinity gun was loosed from its holster.

The room felt smaller with the massive creatures crowding it. Things were about to get really messy. Halston glared at them all. He refused to let another creature escape that lair.

“Should I leave?” Raven asked in a whisper. Her green eyes had grown large as she watched the reanimated men prepare to try their luck with Halston.

Halston nodded once. “Go.”

Raven ran, and with the sudden movement, the reanimated men charged. Growls were cut off when Halston held Koa’s limp body close to his chest, lifted the barrel, cocked it once, and shot. A loud explosion drowned all sounds out. Time seemed to warp and slow as a single silver bullet shot out from the barrel and screamed with rage.

Halston narrowed his eyes in hatred. He watched the bullet collect speed, light, and energy as it raced through the room. None of the reanimated men had a chance to run. The single bullet ripped through them within seconds. The bullet cut through brains, hearts, lungs… and enjoyed every minute of it.

Like Koa’s Lyrinian sword, it seemed to have a mind of its own. The infinity gun was more than a weapon.

It was judgment.

The bullet squealed like a train and returned to Halston’s gun. It reentered its home and all was silent. Not even a full minute had passed. Reanimated bodies were sprawled on the floor.

There was a great deal of writhing. The bodies bubbled, popped, and melted into pools of thick black blood. There would be no third change. It was over for them.

Halston drew in a breath and let it out slowly. He looked at Koa’s face and felt his brows draw in. He loved her. He couldn’t deny it. The feeling frightened him. He wanted nothing more than to shelter and protect her.

Halston hugged her close and kissed her forehead. He closed his eyes and simply held her there, breathing her sweet scent, and listening to her soft heartbeat. He loved her, but he knew right then that he would have to do something that would hurt her. She might hate him for it—there was a lot that she might hate him for—but it was necessary.

Halston drew in another breath. Koa weakened him. His heart was tearing. “I love you,” he whispered. He almost wished that she was awake to hear the words he’d been thinking for years now, but he was grateful that she didn’t hear him.

He sighed. His jaw tensed. Halston knew what he had to do. “But you need to learn.”

18

KOA WOKE UP in the most comfortable bed she’d ever occupied. She sighed and sprawled out across the puffy white covers that felt as though they were stuffed with clouds. The smell of eucalyptus filled her nostrils. She breathed it in deep. The scent was familiar to her. She winced in pain and her eyes popped open. Sharp, searing pain stunned her into an agonizing squeal.

Koa held her breath, too afraid to make another move lest the pain get worse. She felt her heart speed. She wasn’t used to this kind of pain. Sun spilled into the room through a wall made of glass. Koa looked around and the wrinkles in her forehead smoothed. She felt safe.

This was Halston’s bedroom.

Koa covered herself with the blankets and looked around. He wasn’t there. She looked down at her clothing and saw that she wore nothing but her bra and panties.

Koa had been in Halston’s bed before. The first time she had seen Halston had been by chance. After her father’s murder, Koa had been a ruthless girl. She had been lucky that Halston had found her. He had tamed her.

Five years ago, on a warm night in London, Koa had been drunk on bourbon and blood. She was sprawled across a park bench near a pub when Halston found her.

Koa remembered it well. She thought about it often. Like a guardian angel, there Halston had been, looking down at her with his bright golden hair and crystalline blue eyes. When Koa felt his hand touch her forehead, she had opened her eyes and had really thought that she was dreaming. He was perfect and she couldn’t resist.

Koa had grabbed Halston by the back of his neck and kissed him. The kiss had been magical. Halston didn’t stop her. Koa touched her lips at the memory. She could still taste Halston’s tongue.

A smile came to her lips, despite the lingering pain. At seventeen, she had been a naïve girl, torn by feelings of revenge, guilt, and fear. Still, her vampire side made her impervious to fear.

Koa often suspected less than noble intentions from men, but the night she had met Halston, she knew she could trust him. She felt safe around him. So, drunk like a college freshman at her first frat party, Koa let him take her to his place.

When Koa had woken up the next morning, all those years ago, she found Halston sitting in a white leather chair by that glass wall overlooking the city, watching her.

Koa had been but a child back then… a child who had no idea what was in store for her future. She sighed and closed her eyes to keep the tears from falling. Once again, Halston had saved her from her own horrible choices. She hated to face him after all that she had done wrong.

She bit the inside of her lip and tried to remember what had happened. Another sharp pain in her side immediately reminded her. Bund.

Koa yelped as Raven leapt onto the pure white covers and tackled her. Raven licked her face. “Are you all right, darling?”

Koa held her tight and tried to keep from moving too much. She cautiously propped herself up on the soft pillows. Koa couldn’t help but squeeze her mother tight. “I am. Where is Halston?”

Raven curled up next to Koa’s head. “He is in the shower.” Koa nodded and looked at the door to Halston’s private bathroom suite. She almost smiled at the image of him in there without any clothes on. The pain made her grimace instead.

Koa sighed. “What happened… back at the lair?”

Raven licked her paw. “What do you mean? Halston rescued you.”

Koa sat up on her elbows. “I mean, before Halston came in. You did something.”

Raven tilted her head and gave Koa a blank look. She shook her head. “Nonsense. You are imagining things. Would you like some orange juice?”

Koa frowned. Was I imagining things? She shook her head. Koa knew what she saw. “Wait a minute!” Koa yelled.

The pain kept her from hopping onto her knees. She winced at the burning sensation in her side. Weakly, Koa pointed at Raven. “I saw you. What did you do? Don’t lie to me!”

Koa pursed her lips when Halston opened the door to the bathroom and let waves of steam out. He peeked around the door to see what the commotion was about. His hair was wild and yet, he still looked perfect. Koa wanted to see more. Her cheeks flushed at her thoughts.

“Everything all right?”

Koa nodded and he came out of the bathroom and dried his hair with a towel. She looked away from his bare chest as her cheeks reddened even more. She had never seen a man naked before. Koa could only imagine what Halston was hiding beneath his towel. She squeezed her eyes shut.

You’re ridiculous, Koa thought to herself. This is not what you’re supposed to be thinking about!

“What’s all the fuss?”

Koa looked at her mother, who licked her paws sheepishly. Koa knew something was up.

“How are you feeling? Do you need something for the pain?”

Koa shook her head. “It’s okay. I can handle it.” She searched his eyes, wondering when the scolding would begin, hoping he would let this incident slide.

Halston nodded and walked over to Koa. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the covers back. Raven moved out of the way and he took a look at Koa’s bandaged side where Bund had split her skin.

Koa remembered just how deep he had cut her. She looked down expecting to see her side completely healed, instead, there was still blood on the bandage and she could still see some of her muscle. She was stunned. She’d always been able to heal almost instantly.

Halston sighed. It wasn’t good.

“How long have I been here?” Her eyes were wide with fright. Halston sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed her hair. He was calm. She wished such calmness would rub off on her. She did enjoy the feel of his hand on her hair.

“Two days.”

Koa covered her mouth. “Two days?” She looked at her wound in disbelief.

Halston put a hand on her shoulder and led her back down to the pillow. “It’s all right. A demon wound will heal. It may take longer than you’re used to, but your vampire side will fight the poison.”

“Poison?” Koa felt her heart race. Halston pulled the covers to her neck.

“Relax, Koa. You need rest. Don’t work yourself up or it’ll take longer.”

“Listen to him, Koa,” Raven urged. “I hope you learned your lesson.”

Koa shot a look at her, but her mother was right, she couldn’t deny it. She had been stupid to think she could convince Netherworld vamps to side with her. The whole plan was foolish. She just didn’t anticipate them knowing who she was.

“Bund recognized me.” Koa sat up on her elbows and looked to Halston. “How did they know who I was?”

Halston stood and walked over to his wardrobe where he grabbed a shirt. He put it on and stepped inside his walk-in closet to change into black slacks. He sat on a seat inside his closet and carefully put on a pair of black socks and slipped into shoes. Halston seemed to be taking his time. Koa waited as he looked at himself in his full length mirror. He fixed his hair and she rolled her eyes.

“You just love looking at yourself,” Koa couldn’t resist saying. She hoped it would keep him calm, and make him forget that she had disobeyed him.

She smiled. Halston didn’t.

He ignored her statement and sat back on the edge of the bed. “What exactly did he say to you?”

Koa cleared her throat. “Bund said that everyone in the Netherworld knows me. He said that he wasn’t hiding, and that he wasn’t afraid of Greggan.”

Halston nodded. “It’s true. Why would a demon fear a vampire? A demon is nothing more than an angel that has turned to darkness. When the fallen angels followed Satan from heaven their sexual desires led them to have intercourse with human women. Their dark spawn are what we know as vampires… and the other nephilim of the Netherworld.”

Koa nodded. She knew all about the fall of some of the angels. She knew how their spawn were banished to the Netherworld centuries ago. Still, the Netherworld was only a place separated from the human world by a simple gate. “Yes, I know all of that, but why was he with those Netherworld vamps?”

“He was hired.”

Koa slumped against the headboard. She blew her bangs out of her eyes. “That’s right. He did say that they were mercenaries.” She lifted a brow. “Hired for what?”

“To find you.”

“Why? Why does Bund want to find me?” Koa needed to know.

Halston and Raven shared a glance. Koa noticed.

Koa slammed her fist on the bed. “Why are you two hiding things from me?”

“Don’t get so worked up. I’ll tell you everything, when you’re healed.”

“Tell me now!”

“Get some sleep, darling,” Raven said and hopped from the bed. “Will you take me back home? I think my presence will only agitate Koa and prolong her recovery.”

Koa reached out. She didn’t realize how weak she felt. “No. Don’t go.” Koa wished she could hug her mother again. She would give anything to lie in her arms and cry like she did when she was a child.

Raven looked back. She ran over and leapt onto the bed. She licked Koa’s face and snuggled her head into the crevice of her neck. “Rest up. I’ll see you at home.”

“Okay,” Koa replied. She sighed and pulled the covers up. She did feel tired already.

Halston waited for Raven to leave the room. Koa watched him from a tiny space in the covers. He sat there in silence for a moment. The silence made Koa uncomfortable. She knew what was coming.

“I’m sorry,” Koa blurted before Halston could put the words together to say what was on his mind.

Halston seemed surprised that she actually apologized. Koa thought that was a good sign. He hadn’t expected that.

He nodded. His eyes were hopeful. “Thank you for that, Koa. It means a lot. But why did you go there without me? Why would you go against my orders and put yourself at risk?”

Koa groaned. She knew he would ask. She sat up and tried to scoot closer to him. Moving was a laborious task, but Koa needed him to forgive her. He still didn’t say that he did.

“You fail to understand that we care about you, Koa. We only do these things to keep you safe. You’re very important to all of us in the Netherworld Division.”

Koa frowned. She didn’t like how he kept saying ‘we’ and ‘us’ instead of, I care about you, or, you’re important to me.

“I didn’t want you to try to stop me. I wanted answers, and you just weren’t giving them.”

He turned his head to meet her eyes. She looked down. The look was too intense. She felt almost hypnotized by it. She drew circles in the covers with her finger, feeling sheepish, like a child who knew she had done something wrong and awaited her father’s scolding.

“I told you already. I am here to protect you. You don’t need to know everything. Some things are best left alone.”

Koa didn’t say anything. She heard Halston, but she was stubborn. She still wanted to know.

Halston sighed. “And now I see that I have to protect you from yourself.”

Koa looked up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Halston stood and wrapped his holster across his back and grabbed a vest from his wardrobe.

“It means you’re out, Koa.”

Koa fought through the pain and sat up. Her face paled. Her hands started to shake. He couldn’t be saying what she thought he was. Koa stared at Halston with wide eyes. “What?”

He nodded. “I hate to do it, but it’s for the best. You’re a liability and it’s better if you don’t know what’s happening out there. You’re no longer part of the Netherworld Division. You revealed Raven’s identity. It’s best if you and Raven lay low and live a quiet life in your new home.” He put his hands in his pockets and looked away. “You no longer have to let these things worry you. I will take care of it from here on out.”

Koa stared at him. She wouldn’t shy away from his eyes if he would just look at her. She could make him change his mind.

“Or you can move wherever you want.”

Koa started to speak, but her voice was caught in her throat. He couldn’t look her in the eye. That statement hurt her more than anything. She didn’t want to be away from him. Couldn’t he see that?

She felt as though Halston was breaking up with her. She was speechless. Her heart felt as though it was being twisted and crushed. The heartache hurt more than her side did.

Halston took a breath and started toward the door. He tried to make his voice sound light and calm. “I’ll still protect you and make sure you’re safe, you just won’t live the life of a Netherworld agent anymore. Bund is still out there and I will do everything within my power to stop him.”

Koa felt her body tense at the thought of Bund out there in the world, ready to strike at her once again. She thought of his promise to keep her as a pet for all eternity. Her stomach churned.

Halston gave her one last look. The look was too quick. “Now rest up.” He left before she could protest.

The sleek black door to his otherwise all-white bedroom closed. She heard him head outside. He whispered to Raven and she felt her face heat with rage.

Koa balled up her fists. They were conspiring. She heard his footsteps walk down his long marble hallway and to the double curved stairs that led to the landing, and he was gone.

Tears dripped down her cheeks and onto the white blankets. Her heart sped. She didn’t like this feeling. Halston was done with her. When would she see him again? How would she survive without the purpose the Netherworld Division gave her?

Koa screamed. She covered her face and yelled in anguish. “How dare you? How dare you?” She shouted and pounded her fists in the blankets with all of her might. She needed something more rewarding.

She wanted to hit something, to hurt something. She growled and came to her feet. Koa gasped as the pain made her double over. Her breath was knocked from her as her skin screamed in agony.

The pain was unnerving. The constant burning of her flesh only intensified her anger. Pain was rare for Koa. This was new, and she hated it.

Another feeling swept in and made her fall to her knees. Koa groaned. This pain was different. Still, Bund’s pain couldn’t compare to what overcame her. This was something that she was very familiar with. She had grown up with it. It had haunted her for years.

The hunger.

Koa looked up. She had an idea. Nothing would cure her faster than human blood. She crawled over to the chair and pulled herself up. She was so tired. All she could think of was how energized a little human blood would make her.

Koa thought of how disappointed Halston would be once he found out. He had worked hard to help her fight the hunger for blood. They had a strict feeding schedule, but once again, an intense battle had ruined it.

Koa shook her head and sucked in an agonizing breath as tears threatened to break free. She didn’t care what Halston thought anymore. She didn’t care about any of it.

Koa was out. She was free. She already hated it.

She knew Halston would be livid, and she welcomed it, he deserved to feel guilty for shoving her aside. She lifted herself into the air and flew toward that wall of glass and kicked it with all of her strength. It crashed into thousands of pieces of glass and Koa flew out, into the sun and as high as she could go.

She’d find a new home and a new family. Wryn Castle called out to her.

19

IAN PRATT CAME WHEN called. Koa smiled when he came to the door of her usual room in the Wryn Castle. His large, hazel puppy dog eyes lit up when he saw her.

He had a quiet, geeky quality. There was an undeniable intelligence that she could see in his eyes. That was what made Koa choose him out of all the others who had been presented to her three years ago at her membership meeting.

Ian was smart, very smart, and equally attractive. The thing that drew Koa to him though, was that he didn’t know he was hot. That made her like him even more. His black hair was unruly, but it was soft and clean whenever she ran her fingers through it.

Koa watched him as he stood outside the doorway. He gripped the handles of his green, graphic-print backpack and smiled at her.

Koa did something she hadn’t planned. She pulled him into the room, closed the door, and hugged him tightly. She almost sobbed into his chest but she bit the tears back. She breathed deeply.

Ian was so warm. He smelled so good. He smelled like youth. Real youth, not a young mask hiding a hundred-year-old creature. His scent was fresh, like freshly washed clothes. She held him close and nearly melted when he wrapped his arms around her back.

“What’s this?” Ian asked when he felt the blood on her side. He looked genuinely alarmed. “Are you okay? What happened Koa?”

Koa didn’t speak. She was grateful to have someone care about her. All she wanted was to feel cared for… to feel loved. She simply held him. She liked that he was thin. She liked that he was tall. Ian rested his chin on her head and sighed. He loved her. That fact didn’t make Koa feel good.

His wasn’t real love. There was no way that it could be… the glamour made him think he was in love. She wished it was real.

Halston’s face haunted her. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block the disappointed look he had given her out of her mind.

“I’m fine, Ian, but you can make me all better.” She gently grabbed the back of his neck and planted a soft kiss on his supple, human flesh. He nearly trembled with glee.

Koa gave him a gentle nudge, but it was enough to send him falling backward. She grabbed his collar, lifted him from the ground, and led him to the bed. The instant his head fell onto the plush black comforter, she was on his chest. She tied her hair back, getting it out of the way. Every vein and artery pulsed in her body. She needed him.

Koa moaned and plunged her teeth into his neck. She drank, greedily. She knew why she was so hungry, so out of control, and yet she didn’t care. Halston could abandon her. Her mother could keep secrets from her. She would have a new family, one that wouldn’t lie to her or hide things from her.

The blood gushed into her mouth and that familiar euphoria radiated throughout her entire body. She could feel his blood rushing and meeting with her own.

She felt powerful. She felt invincible. Koa could feel herself healing as she drained the blood from Ian’s neck.

She nearly cried out from the intense pleasure. Her heart was breaking. Halston had hurt her, but Ian was sustaining her. He was rebuilding her. Koa sucked the blood until Ian was nearly dry.

Dry? Koa paled. No!

Ian let out a whimper and Koa froze. She realized what she had done and ripped her mouth away from his neck. Alarm overcame her when she looked down at his pale face. She grabbed him.

He was cold.

She screamed the most horrified scream she’d ever heard leave her lungs.

“Ian!” Koa tapped his shoulder. “Are you all right?” She shook him. He was limp and unresponsive. Koa’s eyes widened. Terror overcame her.

Ian’s eyes fluttered closed and she squealed.

“Ian!” She grabbed his face and shook his head from side to side. He groaned.

Koa slapped him. She couldn’t let the young man die. She loved him, in her own way. He had been her pet for nearly three years. She was paying his way through the University. She couldn’t lose him. He meant more to her than the blood.

There were nights when they would talk for hours after her feeding. She knew everything there was to know about him. She knew that his mother had died of cancer when he was in high school, and that his father had killed himself shortly afterward. He had been sent to live with an aunt until he was of legal age, and left the states as soon as he graduated.

Ian was smart. He studied chemistry and archeology, of all things. He’d always wanted to be like Indiana Jones. Koa nearly smiled at the memory of him telling her that. She couldn’t let this good young man die.

An idea came to her. It hit her full force and wouldn’t back down. Koa had no choice. She would set him free.

She leaned down to his ear. “Ian… do you want to live?”

Ian’s head lolled to the side. He weakly opened an eye and stared at her drunkenly with it. Koa could feel her heart racing.

What have I done? I’ve become a monster. Koa swallowed. Halston was right to fire her. She had become the very creature they fought to stop.

His life was hanging from a thread. She could see the luster start to leave those hazel eyes.

She felt her heart skip a beat when he mouthed the word, yes.

Koa swallowed. She licked her lips of the blood and nodded. “Are you sure?” Koa whispered. “You know what I mean, don’t you?”

Ian nodded and his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

Koa shot up and bit her wrist. She shoved her bleeding wrist into his mouth and squeezed her eyes shut the moment he started to drink from her. She’d never, ever turned someone before. She had no idea what it meant. She hadn’t a clue what this would change. She was contributing to the vampire population, the very beings that she and Halston and his organization strove to decrease.

Koa almost forgot. She wasn’t a part of the organization anymore. She could follow her own rules. Besides, Ian wasn’t a bad person. Therefore, he would not be one of the bad vampires that she had once been sent out to kill.

She felt a pang of guilt the instant Ian withdrew his mouth and cried out in pain. She rolled off of him and onto the floor. Like a frightened child, Koa scrambled into a corner. She watched him with wide, horrified eyes and pulled her legs into her chest. She held her legs close with both arms wrapped around them and tearfully watched as Ian’s human body died.

Ian writhed and cried as his body was thrown back and forth across the bed. He begged in agony for help. Koa couldn’t control her sobs when he cried out for his mother. He was delirious with pain and it hurt her to hear him suffer.

Koa wished she could help him. She’d never seen this before. His cries cut into her very soul.

His cries continued for far too long, and then, there was silence. The silence was so thick that Koa realized that she was holding her breath. She looked at his body through a blurry film of tears.

Did I do it right? Timidly, Koa crawled onto all fours. She peeked over the side of the bed at his body. Ian lied there, sprawled across the bed, as if frozen… or lifeless.

His black hair was wild and covered his face. It was soaking wet from his sweat.

Koa sucked in a breath. Tears choked her. “No,” she whispered. She climbed onto the bed. Something was wrong. “Ian. Please.” She touched his face. It was cold as ice, even colder than before she fed him her blood. She buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook with her wracking sobs.

Koa was devastated. Ian had been more than a pet. Ian had been a friend. Koa felt her heart breaking. She’d never had many friends in her life, and she just killed one.

The bed creaked. Koa moved her hands from her face. She was almost too afraid to look… too afraid to hope.

Through tears, Koa looked at Ian’s face. It was blurry, but she could see, with delight, that he was looking back at her.

Koa gasped and tackled him with glee. She littered his face with dozens of kisses. She laughed maniacally.

“Ian! You’re all right.”

He nodded and smiled. He hugged her tightly and Koa could feel that he was stronger. His arms no longer felt weak. His grip on her felt as hard as stone. She felt safe. She felt relieved and joyous.

“Yes, mistress. Thank you.”

Koa pulled back. She held his face in both of her hands and gave him a serious look. “No more mistress. Understood? I am Koa to you from now on.”

His smile widened. “Yes, mis—” He paused and laughed. Koa couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, Koa.” He ran a hand over her side again. He looked up in surprise. “You’re all healed!”

Koa kissed his forehead. “Thanks to you.” After all of the inner turmoil she experienced only seconds ago, she felt at peace.

A knock came at the door. Koa glanced at it. She knew who was there. She knew her scent. Cinnamon and sugar.

“Come on in, Lexi.”

Lexi opened the door and peeked inside. She smacked on her cinnamon flavored gum and looked at the two of them. She sighed and shook her head. The door closed behind her.

“You two are getting a bit loud, don’t you think?” Lexi looked at Koa who sat on Ian’s lap in nothing but what she left Halston’s loft in. Her panties and bra.

Koa came to her feet. She walked over to the nightstand where she kept a few of her belongings in case she actually wanted to stay longer than a night. Koa pulled out her credit card. She nodded to Ian. “Welcome Ian Pratt to the club. He’s my sire.”

Lexi looked at Koa in disbelief. “You sired someone?” She stared at Ian and smirked. “Not a bad choice.”

Ian was on his feet and looking at himself in the mirror. Koa and Lexi watched as he checked himself out. He smiled as he fixed his hair which seemed to have a bit more luster. His eyes were a little brighter. Ian examined his neck, which was smooth and clear of fang marks. He looked over at them.

“Sweet!” He turned and looked at his profile and held his shirt up. “Call me crazy but is it just me, or did my abs become more defined?”

Koa shook her head with a smile glued to her face. It had worked. Lexi took her card.

“You know what this means, right? You sire him, you have to take care of him.”

Koa looked at her and shrugged. “I have been taking care of him for the past three years.”

Mischief danced in Lexi’s eyes. “Oh no, Koa. That’s not what I mean. He has to live with you now. He’s like a baby, and you have to watch over him until he is prepared to go off into the world on his own.” She mocked a curtsy and winked before leaving. “Have fun,” she sang as she left the room.

Koa stood there after Lexi left and felt something new. She thought of what Lexi had said and it didn’t bother her. She had purpose. This was just what she needed to take her mind off Halston.

She felt proud. After twenty-one years as a vampire, she had created something. She watched Ian, who turned to her with a sweet, childlike smile.

Then, she thought of her mother, Raven. She was still cross with her, but after all, Raven was still her mother. She had cared for her all alone for years, and it hadn’t been easy. Koa felt a little guilty for being so vengeful all of the time. She had left Halston’s loft with hopes of hurting him. She wanted him to feel the way she had felt.

Koa almost wondered if what Raven and Halston was keeping from her really was for her own good. She frowned at the thought. She wasn’t prepared to let Halston be right about this too. Still, she had to go home or Raven would go insane with worry.

What will she think about Ian? Koa cringed. She could already imagine the scolding she’d receive.

Koa leaned against the door and closed it. She watched Ian. She felt a little motherly love for him now.

Her mind was set. She would bring him home, and she would have a real family again.

Her smile returned when she realized that she had just made herself an eternal companion. She didn’t need Halston anymore. Koa sighed and fought tears. If only that were true.

20

KOA WAS READY TO MOVE ON from the disappointment of losing her place in Halston’s crew. She waited in eagerness for Ian to shower and change and they checked out of Wryn Castle. Now, they would both need charges. Lexi set up a meeting for them to pick their new charges the next night.

Koa could wait at least a week to feed, but Ian was now a full vampire and would need to drink blood each night. Koa wasn’t sure she liked the idea that they would have to be apart each night. She didn’t really like the thought of him spending time away from her with a young beauty.

Shaking her head as she weaved down the dark roads in Ian’s car, Koa realized that she was already being possessive. Ian wasn’t her pet anymore. Now she knew how Halston felt about her spending just one night with a young attractive human.

The sun would soon rise, and so Koa drove as quickly as she could, but Ian had an old piece of junk that barely got over 50mph. She was excited to convert her cellar into Ian’s living quarters.

She was surprised by how excited she was to bring him home. She was excited to be able to train and teach someone else for a change. Now, Koa would pass along everything her father, and Halston, had taught her over the years. She imagined Ian just soaking up the information like a sponge. She could tell that he would probably be a better vampire than she was.

Ian was full of energy just like a hyper child. She could only imagine just how much energy he’d have after his first full feeding. She wondered what special skill he’d acquire. Netherworld vamps were born with special skills, and sometimes even the New World vampires would inherit a small measure of such skills.

Koa grinned. Her imagination went wild. She was excited to find out if Ian would be so lucky as to have a skill. Koa and Halston sometimes talked about her ability to fly, and that perhaps she had inherited it from her father. Koa wondered if that was her skill, or if it was something else.

“Can we stop and grab some of my things from my flat?”

Koa gave him a sideling glance. “You have a flat now?”

He nodded. “Yeah, that money you put in my account let me leave the hostels and find a roommate. This kid named Robert. He’s from the states, too, and we get along all right.”

Koa shrugged. “Do you really need anything? I was going to buy you new stuff. New clothes and shoes. Whatever you’d like.”

Ian laughed. “Um, okay. Is there something wrong with my clothes?”

Koa glanced at what he was wearing. Jeans that were torn at the bottom from dragging beneath his shoes and an old Super Mario T-shirt. She cleared her throat and looked away. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

“I think you want me to be your new toy.”

Koa blushed.

Ian put a hand on hers. He gave her a sweet smile. “I don’t mind. Honestly. I kind of like that you have an interest in me, even if you want to change me a bit.” His smile widened. “It’ll be like Beauty and the Geek and you can give me the whole makeover deal.”

Koa laughed. “What’s that?”

Ian shrugged. “Just some cheesy show that used to come on back home.”

“I guess that does sound like fun.” Koa’s mind raced with ideas. Haircuts and a new wardrobe. Koa was afraid that she’d create a monster… a vampire that the women couldn’t resist. It was an intriguing thought. She’d always wanted to do something like this.

Ian nodded. “It does.” He looked out the window and became quiet for a while. Koa glanced over at him. She wished she knew what he was thinking.

“Are you all right?” Koa asked softly. She had known him long enough to genuinely care about him, and now, he was linked to her by blood.

He nodded, but kept looking out into the darkness of the countryside. They passed mountains and thick forests on either side. “I just forgot something is all.”

Koa noticed the sadness in his voice. He looked at her with those large puppy dog eyes that made her want to just hug him. “What is it?”

“I won’t ever see the sun again, will I?”

Koa took a deep breath. Her eyes went up to the sky. She felt ashamed that she was able to walk in the sun and she had just stolen that privilege from Ian. She gave a regretful look and shook her head.

Ian shrugged, but Koa could tell that it was still bothering him. He was being nice, to not make her self-conscious. “I guess that isn’t too awful. I could be dead, right?”

Koa paled.

He made a face. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I don’t blame you. I promise.”

Koa put both hands on the steering wheel and focused on the road. Her brows furrowed. He should blame her. He was right. She’d nearly killed him. Halston had always warned her. She winced. “No. I’m the one who should be sorry. I’ve been reckless lately. I lost my self-control.”

He tucked a hair behind her ear and Koa gave a half-smile. He was too sweet. He didn’t know that he was only making her feel guiltier.

“I think I always wanted this. There’s been enough death in my life already. Death scares me.”

Koa nodded. She’d seen too much death in her short life as well. “Me too.”

“I just realized that I took the sun for granted.”

Koa realized just how much she had taken from him.

They drove the rest of the time in silence. Ian finally fell asleep and Koa hated to wake him when she pulled into the driveway of the cottage.

Koa watched him sleep for a moment and saw the sky start to brighten. She quickly got out of the car and ran around to his side. She opened the door and gave Ian a shove.

“Come on, let’s get you inside.”

He groggily nodded and took her hand. She pulled him along to the front door. Koa was surprised to find that Raven was waiting for her at the door.

Koa took a deep breath. Raven looked really confused when she saw Ian but she didn't question her when they came inside. She seemed to be happy just to have her daughter return.

Ian stepped inside and looked around in awe. He seemed to wait timidly beside the door, holding his backpack and looking around into the darkness of the cottage. Koa smiled and took Ian’s hand in hers, much like Halston did when they were together. She knew the power such a gesture held.

Ian’s hand was no longer warm like Halston’s. It was cold.

She hid a frown and led him inside. She would have to get used to all of the changes Ian would undergo. She rubbed his back for encouragement.

Raven looked him up and down. “And who are you?”

Ian jumped when he noticed the black cat waiting in the shadows. He looked at Raven in surprise, and he gave Koa a wide-eyed look. “The cat talks?” He shook his head in bewilderment. A smile came to his lips. “Remarkable.”

Koa laughed to herself. She smiled at her mother, hoping she’d see Ian’s charm, his childlike innocence.

Raven didn’t look amused. She merely stared at the young man, assessing him.

Koa cleared her throat. She whispered close to his ear, remembering how vehement Raven got when she mentioned their secret, even when they were alone at home. “Well, Raven is… special. Ian, meet Raven.” She pointed down to the cat.

Ian was speechless.

“Well.” Ian scratched his temple as he examined the black cat before him. “I always knew you were different, Koa. I always thought you were enchanted and so forth, but I can’t say that I expected this.” He gave a half-smile as if he still didn’t believe it. “Wow.” He knelt down and rubbed Raven on the head. “Nice to meet you... Raven.”

Raven blinked at him. Koa could tell that she didn’t approve.

Koa sighed. “She’s not really a cat, Ian.” She lowered her voice again. “She’s my mother…”

Raven shook her head and licked her paw.

Ian’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

Koa waved her arms. “There’s a whole curse and everything, but I don’t really want to discuss the details right this instant. We have an eternity to go over such things.”

She looked over her shoulder at Raven. “And, Raven, I'll explain everything to you in just a moment. Please don't be angry.”

She led the way to the staircase that led to the cellar.

Koa heard Ian’s footsteps stop, and she turned around. “What’s wrong?”

She was a little disappointed that she couldn’t give him one of the grand guestrooms of her father’s manor and that she only had a cellar to offer him. She could see reluctance on his face. “What’s wrong?”

Ian shrugged. “Nothing. I’m fine.” He squinted as he looked down the staircase.

She could tell that he didn't like the idea but he didn't want to seem ungrateful. Koa sighed. “It’s not what you think. I'm going to make it lovely for you. I will have a decorator in here tomorrow and she’ll make it into the grandest one-bedroom apartment you've ever lived in.”

Ian looked a little nervous. “I didn’t mean anything. I’m really very appreciative. I just… don’t really like cellars.”

Koa lifted a brow.

“You see, in every horror movie I ever saw when I was a little boy, the cellar or the basement was always where the monsters lived.” Ian’s shoulders slumped. “I guess I’m the monster now.”

Koa’s lips parted. She didn’t know how to respond to that. The comment was heartbreaking when she thought about it. She shook it out of her head. She couldn't bear to feel any guiltier than she already did.

She nodded. “I understand. Just take a look. It’s not what you are imagining.”

Ian grinned as he looked from the cellar to Koa. “This is a pretty old house. You sure there aren’t any ghosts here?”

Koa shook her head and chuckled. “I can assure you, there aren’t any ghosts.” Koa was surprised to learn of Ian’s fears. She felt drawn closer to him. She had her own fears. After everything she had been through, she was still afraid of the dark. Koa wanted to protect Ian from such fears.

“Just checking. With you, I can never be sure,” Ian joked.

“Trust me.”

Ian followed behind her. He kept talking and she could tell that he was trying to not think about how afraid he was. “I'm not really sleepy. I guess I'll get some homework done.”

Koa paused on the stairs and looked back at him. Her face eyebrows furrowed. “You’re going to try to go back to school?”

He gave her look. “What? I can't go back to school now?”

Koa thought a moment. She shook her head. Even though she could walk in the sun, Koa had never been to school. She’d been taught by her mother at home and later by a tutor her father had hired to come to the manor. “I don’t know how you're going to do that. You cannot go out in the daytime. No vampire can.”

Ian looked a little defeated. “Why can you go out in the daytime?”

“I really don’t know why, Ian. No one knows for sure. I think it’s because my mother was human.”

Ian looked perplexed. “Your mother is a cat.”

“Cursed. She was born a human.”

“If you say so,” Ian said, thinking. “I don’t buy it.”

Koa frowned. No one had ever questioned her mother’s humanity, but something made her bite her tongue. She almost argued with Ian that her mother had been human, but then she paused.

How could she be sure? Koa was certain that her mother had done something to those vampires when she entered Bund’s lair. Bund had been afraid when he saw her, even after all of his incessant taunting.

Bund had been afraid.

“I guess you’re right.” He put his hands in his pocket, “I didn’t realize how much I would give up.”

Koa stroked his cheek. She gave him an encouraging smile. “We will figure something out,” she said with a smile. “Don’t worry about it. Don’t worry about anything ever again. I'm going to teach you everything. You don't even really need school anymore. You’re a smart guy and now you're immortal.”

Ian nodded. “You’re right. Now, come on.” He nodded for Koa to continue down the stairs. “Show me this grand cellar that I’ll be spending the night in.”

Koa walked down the stairs and entered a large room that covered pretty much the entire expanse of the cottage. The walls were made of stone and the floors were a dark concrete color. Koa could see what she could do with the room. She could only hope that Ian could see it too.

There were still boxes everywhere. She felt a little bad, but it was only temporary.

There was an antique sofa and a few tables strewn about. Koa hadn't quite set anything up yet. Her books were still lying on a desk, waiting to be put away on her bookcases.

She played with her hair. She was a little embarrassed. She prided herself on her cleanliness and preferred everything to be neat and in its place. She just hadn’t the time with everything that had happened.

Ian didn't seem to mind. He sat on the sofa and set his laptop on a table. He leaned back and took a look around the cellar. “I admit, it’s not as dark down here as I imagined. Still, a little creepy but I will survive. I don't think I am going to sleep well tonight— this morning, I mean.”

“Do you want some company?” Koa didn’t know if she could sleep either.

“I’m all right, thanks. You get some rest. From that wound you had earlier, it looks like you had quite the night. I am just going to do some research on vampires.”

“Sure, you do that, but I think I could tell you a lot more about vampires than what you will find on the Internet.”

“I'm sure you can, but I just want to do a little research myself, see what the humans know and we can compare notes later.”

Koa nodded. “You big nerd,” she teased.

Ian beamed. “Thank you. I take that as a compliment.”

Koa rolled her eyes and laughed. She started up the stairs. “I’ll come back for you at sunset.”

“See you then.”

She went upstairs and closed the door behind her. The sun was rising and the house was starting to brighten. She leaned against the door and Raven was waiting there for her.

Koa sighed and took a step toward her. She prepared herself for the scolding.

Raven surprised her. “He’s a nice boy, Koa.”

Koa was taken aback. She never expected that from her mother. She expected a major scolding.

Raven tilted her head. “I always knew you’d sire someone. I am surprised you didn’t do it sooner.”

“How did you always know that? I kill vampires.”

“I can tell he’s a good person. Therefore he’ll make a good vampire.”

Koa felt relieved.

“But now you have one more person to worry about. For instance, Bund will be seeking revenge. Who do you think he will target if he can’t get one of us?”

Koa swallowed. She didn’t know what to say. She looked at the cellar door.

It was her duty to protect her family. Raven walked into the darkness of the den. Koa looked up at the sky. She did something she rarely did anymore. She prayed.

21

STRANGE THINGS HAPPENED at night. Koa was aware of most of them, but the Netherworld was new to her. She knew she’d been there once before with her father, yet she couldn’t remember it. The Netherworld remained a mystery to her, and she was determined to unlock its secrets.

Koa knew she was dreaming. It was the same dream most nights, and so she let herself explore this world. She stood in a thick white mist and felt her hair flapping around her face. Drops of dew made her face slick, and her bare feet touched cool stones.

She looked up. Someone was playing a violin. She knew the tune and started to hum along. The song grew louder and yet Koa couldn’t see who played the beautiful melody. She strained to see who played from somewhere in the clouds above, and then, she saw it.

The Gate, where the nephilim were escaping the Netherworld. Koa stared at it with wide eyes. She’d never gotten this far in the dream before. Now she looked at the stone gate and felt her skin crawl with anxiety. She knew she shouldn’t be there, and yet, she felt as though it called to her.

Koa wanted to wake up. The violin was starting to play so loudly that she had to cover her ears. Koa felt weak. The Gate started to glide closer to her and she panicked. She couldn’t move. Her feet were stuck to the ground. Koa gasped and tried to pull her feet free as the Gate continued its way toward her.

Something terrible waited inside that door, and she wanted to run from it. She knew it meant her harm and felt herself sweat with terror.

Shadows, like the ones Halston had managed to control, lunged at her. They grabbed her with their frigid hands and yet her flesh burned to the bone. Koa screamed. The hot, searing pain was unbearable and she fell to her knees. The Shadows held her steady, and she squeezed her eyes shut as they brought their faces closer to hers.

“Come back to us, Koa,” they chanted. One of the Shadows leaned in close. The black face morphed into Bund’s. Bund grinned at her. His tongue reached out to her and she screamed.

Someone shook her awake.

Koa grabbed Ian by the neck and he had to peel her fingers from around his throat.

“Koa,” he gasped. He looked at her fearfully. “It’s me!”

Realizing who he was, Koa quickly scrambled away. She was covered in sweat. “Ian! I’m sorry.”

“You’re strong!” Ian sat up and rubbed his neck.

Koa forced a smile. “Forgive me. I was dreaming.”

“You were screaming.”

Koa pulled her hair off her neck and grumbled at how heavy with sweat it was. She pushed herself up to her feet and sat on the edge of the bed. “What time is it?”

Ian put his hands in his pocket. He gave her a sheepish look. “I think it’s time to eat.”

Koa came to her feet. “Oh shit! Yes. Our appointment is tonight!”

Ian didn’t budge. “Appointment?”

Koa quickly pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it to her hamper in the corner of the room. She darted into the bathroom to heat the shower. Ian avoided looking directly at her exposed body and turned away.

What a gentleman, she thought. She stood in the bathroom doorway.

“We choose our pets tonight, at Wryn Castle.”

Ian perked up then. “I get my own? Like I was to you? A pet?”

Koa nodded. “Exactly.”

“Whomever I want?”

“Whomever you want.”

Ian grinned and Koa smiled as she hopped into the shower. Once she closed the shower curtain, her smile faded. The fear from her dream still lingered. After all of those years of having the same dream of the mists and the violin, she’d never seen the Gate or the Shadows that waited for her inside of it.

Koa washed her hair and tried to forget the pain she felt when they touched her. The hot water ran down her body, and she closed her eyes. If only she could talk to Halston about things. She covered her face and sighed. She missed him so much that she felt physical pain.

She hurried and finished her shower to see that Ian had decided to wait outside. Koa didn’t mind him seeing her nude. They’d have an eternity together, such things were trivial now.

She was surprised to see Raven waiting for her on her bed.

Her big green eyes looked up at Koa.

“This is a nice little house, Koa,” Raven said.

“Perhaps.” Koa sighed and continued getting ready. “It is a bit small.”

“It is only the three of us now that you’ve increased our family,” Raven pointed out and Koa couldn’t help but smile. “We don’t need a massive house with dozens of rooms. Never did.”

“It reminds me too much of our old house in Korea.”

Raven didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

Raven purred. “It’s all right. I was just trying to remember it. It gets harder to remember things. Every day, I lose a memory.”

Koa had many memories that she feared she’d forget as well. The sound of her mother playing the piano for her father still lingered in her mind. She’d give anything to hear her mother’s music again. There was a time when Raven would cook for her every night. She let out a soft sigh. She missed those days. She grabbed her gloves.

“Going somewhere, darling?”

“Yes. I need to go and choose a new pet. Ian must do the same. Want to come?”

Raven blinked. “I don’t think so. Why were you screaming anyway?”

Koa turned away and fumbled with her wardrobe. “You heard me?”

“Yes, the entire village heard you, Koa.”

Koa shook her head. “It was just a bad dream.”

“You’ve been having those bad dreams a lot more often lately.”

“Well, consider all that I’ve been through in just the past month! Who wouldn’t be a little traumatized?”

“Was it about the Netherworld again?”

Koa sighed and nodded. She lowered her eyes and stared at her feet. The last thing she wanted to do was worry her mother. Raven was intuitive though. Koa could never keep anything from her. Even when Koa was a child, Raven always knew when something was wrong.

“Don’t drag the boy into this.”

Koa’s brows furrowed. “Into what?”

Raven was silent and Koa grew suspicious.

Koa huffed. “I was just trying to have a real talk with you. I’m sick of all of the secrets. I’m leaving.”

“Wait.”

Koa paused and glanced over her shoulder with a frown. “What?”

Raven sat up and looked at her for a moment. “There’s something I need to tell you, Koa.”

Koa’s eyebrows lifted. She knew that, finally, her mother was going to reveal whatever secret she’d been keeping.

Raven nodded to the door that was open just a crack. Ian waited outside.

“Close the door.”

Koa did so and sat down on the chaise lounge in the corner of the room. She folded her hands across her knee and sat up straight, like an apt pupil prepared for the lesson of a lifetime.

Raven took her time. Koa could tell that she was thinking of how to say what was on her mind.

“Koa, the first thing you should know… is that your father wasn’t just another vampire. He was a Netherworld vamp. He was a king.”

Koa slumped back in her seat and watched her mother with wide eyes. She felt her palms start to sweat and rubbed them on her knees. Her throat was dry. This was one thing she never expected to hear. Maybe she was suspicious that her father was a Netherworld vamp because of the Lyrinian sword he left her, but she could never have guessed that he was a king.

“He was king of the Northern Dominance, a major kingdom in the Netherworld, and was overthrown by King Greggan. He lost his kingdom and was banished to the mortal world.”

“Wow,” Koa said as she sat back up. She couldn’t think of what else to say. All she knew of him was the difficult life without him and a privileged life with him. Still, although her time with him was short, she had grown to love and respect him. She remembered how much he loved her mother. That was a memory that stood at the forefront of her mind.

“That makes you not just half vampire, but half Netherworld vamp. You have one of the strongest strains of blood running through your veins.”

Koa sat up. “Is that why I can fly, and other vampires cannot?”

Raven shook her head. “No, Koa. Not even Netherworld vamps can fly. That brings me to… your other half.”

Koa tensed. She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?” Koa stared at Raven, and all she could see were those green eyes that had glowed so brightly in Bund’s lair. Her skin started to crawl. The air in the room seemed to still with the anticipation she felt.

What are you, mother? What are you? Koa was almost too afraid to know, but she had to.

“Before I was cursed…” Raven took a deep breath. “I wasn’t human.”

Koa stood. She looked down at Raven in astonishment. She couldn’t even speak the words she was thinking. Her throat tightened.

What are you? Koa shouted in her head. The suspense was maddening.

“I don’t know what I was, Koa. But your father did, and so did Greggan, and that is why he wants us both. We are the only beings that can mate with a vampire and create day-walking spawn.”

Koa’s shoulders slumped. “What the hell are we?”

Raven’s feline eyes closed and she sighed. “I wish I knew. I was an orphan. I was abandoned, Koa. I never had a mother or father. All I had was myself and my talents—” Her voice cracked. “And I lived a hard life before I met your father. It was even harder when you were born, with no one to turn to for help, but you gave me a reason to live.”

Koa bit her lip. She had never heard her mother speak so bitterly about her past. She never knew her mother was an orphan.

“Who was Hayan then? I always called her grandmother.”

Raven sighed. “All of the children did, Koa. She was a kind woman, and she helped me from time to time. She knew there was something special about me. I returned her generosity whenever I could.”

Koa felt cheated. She never even had real grandparents.

“You see, I could do things that no one else could. I could… make people disappear. Bill collectors, enemies”—Raven cleared her throat— “abusive husbands...”

“Mother, why tell me all of this now? Why not sooner?”

Raven hissed. “How many times do I have to tell you? Do not call me that, ever again!”

Koa’s eyes widened at her mother’s tone. She looked down at the wooden floor.

“Not even in private.” Raven settled and lowered her voice. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “You never know who is listening.”

“I’m sorry.” Koa reached for her. “What are you so afraid of?”

“Koa, you don’t understand what I’ve done to protect you. There are so many creatures that want you dead, and then, there are those that wish to see you brought back for your birthright.”

Koa folded her arms across her chest and walked to the window. Her mother could make people disappear. She thought of how Bund fled when he saw her mother. She wondered what that meant. She wondered if he was still out there somewhere, ready for revenge. Then she thought about what an amazing skill that was. She began to smile. My mother is a nephilim…

“There goes every shred of my humanity,” Koa whispered, and her smile faded.

Koa pulled the heavy drapes open and looked out into the darkness. She glanced over at the neighbor’s garden a few yards away. She could see lights and candles set up as they had a party of some sort. She could even hear the music playing and the people laughing and talking. She stared out at them and pressed her forehead to the cool glass. She sighed as she watched the happy people.

They looked so content. She wished she could feel even a fraction of that kind of happiness.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Find Jax.”

Koa swirled around. Something sparked inside her mind, but she couldn’t decipher what it was. There was something familiar about the name, Jax. Something ignited both a longing and a fear within her. She felt uncomfortable. She shifted her weight onto her other leg and looked down at her mother.

She frowned. “Where have I heard that name?”

Raven stared at her. There was a long pause and Koa frowned.

“What is it?”

Raven shook her head. “Nothing.” She hopped off the bed and walked over on all fours to stand before Koa. “I don’t know why you would have heard that name.”

Koa looked at the ceiling and tapped her chin with her index finger. The name sounded so familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She hated that.

“Who is he then?”

Raven hesitated. “He is Greggan’s son.”

Koa watched Raven. She could tell that there was more. She gave Raven a look and held her hands out, expecting her to elaborate.

Raven remained silent. She was still keeping secrets.

“Out with it!”

Raven glared up at her. “He is the one responsible for my curse.”

22

KOA DROVE ALL the way to Wryn Castle in silence. Ian tried to start a conversation but she could only give him short, one-worded answers.

Jax. The name repeated itself in her head a thousand times throughout that long ride. Her face was set with anger and her hands clutched the steering wheel so tightly that the leather grooves were engrained in her palms by the time they stopped. She looked down at her reddened hands and traced the grooves.

Ian stared at her.

“Koa?” He spoke in a timid voice, as if he was afraid that she might lash out at him.

Koa turned and gave him a blank expression. Ian looked afraid of her. She didn’t care. He got out of the car and started to walk up the long stone pathway that led to the castle’s entrance without her. He glanced back once and Koa was still staring off at nothing at all, with a scowl on her face.

Jax had cursed her mother. For years Koa had missed her mother’s face. She had craved her mother’s embrace for so long that she had forgotten what it felt like, what she used to smell like, and how she used to stroke her hair.

Koa slammed her fist on the steering wheel and screamed. Her breath came in quick gasps as she tried to control her rage. She wanted him dead. Koa wanted her Lyrinian sword to feast on his blood. She repeated Raven’s words over and over again.

“Do not be hasty. Jax is Greggan’s son. He is a Netherworld vamp and faster than anyone you’ve ever encountered,” Raven had said. “Still, you must go to him.”

Koa had asked many questions, and still, Raven only told her that she must go to him, and she must learn for herself the secrets of her past. Only Koa could find a way to break the curse and set things right with both the Netherworld and the mortal world. Koa leaned her head back against the headrest. Even Raven knew Koa had to go to the Netherworld. Raven tried to convince Halston that it was necessary. Halston would never let her go. He would never risk it.

Koa wasn’t sure how dangerous the Netherworld was, but Halston’s reluctance was an indicator. She didn’t need his approval. Halston had abandoned her. She needed to start making her own decisions.

She hated to admit that was the reason he had left her in the first place—for making her own decisions.

She opened the door, stepped out, and slammed it closed. She lifted herself into the air and flew to the tall, black doorways that led into the castle.

Two guards with suits and slicked back hair opened the double doors for her without a second glance. Koa was a regular. She dared anyone to stand in her way on this night. Inside, she had no smiles for anyone.

Greta, one of Lexi’s sires, and main girlfriend, started to greet her. She must have seen the scowl on Koa's face, because she decided to keep her mouth shut. Greta stepped back behind the mahogany podium and nodded to the side hallway.

Without a desire to acknowledge her, Koa walked through the black archway and into the dimly lit corridor. Black candles lined the paneled walls.

Koa walked along the red carpet that led to the end of the hall, and the parlor door. Koa smelled the heavy scent of perfume, cologne, and alcohol. There were fresh humans waiting. They were probably nervous to find vampire masters.

She took off her gloves and stretched her fingers. She was amped and ready to hurt someone. Only blood would calm her down. If she couldn’t kill anyone tonight, she would stick to the plan, choose a new pet, and drink as much as she could without stealing a life.

There were guards at each door that led to a public room. They opened the door to the parlor and she stepped inside. Music thumped and vibrated the floor. She snatched a flute of champagne from a server and downed it. The server gave her an odd look as she put the empty glass back on the tray. She ignored him.

Koa shut her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of the music vibrating the floor. She wanted to feel anything but the hot, burning rage that pulsed throughout her entire body.

The DJ spun techno tracks and she let her head fall back as the music filled her. She smelled blood all around and found herself getting hungry and aroused. Her canines emerged and she licked them.

Koa waited until a particular scent caught her interest. She sniffed the air and her head lolled to the right. She opened her eyes and caught sight of the girl that emitted the delicious aroma. She was small, like Koa, and had a short blond bob. She wore a gold cocktail dress and ballet flats.

She smelled delicious.

Everything about her was petite, especially her waist and her small nose. Koa took two strides over to her and grabbed her by that tiny waist.

Koa kissed her. It was a passionate kiss that made Koa’s ears grow hot and her heart thump. When she broke away, she felt dizzy. Koa didn’t let the girl’s tiny waist go. She held her steady as she swooned and looked up at her with bright blue eyes.

Koa always had a thing for blue eyes. She didn’t smile at her. She couldn’t even fake one. Koa gazed into the girl’s eyes and in an instant, the girl was claimed. She would reveal everything Koa wanted without hesitation.

“What’s your name?”

“Lindley,” she breathed.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.” She had an accent, like one of those girls from the South in the states. Koa sure could pick them. She never knew she had such a taste for Americans.

“Why are you here tonight?” Koa had no idea what she was unleashing.

“My friends said it’s the most exclusive place in Europe.” Lindley lowered her voice as if she was going to tell Koa a secret. “Ann said that there were vampires here. Wait… are you a vampire? You kind of look like one… kind of pale. But pretty! You’re so pretty. I could just lick your face, you’re so cute! You know, I never even knew about vampires until I met Ann. I love you guys, though. Hey, I want to be a pet. I want a vampire to protect and support me, and buy me nice things. I hear some even let pets live with them, like mistresses. I don’t mind being a mistress.”

Koa stopped listening or caring. She had a feeling that the girl could go on… and on. She lowered her head to Lindley’s throat and breathed her sweet scent in. It was nearly as good as Ian’s and even a little dirtier. This girl wasn’t as innocent as Ian.

Perhaps that was a good thing. She wanted something different. She’d never had a girl pet. Koa wanted to be daring.

Lindley was hers.

It was official, and Lexi smiled the moment she saw them together. She shook her head with a satisfied grin and logged the transaction in her little palm device.

Lindley was still staring into Koa’s eyes with an empty headed, slack-jawed, look. Koa gave her one more soft kiss on her full pink lips and moved her hand from her waist to her small hand. She pulled Lindley along and started for the door. Ian stood near the bar with a stunning brunette, a glass of champagne, and a newfound confidence.

Ian watched Koa and gave a half-smile as if asking for her approval. He looked from the brunette and back to Koa. Koa gave him a slight nod and left the parlor. The second the guards closed the doors behind her and Lindley, it was silent in the corridor once more.

Jax. Jax. Jax.

Koa couldn’t get his name out of her head. Lindley followed her without a word and all Koa could do was imagine this grotesque creature damning her mother into that feline body that she had been forced to live in. She hated all Netherworld vamps.

She would get her revenge.

They went up the elevator and to her usual room, and Koa closed the door behind them.

23

HALSTON SAT ON A wooden bench at a park. He watched the people walking by. There was soft music playing in the background as a young man played the guitar for a group of teenage girls.

It was a rare sunny day. He held something in his hand. A small gold bracelet.

Charms dangled from it. A train, a star, and a horse. Halston sighed as he looked down at the bracelet. There was a name etched into the inside.

Galena.

Sorrow filled his body every time he read the name. The bracelet had been given to Galena by her parents before they were killed by vampires. Halston took it from her dead body that very morning.

He’d never felt this way before. His heart beat rapidly. He could barely control his breaths. Halston was always in control. Now, everything was falling apart. A woman he was supposed to protect was dead, and another whom he had grown to love hadn’t returned to her house in weeks.

How could I let this happen?

The guilt was too strong. He hadn’t shaved or showered. He still had on what he’d worn on his mission the night before. He was glad that he hadn’t had to shed any blood. He had found a newly emerged pack of vampires and convinced them to register with the Netherworld Division. They would now be monitored and set up with a clan of ‘reformed’ vampires.

Halston missed having Koa with him on such missions. She took more pleasure in reforming vampires than she did in killing them. That was what he loved about her more than anything. She had a good heart.

Another pang of guilt filled his heart and he groaned. Everyday, he thought about the look on Koa's face when he fired her. Four weeks had passed, and he hadn’t seen or heard from her.

Raven informed him that she had gone to Wryn Castle and he had followed straight there. He didn’t venture in, but he had seen her step out onto her balcony one evening. He left then, assured that she was safe, but not before watching her stare out into the horizon as if yearning for something.

Halston imagined that she was calling for him. All he wanted was an apology—an indication that she knew that what she had done was wrong. He wanted her to mean it and finally learn from her mistakes. He wanted her to grow up and take responsibility for her actions.

Halston’s hand shook as he put Galena’s bracelet back in his pocket. Bund was loose, and he was on a vengeful killing spree. Halston investigated at least fifty murders of little girls within the last month.

The poor bodies had been nailed to the doors of their homes so that the parents would see them the moment they returned. The humans were in a hysterical frenzy.

“Serial Killer! On The Loose!” Those words were on every newspaper in London. The humans that knew of nephilim existence were looking to the Netherworld Division for answers. Halston and the others didn’t know what to say. They couldn’t stop Bund.

Halston winced. He knew who could.

Raven sat beside him, waiting for him to speak. Halston was grateful for her patience.

Halston held up a newspaper and folded one leg over the other so that his shoe rested on his other knee. He didn’t look at the black cat. He looked at the paper and spoke. “It’s time. Are you ready?”

Raven nodded. “I am. I’ve told you before that I’ve been ready. Do you finally think Koa is?”

Halston felt a pain in his stomach. He didn’t like these new sensations. He missed Koa. He missed Galena. The thirst for revenge was too strong. He could not afford to allow himself to lose control.

“I can no longer wait for her to be ready. We’ve wasted enough time.”

“And who is to blame for that?” Raven asked. “I know you want to protect Koa, but she is the key to everything. We have to let her know the truth at some point.” She looked over at a little girl who came to pet her. “Before it’s too late.”

The little girl grinned at Raven, and looked up at Halston. “Is this your cat?”

Halston forced a smile. She was an adorable little brunette with a big blue bow in her hair. Maybe eight years old. Halston’s face paled as he imagined her body being nailed to the door of her house. He tried to keep the smile. He didn’t want to frighten the girl.

“It is,” Halston said. He leaned forward and picked a fallen twig out of the girl’s hair.

She smiled at him and adjusted her little black glasses. “What’s her name?”

“Raven.”

Meowing, Raven rubbed her head into the girl’s palm. The little girl giggled.

“Nice to meet you, Raven,” she said in a sweet little voice. “I’m Rebecca.”

Halston looked around the park. There were so many people around. “Where are your parents, Rebecca?”

“Right there.” She pointed over to a picnic blanket set out on the large green yard. There were dozens of other picnic blankets set all around. It was the first lovely day in a long time.

Halston nodded. “Good.” He motioned her closer with his index finger. His eyes met hers. “Promise me something.”

The girl’s eyes widened as she looked into Halston’s. She nodded as her smile faded.

Halston’s voice lowered into a whisper. “Stay with your parents, Rebecca. Keep away from strangers. Even if they seem nice… never leave with a stranger. Can you do that for me?”

Rebecca didn’t blink. She nodded slowly with her mouth agape.

“Good girl.” Halston sat back and Rebecca stared at him. “Run along to your parents now.”

Her lips trembled and she ran away toward her parents’ picnic blanket.

Watching her run away, he hoped his chance encounter with Rebecca would keep her safe from Bund’s treachery.

“I think you frightened the poor girl.” Raven lowered her head to the wooden bench seat.

Halston remained silent. He hoped he’d frightened her. That was the point.

He frowned at the words he read in the paper. There were copycat killers out there already. Sloppy humans who wanted a piece of the fame Bund was receiving in secret. “It’s my fault that we’ve wasted so much time. I’ve let enough people die.”

Raven sighed. “I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty. Bund is the killer here. Let’s move past that and focus on the issue at hand. We need to stop him. He should be our main priority right now. We can go after Greggan later. Bund isn’t only working for pay. This is personal to him.”

Halston closed the paper and looked at the sky. There was something he hoped to hear, or see. A sign maybe.

Halston closed his eyes and sighed. There would be no more signs. Galena’s body nailed to his door this morning was enough. He would never be able to erase the image of Galena nailed to his door by her wrists and feet. Her eyes had been pulled out of her head and replaced with silver buttons. Her mouth had been sewn shut. Worst of all, from the neck down, her skin had been ripped from her body.

Halston swallowed. His stomach still felt unsettled. He didn’t think he’d be able to eat for a while. Halston had almost cried when he pulled Galena’s body down. He would have, if the rage hadn’t taken over. Halston had almost gone over the edge. He had almost lost himself.

“Will you go get her then?” Raven spoke quietly.

Halston looked at her. He pictured Koa’s little face with her big, green eyes looking up at him. He missed cupping her face in his hands.

He missed her scent, humor, and bravery. He missed her smile. The way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she was genuinely happy made him almost smile. He believed that was her gift to him. Koa rarely smiled like that for anyone else.

Halston sat up straight. He watched Rebecca sitting in between her parents. She was staring at him. “No. She will come to me.”

Raven made a face. “How are you so sure?”

Halston sat back and watched a couple standing near the fence surrounding a pond. They held hands and pointed to the geese.

“I just know.”

24

KOA WAS DRUNK on Lindley’s blood. She stayed in the Wryn castle for a month and learned everything there was to know about her new pet. Lindley was asleep and holding onto Koa like a child holding onto a Teddy bear. Koa didn’t mind. She enjoyed being held.

Lindley smelled like vanilla and sex.

She was one of the most alluring people Koa had shared a bed with, but she hadn’t actually had sex with the girl. Lindley just had this seductive scent about her that Koa was sure drove the men mad. She only drank from her, though. Somehow, the thought of Halston’s disapproval still bothered her.

She looked up at the ceiling and frowned. Koa shouldn’t care anymore. She refused to. She played with Lindley’s short hair. It was soft and silky, and fell between Koa’s fingers with ease.

I don’t want Lindley in that way anyway, Koa reasoned. There was only one man she wanted and she would save herself for him.

Koa sighed and glanced down at her. Lindley wore her panties and bra, and looked like a sleeping angel with her pale skin and blond hair on the cream comforter.

I made a good choice. She kissed her forehead and smiled. All of her pent up aggression had been somewhat relieved by her feeding.

Now she would just have to get back on a schedule. She’d had so much human blood lately that her energy was at an optimal level. She hadn’t felt this strong in a long time. The thought of what damage she could do both frightened and intrigued her.

Koa’s eyes widened. She gently moved Lindley’s sleeping body aside and came to her feet. She stretched her arms and rolled her neck. She felt powerful.

“What better time than now to visit the Netherworld?” Koa spoke the word and her heart started to race. The adrenaline pulsed through her at an alarming rate.

I’m ready.

She wanted to go, and no one could stop her. She hurried and grabbed her things. She put on her gloves and grabbed her sword.

Something made Koa pause. She looked at the phone that sat on the sleek, black nightstand.

Koa knew what she had to do. Raven had known it, too. Koa picked up the phone and called Halston.

She held her breath as the phone started to ring. It rang twice. “Koa?” He yawned. “Is that you, Koa?”

Koa mustered her strength. “Yes. It’s me.”

“It’s three in the morning.” His voice perked up. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Halston.” Koa bit the corner of her lip. She felt her heart beating and her palms sweating. “I miss you.”

Silence.

“Hello?” Koa panicked. I knew this was a bad idea!

“I miss you too, Koa. Where have you been?”

“Wryn.”

“With Ian.”

Koa walked over to the balcony and stepped out into the night. “Yes. I sired him.”

“I knew that would happen.”

Koa smiled. Same old Halston. “Of course you knew, Halston. You know everything.”

“How does he like being a vampire?”

“He loves it. He gets along with my new pet,” Koa hesitated. “Her name is Lindley.”

“I see.” He didn’t sound thrilled.

“Halston,” Koa said as she looked across the rolling hills toward the lake. “I need you.”

“What is it, Koa? What happened?”

Koa held onto the stone balcony and closed her eyes. She had to be brave. “I am going to the Netherworld, and I need you to come with me.” She stuttered. “I want you to come with me.”

Halston surprised her. “Are you sure that you’re ready?”

Koa felt her eyes water. “I am. I promise, I am ready.” She closed the French doors to the balcony and sat on the cold stone floor. “I forgive you.”

“Forgive me?” Halston asked. He sounded amused.

Koa sighed. “Yes. I was angry with you for firing me—so angry that I almost killed Ian.” She squeezed her eyes closed. She’d never forget how horrible she’d felt when she thought that he was dead. She’d spent the month teaching him just as much as she spent feeding and learning about Lindley.

“Go on.”

She growled in exasperation. “I get it, Halston! You taught me a lesson! There! Happy?”

Halston chuckled.

Koa pouted. Her brows drew in and she frowned. “It’s not funny!”

He continued to chuckle. “I know. I can’t help it. You just said exactly what I wanted to hear.”

Koa’s frowned deepened. “Well, this is not the appropriate time to be laughing.”

Halston cleared his throat. “Right. Go on. You were talking about… learning lessons and so forth?”

Koa leaned against the French doors. She looked up at the moon. “Yes. I can be a little… headstrong sometimes.”

“Headstrong, you say?”

Koa rolled her eyes. “Yes. You heard me.”

“I see.”

“I used to follow my own rules and look at where it got me. Nearly torn to bits by a demon, and I nearly killed a good friend.” Koa played with the ends of her blue hair. She twirled a lock around her finger. “I just want a piece of my memory back. I want to break my mother’s curse, and kill Bund. These are the things that make me lose myself. Whenever I want something, you know, I’ll do anything to get it… and that’s not always right. I realize that I cannot do this on my own.” Koa closed her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“For?”

Koa shook her head. She had to bite her lip. Halston was dragging this apology out. She slowly let out a breath. “For not listening to you,” she muttered.

Silence. Koa expected him to laugh.

“Koa, I believe you.”

Koa’s burned with tears.

“Together, we can do this.”

Koa smiled and wiped a tear. “Thank you, Halston.”

“But I must warn you, it’s not going to be easy. There are so many who want you dead and I am not as strong as I used to be. But you have my vow that I will protect you with all the power that I have.”

Koa nodded. “I know. Thank you, Halston.” Koa opened the door and glanced at her sleeping pet. Lindley had given her more than she knew. She could feel herself radiating with newfound strength.

“Let’s do this.”

“Now?”

Koa grinned. She had her Halston back. She was more ready than ever. “Right now.”

25

THE GATE TO THE Netherworld started at the center of a craggy pit and reached up toward the heavens. It sat in the deepest part of the hidden forest, where humans would never venture. The Gate was invisible to humans. To them, there was nothing but a mountain with thick evergreen vines wrapped around its base.

Koa touched the cool vine. It trembled and coiled away from her. An outline of a door stretched along the stone and revealed itself to her. Koa took a long breath of the cool air.

This is it, Koa thought as she breathed in the scent of coal. I am actually going to the Netherworld. She almost felt giddy with excitement. She had butterflies in her stomach. She’d dreamed of this day.

Koa stepped through the wall and there stood Halston. She couldn’t suppress her smile. She beamed at him and glanced back just in time to see the wall vanish behind her. She reached out and it reappeared. Koa pulled her hand back and it vanished again. She shivered and rubbed her arms as she turned back toward Halston.

He was dressed in black and wore a grim look on his pale face. No well-tailored suit or chic fedora and expensive shoes like she was used to: plain pants, shirt, and jacket. She knew that his long jacket only served to cover up his infinity shotgun.

Koa felt her excitement grow. She hadn’t seen him fire that glorious weapon in ages. There was nothing sexier than when he was like this.

This morning, Halston was all business. His hair was so blond that it was nearly golden. Illuminated by the moonlight, Halston looked like a god.

“Ready?”

She gave a single nod. Her face was set. She would not turn away if she could help it.

“I understand you’ve always wanted to find out what happened to you when you were a child, but Koa, I am not sure you want to know. I’ve been protecting you all of these years. I just didn’t want to see you hurt.”

Koa’s lips parted. She stepped before Halston and looked up at him. Why would he avoid my eyes? Koa could feel it— Halston cared about her.

The urge to squeal with joy overcame her, but she contained her excitement and the desire to reach up and kiss him. He might even love her. She looked at her feet.

“No matter how painful the truth is,” she said, “I think it’s time I know. I want my memories back. There is a black hole that I don’t understand. From age twelve to seventeen— there is nothing, and I need it back.”

Koa knew something horrible had happened, and whenever she tried to grasp those memories, an overwhelming nausea deterred her from further search. That same nausea overcame her now as she swallowed and tried to force it to go away.

“I want my mother back, and this Jax—” She paused when Halston winced at the name.

That’s very strange.

“This Jax person is who can give me these things. I just want to help my mother and protect the mortal world.”

There was a long pause and finally Halston’s gaze met hers. She saw a hint of that smile she loved.

“Finally. I think you are actually ready.” He started ahead.

A mixture of emotions flooded Koa. She thumbed the hilt of her sword for courage. She couldn’t start doubting herself now, not after she had convinced Halston that she was ready for this. She took a deep breath and followed him.

Koa and Halston walked over the jagged rocks to the base of the gate. They were surrounded by a thick, white mist that swirled around their feet, hiding the ground. Blue strands of hair swept around Koa’s face. She pulled her hair back and wrapped a band from her wrist around it, making a long ponytail that reached the small crevice at the base of her back.

The setting, and even how they moved toward the Gate, felt familiar to Koa. The sky was a mixture of gray and white. She walked along the black soil and gazed up at the imposing black structure that stood before her. The Gate itself was a metallic structure with bars and webs of fiery tendrils laced in intricate patterns along the door.

Black trees lined the path to the Gate. Koa marveled at the fiery totems that reached toward the heavens. There were paintings on them and symbols that Koa didn’t recognize engraved in the smooth, dark wood.

Koa was captivated by the way the paintings seemed to come to life whenever she passed one of the totems. The figures followed her with their black eyes and pointed to her.

Koa’s ears perked up. She heard whispering. She tilted her head and listened.

Someone played a violin. The soft melody was soothing. Whoever played it was a master violinist. The tune evoked emotions in Koa that left her in tears. She shuddered, confused by her wet cheeks. She realized immediately that the tune from her dreams was real. She’d dreamt of this very song for years. She hummed along to it.

As they walked closer, the song grew louder and vibrated against her very soul. Once Halston stopped, Koa was in tears, and could barely catch her breath. She couldn’t explain why, but tears soaked her cold cheeks.

Stunned by her reaction, she tried to steady her breaths. Halston glanced over his shoulder at her. His icy blue stare seemed even more ethereal in the intensified light of the moon above them. He looked concerned.

“We are going on a journey to a place where most of the population would love to see you dead just because of your ability to come and go from the Netherworld as you please— because of your threat to the vampires that dwell here,” Halston said. “Do not be fooled by the things you are about to see. This is not a place of beauty. This is not a place of love. You forget that, and you will be a prisoner here. Or worse, you will die. Now, stay close.”

Koa nodded and he reached for her. She remembered when she was twelve. Her father had given her the same warning. She had no idea that this place that gave her nightmares had once been her father’s home. He was a king and had been exiled. Her father had held his hand out to her as well.

Koa gratefully accepted Halston’s hand and he curled his fingers in between hers. She instantly felt more at ease. She exhaled a breath of relief. That relief didn’t last long.

A whistling sound swept through the valley. Out of the mists of the sky, a man landed with a soft thud. He stood tall— even taller than Halston who was considered abnormal by human standards. His long legs and long arms were thin, as was his entire body. His long black hair was straight and reached the middle of his back. His eyes were too big to be human. His mouth was wide, with thin rubbery lips.

Koa gasped. He held a violin. He brought it up under his chin and Koa was transfixed the moment he resumed his song. The tune was jarring on her mind, weakening her. She clutched Halston.

“Halston. What’s happening?”

She was losing herself. Koa was afraid that she might pass out. Halston stopped walking and held her up.

“Make it stop!”

Cold wind slapped at her face as the mists swirled around her, dancing to the tune. The song made her feel as if her bones were cracking under a heavy weight. Her heart was breaking. Koa wanted to fall to her knees and weep with sorrow and pain.

Such a feeling frightened her. Gasping, Koa pressed her hands to her chest. Her heart beat too strongly. She could feel it beating against her rib cage. She gripped her shirt and winced.

The man’s grin widened as he stepped closer to her. He wanted her, only her. Halston didn’t seem to exist.

Koa felt as if her soul was being ripped from her body. She almost cried out in surrender when Halston brought up his other hand and grabbed the man by his neck. The man seemed stunned. He squealed and before her eyes, his body shrank. He shrank, smaller and smaller, until he was even smaller than Koa.

His skin hung loose from being stretched and his hair seeped into his head until he was bald. Grotesque scabs and patches of crust covered his scalp. His skin was a sickly green and dry like a lizard’s in the desert.

Koa’s eyes narrowed. She couldn’t believe it. He had been an illusion. The man was no taller than a child.

“What… who’s there?”

Koa looked at Halston in disbelief. The man couldn’t see him. His eyes darted all around as he searched for whoever held him by his neck.

Halston’s body started to glow. Koa gasped and stepped back as heat radiated from Halston’s body. Discs of light as bright as the sun encircled Halston like crisscrossing planetary rings. Koa shielded her eyes and took another step away from him. The heat of his shield warmed her face. It was almost too much to behold.

Finally, the man saw Halston. The look of shock on the man’s face was appalling. His eyes widened until they appeared to be too big for his face. He started to tremble and dropped his violin. He dribbled drool and started stuttering incoherent apologies.

“It can’t be,” he sputtered. “What are you doing here?”

Halston brought the man closer to his face. The man squealed as Halston’s glow started to make his skin sizzle. “Tunes, open the Gate, or I break your neck.”

Koa felt chills run up her spine at Halston’s change of voice. He sounded dangerous. His voice lowered to a deep, grating tone that made her shudder. She was almost too afraid to stand by when Halston was in this state. Right now, he wasn’t a friend, or a boss. Right now, he was much more. He was what he hid from the world. Halston was his true self.

“Master,” Tunes said in disbelief. He nodded and Halston set him back on his feet. He bowed low and backed away from the oppressive heat.

Koa stared at Halston, her jaw hanging. Now she knew what it meant… to be an angel.

Tunes ran a hand across his burned and blackened face. When he rubbed it once, the skin smoothed and appeared much younger than it had before. He ran over to the Gate.

“Master, I wasn’t expecting you back so soon. My apologies.” He kept bowing as he made his way over to the Gate. His back was curved like that of a hunchback. He used his violin’s bow as a key.

A loud lock clanked and the Gates pushed outward to open the path into the Netherworld. A swift wind blew by them and Koa shivered at the howling she heard it carry. Tunes bowed his head to Halston and peered at Koa. He blinked and his eyes changed. He looked at her with only sockets for eyes.

“Koa,” Halston warned. “Stop looking at him. He’s toying with you.”

Koa grimaced as she noticed that he didn’t have any eyeballs, just hollow holes that looked wet with a thick inky substance. He blinked again and his eyes returned, more bulbous this time. She winced.

“They’ve been waiting for you,” Tunes whispered. He grinned at her. He had too many teeth to fit in his rancid mouth. His foul breath wafted to her nostrils. He smelled as though he had just feasted on raw fish and rotten eggs.

Koa looked away in disgust to the Gate at the narrow path. All that she could see was a world of darkness and she could already feel the bitter cold. Her heart thumped as she followed Halston into what appeared to be a cave.

She felt exposed when the cold air cut into her. There was a brief moment of doubt as to whether this was truly a good idea. There was no turning back.

Koa heard a low cackle as the Gate slammed behind them.

Koa’s eyes widened in terror, as Shadows, black and wispy, appeared on both sides of the narrow corridor. She stiffened with a gasp as they reached out for her.

26

SHRILL SOUNDS FILLED Koa’s head. She covered her ears with her hands and turned to face an army of Shadows. The Shadows reached out for Koa with their thin, black hands that were all knuckles and knobs. She coiled back against the Gate and felt the cold steel press into her shoulder blades. The darkness of the cavern was only aided by Halston’s angelic glow.

Koa’s scream was trapped in her throat. She started to tremble as she stared into their faces in horror. This was the very moment from her nightmares.

They had no eyes. They looked to be draped in a black film, as if they’d been suffocated by a black plastic bag. They howled and their mouths opened in wide circles revealing red, lizard-like tongues. Koa gasped and reached for Halston.

He hissed. “Stay back, Koa!”

“Halston,” she whispered, afraid to move. “What is happening?”

Halston motioned for her to stand behind him. “You’re new to them. They want you.” His glow intensified. “Step back, Koa.” She was blinded and felt the heat of his shield on her face. The rings of light shot up and down his body and the Shadows backed away with a piercing shriek.

Halston glared at them. They hissed at him. His glare didn’t falter until the Shadows made a path for them. They all lined up on either side of the path, and bowed.

Koa opened her eyes. She watched, wide-eyed, as the Shadows froze in their deep bows. Even though they were completely still, Koa could tell that they were still staring at her. Their heads were all turned to her. There was silence in the cavern. Koa could hear her own heartbeat.

She was in awe that they were all bowing to Halston. Sometimes, Koa forgot just how powerful he was. In the mortal world, he lived the life of a man. Yes, Halston was her leader, but even then she treated him as little more than her best friend.

She felt a wind. “Something touched me,” Koa squeaked, and clutched Halston’s waist. His light stung her. Koa shrieked and pulled her arms away. Her arms were burnt. The sting of her burns cut to her bones. She groaned and held them, trying to suppress the pain.

Halston shot her a look of concern and nodded for her to take a step back. Koa should have listened. She was stunned. She rubbed her burnt arm until it healed itself.

Her stomach bubbled with worry. She wanted to turn back.

There was so much doubt in her head that she began to forget why she had come. “Halston,” Koa called.

Halston looked at her, forcing a smile. “You wanted this. I tried to warn you. But you never listen, do you?”

Koa swallowed hard. She didn’t know what to say.

“But I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.” He stepped beside her and motioned for her to go ahead. He cleared his throat. “All right, we can make it through the first cavern to the Wilds if I keep my shield up.”

Koa looked uncertain. Her eyes scanned the hundreds of Shadows and darted back to Halston’s face.

Koa frowned. “I am sorry.” She looked down the narrow path toward the faint light at the end of the dark tunnel. “For making you come back here.”

Halston shrugged. “It was bound to happen sometime. We’ve been preparing for years. We knew that one day you’d seek out the truth.”

Koa looked at him. “We?”

Halston sighed. “There’s a lot that you don’t know.” He looked down the path. “Honestly, I wish you never had to find out the truth, but that’s just not an option. You’re the key to many things. There are a few of us, powerful creatures, who have been protecting you, and watching over you in secret. We’ve made plans, and now, it’s time to execute them.”

Koa thumbed the hilt of her sword. It comforted her, knowing that it was only a flick of a wrist away. She wasn’t comforted, however, to feel it pulsing in madness. There was evil all around. Her Lyrinian sword begged to be unsheathed.

Koa nodded. “So, you always knew you’d have to let me come here someday?”

“I did.”

“And you made me beg you all of these years.”

Halston ran a hand through his hair. He pursed his lips and his brows furrowed. “Well, I had to… to make sure that you were ready.”

Koa forced a smile. “You sneaky bastard.”

Halston returned the smile. He seemed relieved by her reaction. “So, are you ready then?”

Koa cracked her neck and rolled her shoulders. She took a deep breath and composed herself. There was a sudden surge of courage that she could only assume came from Halston’s reveal.

Although Shadows waited on either side of her, she felt a little more in control. She gave a nod to Halston and he stepped back. She walked ahead and felt the breeze catch her hair. It blew fiercely and she felt the sting on her cheeks as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She looked far down the path, toward the only exit. There waited another ring of terror. She said a silent prayer and looked back at Halston.

“I am.” She took another step forward.

Koa felt an unseen force seize her body; with a guttural scream, she was catapulted ahead.

* * *

Koa was still screaming when she was dropped onto hard packed dirt. Halston was leaning over her. He let his shield down so that he could touch her.

Koa looked up, breathless, and in hysterics. “What was that?” Koa shouted. Her entire body felt cold. She was shaking.

Halston gave her a sheepish look. He helped her to her feet. “I apologize. I forgot to warn you about the Jem.”

Koa gave him a perplexed look as she rubbed the gooseflesh from her arms. “What the hell is a Jem?”

Halston cleared his throat. He held her across the waist and turned her around.

Koa paled. They were in a mountainous valley where dim lights were scattered about the ground like tiny, circular electric disks planted in the dirt.

She assumed that it was female, only because of the bone structure of its face. But its glowing eyes stared at her from beneath the hood of its dark cloak. It held a rod with a jagged point at the top. It was red and dripped with blood. Koa gulped.

She spoke out of the side of her mouth, whispering, yet keeping her eyes locked on the creature before her. “What is that?”

Halston nodded to the creature. “A Jem. Guardians of the rings here in the Netherworld.”

Koa was too afraid to move, least of all nod. “What does it want?” Her eyes were stuck on the Jem’s eyes. They glowed from the inside outward, as if tiny light bulbs were placed in the sockets instead of eyeballs. Koa couldn’t break her gaze.

Halston let her go and she clung to his arm. She wouldn’t let go of his shirt, even when he tugged at it. “Let go,” he told her gently. “It’s okay.”

Koa was hesitant, but she pulled her arm away and gripped her sword.

Halston turned his shield back on and the Jem took off its hood. The Jem had short yellow hair that matched the glow of her eyes. The wild tresses changed colors as it stood in the path of Halston’s shield.

Koa was surprised to find this creature beautiful, even though it wasn't human, or like any type of creature she'd ever seen.

The Jem closed its eyes in bliss and Koa watched it grow younger and younger. The wrinkles smoothed out in her face and her hair grew longer and longer. When the Jem opened her eyes, she smiled. Her eyes still glowed, but now they glowed blue. Her hair was now blue as well.

Halston nodded to the Jem and she bowed. Koa blinked and the Jem vanished.

“Halston.”

“What?”

“You’re a terrible guide.”

Halston chuckled.

“What just happened? Where are we now?”

“Well, like I said, Jems are guardians of the rings, they make sure unauthorized nephilim don’t make it into the Netherworld, and that nothing leaves without permission. You are half Netherworld vamp, and heir to the Northern Dominance’s throne. Not only that, but my presence with you cancels all doubt. I outrank everyone in the Netherworld because I am a pure angel.”

Koa sat down. She was very tired. She didn’t even know how long or how far that Jem had taken her. “I see.” She looked up. “What happened with its face and hair?”

“I blessed her.”

Koa shook her head. “I’m too tired to even try to make sense of what you just said.” She rubbed her temples and groaned. She could barely see straight.

Halston let his shield dim. “Let’s get off the road, so that no one sneaks up on us.” He noted the look on her face. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep watch while you sleep, but we need to get to higher ground.”

Koa grumbled and came to her feet. She didn’t know why she was so tired, but she could barely keep her eyes open now.

“You still haven’t told me where we are.” She walked along the path, beside Halston.

“The Valley of the Jem. You’ll probably see many of them, but don’t worry. My presence will keep them away.”

Koa sucked her teeth. “Of course it will.”

He chuckled again. “Yes, you must be tired, we’ve been traveling for nearly thirty-four hours now.”

“You’re joking!”

He shook his head, with a smug grin. At least he had his humor back, but Koa’s patience was growing thin. “Jems move fast. I move even faster.”

“I don’t remember a thing.”

Halston shrugged and continued on. “Excellent. Now, let’s go.”

If she had known it was going to be so cold, she would have brought a jacket. She clutched her arms and scampered ahead. She followed Halston along the rocky path that led to a small opening in the mountain. The rocks and stones shimmered beneath the light of his shield. The gray stone went from dull to the brilliance of diamonds.

Sleep overtook her before she could fight it.

27

KOA WOKE WHEN A brisk wind blew her hair into her eyes. She rolled over and felt Halston’s angelic shield warm her face. It was nice, like a warm fire. She yawned and sat up. She felt sore all over. She grimaced and rubbed her shoulder. She’d been sleeping with a rock underneath her.

Halston heard her and glanced over his shoulder. “Everything all right?”

Koa nodded and rubbed her eyes. She brushed her bangs from her lashes and scooted closer to him.

“Can you let your shield down for a second?”

Halston gave her a look. “Would you like to be snatched away again?”

Koa sighed. She shook her head and warmed her hands as close to his shield as she could. “No. Not really.”

Halston gave her a side grin. “It’s kind of nice to see you need me.”

Koa couldn’t help it. She returned the grin. She couldn’t deny the power such a simple gesture had on her, even when she was angry, even when she was afraid.

“It doesn’t happen very often,” she teased.

He lifted a brow. “I protect you more than you know, Koa.”

Koa met his gaze. “Do you now?”

Halston nodded, gave her an odd look that made his grin fade, and looked away. Koa didn’t like that look. She was left with questions that she was too afraid to ask. She followed his gaze to the Valley of the Jem. She tensed. She didn’t realize that she could actually see them gliding along the road, with their pikes, searching, patrolling.

Their feet didn’t seem to touch the black pathway that was lit with those odd, circular bulbs. Koa leaned forward, nearly over the edge of the cliff as she watched them.

The Valley of the Jem actually had trees. They were black, and charred, but trees nonetheless. She could even catch a faint glimmer of a river. Koa squinted in the darkness. She’d never imagined that the Netherworld was such an odd depiction of the human world. It was a darker version, but it obviously mirrored the human world.

“So,” Koa began as she continued watching the Jem. “How much longer do we have to walk before we reach the center?”

“About half a day.”

Koa rubbed her arms. She wished that Halston would put his arms around her. She gave him a sidelong glance. “I missed you, Halston. More than I thought I ever could,” Koa whispered. She didn’t know where she had the courage, but she needed him to know how she felt.

Halston grinned and looked at her with longing. Koa held her breath. Everything inside of her waited.

“I think I missed you more,” he said softly.

Koa smiled. She felt warm joy fill her heart. She felt like she could say anything.

“So, what was it like when you lived in the Netherworld?”

Halston’s grin faded. Koa realized that she had chosen to say the wrong thing. She gripped the space between her eyes and winced. She shook her head then looked at him with one eye open. “Sorry. Bad timing, I guess.”

Halston was silent for a long while. Koa was about to apologize again, thinking that he didn’t hear her.

“It was bad.”

Koa nodded, hoping that he would elaborate. “You don’t like to talk about it?”

Halston looked down. “It’s something that I am not proud of.”

“We all make mistakes, Halston.”

Halston shot her a glare that made her coil back. Her face flushed. “Don’t compare petty mortal mistakes to what I did. You were born with sin. I was not. I was created to be perfect. I was supposed to be better.”

Koa covered her mouth. His face went red with anger. Koa watched in terror as his shield went from gold to red as well, and his face was covered in black veins that moved like worms.

He almost looked like… Bund. Koa screamed. The scream echoed throughout the valley.

Halston’s shield vanished and he caught her in his arms. She was shaking. She opened her eyes to see that his were closed.

His eyes were squeezed shut. He was focusing. The black veins slowly started to dissipate. He held her tightly, as if he needed her for strength. Koa was afraid, but she managed to stay still until he returned to normal.

She wrenched out of his embrace and came to her feet. She stumbled backward and caught herself with her hands. She slowly stood. Koa was afraid and worried for Halston.

After a moment, his shield returned to its prior intensity.

Halston’s voice was as low as a whisper. “I’m sorry, Koa, for yelling.” He put his face in his hands and rubbed his forehead. “It’s just that I was a perfect angel when I was tricked into leaving heaven. I immediately saw my error when I arrived on Earth, and by then, it was too late to go back.” Tears filled his ice-blue eyes. “I had already disobeyed. I wasn’t allowed to return. I had lost God’s favor.”

She watched him with a deep sadness. Still, she was shaken up by what had just happened, Koa wanted nothing more than to take him in her arms and hold him close to her.

“Instead of trying to win back His favor, I took the darker path, and I am regretful of that.”

Koa nodded as she bit the inside of her lip. She knew why he worked so hard. “That’s why you do what you do, Halston. You do so much for the humans so that you can go home. I get it. I really do.”

Halston sighed. Silence passed between them.

Pressing her luck, Koa pointed at his face. “What happened… when your shield turned red and your face got all weird?”

“Let’s just say, you should never make an angel angry. Things don’t go so well.”

Koa shivered. She covered her arms with her hands and hugged herself. “I’ve never seen you that angry.”

Halston looked up at her. He seemed embarrassed. He wouldn’t make eye contact. “Only you can do that to me.” He glanced at her. “For some reason, you do something to me that makes me forget my composure.”

Koa frowned. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. “Um. Okay. Thanks…”

Halston chuckled and shook his head while lowering his shield. To her delight, he pulled her close and held her to his chest.

He kissed her forehead and held her there for a moment. Koa closed her eyes and enjoyed that moment of closeness with him.

When he pulled from her he motioned to the smooth rock she had been sitting on before. “Sit down. You needn’t fear me. I could never hurt you, Koa. I swear it.”

Koa believed him, despite what she had just witnessed. The look in his eyes struck terror into her very soul. She took a deep breath and returned to her seat.

“So, why is it that I can make you that angry, Halston?” Koa spoke in a soft voice; it was almost timid, and she didn't recognize her own voice in that tone. There was something that she wanted to hear from him. She was excited, and yet fearful at the same time. Her stomach filled with anxiety.

“I don’t know. I guess I care about you too much. Your opinion of me matters too much.”

Koa sat up straighter. They locked eyes. “You care?”

Halston just nodded, then broke their gaze. He didn’t look back at her. “Go on. Go back to sleep now. We will need to move quickly tomorrow.”

Koa let out a long sigh, her hopes dashed. She nodded and snuggled into the little pocket of soft dirt where she had been sleeping. She lay there for a while. Tomorrow she would meet Jax. She would learn about her past.

Koa felt like she was waiting for Christmas morning—all giddy with excitement. She looked up at the dark sky of the Netherworld. No stars. No moon. Just faint streaks of light crisscrossed in every direction. She fell asleep trying to make sense of the pattern. The melody that Tunes played repeated over and over as she dreamed of Shadows and Bund’s face over hers.

28

HOURS ROLLED BY like days. Not being able to tell time made Koa feel anxious. She was tired of walking. The soles of her feet hurt and she almost took her boots off to give her bare feet a chance. There were actually bugs everywhere. Odd, giant, cockroach-looking bugs that made Koa decide to keep her boots on and deal with the pain.

Koa watched them skitter across the black path, busy with whatever it was insects did. Their red-striped bodies made Koa grimace. She kicked one off the path and shuddered when it took flight.

“Gross.”

Koa heard a faint whistling sound. Her ears perked up to better hear. She narrowed her eyes as she saw a light approaching them. Halston stopped on the craggy path and held a hand out for Koa to do the same. “Wait.”

A swoosh of air made Koa’s hair blow furiously past her face. Whatever flew past them cast a dim light onto their surroundings. Koa drew her Lyrinian sword.

Halston stood his guard and they watched as a woman landed before them. She had blood-red hair, shaved on one side revealing a set of cryptic tattoos. The other side was long and wavy, reaching her elbow.

Koa stared at the woman and positioned her feet in a battle stance. Her Lyrinian sword was held ready. The power started to pulse within her veins. The feeling was intoxicating.

The woman smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile. Her eyes were large and a dark blue. Koa held her breath when the woman drew her own sword, massive and curved like a hook. The mists curled around it as she held it toward Koa’s face.

“Don’t draw that sword little girl. Unless… you plan on using it.” Her lips curled into a grin that made Koa uneasy. The woman reached out toward Koa with her other hand.

Koa swung her sword up with lightning speed. It rested at the tip of the woman’s throat.

“Oh, don’t worry. I intend on using it.”

The woman’s smile widened, revealing perfect white teeth. She withdrew her hand. "Feisty. We might get along." Her eyes turned down to look at Koa’s blade. She didn’t move as Koa expected. Instead, she held her position before Koa’s sword, and turned her gaze up to Halston’s.

“What took you so long?”

Koa’s eyes went from Halston to the woman. Her heart raced. She stared at the tip of her own sharp blade. Halston didn’t draw his infinity gun as she expected. He stood completely still, and let his shield fade.

Koa felt her fury intensify. Why wasn’t he protecting her? He just stood there.

Before Koa could react, the red-haired woman grabbed Koa’s blade with her hands and yanked it from her. She held both swords and ignored Koa’s frustrated gasp. She was quick… quicker than Koa.

No, the bitch just caught me off guard, she reassured herself.

“Stop playing around, Evina,” Halston said as he glanced at Koa’s angry face.

Evina stepped closer to Halston with a lascivious grin. “Oh, golden boy,” she purred, pressing her large bosom into his chest. She played with a lock of his hair and he pulled his face away. “Who said that I was playing?”

Koa was furious. The woman had disarmed her as if she were a child with a plastic toy sword. Her cheeks reddened. She wanted to smack that smug look off Evina’s face.

Koa noticed that Evina wore very little clothing. Her black and red corset pushed her bosom nearly up to her chin, and her tiny waist was wrapped with a belt loaded with weapons. She wore leather gaiters that reached to her thigh and a thin cloth that draped her front and back. She looked like something out of one of those fantasy books Koa had read as a child.

Koa didn’t like how Evina was leering at Halston. Her brows furrowed and she balled up her fists. Koa’s nails cut into her palms. She felt her ears grow hot.

“I didn’t think you’d actually bring her back.” Evina looked Koa up and down. She tilted her head with a curious look. “She still looks like a child.”

Halston cleared his throat. He seemed uncomfortable. “Koa, meet Evina… princess of the Central Dominance of the Netherworld. Prince Jax’s sister.”

“Better known as Lyrinia,” Evina said with a smile. She watched Koa expectantly.

Koa didn’t return the smile, but she couldn’t help catching the connection between Lyrinia and her Lyrinian sword.

Koa’s perplexed look made Evina laugh. It was a seductive laugh that made Koa cringe. Evina tossed Koa’s sword onto the rocky path as if it were rubbish. She stroked Halston’s cheek, giving him a lingering look. She stepped out onto the path.

"A lot has changed since you left, Halston. I have changed. Jax has changed. But one thing remains the same. Father.” Evina’s eyes darkened when she mentioned King Greggan.

Halston nodded. “I knew Jax would be punished for what he did. We all did.”

Evina watched Koa. Koa felt uncomfortable. She wondered what Jax had done to be punished. She frowned and looked at Halston instead, hoping Evina would stop staring at her. There was something about the vampire princess that Koa didn’t like, and it wasn’t just the fact that she was a pretty girl.

“When is the last time you saw your father?” Halston put his hands in his pockets and awaited an answer.

Evina looked past him, toward the Gate. She looked frightened for a second. “Not long.” She looked back at them. “We’ll talk more once we reach the city.”

“Halston.” Koa pulled Halston to the side. “What is happening right now? Why is she here?”

Halston glanced at Evina and whispered to Koa. “She’s our guide to Jax.”

Koa frowned up at him and put her hands on her hips. “Does she know that I intend to kill him?”

Halston made a face. He shook his head. “I don’t think you understand why we’re here, Koa. No one is killing Jax. We need him.”

Koa dropped her hands to her sides. “What?” She’d been going over in her head just how she would kill the vampire prince. She would force him to change her mother back and then stake him. It was a simple plan. Why was Halston getting in the way?

Halston shushed her and she felt her rage simmer again. She narrowed her eyes at him. She hated being treated like a child.

“Don’t you want him to break your mother’s curse?”

Koa bit the inside of her lip and nodded. She tried to control her tone. “Of course. But, he’s evil. Why can’t I kill him after he breaks the curse?”

“Has she lost her mind,” Evina asked as she glared at Koa. “You will not lay a finger on my brother.”

Koa gave Evina a look, rolled her eyes, and looked back to Halston. “Can I hit her? Just once?” She held her hands up as in prayer. “Please…”

Halston sighed. “You’ll understand why we simply cannot kill him soon enough. You’ll know why once you meet him.”

“Done whispering? How rude,” Evina said. Koa could picture herself just flying over to Evina, grabbing her hair, and smacking her around—just a little bit—enough to make her shut up.

Halston turned to her. “Where is Jax kept prisoner?”

Evina picked up a black disc of some sort, and stepped onto it. She was lifted into the air. She hovered and waited. Evina folded her arm across her chest and tossed her hair out of her face. “Well, he was kept in the dungeons back at the palace, until he got free. Now, father keeps him in the Ivory Tower. Do you know how long it took to get him free from the palace?”

“What is the Ivory Tower?” Koa asked Halston in a whisper. She didn’t want Evina to know how ignorant she was about this place.

Halston sighed. “It’s a prison full of the Netherworld’s most notorious, and dangerous, criminals.”

“The most notorious and dangerous criminals,” Koa repeated. She folded her arms and nodded. “Right… and we’re supposed to trust this guy?”

“My, my. What a little, sarcastic bitch,” Evina muttered.

Koa realized that she was just standing there, glaring at the woman, when Halston picked up her sword from the ground and handed the hilt to her.

“Come on, Koa. Take your sword.”

Koa was too angry to speak. She accepted the sword wordlessly. She wanted to do something to that woman. The fact that she was the sister of one of her enemies didn’t help.

Halston took her hand again. He gave it an affectionate squeeze. She looked up at him and let out a long breath, trying to push out all of her anger.

Koa shook her head. Why was she so bothered? She should not let Evina get to her in this way.

Halston brought his mouth close to her ear. “Calm yourself, Koa. You brought me here to protect you. I will do just that. But you must remain calm.”

Koa nodded, her eyes locked on Evina’s back. “Got it. But I don’t know what I’ll do if she touches my sword again.”

Halston put up a finger. He had an intense look in his eyes. “Koa, listen to me.” He held her by her forearms and brought her close to his face.

Koa sucked in a breath and looked into his blue eyes.

“You will do nothing. If you harm a hair on her head, an army will be on our heels within seconds. I cannot fend off an entire army. I brought you here because there is something you need to know. I agreed because you have to see it for yourself. The world is about to change, Koa. I will not let you run in there recklessly and get yourself killed. I’ve let you make too many bad decisions in order to teach you a lesson, but this time, you will listen to me. There is a plan, and we will stick to it.”

Koa couldn’t help but nod. There was no room for protests. His tone dared her to even utter a word against him. Halston searched her eyes to make sure that she really understood the severity of his words. When he was satisfied with what he saw, he let her go.

Koa gave Evina a sidelong glance and turned her back to her. “Well, what’s this glorious plan you speak of?”

Halston straightened his jacket, covering his infinity gun properly. “Jax will tell you.”

Koa glared ahead. “But!”

Halston raised a hand and she paused. Her shoulders slumped. He pointed to Evina. “What did I just say?”

Koa folded her arms and looked down at her feet. She nodded and bit the inside of her lip. She was a little angry for being scolded, but she hid a smile. Surprisingly, she was also a little turned on to have him exerting his power over her. She almost wanted him to grab her by the arms, and pull her close to him again. She hoped that he didn’t see her grin.

Koa cleared her throat and glanced at Evina. She hovered in the air, watching them with her arms folded across her chest. Koa couldn’t help but think that Evina looked like something you’d see in a comic book, perfectly mysterious and beautiful up there.

“Can we get on with it now?” Evina said. “I’m not a babysitter…”

Halston held his hand out toward the path. “Show us the way.”

Evina grinned. “With pleasure. Jax is probably shaking with excitement in there.”

Koa followed behind Halston and Evina and she looked in awe as the smothering, cavern-like path, opened into a large dome that buzzed with flying beings. There were so many lights that she was blinded. She shielded her eyes from the glowing palace in the center of the valley. She nearly tripped as the path became a narrow set of stairs.

Koa caught herself and she looked down to see the stairway plunge deeper into the dark depths below. She looked around to see that hundreds of other caverns opened up to similar stairways all around the dome. At the bottom of the stairs was a city.

There were skyscrapers and clustered buildings everywhere. This was the home of the nephilim, a safe haven for all that was inhuman. As they walked down the steep stairway, Koa examined the bright, gold-plated palace that stood in the center of the city. This was the place that haunted her dreams. Koa had been there before, she just couldn’t remember why.

Golden towers stretched upwards, taller than the contrasting black skyscrapers. Like a sunflower in a field of rubble, the palace stood out. Hundreds of clustered buildings littered the city, and yet Koa was certain that from wherever you were in the city, that you could always see the palace. There were what appeared to be thousands of windows that reflected more light onto the city around it.

Hours seemed to pass until they reached the bottom of that staircase. By the time they reached the cobblestone platform, Koa had gone over her own plan in her head a million times. She wanted to see Jax’s face as she lopped off his head.

Koa glanced at Halston. She was torn. She wanted to trust him and do as he said, but Jax had hurt her mother; how could let him live, even after he broke the curse? She would never be able to forgive him for what he did.

Cloaked beings walked past her. They almost knocked her off the platform at the bottom of the staircase and into the next level that waited underneath. She tensed when she realized what they were. They were Jems. Dozens of them. She could see the glow of their eyes.

Koa looked away. They ignored her as they hurried by with their pikes, ready to rip right through whoever dared try their luck at escaping the Netherworld. Koa related them to squads of police, patrolling the streets.

Halston whispered to her. “Just pretend like you belong here.”

Koa frowned. “What did you think I would do, Halston? Fly around screaming, I’m the bloody half-blood you’ve all been waiting for?”

Halston gave her a look and straightened his shoulders. “Very well. I don’t want to spend more time here than we have to, but there are preparations to be made. You’ll go with Evina and I’ll meet up with you two in a few hours.”

Koa put her hand onto Halston’s chest and grabbed the front of his shirt. “Wait a minute! You never said that I would have to be alone with that skank!”

Evina jumped off her disc and everyone within view gave a deep bow before hurrying off. She slid right up to Koa and bumped her with her chest. Evina was thin, tall, but solid muscle. She nearly knocked Koa backwards but caught her by wrapping an arm around her waist. She grinned down at Koa and locked arms with her.

Koa held her breath. She looked down at Evina’s large bosom as it rose and fell with her breaths. She looked back up at her grinning face. Evina was so close, that Koa could smell her breath. She smelled like summer rain. It was sickening how alluring the woman was. How could anyone resist her?

Evina winked at Halston. “I’ll take good care her.” She locked eyes with Koa and pulled her closer into her body. “I promise I won’t bite,” she whispered to Koa.

Koa swallowed. She was frozen in a mixture of shock, rage, and arousal. Her first reaction had been to upper cut Evina in the jaw, but now… she stared at Evina in confusion.

Halston shook his head and muttered something under his breath. “We don’t have time for games Evina, just take her to the docks and prep her for me. I’ll come back with the materials we need to get her into the prison.”

Koa’s eyes widened, and so did Evina’s grin.

29

HALSTON STOOD IN THE CENTER of the crowd as he watched Evina walk away with the only person for whom he had ever had real feelings. Yes, he fought for the humans and vowed to protect them for an eternity, but there was something more when it came to Koa. She stirred something in him that he should not feel as an angel. Love and compassion he had been created with, but whatever he felt for Koa went much deeper. He experienced physical pain whenever she was hurt or upset.

Halston couldn’t explain it, not even after thousands of years of life on Earth. He watched the two women until they disappeared around a corner. His throat tightened as Koa glanced back one last time. Their eyes met, even though there was quite a distance between them. Like a bolt of electricity, her gaze burned into him. He was certain he saw a reflection of his own feelings within her eyes, but he could never be sure. He could never tell her. It would be the end of him if he did.

He sighed and his shoulders slumped as he stood there, alone, yet surrounded by the abominable spawn of his brothers and sisters. There was much to be done. Someone had to put the world back in order.

Everything rested on him. He waited. He kept checking his watch, as an hour passed; finally, he glanced over toward the direction that Koa and Evina walked and saw the signal.

It was done.

Halston cut through the masses and made his way to one of the staircases that led to the path toward the Gate. He paused at the bottom of those stone steps that had been built thousands of years ago. It was time to summon all those who had sworn secret allegiance to him and his cause.

He felt around in his jacket’s inner pocket. He felt something cool and gripped it. Halston took out a pen. It was long and silver, and caught the light that came from the Disc Moon. It was a dim disc that stood at the very top of the dome, shedding light onto each level of the world and regulating time, so that everyone within its range aged much slower.

Halston hoped that one day Koa might forgive him, for keeping so much a secret. It was all to protect her, Halston thought. He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. It wasn’t all for Koa. She was a big part of it, but he couldn’t deny that it was supposed to be for the human race, and Koa had somehow taken precedence over even that. Still, he had done what was right by bringing her back—at least he hoped he had.

Koa was returned to the place where she belonged. Now, it was time to set other events in motion.

Halston pointed the thin tip of the silver pen before him and narrowed his eyes. A tiny blue light blinked, then glowed steadily. He swept the pen up gracefully, and wrote along the darkness before him. The air tightened, examining the light that sliced into it. Halston tried again, drawing with a delicate curve of his wrist as if he was painting a masterpiece. The darkness accepted the script, upholding tiny blue text.

The soft wind whistled as if curious about this oddity. Like an inquisitive child, it gathered around Halston and made his jacket flap open. His infinity shotgun was revealed. Annoyed, Halston covered it back up with his free hand and continued his message. The wind seemed to shiver with glee and floated each word along. It carried his message up the steps and down the tunnel, back to the human world. It was time to notify his Netherworld agents that it was time to recruit.

Raven knew her role in this. She would be waiting. She was never human, nor vampire. She was something... different. Something that would change both worlds. Now, it was her time to shine.

Halston finished his message and lowered the pen. He hoped that Raven was ready, that she would uphold her part of the bargain. So much depended upon Raven and her daughter. They were like two secret keys that the evil of the world fought to swallow.

Halston tightened his jaw. He hated to think of what was ahead for Koa. He could imagine that she was afraid, and yet hiding it very well. She was good at that. He almost smiled. She would be all right. He had taught her well.

Halston looked up toward the cavern. It was a cool night in the Netherworld. It was always a cool night. Daylight didn’t exist here. Each level of this world led to more darkness and even more horrific creatures.

Vampires, demons, War-Breeders, ghouls, and fallen angels like himself buzzed by. They came and went up those stairs, returning to their homes in the maze-like city that was the Netherworld.

Halston shot a look at a flash of light. He let his guard down when Evina stopped before him.

“What do you think she’ll do when she finds out the truth?” Evina hopped off her flying disk and stepped before him. She had a serious face. She had put her life at risk for Koa, but she could never resist a little challenge. He had almost thought that Evina would ruin everything with her little show in front of Koa.

The creatures around fled. Vampire mothers grabbed their children and ran into the safety of the many alleys.

Evina was daughter of King Greggan, a very powerful vamp, and they feared her even when she was nothing like her father.

Halston put his hands in his pocket. He took them out and folded his arms. He couldn’t get Koa’s face out of his head. That beautiful little face haunted him. There was no way that he could forget the first time he laid eyes on her. He felt his insides twist.

“Everything will work out according to plan. It has to.” He raised a brow. “She’s already asleep?”

Evina folded her arms across her large bosom and tossed her hair out of her face. “Of course. I’m not a novice, Halston.”

“No. You’re a temptress, and you cannot resist games.”

“I don’t have another century to wait. I wouldn’t put the plan in jeopardy.”

Halston raised a hand, shushing her. He listened to something.

She frowned. “As I was saying… games. I don’t have time for them.”

“But you love them more than anything.”

She fought a grin. Instead, Evina sighed and turned her face. “You really think you know me. Just because I had a crush on you as a girl doesn’t give you the upper hand. I’m not a child anymore. I’ve been a woman for quite a while now.”

Halston smirked. “You had a crush on me?”

“You’re horrible, Halston.” She gave a soft laugh and looked at him with a warmness that she didn’t reveal to many. “I cannot believe that I am actually entrusting my life to you—and my brother’s.”

“You are a smart woman for doing so. You need me. Therefore you will follow me to the end. Right?”

Evina didn’t answer. She met his gaze and searched his eyes. She gave a slight nod and pulled her disc from her belt. Like a fan, she flicked it out and set it down. It buzzed and hovered.

With a quick hop onto the disc, she looked down at Halston. “I’m going back to check on things.”

“No meddling. You can ‘check,’ but that is all. Don’t use too much of your power on her. I don’t want her remembering things just yet. It’s best that we let Jax open Pandora’s box.”

Evina grinned. “Ah, don’t worry, love. I won’t harm her. I promise.”

Shaking his head, he watched her fly away, above the masses. His mind went to Evina’s brother. Jax was prince of the Lyrinia, the Central Dominance of the Netherworld and locked away for all eternity. He cringed. All of the things Jax would tell Koa could undo Halston.

Koa still believed that the night he found her drunk on a park bench had been the first time they’d met. Halston could never bring himself to tell her that he had known her since she was a child. Furthermore, he couldn't tell her that she had, in fact, been poisoned that night he found her and fed her the antidote while she slept.

At that time, telling her the truth had been out of the question. If she knew that he had been watching her for decades, secretly protecting her, she’d believe that he was some sort of stalker. It was ironic that their little joke, the nickname she had given him, was truer than she could have imagined. Somehow, Halston had become… her guardian angel.

“Halston,” a familiar voice called.

Halston turned. His message had worked more quickly than he had anticipated. Halston turned and his gaze went up to a man who was a descendent of the giants. His eyes widened at the sight of a familiar, welcome face.

30

“HOLY SHIT,” the War-Breeder exclaimed. Seven feet tall and all muscle, the War-Breeder rubbed his eyes and stared at Halston in disbelief. “It is you! Is it time?”

Halston wasn’t sure how to react when Tristan, his oldest friend, beamed at him. He had expected him to show up.

Tristan looked the same. No one down here really aged, unless they went up to the human world, where the sun had its effects. Tristan’s bald head was tattooed, a common trend in the Netherworld, to display your social standing in its ancient hierarchy. His skin was a deep bronze, as if he had an eternal tan.

Scars covered almost every inch of his flesh. The scars didn’t come from battle. Tristan never lost a fight, or a war for that matter. No, those scars were from a ritual from his childhood. His own mother was forced to do that to him, to teach him about pain, so that he’d never experience it again. The ritual lasted as long as the child could stand it. The instant they started to cry from the pain, the mother could stop.

Tristan never cried. The ritual had gone on and on. He had become a legend, and his mother had become the proudest woman in the village.

To Halston, it just made Tristan look like a runaway slave who had been whipped too many times, but to the War-Breeders, it served as a reminder that this was the strongest of their clan.

Halston sucked in a breath as he was swept off his feet by the big man. His bones nearly crunched in Tristan’s abnormally strong arms. Once Tristan put him down, Halston couldn’t help but return the smile. Tristan held him at arm’s length. His thin brown eyes examined Halston with wonder.

“You look different,” Tristan whispered with a perplexed look. Halston lowered his eyes. He was different now. He wished he could forget the past.

Tristan’s look of wonder was quickly replaced with alarm. “Halston! What are you doing out here in the open? Someone will recognize you.”

“Not likely,” Halston said.

Tristan lifted a brow. “Right…” He folded his arms. “So, what’s it been like up there with the humans?”

Halston stepped back. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Tristan clapped his hands together. “Let’s get on with it then! You’ve brought her back?”

Halston looked down at his feet. Koa. The child he had stolen.

Tristan let out a long breath. He shook his head with a side smirk. “Leave it to you, Halston, to get yourself in a mess like this, and to get me to join you. You started this war for Koa. What’s so special about her? Why didn’t we just leave things be?”

“I didn’t start the war. I just put the inevitable in motion.” Halston sighed at Tristan’s expression. There was so much that even the War-Breeder couldn’t know. The burden rested on Halston and his race of fallen angels. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“That half-blood is going to get us killed, isn’t she?” Tristan shook his head. “She almost got us killed the first time we dealt with this foolhardy plan.” He pointed to his chest. “I still have a nice scar to remind me.”

Halston wore an eerie smile, hinging on bitterness. “I can’t be killed. Remember?” If only he could, things just might be easier.

“Well, lucky you, Halston.” Tristan’s eyebrows bunched. He nodded. “I just love how you flaunt that when you know that I can be killed!”

Halston lifted his chin. “So what are you saying? You’re no longer with me?”

Tristan rolled his eyes and shook his head. He hooked his thumb in his belt. “I’m just saying that this plan of yours had better work. Farrow got killed shortly after you escaped with the girl. She got swept up by Greggan’s guard one night and decapitated in the citadel square.”

Halston just stood there, feeling numb. He felt a lump in his throat.

Tristan cleared his throat. “I haven’t kept touch with the others.”

Halston could still picture Farrow’s young face in his mind. She was one of the youngest in the crew, a Jem preparing for her final test to begin an eternity of patrolling the Netherworld. He had no idea that she was dead.

Tristan was silent for a moment. Halston straightened his shoulders when he noticed the War-Breeder staring at him. “At least it was a quick death.”

Tristan nodded. “It was.”

Silence. Halston felt a deep sadness for the Jem. Farrow was dead because of him. He couldn’t take her with him when they took Koa. A Jem couldn’t survive in the human world.

Halston shoved the guilt deeper inside the part of his heart where he kept his most valued emotions and locked it away. It would no longer bother him until he returned to unlock the vault.

Tristan tried to ease the tension. “Well, let’s say we rebuild the old alliance then.”

Halston looked up at the Disc Moon. It clicked and cast a darker green glow onto the kingdom. Each click, and subsequent color, was a Netherworlder’s way of telling time here. It was getting later. “You’re pretty eager for someone afraid of his own mortality.”

Tristan took two steps over to Halston. His face brightened. “I never said all of that. You know me, I live for danger. I live to add another scar to my collection.” He traced a long scar that went from his brow to the flesh beneath his right eye.

Halston found it odd how much Tristan valued his ghastly scars.

“King Greggan is trying to invade the human world, put up a fight against those soft, squishy creatures you call vamps up there. I want a piece of the action. I’m just not ready to die yet, is all.”

Halston saw a flash of silver light and grabbed Tristan by his suspenders. “Shut up,” he growled. “Someone will hear you.” He pulled Tristan into a stone side street just as a royal guard stepped into the square. Halston caught a quick glimpse as they found cover in the darkness of an alley. The royal guard was comprised of Syths and Scayors. Halston’s heart thumped when he saw the Scayor step into the square. They were tall, metallic creatures, combining Syth bodies and technology. Scayors were horrific creations. Those silver eyes were always searching, always ready to snatch someone off the streets.

Halston breathed. That was close. It was not yet time to blow his cover.

A group of ghouls lurked in the dank alley. They were thin, skeleton-like creatures with pasty gray skin and long, tortured faces. Hunched over and whispering, they looked up at Halston and Tristan with glowing green eyes.

Avoiding eye contact with them, Halston pulled Tristan further down the road. They stepped through black puddles of oil and slime and swatted fruit flies in silence. Tristan kept his mouth shut, but glanced at Halston as they traveled to the seedy part of the city, where the lower-ranked creatures tended to dwell. Tristan didn’t question him.

Halston was, after all, the boss.

They ducked into a dark tavern. Two male vampires sat inside. Their faces were illuminated by the red overhanging lights as they looked up at the newcomers.

Halston looked up. A female vampire hung from an overhead light. Her black hair hung long as she tilted her head backward and swung as if she were on a swing. She opened her eyes and looked at them with disinterest. She closed her eyes again, fell lightly to the ground, and landed on her feet. She stood tall and walked over to them.

She lifted a brow. “Blood? Or booze?” Her voice and expression was indifferent. She had a sleepy look about her.

Tristan waited patiently, although he seemed to be on the verge of cheering. Finally, something exciting was about to happen.

Halston shook his head. “Nothing. Thank you.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She jumped back into the air, back to her light, and continued swinging.

Halston shook his head. “Has this place gotten weirder?”

“No, mate, you’ve gotten boring.”

Halston slid into a booth and Tristan did the same.

Tristan grinned. “You know, I’m glad you finally came back, Halston. I was starting to get bored, anxious for a new adventure.” He cracked his knuckles and Halston sighed. “I never thought you’d make me wait so long before I got to see some real action.”

Halston’s eyes scanned the room. “So you’re still in? No turning back.”

Tristan shook his head, still grinning. “Whatever gets me close to that Evina. She is still in on this, right?”

“She is.”

Tristan chuckled. “Done. You have yourself a top-ranked War-Breeder. I’m in.”

“How quickly can you gather vials?”

Tristan rubbed his chin. “The Alchemist works twenty-four hours. How soon do you need them?”

Halston thought a moment. He considered going to the Alchemist himself. “I need them, like, yesterday.”

Tristan shook his head. “Well, you should have asked yesterday.” He cracked his knuckles. “I guess I can have them by second light.”

Halston nodded and thought about what Evina was doing with Koa at that moment. He shook his paranoia off and met Tristan’s eyes. “That’ll have to do.”

“Who do you have on the outside? You’ll need someone to track Greggan’s thugs. You think Greggan is bad, wait until you meet his general, Bund.”

Halston grimaced. “I have.”

Tristan lifted a brow. “And?”

“He got away.”

“Getting sloppy as well boring, I see.”

Halston ignored the comment. “I don’t expect this escapade with Greggan to last long.”

“Look, Halston, you have an unlimited supply of blood up there. Human blood is expensive down here, and not many are even allowed out of the Gate these days. Greggan is setting up his empire to put the other levels of the Netherworld to shame.”

Halston frowned. He was surprised. Tristan knew much more than he let on. He wondered how much the general Netherworld population knew.

“I plan on doing this quickly. I will hunt the renegade tyrant, kill him, and place Jax on the throne. Done. My plan is quick and efficient. I just want to be done with this all so that I can go back to my life, with Koa.”

Tristan’s smile faded. His hazel eyes darkened. “Oh. I get it. You fell for her?” He began to stand. “I can’t do this if you make it personal. I’m not getting in between Jax and his girl. We’re talking about Greggan’s son here… not just any vamp. He’s a damned prophet! You do know what he can do, right?”

Halston frowned. He grabbed Tristan by the arm. His eyes turned serious. “Sit down. I haven’t fallen for her,” he lied. He ground his teeth and Tristan stared down at him.

Tristan raised a brow. “What then? Why do this?”

Halston focused on the waitress that swung from the ceiling light. He kept his face straight, yet avoided eye contact with one of his oldest friends. “I just… care about her.”

Tristan looked skeptical. “Yeah. Sure. I don’t want to be around when Jax finds out you care. That little fact wasn’t in the original plan.” Tristan leaned across the table and spoke through clenched teeth. “You were supposed to watch and protect her, not fall in love with her.”

“I know.” Halston hated to admit it, but there was a lot resting on Jax’s end. He wasn’t sure if Jax could really be trusted.

Halston folded his arms and leaned into the leather of the booth. “Drop it, or go on, walk away. Pretend you never saw me.”

Tristan shook his head but said no more.

Halston knew he would. The War-Breeder was not likely to run from a fight.

“So, who do you have on the outside? Spoons? Maybe Reddit? Or don’t tell me… you found Glenda.”

Halston shook his head. “No, mate.” He met Tristan’s eyes. “I found Al.”

Tristan’s eyes widened. He sat back with an amused smile. “Oh.” He crossed his arms and let out a breath. He was impressed. “This is going to be good.”

31

RAVEN SAW THE MESSAGE carried along the wind and hopped to attention. She climbed out the window. She leapt across to a tree and dug her claws into the crusted bark. She glanced down into the darkness and her eyes reflected the light of the moon as she scurried down.

She had been a cat for far too long, and still, it felt odd to her. The black fur mimicked what used to be her beautiful, long black hair.

Raven always knew that she was… different. Still, she had never brought herself to reveal just how different she was. She only did what she had to do to survive. Now it seemed that she would have to do much more. She had to protect her child.

Her feline body did have its advantages. She could move around almost completely unseen. She bounded up and down hills and crawled across fallen logs to cross rivers and streams.

Raven had a mission. When Halston had come up with this plan years ago, she knew that he probably doubted her ability to follow through. She would not let Halston down.

Raven’s only regret was that she had let Koa run off before she could fully explain things. Koa only had half of the story. She supposed that Jax would tell her the rest. That fact made her worry.

Halston and Raven had been working together for years on the plan. She prayed that Koa didn’t ruin it. Halston had always watched over and protected her daughter. She hoped that he wouldn’t let her down now.

Greggan was loose, and it would take an army, or a team of specially selected individuals, to track him down and kill him. She wished she had her body back, so that she could be of more help. Only Jax could give it back to her.

Raven narrowed her eyes. She needed to stay focused. She supposed she shouldn’t blame herself too much. The nephilim had been trying for centuries to get back into the human world. Greggan would walk the earth, and all of humanity would suffer his wrath.

Raven paused and panted. She was tired. She had run for miles, for hours, and now, she had arrived. She needed to get things in order for Halston’s return. She needed to get the rest of the crew together.

Nerves filled Raven, making her hypersensitive to the sounds of the night. Halston had intentionally kept her hidden from the other members of the crew.

Now, Raven would have her introduction to one of the most powerful of them all. There were rumors that this one had powers that rivalled even Halston’s.

The wooden doors to the pub swung open with a creak. She heard loud laughing escape the swinging doors. She looked at the tall man. He had dark eyes, and wild black hair. He was big and intimidating, with a scowl plastered on his weathered face. He wore a black leather jacket and wrinkled slacks.

This can’t be him.

For someone with such a notorious reputation, Raven expected someone a little more put together. Still, she could feel her senses drawing her to this place. It had to be him. It had to be the one they called Al.

Al pulled out a cigarette. He lit it and leaned against the wall outside the pub. His dark eyes looked around. Raven stood. She had to talk to him. She began to cross the street when a young woman came out of the pub. She was loud and clumsy. Her high heeled leather boots clinked along the slick asphalt with a deafeningly loud tapping noise that made Raven cringe.

Drunk, Raven thought with disapproval. Great. She willed the girl to go away. She had business to attend to.

The drunk girl stumbled onto the sidewalk and fell against the wall, trying to steady herself. Al gave her a sidelong glance. His gaze lingered on the young woman. She looked to be little more than a teenager. Her pale white skin was illuminated by the bright moonlight. It was a stark contrast to her short pink hair that ruffled in the faint breeze.

Raven frowned. Of course, things can never be easy. She urged the girl to move along. There wasn’t much time. The girl laughed loudly, at nothing at all, and fell. Raven could see her panties underneath her short dress. She shook her head in dismay. She hated to think that once, Koa had been that drunk party girl.

Al grinned. He could see her panties too. He looked around, checking his surroundings. Satisfied that no one was looking, he strode over to the girl and reached out a hand. “Need some help, miss?”

The girl peered up at him and smiled. “Yes. Thank you.” She was American. Her voice was thick and sultry, with a slight slur from the alcohol. She took his hand and yelped when he pulled her into his chest. He held her by her thin waist. She gave a nervous laugh and tried to pull away.

Raven narrowed her eyes. Al brought his hand to the back of her neck and turned her around. The girl tripped over her own feet. Growing impatient, Al picked her up as if she weighed no more than a child and disappeared into the darkness of the alley with her.

“Where are we going?”

Raven’s eyes widened. She ran across the street. What was Al doing? She peeked around the corner to see him holding the girl by her neck and pulling up her skirt.

Raven was horrified. He was supposed to be good.

Why is he doing this? Her hopes were dashed and she sat back and sighed. The girl tried to get away, but she was too drunk.

Raven shook her head. If only she could help the poor girl. She turned away. There was nothing she could do. Al was supposed to be a Warrior. She was no match for a Warrior, an angel from the ancient times, created to keep the creatures of the Netherworld from spilling out into the human world. Raven felt her stomach churn at the girl’s pleas. She begged for him to let her go, that she didn’t want any trouble. She pleaded for him to stop.

Raven sighed and began to walk away when she heard a surprising crunch. It was quick and sent a frightening chill through her body. Raven tensed. It wasn’t the crunch that surprised her… it was Al’s cut-off scream.

Raven jumped and turned around. Her eyes widened. The girl was on Al’s back. She had his head in her hands and twisted his neck. The girl held on as Al fell on his face. And then, she did something that made Raven catch her breath.

The girl staked him. A thin, wooden stake plunged into his back and scraped against the cold stone alleyway.

Al trembled and turned into dust.

Raven stared, stunned, as she watched that girl kneel in the remaining dust of a Warrior’s body. She couldn’t believe what she witnessed. It didn’t make sense.

You can’t stake an angel.

The girl paused. Her eyes rose to Raven’s. She stared at her through chunks of pink hair. Raven stepped back, her heart thumping with horror.

Who is this girl, she wondered with panic.

The girl smiled. Raven couldn’t help her curiosity. She leaned in for a closer look, prepared to take off running if necessary. She noticed for the first time that the girl had gray eyes. She finally released her grip on the stake and wiped Al’s dust from her palms.

“What are you looking at, kitty?” Her voice was low, yet it felt as if it was tapping on Raven’s mind like a fork tapping on glass. It was unsettling. It was unnatural.

She came to her feet.

Raven began to run away and felt herself held frozen. Raven yelped. She couldn’t move. Something held her paralyzed. The girl laughed and Raven felt the fear wash over her like a cold bucket of water. She felt foolish, thinking she could be of help to Halston and his crew. She wasn’t a Netherworld agent. How could she forget that she was only a cat now?

She had failed, again.

The girl leapt off Al’s back and landed before Raven with such agility and speed that Raven flinched.

She stooped down and picked Raven off the ground. Raven began to raise a clawed paw when the girl gently smoothed her fur.

“Hey, now kitty, that’s no way to greet a friend, is it?”

Raven perked up. She wasn’t sure if she should reveal that she could speak to this anomaly of a girl. She had, after all, just killed Al once commander of the Warrior class of angels. Al wasn’t a fallen angel, like Halston, but one sent to set things right. And this girl had killed him.

The girl’s smile widened. “Ah, don’t be shy. I won’t reveal your secret. I know who you are, and I’ve been expecting you. Eunju right? What took you so long?”

Raven tensed at the sound of her real name. She hadn’t been called Eunju since before the transformation. She looked into the girl’s eyes. Raven was perplexed.

Then it hit her. She tilted her head. “Al? You’re Al?” she asked in disbelief.

The girl nodded with a grin. “Sure. Al works.” She took her paw and gave it a shake. She laughed at how silly such an action looked. “I prefer friends to call me Alice.”

Raven gasped. “You? You’re a warrior?”

Alice nodded. “Why so surprised?” She carried Raven as she walked deeper into the darkness of the alley.

“You’re so… so young!”

Alice giggled. “Oh, we both know that looks can be deceiving.”

Raven was astounded. “How… how did you know I was looking for you? Halston didn’t tell me much about you. He just said that I’d be led to you… when the time came. But, how?”

Alice peered into Raven’s eyes. “What a good boy he is. I like it that no one really knows about me. I don’t usually leave witnesses, but you can be an exception.” She looked over her shoulder and paused. She listened and sighed, speeding up. “I’ll tell you, since we’re friends. We are friends, right?”

“I am friends with anyone that can protect my daughter.”

“Splendid. Telekinesis is my secret weapon. Telekinesis sets me apart from the other warriors. This is why I was once commander. They used to call me Metal-Mind.” Alice grinned at the memory. “I do miss those days. There was never a dull moment. I’d scoop up two, three, vamps at a time.” She gave Raven a look. “I sure set fear into those pesky vamps, didn’t I?”

Raven swallowed. She felt cold. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

Alice glanced down at her. “I know when someone is looking for me. I didn’t become commander because of my looks.” She gave a smug grin. “Although, I’m sure my looks did help.”

Raven nodded. That explained how Alice made her freeze when she tried to run. Alice smiled. “Don’t overthink it. I haven’t been tampering with your thoughts or anything. It’s just that in times like these, a girl has to be on her guard. Recruiting can be dangerous business. Especially with creeps like that guy I just killed lingering on these streets.”

Raven looked up quickly. “He was a vampire, wasn’t he?”

Alice nodded. She didn’t speak. She looked around, scanning their narrow surroundings. She tilted her head, listening. Raven’s ears perked up. There was a faint rustling sound at the back of the alley. Raven felt her heart pound at the sound of a low growl. It wasn’t a dog.

Raven knew every predator now. Whatever waited in those shadows was no animal.

Before Raven could speak a word of warning, Alice bounded up the side of a stone wall, clutching Raven to her chest. Her feet seemed light and she ran along the wall of an office building like a spider, in and out of the darkness of the alley.

Raven was speechless. She tried to look back, to see if whatever had growled followed them. She coiled back, seeing eyes in the distance.

They were being chased. It was big, like a wolf, but Raven narrowed her eyes, it wasn’t a wolf. The creature had no fur, just muscles wrapped tightly around bone. Claws scratched the wall as it ran behind, barely keeping up.

Alice moved quickly, like lightning. The swoosh of wind made Raven squeeze her eyes shut. She forced them open. She wanted to see where they were going. She wanted to make sure it didn’t catch up with them. She could feel Alice breathing; it wasn’t labored. Alice wasn’t afraid.

“Hey, listen. I’m going to do something a little… crazy. You’re used to crazy right, with that daughter of yours? You game?”

Raven swallowed. “S-sure.” She craned her neck around. She saw the beast running through the fog, gaining on them. She remembered the night Halston had killed twelve creatures just like the one that chased them. She wished Halston was there.

Alice sucked her teeth. She frowned. “A damned reanimated man. I should have known that guy wasn’t a normal vampire. Those Netherworld vamps are tricky. I don’t think that big guy appreciates that stake I put in his heart.” She reached a hand out and grabbed a pole above her head and catapulted them high into the air. She yelled. “Hold on!”

Raven shrieked as Alice tilted her head up to the heavens and outstretched her arms. Raven clutched to her with all of her strength, her claws firmly embedded into Alice’s shirt. The beast lunged after them, and with a swirl of her arms, Alice turned herself in mid-air to face it.

Raven looked into Alice’s eyes and shuddered. They had turned completely white, as if clouds moved within them. Alice turned out her hands, palms facing the beast and a sudden pop of air exploded from the small girl’s body. It was like thunder, without sound, but Raven could feel her bones tremble and her teeth chatter.

There was a loud howl as the beast was torn limb from limb. Arms disconnected from shoulders, the fibers trailing along like streamers. Legs broke away from knees with a cringe-worthy popping sound. He split into a million pieces that flew out in all directions. Blood sprayed into the air and Alice’s eyes returned to normal. Gray eyes glared at the carnage as she landed on her feet. Her boots made a splash in a puddle as they hit the ground.

Alice didn’t stop. She wrapped her arms around Raven again and ran into the shadows. She breathed heavily then, glancing down at Raven.

“You all right, kitty?”

Raven nodded, staring at Alice’s blood stained face. Pieces of bone and broken teeth were in her pink hair. Raven shivered—not from the cold, but from excitement. She was exhilarated. She looked at Alice in wonder. This was the one who could help them stop Greggan.

32

KOA WOKE TO find Evina staring down at her. She sat up in a panic. Her eyes darted around the room as she tried to catch her breath. The room was small, bare, and cold. A strange collection of candles hung from the ceiling. It was like a chandelier, but the candles were floating and encircling the apparatus that supported them.

“Where am I?” Koa’s throat was dry. She swallowed. She felt hot. Her body was covered in sweat. “What did you do to me?”

Evina sat back in the only chair in the room, rested her elbow on the desk, and put her feet up on the bed, beside Koa. “You’re at the docks. Why… don’t you remember?”

Koa glanced at Evina’s boots and back up to her face. The vampire’s secret smile convinced her that something had indeed happened. Still, Koa could only remember being ushered away from the citadel. Now, she felt oddly at ease around the vampire princess, and she knew that she shouldn’t.

Koa frowned. “What did you do to me?” Her body felt… strange. Her skin was cool and her blood seemed to rush. Her mind was a torrent of questions and memories that she couldn’t make any sense of.

Evina shrugged, feigning ignorance. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

Wrong answer. Koa checked her sword and leapt off the bed. Evina was before her in a blink.

Koa glared at her. Her cheeks were hot with rage. “Move out of my way,” she said through clenched teeth.

Evina held her arms out. The black tattoos seemed to move along her skin, like snakes.

Koa stepped away from her. “What are you doing?”

Evina wrapped her arms around Koa. Before Koa could react, she was asleep once more.

Koa was in a black room. The floor was red and Evina was standing in the far corner. Evina’s eyes were closed. The air seemed to move around the vampire princess as she swirled her arms and sent waves of faint light toward Koa.

Koa ran at her and punched her in the face. Evina’s eyes opened in shock. “What are you doing?” She was frantic. She hadn’t expected that. “You’re not supposed to see me in here! You’re supposed to be asleep!”

Koa punched her again. She grabbed her by the hair and flung her across the room. Evina slammed into the black wall and vanished. Koa unclenched her fists. She was stunned. She was alone in the black room.

Her heart started to race.

What is going on! Koa was afraid. She had no idea where she was. She panicked. Her sword was gone.

This isn’t real, Koa assured herself as she started to shake. She looked for an exit. Her hands beat the black walls and they pushed her back into the center each time. This is not real!

Evina reappeared and covered Koa’s face with her hands. She tried to overpower her and push her to the ground, but Koa bit the flesh between her thumb and index finger and Evina pulled her hand back. Koa kicked her in the gut and Evina doubled over.

Evina flashed and appeared behind Koa. She gritted her teeth, pulled Koa’s hair, and forced her to the ground.

“Stop fighting me! I’m trying to help you!”

Koa reached up and grabbed Evina by the throat. She swung a foot above her and kicked Evina in the chin. Evina bled from the lip but held her grip. Her eyes were wild with panic.

“Koa, please, stop fighting me!” Evina smothered Koa’s face with her hands. “I’m trying to wake you up! You’re not supposed to be lucid in this dream!”

Koa continued to fight and gasped. Something jolted into her. Evina’s eyes were closed. Evina was screaming, but Koa could hear nothing but the sound of her own blood rushing to her ears.

Koa woke. She immediately drew her sword and placed the tip at Evina’s throat. Evina was in tears. The vampire princess was breathless as she stared down at Koa’s sword.

Koa was beyond enraged. She was past angry. Not because of what Evina had done to her, but because the Lyrinian sword refused to impale her.

Koa tried. She put force and strength behind it. The sword remained frozen. Koa growled and swirled away, sheathing the sword.

Evina was not evil. The sword would not kill an innocent being. Koa cursed under her breath. Her face was still hot from rage. She could still feel Evina’s blows to her.

Evina rubbed her face, smearing blood. Koa frowned. She hadn’t noticed that before.

Evina pulled her hand back and looked at the blood. Her jaw dropped. There was a look of fear in her eyes when she gazed at Koa.

“I’m sorry, Koa,” Evina said, confusing Koa. “We all have our orders. Mine was to keep you safe, to keep you here, until Halston returns.” Evina put her arms behind her.

Koa was silent, yet her glare was unwavering. It spoke multitudes. She was confused by Evina’s sudden change in attitude. It was as if she dropped the whole, seductive, tough girl act. Maybe Koa was seeing her true self. Maybe this was the act.

Evina continued. “It just happens that I am a tempest. I cannot help what I was born to be.”

Koa narrowed her eyes. “Tempest?”

Evina nodded and her blue eyes met Koa’s. “I can get people to do what I want. I can make them dream what I want. Some call it persuasion down here in the Netherworld.” She shrugged. “It’s what I know. Never in a hundred years has anyone ever been lucid in one of my dreams. Never.”

Koa thought to herself. That dream had felt pretty real.

“Koa, listen,” Evina urged. “I never meant to hurt you. I swear it, on my brother’s life.”

Koa frowned. She didn’t give a damn about her brother’s life. She let out a long, slow, breath. She tried to force all of her rage out with it. It was difficult, but Koa managed to calm herself.

“When will Halston be back?” She couldn’t shake the bitterness she felt. She hated being manipulated.

Evina turned the chair around and sat in it backwards, straddling it. “In an hour or so. We have to get you inside the prison before the third click of the Disc Moon.” She wiped her face with a towel.

Koa cracked her knuckles and started pacing.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Koa?”

Koa continued pacing. “You don’t speak to me unless you have something valuable or important to say.” She paused and gave Evina a look. “My Lyrinian sword may not work on you, but you better believe that my hands will go smoothly around your throat and squeeze the life out of you.”

Evina frowned.

Koa had no regrets from her words.

Evina pursed her lips. She shook her head and murmured. “You always were a little hothead.”

Koa spun around. Her eyes widened. “What did you say?

Evina played with her wavy, red, hair.

Koa stepped closer. “Tell me!” Koa felt her frustration start to overflow. She was tired of the secrets and lies.

Evina rolled her eyes. “I said that you were a hothead. What’s the big deal?”

“You said that I was always a hothead!” Koa felt like she’d just discovered gold. She almost grinned, but her face remained serious. She had to know. “Have we met?”

There was a long stretch of silence, but Koa would not back down.

Evina nodded.

Koa clapped her hands together. “I knew it!” She laughed. She wiped her face with her hands. She knew she had seen Evina before. There was a history between them. She couldn’t remember it, but she knew that something was there.

Evina shot to her feet. “Please, Koa. I cannot say more than that. Don’t ask me. Halston would be furious.”

Koa’s smile faded. She looked at the floor. Her boots were stacked against the wall. “Halston.” She nodded. “Yes, I bet there’re all kinds of things he’s been keeping from me.” She chewed her lip. She didn’t know how to feel. She wished that Raven was there.

Evina put a hand on Koa’s shoulder. Koa shrugged it off.

“Don’t touch me.”

Evina nodded. “All right. But trust me. He kept the worse from you. To protect you. Please tell me you can understand that.”

Koa made a face. “No. I don’t understand that.” She looked away and pictured his face. “We were best friends. We don’t keep secrets.” Koa swallowed. She felt ashamed. She’d kept secrets from him before. Somehow she felt that this was different.

Evina gave Koa a look of disappointment. “You have no idea what he’s done for you. What he’s sacrificed, for you! You ungrateful little girl!”

Koa leaned her back against the door. She felt deflated. Her mind was torn. “I’ll decide for myself. Once I learn the truth.”

Evina gave her a bitter smile. “You’ll regret those words when you get your wish.”

33

HALSTON FOLLOWED TRISTAN to the Alchemist. He lived in a hole in the west borough. They walked straight down into a dark pit where tendrils of vines with minds of their own reached down to them. For somewhere so dark, it was quite green. Vines and flowers grew here, when they grew nowhere else in the entire kingdom.

Discs lit the way, but just barely. These discs were the size of quarters and were spaced apart along the steep stairwell. They were all filled with oil and fire.

Halston held the rusty rail and kept an eye on those vines. Their little black eyes watched him curiously, from snakelike faces. He brushed one off his shoulder and it coiled back with a shriek that made the other vines vibrate.

“How many times do I have to remind you not to touch them?” Tristan scolded.

Halston shrugged. “It touched me.” He watched the other vines huddle and share a steady glare at him.

Tristan shook his head and stopped at the bottom of the staircase. Halston recognized the long, narrow hallway. Vines and moss covered the stone walls. They became thicker and thicker and he had to squint to see the base of the Alchemist’s tree with the wooden door.

Tristan sauntered over to it, ducking down as the ceiling became lower and lower. Halston had to do the same.

Halston let out an annoyed breath. “I do hate this part,” he grumbled.

“Ah,” Tristan said. “It’s not so bad.”

The further they walked. The lower the ceiling became, until they were on their elbows, pulling themselves through.

Halston felt squished. He was sure the big War-Breeder didn’t enjoy it either, despite his comment. They grunted and forced their way through, all while the vines gripped at them and tugged at their legs.

“How much longer?”

“He must be busy. He has to open the gate for us.”

Halston felt smothered. He didn’t have time for this. “What is he doing, anyway? Taking a nap?”

“I told him that we were coming.”

Halston grumbled to himself. The Alchemist had to open the gate in order for them to finally make it to his door. He was clever and not just anyone could approach his lair. This entire hallway was specially designed to keep out intruders and deter unsuspecting loiterers.

Before Halston could blink, he found the ceiling morph back to normal. He looked up as it ascended. He stood and dusted his pants. The Alchemist had accepted their visit and they now stood before the vine-covered door. The vines pulled back and the door swung open.

Music played inside. Drums. Halston had forgotten how… eccentric the Alchemist was.

“How appropriate,” Halston said out of the corner of his mouth.

Tristan grinned. He started bobbing his head to the beat. “I kind of like it. It’s odd, but it sets the mood, right?”

Halston made a face. The drums played fast and strong, in an almost hip hop rhythm. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

“Hey! Halston,” the Alchemist called. “No one asked for your opinion.”

Halston shrugged and the small boy, barely four feet tall, came from a back room and wiggled a finger at him. Halston wasn’t surprised. The Alchemist still had the face of a ten year old. It was odd, being scolded by a child.

“And it’s nice to see you again too, Roderick.”

Roderick folded his arms. He wore black pants, and a white shirt with red suspenders. He was thin and pale, with short, wild, black hair.

“Payment first,” the Alchemist held out his hand. “Then we can be friends again, even though you haven’t visited me in far too long.” He raised an eyebrow when Halston started to speak. “And messages on your little silver pen thingy don’t count.”

Halston gave Tristan a look and walked over to the boy. “I like to buy in bulk,” Halston replied. “What can I say?” He searched his jacket’s inner pocket. He felt around and grabbed an iPod.

Roderick’s face lit up when he saw it.

Halston felt a little silly giving the Alchemist something that anyone could buy in the human world, but the boy was obsessed with human toys and technology. One could tell that just from looking around his front room. There were posters of boy bands, cars, actors and actresses all over the cement walls.

Roderick examined the sleek design of the iPod and a grin stretched across his youthful face. He giggled. The Alchemist, a grand wizard and immortal being, feared by all creatures… giggled.

Halston and Tristan stood back while Roderick put the ear buds into his ear and closed his eyes as the music played. He continued to grin and bounce his head to the music. 90’s rap. That’s what the Alchemist had requested.

Tristan chuckled and gave Halston a sidelong glance. “He’ll never grow up, will he?”

Halston sighed and shook his head. “No. I’m afraid not.”

They watched the boy start dancing. He jumped up and down and slid across the floor. Tristan was in hysterics by the time Roderick started trying to break dance.

“What is he doing?”

Halston was a little impatient. He had to get Koa in and out of the prison before third click. Halston checked his watch. “He’s been observing human culture. He wants so bad to be human.”

Tristan made a face. “Why? I’d rather be immortal than like the weaker race up there?” He nodded his chin up toward the ceiling.

Halston shrugged. “They have a few advantages, I suppose.”

Roderick finally stopped dancing and swirled around to face them. “All right, let’s get on with it.” He swiped his lab coat off the back of a chair and put it on with grace. He was all business when that coat went on.

Halston nodded. He was ready. They followed the Alchemist into his laboratory. Wooden bookcases stretched all the way up to the ceiling that was at least a hundred feet high. There were cubbies along the walls that housed vials of ingredients. The equipment looked ancient, it was old and rusted, yet Halston thought that it was probably more efficient than what most humans used in their world. This lab was one that rivaled Halston’s.

Halston wasn’t a chemist or anything of that sort. He created weapons. He dealt with raw materials. Roderick dealt with magic and science. He practiced an ancient art that most creatures had never even heard of. Halston still didn’t know where the boy even came from. He was an anomaly. He didn’t really belong in either world.

“So, you need an advanced varnish of glamour, an orichalcum stone, and a fire stone, correct?” Roderick put on his goggles and looked to Halston with oversized eyes.

Halston nodded. “Yes, if you could make that for me, I’d certainly appreciate it.”

Roderick nodded, his face serious. “Thank you for the music. I will make whatever you ask.” He grabbed flasks of colored smoke and liquids and started mixing in two cauldrons. Then he pulled a black strand of light from the center of his small palm. It stretched and stretched and Roderick continued to swirl his hand so that the light coiled on the silver slab before him.

Halston watched in stunned curiosity. He had no clue where the boy had learned such things. How was it possible?

Roderick’s face was completely focused. His big, brown eyes watched the light until it created a tall, spherical apparatus that he smashed down into the slab. He sprinkled white dust onto it and the light started to sizzle and pop. Roderick nodded and left it to sizzle and bubble. He was pleased with the results and returned to his smoking cauldrons. The first cauldron emitted a blue gas that illuminated Roderick’s pale face.

“Why won’t you let me see her?” Roderick asked.

Halston was taken aback by the question. “I didn’t think you cared.”

Roderick lifted a brow as he stirred in sand and salt. “What an odd assumption.” He gave Halston a pointed look. Something in the boy’s eyes displayed a wisdom that you wouldn’t notice otherwise. “Of course I want to see her for myself. Stop being so stingy with her.”

A child had put him in his place… again. He couldn’t help but nod. “I suppose I can bring her by next time. Although, I hope we never have to return to this part of the Netherworld.”

Roderick cracked a knowing grin. “You’ll be back.”

“If you say so,” Halston said. He knew that Roderick was right. If they survived tonight, they would have to return eventually to finish what they’d started.

“Don’t play coy with me.” Roderick chuckled. “I get messages from the Oracle sometimes too.”

Halston stood up straighter. “Since when?”

Roderick thought a moment. “Can’t really remember. But yes, she speaks to me too.”

“Who’s the Oracle?” Tristan asked.

“I guess you’ll meet her one day,” Halston replied. He was more interested in what the Alchemist had to do with the Oracle. He wondered if they were from the same race. If so, then perhaps Halston had just solved one of the greatest mysteries.

“She will need to drink this one down in one gulp, while holding the enchanted orichalcum,” Roderick ladled the mixture into a vial. He covered the two stones in a protective material and handed them to Halston. He looked up at him and their eyes met. “The fire stone is for in case she runs into trouble. Don’t forget my instructions.”

“I won’t, “ Halston said. The purple cloth felt warm in Halston’s palm. He tucked it away into his inner pocket and nodded. He wanted to ruffle Roderick’s wild hair, but he had to remind himself that, while he may look like a child, but he was not. He did look so innocent and Halston wouldn’t dare say it out loud, but the Alchemist was quite adorable.

“Thank you.”

Roderick nodded. He smiled. He looked tired now. Halston wondered how much these items—whatever he had just done to create them—had taken out of him. There were dark circles under his eyes that weren’t there before.

“You’re welcome, Halston.” Roderick tucked his arms into the sleeves of his lab coat. “Do bring her to me next time. I hate being left out of these things. You’ll make me feel like you don’t trust me or something.”

Halston sensed something off in his voice. He really did want to be included. He’d never thought about it. The Alchemist was lonely. Perhaps he wanted to be a part of the team. It was an interesting idea. He could always use someone like Roderick.

“I will,” Halston said. “I promise.”

Roderick smiled. “Good.” He looked at Tristan. “This is for you.” He handed the War-Breeder a small token. “You’ll have a harder time leaving without this. Give it to the Jem.”

Tristan lifted a brow. “Thank you.”

Roderick nodded. “Don’t mention it.” He met Halston’s eyes. “We are friends after all, right?”

Halston nearly did it again. He almost ruffled the boy’s hair. “We are.”

Roderick smiled again. There was a pain behind his eyes. “See you soon. Now leave before you run out of time.”

As if on cue, the second click rung. The three of them looked up. Time was quickly running out.

Koa. Halston needed to get to her.

34

THE DOOR OPENED and Koa beheld a massive man. He blocked the entire doorway and had to duck to enter the room. She and Evina had been drinking an odd blend of blood that Koa had never tried, yet she loved it. She didn’t like it more than human blood, but it was almost as good. It was almost enough to make her forgive Evina for what she had done.

Koa came to her feet and tensed when the large man glanced at her. Koa looked him up and down and took a step back. He gave a nod and stepped out of the way. Koa’s heart leapt.

“Halston!” She ran to him. She frowned, despite her happiness at seeing his face again. It hadn’t really been that long, but she had been stewing over whatever secrets he was keeping.

“Koa.”

She grabbed him by the collar and pulled him down to her level. “What is happening? I want to know what you are hiding, and what you are planning, right now!”

Halston nodded to Tristan. “Meet Tristan, our very own War-Breeder, he will help us defeat Greggan’s army.”

Koa looked at the large man. She almost asked if he expected to do it by himself and she stopped herself. His muscles were bigger than any she’d ever seen. Tristan smiled at her. He had a warm smile. That surprised Koa.

“You know Evina, she is a temptress, and you can’t ask for a better skill than that when it comes to getting other vampires on your side. Al is recruiting others topside to infiltrate Greggan’s organization. And Jax,” Halston paused and Koa tensed at the name. “You are going to free him, because he is the key to killing Greggan and freeing your mother from her curse. Your mother, she is the only one who can stop Bund.”

Koa didn’t say anything. Halston had just revealed his plan, in simple terms. She didn’t know what to say. She stepped back and let his collar slip out of her hands.

Halston searched her eyes. “Feel better?”

Koa let out a sigh. She was nervous but she nodded. “I just don’t want to be left in the dark. I mean, it seems like I have to do the hard part and break this fool out of prison.”

“Fool?” Evina made a face.

Tristan chuckled. “She’s kind of funny.”

Koa looked between both of them. “Well yes, I am not going to hide the fact that I don’t think highly of him.”

The War-Breeder and the temptress shared a look.

Halston pulled Koa back around to face him. “We don’t have much time. Let’s get going.”

Koa thought about Raven. She knew that Jax could change her back and that he had valuable information for her.

“Whatever. Let’s just get it over with.” Koa shook her head and stared up at Halston. She felt like a puppet being controlled. She had her own motives, and she would get what she wanted.

Halston reached into his jacket and put something into her hand. Koa raised a brow. A vial. Koa touched the glass. The gravity of the situation was settling in. Things were about to get dangerous. Koa thought of Galena and how Halston had given her one of his vials weeks ago.

Koa eyes widened when he put two stones into her other hand.

“You went to the Alchemist?” She was awestruck. She felt a little cheated. She’d always wanted to meet that notorious being.

Halston nodded. “Yes. Drink this down in one gulp.”

Koa swallowed. “You sure, it’s safe?”

“Yes. He is the best at this. I promise.”

Koa sighed and pulled the top of the vial open. A tiny spurt of air escaped and she smelled something foul. She gave Halston a look. “What will this do to me?” She licked the roof of her mouth as she imagined what the potion would taste like.

“I am not sure. It will transform you for a few hours so that you will be able to enter the prison without being questioned. If they saw you trying to go inside, they would immediately arrest you.”

Koa thought of all of the possibilities. She could only imagine what she’d be transformed into. She didn’t like the idea.

“Wait a minute,” Evina cut in. She stepped closer to them and pointed to the Vial. “Won’t it wear off the instant she enters Jax’s portal?”

Halston ran a hand through his hair. “Yes. That’s when she’ll use the stones to escape.”

Koa held them up. “How do they work?”

“She’ll have to fight her way out,” Tristan said.

Evina leaned against the wall. “Well, at least she’ll have Jax by then.”

A torrent of warnings flooded her mind. She felt strong, but she had a worrisome knot in her stomach.

Halston put a hand on Koa’s shoulder. “Go on. Take it, Koa. We will be watching for you. We will all be outside and prepared when the time comes for you to escape with the prince.”

Koa cleared her throat and eyed the contents of the vial. She felt queasy but the certainty in Halston’s eyes gave her the courage to gulp it all down. It wasn’t as disgusting as it smelled, but it was thick and she could feel it slowly creep down her throat and into her esophagus. It worked immediately. It burned her from the inside out.

She clutched her throat as it clogged her airway. Her eyes widened as she felt something enter her and take over. Her skin started to crawl and she felt her eyes roll into the back of her head.

Halston held her up. “You can take it Koa. It will all be over in a moment.” Koa felt comforted by Halston’s embrace, but the pain was almost too much. She cried out as a powerful force morphed her body into something that felt foreign. She fell to her knees with a crash of metal.

Koa opened her eyes. She heard Evina gasp. Koa gasped when she saw her hands. They were covered in metal. Her fingers were long and sharp. Koa felt fear enter her heart. She was afraid of herself.

“Halston,” Koa called, but her voice was not her own. It had a robotic tone that made everyone cover their ears. Koa widened her eyes. Everyone looked odd. She saw them as colors now.

Evina was red. Tristan was green and Halston was yellow. They still had their forms, yet she could see their inner aura, the difference between their races.

Koa stood. She sucked in a breath when her head hit the ceiling. She bent over and towered over them all. She saw that her legs were covered in black metal as well and her metallic boots were sealed to her gaiters. She wore a metallic breastplate and she touched her face to feel it covered in metal as well. As far as she could tell, she was completely covered in smooth, black, metal. She felt heavy, yet strong.

She looked at the others as their auras pulsated. “What am I?”

Halston was staring up at her with wide eyes. “A Scayor.”

Tristan stroked his chin. “No one would dare question her like that.”

Evina nodded. Her blue eyes twinkled with wonder as she looked Koa up and down. She clapped. “It’s brilliant.”

“Damn, you look awesome.” Tristan grinned. “It even adapted to her female features. It’s rare to see a female Scayor.” He knocked on her belly, which was nearly as tall as his face. Koa had to be nine feet tall.

She felt awkward. She had never been taller than anyone. She was so used to standing in the shadows and getting lost in the crowd. Now, everyone would see her, and run.

Halston swallowed hard and shook his head. He looked at her with wide, surprised, eyes. “Roderick is a genius.”

Koa clasped her hands. It felt odd, hearing the metal clink against each other. “What now?” she asked.

Everyone looked at Halston.

“It’s time.”

35

KOA APPROACHED THE IVORY TOWER. The prison was the one structure that passed through all of the levels. All of the worst criminals were housed in those ivory stone walls. She’d never seen a building so tall. The Ivory Tower stretched upwards and went through a circular hole that led to the upper level of the Netherworld. Made of stone and bone, the building looked like an ancient castle. It was clean and bright, and yet one could feel the evil radiating from it.

The evil was palpable.

Even as a metal creature, Koa could feel the eerie, oppressing, tension in the air. She could hear the cries coming from inside the tower: cries of pain and cries of anger.

Koa felt her heart thumping in her new, foreign body. This is where Jax awaited her. She swallowed and realized that her throat was dry. She licked the roof of her mouth, trying to moisten it, and trying to distract herself.

Halston, an angel and her best friend, had led her here. She could trust him. She had no choice. He never led her astray before. She was in a place where everyone was a stranger.

She checked the pouch that was secured around her waist and made sure that her sword was secure. It pulsated against her belly inside the armor. She felt the subtle vibrations running up and down the armor.

There was so much evil surrounding her that she didn’t even need the sword to warn her. Evil was thick in the air. She said a silent prayer for strength and joined the ranks of the other Scayors that lined up to enter the prison.

Koa blended in with seven other Scayors. They all walked in unison, very precisely, like robots. The loud clink of metallic shoes on the black path made her cringe with each step. Still, she couldn’t help looking around at the tower in wonder.

Syths were stationed everywhere. Some walked in different directions with their weapons in hand. Others patrolled and shuffled visitors into and out of the tower.

Koa raised a brow. A vampire woman dressed in all black with a teenaged boy was ushered from a side entrance. The woman screamed at the top of her lungs. She slapped the Syth and hissed at him. The Syth roughly shoved her aside and walked away.

The boy covered his ears and fell to his knees. Koa almost stopped, but remembered that she had to keep up the façade. Curiosity almost ruined everything. Still, she couldn’t pull her gaze away from the two. The boy put his face in the black dirt that covered the land around the Tower. His bony shoulders shook as he sobbed.

Koa swallowed and turned her attention back to the path to the front entrance to the Ivory Tower. Chills ran up her body as she heard what the woman was screaming.

“You killed him! You didn’t have to kill him!”

Koa tried to shake the feeling of dread as she kept up with the other Scayor’s quick steps and felt her breath start to quicken. She was grateful that no one questioned her when she entered the Ivory Tower.

No one even dared glance at her. Even the other Syths that stood guard, kept their distance. Besides, who would dare try to sneak into the prison?

Koa smirked as she passed by. Then she wondered if they’d be able to smell her differences. It made her worry.

The Alchemist is the best, Halston had said. She held the stones in her pouch as well. This had to work.

The harsh reality that she might die settled onto her. She felt nauseous. Koa turned to the one memory that made her smile every time: the day she met Halston and kissed him. She had been drunk, and he simply laughed and picked her up like a rag doll and took her back to his car. Koa hadn’t been afraid. Even then, she had known that he was someone special.

When she woke up, there he was. “Good morning,” Halston said, as if they had been close friends for years. It was that simple, and for the next twenty years, they had become just that, but more than close friends. They became best friends, and it was their secret, inside joke… that Halston was Koa’s guardian angel.

Koa felt better. She breathed deep. She had to keep her cool. There were too many narrow hallways that she began to feel dizzy. Creatures she’d never seen before stalked the hallways, carrying electronic devices and taking notes. Koa was amazed by how much technology the Netherworld utilized. They seemed to enjoy a balance between technology and Medieval and Gothic architecture.

Koa checked exits and noted the number of Syth guards posted. Her brows furrowed at how many children walked the corridor. There she was, in the dimly lit prison and there were children swarming the halls. They all wore the same uniform, gray slacks and blouses, with their hair pulled back into ponytails. Their eyes all had the same hollow look in them.

Koa studied their aura’s. It was more similar to the vampire race. They were not human children. Her gaze followed a procession of two straight lines as they walked from one door and across the corridor to another. Two more groups like that did the same, except they came from the opposite side and disappeared into a door on the right. Koa noticed that each child carried a tiny dagger. They ignored her. She felt as if they had an arrogant air about them, as if even as a Scayor, that she was beneath them.

Once the children disappeared through those massive steel doors, Koa’s mind went back to Halston’s face. His image kept her calm. Even though he wasn’t there, he kept her from focusing on the skeletons that lined the walls like gruesome art. The other Scayors were horrific enough; just being near them made her anxious.

Koa went over Evina’s directions in her head over and over. It was simple, the temptress had said, Jax’s cell was directly down the main entrance corridor. She would know it when she saw it. Evina was right.

Turning a corner at the end of the main corridor, she could feel that she was close. Her eyes widened in awe. With a gasp, she pulled her face back as black liquid hands reached for her. She stopped before a portal.

She took a breath. It was similar to the portal that stood in their safe house back in the human world. The royal seal of Lyrinia was posted on the four silver brackets: snakes and golden swords. Between the brackets stood a black pool, stretched like the faces of those Shadows, except this was a liquid. The outer edges were illuminated by an alien light.

It reminded her of the inkwell portal in the safe house. Koa wondered if it worked the same way. She knew that the portal would let anyone in… but it wouldn’t let anything back out. She didn’t want to go. She had no choice. Koa held her breath.

This was what she came for. She never expected it to be easy.

Koa braced herself and before she could talk herself out of it she jumped inside the black pool. She felt the disguise start to melt away. Her scream was cut off as the liquid filled every orifice of her face. The thick liquid seeped into her mouth filling her lungs, coursing into her veins. It tasted like black licorice and bitter herbs.

Koa was frozen in terror. There was no fooling the black mass of the portal. She felt smothered and found herself searching in panic, hoping that the end was somewhere near.

It seemed to take an eternity. Her lungs burned for air. She clutched her throat, falling to her knees. She crawled along the floor, the sticky substance gripping her like glue. She couldn’t move. Like a spider web, it held her there, immobile.

Koa began to panic. She choked. Her lungs burned as if hot acid had been poured down her throat. A hand reached out to her and she recoiled backwards. Black tears trailed down Koa’s cheeks. The hand grabbed her by the top of her head and yanked her through. The instant her face emerged she gasped for breath.

Terror struck her when she looked into those blue eyes. He frowned at the look of shock on her face.

“My darling Koa,” he said in a tender voice. Tears filled his eyes. He came to his knees and put his hands on either side of her face. Koa stared in frozen bewilderment as he caressed her face. He littered her face with kisses, holding her as if he was afraid to let her go. He fought sobbing aloud. “You’ve come back to me. After all of these years, you’ve returned. I always had faith that you would, even when Halston took you from me.”

Koa felt her terror replaced by loathing. “Jax.”

Jax nodded and pulled his face back. He held her at arm’s length and smiled at her. He examined her face with his eyes, then stared at her hair. “Your hair is blue now. I like it.”

Koa frowned. Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t what she had been expecting. He appeared to be a gorgeous young man, but she knew that it was just a mask. Still, there was such innocence in his eyes.

Koa shook her head. She couldn’t afford to let herself be swayed.

What am I thinking? He needs to die! Koa thought to herself, but then… there were the tears. Genuine tears. She felt an anxiety building in her stomach. He laughed. He looked embarrassed and wiped his eyes with the back of his hands.

“Forgive me. I should have contained myself better.” Jax let her go and came to his feet. He was tall, like his sister Evina.

Jax wore a suit. His dark red hair was perfect and polished. His skin was milky white, like porcelain. His blue eyes stared at her in longing.

Koa looked away. Her frown deepened. She pushed herself up to her feet and stepped away from him. Koa stole confused glances at his face. She felt out of place. She opened the pouch and drew her sword.

“What is this?” Koa looked around the large bedroom, searching out hidden spies or guards. It appeared that they were alone. “Is this some kind of trick?”

Jax’s brows furrowed. “A trick?” he asked. “What kind of trick?” He stepped toward her and she gasped, bringing up her sword. To her dismay, the sword felt heavy in her hand. Perplexed, she lowered it. Why would it not work?

“Stay back, Jax,” Koa warned.

Jax made a face. He looked hurt. “You’re… afraid… of me?” He took another step and Koa clawed at his cheek. All of what little color was in Jax’s face drained. He stood there with his mouth agape, staring at her in disbelief. He didn’t even move to touch his wound. The small trickle of blood trailed down his face.

Why do I feel like I just struck a child? Koa thought with dread. Her hands shook as she looked down at her lowered sword.

The sword didn’t glow. Like his sister, he was not evil.

Jax pursed his lips. He looked away from her in pain. He straightened his suit and walked over to a table. He picked up a cloth napkin and dabbed the blood from his cheek.

“You drew blood,” he said staring at the white clothed stained with his blood. He glanced over at her. His shoulders slumped, as if all of his hopes and dreams had been crushed. “What has happened to you?”

Koa was without words. She felt odd. She looked around, expecting someone to jump out of a corner somewhere and reveal the meaning of this strange encounter. She swallowed, and unsure of herself, spoke. “You’re trying to confuse me. Stop it.” Jax’s eyes widened. “What’s wrong with you?”

Koa lowered her sword, defeated. She narrowed her eyes as she looked at Jax. “What is going on here?”

Jax shook his head. “You mean to tell me, you really don’t know? You don’t remember anything?”

Koa shrugged. “What is it that I am to remember? All I know is that you hurt my mother and yet I am supposed to release you in order to kill Greggan. I am not so sure I trust someone who harmed my family.” Thinking of breaking her mother’s curse gave her courage. She had to be brave for Raven. “But I trust Halston. I will only let you live because of him.”

“So Halston is the one who did this to you?” He nodded with a bitter smile. “He’s the one who erased me from your memory.” Jax fell backwards into a chair. He lowered his head in silence. The silence stretched for an eternity.

Koa wanted to be patient. It wasn’t one of her strongest qualities. She cleared her throat. Jax looked up, tears of blood falling from his eyes. “Why would I harm your mother, Koa? All I’ve ever wanted to do was protect you. I’ve loved you from the day your father brought you into the palace.”

“You cursed my mother!” Koa countered. She wanted to know more about when her father brought her to the palace, but she needed to stay focused.

Jax shook his head. “Cursed!” He shot to his feet. “Who has spread these… vicious lies about me?” He frowned. His voice lowered. “Was it Halston?”

“My mother told me what you did.”

Jax looked stunned. He walked to her with his eyes on her sword. He lowered his voice. “I loved your father and mother. Without them, I wouldn’t have you. I would never have dreamed of hurting any of you. I would destroy that world you live in up there… and everything in it to protect you.” His face turned serious. Jax spoke with passion. “I had your mother changed because she would have been killed otherwise. I did it for you. I pledged an eternity of love to you, Koa.”

Koa saw his hands balling into fists and felt her resolve waver. He was sincere. She was baffled and unnerved.

“Lies,” Koa whispered. She wanted to hold on to that hate. All of those moments spent plotting her revenge on whoever cursed her mother.

“I could never lie to you Koa. You mean more to me than anything.”

“What are you talking about?”

Jax sighed and covered his face. He shook his head and ran his hands through his red hair. Koa watched him as he sat back and folded his hands on his lap. He looked up at her. “From the beginning then?”

Koa nodded. She was eager to hear what he had to say. “Everything. Every bit of it.”

36

“WELL, WE DON’T HAVE much time. So, I will try to be brief,” Jax began. “I suppose this all begins with Halston and the rebel angels. You see, Halston was just one of thousands who left heaven to follow one whom you might know as Satan. They were all tricked into leaving their perfect existence and abandoned here on Earth. Halston was the first to try to make it back. He and another angel known as Al tried to find a way back. They have been trying for centuries. But on the other end, there were the angels who didn’t want to go back. They fell in love with human women.” Jax met her eyes.

Koa felt uncomfortable whenever he looked at her. She tightened her grip on her sword. Koa refused to turn her back on him, or anyone else. She would keep her guard. Her eyes briefly scanned the cell. She was surprised that it appeared to be more of a luxury suite than a damp, old prison cell like she’d imagined. Jax had everything he needed. A big comfortable bed sectioned off by a sheer divider, a tall wardrobe, tons of bookcases, a lounge area with a mini bar, and even a golden telescope that pointed out a small hole in the wall.

Koa frowned. This is weird, she thought, but nodded for him to continue.

“Their spawn were the first nephilim. Vampires, giants, and War-Breeders were considered the more stable of the creations. Ghouls were considered failures.”

“Giants? War-Breeders? Like Tristan?” Koa took a step back at hearing her own voice echo across the large room. She looked around, still paranoid that somehow this was all a trap and that at any moment Jax would make a move toward her.

Jax perked up, excited that she was showing some interest. “Yes, the giants were wiped out in the great flood. They didn’t follow the others to the Netherworld.” He frowned. “I’m not really sure why.” He shook his head. “Anyway, War-Breeders are big, muscular creatures. They were created to fight against whatever the Royal Army sent down to stop them.”

“Royal Army?”

Jax tilted his head. “You really know nothing. You know, the Kingdom of Heaven? Well, they have the Royal Army. There’s a war going on, my love. It’s been going on since humanity came into existence.”

Koa swallowed. This was bigger than she could have imagined. She felt so small and insignificant. Koa nodded and licked her lips. “And what about demons?”

“They’re different. They’re what angels become when they cross over to the dark side.” His eyes darkened. He pointed at her and spoke in the tone that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand. “You don’t ever want to make an angel angry enough to turn.” He slid his finger across his throat.

Halston had never told her that before. Then she remembered how he had changed right before her eyes in the Valley of the Jems. “Noted. Now, where do I fit into all of this? What is the story of… us?”

Jax smiled then. “Why that’s the best part of the story.” He began to stand. Koa whipped her sword up and he sat back down. He looked down at the blade and sighed. “Calm down. I’m not going to touch you.”

Jax sighed and ran a finger along the now-healed wound that Koa had given him. He looked up at the vaulted ceiling, mock stars hung like thin, glittering lights. He was thinking.

Koa huffed.

Jax frowned. He gave her a knowing look. “You’re still impatient, I see. You were always a little… anxious.”

Koa’s eye twitched.

Surprisingly, Jax chuckled. Koa felt a shiver run up her spine. Something about that laugh made her feel a little wary. Jax stood, quicker than she expected. He was before her so quickly that she gasped and nearly tripped backwards. He caught her with one arm behind her back. His arm was strong, like solid stone.

She froze. Jax looked down into her eyes, as if hypnotizing her. She felt her heart quicken and her knees grow weak. Koa gulped and swirled out of his embrace. She fled behind him and pointed her sword at his back.

Jax stood there completely still, his arms still held as if she were still leaned against them. Like a statue, he remained that way. “You know, it probably was unwise to believe that you would still love me.” He straightened his back and turned to face her. His face was emotionless.

“I guess I always hoped that true love would stand the test of time. But, it seems as if Halston has blocked your memories. It seems he has taken it upon himself to shield you from everything that happened here so long ago.” His shoulders slumped. “He shielded you from me.”

Koa watched him approach again.

He took a step toward her. “Koa, put the sword down sweetheart.”

Koa shuddered, but didn’t move her sword. She watched him come another step closer. “Stop right there, Jax.” She was afraid. He scared her more than she had thought possible. It was his quiet, calculating, way.

Jax moved closer. “You will not use that sword on me again, Koa. Are we clear?”

Koa’s eye twitched again. There was something about the way he spoke to her that signaled something within her.

Jax raised a hand and gently moved the blade to the side. “Let me show you, Koa. Let me remind you of what we had.” He took her hand and with a yelp he pulled her into his chest again.

Koa’s lips trembled. He was so close that their faces nearly touched. She felt as if she might scream. Jax… was in complete control. “Get away—”

“Stay still,” he warned and Koa’s voice was caught in her throat. He traced her lips with his finger and closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes again, they had gone completely black.

Koa’s eyes widened in panic. He grabbed the back of her head and yanked it back. His eyes bore into hers again and before she could scream… something happened. A flash of light, and then darkness overcame her. Her scream rang in her head, but nothing audible came out. Jax had her. For that second, she was his. For that second, she saw everything that he had meant to tell her.

Entering the palace years ago with her father. Greggan, sitting on the throne with his long red hair pulled back into a ponytail at his nape. His intense blue eyes landing on Koa as he examined her.

Koa’s father had left her there. There was some sort of treaty. She still didn’t know why her father agreed to it. But then, Koa saw Jax, standing in a hallway, watching her and her heart thumped in her chest.

She remembered the first night she and Jax snuck away to be with each other. His kiss was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. His kiss made her feel as if she was weightless. Every nerve in her body cried out for more. She could even remember the taste of his tongue and craved to taste it again. Koa’s nether regions grew hot with yearning. She gushed with wetness at the memory.

Then, she remembered the pain. Greggan had found out she and Jax had been sneaking to be with each other. Koa gasped. Greggan had found out that Koa… had given her virginity to Jax. Greggan had wanted her for himself. He was furious. He punished them both. Koa was in tears. In that second… she remembered it all. When Jax let her go, she returned to the present and her fear evaporated.

Koa opened her eyes. Jax stepped away from her. Tears soaked her cheeks. He looked expectantly at her. She could see it all over his face: he was hopeful that she was his again.

“I agreed to help Halston take you away from the palace, so that you wouldn’t have to suffer the way I have,” Jax said in a soft voice.

Koa opened her mouth to speak but gasped instead, when Evina buzzed by. She hopped off her flying disc and grabbed Koa’s sword. Koa fumed.

“Put the sword away, Koa. I’m tired of you walking around like you fear us.”

Koa fumed. “Give me my sword!”

Evina looked to Jax, ignoring Koa. “Brother, have you told her everything yet?”

Jax shook his head. “Not everything”

Evina looked confused. “Why? I’m tired of waiting for her to know the truth.”

“I had it under control.”

Koa looked from one to the other. She balled up her fist and glared at Evina.

Evina spoke a little softer. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t hurt Jax before he could remind you of the truth. We all took a great risk to smuggle you out of the Netherworld. My father still doesn’t know that I had a part in it. He still thinks I’m his obedient daughter.” Evina’s eyes searched Koa’s. “I couldn’t sit back and watch him hurt you the way he did. You and I were like sisters back then, before everything fell apart and we had to help you escape.”

So much information overwhelmed Koa. Looking into Evina’s eyes, she saw something strange, and new. It was love…for Koa.

Jax sighed. “There’s still so much to tell.”

Koa stepped forward. “Tell me then.” Her eyes didn’t leave Evina’s. Memories flooded her mind. It was true.

Koa and Evina had been like sisters during her time in the Lyrinian palace. Koa had revealed her secrets to the vampire princess. They had shared so much. Koa could no longer keep a glare on her face as she approached her. She understood it all.

Evina massaged her temples and sighed. “Look, Koa. Jax is the only prophet in the Netherworld, he saw what our father had in store for you when he forced your father to bring you here. We all helped you escape because we believe in an alternate future for both worlds—”

Evina gasped when Koa wrapped her arms around her, embracing her.

Evina sighed, she rested her head on Koa’s. “I did miss you,” she whispered.

Koa was overwhelmed with emotion. There was something unnatural about remembering so much at one time. Her body was filled with both sorrow and joy. When she pulled away from Evina, Koa was smiling. She felt whole somehow.

Evina wiped a tear and took a deep breath. She threw her hand out, pointing at her brother. “Jax loves you. But we all know that you are the key to changing the Netherworld. You are the key to our ability to coexist with the human world. Father locked Jax up in here so that he couldn’t change the future that he predicted. Now, Koa, you’re the only one that can release us from this prison, because you wield the ancient Lyrinian sword. Its power is the only thing that can cut through that portal’s power.” Evina looked back at Jax. “Oh yes, I almost forgot, the Lyrinian Royal Guard marches on the corridor as we speak.”

“They’re here? So soon?” Jax rushed over to a telescope and peered into the glass lens. He stood. “They’re here.”

“Yes!” Evina clapped her hands together. “Now, can we get moving?”

Jax gave a single nod. He rushed over to a cabinet near the fireplace. He pulled out a couple of tightly wound scrolls and stuffed them in his suit’s inner pocket.

Koa’s breaths quickened. She could hear them coming. Lyrinian Royal guard? She could only mention what monstrosities were coming for her. She rushed over and grabbed her sword from the ground. She hid a grin as she remembered the way she and Evina used to play and compete.

She gave Evina a look that was full of mischief. “I’ll slice your hands off if you do that again.”

Evina grinned, catching on to their old game. “You’re not quick enough little girl.”

Koa took Evina’s sword, and sliced a chunk of her hair off before Evina could blink.

“See? I can do it too.”

Evina looked appalled. Koa grinned triumphantly as Jax grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the portal. Her grin faded as she watched Evina’s hair immediately grow back.

Evina winked. “Bet you wish you could do that, don’t you? You forgot just how spectacular I am.” She laughed.

“Enough Evina!” Jax’s voice boomed, making them both freeze. He quickly composed himself. “Let’s go.”

37

JAX RAN FOR THE PORTAL. He waited for Koa to catch up.

“You must lead the way.”

Koa thought of how that black mass had almost suffocated her, and took a deep breath. Evina tapped her feet. Horns blew in the distance.

“Get on with it!” Evina shook her head. “We have to get out of here quickly!”

Koa took another deep breath and plunged in. Koa nearly panicked when she was lost in the black, oppressive, darkness again. Jax took her hand and she felt a slight comfort. She glanced down at her sword. She hadn’t noticed it before, but it started to glow. The light it emitted was dim but it lit the way.

“Keep going, Koa.” Jax had his hands on her waist. She felt safe. “Don’t stop.”

The black mass tried to grip Jax as she pressed on, but somehow Koa’s presence was distracted it. It soon forgot about him and focused all of its attention on her.

Evina was completely fine. If she was uncomfortable, she hid it well.

Koa wondered why their father trusted Evina over Jax. Her lungs started to itch, and burn.

Koa’s lungs ached and when she saw the light at the end of the portal she felt as if she’d never been happier. Time seemed to stand still. How long was the portal? How long did it violate her with its smothering hands?

Jax gave her the final push that she needed to emerge from the darkness. She fell to the ground and the black mass evaporated from her skin as she coughed and cleared her throat and lungs of its presence.

There wasn’t time to recuperate.

Footsteps thundered down the corridor. Koa looked over her shoulder.

“God, I hate them,” Koa said under her breath. Dozens of Syths charged toward them.

The Lyrinian Royal Guard.

“Are you all right?” Jax whispered into her ear as he helped her to her feet.

“I’m fine. It’s not the first time I’ve dealt with Syths.” She’d never seen that many in one place before, and her hand shook as she gripped her sword.

“Stop them!” One of the bigger Syths with a golden spear on his helmet gave out the orders. They wore armor: thin, black and metallic.

Jax straightened his suit jacket. He checked his watch. “Excellent timing. Thank you for this, Koa. You won’t regret it.” He casually sauntered into the center of the hallway.

“What are you doing? There are too many!” Koa held her sword in one hand. She snatched a dagger from her boot and held it ready as well, in case there was some close combat.

Jax grinned. “Really? You’d have to be pretty quick to take all of those things down…” He shrugged. “I suppose I can show you a thing or two.” Jax reached into his pocket. He pulled out a fan much like Evina’s. It flicked open and turned into a hovering disc. He stepped onto it and outstretched his arms. Two blades slid out of his sleeves. They were blood red, with crystal hilts. “Just watch me, my love.”

There was a blast of wind, knocking Koa backwards. She gasped. Jax moved too quickly for her eyes.

Screams.

Gulps of pain.

Crunches of bone, and spurts of blood.

Koa blinked and all of the Syths were dead. Blood still sprayed in the air and Jax darted past her. He caught her by the arm and yanked her up into the air. Koa’s voice was caught in her throat.

Dumbfounded, Koa looked at him with such respect that she rarely felt for anyone but Halston. No one was that quick. To behold the skills of Netherworld vamps was sobering. She thought the special skills she’d witnessed from New World vampires was something amazing, she had no idea what pure blood vampires could do.

Koa looked over her shoulder at the carnage. In a trance, she shook when she looked up at Jax’s face. Not a trace of blood tainted his white skin.

“What was that? How?” Koa looked down at his daggers. They dripped with blood.

“What?” Jax gave her a sidelong glance, and then looked at his daggers. “Oh, nothing really.” An eerie grin crept onto his lips. “I’ve been locked away for a long time. I think it’s only fair that I get to stretch a bit.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

Koa smiled.

“Fly!” He shouted and let her go.

Halston warned her against revealing her secret power. The time for secrets had passed. All Koa needed was the permission to soar. Koa’s ducked and flew away as Jax grabbed two Syths by the necks and crushed their windpipes. Jax dropped them to the maroon carpeted floors without a second look.

Koa should have been frightened by his power. Now that she remembered the love they’d shared and the passionate night when she lost her virginity to him, she couldn’t help but feel a tingle of affection flood her body as he displayed his power.

Koa’s eyebrows furrowed when the same two trails of children came out into the corridor. She paused in the air. “Jax,” she called.

He sped up.

“Jax! What are those things!”

“You better use that sword of yours, Koa! Those are not children!” He jumped from the disc and barely missed a step. He ran into their ranks without a second thought.

This is crazy, Koa thought.

“Wait—” Her voice sucked into her throat as the corridor turned into chaos. The scene before her went mad.

Koa frowned in confusion. Even in her Scayor suit, she couldn’t tell what their aura was. Their eyes went black and their mouths turned into snarling openings filled with sharp fangs. Those little monster were definitely not children.

They swarmed Jax. They threw silver darts at him, yelling and growling like animals. Jax dodged the darts and killed two with one swirling arm.

The blood, it made Koa feel queasy. She cursed at herself, letting her morals get in the way. She should have known that it would be ridiculous to have children here.

An abnormally large Syth came crashing down the corridor. Koa’s mouth opened in awe as he slammed through the double doors, sending shards of wood and brass into the air.

That wasn’t a Syth. It was a giant.

Giants don’t exist anymore!

Apparently, Koa was wrong. The floor trembled with each stomping step the giant took. He picked up Jax by his hair with a massive hand covered in rings on each finger. Jax clenched his jaw and he stabbed the giant in its gray-haired chest, slicing him as he slid back down to his feet. Intestines spilled onto the carpet and the giant crashed to the floor with a deafening thump.

Koa flew as fast as she could when the childlike creatures jumped onto Jax. They tried to bite him and stab him with their tiny daggers.

“Don’t let the prisoner escape!” A woman called from the other end of the corridor. She was tall, with a shaved head revealing tattoos. She wore red armor and pointed at Jax with the muzzle of a long red gun.

The exit was so close. Koa was just thinking of how frightening that woman looked, when Evina came up behind the woman and lopped her head off. Her curved sword sliced through with expert ease, spraying red blood into the air. The body crashed after the head and Evina smashed the face of that severed head into the ground.

Evina stood and tossed her hair out of her face. “Jax! Hurry it up! We don’t need to kill everything we see. Let’s just fly away!” She yelled at them before running back the other way.

Koa tightened her hand around the hilt of her sword and clenched her jaw. She didn’t know what those children really were, but she no longer felt any sympathy for them. One bit her leg and she cried out. The bite stung like hell.

Koa kicked that abomination into the wall. She took a deep breath and ran into the chaos. Evina and Jax were skilled, and Koa had to keep up. She wanted to show off, just a little, to not appear weak in comparison. She couldn’t help feeling inadequate in the midst of the royal Netherworld vampires.

The sounds of squeals and yells were overwhelming. More and more of those little creatures poured into the corridor from every direction.

Koa dove into the masses. Her sword screamed with yearning. Koa swirled in the air and caught the throats of four of those creatures. She sent their decapitated heads flying in different directions. Koa took a breath and embraced the pain of the Lyrinian sword.

Too much evil.

The Lyrinian sword begged her to quench its thirst. Koa would not let it down. She closed her eyes and the sword took over. Koa’s mouth was open as she focused on the feeling of the sword. Its power soared through her veins as she slashed through bodies and listened to the satisfying sizzle. No one could touch her when she was lost in the trance.

A loud bell broke her from the trance, leaving her feeling empty. Not enough blood had been spilled.

She stood and opened her eyes. She’d killed at least seven more of those creatures. She took a look around. One of them stabbed her in her thigh.

“Little bastard,” Koa cried out and covered the wound with one hand and ran her sword through her assailant’s face with the other. Four toppled onto her with sharp daggers and Koa could barely catch her breath.

Koa growled as she fought her way out of their huddle. She reached out her sword and sliced them all across their middle in a circular motion that resembled a dance. When she emerged from the huddle, she was covered in blood. Cuts covered her arms. They would heal.

A loud bell went off again. It was an alarm.

Koa looked up. Down the corridor ran Scayors. Koa paled. Robotic yells filled her ears. Five of the giant, metallic monsters stopped at the beginning of the corridor. A long, metal finger pointed at Koa. She started to panic.

Evina stepped forward. The Scayors all turned in unison and looked at her. Koa narrowed her eyes, curious to see what the vampire princess would do.

Evina tossed her sword in the air. Her tattoos moved just as they had before. She closed her eyes and waved her arms around slowly. The sword hovered in the air. With the movement of her arms, it started to turn in a circle. Purple haze surrounded Evina as her tattoos danced. Her eyes were closed and she seemed to be in deep focus. The Scayors fell to their knees and bowed with their heads low.

“What is she doing?” Koa shouted over the alarm.

Jax caught his breath and nodded to his sister. “A blade dance,” he replied. He smirked. “She’ll have them fighting for us before the dance is done.”

Koa now saw what purpose Evina served in their new ‘crew.’ She watched Evina and couldn’t help but feel impressed. That woman could bend anyone to her will.

Evina didn’t stop. Her eyes remained closed. She spoke softly, calmly. “I will run out of energy in about two minutes. Do something now, to clear a path. The Scayors are programmed to resist my dance, but they are not completely immune. They will be free from their trance the moment I stop.”

Halston’s voice whispered in her head. Focus. Focus. There’s always a way out, Koa.

The Scayors blocked the exit. The gate was shut and Koa could see more Scayors lining up outside. They had half a minute to think of a way out.

Koa felt around in her pocket. She felt something smooth, and warm. Koa’s eyes widened. “Jax, Evina, get down!” She grabbed the fire stone from her pouch and tossed it. She held her breath and rolled onto her stomach. The explosion made the Ivory Tower tremble. It destroyed the tapestries, walls, carpets, and everything in its path.

Jax grabbed Evina and spun her out of her trance. She cried out, grabbed her sword from the air, and they both ducked into the outer hall that led to the exit.

The ringing in Koa’s ears was deafening, but she didn’t have time to recover. She was on her feet within half a second. Her face was set. The creatures doubled over on the floor.

Koa ran a finger along the blade of her Lyrinian sword, spilling blood onto its blade. It absorbed the blood and screeched with pleasure. The blade turned red and Koa was lost in a trance. The lights flashed and the wails filled the hollow corridor. The night air of the Netherworld bit at her and she didn’t care.

No one was safe. Scayors filed in, stomping and pointing their fingers at her. Koa gasped. Blue light shot out of their fingers. Koa watched as the light seared what was left of the Ivory Tower floor. She held her sword up and blocked the light. It bounced back and the Scayor was eviscerated. Koa breathed with relief.

She kissed the blade of her sword. “Thank you,” she whispered to it. She shook her head with a smile and ran out with newfound confidence. Through the remaining fire from the fire stone, Koa jumped and ran her sword through the middle of a Scayor.

The sound of metal meeting metal made her ears hurt. She gritted her teeth as she sawed through and left the Scayor in two pieces. He crawled away on his arms and met his legs again. Koa cursed as the body fused back together. Sparks flew as the pieces became one. The Scayor stood and towered above her.

“Shit,” she whispered.

Koa grunted as Jax grabbed her from behind. He held her with both hands. “No use trying with those things,” he said to her as he looked up at the Scayor’s face. “Your sword can’t kill them.”

Koa nodded. She shivered. Jax cupped her chin and brought her face up to his. Koa closed her eyes to his touch. She remembered the softness of his palm on her cheek and moaned. She had no idea how much she had missed him, and now, she remembered.

“Don’t worry, my love,” he said softly, even as the Scayors filed into the tower in perfect battle formation. “We haven’t come this far to lose.” Koa couldn’t believe how optimistic he was, even when death seemed imminent.

The ground shook.

Jax pulled her close. Evina covered her mouth.

“Oh no. They let the Wraith out!”

Koa looked up at Jax’s face in alarm. “What’s a Wraith?”

Jax gulped. “Fly Koa! Fly away now!”

Koa shook her head. “I’m not leaving you here.” She couldn’t believe she had just said that. She was frightened. Still, she could no longer picture life without Jax.

Jax looked down at her and his eyes sparkled with mist. He smiled. “My Koa. You’re back.”

38

HALSTON AND TRISTAN gathered all of the supplies that they could carry from Tristan’s home. They tucked away knives and guns, filling their bags with stakes and various vials from the Alchemist. There was much to do, and so little time. Koa should almost be done in the Ivory Tower. They needed to get back in case Evina’s assistance wasn’t enough.

Tristan lived alone. He had taken a wife, and she had been executed. Halston couldn’t get Tristan to tell him why. He had an idea, but kept his mouth shut. Halston also didn’t ask why Tristan had chosen to live in an abandoned storage building with creaky staircases and boarded up windows. The furniture was sparse and there was an old, musky, smell of rot.

“How long has Greggan been gone? Has anyone in Lyrinia noticed his disappearance?”

Tristan nodded. “I’ve noticed. I’m sure others have noticed something strange happening as well. Of course he took some of his best men and women up to the human world. I’d say Greggan has been back and forth for the past six months. But Greggan was never a very social king. He doesn’t exactly walk the streets of his kingdom shaking hands with his subjects.”

Halston sighed. Greggan would have assembled his own army up there by now. The humans would be defenseless. Tristan was close. For the past year Halston had been keeping track of the disappearances and the murders. Greggan was taking innocent people and farming them. Greggan was merciless.

To Greggan, humans were like cattle, mindless meals that he could do what he pleased with. Not only did he feast on humans, but he was also creating more vampires and turning them into eternal slaves. He was trying to single handedly repopulate the world of vampires after Halston and Alice’s centuries of ridding the world of them.

This was unacceptable. If there was anything Halston valued most, it was the fate of the humans. He had sworn to protect them. It was his last chance to return home to the Kingdom of Heaven. It was all he’d ever wanted. Well, it used to be all he ever wanted.

“Evina, where will she meet us?” Tristan slipped metal gauntlets on each wrist, and a jagged dagger at his hip. Halston knew what those gauntlets could do, and hoped they’d never have to make use of them in the human world.

“At the south gate. Hopefully Jax has convinced Koa that he is not our enemy and that she can get him out of his cell.”

Tristan nodded. “Right, it takes Lyrinian metal to cut through that black matter.”

Halston nodded. “That’s right.”

“Why is that?”

Halston sighed. “Really? Do I have to go over this now?” He shoved a watch into Tristan’s hand. “Put it on now. We need to get out of here.”

Tristan pursed his lips. He held the black watch up into the dim light that spilled through his boarded up windows. “What’s this?”

“Communication device,” Halston answered. “I’ll be able to reach you whenever I need to, and vice versa.”

Tristan grinned. “Excellent. I do miss working with you, Halston. You certainly have the best gadgets.” He put the watch on. “I’ll let you stall on the whole Lyrinian thing if you give me a decent gun.”

Halston scoffed. “You don’t need a gun, Tristan. You’re a War-Breeder, remember?”

Tristan laughed and followed Halston outside. They walked out into the cool air of the lower tenements of Lyrinia. It was quiet. It was the dim hours of second light. The Netherworld’s night. Everyone was sleeping.

Halston lowered his voice. “Don’t worry, I already have something nifty in mind for you.”

Tristan smiled. “Good man.” He patted Halston on the back. “I knew you’d come through for me.”

They walked quickly through the shallow alleyways. The city was a labyrinth, but Tristan knew his way around. The only time they were slowed down was when they had to step over sleeping packs of ghouls. There weren’t many of those creatures left in this world, but it seemed as though they had figured out that there was safety in numbers.

Within an hour Halston and Tristan were at the central plaza. The staircases all led to that plaza and they quickly ran up the stairs two at a time. They screeched to a halt when they heard a loud explosion in the distance.

Halston looked back; there was a loud commotion coming from the palace. He stood tall and grabbed his infinity gun’s handle. His jaw tightened with worry.

“Koa.”

Tristan stumbled back as Halston bent his knees and took off into the air. Tristan shielded his eyes from the breeze that swept around his friend. It was a sight to behold, Halston in his golden, angelic, glory. He nodded to himself. “I guess I’ll wait at the gate then.”

Tristan gasped when Halston buzzed in on the new watch that he gave him. He didn’t like technology. He frowned at the gadget.

“Yes, wait at the gate, I’ll send them to you.”

Tristan nodded. “Sure thing, boss.”

39

THE GOLD IN THE SKY caught Koa’s attention. She looked up and felt her heart soar. It swelled with joy. Halston flew across the black sky in all of his angelic glory. Embers and tiny sparks still fell from the damage her vial had caused to the front of the palace, and yet Halston glided along the air with expert agility and grace.

Koa couldn’t help but smile. He had come back for her. She forgave him of everything. The secrets, the lies, everything… was forgiven.

Jax didn’t let his grip on her lessen. He glared at Halston.

Koa turned away, toward Halston. He landed and she ran to him.

Halston grabbed her with one arm and hugged her tight to his chest. “I’m sorry.”

Those words were simple, and yet they made Koa hold him even tighter. She didn’t care anymore. She buried her face in his chest and breathed in his scent. She smiled. His scent was always the same: eucalyptus and flowers, as if he’d been born in a garden. She looked over her shoulder, remembering Jax. He watched them with furrowed eyebrows. His glare went back up to Halston.

Halston turned her to face him and Koa felt a little embarrassed. Jax watched, and she wondered if he could see how she felt for Halston. Could Halston sense how she now felt for Jax?

A blank mask covered her shame. All of this time, she’d thought that she was saving herself for Halston. She hadn’t known that she’d already given herself to Jax.

A loud, bestial cry came from the dungeons of the Ivory Tower.

“It’s coming,” Koa whispered.

Halston held her at arm’s length. He bent to her level and met her eyes with an intensity that made Koa hold her breath. She didn’t want him to let her go.

“Listen. We have to separate. I will draw the beast away from you all while you make a mad dash for the Gate. Do not stop for anything. Do not look back. You run for your life, Koa, and I will do my best to return to you. Understand?”

Koa couldn’t speak. She stared at him and nodded. Her skin tingled. Her hands began to sweat. She couldn’t let him go again. Another cry shook the floor and what remained of the walls and Koa knew the seriousness of Halston’s request. Whatever a Wraith was, she was certain that she didn’t want to face it. She’d seen countless monstrosities this very night. She was weary and didn’t feel ready to face another.

Halston stared at her for a moment, as if taking her all in for what might be the last time. He kissed her forehead and pushed her away. “Go!” He took off down the hall at lightning speed and all Koa felt was the whoosh of air as he flew away.

She hadn’t a chance to call out to him as Jax pulled her out of the wreckage. She came to her senses and turned around. Evina jumped on her disc, and still holding her, Jax did the same and they went higher into the air.

Koa looked down at all of the lights and sighed. The Central Dominance sparkled like an enchanted city. That Disc Moon above turned and their sky began to brighten. It was a slight change, but Koa could tell that it signified that morning was coming.

She was worried. She hadn’t felt such worry in ages. Halston and Koa had been separated only once before. It had been during a mission two years ago. She had tracked down a hellish clan of vampires that were rampaging through Eastern Europe. The memories of blood still lingered in her mind. The bodies of Romanian villagers had been piled up like small hills across the countryside.

It took five months for them to make it back to one another. She couldn’t imagine being apart from him for so long again.

Koa swallowed her anxiety. She hoped Halston would make it out of there. Deep down inside, she knew he would. He had to. He was her teacher and protector; he had to know what he was doing.

Jax held her firm against his chest.

Her heart thumped as she thought of Halston.

The Ivory Tower began to fade into the distance until it became a tiny spot against the backdrop of that city of darkness.

Resting her head on Jax’s shoulder, Koa realized just how tired she was. The potion that changed her into a Scayor and the fight in the tower exhausted her. The hunger would start to creep on her soon.

Koa’s eyes brightened when she saw the staircase that she and Halston had taken hours ago. She knew what that staircase signified.

Freedom was so close.

Jax and Evina sped up and Koa wanted nothing more than to make a dash for the Gate. She knew that would be unwise. The Netherworld discs were faster than she was on her own. Those discs covered what would have taken another two days to travel in what felt like minutes.

Now, they would just have to get past the Shadows that waited for her within the tunnel. She swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut. She kept them closed as they entered the tunnel. Halston’s voice spoke to her as they entered the darkness.

Do not be afraid, Koa, Koa imagined him saying. Wind swept her hair around her face, blowing tears from her cheeks. We will be together again.

The End

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Thanks for reading!

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Continue the Chronicles of Koa in book two, Dark Prophet.

A curse threatens her mother's life. A demon seeks to claim her as his slave. A fallen angel risks redemption to save her.

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About the Author

K.N. Lee is an award-winning author who resides in Charlotte, North Carolina. When she is not writing twisted tales, fantasy novels, and dark poetry, she does a great deal of traveling and promotes other authors.

Wannabe rock star, foreign language enthusiast, and anime geek, K.N. Lee also enjoys helping others reach their writing and publishing goals. She is a winner of the Elevate Lifestyle Top 30 Under 30 "Future Leaders of Charlotte" award for her success as a writer, business owner, and for community service.

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